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diff --git a/32232-h/32232-h.htm b/32232-h/32232-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d288c34 --- /dev/null +++ b/32232-h/32232-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9155 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 94, August, 1865. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .notes {background-color: #eeeeee; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i5 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 94, +August, 1865, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 94, August, 1865 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: May 3, 2010 [EBook #32232] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, AUGUST, 1865 *** + + + + +Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by Cornell University Digital Collections.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>THE</h4> + +<h1>ATLANTIC MONTHLY.</h1> + +<h2><i>A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics.</i></h2> + +<h3>VOL. XVI.—AUGUST, 1865.—NO. XCIV.</h3> + +<p>Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by <span class="smcap">Ticknor and +Fields</span>, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of +Massachusetts.</p> + +<p class="notes">Transcriber's Note: Minor typos have been corrected and footnotes moved +to the end of the article. Table of contents has been created for the HTML version.</p> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#AMONG_THE_HONEY-MAKERS"><b>AMONG THE HONEY-MAKERS.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#COUNTESS_LAURA"><b>COUNTESS LAURA.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#STRATEGY_AT_THE_FIRESIDE"><b>STRATEGY AT THE FIRESIDE.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#AROUND_MULL"><b>AROUND MULL.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#JOHN_BRIGHT_AND_THE_ENGLISH_RADICALS"><b>JOHN BRIGHT AND THE ENGLISH RADICALS.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#NEEDLE_AND_GARDEN"><b>NEEDLE AND GARDEN.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_WILLOW"><b>THE WILLOW.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#MY_SECOND_CAPTURE"><b>MY SECOND CAPTURE.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#DOCTOR_JOHNS"><b>DOCTOR JOHNS.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#LETTER_TO_A_SILENT_FRIEND"><b>LETTER TO A SILENT FRIEND.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_CHIMNEY-CORNER"><b>THE CHIMNEY-CORNER.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#PEACE"><b>PEACE.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#RECONSTRUCTION_AND_NEGRO_SUFFRAGE"><b>RECONSTRUCTION AND NEGRO SUFFRAGE.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#REVIEWS_AND_LITERARY_NOTICES"><b>REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#RECENT_AMERICAN_PUBLICATIONS"><b>RECENT AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS.</b></a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="AMONG_THE_HONEY-MAKERS" id="AMONG_THE_HONEY-MAKERS"></a>AMONG THE HONEY-MAKERS.</h2> + + +<p>The luxury of all summer's sweet sensation is to be found when one lies +at length in the warm, fragrant grass, soaked with sunshine, aware of +regions of blossoming clover and of a high heaven filled with the hum of +innumerous bees.</p> + +<p>It is that happy hum—which seems to the closed eyes as if the silent +sunbeams themselves had found a voice and were brimming the bending blue +with music as they went about their busy chemistry—that gives the chief +charm to the moment; for it tunes the mind to its own key, the murmuring +expression of all pleasant things, the chord of sunshine and perfume and +flowers.</p> + +<p>And it is, indeed, the sound of a process scarcely less subtile than the +sunbeams' own, of that alchemy by which the limpid drop of sweet +insipidity at the root of any petal is transformed to the pungent flavor +and viscid drip of honey. A beautiful woman, weary of her frivolities, +once half in jest envied the fate of Io, dwelling all day in the sun, +all night in the starshine and dew, and fed on pasturage of violets; but +there is the morning beam, the evening ray, the breeze, the dew, the +spirit of the violet and of the cowslip, all gathered like a +distillation and sealed into the combs, and this is the tune to which it +is harvested. Beyond doubt there is no such eminent sound of gladness in +all the world. The cricket seems to speak of more spiritual things than +those of this sphere. As to bird-song, poets differ.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O nightingale, what doth she ail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And is she sad or jolly?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sure ne'er on earth was sound of mirth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So like to melancholy,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>exclaims one in compromise with all the others. Every echo is full of a +lonesome sadness. The musical baying of a distant dog by night +accentuates the depth and darkness and stillness; the crowing of cocks +from farm to farm, in their cordon of sentinelship against the invasion +of the dawn, tells the hearer how all too well the world is getting on +without him; the lowing of kine through the clear noon air comes robbed +of roughness, in its deep, mellow sonority, like the oboe and bassoon, +full of a penetrating pathos. Let Nature but interpose a sheet of water +or a bit of wood, and the merriest joy-bells that ever rang are infused +with that melancholy which is the overplus of rapture. But there is no +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>distance to lend that enchantment to the buzzing of a bee: it is close +about us, a universal sibilation; the air is made of it; it sings of +work, that joy and privilege,—of a home, of plenty, of a world whose +color and odor make one giddy with good cheer; it may have many varying +elements, but its constant is content.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When the south wind, in May days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a net of shining haze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silvers the horizon wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with softness touching all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tints the human countenance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a color of romance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, infusing subtile heats,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turns the sod to violets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou, in sunny solitudes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rover of the underwoods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green silence dost displace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thy mellow breezy bass."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And although this burly rover is not our little bee of the hive, but his +saucy, sonsy country-cousin, the song of the one is scarcely sweeter +than that of the other, while they blend into rarest unison. And well +may both be sweet, it is such a pleasant thing to live; there is the +hive to furnish, there is the dear nest underground; they forget +yesterday's rain, to-morrow's frost is but a dim phantasm,—the sun is +so warm to-day on their little brown backs, and here is such store of +honey. It is true, the humble-bee is much the most dazzling,—he has the +prestige of size, moreover; but the other may find some favor in his new +bronze and gold armor and his coarse velvet mantle,—there are few +creatures that can afford to labor in half such array as that, but when +the work is so nice one's dress must correspond: it would never do to +rumple round among the rose-leaves, black as a beetle, and expect not +only to be heaped with delicates, but to be intrusted with love-tokens. +One cannot be so splendid as the moths and sphinxes, who have nothing to +do all summer but to lay eggs among the petals that their offspring may +devour them; no, there is work to be done. But though one toils, one has +a dignity to maintain; one remembers it readily when he has been made +the insignia of royalty, when kings have worn his effigy, when popes +have put him in their coats-of-arms; one cannot forget that he has +himself been called the Winged Pontiff of the Flowers. See him now, as +he hovers over the clover, not the red kind,—for him each floret of +that is deep as those shafts of the hashish-eater's dream, where the +broken tubes of the honeysuckle being planted in the sand, their mouths +level with the floor of the desert, they became wells, and the Arab +women dropped their buckets therein and drew them up dripping with +honey,—it is the small white clover on which he alights, whose sweets +are within reach of his little proboscis; or, lost in that great +blue-bell, he swings it with his motion and his melody; or he burrows +deep in the heart of a rose, never rolling there, as it has erroneously +been said, but, collecting the pollen with his pincers, swims over the +flower while brushing it into the baskets of his hinder legs, and then +lights again for a fresh fare, till, laden and regaled, he loudly issues +forth, dusty with treasure; and <i>les rois fainéans</i>, the Merovingian +kings, who powdered their heads and their beards with gold, were no +finer fellows than he. But a few months' wear and tear will suffice to +tarnish him; by-and-by the little body will be battered and rusty, the +wings will be ragged and worn; one day as he goes home heavily burdened, +if no sailing blue-winged swallow have skimmed him up long ago, the +flagging flight will fail, a breeze will be too much for him, a +rain-drop will dash him down, he will fall, and some garden-toad, the +focal length of whose vision is exactly the distance to which he can +dart his tongue, will see a tired bee blundering across his sky, and +will make a morsel of him, honey-bag, pollen, and all. Yet that is in +the future, far outside the focal length of any bee's vision, that +fortunate vision which finds creation so fair and himself the centre of +it, each rose made for him to rifle, and welcome everywhere. "The docile +flower inclines and lends itself to the unquiet movements of the insect. +The sanctuary that she had shut from the winds, from the sight, she +opens to her dear bee, who, all impregnated with her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> sweetness, goes +carrying off her messages. The delicious precautions that Nature has +taken to veil her mysteries from the profane do not for a single moment +arrest this venturesome explorer, who makes himself one of the +household, and is never afraid of being the third. This flower, for +instance, is protected by two petals which join each other in a dome +above; it is thus that the flag-flower shelters her delicate little +lovers from the rain. Another, such as the pea, coifs itself in a kind +of casque, whose visor must be raised. The bee establishes himself at +the bottom of these retreats fit for fairies, laid with softest carpets, +under fantastical pavilions, with walls of topaz and ceilings of +sapphire. But poor comparisons borrowed from dead stones! These things +live and they feel, they desire and they await. And if the joyous +conqueror of their little hidden kingdom, if the imperious violator of +their innocent barriers, mingles and confounds everything there, they +give him thanks, heap him with their perfumes, and load him with their +honey," says M. Michelet, in a brochure upon the insect, which, however +uncertain its statements, would be perfectly charming in tone and spirit +but for the inevitable sentimentalisms.</p> + +<p>It is a brave companionship to which our tiny adventurer comes, +likewise,—a world of opening blossoms, a crowd of shining intimates. +There is the Chrysopa, a bright-green thing, with filmy transparent +wings wrought like the rarest point-lace, and with eyes redder than +rubies are; there is the Rose-Chafer, the little Cetonia of the white +rose, with an emerald shield upon its back, and carrying underneath a +breastplate of carbuncle; there are the butterflies,—the silver-washed +Fritillaries of June,—the Painted Lady, found in every clime, and +sometimes out at sea,—the Admiral of the White, peerless in his lofty +flight,—the Vanessa Atalanta of August,—the Purple Emperor of the +Woods,—the Peacock-tailed butterfly of the autumn; and there are the +beautiful, savage dragon-flies, with their gauzy wings of silvery green +and blue,—all flying flakes of living splendor, which seem to be only +flowers endowed with wings. And in truth the analogies between flowers +and insects are noticeable enough, between the egg and the seed, the +chrysalis and the bud, the wide-spread wings and the expanded corolla; +there is a vital principle enjoyed by both, individuals of both have the +power of emitting light, there are ephemera of both; as certain buds +always bloom at fixed hours, so certain moths break their coverings to +the minute; as there are flowers that part their petals only at dark, so +there are insects that fly only by night; there are plants that are +miniature barometers, there are insects equally sensitive to every +variation of the atmosphere; for fragrance there is the musk-beetle, the +tiger-beetle, which affords a scent like that of the attar-of-roses; and +whereas some blossoms have fetid odors, there is the little golden-eyed, +lace-winged fly to offset them. It is easy to detect the rudimentary +flower in the folded bud, thus the lovely little aerial butterfly with +its ocellated wings may be found all ready for flight wrapped in the +caterpillar that feeds on the wild strawberry,—the one has the freedom +of heaven, the other seems bound by the spells of some beautiful +enchantment; these Libellulæ are sporting in the air, these sweet-peas +are just about to depart; there are locusts which appear to be walking +leaves, and finally there is the bee-orchis, which deceives even the +bees themselves.</p> + +<p>It must fairly seem to this busy, bustling fellow, culling nectar and +ambrosia, that all outside is shadow, that the earth is made for him and +his kind, and that, let him cull never so tirelessly, he cannot hive +half its honey,—so that there will always be a drop or two left over +for his little poor relations, the violet-carpenter, the +roseleaf-cutter, and the poppy-bee. They have need of it, that drop or +two, to sweeten all the anxieties of their solitary lives the span of a +summer long, vagabonds at best, and not always allowed what +domesticities they have in peace. The pitiful fortunes of a mason-bee, +as told in "A Tour round<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> my Garden," are liable to befall one as +another.</p> + +<p>"Look at her," says the author, "returning home with her provisions; her +hind feet are loaded with a yellow dust, which she has taken from the +stamens of flowers: she goes into the hole; when she comes out again, +there will be no pollen on her feet; with honey which she has brought, +she will make a savory paste of it at the bottom of her nest. This is, +perhaps, her tenth journey to-day, and she shows no inclination to rest.</p> + +<p>"All these cares are for one egg which she has laid,—for a single egg +which she will never see hatched; besides, that which will issue from +that egg will not be a fly like herself, but a worm, which will not be +metamorphosed into a fly for some time afterwards. She has, however, +hidden it in that hole, and knows precisely how much nourishment it will +require before it arrives at the state which ushers in its +transformation into a fly. This nourishment she goes to seek, and she +seasons and prepares it. There, she is gone again!</p> + +<p>"But what is this other brilliant little fly which is walking up the +house-wall? Her breast is green, and her abdomen is of a purple red; but +these two colors are so brilliant that I am really at a loss to find +words splendid enough to express them, but the names of an emerald and a +ruby joined together.</p> + +<p>"That pretty fly—that living jewel—is the 'Chrysis.' I scarcely dare +breathe, for fear of making it fly away. I should like to take it in my +hands, that I might have sufficient time to examine it more closely. +This likewise is the mother of a family; she also has an egg to lay, +from which will issue a fly like herself, but which she will never see. +She also knows how much nourishment her offspring will require; but, +more richly clothed than the bee, she does not, like her, know how to +gather the pollen from flowers or to make a paste of it with honey.</p> + +<p>"She has but one resource, and that resource she is determined to +employ; she will recoil neither from roguery nor theft to secure the +subsistence of her offspring; she has recognized the solitary bee, and +she is going to lay her egg in her nest. It will hatch sooner than that +of the true proprietor; then the intruder will eat the provisions so +painfully collected for the legitimate child, who, when it is hatched in +its turn, will have nothing to do but to die of hunger.</p> + +<p>"There she is at the edge of the hole,—she hesitates,—she +decides,—she enters.</p> + +<p>"This insect interests me, she is so beautiful. The other likewise +interests me, she is so industrious. But here she comes back through the +air: one would think her a warrior covered with chased armor and a +golden cuirass; she buzzes as she comes along. The Chrysis has heard the +buzzing, which is for her the terrible sound of a war-trumpet. She +wishes to fly; she comes out; but the other, justly irritated, pounces +upon the daring intruder, beating it with her head. She bruises and +tears the brilliant gauze of her wings, and beats her down to the dust, +where she falls stupefied and inanimate.</p> + +<p>"The bee then enters into her nest, and deposits and prepares her +provisions; but still agitated with her combat and her victory, she sets +out again through the air. I follow her with my eyes for a long time, +and at last she disappears.</p> + +<p>"The poor Chrysis is not, however, dead: she gets up again, shakes +herself, flutters, and attempts to fly; but her lacerated wings will no +longer support her. What can she do to escape the fury of her enemy? It +is not her business to fly away; her business is to deposit her egg in +the bee's nest, and to secure future provision for her offspring,—but +the bee came back too soon. She ascends, climbing painfully: at times +her strength seems to fail her; she is forced to stop, but at last she +arrives,—she enters,—she is in! This time the interest is for her. +Then she was only beautiful, now she is very unfortunate. I am aware +that a long plea might be made for the other. I should not like to be +appointed judge between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> them. Ah! she is out again,—she flies away! +But, oh, how happy she is to have succeeded! Now I begin to feel for the +bee. The poor bee continues to bring provisions for its young, which, +nevertheless, will die of hunger."</p> + +<p>Nor is the Chrysis her only tormentor, it may be remarked; there are +some frivolous little vagabonds of her own kind that never think of +building for themselves, but always appropriate the homes of others in +this style, and they are known as cuckoo-bees.</p> + +<p>It is no wonder that the happy bee of the community, escaping all such +trial, makes blithe murmur to itself over its luscious labor. Perhaps +all artisans would sing as cheerfully, were their task as sweet; it can +be no such severe duty to fill one's basket with the bountiful store at +hand, when one has just banqueted on the very dew of the morning. There +are a few secondary products of Nature on which words cannot be wasted. +It is pleasant to recall the poetical charms of wine, its tints, its +aromas, and its sparkles; yet, with all that fire and fragrance, it +seems but poor, thin stuff, when poured out beside the heavy flow of +honey with sunbeams dissolved in every plash. The Hungarian huntsman may +praise his ropy Cotnar, fine ladies sip cordial Rosolio and Levantine +sirups, the fancy warm over African Constantia; but every peasant has +honey in his garden, and they buy it of him to enrich their best +Muscats. The great globes of the grape on which the wind and weather +have breathed a bloom, pulped with rain, and sweetened with sun, the +dew-drops slipping down among them as they stir beneath the weight of +some bird that springs from the stem into the sky,—these lend their +beauty and innocence as a kind of chrism to cover the profanities of +wine, which, before it can be used at all, undergoes a kind of +decomposition; but the wild wine of the bramble-rose has no need of its +youth in apology for its age. It is stainless honey still; the sweet +earth-juices stole up the tiny ducts of the flower to secrete it; +showers and odors, warmth and balm, distilled together into the nectary +to give it wealth and savor; it yet preserves the essence of long summer +days, of serene nights, of wandering winds, of mingled blossoms; it is +the link between vegetable and animal productions; it has undergone the +processes of a higher organization than that of the plant; it is, in +fact, the bee himself, and not all the art of all the laboratories can +reproduce it. Into all these other secondary products some stain of +humanity enters; but little sinless sprites of greenwood and glen alone +share the occult science of this with the blossoms. As light and heat +are the generative forces of the world, honey seems to be their first +result; it is lapped, indeed, in flowers, but it looks like candied +sunshine. From the beginning, it has been regarded as a sacred +substance; some have supposed it the earliest element of vegetation. The +ancients made offering of it to the souls of the departed; they +preserved their dead in its incorruptible medium; they sacrificed it to +the gods. "With honey out of the rock should I have satisfied thee," +said the Psalmist, as if earth had nothing more to give. Nor has it to +our bee. Let him fill his honey-vesicle, he will regurgitate the deposit +into a cell that he closes with a thin waxen pellicle, or into another +already partially occupied by the farina of flowers, which he knows to +be perishable, and therefore secludes from the air in the same fashion +that the Romans used to seal their flasks of Falernian,—with a few +drops of honey at the mouth. Give him a grain of pollen, a taste of +stagnant water, a drop of honey, and kings could not enrich him. The +honey is his food, in the stagnant water he finds salts requisite as +remedies; but what the bee wants with the grain of pollen is still a +doubtful matter among apiarists. He makes of it a confection for the +brood, it is also an ingredient of the royal jelly, he eats it himself, +and he elaborates it in scales of wax upon his body, say those who +follow Huber; on the other hand, the brood receive no confection or food +whatever, there is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> no such thing as royal jelly, the insect will die +sooner than partake of pollen, and there is no wax elaborated in scales +upon the body of any bee, say those who oppose Huber. But if the brood +are not fed, one may ask, why does the wild bee, the tapestry, or the +carder bee, take such pains, before closing the nest where her egg is +hidden, to store there the little drop of honey? and what is it that +occasions the greater consumption of honey during the brooding period +than during any other portion of the year? It is really a pity, when +Huber has given us so many interesting relations, that people must needs +go prying into their truth. How is it possible that Nature could improve +upon them? Kirby, indeed, accepts them all, and hands them down to us; +subsequent encyclopedists have profited by his example; and Michelet, +who between a true story and a picturesque one never hesitates a +moment,—who tells us that the down on the butterfly's wing is a +collection of exquisitely minute balloons, and that the silkworm files +its way out of the cocoon with its eyes,—leading us to think, that, if +his great history partake of the nature of his lesser works, it must be +an assemblage of splendid errors,—M. Michelet out-Hubers Huber himself. +Contrary to these, Mr. Huish, a British author, declares that a rod +ought to be pickled for the man who dared impose such sheer inventions +upon the credulity of a weak-minded public; and although he does not say +it in so many words, he has evidently pictured to himself the +consternation with which Huber's wife and servant must have looked at +one another when he announced to them his intention of publishing a book +of the fairy stories with which they had amused him, and suffered him to +amuse his friend Bonnet. Huber has novelty, romance, and interest, upon +his side; Huish has certainly a little logic. The latter's book upon the +subject is, nevertheless, as quarrelsome an affair as ever was +published; he seems to be as choleric and adust of temperament as the +bees themselves; he contradicts every one who has dared to speak upon +the matter, and, while insisting that they could by no possibility have +seen what they pretend to have done, asserts opposing facts, which he +could no more have seen than they.</p> + +<p>There is a close classification in Huber's system, the results of which +give us several ranks among bees,—those of the queen, the drone, the +jelly-maker, the artists in wax, the nurse, the harvester, and a certain +little useless black bee. Adversely to this, Mr. Huish, who would carry +bee-craft back to a pre-Réaumurite period, reverts to the original +observations, and declares there are but three sorts of bee in the +hive,—queen, drone, and worker,—which obviously simplifies matters; +while as for the little black bee, he regards it as existing nowhere but +in the head of its discoverer, so that, if the worthy person had not the +traditional maggot in his brain, he might at least be said to have a bee +in his bonnet. The sociable caterpillars, we are told, work as each one +pleases. John Hunter said that bees did, too; and here Mr. Huish is of +the same opinion,—this or that worker scours the fields or fashions the +cell according to the fancy that may overcome him. Him? That is exactly +the question. Mademoiselle Jurine, following the anatomical researches +of her father, promulgated the discovery that the common bee was a +decided female, with its organs undeveloped. To counterbalance her +statements, M. Epignes published a treatise in which he proved +satisfactorily to himself that the common bee is a decided male. Mr. +Huish insists that the common bee is a decided neuter. Discarding M. +Epignes with a fillip, Mr. Huish stoutly argues, against Mademoiselle +Jurine's theory, that the possession of organs destined to no use is an +incident out of the course of Nature,—to which, even were the statement +quite true, it might be added that the creation of a community of a +thousand males and one female is equally out of the course of Nature. +Mr. Huish insists, that, if these bees were all females, yet forbidden +the functions<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> of their sex, it would be an anomaly; he forgets that the +existence of a neuter is already an anomaly. Allowing that Mr. Huish is +here in the wrong, as seems probable, it involves a slight trouble of +its own; for there would then seem to be need of but two kinds of eggs +in the hive, whereas it is well established that three kinds are +laid,—that of the male, the female, and the worker, or imperfect +female. Huber, however, in such dilemma, adopting the previous hints of +Schirach, at once seized upon Mademoiselle Jurine's discovery, and +assured us, not only that from the egg of a worker a queen could at any +time be produced, but enlightened us as to the manner of conducting the +experiment. The queen is dead? It is lamentable, but nothing so easy as +to make another. There is only to tear down some dozen cells, to set the +youngest embryo afloat in royal jelly, and a queen appears, who, if not +in the legitimate line, is capable of performing perfectly all the +office of a sovereign. There is a moment of intense despair, great riot, +and agitation; work is suspended; the temperature of the hive mounts +many degrees. All at once the old art is remembered,—the administration +of that delicious medicament, of so astonishingly affluent nature that +it can make a queen out of a commoner, the enlargement of the narrow +cradle to that ampler space which forbids the atrophy of a single fibre +of the body. The preparations are made; and, with tranquillity restored, +the people await the event. One day there comes a singular piping +sound,—it is the cry of the royal babe,—the hive is filled with +rejoicing,—there is no longer any interregnum of the purple,—the queen +is born! Perhaps the queen-makers have been too much in earnest, and at +nearly the same moment the inmates of two royal cells issue together. +Then is the time to try one's mettle,—no shrinking, no bias, nothing +but pure patriotism. Let a ring be formed, and she who proves herself +victor is worthy of homage. Is one of the two a coward? The impartial +circle bring her back to the encounter, bite her, tease her, tumble her, +worry her, tell her plainly that life is possible to her on no terms but +those of conquest. At length the matter decides itself; the brilliant +and victorious Amazon bends her long, slender body, and with her royal +poniard pierces the abject pretender through and through. Then these +satisfied subjects surround her, load her with endearments, cleanse her, +brush her, lick her, offer her honey on the end of their proboscides, +and, if there are yet remaining other royal apartments whose tenants +give notice of timely appearance, they conduct her on an Elizabethan +progress, in which, filled with instinctive dismay, she pauses at every +cell, and stabs her young rivals to death with her sting. As the story +runs, there are still other conditions to be fulfilled by the aspiring +princess,—she must give her people the assurance of a populous empire. +Should she fail in this, they have recourse to their old man[oe]uvres, +becoming manifestly insubordinate and unruly. If, however, they at any +time wax unbearable in their insolence, the young monarch has it in her +power, by assuming a singular attitude, standing erect at a little +distance, her wings crossed upon her back and slightly fluttering, while +she utters a shrill, slender sound, to strike them dumb, so that they +hang their heads for shame.</p> + +<p>All this pretty story the later apiarists deem a tissue of fiction and +fallacy. If, when a hive is deprived of its queen, there happen to be a +royal egg remaining in it, they say, it will shortly produce a queen, +as, if it had been a common egg, it would have produced a common bee. +They insist that the organism of the creature to be produced is inherent +in the egg, and do not believe it in the power of a bee to alter a law +of Nature; they deny the statements of Schirach, Huber, Dunbar, Rennie, +and others to this effect,—scout the idea of the existence of such a +thing as royal jelly at all, with the supposed aristocracy of its +compounders,—share with Huber the amazement he says he felt, when, in a +time of disturbance, he distinctly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> heard a queen address her bees in +the French language, saying, "<i>Je suis ici, je suis ici</i>"—entirely +repudiate the royal duels, which the editor of the "Naturalist's +Library" himself, an advocate as he is of the Huberian principles, +confesses he has never, in all his experience, been able to +witness,—and go to the extreme of declaring, that, far from being the +truculent and jealous tyrant described, the queen is the most timid of +all creatures, flying, at the first intimation of danger, into the +depths of the hive, and never using her sting under any circumstances +through the whole course of her life, while, should you get one in your +hand, you may offer her indignities with impunity; she knows her value +to her people, and that, should she sting and be unable to withdraw her +barbed weapon, the effort would disembowel her, and prove her own death +and the ruin of her kingdom. The royal larvæ, Huber tells us, in +spinning their cocoons, leave the lower rings of the body unprotected by +the gossamer envelope, that thus,—and it is certainly considerate on +their part,—the head being too well shielded by the hard nature of its +substances, and the cocoon endangering the safety of her sting by its +entangling flimsy threads, their queenly assailant may destroy them +without detriment to herself, by stinging that portion left exposed. On +the contrary, we are informed by his refuters, that, even were the body +destitute of this covering, which is not the case, it would present a +horny, scaly surface, from which there would be infinitely greater +difficulty in extracting the sting than from the silken meshes of any +cocoon,—and that, as no sting could pierce the waxen wall of the cell, +and as the royal cell is vertical, and the nymph lies with its head +towards the orifice of it, unless the queen, with her sting of the +eighth of an inch in length, had the power of darting it through the +orifice to the distance of three fourths of an inch, the act would be +otherwise an impossibility,—and that, to finish the affair, these +infant princesses are destroyed by the bees themselves, who, finding +them unnecessary for further swarming, tear them from their cells, and +despatch them, not by dart or venom, but, when they are in a +sufficiently advanced stage, by an attack of the teeth at the root of +the wings, in the same way that they despatch the drone, disabling and +dragging them out of the hive, after they have become supernumeraries, +where they drop to the ground, and, powerless to fly and escape, perish +with cold, or become the prey of bird, mouse, and reptile. It is +possible that none of the various tribes of all the tiny arm-bearing +people make use of the <i>coup de grâce</i> in their power, except as a last +resort. Still, when the bees find it necessary, they use it with Spartan +cunning. Bruin can testify to that in his sensitive muzzle; and thus, +when he takes a fancy to their conserve of blossoms, he carries off the +hive in his hug, and plunges it into the nearest brook or pool till the +bees are drowned, and all their riches made his undisturbed possession. +The bee that is not irascible betrays a dismal home and a miserable +mother; he has nothing worth fighting for. But far from him be malice; +unmolested, he does not molest. For one who has lived in an old mansion, +with bats' nests under the eaves and wasps' nests everywhere, waking in +autumn mornings to count the customary inhabitants of the latter +clustered on the cornices by threescores, while observing that they +always made themselves sufficiently at home, not only to claim a place +at table, but to walk across the cloth and help themselves, pausing +sometimes midway to flirt out the purple enamel of a wing for +admiration, and never giving offence to one of the house,—for one who +has seen this fierce and fell fury so prettily and quietly behaved, it +is pardonable to claim an equal amount of moderation for the sweeter and +purer nature of the little honey-maker, who has learned his gentler +manners of the flowers themselves. There are occasions, moreover, when +the bees positively forget they have a sting at all, as when, in +swarming, they are so entirely absorbed that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> they may be lifted in +handfuls. M. Lombard states the circumstance of a child's being cured of +her fear of the sting by an experience of this season. "A swarm having +left a hive, I observed the queen alight by herself, at a little +distance from the apiary. I immediately called my little friend, that I +might show her this important personage. She was anxious to have a +nearer view of Her Majesty; and therefore, having first caused her to +draw on her gloves, I gave the queen into her hand. Scarcely had I done +so, when we were surrounded by all the bees of the swarm. In this +emergency, I encouraged the trembling girl to be steady, and to fear +nothing, remaining myself close by her, and covering her head and +shoulders with a thin handkerchief. I then made her stretch out the hand +that held the queen, and the bees instantly alighted on it, and hung +from her fingers as from the branch of a tree. The little girl, +experiencing no injury, was delighted above measure at the novel sight, +and so entirely freed from all fear that she bade me uncover her face. +The spectators were charmed at the interesting spectacle. I at length +brought a hive, and, shaking the swarm from the child's hand, it was +lodged in safety without inflicting a single sting."</p> + +<p>But however greatly opinions may vary in this branch of natural history +on one or another topic, the principal dispute is concerning the +relations that may subsist between the queen and the drones. Huber had a +complicated arrangement in reference to this, which his admirers +accepted enthusiastically, while Latreille and other apiarists reject it +as a cluster of prurient fancies. The opinion of Huish upon the subject, +which would seem to have more probability to support it than others +have, is that the queen commences to lay immediately on being +established, and that the eggs being in their separate cells, it is the +office of the drone to make them fruitful, after the custom of certain +fish and of frogs.</p> + +<p>"When the population of the hive has been so increased by the opening of +the brood-cells that accommodation has become insufficient, and the heat +so unendurable that every wing droops wet and flaccid with perspiration, +as grand an emigration as those of the early Northern tribes is ordered, +scouts are sent out to select the future place of abode, and in some +propitious moment of perfect sunshine, honey-pouches full and nothing to +delay, the great exodus takes place with a noise as if the whole hive +were attacked by vertigo; and Homer himself could find nothing to which +to compare his multitudinous Greeks thronging from their ships fitter +than these nations of close-swarming bees. That the young queen should +lead the departing swarm seems the natural occurrence, being desirous of +fulfilling her own destiny and of hastening from a hive hostile to all +but one mistress whom they already know and love. Huber, however, will +have it that it is the old queen, who, outraged and indignant at her +treatment when a rival is allowed to live, sounds the alarm and sallies +forth with her adherents. In support of this Mr. Duncan mentions having +deprived an old queen of one of her antennæ, and noticing her thereafter +at the head of a swarm, although Huber previously makes it known that +any bee deprived of one of its antennæ is rendered useless. And in +opposition to it may be given the circumstance quoted by Mr. Huish, in +which the German apiarian Scopoli asserts, that, having clipped the +wings of a queen, he found her still in his hive after an interval of +many months, during which two excellent swarms had been thrown, and +rather plumes himself on the triumphant fact, as if by any possibility +she could have gotten away. A hive will throw off from one to four +swarms in a season, but the last two are generally worthless, and should +be deprived of their queens and returned to the parent stock. We have an +old adage to this purpose,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A swarm in May<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is worth a load of hay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A swarm in June<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is worth a silver spoon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the swarm of July<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Isn't worth a fly,"—<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></div></div> + +<p>and any one may verify it who chooses to investigate the condition of +such swarms at the conclusion of the harvest, when it will be seen that +those which founded their colony at so late an hour have not collected +sufficient honey even for their winter provision, and must be fed in +order to be saved till spring.</p> + +<p>They have dainty appetites, these little people. They will work away +with their forceps at a bit of sweetmeat, but they can absorb only +liquids through their proboscides. Being in a state of civilization, +their food must be administered in a civilized way: it must be boiled +for them. They fancy stimulants; and sugar dissolved in ale, old brown +October, or, better still, made into a rich sirup with Port wine, they +find very delectable. Those authors who regard pollen as a part of their +subsistence deem that it is because they require nitrogenized +substances; and in order to prove that it is used as food, they remark +that the bees continue to harvest it so long as a single flower blows, +and that entirely after the formation of the cells has ceased. This, +however, may be owing simply to the instinct which prompted them in the +first place to bring it home, as instinct is generally in all creatures +stronger than reason and overloaded; and that it cannot be any portion +of the food of bees seems evident from the fact that whole hives are +known to have perished by hunger while still abundantly supplied with +bee-bread, as the pollen is often called. It is more probable that +pollen is really the chief constituent of wax, although Huber submits +that honey has that honor; but that this wax is produced in the manner +that Huber states is extremely doubtful. It is his opinion that the +wax-workers, having first gorged themselves with honey, suspend +themselves in festoons from the flowers, where they remain for +twenty-four hours,—which in a chilly spring night would break many a +link of the chain,—after which, one detaches herself from the festoon, +enters the hive, and takes up her situation, with her forceps detaches a +scale of wax from her side where it has recently exuded, works it with +her tongue, and fashions it to the required consistency, succeeded in +turn by others, artisan and apprentice. But as honey is the normal and +established food of bees, it would follow that these scales must be in a +state of perpetual exudation, and thus before long the hive would become +filled with them, unless bees have a control of their bodily secretions +enjoyed by no other order of beings. Anatomical dissection has found +pollen only in the second stomach of the bee, of which the mouth is the +sole and single opening; it is therefore presumed, that, being taken in +a crude condition, and having undergone its due elaboration there, it is +disgorged again and becomes the wax of the cells. This was the opinion +of Réaumur; and for additional proof, it is stated, that, though the +workers are seen to collect large quantities of farina during the season +in which the cells are being made, no particle of crude farina is +meanwhile to be found in a single cell, the whole of it being used in +their composition. All this, however, will long remain in uncertainty; +for, till some one is born with eyes of his own, ready to devote his +lifelong labor to such observations, and perhaps in the end be stung to +death for his pains,—since there are rebellions even in heaven, we +learn,—there will be general willingness to accept the most piquant +little statements regarding this most peculiar little people.</p> + +<p>Wax itself is a substance that has no similitude to any other known. It +is now thought, that, as there are three orders of bee, so there are +three substances merely in the hive,—honey, farina, and wax. Pliny +enumerates three others,—commosis, pissoceros, and propolis. Of these +many moderns still retain the last, calling it a resinous matter +collected from alders and willows, and used for the more secure +foundation of the comb. But upon subjecting a lump of propolis to the +boiling process by which wax is purified, it turns out simple wax of +nearly its former weight; and it is accordingly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> presumed to be only wax +in a much more crude stage of elaboration. Dr. Bevan, in experimenting +with his hives, says that he melted wax and spread it upon a certain +place, and, while fluid, attached a slight guide-comb to it, which the +bees immediately adopted, suspending their whole comb thereby; from +which it is evident, that, wax being strong enough itself for a +foundation, propolis is unnecessary, and Nature is not apt to afford +superfluities in her economy of construction.</p> + +<p>The beautiful geometry of the cells is, after all, the marvel of the +whole. Koenig demonstrated, that, in the problem of space and material, +the bee had at once arrived at the solution which he himself reached +only after infinitesimal calculations; and it furnishes fresh proof of +the great mathematical relations of the universe, when even instinct is +found to take on the accuracy and method of crystals. This honey-comb, +by the way, is a favorite figure in Nature. If one examines +microscopically the beautiful and brilliant petal of a gladiolus, it +will offer this cellular structure in loose and irregular outlines; but +under the same lens, the eye of a dragon-fly, which displays by daylight +a jewel-like transparency, will be seen a strict crowd of glittering +hexagons, with every alveole so closely arranged and so symmetrically +shaped as to afford instant testimony to the superiority of the animal +organization. It is by no means the habit of all bees, however, to +dispose their affairs with such precision, though many other methods may +have an equal grace. Don Felix d'Azara tells us of South American bees +which deposit their honey in small waxen cups, and are known as +Angelitos, because never using the sting; while the little black +stingless bee of Guadaloupe, which inhabits the clefts of hollow rocks +by the seaside, stores its honey in cells the size of a pigeon's egg, +each sacklet being filled only so far as it will hold without tearing +from its fellow, and a pretty piece of color being effected by the amber +honey in its receptacles of dark violet-colored wax which never +blanches, as the whole hangs together like a great cluster of grapes. +This is a species of bee not greatly differing from that which makes the +honey of Estabentum, that Clavigero says is taken every two months and +is the finest in the world. The Mexicans are reported to attend with +care to the culture of these bees, not so much for their rich honey as +for the wax, of which large quantities are used in their common church +ceremonials.</p> + +<p>There are many singular incidents related by Huber, which, if they are +not true, one may exclaim, "The more's the pity." When he notes, that, +in a time of disorder in the hive, he beheld the queen ascend a royal +cell and seat herself upon it as if it were a throne, and, having +sympathized for a season, suddenly assume the awful attitude and strike +her disloyal people motionless, it interests us like some recital of the +haps and heroics of Boadicea and her Britons. It is remembered that in +the early days of what are known as spiritual manifestations, while one +wit thought our furniture made of Dodonean oak, another regarded the +manifestations as a wise provision, in aid of the customary May ramble +of city families from their respective domiciles. It is from a similarly +provident point of view, with the current price of coal, that we should +look at Huber's statement concerning the heat of a hive, when he tells +us that twenty hives will warm an apartment comfortably, and +twenty-five, occasionally well shaken, will furnish the proper +temperature for a conservatory,—which throws Count Rumford's feat of +boiling water without the aid of fire far into the shade. But when Huber +proceeds to say that the queen is followed on her rounds by a royal +guard, who wait on her with obsequious reverence, although it seems to +be a pretty custom enough, the actual custom may be found a far prettier +one: for the queen attends to her affairs, as others are assured, quite +unaccompanied; only as workers at all times cover the comb, when she +passes from group to group, each bee for a moment leaves labor, bestows +a caress upon its mother, offers her honey, refreshes her,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> sees her +pass to the next group, which hastens to do the same, while the first +returns to the business of the moment. The elder Huber taxes the +credulity, however, hardly more than his son does, in presenting a +drawing of humble-bees hindering a toppling comb from falling by taking +acrobatic postures, standing on their heads and supporting it with their +hind legs till relieved, converting themselves, in fact, into a kind of +flying-buttresses. Indeed, the trouble with all these things is, that +naturalists persist in endowing the little creatures with human +passions; and having once given the rein to imagination, it runs away +with them. Now and then they find themselves in a quagmire; but +sometimes the result is simply amusing, as in old Butler's most graphic +and entertaining description of the pillage of a weak hive by its rich +and powerful neighbor, in the "Feminine Monarchie." Yet these stories +have been told ever since the Flood. Aristotle assures us, that, when a +bee has a headwind to encounter, he ballasts himself with a little +pebble between his feet; and the Abbé della Rocca, who made observations +on the bees of the Grecian Archipelago, had the pleasure of witnessing +the circumstance in person,—which would cause one to conjecture that +the Greek bees, ever since they made honey on Plato's lip, have had +habits peculiar to themselves, were it not that the little solitary +mason-bee comes to the rescue,—the mason-bee, that, loaded with gravel +and material for her nest, both Aristotle and the Abbé della Rocca +undoubtedly saw. It is Virgil, however, on whom, in practical matters, +apiarists have not yet improved, who has told the most amazing stories +about bees, certifying that the body of their people may be bred from +decay, and particularizing the blossom on which the king of the bees is +born; but Virgil lived, it is to be recollected, nearly two thousand +years ago, and two hundred have not yet passed since Redi, sometimes +called the father of experimental entomology, first brought discredit on +the doctrine of spontaneous generation: having tried the recipe for the +manufacture of snakes, by his friend the learned Kircher, he could never +witness, he says, "the generation of those blessed snakelets made to +hand." M. Michelet, having a kind word for everybody, has a graceful +apology also for the errors of Virgil, avowing that this was not Horace, +the elegant favorite of Rome, nor the light and indiscreet Ovid, but +Virgil, the child of the soil, the noble and candid figure of the old +Italian peasant, the religious interpreter of Nature; and though he may +have been mistaken as to names, what he said he saw; he was simply +deceived, as subsequently Réaumur was for a moment, by the rat-tailed +larvæ or sewer-flies, which, having escaped from their cradle of +corruption, now shining and adorned, are thereupon brevetted to the rank +of noble Virgilian-bees.</p> + +<p>Certain superstitions seem to have prevailed in all countries ever since +bees were first domesticated. In England they must not be bought, though +they may be bartered; but there can be no haggling. In this country they +are not even to be bartered. As their homeward flight is supposed to be +westerly, it is necessary to obtain them from a place due east of their +future residence; and their first swarm is to be hived and returned to +the original owner, the bees relying on your good faith and working one +summer on credit, so to say: they are not slaves, to be exchanged for +silver. At this and all subsequent swarmings, it is requisite that they +should be stunned by a confused clatter of bells, pans, pebbles, and +cries, although it was long ago explained by Butler that this noise came +into custom merely in signal of the ownership of a vagrant swarm. When a +death occurs in the household, the hives are to be told of it and +dressed in crape, in Switzerland turned topsy-turvy, as without such +treatment the bees do not consider themselves used as a part of the +family, and will fly away.</p> + +<p>Among all the anecdotes given, perhaps the best instance in relation to +the intelligence of the bee is that narrative<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> of its stratagems in +warfare with the famous Death's-Head Moth. Mr. Huish, to be sure, +leaning upon Buffon, laughs at it, believes it on a par with Jack's +Beanstalk, and is grimly satisfied that no bees ever erected +fortifications of any kind other than as against the effluvium of +murdered mouse or snail when they wall up its source in a tomb of wax; +but it is impossible to look at the benevolent, bland face in any +picture of Huber, with its sweetness of expression, and its innocent, +wide, wandering eyes, and not wish to believe every word he says. M. +Michelet tells the story so pleasantly that it would be difficult to +quote it, especially as it is well to be credulous in good company.</p> + +<p>"About the time of the American Revolution, a little before that of the +French, there appeared and multiplied a thing unknown to our Europe, a +being of frightful shape, a large and powerful moth, marked plainly +enough in yellowish gray, with an ugly death's head. This sinister +creature, that had never before been seen, alarmed the rural regions, +and appeared to be an augury of the greatest misfortunes. In reality, +those who were terrified by it had brought it upon themselves. It had +entered the country as a caterpillar upon its natal plant, the American +potato, the fashionable vegetable of the time, extolled by Parmentier, +protected by Louis XVI., and spreading everywhere. The <i>savans</i> +christened this stranger by a name not too reassuring,—the Sphinx +Atropos.</p> + +<p>"This animal was terrible indeed,—but only to honey. Of that it was +gluttonous, and capable of everything in order to obtain it. A hive of +thirty thousand bees did not appall it. In the depth of midnight, the +voracious monster, profiting by that hour when the outskirts of the city +are weakly guarded, with a little dull lugubrious noise, muffled as if +by the smooth down which covered him, invaded the hive, sought the +combs, gorged himself, pillaged, spoiled, overthrew the stores and the +brood. In vain might the attacked party awaken, assemble, and riot; +stings could not pierce the covering,—the species of soft, elastic +mattress with which he was everywhere garnished, like the Mexicans of +the time of Cortés in their cotton armor that no Spanish weapon could +penetrate.</p> + +<p>"Huber took counsel with himself for some means of protecting his bees +from this daring robber. Should he make gratings? should he make doors? +and how? That was his doubt. The best imagined closure possible had the +inconvenience of hindering the great movement of exit and entrance +always going on at the sill of the hive. Their impatience rendered these +barriers, in which they would entangle themselves and break their wings, +intolerable to the bees.</p> + +<p>"One morning, the faithful servant who aided him in all his experiments +informed him that the bees had already solved the problem for +themselves. They had in various hives conceived and carried out divers +systems of defence and fortification. Here they had constructed a waxen +wall, with narrow windows, through which the huge enemy could not pass; +and there, by a more ingenious invention, without stirring anything, +they had placed at their gates intersecting arcades or little +partitions, one behind another, but alternating, so that opposite the +empty spaces between those of the first row stood the partitions of the +second row. Thus were contrived numerous openings for the impatient +crowd of bees, who could go out and come in as usual, and without any +other obstacle than the slight one of going a little zigzag; but limits, +absolute obstructions, for the great, clumsy enemy, who could not enter +with his unfolded wings, nor even insinuate himself without bruises +between the narrow corridors.</p> + +<p>"This was the <i>coup d'état</i> of the lower orders, the revolution of +insects, executed by the bees, not only against those that robbed them, +but against those that denied their intelligence. The theorists who +refuse that to them, the Malebranches and the Buffons, must consider +themselves conquered. We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> go back to the reserve of the great students +of Nature, the Swammerdams, the Réaumurs, who, far from contesting the +genius of insects, give us numberless facts to prove that it is +flexible, that it can increase with dangers and with obstacles, that it +can quit routine, and in certain circumstances make unexpected +progress."</p> + +<p>Intelligence among the inferior animals seems always more or less an +affair of acute senses; the bee certainly ought to manifest much of it, +for his senses are extraordinary. Not to speak of that singular sixth +sense of the antennæ, by whose power alone he fashions his cell and +seems to make and receive communication, nor of his wonderful eyesight, +to which a double kind of eye contributes, one portion of it being for +distance and another for vertical objects or for closer work,—although +there are naturalists who consider these stemmata as a possible organ of +hearing,—he has a sense of smell which must surpass that of any other +creature on the wing: it is perhaps to this lively faculty that he owes +his marvellous cleanliness. Féburier states that at one time the bees, +attracted by the lemon-trees and flowers of Cuba, emigrated thither in a +body from the mainland of Florida, a distance of twenty-five +leagues,—the fact, however, being that their owners emigrated and took +them with them. But they have been positively known to track heath a +distance of four miles, and that across water, through an atmosphere in +which the faint scent of the heath must have mingled with all the +powerful salt odor of the sea. Strong little wings they must be, too, to +travel these distances, and yet perform all the other labor allotted +them; for every day, while some with their burdens are entering the +black hive, and some are darting out again into the glaring sunlight +full of business and on new errands, others may always be distinguished +stationed by the door and fanning their bits of wings backward and +forward in ventilation of the hive. Although disputatious to the last, +Mr. Huish insists that this motion is nothing but the expression of +intense satisfaction and joy. Either way, it would seem as if an +answering rest must be required in order to repair such wear and tear; +and on this point an old Spanish writer sets it down that bees sleep +during every night and on all fast-days in addition, and a corroborating +investigator remarks that he has seen them withdraw into the empty +cells, and, composing themselves, their heads towards the bottom, enjoy +the deepest slumber, the body gently heaving with the breath, and every +little limb relaxed,—to which another person replies, that this is an +outrageous statement, for it is a decided fact that sleep is as much a +stranger to the eye of a bee as it is to the eye of a herring. Yet in +the German countries much of the labor of flight is after all spared +them, their owners collecting them into caravans, conducting them +gypsy-wise, encamping here and encamping there, through whatever +districts linger latest in bloom. They build bee-barges, too, in France, +capacious enough for a hundred hives, and drift them down the rivers, so +that the bees shall follow the summer as it flits southward. And in +Lower Egypt, where the blossoming continues much longer than in the +upper regions, Niebuhr saw an assemblage of four thousand hives upon the +Nile; anchoring at places of plentiest pasturage: the bees thus float +from one end of the land to the other before they return and enrich +their proprietors with the honey they have harvested from the +orange-flowers and jasmines of the Said and all the wealthy banks of the +mighty river. The hunter in America takes advantage of this clear sight +and of this strength of wing when, he lines a bee to its nest, by +alluring one to a bait of honey within a circle of wet white paint, +watching the subsequent flight, letting off another, similarly secured, +at right angles to that, and looking for the nest at the intersection of +the two white lines. Nor is the hunter their only depredator. At the +Cape of Good Hope there lives a bird known as the Honey-Guide, that +enters into alliance with man, sounds its shrill note, and, fluttering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +from spray to spray, leads the way to the sweet resort: it would be +sacrilege, if the Hottentot did not leave a portion of the honey to the +informer. There, too, is the rattel, a little beast that at sunset +shelters its eyes with a paw, for clearer view, spots a bee, and follows +it: often these two make fellowship together, the one for the honey, the +bird for the brood. But these are not the terrors of a temperate clime; +the hives can despatch a field-mouse unassisted; the master who cannot +rid them of the wax-moth they will desert without regrets; sounding the +slogan for aid, no two bees will hesitate to grapple with the bold +butchering wasp that invades them; the humble-bee, making her +underground nest, the poppy-bee, fitting her splendid scarlet tapestry, +however many each may have, recks of few enemies beyond the rain and +storm. What should any one of them all remember about the tomtit that +comes and taps outside and snaps each resident up as it appears +inquiring at the gate? of the little feathered monster that tears bees +to pieces, making shreds of heads and wings for his mere amusement? To +them a briefer memory makes brief life blessed. The happy murmurer of +our morning knows of little but peace and security, he does not even +dream that <i>savans</i> infuriate themselves about him, he buzzes from +flower to flower, daringly puts aside the curtain of sacred shrines and +makes himself luxurious hermitage in the snowy depths of the lilies, +lets the south wind swing him a moment on the golden cradle of kingcups, +pursues his pleasures in the purple recesses of the hyacinth, or, +gliding into a labyrinth of petals, between the silken linings of +perfumed chambers, the tinted sunlight softly sifting through, revels +with the gracious nymphs that wait there, that hail him, caress him, and +give him their confidence all under the rose; he goes his way, and his +music spurns the trail of melancholy that never fails to follow the most +delicious warble that ever trilled from throat of bobolink or throstle. +As you lie and listen, in the golden tenor of the hive-bee's hum seems +diffused the wide whisper of continuous gladness; and giving the +innermost note of summer and of noon, the booming bass of the humble-bee +blazons abroad all poetry and beauty and sumptuous delight.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hot midsummer's petted crone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet to me thy drowsy tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tells of countless sunny hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long days and solid banks of flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of gulfs of sweetness without bound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Indian wilderness found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="COUNTESS_LAURA" id="COUNTESS_LAURA"></a>COUNTESS LAURA.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was a dreary day in Padua.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Countess Laura, for a single year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fernando's wife, upon her bridal bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like an uprooted lily on the snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The withered outcast of a festival,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay dead. She died of some uncertain ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That struck her almost on her wedding-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clung to her, and dragged her slowly down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thinning her cheeks and pinching her full lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till, in her chance, it seemed that with a year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full half a century was overpast.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain had Paracelsus taxed his art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feigned a knowledge of her malady;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain had all the doctors, far and near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gathered around the mystery of her bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Draining her veins, her husband's treasury,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And physic's jargon, in a fruitless quest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For causes equal to the dread result.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Countess only smiled, when they were gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hugged her fair body with her little hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turned upon her pillows wearily,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if she fain would sleep, no common sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the long, breathless slumber of the grave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She hinted nothing. Feeble as she was,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rack could not have wrung her secret out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Bishop, when he shrived her, coming forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cried, in a voice of heavenly ecstasy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"O blessed soul! with nothing to confess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save virtues and good deeds, which she mistakes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So humble is she—for our human sins!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Praying for death, she tossed upon her bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Day after day,—as might a shipwrecked bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rocks upon one billow, and can make<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No onward motion towards her port of hope.