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diff --git a/33009-h/33009-h.htm b/33009-h/33009-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9fa62d9 --- /dev/null +++ b/33009-h/33009-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9311 @@ +<!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. 98, December, 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 */ + + .notes {background-color: #eeeeee; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .center {text-align: center;} + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + + .center {text-align: center;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .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.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i15 {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i18 {display: block; margin-left: 9em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i19 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i20 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i23 {display: block; margin-left: 12em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i24 {display: block; margin-left: 12em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i25 {display: block; margin-left: 13em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i32 {display: block; margin-left: 16em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i7 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i9 {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 98, +December, 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. 98, December, 1865 + +Author: Various + +Release Date: June 28, 2010 [EBook #33009] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, DECEMBER 1865 *** + + + + +Produced by Joshua Hutchinson 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_641" id="Page_641">[Pg 641]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>THE</h4> + +<h1>ATLANTIC MONTHLY.</h1> + +<h2><i>A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics.</i></h2> + +<h3>VOL. XVI.—DECEMBER, 1865.—NO. XCVIII.</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="#GRIFFITH_GAUNT_OR_JEALOUSY"><b>GRIFFITH GAUNT; OR, JEALOUSY.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_PARTING_OF_HECTOR_AND_ANDROMACHE"><b>THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#WILLIAM_BLACKWOOD"><b>WILLIAM BLACKWOOD.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_CHIMNEY-CORNER"><b>THE CHIMNEY-CORNER.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_FORGE"><b>THE FORGE.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#KING_JAMES_THE_FIRST"><b>KING JAMES THE FIRST.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#THE_SLEEPER"><b>THE SLEEPER.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#DOCTOR_JOHNS"><b>DOCTOR JOHNS.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#BOOKS_FOR_OUR_CHILDREN"><b>BOOKS FOR OUR CHILDREN.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#DIOS_TE_DE1"><b>DIOS TE DE.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#MODE_OF_CATCHING_JELLY-FISHES"><b>MODE OF CATCHING JELLY-FISHES.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#ADELAIDE_ANNE_PROCTER"><b>ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#BEYOND"><b>BEYOND.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CLEMENCY_AND_COMMON_SENSE"><b>CLEMENCY AND COMMON SENSE.</b></a><br /> +<a href="#REVIEWS_AND_LITERARY_NOTICES"><b>REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.</b></a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="GRIFFITH_GAUNT_OR_JEALOUSY" id="GRIFFITH_GAUNT_OR_JEALOUSY"></a>GRIFFITH GAUNT; OR, JEALOUSY.</h2> + + +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<p>"Then I say, once for all, that priest shall never darken my doors +again."</p> + +<p>"Then I say they are my doors, and not yours, and that holy man shall +brighten them whenever he will."</p> + +<p>The gentleman and lady, who faced each other pale and furious, and +interchanged this bitter defiance, were man and wife, and had loved each +other well.</p> + +<p>Miss Catharine Peyton was a young lady of ancient family in Cumberland, +and the most striking, but least popular, beauty in the county. She was +very tall and straight, and carried herself a little too imperiously; +yet she would sometimes relax and all but dissolve that haughty figure, +and hang sweetly drooping over her favorites; then the contrast was +delicious, and the woman fascinating.</p> + +<p>Her hair was golden and glossy, her eyes a lovely gray; and she had a +way of turning them on slowly and full, so that their victim could not +fail to observe two things: first, that they were grand and beautiful +orbs; secondly, that they were thoughtfully overlooking him, instead of +looking at him.</p> + +<p>So contemplated by glorious eyes, a man feels small and bitter.</p> + +<p>Catharine was apt to receive the blunt compliments of the Cumberland +squires with this sweet, celestial, superior gaze, and for this and +other imperial charms was more admired than liked.</p> + +<p>The family estate was entailed on her brother; her father spent every +farthing he could; so she had no money, and no expectations, except from +a distant cousin,—Mr. Charlton, of Hernshaw Castle and Bolton Hall.</p> + +<p>Even these soon dwindled. Mr. Charlton took a fancy to his late wife's +relation, Griffith Gaunt, and had him into his house, and treated him as +his heir. This disheartened two admirers who had hitherto sustained +Catharine Peyton's gaze, and they retired. Comely girls, girls +long-nosed, but rich, girls snub-nosed, but winning, married on all +sides of her; but the imperial beauty remained Miss Peyton at +two-and-twenty.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_642" id="Page_642">[Pg 642]</a></span></p><p>She was rather kind to the poor; would give them money out of her +slender purse, and would even make clothes for the women, and sometimes +read to them: very few of them could read to themselves in that day. All +she required in return was, that they should be Roman Catholics, like +herself, or at least pretend they might be brought to that faith by +little and little.</p> + +<p>She was a high-minded girl, and could be a womanly one,—whenever she +chose.</p> + +<p>She hunted about twice a week in the season, and was at home in the +saddle, for she had ridden from a child; but so ingrained was her +character, that this sport, which more or less unsexes most women, had +no perceptible effect on her mind, nor even on her manners. The scarlet +riding-habit and little purple cap, and the great, white, bony horse she +rode, were often seen in a good place at the end of a long run; but, for +all that, the lady was a most ungenial fox-huntress. She never spoke a +word but to her acquaintances, and wore a settled air of dreamy +indifference, except when the hounds happened to be in full cry, and she +galloping at their heels. Worse than that, when the dogs were running +into the fox, and his fate certain, she had been known to rein in her +struggling horse, and pace thoughtfully home, instead of coming in at +the death, and claiming the brush.</p> + +<p>One day, being complimented at the end of a hard run by the gentleman +who kept the hounds, she turned her celestial orbs on him, and said,—</p> + +<p>"Nay, Sir Ralph, I love to gallop; and this sorry business gives me an +excuse."</p> + +<p>It was full a hundred years ago. The country teemed with foxes; but it +abounded in stiff coverts, and a knowing fox was sure to run from one to +another; and then came wearisome efforts to dislodge him; and then Miss +Peyton's gray eyes used to explore vacancy, and ignore her companions, +biped and quadruped.</p> + +<p>But one day they drew Yewtree Brow, and found a stray fox. At Gaylad's +first note he broke cover, and went away for home across the open +country. A hedger saw him steal out, and gave a view halloo; the riders +came round helter-skelter; the dogs in cover one by one threw up their +noses and voices; the horns blew, the canine music swelled to a strong +chorus, and away they swept across country,—dogs, horses, men; and the +Deuse take the hindmost!</p> + +<p>It was a gallant chase, and our dreamy virgin's blood got up. Erect, but +lithe and vigorous, and one with her great white gelding, she came +flying behind the foremost riders, and took leap for leap with them. One +glossy, golden curl streamed back in the rushing air; her gray eyes +glowed with earthly fire; and two red spots on the upper part of her +cheeks showed she was much excited, without a grain of fear. Yet in the +first ten minutes one gentleman was unhorsed before her eyes, and one +came to grief along with his animal, and a thorough-bred chestnut was +galloping and snorting beside her with empty saddle. Presently young +Featherstone, who led her by about fifteen yards, crashed through a high +hedge, and was seen no more, but heard wallowing in the deep, +unsuspected ditch beyond. There was no time to draw bridle. "Lie still, +Sir, if you please," said Catharine, with cool civility; then up rein, +in spur, and she cleared the ditch and its muddy contents, alive and +dead, and away without looking behind her.</p> + +<p>On, on, on, till all the pinks and buckskins, erst so smart, were +splashed with clay and dirt of every hue, and all the horses' late +glossy coats were bathed with sweat and lathered with foam, and their +gaping nostrils blowing and glowing red; and then it was that Harrowden +Brook, swollen wide and deep by the late rains, came right between the +fox and Dogmore Underwood, for which he was making.</p> + +<p>The hunt sweeping down a hillside caught sight of Reynard running for +the brook. They made sure of him now. But he lapped a drop, and then +slipped in, and soon crawled out on the other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_643" id="Page_643">[Pg 643]</a></span> side, and made feebly for +the covert, weighted with wet fur.</p> + +<p>At sight of him, the hunt hallooed and trumpeted, and came tearing on +with fresh vigor.</p> + +<p>But when they came near the brook, lo, it was twenty feet wide, and +running fast and brown. Some riders skirted it, looking for a narrow +part. Two horses, being spurred at it, came to the bank, and then went +rearing round on their heels, depositing one hat and another rider in +the current. One gallant steed planted his feet like a tower, and +snorted down at the water. One flopped gravely in, and had to swim, and +be dragged out. Another leaped, and landed with his feet on the other +bank, his haunches in the water, and his rider curled round his neck, +and glaring out between his retroverted ears.</p> + +<p>But Miss Peyton encouraged her horse with spur and voice, set her teeth, +turned rather pale this time, and went at the brook with a rush, and +cleared it like a deer. She and the huntsman were almost alone together +on the other side, and were as close to the dogs as the dogs were to +poor Pug, when he slipped through a run in a quickset hedge, and, +reducing the dogs to single file, glided into Dogmore Underwood, a stiff +hazel coppice of five years' growth.</p> + +<p>The other riders soon straggled up, and then the thing was to get him +out again. There were a few narrow roads cut in the underwood; and up +and down these the huntsman and whipper-in went trotting, and encouraged +the stanch hounds, and whipped the skulkers back into covert. Others +galloped uselessly about, pounding the earth, for daisy-cutters were few +in those days; and Miss Peyton relapsed into the transcendental. She sat +in one place, with her elbow on her knee, and her fair chin supported by +two fingers, as undisturbed by the fracas of horns and voices as an +equestrian statue of Diana.</p> + +<p>She sat so still and so long at a corner of the underwood that at last +the harassed fox stole out close to her with lolling tongue and eye +askant, and took the open field again. She thrilled at first sight of +him, and her cheeks burned; but her quick eye took in all the signs of +his distress, and she sat quiet, and watched him coolly. Not so her +horse. He plunged, and then trembled all over, and planted his fore-feet +together at this angle \, and parted his hind-legs a little, and so +stood quivering, with cocked ears, and peeped over a low paling at the +retiring quadruped, and fretted and sweated in anticipation of the +gallop his long head told him was to follow. He looked a deal more +statuesque than any three statues in England, and all about a creature +not up to his knee.—And by the bye: the gentlemen who carve horses in +our native isle, did they ever see one,—out of an omnibus?—The +whipper-in came by, and found him in this gallant attitude, and +suspected the truth, but, observing the rider's tranquil position, +thought the fox had only popped out and then in again. However, he fell +in with the huntsman, and told him Miss Peyton's gray had seen +something. The hounds appeared puzzled; and so the huntsman rode round +to Miss Peyton, and, touching his cap, asked her if she had seen nothing +of the fox.</p> + +<p>She looked him dreamily in the face.</p> + +<p>"The fox?" said she; "he broke cover ten minutes ago."</p> + +<p>The man blew his horn lustily, and then asked her reproachfully why she +had not tally-hoed him, or winded her horn: with that he blew his own +again impatiently.</p> + +<p>Miss Peyton replied, very slowly and pensively, that the fox had come +out soiled and fatigued, and trailing his brush. "I looked at him," said +she, "and I pitied him. He was one, and we are many; he was so little, +and we are so big; <i>he had given us a good gallop</i>; and so I made up my +mind he should live to run another day."</p> + +<p>The huntsman stared stupidly at her for a moment, then burst into a +torrent of oaths, then blew his horn till it was hoarse, then cursed and +swore till he was hoarse himself, then to his horn again, and dogs and +men came rushing to the sound.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_644" id="Page_644">[Pg 644]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Couple up, and go home to supper," said Miss Peyton, quietly. "The fox +is half-way to Gallowstree Gorse; and you won't get him out of that this +afternoon, I promise you."</p> + +<p>As she said this, she just touched her horse with the spur, leaped the +low hedge in front of her, and cantered slowly home across country. She +was one that seldom troubled the hard road, go where she would.</p> + +<p>She had ridden about a mile, when she heard a horse's feet behind her. +She smiled, and her color rose a little; but she cantered on.</p> + +<p>"Halt, in the king's name!" shouted a mellow voice; and a gentleman +galloped up to her side, and reined in his mare.</p> + +<p>"What! have they killed?" inquired Catharine, demurely.</p> + +<p>"Not they; he is in the middle of Gallowstree Gorse by now."</p> + +<p>"And is this the way to Gallowstree Gorse?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, Mistress," said the young man; "but when the fox heads one way and +the deer another, what is a poor hunter to do?"</p> + +<p>"Follow the slower, it seems."</p> + +<p>"Say the lovelier and the dearer, sweet Kate."</p> + +<p>"Now, Griffith, you know I hate flattery," said Kate; and the next +moment came a soft smile, and belied this unsocial sentiment.</p> + +<p>"Flattery?" said the lover. "I have no tongue to speak half your +praises. I think the people in this country are as blind as bats, or +they'd"——</p> + +<p>"All except Mr. Griffith Gaunt; <i>he</i> has found a paragon, where wiser +people see a wayward, capricious girl."</p> + +<p>"Then <i>he</i> is the man for you. Don't you see that, Mistress?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't quite see that," said the lady, dryly.</p> + +<p>This cavalier reply caused a dismay the speaker never intended. The fact +is, Mr. George Neville, young, handsome, and rich, had lately settled in +the neighborhood, and had been greatly smitten with Kate. The county was +talking about it, and Griffith had been secretly on thorns for some days +past. And now he could hide his uneasiness no longer; he cried out, in a +sharp, trembling voice,—</p> + +<p>"Why, Kate, my dear Kate! what! could you love any man but me? Could you +be so cruel? could you? There, let me get off my horse, and lie down on +this stubble, and you ride over me, and trample me to death. I would +rather have you trample on my ribs than on my heart, with loving any one +but me."</p> + +<p>"Why, what now?" said Catharine, drawing herself up; "I must scold you +handsomely"; and she drew rein and turned full upon him; but by this +means she saw his face was full of real distress; so, instead of +reprimanding him, she said, gently, "Why, Griffith, what is to do? Are +you not my servant? Do not I send you word, whenever I dine from home?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dearest; and then I call at that house, and stick there till they +guess what I would be at, and ask me, too."</p> + +<p>Catharine smiled, and proceeded to remind him that thrice a week she +permitted him to ride over from Bolton, (a distance of fifteen miles,) +to see her.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Griffith, "and I must say you always come, wet or dry, to +the shrubbery-gate, and put your hand in mine a minute. And, Kate," said +he, piteously, "at the bare thought of your putting that same dear hand +in another man's, my heart turns sick within me, and my skin burns and +trembles on me."</p> + +<p>"But you have no cause," said Catharine, soothingly. "Nobody, except +yourself, doubts my affection for you. You are often thrown in my teeth, +Griffith,—and" (clenching her own) "I like you all the better, of +course."</p> + +<p>Griffith replied with a burst of gratitude; and then, as men will, +proceeded to encroach.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said he, "if you would but pluck up courage, and take the +matrimonial fence with me at once."</p> + +<p>Miss Peyton sighed at that, and drooped a little upon her saddle. After +a pause, she enumerated the "just impediments."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_645" id="Page_645">[Pg 645]</a></span> She reminded him that +neither of them had means to marry on.</p> + +<p>He made light of that; he should soon have plenty; Mr. Charlton has as +good as told him he was to have Bolton Hall and Grange: "Six hundred +acres, Kate, besides the park and paddocks."</p> + +<p>In his warmth he forgot that Catharine was to have been Mr. Charlton's +heir. Catharine was too high-minded to bear Griffith any grudge; but she +colored a little, and said she was averse to come to him a penniless +bride.</p> + +<p>"Why, what matters it which of us has the dross, so that there is enough +for both?" said Griffith, with an air of astonishment.</p> + +<p>Catharine smiled approbation, and tacitly yielded that point. But then +she objected the difference in their faith.</p> + +<p>"Oh, honest folk get to heaven by different roads," said Griffith, +carelessly.</p> + +<p>"I have been taught otherwise," replied Catharine, gravely.</p> + +<p>"Then give me your hand and I'll give you my soul," said Griffith Gaunt, +impetuously. "I'll go to heaven your way, if you can't go mine. Anything +sooner than be parted in this world or the next."</p> + +<p>She looked at him in silence; and it was in a faint, half apologetic +tone she objected, that all her kinsfolk were set against it.</p> + +<p>"It is not their business; it is ours," was the prompt reply.</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Catharine, sadly, "I suppose I must tell you the true +reason: I feel I should not make you happy; I do not love you quite as +you want to be loved, as you deserve to be loved. You need not look so; +nothing in flesh and blood is your rival. But my heart bleeds for the +Church; I think of her ancient glory in this kingdom, and, when I see +her present condition, I long to devote myself to her service. I am very +fit to be an abbess or a nun,—most unfit to be a wife. No, no,—I must +not, ought not, dare not, marry a Protestant. Take the advice of one who +esteems you dearly; leave me,—fly from me,—forget me,—do everything +but hate me. Nay, do not hate me; you little know the struggle in my +mind. Farewell; the saints, whom you scorn, watch over and protect you! +Farewell!"</p> + +<p>And with this she sighed, and struck her spur into the gray, and he +darted off at a gallop.</p> + +<p>Griffith, little able to cope with such a character as this, sat +petrified, and would have been rooted to the spot, if he had happened to +be on foot. But his mare set off after her companion, and a chase of a +novel kind commenced. Catharine's horse was fresher than Griffith's +mare, and the latter, not being urged by her petrified master, lost +ground.</p> + +<p>But when she drew near to her father's gate, Catharine relaxed her +speed, and Griffith rejoined her.</p> + +<p>She had already half relented, and only wanted a warm and resolute wooer +to bring her round. But Griffith was too sore, and too little versed in +woman. Full of suspicion and bitterness, he paced gloomy and silent by +her side, till they reached the great avenue that led to her father's +house.</p> + +<p>And while he rides alongside the capricious creature in sulky silence, I +may as well reveal a certain foible in his own character.</p> + +<p>This Griffith Gaunt was by no means deficient in physical courage; but +he was instinctively disposed to run away from mental pain the moment he +lost hope of driving it away from him. For instance, if Catharine had +been ill and her life in danger, he would have ridden day and night to +save her,—would have beggared himself to save her; but if she had died, +he would either have killed himself, or else fled the country, and so +escaped the sight of every object that was associated with her and could +agonize him. I do not think he could have attended the funeral of one he +loved.</p> + +<p>The mind, as well as the body, has its self-protecting instincts. This +of Griffith's was, after all, an instinct of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_646" id="Page_646">[Pg 646]</a></span> that class, and, under +certain circumstances, is true wisdom. But Griffith, I think, carried +the instinct to excess; and that is why I call it his foible.</p> + +<p>"Catharine," said he, resolutely, "let me ride by your side to the house +for once; for I read your advice my own way, and I mean to follow it: +after to-day you will be troubled with me no more. I have loved you +these three years, I have courted you these two years, and I am none the +nearer; I see I am not the man you mean to marry: so I shall do as my +father did, ride down to the coast, and sell my horse, and ship for +foreign parts."</p> + +<p>"Oh, as you will," said Catharine, haughtily: she quite forgot she had +just recommended him to do something of this very kind.</p> + +<p>Presently she stole a look. His fine ruddy cheek was pale; his manly +brown eyes were moist; yet a gloomy and resolute expression on his +tight-drawn lips. She looked at him sidelong, and thought how often he +had ridden thirty miles on that very mare to get a word with her at the +shrubbery-gate. And now the mare to be sold! The man to go +broken-hearted to sea,—perhaps to his death! Her good heart began to +yearn.</p> + +<p>"Griffith," said she, softly, "it is not as if I were going to wed +anybody else. Is it nothing to be preferred by her you say you love? If +I were you, I would do nothing rash. Why not give me a little time? In +truth, I hardly know my own mind about it two days together."