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diff --git a/22030-h/22030-h.htm b/22030-h/22030-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d386300 --- /dev/null +++ b/22030-h/22030-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17459 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Memoirs</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + TD { vertical-align: top; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Memoirs, by Charles Godfrey Leland</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Memoirs, by Charles Godfrey Leland + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Memoirs + + +Author: Charles Godfrey Leland + + + +Release Date: July 9, 2007 [eBook #22030] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1894 London William Heinemann edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0b.jpg"> +<img alt="Charles G. Leland" src="images/p0s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>MEMOIRS</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">BY<br /> +CHARLES GODFREY LELAND<br /> +(<span class="smcap">hans breitmann</span>)</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>WITH PORTRAIT</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center">Second Edition</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +WILLIAM HEINEMANN<br /> +1894<br /> +[<i>All rights reserved</i>]</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page ii--><a +name="pageii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. ii</span><i>FIRST +EDITION</i> (<i>2 Volumes</i>), <i>October</i> 1893.</p> +<h2><!-- page iii--><a name="pageiii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. iii</span>PREFACE.</h2> +<p>It happened once in Boston, in the year 1861 or 1862, that I +was at a dinner of the Atlantic Club, such as was held every +Saturday, when the question was raised as to whether any man had +ever written a complete and candid autobiography. Emerson, +who was seated by me at the right, suggested the +“Confessions” of Rousseau. I objected that it +was full of untruths, and that for plain candour it was surpassed +by the “Life of Casanova.” Of this work +(regarding which Carlyle has said, “Whosoever has looked +therein, let him wash his hands and be unclean until even”) +neither Emerson nor Lowell, nor Palfrey nor Agassiz, nor any of +the others present seemed to have any knowledge, until Dr. +Holmes, who was more adventurous, admitted he knew somewhat +thereof. Now, as I had read it thrice through, I knew it +pretty well. I reflected on this, but came to the +conclusion that perhaps the great reason why the world has so few +and frank autobiographies is really because the world exacts too +much. It is no more necessary to describe everything +cynically than it is to set forth all our petty diseases in +detail. There are many influences which, independent of +passion or shame, do far more to form character.</p> +<p>Acting from this reflection, I wrote this book with no +intention that it should be published; I had, indeed, some idea +that a certain friend might use it after my death as a source +whence to form a Life. Therefore I wrote, as fully and +honestly as I could, <i>everything</i> which I could remember +<!-- page iv--><a name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +iv</span>which had made me what I am. It occurred to me as +a leading motive that a century or two hence the true inner life +of <i>any</i> man who had actually lived from the time when +railroads, steamboats, telegraphs, gas, percussion-caps, +fulminating matches, the opera and omnibuses, evolution and +socialism were quite unknown to his world, into the modern age, +would be of some value. So I described my childhood or +youth exactly as I recalled, or as I felt it. Such a book +requires very merciful allowance from humane reviewers.</p> +<p>It seemed to me, also, that though I have not lived familiarly +among the princes, potentates, and powers of the earth, yet as I +have met or <i>seen</i> or corresponded with about five hundred +of the three thousand set down in “Men of the Time,” +and been kindly classed among them, it was worth while to mention +my meetings with many of them. Had the humblest scribbler +of the age of Elizabeth so much as mentioned that he had ever +exchanged a word with, or even looked at, any of the great +writers of his time, his record would now be read with +avidity. I have really never in my life run after such men, +or sought to make their acquaintance with a view of extending my +list; all that I can tell of them, as my book will show, has been +the result of chance. But what I have written will be of +some interest, I think—at least “in the dim and +remote future.”</p> +<p>I had laid the manuscript by, till I had time to quite forget +what I had written, when I unexpectedly received a proposal to +write my memoirs. I then read over my work, and determined +“to let it go,” as it was. It seemed to me +that, with all its faults, it fulfilled the requisition of +Montaigne in being <i>ung livre de bonne foye</i>. So it +has gone forth into print. <i>Jacta est alea</i>.</p> +<p>The story of what is to me by far the most interesting period +of my life remains to be written. This embraces an account +of my labour for many years in introducing Industrial Art as a +branch of education in schools, my life in England and on the +Continent for more than twenty years, my <!-- page v--><a +name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. v</span>travels in +Russia and Egypt, my researches among Gypsies and Algonkin +Indians, my part in Oriental and Folklore and other Congresses, +my discovery of the Shelta or Ogham tongue in Great Britain, and +the long and very strangely adventurous discoveries, continued +for five years, among <i>witches</i> in Italy, which resulted in +the discovery that all the names of the old Etruscan gods are +still remembered by the peasantry of the Toscana Romagna, and +that ceremonies and invocations are still addressed to +them. All this, however, is still too near to be written +about. But it may perhaps some day form a second series of +reminiscences if the present volumes meet with public favour.</p> +<p>As some of my readers (and assuredly a great many of the +American) will find these volumes wanting in personal adventure +and lively variety of experiences, and perhaps dull as regards +“incidents,” I would remind them that it is, after +all, only the life of a mere literary man and quiet, humble +scholar, and that such existences are seldom very dramatic. +English readers, who are more familiar with such men or +literature, will be less exacting. What I have narrated is +nowhere heightened in colour, retouched in drawing, or made the +utmost of for effect, and I might have gone much further as +regards my experiences in politics with the <i>Continental +Magazine</i>, and during my connection with Colonel Forney, or +life in the West, and have taken the whole, not more from my +memory than from the testimony of others. But if this work +be, as Germans say, at first too subjective, and devoted too much +to mere mental development by aid of books, the +“balance” to come of my life will be found to differ +materially from it, though it is indeed nowhere in any passage +exciting. This present work treats of my infancy in +Philadelphia, with some note of the quaint and beautiful old +Quaker city as it then was, and many of its inhabitants who still +remembered Colonial times and Washington’s Republican +Court; reminiscences of boyhood in New England; my revolutionary +grandfathers and other relatives, and such men as <!-- page +vi--><a name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. vi</span>the +last survivor of the Boston Tea-party (I also saw the last signer +of the Declaration of Independence); an account of my early +reading; my college life at Princeton; three years in Europe +passed at the Universities of Heidelberg, Munich, and Paris, in +what was emphatically the prime of their quaint student-days; an +account of my barricade experiences of the French Revolution of +Forty-Eight, of which I missed no chief scene; my subsequent life +in America as lawyer, man of letters, and journalist; my +experiences in connection with the Civil War, and my work in the +advancement of the signing the Emancipation by Abraham Lincoln; +recollections of the Oil Region when the oil mania was at its +height; a winter on the frontier in the debatable land (which was +indeed not devoid of strange life, though I say it); my +subsequent connection for three years with Colonel John Forney, +during which Grant’s election was certainly carried by him, +and in which, as he declared, I “had been his right-hand +man;” my writing of sundry books, such as the +“Breitmann Ballads,” and my subsequent life in Europe +to the year 1870.</p> +<p>I can enumerate in my memory distinctly half-a-dozen +little-known men whom I have known, and could with time recall +far many more, compared to whose lives my uneventful and calm +career has been as that of the mole before the +eagle’s. Yet not one of their lives will ever be +written, which is certainly a pity. The practice of writing +real autobiographies is rapidly ceasing in this our age, when it +is bad form to be egoistic or to talk about one’s self, and +we are almost shocked in revising those chronicled in the +<i>Causeries de Lundi</i> of Sainte-Beuve. Nowadays we have +good gossipy reminiscences of <i>other</i> people, in which the +writer remains as unseen as the operator of a Punch exhibition in +his <i>schwassel</i> box, while he displays his puppets. I +find no fault with this—<i>à chacun sa +manière</i>. But it is very natural under such +influences that men whose own lives are full of and inspired with +their <i>own</i> deeds will not write them on the model of +Benvenuto Cellini. One of the greatest generals of modern +<!-- page vii--><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>times, Lord Napier of Magdala, told me that he believed +I was the only person to whom he had ever fully narrated his +experiences of the siege of Lucknow. He seemed to be +surprised at having so forgotten himself. In ancient Viking +days the hero made his debut in every society with a “<i>Me +voici</i>, <i>mes enfants</i>! Listen if you want to be +astonished!” and proceeded to tell how he had smashed the +heads of kings, and mashed the hearts of maidens, and done great +deeds all round. It was bad form—and yet we should +never have known much about Regner Lodbrog but for such a +canticle. If I, in this work, have not quite effaced +myself, as good taste demands, let it be remembered that if I +had, at the time of writing, distinctly felt that it would be +printed as put down, there would, most certainly, have been much +less of “me” visible, and the dead-levelled work +would have escaped much possible shot of censure. It was a +little in a spirit of defiant reaction that I resolved to let it +be published as it is, and risk the chances. As Uncle Toby +declared that, after all, a mother must in some kind of a way be +a relation to her own child, so it still appears to me that to +write an autobiography the author must say <i>something</i> about +himself; but it is a great and very popular <i>tour de force</i> +to quite avoid doing this, and all art of late years has run to +merely skilfully overcoming difficulties and avoiding interesting +<i>motives</i> or subjects. It may be, therefore, that in +days to come, my book will be regarded with some interest, as a +curious relic of a barbarous age, and written in a style long +passed away—</p> +<blockquote><p>“When they sat with ghosts on a stormy +shore,<br /> +And spoke in a tongue which men speak no more;<br /> +Living in wild and wondrous ways,<br /> +In the ancient giant and goblin days.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Once in my younger time, one of the most beautiful and +intellectual women whom I ever knew, Madame Anita de +Barréra—(Daniel Webster said she was beautiful +enough to redeem a whole generation of blue-stockings from the +charge of ugliness)—once made a great and pathetic fuss to +me about <!-- page viii--><a name="pageviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. viii</span>a <i>grey hair</i> which had +appeared among her black tresses. “And what +difference,” I said, “can one white hair make to any +friend?” “Well,” she replied, “I +thought if I could not awaken any other feeling, I might at least +inspire in you veneration for old age.” So with this +work of mine, if it please in naught else, it may still gratify +some who love to trace the footsteps of the past, and listen to +what is told by one who lived long “before the +war.”</p> +<p>Now for a last word—which involves the only point of any +importance to me personally in this preface—I would say +that there will be certain readers who will perhaps think that I +have exaggerated my life-work, or blown my own trumpet too +loudly. To these I declare in plain honesty, that I believe +there have been or are in the United States <i>thousands</i> of +men who have <i>far</i> surpassed me, especially as regards +services to the country during the Civil War. There were +leaders in war and diplomacy, editors and soldiers who sacrificed +their lives, to whose names I can only bow in reverence and +humility. But as it was said of the great unknown who +passed away—the <i>fortes ante +Agamemnon</i>—“they had no poet, and they +died.” These most deserving ones have not written +their lives or set themselves forth, “and so they pass into +oblivion”—and I regret it with all my soul. But +this is no reason why those who did something, albeit in lesser +degree, should not chronicle their experiences exactly as they +appear to them, and it is not in human nature to require a man to +depreciate that to which he honestly devoted all his +energies. Perhaps it never yet entered into the heart of +man to conceive how much has really been done by everybody.</p> +<p>And I do most earnestly and solemnly protest, as if it were my +last word in life, that I have said nothing whatever as regards +my political work and its results which was not seriously said at +the time by many far greater men than I, so that I believe I have +not the least exaggerated in any trifle, even +unconsciously. Thus I can never forget the deep and <!-- +page ix--><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +ix</span>touching sympathy which Henry W. Longfellow expressed to +me regarding my efforts to advance Emancipation, and how, when +some one present observed that perhaps I would irritate the +Non-Abolition Union men, the poet declared emphatically, +“But it is a great idea” or “a noble +work.” And Lowell, Emerson, and George W. Curtis, +Bayard Taylor, and many more, spoke to the same effect. And +what they said of me I may repeat for the sake of History and of +Truth.</p> +<p>The present work describes more than forty years of life in +America, and it is therefore the American reader who will be +chiefly interested in it. I should perhaps have mentioned +what I reserved for special comment in the future: that during +more than ten years’ residence in Europe I had <i>one thing +steadily in view all the time</i>, at which I worked hard, which +was to qualify myself to return to America and there introduce to +the public schools of Philadelphia the Industrial or Minor Arts +as a branch of education, in which I eventually succeeded, +devoting to the work there four years, applying myself so +assiduously as to neglect both society and amusements, and not +obtaining, nor seeking for, pay or profit thereby in any way, +directly or indirectly. And if I have, as I have read, +since then “expatriated” myself, my whole absence has +not been much longer than was that of Washington Irving, and I +trust to be able to prove that I have “left my country for +my country’s good”—albeit in a somewhat better +sense than that which was implied by the poet.</p> +<p>And I may here incidentally mention, with all due modesty, +that since the foregoing paragraph came to me “in +revise,” I received from Count Angelo di Grubernatis a +letter, beginning with the remark that, in consequence of my +<i>gentile ed insistence premúra</i>, or “amiable +persistence, begun four-years ago,” he has at length +carried out my idea and suggestion of establishing a great +Italian Folklore Society, of which I am to rank as among the +first twelve members. This is the fourth institution of the +kind which I have been first, or among the first, to found in +Europe, and it has in <!-- page x--><a name="pagex"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. x</span>every case been noted, not without +surprise, that I was an American. Such associations, being +wide-reaching and cosmopolitan, may be indeed considered by every +man of culture as patriotic, and I hope at some future day that I +shall still further prove that, as regards my native country, I +have only changed my sky but not my heart, and laboured for +American interests as earnestly as ever.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Charles Godfrey +Leland</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bagni di Lucca</span>, <span +class="smcap">Italy</span>, <i>August 20</i>, <i>1893</i>.</p> +<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>I. EARLY LIFE. 1824-1837.</h2> +<p>My birthplace—Count Bruno and Dufief—Family +items—General Lafayette—The Dutch +witch-nurse—Early friends and +associations—Philadelphia sixty years ago—Early +reading—Genealogy—First schools—Summers in New +England—English influences—The Revolutionary +grandfather—Centenarians—The last survivor of the +Boston Tea-party and the last signer of the +Declaration—Indians—Memories of relations—A +Quaker school—My ups and downs in +classes—Arithmetic—My first ride in a railway +car—My marvellous invention—Mr. Alcott’s +school—A Transcendental teacher—Rev. W. H. +Furness—Miss Eliza Leslie—The boarding-school near +Boston—Books—A terrible winter—My first +poem—I return to Philadelphia.</p> +<p>I was born on the 15th of August, 1824, in a house which was +in Philadelphia, and in Chestnut Street, the second door below +Third Street, on the north side. It had been built in the +old Colonial time, and in the room in which I first saw life +there was an old chimney-piece, which was so remarkable that +strangers visiting the city often came to see it. It was, I +believe, of old carved oak, possibly mediæval, which had +been brought from some English manor as a relic. I am +indebted for this information to a Mr. Landreth, who lived in the +house at the time. <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1" +class="citation">[1]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 2--><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +2</span>It was then a boarding-house, kept by a Mrs. +Rodgers. She had taken it from a lady who had also kept it +for boarders. The daughter of this latter married President +Madison. She was the well-known “Dolly +Madison,” famous for her grace, accomplishments, and +<i>belle humeur</i>, of whom there are stories still current in +Washington.</p> +<p>My authority informed me that there were among the boarders in +the house two remarkable men, one of whom often petted me as a +babe, and took a fancy to me. He was a Swedish Count, who +had passed, it was said, a very wild life as pirate for several +years on the Spanish Main. He was identified as the Count +Bruno of Frederica Bremer’s novel, “The +Neighbours.” The other was the famous philologist, +Dufief, author of “Nature Displayed,” a work of such +remarkable ability that I wonder that it should have passed into +oblivion.</p> +<p>My mother had been from her earliest years devoted to +literature to a degree which was unusual at that time in the +United States. She had been, as a girl, a special +<i>protégée</i> of Hannah Adams, the author of many +learned works, who was the first person buried in the Mount +Auburn Cemetery of Boston. She directed my mother’s +reading, and had great <!-- page 3--><a name="page3"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 3</span>influence over her. My mother +had also been very intimate with the daughters of Jonathan +Russell, the well-known diplomatist. My maternal +grandfather was Colonel Godfrey, who had fought in the war of the +Revolution, and who was at one time an aide-de-camp of the +Governor of Massachusetts. He was noted for the remarkable +gentleness of his character. I have heard that when he went +forth of a morning, all the animals on his farm would run to meet +and accompany him. He had to a miraculous degree a certain +sympathetic power, so that all beings, men included, loved +him. I have heard my mother say that as a girl she had a +tame crow who was named Tom, and that he could distinctly cry the +word “What?” When Tom was walking about in the +garden, if called, he would reply “What?” in a +perfectly human manner.</p> +<p>When I was one month old, General Lafayette visited our city +and passed in a grand procession before the house. It is +one of the legends of my infancy that my nurse said, +“Charley shall see the General too!” and held me up +to the window. General Lafayette, seeing this, laughed and +bowed to me. He was the first gentleman who ever saluted me +formally. When I reflect how in later life adventure, the +study of languages, and a French Revolution came into my +experiences, it seems to me as if Count Bruno, Dufief, and +Lafayette had all been premonitors of the future.</p> +<p>I was a great sufferer from many forms of ill-health in my +infancy. Before my second birthday, I had a terrible +illness with inflammation of the brain. Dr. Dewees (author +of a well-known work on diseases of women and children), who +attended me, said that I was insane for a week, and that it was a +case without parallel. I mention this because I believe +that I owe to it in a degree whatever nervousness and tendency to +“idealism” or romance and poetry has subsequently +been developed in me. Through all my childhood and youth +its influence was terribly felt, nor have I to this day recovered +from it.</p> +<p><!-- page 4--><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +4</span>I should mention that my first nurse in life was an old +Dutch woman named Van der Poel. I had not been born many +days before I and my cradle were missing. There was a +prompt outcry and search, and both were soon found in the garret +or loft of the house. There I lay sleeping, on my breast an +open Bible, with, I believe, a key and knife, at my head lighted +candles, money, and a plate of salt. Nurse Van der Poel +explained that it was done to secure my rising in life—by +taking me up to the garret. I have since learned from a +witch that the same is still done in exactly the same manner in +Italy, and in Asia. She who does it must be, however, a +<i>strega</i> or sorceress (my nurse was reputed to be one), and +the child thus initiated will become deep in darksome lore, an +adept in <i>occulta</i>, and a scholar. If I have not +turned out to be all of this <i>in majoribus</i>, it was not the +fault of my nurse.</p> +<p>Next door to us lived a family in which were four daughters +who grew up to be famous belles. It is said that when the +poet N. P. Willis visited them, one of these young ladies, who +was familiar with his works, was so overcome that she +fainted. Forty years after Willis distinctly recalled the +circumstance. Fainting was then fashionable.</p> +<p>Among the household friends of our family I can remember Mr. +John Vaughan, who had legends of Priestley, Berkeley, and Thomas +Moore, and who often dined with us on Sunday. I can also +recall his personal reminiscences of General Washington, +Jefferson, and all the great men of the previous +generation. He was a gentle and beautiful old man, with +very courtly manners and snow-white hair, which he wore in a +queue. He gave away the whole of a large fortune to the +poor. Also an old Mr. Crozier, who had been in France +through all the French Revolution, and had known Robespierre, +Marat, Fouquier Tinville, &c. I wish that I had betimes +noted down all the anecdotes I ever heard from them. There +were also two old ladies, own nieces of Benjamin Franklin, who +for many years continually took tea with <!-- page 5--><a +name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>us. One +of them, Mrs. Kinsman, presented me with the cotton quilt under +which her uncle had died. Another lady, Miss Louisa +Nancrede, who had been educated in France, had seen Napoleon, and +often described him to me. She told me many old French +fairy-tales, and often sang a ballad (which I found in after +years in the works of Cazotte), which made a great impression on +me—something like that of “Childe Roland to the dark +tower came.” It was called <i>Le Sieur +Enguerrand</i>, and the refrain was “<i>Oh ma bonne +j’ai tant peur</i>.”</p> +<p>That these and many other influences of culture stirred me +strangely even as a child, is evident from the fact that they +have remained so vividly impressed on my memory. This +reminds me that I can distinctly remember that when I was eight +years of age, in 1832, my grandmother, Mrs. Oliver Leland, told +my mother that the great German poet Goethe had recently died, +and that they bade me remember it. On the same day I read +in the <i>Athenæum</i> (an American reprint of leading +articles, poems, &c., from English magazines, which +grandmother took all her life long) a translation of +Schiller’s “Diver.” I read it only once, +and to this day I can repeat nearly the whole of it. I have +now by me, as I write, a silver messenger-ring of King Robert, +and I never see it without thinking of the corner of the room by +the side-door where I stood when grandmother spoke of the death +of Goethe. But I anticipate.</p> +<p>My father was a commission merchant, and had his place of +business in Market Street below Third Street. His partner +was Charles S. Boker, who had a son, George, who will often be +mentioned in these Memoirs. George became in after life +distinguished as a poet, and was Minister for many years at +Constantinople and at St. Petersburg.</p> +<p>From Mrs. Rodgers’ my parents went to Mrs. +Shinn’s, in Second Street. It also was a very +old-fashioned house, with a garden full of flowers, and a front +doorstep almost on a level with the ground. The parlour had +a large old fireplace, <!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 6</span>set with blue tiles of the time of +Queen Anne, and it was my delight to study and have explained to +me from them the story of Joseph and his brethren and +Æsop’s fables. Everything connected with this +house recurs to me as eminently pleasant, old-fashioned, and very +respectable. I can remember something very English-like +among the gentlemen-boarders who sat after dinner over their +Madeira, and a beautiful lady, Mrs. Stanley, who gave me a +sea-shell. Thinking of it all, I seem to have lived in a +legend by Hawthorne.</p> +<p>There was another change to a Mrs. Eaton’s +boarding-house in Fifth Street, opposite to the side of the +Franklin Library. I can remember that there was a very good +marine picture by Birch in the drawing-room. This was after +living in the Washington Square house, of which I shall speak +anon. I am not clear as to these removals. There were +some men of culture at Mrs. Eaton’s—among them Sears +C. Walker, a great astronomer, and a Dr. Brewer, who had +travelled in Italy and brought back with him pieces of +sculpture. We were almost directly opposite the State +House, where liberty had been declared, while to the side, across +the street, was the Library founded by Dr. Franklin, with his +statue over the door. One of his nieces often told me that +this was an absolutely perfect likeness. The old iron +railing, now removed—more’s the +pity!—surrounded the Square, which was full of grand +trees.</p> +<p>It was believed that the spirit of Dr. Franklin haunted the +Library, reading the books. Once a coloured woman, who, in +darkey fashion, was scrubbing the floor after midnight, beheld +the form. She was so frightened that she fainted. But +stranger still, when the books were removed to the New Library in +Locust Street, the ghost went with them, and there it still +“spooks” about as of yore to this day, as every negro +in the quarter knows.</p> +<p>In regard to Franklin and his apparition, there was a +schoolboy joke to this effect: that <i>whenever</i> the statue of +<!-- page 7--><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>Franklin over the Library door heard the clock strike +twelve at night, it descended, went to the old Jefferson Wigwam, +and drank a glass of beer. But the sell lay in this, that a +statue cannot hear.</p> +<p>And there was a dim old legend of a colony of Finns, who, in +the Swedish time, had a village all to themselves in +Wiccacoe. They were men of darksome lore and magic skill, +and their women were witches, who at tide and time sailed forth +merrily on brooms to the far-away highlands of the Hudson, where +they held high revel with their Yankee, Dutch, and Indian +colleagues of the mystic spell. David MacRitchie, in a +recent work, has made a note of this curious offshoot of the old +Philadelphia Swedes.</p> +<p>And I can also remember that before a marble yard in Race +Street there were two large statues of very grim +forbidding-looking dogs, of whom it was said that when there was +any one about to die in the quarter, these uncanny hounds came +down during a nightly storm and howled a death duet.</p> +<p>And when I was very young there still lingered in the minds of +those invaluable living chronicles (whether bound in sheepskin or +in calf), the oldest inhabitants, memories from before the +Revolution of the Indian market, when on every Saturday the +natives came from their rural retreats, bringing pelts or skins, +baskets, moccasins, <i>mocos</i> or birch boxes of maple-sugar, +feathers, and game for sale. Then they ranged themselves +all along the west side of Independence Square, in tents or at +tables, and sold—or were sold themselves—in +bargains. Even now the Sunday-child, or he who is gifted to +behold the departed, may see the ghostly forms of Red-men +carrying on that weekly goblin market. Miss Eliza +Leslie’s memory was full of these old stories, which she +had collected from old people.</p> +<p>As for the black witches, as there were still four negro +sorcerers in Philadelphia in 1883 (I have their addresses), it +may be imagined to what an extent <i>Voodoo</i> still prevailed +<!-- page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>among our Ebo-ny men and brothers. Of one of these +my mother had a sad experience. We had a black cook named +Ann Lloyd, of whom, to express it mildly, one must say that she +was “no good.” My mother dismissed her, but +several who succeeded her left abruptly. Then it was found +that Ann, who professed to be a witch, had put a spell of death +on all who should take her place. My mother learned this, +and when the last black cook gave warning she received a good +admonition as to a Christian being a slave to the evil one. +I believe that this ended the enchantment. There is or was +in South Fifth Street an African church, over the door of which +was the charming inscription, “Those who have walked in +Darkness have seen a great light.” But this light has +not even yet penetrated to the darksome depths of Lombard or +South Streets, if I may believe the strange tales which I have +heard, even of late, of superstition there.</p> +<p>Philadelphia was a very beautiful old-fashioned city in those +days, with a marked character. Every house had its garden, +in which vines twined over arbours, and the magnolia, +honeysuckle, and rose spread rich perfume of summer nights, and +where the humming-bird rested, and scarlet tanager or oriole with +the yellow and blue bird flitted in sunshine or in shade. +Then swallows darted at noon over the broad streets, and the +mighty sturgeon was so abundant in the Delaware that one could +hardly remain a minute on the wharf in early morn or ruddy +evening without seeing some six-foot monster dart high in air, +falling on his side with a plash. In the winter-time the +river was allowed to freeze over, and then every schoolboy walked +across to Camden and back, as if it had been a pilgrimage or +religious duty, while meantime there was always a kind of Russian +carnival on the ice, oxen being sometimes roasted whole, and all +kinds of “fakirs,” as they are now termed, selling +doughnuts, spruce-beer, and gingerbread, or tempting the +adventurous with thimblerig; many pedestrians stopping at the +old-fashioned inn on Smith’s Island for hot punch. +Juleps and cobblers, and the <!-- page 9--><a +name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>“one +thousand and one American fancy drinks,” were not as yet +invented, and men drank themselves unto the devil quite as easily +on rum or brandy straight, peach and honey, madeira and punch, as +they now do on more varied temptations. Lager beer was not +as yet in the land. I remember drinking it in after years +in New Street, where a German known as <i>der dicke Georg</i> +first dealt it in 1848 to our American public. Maize-whisky +could then be bought for fifteen cents a gallon; even good +“old rye” was not much dearer; and the best Havanna +cigars until 1840 cost only three cents a-piece. As they +rose in price they depreciated in quality, and it is now many +years since I have met with a really aromatic old-fashioned +Havanna.</p> +<p>It was a very well-shaded, peaceful city, not “a great +village,” as it was called by New Yorkers, but like a +pleasant English town of earlier times, in which a certain +picturesque rural beauty still lingered. The grand old +double houses, with high flights of steps, built by the Colonial +aristocracy—such as the Bird mansion in Chestnut Street by +Ninth Street—had a marked and pleasing character, as had +many of the quaint black and red-brick houses, whose fronts +reminded one of the chequer-board map of our city. All of +this quiet charm departed from them after they were surrounded by +a newer and noisier life. I well remember one of these fine +old Colonial houses. It had been the old Penington mansion, +but belonged in my early boyhood to Mr. Jones, who was one of my +father’s partners in business. It stood at the corner +of Fourth and Race Streets, and was surrounded on all sides by a +garden. There was a legend to the effect that a beautiful +lady, who had long before inhabited the house, had been so fond +of this garden, that after death her spirit was often seen of +summer nights tending or watering the flowers. She was a +gentle ghost, and the story made a great impression on me. +I still possess a pictured tile from a chimney-piece of this old +mansion.</p> +<p>The house is gone, but it is endeared to me by a very <!-- +page 10--><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>strange memory. When I was six or seven years of +age, I had read Shakespeare’s “Tempest,” and +duly reflected on it. The works of Shakespeare were very +rare indeed in Quaker Philadelphia in those days, and much +tabooed, but Mr. Jones, who had a good library in the great hall +upstairs, possessed a set in large folio. This I was +allowed to read, but not to remove from the place. How well +I can remember passing my Saturday afternoons reading those +mighty tomes, standing first on one leg, then on the other for +very weariness, yet absorbed and fascinated!</p> +<p>About this time I was taken to the theatre to see Fannie +Kemble in “Much Ado About Nothing”—or it may +have been to a play before that time—when my father said to +me that he supposed I had never heard of Shakespeare. To +which I replied by repeating all the songs in the +“Tempest.” One of these, referring to the loves +of certain sailors, is not very decent, but I had not the +remotest conception of its impropriety, and so proceeded to +repeat it. A saint of virtue must have laughed at such a +declamation.</p> +<p>As it recurs to me, the spirit which was over Philadelphia in +my boyhood, houses, gardens, people, and their life, was +strangely quiet, sunny, and quaint, a dream of olden time drawn +into modern days. The Quaker predominated, and his memories +were mostly in the past; ours, as I have often said, was a city +of great trees, which seemed to me to be ever repeating their old +poetic legends to the wind of Swedes, witches, and Indians.</p> +<p>Among the street-cries and sounds, the first which I can +remember was the postman’s horn, when I was hardly three +years old. Then there were the watchmen, “who cried +the hour and weather all night long.” Also a coloured +man who shouted, in a strange, musical strain which could be +heard a mile:</p> +<blockquote><p>“<i>Tra-la-la-la-la-la-loo</i>.<br /> +Le-mon-ice-cream!<br /> +An’-wanilla-too!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 11--><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span>Also the quaint old Hominy-man:</p> +<blockquote><p>“De Hominy man is on his way,<br /> + Frum de Navy-Yard!<br /> + Wid his harmony!”</p> +<p>(Spoken) “Law bess de putty eyes ob de young lady! +Hominy’s good fur de young ladies!</p> +<p>“De Harmony man is on his way,” &c.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Also, “Hot-corn!” +“Pepper-pot!” “Be-au-ti-ful Clams!” +with the “Sweep-oh” cry, and charcoal and muffin +bells.</p> +<p>One of the family legends was, that being asked by some lady, +for whom I had very little liking, to come and visit her, I +replied with great politeness, but also with marked firmness, +“I am very much obliged to you, ma’am, and thank +you—but I <i>won’t</i>.”</p> +<p>In Washington Square, three doors from us, at the corner of +Walnut Street, lived Dr. George McClellan. He had two sons, +one, John, of my own age, the other, George, who was three years +younger. Both went to school with me in later years. +George became a soldier, and finally rose to the head of the army +in the first year of the War of Rebellion, or Emancipation, as I +prefer to term it.</p> +<p>Washington Square, opposite our house, had been in the olden +time a Potter’s Field, where all the victims of the yellow +fever pestilence had been interred. Now it had become a +beautiful little park, but there were legends of a myriad of +white confused forms seen flitting over it in the night, for it +was a mysterious haunted place to many still, and I can remember +my mother gently reproving one of our pretty neighbours for +repeating such tales.</p> +<p>I have dreamy yet very oft-recurring memories of my life in +childhood, as, for instance, that just before I was quite three +years old I had given to me a copy of the old New England Primer, +which I could not then read, yet learned from others the rhymes +with the quaint little cuts.</p> +<blockquote><p>“In Adam’s fall<br /> +We sin-nèd all.”</p> +<p><!-- page 12--><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>“My book and heart<br /> +Shall never part,” &c.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Also of a gingerbread toy, with much sugar, colour, and +gilding, and of lying in a crib and having the measles. I +can remember that I understood the meaning of the word +<i>dead</i> before that of <i>alive</i>, because I told my nurse +that I had heard that Dr. Dewees was dead. But she replying +that he was not, but alive, I repeated “live” as one +not knowing what it meant.</p> +<p>I recollect, also, that one day, when poring over the pictures +in a toy-book, my Uncle Amos calling me a good little boy for so +industriously reading, I felt guilty and ashamed because I could +not read, and did not like to admit it. Whatever my faults +or follies may be, I certainly had an innate rectitude, a strong +sense of honesty, just as many children have the contrary; and +this, I believe, is due to inherited qualities, though these in +turn are greatly modified by early association and +influences. That I also had precocious talent and taste for +the romantic, poetic, marvellous, quaint, supernatural, and +humorous, was soon manifested. Even as an infant objects of +<i>bric-à-brac</i> and of antiquity awoke in me an +interest allied to passion or awe, for which there was no +parallel among others of my age. This was, I believe, the +old spirit which had come down through the ages into my +blood—the spirit which inspired Leland the <i>Flos +Grammaticorum</i>, and after him John Leland, the antiquary of +King Henry VIII., and Chrs. (Charles) Leland, who was secretary +of the Society of Antiquaries in the time of Charles I. Let +me hereby inform those who think that “Chrs.” means +Christopher, that there has been a Charles in the family since +time immemorial, alternated with an Oliver since the days of +Cromwell.</p> +<p>John Leyland, an Englishman, now living, who is a deep and +sagacious scholar, and the author of the “Antiquities of +the Town of Halifax” (a very clever work), declares that +for <i>four hundred years</i> there has not been a generation in +which <!-- page 13--><a name="page13"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 13</span>some Leland (or Leyland) of the old +Bussli de Leland stock has not written a work on antiquity or +allied to antiquarianism, though in one case it is a translation +of Demosthenes, and in another a work on Deistical Writers. +He traces the connection with his own family of the Henry Leland, +my ancestor, a rather prominent political Puritan character in +his time, who first went to America in 1636, and acquired land +which my grandfather still owned. It was very +extensive.</p> +<p>There is a De la Laund in the roll of Battle Abbey, <a +name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13" +class="citation">[13]</a> but John says our progenitor was <i>De +Bussli</i>, who came over with the Conqueror, ravaged all +Yorkshire, killing 100,000 men, and who also burned up, perhaps +alive, the 1,000 Jews in the Tower of York. For these +eminent services to the state he was rewarded with the manor of +Leyland, from which he took his name. The very first +<i>complete</i> genealogical register of any American family ever +published was that of the Leland family, by Judge Leland, of +Roxbury, Mass. (but for which he was really chiefly indebted to +another of the name), in which it is shown that Henry Leland had +had in 1847 fifteen thousand descendants in America. In +regard to which I am <!-- page 14--><a name="page14"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 14</span>honoured with a membership in the +Massachusetts Genealogical Society. The crest of Bussli and +the rest of us is a raven or crow transfixed by an arrow, with a +motto which I dearly love. It is <i>Cui debeo</i>, +<i>fidus</i>. Very apropos of this crow or raven is the +following: Heinrich Heine, in his “Germany” (vol. ii. +p. 211, Heinemann’s edition), compares the same to priests +“whose pious croaking is so well known to our +ears.” This is in reference to such birds which fly +about the mountain of Kyffhäuser, in which the Emperor +Friedrich Barbarossa is sleeping, and where he will sleep till +they disappear. And then, praising himself, Heine adds: +“But old age has weakened them, and there are good marksmen +who know right well how to bring them down. I know one of +these archers, who now lives in Paris, and who knows how, even +from that distance, to hit the crows which fly about the +Kyffhäuser. When the Emperor returns to earth, he will +surely find on his way more than one raven slain by this +archer’s arrows. And the old hero will say, smiling, +‘That man carried a good bow.’” In my +note to this I remarked that “the raven or crow transfixed +by an arrow is the crest of the coat-of-arms of the name of +Leland, or of my own. I sincerely trust that Bussli, the +first who bore it, did not acquire the right to do so by shooting +a clergyman.” As a single crow is an omen of +ill-luck, so the same transfixed signifies misfortune overcome, +or the forcible ending of evil influences by a strong will. +It is a common belief or saying among all the Lelands, however +widely related, that there has never been a convicted criminal of +the name. <i>Dii faxint</i>!</p> +<p>At four years of age, while still living in Washington Square, +I was sent to an infant school in Walnut Street, above Eighth +Street, south side, near by. It was kept by the Misses +Donaldson. We all sat in a row, on steps, as in an +amphitheatre, but in straight lines. Miss Donaldson, +senior, sat at a desk, prim and perpendicular, holding a rod +which was fifteen or twenty feet in length, with which she could +hit on the head or poke any noisy or drowsy child, without <!-- +page 15--><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>stirring from her post. It was an ingenious +invention, and one which might be employed to advantage in small +churches. I can remember that at this time I could not hear +a tune played without stringing my thoughts to it; not that I +have any special ear for music, but because I am moved by +melody. There was a rhyme that was often sung to me to the +tune of “Over the Water”—</p> +<blockquote><p> “Charley Buff<br /> + Had money enough,<br /> +And locked it in his store;<br /> + Charley die<br /> + And shut his eye,<br /> +And never saw money no more.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The influence of this and other tunes on my thought was so +great, that I have often wondered whether anybody ever realised +how much we may owe to metre acting on thought; for I do not +believe that I ever penned any poetry in my life unless it was to +a <i>tune</i>; and even in this prose which I now write there is +ever and anon a <i>cadence</i> as of a brook running along, then +rising, anon falling, perceptible to me though not to you, yet +which has many a time been noted down by critics speaking gently +of my work. This induced me to learn betimes an incredible +number of songs; in fact, at the age of ten or eleven I had most +of Percy’s “Relics” by heart. This +naturally enough led me to read, and reading understand, an +amount of poetry of such varied character that I speak with +strictest truth in saying that I have never met with, and never +even read of, any boy who, as a mere little boy, had mastered +such a number and variety of ballads and minor poems as I had +done—as will appear in the course of this narrative.</p> +<p>While living at Mrs. Eaton’s I was sent to a school kept +by two very nice rather young Quaker ladies in Walnut +Street. It was just opposite a very quaint old-fashioned +collection of many little dwellings in one (modelled after the +Fuggerei of Augsburg?) known as the Quaker Almshouse. <!-- +page 16--><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>One morning I played truant, and became so fearfully +weary and bored lounging about, that I longed for the society of +school, and never stayed from study any more. Here I was +learning to read, and I can remember “The History of Little +Jack,” and discussing with a comrade the question as to +whether the word <i>history</i> really meant <i>his</i> story, or +was ingeniously double and inclusive. I also about this +time became familiar with many minor works, such as are all now +sold at high prices as chap-books, such as “Marmaduke +Multiply,” “The World Turned Upside Down,” +“Chrononhotonthologos,” “The Noble History of +the Giants,” and others of Mr. Newberry’s gilt-cover +toy-books. All of our juvenile literature in those days was +without exception London made, and very few persons can now +realise how deeply Anglicised I was, and how all this reading +produced associations and feelings which made dwelling in England +in later years seem like a return to a half-forgotten home, of +which we have, however, pleasant fairy-tale reminiscences.</p> +<p>The mistress of the school was named Sarah Lewis, and while +there, something of a very extraordinary nature—to me, at +least—took place. One day, while at my little desk, +there came into my head with a strange and unaccountable +intensity this thought: “I am I—I am +<i>Myself</i>—I myself <i>I</i>,” and so on. By +forcing this thought on myself very rapidly, I produced a +something like suspension of thought or syncope; not a vertigo, +but that mental condition which is allied to it. I have +several times read of men who recorded nearly the same thing +among their youthful experiences, but I do not recall that any of +them induced this <i>coma</i> by reflecting on the ego-ism of the +I, or the me-ness of the Me. <a name="citation16"></a><a +href="#footnote16" class="citation">[16]</a> It often +recurred to me in after years when studying Schelling and <!-- +page 17--><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>Fichte, or reading works by Mystics, Quietists, and the +like. At a very early age I was indeed very much given to +indulging in states of mind resembling metaphysical +abstraction—a kind of vague marvelling what I <i>was</i> +and what others were; whether they and everything were not +spirits playing me tricks, or a delusion—a kind of +psychology without material or thought, like a workman without +tools.</p> +<p>For a short time, while five or six years old, and living at +Mrs. Eaton’s, I was sent to a school of boys of all ages, +kept by a man named Eastburn, in Library Street, whom I can only +recall as a coarse, brutal fiend. From morning to night +there was not a minute in which some boy was not screaming under +the heavy rattan which he or his brother always held. I +myself—infant as I was—for not learning a +spelling-lesson properly, was subjected to a caning which would +have been cruel if inflicted on a convict or sailor. In the +lower story this man’s sister kept a girls’ school, +and the ruffian was continually being called downstairs to beat +the larger girls. My mother knew nothing of all this, and I +was ashamed to tell that I had been whipped. I have all my +life been opposed to corporal punishment, be it in schools or for +criminals. It brings out of boys all that is evil in their +nature and nothing that is good, developing bullying and cruelty, +while it is eminently productive of cowardice, lying, and +meanness—as I have frequently found when I came to hear the +private life of those who defend it as creating +“manliness.” It was found during the American +war that the soldiers who had been most accustomed to beating and +to being beaten were by far the greatest cowards, and that +“Billy Wilson’s” regiment of pugilists was so +absolutely worthless as to be unqualified for the field at any +time. One thing is very certain, that I have found that +boys who attend schools where there is no whipping, and little or +no fighting, are freest from that <i>coarseness</i> which is so +invariably allied to meanness, lying, and dishonesty. I had +about 2000 children in the <i>public schools</i> of Philadelphia +pass under my teaching, and never <!-- page 18--><a +name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>met with but +one instance of direct rudeness. There was also only one of +dishonesty or theft, and that was by a fighting boy, who looked +like a miniature pugilist. Philadelphia manners were formed +by Quakers. When I visited, in 1884, certain minor art-work +classes established in the East End of London, Mr. Walter Besant +said to me that I would find a less gentle set of pupils. +In fact, in the first school which I examined, the girls had, the +week before, knocked down, kicked, and trampled on an elderly +lady who had come to teach them art-work out of pure +benevolence. I am often told that whipping put an end to +garroting. If this be true, which it is <i>not</i> (for +garroting was a merely temporary fancy, which died out in America +without whipping), it only proves that the garotters, who were +all fighting and boxing roughs, were mere cowards. Red +Indians never whip children, but they will die under torture +without a groan.</p> +<p>My parents were from Massachusetts, and every summer they +returned to pass several months in or near Boston, generally with +their relatives in Worcester county, in Dedham, in the +“Hub” itself, or in Milford, Mendon, or Holliston, +the home of my paternal grandfather, Oliver Leland. Thus I +grew to be familiar with New England, its beautiful scenery and +old-fashioned Yankee rural ways. Travelling was then by +stage-coach, and it took two days to go from Philadelphia to +Boston, stopping on the way overnight at Princeton, Perth Amboy, +or Providence. This is to me a very interesting source of +reminiscences. In Dedham, for three summers, I attended +school. I remember that we stayed with Dr. Jeremy Stimson, +who had married a sister of my mother. I studied French; +and can recall that my cousins Caroline and Emily, who were very +beautiful young ladies, generally corrected my exercises. I +was then seven or eight years of age. Also that I was very +much alone; that I had a favourite bow, made by some old Indian; +that I read with great relish “Gil Blas” and +“Don Quixote,” and especially books of curiosities +and oddities which had a great influence on me. I wandered +<!-- page 19--><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>for days by myself fishing, strolling in beautiful wild +places among rocks and fields, or in forests by the River +Charles. I can remember how one Sunday during service I sat +in church unseen behind the organ, and read Benvenuto +Cellini’s account of the sorcerer in the Colosseum in Rome: +I shall see his Perseus ten minutes hence in the Signoria of +Florence, where I now write.</p> +<p>Then there were the quiet summer evenings in the drawing-room, +where my cousins played the piano and sang “The Sunset +Tree,” “Alknoomuk,” “I see them on the +winding way,” and Moore’s melodies. <i>Tempi +passati</i>—“’Tis sixty year’s +since.” Caroline meantime married a Mr. Wight, who +had passed most of his life in England, and was thoroughly +Anglicised. There was also an English lady visiting America +who stayed a while in Dedham to be with my cousin. She was +<i>jeune encore</i>, but had with her a young English gentleman +relative who <i>would</i> call her “Mamma!” which we +thought rather <i>niais</i>. From my reading and my few +experiences I, however, acquired a far greater insight into life +than most boys would have done, for I remembered and thought long +over everything I heard or learned. Between my mother and +cousins and our visitors there was much reading and discussion of +literary topics, and I listened to more than any one noted, and +profited by it.</p> +<p>I was always reading and mentally reviewing. If my +mother made a call, I was at once absorbed in the first book +which came to hand. Thus I can remember that one summer, +when we came to Dr. Stimson’s, during the brief interval of +our being shown into the “parlour,” I seized on a +Unitarian literary magazine and read the story of Osapho, the +Egyptian who trained parrots to cry, “Osapho is a +god!” Also an article on Chinese acupuncture with +needles to cure rheumatism; which chance readings and +reminiscences I could multiply <i>ad infinitum</i>.</p> +<p>My cousin Caroline, whom I remember as very beautiful and +refined, with a <i>distinguée</i> manner, had a small +work-box, <!-- page 20--><a name="page20"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 20</span>on the cover of which was a picture +of the Pavilion in Brighton. She spoke of the building as a +rubbishy piece of architecture; but I, who felt it through the +“Arabian Nights,” admired it, and pitied her want of +taste. <i>Now</i> I have lived altogether three years in +Brighton, but I never saw the Pavilion without recalling the +little yellow work-box. In some mysterious way the picture +seems to me to be grander than the original. Dickens has +expressed this idea. I was too grave and earnest as a child +to be called a cheerful or happy one, which was partly due to +much ill-health; yet, by a strange contradiction not uncommon in +America, I was gifted with a precociously keen sense of humour, +and not only read, but collected and preserved every comic +almanac and scrap of droll anecdote which I could get. Thus +there came into my possession half-a-dozen books of the broadest +London humour of the time, all of which entered into my soul; +such things as:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘“Ladies in furs and gemmen in +spurs,<br /> + Who lollop and lounge all day;<br /> +The Bazaar in Soho is completely the go,<br /> + Walk into the shop of Grimaldi.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Reader mine, you can have no conception how deeply I, as a +mere little boy, entered into and knew London life and society +from such songs, sketches, anecdotes, books, and caricatures as I +met with. Others read and forget them, but I took such +trifles deep into my soul and <i>dwelt</i> on them. It is +only of late years, since I have lived in England, that I have +learned how extensively—I may say incredibly well—I +was informed for my age as to many phases of English life. +Few of us know what may be got out of reading the current light +literature of the day, if we only read it <i>earnestly</i> and +get it by heart. This I did to a great extent, as my +reminiscences continually awakened in England prove.</p> +<p>There was in Dedham a very old house of somewhat superior +style, which had been built, if not in 1630, at least within a +very few years after. It was inhabited by three sisters +<!-- page 21--><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>named Fairbanks, who were very peculiar indeed, and +their peculiarity consisted in a strange devotion to the past, +and above all to old <i>English</i> memories of colonial times +before the Revolution. Even in England this resistance can +hardly be understood at the present day, and yet it may still be +found alive in New England. In the house itself was a well, +dug to supply water when besieged by Indians, and the old ladies +used to exhibit an immense old gun once used by Puritans, and an +ox-saddle and other relics. They had also a very ancient +book of prayer of the Church of England, and an old Bible, and +thereby hangs a tale. They were all still living in 1849 or +1850, when I visited them with my very pretty cousin Mary +Elizabeth Fisher, and as I professed the Episcopal faith, and had +been in England, the precious relics were shown to me as to one +of the initiated. But they showed a marked aversion to +letting Miss Fisher see them, as she was a Unitarian. So +they went on, as many others did in my youth, still staunch +adherents to England, nice old Tories, believers in the King or +Queen, for whom they prayed, and not in the President. I +remember that Miss Eliza Leslie told me in later years of just +such another trio.</p> +<p>My grandfather in Holliston was, as his father and brothers +and uncles had all been, an old Revolutionary soldier, who had +been four years in the war and taken part in many battles. +He had been at Princeton (where I afterwards graduated) and +Saratoga, and witnessed the surrender of Burgoyne to Gates. +I was principally concerned to know whether the conqueror had +<i>kept the sword</i> handed to him on this occasion, and was +rather disappointed to learn that it was given back. Once I +found in the garret a bayonet which my grandma said had been +carried by grandfather in the war. I turned it with a +broom-handle into a lance and made ferocious charges on the cat +and hens.</p> +<p>This grandfather, Oliver Leland, exerted an extraordinary +influence on me, and one hard to describe. He was great, +grim, and taciturn to behold, yet with a good heart, and not <!-- +page 22--><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>devoid of humour. He was gouty, and yet not +irritable. He continually recurs to me while reading +Icelandic sagas, and as a kind of man who would now be quite out +of the age anywhere. All his early associations had been of +war and a half-wild life. He was born about 1758, and +therefore in a rude age in rural New England. He, I may +say, deeply interested me.</p> +<p>All boys are naturally full of the romance of war; the +Revolution was to us more than the Crusades and all chivalry +combined, and my grandfather was a living example and chronicle +of all that I most admired. Often I sat on a little cricket +at his feet, and listened to tales of battles, scoutings, and +starving; how he had been obliged to live on raw wheat, which +produced evil results, and beheld General Washington and other +great men, and had narrow escapes from Indians, and been at the +capturing of a fort by moonlight, and seen thousands of +pounds’ worth of stores destroyed. I frequently +thought of old grandfather Oliver when “out” myself +during the Civil War, and was half-starved and chilled when +scouting, or when doing rough and tough in West Virginia.</p> +<p>My grandfather often told me such stories of the war, and +others of his father and grandfather, who had fought before him +in the old French war in Canada, and how the latter, having gone +up to trade among the Indians one winter, endeared himself so +much to them that they would not let him go, and kept him a +captive until the next summer. I came across traces of this +ancestor in an old Canadian record, wherein it appears that he +once officiated as interpreter in the French and Indian +tongues. Whereby critics may remark that learning French +and Algonkin runs in our blood, and that my proclivity for +Indians is legitimately inherited. I would that I knew all +the folklore that my great-grandsire heard in the Indian wigwams +in those old days!</p> +<p>I can remember seeing my grandfather once sitting and talking +with five other veterans of the war. But I saw them daily +in those times, and once several hundreds, or it may be <!-- page +23--><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>thousands, of them in a great procession in Philadelphia +in 1832. And here I may mention that in 1834 I often saw +one named Rice, whose age, as authenticated by his pension +papers, was 106, and that in 1835 I shook hands with Thomas +Hughes, aged 95, who was the last survivor of the Boston Tea +party. He had come to visit our school, and how we boys +cheered the old gentleman, who was in our eyes one of the +greatest men alive! But all the old folk in my boyhood +could tell tales of the Revolution, which was indeed not very +much older then than the Rebellion is to us now.</p> +<p>I can also recollect seeing Charles Carroll of Carrollton, the +last of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, though my +memory of the man is now confused with that of a very perfect +portrait which belonged to his granddaughter, Mrs. Jackson, who +was a next-door but one neighbour in after years in Walnut +Street, Philadelphia. He was a very venerable-looking +man.</p> +<p>My father served for a short time in the war of 1812, and I +have heard him relate that when the startling news of peace +arrived in Boston, where he was, he at once took a sleigh and +fast horses and drove full speed, being the first to disseminate +the news in the country. That was as good as +Browning’s “Ride to Ghent” in its +way—<i>apropos</i> of which Mr. Browning once startled me +by telling me, “I suppose you know that it is an invention +of mine, and not founded on any real incident.” But +my father’s headlong sleigh-ride—he was young and +wild in those days—was real and romantic enough in all +conscience. It set bells to ringing, multitudes to +cheering, bonfires a-blazing on hills and in towns, and also some +few to groaning, as happened to a certain old deacon, who had +invested his all in English goods, and said, when he heard the +cheers caused by the news, “Wife, if that’s war news, +I’m saved; but if it’s peace, I’m +ruined!” Even so it befell me, in after years, to be +the first person to announce in the United States, far in advance +of any others, the news of the French Revolution of 1848, as I +shall fully prove in the sequence.</p> +<p><!-- page 24--><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>It may be here remarked, that, though not +“professionals,” all of our family, without a break +in the record, have successively taken turns at fighting, and +earned our pay as soldiers, since time lost in oblivion; for I +and my brother tried it on during the Rebellion, wherein he +indeed, standing by my side, got the wound from a shell of which +he eventually died; while there were none who were not in the old +Indian wars or the English troubles of Charles the Second and +First, and so on back, I dare say, to the days of Bussli de +Leland, who laid all Yorkshire waste.</p> +<p>My grandfather, though not wealthy, owned a great deal of +land, and I can remember that he one afternoon showed me a road, +saying that he owned the land on each side for a mile. I +myself, in after years, however, came to own in fee-simple a +square mile of extremely rich land in Kansas, which I sold for +sixteen hundred dollars, while my grandfather’s was rather +of that kind by which men’s poverty was measured in +Virginia—that is to say, the more land a man had the poorer +he was considered to be. It is related of one of these that +he once held great rejoicing at having got rid of a vast property +by the ingenious process of giving some person one half of it to +induce him to take the other. However, as there is now a +large town or small city on my grandfather’s whilom estate, +I wish that it could have been kept. <i>Mais où sont +les neiges d’antan</i>, or the ducats of Panurge?</p> +<p>There was a “home-pasture,” a great field behind +my grandfather’s house, where I loved to sit alone, and +which has left a deep impression on my memory, as though it were +a fairy-haunted or imagined place. It was very rocky, the +stones being covered with clean, crisp, dry lichens, and in one +spot there was the gurgling deep down in some crevice of a +mysterious unseen spring or rivulet. Young as I was, I had +met with a line which bore on it—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Deep from their vaults the Loxian murmurs +flow.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And there was something very voice-like or human in this <!-- +page 25--><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>murmur or chattering of the unseen brook. This I +distinctly remember, that the place gave me not only a feeling, +but a faith that it was haunted by something gentle and +merry. I went there many a time for company, being much +alone. An Indian would have told me that it was the <i>Un +à games-suk</i>—the spirit-fairies of the rock and +stream. These beings enter far more largely, deeply, and +socially into their life or faith than elves or fairies ever did +into those of the Aryan races, and I might well have been their +<i>protégé</i>, for there could have been few +little boys living, so fond as I was of sitting all alone by rock +and river, hill and greenwood tree. There are yet in +existence on some of this land which was once ours certain +mysterious walls or relics of heavy stone-work, which my friend +Eben C. Horsford thinks were made by the Norsemen. I hope +that they were, for I have read many a saga in Icelandic, old +Swedish, and Latin, and the romance thereof is deep in my soul; +and as my own name is Godfrey, it is no wonder that the god Frey +and his Freya are dear to me. In my boyhood—and it +may be still the case—the “Injuns” got the +credit of having built these mysterious works.</p> +<p>Not far from Holliston is Mendon, where I had an uncle, Seth +Davenport, who had a large, pleasant, old-fashioned New England +farm, which was more productive than my grandfather’s, +since there were employed on it sixteen men, three of whom were +Natick Indians of the old local stock. There were many of +them when my mother was young, but I suppose that the last of the +tribe has long since died. One of these Indians, Rufus +Pease, I can recall as looking like a dark-ruddy gypsy, with a +pleasant smile. He very was fond of me. He belonged +to a well-known family, and had a brother—and thereby hangs +a tale, or, in this case, a scalp-lock.</p> +<p>“Marm” Pease, the mother of Rufus, had on one +occasion been confined, and old Doctor—I forget his +name—who officiated at the birth, had been asked to give +the infant a <!-- page 26--><a name="page26"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 26</span>name. Now he was a dry wag, of +the kind so dear to Dr. Holmes, and expressed much gratification +and gratitude at such a compliment being paid to him. +“He had long been desirous,” he said, “of +naming a child after his dear old friend, Dr. Green.” +So the name was bestowed, the simple Indians not realising for +some time after the christening that their youngest bore the name +of Green Pease. Whether he was ever called a duck, I know +not.</p> +<p>Everything about Uncle Seth and Aunt Betsy was, as I remember, +delightfully comfortable, old-fashioned, and in a way +beautiful. There was their daughter Rebecca, who was pretty +and gentle, so that several wild birds came every morning to feed +from her hand and perch on her fingers. Uncle Seth himself +wore a scarlet waistcoat, and, as I recall him, seemed altogether +in figure to belong to the time of Cromwell, or to earlier +days. There was a hall, hung round with many old family +portraits in antique dresses, and an immense dairy—the +pride of Aunt Betsy’s heart—and a garden, in which I +was once shown a humming-bird’s nest; and cousin +Rebecca’s mantelpiece, over a vast old fireplace, heaped +with mosses, birds’ nests, shells, and such curiosities as +a young girl would gather in the woods and fields; and the +cider-press, in which Uncle Seth ground up the sixteen hundred +bushels of apples which he had at one crop, and the new cider +gushing in a stream, whereof I had a taste. It was a +charming, quiet old homestead, in which books and culture were +not wanting, and it has all to me now something of the +chiaroscuro and Rembrandt colour and charm of the +<i>Mährchen</i> or fairy-tale. The reality of this +charm is apt to go out of life as that of literature or culture +comes in. To this day I draw the deepest impression or +sentiment of the <i>pantheism</i> or subtle spiritual charm of +Nature far more from these early experiences of rural life than +from all the books, poetry included, which I have ever +perused. Note this well, ye whose best feelings are only a +<i>rechauffé</i> of Ruskin and Browning—<i>secundem +ordinem</i>—for I observe <!-- page 27--><a +name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>that those +who do not think at second hand are growing rare.</p> +<p>In the town of Milford lived my uncle, William Godfrey, with +my aunt Nancy, and of them and their home I have many pleasant +memories. The very first of them all was not so pleasant to +me at the time. My parents had just arrived, and had not +been ten minutes in the house ere a tremendous squall was heard, +and my mother, looking from the window, beheld me standing in the +open barn-door holding a tiny chicken in my right hand, while an +old hen sat on my head flapping her wings and pecking me in +wrath. I, seeing the brood, had forthwith captured one, and +for that was undergoing penance. It was a beautiful +tableau, which was never forgotten! We went there on visits +for many summers. Uncle William was a kind-hearted, +“sportive” man, who took <i>Bell’s Life</i>, +and I can remember that there was a good supply of English +reading in the house. My uncle had three sons, all much +older than I. The eldest, Stearns, was said to have first +popularised the phrase “posted up,” to signify +well-informed. The second, Benjamin, became in after years +a great manufacturer and somewhat noted politician, and owner of +a famous racehorse. The third, Samuel, went into business +in Philadelphia, and crossed the Atlantic with me. He died +quite young. All of them, like their father and +grandfather, were very good-natured or gentle, and men of perfect +integrity. The Lelands, however, were rather <i>dour</i> +and grim in their honesty, or more Northern than the +Godfreys. This was accounted for by the fact, that while my +father’s family was Puritan of the purest, and only +intermarried with Puritan stock, the Godfreys had in Rhode Island +received an infusion of French Huguenot blood, which was indeed +very perceptible in their faces and lively pleasant manner.</p> +<p>There was a strange tradition, to which my mother sometimes +jestingly referred, that there had been among her Rhode Island +ancestors a High German (<i>i.e.</i>, not a Hollander) doctor, +who had a reputation as a sorcerer or wizard. <!-- page +28--><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>He +was a man of learning, but that is all I ever heard about +him. My mother’s opinion was that this was a very +strong case of atavism, and that the mysterious ancestor had +through the ages cropped out again in me. Something tells +me that this was the High German doctor who, according to +Washington Irving, laid the mystic spell on Sleepy Hollow, which +made of it such a pleasant, ancient, dreamy fairy-land. +Whether his friendly spirit still watches over me, or whether I +am the man himself, is a problem which I leave to my friend +Francis Galton, who indeed personally often reminds me of +Irving. High German sorcerers were not common in those days +north of Pennsylvania, so that I trow mine was the very man +referred to by Geoffrey Crayon. And it is true beyond all +doubt that even in infancy, as I have often heard, there was a +quaint uncanniness, as of something unknown, in my nature, and +that I differed in the main totally from every relative, and +indeed from any other little boy, known to anybody; though I was +a perfect Godfrey in face when very young, as I am now a typical +Leland. I was always given to loneliness in gardens and +woods when I could get into them, and to hearing words in +birds’ songs and running or falling water; and I once +appalled a visitor by professing seriously that I could determine +for him some question as to what would happen to him by +divination with a bullet in an Indian moccasin. We had two +servants who spoke old Irish; one was an inexhaustible mine of +legends, which she related to me—she surpassed Croker; the +other, less versed, still knew a great deal, and told me how her +own father, Jackey Mooney, had seen the fairies with his own +eyes. Both of these sincerely and seriously regarded me as +“gifted” or elfin-favoured, and the latter said in +proof thereof, “Only listen to his voice; sure whin he +spakes he’d while a burred aff a tree.” For my +uncanny ways made a deep impression on them, as also on the +darkies.</p> +<p>Once I had a wonderful dream. I thought that I was in +Dr. Furness’s chapel, but that, instead of the gentle +reverend <!-- page 29--><a name="page29"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 29</span>clergyman, the devil himself was in +the pulpit preaching. Feeling myself inspired, I went up +into the pulpit, threw the Evil One out, and preached myself in +his place. Now our nurse had a dream-book, and made some +pretence to mystic fairy knowledge learned in Kilkenny, and she +interpreted this dream as signifying that I would greatly rise in +this world, and do strange things. But she was greatly +struck with such a vision in such an infant.</p> +<p>Now, I was a great reader of Scripture; in fact, I learned a +great deal too much of it, believing now that for babes and +sucklings about one-third of it had better be expurgated. +The Apocrypha was a favourite work, but above all I loved the +Revelations, a work which, I may say by the way, is still a +treasure to be investigated as regards the marvellous mixture of +Neo-Platonic, later Egyptian (or Gnostic), and even Indian +Buddhistic ideas therein. Well, I had learned from it a +word which St. John applies (to my mind very vulgarly and much +too frequently) to the Scarlet Lady of Babylon or Rome. +What this word meant I did not know, but this I understood, that +it was “sass” of some kind, as negroes term it, and +so one day I applied it experimentally to my nurse. Though +the word was not correctly pronounced, for I had never heard it +from anybody, its success was immediate, but not agreeable. +The passionate Irish woman flew into a great rage and declared +that she would “lave the house.” My mother, +called in, investigated the circumstances, and found that I +really had no idea whatever of the meaning of what I had +said. Peace was restored, but Annie declared that only the +divil or the fairies could have inspired such an infant to use +such language.</p> +<p>I was very fond of asking my nurse to sing in old Irish or to +teach me Irish words. This she did, but agreed with her +sister Biddy that it was all very uncanny, and that there must +have been a time when I was perfectly familiar with the owld +language, as I had such unearthly fondness for it.</p> +<p>I must have been about seven years old when my parents <!-- +page 30--><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +30</span>took a house in Arch Street, above Ninth Street, +Philadelphia. Here my life begins to be more marked and +distinct. I was at first sent, <i>i.e.</i>, walked daily to +the school of Jacob Pierce, a worthy Quaker, who made us call him +Jacob, and who carefully taught us all the ordinary branches, and +gave us excellent lectures on natural philosophy and chemistry +with experiments, and encouraged us to form mineralogical +collections, but who objected to our reading history, +“because there were so many battles in it.” In +which system of education all that is good and bad, or rather +<i>weak</i>, in Quakerism is fully summed up. Like the +Roman Catholic, it is utterly unfit for <i>all</i> the world, and +incapable of grappling with or adapting itself to the natural +expansion of science and the human mind. Thus the Quaker +garb, which was originally intended by its simplicity to avoid +the appearance of eccentricity or peculiarity (most dress in the +time of the Stuarts being extravagant), has now become, by merely +sticking to old custom, the most eccentric dress known. The +school was in a very large garden, in which was a gymnasium, and +in the basement of the main building there was a +carpenter’s shop with a turning-lathe, where boys were +allowed to work as a reward for good conduct.</p> +<p>I could never learn the multiplication table. There are +things which the mind, like the stomach, spasmodically rejects +without the least perceptible cause or reason. So I have +found it to be with certain words which <i>will</i> not be +remembered. There was one Arab word which I verily believe +I looked out one hundred times in the dictionary, and repeated a +thousand, yet never could keep it. Every teacher should be +keen to detect these antipathies, and cure them by gentle and +persuasive means. Unfortunately no one in my youth knew any +better way to overcome them than by “keeping me in” +after school to study, when I was utterly weary and worn—a +very foolish punishment, as is depriving a boy of his meals, or +anything else levelled at Nature. I think there must have +been many months of time, and of <!-- page 31--><a +name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>as much vain +and desperate effort on my part to remember, wasted on my early +arithmetic. Now I can see that by <i>rewards</i> or +inducements, and by the very simple process of only learning +“one time one is one” for the first lesson, and that +and one line more for the second, I could have mastered the whole +book in time. But oh! the weary, dreary days, and the sad +waste of time, and the anxious nervous suffering, which +arithmetic cost me in my youth, and mathematics in after +years!</p> +<p>But there was one class at Jacob’s in which I was +<i>facile-princeps</i> and habitual past-grand-master. This +was the class which was, like the professorship of Diogenes +Teufelsdröckh, for Matters and Things in General. That +is to say, we read aloud from some book—it may have been +selections from English writers—and then Jacob, picking out +the hard words or facts or phrases, required of them definition +or explanation. One day there arose in these questions a +sum in arithmetic, when I shot down to the tail of the class as a +plummet drops to the bottom of the well. I shall never +forget the proud fierce impatience which I felt, like an +imprisoned chieftain who knows that he will speedily be delivered +and take dire vengeance on his foes. I had not long to +wait. “‘Refectory,’ what is a +‘refectory’? Hillburn Jones, does thee +know? Joseph Widdifield, does thee?” But none +of them knew till it came to me “down tail,” when I +cried “An oyster-cellar.” “That is quite +right, Charley; thee can go up head,” said Jacob, and as I +passed Hillburn Jones he whispered, half in fun, half enviously, +the “Kemble Refectory.” This was an +oyster-cellar which had been recently opened under the Arch +Street Theatre, and whence Hillburn and I had derived our +knowledge of the word, the difference being that I remembered +more promptly and risked more boldly. But I missed it one +day when I defined a <i>peasant</i> as “a nest full of +young birds;” the fact being that I recalled a picture in +Æsop’s fables, and confused <i>peasant</i> with +<i>pheasant</i>. One day Jacob rebuked the class for +letting me <!-- page 32--><a name="page32"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 32</span>always be at their head, when +Hillburn Jones, who was a very honest little boy, said, +“Indeed, Jacob, thee must know that all that we do know, +Charley tells us.” For I was already an insatiable +reader, and always recalling what I read, and always +communicating my knowledge to others in the form of small +lectures. I had a book of Scripture stories, with a picture +of Pharaoh in his chariot, with the title, “Pharaoh’s +host sunk in the Red Sea.” Hence I concluded that a +<i>host</i> was a vehicle of a very superior description. A +carriage-builder in our neighbourhood had executed a chaise of +very unusual magnificence, and as I stood admiring it I informed +Hillburn that this was what was called by the learned a +<i>host</i>, and that it was in such a host that Pharaoh +perished. I remember elevating my voice somewhat for the +benefit of a bystander, being somewhat proud of this bit of +knowledge.</p> +<p>Unfortunately, not only my father, but also my teacher, and +with them the entire population of North America, in those days +regarded a good knowledge of arithmetic as forming nine-tenths of +all that was most needful in education, while indulgence in a +taste for general information, and “literature” +especially, was glared at with a very evil eye indeed, as tending +to injure a “practical business man.” That +there could be any kind of profitable or respectable calling not +based upon arithmetic did not enter into the heart of man to +conceive, while among the bankers and merchants of Boston, New +York, or Philadelphia there was a deeply-seated conviction that +even a wealthy and successful editor, literary man, or artist, +was really an inferior as compared to themselves. As this +sublime truth was severely rubbed into me several times daily +during the greater portion of my youthful life, and as in its +earlier stage I rarely met with a man grown who did not look down +on me as an unfortunate non-arithmetical, unbusinesslike +creature, and let me know it too, I very naturally grew up with a +low estimate of my own capacities; and as I was proud and +sensitive, this was to me <!-- page 33--><a +name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>a source of +much suffering, which often became terrible as I advanced in +years. But at that time the position of the literary man or +scholar, with the exception of a very few brilliant magnates who +had “made money,” was in the United States not an +enviable one. Serious interest in art and letters was not +understood, or so generally sympathised with, as it now is in +“Quakerdelphia.” There was a gentleman in +Philadelphia who was a scholar, and who having lived long abroad, +had accumulated a very curious black-letter and <i>rariora</i> +library. For a long time I observed that this library was +never mentioned in polite circles without significant +smiles. One day I heard a lady say very meaningly, “I +suppose that you know what kind of books he has <i>and how he +obtained them</i>?” So I inquired very naturally if +he had come by them dishonestly. To which the reply, +half-whispered in my ear lest it should be overheard, was, +“They say his books are all <i>old</i> things, which he did +not buy at any first-class stores, but picked up at old stalls +and in second-hand shops at less than their value; in fact, +<i>they did not cost him much</i>.”</p> +<p>Yet these remarks must not be regarded as too sweeping or +general. Firstly, I am speaking of sixty years since. +Secondly, there were many people of literary tastes in +Philadelphia—a little isolated, it is true; and finally, +there was a great culture of science, founded by Franklin, and +fostered by the medical schools. I could cite a brilliant +array of names of men distinguished in these matters. What +I am writing is simply a sincere record of my own—somewhat +peculiar—or personal experiences. There are doubtless +many who would write very differently. And now times are +<i>very</i> greatly changed.</p> +<p>I have again a quaint early reminiscence. It would +happen that now and then a new carriage, always of the same sober +description, with two very good, but seldom showy, horses would +appear in the streets. Then its owner would be greeted on +Market Street with the remark, “Well, Sammy, <!-- page +34--><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>I see +thee’s got thee fifty thousand dollars.” This +sum—ten thousand pounds—constituted the +millionaireism or moneyed aristocracy of those days. On it, +with a thriving business, Samuel could maintain a family in good +fashion, and above all, in great comfort, which was sensibly +regarded as better than fashion or style. Fifty thousand +dollars entitled a man to keep a carriage and be classed as +“quality” by the negroes.</p> +<p>It may be worth noting that although the Quakers did not allow +the piano in their families, as being too worldly, they +compromised by having musical boxes. And I have heard that +in the country, where still older fashioned ideas prevailed, the +one bit of finery allowed to a Quaker damsel was a red ribbon; +but it must be red, not of any other colour.</p> +<p>Let it be remembered that at this time Philadelphia, and even +the world, were as yet to a great degree in the Middle Ages as +compared to the present day. We had few steamboats, and no +railroads, or telephones, or percussion-caps, or a tremendous +press, or Darwinism, or friction matches. Even the +introduction of ice-cream, and stone coal as fuel, and grates was +within the memory of our elders. Apropos of matches, the +use of tinderbox and brimstone matches was universal; bold young +men had tinder pistols; but the wood fire was generally kept +under ashes all night, and I can well remember how our negro +servants, when it had gone out, were used early on winter +mornings to borrow a shovelful of coals from the cook of our +next-door neighbour, and how it was handed over the garden fence, +the recipient standing on our pump handle and the donor on +hers.</p> +<p>I forget in what year the railroad (with locomotives) was +first built from Philadelphia to Columbia, a distance of sixty +miles. I believe it was the first real road of the kind in +America. On the day when the first train ran, the City +Council and certain honoured guests made the journey, and among +them was my father, who took me with him. There were only a +few miles of the road then completed. It was a stupendous +marvel to me, and all this being drawn by steam, <!-- page +35--><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>and +by a great terrible iron monster of a machine. And there +was still in all souls a certain unearthly awe of the recently +invented and as yet rather rare steamboats. I can +(strangely enough) still recall this feeling by a mental +effort—this meeting the Horror for the first time! My +father remembered, and had been in the first steamboat which was +a success on the Delaware. I saw its wreck in after years +at Hoboken. The earlier boat made by John Fitch is still +preserved in Bordentown.</p> +<p>I can remember that when gas was introduced to light the city, +it was done under a fearful opposition. All the principal +people signed a petition against it. I saw the paper. +It would burst and kill myriads; it was poisonous; and, finally, +it would ruin the oil trade. However, we got it at +last. Somebody had invented hand gas-lamps; they were sold +in the Arcade; and as one of these had burst, it was naturally +supposed that the gasworks would do the same.</p> +<p>The characteristics of old Philadelphia were in those days so +marked, and are, withal, so sweet to the memory, that I cannot +help lingering on them. As Washington Irving says of the +Golden Age of Wouter van Twiller, “Happy days when the +harvest moon was twice as large as now, when the shad were all +salmon, and peace was in the land.” Trees grew +abundantly in rows in almost every street—one before every +house. I had two before mine till 1892, when the Street +Commissioners heartlessly ordained that one must be cut down and +removed, and charged me ten dollars for doing it. It is +needless to say that since Street Commissioners have found this +so profitable, trees have disappeared with sad rapidity. +Then at twilight the <i>pea-ak</i> of the night-hawk could be +heard all over Arasapha, which is the Indian name for the place +where our city stands; there were in Coaquannoc, or the +Schuylkill, abundant gold fish and perch, of which I angled +divers. Yes, there was, and still is, a Fisher Club, which +claims to be the oldest gentleman’s club in Anglo-Saxony, +and which has for two centuries brewed for itself a <!-- page +36--><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>“fish-house punch” as delicious as that of +London civic banquets. There be no fish in the fair river +now; they have all vanished before the combined forces of +petroleum and the offal of factories and mines, but the +Fish-House Club still has its merry banquets in its ancient home; +for, as the French say, “<i>Chacun péche à sa +manière</i>.” In graveyards lone or over +gardens green glittered of summer nights millions of fireflies; +there was the scent of magnolias, roses, pinks, and honeysuckles +by every house; for Philadelphians have always had a passion for +flowers, and there never was a Quaker, much less a Quakeress, who +has not studied botany, and wandered in Bartram’s Garden +and culled blue gentians in the early fall, or lilies wild in +Wissahickon’s shade. There still remains a very +beautiful relic of this olden time in the old Swedes Church, +which every stranger should visit. It is a quaint structure +of more than two hundred years, and in its large churchyard +(which is not, like Karamsin’s graves, “deserted and +drear,” but charming and garden-like) one can imagine +himself in rural England.</p> +<p>In the spring of the year there was joyous activity on the +Delaware, even in town; for, as the song hath it—</p> +<blockquote><p>“De fishin’ time hab come at last,<br +/> +De winter all am gone and past;”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and there was the casting of immense seines and the catching +of myriads of shad, the typical fish or emblem of the Quaker +Philadelphian, because in the profile outline of the shad people +professed to discern the form according to which the Quaker coat +was cut. With the shad were many herring, and now and then +a desperate giant of a sturgeon, who in his struggles would give +those concerned enough to do. Then the yells of the black +fishermen, the flapping of the horny knife-backed +prey—often by the flashing of a night-fire—formed a +picture worthy of Rembrandt. Apropos of these sturgeon, the +fresh caviare or roe (which has been pronounced at St. Petersburg +to surpass the Russian) was always thrown <!-- page 37--><a +name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>away, as was +often the case with sweetbreads, which were rarely eaten. +But if the caviare or roe was really in those days “caviare +to the general” multitude, the <i>nose</i> of the fish was +not, it being greatly coveted by us small boys wherewith to make +a ball for “shinny,” which for some occult reason was +preferred to any other. Old people of my acquaintance could +remember when seals had been killed at Cape May below the city, +and how on one or two occasions a bewildered whale of no small +dimensions had found its way to Burlington, some miles above.</p> +<p>Now and then there would be found in the bay below the city a +tremendous, square-shaped, hideous, unnatural piscatorial +monster, known as a devil-fish, or briefly devil. It was a +legend of my youth that two preachers or ministers of the +Presbyterian faith once went fishing in those waters, and having +cast out a stout line, fastened to the mast, for shark, were +amazed at finding themselves all at once careering through the +waves at terrible speed, being dragged by one of the diabolical +“monsters of the roaring deep” above mentioned. +Whereupon a friend, who was in the boat, burst out +laughing. And being asked, “Wherefore this +unrestrained hilarity?” replied, “Is it not enough to +make a man laugh to see the Devil running away with two +clergymen?”</p> +<p>There was a very excellent and extensive museum of Matters and +Things in General, founded by an ancient artist named Peale, who +was the head-central charm and delight of all young Philadelphia +in those days, and where, when we had been good all the week, we +were allowed to repair on Saturday afternoons. And here I +may say by the way, that miscellaneous collections of +“curiosities,” oddities, and relics are far more +attractive to children, and stimulate in them far more interest +and inquisitiveness and desire for general information, than do +the best scientific collections, where everything is ranked and +numbered, and wherein even an Etruscan tiara or a Viking’s +sword loses much of its charm when placed simply as a +“specimen” in a row of others of <!-- page 38--><a +name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>the +kind. I am not arguing here in the least against scientific +or properly arranged archæologic collections, but to +declare the truth that for <i>children</i> museums of the +despised curiosities are far more attractive and infinitely more +useful.</p> +<p>I owe so very much myself to the old Peale’s Museum; it +served to stimulate to such a remarkable degree my interest in +antiquities and my singular passion for miscellaneous +information, and it aided me so much in my reading, that I cannot +pass it by without a tribute to its memory. How often have +I paused in its dark galleries in awe before the tremendous +skeleton of the Mammoth—how small did that of a great +elephant seem beside it—and recalled the Indian legend of +it recorded by Franklin. And the stuffed monkeys—one +shaving another—what exquisite humour, which never palled +upon us! No; <i>that</i> was the museum for us, and the +time will come when there will be such collections made expressly +for the young.</p> +<p>“Stuffed monkey” was a common by-word, by the way, +for a conceited fellow. Therefore the <i>Louisville +Journal</i>, speaking of a rival sheet, said: “Reader, if +you will go into the Louisville Museum, you will see two stuffed +monkeys reading the <i>Courier</i>. And if you will then go +into the office of the <i>Louisville Courier</i>, you may see two +living stuffed monkeys editing the same.” The +beautiful sallies of this kind which appeared in these two +newspapers for years would make a lively volume.</p> +<p>Never shall I forget one evening alone in that Museum. I +had come with Jacob Pierce’s school, and strayed off alone +into some far-away and fascinating nook, forgetful of friends and +time. All the rest had departed homewards, and I sought to +find them. The dark evening shades were casting sombre +tones in the galleries—I was a very little boy of seven or +eight—and the stuffed lions and bears and wolves seemed +looming or glooming into mysterious life; the varnished sharks +and hideous shiny crocodiles had a light of awful intelligence in +their eyes; the gigantic anaconda had long <!-- page 39--><a +name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>awaited me; +the grim hyæna marked me for his own; even deer and doves +seemed uncanny and goblined. At this long interval of sixty +years, I can recall the details of that walk, and every object +which impressively half-appalled me, and how what had been a +museum had become a chamber of horrors, yet not without a wild +and awful charm. Of course I lost my way in the shades, and +was beginning to speculate on having to pass a night among the +monsters, and how much there would be left for my friends to +mourn over in the morning, when—Eureka! Thalatta!—I +beheld the gate of entrance and exit, and made my latter as +joyously as ever did the souls who were played out of Inferno by +the old reprobate of the Roman tale.</p> +<p>Since that adventure I never mentioned it to a living soul +till now, and yet there is not an event of my life so vividly +impressed on my memory.</p> +<p>My father took me very rarely to the theatre; but my Quaker +school-mates had never seen the inside of such places at all, and +therefore listened greedily to what I could tell them of the +sights. One of the wonders of my youth was the seeing the +great elephant Columbus perform in a play called “The +Englishman in Siam.” It was indeed very curious, and +it is described as such in works on natural history. And I +saw Edwin Forrest (whom I learned to know in later years) in +“Metamora,” and Fanny Kemble in +“Beatrice,” and so on. As for George Boker, he +went, I believe, to every place of amusement whenever he pleased, +and talked familiarly of actors, some of whom he actually knew, +and their lives, in a manner which awoke in me awe and a feeling +as being humble and ignorant indeed. As we grew older, +Boker and I, from reading “Don Quixote” and Scott, +used to sit together for hours improvising legends of chivalry +and marvellous romances. It was in the year when it first +appeared that I read (in the <i>New Monthly</i>) and got quite by +heart the rhyming tale of “Sir Rupert the Fearless,” +a tale of the Rhine, one of the Ingoldsby legends, by +Barham. I <!-- page 40--><a name="page40"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 40</span>can still repeat a great part of +it. I bore it in mind till in after years it inspired +(allied to Goethe’s <i>Wassermädchen</i>) my ballad of +<i>De Maiden mit Nodings on</i>, which has, as I now write, been +very recently parodied and pictured by <i>Punch</i>, March 18, +1893. My mother had taught me to get poetry by heart, and +by the time I was ten years of age, I had imbibed, so to speak, +an immense quantity; for, as in opium-eating, those who begin by +effort end by taking in with ease.</p> +<p>There was something else so very characteristic of old +Philadelphia that I will not pass it by. In the fall of the +year the reed-bird, which is quite as good as the ortolan of +Italy, and very much like it (I prefer the reed-bird), came in +large flocks to the marshes and shores of the Delaware and +Schuylkill. Then might be seen a quaint and marvellous +sight of men and boys of all ages and conditions, with firearms +of every faculty and form, followed by dogs of every degree of +badness, in all kinds of boats, among which the <i>bateau</i> of +boards predominated, intermingled with an occasional Maryland +dug-out or poplar canoe. Many, however, crept on foot along +the shore, and this could be seen below the Navy Yard even within +the city limits. Then, as flock after flock of once +bobolinks and now reed-birds rose or fell in flurried flight, +there would be such a banging, cracking, and barking as to +suggest a South American revolution aided by blood-hounds. +That somebody in the <i>mêlée</i> now and then got a +charge of shot in his face, or that angry parties in dispute over +a bird sometimes blazed away at one another and fought +<i>à l’outrance</i> in every way, “goes +without saying.” Truly they were inspiriting sights, +and kept up the martial valour, aided by frequent firemen’s +fights, which made Philadelphians so indomitable in the +Rebellion, when, to the amazement of everybody, our Quaker city +manifested a genius or love for hard fighting never surpassed by +mortals.</p> +<p>There were, of course, some odd episodes among the infantry or +gunners on foot, and one of these was so well <!-- page 41--><a +name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>described by +my brother Henry in a poem, that I venture to give it place.</p> +<h3>REED-BIRDING.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Two men and a bull-dog ugly,<br /> + Two guns and a terrier lame;<br /> +They’d better stick out in the marsh there,<br /> + And set themselves up for game.</p> +<p>But no; I mark by the cocking<br /> + Of that red-haired Paddy’s eye,<br /> +He’s been “reeding” too much for you, sir,<br +/> + Any such game to try.</p> +<p>“Now, Jamie, ye divil, kape dark there,<br /> + And hould the big bull-dog in;<br /> +There’s a bloody big crowd of rade-birds,<br /> + That nade a pepperin’!”</p> +<p><i>Ker-rack</i>! goes the single barrel,<br /> + <i>Flip-boong</i>! roars the old Queen Anne;<br /> +There’s a Paddy stretched out in the mud-hole,<br /> + A kicked-over, knocked-down man.</p> +<p>“Och, Jamie, ye shtupid crature,<br /> + Sure ye’re the divil’s son;<br /> +How many fingers’ load, thin,<br /> + Did ye putt in this d---d ould gun?”</p> +<p>“How many fingers, be jabers?<br /> + I nivir putt in a wan;<br /> +Did ye think I’d be afther jammin’<br /> + Me fingers into a gun?”</p> +<p>“Well, give me the powder, Jamie.”<br /> + “The powder! as sure as I’m born,<br /> +I put it all into yer musket,<br /> + For I’d nivir a powder-horn!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then we all had reed-bird suppers or lunches, eked out perhaps +with terrapins and soft-shell crabs, gumbo, +“snapper,” or pepper-pot soup, peaches, venison, +bear-meat, <i>salon la saison</i>—for both bear and deer +roamed wild within fifty or sixty miles—so that, all things +considered, if Philadelphians, <!-- page 42--><a +name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>and +Baltimoreans did run somewhat over-much to eating up their +intellects—as Dr. Holmes declares they do—they had at +least the excuse of terrible temptation, which the men of my +“grandfather-land” (New England), as he once termed +it in a letter to me, very seldom had at any time.</p> +<p>Once it befell, though a few years later, that one winter +there was a broad fair field of ice just above Fairmount dam, +which is about ten feet high, that about a hundred and fifty men +and maidens were merrily skating by moonlight. I know not +whether Colonel James Page, our great champion skater, was there +cutting High Dutch; but this I know, that all at once, by some +strange rising of the stream, the whole flake of ice and its +occupants went over the dam. Strangely enough, no one was +killed, but very few escaped without injury, and for some time +the surgeons were busy. It would make a strange wild +picture that of the people struggling in the broken floes of ice +among the roaring waters.</p> +<p>And again, during a week on the same spot, some practical +joker amused himself with a magic-lantern by making a spirit form +flit over the fall, against its face, or in the misty air. +The whole city turned out to see it, and great was their +marvelling, and greater the fear among the negroes at the +apparition.</p> +<p>Sears C. Walker, who was an intimate friend, kept a school in +Sansom Street, to which I was transferred. I was only seven +years old at the time, and being the youngest, he made, when I +was introduced, a speech of apology to his pupils. He was a +good kind man, who also, like Jacob, gave us lectures on natural +philosophy and chemistry. There I studied French, and began +to learn to draw, but made little progress, though I worked +hard. I have literally never met in all my life any person +with so little natural gift or aptitude for learning languages or +drawing as I have; and if I have since made an advance in both, +it has been at the cost of such extreme labour as would seem +almost incredible. I was greatly interested in chemistry, +as a child would be, <!-- page 43--><a name="page43"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 43</span>and, having heard Mr. Walker say +something about the colouring matter in quartz, resolved on a +great invention which should immortalise my name. My +teacher used to make his own ink by pounding nut-galls in an iron +mortar. I got a piece of coarse rock-crystal, pounded it up +in the same mortar, pouring water on it. Sure enough the +result was a pale ink, which the two elder pupils, who had +maliciously aided and encouraged me, declared was of a very +superior quality. I never shall forget the pride I +felt. I had, first of all scientists, extracted the +colouring matter from quartz! The recipe was at once +written out, with a certificate at the end, signed by my two +witnesses, that they had witnessed the process, and that this was +written with the ink itself! This I gave to Mr. Walker, and +could not understand why he laughed so heartily at it. It +was not till several days after that he explained to me that the +ink was the result of the dregs of the nut-galls which remained +in the mortar.</p> +<p>We had not many books, but what we had I read and reread with +great assiduity. Among them were Cooper’s novels, +Campbell’s poems, those of Byron, and above all, Washington +Irving’s “Sketch Book,” which had great +influence on me, inspiring that intense love for old English +literature and its associations which has ever since been a part +of my very soul. Irving was indeed a wonderful, though not +a <i>startling</i> genius; but he had sympathised himself into +such appreciation of the golden memories and sweet melodies of +the olden time, be it American or English, as no writer now +possesses. In my eighth year I loved deeply his mottoes, +such as that from Syr Grey Steel:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“He that supper for is dight,<br /> +He lies full cold I trow this night;<br /> +Yestreen to chamber I him led,<br /> +This nighte Grey Steel has made his bed.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Lang—not Andrew—has informed us that no copy of +the first black-letter edition of Sir Grey Steel is known to +exist. In after years I found in the back binding of an old +<!-- page 44--><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>folio two pieces of it, each about four inches +square. It has been an odd fatality of mine that whenever a +poet existed in black-letter, I was always sure to peruse him +first in that type, which I always from childhood preferred to +any other. To this day I often dream of being in a +book-shop, turning over endless piles of marvellously quaint +parchment bound books in <i>letres blake</i>, and what is +singular, they are generally works quite unknown to the +world—first discoveries—unique! And +then—oh! then—how bitter is the waking!</p> +<p>There was in Mr. Walker’s school library a book, one +well known as Mrs. Trimmer’s “Natural +History.” This I read, as usual, thoroughly and +often, and wrote my name at the end, ending with a long snaky +flourish. Years passed by, and I was at the University, +when one evening, dropping in at an auction, I bought for six +cents, or threepence, “a blind bundle” of six books +tied up with a cord. It was a bargain, for I found in it in +good condition the first American editions of De Quincey’s +“Opium-Eater,” “The Rejected Addresses,” +and the Poems of Coleridge. But what startled me was a +familiar-looking copy of Mrs. Trimmer’s “Natural +History,” in which at the end was my boyish signature.</p> +<p>“And still wider.” In 1887 I passed some +weeks at a hotel in Venice. A number of Italian naval +officers dined at our <i>table-d’hôte</i> every +evening. One of them showed us an intaglio which he had +bought. It represented a hunter on an elephant firing at a +tiger. The owner wished to know something about it. +Baron von Rosenfeld, a chamberlain of the Emperor of Austria, +remarked at once that it was as old as the days of flint-locks, +because smoke was rising from the lock of the gun. I felt +that I knew more about it, but could not at once recall what I +knew, and said that I would explain it the next day. And +going into the past, I remembered that this very scene was the +frontispiece to Mrs. Trimmer’s “Natural +History.” I think that some gem engraver, possibly in +India, had copied it to order. I can even now recall many +other things in the book, but attribute my retention of <!-- page +45--><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>so +much which I have read <i>not</i> to a good memory, such as the +mathematician has, which grasps <i>directly</i>, but simply to +frequent reading and mental reviewing or revising. Where +there has been none of this, I forgot everything in a short +time.</p> +<p>My father took in those years <i>Blackwood’s</i> and the +<i>New Monthly Magazine</i>, and as I read every line of them, +they were to me a vast source of knowledge. I remember an +epigram by “Martial in London” in the +latter:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“In Craven Street, Strand, four attorneys +find place,<br /> +And four dark coal-barges are moored at the base;<br /> +Fly, Honesty, fly—seek some safer retreat,<br /> +For there’s craft on the river, and craft in the +street.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I never pass by Craven Street without recalling this, and so +it has come to pass that by such memories and associations London +in a thousand ways is always reviving my early life in +America.</p> +<p>The <i>Noctes Ambrosianæ</i> puzzled me, as did the +Bible, but I read, read, read, <i>toujours</i>. My uncle +Amos lent me the “Arabian Nights,” though my father +strictly prohibited it. But the zest of the forbidden made +me study it with wondrous love. The reader may laugh, but +it is a fact that having obtained “Mother Goose’s +Melodies,” I devoured them with a strange interest +reflected from Washington Irving. The truth is, that my +taste had been so precociously developed, that I unconsciously +found a <i>literary</i> merit or charm in them as I did in all +fairy-tales, and I remember being most righteously indignant once +when a young bookseller told me that I was getting to be too old +to read such stuff! The truth was, that I was just getting +to be old enough to appreciate it as folk-lore and literature, +which he never did.</p> +<p>The great intellectual influence which acted on me most +powerfully after Irving was an incomplete volume of about 1790, +called “The Poetical Epitome.” It consisted of +many of Percy’s “Relics” with selections of +ballads, poems, and <!-- page 46--><a name="page46"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 46</span>epigrams of many eminent +writers. I found it a few years after at a boarding-school, +where I continually read it as before.</p> +<p>As I was backward in my studies, my parents, very +injudiciously so far as learning was concerned, removed me from +Mr. Walker’s school, and put me under the care of T. +Bronson Alcott, who had just come to Philadelphia. This was +indeed going from the frying-pan into the very fire, so far as +curing idleness and desultory habits and a tendency to romance +and wild speculation was concerned. For Mr. Alcott was the +most eccentric man who ever took it on himself to train and form +the youthful mind. He did not really teach any practical +study; there was indeed some pretence at geography and +arithmetic, but these we were allowed to neglect at our own sweet +will. His forte was “moral influence” and +“sympathetic intellectual communion” by talking; and +oh, heaven! what a talker he was! He was then an incipient +Transcendentalist, and he did not fail to discover in me the +seeds of the same plant. He declared that I had a +marvellous imagination, and encouraged my passion for reading +anything and everything to the very utmost. It is a fact +that at nine years of age his disquisitions on and readings from +Spenser’s “Faerie Queen” actually induced me to +read the entire work, of which he was very proud, reminding me of +it in 1881, when I went to Harvard to deliver the Phi Beta Kappa +poem. He also read thoroughly into us the +“Pilgrim’s Progress,” Quarles’s +“Emblems,” Northcote’s “Fables,” +much Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Milton, all of which +sunk into my very soul, educating me indeed “ideally” +as no boy perhaps in Philadelphia had ever been educated, at the +utter cost of all real “education.” It was a +great pity, and pity ’tis ’tis true. The word +<i>ideal</i> was ever in his mouth. All of the new +theories, speculations, or fads which were beginning to be +ventilated among the Unitarian liberal clergy found ready welcome +in his dreamy brain, and he retailed them all to his pupils, +among whom I was certainly the only one who <!-- page 47--><a +name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>took them in +and seriously thought them over. Yet I cannot say that I +<i>really</i> liked the man himself. He was not to me +exactly sympathetic-human. Such training as his would +develop in any boy certain weaknesses—and I had +mine—which were very repulsive to my father, who carried +plain common-sense to extremes, and sometimes into its opposite +of unconscious eccentricity, though there was no word which he so +much hated.</p> +<p>Bulwer’s “Last Days of Pompeii,” “The +Disowned,” and “Pilgrims of the Rhine” made a +deep and lasting impression on me. I little thought then +that I should in after years be the guest of the author in his +home, and see the skull of Arbaces. Oh, that by some magic +power every author could be made to feel <i>all</i> the +influence, all the charm, which his art exerts on his readers, +and especially the young. Sometimes, now and then, by +golden chance, a writer of books does realise this, and then +feels that he has lived to some purpose. Once it happened +to me to find a man, an owner of palaces and millions, who had +every facility for becoming familiar with far greater minds and +books than mine, who had for years collected with care and read +everything which I had ever written. He actually knew more +about my books than I did. I was startled at the discovery +as at a miracle. And if the reader knew <i>what</i> a +<i>mélange</i> I have written, he would not wonder at +it.</p> +<p>It is very probable that no man living appreciates the vast +degree to which any book whatever which aims at a little more +than merely entertaining, and appeals at all to thought, +influences the world, and how many readers it gets. There +are books, of which a thousand copies were never sold, which have +permeated society and been the argument of national +revolutions. Such a book was the “Political +Economy” of H. C. Carey, of which I possess the very last +copy of the first, and I believe the only, edition. And +there are novels which have gone to the three hundred thousand, +of whose authors it may be said that</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 48--><a name="page48"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 48</span>“Over the barren desert of +their brains<br /> +There never strayed the starved camel of an idea,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and whose works vanish like wind.</p> +<p>What is very remarkable is the manner in which even the great +majority of readers confuse these two classes, and believe that +mere popular success is correlative with genius and desert. +A great cause of this really vulgar error is the growing +conviction that artistic skill alone determines merit in +literature, and that intellect, as the French, beginning mildly +with Voltaire and ending violently with Sainte-Beuve, assert is +of far less importance than style. “<i>Le style</i>, +<i>c’est l’esprit du siècle</i>.” +Apropos of which I remarked that in the warlike Middle Age in +France the motto might have been “<i>L’homme +c’est le</i> <span class="smcap">steel</span>.” +Then came the age of wigs, when the cry was, +“<i>L’homme c’est le</i> <span +class="smcap">style</span>.” And now we are in the +swindling and bogus-company-promoting age, when it might be +proclaimed that “<i>L’homme c’est le</i> <span +class="smcap">steal</span>.”</p> +<p>There was another book which I read through and through in +early childhood to great profit. This was Cottle’s +“Alfred,” an epic of some merit, but chiefly in this, +that it sets forth tolerably clearly the old Norse life and +religion. George Boker owned and gave me some time after a +book entitled “Five Norse Poems,” in the original, +and translated. This with Grey’s poems, which latter +I possessed, laid the basis for a deep interest in after years in +Northern antiquities; they were soon followed by Mallett; and if +I have since read many sagas in Icelandic and studied with +keenest interest the museums of the North, the first incentive +thereto came from my boyish reading. When I was sixteen I +executed a poetic version of the “Death Song of Regner +Lodbrog,” which, though it was never published, I think was +at least as good as any translation which I have since executed, +“however that may be.” I very seriously +connected this Norse spirit with my grandfather and his stern +uncles and progenitors, who had fought in Canada and in the icy +winters of New England; grim men they were all; and I daresay +that I was <!-- page 49--><a name="page49"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 49</span>quite right. It always seems to +me that among these alternately fighting and farming Icelanders I +am among my Leland relatives; and I even once found Uncle Seth in +his red waistcoat in the Burnt Njals saga to the life. +There was a paragraph, as I write, recently circulating in the +newspapers, in which I was compared in appearance to an old grey +Viking, and it gave me a strange uncanny thrill, as if the writer +of it were a wizard who had revealed a buried secret.</p> +<p>My parents, on coming to Philadelphia, had at first attended +the Episcopal church, but finding that most of their New England +friends held to the Rev. W. H. (now Dr.) Furness, an Unitarian, +they took a pew in his chapel. After fifteen years they +returned to the Episcopal faith, but allowed me to keep the pew +to myself for one or two years, till I went to college. In +Dr. Furness’s chapel I often heard Channing and all the +famous Unitarian divines of the time preach, and very often saw +Miss Harriet Martineau, Dr. Combe, the phrenologist, and many +other distinguished persons. In other places at different +times I met Andrew Jackson, Henry Clay, to whom I was introduced, +Daniel Webster, to whom I reverently bowed, receiving in return a +gracious acknowledgment, Peter Duponceau, Morton, Stephen Girard, +Joseph Buonaparte, the two authors of the “Jack Downing +Letters”; and I once heard David Crockett make a +speech. Apropos of Joseph Buonaparte, I can remember to +have heard my wife’s mother, the late Mrs. Rodney Fisher, +tell how when a little girl, and while at his residence at +Bordentown, she had run a race with the old ex-king of +Spain. A very intimate friend in our family was Professor +John Frost, the manufacturer of literally innumerable works of +every description. He had many thousands of woodcut blocks, +and when he received an order—as, for example, a history of +any country, or of the world, or of a religion, or a school +geography, or book of travel or adventure, or a biography, or +anything else that the heart of man could conceive—he set +his scribes to write, scissors and paste, and lo! the book was +<!-- page 50--><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>made forthwith, he aiding and revising it. What +was most remarkable was that many of these <i>pièces de +manufacture</i> were rather clever, and very well answered the +demand, for their sale was enormous. He had when young been +in the West Indies, and written a clever novelette entitled +“Ramon, the Rover of Cuba.” Personally he was +very handsome, refined, and intelligent; a man meant by Nature +for higher literary work than mere book-making.