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length, one morn, when those around her said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Surely the Countess mends, so fresh a light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beams from her eyes and beautifies her face,"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One morn in spring, when every flower of earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was opening to the sun, and breathing up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its votive incense, her impatient soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Opened itself, and so exhaled to heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the Count heard it, he reeled back a pace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then turned with anger on the messenger;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then craved his pardon, and wept out his heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the menial: tears, ah, me! such tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Love sheds only, and Love only once.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then he bethought him, "Shall this wonder die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leave behind no shadow? not a trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all the glory that environed her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mellow nimbus circling round my star?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, with his sorrow glooming in his face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He paced along his gallery of Art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strode amongst the painters, where they stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Carlo, the Venetian, at their head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Studying the Masters by the dawning light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his transcendent genius. Through the groups<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of gayly vestured artists moved the Count,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As some lone cloud of thick and leaden hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Packed with the secret of a coming storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moves through the gold and crimson evening mists,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deadening their splendor. In a moment, still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was Carlo's voice, and still the prattling crowd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a great shadow overran them all,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As their white faces and their anxious eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pursued Fernando in his moody walk.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He paused, as one who balances a doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weighing two courses, then burst out with this:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Ye all have seen the tidings in my face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or has the dial ceased to register<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The workings of my heart? Then hear the bell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That almost cracks the frame in utterance:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Countess—she is dead!"—"Dead!" Carlo groaned.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if a bolt from middle heaven had struck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His splendid features full upon the brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could not have appeared more scathed and blanched.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Dead!—dead!" He staggered to his easel-frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clung around it, buffeting the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With one wild arm, as though a drowning man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung to a spar and fought against the waves.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Count resumed: "I came not here to grieve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor see my sorrow in another's eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who'll paint the Countess, as she lies to-night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In state within the chapel? Shall it be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That earth must lose her wholly? that no hint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her gold tresses, beaming eyes, and lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That talked in silence, and the eager soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ever seemed outbreaking through her clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scattering glory round it,—shall all these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be dull corruption's heritage, and we,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor beggars, have no legacy to show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The love she bore us? That were shame to love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shame to you, my masters." Carlo stalked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth from his easel, stiffly as a thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moved by mechanic impulse. His thin lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sharpened nostrils, and wan, sunken cheeks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the cold glimmer in his dusky eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made him a ghastly sight. The throng drew back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if they let a spectre through. Then he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fronting the Count, and speaking in a voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounding remote and hollow, made reply:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Count, I shall paint the Countess. 'Tis my fate,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not pleasure,—no, nor duty." But the Count,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Astray in woe, but understood assent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not the strange words that bore it; and he flung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His arm round Carlo, drew him to his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kissed his forehead. At which Carlo shrank:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps 'twas at the honor. Then the Count,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little reddening at his public state,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unseemly to his near and recent loss,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Withdrew in haste between the downcast eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That did him reverence as he rustled by.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Night fell on Padua. In the chapel lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Countess Laura at the altar's foot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her coronet glittered on her pallid brows;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A crimson pall, weighed down with golden work,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sown thick with pearls, and heaped with early flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Draped her still body almost to the chin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And over all a thousand candles flamed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the winking jewels, or streamed down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The marble aisle, and flashed along the guard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of men-at-arms that slowly wove their turns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Backward and forward, through the distant gloom.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Carlo entered, his unsteady feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce bore him to the altar, and his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drooped down so low that all his shining curls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poured on his breast, and veiled his countenance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his easel a half-finished work,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The secret labor of his studio,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said from the canvas, so that none might err,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I am the Countess Laura." Carlo kneeled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gazed upon the picture,—as if thus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through those clear eyes, he saw the way to heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then he arose; and as a swimmer comes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth from the waves, he shook his locks aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Emerging from his dream, and standing firm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a purpose with his sovereign will.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He took his palette, murmuring, "Not yet!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Confidingly and softly to the corpse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as the veriest drudge who plies his art<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against his fancy, he addressed himself<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With stolid resolution to his task.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turning his vision on his memory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shutting out the present, till the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gilded pall, the lights, the pacing guard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the meaning of that solemn scene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Became as nothing, and creative Art<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resolved the whole to chaos, and reformed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The elements according to her law,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So Carlo wrought, as though his eye and hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were Heaven's unconscious instruments, and worked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The settled purpose of Omnipotence.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it was wondrous how the red, the white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ochre, and the umber, and the blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From mottled blotches, hazy and opaque,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grew into rounded forms and sensuous lines;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How just beneath the lucid skin the blood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glimmered with warmth, the scarlet lips apart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bloomed with the moisture of the dews of life;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How the light glittered through and underneath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The golden tresses, and the deep, soft eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Became intelligent with conscious thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And somewhat troubled underneath the arch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of eyebrows but a little too intense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For perfect beauty; how the pose and poise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the lithe figure on its tiny foot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suggested life just ceased from motion; so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That any one might cry, in marvelling joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"That creature lives,—has senses, mind, a soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To win God's love or dare hell's subtleties!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The artist paused. The ratifying "Good"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trembled upon his lips. He saw no touch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To give or soften. "It is done," he cried,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"My task, my duty! Nothing now on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can taunt me with a work left unfulfilled!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lofty flame which bore him up so long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Died in the ashes of humanity;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mere man rocked to and fro again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the centre of his wavering heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He put aside his palette, as if thus<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He stepped from sacred vestments, and assumed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mortal function in the common world.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Now for my rights!" he muttered, and approached<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The noble body. "O lily of the world!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So withered, yet so lovely! what wast thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To those who came thus near thee—for I stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without the pale of thy half-royal rank—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thou wast budding, and the streams of life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made eager struggles to maintain thy bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gladdened heaven dropped down in gracious dews<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On its transplanted darling? Hear me now!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I say this but in justice, not in pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not to insult thy high nobility,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that the poise of things in God's own sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May be adjusted, and hereafter I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May urge a claim that all the powers of heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall sanction, and with clarions blow abroad.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laura, you loved me! Look not so severe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With your cold brows, and deadly, close-drawn lips!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You proved it, Countess, when you died for it,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let it consume you in the wearing strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It fought with duty in your ravaged heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knew it ever since that summer-day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I painted Lila, the pale beggar's child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At rest beside the fountain; when I felt—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, heaven!—the warmth and moisture of your breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blow through my hair, as with your eager soul—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgetting soul and body go as one—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You leaned across my easel till our cheeks—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, me! 'twas not your purpose—touched, and clung!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, grant 'twas genius; and is genius nought?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I ween it wears as proud a diadem—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, in this very world—as that you wear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A king has held my palette, a grand-duke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has picked my brush up, and a pope has begged<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The favor of my presence in his Rome.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I did not go; I put my fortune by.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I need not ask you why: you knew too well.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was but natural, it was no way strange,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I should love you. Everything that saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or had its other senses, loved you, sweet!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I amongst them. Martyr, holy saint,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see the halo curving round your head,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I loved you once; but now I worship you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the great deed that held my love aloof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And killed you in the action! I absolve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your soul from any taint. For from the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that encounter by the fountain-side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until this moment, never turned on me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those tender eyes, unless they did a wrong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Nature by the cold, defiant glare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With which they chilled me. Never heard I word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of softness spoken by those gentle lips;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never received a bounty from that hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which gave to all the world. I know the cause.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You did your duty,—not for honor's sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor to save sin or suffering or remorse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or all the ghosts that haunt a woman's shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for the sake of that pure, loyal love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your husband bore you. Queen, by grace of God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bow before the lustre of your throne!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kiss the edges of your garment-hem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hold myself ennobled! Answer me,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I had wronged you, you would answer me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the dusty porches of the tomb,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is this a dream, a falsehood? or have I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spoken the very truth?"—"The very truth!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A voice replied; and at his side he saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A form, half shadow and half substance, stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, rather, rest; for on the solid earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It had no footing, more than some dense mist<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wavers o'er the surface of the ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It scarcely touches. With a reverent look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shadow's waste and wretched face was bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the picture,—as if greater awe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Subdued its awful being, and appalled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With memories of terrible delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fearful wonder, its devouring gaze.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"You make what God makes,—beauty," said the shape.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"And might not this, this second Eve, console<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The emptiest heart? Will not this thing outlast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fairest creature fashioned in the flesh?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before that figure Time, and Death himself,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stand baffled and disarmed. What would you ask<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More than God's power, from nothing to create?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The artist gazed upon the boding form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And answered: "Goblin, if you had a heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That were an idle question. What to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is my creative power, bereft of love?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or what to God would be that selfsame power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If so bereaved?"—"And yet the love thus mourned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">You calmly forfeited. For had you said<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To living Laura—in her burning ears—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One half that you professed to Laura dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She would have been your own. These contraries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sort not with my intelligence. But say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were Laura living, would the same stale play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of raging passion, tearing out its heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the rock of duty, be performed?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The same, O phantom, while the heart I bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trembled, but turned not its magnetic faith<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From God's fixed centre." "If I wake for you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This Laura,—give her all the bloom and glow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that midsummer day you hold so dear,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The smile, the motion, the impulsive heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The love of genius,—yea, the very love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mortal, hungry, passionate, hot love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She bore you, flesh to flesh,—would you receive<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gift, in all its glory, at my hands?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cruel smile arched the tempter's scornful lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glittered in the caverns of his eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mocking the answer. Carlo paled and shook;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A woful spasm went shuddering through his frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Curdling his blood, and twisting his fair face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With nameless torture. But he cried aloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the clouds of anguish, from the smoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of very martyrdom, "O God, she is thine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do with her at thy pleasure!" Something grand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And radiant as a sunbeam, touched the head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He bent in awful sorrow. "Mortal, see"——<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Dare not! As Christ was sinless, I abjure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These vile abominations! Shall she bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life's burden twice, and life's temptations twice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While God is justice?" "Who has made you judge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of what you call God's good, and what you think<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's evil? One to Him, the Source of both,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The God of good and of permitted ill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have you no dream of days that might have been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had you and Laura filled another fate?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some cottage on the sloping Apennines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roses and lilies, and the rest all love?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I tell you that this tranquil dream may be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filled to repletion. Speak, and in the shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of my dark pinions I shall bear you hence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And land you where the mountain goat himself<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Struggles for footing." He outspread his wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the chapel darkened, as if hell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had swallowed up the tapers; and the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grew thick, and, like a current sensible,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flowed round the person, with a wash and dash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As of the waters of a nether sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slowly and calmly through the dense obscure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dove-like and gentle, rose the artist's voice:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I dare not bring her spirit to that shame!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Know my full meaning,—I that neither fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your mystic person nor your dreadful power.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor shall I now invoke God's potent name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For my deliverance from your toils. I stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the founded structure of His law,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Established from the first, and thence defy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your arts, reposing all my trust in that!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The darkness eddied off; and Carlo saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The figure gathering, as from outer space,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brightness on brightness; and his former shape<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell from him, like the ashes that fall off,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And show a core of mellow fire within.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adown his wings there poured a lambent flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That seemed as molten gold, which plashing fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the floor, enringing him with flame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the tresses of his beaming head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arose a stream of many-colored light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like that which crowns the morning. Carlo stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steadfast, for all the splendor, reaching up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The outstretched palms of his untainted soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Towards heaven for strength. A moment thus; then asked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With reverential wonder quivering through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sinking voice, "Who, spirit, and what art thou?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I am that blessing which men fly from,—Death."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Then take my hand, if so God orders it;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Laura waits me." "But bethink thee, man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What the world loses in the loss of thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What wondrous Art will suffer with eclipse!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What unwon glories are in store for thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What fame, outreaching time and temporal shocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would shine upon the letters of thy name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Graven in marble, or the brazen height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of columns wise with memories of thee!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Take me! If I outlived the Patriarchs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could but paint those features o'er and o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo! that is done." A pitying smile o'erran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The seraph's features, as he looked to heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With deep inquiry in his tender eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mandate came. He touched with downy wing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sufferer lightly on his aching heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gently, as the sky-lark settles down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the clustered treasures of her nest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So Carlo softly slid along the prop<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his tall easel, nestling at the foot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if he slumbered; and the morning broke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silver whiteness over Padua.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="STRATEGY_AT_THE_FIRESIDE" id="STRATEGY_AT_THE_FIRESIDE"></a>STRATEGY AT THE FIRESIDE.</h2> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p>Was it the fault of poor Barbara Dinwiddie, that, when Sumter fell, and +the gallant Anderson saw with anguish the old flag pulled down, she was +the most desperate little Rebel in all Dixie? By no means! At school, at +home, at church, she had been taught that Slavery was the divinest of +all divine institutions; that all those outside barbarians, known as +Yankees, who questioned its justice, its policy, its eternal fitness, +were worse than infidels; that those favored individuals whose felicity +it had been to be born and bred under the patriarchal benignity were the +master race of this continent; and that one Southern man could, with +perfect ease to himself, and without any risk whatever of any unpleasant +consequences, whip and put <i>hors de combat</i> any five of the "homeless +and traditionless race" that could be brought against him.</p> + +<p>Had not Mr. Jefferson Davis so styled them? and had he not said that he +would rather herd with hyenas than with Yankees? Had not Mr. Yancey +declared that all the Yankees were cowards? Had not Mr. Walker, +Secretary of State of the new Confederacy, predicted that the "stars and +bars" would wave over Faneuil Hall in a twelvemonth? Had not the +Richmond papers assured the high-born sons of the South, who of course +included the whole white population, that it was an utter impossibility +for the chivalry to exist under the same government with the mean, +intolerable mudsills of the North? The wonder was, that the aforesaid +chivalry could live under the same sun, breathe the same atmosphere, +with such miscreants.</p> + +<p>Was it, then, surprising that poor little Barbara, receiving in her +narrow sphere no other political influences than these, should find +herself at the age of seventeen the most eager of feminine sympathizers +with Secession? She burned to emulate Mrs. Greenhow, Belle Boyd, and +other enterprising Amazons who early in the war distinguished themselves +as spies or carriers for the Rebels. She almost blamed herself as +recreant, because she read with a shudder the account of that Southern +damsel who bade her lover bring back, as the most precious gift he could +lay at her feet, a Yankee scalp. She tried to persuade herself that +those little mementos, carved from Yankee bones, which were so +fashionable at one time among the <i>élite</i> of the "Secesh" aristocracy, +would not shock her own sensitive heart.</p> + +<p>Barbara's mother had done much to encourage these sentiments in her +daughter. A match between Barbara and Colonel Pegram of South Carolina +was one of that mother's pet projects. Mrs. Dinwiddie was of "one of the +first families of Virginia"; in which she was not singular. She had been +brought up to regard the Old Dominion as the lawful dictatress of the +legislation of the American continent; as sovereign, not only over her +own borders, but over the Congress and especially the Treasury of the +United States. The tobacco-lands of her father having given out through +that sagacious system of culture which Slavery applies, and +negro-raising for the supply of the slave-market farther south being in +a temporary condition of paralysis, the lady had so far descended from +her pedestal of ancestral pride as to encourage the addresses of Mr. +Daniel Dinwiddie, a Baltimore merchant, and himself "of excellent +family," though he had tarnished his hereditary honors by condescending +to engage in trade. Two children were the fruits of the alliance which +ensued,—our Barbara, and Mr. Culpepper Dinwiddie, who became eventually +a major in the Rebel army.</p> + +<p>What a <i>dies iræ</i> it was for poor Mrs. Dinwiddie, that day that "Beast +Butler" rode at a slow walk through the streets of Baltimore, smoking +his cigar, and swaying to and fro carelessly on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> his horse! The poor +lady was ready to cuff Mr. Dinwiddie's ears, because that worthy citizen +sat down to his mutton and claret that day at dinner as coolly as if +nothing had happened. Barbara wept, and sang "My Maryland" and the +"Bonnie Blue Flag" till she made herself hoarse. She then glanced at a +photograph of Colonel Pegram, and thought how well he looked the +conquering hero.</p> + +<p>Sunday came. It was a blessed satisfaction that at the Church of St. +Fortunatus all the communicants were friends of the Rebellion. The +Reverend Bogus de Bogus was himself an extremist in his advocacy of +Slavery and the Slave Confederacy. But what was the consternation of the +whole assembly, at hearing him, on that eventful Sabbath, pray for the +President and other authorities of the United States! Had he been +tampered with by the Beast? What was the world coming to? How +intolerable that the solar system should move on as regularly and +indifferently as if nothing had happened!</p> + +<p>The fomenters of Rebellion in the Monument City continued hopeful, +notwithstanding the defection of the Reverend Bogus de Bogus. Mrs. +Dinwiddie almost worried Dinwiddie's life out, teasing him for money +with which to buy quinine and percussion-caps to smuggle into Rebeldom. +Barbara worked till her taper little forefinger looked like a +nutmeg-grater, making shirts and drawers for the "gallant Palmetto +Tenth," in which certain sprigs of aristocracy from Baltimore had +enlisted. The regiment was commanded by that splendid fellow, Charlie +Pegram.</p> + +<p>What was Barbara's despair, on learning that all the products of her +labors had been intercepted by the "Beast," and were safely stored at +"these headquarters"! Mrs. Dinwiddie went into hysterics at the news, +but was suddenly restored, on hearing Dinwiddie enter, and inquire in +the most cold-blooded manner, "Why isn't dinner ready?" Falling upon +that monster in human shape, she crushed him so far into silence by her +indignation, that he was glad to make a meal of a few crackers and a +glass of ale, and then retire for his afternoon cigar to the repose of +his counting-room.</p> + +<p>The war (the civil, not the domestic, we mean) went on. Battle succeeded +battle, and skirmish skirmish, with alternating successes, when at last +came the Emancipation Proclamation, not in the earthquake, nor in the +whirlwind, but in the still small voice. "Well, what of it? 'Tis a mere +paper bomb!" said Belshazzar at Richmond, looking out on Libby and Belle +Isle. Mrs. Dinwiddie read the "Richmond Enquirer," and thought, for the +thousandth time, how intolerable life would be, if ever again Yankees +were to be suffered to live within a thousand miles of a genuine +descendant of the Cavaliers. "Spaniels must be whipped into +subservience," said Mr. Jefferson Davis, alluding to the abhorred race +north of Mason and Dixon's line.</p> + +<p>"Yes, they must be whipped!" echoed Mrs. Dinwiddie; and soon afterwards +came news of the capture of New Orleans, of Vicksburg, of Port Hudson, +and at last of Atlanta. "These horrid Yankees!" she shrieked. "Why don't +we do something, Dinwiddie? If one Southerner can whip five Yankees, +why, in the name of common sense, don't we do something? Speak, you +stupid, provoking man!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, what was it you asked?" meekly interrogated Dinwiddie, who +was calculating how much he had made in the recent rise of United States +five-twenties.</p> + +<p>"What was it? Oh, go to your tobacco-casks, your coupons, and your +cotton, you soulless, huckstering old man! You can look on and see +Abolitionism getting rampant in this once proud city, and not lift a +voice or a finger to save us from ruin! You can see Maryland drifting +into the horrible abyss of Yankeeism and Anti-slavery, and keep on doing +business and minding the paltry affairs of your counting-room, as if all +that gives grace and dignity to this wretched State were not on the +verge of destruction! If you'd had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> the spirit of a hare, you'd have +been a brigadier-general in the Confederate army by this time."</p> + +<p>Dinwiddie was not a man of words. He had a wholesome horror of +strong-minded women; and to that class he discovered, too late for his +peace, that his wife belonged. So he simply replied, slightly +stuttering, as was his wont, except when excited,—</p> + +<p>"If I had joined the army, Madam, I should have—have—ve"——</p> + +<p>"I should have what?"</p> + +<p>"I should have been deprived of your—ahem—agreeable society; and then +you might have been a wid—wid—widow."</p> + +<p>"I should have been proud. Sir, to have been your widow under such +circumstances."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mrs. Dinwiddie; but being a mod—mod—modest man myself, I'd +rather not make my wife proud."</p> + +<p>"There's no danger of your ever doing that, Sir," quoth Madam; "but I +thank Heaven we're not wholly disgraced. We have one representative of +our family in the Confederate army. My son Culpepper may live to make +amends for his sire's degeneracy."</p> + +<p>Dinwiddie was beginning to get roused.</p> + +<p>"My degeneracy, Madam? Confound it, Madam, where would you and yours +have been, if I hadn't saved you all from pau—pau—pauperism, Madam?"</p> + +<p>It was rare that Dinwiddie made so long a speech, and the lady was +astounded.</p> + +<p>"Sir," said she, "do you know it is a Culpepper of whom you speak?"</p> + +<p>"Devilish well I know it," said the excited Daniel; "and what you all +had but your pride I never could find out; and what were you proud of? +Of a dozen or two old family nig—nig—niggers, that were only a bill of +expense to that pompous old cove, your father."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dinwiddie began to grow livid with exasperation. Her husband had +touched her on a tender point.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Sir," said she; "I see your drift. I have suspected for some +time that you were going to play the renegade; to desert your order; to +prove false to the South; to cooperate with miscreant Yankees in +overturning our sacred institutions."</p> + +<p>"Confound your sacred institutions, Madam! Slavery is played out."</p> + +<p>"Played out, you monstrous blasphemer? An institution for which +Scripture vouches; an institution which the Reverend Dr. Palmer says +comes right down to us from heaven! Played out? Monster! I thank the +Lord my two children have not been corrupted by these detestable Yankee +notions that are upsetting all our old landmarks in this once noble city +of Baltimore."</p> + +<p>"Noble? Ah, yes,—noble, I suppose, when it allowed its ruffians to +shoot down a band of Northern soldiers who were marching to the support +of Government!"</p> + +<p>"You yourself said at the time, Mr. Dinwiddie, that it served them +right."</p> + +<p>Dinwiddie winced, for this was a blow square on his forehead between his +two eyes. He paused, and then, without knowing it, translated the words +of a Latin moralist, and replied,—</p> + +<p>"Times change, and we change with them."</p> + +<p>"You will find, Sir, that a Culpepper doesn't change," said Madam; and, +with a gesture of queenly scorn, she swept with expansive crinoline out +of the room.</p> + +<p>"So the ice is broken at last," muttered Dinwiddie. "I wouldn't have +believed I could have faced her so well. After all, I'm not sure that +the military is not my true sphere."</p> + +<p>His soliloquy was interrupted by the ring of muskets on the sidewalk in +front, of his house, and he jumped with a nervous horror. Looking from +the window, he saw a file of soldiers, and an officer in the United +States uniform, with one arm in a sling, and the hand of the other +holding a drawn sword. He was a pale, but handsome youth, and looked up +as if to read the name on the door. Then, followed by a sergeant, he +ascended the steps and rang the bell.</p> + +<p>"What the Deuse is all this for. I wonder?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> exclaimed Dinwiddie; and in +his curiosity he opened the outside door, anticipating the negro +footman, Nero, who exchanged a glance of intelligence with the military +man.</p> + +<p>"I am Captain Penrose, Sir," said the officer; "this is Sergeant +MacFuse; you, I believe, bear the name on the door-plate before us."</p> + +<p>Dinwiddie bowed an affirmative.</p> + +<p>"I have orders, Sir," resumed the officer, "to search your house; and I +will thank you to give me the opportunity with as little delay as +possible, and without communicating with any member of your family."</p> + +<p>"But, Captain, does anybody doubt my loyalty?"</p> + +<p>"No one, Sir, that I am aware of," replied the Captain, with a suavity +that reassured and captivated Dinwiddie. "We haven't the slightest +doubt, Sir, of your thoroughly loyal and honorable conduct and +intentions; but, Sir, there is, nevertheless, a Rebel mail in your house +at this moment. I'll thank you to conduct us quietly to the little +bathing-room communicating with your wife's apartment on the second +story."</p> + +<p>Dinwiddie saw through it all. He said not a word, but led the way up +stairs.</p> + +<p>"We shall have to pass through Madam's room to get at the place," he +remarked; "for the door is locked on the inside."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but the key is out, and I have a duplicate," replied the officer. +"We will enter by the door that opens on this passage-way. I will just +give a gentle knock, to learn whether any one is in the bathing-room."</p> + +<p>He knocked, and there was no reply.</p> + +<p>"I think we may venture in," he said.</p> + +<p>He unlocked the door, and they entered,—Captain Penrose, Sergeant +MacFuse, Dinwiddie, and Nero. The Captain pointed to a chest of drawers +let into the wall, and said,—</p> + +<p>"Now, Sir, if you will open that lowest drawer, I think you will find +what I am in search of."</p> + +<p>Dinwiddie opened the drawer, and a strong smell of tobacco, in which +some furs were packed, made him sneeze; but the Captain proved to be +correct in his surmise. Nero displayed his ivory in a broad grin, and +Dinwiddie lifted a small, but well-stuffed leather mail-bag.</p> + +<p>At that moment the door leading into Mrs. Dinwiddie's apartment opened, +and that lady, followed by Barbara, made her appearance. Nero's grin was +at once transformed into a look of intense solemnity, and the whites of +his eyes were lifted in sympathetic amazement.</p> + +<p>Madam's first effort was to snatch the mail-bag from her husband; but he +handed it to Sergeant MacFuse, who, receiving it, shouldered his musket +with military formality.</p> + +<p>"But this is an outrage, Sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Dinwiddie, finding words +at length for her rage.</p> + +<p>"Madam," said Captain Penrose, "a carriage ought to be by this time at +the door. Have the goodness, you and your daughter, to make the +necessary preparations and accompany me and Sergeant MacFuse to the +office of the Provost Marshal."</p> + +<p>"I shall do no such thing!" said Madam, with set teeth, trembling with +exasperation.</p> + +<p>"You will relieve me, I am sure, Madam," said the Captain, "of anything +so painful as the exercise of force."</p> + +<p>"Force!" cried Madam; "yes, that would be all in the line of you mean +and dastardly Yankees, to use force to unprotected women!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother!" said Barbara, shocked, in spite of her Secession +sympathies, at the maternal rudeness, and somewhat touched withal by the +pale face and the slung arm of the handsome young officer; "I am sure +the gentleman has"—</p> + +<p>"Gentleman! Ha, ha, ha! You call him a gentleman, do you?" gasped Mrs. +Dinwiddie, as, quite beside herself with passion, she sank into a chair.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother," said Barbara, her heart moved by a thrill as natural as +that which stirs the leaves of the embryo bud in May; "yes, mother, I +call him a gentleman; and I hope you will do nothing to prevent his +calling you a lady."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p>Captain Penrose looked with a sudden interest on the maiden. Strange +that he hadn't noticed it before, but truly she was very, very pretty! +Light, not too light, hair; blue eyes; a charming figure; a face radiant +with sentiment and with intelligence; verily, in all Baltimore, so +justly famed for beautiful women, he had not seen her peer! Barbara +dropped her eyes. Decidedly the young officer's admiration was too +emphatically expressed in his glance.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dinwiddie began to grow hysterical.</p> + +<p>"Madam," said Captain Penrose, "I fear your strength will not be equal +to the task it is my painful duty to put you to; and I will venture to +break through my instructions so far as to say, that, if you will give +me your promise—you and your daughter—to remain at home till you +receive permission through me to quit the house, I will waive all +further action at present."</p> + +<p>"There, mother," quoth Barbara, "what could be more reasonable,—more +gentlemanly? Say you consent to his terms."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dinwiddie motioned a negative with her handkerchief, and stamped +her feet, as if no power on earth should extort from her the slightest +concession.</p> + +<p>"There, Sir, she consents, she consents, you see," said Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Um—um—um!" shrieked Mrs. Dinwiddie, shaking her head, and stamping +her feet with renewed vigor.</p> + +<p>"I see," said Captain Penrose; "and I need not ask if you, Miss +Dinwiddie, also consent."</p> + +<p>"I do, Sir; and I thank you for your consideration," said Barbara.</p> + +<p>"I don't—don't—don't!" stormed the elderly lady, quivering in every +limb, like a blown ribbon.</p> + +<p>It was strange that Captain Penrose did not hear the exclamation, loud +and emphatic as it was; but he simply bowed and quitted the room, +followed by Dinwiddie, Nero, and Sergeant MacFuse.</p> + +<p>No sooner had the military men quitted the house than the dinner-bell +rang. Madam refused to make her appearance. Barbara came down and +presided. Boys in the street were crying the news of Sherman's capture +of Savannah.</p> + +<p>"Good for Sherman!" said Dinwiddie. "I'm devilish glad of it."</p> + +<p>Little Barbara looked up with consternation. She loved her father, but +never before had she heard from his lips a decided expression of +sympathy with the loyal cause. True, for the last six months he had said +little on either side; but, from the absence of any controversy between +him and her mother, Barbara imagined that their political sentiments +were harmonious.</p> + +<p>She made no reply to her father's remark, but kept up in that little +brain of hers an amount of thinking that took away all her appetite for +the dessert. Mrs. Dinwiddie entered before the table was cleared. Then +there was a ring of the door-bell. It was the postman. Nero brought in a +letter. Dinwiddie looked at the address.</p> + +<p>"'T is a letter for Anjy," said he. "The handwriting looks like +Culpepper's."</p> + +<p>Anjy, or Angelina, was an old black cook, one of the few surviving +representatives of the vanished glories of the old Culpepper estate. She +had taken a lively interest in the course of Maryland towards freedom; +and when at length that noble Commonwealth stripped off the last fetter +from her limbs, and trampled it under her feet, Anjy was loudest among +the colored people with her Hallelujahs. She was no longer a slave, +thank the Lord! There was a future of justice, of self-respect, of +freedom now dawning upon her abused race.</p> + +<p>As Anjy could not read, Barbara had been duly authorized to open all her +letters. She did so on this occasion, read, turned pale, and +exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>"Horrible! Oh, the villain!"</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" asked her father.</p> + +<p>The letter was from his son, Culpepper, to the old family servant, and +was in these words:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">"Dear Anjy</span>,—I have very unpleasant news to tell you. Your +son Tony has been shot by his master, Colonel Pegram, for +refusing to fight against the Yankees, and trying to run +away. Tony was much to blame. He had been a good boy till +some confounded Abolitionists put it into his head that the +Yankee scum were fighting the battles of the black man; +when, as you well know, Anjy, the true friends of the black +man are those who mean to keep him in that state of slavery +for which the Lord plainly intended him. But Tony got this +foolish notion of the Abolitionists into his head, and one +day frankly told the Colonel that he wouldn't fire a gun at +the Yankees to save his own life; whereupon the Colonel very +properly had him whipped, and pretty badly, too. The next +day Tony was caught trying to make his escape into the +Yankee lines. He was brought before the Colonel, who told +him, that, for your sake, Anjy, he would forgive him, if he +would swear on the Bible not to do so again. Tony refused to +swear this, began to rave about his rights, and finally +declared that he was free, first under God's law, next under +the laws of the United States, and finally under the laws of +Maryland. There were other negroes, slaves of officers, near +by, listening to all this wicked stuff, and Pegram felt the +importance of making an example; so he drew his revolver and +shot Tony through the heart. How could he help it, Anjy? You +mustn't blame the Colonel. We all felt he couldn't have done +otherwise, I saw Tony the minute after he was shot. He died +easy. I emptied his pockets. There was nothing in them but a +photograph of you, Anjy, a printed proclamation by the +wretched Yankee tyrant, Abe Lincoln, and a handkerchief +printed as an American flag. I'm very sorry at this affair; +but you must seek comfort in religion, and pray that your +poor deluded boy may be forgiven for his unfaithfulness and +bad conduct. Affectionately,</p> + +<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Culpepper</span>."</p> +</div> + +<p>This letter was read aloud,—not by Barbara, nor by her father, but by +Mrs. Dinwiddie, who exclaimed, as she finished it,—</p> + +<p>"Here's the result of your Yankee teachings, Mr. Dinwiddie! There wasn't +a better boy than Tony in all Maryland, till the Abolitionists got hold +of him. Pegram served him just right,—just as I would have done."</p> + +<p>Dinwiddie rose, pale, trembling, and all his features convulsed. Barbara +covered her face with her hands and groaned. Never before had she seen +such an expression on her father's face. Turning to his wife, he said in +a husky voice, which with a great effort he seemed to make audible,—</p> + +<p>"Pegram was a murderer; and you, Madam, if you commend his act, have in +you the stuff out of which murderers are made. Now hear me,—you and +Miss Barbara here. Here I repudiate Slavery, and every man, woman, or +child who helps by word or deed to uphold such deviltry as that you have +just read of. Long enough, Madam, I've allowed my conscience to be +juggled, fooled, and blinded by your imperious will and absurd family +pride. 'T is ended. This day I subscribe ten thousand dollars to the +relief of the Georgia freedmen, made free by Sherman. Utter one syllable +against it, and, so help me God, I'll make it twenty thousand. Further: +if either you or your daughter shall dare, after this warning, to lift a +needle in behalf of this Rebellion,—if I hear of either one of you +lending yourself to the smuggling of Rebel mails, or giving aid of any +kind to Rebel emissaries,—that moment I give you up to the regular +authorities and disown you forever. You know that I am a man of few +threats; but you also know that what I say I mean."</p> + +<p>Dinwiddie waited a full minute for some reply to this unparalleled +outburst, and then left the room with an air of dignity which neither +Barbara nor her mother had ever witnessed before.</p> + +<p>The mother first broke silence. She began with an hysterical laugh, and +then said,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"If he thinks to involve me in his cowardly treason to the South, he'll +find himself mistaken. Don't look so pale and frightened, you foolish +girl! Go and put on your things for the Bee."</p> + +<p>The Bee was a society of fashionable ladies, of pronounced disloyalty, +who met once a week to make up garments for Rebel officers.</p> + +<p>"I shall go to the Bee no more, mother," said Barbara; "besides, I have +given my promise to keep the house till I have permission to quit it."</p> + +<p>"And do you venture to set your father's orders above mine, you +presuming girl? Are you, too, going to desert the Southern cause?"</p> + +<p>Barbara's reply was interrupted by the entrance of old Anjy. The scene +which had just transpired had been faithfully transferred to the memory +of the listening and observant Nero, who had communicated it all to the +party chiefly interested.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dinwiddie quailed a little as she met Anjy's glance; but Barbara +rose and threw her arms about the faithful old creature's neck, and, +bursting into tears, exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>"Oh, Anjy! 't was the act of a devil! I hate him for it!"</p> + +<p>"Mind what you say, Barbara!" said Mrs. Dinwiddie.</p> + +<p>Barbara withdrew her arms, and, folding them, looked her mother straight +in the face and said,—</p> + +<p>"My father did not speak too harshly of it. 'T was a foul and cowardly +murder."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Mrs. Dinwiddie, again threatening a relapse into hysterics.</p> + +<p>"My dear, dear Anjy," said Barbara, her tears flowing afresh, "come up +to my room, and I will read you your letter."</p> + +<p>With a face tearless and inflexible, Anjy allowed herself to be led out +of the dining-hall, and up stairs into Barbara's apartment. The two +stayed there a couple of hours, heedless of every summons for them to +come forth.</p> + + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>At seventeen the process of conversion is apt to be rapid. Barbara lay +awake nearly all that night, thinking, praying, and weeping. With her +sudden detestation of Pegram mingled the personal consideration that he +knew that Tony was the son of her own favorite Anjy,—the friend of her +childhood.</p> + +<p>"If he had had one spark of true regard for me," thought Barbara, "not +to save the whole Southern Confederacy would he have shot the son of +Anjy. Pegram is a brutal ruffian, and Slavery has made him that."</p> + +<p>Anjy helped on the work of conversion by her anguish and her solemn +adjurations. The old woman had picked up arguments, both moral and +economical, enough to have posed even Mr. Alexander H. Stephens himself, +the philosophical apostle of that new dispensation whose deity was born +of the cotton-gin and sired by the devil Avarice.</p> + +<p>Barbara rose and breakfasted late that morning. At eleven o'clock she +took her music-lesson. Let us leave her for a few minutes, and fly to +another part of the city, where, in one of the rooms of the +Provost-Marshal's office, the Rebel mail was being examined. Captain +Penrose entered, and Detective Wilkins handed him a letter he had just +opened. It was addressed to Colonel Pegram, and was signed by Mrs. +Daniel Dinwiddie. We will take the liberty of quoting a portion of it.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I know, my dear Charlie, that you have been obliged to draw +largely on your financial resources in aid of the great +cause of Southern independence, and I am not surprised that +you should find yourself so severely pushed for money. I +sent you five hundred dollars in greenbacks in my last, the +savings of Barbara and myself. I hope to send you as much +more by the next mail. I regret to say that for the last six +months my husband has utterly refused to allow me one cent +for what he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> calls disloyal purposes. I consequently have to +practise some finesse in getting what I do. The money he +gives us for dresses and for charity is all saved up for +you; and then I manage to make our grocer's and butcher's +bills appear twice as large as they really are, and thus add +to our savings. It is mortifying to have to resort to these +shifts; but when I reflect on what it is all for, I feel +abundantly justified. Mr. Dinwiddie's income the last two +years has been enormous. He is taxed for upwards of a +million. A good part of this, my dear Charlie, shall be +yours as soon as you change the title of friend for the +nearer one of son-in-law. You complain that Barbara wouldn't +engage herself the last time you met. Her refusal was merely +an act of maiden coyness, and only meant, 'I want to be won, +but not too easily.' She sees no young men, and I watch her +closely; for I am resolved that your interests shall be as +well looked after as if you were on the spot."</p></div> + +<p>As Captain Penrose finished reading the letter, Mr. Dinwiddie walked in, +and it was handed to him for perusal. That worthy merchant glanced +through it rapidly, and a grim smile overspread his features. "We shall +see, Madam," he said, folding up the letter, and handing it to Detective +Wilkins for filing. Then, turning to the Captain, he remarked,—</p> + +<p>"You are from Maine, I believe, Captain Penrose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Dinwiddie,—from the very extremity of Yankeedom."</p> + +<p>"Well, Captain, I have this morning seen a friend of your father's, who +bade me say to you he is in the city for a day or two, and hopes to see +you before he leaves."</p> + +<p>"To whom do you refer?"</p> + +<p>"To Mr. Calvin Carver, of Montreal."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; I've often heard my father speak of him as one of the best men +in the world."</p> + +<p>"A man, Captain Penrose, of whom you may truly say, 'His word is as good +as his bond.' I never knew him to overstate a fact, and that is saying a +great deal of an active business man. I have not seen him before to-day +since my marriage."</p> + +<p>"I shall take an early opportunity of calling on him, Mr. Dinwiddie."</p> + +<p>"He told me, Captain, of your gallant conduct the other day at +Nashville, during Hood's attack. He said I ought to give Stanton no +peace till he has you promoted to a colonelcy."</p> + +<p>"All in good time, Mr. Dinwiddie. There are hundreds of brave fellows +who have a prior claim. And now, Sir, permit me to say, that I have +consulted with the Provost-Marshal, and my official duty requires me to +call on your wife and daughter, and notify them that they are at liberty +to go where they please."</p> + +<p>The Captain might have added, had he thought it discreet, that the +police authorities had concluded they should learn more of the secrets +of the Rebel plotters by allowing Madam to go at large than by keeping +her shut up.</p> + +<p>Dinwiddie stood nervously playing with his watch-key. An idea had +occurred to him,—a glorious, a ravishing idea,—an idea which, if +concreted successfully into action, would revenge him triumphantly on +his wife for the tricks revealed in the letter he had just read.</p> + +<p>"Captain," said he, "if you are going to my house, have you any +objection to take a letter for my daughter?"</p> + +<p>"I shall be pleased to do so," returned the Captain; but he would have +put more warmth into his reply, had it not been for certain chilly +misgivings in regard to the preoccupation of Barbara's heart.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dinwiddie sat down at a table, and wrote these lines:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Barbara</span>,—Captain Arthur Penrose, of Maine, visits you in +pursuance of his yesterday's promise. If you have any regard +for your poor, distracted father,—if you would save me from +the deepest, the direst mortification,—exert all your +powers to conciliate Captain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> Penrose, and to detain him +till I return home and relieve you. I will explain all to +you hereafter. My peace of mind depends largely on your +being able to do this. Urge him to call again. In haste, +your father."</p></div> + +<p>The Captain received this missive, bowed, and walked off in the +direction of Dinwiddie's house.</p> + +<p>Nero came to the door.</p> + +<p>"Is Mrs. Dinwiddie in?"</p> + +<p>"No, Cap'n, but Miss Barbara is in," said the conspiring Nero, in a tone +of encouragement.</p> + +<p>Madam, it should be remarked, was out making calls on a few leading +feminine sympathizers; but she did not notice, that, wherever she went, +a little man in black, with a postman's big pocket-book in his hands, +followed, as if busily employed in delivering letters.</p> + +<p>Captain Penrose sent up his card, together with the missive he was +charged with. Nero returned the next minute, and ushered him into the +drawing-room, assuring him, with overflowing suavity, that Miss Barbara +would be down in a minute. It was with profound agitation that that +young lady read her father's note. What could be the matter?</p> + +<p>She looked in the glass,—combed back her profuse flaxen hair so as to +expose her fair temples in the most approved fashion of the hour,—took +a little tea-rose from the silver vase on her bureau,—and then, with a +beating heart, stepped down the broad, low stairs into the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Captain Penrose was examining an exquisite painting of an iceberg, which +hung on the wall over the piano. He turned to Barbara, bowed gravely, +and said,—</p> + +<p>"I merely came to say, Miss Dinwiddie, that there is no longer any +restraint upon your movements. You are at liberty to go where you +please. Your mother, I learn, has already anticipated the permission for +herself. You may say to her, that, in her case also, the prohibition is +removed. I will bid you a very good morning."</p> + +<p>He bowed, and had almost reached the door before Barbara could recover +her composure sufficiently to say,—</p> + +<p>"Sir,—Captain Penrose,—I beg you not to leave me so abruptly. Pray be +seated."</p> + +<p>The Captain, arch-hypocrite that he was, looked at the clock as if he +were closely pushed for time, and replied,—</p> + +<p>"My official duties, Miss Dinwiddie, are so pressing—so"——</p> + +<p>"But I've something particular to say to you," said Barbara, grown +desperate.</p> + +<p>"Indeed! Then I'm at your service."</p> + +<p>Barbara pointed to an arm-chair; but the Captain wheeled it up to her, +and at the same time pushed along an ottoman for himself. As soon as the +lady was seated, he, too, sat.</p> + +<p>There was a pause, and rather a long one.</p> + +<p>"Now, Miss Dinwiddie, I shall be happy to hear your communication."</p> + +<p>"Ahem! I noticed, Sir, as I came in, that you were looking at yonder +painting."</p> + +<p>"Yes; is it not most admirable? 'T is by a Boston artist, I see,—by +Curtis."</p> + +<p>"Indeed! 'T is a picture my father bought only last week. 'T was +recommended to him by Mr. Carver; for father does not pretend to be a +connoisseur. You think it good?"</p> + +<p>"Good? 'T is exquisite! Look at the atmosphere over that water. You +might feel a cool exhalation from it on a hot day. The misty freshness +rolling off, and lit up by the cheery sunlight, is Nature itself. It +carries me away—far away—once more to the coast of Labrador, where I +spent a summer month in my youth. But, Miss Dinwiddie, how happens it +that you condescend, in times like these, to patronize a Yankee artist? +When Colonel Pegram comes, you must take down that picture and hide it."</p> + +<p>Barbara started and blushed.</p> + +<p>"What do you know, Sir, of Colonel Pegram?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, except that he is a fortunate man, unless Rumor belies him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If you refer, Sir, to that foolish report in regard to myself which was +current last winter, I beg to assure you there is no truth in it."</p> + +<p>"Not <i>now</i>, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"<i>Never</i> shall it be true!" exclaimed Barbara, starting up and pacing +the floor.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," said the Captain, also rising,—"excuse me, if I have been +impertinent on so slight an acquaintance."</p> + +<p>He had his hat in his hand, and walked towards the door.