</p> + +<p>"Kate," said the young man, firmly, "I am courting you this two years. +If I wait two years more, it will be but to see the right man come and +carry you in a month; for so girls are won, when they are won at all. +Your sister that is married and dead, she held Josh Pitt in hand for +years; and what is the upshot? Why, he wears the willow for her to this +day; and her husband married again, before her grave was green. Nay, I +have done all an honest man can to woo you; so take me now, or let me +go."</p> + +<p>At this, Kate began to waver secretly, and ask herself whether it would +not be better to yield, since he was so abominably resolute.</p> + +<p>But the unlucky fellow did not leave well alone. He went on to say,—</p> + +<p>"Once out of sight of this place, I may cure myself of my fancy. Here I +never could."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Catharine, directly, "if you are so bent on being cured, it +would not become me to say nay."</p> + +<p>Griffith Gaunt bit his lip and hung his head, and made no reply.</p> + +<p>The patience with which he received her hard speech was more apparent +than real; but it told. Catharine, receiving no fresh positive +provocation, relented again of her own accord, and, after a considerable +silence, whispered, softly,—</p> + +<p>"Think how we should all miss you."</p> + +<p>Here was an overture to reconciliation. But, unfortunately, it brought +out what had long been rankling in Griffith's mind, and was in fact the +real cause of the misunderstanding.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said he, "those I care for will soon find another to take my +place! Soon? quotha. They have not waited till I was gone for that."</p> + +<p>"Ah, indeed!" said Catharine, with some surprise; then, like the +quick-witted girl she was, "so this is what all the coil is about."</p> + +<p>She then, with a charming smile, begged him to inform her who was his +destined successor in her esteem. Griffith colored purple at her cool +hypocrisy, (for such he considered it,) and replied, almost fiercely,—</p> + +<p>"Who but that young black-a-viséd George Neville, that you have been +coquetting with this month past,—and danced all night with him at Lady +Munster's ball, you did."</p> + +<p>Catharine blushed, and said, deprecatingly,—</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> were not there, Griffith, or to be sure I had not danced with +<i>him</i>."</p> + +<p>"And he toasts you by name, wherever he goes."</p> + +<p>"Can I help that? Wait till I toast<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_647" id="Page_647">[Pg 647]</a></span> him, before you make yourself +ridiculous, and me very angry—about nothing."</p> + +<p>Griffith, sticking to his one idea, replied, doggedly,—</p> + +<p>"Mistress Alice Peyton shilly-shallied with her true lover for years, +till Richard Hilton came, that was not fit to tie his shoes; and +then"——</p> + +<p>Catharine cut him short,—</p> + +<p>"Affront me, if nothing less will serve; but spare my sister in her +grave."</p> + +<p>She began the sentence angrily, but concluded it in a broken voice. +Griffith was half disarmed; but only half. He answered, sullenly,—</p> + +<p>"She did not die till she had jilted an honest gentleman and broken his +heart, and married a sot, to her cost. And you are of her breed, when +all is done; and now that young coxcomb has come, like Dick Hilton, +between you and me."</p> + +<p>"But I do not encourage him."</p> + +<p>"You do not <i>dis</i>courage him," retorted Griffith, "or he would not be so +hot after you. Were you ever the woman to say, 'I have a servant already +that loves me dear'? That one frank word had sent him packing."</p> + +<p>Miss Peyton colored, and the water came into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I may have been imprudent," she murmured. "The young gentleman made me +smile with his extravagance. I never thought to be misunderstood by him, +far less by you." Then, suddenly, as bold as brass,—"It's all your +fault; if he had the power to make you uneasy, why did you not check me +before?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, forsooth, and have it cast in my teeth I was a jealous monster, and +played the tyrant before my time. A poor fellow scarce knows what to be +at that loves a coquette."</p> + +<p>"Coquette I am none," replied the lady, bridling magnificently.</p> + +<p>Griffith took no notice of this interruption. He proceeded to say that +he had hitherto endured this intrusion of a rival in silence, though +with a sore heart, hoping his patience might touch her, or the fire go +out of itself. But at last, unable to bear it any longer in silence, he +had shown his wound to one he knew could feel for him, his poor friend +Pitt. Pitt had then let him know that his own mistake had been +over-confidence in Alice Peyton's constancy.</p> + +<p>"He said to me, 'Watch your Kate close, and, at the first blush of a +rival, say you to her, Part with him, or part with me.'"</p> + +<p>Catharine pinned him directly.</p> + +<p>"And this is how you take Joshua Pitt's advice,—by offering to run away +from this sorry rival."</p> + +<p>The shrewd reply, and a curl of the lip, half arch, half contemptuous, +that accompanied the thrust, staggered the less ready Griffith. He got +puzzled, and showed it.</p> + +<p>"Well, but," stammered he at last, "your spirit is high; I was mostly +afeard to put it so plump to you. So I thought I would go about a bit. +However, it comes to the same thing; for this I do know,—that, if you +refuse me your hand this day, it is to give it to a new acquaintance, as +your Alice did before you. And if it is to be so, 'tis best for me to be +gone: best for <i>him</i>, and best for you. You don't know me, Kate; for, as +clever as you are, at the thought of your playing me false, after all +these years, and marrying that George Neville, my heart turns to ice, +and then to fire, and my head seems ready to burst, and my hands to do +mad and bloody acts. Ay, I feel I should kill him, or you, or both, at +the church-porch. Ah!"</p> + +<p>He suddenly griped her arm, and at the same time involuntarily checked +his mare.</p> + +<p>Both horses stopped.</p> + +<p>She raised her head with an inquiring look, and saw her lover's face +discolored with passion, and so strangely convulsed that she feared at +first he was in a fit, or stricken with death or palsy.</p> + +<p>She uttered a cry of alarm, and stretched forth her hand towards him.</p> + +<p>But the next moment she drew it back from him; for, following his eye, +she discerned the cause of this ghastly look. Her father's house stood +at the end of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_648" id="Page_648">[Pg 648]</a></span> the avenue they had just entered; but there was another +approach to it, namely, by a bridle-road at right angles to the avenue +or main entrance; and up that bridle-road a gentleman was walking his +horse, and bid fair to meet them at the hall-door.</p> + +<p>It was young Neville. There was no mistaking his piebald charger for any +other animal in that county.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Kate Peyton glanced from lover to lover, and shuddered at Griffith. She +was familiar with petty jealousy; she had even detected it pinching or +coloring many a pretty face that tried very hard to hide it all the +time. But that was nothing to what she saw now: hitherto she had but +beheld the feeling of jealousy; but now she witnessed the livid passion +of jealousy writhing in every lineament of a human face. That terrible +passion had transfigured its victim in a moment: the ruddy, genial, +kindly Griffith, with his soft brown eye, was gone; and in his place +lowered a face older, and discolored, and convulsed, and almost +demoniacal.</p> + +<p>Women (wiser, perhaps, in this than men) take their strongest +impressions by the eye, not ear. Catharine, I say, looked at him she had +hitherto thought she knew,—looked and feared him. And even while she +looked and shuddered, Griffith spurred his mare sharply, and then drew +her head across the gray gelding's path. It was an instinctive impulse +to bar the lady he loved from taking another step towards the place +where his rival awaited her.</p> + +<p>"I cannot bear it," he gasped. "Choose you now, once for all, between +that puppy there and me": and he pointed with his riding-whip at his +rival, and waited with his teeth clenched for her decision.</p> + +<p>The movement was rapid, the gesture large and commanding, and the words +manly: for what says the fighting poet?—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He either fears his fate too much,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or his deserts are small,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who fears to put it to the touch,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To win or lose it all."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> + +<p>Miss Peyton drew herself up and back by one motion, like a queen at bay; +but still she eyed him with a certain respect, and was careful now not +to provoke nor pain him needlessly.</p> + +<p>"I prefer <i>you</i>,—though you speak harshly to me, Sir," said she, with +gentle dignity.</p> + +<p>"Then give me your hand, with <i>that man</i> in sight, and end my torments; +promise to marry me this very week. Ah, Kate, have pity on your poor, +faithful servant, who has loved you so long!"</p> + +<p>"I do, Griffith, I do," said she, sweetly; "but I shall never marry now. +Only set your mind at rest about Mr. Neville there. He has never asked +me, for one thing."</p> + +<p>"He soon will, then."</p> + +<p>"No, no; I declare I will be very cool to him, after what you have said +to me. But I cannot marry you, neither. I dare not. Listen to me, and +do, pray, govern your temper, as I am doing mine. I have often read of +men with a passion for jealousy,—I mean, men whose jealousy feeds upon +air, and defies reason. I know you now for such a man. Marriage would +not cure this madness; for wives do not escape admiration any more than +maids. Something tells me you would be jealous of every fool that paid +me some stale compliment, jealous of my female friends, and jealous of +my relations, and perhaps jealous of your own children, and of that +holy, persecuted Church which must still have a large share of <i>my</i> +heart. No, no; your face and your words have shown me a precipice. I +tremble and draw back, and now I never <i>will</i> marry at all: from this +day I give myself to the Church."</p> + +<p>Griffith did not believe one word of all this.</p> + +<p>"That is your answer to me," said he, bitterly. "When the right man puts +the question (and he is not far off) you will tell another tale. You +take me for a fool, and you mock me; you are not the lass to die an old +maid: and men are not the fools to let you. With faces like yours, the +new servant comes before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_649" id="Page_649">[Pg 649]</a></span> the old one is gone. Well, I have got my +answer. County Cumberland, you are no place for me! The ways and the +fields we two have ridden together,—oh, how could I bear their sight +without my dear? Why, what a poor-spirited fool I am to stay and whine! +Come, Mistress, your lover waits you there, and your discarded servant +knows good-breeding: he leaves the country not to spoil your sport."</p> + +<p>Catharine panted heavily.</p> + +<p>"Well, Sir," said she, "then it is your doing, not mine. Will you not +even shake hands with me, Griffith?"</p> + +<p>"I were a brute else," sighed the jealous one, with a sudden revulsion +of feeling. "I have spent the happiest hours of my life beside you. If I +loved thee less, I had never left thee."</p> + +<p>He clung a little while to her hands, more like a drowning man than +anything else, then let them go, and suddenly shook his clenched fist in +the direction of George Neville, and cried out with a savage yell,—</p> + +<p>"My curse on him that parts us twain! And you, Kate, may God bless you +single, and curse you married! and that is my last word in Cumberland."</p> + +<p>"Amen!" said Catharine, resignedly.</p> + +<p>And even with this they wheeled their horses apart, and rode away from +each other: she very pale, but erect with wounded pride; he reeling in +his saddle like a drunken man.</p> + +<p>And so Griffith Gaunt, stung mad by jealousy, affronted his sweetheart, +the proudest girl in Cumberland, and, yielding to his foible, fled from +his pain.</p> + +<p>Our foibles are our manias.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> + +<p>Miss Peyton was shocked and grieved; but she was also affronted and +wounded. Now anger seems to have some fine buoyant quality, which makes +it rise and come uppermost in an agitated mind. She rode proudly into +the court-yard of her father's house, and would not look once behind to +see the last of her perverse lover.</p> + +<p>The old groom, Joe, who had taught her to ride when she was six years +old, saw her coming, and hobbled out to hold her horse, while she +alighted.</p> + +<p>"Mistress Kate," said he, "have you seen Master Griffith Gaunt +anywheres?"</p> + +<p>The young lady colored at this question.</p> + +<p>"Why?" said she.</p> + +<p>"Why?" repeated old Joe, a little contemptuously. "Why, where have <i>you</i> +been not to know the country is out after un? First comed Jock Dennet, +with his horse all in a lather, to say old Mr. Charlton was took ill, +and had asked for Master Griffith. I told him to go to Dogmore Copse: +'Our Kate is a-hunting to-day,' says I; 'and your Griffith, he is sure +not to be far from her gelding's tail'; a sticks in his spurs and away a +goes. What, ha'n't you seen Jock, neither?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," replied Miss Peyton, impatiently. "What, is there anything the +matter?"</p> + +<p>"The matter, quo' she! Why, Jock hadn't been gone an hour when in rides +the new footman all in a lather, and brings a letter for Master Griffith +from the old gentleman's housekeeper. 'You leave the letter with me, in +case,' says I, and I sends him a-field after t' other. Here be the +letter."</p> + +<p>He took off his cap and produced the letter.</p> + +<p>Catharine started at the sight of it.</p> + +<p>"Alack!" said she, "this is a heavy day. Look, Joe; sealed with black. +Poor Cousin Charlton! I doubt he is no more."</p> + +<p>Joe shook his head expressively, and told her the butcher had come from +that part not ten minutes ago, with word that the blinds were all down +at Bolton Hall.</p> + +<p>Poor human nature! A gleam of joy shot through Catharine's heart; this +sad news would compel Griffith to stay at home and bury his benefactor; +and that delay would give him time to reflect; and, somehow or other, +she felt sure it would end in his not going at all.</p> + +<p>But these thoughts had no sooner passed through her than she was ashamed +of them and of herself. What! welcome<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_650" id="Page_650">[Pg 650]</a></span> that poor old man's death because +it would keep her cross-grained lover at home? Her cheeks burned with +shame; and, with a superfluous exercise of self-defence, she retired +from Old Joe, lest he should divine what was passing in her mind.</p> + +<p>But she was so wrapt in thought that she carried the letter away with +her unconsciously.</p> + +<p>As she passed through the hall, she heard George Neville and her father +in animated conversation. She mounted the stairs softly, and went into a +little boudoir of her own on the first floor, and sat down. The house +stood high, and there was a very expansive and beautiful view of the +country from this window. She sat down by it and drooped, and looked +wistfully through the window, and thought of the past, and fell into a +sad reverie. Pity began to soften her pride and anger, and presently two +gentle tears dimmed her glorious eyes a moment, then stole down her +delicate cheeks.</p> + +<p>While she sat thus lost in the past, jovial voices and creaking boots +broke suddenly upon her ear, and came up the stairs; they jarred upon +her; so she cast one last glance out of the window, and rose to get out +of their way, if possible. But it was too late; a heavy step came to the +door, and a ruddy, Port-drinking face peeped in. It was her father.</p> + +<p>"See-ho!" roared the jovial Squire. "I've found the hare on her form; +bide thou outside a moment."</p> + +<p>And he entered the room; but he had no sooner closed the door than his +whole manner changed from loud and jovial to agitated and subdued.</p> + +<p>"Kate, my girl," said he, piteously, "I have been a bad father to thee. +I have spent all the money that should have been thine; thy poor father +can scarce look thee in the face. So now I bring thee a good husband; be +a good child now, and a dutiful. Neville's Court is his, and Neville's +Cross will be, by the entail; and so will the baronetcy. I shall see my +girl Lady Neville."</p> + +<p>"Never, papa, never!" cried Kate.</p> + +<p>"Hush! hush!" said the Squire, and put up his hand to her in great +agitation and alarm; "hush, or he will hear ye. Kate," he whispered, +"are you mad? Little I thought, when he asked to see me, it was to offer +marriage. Be a good girl now; don't you quarrel with good luck. You are +not fit to be poor; and you have made enemies: do but think how they +will flout you when I die, and Bill's jade of a wife puts you to the +door, as she will. And now you can triumph over them all, my Lady +Neville,—and make your poor father happy, my Lady Neville. Enough said, +for I promised you; so don't go and make a fool of me, and yourself into +the bargain. And—and—a word in your ear: he hath lent me a hundred +pounds."</p> + +<p>At this climax, the father hung his head; the daughter winced and moaned +out,—</p> + +<p>"Papa, how <i>could</i> you?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Peyton had gradually descended to that intermediate stage of +degradation, when the substance of dignity is all gone, but its shadow, +shame, remains. He stamped impatiently on the ground, and cut his +humiliation short by rushing out of the room.</p> + +<p>"Here, try your own luck, youngster," he cried at the door. "She knows +my mind."</p> + +<p>He trampled down the stairs, and young George Neville knocked +respectfully at the door, though it was half open, and came in with +youth's light foot, and a handsome face flushed into beauty by love and +hope.</p> + +<p>Miss Peyton's eye just swept him as he entered, and with the same +movement she turned away her fair head and blushing cheek towards the +window; yet—must I own it?—she quietly moulded the letter that lay in +her lap, so that the address was no longer visible to the new-comer.</p> + +<p>(Small secrecy, verging on deceit, you are bred in woman's bones!)</p> + +<p>This blushing and averted cheek is one of those equivocal receptions +that have puzzled many a sensible man. It is a sign of coy love; it is a +sign of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_651" id="Page_651">[Pg 651]</a></span> gentle aversion; <i>our</i> mode of interpreting it is simple and +judicious: whichever it happens to be, we go and take it for the other.</p> + +<p>The brisk, bold wooer that now engaged Kate Peyton was not the man to be +dashed by a woman's coyness. Handsome, daring, good-humored, and vain, +he had everything in his favor but his novelty.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Look at Kate! her eye lingers wistfully on that disconsolate horseman +whose every step takes him farther from her; but George has her ear, and +draws closer and closer to it, and pours love's mellow murmurs into it.</p> + +<p>He told her he had made the grand tour, and seen the beauties of every +land, but none like her; other ladies had certainly pleased his eye for +a moment, but she alone had conquered his heart. He said many charming +things to her, such as Griffith Gaunt had never said. Amongst the rest, +he assured her the beauty of her person would not alone have fascinated +him so deeply; but he had seen the beauty of her mind in those eyes of +hers, that seemed not eyes, but souls; and begging her pardon for his +presumption, he aspired to wed her mind.</p> + +<p>Such ideas had often risen in Kate's own mind; but to hear them from a +man was new. She looked askant through the window at the lessening +Griffith, and thought "how the grand tour improves a man!" and said, as +coldly as she could,—</p> + +<p>"I esteem you, Sir, and cannot but be flattered by sentiments so +superior to those I am used to hear; but let this go no farther. I shall +never marry now."</p> + +<p>Instead of being angry at this, or telling her she wanted to marry +somebody else, as the injudicious Griffith had done, young Neville had +the address to treat it as an excellent jest, and drew such comical +pictures of all the old maids in the neighborhood that she could not +help smiling.</p> + +<p>But the moment she smiled, the inflammable George made hot love to her +again. Then she besought him to leave her, piteously. Then he said, +cheerfully, he would leave her as soon as ever she had promised to be +his. At that she turned sullen and haughty, and looked through the +window and took no notice of him whatever. Then, instead of being +discouraged or mortified, he showed imperturbable confidence and +good-humor, and begged archly to know what interesting object was in +sight from that window. On this she blushed and withdrew her eyes from +the window, and so they met his. On that he threw himself on his knees, +(custom of the day,) and wooed her with such a burst of passionate and +tearful eloquence that she began to pity him, and said, lifting her +lovely eyes,—</p> + +<p>"Alas! I was born to make all those I esteem unhappy!" and she sighed +deeply.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it," said he; "you were born, like the sun, to bless all +you shine upon. Sweet Mistress Kate, I love you as these country boors +can never be taught to love. I lay my heart, my name, my substance, at +your feet; you shall not be loved,—you shall be worshipped. Ah! turn +those eyes, brimful of soul, on me again, and let me try and read in +them that one day, no matter how distant, the delight of my eyes, the +joy of all my senses, the pride of Cumberland, the pearl of England, the +flower of womankind, the rival of the angels, the darling of George +Neville's heart, will be George Neville's wife."</p> + +<p>Fire and water were in his eyes, passion in every tone; his manly hand +grasped hers and trembled, and drew her gently towards him.</p> + +<p>Her bosom heaved; his passionate male voice and touch electrified her, +and made her flutter.</p> + +<p>"Spare me this pain," she faltered; and she looked through the window +and thought, "Poor Griffith was right, after all, and I was wrong. He +had cause for jealousy, and <span class="smcap">CAUSE FOR FEAR</span>."</p> + +<p>And then she pitied him who panted at her side, and then she was sorry +for him who rode away disconsolate, still lessening to her eye; and what +with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_652" id="Page_652">[Pg 652]</a></span> this conflict and the emotion her quarrel with Griffith had +already caused her, she leaned her head back against the shutter, and +began to sob low, but almost hysterically.</p> + +<p>Now Mr. George Neville was neither a fool nor a novice, if he had never +been downright in love before, (which I crave permission to doubt,) he +had gone far enough on that road to make one Italian lady, two French, +one Austrian, and one Creole, in love with him; and each of these +love-affairs had given him fresh insight into the ways of woman. +Enlightened by so many bitter-sweet experiences, he saw at once that +there was something more going on inside Kate's heaving bosom than he +could have caused by offering her his hand. He rose from his knees and +leaned against the opposite shutter, and fixed his eyes a little sadly, +but very observantly, on her, as she leaned back against the shutter, +sobbing low, but hysterically, and quivering all over.