</p> +<p>Miss Eliza Leslie, the writer of the best series of sketches +of American domestic life of her day, was a very intimate friend +of my mother, and a constant visitor at our house. She was +a sister of Leslie, the great artist, and had been in her early +life much in England. I was a great favourite with her, and +owed much to her always entertaining and very instructive +conversation, which was full of reminiscences of distinguished +people and remarkable events. I may say with great truth +that I really profited as much by mere hearing as many boys would +have done by knowing the originals, so deep was the interest +which I felt in all that I heard, and so eager my desire to learn +to know the world.</p> +<p>Then I was removed, and with good cause, from Mr. +Alcott’s school, for he had become so very +“ideal” or eccentric in his teaching and odd methods +of punishment by tormenting without ever whipping, that people +could not endure his purely intellectual system. So for one +winter, as my health was bad and I was frequently ill, for a long +time I was allowed to do nothing but attend a writing-school kept +by a Mr. Rand. At the end of the season, he sadly admitted +that I still wrote badly; I think he pronounced me the worst and +most incurable case of bad writing which he had ever +attended. In 1849 Judge (then Mr.) Cadwallader, with whom I +was studying law, said that he admired my engrossing hand more +than any he had ever seen except one. As hands go round the +clock, our hands do change.</p> +<p>I was to go the next summer to New England with my younger +brother, Henry Perry Leland, to be placed in the <!-- page +51--><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>celebrated boarding-school of Mr. Charles W. Greene, at +Jamaica Plains, five miles from Boston; which was done, and with +this I enter on a new phase of life, of which I have very vivid +reminiscences. Let me state that we first went to Dedham +and stayed some weeks. There I found living with his +father, an interesting boy of my own age, named William Joshua +Barney, a grandson of the celebrated Commodore Barney, anent whom +was written the song, “Barney, leave the girls +alone,” apropos of his having been allowed to kiss Marie +Antoinette and all her maids of honour. William had already +been at Mr. Greene’s school, and we soon became +intimate.</p> +<p>During this time my father hired a chaise; I borrowed +William’s shot-gun, and we went together on a delightful +tour to visit all our relations in Holliston, Milford, and +elsewhere. At one time we stopped to slay an immense black +snake; at another to shoot wild pigeons, and “so on +about” to Providence and many places. From cousins +who lived in old farmhouses in wild and remote places I received +Indian arrow-heads and a stone tomahawk, and other rustic +curiosities dear to my heart. At the Fremont House in +Boston my father showed me one day at dinner several foreign +gentlemen of different nations belonging to different +Legations. In Rhode Island I found by a stream several +large pot-holes in rocks of which I had read, and explained to my +father (gravely as usual) how they were made by eddies of water +and gravel-stones. One day my father in Boston took me to +see a marvellous white shell from China, valued at one hundred +pounds. What was the amazement of all present to hear me +give its correct Latin name, and relate a touching tale of a +sailor who, finding such a shell when shipwrecked on a desert +island, took it home with him, “and was thereby raised (as +I told them) from poverty to affluence.” Which tale I +had read the week before in a children’s magazine, and, as +usual, reflected deeply on it, resolving to keep my eye on all +shells in future, in the hope of something turning up.</p> +<p><!-- page 52--><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>I was <i>not</i>, however, a little prig who bored +people with my reading, for I have heard old folk say that there +was a quaint <i>naïveté</i> and droll seriousness, +and total unconsciousness of superior information in my manner, +which made these outpourings of mine very amusing. I think +I was a kind of little Paul Dombey, unconsciously odd, and +perhaps innocently Quaker-like. I could never understand +why Aunt Nancy, and many more, seemed to be so much amused at +serious and learned examples and questions which I laid down to +them. For though they did not “smile outright,” +I had learned to penetrate the New England ironical glance and +satirical intonation. My mother said that, when younger, I, +having had a difficulty of some kind with certain street-boys, +came into the house with my eyes filled with tears, and said, +“I told them that they were evil-minded, but they laughed +me to scorn.” On another occasion, when some vagabond +street-boys asked me to play with them, I gravely declined, on +the ground that I must “Shun bad company”—this +phrase being the title of a tract which I had read, and the boys +corresponding in appearance to a picture of sundry young +ragamuffins on its title-page.</p> +<p>My portrait had been admirably painted in Philadelphia by Mrs. +Darley, the daughter of Sully, who, I believe, put the finishing +touches to it. When Mr. Walker saw it, he remarked that it +looked exactly as if Charley were just about to tell one of his +stories. At the time I was reading for the first time +“The Child’s Own Book,” an admirable large +collection of fairy-tales and strange adventures, which kept me +in fairy-land many a time while I lay confined to bed for weeks +with pleurisies and a great variety of afflictions, for in this +respect I suffered far more than most children.</p> +<h3><!-- page 53--><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>AT SCHOOL IN NEW ENGLAND.</h3> +<p>Mr. Charles W. Greene was a portly, ruddy, elderly Boston +gentleman of good family, who had been in early life attached in +some diplomatic capacity to a Legation, and had visited +Constantinople. I think that he had met with reverses, but +having some capital, had been established by his many friends as +a schoolmaster. He was really a fine old gentleman, with a +library full of old books, and had Madeira in quaint little old +bottles, on which, stamped in the glass, one could read <span +class="smcap">Greene</span> 1735. He had a dear little +wife, and both were as kind to the boys as possible. Once, +and once only, when I had really been very naughty, did he punish +me. He took me solemnly into the library (oh, what blessed +beautiful reading I often had there!), and, after a solemn +speech, and almost with tears in his eyes, gave me three blows +with a folded newspaper! That was enough. If I had +been flayed with a rope’s end, it would not have had a +greater moral effect than it did.</p> +<p>Everything was very English and old-fashioned about the +place. The house was said in 1835 to be a hundred and fifty +years old, having been one of the aristocratic Colonial +manors. One building after another had been added to it, +and the immense elms which grew about testified to its age. +The discipline or training was eminently adapted to make young +gentlemen of us all. There was almost no immorality among +the boys, and no fighting whatever. The punishments were +bad marks, and for every mark a boy was obliged to go to bed an +hour earlier than the others. Extreme cases of wickedness +were punished by sending boys to bed in the daytime. When +two were in a room, and thus confined, they used to relieve the +monotony of their imprisonment by fighting with pillows. +Those who had bad marks were also confined within certain +bounds. Good boys, or those especially favoured, were +allowed to chop kindling wood, or do other light work, for which +they were paid three cents per hour.</p> +<p><!-- page 54--><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>The boy who was first down in the morning had an apple +given to him. This apple was greatly despised by the bolder +spirits, who taunted those who arose promptly with a desire to +obtain it.</p> +<p>Candour compels me to admit that, as a teacher of learning, +Mr. Greene was not pre-eminent. He had two schoolrooms, and +employed for each as good a teacher as he could hire. But +we were not at all thoroughly well taught, although we were kept +longer in the schoolroom than was really good for us; for in +summer we had an hour’s study before breakfast, then from +nine till twelve, and again from two to five. In winter we +had, instead of the early lesson, an hour in the evening. +Something was wanting in the system, and I believe that after a +year and a half I knew no more, as regards studies, than I did +when I first entered.</p> +<p>When a boy’s birthday came, he was allowed to have some +special dainty for us all. I was very much disgusted with +the Boston boys when they selected pork and beans, which I +loathed. Some would choose plum-pudding, others +apple-pies. There were always two or three dishes for +breakfast, as, for instance, fried potatoes and butter, or cold +meat, or pan-dowdy—a kind of coarse and broken up +apple-pie—with the tea and bread and coffee, but we could +only eat of one. There was rather too much petty +infant-schoolery in all this, but we got on very well. +Pepper and mustard were forbidden, but I always had a great +natural craving for these, and when I asked for them, Mr. Greene +would shake his head, but always ended by handing them to +me. He was a <i>bon vivant</i> himself, and sympathised +with me. There were one or two books also of a rather +peppery or spicy nature in his library, such as a collection of +rollicking London songs, at which he likewise shook his head when +I asked for them—but I got them. There I read for the +first time all of Walter Scott’s novels, and the Percy +Ballads, and some of Marryatt’s romances, and Hood’s +Annual, and Dr. Holmes’s first poems.</p> +<p><!-- page 55--><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>There was in Mr. Greene’s library a very curious +and now rare work in three volumes, published in Boston at some +time in the twenties, called “The Marvellous +Depository.” It consisted of old legends of Boston, +such as the story of “Peter Rugg,” “Tom Walker +and the Devil,” “The Golden Tooth,” +“Captain Kidd,” “The Witch Flymaker,” and +an admirable collection of unearthly German tales, such as +“The Devil’s Elixir,” by Hoffmann (abridged), +“Jacob the Bowl,” “Rubezahl,” “Der +Freyschutz,” and many more, but all of the unearthly +blood-curdling kind. Singly, they were appalling enough to +any one in those days when the supernatural still thrilled the +strongest minds, but taken altogether for steady reading, the +book was a perfect Sabbat of deviltry and dramatic horrors. +The tales were well told, or translated in very simple but +vigorous English, and I pored over the collection and got it by +heart, and borrowed it, and took it to Dedham in the holidays, +and into the woods, where I read it in sunshine or twilight shade +by the rippling river, under wild rocks, and so steeped my soul +in the supernatural, that I seemed to live a double life. +As was natural, my schoolmates read and liked such tales, but +they sunk into my very soul, and took root, and grew up into a +great overshadowing forest, while with others they were only as +dwarf bushes, if they grew at all. All of this—though +I did not know it—was unconsciously educating my bewitched +mind to a deep and very precocious passion for mediæval and +black-letter literature and occult philosophy, which was destined +to manifest itself within a few years.</p> +<p>There was another book which greatly influenced my mind and +life. I have forgotten the title, but it was a very +remarkable collection of curiosities, such as accounts of a +family of seven children who had every one some strange +peculiarity, dwarfs and giants, and mysteriously-gifted mortals, +and all kinds of odd beings and inventions. I obtained in a +very mysterious way; for one day I found it in my desk, a blessed +gift indeed from some unknown friend who <!-- page 56--><a +name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>had rightly +judged of my tastes. This work I literally lived upon for a +long time. Once a lady friend of my mother’s came in +winter and took me a-sleighing, but I had my dear book under my +jacket, and contrived now and then to re-read some anecdote in +it. In after years I found a copy of it in the Mercantile +Library, Philadelphia, but I have never seen it elsewhere. <a +name="citation56"></a><a href="#footnote56" +class="citation">[56]</a> I had at Mr. Alcott’s +carefully studied all the Percy Anecdotes, and could repeat most +of them when recalled by some association; also Goldsmith’s +“Animated Nature,” the perusal of which latter work +was to me as the waving of a forest and the sighing of deep +waters. Then, too, I had read—in fact I +owned—the famous Peter Parley books, which gave me, as they +have to thousands of boys, a desire to travel and see the +world. I marvelled greatly at finding that Peter Parley +himself, or Mr. S. G. Goodrich, had a beautiful country-house +very near our school, and his son Frank, who was a very pleasant +and wonderfully polite and sunshiny boy, sat by me in +school. Frank Goodrich in after life wrote a novel entitled +“Flirtation and its Consequences,” of which my +brother said, “What are its consequences, Frank; good rich +husbands? By no means.” I can remember being +invited to a perfectly heavenly garden-party at the +Goodrichs’, and evening visits there with my mother. +And I may note by the way, that Frank himself lived abroad in +after years; that his father became the American Consul <!-- page +57--><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>in +Paris, and that in 1848 he introduced to the <i>Gouvernement +Provisoire</i> the American delegation, of which I was one, and +how we were caricatured in the <i>Charivari</i>, in which +caricature I was specially depicted, the likeness being at once +recognised by everybody, and how I knew nothing of it all till I +was told about it by the beautiful Miss Goodrich, Frank’s +younger sister, on a Staten Island steamboat, many, many years +after. And as a postscript I may add, that it is literally +true that before I was quite twenty-three years of age I had been +twice caricatured or pictorially jested on in the Munich +<i>Fliegende Blätter</i> and twice in the Paris +<i>Charivari</i>, which may show that I was to a certain degree +about town in those days, as I indeed was. While I am about +it, I may as well tell the Munich tale. There was a pretty +governess, a great friend of mine, who had charge of two +children. Meeting her one day in the park, at a sign from +me she pressed the children’s hats down over their eyes +with “Kinder, setzt eure Hüte fester auf!” and +in that blessed instant cast up her beautiful lips and was +kissed. I don’t know whether we were overseen; +certain it is that in the next number of the <i>Fliegende +Blätter</i> the scene was well depicted, with the +words. The other instance was this. One evening I met +in a <i>Bierhalle</i> a sergeant of police with whom I +fraternised. I remember that he could talk modern Greek, +having learned it in Greece. This was very <i>infra +dig.</i> indeed for a student, and one of my comrades said to me +that, as I was a foreigner, I was probably not aware of what a +fault I had committed, but that in future I must not be seen +talking to a soldier. To which I, with a terrible wink, +replied, “Mum’s the word; that soldier is +<i>lieutenant of police in my ward</i>, and I have squared it +with him all right, so that if there should be a +<i>Bierkrawall</i> (a drunken row) in our quarter he will let me +go.” This, which appeared as a grand flight of genial +genius to a German, speedily went through all the students’ +<i>kneipe</i>, and soon appeared, very well illustrated, in the +“<i>F. B</i>.”</p> +<p>We were allowed sixpence a week spending-money at Mr. <!-- +page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>Greene’s, two cents, or a penny, being deducted +for a bad mark. Sometimes I actually got a full +week’s income; once I let it run on up to 25 cents, but +this was forbidden, it not being considered advisable that the +boys should accumulate fortunes. A great deal of my money +went for cheap comic literature, which I carefully +preserved. In those days there were Crockett’s +almanacs (now a great fund of folk-lore), and negro songs and +stories were beginning to be popular. It is very commonly +asserted that the first regular negro minstrel troupe appeared in +1842. This is quite an error. While I was at Mr. +Greene’s, in 1835, there came to Dedham a circus with as +regularly-appointed a negro minstrel troupe of a dozen as I ever +saw. I often beheld the pictures of them on the bill. +Nor do I think that this was any novelty even then. The +Crockett almanacs greatly stimulated my sense of American humour +(they do indeed form collectively a very characteristic work), +and this, with some similar reading, awoke in me a passion for +wild Western life and frontier experiences, which was fully and +strangely gratified in after years, but which would certainly +have never happened had it not been for this boyish reading.</p> +<p>For I beg the reader to observe that it is a very +deeply-seated characteristic that whatever once takes root in my +mind invariably grows. This comes from the great degree to +which I have always gone over, reviewed, and <i>reflected on</i>, +or nursed everything which ever once really interested me. +And as I have thus far written, and shall probably conclude this +work without referring to a note, the reader will have ample +opportunity of observing how very strangely in all cases the +phases of my life were predetermined long before by the literary +education which I gave myself, aided very much by hereditary or +other causes quite beyond my control. Now, as the object of +a <i>Life</i> is to understand every cause which created it, and +as mine was to a very unusual degree created by reading and +<i>reflecting</i>, even in infancy, I beg the reader not to be +impatient with me for describing so much in detail the <!-- page +59--><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>books +which made my mind at different times. That is, I pray this +much allowance and sympathy from possible readers and critics, +that they will kindly not regard me as vain or thinking over-much +of, or too much over, myself. For to get oneself forth as +one really is requires deep investigation into <i>every</i> +cause, and the depicting all early characteristics, and the man +never lived who ever did this truly and accurately without much +egoism, or what the ill-disposed may treat as such. And I +promise the possible reader that when this subjective analysis +shall be fairly disposed of, there will be no lack of mere +incident or event of objective nature and more general +interest.</p> +<p>My first winter at Jamaica Plains was the terrible one of +1835, during which I myself saw the thermometer at 50 degrees +Fahrenheit below zero, and there was a snow-bank in the +play-ground from October till May. The greatest care +possible was taken of us boys to keep us warm and well, but we +still suffered very much from chilblains. Water thrown into +the air froze while falling. Still there were some happy +lights and few shadows in it all. The boys skated or slid +on beautiful Jamaica Pond, which was near the school. There +was a general giving of sleds to us all; mine broke to pieces at +once. I never had luck with any plaything, never played +ball or marbles, and hardly ever had even a top. Nor did I +ever have much to do with any games, or even learn in later years +to play cards, which was all a great pity. Sports should be +as carefully looked to in early education as book-learning. +I had also a pair of dear gazelle-skates given to me with the +rest, but they also broke up on first trial, and I have never +owned any since. Destiny was always against me in such +matters.</p> +<p>The boys built two large snow-houses, roofed in or arched over +with hard snow. One was ingeniously and appropriately like +an Eskimo hut, with a rather long winding passage leading into +it. Of these I wrote in the spring, when the sun had begun +to act, “one is almost annihilated, and of the <!-- page +60--><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>other +not a <i>vestage</i> remains.” I found the letter by +chance many years later.</p> +<p>There lived in Boston some friends of my mother’s named +Gay. In the family was an old lady over eighty, who was a +wonderfully lively spirited person. She still sang, as I +thought, very beautifully, to the lute, old songs such as +“The merry days of good Queen Bess,” and remembered +the old Colonial time as if it were of yesterday. One day +Mr. Gay came out and took me to his house, where I remained from +Saturday until Monday; during which time I found among the books, +and very nearly read through, all the poems of Peter Pindar or +Doctor Wolcott. Precious reading it was for a boy of +eleven, yet I enjoyed it immensely. While there, I found in +the earth in the garden an oval, dark-green porphyry pebble, +which I, moved by a strange feeling, preserved for many years as +an amulet. It is very curious that exactly such pebbles are +found as fetishes all over the world, and the famous conjuring +stone of the Voodoos, which I possess, is only an ordinary black +flint pebble of the same shape. Negroes have travelled a +thousand miles to hold it in their hands and make a wish, which, +if uttered with <i>faith</i>, is always granted. Its +possession alone entitles any one to the first rank as master in +the mysteries of Voodoo sorcery. Truly I began early in the +business! I may here say that since I owned the Voodoo +stone it has been held in several very famous and a few very +beautiful hands.</p> +<p>While I was at Mr. Greene’s I wrote my first poem. +I certainly exhibited no great precocity of lyrical genius in it, +but the reader must remember that I was only a foolish little boy +of ten or eleven at the time, and that I showed it to no +one. It was as follows:</p> +<blockquote><p>“As a long-bearded Sultan, an infidel +Turk,<br /> +Who ne’er in his life had done any work,<br /> +Rode along to the bath, he saw Hassan the black,<br /> +With two monstrous water-skins high on his back.</p> +<p><!-- page 61--><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>“‘Ho, Hassan, thou afreet! thou infidel +dog!<br /> +Thou son of a Jewess and eater of hog!<br /> +This instant, this second, put down thy skin jugs,<br /> +And for my sovereign pleasure remove both the plugs!’</p> +<p>“The negro obeyed him, put both on the ground,<br /> +And opened the skins and the water flew round;<br /> +The Sultan looked on till he laughèd his fill;<br /> +Then went on to the bath, feeling heated and ill.</p> +<p>“When arrived at the bath, ‘Is all ready?’ +he cries.<br /> +‘Indeed it is not, sire,’ the bath-man replies;<br /> +‘For to fetch the bath-water black Hassan has gone,<br /> +And your highness can’t have it till he shall +return.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In after years my friend, Professor E. H. Palmer, translated +this into Arabic, and promised me that it should be sung in the +East. It is not much of a poem, even for a boy, but there +is one touch true to life in it—which is the +<i>cursing</i>. This must have come to me by revelation; +and in after years in Cairo I never heard a native address +another as “<i>Afrit</i>! +<i>Ya-hinzeer</i>—<i>wa Yahud</i>—<i>yin uldeen +ak</i>?”—“curse your religion!”—but +I thought how marvellous it was that I, even in my infancy, had +divined so well how they did it! However, now I come to +think of it, I had the year before read Morier’s +“Haji-Baba” with great admiration, and I doubt not +that it was the influence of that remarkable book which produced +this beautiful result. In after years I met with a lady who +was a daughter of Morier. Apropos of the <i>book</i>, it +reminds me that I specially recall my <i>reviewing</i> it +mentally many times.</p> +<p>I have reviewed my early life in quiet, old-fashioned, shaded +Philadelphia and in rural New England so continually and +carefully all the time ever since it passed that I am sure its +minutest detail on any day would now be accurately recalled at +the least suggestion. As I shall almost certainly write +this whole work without referring to a note or journal or other +document, it will be seen that I remember the past pretty +well. What is most remarkable in it all, if I <i>can</i> +make myself intelligible, is that what between the deep and +indelible <!-- page 62--><a name="page62"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 62</span>impression made on my mind by +<i>books</i>, and that of scenery and characters now passed +away—the two being connected—it all seems to me now +to be as it were vividly depicted, coloured, or <i>written</i> in +my mind, like pages in an illuminated or illustrated +romance. As some one has said that dreams are novels which +we read when asleep, so bygone memories, when continually revived +and associated with the subtle and delicate influences of +<i>reading</i>, really become fixed literature to us, glide into +it, and are virtually turned to copy, which only awaits +type. Thus a <i>scene</i> to one highly cultivated in art +is really a picture, to a degree which few actually realise, +though they may fancy they do, because to actually master this +harmony requires so many years of study and thought that I very +rarely meet with perfect instances of it. De Quincey and +Coleridge are two of the best illustrations whom I can recall, +while certain analytical character-sifters in modern novels seem +the farthest remote from such genial naturalness.</p> +<p>At the end of the first year my brother returned to +Philadelphia. I passed the summer at Dr. Stimson’s, +in Dedham, wandering about in the woods with my bow, fishing in +the river, reading always whatever fate or a small circulating +library provided—I remember that “The Devil on Two +Sticks” and the “Narrative of Captain Boyle” +were in it—and carving spoons and serpents from wood, which +was a premonition of my later work in this line, and of my +“Manual of Wood-Carving.”</p> +<p>At this time something took place which deeply impressed +me. This was the two hundredth anniversary of the building +of the town of Dedham, which was celebrated with very great +splendour: speeches, tents with pine-boughs, music-booths, +ginger-beer, side-shows—in short, all the pomp and +circumstance of a country fair allied to historic glory. I +had made one or two rather fast and, I fear me, not +over-reputable acquaintances of my own age, with whom I enjoyed +the festival to the utmost. Then I returned to school, and +autumn <!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 63</span>came, and then winter. At this +time I felt fearfully lonely. I yearned for my mother with +a longing beyond words, and was altogether home-sick.</p> +<p>I was seated one Saturday afternoon, busily working in the +drawing-class under a little old Englishman named Dr. Hunt, when +there came the startling news that a gentleman had come to take +me home! I could hardly believe my senses. I went +down, and was presented to a man of about thirty, of extremely +pleasant and attractive appearance, who told me that his name was +Carlisle, that he was a friend of my father’s, and that I +was at once to return with him to Philadelphia. I wonder +that I did not faint with joy. Mr. Carlisle was a man of +very remarkable intelligence, kindness, and refinement. +Nearly sixty years have passed since then, and yet the memory of +the delightful impression which he made on me is as fresh as +ever. My trunk was soon packed; we were whirled away to +Boston, and went to a hotel, he treating me altogether like a +young gentleman and an equal.</p> +<p>It had been the dream and hope and wild desire of my life to +go to the Lion Theatre in Boston, where circus was combined with +roaring maritime melodramas, of which I had heard heavenly +accounts from a few of my schoolmates. And Mr. Carlisle +took me there that evening, and I saw “Hyder +Ali.” Never, never in my life before did I dream that +dramatic art, poetry, and <i>mimesis</i> could attain to such +ideal splendour. And then a sailor came on the stage and +sang “Harry Bluff,” and when he came to the last +line—</p> +<blockquote><p>“And he died like a true Yankee sailor at +last,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>amid thundering hurrahs, it seemed to me that romance could go +no farther. I do not think that Mr. Carlisle had any +knowledge of boys, certainly not of such a boy as I was, but I am +sure that he must have been amply repaid for his kindness to me +in my delight. And there were acrobatic performances, <!-- +page 64--><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>such as I had never seen in my life, and we returned to +the hotel and a grand supper, and I was in heaven.</p> +<p>The next morning Mr. Carlisle put into my hand, with great +delicacy, such a sum as I had never before possessed, telling me +that I “would need it for travelling expenses.” +All the while he drew me out on literature. On the Long +Island Sound steamer he bade me notice a young gentleman (whom I +was destined to know in after years), a man with curly hair and +very foppish air, accompanied by a page “in an eruption of +buttons,” and told me that it was N. P. Willis. And +so revelling in romance and travel, with mince-pie and turkey for +my daily food, my pocket stuffed with money, in the most refined +and elegant literary society (at least it was there on deck), I +came to Philadelphia. I may here say that the memory of Mr. +Carlisle has made me through all my life kinder to boys than I +might otherwise have been; and if, as a teacher, I have been +popular among them, it was to a great degree due to his +influence. For, as will appear in many passages in this +book, I have to a strange degree the habit of thinking over +marked past experiences, and drawing from them precedents by +which to guide my conduct; hence it has often happened that a +single incident has shown itself in hundreds of others, as a star +is reflected in countless pools.</p> +<h2><!-- page 65--><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>II. BOYHOOD AND YOUTH. 1837-1845.</h2> +<p>Return to Philadelphia at twelve years of age—Early +discipline—School at Mr. C. Walker’s—B. P. +Hunt—My first reading of Rabelais—Mr. Robert +Stewart—Hurlbut’s school—Boyish +persecution—Much strange reading—François +Villon—Early studies in philosophy—Transcendentalism +and its influence—Spanish—School of E. C. +Wines—The French teacher—Long illness—The +intelligent horse—Princeton University +professors—Albert Dodd and James Alexander—College +life—Theology—Rural scenes—Reading—My +first essays—The Freshman +rebellion—Smoking—George H. Boker—Jacob Behmen +or Böhme—Stonington—Captain Nat Palmer and +Commodore Vanderbilt—My graduation.</p> +<p>How happy I was again to see my mother and father and +Henry! And then came other joys. My father had taken +a very nice house in Walnut Street, in the best quarter of the +city, below Thirteenth Street, and this was a source of pleasure, +as was also a barrel of apples in the cellar, to which I had free +access. They had been doled out to us very sparingly at +school, and I never shall forget the delight with which I one day +in December at Jamaica Plain discovered a frozen apple on a +tree! Then there was the charm of being in a great city, +and familiar old scenes, and the freedom from bad marks, and +being ruled into bounds, and sent to bed at early hours. +There is, in certain cases, a degree of moral restraint and +discipline which is often carried much too far, especially where +boys are brought up with a view to pushing themselves in the +world. I was sixteen years of age and six feet high before +I was allowed to leave off short jackets, go to a theatre, or +travel alone, all of which was more injurious to <!-- page +66--><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>me, I +believe, than ordinary youthful dissipation would have been, +especially in America. Yet, while thus repressed, I was +being continually referred by all grown-up friends to +enterprising youth of my own age, who were making a living in +bankers’ or conveyancers’ offices, &c., and +acting “like men.” The result really being that +I was completely convinced that I was a person of feeble and +inferior capacity as regarded all that was worth doing or knowing +in life, though Heaven knows my very delicate health and long +illnesses might of themselves have excused all my failings. +The vast majority of Americans, however kind and generous they +may be in other respects, are absolutely without mercy or +common-sense as regards the not succeeding in life or making +money. Such, at least, was my experience, and bitter it +was. Elders often forget that even obedience, civility, and +morality in youth are luxuries which must be paid for like all +other extravagances at a high price, especially in children of +feeble constitution. The dear boy grows up “as good +as pie,” and, being pious, “does not know one card +from another,” nor one human being from another. You +make of him a fool, and then call him one—I mean, what you +regard as a fool. I am not at all sure that one or two +cruises in a slaver (there were plenty of them sailing out of New +York in those days) would not have done me far more good of a +certain kind than all the education I had till I left college in +America. I am not here complaining, as most weak men do, as +if they were specially victims to a wretched fate and a +might-have-been-better. The vast majority of boys have not +better homes or education, kinder parents, or advantages greater +than mine were. But as I do not recall my boyhood’s +days or my youth till I left college with that <i>joyousness</i> +which I find in other men without exception, and as, in fact, +there always seems as if a cloud were over it all, while from +below there was a low continual murmur as of a patient soul in +pain, I feel that there was something wrong in it all, as there +indeed was—the wrong of taking all the starch out of a +shirt, and then wondering <!-- page 67--><a +name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>that it was +not stiff. But I must say, at the same time, that this free +expansion is not required by the vast majority of boys, who are +only far too ready and able to spread themselves into +“life” without any aid whatever. What is for +one meat may be for another poison, and mine was a very +exceptional case, which required very peculiar treatment.</p> +<p>My father had sold out his business in 1832 to Mr. Charles S. +Boker, and since then been principally engaged in real estate and +stock speculation. When I returned, he had bought a large +property between Chestnut Market and Third Streets, on which was +a hotel called Congress Hall, with which there were connected +many historical associations, for most of the noted men who for +many years visited Philadelphia had lived in it. With it +were stables and other buildings, covering a great deal of ground +in the busiest portion of the city, but still not in its +condition very profitable. Then, again, he purchased the +old Arch Street prison, a vast gloomy pile, like four dead walls, +a building nearly 400 feet square. It was empty, and I went +over it and into the cells many times. I remember thinking +of the misery and degradation of those who had been confined +there. The discipline had been bad enough, for the +prisoners had been allowed to herd freely together. My +father tore it down, and built a block of handsome +dwelling-houses on its site. As the <i>trottoir</i> or +side-walk was narrow, he, at a considerable loss to himself, made +a present to the city of a strip of land which left a wide +pavement. I say “at a loss,” for had the houses +been deeper they would have sold for much more. The City +Council graciously accepted the gift, with the special condition +that my father should pay all the expenses of the transfer! +From which I learned the lesson that in this life a man is quite +as liable to suffer from doing good as doing evil, unless he +employs just as much foresight or caution in the doing +thereof. Some of the most deeply regretted acts of my life, +which have caused me most sincere and oft-renewed repentance, +<!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>were altogether and perfectly acts of generosity and +goodness. The simple truth of which is that a <i>gush</i>, +no matter how sweet and pure the water may be, generally +displaces something. Many more buildings did my father buy +and sell, but committed withal the very serious error of never +buying a house as a permanent home or a country place, which he +might have easily done, and even to great profit, which error in +the long-run caused us all great inconvenience, and much of that +shifting from place to place which is very bad for a growing +family. The humblest man in such case in a house of his own +has certain great advantages over even a millionaire in +lodgings.</p> +<p>Mr. S. C. Walker had given over his school to a younger +brother named Joseph, but it was still kept in the old house in +Eighth Street, where also I had taken my lessons in the rudiments +of Transcendentalism from the Orphic Alcott. It was now a +fairly good school as things went in those days, with the same +lectures in Natural Philosophy and Chemistry—the same mild +doses of French and Latin. The chief assistant was E. Otis +Kimball, subsequently a professor of astronomy, a very +gentlemanly and capable instructor, of a much higher type than +any assistant-teacher whom I had ever before met. Under him +I read Voltaire’s “Charles the Twelfth.” +George H. Boker, who was one year older than I, and the son of my +father’s old partner, went to this school. I do not +remember that for the first year or eighteen mouths after my +return to Philadelphia there was any incident of note in my life, +or that I read anything unless it was Shakespeare, and reviews +which much influenced me. However, I was very wisely +allowed to attend a gymnasium, kept by a man named Hudson. +Here there was a sporting tone, much pistol-shooting at a mark, +boxing and fencing, prints of prize-fighters on the wall, and +cuts from <i>Life in London</i>, with copious cigar-smoke. +It was a wholesome, healthy place for me. Unfortunately, I +could not afford the shooting, boxing, &c., but I profited +somewhat by it, both morally <!-- page 69--><a +name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>and +physically. At this critical period, or a little later, a +few pounds a year judiciously invested in sport and +“dissipation” would have changed the whole current of +my life, probably much for the better, and it would certainly +have spared my poor father the conviction, which he had almost to +his death, that I was a sad and mortifying failure or exception +which had not paid its investment; for which opinion he was in no +wise to blame, it being also that of all his business +acquaintances, many of whose sons, it was true, went utterly to +the devil, but then it was in the ancient intelligible, +common-sensible, usual paths of gambling, horsing, +stock-brokering, selling short, or ruining all their relatives by +speculating with their money. However, there was also +the—rather forlorn—hope ahead that I would do +something in a profession.</p> +<p>The school went on, Mr. Walker studying law meantime till he +had passed his examination, when it was transferred to Mr. B. P. +Hunt. With this man, who became and remained my intimate +friend till his death, thirty years after, came the first faint +intimation of what was destined to be the most critical, the most +singular, and by far the most important period of my life.</p> +<p>Mr. Hunt was, as he himself declared to me in after years, not +at all fitted to be a schoolmaster. He lacked the minor or +petty earnestness of character, and even the training or +preparation, necessary for such work. On the other hand, he +had read a great deal in a desultory way; he was very fond of all +kinds of easy literature; and when he found that any boy +understood the subject, he would talk with that boy about +whatever he had been reading. Yet there was something real +and stimulative in him, for there never was a man in Philadelphia +who kept school for so short a time and with so few pupils who +had among them so many who in after life became more or less +celebrated. For he certainly made all of us who were above +idiocy think and live in thought above the ordinary range of +school-boy life. Thus I can recall these two out of many +incidents:—</p> +<p><!-- page 70--><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>Finding me one day at an old book-stand, he explained to +me Alduses, and Elzevirs, and bibliography, showing me several +specimens, all of which I remembered.</p> +<p>I had read Watson’s “Annals of +Philadelphia.” [By the way, I knew the daughter of +the author.] There was an allusion in it to Cornelius +Agrippa, and Mr. Hunt explained and dilated on this great +sorcerer to me till I became half crazy to read the “Occult +Philosophy,” which I did at a roaring rate two years +later.</p> +<p>One day I saw Mr. Hunt and Mr. Kendall chuckling together over +a book. I divined a secret. Now, I was a very +honourable boy, and never pried into secrets, but where a quaint +old book was concerned I had no more conscience than a +pirate. And seeing Mr. Hunt put the book into his desk, I +abode my time till he had gone forth, when I raised the lid, and +. . .</p> +<p>Merciful angels and benevolent fairies! it was +Urquhart’s translation of Rabelais! One short spell I +read, no more; but it raised a devil which has never since been +laid. Ear hath not heard, it hath not entered into the +heart of man to conceive, what I felt as I realised, like a young +giant just awakened, that there was in me a stupendous mental +strength to grasp and understand that magnificent mixture of +ribaldry and learning, fun and wisdom, deviltry and +divinity. In a few pages’ time I knew what it all +meant, and that I was gifted to understand it. I replaced +the book; nor did I read it again for years, but from that hour I +was never quite the same person. The next day I saw +Callot’s “Temptation of St. Anthony” for the +first time in a shop-window, and felt with joy and pride that I +understood it out of Rabelais. Two young +gentlemen—lawyers apparently—by my side thought it +was crazy and silly. To me it was more like an +apocalypse.</p> +<p>I am speaking plain truth when I say that that one quarter of +an hour’s reading of Rabelais—standing up—was +to me as the light which flashed upon Saul journeying to <!-- +page 71--><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +71</span>Damascus. It seems to me now as if it were the +great event of my life. It came to such a pass in after +years that I could have identified any line in the Chronicle of +Gargantua, and I also was the suggester, father, and founder in +London of the Rabelais Club, in which were many of the best minds +of the time, but beyond it all and brighter than all was that +first revelation.</p> +<p>It should be remembered that I had already perused Sterne, +much of Swift, and far more comic and satiric literature than is +known to boys, and, what is far more remarkable, had thoroughly +taken it all into my <i>cor cordium</i> by much repetition and +reflection.</p> +<p>Mr. Hunt in time put me up to a great deal of very valuable or +curious <i>belletristic</i> fair-lettered or black-lettered +reading, far beyond my years, though not beyond my intelligence +and love. We had been accustomed to pass to our back-gate +of the school through Blackberry Alley—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Blackberry Alley, now Duponceau Street,<br +/> +A rose by any name will smell as sweet”—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>which was tenanted principally by social evils. He +removed to the corner of Seventh and Chestnut Streets. +Under our schoolroom there was a gambling den. I am not +aware that these surroundings had any effect whatever upon the +pupils. Among the pupils in Seventh Street was one named +Emile Tourtelôt. We called him Oatmeal +Turtledove. I had another friend who was newly come from +Connecticut. His uncle kept a hotel and often gave him +Havanna cigars. We often took long walks together out of +town and smoked them. He taught me the song—</p> +<blockquote><p>“On Springfield mountains there did +dwell,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>with much more quaint rural New England lore.</p> +<p>About this time my grandfather Leland died. I wept sadly +on hearing it. My father, who went to Holliston to attend +the funeral, brought me back a fine collection of <!-- page +72--><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>Indian stone relics and old American silver coins, for +he had been in his way an antiquarian. <i>Bon sang ne peut +mentir</i>. I had also the certificate of some Society or +Order of Revolutionary soldiers to which he had belonged. +One of his brothers had, as an officer, a membership of the +hereditary Order of the Cincinnati. This passed to another +branch of the family.</p> +<p>For many years the principal regular visitor at our house was +Mr. Robert Stewart, a gentleman of good family and excellent +education, who had during the wars with Napoleon made an +adventurous voyage to France, and subsequently passed most of his +life as Consul or diplomatic agent in Cuba. He had brought +with him from Cuba a black Ebo-African slave named Juan. As +the latter seemed to be discontented in Philadelphia, Mr. +Stewart, who was kindness itself, offered to send him back freed +to Cuba or Africa, and told him he might buy a modest outfit of +clothing, such as suited his condition. The negro went to a +first-class tailor and ordered splendid clothes, which were sent +back, of course. The vindictive Ebo was so angry at this, +that one summer afternoon, while Mr. Stewart slept, the former +fell on him with an axe and knife, mangled his head horribly, cut +the cords of his hand, &c., and thought he had killed +him. But hearing his victim groan, he was returning, when +he met another servant, who said, “Juan, where are you +going?” He replied, “Me begin to kill +Mars’ Stewart—now me go back finish him!” +He was, of course, promptly arrested. Mr. Stewart +recovered, but was always blind of one eye, and his right hand +was almost useless. Mr. Stewart had in his diplomatic +capacity seen many of the pirates who abounded on the Spanish +Main in those days. He was an admirable <i>raconteur</i>, +abounding in reminiscences. His son William inherited from +an uncle a Cuban estate worth millions of dollars, and lived many +years in Paris. He was a great patron of (especially +Spanish) art.</p> +<p>So I passed on to my fourteenth year, which was destined <!-- +page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>to be the beginning of the most critical period of my +life. My illnesses had increased in number and severity, +and I had shot up into a very tall weak youth. Mr. Hunt +gave up teaching, and became editor of <i>Littell’s +Magazine</i>. I was sent to the school of Mr. +Hurlbut—as I believe it was then spelled, but I may be +wrong. He had been a Unitarian clergyman, but was an +ungenial, formal, rather harsh man—the very opposite of Mr. +Hunt. My schoolmates soon found that though so tall, I was +physically very weak, and many of them continually bullied and +annoyed me. Once I was driven into a formal stand-up fight +with one younger by a year, but much stronger. I did my +best, but was beaten. I offered to fight him then in Indian +fashion with a hug, but this he scornfully declined. After +this he never met me without insulting me, for he had a base +nature, as his after-life proved. These humiliations had a +bad effect upon me, for I was proud and nervous, and, like many +such boys, often very foolish.</p> +<p>But I had a few very good friends. Among these was +Charles Macalester. One day when I had been bullied +shamefully by the knot of boys who always treated me badly, he +ran after me up Walnut Street, and, almost with tears in his +eyes, assured me of his sympathy. There were two other +intimates. George Patrullo, of Spanish parentage, and +Richard Seldener, son of the Swedish Consul. They read a +great deal. One day it chanced that Seldener had in his +bosom a very large old-fashioned flint-lock horse-pistol loaded +with shot. By him and me stood Patrullo and William Henry +Hurlbut, who has since become a very well-known character. +Thinking that Seldener’s pistol was unloaded, Patrullo, to +frighten young Hurlbut, pulled the weapon suddenly from +Seldener’s breast, put it between Hurlbut’s eyes and +fired. The latter naturally started to one side, so it +happened that he only received one shot in his ear. The +charge went into the wall, where it made a mark like a +bullet’s, which was long visible. George Patrullo was +drowned not long after while <!-- page 74--><a +name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>swimming in +the Schuylkill river, and Richard Seldener perished on an +Atlantic steamer, which was never heard of.</p> +<p>On the other hand, something took place which cast a +marvellous light into this darkened life of mine. For one +day my father bought and presented to me a share in the +Philadelphia Library. This was a collection which even then +consisted of more than 60,000 well-chosen volumes. And then +began such a life of reading as was, I sincerely believe, unusual +in such youth. My first book was “Arthur of Little +Britaine,” which I finished in a week; then “Newes +from New Englande, 1636,” and the “Historie of +Clodoaldus.” Before long I discovered that there were +in the Loganian section of the library several hundred volumes of +occult philosophy, a collection once formed by an artist named +Cox, and of these I really read nearly every one. Cornelius +Agrippa and Barret’s “Magus,” Paracelsus, the +black-letter edition of Reginald Scot, Glanville, and Gaffarel, +Trithemius, Baptista Porta, and God knows how many Rosicrucian +writers became familiar to me. Once when I had only +twenty-five cents I gave it for a copy of “Waters of the +East” by Eugenius Philalethes, or Thomas Vaughan.</p> +<p>All of this led me to the Mystics and Quietists. I read +Dr. Boardman’s “History of Quakerism,” which +taught me that Fox grew out of Behmen; and I picked up one day +Poiret’s French work on the Mystics, which was quite a +handbook or guide to the whole literature. But these books +were but a small part of what I read; for at one time, taking +another turn towards old English, I went completely through +Chaucer and Gower, both in black letter, the collections of +Ritson, Weber, Ellis, and I know not how many more of +mediæval ballads and romances, and very thoroughly and +earnestly indeed Warton’s “History of English +Poetry.” Then I read Sismondi’s +“Literature of Southern Europe” and +Longfellow’s “Poets and Poetry of Europe,” +which set me to work on Raynouard and other collections of +Provençal poetry, in the knowledge of which I made some +progress, and also St. <!-- page 75--><a name="page75"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 75</span>Pelaye’s, Le Grand’s, +Costello’s, and other books on the Trouveurs. I +translated into rhyme and sent to a magazine, of which I in after +years became editor, one or two <i>laïs</i>, which were +rejected, I think unwisely, for they were by no means bad. +Then I had a fancy for Miscellanea, and read the works of +D’Israeli the elder and Burton’s +“Anatomy.”</p> +<p>One day I made a startling discovery, for I took at a venture +from the library the black-letter first edition of the poems of +François Villon. I was then fifteen years old. +Never shall I forget the feeling, which Heine compares to the +unexpected finding of a shaft of gold in a gloomy mine, which +shot through me as I read for the first time these +<i>ballades</i>. Now-a-days people are trained to them +through second-hand sentiment. Villon has +become—Heaven bless the mark!—<i>fashionable</i>! and +æsthetic. I got at him “straight” out of +black-letter reading in boyhood as a find of my own, and it was +many, many years ere I ever met with a single soul who had heard +of him. I at once translated the “Song of the Ladies +of the Olden Time”; and I knew what <i>bon bec</i> meant, +which is more than one of Villon’s great modern translators +has done! Also <i>heaulmière</i>, which is +<i>not</i> helmet-maker, as another supposes.</p> +<p>I went further in this field than I have room to +describe. I even read the rococo-sweet poems of Joachim du +Bellay. In this year my father gave me “The +Doctor,” by Robert Southey, a work which I read and re-read +assiduously for many years, and was guided by it to a vast amount +of odd reading, Philemon Holland’s translation of Pliny +being one of the books. This induced me to read all of +Southey’s poems, which I did, not from the library, but +from a bookstore, where I had free run and borrowing privileges, +as I well might, since my father lost £4,000 by its +owner.</p> +<p>While at Mr. Greene’s school I had given me +Alsopp’s “Life and Letters of Coleridge,” which +I read through many times; then in my thirteenth year, in +Philadelphia, I read with great love Charles Lamb’s works +and most of the works <!-- page 76--><a name="page76"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 76</span>of Coleridge. Mr. Alcott had +read Wordsworth into us in illimitable quantities, so that I soon +had a fair all-round knowledge of the Lakers, whom I dearly +loved. Now there was a certain <i>soupçon</i> of +Mysticism or Transcendentalism and Pantheism in Coleridge, and +even in Wordsworth, which my love of rocks and rivers and fairy +lore easily enabled me to detect by sympathy.</p> +<p>But all of this was but a mere preparation for and +foreshadowing of a great mental development and very precocious +culture which was rapidly approaching. I now speak of what +happened to me from 1838 to 1840, principally in the latter +year. If I use extravagant, vain words, I beg the reader to +pardon me. Perhaps this will never be published, therefore +<i>sit verbo venia</i>!</p> +<p>I had become deeply interested in the new and bold development +which was then manifesting itself in the Unitarian Church. +Channing, whom I often heard preach, had something in common with +the Quietists; Mr. Furness was really a thinker “out of +bounds,” while in reality as gentle and purely Christian as +could be. There was something new in the air, and this +Something I, in an antiquated form, had actually preceded. +It was really only a <i>rechauffé</i> of the Neo-Platonism +which lay at the bottom of Porphyry, Proclus, Psellus, +Jamblichus, with all of whom I was fairly well acquainted. +Should any one doubt this, I can assure him that I still possess +a full copy of the “Poemander” or +“Pimander” of Hermes Trismegistus, made by me in my +sixteenth year, which most assuredly no mortal could ever have +understood or made, or cared to make, if he had not read the +Neo-Platonists; for Marsilius Ficinus himself regarded this work +as a pendant to them, and published it as such. Which work +I declared was not a Christian Platonic forgery, but based on old +Egyptian works, as has since been well-nigh proved from recent +discoveries. (I think it was Dr. Garnett who, hearing me +once declare in the British Museum that I believed Hermes was +based on an ancient Egyptian <!-- page 77--><a +name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>text, sent +for a French work in which the same view was advanced.)</p> +<p>The ignorance, narrow-mindedness, and <i>odium theologicum</i> +which prevailed in America until 1840 was worse than that in +Europe under the Church in the Middle Ages, for even in the +latter there had been an Agobard and an Abelard, Knight-Templar +agnostics, and <i>illuminati</i> of different kinds. The +Unitarians, who believed firmly in every point of Christianity, +and that man was saved by Jesus, and would be damned if he did +not put faith in him as the Son of God, were regarded literally +and truly by everybody as no better than infidels because they +believed that Christ was <i>sent</i> by God, and that Three could +not be One. Every sect, with rare exceptions, preached, +especially the Presbyterians, that the vast majority even of +Christians would be damned, thereby giving to the devil that far +greater power than God against which Bishop Agobard had +protested. As for a freethinker or infidel, he was pointed +at in the streets; and if a man had even seen a +“Deist,” he spoke of it as if he had beheld a +murderer. Against all this some few were beginning to +revolt.</p> +<p>There came a rumour that there was something springing up in +Boston called Transcendentalism. Nobody knew what it was, +but it was dreamy, mystical, crazy, and infideleterious to +religion. Firstly, it was connected with Thomas Carlyle and +Ralph Waldo Emerson, and finally with everything German. +The new school of liberal Unitarians favoured it. I had a +quick intuition that here was something for me to work at. +I bought Carlyle’s <i>Sartor Resartus</i>, first edition, +and read it through forty times ere I left college, of which I +“kept count.”</p> +<p>My record here as regards some books may run a little ahead; +but either before I went to college or during my first year there +(almost all before or by 1840-’41), I had read +Carlyle’s “Miscellanies” thoroughly, +Emerson’s “Essays,” a translation of +Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason,” the first +half of it many times; Dugald Stewart’s works, something +<!-- page 78--><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>of Reid, Locke, and Hobbes’s +“Leviathan”; had bought and read French versions of +Schelling’s “Transcendental Idealism” and +Fichte’s fascinating “Destiny of Man”; studied +a small handbook of German philosophy; the works of Campanella +and Vanini (Bruno much later, for his works were then exceeding +rare. I now have Weber’s edition), and also, with +intense relish and great profit, an old English version of +Spinoza’s <i>Tractatus Theologico-Politicus</i>. In +which last work I had the real key and clue to all German +philosophy and Rationalism, as I in time found out. I must +here modestly mention that I had, to a degree which I honestly +believe seldom occurs, the art of <i>rapid</i> yet of +carefully-observant reading. George Boker once, quite +unknown to me, gave me something to read, watched my eyes as I +went from line to line, timed me by watch, and finally examined +me on what I had read. He published the incident long +after, said he had repeated it more than once <i>à mon +insu</i>, and that it was remarkable.</p> +<p>Such a dual life as I at this time led it has seldom entered +into the head of man to imagine. I was, on the one hand, a +school-boy in a jacket, leading a humiliated life among my kind, +all because I was sickly and weak; while, on the other hand, +utterly alone and without a living soul to whom I could exchange +an idea, I was mastering rapidly and boldly that which was +<i>then</i> in reality the tremendous problem of the age. I +can now see that, as regards its <i>real</i> antique bases, I was +far more deeply read and better grounded than were even its most +advanced leaders in Anglo-Saxony. For I soon detected in +Carlyle, and much more in Emerson, a very slender knowledge of +that stupendous and marvellous ancient Mysticism which sent its +soul in burning faith and power to the depth of “the +downward-borne elements of God,” as Hermes called +them. I missed even the rapt faith of such a weak writer as +Sir Kenelm Digby, much more Zoroaster! Vigourous and clever +and bold writers they were—Carlyle was far beyond me in +literary <i>art</i>—but true Pantheists they were +<i>not</i>. And they <!-- page 79--><a +name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>were men of +great genius, issuing essays to the age on popular, or political, +or “literary” topics; but <i>philosophers</i> they +most assuredly were <i>not</i>, nor men tremendous in spiritual +truth. And yet it was precisely as <i>philosophers</i> and +thaumaturgists and revealers of <i>occulta</i> that they +posed—especially Emerson. And they dabbled or trifled +with free thought and “immorality,” crying Goethe up +as the Light of Lights, while all their inner souls were bound in +the most Puritanical and petty goody-goodyism. Though there +were traces of grim Scotch humour in Carlyle, my patron saint and +master, Rabelais, or aught like him, had no credit with them.</p> +<p>They <i>paddled</i> in Pantheism, but as regards it, both +lacked the stupendous faith and inspiration of the old adepti, +who flung their whole souls into God; and yet they sneered at +Materialism and Science.</p> +<p>I did not then see <i>all</i> of this so clearly as I now do, +but I very soon found that, as in after years it was said that +Comteism was Catholicism without Christianity, so the +Carlyle-Emersonian Transcendentalism was Mysticism without +mystery. Nor did I reflect that it was a calling people +from the nightmared slumber of frozen orthodoxy or bigotry to +come and see a marvellous new thing. And when they came, +they found out that this marvellous thing was that they had been +<i>awakened</i>, “only that and nothing more”; and +<i>that</i> was the great need of the time, and worth more than +any magic or theosophy. But I had expected, in simple +ignorant faith, that the sacred mysteries of some marvellous +cabala would be revealed, and not finding what I wanted (though +indeed I discovered much that was worldly new to me), I returned +to the good old ghost-haunted paths trodden by my ancestors, to +dryads and elves and voices from the stars, and the +<i>archæus</i> formed by the astral spirit (not the modern +Blavatsky affair, by-the-bye), which entyped all things . . . and +so went elving and dreaming on ’mid ruins old.</p> +<p>Be it observed that all this time I really did not know what I +knew. Boys are greatly influenced by their surroundings, +<!-- page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>and in those days every one about me never spoke of +Transcendentalism or “Germanism,” or even +“bookishness,” without a sneer. I was borne by +a mysterious inner impulse which I could not resist into this +terrible whirlpool of <i>belles-lettres</i>, occulta, +facetiæ, and philosophy; but I had, God knows, little cause +for pride that I read so much, for it was on every hand in some +way turned against me. If it had only been reading like +that of other human beings, it might have been endured; but I was +always seen coming and going with parchment-bound tomes. +Once I implored my father, when I was thirteen or fourteen, to +let me buy a certain book, which he did. This work, which +was as dear to me as a new doll to a girl for a long time, was +the <i>Reductorium</i> or moralisation of the whole Bible by +Petrus Berchorius, black-letter, folio, Basle, 1511. It was +from the library of a great and honest scholar, and, as the +catalogue stated, “contained MS. notes on the margin by +Melanchthon.”</p> +<p>Promising, this, for an American youth who was expected to go +into business or study a profession!</p> +<p>While at Hurlbut’s school I took lessons in +Spanish. There was a Spanish boy from Malaga, a kind of +half-servant, <i>half-protégé</i> in a family near +us, with whom I practised speaking the language, and also had +some opportunity with a few Cubans who visited our family. +One of them had been a governor-general. He was a Gallician +by birth, but I did not know this, and innocently asked him one +day if <i>los Gallegos no son los Irlandeses +d’España</i>?—if the Gallicians were not the +Irish of Spain—which drew a grave caution from my brother, +who knew better than I how the land lay. I really attained +some skill in Spanish, albeit to this day “Don +Quixote” demands from me a great deal of dictionary. +But, as I said before, I learn languages with <i>incredible</i> +difficulty, a fact which I cannot reconcile with the extreme +interest which I take in philology and linguistics, and the +discoveries which I have made; as, for instance, that of +<i>Shelta</i> in England, or my labours in jargons, such as +Pidgin-English, Slang, and <!-- page 81--><a +name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>Romany. +But, as the reader has probably perceived, I was a boy with an +inherited good constitution only from the paternal side, and a +not very robust one from my mother, while my mind, weakened by +long illness, had been strangely stimulated by many disorders, +nervous fevers being frequent among them. In those days I +was, as my mother said, almost brought up on calomel—and +she might have added quinine. The result of so much +nervousness, excessive stimulating by medicine, and rapid growth +was a too great susceptibility to poetry, humour, art, and all +that was romantic, quaint, and mysterious, while I found it very +hard to master any really dry subject. What would have set +me all right would have been careful physical culture, boxing, so +as to protect me from my school persecutors, and <i>amusement</i> +in a healthy sense, of which I had almost none whatever.</p> +<p>Hurlbut’s became at last simply intolerable, and my +parents, finding out in some way that I was worse for being +there, removed me to a far better school kept by E. C. Wines, who +had written books on education, and attained some fame +thereby. This was in 1839-’40, and I was there to be +prepared for college. We were soon introduced to an old +French gentleman, who was to teach us, and who asked the other +boys what French works they had read. Some had gone through +<i>Telémaque</i>, or <i>Paul et Virginie</i>, +<i>Florian</i>, <i>etcetera</i>. The good-goody nature of +such reading awoke in me my sense of humour. When it came +to my turn, and I was asked, I replied, “<i>La Pucelle +d’Orleans</i> and <i>Dictionnaire Philosophique</i> of +Voltaire, the Confessions of Rousseau, the Poems of Villon, +<i>Charles d’Orleans</i>, <i>Clotilde de Surville</i>, and +more or less of Helvetius, D’Holbach, and +Condillac.” Here the professor, feeling himself +quizzed, cast forth his hands as in disgust and horror, and +cried, “<i>Assez</i>! <i>assez</i>! Unhappy boy, you +have raked through the library of the devil down to the +dregs!” Nor was I “selling” him, for I +certainly had read the works, as the records of the Philadelphia +Library can in a great measure prove, and did not speak by +hearsay.</p> +<p><!-- page 82--><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>I had at this time several severe long attacks of +illness with much pain, which I always bore well, as a matter of +course or habit. But rather oddly, while in the midst of my +Transcendentalism, and reading every scrap of everything about +Germany which I could get, and metaphysics, and study—I was +very far gone then, and used to go home from school and light a +pipe with a long wooden stem, and study the beloved “Critic +of Pure Reason” or Carlyle’s Miscellanies, having +discovered that smoking was absolutely necessary in such +reading—[De Quincey required a quart of laudanum to enable +him to enjoy German metaphysics]—there came a strange gleam +of worldly dissipation, of which I never think without +pleasure. I had passed one summer vacation on a farm near +Philadelphia, where I learned something in wood-ranging about +wild herbs and catching land-tortoises and +“coon-hunting,” and had been allowed to hire and ride +a horse.</p> +<p>I did not know it, but this horse had thrown over his head +everybody who had ever mounted him. He was a perfect devil, +but also a perfect gentleman. He soon took my measure, and +resolved to treat me kindly as a +<i>protégé</i>. When we both wanted a gallop, +he made such time as nobody before had dreamed was in him; when +he was lazy, he only had to turn his head and look at me, and I +knew what that meant and conformed unto him. He had a queer +fancy at times to quietly steal up and put his hoof on my foot so +as to hurt me, and then there was an impish laugh in his +eye. For he laughed at me, and I knew it. There is +really such a thing as a horse-laugh. One day we passed +through a drove of sheep, and he did not like it—no horse +does. After a while I wanted to go by a certain road, but +he refused sternly to take it. I found soon after that if I +had done so we must have met the sheep again. He had, in +fact, understood the route far better than I. I once got a +mile out of him in three minutes—more or less; but he had +seen me look at my watch, and knew that I wanted to see what he +<!-- page 83--><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>could do. He never did it again. I +<i>may</i> have been mistaken here, but it was my impression at +the time. Perhaps if I had gone on much longer in intimacy +with him I might have profited mentally by it, and acquired what +Americans call “horse-sense,” of which I had some +need. It is the sixth—or the first—sense of all +Yankees and Scotchmen. When I returned to the city I was +allowed to hire a horse for a few times from a livery stable, and +went out riding with a friend. This friend was a rather +precociously dissipated youth, and with him I had actually now +and then—very rarely—a glass at a bar and +oysters. He soon left me for wilder associates, and I +relapsed into my old sober habits. Strange as it may seem, +I believe that I was really on the brink of becoming like other +boys. But it all faded away. Now it became imperative +that I should study in earnest. I used to rise at three or +four in the morning. What with hard work and great fear of +not passing my matriculation, I contrived to get up so much +Latin, Greek, and mathematics, that Mr. Wines thought I might +attempt it, and so one fine summer day my father went with me to +Princeton. I was in a fearful state of nervous anxiety.</p> +<h3>COLLEGE LIFE.</h3> +<h4>PRINCETON.</h4> +<p>We went to Princeton, where I presented my letters of +introduction, passed a by no means severe examination for the +Freshman’s class, was very courteously received by the +professors to whom I was commended, and, to my inexpressible +delight, found myself a college student. Rooms were secured +for me at a Mrs. Burroughs’, opposite Nassau Hall; the +adjoining apartment was occupied by Mr. Craig Biddle, now a +judge. George H. Boker was then at the end of his Sophomore +year, the term having but a few days to run. He had rooms +in college and lived in unexampled style, having actually a +carpet on his floor and superior furniture, also a <!-- page +84--><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>good +collection of books, chiefly standard English poets. He at +once took me in hand and gave me a character.</p> +<p>Princeton College was entirely in the hands of the strictest +of “Old School” Presbyterian theologians. Piety +and mathematics rated extravagantly high in the course. The +latter study was literally reckoned in the grades as being of +more account than all the rest collectively. Thus, as +eventually happened to me, a student might excel in Latin, +English, and Natural Philosophy—in fact, in almost +everything, good conduct included—and yet be the last in +the class if he neglected mathematics. There was no +teaching of French, because, as was naïvely said, students +might read the irreligious works extant in that language, and of +course no other modern language; as for German, one would as soon +have proposed to raise the devil there as a class in it. If +there had been an optional course, as at Cambridge, +Massachusetts, by which German was accepted in lieu of +mathematics, I should probably have taken the first honour, +instead of the last. And yet, with a little more Latin, I +was really qualified, on the day when I matriculated at +Princeton, to have passed for a Doctor of Philosophy in +Heidelberg, as I subsequently accurately ascertained.</p> +<p>There were three or four men of great ability in the Faculty +of the University. One of these was Professor Joseph Henry, +in those days the first natural philosopher and lecturer on +science in America. I had the fortune in time to become +quite a special <i>protégé</i> of his. +Another was Professor James Alexander, who taught Latin, +rhetoric, and mental philosophy. He was so clear-headed and +liberally learned, that I always felt sure that he must at heart +have been far beyond the bounds of Old School theology, but he +had an iron Roman-like sternness of glance which quite suited a +Covenanter. The most remarkable of all was Albert Dodd, +Professor of Mathematics and Lecturer on Architecture. This +man was a genius of such a high order, that had it not been for +the false position in which he was placed, he would have <!-- +page 85--><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>given to the world great works. The false position +was this: he was the chief pulpit orator of the old school, and +had made war on the Transcendentalist movement in an able article +in the <i>Princeton Review</i> (which, by the way, was useful in +guiding me to certain prohibited works, before unknown to +me). But as he was a man of poetic genial feeling, he found +himself irresistibly fascinated by what he had hunted down, and +so read Plato, and when he died actually left behind him a +manuscript translation of Spinoza’s works!</p> +<p>The reader may imagine what a marvellous <i>find</i> I was to +him. George Boker, who was ages beyond me in knowledge of +the world—man and woman—said one day that he could +imagine how Dodd sat and chuckled to hear me talk, which remark I +did not at all understand and thought rather stupid. I +remember that during my first call on him we discussed <i>Sartor +Resartus</i>, and I expressed it as my firm conviction that the +idea of the Clothes Philosophy had been taken from the Treatise +on Fire and Salt by the Rosicrucian Lord Blaise. Then, in +all <i>naïveté</i> and innocence of effect, I +discussed some point in Kant’s “Critic,” and a +few other trifles not usually familiar to sub-Freshmen, and took +my departure, very much pleased at having entered on a life where +my favourite reading did not really seem to be quite silly or +disreputable. I remember, however, being very much +surprised indeed at finding that the other students, in whom I +expected to encounter miracles of learning, or youth far superior +to myself in erudition and critical knowledge, did not quite come +up to my anticipations. However, as they were all far +beyond me in mathematics, I supposed their genius had all gone in +that direction, for well I knew that the toughest page in Fichte +was a mere trifle compared to the awful terrors of the Rule of +Three, and so treated them as young men who were my superiors in +other and greater things.</p> +<p>There were wearisome morning prayers in the chapel, and +roll-call every morning, and then an hour of recitation before +breakfast, study till ten or eleven, study and recitation in the +<!-- page 86--><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>afternoon, and evening prayers again and study in the +evening. The Sabbath was anything but a day of rest, for we +had the same prayers; morning attendance at church; afternoon, +the learning and reciting of <i>four chapters</i> in the Bible; +while we were expected in the evening to master one or two +chapters in the Greek Testament. I am not sorry that I used +to read books during sermon-time. It kept me from, or from +me, a great deal of wickedness. <i>Videlicet</i>:</p> +<p>The sermons consisted principally of assertion that man +himself consisted chiefly of original sin. As evil +communications corrupt good manners, I myself, being young and +impressionable, began to believe that I too was an awful +sinner. Not knowing where else to look for it, I concluded +that it consisted in my inability to learn mathematics. I +do not distinctly remember whether I prayed to Heaven that I +might be able to cross the Pons Asinorum, but +“anyway” my prayer was granted when I graduated.</p> +<p>Another stock-piece in the <i>repertoire</i> consisted of +attacks on Voltaire, Tom Paine, and other antiquated Deists or +infidels. I had read with great contempt a copy of +“The Rights of Man” belonging to my genial uncle +Amos. I say with great contempt, for I always despised that +kind of free thought which consisted chiefly of enmity to +Christianity. Now I can see that Voltaire and his followers +were quite in the right in warring on terrible and immediate +abuses which oppressed mankind; but I had learned from Spinoza to +believe that every form of faith was good in its way or according +to its mission or time, and that it was silly to ridicule +Christianity because the tale of Balaam’s ass was +incredible. Paine was to me just what a Positivist now is +to a Darwinian or Agnostic, and such preaching against +“infidels” seemed to me like pouring water on a +drowned mouse. There had always been in Mr. Furness’s +teaching a very decided degree of Rationalism, and I had advanced +far more boldly on the track. I remember reading +translations from Schleiermacher and buying Strauss’s +“Life of Jesus” before I went to Princeton—<!-- +page 87--><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>I saw Strauss himself in after years at Weinsberg, in +Germany—but at Princeton the slightest approach to +explaining the most absurd story in the Old Testament was +regarded as out-and-out atheism. It had all happened, we +were told, just as it is described.</p> +<p>I may as well note here the fact that for many years in my +early life such a thing as only reading a book through once +rarely happened, when I could obtain it long enough. Even +the translations of the Neo-Platonists, with Campanella, Vanini, +or the Italian naturalists, were read and reread, while the +principal English poets, and such books as I owned, were perused +daily.</p> +<p>And here in this great infant arithmetic school I was in due +time set down to study Paley’s “Evidences of +Christianity” and Locke on the Understanding—like +Carlyle’s young lion invited to a feast of chickweed. +Apropos of the first, I have a droll reminiscence. There +had been in Philadelphia two years before a sale of a fine +library, and I had been heart-broken because my means had not +permitted me to buy the works of Sir Kenelm Digby. However, +I found them in the Princeton College Library. The first +thing I came to in Paley was his famous simile of the +watch—taken bodily and without acknowledgment from +Digby. The theft disgusted me. “These be your +Christian champions!” I thought—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Would any of the stock of infidels<br /> +Had been my evidence ere such a Christian!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And, moreover, Paley forgets to inform us what conclusion the +finder might draw if he had picked up a badly made watch which +did not keep good time—like this our turnip of a world at +times!</p> +<p>As we were obliged to attend divine service strictly on +Sunday, I was allowed to go to the Episcopal church in the +village, which agreed very well with my parents’ +views. I quite fell into the sentiment of the sect, and so +went to Professor Dodd to ask for permission from the Faculty to +change <!-- page 88--><a name="page88"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 88</span>my religion. When he asked me +how it was that I had renegaded into Trinitarianism, I replied +that it was due to reflection on the perfectly obvious and usual +road of the Platonic hypostases eked out with Gnosticism. I +had found in the College Library, and read with great pleasure +almost as soon as I got there, Cudworth’s +“Intellectual System” (I raided a copy as <i>loot</i> +from a house in Tennessee in after years, during the war), and +learned from it that “it was a religious instinct of man to +begin with a Trinity, in which I was much aided by Schelling, and +that there was no trace of a Trinity in the Bible, or rather the +contrary, yet that it <i>ought</i> consistently to have been +there”—a sentiment which provoked from Professor Dodd +a long whistle like that of Uncle Toby with Lilliburlero. +“For,” as I ingeniously represented, “man or +God consists of the Monad from which developed spirit or +intellect and soul; for <i>toto enim in mundo lucet Trias cujus +Monas est princeps</i>, as the creed of the Rosicrucians begins +(which is taken from the Zoroastrian oracles)”—here +there was another long subdued whistle—“and it is set +forth on the face of every Egyptian temple as the ball, the wings +of the spirit which rusheth into all worlds, and the serpent, +which is the <i>Logos</i>.” Here the whistle became +more sympathetic, for Egypt was the professor’s great point +in his lectures on architecture. And having thus explained +the true grounds of the Trinity to the most learned theologian of +the Presbyterian sect, I took my leave, quite unconscious that I +had said anything out of the common, for all I meant was to give +my reasons for going back to the Episcopal Church. As for +Professor Dodd, he had given me up from the very first interview +to follow my idols as I pleased, only just throwing in argument +enough to keep me well going. He would have been the last +man on earth to throw down such a marvellous fairy castle, +goblin-built and elfin-tenanted, from whose windows rang +Æolian harps, and which was lit by night with undying +Rosicrucian lamps, to erect on its ruin a plain brick, Old School +Presbyterian slated <!-- page 89--><a name="page89"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 89</span>chapel. I was far more amusing +as I was, and so I was let alone.</p> +<p>I had passed my examination about the end of June, and I was +to remain in Princeton until the autumn, reading under a tutor, +in the hope of being able to join the Sophomore class when the +college course should begin. There I was utterly alone, and +rambled by myself in the woods. I believed myself to be a +very good Christian in those days; but I was really as unaffected +and sincere a Poly-Pantheist or Old Nature heathen as ever lived +in Etrusco-Roman or early German days. A book very dear to +my heart at that time was the <i>Curiositez Inouyes</i> of +Gaffarel (Trollope was under the impression that he was the only +man in Europe who ever read it), in which there is an exquisite +theory that the stars of heaven in their courses and the lines of +winding rivers and bending corn, the curves of shells and +minerals, rocks and trees, yes, of all the shapes of all created +things, form the trace and letters of a stupendous <i>writing</i> +or characters spread all over the universe, which writing becomes +little by little legible to the one who by communion with Nature +and earnest faith seeks to penetrate the secret. I had +found in the lonely woods a small pond by a high rock, where I +often sat in order to attain this blessed illumination, and if I +did not get quite so far as I hoped, I did in reality attain to a +deep unconscious familiarity with birds and leafy shades, still +waters, and high rising trees; in short, with all the sweet +solemnity of sylvan nature, which has ever since influenced all +my life. I mean this not in the second-hand way in which it +is so generally understood, but as a <i>real</i> existence in +itself, so earnestly felt that I was but little short of talking +with elfin beings or seeing fairies flitting over flowers. +Those who explain everything by “imagination” do not +in the least understand how <i>actual</i> the life in Nature may +become to us. Reflect for a minute, thou whose whole soul +is in gossip and petty chronicles of fashion, and +“sassiety,” that in that life thou <i>wert</i> a +million years ago, and in it thou wilt be a million <!-- page +90--><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>years +hence, ever going on in all forms, often enough in rivers, rock, +and trees, and yet canst not realise with a sense of awe that +there are in these forms, passing to others—ever, ever +on—myriads of men and women, or at least their +<i>life</i>—<i>how</i> we know not, as <i>what</i> we know +not—only this, that the Will or creative force of the +Creator or Creating is in it all. This was the serious yet +unconscious inspiration of my young life in those days, in even +more elaborate or artistic form, which all went very well hand in +hand with the Euclid and Homer or Demosthenes and Livy with which +my tutor Mr. Schenk (pronounce <i>Skánk</i>) was coaching +me.</p> +<p>My reading may seem to the reader to have been more limited +than it was, because I have not mentioned the historians, +essayists, or belletrists whose works are read more or less by +“almost everybody.” It is hardly worth while to +say, what must be of course surmised, that Sterne, Addison, +Goldsmith, Johnson, Swift, and Macaulay—in fine, the +leading English classics—were really well read by me, my +ambition being not to be ignorant of anything which a literary +man should know. Macaulay was then new, and I devoured not +only his works, but a vast amount by him suggested. I +realised at an early age that there was a certain cycle of +knowledge common to all really cultivated minds, and this I was +determined to master. I had, however, little indeed of the +vanity of erudition, having been deeply convinced and constantly +depressed or shamed by the reflection that it was all worse than +useless, and injurious to making my way in life. When I +heard that Professor Dodd had said that at seventeen there were +not ten men in America who had read so much, while Professor +Joseph Henry often used words to this effect, and stern James +Alexander in his lectures would make deeply learned allusions +intended for me alone—as, for instance, to Kant’s +“Æsthetik”—I was anything but elated or +vain in consequence. I had read in <i>Sartor Resartus</i>, +“If a man reads, shall he not be learned?” and I knew +too well that reading was with me an unprofitable, perhaps +pitiable, <!-- page 91--><a name="page91"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 91</span>incurable mania-amusement, which +might ruin me for life, and which, as it was, was a daily source +of apprehension between me and my good true friends, who feared +wisely for my future.</p> +<p>I absolutely made James Alexander smile for once in his +life—’twas sunshine on the grim Tarpeian rock. +I had bought me a nice English large type Juvenal, and written on +the outside in quaint Elizabethan character form—I forget +now the name of the author—the following:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Ay, Juvenall, thy jerking hande is good,<br +/> +Not gently laying on, but bringing bloude.<br /> +Oh, suffer me amonge so manye men<br /> +To treade aright the traces of thy penne,<br /> +And light my lamp at thy eternal flame!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We students in the Latin class had left our books on a table, +when I saw grim and dour James Alexander pick up my copy, read +the inscription, when looking up at me he smiled; it was a kind +of poetry which pleased him.</p> +<p>I remember, too, how one day, when in Professor Dodd’s +class of mathematics, I, instead of attending to the lecture, +read surreptitiously Cardanus <i>de Subtilitate</i> in an old +vellum binding, and carelessly laid it on the table afterwards, +where Professor Dodd found it, and directed at me one of his +half-laughing Mephistophelian glances. Reading of novels in +lectures was not unknown; but for Dodd to find anything so +caviare-like as Cardanus among our books was unusual. +George Boker remarked once, that while Professor Dodd was a +Greek, Professor James Alexander was an old Roman, which was +indeed a good summary of the two.</p> +<p>I have and always had a bad memory, but I continued to retain +what I read by repetition or reviewing and by <i>collocation</i>, +which is a marvellous aid in retaining images. For, in the +first place, I read entirely by <span +class="smcap">groups</span>; and if I, for instance, attacked +Blair’s “Rhetoric,” Longinus and Burke Promptly +followed; and if I perused “Rambles in the Footsteps of Don +Quixote,” I at once, on principle, followed it up <!-- page +92--><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>with +“Spain in 1830,” and a careful study of Ford’s +Guide-Book for Spain, and perhaps a score of similar books, till +I had got Spain well into me. And as I have found by years +of observation and much research, having written a book on +Education partly based on this principle, ten books on any +subject read together, profit more than a hundred at +intervals. And I may here add, that if this record of what +I read be dull, it is still that of my real youthful life, giving +the clue to my mind as it was formed. Books in those days +were the only events of my life.</p> +<p>Long before I went to college I had an attack of Irish +antiquities, which I relieved by reading O’Brien, +Vallancey, the more sensible Petrie, and O’Somebody’s +Irish grammar, aided by old Annie Mooney, who always remained by +us. In after years I discovered an Ogham inscription and +the famed Ogham tongue, or <i>Shelta</i>, “the lost +language of the bards,” according to Kuno Meyer and John +Sampson.</p> +<p>During my first half-year a college magazine was published, +and I, a Freshman, was requested to contribute to the first +number. I sent in an article on the history of English +poetry. Before I wrote it, the great man among the senior +students asked leave to be allowed to write it with me. I +did not quite like the idea, but reflecting that the association +would give me a certain prestige, I accepted his aid. So it +appeared; but it was regarded as mine. Professor Dodd said +something to me about the inexpediency of so young a person +appearing in print. I could have told him that I had +already published several poems, &c., in Philadelphian +newspapers, but reflecting that it was not kind to have the +better of him, I said nothing. From that time I published +something in every number. My second article was an essay +on Spinoza, and I still think it was rather good for a boy of +sixteen.</p> +<p>There was the College and also a Society library, out of which +I picked a great deal of good reading. One day I asked +Professor John MacLean, the college librarian, for the <!-- page +93--><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>works +of Condorcet. His reply was, “Vile book! vile book! +can’t have it.” However, I found in the Society +library Urquhart’s translation of “Rabelais,” +which I read, I daresay, as often as any mortal ever did. +And here I have a word to say to the wretched idiots who regard +“the book called Rabelais” as “immoral” +and unfit for youth. Many times did I try to induce my +young friends to read “Rabelais,” and some actually +mastered the story of the goose as a <i>torche-cul</i>, and +perhaps two or three chapters more; but as for reading through or +enjoying it, “that was not in their minds.” All +complained, or at least showed, that they “did not +understand it.” It was to them an aggravating farrago +of filth and oddity, under which they suspected some formal +allegory or meaning which had perished, or was +impenetrable. Learn this, ye prigs of morality, that no +work of genius ever yet demoralised a dolt or ignoramus. +Even the Old Testament, with all its stores of the +“shocking,” really does very little harm. It +requires <i>mind for mind</i> in reading, and vice becomes +unattractive even to the vicious when they cannot understand +it. I did understand Rabelais, and the <i>Moyen de +Parvenir</i>, and the <i>Cymbalum Mundi</i>, and Boccaccio (I +owned these books), and laughed over them, yet was withal as +pure-minded a youth as could well be imagined without being a +simpleton. For, with all such reading, I best loved such a +book as Bromley’s “Sabbath of Rest,” or sweet, +strange works of ancient Mysticism, which bore the soul away to +the stars or into Nature. Such a combination is perfectly +possible when there is no stain of dishonesty or vulgarity in the +character, and I had escaped such influences easily enough.</p> +<p>A droll event took place in the spring. It had been +usual once a year—I forgot on what occasion—to give +to all the classes a holiday. This year it was abolished, +and the Sophomore, junior, and senior classes quietly +acquiesced. But we, the Freshmen, albeit we had never been +there before, rebelled at such infringement of “our +rights,” and absented ourselves from recitation. I +confess that I was a leader in the movement, <!-- page 94--><a +name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>because I +sincerely believed it to be a sin to “remove old +landmarks,” and that the students required more rest and +holidays than were allowed them; in which I was absolutely in the +right, for our whole life, except Saturday afternoons, was +“one demnition grind.”</p> +<p>The feeling which was excited by this “Freshman’s +rebellion” was one of utter amazement, or awful +astonishment tempered with laughter, not unmingled with +respect. It was the terrier flying at the lion, when the +great mastiff, and bloodhound, and Danish dog had quietly slunk +aside. There were in the class beside myself several youths +of marked character, and collectively we had already made an +impression, to which my intimacy with George Boker, and Professor +Dodd, and the very <i>élite</i> of the seniors, added not +a little force. We were <i>mysterious</i>. Hitherto a +Freshman had been the greenest of the green, a creature created +for ridicule, a sort of “leathery fox” or mere tyro +(<i>ty</i>—not a ty-pographical error—<i>pace</i> my +kind and courteous reviewer in the <i>Saturday</i>)—and +here were Freshmen of a new kind rising in dignity above all +others.</p> +<p>Which reminds me of a merry tale. It was usual for +Freshmen to learn to smoke for the first time after coming to +college, and for more advanced students to go to their rooms, or +find them in others, and smoke them sick or into +retreating. I, however, found a source of joy in this, that +I could now sit almost from morning till night, and very often on +to three in the morning, smoking all the time, being deeply +learned in Varinas, Kanaster, and the like; for I smoked nothing +but real Holland tobacco, while I could buy it. A party of +Sophomores informed George Boker that they intended to smoke me +out. “Smoke <i>him</i> out!” quoth George; +“why, he’d smoke the whole of you dumb and +blind.” However, it came to pass that one evening +several of them tried it on; and verily they might as well have +tried it on to Niklas Henkerwyssel, who, as the legend goes, sold +his soul to the devil for the ability to smoke all the time, to +whom my <!-- page 95--><a name="page95"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 95</span>father had once compared me. So +the cigars and tobacco were burned, and I liked it +extremely. Denser grew the smoke, and the windows were +closed, to which I cheerfully assented, for I liked to have it +thick; and still more smoke and more, and the young gentlemen who +had come to smother me grew pale, even as the Porcupines grew +pale when they tried to burn out the great Indian sorcerer, who +burned <i>them</i>! But I, who was beginning to enjoy +myself amazingly in such congenial society, only filled +Boker’s great meerschaum with Latakia, and puffed +away. One by one the visitors also “puffed +away,” <i>i.e.</i>, vanished through the door into the +night.</p> +<p>“Shall I open the window?” asked George.</p> +<p>“Not on my account,” I replied. “I +rather enjoy it as it is.”</p> +<p>“I begin to believe,” replied my friend, +“that you would like it in Dante’s hell of +clouds. Do you know what those men came here for? It +was <i>to smoke you out</i>. And you smoked them out, and +never knew it.” Which was perfectly true. As +for smoking, my only trouble was to be able to buy cigars and +tobacco. These were incredibly cheap in those days, and I +always dressed very respectably, but my smoking always cost me +more than my clothing.</p> +<p>When we Freshmen had rebelled, we were punished by being +rusticated or sent into the country to board. I went to +Professor Dodd to receive my sentence, and in a grave voice, in +which was a faint ring as of irony, and with the lurking devil +which always played in his great marvellous mysterious black +eyes, he said, “If you were any other student, I would not +send you to the city, and so reward your rebellion with a +holiday. But as I know perfectly well that you will go into +the Philadelphia Library, and never stop reading till it is time +to return, I will send you there.”</p> +<p>My parents were then absent with my younger sisters in New +England, but I had unlimited credit at Congress Hall Hotel, which +was kept by a Mr. John Sturdevant, and where <!-- page 96--><a +name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span>I was greatly +respected as the son of the owner of the property. So I +went there, and fared well, and, as Professor Dodd prophesied, +read all the time. One night I went into an auction of +delightful old books. My money had run low; there only +remained to me one dollar and a half.</p> +<p>Now, of all books on earth, what I most yearned for in those +days were the works of Jacob Behmen. And the auctioneer put +up a copy containing “The Aurora or Morning +Rednesse,” English version (<i>circa</i> 1636), and I +bid. One dollar—one dollar ten +cents—twenty—twenty-five; my heart palpitated, and I +half fainted for fear lest I should be outbid, when at the very +last I got it with my last penny.</p> +<p>The black eyes of Professor Dodd twinkled more elfishly than +ever when I exhibited to him my glorious treasure. He +evidently thought that my exile had been to me anything but a +punishment, and he was right. For a copy of +<i>Anthroposophos Theomagicus</i> or the works of Robert Fludd I +would have got up another rebellion.</p> +<p>It was quite against the college regulations for students to +live in the town, but as I never touched a card, was totally +abstemious and “moral,” and moreover in rather +delicate health, I was passed over as an odd exception. +Once or twice it was proposed to bring me in, but Professor Dodd +interfered and saved me. While in Princeton for more than +four years, I never once touched a drop of anything stronger than +coffee, which was a great pity! Exercise was not in those +days encouraged in any way whatever—in fact, playing +billiards and ten-pins was liable to be punished by expulsion; +there was no gymnasium, no boating, and all physical games and +manly exercises were sternly discouraged as leading to sin. +Now, if I had drunk a pint of bitter ale every day, and played +cricket or “gymnased,” or rowed for two hours, it +would have saved me much suffering, and to a great degree have +relieved me from reading, romancing, reflecting, and smoking, all +of which I carried to great excess, having an inborn impulse to +be always doing something. That I did not grapple with <!-- +page 97--><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +97</span>life as a real thing, or with prosaic college studies or +society, was, I can now see, a <i>disease</i>, for which, as my +peculiar tastes had come upon me from nervous and Unitarian and +Alcottian evil influences, I was not altogether +responsible. I was a precocious boy, and I had fully +developed extraordinary influences, which, like the seed of +Scripture, had in my case fallen on more than fertile ground; it +was like the soil of the Margariten Island, by Budapest, which is +so permeated by hot springs in a rich soil that everything comes +to maturity there in one-third of the time which it does +elsewhere. I was the last child on earth who should ever +have fallen into Alcott’s hands, or listened to Dr. +Channing or Furness, or have been interested in anything +“ideal”; but fate willed that I should drink the +elfin goblet to the dregs.</p> +<p>George H. Boker had a great influence on me. We were in +a way connected, for my uncle Amos had married his aunt, and my +cousin, Benjamin Godfrey, his cousin. He was exactly six +feet high, with the form of an Apollo, and a head which was the +very counterpart of the bust of Byron. A few years later N. +P. Willis described him in the <i>Home Journal</i> as the +handsomest man in America. He had been from boyhood as +precociously a man of the world as I was the opposite. He +was <i>par éminence</i> the poet of our college, and in a +quiet, gentlemanly way its “swell.” I passed a +great deal of my time in his rooms reading Wordsworth, Shelley, +and Byron, the last named being his ideal. He ridiculed the +Lakers, whom I loved; and when Southey’s last poem, +“On Gooseberry Pie,” appeared, he declared that the +poor old man was in his dotage, to which I assented with sorrow +in my heart. Though only one year older than I, yet, as a +<i>Junior</i>, and from his superior knowledge of life, I +regarded him as being about thirty. He was quite familiar, +in a refined and gentlemanly way, with all the dissipation of +Philadelphia and New York; nor was the small circle of his +friends, with whom I habitually associated, much behind him in +this respect. Even during this Junior year he was offered +<!-- page 98--><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +98</span>the post of secretary to our Ambassador at Vienna. +From him and the others I acquired a second-hand knowledge of +life, which was sufficient to keep me from being regarded as a +duffer or utterly “green,” though in all such +“life” I was practically as innocent as a young +nun. Now, whatever I heard, as well as read, I always +turned over and over in my mind, thoroughly digesting it to a +most exceptional degree. So that I was somewhat like the +young lady of whom I heard in Vienna in after years. She +was brought up in the utmost moral and strict seclusion, but she +found in her room an aperture through which she could witness all +that took place in the neighbouring room of a <i>maison de +passe</i>; but being a great philosopher, she in time regarded it +all as the “butterfly passing show” of a theatre, the +mere idle play of foolish mortal passions.</p> +<p>Even before I began my Freshman year there came into my life a +slight but new and valuable influence. Professor Dodd, when +I arrived, had just begun his course of lectures on +architecture. To my great astonishment, but not at all to +that of George Boker, I was invited to attend the course, Boker +remarking dryly that he had no doubt that Dodd thanked God for +having at last got an auditor who would appreciate him. +Which I certainly did. I in after years listened to the +great Thiersch, who trained Heine to art, and of whom I was a +special <i>protégé</i>, and many great teachers, +but I never listened to any one like Albert Dodd. It was +not with him the mere description of styles and dates; it was a +deep and truly æsthetic feeling that every phase of +architecture mirrors and reciprocally forms its age, and breathes +its life and poetry and religion, which characterised all that he +said. It was in nothing like the subjective rhapsodies of +Ruskin, which bloomed out eight years later, but rather in the +spirit of Vischer and Taine, which J. A. Symonds has so +beautifully and clearly set forth in his Essays <a +name="citation98"></a><a href="#footnote98" +class="citation">[98]</a><!-- page 99--><a +name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>—that +is, the spirit of historical development. Here my German +philosophy enabled me to grasp a subtle and delicate spirit of +beauty, which passed, I fear, over the heads of the rest of the +youthful audience. His ideas of the correspondence of +Egyptian architecture to the stupendous massiveness of Pantheism +and the appalling grandeur of its ideas, were clear enough to me, +who had copied Hermes Trismegistus and read with deepest feeling +the Orphic and Chaldean oracles. The ideas had not only +been long familiar to me, but formed my very life and the subject +of the most passionate study. To hear them clearly +expressed with rare beauty, in the deep, strange voice of the +professor, was joy beyond belief. And as it would not be in +human nature for a lecturer not to note an admiring auditor, it +happened often enough that something was often introduced for my +special appreciation.</p> +<p>For I may here note—and it was a very natural +thing—that just as Gypsy musicians always select in the +audience some one who seems to be most appreciative, at whom they +play (they call it <i>dé o kān</i>), so Professors +Dodd and James Alexander afterwards, in their æsthetic, or +more erudite disquisitions, rarely failed to fiddle at +me—Dodd looking right in my eyes, and Alexander at the +ceiling, ending, however, with a very brief glance, as if for +conscience’ sake. I feel proud of this, and it +affects me more now than it did then, when it produced no effect +of vanity, and seemed to me to be perfectly natural.</p> +<p>I heard certain mutterings and hoots among the students as I +went out of the lecture-room, but did not know what it +meant. George Boker informed me afterwards that there had +been great indignation expressed that “a green ignorant +Freshman” had dared to intrude, as I had done, among his +intellectual superiors and betters, but that he had at once +explained <!-- page 100--><a name="page100"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 100</span>that I was a great friend of +Professor Dodd, and a kind of marvellous <i>rara avis</i>, not to +be classed with common little Freshmen; so that in future I was +allowed to go my way in peace.</p> +<p>A man of culture who had known Coleridge well, declared that +as a conversationalist on varied topics Professor Albert Dodd was +his superior. When in the pulpit, or in the lengthened +“addresses” of lecturing, there was a marvellous +fascination in his voice—an Italian witch, or red Indian, +or a gypsy would have at once recognised in him a sorcerer. +Yet his manner was subdued, his voice monotonous, never loud, a +running stream without babbling stones or rapids; but when it +came to a climax cataract he cleared it with grandeur, leaving a +stupendous impression. In the ordinary monotony of that +deep voice there was soon felt an indescribable charm. In +saying this I only repeat what I have heard in more or less +different phrase from others. There was always in his eyes +(and in this as in other points he resembled Emerson) a strange +indefinable suspicion of a smile, though he, like the Sage of +Concord, rarely laughed. Owing to these black eyes, and his +sallow complexion, his sobriquet among the students was +“the royal Bengal tiger.” He was not unlike +Emerson as a lecturer. I heard the latter deliver his great +course of lectures in London in 1848—including the famous +one on Napoleon—but he had not to the same perfection the +music of the voice, nor the indefinable mysterious charm which +characterised the style of Professor Dodd, who played with +emotion as if while feeling he was ever superior to it. He +was a great actor, who had gone far beyond acting or art.</p> +<p>Owing, I suppose, to business losses, my father and family +lived for two years either at Congress Hall Hotel or <i>en +pension</i>. I spent my first vacation at the former +place. There lived in the house a Colonel John Du Solle, +the editor of a newspaper. He was a good-natured, rather +dissipated man, who kept horses and had a fancy for me, and took +me out <!-- page 101--><a name="page101"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 101</span>“on drives,” and once +introduced me in the street to a great actress, Susan Cushman, <a +name="citation101"></a><a href="#footnote101" +class="citation">[101]</a> and very often to theatres and +coffee-houses and reporters, and printed several of my +lucubrations. Du Solle was in after years secretary to P. +T. Barnum, whom I also knew well. He was kind to me, and I +owe him this friendly mention. Some people thought him a +rather dangerous companion for youth, but I was never taken by +him into bad company or places, nor did I ever hear from him a +word of which my parents would have disapproved. But I +really believe that I could at that time, or any other, have kept +company with the devil and not been much harmed: it was not in +me. Edgar A. Poe was often in Du Solle’s office and +at Congress Hall.</p> +<p>In the summer we all went to Stonington, Connecticut, where we +lived at a hotel called the Wadawanuc House. There I went +out sailing—once on a clam-bake excursion in a yacht owned +by Captain Nat. Palmer, who had discovered Palmer’s +Land—and sailed far and wide. That summer I also saw +on his own deck the original old Vanderbilt himself, who was then +the captain of a Sound steamboat; and I bathed every day in +salt-water, and fished from the wharf, and smoked a great deal, +and read French books; and after a while we went into +Massachusetts and visited the dear old villages and Boston, and +so on, till I had to return to Princeton. Soon after my +father took another house in Walnut Street, the next door above +the one where we had lived. This one was rather better, for +though it had less garden, it had larger back-buildings.</p> +<p><i>Bon an</i>, <i>mal an</i>, the time passed away at +Princeton for four years. I was often very ill. In +the last year the physician <!-- page 102--><a +name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>who tested +my lungs declared they were unsound in two places; and about this +time I was believed to have contracted an incurable stoop in the +shoulders. One day I resolved that from <i>that minute</i> +I would always hold myself straight upright; and I did so, and in +the course of time became as straight as an arrow, and have +continued so, I believe, ever since.</p> +<p>I discovered vast treasures of strange reading in the library +of the Princeton Theological College. There was in one +corner in a waste-room at least two cart-loads of old books in a +cobwebbed dusty pile. Out of that pile I raked the +<i>thirteenth</i> known copy of Blind Harry’s famed poem, a +black-letter Euphues Lely, an <i>Erra Pater</i> (a very +weak-minded friend <i>actually shamed</i> me out of making a copy +of this great curiosity, telling me it was silly and childish of +me to be so pleased with old trash), and many more marvels, which +were so little esteemed in Princeton, that one of the professors, +seeing me daft with delight over my finds, told me I was quite +welcome to keep them all; but I, who better knew their +<i>great</i> value, would not avail myself of the offer, +reflecting that a time would come when these treasures would be +properly valued. God knows it was a <i>terrible</i> +temptation to me, and such as I hope I may never have +again—<i>ne inducas nos in temptationem</i>!</p> +<p>The time for my graduation was at hand. I had profited +very much in the last year by the teaching and friendly counsel +of Professor Joseph Henry, whose lectures on philosophy I +diligently attended; also those on geology, chemistry and botany +by Professor Torrey, and by the company of Professor +Topping. I stood very high in Latin, and perhaps first in +English branches. Yet, because I had fallen utterly short +in mathematics, I was rated the lowest but one in the +class—or, honestly speaking, the very last, for the one +below me was an utterly reckless youth, who could hardly be said +to have studied or graduated at all. There were two honours +usually awarded for proficiency in study. One was the First +Honour, <!-- page 103--><a name="page103"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 103</span>and he who received it delivered the +Valedictory Oration; the second was the Poem; and by an excess of +kindness and justice for which I can never feel too grateful, and +which was really an extraordinary stretch of their power under +the circumstances, the Poem was awarded to me!</p> +<p>I was overwhelmed at the honour, but bitterly mortified and +cut to my heart to think how little I had deserved it; for I had +never done a thing save read and study that which pleased me and +was <i>easy</i>. I wrote the poem (and I still think it was +a good one, for I put all my soul into it), and sent it in to the +Faculty, with a letter stating that I was deeply grateful for +their extreme kindness, but that, feeling I had not deserved it, +I must decline the honour. But I sent them my MS. as a +proof that I did not do so because I felt myself incapable, and +because I wished to give them some evidence that they had not +erred in regarding me as a poet.</p> +<p>Very foolish and boyish, the reader may say, and yet I never +regretted it. The Faculty were not to blame for the system +pursued, and they did their utmost in every way for four years to +make it easy and happy for one of the laziest and most +objectionable students whom they had ever had. I have never +been really able to decide whether I was right or wrong. At +liberal Cambridge, Massachusetts, neither I nor the professors +would ever have discovered a flaw in my industry. At the +closely cramped, orthodox, hide-bound, mathematical Princeton, +every weakness in me seemed to be developed. Thirty years +later I read in the <i>Nassau Monthly</i>, which I had once +edited, that if Boker and I and a few others had become known in +literature, we had done so <i>in spite of</i> our education +there. I do not know who wrote it; whoever he was, I am +much obliged to him for a very comforting word. For, +discipline apart, it was literally “in spite of our +education” that we learned anything worth knowing at +Princeton—as it then was.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>From this point a new phase of life begins. Prominent +<!-- page 104--><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +104</span>in it and as its moving power was the great kindness of +my father. That I had graduated at all under any conditions +was gratifying, and so was the fact that it was not in reality +without the so-called Second Honour, despite my low grade. +And the pitiable condition of my health was considered. +During the last year I had taken lessons in dancing and fencing, +which helped me a little, and I looked as if I might become +strong with a change of life. So my father took my mother +and me on a grand excursion. We went to Stonington, New +York, and Saratoga, where I attended a ball—my +first—and then on to Niagara. On the way we stopped +at Auburn, where there was a great State-prison, which I visited +alone. There was among its attractions a noted murderer +under sentence of death. There were two or three ladies and +gentlemen who were shown by the warder with me over the +building. He expressed some apprehension as to showing us +the murderer, for he was a very desperate character. We +entered a large room, and I saw a really gentlemanly-looking man +heavily ironed, who was reading a newspaper. While the +others conversed with him, I endeavoured to make unobserved a +sketch of his face. The warder noticing this, called me to +the front to make it boldly, and the prisoner, smiling, told me +to go on with it; which I did, and that not so badly—at +least, the sitter approved of it.</p> +<p>So we went up the beautiful Hudson, which far surpasses the +Rhine, and yields the palm only to the Danube, stopping at +Poughkeepsie and Albany, and so on to Niagara Falls. On the +way we passed through a burning forest. My awe at this +wonderful sight amused some one present to whom it was a familiar +thing. Which reminds me that about the time when I first +went to college, but while staying at Congress Hall, I there met +a youth from Alabama or Mississippi, who was on his way to +Princeton to join our ranks. To him I of course showed +every attention, and by way of promoting his happiness took him +to the top of the belfry of the State House, whence there is a +fine view. While there I casually <!-- page 105--><a +name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>remarked +what a number of ships there were in the river, whereupon he +eagerly cried, “Oh, show me one! I never saw a ship +in all my life!” I gazed at him in utter +astonishment, as if I would say, “What manner of man art +thou?” and then recalling myself, said, “Well, we are +just equal, for you never saw a ship, and I never saw a +<i>cotton-field</i>.” The young man smiled +incredulously, and replied, “Now I know that you are trying +to humbug me, for how <i>could</i> you grow up without ever +seeing cotton-fields?”</p> +<p>We arrived at Niagara about noon, and I at once went to see +the Falls. There was a very respectable-looking old +gentleman, evidently from the far South, with two young ladies, +one a great beauty, advancing just before. I heard him say, +“Now, keep your eyes closed, or look down till you can have +a full view.” I did the same, and when he cried +“Look up!” did so. It was one of the great +instants of my life.</p> +<p>I know not how it was, but that first glance suggested to me +something <i>chivalric</i>. It may have been from +Byron’s simile of the tail of the white horse and the +cataract, and the snow-white steed of that incarnation of +nobility, Crescentius, and there rang in my memory a mystical +verse—</p> +<blockquote><p>“My eye bears a glance like the gleam of a +lance<br /> + When I hear the waters dash and dance;<br /> +And I smile with glee, for I love to see<br /> + The sight of anything that’s free!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But it was a mingled sense of nobility, and above all of +<i>freedom</i>, which impressed me in that roaring mist of +waters, in the wild river leaping as in reckless sport over the +vast broad precipice. It is usual, especially for those who +have no gift of description, to say that Niagara is +“utterly indescribable,” and the Visitors’ Book +has this opinion repeated by the American Philistine on every +page. But that is because those who say so have no proper +comprehension of facts stated, no poetic faculty, and no +imagination. Of course no mere description, however +perfect, would give the same conception of even a pen or a button +as would the <i>sight</i> thereof; <!-- page 106--><a +name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>but it is +absurd and illogical to speak as if this were <i>peculiar</i> to +a great thing alone. For my part, I believe that the mere +description to a <i>poet</i>, or to one who has dwelt by wood and +wold and steeped his soul in Nature, of a tremendous cataract a +mile in breadth and two hundred feet high, cleft by a wooded +island, and rushing onward below in awful rocky rapids with a +mighty roar, would, could, or should convey a very good idea of +the great sight. For I found in after years, when I came to +see Venice and the temples on the Nile, that they were +picturesquely or practically precisely what I had expected to +see, not one shade or <i>nuance</i> of an expression more or +less. As regards Rome and all Gothic cathedrals, I had been +assured so often, or so generally, by all “intelligent +tourists,” that they were all wretched rubbish, that I was +amazed to find them so beautiful. And so much as to +anticipations of Niagara, which I have thrice visited, and the +constant assertion by cads unutterable that it is +“indescribable.”</p> +<p>While at Niagara for three days, I walked about a great deal +with a young lady whose acquaintance we had made at the +hotel. As she was, I verily believe, the very first, not a +relative, with whom I had ever taken a walk, or, I may almost +say, formed an acquaintance, it constituted an event in my life +equal to Niagara itself in importance. I was at this time +just twenty-one, and certain I am that among twenty-one thousand +college graduates of my age in America, of the same condition of +life, there was not another so inexperienced in worldly ways, or +so far behind his age, or so “docile unto +discipline.” I was, in fact, morally where most boys +in the United States are at twelve or thirteen; which is a very +great mistake where there is a fixed determination that the youth +shall make his own way in life. We cannot have boys good +little angels at home and devils in business +abroad.