</p> + +<p>"Deuse take the fellow! can't he stay patiently here five minutes?" +thought Barbara. She dropped the rose she had been holding. The Captain +picked it up and offered it.</p> + +<p>"Keep it, Sir, if you think it worth while," said Barbara,—driven to +this incipient impropriety by the vague apprehensions excited by her +father's letter.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," replied the Captain, so taken by surprise that he forgot +his military laurels, and showed a faint heart by a blush.</p> + +<p>Barbara esteemed it a very charming symptom; and as the Captain, with +his one unwounded arm, tried rather awkwardly to put the flower in the +buttonhole of his waistcoat, she stepped up with a "Let me aid you"; +and, taking from her own dress a pin, fastened the rose nicely as near +as she could to the beating heart of the imperilled soldier. Alas! if +his thoughts had been put into words, he would have soliloquized, "Look +here, Captain, I'm afraid you are deporting yourself very much like a +simpleton. Pluck up a spirit, man!"</p> + +<p>"There! I'm sure 't is very becoming," quoth Barbara, mischievously.</p> + +<p>"You see how convenient it is to have two hands," returned the Captain. +"And your having two hands, Miss Dinwiddie, reminds me that your piano +stands open, showing its teeth, as if it, smiling, wanted to say, 'Come, +play on me.'"</p> + +<p>"What a lucky idea!" thought Barbara. "Now I have him, and will hold +him. He shall get enough of it. When will pa come, I wonder?—Are you +fond of music, Captain Penrose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I used to be a performer before I was disabled."</p> + +<p>"But your voice is not disabled. You sing?"</p> + +<p>"A little; but I'm out of practice."</p> + +<p>"No matter. Come! Here's a martial piece, suitable for the times: 'To +Greece we give our shining blades.'"</p> + +<p>It was one of the Captain's favorites; and as the two voices, resonant +and penetrating, rose on the chorus in perfect accord, the singers +thought they had never sung so well before, and each attributed it to +the excellent time of the other. Nero and another person listened at the +aperture of the folding-doors: Nero, who was musical, going through a +show of vehement applause, and throwing himself about in a manner that +would have made his fortune as an Ethiopian minstrel.</p> + +<p>Other songs followed in rapid succession; and when the Captain sang +"Annie Lawrie," <i>con espressione</i>, accompanying himself on the piano +with one hand, Barbara exclaimed, with a frank burst of genuine +admiration,—</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you sang that superbly!"</p> + +<p>She had quite forgotten her anxiety about her father's return.</p> + +<p>Then they talked of the popular composers; and from music their +conversation glanced on literature; and from literature the Captain +ventured on the dangerous ground of politics.</p> + +<p>"Are you incorrigibly a Rebel?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Barbara looked down. She feared that any confession of change in her +notions would seem too much like insincerity.</p> + +<p>"Now I'm going to lecture you," he continued. "Are you not rejoiced that +Maryland is a Free State? that no longer on this soil a man has power to +rob a fellow-man of his labor, and to shoot him down, if he lifts a hand +in opposition to brutal oppression? Does not your generous heart tell +you that the system under which such injustice is organized is wrong, +unchristian, devilish? Are we not well rid of the curse?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + +<p>Barbara looked up, and responded in a hearty, emphatic <i>Yes</i>.</p> + +<p>"But," she added, "my conversion is recent. And who do you suppose +converted me?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot imagine."</p> + +<p>Here a door was thrown open, and Mr. Dinwiddie entered. The perfidious +man had been listening. Captain Penrose glanced guiltily at the clock, +and saw, to his consternation, that two hours had somehow unaccountably +slipped away.</p> + +<p>"I have been a loiterer, you see, Mr. Dinwiddie," he said; "but the +fault is your daughter's. I will now take my leave."</p> + +<p>"We shall be happy to see you again," said Barbara, glancing assent to a +nod from her father.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Captain Penrose," said Dinwiddie, "I hope you'll not drop our +acquaintance, notwithstanding the circumstances under which it was +made."</p> + +<p>"I shall esteem any circumstances fortunate," replied the Captain, "that +have given me so agreeable a visit"; and, bowing, he left the room, and +Barbara rang the bell for Nero to open the outer door.</p> + +<p>"Saved! saved!" cried Dinwiddie, sinking into a chair, and covering his +face with his handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"Saved? How saved?" asked Barbara, alarmed.</p> + +<p>"But no," exclaimed Dinwiddie, starting up with a very tragic +expression. "Perhaps it was but a transient pow—pow—power you exerted +over him. Barbara, should you meet again, put forth all your attractions +to—to—to bind him as with a sp—sp—spell to keep my fatal secret."</p> + +<p>"What secret, father?"</p> + +<p>"Hush—sh—sh!" said Dinwiddie, stepping on tiptoe to one door and then +to another, and then looking with a cautious air under the sofa. He +beckoned to his daughter. She drew near. Once more he looked anxiously +around the room, and then whispered, in a hoarse, low tone, in her ear, +these words, "You shall know all in due time."</p> + +<p>Little Barbara drew a long breath, and resolved that it should not be +her fault, if the Captain was not captivated. At that moment there was a +ring at the door-bell; and Mrs. Dinwiddie came in from high conference +with a select conclave of fashionable ladies, who yet clung with +pathetic tenacity to the declining fortunes of Slavery and Secession.</p> + + +<p>III.</p> + +<p>For a fortnight matters seemed to go on swimmingly. Dinwiddie had, as he +thought, so managed as to bring the young people repeatedly together +without his wife's having a suspicion of what was in the wind; and when +Captain Penrose called on him at his counting-room and asked whether he +might pay his addresses to Barbara, Dinwiddie whirled round on his +office-stool, jumped down, and gave the young soldier a cordial hug.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my dear boy! Win her. She likes you. I like you. Everybody +likes you. Go ahead."</p> + +<p>"It is proper to inform you, Sir," said the Captain, "that my income is +only twelve hundred a year; but"—</p> + +<p>"Pshaw! What do I care for your income? There! Go and settle it with +Barbara. You'll find her alone, I think. Mrs. Dinwiddie, for the last +week, has been as busy as—as—we'll not say who—in a gale of wind. +Remember, 'Fortune favors the brave.' I'm obliged to go to Philadelphia +this afternoon. Good bye."</p> + +<p>In a transport of delight, the Captain darted from the office, took a +carriage, and drove to Dinwiddie's.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss Barbara is in. Walk up, Captain."</p> + +<p>"What could be more propitious? Poets are not always in the right. Isn't +my love true love, and doesn't it run smooth?"</p> + +<p>Wait awhile, my Captain! Perhaps Shakspeare was not so much in error, +after all.</p> + +<p>Barbara's eyes plainly spoke her pleasure at seeing him. Adjoining the +drawing-room was a little boudoir filled with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> sunshine and flowers. +Into that she led him. They sat down on one of those snug contrivances +for a <i>tête-à-tête</i>, formed like the capital letter S. A fragrance as of +spring was shed through the room from the open door of a conservatory, +and a canary-bird near by was tuning his voice for a song.</p> + +<p>"Barbara, do you know it is a whole fortnight that we have known each +other?"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him inquiringly, for this was the third time he had +called her by her first name. He continued,—</p> + +<p>"Barbara, I had a pleasant interview with your father this morning, and +what do you suppose I said to him?"</p> + +<p>"Said it was a fine day, most like," returned Barbara, intent on +spreading out the leaves of a half-blown rose.</p> + +<p>"No, I said not a word about the weather. I asked him if he would have +any objection to me for a son-in-law."</p> + +<p>"And what did he reply?" asked Barbara, after a pause, during which her +little heart beat wildly.</p> + +<p>"He told me I could settle it all with you."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said Barbara. "But I never had any genius for settlements. I +always hated business."</p> + +<p>"But this is a matter of pleasure, not of business," urged the Captain; +and then coming round to her side, and falling on one knee, he took her +unreluctant little hand, put it to his lips, and said, "May I not have +it for my own?"</p> + +<p>Before she could reply, approaching steps were heard, and a youth of +some nineteen years, wearing the coarse pea-jacket, red baize shirt, and +glazed hat of a sailor, made his appearance.</p> + +<p>"Culpepper!" exclaimed Barbara, while the Captain resumed his seat,—"is +it you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied the youth. "Sister, I have a few words to say to this man +privately. Please leave the room."</p> + +<p>Master Culpepper was one of those nondescripts in social zoölogy, +classed by some philosophers as "cubs," and by others as +"hobbledehoys,"—"not a man, nor a boy, but a hobbledehoy." At school he +had been set down as a hopeless blockhead, and Barbara had severely +tasked her patience, trying to insinuate into his brains the little +knowledge of the ordinary branches of education which he possessed. +Consequently, though she was two years his junior, she had been +accustomed to regard herself as several years his senior, and to talk to +him as to the inferior he really was in everything but brute strength. +The cub's strong points, morally considered, were his family pride and +his hatred of "Abolitionism": in these he bade fair to surpass even the +maternal proficiency.</p> + +<p>"Captain Penrose," said Barbara, "this is my brother Culpepper. Now, +Cully, go and play in the stable, that's a good boy."</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Miss Barbara, that you are addressing a Major in the +Confederate army," replied Cully, folding his arms with a great effort +at dignity. "You will accost me hereafter as Major Dinwiddie, if you +please."</p> + +<p>"Well, Major, this gentleman and myself are engaged, so"——</p> + +<p>"Engaged!" howled Cully, with flashing eyes and vociferous speech. +"Engaged! And you dare to confess it to me, your brother! Engaged! And +to an Abolitionist,—a low-born Yankee! I cancel the engagement."</p> + +<p>Barbara was too much roused by the cub's insolence to care to correct +the misapprehension which he had blundered into so precipitately, and +which she was now disposed to make a verity.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to tell me," demanded the cub, "that you are engaged to be +married to this man?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if he'll have me," said Barbara, putting forth her hand, which +Penrose eagerly seized, exclaiming,—</p> + +<p>"Will I <i>have</i> you, Barbara? Yes, as the best treasure life can offer."</p> + +<p>And the first kiss was exchanged.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Cully, "this business must stop where it is. I demand, +Sir, that you leave the house with me this instant."</p> + +<p>And then, as an amused expression flitted over the Captain's face, the +cub asked angrily,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Why do you smile, Sir?"</p> + +<p>"Sir," said the Captain, "your sister and I have cause for smiling; we +are happy."</p> + +<p>The cub took from his side-pocket a revolver and cocked it. Penrose +stood up, and Barbara threw herself between him and her brother.</p> + +<p>"Coward!" cried the cub, "to allow yourself to be shielded by a woman!"</p> + +<p>The cub, under the influence of Pro-slavery precedents, had really got +it into his thick head, that he, under the circumstances, was the man of +chivalry and valor, and that because the unarmed Penrose would not +present a fair shot to his revolver, that gentleman was chargeable with +an excess of poltroonery of which only a Yankee could be guilty.</p> + +<p>The cub's heroics were ignominiously cut short. Suddenly his two arms +were seized from behind, while his pistol was wrenched from his grasp. +Two armed policemen, followed by Mr. Dinwiddie and Nero, had entered the +room.</p> + +<p>"Am I betrayed?" exclaimed the cub.</p> + +<p>"Blockhead!" said his father, "Fort Warren shall henceforth be your +school, till we knock a little common-sense into that obstinate skull of +yours."</p> + +<p>"Fort Warren!" cried Cully, gnashing his teeth. "But I'm here on a +furlough, disguised as a sailor, you perceive. I promised to be back to +my regiment by Friday. Fort Warren?"</p> + +<p>"Never!" shrieked Mrs. Dinwiddie, entering the room from the +conservatory, where she had been hiding. "Kill me, but don't compel my +son to break his pledge to the Confederate authority."</p> + +<p>"Bah!" said Dinwiddie. "Officers, take the booby away."</p> + +<p>Nero almost sank into his boots with excess of enjoyment, but abruptly +put on a very agonized face, and showed the whites of his eyes, as Mrs. +Dinwiddie looked towards him.</p> + +<p>Cully submitted, though with an ill grace, to what was plainly a case of +necessity; but he turned, before crossing the threshold, and said to +Penrose,—</p> + +<p>"I take everybody to witness, Sir, that I prohibit your having anything +further to do with my sister. The consequences be on your own head, if +you disobey."</p> + +<p>"And I, Captain Penrose," said Dinwiddie, "take everybody to witness, +that, if, after having paid the court that you have to my daughter, you +now refuse to take her as your wife, the consequences, Sir, must be on +your own head."</p> + +<p>"Sir," said the Captain, "that is the most agreeable threat that I can +imagine. I have already committed myself to your daughter."</p> + +<p>"Ah! disgraceful!" groaned Mrs. Dinwiddie.</p> + +<p>"What do you say to that, Cully?" said the father, as, with no very +gentle thrust, he replaced the glazed hat on the youth's head.</p> + +<p>Cully kept silent. The recollection of certain debts which could be paid +only from the paternal purse inspired a prudent reserve.</p> + +<p>"Take him now," said Dinwiddie to the officers; "give him as much +gingerbread as he wants, and charge it to me."</p> + +<p>Cully and the officers disappeared.</p> + +<p>"And now," resumed Dinwiddie, "it is time for me to drive to the cars. +Mrs. Dinwiddie, this is Captain Penrose, your future son-in-law. Treat +him kindly in my absence. Farewell."</p> + +<p>The lady bowed not ungraciously, as Dinwiddie departed. She had been +meditating, during the last minute, a new flank movement in favor of +Colonel Pegram. She determined to change her base of operations. Barbara +was amazed, but, in her inexperience, was wholly unsuspicious of +strategy.</p> + +<p>"Captain Penrose, you'll stop and take tea with us?" said the wily lady +of the house.</p> + +<p>"I shall be charmed to," replied the Captain.</p> + +<p>"Mother, let me kiss you!" cried the innocent Barbara, delighted at what +seemed the vanishing of the only obstacle to the betrothal of herself +and the Yankee officer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was an ambush in preparation, of which these two did not dream.</p> + + +<p>IV.</p> + +<p>Two days afterwards, Barbara and her mother were on their way to +Montreal.</p> + +<p>This was the flank movement, and it was thus accomplished. The second +morning after her husband's departure, Mrs. Dinwiddie burst into +Barbara's apartment with the intelligence that she had just received a +telegraphic dispatch from Mr. Dinwiddie, bidding her start at once for +Montreal to procure certain funds in the hands of a certain party there, +which funds were immediately wanted. Barbara, to whom all business +matters were mysteries profound as the income-tax or the national debt, +received it all without a question. She did not stop to ask, "Why +doesn't father send one of his clerks?" or "Why can't he do it all by +letter?" She took it for granted that there was a great hurry about +something that required an instant journey to Montreal. So she wrote a +letter to Captain Penrose, (which Mrs. Dinwiddie took good care to +intercept,) and, before another hour had slipped by, mother and daughter +were at the Northern railway station.</p> + +<p>The old lady had taken the precaution to send Nero on an errand out of +the city, and had hired a public hack to convey her to the cars. But as +she was attending to her trunk, an officious gentleman in black stepped +up to Barbara, and asked for what place she wished to have the baggage +checked. Before Mrs. Dinwiddie could interpose, Barbara had answered, +"Montreal." Thereupon the gentleman had simply remarked, "I don't think +they check baggage so far," and then had walked away in the direction of +the telegraph-office,—for what purpose the sequel must suggest. Mrs. +Dinwiddie thought nothing more of the matter. They passed through +Philadelphia and New York the next day uninterrupted.</p> + +<p>At Rutland, Vt., a very civil sort of gentleman accosted them in the +car, and, on learning that they were on their way to Canada, asked if +they had passports. On Mrs. Dinwiddie's replying in the negative, he +informed her, that, by a recent order of the United States Government, +persons travelling to and from Canada were required to have passports; +and he advised her to stop at Rutland, and he would telegraph to New +York and procure them. After some hesitation, she consented to do this. +The third day of her detention, her volunteer informant came with the +necessary papers, and at the same time introduced Mr. Glide, an +obsequious little gentleman, who said he was going to Montreal, and +should be happy to render any service in his power to the ladies.</p> + +<p>"Surely, Sir, I have seen you before," said Mrs. Dinwiddie. "Are you not +from Baltimore?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Madam; and I will tell you where we last met: 't was at the secret +gathering of ladies and gentlemen for purchasing a new outfit for Mrs. +Jefferson Davis."</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said Mrs. Dinwiddie, slightly alarmed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's no danger," returned Mr. Glide. "I'm discreet. Your +devotion to the Confederate cause, Madam, your noble efforts, your +sacrifices, have long been known to me; and I rejoice at having this +opportunity of expressing my thanks and my admiration. Is there anything +I can do for you?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dinwiddie looked significantly at him, nodded her head by way of +warning, and glanced at her daughter.</p> + +<p>"I see, Madam," murmured Mr. Glide, in a confidential tone.</p> + +<p>"Barbara, go and pack my trunk," said she.</p> + +<p>Barbara left the room.</p> + +<p>"Now, Sir," resumed Mrs. Dinwiddie, "I will confide to you my troubles. +That young girl has recently engaged herself, against my wishes, to a +young man,—a captain in the Yankee army."</p> + +<p>"Engaged herself to a Yankee? But, oh, Madam, what an affliction! what a +humiliation!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, Sir, 't is all that."</p> + +<p>"I agree with Mr. Davis, Madam, that the Yankees are the scum of the +world. Is there no way by which you can avert from your family the +threatened disgrace?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Sir, I have formed a plan, and, if you will lend me your aid, I +think we may manage to put the infatuated girl for a time where she will +have an opportunity of recovering her senses."</p> + +<p>"My dear Madam, I shall be delighted to serve you in any such good work. +To save youth and beauty from the polluting touch of a Yankee captain +might well call forth the warmest zeal, the most devoted daring, of any +native of the sunny South."</p> + +<p>"Sir, your sentiments do you honor. This, then, is my scheme—Is there +any chance of our being overheard?"</p> + +<p>"By none except the invisibles," said Glide; "and they probably exist +only in the imagination of Yankee fanatics."</p> + +<p>"My plan," whispered the lady, "is to put my daughter in a convent until +the gentleman to whom I have promised her, Colonel Pegram of the +Confederate army, can have an opportunity of seeing her. Of course it +would not take him five minutes to drive out of her head all thought of +this Yankee lover."</p> + +<p>"And has your daughter, Madam, no suspicion of this admirable scheme of +yours?"</p> + +<p>"Not the slightest. She supposes we are going to Montreal on business of +her father's."</p> + +<p>"Madam, you couldn't have been more fortunate in your confidence. It +happens that I am on most intimate terms with Father Basil, the +confessor of the nuns, and who, by the rules of the convent, must +interrogate your daughter before she can be admitted to its privileges."</p> + +<p>"But," said Mrs. Dinwiddie, anxiously, "will Father Basil have the +proper sympathy with my maternal motives and my Southern sentiments? +Will he be disposed to strain his authority a little in order to put my +daughter in durance?"</p> + +<p>"I think I may venture to promise," answered Glide, "that, such is my +influence with him, he will do in the matter whatever I may request."</p> + +<p>"How fortunate!"</p> + +<p>"And now, Madam, you must make preparations for your departure. The cars +start in ten minutes."</p> + +<p>Before seven o'clock that evening the whole party were comfortably +disposed in one of the best of the Montreal hotels. The obliging Mr. +Glide went forth immediately to make inquiries in Mrs. Dinwiddie's +behalf.</p> + +<p>After breakfast the next day he presented himself to her and asked,—</p> + +<p>"You have said nothing as yet to your daughter?"</p> + +<p>"Not a word," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Then," said he, "our course will be to drive at once to Father Basil's +residence, and get him to broach the whole matter to Miss Barbara. He +has a very persuasive tongue, and I think she will at once yield to his +exhortations. Should she, however, be disposed to resist forcibly our +measures for her benefit, there will be the means at hand to carry them +out."</p> + +<p>Barbara entered the room, wholly unsuspicious of the plots against her +liberty.</p> + +<p>"The carriage will soon be at the door," said her mother. "Go and get +ready." And after a whispered hint from Mr. Glide, she added, "Put on +your pearl silk, Barbara. We shall have to call on certain persons of +distinction."</p> + +<p>Barbara was soon ready. They all three entered the carriage, and after a +drive of about a mile, it stopped before a large and elegant house.</p> + +<p>"Our father confessor lives in style," whispered Mrs. Dinwiddie.</p> + +<p>"Yes," returned Glide; "one of his wealthy neophytes gives him a home +here. If you will wait in this little basement room, Madam, I will +conduct your daughter up to his library."</p> + +<p>"Go with Mr. Glide, Barbara," said Mrs. Dinwiddie.</p> + +<p>Supposing it was merely one of the mysterious forms of business, little +Barbara at once took the gentleman's proffered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> arm and ascended the +stairs with him.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes,—twenty,—thirty,—Mrs. Dinwiddie waited, and nobody came. +She looked at the furniture, the carpets, the paintings, till she had +exhausted the curiosities of the apartment. Suddenly there was a sound +of music from above,—not sacred music,—it sounded very much like the +waltz from "Gustavus." What could it all mean?</p> + +<p>At last Mr. Glide made his appearance.</p> + +<p>"Now, Madam, 't is all arranged," said he. "I regret to say that we had +to use the most stringent measures for reducing your daughter to terms. +But she is so bound at last that she can have little hope of regaining +her freedom."</p> + +<p>"Bound, Sir? Did you have to bind her?" asked Mrs. Dinwiddie, with a +throb of maternal solicitude.</p> + +<p>"You shall see, Madam."</p> + +<p>He threw open the door at the head of the landing, and they entered a +stately room, where some thirty or forty ladies and gentlemen seemed to +be assembled. Mrs. Dinwiddie drew away her arm and almost swooned with +amazement and consternation.</p> + +<p>At the front end of the apartment, before a gorgeous mirror, stood +Barbara and Captain Penrose. A veil and a bunch of orange-blossoms had +been added to the young lady's coiffure. At her side stood a handsome +old gentleman, with bright, affectionate eyes, (very much like the +Captain's,) who seemed to regard her with a gratified look. On the side +of Penrose stood—horrors!—Mr. Dinwiddie himself, a smile of fiendish +exultation on his face; while a gentleman with a white cravat and a +narrow collar to his coat, evidently an Episcopal clergyman, went up and +shook hands with Barbara, and then mingled with the rest of the company.</p> + +<p>A middle-aged gentleman, whom the guests accosted as Mr. Carver, drew +near to Dinwiddie, and said,—</p> + +<p>"Now introduce me to your wife."</p> + +<p>Dinwiddie took his arm, and, leading him to where the lady stood, +said,—</p> + +<p>"Wife, this is my old friend Carver, of whom you have so often heard me +speak. Yonder stands your daughter, Mrs. Penrose, waiting for your +maternal kiss of congratulation."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dinwiddie debated with herself a moment whether to shriek, to fall +into hysterics, to explode in a philippic, or to rush from observation. +Her husband, seeing her hesitation, took her by the hand and led her +into an unoccupied room. A veil must be dropped upon the connubial +interview which then and there took place.</p> + +<p>Suffice it to say, that, when she came forth leaning on the arm of Mr. +Dinwiddie, it was with the air of one who has made up her mind to make +the best of a case of necessity,—an air very much like that, I fancy, +with which the South will yet take the arm of its consort, the North. +She saw there was no longer any chance for another flank movement.</p> + +<p>One vindictive glance she turned on the dapper Mr. Glide, as he stood +guzzling Champagne, and looking the picture of meek fidelity; and then +she courageously walked up, kissed her daughter, shook hands with the +Captain, curtsied condescendingly to old Mr. Penrose, and smothered her +astonishment as she best could, on being taken up to a lady of rare +elegance of person and demeanor, whom she had set down as the wife of +the Governor-General at least, but who, on presentation, she learned was +the mother of her new son-in-law.</p> + +<p>"Ladies and gentlemen," said Mr. Carver,—and at his voice the buzz of +conversation was hushed,—"I believe we have none here who will not +readily comply with the request I have now to make. Since all's well +that ends well, I ask it as a favor, that no person of this company, who +may happen to be acquainted with the peculiar circumstances of this +marriage, will mention them outside of the circle here present. Will you +all say <i>ay</i> to this proposition?"</p> + +<p>Amid smiles there rose what sounded like a unanimous assent; but a close +observer might have remarked that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> Perfidious Mr. Glide, instead of +moving his lips affirmatively, simply lifted his Champagne-glass, and in +the act raised his forefinger so as to cover the side of his nose. To +this individual, no doubt the boon companion of some rascally reporter, +we probably owe the circumstance that a garbled and incorrect account of +this affair appeared in the Baltimore and Washington papers. The present +writer has consequently felt it incumbent on him to place on record a +version which, whatever may be said of it, cannot be stigmatized as +exaggerated.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="AROUND_MULL" id="AROUND_MULL"></a>AROUND MULL.</h2> + + +<h3>PART II.</h3> + +<p>The island of Staffa being nearly a mile in length, we have already had +a distant external view of the huge grassy mound which constitutes its +surface, reared on a steep, craggy base, hear and there exhibiting +superb basaltic columns, and everywhere consisting of basaltic pillars +more or less broken, irregular, and contorted, and in some instances +forming the entrance to caves of great interest, though of less grandeur +and magnificence than the giant temple of Nature which is the principal +feature and pride of Staffa and the chief object of our visit. Ah, here +comes the Bailie, looking as innocent as possible of the pipe! Christie, +too, has crept up from the cabin, and, though professing inability to go +ashore, is relieved by the sudden cessation of the steamer's motion, and +is prepared to witness with cheerfulness the disembarkation of her more +fortunate fellow-passengers. It is the office of boatmen from the +neighboring island of Ulva, hardy and skilful men, accustomed to these +boisterous seas, to row passengers ashore, and in case of calm weather, +such as we are blest with, to conduct their boats within the noble +archway and up the grand broad aisle of Fingal's Cave: for the floor of +this glorious cathedral is the rolling sea, whose green waves surge with +a grand swell and fall to the very extremity of the cave, echoing +through its vaults with a resonance which gave it its early Gaëlic name +of Uaimh Bhinn, the Musical Cave. How and when these boatmen approached +unseen and surrounded our steamer as she lies here in the sun, I cannot +imagine; so perfect are all the arrangements for our convenience, that +they have probably been lying in wait for our approach, and had only to +dash our form among the black rocks of the shore; but in view of the +power of Nature in this locality, the wonderful architecture, of which +we witness as yet the mere <i>débris</i>, and the noble palace of the sea +which our imagination is already shadowing forth, it is not difficult to +believe that these hardy mariners spring up from the depths at the +voyager's bidding, and that they are neither more bidding, and that they +are neither more nor less than ocean genii, the servants of some ocean +king, appointed to wait on and convoy his guests. The Dexterity of these +men and the strength of their boats inspire perfect confidence, however; +for the latter are fast filling and putting off for the shore. The +landing-place mist be near at hand, though as yet out of sight; for +"See!" I exclaim to the Bailie, "one or two of the boats have landed +their parties and are already returning! Everybody is disappearing from +the steamer; had we not better make haste and secure a passage?"</p> + +<p>But the Bailie, who is something of a philosopher, has confidence that +there is time and accommodation enough for us all; so he and I proceed +very leisurely to the step-ladder, and, as everybody else is in a hurry, +we fall to the very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> last boat that leaves the steamer. A few unforeseen +claimants and stragglers present themselves just as we are putting off, +and, as often happens at the last chance to go ashore, our boat is +somewhat overloaded, and I find myself separated from my companion, who +is standing upright in the bows, while I am seated in the stern among +the elderly Scotch folk, who seem so familiar with all the detail of the +place and proceedings I am led to believer them faithful worshipper of +Nature who come periodically to pay their vows in the national minster, +as members of some parish church go up reverently to the cathedral +convocations. An eager, excitable gude-wife next to me is especially +anxious and officious, and seems disposed to question the efficiency and +prudence of our Ulva boatmen.</p> + +<p>"The boat is too full!" she cries, with the emphasis of certainty. "Tell +them to put back; she is too full!" and the murmur of alarm echoes in +our vicinity. "Don't be afraid, my dear," she adds, in a sort of +stage-aside to me, who, though I have observed that the boat's edge is +almost on a level with the water, have never dreamed of danger until she +put it into my head, "Not a bit of danger," she continues, patting me +encouragingly on the shoulder, while in the same breath she reiterates +to those in authority her startling warning and her assurance that we +shall presently sink by our own weight.</p> + +<p>But the Bailie, standing in the bow, still maintains his philosophy, and +the smile on his face reassures me. And now, with only just that sense +of insecurity which adds to the awe of the occasion, I perceive that we +are rounding a cliff, and that the entrance to Fingal's Cave is dawning +on our view.</p> + +<p>The magnificent proportions and perfect symmetry of the archway which +forms the entrance to the cave will be seen to better advantage somewhat +later, when the steamer, on leaving the island, sweeps directly past the +vestibule purposely to afford their passengers this opportunity; but one +is never more impressed with the hugeness and stability of this gigantic +structure than when measuring it by gradual approach, and looking up +into its lofty Gothic vault as we glide under the enormous archway and +out of the dazzling sunshine into the twilight of the deep interior. +Those whose imaginations are aided by statistics may form a more real +conception of this great natural structure by reflecting that the +archway at the entrance is forty-two feet in width, and its height +nearly seventy above the level of the sea, and that these vast +proportions are preserved to the farther extremity of the cave, as +distance of some two hundred and thirty feet. The imposing effect of the +portico is still further enhanced by the massive entablature of thirty +feet additional which it supports, and by the noble cluster of pillars +grouped on each side of the entrance-way. These lofty pillars, or +complication of basaltic columns, are in a general sense perpendicular, +their departure from the stern lines and angles of human architecture +serving only to proclaim them the workmanship of that Architect who +alone is independent of artistic rules, and giving new force to what +Goethe tells us is understood by genius, namely, "that Art is called Art +because it is <i>not</i> Nature." Here with the poet of Nature, we may offer</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thanks for the lessons of this spot,—fit school<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the presumptuous thoughts that would assign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mechanic laws to agency divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, measuring heaven by earth, would overrule<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Infinite Power."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And here, if anywhere, is the place to learn how vainly Art may seek to +rival Nature. "How splendid," exclaims a learned prelate, "do the +porticos of the ancients appear in our eyes from the ostentatious +magnificence of the descriptions we have received of them! And with what +admiration are we seized, on seeing the colonnades of our modern +edifices! But when we behold the Cave of Fingal, formed by Nature in the +Isle of Staffa, it is no longer possible to make a comparison; and we +are forced to acknowledge that this piece of Nature's architecture far +surpasses that of the Louvre, that of St. Peter's at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> Rome, all that +remains of Palmyra and Pæstum, and all that the genius, taste, and +luxury of the Greeks were ever capable of inventing."</p> + +<p>So much for a comparison of this ocean cathedral with buildings of human +construction; and no less decisive is the verdict of the French author, +M. de St. Fond, in contrasting Staffa with other natural edifices. "I +have," he says, "seen many ancient volcanoes, and I have given +descriptions of several basaltic causeways and delightful caverns in the +midst of lavas; but I have never found anything which comes near to +this, or can bear any comparison with it, for the admirable regularity +of its columns, the height of the arch, the situation, the form, the +elegance of this production of Nature or its resemblance to the +masterpieces of Art, though Art has had no share in its construction. It +is therefore not at all surprising that tradition should have made it +the abode of a hero."</p> + +<p>These are but general descriptions of this <i>chef d'[oe]uvre.</i> Shall I +attempt in my own words, or those of any other, to give even a feeble +impression of the grandeur which overarches and surrounds us as our boat +glides into the interior? Let Wilson speak; I dare not. Listen to his +words while I vouch for their truth.</p> + +<p>"How often have we since recalled to mind the regularity, magnitude, and +loftiness of those columns, the fine o'er-hanging cliff of small +prismatic basalt to which they give support, worn by the murmuring waves +of many thousand years into the semblance of some stupendous Gothic +arch,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault,'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>the wild waters ever urge their way; and the receding sides of that +great temple, running inwards in solemn perspective, yet ever and anon, +as ocean heaves and falls, rendered visible in its far sanctuary by the +broad and flashing light reflected by the foaming surges sweeping +onwards from below! Then the broken and irregular gallery which +overhangs that subterranean flood, and from which, looking upwards and +around, we behold the rich and varied hues of red, green, and gold, +which give such splendid relief to the deep and sombre colored +columns,—the clear bright tints which sparkle beneath our feet, from +the wavering, yet translucent sea,—the whole accompanied by the wild, +yet mellow and sonorous moan of each successive billow which rises up +the sides or rolls over the finely formed crowns of the lowlier and +disjointed pillars: these are a few of the features of this exquisite +and most singular scene, which cannot fail to astonish the beholder."</p> + +<p>Up this irregular gallery, which extends to the farther extremity of the +cave, most of our steamer's party have already gone, having successively +deserted the boats to take advantage of this natural pathway, whereby, +stepping carefully along the wet slippery floor, and clinging for +security to a rope attached to iron bolts riveted in the solid stone of +the wall, they can penetrate to the innermost depths of the cavern. +Through the dim religious light of the place we can discern their +figures, diminished in the distant perspective, as in long procession +they grope their way, the joyous laughter of the younger votaries +mingling with the little shrieks of alarm or warning with which the more +cautious or timid emphasize every misstep or uncertain footing,—the +entire human murmur, fortunately for us, softened by distance, or +returned to our ears only in the mellowed form of an echo, so that we +are spared in some degree that mockery of mirth and discord, otherwise +so inevitable, and always so uncongenial to the spirit of the +place,—that tumult of voices, exclamations, and shouts so familiar to +the tourist, and which drew from Wordsworth, on occasion of his visit to +the spot, the half-bitter reflection,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"We saw, but surely, in the motley crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not one of us has felt the far-famed-sight:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How <i>could</i> we feel it, each the other's blight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurried and hurrying, volatile and loud?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Thus the Bailie's philosophy has not proved in fault. There is an +advantage in being the last comers, if it is merely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> that our +fellow-tourists have taken themselves out of our way. Only the harsh +vituperations of our boatmen make dissonance with Nature, as, their long +poles driven hard now against one side and now the other of the cave, +they strive to keep the boat in middle position, and save a collision +with the rocks. And even this discord is soon overborne. "Sing!" cried +the gude-wife at my elbow, as we passed under the great archway, and her +plastic soul, alive as readily to the spirit of praise as to that of +fear, caught the inspiration of the place; "all of you, sing!"</p> + +<p>There was an earnestness, a fervor, in this woman, which made her every +word and thought contagious; and as either she, or some neighbor of hers +who shared her emotion and purpose, struck the key-note, voice after +voice joined in, until there swelled up from our little boat the almost +universal song,—no common trivial melody,—not even a national +air,—such would have been sacrilege,—but a grand old song of praise, +one of those literal versions of the Psalmist familiar to the ear and +lip of every kirk-loving Scot. And so, as the singing chorus went +sailing up that broad aisle, heart and voice united in a spontaneous +liturgy, an act of devout adoration, which seemed the only fit response +to the spirit that whispered to our souls, "Praise ye the Lord!"</p> + +<p>The psalm ended, our boat with most of its passengers retraces its +course and is rowed back to the steamer,—the Bailie and I, however, +having first disembarked and clambered up to the rough gallery, with a +view of imitating the parties who are pursuing their explorations on +foot. This gallery, or causeway, which runs along the eastern side of +the cave, is about two feet in width, and consists of the bases of +broken pillars, whose dark purple hexagons, cemented together by +crystallizations or a white calcareous deposit, form a rough mosaic +flooring. The inequality of its surface, and the fact that the stones +are worn smooth and slippery by the action of the sea, render it a very +precarious pathway; and as soon as we have proceeded far enough to +gratify our curiosity and obtain satisfactory points of view, we are +content to abandon the enterprise of penetrating to the remotest depths, +preferring to reserve our time for a ramble over the exterior surface of +the island.</p> + +<p>Emerging from the cavern and skirting its eastern side, we still find +ourselves stepping from hexagon to hexagon over a massive bed of refuse +material, and gazing upward at the columnar wall on our left which +upholds the table-land of the island. No traveller, however ignorant or +inappreciative of science, can fail to realize the immense interest +which these evidences of some great natural convulsion must possess for +the geologist; and a knowledge of the recent geological discoveries in +this and other of the Western Islands is not needed to impress us with +the conviction that treasures of truth are beneath and around us +everywhere, waiting to be revealed. But we have not the key, nor can we +pause to pick the lock.</p> + +<p>Passing on, then, in our ignorance, but not without an awe of things +unknown, we recognize as within the scope of our comprehension two +broken pillars so lodged as to constitute the seat and back of a rude +chair, which has received the name of Fingal's Chair, and beyond this +the Clamshell Cave, so called from the curved form of the mass of +basaltic pillars at its entrance; and at length we attain a point where, +by scaling a rough staircase constructed for the convenience of +tourists, we gain the grassy summit of the island. So perpendicular is +the cliff at every point, that, these green slopes once reached, the +previous singularity of formation and wildness of scenery at once give +place to the pastoral. Rocks, columns, caves, and cliffs are all hid +from our view; we have gained Nature's upper story, and around us is a +perfect calm. Not even the steamer which brought us hither is visible, +so effectually do the bold precipices conceal every near thing in their +shadow. The great cavern through which ocean surges with a ceaseless +swell lies far beneath us, and no echo of its roar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> reaches this spot. A +few sheep are nibbling the short grass; the golden star-flowers and the +pink heather plumes at our feet are the lineal descendants, for aught we +can conceive, of star-flowers and heather plumes that flourished here a +thousand years ago,—so undisturbed a possession has Nature had In this +realm of hers for ages. No change, improvement, growth, has added to or +taken from Staffa. Storm-washed in winter, flower-crowned in summer, its +history is forever the same. Sitting here among the heather tufts, and +looking off on the limitless blue sea and the neighboring islands, it is +not hard to dream one's self away into by-gone centuries, to imagine +Bruce and his faithful islesmen sailing past as they go forth to rouse +the clans, or, diving deeper into legendary days, to picture Fingal +himself and his warlike allies bending their white sails towards the +ocean-palace that still claims him as its traditionary king.</p> + +<p>"O Ossian, Carril, and Ullin! you know of heroes that are no more. Give +us the song of other years. Raise, ye bards of other times, raise high +the praise of heroes; that my son! may settle on their fame."</p> + +<p>"Soon shall my voice be heard no more, and my footsteps cease to be +seen," was the prophetic cry of the "first of a thousand heroes," as he +learned from "Ullin, the bard of song" that his young son Ryno was "with +the awful forms of his fathers." But "the bards will tell of Fingal's +name, the stones will talk of me," was the consolatory thought of him, +who, grown old in fame, had a foreshadowing of the glory which would +hang round his memory, when he exclaimed, "But before I go hence, one +beam of fame shall rise, I will remain renowned; the departure of my +soul shall be a stream of light."</p> + +<p>And who among ancient heroes could better deserve to have his memory +embalmed than he whom an honorable foe thus eulogized?—"Blest be thy +soul, thou king of shells! In peace thou art the gale of spring; in war, +the mountain storm." And what touching interest to us of later times +hangs round this legendary champion of the right, when we listen to his +mingled strain of triumph, lament, and justification!—"When will Fingal +cease to fight? I was born in the midst of battles, and my steps must +move in blood to the tomb, But my hand did not injure the weak, my steel +did not touch the feeble in arms. I behold thy tempests, O Morven! which +will overturn my halls, when my children are dead in battle, and none +remains to dwell in Selma. Then will the feeble come, but they will not +know my tomb. My renown is only in song, My deeds shall be as a dream to +future times!"</p> + +<p>Yes, a dream,—and we are the dreamers. The songs of the bards are +ringing in our ears, and though no stone marks the tomb of Fingal, the +stones talk of him; the great basaltic columns are his memorial pillars, +and the sea yet sounds his dirge as its wailing echo sweeps mournfully +through Fingal's Cave.</p> + +<p>But hark! The bell of the Pioneer is rousing us with the cry, "Wake up, +ye dreamers! Come back from the clouds, ye visionaries!" The time for +Staffa is up, and the steamer, like a cackling hen who is eager to call +her brood together, commences a system of coaxing, warning, and threat, +which soon results in the converging of her passengers from every +quarter of the island. Most of them are by this time rambling over its +upper surface, and all make for the rough stairway where the comparative +difficulties of the "ascensus" and "descensus" are in complete +contradiction to classical authority: the former having been +accomplished with ease, while the latter proves a terrific experience. +There is truly something maternal about the Pioneer; for here, as at +every other point of difficulty on our excursion, faithful guides are +stationed and strong hands outstretched for our assistance. Still it is +with a plunge,—half a nightmare and half a miracle,—that we, who are +among the earliest to make the experiment, arrive safely at the bottom, +and, stepping on board<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> a boat, regain the steamer, where we sit at our +leisure and laugh at the absurd figure made by later comers as they +scramble down the cliff: Sir Thomas even forgetting his dignity in the +difficulties of the operation, and the interjectional phrases of her +Ladyship, as she now and then comes to a hopeless stand-still, tickling +our ears at the distance where we sit watching them.</p> + +<p>Our entire party fairly on board, the Pioneer, now panting to be off, +sets her wheels in motion and starts on her further course, not, +however, without first skirting the base of the island and affording us, +as I have already intimated, one last view of Fingal's Cave, and that +the finest. It is an impressive circumstance, that at this moment the +attention of the tourist on the steamer's deck is divided between +Nature's great cathedral and man's early efforts in the same +direction,—that immediately opposite the pillared vestibule of the +Staffa minster the Abbey tower of the Blessed Isle looms boldly on our +view, the mimic architecture of man paying silent homage to the spot,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Where, as to shame the temples decked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By skill of earthly architect,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A minster to her Maker's praise!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not for a meaner use ascend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her columns, or her arches bend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor of a theme less solemn tells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mighty surge that ebbs and swells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still, between each awful pause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the high vault an answer draws,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In varied tone, prolonged and high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mocks the organ's melody.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor doth its entrance front in vain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To old Iona's holy fane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Nature's voice might seem to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Well hast thou clone, frail child of clay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy humble powers that stately shrine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tasked high and hard,—but witness mine!'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And so, with a great lesson behind us and before, we sail away on that +summer sea and bid farewell to Staffa. The timid seal whom we have +disturbed creeps back to her cell, the wild-fowl returns to its nest, +the sea-swell rolls in and out in waves unbroken by our keel, and the +warm sun holds all in his soft embrace. The winter winds will roar +through the cavern erelong, the ocean lash pillar and ceiling with its +foam, tempests will beat and rage against its giant columns, the stormy +petrel will flap its wings in the archway, and the piercing cry of the +sea-gull keep time to the diapason of the deep; but the massive +structure whose corner-stone is hid beneath the waters, and which leans +upon the Rock of Ages, will still defy the tempest and loom in lonely +grandeur, alike in summer's smile and winter's frown the dwelling-place +of the Almighty. Iona's walls, reared centuries ago, and dedicated to +Him by human tribute, have crumbled or are fast crumbling to decay; but +this mighty temple, whose foundations no man laid, has gazed calmly +through all these ages at man's feeble work, and will gaze unchanged +until He who holds the sea in the hollow of His hand shall uproot its +columns.</p> + + +<p>III.</p> + +<p>Now on to Iona, a distance of seven or eight miles, a formidable voyage, +perhaps, for early pilgrims to this sacred shrine, to us barely +affording time for dinner, a meal of which I have no remembrance of +partaking on this eventful day,—though my recollections would doubtless +have been more poignant, if I had failed to do so,—and of which I can +at least certify that it was sumptuous and well-served, since the +luxurious habits of life enjoyed on these floating hotels of the +Hutchesons are proverbial, and the flavor of good cheer still clings to +my palate, especially that of the daily "salmon so fresh as still to +retain its creamy curd."</p> + +<p>The approach to Iona, Icolmkill, or Colmeskill, as it is variously +termed, has in it nothing imposing, if we except the ancient Abbey, +already descried at a distance, and the neighboring ruins, the simple +fact of whose presence in this lonely isle is suggestive of all that has +given interest and sanctity to this cradle of Christianity in Britain. +On landing at the rude pier, formed of masses of gneiss and granite +boulders, we find ourselves opposite the modern village, a row of some +forty cottages, running parallel with the shore,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> and, as is the case in +nearly all Scotch villages, including both an established and a free +church. We have scarcely set foot on the beach before we have a +verification of Wordsworth's experience:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"How sad a welcome! To each voyager<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some ragged child holds up for sale a store<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wave-worn pebbles, pleading on the shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where once came monk and nun with gentle stir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessings to give, news ask, or suit prefer."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But I have no heart to find fault with this small fry of the modern +fishing-town, whose trade in pressed sea-weeds, shells, and stones is +now so extensive that near the ruins they have established rival +counters, and are a most clamorous set of persecutors; for I still have +pleasure in looking on the really precious and suggestive mementos of +the place which they thrust upon me, a willing victim.</p> + +<p>A little to the rear of the village, though still nearly on a level with +the beach, are the ruins, to which we are guided by Archibald Macdonald, +chief boatman, and authorized to act as our cicerone. In setting forth +on our explorations, we must premise that little now remains to mark the +age of the Culdees and the simple life of St. Columba and those +companions of his apostolic zeal who first settled in Iona, and thence, +going forth in pilgrim fashion and with the endurance of pilgrim +hardships, diffused Christianity through Britain. A huge mound, or +cairn, yet marks the place where the missionaries first landed; and +there are still, in a remote part of the island, vestiges of the rude +dwelling-place or cell in which the Culdees first made their abode and +set up the cross as a luminary for the yet uncivilized nations. With the +exception of these rude vestiges, the tradition of their virtues and the +results of their self-sacrificing labors are their only memorial. But +the standard which they planted followers of later ages have continued +to maintain; and the monastic buildings, now more or less ruinous, and +marking successive eras of Church history, are all of great antiquity, +many being of a date so remote that the records of them are merely +traditional. But wherever the pilgrim turns his eye or sets his foot, +voices whisper to him that this is holy ground. The very silence and +mystery which inwrap the place have a tendency to exalt the soul; and +although doubts may arise in regard to some of the traditions, and +incredulity may condemn others as simply mythical, faith so often +becomes sight, and the essence of faith is so triumphant everywhere, as +to make us feel, with the great moralist, that "that man is little to be +envied whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, +or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona."</p> + +<p>Our first visit is to the Nunnery, of which the chapel only remains +standing. The style of its architecture is Norman, and it probably dates +no farther back than the beginning of the thirteenth century. The tomb +of the Princess Anna, the last prioress, is still preserved, though much +defaced by the rude feet of soulless tourists. Her figure is sculptured +in bas-relief on the stone, and the mirror and comb which are introduced +as symbolic of the female sex suggest that instinct of decoration +inherent in woman, and which, if superfluous anywhere, certainly would +be so in a nunnery at Iona. There is a sad interest in the remains of +this sanctuary, the only refuge for innocence and gentleness in a +barbarous age, when many a votary was doubtless driven hither by motives +similar to those which actuated the fair maid of Lorn, of whom Sir +Walter Scott tells us,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The maid has given her maiden heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Ronald of the Isles;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, fearful lest her brother's word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bestow her on that English lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She seeks Iona's piles;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wisely deems it best to dwell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A vot'ress in the holy cell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until these feuds, so fierce and fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The abbot reconciles."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"The cemetery of the nunnery," as we learn on the authority of Dr. +Johnson, and at the date of his visit, "was, till very lately, regarded +with such reverence that only women were buried in it." And how the +burly speech and rugged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> bluntness characteristic of the old philosopher +are softened and atoned for, to my thinking, when he adds, "These relics +of veneration always produce some mournful pleasure. I could have +forgiven a great injury more easily than the violation of this imaginary +sanctity."</p> + +<p>Next to its renown as an ancient seat of piety and learning, it is as a +burial-place that Iona is chiefly known and venerated. Though it is +difficult now to identify the tombs of kings, or to distinguish them +from those of the humbler individuals who have found a last +resting-place in Reilig Orain, the burial-place of St. Oran, it is +unquestionably true that the sanctity of the island gave it a preference +over any other spot as a place of sepulture, especially for royalty,—a +preference, doubtless, partly due to the belief in an ancient Gaëlic +prophecy, which foretold that before the end of the world "the sea at +one tide shall cover Ireland and the green-headed Islay, but Columba's +Isle shall swim above the flood."</p> + +<p>Forty Scottish kings are said to have been interred in Iona, among whom +we have Shakspeare's authority for including King Duncan.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Rosse.</i> Where is Duncan's body?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Macd.</i> Carried to Colmeskill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sacred storehouse of his predecessors,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And guardian of their bones."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Among the monuments of Christianity in Iona, none are more conspicuous +and eloquent than the numerous crosses, of which the original number is +said to have been three hundred and sixty. Most of them have been +ruthlessly carried away or demolished. For myself, much as I deplore the +Vandalism which has mutilated nearly all these sacred memorials, I can +well dispense with the other three hundred and fifty-nine crosses for +the sake of the vivid recollection, I may almost say consciousness, I +have of one, that of St. Martin, which stands upright and in good +preservation just at the entrance of the cathedral inclosure, and +produces a solemn effect upon the mind of every reverential beholder. It +consists of a solid column of mica schist, fourteen feet in height, +fixed in a massive pedestal of red granite, and is of substantial rather +than graceful proportions. It is carved in high relief, and on one side +is sculptured with emblematic devices, of which the Virgin and Child, +surrounded by cherubs, occupy the central place. But its most +characteristic feature is its antiquity, enhanced to the eye by the gray +lichens and the rust of time, with which it is so incrusted that it +presents a hoary and venerable aspect, and seems the embodiment of that +ancient faith to which the whole island is consecrated. Here saints and +abbots of distant ages have knelt and wept and prayed, and caught the +inspiration for their labor of love, and here still, if we listen to the +voices in our hearts, we may hear the Spirit's whisper, and he who runs +may read the everliving sermon written on the old gray stone.</p> + +<p>We have now gained the Cathedral, by far the best preserved and most +imposing of the ruined edifices of Iona,—a building which exhibits +various styles of architecture, and which is probably of more recent +construction than the other monastic or ecclesiastical monuments. It is +cruciform, and the square tower at the intersection, about seventy feet +in height, remains entire. The building is unroofed: for here, as in the +case of every other ancient structure on the island, every particle of +wood-work has been carried away, that material being too precious in +Iona to escape being converted to utilitarian purposes. The dimensions +of the cathedral or abbey church are spacious, and it boasted, even in +recent centuries, a noble altar and many other decorations, of which it +has been despoiled,—partly, no doubt, by the inhabitants of the island; +but tourists and pilgrims to the place are in no slight degree +responsible for these depredations, since, in their eagerness for +mementos, they have mercilessly robbed and mutilated it, and it is +prophesied, that, in spite of every possible precaution, many of the +interesting memorials of antiquity in Iona will soon be unrecognizable +or will have ceased to exist.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>The tomb of Abbot Mackinnon, who died in 1500, though greatly defaced, +still exhibits a sculptured figure of its occupant, thought to do much +credit to the art of that period; and the largest monument in the +island, that of Macleod of Macleod, is still preserved. It is in this +church that the celebrated "Black Stones" of Iona were kept, on which +the old Highland chieftains were accustomed to take oaths of contract or +allegiance, and for which they entertained so sincere a reverence that +oaths thus ratified were never broken. Dr. Johnson observes,—"In those +days of violence and rapine, it was of great importance to impress upon +savage minds the sanctity of an oath, by some particular and +extraordinary circumstances. They would not have recourse to the black +stones upon small or common occasions; and when they had established +their faith by this tremendous sanction, inconstancy and treachery were +no longer feared."</p> + +<p>Though neither the ancient structures nor the modern village of Iona are +situated much above the sea-level, and are so near to the shore as to +constitute the foreground of the picture, as seen from the usual +landing-place, the island is not without its highlands, which rise to a +considerable elevation immediately behind the village, some bold cliffs +even obtruding themselves upon our return pathway to the steamer: for I +can recall the picturesque effect produced upon the landscape by the +figure of one of the Baronet's daughters, seated at her ease upon the +summit of a huge, precipitous rock, her sketch-book in her lap, and her +pencil busily delineating the prospect in our direction. I scarcely +think, however, that, like the travelling photographer, she dreamed of +including her fellow-tourists in her sketch-book of reminiscences, any +more than I then anticipated the day when I should be tempted to +illustrate mine by her own and her sister's portraits.</p> + +<p>I believe some rare ferns are to be found in Iona; it includes in its +vegetable kingdom one hawthorn, and a species of dwarf-oak is said to +occur there sparingly; but I cannot remember seeing even the most +inferior specimen of a tree upon the island. Bareness, desolation, is +its one characteristic,—a feature from which the meanness and poverty +of the row of village huts by no means detracts. As, once more +re-embarked on our steamer, we take a final view of Iona, the external +impression is meagre and poor indeed. So much the warmer and more +animated, then, is the glow of enthusiasm and gratitude with which we +dwell on the piety and self-sacrifice of those saints of old with whose +memory the Blessed Isle is still fragrant. Nor are the piety and zeal of +God's saints perpetuated chiefly by ecclesiastical monuments, or +embalmed in human hearts alone; for,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">"when, subjected to a common doom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mutability, those far-famed piles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall disappear from both the sister Isles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Iona's saints, forgetting not past days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Garlands shall wear of amaranthine bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While heaven's vast sea of voices chants their praise."