</p> + +<p>"There's some other man at the bottom of this," thought George Neville.</p> + +<p>"Mistress Kate," said he, gently, "I do not come here to make you weep. +I love you like a gentleman. If you love another, take courage, tell me +so, and don't let your father constrain your inclinations. Dearly as I +love you, I would not wed your person, and your heart another's: that +would be too cruel to you, and" (drawing himself up with sudden majesty) +"too unjust to myself."</p> + +<p>Kate looked up at him through her tears, and admired this man, who could +love ardently, yet be proud and just. And if this appeal to her candor +had been made yesterday, she would have said, frankly, "There is one +I—esteem." But, since the quarrel, she would not own to herself, far +less to another, that she loved a man who had turned his back upon her. +So she <i>parried</i>.</p> + +<p>"There is no one I love enough to wed," said she. "I am a cold-hearted +girl, born to give pain to my betters. But I shall do something +desperate to end all this."</p> + +<p>"All what?" said he, keenly.</p> + +<p>"The whole thing: my unprofitable life."</p> + +<p>"Mistress Kate," said Neville, "I asked you, was there another man. If +you had answered me, 'In truth there is, but he is poor and my father is +averse or the like,' then I would have secretly sought that man, and, as +I am very rich, you should have been happy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Neville, that is very generous, but how meanly you must think +of me!"</p> + +<p>"And what a bungler you must think me! I tell you, you should never have +known. But let that pass; you have answered my question; and you say +there is no man you love. Then I say you shall be Dame Neville."</p> + +<p>"What, whether I will or no?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; whether you <i>think</i> you will or no."</p> + +<p>Catharine turned her dreamy eyes on him.</p> + +<p>"You have had a good master. Why did you not come to me sooner?"</p> + +<p>She was thinking more of him than of herself, and, in fact, paying too +little heed to her words. But she had no sooner uttered this inadvertent +speech than she felt she had said too much. She blushed rosy red, and +hid her face in her hands in the most charming confusion.</p> + +<p>"Sweetest, it is not an hour too late, as you do not love another," was +stout George Neville's reply.</p> + +<p>But nevertheless the cunning rogue thought it safest to temporize, and +put his coy mistress off her guard. So he ceased to alarm her by +pressing the question of marriage, but seduced her into a charming talk, +where the topics were not so personal, and only the tones of his voice +and the glances of his expressive eyes were caressing. He was on his +mettle to please her by hook or by crook, and was delightful, +irresistible. He set her at ease, and she began to listen more, and even +to smile faintly, and to look through the window a little less +perseveringly.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the spell was broken for a while.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_653" id="Page_653">[Pg 653]</a></span></p> + +<p>And by whom?</p> + +<p>By the other.</p> + +<p>Ay, you may well stare. It sounds strange, but it is true, that the poor +forlorn horseman, hanging like a broken man, as he was, over his tired +horse, and wending his solitary way from her he loved, and resigning the +field, like a goose, to the very rival he feared, did yet (like the +retiring Parthian) shoot an arrow right into that pretty boudoir and hit +both his sweetheart and his rival,—hit them hard enough to spoil their +sport, and make a little mischief between them—for that afternoon, at +all events.</p> + +<p>The arrow came into the room after this fashion.</p> + +<p>Kate was sitting in a very feminine attitude. When a man wants to look +in any direction, he turns his body and his eye the same way, and does +it; but women love to cast oblique regards; and this their instinct is a +fruitful source of their graceful and characteristic postures.</p> + +<p>Kate Peyton was at this moment a statue of her sex. Her fair head leaned +gently back against the corner of the window-shutter; her pretty feet +and fair person in general were opposite George Neville, who sat facing +the window, but in the middle of the room; her arms, half pendent, half +extended, went listlessly aslant her, and somewhat to the right of her +knees, yet, by an exquisite turn of the neck, her gray eyes contrived to +be looking dreamily out of the window to her left. Still in this figure, +that pointed one way and looked another, there was no distortion; all +was easy, and full of that subtile grace we artists call repose.</p> + +<p>But suddenly she dissolved this feminine attitude, rose to her feet, and +interrupted her wooer civilly.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," said she, "but can you tell me which way that road on the +hill leads to?"</p> + +<p>Her companion stared a little at so sudden a turn in the conversation, +but replied by asking her, with perfect good-humor, what road she meant.</p> + +<p>"The one <i>that gentleman on horseback has just taken</i>. Surely," she +continued, "that road does not take to Bolton Hall."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," said George, following the direction of her finger. +"Bolton lies to the right. That road takes to the sea-coast by Otterbury +and Stanhope."</p> + +<p>"I thought so," said Kate. "How unfortunate! He cannot know; but, +indeed, how should he?"</p> + +<p>"Who cannot know? and what? You speak in riddles, Mistress. And how pale +you are! Are you ill?"</p> + +<p>"No, not ill, Sir," faltered Kate; "but you see me much discomposed. My +cousin Charlton died this day; and the news met me at the very door." +She could say no more.</p> + +<p>Mr. Neville, on hearing this news, began to make many excuses for having +inadvertently intruded himself upon her on such a day; but, in the midst +of his apologies, she suddenly looked him full in the face, and said, +with nervous abruptness,—</p> + +<p>"You <i>talk</i> like a <i>preux chevalier</i>. I wonder whether you would ride +five or six miles to do me a service."</p> + +<p>"Ay, a thousand!" said the young man, glowing with pleasure. "What is to +do?"</p> + +<p>Kate pointed through the window.</p> + +<p>"You see that gentleman on horseback. Well, I happen to know that he is +leaving the country; he thinks that he—that I—that Mr. Charlton has +many years to live. He must be told Mr. Charlton is dead, and his +presence is required at Bolton Hall. I <i>should</i> like somebody to gallop +after him, and give him this letter; but my own horse is tired, and I am +tired; and, to be frank, there is a little coolness between the +gentleman himself and me. Oh, I wish him no ill, but really I am not +upon terms—I do not feel complaisant enough to carry a letter after +him; yet I do feel that he <i>must</i> have it. Do not <i>you</i> think it would +be malicious and unworthy in me to keep the news from him, when I know +it is so?"</p> + +<p>Young Neville smiled.</p> + +<p>"Nay, Mistress, why so many words?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_654" id="Page_654">[Pg 654]</a></span> Give me your letter, and I will soon +overtake the gentleman: he seems in no great hurry."</p> + +<p>Kate thanked him, and made a polite apology for giving him so much +trouble, and handed him the letter. When it came to that, she held it +out to him rather irresolutely; but he took it promptly, and bowed low, +after the fashion of the day. She curtsied; he marched off with +alacrity. She sat down again, and put her head in her hand to think it +all over, and a chill thought ran through her. Was her conduct wise? +What would Griffith think at her employing his rival? Would he not infer +Neville had entered her service in more senses than one? Perhaps he +would throw the letter in the dirt in a rage, and never read it.</p> + +<p>Steps came rapidly, the door opened, and there was George Neville again, +but not the same George Neville that went out but thirty seconds before. +He stood in the door looking very black, and with a sardonic smile on +his lips.</p> + +<p>"An excellent jest, Mistress!" said he, ironically.</p> + +<p>"Why, what is the matter?" said the lady, stoutly; but her red cheeks +belied her assumption of innocence.</p> + +<p>"Oh, not much," said George, with a bitter sneer. "It is an old story; +only I thought you were nobler than the rest of your sex. This letter is +to Mr. Griffith Gaunt."</p> + +<p>"Well, Sir!" said Kate, with a face of serene and candid innocence.</p> + +<p>"And Mr. Griffith Gaunt is a suitor of yours."</p> + +<p>"Say, <i>was</i>. He is so no longer. He and I are out. But for that, think +you I had even listened to—what you have been saying to me this ever so +long?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that alters the case," said George. "But stay!" and he knitted his +brows, and reflected.</p> + +<p>Up to a moment ago, the loftiness of Catharine Peyton's demeanor, and +the celestial something in her soul-like, dreamy eyes, had convinced him +she was a creature free from the small dishonesty and lubricity he had +noted in so many women otherwise amiable and good. But this business of +the letter had shaken the illusion.</p> + +<p>"Stay!" said he, stiffly, "You say Mr. Gaunt and you are out?"</p> + +<p>Catharine assented by a movement of her fair head.</p> + +<p>"And he is leaving the country. Perhaps this letter is to keep him from +leaving the country."</p> + +<p>"Only until he has buried his benefactor," murmured Kate, in deprecating +accents.</p> + +<p>George wore a bitter sneer at this.</p> + +<p>"Mistress Kate," said he, after a significant pause, "do you read +Molière?"</p> + +<p>She bridled a little, and would not reply. She knew Molière quite well +enough not to want his wit levelled at her head.</p> + +<p>"Do you admire the character of Célimène?"</p> + +<p>No reply.</p> + +<p>"You do not. How can you? She was too much your inferior. She never sent +one of her lovers with a letter to the other to stop his flight. Well, +you may eclipse Célimène; but permit me to remind you that I am George +Neville, and not Georges Dandin."</p> + +<p>Miss Peyton rose from her seat with eyes that literally flashed fire; +and—the horrible truth must be told—her first wild impulse was to +reply to all this Molière with one cut of her little riding-whip. But +she had a swift mind, and two reflections entered it together: first, +that this would be unlike a gentlewoman; secondly, that, if she whipped +Mr. Neville, however inefficaciously, he would not lend her his piebald +horse. So she took stronger measures; she just sank down again, and +faltered,—</p> + +<p>"I do not understand these bitter words. I have no lover at all; I never +will have one again. But it is hard to think I cannot make a friend nor +keep a friend,"—and so lifted up her hands, and began to cry piteously.</p> + +<p>Then the stout George was taken aback, and made to think himself a +ruffian.</p> + +<p>"Nay, do not weep so, Mistress Kate," said he, hurriedly. "Come, take +courage. I am not jealous of Mr. Gaunt,—a man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_655" id="Page_655">[Pg 655]</a></span> that hath been two years +dangling after you, and could not win you. I look but to my own +self-respect in the matter. I know your sex better than you know +yourselves. Were I to carry that letter, you would thank me now, but +by-and-by despise me. Now, as I mean you to be my wife, I will not risk +your contempt. Why not take my horse, put whom you like on him, and so +convey the letter to Mr. Gaunt?"</p> + +<p>Now this was all the fair mourner wanted; so she said,—</p> + +<p>"No, no, she would not be beholden to him for anything; he had spoken +harshly to her, and misjudged her cruelly, cruelly,—oh! oh! oh!"</p> + +<p>Then he implored her to grant him this small favor; then she cleared up, +and said, Well, sooner than bear malice, she would. He thanked her for +granting him that favor. She went off with the letter, saying,—</p> + +<p>"I will be back anon."</p> + +<p>But once she got clear, she opened the door again, and peeped in at him +gayly, and said she,—</p> + +<p>"Why not ask me who <i>wrote</i> the letter, before you compared me to that +French coquette?"—and, with this, made him an arch curtsy, and tripped +away.</p> + +<p>Mr. George Neville opened his eyes with astonishment. This arch +question, and Kate's manner of putting it, convinced him the obnoxious +missive was not a love-letter at all. He was sorry now, and vexed with +himself, for having called her a coquette, and made her cry. After all, +what was the mighty favor she had asked of him? To carry a sealed letter +from somebody or other to a person who, to be sure, had been her lover, +but was so no longer,—a simple act of charity and civility; and he had +refused it in injurious terms.</p> + +<p>He was glad he had lent his horse, and almost sorry he had not taken the +letter himself.</p> + +<p>To these chivalrous self-reproaches succeeded an uneasy feeling that +perhaps the lady might retaliate somehow. It struck him, on reflection, +that the arch query she had let fly at him was accompanied with a +certain sparkle of the laughing eye, such as ere now had, in his +experience, preceded a stroke of the feminine claw.</p> + +<p>As he walked up and down, uneasy, awaiting the fair one's return, her +father came up, and asked him to dine and sleep. What made the +invitation more welcome was, that it in reality came from Kate.</p> + +<p>"She tells me she has borrowed your horse," said the Squire; "so, says +she, I am bound to take care of you till day-light; and, indeed, our +ways are perilous at night."</p> + +<p>"She is an angel!" cried the lover, all his ardor revived by this +unexpected trait. "My horse, my house, my hand, and my heart are all at +her service, by night and day."</p> + +<p>Mr. Peyton, to wile away the time before dinner, invited him to walk out +and see—a hog, deadly fat, as times went. But Neville denied himself +that satisfaction, on the plea that he had his orders to await Miss +Peyton's return where he was. The Squire was amused at his excessive +docility, and winked, as much as to say, "I have been once upon a time +in your plight," and so went and gloried in his hog alone.</p> + +<p>The lover fell into a delicious reverie. He enjoyed, by anticipation, +the novel pleasure of an evening passed all alone with this charming +girl. The father, being friendly to his suit, would go to sleep after +dinner; and then, by the subdued light of a wood-fire, he would murmur +his love into that sweet ear for hours, until the averted head should +come round by degrees, and the delicious lips yield a coy assent. He +resolved the night should not close till he had surprised, overpowered, +and secured his lovely bride.</p> + +<p>These soft meditations reconciled him for a while to the prolonged +absence of their object.</p> + +<p>In the midst of them, he happened to glance through the window; and he +saw a sight that took his very breath away, and rooted him in amazement +to the spot. About a mile from the house, a lady in a scarlet habit was +galloping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_656" id="Page_656">[Pg 656]</a></span> across country as the crow flies. Hedge, ditch, or brook, +nothing stopped her an instant; and as for the pace,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"She seemed in running to devour the way."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It was Kate Peyton on his piebald horse.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> + +<p>Griffith Gaunt, unknown to himself, had lost temper as well as heart +before he took the desperate step of leaving the country. Now his temper +was naturally good; and ere he had ridden two miles, he recovered it. To +his cost; for the sustaining force of anger being gone, he was alone +with his grief. He drew the rein half mechanically, and from a spirited +canter declined to a walk.</p> + +<p>And the slower he went, the chillier grew his heart, till it lay half +ice, half lead, in his bosom.</p> + +<p>Parted! oh, word pregnant with misery!</p> + +<p>Never to see those heavenly eyes again, nor hear that silver voice! +Never again to watch that peerless form walk the minuet; nor see it lift +the gray horse over a fence with the grace and spirit that seemed +inseparable from it!</p> + +<p>Desolation streamed over him at the thought. And next his forlorn mind +began to cling even to the inanimate objects that were dotted about the +place which held her. He passed a little farm-house into which Kate and +he had once been driven by a storm, and had sat together by the kitchen +fire; and the farmer's wife had smiled on them for sweethearts, and made +them drink rum and milk and stay till the sun was fairly out.</p> + +<p>"Ah! good-bye, little farm!" he sighed; "when shall I ever see you +again?"</p> + +<p>He passed a brook where they had often stopped together and given their +panting horses just a mouthful after a run with the harriers.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, little brook!" said he; "you will ripple on as before, and +warble as you go; but I shall never drink at your water more, nor hear +your pleasant murmur with her I love."</p> + +<p>He sighed and crept away, still making for the sea.</p> + +<p>In the icy depression of his heart his body and his senses were half +paralyzed, and none would have known the accomplished huntsman in this +broken man, who hung anyhow over his mare's neck and went to and fro in +the saddle.</p> + +<p>When he had gone about five miles, he came to the crest of a hill; he +remembered, that, once past that brow, he could see Peyton Hall no more. +He turned slowly and cast a sorrowful look at it.</p> + +<p>It was winter, but the afternoon sun had come out bright. The horizontal +beams struck full upon the house, and all the western panes shone like +burnished gold. Her very abode, how glorious it looked! And he was to +see it no more.</p> + +<p>He gazed and gazed at the bright house till love and sorrow dimmed his +eyes, and he could see the beloved place no more. Then his dogged will +prevailed and carried him away towards the sea, but crying like a woman +now, and hanging all dislocated over his horse's mane.</p> + +<p>Now about half a mile farther on, as he crept along on a vile and narrow +road, all woebegone and broken, he heard a mighty scurry of horse's feet +in the field to his left; he looked languidly up; and the first thing he +saw was a great piebald horse's head and neck in the act of rising in +the air, and doubling his fore-legs under him, to leap the low hedge a +yard or two in front of him.</p> + +<p>He did leap, and landed just in front of Griffith; his rider curbed him +so keenly that he went back almost on his haunches, and then stood +motionless all across the road, with quivering tail. A lady in a scarlet +riding-habit and purple cap sat him as if he had been a throne instead +of a horse, and, without moving her body, turned her head swift as a +snake, and fixed her great gray eyes full and searching upon Griffith +Gaunt.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_657" id="Page_657">[Pg 657]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_PARTING_OF_HECTOR_AND_ANDROMACHE" id="THE_PARTING_OF_HECTOR_AND_ANDROMACHE"></a>THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.</h2> + +<h3>FROM THE SIXTH BOOK OF THE ILIAD.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So spake the matron. Hector left in haste<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mansion, and retraced his way between<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rows of stately dwellings, traversing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mighty city. When, at length, he reached<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Scæan gates, that issue on the field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His spouse, the nobly dowered Andromache,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came forth to meet him, daughter of the Prince<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eëtion, who among the woody slopes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Placos, in the Hypoplacian town<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Thebé, ruled Cilicia's sons, and gave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His child to Hector of the beamy helm.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She came, attended by a maid who bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tender child, a babe too young to speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beautiful as a star, whom Hector called<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scamandrius,—but all else Astyanax,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The City's Lord, since Hector stood the sole<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Defence of Troy. The father on his child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked with a silent smile. Andromache<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pressed to his side, meanwhile, and all in tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clung to his hand, and, thus beginning, said:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Too brave! thy valor yet will cause thy death.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast no pity on thy tender child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor me, unhappy one, who soon must be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy widow: all the Greeks will rush on thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To take thy life. A happier lot were mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I must lose thee, to go down to earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I shall have no hope, when thou art gone,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing but sorrow. Father have I none,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And no dear mother. Great Achilles slew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My father, when he sacked the populous town<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the Cilicians, Thebé with high gates.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'T was there he smote Eëtion, yet forbore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make his arms a spoil: he dared not that,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But burned the dead with his bright armor on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And raised a mound above him. Mountain nymphs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daughters of ægis-bearing Jupiter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came to the spot and planted it with elms.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seven brothers had I in my father's house,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all went down to Hades in one day:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Achilles the swift-footed slew them all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among their slow-paced beeves and snow-white flocks.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My mother, princess on the woody slopes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Placos, with his spoils he bore away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And only for large ransom gave her back.