—<i>Horum utrum magis velim</i>, <i>mihi incertum +est</i>.</p> +<h2><!-- page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 107</span>III. UNIVERSITY LIFE AND +TRAVEL IN EUROPE. 1845-1848.</h2> +<p>Passage in a sailing +ship—Gibraltar—Marseilles—Smugglers and a +slaver—Italy—Life in Rome—Torlonia’s +balls and the last great Carnival of 1846—Navone, the chief +of police—Florence—Venice—How I passed the +Bridge of Sighs—The Black Bait—Slavery—Crossing +the Simplon—Switzerland—Pleasing introduction to +Germany—Student life at Heidelberg—Captain +Medwin—Justinus Kerner—How I saw Jenny +Lind—Munich—Lola Montez—Our house on +fire—All over Germany—How I was turned out of +Poland—Paris in 1847—The Revolution of 1848—I +become conspirator and captain of barricades—Taking of the +Tuileries—The police bow me out of Prance—A season in +London—Return to America.</p> +<p>After our return to Philadelphia something of great importance +to me began to be discussed. My cousin Samuel Godfrey, who +was a few years older than I, finding himself threatened with +consumption, of which all his family died, resolved to go to +Marseilles on a voyage, and persuaded my father to let me +accompany him. At this time I had, as indeed for many years +before, such a desire to visit Europe that I might almost have +died of it. So it was at last determined that I should go +with “Sam,” and after all due preparations and +packing, I bade farewell to mother and Henry and the dear little +twin sisters, and youngest Emily, our pet, and went with my +father to New York, where I was the guest for a few days of my +cousin, Mrs. Caroline Wight, whom the reader may recall as the +one who used to correct my French exercises in Dedham.</p> +<p>We were to sail in a packet or ship for Marseilles. My +<!-- page 108--><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>father saw me off. He was wont to say in after +years, that as I stood on the deck at the last moment and looked +affectionately at him, there was in my eyes an expression of +innocence or goodness and gentleness which he never saw +again. Which was, I am sure, very true; the great pity +being that that look had not utterly disappeared years +before. If it only <i>had</i> vanished with boyhood, as it +ought to have done, my father would have been spared much +sorrow.</p> +<p>At this time I was a trifle over six feet two in height, and +had then and for some time after so fair a red and white +complexion, that the young ladies in Philadelphia four years +later teased me by spreading the report that I used rouge and +white paint! I was not as yet “filled out,” but +held myself straightly, and was fairly proportioned. I wore +a cap <i>a l’étudiant</i>, very much over my left +ear, and had very long, soft, straight, dark-brown hair; my dream +and ideal being the German student. I was extremely shy of +strangers, but when once acquainted soon became very friendly, +and in most cases made a favourable impression. I was +“neat and very clean-looking,” as a lady described +me, for the daily bath or sponge was universal in Philadelphia +long ere it was even in England, and many a time when travelling +soon after, I went without a meal in order to have my tub, when +time did not permit of both. I was very sensitive, and my +feelings were far too easily pained; on the other hand, I had no +trace of the common New England youth’s vulgar failing of +nagging, teasing, or vexing others under colour of being +“funny” or “cute.” A very striking, +and, all things considered, a remarkable characteristic was that +I <i>hated</i>, as I still do, with all my soul, gossip about +other people and their affairs; never read even a card not meant +for my eyes, and detested curiosity, prying, and inquisitiveness +as I did the devil. I owe a great development of this to a +curious incident. It must have been about the time when I +first went to college, that I met at Cape May a naval officer, +who roomed with me in a cottage, a farm-house near a hotel, and +whom I greatly admired <!-- page 109--><a +name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>as a man of +the world and a model of good manners. To him one day I +communicated some gossip about somebody, when he abruptly cut me +short, and when I would go on informed me that he never listened +to such talk. This made a very deep impression on me, which +never disappeared; nay, it grew with my growth and strengthened +with my strength. Now the New England people, especially +Bostonians, are inordinately given to knowing everything about +everybody, and to “tittle-tattle,” while the +Southerners are comparatively free from it and very +incurious. Two-thirds of the students at Princeton were of +the first families in the South, and there my indifference to +what did not personally concern one was regarded as a +virtue. But there is a spot in this sun—that he who +never cares a straw to know about the affairs of other people, +will, not only if he live in Boston, but almost anywhere +else—Old England not at all excepted—be forced, in +spite of himself, and though he were as meek and lowly as man may +be, into looking down on and feeling himself superior unto those +people who <i>will</i> read a letter not meant for their eyes, or +eavesdrop, or talk in any way about anybody in a strain to which +they would not have that person listen. Which reminds me +that in after years I got some praise in the newspapers for the +saying that a Yankee’s idea of hell was a place where he +must mind his own business. It came about in this +way. In a letter to Charles Astor Bristed I made this +remark, and illustrated it with a picture of Virgil taking a +Yankee attired in a chimney-pot hat and long night-gown into the +Inferno, over whose gate was written—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Badate a vostri affari voi che +intrate!”<br /> +(Mind your own business ye who enter here!)</p> +</blockquote> +<p>One day soon after my arrival at Princeton, George Boker laid +on the table by me a paper or picture with its face down. I +took no notice of it. After a time he said, “Why +don’t you look at that picture?” I replied +simply, “If you wanted me to see it you would have turned +it face up.” To which he <!-- page 110--><a +name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>remarked, +“I put it there to see whether you would look at it. +I thought you would not.” George was a “deep, +sagacious file,” who studied men like books.</p> +<p>My cousin who accompanied me had as a boy “run away and +gone to sea” cod-fishing on the Grand Banks. If I had +gone with him it would have done me good. Another cousin, +Benjamin Stimson, did the same; he is the S. often mentioned in +Dana’s “Two Years Before the Mast.” Dana +and Stimson were friends, and ran away together. It was +quite the rule for all my Yankee cousins to do this, and they all +benefited by it. In consequence of his nautical experience +Sam was soon at home among all sailors, and not having my +scruples as to knowing who was who or their affairs, soon knew +everything that was going on. Our captain was a handsome, +dissipated, and “loud” young man, with rather more +sail than ballast, but good-natured and obliging.</p> +<p>“Come day, go day,” we passed the Gulf Stream and +the Azores, and had long sunny calms, when we could not sail, and +lay about on deck, warm and lazy, and saw the Azores, and so on, +till we were near the Spanish coast. One evening there +clipped right under our lee a fisherman’s smack. +“I say, Leland, hail that fellow!” said the +captain. So I called in Spanish, “Adonde venga +usted?”</p> +<p>“Da Algesiras,” was the reply, which thrilled out +of my heart the thought that, like the squire in +Chaucer—</p> +<blockquote><p>“He had been at the siege of +Algecir.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So I called, in parting, “Dios vaya con +usted!”</p> +<p>Sam informed me that the manner in which I hailed the +fisherman had made a great impression on the captain, who lauded +me highly. It also made one on me, because it was the first +time I ever spoke to a European <i>in Europe</i>!</p> +<p>Anon we were boarded by an old weather-beaten seadog of a +Spanish pilot, unto whom I felt a great attraction; and greeting +him in Malagan Spanish, such as I had learned from Manuel Gori, +as <i>Hermano</i>! and offering him with ceremonious <!-- page +111--><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +111</span>politeness a good cigar, I also drew his regards; all +Spaniards, as I well knew, being extremely fond, beyond all men +on earth, of intimacy with gentlemen. We were delayed for +two days at Gibraltar. I may here remark, by the way, that +this voyage of our ship is described in a book by Mrs. Fanny +Kemble Butler, entitled “A Year of Consolation +Abroad.” She was on board, but never spoke to a soul +among the passengers.</p> +<p>I was never acquainted with Mrs. Butler, as I easily might +have been, for we had some very intimate friends in common; but +as a boy I had been “frightened of her” by certain +anecdotes as to her temper, and perhaps the influence lasted into +later years. I have, however, heard her lecture. She +was a very clever woman, and Mr. Henry James, in <i>Temple +Bar</i> for March, 1893, thus does justice to her conversational +power:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Her talk reflected a thousand vanished and +present things; but there were those of her friends for whom its +value was, almost before any other, documentary. The +generations move so fast and change so much, that Mrs. Kemble +testified even more than she affected to do, which was much, to +ancient manners and a close chapter of history. Her +conversation swarmed with people and with criticism of people, +with the ghosts of a dead society. She had, in two +hemispheres, seen every one and known every one, had assisted at +the social comedy of her age. Her own habits and traditions +were in themselves a survival of an era less democratic and more +mannered. I have no room for enumerations, which, moreover, +would be invidious; but the old London of her talk—the +direction I liked is best to take—was, in particular, a +gallery of portraits. She made Count d’Orsay +familiar, she made Charles Greville present; I thought it +wonderful that she could be anecdotic about Miss Edgeworth. +She reanimated the old drawing-rooms, relighted the old lamps, +retuned the old pianos. The finest comedy of all, perhaps, +was that of her own generous whimsicalities. She was +superbly willing to amuse, and on any terms; and her temper could +do it as well as her wit. If either of these had failed, +her eccentricities were always there. She had more +‘habits’ than most people have room in life for, and +a theory that to a person of her disposition they were as +necessary as the close meshes of a strait-waistcoat. If she +had not lived by rule (on her showing) she would have lived +infallibly by riot. Her rules and her riots, her +reservations and her concessions, <!-- page 112--><a +name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>all her +luxuriant theory and all her extravagant practice; her drollery, +that mocked at her melancholy; her imagination, that mocked at +her drollery; and her wonderful manners, all her own, that mocked +a little at everything: these were part of the constant freshness +which made those who loved her love her so much. ‘If +my servants can live with me a week, they can live with me for +ever,’ she often said; ‘but the first week sometimes +kills them.’ A domestic who had been long in her +service quitted his foreign home the instant he heard of her +death, and, travelling for thirty hours, arrived travel-stained +and breathless, like a messenger in a romantic tale, just in time +to drop a handful of flowers into her grave.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There came on board of our boat a fruit-dealer, and the old +pilot, seeing that I was about to invest a <i>real</i> in grapes, +said, “Let me buy them for you”; which he did, +obtaining half-a-peck of exquisite large grapes of a beautiful +purple colour.</p> +<p>There was a middle-aged lady among the passengers, of whom the +least I can say was, that she had a great many little winning +ways of making herself disagreeable. She imposed +frightfully on me while on board, getting me to mark her trunks +for her, and carry them into the hold, &c. (the sailors +disliked her so much that they refused to touch them), and then +cut me dead when on shore. This ancient horror, seeing me +with so many grapes, and learning the price, concluded that if a +mere boy like me could get so many, she, a lady, could for four +reals lay in a stock which would last for life, more or +less. So she obtained a bushel-basket, expecting to get it +heaped full; but what was her wrath at only getting for her +silver half-dollar just enough to hide the bottom thereof! +Great was her rage, but rage availed her nought. She did +not call old pilots “Brother,” or give them cigars, +or talk Malagano politely. She was not even +“half-Spanish,” and therefore, as we used to say at +college of certain unpopular people, was “a bad +smoke.”</p> +<p>We went on shore on Sunday, which in those days always made +Gibraltar literally like a fancy ball. The first person +whom I met was a pretty young lady in full, antique, rich <!-- +page 113--><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>Castilian costume, followed by a servant bearing her +book of devotion. Seeing my gaze of admiration, she smiled, +at which I bowed, and she returned the salute and went her +way. Such an event had never happened to me before in all +my life. I accepted it philosophically as one of a new +order of things into which I was destined to enter. Then I +saw men from every part of Spain in quaint dresses, Castilians in +cloaks, Andalusians in the jaunty <i>majo</i> rig, Gallegos, +Moors from the Barbary coast, many Greeks, old Jews in +gabardines, Scotch Highland soldiers, and endless +more—<i>concursus splendidus</i>—<i>non possum non +mirari</i>.</p> +<p>I felt myself very happy and very much at home in all +this. I strolled about the streets talking Spanish to +everybody. Then I met with a smuggler, who asked me if I +wanted to buy cigars. I did. In New York my uncle +George had given me a box of five hundred excellent Havanas, and +these had lasted me exactly twenty days. I had smoked the +last twenty-five on the last day. So I went and bought at a +low enough figure a box of the worst cigars I had ever met +with. But youth can smoke anything—except deceit.</p> +<p>Entrance to the galleries was strictly forbidden in those +days, but an incorruptible British sergeant, for an incorruptible +dollar or two, showed us over them. There was, too, a +remarkable man, a ship-chandler named Felipe, to whom I was +introduced. Felipe spoke twenty-four languages. He +boarded every ship and knew everybody. Gibraltar was then a +vast head-quarters of social evils, or blessings, and Felipe, who +was a perfect Hercules, mentioned incidentally that he had had a +new <i>maja</i>, or <i>moza</i>, or <i>muger</i>, or <i>puta</i>, +every night for twenty years! which was confirmed by common +report. It was a firm principle with him to always +<i>change</i>. This extraordinary fact made me reflect +deeply on it as a <i>psychological</i> phenomenon. This far +surpassed anything I had ever heard at Princeton. Then this +and that great English dignitary was pointed out to +me—black eyes ogled me—everybody <!-- page 114--><a +name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>was polite, +for I had a touch of the Spanish manner which I had observed in +the ex-Capitan-General and others whom I had known in +Philadelphia; and, in short, I saw more that was picturesque and +congenial in that one day than I had ever beheld in all my life +before. I had got into “my plate.”</p> +<p>From Gibraltar our ship sailed on to Marseilles. The +coasts were full of old ruins, which I sketched. We lay off +Malaga for a day, but I could not go ashore, much as I longed +to. At Marseilles, Sam and the captain and I went to a very +good hotel.</p> +<p>Now it had happened that on the voyage before a certain French +lady—the captain said she was a Baroness—having +fallen in love with the said captain, had secreted herself on +board the vessel, greatly to his horror, and reappeared when out +at sea. Therefore, as soon as we arrived at Marseilles, the +injured husband came raging on board and tried to shoot the +captain, which made a great <i>scandal</i>. And, moved by +this example, the coloured cook of our vessel, who had a wife, +shot the head-waiter on the same day, being also instigated by +jealousy. Sam Godfrey chaffed the captain for setting a bad +moral example to the niggers—which was all quite a change +from Princeton. Life was beginning to be lively.</p> +<p>There had come over on the vessel with us, in the cabin, a +droll character, an actor in a Philadelphia theatre, who had +promptly found a lodging in a kind of maritime +boarding-house. Getting into some difficulty, as he could +not speak French he came in a great hurry to beg me to go with +him to his <i>pension</i> to act as interpreter, which I +did. I found at once that it was a Spanish house, and the +resort of smugglers. The landlady was a very pretty +black-eyed woman, who played the guitar, and sang Spanish songs, +and brought out Spanish wine, and was marvellously polite to me, +to my astonishment, not unmingled with innocent gratitude.</p> +<p>There I was at home. At Princeton I had learned to play +the guitar, and from Manuel Gori, who had during all his <!-- +page 115--><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>boyhood been familiar with low life and smugglers, I +had learned many songs and some slang. And so, with a crowd +of dark, fierce, astonished faces round me of men eagerly +listening, I sang a smuggler’s song—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Yo que soy contrabandista,<br /> +Y campo a me rispeto,<br /> +A todos mi desafio,<br /> +Quien me compra hilo negro?<br /> + Ay jaleo!<br /> + Muchachas jaleo!<br /> +Quien me compra hilo negro!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Great was the amazement and thundering the applause from my +auditors. Let the reader imagine a nun of fourteen years +asked to sing, and bursting out with “Go it while +you’re young!” Then I sang the <i>Tragala</i>, +which coincided with the political views of my friends. But +my grand <i>coup</i> was in reserve. I had learned from +Borrow’s “Gypsies in Spain” a long string of +Gitano or Gypsy verses, such as—</p> +<blockquote><p>“El eray guillabela,<br /> + El eray obusno;<br /> +Que avella romanella,<br /> + No avella obusno!”</p> +<p>“Loud sang the <i>gorgio</i> to his fair,<br /> + And thus his ditty ran:—<br /> +‘Oh, may the Gypsy maiden come,<br /> + And not the Gypsy man!’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And yet again—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Coruncho Lopez, gallant lad,<br /> + A smuggling he would ride;<br /> +So stole his father’s ambling prad,<br /> +And therefore to the galleys sad<br /> + Coruncho now I guide.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This was a final <i>coup</i>. How the <i>diabolo</i> I, +such an innocent stranger youth, had ever learned Spanish +<i>Gypsy</i>—the least knowledge of which in Spain implies +unfathomable iniquity <!-- page 116--><a name="page116"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 116</span>and fastness—was beyond all +comprehension. So I departed full of honour amid thunders +of applause.</p> +<p>From the first day our room was the resort of all the American +ship-captains in Marseilles. We kept a kind of social hall +or exchange, with wine and cigars on the side-table, all of which +dropping in and out rather reminded me of Princeton. My +friend the actor had pitched upon a young English Jew, who seemed +to me to be a doubtful character. He sang very well, and +was full of local news and gossip. He, too, was at home +among us. One evening our captain told us how he every day +smuggled ashore fifty cigars in his hat. At hearing this, I +saw a gleam in the eyes of the young man, which was a revelation +to me. When he had gone, I said to the captain, “You +had better not smuggle any cigars to-morrow. That fellow is +a spy of the police.”</p> +<p>The next day Captain Jack on leaving his ship was accosted by +the <i>douaniers</i>, who politely requested him to take off his +hat. He refused, and was then told that he must go before +the <i>préfet</i>. There the request was +renewed. He complied; but “forewarned, +forearmed”—there was nothing in it.</p> +<p>Captain Jack complimented me on my sagacity, and scolded the +actor for making such friends. But he had unconsciously +made me familiar with one compared to whom the spy was a +trifle. I have already fully and very truthfully described +this remarkable man in an article in <i>Temple Bar</i>, but his +proper place is here. He was a little modest-looking +Englishman, who seemed to me rather to look up to the fast young +American captains as types or models of more daring beings. +Sometimes he would tell a mildly-naughty tale as if it were a +wild thing. He consulted with me as to going to Paris and +hearing lectures at the University, his education having been +neglected. He had, I was told, experienced a sad loss, +having just lost his ship on the Guinea coast. One day I +condoled with him, saying that I heard he had been ruined.</p> +<p><!-- page 117--><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>“Yes,” replied the captain, “I +have. Something like this: My mother once had a very pretty +housemaid who disappeared. Some time after I met her +magnificently dressed, and I said, ‘Sally, where do you +live now?’ She replied, ‘Please, sir, I +don’t live anywhere now; I’ve been +<i>ruined</i>.’”</p> +<p>Sam explained to me that the captain had a keg of gold-dust +and many diamonds, and having wrecked his vessel intentionally, +was going to London to get a heavy insurance. He had been +“ruined” to his very great advantage. Then Sam +remarked—</p> +<p>“You don’t know the captain. I tell you, +Charley, that man is an old slaver or pirate. See how +I’ll draw him out.”</p> +<p>‘The next day Sam began to talk. He remarked that +he had been to sea and had some money which he wished to +invest. His health required a warm climate, such as the +African coast. We would both, in fact, like to go into the +Guinea business. [<i>Bozales</i>—“sacks of +charcoal,” I remarked in Spanish slaver-slang.] The +captain smiled. He had apparently heard the expression +before. He considered it. He had a great liking for +me, and thought that a trip or two under the black flag would do +me a great deal of good. So he noted down our address, and +promised that as soon as he should get a ship we should hear from +him.</p> +<p>After that the captain, regarding me as enlisted in the +fraternity, and only waiting till ’twas “time for us +to go,” had no secrets from me. He was very glad that +I knew Spanish and French, and explained that if I would learn +Coromantee or Ebo, it would aid us immensely in getting +cargoes. By the way, I became very well acquainted in after +years with King George of Bonney, and can remember entertaining +him with a story how a friend of mine once (in Cuba) bought +thirty Ebos, and on entering the barracoon the next morning, +found them all hanging by the necks dead, like a row of possums +in the Philadelphia market—they having, with magnificent +pluck, and in glorious defiance of Buckra civilisation, resolved +to go back to Africa. I have found other blacks <!-- page +118--><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +118</span>who believed that all good darkies when they die go to +Guinea, and one of these was very touching and strange. He +had been brought as a slave-child to South Carolina, but was +always haunted by the memory of a group of cocoa-palms by a place +where the wild white surf of the ocean bounded up to the +shore—a rock, sunshine, and sand. There he declared +his soul would go. He was a Voodoo, and a man of marvellous +strange mind.</p> +<p>Day by day my commander gave me, as I honestly believe, +without a shadow of exaggeration, all the terrific details of a +slaver’s life, and his strange experiences in buying slaves +in the interior. Compared to the awful massacres and +cruelties inflicted by the blacks on one another, the white slave +trade seemed to be philanthropic and humane. He had seen at +the grand custom in Dahomey 2,500 men killed, and a pool made of +their blood into which the king’s wives threw themselves +naked and wallowed. “One day fifteen were to be +tortured to death for witchcraft. I bought them all for an +old dress-coat,” said the captain. “I +didn’t want them, for my cargo was made up; it was only to +save the poor devils’ lives.”</p> +<p>If a slaver could not get a full cargo, and met with a weaker +vessel which was full, it was at once attacked and +plundered. Sometimes there would be desperate resistance, +with the aid of the slaves. “I have seen the scuppers +run with blood,” said the captain. And so on, with +much more of the same sort, all of which has since been recorded +in the “Journal of Captain Canot,” from which latter +book I really learned nothing new. I might add the +“Life of Hobart Pacha,” whom I met many times in +London. A real old-fashioned slaver was fully a hundred +times worse than an average pirate, because he <i>was</i> the +latter whenever he wished to rob, and in his business was the +cause of far more suffering and death.</p> +<p>The captain was very fond of reading poetry, his favourite +being Wordsworth. This formed quite a tie between us. +He was always rather mild, quiet, and old-fashioned—in +fact, muffish. Once only did I see a spark from him which +showed <!-- page 119--><a name="page119"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 119</span>what was latent. Captain Jack +was describing a most extraordinary run which we had made before +a gale from Gibraltar to Cape de Creux, which was, indeed, true +enough, he having a very fast vessel. But the <i>Guinea</i> +captain denied that such time had ever been made by any craft +ever built. “And I have had to sail sometimes pretty +fast in my time,” he added with one sharp glance—no +more—but, as Byron says of the look of Gulleyaz, +’twas like a short glimpse of hell. Pretty +fast! I should think so—now and then from an English +cruiser, all sails wetted down, with the gallows in the +background. But as I had been on board with Sam, the +question was settled. We <i>had</i> made a run which was +beyond all precedent.</p> +<p>I fancy that the captain, if he escaped the halter or the +wave, in after years settled down in some English coast-village, +where he read Wordsworth, and attended church regularly, and was +probably regarded as a gentle old duffer by the younger members +of society. But take him for all in all, he was the +mildest-mannered man that ever scuttled ship or cut a throat, and +he always behaved to me like a perfect gentleman, and never +uttered an improper word.</p> +<p>We had to wait one month till my cousin could get certain news +from America. We employed the time in travelling in the +south, visiting Arles, Nismes, Montpellier, and other +places. An English gentleman named Gordon, whom I had met +in Marseilles, had given me a letter of introduction to M. Saint +René Taillandier in the latter place. I knew nothing +at all then about this great man, or that he was the first French +critic of German literature, but I presented my letter, and he +kindly went with me about the town to show me its +antiquities. I can remember discussing Gothic tracery with +him; also, that I told him I was deeply interested in the +Troubadours. He recommended Raynouard and several other +books, when finding that I was familiar with them all, he smiled, +and said that he believed he could teach me nothing more. I +did not know it then, but that word <!-- page 120--><a +name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>from him +would have been as good as a diploma for me in Paris.</p> +<p>As for old Roman ruins and Gothic churches, and cloisters +grey, and the arrowy Rhone, and castellated +bridges—everything was in a more original moss-grown, +picturesque condition then than it now is—I enjoyed them +all with an intensity, a freshness or love, which passeth all +belief. I had attended Professor Dodd’s lectures more +than once, and illuminated manuscripts, and had bought me in +Marseilles Berty’s “Dictionary of Gothic +Architecture,” and got it by heart, and began to think of +making a profession of it, which, if I had known it, was the very +wisest thing I could have done. And that this is no idle +boast is clear from this, that I in after years made a design +according to which a “store,” which cost +£30,000, was built, my plan being believed by another +skilled architect to have been executed by a +“professional.” This was really the sad slip +and escape of my lifetime.</p> +<p>In those days, really <i>good</i> red wine was given to every +one at every table; savoury old-fashioned dishes, vegetables, and +fruits were served far more freely and cheaply than they now are, +when every dainty is sent by rail to Paris or London, and the +drinking of Bordeaux and Burgundy did me much good. Blessed +days of cheapness and good quality, before chicory, the accursed +poison, had found its way into coffee, or oleomargarine was +invented, or all things canned—the world will never see ye +more! I have now lived for many months in a first-class +Florence hotel, and in all the time have not tasted one fresh +Italian mushroom, or truffle, or olive—nothing but +tasteless abominations bottled in France!</p> +<p>It was settled that my cousin should return from Marseilles to +the United States, while I was to go on alone to Italy. It +was misgivingly predicted at home by divers friends that I would +be as a lamb set loose among wolves, and lose all my money at the +outstart. Could they have learned that within a week after +my arrival I had been regarded by <!-- page 121--><a +name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>Spanish +smugglers as a brother, and tripped up a spy of the police, and +been promised a situation as a slaver’s and pirate’s +assistant, they might have thought that I had begun to learn how +to take care of myself in a hurry. As for losing my money, +I, by a terrible accident, <i>doubled it</i>, as I will here +describe.</p> +<p>Before leaving home, a lady cousin had made for Samuel and me +each a purse, and they were exactly alike. Now by a purse I +mean a real <i>purse</i>, and not a pocket-book, or a +porte-monnaie, or a wallet—that is, I mean a long bag with +a slit and two rings, and nothing else. And my cousin +having often scolded me for leaving mine lying about in our room, +I seeing it, as I thought, just a few minutes before my +departure, lying on the table, pocketed it, thanking God that Sam +had not found it, or scolded me.</p> +<p>I went on board the steamboat and set sail towards +Italy. I was sea-sick all night, but felt better the next +day. Then I had to pay out some money, and thought I would +look over my gold. To my utter amazement, it was +<i>doubled</i>! This I attributed to great generosity on +Sam’s part, and I blessed him.</p> +<p>But, merciful heavens! what were my sensations at finding in +the lower depth of my pocket <i>another purse</i> also filled +with Napoleons in rouleaux! Then it all flashed upon +me. Samuel, the careful, had left <i>his</i> purse lying on +the table, and I had supposed it was mine! I felt as +wretched as if I had lost instead of won.</p> +<p>When I got to Naples I found a letter from my cousin bewailing +his loss. He implored me, if I knew nothing about it, not +to tell it to a human soul. There was a M. Duclaux in +Marseilles, with whom we had had our business dealings, and from +him Sam had borrowed what he needed. I at once requested +Captain Olive, of the steamer, to convey the purse and its +contents to M. Duclaux, which I suppose was done <i>secundem +ordinem</i>.</p> +<p>Poor Sam! I never met him again. He died of +consumption <!-- page 122--><a name="page122"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 122</span>soon after returning home. He +was one of whom I can say with truth that I never saw in him a +fault, however trifling. He was honour itself in +everything, as humane as was his grandfather before him, ever +cheerful and kind, merry and quaint.</p> +<p>The programme of the steamboat declared that meals were +included in the fare, “except while stopping at a +port.” But we stopped every day at Genoa or Leghorn, +or somewhere, and stayed about fifteen hours, and as almost every +passenger fell sea-sick after going ashore, the meals were not +many. On board the first day, I made the acquaintance of +Mr. James Temple Bowdoin, of Boston, and Mr. Mosely, of whom I +had often heard as editor of the <i>Richmond Whig</i>. Mr. +Bowdoin was a nephew of Lady Temple, and otherwise widely +connected with English families. He is now living (1892), +and I have seen a great deal of him of late years. With +these two I joined company, and travelled with them over +Italy. Both were much older than I, and experienced men of +the world; therefore I was in good hands, and better guides, +philosophers, mentors, pilots, and friends I could hardly have +found. Left to myself, I should probably ere the winter was +over have been the beloved chief of a gang of gypsies, or +brigands, or witches, or careering the wild sea-wave as a daring +smuggler, all in innocence and goodness of heart; for truly in +Marseilles I had begun to put forth buds of such strange kind and +promise as no friend of mine ever dreamed of. As it was, I +got into better, if less picturesque, society.</p> +<p>We came to Naples, and went to a hotel, and visited +everything. In those days the beggars and pimps and +pickpockets were beyond all modern conception. The +picturesqueness of the place and people were only equalled by the +stinks. It was like a modern realistic novel. We went +a great deal to the opera, also to the Blue Grotto of Capri, and +ascended Mount Vesuvius, and sought Baiæ, and made, in +fact, all the excursions. As there were three, and +sometimes <!-- page 123--><a name="page123"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 123</span>half-a-dozen of our friends on these +trips, we had, naturally, with us quite a +<i>cortége</i>. Among these was an ill-favoured +rascal called “John,” who always received a dollar a +day. One evening some one raised the question as to what +the devil it was that John did. He did not carry anything, +or work to any account, or guide, or inform, yet he was always +there, and always in the way. So John, being called up, was +asked what he did. Great was his indignation, for by this +time he had got to consider himself indispensable. He +declared that he “directed, and made himself generally +useful.” We informed him that we would do our own +directing, and regarded him as generally useless. So John +was discarded. Since then I have found that +“John” is a very frequent ingredient in all societies +and Government offices. There are Johns in Parliament, in +the army, and in the Church. His children are pensioned +into the third and fourth and fortieth generation. In fact, +I am not sure that John is not the great social question of the +age.</p> +<p>There was in Philadelphia an Academy of Fine Arts, or Gallery, +of which my father had generously presented me with two shares, +which gave me free entrance. There were in it many really +excellent pictures, even a first-class Murillo, besides Wests and +Allstons. Unto this I had, as was my wont, read up closely, +and reflected much on what I read, so that I was to a certain +degree prepared for the marvels of art which burst on me in +Naples. And if I was, and always have been, <i>rather</i> +insensible to the merits of Renaissance sculpture and +architecture, I was not so to its painting, and not at all blind +to the unsurpassed glories of its classic prototypes. +Professor Dodd had indeed impressed it deeply and specially on my +mind that the revival of a really pure Greek taste in England, or +from the work of Stewart and Revett, was contemporary with that +for Gothic architecture, and that the appreciation of one, if +<i>true</i>, implies that of the other. As I was now fully +inspired with my new resolution to become an architect, I read +all that I could get on the subject, and <!-- page 124--><a +name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>naturally +examined all remains of the past far more closely and critically +than I should otherwise have done. And this again inspired +in me (who always had a mania for bric-à-brac and +antiquity, which is certainly hereditary) a great interest in the +characteristic <i>decoration</i> of different ages, which thing +is the soul and life of all æsthetic archæology and +the minor arts; which latter again I truly claim to have brought, +I may say, into scientific form and made a branch of education in +after years.</p> +<p>I think that we were a month in Naples. I kept a journal +then, and indeed everywhere for three years after. The +reader may be thankful that I have it not, for I foresee that I +shall easily recall enough to fill ten folios of a thousand pages +solid brevier each, at this rate of reminiscences. As my +predilection for everything German and Gothic came out more +strongly every day, Mr. Mosely called me familiarly Germanicus, a +name which was indeed not ill-bestowed at that period.</p> +<p>From Naples we went to Rome by <i>vettura</i>, or in +carriages. We were two days and two nights on the +route. I remember that when we entered Rome, I saw the +<i>douanier</i> who examined my trunk remove from it, as he +thought unperceived, a hair-brush, book, &c., and slyly hide +them behind another trunk. I calmly walked round, retook +and replaced them in my trunk, to the discomfiture, but not in +the least to the shame, of the thief, who only grinned.</p> +<p>And here I may say, once for all, that one can hardly fail to +have a mean opinion of human common-sense in government, when we +see this system of examining luggage still maintained. For +all that any country could <i>possibly</i> lose by smuggling in +trunks, &c., would be a hundred-fold recompensed by the +increased amount of travel and money imported, should it be done +away with, as has been perfectly and fully proved in France; the +announcement a year ago that examination would be null or formal +having had at once the effect of greatly increasing travel. +And as there is not a <!-- page 125--><a name="page125"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 125</span>custom-house in all Europe where a +man who knows the trick cannot pull through his luggage by +bribery—the exceptions being miraculously rare—the +absurdity and folly of the system is apparent.</p> +<p>We went to the Hotel d’Allemagne, where I fell ill, +either because I had a touch of Neapolitan malaria in me (in +those days the stench of the city was perceptible three miles out +at sea, and might have risen unto heaven above and been smelt by +the angels, had they and their home been as near to earth as was +believed by the schoolmen), or because the journey had been too +much for me. However, an English physician set me up all +right in two or three days (he wanted to sell us pictures which +would have cured any one—of a love of art), and then there +began indeed a glorious scampering and investigating, rooting and +rummaging—</p> +<blockquote><p>“’Mid deathless lairs in solemn +Rome.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Galleries and gardens, ruins and palaces, Colosseum and +temples, churches and museums—ye have had many a better +informed and many a more inspired or gifted visitor than I, but +whether from your first Sabine days you ever had a happier one, +or one who enjoyed you more with the simple enjoyment of youth +and hope gratified, I doubt. Sometimes among moss-grown +arches on a sunny day, as the verd-antique lizards darted over +the stones from dark to light, while far in the distance tinkled +bells, either from cows or convents, and all was calm and sweet, +I have often wondered if it could indeed be real and not a +dream. Life often seemed to me then to be too good to be +true. And there was this at least good in my +Transcendentalism and Poly-Pantheism, that it quite unconsciously +or silently gave me many such hours; for it had sunk so deeply +into my soul, and was so much a real part thereof, that it +inspired me when I never thought of it, in which I differed by a +heaven’s width from the professional Yankee +Transcendentalists, Presbyterians, Methodists, Æsthetes, +and other spiritualists or sorcerers, <!-- page 126--><a +name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>who always +kept their blessed belief, as a holy fugleman, full in sight, to +give them sacred straight tips, or as a Star-spangled Bannerman +who waved exceedingly, while my spirit was a shy fairy, who dwelt +far down in the depths of the all too green sea of my soul, where +it seemed to me she had ever been, or ever a storm had raised a +wave on the surface. Antiquely verdant green I was, no +doubt. And even to this day the best hours of my life are +when I hear her sweet voice ’mid ivy greens or ruins grey, +in wise books, hoar traditions. Be it where it will, it is +<i>that</i>, and not the world of men or books, which gives the +charm.</p> +<p>It was usual for all who drew from Torlonia’s bank not +less than £20 to be invited to his soirées. To +ensure the expenses, the footman who brought the invitation +called the day after for not less than <i>five francs</i>. +But the entertainment was well worth the money, and more. +There was a good supper—Thackeray has represented a +character in “Vanity Fair” as devouring it—and +much amusement.</p> +<p>Now I had written my name <i>Chas.</i>, which being mistaken +for <i>Chev.</i>, I in due time, received an invitation addressed +to M. le Chevalier Godfrey de Leland. And it befell that I +once found a lost decoration of the Order of the Golden Spur, +which in those days <i>was</i> actually sold to anybody who asked +for it for ten pounds, and was worth “nothing to +nobody.” This caused much fun among my friends, and +from that day I was known as the Chevalier Germanicus, or the +Knight of the Golden Spur, to which I assented with very good +grace as a joke. There were even a few who really believed +that I had been decorated, though I never wore it, and one day I +received quite a severe remonstrance from a very patriotic +fellow-countryman against the impropriety of my thus risking my +loss of citizenship. Which caused me to reflect how many +there are in life who rise to such “honours,” Heaven +only knows how, in a back-stairs way. I know in London a +very great man of science, <i>nemini secundus</i>, who has never +been knighted, although the tradesman who <!-- page 127--><a +name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>makes for +him his implements and instruments has received the title and the +<i>accolade</i>. <i>Fie</i> at justitia!</p> +<p>I saw at one of the Torlonia entertainments a marvellously +beautiful and strange thing, of which I had read an account in +Mme. de Staël’s <i>Corinne</i>. There was a +stage, on which appeared a young girl, plainly dressed, and +bearing a simple small scarf. She did not speak or dance, +or even assume “artistic positions”; what she did was +far more striking and wonderful. She merely sat or stood or +reclined in many ways, every one of which seemed to be +<i>perfectly</i> natural or habitual, and all of which were +incredibly graceful. I have forgotten how such women were +called in Italy. I am sure that this one had never been +trained to it, for the absolute ease and naturalness with which +she sat or stood could never have been taught. If it could, +every woman in the world would learn it. Ristori was one of +these instinctive <i>Graces</i>, and it constituted nearly all +the art there was in her.</p> +<p>This was in 1846. The Carnival of that year in Rome was +the last real one which Italy ever beheld. It was the very +last, for which every soul saved up all his money for months, in +order to make a wild display, and dance and revel and indulge +in</p> +<blockquote><p> “Eating, +drinking, masking,<br /> +And other things which could be had for asking.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then all Rome ran mad, and rode in carriages full of flowers, +or carts, or wheelbarrows, or triumphal chariots, or on camels, +horses, asses, or rails—<i>n’importe +quoi</i>—and merrily cast <i>confetti</i> of flour or lime +at one another laughing, while grave English tourists on +balconies laboriously poured the same by the peck from tin scoops +on the heads of the multitude, under the delusion that they too +were enjoying themselves and “doing” the Carnival +properly. It was the one great rule among Italians that no +man should in the Carnival, under any provocation whatever, lose +his temper. And here John Bull often tripped up. On +the last night of <!-- page 128--><a name="page128"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 128</span>the last Carnival—that great +night—there was the <i>Senza Moccolo</i> or extinguishment +of lights, in which everybody bore a burning taper, and tried to +blow or knock out the light of his neighbour. Now, being +tall, I held my taper high with one hand, well out of danger, +while with a broad felt hat in the other I extinguished the +children of light like a priest. I threw myself into all +the roaring fun like a wild boy, as I was, and was never so +jolly. Observing a pretty young English lady in an open +carriage, I thrice extinguished her light, at which she laughed, +but at which her brother or beau did not, for he got into a great +rage, even the first time, and bade me begone. Whereupon I +promptly renewed the attack, and then repeated it, +“according to the rules of the game,” whereat he +began to curse and swear, when I, in the Italian fashion of +rebuke (to the delight of sundry Italians), pointed my finger at +him and hissed; which constituted the winning <i>point +d’honneur</i> in the game.</p> +<p>There, too, was the race of wild horses, right down through +the Corso or Condotti, well worth seeing, and very exciting, and +game suppers o’nights after the opera, and the meeting with +many swells and noted folk, and now it all seems like some memory +of a wild phantasmagoria or hurried magic-lantern +show—galleries and ruins by day, and gaiety by night. +Even so do all the scenes of life roll up together at its end, +often getting mixed.</p> +<p>Yet another Roman memory or two. We had taken lodgings +in the Via Condotti, where we had a nice sitting-room in common +and a good coal-fire. Our landlady was lady-like and spoke +French, and had long been a governess in the great Borghese +family. As for her husband, there were thousands of +Liberals far and wide who spoke of him as the greatest scoundrel +unhung, for he was at the head of the Roman police, and I verily +believe knew more iniquity than the Pope himself. It would +have been against all nature and precedent if I had not become +his dear friend and <i>protégé</i>, which I did +accordingly, for I liked him very much <!-- page 129--><a +name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>indeed, and +Heaven knows that such a rum couple of friends as Giuseppe Navone +and myself, when out walking together, could not at that time +have been found in Europe.</p> +<p>It may here be observed that I was decidedly getting on in the +quality of my Mentors, for, as regarded morals and humanity, my +old pirate and slaver friend was truly as a lamb and an angel of +light compared to Navone. And I will further indicate, as +this book will prove, that if I was not at the age of +twenty-three the most accomplished young scoundrel in all Europe, +it was not for want of such magnificent opportunities and friends +as few men ever enjoyed. But it was always my fate to +neglect or to be unable to profit by advantages, as, for +instance, in mathematics; nor in dishonesty did I succeed one +whit better, which may be the reason why the two are somehow +dimly connected in my mind. Here I think I see the +unfathomable smile in the eye of Professor Dodd (it never got +down to his lips), who was the incarnate soul of purity and +honour. But then the banker, E. Fenzi, who swindled me out +of nearly 500 francs, was an arithmetician, and I write under a +sense of recent wrong. How this loss, and Fenzi’s +failure, flight, and the fuss which it all caused in Florence, +were accurately foretold me by a witch, may be read in detail in +my “Etrusco-Roman Remains in Tuscan Tradition.” +London: T. Fisher Unwin.</p> +<p>My landlady was a very zealous Catholic, and tried to convert +me. This was a new experience, and I enjoyed it. I +proved malleable. So she called in a Jesuit priest to +perfect the work. I listened with deep interest to his +worn-out <i>fade</i> arguments, made a few points of feeble +objection for form’s sake, yielded, and met him more than +half way. But somehow he never called again. <i>Latet +anguis in herba</i>—my grass was rather too green, I +suppose. I was rather sorry, for I expected some +amusement. But I had been <i>too</i> deep for the +Jesuit—and for myself.</p> +<p>The time came for my departure. I was to go alone on to +Florence, in advance of my friends. Navone arranged <!-- +page 130--><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>everything nicely for me: I was to go by diligence on +to Civita Vecchia, where I was to call on a relative of his, who +kept a bric-à-brac shop. I did not know how or why +it was that I was treated with such great respect, as if with +fear, by the conductor, and by all on the road. I was <i>en +route</i> all night, and in the morning, very weary, I went to a +hotel, called a commissionaire, and bade him get my passport from +the police, and have it <i>visée</i>, and secure me a +passage on the boat to Leghorn. He returned very soon, and +said with an air of bewilderment, “Signore, you sent me on +a useless errand. Here is your passport put all <i>en +règle</i>, and your passage is all secured!”</p> +<p>I saw it at once. The kind fatherly care of the great +and good Navone had done it all! He had watched over me +invisibly and mysteriously all the time during the night; on the +road I was a pet child of the Roman police! The Vehmgericht +had endorsed me with three crosses! Therefore the passport +and the passage were all right, and the captain was very +deferential, and I got to Florence safely.</p> +<p>In Florence I went to the first hotel, which was then in what +is now known as the Palazzo Feroni, or Viesseux’s, the +great circulating library of Italy. It is a fine +machicolated building, which was in the Middle Ages the prison of +the Republic. From my window I had a fine view of the Via +Tornabuoni—in which I had coffee since I concluded the last +line. There were but three or four persons the first +evening at the <i>table-d’hôte</i>. One was a +very beautiful Polish countess, who spoke French perfectly. +She was very fascinating, and, when she ate a salad, smeared her +lovely mouth and cheeks all round with oil to her ears. +Some one said something to her about the manner in which the +serfs were treated in Poland, whereupon she replied with great +vivacity that the Polish serfs were even more degraded and +barbarous than those of Russia. Which remark inspired in me +certain reflections, which were amply developed in after years by +the perusal of Von Moltke’s work on Poland, and more +recently <!-- page 131--><a name="page131"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 131</span>of that very interesting novel +called “The Deluge.” If freedom shrieked when +Kosciusko fell, it was probably, from a humanitarian point of +view, with joy.</p> +<p>There was, however, at the same hotel a singular man, a +Lithuanian Pole named Andrékovitch, with whom I became +very intimate, and whom I met in after years in Paris and in +America. He had been at a German university, where he had +imbibed most liberal and revolutionary ideas. He +subsequently took part in one or two revolutions, and was +exiled. He had read about Emerson in a French magazine, and +was enthusiastic over him. In strange contrast to him was a +handsome young man from the Italian Tyrol, who was, like the Pole +and myself, full of literary longings, but who was still quite a +Roman Catholic. He knew about as much, or as little, of the +world as I did, and was “gentle and bland.” +When we bade farewell, he wept, and kissed me. +Andrékovitch was eccentric, wild, and Slavonian-odd to +look at at any time. One evening he came into my room clad +in scarlet dressing-gown, and having altogether the appearance of +a sorcerer just out of a Sabbat. The conversation took a +theological turn. Andrékovitch was the ragged +remnant of a Catholic, but a very small one. He sailed +close to the wind, and neared Rationalism.</p> +<p>“But the Pope! . . .” exclaimed the Tyrolese.</p> +<p>Andrékovitch rose, looking more sorcerer or Zamiel-like +than ever, and exclaiming, “The Pope be—!” left +the room. The last word was lost in the slam of the +door. It was a melodramatic departure, and as such has ever +been impressed on my memory.</p> +<p>My father, while a merchant, and also my uncle, had done a +very large business in Florentine straw goods, and I had received +letters to several English houses who had corresponded with +them. I heard, long after, that my arrival had caused a +small panic in Florence in business circles, it being apprehended +that I had come out to establish a rival branch, or to buy at +head-quarters for the American “straw-market.” +<!-- page 132--><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>I believe that their fears were appeased when I +interviewed them. One of these worthy men had been so long +in Italy that he had caught a little of its superstition. +He wished to invest in lottery tickets, and asked me for lucky +numbers, which I gave him.</p> +<p>As I write these lines in Florence, I have within half-an-hour +called for the first time on an old witch or <i>strega</i>, whom +I found surrounded by herbs and bottles, and a magnificent cat, +who fixed his eyes on me all the time, as if he recognised a +friend. I found, however, that she only knew the common +vulgar sorceries, and was unable to give me any of the higher +<i>scongiurazioni</i> or conjurations; and as I left, the old +sorceress said respectfully and admiringly, “You come to +<i>me</i> to learn, O Maestro, but it is fitter that I take +lessons from you!” Then she asked me for “the +wizard blessing,” which I gave her in Romany. So my +first and last experiences in the deep and dark art come +together!</p> +<p>I became acquainted in Florence with Hiram Powers, which +reminds me that I once in Rome dined <i>vis-à-vis</i> to +Gibson and several other artists, with whom I became intimate as +young men readily do. I contrived to study architecture, +and made myself very much at home in a few studios. The +magnificent <i>Fiorara</i>, or flower-girl, whom so many will +remember for many years, was then in the full bloom of her +beauty. She and others gave flowers to any strangers whom +they met, not expecting money down, but when a man departed the +flower-girls were always on hand to solicit a gratuity. +Twenty years later this same Fiorara, still a very handsome +woman, remembered me, and gave my wife a handsome bouquet on +leaving.</p> +<p>I studied Provençal and Italian poetry in illuminated +MSS. in the Ambrosian or Laurentian Library, and took my coffee +at Doney’s, and saw more of Florence in a few weeks’ +time than I have ever done since in any one of my residences +here, though some of them have been for six and nine +months. As is quite natural. Who that lives in London +ever goes to <!-- page 133--><a name="page133"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 133</span>see the Tower? All things in +Europe were so new and fresh and beautiful and wonderful to me +then, and I had been yearning for them so earnestly for so many +years, and this golden freedom followed so closely on the deadly +<i>ennui</i> of Princeton, that I could never see enough.</p> +<p>If any of my readers want to know something of sorcery, I can +tell them that among its humblest professors it is perfectly +understood that pleasure or enjoyment is one of its deepest +mysteries or principles, as an integral part of +fascination. So I can feel an <i>enchantment</i>, sometimes +almost incredible, in gazing on a Gothic ruin in sunshine, or a +beautiful face, a picture by Carpaccio, Norse interlaces, lovable +old books, my amethyst amulet, or a garden. For if you +could sway life and death, and own millions, or walk invisible, +you could do no more than <i>enjoy</i>; therefore you had better +learn to enjoy much without such power. Thus endeth the +first lesson!</p> +<p>I arrived in Venice. There had been a time in America +when, if I could have truthfully declared that I had ever been in +a gondola, I should have felt as if I held a diploma of nobility +in the Grand Order of Cosmopolites. Having been conveyed in +one to my hotel on the Grand Canal, I felt that I at last held +it! Now I had really mastered the three great cities of +Italy, which was the first and greatest part of all travel in all +the world of culture and of art. Fate might hurl me back to +America, or even into New Jersey, but I had “swum in a +gondola.”</p> +<p>I very soon made the acquaintance of two brothers from New +York named Seymour, somewhat older than myself, and men of +reading and culture. With them I “sight-saw” +the city. I had read Venice up rather closely at Princeton, +and had formed a great desire to go on the Bridge of Sighs. +For some reason this was then very strictly forbidden. Our +Consul, who was an enterprising young man, told me that he had +been for months trying to effect it in vain. It at once +became apparent to me as a piece of manifest destiny that I must +do it.</p> +<p><!-- page 134--><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>One day I had with me a clever fellow, a commissionaire +or guide, and consulted him. He said, “I think it may +be done. You look like an Austrian, and may be taken for an +officer. Walk boldly into the chief’s office, and ask +for the keys of the bridge; only show a little cheek. You +may get them. Give the chief’s man two francs when +you come out. At the worst, he can only refuse to give +them.”</p> +<p>It was indeed a very cheeky undertaking, but I ventured on it +with the calmness of innocence. I went into the office, and +said, “The keys to the bridge, if you please!” as if +I were in an official hurry on State business. The official +stared, and said—</p> +<p>“Do I understand that you formally demand the +keys?”</p> +<p>“<i>Ja wohl</i>, certainly; at once, if you +please!”</p> +<p>They were handed over to me, and I saw the bridge and gave the +two francs, and all was well. But it gave me no renown in +Venice, for the Consul and all my friends regarded it as a +fabulous joke of mine, inspired by poetic genius. But I +sometimes think that the official who yielded up the keys, and +the man whom he sent with me, and perhaps the commissionaire, all +had a put-up job of it among them on those keys, and several +glasses all round out of those two francs. <i>Quien +sabe</i>? <i>Vive la bagatelle</i>!</p> +<p>We went on an excursion to Padua. What I remember is, +that what impressed me most was a placard here and there +announcing that a work on Oken had just appeared! This +rather startled me. Whether it was for or against the great +German offshoot from Schelling, it proved that somebody in Italy +had actually studied him! <i>Eppure si muove</i>, I +thought. It cannot be true that—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Padua! the lamp of learning<br /> +In thy halls no more is burning.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I have been there several times since. All that I now +recall is that the hotel was not very good the last time.</p> +<p>I met in Venice a young New Yorker named Clark, who <!-- page +135--><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +135</span>had crossed with me on the ship. He was a merry +companion. Sailing with him one morning in a gondola along +the Grand Canal, we saw sitting before a hotel its porter, who +was an unmistakable American man of full colour. Great was +Clark’s delight, and he called out, “I say, Buck! +what the devil are you doing here?”</p> +<p>With a delighted grin, the man and brother replied in deep +Southern accent—</p> +<p>“Dey sets me hyar fo’ a bait to ’tice de +Americans with.”</p> +<p>I heard subsequently that he had come from America with his +mistress, and served her faithfully till there came into the +service a pretty French girl. Great was the anger of the +owner of the man to find that he had unmistakably +“enticed” the maid. To which he replied that it +was a free country; that he had married the damsel—she was +his wife; and so the pair at once packed up and departed.</p> +<p>We used to hear a great deal before the war from Southerns +about the devotion of their slaves, but there were a great many +instances in which the fidelity did not exactly hold water. +There was an old Virginia gentleman who owned one of these +faithful creatures. He took him several times to the North, +and as the faithful one always turned a deaf ear to the +Abolitionists, and resisted every temptation to depart, and +refused every free-ticket offered for a journey on “the +underground railway,” and went back to Richmond, he was of +course trusted to an unlimited extent. When the war ended +he was freed. Some one asked him one day how he could have +been such a fool as to remain a slave. He +replied—</p> +<p>“Kase it paid. Dere’s nuffin pays like being +a dewoted darkey. De las’ time I went Norf wid massa +I made ’nuff out of him to buy myself free twice’t +over.”</p> +<p>Doubtless there were many instances of “pampered and +petted” household servants who had grown up in families who +had sense to know that they could never live free in the freezing +North without hard work. These were the only <!-- page +136--><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>devoted ones of whom I ever heard. The +field-hands, disciplined by the lash, and liable to have their +wives or children or relatives sold from them—<i>as +happened on an average once at least in a life</i>—were all +to a man quite ready to forsake “ole massa” and +“dear ole missus,” and flee unto freedom. And +what a vile mean wretch any man must be who would sacrifice his +<i>freedom</i> to any other living being, be it for love or +feudal fidelity—and what a villain must the man be who +would accept such a gift!</p> +<p>I had never thought much of this subject before I left +home. I did not <i>like</i> slavery, nor to think about +it. But in Europe I did like such thought, and I returned +fully impressed with the belief that slavery was, as Charles +Sumner said, “the sum of all crimes.” In which +summation he showed himself indeed a “sumner,” as it +was called of yore. Which cost me many a bitter hour and +much sorrow, for there was hardly a soul whom I knew, except my +mother, to whom an Abolitionist was not simply the same thing as +a disgraceful, discreditable malefactor. Even my father, +when angry with me one day, could think of nothing bitterer than +to tell me that I knew I was <i>an Abolitionist</i>. I kept +it to myself, but the reader can have no idea of what I was made +to suffer for years in Philadelphia, where everything Southern +was exalted and worshipped with a baseness below that of the +blacks themselves.</p> +<p>For all of which in after years I had full and complete +recompense. I lived to see the young ladies who were ready +to kneel before any man who owned +“slä-äves,” detest the name of +“South,” and to learn that their fathers and friends +were battling to the death to set those slaves free. I +lived to see the roof of the “gentlemanly planter,” +who could not of yore converse a minute with me without letting +me know that he considered himself as an immeasurably higher +being than myself, blaze over his head amid yell and groan and +sabre-stroke—</p> +<blockquote><p>“And death-shots flying thick and +fast,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 137--><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +137</span>while he fled for life, and the freed slaves sang hymns +of joy to God. I saw the roads, five miles wide, level, +barren, and crossed with ruts, where Northern and Southern armies +had marched, and where villages and plantations had once +been. I saw countless friends or acquaintances, who had +once smiled with pitying scorn at me, or delicately turned the +conversation when Abolition was mentioned in my presence, become +all at once blatant “nigger-worshippers,” abundant in +proof that they had always had “an indescribable horror of +slavery”—it was, in fact, so indescribable that +(until it was evident that the North would conquer) none of them +ever succeeded in giving anybody the faintest conception of it, +or any idea that it existed. I can still recall how +gingerly and cautiously—“paw by paw into the +water”—these dough faces became hard-baked +Abolitionists, far surpassing us of the Old Guard in zeal. +I lived to see men who had voted against Grant and <i>reviled</i> +him become his most intimate friends. But enough of such +memories. It is characteristic of the American people that, +while personally very vindictive, they forgive and forget +political offences far more amicably—very far—than do +even the English. However, in the case of the Rebellion, +this was a very easy thing for those to do who had not, like us +old Abolitionists, borne the burden and heat of the day, and who, +coming in at the eleventh hour, got all the contracts and +offices! It never came into the head of any man to write a +<i>Dictionnaire des Girouettes</i> in America. These late +converts had never known what it was to be Abolitionists while it +was “unfashionable,” and have, as it were, live coals +laid on the quivering heart—as I had a thousand times +during many years—all for believing the tremendous and +plain truth that <i>slavery</i> was a thousand times wickeder +than the breach of all the commandments put together. It +was so peculiar for any man, not a Unitarian or Quaker, to be an +<i>Abolitionist</i> in Philadelphia from 1848 until 1861, that +such exceptions were pointed out as if they had been +Chinese—“and d---d bad Chinese at that,” as a +<!-- page 138--><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span>friend added to whom I made the remark. So much +for man’s relations with poor humanity.</p> +<p>My old friend, B. P. Hunt, was one of these few +exceptions. His was a very strange experience. After +ceasing to edit a “selected” magazine, he went to and +fro for many voyages to Haïti, where, singular as it may +seem, his experiences of the blacks made of him a stern +Abolitionist. He married a connection of mine, and lived +comfortably in Philadelphia, I think, until the eighties.</p> +<p>I travelled with Mr. Clark from Venice to Milan, where we made +a short visit. I remember an old soldier who spoke six +languages, who was cicerone of the roof of the Cathedral, and +whom I found still on the roof twenty years later, and still +speaking the same six tongues. I admired the building as a +beautiful fancy, exquisitely decorated, but did not think much of +it as a specimen of Gothic architecture. It is the best +test of æsthetic culture and knowledge in the world. +When you hear anybody praise it as the most exquisite or perfect +Gothic cathedral in existence, you may expect to hear the critic +admire the designs of Chippendale furniture or the decoration of +St. Peter’s.</p> +<p>So we passed through beautiful Lombardy and came to Domo +d’Ossola, where a strange German-Italian patois was +spoken. It was in the middle of April, and we were warned +that it would be very dangerous to cross the Simplon, but we went +on all night in a carriage on sleigh-runners, through intervals +of snowstorm. Now and then we came to rushing +mountain-torrents bursting over the road; far away, ever and +anon, we heard the roar of a <i>lauwine</i> or avalanche; +sometimes I looked out, and could see straight down below me a +thousand feet into an abyss or on a headlong stream. We +entered the great tunnel directly from another, for the snow lay +twenty feet deep on the road, and a passage had been dug under it +for several hundred feet, and so two tunnels were +connected. Just in the worst of the road beyond, and in the +bitterest cold, we met a sleigh, in which were an English <!-- +page 139--><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>gentleman and a very beautiful young lady, apparently +his daughter, going to Italy. “I saw her but an +instant, yet methinks I see her now”—a sweet picture +in a strange scene. Poets used to “me-think” +and “me-seem” more in those days, but we endured +it. Then in the morning we saw Brieg, far down below us in +the valley in green leaves and sunshine, and when we got there +then I realised that we were in a new land.</p> +<p>We had a great giant of a German conductor, who seemed to +regard Clark and me as under his special care. Once when we +had wandered afar to look at something, and it was time for the +stage or <i>Eilwagen</i> to depart, he hunted us up, scolded us +“like a Dutch uncle” in German, and drove us along +before him like two bad boys to the diligence, “pawing +up” first one and then the other, after which, shoving us +in, he banged and locked the door with a grunt of satisfaction, +even as the Giant Blunderbore locked the children in the coffer +after slamming down the lid. Across the scenes and shades +of forty years, that picture of the old conductor driving us like +two unruly urchins back to school rises, never to be +forgotten.</p> +<p>We went by mountains and lakes and Gothic towns, rocks, +forests, old chateaux, and rivers—the road was wild in +those days—till we came to Geneva. Thence Clark went +his way to Paris, and I remained alone for a week. I had, +it is true, a letter of introduction to a very eminent +Presbyterian Swiss clergyman, so I sent it in with my card. +His wife came out on the balcony, looked coolly down at me, and +concluding, I suppose from my appearance, that I was one of the +ungodly, went in and sent out word that her husband was out, and +would be gone for an indefinite period, and that she was +engaged. The commissionaire who was with me—poor +devil!—was dreadfully mortified; but I was not very much +astonished, and, indeed, I was treated in much the same manner, +or worse, by a colleague of this pious man in Paris, or rather by +his wife.</p> +<p><!-- page 140--><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +140</span>I believe that what kept me a week in Geneva was the +white wine and trout. At the end of the time I set out to +the north, and on the way met with some literary or professional +German, who commended to me the “Pfisterer-Zunft” or +Bakers’ Guild as a cheap and excellent hostelry. And +it was curious enough, in all conscience. During the Middle +Ages, and down to a very recent period, the <i>Zünfte</i> or +trade-guilds in the Swiss cities carried it with a high +hand. Even the gentlemen could only obtain rights as +citizens by enrolling themselves as the trade of +aristocrats. I had heard of the boy who thought he would +like to be bound apprentice to the king; in Berne he might have +been entered for a lower branch of the business. These +guilds had their own local taverns, inns, or <i>Herbergs</i>, +where travelling colleagues of the calling might lodge at +moderate rates, but nobody else. However, as time rolled +by, these <i>Zünfte</i> or guild-lodgings were opened to +strangers. One of the last which did so was that of the +<i>Pfister</i> or bakers (Latin, <i>pistor</i>), and this had +only been done a few weeks ere I went there. As a literary +man whom I met on the ramparts said to me, “That place is +still strong in the Middle Age.” It was a quaint old +building, and to get to my room I had to cross the great +guild-hall of the Ancient and Honourable Society of Bakers. +There were the portraits of all the Grand Masters of the Order +from the fourteenth or fifteenth century on the walls, and the +concentrated antique tobacco-smoke of as many ages in the air, +which, to a Princeton graduate, was no more than the scent of a +rose to a bee.</p> +<p>I could speak a little German—not much—but the +degree to which I felt, sympathised with, and understood +everything Deutsch, passeth all words and all mortal +belief. <i>Sit verbo venia</i>! But I do not believe +that any human being ever crossed the frontier who had thought +himself down, or rather raised himself up, into Teutonism as I +had on so slight a knowledge of the language, even as a spider +throweth up an invisible thread on high, and then travels on +it. Which <!-- page 141--><a name="page141"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 141</span>thing was perceived marvellously +soon, and not without some amazement, by the Germans, who have +all at least this one point in common with Savages, New +Jerseymen, Red Indians, Negroes, Gypsies, and witches, that they +by mystic sympathy <i>know those who like them</i>, and take to +them accordingly, guided by some altogether inexplicable clue or +<i>Hexengarn</i>, even as deep calleth unto deep and star +answereth star without a voice. Whence it was soon observed +at Heidelberg by an American student that “Leland would +abuse the Dutch all day long if he saw fit, but never allowed +anybody else to do so.” The which thing, as I think, +argues the very <i>ne plus ultra</i> of sympathy.</p> +<p>I found my way to Strasburg, where I went to the tip-top +outside of the cathedral, and took the railway train for +Heidelberg. And here I had an adventure, which, though +trifling to the last degree, was to me such a great and new +experience that I will describe it, let the reader think what he +will. I went naturally enough first-class, so uncommon a +thing then in Germany that people were wont to say that only +princes, Englishmen, and asses did so. There entered the +same carriage a very lady-like and pretty woman. The guard, +seeing this, concluded that—whatever he concluded, he +carefully drew down all the curtains, looking at me with a +cheerful, genial air of intense mystery, as if to say, “I +twig; it’s all right; I’ll keep your +secret.”</p> +<p>It is a positive fact that all this puzzled me +amazingly. There were many things in which I, the friend +and pupil of Navone, was as yet as innocent as a babe +unborn. The lady seemed to be amused—as well she +might. <i>Sancta simplicitas</i>! I asked her why the +conductor had drawn the curtains. She laughed, and +explained that he possibly thought we were a bridal pair or +lovers. Common sense and ordinary politeness naturally +inspired the reply that I wished we were, which declaration was +so amiably received that I suggested the immediate institution of +such an arrangement. Which was so far favourably received +that it was sealed with <!-- page 142--><a +name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>a +kiss. However, the seal was not broken. I think the +lady must have been very much amused. It is not without due +reflection that I record this. Kissing went for very little +in Germany in those days. It was about as common in Vienna +as shaking hands. But this was my first experience in +it. So I record it, because it seems as if some benevolent +fairy had welcomed me to Germany; it took place just as we +crossed the frontier. However, I found out some time after, +by a strange accident, that my fairy was the wife of a banker who +lived beyond Heidelberg; and at Heidelberg I left her and went to +the first hotel in the town.</p> +<p>I had formed no plans, and had no letters to anybody. I +had read Howitt’s “Student Life in Germany” +through and through, so I thought I would study in +Heidelberg. But how to begin? That was the +question. I went into a shop and bought some cigars. +There I consulted with the shopkeeper as to what I should +do. Could he refer me to some leading authority in the +University, known to him, who would give me advice? He +could, and advised me to consult with the Pedell Capelmann.</p> +<p>Now I didn’t know it, but Pedell—meaning beadle, +commonly called Poodle by the students—was the +head-constable of the University. In honest truth I +supposed he must be the President or Pro-Rector. So I went +to Pedell Capelmann. His appearance did not quite +correspond to my idea of a learned professor. He was an +immensely burly, good-natured fellow, who came in in his +shirt-sleeves, and who, when he learned what I wanted, burst out +into a <i>Her’r’r’ Gottsdonerrwetter</i>! of +surprise, as he well might. But I knew that the Germans +were a very <i>sans façon bourgeois</i> people, and still +treated him with deep respect. He suggested that, as there +were a great many American students there, I had better call on +them. He himself would take me to see the Herr O—, +with whom, as I subsequently learned, he had more than once had +discussions relative to questions of University-municipal +discipline. As for the startling peculiarity <!-- page +143--><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +143</span>which attended my introduction to University life, it +is best summed up in the remark which the Herr O. (of Baltimore) +subsequently made.</p> +<p>“Great God, fellows! <i>he made his first call on old +Capelmann</i>!!”</p> +<p>He took me to the Herr O. and introduced me. I was +overwhelmed with my cordial reception. There was at once +news sent forth that a new man and a brother fellow-countryman +had come to join the ranks. “And messengers through +all the land sought Sir Tannhäuser out.” I was +pumped dry as to my precedents, and as I came fresh from +Princeton and had been through Italy, I was approved of. +The first thing was a discussion as to where I was to live. +The Frau Directorinn Louis in the University Place had two fine +rooms which had just been occupied by a prince. So we went +and secured the rooms, which were indeed very pleasant, and by no +means dear as it seemed to me. I was to breakfast in my +rooms, dine with the family at one o’clock, and sup about +town.</p> +<p>Then there was a grand council as to what I had better study, +and over my prospects in life; and it was decided that, as the +law-students were the most distinguished or swell of all, I had +better be a lawyer. So it was arranged that I should attend +Mittermayer’s and others’ lectures; to all of which I +cheerfully assented. The next step was to give a grand +supper in honour of my arrival. After the dinner and the +wine, I drank twelve <i>schoppens</i> of beer, and then excused +myself on the plea of having letters to write. I believe, +however, that I forgot to write the letters. And here I may +say, once for all, that having discovered that, if I had no gift +for mathematics, I had a great natural talent for Rheinwein and +lager, I did not bury that talent in a napkin, but, like the rest +of my friends, made the most of it, firstly, during two semesters +in Heidelberg:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Then I bolted off to Munich,<br /> + And within the year,<br /> +<!-- page 144--><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>Underneath my German tunic<br /> + Stowed whole butts of beer;<br /> +For I drank like fifty fishes,<br /> + Drank till all was blue,<br /> +For whenever I was vicious<br /> + I was thirsty too.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The result of which “dire deboshing” was that, +having come to Europe with a soul literally attenuated and +starved for want of the ordinary gaiety and amusement which all +youth requires, my life in Princeton having been one continued +strain of a sobriety which continually sank into subdued +melancholy, and a body just ready to yield to consumption, I grew +vigorous and healthy, or, as the saying is, “hearty as a +buck.” I believe that if my Cousin Sam had gone on +with me even-pace, that he would have lived till to-day. +When we came abroad I seemed to be the weakest; he returned, and +died in a few months from our hereditary disease. How many +hecatombs of young men have been murdered by +“seriousness” and “total abstinence,” +miscalled <i>temperance</i>, in our American colleges, can never +be known; perhaps it is as well that it never will be; for if it +were, there would be a rush to the other extreme, which would +“upset society.” And here be it noted that, +with all our inordinate national or international Anglo-Saxon +sense of superiority to everybody and everything foreign, we are +in the <i>main</i> thing—that is, the truly rational +enjoyment of life and the art of living—utterly inferior to +the German and Latin races. We are for the most part either +too good or too bad—totally abstemious or raving +drunk—always in a hurry after excitement or in a worry over +our sins, or those of our neighbours. “Rest, rest, +perturbed Yankee, <i>rest</i>!”</p> +<p>My rooms were on the ground-floor, the bedroom looking into +the University Square and my study into a garden. Next door +to me dwelt Paulus, the king of the Rationalists. He was +then, I believe, ninety-four years of age. He remained +daily till about twelve or one in a comatose condition, <!-- page +145--><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +145</span>when he awoke and became lively till about three, when +he sank into sleep again. His days were like those of a far +Northern winter, lit by the sun at the same hours.</p> +<p>The next morning a very gentlemanly young man knocked at my +door, and entered and asked in perfect English for a Mr. Bell, +who lived in the same house. I informed him that Mr. Bell +was out, but asked him to enter my room and take a chair, which +he did, conversing with me for half an hour, when he departed, +leaving a card on a side-table. In a few minutes later, O., +who was of the kind who notice everything, entered, took up the +card, and read on it the name and address of the young Grand Duke +of Baden, who was naturally by far the greatest man in the +country, he being its hereditary ruler.</p> +<p>“Where the devil did you get this?” asked O., and +all, in amazement.</p> +<p>“Oh,” I replied, “it’s only the +Duke. He has just been in here making a call. If you +fellows had come five minutes sooner you’d have seen +him. Have some beer!”</p> +<p>The impression that I was a queer lot, due to my making my +first call on Capelmann <i>et cetera</i>, was somewhat +strengthened by this card, until I explained how I came by +it. But as Dr. Johnson in other words remarked, there are +people to whom such queer things happen daily, and others to whom +they occur once a year. And there was never yet a living +soul who entered into my daily life who did not observe that I +belong to the former class. If I have a guardian angel, it +must be Edgar A. Poe’s Angel of the Odd. But he +generally comes to those who belong to him!</p> +<p>It was a long time before I profited much by my lectures, +because it was fearful work for me to learn German. I +engaged a tutor, and worked hard, and read a great deal, and +talked it <i>con amore</i>; but few persons would believe how +slowly I learned it, and with what incredible labour. How +often have I cursed up hill and down dale, the Tower of Babel, +which first brought the curse of languages upon the <!-- page +146--><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +146</span>world! And what did I ever have to do with that +Tower? Had I lived in those days, I would never have laid +hand to the work in merry, sunny, lazy Babylon, nor contributed a +brick to it. By the way, it was a juvenile conjecture of +mine that the Tower of Babel was destroyed for being a +shot-tower, in which ammunition was prepared to be used by the +heathen. Which theory might very well have been inspired by +a verse from the old Puritanical rendering of the +Psalms:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Ye race itt is not alwayes gott<br /> + By him who swiftest runns,<br /> +Nor y<sup>e</sup> Battell by y<sup>e</sup> Peo-pel<br /> + Who shoot with longest gunnes.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Even before I had gone to Princeton I had read and learned a +great deal relative to Justinus Kerner, the great German +supernaturalist, mystic, and poet, firstly from a series of +articles in the <i>Dublin University Magazine</i>, and later from +a translation of “The Seeress of Prevorst,” and +several of the good man’s own romances and lyrics. I +suppose that, of all men on the face of the earth, I should have +at that time preferred to meet him. Wherefore, as a matter +of course, it occurred that one fine morning a pleasant +gentlemanly German friend of mine, who spoke English perfectly, +and whose name was Rücker, walked into my room, and proposed +that we should take a two or three days’ walk up the Neckar +with our knapsacks, and visit the famous old ruined castle of the +Weibertreue. My mother had read me the ballad-legend of it +in my boyhood, and I had learned it by heart. Indeed, I can +still recall it after sixty years:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Who can tell me where Weinsberg lies?<br /> + As brave a town as any;<br /> +It must have sheltered in its time<br /> + Brave wives and maidens many:<br /> +If e’er I wooing have to do,<br /> +Good faith, in Weinsberg I will woo!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“And then, when we are there,” said Rücker, +“we will call <!-- page 147--><a name="page147"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 147</span>on an old friend of my +father’s, named Justinus Kerner. Did you ever hear of +him?”</p> +<p>Did a Jew ever hear of Moses, or an American of General +Washington? In five minutes I convinced my friend that I +knew more about Kerner than he himself did. Whereupon it +was decided that we should set forth on the following +morning.</p> +<p>Blessed, beautiful, happy summer mornings in +Suabia—green mounts and grey rocks with old +castles—peasants harvesting hay—a <i>Kirchweih</i>, +or peasant’s merry-making, with dancing and +festivity—till we came to Weinsberg, and forthwith called +on the ancient sage, whom we found with the two or three ladies +and gentlemen of his family. I saw at a glance that they +had the air of aristocracy. He received us very kindly, and +invited us to come to dinner and sup with him.</p> +<p>The Weibertreue is an old castle which was in or at the end of +Dr. Kerner’s garden. Once, when all the town had +taken refuge in it from the Emperor Conrad, the latter gave the +women leave to quit the fort, and also permission to every one to +carry with her whatever was unto her most valuable, precious, or +esteemed. And so the dames went forth, every one bearing on +her back her husband.</p> +<p>In the tower of the castle, or in its wall, which was six feet +thick, were eight or ten windows, gradually opening like +trumpets, through which the wind blew all the time, and +pleasantly enough on a hot summer day. In each of these the +Doctor had placed an Æolian harp, and he who did not +believe in fairies or the gentle spirit of a viewless sound +should have sat in that tower and listened to the music as it +rose and fell, as in endless solemn glees or part-singing; one +harp stepping in, and pealing out richly and strangely as another +died away, while anon, even as the new voice came, there thrilled +in unison one or two more Ariels who seemed to be hurrying up to +join the song. It was a marvellous strange thing of beauty, +which resounded, indeed, all over Germany, for men spoke of it +far and wide.</p> +<p><!-- page 148--><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span>Quite as marvellous, in the evening, was the +Doctor’s own performance on the single and double +Jew’s harp. From this most unpromising instrument he +drew airs of such exquisite beauty that one could not have been +more astonished had he heard the sweet tones of Grisi drawn from +a cat by twisting its tail. But we were in a land of +marvels and wonders, or, as an English writer described it, +“Weinsberg, a place on the Neckar, inhabited partly by men +and women—some in and some out of the body—and partly +by ghosts.” There were visions in the air, and dreams +sitting on the staircases; in fact, when I saw the peasants +working in the fields, I should not have been astonished to see +them vanish into mist or sink into the ground.</p> +<p>And yet from the ruined castle of the Weibertreue Kerner +pointed out to us a man walking along the road, and that man was +the very incarnation of all that was sober, rational, and +undream-like; for it was David Strauss, author of the “Life +of Jesus.” And at him too I gazed with the awe due to +a great man whose name is known to all the cultured world; and to +me much more than the name; for I had read, as before mentioned, +his “Life of Jesus” when I first went to +Princeton.</p> +<p>Dr. Kerner took to me greatly, and said that I very much +reminded him, in appearance and conversation, of what his most +intimate friend, Ludwig Uhland, had been at my age; and as he +repeated this several times, and spoke of it long after to +friends, I think it must have been true, although I am compelled +to admit that people who pride themselves on looking like this or +that celebrity never resemble him in the least, mentally or +spiritually, and are generally only mere caricatures at best.</p> +<p>On our return we climbed into an old Gothic church-tower, in +which I found a fifteenth-century bell, bearing the words, +<i>Vivas voco</i>, <i>mortuos plango</i>, <i>fulgura</i> +<i>frango</i>, and much more—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The dead I knell, the living wake,<br /> +And the power of lightning break!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 149--><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span>which caused me to reflect on the vast degree to which +all the minor uses and observances of the Church—which are +nine-tenths of all their religion to the multitude—were +only old heathen superstitious in new dresses. The bell was +a spell against the demons of lightning in old Etrurian days; to +this time the Tuscan peasant bears one in the darkening +twilight-tide to drive away the witches flitting round: in him +and them “those evening bells” inspired a deeper +sentiment than poetry.</p> +<p>In a village, Rücker, finding the beer very good, bought +a cask of it, which was put on board the little Neckar steamboat +on which we returned to Heidelberg. And thus provided, the +next evening he gave a “barty” up in the old castle, +among the ruins by moonlight, where I “assisted,” and +the <i>lager</i> was devoured, even to the last drop.</p> +<p>I soon grew tired of the family dinners with the Frau +Inspectorinn and the Herr Inspector with the <i>one</i> tumbler +of Neckar wine, which I was expected not to exceed; so I removed +my dining to the “Court of Holland,” a first-class +hotel, where O. and the other Americans met, and where the +expectation was not that a man should by any means limit himself +to one glass, but that, taking at least one to begin with, he +should considerably exceed it. This hotel was kept by a man +named Spitz, who looked his name to perfection.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Er spitzt betrübt die Nase,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>as Scheffel wrote of him in his poem, <i>Numero Acht</i>, the +scene of which is laid in the “Court of +Holland.” Here a word about Scheffel. During +the following semester he was for months a daily table-companion +of mine at the Bremer-Eck, where a small circle of +students—<i>quorum pars fui</i>—met every evening to +sup and <i>kneip</i>, or to drink beer and smoke and sing until +eleven. Little did I dream in those days that he would +become the great popular poet of his time, or that I should ever +translate his <i>Gaudeamus</i>. I owe the “Court of +Holland” to this day for a dinner and a bottle of +wine. <!-- page 150--><a name="page150"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 150</span>It is the only debt I owe, to my +knowledge, to anybody on earth.</p> +<p>It was resolved among the Americans that we should all make a +foot-excursion with knapsacks down the Rhine to Cologne. It +was done. So we went gaily from town to town, visiting +everything, making excursions inland now and then. We had a +bottle or two of the best Johannisberg in the very Schloss +itself—<i>omne cum prætio</i>—and meeting with +such adventures as befell all wandering students in those +old-fashioned, merry times. The Rhine was wild as yet, and +not paved, swept, garnished and full of modern villas and +adornment, as now. I had made, while in America, a +manuscript book of the places and legends of and on the Rhine, +with many drawings. This, and a small volume of +Snow’s and Planché’s “Legends of the +Rhine,” I carried with me. I was already well +informed as to every village and old ruin or tower on the +banks.</p> +<p>So we arrived at Cologne, and saw all the sights. The +cathedral was not then finished, and the town still boasted its +two-and-seventy stinks, as counted by Coleridge. Then we +returned by steamer to Mainz, and thence footed it home.</p> +<p>Little by little I rather fell away from my American friends, +and began to take to German or English associates, and especially +to the company of two Englishmen. One was named Leonard +Field, who is now a lawyer in Lincoln’s Inn Fields; the +other was Ewan P. Colquhoun, a younger brother of Sir Patrick +Colquhoun, whom I knew well, and as friend, in after years, until +his recent death. I always, however, maintained a great +intimacy with George Ward, of Boston, who became long after a +banker and Baring’s agent in America. In one way and +another these two twined into my life in after years, and led to +my making many acquaintances or friends.</p> +<p>I walked a great deal all about Heidelberg to many very +picturesque places, maintaining deep interest in all I saw by +much loving reading of <i>Des Knaben Wunderhorn</i> and <!-- page +151--><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>Uhland’s collection of old German songs—his +own poems I knew long before—the <i>Nibelungen</i> and +<i>Hero-Book</i>, and a great variety of other works. I had +dropped the Occulta, and for a year or two read nothing of the +kind except casually the works of Eckhartshausen and Justinus +Kerner. I can now see that, as I became healthy and strong, +owing to the easy, pleasant existence which I led, it was best +for me after all. “Grappling with life” and +earnestly studying a profession then might have extinguished +me. My mental spring, though not broken, was badly bent, +and it required a long time to straighten it.</p> +<p>Colquhoun was only eighteen, but far beyond his years in +dissipation, and well-nigh advanced to cool cynicism. With +him I made many an excursion all about the country. +Wherever a <i>Kirclweih</i> or peasants’ ball was to be +held, he always knew of it, and there we went. One morning +early he came to my rooms. There was to be a really +stunning duel fought early between a Senior and some very +illustrious <i>Schläger</i>, and he had two English friends +named Burnett who would go with us. So we went, and meeting +with Rücker at the <i>Pawkboden</i>, it was proposed that we +should go on together to Baden-Baden. To which I objected +that I had only twenty florins in my pocket, and had no time to +return home for more. “Never mind,” said +Colquhoun; “Rücker has plenty of money; we can borrow +from him.”</p> +<p>We went to Baden and to the first hotel, and had a fine +dinner, and saw the Burnetts off. Then, of course, to the +gaming-table, where Colquhoun speedily lost all his money, and I +so much that I had but ten florins left. “Never mind; +we’ll pump on Rücker,” said Colquhoun.</p> +<p>We went up to visit the old castle. While there, +Rücker took off his overcoat, in which he had his +pocket-book, and laid it over a chair. When we returned to +the hotel the pocket-book was gone! There we were, with a +hotel-bill to pay and never a cent wherewith to pay it. I +had, however, still ten florins. Colquhoun suddenly +remembered that he <!-- page 152--><a name="page152"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 152</span>had seen something in the town, +price ten florins, which he <i>must</i> buy. It was +something which he had promised to buy for a relative in +England. It was a very serious case of necessity.</p> +<p>I doubted my dear friend, but having sworn him by all his gods +that he would <i>not</i> gamble with the money, I gave it to +him. So he, of course, went straight to the gaming-table, +and, having luck, won enough to pay our debt and take us +home.</p> +<p>I should mention that Rücker went up to the castle and +found his pocket-book with all the money. “For not +only doth Fortune favour the bold,” as is written in my +great unpublished romance of “Flaxius the Immortal,” +“but, while her hand is in, also helps their friends with +no unsparing measure, as is marvellously confirmed by +Machiavelli.”</p> +<p>Vacation came. My friends scattered far and wide. +I joined with three German friends and one Frenchman, and we +strapped on our knapsacks for a foot-journey into +Switzerland. First we went to Freiburg in Baden, and saw +the old Cathedral, and so on, singing, and stopping to drink, and +meeting with other students from other universities, and resting +in forests, amid mountains, by roaring streams, and entering +cottages and chatting with girls. <i>Hurra</i>! <i>frei ist +der bursch</i>!</p> +<p>One afternoon we walked sixteen miles through a rain which was +like a waterfall. I was so drenched that it was with +difficulty I kept my passport and letter of exchange from being +ruined. When we came out of the storm there were <i>six</i> +of us! Another student had, unseen, joined our party in the +rain, and I had never noticed it!</p> +<p>We came to a tavern at the foot of the Rigiberg. My pack +was soaked. One friend lent me a shirt, another a pair of +drawers, and we wrapped ourselves in sheets from the beds and +called for brandy and water hot—a pleasing novelty to the +Germans—and so went to bed. The next day <!-- page +153--><a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>we +ascended the Rigi; found many students there; did not see the sun +rise in the morning, but still a mighty panorama, wondrous fair, +and so walked down again. And receiving my carpet-bag at +Lucerne, whither I had had the precaution to send one, I dressed +myself again in clean linen and went back to Germany. I +meant to travel more in Switzerland, but it was very rainy that +year, and, as it proved, I did wisely.</p> +<p>I returned to Spitz, but his house was full of English, and he +informed me, rather exultantly and foolishly, that he had no room +for me, and could not tell me where to go, “every place was +full.” As I had spent money freely with him I did not +like it. The head-waiter followed me out and recommended +the Black Eagle, kept by Herr Lehr. There I went, got a +good room, and for months after dined daily at its +<i>table-d’hôte</i>. I sent friends there, and +returned to the house with my wife twenty years later. My +brother also went there long after, and endeared himself to all, +helping Herr Lehr to plant his vines. In after years Herr +Lehr had forgotten me, but not my brother. Lehr’s son +was a gentlemanly young fellow, well educated. He became a +captain, and was the first officer killed in the Franco-German +war.</p> +<p>Vacation passed, and the students returned and lectures were +resumed. There was a grand <i>Commers</i> or +students’ supper meeting at which I was present; and again +the duelling-ground rang with the sound of blades, and all was +merry as before. Herr Zimmer, the University +dancing-master, gave lessons and cotillion or waltzing-parties +thrice a week, and these I regularly attended. Those who +came to them were the daughters of the humbler professors and +respectable shopkeepers. During the previous session I had +taken lessons from a little old Frenchman, who brought his fiddle +and a pretty daughter twice a week to my room, where, with Ward, +we formed a class of three.</p> +<p>This gentleman was a perfect type—fit to be staged +without a touch of change—of the old <i>emigré</i>, +who has now vanished, even from among the French. His bows, +his wit—<i>la </i><!-- page 154--><a +name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span><i>grace +extra’ordinaire</i>—the intonations of his voice, and +his vivacity, were beyond the art of any actor now living. +There were many more peculiar and marked types of character in +the last generation than now exist, when Everybody is becoming +Everybody else with such fearful rapidity.</p> +<p>There were four great masked balls held in Heidelberg during +the winter, each corresponding to a special state of +society. That at the Museum or great University Club was +patronised by the <i>elite</i> of nobility and the professors and +their families. Then came the +<i>Harmonie</i>—respectable, but not aristocratic. +Then another in a hotel, which was rather more rowdy than +reputable; not really outrageous, yet where the gentlemen +students “whooped it up” in grand style with +congenial grisettes; and, finally, there was a fancy ball at the +Waldhorn, or some such place, or several of them, over the river, +where peasants and students with maids to match could waltz once +round the vast hall for a penny till stopped by a cordon of +robust rustics. We thought it great fun with our partners +to waltz impetuously and bump with such force against the barrier +as to break through, in which case we were not only greatly +admired, but got another waltz gratis. We had wild +peasant-dancing in abundance, and the consumption of wine and +beer was something awful.</p> +<p>One morning a German student named Grüner, who had been +at Jena, came to my room with a brilliant proposition. We +should go to Frankfort and hear Jenny Lind sing in her great +<i>rôle</i> of Norma. I had already heard her sing in +concert in Heidelberg—where, by the way, the students +rushed into her room as soon as she had left, and tore to strips +the bed in which she had slept, and carried them away for +souvenirs, to the great amazement of an old Englishman who had +just been put into the room. (<i>N.B.</i>—I was not +in the party.) I objected that it was getting to the end of +the month, and that I had not money enough for such an +outing. To which he replied, that we could go on to +Homburg, and make money enough at <i>rouge-et-noir</i> to cover +all expenses. <!-- page 155--><a name="page155"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 155</span>This obvious and admirable method of +raising funds had not occurred to me, so I agreed to go.</p> +<p>We went to Frankfort, and heard the greatly overrated Jenny +Lind, and the next day proceeded to Hamburg, and at once to the +green table. Here I lost a little, but Grüner made so +much, that on returning to the table I took from it a sufficient +sum to cover all our expenses, and told him that, come what +might, it must remain untouched, and gave him the +remainder. That afternoon I played for five-franc pieces, +and at one time had both my side-pockets so full that they +weighed very heavily. And these again I lost. Then +Grüner lost all his, and came imploring me for more, but I +would not give him a <i>kreutzer</i>. Matters were +beginning to look serious. I had a reserved fund of perhaps +fifty napoleons, which I kept for dire need or accidents. +That evening I observed a man who had great luck, winning twice +out of three times. I watched his play, and as soon as he +lost I set a napoleon—by which I won enough to clear my +expenses, and buy me, moreover, a silver-headed cane, a gold +watch-chain, and two Swiss watches. I may mention by the +way, that since that day I have never played at anything, save +losing a ten-franc piece in after years at Wiesbaden.</p> +<p>There dined very often at our <i>table-d’hôte</i> +in the Adler an old German lady named Helmine von Chézy, +who had a reputation as a poetess. With her I sometimes +conversed. One day she narrated in full what she declared +was the true story of Caspar Häuser. Unto her Heine +had addressed the epigram—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Helmine von Chézy,<br /> +Geborene Klencke,<br /> +Ich bitte Sie, geh’ Sie<br /> +Mit ihrer Poésie,<br /> +Sonst kriegt Sie die Kränke!”</p> +<p>“Helmine von Chézy,<br /> +Born Klencke, I pray<br /> +With your pestilent poems<br /> +You’ll hasten away.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 156--><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +156</span>There was also an elderly and very pleasant Englishman, +with whom I became rather intimate, and who was very kind to +me. This was the well-known Captain Medwin, who had known +so well Byron, Shelley, Trelawny, and their compeers. He +was full of anecdotes, which I now wish that I had +recorded. He introduced me to Lady Caroline de Crespigny, +who was then living permanently in Heidelberg. This lady, +who was said to be then fifty years of age, was still so +young-looking and beautiful, that I cannot remember in all my +life to have ever seen such an instance of time arrested. I +also made the acquaintance of Professor Creutzer, author of the +<i>Symbolik</i>, a work of vast learning. <a +name="citation156"></a><a href="#footnote156" +class="citation">[156]</a> And I went to balls, one at +Professor Gervinus’s.</p> +<p>I entered myself with the great Leopold Gmelin for a course of +lectures on chemistry, and worked away every morning with the +test-tubes at analytical chemistry under Professor Posselt, at +which I one day nearly poisoned myself by tasting oxalic acid, +which I did not recognise under its German name of +<i>Kleesäure</i>. I read broad and wide in German +literature, as I think may be found by examining my notes to my +translation of Heine’s works, and went with Field several +times to Frankfort, to attend the theatre, and otherwise amuse +ourselves. There I once made the acquaintance of the very +famous comic actor Hasselt. He was a grave, almost +melancholy man when off the stage, very fond of archæology +and antiquities.</p> +<p>The winter drew to an end. I had long felt a deep desire +to visit Munich, to study art, and to investigate fundamentally +the wonderful and mysterious science of Æsthetics, of which +I had heard so much. So I packed up and paid my bills, and +passing through one town where there was in the hotel where I +stopped, the last wolf ever killed in Germany, <!-- page 157--><a +name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>and freshly +killed (I believe he has been slain two or three times since), +and at another where I was invited to see a criminal beheaded by +the sword—which sight I missed by over-sleeping +myself—I came through Stuttgart, Ulm, and Augsburg to the +German Athens.</p> +<p>I went to the Hôtel Maulick, where I stayed a +week. Opposite to me at table every day sat the famous +Saphir, the great Vienna wit and licensed joker. Of course +I soon became acquainted with some students, and was entered at +the University, and got the card which exempted me from being +arrested by any save the University beadles. I believe that +we even had our own hangman, but as none of my friends ever had +occasion for his services I did not inquire. The same +ticket also entitled me to attend the opera at half-price, and if +it had only included tobacco and beer gratis, it would have been +the means of vast economies.</p> +<p>I entered myself for a course of lectures by Professor +Friedrich Thiersch on Æsthetics. He it was who had +trained Heine to art, and I venture to say that in my case the +seed fell on good ground. I took in every thought. +His system agreed, on the whole, perfectly with that advanced in +after years by Taine, and marvellously well with that set forth +in the “Essays, Speculative and Suggestive,” of J. A. +Symonds—that is, it was eclectic and deductive from +historical periods, and not at all “rhapsodical” or +merely subjective. I bought the best works, such as +Kugler’s, for guides, and studied hard, and frequented the +Pinacothek and Glyptothek, and I may say really educated myself +well in the history of art and different schools of +æsthetics. My previous reading, travel, and tastes +fitted me in every way to easily master such knowledge. I +also followed Becker’s course on Schelling, but my heart +was not in it, as it would have been two years before. The +lectures of Professor Henry and Gmelin and true Science had +caused in me a distrust of metaphysics and psychological systems +and theories. I began to see that they were all only very +ingenious shufflings and combinations and <!-- page 158--><a +name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>phases of +the same old cards of Pantheism, which could be made into Theism, +Pietism, Atheism, or Materialism to suit any taste. I was +advancing rapidly to pure science, though Evolution was as yet +unknown by the name, albeit the Okenites and others with their +<i>Natur-philosophie</i> were coming closely to it.</p> +<p>In fact, I think it may be truly said that, as regarded +deducing man and all things from a <i>prima materia</i> or +protoplasm by means of natural selection and vast study of +differentiation, they were exactly where Darwin, and Wallace, and +Huxley were when we began to know the latter. I do not +agree with Max Müller in his very German and very artfully +disguised and defended theory that the religious idea originated +in a vague sense of the Infinite in the minds of savages; for I +believe it began with the bogeys and nightmares of obscure +terror, hunger, disease, and death; but the Professor is quite +right in declaring that Evolution was first created or developed +in the German <i>Natur-philosophie</i>, the true beginning of +which was with the Italian naturalists, such as Bruno and De +Cusa. What is to be observed is this, yet few understand +it, nor has even Symonds cleared the last barrier—that when +a Pantheist has got so far as to conceive an identity between +matter and spirit, while on the other hand a scientific +materialist rises to the unity of spirit and matter, there is +nothing to choose between them. Only this is true, that the +English Evolutionists, by abandoning reasoning based on +Pantheistic poetic bases, as in Schelling’s case, or purely +logical, as in Hegel’s, and by proceeding on plainly +prosaic, merely material, simply scientific grounds after the +example of Bacon, swept away so much rubbish that people no +longer recognised the old temple of Truth, and really thought it +was a brand new workshop or laboratory. But I can remember +very distinctly that to me Evolution did <i>not</i> come as if I +had received a new soul, or even a new body, but had merely had a +bath, and put on new garments. And as I became an English +Evolutionist in due time, I had this great advantage, that <!-- +page 159--><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>by beginning so young I succeeded in doing very +thoroughly what Symonds and Maudsley and many more clearly +understand is <i>most</i> difficult—that is, not merely to +accept the truth, but to get rid of the old <i>associations</i> +of the puzzle of a difference between spirit and matter, which +thing caused even the former to muddle about “God,” +and express disgust at “Materialism,” and declare +that there is “an insoluble problem,” which is all in +flat contradiction to pure Evolution, which does not meddle with +“the Unknowable.”</p> +<p>There was a Jewish professor named Karl Friedrich Neumann, who +was about as many-sided a man as could be found even in a German +university. He was a great Chinese scholar—had been +in China, and also read on mathematics and modern history. +I attended these lectures (not the mathematics) and liked them: +so we became acquainted. I found that he had written a very +interesting little work on the visit recorded in the Chinese +annals of certain Buddhist monks to Fusang—probably +Mexico—in the fifth century. I proposed to translate +it, and did so, he making emendations and adding fresh matter to +the English version.</p> +<p>Professor Neumann was a vigorous reader, but he soon found +that I was of the same kind. One day he lent me a large +work on some Indian subject, and the next I brought it +back. He said that I could not have read it in the +time. I begged him to examine me on it, which he did, and +expressed his amazement, for he declared that he had never met +with anything like it in all his life. This from him was +praise indeed. Long after, in America, George Boker in +closer fashion tested me on this without my knowing it, and +published the result in an article.</p> +<p>I became acquainted with a learned writer on art named +Foerster, who had married a daughter of Jean Paul Richter, and +dined once or twice at his house. I also saw him twenty +years later in Munich. George Ward came in from Berlin to +stay some weeks in Munich. I saw Taglioni several times at +the opera, but did not make her acquaintance till 1870. The +<!-- page 160--><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +160</span>great, tremendous celebrity at that time in Munich was +also an opera-dancer, though not on the stage. This was +Lola Montez, the King’s last favourite. He had had +all his mistresses painted, one by one, and the gallery was open +to the public. Lola’s was the last, and there was a +blank space still left <i>for a few more</i>. I thought +that about twenty-five would complete the collection.</p> +<p>Lola Montez had a small palace, and was raised to be the +Countess of Landsfeldt, but this was not enough. She wished +to run the whole kingdom and government, and kick out the +Jesuits, and kick up the devil, generally speaking. But the +Jesuits and the mob were too much for her. I knew her very +well in later years in America, when she deeply regretted that I +had not called on her in Munich. I must have had a great +moral influence on her, for, so far as I am aware, I am the only +friend whom she ever had at whom she never threw a plate or book, +or attacked with a dagger, poker, broom, chair, or other deadly +weapon. We were both born at the same time in the same +year, and I find by the rules of sorcery that she is the first +person who will meet me when I go to heaven. I always had a +great and strange respect for her singular talents; there were +very few indeed, if any there were, who really knew the depths of +that wild Irish soul. Men generally were madly fascinated +with her, then as suddenly disenchanted, and then detracted from +her in every way.</p> +<p>There were many adventuresses in later years who passed +themselves about the world for Lola Montez. I have met with +two friends, whom I am sure were honest gentlemen, who told me +they had known her intimately. Both described her as a +large, powerful, or robust woman. Lola was in reality very +small, pale, and thin, or <i>fréle</i>, with beautiful +blue eyes and curly black hair. She was a typical beauty, +with a face full of character, and a person of remarkably great +and varied reading. One of her most intimate friends was +wont to tell her that she and I had many very strange +characteristics in common, which we shared with no one else, <!-- +page 161--><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +161</span>while we differed utterly in other respects. It +was very like both of us, for Lola, when defending the existence +of the soul against an atheist, to tumble over a great trunk of +books of the most varied kind, till she came to an old +vellum-bound copy of Apuleius, and proceed to establish her views +according to his subtle Neo-Platonism. But she romanced and +embroidered so much in conversation that she did not get credit +for what she really knew.</p> +<p>I once met with a literary man in New York who told me he had +long desired to make my acquaintance, because he had heard her +praise me so immeasurably beyond anybody else she had ever known, +that he wanted to see what manner of man I could be. I +heard the same from another, in another place long after. +Once she proposed to me to make a bolt with her to Europe, which +I declined. The secret of my influence was that I always +treated her with respect, and never made love or flirted.</p> +<p>An intimate of both of us who was present when this friendly +proposal was made remarked with some astonishment, “But, +Madame, by what means can you two <i>live</i>?” +“Oh,” replied Lola innocently and confidingly, +“people like us” (or “who know as much as +we”) “can get a living anywhere.” And she +rolled us each a cigarette, with one for herself. I could +tell a number of amusing tales of this Queen of Bohemia, but +Space, the Kantean god, forbids me more. But I may say that +I never had more really congenial and wide-embracing +conversations with any human being in my life than with Her +Majesty. There was certainly no topic, within my range, at +least, on which she could not converse with some substance of +personal experience and reading. She had a mania for +meeting and knowing all kinds of peculiar people.</p> +<p>I lived in the main street near the Karlsthor, opposite a +tavern called the Ober-Pollinger, which was a mediæval +tavern in those days. My landlady was a nice old soul, and +she had two daughters, one of whom was a beauty, and as <!-- page +162--><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +162</span>gentle and Germanly good as a girl could be. Her +face still lives in a great picture by a great artist. We +lived on the third floor; on the ground was a shop, in which +cutlery and some fireworks were sold. It befell that George +Ward and I were very early in the morning sitting on a bench +before the Ober-Pollinger, waiting for a stage-coach, which would +take us to some place out of town; when bang! bang! crack! I +heard a noise in the firework shop, and saw explosions puffing +smoke out of the bursting windows. Great God! the front +shop was on fire; it was full of fireworks, such as rockets and +crackers, and I knew there was a barrel of gunpowder in the +back-shop! I had found it out a few days before, when I +went there to buy some for my pistols. And the family were +asleep. In an instant I tore across the street, rushed +screaming upstairs, roused them all out of bed, howling, +“It burns!—there’s gunpowder!” Yet, +hurried as I was, I caught up a small hand-bag, which contained +my money, as I got the girls and their mother downstairs. I +was just in time to see a gigantic butcher burst open the +two-inch door with an axe, and roll out the barrel containing two +hundred pounds of gunpowder, as the flames were licking it. +I saw them distinctly.</p> +<p>It was the awful row which I made which had brought the people +out betimes, including the butcher and his axe. But for +that, there would have been a fearful blow-up. But the +butcher showed himself a man of gold on this occasion, for he it +was who really saved us all. A day or two after, when I was +jesting about myself as a knightly rescuer of forlorn damsels, in +reply to some remark on the event, George Ward called me to +order. There was, as he kindly said, too much that he +respected in that event to make fun of it.</p> +<p>George Ward is deeply impressed on my memory. He was a +sedate young fellow, with a gift of dry humour, now and then +expressed in quaint remarks, a gentleman in every instinct, much +given to reading and reflecting. When he <!-- page 163--><a +name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>said +anything, he meant it, and this remark of his struck me more than +the event itself had done.