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Is it the weariness of body entailed on us by our pilgrimages among the +wonders of Staffa and the ruins of Iona,—is it the mind overtasked by +the effort to grasp and comprehend so much of interest and novelty,—or +is it the soul tuned to deeper thoughts and holier sympathies than are +wont to engage it, which steeps us for the remainder of our voyage in +the luxury of repose? A mingling of all, I suspect. And happily the +sentiment seems universal. Christie, who, warned by her painful +experience of the steamer's oscillations, as she swung like a pendulum +on the sea-swell off Staffa, has been only too glad to accompany us on +shore at Iona, is not only relieved of her sea-sickness, but insured for +the rest of the trip. Somehow she, the Bailie, and I find ourselves +among that large proportion of our company who have gradually migrated +to the forward part of the boat, where, forgetful of the +conventionalities which have hitherto restrained us, we are grouped on +the fore-deck in whatever listless or indolent attitude the prevailing +mood may suggest. The August afternoon is drawing to a close, and the +sun is declining. Our share in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> day's labor—though it be but +laborious pleasure—is done; the remainder of the task devolves on the +Pioneer, and, while she ploughs the waves, we have but to rest, +meditate, and congratulate ourselves and one another. There is a hum of +merry voices from the knot of gay young Scots, whose spirits are toned +down, not damped, by the experiences of the day. Our English girls, with +their young brother, are prettily grouped on the deck-floor, the latter +stretched at the feet of the youngest girl, and exchanging with her +those sweet confidences which always exist between a chivalrous boy and +the sister nearest his own age. Their confiding parents have remained +aft, as have a majority of the elders of the company; but, though youth, +freedom, and high natural spirits preponderate at our end of the boat, +peace seems to be brooding over us with dove-like wings.</p> + +<p>We are still skirting the bold, precipitous shores of Mull, the central +loadstone which has kept us all day to our course, and now and then our +attention is especially engrossed by the view of her rugged cliffs, +terrible in winter's storms, and her natural arches of basalt, through +which the sea washes at high-water, and which betray in every feature a +family likeness to great Staffa. But for the most part our hearts and +thoughts now are with the past, and gratitude and thanksgiving are +welling up within us for a day on which sunshine, fair breezes, and a +prosperous voyage have combined with Nature's most glorious revelations +and humanity's holiest relics in opening up to us pleasures and +privileges beyond compare. Or, if a thought of the future mingles with +our meditations, it is the rapturous thought that these gifts of +Providence once ours are ours for a life-time.</p> + +<p>At length, a softening of the majestic landscape, a contraction from the +sea's wide expanse into comparatively still waters, and, bidding +farewell to Mull, we have entered the Sound of Kerrera, and the great +island is hid from us by its less imposing sister, Kerrera Island, the +same that land-locks the Bay of Oban. We have but to make our way +through the picturesque channel, whose scenery is already familiar to +our eyes, and now Dunolly, the moss-crowned warder of the bay, greets us +once more, her friendly face, as we sweep into our little harbor, +seeming to hail us with a "Welcome Home!"</p> + +<p>Home to the Caledonian, where a "towsy tea," as my Scotch friends would +term it, awaits the tired and hungry travellers: a motley, substantial +meal: fowls of the daintiest,—fresh herring, never eaten in such +perfection as on the Hebridean coast,—honey-comb of the tint of burnt +umber,—fragrant, ambrosial honey, the very juice of the heather, the +crystallized sun and dew in which these unshadowed hills bask and bathe +without let or hindrance.</p> + +<p>Then a stroll round the bay and along the white sea-wall, now glistening +in the moonlight, and then to bed, to dream perhaps of Ossian's heroes, +of storm-swept castles, of old monkish rites, and of the ocean +cathedral's eternal chant,—dreams which, however varied and strange, +can lull the spirit into no softer illusions, can rouse it to no wilder +ecstasies than the reality of our experience in our twelve hours' sail +round Mull.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="JOHN_BRIGHT_AND_THE_ENGLISH_RADICALS" id="JOHN_BRIGHT_AND_THE_ENGLISH_RADICALS"></a>JOHN BRIGHT AND THE ENGLISH RADICALS.</h2> + + +<p>In the June number of this magazine a review of the career of Richard +Cobden presented the lifelong activity and loftiness of purpose which +distinguished that great man, whom we have so recently been called to +mourn. It is our purpose to record something of his friend and ally, Mr. +Bright, whose devotion to America has led him for once to raise his +voice in vindication of war, as the only method of preserving liberty.</p> + +<p>John Bright was born at Greenbank, near the thrifty town of Rochdale, on +the 16th of November, 1811. His father was Mr. Jacob Bright, a gentleman +who, by his own exertions, had risen from humble means to wealth, in the +vocation of a cotton manufacturer. John was the second of eleven +children, the oldest of whom died in infancy. The family were devoted +members of the Society of Friends, and the subject of this sketch still +adheres to the hereditary faith. John's health, during childhood, caused +much solicitude to his parents. His constitution was apparently feeble, +and it was found that study injured his already delicate system. At the +age of fifteen he was taken from school, and placed in his father's +counting-room. Mr. Jacob Bright was a shrewd, yet highly honorable man, +entirely engrossed in the superintendence of his business, and an adept +in the conduct of his manufactory. It was his ambition that his sons +should follow in his footsteps, and should become, like himself, +influential members of the commercial community. He doubtless +underrated, as the class to which he belonged are apt to do in England, +the value of a university education; and as soon as the boys reached the +suitable age, they were set to work in the mills. Had John Bright +received the culture which a residence at Oxford or Cambridge would have +afforded him, he would doubtless have occupied a place in the first rank +of that group of accomplished statesmen who now grace either House of +Parliament, and whose elegant erudition is as conspicuous as their +enlightened statecraft. As it was, we find him spending his youth at the +desk, learning how to buy and sell, and how to rule the miniature +commonwealth which an English manufactory presents. In the discharge of +these duties he proved himself skilful, prompt, and energetic.</p> + +<p>As he grew to manhood, however, a new interest and a new ambition awoke +within him. He had always been more of a thinker than the other members +of his family. When scarcely twenty, he had addressed the people of +Rochdale in favor of the great Reform of 1832, and with the effect of +giving him at that early age a local popularity. He had seemingly thrown +his vigorous mind into the study of the complex elements of the +Constitution, with especial reference to those parts which affected +commerce and manufactures. From such studies he had become the confirmed +disciple of those doctrines which, with a narrower view to +self-interest, the commercial class almost universally adopted. When the +passage of the Reform Bill had quieted for a while the agitation on that +score, Mr. Bright, his interest being now thoroughly awakened to the +excitements of a public career, turned his attention to the Temperance +question, then much mooted in the larger towns. The idea of total +abstinence was at that time new to Englishmen, and Mr. Bright was one of +the earliest champions of that principle, which has since attracted so +many powerful orators, and which has reclaimed so many from the +debasement of the cup. In the year 1835, Mr. Bright, with a view to +extending his experience, and in order to observe the systems of other +nations, made the tour of the Continent, extending his travels to Athens +and Palestine. On his return, he was invited to lecture before the local +Institute at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> Rochdale, and he delivered a series of lectures, taking as +his subjects the observations he had made abroad. These he followed by +another series on questions more nearly connected with the practical +interests of his auditors,—putting before them with admirable +perspicuity the ideas he had formed on the commercial policy of England. +About this time contentions arose respecting the Church Rates, and Mr. +Bright took active ground for their abolition.</p> + +<p>The sufferings of the manufacturing class now revived that agitation +against the Corn-Laws which had once before engaged the earnest +attention of the country. Mr. Bright had the patent evidence all around +him of the misery which the inequitable adjustment of the tariff had +created. The class over whom he had supervision were materially affected +by this injustice. With that promptness which is one of his conspicuous +qualities, he devoted himself to the study of the science which would +open to him the causes, consequences, and remedies of the evils which a +legalized monopoly had brought into existence. He found that the landed +proprietors, whose influence in Parliament had long continued paramount +through the protection of the Tory party, had secured laws which enabled +them to enjoy the monopoly of the corn trade, to the practical exclusion +of foreign competition. Prices were thus increased to such an extent, as +to put it beyond the power of factory hands, with the wages which their +employers could afford to pay them, to buy bread.</p> + +<p>The distress of the operatives from this cause was already great, and +was constantly becoming more serious and more alarming. The lower +classes of England have never been patient under unusual pressure. They +are prone to take redress by violent resistance to law. Thus the +agricultural ascendency threatened to drive the rival element to +desperation. The Tories, led by Wellington, already obnoxious from their +long opposition to Reform, steadily maintained the existing laws, and +continued to be the devoted partisans of the landed interest. The +aristocratic Whigs, who were in power under Viscount Melbourne, and who +were reaping the fruit of a reform carried by the cooperation of +popular leaders, were reluctant to do more than make slight +modifications,—modifications which still left the evil great and +dangerous. At this juncture, a new force sprang up, which from small +beginnings finally effected a total revolution in the economical policy +of the Government. This was the Anti-Corn-Law League. It was instituted +by a number of liberal noblemen and gentlemen in Parliament, who had the +sense to perceive, and the wisdom to provide for, the gloomy crisis +which seemed to be impending. Charles Pelham Villiers, a son of the Earl +of Clarendon, and one of the ablest of the younger generation of +statesmen, was the most prominent leader. The object of the association +was to organize a crusade against agricultural tyranny, and to effect +the abrogation of the odious laws by which farmers grew rich by starving +manufacturers. As usual with all organizations for reform, the League at +first met with clamorous denunciation from all quarters, was sneered at +in Parliament, and laughed at by the great proprietors. But it grew +rapidly. Every day people awakened more and more to the increasing +necessity. The champions of the League, spreading among the rural +communities, eloquently and convincingly pointed out the great evils +which they sought to eradicate. They were untiring in their exertions, +and their success was beyond their best hopes.</p> + +<p>The great advantage to be gained by keeping their cause in constant +agitation before the public made the Leaguers desirous to employ active +and eloquent orators. John Bright, in his twenty-seventh year, began to +speak in advocacy of commercial reform in his own neighborhood. The +League heard of him, called him to their assistance, and he became one +of their authorized speakers. This was a triumph not a little flattering +to a young merchant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> whose training had been in a manufactory, and to +whom the field of forensic eloquence was entirely new. He was thoroughly +convinced, both from observation and from a naturally quick reason, that +the principles of which he was now to be a public advocate were just and +practical. His whole soul was in the effort to alleviate suffering, and +to find a balance between interests which had been, but were not of +necessity, conflicting. With that hearty zeal which has ever since +marked his public career, he entered the political arena, turned over to +his partners the affairs of the firm, and devoted himself to the study +and exposition of the new commercial theories. Through the influence of +the League, he obtained opportunities to speak in many considerable +places; and he every-day increased his reputation as a vigorous reasoner +and a pleasing speaker. He went boldly into the agricultural districts, +where the hard-headed old Tories who believed in Wellington formed his +audiences, and put to them unwelcome truths which they found it hard to +swallow. On one occasion he appeared before a large assemblage at +Drury-Lane Theatre, when the effect of his eloquence was such that his +name became immediately known throughout the kingdom. Copies of the +speech were distributed by order of the League, and Bright found himself +in demand from all quarters. Working in concert with Villiers, Morpeth, +and the other leaders, he assisted in instituting branches of the League +in the principal cities. Besides his unquestioned ability as an orator, +he had one advantage which most of his co-workers did not possess,—he +was emphatically a man of the people. He came out from the busy +community in which he was born and reared, to labor for the people. +Those who might distrust a Villiers or a Howard,—who might suspect that +an agitation set on foot by noblemen was designed for selfish ends,—who +might be indifferent to those whom they had been accustomed to regard as +political schemers,—would trust and follow one who threw aside his +commercial vocation and came forward to sustain that commercial interest +in which he himself was concerned. He could gain the ear and reason of +many who would not listen to one whose profession was political +agitation. Thus his influence became considerable; his origin reassuring +his hearers, his eloquence charming them, and his honesty and +earnestness commanding their sympathy and approval.</p> + +<p>The rapid spread of Free-Trade principles, resulting from the organized +efforts of the League, and from the demonstration, which actual +occurrences confirmed, that the farming monopoly could not continue, +gave the leaders of the League much importance in Parliament. The Whigs, +nay, even the more moderate Tories, began to profess conversion to +Free-Trade doctrines. When Parliament was dissolved in 1841, both +parties went to the country on the issue of Free-Trade or Protection. +Sir Robert Peel, who afterward became the patriotic instrument by which +the Corn-Laws fell, represented those who adhered to Protection and the +agricultural interest. Lord Melbourne came forward as the advocate of +those principles which the League had been the first to avow, and which +as Premier he had not been anxious to put in practice. Notwithstanding +the Reform of 1832, the landed nobility still retained a large control +in the composition of the House of Commons. Peel had organized the +Conservatives with great tact, and the ministry of Melbourne was +suffering from the weakness of internal dissension. The result of the +election was, that Peel's candidates were so generally successful that +he gained a clear working majority in the House, and he consequently +became Prime-Minister.</p> + +<p>It was soon after the Conservatives thus attained office that John +Bright came forward as a candidate for Parliament in the northern city +of Durham. The Free-Traders were wise enough to seek the assistance of +the best men their ranks could furnish. Bright, it was universally +thought, would be a valuable auxiliary, coming as he did from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +mercantile class, and possessing a clear mind and ready tongue. Durham +was conservative by tradition. In 1843 the city rejected Bright; but in +1844, so rapid was the growth of Liberalism, that the same constituency +returned him to the House of Commons by a handsome majority.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Sir Robert Peel, elected and supported by Protectionists, was +gradually turning his steps toward the more liberal policy which his +opponents had advocated. Soon after assuming office, he had proposed a +modification of the tariff. The Duke of Buckingham, representing the +extreme wing of the Protectionists, resigned in alarm. The Premier did +not falter, but approached still nearer the Free-Trade standard. Lord +Stanley, a stronger man than Buckingham, retired from the council-board. +When John Bright entered Parliament, Peel was rapidly coming to the +abolition of the Corn-Laws. Bright at once mingled in the debates, which +now daily absorbed the attention of the House, on the one question +before the country. The little band of Leaguers stood in the front rank +of the opposition. They were pressing Sir Robert, by steady and +oft-repeated appeals, to make the final concession. To the voices of +Villiers, Morpeth, Russell, Gibson, were added the sonorous tones of the +merchant-orator, and he maintained the debate with the best, whether of +friends or foes. He reasoned with such clearness, he brought the evils +of the corn monopoly so vividly before the minds of his auditors, he +pressed the necessity and justice of its abrogation with such power of +argument, that from that day he took rank as one of the first speakers +and logicians in the lower House.</p> + +<p>Sir Robert soon threw aside all party and selfish considerations, and +did fearlessly what his judgment convinced him was urgently demanded by +the interests of the country. He proposed the repeal of the Corn-Laws. +He thus exhibited a rare spirit for an English statesman,—a spirit of +self-sacrifice for the public good. His old associates assailed him with +bitter, powerful eloquence. The Whigs, whose thunder he had stolen, +looked with the coldness of partisan selfishness upon his conversion to +their views. But in spite of every discouragement, he carried that +magnanimous measure through both Houses by his influence as First Lord +of the Treasury. Hardly ever during the present century has Parliament +been more electrified by stirring and splendid contests of forensic +genius than during these debates on the repeal. And in these debates +John Bright proved a worthy competitor to Disraeli, whose caustic +oratory was justly feared,—and to Stanley, whose excellence in +rejoinder made him to be regarded as the equal of Fox in extempore +debate.</p> + +<p>The fall of Sir Robert Peel, who could not retain power whilst Tories +and Whigs were alike arrayed against him, was followed by the elevation +of Lord John Russell and his Whig friends to the ministry. Several of +the leaders of the League accepted office; but John Bright received no +overtures from the new Premier. No thought of personal ambition, indeed, +seems to have entered into his views. Possessing that independence and +fearlessness which men of his origin are apt to exhibit, and deeply +interested in the new field in which he found himself, his sole desire +seems to have been to arrive at a knowledge of what would most benefit +his country. In this search, he rejected all party creeds. He declined +to put himself under a pledge to abide by the will of a caucus. He +considered himself bound by no precedent which was unjust, committed to +no policy which did not have a present reason. He was ready to act with +the party that sustained, in each individual case, the measure which he +considered right; nor would he hesitate to vote with those with whom he +usually found himself at variance, if they brought forward measures +which his judgment approved.</p> + +<p>At the time Lord Russell came into power, Mr. Bright was regarded as +opposed to the Established Church and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> to the House of Lords, as +favorable to a system of general suffrage, and as decidedly +anti-monarchical in political theory. With opinions so radical the +aristocratic Whigs were the last to have any sympathy. They were much +less likely to encourage that class of politicians than their old +antagonists, the Tories. The reason is evident. Radicalism, by startling +the masses by the novelty of its doctrines, and thus driving a large +majority to seek certain safety under the protection of the Tories, had +kept the Whigs out of Whitehall for half a century. John Wilkes and +Horne Tooke secured Pitt in his power. Francis Burdett and his +confederates faithfully served Liverpool. If Lord Russell should +recognize the later Radicals by calling one of their leaders to his +counsels, he might well fear a defection far outweighing the +acquisition. Thus Mr. Bright, an active participant in the contest for +Free Trade, which had just resulted in a complete victory, cheerfully +continued to be simply an independent commoner, representing the +constituency of Durham,—free to judge, and to speak his honest +thought,—at liberty to advocate reforms more thorough than ministers +dared to propose,—ready to represent the feelings and wants of that +great multitude of Englishmen to whom the timeworn restrictions of the +franchise prohibited a voice in the Government,—anxious to keep ideas +in agitation which needed stout hearts and steady heads to maintain them +in existence.</p> + +<p>In 1847, the ministers having caused his defeat as member for Durham, he +became the successful contestant for the seat for Manchester. This +metropolis of manufacture was then the centre, as it is now, of extreme +liberal notions. The fame of Mr. Bright, who had gone forth into public +life from its immediate neighborhood, was grateful to a district which +sorely needed such an advocate. He continued to represent Manchester +through the Parliament which sustained and finally ousted Lord John +Russell. In 1852, when the Premier, joining issue with Lord Derby, +(formerly Lord Stanley,) went to the country, Mr. Bright again stood for +Manchester, and was gratified by receiving a majority of eleven hundred. +It was the just reward of labors incessant and courageous, to keep the +interests of the constituency always before the legislature, and to +bring about that system of equality to which they were thoroughly +devoted. Mr. Bright continued to represent Manchester until 1857. During +the session of that year, the late Mr. Cobden, the earnest co-worker +with Mr. Bright, brought forward a motion condemnatory of the Chinese +War, then transpiring under the conduct of Lord Palmerston's Government. +The House divided against the minister. The Radicals and Conservatives +were in a majority. Palmerston dissolved Parliament, and appealed to the +nation. Bright once more went before his constituents, on the issue of +war or peace with China. His notions respecting the iniquity of war in +general, which resulted from his Quaker education, and his opinion that +this attack on the Celestial Empire was especially unjustifiable, were +not welcome to the electors of Manchester. His opponent, like himself a +radical Whig, but an advocate of the war, was returned by five thousand +votes. In 1859 Palmerston being again forced to the expedient of a new +election, Mr. Bright was invited to stand as a candidate for the +constituency of Birmingham, by whom he was returned to Parliament, where +he has since continued to represent them. Here he has been very active +in the advocacy of his own peculiar doctrines, some of which have within +a few years gained much in public estimation. Independent of all +parties, he votes usually with the ministry, but sometimes follows Mr. +Disraeli and Lord Stanley below the bar on a division of the House.</p> + +<p>This record of eighteen years in the House of Commons is certainly a +remarkable one. While constantly opposing both of the great parties, Mr. +Bright has won the respect of all. His ability as a logician and as an +effective speaker, and his evident honesty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> and earnestness of purpose, +are conceded by every one. The courage and persistency with which he has +upheld unpopular doctrines compel the admiration of those who recoil +from the changes which he seeks to effect. It is not too much to say +that his character has greatly enhanced the influence of those for whom +he acts, and of whom he is the unquestioned leader. The Radicals were a +mere handful when Bright entered Parliament. They are now beginning to +be feared. Several of the largest and most prosperous cities regularly +send Radical members to Westminster. Some of the profoundest thinkers in +England are inclined to admit that the time is approaching when Radical +ideas shall become practical. Many of them already declare these ideas +to be abstractly just. The English are getting <i>accustomed</i> to Radical +doctrines. In due time they will be ready to pass a fair judgment upon +them.</p> + +<p>The progressive party in a nation too often possesses leaders who, being +low-born, are coarse and lawless, or who seek to foster discontent by an +artful demagoguism. A good cause is often discountenanced and rendered +futile by reason of the ignorance or wickedness of those who have been +prominent in its advocacy. John Wilkes and Thomas Paine scandalized the +cause of progress in their time by the profligacy of their lives and the +badness of their motives. So did Robespierre and Danton by the cruel +ambition which actuated them. The character of such men naturally +frightened people of honest intentions from their leadership; while the +extremities to which they carried their views deterred men of practical +sense from upholding them. The reformers of the present generation, +however, exhibit traits which command respect. They pursue a course +which, if not altogether moderate or suited to the times, is evidently +grounded upon deductions of thoughtful reason.</p> + +<p>If we were to compress the description of Mr. Bright's character into a +few words, we should say he was honest, earnest, fearless, eloquent. He +is honest; for he casts aside the objects of personal ambition in a life +devotion to an unpopular cause. He is earnest; for he is constant to his +faith, untiring in the effort to instil it into the community. He is +fearless,—morally fearless; for he permits no obstacle, no obloquy, no +powerful antagonism, to check him in the expression of unwelcome +thoughts. He is eloquent; inasmuch as he stands up amid the silence of +the most critical and restless legislature in the world, and compels +members to listen, without interruption, to ideas which in the opinion +of the vast majority are hateful and destructive. His character, as it +has been displayed by a consistent public record, bears the stamp of +truth and ingenuousness. He is candid, almost to a fault. He has no +subtle statecraft; he recognizes no code of expediency. He is impatient +of that spirit which actuates statesmen as a class to sacrifice +something of good for the practical attainment even of a worthy end,—a +spirit which, for our own part, we cannot wholly disapprove. While as a +business man his integrity is perfectly unimpeachable, as a legislator +his opponents have only to fear his strong and indignant eloquence: they +are safe from any thrust which is not open and manly. He was not +destined to become a great statesman: he is too rash, too little +tolerant of antagonistic opinion, too much inclined to absolute +conclusions, too open by nature in giving expression to his thoughts. In +the demolishing process which properly precedes, in a long-established +polity, the constructing process, he has every quality which would fit +him to be a leader. His Quaker blood is of little avail in making him +sit in patience whilst deep social wrongs stare him in the face on every +side. The uprising of the people, especially that peaceable uprising to +which the English people are by nature and precedent inclined to resort, +seeking to cure by prompt action what statesmanship has failed to mend, +would give him the best of opportunities. Quaker though he is, he would +revel in taking the van of a lawful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> reformation aimed at the abuses he +hates so heartily. So far as the expunging of an iniquitous law from the +statute-book goes, his work would be well done; but when the time came +to fill up the page with a new and just enactment, it would be his part +to yield to more deliberate and judicious counsels. Like Lord Brougham, +he is great in opposition. He can defend well; he can attack far better. +Aggressive warfare is his forte. He is as positive in his theological +and social as in his political opinions. He is a practical +philanthropist, leads a life of strict probity and temperance, and seeks +his pleasure, as well as his duty, in benefiting the human race. He +carries the nervousness and enthusiasm of his public displays into the +amenities of private life. Hearty in his friendships, and affable in +social intercourse, he is liked by most persons and respected by all. He +possesses in a remarkable degree that faculty which is considered as the +trait of an accomplished gentleman,—the faculty of putting you at once +at your ease. In temperament impulsive, he is perhaps too little mindful +of the feelings of others, and somewhat careless of his expressions when +pursuing a subject in which his attention is engrossed. In his manner +there is a blunt sincerity which one who is in his company for the first +time is apt to mistake almost for ill-temper. It, however, results from +his entirely candid disposition, his rigidly practical and business +education, and his carelessness of forms,—by no means from a want of +kindliness or an intention to be discourteous.</p> + +<p>A first glance gives one a very good impression of Mr. Bright's +character. He is of medium height, a little inclined to corpulency, +and quick and nervous in his movements. His eye is full of +intelligence,—small, bright, and sharp, apparently powerful to read +another through the countenance. Its expression is, perhaps, a little +hard; it seems to search your thought, and to detect the bent of your +mind. His face is a true British face,—round and full, with firmly set +mouth, positive chin, and that peculiar sort of <i>hauteur</i> which is a +national characteristic. His hair, somewhat gray, is brushed off his +forehead, which is broad and admirably proportioned; and he wears +whiskers on the side of his face, like most middle-aged Englishmen. His +voice is clear, his enunciation rapid, yet distinct, and his choice of +words exact,—excellent, indeed, for one self-educated in the correct +use of language.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bright is very attractive as an orator. When it is known that he is +to speak, the galleries are insufficient to hold the multitude which +gathers to hear him. His delivery is prompt and easy. He has none of +that hesitation and apparent timidity which mark the address of many +English orators; but neither, on the other hand, does he possess that +rich and fascinating intonation which forces us to concede the forensic +palm to Mr. Gladstone of all contemporary Englishmen. He expresses +himself with boldness, sometimes almost with rudeness. His declamation +is fresh, vigorous, and almost always even. At times he is unable to +preserve the moderation of language and manner which retains the mastery +over impulse; his indignation carries him away; his denunciation becomes +overwhelming; his full voice rings out, trembling with agitation, as he +exposes some wrongful or defends some good measure: then his vigorous +nature appears, unadorned by cultivated graces, but admirable for its +manliness and strength. This impetuosity, which is so prominent a +characteristic of his oratory, is in marked contrast with the manner of +the late Mr. Cobden, his friend and coöperator. Mr. Cobden was always +guarded, cautious, and studiously accurate, in his language. Mr. Bright +often says things, in the excitement of controversy, which exaggerate +his real sentiments, and which may be used to misrepresent his opinions. +Mr. Cobden, whose temperament was more phlegmatic, was careful to avoid +any undue heat of speech, and hence often passed, erroneously, for a +more moderate thinker than Mr. Bright.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is with pleasure that we turn for a moment to speak of Mr. Bright's +course towards America, and especially while we were suffering under the +plague of civil war. Ever since he entered public life, his admiration +of our institutions and history has been frequently the subject of his +discourse. He has not hesitated to declare that feeling when he must +have been aware how unwelcome it was to the greater part of his +countrymen. He has, indeed, recognized in our success the practical +attainment of those views to which he has so long been devoted, and +which his experience as a public man seems only to have confirmed. His +magnanimous mind has scornfully rejected that too prevalent English +characteristic,—envy at the growing power of a sister nation. He has +only seen in our progress a benefit and an example to mankind. As such +he has gloried in it, and not the less because we are a kindred race and +an offshoot from British civilization. The fact that we have been the +inheritors and partakers of the glories of the English nation, which +seems to increase the asperity with which many English statesmen now +regard us, is to Mr. Bright a greater reason why sympathy should be +extended to us. His speeches on America manifest a thorough knowledge of +our history and of the spirit of our Constitution. He has studied us in +the earnest desire to know and believe the truth, and faithfully to +present to others the results of his study. We do not think it +extravagant to say that few of our own public men evince a more +intelligent knowledge of our record than Mr. Bright: certainly in this +respect he is far in advance of the leading English statesmen. When in +1861 the Rebellion broke out, Mr. Bright raised his voice boldly against +the non-committal policy of England, in declaring herself neutral. He +seemed to comprehend at once the causes of the war. He correctly +regarded the North as really on the defensive,—defending the integrity +of the nation. He saw the cause of republican liberty trembling in the +balance. From that day to this,—at times when public indignation ran so +high in England that it was almost dangerous to justify the North,—at +times when to avow Northern sentiments was to be met with a howl from +Spithead to the Frith of Forth,—at times when his own supporters, the +manufacturing and commercial classes, feeling sore over the want of +cotton, bitterly complained and pleaded for intervention,—John Bright +has been our constant, zealous, and fearless champion, braving all +England in our cause, and never silent when we were to be vindicated. In +the issue of the war Mr. Bright will see the fruition of the hopes of +the lovers of liberty everywhere. He will rejoice in it as the +successful assertion by national power of those principles which he has +devoted his life to advocating. To his mind the assassination of Lincoln +will appear as the legitimate fruit of Southern treason. We may be sure, +that, whilst the press of England endeavors to divert the guilt of this +atrocity from the heads which gave birth to it, there is one Englishman +at least—that Englishman, John Bright—who will be bold to trace it to +its proper source.</p> + +<p>We can do no better than to close this notice by quoting the conclusion +of a speech made by Mr. Bright in December, 1861, to which our attention +has been called during the preparation of this article.</p> + +<p>"Whether the Union will be restored or not, or the South will achieve an +unhonored independence or not, I know not and I predict not. But this I +think I know, that in a few years, a very few years, the twenty millions +of freemen in the North will be thirty millions or fifty millions,—a +population equal to or exceeding that of this kingdom. When that time +comes, I pray it may not be said among them, that, in the darkest hour +of their country's trials, England, the land of their fathers, looked on +with icy coldness, and saw, unmoved, the perils and calamities of her +children. As for me, I have but this to say: I am one in this audience, +and but one in the citizenship of this country; but if all other tongues +are silent, mine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> shall speak for that policy which gives hope to the +bondsmen of the South, and tends to generous thoughts and generous words +and generous deeds between the two great nations who speak the English +language, and from their origin are alike entitled to the English name."</p> + +<p>Let Americans honor the Englishman who spoke thus nobly!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="NEEDLE_AND_GARDEN" id="NEEDLE_AND_GARDEN"></a>NEEDLE AND GARDEN.</h2> + +<h3>THE STORY OF A SEAMSTRESS WHO LAID DOWN HER NEEDLE AND BECAME A +STRAWBERRY-GIRL.</h3> + +<h4>WRITTEN BY HERSELF.</h4> + + +<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> + +<p>That was a long and dreary winter which succeeded this beginning of my +experimental life. The snow fell heavily, and so frequently that my +plants were completely hidden from view during a great part of the +season. But, so far from doing them an injury, the fleecy mantle +protected them from the open exposure to cold under which the strawberry +will sometimes perish. It was a privation to me to have them thus +entirely shut up from observation; but more than once, when the snow had +softened under the influence of an incipient thaw, I could not refrain +from plunging my hands into it and uncovering a plant here and there, to +see how they were faring. So far from perishing under the continued +cold, I found them holding up their heads with wonderful erectness, +their leaves crisp and fresh, with an intense greenness that contrasted +strongly with the white blanket in which Nature had kindly wrapped them. +Thus satisfied that they were well provided for, I endeavored to check +my impatience for the coming spring: for really it seemed the longest +winter I had ever known.</p> + +<p>Both my sister and myself continued our labors at the factory, though we +discovered evidences that even at machine-sewing there was likely to be +some uncertainty as to continued employment at the usual remunerative +prices. We had learned to have entire confidence in its stability; but +symptoms were appearing that the business, in some of its branches, was +likely to be overdone. The makers of the first machines, having sold +immense numbers at high prices, had acquired vast fortunes. This invited +competition, and manufactories of rival machines having been established +by those who had invented modifications of the original idea, the +quantity thrown upon the market was very great, while prices were so +reduced that additional thousands were now enabled to obtain machines +and set them to work. The competition among the makers thus gave rise to +competition among those who used the machines. Prices of work declined +in consequence, and of course the sewing-girls were required to bear a +large share of this decline, in the shape of a reduction of wages. We +could do nothing but submit, for the needle was the only staff we had to +lean upon. If we were to continue realizing as much per week as before, +we could do so in no other way than by working longer and more +industriously. This fell very hard upon us during that long winter. We +could afford no holidays, no recreation, not even to be sick. As we felt +we had no dependence but the needle, we still clung to the idea, that, +if we could purchase machines of our own, we should do much better<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> But +though now reduced in price, yet the hope of getting them grew fainter +and fainter under the reduction of wages, and hence my growing +impatience to achieve some more remunerative employment.</p> + +<p>The bright spring at last opened kindly and genially upon us. The snow +disappeared, leaving my strawberries in the most healthy condition, and +free from the unsightly fringe-work of dead foliage which encircles +plants that have been compelled to go through a hard winter without +protection. I was exultant at the promise which their vigorous +appearance held forth. I even stole a view, through the cracks in the +fence, at those of our disagreeable neighbors, to see if they were doing +any better, and was gratified by finding that mine were equally thrifty. +Fred and I contrived to stir up the ground about them with heavy rakes, +though a harrow would have been more effective. April covered the whole +bed with a profusion of blossoms that even our experienced neighbors +could not exceed. They came often to our gate, and with more impudence +than I could muster when stealing an observation through their fence, +there they stood, two or three together, inspecting my beautiful rows +for an hour at a time. I wondered what they could find to interest them +so greatly, as in their eyes the sight could have been no novelty; but I +fear, that, if surprised at my success thus far, their wonder must have +been tinged with a jealousy that rendered the display as unpleasant to +them as it was encouraging to me.</p> + +<p>No one ever watched the opening of the blossoms, their dropping off, and +the formation of the fruit, more attentively than I did. Every spare +hour was passed among them. The bees flew over the beds, dipping into +one flower after another, and filling the air with a perpetual humming. +Even at the earliest morning hour, when the sun had barely reached the +garden, I found them at their honeyed labors. The poet who declared that +many a flower was born to blush unseen, and waste its sweetness on the +desert air, must have believed that the winged denizens of the air had +no inheritance in them,—that their sweets were wasted because no human +eye was present to admire them. I cannot agree with him; for here, when +our garden was a solitude, with no human eye to admire its wealth of +blossoms, they were thick with bees, and surely upon them their sweets +were far from being wasted. The flowers must have been created as much +for the enjoyment of nameless insects as for the gratification of man.</p> + +<p>As May advanced, I could see the fruit forming in clusters that gave +token of an ample crop. But as the heat increased I found that other +candidates for observation presented themselves in prodigious numbers, +not near so interesting, but imperatively demanding attention. The weeds +shot up all through and between the rows with a luxuriance that +astonished me. The winter reading of my agricultural library had taught +me that good strawberries cannot be expected when a rank growth of weeds +is permitted to occupy the soil. My father's garden-tools were heavy and +clumsy, made only for a strong man to use; but we plied the hoes +vigorously in keeping down the interlopers. They were dull tools, with +thick handles, unsuitable for women's use, so that the mere weight of +the implements fatigued us more than the labor of hoeing. But all the +family shared in this work until it was accomplished, and our ground was +made as cleanly as that of our neighbors. Besides the extermination of a +host of pests that sucked up the nutriment and moisture necessary to the +plants, the operation kept the surface of the ground open and mellow, +permitting the sun and air to penetrate, and thus stimulate the growing +fruit into berries of superior size. I am sure that it is by attention +to this single matter of permitting no weeds to grow that most of the +success in strawberry-culture may be attributed.</p> + +<p>As I watched my fruit-laden plants as attentively as if each one had +been an infant, it should not be wondered at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> that my ever-present eye +detected the first tinge of redness that showed itself among them. No +one can imagine with how absorbing an interest I hung over this pioneer +evidence of complete success. I could tell which row contained it, and +on which plant in the row a blushing cheek was held up to the sun. But +in a day or two the identity of the ripening berry was lost, for a +thousand of its fellows became equally ambitious of notice, changing +their delicate green into a softened, but decided scarlet. The hot suns +of early June were pouring down upon the sheltered spot where the plants +were growing, and it was time for them to ripen their wealth of fruit. I +presume that he who boasts the possession of a dozen acres of +strawberries has never experienced sensations such as were now the +ruling ones of my heart. Here was I—a sewing-girl—breaking through the +ordinary routine of female occupations, and standing on the threshold of +an enterprise considered by the world unsuited to my sex, unfeminine +because uniformly undertaken by men, hazardous because untried by women, +but practically within the power of all having taste and courage to +venture upon it,—here was I about to realize the dream of a whole year, +the reward of untold anxieties, the solution of the great problem +whether the garden were better than the needle.</p> + +<p>The very day I made the discovery that the first berry had begun to +change color, I hastened to my friend the market-woman, intending to +tell her how finely I was coming on, and that she must be prepared to +sell my crop. As I had no acquaintance with other strawberry-growers, I +had little opportunity of ascertaining by comparison with them whether +my fruit would come earlier or later into market than that of others, +but took it for granted that mine would be first. It was the mistake of +an ignorance which subsequent reading and observation have corrected. +Thus, when I came up to the widow's stand in the market, I was +confounded at seeing her sitting beside a huge wooden tray heaped up +with ripe berries. No doubt I had seen the same thing as early in the +season, years before, but, having no interest in the subject as a +fruit-grower, I had never consulted dates. But now, being deeply +interested, the effect of this prematurely early display of fruit was +that of astonishment and disappointment. I knew that being early in the +market was a vital point, and supposed that I was as early as the +earliest; but here was evidence that I had been forestalled. I had +hardly courage to inquire where these berries came from, or what price +she was getting for them. But the crowd of purchasers around the stand +was so great that no one would have noticed my appearance, even if my +emotions had been written on my face. They were contending with each +other to be served, and at seventy-five cents a quart! This much could +be seen and heard without the trouble of inquiry. How I envied the +grower of the precious fruit in which so many were indulging at this +extravagant price! How the sight dismayed me,—I had been so completely +anticipated by some more skilful cultivator! I did not even seek to +catch the widow's eye, nor to ask a single question. The spectacle so +discouraged me that I moved off with a heavy heart to my accustomed +avocations.</p> + +<p>It was but dull practice on my sewing-machine during the whole of that +day. It is true I thought a thousand times of my own strawberries, but +then those of my successful competitor were quite as often in my mind. +How this thing could happen, and why one cultivator should thus +anticipate all others, and command the market when prices were so +enormous, I could not then understand. But I resolved to have the matter +explained. Next morning I was up at daybreak and at the widow's stand. +She was already there, and was engaged in putting the little fixtures in +order on which her daily stock of fruits and vegetables was to be +displayed. No customers were yet visible in this early gray of the +morning, and there was an opportunity for me to make the momentous +inquiries I desired. But there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> was the same great wooden tray, again up +with at least a bushel of strawberries. My first question was as to +where they came from.</p> + +<p>"From Baltimore, Miss," was the reply. "You know they ripen there two +weeks earlier than here. It is farther south, the climate is warmer, and +they come here on the railroad until the price falls so low as to make +it unprofitable to send them. But they are a small, poor berry, not +equal to yours, and will not be in your way. When yours come to market, +these will be all gone. People buy these only because they can get no +better ones."</p> + +<p>Here was a mountain of discouragement removed at once. I had not been +forestalled by a neighbor, but only anticipated by some one who had +taken advantage of a warmer climate. Besides, the widow repeated her +cheering assurance of the year before, that she could readily dispose of +all I might have,—not, however, at the high prices she then was +getting, because the same sun that was to ripen mine would ripen those +of all others around me, and bring them into market at the same time; +but if mine should be better than others, she would be able to secure +better prices for them.</p> + +<p>I went home to breakfast with a lighter heart, and that day at the +factory made up for the deficiencies of the preceding. But since then, +after the experience of an entire season, I have looked carefully into +this matter of the importance of being first in the market, and I find +it runs through and influences almost every department of horticulture +which is pursued as a source of gain. The struggle everywhere appears to +be for precedence. The horticultural world knows that there is a waiting +community of consumers who stand impatient for the advent of the first +ripened fruits. It knows that with these the price occasions no +hesitancy in the purchase: they are able to pay. Hence no resource of +art or skill is left unpractised to minister to a craving appetite that +yields a reward so golden. One producer erects hot-houses, into which he +crowds the plants that otherwise would be hybernating, and, creating an +artificial summer, stimulates the strawberry into bloom, then into +fruit, even in the depth of winter the ripened berries are seen at some +of the most celebrated fruit-stores. They command fabulous prices,—a +spoonful of them readily bringing a dollar, without the demand being +supplied. The rich always have money to spend; and though the world is +never without its poor, yet it seems also to be never without an +abundance of those who have more than they can wisely dispose of. This +branch of horticulture must be profitable, as it is rapidly extending in +the neighborhood of all our large cities. These hot-house fruits are the +earliest in the market.</p> + +<p>Other growers move off to a warmer climate, within one or two days' ride +of the great city by railroad, and, by help of hotter suns, crowd their +half-ripened fruits into Northern markets nearly a month in advance of +local cultivators. Only those varieties being grown which are naturally +earlier than all others, they blush into redness while ours have +scarcely reached their full size. Taken from the vines in an unripe +condition, they are crisp and firm, and the fast express-train whirls +them over hundreds of miles, the ripening process, as well as the +decaying one, going on meanwhile. It is costly transportation to the +growers, but the impatient public pay with readiness a price so +extravagant as to make for these wholesale pioneers a stupendous profit. +Thus the warm alluvial lands encircling Norfolk fill the markets from +Baltimore to Boston with the earliest fruit. It is unripe, and deficient +in the full flavor of the strawberry; but what care the wealthy public +for that? It is the first in market,—they have been a year without +it,—it has somewhat of the genuine aroma,—and, ripe or unripe, they +cannot refrain. Great sums are annually realized by these earliest +caterers for the public palate. The hot-house process is comparatively a +retail operation; but this traffic reaches to the dignity of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> a great +industrial enterprise, employing hundreds of hands, pouring ample +freightage into the coffers of express-companies, and enriching the men +by whom it is conducted. It is exclusively the offspring of Northern +shrewdness, the sluggish instincts of the Southerner unfitting him for +an occupation requiring incessant activity and promptness,—while its +apparent littleness, the peddling of strawberries, were unworthy a race +whose inheritance is cotton or tobacco.</p> + +<p>For a few weeks these cultivators have entire possession of the Northern +market. In time, however, our suns become hotter, ripening the fruits of +our own fields. Then comes the rivalry among ourselves,—who shall be +earliest with the best fruit;—for herein lies an important element of +general success.</p> + +<p>My berries ripened rapidly, and I knew they must be ready for picking by +hearing that our neighbors were about beginning. It was a momentous day +when we began. My mother and myself undertook it: for that afternoon I +stayed away from the factory, as it was impossible for me to be absent +from so interesting a scene. I had no idea what quantity we were to +expect, though I had ransacked my agricultural library in hopes of +discovering some approximate solution of this question. Crops were found +to vary as unaccountably as modes of culture. One grower would obtain +more fruit from a few rods of ground than another from a whole acre. +These prevailing contrarieties were well calculated to make me doubtful +of what my luck was to be. Hence, when we had gone over the whole +half-acre, and found that we had gathered ninety quarts, I was entirely +satisfied, and more so from noticing, on a survey of the bed, that there +was no perceptible diminution of the quantity remaining on the vines.</p> + +<p>The fruit was of very superior size, for perhaps few cultivators could +have bestowed more labor in keeping the ground in order; and this labor +of our own hands was nearly all that the experiment had cost. As I was +anxious to follow the directions given by my market friend, we had a +great time that evening in assorting the berries, putting them in three +lots,—the very largest in one, then the next best, and the smallest in +a third. They were placed in nice new baskets as assorted, so as to be +handled as little as possible. These were safely stowed in a +wheelbarrow, and before daybreak the next morning Fred wheeled them to +market. I was with him, of course. It was my first errand,—the first +fruits of my long anxiety,—my first appearance as a strawberry-girl.</p> + +<p>The streets at that early hour were deserted and silent, for the busy +multitudes were not yet stirring. No pedestrians were about but those in +some way connected with the markets, whither all were repairing; nor +were any vehicles moving except the market carts and wagons coming in +from the adjacent country, most of them driven by women, thus early +forced from home to be at their daily stands. I confess this freedom +from curious public observation was not unpleasant to me. Somehow I had +felt no compunction, no pride, at bearing through the streets, even at +noonday, the symbol of my calling as a sewing-girl, in the shape of an +unsightly bundle; but here, notwithstanding long reflection had +familiarized me with what my new duties would necessarily be, yet when I +came to the performance of them I felt no ambition to be publicly +recognized as a strawberry-girl. My mother, who had been up to see us +off, had covered each basket with a cloth, so that really it was +impossible for a stranger, seeing the load I had in charge, to know +whether it was work for the tailor or fruit for the market-house. I +cannot account for this weakness,—why I, who had been so strong and +undismayed on occasions really trying, should have been so affected on +one that afforded so much reason for exultation. I have sometimes blamed +my sister as the cause of this unusual nervousness. She, too, was up to +aid us in getting under way, for all hearts were in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +enterprise,—and knowing that I had a nervous apprehension of our +neighbors, especially of Mrs. Tetchy, and that I would prefer going +without any of them seeing me, she cried out suddenly, as we came +through the gate,—</p> + +<p>"Is that Mrs. Tetchy coming after you?"</p> + +<p>It was the veriest trifle in the world; but I was so full of what I had +in hand, and so really desirous of avoiding observation in that quarter, +that Jane's pleasantry had an unusual effect upon me. I did feel a +little ashamed at any of the Tetchys watching my movements; yet somehow, +as we went along to market, the feeling insensibly expanded so as to +apply to all others. But I have long since mastered it.</p> + +<p>The widow was already at her accustomed stand, and had what appeared to +me a plentiful supply of strawberries. But I saw directly, for I now had +a quick and practised eye, that they were far inferior to mine. All +sizes were mixed up together, just as they came from the vines. When I +uncovered my best baskets and handed them to her, she was loud in +expressions of admiration at their superior excellence. No customers +were about, so in a few moments I had handed over my whole stock of +ninety quarts, and Fred and I were about departing homeward, when the +widow's first customer for the day came up to the stand. We had a +natural curiosity to see what would be the result, so moved back a few +paces, but were still near enough to see and hear whatever might occur.</p> + +<p>The customer was a young man of probably three or four and twenty, +dressed so genteelly as particularly to attract my attention, yet, while +a model of outward neatness, with not a sign of fashionable glare about +him. I think it probable that his really handsome face, and the pleasant +smile that played around his mouth as he approached us, had something to +do in establishing him thus suddenly in my favor, apart from my +anticipating him as my first customer. He glanced a moment at the +strawberries, then turned and looked at me so intently, though not at +all impertinently, that I felt myself abashed and blushing. All this, +however, was the sensation of but a single moment. Immediately turning +again to the widow, and courteously touching his hat as he spoke to +her,—a civility which was in perfect keeping with his whole +demeanor,—his eye fell on my choicest berries. He seemed struck with +their superiority, and was so generous in his commendation of them, +that, as I heard it all, I turned my face away, as I felt the blood +rushing up from my heart and covering my cheeks with deepening crimson. +I did not wish him to suspect that he was buying <i>my</i> berries. He +inquired of the widow where this beautiful fruit was raised, and by whom +I was in terror lest she should point to me, and was moving out of +hearing of the reply, when she answered that they were raised just below +the city, by a young lady.</p> + +<p>"You surprise me, Madam. By a young lady? They are the finest I have +ever seen," he replied. "She must understand her business. I am greatly +interested in such pursuits, and would like to know more about her. Will +you have her fruit all through the season?"</p> + +<p>I had turned away before he had made these remarks, and did not observe +whether the idea could have occurred to him of connecting me with the +lady culturist; but Fred told me, on our way home, that he directed his +attention strongly to me, and, as my face was averted, surveyed me with +a long and scrutinizing gaze, then raising the cover of quite a large +basket which he held in his hand, caused it to be filled with my finest +berries.</p> + +<p>I did not hear the price, as the strangest thoughts that ever occupied +my mind came thronging in with impetuous vehemence. I was unaccountably +confused. Here was I with my first little venture surprised by the +presence of my first customer, and he a gentleman whose whole outward +demeanor seemed to me the embodiment of whatever might be considered +agreeable in the other sex. I shrank with instinctive diffidence from +having my little secret unfolded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> in such a presence. It may have been +mortification of spirit,—I will not, cannot say,—but somehow I was +terrified lest <i>he</i> should know that I was a strawberry-girl.</p> + +<p>But Fred was subject to no such useless compunctions, and watched and +listened with eager attention. His quick ear had caught the price,—for +the purchaser had not ascertained it until after his basket had been +filled.</p> + +<p>"Did you hear that?" said Fred, in a voice intended for a whisper, but +which in my confusion I was sure the young gentleman had overheard. +"Half a dollar a quart!"</p> + +<p>I moved away instantly toward home, never daring to look back at either +the widow or her customer, lest my eyes should encounter those of the +latter, as I was sure he must have heard my brother's exclamation, and +been satisfied that it was I who raised the berries he had so much +admired. It was unaccountable to me that I should be so foolish. But no +one, unable to correctly analyze his feelings, can at the moment account +for the strange impulses which an unlooked-for emergency will send +hurrying through the heart. Time and a succession of events may +sometimes unlock the mystery of their origin. I am sure that it required +both to solve the problem for me.</p> + +<p>Fred trundled his barrow at my side as we returned to breakfast. He was +full of exultation at our success, and even began to count up what our +profits would be. We had made so capital a beginning that he was sure +they must be very large. Alas! he knew little of the world except its +sanguine hopes. He reasoned only from the beginning, without knowing the +stumbling-blocks that might be encountered before we reached the end. +But then what would this world be, if hope were banished from it? Still, +though fairly estimating all these contingent disappointments, my +spirits were buoyant as his own. That was apparently a short walk to our +distant home, for there was abundant conversation and debate to beguile +the way. My mother stood in the doorway as we approached the house; but +when Fred told her the story of the young gentleman, how he looked and +behaved,—I somehow felt unable to do it,—with the crowning incident of +the great basketful of berries he had purchased at half a dollar a +quart, and that without even asking the price, I think I never knew my +dear mother to be so delighted at any event in the quiet history of our +little family. Ah, what a happy breakfast it was that we sat down to +that morning! I could not repeat the exultations expressed on all hands +over my success. My mother seemed so supremely gratified at the prospect +now opening before us, that her delight was a bountiful reward for me. +She had never manifested so much cheerfulness since we lost our father. +Fred insisted on continuing his calculations of what our profits would +be; but though he brought out great results on paper, for he was +remarkably expert at figures, yet, even with my constitutional +enthusiasm, I refused to be unduly set up by his extravagant +anticipations. It seemed with him to be as great a happiness to merely +calculate the profit as it was for me to produce it.</p> + +<p>I know that all these are very trifling matters, at least to others, and +that, if the gentler hearts are kind enough to become interested in +them, there must be many others that will pass them by as uneventful and +dull. Yet the life that all these are living is made up of incidents, +which, if they would but reflect upon them, are not more exciting. But +they were great affairs to us. They developed the prominent fact, that +it was possible for a woman, when favorably situated, to become a +successful fruit-grower, and that a new door could be opened through +which she might be emancipated from perpetual bondage to the needle, +without violating the conventional proprieties of the sex. This was the +problem which my imperfect labors were solving for us. All aspirants may +not be required to pass through the same experience, while some may be +compelled to encounter even a greater diversity than I did.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>Thus far my first day's picking had been very encouraging. As in a great +city there are a thousand daily wants, so thousands are kept continually +employed in ministering to them. When the supply of strawberries begins, +the public require it to be maintained. The picking of the day is mostly +eaten up before bedtime, and hence the grower must gather daily +reinforcements from his vines to meet the public demand. The fruit +ripens with a continuous rapidity. The hot sun of a cloudless day brings +it to perfection with wonderful uniformity, while the wet and cloudy one +retards and injures it. Besides, the price is gradually declining as +neighboring growers crowd their products into market; hence it is +imperative to pick daily while the price is up, so as to secure the +highest return for the longest period. Perfect ripeness no one waits +for. The consumer never secures it, because his impatient appetite +stimulates the grower to furnish him with fruit which, though tinged +with redness, is far from being ripe. Color alone, not flavor, is the +guide; for the public taste is not yet sufficiently educated to detect +the great difference between an unripe and a ripe strawberry.</p> + +<p>I soon learned these peculiarities of my new calling, and hence picked +over my beds with daily regularity. As color, not ripeness, was all the +public cared for, we carried much immature fruit to market,—though no +doubt we lost in bulk by thus picking before it had grown to its full +size. The second day we took forty quarts to the widow, and received for +the preceding day's consignment nearly forty dollars. It was less than +Fred had figured up, but we were, all of us, satisfied. Our care in +assorting the fruit had secured for it the highest market price, while +the widow was so lavish in her commendation, as well as so full of +encouragement to me for what I was doing, that the satisfaction of +dealing with her was almost equal to that which attended my success: +indeed, I think her kind words went far towards securing it. One day she +spoke to me of the young gentleman, my first customer, who, she reminded +me, had praised my fruit so highly and bought so liberally. I am sure my +cheeks colored as she recalled a circumstance which I had by no means +forgotten; but as there were many buyers round her stand, I knew she +would not notice it. Though I went at daybreak every morning with my +brother to deliver fruit, yet I never met him there but once again. +Still, she said, he was as punctual as myself, only coming a little +later, buying my berries, always asking if they were the same young +lady's fruit, and when told that they were, taking them without +inquiring the price. But I never understood why she related these little +incidents to me, unless it was to show me how quickly my works had +become popular. It may be that her heart melted with sympathetic +tenderness toward me; for I had told her all about my condition as a +sewing-girl, my hopes, my efforts, my longing to be able to lay down the +needle for something that would be less exacting while equally +remunerative. She, too, had been a drudge of the slop-shops, and thus +understanding all that I might feel, or suffer, or hope for, it was +natural that she should enter with interest into my novel enterprise.