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But her Diana, archer-queen, struck down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within her father's palace. Hector, thou<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_658" id="Page_658">[Pg 658]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Art father and dear mother now to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And brother, and my youthful spouse besides.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In pity keep within the fortress here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor make thy child an orphan, nor thy wife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A widow. Post thine army near the place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the wild fig-tree, where the city-walls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are low, and may be scaled. Thrice, in the war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boldest of the foe have tried the spot:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brothers Ajax, famed Idomeneus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The two chiefs born to Atreus, and the brave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tydides: whether counselled to the attempt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By some wise seer, or prompted from within."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then answered Hector great in war:—"All this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear wife, I bear in mind; but I should stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ashamed before the men and long-robed dames<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Troy, were I to keep aloof, and shun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The battle, coward-like. Not thus my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prompts me; for greatly have I learned to dare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strike among the foremost sons of Troy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upholding my great father's fame and mine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But well in my undoubting mind I know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The day shall come in which our sacred Troy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Priam, and the people over whom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spear-bearing Priam rules, shall perish all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not the sorrows of the Trojan race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor those of Hecuba herself, nor those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of royal Priam, nor the woes that wait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My brothers many and brave, who yet, at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slain by the leaguering foe, shall lie in dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grieve me so much as thine, when some mailed Greek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall lead thee weeping hence, and take from thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy day of freedom. Thou, in Argos, then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shalt, at another's bidding, ply the loom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or from the fountain of Messeïs draw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Water, or from the Hypereian spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Constrained, unwilling, by thy cruel lot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then shall some one say, who sees thee weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'This was the wife of Hector, most renowned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the horse-taming Trojans, when they fought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around their city.' So shall some one say;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou shalt grieve the more, lamenting him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who haply might have kept afar the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thy captivity. Oh, let the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be heaped above my head in death, before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear thy cries, as thou art borne away!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So saying, mighty Hector stretched his arms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To take the boy. The boy shrank crying back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his fair nurse's bosom, scared to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His father helmeted in glittering brass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And eying with affright the horse-hair plume<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That grimly nodded from the crest on high.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tender father and fond mother smiled;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_659" id="Page_659">[Pg 659]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And hastily the mighty Hector took<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The helmet from his brow, and laid it down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleaming upon the ground, and, having kissed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His darling son, and tossed him up in play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prayed thus to Jove and all the gods of heaven:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"O Jupiter, and all ye deities!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vouchsafe that this my son may yet become<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the Trojans eminent like me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with a might and courage like my own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rule nobly over Ilium. May they say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'This man is greater than his father was,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they behold him from the battle-field<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bring back the bloody spoils of the slain foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That so his mother may be glad at heart."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So speaking, to the arms of his dear spouse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gave the boy. She on her fragrant breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Received him, weeping as she smiled. The chief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beheld, and, moved with tender pity, smoothed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her forehead gently with his hand, and said:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Sorrow not thus, belovèd one, for me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No living man can send me to the shades<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before my time; no man of woman born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coward or brave, can shun his destiny.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But go thou home, and tend thy labors there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The web, the distaff, and command thy maids<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To speed the work; the cares of war pertain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To all men born in Troy, and most to me."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus spake the mighty Hector, and took up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His helmet shadowed with the horse-hair plume,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While homeward his belovèd consort went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft looking back and shedding many tears.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon was she in the spacious palace-halls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the man-queller Hector. There she found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A troop of damsels; with them all she shared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her grief, and all in his own house bewailed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The living Hector, whom they thought no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see returning from the battle-field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Escaped the rage and weapons of the Greeks.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_660" id="Page_660">[Pg 660]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="WILLIAM_BLACKWOOD" id="WILLIAM_BLACKWOOD"></a>WILLIAM BLACKWOOD.</h2> + + +<p>This active, energetic, and in every way remarkable man, who was not +only the originator, proprietor, and purveyor, but the editor,—the +actual and only editor,—of "Blackwood's Magazine," up to the day of his +death, in 1834, has never been properly understood nor appreciated, +either abroad or at home, owing to circumstances the public are +unacquainted with.</p> + +<p>While exercising despotic power, in all that concerned the management of +that bold and saucy and at times unprincipled work, in all that +concerned the management or the contributors, and never yielding even to +"Old Christopher" himself, who passed for the editor, where any serious +question sprang up, he was so careful to keep out of sight himself, and +to thrust that old gentleman forward, upon all occasions,—a sort of +myth, at the best,—a shadowy, mysterious personage, who deceived +nobody, and whom all were glad enough to take on trust, well knowing +that Professor Wilson was behind the mask,—that, up to this day, +William Blackwood, the little, tough, wiry Scotch bookseller, with a big +heart, and a pericardium of net-work,—interwoven steel springs,—has +been regarded as the publisher and proprietor only, and Professor Wilson +as the editor, and one who would suffer no interference with his +prerogative, and "bear no brother near the throne."</p> + +<p>To bring about this belief, Blackwood spared no expense of indirect +assertion, and no outlay of incidental evidence. Never faltering in his +first plan, and never foregoing an opportunity of strengthening the +public delusion, what cared he for the reputation of editorship, so long +as the great mystery paid? Walter Scott had already shown how profitably +and safely such a game might be played, year after year, in the midst of +the enemies' camp; and Blackwood was just the man to profit by such +experience.</p> + +<p>In the Life of Professor Wilson, by his daughter, Mrs. Gordon, edited +here by Professor Mackenzie, there might be found enough to disabuse the +public upon this point, if it were not read by the lamplight—or +twilight—of long-cherished opinions.</p> + +<p>But as Blackwood, the shrewd, sharp, wary Scotchman, always talked about +"our worthy friend Christopher" as a real, and not a mythological +personage,—as if, in short, he were himself and nobody else,—and never +of Wilson but as one of the contributors, or as the author of "Margaret +Lyndsay" or "The Isle of Palms," and then with a look or a smile which +he never explained, and which nobody out of the charmed circle ever +understood, no wonder the delusion was kept up to the last.</p> + +<p>"All I can say," he once wrote me, while negotiating for more +grist,—"all I can say is, that whatever is good in itself we are always +happy to receive; the only difficulty is, that our worthy friend +Christopher is a very absolute person, and therefore always judges for +himself with regard to everything that is offered." Now +this—considering that he himself, William Blackwood, was Christopher +North, in spirit, if not in substance, and that he himself, and not +Wilson, was the autocrat from whose judgment there was no appeal—might +pass anywhere, I think, for one of the happiest examples of persevering, +impudent mystification ever hazarded by a respectable man, while writing +confidentially to another, and quite of a piece with the celebrated +Chaldee manuscript.</p> + +<p>And now for my acquaintance with the man himself. I was living in +Baltimore. I had given up my editorships. I had forsworn poetry and +story-telling, (on paper,) and had not only entered upon the profession +of the law with encouraging success, but had begun to settle upon my +lees.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_661" id="Page_661">[Pg 661]</a></span></p> + +<p>One day, while dining with my friend Henry Robinson, who introduced gas +into Boston, after a series of disastrous experiments in Baltimore, and +the conversation happening to turn upon that subject, we wandered off +into the state of English opinions generally. He was an Englishman by +birth and early education, though his heart was American to the core. +Something was said about the literature of the day, and the question was +asked,—"Who reads an American book?" I blazed out, of course, and, +after denouncing the "Edinburgh Review," where the impudent question was +first broached, accompanied by the suggestion, that, so long as we could +"import our literature in bales and hogsheads," we had better not try to +manufacture for ourselves, I made up my mind on the spot, and within the +next following half-hour at furthest, to carry the war into Africa.</p> + +<p>Mr. Walsh,—"Robert Walsh, Junior, Esquire,"—the "American Gentleman," +as he called himself in the title-page of his Dictionary,—had +acknowledged, while undertaking our vindication, that our American +Parnassus was barren, or fruitful only in weeds; and by common consent +my countrymen had taken for the highest praise throughout the land what +I regarded as at best a humiliating admission from our friends over sea. +They had acknowledged, and we were base enough to feel flattered by the +acknowledgment, that, although we could not even hope to write English, +and were wellnigh destitute of invention, having no materials to work +with, and little or no aptitude for anything but the manufacture of +wooden nutmegs, horn gun-flints, and cuckoo-clocks, and being always too +busy for anything better than dicker and truck in a small way,—the +haberdashery of nations,—yet, after all, it might be said of us that we +were capital imitators, or thieves and counterfeiters, so that our +Brockden Brown was at least the American Godwin,—our Cooper, the +American Scott,—our Irving, just flowering in the "Sketch-Book," the +American Goldsmith or Addison,—and our Sigourney, the American Hemans.</p> + +<p>That my blood boiled in my veins, whenever I thought of this, I must +acknowledge; and within three weeks, I believe, I was on my way to +London, with a novel in the rough, which, after undergoing many +transformations, appeared in that city as "Brother Jonathan,"—the +manuscript of "Otho, a Tragedy," wholly recast and rewritten, with +"<i>exit omnes</i>," and other monstrous Latin blunders corrected, and, on +the whole, very much as it afterwards appeared in "The Yankee,"—and +heaps of letters, which I could not well afford to deliver, and +therefore threw into the fire: leaving my law business to take care of +itself, somewhat after the fashion of that Revolutionary volunteer, "Old +Put," who, when he heard the sound of a trumpet and knew the lists were +opened, left his plough in the furrow, and the cattle standing in the +field. My law-library, and the building I occupied, I passed over to the +care of a young man of great promise, just entering the profession, who +not only burned up my supply of wood for the year, but failed to pay the +rent, and then took the liberty of dying suddenly, poor fellow! without +a word of notice to my landlord: so that I was fairly adrift.</p> + +<p>On arriving in London, I took lodgings in Warwick Street, Pall Mall, +introduced to the landlady by Leslie the painter, and occupying the very +chambers where Washington Irving was delivered of the "Sketch-Book": my +windows on the first floor looking out on the back entrance of Carlton +House, by which the Princess Charlotte had escaped not long before, when +she ran away from her father, as my landlady took care to inform me; +adding, that, from the very window where we stood, she had seen the +little madcap get into the carriage—a common hack, by the way—and go +off at full speed.</p> + +<p>I lost no time in looking about me, and preparing for a literary +campaign, where I might forage upon the enemy, beat up his quarters when +I chose,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_662" id="Page_662">[Pg 662]</a></span> and, if possible, get possession of a battery or so, and turn +the guns upon his camp.</p> + +<p>Being pretty well acquainted with the characteristics of all the +monthlies and quarterlies, I was not long in determining that +"Blackwood" was my <i>point d'appui</i>. The "Old Monthly" was dead asleep, +and smouldering in white ashes; the "New Monthly," with Campbell for +editor, was unfitted for the job I had in view; the "London," though +clever and saucy and stinging, wanted manliness and nerve, and would be +sure to fail me at a pinch, now that John Scott was disposed of. And as +for the quarterlies, even supposing I could secure a place and keep it, +they were all slow coaches, and much too dignified and stately, as they +lumbered along the smooth, level turnpikes they were built for, to allow +of any dashing or skirmishing from the windows. Even the "Westminster" +was untrustworthy, as I afterwards found to my cost.</p> + +<p>And so I settled down upon "Blackwood," the cleverest and spitefullest +of the whole, with Lockhart, "the Scorpion," and Wilson, "the Leopard," +for mischief-makers, and "Ebony" for the whipper-in, and "Christopher +North" "in golden panoply complete" for <i>collaborateur</i>, a puzzle and a +problem to the last. Before I slept, I believe, certainly within a few +hours, I wrote a sketch of our five American Presidents, and of the five +presidential candidates then actually in the field, and sent it off to +Edinburgh with a letter, not for the publisher, not for Blackwood, but +for the <i>Editor</i>, saying that I had adopted the name of "Carter Holmes," +and writing as a traveller, pretty well acquainted with the United +States and with the people thereof. This mask I wore, not with a view to +escape responsibility, for I was ready to answer for all I said, but to +baffle the curious and the inquisitive. Had I come out boldly as a +native American, I knew there was no chance for me in that, or in any +other leading British journal.</p> + +<p>After a few days, I received the following in reply from Blackwood +himself, the <i>Editor</i>, which I give at length.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right">"April 20, 1824.</p> + +<p>"On my return from London a few days ago," says he, "I had +the pleasure of receiving yours of the 7th March,—April, I +suppose, as it only arrived here on the 10th current.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry that there was not room for your spirited +and amusing sketches in this number; but they will appear in +our next.</p> + +<p>"You are exactly the correspondent that we want, and I hope +you will continue to favor us with your communications, and +you may depend upon being liberally treated. I do not wish +to say much about terms, as I have a perfect horror at the +manufacturing system of gentlemen who <i>do</i> articles for +periodicals at so much per sheet. I feel confident that you +are none of these, but one who, like the friends who have +supported my Magazine, writes upon subjects which he takes +an interest in, and therefore handles them <i>con amore</i>. It +is this system of <i>piece-work</i> which has made most +periodicals such commonplace affairs; and it is by keeping +free of it that 'Maga' will preserve her name and fame.</p> + +<p>"Meantime, I am perfectly sensible that the laborer is +worthy of his hire, and that no gentleman need refuse the +remuneration he is entitled to. It gives me great pleasure, +therefore, to send an <i>honorarium</i> to all my contributors. I +may also mention to you that this varies from seven to ten +guineas, or perhaps more, per sheet, according to the nature +of the articles.</p> + +<p>"By way of <i>arles</i>, (<i>Anglicé</i>, earnest,) I annex a draft on +Mr. Cadell for five guineas to account.</p> + +<p>"With regard to your name, you will do just as you feel most +convenient and agreeable. All I shall say is, that whatever +is confided to me I keep sacredly to myself.</p> + +<p class="right"> +"I am, Sir,<br /> +<br /> +"Your most obedient servant,<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">W. Blackwood</span>."<br /> +</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_663" id="Page_663">[Pg 663]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Five guineas!" said I to myself,—twenty-five dollars cash, for a paper +I had flung off at a single sitting, and which at home would have been +thought well paid for with a "Much obliged," or, at most, with a +five-dollar bill,—even the great "North American Review" then paying, +where it paid at all, only a dollar a page in "that day of small +things"; and to work I went forthwith, preparing another article upon +another American subject, determined to be in season, and not allow the +blaze I had lighted up to go out for want of kindling-stuff. The +article, I may say here, created quite a sensation, and was copied into +the Continental journals and papers, and even reappeared in the great +"European Review," then just established at London, Paris, and Vienna, +under the editorship of Alexander Walker, a Scotchman, who began his +literary career by undertaking to supply the deficiencies of D'Alembert, +while he wrote me about <i>a jeux d'esprit</i>, with all seriousness.</p> + +<p>One curious little incident occurs to me here in connection with the +signature I had adopted. Perhaps the Spiritualists may be able to +account for it. Having finished my second article, and folded it up, and +directed it, as before, to the "Editor," and being about to affix the +seal,—for wafers were not used by decent people in England, and +self-sealing envelopes were unheard of in that day,—I went below, where +I heard voices in conversation that I knew, to borrow a seal, not +wishing to use mine, which not only bore an eagle's head for a crest, +but my initials and the striped shield of my country.</p> + +<p>There were present Humphreys, the engraver,—Lady Lilicraft, one of +Washington Irving's lay figures, and the cast-off <i>chère amie</i> of +an English lordling,—Peter Powell, of whom a word or two +hereafter,—Chester Harding,—and the celebrated John Dunn Hunter, whose +portrait Harding had just under way.</p> + +<p>When I had stated my request, two or three hands, with two or three +seals, were instantly reached forth. I took the nearest, and was not a +little surprised, on looking at the impression, to find the very +initials I needed, in old English. The seal belonged to Chester Harding; +and as my <i>nom de plume</i> was "Carter Holmes," the "C. H." seemed quite +providential. From that time forward, I continued to use the same seal +whenever I found Harding within reach, until, one day, a still stranger +"happening" occurred. I was in a hurry, and could not wait. Any seal +would do, of course; and the mistress, pitying my perplexity, said there +was a seal up-stairs somewhere which might serve my turn, if she could +find it. After a short absence, she returned, and, handing me an +old-fashioned affair, which I did not stop to look at, I made the +impression, and was just about sending off the parcel, when my attention +was attracted by the very same initials of "C. H.," as you live! Her +husband's name was Charles Halloway, Harding was Chester Harding, and I +was "Carter Holmes"!