</p> +<p>And to think that I quite forgot, in narrating my Princeton +experiences, to tell of something very much like this +incident. It was in my last year, and my landlady had just +moved into a new house, when, owing to some defect in the +building, it caught fire, but was luckily saved after it had +received some damage. I awoke in the night, flames bursting +into my room, and much smoke. It happened that the day +before a friend in Alabama had sent me eleven hundred dollars +wherewith to pay for him certain debts. My first thought +was for this money, so I hurried to get the key of the secretary +in which it was—keys never can be found in a +hurry—and when found, I could not find the right one in the +bunch. And then it stuck in the lock and would not open it, +till finally I succeeded and got the money out. And then, +not finding myself quite dead, I in a hurry turned the contents +of three drawers in my bureau and my linen on to the bed, threw +on it my coats and trousers, tied the four corners of a sheet +together in one bundle, caught up my boots, fencing-foils, +&c., to make another, and so rescued all I had. I +verily believe I did it all in one minute. That day the +President, old Dr. Carnahan, when I plead “not +prepared” for failing at recitation, excused me with a grim +smile. I had really that time some excuse for it. +During the Munich incident I thought of the sheets. But I +had gunpowder and two girls to look after in the latter place, +and time and tide—or gunpowder and girls—wait for no +man.</p> +<p>And so, with study and art and friends, and much terrible +drinking of beer and smoking of Varinas-Kanaster, and roaming at +times in gay greenwoods with pretty maids alway, and music and +dancing, the Munich semester came to an end. I proposed to +travel with an English friend named Pottinger to Vienna, and +thence by some adventurous route or other through Germany to +Paris; which was a great deal more to undertake in those days +than it now is, entailing several <!-- page 164--><a +name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>hundred per +cent. more pain and sorrow, fasting, want of sleep and washing, +than any man would encounter in these days in going round the +world and achieving <i>la grande route</i>; or the common +European tour, to boot. For it befell me ere I reached my +journey’s end to pass eighteen nights in one month in +Eilwagen or waggons, the latter being sometimes without +springs. And once or twice or thrice I was so utterly worn +and wearied that I slept all night, though I was so tossed about +that I awoke in the morning literally bruised from head to foot, +with my chimney-pot hat under my feet; which was worse than even +a forced march on short commons—as I found in after +years—or driving in a Russian <i>telega</i>, or jackassing +in Egypt, or any other of the trifles over which pampered +tourists make such heart-rending howls now-a-days.</p> +<p>So we went to Prague, and thence to Vienna, which, in the year +1847, was a very different place indeed to what it is at present; +for an unbounded gaiety and an air of reckless festivity was +apparent then all the time to everybody everywhere. Under +it all lurked and rankled abuses, municipal, social, and +political, such as would in 1893 be deemed incredible if not +unnatural (as may be read in a clever novel called <i>Die +schöne Wienerinn</i>), but on the surface all was brilliant +foam and sunshine and laughing sirens. What new thing +Strauss would play in the evening was the great event of the +day. I saw and heard the great Johann Strauss—this +was the grandfather—and in after years his son, and the +<i>schöne Edie</i> his grandson. Everywhere one heard +music, and the Prater was a gay and festive paradise +indeed. There was no business; the town lived on the +Austrian, Hungarian, Bohemian, Russian, and other nobility, who +in those days were extravagant and ostentatious to a degree now +undreamed of, and on strangers. As for free and easy +licentiousness, Paris was a trifle to it, and the police had +strict orders to encourage everything of the kind; the result +being that the seventh commandment in all its phases was treated +like pie-crust, as <!-- page 165--><a name="page165"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 165</span>a thing made to be broken, the +oftener the better. Even on our first arriving at our +hotel, our good-natured landlord, moved by the principle that it +was not good for a young man to be alone, informed us that if we +wished to have damsels in our rooms no objection would be +interposed. “Why not?” he said; “this is +not a church”; the obvious inference being that to a +Viennese every place not a church must necessarily be a temple to +Venus. And every Wiener, when spoken to, roared with +laughter; and there were minstrels in the streets, and musicians +in every dining-place and café, and great ringing of bells +in chimes, and ’twas merry in hall when beards wagged all, +and “the world went very well in those days.” +Vienna is a far finer town now, but it is a Quaker meeting-house +compared to what it was for gaiety forty years ago.</p> +<p>This change of life and manners has spread, and will continue +to spread, all over the world. In feudal times the people +were kept quiet by means of holidays, carnivals, processions, +fairs, fairy-tales, treats, and indulgences; even the common +childish instinct for gay dress and picturesqueness of appearance +was encouraged, and at high tides everybody was fed and given to +drink: so that if the poor toiled and fasted and prayed, it might +be for months, they had their joyous revellings to anticipate, +when there were free tables even for strangers. In those +days—</p> +<blockquote><p>“A Christmas banquet oft would cheer<br /> +A poor man’s heart for half the year.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This Middle Age lasted effectively until the epoch of the +Revolution and railroads, or, to fix a date, till about +1848. And then all at once, as at a breath, it all +disappeared, and now lives, so to speak, only in holes and +corners. For as soon as railroads came, factories sprang up +and Capital began to employ Labour, and Labour to plot and +combine against Capital; and what with scientific inventions and +a sudden stimulus to labour, and newspapers, the multitude got +beyond fancy dresses and the being amused to keep them quiet like +<!-- page 166--><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>children, and so the <i>juventus mundi</i> passed +away. “It is a perfect <i>shame</i>!” say the +dear young lady tourists, “that the peasantry no longer +wear their beautiful dresses; they ought to be <i>obliged</i> to +keep them up.” “But how would <i>you</i> like, +my dear, if you were of the lower orders, to wear a dress which +proclaimed it?” Here the conversation ceaseth, for it +becomes too deep for the lady tourist to follow.</p> +<p>How it was we wandered I do not distinctly remember, but +having visited Nuremberg, Prague, and Dresden, we went to +Breslau, where a fancy seized us to go to Cracow. True, we +had not a special <i>visé</i> from a Russian minister to +enter the Muscovite dominions, but the police at Breslau, who (as +I was afterwards told) loved to make trouble for those on the +frontier, bade us be of good cheer and cheek it out, neither to +be afraid of any man, and to go ahead bravely. Which we +did.</p> +<p>There was a sweet scene at the frontier station on the +Polish-Russian line at about three o’clock in the morning, +when the grim and insolent officials discovered that our +passports had only the police <i>visé</i> from +Breslau! I was asked why I had not in my native country +secured the <i>visé</i> of a Russian minister; to which I +replied that in America the very existence of such a country as +Russia was utterly unknown, and that I myself was astonished to +find that Russians knew what passports were. Also that I +always supposed that foreigners conferred a great benefit on a +country by spending their money in it; but that if I could not be +admitted, that was an end of it; it was a matter of very trifling +consequence, indeed, for we really did not care twopence whether +we saw Russia or not; a country more or less made very little +difference to such travellers as we were.</p> +<p>Cheek is a fine thing in its way, and on this occasion I +developed enough brass to make a pan, and enough +“sass” to fill it; but all in vain. When I +visited the Muscovite realm in after years I was more kindly +received. On this occasion we were closely searched and +re-searched, although <!-- page 167--><a name="page167"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 167</span>we were not allowed to go on into +Russia! Every square inch of everything was examined as +with a microscope—even the small scraps of newspaper in +which soap or such trifles were wrapped were examined, a note +made as to each, and all put under paper-weights; and whatever +was suspected—as, for instance, books or +pamphlets—was confiscated, although, as I said, we were +turned back! And this robbery accomplished, we were +informed that the stage-coach, or rather rough post-waggon, in +which we came, would return at five o’clock <span +class="smcap">p.m.</span>, and that we could in it go back to +Dresden, and might pass the time till then on a bench outside the +building—reflecting on our sins! I had truly some +papers about me which I did not care to have examined, but these +were in my cravat, and even Russian ingenuity had not at that +time got beyond picking pockets and feeling the linings of +coats. It has since been suggested to me by something which +I read that I was under suspicion. I had in Munich aided a +Swiss student who was under police surveillance for political +intriguing to escape, by lending him money to get away. It +is probable that for this my passport was marked in a peculiar +manner. My companion, Pottinger, was not much searched; all +suspicion seemed to fall on me.</p> +<p>The stage went on, and Pottinger and I sat on the bench in a +mild drizzle at half-past three in the morning, with as miserable +a country round about as mortal man ever beheld. By-and-bye +one of the subs., a poor Pole, moved by compassion and the hope +of reward, cautiously invited us to come into his den. He +spoke a very little German and a little Latin (Pottinger was an +Oxford man, and knew several heavy classics, Greek and Latin, +perfectly by heart). The Pole had a fire, and we began to +converse. He had heard of America, and that Polish exiles +had been well treated there. I assured him that Poles were +admired and cherished among us like pet lambs among children, and +the adored of the adored. Then I spoke of Russian +oppression, and the Pole, in utmost secrecy, produced a sabre +which had been borne under Kosciusko, <!-- page 168--><a +name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>and showed +us a silver coin—utterly prohibited—which had been +struck during the brief period of the Polish revolution.</p> +<p>The Pole began to prepare <i>his</i> coffee—for +one. I saw that something must be done to increase the +number of cups. He took up his book of prayers and asked of +what religion we were. Of Pottinger I said contemptuously, +“He is nothing but a heretic,” but that as for +myself, I had for some time felt a great inclination towards the +<i>Panna</i>—Holy Virgin—and that it would afford me +great pleasure to conform to the Polish Catholic Church, but that +unfortunately I did not understand the language. To which +he replied, that if <i>he</i> were to read the morning service in +Polish and I would repeat it word by word, that the <i>Panna</i> +would count it to my credit just as if I had. And as I was +praying in good earnest for a breakfast, I trust that it was +accepted. Down on our knees we went and began our +orisons.</p> +<p>“Leland! you --- humbug!” exclaimed Pottinger.</p> +<p>“Go away, you infernal heretic, and don’t disturb +Christians at their devotions!” was my devout reply. +So, prayers concluded, there <i>was</i> coffee and rolls for +three. And so in due time the coach returned. I +rewarded our host with a thaler, and we returned to Breslau, of +which place I noted that the natives never ate anything but sweet +cakes for their first morning meal.</p> +<p>We stopped at Görlitz, where I asked a woman standing in +the half-doorway of the house of Jacob Böhme if that was his +house. But she had never heard of such a man!</p> +<p>Dresden we thoroughly explored, and were at Leipzig during the +great annual fair. These fairs, in those days, were sights +to behold. Now they are succeeded by stupendous +Expositions, which are far finer and inconceivably greater, yet +which to me lack that kind of gypsy, side-show, droll, +old-fashioned attraction of the ancient gatherings, even as +Barnum’s Colossal Moral Show of half-a-dozen circuses at +once and twenty-five elephants does not <i>amuse</i> anybody <!-- +page 169--><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +169</span>as the old clown in the ring and one elephant did of +yore.</p> +<p>Thence to Berlin, where we were received with joy by the +American students, who knew all about one another all over +Germany. I very much enjoyed the great art gallery, and the +conversation of those who, like myself, followed lectures on +Æsthetics and the history of art. Thence to Magdeburg +and Hanover, Dusseldorf—to cut it short, Holland and the +chief cities in Belgium.</p> +<p>I noted one little change of custom in Berlin. In South +Germany it was a common custom for students, when calling on a +friend, to bring and leave generally a small bouquet. When +I did this in Berlin my friends were astonished at it. This +was an old Italian custom, as we may read in the beautiful One +Hundred and Fifty <i>Brindisi</i> or Toasts of Minto.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Porto a voi un fior novello,<br /> +Ed, oh come vago e bello!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In 1847 even a very respectable hotel in Holland was in any +city quite like one of two centuries before. You entered a +long antiquely-brown room, traversed full length by a +table. Before every chair was placed a little metallic dish +with hot coals, and a churchwarden pipe was brought to every +visitor at once without awaiting orders. The stolid, +literal, mechanical action of all the people’s minds was +then <i>wonderful</i>. An average German peasant was a +genius compared to these fresh, rosy-fair, well-clad +Hollanders. It was to me a new phase of human happiness in +imbecility, or rather in undisturbed routine; for it is written +that no bird can fly like a bullet and doze or sleep sweetly at +the same time. Yet, as from the Huns, the most hideous +wretches in the world, there arose by intermixture the +Hungarians, who are perhaps the handsomest, so from the +Knickerbocker Dutch sprang the wide-awake New Yorkers! The +galleries in Holland and Belgium were to me joys unutterable and +as the glory of life itself. Munich and Thiersch still +inspired me; <!-- page 170--><a name="page170"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 170</span>I seemed to have found a destiny in +æsthetics or art, or what had been wanting in Princeton; +that is, how the beautiful entered into life and was developed in +history and made itself felt in all that was worth anything at +all. Modern English writers on this subject—with +exceptions like that of J. A. Symonds, whose Essays I cannot +commend too highly—are in the same relation to its grand +truth and higher inspiration as Emerson and Carlyle to Pantheism +in its mightiest early forms. For several years the actual +mastery of æsthetics gave me great comfort, and advanced me +marvellously in thought to wider and far higher regions.</p> +<p>I forget where I parted with Pottinger; all that I can +remember was, that early in November I arrived alone in Paris, +going to some small hotel or other, and that as all the fatigues +of the past many weeks of weary travel seemed to come upon me all +at once, I went to bed, and never left the house till four +o’clock <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> the next day. +On the next I found my way into the Latin Quarter, and secured a +<i>not</i> very superior room in the Place Saint-Michel, near the +Ecole de Médecine, to which I moved my luggage.</p> +<p>I was very much astonished, while sitting alone and rather +blue and overcast in my room, at the sudden entrance of a second +cousin of mine named Frank Fisher, who was studying medicine in +Paris. He had by some odd chance seen my name registered in +the newspapers as having arrived at the hotel, and lost no time +in looking me up. He lived on the other side of the Seine +in the Boule Rouge, near the Rue Helder, a famous happy +hunting-ground for <i>les biches</i>—I mean kids or the +very dear. I must go forthwith to his quarters and dine, +which I did, and so my introduction to Paris was fairly +begun.</p> +<p>I attended at the Collége Louis le Grand, and at the +Sorbonne, all or any lectures by everybody, including a very dull +series on German literature by Philarete Châsles. I +read books. <i>Inter alia</i>, I went through Dante’s +“Inferno” in Italian aided by Rivarol’s +translation, of which I possessed <!-- page 171--><a +name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 171</span>the <i>very +copy</i> stamped with the royal arms, and containing the +author’s autograph, which had been presented to the +King. I picked it up on the Quai for a franc, for which sum +I also obtained a first edition of <i>Melusine</i>, which Mr. +Andrew Lang has described as such a delightful rarity. And +I also ran a great deal about town. I saw Rachel, and +Frédéric Lemaitre, and Mlle. Déjazet, and +many more at the great theatres, and attended assiduously at +Bobinot’s, which was a very small theatre in the Quartier +Latin, frequented entirely by students and grisettes. I +went to many a ball, both great and small, including the masked +ones of the Grand Opera, and other theatres, at which there was +dissipation and diablerie enough to satisfy the most ardent +imagination, ending with the <i>grande ronde infernale</i>. +I made many acquaintances, and if they were not by any means all +highly respectable, they were at least generally very singular or +notorious. One day I would dine at a place outside the +Barrier, where we had a plain but fairly good dinner for a franc, +<i>vin compris</i>, and where the honoured guest at the head of +the table was the <i>chef des claqueurs</i> or head of the paid +applauders at all the theatres. Then it would be at a +private <i>table-d’hôte</i> of <i>lorettes</i>, where +there was after dinner a little private card-playing. I +heard afterwards that two or three unprincipled gamblers found +their way into this nest of poor little innocents and swindled +them out of all their money. When I was well in funds I +would dine at Magny’s, where, in those days, one could get +such a dinner for ten francs as fifty would not now +purchase. When <i>au sec</i>, I fed at +Flictoteau’s—we called him +<i>l’empoisonneur</i>—where hundreds of students got +a meal of three courses with half a bottle of ordinaire, and not +so bad either, for thirty sous.</p> +<p>It happened one night at Bobinot’s that I sat in the +front row of the stage-box, and by me a very pretty, modest, and +respectable young girl, with her elder relations or +friends. How it happened I do not know, but they all went +out, leaving the young lady by me, and I did not speak to +her.</p> +<p><!-- page 172--><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +172</span>Which “point” was at once seized by the +house. The pit, as if moved by one diabolical inspiration, +began to roar, “<i>Il l’embrassera</i>!” (He +will kiss her), to which the gallery replied, “<i>Il ne +l’embrassera pas</i>.”</p> +<p>So they kept it up and down alternately like see-sawing, to an +intonation; and be it remarked, by the way, that in French such a +monotonous bore is known as a <i>scie</i> or saw, as may be read +in my romance in the French tongue entitled <i>Le Lutin du +Château</i>, which was, I regret to say, refused by +Hachette the publisher on account of its freedom from +strait-laced, blue-nosed, Puritanical conventionalism, albeit he +praised its literary merit and style, as did sundry other French +scholars, if I may say it—who should not!</p> +<p>I saw that something must be done; so, rising, I waved my +glove, and there was dead silence. Then I began at the top +of my voice, in impassioned style in German, an address about +matters and things in general, intermingled with insane +quotations from Latin, Slavonian, anything. A change came +o’er the spirit of the dream of my auditors, till at last +they “took,” and gave me three cheers. I had +<i>sold</i> the house!</p> +<p>There was in the Rue de la Harpe a house called the +Hôtel de Luxembourg. It was the fragment of a very +old palace which had borne that name. It had still a +magnificent Renaissance staircase, which bore witness to its +former glory. Washington Irving, in one of his earlier +tales, describes this very house and the rooms which I occupied +in it so accurately, that I think he must have dwelt there. +He tells that a student once, during the Revolution, finding a +young lady in the street, took her home with him to that +house. She had a black ribbon round her neck. He +twitched it away, when—off fell her head. She had +been guillotined, and revived by sorcery.</p> +<p>I soon removed to this house, where I had two very good-sized +rooms. In the same establishment dwelt a small actress or +two, and divers students, or men who were extremely busy <!-- +page 173--><a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +173</span>all the winter in plotting a revolution. It was +considered as a nest of rather doubtful and desperate characters, +and an American <i>carabin</i> or student of medicine told me of +another who had fled from the establishment after a few +days’ experience, “for fear lest he should have his +throat cut.” But this was very silly, for none of us +would have cut anybody’s throat for any +consideration. Some time ago I read the “Memoirs of +Claude,” who was the head of police in Paris during my +time, and I was quite startled to find how many of the +notorieties chronicled in his experiences had been known to me +personally. As, for instance, Madame Marie Farcey, who he +declares had a heart of gold, and with whom I had many a curious +conversation. She was a handsome, very ladylike, suave sort +of a person, who was never known to have an intrigue with any +man, but who was “far and away” at the very head of +all the immorality in Paris, as is well known to everybody who +was deeply about town in the Forties. Claude himself I +never knew, and it was to his possible great loss; for there came +a time when I could, had I chosen, have given him information +which would have kept him in office and Louis Philippe on the +throne, and turned the whole course of the events of 1848, as I +will now clearly and undeniably prove.</p> +<p>I did not live in the Hôtel de Luxembourg for nothing, +and I knew what was going on, and what was coming, and that there +was to be the devil to pay. Claude tells us in his +“Memoirs” that the revolution of February 24 took him +so much by surprise that he had only three hours’ previous +notice of it, and really not time to remove his office +furniture. Now, <i>one month</i> before it burst out I +wrote home to my brother that we were to have a revolution on the +24th of February, and that it would certainly succeed. +Those who would learn all the true causes and reasons of this may +find them in my forthcoming translation of “Heine’s +Letters from Paris,” with my notes. The police of +Paris were very clever, but the whole organisation was in so few +hands, and <!-- page 174--><a name="page174"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 174</span>we managed so well, that they never +found us out. It was beyond all question the neatest, +completest, and cheapest revolution ever executed. +Lamartine himself was not allowed to know anything about it till +he was wanted for President. And all over the Latin +Quarter, on our side of the river, in cafés and balls and +in shops, and talking to everybody, went the mysterious dwellers +of the Hôtel de Luxembourg, sounding public opinion and +gathering signs and omens, and making recruits and laying trains, +which, when fired, caused explosions all over Europe, and sounds +which still live in history. And all the work was duly +reported at head-quarters. The great secret of the success +of the revolution was that it was in the hands of so few persons, +who were all absolutely secret and trustworthy. If there +had been a few more, the police would have found us out to a +certainty. One who was suspected was +“squared.”</p> +<p>At last the ball opened. There was the great banquet, +and the muttering storm, and angry mobs, and small +<i>émeutes</i>. There is a mere alley—I forget +its name—on the right bank, which runs down to the Seine, +in which it is said that every Paris revolution has broken +out. Standing at its entrance, I saw three or four shots +fired and dark forms with guns moving in the alley, and then came +General Changarnier with his cavalry and made a charge, before +which I fled. I had to dodge more than one of these charges +during the day. Before dark the rioting was general, and +barricades were going up. The great storm-bell of +Nôtre Dame rung all night long.</p> +<p>The next morning I rose, and telling Leonard Field, who lived +in the same hotel with me, that I was going to work in earnest, +loaded a pair of duelling-pistols, tied a sash round my waist +<i>en révolutionnaire</i>, and with him went forth to +business. First I went to the Café Rotonde, hard by, +and got my breakfast. Then I sallied forth, and found in +the Rue de la Harpe a gang of fifty insurgents, who had arms and +a crowbar, but who wanted a leader. Seeing that I was one +of <!-- page 175--><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +175</span>them, one said to me, “Sir, where shall we make a +barricade?” I replied that there was one already to +the right and another farther down, but that a third close at +hand was open. Without a word they handed me the crowbar, +and I prized up the stones out of the pavement, while they +undertook the harder work of piling them up. In a few +minutes we had a solid wall eight feet high. Field had on +light kid gloves, which formed an amusing contrast to his +occupation. Then remembering that there was a defenceless +spot somewhere else, I marched my troop thither, and built +another barricade—all in grim earnest without talking.</p> +<p>I forgot to say that on the previous day I had witnessed a +marvellously dramatic scene in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, by the +market-house. There was across it an immense barricade, +made of literally everything—old beds, waggons, stones, and +rubbish—and it was guarded by a dense crowd of insurgents, +armed or unarmed, of whom I was one. All around were at +least three thousand people singing the <i>Marseillaise</i> and +the <i>Chant des Girondins</i>. There was a charge of +infantry, a discharge of muskets, and fifteen fell dead, some +almost touching me, while the mob around never ceased their +singing, and the sounds of that tremendous and terrible chorus +mingled with the dying groans and cries of the victims and the +great roar of the bell of Notre Dame. It was like a scene +in the opera. This very barricade has been described by +Victor Hugo in detail, but not all which took place there, the +whole scene being, in fact, far more dramatic or picturesque than +he supposed it to have been.</p> +<p>It seemed to be predestined that I should see every great +event in that drama, from the charge of Changarnier down to the +very end, and I hereby declare that on my honour I set forth +exactly what I saw with my own eyes, without a shade of colour +off the truth.</p> +<p>There was a garçon named Edouard, who always waited on +me in the Café Rotonde. While I was working for life +at my second barricade, he came out holding a napkin, and <!-- +page 176--><a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +176</span>examining my labour critically, waved it, exclaimed +approvingly, “<i>Très bien</i>, <i>Citoyen +Charles</i>—<i>très bien</i>!” It was +his little joke for some days after to call me Citoyen +Charles.</p> +<p>Returning down the Rue de la Harpe before our house my +landlady exclaimed to me in alarm, “Hide your pistols! +there is a <i>mouchard</i> (spy of the police) following +you.” I believe that I, my blood being up, said +something to the effect that if she would point him out I would +shoot him forthwith, but the <i>mouchard</i> had vanished. +We had all got into cool earnestness by that time as regards +shooting, having been in it constantly for three days.</p> +<p>Over the barricade came sprawling a tall ungainly red-haired +Yankee, a student of medicine, whom I had met before, and who +began to question me as to what I was doing. To which I +replied, “What the devil do you want here, anyhow?” +not being in a mood to be trifled with. To which he +replied, “Nawthin’, only a kinder lookin’ +reound. But what on airth—” “But +are you for us, or against?” I cried. +“Wäll, I ain’t on no side.” +“See here!” I cried in a rage; “those who are +not for us are against us. Any one of those fellows you see +round here would shoot you at once if I told him to, and if you +don’t clear out in double quick time, by God I +will!” And at this he made himself scarce forthwith, +“nor does he come again into this story.”</p> +<p>Then I went down the street, and as a large supply of +ammunition came to us from our friends, with the aid of a student +of the Ecole Polytechnique, I distributed it to the mob. I +had principally boxes of percussion-caps to give. I mention +this because that young man has gone into history for it, and I +have as good a right to a share in this extremely small exploit +as he. Besides, though not wounded by the foe, I got a bad +cut on my hand from a sharp paving-stone, and its scar lasted for +many years.</p> +<p>I had that day many a chance to knock over a <i>piou-piou</i> +or shoot a soldier, as Field said, but I must confess that I felt +an invincible repugnance to do so. The poor devils <!-- +page 177--><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span>were, after all, only fighting unwillingly against us, +and I well knew that unless they came over to our side all would +be up with us. Therefore it was our policy to spare them as +much as possible. I owe it to Field to state that through +all the stirring scenes of the Revolution he displayed great +calmness and courage.</p> +<p>All at once we heard a terrible outcry down the street. +There was a tremendous massing of soldiers there, and to defend +that barricade meant death to all defenders. I confess that +I hesitated <i>one instant</i>, and than rushed headlong to join +the fight. Merciful God! the troops had fraternised with +us, and they were handing over their muskets to the mob, who were +firing them in the air.</p> +<p>The scene was terribly moving. My men, who a minute +before had expected to be shot, rushed up, embraced and kissed +the soldiers, wept like children—in short, everybody kissed +and embraced everybody else, and all my warriors got guns, and +therewith I dismissed them, for I knew that the war was now about +at an end.</p> +<p>There was a German-French student named Lenoir, and he, with +Field and I, hearing that there was sharp work at the Tuileries, +started thither in haste. And truly enough, when we got +there, the very devil was loose, with guns firing and the +guard-house all in a blaze. The door was burst open, and +Field and I were among the very first who entered. We +behaved very well, and did not steal anything. I remember +that there was a great pile of plate and jewellery soon laid by +the door.</p> +<p>I went into the throne-room. There was a great silver +inkstand on the table, paper and pens, and we wrote, +“Respect Property!” “Liberty for Italy +and Hungary!” and hung the papers up around the room. +I wrote one or two myself, and <i>touched</i> the inkstand for +luck, in case I should ever write about the event.</p> +<p>It was a great and indeed a very touching and beautiful sight, +for all present were inspired with a feeling like that <!-- page +178--><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>of +men who have passed a terrible, racking crisis. <i>Nous +avons vaincu</i>! Yes, we had conquered. And the +Revolution had marched sternly on through years of discontent +unto the year of aggravation, Forty-Eight, when there was thunder +all round in Europe—and after all, France at one desperate +bound had again placed herself in the van! And it was first +decided by the taking of the Tuileries!</p> +<p>Let me dwell an instant on some minor incidents. Many of +the insurgents had been all night without food. The royal +dinner was cooking in the kitchen, and it was droll to see the +men helping themselves and walking off with the chickens and +joints on their bayonets. I had never seen a royal kitchen +before. Soon all along the street loafers were seen with +jars of preserved cherries, &c., emptying them into their +caps. I went into the burning guard-house. A savage +fellow offered me a great tin pail, containing about two gallons +of wine, which he offered me to drink. I was very thirsty, +but I had a scruple against plunder. Grasping his sword, he +cried, “<i>Buvez</i>, <i>citoyen</i>; <i>c’est du vin +royal</i>.” Not wishing to have a duel <i>à +l’outrance</i> with a fellow-patriot, and, as I said, being +thirsty, I took a good long pull. We mutually winked and +smiled. He took a pull also to my health and Liberty. +We both “pulled.”</p> +<p>I forgot to mention how my cohort had partially armed +themselves that morning. They burst into every house and +carried off all the arms they could find, and then wrote in chalk +over the doors—“<i>Armes +données</i>.” The Musée Cluny was very +near my hotel and I saw it plundered. Such a sight! I +saw one vagabond on a fine stolen horse, with a mediæval +helmet on his head, a lance in his hand, and a six-feet +double-handed sword or flamberg hanging behind his back. He +appeared to be quite drunk, and reared about in eccentric +<i>gambades</i>. This genius of Freedom reappeared at the +Tuileries. Mortal man was never under such temptation to +steal as I was—just one fifteenth-century poignard as a +souvenir—from that Museum—in fact, it was my +<i>duty</i> at <!-- page 179--><a name="page179"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 179</span>that instant to do so, whispered the +tempter in my ear. But I resisted; and lo! it came to pass +in later years that I became possessed, for a mere trifle, in +Dresden, of the court dagger, in exquisite carved ivory, which +was originally made for Francis II. of France, and which has been +declared by competent authority to be authentic. Owing to +his short reign there are very few relics of this monarch.</p> +<p>Some of the blackguards in the mob drew out the royal +carriages, set fire to them, and rolled them gaily along the +<i>quai</i>.</p> +<p>A noble-looking very old gentleman in military costume spoke +to me before the Tuileries, and saying that he had seen all of +the old Revolution and Napoleon’s wars, actually with tears +in his eyes implored me to use my influence to prevent any +plundering. “<i>Respectez la +properté</i>.” There were very few gentlemen +indeed among the insurgents. I only observed two or three +in our quarter, and they were all from our hotel, or rather +lodgings. But the next day every swell in Paris came out as +an insurgent. <i>They</i> had all worked at +barricades—so they said. I certainly had not seen any +of them at work.</p> +<p>That afternoon I strolled about with Field. We came to a +barricade. A very pretty girl guarded it with a +sword. She sternly demanded the parole or +countersign. I caught hold of her and kissed her, and +showed my pistols. She laughed. As I was armed with +dirk and pistols, wore a sash, and was unmistakably a Latin +Quarter <i>étudiant</i>, as shown by long hair, rakish cap +on one side, red neck-tie, and single eyeglass, I was everywhere +treated as a man and brother, friend and equal, warrior, +and—by the girls—almost like a first-cousin. +Field shared the glory, of course. And we made a great deal +out of it, and were thought all the more of in consequence. +<i>Vive la jeunesse</i>!</p> +<p>Coming to a corner, we heard three or four musket-shots. +We turned the corner, and saw a man lying dead or dying in the +last quiver, while at his head there was at once placed a <!-- +page 180--><a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +180</span>stick with a paper on it, on which was written with +lead-pencil, “<i>Mort aux voleurs</i>!”</p> +<p>The day before, one insurgent had offered me a beautiful old +silver-mounted sword for one of my pistols, fire-arms being so +much in demand, but I declined the offer.</p> +<p>The day after, I went into a café. There were +some students there who had laid their arms on a table. +There was a very notorious little <i>lorette</i>, known as +Pochardinette, who was so called because she was always +half-tipsy. She was even noted in a popular song +as—</p> +<blockquote><p>“La Pochardinette,<br /> +Qui ne sait refuser<br /> +Ni la ponche a pleine verre,<br /> +Ni sa bouohe à baiser.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Pochardinette picked up a horse-pistol, when its owner cried, +“Let that be! That is not the kind of weapon which +<i>you</i> are accustomed to manage!” I stared at him +with respect, for he had actually translated into French an +epigram by Jacopo Sannazar, word for word!</p> +<p>I should here mention that on the 24th there was actually a +period of two hours during which France had no +Government—that is, none that it knew of. Then there +appeared on the walls all at once small placards giving the list +of names of the <i>Gouvernement Provisoire</i>. Now, during +this period of suspense there appeared at the Hôtel de +Ville a mysterious stranger; a small, bustling, active +individual, who came in and announced that a new Government had +been formed, that he himself had been appointed Minister, that +France expected every man to do his duty, and that no one should +lose their places who conformed to his orders. “I +appoint,” he said, “So-and-so to take command of +Vincennes. Here, you—<i>Chose</i>! notify him at once +and send orders. I believe that <i>Tel-et-tel</i> had +better take Marseilles. Do any of you fellows know of a +good governor for Mauritius?” So <i>he</i> governed +France for half-an-hour and then disappeared, and nobody ever +knew to this day who this stupendous joker was. <!-- page +181--><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 181</span>A +full account of it all appeared some time after, and the cream of +the joke was that some of his appointed ones contrived to keep +their places. This brief dynasty has not been recorded in +any work save this!</p> +<p>It was a droll fact that I had, the year before, at +Heidelberg, drawn a picture of myself as an insurgent at a +barricade, and written under it, “The Boy of the +Barricades.” I had long had a strange presentiment as +to this event. I gave the picture to Peter A. Porter, then +a student, and owner of a singular piece of property—that +is, Niagara Falls, or at least Goat Island and more or less of +the American side. Some time after the 24th he showed me +this picture in Paris. He himself, I have heard, died +fighting bravely in our Civil War. His men were so much +attached to him that they made, to recover his body, a special +sally, in which twelve of them were killed. He was <i>bon +compagnon</i>, very pleasant, and gifted with a very original, +quaint humour.</p> +<p>If our ungrateful temporary stepmother, France, did not know +it, at least the waiters in the cafés, shopkeepers, and +other people in the Latin Quarter were aware that Field and I +were among the extremely small and select number of gentlemen who +had operated at the barricades for the health of Freedom, and for +some time we never entered a restaurant without hearing admiring +exclamations from the respectful waiters of “<i>Ces sont +les Américains</i>!” or “<i>Les +Anglais</i>.” And indeed, to a small degree, I even +made a legendary local impression; for a friend of mine who went +from Philadelphia to Paris two years later, reported that I was +still in the memory of the Quarter as associated with the +Revolution and life in general. One incident was indeed of +a character which French students would not forget. I had +among my many friends, reputable and demi-reputable, a rather +remarkable <i>lorette</i> named Maria, whose face was the very +replica of that of the Laughing Faun of the Louvre—or, if +one can conceive it, of a very pretty “white +nigger.” This young lady being either +<i>ennuyée</i> or frightened by the roar of +musketry—<!-- page 182--><a name="page182"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 182</span>probably the former—and +knowing that I was a Revolutionist and at work, conceived the +eccentric idea of hiring a coach, just when the fighting was at +the worst, and driving over from the Rue Helder to visit +me. Which she actually did. When she came to a +barricade, she gave five francs to the champions of liberty, and +told them she was bearing important political orders to one of +their leaders. Then the warriors would unharness the +horses, lift the carriage and beasts somehow over the barricade, +re-harness, hurrah, and “<i>Adieu</i>, <i>madame</i>! +<i>Vive la liberté</i>!” And so, amid bullets +and cheers, and death-stroke, and powder-smoke—<i>hinc et +inde mors et luctus</i>—Maria came to my door in a +carriage, and found me out with a vengeance—for I was +revelling at the time in the royal halls of the Bourbons, or at +least drinking wine out of a tin pail in the guard-house, whereby +I escaped the expense of a truffled champagne dinner at +Magny’s—while the young lady was about fifty francs +out of pocket by her little drive, probably the only one taken +that day in Paris. But she had a fearfully jolly time of +it, and saw the way that guns were fired to perfection. +This, too, became one of the published wonders of the day, and a +local legend of renown.</p> +<p>Of course all these proceedings put an end to lectures and +study for the time. Then Mr. Goodrich, our Consul, as I +have before said, organised a deputation of Americans in Paris to +go and congratulate the new <i>Gouvernement Provisoire</i> on the +new Republic, of which I was one, and we saw all the great men, +and Arago made us a speech. Unfortunately all the bankers +stopped paying money, and I had to live principally on credit, or +sailed rather close to it, until I could write to my father and +get a draft on London.</p> +<p>But when the Revolution of June was coming, I determined to +leave Paris. I had no sympathy for the Socialists, and I +knew very well that neither the new Government, nor the still +newer Louis Napoleon, who was looming up so dangerously behind +it, needed <i>my</i> small aid. There was a regulation <!-- +page 183--><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +183</span>in those days that every foreign resident on leaving +Paris must give twenty-four hours’ notice to the police +before he could obtain his passport. But when I applied for +mine, it was handed out at once “over the counter,” +with a smile and a wink, as if unto one who was merrily well +known, with an intimation that they were rather glad that I was +going, and would do everything to facilitate my departure. +I suspect that my <i>dossier</i> must have been interesting +reading! M. Claude, or his successor, was probably of the +same mind regarding me as the old black preacher in Philadelphia +regarding a certain convert, “De Lawd knows we don’ +want no sitch bredderin in <i>dis</i> congregation!”</p> +<p>So I went to Rouen and saw the cathedral and churches—it +was a very quaint old town then—and thence to Havre, where +I took passage on a steamboat for London. The captain had a +very curious old Gnostic-Egyptian ring, with a gem on which were +four animal heads in one, or a chimæra. I explained +what it was, and that it meant the year. But the captain +could not rest till he had got the opinion of a fussy old +Frenchman, who, as a doctor, was of course supposed to know more +than I. He looked at it, and, with a great air, remarked, +“<i>C’est grecque</i>!” Then the captain +was <i>quite</i> satisfied. It was Greek!</p> +<p>I went in London to a very modest hotel, where I was, however, +very comfortable. In those days a bottle of the very vilest +claret conceivable, and far worse than “Gladstone,” +cost four or five shillings; therefore I took to pale ale. +Ewan Colquhoun soon found me out, and, under his guidance, and +that of two or three others whom I had met, I soon explored +London. Firstly, he took me daily to his house in St. James +Street, where I can recall his mother, Mrs. Colquhoun, and +father, and brothers, Patrick and James. Patrick was a +remarkable young man. He had graduated at Cambridge and +Heidelberg and filled diplomatic capacities in the East, and was +familiar with many languages from Arabic to Gaelic, and was the +first amateur <!-- page 184--><a name="page184"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 184</span>light-weight boxer in England, and +first sculler on the Thames, and had translated and annotated the +principal compendium of Roman law. He took me to see a +grand rowing match, where we were in the <i>Leander</i> +barge. So here and there I was introduced to a great many +people of the best society. Meanwhile, with Ewan, I visited +the Cider Cellars, Evans’, the Judge and Jury Club, +Cremorne, and all the gay resorts of those days, not to mention +the museums, Tower, and everything down to Madame +Tussaud’s. I went down in a diving-bell in the +Polytechnic, and over Barclay and Perkins’ Brewery.</p> +<p>One night Colquhoun and I went to Drury Lane, and, after +hearing Grisi, Mario, and Lablache together, saw the great <i>pas +de quatre</i> which became a historical marvel. For it was +danced by Taglioni, Cerito, Carlotta Grisi, and Lucile +Grahn. In after years, when I talked with Taglioni about +it, she assured me that night I had witnessed what the world had +never seen since, the greatest and most perfect execution +conceivable. For the four great artists, moved by rivalry, +were inspired to do their best before such an audience as was +seldom seen. Colquhoun kept pointing out one celebrity +after another to me; I verily believe that I saw most of the +great men and women of the time. And afterwards I saw a +great number in Parliament.</p> +<p>There was a rather distinguished-looking Frenchman very much +about town in London while I was there. He was always +alone, and always dressed in a long, light overcoat. +Wherever I went, to Cremorne or the Park, there he was. +When Louis Napoleon came up in the world and I saw his +photograph, I at once recognised my Frenchman.</p> +<p>There roomed next to me in our hotel a German from Vienna +named Becker. He was an opera-singer, and the newspapers +said that he was fully equal to the first baritone of the +day. I forget who that was: was it Pischek? I liked +him very much; he was always in my room, and always singing +little bits, but I was not much impressed by them, and <!-- page +185--><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>once told him that I believed that I could sing as +loudly as he. He never said a word, but at once let out his +whole voice in a tremendous <i>aria</i>. I clapped my hands +to my ears; I verily believed that he would shatter the +windows! I have heard of a singer who actually broke a +goblet by vibration, and I now believe that it is possible. +I was once shown in the Hague Museum a goblet which rang +marvellously in accompaniment when one sang to it, and have met +with others like it.</p> +<p>I was invited by a young friend named Hunt (a son of the great +Chartist), who had been a friend of mine in Heidelberg, where he +had taken his degree as doctor of Philosophy, to pass a week in +the country at a charming old Elizabethan place, said to have +been the original Bleak House. Everything there was +perfectly delightful. There were two or three charming +young ladies. I remember among them a Miss Oliphaunt. +There was a glorious picnic, to which I and all walked eight +miles and back. I admired on this occasion for the first +time the pedestrian powers of English girls.</p> +<p>I visited Verulamium and St. Alban’s Abbey, not then +“restored,” and other beautiful places. It all +seemed like a fairy-tale, for the charm of my early reading came +over me like enchantment. One night Hunt and I went into a +little wayside inn. There were assembled a number of +peasants—hedgers and ditchers, or such like. We +treated them to ale, and they sang many strange old songs. +Then I was called on, and I sang “Sir Patrick Spens,” +which was well received.</p> +<p>I returned to London, and found, to my dismay, that I had not +enough money to take me home! I had received a bill of +exchange on a merchant in London, and, in my innocence, never +dreamed that it constituted no claim on him whatever for a +further supply. I called at his office, saw his son, who +naturally informed me that they could advance me no more money, +but referred me to his father. The old gentleman seemed to +be amused, and questioned me all about <!-- page 186--><a +name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +186</span>myself. When he found that his Philadelphia +correspondent was very well known to my father, and that the son +of the correspondent was a fellow-student of mine at Heidelberg +and Paris, he asked me how much I wanted. When I replied, +“Only enough to pay my passage,” he replied, +“Is that all?” and at once gave me the money. +Then he questioned me as to my friends in London, and said, +“You have seen something of the aristocracy, I would like +you to see some of the business people.” So he +invited me to a dinner at the Reform Club, to meet a few +friends. Among these was a Mr. Birch, son of the celebrated +Alderman Birch. He had directed the dinner, being a famous +<i>gourmet</i>, and Soyer had cooked it. That dinner cost +my host far more than he had made out of me. We had six +kinds of choicest wines, which impressed me <i>then</i>.</p> +<p>Mr. Birch was a man of literary culture, and we went deeply +into books. The next day he sent me a charming work which +he had written on the religious belief of Shakespeare, in which +it was fairly proved that the immortal bard had none. And I +was so well pleased with England, that I liked it better than any +country I had ever visited.</p> +<p>In 1870, when I came to London, and found my character of +“Hans Breitmann” on three stages at once, I received, +of course, a great deal of attention. Somebody said to me, +“Oh, of course; you come here well known, and are made a +great deal of.” I replied, “Twenty years ago I +came to London without a single letter of introduction, and had +only two or three student friends, and received just as much kind +hospitality.” I think that like generally finds its +like, so long as it is honest and can pay its bills.</p> +<p>I left Portsmouth for New York in a sailing-vessel or +packet. I could have returned by steamer, but preferred the +latter, as I should now, if there were any packets crossing the +ocean. In old times travel was a pleasure or an art; now it +is the science of getting from place to place in the shortest +time possible. Hence, with all our patent Pullman cars and +<!-- page 187--><a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +187</span>their dentist’s chairs, Procrustean sofas, and +headlong passages, we do <i>not</i> enjoy ourselves as we did +when the coach went on the road so slowly as to allow us to see +the country, when we halted often and long, many a time in +curious old villages. But “the idea of dragging along +in that way!” Well, and what, O tourist, dost thou +travel <i>for</i>?</p> +<p>There was on the vessel in which I sailed, among the few +passengers, Mrs. and Mr. John Gilbert, a well-known dramatic +couple, who were extremely agreeable and genial, the husband +abounding in droll reminiscences of the stage; a merry little +German musician named Kreutzer, son of the great composer; and a +young Englishwoman with a younger brother. I rather doubted +the “solidity” of this young lady. By-and-bye +it was developed that the captain was in love with her. Out +of this, I have heard, came a dreadful tragedy; for the love +drove him mad, the insanity developing itself on the return +voyage. The captain had to be imprisoned in his own +state-room, where he committed suicide in a terrible manner by +tearing his throat open with the point of a candlestick or +sconce. The second mate, who was as coarse a brute as a +common sailor could be, took command, and as he at once got +drunk, and kept so, the passengers rose, confined him, and gave +the command to the third, who was very young.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Thus woman is the cause of fearful +deeds.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>However, I freely admit that this incident resulted from a +long voyage, for we were thirty-five days in going from port to +port. In only a week, with three or four days’ +preliminary sea-sickness, there is hardly time for +“flirtation and its consequences.” Nor was it +so much a stormy trip as one with long sunny calms. Then we +hauled up Gulf-weed with little crabs—saw Portuguese +men-of-war or sea-anemones sailing along like Cleopatra’s +barges with purple sails, or counted flying-fish. Apropos +of this last I have something to say. During my last trip I +once devoted an afternoon to closely observing these bird-like +creatures, and very distinctly <!-- page 188--><a +name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>saw two +cases in which the fish turned and flew against the wind or +tacked—a fact which has been denied.</p> +<p>One day I saw a few rudder-fish playing about the stern. +They weigh perhaps some six or seven pounds; so, standing on +velvet cushions in the cabin, I fished out of the +stern-window. Then came a bite, and in a second I had my +fish flapping about on the carpet under the table, to the great +amazement of the steward, who had probably never had a live fish +jump so promptly before into his hands. And we had it for +dinner. One day a ship made to us a signal of distress, and +sent a boat, saying that they were completely out of fuel; also +that their passengers consisted entirely of the celebrated Ravel +troupe of acrobats and actors. It would have been an +experience to have crossed in that packet with their chief, +Gabriel!</p> +<p>Gabriel Ravel—it is one of my brother’s published +tales—was a good boxer as well as a marvellous acrobat, and +he could <i>look</i> like what he pleased. One morning a +muscular and vain New York swell saw in a gymnasium one whom he +supposed to be a very verdant New Jersey rustic gaping +about. The swell exhibited with great pride his skill on +the parallel bars, horizontal pole, <i>et cetera</i>, and seeing +the countryman absolutely dumbfounded with astonishment, proposed +to the latter to put on the gloves. “Jersey” +hardly seemed to know what gloves were, but with much trouble he +was got into form and set to milling. But though he was as +awkward as a blind cow, the swell pugilist could not for a very +long time get in a blow. Jersey dodged every hit +“somehow” in a manner which seemed to be +miraculous. At last one told on his chest, and it appeared +to be a stunner, for it knocked him into the air, where he turned +a double somersault, and then fell on his feet. And it +seemed as if, during this flight, he had been suddenly inspired +with a knowledge of the manly art, for on descending, he went at +the swell and knocked him from time. It was Gabriel +Ravel.</p> +<p>We saw an iceberg far away, and lay off on the Grand <!-- page +189--><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +189</span>Banks (where our steerage passengers caught cod-fish), +and beheld a water-spout—I once saw two at a time in the +Mediterranean—and whales, which were far commoner then than +now, it being rumoured that the one, and no more, which is +regularly seen by passengers now is a tame one belonging to the +White Star or some other line, which keeps him moored in a +certain place on exhibition; also that what Gulf-weed there is +left is grown near New York and scattered by night from certain +boats. It may be so—this is an artificial age. +All that remains is to learn that the flying-fish are No. 3 salt +mackerel set with springs, and I am not sure that I should doubt +even <i>that</i>.</p> +<h2><!-- page 190--><a name="page190"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 190</span>IV. THE RETURN TO +AMERICA. 1848-1862.</h2> +<blockquote><p>Home—Studying law with John +Cadwallader—Philadelphia as I found it—Richard B. +Kimball—“Fusang”—Literal reporting in +German—First experiences in magazines and +newspapers—Father Matthew—Dr. Rufus +Griswold—Engaged to be married—A journey +North—Colonel Cotl and pistol-practice with +him—Alfred Jaell—Editor of Barnum’s +<i>Illustrated News</i>—Dr. Griswold and his +MS.—Bixby’s—Mr. Barnum—My first +books—New York society in the early Fifties—Alice and +Phœbe Carey—Washington Irving—Bayard +Taylor—N. P. Willis—J. G. Saxe—H. C. +Carey—Emily Schaumberg—I become assistant-editor of +the <i>Bulletin</i>—George H. +Boker—Cremation—Editorial life—Paternal +enterprise—My father renews his fortune—I am +married—The Republican Convention—First great +dissension with the South—Translating Heine—The lady +in the burning hotel—The writing of “Hans +Breitmann’s Barty”—Change to New +York—Appletons’ <i>Cyclopædia</i>—G. W. +Ripley and Charles A. Dana—Foreign editing of <i>New York +Times</i>—“Vanity Fair”—The +Bohemians—Artemus Ward—Lincoln’s +election—The Civil War—My political work in the +<i>Knickerbocker</i>—Emancipation—I become sole +editor of the <i>Continental Magazine</i>—What I did in +1862 and 1863 in aid of the Union cause.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So we arrived in New York, and within an hour or two after my +arrival I was in the train <i>en route</i> for +Philadelphia. On the way, I intrusted a newsboy with an +English shilling to go and get me change. I still await +that change. And in Philadelphia the hackman who drove me +to my father’s house, as soon as the trunks were removed, +departed suddenly, carrying away with him a small hand-bag +containing several valuable objects, which I never +recovered. I began to think that if the object of travel be +to learn to keep one’s <!-- page 191--><a +name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>eyes open +and avoid being swindled, that I had better have remained at +home.</p> +<p>My father had removed to another house in Walnut Street, below +Twelfth Street. After this he only changed dwellings once +more before his death. This constant change from one rented +house to another, like the changes from school to school, is very +unfortunate, as I have before said, for any family. It +destroys all the feeling and unity of character which grow up in +a settled <i>home</i>.</p> +<p>I pass over the joy of again seeing my parents, the dear +sisters, and brother Henry. I was soon settled down, soon +visiting friends, going to evening parties, making morning or +afternoon calls, and after a little while was entered as a +law-student in the office of John Cadwallader in Fourth +Street.</p> +<p>I cannot pass over the fact, for it greatly influenced my +after life, that though everybody was very kind to me, and I was +even in a small way a kind of lion, the change from my late life +was very hard to bear. I have read a wonderful story of a +boy who while at a severe school had a marvellous dream. It +seemed to last for years, and while it lasted, he went to the +University, graduated, passed into diplomatic life, was a great +man and beloved; when all at once he awoke and found himself at +school again and birchable. After the freedom of student +life in Heidelberg and Munich and Paris, and having been among +the few who had carried out a great revolution, and much +familiarity with the most cosmopolite type of characters in +Europe, and existing in literature and art, I was settled down to +live, move, and have all being henceforth and perhaps for ever in +Philadelphia! Of which city, at that time, there was not +one in the world of which so little evil could be said, or so +much good, yet of which so few ever spoke with enthusiasm. +Its inhabitants were all well-bathed, well-clad, well-behaved; +all with exactly the same ideas and the same ideals. A +decided degree of refinement was everywhere perceptible, and they +were so fond of <!-- page 192--><a name="page192"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 192</span>flowers that I once ascertained by +careful inquiry that in most respectable families there was +annually much more money expended for bouquets than for +books. When a Philadelphian gave a dinner or supper, his +great care was to see that everything <i>on the table</i> was as +good or perfect as possible. I had been accustomed to first +considering what should be placed <i>around</i> it on the chairs +as the main item. The lines of demarcation in +“society” were as strongly drawn as in Europe, or +more so, with the enormous difference, however, that there was +not the slightest perceptible shade of difference in the +intellects, culture, or character of the people on either side of +the line, any more than there is among the school-boys on either +side of the mark drawn for a game. Very trifling points of +difference, not perceptible to an outsider, made the whole +difference between the exclusives and the excluded; just as the +witch-mark no larger than a needle-point indicates to the judge +the difference between the saved and the damned.</p> +<p>I had not been long engaged in studying law when I made the +acquaintance of Richard B. Kimball, a lawyer of New York, who had +written a few novels which were very popular, and are still +reprinted by Tauchnitz. He knew everybody, and took a great +interest in me, and opened the door for me to the +<i>Knickerbocker Magazine</i>. To this I had contributed +articles while at Princeton. I now sent it my translation +of Professor Neumann’s “Chinese in Mexico in the +Fifth Century.” I forget whether this was in 1849 or +1850. In after years I expanded it to a book, of which a +certain Professor said, firstly in a paper read before the +American Asiatic Society, and secondly in a pamphlet, that there +was nothing of any importance in it which had not already +appeared in Bancroft’s work on the Pacific. I wrote +to him, pointing out the fact that Bancroft’s work did not +appear till many years after my article in the +<i>Knickerbocker</i>. To which the Sinologist replied very +suavely and apologetically indeed that he was “very +sorry,” but had never seen the article in <!-- page +193--><a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +193</span>the <i>Knickerbocker</i>, &c. But he did not +<i>publish</i> the correction, as he should have done. For +which reason I now vindicate myself from the insinuated +accusation that I borrowed from Bancroft. I had, indeed, +almost forgotten this work, “Fusang,” when, in 1890, +Prince Roland Bonaparte, at a dinner given by him to the +Congrès des Traditions Populaires, startled me by +recurring to it and speaking of it with great praise. For +it vindicates the claim of the French that Desguignes first +discovered the fact that the Chinese were the first to discover +America. If any one doubts this, let him read the truly +great work of Vinton on the whole. Prince Roland had been +in China and earnestly studied the subject. Von Eichthal +had endorsed my views, and wrote to me on Fusang. I have +been for many years well acquainted with his nephew, Baron von +Eichthal, and his remarkably accomplished wife, who is expert in +all the minor arts.</p> +<p>My father’s resources became about this time limited, +and I, in fact, realised that he had taxed himself more than I +had supposed to maintain me abroad. His Congress Hall +property did not pay much rent. For my position in the +world, friends, studies, and society, I found myself very much +and very often in great need of money. As at that time we +were supposed to be much richer than we really were, this was an +additional source of trial. I began to see clearly that in +the law, as in all business or professions, I should have to wait +for years ere I could make a living. For the instances are +very few and far between in which a young man, who has not +inherited or grown up to a practice, can make one himself at +once.</p> +<p>More than this, I was not fitted for law at all. From my +birth I had absolutely one of those peculiar temperaments which +really disqualify men for “business.” If I had +entered a law-office in which there was much office-work or +practice, I might have acquired a practical interest in the +profession, but of this there was in ours literally none +whatever. I had a great fondness for copying deeds, +&c., but Mr. <!-- page 194--><a name="page194"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 194</span>Cadwallader, though he very much +admired my quaint round hand, being the very soul of honour, +observing that I was eager for such work, would not give me much +of it though it would have been to his profit, because, as he +said, “students who paid should not be employed as clerks +only, much less as copying machines.” As it had +always been deeply impressed on my mind by every American friend +that I had “no business capacity,” and, moreover, as +I greatly dreaded speaking in court, I had from the beginning a +great fear that I could never live by the law. I mention +this because there are many thousands of young men who suffer +terribly from such apprehension, and often ruin life by it. +A few months’ practice in a mercantile college will go far +to relieve the first apprehension, while as regards <i>stage +fright</i>, it can be easily educated out of anybody, as I have +since those days educated it out of myself, so that rising to +debate or speak inspires in me a <i>gaudium certaminis</i>, which +increases with the certainty of being attacked. Let the +aspirant begin by reading papers before, let us say, a family or +school, and continue to do so frequently and at as short +intervals as possible before such societies or lyceums as will +listen to him. Then let him speak from memory or improvise +and debate. This should form a part of all education +whatever, and it should be <i>thorough</i>. It is specially +needed for lawyers and divines, yet a great proportion of both +are most insufficiently trained in it; and while I was studying +law it was never mentioned to me. I was never so much as +once taken into court or <i>practically</i> employed in any +manner whatever.</p> +<p>I remember an amusing incident in the office. Mr. +Cadwallader asked me one day to call, returning from my lunch, on +a certain Mr. Dimpfel, one of his clients, leave a certain +message and his request as follows:—“I want you, Mr. +Leland, to be <i>very careful</i>. I have observed that you +are sometimes inaccurate in such matters, therefore be sure that +you give me Mr. Dimpfel’s <i>very words</i>.” +Mr. Cadwallader knew French and Spanish perfectly, but not +German, and was <!-- page 195--><a name="page195"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 195</span>not aware that I always conversed +with Mr. Dimpfel in the latter language. When I returned my +teacher said—</p> +<p>“Now, Mr. Leland, can you repeat accurately <i>word for +word</i> what Mr. Dimpfel said?” I replied:</p> +<p>“Yes. <i>Der Herr Dimpfel lässt sich +grüssen und meldet das er Montag kommen wird um halb +drei</i>. <i>Und er sagt weiter</i> . . . ”</p> +<p>“That will do,” cried Mr. Cadwallader; “you +must give it in English.”</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” was my grave reply, +“but you asked for his very words.”</p> +<p>I began to write for publication in 1849. Mr. John +Sartain, a great engraver, established a magazine, to which I +contributed several articles on art subjects, subsequently many +more on all subjects, and finally every month a certain number of +pages of humorous matter. A man named Manuel Cooke +established in Philadelphia a <i>Drawing-Room Journal</i>. +For this I wrote a great deal for a year or two. It paid me +no money, but gave me free admission to theatres, operas, etc., +and I learned a great deal as to the practical management of a +newspaper.</p> +<p>The first summer after my return we went to Stonington, and +thence to visit our friends in New England, as of yore. At +Dedham I had an attack of cholera; my uncle, Dr. Stimson, gave me +during the night two doses of laudanum of fifty drops each, which +cured me. Father Matthew came to Dedham. I went with +a very pretty young cousin of mine named Marie Lizzie Fisher, +since deceased, to hear him preach. After the address, +meeting the Father, I went boldly up and introduced myself to +him, and then Miss Fisher. I think that his address must +have deeply affected me, since I was obliged to stop on my way +home to take a drink to steady my nerves. It was against +the law at that time to sell such “poison,” so the +hotel-keeper took me and my paternal uncle, George, who treated, +down into the cellar, where he had concealed some Hollands. +I can remember that that pleasant <!-- page 196--><a +name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 196</span>summer in +Dedham I, one Sunday morning in the church during service, +composed a poem, which in after years even found its way into +“The Poets and Poetry of America.” It began +with the words—</p> +<blockquote><p>“O’er an old ruined doorway<br /> + Philosophus hung,<br /> +And madly his bell-cap<br /> + And bauble he swung.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was a wild mixture of cosmopolitanism and Hamletism, and it +indicates accurately the true state of my <i>cor cordium</i> at +that time. Earnest thought, or a yearning for truth, and +worldly folly, were playing a game of battledore and shuttlecock, +and I was the feathered cork. There is a song without words +by Mendelssohn, which sets forth as clearly as Shakespeare or +Heine could have done in words, deep melancholy or unavoidable +suffering expressing itself merrily and gaily in a manner which +is both touching and beautiful, or sweet and sad. Without +any self-consciousness or display of sentimentalism, I find deep +traces of this in many little poems or sketches which I wrote at +that time, and which have now been forgotten. I had been in +Arcadia; I was now in a very pleasant sunny Philistia; but I +could not forget the past. And I never forgot it. +Once in Paris, in the opera, I used in jest emphatically the +Russian word <i>harrascho</i>, “good,” when a Russian +stranger in the next box smiled joyously, and rising, waved his +glove to me. Once in a brilliant soirée in +Philadelphia there was a Hungarian Count, an exile, and talking +with him in English, I let fall for a joke “<i>Bassama +terem-tete</i>!” He grasped my hand, and, forgetting +all around, entered into a long conversation. It was like +the American who, on finding an American cent in the streets in +Paris, burst into tears. So from time to time something +recalled Europe to me.</p> +<p>I went now and then to New York, which I liked better than +Philadelphia. I was often a guest of Mr. Kimball. He +introduced me to Dr. Rufus Griswold, a strange character <!-- +page 197--><a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +197</span>and a noted man of letters. He was to his death +so uniformly a friend to me, and so untiring in his efforts to +aid me, that I cannot find words to express his kindness nor the +gratitude which I feel. He became the editor of a literary +magazine which was really far in advance of the time. It +did not last long; while it endured I supplied for it monthly +reviews of foreign literature.</p> +<p>There were not many linguists on the American press in those +days, and my reviews of works in half-a-dozen languages induced +some one to pay a high compliment to the editor. It was +Bayard Taylor, I believe, who, hearing this, declared honestly, +and as a friend, that I alone deserved the credit. This was +repeated by some one to Dr. Griswold in such a form that he +thought <i>I</i> had been talking against him, though I had never +spoken to a soul about it. The result was that the Doctor +promptly dismissed me, and I felt hurt. Mr. Kimball met me +and laughed, saying, “The next time you meet the Doctor +just go resolutely at him and <i>replace yourself</i>. +Don’t allow him a word.” So, meeting Dr. +Griswold a few days after in Philadelphia, I went boldly up and +said, “You must come at once with me and take a +drink—immediately!” The Doctor went like a +lamb—not to the slaughter, but to its milk—and when +he had drunk a comforting grog, I attacked him boldly, and +declared that I had never spoken a word to a living soul as to +the authorship of the reviews—which was perfectly true, for +I never broke the golden rule of “contributorial +anonymity.” So the Doctor put me on the staff +again. But to the end of his life I was always with him a +privileged character, and could take, if I chose, the most +extraordinary liberties, though he was one of the most irritable +and vindictive men I ever met, if he fancied that he was in any +way too familiarly treated.</p> +<p>Kossuth came to America, and I was almost squeezed to +death—right against a pretty German girl—in the crowd +at his reception in Philadelphia. At the dinner in New York +<!-- page 198--><a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +198</span>I met at Kimball’s house Franz Pulszky, and sat +by his wife. I have since seen him many times in +Buda-Pest.</p> +<p>There lived in Philadelphia a gentleman named Rodney +Fisher. He had been for many years a partner in an English +house in Canton, and also lived in England. He had long +been an intimate friend of Russel Sturgis, subsequently of +“Baring Brothers.” He was a grand-nephew of +Cæsar Rodney, one of the signers of the Declaration of +Independence, and a son of Judge Fisher, of Delaware. He +was a man of refined and agreeable manners and an admirable +relater of his innumerable experiences in Europe and the +East. His wife had been celebrated for her beauty. +When I first met her in her own house she seemed to me to be +hardly thirty years of age, and I believed at first she was one +of her own daughters. She was without exception the most +amiable, I may say lovable person whom I ever met, and I never +had a <i>nuance</i> or shade of difference of opinion with her, +or know an instant during which I was not devoted to her. I +visited his house and fell in love with his daughter Belle, to +whom I became, after about a year, engaged. We were not, +however, married till five years after. Thackeray, whom I +knew well, said to a Mr. Curtis Raymond, of Boston, not long +before leaving for England, that she was the most beautiful woman +whom he had seen in America. I cannot help recording +this.</p> +<p>I need not say that, notwithstanding my terrible anxiety as to +my future, from this time I led a very happy life. There +was in Philadelphia a very wealthy lady called its Queen. +This was Mrs. James Rush. She had built the finest house in +our city, and placed in it sixty thousand dollars’ worth of +furniture. “<i>E un bel palazzo</i>!” said an +Italian tenor one evening to me at a reception there. This +lady, who had read much, had lived long in Europe and “knew +cities and men.” To say that she was kind to me would +feebly express her kindness. It is true that we were by +much mutual knowledge rendered congenial. She invited <!-- +page 199--><a name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +199</span>me to attend her weekly receptions, &c., with Miss +Fisher. There we met and were introduced to all the +celebrated people who passed through Philadelphia. One +evening I had there, for instance, a conversation in German with +Mme. Sontag, the great singer, as with Jerome Bonaparte, the +nephew.</p> +<p>When the summer came I joined Mr. Fisher and his two +daughters—the second was named Mary—in a tour. +We went to New York, thence up the Hudson, and eastward to +Boston. After a day’s travel we came to a town on the +frontier line, where we had to stop for two hours. Mr. +Fisher and I, being very thirsty and fatigued, went into a saloon +in which were two bars or counters. Advancing to the second +of these, I asked for brandy. “We don’t sell no +brandy here,” replied the man. “This is in +Massachusetts: go to the other bar—that is in New +York.” In an instant we left New England for the +Middle States, and refreshed ourselves. Thence we went to +Springfield and saw the armoury, where guns are made. +Thence to Boston, where we stopped at a hotel. I went with +Miss Belle Fisher for a day’s excursion to Dedham, where my +mother and sisters were on a visit. It was very +pleasant.</p> +<p>From Boston we went to Newport, and stayed at the Ocean +House. There I found Milton Sanford, a connection of mine +and a noted character. He had lived in Florence and known +Browning and his wife. He was, I believe, uncle of Miss +Kate Field. He introduced me to Colonel Colt, the +celebrated inventor or re-discoverer of the revolver; to Alf. +Jaell, a very great pianist; and Edward Marshall, a brother of +Humphrey Marshall. Sanford, Colt, Marshall, and I +patronised the pistol-gallery every day, nor did we abstain from +mint-juleps. I found that, in shooting, Colonel Colt could +beat me <i>at the word</i>, but that I always had the best of it +at a deliberate “take-your-time” shot. There, +too, were the two brothers Burnett, whom I had met long before in +Heidelberg. What with <!-- page 200--><a +name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 200</span>drives and +balls and other gaiety, the time passed pleasantly enough.</p> +<p>As I spoke German, I became intimate with Jaell. He +could not sing at all. Once I suggested to him that he +should compose variations on an air, a German popular song. +For a day or two he hummed it as well as he could. On the +third morning he took me into a room where there was a piano, and +asked me to sing while he played accompaniments. All at +once he said, “Stop! I have got it!” and then he +played the air with marvellously beautiful variations. He +was a great genius, but I never heard him play in public as he +played then. He was in a “high hour.” It +was wonderful. I may here say that in after years, while +living at a hotel, I became well acquainted with Thalberg, and +especially with Ole Bull, the violinist, who told me much about +Heine.</p> +<p>So time rolled on for three years. I passed my +examination and took an office in Third Street, with a sign +proclaiming that I was attorney-at-law and <i>Avokat</i>. +During six months I had two clients and made exactly three +pounds. Then, the house being wanted, I left and gave up +law. This was a very disheartening time for me. I had +a great many friends who could easily have put collecting and +other business in my hands, but none of them did it. I felt +this very keenly. Quite apart from a young man’s +pushing himself, despite every obstacle, there is the great truth +that sometimes the obstacles or bad luck become +insuperable. Mine did at this time.</p> +<p>The author of “Gossip of the Century” has well +remarked that “it has been said that however quickly a +clever lad may have run up the ladder, whether of fame or +fortune, it will always be found that he was lucky enough to find +some one who put his foot on the first rung.” Which +is perfectly true, as I soon found, if not in law, at least in +literature.</p> +<p>I went more than once to New York, hoping to obtain literary +employment. One day Dr. Rufus Griswold came to <!-- page +201--><a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 201</span>me +in great excitement. Mr. Barnum—the great +showman—and the Brothers Beech were about to establish a +great illustrated weekly newspaper, and he was to be the editor +and I the assistant. It is quite true that he had actually +taken the post, for which he did not care twopence, only to +provide a place for me, and he had tramped all over New York for +hours in a fearful storm to find me and to announce the good +news.</p> +<p>Then work began for me in tremendous earnest. Let the +reader imagine such a paper as the London <i>Illustrated News</i> +with one editor and one assistant! Three men could not have +read our exchanges, and I was expected to do that and all the +minor casual writing for cuts, or cutting down and occasional +outside work. And yet even Mr. Barnum, who should have had +more sense, one day, on coming in, expressed his amazement on +seeing about a cartload of country exchanges which I had not +opened. But there was something in Philadelphia which made +all work seem play to me, and I long laboured from ten in the +morning till midnight. My assiduity attracted +attention.</p> +<p>Dr. Griswold was always a little “queer,” and I +used to scold and reprove him for it. He had got himself +into great trouble by his remarks on Edgar A. Poe. Mr. +Kimball and others, who knew the Doctor, believed, as I do, that +there was no deliberate evil or envy in those remarks. +Poe’s best friends told severe stories of him in those +days—<i>me ipso teste</i>—and Griswold, naught +extenuating and setting down naught in malice, wrote incautiously +more than he should. These are the words of another than +I. But when Griswold was attacked, then he became +savage. One day I found in his desk, which he had committed +to me, a great number of further material collected to +Poe’s discredit. I burnt it all up at once, and told +the Doctor what I had done, and scolded him well into the +bargain. He took it all very amiably. There was also +much more matter to other men’s +discredit—<i>ascensionem expectans</i>—awaiting +publication, all of which I <!-- page 202--><a +name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +202</span>burned. It was the result of long research, and +evidently formed the material for a book. Had it ever been +published, it would have made Rome howl! But, as I said, I +was angry, and I knew it would injure Dr. Griswold more than +anybody. It is a pity that I had not always had the Doctor +in hand—though I must here again repeat that, as regards +Poe, he is, in my opinion, not so much to blame as a score of +writers have made out. The tales, which were certainly most +authentic, or at least apparently so, during the life of the +latter, among his best friends regarding him, were, to say the +least, discreditable, albeit that is no excuse whatever for +publishing them. I have always much disliked the popular +principle of judging men’s works entirely by their lives, +and deciding against the literary merit of <i>Sartor Resartus</i> +because Carlyle put his wife’s money to his own account +<i>in banco</i>.</p> +<p>And it is, moreover, cruel that a man, because he has been a +poet or genius or artist, must needs have every weakness (real or +conjectured) in his life served up and grinned at and chatted +over, as if he forsooth were a clergyman or some kind of +make-believe saint. However, the more vulgar a nature is +the more it will gloat on gossip; and herein the most pretentious +of the higher classes show themselves no better than the +basest.</p> +<p>I lived at Dan Bixby’s, at the corner of Park Place and +Broadway, where I came very near being shot one night by a man +who mistook me, or rather my room, for that of the one below, in +which his wife was, or had been, with another person. Being +very tipsy, the injured individual went one storey too high, and +tried to burst in to shoot me with a revolver, but I repelled him +after a severe struggle, in which I had sharp work to avoid being +shot. I would much rather fight a decent duel any time than +have such a “hog-fight.” I only had a loaded +cane. The worst of it was that the injured husband, having +traced his wife, as he erroneously thought, to my room, went to +Bixby and the clerk, and asked who lived in it. But as they +were my friends, they dismissed <!-- page 203--><a +name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 203</span>him +gruffly, yet believed all the same that <i>I</i> had “a +petticoat in my wardrobe.” Hence for a week all my +friends kept making cruel allusions in my presence to gay +deceivers and Don Juan <i>et cetera</i>, until in a rage I asked +what the devil it all meant, when there was an explanation by a +clergyman, and I swore myself clear. But I thought it was +hard lines to have to stand the revolver, endure all the scandal +for a week, and be <i>innocent</i> all the time withal! +That was indeed bitter in the cup!</p> +<p>Apropos of this small affair, I can recall a droll scene, +<i>de eodem genere</i>, which I witnessed within a week of the +other. There was a rather first-class saloon, bar, and +restaurant on Broadway, kept by a good-looking +pugilistic-associated individual named George Shurragar. As +he had black eyes, and was a shoulder-hitter, and as the name in +Romany means “a captain,” I daresay he was partly +gypsy. And, when weary with editorial work, I sometimes +dropped in there for refreshment. One night an elderly, +vulgar individual, greatly exalted by many brandies, became +disorderly, and drawing a knife, made a grand Malay charge on all +present, <i>à la mok</i>. George Shurragar promptly +settled him with a blow, disarmed him, and “fired him +out” into outer darkness. Then George exhibited the +knife. It was such a dirty, disreputable-looking +“pig-sticker,” that we were all disgusted, and George +cast it with contempt into the street. Does the reader +remember the scene in “The Bohemian Girl” in which +the dandy Count examines the nasty knife left behind by the gypsy +Devilshoof? It was the very counterpart of this, the +difference being that in this case it was the gypsy who despised +the instrument.</p> +<p>Such trivial amusing incidents and rencontres as these were +matters of almost daily occurrence to me in those days, and I +fear that I incur the reproach of padding by narrating +these. Yet, as I write this, I have just read in the +“Life of Benvenuto Cellini” that he too omits the +description of a lot of exactly such adventures, as being, like +the darkey’s imprisonments <!-- page 204--><a +name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 204</span>for +stealing, “not worf mentionin’”—and +confess I felt great regret that he did so; for there is always a +great deal of local and temporal colour in anything whose proper +<i>finale</i> should be in a police-court.</p> +<p>Hawthorne used to stay at Bixby’s. He was a moody +man, who sat by the stove and spoke to no one. Bixby had +been a publisher, and was proud that he had first issued +Hayward’s “Faust” in America. He was also +proud that his hotel was much frequented by literary men and +naval officers. He was very kind to me. Once when I +complained to the clerk that the price of my rooms was too high, +he replied, “Mr. Leland, the prices of all the rooms in the +house, excepting yours, were raised long ago, and Mr. Bixby +charged me strictly <i>not to let you know it</i>.” +Uncle Daniel was a gentleman, and belonged to my club—the +Century. When he grew older he lived on an annuity, and was +a great and privileged favourite among actresses and +singers. Thirty years later I called with him in New York +on Ada Cavendish.</p> +<p>After a fortnight or so, Dr. Griswold began to be very +erratic. He had a divorce case going on in +Philadelphia. He went off, assuring me that everything was +in order, and never returned. The foreman came to me saying +that there was no copy, and nothing ready, and everything +needed. Here was indeed a pretty kettle of fish! For +I at that time absolutely distrusted my own ability to do all the +work. I flew to Kimball, who said, “Just put it +through by strong will, and you’ll succeed.”</p> +<p>Then I went to Mr. Barnum—Uncle Barnum—who was +always “as good as gold” to me. I burst out +into a statement of my griefs, mentioning incidentally that I +really could not go on as full editor, and do such fearful work +on the salary of an office-boy. He listened to it all, I am +sure with amusement, and placing his hand kindly on my shoulder +as we walked up and down the hall of the Museum, said, “You +<i>sha’n’t</i> go. Don’t get into a +funk. I know that you <!-- page 205--><a +name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 205</span>can do the +work, and do it <i>well</i>. And the salary shall be +doubled—certainly!”</p> +<p>So the paper was brought out after all. I had great +trouble for some time to learn to write editorials. I used +to go to the office of a Sunday morn, and sit sometimes from ten +till two turning over the exchanges, and seeking for ideas. +It was a dreadful ordeal. In fact, in after times it was +several years before I could seize a pen, rattle up a subject and +dash off a leader. <i>Now</i> I can write far more easily +than I can talk. And it is a curious fact that soon after I +became really skilled at such extempore work in the opinion of +the best judges, such as Raymond, I no longer had any opportunity +to practice it.</p> +<p>I had worked only a week or two when a rather queer, tall, +roughish Yankee was brought into the office. He worked for +a while, and in a day or two took possession of my desk and +rudely informed me that he was my superior editor and master +there. He had, as many men do, mistaken amiable politeness +for humility. I replied, knowing that Mr. Beech, out of +sight, was listening to every word, that there was no master +there but Mr. Beech, and that I should keep my desk. We +became affable; but I abode my time, for I found that he was +utterly incompetent to do the work. Very soon he told me +that he had an invitation to lecture in Philadelphia. I +told him that if he wished to go I would do all his work for +him. So he went, and Mr. Beech coming in, asked where Mr. +--- was. I replied that he had gone away to lecture, and +that I was to do his work during his absence. This was +really too much, and the Yankee was dismissed “in short +order,” the Beeches being men who made up their minds +promptly and acted vigorously. As for me, I never, shirked +work of any kind. A gentleman on a newspaper never +does. The more of a snob a man is, the more afraid he is of +damaging his dignity, and the more desirous of being +“boss” and captain. But though I have terribly +scandalised my chief or proprietor by reporting a fire, <!-- page +206--><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 206</span>I +never found that I was less respected by the typos, reporters, +and subs.</p> +<p>I had before leaving Philadelphia published two books. +One was “The Poetry and Mystery of Dreams,” which I +dedicated to my fiancée, Miss Belle Fisher. The +other was an odd mélange, which had appeared in chapters +in the <i>Knickerbocker Magazine</i>. It was titled +<i>Meister Karl’s Sketch-Book</i>. It had no great +success beyond attaining to a second edition long after; yet +Washington Irving praised it to everybody, and wrote to me that +he liked it so much that he kept it by him to nibble ever and +anon, like a Stilton cheese or a <i>paté de foie gras</i>; +and here and there I have known men, like the late Nicolas +Trübner or E. L. Bulwer, who found a strange attraction in +it, but it was emphatically caviare to the general reader. +It had at least a <i>style</i> of its own, which found a few +imitators. It ranks, I think, about <i>pari passu</i> with +Coryatt’s “Crudities,” or lower.</p> +<p>There were two or three salons in New York where there were +weekly literary receptions, and where one could meet the +principal writers of the time. I often saw at +Kimball’s and other places the Misses Wetherell, who wrote +the “Wide, Wide World” and +“Queechy.” They were elderly, and had so very +little of the “world” in their ways, that they +occurred to me as an example of the fact that people generally +write most on what they know least about. Thus a Lowell +factory-girl likes to write a tale of ducal society in England; +and when a Scotchman has less intelligence of “jocks” +and “wut” than any of his countrymen, he compiles, +and comments on, American humorists.</p> +<p>Once there was a grand publishers’ dinner to authors +where I went with Alice and Phœbe Carey, who were great +friends of mine. There I met and talked with Washington +Irving; I remember Bryant and N. P. Willis, <i>et tous les +autres</i>. Just at that time wine, &c., could only be +sold in New York “in the original packages as +imported.” Alice or Phœbe Carey lamented that +we were to have none at the <!-- page 207--><a +name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +207</span>banquet. There was a large dish of grapes before +her, and I said, “Why, there you have plenty of it in the +original packages!”</p> +<p>At that time very hospitable or genial hosts used to place a +bottle of brandy and glass in the gentlemen’s dressing-room +at an evening’s reception, and I remember it was considered +a scandalous thing when a certain old retired naval officer once +emptied the whole bottle single-handed.</p> +<p>Of course I was very intimate with Clark of the +<i>Knickerbocker</i>, Fred Cozzens, John Godfrey Saxe, and all +the company of gay and festive humorists who circled about that +merry magazine. There was never anything quite like the +<i>Knickerbocker</i>, and there never will be again. It +required a sunny, genial social atmosphere, such as we had before +the war, and never after; an easy writing of gay and cultivated +men for one another, and not painfully elaborating jocosities or +seriosities for the million as in—But never mind. It +sparkled through its summer-time, and oh! how its readers loved +it! I sometimes think that I would like to hunt up the old +title-plate with Diedrich Knickerbocker and his pipe, and issue +it again every month to a few dozen subscribers who loved quaint +odds and ends, till I too should pass away!</p> +<p>It was easy enough to foresee that a great illustrated weekly, +with actually one young man, and generally no more, to do all the +literary work could not last long. And yet the <i>New York +Times</i>, or some such journal, said that the work was very well +done, and that the paper did well until I left. Heaven +knows that I worked hard enough on it, and, what was a great deal +to boast of in those days, never profited one farthing beyond +free tickets to plays, which I had little time to use. And +yet my pay was simply despicably small. I had great +temptations to write up certain speculative enterprises, and +never accepted one. Our circulation sometimes reached +150,000. And if the publishers (excepting Barnum) had ever +shown me anything like thanks or kindness for gratuitous zeal and +interest which I took, I could <!-- page 208--><a +name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>have +greatly aided them. One day, for instance, I was asked to +write a description of a new ferry. I went there, and the +proprietor intimated that he would pay a large sum for an article +which would point out the advantage or profit which would accrue +from investing in his lots. I told him that if it were +really true that such was the case, I would do it for nothing, +but that I never made money behind my salary. I began to +weary of the small Yankee greed and griping and +“thanklessness” which I experienced. There were +editors in New York who, for less work, earned ten times the +salary which I received. I was not sorry when I heard that +some utterly inexperienced New England clergyman had been engaged +to take my place. So I returned to Philadelphia. The +paper very soon came to grief. I believe that with Barnum +alone I could have made it a great success. We had Frank +Leslie for chief engraver, and he was very clever and +ambitious. I had a knowledge of art, literature, and +foreign life and affairs, which could have been turned, with +Leslie’s co-operation, to great advantage. I needed +an office with a few books for reference, at least three or four +literary aids, and other ordinary absolutely necessary facilities +for work. All that I literally had was a space +half-portioned off from the engine-room, where a dozen blackguard +boys swore and yelled as it were at my elbow, a desk, a chair, +and a pair of scissors, ink, and paste. This wretched +scrimping prevailed through the whole business, and thus it was +expected to establish a great first-class American illustrated +newspaper. It is sometimes forgotten in the United States +that to make a vast success, something is requisite beyond +enterprise and economy, and that it is a very poor policy to +screw your <i>employés</i> down to the last cent, and +overwork them, and make business needlessly irksome, when they +have it in their power to very greatly advance your +interests. I dwell on this because it is a common error +everywhere. I have in my mind a case in which an employer, +who lived “like a prince,” boasted to me how little +he paid his men, and how in the <!-- page 209--><a +name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 209</span>long-run it +turned out bitterly to his loss in many ways. Those who had +no principle robbed him, while the honest, who would have made +his interests their own, left him. I have seen business +after business broken up in this way. While the principal +is in vigour and life, he may succeed with mere servants who are +poorly paid; then, after a time, some younger partner, who has +learned his morals from the master, pushes him out, or he dies, +and the business is worthless, because there is not a soul in it +who cares for it, or who has grown up with any common sense of +interest with the heirs.</p> +<p>I remember one day being obliged in New York to listen to a +conversation between two men of business. One owed the +other a large sum, honestly enough—of that there was no +question between them; but he thought that there was a legal way +to escape payment, while the other differed from him. So +they argued away for a long time. There was not a word of +reproach; the creditor would have cheated the debtor in the same +way if he could; the only point of difference was whether it +could be done. An <i>employé</i> who can remain in +such surroundings and be honest must be indeed a miracle of +integrity, and, if he do not over-reach them in the long-run, one +of stupidity. I might have made “house and +land” out of the newspaper had I been so disposed.</p> +<p>Of all the men whom I met in those days in the way of +business, Mr. Barnum, the great American humbug, was by far the +honestest and freest from guile or deceit, or “ways that +were dark, or tricks that were vain.” He was very +kind-hearted and benevolent, and gifted with a sense of fun which +was even stronger than his desire for dollars. I have +talked very confidentially with him many times, for he was very +fond of me, and always observed that to engineer some grotesque +and startling paradox into tremendous notoriety, to make +something <i>immensely</i> puzzling with a stupendous <i>sell</i> +as postscript, was more of a motive with him than even the main +chance. He was a genius like Rabelais, but one <!-- page +210--><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +210</span>who employed business and humanity for material instead +of literature, just as Abraham Lincoln, who was a brother of the +same band, employed patriotism and politics. All three of +them expressed vast problems, financial, intellectual, or +natural, by the brief arithmetic of a joke. Mr. Barnum was +fearfully busy in those days; what with buying elephants, wooing +two-headed girls for his Grand Combination, laying out towns, +chartering banks, and inventing unheard-of wonders for the +unrivalled collection of one hundred and fifty million +unparalleled moral marvels; but he always found time to act as +unpaid contributor to a column of humorous items which I always +published. I have said that I had no assistant; I forgot +that I always had Mr. Barnum as assistant humorous editor for +that department. All at once, when least expected, he would +come smiling in with some curiosity of literature such as the +“reverse”—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Lewd did I live & evil I did +dwel,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>or a fresh conundrum or joke, with all his heart and soul full +of it, and he would be as delighted over the proof as if to see +himself in print was a startling novelty. We two had +“beautiful times” over that column, for there was a +great deal of “boy” still left in Barnum; nor was I +by any means deficient in it. One thing I set my face +against firmly: I never would in any way whatever write up, aid, +or advertise the great show or museum, or cry up the +elephant. I was resolved to leave the paper first.</p> +<p>On that humorous column Barnum always deferred to me, even as +a small school-boy defers to an elder on the question of a game +of marbles or hop-scotch. There was no affectation or play +in it; we were both quite in earnest. I think I see him +now, coming smiling in like a harvest-moon, big with some new +joke, and then we sat down at the desk and +“edited.” How we would sit and mutually and +admiringly read to one another our beautiful “good +things,” the world forgetting, by the world forgot! +And yet I declare <!-- page 211--><a name="page211"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 211</span>that never till this instant did the +great joke of it all ever occur to me—that two men of our +experiences could be so simply pleased! Those humorous +columns, collected and republished in a book, might truly bear on +the title-page, “By Barnum and Hans Breitmann.” +And we were both of the opinion that it really would make a very +nice book indeed. We were indeed both “boys” +over it at play.</p> +<p>The entire American press expected, as a matter of course, +that the <i>Illustrated News</i> would be simply an advertisement +for the great showman, and, as I represented to Mr. Barnum, this +would ere long utterly ruin the publication. I do not now +really know whether I was quite right in this, but it is very +much to Mr. Barnum’s credit that he never insisted on it, +and that in his own paper he was conspicuous by his +absence. And here I will say that, measured by the highest +and most refined standard, there was more of the gentleman in +Phineas T. Barnum than the world imagined, and very much more +than there was in a certain young man in good society who once +expressed in my hearing disgust at the idea of even speaking to +“the showman.”</p> +<p>Henry Ward Beecher was a great friend of Barnum and the +Beaches, of which some one wrote—</p> +<blockquote><p>“No wonder Mr. Alfred Beach<br /> + Prefers, as noblest preacher,<br /> +A man who is not only Beach,<br /> + But even more so—Beecher.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>He came very frequently into our office; but I cannot recall +any saying of his worth recording.</p> +<p>There was also a brother of H. W. Longfellow, a clergyman, who +often visited me, of whom I retain a most agreeable +recollection.</p> +<p>The newsboys who clustered round the outer door were divided +in opinion as to me. One party thought I was Mr. Barnum, +and treated me with profound respect. The other faction +cried aloud after me, “Hy! you --- ---!”</p> +<p>Mr. Barnum wanted me to write his Life. This would <!-- +page 212--><a name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +212</span>have been amusing work and profitable, but I shrunk +from the idea of being identified with it. I might as well +have done it, for I believe that Dr. Griswold performed the task, +and the public never knew or cared anything about it. But +my jolly companions at Dan Bixby’s used to inquire of me at +what hour we fed the monkeys, and whether the Great Gyascutus +ever gave me any trouble; and I was sensitive to such +insinuations.</p> +<p>At this time Mr. Barnum’s great moral curiosity was a +bearded lady, a jolly and not bad-looking Frenchwoman, whose +beard was genuine enough, as I know, having pulled it. My +own beard has been described by a French newspaper as <i>une +barbe de Charlemagne</i>, a very polite pun, but hers was much +fuller. It was soft as floss silk. After a while the +capillary attraction ceased to draw, and Mr. Barnum thought of an +admirable plan to revive it. He got somebody to prosecute +him for false pretences and imposture, on the ground that Madame +was a man. Then Mr. Barnum had, with the greatest +unwillingness and many moral apologies, a medical examination; +they might as sensibly have examined Vashishta’s cow to +find out if it was an Irish bull. Then came the attack on +the impropriety of the whole thing, and finally Mr. +Barnum’s triumphant surrebutter, showing he had most +unwillingly been <i>goaded</i> by the attacks of malevolent +wretches into an unavoidable course of defence. Of course, +spotless innocence came out triumphant. Mr. Barnum’s +system of innocence was truly admirable. When he had +concocted some monstrous cock-and-bull curiosity, he was wont to +advertise that “it was with very great reluctance that he +presented this unprecedented marvel to the world, as doubts had +been expressed as to its genuineness—doubts inspired by the +actually apparently incredible amount of attraction in it. +All that we ask of an enlightened and honest public is, that it +will pass a fair verdict and decide whether it be a humbug or +not.” So the enlightened public paid its quarters of +a dollar, and decided that it <i>was</i> a humbug, and Barnum +abode by their <!-- page 213--><a name="page213"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 213</span>decision, and then sent it to +another city to be again decided on.</p> +<p>I returned to Philadelphia, and to my father’s house, +and occupied myself with such odds and ends of magazine and other +writing as came in my way, and always reading and studying. +I was very much depressed at this time, yet not daunted. My +year in New York had familiarised me with characteristic phases +of American life and manners; my father thought I had gone +through a severe mill with rather doubtful characters, and once +remarked that I should not judge too harshly of business men, for +I had been unusually unfortunate in my experience.</p> +<p>A not unfrequent visitor at our house in Philadelphia was our +near neighbour, Henry C. Carey, the distinguished scholar and +writer on political economy, who had been so extensively robbed +of ideas by Bastiat, and who retook his own, not without +inflicting punishment. He was a handsome, black-eyed, +white-haired man, with a very piercing glance. During the +war, when men were sad and dull, and indeed till his death, Mr. +Carey’s one glorious and friendly extravagance was to +assemble every Sunday afternoon all his intimates, including any +distinguished strangers, at his house, round a table, in rooms +magnificently hung with pictures, and give everybody, <i>ad +libitum</i>, hock which cost him sixteen shillings a +bottle. I occasionally obliged him by translating for him +German letters, &c., and he in return revised my pamphlet on +Centralization <i>versus</i> State Rights in 1863. H. C. +Baird, a very able writer of his school, was his nephew. +The latter had two or three sisters, whom I recall as charming +girls while I was a law-student. There were many beauties +in Philadelphia in those days, and prominent at the time, though +as yet a schoolgirl, was the since far-famed Emily Schaumberg, +albeit I preferred Miss Belle Fisher, a descendant maternally of +the famous Callender beauties, and by her father’s side +allied to Miss Vining, the American Queen of Beauty during the +Revolution at Washington’s republican court. There +was also a <!-- page 214--><a name="page214"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 214</span>Miss Lewis, whose great future +beauty I predicted while as yet a child, to the astonishment of a +few, “which prophecy was marvellously +fulfilled.” Also a Miss Wharton, since deceased, on +whom George Boker after her death wrote an exquisite poem. +The two were, each of their kind, of a beauty which I have +rarely, if ever, seen equalled, and certainly never surpassed, in +Italy. How I could extend the list of those too good and +fair to live, who have passed away from my knowledge!—Miss +Nannie Grigg—Miss Julia Biddle!—<i>Mais où +sont les neiges d’antan</i>?</p> +<p>Thus far my American experiences had not paid well. I +reflected that if I had remained in Paris I should have done far +better. When I left, I knew that the success of Louis +Napoleon was inevitable. Three newspapers devoted to him +had appeared on the Boulevards in one day. There was money +at work, and workmen such as lived in the Hôtel de +Luxembourg, gentlemen who could not only plan barricades but +fight at them, were in great demand, as <i>honest</i> men always +are in revolutions. Louis Napoleon was very anxious indeed +to attach to him the men of February, and many who had not done +one-tenth or one-twentieth of what I had, had the door of fortune +flung wide open to them. My police-<i>dossier</i> would +have been literally a diploma of honour under the new Empire, +for, after all, the men of February, Forty-eight, were the ones +who led off, and who all bore the highest reputation for +honour. All that I should have required would have been +some ambitious man of means to aid—and such men abound in +Paris—to have risen fast and high. As it turned out, +it was just as well in the end that I neither went in as a +political adventurer under Louis Napoleon, nor wrote the Life of +Barnum. But no one knew in those days how Louis would turn +out.</p> +<p>I have but one word to add to this. The secret of the +Revolution of February had been in very few hands, which was the +secret of its success. Any one of us could have secured +fortune and “honours,” or at least +“orders,” by betraying <!-- page 215--><a +name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span>it. +But we would as soon have secured orders for the pit of hell as +done so. This was known to Louis Napoleon, and he must have +realised who these men of iron integrity were for he was very +curious and inquiring on this subject. Now, I here claim it +as a great, as a surpassing honour for France, and as something +absolutely without parallel in history, that several hundred men +could be found who could not only keep this secret, but manage so +very wisely as they did. Louis Blanc was an example of +these honest, unselfish men. I came to know him personally +many years after, during his exile in London.</p> +<p>One morning George H. Boker came to me and informed me that +there was a writing editor wanted on the Philadelphia <i>Evening +Bulletin</i>. Its proprietor was Alexander Cummings. +The actual editor was Gibson Bannister Peacock, who was going to +Europe for a six months’ tour, and some one was wanted to +take his place. Mr. Peacock, as I subsequently found, was +an excellent editor, and a person of will and character. He +was skilled in music and a man of culture. I retain +grateful remembrances of him. I was introduced and +installed. With all my experience I had not yet quite +acquired the art of extemporaneous editorial composition. +My first few weeks were a severe trial, but I succeeded. I +was expected to write one column of leader every day, review +books, and “paragraph” or condense articles to a +brief item of news. In which I succeeded so well, that some +time after, when a work appeared on writing for the press, the +author, who did not know me at all, cited one of my leaders and +one of my paragraphs as models. It actually made little +impression on me at the time—I was so busy.</p> +<p>I had been at work but a short time, when one day Mr. Cummings +received a letter from Mr. Peacock in Europe, which he certainly +had hardly glanced at, which he threw to me to read. I did +so, and found in it a passage to this effect: “I am sorry +that you are disappointed as to Mr. Leland, but I am confident +that you will find him perfectly capable in <!-- page 216--><a +name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +216</span>time.” This gave me a bitter pang, but I +returned it to Mr. Cummings, who soon after came into the office +and expressed frankly his great regret, saying that since he had +written to Mr. Peacock he had quite changed his opinion.</p> +<p>I enjoyed this new life to the utmost. Mr. Cummings, to +tell the truth, pursued a somewhat tortuous course in politics +and religion. He was a Methodist. One day our clerk +expressed himself as to the latter in these +words:—“They say he is a Jumper, but others think he +has gone over to the Holy Rollers.” The Jumpers were +a sect whose members, when the Holy Spirit seized them, jumped up +and down, while the Holy Rollers under such circumstances rolled +over and over on the floor. We also advocated Native +Americanism and Temperance, which did not prevent Mr. Peacock and +myself and a few <i>habitués</i> of the office from going +daily at eleven o’clock to a neighbouring lager-beer +<i>Wirthschaft</i> for a refreshing glass and lunch. One +day the bar-tender, Hermann, a very nice fellow, said to me, +“I remember when you always had a bottle of Rudesheimer +every day for dinner. That was at Herr Lehr’s, in +Heidelberg. I always waited on you.”</p> +<p>Whoever shall write a history of Philadelphia from the +Thirties to the end of the Fifties will record a popular period +of turbulence and outrages so extensive as to now appear almost +incredible. These were so great as to cause grave doubts in +my mind whether the severest despotism, guided by justice, would +not have been preferable to such republican license as then +prevailed in the city of Penn. I refer to the absolute and +uncontrolled rule of the Volunteer Fire Department, which was +divided into companies (each having clumsy old fire apparatus and +hose), all of them at deadly feud among themselves, and fighting +freely with pistols, knives, iron spanners, and slung shot, +whenever they met, whether at fires or in the streets. Of +these regular firemen, <i>fifty thousand</i> were enrolled, and +to these might have been added almost as many more, who were +known as runners, <!-- page 217--><a name="page217"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 217</span>bummers, and hangers-on. Among +the latter were a great number of incendiaries, all of whom were +well known to and encouraged by the firemen. Whenever the +latter wished to meet some rival company, either to test their +mutual skill or engage in a fight, a fire was sure to occur; the +same always happened when a fire company from some other city +visited Philadelphia.</p> +<p>This gave occasion to an incredible amount of blackmailing, +since all house-owners were frequently called on to contribute +money to the different companies, sometimes as a subscription for +ball-tickets or repairs. It was well understood, and +generally pretty plainly expressed, that those who refused to pay +might expect to be burned out or neglected. The result of +it all was a general fear of the firemen, a most degrading and +contemptible subservience to them by politicians of all kinds, a +terrible and general growth and spread of turbulence and coarse +vulgarity among youth, and finally, such a prevalence of +conflagration that no one who owned a house could hear the awful +tones of the bell of Independence Hall without terror. +Fires were literally of nightly occurrence, and that they were +invariably by night was due to the incendiary +“runner.” A slight examination of the +newspapers and cheap broadside literature of that time will amply +confirm all that I here state. “Jakey” was the +typical fireman; he was the brutal hero of a vulgar play, and the +ideal of nineteen youths out of twenty. For a generation or +more all society felt the degrading influences of this rowdyism +in almost every circle—for there were among the vast +majority of men not very many who respected, looked up to, or +cared for anything really cultured or refined. I have a +large collection of the popular songs of Philadelphia of that +time, in all of which there is a striving downwards into +blackguardism and brutality, vileness and ignorance, which has no +parallel in the literature of any other nation. The French +of the <i>Père Duchêne</i> school may be nastier, +and, as regards aristocrats, as bloody, but for general all-round +<i>vulgarity</i>, the state <!-- page 218--><a +name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 218</span>of morals +developed among the people at the time of which I speak was +literally without its like. It is very strange that Pliny +also speaks of the turbulence or rowdyism of the firemen of +Rome.</p> +<p>I remember that even in Walnut Street, below Thirteenth +Street, before my father’s house (this being then by far +the most respectable portion of Philadelphia), it happened +several nights in succession that rival fire-companies, running +side by side, fought as they ran, with torches and knives, while +firing pistols. There was a young lady named Mary Bicking, +who lived near us. I asked her one day if she had ever seen +a man shot; and when she answered “No,” I replied, +“Why don’t you look out of your window some night and +see one?”</p> +<p>The southern part of the city was a favourite battleground, +and I can remember hearing ladies who lived in Pine Street +describe how, on Sunday summer afternoons, they could always +hear, singly or in volleys, the shots of the revolvers and shouts +of the firemen as they fought in Moyamensing.</p> +<p>Every effort to diminish these evils, or to improve the fire +department in any way whatever, was vigorously opposed by the +rowdies, who completely governed the city. The first +fire-alarm electric telegraphs were a great offence to firemen, +and were quietly destroyed; the steam-engines were regarded by +them as deadly enemies. But the first great efficient +reform in the Philadelphia fire department, and the most radical +of all, was the establishment of a fire-detective department +under a fire-marshal, whose business it was to investigate and +punish all cases of incendiarism. For it was simply +incendiarism, encouraged and supported by the firemen themselves, +which caused nineteen-twentieths of all these disasters; it was +the <i>fires</i> which were the sole support of the whole +system.</p> +<p>I was much indebted for understanding all this, and acting on +it boldly, as I did, to the city editor and chief reporter <!-- +page 219--><a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +219</span>on the <i>Evening Bulletin</i>, Caspar Souder. +The Mayor of the city was Richard Vaux, a man of good family and +education, and one who had seen in his time cities and men, he +having once in his youth, on some great occasion, waltzed with +the Princess—now Queen—Victoria. Being popular, +he was called <i>Vaux populi</i>. I wrote very often +leaders urging Mayor Vaux by name to establish a fire-detective +department. So great was the indignation caused among the +firemen, that I incurred no small risk in writing them. But +at last, when I published for one week an article every day +clamouring for a reform, Mayor Vaux—as he said directly to +Mr. Souder, “in consequence of my +appeals”—vigorously established a fire-marshal with +two aids. By my request, the office was bestowed on a very +intelligent and well-educated person, Dr. Blackburne, who had +been a surgeon in the Mexican war, then a reporter on our +journal, and finally a very clever superior detective. He +was really not only a born detective, but to a marked degree a +man of scientific attainments and a skilled statistician. +His anecdotes and comments as to pyromaniacs of different kinds +were as entertaining and curious as anything recorded by +Gaboriau. Some of the most interesting experiences of my +life were when I went with Dr. Blackburne from place to place +where efforts had been made to burn houses, and noted the +unerring and Red-Indian skill with which he distinguished the +style of work, and identified the persons and names of the +incendiaries. One of these “fire-bugs” was +noted for invariably setting fire to houses in such a manner as +to destroy as many inmates as possible. If there were an +exit, he would block it up. Dr. Blackburne took me to a +wooden house in which the two staircases led to a very small +vestibule about three feet square before the front door. +This space had been filled with diabolical ingenuity with a +barrel full of combustibles, so that every one who tried to +escape by the only opening below would be sure to perish. +Fortunately, the combustibles in the barrel went out after being +ignited. “I know <!