</p> + +<p>Thus my mother and I continued to gather fruit from our little half-acre +during the whole of the strawberry-season. I was away from the factory +for many afternoons to assist in picking and assorting. I think no miser +could have counted his gold more lovingly than we did our gains, when +summing up, day by day, the yield of our miniature plantation. There +were several afternoons, at the height of the season, when the product +ran up surprisingly. There seemed to be a general competition among the +berries as to which should ripen first. They enlarged in size, putting +on a crimson corpulency into which the sunbeams infused a sweetened +juiciness which is the peculiar charm of the perfectly ripened fruit. +This was in the hottest days of June, which, in spite of an ample +sun-bonnet, tanned me into a perfect brunette. After<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> the general +ripening, the quantity picked began to decline, and the remainder was of +smaller size. The price, fell off; but then, while the fruit was +abundant, we had secured the highest rates, so that the declining prices +affected only a diminishing quantity. Hitherto we had treated ourselves +to none of the best fruit, but had reserved for home consumption only +such as we considered unfit for market. As in former times, we thought +ourselves too poor now to eat even our own strawberries. Every quart +that we should thus consume would be an average loss of thirty cents. I +was sure they were not costing us anything like that, and it seemed a +positive hardship to be thus kept to such rigorous self-denial. But we +held out until the price declined as the quality depreciated, and then, +when we knew the sacrifice was trifling, there was a unanimous and +abundant indulgence in this delicious fruit. I think it tasted even +sweeter than when it was selling at half a dollar. My mother was sure +that not half the sugar was required to make it palatable, and all +agreed that in point of flavor it was unexceptionable. I feel certain +that none of <i>that</i> crop was lost. Thus our domestic strawberry-season +began market only when that of the outer world had passed away; but +though late in entering upon it, it may be set down as certain that none +enjoyed it with a higher relish than ourselves.</p> + +<p>As Fred was wonderfully exact in keeping accounts, he was ready to tell +us, the moment our last picking had been made, how much our half-acre +had produced. I sometimes thought it a sort of useless trouble, however, +this keeping an account, because every one of the family seemed to have +the figures by heart from the very day when the first picking occurred. +They were talked over so often at table, that we all remembered what +they were, nor was there any difficulty in our carrying forward the +sum-total from day to day, as the amount ran up after each successive +picking. What had we to remember that was half so interesting as this? +But as what the sum-total would be was gradually becoming manifest, Fred +was compelled to come down from the magnificent calculations as to +profit with which he had set out. He had insisted that we were to get +the same high prices all through the season, not reflecting that we had +many competitors, nor that, though our early pickings were really very +superior, yet there must necessarily be many that would be quite +otherwise. Still, his persistency had had its effect on all of us; nor +was it until we got halfway down the column of our daily receipts, and +noticed the perceptibly diminishing figures, that we were thoroughly +undeceived. As I had never been over-sanguine, I was not greatly +disappointed. My study had been to ascertain whether it was possible for +a family of inexperienced sewing-women to produce strawberries for +market at a fair profit, the whole labor to be performed by themselves. +If our first effort were tolerably successful, I was sure we could do +better the next time, as successful horticulturists are not born, but +made. Well, the result was, that we had produced a little over four +hundred quarts, of which the widow had sold enough to bring us a hundred +and thirty dollars, after deducting her commission. It was not much, I +confess, but it was a beginning that fully satisfied me. Our half-acre +had never before yielded so large a profit.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_WILLOW" id="THE_WILLOW"></a>THE WILLOW.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O willow, why forever weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As one who mourns an endless wrong?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What hidden woe can lie so deep?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What utter grief can last so long?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Spring makes haste with step elate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your life and beauty to renew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She even bids the roses wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gives her first sweet care to you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The welcome redbreast folds his wing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To pour for you his freshest strain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To you the earliest bluebirds sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till all your light stems thrill again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sparrow trills his wedding song<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And trusts his tender brood to you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair flowering vines, the summer long,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With clasp and kiss your beauty woo.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sunshine drapes your limbs with light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rain braids diamonds in your hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The breeze makes love to you at night,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet still you droop, and still despair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath your boughs, at fall of dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By lovers' lips is softly told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tale that all the ages through<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has kept the world from growing old.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But still, though April's buds unfold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or Summer sets the earth aleaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Autumn pranks your robes with gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You sway and sigh in graceful grief.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mourn on forever, unconsoled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And keep your secret, faithful tree!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No heart in all the world can hold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A sweeter grace than constancy.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="MY_SECOND_CAPTURE" id="MY_SECOND_CAPTURE"></a>MY SECOND CAPTURE.</h2> + + +<p>The Adjutant T—— and myself, not inexperienced in battles, though, +perhaps, like most Americans, infants in warfare, were captured in +September last, in the Valley of the Shenandoah, Nature's noble +art-gallery, on the west side of Opequan Creek, a stream that is a +picture at almost any point. In one of the gallant charges which our +eager cavalry, under General Sheridan, made before the great charge that +captured Winchester and the Valley, our regiment had the right, and +gained a fine position in the end. But two or three encounters were very +close. The sea of battle surged back and forth, tormented only, however, +by the mild breezes of a day like May; and as the waves of our army +withdrew from the ridge on which the enemy rested, to gain greater +impetus, my poor horse was shot under me, stranded, and left rolling +upon the ground, midway between friend and foe. The orderly, my +attendant, had another in the rear of the retreating column; but, +inasmuch as that was now swept by the swift-receding current far beyond +us, he could neither have me mounted nor command other present means +whereby to get me off. I reclined, like Adonis, upon a soft bed of +meadow-grass studded here and there with wild-flowers, an emerald velvet +with silver spangles,—but suffering, unlike him, from bruises, and with +my best soulless friend dead at my side. I was somewhat sprained by the +fall the dying beast had given me. The enemy was close at hand, +following with yells and chaotic eagerness upon our troops.</p> + +<p>"We'll take a march to Libby," said my orderly, dropping on his knees to +feel my bones.</p> + +<p>He drew his arm through his rein, (having had no idea of deserting me in +his sound health by the aid of his ready animal,) and continued his +examination; whilst his sturdy favorite chopped the short grass within +reach of his breathing hitching-post as closely as his long bit would +allow. In a very few moments the Rebel foam was surging like wild beyond +us,—a private pausing at me for a second, to poke me in the ribs with +his piece.</p> + +<p>"There's life there, Grayback," growled my attendant; and the Rebel +ordered us to the rear.</p> + +<p>Indeed, had we remained where we were, we would soon have been in the +rear, so impetuously did the foe sweep by us. But private soldiers, the +potent keystones of the Rebel arch, built to crush the voice of the +many, command the Southern armies in every great engagement; and one of +these important atoms had given us our hint to move. You never see +anything but the rank and file in the heart of a Rebel corps. Our new +commander mounted my orderly's horse, and soon was lost in the distance.</p> + +<p>It is not, I have found, a very diverting entertainment to wander free a +few moments (a free prisoner) in search of some authority, out of the +myriads who have the opportunity, who shall choose to take charge of +one. I felt peculiarly as I stood irresolute, now framing one thought, +now another, casting about in my mind, weighing the odds with no light +fancy-scales, which of the rushing demons on all sides would draw up +before me with a curse, and command me to follow him. Our regiment, our +corps, our whole army, (this last had not left its works for the little +fight,) were far in the distance now; and the ground on which I stood, +and which but a short time since was tramped by Northern troops, had, in +the mutations of war, become a portion of the Rebel dominions. The +September sun shone brightly through the white fleece of the cloud-swans +swimming in the morning air; and the early spring breeze that +I have mentioned—for Æolus had given freedom to but a tender +dove-zephyr—played with the silk fringe of the meadow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> grass, finding +no olive-branch here, venturing its ripple, with the audacity of +innocence, under the very heels of the contending forces. Possibly the +feeling of loneliness which overwhelms a man at such a time as this is +the most acute of all his feelings. I looked my orderly in the face as +he supported me on his shoulder. He was gazing coolly before him.</p> + +<p>"If we have to march soon, you had better rest," he said, deliberately. +"There's a tree you can sit under. And if you have money or a watch, you +had better hide them in your armpits."</p> + +<p>We went to the tree, and set ourselves against it.</p> + +<p>The fresh air that brushed by us, like fine steel points, relieved me of +my oozing faintness, and in the ease of my circumstances I could attend +somewhat to my bruises. With the aid of my canteen, I relaxed the +strained muscles. It was my desire to have my loins girt about and my +limbs in good order for the foot-journey that I doubted not was before +us. They would march us to Gordonsville, and thence to Libby, carrying +us through in an incredibly short time, and without boots at that. I had +two objects to labor for, as I began to get myself into condition: +first, to be taken in charge by an officer; and then—to escape from him +that night, whilst the train was in disorder. I was of opinion that my +companion, a taciturn machine, who labored, like the miners, well with +his little light, had some such plan of his own, as I saw him buckling +his belt beneath his trousers. He was stowing away his watch and a +photograph,—which every soldier must have, of some poor maid or other +who toils in the shades of obscurity at home,—and making himself ready +for a run at any favorable moment. I thought that I would sound him.</p> + +<p>"You had better do it, orderly, soon in the day," I said; "since the +enemy will march you between two files, and you will then have but +little chance."</p> + +<p>"So I think," he replied. "I thought no time better than now. But +then"——</p> + +<p>"But what?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's rather hard to leave you here. What with your sprain, and +your blow on the head, you're pretty sure to halt at Libby."</p> + +<p>I had no chance to answer, for the Rebel was before me who was to have +the honor of my capture.</p> + +<p>He was of the flabby white-flesh species of the genus Rebel, a Quaker +scarecrow with matty locks, that many of my brethren in arms have met; +harmless in units, but ponderous, as even scarecrows will be, if hurled +back and forth in thousands, swarms; lank, cadaverous, and whining; +snuff-chewing, and grossly filthy, even under the best of circumstances. +His flesh was set dough, and his hair was long and yellow. He spoke +through the dirty causeway of his nose. The road-dust and drab of his +uniform, so called in satire, have often been described. These +gentlemen's faces, to me, who incline to an intelligent expression on +the human index, look like tallow-vats or nursery-suet, pliable and +swill-fed; and their mien and carriage have never impressed me +favorably. I had seen them rush with a wild yell, an army like the Paris +mob of intoxicated rags, upon our Gibraltar at Gettysburg; and had +myself charged upon their Attila-works (behind which they had their +household gods piled up and ready for burning) at Fredericksburg. I had +even taken a ball from one of them in the shoulder, whilst skirmishing, +in the shiftings of my experience; and they had before had the honor of +my capture, in sunny, grape-growing Maryland. Perhaps all these scenes +passed in panorama before my mind's eye, as I rose to my captor and eyed +his dirty linen. Here was an indignity, indeed. My soul revolted at the +thought of a journey southward, and all my instincts warned me against +so dire an undertaking. I stood before the Rebel with my determination +in my eye.</p> + +<p>"A couple of Yanks, lolling under a tree," he screamed to his +companions, pointing the finger, and garnishing his speech, in Rebel +manner, with an oath.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<p>"P'rhaps you thought you were off," he chuckled.</p> + +<p>He was "goin'" to take us to the "Gen'ral." He muttered more oaths with +his orders, and directed us to be "right smart," and to "git."</p> + +<p>I glanced at my orderly, who was inaugurating an onset upon the weaker +side of this mean battery, or ditch-work,—and who evidently counted +upon effecting a breach by rapid, electric charges,—by handing over his +pistol. It was freely offered, before demanded, and the recipient took +it in silence. He then drew out his tobacco, a treasure with which, I +well knew, he would not willingly part, and which was the little +ewe-lamb of his unjewelled life,—which, also, was taken quickly, but +under a nod of acknowledgments from the Rebel. The battery was shaken, +but, in truth, continued to draw fire. "Give me your boots," said the +critical captor, and the orderly knocked off his leathers in the best +good-humor in the world. When we had walked a little farther, the +orderly, now marching as the Moslems do on holy ground, asked our guide +if he had any grub about him; and accepted a piece of pork. There was a +variety of viands in the haversack from which this fragment came,—both +pork and bacon,—but the fire-eaters, I have noticed, always prefer the +latter meat. I divined at once that my orderly was laying in stores for +a solitary tramp, and making a raven in this, to him, strange desert, of +the ill-omened bird that had pounced upon us. He would conciliate his +enemy, and when the latter was growing careless he would spring into +some woods. The pork, with the berries to be found there, would sustain +him after he had broken leash,—and would be all that he would eat, no +doubt, in the course of two or three suns.</p> + +<p>We noticed a great stir on all sides of us, converging streams of +stragglers, wounded men, and prisoners, as we made our way, scattering +grasshoppers, over the fields, and soon mingled with the throng of +troops on the open road to Winchester. It was about three miles from +this town that our capture had taken place; and from the immense +wagon-trains rumbling along with us, and the excited manner of their +officers, I augured not as well for the Rebel cause. Perhaps Fortune had +altered her humor, and the white eagles of victory had settled with the +opposite side. Other parties of Union prisoners journeyed with us, and +through the urgent manner of their guards I thought I could discern a +sunlit loop-hole to freedom. In five minutes' time I was assured that +the Rebels were preparing to retreat. Their six-horse teams were rushing +to the rear, and their outlying bodies of cavalry were being hurriedly +dispatched the other way. My mind was very busy upon the new aspect of +affairs.</p> + +<p>The last I saw of my orderly was when he had divested himself of the +workman's incumbrance,—his coat,—and was tramping, bootless, haltingly +along in the dustiest part of the road. He had conciliated his watchman +into almost indifference, and was spreading himself with the sand, +(tossed knee-high in little clouds by his feet,) having then become +quite a Rebel in looks. In five minutes I turned upon him; but he had +fallen out of the squad. I have never seen him since.</p> + +<p>My own plans would keep me in the Rebel lines some hours longer. It was +my object to escape; but I had already decided upon the evening, when +darkness, and, I hoped, rain, would settle down upon us. I indulged a +hasty prayer in behalf of the vanished man, and durst not more than +snatch a look at where he should have been, lest the guard should miss +him also. At one mile beyond Winchester, which town we had avoided by a +branching road, we came to the office of the provost marshal, a very +humble shell-work; and those of us who wore shoulder-straps were hustled +into his presence. He stood, the central figure in a dun picture, in an +atmosphere of smoke, a dirty-looking Georgian in flying coat and +high-boots. With hands in pocket he surveyed the objects brought before +him, concisely delivering his orders over the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> stem of his teeth-clasped +pipe. His clerk was at a table near, on which lay the papers of his +office; and the splintered rafters behind him made the background to a +cabinet-picture that should have been done in chocolate.</p> + +<p>We were placed in charge of a rather mild-looking officer, who wore his +rank upon his sleeve in so elegantly twisted a knot that I could not +make out his degree, and who had on a brand-new riding-jacket, of a dark +blue, to which the sleeve was attached, adorned with the staff-buttons +of our army. It was his duty to command the guard that drove the +captives of the Rebel hosts, in which safe branch of the service, as I +afterwards learned, he had been engaged since '62. No doubt his many +opportunities for demanding what he wanted, and for seizing, like Ahab, +what was denied him, had furnished alike the jacket and the buttons; and +were it not for his placid countenance, I should have fathered his +entire outfit upon the Yankees,—as having fallen to his shoulders by +the same easy process. He was directed to drive us to the road at once, +and to keep his herd in motion all the time. Hurried orders had come +from headquarters, that set all the small bees about this lesser hive in +a whirl of confused labors, whereby our departure was delayed for some +moments. The provost-marshal's clerk was even then packing up his +rattling desk, pigeon-holing papers that would hatch knotty questions in +the coop, and making due preparation for the departure of the Georgian +magnate himself. I observed that their army-wagons kept trailing +southward, like chalk vertebræ, in an unbroken string, and promised for +a long while yet to obstruct the road. It was growing a little cloudy, +too. It was now three hours after noon, and I hoped nervously for a +sullen night.</p> + +<p>Just before we set out on our melancholy march, I saw a man make a move +towards me, and hastily clap one finger across his firm lips. It was the +Adjutant T——, of whom I have spoken, and who did not wish me to +recognize him. It was his object to approach me, and to walk as a +stranger at my side, so that the guards should not part us,—and, I knew +at once, to speak of a project common to both. The old stories of our +camp-fires had flitted across his mind, and had blanched his cheek since +morning. His blood was just thawing as he signalled me. I took no notice +of him till after we had started, a company of men with bent brows, and +he had marched on my right some forty rods. I then muttered slowly, +"Speak little, and to the point"; whereat he waved his hand. It was +singular and sad to ignore thus an old companion in the very hour of +need, when surely a bitterness hung upon our souls that more than ever +required balm. We were, perforce, to play the stranger, when at no time +in life did we more thirst for the tender friend. Doubtless, our hopes +of escape depended much upon each other; and we could but communicate +those plans in insufficient monosyllables, which, if misunderstood, +would lead to disaster. If ever plentiful words, in great ear-measures, +are pardonable, it is at such moments as this,—when even +half-words—diamonds flashing betrayal—are imprudent The Adjutant edged +a little closer.</p> + +<p>"Before dark, or after?" he asked.</p> + +<p>To which I replied,—</p> + +<p>"After."</p> + +<p>He gradually glided away from me, and for some time marched at the other +side of the column.</p> + +<p>I had noticed that he was walking without his jacket. The guards were +accosting the officers in their neighborhood, and had taken his among +other vestments. Most of the party of sad victims were well peeled ere +their melancholy was an hour older. A rough boor turned to me and +demanded my gauntlets. A basilisk fire shone through his eyes, and the +breath which he blew through the grating of his teeth, over his thin, +livid lips, and into my face, was freighted heavily with the fumes of +whiskey. When I made bold to refuse him, he was dumbfoundered in +astonishment, and was pleased to compress his jaws.</p> + +<p>"You d——d Yankee!" he screamed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> profanely, red with the inspiration +of his anger, "if you don't give me your gauntlets, I'll tear your hands +from your body."</p> + +<p>There was enough energy in his action to have guarantied even a more +vehement man[oe]uvre; and as he made his threat, he raised his arm above +me. But I had it in my mind to see myself through the affair in the +course that I had chosen; and having noticed our mild officer a few +paces in the rear of us, mounted upon his horse, and placidly sitting +with his hand upon the pommel, I turned to him at once.</p> + +<p>"If you will do me the favor, Sir," I said, with some gravity of manner, +"I would like you to accept my gauntlets,—a new pair from the box, that +has only seen this day's work."</p> + +<p>"They've had an unlucky birthday," he said, not inaptly, and rather +courteously, as he took them.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my gloves heretofore have all been spoiled by the sabre," I +replied, keeping step with his charger. "I don't know but that you have +to thank a drunken guard for the pair, Sir; since he threatened to kill +me, if I kept them on my hands."</p> + +<p>He gave a hasty look for his orderly.</p> + +<p>"Point out the man, if you can, Sir," he said to me, and beckoned a +trooper to his side.</p> + +<p>"I am obliged to you for your interference," I answered. "The man +marches third on the left there, and has his piece slung behind him. I +hope that some day, Sir, I may do you a favor."</p> + +<p>A sense of humor, for which I must be grateful, considering the sombre +dejection of my marching mates, filled my breast as I thanked him for +putting one under guard for attempting (drunk) what he himself so +soberly accomplished,—the capture of my buckskins. He kept the +gauntlets very willingly, and ordered a sergeant to accompany me. But +there was generosity and magnificence in his action; the acquisition, +per duress, of others' property was a daily habit with him,—and to have +a sergeant for a guard was a considerable favor.</p> + +<p>It was my desire to cultivate the Sergeant thus cast within my reach, +who otherwise might be a marplot, and who had good of some sort in him, +I judged from his appearance; although, as with his kind, it was +evidently very barren winter in his purse, and his summer clothes were +apparently too open. His butternut jacket, a poor tweed with a cotton +filling, was clasped about his throat with a shred of twine, flying away +thence loosely, showing a dirty cotton shirt beneath, and the rough edge +of the waistband of his pantaloons. The material of which these last +were made was a very impressible jean, and marked the number of his +journeys, could one but decipher them, in stains and intricate creases. +He had the same face of lifeless suet, and the yellow hair, that I have +noticed as very prevalent in the Rebel armies,—but withal an elasticity +of carriage that seemed too honest for the cause, an almost openness of +countenance, a cast of features tending towards amiability, which imbued +me with a trembling hope. I had designs upon the Sergeant, and intended +opening upon him with rhetoric, after, perhaps, some amicable +skirmishing. His detail to guard my person was a compliment to me which +only the initiated—those who have made the same journey—can +appreciate. The young provost-officer with the sleeve-knots desired to +offer me a delicate attention in return for my hand-furniture, and, +perhaps, to impress me in some sort with his sense of right, even though +he was of so wrong-headed a company. What a dainty, dew-sipping bunch of +violets would be to conscious beauty,—what a quaint volume of old +matter, dust-breeding and crumbling, would be to the blinking +scholar,—what refined gold, or gold ore, or gold stamped in the mint, +would be to a Wall-Street broker,—was this sergeant to myself. He was +the gift of a royal potentate who stood not upon little matters. There +was no calculation in the largess. I was to have the entire sergeant as +all my own. We fell a rod behind the officer, and trudged evenly along.</p> + +<p>Although big with an evil design, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> did not intend to address my +companion at once. The monotony of my walk, as I had at present nought +else to think of, I allowed to engage a number of my thoughts. I +hazarded conjectures upon many idle points, as my narrative will show. I +fell to watching my feet, and to placing them, as far as practicable, in +the footmarks of him who marched before me, instituting a sort of +comparison between our soles, finding his smaller than mine, as, behind +his back, I ventured upon his measure, watched the ruts in the road, +made the wagons in advance of us, and wondered if those behind us had +axle-trees as wide to an inch,—as they would have, if made by the same +contractor;—in which case, I mused, it is just possible the coming +train may move in this same rut. It seemed, then, a comfortable sort of +place. I saw the clouds of dust that had been provoked rising in anger +and rolling away sullenly many a day that weary summer, and that almost +buried the wretched company in which we journeyed, hover heavily above +the road-side, and choke the pretty weeds blooming there, by way of a +mean revenge upon its human tormentors. Thereupon I envied the blue +things, not their incubus, but their insignificance: for neither +artillery, nor camp wagon, nor passing prisoner was aught to them. I +wondered what each man here would say, if each man could tell his +thoughts. Primarily, I was convinced, each captive would declare himself +sick at heart: that is the only expression which will convey the sinking +feeling. Once I heard a bird sing gayly a clear-throated song from a +clump of trees; at which my heart grew sick also, to render me as +miserable as the rest.</p> + +<p>My mind reverted to the Adjutant T——, of the manner of whose capture I +knew nothing, and whom I had left that morning in camp, as the regiment +set out for the fight. I doubted not but that he would be with me in a +moment, to throw another mild projectile, a half-sentence, at me. I had +myself a catechism of one question with which to greet him. As some +little parley might be necessary between us, which could not go on +without the consent of our guardian, I concluded that then was the time +to throw a sop to my sergeant, I turned coolly upon him.</p> + +<p>"We are marching rather briskly, are we not, Sergeant?" I said, +endeavoring to insinuate the independence of unconcern in my bearing.</p> + +<p>"Wal,—right smart," he replied.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell by your uniform," I continued, with a half-smile, for the +fellow was all beggar's rags and patches, "whether you are in the +cavalry or not; but a pair of spurs, at any rate, may not come amiss to +you,—and I can have no use for mine for some time yet. They don't allow +us, I believe, to kick one another in Libby?"</p> + +<p>I took my long spurs from my boots, like fringe from my heart-strings, +(of which the officer had directed my sergeant to allow no one to +deprive me,—the boots, not the heart-strings, they being inaccessible: +I would, possibly, not lose those till I arrived in Richmond,) and +handed them over to him.</p> + +<p>"I'm of the Thirteenth Virginia Infantry," he said, "but do right smart +duty on horseback" (he liked the steel). "I'm detailed to the provost +marshal. They do treat a fellow rather hard down there."</p> + +<p>I augured ever so much good from the Sergeant's "do," upon which there +was an emphasis.</p> + +<p>"Were you ever a prisoner, Sergeant?" I asked, always careful to bestow +his title.</p> + +<p>"Once," he said, laconically.</p> + +<p>"Well! it's all one in the end," I said, carelessly turning from him, to +show that I had no desire for the conversation, if he did not relish it. +"You have a chance now to give me the devil of a time, in revenge for +your treatment among my friends. 'T is an ill wind that blows nobody +good."</p> + +<p>My sang-froid had the savor of a good pickle. It was a very peculiar +turn to give the affair, I must own; but I saw that the Sergeant was +struck by it. Possibly, that one was my best stroke<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> of the day. I have, +at any rate, ever since deemed it so.</p> + +<p>I walked along as before, speculating, not lightly, upon the dejected +beings about me, who marched, spectre-fashion, in the dust, like the +unhappy (would-be) crew on the shores of the Styx, trying to appease +Charon. They never would be at rest till he ferried them over to the +shades of the world of death,—or (what to them seemed impossible) till +they were remanded back to life among the loved ones of their race. I +remember particularly one trifle of this momentous march, that +threatened towards night to gnaw into my very brain-tissues. Soldiers, +it is known, are not over-careful in their dress, when in daily action +in the field, nor have they time to grow fastidious during the fighting +summer months. They then, perforce, disregard tapes with a loftier +indifference to appearances than that which distinguishes the noble +cynic of the world. But officers generally use tapes about their ankles +(perhaps to keep some garment in place immediately upon the stocking); +and I have known them myself, for prudence' sake, to tie them in hard +knots. A poor limping lieutenant, a little to the left, and some ten +feet in advance of me, had not adopted this precaution, and now, +consequently, more as a punishment to me than to him, one of his nursery +ties had come undone, and was trailing after his foot in shadow-like +persistency. I had here a world of torture in a nutshell. When, +unluckily, my eyes fastened upon this appendage, I could not keep them +from it. It fascinated me with more than the juggler's success upon the +serpent. I fell to conjecturing how long the affair might be,—if four +inches or five; and pondered the allowance to be made in the calculation +by reason of the man's distance; merging this view of the matter in +another, as I watched his heel touch the ground, and noted the time +which elapsed between that and the jumping forward of the foot, with the +string, ever faithful, behind it. I conjectured how much dust the tape +took up at each step, and wondered, if, in a long march, merely by +accretion thereof, the end of it would not be a sort of dirt-coil, +perhaps a tenth of an inch in diameter,—soaring higher, too, in my +delirium of nervousness, till I could imagine the incalculable increase +in size which would be insured, should the lieutenant step into a +puddle, and get the thing all wet: he would wear a sand rope for +ankle-fetter, upon entering Richmond.</p> + +<p>But the most provoking of all the phases to which my humor was reduced, +and which my dilapidated body had to submit to, by means of this tape, +was the almost irresistible desire to spring lightly forward, and to +catch the thing beneath my toe. It invoked me to all sorts of gymnastic +efforts. The impulse racked my breast, and set up an argument against +every reason in favor of a jog-trotting march for the balance of the +daylight. I surveyed the poor lieutenant from head to foot, and pictured +to myself his surprise, should he find himself hitched to the ground. He +would turn, I thought, with open, questioning eyes, and perhaps look +flushed by the accident. He might only hop a step farther on, and trust +to my not again overreaching him. He might, impelled by the influence +that tormented me, fall behind me. I had an unwavering conviction that +that tape would never be removed,—and that, consequently, in some way, +the lieutenant, who played guide to it, would be my haunting demon all +the weary hours of my march.</p> + +<p>Soon after I had conferred my tart speech upon the Sergeant, and had so +sealed my failure to gain his grace in behalf of my friend and myself, +the Adjutant was at my side. A hale, hearty, well-made man, unperturbed +usually, he was now almost another person than himself. I thought I knew +what causes produced the pallor on his face and the quiver about the +loose-hanging under-lip. The good fellow had had in his jacket (before +it was stolen) the leave-of-absence which was to have carried him home +to be married, and he was to have availed himself of it in a week.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +Perhaps the thought of his lady gave him the woebegone expression. All +sorts of sweet dreams, that had illumined his life for months, and +filled up the wide chinks of camp monotony, were now quite bitterly +ended,—capped by the reality worse than the dream which is called +nightmare. His smiling eyes were hooded only a little sooner than were +those milder ones at home, no doubt under traced eyebrows and with far +finer lashes. The marriage, perforce, was put off. The view of home was +put off. Perhaps the Adjutant's solemn quietus, like an extinguisher of +the light of his and his sweetheart's hopes, would drop upon him in +loathsome Libby, and cancel the leave forever. This, being the weightier +thought, was evidently bearing upon his mind.</p> + +<p>I had resolved, in a business way, upon two points,—perchance brought +to my decision through some such tender passage as the above: first, +that, as we could not escape from the lines together, he must take the +earlier, because, as in mortgages, the better risk; and second, that if +he did not answer in a satisfactory manner the one question that I had +kept for some time uppermost in my brain to propound to him, he must +pocket my North Star.</p> + +<p>"Have you a compass?" I muttered, as he edged by me.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied.</p> + +<p>My second resolution, then, was, that he should carry my compass.</p> + +<p>"I've been robbed of everything," he said.</p> + +<p>"Take—my—compass—quick!" I returned, and pressed it into his hand.</p> + +<p>He was not as good an astronomer as I. He looked a hurried remonstrance +at me; but was obliged to hide it at once, and could not, I knew, waste +any eloquence now. Although, moreover, he was a lover, Nature had never +endowed him with the art of speaking through the eye. There were +stronger reasons in favor of his escape than of mine,—worldly, if not +spiritual,—and he suffered from a dangerous nervousness, in dwelling +upon the magnitude of the issue before him, which was not in my way.</p> + +<p>"It is now five," I said; "at seven, if in such woods as this, you must +watch your chance and double."</p> + +<p>"Which way?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Travel north-northeast, seven miles," I whispered.</p> + +<p>Then, as if anxious to burst into a flood of eager words, he began,—</p> + +<p>"But you"——</p> + +<p>I looked at him fixedly, and moved off towards my Sergeant. That cursed +tape before me now again made a twist in my brain.</p> + +<p>I was astonished at my Sergeant's opening a conversation.</p> + +<p>We were travelling (wearily enough) through a piece of woods, +overarching and autumn-tinted, the road being cut down, and, +consequently, either side of it walled in by upheaving embankments, +green-covered and yellow-fringed, over which the declining sun could not +dart its rays upon us. The heavy trains of the entire army were making +the march along with us, disturbing the modest influences of the +spot,—some trundling forward in the van, others toiling after in our +rear, the tending angels of all being drowsy, in the shape of the lazy +teamsters astride their beasts. Only that peculiar music, made up of the +ponderous <i>thud</i> (the birds had all grown still) or tramp of the men for +a bass,—of the clink and clatter of the canteens for a treble,—and of +a little broken conversation, in the whining, drawling tones of the +guard, on their own side of the lines, and so with no quieting weight +upon their tongues, for a <i>viva-voce</i> accompaniment,—broke the sweet +summer stillness. The shafts of sunlight bridging the road above our +heads, making a golden ether-plank for the air-insects to cross upon, +and lighting up the veins in the trembling leaves as the breeze put them +to confusion, set me to thinking of the eyebrows that the Adjutant was +engaged to, and, no doubt, of eyebrows in general. A cool air, smelling +of mould and fallen leaves, perhaps a little damp, fell upon us here.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +The charms of Nature may have loosened the Sergeant's tongue.</p> + +<p>"I was captured in Mar'land," he began, looking straight before him, but +of course honoring me with his address.</p> + +<p>I was grateful to him, a little for companionship's sake, but chiefly +for here giving me a chance that I had hoped for, as I deemed it of +considerable value,—I mean, a chance to dig down to the mine of good +feeling, to the heart of this gray-covered, slumbering crater, that, an +hour since, had thrust out that "do"; and also, I was beholden to him +for taking my thoughts from the tape.</p> + +<p>"How did our boys treat you?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Very fair," he said quickly, with a faint Judas-start, as if it were a +matter of conscience, and he had now twitched it out. "They done well by +me."</p> + +<p>Here was good fortune, indeed! The mine, with all its riches, mine +without any digging.</p> + +<p>"I am glad of it," I said, briefly; for I saw that laconics were his +jewels, perhaps from a sense of expediency as well as of beauty. "We +always try to treat you well, whenever we are not firing our guns at +you."</p> + +<p>This he acknowledged with a nod, but without turning from his look +directly front.</p> + +<p>"I lay two months in hosp't'l," he began again,—"in Fred'r'k, in +Mar'land. I was wounded in the hip."</p> + +<p>"In '62, I suppose?" said I.</p> + +<p>"Yes,—at Boonsboro'."</p> + +<p>Here the conversation ended as suddenly as it had opened. It was very +clear that the Sergeant had said his last word for some time. But I was +convinced in my own mind that at length more good would fall to my lot.</p> + +<p>He pondered the matter some ten minutes, and then quite overwhelmed me +with his story.</p> + +<p>"One of your boys," he began, "lay wounded by me on the field,—of a +ball in the lungs,—and wanted some water. Whenever he spoke, he threw +out blood, and wasn't likely to live, nohow. I said,——</p> + +<p>"'Yank, will you take my tin?'—for there was a drop in it yet, and I +rolled on my side and gave it him.</p> + +<p>"'I am goin' to die,' he said.</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' says I.</p> + +<p>"'They'll treat you well,' he said; 'they'll carry you to the hosp't'l, +and I hope you'll live to git home.'</p> + +<p>"'Thank you,' says I.</p> + +<p>"He gave me some 'baccy and a roll of money.</p> + +<p>"'The paymaster's been about, and he gave me more 'n I want now. You'll +want 'baccy in hosp't'l,—you'll want it all,' he said.</p> + +<p>"And he run over in blood and died. He gave me right smart of money. I +rolled away from him when he died, and they took me to hosp't'l."</p> + +<p>The Sergeant paused for my comment.</p> + +<p>Under my peculiar circumstances, I was very much touched by this story.</p> + +<p>"Poor fellow! many such a one has gone to his account," I said, sadly.</p> + +<p>"And I want to give back some of the money to you," said the Sergeant.</p> + +<p>I looked at him in astonishment.</p> + +<p>"You'll want it down there, as much as you can git. I have no need of +it. It a'n't mine. It's his'n."</p> + +<p>The Sergeant had evidently taken it in trust.</p> + +<p>"What claim have I to it?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Any poor fellow's got a claim to it. It's meant to help poor fellows, +that money is. It's a dead man's work."</p> + +<p>I was more than ever touched now, in the presence of the wealth of this +mine which I had tapped.</p> + +<p>"I will take some of it, Sergeant," I replied; "and I shall do my best +to use it as well as you have."</p> + +<p>(This incident, strange to say, in its display of human purity, almost +tempted me to abandon my scheme of escape, and to go with the Sergeant +down to Richmond. But he was no measure of his fellows.)</p> + +<p>After that we chatted easily off and on, and had a feeling of confidence +in each other which a two or three days' march could not alone have +created.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<p>At about half after six that night, (I had made the Sergeant take my +watch, which otherwise I should surely be robbed of, I told him; and he +gave me the time,)—at about half after six, two officers came riding +furiously up to our mild officer and kept along with him for awhile, +making three dim figures above our heads (they only were mounted) in the +forest shades, in place of the one that, unlike the erl-king, had +continued on his way harmlessly from our outset. Their consultation +over, the two strangers dashed over snapping weeds and underbrush to the +command on ahead, and our mild officer ordered our column (of prisoners) +to halt. We were in the woods still, but we had emerged from between +those sun-spanned embankments some time since. The ground was ill chosen +by our gentle ruler, but he may have depended much upon his men, whose +vigilance, no doubt, he had before tried in the fall of day. They seemed +to me but a handful, and only a sieve for their charge to dribble +through, the latter aided by the time and place in their work of +dropping off. I drew closer to the Adjutant.</p> + +<p>"Say what you have to say for home, in case we miss," I said,—and in +the confusion of the halt I could talk rather freely. "Your time has +come now."</p> + +<p>"You will write, if I'm not heard from,—and—my love to my"—he +gurgled.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," I said, cheerily. "All right, old fellow,—we'll both laugh +over this, some day."</p> + +<p>I gave him a moment.</p> + +<p>"You'll do me the same favor, if I don't happen to turn up," I said; and +we seized each other's hands. "You have the compass,—you know the way. +There is nothing more, I believe, Ned?" I said, hastily, and looked into +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I shall watch my chance as the wagons pass; there is nothing more," he +replied; and we parted immediately.</p> + +<p>It was as if we had agreed to toss pennies for the guillotine. I had no +time to think further of him, for my own plans were maturing.</p> + +<p>It was soon whispered about that we were to let the trains get ahead of +us, since it was necessary that they should move faster; and the Rebel +authorities, I presume, had decided to save their transportation, at the +risk even of their captives. One or other, then, it seemed likely, would +be taken. The Yankees were driving us before them, having reversed the +fortunes of the day, and, perhaps, might liberate the prisoners who so +impeded this retreat. We stood, I presume, for half an hour, drawn up in +a compressed mass upon the skirt of the highway, whilst, startled by +fear, a powerful task-master over teamsters, the late drowsy drivers +urged forward their toil-worn trains. It was seasonable, but I believed +that my time had not yet come. The deep shades encouraged me, but I +awaited the hour that I had hit upon. I thought for a moment of the +Adjutant, perhaps then ducking his head beneath the bushes, and +watching, with his heart beating time, the heavy mass by degrees moving +on. I trusted that the wheel of Fortune, whilst these other wheels were +moving Rebelward, had turned in his favor.</p> + +<p>At a little after seven we again fell into line, not having allowed all +the teams to pass us; and as the same Fortune would have it, we left the +woods behind us, and marched between open meadows. It had now grown +quite dark. My face wore a look of anxiety as I noted the wide stretch +of open field beyond me.</p> + +<p>But there were as anxious faces as mine among the groups of Rebel +officers who rode slowly along the lines. This was the chill season of +perturbation to the hot-blooded gentlemen. Some communications were +passing rapidly between the commander of our detachment and the +commander of the army. Things were not working satisfactorily to either. +Orderlies were dispatched to the front and to the rear, and the +air-blasting bugle was sounded on ahead, as if to chide the teamsters. +When we had marched up an ascent, and were on the brow of a low ridge, +we were halted,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> and then turned into an open field. It was decided, +apparently, that the rest of the train should pass us.</p> + +<p>No doubt I should here have all the graces of a ready pen at my beck, +honey-dipped, or Vulcan-forged, in accordance with my humor, whether sad +or harsh, in making up the climax of my account; for at this spot the +good writer would be most impressive in his language, and set the reader +in a tremble. We waited for seventy minutes in this road-side field, the +prisoners resignedly huddling together, with the callous guards making a +circle about them. Let me enlarge upon our circumstances. The time, +about eight o'clock; the atmosphere thick and murky; the sky overcast, +promising a warm September night. I asked the Sergeant if it would rain, +and said carelessly some other trifles. I feigned an excess of +sleepiness. Our detachment lay some thirty yards from the highway, +spread into a thin line of no evenness, running parallel with the road, +which, in the gloom, our eyes could scarcely find. The exigencies of the +service had proved the ruin of the fences; and only here and there in +the vague darkness could one make out the black bunch of a shadowy tree. +Just beyond us—for my Sergeant and myself stood at the rear extremity, +the land's—end of this shoal of prisoners, outside of the ring of +guards sparely posted, on the very top of the ridge which we had +ascended—was a low clump of bushes, (perhaps neck-high,) squat and +opaque, with much the appearance of a ball of garden boxwood. The hill, +I thought, rolled away on either side,—taking some comfort to myself in +the conjecture; and the inky leaf-globe, only a little more sombre than +its background, could not be seen in a hasty glance. This clump, in its +innocent blackness, would cover my purposed guilt; and I resolved to +confide to it alone the secret crime of my attempted escape.</p> + +<p>But there were calculations to be made, which I set about with the +eagerness which the occasion required, watching my Sergeant very closely +as my head ran over its prospectus. And, first, if he stood by my side, +I revolved, I could not by any chance whisper my tale to the silent +bushes; although, if, at the favorable moment, when the squad was +ordered to march, he but stepped a feather's-throw in advance of me, the +confession could be readily made. His presence would frustrate my plans. +There was one expedient at my beck, but quite hazardous, by the adoption +of which against odds I might compass his death and my freedom,—a +thought which I dismissed on the instant, as it savored of murder and +ingratitude. I must trust that he would give me his back, in spite of +his sense of responsibility, for a breathing-space ere we "fell in." +With his fellow watch-dogs my ruminations had nothing to do. The nearest +of them, owing to their scarcity, (and they had grown trebly valuable +this campaign, as they had grown rarer,) was not within twenty yards of +me. My new world was scarce that distance in the rear. The moment of all +moments, the crisis, the vision of a life-time, eddying through the +brain in the flash of a powder-pan, and stamping red-hot impressions +there, (which in some cases bleach men's hair-roots,) was finally upon +me. My Sergeant turned from me, and I glided with tiger-tread to the +bushes, and laid myself down.</p> + +<p>I was, of course, between him and my new friends, and I pretended to +sleep, so that, if he found me, he could scarce suppose that I meditated +leaving him in so loose a manner; and, moreover, my being asleep would +follow naturally upon my reiterated statement that I was sleepy. It +would have been madness to have taken the other side, since, if there +found, the case against me would have been clear. I depended, as is ever +man's wont, upon mere shadows to do much for me where I was.</p> + +<p>I have thought often since, however, (then other than the deliberate +thought which every man in trying circumstances has experienced, and +which centres upon one subject, being so severe a tension of all the +faculties as to seem no thought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> at all, was impossible,) that it would +be unwise, and perhaps a stumbling-block to future Union captives in the +custody of that horrid host, to ascribe my unbroken rest under those +dry, dusty bush-branches simply to the heavy darkness of the evening, +excluding all other causes from participation in my affairs. It was +unusually cloudy, the sky resting overhead like a hanging pall, and +threatening rain with thunder every moment, as is almost always the case +after a hotly contested engagement. The fight that morning had been a +grand one, (quite a Horace Vernet picture,) and hence the clouds that +night. But I must own that I give my Sergeant a place in my memory now +with a feeling of gratitude, induced thereto by the strong supposition +that he did not allow himself to see me as I glided under cover. I count +much upon his heart, as shown in his little proffered narrative. The +other guards on the line might readily have failed to notice me, the +more so as I had a special attendant to see to my wants; and I should +have been very sorry, indeed, had one of them disturbed my rest. But my +Sergeant was not three body-lengths from me when I slipped away from his +protection; and although he had his back turned, I am inclined to think +that he had only fewer eyes than Argus. His general reputation, to be +read in his bearing, pronounced him vigilant, and his every act +betokened circumspection. Far be it from me, however, to bespatter his +character by avowing him negligent in performing his duty in this case, +whilst lauding him for his honest devotion to his masters. Perhaps it +may have been a part of his care to see the squad "fall in," and he +could not abandon that line of his duty to search for a stray officer, +smooth-spoken and amiable, to whom he had just shown a kindness. The +bustle and unnatural darkness of the moment could not inspire one who +was not a demon with a demoniacal desire to set a screeching and rash +body of troopers upon my track. The detachment of melancholy mutes was +moving off when I tried my fate; and he could have had but little time +to think ere the miserable men were in the distance. The farther my +Sergeant journeyed, the more likely he was to keep quiet upon my +subject.</p> + +<p>I experienced very peculiar emotions as I lay there and found myself +alone. I even seemed to hear the whine of the soldiery, the ringing of +canteens and sabres, and the peculiar sound of the tramping feet, long +after they had passed away,—chanting, in my soul's depths, my +fluttering song of triumph to that imagined accompaniment. I had an +almost accurate idea of where I was, having observed our course quite +closely during the day, and proposed going over very nearly the same +ground in the next twenty-four hours. I had already decided in my own +mind that the Rebel general was making a retreat before the gallant +General Sheridan, whose outposts I hoped soon to come upon. But dangers +many, and some hidden, lay thick-strewn upon my path, which had not run +over roses hither; and I deemed it best to encumber the cold earth for +an hour, ere I sallied from my Moses-harbor.</p> + +<p>The highway lay within a hundred feet of me; and as I intended taking up +my lost stitches of the morning in a peculiar (and, I hoped, original) +manner, having no knowledge of the country beyond the line of our late +march, I was obliged to count upon keeping within sound of the troops +and wagons travelling there, if I desired at all to gain my end. The +Adjutant T—— had my compass, and was, I trusted, quite free from +danger as I remained supinely within hail of men who would be delighted +to shoot me. His image, as I fancied him, cumbersome and crouching, as +he hurried along, dodging from tree to tree, reminded me of the hunts +which the chivalry indulge in farther south, (near that very horrible +Andersonville slaughter-house,) where the bay of the blood-hound rings +over the marshes, and the pack is let loose in the clear morning air, +crystal-bright and all aglow, to lap up the dew with overhanging +tongues, and to run down escaped prisoners. There is no poetical charm +attaching to that pack, although Pan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> never played his reeds in a more +poetical country; and its existence and employment are solemnly sober +truths. They made me very grave, suggesting, as they did, some other +dangers to which I was then liable. After working myself into a nervous +state of body, I began pulling off my coat, leaving my shoulder-straps +therewith, to play the part of asterisks, and explain who was within. My +pantaloons the soil would soon make as white as a gray-back's; and my +cap was to stay with the uniform, to grace some indigent discoverer of +the other side.</p> + +<p>When I had secreted my money in my waistband, (not deeming my orderly's +suggestion feasible,) and had strapped my suspenders tightly about my +body, I worked my way round the bushes to the other side of the clump. +As I had expected, I found an even sweep downwards of meadow-land, +stretching parallel with the road, and as far before me as I could see +through the darkness.</p> + +<p>I got myself flat upon the ground, with my feet, as in Christian burial, +pointing towards the east,—for there the highway ran,—and with my +handkerchief bound about my head. I then commenced rolling as gently as +possible down the grassy declivity.</p> + +<p>I should be unable to give any account of my thoughts during the first +ten minutes of my novel evolutions. I moved at one time slowly, at +another rapidly, as the ideas of prudence and danger by turns reigned in +my bosom. I risked much in being obliged to keep in line with the +current of life flowing so noisily the other way, the thought of which +spurred me onward; and I had far to go, and not very great endurance to +fall back upon,—a reflection which counselled a cautious expenditure of +effort. I was anon anxious to fly over the hard lumps of earth and +pricking straw-blades,—anon, eager to move gently, with deliberate hand +upon the brake. I suffered much at my elbows, which were crushed as my +body passed over them, (a pulverizing process,) and which, as I had +clasped my arms across my breast, were most palpably in the way. It +seemed as if they would be unhinged. My feet, too, demonstrated to me +the causes of the circular motion of a penholder or a ruler when started +down a desk-lid, and had the same influence upon my course as the +pin-point has upon the whole pin when in motion. My head and upper +members inclined to swing in a circle about my feet. I spent much labor +upon this defaulting portion of Æsop's body of sovereign independencies, +which threatened the greatest difficulties. My neck, also, in the narrow +space between the band of my low woollen shirt and my hair-roots, was +harassed at every turn by the needle-bed of short grass that I passed +over; and the loose stones, stubble, and gravel, that had irritated the +skin, worked their way beneath the garment. I was quite a child's +rattle, full of pebbles. I could have endured all this for a long while, +however, the spirit then actuating me being one of those unreflecting +forces which would (as a last resort) have carried me down the same +slope in a Regulus-cask. But after travelling quite a distance, I began +to revolve, not any complete remedy for these manifold ills, but some +amelioration of the exaggerated violence of their sway. I tore one +sleeve from my undershirt and wound that around my neck. I held my arms +straight down my side and flat against my body. Nothing short of +amputation could have crushed the rebellion in my lower members, and so +(with the power to amputate not abandoned) I nursed them into insolence +with a compromise.</p> + +<p>A psychological history of the uneven progress of that billowy retreat +would be as far beyond my reach as of the ten minutes of outset trial. I +thought only vaguely of my home, of my regiment, of my moments of danger +in past life. I listened during that night till my sense of hearing +changed from a passive to an active sense. I got my neck sadly cramped +in lifting my head from the ground every time my body rolled face upward +to gain some knowledge of the enemy. My imagination started up all sorts +of shapes about me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> The damp, heavy atmosphere sent a chill through my +veins. I apprehended rain. I soon, also, began to think of daylight, +(before which I had many hours,) and to wonder how I should secrete +myself after sunrise. I did not feel hungry; but I had not gone far +before I felt the faint longings of thirst.</p> + +<p>The ground, too, over which I travelled, was not all meadow land, and +had worse features than grass-swords and gravel bullets. I did not find +many fences, but I crossed innumerable small streams and one heavy +hedge.</p> + +<p>I noticed that by degrees, judging from the sound, the Rebel troops were +getting by, only dropping along finally in dish-water driblets,—and +that, at last, but scattering bodies of infantry, and at intervals some +wagons, occupied the road, moving like dark lobsters in the midnight +mists. I could not take to it myself, because of them; and I knew too +well how full it would be of stragglers, those worthless gleanings of an +army, even after the rear-guard had swept onwards. But I did not +hesitate to erect my body from its voluntary abasement and to make +walking a branch of my exercise, when convinced that only vagrants could +chance to see me. They never capture prisoners on either side. Thus was +I enabled for two hours before sunrise to accomplish more than twice as +much as my five hours' rolling labors had attained.</p> + +<p>The long-expected rain began to fall in a heavy mist at about dawn, and +shortly grew in importance, till the windows of heaven were wide open +and it became a settled pour. Most fortunately, by that time I had +entered some of the first woods we had passed through in the journey of +the previous day, and had fair shelter (from Aurora, not Pluvius) within +my reach. It was a colossal pepper-box lid, that could keep men from +seeing through it, but not the rain from dropping in. My first impulse +was to make a fire, so chilled to the very marrow was I in the early +morning air, that chilliest of all atmospheres, and so wet was I also in +my light summer garments. But of course Prudence had no word in that +matter, nor any countenance for a suggestion so reckless, and my soberer +senses got to casting about for a fitting retreat ere broad day lay +before me. I must reconnoitre, I thought, dripping at every point, like +a convict in the marshes, before I continued a tramp here that might +expose me to a scouting-party at any moment. That hunger, too, which had +not troubled me in the night-hours, came upon me now and urged very +suggestive hints. I had made a cup of my hands more than once, and +slaked my thirst from the streams in my way, Narcissus-fashion; but +nothing solid had passed my lips for seventeen hours. First, logs and +leaves for a cover, then food, then a critical examination of my +position, were my objects, as I hastily settled my plans. The thought of +the intelligent contraband, so beyond ordinary human excellence in the +richness of his heart, who might minister to all my wants, (as without +question many such had done to my distressed brethren flying from +Libby,) and whose homely traits become to us golden virtues in moments +of suffering, crossed my brain as the depression of hunger increased. +Very dim visions of clean and savory cooking haunted me as I took off my +boots and shook the water from them. I could not imagine anything to +equal in value a good steak or a hot hash; nor could I check my feeling +of discontent, a hopeless feeling, at having many a time and oft +partaken of like viands, perhaps, unappreciatively. The slimy dirt of my +uppers soiled my hands, as I endeavored to make myself less +uncomfortable, and I took the shirtsleeve from my neck as the driest +article about me upon which to wipe them, Near by lay the trunk of a +large walnut-tree, water-logged and growing sponge-moss; and small +bushes, like coral reefs in this sea of troubles, were on all sides of +me. I had not accomplished much when I heard distinctly the sound of a +bugle.</p> + +<p>It was, I supposed, about half a mile distant; but there was no knowing +how near the wet horsemen whom it signalled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> might be to my proposed +hiding place; and, accordingly, I got hastily down by the walnut, a good +squirrel-cover, without shelter or head-piece. I lay along that side of +it which was farthest from the road, and durst not move for fear of +capture. The woods were quite thick at that place, and from the hidden +pathway (now become scarce a highway) a body of the enemy might emerge +at any moment. The unwelcome music of their bugle broke the Sabbath +stillness of the morning, and interrupted the harmony of the falling +rain-drops as they pattered through the great cathedral branches +overhead. I spent, I presume, two hours in this lazy manner, without +thought of any food, and scarce daring to look about me. During the +first half of that period I heard the bugle thrice send its clear, +ringing notes—for it is sometimes lark-throated—through the +tree-aisles and under the half-arches above me, the tones lingering in +waves on the air, and not failing to startle me. At the first commanding +blast I got to watching for the troops that did not come forth at all. +Being quite three grasshopper's flights from the road, I could +reconnoitre the few rods of it passing near me with comparative ease and +safety, and the intentness of my look-out drove thoughts of discomfort +from my head. The silence grew oppressive to one who had been perforce +so long alone. The thought that at times man has to avoid his +fellow-beings in his misery, lest his misery be augmented, was +productive of a tender feeling of self-pity in my bosom, which, perhaps, +(strange to say,) was a source of some comfort to me. I had, I found, +awakened a present sympathy in my case, the passive part of my nature +having enlisted its kindly feelings in behalf of the bespattered, +dripping gentleman who lay there before it, a sad mass of ooze, soaking +on wet leaves. I was growing reflective over my woes, when the second +blast broke upon my ear, and I started much as young ladies do at the +sudden gun which, on the boards, sends the unholy Caspar to his account.