</p> + +<p>One word now about another of Irving's associates and playmates,—Peter +Powell, whom I often met with at Mrs. Halloway's. You will find him +frequently mentioned by name in the "Life and Letters of Washington +Irving," as a "fellow of infinite jest and most excellent fancy," and +full of the strangest contrivances for "setting the table in a roar"; +and more than once, though I do not now remember where, I have met with +a grotesque shadow, under a fictitious name,—a sort of Santa Claus or +Æsop at large,—either in the "Sketch-Book" or in the "Tales of a +Traveller," which I saw at a glance, when I came to know the original, +could be no other than Peter Powell himself.</p> + +<p>But as Irving did not particularize, I must. Peter would personate a +dancing bear; and with the help of a shaggy overcoat pulled up about his +ears, and a pair of black kid gloves, he being a small man, hardly +taller than a good-sized bear, when standing up with his knees bent, the +representation was not only surprisingly faithful, but sometimes +absolutely startling.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_664" id="Page_664">[Pg 664]</a></span></p> + +<p>He would serve you out with passages from a new opera, taking all the +parts himself, either separately or together, and with feet, hands, and +voice, a table, a chair, and a paper trumpet extemporized for the +occasion from a sheet of music-paper, would almost persuade you that a +rehearsal was going on at your elbow.</p> + +<p>He would tie a couple of knots in his pocket-handkerchief, throw the +rest of it over his hand so as to conceal the action, thrust his left +forefinger into the lowest knot for a head, while the uppermost would go +for a turban, spread out the middle finger and thumb, covered with the +drapery, and make the figure bow and salaam, as if it were alive, to the +unspeakable amazement of the little ones. Many years after this, I tried +the same trick with the Aztec children, and drove the little monsters +half crazy with delight.</p> + +<p>He would imitate rooks in their noisiest flights, by putting on a pair +of black gloves, and spreading the fingers, and cawing; and butterflies +alighting on a flower, by pressing his two hands together where they +join the wrist, closing the fingers with a fluttering motion, and moving +them this way and that, until it was quite impossible to misunderstand +the representation; and he would give you a sailor's hornpipe at the +dinner-table, by striping two of his fingers with a pen, drawing a face +on the back of his hand, with vest and waistband to explain the +trousers, and set you screaming as he went through the steps and +flourishes on a plate, with the greatest possible seriousness and +propriety.</p> + +<p>But enough. Let us now return to Blackwood. For my next paper he paid me +ten guineas,—fifty dollars,—and, in reply to certain suggestions of +mine, wrote as follows. I give this letter to show how much of a +business man he was, and how well fitted for the duties of editorship.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Edinburgh</span>, 17 May, 1834.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—Yours of the 13th makes me feel very much +ashamed at having so long delayed answering your two former +favors. The truth is, that you have given me such a bill of +fare of what you could furnish for our monthly +entertainment, I felt it would be necessary to write you +more at length than I had leisure for at the time I received +your letter; and, like everything that is delayed at the +proper moment, every day has presented excuses for +procrastination.</p> + +<p>"If I had the pleasure of knowing you, I might have been +able, as you say, to have given you some hints as to +subjects; but in present circumstances, all I have to say +is, that <i>whatever is good in itself we are always happy to +receive</i>, [&c., &c., as hereinbefore quoted in relation to +"Christopher North."] I shall only add, that anything of +yours he will be disposed to view with a favorable eye. As +to the theatre, exhibitions, &c., the daily papers are so +stuffed with notices of them, that even what is good has but +a poor chance. However, I do not mean to say that these +subjects should be excluded from your communications; all I +mean is, that you should just write upon what you yourself +feel a strong interest in.</p> + +<p>"I <i>would</i> be happy to see your novel, ["Brother Jonathan,"] +but it is now too late of thinking to publish at this +season. If you will send it, addressed to me, to Mr. +Cadell's, with a note, desiring it to be forwarded by first +mail-coach, I <i>will</i> receive it quite safely; and I will, in +the course of ten days after its reception, write you my +sentiments with regard to it. No one shall see it; for in +these matters I judge for myself. If you should go to the +Continent, perhaps you could leave the manuscript in such a +state that it could be printed in your absence.</p> + +<p class="right"> +"I am, dear Sir, yours truly,<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">W. Blackwood</span>."<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>Here was encouragement, certainly; and it was clear enough that he had a +willingness to be pleased, if nothing more.</p> + +<p>I lost no time, therefore, in recasting and rewriting the whole of +"Brother<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_665" id="Page_665">[Pg 665]</a></span> Jonathan," which, as I have mentioned before, was blocked out +before I left America. But, having my board to pay, and not willing to +stake much on a single cast, though ready enough "to stand the hazard of +the die" after my washerwoman was satisfied, I kept on writing for the +magazines and quarterlies, and always about America, and by special +desire too, until my papers were to be found, not only in Blackwood +every month, but in the "New Monthly," the "Old Monthly," the "London," +the "European," the "Oriental Herald," the "Westminster," and others.</p> + +<p>On the 8th of the following November, Mr. Blackwood, having worried +through the manuscript of "Brother Jonathan," wrote me a letter of six +enormous pages, from which I give the following extracts, to show the +temper of the man, his downright honesty and heartiness, and great good +sense.</p> + +<p>"My dear Sir," he says, "you will be blaming me for not writing you +sooner; and when I tell you that the delay was caused by my +unwillingness to write you"—(here I began to foresee what was +coming)—"so very differently from what I had so fondly and anxiously +expected, I fear you will blame me, not for the delay, but for my want +of taste and judgment in not properly appreciating the merits of +'Brother Jonathan.'"</p> + +<p>Here he wronged me; for I was quite prepared to agree with him, having +spoiled the original draft by working it up too much, and overdoing and +exaggerating all that I was best pleased with.</p> + +<p>"Never," he continues,—"never did I take up any manuscript with more +sincere wishes for its being everything that could be desired. +Unfortunately, my expectations have been disappointed." (Comfortable, +hey?) "While I admire the originality and talent and power which the +work displays,"—(I began to breathe more freely,)—"I must frankly tell +you, that, in my humble opinion, there are defects in your plan, and +there are incidents, as well as reflections, which, in this country, +would certainly injure any work, however great its talent.</p> + +<p>"I wish I had the pleasure of seeing you for half an hour, as I could +explain by word of mouth so much better than I can by scribbling what my +ideas are, and such as they are. Distrusting my own judgment, after I +had carefully perused the manuscript, I gave it, in the strictest +confidence, to a friend whose opinion I value much, and begged of him, +without saying one word of my opinion, to give me his frankly and +without reserve. My mind was so far satisfied, when I received his +remarks, as I found, that, in general, he had taken the same view of the +work as I had done. I inclose his remarks, as they will save me from +going over the same ground."</p> + +<p>The remarks referred to were by Professor Wilson, I have good reason to +believe. They filled half a dozen pages, and were eminently judicious +and proper, and, I may add, far from being unpalatable.</p> + +<p>"I shall now, in a rambling way," continues Mr. Blackwood, "state +anything that has occurred to me, and I shall make no apology for +offering you my crude remarks; only you will suppose me to be speaking +to you, and telling you such and such things strike me so and so, that I +may be quite wrong," &c., &c.</p> + +<p>And then he proceeds to say,—</p> + +<p>"The character of the Yankees (Chapter I.) is too didactic, though +excellent anywhere else than in the commencement of a novel."</p> + +<p>Here, too, he was right. I threw the whole chapter aside in rewriting +the book as it now stands, and sent the substance to Campbell's "New +Monthly," where it appeared forthwith.</p> + +<p>After frankly stating a number of well-founded objections, and +suggesting two or three important changes in the plot, he finishes after +the following fashion: allow me to commend it to all who find themselves +obliged to "give the mitten," or to snub a respectable aspirant. By so +doing, they may keep life in him, if nothing more:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_666" id="Page_666">[Pg 666]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"I have said a good deal more than I intended to, as to what things have +struck me as defects in your work. Its excellences I need not take up +your time with dwelling upon. With all the power, interest, and +originality, I regret most exceedingly, that, in its present state, I +would most earnestly advise you not to publish. It would be doing +yourself the greatest injustice. I feel perfectly confident, however, +that, with such materials as these, you could make a glorious book, if +you would set about it again in the proper way. I do not think it would +cost you much trouble, provided that the thing were to strike you."</p> + +<p>By way of postscript, he adds,—</p> + +<p>"I received your parcel, with No. 3 of the American Writers, and the +critique on Cadell's American work. Are you not giving us too much of +the <i>Vitæ Virûm Obscurorum</i>? There is a danger of palling the public +with too much even of a very good thing. This, too, terrifies me at the +length of your critique, as we have had so many American articles +lately. It is, in fact, as you say, a work, not an article. However, we +shall see what can be done."</p> + +<p>The critique here referred to was a review of a book entitled "Summary +View of America," and published by Cadell, who was also the London +publisher for Blackwood. It was full of dangerous, though somewhat +plausible errors, and mischievous, though perhaps unintentional, +misrepresentations of our whole political and social system. I did not +spare the book, nor the author, nor the publisher; and notwithstanding +the great length of the paper, which grew up of itself, as I read the +work with pen in hand, into most unreasonable proportions, though +divided into brief paragraphs, it appeared, nevertheless, in the next +following month, as a leader, with a note from "C. N.," which has +already been given in the sketch of Bentham.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile this indefatigable purveyor, who knew I was engaged upon +"Brother Jonathan," recasting and rewriting the whole,—not for the +second time, but for the twentieth time, I verily believe,—and that I +was beginning to write for other journals upon American affairs, wanted +me to furnish an occasional paper for the "Noctes Ambrosianæ," to be +incorporated, warp and woof, into the dialogues which appeared month +after month and year after year; up to the death of poor Wilson in 1853, +and were afterward embodied in a book by Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie, and +republished here.</p> + +<p>This I could not bring myself to undertake, without first seeing the +interlocutors face to face, and looking into their eyes, and hearing +them laugh together "like a rhinoceros," or like the chorus in "Der +Freischütz." Though I knew Wilson, and Lockhart, and Hogg, and "Old +Christopher," and "O'Doherty," and "Timothy Tickler," and "Ebony," by +reputation, it was only as a company of shadows, and not as creatures of +substantial flesh and blood. The lightning had struck; my guns were in +position; I had got the range of the enemies' camp, and meant to be in +no hurry, but "to fight it out on the line" I had chosen, if it took me +till doomsday. I refused, therefore. I was willing to wait. I knew, to +be sure, the Chinese could grow oranges from the seed in half an hour; +but then the oranges were peas, and I wanted to grow "some pumpkins." In +short, I would not</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i24">"wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My strength away in wrestling with the air."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Next he wanted me to write a review of "Margaret Lyndsay," a charming +story by Wilson himself, of which I had incidentally expressed the +highest opinion, in our correspondence. Mr. Blackwood sprang at the +idea, like a half-famished pickerel at a frog. But no. Although such a +paper would be quite in my way, for I have always delighted in showing +off, and teaching grandmothers to suck eggs, I could not be persuaded, +for reasons which may be guessed at by the proud and sensitive and +foolish, so long as the question about "Brother Jonathan" was undecided.</p> + +<p>On the 24th of November, having<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_667" id="Page_667">[Pg 667]</a></span> received my answer to his of the 8th, +he wrote again as follows:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I felt very anxious, indeed, till I had the +pleasure of receiving your letter of the 11th, fearing that +you might not, perhaps, take the remarks I sent you in the +spirit of kindness in which they were honestly and sincerely +made. Your letter has satisfied me that you will yet make a +glorious book of 'Brother Jonathan.'</p> + +<p>"Let the better feelings and passions of our nature have +freer scope and happier development and results. This is +what your work wants; for mankind like better to see the +bright side of the picture than the dark one. I do not think +it necessary to say one word more to you on the subject. +Your own taste and feelings must direct you as to what is +necessary to be done. All that I hope and pray for is, that +you may have set seriously to work with the revision and +correction."</p></div> + +<p>Are not these two extracts enough to show of themselves the leading +characteristics of "Ebony," or "Old Christopher"? How business-like, and +yet how friendly and judicious are the suggestions!</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, I had furnished a paper for him, entitled "Men and Women; or, +A Brief Hypothesis concerning the Differences in their Genius." My +object was to show, that, although unlike, they were not unequal; that +each had a standard for itself. I did not urge that Arabs, who are +reckoned pretty good judges of horse-flesh, always give the preference +to mares for endurance and swiftness,—that the female bird of prey is +larger and fiercer than the male,—that the female body-guard of the +King of Dahomey are terrible Amazons,—nor that, where women reign, men +rule, and <i>vice versâ</i>; but that, by endowing woman with a more +sensitive organization, our Father had given her what was better than a +mane for the lioness, a beard for the goat, or a voice and plumage to +the female singing-bird, etc., etc. This also appeared, and was +handsomely paid for.</p> + +<p>"In this number," he says, "you will see, that, though we have given an +additional half-sheet, we have only had room for your 'American +Writers.'... I hope you are going on with the series; and that you do +not dwell more than is necessary upon the <i>Poetæ Minores</i>, whom no one +cares about. This is what has sometimes been objected to your articles; +and among other remonstrances I have received, I extract the following +from the letter of a gentleman for whom I have a great respect. He says +your article contains 'misstatements, and some of them of a mischievous +tendency; but what mostly concerns you to know is the odium which is +likely to be thrown on your Magazine, in America at least, by the manner +in which (from malice or blundering) some meritorious individuals are +dealt with, <i>who have every claim to the shelter of private life</i>.'"</p> + +<p>As the meddling gentleman from whose letter the passage was taken did +not particularize, all I could do in reply, and that I lost no time in +doing, was to give him the lie direct, and offer my name to the +publisher. I called for specifications and proof, which never came; and +have an idea that the writer was an artist—a great coxcomb—of whom I +had spoken too well, on paper, though not well enough to satisfy his +inordinate vanity.</p> + +<p>"I make no apology to you," continues "Old Christopher," "for giving you +this extract from my friend's letter. He is, I trust, writing under some +strong feeling of something or other, which has concerned some one whom +he knows; but I am sure he is perfectly sincere in what he says. I hope, +therefore, you will be particularly on your guard against saying +anything which any one would be entitled on good grounds to say was +unfair or ungentlemanly. I regret that, in the hurry of the sheet going +to press, what is said of Hall (John E. Hall of Philadelphia) was not +modified. '<i>Blackguard</i>' is a shocking appellation; and had my friend +seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_668" id="Page_668">[Pg 668]</a></span> this number, I should not have wondered at his remarks. You will, +I am sure, excuse me," etc., etc.</p> + +<p>"All very just and proper," said I to myself; but coming from a man who +not long before had said in "Maga," or allowed somebody to say for him, +with a chuckle of triumph never to be forgotten, that Canning had given +the lie to Brougham on the floor of Parliament, I must acknowledge that +I felt rather astonished at his sensitiveness.</p> + +<p>On the 19th of February, 1825,—by which time I had completed the series +of "American Writers," pursuing my first plan without deviating from it +a hair's breadth, and introducing an American department into three or +four monthlies,—never, in fact, writing a word upon any other subject +than our literature, authors, manners, politics, and painters, except in +two instances, that I now remember,—he wrote as follows.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—You have finished your series in capital style. The whole +is spirited and most original. Many may differ from you on some points, +but, beauties or blemishes, no one will pretend to say that they are not +your own. And may I add, that I hardly know any work except 'Maga' where +you could have felt yourself so much at your ease in most fearlessly +saying what you thought right of men and things." All very true; and it +was for that reason that I launched forth in "Blackwood," hit or miss, +neck or nothing, determined to make a spoon or spoil a horn. And then he +adds,—"Washington Irving once told me that he considered my 'Maga' as a +daringly original work. It was too much for his delicate nerves."</p> + +<p>Undoubtedly; and it was for that reason that the papers I wrote in a +different style for the "European Magazine," New Series,—out of which +grew the famous controversy with Mathews for his admirable +misrepresentations of Yankee character,—were attributed for a long +while to Washington Irving himself; but he could not have written them, +any more than I could have written the "Sketch-Book" or "Bracebridge +Hall."</p> + +<p>"I hope," continues our friend "Ebony,"—"I hope you are thinking of +something else for me, as you must have much to communicate with regard +to America, men and matters, which we know nothing of in this country, +both as to what has been done and what is now doing. Perhaps it might be +well to give anything of this kind just in separate articles, as one is +sometimes rather fettered in a regular series. However, all this depends +upon the subject-matter and the way in which it happens to strike +yourself.... I enclose you an order on Mr. Cadell for fifteen guineas."</p> + +<p>Thus much to show, that, however absolute and arbitrary "our worthy +friend Christopher" was on ordinary occasions, he was a man of the +kindest feelings, delicate, magnanimous, and liberal.</p> + +<p>In the course of the next following three months "Brother Jonathan" was +finished, read, accepted, and paid for at my own price,—two hundred +guineas,—the same that Murray paid Irving for his "Sketch-Book," with a +contingent proviso for another hundred guineas, which never amounted to +anything.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, however, we were in constant communication by letter, and I +give now the following extracts to show his exceeding carefulness, and +the consequences—the disastrous consequences, I might say—to both of +us. I have already mentioned, that, in the progress of revision, I had +probably written the book, not twice, but twenty times over; and this I +believe to be true. I had grown too fastidious, over-anxious, nervous, +and fidgety. I could not endure the coming together of the same or +similar sounds,—<i>d</i>s and <i>t</i>s, for example, or <i>v</i>s and <i>f</i>s,—and +wrote some pages or paragraphs at least forty or fifty times over to +prevent this, and thereby sacrificed all freedom and naturalness. When +Mr. Blackwood wrote me, therefore, as follows, it only served to confirm +me in my evil habit,—a disease, in fact,—and the result was further +alterations<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_669" id="Page_669">[Pg 669]</a></span> and corrections, so numerous and so troublesome, though +trivial in themselves, that, in going through the press, the printer +himself, Mr. Spottiswood, got alarmed, and charged accordingly.</p> + +<p>On the 14th of April he writes me at length about the book. "I wished +also, before writing you, to be able to give you the opinion of my +friend whose remarks I formerly sent you. In some things I agree with +him, in others I do not; but I think it best you should judge yourself +as to all that he says. I also enclose you a note from another friend, +whose judgment I value more than that of any one I know, almost." Here +follows a string of suggestions, most of which I took advantage of, in +carrying this, my third complete copy of the work, through the press. No +wonder it grew more and more artificial, as it grew more and more +strange and euphonious.</p> + +<p>He continues,—"I have read the manuscript again very carefully," (the +third time,—a manuscript of three volumes!) "and I do think you have +improved the work very much. I cannot again venture to suggest anything +to you, even if I could, (which I am very doubtful of,) because you give +yourself so much labor, and any crude ideas of mine may perhaps be more +injurious than useful. You must yourself feel best what is necessary, +and to your own judgment everything must be left. I have therefore put +up the manuscript with this, as it must be printed under your own eye in +London. All that I would advise you to do is, <i>to go over the manuscript +before sending it to the printer, and correct it as you would do a +proof</i>; for, should any material alterations occur to you, you can +easily make them on the blank pages....