-- page 220--><a +name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 220</span>that fellow +by his style,” remarked the Doctor, “and I shall +arrest him at four o’clock this afternoon.”</p> +<p>This fire-detective department and the appointment of +Blackburne was the real basis and beginning of all the reforms +which soon followed, leading to the abolition of the volunteer +system and the establishment of paid +<i>employés</i>. And as I received great credit for +it then, my work being warmly recognised and known to all the +newspaper reporters and editors in the city, who were the best +judges of it, as they indeed are of all municipal matters, I +venture to record it here as something worth mentioning. +And though I may truly say that at the time I was so busy that I +made no account of many such things, they now rise up from time +to time as comforting assurances that my life has not been quite +wasted.</p> +<p>This reminds me that I had not been very long on the +newspaper, and had just begun to throw out editorials with ease, +when Mr. Cummings said to me one day that I did not realise what +a power I held in my hand, but that I would soon find it +out. Almost immediately after, in noticing some article or +book which was for sale at No. 24 Chestnut Street, I +inadvertently made reference to 24 Walnut Street. Very soon +came the proprietor of the latter place, complaining that I had +made life a burden to him, because fifty people had come in one +day to buy something which he had not. I reflected long and +deeply on this, with the result of observing that to influence +people it is not at all necessary to argue with them, but simply +be able to place before their eyes such facts as you +choose. It is very common indeed to hear people in England, +who should have more sense, declare that “nobody minds what +the newspapers say.” But the truth is, that if any +man has an eye to read and memory to retain, he <i>must</i>, +willy-nilly, be influenced by reading, and selection from others +by an able editor is often only a most ingenious and artful +method of arguing. It has very often happened to me, when I +wanted to enforce some important point, to <!-- page 221--><a +name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 221</span>clothe it +as an anecdote or innocent “item,” and bid the +foreman set it in the smallest type in the most obscure +corner. And the reader is influenced by it, utterly +unconsciously, just as we all are, and just as surely as all +reflection follows sensation—as it ever will—into the +Ages!</p> +<p>There was much mutual robbing by newspapers of telegraphic +news in those days. Once it befell that just before the +<i>Bulletin</i> went to press a part of the powder-mills of +Dupont Brothers in Delaware blew up, and we received a few lines +of telegram, stating that Mr. Dupont himself had saved the great +magazine by actually walking on a burning building with buckets +of water, and preventing the fire from extending, at a most +incredible risk of his life. Having half-an-hour’s +time, I expanded this telegram into something dramatic and +thrilling. A great New York newspaper, thinking, from the +shortness of time which elapsed in publishing, that it was all +telegraphed to us, printed it as one of its own from Delaware, +just as I had written it out—which I freely forgive, for +verily its review of my last work but one was such as to make me +inquire of myself in utter amazement, “Can this be +I?”—“so gloriously was I exalted to the higher +life.” The result of this review was a sworn and firm +determination on my part to write another book of the same kind, +in which I should show myself more worthy of such cordial +encouragement; which latter book was the “Etruscan +Legends.” I ought indeed to have dedicated it to the +<i>New York Tribune</i>, a journal which has done more for human +freedom than any other publication in history.</p> +<p>I do not know certainly whether the brave Dupont whom I +mentioned was the Charley Dupont who went to school with me at +Jacob Pierce’s, nor can I declare that a very gentlemanly +old Frenchman who came to see him in 1832 was his father or +grandfather, the famous old Dupont de l’Eure of the French +Revolution. But I suppose it was the latter who carried and +transformed the art of manufacturing moral gunpowder in France to +the making material explosives <!-- page 222--><a +name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 222</span>in +America. Yes, moral or physical, we are all but gunpowder +and smoke—<i>pulvis et umbra sumus</i>!</p> +<p>There was a morning paper in Philadelphia which grieved me +sore by pilfering my news items as I wrote them. So I one +day gave a marvellous account of the great Volatile Chelidonian +or Flying Turtle of Surinam, of which a specimen had just arrived +in New York. It had a shell as of diamonds blent with +emeralds and rubies, and bat-like wings of iridescent hue +surpassing the opal, and a tail like a serpent. Our +contemporary, nothing doubting, at once published this as +original matter in a letter from New York, and had to bear the +responsibility. But I did not invest my inventiveness +wisely; I should have shared the idea with Barnum.</p> +<p>There was in Philadelphia at this time a German bookseller +named Christern. It was the thought of honourable and +devoted men which recalled him to my mind. I had made his +acquaintance long before in Munich, where he had been employed in +the principal bookseller’s shop of the city. His +“store” in Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, became a +kind of club, where I brought such of my friends as were +interested in German literature. We met there and talked +German, and examined and discussed all the latest European +works. He had a burly, honest, rather droll assistant named +Ruhl, who had been a student in Munich, then a Revolutionist and +exile, and finally a refugee to America. To this shop, too, +came Andrékovitch, whom I had last known in Paris as a +speculator on the Bourse, wearing a cloak lined with +sables. In America he became a chemical manufacturer. +When at last an amnesty was proclaimed, his brother asked him to +return to Poland, promising a support, which he declined. +He too was an honourable, independent man. About this time +the great—I forget his name; or was it +Schöffel?—who had been President of the Frankfort +Revolutionary Parliament, opened a lager-beer establishment in +Race Street. I went there several times with Ruhl.</p> +<p>George Boker and Frank Wells, who subsequently succeeded <!-- +page 223--><a name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +223</span>me on the <i>Bulletin</i>, would drop in every day +after the first edition had gone to press, and then there would +be a lively time. Frank Wells was, <i>par +éminence</i>, the greatest punster Philadelphia ever +produced. He was in this respect appalling. We had a +sub-editor or writer named Ernest Wallace, who was also a clever +humorist. One day John Godfrey Saxe came in. He was +accustomed among country auditors and in common sanctums to carry +everything before him with his jokes. In half-an-hour we +extinguished him. Having declared that no one could make a +pun on his name, which he had not heard before, Wallace promptly +replied, “It’s <i>axing</i> too much, I presume; but +did you ever hear <i>that</i>?” Saxe owned that he +had not.</p> +<p>George H. Boker, whose name deserves a very high place in +American literature as a poet, and in history as one who was of +incredible service, quietly performed, in preserving the Union +during the war, was also eminently a wit and humorist. We +always read first to one another all that we wrote. He had +so trained himself from boyhood to self-restraint, calmness, and +the <i>nil admirari</i> air, which, as Dallas said, is “the +Corinthian ornament of a gentleman” (I may add especially +when of Corinthian brass), that his admirable jests, while they +gained in clearness and applicability, lost something of that +rattle of the impromptu and headlong which renders Irish and +Western humour so easy. I recorded the <i>bon mots</i> and +merry stories which passed among us all in the <i>sanctum</i> in +articles for our weekly newspaper, under the name of +“Social Hall Sketches” (a social hall in the West is +a steamboat smoking-room). Every one of us received a +name. Mr. Peacock was Old Hurricane, and George Boker, +being asked what his pseudonym should be, selected that of +Bullfrog. These “Social Hall Sketches” had an +extended circulation in American newspapers, some for many +years. One entirely by me, entitled “Opening +Oysters,” is to be found in English almanacs, &c., to +this day.</p> +<p>It was, I think, or am sure, in 1855 that some German in <!-- +page 224--><a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +224</span>Pennsylvania, instead of burying his deceased wife, +burned the body. This called forth a storm of indignant +attack in the newspapers. It was called an irreligious, +indecent act. I wrote an editorial in which I warmly +defended it. According to Bulwer in the “Last Days of +Pompeii,” the early Christians practised it. Even to +this day Urns and torches are common symbols in Christian +burying-grounds, and we speak of “ashes” as more +decent than mouldering corpses. And, finally, I pointed out +the great advantage which it would be to the coal trade of +Pennsylvania. A man of culture said to me that it was the +boldest editorial which he had ever read. Such as it was, I +believe that it was the first article written in modern times +advocating cremation. If I am wrong, I am willing to be +corrected.</p> +<p>To those who are unfamiliar with it, the life in an American +newspaper office seems singularly eventful and striking. A +friend of mine who visited a sanctum (ours) for the first time, +said, as he left, that he had never experienced such an +interesting hour in his life. <i>Firstly</i>, came our +chief city reporter, exulting in the manner in which he had +circumvented the police, and, despite all their efforts, got, by +ways that were dark, at all the secrets of a brand-new horrible +murder. <i>Secondly</i>, a messenger with an account of how +I, individually, had kicked up the very devil in the City +Councils, and set the Mayor to condemning us, by a leader +discussing certain municipal abuses. <i>Thirdly</i>, +another, to tell how I had swept one-half the city by an article +exposing its neglect, and how the sweepers and dirt-carts were +busy where none had been before for weeks, and how the contractor +for cleaning wanted to shoot me. <i>Fourthly</i>, a visit +from some great dignitary, who put his dignity very much +<i>à l’abri</i> in his pocket, to solicit a +puff. <i>Fifthly</i>, a lady who, having written a very +feeble volume of tales which had merely been gently commended in +our columns, came round in a rage to shame me by sarcasm, begging +me as a parting shot to at least <i>read</i> a few lines of her +work. <i>Sixthly</i>, a communication from a <!-- page +225--><a name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +225</span>great New York family, who, having been requested to +send a short description of a remarkable wedding-cake, sent me +<i>one hundred and fifty pages</i> of minute history of all their +ancestors and honours, with strict directions that not a line +should be omitted, and the article printed at once most +conspicuously. <a name="citation225"></a><a href="#footnote225" +class="citation">[225]</a> <i>Seventhly</i>, . . . but this +is a very mild specimen of what went on all the time during +office-hours. And on this subject alone I could write a +small book.</p> +<p>Now, at this time there came about a very great change in my +life, or an event which ultimately changed it altogether. +My father had, for about two years past, fallen into a very sad +state of mind. His large property between Chestnut and Bank +Streets paid very badly, and his means became limited. I +was seriously alarmed as to his health. My dear mother had +become, I may say, paralytic; but, in truth, the physicians could +never explain the disorder. To the last she maintained her +intellect, and a miraculous cheerfulness unimpaired.</p> +<p>All at once a strange spirit, as of new life, came suddenly +over my father. I cannot think of it without awe. He +went to work like a young man, shook off his despair, financiered +with marvellous ability, borrowed money, collected old and +long-despaired of debts, tore down the old hotel and the other +buildings, planned and bargained with architects—it was +then that I designed the façade before described—and +built six stores, two of them very handsome granite buildings, on +the old site. In short, he made of it a very valuable +estate. And as he superintended with great skill and +ability the smallest details of the building, which was for that +time remarkably well executed, I thought I recognised whence it +was that I derived the strongly developed tendency for +architecture which I have always possessed. I have since +made 400 copies of old churches in England.</p> +<p>This was a happy period, when life was without a cloud, <!-- +page 226--><a name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +226</span>excepting my mother’s trouble. As my father +could now well afford it, he made me an allowance, which, with my +earnings from the <i>Bulletin</i> and other occasional literary +work, justified me in getting married. I had had a long but +still very happy engagement. So we were married by the +Episcopal ceremony at the house of my father-in-law in Tenth +Street, and a very happy wedding it was. I remember two +incidents. Before the ceremony, the Reverend Mr., +subsequently Bishop Wilmer, took me, with George Boker, into a +room and explained to me the symbolism of the +marriage-ring. Now, if there was a subject on earth which +I, the old friend of Creuzer of Heidelberg, and master of +Friedrich’s <i>Symbolik</i>, and Durandus, and the work +“On Finger-Rings,” knew all about, it was +<i>that</i>; and I never shall forget the droll look which Boker +threw at me as the discourse proceeded. But I held my +peace, though sadly tempted to set forth my own +archæological views on the subject.</p> +<p>The second was this: Philadelphia, as Mr. Philipps has said, +abounds in folk-lore. Some one suggested that the wedding +would be a lucky one because there was only one clergyman +present. But I remarked that among our coloured waiters +there was one who had a congregation (my wife’s cousin, by +the way, had a coloured bishop for coachman). However, this +sable cloud did not disturb us.</p> +<p>We went to New York, and were visited by many friends, and +returned to Philadelphia. We lived for the first year at +the La Pierre Hotel, where we met with many pleasant people, such +as Thackeray, Thalberg, Ole Bull, Mr. and Mrs. Choteau, of St. +Louis, and others. Of Thalberg I have already remarked, in +my notes to my translation of Heine’s <i>Salon</i>, that he +impressed me as a very gentlemanly, dignified, and quietly +remarkable man, whom it would be difficult to readily or really +understand. “He had unmistakably the manner peculiar +to many great Germans, which, as I have elsewhere observed, is +perceptible in the <i>maintien</i> and features of Goethe, +Humboldt, Bismarck,” and Brugsch, of <!-- page 227--><a +name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>Berlin +(whom I learned to know in later years). Thalberg gave me +the impression, which grew on me, of a man who knew many things +besides piano-playing, and that he was born to a higher +specialty. He was dignified but affable. I remember +that one day, when he, or some one present, remarked that his +name was not a common one, I made him laugh by declaring that it +occurred in two pieces in an old German ballad:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Ich that am <span +class="smcap">Berge</span> stehen,<br /> + Und sohaute in das <span +class="smcap">Thal</span>;<br /> +Da hab’ ich sie gesehen,<br /> + Zum aller letzten mal.”</p> +<p>“I stood upon the <i>mountain</i>,<br /> + And looked the <i>valley</i> o’er;<br /> +There I indeed beheld her,<br /> + But saw her never more.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Thalberg’s playing was marvellously like his character +or himself: Heine calls it gentlemanly. Thackeray was +marked in his manner, and showed impulse and energy in small +utterances. I may err, but I do not think he could have +endured solitude or too much of himself. He was eminently +social, and rather given at times to reckless (not deliberate or +spiteful), sarcastic or “ironic” sallies, in which he +did not, with Americans, generally come off “first +best.” There was a very beautiful lady in Boston with +whom the great novelist was much struck, and whom he greatly +admired, as he sent her two magnificent bronzes. Having +dined one evening at her house, he remarked as they all entered +the dining-room, “Now I suppose that, according to your +American custom, we shall all put our feet up on the +chimney-piece.” “Certainly,” replied his +hostess, “and as your legs are so much longer than the +others, you may put your feet on top of the looking-glass,” +which was about ten feet from the ground. Thackeray, I was +told, was offended at this, and showed it; he being of the +“give but not take” kind. One day he said to +George Boker, when both were looking at Dürer’s +etching <!-- page 228--><a name="page228"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 228</span>of “Death, Knight, and the +Devil,” of which I possess a fine copy, “Every man +has his devil whom he cannot overcome; I have two—laziness, +and love of pleasure.” I remarked, “Then why +the devil seek to overcome them? Is it not more noble and +sensible to yield where resistance is in vain, than to fight to +the end? Is it not a maxim of war, that he who strives to +defend a defenceless place must be put to death? Why not +give in like a man?”</p> +<p>I had just published my translation of Heine’s +<i>Reisebilder</i>, and Bayard Taylor had a copy of it. He +went in company with Thackeray to New York, and told me +subsequently that they had read the work aloud between them +alternately with roars of laughter till it was finished; that +Thackeray praised my translation to the skies, and that his +comments and droll remarks on the text were delightful. +Thackeray was a perfect German scholar, and well informed as to +all in the book.</p> +<p>Apropos of Heine, Ole Bull had known him very well, and +described to me his brilliancy in the most distinguished literary +society, where in French the German wit bore away the palm from +all Frenchmen. “He flashed and sprayed in brilliancy +like a fountain.” Ole Bull by some chance had heard +much of me, and we became intimate. He told me that I had +unwittingly been to him the cause of great loss. I had, +while in London, become acquainted with an odd and rather scaly +fish, a German who had been a courier, who was the keeper of a +small café near Leicester Square, and who enjoyed a +certain fame as the inventor of the <i>poses plastiques</i> or +living statues, so popular in 1848. This man soon came over +to America, and called on me, wanting to borrow money, whereupon +I gave him the cold shoulder. According to Ole Bull, he +went to the great violinist, represented himself as my friend and +as warmly commended by me, and the heedless artist, instead of +referring to me directly, took him as impresario; the result +being that he ere long ran away with the money, and, what was +quite as bad, Ole Bull’s prima-donna, who was, as I +understood, specially dear to him. Ole <!-- page 229--><a +name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +229</span>Bull’s playing has been, as I think, much +underrated by certain writers of reminiscences. There was +in it a marvellous originality.</p> +<p>While I was there, in the La Pierre Hotel, the first great +meeting was held at which the Republican party was +organised. Though not an <i>appointed</i> delegate from our +State, I, as an editor, took some part in it. Little did we +foresee the tremendous results which were to ensue from that +meeting! It was second only to the signing of the +Declaration of Independence, and on it was based the greatest +struggle known to history. I could have, indeed, been +inscribed as a constitutional member of it for the asking or +writing my name, but that appeared to me and others then to be a +matter of no consequence compared to the work in hand. So +the <i>Bulletin</i> became Republican; Messrs. Cummings and +Peacock seeing that that was their manifest destiny.</p> +<p>From that day terrible events began to manifest themselves in +American politics. The South attempted to seize Kansas with +the aid of border ruffians; Sumner was caned from behind while +seated; the Southern press became outrageous in its abuse of the +North, and the North here and there retaliated. All my +long-suppressed ardent Abolition spirit now found vent, and for a +time I was allowed to write as I pleased. A Richmond editor +paid me the compliment of saying that the articles in the +<i>Bulletin</i> were the bitterest and cleverest published in the +North, but inquired if it was wise to manifest such +feeling. I, who felt that the great strife was imminent, +thought it was. Mr. Cummings thought differently, and I was +checked. For years there were many who believed that the +fearfully growing cancer could be cured with rose-water; as, for +instance, Edward Everett.</p> +<p>While on the <i>Bulletin</i> I translated Heine’s +<i>Pictures of Travel</i>. For it, poetry included, I was +to receive three shillings a page. Even this was never paid +me in full; I was obliged to take part of the money in engravings +and books, <!-- page 230--><a name="page230"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 230</span>and the publisher failed. It +passed into other hands, and many thousands of copies were sold; +from all of which I, of course, got nothing. I also became +editor of <i>Graham’s Magazine</i>, which I filled +recklessly with all or any kind of literary matter as I best +could, little or nothing being allowed for contributions. +However, I raised the circulation from almost nothing to +17,000. For this I received fifty dollars (£10) per +month. When I finally left it, the proprietors were +eighteen months in arrears due, and tried to evade payment, +though I had specified a regular settlement every month. +Finally they agreed to pay me in monthly instalments of fifty +dollars each, and fulfilled the engagement.</p> +<p>Talking of the South, I forget now at what time it was that +Barnum’s Museum in Philadelphia was burned, but I shall +never forget a droll incident which it occasioned. Opposite +it was a hotel, and the heat was so tremendous that the paint on +the hotel was scorched, and it had begun to burn in places. +By the door stood a friend of mine in great distress. I +asked what was the matter. He replied that in the hotel was +a Southern lady who would not leave her trunks, in which there +were all her diamonds and other valuables, and that he could not +find a porter to bring them down. I was strong enough in +those days. “What is the number of her +room?” “No. 22.” I rushed +up—it was scorching hot by this time—burst into No. +22, and found a beautiful young lady in dire distress. I +said abruptly, “I come from Mr. --- ---; where are your +trunks?” She began to cry confusedly, “Oh, you +can do <i>nothing</i>; they are very heavy.”</p> +<p>Seeing the two large trunks, I at once, without a word, caught +one by each handle, dragged them after me bumping downstairs, the +lady following, to the door, where I found my friend, who had a +carriage in waiting. From the lady’s subsequent +account, it appeared that I had occasioned her much more alarm +than pleasure. She said that all at once a great tall +gentleman burst into her room, seized her trunks without a word +of apology, and dragged them downstairs like a giant; <!-- page +231--><a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +231</span>she was never so startled in all her life! It was +explained to me that, as in the South only negroes handle trunks, +the lady could not regard me exactly as a gentleman. She +was within a short ace of being burnt up, trunks and all, but +could not forget that she was from the “Sa-outh,” and +must needs show it.</p> +<p>Apropos of this occurrence, I remember something odd which +took place on the night of the same day. There was a +stylish drinking-place, kept by a man named Guy, in Seventh +Street. In the evening, when it was most crowded, there +entered a stranger, described as having been fully <i>seven</i> +feet high, and powerful in proportion, who kept very quiet, but +who, on being chaffed as the giant escaped from Barnum’s +Museum, grew angry, and ended by clearing out the +barroom—driving thirty men before him like flies. +Aghast at such a tremendous feat, one who remained, asked, +“Who in God’s wrath are you?—haven’t you +a name?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I <i>have</i> a name,” replied the +Berserker; “<i>I’m</i> <span class="smcap">Charles +Leland</span>!” saying which he vanished.</p> +<p>The next day it was all over Philadelphia that I had cleared +out John Guy’s the night before, <i>sans merci</i>. +True, I am not seven feet high, but some men (like stories) +expand enormously when inflated or mad; so my denial was +attributed to sheer modesty. But I recognised in the +Charles Leland a mysterious cousin of mine, who was really seven +feet high, who had disappeared for many years, and of whom I have +never heard since.</p> +<p>While editing <i>Graham’s Magazine</i>, I had one day a +space to fill. In a hurry I knocked off “Hans +Breitmann’s Barty” (1856). I gave it no thought +whatever. Soon after, Clark republished it in the +<i>Knickerbocker</i>, saying that it was evidently by me. I +little dreamed that in days to come I should be asked in Egypt, +and on the blue Mediterranean, and in every country in Europe, if +I was its author. I wrote in those days a vast number of +such anonymous drolleries, many of them, I daresay, quite as +good, in <i>Graham’s Magazine</i> and <!-- page 232--><a +name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 232</span>the +<i>Weekly Bulletin</i>, &c., but I took no heed of +them. They were probably appropriated in due time by the +authors of “Beautiful Snow.”</p> +<p>I began to weary of Philadelphia. New York was a wider +field and more congenial to me. Mr. Cummings had once, +during a financial crisis, appealed to my better feelings very +touchingly to let my salary be reduced. I let myself be +touched—in the pocket. Better times came, but my +salary did not rise. Mr. Cummings, knowing that my father +was wealthy, wanted me to put a large sum into his paper, +assuring me that it would pay me fifteen per cent. I asked +how that could be possible when he could only afford to pay me so +very little for such hard work. He chuckled, and said, +“That is the way we make our money.” Then I +determined to leave.</p> +<p>Mr. George Ripley and Charles A. Dana, of the <i>Tribune</i>, +were then editing in New York <i>Appletons’ +Cyclopædia</i>. Mr. Ripley had several times shown +himself my friend; he belonged to the famous old band of Boston +Transcendentalists who were at Brook Farm. I wrote to him +asking if I could earn as much at the <i>Cyclopædia</i> as +I got from the <i>Bulletin</i>. He answered affirmatively; +so we packed up and departed. I had a sister in New York +who had married a Princeton College-mate named Thorp. We +went to their house in Twenty-second Street near Broadway, and +arranged it so as to remain there during the winter.</p> +<p>In the <i>Cyclopædia</i> rooms I found abundance of +work, though it was less profitable than I expected. For +after an article was written, it passed through the hands of six +or seven revisers, who revised not always wisely, and frequently +far too well. They made their objections in writing, and +we, the writers, made ours. I often gained a victory, but +the victory cost a great deal of work, and of time which was not +paid for. Altogether, I wrote about two hundred articles, +great and small, for the <i>Cyclopædia</i>. On the +other hand, there was pleasant and congenial society among my +fellow-workmen, <!-- page 233--><a name="page233"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 233</span>and the labour itself was immensely +instructive. If any man wishes to be well informed, let him +work on a cyclopædia. As I could read several +languages, I was additionally useful at times. The greatest +conciseness of style is required for such work. In German +cyclopædias this is carried to a fault.</p> +<p>After a while I began to find that there was much more money +to be made outside the <i>Cyclopædia</i> than in it. +William H. Hurlbut, whom I had once seen so nearly shot, had been +the “foreign editor” of the <i>New York +Times</i>. Mr. Henry Raymond, its proprietor, had engaged a +Mr. Hammond to come after some six months to take his place, and +I was asked to fill it <i>ad interim</i>. I did so, so much +to Mr. Raymond’s satisfaction, that he much regretted when +I left that he had not previously engaged me. He was always +very kind to me. He said that now and then, whenever he +wanted a really superior art criticism, I should write it. +He was quite right, for there were not many reporters in New York +who had received such an education in æsthetics as +mine. When Patti made her <i>début</i> in opera for +the first time, I was the only writer who boldly predicted that +she would achieve the highest lyrical honours or become a +“star” of the first magnitude. Apropos of +Hurlbut, I heard many years after, in England, that a certain +well-known <i>litterateur</i>, who was not one of his admirers, +having seen him seated in close +<i>tête-à-tête</i> with a very notorious and +unpopular character, remarked regretfully, “Just to think +that with one pistol-bullet <i>both</i> might have been +settled!” Hurlbut was, even as a boy, very handsome, +with a pale face and black eyes, and extremely clever, being +<i>facile princeps</i>, the head of every class, and extensively +read. But there was “a screw loose” somewhere +in him. He was subject, but not very frequently, to such +fits of passion or rage, that he literally became blind while +they lasted. I saw him one day in one of these throw his +arms about and stamp on the ground, as if unable to behold any +one. I once heard a young lady in New York profess <!-- +page 234--><a name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +234</span>unbounded admiration for him, because “he looked +so charmingly like the devil.” For many years the +<i>New York Herald</i> always described him as the Reverend +Mephistopheles Hurlbut. There was another very beautiful +lady who afterwards died a strange and violent death, as also a +friend of mine, an editor in <i>New</i> York, both of whom +narrated to me at very great length “a grotesque Iliad of +the wild career” of this remarkable man.</p> +<p>It never rains but it pours. Frank Leslie, who had been +with me on Barnum’s <i>Illustrated News</i>, was now +publishing half-a-dozen periodicals and newspapers, and offered +me a fair price to give him my mornings. I did so. +Unfortunately, my work was not specified, and he retained his old +editors, who naturally enough did not want me, although they +treated me civilly enough. One of these was Thomas Powell, +who had seen a great deal of all the great English writers of the +last generation. But there was much rather shady, shaky +Bohemianism about the frequenters of our sanctum, and, all things +considered, it was a pity that I ever entered it.</p> +<p><i>Und noch weiter</i>. There was published in New York +at that time (1860) an illustrated comic weekly called <i>Vanity +Fair</i>. There was also in the city a kind of irregular +club known as the Bohemians, who had been inspired by +Murger’s novel of that name to imitate the life of its +heroes. They met every evening at a lager-beer restaurant +kept by a German named Pfaff. For a year or two they made a +great sensation in New York. Their two principal men were +Henry Clapp and Fitz-James O’Brien. Then there were +Frank Wood and George Arnold, W. Winter, C. Gardette, and +others. Wood edited <i>Vanity Fair</i>, and all the rest +contributed to it. There was some difficulty or other +between Wood and Mr. Stephens, the <i>gérant</i> of the +weekly, and Wood left, followed by all the clan. I was +called in in the emergency, and what with writing myself, and the +aid of R. H. Stoddard, T. B. Aldrich, and a few more, we made a +very creditable <!-- page 235--><a name="page235"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 235</span>appearance indeed. Little by +little the Bohemians all came back, and all went well.</p> +<p>Now I must here specify, for good reasons, that I held myself +very strictly aloof from the Bohemians, save in business +affairs. This was partly because I was married, and I never +saw the day in my life when to be regarded as a real Bohemian +vagabond, or shiftless person, would not have given me the +horrors. I would have infinitely preferred the poorest +settled employment to such life. I mention this because a +very brilliant and singular article entitled “Charles G. +Leland <i>l’ennemi des Allemands</i>” (this title +angered me), which appeared in the <i>Revue des Deux Mondes</i> +in 1871, speaks of me by implication as a frequenter of +Pfaff’s, declaring that I there introduced Artemus Ward to +the Bohemian brotherhood, and that it was entirely due to me that +Mr. Browne was brought out before the American World. This +is quite incorrect. Mr. Browne had made a name by two or +three very popular sketches before I had ever seen him. But +it is very true that I aided him to write, and suggested and +encouraged the series of sketches which made him famous, as he +himself frankly and generously declared, for Charles Browne was +at heart an honest gentleman, if there ever was one; which is the +one thing in life better than success.</p> +<p>Mr. Stephens realising that I needed an assistant, and +observing that Browne’s two sketches of the Showman’s +letter and the Mormons had made him well known, invited him to +take a place in our office. He was a shrewd, naïf, but +at the same time modest and unassuming young man. He was a +native of Maine, but familiar with the West. Quiet as he +seemed, in three weeks he had found out everything in New +York. I could illustrate this by a very extraordinary fact, +but I have not space for everything. I proposed to him to +continue his sketches. “Write,” I said, +“a paper on the Shakers.” He replied that he +knew nothing about them. I had been at Lenox, +Massachusetts, where I had often gone to New Lebanon and seen +their strange worship and dances, <!-- page 236--><a +name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 236</span>and while +on the <i>Illustrated News</i> had had a conference with their +elders on an article on the Shakers. So I told him what I +knew, and he wrote it, making it a condition that I would correct +it. He wrote the sketch, and others. He was very slow +at composition, which seemed strange to me, who was accustomed to +write everything as I now do, <i>currente calamo</i> (having +written all these memoirs, so far, within a month—more or +less, and certainly very little more). From this came his +book.</p> +<p>When he wrote the article describing his imprisonment, there +was in it a sentence, “Jailor, I shall die unless you bring +me something to eat!” In the proof we found, “I +shall die unless you bring me something to +<i>talk</i>.” He was just going to correct this, when +I cried, “For Heaven’s sake, Browne, let that +stand! It’s best as it is.” He did so, +and so the reader may find it in his work.</p> +<p>Meanwhile the awful storm of war had gathered and was about to +burst. I may here say that there was a kind of literary +club or association of ladies and gentlemen who met once a week +of evenings in the Studio Buildings, where I had many friends, +such as Van Brunt, C. Gambrell, Hazeltine, Bierstadt, Gifford, +Church, and Mignot. At this club I constantly met General +Birney, the great Abolitionist, whose famous charge at Gettysburg +did so much to decide the battle. Constant intercourse with +him and with C. A. Dana greatly inspired me in my anti-slavery +views. The manager of <i>Vanity Fair</i> was very much +averse to absolutely committing the journal to Republicanism, and +I was determined on it. I had a delicate and very difficult +path to pursue, and I succeeded, as the publication bears +witness. I went several times to Mr. Dana, and availed +myself of his shrewd advice. Browne, too, agreed pretty +fairly with me. I voted for Abraham Lincoln at the first +election in New York. I voted <i>on principle</i>, for I +confess that every conceivable thing had been said and done to +represent him as an ignorant, ungainly, silly Western Hoosier, +and even the Republican press had <!-- page 237--><a +name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 237</span>little or +nothing to say as to his good qualities. Horace Greeley had +“sprung him” on the Convention at the eleventh hour +and fifty-ninth minute as the only available man, and he had been +chosen as our candidate to defeat Douglas.</p> +<p>Let me here relate two anecdotes. When my brother heard +of Lincoln’s “candidacy” he said—</p> +<p>“I don’t see why the people shouldn’t be +allowed to have a President for once.”</p> +<p>A Copperhead friend of mine, who was always aiming at +“gentility,” remarked to me with an air of disgust on +the same subject—</p> +<p>“I do <i>wisht</i> we could have a gentleman for +President for <i>oncet</i>.”</p> +<p>The said Copperhead became in due time a Republican +office-holder, and is one yet.</p> +<p>Lincoln was elected. Then came the storm. Our +rejoicings were short. Sumter was fired on. Up to +that time everybody, including President Lincoln, had quite +resolved that, if the South was resolved to secede, it must be +allowed to depart in peace. There had been for many years a +conviction that our country was growing to be too large to hold +together. I always despised the contemptible idea. I +had been in correspondence with the Russian Iskander or Alexander +Herzen, who was a century in advance of his time. He was +the real abolisher of serfdom in Russia, as history will yet +prove. I once wrote a very long article urging the Russian +Government to throw open the Ural gold mines to foreigners, and +make every effort to annex Chinese territory and open a port on +the Pacific. Herzen translated it into Russian (I have a +copy of it), and circulated twenty thousand copies of it in +Russia. The Czar read it. Herzen wrote to me: +“It will be pigeon-holed for forty years, and then perhaps +acted on. The Pacific will be the Mediterranean of the +future.” With such ideas I did not believe in the +dismemberment of the United States. <a name="citation237"></a><a +href="#footnote237" class="citation">[237]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 238--><a name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +238</span>But Sumter was fired on, and the whole North rose in +fury. It was the silliest act ever committed. The +South, with one-third of the votes, had two-thirds of all the +civil, military, and naval appointments, and every other new +State, and withal half of the North, ready to lick its boots, and +still was not satisfied. It could not go without giving us +a thrashing. And that was the drop too much. So we +fought. And we conquered; but <i>how</i>? It was all +expressed in a few words, which I heard uttered by a common man +at a <i>Bulletin</i> board, on the dreadful day when we first +read the news of the retreat at Bull Run: “It’s +hard—but we must buckle up and go at it again.” +It is very strange that the South never understood that among the +mud-sills and toiling slaves and factory serfs of the North the +spirit which had made men enrich barren New England and colonise +the Western wilderness would make them buckle up and go at it +again boldly to the bitter end.</p> +<p>One evening I met C. A. Dana on Broadway. War had fairly +begun. “It will last,” he said, “not less +than four years, but it may extend to seven.”</p> +<p>Trouble now came thick and fast. <i>Vanity Fair</i> was +brought to an end. Frank Leslie found that he no longer +required my services, and paid my due, which was far in arrears, +in his usual manner, that is, by orders on advertisers for goods +which I did not want, and for which I was charged double +prices. Alexander Cummings had a very ingenious method of +“shaving” when obliged to pay his debts. His +friend Simon Cameron had a bank—the Middleton—which, +if not a very wild cat, was far from tame, as its notes were +always five or ten per cent. below par, to our loss—for we +were always paid in Middleton. I have often known the clerk +to take a handful of notes at par and send out to buy Middleton +wherewith to pay me. I am sorry to say that such tricks +were universal among the very great majority of proprietors with +whom I had dealings. To “do” the +<i>employés</i> to the utmost was considered a matter of +course, especially when <!-- page 239--><a +name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 239</span>the one +employed was a “literary fellow” of any kind or an +artist.</p> +<p>I should mention that while in New York I saw a great deal of +Bayard Taylor and his wife. I had known him since 1850 and +was intimate with him till his death. He occupied the same +house with the distinguished poet R. H. Stoddard. I +experienced from both much kindness. We had amusing +Saturday evenings there, where droll plays were improvised, and +admirable disguises made out of anything. In after years, +in London, Walter H. Pollock, Minto (recently deceased), and +myself, did the same. One night, in the latter circle, we +played <i>Hamlet</i>, but the chief character was the Sentinel, +who stared at the Ghost with such open-jawed +horror—“<i>bouche béante</i>, +<i>rechignez</i>!”—and so prominently, that poor +Hamlet was under a cloud. Pollock’s great capuchon +overcoat served for all kinds of mysterious characters. We +were also kindly entertained many a time and oft in New York by +Mr. and Mrs. Charles A. Dana.</p> +<p>My engagement expired on the <i>Times</i>—where, by the +way, I was paid in full in good money—and I found myself +without employment in a fearful financial panic. During the +spring and early summer we had lived at the Gramercy Park Hotel; +we now went to a very pleasant boarding-house kept by Mrs. Dunn, +on Staten Island. My old friend, George Ward, and G. W. +Curtis, well known in literature and politics (who had been at +Mr. Greene’s school), lived at no great distance from +us. The steamboats from New York to Staten Island got to +racing, and I enjoyed it very much, but George Ward and some of +the milder sort protested against it, and it was stopped; which I +thought rather hard, for we had very little amusement in those +dismal days. I was once in a steamboat race when our boat +knocked away the paddle-box from the other and smashed the +wheel. From the days of the Romans and Norsemen down to the +present time, there was never any form of amusement discovered so +daring, so dangerous, and so exciting as a steamboat <!-- page +240--><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +240</span>race, and nobody but Americans could have ever invented +or indulged in it.</p> +<p>The old <i>Knickerbocker Magazine</i> had been for a long time +running down to absolutely nothing. A Mr. Gilmore purchased +it, and endeavoured to galvanise it into life. Its sober +grey-blue cover was changed to orange. Mr. Clark left it, +to my sorrow; but there was no help for it, for there was not a +penny to pay him. I consented to edit it for half +ownership, for I had an idea. This was, to make it promptly +a strong Republican monthly for the time, which was utterly +opposed to all of Mr. Clark’s ideas.</p> +<p>I must here remark that the financial depression in the North +at this time was terrible. I knew many instances in which +landlords begged it as a favour from tenants that they would +remain rent-free in their houses. A friend of mine, Mr. +Fales, one day took me over two houses in Fifth Avenue, of which +he had been offered his choice for $15,000 each. Six months +after the house sold for $150,000. Factories and shops were +everywhere closing, and there was a general feeling that far +deeper and more terrible disasters were coming—war in its +worst forms—national disintegration—utter ruin. +This spirit of despair was now debilitating everybody. The +Copperheads or Democrats, who were within a fraction as numerous +as the Republicans, continually hissed, “You see to what +your nigger worship has brought the country. This is all +your doing. And the worst is to come.” Then +there was soon developed a class known as Croakers, who increased +to the end of the war. These were good enough Union people, +but without any hope of any happy issue in anything, and who were +quite sure that everything was for the worst in this our most +unfortunate of all wretched countries. Now it is a law of +humanity that in all great crises, or whenever energy and +manliness is needed, pessimism is a benumbing poison, and the +strongest optimism the very <i>elixir vitæ</i> +itself. And by a marvellously strange inspiration (though +it was founded on cool, far-sighted calculation), <!-- page +241--><a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 241</span>I, +at this most critical and depressing time, rose to extremest hope +and confidence, rejoicing that the great crisis had at length +come, and feeling to my very depths of conviction that, as we +were sublimely in the right, we must conquer, and that the dread +portal once passed we should find ourselves in the fairy palace +of prosperity and freedom. But that I was absolutely for a +time alone amid all men round me in this intense hope and +confidence, may be read as clearly as can be in what I and others +published in those days, for all of this was recorded in +type.</p> +<p>Bayard Taylor had been down to the front, and remarked +carelessly to me one day that when he found that there was +already a discount of 40 per cent. on Confederate notes, he was +sure that the South would yield in the end. This made me +think very deeply. There was no reason, if we could keep +the Copperheads subdued, why we should not hold our own on our +own territory. <i>Secondly</i>, as the war went on we +should soon win converts. <i>Thirdly</i>, that the North +had immense resources—its hay crop alone was worth more +than all the cotton crop of the South. And <i>fourthly</i>, +that when manufacturing and contract-making for the army should +once begin, there would be such a spreading or wasting of money +and making fortunes as the world never witnessed, and that while +we grew rich, the South, without commerce or manufactures, must +grow poor.</p> +<p>I felt as if inspired, and I wrote an article entitled, +“Woe to the South.” At this time, “Woe to +the North” was the fear in every heart. I showed +clearly that if we would only keep up our hearts, that the utter +ruin of the South was inevitable, while that for us there was +close at hand such a period of prosperity as no one ever dreamt +of—that every factory would soon double its buildings, and +prices rise beyond all precedent. I followed this article +by others, all in a wild, enthusiastic style of triumph. +People thought I was mad, and the <i>New York Times</i> compared +my utterances to the outpourings of a fanatical Puritan in the +time of Cromwell.</p> +<p><!-- page 242--><a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +242</span>But they were fulfilled to the letter. There is +no instance that I know of in which any man ever prophesied so +directly in the face of public opinion and had his predictions so +accurately fulfilled. I was <i>all alone</i> in my +opinions. At all times a feeling as of awe at myself comes +over me when I think of what I published. For, with the +exception of Gilmore, who had a kind of vague idea that he kept a +prophet—as Moses the tailor kept a poet—not a soul of +my acquaintance believed in all this.</p> +<p>Then I went a step further. I found that the real block +in the way of Northern union was the disgust which had gathered +round the mere <i>name</i> of Abolitionist. It became very +apparent that freeing the slaves would, as General Birney once +said to me, be knocking out the bottom of the basket. And +people wanted to abolitionise without being +“Abolitionists”; and at this time even the <i>New +York Tribune</i> became afraid to advocate anti-slavery, and the +greatest fanatics were dumb with fear.</p> +<p>Then I made a new departure. I advocated emancipation of +the slaves <i>as a war measure only</i>, and my cry was +“Emancipation for the sake of the White Man.” I +urged prompt and vigorous action without any regard to +philanthropy. As publishing such views in the +<i>Knickerbocker</i> was like pouring the wildest of new wine +into the weakest of old bottles, Gilmore resolved to establish at +once in Boston a political monthly magazine to be called the +<i>Continental</i>, to be devoted to this view of the +situation. It was the only political magazine devoted to +the Republican cause published during the war. That it +fully succeeded in rapidly attracting to the Union party a vast +number of those who had held aloof owing to their antipathy to +the mere word abolition, is positively true, and still remembered +by many. <a name="citation242"></a><a href="#footnote242" +class="citation">[242]</a> Very speedily <!-- page 243--><a +name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 243</span>indeed +people at large caught at the idea. I remember the very +first time when one evening I heard Governor Andrews say of a +certain politician that he was not an Abolitionist but an +<i>Emancipationist</i>; and it was subsequently declared by my +friends in Boston, and that often, that the very bold course +taken by the <i>Continental Magazine</i>, and the creation by it +of the Emancipationist wing, had hastened by several months the +emancipation of the slaves by Abraham Lincoln. It was for +this alone that the University of Cambridge, Massachusetts, +afterwards, through its president, gave me the degree of A. M., +“for literary services rendered to the country during the +war,” which is as complete a proof of what I assert as +could be imagined, for this was in very truth the one sole +literary service which I performed at that time, and there were +many of my great literary friends who declared their belief in, +and sympathy with, the services which I rendered to the +cause. But I will now cite some facts which fully and +further confirm what I have said.</p> +<p>The <i>Continental Magazine</i> was, as I may say, a something +more than semi-official organ. Mr. Seward contributed to it +two anonymous articles, or rather their substance, which were +written out and forwarded to me by Oakey Hall, Esq., of New +York. We received from the Cabinet at Washington continual +suggestions, for it was well understood that the +<i>Continental</i> was read by all influential Republicans. +A contributor had sent us a very important article indeed, +pointing out that there was all through the South, from the +Mississippi to the sea, a line of mountainous country in which +there were few or no slaves, and very little attachment to the +Confederacy. This article, which was extensively +republished, attracted great attention. It gave great +strength and encouragement <!-- page 244--><a +name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 244</span>to the +grand plan of the campaign, afterwards realised by Sherman. +By <i>official request</i>, to me directed, the author +contributed a second article on the subject. These articles +were extensively circulated in pamphlet form or widely copied by +the press, and created a great sensation, forming, in fact, one +of the great points made in influencing public opinion. +Another of the same kind, but not ours, was the famous pamphlet +by Charles Stille, of Philadelphia, “How a Free People +Conduct a Long War,” in which it was demonstrated that the +man who can hold out longest in a fight has the best chance, +which simple truth made, however, an incredible popular +impression. Gilmore and our friends succeeded, in fact, in +making the <i>Continental Magazine</i> “respected at +court.” But I kept my independence and principles, +and thundered away so fiercely for <i>immediate</i> emancipation +that I was confidentially informed that Mr. Seward once exclaimed +in a rage, “Damn Leland and his magazine!” But +as he damned me only officially and in confidence, I took it in +the Pickwickian sense. And at this time I realised that, +though I was not personally very much before the public, I was +doing great and good work, and, as I have said, a great many very +distinguished persons expressed to me by letter or in +conversation their appreciation of it; and some on the other side +wrote letters giving it to me <i>per contra</i>, and one of these +was Caleb Cushing. Cushing in Chinese means “ancient +glory,” but Caleb’s renown was extinguished in those +days.</p> +<p>I may add that not only did H. W. Longfellow express to me his +sympathy for and admiration of my efforts to aid the Union cause, +but at one time or another all of my literary friends in Boston, +who perfectly understood and showed deep interest in what I was +doing. Which can be well believed of a city in which, above +all others in the world, everybody sincerely aims at culture and +knowledge, the first principle of which—inspired by +praiseworthy local patriotism—is to know and take pride in +what is done in Boston by its natives.</p> +<h2><!-- page 245--><a name="page245"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 245</span>V. LIFE DURING THE CIVIL WAR +AND ITS SEQUENCE. 1862-1866.</h2> +<p>Boston in 1862—Kind friends—Literary +circles—Emerson, O. W. Holmes, Lowell, E. P. Whipple, +Agassiz, &c.—The Saturday dinners—The printed +autograph—The days of the Dark Shadow—Lowell and +Hosea Biglow—I am assured that the <i>Continental +Magazine</i> advanced the period of Emancipation—I return +to Philadelphia—My pamphlet on “Centralisation +<i>versus</i> States Rights”—Its +Results—Books—Ping-Wing—The Emergency—I +enter an artillery company—Adventures and comrades—R. +W. Gilder—I see rebel scouts near Harrisburg—The +shelling of Carlisle—Incidents—My brother receives +his death-wound at my side—Theodore Fassitt—Stewart +Patterson—Exposure and hunger—The famous bringing-up +of the cannon—Picturesque scenery—The battle of +Gettysburg—The retreat of Lee—Incidents—Return +home—Cape May—The beautiful Miss Vining—Solomon +the Sadducee—General Carrol Tevis—The Sanitary +Fair—The oil mania—The oil country—Colonel H. +Olcott, the theosophist—Adventures and odd incidents in +Oil-land—Nashville—Dangers of the road—A friend +in need—I act as unofficial secretary and legal adviser to +General Whipple—Freed slaves—<i>Inter arma silent +leges</i>—Horace Harrison—Voodoo—Captain Joseph +R. Paxton—Scouting for oil and shooting a +brigand—Indiana in winter—Charleston, West +Virginia—Back and forth from Providence to the debated +land—The murder of A. Lincoln—Goshorn—Up Elk +River in a dug-out—A charmed life—Sam Fox—A +close shot—Meteorological sorcery—A wild +country—Marvellous scenery—I bore a well—Robert +Hunt—Horse adventures—The panther—I am +suspected of being a rebel spy—The German +apology—Cincinnati—Niagara—A summer at Lenox, +Mass.—A MS. burnt.</p> +<p>We went to Boston early in December, 1861, and during that +winter lived pleasantly at the Winthrop House on the <!-- page +246--><a name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +246</span>Common. I had already many friends, and took +letters to others who became our friends. We were very +kindly received. Among those whom we knew best were Mrs. +and Mr. H. Ritchie, Mrs. and Mr. T. Perkins, Mrs. H. G. Otis, +Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Ward—but I must +really stop, for there was no end to the list. Among my +literary friends or acquaintances, or “people whom I have +very often met,” were Emerson, Longfellow, Dr. O. W. +Holmes, J. R. Lowell, E. P. Whipple, Palfrey, G. Ticknor, +Agassiz, E. Everett—in a word, all that brilliant circle +which shone when Boston was at its brightest in 1862. I was +often invited to the celebrated Saturday dinners, where I more +than once sat by Emerson and Holmes. As I had been editor +of the free lance <i>Vanity Fair</i>, and was now conducting the +<i>Continental</i> with no small degree of audacity, regardless +of friend or foe, it was expected—and no wonder—that +I would be beautifully cheeky and New Yorky; and truly my +education and antecedents in America, beginning with my training +under Barnum, were not such as to inspire faith in my +modesty. But in the society of the Saturday Club, and in +the very <i>general</i> respect manifested in all circles in +Boston for culture or knowledge in every form—in which +respect it is certainly equalled by no city on earth—I +often forgot newspapers and politics and war, and lived again in +memory at Heidelberg and Munich, recalling literature and +art. I heard, a day or two after my first Saturday, that I +had passed the grand ordeal successfully, or <i>summa cum magna +laude</i>, and that Dr. Holmes, in enumerating divers good +qualities, had remarked that I was modest. Every stranger +coming to Boston has a verdict or judgment passed on him—he +is numbered and labelled at once—and it is really wonderful +how in a few days the whole town knows it.</p> +<p>I had met with Emerson many years before in Philadelphia, +where I had attracted his attention by remarking in Mrs. James +Rush’s drawing-room that a vase in a room was like a bridge +in a landscape, which he recalled twenty years <!-- page 247--><a +name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +247</span>later. With Dr. Holmes I had corresponded. +Lowell! “that reminds me of a little story.”</p> +<p>There was some “genius of +freedom”—<i>i.e.</i>, one who takes +liberties—who collected autographs, and had not even the +politeness to send a written request. He forwarded to me +this printed circular:</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>: As I +am collecting the autographs of distinguished Americans, I would +be much obliged to you for your signature. Yours truly, --- +---”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>While I was editing <i>Vanity Fair</i> I received one of these +circulars. I at once wrote:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>: It +gives me great pleasure to comply with your request. <span +class="smcap">Charles G. Leland</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I called the foreman, and said, “Mr. Chapin, please to +set this up and pull half-a-dozen proofs.” It was +done, and I sent one to the autograph-chaser. He was angry, +and answered impertinently. Others I sent to Holmes and +Lowell. The latter thought that the applicant was a great +fool not to understand that such a printed document was far more +of a curiosity than a mere signature. I met with Chapin +afterwards, when in the war. He had with him a small +company of printers, all of whom had set up my copy many a +time. Printers are always polite men. They all called +on me, and having no cards, left cigars, which were quite as +acceptable at that time of tobacco-famine.</p> +<p>Amid all the horrors and anxieties of that dreadful year, +while my old school-mate, General George B. McClellan, was +delaying and demanding more men—<i>mas y mas y +mas</i>—I still had as many happy hours as had ever come +into any year of my life. If I made no money, and had to +wear my old gloves (I had fortunately a good stock gathered from +one of Frank Leslie’s debtors), and had to sail rather +close to the wind, I still found the sailing very pleasant, and +the wind fair and cool, though I was <i>pauper in +ære</i>.</p> +<p>Mrs. Harrison Gray Otis held a ladies’ sewing-circle to +make garments for the soldiers, at which my wife worked +zealously. <!-- page 248--><a name="page248"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 248</span>There were many social receptions, +readings, etc., where we met everybody. It was very +properly considered bad form in those early days of the war to +dance or give grand dinners or great “parties.” +It was, in fact, hardly decent for a man to dress up and appear +as a swell at all anywhere. Death was beginning to strike +fast into families through siege and battle, and crape to blacken +the door-bells. There was a dark shadow over every +life. I had been assured by an officer that my magazine was +doing the work of two regiments, yet I was tormented with the +feeling that I ought to be in the war, as my grandfather would +surely have been at my age. The officer alluded to wrote to +me that he on one occasion had read one of my articles by +camp-fire to his regiment, who gave at the end three tremendous +cheers, which were replied to by the enemy, who were not far +away, with shouts of defiance. As for minor incidents of +the war-time, I could fill a book with them. One day a +young gentleman, a perfect stranger, came to my office, as many +did, and asked for advice. He said, “Where I live in +the country we have raised a regiment, and they want me to be +colonel, but I have no knowledge whatever of military +matters. What shall I do?” I looked at him, and +saw that he “had it in him,” and replied, “New +York is full of Hungarian and German military adventurers seeking +employment. Get one, and let him teach you and the men; but +take good care that he does not supplant you. Let that be +understood.” After some months he returned in full +uniform to thank me. He had got his man, had fought in the +field—all had gone well.</p> +<p>I remember, as an incident worth noting, that one evening +while visiting Jas. R. Lowell at his house in Cambridge, awaiting +supper, there came a great bundle of proofs. They were the +second series of the Biglow Papers adapted to the new struggle, +and as I was considered in Boston at that time as being in my +degree a literary political authority or one of some general +experience, he was anxious to have my opinion of them, and had +invited me for that purpose. He read them <!-- page +249--><a name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 249</span>to +me, manifested great interest as to my opinion, and seemed to be +very much delighted or relieved when I praised them and predicted +a success. I do not exaggerate in this in the least; his +expression was plainly and unmistakably that of a man from whom +some doubt had been banished.</p> +<p>My brother Henry had at once entered a training-school for +officers in Philadelphia, distinguished himself as a pupil, and +gone out to the war in 1862. The terrible ill-luck which +attended his every effort in life overtook him speedily, and, +owing to his extreme zeal and over-work, he had a sunstroke, +which obliged him to return home. He was a +first-lieutenant. The next year he went as sergeant, and +was again invalided. What further befell him will appear in +the course of my narrative.</p> +<p>The <i>Continental Magazine</i> had done its work and was +evidently dying. I had never received a cent from it, and +it had just met the expenses of publication. It had done +much good and rendered great service to the Union cause. +Gilmore had very foolishly yielded half the ownership to Robert +J. Walker, of whom I confess I have no very agreeable +recollections. So it began to die. But I have the +best authority for declaring that, ere it died, it had advanced +the time of the Declaration of Emancipation, which was the +turning-point of the whole struggle, and all my friends in Boston +were of that opinion. This I can fully prove.</p> +<p>The summer of 1862 I passed in Dedham, going every day to my +office in Boston. We lived at the Phœnix Hotel, and +occupied the same rooms which my father and mother had inhabited +thirty-five years before. We had many very kind and +hospitable friends. I often found time to roam about the +country, to sit by Wigwam Lake, to fish in the river Charles, and +explore the wild woods. I have innumerable pleasant +recollections of that summer.</p> +<p>I returned in the autumn with my wife to Philadelphia, and to +my father’s house in Locust Street. The first thing +which I did was to write a pamphlet on “Centralisation <!-- +page 250--><a name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +250</span><i>versus</i> States Rights.” In it I set +forth clearly enough the doctrine that the Constitution of the +United States could not be interpreted so as to sanction +secession, and that as the extremities or limbs grew in power, so +there should be a strengthening of the brain or greater power +bestowed on the central Government. I also advocated the +idea of a far greater protection of general and common industries +and interests being adopted by the Government.</p> +<p>There was in the Senate a truly great man, of German +extraction, named Gottlieb Orth, from Indiana. He was +absolutely the founder of the Bureaus of Education, &c., +which are now nourishing in Washington. He wrote to me +saying that he had got the idea of Industrial bureaus from my +pamphlet. In this pamphlet I had opposed the commonly +expressed opinion that we must do nothing to “aggravate the +South.” That is, we should burn the powder up by +degrees, as the old lady did who was blown to pieces by the +experiment. “Do not drive them to +extremes.” I declared that the South would go to +extremes in any case, and that we had better anticipate it. +This brought forth strange fruit in after years, long after the +war.</p> +<p>While I was in Boston in 1862, I published by Putnam in New +York a book entitled “Sunshine in Thought,” which +had, however, been written long before. It was all directed +against the namby-pamby pessimism, “lost Edens and buried +Lenores,” and similar weak rubbish, which had then begun to +manifest itself in literature, and which I foresaw was in future +to become a great curse, as it has indeed done. Only five +hundred copies of it were printed.</p> +<p>I was very busy during the first six months of 1863. I +wrote a work entitled “The Art of Conversation, or Hints +for Self-Education,” which was at once accepted and +published by Carleton, of New York. It had, I am assured, a +very large sale indeed. I also wrote and illustrated, with +the aid of my brother, a very eccentric pamphlet, “The Book +of Copperheads.” When Abraham Lincoln died two books +<!-- page 251--><a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +251</span>were found in his desk. One was the +“Letters of Petroleum V. Nasby,” by Dr. R. Locke, and +my “Book of Copperheads,” which latter was sent to me +to see <i>and return</i>. It was much thumbed, showing that +it had been thoroughly read by Father Abraham.</p> +<p>I also translated Heine’s “Book of +Songs.” Most of these had already been published in +the “Pictures of Travel.” I restored them to +their original metres. I also translated the “Memoirs +of a Good-for-Nothing” from the German, and finished up, +partially illustrated, and published two juvenile works. +One of these was “Mother Pitcher,” a collection of +original nursery rhymes for children, which I had written many +years before expressly for my youngest sister, Emily, now Mrs. +John Harrison of Philadelphia. In this work occurs my +original poem of “Ping-Wing the Pieman’s +Son.” Of this Poem <i>Punch</i> said, many years +after, that it was “the best thing of the kind which had +ever crossed the Atlantic.” Ping-Wing appeared in +1891 as a full-page cartoon by Tenniel in <i>Punch</i>, and as +burning up the Treaty. I may venture to say that +Ping-Wing—once improvised to amuse dear little +Emily—has become almost as well known in American nurseries +as “Little Boy Blue,” at any rate his is a popular +type, and when Mrs. Vanderbilt gave her famous masked ball in New +York, there was in the Children’s Quadrille a little +Ping-Wing. Ping travelled far and wide, for in after years +I put him into Pidgin-English, and gave him a place in the +“Pidgin-English Ballads,” which have always been read +in Canton, I daresay by many a heathen Chinese learning that +childlike tongue. I also translated the German +“Mother Goose.”</p> +<p>And now terrible times came on, followed, for me, by a sad +event. The rebels, led by General Lee, had penetrated into +Pennsylvania, and Philadelphia was threatened. This period +was called the “Emergency.” I could easily have +got a command as officer. I had already obtained for my +brother an appointment as major with secretary’s duty on +Fremont’s staff, which he promptly declined. But it +was no <!-- page 252--><a name="page252"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 252</span>time to stand on dignity, and I was +rather proud, as was my brother, to go as “full +private” in an artillery company known as “Chapman +Biddle’s,” though he did not take command of it on +this occasion. <a name="citation252"></a><a href="#footnote252" +class="citation">[252]</a> Our captain was a dealer in +cutlery named Landis.</p> +<p>After some days’ delay we were marched forth. Even +during those few days, while going about town in my +private’s uniform, I realised in a droll new way what it +was to be a <i>common</i> man. Maid-servants greeted me +like a friend, other soldiers and the humbler class talked +familiarly to me. I had, however, no excuse to think myself +any better than my comrades, for among the hundred were nearly +twenty lawyers or law-students, and all were gentlemen as regards +position in society. Among them was R. W. Gilder, now the +editor of the <i>Century</i>, who was quite a youth then, and in +whose appearance there was something which deeply interested +me. I certainly have a strange Gypsy faculty for divining +character, and I divined a genius in him. He was very brave +and uncomplaining in suffering, but also very sensitive and +emotional. Once it happened, at a time when we were all +nearly starved to death and worn out with want of sleep and +fatigue, that I by some chance got a loaf of bread and some +molasses. I cut it into twelve slices and sweetened them, +intending to give one to every man of our gun. But I could +only find eleven, and, remembering Gilder, went about a long mile +to find him; and when I gave it to him he was so touched that the +tears came into his fine dark eyes. Trivial as the incident +was, it moved me. Another was Theodore Fassitt, a next-door +neighbour of mine, whose mother had specially commended him to +me, and who told me that once <!-- page 253--><a +name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 253</span>or twice he +had stolen ears of maize from the horses to keep himself +alive. Also Edward Penington, and James Biddle, a gentleman +of sixty; but I really cannot give the roll-call. However, +they all showed themselves to be gallant gentlemen and true ere +they returned home. The first night we slept in a railroad +station, packed like sardines, and I lay directly across a +rail. Then we were in camp near Harrisburg for a +week—<i>dans la pluie et la misère</i>.</p> +<p>We knew that the rebels were within six miles of us, at +Shooter’s Hill—in fact, two of our guns went +there. Penington was with them, and had a small skirmish, +wherein two of the foemen were slain, the corporal being, +however, called off before he could secure their scalps. +That afternoon, as I was on guard, I saw far down below a few men +who appeared to be scouting very cautiously, and hiding as they +did so. They seemed mere specks, but I was sure they were +rebels. I called on Lieutenant Perkins, who had a glass, +but neither he nor others present thought they were of the +enemy. Long after, this incident had a droll sequel.</p> +<p>Hearing that the rebels were threatening Carlisle, we were +sent thither on a forced march of sixteen miles. They had +been before us, and partially burned the barracks. We +rested in the town. There was a large open space, for all +the world like a stage. Ladies and others brought us +refreshments; the scene became theatrical indeed. The +soldiers, wearied with a long march, were resting or gossipping, +when all at once—<i>whizz-bang</i>—a shell came +flying over our heads and burst. There were cries—the +ladies fled like frightened wild-fowl! The operatic effect +was complete!</p> +<p>About ten thousand rebel regulars, hearing that we had +occupied Carlisle, had returned, and if they had known that there +were only two or three thousand raw recruits, they might have +captured us all. From this fate we were saved by a good +strong tremendous lie, well and bravely told. There was a +somewhat ungainly, innocent, rustic-looking youth in our company, +from whose eyes simple truth peeped <!-- page 254--><a +name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 254</span>out like +two country girls at two Sunday-school windows. He, having +been sent to the barracks to get some fodder, with strict +injunction to return immediately, of course lay down at once in +the hay and had a good long nap. The rebels came and roused +him out, but promised to let him go free on condition that he +would tell the sacred truth as to how many of us Federal troops +were in Carlisle. And he, moved by sympathy for his kind +captors, and swearing by the Great Copperhead Serpent, begged +them to fly for their lives; “for twenty regiments of +regulars, and Heaven only knew how many, volunteers, had come in +that afternoon, and the whole North was rising, and trains +running, and fresh levies pouring in.”</p> +<p>The rebels believed him, but they would not depart without +giving us a touch of their quality, and so fired shell and grape +in on us till two in the morning. There were two regiments +of “common fellows,” or valiant city roughs, with us, +who all hid themselves in terror wherever they could. But +our company, though unable to fire more than a few shots, were +kept under fire, and, being all gentlemen, not a man +flinched.</p> +<p>I did not, to tell the truth, like our captain; but whatever +his faults were, and he had some, cowardice was not among +them. Some men are reckless of danger; he seemed to be +absolutely insensible to it, as I more than once observed, to my +great admiration. He was but a few feet from me, giving +orders to a private, when a shell burst immediately over or +almost between them. Neither was hurt, but the young man +naturally shied, when Landis gruffly cried, “Never mind the +shells, sir; they’ll not hurt you till they hit +you.”</p> +<p>I was leaning against a lamp-post when a charge of grape went +through the lamp. Remembering the story in “Peter +Simple,” and that “lightning never strikes twice in +the same place,” I remained quiet, when there came at once +another, smashing what was left of the glass about two feet above +my head.</p> +<p><!-- page 255--><a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +255</span>Long after the war, when I was one day walking with +Theodore Fassitt, I told him the tale of how I had awakened the +family at the fire in Munich. And Theodore dolefully +exclaimed, “I don’t see why it is that <i>I</i> can +never do anything heroic or fine like that!” Then I +said, “Theodore, I will tell you a story. Once upon a +time there was a boy only eighteen years of age, and it happened +in the war that he was in a town, and the rebels shelled +it. Now this boy had charge of four horses, and the general +had told him to stay in one place, before a church; and he +obeyed. The shells came thick and fast—I saw it all +myself—and by-and-bye one came and took off a leg from one +of the horses. Then he was in a bad way with his horses, +but he stayed. After a while the general came along, and +asked him ‘why the devil he was stopping +there.’ And he replied, ‘I was ordered to, +sir!’ Then the general told him to get behind the +church at once.”</p> +<p>“Why!” cried Theodore in amazement, “<i>I +was that boy</i>!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” I replied; “and the famous Roman +sentinel who remained at his post in Pompeii was no braver, and I +don’t think he had so hard a time of it as you had with +that horse.”</p> +<p>I was put on guard. The others departed or lay down to +sleep on the ground. The fire slackened, and only now and +then a shell came with its diabolical scream like a dragon into +the town. All at last was quiet, when there came shambling +to me an odd figure. There had been some slight attempt by +him to look like a soldier—he had a <i>feather</i> in his +hat—but he carried his rifle as if after deer or raccoons, +and as if he were used to it.</p> +<p>“Say, Cap!” he exclaimed, “kin you tell me +where a chap could get some ammynition?”</p> +<p>“Go to your quartermaster,” I replied.</p> +<p>“Ain’t got no quartermaster.”</p> +<p>“Well, then to your commanding officer—to your +regiment.”</p> +<p><!-- page 256--><a name="page256"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +256</span>“Ain’t got no commanding officer +nowher’ this side o’ God, nor no regiment.”</p> +<p>“Then who the devil are you, and where do you +belong?”</p> +<p>“Don’t belong nowher’. I’ll jest +tell you, Cap, how it is. I live in the south line of New +York State, and when I heard that the rebs had got inter +Pennsylvany, forty of us held a meetin’ and ’pinted +me Cap’n. So we came down here cross country, and +’rived this a’ternoon, and findin’ +fightin’ goin’ on, went straight for the bush. +And gettin’ cover, we shot the darndest sight of rebels you +ever <i>did</i> see. And now all our ammynition is +expended, I’ve come to town for more, for ther’s some +of ’em still left—who want killin’ +badly.”</p> +<p>“See here, my friend,” I replied. “You +don’t know it, but you’re nothing but a bushwhacker, +and anybody has a right to hang or shoot you out of hand. +Do you see that great square tent?” Here I pointed to +the general’s marquee. “Go in there and report +yourself and get enrolled.” And the last I saw of him +he was stumbling over the sticks in the right direction. +This was my first experience of a real <i>guerillo</i>—a +character with whom I was destined to make further experience in +after days.</p> +<p>An earlier incident was to me extremely curious. There +was in our battery a young gentleman named Stewart Patterson, +noted for his agreeable, refined manners. He was the gunner +of our cannon No. Two. We had brass Napoleons. At the +distance of about one mile the rebels were shelling us. +Patterson brought <i>his</i> gun to bear on theirs, and the two +exchanged shots at the same instant. Out of the smoke +surrounding Patterson’s gun I saw a sword-blade fly perhaps +thirty feet, and then himself borne by two or three men, blood +flowing profusely. The four fingers of his right hand had +been cut away clean by a piece of shell.</p> +<p>At the instant I saw the blade flash in its flight, I recalled +seeing precisely the same thing long before in Heidelberg. +There was a famous duellist who had fought sixty or seventy times +and never received a scratch. One day he was acting <!-- +page 257--><a name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +257</span>as <i>second</i>, when the blade of his principal, +becoming broken at the hilt by a violent blow, flew across the +room, rebounded, and cut the second’s lip entirely +open. It was remarkable that I should twice in my life have +seen such a thing, in both instances accompanied by wounds. +Long after I met Patterson in Philadelphia, I think, in +1883. He did not recognise me, and gave me his left +hand. I said, “Not that hand, Patterson, but the +other. You’ve no reason to be ashamed of it. I +saw the fingers shot off.”</p> +<p>But on that night there occurred an event which, in the end, +after years of suffering, caused the deepest sorrow of my +life. As we were not firing, I and the rest of the men of +the gun were lying on the ground to escape the shells, but my +brother, who was nothing if not soldierly and punctilious, stood +upright in his place just beside me. There came a shell +which burst immediately, and very closely over our heads, and a +piece of it struck my brother exactly on the brass buckle in his +belt on the spine. The blow was so severe that the buckle +was bent in two. It cut through his coat and shirt, and +inflicted a slight wound two inches in length. But the blow +on the spine had produced a concussion or disorganisation of the +brain, which proved, after years of suffering, the cause of his +death. At first he was quite senseless, but as he came to, +and I asked him anxiously if he was hurt, he replied sternly, +“Go back immediately to your place by the gun!” +He was like grandfather Leland.</p> +<p>A day or two after, while we were on a forced march to +intercept a party of rebels, the effect of the wound on my +brother’s brain manifested itself in a terrible +hallucination. He had become very gloomy and +reserved. Taking me aside, he informed me that as he had a +few days before entered a country-house, contrary to an order +issued, to buy food, he was sure that Captain Landis meant as +soon as possible to have him shot, but that he intended, the +instant he saw any sign of this, at once to attack and kill the +captain! Knowing his absolute determined and inflexibly +truthful character, <!-- page 258--><a name="page258"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 258</span>and seeing a fearful expression in +his eyes, I was much alarmed. Reflecting in the first place +that he was half-starved, I got him a meal. I had brought +from Philadelphia two pounds of dried beef, and this, carefully +hoarded, had eked out many a piece of bread for a meal. I +begged some bread, gave my brother some beef with it, and I think +succeeded in getting him some coffee. Then I went to +Lieutenant Perkins—a very good man—and begged leave +to take my brother’s guard and to let him sleep. He +consented, and my brother gradually came to his mind, or at least +to a better one. But he was never the same person +afterwards, his brain having been permanently affected, and he +died in consequence five years after.</p> +<p>I may note as characteristic of my brother, that, twelve years +after his death, Walt Whitman, who always gravely spoke the exact +truth, told me that there was one year of his life during which +he had received no encouragement as a poet, and so much ridicule +that he was in utter despondency. At that time he received +from Henry, who was unknown to him, a cheering letter, full of +admiration, which had a great effect on him, and inspired him to +renewed effort. He sent my brother a copy of the first +edition of his “Leaves of Grass,” with his autograph, +which I still possess. I knew nothing of this till Whitman +told me of it. The poet declared to me very explicitly that +he had been much influenced by my brother’s letter, which +was like a single star in a dark night of despair, and I have +indeed no doubt that the world owes more to it than will ever be +made known.</p> +<p>During the same week in which this occurred my wife’s +only brother, Rodney Fisher, a young man, and captain in the +regular cavalry, met with a remarkably heroic death at Aldie, +Virginia. He was leading what was described as “the +most magnificent and dashing charge of the whole campaign,” +when he was struck by a bullet. He was carried to a house, +where he died within a week. He was of the stock of the +Delaware Rodneys, and of the English Admiral’s, or <!-- +page 259--><a name="page259"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +259</span>of the best blood of the Revolution, and well worthy of +it. It was all in a great cause, but these deaths entered +into the soul of the survivors, and we grieve for them to this +day.</p> +<p>Our sufferings as soldiers during this Emergency were very +great. I heard an officer who had been through the whole +war, and through the worst of it in Virginia, declare that he had +never suffered as he did with us this summer. And our +unfortunate artillery company endured far more than the rest, for +while pains were taken by commanding officers of other regiments, +especially the regulars, to obtain food, our captain, either +because they had the advance on him, or because he considered +starving us as a part of the military drama, took little pains to +feed us, and indeed neglected his men very much. As we had +no doctor, and many of our company suffered from cholera morbus, +I, having some knowledge of medicine, succeeded in obtaining some +red pepper, a bottle of Jamaica ginger, and whisky, and so +relieved a great many patients. One morning our captain +forbade my attending to the invalids any more. +“Proper medical attendance,” he said, “would be +provided.” It was not; only now and then on rare +occasions was a surgeon borrowed for a day. What earthly +difference it could make in discipline (where there was no show +or trace of it) whether I looked after the invalids or not was +not perceptible. But our commander, though brave, was +unfortunately one of those men who are also gifted with a great +deal of “pure cussedness,” and think that the +exhibiting it is a sign of bravery. Although we had no +tents, only a miserably rotten old gun-cover, and not always +that, to sleep under (I generally slept in the open air, +frequently in the rain), and often no issue of food for days, we +were strictly prohibited from foraging or entering the country +houses to buy food. This, which was a great absurdity, was +about the only point of military discipline strictly +enforced.</p> +<p>At one time during the war, when men were not allowed to sleep +in the country houses (to protect their owners), the <!-- page +260--><a name="page260"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +260</span>soldiers would very often burn these houses down, in +order that, when the family had fled, they might use the +fireplace and chimney for cooking; and so our men, forbidden to +enter the country houses to buy or beg food, stole it.</p> +<p>I can recall one very remarkable incident. We had six +guns, heavy old brass Napoleons. One afternoon we had to go +uphill—in many cases it was <i>terribly</i> steep—by +a road like those in Devonshire, resembling a ditch. It +rained in torrents and the water was knee-deep. The poor +mules had to be urged and aided in every way, and half the +pulling and pushing was done by us. All of us worked like +navvies. So we went onwards and upwards for sixteen +miles! When we got to the top of the hill, out of one +hundred privates, Henry, I, and four others alone remained. +R. W. Gilder was one of these, besides Landis and Lieutenant +Perkins—that is to say, we alone had not given out from +fatigue; but the rest soon followed. This exploit was long +after cited as one of the most extraordinary of the war—and +so it was. We were greatly complimented on it. Old +veterans marvelled at it. But what was worse, I had to lie +all night on sharp flints—<i>i.e.</i>, the slag or +<i>débris</i> of an iron smeltery or old forge out of +doors—in a terrible rain, and, though tired to death, got +very little sleep; nor had we any food whatever even then or the +next day. Commissariat there was none, and very little at +any time.</p> +<p>From all that I learned from many intimate friends who were in +the war, I believe that we in the battery suffered to the utmost +all that men can suffer in the field, short of wounds and +death. Yet it is a strange thing, that had I not received +at this time most harassing and distressing news from home, and +been in constant fear as regards my brother, I should have +enjoyed all this Emergency like a picnic. We often marched +and camped in the valley of the Cumberland and in Maryland, in +deep valleys, by roaring torrents or “on the mountains +high,” in scenery untrodden by any artist or tourist, of +marvellous grandeur and beauty. One day we <!-- page +261--><a name="page261"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +261</span>came upon a scene which may be best described by the +fact that my brother and I both stopped, and both cried out at +once, “Switzerland!” The beauty of Nature was +to me a constant source of delight. Another was the +realisation of the sense of duty and the pleasure of war for a +noble cause. It was once declared by a reviewer that in my +Breitmann poems the true <i>gaudium certaminis</i>, or enjoyment +of battle, is more sincerely expressed than by any modern poet, +because there is no deliberate or conscious effort to depict it +seriously. And I believe that I deserved this opinion, +because the order to march, the tramp and rattle and ring of +cavalry and artillery, and the roar of cannon, always exhilarated +me; and sometimes the old days of France would recur to me. +One day, at some place where we were awaiting an attack and I was +on guard, General Smith, pausing, asked me something of which all +I could distinguish was “Fire—before.” +Thinking he had said, “Were you ever under fire +before?” and much surprised at this interest in my +biography, I replied, “Yes, General—in Paris—at +the barricades in Forty-eight.” He looked utterly +amazed, and inquired, “What the devil did you think I +said?” I explained, when he laughed heartily, and +told me that his question was, “Has there been any firing +here before?”</p> +<p>Two very picturesque scenes occur to me. One was a night +before the battle of Gettysburg. The country was mountain +and valley, and the two opposing armies were camped pretty +generally in sight of one another. There was, I suppose, +nearly half a cord of wood burning for every twelve men, and +these camp-fires studded the vast landscape like countless +reflections of the stars above, or rather as if all were stars, +high or low. It was one of the most wonderful sights +conceivable, and I said at the time that it was as well worth +seeing as Vesuvius in eruption.</p> +<p>Henry had studied for eighteen months in the British Art +School in Rome, and passed weeks in sketching the Alhambra, and, +till he received his wound, took great joy in the picturesque +<!-- page 262--><a name="page262"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +262</span>scenery and “points” of military +life. But it is incredible how little we ate or got to eat, +and how hard we worked. It is awful to be set to digging +ditches in a soil nine-tenths <i>stone</i>, when starving.</p> +<p>As we were raw recruits, we were not put under fire at +Gettysburg, but kept in Smith’s reserve. But on the +night after the defeat, when Lee retreated in such mad and +needless haste across the Potomac, we were camped perhaps the +nearest of any troops to the improvised bridge, I think within a +mile. That night I was on guard, and all night long I heard +the sound of cavalry, the ring and rattle of arms, and all that +indicates an army in headlong flight. I say that they went +in needless haste. I may be quite in the wrong, but I have +always believed that Meade acted on the prudent policy of making +a bridge of gold for a retreating enemy; and I always believed, +too, that at heart he did not at all desire to inflict extreme +suffering on the foe. Had he been a General Birney, he +would have smote them then and there hip and thigh, and so ended +the war “for good and all,” like a Cromwell, with +such a slaughter as was never seen. I base all this on one +fact. At two o’clock on the afternoon before that +night I went to a farmhouse to borrow an axe wherewith to cut +some fuel; and I was told that the rebels had carried away every +axe in great haste from every house, in order to make a +bridge. Now, if I knew that at two o’clock, General +Meade, if he had any scouts at all, <i>must</i> have known +it. But—<i>qui vult decipi</i>, +<i>decipiatur</i>.</p> +<p>That ended the Emergency. The next day, I think, we +received the welcome news that we were no longer needed and would +soon be sent home. On the way we encamped for a week at +some place, I forget where. There was no drill now—we +seldom had any—no special care of us, and no +“policing” or keeping clean. Symptoms of +typhoid fever soon appeared; forty of our hundred were more or +less ill. My brother and I knew very well that the only way +to avert this was to exercise vigorously. On waking in the +morning we all <!-- page 263--><a name="page263"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 263</span>experienced languor and +lassitude. Those who yielded to it fell ill. Henry +was always so ready to work, that once our sergeant, Mr. Bullard, +interposed and gave the duty to another, saying it was not +fair. I always remembered it with gratitude. But this +feverish languor passed away at once with a little chopping of +wood, bringing water, or cooking.</p> +<p>One more reminiscence. Our lieutenant, Perkins, was a +pious man, and on Sunday mornings held religious service, which +we were obliged to attend. One day, when we had by good +fortune rations of fresh meat, it was cooked for dinner and put +by in two large kettles. During the service two hungry pigs +came, and in our full sight overturned the kettles, and, after +rooting over the food, escaped with large pieces. I did not +care to dine, like St. Antonio, on pigs’ leavings. My +brother finding me, asked why I looked so glum. I replied +that I was hungry. “Is that all?” he +replied. “Come with me!” We went some +distance until we came to a farmhouse in the forest. He +entered, and, to my amazement, was greeted as an old +friend. He had been there in the campaign of the previous +year. I was at once supplied with a meal. My brother +was asked to send them newspapers after his return. He +never sought for mysteries and despised dramatic effects, but his +life was full of them. Once, when in Naples, he was +accustomed to meet by chance every day, in some retired walk, a +young lady. They spoke, and met and met again, till they +became like friends. One day he saw her in a court +procession, and learned for the first time that she was a younger +daughter of the King. But he never met her again.</p> +<p>There were two or three boys of good family, none above +sixteen, who had sworn themselves in as of age—recruiting +officers were not particular—and who soon developed +brilliant talents for “foraging,” looting, guerilla +warfare, horse-stealing, pot-hunting rebels, and all those little +accomplishments which appear so naturally and pleasingly in youth +when in the field. For bringing out the art of taking care +of yourself, <!-- page 264--><a name="page264"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 264</span>a camp in time of war is superior +even to “sleeping about in the markets,” as +recommended by Mr. Weller. Other talents may be limited, +but the amount of “devil” which can be developed out +of a “smart” boy as a soldier is absolutely +infinite. College is a Sunday-school to it. One of +these youths had “obtained” a horse somewhere, which +he contrived to carry along. Many of our infantry regiments +gradually converted themselves into cavalry by this process of +“obtaining” steeds; and as the officers found that +their men could walk better on horses’ legs, they permitted +it. This promising youngster was one day seated on a +caisson or ammunition waggon full of shells, &c., when it +blew up. By a miracle he rose in the air, fell on the +ground unhurt, and marching immediately up to the lieutenant and +touching his hat, exclaimed, “Please, sir, caisson No. Two +is blown to hell; please appoint me to another!” That +oath was not recorded. Poor boy! he died in the war.</p> +<p>There was one man in our corps, a good-natured, agreeable +person, a professional politician, who astonished me by the fact +that however starved we might be, he had always a flask of whisky +wherewith to treat his friends! Where or how he always got +it I never could divine. But in America every politician +always has whisky or small change wherewith to treat. +<i>Always</i>. Money was generally of little use, for there +was rarely anything to buy anywhere. I soon developed here +and there an Indian-like instinct in many things, and this is +indeed deep in my nature. I cannot explain it, but it is +<i>there</i>. I became expert when we approached a house at +divining, by the look of waggons or pails or hencoops, whether +there was meal or bread or a mill anywhere near. One day I +informed our lieutenant that a detachment of rebel cavalry had +recently passed. He asked me how I knew it. I replied +that rebel horses, being from mountainous Virginia, had higher +cocks and narrower to their shoes, and one or two more nails than +ours, which is perfectly true. And where did I learn +that? Not from anybody. I had <!-- page 265--><a +name="page265"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 265</span>noticed the +difference as soon as I saw the tracks, and guessed the +cause. One day, in after years in England, I noticed that +in coursing, or with beagles, the track of a gypsy was exactly +like mine, or that of all Americans—that is, Indian-like +and <i>straight-forward</i>. I never found a +Saxon-Englishman who had this step, nor one who noticed such a +thing, which I or an Indian would observe at once. Once, in +Rome, Mr. Story showed me a cast of a foot, and asked me what it +was. I replied promptly, “Either an Indian +girl’s or an American young lady’s, whose ancestors +have been two hundred years in the country.” It was +the latter. Such feet <i>lift</i> or leap, as if raised +every time to go over entangled grass or sticks. Like an +Indian, I instinctively observe everybody’s <i>ears</i>, +which are unerring indices of character. I can sustain, and +always could endure, incredible fasts, but for this I need coffee +in the morning. “Mark Twain”—whom I saw +yesterday at his villa, as I correct this proof—also has +this peculiar Indian-like or American faculty of observing +innumerable little things which no European would ever think +of. There is, I think, a great deal of “hard old +Injun” in him. The most beautiful of his works are +the three which are invariably bound in silk or muslin. +They are called “The Three Daughters, or the Misses +Clemens.”</p> +<p>It occurred to me, after I had recorded the events of our +short but truly vigorous and eventful campaign, to write to R. W. +Gilder and ask him—<i>quid memoriæ datum +est</i>—“what memories he had of that great war, +wherein we starved and swore, and all but died.” +There are men in whose letters we are as sure to find genial +<i>life</i> as a <i>spaccio di vino</i> or wine-shop in a +Florentine street, and this poet-editor is one of them. And +he replied with an epistle not at all intended for type, which I +hereby print without his permission, and in defiance of all the +custom or courtesy which inspires gentlemen of the press.</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right"><!-- page 266--><a +name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +266</span>“<i>May</i> <i>8th</i>, <i>1893</i>.<br /> +“<span class="smcap">Editorial Department</span>, <span +class="smcap">The Century Magazine</span>,<br /> +“<span class="smcap">Union Square</span>, <span +class="smcap">New York</span>.</p> +<p>“<span class="smcap">My Dear Leland</span>: How your +letter carries me back! Do you know that one night when I +was trudging along in the dark over a road-bed where had been +scattered some loose stones to form a foundation, I heard you and +another comrade talking me over in the way to which you refer in +your letter? Well, it was either you or the other comrade +who said you had given me something to eat, and I know that I +must have seemed very fragile, and at times woe-begone. I +was possibly the youngest in the crowd. I was nineteen, and +really enjoyed it immensely notwithstanding.</p> +<p>“I remember you in those days as a splendid expressor of +our miseries. You had a magnificent vocabulary, wherewith +you could eloquently and precisely describe our general condition +of starvation, mud, ill-equippedness, and over-work. As I +think of those days, I hear reverberating over the mountain-roads +the call, ‘Cannoneers to the wheels!’ and in +imagination I plunge knee-deep into the mire and grab the spokes +of the caisson. <a name="citation266a"></a><a +href="#footnote266a" class="citation">[266a]</a></p> +<p>“Do you remember the night we spent at the forge? +I burnt my knees at the fire out-doors, while in my ears was +pouring a deluge from the clouds. I finally gave it up, and +spent the rest of the night crouching upon the fire-bed of the +forge itself, most uncomfortably.</p> +<p>“You will remember that we helped dig the trenches at +the fort on the southern side of the river from Harrisburg, <a +name="citation266b"></a><a href="#footnote266b" +class="citation">[266b]</a> and that one section <!-- page +267--><a name="page267"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 267</span>of +the battery got into a fight near that fort; nor can you have +forgotten when Stuart Patterson’s hand was shot off at +Carlisle. As he passed me, I heard him say, ‘My God, +I’m shot!’ That night, after we were told to +retire out of range of the cannon, while we were lying under tree +near one of the guns, an officer called for volunteers to take +the piece out of range. I stood up with three others, but +seeing and hearing a shell approach, I cried out, ‘Wait a +moment!’—which checked them. Just then the +shell exploded within a yard of the cannon. If we had not +paused, some of us would surely have been hit. We then +rushed out, seized the cannon, and brought it out of range.</p> +<p>“By the way, General William F. Smith (Baldy Smith) has +since told me that he asked permission to throw the militia +(including ourselves) across one of Lee’s lines of +retreat. If he had been permitted to do so, I suppose you +and I would not have been in correspondence now.</p> +<p>“You remember undoubtedly the flag of truce that came up +into the town before the bombardment began. The man was on +horseback and had the conventional white flag. The story +was that Baldy Smith sent word ‘that if they wanted the +town they could come and take it.’ <a +name="citation267"></a><a href="#footnote267" +class="citation">[267]</a> I suppose you realise that we +were really a part of Meade’s <!-- page 268--><a +name="page268"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 268</span>right, and +that we helped somewhat to delay the rebel left wing. Do +you not remember hearing from our position at Carlisle the guns +of that great battle—the turning-point of the war? <a +name="citation268"></a><a href="#footnote268" +class="citation">[268]</a></p> +<p>“I could run on in this way, but your own memory must be +full of the subject. I wish that we could sometime have a +reunion of the old battery in Philadelphia. I have a most +distinct and pleasant remembrance of your brother—a +charming personality indeed, a handsome refined face and +dignified bearing. I remember being so starved as to eat +crackers that had fallen on the ground; and I devoured, too, +wheat from the fields rubbed in the hands to free it from the +ear. . . .</p> +<p style="text-align: right">“Sincerely,<br /> +<span class="smcap">R. W. Gilder</span>.</p> +<p>“<i>P.S.</i>—I could write more, but you will not +need it from me.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Truly, I was that other comrade whom Gilder overheard +commending him, and it was I who gave him something to eat, I +being the one in camp who looked specially after two or three of +the youngest to see that they did not starve, and who doctored +the invalids.</p> +<p>I here note, with all due diffidence, that Mr. Gilder chiefly +remembers me as “a splendid expressor of our miseries, with +a magnificent vocabulary” wherewith to set forth fearful +adversities. I have never been habitually loquacious in +life; full many deem me deeply reticent and owl-like in my +taciturnity, but I “can hoot when the moon shines,” +nor is there <!-- page 269--><a name="page269"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 269</span>altogether lacking in me in great +emergencies a certain rude kind of popular eloquence, which +has—I avow it with humility—enabled me invariably to +hold my own in verbal encounters with tinkers, gypsies, and the +like, among whom “chaff” is developed to a degree of +which few respectable people have any conception, and which +attains to a refinement of sarcasm, <i>originality</i>, and +humour in the London of the lower orders, for which there is no +parallel in Paris, or in any other European capital; so that even +among my earliest experiences I can remember, after an +altercation with an omnibus-driver, he applied to me the popular +remark that he was “blessed if he didn’t believe that +the gemman had been takin’ lessons in language hof a +cab-driver, <i>and set up o’ nights to +learn</i>.” But the ingenious American is not one +whit behind the vigorous Londoner in “de elegant fluency of +sass,” as darkies term it, and it moves my heart to think +that, after thirty years, and after the marvellous experiences of +men who are masters of our English tongue which the editor of the +<i>Century</i> must have had, he still retains remembrance of my +oratory!</p> +<p>At last we were marched and railroaded back to +Philadelphia. I need not say that we were welcome, or that +I enjoyed baths, clean clothes, and the blest sensation of +feeling decent once more. Everything in life seemed to be +<i>luxurious</i> as it had never been before. Luxuries are +very conventional. A copy of Prætorius, for which I +paid only fifteen shillings, was to me lately a luxury for weeks; +so is a visit to a picture gallery. For years after, I had +but to think of the Emergency to realise that I was actually in +all the chief conditions of happiness.</p> +<p>Feeling that, although I was in superb health and strength, +the seeds of typhoid were in me, I left town as soon as possible, +and went with my wife, her sister, and two half-nieces, or nieces +by marriage, and child-nephew, Edward Robins, to Cape May, a +famous bathing-place by the ocean. One of the little girls +here alluded to, a Lizzie Robins, then six years of age, is now +well known as Elizabeth Robins Pennell, and “a <!-- page +270--><a name="page270"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +270</span>writer of books,” while Edward has risen in +journalism in Philadelphia. There as I walked often +eighteen or twenty miles a day by the sea, when the thermometer +was from 90° to 100° in the shade, I soon worked away all +apprehension of typhoid and developed muscle. One day I +overheard a man in the next bathing-house asking who I was. +“I don’t know,” replied the other, “but +if I were he, I’d go in for being a +prize-fighter.”</p> +<p>Everybody was poor in those days, so we went to a very cheap +though respectable hotel, where we paid less than half of what we +had always given at “The Island,” and where we were +in company quite as happy or comfortable as we ever had been +anywhere, though the death of her brother weighed sadly on my +poor wife, and her dear good mother, whom I always loved +tenderly, and with whom I never had a shade of difference of +opinion nor a whisper of even argument, and to whom I was always +devoted. I seem to have been destined to differ from other +mortals in a few things: one was, that I always loved my +mother-in-law with whole heart and soul, and never considered our +<i>ménage</i> as perfect unless she were with us. +She was of very good and rather near English descent, a +Callender, and had been celebrated in her youth for extraordinary +beauty. Her husband was related to the celebrated beauty +Miss Vining, whom Maria Antoinette, from the fame of her +loveliness, invited to come and join her court. At the +beginning of this century no great foreigner travelled in America +without calling on Miss Vining in Delaware. There is a life +of her in Griswold’s “Republican Court.” +It is without any illustrative portrait. I asked Dr. +Griswold why he had none. He replied that none +existed. I said to him severely, “Let <i>this</i> be +a lesson to you never to publish anything without submitting it +first to <i>me</i>. I have a photograph of her +miniature.” The Doctor submitted!</p> +<p>This summer at Cape May I made the acquaintance of a very +remarkable man named Solomon. He was a Jew, and we became +intimate. One evening he said to me: “You <!-- page +271--><a name="page271"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +271</span>know so much about the Jews that I have even learned +something from you about them. But I can teach you +something. Can you tell the difference between the +<i>Aschkenazim</i> and the <i>Sephardim</i> by their eyes? +No! Well, now, look!” Just then a +Spanish-looking beauty from New Orleans passed by. +“There is Miss Inez Aguado; observe that the corners of her +eyes are long with a peculiar turn. Wait a minute; now, +there is Miss Löwenthal—Levi, of course—of +Frankfort. Don’t you see the difference?”</p> +<p>I did, and asked him to which of the classes he +belonged. He replied—</p> +<p>“To neither. I am of the sect of the ancient +Sadducees, who took no part in the Crucifixion.”</p> +<p>Then I replied, “You are of the +<i>Karaim</i>.”</p> +<p>“No; that is still another sect or division, though very +ancient indeed. We never held to the Halacha, and we laugh +at the Mishna and Talmud and all that. We do not believe or +disbelieve in a God—Yahveh, or the older Elohim. We +hold that every man born knows enough to do what is right; and +that is religion enough. After death, if he has acted up to +this, he will be all right should there be a future of +immortality; and if he hasn’t, he will be none the worse +off for it. We are a very small sect. We call +ourselves the <i>Neu Reformirte</i>. We have a place of +worship in New York.”</p> +<p>This was the first agnostic whom I had ever met. I +thought of the woman in Jerusalem who ran about with the torch to +burn up heaven and the water to extinguish hell-fire. Yes, +the sect was very old. The Sadducees never denied anything; +they only inquired as to truth. Seek or <i>Sikh</i>!</p> +<p>I confess that Mr. Solomon somewhat weakened the effect of his +grand free-thought philosophy by telling me in full faith of a +Rabbi in New York who was so learned in the Cabala that by virtue +of the sacred names he could recover stolen goods. Whether, +like Browning’s sage, he also received <!-- page 272--><a +name="page272"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 272</span>them, I did +not learn. But <i>c’est tout comme chez nous +autres</i>. The same spirit which induces a man to break +out of orthodox humdrumness, induces him to love the marvellous, +the forbidden, the odd, the wild, the droll—even as I +do. It is not a fair saying that “atheists are all +superstitious, which proves that a man must <i>believe</i> in +something.” No; it is the spirit of nature, of +inquiry, of a desire for the new and to penetrate the unknown; +and under such influence a man may truly be an atheist as regards +what he cannot prove or reconcile with universal love and mercy, +and yet a full believer that magic and ghosts may possibly exist +among the infinite marvels and mysteries of nature. It is +admitted that a man may believe in God without being +superstitious; it is much truer that he may be +“superstitious” (whatever that means) without +believing that there is an anthropomorphic <i>bon Dieu</i>. +However this may be, Mr. Solomon made me reflect often and deeply +for many a long year, until I arrived to the age of Darwin.</p> +<p>I also made at Cape May the acquaintance of a very remarkable +man, whom I was destined to often meet in other lands in after +years. This was Carrol (not as yet General) Tevis. We +first met thus. The ladies wanted seats out on the lawn, +and there was not a chair to be had. He and I were seeking +in the hotel-office; all the clerks were absent, and all the +chairs removed; but there remained a solid iron sofa or settee, +six feet long, weighing about 600 pounds. Tevis was strong, +and a great fencer; there is a famous <i>botte</i> which he +invented, bearing his name; perhaps Walter H. Pollock knows +it. I gave the free-lance or <i>condottiero</i> a glance, +and proposed to prig the iron sofa and lay waste the enemy. +It was a deed after his Dugald Dalgetty heart, and we carried it +off and seated the ladies.</p> +<p>In the autumn there was a vast Sanitary Fair for the benefit +of the army hospitals held in Philadelphia. I edited for it +a daily newspaper called <i>Our Daily Fare</i>, which often kept +me at work for eighteen hours per diem, and in doing <!-- page +273--><a name="page273"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +273</span>which I was subjected to much needless annoyance and +mortification. At this Fair I saw Abraham Lincoln.</p> +<p>It was about this time that the remarkable oil fever, or mania +for speculating in oil-lands, broke out in the United +States. Many persons had grown rich during the war, and +were ready to speculate. Its extent among all classes was +incredible. Perhaps the only parallel to it in history was +the Mississippi Bubble or the South Sea speculations, and these +did not collectively employ so much capital or call out so much +money as this petroleum mania. It had many strange social +developments, which I was destined to see in minute detail.</p> +<p>My first experience was not very pleasant. A publisher +in New York asked me to write him a humorous poem on the oil +mania. It was to be large enough to make a small +volume. I did so, and in my opinion wrote a good one. +It cost me much time and trouble. When it was done, the +publisher <i>refused to take it</i>, saying that it was not what +he wanted. So I lost my labour or <i>oleum perdidi</i>.</p> +<p>I had two young friends named Colton, who had been in the war +from the beginning to the end, and experienced its changes to the +utmost. Neither was over twenty-one. William Colton, +the elder, was a captain in the regular cavalry, and the younger, +Baldwin, was his orderly. It was a man in the +Captain’s company, named Yost, who furnished the type of +Hans Breitmann as a soldier. The brothers told me that one +day in a march in Tennessee, not far from Murfreesboro’, +they had found petroleum in the road, and thought it indicated +the presence of oil-springs. I mentioned this to Mr. Joseph +Lea, a merchant of Philadelphia. He was the father of Mrs. +Anna Lea Merritt, who has since become a very distinguished +artist, well known in England, being the first lady painter from +whom the British Government ever bought a picture. Mr. Lea +thought it might be worth some expense to investigate this +Tennessee oil. I volunteered to go, if my expenses were +paid, and it was agreed to. It is difficult at <!-- page +274--><a name="page274"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +274</span>the present day to give any reader a clear idea of the +dangers and trouble which this undertaking involved, and I was +fully aware beforehand what they would be. The place was on +the border, in the most disorganised state of society +conceivable, and, in fact, completely swarming with guerillas or +brigands, <i>sans merci</i>, who simply killed and stripped +everybody who fell into their hands. All over our border or +frontier there are innumerable families who have kept up feuds to +the death, or <i>vendettas</i>, in some cases for more than a +century; and now, in the absence of all civil law, these were +engaged in wreaking their old grudges without restraint, and +assuredly not sparing any stranger who came between them.</p> +<p>I had a friend in C. A. Dana, the Assistant-Secretary of War, +and another in Colonel Henry Olcott, since known as the +theosophist. The latter had just come from the country +which I proposed to visit. I asked him to aid me in getting +military passes and introductions to officers in command. +He promised to do so, saying that he would not go through what I +had before me for all the oil in America. <a +name="citation274"></a><a href="#footnote274" +class="citation">[274]</a> And, indeed, one could not take +up a newspaper without finding full proof that Tennessee was at +that time an <i>inferno</i> or No-man’s Land of +disorder.</p> +<p>I went to it with my eyes wide open. After so many years +of work, I was as poor as ever, and the seven years of harvest +which I had prophesied had come, and I was not gathering a single +golden grain. My father regarded me as <!-- page 275--><a +name="page275"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 275</span>a failure +in life, or as a literary ne’er-do-weel, destined never to +achieve fortune or gain an <i>état</i>, and he was quite +right. My war experience had made me reckless of life, and +speculation was firing every heart. I bought myself a pair +of long, strong, overall boots and blanket, borrowed a revolver, +arranged money affairs with Mr. Lea, who always acted with the +greatest generosity, intelligence, and kindness, packed my +carpet-bag, and departed. It was midwinter, and I was +destined for a wintry region, or Venango County, where, until +within the past few months, there had been many more bears and +deer than human beings. For it was in Venango, +Pennsylvania, that the oil-wells were situated, and Mr. Lea +judged it advisable that I should first visit them and learn +something of the method of working, the geology of the region, +and other practical matters.</p> +<p>My brother accompanied me to the station, and I left at about +8 p.m. After a long, long, weary night and day, I arrived +at an oil town, whose name I now forget. By great good +fortune I secured a room, and by still greater luck I got +acquainted the next morning at breakfast with three or four +genial and gentlemanly men, all “speculators” like +myself, who had come to spy into the plumpness and oiliness of +the land. We hired a sleigh and went forth on an excursion +among the oil-wells. It was in some respects the most +remarkable day I ever spent anywhere.</p> +<p>For here was oil, oil, oil everywhere, in fountains flowing at +the rate of a dollar a second (it brought 70 cents a gallon), +derricks or scaffoldings at every turn over wells, men making +fortunes in an hour, and beggars riding on blooded horses. +I myself saw a man in a blue carter’s blouse, carrying a +black snake-whip, and since breakfast, for selling a +friend’s farm, he had received 1250,000 as commission +(<i>i.e.</i>, £50,000). When we stopped to dine at a +tavern, there stood behind us during all the meal many +country-fellows, all trying to sell oil-lands; every one had a +great bargain at from thirty or forty thousand dollars +downwards. The lowest in the lot was <!-- page 276--><a +name="page276"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 276</span>a boy of +seventeen or eighteen, a loutish-looking youth, who looked as if +his vocation had been peddling apples and lozenges. He had +only a small estate to dispose of for $15,000 (£3,000), but +he was very small fry indeed. My companions met with many +friends; all had within a few days or hours made or lost +incredible sums by gambling in oil-lands, borrowing recklessly, +and failing as recklessly. Companies were formed here on +the spot as easily as men get up a game of cards, and of this +within a few days I witnessed many instances. Two men would +meet. “Got any land over?” (<i>i.e.