</p> + +<p>In a word, I was worn out, wet, and hungry; and had become so unstrung, +in the accumulated discomforts of the roll from Rebeldom, and the rain +of the last stages of my journey, that I could not control my growing +nervousness. Having waited a full hour from the third signal-call of the +bugle, I jumped desperately to my feet, with a mind made up to hazard +everything. Many unlucky fellows, escaping from their captors, have +toiled with a wonderful energy, and have failed, when worthy of +immediate success, if we rate them by (the war standard) their bravery +and coolness. They succumb to fever, and despair finally, but a few +moments ere the object of their toils would drop before them. It is +ill-advised ever to cast one's hopes adrift as long as life is in +us,—an imprudence of which I myself was guilty, and which might have +carried me back to thraldom. The dragging anchor may fasten, spell-bound +by some fluke-enamored reef, as the vessel seems on the point of +striking. I jumped to my feet in desperation, and walked hastily a few +rods nearer home. I allowed no after-thought in the premises, but +decided to dodge from tree to tree, like the hunting Indian, as long as +my present humor impelled me.</p> + +<p>I know not how far I advanced thus, through the most desperate (but to +the reader, whom I commiserate, least interesting) stage of my +adventure,—nor anything of my thoughts or emotions, after the hot +resolve had taken hold of me. I was in a fever, a mad fever, the +evidence of cold, and the handiwork of the past night's rolling-mill, +and, I doubt not, was entirely unfitted to evade the enemy with presence +of mind or skill. I did not pause till I heard the sound of axes, and +the confused noises of a body of men.</p> + +<p>I then again took the serpent's position upon the earth, after he, like +myself, had lost his Eden, and summoned my oft-trusted counsellors, my +ears, to their familiar duty of serving for all my senses in one. The +sounds were very distinct indeed; I could even hear the men's voices, +chopped up by their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> active tools; and I knew, by the noise of their +labors, that they were driving stakes into the ground. It could scarce +be the Rebels, I thought, in camp this distance in the rear: it might be +our men, I hoped, pushing our advance up the Valley. I drew carefully +forward on hands and knees.</p> + +<p>In a little while I saw a bending figure, with its back to me, holding +something that I could not see over a smoking bundle of fagots. There +was a poncho about the neck, that covered it down to the ground, and in +the morning gray, the figure, the colonnade of tree-trunks, the lazy +smoke, a cabinet picture, wore an India-rubber look.</p> + +<p>Presently another came up to my first discovery, as if emerging from the +bustle elsewhere, and stood erect before him, seeming almost as wet as +myself. There was a tasselled bugle in his hand, covered with a corner +of his poncho, under which he had a cavalry sabre. He wore, also, a +dripping cavalry cord round his hat. After a few words, the two sat upon +their heels before the fire, which they bent over, paternally, to +protect, watching the thing that was cooking.</p> + +<p>Having drawn myself cautiously nearer, I waited a long while for one of +the men to display his colors.</p> + +<p>The bugler was burnishing his instrument upon his blouse beneath his +rubber, hazarding some chance notes under shelter, as he laughed and +chatted with his friend. He would, apparently, consult with him of his +performance; and he finally lifted himself upon his feet, with the +instrument tight to his lips. He then blew a rasping, grating blast upon +the air, ear-splitting and dissonant, that was his own rendition of a +few bars of Yankee Doodle.</p> + +<p>The blouse, being dark, had given me much hope; the air gave me +certainty; and before the bugler could wind his final note, I became one +of the group.</p> + +<p>My pantaloons showed that I was an officer, but in all other respects I +appeared less than a highwayman. Accustomed to roughnesses, however, the +men before me would not have divined that I was miserable, had not my +appearance been by a few degrees more wretched than that of the most +dilapidated of warriors. They gave over, the one his mess, the other his +music, for a second, to inquire into my circumstances, and then +conducted me to the Major who had command of the detachment some quarter +of a mile in the rear.</p> + +<p>The eight days' leave-of-absence that was given me, after a full report +at headquarters, garnished with less ornament than the present record, +afforded me an opportunity to reach my physician in time to have it +extended by ten more; and in that period I learned from a letter, +written in a thin, peaked hand, that the Adjutant T—— had escaped, but +had been shot in the thigh. The compass, that had been his cloud by day +and pillar of fire by night during his sad exodus, was returned to me, +with his old lady-mother's thanks. Many simple, yet touching, speeches +welled up from her rich heart, and shone on the thin white paper; and, +no doubt, her great, manly son was tended by another, whilst, at her +escritoire, the kindly epistle was made for me. In the subsequent hurry +of camp-life, I received a second, that contained all those mournful +expressions of resignation, and dependence upon the Higher Power, which +broken-hearted Christians so sweetly utter. The Adjutant T——, indeed, +had received his solemn quietus in running from the Libby Prison, and +the extinguisher of his life was down.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DOCTOR_JOHNS" id="DOCTOR_JOHNS"></a>DOCTOR JOHNS.</h2> + + +<h3>XXVIII.</h3> + +<p>"Doctor, we miss Reuby," said the Tew partners.</p> + +<p>And the good old people said it with feeling,—though, over and over, at +winter's dusk, the boy had given a sharp rattle to their shop-door, and +the warning bell called them away from their snug fire only to see his +light pair of heels whisking around the corner of the Eagle Tavern. The +mischief in the lad was, indeed, of such elastic, irrepressible temper, +that even the gravest of the parishioners were disposed to regard it +with a frown in which a comic pardon was always lurking. Perhaps this +may have been by reason of the tender recollections of the poor young +mother Rachel, who had so suddenly yielded up her life, and taken away +the charm of her smiles to another country; or it may have been that the +pranks of the parson's boy found greater toleration by reason of their +contrast with the sturdy and unyielding gravity of the Doctor; they made +up a good average of mirth for the household of the parsonage,—a sort +of average which the wicked world craves, and which, it is to be feared, +will be craved until we take on a wholly new moral shape. Or, to put the +reflection in other form, if the Doctor's immovable serenity was a type +of the highest embodiment of good in this world, the playful humors of +the boy were reckoned by the good-natured villagers as the most +pardonable shape which the inevitable principle of evil that belongs to +our heritage could possibly take on; and thus, while the father +challenged their admiration, only the more, by reason of the contrast, +the boy challenged all their tenderest sympathies.</p> + +<p>Even the Tourtelots "quite missed the boy"; though over and over the +brindled cow of the Deacon was found to have slipped the bars, (a thing +the orderly creature was never known to do of her own head,) and was +reported at twilight by the sober-faced Reuben as strolling far down +upon the Common.</p> + +<p>It is but a small bit of canvas we have chosen for the painting in of +these figures of ours; and returning to the old town of Ashfield, as we +do now, where the central interest must lie, there is little of change +to declare, still less of dramatic incident. A serene quietude, year +after year, is the characteristic of most of the interior New England +towns. The elections come and go with their fury of previous +declamation. The Squire presides over the deliberations of his party, +and some leading Adams man presides over the deliberations of the other; +even the boys are all Jackson men or Adams men; but when the result is +declared, there is an acquiescence on all hands that is beautiful to +behold; and in process of time, Mr. Troop, the postmaster, yields up the +mail pouches and locks and canvas bags to some active little Jackson +partisan with the utmost suavity, and smokes off his discontent upon the +porch of the Eagle Tavern, under the very shadow of the tall hickory +pole, which for one third of its height is protected by old wagon-tire +heavily spiked on, against the axes of zealous political opponents.</p> + +<p>The old blear-eyed Boody is not so cheery as we have seen him, although +his party has won brilliant success. There is a sad story of domestic +grief that has marked a new wrinkle in his forehead and given a droop to +his eye, which, had all gone fairly, he might have weathered for ten +years more. The glory of the ringleted Suke has indeed gone, as Phil had +told; but it has not gone in the way of marriage. God only knows where +those pink cheeks are showing their graces now,—not, surely, in any +home of hers,—not in any home at all. God only knows what repinings +have come, all too late, over the glitter and the triumph of an hour.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +The elderly, grave ones shake their heads dismally over this fall, and +talk of the terribly demoralizing associations amidst which the poor +child has lived; but do they ask themselves if they did their best to +mend them? Decoyed toward evil fast and frequently enough, without +doubt; but were there any decoys, such as kind hands and welcoming +words, in the other direction? The meeting-house doors have, indeed, +been always open, for the just and for the unjust. But have not the +starched, good women of the parish been a little disposed to count the +pretty tavern-keeper's daughter as outside the fold—so far as all +social influences were concerned—from the beginning? That exuberant +life in her which led to the dance at a tavern ball, was there any +palliative for it,—any hope for it, except to go on in the way of +destruction?</p> + +<p>But we would not judge unjustly. Certain it is, that Miss Johns indulged +in such scathing condemnation of the poor sinner as made Adèle shiver: +with the spinster at least, there would be little hope for a Magdalen, +or a child of a Magdalen. Nor could such as she fully understand the +measured and subdued tone with which the good Doctor talked of a lapse +from virtue which had so shocked the little community. But the parson +lived so closely in that spiritual world where all his labor and love +centred, that he saw under its ineffable light only two great ranks of +people pressing toward the inevitable goal: a lesser rank, which had +found favor of God; and a greater, tumultuous one, toward whom his heart +yearned, that with wavering and doubt and evil intention pressed on to +destruction. What mattered to him the color of the sin, or who was he to +judge it? When the secret places of the heart were so full of +wickedness, why anathematize above the rest those plague-spots which +revealed themselves to mortals? "Fearful above all others," he was wont +to say, "will be those sins which, being kept cautiously smouldering +through life, will, at the blast of the Archangel's trump, blaze out in +inextinguishable fire!"</p> + +<p>The Doctor kept himself and his pulpit mostly free of that theological +fermentation which in those years was going on throughout New +England,—at least of all such forms of it as marked a division in the +orthodox churches. If he had a leaning, it was certainly in favor of the +utmost severity of Calvinism. He distrusted human philosophy, and would +rather have accepted the theory of natural inability in all its +harshness than see it explained away by any metaphysic subtilties that +should seem to veil or place in doubt the paramount efficiency of the +Spirit.</p> + +<p>But though slow to accept theological reforms, the Doctor was not slow +to advocate those which promised good influence upon public morals. Thus +he had entered with zeal into the Temperance movement; and after 1830, +or 1832 at the latest, there was no private locker in the parsonage for +any black bottle of choice Santa Cruz. His example had its bearing upon +others of the parish; and whether by dint of the Doctor's effective +preaching, or whether it were by reason of the dilapidated state of the +buildings and the leaky condition of the stills, it is certain that +about this time Deacon Simmons, of whom casual mention has been made, +abandoned his distillery, and invested such spare capital as he chose to +keep afloat in the business of his son-in-law, Mr. Bowrigg of New York, +who had up to this time sold the Deacon's gin upon commission.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bowrigg was a thriving merchant, and continued his wholesale traffic +with eminent success. In proof of this success, he astonished the good +people of Ashfield by building, in the summer of 1833, at the +instigation of his wife, an elegant country residence upon the main +street of the town; and the following year, the little Bowriggs—two +daughters of blooming girl age—brought such a flutter of city ribbons +and silks into the main aisle of the meeting-house as had not been seen +in many a day. Anne and Sophia Bowrigg, aged respectively thirteen and +fifteen, fell naturally into somewhat intimate associations<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> with our +little friends, Adèle and Rose: an association that was not much to the +taste of the Doctor, who feared that under it Adèle might launch again +into those old coquetries of dress against which Maverick had cautioned +him, and which in their quiet country atmosphere had been subdued into a +modest homeliness that was certainly very charming.</p> + +<p>Miss Sophia, however, the elder of the two Bowrigg daughters, was a +young lady not easily balked of her intent; and conceiving a violent +fondness for Adèle, whether by reason of the graces of her character, or +by reason of her foreign speech, in which she could stammeringly join, +to the great mystification of all others, she soon forced herself into a +patronizing intimacy with Adèle, and was a frequent visitor at the +parsonage. With a great fund of assurance, a rare and unappeasable +glibness of tongue, and that lack of refined delicacy which invariably +belongs to such noisy demonstrativeness, Miss Sophia had after only one +or two interviews ferreted out from Adèle all that the little stranger +herself knew respecting her history.</p> + +<p>"And not to know your mother, Adèle! that s so very queer!"</p> + +<p>Adèle winces at this, but seems—to so coarse an observer—only +preoccupied with her work.</p> + +<p>"Is'nt it queer?" persists the garrulous creature. "I knew a girl in the +city who did not see her mother after she was three,—think of that! But +then, you know, she was a bad woman."</p> + +<p>The hot Provençal blood mounts to the cheek and brow of Adèle in an +instant, and her eye flashes. But it is quite impossible to show anger +in view of the stolid face of her companion, with nothing in it but an +unthinking, girlish curiosity.</p> + +<p>"We will talk of something else, Sophie."</p> + +<p>"Oh! then you don't like to speak of it! Dear me! I certainly wont, +then."</p> + +<p>Yet this rattle-brained girl has no real ill-nature; and it is +surprising what a number of such well-meaning people go blundering about +society, inflicting cheerful wounds in all directions by mere reason of +their bluntness and lack of all delicacy of feeling.</p> + +<p>But it is by no means the first time the sensibilities of Adèle have +been touched to the quick. She is approaching that age when they ripen +with marvellous rapidity. There is never an evening now at that cheerful +home of the Elderkins—lighted up as it is with the beaming smiles of +that Christian mother, Mrs. Elderkin—but there sweeps over the mind of +the poor girl, at some interval in the games or the chat, a terrible +sense of some great loss she has suffered, of which she knows not the +limits,—a cruel sense of isolation in which she wanders, and on which +comes betimes the recollection of a father's kindly face, that in the +growing distance makes her isolation seem even more appalling.</p> + +<p>Rose, good soul, detects these humors by a keen, girlish instinct, and, +gliding up to her, passes her arm around her,—</p> + +<p>"What is it now, Adèle, dear?"</p> + +<p>And she, looking down at her, (for Adèle was the taller by half a head,) +says,—</p> + +<p>"What a good mother you have, Rose!"</p> + +<p>"Only that!"—and Rose laughs gleefully for a moment, when, bethinking +herself where the secret grief lay, her sweet face is overcast in an +instant, and reaching up her two hands, she draws down the face of Adèle +to hers, and kisses her on either cheek.</p> + +<p>Phil, who is at a game of chess with Grace, pretends not to see this +side demonstration; but his next move is to sacrifice his only remaining +castle in the most needless manner.</p> + +<p>Dame Tourtelot, too, has pressed her womanly prerogative of knowing +whatever could be known about the French girl who comes occasionally +with Miss Eliza to her tea-drinkings, and who, with a native taste for +music, is specially interested in the piano of Miss Almira.</p> + +<p>"It must be very tedious," says the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> Dame, "to be so long away from home +and from those that love you. Almiry, now, hardly goes for a week to +Cousin Jerushy's at Har'ford but she is a-frettin' to be back in her old +home. Don't you feel it, Adeel?" (The Dame is not to be driven out of +her own notions of pronunciation by any French accents.) "But don't be +down-hearted, my child; it's God's providence that's brought you away +from a Popish country."</p> + +<p>And she pushes her inquiries regarding the previous life of Adèle with +an earnestness and an authoritative air which at times do not fail to +provoke a passionate retort. To this the old lady is wholly unused; and +condemning her straightway as a hot-headed Romanist, it is to be feared +that we must regard the Dame henceforth as one disposed to look upon the +least favorable lights which may appear, whether in the past history of +Adèle or in the developments to come.</p> + +<p>The spinster, also, who is mistress of the parsonage, though never +giving up her admiring patronage of Adèle, and governing her curiosity +with far more tact than belongs to Dame Tourtelot, has yet shown a +persistent zeal in pushing her investigations in regard to all that +concerned the family history of her little <i>protégée</i>. She has lent an +eager ear to all the communications which Maverick has addressed to the +Doctor; and in moments of what seemed exceptional fondness, when she has +toyed with the head-gear of Adèle, has plied the little brain with +motherly questions that have somehow widely failed of their intent.</p> + +<p>Under all this, Adèle ripens into a certain reserve and individuality of +character which might never have belonged to her, had the earlier +circumstances of her life been altogether familiar to the circle in +which she was placed. The Doctor fastens, perhaps, an undue reliance +upon this growing reserve of hers: sure it is that an increasing +confidence is establishing itself between them, which it is to be hoped +nothing will shake.</p> + +<p>And as for Phil, when the Squire teases him with his growing fondness +for the little Jesuit of the parsonage, the boy, though past seventeen +now, and "with views of his own," (as most young men have at that age,) +blushes like a girl.</p> + +<p>Rose, seeing it, and her eyes flashing with sisterly pride, says to +herself,—</p> + +<p>"Oh, I hope it may come true!"</p> + + +<h3>XXIX.</h3> + +<p>From time to time Maverick had written in reply to the periodical +reports of the Doctor, and always with unabating confidence in his +discretion and kindness.</p> + +<p>"I have remarked what you say" (he had written thus in a letter which +had elicited the close attention of Miss Eliza) "in regard to the rosary +found among the girlish treasures of Adèle. I am not aware how she can +have come by such a trinket from the source named; but I must beg you to +take as little notice as possible of the matter, and please allow her +possession of it to remain entirely unremarked. I am specially anxious +that no factitious importance be given to the relic by opposition to her +wishes."</p> + +<p>Heavy losses incident to the political changes of the year 1831 in +France had kept him fastened at his post; and with the reviving trade +under the peaceful <i>régime</i> of Louis Philippe, he had been more actively +engaged even than before. Yet there was no interruption to his +correspondence with Adèle, and no falling off in its expressions of +earnest affection and devotion.</p> + +<p>"I fancy you almost a woman grown now, dear Adèle. Those cheeks of yours +have, I hope, not lost their roundness or their rosiness. But, however +much you may have grown, I am sure that my heart would guide me so truly +that I could single you out from a great crowd of the little Puritan +people about you. I can fancy you in some simple New England dress,—in +which I would rather see you, my child, than in the richest silks of +those about me here,——gliding<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> up the pathway that leads to the door +of the old parsonage; I can fancy you dropping a word of greeting to the +good Doctor within his study (he must be wearing spectacles now); and at +evening I seem to see you kneeling in the long back dining-room, as the +parson leads in family prayer. Well, well, don't forget to pray for your +old father, my child. I shall be all the safer for it, in what the +Doctor calls 'this wicked land.' And what of Reuben, whose mischief, you +told me, threatened such fearful results? Sobered down, I suppose, long +before this, wearing a stout jacket of homespun, driving home the 'keow' +at night, and singing in the choir of a Sunday. Don't lose your heart, +Adèle, with any of the youngsters about you. I claim the whole of it; +and every day and every night mine beats for you, my child."</p> + +<p>And Adèle writes back:—</p> + +<p>"My heart is all yours, papa,—only why do you never come and take it? +So many, many years that I have not seen you!</p> + +<p>"Yes, I like Ashfield still; it is almost a home to me now, you know. +New Papa is very kind, but just as grave and stiff as at the first. I +know he loves me, but he never tells me so. I don't believe he ever told +Reuben so. But when I sing some song that he loves to hear, I see a +little quirk by his temple, and a glistening in his eye, as he thanks +me, that tells it plain enough; and most of all when he prays, as he +sometimes does after talking to me very gravely, with his arm tight +clasped around me, oh, I am sure that he loves me!—and indeed, and +indeed, I love him back again!</p> + +<p>"It was funny what you said of Reuben; for you must know that he is +living in the city now, and happens upon us here sometimes with a very +grand air,—as fine, I dare say, as the people about Marseilles. But I +don't think I like him any better; I don't know if I like him as well. +Miss Eliza is, of course, very proud of him, as she always was."</p> + +<p>As the nicer observing faculties of his child develop,—of which, ample +traces appear in her letters,—Maverick begs her to detail to him as +fully as she can all the little events of her every-day life. He has an +eagerness, which only an absent parent can feel, to know how his pet is +received by those about her; and would supply himself, so far as he may, +with a full picture of the scenes amid which his child is growing up. +Sheet after sheet of this simple, girlish narrative of hers Maverick +delights himself with, as he sits upon his balcony, after business +hours, looking down upon the harbor of Marseilles.</p> + +<p>"After morning prayers, which are very early, you know, Esther places +the smoking dishes on the table, and New Papa asks a blessing,—always. +Then he says, 'I hope Adaly has not forgotten her text of yesterday.' +And I repeat it to him. Such a quantity of texts as I can repeat now! +Then Aunt Eliza says, 'I hope, too, that Adèle will make no mistake in +her "Paradise Lost" to-day. Are you sure you've not forgotten that +lesson in the parsing, child?' Indeed, papa, I can parse almost any page +in the book.</p> + +<p>"'I think,' says New Papa, appealing to Miss Eliza, 'that Larkin may +grease the wheels of the chaise this morning, and, if it should be fair, +I will make a visit or two at the north end of the town; and I think +Adaly would like to go with me.'</p> + +<p>"'Yes, dearly, New Papa,' I say,—which is very true.</p> + +<p>"And Miss Eliza says, very gravely, 'I am perfectly willing, Doctor.'</p> + +<p>"After breakfast is over, Miss Eliza will sometimes walk with me a short +way down the street, and will say to me, 'Hold yourself erect, Adèle; +walk trimly.' <i>She</i> walks very trimly. Then we pass by the Hapgood +house, which is one of the grand houses; and I know the old Miss +Hapgoods are looking through the blinds at us, though they never show +themselves until they have taken out their curl-papers in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>"Dame Tourtelot isn't so shy; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> we see her great, gaunt figure in a +broad sun-bonnet, stooping down with her trowel, at work among the +flower-patches before her door; and Miss Almira is reading at an upper +window, in pink muslin. And when the Dame hears us, she lifts herself +straight, sets her old flapping bonnet as square as she can, and stares +through her spectacles until she has made us out; then says,—</p> + +<p>"'Good mornin', Miss Johns. You're 'arly this mornin'.'</p> + +<p>"'Quite early,' says Miss Eliza. 'Your flowers are looking nicely, Mrs. +Tourtelot.'</p> + +<p>"'Well, the pi'nys is blowed pretty good. Wouldn't Adeel like a pi'ny?'</p> + +<p>"It's a great red monster of a flower, papa; but I thank her for it, and +put it in my belt. Then the Dame goes on to tell how she has shifted the +striped grass, and how the bouncing-Bets are spreading, and where she +means to put her nasturtiums the next year, and brandishes her trowel, +as the brigands in the story-books brandish their swords.</p> + +<p>"And Miss Eliza says, 'Almira is at her reading, I see.'</p> + +<p>"'Dear me!' says the Dame, glancing up; 'she's always a-readin'. What +with novils and histories, she's injurin' her health, Miss Johns, as +sure as you're alive.'</p> + +<p>"Then, as we set off again,—the Dame calling out some last word, and +brandishing her trowel over the fence,—old Squire Elderkin comes +swinging up the street with the 'Courant' in his hand; and he lifts his +hat, and says, 'Good morning to you, Miss Johns; and how is the little +French lady this morning? Bright as ever, I see,' (for he doesn't wait +to be answered,)—'a peony in her belt, and two roses in her cheeks.' +Yet my cheeks are not very red, papa; but it's his way....</p> + +<p>"After school, I go for the drive with the Doctor, which I enjoy very +much. I ask him about all the flowers along the way, and he tells me +everything, and I have learned the names of all the birds; and it is +much better, I think, than learning at school. And he always says, 'It's +God's infinite love, my child, that has given us all these beautiful +things, and these songsters that choir His praises.' When I hear him say +it, I believe it, papa. I am very sure that the priest who came to see +godmother was not a better man than he is.</p> + +<p>"Then, very often, he lifts my hand in his, and says, 'Adaly, my dear, +God is very good to us, sinners though we are. We cannot tell His +meaning always, but we may be very sure that He has only a good meaning. +You do not know it, Adaly, but there was once a dear one, whom I loved +perhaps too well;—she was the mother of my poor Reuben; God only knows +how I loved her! But He took her from me.'—Oh, how the hand of New Papa +griped on mine, when he said this!—'He took her from me, my child; He +has carried her to His home. He is just. Learn to love Him, Adaly. The +love we give to Him we can carry with us always. He does not die and +leave us. He is everywhere. The birds are messengers of His, when they +sing; the flowers you love come from His bounty: oh, Adaly, can you not, +will you not, love Him?'</p> + +<p>"'I do! I do!' I said.</p> + +<p>"He looked me full in the face, (I shall never forget how he looked,) +'Ah, Adaly, is this a fantasy of yours,' said he, 'or is it true? Could +you give up the world and all its charms, could you forego the +admiration and the love of all others, if only He who is the Saviour of +us all would smile upon you?'</p> + +<p>"I felt I could,—I felt I could, papa.</p> + +<p>"But then, directly after, he repeated to me some of those dreary things +I had been used to hear in the Catechism week after week. I was <i>so</i> +sorry he repeated them, for they seemed to give a change to all my +thought. I am <i>sure</i> I was trustful before, when he talked to me so +earnestly; but when he repeated only what I had learned over and over, +every Saturday night, then I am afraid my faith drooped.</p> + +<p><i>"'Don't</i> tell me that, New Papa,' said I, 'it is so old; talk to me as +you <i>were</i> talking.'</p> + +<p>"And then the Doctor looked at me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> with the keenest eyes I ever saw, and +said,—</p> + +<p>"'My child, are you right, and are the Doctors wrong?'</p> + +<p>"'Is it the Catechism that you call the Doctors?' said I.</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' said he.</p> + +<p>"'But were they better men than you, New Papa?'</p> + +<p>"'All men alike, Adaly, all struggling toward the truth,—all wearying +themselves to interpret it in such way that the world may accept it, and +praise God who has given us His Son a sacrifice, by whom, and whom only, +we may be saved.' And at this he took my hand and said, 'Adaly, trust +Him!'</p> + +<p>"By this time" (for Adèle's letter is a true transcript of a day) "we +have reached the door of some one of his people to whom he is to pay a +visit. The blinds are all closed, and nothing seems to be stirring but a +gray cat that is prowling about under the lilac bushes. Dobbins is +hitched to the post, and the Doctor pounds away at the big knocker. +Presently two or three white-headed children come peeping around the +bushes, and rush away to tell who has come. After a little the stout +mistress opens the door, and wipes her fingers on her apron, and shakes +hands, and bounces into the keeping-room to throw up the window and open +the blinds, and dusts off the great rocking-chair for the Doctor, and +keeps saying all the while that they are 'very back'ard with the spring +work, and she really had no time to slick up,' and asks after Miss Eliza +and Reuben, and the Tourtelots, and all the people on the street, so +fast that I wonder she can keep her breath; and the Doctor looks so +calm, and has no time to say anything yet. Then she looks at me, 'Sissy +is looking well,' says she, and dashes out to bring in a great plate of +gingerbread, which I never like at all, and say, 'No.' But she says, 'It +won't hurt ye; it a'n't p'ison, child.' So I find I must eat a little; +and while I sit mumbling it, the Doctor and she talk on about a great +deal I don't understand, and I am glad when she bounces up again, and +says, 'Sis would like to get some posies, p'raps,' and leads me out of +doors. 'There's lalocs, child, and flower-de-luce: pick what you want.'</p> + +<p>"So I go wandering among the beds along the garden, with the bees +humming round me; and there are great tufts of blue-bell, and +spider-wort, and moss-pink; and the white-haired grandchildren come and +put their faces to the paling, looking at me through the bars like +animals in a cage; and if I beckon to them, they glance at each other, +and dash away."</p> + +<p>Thus much of Adèle's account. But there are three or four more visits to +complete the parson's day. Possibly he comes upon some member of his +flock in the field, when he draws up Dobbins to the fence, and his +parishioner, spying the old chaise, leaves his team to blow a moment +while he strides forward with his long ox-goad in hand, and, seating +himself upon a stump within easy earshot, says,—</p> + +<p>"Good mornin', Doctor."</p> + +<p>And the parson, in his kindly way, "Good morning, Mr. Pettibone. Your +family pretty well?"</p> + +<p>"Waäl, middlin', Doctor,—only middlin'. Miss Pettibone is a-havin' +faint-ish spells along back; complains o' pain in her side."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, sorry," says the good man: and then, "Your team is looking +pretty well, Mr. Pettibone."</p> + +<p>"Waäl, only tol'able, Doctor. That nigh ox, what with spring work an' +grass feed is gittin' kind o' thin in the flesh. Any news abaout, +Doctor?"</p> + +<p>"Not that I learn, Mr. Pettibone. We're having fine growing weather for +your crops."</p> + +<p>"Waäl, only tol'able, Doctor. You see, arter them heavy spring rains, +the sun has kind o' baked the graound; the seed don't seem to start +well. I don't know as you remember, but in '29, along in the spring, we +had jist sich a spell o' wet, an' corn hung back that season amazin'ly."</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Pettibone, we must hope for the best: it's all in God's +hands."</p> + +<p>"Waäl, I s'pose it is, Doctor,—I s'pose it is." And he makes a cut at +a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> clover-head with the lash upon his ox-goad; then—as if in +recognition of the change of subject—he says,—</p> + +<p>"Any more talk on the street abaout repairin' the ruff o' the +meetin'-house, Doctor?"</p> + +<p>At sundown, all visits being paid, they go jogging into town again,—the +Doctor silent by this time, and thinking of his sermon, Dobbins is tied +always at the same post,—always the hitch-rein buckled in the third +hole from the end.</p> + +<p>After tea, perhaps, Phil and Rose come sauntering by, and ask if Adèle +will go up 'to the house'? Which request, if Miss Eliza meet it with a +nod of approval, puts Adèle by their side: Rose, with a beautiful +recklessness common to New England girls of that day, wearing her hat +drooping half down her neck, and baring her clear forehead to the +falling night-dews. Phil, with a pebble in his hand, makes a feint of +throwing into a flock of goslings that are waddling disturbedly after a +pair of staid old geese, but is arrested by Rose's prompt "Behave, +Phil!"</p> + +<p>The Squire is reading his paper by the evening lamp, but cannot forbear +a greeting to Adèle:—</p> + +<p>"Ah, here we are again! and how is Madamòizel?" (this is the Squire's +style of French,)—"and has she brought me the peony? Phil would have +given his head for it,—eh, Phil?"</p> + +<p>Rose is so bright, and glowing, and happy!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Elderkin in her rocking-chair, with her gray hair carefully plaited +under the white lace cap whose broad strings fall on either shoulder, is +a picture of motherly dignity. Her pleasant "Good evening, Adèle," would +alone have paid the warm-hearted exile for her walk.</p> + +<p>Then follow games, chat, and an occasional noisy joke from the Squire, +until the nine o'clock town-bell gives warning, and Adèle wends homeward +under convoy of the gallant Phil.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Adèle!"</p> + +<p>"Good night, Phil!"</p> + +<p>Only this at the gate. Then the Doctor's evening prayer; and after +it,—in the quiet chamber, where her sweet head lay upon the +pillow,—dreams. With recollections more barren than those of most of +her years, of any early home, Adèle still dreamed as hopefully as any of +a home to come.</p> + + +<h3>XXX.</h3> + +<p>In the autumn of 1836, Maverick wrote to his friend, the Doctor, that, +in view of the settled condition of business, he intended to visit +America some time in the course of the following season. He preferred, +however, that Adèle should not be made acquainted with his expected +coming. He believed that it would be a pleasant surprise for his child; +nor did he wish her anticipations of his arrival to divert her from the +usual current of her study and every-day life.</p> + +<p>"Above all," he writes, "I wish to see her as she is, without any note +of preparation. You will therefore, I beg, my dear Johns, keep from her +scrupulously all knowledge of my present intentions, (which may possibly +miscarry, after all,) and let me see, to the very finest touch, whether +of a ribbon or of a ringlet, how far you have New-Englandized my dear +girl. I form a hundred pictures in my fancy; but every new letter from +her somehow disturbs the old image, and another is conjured up. The only +<i>real</i> thing in my mind is, after all, a little child of eight, rosy and +piquantly coquettish, who slaps my cheek when I tease her, and who, as I +bid her adieu at last upon the ship's deck, looks through her tears at +me and waves her little kerchief.</p> + +<p>"It is quite possible that I may manage for her return with me, (of this +plan, too, I beg you to give no hint,) and in view of it I would suggest +that any available occasion be seized upon to revive her knowledge of +French, which, I fear, in your staid household she may almost have +forgotten. Tell dear Adèle that I am sometimes at Le Pin, where her +godmother never fails to inquire after her and call down blessings on +the dear child."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<p>Upon this the Doctor and Miss Johns take counsel. Both are not a little +disturbed by the anticipation of Adèle's leave. The grave Doctor finds +his heart wrapped about by the winning ways of the little stranger in a +manner he could hardly have conceived possible on the day when he first +greeted her. On the score of her religious beliefs, he is not, indeed, +as yet thoroughly satisfied; but he feels sure that she is at least in a +safe path. The old idols are broken: God, in His own time, will do the +rest.</p> + +<p>The spinster, though she has become unconsciously attached to Adèle to a +degree of which she hardly believes herself capable, is yet not so much +disconcerted by the thought of any violence to her affections,—for all +violence of this kind she has schooled herself to regard with cool +stoicism,—but the possible interruption of her ambitious schemes with +respect to Reuben and Adèle discomposes her sadly. Such a scheme she has +never given over for one moment. No plan of hers is ever given over +lightly; and she has that persistent faith in her own sagacity and +prudence which is not easily shaken. The growing intercourse with the +Elderkins, in view of the evident devotion of Phil, has been, indeed, +the source of a little uneasiness; but even this intimacy she has +moderated to a certain degree by occasional judicious fears in regard to +Adèle's exposure to the night air; and has made the most—in her quiet +manner—of Phil's exceptional, but somewhat noisy, attentions to that +dashing girl, Sophie Bowrigg.</p> + +<p>"A very suitable match it would be," she says some evening, casually, to +the Doctor; "and I really think that Phil, if there were any seriousness +about the lad, would meet his father's wishes in the matter. Adèle, +child," (she is sitting by at her worsted,) "are you sure you've the +right shade of brown there?"</p> + +<p>But, like most cool schemers in what concerns the affections, she makes +her errors. Her assurance in regard to the improved habits and character +of Reuben, and her iteration of the wonderful attachment which the +Brindlocks bear to the lad, have a somewhat strained air to the ear of +Adèle. And when the spinster says,—folding up his last letter,—"Good +fellow! always some tender little message for you, my dear," Adèle +thinks—as most girls of her age would be apt to think—that she would +like to see the tender message with her own eyes.</p> + +<p>But what of the French? Where is there to be found a competent teacher? +Not, surely, in Ashfield. Miss Eliza, with grave doubts, however, +suggests a winter in New York with the Brindlocks. The Doctor shakes his +head:—</p> + +<p>"Not to be thought of, Eliza. It is enough that my boy should undergo +the perils of such godless association: Adaly shall not."</p> + +<p>The question, however, of the desired opportunity is not confined to the +parsonage; it has currency up and down the street; and within a week the +buoyant Miss Bowrigg comes to the rescue.</p> + +<p>"Delighted above all things to hear it. They have a charming teacher in +the city, Madame Arles, who has the best accent. And now, Adèle, dear, +you must come down and pass the winter with us. It will be charming."</p> + +<p>It is, indeed, a mere girlish proposal at first; but, much to the +delight of Miss Eliza, it is abundantly confirmed by a formal invitation +from Mrs. Bowrigg, a few weeks after, who, besides being attracted by +the manners and character of Adèle, sees in it an admirable opportunity +for the accomplishment of her daughters in French. Her demonstrative +girls and a son of twenty comprise her family. For these reasons, she +will regard it as a favor, if the Doctor will allow Miss Maverick to +establish herself with them for the winter.</p> + +<p>Miss Eliza is delighted with the scheme, but fears the cool judgment of +the Doctor: and she has abundant reason.</p> + +<p>"It cannot be," he said, and was quite inexorable.</p> + +<p>The truth is, that Mrs. Bowrigg, like a good many educated with a narrow +severity, had expanded her views under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> the city influences in +directions that were by no means approved by the good Doctor. Hers was +not only a godless household, but given over to the lusts of the eye and +the pride of life. It was quite impossible for him to entertain the idea +of submitting Adèle to any such worldly associations.</p> + +<p>Miss Eliza pleaded the exigencies of the case in vain; and even Adèle, +attracted by the novelty of the proposed situation, urged her claim in +the cheeriest little manner conceivable.</p> + +<p>"Only for the winter, New Papa; please say 'Yes'!"</p> + +<p>And the tender hands patted the grave face, as she seated herself with a +childish coquetry upon the elbow of his chair.</p> + +<p>"Impossible, quite impossible," says the Doctor. "You are too dear to +me, Adaly."</p> + +<p>"Oh, now, New Papa, you don't mean that,—not <i>positively</i>?"—and the +winning fingers tap his cheek again.</p> + +<p>But for this time, at least, Adèle is to lose her claim; the Doctor well +knows that to suffer such endearments were to yield; so he rises +brusquely,—</p> + +<p>"I must be just, my child, to the charge your father has imposed upon +me. It cannot be."</p> + +<p>It will not be counted strange, if a little ill-disguised petulance +appeared in the face of Adèle that day and the next.</p> + +<p>The winter of 1836-7 was a very severe one throughout New England. +Perhaps it was in view of its severity, that, on or about New Year's +Day, there came to the parsonage a gift from Reuben for Adèle, in the +shape of a fur tippet, very much to the gratification of Miss Eliza and +to the pleasant surprise of the Doctor.</p> + +<p>Rose and Phil, sitting by the fire next day, Rose says, in a timid +voice, with less than her usual sprightliness,—</p> + +<p>"Do you know who has sent a beautiful fur tippet to Adèle, Phil?"</p> + +<p>"No," says Phil, briskly. "Who?"</p> + +<p>"Reuben," says Rose,—in a tone as if a blush ran over her face at the +utterance.</p> + +<p>If there was one, however, Phil could not have seen it; he was looking +steadfastly into the fire, and said only,—</p> + +<p>"I don't care."</p> + +<p>A little after, (nothing having been said, meantime,) he has occasion to +rearrange the wood upon the hearth, and does it with such preposterous +violence that the timid little voice beside him says,—</p> + +<p>"Don't, Phil, be angry with the fire!"</p> + +<p>It was a winter, as we have said, for fur tippets and for glowing +cheeks; and Adèle had now been long enough under a Northern sky to +partake of that exhilaration of spirits which belongs to every true-born +New-Englander in presence of one of those old-fashioned snowstorms, +which, all through the day and through the night, sifts out from the +gray sky its fleecy crystals,—covering the frosted high-roads, covering +the withered grasses, covering the whole summer's wreck in one glorious +white burial; and after it, keen frosty mornings, the pleasant jingling +of scores of bells, jets of white vapor from the nostrils of the +prancing horses, and a quick electric tingle to the blood, that makes +every pulse beat a thanksgiving. Squire Elderkin never made better +jokes, the flame upon his hearth never danced more merrily,—the Doctor +never preached better sermons, and the people never listened more +patiently than in those weeks of the dead of winter.</p> + +<p>But in the midst of them a black shadow fell upon the little town. News +came overland, (the river being closed,) that Mrs. Bowrigg, after an +illness of three days, was dead; and the body of the poor woman was to +come home for burial. She had been reared, as we have said, under a +harsh regimen, and had signalized her married escape from the somewhat +oppressive formalities of home by a pretty free entertainment of all the +indulgences accessible in her new life. Not that she offended against +any of the larger or lesser proprieties of society, but she showed a +zest for the pleasures of the world, and for a certain measure of +display, which had been the occasion of many a sober shake of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> the head +along the streets of Ashfield, and the subject of particular +commiseration on the part of the good Doctor.</p> + +<p>Now that her brilliant career (as it seemed to many of the staid folk of +Ashfield) was so suddenly closed, the Doctor could not forbear taking +advantage of the opportunity to press home upon his people, under the +influences of this sombre funeral procession, the vanities of the world +and the fleeting character of its wealth and pride. "We may build +palaces," said he, (and people thought of the elegant Bowrigg mansion,) +"but God locks the door and assigns to us a narrower home; we may court +the intoxicating air of cities, but its breath, in a day, may blast our +strength, and, except He keep us, may blast our souls." Never had the +Doctor been more eloquent, and never had he so moved his people. After +the evening prayer, Adèle stole into the study of the Doctor, and +said,—</p> + +<p>"New Papa, it was well I stayed with you."</p> + +<p>The old gentleman took her hand in his,—</p> + +<p>"Right, I believe, Adaly; but vain, utterly vain, except you be counted +among the elect."</p> + +<p>The poor girl had no reply, save only to drop a kiss upon his forehead +and pass out.</p> + +<p>With the opening of the spring the townspeople were busy with the +question, if the Bowriggs would come again to occupy their summer +residence, that, with its closed doors and windows, was mournfully +silent. But soon the gardeners were set to work; it was understood that +a housekeeper had been engaged, and the family were to occupy it as +usual. Sophie writes to Adèle, confirming it all, and adding,—"Madame +Arles had proposed to make us a visit, which papa hearing, and wishing +us to keep up our studies, has given her an invitation to pass the +summer with us. She says she will. I am so glad! We had told her very +much of you, and I know she will be delighted to have you as a scholar."</p> + +<p>At this Adèle feels a thrill of satisfaction, and looks longingly +forward to the time when she shall hear again from native lips the +language of her childhood.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ma fille! ma fille!</i>"</p> + +<p>The voices of her early home seem to ring again in her ear. She basks +once more in the delicious flow of the sunshine, and the perfume of the +orange-blossoms regales her.</p> + +<p>----"<i>Ma fille!</i>"</p> + +<p>Is it the echo of your voice, good old godmother, that comes rocking +over the great reach of sea, and so touches the heart of the exile?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LETTER_TO_A_SILENT_FRIEND" id="LETTER_TO_A_SILENT_FRIEND"></a>LETTER TO A SILENT FRIEND.</h2> + + +<p>Were you, my friend, one of those who make a merit of their silence, I +should have little occasion to write this letter. But as I know you, on +the contrary, to have lamented your colloquial deficiencies as sincerely +as any one, as I know that you have most earnestly coveted greater +fluency of speech and admired most warmly those who possessed it, I +venture to hope that I may say something to convince you that your case +is not so bad as you think. Yes, I am bold enough to believe that you +may aspire to the character which now seems to you so utterly beyond +reach,—the character of a talker! Before you smile incredulously, +listen to me, a fellow-sufferer. I also have known the misery and +weakness of an unready tongue. No poor man ever looked upon a heap of +gold coin with more longing eyes than I have looked upon those who could +so easily coin their thoughts into words. From<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> a boy I conceived myself +doomed to taciturnity. The charge, to "talk more," was a well-meant +appeal to awaken my powers of utterance, but its only effect was to shut +my mouth closer than ever. Few persons can talk upon compulsion, and +boys least of all. As I grew old enough, however, to recognize some +responsibility for conversation, I was the more distressed that I could +not do what I knew I ought to do. I was beyond measure vexed with myself +this incapacity. It stood in the way of my usefulness, it did not make +my company desirable, it drove me into morbid and depressing thoughts. +And yet—to make a long story short—I have gradually come to be, not a +"talker" certainly, but no longer afraid that I "can find nothing to +say," no longer trammelled by a false reserve, but presuming, on the +contrary, that with most persons whom I meet it will be quite possible +to engage in easy and fluent conversation,—a presumption, by the way, +always likely to justify itself by the event. I insist, therefore, from +my own experience, that conversation is an art as well as a gift; and +that where it is not a gift, the deficiency may be more surely +supplemented by art than almost any other. You will tell me, perhaps, in +common with others who are not talkers, that speech must be natural to +be attractive, and that all appearance of effort will spoil its charm. +Is not this rather the excuse of indolence than the valid objection of +reason? It has been finely argued, that even with children "work" must +precede "play." The proverb, too, says that "every beginning is hard." I +know that the <i>appearance</i> of effort is not attractive; but after a +while there is no such appearance, not merely because "the province of +art is to conceal art," but because habit has become a second nature. +When you think what a trained and educated thing our life is in its +minutest particulars, and how not only the civilized, but the savage man +has to <i>learn</i> the use of his senses, his muscles, and his brain, you +must admit that it is frivolous to urge against the charm or value of +conversation, that it must be studied. It is hardly too much to say, +that all the noblest things in the world are the result of study. Why +not also study the noble and most desirable art of framing our thoughts, +opinions, sentiments, tastes, into free, familiar, and appropriate +speech?</p> + +<p>But here I fancy you may meet me with a question,—Is it, after all, so +desirable an art, and one well worth the learning? I have, it is true, +given you credit for coveting earnestly a greater facility of speech; +and yet you may have become more reconciled to your deficiency than you +like to acknowledge, through the influence of certain popular maxims and +fallacies. The one I wish especially to challenge now is expressed in +that German proverb which Mr. Carlyle has taken under his peculiar +patronage,—"Speech is silver, silence is gold." A great comfort, to be +sure, to one who is either too lazy or too diffident to open his lips to +get credit so cheaply for superior wisdom! When he does not talk, of +course it can only be because he keeps up such an incessant thinking! +"Too deep for utterance" is the character of all his meditations! Do you +remember Coleridge's amusing experience with one of these reputed sages? +But for the appearance of the "dumplings,"—almost as historic now as +King George's famous ones,—it might never have been suspected that this +empty-headed fellow was not the profoundest of philosophers. Can you or +anybody explain the reasons for this singular praise of silence and +disparagement of speech? You do not expect to be commended for shutting +your eyes instead of keeping them open. The feeble and unused hand is +not preferred to the strong cunning one. Nor is there any sense or +faculty of our nature of which the simple non-use is better than the +use. Why, then, account it a merit to refrain from using this wondrous +faculty of speech? I may grant all that you will tell me of the +deplorable amount of vapid, idle, bitter, malicious, foul, and profane +talk. Silence is better than the <i>abuse</i> of words,—none of us will +question that. I am only defending the normal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> and legitimate exercise +of this faculty. And perhaps you will see the matter in still clearer +light, if you should undertake to apply the principle of the Carlyle +proverb to some other endowments and opportunities, to which in fact +many do apply it. If one may say, "I am weary of all this talking, +henceforth let there be silence," why may not another, improving upon +this hint, say, "I am sick of these miserable daubs, there shall be no +more painting," and another, "I am disgusted with politics, I will have +nothing more to do with the science or the art of government"? Because +there are infelicities of married life, is it so certain that "single +blessedness" is the best estate? Because there are some timeservers and +worldlings among the clergy, shall we join in denunciation of priests +and churches everywhere? I see that you are prepared to answer, that +speech is peculiarly liable to abuse. Exactly, and that is true of all +the most excellent and valuable gifts of Providence. It is impossible to +escape the condition of peril attached to everything under the sun that +is most worthy of desire. Have we not learned by this time the folly of +every form of asceticism, of every attempt to trample upon God's gifts +as evil instead of using them for good?</p> + +<p>Now I shall not attempt a dissertation, however tempting the theme, upon +the uses of speech in general. I will only ask you to consider that +single department of it which we call conversation. Did you ever think +how great a power in the world this is? See how early it begins to shape +our opinions, our plans, our studies, our tastes, our attachments, etc. +I remember that a casual remark, dropped in conversation by a beloved +and revered relative long before I had entered my teens, made me for +years feel more kindly towards the much-abused natives of the Emerald +Isle, though I have no doubt that she whose word I had listened to with +so much deference was entirely unsuspicious of having lodged such a +fruitful seed in my memory. If you can recall the formative periods of +your own life, I have no doubt you also will find hundreds of similar +instances, where a new direction was given to your sentiments and +purposes by some quite random words of friendly and domestic talk. +Consider how large a part of the life of most human beings is spent in +society of some sort, and then reflect how that society is bound +together and constituted, as it were, by familiar speech, and you will +begin to appreciate the extent of the power of conversation. Compare +this power with that of written language,—as books, letters, etc.,—or +even with more formal spoken language,—such as orations, sermons, and +the like,—and I think you will allow that it surpasses them all in its +diffusion and its permanence. Were the question solely as to the amount +of information imparted, books and deliberate addresses certainly stand +higher. But you must not fall into the common error, that the chief +object of conversation is or should be to instruct. It has manifold +objects, and some of them, to say the least, are quite as desirable as +instruction. We talk to keep up good feeling, to enliven the else dull +hours, to give expression to our interest in one another, to throw off +the burden of too much private care and thought. We have also, in +special cases, more serious ends in view, when we talk to reprove or +encourage, to console or arouse. Even this partial enumeration of the +offices of familiar speech may suffice to show you how desirable it is +to wield such a power. Conversation establishes a personal relation +between yourself and another soul. It is the open door through which +your spiritual treasures are interchanged. For the time, at least, it +supposes some degree of equality, some power both to give and receive, +in those who take part in the dialogue. I know very well how the cynics +like to quote the diplomatist's sarcasm, that "speech is the art of +hiding thought." Let this perversion have what force it may. I am +speaking now of the higher uses and possibilities of conversation. You +can hide your thoughts under your words, if you choose to be a +hypocrite;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> but I am taking for granted that you are a man of truth,—a +"man of your word," as the common phrase happily has it. I assume that +you would be glad to talk, because you wish to form sincere and friendly +relations with your fellow-men. When two or more human beings meet, the +rule, the normal condition, is, that they give utterance to some +thoughts, feelings, or sentiments in audible words. <i>Silence is +unsocial</i>: there lies its condemnation. It is true that silence may +often be justified, notwithstanding; for social claims must sometimes +yield to higher considerations, or even to physical necessity. But most +persons, I believe, feel instinctively that a persistent silence is an +affront to them,—a denial, in some sort, of their right to be received +into your company. "You won't speak to me" is their resentful +interpretation of your silence. You ought not to ask so much as "a penny +for your thoughts." They should, so far as practicable, be shared freely +by those whom you call friends. The limitations and exceptions to this +rule we will presently refer to, but the rule is important and clear. +True social feeling, true warmth and cordiality, naturally expresses +itself in words, and is strengthened by the expression. Will you not +admit, that, if we are conscious of having anything to say which might +please or profit a friend, it is a reproach to us to keep it back? Yes, +it is desirable to talk, were it simply a mark of interest and +confidence in those whom you come in contact with. I have noticed that a +great deal of taciturnity comes from a very discreditable diffidence, by +which I mean a distrust or suspicion that our words may be misconstrued, +or that they may not be appreciated, or that they may chance to give +serious offence. Now, in my opinion, one had better make innumerable +<i>faux pas</i> than indulge such unworthy fears and suspicions. A little +less vanity, and vastly more courage and self-forgetfulness,—such is +the remedy to be administered to many of the taciturn. You are the best +judge whether it would suit your own case.</p> + +<p>As an illustration of the value of conversation in its more familiar +forms and its daily requirements, consider its service at meal-times. +General usage has determined that three times a day we shall assemble +with our families for the common purpose of appeasing the demands of +hunger and satisfying the fancies or whims of the palate. Moreover, to +many men these are the only times of the day when they can have the +opportunity to meet all the members of their family in free and +unrestrained intercourse. Now to make this occasion something more than +mere "feeding," and to elevate it to the dignity of rational +intercourse, conversation is indispensable. We must open our mouths for +something more than the reception of food. As a mere hygienic rule, I +wish that excellent old proverb could be circulated among our +countrymen,—"Chatted food is half digested." I would almost pledge +myself by this single rule to cure or prevent nearly half the cases of +dyspepsia. But for higher reasons chiefly I speak of it now. We ought to +insist that everything shall be favorable at meal-times to the truest +sociality. No clouded brows, no absent or preoccupied demeanor, should +be permitted at our tables. Whoever is not ready to do his part in +making it a cheerful hour should be made to feel that he does not belong +there. Better the merest nonsense, better anything that is not scandal +and detraction, than absolute and freezing silence then. I am sure that +the usages of all the most civilized and refined people will bear me out +in this,—that the only way to dignify our meals, and make them +something better than the indulgence of mere animal appetites, is to +intersperse them largely with social talk. There, if not elsewhere, we +look for the <i>soluta lingua</i>. There all reserve and embarrassment of +speech, we trust, will have vanished, and each will feel free to impart +to the rest his brightest and most joyous moods. Shall we ever realize +this ideal, as long as "bolting" usurps the place of eating?</p> + +<p>And what, after all, constitutes the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> charm and the power of +conversation, and makes it so desirable an attainment? Not, certainly, +the amount of knowledge one can bring into play; for, as I have already +shown you, instruction is a secondary object of conversation; and it is +well known also that some of the most learned and best-informed men have +been very poor talkers. Indeed, the scholastic habits which learning +usually engenders are almost a disqualification for fluent and eloquent +speech. The student is one of the last persons who are expected to shine +at a social reunion. But neither can you rely upon brilliant talents, or +original genius, or even upon wit and humor, to make the most charming +converser. The qualities more immediately in requisition for this end +are moral and social. Truth, courage, deference, good-nature, +cheerfulness, sympathy, courtesy, tact, charity,—these are ingredients +of the best conversation, which it would seem that no one need despair +of attaining, and without which, in large measure, the most brilliant +wit, the liveliest imagination, must soon repel rather than attract. And +observe also, in connection with this, that it is not so much the words +a man utters as the tones of his voice which express these moral and +social qualities. Harsh, rude, blunt, severe tones will spoil the +greatest flow of ideas or the utmost elegance of language. But when we +are listening to the low, sweet music in which a genial and joyous and +tender soul will utter itself, what care we for the wit or genius which +are so much envied elsewhere? We did not miss it here. We may have +brought away with us from such company no great fund of new ideas, but +you may be sure something deeper than thought has been awakened,—the +well-spring of purest and tenderest sensibilities has been made to +overflow, and our life will be the greener for it hereafter. Perhaps, if +you think of this a little more, my friend, you will not find it in your +heart to condemn so unsparingly the more ordinary staple of +conversation. Some cynical or unsocial character, deeming himself +superior to the vulgar vacuity and insipidity, will take no part in the +every-day talk which deals so largely in commonplace and truisms. +"Absurd waste of time and breath!" he exclaims. "Of what use this +incessant harping on the weather, or the renewed inquiries after one's +health, or the utterly pointless, if not insincere, exchange of daily +civilities? Who is the wiser for it? What possible good can it do +anybody?" Let us look a little at this, Mr. Cynic. You think it a waste +of breath to greet a friend with a "good morning," or to give your +testimony to the beauty of the day? Of course you are right, if one +should never open his mouth but to impart a new idea, or to announce +some startling fact. But what would you substitute for the morning +salutation? Nothing! And would you really have two friends or brothers +meet on the threshold of a new day, and interchange—blank silence? I +admit, there is no variety in the words,—they are stale, they have been +repeated a thousand times over. But it is the heartiness we put into +them which gives them their value, and I am sure that you, with all your +objections to the form of greeting, would find the world many shades +more dreary, were <i>no</i> such forms to welcome us with the rising sun. For +myself I can truly say, that, many and many a time, this morning +salutation, spoken out with a generous fulness, and not with that +grudging curtness which sometimes distinguishes it, has touched my heart +as with a happy prophecy which the day was sure to fulfil. As to the +dreadfully threadbare topic of the weather, I must confess I often hear +it to satiety; but that is when it ceases to be the mere prelude to the +dialogue, and occupies one's whole talk. In itself you cannot deny that +it is natural and proper enough to invite another's sympathy in a +subject which so nearly concerns the physical, if not the moral +well-being of most of us. "What a glorious day we have!" when +interpreted rationally, means nothing less than this,—"Come, let us +enjoy together the lavish bounty of the Creator!" We may be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> sensible of +a new and purer joy for such an appeal. Already we were glad to have the +sun shine so brightly; but it seems doubly bright now that our friend +has invited us to share his joy. Does it seem to you superfluous, +perhaps, to give utterance to a thought which is obviously already in +the mind of your companion? Well, let us try this by some familiar test. +You have just gone among the mountains to spend a few weeks with an +agreeable company. You wake in the morning and find yourself in the +midst of a most majestic spectacle. At the very door of the farm-house +where you have taken lodgings, your eyes travel upward five thousand +feet to admire that cloud-piercing summit which stands there to give you +the welcome of the morning. As you watch its coursing shadows and all +its wondrous variety of beauty and grandeur, have you nothing to say to +the friend who has come with you there to see it all? What would be more +unnatural than to repress all words or tokens of admiration,—to meet +your friend day after day and interchange no word of recognition amid +such scenes? I know that he who feels most in the presence of these +sublimities will often say least. But because it is impossible to give +expression to one's deepest thoughts, shall one say nothing? You may +reasonably be supposed to care something for the sympathy of those whom +you have accompanied hither; and sympathy, though not entirely dependent +on words, naturally seeks some words to express itself, and is injured +when that expression is restrained.