</p> + +<p>"I suppose you would wish the work to be printed in post 8vo, like +'Reginald Dalton' and others that I have published. This is certainly +the most elegant form, but it is expensive, and it is perhaps worthy of +consideration whether or not it might be advisable to take the less +expensive form of 12mo, similar to my second edition of 'Adam Blair' (by +Lockhart, the 'Scorpion'). I am, I confess, in considerable doubt both +ways. If, however, you prefer the post 8vo, my doubts will be at an end. +I have written a few lines to my friends the Messrs. Spottiswood, (the +King's printers,) in order that you may at once put the manuscript into +their hands, as soon as you are ready. If you prefer the post 8vo, you +will get from Mr. Cadell a volume of 'Reginald Dalton' or of 'Percy +Mallory'; but if you like the 12mo, you will get a copy of the second +edition of 'Adam Blair,' and give your directions to Messrs. Spottiswood +accordingly....</p> + +<p>"I do not think that the volumes should be less than three hundred and +sixty pages, for thin volumes look so catchpenny-like. At the same time, +it is better to have thin volumes than to keep in or add anything that +interrupts or interferes with the story....</p> + +<p>"I have been quite overloaded with articles this month, and some of them +very long, which cannot for various reasons be delayed. I shall +therefore be obliged to keep both of your articles till next month. I am +vexed at not being able to get in your tale," (the original sketch of +"Rachel Dyer," and the first of a series which I had in contemplation,) +"which is very striking and powerful; but it was too long for this +number, having so many other long articles, and it would have destroyed +it to have divided it. The 'American Books,' too, is very interesting, +though you perhaps hit poor Cooper rather hard, and some of the Cockneys +will be apt to quote it when 'Brother Jonathan' comes into their +paws.... I enclose you ten guineas on account."</p> + +<p>April 26th he writes,—"I am very much pleased with the appearance of +the sheet, and above all with what you have done to it. The work now +starts fair and straightforward, and you will feel your own way much +better and take a much firmer hold of your reader by allowing the +narrative to take its natural course."</p> + +<p>In due time I had my pockets picked of my last shilling, and "Brother +Jonathan"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_670" id="Page_670">[Pg 670]</a></span> appeared just in the nick of time and in the best possible +shape to keep me out of a sponging-house. For a while it created quite a +sensation, and led to many new engagements with different periodicals. +It was well received on the Continent, and reviewed in the leading +journals of France. It would have been republished in this country, had +not the sheets been suppressed, which I sent in advance to Wiley, the +publisher of Cooper's works, till it was too late. Other copies were +lost, I know not how, and I gave up the idea of astonishing the natives +here.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Mr. Blackwood and I had never met. Hindrances had happened, +month after month, when it seemed that we should certainly have a chance +for a grapple; and he had behaved so handsomely to me through all our +negotiations and correspondence, that I wanted to look into his eyes.</p> + +<p>At last he came down upon me when least expected. Mrs. Halloway tapped +at my door to say that a strange gentleman was below, inquiring for Mr. +Carter Holmes; and then she handed me Mr. Blackwood's card. "Show him +up," said I, as a knowing smile drifted athwart her fine old-fashioned +English face,—for she had the secret under lock-and-key, and used to +collect my drafts and take charge of the letters to and from "Carter +Holmes." The girl who went to the door knew nothing of such a gentleman, +and so the landlady took the business into her own hands.</p> + +<p>We met after a most agreeable fashion, and I was greatly pleased with my +visitor, though disappointed in his personal appearance. I found him a +short, "stubbed" man, of about five feet six, I should say, with a +plain, straightforward business air,—like that of a substantial +tradesman,—and a look of uncommon though quiet shrewdness. You could +see at a glance that he was a man to be trusted,—frank and fearless, +without being either boastful or aggressive. After talking over matters +generally, and getting my pay in cash,—guineas for pounds,—without +taking a bill or engaging my name for a discount in the usual course of +trade, he invited me to dine with him at an eating-house in the Strand, +saying that he had asked "Ensign O'Doherty" (Dr. Maginn) to meet me; the +man who wrote Hebrew and Greek and Latin poetry, and had begun for +"Blackwood" not long before with rendering the ballad of "Chevy Chase" +into Latin verse. I could see, that, although Mr. Blackwood had the +highest opinion of the Doctor's genius and scholarship, he was a little +shy of him, and I dare say saw through and through him, as I think I +did.</p> + +<p>The dinner was a plain, substantial affair, without wine or +delicacies,—or even whiskey,—which may have been out of deference to +me; for when asked what I would "take?" I answered, "Nothing beyond a +glass of ale or porter." It may be that our friend the Doctor was a +little disappointed, or that "Ebony," knowing his weakness upon that +point, was unwilling to show him up altogether, on whiskey-punch, or old +Port, before a stranger; for, instead of talking freely and pleasantly, +and keeping up appearances, the Doctor grew shy and reserved, and +answered the simplest questions with an air of embarrassment, as if he +were afraid of being entrapped. In short, he disappointed me. There was +nothing in his language, look, or manner to justify his reputation as +"Ensign O'Doherty"; nor was there anything in the little that he said or +did to indicate the lamentable tendency of his gifted nature, which +ended within a few months, or a year or two at most, in his utter +degradation and ruin. He had the air and manners of a gentleman, though +not of one who had seen much of the world; with a mild, pleasant +expression of countenance, and a dash of seriousness. He seemed to be +about five-and-twenty, according to my present recollection, of middling +stature, and of a decidedly intellectual type; but he said nothing to be +remembered while we were together; and I have since had an intimation +that he was never himself when sober, and that Mr. Blackwood had just +taken him out of a sponging-house to meet me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_671" id="Page_671">[Pg 671]</a></span> Otherwise, our dinner +passed off in a very agreeable, unpretending fashion, and we separated, +never to meet again,—with a settled conviction on my part, however, +that I understood the characters of both as well as if we had been +dining together for a twelvemonth.</p> + +<p>Soon after this, Mr. Millar, the first publisher of the "Sketch-Book," +engaged me to write for the "European Magazine," New Series, without +allowing me to know that the "John Bull" newspaper and Theodore Hook +were at the bottom of the affair. I wrote for it month after month, upon +American matters, until I discovered the truth, and had just got through +a sharp controversy with Mathews, when I found it necessary to knock +off: the "John Bull" constantly abusing America, and Theodore Hook +losing no opportunity of saying the most offensive and brutal things of +us,—as, for example, that Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Adams both died drunk +on the 4th of July.</p> + +<p>I had also contributed a series of papers to the "London Magazine," +under the title of "Yankee Notions," and was showing up John Dunn Hunter +as he deserved, in which I was followed soon after by Mr. Sparks in the +"North American Review," about the time that the "Edinburgh Review" +adopted in the lump my theory of "Men and Women," already referred to, +saying in September, 1826, substantially what I had said in October, +1824. "We think it probable," says Mr. Jeffrey, "that some men have +originally a greater excitability or general vivacity of mind than +others, and that is the chief difference. But considering how variously +they may be developed or directed in after-life, it seems to us of no +sort of importance whether we call it a <i>temperament</i>, and say that it +is shown by the color of the hair and the eyes, or maintain that it is a +balance of active powers and propensities, the organs of which are in +the skull."</p> + +<p>I had also written for the "Westminster," and, in short, was furnishing +about all of the monthlies and two of the quarterlies with American +<i>pabulum</i>; and yet the public were not satisfied. It seemed as if +"increase of appetite did grow with what it fed on." This, of course, +must have been very gratifying to "Old Christopher," though he did not +like the idea of anybody's knowing who wrote for the "Maga," and letting +the "delicious secret out." He wanted all his contributors to himself, +either in fact or in appearance; and when he found, from something I +said in the "London," or somewhere else, that I was known as the writer +of the "Blackwood Papers," he took me to task in a way that displeased +me. So we quarrelled,—or rather I quarrelled,—for he did not. He kept +his temper, and I lost mine,—for which, by the way, I ought to be +thankful; and the affair ended by my withdrawing the first of a series +of "North American Stories," which I was preparing for him, and +returning the fifteen guineas he had paid me for it. It was already in +type, and was the framework or skeleton of "Rachel Dyer."</p> + +<p>On the whole, I must acknowledge that I was chiefly to blame, though not +altogether. I never wrote another line for him, and we had no further +correspondence.</p> + +<p>About the same time, another misunderstanding arose between him and +"O'Doherty," who entered upon a rival enterprise, and became editor of a +new monthly, the title of which I do not now remember. It was of the +"Blackwood" type, though somewhat exaggerated, being ferocious where +"Blackwood" was only sarcastic, and utterly regardless of truth, where +"Blackwood" was rather cautious and circumspect in all that required +proof. In the very first number there appeared what was claimed to be an +extract from that "Life of Byron" which he had given to Moore, and which +had been suppressed, if not bought up. It was entitled "My Wedding +Night," and went into particulars so much in the style of Byron, that I, +for one, have always believed it faithful, and neither an imitation nor +a counterfeit. I have since been assured that Lady Caroline Lamb, and +two or three more at least "of that ilk," had the reading of these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_672" id="Page_672">[Pg 672]</a></span> +memoirs, and of course portions of the whole might have been copied. But +however that may be, the publication by Dr. Maginn of the chapter +mentioned was either such a piece of heartless treachery or such an +impudent fabrication as no decent person would venture to encourage. +Though other chapters were promised, not another line appeared; the +magazine blew up, the Doctor was <i>tabooed</i>, and soon after died a +miserable death.</p> + +<p>But enough. That William Blackwood was an extraordinary man is evident +enough from the astonishing success of his Magazine. Whatever may have +been its history, its faults, or its follies, it has maintained itself +now in the public favor of the world itself for nearly fifty years, and +most of the time at a prodigious elevation, in unapproachable solitude. +Burning and acrimonious, unrelenting, and at times deadly in its hatred, +full of desperate partisanship, and of judicial blindness toward all who +belonged to the other side in politics, it was always full of +earnestness and originality and tumultuous life, and often-times not +only generous, but magnanimous and forgiving.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CHIMNEY-CORNER" id="THE_CHIMNEY-CORNER"></a>THE CHIMNEY-CORNER.</h2> + + +<h3>XI.</h3> + +<h4>THE WOMAN QUESTION: OR, WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH HER?</h4> + +<p>"What do you think of this Woman's Rights question?" said Bob Stephens. +"From some of your remarks, I apprehend that you think there is +something in it. I may be wrong, but I must confess that I have looked +with disgust on the whole movement. No man reverences women as I do; but +I reverence them <i>as</i> women. I reverence them for those very things in +which their sex differs from ours; but when they come upon our ground, +and begin to work and fight after our manner and with our weapons, I +regard them as fearful anomalies, neither men nor women. These Women's +Rights Conventions appear to me to have ventilated crudities, +absurdities, and blasphemies. To hear them talk about men, one would +suppose that the two sexes were natural born enemies, and wonders +whether they ever had fathers and brothers. One would think, upon their +showing, that all men were a set of ruffians, in league against +women,—they seeming, at the same time, to forget how on their very +platforms the most constant and gallant defenders of their rights are +men. Wendell Phillips and Wentworth Higginson have put at the service of +the cause masculine training and manly vehemence, and complacently +accepted the wholesale abuse of their own sex at the hands of their +warrior sisters. One would think, were all they say of female powers +true, that our Joan-of-Arcs ought to have disdained to fight under male +captains."</p> + +<p>"I think," said my wife, "that, in all this talk about the rights of +men, and the rights of women, and the rights of children, the world +seems to be forgetting what is quite as important, the <i>duties</i> of men +and women and children. We all hear of our <i>rights</i> till we forget our +<i>duties</i>; and even theology is beginning to concern itself more with +what man has a right to expect of his Creator than what the Creator has +a right to expect of man."</p> + +<p>"You say the truth," said I; "there is danger of just this overaction: +and yet rights must be discussed; because, in order to understand the +duties, we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_673" id="Page_673">[Pg 673]</a></span> owe to any class, we must understand their rights. To know +our duties to men, women, and children, we must know what the rights of +men, women, and children justly are. As to the 'Woman's Rights +movement,' it is not peculiar to America, it is part of a great wave in +the incoming tide of modern civilization; the swell is felt no less in +Europe, but it combs over and breaks on our American shore, because our +great wide beach affords the best play for its waters: and as the ocean +waves bring with them kelp, sea-weed, mud, sand, gravel, and even +putrefying debris, which lie unsightly on the shore, and yet, on the +whole, are healthful and refreshing,—so the Woman's Rights movement, +with its conventions, its speech-makings, its crudities and +eccentricities, is nevertheless a part of a healthful and necessary +movement of the human race towards progress. This question of Woman and +her Sphere is now, perhaps, the greatest of the age. We have put Slavery +under foot, and with the downfall of Slavery the only obstacle to the +success of our great democratic experiment is overthrown, and there +seems no limit to the splendid possibilities which it may open before +the human race.</p> + +<p>"In the reconstruction that is now coming there lies more than the +reconstruction of States and the arrangement of the machinery of +Government. We need to know and feel, all of us, that, from the moment +of the death of Slavery, we parted finally from the <i>régime</i> and control +of all the old ideas formed under old oppressive systems of society, and +came upon a new plane of life.</p> + +<p>"In this new life we must never forget that we are a peculiar people, +that we have to walk in paths unknown to the Old World, paths where its +wisdom cannot guide us, where its precedents can be of little use to us, +and its criticisms, in most cases, must be wholly irrelevant. The +history of our war has shown us of how little service to us in any +important crisis the opinions and advice of the Old World can be. We +have been hurt at what seemed to us the want of sympathy, the direct +antagonism, of England. We might have been less hurt, if we had properly +understood that Providence had placed us in a position so far ahead of +her ideas or power of comprehension that just judgment or sympathy was +not to be expected from her.</p> + +<p>"As we went through our great war with no help but that of God, obliged +to disregard the misconceptions and impertinences which the foreign +press rained down upon us, so, if we are wise, we shall continue to do. +Our object must now be to make the principles on which our government is +founded permeate consistently the mass of society, and to purge out the +leaven of aristocratic and Old World ideas. So long as there is an +illogical working in our actual life, so long as there is any class +denied equal rights with other classes, so long will there be agitation +and trouble."</p> + +<p>"Then," said my wife, "you believe that women ought to vote?"</p> + +<p>"If the principle on which we founded our government is true, that +taxation must not exist without representation, and if women hold +property and are taxed, it follows that women should be represented in +the State by their votes, or there is an illogical working of our +government."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear, don't you think that this will have a bad effect on the +female character?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Bob, "it will make women caucus-holders, political +candidates."</p> + +<p>"It may make this of some women, just as of some men," said I. "But all +men do not take any great interest in politics; it is very difficult to +get some of the best of them to do their duty in voting; and the same +will be found true among women."</p> + +<p>"But, after all," said Bob, "what do you gain? What will a woman's vote +be but a duplicate of that of her husband or father, or whatever man +happens to be her adviser?"</p> + +<p>"That may be true on a variety of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_674" id="Page_674">[Pg 674]</a></span> questions; but there are subjects on +which the vote of women would, I think, be essentially different from +that of men. On the subjects of temperance, public morals, and +education, I have no doubt that the introduction of the female vote into +legislation, in States, counties, and cities, would produce results very +different from that of men alone. There are thousands of women who would +close grogshops, and stop the traffic in spirits, if they had the +legislative power; and it would be well for society, if they had. In +fact, I think that a State can no more afford to dispense with the vote +of women in its affairs than a family. Imagine a family where the female +has no voice in the housekeeping! A State is but a larger family, and +there are many of its concerns which equally with those of a private +household would be bettered by female supervision."</p> + +<p>"But fancy women going to those horrible voting-places! It is more than +I can do myself," said Bob.</p> + +<p>"But you forget," said I, "that they are horrible and disgusting +principally because women never go to them. All places where women are +excluded tend downward to barbarism; but the moment she is introduced, +there come in with her courtesy, cleanliness, sobriety, and order. When +a man can walk up to the ballot-box with his wife or his sister on his +arm, voting-places will be far more agreeable than now; and the polls +will not be such bear-gardens that refined men will be constantly +tempted to omit their political duties there.</p> + +<p>"If for nothing else, I would have women vote, that the business of +voting may not be so disagreeable and intolerable to men of refinement +as it now is; and I sincerely believe that the cause of good morals, +good order, cleanliness, and public health would be a gainer, not merely +by the added feminine vote, but by the added vote of a great many +excellent, but too fastidious men, who are now kept from the polls by +the disagreeables they meet there.</p> + +<p>"Do you suppose, that, if women had equal representation with men in the +municipal laws of New York, its reputation for filth during the last +year would have gone so far beyond that of Cologne, or any other city +renowned for bad smells? I trow not. I believe a <i>lady-mayoress</i> would +have brought in a dispensation of brooms and whitewash, and made a +terrible searching into dark holes and vile corners, before now. +<i>Female</i> New York, I have faith to believe, has yet left in her enough +of the primary instincts of womanhood to give us a clean, healthy city, +if female votes had any power to do it."</p> + +<p>"But," said Bob, "you forget that voting would bring together all the +women of the lower classes."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but, thanks to the instincts of their sex, they would come in +their Sunday clothes: for where is the woman that hasn't her finery, and +will not embrace every chance to show it? Biddy's parasol, and hat with +pink ribbons, would necessitate a clean shirt in Pat as much as on +Sunday. Voting would become a <i>fête</i>, and we should have a population at +the polls as well dressed as at church. Such is my belief."</p> + +<p>"I do not see," said Bob, "but you go to the full extent with our modern +female reformers."</p> + +<p>"There are certain neglected truths, which have been held up by these +reformers, that are gradually being accepted and infused into the life +of modern society; and their recognition will help to solidify and +purify democratic institutions. They are,—</p> + +<p>"1. The right of every woman to hold independent property.</p> + +<p>"2. The right of every woman to receive equal pay with man for work +which she does equally well.</p> + +<p>"3. The right of any woman to do any work for which, by her natural +organization and talent, she is peculiarly adapted.</p> + +<p>"Under the first head, our energetic sisters have already, by the help +of their gallant male adjutants, reformed the laws of several of our +States, so that a married woman is no longer left the unprotected legal +slave of any unprincipled, drunken spendthrift who may be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_675" id="Page_675">[Pg 675]</a></span> her +husband,—but, in case of the imbecility or improvidence of the natural +head of the family, the wife, if she have the ability, can conduct +business, make contracts, earn and retain money for the good of the +household; and I am sure no one can say that immense injustice and +cruelty are not thereby prevented.