</i>, not +“stocked”). “Yes, first-rate; +geologer’s certificate; can you put it on the +market?” “That’s my business. +I’ve floated forty oil stocks already, terms half +profits.” So it would be floated forthwith. +Gambling by <i>millions</i> was in the air everywhere; low common +men held sometimes <i>thirty companies</i>, all their own, in one +pocket, to be presently sprung in New York or elsewhere. +And in contrast to it was the utterly bleak wretchedness and +poverty of every house, and the miserable shanties, and all +around and afar the dismal, dark, pine forests covered with +snow.</p> +<p>I heard that day of a man who got a living by spiritually +intuiting oil. “Something told him,” some +Socratic demon or inner impulse, that there was “ile” +here or there, deep under the earth. To pilot to this +“ile” of beauty he was paid high fees. One of +my new friends avowed his intention of at once employing this +oil-seer as over-seer.</p> +<p>We came to some stupendous tanks and to a well which, as one +of my friends said enviously and longingly, was running three +thousand dollars a day in clear greenbacks. Its history was +remarkable. For a very long time an engineer had been here, +employed by a company in boring, but bore he never so wisely, he +could get nothing. At last the company, tired of the +expenditure and no returns, wrote to him ordering him to cease +all further work on the next Saturday. But the engineer had +become “possessed” with the idea that he <i>must</i> +succeed, and so, unheeding orders, he bored away <!-- page +277--><a name="page277"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +277</span>all alone the next day. About sunset some one +going by heard a loud screaming and hurrahing. Hastening +up, he found the engineer almost delirious with joy, dancing like +a lunatic round a fountain of oil, which was “as thick as a +flour-barrel, and rising to the height of a hundred +feet.” It was speedily plugged and made +available. All of this occurred only a very few days before +I saw it.</p> +<p>That night I stopped at a newly-erected tavern, and, as no bed +was to be had, made up my mind to sleep in my blanket on the +muddy floor, surrounded by a crowd of noisy speculators, +waggoners, and the like. I tell this tale vilely, for I +omitted to say that I did the same thing the first night when I +entered the oil-country, got a bed on the second, and that this +was the third. But even here I made the acquaintance of a +nice Scotchman, who found out another very nice man who had a +house near by, and who, albeit not accustomed to receive guests, +said he would give us two one bed, which he did. However, +the covering was not abundant, and I, for all my blanket, was +a-cold. In the morning I found a full supply of blankets +hanging over the foot-board, but we had retired without a light, +and had not noticed them. Our breakfast being rather poor, +our host, with an apology, brought in a great cold mince-pie +three inches thick, which is just the thing which I love best of +all earthly food. That he apologised for it indicated a +very high degree of culture indeed in rural America, and, in +fact, I found that he was a well-read and modest man.</p> +<p>It was, I think, at a place called Plummer that I made the +acquaintance of two brothers named B---, who seemed to vibrate on +the summit of fortune as two golden balls might on the top of the +oil-fountain to which I referred. One spoke casually of +having at that instant a charter for a bank in one pocket, and +one for a railroad in the other. They bought and sold any +and all kinds of oil-land in any quantity, without giving it a +thought. While I was in their office, one man exhibited a +very handsome revolver. “How much <!-- page 278--><a +name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 278</span>did it +cost?” asked B. “Fifty dollars” +(£10). “I wish,” replied B., “that +when you go to Philadelphia you’d get me a dozen of them +for presents.” A man came to the window and called +for him. “What do you want?” “Here +are the two horses I spoke about yesterday.” Hardly +heeding him, and talking to others, B. went to the window, cast a +casual glance at the steeds, and said, “What was it you +said that you wanted for them?” “Three thousand +dollars.” “All right! go and put ’em in +the stable, and come here and get the money.”</p> +<p>From Plummer I had to go ten miles to Oil City. If I had +only known it, one of my very new friends, who was very kind +indeed to a stranger, would have driven me over in his +sleigh. But I did not know it, and so paid a very rough +countryman ten dollars (£2) to take me over on a +<i>jumper</i>. This is the roughest form of a sledge, +consisting of two saplings with the ends turned up, fastened by +cross-pieces. The snow on the road was two feet deep, and +the thermometer at zero. But the driver had two good +horses, and made good time. I found it very difficult +indeed to hold on to the vehicle and also to keep my +carpet-bag. Meanwhile my driver entertained me with an +account of a great misfortune which had just befallen him. +It was as follows:—</p> +<p>“Before this here oil-fever came along I had a little +farm that cost me $150, and off that, an’ workin’ at +carpentrin’, I got a <i>mighty</i> slim livin’. +I used to keep all my main savin’s to pay taxes, and often +had to save up the cents to get a prospective drink of +whisky. Well, last week I sold my farm for forty thousand +dollars, and dern my skin ef the feller that bought it +didn’t go and sell it yesterday for a hundred and fifty +thousand! Just like my derned bad luck!”</p> +<p>“See here, my friend,” I said; “I have +travelled pretty far in my time, but I never saw a country in +which a man with forty thousand dollars was not considered +rich.”</p> +<p>“He may be rich anywhere else with it,” replied +the <!-- page 279--><a name="page279"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 279</span><i>nouveau riche</i> contemptuously, +“but it wouldn’t do more than buy him a glass of +whisky here in Plummer.”</p> +<p>Having learned what I could of oil-boring, I went to +Cincinnati, and then to Nashville by rail. It may give the +reader some idea of what kind of a country and life I was coming +into when I tell him that the train which preceded mine had been +stopped by the guerillas, who took from it fifty Federal soldiers +and shot them dead, stripping the other passengers; and that the +one which came after had a hundred and fifty bullets fired into +it, but had not been stopped. We passed by Mammoth Cave, +but at full speed, for it was held by the brigands. All of +which things were duly chronicled in the Northern newspapers, and +read by all at home.</p> +<p>I got to Nashville. It had very recently been taken by +the Federal forces under General Thomas, who had put it under +charge of General Whipple, who was, in fact, the ruling or +administrative man of the Southwest just then. I went to +the hotel. Everything was dismal and dirty—nothing +but soldiers and officers, with all the marks of the field and of +warfare visible on them—citizens invisible—everything +proclaiming a city camp in time of war—sixty thousand men +in a city of twenty thousand, more or less. I got a +room. It was so cold that night that the ice froze two +inches thick in my pitcher in my room.</p> +<p>I expected to find the brothers Colton in Nashville. I +went to the proper military authority, and was informed that +their regiment was down at the front in Alabama, as was also the +officer who had the authority to give them leave of +absence. I was also informed that my only chance was to go +to Alabama, or, in fact, into the field itself, as a +civilian! This was a dreary prospect. However, I made +up my mind to it, and was walking along the street in a very +sombre state of mind, for I was going to a country like that +described in “Sir Grey Stele”—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Whiche is called the Land of +Doubte.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 280--><a name="page280"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +280</span>And doubtful indeed, and very dismal and cold and old, +did everything seem on that winter afternoon as I, utterly alone, +went my way. What I wanted most of all things on earth was +a companion. With my brother I would have gone down to the +front and to face all chances as if it were to a picnic.</p> +<p>When ill-fortune intends to make a spring, she draws +back. But good fortune, God bless her! does just the +same. Therefore <i>si fortuna tonat</i>, <i>caveto +mergi</i>—if fortune frowns, do not for that despond. +Just as I was passing a very respectable-looking mansion, I saw a +sign over its office-door bearing the words: “Captain +Joseph R. Paxton, Mustering-in and Disbursing Officer.”</p> +<p>Joseph R. Paxton was a very intimate friend of mine in +Philadelphia. He was still a young man, and one of the most +remarkable whom I have ever known. He was a great +scholar. He was more familiar with all the <i>rariora</i>, +<i>curiosa</i>, and singular marvels of literature than any body +I ever knew except Octave Delepierre, with whose works he first +made me acquainted. He had translated Ik Marvel’s +“Reveries of a Bachelor” into French, and had been +accepted by a Paris publisher. He had been a lawyer, an +agent for a railroad, and had long edited in Philadelphia a +curious journal entitled <i>Bizarre</i>, and written a work on +gems. His whole soul, however, was in the French literature +of the eighteenth century, and he always had a library which +would make a collector’s mouth water. Had he lived in +London or Paris, he would have made a great reputation. And +he was kind-hearted, genial, and generous to a fault. He +had always some unfortunate friend living on him, some Bohemian +of literature under a cloud.</p> +<p>I entered the office and found him, and great was his +amazement! “<i>Que diable</i>, <i>mon ami</i>, +<i>faistu ici dans cette galère</i>?” was his +greeting. I explained the circumstances in detail. He +at once exclaimed, “Come and live here with me. +General Whipple is my brother-in-law, and he will be <!-- page +281--><a name="page281"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +281</span>here in a few days and live with us. He’ll +make it all right.” “Here, Jim!” he cried +to a great six-foot man of colour—“run round to the +hotel and bring this gentleman’s luggage!”</p> +<p>There I remained for a very eventful month. Paxton had +entered with the conquerors, and had just seized on the +house. I may indeed say that <i>we</i> seized on it, as +regards any right—I being accepted as hail-fellow-well-met, +and as a bird of the same feather. In it was a piano and a +very good old-fashioned library. It was like Paxton to loot +a library. He had had his pick of the best houses, and took +this one, “niggers included,” for the servants, by +some odd freak, preferred freedom with Paxton to slavery with +their late owner. This gentleman was a Methodist clergyman, +and Paxton found among his papers proofs that he had been +concerned in a plot to burn Cincinnati by means of a gang of +secret incendiaries.</p> +<p>Whenever the blacks realised the fact that a Northern man was +a <i>gentleman</i>—they all have marvellous instincts for +this, and a respect for one beyond belief—they took to him +with a love like that of bees for a barrel of syrup. I have +experienced this so often, and in many cases so touchingly, that +I cannot refrain from recording it. Among others who thus +took to me was the giant Jim, who was unto Paxton and me as the +captive of our bow and spear, albeit an emancipated +contraband. When the Southerners defied General Butler to +touch their slaves, because they were their +“property” by law, the General replied by +“confiscating” the property by what Germans call +<i>Faustrecht</i> (or fist-right) as “contraband of +war.”</p> +<p>This Jim, the general waiter and butler, was a character, +shrewd, clever, and full of dry humour. When I was alone in +the drawing-room of an evening, he would pile up a great +wood-fire, and, as I sat in an arm-chair, would sit or recline on +the floor by the blaze and tell me stories of his slave life, +such as this:—</p> +<p><!-- page 282--><a name="page282"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +282</span>“My ole missus she always say to me, ‘Jim, +don’ you ever have anything to do with dem Yankees. +Dey’re all pore miserable wile wretches. Dey lib in +poverty an’ nastiness and don’ know +nothin’.’ I says to her, ‘It’s +mighty quare, missus. I can’t understan’ +it. Whar do all dem books come from? Master gits em +from de Norf. Who makes all our boots an’ clothes and +sends us tea an’ everythin’? Dey can’t +all be so pore an’ ignoran’ ef dey writes our books +an’ makes everythin’ we git.’ +‘Jim,’ she says, ‘you’re a fool, +an’ don’ understan’ nothin’.’ +‘Wery good, missus,’ says I, but I thinked it +over. All we do is to raise cotton, an’ dey make it +into cloff, which we hav’n’t de sense to +do.”</p> +<p>I believe that I give this word for word. And Jim, as I +found, was a leading mind among the blacks.</p> +<p>I had a letter of introduction from Mr. Lea to Horace +Harrison, who was the State Attorney for Tennessee. At this +time his power was very great, for he had in his hands the +disposition of all the estates of all the rebels in +Tennessee. He was the type of a Southwestern +gentleman. He reminded me very much of my old Princeton +friends, and when I was in his office smoking a pipe, I felt as +if I were in college again. I liked him very much. +One morning I called, and after some deliberation he said, +“You are a lawyer, are you not?” I replied that I had +studied law under Judge Cadwallader.</p> +<p>“Then I should like to consult with you as a +lawyer. I have a very difficult case to deal with. +There is a law declaring that all property belonging to rebels +shall be seized and held for one year. Now, here is a man +whose estate I have held for six months, who has come in and +declared his allegiance, and asks for his lands. And I +believe that before long, unless he comes in now, they will be +almost ruined. What shall I do?”</p> +<p>“It appears to me,” I replied, “that if the +disposal of these lands is in your hands, you must be supposed to +exert <!-- page 283--><a name="page283"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 283</span>some will and discretion. +<i>Stat pro ratione voluntas</i> is a good axiom here. We +are not at all <i>in statu quo ante bellum</i>—in fact, the +war is not at an end, nor decided. Your duty is to act for +the good of the country, and not simply to <i>skin</i> the enemy +like a bushwhacker, but to pacify the people. <i>Victor +volentes per populos dat jura</i>—laws should always be +mildly interpreted. In your case, considering the very +critical condition of the country, I should in equity give the +man his property, and take his oath of allegiance. Severe +measures are not advisable—<i>quod est violentum</i>, +<i>non est durabile</i>.”</p> +<p>This is, I believe, pretty accurately what I said. That +evening, as I was sitting with General Whipple, he amazed me by +addressing me exactly as Mr. Harrison had done in the +morning.</p> +<p>“I say, Leland, you’re a lawyer, and I want your +advice. There are six warehouses here, and I want them +badly for military stores. But Horace Harrison says that I +can’t have them, because he holds them for the United +States. What am I to do?”</p> +<p>“General Whipple,” I replied, “is this town +under military occupation in time of war, or is it +not?”</p> +<p>“Most decidedly it is.”</p> +<p>“So I should think from the way your patrols bother +me. And if such is the case, all things must yield to +military wants. Where we have no legal principles or courts +to decide, we must fall back on legal axioms. And here the +law is clear and explicit, for it says, <i>Inter arma leges +silent</i>—the laws are suspended in warfare.”</p> +<p>“A magnificent saying!” exclaimed the General +admiringly. “Ah! you ought to be in the Supreme +Court.” And seizing a pen he wrote to the State +Attorney:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>: This town, +being but recently captured from the enemies of the United +States, is, of course, under military occupation, which renders +absolutely necessary for military purpose many temporary seizures +and uses, such as that of the six warehouses referred to in our +late correspondence. <!-- page 284--><a +name="page284"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 284</span>As regards +legal precedent and principle, I need not remind one of your +learning that—(I say, Leland, how do you spell that +Latin?—<i>I-n-t-e-r</i>—yes, I’ve got +it)—<i>Inter arma silent leges</i>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I am afraid that Horace Harrison, when he got that letter, +suspected that I had been acting as counsel for both sides. +However, as I took no fee, my conscience was at rest. I +think that I was of great use to General Whipple at that time, +and, as he said one day, an unofficial secretary. Great and +serious matters passed through our hands (for the General and +Harrison were taking the lead in virtually reforming the whole +frontier or debatable land), and these grand affairs were often +hurried through “like hot cakes.” My slender +legal attainments were several times in requisition on occasions +when the head of the Supreme Court would have been a more +appropriate referee. I discovered, however, that there was +really a department of law in which I might have done good +work. Questions of very serious importance were often +discussed and disposed of among us three with very great economy +of time and trouble. And here I may say—“excuse +the idle word”—that I wonder that I never in all my +life fell into even the most trifling diplomatic or civil +position, when, in the opinion of certain eminent friends, I +possess several qualifications for such a calling—that is, +quickness in mastering the legal bearings of a question, a +knowledge of languages and countries, readiness in drawing up +papers, and an insatiable love of labour, which latter I have not +found to be <i>always</i> possessed by the accomplished gentlemen +whom our country employs abroad.</p> +<p>I may here narrate a curious incident which touched and +gratified me. When all the slaves in Nashville were set +free by the entrance of our troops, the poor souls, to manifest +their joy, seized a church (nobody opposing), and for three weeks +held heavy worship for twenty-four hours per diem. <i>But +not a white soul was allowed to enter</i>—the real and +deeply-concealed reason being that Voodoo rites (which <!-- page +285--><a name="page285"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +285</span>gained great headway during the war) formed a part of +their devotion. However, I was informed that an exception +would be made in my case, and that I was free to enter. And +why? Had Jim surmised, by that marvellous intuition of +character which blacks possess, that I had in me “the +mystery”? Now, to-day I hold and possess the black +stone of the Voodoo, the possession of which of itself makes me a +grand-master and initiate or adept, and such an invitation would +seem as natural as one to a five-o’clock tea elsewhere; but +I was not known to any one in Nashville as a +“cunjerer,” and the incident strikes me as very +curious.</p> +<p>Apropos of marvels, many of the blacks can produce in their +throats by some strange process sounds, and even airs, resembling +those of the harmonicon, or musical box, one or the other or +both. One evening in Nashville, in a lonely place, I heard +exquisite music, which I thought must be that of a superior +hand-organ from afar. But, to my amazement, I could +discover none; there were only two black boys in the +street. Alexis Paxton, the son of my host, explained to me +that what I heard was unquestionably music made by those ebony +flutes of boys, and that there were some wonderful performers in +the city. I have listened to the same music at a public +exhibition. I greatly wonder that I have never heard of +this kind of music in Europe or the East. It is distinctly +<i>instrumental</i>, not vocal in its tones. It has the +obvious recommendation of economy, since by means of it a young +lady could be performer and pianoforte all in one, which was +indeed the beginning of the invention in Syrinx, who was made +into a pan-pipe, which as a piano became the great musical curse +(according to Heine) of modern times, and by which, as I +conjecture, the fair Miss Reed or Syrinx revenges herself on male +humanity. By the way, the best singer of “<i>Che faro +senza Euridice</i>” whom I ever heard was a Miss Reed, a +sister of Mrs. Paran Stevens.</p> +<p>I had a very pleasant time with Paxton, and I know right well +that I was no burden on him, but a welcome friend. <!-- +page 286--><a name="page286"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +286</span><i>Au reste</i>, there was plenty of room in the house, +and abundant army stores to be had for asking, and one or two +rare acquaintances. One of these was a Southern officer, +now a general, who had come over to our side and fought, as the +saying was, with a rope round his neck. He was terribly +hated by the rebels, which hate he returned with red-hot double +compound interest—for a renegade is worse than ten +Turks. He was the very type of a grim, calm old Border +moss-trooper. He lived in his boots, and never had an ounce +of luggage. One evening General Whipple (always humane and +cultivated, though as firm as an iron bar) said to him before me, +“I really don’t know what to do with many of my rebel +prisoners. They dress themselves in Federal uniforms for +want of other clothes; they take them from the dead on the +battlefield, and try to pass themselves off for Federals. +It is very troublesome.”</p> +<p>“No trouble to me,” replied the other.</p> +<p>“And how do you do with them?”</p> +<p>“Shoot them as <i>spies</i>. Why, only last week I +got four dozen of them, and in less than four minutes I had them +all laid out stiff in the road.”</p> +<p>The reader need not imagine that the general here romanced or +exaggerated. At that very moment the massacres and murders +which were going on within three miles of us were beyond +belief. The bands of <i>guerillas</i> or bushwhackers which +swept the country murdered in cold blood all who fell into their +hands, and the Confederate soldiers often did the same. +There resulted, of course, a deadly hatred on both sides, and the +most unscrupulous retaliation.</p> +<p>I could fill a book with the very interesting observations +which I made in Nashville. And here I call attention to a +very strange coincidence which this recalls. During the +previous year I had often expressed a great desire to be in some +State during its transition from Confederacy to Unionism, that I +might witness the remarkable social and political paradoxes and +events which would result, and I had often <!-- page 287--><a +name="page287"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 287</span>specified +Tennessee as the one above all others which I should prefer to +visit for this purpose. And I had about as much idea that I +should go to the moon as there. But prayers are strangely +granted at strange hours—<i>plus impetravi quam fuissem +ausus</i>—and I was placed in the very centre of the +wheel. This very remarkable fulfilment of a wish, and many +like it, though due to mere chance, naturally made an impression +on me, for no matter how strong our eyesight may be, or our sense +of truth, we are all dazed when coming out of darkness into +light, and all the world is in that condition now. No +matter how completely we exchange the gloom of supernaturalism +for the sunlight of science, phantoms still seem to flit before +our eyes, and, what is more bewildering still, we do not as yet +know but what these phantoms may be physical facts. Perhaps +the Voodoo stone <i>may</i> have the power to awaken the faith +which may move the vital or nervous force, which may act on +hidden subtler forms of electricity and matter, atoms and +molecules. Ah! we have a great deal to learn!</p> +<p>Through General Whipple’s kind aid the brothers Colton +were at once brought up from the front. With them and +Captain Paxton we went to Murfreesboro, and at once called on the +general in command, whose name I have forgotten. He struck +me as a grim, brave old commander, every inch a soldier. +While we conversed with him a sergeant entered, a man who looked +as if he lived in the saddle, and briefly reported that a gang of +guerillas were assembled at a certain place some miles +away—I forget how far, but the distance was traversed in an +incredibly short time. The general issued orders for a +hundred cavalry to go at once and “get” them. +They “got” them, killing many, and the next morning, +on looking from my window, I saw the victors ride into the +courtyard, many of them with their captives tied neck and heels, +like bags of corn, over the cruppers of the horses. A nice +night’s ride they must have had! But the choice was +between death and being cruppered, and they preferred the <!-- +page 288--><a name="page288"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +288</span>latter to coming a cropper. Strange that the less +a man has to live for the more he clings to life.</p> +<p>The general thought that if he gave us a corporal and four +men, and if we were well armed, that we <i>might</i> go out on +the Bole Jack road and return unharmed, “unless we met with +any of the great gangs of bushwhackers.” But he +evidently thought, as did General Whipple, who did not heed a +trifle by any means, that we were going into the lion’s +jaws. So the next morning, <i>equo iter ingredi</i>, I rode +forth. I had some time before been appointed aide-de-camp +to Governor Pollock, of Pennsylvania, with the rank of colonel, +and had now two captains and a corporal with his guard. It +was a rather small regiment.</p> +<p>We heard grim stories that morning as to what had taken place +all around us within almost a few hours. Three Federal +pickets had been treacherously shot while on guard the night +before; the troops had surprised a gang of bushwhackers holding a +ball, and firing through the windows, dropped ten of them dead +while dancing; two men had been murdered by --- --- and his +gang. This was a noted guerilla, who was said to have gone +south with the Confederate army, but who was more generally +believed to have remained in hiding, and to have committed most +of the worst outrages and murders of late.</p> +<p>At the first house where we stopped in the woods there lay a +wounded man, one of the victims of the dance the night +before. The inmates were silent, but not rude to us. +I offered a man whisky, but he replied, “I don’t use +it.” We rode on. Once there was an alarm of +“bushwhackers.” I should have forgotten it but +for the memory of the look of Baldwin Colton’s eyes, the +delighted earnestness of a man or of a wild creature going to +fight. He and his brother had hunted and fought guerillas a +hundred times, perhaps much oftener, for it was a regular daily +service at the front. Once during a retreat, Baldwin +(eighteen or nineteen years of age) fell out of rank so often to +engage in hand-to-hand sword <!-- page 289--><a +name="page289"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 289</span>conflicts +with rebel cavalrymen, that his brother detached four to take him +prisoner and keep him safe. Daring spirits among our +soldiers often became very fond of this kind of duelling, in +which the rebs were not a whit behind them, and two of the +infantry on either side would, under cover of the bushes, aim and +pop away at one another perhaps for hours, like two red +Indians.</p> +<p>I have forgotten whether it was with extra whisky, coffee, or +money that we specially gratified our corporal and guard; but +Baldwin, who was “one of ’em,” informed me that +they enjoyed this little outing immensely, just like a picnic, +and had a good time. From which it may be inferred that +men’s ideas of enjoyment are extremely relative. It +could not have been in the dodging of guerillas—to that +they were accustomed; perhaps it was the little extra ration, or +the mystery of the excursion, for they were much puzzled to know +what I wanted, why I examined the road and rocks, and all so +strangely, and went into the very worst place in all the land to +do so. Baldwin Colton himself had been so knocked about +during the war, and so starved as a prisoner in Southern hands, +that he looked back on a sojourn in that <i>ergastulum</i>, Libby +Prison, as rather an oasis in his sad experiences. +“It wasn’t so bad a place as some, and there was good +company, and always <i>something to eat</i>.” The +optimist of Candide was a Mallock in mourning compared to +this.</p> +<p>That night we came to somebody’s plantation. I +forget his name, but he was a Union man, probably a <i>very</i> +recent acquisition, but genial. He had read the +<i>Knickerbocker</i>, and knew my name well, and took good care +of us. In the morning I offered him ten dollars for our +night’s lodging, which was, in the opinion of my two +captains, stupendously liberal, as soldiers never paid. Our +host declined it like a Southern planter, on the ground that he +never sold his hospitality. So I put the money into the +hand of one of his pretty children as a present. But as we +rode forth we were called back, and reminded that we had +forgotten to pay for <!-- page 290--><a name="page290"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 290</span>the <i>soldiers</i>! I gave +another five-dollar greenback and rode away disgusted. And +at the gate a negro girl begged us to give her a +“dalla” (dollar) to buy a fish-line. It all +came from my foolish offer to pay. Gratitude is a sense of +further benefits to be bestowed.</p> +<p>The place where the oil had been seen was near a conical rocky +hill called Grindstone Knob. We examined carefully and +found no trace of it. The geology of the country was +unfavourable, much flint and conglomerate, if I remember, and +wanting in the signs of coal, shales, &c., and +“faults” or ravines. I may be quite wrong, but +such was my opinion. No one who lived thereabout had ever +heard of “ile.” Once I asked a rustic if any +kind of oil was found in the neighbourhood in springs. His +reply was, “What! <i>ile</i> come up outer the ground like +water! H---! I never heard of sitch a +thing.” <i>There was no oil</i>.</p> +<p>At the foot of Grindstone Knob was a rather neat, small house, +white, with green blinds. We were somewhat astonished to +learn from a negro boy, who spoke the most astonishingly bad +English, that this was the home of Mas’ --- ---. Yes, +this was the den of the wolf himself, and I had no doubt that he +was not far off. There was a small cotton plantation round +about.</p> +<p>We entered, and were received by a good-looking, not +unladylike, but rather fierce-eyed young woman and her younger +sister. It was Mrs. ---. The two had been to a +lady’s seminary in Nashville, and played the piano for +us. I felt that we were in a strange situation, and now and +then walked to the window and looked out, listening all the time +suspiciously to every sound. It was easy enough for Mrs. +---, the brigand’s wife, to perceive from my untanned +complexion that I had not been in the field, and was manifestly +no soldier. “<i>You</i> look like an officer,” +she said to Captain Colton, “and so does <i>that</i> one, +but what is <i>he</i>?” meaning me by this last. We +had dinner—roast kid—and when we departed I gave the +dame five dollars, having <!-- page 291--><a +name="page291"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 291</span>the feeling +that I could not be indebted to thieves for a dinner.</p> +<p>We had gone but a little distance when we saw two bushwhackers +with guns, and gave chase, but they disappeared in the bushes, +much to the grief of our men, who would have liked either to +shoot them or to bring them in. Then the corporal told us +that while we were at dinner’s “faithful +blacks” had informed his men that “Mas’ had +been at home ever since Crismas”; that at eleven +o’clock every night they assembled at the house and thence +went out marauding and murdering.</p> +<p>I paused, astonished and angry. It was almost certain +that the bushwhacker had been during dinner probably in the +cellar under our feet. The guerillas had great fear of our +regular soldiers; two of the latter were a match at any time for +half-a-dozen of the former, as was proved continually. +Should I go back and hang --- up over his own door? I was +dying to do it, but we had before us a very long ride through the +Cedar Barrens, the sun was sinking in the west, and we had heard +news which made it extremely likely that a large band of +guerillas would be in the way.</p> +<p>That resolve to go actually saved our lives, for I heard the +next day that a hundred and fifty of these free murderers had +gone on our road just after us. This fact was at once +transferred to the Northern newspapers, that “on --- a +hundred and fifty bushwhackers passed over the Bole Jack +road.” Which was read by my wife and father, who knew +that on that very day I was on that road, to their great +apprehension.</p> +<p>I never shall forget the dismal appearance of the Cedar +Barrens. The soil was nowhere more than two inches deep, +and the trees which covered it by millions had all died as soon +as they attained a height of fifteen or twenty feet. Swarms +of ill-omened turkey-buzzards were the only living creatures +visible “like foul <i>lemurés</i> flitting in the +gloom.”</p> +<p>Riding over the battlefield the Coltons and Paxton <!-- page +292--><a name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +292</span>pointed out many things, for they had all been in it +severely. At one place, Major Rosengarten, a brother of my +old Paris fellow-student, had had a sabre-fight with a rebel, and +they told me how Rosengarten’s sword, being one of the kind +which was issued by contract in the earlier days of the war, bent +and broke like a piece of tin. Hearing a ringing sound +Baldwin jumped from his horse, picked up a steel ramrod and gave +it to me for a cane.</p> +<p>As we approached Murfreesboro’ I met a genial, daring +soldier, one Major Hill, whom I had seen before. He had +with him a hundred and fifty cavalry. “Where are you +going so late by night?” I said.</p> +<p>He replied, “I am after that infernal scoundrel, --- +---. My scouts have found out pretty closely his +range. I am going to divide my men into tens and scatter +them over the country and then close in.”</p> +<p>“Major,” I replied, “I will tell you just +where to lay your hand at once, heavy on him. Do you know +Grindstone Knob and a white house with green windows at its +foot?”</p> +<p>“I do.”</p> +<p>“Well, be there at exactly eleven to-night, and +you’ll get him. I have been there and learned it from +the niggers.”</p> +<p>“Well, I declare that you are a good scout, Mr. +Leland!” cried the Major in amazement. “What +can I do to thank you?”</p> +<p>“Well, Major Hill,” I said, “I have one +thing to request: that is, if you get ---, don’t parole +him. <i>Shoot him at once</i>; he is a red-handed +murderer.”</p> +<p>“I <i>will</i> shoot him,” said the Major, and +rode forth into the night with his men. But whether he ever +got --- I never knew, though according to the calculations of the +Coltons, who were extremely experienced in such matters, +“Massa ---” had not more than one chance in a +thousand to escape, and Hill was notoriously a good +guerilla-hunter and a man of his word.</p> +<p>I believe that at the plantation our men had camped out. +<!-- page 293--><a name="page293"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +293</span>At Murfreesboro’ we returned them to the general, +and I took the Coltons to a hotel, which was so very rough that I +apologised for it, while Baldwin said it seemed to him to be +luxurious beyond belief, and that it was the first night for +eighteen months in which he had slept in a bed. In the +morning I wanted a spur, having lost one of mine, and there was +brought to me a large boxful of all kinds of spurs to choose +from, which had been left in the house at one time or another +during the war.</p> +<p>I did not remain long in Nashville after returning +thither. I had instructions to go to Louisville, Kentucky, +and there consult with a certain merchant as to certain +lands. General Whipple accompanied me to the +“depôt,” which was for the time and place as +much of an honour as if Her Majesty were to come to see me off at +Victoria Station. There was many and many a magnate in +those days and there, who would have given thousands to have had +his ear as Paxton and I had it.</p> +<p>One night we were in the side private box at the theatre in +Nashville. Couldock, whom I had known well many years +before, was on the stage. The General was keeping himself +deeply in the shade to remain unseen. He remarked to Paxton +that he wanted a house for his family, who would soon arrive, and +could not find one, for they were all occupied. This one +remark shows the man. I wonder how long General Butler +would have hesitated to move anybody!</p> +<p>Captain Paxton knew everything and everybody. With a +quick glance from his keen dark eyes he exclaimed—</p> +<p>“I’ve got it! Do you see that fat man +laughing so heartily in the pit? He has a splendid house; +it would just suit you; and he’s a d---d old rebel. I +know enough about him to hang him three times over. He +has” (here followed a series of political +iniquities). “<i>Voilà votre +affaire</i>.”</p> +<p>“And how is it that he has kept his house?” asked +the General.</p> +<p><!-- page 294--><a name="page294"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +294</span>“He sent the quartermaster a barrel of whisky, or +something of that sort.”</p> +<p>The General looked thoughtfully at the fat man as the latter +burst into a fresh peal of laughter. I thought that if he +had known what was being said in our box that laugh would have +died away.</p> +<p>I do not know whether the General took the house. I +think he did. I left for Louisville. There I saw the +great merchant, who invited me to his home to supper and +consulted with me. His daughters were rebels and would not +speak to me. He had a great deal of property in Indiana, +which <i>might</i> be oil-lands. If I would visit it and +report on it, he would send his partner with me to examine +it. I consented to go.</p> +<p>This partner, Mr. W., was a young man of agreeable, easy +manners. With him I went to Indianapolis, and thence by +“stages,” waggons, or on horseback through a very +dismal country in gloomy winter into the interior of the +State. I can remember vast marshy fields with millions of +fiddler crabs scuttling over them, and more mud than I had ever +seen in my life. The village streets were six inches deep +in soft mud up to the doors and floors of the houses. At +last we reached our journey’s end at a large log-house on a +good farm.</p> +<p>I liked the good man of the house. He said to us, after +a time, that at first he thought we were a couple of stuck-up +city fellows, but had found to his joy that we were +old-fashioned, sensible people. There was no sugar at his +supper-table, but he had three substitutes for +it—“tree-sweetnin’, bee-sweetnin’, and +sorghum”—that is, maple sugar, honey, and the +molasses made from Chinese maize. Only at a mile’s +distance there was a “sugar-camp,” and we could see +the fires and hear the shouts of the people engaged night and day +in making sugar from the trees.</p> +<p>He told me that on the hills in sight a mysterious light often +wandered. During the Revolutionary war some one <!-- page +295--><a name="page295"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +295</span>had buried a barrelful of silver plate and money, and +over it flitted the quivering silver flame, but no one could ever +find the spot.</p> +<p>The next day I examined the land. There was abundance of +fossiliferous limestone, rich in petrifactions of tertiary +shells, also cartloads of beautiful <i>geodes</i> or round flint +balls, which often rattled, and which, when broken, were +encrusted with white or purple amethystine crystals. I +decided that there were places where oil might be found, though +there was certainly no indication of it. I believe that my +conjecture subsequently proved to be true, and that Indiana has +shown herself to be a wise virgin not without oil.</p> +<p>On the afternoon of the next day, riding with my guide, I +found that I had left my blanket at a house miles behind. I +offered the man a large price to return and bring it, which he +did. While waiting by the wood, in a dismal drizzle, I saw +a log cabin and went to it for shelter. Its only inmate was +a young woman, who, seeing me coming, hastily locked the door and +rushed into the neighbouring woods. When the guide returned +I expressed some astonishment at the flight; <i>he</i> did +not. With a very grave expression he asked me, +“Don’t the gals in <i>your</i> part of the country +allays break for the woods when they see <i>you</i> +a-coming?” “Certainly not,” I +replied. To which he made answer, “Thank God, our +gals here hev got better morrils than yourn.”</p> +<p>We returned to St. Louis. There I was shown the +immensely long tomb of Porter the Kentucky giant. This man +was nine feet in height! I had seen him alive long before +in Philadelphia. I made several interesting acquaintances +in St. Louis, the Athens of the West. But I must hurry +on.</p> +<p>I went to Cincinnati, where I found orders to wait for Mr. +Lea. A syndicate had been formed in Providence, Rhode +Island, which had purchased a great property in Cannelton, West +Virginia. This consisted of a mountain in which there was +an immense deposit of cannel coal. Cannelton was very <!-- +page 296--><a name="page296"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +296</span>near the town of Charleston, which is at the junction +of the Kanawha (a tributary of the Ohio) and Elk rivers.</p> +<p>I waited a week at the hotel in Cincinnati for Mr. Lea. +It was a weary week, for I had no acquaintances and made +none. Never in my life before did I see so many Sardines, +or Philistines of the dullest stamp as at that hotel. But +at last Mr. Lea came with a party of ladies and gentlemen. +A small steamboat was secured, and we went up the Ohio. The +voyage was agreeable and not without some incidents. There +was a freshet in the river, and one night, taking a short cut +over a cornfield, the steamboat stuck fast—like +Eve—in an apple-tree.</p> +<p>One day one of the party asked me what was the greatest +aggregate deposit of coal known in England. I could not +answer. A few hours after we stopped at a town in +Kentucky. There I discovered by chance some old Patent +Office reports, and among them all the statistics describing the +coal mines in England. When we returned to the boat I told +my informant that the largest deposit in England was just half +that of Cannelton, and added many details. Mr. Lea was +amazed at my knowledge. I told him that I deserved no +credit, for I had picked it up by chance. +“Yes,” he replied, “and how was it that you +<i>chanced</i> to read that book? None of us did. +Such chances come to inquiring minds.”</p> +<p>It also chanced that this whole country abounded in signs of +petroleum. It was found floating on springs. The +company possessed rights of royalty on thousands of acres on Elk +River, which was as yet in the debatable land, harassed by +rebels. These claims, however, were “run out,” +and needed to be renewed by signatures from the residents. +They were in the hands of David Goshorn, who kept the only +“tavern” or hotel in Charleston, and he asked $5,000 +for his rights. There was another party in the field after +them.</p> +<p>I verily believe that David Goshorn sold the right to me +because he played the fiddle and I the guitar, and because he did +not like the rival, who was a Yankee, while I was a congenial +<!-- page 297--><a name="page297"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +297</span>companion. Many a journey had we together, and as +I appreciated him as a marked character of odd oppositions, we +got on admirably.</p> +<p>In Cannelton I went down into a coal mine and risked my life +strangely in ascending a railway. The hill is 1,500 feet in +height, and on its face is a railway which ascends at an angle of +15°, perhaps the steepest in America. I ascended in it, +and soon observed that of the two strands of the iron cable which +drew it one was broken. The very next week the other broke, +and two men were killed by an awful death, they and the car +falling a thousand feet to the rocks below.</p> +<p>The next week we returned to Cincinnati, and thence to +Philadelphia. On my way from New York to Providence I +became acquainted in the train with a modest, gentlemanly man, +who told me he was a great-grandson or descendant of Thomson who +wrote the “Seasons.” I thought him both great +and grand in an incident which soon occurred. A burly, +bull-necked fellow in the car was attacked with an epileptic +fit. He roared, kicked, screamed like a wildcat; and among +fifty men in the vehicle, I venture to say that only Thomson and +I, in a lesser degree, showed any plain common sense. I +darted at the epileptic, grappled with him, held him down by what +might be called brutal kindness, for I held his head down, while +I sat on his arm and throttled him <i>sans merci</i>—I avow +it—and tore off in haste his neckcloth (his neck was +frightfully swelled), while Thomson brought cold water from the +“cooler,” with which we bathed his face freely, and +chafed his pulse and forehead. Little by little he +recovered. The other passengers, as usual, did nothing, and +a little old naval officer, who had been fifty years in service +(as Thomson told me), simply kicked and screamed convulsively, +“Take him away! take him away!” The epileptic +was George Christy, the original founder of the Christy +Minstrels. I can never think of this scene without +exclaiming, “<i>Vive</i> Thomson!” for he was the +only man among us who displayed quiet self-possession and +<i>savoir faire</i>. As for me, my <!-- page 298--><a +name="page298"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 298</span>“old +Injun” was up, and I had “sailed in” for a +fight by mere impulse. <i>Vive</i> Thomson! <i>Bon +sang ne peut mentir</i>.</p> +<p>I went to Providence, where I was empowered to return to +Cannelton to pay Goshorn $5,000, and renew the leases on Elk +River. I should have to travel post to anticipate the +Yankee. It was not concealed from me that even if I +succeeded, I had before me a very dangerous and difficult +task. But after what I had already gone through with I was +ready for anything. I was really developing rapidly a wild, +reckless spirit—the “Injun” was coming out of +me. My old life and self had vanished like dreams. +Only now and then, in the forests or by torrents, did something +like poetry revisit me; <i>literature</i> was dead in me. +Only once did I, in a railway train, compose the “Maiden +mit nodings on.” I bore it in my memory for years +before I wrote it out.</p> +<p>I arrived in Philadelphia. The next morning I was to +rise early and fly westward. No time to lose. Before +I rose, my sister knocked at the door and told us the awful news +that President Lincoln had been murdered!</p> +<p>As I went to the station I saw men weeping in the streets, and +everybody in great grief, conversing with strangers, as if all +had lost a common relation. Everywhere utter misery! +I arrived in Pittsburg. It was raining, and the black pall +of smoke which always clothes the town was denser than ever, and +the long black streamers which hung everywhere as mourning made +the whole place unutterably ghastly. In the trains nothing +but the murder was spoken of. There was a young man who had +been in the theatre and witnessed the murder, which he described +graphically and evidently truthfully.</p> +<p>I reached Cincinnati, and as soon as possible hurried on board +the steamboat. We went along to Charleston, and it will +hardly be believed that I very nearly missed the whole object of +my journey by falling asleep. We had but one more very +short distance to go, when, overcome by fatigue, I dropped into a +nap. Fortunately I was awakened by the last <!-- page +299--><a name="page299"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +299</span>ringing of the bell, and, seizing my carpet-bag, ran +ashore just as the plank was to be withdrawn.</p> +<p>I went directly to Goshorn’s hotel. He was a +stout, burly man, shrewd in his way, good-natured, but not +without temper and impulses. He looked keenly after +business, played the fiddle, and performed a few tricks of +legerdemain. He had a ladylike wife, and both were very +kind to me, especially after they came to know me pretty +well. The lady had a nice, easy horse, which ere long was +lent me freely whenever I wanted to ride. One day it was +missing. The master grieved. They had named it after +me in compliment. “Goshorn,” I said, “in +future I shall call <i>you Horse-gone</i>.” But he +was not pleased with the name. However, it was recovered by +a miracle, for the amount of horse-stealing which went on about +us then was fabulous.</p> +<p>After a few days Goshorn and I prepared to go up Elk River, to +renew the leases of oil and coal lands. Now I must premise +that at all times the man who was engaged in “ile” +bore a charmed life, and was venerated by both Union men and +rebels. <i>He</i> could pass the lines and go +anywhere. At one time, when not a spy could be got into or +out of Richmond to serve us, Goshorn seriously proposed to me to +go with him into the city! I had a neighbour named Fassit, +an uncle of Theodore. He had oil-wells in Virginia, and +when the war begun work on them was stopped. This dismayed +the natives. One morning there came to Mr. Fassit a letter +imploring him to return: “Come back, o come agin and bore +us some more wels. We wil protec you like a son. We +dont make war on <i>Ile</i>.” And I, being thus +respected, went and came from the Foeman’s Land, and joined +in the dreadful rebel-ry and returned unharmed, leading a charmed +if <i>not</i> particularly charming life all winter and the +spring, to the great amazement and bewilderment of many, as will +appear in the sequence.</p> +<p>The upper part of Elk River was in the debatable land, or +rather still in Slave-ownia or rebeldom, where a Union <!-- page +300--><a name="page300"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +300</span>man’s life was worth about a chinquapin. In +fact, one day there was a small battle between me and +home—with divers wounds and deaths. This going and +coming of mine, among and with rebels, got me into a droll +misunderstanding some time after. But I think that the real +cause lay less in oil than in the simple truth that these frank, +half-wild fellows <i>liked</i> me. One said to me one day, +“You’re onlike all the Northern men who come here, +and we all like you. What’s the reason?” +I explained it that he had only met with Yankees, and that as +Pennsylvania lay next to Virginia, of course we must be more +alike as neighbours. But the cause lay in the <i>liking</i> +which I have for Indians, gypsies, and all such folk.</p> +<p>Goshorn began by buying a dug-out poplar canoe sixty-four feet +in length, and stocking it with provisions. “Money +won’t be of much use,” he said; “what we want +chiefly is whisky and blue beads for presents.” He +hired two men who had been in the Confederate army, but who had +absented themselves since the proceedings had become +uninteresting. These men took to me with a devotion which +ended by becoming literally superstitious. I am quite sure +that, while naturally intelligent, anything like a mind stored +with varied knowledge was something <i>utterly</i> unknown to +them. And as I, day by day, let fall unthinkingly this or +that scrap of experience or of knowledge, they began to regard me +as a miracle. One day one of them, Sam Fox, said to me +meaningly, that I liked curious things, and that he knew a nest +where he could get me a young <i>raven</i>. The raven is to +an Indian conjuror what a black cat is to a witch, and I suppose +that Sam thought I must be lonely without a familiar. Which +recalls one of the most extraordinary experiences of all my +life.</p> +<p>During my return down the river, it was in a freshet, and we +went headlong. This is to the very last degree dangerous, +unless the boatmen know every rock and point, for the dugout +canoe goes over at a touch, and there is no life to be <!-- page +301--><a name="page301"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +301</span>saved in the rapids. Now we were flying like a +swallow, and could not stop. There was one narrow shoot, or +pass, just in the middle of the river, where there was exactly +room to an inch for a canoe to pass, but to do this it was +necessary to have moonlight enough to see the King Rock, which +rose in the stream close by the passage, and at the critical +instant to “fend off” with the hand and prevent the +canoe from driving full on the rock. A terrible storm was +coming up, thunder was growling afar, and clouds fast gathering +in the sky.</p> +<p>The men had heard me talking the day before as to how storms +were formed in circles, and it had deeply impressed them. +When Goshorn asked them what we had better do, they said, +“Leave it all to Mr. Leland; he knows +everything.” I looked at the moon and saw that the +clouds were not driving dead against it, but <i>around</i> while +closing in, and I know not by what strange inspiration I added, +“You will have just time to clear King Rock!”</p> +<p>It was still far away. I laid down my paddle and drew my +blanket round me, and smoked to the storm, and sang incantations +to myself. It was a fearful trial, actually risking death, +but I felt no fear—only a dull confidence in fate. +Closer grew the clouds—darker the sky—when during the +very last second of light King Rock came in sight. Goshorn +was ready with his bull-like strength and gave the push; and just +as we shot clear into the channel it became dark as pitch, and +the rain came down in a torrent. Goshorn pitched his hat +high into the air—<i>aux moulins</i>—and hurrahed and +cried in exulting joy.</p> +<p>“Now, Mr. Leland, sing us that German song you’re +always so jolly with—<i>lodle yodle tol de rol de +rol</i>!”</p> +<p>From that hour I was <i>Kchee-Bo-o-in</i> or Grand Pow-wow to +Sam Fox and his friends. He believed in me, even as I +believe in myself when such mad “spells” come over +me. One day he proved his confidence. It was bright +and sunshiny, and we were paddling along when we saw a +“summer <!-- page 302--><a name="page302"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 302</span>duck” swimming perhaps fifty +yards ahead. Sam was sitting in the bow exactly between me +and the duck. “Fire at it with your revolver!” +cried Sam.</p> +<p>“It is too far away,” I replied, “and you +are right in the way.”</p> +<p>Sam bent over sideways, glaring at me with his one strange +eye. It was just about as close a shot as was William +Tell’s at the apple. But I knew that reputation for +nerve depended on it, so I fired. As the duck rose it +dropped a feather.</p> +<p>“I knew you’d hit!” cried Sam +triumphantly. And so I had, but I should not like to try +that shot again.</p> +<p>Reflex action of the brain and secondary automatism! It +must be so—Haeckel, thou reasonest well. But when the +“old Injun” and my High-Dutch ancestor are upon me, I +reason not at all, and then I see visions and dream dreams, and +it always comes true, without the <i>least</i> self-deception or +delusion.</p> +<p>It is a marvellous thing that in these canoes, which tip over +so easily, men will pass over mill-dams ten or twelve feet high, +as I myself have done many a time, without upsetting. The +manner of it is this. The canoe is a log hollowed +out. This is allowed to pass over till it dips like a +seesaw, or falls into the stream below. It is a dangerous, +reckless act, but generally succeeds. One day Sam Fox +undertook to shoot our dug-out over a fall. So he paddled +hard, and ran the canoe headlong to edge, he being in the +bow. But it stuck halfway, and there was my Samuel, ere he +knew it, high in the air, paddling in the atmosphere, into which +thirty feet of canoe was raised.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, the legal business and renewal of the leases and +the payment of money was performed accurately and +punctually. Talk about <i>manna</i> in the wilderness! +<i>money</i> in the wilderness came to the poor souls +impoverished by the war as a thousandfold nicer. But over +and above that, half a pound of coffee or a drink of whisky would +cause a thrill <!-- page 303--><a name="page303"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 303</span>of delight. One day, stopping +at a logger’s camp, I gave a decent-looking man a tin cup +full of whisky. The first thing he did was to put it to the +mouth of a toddling two-year-old child and it took a good +pull. I remonstrated with him for it, when he replied, +“Well, you see, sir, we get it so seldom, that whisky is a +kind o’ <i>delicacy</i> with us.”</p> +<p>Sometimes the log huts were twenty miles apart. In such +isolation there is no rivalry of ostentation, and men care only +to <i>live</i>. One day we came to a log house. The +occupant had several hundred acres of very good land, and only a +half acre under cultivation. He was absent at a county +court for amusement. All that I could see in the cabin was +a rude seat, an iron pot and spoon, and a squirrel-gun. +There were two cavities or holes in the bare earth floor, in +which the old man and his wife slept, each wrapped in a +blanket. Even our boatman said that such carelessness was +unusual. But all were ignorant of a thousand refinements of +life of which the poorest English peasant <i>knows</i> something, +yet every one of these people had an independence or pride far +above all poverty.</p> +<p>One night we stopped at the house of a man who was said to +possess $150,000 (£30,000) worth of land. The house +was well enough. His two bare-legged daughters, girls of +seventeen or eighteen, lounged about smoking pipes. I gave +one a cigar. She replied, “I don’t keer if I do +try it. I’ve allays wanted to know what a cigar +smokes like.” But she didn’t like it. +Apropos of girls, I may say that there is a <i>far</i> higher +standard of morals among these people than among the ignorant +elsewhere.</p> +<p>It was indeed a wild country. One day Goshorn showed me +a hill, and a hunter had told him that when standing on it one +summer afternoon he had seen in a marshy place the very unusual +spectacle of forty bears, all wallowing together in the mud and +playing at once. Also the marks of a bear’s claws on +a tree. Game was plenty in this region. All the time +that I stayed with Goshorn we had every day at his <!-- page +304--><a name="page304"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +304</span>well-furnished table bear’s meat, venison, or +other game, fish, ham, chickens, &c.</p> +<p>There was a great deal of very beautiful scenery on Elk River, +and some of its “incidents” were marvellously +strange. The hard sandstone rocks had worn into shapes +resembling castles and houses, incredibly like buildings made by +man. One day I saw and copied a vast square rock through +which ran to the light a perfect Gothic archway sixty feet high, +with a long wall like the side of a castle, and an immense square +tower. There are the most natural-looking houses and +Schlösser imaginable rising all alone in the forest. +Very often the summits of the hills were crowned with round +towers. On the Ohio River there is a group of these shaped +like segments of a truncated cone, and “corniced” +with another piece reversed, like this:</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p304.jpg"> +<img alt="Round tower" src="images/p304.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>These are called “Devil’s Tea-tables.” +I drew them several times, but could never give them the +appearance of being <i>natural</i> objects. It is very +extraordinary how Nature seems to have mocked man in advance in +these structures. In Fingal’s Cave there is an +absolutely original style of architecture.</p> +<p>The last house which we came to was the best. In it +dwelt a gentlemanly elderly man with two ladylike +daughters. His son, who was dressed in “store +clothes,” had been a delegate to the Wheeling +Convention. But the war had <!-- page 305--><a +name="page305"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 305</span>borne hard +on them, and for a long time <i>everything</i> which they used or +wore had been made by their own hands. They had a home-made +loom and spinning-wheel—I saw several such looms on the +river; they raised their own cotton and wool and maple sugar, and +were in all important details utterly self-sustaining and +independent. And they did not live rudely at all, but like +ladies and gentlemen, as really intelligent people always can +when they are <i>free</i>. The father had, not long before, +standing in his own door, shot a deer as it looked over the +garden gate at him. Goshorn, observing that I attached some +value to the horns (a new idea to him), secured them for +himself.</p> +<p>A day or two after, while descending the river, we stopped to +see an old hunter who lived on the bank. He was a very +shrewd, quaint old boy, “good for a novel.” He +examined Goshorn’s spectacles with so much interest, that I +suspect it was really the first time in his life that he ever +fully ascertained the “true inwardness and +utilitarianism” of such objects. He expressed great +admiration, and said that if he had them he could get twice as +many deer as he did. I promised to send him a pair. I +begged from him deer-horns, which he gave me very willingly, +expressing wonder that I wanted such rubbish, and at my +delight. And seeing that my companion had a pair, he said +scornfully:</p> +<p>“Dave Goshorn, what do <i>you</i> know about such +things? What’s set <i>you</i> to gittin’ +deer’s horns? Give ’em to this here young +gentleman, who understands such things that we don’t, and +who wants ’em fur some good reason.”</p> +<p>I will do Goshorn the justice to say that he gave them to me +for a parting present. My room at his house was quite +devoid of all decoration, but by arranging on the walls crossed +canoe-paddles, great bunches of the picturesque locust-thorn, +often nearly a foot in length, and the deer’s horns, I made +it look rather more human. But this arrangement utterly +bewildered the natives, especially the maids, who naively asked +me why I hung them old bones and thorns up in my room. <!-- +page 306--><a name="page306"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +306</span>As this thorn is much used by the blacks in Voodoo, I +suppose that it was all explained by being set down to my +“conjurin’.”</p> +<p>The maid who attended to my room was a very nice, good girl, +but one who could not have been understood in England. I +found that she gathered up and treasured many utterly worthless +trifling bits of pen-drawing which I threw away. She +explained that where she came from on Coal River, anything like a +picture was a great curiosity; also that her friends believed +that all the pictures in books, newspapers, &c., were drawn +by hand. I explained to her how they were made. When +<i>I</i> left I offered her two dollars. She hesitated, and +then said, “Mr. Leland, there have been many, many +gentlemen here who have offered me money, but I never took a cent +from any man till <i>now</i>. And I <i>will</i> take this +from you to buy something that I can remember you by, for you +have always treated me kindly and like a lady.” In +rural America such girls are really lady-helps, and not +“servants,” albeit those who know how to get on with +them find them the very best servants in the world; but they must +be treated as <i>friends</i>.</p> +<p>I went up Elk River several times on horse or in canoe to +renew leases or to lease new land, &c. The company sent +on a very clever and intelligent rather young man named Sandford, +who had been a railroad superintendent, to help me. I liked +him very much. We had a third, a young Virginian, named +Finnal. At or near Cannelton I selected a spot where we put +up a steam-engine, and began to bore for oil. It was very +near the famous gas-well which once belonged to General +Washington. This well gave forth every week the equivalent +of <i>one hundred and fifty</i> tons of coal. It was +utilised in a factory. After I sunk our shaft it gave out; +but I do not believe that we stopped it, for no gas came into our +well. Finnal was the superintendent of the well. One +day he nearly sat down—<i>nudo podice</i>—on an +immense rattlesnake. He had a little cottage and a fine +horse. He <!-- page 307--><a name="page307"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 307</span>kept the latter in a stable and +painted the door <i>white</i>, so that when waking in the night +he could see if any horse-thief had opened it. Many efforts +were made to rob him of it.</p> +<p>At this time Lee’s army was disbanded, and fully +one-half came straggling in squads up the valley to Charleston to +be paroled. David Goshorn’s hotel was simply crammed +with Confederate officers, who slept anywhere. With these I +easily became friends; they seemed like Princeton Southern +college mates. Now I have to narrate a strange story. +One evening when I was sitting and smoking on the portico with +some of these <i>bons compagnons</i> I said to one—</p> +<p>“People say that your men never once during the war got +within sight of Harrisburg or of a Northern city. But I +believe they did. One day when I was on guard I saw five +men scout on the bank in full sight of it. But nobody +agreed with me.”</p> +<p>The officer laughed silently, and cried aloud to a friend with +a broken arm in a sling, who lay within a room on a bed, +“Come out here, L---. Here is something which will +interest you more than anything you ever heard before.”</p> +<p>He came out, and, having heard my story, said—</p> +<p>“Nobody ever believed your story, nor did anybody ever +believe mine. Mine is this—that when we were at +Sporting Hill a corporal of mine came in and declared that he and +his men had scouted into within full sight of Harrisburg. I +knew that the man told the truth, but nobody else would believe +that any human being dared to do such a thing, or could do +it. And now you fully prove that it was done.”</p> +<p>There came to Goshorn’s three very interesting men with +whom I became intimate. One was Robert Hunt, of St. +Louis. He was of a very good Virginia family, had been at +Princeton College, ran away in his sixteenth year, took to the +plains as a hunter, and for twenty-three years had ranged the +Wild West from the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific. At the +end of the time an uncle in the Fur Company had helped him on, +and he was now rich. He was one of the <!-- page 308--><a +name="page308"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 308</span>most +genial, gay, and festive, reckless yet always gentlemanly men I +ever knew. He expressed great astonishment, as he learned +gradually to know me, at finding we were so congenial, and that I +had so much “real Injun” in me. His eyes were +first opened to this great fact by a very singular incident, of +which I can never think without pleasure.</p> +<p>Hunt, with two men who had been cavalry captains all through +the war, and his friend Ross, who had long been an Indian trader, +and I, were all riding up Elk Valley to look at lands. We +paused at a place where the road sloped sideways and was wet with +rain. As I was going to remount, I asked a German who stood +by to hold my horse’s head, and sprang into the +saddle. Just at this critical instant—it all passed +in a second—as the German had not heard me, my horse, +feeling that he must fall over on his left side from my weight, +threw himself <i>completely over backward</i>. As quick as +thought I jumped up on his back, put my foot just between the +saddle and his tail, and took a tremendous flying leap so far +that I cleared the horse. I only muddied the palms of my +gloves, on which I fell.</p> +<p>The elder cavalry captain said, “When I saw that horse +go over backwards, I closed my eyes and held my breath, for I +expected the next second to see you killed.” But +Robert Hunt exclaimed, “Good as an Injun, by +God!” And when I some time after made fun of it, he +shook his head gravely and reprovingly, as George Ward did over +the gunpowder, and said, “It was a <i>magnificent</i> +thing!”</p> +<p>That very afternoon Hunt distinguished himself in a manner +which was quite as becoming an aborigine. I was acting as +guide, and knowing that there was a ford across a tributary of +the Elk, sought and thought I had found it. But I was +mistaken, and what was horrible, we found ourselves in a deep +quicksand. On such occasions horses become, as it were, +insane, trying to throw the riders and then jump on them for +support. By good luck we got out of it soon, but there was +an <i>awful</i> five minutes of kicking, plunging, <!-- page +309--><a name="page309"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +309</span>splashing, and “ground and lofty” +swearing. I got across dry by drawing my legs up before me +on the saddle, <i>à la</i> tailor, but the others were +badly wet. But no sooner had we emerged from the stream +than Robert Hunt, bursting into a tremendous “<i>Ho</i>! +<i>ho</i>!” of deep laughter, declared that he had shown +more presence of mind during the emergency than any of us; for, +brandishing his whisky flask, he declared that while his horse +was in the flurry it occurred to him that the best thing he could +do was to lighten the load, and he had therefore, with incredible +presence of mind, drunk up all the whisky!</p> +<p>However, he afterwards confessed to me that the true reason +was that, believing death was at hand, and thinking it a pity to +die thirsty, he had drained the bottle, as did the old Indian +woman just as she went over the Falls of Niagara. Anyhow, +the incorrigible <i>vaurien</i> had really emptied his flask +while in the “quick.”</p> +<p>Though I say it, I believe that Hunt and I were a pretty well +matched couple, and many a wild prank and Indian-like joke did we +play together. More than once he expressed great +astonishment that I, a man grown up in cities and to literary +pursuits, should be so much at home where he found me, or so +congenial. He had been at Princeton, and, <i>ex pede +Herculem</i>, had a point whence to judge me, but it failed. <a +name="citation309"></a><a href="#footnote309" +class="citation">[309]</a> His friend Ross was a quiet, +sensible New Englander, who reminded me of Artemus Ward, or +Charles Browne. He abounded in quaint anecdotes of Indian +experiences.</p> +<p>As did also a Mr. Wadsworth, who had passed half his life in +the Far West as a surveyor among the Chippeways. He had +written a large manuscript of their legends, of which Schoolcraft +made great use in his <i>Algic</i> book. I believe that +much of Longfellow’s <i>Hiawatha</i> owed its origin thus +indirectly <!-- page 310--><a name="page310"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 310</span>to Mr. Wadsworth. In after +years I wrote out many of his tales, as told to me, in articles +in <i>Temple Bar</i>.</p> +<p>The country all about Charleston was primitively wild and +picturesque, rocky, hilly, and leading to solitary life and +dreams of <i>sylvani</i> and forest fairies. There were +fountained hills, and dreamy darkling woods, and old Indian +graves, and a dancing stream, across which lay a petrified tree, +and everywhere a little travelled land. I explored it with +Goshorn, riding far and wide into remote mountain recesses, to +get the signatures in attestation of men who could rarely write, +but on the other hand could “shoot their mark” with a +rifle to perfection, and who would assuredly have placed such +signature on me had I not been a holy messenger of <i>Ile</i>, +and an angel of coming moneyed times.</p> +<p>One day we stopped at a farm-house in a wild, lonely +place. There was only an old woman there—one of the +stern, resolute, hard-muscled frontier women, the daughters of +mothers who had fought “Injuns”—and a +calf. And thereby hung a tale, which the three men with me +fully authenticated.</p> +<p>The whole country thereabouts had been for four years so +worried, harried, raided, raked, plundered, and foraged by +Federals and Confederates—one day the former, the next the +latter; blue and grey, or sky and sea—that the old lady had +nothing left to live on. Hens, cows, horses, corn, all had +gone save one calf, the Benjamin and idol of her heart.</p> +<p>One night she heard a piteous baaing, and, seizing a broom, +rushed to the now henless hen-house, in which she kept the calf, +to find in it a full-grown panther attacking her pet. By +this time the old lady had grown desperate, and seizing the +broom, she proceeded to “lam” the wild beast with the +handle, and with all her heart; and the fiend of ferocity, +appalled at her attack, fled. I saw the calf with the marks +of the panther’s claws, not yet quite healed; I saw the +broom; and, lastly, I saw the old woman, the mother in Ishmael; +whose face was a perfect guarantee of the truth of the +story. One of us suggested that the old lady should have +<!-- page 311--><a name="page311"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +311</span>the calf’s hide tanned and wear it as a trophy, +like an Indian, which would have been a strange reversal of +Shakespeare’s application of it, or to</p> +<blockquote><p>“Hang a calf-skin on those recreant +limbs.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then there came the great spring freshet in Elk River, which +rose unusually high, fifty feet above its summer level. It +had come to within an inch or two of my floor, and yet I went to +bed and to sleep. By a miracle it rose no more, for I had a +distinct conviction it would not, which greatly amazed +everybody. But many were drowned all about us. The +next day a man who professed bone-setting and doctoring, albeit +not diplomaed, asked me to go with him and act as interpreter to +a German patient who had a broken thigh. While felling a +tree far away in the forest, it thundered down on him, and kept +him down for two or three days till he was discovered. To +get to him we went in a small canoe, and paddled ourselves with +shingles or wooden tiles, used to cover roofs. On the way I +saw a man on a roof fiddling; only a bit of the roof was above +water. He was waiting for deliverance. Many and +strange indeed were all the scenes and incidents of that +inundation, and marvellous the legends which were told of other +freshets in the days of yore.</p> +<p>I never could learn to play cards. Destiny forbade it, +and always stepped in promptly to stop all such +proceedings. One night Sandford and friends sat down to +teach me poker, when <i>bang</i>, <i>bang</i>, went a revolver +outside, and a bullet buried itself in the door close by +me. A riotous, evil-minded darkey, who attended to my +washing, had got into a fight, and was forthwith conveyed to the +Bull-pen, or military prison. I was afraid lest I might +lose my shirts, and so “visited him” next day and +found him in irons, but reading a newspaper at his ease. +From him I learned the address of “the coloured lady” +who had my underclothing.</p> +<p>The Bull-pen was a picturesque place—a large log +enclosure, full of strange inmates, such as wild guerillas in +<!-- page 312--><a name="page312"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +312</span>moccasins, grey-back Confederates and blue-coat +Federals guilty of many a murder, arson, and much horse-stealing, +desolate deserters, often deserving pity—the +<i>débris</i> of a four years’ war, the crumbs of +the great loaf fallen to the dirt.</p> +<p>Warm weather came on, and I sent to Philadelphia for a summer +suit of clothes. It came, and it was of a <i>light grey +colour</i>. At that time Oxford “dittos,” or a +suit <i>pareil partout</i>, were unknown in West Virginia. +I was dressed from head to foot in Confederate grey. Such a +daring defiance of public opinion, coupled with my mysterious +stealing into the rebel country, made me an object of awe and +suspicion—a kind of Sir Grey Steal!</p> +<p>There was at that time in Charleston a German artillery +regiment which really held the town—that is to say, the +height which commanded it. I had become acquainted with its +officers. All at once they gave me the cold shoulder and +cut me. My friend Sandford was very intimate with +them. One evening he asked their Colonel why they scorned +me. The Colonel replied—</p> +<p>“Pecause he’s a tamned repel. Aferypody +knows it.”</p> +<p>Sandford at once explained that I was even known at Washington +as a good Union man, and had, moreover, translated Heine, adding +other details.</p> +<p>“Gott verdammich—<i>heiss</i>!” cried the +Colonel in amazement. “Is dot der Karl Leland vot +dranslate de <i>Reisebilder</i>? Herr je! I hafe got +dat very pook here on mein table! Look at it. Bei +Gott! here’s his name! <i>Dot</i> is der crate Leland +vot edit de <i>Continental Magazine</i>! Dot moost pe a +fery deep man. Und I dink <i>he</i> vas a repel!”</p> +<p>The next morning early the Colonel sent his ambulance or army +waggon to my hotel with a request that I would come and take +breakfast with him. It was a bit of Heidelberg life over +again. We punished Rheinwein and lager-beer in +quantities. There were old German students among the +officers, and I was received like a brother.</p> +<p>At last Sandford and I determined to return to the East. +<!-- page 313--><a name="page313"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +313</span>There was in the hotel a coloured waiter named +Harrison. He had been a slave, but “a +gentleman’s gentleman,” was rather dignified, and +allowed no ordinary white man to joke with him. On the +evening before my departure I said to him—</p> +<p>“Well, Harrison, I hope that you haven’t quite so +bad an opinion of me as the other people here seem to +have.”</p> +<p>He manifested at once a really violent emotion. Dashing +something to the ground, he cried—</p> +<p>“Mr. Leland, you <i>never</i> did anything contrary to a +gentleman. I always maintained it. Now please tell me +the truth. Is it true that you’re a great friend of +Jeff Davis?”</p> +<p>“Damn Jeff Davis!” I replied.</p> +<p>“And you ain’t a major in the Confederate +service?”</p> +<p>“I’m a clear-down Abolitionist, and was born +one.”</p> +<p>“And you ain’t had no goings on with the rebels up +the river to bring back the Confederacy here?”</p> +<p>“Devil a dealing.”</p> +<p>And therewith I explained how it was that I went unharmed up +into the rebels’ country, and great was the joy of +Harrison, who, as I found, had taken my part valiantly against +those who suspected me.</p> +<p>There was a droll comedy the next day on board the steamboat +on which I departed. A certain Mr. H., who had been a rebel +and recanted at the eleventh hour and become a Federal official, +requested everybody on board not to notice me. Sandford +learned it all, and chuckled over it. But the captain and +mate and crew were all still rebels at heart. Great was my +amazement at being privately informed by the steward that the +captain requested as a favour that I would sit by him at dinner +and share a bottle of wine. I did so, and while I remained +on board was treated as an honoured guest.</p> +<p>And now I would here distinctly declare that, apart from my +political principles, from which I never swerved, I always found +the rebels—that is, Southern and Western men with <!-- page +314--><a name="page314"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +314</span>whom I had had intimate dealings—without one +exception <i>personally</i> the most congenial and agreeable +people whom I had ever met. There was not to be found among +them what in England is known as a prig. They were natural +and gentlemanly, even down to the poorest and most +uneducated.</p> +<p>One day Sam Fox came to me and asked me to use my influence +with the Cannelton Company to get him employment at their +works.</p> +<p>“Sam,” I replied, “I can’t do +it. It is only three weeks now, when you were employed at +another place, that you tried to stuff the overseer into the +furnace, and if the men had not prevented, you would have burned +him up alive.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Sam, “but he had called me a +-- son --- of ---.”</p> +<p>“Very good,” I answered; “and if he had +called me <i>that</i>, I should have done the same. But I +don’t think, if I <i>had</i> done it, I should ever have +expected to be employed again on another furnace. You see, +Samuel, my son, that these Northern men have very queer +notions—<i>very</i>.”</p> +<p>Sam was quite convinced.</p> +<p>At Cincinnati a trifling but droll incident occurred. I +do not set myself up for a judge of wines, but I have naturally a +delicate sense of smell or <i>flair</i>, though not the +extraordinary degree in which my brother possessed it, who never +drank wine at all. He was the first person who ever, in +printed articles or in lectures, insisted that South New Jersey +was suitable for wine-growing. At the hotel Sandford asked +me if I could tell any wine by the taste. I replied No, but +I would try; so they gave me a glass of some kind, and I said +that honestly I could only declare that I should say it was +Portugal common country wine, but I must be wrong. Then +Sandford showed the bottle, and the label declared it to be grown +in Ohio. The next day he came to me and said, “I +believe that after all you know a great deal about wine. I +told the landlord what you said, and he laughed, arid said, +‘I had not the American wine which you called for, and so I +<!-- page 315--><a name="page315"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +315</span>gave you a cheap but unusual Portuguese +wine.’” This wine is neither white nor red, and +tastes like sherry and Burgundy mixed.</p> +<p>At Cincinnati, Sandford proposed that we should return by way +of Detroit and Niagara. I objected to the expense, but he, +who knew every route and rate by heart, explained to me that, +owing to the competition in railway rates, it would only cost me +six shillings ($1.50) more, <i>plus</i> $2.50 (ten shillings) +from New York to Philadelphia. So we departed. In +Detroit I called on my cousin, Benjamin Stimson (the S. of +“Two Years before the Mast”), and found him a +prominent citizen. So, skirting along southern Canada, we +got to Niagara, and thence to Albany and down the Hudson to New +York, and so on to Philadelphia.</p> +<p>It seems to me now that at this time all trace of my former +life and self had vanished. I seemed to be only prompt to +the saddle, canoe-paddle, revolver, steamboat, and +railroad. My wife said that after this and other periods of +Western travel I was always for three weeks as wild as an Indian, +and so I most truly and unaffectedly was. I did not +<i>act</i> in a foolish or disorderly manner at all, but +Tennessee and Elk River were in me. Robert Hunt and Sam Fox +and many more had expressed their amazement at the amount of +extremely familiar and congenial nature which they had found in +me, and they were quite right. Sam and Goshorn declared +that I was the only Northern man whom they had ever known who +ever learned to paddle a dug-out <i>correctly</i>; but as I was +obliged to do this sometimes for fifteen hours a day <i>nolens +volens</i>, it is not remarkable that I became an expert.</p> +<p>As regards the real unaffected feeling of wildness born to +savage nature, life, and association, it is absolutely as +different from all civilised feeling whatever as bird from fish; +and it very rarely happens that an educated man ever knows what +it is. What there is of it in me which Indians recognise +is, I believe, entirely due to hereditary endowment.</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 316--><a name="page316"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 316</span>“Zum Wald, zum Wald, steht mir +mein Sinn.<br /> + So einzig, ach! so einzig hin.<br /> +Dort lebt man freundlich, lebt man froh,<br /> + Und nirgends, nirgends lebt man so.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It does not come from reading or culture—it comes of +itself by nature, or not at all; nor has it over-much to do with +thought. Only in something like superstition can it find +expression, but that must be childlike and sweet and sincere, and +without the giggling with which such subjects are invariably +received by ladies in society.</p> +<p>I went with my wife and her mother and sister to pass some +time at Bethlehem, in Pennsylvania, which we did very pleasantly +at a country inn. It is a very interesting town, where a +peculiar German dialect is generally spoken. There was a +very respectable wealthy middle-aged lady, a Pennsylvanian by +birth, who avoided meeting us at table because she could not +speak English. And when I was introduced to her, I made +matters worse by speaking to her naturally in broad South German, +whereupon she informed me that she spoke +<i>Hoch</i>-Deutsch! But I made myself popular among the +natives with my German, and our landlord was immensely proud of +me. I wasn’t “one of dem city fellers dat +shames demselfs of de Dutch,” not I. “Vy, I +dells you vot, mein Gott! he’s <i>proud</i> of +it!”</p> +<p>I ended the summer at beautiful Lenox, in Massachusetts, in +the charming country immortalised in “Elsie Venner”; +of which work, and my letter on it to Dr. Holmes, and my +conversation with him thereanent, I might fill a chapter. +But “let us not talk about them but pass on.” I +returned to Philadelphia and to my father’s house, where I +remained one year.</p> +<p>I had for a long time, at intervals, been at work on a book to +be entitled the “Origin of American Popular +Phrases.” I had scissored from newspapers, collected +from negro minstrels and Western rustics, and innumerable New +England friends, as well as books and old songs and comic +almanacs <!-- page 317--><a name="page317"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 317</span>and the like, a vast amount of +valuable material. This work, which had cost me altogether +a full year’s labour, had been accepted by a New York +publisher, and was in the printer’s hands. I never +awaited anything with such painful anxiety as I did this +publication, for I had never been in such straits nor needed +money so much, and it seemed as if the more earnestly I sought +for employment the more it evaded me. And then almost as +soon as my manuscript was in the printer’s hands his office +was burned, and the work perished, for I had not kept a copy.</p> +<p>It was a great loss, but from the instant when I heard of it +to this day I never had five minutes’ trouble over it, and +more probably not one. I had done my <i>very best</i> to +make a good book and some money, and could do no more. When +I was a very small boy I was deeply impressed with the story in +the “Arabian Nights” of the prisoner who knew that he +was going to be set free because a rat had run away with his +dinner. So I, at the age of seven, announced to my father +that I believed that whenever a man had bad luck, good was sure +to follow, which opinion he did not accept. And to this day +I hold it, because, reckoning up the chances of life, it is true +for most people. At any rate, I derived some comfort from +the fact that the accident was reported in all the newspapers all +over the Union.</p> +<p>About the 1st of July, 1866, we left my father’s house +to go to Cape May, where we remained for two months. In +September we went to a very good boarding-house in Philadelphia, +kept by Mrs. Sandgren. She possessed and showed me +Tegner’s original manuscript of “Anna and +Axel.” I confess that I never cared over-much for +Tegner, and that I infinitely prefer the original Icelandic Saga +of Frithiof to his sago-gruel imitation of strong soup.</p> +<h2><!-- page 318--><a name="page318"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 318</span>VI. LIFE ON THE PRESS. +1866-1869.</h2> +<p>I become managing editor of John W. Forney’s +<i>Press</i>—Warwick the King-maker—The dead +duck—A trip to Kansas in the old buffalo days—Miss +Susan Blow, of St. Louis—The Iron Mountain of +Missouri—A strange dream—Rattlesnakes—Kaw +Indians—I am adopted into the tribe—Grand war-dance +and ceremonies—Open-air lodgings—Prairie +fires—In a dangerous country—Indian victims—H. +M. Stanley—Lieutenant Hesselberger—I shoot a +buffalo—Wild riding—In a herd—Indian white +men—Ringing for the carriage with a rifle—Brigham the +driver—General and Mrs. Custer—Three thousand miles +in a railway car—How “Hans Breitmann’s” +ballads came to be published—The publisher thinks that he +cannot sell more than a thousand of the book—I establish a +weekly newspaper—Great success—Election +rioting—Oratory and revolvers—How the meek and lowly +Republicans revolvered the Democrats—The dead duck and what +befell him who bore it—I make two thousand German votes by +giving Forney a lesson in their language—<i>Freiheit und +Gleichheit</i>—The Winnebago Indian chief—Horace +Greeley—Maretzek the Bohemian—Fanny Janauschek and +the Czech language—A narrow escape from death on the +Switchback—Death of my father—Another Western railway +excursion—A quaint old darkey—Chicago—I +threaten to raise the rent—General influence of +Chicago—St. Paul, Minnesota—A seven days’ +journey through the wilderness—The +Canadian—Smudges—Indians—A foot journey through +the woods—Indian pack-bearers—Mayor Stewart—I +rifle a grave of silver ornaments—Isle Royale—My +brother, Henry Perry Leland—The press—John Forney +carries Grant’s election, and declares that I really did +the work—The weekly press and George Francis +Train—Grant’s appointments—My sixth +introduction to the General—Garibaldi’s dagger.</p> +<p>We had not lived at Mrs. Sandgren’s more than a week +when George Boker, knowing my need, spoke to Colonel <!-- page +319--><a name="page319"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +319</span>John Forney, who was at that time not only Secretary of +the Senate of the United States, but the proprietor of the +<i>Chronicle</i> newspaper in Washington, of the <i>Press</i> in +Philadelphia, “both daily,” as the Colonel once said, +which very simple and commonplace expression became a popular +by-word. Colonel Forney wanted a managing editor for the +<i>Press</i>, and, as I found in due time, not so much a man of +enterprise and a leader—that <i>he</i> supplied—nor +yet one to practically run the journal—that his son John, a +young man of eighteen, supplied—so much as a steady, +trustworthy, honest <i>pivot</i> on which the compass could turn +during his absences—and that <i>I</i> supplied. I +must, to explain the situation, add gently that John, who could +not help it considering his experiences, was, to put it mildly, a +little irregular, rendering a steady manager absolutely +necessary. It was a great pity, for John the junior was +extremely clever as a practical managing editor, remembering +everything, and knowing—what I never did or could—all +the little tricks, games, and wiles of all the reporters and +others employed.</p> +<p>Colonel Forney was such a remarkable character, and had such a +great influence for many years in American politics, that as I +had a great deal to do with him—very much more than was +generally known—at a time when he struck his greatest +political <i>coup</i>, in which, as he said, I greatly aided him, +I will here dwell on him a space. Before I knew him I +called him Warwick the King-maker, for it was generally admitted +that it was to his intense hatred of Buchanan, added to his +speech-making, editing, and tremendously vigorous and not always +over-scrupulous intriguing, that “Ten-cent Jimmy” +owed his defeat. At this time, in all presidential +elections, Pennsylvania turned the scale, and John Forney could +and did turn Pennsylvania like a Titan; and he frankly admitted +that he owed the success of his last turn to me, as I shall in +time relate.</p> +<p>Forney’s antipathies were always remarkably well +placed. He hated Buchanan; also, for certain personal +reasons, he <!-- page 320--><a name="page320"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 320</span>hated Simon Cameron; and finally it +came to pass that he hated Andrew Johnson with a hatred of +twenty-four carats—an <i>aquafortis</i> +detestation—and for a most singular cause.</p> +<p>One night when this “President by the pistol, and +smallest potato in the American garden of liberty,” was +making one of his ribald speeches, after having laid out Horace +Greeley, some one in the crowd cried—</p> +<p>“Now give us <i>John Forney</i>!”</p> +<p>With an air of infinite contempt the President +exclaimed—</p> +<p>“I don’t waste <i>my</i> powder on dead +ducks.”</p> +<p>He had better have left that word unsaid, for it ruined +him. It woke Colonel John Forney up to the very highest +pitch of his fighting “Injun,” or, as they say in +Pennsylvania, his “Dutch.” He had always been +to that hour a genial man, like most politicians, a little too +much given to the social glass. But from that date of the +dead duck he became “total abstinence,” and +concentrated all his faculties and found all his excitement in +vengeance hot and strong, without a grain of sugar. In +which I gladly sympathised and aided, for I detested Johnson as a +renegade Copperhead, or rather venomous toad to the South, who +wished with all his soul to undo Lincoln’s work and bring +in the Confederacy. And I believe, on my life and soul, +that if John Forney had not defeated him, we should have had such +disasters as are now inconceivable, the least of them being a +renewal of the war. Johnson had renegaded from the +Confederacy because, being only a tailor, he had ranked as a +“low white,” or something despised even by +“quality” negroes. The Southern aristocracy +humbugged him by promising that if he would betray the Union he +should be regarded as one of themselves, by which very shallow +cheat he was—as a snob would be—easily caught, and in +due time cast off.</p> +<p>I had been but a few weeks on the <i>Press</i>, and all was +going on well, when one morning the Colonel abruptly asked me if +I could start in the morning for Fort Riley, of which <!-- page +321--><a name="page321"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +321</span>all I knew was that it constituted an extreme frontier +station in Kansas. There was to be a Kansas Pacific railway +laid out, and a large party of railroad men intended to go as far +as the last surveyor’s camp. Of course, a few editors +had been invited to write up the road, and these in turn sent +some one in their place. I knew at once that I should have +something like the last year’s wild life over again, and I +was delighted. I borrowed John Forney’s revolver, +provided an agate-point and “manifold paper” for +duplicate letters to our “two papers, both daily,” +and at the appointed hour was at the railway station. There +had been provided for us the director’s car, a very large +and extremely comfortable vehicle, with abundance of velvet +“settees” or divan sofas, with an immense stock of +lobster-salad, cold croquettes, game, with “wines of every +fineness,” and excellent waiters. The excursion, +indeed, cost £1,000; but it was made to pay, and that to +great profit.</p> +<p>We were all a very genial, congenial party of easy-going +geniuses. There was Hassard, the “day editor” +of the <i>New York Tribune</i>, who had been with me on the +<i>Cyclopædia</i>, and to whom I was much attached, for he +was a gentlemanly scholar, and withal had seen enough of life on +the <i>Tribune</i> to hold his own with any man; and Captain +William Colton, who had been with me in Tennessee; Robert +Lamborn, who had studied science in Germany, and was now a +railroad man, and many more who are recorded in my pamphlet, +“Three Thousand Miles in a Railway Car,” and my old +associate, Caspar Souder, of the <i>Bulletin</i>. This +excursion was destined, in connection with this pamphlet, to have +a marvellous effect on my future life.</p> +<p>In every town where we paused—and our pauses were +frequent, as we travelled very much on the +“go-as-you-please” plan—we were received by the +authorities with honour and speeches and invited to dinners or +drinks. Our conductors were courtesy itself. One +afternoon one of them on a rough bit of road said, +“Gentlemen, whenever you wish to open a <!-- page 322--><a +name="page322"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 322</span>bottle of +champagne, please to pull the cord and stop the train. You +can then drink without spilling your wine.”</p> +<p>So we went to Chicago and St. Louis, where we were entertained +by Mr. Blow, and where I became acquainted with his daughter +Susan. She was then a beautiful blonde, and, as I soon +found, very intelligent and cultured. She was long years +afterwards busy in founding philanthropic schools in St. +Petersburg, Russia, when I was there—a singularly noble +woman. However, at this time neither of us dreamed of the +school-keeping which we were to experience in later years. +At this soirée, and indeed for the excursion the next day, +we had as a guest Mr. Walter, of the London <i>Times</i>.</p> +<p>The next day we had a special train and an excursion of ladies +and gentlemen to visit the marvellous Knob or Iron +Mountain. This is an immense conical hill with a deep +surrounding dale, beyond which rise other hills all of nearly +solid iron. Returning that evening in the train, a very +strange event took place. There was with us a genial, +pleasant, larky young fellow, one of the famous family of the +MacCooks. When the war came on he was at college—went +into the army, fought hard—rose to be captain, and then +after the peace went back to the college and finished his +studies. This was the “event.” We were +telling stories of dreams; when it came to my turn I +said:—</p> +<p>“In 1860 I had never been in Ohio, nor did I know +anything about it. One night—it was at Reading, +Pennsylvania—I fell asleep, I dreamed that I <i>woke +up</i>, rose from the bed, went to the match-box, struck a light, +and while it burned observed the room, which was just the same as +when I had retired. The match went out. I lit +another, when what was my amazement to observe that <i>everything +in the room had changed its colour to a rich brown</i>! +Looking about me, I saw on a kind of <i>étagère</i> +scores of half-burned candles in candlesticks, as if there had +been a ball. I lighted nearly all of them. Hearing a +sound as of sweeping and the knocking of a broom-handle without, +I went into the next room, which <!-- page 323--><a +name="page323"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 323</span>was the +hall where the dance had been held. A very stupid fellow +was sweeping it out. I asked him where I was. He +could not reply intelligently. There came into the hall a +bustling, pleasant woman, rather small, who I saw at a glance was +the housekeeper. She said something to the man as to the +room’s being dark. I remarked that there was light +enough in my room, for I had lit all the candles. She +cried, laughing, ‘What extravagance!’ I +answered, ‘My dear little woman, what does a candle or two +signify to you? Now please tell me where I am. Last +night I went to sleep in Reading, Pennsylvania. Where am I +now?’ She replied (and of this word I was not sure), +‘In <i>Columbus</i>, Ohio.’ I asked if there +was any prominent man in the place who was acquainted with +Philadelphia, and who might aid me to return. She +reflected, and said that Judge <i>Duer</i> and his two daughters +(of whom I had never heard) had just returned from the +East.”</p> +<p>Here MacCook interrupted me eagerly: “You were not in +Columbus, but in <i>Dayton</i>, Ohio. And it was not Judge +Duer, but Judge <i>Duey</i>, with his two daughters, who was that +summer in the East.” I went on:—</p> +<p>“I left the room and went into the hall. I came to +the front door. Far down below me I saw a winding river and +a steamboat.”</p> +<p>Here MacCook spoke again: “That was <i>surely</i> +Dayton. I know the house and the view. But it could +not have been Columbus.” I went on:—</p> +<p>“I went downstairs too far by mistake into the +cellar. There I found a man sawing wood. I went up +again. [Pray observe that a year <i>after</i>, when I went +West, this very incident occurred one morning in Cincinnati, +Ohio.] I found in the bar-room three respectable-looking +men. I told them my story. One said to the others, +‘He is always the same old fellow!’ I stared at +him in amazement. He held out one hand and moved the other +as if fiddling. Monotonous creaking sounds followed, and I +gradually awoke. The same <!-- page 324--><a +name="page324"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 324</span>sounds +continued, but they were caused by the grasshoppers and +tree-toads, who pipe monotonously all night long in +America.”</p> +<p>Nothing ever came of the dream, but it all occurred +<i>exactly</i> as I describe it. I have had several quite +as strange. Immediately after I had finished my narration, +some one, alluding to our party, asked if there was any one +present who could sing “Hans Breitmann’s +Barty,” and I astonished them not a little by proclaiming +that I was the author, and by singing it.</p> +<p>We went on to Leavenworth, where we had a dinner at the hotel +which was worthy of Paris. We had, for example, prairie +pullets or half-grown grouse, wild turkeys and tender +venison. Thence to Fort Riley, and so on in waggons to the +last surveyor’s camp. I forget where it was on the +route that we stopped over-night at a fort, where I found some +old friends and made new ones. A young +officer—Lieutenant Brown, I think—gave me a bed in +his cabin. His ceiling was made of canvas. For weeks +he had heard a great rattlesnake moving about on it. One +day he had made a hole in the ceiling and put into it a great +fierce tom-cat. The cat “went for” the snake +and there was an awful row. After a time the cat came out +looking like a devil with every hair on end, made straight for +the prairie, and was never heard of again. Neither was the +snake. They had finished one another. On another +occasion, when sitting in a similar cabin, my gentle hostess, an +officer’s wife, whom I had known a few years before as a +beauty in society, remarked that she had two large rattlesnakes +in her ceiling, and that if we would be silent we might hear them +crawling about. They could not be taken out without +rebuilding the roof.</p> +<p>Captain Colton had just recovered from a very bad attack of +fever and ague, and, being young, had the enormous appetite which +follows weeks of quinine. I saw him this day eat a full +meal of beefsteaks, and then immediately after devour another, at +Brown’s, of buffalo-meat. The air of the Plains <!-- +page 325--><a name="page325"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +325</span>causes incredible hunger. We all played a good +knife and fork.</p> +<p>About twilight-tide there came in a very gentlemanly Catholic +priest. I was told that he was a roving missionary. +He led a charmed life, for he went to visit the wildest tribes, +and was everywhere respected. I conversed with him in +French. After a while he spread his blanket, lay down on +the floor and slept till morning, when he read his prayers and +departed.</p> +<p>The next day the fort square was full of Kaw Indians, all in +savage array, about to depart for their autumnal +buffalo-hunt. I met one venerable heathen with his wife and +babe, with whom I made genial acquaintance. I asked the +wife the name for a whip; she replied <i>B’meergashee</i>; +a pony was <i>shoonga</i>, the nose <i>hin</i>, and a woman +<i>shimmy-shindy</i>! I bought his whip for a dollar. +The squaw generously offered to throw in the baby, which I +declined, and we all laughed and parted.</p> +<p>I went to the camp, and there the whole party, seeing my +curious whip, went at the Kaws to buy theirs. Bank-bills +were our only currency then, and the Indians knew there were such +things as counterfeits. They consulted together, eyed us +carefully, and then every man as he received his dollar brought +it to me for approval. By chance I knew the Pawnee word for +“good” (<i>Washitaw</i>), and they also knew +it. Then came a strange wild scene. I spoke to the +chief, and pointing to my whip said, +“<i>B’meergashee</i>” and indicating a woman +and a pony, repeated, “<i>Shimmy-shindy</i>, +<i>shoonga-hin</i>,” intimating that its use was to +chastise women and ponies by hitting them on the nose. +Great was the amazement and delight of the Kaws, who roared with +laughter, and their chief curiously inquired, “<i>You</i> +Kaw?” To which I replied, “<i>O</i>, +<i>nitchee</i>, <i>me</i> Kaw, <i>washitá</i> good Injun +me.” He at once embraced me with frantic joy, as did +the others, to the great amazement of my friends. A wild +circular dance was at once improvised to celebrate my reception +into the tribe; at which <!-- page 326--><a +name="page326"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 326</span>our driver +Brigham dryly remarked that he didn’t wonder they were glad +to get me, for I was the first Injun ever seen in that tribe with +a whole shirt on him. This was the order of +proceedings:—I stood in the centre and sang wildly the +following song, which was a great favourite with our party, and +all joining in the chorus:—</p> +<blockquote><p>I slew the chief of the Muscolgee;<br /> +I burnt his squaw at the blasted tree!<br /> +By the hind-legs I tied up the cur,<br /> +He had no time to fondle on her.</p> +<p><i>Chorus</i>.</p> +<p>Hoo! hoo! hoo! the Muscolgee!<br /> +Wah, wah, wah! the blasted tree!</p> +<p>A faggot from the blasted tree<br /> +Fired the lodge of the Muscolgee;<br /> +His sinews served to string my bow<br /> +When bent to lay his brethren low.</p> +<p><i>Chorus</i>.</p> +<p>Hoo! hoo! hoo! the Muscolgee!<br /> +Wah, wah, wah! the blasted tree!</p> +<p>I stripped his skull all naked and bare,<br /> +And here’s his skull with a tuft of hair!<br /> +His heart is in the eagle’s maw,<br /> +His bloody bones the wolf doth gnaw.</p> +<p><i>Chorus</i>.</p> +<p>Hoo! hoo! hoo! the Muscolgee!<br /> +Wah, wah, wah! the blasted tree!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The Indians yelled and drummed at the Reception Dance. +“Now you good Kaw—Good Injun you be—all same +me,” said the chief. Hassard and Lamborn cracked time +with their whips, and, in short, we made a grand circular row; +truly it was a wondrous striking scene! From that day I was +called the Kaw chief, even by Hassard in his letters to the +<i>Tribune</i>, in which he mentioned that in scenes of +excitement I rode and whooped like a savage. It <i>may</i> +be so—<i>I</i> never noticed it; perhaps he exaggerated, +but I must admit that I do like <!-- page 327--><a +name="page327"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 327</span>Indians, +and they like me. We took ambulances or strong covered +army-waggons and pushed on. We were now well out on the +plains. All day long we passed prairie-dog villages and saw +antelopes bounding afar. At night we stopped at the hotel +<i>Alla Fresca</i>, or slept in the open air. It was +perfectly delightful, though in November. Far in the +distance many prairie fires stretched like miles of blazing +serpents over the distance. I thought of the innumerable +camp-fires before the battle of Gettysburg, and determined that +the two were among the most wonderful sights of my life. We +rose very early in the morning, by grey light, and after a drink +of whisky pushed on. I may here mention that from 1863 for +six years I very rarely indeed tasted any intoxicant.</p> +<p>So we went on till we reached the last surveyor’s +camp. We had not been there half an hour before a man came +in declaring that he had just saved his scalp, having seen a +party of Apaches in their war-paint, but luckily hid himself +before they discovered him. It was evident that we had now +got beyond civilisation. Already, on the way, we had seen +ranches which had been recently burned by the Indians, who had +killed their inmates. One man, observing my Kaw whip, +casually remarked that as I was fond of curiosities he was sorry +that he had not kept six arrows which he had lately pulled out of +a man whom he had found lying dead in the road, and who had just +been shot by the Indians.</p> +<p>Within this same hour after our arrival there came in a +Lieutenant Hesselberger, bringing with him a Mrs. Box and her two +daughters, one about sixteen and the other twelve. The +Indians had on the Texas frontier murdered and scalped her +husband before her eyes, burned their home, and carried the three +into captivity, where for six months they were daily subjected to +such <i>incredible</i> outrages and cruelty that it was simply a +miracle that they survived. As it was, they looked exactly +like corpses. Lieutenant Hesselberger, with bravery beyond +belief, having heard of these captives, went alone to the Indians +to ransom them. Firstly, they fired guns unexpectedly <!-- +page 328--><a name="page328"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +328</span>close to his head, and finding that he did not start, +brought out the captives and subjected them to the extremes of +gross abuse before his eyes, and repeatedly knocked them down +with clubs, all of which he affected to disregard. At last +the price was agreed on and he took them away.</p> +<p>In after years, when I described all this in London to +Stanley, the African explorer, he said, “Strange! I, +too, was there that very day, and saw those women, and wrote an +account of it to the <i>New York Herald</i>.” I +daresay that I met and talked to him at the time among those whom +we saw.</p> +<p>Not far from our camp there was a large and well-populated +beaver-dam, which I studied with great interest. It was +more like a well regulated town than is many a western mining +village. I do not wonder that Indians regard +<i>Quahbeet</i>, the beaver, as a human being in disguise. +N.B.—The beaver always, when he cuts a stick, sharpens it +like a lead-pencil—which indicates an artistic nature.</p> +<p>It was now resolved that a number of our party should go into +the Smoky Hill country to attend a very great Indian council, +while the rest returned home. So I joined the +adventurers. The meeting was not held, for I believe the +Indians went to war. But we rode on. One morning I +saw afar a few black specks, and thought they were cattle. +And so they were, but the free cattle of the plains, or +buffaloes. That evening, as we were out of meat, Colton and +others went out to hunt them, and had a fine chase, but got +nothing.</p> +<p>The next morning Colton kindly gave me his chance—that +is, he resigned to me a splendid black horse used to the +business—and most of us went to the field. After a +while, or a four miles’ run, we came up with a +number. There was a fine cow singled out and shot at, and I +succeeded in putting a ball in just behind the shoulder. +Among us all she became beef, and an expert hunter with us, whose +business it was to supply the camp with meat, skinned and +butchered her and <!-- page 329--><a name="page329"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 329</span>cooked a meal for us on the +spot. The beef was deliciously tender and well +flavoured.</p> +<p>Now, before this cooking, in the excitement of the chase, I +had ridden on like an Indian, as Hassard said in his letter, +whooping like one all alone after the buffalo, and in my joy +forgot to shake the spent cartridge out of my Spenser +seven-shooter carbine. All at once I found myself right in +the herd, close by a monstrous bull, whose height at the instant +when he turned on me to gore me seemed to be about a hundred and +fifty feet. But my horse was used to this, and swerved with +incredible tact and swiftness, while I held on. I then had +a perfectly close shot, not six feet off, under the shoulder, and +I raised the carbine and pulled trigger, when +it—<i>ticked</i>! I had forgotten the dead cartridge, +and was not used to the arm which I carried. I think that I +swore, and if I did not I am sorry for it. Before I could +arrange my charge the buffaloes were far away.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p329b.jpg"> +<img alt="Stairs of rock" src="images/p329s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>However, we had got our cow, and that was more than we really +needed. At any rate, I had shot a buffalo and had a +stupendous run. And here I must mention that while racing +and whooping, I executed the most insanely foolish thing I ever +did in all my life, which astonished the hunter and all present +to the utmost. I was at the top of a declivity <!-- page +330--><a name="page330"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +330</span>from which there descended a flight of natural stairs +of rock, but every one very broad, like the above sketch.</p> +<p>And being inspired by the devil, and my horse not objecting at +all, I clattered down over it at full speed <i>à la</i> +Putnam. I have heard that Indians do this very boldly, +declaring that it is perfectly safe if the rider is not afraid, +and I am quite sure that mine must have been an Indian +horse. I hope that no one will think that I have put +forward or made too much of these trifling boyish tricks of +recklessness. They are of daily occurrence in the Wild West +among men who like excitement, and had Robert Hunt been among us +there would have been fun indeed.</p> +<p>So we turned homewards, for the Indian Conference had proved a +failure. We had for our driver a man named Brigham, to whom +I had taken a great liking. He had lived as a trader among +the wildest Indians, spoke Spanish fluently, and knew the whole +Western frontier like his pocket. The day after we had seen +Mrs. Box come in, I was praising the braveness of Lieutenant +Hesselberger in venturing to rescue her.</p> +<p>“It isn’t all bravery at all,” said +Brigham. “He’s brave as a panther, but +there’s more in it than <i>that</i>. There is about +one man in a hundred, and not more, who can go among the most +God-forsaken devils of Injuns and never get hurt. The +Injuns take to them at a glance and love ’em. +<i>I’m</i> such a man, and I’ve proved it often +enough, God knows! Lieutenant Hesselberger is one, +and,” he added abruptly, “Mr. Leland, +<i>you’re</i> another.”</p> +<p>“What makes you think so?” I said, greatly +surprised.</p> +<p>“’Cause I’ve watched you. You’ve +got Injun ways that you don’t know of. Didn’t I +notice the other day, when the gentlemen were buying the whips +from the Kaws, that every Injun took a squint, and then came +straight to <i>you</i>? Why didn’t they go to one of +the other gentlemen? Because they’ve got an instinct +like a dog for their friends, and for such as +<i>we</i>.”</p> +<p><!-- page 331--><a name="page331"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +331</span>We were coming to Fort Harker. I forget how it +all came about, but we found ourselves afoot, with a mile or two +to walk, carrying our guns, carpet-bags, and <i>petites +bagages</i>, while about fifty yards ahead or more there was +Brigham driving on merrily to the fort, under the impression that +we had secured other conveyance.</p> +<p>Captain Colton fired his carbine. It made about as much +noise as a percussion-cap, and the wind was from Brigham toward +us. Carried away by an impulse, I caught Colonel +Lamborn’s light rifle out of his hand.</p> +<p>“Great God!” he cried, “you don’t mean +to shoot at him?”</p> +<p>“If you’ll insure the mules,” I said, +“I will the driver.” My calculation was to send +a bullet so near to Brigham that he could hear it whizz, but not +to touch him. It was not so dangerous as the shot I had +fired over Sam Fox, and the “spirit” was on me!</p> +<p>But I did <i>not</i> know that in the covered waggon sat +Hassard talking with Brigham, their faces being, as Hassard +declared, just about six inches apart. I fired, and the +bullet passed just between their noses!</p> +<p>Hassard heard the whizz, and cried, “What’s +that?”</p> +<p>“<i>Injuns</i>, by God!” roared Brigham, +forgetting that we had left the Indian country two days behind +us. “Lie down in the waggon while I +drive.” And drive he did, till out of gunshot, and +then putting his face out, turned around, and gave in full +desperate cry the taunting war-whoop of the Cheyennes. It +was a beautiful sight that of Brigham’s broad red face wild +with rage—and his great gold earrings and Mexican +sombrero—turning round the waggon at us in defiance like +Marmion!</p> +<p>But when he realised that <i>we</i> had fired at him, just as +a pack of d---d Apaches might have done, for fun, to stop the +waggon, his expression became one of utter bewilderment. As +I came up I thought there might be a shindy.</p> +<p><!-- page 332--><a name="page332"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +332</span>“Brigham,” I said in Spanish, “<i>es +la mano o el navajo</i>?” [Is it to be hand, or +knife?]</p> +<p>Brigham was proud of his Spanish; it was his elegant +accomplishment, and this was a good scene. Grasping my hand +cordially, he said, “<i>La mano</i>.” Like a +true frontiersman, he felt in a minute the <i>grandeur</i> of the +joke. There was, if I may so vulgarly express myself, an +<i>Indian-uity</i> in it which appealed to his deepest +feelings. There was a silence for several minutes, which he +broke by exclaiming—</p> +<p>“I’ve driven waggons now this twelve years on the +frontier, but I never heard before of tryin’ to stop the +waggon by shootin’ at the driver.”</p> +<p>There was another long silent pause, when he +resumed—</p> +<p>“I wish to God there was a gulch (ravine) between here +and the fort! I’d upset this crowd into it d---d +quick!”</p> +<p>That evening I took leave of Brigham. I drank healths +with him in whisky, and shook hands, and said—</p> +<p>“I did a very foolish and reckless thing to-day, +Brigham, when I shot at you, and I am sorry for it, and I beg +your pardon. Here is a dagger which I have had for +twenty-five years. I carried it all over Europe. I +have nothing better to give you; please take it. And when +you stick a Greaser (Mexican) with it, as I expect you will do +some day, then think of me.”</p> +<p>The tears rose to his eyes, and he departed. I never met +him again, but “well I wot” he ever had kindly +remembrance of me. We were to be guests of General Custer +at the fort, and I was rather shy of meeting the castellan after +firing at his driver! But he greeted me with a hearty burst +of laughter, and said—</p> +<p>“Mr. Leland, you have the most original way of ringing a +bell when you want to call a carriage that I ever heard +of.”</p> +<p>As for Hassard, when he witnessed my parting with Brigham, he +said—</p> +<p>“This is all mighty fine! daggers and whisky, and all +<!-- page 333--><a name="page333"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +333</span>kinds of beautiful things flying around for Brigham, +but what am <i>I</i> to have?”</p> +<p>“And what dost thou expect, son Hassard?” I +replied.</p> +<p>Holding out both his hands, he replied—</p> +<p>“Much tobacco! much tobacco!”</p> +<p>This was in allusion to a story told us by Lieutenant +Brown. Not long before, the Lieutenant, seeing, as he +thought, a buffalo, had fired at it. But the buffalo turned +out to be an Indian on a pony; and the Indian riding fiercely at +the Lieutenant, cried aloud for indemnity or the +“blood-fine” in the words, “Much +tobacco!” And so I stood cigars.