</p> + +<p>But now I fancy you replying to all this,—"You do not hit my +difficulty. I have no trouble in talking with a chosen companion. My +friend 'draws me out,' because I am his friend. In his presence my +tongue is easily loosed, I have no hesitation in saying exactly what I +wish, and there are innumerable things that I wish to say. But the great +majority of men 'shut me up.' All my fluency departs when they enter. +There is an indescribable awkwardness in our interview. We belong to +different spheres, and it is mere pretence to affirm that we have +anything to communicate to each other."—Here I am willing to admit that +you have touched upon a very important consideration, although it by no +means justifies all that you would build upon it. I am myself conscious +that with some persons it is an effort to talk, and with others a +delight; nor can I always understand whence this difference. It is +certainly not owing to the length or shortness of acquaintance. It has +been no infrequent experience with me, to meet persons who at the first +interview broke down all my natural reserve. And on the other hand, I +have known men all my life with whom it is still a study what I shall +say when we meet. Who shall tell us what this magic is? Who shall give +us the "open sesame" to every heart? We name it "sphere," +"organization," "sympathy," or what not, to cover our ignorance: all I +insist upon is, that you will not name it <i>fate</i>. Pride or indolence is +always suggesting that these lines of demarcation are fixed and +unalterable. Beware of entertaining that suggestion! Were two of the +most uncongenial persons in the world to be thrown together on a desert +island, would they have nothing to say to each other? Would they not +learn by the necessities of the case to communicate more and more? Would +it not probably be a constant discovery, that they had vastly more in +common than either had ever dreamed? I think so, at least. Well, if mere +external necessity can surmount these natural barriers, may not a +determined will, backed by a strong sense of moral obligation, do the +same? Let me tell you this also, as one of my experiences: that I have +not seldom reversed my first judgments or impressions of men, and have +found, that, after a very thin crust was once broken through, there was +no further obstacle to easy conversation. You will observe that some +persons, at the first encounter, bristle all over with uncongenial +points; and yet, if you will quietly ignore these, or boldly rush upon +them, you shall gain a true friend. Behind that formidable barrier is a +field<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> all your own, and worth cultivating. This needs to be considered, +especially under our northern skies, where cultivated society intrenches +itself behind a triple wall of reserve. The code of this society seems +to assume, that no stranger has a right to our confidence, that every +new person may be supposed to have little in common with us, till we +learn the contrary. Hence conversation in the saloons is a dexterous +tossing about of the most vapid generalities, or a series of desperate +attempts at non-committal. I do not wonder that you, my friend, like +many other sensible people, infinitely prefer saying nothing to talking +on this wise. But, with a little more courage, may not one break boldly +through these artificial restraints, and ignore these supposed claims of +polite society? Do not call me Quixotic, because I exhort you to show +something like independence. Why may you not establish your own claim to +confidence by confiding in others? Why not, without affectation, have to +some extent your own standard of polite usage,—not, indeed, rashly +despising all conventionalisms, but conforming to whatever is +essentially refined, courteous, and deferential, yet proving in your +manners and language that such conformity does not require one to +suppress all that is simple, natural, spontaneous, enthusiastic, and +fresh? Do not be afraid, however, that I would have you addicted to +superlatives,—though I might object to them for another reason than +that given by our American Essayist. He complains of them, that "they +put whole drawing-rooms to flight,"—a result which I am almost +malicious enough to say might sometimes be by no means undesirable. I do +not say it, however. I merely express my impatience at the extremely +artificial barriers which society interposes to any genuine, unaffected +intercourse of human souls.</p> + +<p>To return to the question of spheres and sympathy. I frankly admit, that +it is very unreasonable to suppose we can talk equally well and feel +equally at ease with all kinds of persons. Not only organization, but +habits, occupations, and culture, make inevitable differences between +men, such as render it less easy for them to converse together. The +scholar and the mechanic, the sailor and the farmer, the mistress and +the maid, in most cases will have little to interest each other. Their +interview will probably be awkward and brief, their words few and +constrained. This, perhaps, cannot be essentially remedied. But I trust +you will agree with me, that the true remedy is to be sought in a more +hearty recognition of that <i>common humanity</i> which underlies all the +shades and diversities of human character. "<i>Nihil humani alienum</i>"—we +must go back to old Terence still, even to learn how to talk. You happen +to be thrown into the same public conveyance with a man of no literary +or intellectual tastes. "All his talk is of oxen," or perchance of his +speculations and profits in trade. Moreover, he offends your ear by a +shocking disregard of grammar, and vulgarisms of pronunciation. Your +first reflection is,—"What can I have to say to such a man? How +unfortunate to be condemned to such company!" Yet is there not <i>aliquid +humani</i> even here? Were it only as an intellectual exercise, why not try +to find out the real man beneath all these wrappages? The gold-miner +does not grumble at having to crush the quartz, that he may bring to +light the few grains of precious metal hidden in it. Infinitely more is +it worth all the labor it costs to break through that harder shell in +which man hides his intrinsic gold. And besides, it will not reflect +much credit on the largeness of your own culture, if you suffer a mere +offence against taste and manners to keep you ignorant of your +companion's deeper nature. "But how to draw him out? What effectual +method to break through this hard or coarse covering?" I have no +infallible directions to give you. But you must first have a genuine +interest in him as a new specimen of <i>a man</i>; and then you must be able +to inspire him with confidence in you, confidence that you respect him +for his human nature and hold<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> yourself to be on an equality with him, +inasmuch as "man measures man the world over." Start some topic which +will evidently not be remote from his familiar range, and by a little +tact you will easily find other related topics, till at last, as the +field continually widens, you will both be amazed to see how many common +interests, desires, beliefs you had, and how much unexpected benefit +each has received from the other. Were there no other advantage to be +sought from the power of general conversation, this alone should be +enough to induce us to cultivate it: that so many uncomfortable social +distinctions would thereby be removed. Have you not heard it often said, +that, if certain classes only "knew each other better," they would be +better friends, no longer separated by mutual envies, jealousies, and +contempt? Now conversation is the readiest way to this mutual +acquaintance, and it specially behooves one of the educated class to +make the first advances in conversation. I have in my mind an instance +of a man of natural reserve and diffidence, and of scholastic habits, +who greatly to his grief had the reputation among some uneducated people +of being "proud." But having occasion to do some little service to a +woman of this class, he entered her plain dwelling, seated himself at +once as if at home, and had no sooner uttered a few words of sympathy, +such as the occasion called for, than all that suspicion of pride was +most thoroughly dissipated, leaving only the wonder that it could ever +have been entertained. My friend, will you not, in this world of +frequent misunderstanding, do your part, by <i>word</i> as well as deed, to +show others, whom society classes below you, that you are not divided +from them in respect to all those great interests which make the true +dignity of human nature? Talk of the virtue of silence! I will tell you +from my own experience of a thousand cases where the simple failure to +speak has kept up a coolness and alienation which one little word would +have dispersed forever. Among the many sins and weaknesses which I have +to lay at my own door, few give me greater compunction than the +cowardice—or whatever else it was—which kept back the timely words +that ought to have been uttered, but were not.</p> + +<p>Can I make this letter more practically useful by a few rules? It would +seem, that, if conversation is an art, like other arts, there must be +rules and methods to attain to it. This is true; but I must first remind +you that mere facility, propriety, or elegance of speech is but a small +part of the discipline required to make an agreeable and profitable +talker. You must have something to express, something that you long to +utter, something that you feel it would be for the advantage of others +to hear. For the furnishing of mind and heart comes before any special +power to <i>bring out</i> of one's treasury things new or old. In other +words, the power to converse well is not an isolated and independent +power; it has a close relation to the entire character, moral and +intellectual. An enlightened conscience would make many persons better +talkers than they are now, for it would present the matter in the light +of a duty. A consciousness of intellectual power or of ample learning +makes one more ready to open his mouth before intelligent men; for, +whether rightly or not, one does not like to talk before others of +subjects on which he knows that they are better informed than he. And +yet it is no good reason for maintaining silence in the company of some +eminent scholar, that he <i>knows</i> so much more than you. You are +naturally shy of expressing your opinion on the "origin of species," or +the "antiquity of man," before some great naturalist. But why not come +to him as a learner, then? The art of putting questions well is no small +part of the art of conversation. You can derive information from him in +the most direct and impressive manner, while at the same time you are +showing a pleasing deference to his superior knowledge. Or suppose the +case reversed, and that you are the more learned of the two, may you not +benefit some young scholar by questioning him so skilfully that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> he +shall seem to have imparted all the information evolved, instead of +receiving it? The "wisest of mankind" always declared that he merely +drew out the sentiments of those he talked with. He assisted in the +delivery of their thoughts. He simply helped them to that most valuable +knowledge,—the knowledge of themselves. He was forever putting +questions to them, with a result which often surprised and sometimes +made them angry, but which, at any rate, effectually served the +interests of truth. And, upon the whole, I do not know any rule for +making a good talker which deserves a more prominent place than this: +Put your questions properly, and ask many questions. Observe how +naturally nearly all conversation begins with an inquiry. "When did you +arrive?" "Are you a stranger here?" "How far did you walk to-day?" +"Which view did you most enjoy?" "Did you hear any news from the seat of +war?" The simple reason of this method, as already intimated, is, that +it puts the questioner in a more modest position. He whom you question +has the agreeable consciousness of being able to impart something which +you have not. You put yourself in the background, and make him the +important person. He is therefore at once amicably disposed towards you, +and is not likely to let the conversation languish, so auspiciously +begun. He in turn becomes the questioner, and so in not many moments you +stand on the footing of equals. But remember, all this is true only on +condition that the questions are <i>properly put</i>. If they manifest an +impertinent curiosity, a mere disposition to pry into affairs which do +not belong to one,—if they are of a nature to expose the ignorance of +the questioned, even though not intended for such,—if they are +incessant, and unrelieved by any affirmations, as though you were +unwilling to commit yourself, or grudged to impart your knowledge,—and, +finally, if the tone and voice of the questioner imply a feeling of +superiority,—then, instead of promoting conversation, you will have +done your worst to check it. You will have made the breach wider than if +you had said nothing. Again, before putting your questions, consider a +little the character of the man or woman whom you would address; for, +while some evidently delight in being the objects of interrogation, +others are as plainly, beyond a very moderate amount, annoyed by it. You +must, of course, take this into account. You will gain nothing by the +rudeness of pressing your questions upon unwilling ears. If one +obstinately (or not obstinately) refuses to be drawn out, there is no +help for it but silence. Conversation implies <i>some</i> reciprocity,—not +by any means an equal amount of words on both sides, but at any rate +some sign of intelligence, some expression of interest, some listening +ear and face to encourage you; else it were better to utter your +monologue to the woods and flowers.</p> + +<p>Another rule of conversation, as old at least as George Herbert, is, to +talk with men on the subjects which belong to their peculiar calling or +occupation,—with a farmer about his crops, with a merchant about the +markets, with a sailor about the charms and perils of the sea, etc. Let +it be only with considerable qualification that you accept this rule. I +like Coleridge's comment on it: Talk with a man about his trade or +business, if your object is to get information on such points; but if +you wish to know the man himself, try him on all other topics sooner. +The rule, however, is a convenient one; it is almost instinctively +adopted in general society; and if judiciously applied, it may express a +friendly feeling, which it is very desirable to commence with. It is not +applied judiciously, when you seem to assume by it that your +interlocutor is <i>limited</i> to these topics, and that "the cobbler must +stick to his last," in word as well as deed. Or, again, if your +questions shall have the air of "pumping" him, you will not make much +progress towards friendly communication; for that seems an unfair +advantage to take of your position,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> besides that it is making of him a +mere convenience, not treating him as an equal. No one likes to be +catechized after he has grown to man's estate. I advise you, therefore, +to use this rule simply as a convenient introduction to conversation +where other methods fail, and to rely more upon a rule which is in some +respects the reverse of this: Begin by talking about those things which +interest yourself, assuming that your interlocutor is interested in them +also. But I must warn you that here even more tact and discretion are +required than in the other case. Follow such a rule literally and +everywhere, and you would often have no hearer left. Fancy some student, +fresh from his Greek or Sanscrit, endeavoring to impart his enthusiasm +to a crowd of rustics! It is plain that I must add to my rule, +<i>provided</i> your interest does not lie in things too remote from common +apprehension and sympathy. Remember what I have already said about our +"common humanity." Do not be so absorbed in your favorite study that you +shall not also have an eye and a heart for matters pertaining to the +general welfare. Then there will be no company in which you need be +wholly silent, though there will always be preference for a company +which sympathizes with your more decided tastes and pursuits. I cannot, +indeed, understand how one should ever arrive at that state in which he +has no preference for any particular class or society. Yet the more one +cultivates acquaintance with a variety of characters, the more one will +enjoy conversation in the favorite circle. Looking upon society simply +as the means of developing the power of speech in man, the wider and +more intimate our acquaintance with it, the more varied and attractive +will be that power. I have somewhere read of two prisoners of state in +Europe, who, entire strangers to each other before, were thrown into the +same prison-cell to pass years together. One of them, after his release, +relates, that, for the first year, they told each other all that they +ever did,—every incident that memory could possibly rake up out of +their past lives. For the second year, they talked over all their +interior life, confiding to each other every phase of thought and +affection and spiritual experience. But in the third year, they were +<i>utterly silent</i>. They had "talked out." And what could more strikingly +picture the misery of such a confinement than this entire exhaustion of +materials for mutual communication? Yet how could it be otherwise? With +absolutely nothing new to flow in, how could anything new be drawn out?</p> + +<p>The story impresses upon us the lesson, that, if we would enrich and +enliven our conversation, we must always be supplying ourselves with new +resources, new studies, new experiences. Let me lay it down, then, as a +further rule to help one in the attainment of this valuable art: Make it +a point to inform yourself on a variety of topics. One of the greatest +hindrances, you will observe, to profitable or entertaining conversation +is the extremely limited range of ideas with which most persons are +familiar. Take any miscellaneous company, brought together in some +public conveyance, or detained at some public house. The chances are, +that very few out of the whole number will be conscious of any definite +opinions to express on the higher departments of thought. They could +doubtless tell you a great many <i>facts</i> which have interested them; but +ask them for their <i>ideas</i> upon science, theology, politics, or morals, +and they are dumb. They will talk with you of <i>persons</i> as long as you +will listen, but of <i>principles</i> they seem to have only the remotest +conception. Now I do not quite agree with the "Guesses at Truth," that +"personality is the bane of conversation"; for persons come nearer to +our every-day sympathies, and one need not, one does not, always bring +them forward for gossip and scandal. But does it not denote extreme +poverty of thought to introduce personalities into every conversation? +Let them rather be illustrations, and thus stepping-stones to something +higher and more edifying.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> Come now and then, at least, fully prepared +for something like intellectual gymnastics. Put your whole strength into +the conflict. Gather up all your forces of thought and knowledge, and do +your best as a man among men, contending not for victory or display, but +for the truth and the right. If you ever belonged to a literary club or +debating-society of any kind, you will remember what healthy glow and +freshness it gave to all your faculties to enter into this intellectual +arena. You could read and study with a great deal more interest after +that. You knew better what you really believed and thought concerning +the great interests of humanity. Your ideas of art, of ethics, of +history, of government, of philosophy, were set in clearer order, and +made you conscious of greater power. Now I am not pretending that you +can make a debating-club out of every mixed company you may chance to +meet, but only that you should carry into all society a readiness to +discuss the higher topics, whenever they come up naturally to mind. Here +it is <i>tact</i> again, and evermore tact, which is required to make the +rule efficient,—tact to prevent "lugging in" unseasonable topics,—tact +to avoid too long a discussion,—tact to keep out offensive +egotism,—tact, in general, to adapt one's self to one's surroundings.</p> + +<p>I will not conclude this letter, however imperfectly it may meet your +wants, without devoting a few words to the grave question, Shall we talk +of a subject so sacred as <i>religion</i> in mixed society? For myself, I +must confess to some change of opinion on this point. I have greater +respect than I once had for that reserve which keeps one habitually +silent on this highest of all themes. I protest against the assumption, +that a religious man will feel it his duty to converse often about +religion. His duty must be governed by the peculiar circumstances of +each case. He certainly must not do violence to his own feelings of +reverence; nor ought he to suppose that the mere introduction of +religious themes into conversation, anyhow and anywhere, is sure to do +good. On the contrary, I believe that an injudicious treatment of this +subject has done vastly more harm than good. And yet there is no power, +in my opinion, within the whole range of the human faculties, more +desirable than that of awakening religious life and thought by means of +familiar speech. Whoever would wield such a power must know, as one of +the chief requisites, how to seize the <i>mollia tempora fandi</i>. The word +in season,—the very word to reach and move this individual heart,—find +<i>this</i>, and you have found the great secret of influence. And be sure +there is such a key to every man. Somewhere and sometime, if you watch +for it, you shall discover the tender place in the roughest and hardest +character. Men arm themselves against you by a thousand assumptions of +indifference, stoicism, and irreverence, put on for the occasion, that +you may not invade their inner sanctuary. Do not therefore be led into +the mistake that for them there is no sanctuary, no citadel to defend. +Better take for granted the reverse, and use every lawful art and +persuasion to find the entrance to it. Of multitudes it is indeed true, +that they have "no religion to speak of"; but that with any intelligent +man is no longer a reproach. To sound a trumpet before one has a +disagreeable reminder of certain ancient pretenders. Some men, when the +heart is fullest, cannot speak; and nothing would be more unjust than to +charge with want of feeling for the deepest and highest subjects of +thought those who cannot frame a sentence to convey their emotions. Yet, +after all these considerations have been fairly weighed, it is still +desirable that men should communicate with each other far oftener than +they do, on the interests which concern all men alike,—the interests, +not of a temporal, but of an eternal state. A wholly unnatural reserve, +the result of false education, hedges in the subject of religion. +Never,—let this he a sacred and inviolable rule to you,—never, by +word, tone, or manner, falsify your own nature and experience, when +referring to this subject; never affect in the slightest degree an +interest you do not feel;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> never dare to open your mouth merely because +you are expected to do so,—and, my word for it, you will already +possess important negative qualifications, to say the least, for +conversing on the highest of all topics. I have exalted "tact" in +conversation, but here I would exalt simplicity no less. Lay aside the +<i>too many</i> folds. Learn the courage to "speak right out," when you know +that your heart is charged with no malice or vanity, that you should +fear to speak. Have you never envied the courage of children in this +respect? I have. And it has seemed to me that to "become as little +children" is nowhere more urgently required than here, and that no rule +would sooner make talkers out of the silent ones,—you, my friend, +included. So with this, my last and best word, I take leave of you, not +despairing that you will yet be able to overcome your taciturnity, if +you take to heart these counsels of</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Your Friend.</span> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CHIMNEY-CORNER" id="THE_CHIMNEY-CORNER"></a>THE CHIMNEY-CORNER.</h2> + + +<h3>VIII.</h3> + +<h4>THE NOBLE ARMY OF MARTYRS.</h4> + +<p>When the first number of the Chimney-Corner appeared, the snow lay white +on the ground, the buds on the trees were closed and frozen, and beneath +the hard frost-bound soil lay buried the last year's flower-roots, +waiting for a resurrection.</p> + +<p>So in our hearts it was winter,—a winter of patient suffering and +expectancy,—a winter of suppressed sobs, of inward bleedings,—a cold, +choked, compressed anguish of endurance, for how long and how much God +only could tell us.</p> + +<p>The first paper of the Chimney-Corner, as was most meet and fitting, was +given to those homes made sacred and venerable by the cross of +martyrdom,—by the chrism of a great sorrow. That Chimney-Corner made +bright by home firelight seemed a fitting place for a solemn act of +reverent sympathy for the homes by whose darkness our homes had been +preserved bright, by whose emptiness our homes had been kept full, by +whose losses our homes had been enriched; and so we ventured with +trembling to utter these words of sympathy and cheer to those whom God +had chosen to this great sacrifice of sorrow.</p> + +<p>The winter months passed with silent footsteps, spring returned, and the +sun, with ever-waxing power, unsealed the snowy sepulchre of buds and +leaves,—birds reappeared, brooks were unchained, flowers filled every +desolate dell with blossoms and perfume. And with returning spring, in +like manner, the chill frost of our fears and of our dangers melted +before the breath of the Lord. The great war, which lay like a mountain +of ice upon our hearts, suddenly dissolved and was gone. The fears of +the past were as a dream when one awaketh, and now we scarce realize our +deliverance. A thousand hopes are springing up everywhere, like +spring-flowers in the forest. All is hopefulness, all is bewildering +joy.</p> + +<p>But this our joy has been ordained to be changed into a wail of sorrow. +The kind hard hand, that held the helm so steadily in the desperate +tossings of the storm, has been stricken down just as we entered +port,—the fatherly heart that bore all our sorrows can take no earthly +part in our joys. His were the cares,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> the watchings, the toils, the +agonies of a nation in mortal struggle; and God looking down was so well +pleased with his humble faithfulness, his patient continuance in +well-doing, that earthly rewards and honors seemed all too poor for him, +so He reached down and took him to immortal glories. "Well done, good +and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord!"</p> + +<p>Henceforth the place of Abraham Lincoln is first among that noble army +of martyrs who have given their blood to the cause of human freedom. The +eyes are yet too dim with tears that would seek calmly to trace out his +place in history. He has been a marvel and a phenomenon among statesmen, +a new kind of ruler in the earth. There has been something even +unearthly about his extreme unselfishness, his utter want of personal +ambition, personal self-valuation, personal feeling.</p> + +<p>The most unsparing criticism, denunciation, and ridicule never moved him +to a single bitter expression, never seemed to awaken in him a single +bitter thought. The most exultant hour of party victory brought no +exultation to him; he accepted power not as an honor, but as a +responsibility; and when, after a severe struggle, that power came a +second time into his hands, there was something preternatural in the +calmness of his acceptance of it. The first impulse seemed to be a +disclaimer of all triumph over the party that had strained their utmost +to push him from his seat, and then a sober girding up of his loins to +go on with the work to which he was appointed. His last inaugural was +characterized by a tone so peculiarly solemn and free from earthly +passion, that it seems to us now, who look back on it in the light of +what has followed, as if his soul had already parted from earthly +things, and felt the powers of the world to come. It was not the formal +state-paper of the chief of a party in an hour of victory, so much as +the solemn soliloquy of a great soul reviewing its course under a vast +responsibility, and appealing from all earthly judgments to the tribunal +of Infinite Justice. It was the solemn clearing of his soul for the +great sacrament of Death, and the words that he quoted in it with such +thrilling power were those of the adoring spirits that veil their faces +before the throne: "Just and true are thy ways, thou King of Saints!"</p> + +<p>Among the rich treasures which this bitter struggle has brought to our +country, not the least is the moral wealth which has come to us in the +memory of our martyrs. Thousands of men, women, and children too, in +this great conflict, have "endured tortures, not accepting deliverance," +counting not their lives dear unto them in the holy cause: and they have +done this as understandingly and thoughtfully as the first Christians +who sealed their witness with their blood.</p> + +<p>Let us in our hour of deliverance and victory record the solemn vow, +that our right hand shall forget her cunning before we forget them and +their sufferings,—that our tongue shall cleave to the roof of our +mouth, if we remember them not above our chief joy.</p> + +<p>Least suffering among that noble band were those who laid down their +lives on the battle-field, to whom was given a brief and speedy passage +to the victor's meed. The mourners who mourn for such as these must give +place to another and more august band, who have sounded lower deeps of +anguish, and drained bitterer drops out of our great cup of trembling.</p> + +<p>The narrative of the lingering tortures, indignities, and sufferings of +our soldiers in Rebel prisons has been something so harrowing that we +have not dared to dwell upon it. We have been helplessly dumb before it, +and have turned away our eyes from what we could not relieve, and +therefore could not endure to look upon. But now, when the nation is +called to strike the great and solemn balance of justice, and to decide +measures of final retribution, it behooves us all that we should at +least watch with our brethren for one hour, and take into our account +what they have been made to suffer for us.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sterne said he could realize the miseries of captivity only by setting +before him the image of a miserable captive with hollow cheek and wasted +eye, notching upon a stick, day after day, the weary record of the +flight of time. So we can form a more vivid picture of the sufferings of +our martyrs from one simple story than from any general description; and +therefore we will speak right on, and tell one story which might stand +as a specimen of what has been done and suffered by thousands.</p> + +<p>In the town of Andover, Massachusetts, a boy of sixteen, named Walter +Raymond, enlisted among our volunteers. He was under the prescribed age, +but his eager zeal led him to follow the footsteps of an elder brother +who had already enlisted; and the father of the boy, though these two +were all the sons he had, instead of availing himself of his legal right +to withdraw him, indorsed the act in the following letter addressed to +his Captain.</p> + +<p class="right"> +"<span class="smcap">Andover, Mass.</span>, August 15th, 1862. +</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Captain Hunt</span>,—My eldest son has enlisted in your company. I send you +his younger brother. He is, and always has been, in perfect health, of +more than the ordinary power of endurance, honest, truthful, and +courageous. I doubt not you will find him on trial all you can ask, +except his age, and that I am sorry to say is only sixteen; yet if our +country needs his service, take him.</p> + +<p class="right"> +"Your obedient servant,<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Samuel Raymond.</span>" +</p> + +<p>The boy went forth to real service, and to successive battles at +Kingston, at Whitehall, and at Goldsborough; and in all did his duty +bravely and faithfully. He met the temptations and dangers of a +soldier's life with the pure-hearted firmness of a Christian child, +neither afraid nor ashamed to remember his baptismal vows, his +Sunday-school teachings, and his mother's wishes.</p> + +<p>He had passed his promise to his mother against drinking and smoking, +and held it with a simple, childlike steadiness. When in the midst of +malarious swamps, physicians and officers advised the use of tobacco. +The boy writes to his mother,—"A great many have begun to smoke, but I +shall not do it without your permission, though I think it does a great +deal of good."</p> + +<p>In his leisure hours, he was found in his tent reading; and before +battle he prepared his soul with the beautiful psalms and collects for +the day, as appointed by his church, and writes with simplicity to his +friends,—</p> + +<p>"I prayed God that He would watch over me, and if I fell, receive my +soul in heaven; and I also prayed that I might not forget the cause I +was fighting for, and turn my back in fear."</p> + +<p>After nine months' service, he returned with a soldier's experience, +though with a frame weakened by sickness in a malarious region. But no +sooner did health and strength return than he again enlisted, in the +Massachusetts cavalry service, and passed many months of constant +activity and adventure, being in some severe skirmishes and battles with +that portion of Sheridan's troops who approached nearest to Richmond, +getting within a mile and a half of the city. At the close of this raid, +so hard had been the service, that only thirty horses were left out of +seventy-four in his company, and Walter and two others were the sole +survivors among eight who occupied the same tent.</p> + +<p>On the 16th of August, Walter was taken prisoner in a skirmish; and from +the time that this news reached his parents, until the 18th of the +following March, they could ascertain nothing of his fate. A general +exchange of prisoners having been then effected, they learned that he +had died on Christmas Day in Salisbury Prison, of hardship and +privation.</p> + +<p>What these hardships were is, alas! easy to be known from those too well +authenticated accounts published by our Government of the treatment +experienced by our soldiers in the Rebel prisons.</p> + +<p>Robbed of clothing, of money, of the soldier's best friend, his +sheltering blanket,—herded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> in shivering nakedness on the bare +ground,—deprived of every implement by which men of energy and spirit +had soon bettered their lot,—forbidden to cut in adjacent forests +branches for shelter, or fuel to cook their coarse food,—fed on a pint +of corn-and-cob-meal per day, with some slight addition of molasses or +rancid meat,—denied all mental resources, all letters from home, all +writing to friends,—these men were cut off from the land of the living +while yet they lived,—they were made to dwell in darkness as those that +have been long dead.</p> + +<p>By such slow, lingering tortures,—such weary, wasting anguish and +sickness of body and soul,—it was the infernal policy of the Rebel +government either to wring from them an abjuration of their country, or +by slow and steady draining away of the vital forces to render them +forever unfit to serve in her armies.</p> + +<p>Walter's constitution bore four months of this usage, when death came to +his release. A fellow-sufferer, who was with him in his last hours, +brought the account to his parents.</p> + +<p>Through all his terrible privations, even the lingering pains of slow +starvation, Walter preserved his steady simplicity, his faith in God, +and unswerving fidelity to the cause for which he was suffering.</p> + +<p>When the Rebels had kept the prisoners fasting for days, and then +brought in delicacies to tempt their appetite, hoping thereby to induce +them to desert their flag, he only answered,—"I would rather be carried +out in that dead-cart!"</p> + +<p>When told by some that he must steal from his fellow-sufferers, as many +did, in order to relieve the pangs of hunger, he answered,—"No, I was +not brought up to that!" And so when his weakened system would no longer +receive the cob-meal which was his principal allowance, he set his face +calmly towards death.</p> + +<p>He grew gradually weaker and weaker and fainter and fainter, and at last +disease of the lungs set in, and it became apparent that the end was at +hand.</p> + +<p>On Christmas Day, while thousands among us were bowing in our garlanded +churches or surrounding festive tables, this young martyr lay on the +cold, damp ground, watched over by his destitute friends, who sought to +soothe his last hours with such scanty comforts as their utter poverty +afforded,—raising his head on the block of wood which was his only +pillow, and moistening his brow and lips with water, while his life +ebbed slowly away, until about two o'clock, when he suddenly roused +himself, stretched out his hand, and, drawing to him his dearest friend +among those around him, said, in a strong, clear voice,—</p> + +<p>"I am going to die. Go tell my father I am ready to die, for I die for +God and my country,"—and, looking up with a triumphant smile, he passed +to the reward of the faithful.</p> + +<p>And now, men and brethren, if this story were a single one, it were +worthy to be had in remembrance; but Walter Raymond is not the only +noble-hearted boy or man that has been slowly tortured and starved and +done to death, by the fiendish policy of Jefferson Davis and Robert +Edmund Lee.</p> + +<p>No,—wherever this simple history shall be read, there will arise +hundreds of men and women who will testify,—"Just so died my son!" "So +died my brother!" "So died my husband!" "So died my father!"</p> + +<p>The numbers who have died in these lingering tortures are to be counted, +not by hundreds, or even by thousands, but by tens of thousands.</p> + +<p>And is there to be no retribution for a cruelty so vast, so aggravated, +so cowardly and base? And if there is retribution, on whose head should +it fall? Shall we seize and hang the poor, ignorant, stupid, imbruted +semi-barbarians who were set as jailors to keep these hells of torment +and inflict these insults and cruelties? or shall we punish the +educated, intelligent chiefs who were the head and brain of the +iniquity?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> + +<p>If General Lee had been determined <i>not</i> to have prisoners starved or +abused, does any one doubt that he could have prevented these things? +Nobody doubts it. His raiment is red with the blood of his helpless +captives. Does any one doubt that Jefferson Davis, living in ease and +luxury in Richmond, knew that men were dying by inches in filth and +squalor and privation in the Libby Prison, within bowshot of his own +door? Nobody doubts it. It was his will, his deliberate policy, thus to +destroy those who fell into his hands. The chief of a so-called +Confederacy, who could calmly consider among his official documents +incendiary plots for the secret destruction of ships, hotels, and cities +full of peaceable people, is a chief well worthy to preside over such +cruelties; but his only just title is President of Assassins, and the +whole civilized world should make common cause against such a miscreant.</p> + +<p>There has been, on both sides of the water, much weak, ill-advised talk +of mercy and magnanimity to be extended to these men, whose crimes have +produced a misery so vast and incalculable. The wretches who have +tortured the weak and the helpless, who have secretly plotted to +supplement, by dastardly schemes of murder and arson, that strength +which failed them in fair fight, have been commiserated as brave +generals and unfortunate patriots, and efforts are made to place them +within the comities of war.</p> + +<p>It is no feeling of personal vengeance, but a sense of the eternal +fitness of things, that makes us rejoice, when criminals, who have so +outraged every sentiment of humanity, are arrested and arraigned and +awarded due retribution at the bar of their country's justice. There are +crimes against God and human nature which it is treason alike to God and +man not to punish; and such have been the crimes of the traitors who +were banded together in Richmond.</p> + +<p>If there be those whose hearts lean to pity, we can show them where all +the pity of their hearts may be better bestowed than in deploring the +woes of assassins. Let them think of the thousands of fathers, mothers, +wives, sisters, whose lives will be forever haunted with memories of the +slow tortures in which their best and bravest were done to death.</p> + +<p>The sufferings of those brave men are ended. Nearly a hundred thousand +are sleeping in those sad, nameless graves,—and may their rest be +sweet! "There the wicked cease from troubling, there the weary are at +rest. There the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the +oppressor." But, O ye who have pity to spare, spare it for the +broken-hearted friends, who, to life's end, will suffer over and over +all that their dear ones endured. Pity the mothers who hear their sons' +faint calls in dreams, who in many a weary night-watch see them pining +and wasting, and yearn with a lifelong, unappeasable yearning to have +been able to soothe those forsaken, lonely death-beds. Oh, man or woman, +if you have pity to spare, spend it not on Lee or Davis,—spend it on +their victims, on the thousands of living hearts which these men of sin +have doomed to an anguish that will end only with life!</p> + +<p>Blessed are the mothers whose sons passed in battle,—a quick, a +painless, a glorious death! Blessed in comparison,—yet we weep for +them. We rise up and give place at sight of their mourning-garments. We +reverence the sanctity of their sorrow. But before this other sorrow we +are dumb in awful silence. We find no words with which to console such +grief. We feel that our peace, our liberties, have been bought at a +fearful price, when we think of the sufferings of our martyred soldiers. +Let us think of them. It was for <i>us</i> they bore hunger and cold and +nakedness. They might have had food and raiment and comforts, if they +would have deserted our cause,—and they did not. Cutoff from all +communication with home or friends or brethren,—dragging on the weary +months, apparently forgotten,—still they would not yield, they would +not fight against us; and so for us at last they died.</p> + +<p>What return can we make them?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> Peace has come, and we take up all our +blessings restored and brightened; but if we look, we shall see on every +blessing a bloody cross.</p> + +<p>When three brave men broke through the ranks of the enemy, to bring to +King David a draught from the home-well, for which he longed, the +generous-hearted prince would not drink it, but poured it out as an +offering before the Lord; for he said, "Is not this the blood of the men +that went in jeopardy of their lives?"</p> + +<p>Thousands of noble hearts have been slowly consumed to secure to us the +blessings we are rejoicing in.</p> + +<p>We owe a duty to these our martyrs,—the only one we can pay.</p> + +<p>In every place, honored by such a history and example, let a monument be +raised at the public expense, on which shall be inscribed the names of +those who died for their country, and the manner of their death.</p> + +<p>Such monuments will educate our young men in heroic virtue, and keep +alive to future ages the flame of patriotism. And thus, too, to the +aching heart of bereaved love shall be given the only consolation of +which its sorrows admit, in the reverence which is paid to its lost +loved ones.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PEACE" id="PEACE"></a>PEACE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">Daybreak upon the hills!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slowly, behind the midnight murk and trail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the long storm, light brightens, pure and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">And the horizon fills.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">Not bearing swift release,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not with quick feet of triumph, but with tread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">August and solemn, following her dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Cometh, at last, our Peace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">Over thick graves grown green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over pale bones that graveless lie and bleach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over torn human hearts her path doth reach,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">And Heaven's dear pity lean.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">O angel sweet and grand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White-footed, from beside the throne of God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou movest, with the palm and olive-rod,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">And day bespreads the land!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">His Day we waited for!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With faces to the East, we prayed and fought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a faint music of the dawning caught,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">All through the sounds of War.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">Our souls are still with praise!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is the dawning; there is work to do:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we have borne the long hours' burden through,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Then we will pæans raise.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">God give us, with the time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His strength for His large purpose to the world!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bear before Him, in its face unfurled,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">His gonfalon sublime!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">Ay, we <i>are</i> strong! Both sides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The misty river stretch His army's wings:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heavenward, with glorious wheel, one flank He flings;<br /></span> +<span class="i5">And one front still abides!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">Strongest where most bereft!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His great ones He doth call to more command.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For whom He hath prepared it, they shall stand<br /></span> +<span class="i5">On the Right Hand and Left!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="RECONSTRUCTION_AND_NEGRO_SUFFRAGE" id="RECONSTRUCTION_AND_NEGRO_SUFFRAGE"></a>RECONSTRUCTION AND NEGRO SUFFRAGE.</h2> + + +<p>The submission of the Rebel armies and the occupation of the Rebel +territory by the forces of the United States are successes which have +been purchased at the cost of the lives of half a million of loyal men +and a debt of nearly three thousand millions of dollars; but, according +to theories of State Rights now springing anew to life, victory has +smitten us with impotence. The war, it seems, was waged for the purpose +of forcing the sword out of the Rebel's hands, and forcing into them the +ballot. At an enormous waste of treasure and blood, we have acquired the +territory for which we fought; and lo! it is not ours, but belongs to +the people we have been engaged in fighting, in virtue of the +constitution we have been fighting for. The Federal government is now, +it appears, what Wigfall elegantly styled it four years ago,—nothing +but "the one-horse concern at Washington": the real power is in the +States it has subdued. We are therefore expected to act like the savage, +who, after thrashing his Fetich for disappointing his prayers, falls +down again and worships it. Our Fetich is State Rights, as perversely +misunderstood. The Rebellion would have been soon put down, had it been +merely an insurrectionary outbreak of masses of people without any +political organization. Its tremendous force came from its being a +revolt of States, with the capacity to employ those powers of taxation +and conscription which place the persons and property of all residing in +political communities at the service of their governments. And now that +characteristic which gave strength to the Rebel communities in war is +invoked to shield them from Federal regulation in defeat. We are +required to substitute technicalities for facts; to consider the +Rebellion—what it notoriously was not—a mere revolt of loose +aggregations of men owing allegiance to the United States; and to hold +the States, which endowed them with such a perfect organization and +poisonous vitality, as innocent of the crime. The verbal dilemma in +which this reasoning places us is this: that the Rebel States could not +do what they did, and therefore we cannot do what we must. Among other +things which it is said we cannot do, the prescribing of the +qualifications of voters in the States occupies the most important +place; and it is necessary to inquire whether the Rebel communities now +held by our military power are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> States, in the sense that word bears in +the Federal Constitution. If they are, we have not only no right to say +that negroes shall enjoy in them the privilege of voting, but no right +to prescribe any qualifications for white voters.</p> + +<p>In the American system, the process by which constitutions are made and +governments instituted is by conventions of the people. The State +constitutions were ordained by conventions of the people of the several +States; the constitution of the United States was made the supreme law +of the land by conventions of the people of all the States; and the only +method by which a State could be released, with any show of legality, +from its obligations to the United States, would be the assent of the +same power which created the Federal constitution,—namely, conventions +of the people of <i>all</i> the States. The course adopted by the so-called +"seceding" States was separate State action by popular conventions in +the States seceding. This was an appeal to the original authority from +which State governments and constitutions derived their powers, but a +violation of solemn faith towards the government and constitution +decreed by the people of all the States, and which, by the assent of +each State, formed a vital part of each State constitution. No State +convention could be called for the purpose of separating from the +Union,—of destroying what the officers calling it had sworn to +support,—without making official perjury the preliminary condition of +State sovereignty. Looked at from the point of view of the State +seceding, the act was an assertion of State independence; looked at from +the point of view of the constitution of the United States, it was an +act of State suicide. The State so acting through a convention of its +people was no longer a State, in the meaning that word bears in the +Federal constitution; for, whatever it may have been before it was one +of the United States, it was transformed into a different political +society by making the Federal constitution a part of its own organic +law. In cutting that bond, it bled to death as a State, as far as the +Federal constitution knows a State, to rise again as a Rebel community, +holding a portion of the Federal territory by force of arms. A State, in +the meaning of the Federal constitution, is a political community +forbidden to exercise sovereign powers, and at once a part of the +Federal government and owing allegiance to it. Is South Carolina, which +has exercised sovereign powers, which has broken its allegiance to the +Federal government, and which at present is certainly not a part of it, +such a political society?</p> + +<p>It is, we know, contended by some reasoners on the subject, that the +Rebel States <i>could not</i> do what they palpably <i>did</i>. This course of +argument is sustained only by confounding duties with powers. By the +constitution a State cannot (that is, has no right to) secede, only as, +by the moral law, a man cannot (that is, has no right to) commit murder; +nevertheless, States have broken away from their obligations to the +Union, as murderers have broken away from their obligations to the moral +law. It is folly to claim that criminal acts are impossible because they +are unjustifiable. The real question relates to the condition in which +the criminal acts of the Rebel States left them as political societies. +They cannot claim, as some of their Northern champions do for them, that +being <i>in</i> the Union in our view, and <i>out</i> of it in their own, the only +result of defeating them as Rebels is to restore them as citizens. This +would be playing a political game of "Heads I win, tails you lose," +which they must know can hardly succeed with a nation which has made +such enormous sacrifices of treasure and blood in putting them down. +After having, by a solemn act of their own, through conventions of the +people, forsworn their duties to the constitution, they by that act +forfeited its privileges. In our view they became Rebel enemies, against +whom we had both the rights of sovereignty and the rights of war; in +their own view, they became foreigners; and from that moment they had no +more "constitutional" control of the area they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> occupied, were no more +"States," than if they had transferred their allegiance to a European +power, and the war had been prosecuted to wrest the territory they +occupied, and the people they ruled, from the clutch of England or +France. Even if we consider the Union a mere partnership of States, the +same principle will apply; for partnership implies mutual obligations, +and no partner can steal the property of his firm, and abscond with it, +and then, after he has been hunted down and arrested, claim the rights +in the business he enjoyed before he turned rogue.</p> + +<p>But it is sometimes asserted that the small minority of citizens in the +Rebel States claiming to be, and to have been, loyal, constitute the +States in the constitutional meaning of the term. Now without insisting +on the fact that it is so plainly impossible to accurately distinguish +these from the disloyal, that an oath, not required by State +constitutions, has, in the recent attempt at reconstruction, been +imposed by Federal authority on all voters alike, it is plain that no +minority in a political society can claim exemption from political evils +it had not power to prevent. Had we gone to war with Great Britain, the +property of Cobden and Bright on the high seas would have been as liable +to capture as that of Lindsay or Laird. No loyal citizens at the South +could have been more bitterly opposed to Secession than some of our +Northern Copperheads were to the war for the Union; and yet the persons +of the Copperheads were as liable to conscription, and their property to +taxation, as those of the most enthusiastic Republicans. There would be +an end to political societies, if men should refuse to be held +responsible for all public acts except those they personally approved. A +member of a community whose people, in a convention, broke faith with +the United States, and made war against it, the Southern Unionist was +forced into complicity with the crime. By the pressure of a power he +could not resist he was compelled to pay Confederate taxes, serve in +Confederate armies, and become a portion of the Confederate strength. +More than this: the property in human beings, which he held by local +law, was confiscated by the Federal government's edict of emancipation, +equally with the same kind of property held by the most disloyal. And +now that the war is over, he and those who sympathized with him are not +the State, which was extinguished by its own act when it rebelled. He +and his friends may be the objects of sympathy, of honor, of reward; but +in the work of reconstruction the interest and safety of the great body +of loyal citizens of the United States, of the persons who have bought +the territory at such a terrible price, are to be primarily consulted. +And not simply because such a course is expedient, but because the +Southern Unionists can advance no valid claim to be the political +societies which were recognized by the Federal constitution as States +before the Rebellion. If they were, they might proceed at once to assume +the powers of the States, without any authority from Washington, and +without calling any convention to form a <i>new</i> constitution. If, on the +breaking out of the Rebellion, they had rallied in defence of the old +constitutions within State limits, preserved the organization of the +States in all departments, raised and equipped armies, and conducted a +war against the Confederates as traitors to their respective States as +well as to the United States, they might present some claims to be +considered the States; but this they did not do, and they were not +powerful enough to do it. The large proportion of them were compelled to +form a part of the Rebel power.</p> + +<p>And this brings us directly to the heart of the matter. It is asserted +that the Acts of Secession, being unconstitutional, were inoperative and +void. But they were passed by the people of the several States which +seceded, and the persons and property of the whole people were +indiscriminately employed in making them effective. The States held by +Rebel armies were Rebel States. All the population were necessarily, in +the view of the Federal government, Rebel enemies. Consequently the +territory<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> of the States was as "void" of citizens of the United States +as the Acts of Secession were "void." The only things left, then, were +the inoperative ideas of States.</p> + +<p>Again, to put the argument in another form, it is asserted, that, though +the people of a State may commit treason, the State itself remains +unaffected by the crime. A distinction is here made between a State and +the people who constitute it,—between the State and the persons who +create its constitution and organize its government. The State +constitution which existed while it was a State, in the Federal meaning +of the word, was destroyed in an essential part by the same authority +which created it, namely, a convention of the people of the State; and +yet it is said that the State remained unaffected by the deed. By this +course of reasoning, a State is defined an abstract essence which can +comfortably exist in all its rights and privileges, <i>in potentia</i>, apart +from all visible embodiment; a State which is the possibility of a State +and not the actuality of one; a State which can be brought into the line +of real vision only by some such contrivance as that employed by the +German playwright, who, in a drama on the subject of the Creation, +represented Adam crossing the stage <i>going</i> to be created.</p> + +<p>There is, it is true, one method of getting a kind of body to this +abstract State, but it is a method which may well frighten the hardiest +American reasoner. It was employed by Burke in one of the audacities of +his logic directed against the governments established after the French +Revolution of 1789. He took the ground, that France was not in the +French territory or in the French people, but in the persons who +represented its old polity, and who had escaped into England and +Germany. These constituted what he called "Moral France," in distinction +from "Geographical France"; and Moral France, he said, had emigrated.</p> + +<p>But as few or none will be inclined to take the ground that South +Carolina and Georgia exist in the persons who left their soil on the +breaking out of the Rebellion, we are forced back to the conception of +an invisible spiritual soul and essence of a State, surviving its bodily +destruction. But even this abstraction must still, from the point of +view of the Federal constitution, be conceived of as owing allegiance to +the Federal government; and it can confessedly get a new body only by +the exercise of Federal authority. Its leading institution has been +destroyed by Federal power. Its old legislature and governor, who alone, +on State principles, could call a convention of the people, are spotted +all over with treason, and might be hanged as traitors, by the law of +the United States, while engaged in measures to repair the broken unity +of the State life,—a fact which is of itself sufficient to show that +the old State is dead beyond all bodily resurrection. The white +inhabitants who occupy its old geographical limits are defeated Rebels, +and not one can exercise the privilege of voting without taking an oath +which no real "State" prescribes. They are all born again into citizens +by a Federal fiat; they are "pardoned" into voters; they derive their +rights, not from their old charters, but from an act of amnesty. Far +from any discrimination being made between loyal and disloyal, the great +body of both classes are compelled to submit to Federal terms of +citizenship or be disfranchised; and they are called upon, not to revive +the old State, but to make a new one, within the old State lines. And +all this would result from the necessity of the case, even if it were +not made justifiable by the essential sovereignty of the United States, +of which the war-power is but an incident. But if the Federal government +can thus give the white inhabitants, or any portion of them, the right +of suffrage, cannot it confer that right upon the black freedmen? It +will not do, at this stage, to say that the Federal government has no +right to prescribe the qualifications of voters in the States: because, +in the case of the whites, it does and must prescribe them; and +President<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> Johnson has just the same right to say that negroes shall +vote as to say that pardoned Rebels shall vote. The right of States to +decide on the qualifications of its electors applies only to loyal +States; it cannot apply to political communities which have lost by +Rebellion the Federal character of "States," which notoriously have no +legitimate State authority to decide the question of qualification, and +which are now taking the preparatory steps of forming themselves into +States through the agency of provisional Federal governors, directing +voters, constituted such by Federal authority, to elect delegates to a +convention of the people. It is a misuse of constitutional language to +Call North Carolina and Mississippi "States," in the same sense in which +we use the term in speaking of Ohio and Massachusetts. When their +conventions have framed State constitutions, when their State +governments are organized, and when their senators and representatives +have been admitted into the Congress of the United States, then, indeed, +they will be States, entitled to all the privileges of Ohio and +Massachusetts; and woe be to us, if they are reconstructed on wrong +principles!</p> + +<p>It is often said, that, although the Federal government may have the +right and power to decide who shall be considered "the people" of the +Rebel States, in so important a matter as the conversion of them into +States of the Federal Union, it is still politic and just to make the +qualifications of voters as nearly as possible what they were before the +Rebellion. Conceding this, we still have to face the fact, that a large +body of men, held before the war as slaves, have been emancipated, and +added to the body of the people. They are now as free as the white men. +The old constitutions of the Slave States could have no application to +the new condition of affairs. The change in the circumstances, by which +four years have done the ordinary work of a century, demands a +corresponding change in the application of old rules, even admitting +that we should take them as a guide. Having converted the loyal blacks +from slaves into the condition of citizens of the United States, there +can be no reason or justice or policy in allowing them to be made, in +localities recently Rebel, the subjects of whites who have but just +purged themselves from the guilt of treason.