</p> + +<p>"It is quite easy for women who have the good fortune to have just and +magnanimous husbands to say that they feel no interest in such reforms, +and that they would willingly trust their property to the man to whom +they give themselves; but they should remember that laws are not made +for the restraint of the generous and just, but of the dishonest and +base. The law which enables a married woman to hold her own property +does not forbid her to give it to the man of her heart, if she so +pleases; and it does protect many women who otherwise would be reduced +to the extremest misery. I once knew an energetic milliner who had her +shop attached four times, and a flourishing business broken up in four +different cities, because she was tracked from city to city by a +worthless spendthrift, who only waited till she had amassed a little +property in a new place to swoop down upon and carry it off. It is to be +hoped that the time is not distant when every State will give to woman a +fair chance to the ownership and use of her own earnings and her own +property."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Bob, "the most interesting question still remains: what are +to be the employments of woman? What ways are there for her to use her +talents, to earn her livelihood and support those who are dear to her, +when Providence throws that necessity upon her? This is becoming more +than ever one of the pressing questions of our age. The war has deprived +so many thousands of women of their natural protectors, that everything +must be thought of that may possibly open a way for their self-support."</p> + +<p>"Well, let us look over the field," said my wife. "What is there for +woman?"</p> + +<p>"In the first place," said I, "come the professions requiring natural +genius,—authorship, painting, sculpture, with the subordinate arts of +photographing, coloring, and finishing; but when all is told, these +furnish employment to a very limited number,—almost as nothing to the +whole. Then there is teaching, which is profitable in its higher +branches, and perhaps the very pleasantest of all the callings open to +woman; but teaching is at present an overcrowded profession, the +applicants everywhere outnumbering the places. Architecture and +landscape-gardening are arts every way suited to the genius of woman, +and there are enough who have the requisite mechanical skill and +mathematical education; and though never yet thought of for the sex, +that I know of, I do not despair of seeing those who shall find in this +field a profession at once useful and elegant. When women plan +dwelling-houses, the vast body of tenements to be let in our cities will +wear a more domestic and comfortable air, and will be built more with +reference to the real wants of their inmates."</p> + +<p>"I have thought," said Bob, "that <i>agencies</i> of various sorts, as +canvassing the country for the sale of books, maps, and engravings, +might properly employ a great many women. There is a large class whose +health suffers from confinement and sedentary occupations, who might, I +think, be both usefully and agreeably employed in business of this sort, +and be recruiting their health at the same time."</p> + +<p>"Then," said my wife, "there is the medical profession."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said I. "The world is greatly obliged to Miss Blackwell and other +noble pioneers who faced and overcame the obstacles to the attainment of +a thorough medical education by females. Thanks to them, a new and +lucrative profession is now open to educated women in relieving the +distresses of their own sex; and we may hope that in time, through their +intervention, the care of the sick may also become the vocation of +cultivated, refined, intelligent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_676" id="Page_676">[Pg 676]</a></span> women instead of being left, as +heretofore, to the ignorant and vulgar? The experience of our late war +has shown us what women of a high class morally and intellectually can +do in this capacity. Why should not this experience inaugurate a new and +sacred calling for refined and educated women? Why should not <span class="smcap">NURSING</span> +become a vocation equal in dignity and in general esteem to the medical +profession, of which it is the right hand? Why should our dearest hopes, +in the hour of their greatest peril, be committed into the hands of +Sairey Gamps, when the world has seen Florence Nightingales?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," said my wife; "I can testify, from my own experience, +that the sufferings and dangers of the sickbed, for the want of +intelligent, educated nursing, have been dreadful. A prejudiced, +pig-headed, snuff-taking old woman, narrow-minded and vulgar, and more +confident in her own way than seven men that can render a reason, enters +your house at just the hour and moment when all your dearest earthly +hopes are brought to a crisis. She becomes absolute dictator over your +delicate, helpless wife and your frail babe,—the absolute dictator of +all in the house. If it be her sovereign will and pleasure to enact all +sorts of physiological absurdities in the premises, who shall say her +nay? "She knows her business, she hopes!" And if it be her edict, as it +was of one of her class whom I knew, that each of her babies shall eat +four baked beans the day it is four days old, eat them it must; and if +the baby die in convulsions four days after, it is set down as the +mysterious will of an overruling Providence.</p> + +<p>"I know and have seen women lying upon laced pillows under silken +curtains, who have been bullied and dominated over in the hour of their +greatest helplessness by ignorant and vulgar tyrants, in a way that +would scarce be thought possible in civilized society, and children that +have been injured or done to death by the same means. A celebrated +physician told me of a babe whose eyesight was nearly ruined by its +nurse taking a fancy to wash its eyes with camphor, "to keep it from +catching cold," she said. I knew another infant that was poisoned by the +nurse giving it laudanum in some of those patent nostrums which these +ignorant creatures carry secretly in their pockets, to secure quiet in +their little charges. I knew one delicate woman who never recovered from +the effects of being left at her first confinement in the hands of an +ill-tempered, drinking nurse, and whose feeble infant was neglected and +abused by this woman in a way to cause lasting injury. In the first four +weeks of infancy, the constitution is peculiarly impressible; and +infants of a delicate organization may, if frightened and ill treated, +be the subjects of just such a shock to the nervous system as in mature +age comes from the sudden stroke of a great affliction or terror. A bad +nurse may affect nerves predisposed to weakness in a manner they never +will recover from. I solemnly believe that the constitutions of more +women are broken up by bad nursing in their first confinement than by +any other cause whatever. And yet there are at the same time hundreds +and thousands of women wanting the means of support, whose presence in a +sick-room would be a benediction. I do trust that Miss Blackwell's band +of educated nurses will not be long in coming, and that the number of +such may increase till they effect a complete revolution in this +vocation. A class of cultivated, well-trained, intelligent nurses would +soon elevate the employment of attending on the sick into the noble +calling it ought to be, and secure for it its appropriate rewards."</p> + +<p>"There is another opening for woman," said I,—"in the world of +business. The system of commercial colleges now spreading over our land +is a new and a most important development of our times. There that large +class of young men who have either no time or no inclination for an +extended classical education<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_677" id="Page_677">[Pg 677]</a></span> can learn what will fit them for that +active material life which in our broad country needs so many workers. +But the most pleasing feature of these institutions is, that the +complete course is open to women no less than to men, and women there +may acquire that knowledge of book-keeping and accounts, and of the +forms and principles of business transactions, which will qualify them +for some of the lucrative situations hitherto monopolized by the other +sex. And the expenses of the course of instruction are so arranged as to +come within the scope of very moderate means. A fee of fifty dollars +entitles a woman to the benefit of the whole course, and she has the +privilege of attending at any hours that may suit her own engagements +and convenience."</p> + +<p>"Then, again," said my wife, "there are the departments of millinery and +dress-making and the various branches of needle-work, which afford +employment to thousands of women; there is type-setting, by which many +are beginning to get a living; there are the manufactures of cotton, +woollen, silk, and the numberless useful articles which employ female +hands in their fabrication,—all of them opening avenues by which, with +more or less success, a subsistence can be gained."</p> + +<p>"Well, really," said Bob, "it would appear, after all, that there are +abundance of openings for women. What is the cause of the outcry and +distress? How is it that we hear of women starving, driven to vice and +crime by want, when so many doors of useful and profitable employment +stand open to them?"</p> + +<p>"The question would easily be solved," said my wife, "if you could once +see the kind and class of women who thus suffer and starve. There may be +exceptions, but too large a portion of them are girls and women who <i>can +or will do no earthly thing well</i>,—and what is worse, are not willing +to take the pains to be taught to do anything well. I will describe to +you one girl, and you will find in every intelligence-office a hundred +of her kind to five thoroughly trained ones.</p> + +<p>"Imprimis: she is rather delicate and genteel-looking, and you may know +from the arrangement of her hair just what the last mode is of disposing +of rats or waterfalls. She has a lace bonnet with roses, a silk +mantilla, a silk dress trimmed with velvet, a white skirt with sixteen +tucks and an embroidered edge, a pair of cloth gaiters, underneath which +are a pair of stockings without feet, the only pair in her possession. +She has no under-linen, and sleeps at night in the working-clothes she +wears in the day. She never seems to have in her outfit either comb, +brush, or tooth-brush of her own,—neither needles, thread, scissors, +nor pins: her money, when she has any, being spent on more important +articles, such as the lace bonnet or silk mantilla, or the rats and +waterfalls that glorify her head. When she wishes to sew, she borrows +what is needful of a convenient next neighbor; and if she gets a place +in a family as second girl, she expects to subsist in these respects by +borrowing of the better-appointed servants, or helping herself from the +family stores.</p> + +<p>"She expects, of course, the very highest wages, if she condescends to +live out, and by help of a trim outside appearance and the many +vacancies that are continually occurring in households she gets places, +where her object is to do just as little of any duty assigned to her as +possible, to hurry through her performances, put on her fine clothes, +and go a-gadding. She is on free and easy terms with all the men she +meets, and ready at jests and repartee, sometimes far from seemly. Her +time of service in any one place lasts indifferently from a fortnight to +two or three months, when she takes her wages, buys her a new parasol in +the latest style, and goes back to the intelligence-office. In the +different families where she has lived she has been told a hundred times +the proprieties of household life, how to make beds, arrange rooms, wash +china, glass, and silver, and set<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_678" id="Page_678">[Pg 678]</a></span> tables; but her habitual rule is to +try in each place how small and how poor services will be accepted. When +she finds less will not do, she gives more. When the mistress follows +her constantly and shows an energetic determination to be well served, +she shows that she <i>can</i> serve well; but such attention relaxes, she +slides back again. She is as destructive to a house as a fire; the very +spirit of wastefulnes is in her; she cracks the china, dents the silver, +stops the water-pipes with rubbish; and after she is gone, there is +generally a sum equal to half her wages to be expended in repairing the +effects of her carelessness. And yet there is one thing to be said for +her: she is quite as careful of her employer's things as of her own. The +full amount of her mischief often does not appear at once, as she is +glib of tongue, adroit in apologies, and lies with as much alertness and +as little thought of conscience as a blackbird chatters. It is difficult +for people who have been trained from childhood in the school of +verities,—who have been lectured for even the shadow of a +prevarication, and shut up in disgrace for a lie, till truth becomes a +habit of their souls,—it is very difficult for people so educated to +understand how to get on with those who never speak the truth except by +mere accident, who assert any and every thing that comes into the heads +with all the assurance and all the energy of perfect verity.</p> + +<p>"What becomes of this girl? She finds means, by begging, borrowing, +living out, to keep herself extremely trim and airy for a certain length +of time, till the rats and waterfalls, the lace hat and parasol, and the +glib tongue, have done their work in making a fool of some honest young +mechanic who earns three dollars a day. She marries him with no higher +object than to have somebody to earn money for her to spend. And what +comes of such marriages?</p> + +<p>"That is <i>one</i> ending of her career; the other is on the street, in +haunts of vice, in prison, in drunkenness, and death.</p> + +<p>"Whence come these girls? They are as numerous as yellow butterflies in +autumn; they flutter up to cities from the country; they grow up from +mothers who ran the same sort of career before them; and the reason why +in the end they fall out of all reputable the moment employment and +starve on poor wages is, that they become physically, mentally, and +morally incapable of rendering any service which society will think +worth paying for."</p> + +<p>"I remember," said I, "that the head of the most celebrated dress-making +establishment in New York, in reply to the appeals of the needle-women +of the city for sympathy and wages, came out with published statements +to this effect: that the difficulty lay not in unwillingness of +employers to pay what work was worth, but in finding any work worth +paying for; that she had many applicants, but among them few who could +be of real use to her; that she, in common with everybody in this +country who has any kind of serious responsibilities to carry, was +continually embarrassed for want of skilled work-people, who could take +and go on with the labor of her various departments without her constant +supervision; that out of a hundred girls, there would not be more than +five to whom she could give a dress to be made and dismiss it from her +mind as something certain to be properly done.</p> + +<p>"Let people individually look around their own little sphere and ask +themselves if they know any woman really excelling in any <i>valuable</i> +calling or accomplishment who is suffering for want of work. All of us +know seamstresses, dress-makers, nurses, and laundresses, who have made +themselves such a reputation, and are so beset and overcrowded with +work, that the whole neighborhood is constantly on its knees to them +with uplifted hands. The fine seamstress, who can cut and make +trousseaus and layettes in elegant perfection, is always engaged six +months in advance; the pet dress-maker of a neighborhood must be engaged +in May for September, and in September for May;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_679" id="Page_679">[Pg 679]</a></span> a laundress who sends +your clothes home in nice order always has all the work that she can do. +Good work in any department is the rarest possible thing in our American +life; and it is a fact that the great majority of workers, both in the +family and out, do only tolerably well,—not so badly that it actually +cannot be borne, yet not so well as to be a source of real, thorough +satisfaction. The exceptional worker in every neighborhood, who does +things really <i>well</i>, can always set her own price, and is always having +more offering than she can possibly do.</p> + +<p>"The trouble, then, in finding employment for women lies deeper than the +purses or consciences of the employers; it lies in the want of education +in women: the want of <i>education</i>, I say,—meaning by education that +which fits a woman for practical and profitable employment in life, and +not mere common school learning."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said my wife; "for it is a fact that the most troublesome and +hopeless persons to provide for are often those who have a good medium +education, but no feminine habits, no industry, no practical +calculation, no muscular strength, and no knowledge of any one of +woman's peculiar duties. In the earlier days of New England, women, as a +class, had far fewer opportunities for acquiring learning, yet were far +better educated, physically and morally, than now. The high school did +not exist; at the common school they learned reading, writing, and +arithmetic, and practised spelling; while at home they did the work of +the household. They were cheerful, bright, active, ever on the alert, +able to do anything, from the harnessing and driving of a horse to the +finest embroidery. The daughters of New England in those days looked the +world in the face without a fear. They shunned no labor; they were +afraid of none; and they could always find their way to a living."</p> + +<p>"But although less instructed in school learning," said I, "they showed +no deficiency in intellectual acumen. I see no such women, nowadays, as +some I remember of that olden time,—women whose strong minds and ever +active industry carried on reading and study side by side with household +toils.</p> + +<p>"I remember a young lady friend of mine, attending a celebrated +boarding-school, boarded in the family of a woman who had never been to +school longer than was necessary to learn to read and write, yet who was +a perfect cyclopedia of general information. The young scholar used to +take her Chemistry and Natural Philosophy into the kitchen, where her +friend was busy with her household work, and read her lessons to her, +that she might have the benefit of her explanations; and so, while the +good lady scoured her andirons or kneaded her bread, she lectured to her +<i>protégée</i> on mysteries of science far beyond the limits of the +text-book. Many of the graduates of our modern high schools would find +it hard to shine in conversation on the subjects they had studied, in +the searching presence of some of these vigorous matrons of the olden +time, whose only school had been the leisure hours gained by energy and +method from their family cares."</p> + +<p>"And in those days," said my wife, "there lived in our families a class +of American domestics, women of good sense, and good powers of +reflection, who applied this sense and power of reflection to household +matters. In the early part of my married life, I myself had American +'help'; and they were not only excellent servants, but trusty and +invaluable friends. But now, all this class of applicants for domestic +service have disappeared, I scarce know why or how. All I know is, there +is no more a Betsey or a Lois, such as used to take domestic cares off +my shoulders so completely."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens! where are they?" cried Bob. "Where do they hide? I would +search through the world after such a prodigy!"</p> + +<p>"The fact is," said I, "there has been a slow and gradual reaction +against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_680" id="Page_680">[Pg 680]</a></span> household labor in America. Mothers began to feel that it was a +sort of <i>curse</i>, to be spared, if possible, to their daughters; women +began to feel that they were fortunate in proportion as they were able +to be entirely clear of family responsibilities. Then Irish labor began +to come in, simultaneously with a great advance in female education.</p> + +<p>"For a long while nothing was talked of, written of, thought of, in +teachers' meetings, conventions, and assemblies, but the neglected state +of female education; and the whole circle of the arts and sciences was +suddenly introduced into our free-school system, from which needle-work +as gradually and quietly was suffered to drop out. The girl who attended +the primary and high school had so much study imposed on her that she +had no time for sewing or housework; and the delighted mother was only +too happy to darn her stockings and do the housework alone, that her +daughter might rise to a higher plane than she herself had attained to. +The daughter, thus educated, had, on coming to womanhood, no solidity of +muscle, no manual dexterity, no practice or experience in domestic life; +and if she were to seek a livelihood, there remained only teaching, or +some feminine trade, or the factory."</p> + +<p>"These factories," said my wife, "have been the ruin of hundreds and +hundreds of our once healthy farmers' daughters and others from the +country. They go there young and unprotected; they live there in great +boarding-houses, and associate with a promiscuous crowd, without even +such restraints of maternal supervision as they would have in great +boarding-schools; their bodies are enfeebled by labor often necessarily +carried on in a foul and heated atmosphere; and at the hours when off +duty, they are exposed to all the dangers of unwatched intimacy with the +other sex.</p> + +<p>"Moreover, the factory-girl learns and practises but one thing,—some +one mechanical movement, which gives no scope for invention, ingenuity, +or any other of the powers called into play by domestic labor; so that +she is in reality unfitted in every way for family duties.</p> + +<p>"Many times it has been my lot to try, in my family service, girls who +have left factories; and I have found them wholly useless for any of the +things which a woman ought to be good for. They knew nothing of a house, +or what ought to be done in it; they had imbibed a thorough contempt of +household labor, and looked upon it but as a <i>dernier resort</i>; and it +was only the very lightest of its tasks that they could even begin to +think of. I remember I tried to persuade one of these girls, the pretty +daughter of a fisherman, to take some lessons in washing and ironing. +She was at that time engaged to be married to a young mechanic, who +earned something like two or three dollars a day.</p> + +<p>"'My child,' said I, 'you will need to understand all kinds of +housework, if you are going to be married.'</p> + +<p>"She tossed her little head,—</p> + +<p>"'Indeed, she wasn't going to trouble herself about that.'</p> + +<p>"'But who will get up your husband's shirts?'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, he must put them out. I'm not going to be married to make a slave +of myself!'</p> + +<p>"Another young factory-girl, who came for table and parlor work, was so +full of airs and fine notions, that it seemed as difficult to treat with +her as with a princess. She could not sweep, because it blistered her +hands, which, in fact, were long and delicate; she could not think of +putting them into hot dish-water, and for that reason preferred washing +the dishes in cold water; she required a full hour in the morning to +make her toilet; she was laced so tightly that she could not stoop +without vertigo, and her hoops were of dimensions which seemed to render +it impossible for her to wait upon table; she was quite exhausted with +the effort of ironing the table-napkins and chamber-towels;—yet she +could not think of 'living out' under two dollars a week.