</p> +<p>Life is worth living for—or it would be—if it +abounded more in such types as Mrs. General Custer and her +husband. There was a bright and joyous chivalry in that +man, and a noble refinement mingled with constant gaiety in the +wife, such as I fear is passing from the earth. Her books +have shown that she was a woman of true culture, and that she +came by it easily, as he did, and that out of a little they could +make more than most do from a life of mere study. I fear +that there will come a time when such books as hers will be the +only evidences that there were ever such people—so +fearless, so familiar with every form of danger, privation, and +trial, and yet joyous and even reckless of it all. Good +Southern blood and Western experiences had made them free of +petty troubles. The Indians got his scalp at last, and with +him went one of the noblest men whom America ever brought forth. +<a name="citation333"></a><a href="#footnote333" +class="citation">[333]</a></p> +<p>That evening they sent for a Bavarian-Tyroler soldier, who +played beautifully on the cithern. As I listened to the +<i>Jodel-lieder</i> airs I seemed to be again in his native +land. It was a pleasure to me to hear from him the familiar +dialect.</p> +<p><!-- page 334--><a name="page334"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +334</span>At St. Louis we were very kindly entertained in several +distinguished houses. At one they gave us some excellent +Rhine wine.</p> +<p>“What do you think of this?” said Hassard, who was +a good Latinist.</p> +<p>I replied, “Vinum Rhenense decus et gloria +mense.”</p> +<p>In the next we had Moselle wine. “And what of +this?”</p> +<p>I answered, “Vinuin Moslanum fuit omne tempore +sanum.”</p> +<p>And here I would say that every memory which I have of +Missouri (and there are more by far than this book indicates), as +of Missourians, is extremely pleasant. The State is very +beautiful, and I have found among my friends there born such +culture and kindness and genial hospitality as I have never seen +surpassed. To the names of Mary A. Owen, <a +name="citation334"></a><a href="#footnote334" +class="citation">[334]</a> Blow, Mark Twain, and the +Choteaus I could add many more.</p> +<p>So we jogged on homeward. I resumed my work. I had +written out all the details of our trip in letters to the +<i>Press</i>. They had excited attention. The +Pennsylvania Railroad Company suggested that they should be +published in a pamphlet. I did so, and called it +“Three Thousand Miles in a Railroad Car.” They +offered to pay me a very good sum for my trouble in so +doing. I declined it, because I felt that I had been amply +paid by the pleasure which I had derived from the journey. +But I received grateful recognition subsequently in another +form. The pamphlet was most singular of its kind. It +was a full report of all the statistics and vast advantages of +the Kansas Pacific Road. It contained very valuable facts +and figures; and it was all served up with jokes, songs, +buffalo-hunting, Indians, and Brigham. It was a marvellous +farrago, and it “took.” It was sent to every +member of Congress and “every other man.”</p> +<p><!-- page 335--><a name="page335"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +335</span>Before it appeared, a friend of mine named Ringwalt, +who was both a literary man and owner of a printing-office, +offered me $200 if I would secure him the printing of it. I +said that I would not take the money, but that I would get him +the printing, which I easily did; but being a very honourable +man, he was led to discharge the obligation. One day he +said to me, “Why don’t you publish your +‘Breitmann Ballads?’ Everybody is quoting them +now.” I replied, “There is not a publisher in +America who would accept them.” And I was quite +right, for there was not. He answered, “I will print +them for you.” I accepted the offer, but when they +were set up an idea occurred to me by which I could save my +friend his expenses. I went to a publisher named T. B. +Peterson, who said effectively this—“The book will +not sell more than a thousand copies. There will be about a +thousand people who will buy it, even for fifty cents, so I shall +charge that, though it would be, as books go, only as a +twenty-five cent work.” He took it and paid my friend +for the composition. I was not to receive any money or +share in the profits till all the expenses had been paid.</p> +<p>Mr. Peterson immediately sold 2,000—4,000—I know +not how many thousands—at fifty cents a copy. It was +republished in Canada and Australia, to my loss. An +American publisher who owned a magazine asked me, through his +editor, to write for it a long Breitmann poem. I did so, +making, however, an explicit verbal arrangement <i>that it should +not be republished as a book</i>. It was, however, +immediately republished as such, with a title to the effect that +it was the “Breitmann Ballads.” I appealed to +the editor, and it was withdrawn, but I know not how many were +issued, to my loss.</p> +<p>I had transferred the whole right of publication in England to +my friend Nicolas Trübner, whom I had met when he had +visited America, and I wrote specially for his edition certain +poems. John “Camden” Hotten wrote to me +modestly asking me to give <i>him</i> the sole right to republish +the work. He said, “I hardly know what to say about +the price. <!-- page 336--><a name="page336"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 336</span>Suppose we say <i>ten +pounds</i>!” I replied, “Sir, I have given the +whole right of publication to Mr. Trübner, and I would not +take it from him for ten thousand pounds.” Hotten at +once published an edition which was a curiosity of ignorance and +folly. There was a blunder on an average to every +page. He had annotated it! He explained that +<i>Knasterbart</i> meant “a nasty fellow,” and that +the French <i>garce</i> was <i>gare</i>, “a railway +station!” Trübner had sold 5,000 copies before +this precious affair appeared. After Hotten’s death +the British public were informed in an obituary that he had +“<i>first</i> introduced me” to their knowledge!</p> +<p>Hans Breitmann became a type. I never heard of but one +German who ever reviled the book, and that was a Democratic +editor in Philadelphia. But the Germans themselves +recognised that the pen which poked fun at them was no poisoned +stiletto. Whenever there was a grand German procession, +Hans was in it—the indomitable old <i>Degen</i> hung with +<i>loot</i>—and he appeared in every fancy ball. Nor +were the Confederates offended. One of the most genial, +searching, and erudite reviews of the work, which appeared in a +Southern magazine (De Bow’s), declared that I had truly +written the Hudibras of the Civil War. What struck this +writer most was the fact that I had opened a <i>new</i> field of +humour. And here he was quite right. With the +exception of Dan Rice’s circus song of “Der goot oldt +Sherman shentleman,” and a rather flat parody of +“Jessie, the Flower of Dumblane,” I had never seen or +heard of any specimen of Anglo-German poetry. To be +<i>merely original</i> in language is not to excel in +everything—a fact very generally ignored—else my +Pidgin-English ballads would take precedence of Tennyson’s +poems! On the other hand, very great poets have often not +made a new <i>form</i>. The Yankee type, both as regards +spirit and language, had become completely common and familiar in +prose and poetry, before Lowell revived it in the clever +<i>Biglow Papers</i>. Bret Harte’s “Heathen +Chinee,” and several other poems, are, however, <i>both</i> +original <!-- page 337--><a name="page337"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 337</span>and admirable. Whatever the +merits or demerits of mine were—and it was years ere I ever +gave them a thought—the public, which is always eager for +something new, took to them at once.</p> +<p>I say that for years I never gave them a thought. All of +the principal poems except the “Barty” and +“Breitmann as a Politician,” were merely written to +fill up letters to C. A. Bristed, of New York, and I kept no +copies of them—in fact, utterly <i>forgot</i> them. +<i>Weingeist</i> was first written in a letter to a sister of +Captain Colton, with the remark that it was easier to write such +a ballad than any prose. But Bristed published them +<i>à mon insu</i> in a sporting paper. Years after I +learned that I published one called “Breitmann’s +Sermon” in <i>Leslie’s Magazine</i>. This I +have never recovered. If I write so much about these poems +now, I certainly was not vain of them when written. The +public found them out long before I did, and it is not very often +that it gets ahead of a poet in appreciating his own works.</p> +<p>However, I was “awful busy” in those days. I +had hardly begun on the <i>Press</i> ere I found that it had a +weekly paper, made up from the daily type transferred, which only +just paid its expenses. Secondly, I discovered that there +was not a soul on the staff except myself who had had any +experience of weekly full editing. I at once made out a +schedule, showing that by collecting and grouping agricultural +and industrial items, putting in two or three columns of original +matter, and bringing in a story to go through the daily first, +the weekly could be vastly improved at very little expense.</p> +<p>Colonel Forney admired the scheme, but asked “who was to +carry it out.” I replied that I would. He +remonstrated, very kindly, urging that I had all I could do as it +was. I answered, “Colonel Forney, this is not a +matter of time, but <i>method</i>. There is always time for +the man who knows how to lay it out.” So I got up a +very nice paper. But for a very long time I could not get +an agent to solicit advertisements <!-- page 338--><a +name="page338"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 338</span>who knew +the business. The weekly paid its expenses and nothing +more. But one day there came to me a young man named M. T. +Wolf. He was of Pennsylvania German stock. He had +lost a small fortune in the patent medicine business and wanted +employment badly. I suggested that, until something else +could be found, he should try his hand at collecting +“advers.”</p> +<p>Now, be it observed, as Mozart was born to music, and some men +have a powerful instinct to study medicine, and others are so +unnatural as to take to mathematics, Wolf had a grand undeveloped +genius beyond all belief for collecting advertisements. He +had tried many pursuits and failed, but the first week he went +into this business he brought in $200 (£40), which gave him +forty dollars, and he never afterwards fell below it, but often +rose above. “Advers.” for him meant not +adversity. It was very characteristic of Colonel Forney, +who was too much absorbed in politics to attend much to business, +that long after the <i>Weekly Press</i> was yielding him $10,000 +a year <i>clear profit</i>, he said to me one day, “Mr. +Leland, you must not be discouraged as to the weekly; the clerks +tell me in the office that it <i>meets its +expenses</i>!”</p> +<p>There was abundance of life and incident on the newspaper in +those days, especially during election times in the autumn. +I have known fights, night after night, to be going on in the +street below, at the corner of Seventh and Chestnut, between +Republicans and Democrats, with revolver shots and flashes at the +rate of fifty to a second, when I was literally so occupied with +pressing telegrams that I could not look out to see the +fun. One night, however, when there were death-shots +falling thick and fast, I saw a young man make a most +<i>incredible</i> leap. He had received a bullet under the +shoulder, and when a man or a deer is hit there he always +leaps. I heard afterwards that he recovered, though this is +a vital place.</p> +<p>It happened once that for a week the Republicans were kept +from resisting or retaliating by their leaders, until the <!-- +page 339--><a name="page339"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +339</span>Democrats began to disgrace themselves by +excesses. Then all at once the Republicans boiled over, +thrashed their foes, and attacking the Copperhead clubs, threw +their furniture out of the window, and—inadvertently +perhaps—also a few Copperheads. Just before they let +their angry passions rise in this fashion there came one night a +delegation to serenade Colonel Forney at the office. The +Colonel was grand on such occasions. He was a fine, tall, +portly man, with a lion-like mien and a powerful voice. He +began—</p> +<p>“My friends, fellow-citizens and Republicans, you have +this week acted nobly.”</p> +<p>Cries from the crowd, “<i>We hev</i>! <i>we +hev</i>!”</p> +<p>“You, when smitten on the right cheek, turned unto the +oppressor the left.”</p> +<p>“We did! we <i>did</i>!”</p> +<p>“You are beyond all question models—I may say with +truth, paragons of patience, long-suffering, and humility. +You are—Christian gentlemen!” “We air! we +<i>air</i>!”</p> +<p>While this was passing, a great gloomy thundercloud of the +Democratic enemy gathered on the opposite sidewalk, and as the +Colonel lifted his voice again, there came a cry—</p> +<p>“Shut up, you d---d old Republican dead-duck!”</p> +<p>That word was a spell to raise the devil withal. Bang! +bang! bang! went the revolvers of the Union men in a volley, and +the Democrats fled for their lives down Seventh Street, pursued +by the meek, lowly, and long-suffering Christians—like +rabbits before wolves.</p> +<p>The enemy at last resolved to attack the <i>Press</i> and burn +the building. Then we had one hundred and fifty policemen +sent to garrison and guard. There was a surging, howling +mob outside, and much guerilla-shooting, but all I can remember +is my vexation at having so much to disturb me in making up the +paper.</p> +<p>I never went armed in my life when I could help it, for I <!-- +page 340--><a name="page340"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +340</span>hate <i>impedimenta</i> in my pockets. All of us +in the office hung up our coats in a dark place outside. +Whenever I sent an assistant to get some papers from mine, he +said that he always knew my coat because there was no pistol in +it.</p> +<p>Scenes such as these, and quite as amusing, were of constant +occurrence in those days in Philadelphia. “All night +long in that sweet little village was heard the soft note of the +pistol and the dying scream of the victim.” Now, be +it noted, that a stuffed dead duck had become the <i>gonfalon</i> +or banner of the Republicans, and where it swung there the battle +was fiercest. There was a young fellow from South Carolina, +who had become a zealous Union man, and who made up for a sinful +lack of sense by a stupendous stock of courage. One morning +there came into the office an object—and such an +object! His face was all swathed and hidden in bloody +bandages; he was tattered, and limped, and had his arm in a +sling.</p> +<p>“In the name of Heaven, who and what are you?” I +exclaimed. “And who has been passing you through a +bark-mill that you look so ground-up?”</p> +<p>In a sepulchral voice he replied, “I’m ---, and +last night <i>I carried the dead duck</i>!”</p> +<p>Till I came on the <i>Press</i> there was, it may be said, +almost no community between the Germans of North Philadelphia and +the Americans in our line. But I had become intimate with +Von Tronk, a Hanoverian of good family, a lawyer, and editor, I +believe, of the <i>Freie Presse</i>. I even went once or +twice to speak at German meetings. In fact, I was getting +to be considered “almost as all de same so goot ash +Deutsch,” and very “bopular.” One day Von +Tronk came with a request. There was to be an immense +German Republican <i>Massenversammlung</i> or mass-meeting in a +great beer-garden. “If Colonel Forney could only be +induced to address them!” I undertook to do it. +It was an entirely new field to him, but one wondrous rich in +votes. Now Colonel Forney, though from Lancaster County and +of German-Swiss extraction, <!-- page 341--><a +name="page341"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 341</span>knew not a +word of the language, and I undertook to coach him.</p> +<p>“You will only need one phrase of three words,” I +said, “to pull you through; but you must pronounce them +perfectly and easily. They are <i>Freiheit und +Gleichheit</i>, ‘freedom and equality.’ Now, if +you <i>please</i>, <i>fry-height</i>.”</p> +<p>The Colonel went at his lesson, and being naturally clever, +with a fine, deep voice, in a quarter of an hour could roar out +<i>Freiheit und Gleichheit</i> with an intonation which would +have raised a revolution in Berlin. We came to the garden, +and there was an immense sensation. The Colonel had winning +manners, with a manly mien, and he was duly introduced. +When he rose to speak there was dead silence. He +began—</p> +<p>“Friends and German Fellow-citizens:—Yet why +should I distinguish the words, since to me every German is a +friend. I am myself, as you all know, of unmingled German +extraction, and I am very, very proud of it. But there is +one German sentiment which from a child has been ever in my +heart, and from infancy ever on my lips, and that sentiment, my +friends, is <i>Freiheit und Gleichheit</i>!”</p> +<p>If ever audience was astonished in this world it was that of +the <i>Massenversammlung</i> when this burst on their ears. +They hurrahed and roared and banged the tables in such a mad +storm of delight as even Colonel Forney had never seen +surpassed. Rising to the occasion, he thundered on, and as +he reached the end of every sentence he repeated, with great +skill and aptness, <i>Freiheit und Gleichheit</i>.</p> +<p>“You have made two thousand votes by that speech, +Colonel,” I said, as we returned. “Von Tronk +will manage it at this crisis.” After that, when the +Colonel jested, he would called me “the Dutch +vote-maker.” This was during the Grant campaign.</p> +<p>Droll incidents were of constant occurrence in this +life. Out of a myriad I will note a few. One day +there came into our office an Indian agent from the West, who had +brought <!-- page 342--><a name="page342"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 342</span>with him a Winnebago who claimed to +be the rightful chief of his tribe. They were going to +Washington to enforce the claim. While the agent conversed +with some one the Indian was turned over to me. He was a +magnificent specimen, six feet high, clad in a long trailing +scarlet blanket, with a scarlet straight feather in his hair +which continued him up <i>ad infinitum</i>, and he was straight +as a lightning rod. He was handsome, and very dignified and +grave; but I understood <i>that</i>. I can come it +indifferent well myself when I am “out of my plate,” +as the French, say, in strange society. He spoke no +English, but, as the agent said, knew six Indian languages. +He was evidently a chief by blood, “all the way down to his +moccasins.”</p> +<p>What with a few words of Kaw (I had learned about a hundred +words of it with great labour) and a few other phrases of other +tongues, I succeeded in interesting him. But I could not +make him smile, and I swore unto myself that I would.</p> +<p>Being thirsty, the Indian, seeing a cooler of ice-water, with +the daring peculiar to a great brave, went and took a glass and +turned on the <i>spicket</i>. He filled his glass—it +was brim-full—but he did not know how to <i>turn it +off</i>. Then I had him. As it ran over he turned to +me an appealing helpless glance. I said +“<i>Neosho</i>.” This in Pottawattamie means an +inundation or overflowing of the banks, and is generally applied +to the inundation of the Mississippi. There is a town on +the latter so called. This was too much for the Indian, and +he laughed aloud.</p> +<p>“Great God! what have you been saying to that +Indian?” cried the agent, amazed. “It is the +first time he has laughed since he left home.”</p> +<p>“Only a little pun in Pottawattamie. But I really +know very little of the language.”</p> +<p>“I have no knowledge of the Indian languages,” +remarked our city editor, MacGinnis, a genial young Irishman, +“least of all, thank God! of Pottawattamie. But I +have always <!-- page 343--><a name="page343"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 343</span>understood that when a man gets so +far in a tongue as to make <i>puns</i> in it, it is time for him +to stop.”</p> +<p>Years after this I was one evening in London at an opening of +an exhibition of pictures. There were present Indian Hindoo +princes in gorgeous array, English nobility, literary men, and +fine ladies. Among them was an unmistakable Chippeway in a +white Canadian blanket-coat, every inch an Indian. I began +with the usual greeting, “<i>Ho nitchi</i>!” (Ho, +brother!), to which he gravely replied. I tried two or +three phrases on him with the same effect. Then I played a +sure card. Sinking my voice with an inviting wink, I +uttered “<i>Shingawauba</i>,” or whisky. +“Dot fetched him.” He too laughed. +<i>Gleich mit gleich</i>, <i>gesellt sich gern</i>.</p> +<p>While living in New York, and during my connection with the +<i>Press</i>, I often met and sometimes conversed with Horace +Greeley. Once I went with him from Philadelphia to New +York, and he was in the car the observed of all observers to an +extraordinary degree. He sat down, took out an immense roll +of proof, and said, “<i>Lead pencil</i>!” One +was immediately handed to him by some stranger, who was by that +one act ennobled, or, what amounts to the same thing in America, +grotesquely <i>charactered</i> for life. He was the man who +gave Horace Greeley a lead pencil! I, as his companion, was +also regarded as above ordinary humanity. When the proof +was finished “Horace” said to me—</p> +<p>“How is John Forney getting on?”</p> +<p>“Like Satan, walking to and fro upon the face of the +earth, going from the <i>Chronicle</i> in Washington one day to +the <i>Press</i> in Philadelphia on the next, and filling them +both cram full of leaders and letters.”</p> +<p>“Two papers, both daily! I tell Forney that I find +it is all I can do to attend to one. Tell him not to get +too rich—bad for the constitution and worse for the +country. Any man who has more than a million is a public +nuisance.”</p> +<p>Finally, we walked together from the ferry to the corner of +Park Place and Broadway, and the philosopher, after <!-- page +344--><a name="page344"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +344</span>minutely explaining to me which omnibus I was to take, +bade me adieu. I do not think we ever met again.</p> +<p>In the summer Colonel Forney went to Europe with John the +junior. When he left he said, “I do not expect you to +raise the circulation of the <i>Press</i>, but I hope that you +will be able to keep it from falling in the dead +season.” I went to work, and what with enlarging the +telegraphic news, and correspondence, and full reports of +conventions, I materially increased the sale. It cost a +great deal of money, to be sure, but the Colonel did not mind +that. At this time there came into our office as associate +with me Captain W. W. Nevin. He had been all through the +war. I took a great liking to him, and we always remained +intimate friends. All in our office except myself were from +Lancaster County, the birthplace, I believe, of Fitch and +Fulton. It is a Pennsylvania German county, and as I +notoriously spoke German openly without shame ours was called a +Dutch office. Once when Colonel Forney wrote a letter from +Holland describing the windmills, the <i>Sunday Transcript</i> +unkindly remarked that “he had better come home and look +after his own Dutch windmill at the corner of Seventh and +Chestnut Streets.”</p> +<p>I had at this time a great deal to do with the operas and +theatres, and often wrote the reviews. After a while, as +Captain Nevin relieved me of a great deal of work, and I had an +able assistant named Norcross, I devoted myself chiefly to +dramatic criticism and the weekly, and such work as suited me +best. As for the dignity of managership, Captain Nevin and +I tossed it from one to the other like a hot potato in jest, but +between us we ran the paper very well. There was an opera +impresario named Maurice Strakosch, of whom I had heard that he +was hard to deal with and irritable. I forget now who the +prima donna in his charge was, but there had appeared in our +paper a criticism which might be interpreted in some detail +unfavourably by a captious critic. One afternoon there came +into the office, where I was alone, a gentlemanly-seeming man, +who began to manifest anger in regard <!-- page 345--><a +name="page345"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 345</span>to the +criticism in question. I replied, “I do not know, +sir, what your position in the opera troupe may be, but if it be +anything which requires a knowledge of English, I am afraid that +you are misplaced. There was no intention to offend in the +remarks, and so far as the lady is concerned I shall only be too +glad to say the very best I can of her. <i>Comprenez</i>, +<i>monsieur</i>, <i>c’est une bagatelle</i>.” +He laughed, and we spoke French, then Italian, then German, and +of Patti and Sontag and Lind. Then I asked him what he +really was, and he replied, “I do not believe that you even +know the name of my native tongue. It is +Czech.” I stared at him amazed, and said—</p> +<p>“Veliky Bog! Rozprava pochesky? Nekrasneya +rejece est.”</p> +<p>The Bohemian gentleman drew a handsomely bound book from his +pocket. “Sir,” he said, “this is my +album. It is full of signatures of great artists, even of +kings and queens and poets. There is not a name in it which +is not that of a distinguished person, and I do not know what +your name is, but I beg that you will write it in my +book.”</p> +<p>Nearly the same scene was repeated soon after, with the same +words, when the great actress Fanny Janauschek came to +Philadelphia. At that time she played only in German. +Her manager, Grau, introduced me to her, and she complimented me +on my German, and praised the language as the finest in the +world.</p> +<p>“Yes,” I replied, “it <i>is</i> certainly +very fine. But I know a finer, which goes more nearly to +the heart, and with which I can move you more deeply.”</p> +<p>“And what is that?” cried the great artist +astonished.</p> +<p>“It is,” I replied, in her native tongue, +“<i>Bohemian</i>. That is the language for +me.”</p> +<p>Madame Janauschek was so affected that she burst out crying, +though she was a woman of tremendous nerve. We became great +friends, and often met again in after years in England.</p> +<p><!-- page 346--><a name="page346"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +346</span>I have seen Ristori play for thirty nights in +succession, <a name="citation346"></a><a href="#footnote346" +class="citation">[346]</a> and Rachel and Sarah Bernhardt; but as +regards true genius, Janauschek in her earlier days was +incomparably their superior; for these all played from nerves and +instinct, but Janauschek from her brain and intellect. I +often wondered that she did not write plays. It is said of +Rachel that there was once a five-act play in which she died at +the end of the fourth act. After it had had a long run she +casually asked some one <i>how it ended</i>. She had never +read the fifth act. Such a story could never have been told +of Janauschek.</p> +<p>In the summer there were one or two railroad excursions to +visit new branch roads in Pennsylvania. While on one of +these I visited the celebrated Mauch Chunk coal mines, and rode +on the switchback railway, where I had a fearfully narrow escape +from death. This switchback is a <i>montagne Russe</i> +coming up and down a hill, and six miles in length. Yet, +though the rate of speed is appalling, the engineer can stop the +car in a few seconds’ time with the powerful brake. +We were going down headlong, when all at once a cow stepped out +of the bushes on the road before us, and if we had struck her we +must have gone headlong over the cliff and been killed. But +by a miracle the engineer stopped the car just as we got to the +cow. We were saved by a second. Something very like +it had occurred to my wife and to me in 1859. We were going +to Reading by rail, when the train ran off the track and went +straight for an embankment where there was a fall of 150 +feet. It was stopped just as the locomotive protruded or +looked over the precipice. Had there been the <i>least +trifle</i> more of steam on at that instant we must all have +perished.</p> +<p>In November of this my second year on the <i>Press</i> my +father died. One thing occurred on this sad bereavement +which alleviated it a little. I had always felt all my <!-- +page 347--><a name="page347"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +347</span>life that he had never been satisfied with my want of a +fixed career or position. He did not, I think, <i>very</i> +much like John Forney, the audacious, reckless politician, but he +still respected his power and success, and it astonished him a +little, and many others quite as much, to find that I was in many +respects Forney’s right-hand man, and manager of a bold +political paper which had a great influence. A day or two +before he died my father expressed himself kindly to the effect +that I had at last done well, and that he was satisfied with +me. At last, after so many years, he felt that I had +<i>état</i>—a calling, a definite position. In +fact, in those days it was often said that Forney could make +himself President, as he indeed might have done but for certain +errors, no greater than have been committed by more successful +men, and a stroke of ill-luck such as few can resist.</p> +<p>The winter passed quietly. I was extremely fond of my +life and work. Summer came, and with it a great desire for +a change and wild life and the West, for I had worked very +hard. A very great railway excursion, which was destined to +have a great effect, was being organised, and both my wife and I +were invited to join it. Mr. John Edgar Thompson, the +president of the Pennsylvania Railroad, Mr. Hinckley, of the +Baltimore road, President Felton, Professor Leidy, Robert +Lamborn, and a number of other notables, were to go to Duluth, on +Lake Superior, and decide on the terminus of the railroad as a +site for a city. Mrs. John E. Thompson had her own private +car, which was seventy feet in length, and fitted up with every +convenience and luxury. To this was added the same +directors’ car in which I had travelled to Minnesota. +There were to be in all ten or twelve gentlemen and ten +ladies. There was such efficient service that one young +man, a clerk, was detailed especially to look after our +luggage. As we stopped every night at some hotel, he would +inquire what we required to be taken to our rooms, and saw that +it was brought back in the morning. I went off in such a +hurry that I forgot my Indian blanket, nor had <!-- page 348--><a +name="page348"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 348</span>I any +revolver or gun, all of which, especially the blanket, I sadly +missed ere I returned. I got, before I left, a full white +flannel or fine white cloth suit, which was then a startling +novelty, and wore it to the Falls of the Mississippi. +Little did I foresee that ere it gave out I should also have it +on at the Cataracts of the Nile!</p> +<p>So we started and after a few hours’ travel, stopped at +Altona. There I was very much amused by an old darkey at +the railway-station hotel, who had, as he declared, +“specially the kyar of de ladies an’ +quality.” He had been a slave till the war broke out, +and had been wondrously favoured by visions and revelations which +guided him to freedom. “De Lawd he ’pear to me +in a dream, an’ I hyar a vi’ce which cry, +‘Simon, arise an’ git out of dis, an’ put +fo’ de Norf as fass as you kin travel, fo’ de day of +de ’pressor is at an end, an’ you is to be +free.’ So I rosed an’ fled, hardly +a-waitin’ to stuff my bag wid some corn-dodgers an’ +bacon, an’ foller de Norf Star till I git confused +an’ went to sleep agin, wen, lo, an angel expostulated +hisself befo’ my eyes in a wision, an’ say, +‘Simon, beholdes’ dou dat paff by de riber? +Dat’s de one fo’ you to foller, ole son!’ +So I follers it till I git on de right trail. Den I met +anoder nigger a-’scapin’ from the bon’s of +captivity, an’ carryin’ a cold ham, an’ I jined +in wid him—you bet—an’ so we come to de +Lawd’s country.”</p> +<p>And so gaily on to Chicago. We went directly to the +first hotel, and as soon as I had toiletted and gone below, I saw +on the opposite building a sign with the words <i>Chicago +Tribune</i>. This was an exchange of ours, so I crossed +over, and meeting the editor by chance in the doorway, was +welcomed and introduced to Governor Desbrosses, who stood +by. Then I went to a telegraph office and sent a despatch +to the <i>Press</i>. The man wanted me to pay. I told +him to C. O. D., “collect on delivery.” He +declined. I said, “Your principal office is in +Philadelphia, is it not?—Third and Chestnut Streets. +Just send a telegram and ask the name of your landlord. +It’s Leland, and <i>I’m the man</i>. If you +make me <!-- page 349--><a name="page349"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 349</span>pay, I’ll raise your +rent.” He laughed heartily and let me off, but not +without a parting shot: “You see, Mr. Leland, there are so +many scallawags <a name="citation349"></a><a href="#footnote349" +class="citation">[349]</a> from the East come here, that we are +obliged to be a little particular.”</p> +<p>I returned to the hotel, and was immediately introduced to +some one having authority. I narrated my late +experience. He looked at me and said, “How long have +you been in Chicago?” I replied, “About thirty +minutes.” He answered gravely, “I think +you’d better <i>stay</i> here. You’ll suit the +place.” I was beginning to feel the moral influence +of the genial air of the West. Chicago is emphatically what +is termed “a place,” and a certain amount of calm +confidence in one’s self is not in that city to any +one’s discredit. Once there was an old lady of a +“hard” type in the witness-box in an American +city. She glared round at the judge, the jury, and the +spectators, and then burst out with, “You needn’t all +be staring at me in that way. I don’t keer a --- for +you all. I’ve lived eleven years in Chicago, and +ain’t affeard of the devil.” Chicago is said in +Indian to mean the place of skunks, but calling a rose a +skunk-cabbage don’t make it one.</p> +<p>Walking on the edge of the lake near the city, the waters cast +up a good-sized living specimen of that extraordinary +fish-lizard, the great <i>menobranchus</i>, popularly known as +the hell-bender from its extreme ugliness. Owing to the +immense size of its spermatozoa, it has rendered great aid to +embryology, a science which, when understood <i>au fond</i>, will +bring about great changes in the human race. We were taken +out in a steamboat to the end of the great aqueduct, which was, +when built, pronounced, I think by the London <i>Times</i>, to be +the greatest engineering work of modern times.</p> +<p>In due time we came to St. Paul, Minnesota. We went to a +very fair hotel and had a very good dinner. In the West it +is very common among the commonalty to drink coffee and milk +through dinner, and indeed with all meals, <!-- page 350--><a +name="page350"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 350</span>instead of +wine or ale, but the custom is considered as vulgar by +swells. Having finished dessert, I asked the Irish waiter +to bring me a small cup of black coffee and brandy. Drawing +himself up stiffly, Pat replied, “We don’t serve +caafy at dinner in <i>this</i> hotel.” There was a +grand roar of laughter which the waiter evidently thought was at +<i>my</i> expense, as he retreated smiling.</p> +<p>We were kindly received in St. Paul by everybody. There +is this immense advantage of English or American hospitality over +that of all other countries, that it introduces us to the +<i>home</i>, and makes us forget that we are strangers. +When we were at the end of the fearfully wearisome great moral +circus known as the Oriental Congress, held all over Scandinavia +in 1890, there came to me one evening in the station a great +Norseman with his friends. With much would-be, ox-like +dignity he began, “You ha-ave now experienced de glorious +haspitality off our country. You will go oom and +say—”</p> +<p>“Stop a minute there!” I exclaimed, for I was +bored to death with a show which had been engineered to tatters, +and to half defeating all the work of the Congress, in order to +glorify the King and Count Landberg. “I have been +here in your country six weeks, and I had letters of +introduction, and have made no end of acquaintances. I have +been shown thousands of fireworks, which blind me, and offered +dozens of champagne, which I never touch, and public dinners, +which I did not attend. But during the whole time I have +never once seen the inside of a Swedish or Norwegian +house.” Which was perfectly true, nor have I ever +seen one to this day. There is a kind of +“hospitality” which consists of giving yourself a +grand treat at a tavern or <i>café</i>, and inviting your +strangers to it to help you to be glorified. But to very +domestic people and utter Philistines, <i>domestic</i> life lacks +the charm of a brass band, and the mirrors and gilding of a +restaurant or hotel; therefore, what they themselves enjoy most, +they, with best intent, but most unwisely, inflict on <!-- page +351--><a name="page351"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +351</span>more civilised folk. But in America and England, +where home-life is <i>worth</i> living and abounding in every +attraction, and public saloons are at a discount, the case is +reversed. And in these Western towns, of which many were, +so to speak, almost within hearing of the whoop of the savage or +the howl of the wolf (as Leavenworth really was), we experienced +a refinement of true hospitality in homes—kindness and tact +such as I have never known to be equalled save in Great +Britain. One evening I was at a house in St. Paul, where I +was struck by the beauty, refined manners, and agreeableness of +our hostess, who was a real Chippeway or Sioux Indian, and wife +of a retired Indian trader. She had been well educated at a +Canadian French seminary.</p> +<p>We were taken over to see the rival city of Minneapolis, of +which word my brother Henry said it was a vile grinding up +together of Greek and Indian. <i>Minne</i> means water; +<i>Minne-sota</i>, turbid water, and <i>Minne-haha</i> does not +signify “laughing,” but <i>falling</i> water. +This we also visited, and I found it so charming, that I was +delighted to think that for once an Indian name had been kept, +and that the young ladies of the boarding-schools of St. Paul or +Minneapolis had not christened or devilled it +“Diana’s Bath.”</p> +<p>We were received kindly by the Council of the city of +Minneapolis. Half of them had come from the East afflicted +with consumption, and all had recovered. But it is +necessary to remain there to live. My wife’s cousin, +Mr. Richard Price, who then owned the great saw-mill next the +Fall of St. Anthony, came with this affliction from Philadelphia, +and got over it. After six years’ absence he returned +to Philadelphia, and died in six weeks of consumption. +Strangely enough, consumption is the chief cause of death among +the Indians, but this is due to their careless habits, wearing +wet moccasins and the like.</p> +<p>Now a great question arose. It was necessary for the +magnates of our party to go to Duluth, and to do this they must +make a seven days’ journey through the wilderness, <!-- +page 352--><a name="page352"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +352</span>either on a very rough military road cut through the +woods during the war, or sometimes on no road at all. +Houses or post-stations, often of only one or two rooms, were +sometimes a day’s journey apart. The question was +whether delicate ladies, utterly unaccustomed to anything like +hard travel could take this trip, during which they must endure +clouds of mosquitos, put up with camp-cooking, or often none, and +otherwise go through privations such as only an Indian or a +frontiersman would care to experience? The entire town of +St. Paul, and all the men of our party, vigorously opposed taking +the ladies, while I, joining the latter, insisted on it that they +could go; for, as I said to all assembled, where the devil is +afraid to go he sends a woman; and I had always observed that in +travelling, long after men are tired out women are generally all +right. They are never more played out <i>than they want to +be</i>.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Femme plaint, femme deult,<br /> +Femme est malade quand elle veult,<br /> +Et par Sainte Marie!<br /> +Quand elle veult elle est guerye.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And of course <i>we</i> carried the day. Twelve men, +even though backed up by a city council, have no chance against +any ten women. To be sure women, like all other savages, +require a male leader—I mean to say, just as Goorkha +troops, though brave as lions, must have an English +captain—so they conquered under my guidance!</p> +<p>Having had experience in fitting out for the wilderness, I was +requested to see to the stores—so many hams to so many +people for so many days, so much coffee, and so forth. I +astonished all by insisting that there should be one <i>tin +cup</i> to every traveller. “Every glass you have +will soon be broken,” I said. And so it was, sooner +than I expected. As tin cups could not be found in St. +Paul, we bought three or four dozen small tin basins of about six +inches diameter at the rim, and when champagne was served out it +was, <i>faute de mieux</i>, drunk from these eccentric +goblets.</p> +<p><!-- page 353--><a name="page353"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +353</span>In the first waggon were Mr. and Mrs. Thompson and Mrs. +Leland. Their driver was a very eccentric Canadian +Frenchman named Louis. He was to the last degree polite to +the ladies, but subject to attacks of Indian rage at mere +trifles, when he would go aside, swear, and destroy something +like a lunatic in a fury, and then return quite happy and +serene. I was in the second waggon with three ladies, a man +being wanted in every vehicle. Our driver was named George, +and he was altogether like Brigham, minus the Mexican-Spanish +element. George had, however, also lived a great deal among +Indians, and been at the great battle of the Chippeways and +Sioux, and was full of interesting and naïve discourse.</p> +<p>Of course, we of the two leading waggons all talked to Louis +in French, who gave himself great airs on it. One morning +George asked me in confidence, “Mr. Leland, you’re +not all French, are you?” “Certainly +not,” I replied; “we’re from +Philadelphia.” “Well,” replied George, +“so I told Louis, but he says you <i>are</i> French, like +him, and shut me up by askin’ me if I hadn’t heard +you talkin’ it. Now what I want to know is, if +you’re <i>not</i> French, how came the <i>whole</i> of you +to know it?” I explained to George, to his +astonishment, that in the East it was usual for all well-educated +persons, especially ladies, to learn it. I soon became as +intimate with George as I had been with Brigham, and began to +learn Chippeway of him, and greet the Indians whom we met. +One day George said—</p> +<p>“Of course you have no Indian blood in you, Mr. Leland; +but weren’t you a great deal among ’em when you were +young?”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“Because you’ve got queer little old Injun +ways. Whenever you stop by the roadside to talk to anybody +and sit down, you always rake the small bits of wood together and +pull out a match and make a <i>smudge</i>” (a very smoky +fire made by casting dust on it), “just like an Indian in +an Injun kind of way.” (In after years I found this +same habit of <!-- page 354--><a name="page354"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 354</span>making fires of small bits of wood +peculiar to old English gypsies.)</p> +<p>The smudge is the great summer institution of Minnesota. +It is the safeguard against mosquitos. They are all over +the State in such numbers that they constitute a plague. We +all wore all the time over our faces and necks a kind of guard or +veil, shaped exactly like an Egyptian <i>fanous</i> or folding +lantern. It is cylindrical, made of <i>tulle</i> or coarse +lace, with rings. At every house people sat in the porticos +over a tin bucket, in which there was a smudge—that is to +say, in smoke. In the evening some one goes with a tin or +iron pail containing a smudge, and fills the bedrooms with dense +smoke. One evening Mr. Hinckley and another of our party +went fishing without veils. They returned with their necks +behind swollen up as if with <i>goitres</i> or +<i>Kröpfe</i>. I knew a young Englishman who with +friends, somewhere beyond Manitoba, encountered such a storm of +mosquitos that their oxen were killed, and the party saved +themselves by riding away on horseback. So he told me.</p> +<p>At the stations—all log-houses—the ladies +collected pillows and buffalo blankets, and, making a great bed, +all slept in one room. We men slept in waggons or under a +tent, which was not quite large enough for all. The Indian +women cut spruce twigs and laid them over-lapping on the ground +for our bed. By preference I took the outside, <i>al +fresco</i>. One night we stayed at a house which had an +upper and a lower storey. The ladies camped upstairs. +In the morning, when we men below awoke, all took a drink of +whisky. There entered a very tall Indian, clad in a long +black blanket, who looked on very approvingly at the +drinking. I called to my wife above to hand me down my +whisky flask. “There is a big Indian here who wants a +drink,” I remarked. “I think I know,” she +replied, “who that big Indian is,” but handed down +the flask. “Don’t waste whisky on an +<i>Indian</i>” said one of my companions. But I +filled the cup with a tremendous slug, and handed it <!-- page +355--><a name="page355"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 355</span>to +the Objibway. He took it down like milk, and never a word +spoke he, but when it was swallowed he looked at me and +winked. Such a wink as that was! I think I see it +now—so inspired with gratitude and humour as to render all +words needless. He had a rare sense of tact and +gratitude. Soon after I was sitting out of doors among a +few ladies, when the Indian, who had divined that I was short of +Chippeway and wished to learn, stalked up, and pointing to our +beauty, said gravely, <i>squoah</i>—<i>i.e.</i>, +woman. Then he indicated several other articles, told me +the Indian name for each and walked away. It was all he +could do. The ladies, who could not imagine why this +voluntary lesson was given to me, were much amused at it. +But I understood it; he had seen the Injun in me at a glance, and +knew what I wanted most!</p> +<p>One night we stopped at a place called Kettle River. It +was very picturesque. Over the rushing stream the high +rocky banks actually overhung the water. I got into a birch +canoe with my wife, and two Indian boys paddled us, while others +made a great fire on the cliff above, which illuminated the +scene. Other Indian youths jumped into the water and swam +about and skylarked, whooping wildly. It reminded me +strangely of the Blue Grotto of Capri, where our boatmen jumped +in and swam in a sulphur-azure glow, only that this was red in +the firelight.</p> +<p>Our whisky ran short—it always does on all such +excursions—and our drivers in consequence became very +“short” also, or rather unruly. But <i>bon +chemin</i>, <i>mal chemin</i>, we went on, and the ladies, as I +had predicted, pulled through merrily.</p> +<p>One day, at a halt, I found, with the ladies, in the woods by +a stream, a pretty sight. It was a wigwam, which was very +open, and which had been made to look like a bower with green +boughs. When I was in the artillery I was the only person +who ever thus adorned our tent in Indian style. It is very +pleasant on a warm day, and looks artistic. In the wigwam +<!-- page 356--><a name="page356"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +356</span>sat a pretty Indian woman with a babe. The ladies +were, of course, at once deeply interested, but the Indian could +not speak English. One of the ladies had a common Japanese +fan, with the picture of a grotesque god, and I at once saw my +way to interest our hostess.</p> +<p>I once read in the journal of a missionary’s wife in +Canada that she had a curious Malay or Cingalese dagger, with a +curved blade and wooden sheath, while on the handle was the +figure of an idol. One day she showed this to an Indian, +and the next day he came with five more, and these again with +fifteen, till it seemed as if the whole country had gone wild +over it. Very much alarmed at such heathenism, the lady +locked it up and would show it no more. Ere she did so, she +asked an old Indian how it was possible to make a scabbard of one +piece of wood, with a hole in it to fit the blade. This +man, who had been one of the most devoted admirers of the deity +on the handle, saw no puzzle in this. He explained that the +hole was burned in by heating the blade.</p> +<p>I showed the god on the fan to the Indian woman, and said, +“<i>Manitū</i>—<i>ktchee manitū</i>” +(“a god—a great god”). She saw at once +that it was heathen, and her heart went out unto it with great +delight. With a very few Chippeway words and many signs I +explained to her that forty days’ journey from us was the +sea, and forty days beyond another country where the people had +this <i>manitou</i>. I believe that the lady gave her the +fan, and it may be that she worships it to this day. How +absurd it is to try to force on such people Catholic or +Protestant forms, which they do <i>not</i> understand and never +will, while their souls take in with joy the poly-pantheistic +developments of supernaturalism, and that which suits their +lives. Like the little boy who <i>thought</i> he would like +to have a Testament, but <i>knew</i> he wanted a squirt, the +Indian, unable to rise to the grandeur of monotheistic +trinitarianism, is delighted with goblins, elves, and +sorcery. He can manage the squirt.</p> +<p><!-- page 357--><a name="page357"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +357</span>At Fond-du-Lac I became acquainted with a Mr. Duffy, a +very genial and clever man, a son of a former governor of Rhode +Island. He had an Indian wife and family, and was looked up +to by the Indians as <i>Kitchimōkomon</i>, “the white +man.” That he was a gentleman will appear from the +following incident. There was one of our party who, to put +it mildly, was not remarkable for refinement. A trader at +Fond-du-Lac had a very remarkable carved Indian pipe, for which +he asked me fifteen dollars. It certainly was rather a high +price, so I offered ten. Immediately the man of whom I +spoke laid down fifteen dollars and took the pipe. He was +<i>dans son droit</i>, but the action was churlish. It +seemed so to Duffy, who was standing by. After I had +returned to Philadelphia, Mr. Duffy sent me a very handsome pipe +for a present, which he assured me had been smoked at two grand +councils. He was indeed a “white man.”</p> +<p>There was an old Indian here whose name in Indian meant +“He who changes his position while sitting,” but +white people called him Martin “for short.” He +was wont to smoke a very handsome pipe. One day, seeing him +smoking a wretched affair rudely hewn, I asked him if he had not +a better. He replied, “I had, but I sold it to the +<i>kcheemo-komon iqueh</i>”—the long-knife woman +(<i>i.e.</i>, to a white lady). Inquiry proved that the +“long-knife woman” was Miss Lottie Foster, a very +beautiful and delicate young lady from Philadelphia, to whom such +a barbaric term seemed strangely applied. As for me, +because I always bought every stone pipe which I could get, the +Indians called me <i>Poaugun</i> or Pipe. Among the +Algonkin of the East in after-days I had a name which means <i>he +who seeks hidden things</i> (<i>i.e.</i>, mysteries).</p> +<p>We came to Duluth. There were in those days exactly six +houses and twenty-six Indian wigwams. However, we were all +accommodated somehow. Here there were grand conferences of +the railroad kings with the authorities of Duluth and Superior +City, which was a few miles distant, and <!-- page 358--><a +name="page358"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 358</span>as the +Dulutherans outbid the Father Superiors, the terminus of the road +was fixed at Duluth.</p> +<p>It was arranged that the ladies should remain at Duluth while +we, the men, were to go through the woods to examine a situation +a day’s march distant. We had Indians to carry our +luggage. Every man took a blanket and a cord, put his load +into it, turned the ends over the cord, and then drew it up like +a bag. They carried very easily from 150 to 250 lbs. weight +for thirty miles a day over stock and stone, up and down steep +banks or amid rotten crumbling trees and moss. Though a +good walker, I could not keep up with them.</p> +<p>I had with me a very genial and agreeable man as walking +companion. His name was Stewart, and he was mayor, chief +physician, and filled half-a-dozen other leading capacities in +St. Paul. Our fellow-travellers vanished in the +forest. Mayor Stewart and I with one Indian carrier found +ourselves at two o’clock very thirsty indeed. The +view was beautiful enough. A hundred yards below us by the +steep precipice rushed the St. Lawrence, but we could not get at +it to drink.</p> +<p>Stewart threw himself on the grass in despair. +“Yes,” he cried, “we’re lost in the +wilderness, and I’m going to die of thirst. Remember +me to my family.” “I say,” he suddenly +cried, “ask that Injun the name of that river.”</p> +<p>I asked of the Indian, “<i>Wa go nin-iu</i>?” +(“How do you call that?”) Thinking I wanted to +know the name for a stream, he replied, +“<i>Sebe</i>.” This is the same as <i>sipi</i> +in Missis-sippi.</p> +<p>“I knew it,” groaned Stewart. “There +is no such river as the <i>Sebe</i> laid down on the map. +We’re lost in an unknown region.”</p> +<p>“It occurs to me,” I said, “that this is a +judgment on me. When I think of the number of times in my +life when I have walked past bar-rooms and neglected to go in and +take a drink, I must think that it is a retribution.”</p> +<p>“And I say,” replied Stewart, “that if you +ever do get <!-- page 359--><a name="page359"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 359</span>back to civilisation, you’ll +be the old --- toper that ever was.”</p> +<p>When we came to the camp we found there by mere chance a large +party of surveyors. As there were thirty or forty of us, it +was resolved, as so many white men had never before been in that +region, to constitute a township and elect a member to the +Legislature, or Congress, or something—I forget what; but +it appeared that it was legal, and it was actually done—I +voting with the rest as a settler. I, too, am a +<i>Minnesot</i>.</p> +<p>We railroad people formed one party and sat at our evening +meal by ourselves, the surveyors made another, and the Indians a +third <i>table-d’hôte</i>. An open tin of +oysters was before us, and somebody said they were not +good. One only needs say so to ruin the character of an +oyster—and too often of “a human bivalve,” as +the Indiana orator said. We were about to pitch it away, +when I asked the attendant to give it to the Indians. It +was gravely passed by them from man to man till it came to the +last, who lifted it to his mouth and <i>drank off the entire +quart</i>, <i>oysters and all</i>, as if it had been so much +cider. Amazed at this, I asked what it meant, but the only +explanation I could get was, “He like um oyster.”</p> +<p>This was a charming excursion, all through the grene wode +wilde, and I enjoyed it. I had Indian society, and learned +Indian talk, and bathed in charming rushing waters, and saw +enormous pine trees 300 feet high, and slept <i>al fresco</i>, +and ate <i>ad libitum</i>. To this day its remembrance +inspires in me a feeling of deep, true poetry.</p> +<p>I think it was at Duluth that one morning there was brought in +an old silver cross which had just been found in an Indian grave +on the margin of the lake, not very far away. I went there +with some others. It was evidently the grave of some +distinguished man who had been buried about a hundred years +ago. There were the decayed remains of an old-fashioned +gun, and thousands of small beads adhering, still <!-- page +360--><a name="page360"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 360</span>in +pattern, to the <i>tibiæ</i>. I dug up +myself—in fact they almost lay on the surface, the sand +being blown away—several silver bangles, which at first +looked exactly like birch-bark peelings, and, what I very much +prized, two or three stone cylinders or tubes, about half an inch +in diameter, with a hole through them. Antiquaries have +been much puzzled over these, some thinking that they were +musical instruments, others implements for gambling. My own +theory always was that they were used for smoking tobacco, and as +those which I found were actually stuffed full of dried +semi-decayed “fine cut,” I still hold to it. I +also purchased from a boy a red stone pipe-head, which was found +in the same grave. I should here say that the pipe which +had been bought away from me by the man above mentioned had on it +the carving of a <i>reindeer</i>, which rendered it to me alone +of living men peculiarly valuable, since I have laboured hard, +and subsequently set forth in my “Algonkin Legends” +the theory that the Algonkin Indians went far to the North and +there mingled with the Norsemen of Greenland and Labrador. +The man who got the pipe promised to leave it to me when he died, +but he departed from life and never kept his word. A +frequent source of grief to me has been to see objects of great +value, illustrating some point in archæology, seized as +“curiosities” by ignorant wealthy folk. The +most detestable form of this folly is the buying of +<i>incunabula</i>, first editions or uncut copies, and keeping +them from publication or reading, and, in short, of worshipping +anything, be it a book or a coin, merely because it is +<i>rare</i>. Men never expatiate on <i>rariora</i> in +literature or in china, or talk cookery and wines over-much, +without showing themselves prigs. It is not any beauty in +the <i>thing</i>, but the delightful sense of their own culture +or wealth which they cultivate. When there is nothing in a +thing but mere <i>rarity</i> and cost to commend it, it is +absolutely worthless, as is the learning and connoisseurship +thereupon dependent.</p> +<p>Business concluded, we took a steamboat, and were very <!-- +page 361--><a name="page361"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +361</span>sea-sick on Lake Superior for twenty-four hours. +Then we went to the Isle Royale, and saw the mines, which had +been worked even by the ancient Mexicans; also an immense mass of +amethysts. The country here abounds in agates. At +Marquette there was brought on board a single piece of pure +virgin copper from the mine which weighed more than 4,000 +pounds. There it was, I think, that we found our cars +waiting, and returned in them to Philadelphia.</p> +<p>It was at this time that my brother Henry died, and his loss +inflicted on me a terrible mental blow, which went far, +subsequently, to bring about a great crisis in my health. +My dear brother was the most remarkable illustration of the fact +that there are men who, by no fault of their own, and who, +despite the utmost honour or integrity, deep intelligence, good +education, and varied talents, are overshadowed all their lives +by sorrow, and meet ill-luck at every turn. He went at +sixteen as <i>employé</i> into a Cuban importing house, +where he learned Spanish. His principal failed, and thence +he passed to a store in New York, where he worked far too hard +for $600 a year. His successor, who did much less, was +immediately paid $2,500 per annum. Finding that his +employer was being secretly ruined by his partner, he warned the +former, but only with the result of being severely reprimanded by +the merchant and my father as a mischief-maker. After a +while this merchant was absolutely ruined and bankrupted by his +partner, as he himself declared to me, but, like many men, still +kept his <i>rancune</i> against my poor brother. By this +time the eyesight and health of Henry quite gave out for some +time. Every effort which he made, whether to get +employment, to become artist or writer, failed. He +published two volumes of tales, sporting sketches, &c., with +Lippincott, in Philadelphia, which are remarkable for +originality. One of them was subsequently written out by +another distinguished author in another form. I do not say +it was after my brother’s, for I have known another case in +which two men, having heard a story from Barnum, both published +it, <!-- page 362--><a name="page362"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 362</span>ignorant that the other had done +so. But I would declare, in justice to my brother, that he +told this story, which I am sure the reader knows, quite as well +as did the other.</p> +<p>He travelled a great deal, was eighteen months in Rome and its +vicinity, visited Algeria, Egypt, and Cuba and the West, always +spending so little money that my father expressed his amazement +at it. I regret to say that in my youth I never astonished +him in this way. But this morbid conscientiousness or +delicacy as to being dependent did him no good, for he might just +as well have been thoroughly comfortable, and my father would +never have missed it. The feeling that he could get no +foothold in life, which had long troubled me, became a haunting +spectre which followed him to the grave. His work +“Americans in Rome” is one of the cleverest, most +sparkling, and brilliant works of humour, without a trace of +vulgarity, ever written in America. It had originally some +such title as “Studios and Mountains,” but the +publisher, thinking that the miserable clap-trap title of +“Americans in Rome” would create an impression that +there was “gossip,” and possibly scandal, in it, +insisted on that. It was published in the weary panic of +1862 in the war, and fell dead from the press. Though he +never really laughed, and was generally absolutely grave, my +brother had an incredibly keen sense of fun, and in conversation +could far outmaster or “walk over the head” of any +humorist whom I ever met. He was very far, however, from +showing off or being a professional wit. He was very fond, +when talking with men who considered themselves clever, of making +jests or puns in such a manner and in such an unaffected ordinary +tone of voice that they took no note of the +<i>quodlibets</i>. He enjoyed this much more than causing a +laugh or being complimented. But taking his life through, +he was simply unfortunate in everything, and his worst failures +were when he made wisely directed energetic efforts to benefit +himself or others. He rarely complained or grieved, having +in him a deep <i>fond</i> of what I, for want of a better term, +call <i>Indian nature</i>, or <!-- page 363--><a +name="page363"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 363</span>stoicism, +which is common in Americans, and utterly incomprehensible to, or +rarely found in, a European.</p> +<p>The death of my father left me a fifth of his property, which +was afterwards somewhat augmented by a fourth share of my poor +brother’s portion. For one year I drew no money from +the inheritance, but went on living as before on my earnings, so +that my wife remarked it really took me a year to realise that I +had any money. After some months I bought a house in Locust +Street, just opposite to where my father had lived, and in this +house I remained six months previously to going to Europe in +1869. We had coloured servants, and I never in all my life, +before or since, lived so well as during this time. The +house was well furnished; there was even the great luxury of no +piano, which is a great condition of happiness.</p> +<p>This year I was fearfully busy. As I had taken the +dramatic criticism in hand, for which alone we had always +employed a man, I went during twelve months 140 times to the +opera, and every evening to several theatres, <i>et +cetera</i>. Once I was caught beautifully. There had +been an opera bouffe, the “Grande Duchesse” or +something, running for two or three weeks, and I had written a +criticism on it. This was laid over by “press of +matter,” but as the same play was announced for the next +night with the same performers, we published the critique. +But it so chanced that the opera by some accident was not +played! The <i>Evening Bulletin</i>, my old paper, rallied +me keenly on this blunder, and I felt badly. John Forney, +jun., however, said it was mere rubbish of no consequence. +He was such an arrant Bohemian and hardened son of the press, +that he regarded it rather as a joke and a feather in our caps, +indicating that we were a bounding lot, and not tied down to +close observances. Truly this is a very fine spirit of +freedom, but it may be carried too far, as I think it was by a +friend of mine, who had but one principle in life, and that was +<i>never</i> to write his newspaper correspondence in the place +from which it was dated. It <!-- page 364--><a +name="page364"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 364</span>came to +pass that about three weeks after this retribution overtook the +<i>Bulletin</i>, for it also published a review of an opera which +was not sung, but I meanly passed the occurrence by without +comment. When a man hits you, it is far more generous, +manly, and fraternal to hit him back a good blow than to degrade +him by silent contempt.</p> +<p>The Presidential campaign between Grant and Johnson was +beginning to warm up. Colonel Forney was in a cyclone of +hard work between Washington, Pennsylvania, and New York, +carrying on a thousand plots and finely or coarsely drawn +intrigues, raising immense sums, speaking in public, and, not to +put it too finely, buying or trading votes in a thousand tortuous +or “mud-turtlesome and possum-like ways”—for +<i>non possumus</i> was not in his Latin. Never shall I +forget the disgust and indignation with which the great +Republican champion entered the office one evening, and, flinging +himself on a chair, declared that votes in New Jersey had gone up +to sixty dollars a head! And I was forced to admit that +sixty dollars for a Jerseyman did seem to be an exorbitant +price. So he went forth on the war-path with fresh paint +and a sharp tomahawk.</p> +<p>It often happened to me in his absence to have very curious +and critical decisions in my power. One of these is the +“reading in” or “reading out” of a man +from his party. This is invariably done by a leading +political newspaper. I remember, for instance, a man who +had been very prominent in politics, and gone over to the +Democrats, imploring me to readmit him to the fold; but, as I +regarded him as a mere office-hunter, I refused to do it. +<i>Excommunicatus sit</i>!</p> +<p>There was a <i>very</i> distinguished and able man in a very +high position. To him I had once addressed a letter begging +a favour which would have been nothing at all to grant, but which +was of great importance to me, and he had taken no notice of +it. It came to pass that we had in our hands to publish +certain very damaging charges against this great man. He +found it out, and, humiliated, I may say agonised <!-- page +365--><a name="page365"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +365</span>with shame and fear, he called with a friend, begging +that the imputations might not be published. I believe from +my soul that if I had not been so badly treated by him I should +have refused his request, but, as it was, I agreed to withdraw +the charges. It was the very best course, as I afterwards +found. I am happy to say that, in after years, and in other +lands, he showed himself very grateful to me. I am by +nature as vindictive as an unconverted Indian, and as I am deeply +convinced that it is vile and wicked, I fight vigorously against +it. In my <i>Illustrated News</i> days in New York I used +to keep an old German hymn pasted up before me in the sanctum to +remind me not to be revengeful. Out of all such battling of +opposing principles come good results. I feel this in +another form in the warring within me of superstitious +<i>feelings</i> and scientific convictions.</p> +<p>It became apparent that on Pennsylvania depended the election +of President. The State had only been prevented from +turning Copperhead-Democrat—which was the same as +seceding—by the incredible exertions of the Union League, +led by George H. Boker, and the untiring aid of Colonel +Forney. But even now it was very uncertain, and in fact the +election—on which the very existence of the Union virtually +depended—was turned by only a few hundred votes; and, as +Colonel Forney and George H. Boker admitted, it would have been +lost but for what I am going to narrate.</p> +<p>There were many thousand Republican Clubs all through the +State, but they had no one established official organ or +newspaper. This is of vast importance, because such an +organ is sent to doubtful voters in large numbers, and gives the +keynote or clue for thousands of speeches and to men stumping or +arguing. It occurred to me early to make the <i>Weekly +Press</i> this organ. I employed a young man to go to the +League and copy all the names and addresses of all the thousands +of Republican clubs in the State. Then I had the paper +properly endorsed by the League, and sent a copy to <!-- page +366--><a name="page366"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +366</span>every club at cost price or for nothing. This +proved to be a <i>tremendous</i> success. It cost us money, +but Colonel Forney never cared for that, and he greatly admired +the <i>coup</i>. I made the politics hot, to suit country +customers. I found the gun and Colonel Forney the powder +and ball, and between us we made a hit.</p> +<p>One day Frank Wells, of the <i>Bulletin</i> (very active +indeed in the Union League), met me and asked if I, since I had +lived in New York, could tell them anything as to what kind of a +man George Francis Train really was. “He has come +over all at once,” he said, “from the Democratic +party, and wishes to stump Pennsylvania, if we will pay him his +expenses.” I replied—</p> +<p>“I know Train personally, and understand him better than +most men. He is really a very able speaker for a popular +American audience, and will be of immense service if rightly +managed. But you must get some steady, sensible man to go +with him and keep him in hand and regulate expenses, +&c.”</p> +<p>It was done. After the election I conversed with the one +who had been the bear-leader, and he said—</p> +<p>“It was an immense success. Train made thousands +of votes, and was a most effective speaker. His mania for +speaking was incredible. One day, after addressing two or +three audiences at different towns, we stopped at another to +dine. While waiting for the soup, I heard a voice as of a +public speaker, and looking out, saw Train standing on a load of +hay, addressing a thousand admiring auditors.”</p> +<p>There are always many men who claim to have carried every +Presidential election—the late Mr. Guiteau was one of these +geniuses—but it is also true that there are many who would +by <i>not</i> working have produced very great changes. +Forney was a mighty wire-puller, if not exactly before the Lord, +at least before the elections, and he opined that I had secured +the success. There were <i>certainly</i> other +men—<i>e.g.</i>, Peacock, who influenced as many votes as +the <i>Weekly Press</i>, <!-- page 367--><a +name="page367"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 367</span>and George +Francis Train—without whose aid Pennsylvania and +Grant’s election would have been lost, but it is something +to have been one of the few who did it.</p> +<p>When General Grant came in, he resolved to have nothing to do +with “corrupt old politicians,” even though they had +done him the greatest service. So he took up with a lot of +doubly corrupt young ones, who were only inferior to the veterans +in ability. Colonel Forney was snubbed cruelly, in order to +rob him. Whatever he had done wrongly, he had done his +<i>work</i> rightly, and if Grant intended to throw his +politicians overboard, he should have informed them of it before +availing himself of their services. His conduct was like +that of the old lady who got a man to saw three cords of wood for +her, and then refused to pay him because he had been +divorced.</p> +<p>I had never in my life asked for an office from anybody. +Mr. Charles A. Dana once said that the work I did for the +Republican party on <i>Vanity Fair</i> alone was worth a foreign +mission, and that was a mere trifle to what I did with the +<i>Continental Magazine</i>, my pamphlet, &c. When +Grant was President, I petitioned that a little consulate worth +$1,000 (£200) might be given to a poor Episcopal clergyman, +but a man accustomed to consular work, who spoke French, and who +had been secretary to two commodores. It was for a small +French town. It was supported by Forney and George H. +Boker; but it was <i>refused</i> because I was “in +Forney’s set,” and the consulate was given to a +Western man who did not know French.</p> +<p>If John Forney, instead of using all his immense influence for +Grant, had opposed him tooth and nail, he could not have been +treated with more scornful neglect. The pretence for this +was that Forney had defaulted $40,000! I know every detail +of the story, and it is this:—While Forney was in Europe, +an agent to whom he had confided his affairs did take money to +that amount. As soon as Forney learned this, he promptly +raised $40,000 by mortgage on his property, <!-- page 368--><a +name="page368"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 368</span>and repaid +the deficit. Even his enemy Simon Cameron declared he did +not believe the story, and the engine of <i>his</i> revenge was +always run by “one hundred Injun power.”</p> +<p>I had “met” Grant several times, when one day in +London I was introduced to him again. He said that he was +very happy to make my acquaintance. I replied, +“General Grant, I have had the pleasure of being introduced +to you <i>six times</i> already, and I hope for many happy +renewals of it.” A week or two after, this appeared +in <i>Punch</i>, adapted to a professor and a duchess.</p> +<p>When the Sanitary Fair was held in Philadelphia in 1863, a +lady in New York wrote to Garibaldi, begging him for some +personal souvenir to be given to the charity. Garibaldi +replied by actually sending the dagger which he had carried in +every engagement, expressing in a letter a hope that it might +pass to General Grant. But a warm partisan of McClellan so +arranged it that there should be an election for the dagger +between the partisans of Grant and McClellan, every one voting to +pay a dollar to the Fair. For a long time the McClellanites +were in a majority, but at the last hour Miss Anna M. Lea, now +Mrs. Lea Merritt, very cleverly brought down a party of friends, +who voted for Grant, secured the dagger for him, and so carried +out the wish of Garibaldi. Long after an amusing incident +occurred relative to this. In conversation in London with +Mrs. Grant, I asked her if the dagger had been received. +She replied, “Oh, yes,” and then added naïvely, +“but wasn’t it really <i>alt a humbug</i>?”</p> +<p>The death of my father and brother within a year, the sudden +change in my fortunes, the Presidential campaign, and, above all, +the working hard seven days in the week, had been too much for +me. I began to find, little by little, that I could not +execute half the work to which I was accustomed. Colonel +Forney was very kind indeed, and never said a word. But I +began to apprehend that a break-down in my health was +impending. I needed change of scene, and so resolved, +finding, after due consideration, that I had enough to live on, +<!-- page 369--><a name="page369"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +369</span>to go abroad for a long rest. It proved to be a +very wise resolve. So I rented my house, packed my trunks, +and departed, to be gone “for a year or two.”</p> +<p>I would say, in concluding this chapter, that Colonel John +Forney was universally credited, with perfect justice, as having +carried Grant’s election. When Grant was about to +deliver his inaugural speech, a stranger who stood by me, looking +at the immense expectant crowd, remarked to a friend, “This +is a proud day for John Forney!” “Yes,” +replied the other, “the Dead Duck has elected +Grant.” But Forney cheerfully and generously declared +that it was the <i>Weekly Press</i> which had carried +Pennsylvania, and that I had managed it entirely alone. All +these things were known to thousands at the time, but we lived in +such excitement that we made but little account thereof. +However, there are men of good repute still living who will amply +confirm all that I have said of my work on the <i>Continental +Magazine</i>; and that Abraham Lincoln himself did actually +credit me with this is proved by the following incident. +Because I had so earnestly advocated Emancipation as a war +measure at a time when even the most fiery and advanced Abolition +papers, such as the <i>Tribune</i>, were holding back and +shouting <i>pas trop de zèle</i>—and as it proved +wisely, by advocating it publicly—<i>merely as a war +measure</i>—the President, at the request of George H. +Boker, actually signed for me fifty duplicate very handsome +copies of the Proclamation of Emancipation on parchment paper, to +every one of which Mr. Seward also added his signature. One +of these is now hanging up in the British Museum as my +gift. I perfectly understood and knew at the time, as did +all concerned, that this was a recognition, and a very graceful +and appropriate one, of what I had done for +Emancipation—Harvard having A.M.’d me for the +same. The copies I presented to the Sanitary Fair to be +sold for its benefit, but there was not much demand for them; +what were left over I divided with George Boker.</p> +<h2><!-- page 370--><a name="page370"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 370</span>VII. EUROPE REVISITED. +1869-1870.</h2> +<p>Voyage on the <i>Pereire</i>—General Washburne—I +am offered a command in another French +Revolution—Paris—J. Meredith Read and Prevost +Paradol—My health—Spa—J. C. Hotten—Octave +Delepierre—Heidelberg—Dresden—Julian Hawthorne +and G. Lathrop—Verona—Venice—Rome—W. W. +Story—Florence—Lorimer +Graham—“Breitmann” in the Royal +Family—Tuscany.</p> +<p>We sailed on the famed <i>Pereire</i> from New York to Brest +in May, 1869. We had not left port before a droll incident +occurred. On the table in the smoking-room lay a copy of +the “Ballads of Hans Breitmann.” A +fellow-passenger asked me, “Is that your book?” +I innocently replied, “Yes.” “Excuse me, +sir,” cried another, “it is <i>mine</i>.” +“I beg your pardon,” I replied, “but it is +really mine.” “Sir, I <i>bought</i> +it.” “I don’t care if you did,” I +replied; “it is mine—for I wrote it.” +There was a roar of laughter, and we all became acquainted at +once.</p> +<p>General Washburne was among the passengers. He had been +appointed Minister to France and was going to Paris, where he +subsequently distinguished himself during the siege by literally +taking the place of seven foreign Ministers who had left, and +kindly caring for all their <i>protégés</i>. +It never occurred to the old frontiersman to leave a place or his +duties because fighting was going on. I had a fine +twelve-feet blue Indian blanket, which I had bought somewhere +beyond Leavenworth of a trader. When sitting on deck +wrapped in it, the General would finger a fold lovingly, and say, +“Ah! the Indians always have good blankets!”</p> +<p><!-- page 371--><a name="page371"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +371</span>We arrived in Brest, and Mrs. Leland, who had never +before been in Europe, was much pleased at her first sight, early +in the morning, of a French city; the nuns, soldiers, peasants, +and all, as seen from our window, were indeed very +picturesque. We left that day by railway for Paris, and on +the road a rather remarkable incident occurred. There was +seated opposite to us a not very amiable-looking man of thirty, +who might be of the superior class of mechanics, and who +evidently regarded us with an evil eye, either because we were +suspected <i>Anglais</i> or aristocrats. I resolved that he +should become amicable. Ill-tempered though he might be, he +was still polite, for at every stopping-place he got out to +smoke, and extinguished his cigar ere he re-entered. I said +to him, “Madame begs that you will not inconvenience +yourself so much—pray continue to smoke in +here.” This melted him, as it would any +Frenchman. Seeing that he was reading the <i>Rappel</i>, I +conversed “liberally.” I told him that I had +been captain of barricades in Forty-eight, and described in full +the taking of the Tuileries. His blood was fired, and he +confided to me all the details of a grand plot for a Revolution +which he was going up to Paris to attend to, and offered me a +prominent place among the conspirators, assuring me that I should +have a glorious opportunity to fight again at the +barricades! I was appalled at his want of discretion, but +said nothing. Sure enough, there came the +<i>émeute</i> of the plebiscite, as he had predicted, but +it was suppressed. George Boker wrote to me: “When I +heard of a revolution in Paris, I knew at once that you must have +arrived and had got to work.” And when I told him +that I knew of it in advance, and had had a situation offered me +as leader, he dryly replied, “Oh, I suppose so—as a +matter of course.” It was certainly a strange +coincidence that I left Paris in Forty-eight as a Revolutionary +<i>suspect</i>, and re-entered it in 1870 in very nearly the same +capacity.</p> +<p>We found agreeable lodgings at the Rond Point of the Champs +Elysées. The day after our arrival I determined to +<!-- page 372--><a name="page372"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +372</span>arrange the terms of living with our landlord. He +and his wife had the reputation of being fearful screws in their +“items.” So he, thinking I was a newly arrived +and perfectly ignorant American, began to draw the toils, and +enumerate so much for the rooms, so much for every towel, so +much, I believe, for salt and every spoon and fork. I asked +him how much he would charge for everything in the lump. He +replied, “<i>Mais</i>, <i>Monsieur</i>, <i>nous ne faisons +pas jamais comme cela à Paris</i>.” Out of all +patience, I burst out into vernacular: “<i>Sacré nom +de Dieu et mille tonnerres</i>, <i>vieux galopin</i>! you dare to +tell <i>me</i>, a <i>vieux carabin du Quartier Latin</i>, that +you cannot make arrangements! <i>Et depuisse-quand</i>, +<i>s’il vous plait</i>?” <a name="citation372"></a><a +href="#footnote372" class="citation">[372]</a> He stared at +me in blank amazement, and then said with a smile: +“<i>Tiens</i>! <i>Monsieur est donc de +nous</i>!” “That I am,” I replied, and we +at once made a satisfactory compromise.</p> +<p>We had pleasant friends, and saw the sights and shopped; but I +began to feel in Paris for the first time that the dreaded +break-down or collapse which I had long apprehended was coming +over me. There was a very clever surgeon and physician +named Laborde, who was called Nelaton’s right-hand +man. I met him several times, and he observed to a mutual +friend that I was evidently suffering seriously from threatening +nervous symptoms, and that he would like to attend me. He +did so, and gave me daily a teaspoonful of bromide of +potassium. This gave me sleep and appetite; but, after some +weeks or months, the result was a settled, mild melancholy and +tendency to rest. In fact, it was nearly eighteen months +before I recovered so that I could write or work, and <i>live</i> +as of old.</p> +<p>I had inherited from both parents, and suffered all my life +fearfully at intervals, from brachycephalic or dorsal +neuralgia. Dr. Laborde made short work of this by giving me +appallingly strong doses of <i>tincture of aconite and sulphate +</i><!-- page 373--><a name="page373"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 373</span><i>of quinine</i>. Chemists +have often been amazed at the prescription. But in due time +the trouble quite disappeared, and I now, <i>laus Deo</i>! very +rarely ever have a touch of it. As many persons suffer +terribly from this disorder, which is an <i>aching</i> in the +back of the head and neck accompanied by “sick +headache,” I give the ingredients of the cure; the proper +quantity must be determined by the physician. <a +name="citation373"></a><a href="#footnote373" +class="citation">[373]</a></p> +<p>We dined once with Mr. Washburne, who during dinner showed his +extreme goodness of heart in a very characteristic manner. +Some foolish American had during the +<i>émeute</i>—in which I was to have been a leader, +had I so willed—got himself into trouble, not by fighting, +but through mere prying Yankee “curiosity” and +mingling with the crowd. Such people really deserve to be +shot more than any others, for they get in the way and spoil good +fighting. He was deservedly arrested, and sent for his +Minister, who, learning it, at once arose, drove to the +<i>prefecture</i>, and delivered his inquisitive +compatriot. On another occasion we were the guests of J. +Meredith Read, then our Minister to Athens, where we met Prevost +Paradol. But at this time there suddenly came over me a +distaste for operas, theatres, dinners, society—in short, +of crowds, gaslight, and gaiety in any form, from which I have +never since quite recovered. I had for years been fearfully +overdoing it all in America, and now I was in the reaction, and +longed for rest. I was in that state when one could truly +say that life would be tolerable but for its amusements. It +is usual for most people to insist in such cases that what the +sufferer needs is “excitement” and “distraction +of the mind,” change of scene or gaiety, when in reality +the patient should be most carefully trained to repose, which is +not always easily done, for so very little attention has been +<!-- page 374--><a name="page374"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +374</span>paid to this great truth, that even medical science as +yet can do very little towards calming nervous disorders. +In most cases the trouble lies in the presence, or unthinking +heedless influence, of other people; and, secondly, in the +absence of interesting minor occupations or arts, such as keep +the mind busy, yet not over-excited or too deeply absorbed. +An important element in such cases is to interest deeply the +patient in himself as a vicious subject to be subdued by his own +exertions. No one who has <i>never</i> had the gout +severely can form any conception of the terribly arrogant +irritability which accompanies it. I say <i>arrogant</i>, +because it is independent of any voluntary action of the +mind. I have often felt it raging in me, and laughed at it, +as if it were a chained wild beast, and conversed with perfect +serenity. Unfortunately, even our dearest friends, +generally women, cannot, to save their very lives and souls, +refrain from having frequent piquant scenes with such tempting +subjects; while, on the other hand, the subjects are often led by +mere vanity into exhibiting themselves as something +peculiar. Altogether, I believe that where there is no +deeply seated hereditary or congenital defect, or no displacement +or injury from violence or disease, there is always a cure to be +hoped for, or at least possible; but this cure depends in many +cases so very much upon the wisdom and patience of friends and +physicians, that it is only remarkable that we find so many +recoveries as we do. Where the patient and friends are all +really persons of superior intelligence, almost miraculous cures +may be effected. But unfortunately, if it be not born in +us, it requires a great deal of genius to acquire properly the +real <i>dolce far niente</i>.</p> +<p>From Paris we went to Spa in the Ardennes. In this very +beautiful place, in a picturesque land of legends, I felt calmer +and more relieved. I think it was there that for the first +time I got an inkling that my name was becoming known in +Europe. There was a beautiful young English lady whom I +occasionally met in an artist’s studio, who one day asked +me with some interest whom the Leland could be <!-- page 375--><a +name="page375"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 375</span>of whom one +heard sometimes—“he writes books, I +think.” I told her that I had a brother who had +written two or three clever works, and she agreed with me that he +must be the man; still she inclined to think that the name was +not Henry, but Charles.</p> +<p>Mr. Nicolas Trübner, whom I had not seen since 1856, came +with his wife and daughter to Spa, and this was the beginning of +a great intimacy which lasted to his death. Which meeting +reminds me of something amusing. I had written the first +third of “Breitmann as a Politician,” which J. +“Camden” Hotten had republished, promising the public +to give them the rest before long. This I prevented by +copyrighting the two remaining thirds in England! Being +very angry at this, Hotten accused me in print of having written +this conclusion expressly to disappoint and injure +<i>him</i>! In fact, he really seemed to think that Mr. +Trübner and I were only a pair of foreign rogues, bound +together to wrong Mr. J. C. Hotten out of his higher rights in +“Breitmann.” I wrote a pamphlet in which I said +this and some other things very plainly. Mr. Trübner +showed this to his lawyer, who was of the opinion that it could +not be published because it bore on libel, though there was +nothing in it worse than what I have here said. However, +Mr. Trübner had it privately printed, and took great joy, +solace, and comfort for a very long time in reading it to his +friends after dinner, or on other occasions, and as he had many, +it got pretty well about London. I may here very truly +remark that Mr. Hotten, in the public controversy which he had +with Mr. Trübner on the subject of my “Ballads,” +displayed an effrontery absolutely without parallel in modern +times, apropos of which <i>Punch</i> remarked—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The name of Curll will never be +forgotten,<br /> +And neither will be thine, John Camden Hotten.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>From Spa we went to Brussels, where I remember to have seen +many times at work in the gallery the famous artist <!-- page +376--><a name="page376"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +376</span>without arms who painted with his toes. What was +quite a remarkable was the excellence of his copies from +Rembrandt. Nature succeeded in his case in “heaping +voonders oopen voonders,” as Tom Hood says in his +“Rhine.” I became well acquainted with Tom Hood +the younger in after years, and to this day I contribute +something every year to <i>Tom Hood’s Annual</i>. At +Brussels we stayed at a charming old hotel which had galleries +one above the other round the courtyard, exactly like those of +the White Hart Inn immortalised in “Pickwick.” +There was in Philadelphia a perfect specimen of such an inn, +which has of late years been rebuilt as the Bingham House. +While in Spa I studied Walloon.</p> +<p>From Brussels to Ghent, which I found much modernised from +what it had been in 1847, when it was still exactly as in the +Middle Age, but fearfully decayed, and, like Ferrara, literary +with grass-grown streets. <i>Und noch weiter</i>—to +Ostend, where for three weeks I took lessons in Flemish or Dutch +from a young professor, reading “Vondel” and +“Bilderdijk,” who, if not in the world of letters +known, deserves to be. I had no dictionary all this time, +and the teacher marvelled that I always knew the meaning of the +words, which will not seem marvellous to any one who understands +German and has studied Anglo-Saxon and read “Middle or +Early English.” Then back to Spa to meet Mr. and Mrs. +Trübner and her father Octave Delepierre, who was a great +scholar in <i>rariora</i>, <i>curiosa</i>, and old French, and +<i>facile princeps</i> the greatest expert in Macaronic poetry +who ever wrote. May I here venture to mention that he +always declared that my later poem of “Breitmann and the +Pope” was the best Macaronic poem which he had ever +read? His reason for this was that it was the most reckless +and heedless or extravagant combination of Latin and modern +languages known to him. I had, however, been much indebted +to Mr. Oscar Browning for revising it. And so the truth, +which long in darkness lay, now comes full clearly to the light +of day.</p> +<p><!-- page 377--><a name="page377"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +377</span>Thence to Liége, Amsterdam, the Hague, Haarlem, +and Leyden, visiting all the great galleries and many private +collections. At Amsterdam we saw the last grand kermess or +annual fair ever held there. It was a Dutch carnival, so +wild and extravagant that few can comprehend now to what extremes +“spreeing” can be carried. The Dutch, like the +Swedes, have or had the strange habit of bottling up their +hilarity and letting it out on stated occasions in uproarious +frolics. I saw <i>carmagnoles</i> in which men and women, +seized by a wild impulse, whirled along the street in a frantic +dance to any chance music, compelling every bystander to +join. I heard of a Prince from Capua, who, having been thus +<i>carmagnoled</i>, returned home in rags.</p> +<p>In Leyden I visited the Archæological Museum, where I by +chance became acquainted with the chief or director, who was then +engaged in rearranging his collections, and who, without knowing +my name, kindly expressed the wish that I would remain a week to +aid him in preparing the catalogue. As there are few works +on prehistoric relics which I do not know, and as I had for many +years studied with zeal innumerable collections of the kind, I +venture to believe that his faith in my knowledge was not quite +misplaced. Even as I write I have just received the +<i>Catalogue of Prehistoric Works in Eastern America</i>, by +Cyrus Thomas—a work of very great importance.</p> +<p>Thence we went to Cologne, where it was marvellous to find the +Cathedral completed, in spite of the ancient legend which asserts +that though the devil had furnished its design he had laid a +curse upon it, declaring that it should never be finished. +Thence up the Rhine by castles grey and smiling towns, recalling +my old foot-journey along its banks; and so on to Heidelberg, +where I stayed a month at the Black Eagle. Herr Lehr was +still there. He had grown older. His son was taking +dancing lessons of Herr Zimmer, who had taught me to waltz twenty +years before. One day I took my watch to a shop to be +repaired, when the proprietor <!-- page 378--><a +name="page378"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 378</span>declared +that he had mended it once before in 1847, and showed me the +private mark which he put on it at the time.</p> +<p>There were several American students, who received me very +kindly. I remember among them Wright, Manly, and +Overton. When I sat among them smoking and drinking beer, +and mingling German student words with English, it seemed as if +the past twenty years were all a dream, and that I was a +<i>Bursch</i> again. Overton had the reputation of being +<i>par éminence</i> the man of men in all Heidelberg, who +could take off a full quart at one pull without stopping to take +breath—a feat which I had far outdone at Munich, in my +youth, with the <i>horn</i>, and which I again accomplished at +Heidelberg “without the foam,” Overton himself, who +was a very noble young fellow, applauding the feat most +loudly. But I have since then often done it with Bass or +Alsopp, which is much harder. I need not say that the +“Breitmann Ballads,” which had recently got among the +Anglo-American students, and were by them greatly admired, did +much to render me popular.</p> +<p>I found or made many friends in Heidelberg. One night we +were invited to a supper, and learned afterwards that the two +children of our host, having heard that we were Americans, had +peeped at us through the keyhole and expressed great +disappointment at not finding us <i>black</i>.</p> +<p>In November we went to Dresden. We were so fortunate as +to obtain excellent rooms and board with a Herr and Madame +Röhn, a well-to-do couple, who, I am sure, took boarders far +more for the sake of company than for gain. Herr Röhn +had graduated at Leipzig, but having spent most of his life in +Vienna, was a man of exuberant jollity—a man of gold and a +gentleman, even as his wife was a truly gentle lady. As I +am very tall, and detest German small beds, I complained of mine, +and Herr Röhn said he had another, of which I could not +complain. And I certainly could not, for when it came I +found it was at least eight feet in length. It seems that +they had once had for a boarder a German baron <!-- page 379--><a +name="page379"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 379</span>who was +<i>more than seven feet</i> high, and had had this curiosity +constructed; and Herr Röhn roared with laughter as I gazed +on it, and asked if I would have it lengthened.</p> +<p>We remained in Dresden till February, and found many friends, +among whom there was much pleasant homelike hospitality. +Among others were Julian Hawthorne and sisters, and George +Parsons Lathrop. They were young fellows then, and not so +well known as they have since become, but it was evident enough +that they had good work in them. They often came to see me, +and were very kind in many ways. I took lessons in +porcelain-painting, which art I kept up for many years, and was, +of course, assiduous in visiting the galleries, Green Vault, and +all works of art. I became well acquainted with Passavant, +the director. I was getting better, but was still far from +being as mentally vigorous as I had been. I now attribute +this to the enormous daily dose of bromide which I continued to +take, probably mistaking its <i>influence</i> for the original +nervous exhaustion itself. It was not indeed till I got to +England, and substituted <i>lupulin</i> in the form of +hops—that is to say, pale ale or +“bitter”—in generous doses, that I quite +recovered.</p> +<p>So we passed on to Prague, which city, like everything Czech, +always had a strange fascination for me. There I met a +certain Mr. Vojtech Napristek (or Adalbert Thimble), who had once +edited in the United States a Bohemian newspaper with which I had +exchanged, and with whom I had corresponded, but whom I had never +before seen. He had established in Prague, on American +lines, a Ladies’ Club of two hundred, which we visited, and +was, I believe, owing to an inheritance, now a prosperous +man. Though I am not a Thimble, it also befell me, in later +years, to found and preside over a Ladies’ Art Club of two +hundred souls. At that time the famous legendary bridge, +with the ancient statue of St. John Nepomuk, still existed as of +yore. No one imagined that a time would come when they +would be washed away through sheer neglect.</p> +<p><!-- page 380--><a name="page380"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +380</span>So on to Munich, where, during a whole week, I saw but +one <i>Riegelhaube</i>, a curious head-dress or chignon-cover of +silver thread, once very common. Even the old Bavarian +dialect seemed to have almost vanished, and I was glad to hear it +from our porter. Many old landmarks still existed, but King +Louis no longer ran about the streets—I nearly ran against +him once; people no longer were obliged by law to remove cigars +or pipes from their mouths when passing a sentry-box. Lola +Montez had vanished. <i>Mais où sont les neiges +d’antan</i>?</p> +<p>So we went over the Brenner Pass, stopped at Innspruck, and +saw the church described by Heine in his <i>Reisebilder</i>, and +came to Verona, the Bern of the <i>Heldenbuch</i>. +“<i>Ich will gen Bern ausreiten</i>, <i>sprach Meister +Hildebrand</i>.”</p> +<p>It was a happy thought of the Italians to put picturesque +Verona down as the first stopping-place for Northern travellers, +and I rather like Ruskin’s idea of buying the town and +keeping it intact as a piece of <i>bric-à-brac</i>. +He might have proposed Rome while he was about it; +“anything there can be had for money,” says +Juvenal.</p> +<p>When we arrived at the station I alone was left to encounter +the fierce douaniers. One of them, inquisitive as to +tobacco, when I told him I had none, laid his finger impressively +on the mouthpiece of my pipe, remarking that where the tail of +the fox was seen the fox could not be far off. To which I +replied that I indeed had no tobacco, but wanted some very badly, +and that I would be much obliged to him if he would give me a +little to fill my pipe. So all laughed. My wife +entering at this instant, cried in amazement, “Why, +Charles! where did you ever learn to talk Italian?” +Which shows that there can be secrets even between married +people; though indeed my Italian has always been of such inferior +quality that it is no wonder that I never boasted of it even in +confidence. It is, in fact, the Hand-organo dialect +flavoured with Florentine.</p> +<p>There was an old lady who stood at the door of a +curiosity-shop in Verona, and she had five pieces of +bone-carvings <!-- page 381--><a name="page381"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 381</span>from some old <i>scatola</i> or +marriage-casket. She asked a fabulous price for them, and I +offered five francs. She scorned the paltry sum with all +the vehemence of a susceptible soul whose tenderest feelings have +been outraged. So I went my way, but as I passed the place +returning, the old lady came forth, and, graciously courtesying +and smiling, held forth to me the earrings neatly wrapped in +paper, and thanked me for the five francs! Which indicated +to me that the good small folk of Italy had not materially +changed since I had left the country.</p> +<p>We came to Venice, and went to a hotel, where we had a room +given to us which, had we wished to give a ball, would have left +nothing to be desired. I counted in it twenty-seven chairs +and seven tables, all at such a distance from one another that +they seemed not to be on speaking terms. I do not think I +ever got quite so far as the upper end of that room while I +inhabited it—it was probably somewhere in Austria. I +have spoken of having met Mr. Wright at Heidelberg. He was +from Wilkesbarre, Pennsylvania. The next day after my +arrival I found among the names of the departed, “Signore +Wright-<i>Kilkes</i>, from Barre, Pennsylvania, +America.” This reminded me of the Anglo-American who +was astonished at Rome at receiving invitations and circulars +addressed to him as “Illustrissimo Varanti +Solezer.” It turned out that an assistant, reading +aloud to the clerk the names from the trunks, had mistaken a very +large “<span class="smcap">Warranted Sole +Leather</span>” for the name of the owner.</p> +<p>And this on soles reminds me that there was a <i>femme +sole</i> or lone acrimonious British female at our hotel, who +declared to me one evening that she had <i>never</i> in all her +life been so <i>insulted</i> as she was that day at a +banker’s; and the insult consisted in this, that she, +although quite unknown to him, had asked him to cash a cheque on +London, which he had declined to do. I remarked that no +banker who did business properly ever ought to cash a cheque from +a total stranger.</p> +<p>“Sir,” said the lady, “do <i>I look</i> like +an impostor?”</p> +<p><!-- page 382--><a name="page382"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +382</span>“Madame,” I replied, “I have seen +thieves and wretches of the vilest type who could not have been +distinguished from either of us as regards respectability of +appearance. You do not appear to know much about such +people.”</p> +<p>“I am happy to say, sir,” replied the lady with +intense acidity, “that <i>I</i> do <i>not</i>.” +But she added triumphantly, “What do you say when I tell +you that I had my <i>cheque-book</i>? How could I have +possessed it if I had not a right to draw?”</p> +<p>“Any scamp,” I replied, “can deposit a few +pounds in a bank, buy a cheque-book, and then draw his +money.”</p> +<p>But the next day she came to me in radiant sneering +triumph. She had found another banker, who was a gentleman, +with a marked emphasis, who had cashed her cheque. How many +people there are in this world whose definition of a gentleman is +“one who does whatever pleases <i>us</i>!”</p> +<p>In Florence we went directly to the Hotel d’Europe in +the Via Tuornabuoni, where my Indian blanket vanished even while +entering the hotel, and surrounded only by the servants to whom +the luggage had been confided. As the landlord manifested +great disgust for me whenever I mentioned such a trifle, and as +the porter and the rest declared that they would answer soul and +body for one another’s honesty, I had to grin and bear +it. I really wonder sometimes that there are not more +boarders, who, like Benvenuto Cellini, set fire to hotels or cut +up the bedclothes before leaving them. That worthy, having +been treated not so badly as I was at the Hotel d’Europe +and at another in Florence, cut to pieces the sheets of his bed, +galloped away hastily, and from the summit of a distant hill had +the pleasure of seeing the landlord in a rage. Now people +write to the <i>Times</i>, and “cut up” the whole +concern. It all comes to the same thing.</p> +<p>In Florence I saw much of an old New York friend, the now late +Lorimer Graham. When he died, Swinburne wrote a poem on +him. He was a man of great culture and refined +manner. There was something sympathetic in him which <!-- +page 383--><a name="page383"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +383</span>drew every one irresistibly into liking. It was +his instinct to be kind and thoughtful to every one. He +gave me letters to Swinburne, Lord Houghton, and others.</p> +<p>I made an acquaintance by chance in Florence whom I can never +forget: for he was a character. One day while in the Uffizi +Gallery engaged in studying the great Etruscan vase, now in the +Etruscan Museum, a stranger standing by me said, “Does not +this seem to you like a mysterious book written in forgotten +characters? Is not a collection of such vases like a +library?”</p> +<p>“On that hint I spake.” “I see,” +I replied, “you refer to the so-called Etruscan Library +which an Englishman has made, and which contains only vases and +inscriptions in that now unknown tongue of Etruria. And +indeed, when we turn over the pages of Inghirami, Gherard, and +Gori, Gray, or Dennis, it does indeed really seem—But what +do you really think the old Etruscan language truly +was?”</p> +<p>“Look here, my friend,” cried the stranger in +broad Yankee, “I guess I’m barkin’ up the wrong +tree. I calculated to tell <i>you</i> something, but +you’re ahead of me.”</p> +<p>We both laughed and became very good friends. He lived +at our hotel, and had been twenty-five years in Italy, and knew +every custode in every gallery, and could have every secret +treasure unlocked. He was perfectly at home about +town—would stop and ask a direction of a cab-driver, and +was capable of going into an umbrella-shop when it rained.</p> +<p>We went on to Rome, and I can only say that as regards what we +saw there, my memory is confused literally with an <i>embarras de +richesses</i>. The Ecumenical Council was being held, at +which an elderly Italian gentleman, who possibly did not know +oxygen from hydrogen, or sin from sugar, was declared to be +infallible in his judgment of all earthly things.</p> +<p>While in Rome we saw a great deal of W. W. Story, the +sculptor, and his wife and daughter, Edith, for whom Thackeray +wrote his most beautiful tale, and I at my humble <!-- page +384--><a name="page384"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +384</span>distance the ballad of “Breitmann in Rome,” +which contained a remarkable prophecy, of the Franco-German +war. At their house we met Odo Russell and Oscar Browning, +and many more whose names are known to all. It was there +also that a lady of the Royal English household amused us very +much one evening by narrating how the “Breitmann +Ballads,” owing to their odd mixture of German and English, +were favourite subjects for mutual reading and recitation among +the then youthful members of the Royal family, and what haste and +alarm there was to put the forbidden book out of the way when Her +Majesty the Queen was announced as coming. I also met in +Rome the American poet and painter T. Buchanan Read, who gave me +a dinner, and very often that remarkable character General +Carroll Tevis, who, having fought under most flags, and been a +Turkish bey or pacha, was now a chamberlain of the Pope. In +the following year he fought for the French, behaved with great +bravery in Bourbaki’s retreat, and was decorated on the +field of battle. Then again, when I was in Egypt, Tevis was +at the head of the military college. He had fairly won his +rank of general in the American Civil War, but as there was some +disinclination or other to give it to him, I had used my +influence in his favour with Forney, who speedily secured it for +him. He was a perfect type of the old <i>condottiero</i>, +but with Dugald Dalgetty’s scrupulous faith to his military +engagements. The American clergyman in Rome was the Rev. +Dr. Nevin, a brother of my friend Captain Nevin. There was +also Mrs. John Grigg, an old Philadelphia friend (now residing in +Florence), to whom we were then, as we have continually been +since, indebted for the most cordial hospitality.</p> +<p>Through the kind aid of General Tevis we were enabled to see +all the principal ceremonies of the Holy Week and Easter. +This year, owing to the Council, everything was on a scale of +unusual magnificence. I can say with Panurge that I have +seen three Popes, but will not add with him, “and <!-- page +385--><a name="page385"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +385</span>little good did it ever do me,” for Mrs. Leland +at least was much gratified with a full sight and quasi-interview +with His Holiness.</p> +<p>There was a joyous sight for a cynic to be seen in Rome in +those days—in fact, it was only last year (1891) that it +was done away with. This was the drawing of the lottery by +a priest. There was on a holy platform a holy wheel and a +holy little boy to draw the holy numbers, and a holy old priest +to oversee and <i>bless</i> the whole precious business. +The blessing of the devil would have been more appropriate, for +the lotteries are the curse of Italy. What the +Anglo-American mechanic puts into a savings bank, the Italian +invests in lotteries. In Naples there are now fourteen +tickets sold per annum for the gross amount of the population, +and in Florence twelve.</p> +<p>One day I took a walk out into the country with Briton +Rivière and some other artists. I had a cake or two +of colour, and Rivière, with wine for water, at a +<i>trattoria</i> where we lunched, made a picture of the +attendant maid. He pointed out to me on the road a string +of peasants carrying great loaves of coarse bread. They had +walked perhaps twenty miles to buy it, because in those days +people were not allowed to bake their own bread, but must buy it +at the public <i>forno</i>, which paid a tax for the +privilege. So long as Rome was under Papal control, its +every municipal institution, such as hospitals, prisons, and the +police, were in a state of absolutely incredible inhuman +vileness, while under everything ran corruption and +dishonesty. The lower orders were severely disciplined as +to their sexual morals, because it was made a rich source of +infamous taxes, as it now is in other cities of Europe; but +cardinals and the wealthier priests kept mistresses, almost +openly, since these women were pointed out to every one as they +flaunted about proudly in their carriages.</p> +<p>From Rome we passed into Pisa, Genoa, Spezzia, and Nice, over +the old Cornici road, and so again to Paris, where <!-- page +386--><a name="page386"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 386</span>we +remained six weeks, and then left in June, 1870, just before the +war broke out. While in the city we saw at different times +in public the Emperor and Empress, also the Queen of Spain. +The face of Louis Napoleon was indeed somewhat changed since I +saw him in London in 1848, but it had not improved so much as his +circumstances, as he was according to external appearances and +popular belief now extremely well off. But appearances are +deceptive, as was soon proved, for he was in reality on the verge +of a worse bankruptcy than even his uncle underwent, for the +nephew lost not only kingdom and life, but also every trace of +reputation for wisdom and honesty, remaining to history only as a +brazen royal adventurer and “copper captain.”</p> +<p>In Rome our dear old friend Mrs. John Grigg showed us, as I +said, many kind attentions, which she has, in Florence, continued +to this day. This lady is own aunt to my old school friend +General George B. McClellan. At an advanced age she +executes without glasses the most exquisite embroidery +conceivable, and her heart and intellect are in keeping with her +sight.</p> +<h2><!-- page 387--><a name="page387"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 387</span>VIII. ENGLAND. +1870.</h2> +<p>The Trübners—George Eliot and G. H. +Lewes—Heseltine—Edwards—Etched by Bracquemond +and Legros—Jean Ingelow—Tennyson—Hepworth +Dixon—Lord Lytton the elder—Lord Houghton—Bret +Harte—France, Alsace, and Lorraine—Samuel +Laing—Gypsies—The Misses Horace Smith—Brighton +and odd fish—Work and +books—Hunting—Doré—Art and +Nature—Taglioni—Chevalier Wykoff—Octave +Delepierre—Breitmann—Thomas Carlyle—George +Borrow—A cathedral tour round about +England—Salisbury, Wells, and York.</p> +<p>It is pleasant being anywhere in England in June, and the +passing from picturesque Dover to London through laughing Kent is +a good introduction to the country. The untravelled +American, fresh from the “boundless prairies” and +twenty-thousand-acre fields of wheat, sees nothing in it all but +the close cultivation of limited land; but the tourist from the +Continent perceives at once that, with most careful agriculture, +there are indications of an exuberance of wealth, true comfort, +and taste rarely seen in France or Germany. The many trees +of a better quality and slower growth than the weedy sprouting +poplar and willow of Normandy; the hedges, which are very +beautiful and ever green; the flowerbeds and walks about the +poorest cottage; the neatly planted, prettily bridged side roads, +all indicate a superiority of wealth or refinement such as +prevails only in New England, or rather which <i>did</i> prevail, +until the native population, going westward, was supplanted by +Irish or worse, if any worse there be at turning neatness into +dirty disorder.</p> +<p><!-- page 388--><a name="page388"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +388</span>That older American population was deeply English, with +a thousand rural English traditions religiously preserved; and +the chief of these is clean <i>neatness</i>, which, when fully +carried out, always results in simple, unaffected beauty. +This was very strongly shown in the Quaker gardens, once so +common in Philadelphia—and in the people.</p> +<p>We arrived in London, and went directly to the +Trübners’, No. 29 Upper Hamilton Terrace, N.W. +The first person who welcomed me was Mr. Delepierre, an idol of +mine for years; and the first thing I did was to borrow +half-a-crown of him to pay the cab, having only French money with +me. It was a charming house, with a large garden, so +redolent of roses that it might have served Chriemhilda of old +for a romance. For twenty years that house was destined to +be an occasional home and a dwelling where we were ever welcome, +and where every Sunday evening I had always an appointed place at +dinner, and a special arm-chair for the never-failing +Havannah. Mrs. Trübner had, in later years, two boxes +of Havannahs of the best, which had belonged to G. H. Lewes, and +which George Eliot gave her after his death. I have kept +two <i>en souvenir</i>. I knew a man once who had formed a +large collection of such relics. There was a cigar which he +had received from Louis Napoleon, and one from Bismarck, and so +forth. But, alas! once while away on his travels, the whole +museum was smoked up by a reckless under-graduate younger +brother. <i>In fumo exit</i>.</p> +<p>How many people well known to the world—or rather how +few who were not—have I met there—Edwin Arnold, G. H. +Lewes, H. Dixon, M. Van der Weyer, Frith the artist, Mrs. +Trübner’s uncle Lord Napier of Magdala, Pigott, Norman +Lockyer, Bret Harte, “and full many more,” scholars, +poets, editors, and, withal, lady writers of every good shade, +grade, and quality. How many of them all have passed since +then full silently into the Silent Land, where we may follow, but +return no more! How many a pleasant smile and friendly +voice and firm alliances and genial acquaintances, often carried +<!-- page 389--><a name="page389"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +389</span>out in other lands, date their beginning in my memory +to the house in Hamilton Terrace! How often have I heard by +land or sea the familiar greeting, “I think I met you once +at the Trübners’!” For it was a salon, a +centre or sun with many bright and cheering rays—a +civilising institution!</p> +<p>Mrs. Trübner was the life of this home. +Anglo-Belgian by early relation and education, she combined four +types in one. When speaking English, she struck me as the +type of an accomplished and refined British matron; in French, +her whole nature seemed Parisienne; in Flemish, she was +altogether Flamande; and in German, Deutsch. If Cerberus +was three gentlemen in one, Mrs. Trübner was four ladies +united. Very well read, she conversed not only well on any +subject, but, what is very unusual in her sex, with sincere +interest, and not merely to entertain. If interrupted in a +conversation she resumed the subject! This is a remarkable +trait!</p> +<p>The next day after our arrival Mrs. Trübner took Mrs. +Leland, during a walk, to call on George Eliot, and that evening +G. H. Lewes, Hepworth Dixon, and some others came to a reception +at the Trübners’. Both of these men were, as +ever, very brilliant and amusing in conversation. I met +them very often after this, both at their homes and about +London. I also became acquainted with George Eliot or Mrs. +Lewes, who left on me the marked impression, which she did on +all, of being a woman of genius, though I cannot recall anything +remarkable which I ever heard from her. I note this because +there were most extraordinary reports of her utterances among her +admirers. A young American lady once seriously asked me if +it were true that at the Sunday afternoon receptions in South +Bank one could always see rows of twenty or thirty of the +greatest men in England, such as Carlyle, Froude, and Herbert +Spencer, all sitting with their note-books silently taking down +from her lips the ideas which they subsequently used in their +writings! There seemed, indeed, to be afloat in America +among certain folk an idea that something enormous, <!