</p> + +<p>The question of negro suffrage being thus reduced to a question of +expediency, to be decided on its own merits, the first argument brought +against it is based on the proposition, that it is inexpedient to give +the privilege of voting to the ignorant and unintelligent. This sounds +well; but a moment's reflection shows us that the objection is directed +simply against deficiencies of education and intelligence which happen +to be accompanied with a black skin. Three fifths or three fourths of +the poor whites of the South cannot read or write; and they are cruelly +belied, if they do not add to their ignorance that more important +disqualification for good citizenship,—indisposition or incapacity for +work. In general, the American system proceeds on the idea that the best +way of qualifying men to vote is voting, as the best way of teaching +boys to swim is to let them go into the water. "Our national +experience," says Chief-Justice Chase, in a letter to the New Orleans +freedmen, "has demonstrated that public order reposes most securely on +the broad base of Universal Suffrage. It has proved, also, that +universal suffrage is the surest guaranty and most powerful stimulus of +individual, social, and political progress." But even if we take the +ground, that education and suffrage, though not actually, should +properly be, identical, the argument would not apply to the case of the +freedmen. What we need primarily at the South is loyal citizens of the +United States, and treason there is in inverse proportion to ignorance. +If, in reconstructing the Rebel communities, we make suffrage depend on +education, we inevitably put the local governments into the hands of a +small minority of prominent Confederates whom we have recently defeated; +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> men physically subdued, but morally rebellious; of men who have used +their education simply to destroy the prosperity created by the industry +of the ignorant and enslaved, and who, however skilful they may be as +"architects of ruin," have shown no capacity for the nobler art which +repairs and rebuilds. If, on the other hand, we make suffrage depend on +color, we disfranchise the only portion of the population on whose +allegiance we can thoroughly rely, and give the States over to white +ignorance and idleness led by white intrigue and disloyalty. We are +placed by events in that strange condition in which the safety of that +"republican form of government" we desire to insure the Southern States +has more safeguards in the instincts of the ignorant than in the +intelligence of the educated. The right of the freedmen, not merely to +the common privileges of citizens, but to <i>own themselves</i>, depends on +the connection of the States in which they live with the United States +being preserved. They must know that Secession and State Independence +mean their reënslavement. Saulsbury of Delaware, and Willey of West +Virginia, declared in the Senate, in 1862, that the Rebel States, when +they came back into the Union, would have the legal power to reënslave +any blacks whom the National government might emancipate; and it is only +the plighted faith of the United States to the freedmen, which such a +proceeding would violate, which can prevent the crime from being +perpetrated. It is as citizens of the United States, and not as +inhabitants of North Carolina or Mississippi, that their freedom is +secure. Their instincts, their interests, and their position will thus +be their teachers in the duties of citizenship. They are as sure to vote +in accordance with the most advanced ideas of the time as most of the +embittered aristocracy are to vote for the most retrograde. They will, +though at first ignorant, necessarily be in political sympathy with the +most educated voters of New York, Ohio, and Massachusetts; if they were +as low in the scale of being as their bitterest revilers assert, they +would still be forced by their instincts into intuitions of their +interests; and their interests are identical with those of civilization +and progress. We suppose that those who think them most degraded would +be willing to concede to them the possession of a little selfish +cunning; and a little selfish cunning is enough to bring them into +harmony with the purposes, if not the spirit, of the largest-minded +philanthropy and statesmanship of the North.</p> + +<p>It is claimed, we know, by some of the hardiest dealers in assertion, +that the freedmen will vote as their former masters shall direct; but as +this argument is generally put forward by those whose sympathies are +with the former masters rather than with the emancipated bondmen, one +finds it difficult to understand why they should object to a policy +which will increase the power of those whom they wish to be dominant. +The circumstances, however, under which credulous ignorance becomes the +prey of unscrupulous intelligence are familiar to all who have observed +our elections. An ignorant Irish Catholic may be the victim of a +pro-slavery demagogue, because the latter flatters his prejudices; but +can he be deceived by a bigoted Know-Nothing, who is the object of them? +The only demagogue who could control the negro would be an abolition +demagogue, and he could control him to his harm only when the negro was +deprived of his rights. The slave-masters were wont to pay considerable +attention to zoölogy,—not because they were interested in science, but +because in that science they thought they could obtain arguments for +expelling blacks from the human species. In their zoölogical studies, +did they ever learn that mice instinctively seek the protection of the +cat, or that the deer speeds to, instead of from, the hunter? The +persons whose votes the late masters would be most likely to control +would palpably be those whose votes they always have controlled, namely, +the poor whites; for, in the late Slave States, white aristocrat is +still bound to white democrat by the strong tie of a common<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> contempt of +"the nigger." Meanwhile it is not difficult to believe, that, among four +millions of black people, there are enough plantation Hampdens and +Adamses to give political organization to their brethren, and make their +votes efficient for the protection of their interests.</p> + +<p>We think, then, it may be taken for granted, that, while ignorant, the +freedmen will vote right by the force of their instincts, and that the +education they require will be the result of their possessing the +political power to demand it. Free schools are not the creations of +private benevolence, but of public taxation; it is useless to expect a +system of universal education in a community which does not rest on +universal suffrage; and the children of the poor freeman are educated at +the public expense, not so much by the pleading of the children's needs +as by the power of the father's ballot. To take the ground, that the +"superior" race will educate the "inferior" race it has but just held in +bondage, that it will humanely set to work to prepare and qualify the +"niggers" to be voters, only escapes from being considered the artifice +of the knave by charitably referring it to the credulity of the +simpleton. We do not send, as Mr. Sumner has happily said, "the child to +be nursed by the wolf"; and he might have added, that the only precedent +for such a proceeding, the case of Romulus and Remus, has lost all the +little force it may once have had by the criticism of Niebuhr.</p> + +<p>If the negroes do not get the power of political self-protection in the +conventions of the people which are now to be called, it is not +reasonable to expect they will ever get it by the consent of the whites. +Legal State conventions are called by previous law. There is no previous +State law applicable to the Rebel communities, because, revolutionized +by rebellion, the very persons who are qualified by the old State laws +to call conventions are disqualified by the laws of the United States. +The result is, that the people are an unorganized mass, to be +reorganized under the lead of the Federal government; and of this mass +of people—literally, in this case, "the masses"—the free blacks are as +much a part as the free whites. As soon, however, as the machinery of +State governments is set in motion by these conventions,—as soon as +these governments are recognized by the President and Congress,—no +conventions to alter the constitutions agreed upon can be called, except +by previous State laws. If negro suffrage is not granted in the election +of members to the present conventions, the power will pass permanently +into the hands of the whites, and the only opportunity for a peaceful +settlement of the question will be lost. At the very time when, +abstractly, no party has legal rights, and only one party has claims, we +propose to deliberately sacrifice the party that has claims to the party +which will soon acquire legal rights to oppress the claimants. For, +disguise it as we may, the United States government really holds and +exercises the power which gives vitality to the preliminaries of +reconstruction, and it is therefore responsible for all evils in the +future which shall spring from its neglect or injustice in the present.</p> + +<p>The addition, too, of four millions of persons to the people of the +South, without any corresponding addition of voters, will increase the +political power of the ruling whites to an alarming extent, while it +will remove all checks on its mischievous exercise. The constitution +declares that "representatives and direct taxes shall be apportioned +among the several States, which may be included in this Union, according +to their respective numbers, which shall be determined by adding to the +whole number of free persons, including those bound to service for a +term of years, and excluding Indians not taxed, three fifths of all +other persons." The unanswerable argument presented at the time against +the clause relating to the slaves did not prevent its adoption. "If," it +was said, "the negroes are property, why is other property not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +represented? if men, why three fifths?" Still the South has always +enjoyed the double privilege of treating the negro as an article of +merchandise and of using three fifths of him as political capital. He +has thus added to the power by which he was enslaved, and has been +represented in Congress by persons who regarded him either as a beast or +as "a descendant of Ham." In 1860, when the ratio of representation was +about one hundred and twenty-seven thousand, the South had, by the +three-fifths rule, the right to eighteen more representatives in +Congress, and eighteen more electoral votes, than it would have had, if +only free persons had been counted. The emancipation of the slaves will +give it twelve more; for the blacks will now no longer be constitutional +fractions, but constitutional units. The three-fifths arrangement was a +monstrous anomaly; but the five-fifths will be worse, if negro suffrage +be denied. Four millions of free people will, by the mere fact of being +inhabitants of Southern territory, confer a political power equal to +thirty members of Congress, and yet have no voice in their election. It +has been computed by the Hon. Robert Dale Owen, in a paper on the +subject, published in the New York "Tribune," that in some States, where +the blacks and whites are about equal in number, and where two thirds of +the whites shall "qualify" as voters, this new condition of things will +give the Southern white voter, in a Presidential or Congressional +election, three times as much political influence as a Northern voter. +And on whom shall we, in many localities, confer this immense privilege? +Here is Mr. Owen's description of a specimen of the class of Southern +"poor whites" we propose thus to exalt.</p> + +<p>"I have often encountered this class. I saw many of them last year, +while visiting, as member of a Government commission, some of the +Southern States. Labor degraded before their eyes has extinguished +within them all respect for industry, all ambition, all honorable +exertion to improve their condition. When last I had the pleasure of +seeing you at Nashville, I met there, in the office of a gentleman +charged with the duty of issuing transportation and rations to indigent +persons, black and white, a notable example of this strange class. He +was a Rebel deserter,—a rough, dirty, uncouth specimen of +humanity,—tall, stout, and wiry-looking, rude and abrupt in speech and +bearing, and clothed in tattered homespun. In no civil tone, he demanded +rations. When informed that all rations applicable to such a purpose +were exhausted, he broke forth,—</p> + +<p>"What am I to do, then? How am I to get home?'</p> + +<p>"'You can have no difficulty,' was the reply. 'It is but fifteen or +eighteen hours down the river' (the Cumberland) 'by steamboat to where +you live. I furnished you transportation; you can work your way.'</p> + +<p>"'Work my way!' (with a scowl of angry contempt.) 'I never did a stroke +of work since I was born; and I never expect to, till my dying day.'</p> + +<p>"The agent replied, quietly,—</p> + +<p>"'They will give you all you want to eat on board, if you help them to +wood.'</p> + +<p>"'Carry wood!' he retorted, with an oath. 'Whenever they ask me to carry +wood, I'll tell them they may set me on shore; I'd rather starve for a +week than work for an hour; I don't want to live in a world that I can't +make a living out of without work.'</p> + +<p>"Is it for men like that, ignorant, illiterate, vicious, fit for no +decent employment on earth except manual labor, and spurning <i>all</i> labor +as degradation,—is it in favor of such insolent swaggerers that we are +to disfranchise the humble, quiet, hard-working negro? Are the votes of +three such men as Stanton or Seward, Sumner or Garrison, Grant or +Sherman, to be neutralized by the ballot of one such worthless; +barbarian?"</p> + +<p>But this great power, wielded by a population imperfectly qualified to +vote, in the name of a population which do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> not vote at all,—a power +equivalent to thirty members of Congress and thirty electoral +votes,—will be directed as much against Northern interests as against +negro interests. Added to the power which the South will derive from its +voting population, it will enable that section to control one third of +all the votes in the House of Representatives; and, says Professor +Parsons, "if they stand together, and vote as a unit, they will need +only about one sixth more to get and hold control of our national +legislation and all our foreign and domestic policy." Our political +experience has unfortunately not been such as to justify us in believing +it to be impossible for any party, under a resolute Southern lead, to +obtain one sixth of the Northern strength in Congress. What would be the +result of such a combination? Why, the National government would be +substantially in the hands of those who have been engaged in a desperate +struggle to overthrow it; and it would be a government converted into a +great military and naval power by the war which resulted in their +defeat, and fully competent to enforce its decisions at home and abroad +by the strong hand. Nothing is purchased at such a frightful price as +the indulgence of a prejudice; the cry against "nigger equality" is a +prejudice of the most mischievous kind; and it may be we shall hereafter +find cause to deplore, that, when we had to choose between "nigger +equality" and Southern predominance, our choice was to keep the "nigger" +down, even if we failed to keep ourselves up.</p> + +<p>One result of Southern predominance everybody can appreciate. The +national debt is so interwoven with every form of the business and +industry of the loyal States that its repudiation would be the most +appalling of evils. A tax to pay it at once would not produce half the +financial derangement and moral disorder which repudiation would cause; +for repudiation, as Mirabeau well observed, is nothing but taxation in +its most cruel, unequal, iniquitous, and calamitous form. But what +reason have we to think that a reconstructed South, dominant in the +Federal government, would regard the debt with feelings similar to ours? +The negroes would associate it with their freedom, of which it was the +price; their late masters would view it as the symbol of their +humiliation, which it was incurred to effect. We must remember that the +South loses the whole cost of Rebellion, and is at the same time +required to pay its share of the cost of suppressing Rebellion. The cost +of Rebellion is, in addition to the devastation of property caused by +invasion, the whole Southern debt of some two or three thousand millions +of dollars, and the market value of the slaves, which, estimating the +slaves at five hundred dollars each, is two thousand millions of dollars +more. The portion of the cost of suppressing Rebellion which the South +will have to pay can be approximately reached by taking a recent +calculation made in the Census Office of the Department of the Interior.</p> + +<p>Estimating the national debt at twenty-five hundred millions of dollars, +and apportioning it according to the number of the white male adults +over twenty years of age in the different sections of the country, it +has been found that the proportion of the New England States is +$308,689,352.07; of the Middle States, $740,195,342.32; of the Western +States, $893,288,781.01; of the Southern States, $461,929,846.85; and of +the Pacific States, $95,896,677.75. This calculation makes the South +responsible for over four hundred and sixty millions of the debt. What +amount have the Southerners invested in it? Where both interest and +passion furiously impel men to repudiation, can they be trusted with the +care of the public credit? "But," the Northern people may exclaim, "in +case of such an execrable violation of justice, we would revolt,—we +would"——Ah! but in whose hands would then be "the war power"?</p> + +<p>From every point of view, then, in which we can survey the subject, +negro suffrage is, unless we are destitute of the commonest practical +reason, the logical sequence of negro emancipation. It is not more +necessary for the protection<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> of the freedmen than for the safety and +honor of the nation. Our interests are inextricably bound up with their +rights. The highest requirements of abstract justice coincide with the +lowest requirements of political prudence. And the largest justice to +the loyal blacks is the real condition of the widest clemency to the +Rebel whites. If the Southern communities are to be reorganized into +Federal States, it is of the first importance that they should be States +whose power rests on the proscription or degradation of no class of +their population. It would be a great evil, if they were absolutely +governed by a faction, even if that faction were a minority of the +"loyal" people, whose loyalty consisted in merely taking an oath which +the most unscrupulous would be the readiest to take, because the +readiest to break. We are bound either to give them a republican form of +government, or to hold them in the grasp of the military power of the +nation; and we cannot safely give them anything which approaches a +republican form of government, unless we allow the great mass of the +free people the right to vote. And least of all should we think of +proscribing that particular class of the free people who most thoroughly +represent in their localities the interests of the United States, and +whose ballots would at once do the work and save the expense of an army +of occupation.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="REVIEWS_AND_LITERARY_NOTICES" id="REVIEWS_AND_LITERARY_NOTICES"></a>REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Life of Horace Mann.</i> By his Wife. Boston: Walker, Fuller & +Co.</p></div> + +<p>The American readers of Mr. Spencer's "Social Statics" have raised their +eyes in wholesome wonderment at the condemnation which is there found of +all systems of national education. It is unfortunate that a writer who +has given effective presentation to many truths should have failed to +scrutinize his inductions by the light of certain ascertainable facts. +The presumed requirements of a system caused him to prejudge what should +have been investigated; and hence, upon the great theme of state +education his rare illuminating powers shed a few side-lights of +suggestion, and nothing more. The rough common sense of our humblest +citizen disperses the philosopher's subtilties of logic with some such +decisive sentence as that with which Dr. Johnson cut the meshes of the +Fate-argument, or President Lincoln carried the pious defences of +man-stealing. "We know we're free, and there's an end on 't." "If +slavery is not wrong, nothing is wrong." If the state has no right to +educate, it has no right to protect itself from the assaults of +ignorance, and consequently no right to exist at all. This, to be sure, +is dogmatism; but with loyal Americans to-day it comes so near being a +moral instinct that it may be provisionally assumed and tested at +leisure by the experience to which it has conducted us. In the crisis +through which the nation has just passed, education as a state +expediency has received its fullest vindication. The people whom the +state educated up to an appreciation of the republican idea arose to be +its saviours. No magnetism of personal leadership was given them. It was +the instructed sense of the community which overcame the perils of +faction and the incompetence of chiefs. And now, while we gratefully +recognize those who at the critical moment fell or suffered or wrought +for the Republic, let us not forget the unapplauded heroism which in +time past laboriously accumulated the force lately revealed in many +manly acts. The Trent Catechism declares that a final judgment is +necessary, in order that the bad may be punished for the evil which in +future time results from their mortal acts. If it may be held, +conversely, that the conduct of the good is entitled to ever-increasing +honor, we think it well that the biography of Horace Mann, educator and +statesman, has been withheld to this day. It is nobly prophetic of the +perfected faith in popular government and universal liberty which fills +our hearts. It is in deep accordance with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> psalm of victory which +rises from loyal lips.</p> + +<p>The present volume supplies materials for filling up the admirable +outline of Mr. Mann's life which appeared in Livingston's "Law Journal," +and was copied in other publications. For it must necessarily be +materials for the study of a majestic character, rather than any +critical <i>dicta</i> concerning it, that Mrs. Mann can offer us. And this is +not to be regretted. The judgments of an impartial biographer would have +been dearly purchased at the sacrifice of that sweetest testimony of +household reverence which only the most intimate relation can supply. +The little glimpses of Horace Mann, with his children about him, are +worth many discriminating estimates of services and judicial +investigations into the merits of forgotten controversies. We are made +fully acquainted with the noble spirit in which he labored, and this is +a better bequest to the American people than even the noble results it +brought to pass. Poor enough seems any halting, sentimental interest in +human well-being in the presence of that sturdy life, throbbing with +executive energy, and dignified by thorough disinterestedness.</p> + +<p>Horace Mann was born into the narrow circumstances of a small New +England farm. His father died when he was still a boy. The educational +opportunities offered by the poorest district of the little town of +Franklin, Massachusetts, were meagre enough. Knowledge in the husk was +thrown before the pupils, who were allowed the privilege of picking out +what they might. The training which stimulates memory had not given +place to that which encourages thought. In spite of all obstructions, +Horace displayed an irrepressible love of learning, and obtained that +sort of education which was probably the best possible for the work he +had to do. For it was from vividly realizing the hindrances which he had +the strength partially to surmount that he was able to adjust the means +for their removal. His youth was far from being a happy one. The poverty +of his parents subjected him to continual privation, and the remorseless +logic of the current theology weighed upon his sensitive spirit. Having +obtained the consent of his guardian to prepare for college, he entered +Brown University in 1816. His graduating oration was upon the +progressive character of the human race,—a subject prophetic of his +subsequent mission. A tutorship of the Latin and Greek languages gave +the opportunity to perfect himself in classical culture. Afterwards he +studied law, and in 1823 was admitted to the Norfolk bar. From this time +his life was devoted to the welfare of the ignorant and unfortunate. As +a leading member of the State Legislature, both in the House and +afterwards as President of the Senate, Mr. Mann took an active part in +forwarding measures relating to public charities and education. The +establishment of the State Insane Hospital at Worcester was wholly due +to his vigorous advocacy. In 1837 he retired from the distinguished +professional and political career that was opening before him, and +devoted his rare abilities to the service of common schools. As +Secretary of the Massachusetts Board of Education, he effected a +thorough reform in the school system of the State. Of the unexampled +labor and self-denial of eleven successive years his Annual Reports and +the "Common School Journal" are noble, though inadequate memorials. In +1848 Mr. Mann was sent to Congress as successor to John Quincy Adams. +Here his powers were at once concentrated in resisting the usurpations +of Slavery. Two years later came his memorable collision with Mr. +Webster. In opposing the doctrines of the famous 7th of March speech, +and in his subsequent criticism of its author, Mr. Mann well knew the +bitter judgments he would provoke and the social position he must +sacrifice. He counted the cost and accepted the duty. Insight lent him +the fire with which foresight kindled the prophets. He saw in the slave +system those inner depths of cruelty and baseness which Andersonville +and Port Hudson have lately revealed. At the ensuing election in +November, Mr. Mann's renomination was defeated in the Whig Convention. +Appealing to the people as an independent candidate, he was re-elected +to Congress, and there served until he was offered the Presidency of +Antioch College in 1852. The toil, the perseverance, the +self-renunciation which associate Mr. Mann with Antioch are too great +for conventional phrases of eulogy. Whether judged by the mighty things +he accomplished, or by the harmonious development of the moral, +intellectual, and affectional nature which he displayed, there are few +human records which show an appreciation of duty so exhaustive united to +a performance so heroic.</p> + +<p>The life of Horace Mann was full of severe work. Few men have had the +grace to return so uncompromising an answer to the question whether +their service was to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> be rendered to God or Mammon. He had the gift of +separating religion from its accidental trappings, and of recognizing in +the simplest intuition of accountability for our neighbor's welfare the +best working hypothesis. Like Theodore Parker, he excelled the common +citizen, not in reach of skepticism, but in might of faith. His was +never that gentlemanly sort of virtue which devotes unoccupied corners +of the being, as it were in decorative fashion, to the interests of +humanity. He would toil patiently at the humblest crank-work, content to +move puppets who received whatever public credit was to be had. Mr. Mann +abandoned a political career that was calculated to satisfy a generous +ambition, to take the newly created office of Secretary of the Board of +Education, unassociated with dignity or emolument. "If the position is +not honorable now," he replied to the remonstrances of a friend, "then +it is clearly for me to elevate it; and I would rather be creditor than +debtor to the title." He combined in a rare degree the working powers of +the enthusiast with the balance of the philosopher. He wrought at +high-pressure, yet looked to no immediate or showy success. "If no seed +were ever sown save that which would promise the requital of a full +harvest, how soon would mankind revert to barbarism!" The exclamation +was with him no disregarded truism.</p> + +<p>Mr. Mann's views of the true ends to be sought in our systems of +education receive daily confirmation. Burying the mind under a heap of +ready-made generalizations may give a conceit of knowledge, amusing or +dangerous as the case may be, but never gives the "power" promised in +the aphorism. When Montaigne said that he would rather forge his mind +than furnish it, he suggested the true principle of education. The +problem is not to fill the mind from without, but to give the most +efficient aid to its efforts to form itself from within. The energies +that Mr. Mann put forth for the direction and government of Antioch +College, his noble sacrifices far exceeding the requirements that could +justly be demanded at his hands, not only show his lofty and resolute +nature, but clearly exhibit the substantial <i>animus</i> of the scheme of +instruction he had at heart. While fully recognizing the intimate +connection between physical organization and mental phenomena, he never +doubted our inherent ability to subdue the animal nature, and considered +that a recognizable effort so to do should be an essential condition of +intellectual culture. The great features of the institution for which he +sacrificed his life were, an unsectarian basis, and instruction to woman +as well as man. The touching narrative shows how broad and firm was the +foundation upon which he built. The glory of Horace Mann the educator +culminates in this: he proved that without dogma or formulary the tone +of a large body of students might be unusually religious and their +conduct unusually moral; and also, that the properly guarded intercourse +of young men and young women engaged in the pursuit of knowledge might +be elevating and beneficial to both.</p> + +<p>The present volume furnishes a just conception of Mr. Mann's remarkable +character. We see a human life consistently governed by the highest +human instincts. Yet if shortcomings there were, they may be found, or +inferred, by those who will look for them. Mr. S. J. May thinks it not +judicious to publish certain letters that Mr. Mann addressed to him, +lest they should injure their author's fame with some good men. But the +controlling sincerity of the biographer will not permit her to withhold +them. In the never-ending battle between the theoretically right and +what to mortal vision seems the practically expedient, Horace Mann for a +moment inclines to the latter. He fears that Mr. May will peril his +usefulness as Principal of the Lexington Normal School by an open +connection with the Abolitionists. He urges the duty of considering the +consequences of our acts: as if we could weigh, or in any manner +estimate, the eternal consequences of the least of them; as if all +history did not show us that the temporary loss of influence, of +usefulness, the sacrifice of life itself, was necessary to the +incorporation of a higher truth with the existing intelligence of men +and the means of its final triumph in the world. But Mr. Mann's own +brave career was never deflected by the sophistries of the timid. He +never doubted that he best influenced the whole by fulfilling the +highest law of his individual life. What other faith could sustain him, +when his exhausting labors were not rewarded by a recognized success in +any way commensurate with their desert? Yet no one ever saw him when the +luminous quality of his spiritual nature was clouded, or the special +stimulus to use his powers to the utmost was withdrawn.</p> + +<p>Few recipes for comfortable living are to be gathered from such a story. +Vainly we ask for a little repose upon our pilgrimage<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> along those +sublime heights of holy exertion whither that example leads us. We +examine the chronicle of labor and privation, if haply we may find some +paragraph wherein the philanthropist dines out or goes to the theatre. +But the solemn claims of humanity are always in his keeping, and we must +get inured as we may to his rigorous stewardship. And it is by the grace +of such exceptional men that our country is to become less the paradise +of charlatanry, and better to deserve the title of Model Republic. They +draw the poison from that current philosophy which maintains that the +intellect of man has always led the way in social advancement, his moral +nature being subordinate thereto. Not as the sum of past forces, but by +his own inherent moral life, does Horace Mann fill these pages. It is a +sterling biography, which no educated American can afford not to read. +It is only partial praise to call the book deeply interesting. It +vivifies and inspires.</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The Gentle Life</i>. Essays in Aid of the Formation of +Character. London: Sampson Low, Son, and Marston.</p></div> + +<p>The title of this book constitutes its chief, we had almost said its +sole, claim to consideration. We open its pleasant-looking pages with +pleasant memories of Charles Lamb and Leigh Hunt, and pleasant +anticipations, not of brilliancy, indeed, nor trenchant truth, but of +medicine for our weariness, a moment of quiet in the rush and whirl of +things, a breath of repose from over the sea to cool and tranquillize +these fervid days of ours. We are tranquillized, indeed! We find +ourselves straightway in a desert, stuck full of flowers, it is true, +from innumerable gardens, but a desert still: for the unhappy exotics +have suffered so severely in the transportation as to be scarcely able +to hold up their heads, and, where they still preserve their original +beauty, only serve to throw into stronger relief the surrounding +sterility. It is a medley of dismal platitudes; truths which have been +truisms for at least a century, uttered with all the pomp and +circumstance of newly discovered laws; quotations garbled, pointless, or +dipped in a feeble venom; shreds of learning pieced together, with or +without adaptation, in a nondescript patchwork; the fragments of a +thousand feasts huddled into one pot, simmered over a slow fire, and +served up as a pretty dish to set before a king.</p> + +<p>The uniformity of the book is wonderful. It is always heavy. Its +falsehood is insipid. Its very malice has no pungency. It is dull even +where it hates. Now and then we stumble on a paragraph which starts up +from the dead level around it, glowing with real fire; but at the end we +are sure to find that it is translated from Victor Hugo or transferred +from Emerson; and generally these borrowed plumes are so torn and +bedraggled in their clumsy removal that the very bird they grew on would +scarcely recognize them. There is no intentional, no malign +maltreatment, to give us the relief of a real indignation; but we are +kept in a state of constant irritation by a series of petty +encroachments upon the integrities of literature. There is no law +compelling a man to garnish his speech with floating verse; but if he +choose to do so, he should make a point of presenting it in its true +form. At the very least, if he must garble, let him garble rhythmically, +and not add splay feet to spoiled force. One may not have a poetic taste +or a musical ear; but if he has fingers and toes, he need not say,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Yet I doubt not through ages one increasing purpose runs."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It is utter demoralization to write "pride in his port and fire in his +eye." Indeed, the singular fatality which attends these quotations has +something of the sublime. If a sentiment <i>can</i> be reproduced with all +its sparkle extinguished, our Gentle Man is the one to do it. Diffuse +everywhere else, he is compact in erring, and crowds more mistakes into +a paragraph than are often met on a page. He says incidentally, "Lord +Byron wrote a very pretty song, conveying the idea in its refrain 'that +the day of my destiny <i>is</i> over, the star of my hope has declined.' Now +it is not a song, as he uses the word; the idea, if it is an idea, is +not in the refrain; there is no refrain in the piece; and there is +nothing said in the piece about the star of his hope. Lord Burleigh's +fulsome she-fool is euphemized into an irksome female fool, and Lord +Byron <i>jumped up</i> one morning and found himself famous. We are informed +that nothing</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Can ennoble slaves, or fools, or cowards";<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and that</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My days are in the yellow leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The flowers and the fruit are gone";<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Burton was pleasing himself with <i>phantasies</i> sweet; Addison wedded +<i>misery</i> in a noble<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> wife; Wolsey had nothing more pathetic to say than +"Had I served my God as I served my King, He would not now have deserted +me"; and <i>King James</i>, contrary to all historic tradition and all the +probabilities of the case, "never said a foolish thing and never did a +wise one."</p> + +<p>Here is a bit of concentrated history:—</p> + +<p>"On one of the last Sundays in December, 1862, in the midst of a +dispirited city, and with a perplexed Senate and a beaten army as that +city's safeguards, Mr. Henry Ward Beecher asserted in the Puritan Church +in New York, that 'Generals were of no use; that God fought against the +North for upholding the slaves; that the time was come when wickedness +was to be "rooted out"; and, finally, that it was not only the province +of the preacher to condemn vice, but that he should "pluck it out by the +root," should "slay" wickedness, and that slavery and alcohol should be +put down by the arm of flesh and the sword of the preacher.'"</p> + +<p>Now, frankly confessing that we have no knowledge whatever of the facts +in question and cannot therefore authoritatively deny a single +statement, we are yet willing, on "circumstantial evidence," to risk +both our intelligence and veracity by declaring our belief, first, that +Mr. Beecher did not say this in the Puritan Church, but in the Plymouth +Church; secondly, that it was not in New York, but in Brooklyn; and, +thirdly, that he never said it at all. We leave out of view the haze +which evidently beclouds this Gentle Brain regarding the location of the +Senate, and its prevailing impression that the Potomac flows nine times +around New York before it empties itself into Lake Pontchartrain.</p> + +<p>We do not claim to display any superior learning in pointing out these +mistakes. We shall never set ourselves above our contemporaries for +corrections which—we will not say every school-boy, but—every +school-girl of ordinary literary aptitude is entirely competent to make. +There are many things which it is no credit to know, but a serious +discredit not to know; and when a man presumes to write a book, we have +at least a right to expect that he shall not stumble in the primer. The +Gentle Man claims to have been a student of English literature. He has +certainly been a very stupid or a very careless one. Indications are not +wanting that his proper seat is on both horns of the dilemma.</p> + +<p>When he leaves other writers and has recourse to his own pen, matters +are but indifferently mended. The slovenliness of his style is +extraordinary. "Ought a gentleman," he quotes from Thackeray, "to be a +loyal son, a true husband, an honest father? Ought his life to be +decent, his bills to be paid, his tastes to be high and elegant, his +aims in life to be noble?" "Yes," responds the astute essayist, "he +should be all these, and somewhat more; and these all men can be, and +women, too." What is the English of this gibberish? "In Miss Thackeray's +excellent novel, the 'Story of Elizabeth,' there is a somewhat new point +in such books." He tells us that General Blücher "had his +disappointments, no doubt, but turned them, like the oyster does the +speck of sand which annoys it, to a pearl,"—that in every state people +may be cheerful; "the lambs skip, birds sing and fly <i>joyously</i>, puppies +play, kittens are <i>full</i> of <i>joyance</i>, the whole air <i>full</i> of careering +and <i>rejoicing</i> insects, <i>that every</i>where the good outbalances the bad, +and <i>that every</i> evil <i>that there is</i> has its compensating balm." And in +face of such slop-work he dares to speak of having "formed his style"!</p> + +<p>And, stranger still, a book which indulges in these pranks has gone to a +third edition in the land of Addison and Macaulay! Moreover, our copy +belongs to this veritable third edition, whose preface informs us that +"the Essays have undergone a careful revision." What must have been the +glories of the first edition?</p> + +<p>The style is not more hopelessly muddled than the sentiment. The man's +skull seems to be undergoing a perpetual house-cleaning. His +intellectual furniture is always at sixes and sevens. It would be very +strange, if so wide a rover and so indefatigable a collector should +never by any chance come back with some valuable specimens for his +cabinet; but the few curiosities displayed as his own property have so +very awkward an air in his wilderness of common pebbles, that we have a +deep inward conviction that they are stolen, though the theft may be an +unconscious one. Moreover, if he ever lights on a genuine gem, he cannot +keep his hands off it, but paws it over and over till it is as +lustreless as its companions. He seems to have an organic inaptitude for +combination. He lays a fact down and straightway forgets where he put +it, what it was for, or what manner of fact it was, and goes serenely on +with his argument as if no such fact existed. Some of his facts are of +such a nature that the pity is not that he occasionally forgets them,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +but that he ever remembered them. To show that old truths are "now +proved to have been lies," he quotes,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Doubt that the stars are fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Doubt that the sun doth move,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubt truth to be a liar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But never doubt I love,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and adds this comment,—"Well, we know now that the sun does not move, +and that the stars are not fire; that the voices of the learned, who +held up these things as immutable truths, were unconsciously lying after +all." Yet any astronomical horn-book would have told our philosopher, +that, if one scientific theory is firmly founded on truth, it is that +the sun does move; and for the matter of the stars, it is as likely to +be fire as anything else. "William Penn," he says elsewhere, "is now +tainted, and Washington suspected." By whom? and of what?—will this new +historian inform us? "Great artists think differently, as witness +wondrous Giotto, the shepherd boy, and our own clever, but mediocre +Opie." A man may mistake a mediocre painter for a great artist and only +err in judgment, but that he should in the same breath proclaim him to +be both is a marvel of stultification. "All men are not born equal," he +says, presumptuously dabbling in politics and drawing his feeble bow +against the Declaration of Independence,—"all men are not equally wise, +gifted, clever, strong, handsome, or tall. The brains of one nation and +the brains of one man are superior in weight, form, and activity to the +brains of another nation or another man." "The framers of the celebrated +American Declaration knew just as well as we do that they were preaching +a doctrine of romantic falsehood." A moment or two after this fine +philosophical distinction and this courteous and eminently Gentle +assertion,—but quite long enough for him to have forgotten both,—he +makes another affirmation, that equality exists "in the grave and in the +church." How, then? Are men equally wise, gifted, clever, strong, +handsome, or tall in church? "A hundred years after death we may weigh +the dust of the greatest hero, and it is no more than that of the +poorest beggar; and the name that remains is as light and useless as the +dust." But if the great hero were very strong and tall and the poor +beggar a feeble dwarf, the dust of the one would be appreciably more +than that of the other, And what means this Daniel come to judgment by +teaching that a hero's name is light and useless? We had supposed it was +agreed among all civilized people that a nation's heroic memories are +her most priceless possessions. We ask the question simply as a +rhetorical one. We are perfectly aware that the author means nothing. He +seldom does mean anything. And if he did, he is the last person to whom +we should apply for any exact definition of his meaning. He uses words +with very little comprehension of their ordinary meaning; of the +delicacy or the force of language he has no sort of conception. He +grasps at the skirts of any notion that flutters through his disorderly +mind, fastens to it the word that comes first to hand, and sets it +fluttering again. Juxtaposition is his all-sufficient substitute for +connection, and "a moment's time, a point of space," between two +statements is fatal to his arguments. "We all differ. <i>Therefore</i>," is +his extraordinary inference, "every individual should live, not for +himself, but to be valuable to others; <i>for</i>," and here we turn another +of his inexplicable corners, "it would be sheer midsummer madness to +preach up that all are equally valuable." Consequently we embark on his +sentences, paragraphs, and chapters in entire ignorance of the point +where they will land us. He takes Mr. Helps to task for bowing the knee +to the Moloch of success in writing Mr. Stephenson's life, accuses Mr. +Stephenson of borrowing and purloining ideas, yet himself constantly +holds him up to admiration as a hero. The putting down of the +Slaveholders' Rebellion is to him a mere "blundering into slaughter"; +but the Crimean War "showed that heroism is not yet extinct in high +life"; and in the Indian Mutinies, we, the English, "were attacked, +undermined, betrayed," and that rebellion was quelled with "courage, +skill in arms, anything you will, or all things combined, and God's +blessing chief of all, which enabled us to preserve a mighty empire." Of +these "high people" he advises us to "adopt the polish, suavity, and +politeness, one towards another, which, with few exceptions, they all +have," only two pages after he has illustrated "vulgar curiosity in high +life" by telling us how, "at an entertainment given by the Prince and +Princess of Wales, to which, of course, only the very cream of the cream +of society was admitted, there was such a pushing and struggling to see +the Princess ... that a bust of the Princess Royal was thrown from its +pedestal and damaged, and the pedestal upset; the ladies, in their +eagerness to view the Princess, coolly took<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> advantage of the overthrown +pillar by standing on it." In one place he testifies that "the majority +of men's wives in the upper and middle classes fall far short of that +which is required of a good wife. They are not made by love, but by the +chance of a good match. They are the products of worldly prudence, not +of a noble passion.... The consequence is, that after the first novelty +has passed away, the chain begins to rub and the collar to gall." A +little later in the same essay he gives an ideal wife, and says,—"It is +not too much to say that the great majority of wives equal this ideal." +"By far the larger portion of marriages are happy ones ... and ... of +men's wives we still can write ... 'her voice is sweet music, her smiles +his brightest day,' &c., &c." "Women," he says, "differ from men in this +respect. They all, very properly, look forward to marriage." So, we +suppose, men do not look forward to marriage; or if they do, it is +improperly. "Nay, the great majority [of women], even in our factitious +state of society, are utterly dependent upon it." That is, if society +were not factitious, every woman, without exception, would be utterly +dependent upon marriage for a living. "The majority of girls are looking +forward to be married at an early age, and are in despair of being left +old maids when they are twenty-one." As usual, he means the contrary of +what he says,—not that girls hope to be old maids till they are +twenty-one and then settle down into the certainty that they must become +wives, but that they hope to be wives and are in despair at being old +maids by the time they are twenty-one. The difficult task of evolving +his meaning from his words is, to be sure, entirely a work of +supererogation on our part, as the statement he means and the statement +he makes are usually alike baseless. But we choose to free him from the +meshes in which he has entangled himself and give him a chance to run +for his life.</p> + +<p>The brilliancy and originality of his views on social questions appear +in such startling announcements as "Woman should be true to herself." +"Woman was created to be a wife and a mother." "The accomplished woman +in these days of general education is, however, a grand mistake." "Why +should lovely woman ever condescend to dabble in political economy? Can +a gentleman be a gentleman when logic requires the truth? Will dry +dissertation fill up the place of compliment and flowery talk? Will +agricultural measures,—Mill on Liberty,—Buckle on Civilization,—High, +Low, or Middle Church,—Pleiocene periods,—Hind's new comet, and the +division of labor, suffer us to enjoy life as we used, and to amuse +ourselves with the innocent prattle of ladies' tongues?" Rosy, posy, +pinky, honey, pepper<i>mint</i>, and sugar-plummy! "One part of management in +husbands lies in a judicious mixture of good-humor, attention, flattery, +and compliments." Here, helping him to his meaning, which he flounders +after in vain through a page of wish-wash, we may explain that he is not +speaking, as would naturally be supposed, of the manner in which +husbands manage wives, but, advancing in his usual crab-fashion, of the +manner in which wives manage husbands; nor by flattery let it be +imagined for a moment that he means flattery, but "an offered flower, a +birthday gift, a song when we are weary, a smile when we are sad, a look +which no eye but our own will see," in which, if truth is, as has been +said, "a fixed central sun," our comet must be considered in its +perihelion. And having thus set him on his feet again, let us see +whether he can stand by himself a tottering moment or two.</p> + +<p>The preventive of these ill-assorted marriages (which for the greater +part are never made) is, if the young men "only chose by sense <i>or</i> +fancy, <i>or</i> because they saw some good quality in a girl,—if they were +not all captivated by the face alone," (Query: What is being captivated +by a face but choosing by fancy? and what is choosing by sense but +choosing by some good quality?) "every Jill would have her Jack, and +pair off happily, like the lovers in a comedy." At the same time he +agrees with Swift that the reason why so many marriages are unhappy is +because young ladies spend their "time in making nets and not in making +cages."</p> + +<p>We have said that the Gentle Man is dull even when he hates. It is true, +so far as he has anything to do with expressing his hatred; yet the time +for the publication of his dulness is so inaptly—or perhaps we should +rather say so aptly—chosen, that the incongruity awakens our sense of +the ridiculous, while a certain childlike confidingness with which he +credits any statement that makes against the objects of his dislike +comes nearer to amusing us than anything else in the book. America is +his <i>bête noir</i>. It points the moral of every sad tale. "Vulgarity, +hoydenishness, coarseness, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> contempt which accompanies these +qualities, are the effects of bad manner and manners. It may pervade a +whole nation, as it has done the Americans." What the particular "it" is +which pervades us, we cannot, and the Gentle Man, also, "true to +himself," cannot say; but there it is. A nation is exhorted to +politeness; for, "sitting with their legs over the chair-back of +another, carrying bowie-knives, cutting the furniture, and spitting in a +circle around them, are not only national faults, but absolutely sins +amongst Americans." Call a spade a spade, and speak not as in "America, +where they talk of the 'stands' of the tables, not daring to say 'legs'; +and a young lady will be highly offended, if you dare to ask her to take +a leg of a fowl or a breast of a turkey. There the latter is called +'bosom'; and a mock modesty, which to us seems highly improper, has +altered some round dozen of good, sound English words, which our best +and purest girls use without so much as thinking upon them." Avoid +exaggeration, for in America "it produces a general decay of truth and a +boastful habit of exaggeration, for which the nation has grown famous, +and at which its best friends are truly grieved." (Oh!) ... "They have +asserted so long that they are the finest and best nation in the world, +and they have come out so poorly under trial, that, what with a +remembrance of the old story and the presence of the new, the English +thinker is completely puzzled.... So general was the falsification, that +the best men in the Northern States no longer credited a Government +despatch or a general's 'order';... and the sad state into which the +great nation has fallen has arisen from the spread of that vile disease, +a love of exaggeration." His profound political penetration is evinced +by the sagacious remark, that "America, the disciple of Lafayette (!) +and French doctrines, determined to propagate liberty by enslaving six +millions of brothers." His opinion of the character and career of our +late beloved President—a name almost too pure and now too sacred to be +mentioned here—is for once succinctly given,—"A cunning attorney sits +upon a chair he cannot fill, and is leading a party and country to +destruction." "With all his undoubted conceit and endurance, with his +keenness for praise and for being talked about, we doubt whether there +are many more miserable men in the world than President Abraham Lincoln. +The bitter, bitter tears which Louis XVI. ... shed because of his own +unfitness have been chronicled; but he, knowing his incompetence, was +born to the estate of king; the American President wriggled himself +forward into notoriety." "To an American, all the world seemed bound up +in his Boston or Philadelphia.... He could whip John Bull, and John Bull +could whip all the world. As, since that, he has been 'whipped into a +cocked hat' by his own relations, we hope some of the conceit has been +taken out of him." Yes, unhappy that we are, the secret is at last +revealed. We carry bowie-knives in our breast-pockets (venturing to +discard for once, under the protection of our Transatlantic Mentor, the +usual term of <i>bosom-pocket</i>). We dine off the stands of fowl. We have +come out poorly under trial, our finances are deranged, our country +bankrupt, our confidence in Government lost, and we have no loyalty, +because there is nothing to be loyal to. We are tossing on a sea of +anarchy, we are rushing on to ruin, we have been braggart in peace and +cowardly in war, and are at this moment whipped by our own relations +into such a cocked hat as was never before seen. We do not credit the +order to stop recruiting, and we have no belief in the evacuation of +Richmond. We are confident that Sherman is gasping in the last ditch, +that Jefferson Davis is dictator at Washington, and that General Grant +is flying in his wife's gown before the victorious legions of Lee.</p> + +<p>In his preface, the writer of this book repels the charge of being like +Thackeray and Dickens. We can assure him, that, with an American public, +he may spare himself that trouble. He is not in the smallest danger of +being mistaken for either of those eminent writers. He is so entirely +unlike them that we do not for a moment suspect him of having attempted +to imitate them. We do not even reckon him their disciple, nor Bacon's, +nor Montaigne's, nor Steele's, nor any other's whose plan he professes +himself to have adopted; for a disciple is a learner, which the Gentle +Man seems never capable of becoming. Good and bad alike, he is a feeble +and confused echo of all men's notions, but the steadfast adherent of +none. The snob's soul within him bows down to the authority of great +men, yet he produces their great thoughts in disjointed and distorted +shape. He does not scruple to sneer where sneers are safe, blind to the +glaring fact that sneers are never safe for him. Bold behind his Tory +bulwarks, he warns<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> boys against adopting Mr. Bright's opinions, and so +becoming "selfish, calculating, cold; as careless of true nobility of +purpose and of soul and as worshipful of material success as Mr. Bright +himself;" and he has his little fling at Tupper, in common with many +another literary drummer-boy who would earn a cheap reputation for valor +by attacking what his superiors have already demolished. We should scorn +to parry the puny thrust of this Liliputian at the noble name which +America delights to honor, or to repel the charge of coldness against +that great heart whose burst of anguish over the grave of his friend, +and our friend, and humanity's, awoke an answering sob in a thousand +homes of this Western World; but we beg to assure this fine old English +Gentle Man and scholar, that, reading these essays, we are ready to +pronounce Mr. Tupper a master of style and his philosophy a striking and +valuable treatise.</p> + +<p>We really beg pardon of our readers for covering so much space with this +flummery. We intended to despatch it with a thrust or two; but when our +pen was once caught in the flimsy stuff, it was difficult to withdraw it +again without bringing away considerable portions of the tangle. +Moreover, a book of so much pretension is not to be as lightly passed by +as its humbler brethren. A book that comes to us in fair type and fine +paper, bearing the imprint of a well-known and highly respected +publishing house,—a book that invokes the first names in literature and +meddles with the higher laws of life, that takes on the airs of a censor +and pushes forward into the guild of genius, that by the assumption of +its tone and the broadcast scatteration—depend upon it, that is the +word—of its odds and ends of learning, or by what hocus-pocus we know +not, has attained to a third edition in a country proud of the accuracy +and elegance of its scholarship, and that now brings its brazen face to +our doors, seeking a welcome at the hearthstones which it has insulted, +is not to be dismissed with a simple "Not at home." We have chosen +rather to pillory the pretender, pelting him only with such missiles as +his own pockets furnished. We now discharge him from custody, bidding +him and all his kind bear in mind the assurance, that, while for English +genius, English wisdom, English truth, and English love, we have only +admiration and gratitude, the time has gone by for English charlatanry +to expect from our hands anything but the scourging it deserves.</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Essays in Criticism</i>. By <span class="smcap">Matthew Arnold</span>. Boston: Ticknor & +Fields.</p></div> + +<p>A more satisfactory volume of English prose than this has not come into +our hands since the first appearance of the famous "Essays and Reviews." +Differing widely from that collection in kind and scope, it yet belongs +in the main to the same school of liberal thought in which England has +made of late such rapid strides.</p> + +<p>As a poet, Matthew Arnold had been known among us for a decade or more +of years, and, though not celebrated with the wide popularity of +Tennyson, had been as cordially cherished as the Laureate himself by all +who valued in poetry the indications of profound intellectual experience +as well as the singer's native gift. Those who are most familiar with +the verses of the Oxford Professor will be least surprised with the +critical insight and judicial wisdom of these Essays. For, independently +of any question of natural affinity or natural incompatibility between +the functions of bard and critic, there is that in Mr. Arnold's poetry +which makes the fortune of the essayist,—an intense subjectiveness +united to an analytic subtilty, which would mar the beauty of his verse, +as it certainly does that of Mr. Browning, were it not compensated by a +depth and truth of poetic feeling, in which Arnold far excels Browning, +and has no superior among recent English poets. Some of his poems are +critical essays, without losing the distinctive character of poetry; and +some of his best criticisms are done in verse. What better, for example, +than the sentence on Byron in "Memorial Verses"?</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He taught us little: but our soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had felt him like the thunder's roll.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With shivering heart the strife we saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Passion with Eternal Law;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet with reverential awe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We watched the fount of fiery life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which served for that Titanic strife."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Or that on Goethe in "Obermann"?</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"For he pursued a lonely road,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His eye on Nature's plan,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Neither made man too much a God,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor God too much a man."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Of living Englishmen, it seems to us that Matthew Arnold combines in the +highest degree great wealth of literary culture with the deepest +thoughtfulness. This makes the charm of the present volume. Also, to his +honor be it said,—and let due commendation be given to that trait,—he +is of modern English essayists the least dogmatic. With<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> fixed +principles of art and very decided views of his own he combines a +tolerance and a flexibility of mind which are very un-English. He is the +least insular of his countrymen. It cannot be said of him, as he himself +has said of Carlyle, that, with all his genius, he "has for the +functions of the critic a little too much of the self-will and +eccentricities of a genuine son of Great Britain." And yet, un-British +as he is in these respects, Arnold, in one thing, is more national far +than Carlyle,—in the manner, namely, in which he chooses to express his +thought. Though deeply conversant with German literature, (as he is with +French,) he has not suffered himself to be bitten with the Teutomania +which infects so unpleasantly the diction of his self-willed +countryman,—making his sentences seem like translations from Jean Paul, +rather than utterances conceived in an English mind. He unites +cosmopolitan liberality with English self-possession.</p> + +<p>As a stylist, he is singularly inartificial. Would that our American +writers might take a lesson from Arnold's prose, and correct their +ambitious rhetoric, affected quaintness, and other varieties of fine +writing, by this pure, simple, honest English. The peculiarity of his +style, we should say, is its freedom from peculiarity. It is the style +of a cultivated, thoughtful man, without the pedantry and mannerism +which thoughtful and cultivated men so often contract. Easy, almost +careless in its movement, but far from careless in its choice of words, +it is neither bookish nor vulgarly colloquial, but maintains a just mean +between elaborateness and rudeness. In our young days Macaulay was +considered the model writer, and Ruskin has been thought to occupy that +place in these latter years; but Macaulay is tumid, and even Ruskin +stilted and stiff, in comparison with Matthew Arnold.</p> + +<p>For the matter, here are fourteen essays, including the three lectures, +"On translating Homer," and the "Last Words," not ponderously and +oppressively learned, and not abstrusely and obtrusively philosophical, +but as full of wisdom and intellectual stimulus and graceful humor as +any we know, and more tolerant and liberal than most,—together with a +preface as entertaining as any of the essays. So healthy and nourishing +a book, in the way of literary essays, has not for a long while appeared +among us. We are far from assenting to all of Professor Arnold's +positions. We altogether repudiate the statement, that "on Heine, of all +German authors who have survived Goethe, incomparably the largest +portion of Goethe's mantle fell"; nor can we adopt all his criticisms +and views on the Homeric question; nevertheless, we can with the utmost +confidence recommend this volume to the literary men of America to whom +the author is yet unknown, or known only by name.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="RECENT_AMERICAN_PUBLICATIONS" id="RECENT_AMERICAN_PUBLICATIONS"></a>RECENT AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS.</h2> + + +<p>A Dictionary of Medical Science; containing a Concise Explanation of the +Various Subjects and Terms of Anatomy, Physiology, Pathology, Hygiene, +Therapeutics, Pharmacology, Pharmacy, Surgery, Obstetrics, Medical +Jurisprudence, and Dentistry; Notices of Climate, and of Mineral Waters; +Formulæ for Officinal, Empirical, and Dietetic Preparations; with the +Accentuation and Etymology of the Terms, and the French and other +Synonymes, so as to constitute a French as well as English Medical +Lexicon. By Robley Dunglison, M.D., LL. D., Professor of the Institutes +of Medicine, etc., in the Jefferson Medical College of Philadelphia. +Thoroughly revised, and very greatly modified and augmented. +Philadelphia. Blanchard and Lea. 8vo, pp. 1047. $6.75.</p> + +<p>The Handbook of Dining; or, Corpulency and Leanness Scientifically +Considered. Comprising the Art of Dining on Correct Principles, +Consistent with Easy Digestion, the Avoidance of Corpulency and Cure of +Leanness; together with Special Remarks on these Subjects. By Brillat +Savarin, Author of the "Physiologic du Goût." Translated by L. F. +Simpson. New York. D. Appleton & Co. pp. 200. $1.25.</p> + +<p>Remarks on the Sonnets of Shakspeare; with the Sonnets. Showing that +they belong to the Hermetic Class of Writings, and explaining their +General Meaning and Purpose. By the Author of "Swedenborg an Hermetic +Philosopher," etc. New York. James Miller. 8vo. pp. 258. $2.00.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. +94, August, 1865, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, AUGUST, 1865 *** + +***** This file should be named 32232-h.htm or 32232-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/2/3/32232/ + +Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by Cornell University Digital Collections.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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