-- page +390--><a name="page390"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +390</span>marvellous, and inspired went on at these receptions, +and that George Eliot posed as a Pythia or Sibyl, as the great +leading mind of England, and lectured while we listened. +There is no good portrait, I believe, of her. She had long +features and would have been called plain but for her solemn, +earnest eyes, which had an expression quite in keeping with her +voice, which was one not easily forgotten. I never detected +in her any trace of genial humour, though I doubt not that it was +latent in her; and I thought her a person who had drawn her ideas +far more from books and an acquaintance with certain types of +humanity whom she had set herself deliberately to +study—albeit with rare perception—than from an easy +intuitive familiarity with all sorts and conditions of men. +But she worked out <i>thoroughly</i> what she knew by the +intuition of genius, though in this she was very far inferior to +Scott. Thus she wrote the “Spanish Gypsy,” +having only seen such gypsies two or three times. One day +she told me that in order to write “Daniel Deronda,” +she had read through two hundred books. I longed to tell +her that she had better have learned Yiddish and talked with two +hundred Jews, and been taught, as I was by my friend Solomon the +Sadducee, the art of distinguishing Fräulein Löwenthal +of the Ashkenazim from Senorita Aguado of the Sephardim <i>by the +corners of their eyes</i>!</p> +<p>I had read more than once Lewes’s “Life of +Goethe,” his “History of Philosophy and +Physiology,” and even “written him” for the +Cyclopædia. With him I naturally at once became well +acquainted. I remember here that Mr. Ripley had once +reproved me for declaring that Lewes had really a claim to be an +original philosopher or thinker; for Boston intellect always +frowned on him after Margaret Fuller condemned him as +“frivolous and atheistic.” I remember that Tom +Powell had told me how he had dined somewhere in London, where +there was a man present who had really been a cannibal, owing to +dire stress of shipwreck, and how Lewes, who was there, was so +fascinated with the man-eater that he <!-- page 391--><a +name="page391"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 391</span>could think +of nothing else. Lewes told me that once, having gone with +a party of archæologists to visit a ruined church, he found +on a twelfth-century tombstone some illegible letters which he +persuaded the others to believe formed the name Golias, probably +having in mind the poems of Walter de Mapes. When I +returned from Russia I delighted him very much by describing how +I had told the fortunes by hand of six gypsy girls. He +declared that telling fortunes to gypsies was the very height of +impudence!</p> +<blockquote><p>“A hundred jests have passed between us +twain,<br /> +Which, had I space, I’d gladly tell again.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A call which I have had, since I wrote that last line, from +John Postle Heseltine, Esq., reminds me that he was one of the +first acquaintances I made in London. Mr. E. Edwards, a +distinguished etcher and painter, gave me a dinner at Richmond, +at which Mr. Heseltine was present. In Edwards’ +studio I met with Bracquemond and Legros, both of whom etched my +portrait on copper. Mr. Heseltine is well known as a very +distinguished artist of the same kind, as well as for many other +things. Edwards was very kind to me in many ways for +years. Legros I found very interesting. There was in +Edwards’ studio the unique <i>complete</i> collection of +the etchings of Méryon, which we examined. Legros +remarked of the incredibly long-continued industry manifested in +some of the pictures, that lunatics often manifested it to a high +degree. Méryon, as is known, was mad. I had +etched a very little myself and was free of the fraternity.</p> +<p>Within a few days Mr. Strahan, the publisher, took me to Mr. +(now Lord) Tennyson’s reception, where I met with many +well-known people. Among them were Lady Charlotte Locker +and Miss Jean Ingelow. These ladies, with great kindness, +finding that I was married, called on Mrs. Iceland, and invited +us to dine. I became a constant visitor for years at Miss +Ingelow’s receptions, where I have met Ruskin, Mr. and Mrs. +S. C. Hall (whom I had seen in 1848), <!-- page 392--><a +name="page392"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 392</span>Calverly, +Edmund Gosse, Hamilton Aïdé, Mr. and Mrs Alfred +Hunt. I conversed with Tennyson, but little passed between +us on that occasion. I got to know him far better +“later on.”</p> +<p>I here anticipate by several years two interviews which I had +with Tennyson in 1875, who had <i>ad interim</i> been deservedly +“lauded into Lordliness,” and which, to him at least, +were amusing enough to be recalled. The first was at a +dinner at Lady Franklin’s, and her niece Miss +Cracroft. And here I may, in passing, say a word as to the +extraordinary kindly nature of Lady Franklin. I think it +was almost as soon as we became acquainted that she, learning +that I suffered at times from gout, sent me a dozen bottles of a +kind of bitter water as a cure.</p> +<p>There were at the dinner as guests Mr. Tennyson, Sir Samuel +and Lady Baker, Dr. Quain, and myself. There was no lack of +varied anecdote, reminiscences of noted people and of travel; but +by far the most delightful portion of it all was to watch the +gradual unfreezing of Tennyson, and how from a grim winter of +taciturnity, under the glowing influence of the sun of wine, as +the Tuscan Redi hath it—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Dell’ Indico Oriente<br /> +Domator glorioso il Dio di Vino . . .<br /> +Di quel Sol, che in Ciel vedete . . .”—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>he passed into a glorious summer of genial feeling. I +led unto it thus:—My friend Professor Palmer and I had +projected a volume of songs in English Romany or Gypsy, which is +by far the sweetest and most euphonious language in Europe. +My friend had translated “Home they brought her warrior +dead,” by Tennyson, into this tongue, and I had the MS. of +it in my pocket. Tennyson was very much pleased at the +compliment, and asked me to read the poem, which I did. The +work was by permission dedicated to him. At last, when +dinner was over, Tennyson, who had disposed of an entire bottle +of port, rose, and approaching me, took me <!-- page 393--><a +name="page393"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +393</span>gaily-gravely by both sides, as if he would lift me up, +and drawing himself up to his full height, said, “I like to +see a poet a full-sized substantial man,” or “tall +and strong,” or words to that effect. I replied that +it was very evident from the general appearance of +Shakespeare’s bust that he was a very tall man, but that +though the thunder of height had hit twice—the Poet +Laureate being the second case—that I had been very +slightly singed, tall as I was. <i>Enfin</i>, some days +after, Tennyson in a letter invited me to call and see him should +I ever be in the Isle of Wight; which took place by mere chance +some time after—in fact, I did not know, when I was first +at the hotel in Freshwater, that Tennyson lived at a mile’s +distance.</p> +<p>I walked over one afternoon and sent in my card. Mr. +Hallam Tennyson, then a very handsome young man of winsome +manner, came out and said that his father was taking his usual +<i>siesta</i>, but begged me to remain, kindly adding, +“Because I know, Mr. Leland, he would be very sorry to have +missed you.” After a little time, however, Tennyson +himself appeared, and took me up to his den or studio, where I +was asked to take a pipe, which I did with great good-will, and +blew a cloud, enjoying it greatly, because I felt with my host, +as with Bulwer, that we had quickly crossed acquaintanceship into +the more familiar realm where one can talk about whatever you +please with the certainty of being understood and getting a +sympathetic answer. There are lifelong friends with whom +one never really gets to this, and there are acquaintances of an +hour at <i>table-d’hôtes</i>, who “come like +shadows, so depart,” who talk with a touch to our +hearts. Bulwer and Tennyson were such to me, and +<i>apré miro zī</i>, as the gypsies say—on my +life-soul!—if I had talked with them, as I did, without +knowing who they were, I should have recalled them with quite as +much interest as I now do, and see them again in dreams. +And here I may add, that the common-place saying that literary +men are rarely good talkers, and generally disappointing, is not +at all confirmed by my experiences.</p> +<p><!-- page 394--><a name="page394"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +394</span>After burning our tobacco, in Indian fashion, to better +acquaintance (I forgot to say that the poet had two dozen clay +pipes ranged in a small wooden rack), we went forth for a seven +miles’ walk on the Downs. And at last, from the +summit of one, I pointed down to a small field below, and +said—</p> +<p>But first I must specify that the day before I had gone with a +young lady of fourteen summers named Bee or Beatrice Fredericson, +both of us bearing baskets, to pick blackberries for tea, and +coming to a small field which was completely surrounded by a +hedge, we saw therein illimitable blackberries glittering in the +setting sunlight, and longed to enter. Finding a gap which +had been filled by a dead thorn-bush, I removed the latter, and, +going in, we soon picked a quart of the fruit. But on +leaving we were met by the farmer, who made a to-do, charging us +with trespassing. To which I replied, “Well, what is +to pay?” He asked for two shillings, but was pacified +with one; and so we departed.</p> +<p>Therefore I said to Tennyson, “I went into that field +yesterday to pick your blackberries, and your farmer caught us +and made me pay a shilling for trespassing.”</p> +<p>And he gravely replied, though evidently +delighted—“Served you right! What business had +you to come over my hedge into my field to steal my +blackberries?”</p> +<p>“<i>Mea culpa</i>,” I answered, “<i>mea +maxima culpa</i>.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Leland,” pursued Tennyson, as gravely as +ever, grasping all the absurdity of the thing with evident +enjoyment, “you have no idea how tourists trespass here to +get at me. They climb over my gate and look in at my +windows. It is a fact—one did so only last +week. But I declare that you are the very first poet and +man of letters who ever came here—to steal +blackberries!” Here he paused, and then added +forcibly—</p> +<p>“I <i>do</i> believe you are a gypsy, after +all.”</p> +<p>Then we talked of the old manor-houses in the neighbourhood, +and of the famous Mortstone, a supposed Saxon rude <!-- page +395--><a name="page395"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +395</span>monolith near by. I thought it prehistoric, +because I had dug out from the pile of earth supporting and +coeval with it (and indeed only with a lead-pencil) a flint flake +chipped by hand and a bit of cannel coal, which indicate +dedication. My host listened with great interest, and then +told me a sad tale: how certain workmen employed by him to dig on +his land had found a great number of old Roman bronze coins, but, +instead of taking them to him, had kept them, though they cared +so little for them that they gave a handful to a boy whom they +met. “I told them,” said Tennyson, “that +they had been guilty of malappropriation, and though I was not +quite sure whether the coins belonged to me or to the Crown, that +they certainly had no right to them. Whereupon their leader +said that if I was not satisfied they would not work any longer +for me, and so they went away.” I had on this +occasion a long and interesting discussion with Mr. Tennyson +relative to Walt Whitman, and involving the principles or nature +of poetry. According to the poet-laureate, poetry, as he +understood it, consisted of elevated or refined, or at least +superior thought, expressed in melodious form, and in this latter +it seemed to him (for it was very modestly expressed) that +Whitman was wanting. Wherein he came nearer to the truth +than does Symonds, who overrates, as it seems to me, the value, +as regards art and poetry, of simply <i>equalising</i> all human +intelligences. Though I never met Symonds, there was mutual +knowledge between us, and when I published my +“Etrusco-Roman Remains in Popular Traditions,” which +contains the results of six years’ intimacy with witches +and fortune-tellers, he wrote a letter expressing enthusiastic +admiration of it to Mr. T. Fisher Unwin. Now all three of +these great men are dead. I shall speak of Whitman anon, +for in later years for a long time I met him almost daily.</p> +<p>I can remember that during the conversation Tennyson expressed +himself, rather to my amazement, with some slight indignation at +a paltry review abusing his latest work; to which I +replied—</p> +<p><!-- page 396--><a name="page396"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +396</span>“If there is anything on earth for which I have +envied you, even more than for your great renown as a poet, it +has been because I supposed you were completely above all such +attacks and were utterly indifferent to them.” Which +he took amiably, and proceeded to discuss ripe fruit and +wasps—or their equivalent. Yet I doubt whether I was +quite in the right, since those who live for fame honourably +acquired must ever be susceptible to stings, small or +great. An editor who receives abusive letters so frequently +that he ends by pitching them without reading into the +waste-basket, and often treats ribald attacks in print in the +same manner—as I have often done—has so many other +affairs on his mind that he becomes case-hardened. But I +have observed from long experience that there is a Nemesis who +watches those who arrogate the right to lay on the rod, and gives +it to them with interest in the end.</p> +<p>It was very soon after my arrival in London that I was invited +to lunch at Hepworth Dixon’s to meet Lord Lytton, or +Bulwer, the great writer. His works had been so intensely +and sympathetically loved by me so long, that it seemed as if I +had been asked to meet some great man of the past. I found +him, as I expected, quite congenial and wondrous kind. I +remember a droll incident. Standing at the head of the +stairs, he courteously made way and asked me to go before. +I replied, “When Louis XIV. asked Crillon to do the same, +Crillon complied, saying, ‘Wherever your Majesty goes, be +it before or behind, is always the first place or post of +honour,’ and I say the same with him,” and so went in +advance at once. I saw by his expression that he was +pleased with the quotation.</p> +<p>We were looking at a portrait of Shakespeare which Dixon had +found in Russia. Lord Lytton asked me if I thought it an +original or true likeness. I observed that the face was +full of many fine seamy lines, which infallibly indicate great +nervous genius of the highest order—noting at the same time +that Lord Lytton’s countenance was very much <!-- page +397--><a name="page397"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +397</span>marked in a like manner. The observation was new +to him, and he seemed to be interested in it, as he always was in +anything like chiromancy or metoscopy. A few days later I +was invited to come and pass nearly a week with Hepworth Dixon at +Knebworth, Lord Lytton’s country seat. It is a very +picturesque <i>château</i>, profusely adorned with +fifteenth-century Gothic grotesques, with a fine antique hall, +stained glass windows, and gallery. There is in it a +chamber containing a marvellous and massive carved oak bedstead, +the posts of which are human figures the size of life, and in it +and in the same room Queen Elizabeth is said to have slept when +she heard of the destruction of the Spanish Armada. It was +the room of honour, and it had been kindly assigned to me. +It all seemed like a dream.</p> +<p>There was in the family of the late Lord Lytton his son, who +made a most favourable impression on me. I think the first +<i>coup</i> was my finding that he knew the works of Andreini, +and that it had occurred to him as well as to me that Euphues +Lily’s book had been modelled on them. There was also +his wife, a magnificent and graceful beauty; Lord Lytton’s +nephew, Mr. Bulwer; and several ladies. The first morning +we all fished in the pond, and, to my great amazement, Lord +Lytton pulled out <i>a great one-eyed perch</i>! I almost +expected to see him pull out Paul Clifford or Zanoni next! +In the afternoon we were driven out to Cowper Castle to see a +fine gallery of pictures, our host acting as cicerone, and as he +soon found that I was fairly well educated in art, and had been a +special pupil of Thiersch in Munich, and something more than an +amateur, we had many interesting conversations. I think I +may venture to say that he did <i>not</i> expect to find a whilom +student of æsthetics, art-history, and Philosophy in the +author of “Hans Breitmann.” What was delightful +was his exquisite tact in never saying as much; but I could +detect it in the sudden interest and involuntary compliment +implied in his tone of conversation. In a very short time +he began to speak to me on all literary or artistic <!-- page +398--><a name="page398"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +398</span>subjects without preliminary question, taking it for +granted that I understood them and chimed in with him. I +was with every interview more and more impressed with his +<i>culture</i>—I mean with what had resulted from his +reading—his marvellous tact of kindness in small things to +all, and his quick and vigorous comparing and contrasting of +images and drawing conclusions. But there was evidently +enough a firm bed-rock or hard pan under all this gold. I +was amazed one day when a footman, who had committed some +<i>bévue</i> or blunder, or apprehended something, +actually turned pale and stammered with terror when Lord Lytton +gravely addressed a question to him. I never in my life saw +a man so much frightened, even before a revolver.</p> +<p>But Lord Lytton was beyond all question really interested when +he found me so much at home in Rosicrucian and occult lore, and +that I had been with Justinus Kerner in Weinsberg, and was +familiar with the forgotten dusky paths of mysticism. He +had in his house the famous Earl Stanhope crystal, and wished me +to sleep with it under my pillow, but I was so afraid lest the +precious relic should be injured, that I resolutely declined the +honour, for which I am now sorry, for I sometimes have dreams of +a most extraordinary character. This Stanhope crystal is +not, however, the great mirror of Dr. Dee, though it has been +said to be so. The latter belonged to a gentleman in +London, who also offered to lend it to me. It is made of +cannel coal. That Lord Lytton made a very remarkable +impression on me is proved by the fact that I continued to dream +of him at long intervals after his death; and I am quite sure +that such feeling is, by its very nature, always to a certain +slight degree reciprocal. He had a natural and unaffected +<i>voice</i>, yet one with a marked character; something like +Tennyson’s, which was even more striking. Both were +far removed from the now fashionable intonation, which is the +admiration and despair of American swells. It is only the +<i>fin de siècle</i> form of the <!-- page 399--><a +name="page399"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +399</span><i>demnition</i> dialect of the Forties and the +<i>La-ard</i> and <i>Lunnon</i> of an earlier age.</p> +<p>Lord Lytton was generally invisible in the morning, sometimes +after lunch. In the evening he came out splendidly groomed, +fresh as a rose, and at dinner and after was as interesting as +any of his books. He had known “everybody” to a +surprising extent, and had anecdotes fresh and vivid of every one +whom he had met. He loved music, and there was a lady who +sang old Spanish ballads with rare taste. I enjoyed myself +incredibly.</p> +<p>I may be excused for mentioning here that I sent a copy of the +second edition of my “Meister Karl’s +Sketch-Book” to Lord Lytton. No one but Irving and +Trübner had ever praised it. When Lord Lytton +published afterwards “Kenelm Chillingly,” I found in +it <i>three</i> passages in which I recognised beyond dispute +others suggested by my own work. I do not in the least mean +that there was <i>any</i> borrowing or taking beyond the mere +suggestion of thought. Why I think that Lord Lytton had +these hints in his mind is that he gave the name of Leland to one +of the minor characters in the book.</p> +<p>When I published a full edition of “Breitmann’s +Poems,” he wrote me a long letter criticising and praising +the work, and a much longer and closely written one, of seven +pages, relating to my “Confucius and Other +Poems.” I was subsequently invited to receptions at +his house in London, where I first met Browning, and had a long +conversation with him. I saw him afterwards at Mrs. +Proctor’s. This was the wife of Barry Cornwall, whom +I also saw. He was very old and infirm. I can +remember when the “Cornlaw Rhymes” rang wherever +English was read.</p> +<p>As I consider it almost a duty to record what I can remember +of Bulwer, I may mention that one evening, at his house in +London, he showed me and others some beautiful old brass salvers +in <i>repoussé</i> work, and how I astonished him by +describing the process, and declaring that I could produce <!-- +page 400--><a name="page400"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +400</span>a <i>facsimile</i> of any one of them in a day or two; +to which assertion hundreds to whom I have taught the art, as +well as my “Manual of Repoussé,” and another +on “Metal Work,” will, I trust, bear witness. +And this I mention, not vainly, but because Lord Lytton seemed to +be interested and pleased, and because, in after years, I had +much to do with reviving the practice of this beautiful +art. It was practising this, and a three years’ study +of oak-wood carving, which led me to write on the Minor +Arts. <i>Mihi æs et triplex robur</i>.</p> +<p>Lord Lytton had the very curious habit of making almost +invisible hieroglyphics or crosses in his letters—at least +I found them in those to me, as it were for luck. It was a +very common practice from the most ancient Egyptian times to +within two centuries. Lord Lytton’s were evidently +intended to escape observation. But there was indeed a +great deal in his character which would escape most persons, and +which has not been revealed by any writer on him. This I +speedily divined, though, of course, I never discovered what it +all was.</p> +<p>Lord Houghton, “Richard Monckton Milnes,” to whom +I had a letter of introduction from Lorimer Graham, was very kind +to me. I dined and lunched at his house, where I met Odo +Russell or Lord Ampthill, the Duke of Bedford, the Hon. Mrs. +Norton, W. W. Story, and I know not how many more distinguished +in society, or letters. At Lord Lytton’s I made the +acquaintance of the Duke of Wellington. I believe, however, +that this meeting with Lord Houghton and the Duke was in my +second year in London.</p> +<p>The first English garden-party which I ever attended was +during this first season, at the villa of Mr. Bohn, the +publisher, at Twickenham. There I made the acquaintance of +George Cruikshank, whom I afterwards met often, and knew very +well till his death. He was a gay old fellow, and on this +occasion danced a jig with old Mr. Bohn on the lawn, and joked +with me. There, too, we met Lady Martin, who had been the +famed Helen Faucit. Cruikshank was always <!-- page +401--><a name="page401"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +401</span>inexhaustible in jokes, anecdotes, and +reminiscences. At his house I made the acquaintance of Miss +Ada Cavendish.</p> +<p>To revert to Mr. Trübner’s, I may say that one +evening after dinner, when, genial though quiet, Bret Harte was +one of the guests, he was asked to repeat the “Heathen +Chinee,” which he could not do, as he had never learned +it—which is not such an unusual thing, by the way, as many +suppose. But I, who knew it, remarked, “Ladies and +gentlemen, it is nothing to merely <i>write</i> a poem. +True genius consists in getting it by or from heart [<i>from</i> +Bret Harte, for instance], and repeating it. This genius +nature has denied to the illustrious poet before you—but +not to me, as I will now illustrate by declaiming the +‘Heathen Chinee.’” Which performance was +received with applause, in which Harte heartily joined. But +my claim to possess genius would hardly have borne examination, +for it was years before I ever learned “Hans +Breitmann’s Barty,” nor would I like to risk even a +pound to one hundred that I can do it now without mixing the +verses or committing some error.</p> +<p>Once during the season I went with my wife and Mr. W. W. Story +to Eton, where we supped with Oscar Browning. We were taken +out boating on the river, and I enjoyed it very much. There +is a romance about the Thames associated with a thousand passages +in literature which goes to the very heart. I was much +impressed by the marked character of Mr. Browning and his frank, +genial nature; and I found some delightful old Latin books in his +library. May I meet with many such men!</p> +<p>This year, what with the German war and the +Trübner-Hotten controversy, my “Breitmann +Ballads” had become, I may say, well known. The +character of Hans was actually brought into plays on three stages +at once. Boucicault, whom I knew well of yore in America, +introduced it into something. I had found Ewan +Colquhoun—the same old sixpence—and one night he took +me to the Strand Theatre to see a play in which my hero was a +prominent part. I was <!-- page 402--><a +name="page402"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 402</span>told +afterwards that the company having been informed of my presence, +all came to look at me through the curtain-hole. There were +some imitations of my ballads published in <i>Punch</i> and the +<i>Standard</i>, and the latter were so admirably +executed—pardon the vain word!—that I feared, because +they satirised the German cause, that they might be credited to +me; therefore I wrote to the journal, begging that the author +would give some indication that I had not written them, which was +kindly done. Finally, a newspaper was started called +<i>Hans Breitmann</i>, and the Messrs. Cope, of Liverpool, issued +a brand of Hans Breitmann cigars. Owing to the resemblance +between the words Bret and Breit there was a confusion of names, +and my photograph was to be seen about town, with the name of +Bret Harte attached to it. This great injustice to Mr. +Harte was not agreeable, and I, or my friends, remonstrated with +the shop-folk with the to-be-expected result, “Yes-sir, +yes-sir—very sorry, sir—we’ll correct the +mistake, sir!” But I don’t think it was ever +corrected till the sale ceased.</p> +<p>I was sometimes annoyed with many imitations of my poems by +persons who knew no German, which were all attributed to +me. A very pious Presbyterian publication, in alluding to +something of the kind, said that “Mr. Leland, <i>because he +is the author of Bret Harte</i>, thinks himself justified in +publishing any trash of this description.” I thought +this a <i>very</i> improper allusion for a clergyman, not to say +libellous. In fact, many people really believed that Bret +Harte was a <i>nom de plume</i> or the title of a poem. And +I may here say by the way that I never “wrote under” +the pseudonym of Hans Breitmann in my life, nor called myself any +such name at any time. It is simply the name of one of many +<i>books</i> which I have written. An American once +insisting to me that I <i>should</i> be called so from my work, I +asked him if he would familiarly accost Mr. Lowell as “Josh +Biglow.” If there is anything in the world which +denotes a subordinate position in the social scale or defect in +education, it is the <!-- page 403--><a name="page403"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 403</span>passion to call men “out of +their names,” and never feel really acquainted with any one +until he is termed Tom or Jack. It is doubtless all very +genial and jocose and sociable, but the man who shows a tendency +to it should <i>not</i> complain when his betters put him in a +lower class or among the “lower orders.”</p> +<p>Once at a reception at George Boughton’s, the artist, +there was, as I heard, an elderly gentleman rushing about asking +to see or be introduced to <i>Hart Bretmann</i>, whose works he +declared he knew by heart, and with whom he was most anxious to +become acquainted. Whether he ever discovered this +remarkable conglomerate I do not know.</p> +<p>I once made the acquaintance of an American at the Langham +Hotel who declared that I had made life a burden to him. +His name was H. Brightman, and being in business in New York, he +never went to the Custom-House or Post-Office but what the clerks +cried “Hans Brightman! of course. Yes, we have read +about you, sir—in history.”</p> +<p>But even in this London season I found more serious work to +attend to than comic ballads or society. Mr. Trübner +was very anxious to have me write a pamphlet vindicating the +claim of Germany to Alsace and Lorraine, and I offered to do it +gladly, if he would provide all the historical data or +material. The result of this was the <i>brochure</i> +entitled “France, Alsace, and Lorraine,” which had a +great success. It at once reappeared in America, and even +in Spanish in South America. The German Minister in London +ordered six copies, and the <i>Times</i> made the work, with all +its facts and figures, into an editorial article, omitting, I +regret to say, to mention the source whence it was derived; but +this I forgive with all my heart, considering the good words +which it has given me on other occasions. For the object of +the work was not at all to glorify the author, but to send home +great truths at a very critical time; and the article in the +<i>Times</i>, which was little else but my pamphlet condensed, +caused a great sensation. But the principal result from it +was this: <!-- page 404--><a name="page404"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 404</span>I had in the work discussed the +idea, then urged by the French and their friends, that, to avoid +driving France to “desperation,” very moderate terms +should be accepted in order to conciliate. For the French, +as I observed in effect, will do their <i>very worst in any +case</i>, and every possible extreme should be anticipated and +assumed. This same argument had previously been urged in my +“Centralisation <i>versus</i> States Rights.”</p> +<p>When Prince Bismarck conversed with the French Commissioners +to arrange terms of peace, he met this argument of not driving +the French to extremes with a phrase so closely like the one +which I had used in my pamphlet, that neither Mr. Trübner +nor several others hesitated to declare to me that it was beyond +all question taken from it. Bismarck had <i>certainly</i> +received the pamphlet, which had been recognised by the +<i>Times</i>, and in many other quarters, as a more than ordinary +paper, and Prince Bismarck, like all great diplomatists, <i>prend +son bien où il le trouve</i>. In any case this +remains true, that that which formed the settling argument of +Germany, found at the time expression in my pamphlet and in the +Chancellor’s speech.</p> +<p>We made soon after a visit to the Rev. Dean and Mrs. +Carrington, in Bocking, Essex. They had a fair daughter, +Eva, then quite a girl, who has since become well known as a +writer, and is now the Countess Cesaresco Martinengro—an +Italian name, and not Romany-Gypsy, as its terminations would +seem to indicate. There is in the village of Bocking, at a +corner, a curious and very large grotesque figure of oak, which +was evidently in the time of Elizabeth a pilaster in some +house-front. My friend Edwards, who was wont to roam all +over England in a mule-waggon etching and sketching, when in +Bocking was informed by a rustic that this figure was the image +of Harkilés (Hercules), a heathen god formerly worshipped +in the old Catholic convent upon the hill, in the old times!</p> +<p>From London we went in August, 1870, to Brighton, staying <!-- +page 405--><a name="page405"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +405</span>at first at the Albion Hotel. There, under the +influence of fresh sea-air, long walks and drives in all the +country round, I began to feel better, yet it was not for many +weeks that I fairly recovered. A chemist named Phillips, +who supplied me with bromide of potass, suggested to me, to his +own loss, that I took a great deal too much. I left it off +altogether, substituting pale ale. Finding this far better, +I asked Mr. Phillips if he could not prepare for me +<i>lupulin</i>, or the anodyne of hops. He laughed, and +said, “Do you find the result required in ale?” +I answered, “Yes.” “And do you like +ale?” “Yes.” “Then,” he +answered, “why don’t you <i>drink</i> +ale?” And I did, but before I took it up my very +vitality seemed to be well-nigh exhausted with the bromide.</p> +<p>Samuel Laing, M.P., the chairman of the Brighton Railway, had +at that time a house in Brighton, with several sons and +daughters, the latter of whom have all been very remarkable for +beauty and accomplishments. In this home there was a +hospitality so profuse, so kind, so brilliant and refined, that I +cannot really remember to have ever seen it equalled, and as we +fully participated in it at all times in every form, I should +feel that I had omitted the deepest claim to my gratitude if I +did not here acknowledge it. Mr. Laing was or is of a stock +which deeply appealed to my sympathies, for he is the son of the +famous translator of the <i>Heimskringla</i>, a great collection +of Norse sagas, which I had read, and in which he himself +somewhat aided. Of late years, since he has retired from +more active financial business, Mr. Laing has not merely turned +his attention to literature; he has deservedly distinguished +himself by translating, as I may say, into the clearest and most +condensed or succinct and lucid English ever written, so as to be +understood by the humblest mind, the doctrines of Darwin, Huxley, +and the other leading scientific minds of the day. Heine in +his time received a great deal of credit for having thus acted as +the flux and furnace by which the ore of German philosophy was +<!-- page 406--><a name="page406"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +406</span>smelted into pure gold for general circulation; but I, +who have translated all that Heine wrote on this subject, declare +that he was at such work as far inferior to Samuel Laing as a +mere verbal description of a beautiful face is inferior to a +first-class portrait. This family enters so largely into my +reminiscences and experiences, that a chapter would hardly +suffice to express all that I can recall of their hospitality for +years, of the dinners, hunts, balls, excursions, and the many +distinguished people whom I have met under their roof. It +is worth noting of Mr. Laing’s daughters, that Mary, now +Mrs. Kennard, is at the head of the sporting-novel writers; that +the beautiful Cecilia, now Mrs. MacRae, was pronounced by G. H. +Lewes, who was no mean judge, to be the first amateur pianiste in +England; while the charming “Floy,” or Mrs. Kennedy, +is a very able painter. With their two very pretty sisters, +they formed in 1870 as brilliant, beautiful, and accomplished a +quintette as England could have produced.</p> +<p>One day Mr. Laing organised an excursion with a special train +to Arundel Castle. By myself at other times I found my way +to Lewes and other places rich in legendary lore. Of this +latter I recall something worth telling. Harold, the +conquered Saxon king, had a son, and the conqueror William had a +daughter, Gundrada. The former became a Viking pirate, and +in his old age a monk, and was buried in a church, now a +Presbyterian chapel. There his epitaph may be read in fine +bold lettering, still distinct. That man is dear to me.</p> +<p>Gundrada married, died, and was buried in a church with a fine +Norman tombstone over her remains. The church was levelled +with the ground, but the slab was preserved here and there about +Lewes as a relic. When the railway was built, about 1849, +there was discovered, where the church had been, the bones of +Gundrada and her husband in leaden coffins distinctly inscribed +with their names. A very beautiful Norman chapel was then +built to receive the <!-- page 407--><a name="page407"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 407</span>coffins, and over them is placed the +original memorial in black marble. There is also in Lewes +an archæological museum appropriately bestowed in an old +Gothic tower. All of which things did greatly solace +me. As did also the Norman or Gothic churches of Shoreham, +Newport, the old manor of Rottingdean, and the marvellous +Devil’s Dyke, which was probably a Roman fort, and from +which it is said that fifty towns or villages may be seen +“far in the blue.”</p> +<p>One day I went with my wife and two ladies to visit the +latter. The living curiosity of the place was a famous old +gypsy woman named Gentilla Cooper, a pure blood or real +<i>Kalorat</i> Romany. I had already in America studied +Pott’s “Thesaurus of Gypsy Dialects,” and +picked up many phrases of the tongue from the works of Borrow, +Simson, and others. The old dame tackled us at once. +As soon as I could, I whispered in her ear an improvised +rhyme:—</p> +<blockquote><p> “The bashno and +kāni,<br /> + The rye and the rāni,<br /> +Hav’d akai ’pré o boro lon +pāni.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Which means that the cock and the hen, the gentleman and the +lady, came hither across the great salt water. The effect +on the gypsy was startling; she fairly turned pale. +Hustling the ladies away to one side to see a beautiful view, she +got me alone and hurriedly exclaimed, +“<i>Rya</i>—master! <i>be</i> you one of our +people?” with much more. We became very good friends, +and this little incident had in time for me great results, and +many strange experiences of gypsy life.</p> +<p>There live in Brighton two ladies, Miss Horace Smith and her +sister Rosa, who were and are well known in the cultured +world. They are daughters of Horace Smith, who, with his +brother James, wrote the “Rejected Addresses.” +Their reminiscences of distinguished men are extremely varied and +interesting. The elder sister possesses an album to which +Thackeray contributed many verses and pen-sketches. <!-- +page 408--><a name="page408"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +408</span>Their weekly receptions were very pleasant; at them +might be seen most of the literary or social celebrities who came +to Brighton. A visit there was like living a chapter in a +book of memoirs and reminiscences. I have had, if it be +only a quiet, and not very eventful or remarkable, at least a +somewhat varied life, and the Laings and Smiths, with their +surroundings, form two of its most interesting varieties. I +believe they never missed an opportunity to do us or any one a +kindly act, to aid us to make congenial friends, or the +like. How many good people there really are in the +world!</p> +<p>Of these ladies the author of “Gossip of the +Century” writes:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Horace Smith’s two daughters are +still living, and in Brighton. Their very pleasant house is +frequented by the best and most interesting kind of society, +affording what may be called a <i>salon</i>, that rare relic of +ancient literary taste and cementer of literary +intimacies—a salon which the cultivated consider it a +privilege to frequent, and where these ladies receive with a +grace and geniality which their friends know how to +appreciate. It is much to be regretted that gatherings of +this description seem to be becoming rarer every year, for as +death disturbs them society seems to lack the spirit or the good +taste, or the ability, to replace them.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Brighton is a very pleasant place, because it combines the +advantages of a seaside resort with those of a clean and cheerful +city. Walking along the front, you have a brave outlook to +the blue sea on one hand, and elegant shop-windows and fine +hotels on the other. A little back in the town on a hill is +the fine old fifteenth-century church of St. Nicholas, in which +there is perhaps the most curious carved Norman font in England; +but all this is known to so few visitors, that I feel as if I +were telling a great secret in letting it out. +Smith’s book-store on the Western Road, and Bohn’s +near the station, are kept by very well-informed and very +courteous men. I have been much indebted to the former <!-- +page 409--><a name="page409"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +409</span>in many ways, and found by his aid many a greatly +needed and rare work.</p> +<p>When I first went to Brighton there was one evening a +brilliant aurora borealis. As I looked at it, I heard an +Englishman say, to my great amazement, it was the first time he +had ever seen one in his life! I once saw one in America of +such extraordinary brilliancy and duration, that it prolonged the +daylight for half an hour or more, till I became amazed, and then +found it was a Northern Light. It lasted till sunrise in +all its splendour. I have taken down from Algonkin Indians +several beautiful legends relating to them. In one, the +Milky Way is the girdle of a stupendous deity, and the Northern +Lights the splendid gleams emitted by his ball when +playing. In another, the narrator describes him as clad in +an ineffable glory of light, and in colours unknown on earth!</p> +<p>And this reminds me further that I have just read in the +newspapers of the death of Edwin Booth, who was born during the +famous star shower of 1833, which phenomenon I witnessed from +beginning to end, and remember as if it were only +yesterday. Now, I was actually dreaming that I was in a +room in which <i>cigars</i> were flying about in every direction, +when my father came and woke me and my brother Henry, to come and +see an exceeding great marvel. There were for a long time +many thousands of stars at once in the sky, all shooting, as it +were, or converging towards a centre. They were not half so +long as the meteors which we see; one or two had a crook or bend +in the middle, <i>e.g.</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p409.jpg"> +<img alt="The meteor pattern" src="images/p409.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The next day I was almost alone at school in the glory of +having seen it, for so few people were awake in sober +Philadelphia at three in the morning that one of the newspapers +ridiculed the whole story.</p> +<p>I can distinctly recall that the next day, at Mr. +Alcott’s, I read through a very favourite work of mine, a +translation of the German <i>Das Mährchen ohne +Ende</i>—“The Story without an End.”</p> +<p><!-- page 410--><a name="page410"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +410</span>All kinds of odd fish came to Brighton, floating here +and there; but two of the very oddest were encountered by me in +it on my last visit. I was looking into a chemist’s +window, when two well-dressed and decidedly jolly feminines, one +perhaps of thirty years, and the other much younger and quite +pretty, paused by me, while the elder asked—</p> +<p>“Are you looking for a hair-restorer?”</p> +<p>“I am not, though I fear I need one much more than you +do.”</p> +<p>“The search for a good hair-restorer,” she replied +in Italian, “is as vain as the search for +happiness.”</p> +<p>“True,” I answered in the same tongue, “and +unless you have the happiness in you, or a beautiful head of hair +like yours already growing on you, you will find +neither.”</p> +<p>“What we <i>forget</i>,” added the younger in +Spanish, “is the best part of our happiness.”</p> +<p>“<i>Señorita</i>, <i>parece que no ha olvidado su +Español</i>—The young lady appears not to have +forgotten her Spanish—I replied. (Mine is not very +good.)</p> +<p>“There is no use asking whether <i>you</i> talk +French,” said the elder. “<i>Können Sie +auch Deutsch sprechen</i>?”</p> +<p>“<i>Ja wohl</i>! Even worse than German +itself,” I answered.</p> +<p>Just then there came up to us a gypsy girl whom I knew, with a +basket of flowers, and asked me in Gypsy to buy some; but I said, +“<i>Parraco pen</i>, <i>jā vrī</i>, <i>mandy +kāms kek ruzhia kedívvus</i>”—Thank you, +sister, no flowers to-day—and she darted away.</p> +<p>“Did you understand <i>that</i>?” I inquired.</p> +<p>“No; what was it?”</p> +<p>“<i>Gitano</i>—gypsy.”</p> +<p>“But how in Heaven’s name,” cried the girl, +“could she <i>know</i> that <i>you</i> spoke +Gitano?”</p> +<p>“Because I am,” I replied slowly and grimly, +“the chief of all the gypsies in England, the <i>boro +Romany rye</i> and President of the Gypsy Society. +Subscription one pound per annum, which entitles you to receive +the journal for one year, <!-- page 411--><a +name="page411"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 411</span>and +includes postage. Behold in me the gypsy king, whom all +know and fear! I shall be happy to put your names down as +subscribers.”</p> +<p>At this appalling announcement, which sounded like an extract +from a penny dreadful, my two romantic friends looked absolutely +bewildered. They seemed as if they had read in novels how +mysterious gypsy chiefs cast aside their cloaks, revealing +themselves to astonished maidens, and as I had actually spoken +Gitano to a gypsy in their hearing, it must be so. They had +come for wool with all their languages, poor little souls! and +gone back shorn. The elder said something about their +having just come to Brighton for six hours’ frolic, and so +they departed. They had had their spree.</p> +<p>I have often wondered what under the sun they could have +been. Attachés of an opera +company—ladies’-maids who had made the grand +tour—who knows? A mad world, my masters!</p> +<p>I can recall of that first year, as of many since at Brighton, +long breezy walks on the brow of the chalk cliffs, looking out at +the blue sea white capped, or at the downs rolling inland to +Newport, sometimes alone, at times in company. On all this +chalk the grass does not grow to more than an inch or so in +length, and as the shortest, tenderest food is best for sheep, it +is on this that they thrive—I believe by +millions—yielding the famous South Downs mutton. In +or on this grass are incredible numbers of minute snails, which +the sheep are said to devour; in fact, I do not see how they +could eat the grass without taking them in, and these contribute +to give the mutton its delicate flavour. Snails are curious +beings. Being epicene, they conduct their wooings on the +mutual give and take principle, which would save human beings a +great deal of spasmodic flirtation, and abolish the whole +<i>femme incomprise</i> business, besides a great many bad +novels, if we could adopt it. When winter comes, +half-a-dozen of them retire into a hole in a bank, connect +themselves firmly into a loving band like a bunch of grapes by +the tenderest ties, and <!-- page 412--><a +name="page412"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 412</span>stay there +till spring. Finally, in folk-lore the snail is an uncanny +or demoniac being, because it has horns. Its shell is an +amulet, and the presentation of one by a lady to a gentleman is a +very decided declaration of love, especially in Germany. +<i>Sed mittamus hæc</i>.</p> +<p>At this time, and for some time to come, I was engaged in +collecting and correcting a book of poems of a more serious +character than the “Breitmann Ballads.” This +was “The Music Lesson of Confucius and other +Poems.” Of which book I can say truly that it had a +<i>succès d’estime</i>, though it had a very small +sale. There were in it ten or twelve ballads only which +were adapted to singing, and <i>all</i> of these were set to +music by Carlo Pinsutti, Virginia Gabriel, or others. There +was in it a poem entitled “On Mount Meru.” In +this the Creator is supposed to show the world when it was first +made to Satan. The adversary finds that all is fit and +well, save “the being called Man,” who seems to him +to be the worst and most incongruous. To which the +Demiurgus replies that Man will in the end conquer all things, +even the devil himself. And at the last the demon lies +dying at the feet of God, and confesses that “Man, thy +creature hath vanquished me for ever—<i>Vicisti +Galilæe</i>!” Some years after I read a work by +a French writer in which this same idea of God and the devil is +curiously carried out and illustrated by the history of +architecture. And as in the case of the letter from Lord +Lytton Bulwer, warm praise from other persons of high rank in the +literary world and reviews, I had many proofs that these poems +had made a favourable impression. The only exception which +I can recall was a very sarcastic review in the +<i>Athenæum</i>, in which the writer declared his belief +that the poems or Legends of Perfumes in the book were originally +written as advertisements of some barber or tradesman, and being +by him rejected as worthless, had been thrown back on my +hands! Other works by me it treated kindly—so it goes +in this world—like a recipe for a cement which I have just +copied into my great work on “Mending <!-- page 413--><a +name="page413"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 413</span>and +Repairing”—in which vinegar is combined with +sugar.</p> +<p>While at Brighton we met Louis Blanc, whom we had previously +seen several times at the Trübners’, in London. +In Brighton he heard the news of the overthrow of the Empire and +departed for Paris. At Christmas we went to London to visit +the Trübners, and thence to the Langham Hotel, where we +remained till July. I recall very little of what I +witnessed or did beyond seeing the Queen prorogue Parliament and +translating Scheffel’s <i>Gaudeamus</i>, a little volume of +German humorous poems. Scheffel, as I have before written, +was an old <i>Mitkneipant</i>, or evening-beer companion of mine +in Heidelberg.</p> +<p>In July we made up a travelling party with Mrs. S. Laing and +her daughters Cecilia and Floy, and departed for a visit to the +Rhine—that is to say, these ladies preceded us, and we +joined them at the Hotel des Quatre Saisons in Homburg. It +was a very brilliant season, for the German Emperor, fresh with +the glory of his great victory, was being <i>fêted</i> +everywhere, and Homburg the brilliant was not behind the German +world in this respect. I saw the great man frequently, near +and far, and was much impressed with his appearance. +<i>Punch</i> had not long before represented him as Hans +Breitmann in a cartoon, deploring that he had not squeezed more +milliards out of the French, and I indeed found in the original +very closely my ideal of Hans, who always occurs to me as a +German gentleman, who drinks, fights, and plunders, not as a mere +rowdy, raised above his natural sphere, but as a rough +cavalier. And that the great-bearded giant Emperor Wilhelm +did drink heavily, fight hard, and mulct France mightily, is +matter of history. This was the last year of the +gaming-tables at Homburg. Apropos of these, the +roulette-table was placed in the Homburg Museum, where it may be +seen amid many Roman relics. Two or three years ago, while +I was in the room, there came in a small party of English or +Yankee looking or gazing tourists, to whom the attendant <!-- +page 414--><a name="page414"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +414</span>pointed out the roulette-table. “And did +the old Romans really play at roulette, and was <i>that</i> one +of their tables?” said the leader of the visitors. +This ready simple faith indicates the Englishman. The +ordinary American is always possessed with the conviction that +everything antique is a forgery. Once when I was examining +the old Viking armour in the Museum of Copenhagen, a Yankee, in +whose face a general vulgar distrust of all earthly things was +strongly marked, came up to me and asked, “Do you believe +that all these curiosities air <i>genooine</i>?” +“I certainly do,” I replied. With an intensely +self-satisfied air he rejoined, “I guess you can’t +fool <i>me</i> with no such humbug.”</p> +<p>There was a great deal of cholera that year in Germany, and I +had a very severe attack of it either in an incipient form or +something thereunto allied: suffice it to say that for twelve +hours I almost thought I should die of pure pain. I took in +vain laudanum, cayenne pepper, brandy, camphor, and +kino—nothing would remain. At last, at midnight, when +I was beginning to despair, or just as I felt like being wrecked, +I succeeded in keeping a little weak laudanum and water on my +stomach, and then the point was cleared. After that I took +the other remedies, and was soon well. But it was a crisis +of such fearful suffering that it all remains vividly impressed +on my memory. I do not know whether any sensible book has +ever been written on the moral influence of pain, but it is +certain that a wonderful one might be. So far as I can +understand it, I think that in the vast majority of cases it is +an evil, or one of Nature’s innumerable mistakes or +divagations, not as yet outgrown or corrected; and it is the +great error of Buddhistic-Christianity that it <i>accepts</i> +pain not merely as inevitable, but glorifies and increases it, +instead of making every conceivable exertion to <i>diminish</i> +it. Herein clearly lies the difference between Science and +Religion. Science strives in every way to alleviate pain +and suffering; erroneous “Religion” is based on +it. During the Middle Ages, the Church did all in its power +to hinder, if not destroy, the <!-- page 415--><a +name="page415"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 415</span>healing +art. It made anatomy of the human body a crime, and carried +its precautions so far that, quite till the Reformation, the art +of healing (as Paracelsus declares) was chiefly in the hands of +witches and public executioners. <i>Torturers</i>, chiefly +clergymen such as Grillandus, were in great honour, while the +healing leech was disreputable. It was not, as people say, +“the age” which caused all this—it was the +result of religion based on crucifixion and martyrdoms and +pain—in fact, on that element of <i>torture</i> which we +are elsewhere taught, most inconsistently, is the special +province of the devil in hell. The <i>cant</i> of this +still survives in Longfellow’s “Suffer and be +strong,” and in the pious praise of endurance of +pain. What the world wants is the hope held out to it, or +enforced on it as a religion or conviction, that pain and +suffering are to be diminished, and that our chief duty should +consist in diminishing them, instead of always praising or +worshipping them as a cross!</p> +<p>We left our friends and went for a short time to Switzerland, +where we visited Lucerne, Interlaken, Basle, and Berne. +Thence we returned to London and the Langham Hotel. This +was at that time under the management of Mr. John Sanderson, an +American, whom I had known of old. He was a brother of +Professor Sanderson, of Philadelphia, who wrote a remarkably +clever work entitled <i>The American in Paris</i>. John +Sanderson himself had contributed many articles to +Appletons’ <i>Cyclopædia</i>, belonged to the New +York Century Club, and, like all the members of his family, had +culture in music and literary taste. While he managed the +Langham it was crowded during all the year, as indeed any decent +hotel almost anywhere may be by simple proper liberal +management. This is a subject which I have studied <i>au +fond</i>, having read <i>Das Hotel wesen der Gegenwart</i>, a +very remarkable work, and passed more than twenty years of my +life in hotels in all countries.</p> +<p>I can remember that during the first year of my residence in +England I tried to persuade a chemist to import from <!-- page +416--><a name="page416"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +416</span>South America the <i>coca</i> leaf, of which not an +ounce was then consumed in Europe. Weston the walker +brought it into fashion “later on.” I had heard +extraordinary and authentic accounts of its enabling Indian +messengers to run all day from a friend who had employed +them. Apropos of this, “I do recall a wondrous +pleasant tale.” My cousin, Godfrey Davenport, a son +of the Uncle Seth mentioned in my earlier life, owned what was +regarded as the model plantation of Louisiana. My brother +Henry visited him one winter, and while there was kindly treated +by a very genial, hospitable neighbouring planter, whom I +afterwards met at my father’s house in Philadelphia. +He was a good-looking, finely-formed man, lithe and active as a +panther—the <i>replica</i> of Albert Pike’s +“fine Arkansas gentleman.” And here I would +fain disquisit on Pike, but type and time are pressing. +Well, this gentleman had one day a difference of opinion with +another planter, who was, like himself, a great runner, and +drawing his bowie knife, pursued him on the run, <i>twenty-two +miles</i>, ere he “got” his victim. The +distance was subsequently measured and verified by the admiring +neighbours, who put up posts in commemoration of such an +unparalleled pedestrian feat.</p> +<p>When I returned to Brighton, after getting into lodgings, I +began to employ or amuse myself in novel fashion. Old +Gentilla Cooper, the gypsy, had an old brother named Matthias, a +full-blood Romany, of whom all his people spoke as being very +eccentric and wild, but who had all his life a fancy for picking +up the old “Egyptian” tongue. I engaged him to +come to me two or three times a week, at half-a-crown a visit, to +give me lessons in it. As he had never lived in houses, +and, like Regnar Lodbrog, had never slept under a fixed roof, +unless when he had taken a nap in a tavern or stable, and +finally, as his whole life had been utterly that of a gypsy in +the roads, at fairs, or “by wood and wold as outlaws wont +to do,” I found him abundantly original and +interesting. And as on account of his eccentricity and +amusing <!-- page 417--><a name="page417"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 417</span>gifts he had always been welcome in +every camp or tent, and was watchful withal and crafty, there was +not a phase, hole, or corner of gypsy life or a member of the +fraternity with which or whom he was not familiar. I soon +learned his jargon, with every kind of gypsy device, dodge, or +peculiar custom, and, with the aid of several works, succeeded in +drawing from the recesses of his memory an astonishing number of +forgotten words. Thus, to begin with, I read to him aloud +the Turkish Gypsy Dictionary of Paspati. When he remembered +or recognised a word, or it recalled another, I wrote it +down. Then I went through the vocabularies of Liebrich, +Pott, Simson, &c., and finally through Brice’s +Hindustani Dictionary and the great part of a much larger work, +and one in Persian. The reader may find most of the results +of Matty’s teaching in my work entitled “The English +Gypsies and their Language.” Very often I went with +my professor to visit the gypsies camped about Brighton, far or +near, and certainly never failed to amuse myself and pick up many +quaint observations. In due time I passed to that singular +state when I could never walk a mile or two in the country +anywhere without meeting or making acquaintance with some +wanderer on the highways, by use of my newly-acquired +knowledge. Thus, I needed only say, “Seen any of the +Coopers or Bosvilles lately on the drum?” (road), or +“Do you know Sam Smith?” &c., to be recognised as +one of the grand army in some fashion. Then it was widely +rumoured that the Coopers had got a <i>rye</i>, or master, who +spoke Romany, and was withal not ungenerous, so that in due time +there was hardly a wanderer of gypsy kind in Southern England who +had not heard of me. And though there are thousands of +people who are more thoroughly versed in Society than I am, I do +not think there are many so much at home in such extremely +<i>varied</i> phases of it as I have been. I have sat in a +gypsy camp, like one of them, hearing all their little secrets +and talking familiarly in Romany, and an hour after dined with +distinguished people; and this life had many <!-- page 418--><a +name="page418"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 418</span>other +variations, and they came daily for many years. My gypsy +experiences have not been so great as those of Francis H. Groome +(once a pupil and <i>protégé</i> of Benfey), or the +Grand Duke Josef of Hungary, or of Dr. Wlislocki, but next after +these great masters, and as an all-round gypsy rye in many lands, +I believe that I am not far behind any <i>aficionado</i> who has +as yet manifested himself.</p> +<p>To become intimate, as I did in time, during years in +Brighton, off and on, with all the gypsies who roamed the south +of England, to be beloved of the old fortune-tellers and the +children and mothers as I was, and to be much in tents, involves +a great deal of strangely picturesque rural life, night-scenes by +firelight, in forests and by river-banks, and marvellously odd +reminiscences of other days. There was a gypsy child who +knew me so well that the very first words she could speak were +“<i>O ’omany ’i</i>” (O Romany rye), to +the great delight of her parents.</p> +<p>After a little while I found that the <i>Romany</i> element +was spread strangely and mysteriously round about among the rural +population in many ways. I went one day with Francis H. +Groome to Cobham Fair. As I was about to enter a tavern, +there stood near by three men whose faces and general appearance +had nothing of the gypsy, but as I passed one said to the other +so that I could hear—</p> +<p>“<i>Dikk adovo rye</i>, <i>se o Romany rye</i>, +<i>yuv</i>, <i>tàcho</i>!” (Look at that +gentleman; he is a gypsy gentleman, sure!)</p> +<p>I naturally turned my head hearing this, when he burst out +laughing, and said—</p> +<p>“I told you I’d make him look round.”</p> +<p>Once I was startled at hearing a well-dressed, I may say a +gentlemanly-looking man, seated in a gig with a fine horse +stopping by the road, say, as I passed with my wife—</p> +<p>“<i>Dikk adovo gorgio adoi</i>!” (Look at that +Gentile, of no-gypsy!)</p> +<p>Not being accustomed to hear myself called a <i>gorgio</i>, I +glanced up at him angrily, when he, perceiving that I understood +<!-- page 419--><a name="page419"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +419</span>him and was of the mysterious brotherhood, smiled, and +touched his hat to me. One touch of nature makes the whole +world grin.</p> +<p>But the drollest proposal ever made to me in serious earnest +came from that indomitable incarnate old <i>gypssissimus +Tsingarorum</i>, Matthew Cooper, who proposed that I should buy a +donkey. He knew where to get one for a pound, but £2 +10s. would buy a “stunner.” He would borrow a +small cart and a tent, and brown my face and hands so that I +would be dark enough, and then on the +<i>drum</i>—“over the hills.” As for all +the expenses of the journey, I need not spend anything, for he +could provide a neat nut-brown maid, who would not only do all +our cooking, but earn money enough by fortune-telling to support +us all. I would be expected, however, to greatly aid by my +superior knowledge of ladies and gentlemen; and so all would go +merrily on, with unlimited bread and cheese, bacon and ale, and +tobacco—into the blue away!</p> +<p>I regret to say that Matthew expected to inherit the +donkey.</p> +<p>About this time, as all my friends went hunting once or twice +a week, I determined to do the same. Now, as I had never +been a good rider, and had anything but an English seat in the +saddle, I went to a riding-school and underwent a thorough course +both on the pig-skin and bare-backed. My teacher, Mr. +Goodchild, said eventually of me that I was the only person whom +he had ever known who had at my time of life learned to ride +well. But to do this I gave my whole mind and soul to it; +and Goodchild’s standard, and still more that of his +riding-master, who had been a captain in a cavalry regiment, was +very high. I used to feel quite as if I were a boy again, +and one under pretty severe discipline at that, when the Captain +was drilling me. For his life he could not treat his pupils +otherwise than as recruits. “Sit up straighter, +sir! Do you call <i>that</i> sitting up? +<i>That’s</i> not the way to hold your arms! Knees +in! <!-- page 420--><a name="page420"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 420</span>Why, sir, when I was learning to +ride I was made to put shillings between my knees and the side, +and if I dropped one <i>I forfeited it</i>!”</p> +<p>Then in due time came the meets, and the fox and hare hunting, +during which I found my way, I believe, into every village or +nook for twenty miles round. By this time I had forgotten +all my troubles, mental or physical, and after riding six or +seven hours in a soft fog, would come home the picture of +health.</p> +<p>I remember that one very cold morning I was riding alone to +the meet on a monstrous high black horse which Goodchild had +bought specially for me, when I met two gypsy women, full blood, +selling wares, among them woollen mittens—just what I +wanted, for my hands were almost frozen in Paris kids. The +women did not know me, but I knew them by description, and great +was the amazement of one when I addressed her by name and in +Romany.</p> +<p>“<i>Pen a mandy</i>, <i>Priscilla Cooper</i>, <i>sa buti +me sosti del tute for adovo pustini vashtini</i>?” +(Tell me, Priscilla Cooper, how much should I give you for those +woollen gloves?)</p> +<p>“Eighteen pence, master.” The common price +was ninepence.</p> +<p>“I will <i>not</i> give you eighteen pence,” I +replied.</p> +<p>“Then how much <i>will</i> you give, master?” +asked Priscilla.</p> +<p>“<i>Four shillings</i> will I give, and not a penny +less—<i>miri pen</i>—you may take it or leave +it.”</p> +<p>I went off with the gloves, while the women roared out +blessings in Romany. There was something in the whole style +of the gift, or the <i>manner</i> of giving it, which was +specially gratifying to gypsies, and the account thereof soon +spread far and wide over the roads as a beautiful deed.</p> +<p>The fraternity of the roads is a strange thing. Once +when I lived at Walton there was an old gypsy woman named Lizzie +Buckland who often camped near us. A good and winsome young +lady named Lillie Doering had taken a liking <!-- page 421--><a +name="page421"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 421</span>to the old +lady, and sent her a nice Christmas present of clothing, tea, +&c., which was sent to me to give to the Egyptian +mother. But when I went to seek her, she had flown over the +hills and far away. It made no difference. I walked +on till I met a perfect stranger to me, a woman, but +“evidently a traveller.” “Where is old +Liz?” I asked. “Somewhere about four miles +beyond Moulsey.” “I’ve got a present for +her; are you going that way?” “Not exactly, but +I’ll take it to her; a few miles don’t +signify.” I learned that it had gone from hand to +hand and been safely delivered. It seems a strange way to +deliver valuables, to walk forth and give them to the first tramp +whom you meet; but I knew my people.</p> +<p>I may here say that during this and the previous winter I had +practised wood-carving. In which, as in studying Gypsy, I +had certain ultimate aims, which were fully developed in later +years. I have several times observed in this record that +when I get an idea I cherish it, think it over, and work it +up. Out of this wood-carving and <i>repoussé</i> and +the designing which it involved I in time developed ideas which +led to what I may fairly call a great result.</p> +<p>We remained at Brighton until February, when we went to London +and stayed at the Langham Hotel. Then began the London life +of visits, dinners, and for me, as usual, of literary work. +In those days I began to meet and know Professor E. H. Palmer, +Walter Besant, Walter H. Pollock, and many other men of the time +of whom I shall anon have more to say. I arranged with Mr. +Trübner as to the publication of “The English +Gypsies.” I think it was at this time that I dined +one evening at Sir Charles Dilke’s, where a droll incident +took place. There was present a small Frenchman, to whom I +had not been introduced, and whose name therefore I did not +know. After dinner in the smoking-room I turned over with +this gentleman a very curious collection of the works of Blake, +which were new to him. Finding that he evidently knew +something about art, I explained to him that <!-- page 422--><a +name="page422"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 422</span>Blake was a +very strange visionary—that he believed that the spirits of +the dead appeared to him, and that he took their portraits.</p> +<p>“<i>C’était donc un fou</i>,” +remarked the Frenchman.</p> +<p>“<i>Non</i>, Monsieur,” I replied, “he was +not a madman. He was almost a genius. Indeed, +<i>c’était un Doré manqué</i>” +(he was all but a Doré).</p> +<p>There was a roar of laughter from all around, and I, +innocently supposing that I had said something clever unawares, +laughed too.</p> +<p>After all had departed, and I was smoking alone with Sir +Charles, he said—</p> +<p>“Well, what did you think of Doré?”</p> +<p>“Doré!” I replied astonished, “why, I +never saw Doré in all my life.”</p> +<p>“That was Doré to whom you were talking,” +he answered.</p> +<p>“Ah! well,” was my answer, “then it is all +right.”</p> +<p>I suppose that Doré believed that I knew at the time +who he was. Had he been aware that I did not know who he +was, the compliment would have seemed much stronger.</p> +<p>I have either been introduced to, conversed with, or been well +acquainted at one time or another with Sir John Millais, Holman +Hunt, the Rossettis, Frith, Whistler, Poynter, Du Maurier, +Charles Keene, Boughton, Hodges, Tenniel (who set my motive of +“Ping-Wing,” as I may say, to music in a cartoon in +<i>Punch</i>), the Hon. John Collier, Rivière, Walter +Crane, and of course many more—or less—here and there +in the club, or at receptions. Could I have then foreseen +or imagined that I should ever become—albeit in a very +humble grade—an artist myself, and that my works on design +and the minor arts would form the principal portion of my +writings and of my life’s work, I should assuredly have +made a greater specialty of such society. But at this time +I could hardly draw, save in very humble fashion indeed, and +little dreamed that I should execute for expensive works +illustrations which <!-- page 423--><a name="page423"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 423</span>would be praised by my critics, as +strangely happened to my “Gypsy Sorcery.” But +we never know what may befall us.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Oh, little did my mother think,<br /> + The day she cradled me,<br /> +The lands that I should travel in,<br /> + Or the sights that I should see;<br /> +Or gae rovin’ about wi’ gypsy carles,<br /> + And sic like companie.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>As the <i>Noctes</i> varies it. For it actually came to +pass that a very well-known man of letters, while he, with the +refined politeness characteristic of his style, spoke of mine as +“rigmarole,” still praised my pictures.</p> +<p>In April we went to Leamington to pay a visit to a Mr. Field, +where we also met his brother, my old friend Leonard Field, whom +I had known in Paris in 1848. During this, journey we +visited Kenilworth, the town and castle of Warwick, +Stratford-on-Avon, and all therewith connected. At the +Easter spring-tide, when primroses first flush by running waters, +and there are many long bright sunny days in the land, while +birdes’ songs do ripple in the aire, it is good roaming or +resting in such a country, among old castles, towers, and hamlets +quaint and grey. To him who can think and feel, it is like +the reading of marvellously pleasant old books, some in +Elizabethan type, some in earlier black letter, and hearing as we +read sweet music and far-distant chimes. And apropos of +this, I would remark that while I was at Princeton an idea fixed +itself so firmly in my mind that to this day I live on it and act +on it. It is this:—There is a certain stage to be +reached in reading and reflection, especially if it be aided by +broad æsthetic culture and science, when every landscape, +event, or human being is or may be to us exactly the same as a +<i>book</i>. For everything in this world which can be +understood and felt can be described, and whatever can be +described may be written and printed. For ordinary people, +no ideas are distinct or concentrated or “literary” +till they are in black and white; but the scholar or artist in +<!-- page 424--><a name="page424"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +424</span>words puts thoughts into as clear a form in his own +mind. Having deeply meditated on this idea for forty years, +and been constantly occupied in realising it, I can say truly +that I <i>often</i> compose or think books or monographs which, +though not translated into type, are as absolutely +<i>literature</i> to me as if they were. There is so +<i>much</i> more in this than will at first strike most readers, +that I can not help dwelling on it. It once happened to me +in Philadelphia, in 1850, to pass <i>all</i> the year—in +fact, nearly two years—“in dusky city pent,” +and during all that time I never got a glimpse of the +country. As a director of the Art Union, I was continually +studying pictures, landscapes by great artists, and the +like. The second year, when I went up into Pennsylvania, I +found that I had strangely developed what practically amounted to +a kind of pseudophia. Every fragment of rural scenery, +every rustic “bit,” every group of shrubs or weeds, +everything, in fact, which recalled pictures, or which could +itself be pictured, appeared to me to be a picture perfectly +executed. This lasted as a vivid or real perception for +about a week, but the memory of it has been in my mind ever +since. It was not so much the beautiful in all Nature which +I saw, as that in Nature which was within the power of the +skilled artist to execute. In like manner the practised +reflector and writer reads books in everything to a degree which +no other person can understand. Wordsworth attained this +stage, and the object of the “Excursion” is to teach +it.</p> +<p>In the “Letters of James Smetham” there is a +passage to the effect that he felt extremely happy among English +hedgerows, and found inexhaustible delight in English birds, +trees, flowers, hills, and brooks, but could not appreciate his +little back-garden with a copper-beech, a weeping-ash, nailed-up +rose trees, and twisting creepers. After I had made a +habit, till it became a passion, of seeking decorative motives, +strange and novel curves—in short, began to detect the +transcendent alphabet or written language of beauty and mystery +in every plant whatever (of which the alphabet may <!-- page +425--><a name="page425"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 425</span>be +found in the works of Hulme), I found in every growth of every +kind, yes, in every weed, enough to fill my soul with both art +and poetry; I may say specially in weeds, since in them the +wildest and most graceful motives are more abundant than in +garden flowers. Unto me <i>now</i> anything that grows is, +in simple truth, more than what any landscape once was. +This began in youth in much reading of, and long reflection on, +the signatures, correspondences, and mystical fancies of the +Paracelsian writers—especially of Gaffarel, of whom I have +a Latin version by me as I write—and of late years I have +carried its inspiration into decorative art. I have said so +much of this because, as this is an autobiography, I cannot omit +from it something which, unseen in actions, still forms a +predominant motive in my life. It is something which, while +it perfectly embraces <i>all</i> landscaping or picture-making or +dainty delicate cataloguing in poetry, <i>à la</i> Morris +at times, or like the Squyre of Lowe Degre, in detail, also +involves a far more earnest feeling, and one which combines +thought or <i>religion</i> with emotion, just as a melody which +we associate with a beautiful poem is worth more to us than one +which we do not. Burne Jones is a higher example of +this.</p> +<p>During this season we met at Mrs. Inwood +Jones’—who was a niece of Lady Morgan and had many +interesting souvenirs of her aunt—several people of note, +among whom was Mme. Taglioni, now a very agreeable and graceful +though naturally elderly lady. I was charmed with her many +reminiscences of well-known characters, and as I had seen her as +well as Ellsler and all the great <i>ballerine</i> many times, we +had many conferences. Somebody said to her one day, +“So you know Mr. Leland?” “Yes,” +replied Taglioni in jest, “he was one of my old +lovers.” This was reported to me, when I said, +“I wish she had told me that thirty years +sooner.” In 1846 Taglioni owned three palaces in +Venice, one of them the Ca’ d’oro, and in 1872 she +was giving lessons in London. At Mrs. Frank Hill’s I +made the acquaintance of the marvellously <!-- page 426--><a +name="page426"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 426</span>clever +Eugene Schuyler, and at Mr. Smalley’s of the equally +amazingly cheeky and gifted “Joaquin” Miller. +Somewhere else I met several times another curious celebrity whom +I had known in America, the Chevalier Wykoff. Though he was +almost the type and proverb of an adventurer, I confess that I +always liked him. He was gentlemanly and kind in his +manner, and agreeable and intelligent in conversation. +Though he had been Fanny Ellsler’s agent or secretary, and +written those two curiously cool works, “Souvenirs of a +Roving Diplomatist” (he had been employed by Palmerston) +and “My Courtship and its Consequences” (in reference +to his having been imprisoned in Italy for attempting to carry +off an elderly heiress), he was also the author of a really +admirable work on the political system of the United States, +which any man may read to advantage. A century ago or more +he would have been a great man in his way. He knew +everybody. I believe that as General Tevis formed his bold +ideal of life from much reading of <i>condottieri</i> or military +adventurers, and Robert Hunt from Cooper’s novels, so +Wykoff got his inspiration for a career from studying and +admiring the diplomatic <i>parvenus</i> of Queen Anne’s +time. These <i>Bohémiens de la haute +volée</i>, who drew their first motives from study, are by +far more interesting and tolerable than those of an illiterate +type.</p> +<p>One summer when I was at Bateman’s, near Newport, with +G. H. Boker, Robert Leroy, and our wives, Leroy reported one day +that he had seen Wykoff, Hiram Fuller, a certain very dashing +<i>prima donna</i>, and two other notorieties sitting side by +side in a row on the steps of the Ocean House. I remarked +that if there had only been with them the devil and Lola Montez, +the party would have been complete. Leroy was famous for +his quaint <i>mots</i>, in which he had a counterpart in +“Tom Appleton,” of Boston, whom I also knew very +well. The Appletoniana and Leroyalties which were current +in the Sixties would make a lively book.</p> +<p>I remember that one evening at a dinner at +Trübner’s in <!-- page 427--><a +name="page427"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 427</span>this year +there were present M. Van der Weyer, G. H. Lewes, and M. +Delepierre. I have rarely heard so much good talk in the +same time. Thoughts so gay and flashes so refined, such a +mingling of choice literature, brilliant anecdote, and happy +jests, are seldom heard as I heard them. <i>Tempi +passati</i>!</p> +<p>Apropos of George H. Boker and Leroy, I may here remark that +they were both strikingly tall and <i>distingué</i> men, +but that when they dressed themselves for bass-fishing, and +“put on mean attire,” they seemed to be common +fisher-folk. One day, while fishing on the rocks, there +came up the elegant <i>prima donna</i> referred to, who, seeing +that they had very fine lobsters, ordered them to be taken to the +hotel for her. “Can’t do it, +ma’am,” answered Leroy brusquely; “we want them +for bait.” The lady swept away indignantly. To +her succeeded Ralph Waldo Emerson, who did not know them +personally, and who began to put to Mr. Boker questions as to his +earnings and his manner of life, to all of which Mr. Boker +replied with great <i>naïveté</i>. Mr. B., +however, had on his pole a silver reel, which had cost £30 +($150), and at last Mr. Emerson’s eye rested on that, and +word no more spoke he, but, with a smile and bowing very +politely, went his road. <i>Ultimam dixit salutem</i>.</p> +<p>One evening I was sitting in the smoking-room of the Langham +Hotel, when an American said to me, “I hear that Charles +Leland, who wrote ‘Breitmann,’ is staying +here.” “Yes, that is true,” I +replied. “Could you point him out to me?” asked +the stranger. “I will do so with pleasure—in +fact, if you will tell me your name, I think I can manage to +introduce you.” The American was very grateful for +this, and asked when it would be. “<i>Now</i> is the +time,” I said, “for I am he.” On another +occasion another stranger told me, that having heard that Mr. +Leland was in the smoking-room, he had come in to see him, and +asked me to point him out. I pointed to myself, at which he +was much astonished, and then, apologetically and half ashamed, +said, “Who do <!-- page 428--><a name="page428"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 428</span>you really suppose, of all the men +here present, I had settled on as being you?” I could +not conjecture, when he pointed to a great broom-bearded, +broad-shouldered, jovial, intemperate, German-looking man, and +said, “There! I thought that must be the author of +‘Hans Brietmann.’” Which suggested to me +the idea, “Does the public, then, generally believe that +poets look like their heroes?” One can indeed imagine +Longfellow as Poor Henry of the “Golden Legend,” but +few would expect to find the counterpart of Biglow in a +Lowell. And yet this belief or instinct is in every case a +<i>great</i> compliment, for it testifies that there is that in +the poem which is inspired by Nature and originality, and that it +is not all mere art-work or artificial. And it is true that +by some strange law, name, body, and soul generally do preserve +some kind of unity in the realm of literature. There has +never been, as yet, a really great Gubbins or Podgers in poetry, +or Boggs in romance; and if literature has its Hogg, let it be +remembered that the wild boar in all Northern sagas and +chronicles, like the Eber in Germany, or the Wolf, was a name of +pride and honour, as seen in Eberstein. The Whistler of St. +Leonard’s is one of the most eccentric and original of +Scott’s characters, and the Whistler of St. Luke’s, +or the patron saint of painting, is in no respect deficient in +these noble qualifications. The Seven Whistlers who fly +unseen by night, ever piping a wild nocturne, are the most +uncanny of birds, while there is, to my mind, something +absolutely grotesquely awful (as in many of “Dreadful +Jemmy’s” pictures) in the narration that in ancient +days the immense army of the Mexican Indians marched forth to +battle all whistling in unison—probably a symphony in +blood-colour. Fancy half a million of Whistlers on the +war-path, about to do battle to the death with as many +Ruskins—I mean red-skins! <i>Nomen est omen</i>.</p> +<p>One of the most charming persons whom I ever met in my life +was the Hon. Mrs. Caroline Norton, and one of the most delightful +dinners at which my wife and I were ever <!-- page 429--><a +name="page429"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 429</span>present was +at her house. As I had been familiar with her poems from my +boyhood, I was astonished to find her still so beautiful and +young—if my memory does not deceive me, I thought her far +younger looking than myself. I owe her this compliment, for +I can recall her speaking with great admiration of Mrs. Leland to +Lord Houghton and “Bulwer.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Norton had not only a graceful, fascinating expression of +figure and motion, but narrated everything so well as to cast a +peculiar life and interest into the most trifling anecdote. +I remember one of the latter.</p> +<p>“Lord Houghton,” she said, “calls you, Mr. +Leland, the poet of jargons.” (He indeed introduced +me to all his guests once by this term.) “Jargon is a +confusion of language, and I have a maid who lives in a jargon of +ideas—as to values. The other day she broke to utter +ruin an antique vase”—(I do not accurately recall +what the object was)—“which cost four hundred pounds, +and when I said that it was such a grief to me to lose it, she +replied, while weeping, ‘Oh, do not mind it, my lady; +<i>I’ll</i> buy you just such another,’ as if it were +worth tenpence.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Norton had marvellously beautiful and expressive eyes, +such as one seldom meets thrice in a life. As a harp well +played inspires tears or the impulse to dance, so her glances +conveyed, almost in the same instant, deep emotion and exquisite +merriment. I remember that she was much amused with some of +my American jests and reminiscences, and was always prompt to +respond, <i>eodem genere</i>. So nightingale the wodewale +answereth.</p> +<p>During this season in London I met Thomas Carlyle. Our +mutual friend, Moncure Conway, had arranged that I should call on +the great writer at the house of the latter in Chelsea. I +went there at about eleven in the morning, and when Mr. Carlyle +entered the room I was amazed—I may say almost +awed—by something which was altogether unexpected, and this +was his <i>extraordinary</i> likeness to my late <!-- page +430--><a name="page430"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +430</span>father. A slight resemblance to Carlyle may be +seen in my own profile, but had he been with my father, the pair +might have passed for twins; and in iron-grey grimness and the +never-to-be-convinced expression of the eyes they were identity +itself.</p> +<p>I can only remember that for the first twenty or thirty +minutes Mr. Carlyle talked such a lot of skimble-skamble stuff +and rubbish, which sounded like the very <i>débris</i> and +lees of his “Latter-Day Pamphlets,” that I began to +suspect that he was quizzing me, or that this was the manner in +which he ladled out Carlyleism to visitors who came to be +Carlyled and acted unto. It struck me as if Mr. Tennyson, +bored with lion-hunting guests, had begun to repeat his poetry to +them out of sheer sarcasm, or as if he felt, “Well, +you’ve come to <i>see</i> and <i>hear</i> me—a +poet—so take your poetry, and be d---d to you!” +However, it may be I felt a coming wrath, and the Socratic demon +or gypsy <i>dook</i>, which often rises in me on such occasions, +and never deceives me, gave me a strong premonition that there +was to be, if not an exemplary row, at least a lively incident +which was to put a snapped end to this humbugging.</p> +<p>It came thus. All at once Mr. Carlyle abruptly asked me, +in a manner or with an intonation which sounded to me almost +semi-contemptuous, “And what kind of an American may you +be?” (I <i>think</i> he said “will you +be?”) “German, or Irish, or what?”</p> +<p>To which I replied, not over amiably:—</p> +<p>“Since it interests you, Mr. Carlyle, to know the origin +of my family, I may say that I am descended from Henry Leland, +whom the tradition declares to have been a noted Puritan, and +active in the politics of his time,’ and who went to +America in 1636.”</p> +<p>To this Mr. Carlyle replied:—</p> +<p>“I doubt whether any of your family have since been +equal to your old Puritan great-grandfather” (or +“done anything to equal your old Puritan +grandfather”). With this <!-- page 431--><a +name="page431"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 431</span>something +to the effect that we had done nothing in America since +Cromwell’s Revolution, equal to it in importance or of any +importance.</p> +<p>Then a great rage came over me, and I remember <i>very</i> +distinctly that there flashed through my mind in a second the +reflection, “Now, if I have to call you a d---d old fool +for saying that, I <i>will</i>; but I’ll be even with +you.” When as quickly the following inspiration came, +which I uttered, and I suspect somewhat energetically:—</p> +<p>“Mr. Carlyle, I think that my brother, Henry Leland, who +got the wound from which he died standing by my side in the war +of the rebellion, fighting against slavery, was worth ten of my +old Puritan ancestors; at least, he died in a ten times better +cause. And” (here my old “Indian” was up +and I let it out) “allow me to say, Mr. Carlyle, that I +think that in all matters of historical criticism you are +principally influenced by the merely melodramatic and +theatrical.”</p> +<p>Here Mr. Carlyle, looking utterly amazed and startled, though +not at all angry, said, for the first time, in broad +Scotch—</p> +<p>“Whot’s <i>thot</i> ye say?”</p> +<p>“I say, Mr. Carlyle,” I exclaimed with rising +wrath, “that I consider that in all historical judgments +you are influenced only by the melodramatic and +theatrical.”</p> +<p>A grim smile as of admiration came over the stern old +face. Whether he really felt the justice of the hit I know +not, but he was evidently pleased at the manner in which it was +delivered, and it was with a deeply reflective and not displeased +air that he replied, still in Scotch—</p> +<p>“Na, na, I’m nae <i>thot</i>.”</p> +<p>It was the terrier who had ferociously attacked the lion, and +the lion was charmed. From that instant he was courteous, +companionable, and affable, and talked as if we had been long +acquainted, and as if he liked me. It occurred to me that +the resemblance of Carlyle to my father during the row was +appalling, the difference being that my father <i>never</i> <!-- +page 432--><a name="page432"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +432</span>gave in. It would have been an awful sight to see +and a sound to hear if the two could have “discussed” +some subject on which they were equally informed—say the +American tariff or slavery.</p> +<p>After a while Mr. Froude the historian came in, and we all +went out together for a walk in the Park. Pausing on the +bridge, Mr. Carlyle called my attention to the very rural English +character of a part of the scenery in the distance, where a +church-spire rises over ranges of tree-tops. I observed +that the smoke of a gypsy fire and a tent by a hedge was all that +was needed. Then we began to talk about gypsies, and I told +Mr. Carlyle that I could talk Romany, and ran on with some +reminiscences, whereat, as I now recall, though I did not note it +then, his amusement at or interest in me seemed to be much +increased, as if I had unexpectedly turned out to be something a +little out of the ordinary line of tourist interviewers; and +truly in those days Romany ryes were not so common as they now +are. Then Mr. Carlyle himself told a story, how his +father—if I remember rightly—had once lent a large +sum to or trusted a gypsy in some extraordinary manner. It +befell in after days that the lender was himself in sore straits, +when the gypsy took him by night to a hut, and digging up or +lifting the <i>hard-stane</i> or hearth-stone, took out a bag of +guineas, which he transferred to his benefactor.</p> +<p>We parted, and this was the only time I ever conversed with +Mr. Carlyle, though I saw him subsequently on more than one +occasion. He sent word specially by Mr. Conway to me that +he would be pleased to have me call again; but “once bitten +twice shy,” and I had not so much enjoyed my call as to +wish to repeat it. But I believe that what Mr. Carlyle +absolutely needed above all things on earth was somebody to put +on the gloves with him metaphorically about once a day, and give +and take a few thumping blows; nor do I believe that he would +have shrunk from a tussle <i>à la Choctaw</i>, with +biting, gouging, tomahawk and scalper, for he had <!-- page +433--><a name="page433"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 433</span>an +uncommonly <i>dour</i> look about the eyes, and must have been a +magnificent fighter when once roused. But though I had not +his vast genius nor wit, I had the great advantage of having +often had very severe differences with my father, who was, I +believe, as much Carlyled by Nature as Carlyle himself, if not +more so, whereas it is morally impossible that the Sage of +Chelsea could ever have found any one like himself to train +under. But to Carlyle people in conversation requires +constant practice with a master—<i>consuetudine quotidiana +cum aliquo congredi</i>—and he had for so long a time +knocked everybody down without meeting the least resistance, that +victory had palled upon him, and he had, so to speak, +“vinegared” on himself. With somebody to +“sass him back,” Carlyle would have been cured of the +dyspepsia, and have lived twenty years longer.</p> +<p>Carlyle’s was and ever will be one of the greatest names +in English literature, and it is very amusing to observe how the +gossip-makers, who judge of genius by tittle-tattle and petty +personal defects, have condemned him <i>in toto</i> because he +was not an angel to a dame who was certainly a bit of a +<i>diablesse</i>. Thus I find in a late very popular +collection the remark that—</p> +<p>“It is curious to note in the ‘Life and +Correspondence of Lord Houghton’ the high estimation in +which Carlyle was held by him. His regard and admiration +cannot but seem exaggerated, now that we know so much of the +Chelsea philosopher’s real character.”</p> +<p>This is <i>quite</i> the moral old lady, who used to think +that Raphael was a good painter “till she read all about +that nasty Fornarina.”</p> +<p>There was another hard old character with whom I became +acquainted in those days, and one who, though not a Carlyle, +still, like him, exercised in a peculiar way a great influence on +English literature. This was George Borrow. I was in +the habit of reading a great deal in the British Museum, where he +also came, and there I was introduced to him.</p> +<p><!-- page 434--><a name="page434"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +434</span>He was busy with a venerable-looking volume in old +Irish and made the remark to me that he did not believe there was +a man living who could read old Irish with ease (which I now +observe to myself was “fished” out of Sir W. +Betham). We discussed several gypsy words and +phrases. I met him in the same place several times. +He was a tall, large, fine-looking man, who must have been +handsome in his youth. I knew at the time in London a Mr. +Kerrison, who had been as a very young man, probably in the +Twenties, very intimate with Borrow. He told me that one +night Borrow acted very wildly, whooping and vociferating so as +to cause the police to follow him, and after a long run led them +to the edge of the Thames, “and there they thought they had +him.” But he plunged boldly into the water and swam +in his clothes to the opposite shore, and so escaped.</p> +<blockquote><p>“For he fled o’er to t’other +side,<br /> + And so they could not find him;<br /> +He swam across the flowing tide,<br /> + And never looked behind him.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>About this time (1826?) George Borrow published a small book +of poems which is now extremely rare. I have a copy of +it. In it there is a lyric in which, with his usual +effrontery, he describes a very clever, tall, handsome, +accomplished man, who knows many languages and who can drink a +pint of rum, ending with the remark that he himself was this +admirable person. As Heine was in England at this time, it +is not improbable that he met with this poem; but in any case, +there is a resemblance between it and one of his own in the +<i>Buch der Lieder</i>, which runs thus:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Brave man, he got me the food I ate,<br /> +His kindness and care I can never forget,<br /> +Yet I cannot kiss him, though other folk can,<br /> +For I myself am this excellent man!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It came to pass that after a while I wrote my book on +“The English Gypsies and their Language,” and sent a +note <!-- page 435--><a name="page435"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 435</span>to Mr. Borrow in which I asked +permission to dedicate it to him. I sent it to the care of +Mr. Murray, who subsequently assured me that Mr. Borrow had +actually received it. Now Mr. Borrow had written thirty +years before some sketches and fragments on the same subject, +which would, I am very certain, have remained unpublished to this +day but for me. He received my note on Saturday—never +answered it—and on Monday morning advertised in all the +journals his own forthcoming work on the same subject.</p> +<p>Now, what is sincere truth is, that when I learned this I +laughed. I thought very little of my own work, and if Mr. +Borrow had only told me that it was in the way of his I would +have withdrawn it at once, and that with right goodwill, for I +had so great a respect for the Nestor of gypsyism that I would +have been very glad to have gratified him with such a small +sacrifice. But it was not in him to suspect or imagine so +much common decency in any human heart, and so he craftily, and +to my great delight and satisfaction, “got ahead” of +me. For, to tell the truth of truth, I was pleased to my +soul that I had caused him to make and publish the work.</p> +<p>I have said too hastily that it was written thirty years +before. What I believe is, that Mr. Borrow had by him a +vocabulary, and a few loose sketches, which he pitchforked +together, but that the book itself was made and cemented into one +with additions for the first time after he received my +note. He was not, take him altogether, +over-scrupulous. Sir Patrick Colquhoun told me that once +when he was at Constantinople, Mr. Borrow came there, and gave it +out that he was a marvellous Oriental scholar. But there +was great scepticism on this subject at the Legation, and one day +at the <i>table-d’hôte</i>, where the great writer +and divers young diplomatists dined, two who were seated on +either side of Borrow began to talk in Arabic, speaking to him, +the result being that he was obliged to confess that he not only +did not understand what they were saying, but did not even know +<!-- page 436--><a name="page436"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +436</span>what the language was. Then he was tried in +Modern Greek, with the same result. The truth was that he +knew a great deal, but did all in his power to make the world +believe it was far more—like the African king, or the +English prime minister, who, the longer his shirts were made, +insisted on having the higher collars, until the former trailed +on the ground and the latter rose above the top of his +head—“when they came home from the wash!”</p> +<p>What I admire in Borrow to such a degree that before it his +faults or failings seem very trifling, is his absolutely +vigorous, marvellously varied originality, based on direct +familiarity with Nature, but guided and cultured by the study of +natural, simple writers, such as Defoe and Smollett. I +think that the “interest” in or rather sympathy for +gypsies, in his case as in mine, came not from their being +curious or dramatic beings, but because they are so much a part +of free life, of out-of-doors Nature; so associated with +sheltered nooks among rocks and trees, the hedgerow and birds, +river-sides, and wild roads. Borrow’s heart was large +and true as regarded English rural life; there was a place in it +for everything which was of the open air and freshly +beautiful. He was not a view-hunter of “bits,” +trained according to Ruskin and the <i>deliberate</i> +word-painting of a thousand novels and Victorian picturesque +poems; but he often brings us nearer to Nature than they do, not +by photography, but by casually letting fall a word or trait, by +which we realise not only her form but her soul. Herein he +was like Washington Irving, who gives us the impression of a +writer who was deeply inspired with calm sweet sunny views of +Nature, yet in whose writings literal description is so rarely +introduced, that it is a marvel how much the single buttercup +lights up the landscape for a quarter of a mile, when a thousand +would produce no effect whatever. This may have possibly +been art in Irving—art of the most subtle kind—but in +Borrow it was instinct, and hardly intentional. In this +respect he was superior even to Whitman.</p> +<p><!-- page 437--><a name="page437"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +437</span>And here I would say, apropos of Carlyle, Tennyson, +Irving, Borrow, Whitman, and some others whom I have met, that +with such men in only one or two interviews, one covers more +ground and establishes more intimacy than with the great majority +of folk whom we meet and converse with hundreds of times. +Which fact has been set forth by Wieland in his work on +Democritus or the Abderites so ingeniously, as people expressed +it a century ago, or so cleverly, as we now say, or so +sympathetically, as an Italian would say, that my pen fails to +utter the thoughts which arise in me compared to what he has +written.</p> +<p>When the summer came, or on the 1st of August, we started on a +grand tour about England. First we went to Salisbury. +I was deeply interested in the Cathedral there, because it is +possibly the only great Gothic structure of the kind in Europe +which was completed in a single style during a single +reign. Stonehenge was to me even more remarkable, because +it is more mysterious. Its stupendous barbarism or archaic +character, involving a whole lost cycle of ideas, contrasts so +strangely with the advanced architectural skill displayed in the +cutting and fitting of the vast blocks, that the whole seems to +be a mighty paradox. This was the work of many thousands of +men—of very well directed labour under the supervision of +architects who could draw and measure skilfully with a grand +sense of <i>proportion</i> or symmetry, who had, however, not +attained to ornament—a thing without parallel in +humanity. This is absolutely bewildering, as is the utter +want of all indication as to its real purpose. The old +British tradition that the stones were brought by magic from +Africa, coupled with what Sir John Lubbock and others declare as +to similar remains on the North African coast, suggest something, +but what that was remains to be discovered. Men have, +however, developed great works of the massive and simple order in +poetry, as well as in architecture. The Nibelungen Lied is +a Stonehenge. There are in it only one or two similes or +decorations. “Simplicity is its sole +ornament.”</p> +<p><!-- page 438--><a name="page438"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +438</span>From Salisbury we went to Wells. The cathedrals +of England form the pages of a vast work in which there is +written the history of a paradox or enigma as marvellous as that +of Stonehenge; and it is this—that the farther back we go, +even into a really barbarous age, almost to the time when Roman +culture had died and the mediæval had not begun, the more +exquisite are the proportions of buildings, the higher their +tone, and, as in the case of Early and Decorated English, the +more beautiful their ornament. That is to say, that exactly +in the time when, according to all our modern teaching and ideas, +there should have been <i>no</i> architectural art, it was most +admirably developed, while, on the contrary, in this end of the +nineteenth century, when theory, criticism, learning, and science +abound, it is in its lowest and most depraved state, its highest +flights aiming at nothing better than cheap imitation of old +examples. The age which produced the Romanesque +architecture, whether in northern Italy, along the Rhine as the +Lombard, or in France and England as Norman, was extremely +barbarous, bloody, and illiterate; and yet in the noblest and +grandest conceptions of architectural art it surpassed all the +genius of this our time as the sun surpasses a star. While +we <i>know</i> that man has advanced, it still remains true that +the history of architecture alone for the past thousand years +indicates a steady retrogression and decay in art, and this +constitutes the stupendous paradox to which I have alluded. +But Milton has fully explained to us that when the devils in hell +built the first great temple or +palace—Pandemonium—they achieved the greatest work of +architecture ever seen!</p> +<p>York Cathedral made on me a hundred times deeper and more +sympathetic impression than St. Peter’s of Rome. +There is a grandeur of unity and a sense of a single cultus in it +which the Renaissance never reached in anything. Even from +the days of Orcagna there is an element of mixed motives and +incoherence in the best of Italian architecture and +sculpture. It requires colour to effect that which Norman +<!-- page 439--><a name="page439"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +439</span>or Gothic art could produce more grandly and +impressively with <i>shade</i> alone. It is the difference +between a garden and a forest. This is shown in the +glorious mediæval <i>grisaille</i> windows, in which such +art proves its absolute perfection. While I was looking at +these in rapt admiration, an American friend who did not lack a +certain degree of culture asked me if I did not find in them a +great want of colour!</p> +<p>I made in York the acquaintance of a youth named Carr, son of +a former high sheriff, who, by the way, showed us very great +hospitality whenever we visited the city. This young man +had read Labarthe and other writers on archæology, and was +enthusiastic in finding relics of the olden time. He took +me into a great many private houses. I visited every +church, and indeed saw far more than do the great majority of +even the most inquiring visitors. The Shambles was then and +is still perhaps one of the most curious specimens of a small +mediæval street in the world. I felt as if I could +pass a life in the museum and churches, and I did, in fact, years +after, remain there, very busy, for three weeks, sketching +innumerable corbels, gargoyles, goblins, arches, weather-worn +saints and sinners. And in the Cathedral I found the +original of the maid in the garden a-hanging out the +clothes. She is a fair sinner, and the blackbird is a demon +volatile, who, having lighted on her shoulder, snaps her by the +nose to get her soul. The motive often occurs in Gothic +sculpture.</p> +<p>We may trace it back—<i>vide</i> the “Pharaohs, +Fellahs, and Explorers” of Amelia B. Edwards (whom I have +also met at an Oriental Congress)—to Roman Harpies and the +Egyptian <i>Ba</i>, depicted in the “Book of the +Dead” or the “Egyptian Bible.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">the +end</span>.</p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" +class="footnote">[1]</a> As I was very desirous of learning +more about this celebrated fireplace, I inserted a request in the +<i>Public Ledger</i> for information regarding it, which elicited +the following from some one to me unknown, to whom I now return +thanks:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Mr. City-Editor of +the</span> <i>Public Ledger</i>,—In your edition of this +date, I notice a communication headed ‘To Local +Antiquarians.’ Without any well-founded pretensions +to the designation ‘Antiquarian,’ as I get older I +still take a great interest in the early history of our beloved +city. I remember <i>distinctly</i> the fact, but not the +date, of reading a description of the +‘mantelpiece.’ It was of wood, handsomely +carved on the pillars, and under the shelf, and on the centre +between the pillars, was the following quaint and witty +<i>hieroglyphic</i> inscription:—</p> +<p>When the grate is M. T. put:<br /> +When it is . putting:</p> +<p>which is a little puzzling at first sight, but readily +translated by converting the punctuation points into written +words.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Senior</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">“<i>Frankford</i>, <i>May +24</i>, <i>1892</i>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I can add to this, that the chimney-piece was originally made +for wood-fires, and that long after a grate was set in and the +inscription added.</p> +<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13" +class="footnote">[13]</a> Also given as Delaund or Dellaund +in one copy. De Quincey was proud of his descent from De la +Laund. I may here say that John Leyland, who is a +painstaking and conscientious antiquarian and accomplished +genealogist, has been much impressed with the extraordinary +similarity of disposition, tastes, and pursuits which has +characterised the Lelands for centuries. Any stranger +knowing us would think that he and I were nearly related. +It is told of the manor of Leyland that during the early Middle +Ages it was attempted to build a church there in a certain place, +but every morning the stones were found to be removed. +Finally, it was completed, but the next dawn beheld the whole +edifice removed to the other spot, while a spirit-voice was heard +to call (one account says that the words were found on a mystic +scroll):</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here shall itt bee,<br /> +And here shall itt stande;<br /> +And this shall bee called:<br /> +Ye Churche of Leyland.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16" +class="footnote">[16]</a> A similar incident is recorded in +<i>Kenelm Chillingly</i>. I had long before the publication +of the work conversed with Lord Lytton on the subject—which +is also touched on in my <i>Sketch-Book of Meister Karl</i>, of +which the illustrious author had a copy.</p> +<p><a name="footnote56"></a><a href="#citation56" +class="footnote">[56]</a> Since writing the foregoing, and +by a most appropriately odd coincidence or mere chance, I have +received with delight a copy of this work from Jesse Jaggard, a +well-known dealer in literary curiosities in Liverpool, who makes +a specialty of <i>hunting up</i> rarities to order, which is of +itself a quaint business. The book is entitled +“Curiosities for the Ingenious, Selected from the Most +Authentic Treasures of Nature, Science and Art, Biography, +History, and General Literature. London: Thomas Boys, +Ludgate Hill, 1821.” Boys was the publisher of the +celebrated series of “The Percy Anecdotes.” I +should here, in justice to Mr. Jaggard, mention that I am +indebted to him for obtaining for me several rare and singular +works, and that his catalogues are remarkably well edited.</p> +<p><a name="footnote98"></a><a href="#citation98" +class="footnote">[98]</a> May I be pardoned for here +mentioning that Mr. Symonds, not long before his death, wrote a +letter to one of our mutual friends, in which he spoke +“most enthusiastically” of my work on “Etruscan +Roman Traditions in Popular Tradition.” “For +that alone would I have writ the book.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote101"></a><a href="#citation101" +class="footnote">[101]</a> “Susan Cushman was +extremely pretty, but was not particularly gifted; in personal +appearance she was altogether unlike Charlotte; . . . the latter +was a large, tall woman” (“Gossip of the +Century,” vol. ii.). John Du Solle took me for the +first time to see Charlotte Cushman, and then asked me what I +thought she looked like. And I replied, “A bull in +black silk.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote156"></a><a href="#citation156" +class="footnote">[156]</a> He was the real head, and the +most sensible, of that vast array of wild antiquaries, among whom +are Faber, Godfrey Higgins, Inman, Bryant, and several score more +whom I in my youth adored and devoured with a delight surpassing +words.</p> +<p><a name="footnote225"></a><a href="#citation225" +class="footnote">[225]</a> (Here I forgot myself—this +occurred in New York.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote237"></a><a href="#citation237" +class="footnote">[237]</a> Herzen once sent me a complete +collection of all his books.</p> +<p><a name="footnote242"></a><a href="#citation242" +class="footnote">[242]</a> Abraham Lincoln once remarked of +the people who wanted emancipation, but who did not like to be +called Abolitionists, that they reminded him of the Irishman who +had signed a temperance pledge and did not like to break it, yet +who sadly wanted a “drink.” So going to an +apothecary he asked for a glass of soda-water, adding, +“an’, docther dear, if yees could put a little whisky +into it <i>unbeknownst</i> to me, I’d be much obliged to +yees.” I believe that I may say that as Mr. Lincoln +read all which I published (as I was well assured), I was the +apothecary here referred to, who administered the whisky of +Abolition disguised in the soda-water of Emancipation.</p> +<p><a name="footnote252"></a><a href="#citation252" +class="footnote">[252]</a> Chapman Biddle himself was a +very remarkable man as a lawyer, and a person of marked +refinement and culture. He became my friend in after years, +as did his son Walter. Both are now departed. I wrote +and publicly read an “In Memoriam” address and poem +on his death, in delivering which I had great pains to refrain +from weeping, which was startling to me, not being habitually +expressive of emotion.</p> +<p><a name="footnote266a"></a><a href="#citation266a" +class="footnote">[266a]</a> In reference to “heaving +out” by main force, cannon from some deep slough, perhaps +of stiff clay, which holds like glue, or, what I think far more +wearisome, urging them along for miles over the heaviest roads or +broken ways, when the poor exhausted mules have almost given +out. Though, as he says, he was only nineteen and seemed +very fragile, the indomitable pluck and perseverance of Gilder in +all such trials were such as to call special commendation from my +brother Henry, who was not habitually wasteful of praise.</p> +<p><a name="footnote266b"></a><a href="#citation266b" +class="footnote">[266b]</a> “Well do I +remember” also what accursed work it was, the ground +consisting chiefly of broken stone, and how a number of Paddies, +who were accustomed to such labour, assembled above and around us +to enjoy the unusual sight of “jontlemen” digging +like “canawlers,” and how I, while at my spade, +excited their hilarity and delight by casting at them scraps of +“ould Eerish,” or Irish. The fight of the +section here alluded to was, I believe, rather of the nature of +an improvised rencontre, albeit two or three rebels were killed +in the artillery duel. Corporal Penington was, I believe, +as usual, the inspiring Mephistopheles of the affair.</p> +<p><a name="footnote267"></a><a href="#citation267" +class="footnote">[267]</a> This reply, which is much better +in every respect than that of “The old guard dies but never +yields,” was made in the face of far more overwhelming +numbers, and has few parallels for sheer audacity, all things +considered, in the history of modern warfare. It passed +into a very widely-spread popular <i>mot</i> in America. It +is more than an <i>on dit</i>, for I was nearly within ear-shot +when it was uttered, and it was promptly repeated to me. +Yet, if my memory serves me right, there is something like this, +“Come and take it!” recorded in the early Tuscan wars +in Villari’s introduction to the “Life of +Machiavelli,” translated by his accomplished wife. I +have, as I write this note, just had the pleasure of meeting with +the Minister and Madame Villari at a dinner at Senator +Comparetti’s in Florence, which is perhaps the reason why I +recall the precedent. And I may also recall as a noteworthy +incident, that at this dinner Professor Milani, the great +Etruscologist and head of the Archæological Museum, +congratulated me very much on having been the first and only +person who ever discovered an old Etruscan word still living in +the traditions of the people—<i>i.e.</i>, <i>Intial</i>, +the Spirit of the Haunting Shadow. This is a little +discursive—<i>mais je prends mon bien où je le +trouve</i>, and it is all autobiographic! “It is all +turkey,” as the wolf said when he ate the claws.</p> +<p>The proposal of General Smith to resist with us alone the +tremendous maddened rush of half of Lee’s veterans has its +re-echo in my ballad, where Breitmann attempts with his Bummers +to stem the great army of the South. The result would have +probably been the same—that is, we should have been +“gobbled up.” But he would have undoubtedly +tried it without misgiving. I have elsewhere narrated my +only interview with him.</p> +<p><a name="footnote268"></a><a href="#citation268" +class="footnote">[268]</a> The thunder of the artillery at +Gettysburg was indeed something to be long and well +remembered. It was so awful that on the field wild rabbits, +appalled by the sound, ran to the gunners and soldiers and tried +to take refuge in their bosoms. Those who have only heard +cannon fired singly, or a single discharge of cannon, can have no +conception of what such sounds when long sustained are like.</p> +<p><a name="footnote274"></a><a href="#citation274" +class="footnote">[274]</a> Apropos of Olcott he did good +and noble work in the war, in the field, and also out of it as a +Government detective, and I am very far from being ashamed to say +that I aided him more than once in the latter capacity. +There was a lady in Philadelphia who availed herself of a +distinguished position in society so as to go and come from +Richmond and act as spy and carry letters between rebel +agents. I knew this and told Olcott of it, who put a stop +to her treason. I also learned that a rascally contractor +had defrauded Government with adulterated chemicals. Olcott +had him heavily fined.</p> +<p><a name="footnote309"></a><a href="#citation309" +class="footnote">[309]</a> The reader may find some +interesting references to Robert Hunt in the Introduction by me +to the <i>Life of James Beckwourth</i>, the famous chief of the +Crow Indians. London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1893.</p> +<p><a name="footnote333"></a><a href="#citation333" +class="footnote">[333]</a> “<span +class="smcap">Custer</span> was the life and soul of the greatest +hand-to-hand victory ever gained over the Indians of the +Plains—except Patsy Connor’s Bear River +Fight.”—<i>The Masked Venus</i>, by <span +class="smcap">Richard Henry Savage</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote334"></a><a href="#citation334" +class="footnote">[334]</a> Miss Owen is well known to all +folk-lorists as the first living authority on <i>Voodoo</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote346"></a><a href="#citation346" +class="footnote">[346]</a> I am revising this MS. in the +beautiful palazzo built for Ristori, 22 Lung Arno Nuovo, +Florence. It is now the Pensione Pellini. On the +ground floor are statues representing Ristori in different +parts.</p> +<p><a name="footnote349"></a><a href="#citation349" +class="footnote">[349]</a> Scallawag, from the Gaelic +<i>scallag</i>, a vagabond.—<i>D. MacRitchie</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote372"></a><a href="#citation372" +class="footnote">[372]</a> For <i>depuisse-quand</i>, +<i>vide</i> Paul de Kock.</p> +<p><a name="footnote373"></a><a href="#citation373" +class="footnote">[373]</a> On due reflection, I believe +that I have here had a slip of memory. I was not till after +a year, when returning from Italy, that these incidents +occurred. But as it is all strictly true in every detail, I +let it remain, as of little consequence.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 22030-h.htm or 22030-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/0/3/22030 + + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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