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_681" id="Page_681">[Pg 681]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Both these girls had had a good free-school education, and could read +any amount of novels, write a tolerable letter, but had not learned +anything with sufficient accuracy to fit them for teachers. They were +pretty, and their destiny was to marry and lie a dead weight on the +hands of some honest man, and to increase, in their children, the number +of incapables."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Bob, "what would you have? What is to be done?"</p> + +<p>"In the first place," said I, "I would have it felt by those who are +seeking to elevate woman, that the work is to be done, not so much by +creating for her new spheres of action as by elevating her conceptions +of that domestic vocation to which God and Nature have assigned her. It +is all very well to open to her avenues of profit and advancement in the +great outer world; but, after all, <i>to make and keep a home</i> is, and +ever must be, a woman's first glory, her highest aim. No work of art can +compare with a perfect home; the training and guiding of a family must +be recognized as the highest work a woman can perform; and female +education ought to be conducted with special reference to this.</p> + +<p>"Men are <i>trained</i> to be lawyers, to be physicians, to be mechanics, by +long and self-denying study and practice. A man cannot even make shoes +merely by going to the high school and learning reading, writing, and +mathematics; he cannot be a book-keeper, or a printer, simply from +general education.</p> + +<p>"Now women have a sphere and profession of their own,—a profession for +which they are fitted by physical organization, by their own instincts, +and to which they are directed by the pointing and manifest finger of +God,—and that sphere is <i>family life</i>.</p> + +<p>"Duties to the State and to public life they may have; but the public +duties of women must bear to their family ones the same relation that +the family duties of men bear to their public ones.</p> + +<p>"The defect in the late efforts to push on female education is, that it +has been for her merely general, and that it has left out and excluded +all that is professional; and she undertakes the essential duties of +womanhood, when they do devolve on her, without any adequate +preparation."</p> + +<p>"But is it possible for a girl to learn at school the things which fit +her for family life?" said Bob.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" I replied. "Once it was thought impossible in schools to +teach girls geometry, or algebra, or the higher mathematics; it was +thought impossible to put them through collegiate courses: but it has +been done, and we see it. Women study treatises on political economy in +schools; and why should not the study of domestic economy form a part of +every school course? A young girl will stand up at the blackboard, and +draw and explain the compound blowpipe, and describe all the process of +making oxygen and hydrogen. Why should she not draw and explain a +refrigerator as well as an air-pump? Both are to be explained on +philosophical principles. When a school-girl, in her Chemistry, studies +the reciprocal action of acids and alkalies, what is there to hinder the +teaching her its application to the various processes of cooking where +acids and alkalies are employed? Why should she not be led to see how +effervescence and fermentation can be made to perform their office in +the preparation of light and digestible bread? Why should she not be +taught the chemical substances by which food is often adulterated, and +the tests by which such adulterations are detected? Why should she not +understand the processes of confectionery, and know how to guard against +the deleterious or poisonous elements that are introduced into +children's sugar-plums and candies? Why, when she learns the doctrine of +<i>mordants</i>, the substances by which different colors are set, should she +not learn it with some practical view to future life, so that she may +know how to set the color of a fading calico or restore the color of a +spotted one? Why, in short, when a girl has labored through a profound +chemical<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_682" id="Page_682">[Pg 682]</a></span> work, and listened to courses of chemical lectures, should she +come to domestic life, which presents a constant series of chemical +experiments and changes, and go blindly along as without chart or +compass, unable to tell what will take out a stain or what will brighten +a metal, what are common poisons and what their antidotes, and not +knowing enough of the laws of caloric to understand how to warm a house, +or of the laws of atmosphere to know how to ventilate one? Why should +the preparation of food, that subtile art on which life, health, +cheerfulness, good temper, and good looks so largely depend, forever be +left in the hands of the illiterate and vulgar?</p> + +<p>"A benevolent gentleman has lately left a large fortune for the founding +of a university for women, and the object is stated to be to give women +who have already acquired a general education the means of acquiring a +professional one, to fit themselves for some employment by which they +may gain a livelihood.</p> + +<p>"In this institution the women are to be instructed in book-keeping, +stenography, telegraphing, photographing, drawing, modelling, and +various other arts; but so far as I remember, there is no proposal to +teach domestic economy as at least <i>one</i> of woman's professions.</p> + +<p>"Why should there not be a professor of domestic economy in every large +female school? Why should not this professor give lectures, first on +house-planning and building, illustrated by appropriate apparatus? Why +should not the pupils have presented to their inspection models of +houses planned with reference to economy, to ease of domestic service, +to warmth, to ventilation, and to architectural appearance? Why should +not the professor go on to lecture further on house-fixtures, with +models of the best mangles, washing-machines, clothes-wringers, ranges, +furnaces, and cooking-stoves, together with drawings and apparatus +illustrative of domestic hydraulics, showing the best contrivances for +bathing-rooms and the obvious principles of plumbing, so that the pupils +may have some idea how to work the machinery of a convenient house when +they have it, and to have such conveniences introduced when wanting? If +it is thought worth while to provide at great expense apparatus for +teaching the revolutions of Saturn's moons and the precession of the +equinoxes, why should there not be some also to teach what it may +greatly concern a woman's earthly happiness to know?</p> + +<p>"Why should not the professor lecture on home-chemistry, devoting his +first lecture to bread-making? and why might not a batch of bread be +made and baked and exhibited to the class, together with specimens of +morbid anatomy in the bread line,—the sour cotton bread of the +baker,—the rough, big-holed bread,—the heavy, fossil bread,—the +bitter bread of too much yeast,—and the causes of their defects pointed +out? And so with regard to the various articles of food,—why might not +chemical lectures be given on all of them, one after another?—In short, +it would be easy to trace out a course of lectures on common things to +occupy a whole year, and for which the pupils, whenever they come to +have homes of their own, will thank the lecturer to the last day of +their life.</p> + +<p>"Then there is no impossibility in teaching needle-work, the cutting and +fitting of dresses, in female schools. The thing is done very perfectly +in English schools for the working classes. A girl trained at one of +these schools came into a family I once knew. She brought with her a +sewing-book, in which the process of making various articles was +exhibited in miniature. The several parts of a shirt were first shown, +each perfectly made, and fastened to a leaf of the book by itself, and +then the successive steps of uniting the parts, till finally appeared a +miniature model of the whole. The sewing was done with red thread, so +that every stitch might show and any imperfection be at once remedied. +The same process was pursued with regard to other garments, and a good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_683" id="Page_683">[Pg 683]</a></span> +general idea of cutting and fitting them was thus given to an entire +class of girls.</p> + +<p>"In the same manner the care and nursing of young children and the +tending of the sick might be made the subject of lectures. Every woman +ought to have some general principles to guide her with regard to what +is to be done in case of the various accidents that may befall either +children or grown people, and of their lesser illnesses, and ought to +know how to prepare comforts and nourishment for the sick. Hawthorne's +satirical remarks upon the contrast between the elegant Zenobia's +conversation and the smoky porridge she made for him when he was an +invalid might apply to the volunteer cookery of many charming women."</p> + +<p>"I think," said Bob, "that your Professor of Domestic Economy would find +enough to occupy his pupils."</p> + +<p>"In fact," said I, "were domestic economy properly honored and properly +taught, in the manner described, it would open a sphere of employment to +so many women in the home life, that we should not be obliged to send +our women out to California or the Pacific, to put an end to an anxious +and aimless life.</p> + +<p>"When domestic work is sufficiently honored to be taught as an art and +science in our boarding-schools and high schools, then possibly it may +acquire also dignity in the eyes of our working classes, and young girls +who have to earn their own living may no longer feel degraded in +engaging in domestic service. The place of a domestic in a family may +become as respectable in their eyes as a place in a factory, in a +printing-office, in a dress-making or millinery establishment, or behind +the counter of a shop.</p> + +<p>"In America there is no class which will confess itself the lower class, +and a thing recommended solely for the benefit of any such class finds +no one to receive it.</p> + +<p>"If the intelligent and cultivated look down on household-work with +disdain, if they consider it as degrading, a thing to be shunned by +every possible device, they may depend upon it that the influence of +such contempt of woman's noble duties will flow downward, producing a +like contempt in every class in life.</p> + +<p>"Our sovereign princesses learn the doctrine of equality very quickly, +and are not going to sacrifice themselves to what is not considered <i>de +bon ton</i> by the upper classes; and the girl with the laced hat and +parasol, without underclothes, who does her best to "shirk" her duties +as housemaid, and is looking for marriage as an escape from work, is a +fair copy of her mistress, who married for much the same reason, who +hates housekeeping, and would rather board or do anything else than have +the care of a family;—the one is about as respectable as the other.</p> + +<p>"When housekeeping becomes an enthusiasm, and its study and practice a +fashion, then we shall have in America that class of persons to rely on +for help in household labors who are now going to factories, to +printing-offices, to every kind of toil, forgetful of the best life and +sphere of woman."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_684" id="Page_684">[Pg 684]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_FORGE" id="THE_FORGE"></a>THE FORGE.</h2> + + +<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3> + +<p>It was not long before I was established in my new situation. Mr. Bray +said, roughly,—</p> + +<p>"I s'pose new friends is better than them your father picked out for +you; leastways you must try 'em and see. I don't say as I wouldn't on no +account take you back, if I found you couldn't git along without me. You +mustn't have that look of bein' twenty mile away, when a hoss's leg is +in your hand, and you're ready to shoe him; for I sha'n't be by to bring +you back again."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bray said,—</p> + +<p>"Well, it is rather a long ride for the grand folks 'way down to Lower +Warren, and Amos bein' a family man, of course they wouldn't expect him +to be a-movin' to suit them; and as he's had the trainin' of you, they +think it'll be all right. I hope it will, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>Little Annie looked sadder than usual, but said nothing, until the +morning when I was to commence work at the new forge; then she followed +me to the door with her little straw basket, in which she had packed a +nice lunch, covered with lilac-leaves from the bush by the front door.</p> + +<p>"You said you shouldn't have time to come home to dinner, as you go to +Hillside this afternoon, Sandy," she said, apologetically, as she +slipped it into my hand. "I hope it will be long before you go away +altogether, it would be so lonely without you"; and the tears filled her +blue eyes.</p> + +<p>Why was that gentle, appealing beauty always luring me back to the +village life, whose rustic, homely ways I was learning to despise? I +could not tell; but she, part and parcel of it though she was, bound to +it by parentage and pursuits, had never failed to touch my heart. I +stooped and kissed her, as I so often had done before, and answered, +laughing,—</p> + +<p>"Go away? Never, Annie, until I take you with me."</p> + +<p>She blushed; the old happiness stole back into her eyes at the first +kind word from me, and she returned to her simple, daily tasks; while I, +filled with ambition and pride in my new life, soon dismissed her from +my mind.</p> + +<p>I had meant to ask Annie to help me in arranging my new forge, as she +had helped me with my first picture; and when the necessary purchases +were made and in their places, when the woman living in the other part +of the building I occupied had swept my floor and washed my solitary +window, which was at one end and looked toward the hill, I resolutely +determined to delay the unpacking of a box of pictures and books, of +which the latter were to fill a small shelf above, and the former to +hang around the window, until I could bring Annie up the next day to +assist me. Deciding to read, therefore, until some custom should fall to +me, I knocked a narrow board off the top of the box and slipped out a +single book, when I heard the tramp of horses' feet, and, going to the +door, saw the party from Hillside returning from a horseback ride. Mr. +Lang, mounted on his magnificent horse, hurried forward and rode fairly +within the smithy.</p> + +<p>"Why, Sandy, actually established? I thought it was but right that +Warrior should be your first visitor. See how he paws! He knows you, and +will be getting a shoe off for your benefit."</p> + +<p>I patted my old friend, who arched his neck still more proudly, as +though hardly brooking the familiarity, when Miss Merton, Miss Darry, +and Mr. Leopold rode up.</p> + +<p>"Are you entirely ready for work, Sandy?" asked Miss Darry, after the +first greeting.</p> + +<p>"Ready for work, but not quite in order here," I replied.</p> + +<p>"But if anything is lacking, why have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_685" id="Page_685">[Pg 685]</a></span> a book there? Why not arrange +matters at once?" she continued, with her customary energy.</p> + +<p>"What is that shelf for? and that old box? You may as well confess to +any little adornments at once."</p> + +<p>"I <i>have</i> a few books, and just one or two old pictures there," I +replied, reluctantly; "but I have made up my mind not to arrange them +until to-morrow: little Annie Bray can help me then, and the poor child +has seldom anything to amuse her."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Sandy! Little Annie Bray cannot put the books on that high +shelf without your assistance, and very probably you will have other +employment to-morrow. Then you will make yourself late for Mr. Leopold, +and will begin wrong, which is about equal to going wrong all the way +through. I have half a mind to dismount and help you myself. It will be +a charming combination of forge and studio, won't it, Mr. Leopold?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Leopold smiled, but assented, as though his interest in the matter +was by no means proportioned to hers; and I could but notice that both +Miss Merton and Mr. Lang looked as if quite enough of this sunny spring +morning had been spent in examination of the new forge. So I replied, +hastily,—</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, Miss Darry, if it will give you any satisfaction, I'll finish +my work here at once."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Sandy. And now I think of it, Alice, a Madeira vine can be +trained from the shelf up over the window to make a delightful green +curtain. A man, you know, never understands exactly how to plan these +things."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but I have planned, Miss Darry. This box will occupy the window; +but it is to be filled with water, aquatic plants, insects, and tiny +fish, for Annie's pleasure, when she makes me a visit."</p> + +<p>"You mean to establish a kind of nursery, I see. I hope you won't waste +your time, Sandy," retorted Miss Darry.</p> + +<p>I could not fail to see that her disapproval of my interest in Annie +Bray had not abated; for no plans formed with reference to her seemed to +meet with approbation. And so I was the more pleased when Miss Merton +turned to me, as they were about to ride away, saying,—</p> + +<p>"I forgot to ask you the other evening to bring that sweet little girl +to Hillside some day, or let her come alone. I will find plenty of +amusement for her that shall not interfere with the work which Miss +Darry is so desirous should go on."</p> + +<p>They all laughed merrily, as they rode away; but I felt in no gay mood. +I was provoked that I had yielded so readily to Miss Darry's wishes, and +irritated by her evident dislike to the only person in the world whose +affection I possessed.</p> + +<p>"<i>Why not</i> dismount and help me herself?" I muttered, impatiently, as I +broke open the cover of my box. "Far above me as she is, she has no +right to interfere with my friendship with Annie, if she does not give +me her own in its place."</p> + +<p>However, as the morning wore on, I became interested in my new +arrangements; the decorations of my low attic bedroom were displayed to +greater advantage in the forge, where I should now pass so much more of +my time; and as for Annie, after all, she would enjoy seeing it far +better when completed. Before noon, too, I had opened an account with +one of the most prosperous farmers in the neighborhood, and in hard +manual labor my excitement passed away; and I presented myself at +Hillside at the appointed hour, as grateful to us inmates as ever.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3> + +<p>Perhaps no art differs more widely with individual mind and temperament +than that of teaching. I soon appreciated this under Mr. Leopold's +training. For the first few lessons, I was put to no copying, given no +verbal instruction; he showed me how to mix oil-colors, expecting his to +be prepared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_686" id="Page_686">[Pg 686]</a></span> for him, when, in his eagerness to produce an effect, he +did not care to stop for the purpose himself; and for the rest, advised +me to watch him, which I did narrowly, while he worked sometimes by the +hour without speaking. When I commenced painting, therefore, I felt as +though I was making constant discoveries, and began to think, in the +conceit of my youth and developing power, that I was working without +other guide than my own intuition, until I found a number of serious +errors indicated. Miss Darry's teaching made me feel that I could not do +without her; Mr. Leopold's, that just so far as he carried me, I in turn +could take some one else.</p> + +<p>The summer days wore on. My hands grew rougher and coarser with hard +work, yet just as surely increased their dexterity in holding the brush +with a firm grasp and giving flexible and delicate strokes to finer +work. My lessons and new forge left but little time for the cottage and +Annie Bray now. Moreover, she, too, changed as the months wore on. When +did I ever imagine, with all my growing plans and manhood, that she also +was to have her work and purpose in the world? Yet she had made her +visit to Hillside, had been not only amused and delighted, but +instructed, by all she saw there. I was too deeply engrossed in +self-development to continue my attention to her studies; but Miss +Merton, inspired by Miss Darry's example, or attracted by the modest +sweetness so congenial to her own womanly character, undertook the +unwonted occupation of teaching; and Mr. Lang, greatly to my surprise, +encouraged her in it. Three afternoons in the week Annie went to +Hillside to receive a course of instruction, barren of system and +conducted with supreme disregard of plainer and more useful branches, +yet bringing out in a graceful way all her peculiarly refined tastes. +Annie's hours rarely admitted of my walking home with her; and though +occasionally she stopped at the forge, on her way through the village, +it was only for a moment, and that often a busy one with me. She had +grown taller and paler, sadder in expression, too, I fancied, +notwithstanding the new interest at Hillside. But then she was leaving +childhood behind her; her father had been more rough than ever since I +left him; and with a momentary pity and wonder that she was more shy of +my fond and brotherly ways than formerly, I ascribed it to these +ordinary causes, and kept steadily at my work. It was not for me, the +<i>protégé</i> of so brilliant a woman as Frank Darry, and a rising genius, +to pause in my career for the pale cheeks of the village blacksmith's +daughter.</p> + +<p>My intercourse with Mr. Leopold did not become more familiar with time. +The idea of his not looking like a genuine artist, the disappointment +and failure to comprehend his pictures, changed into awe of the inner +force of the man, as I beheld his patient, earnest labor. To my shallow +comprehension of the worth of genius, his persistent effort, after the +attainment of all I hoped to realize, was marvellous. He was rich, +famed, cultivated, yet the ideal excellence hovered ever above him, +waiting like a resurrection body to clothe the escaped soul of +inspiration; and for this he toiled more unremittingly than I in my +struggle for existence even in the world of Art. The secret of this +man's soul was not, however, revealed to my questioning. Ever +considerate and kind, he was no friend in any sense implying mutual +interchange of thought or confidence. With Miss Darry, on the contrary, +he was his free and natural self. Whenever I saw them together, I was +conscious that his great nature went out irresistibly to meet hers, a +fact of which it seemed to me she was far less aware than I. She walked +and drove with him, but merely because Miss Merton and Mr. Lang were +engrossed with each other, and as a side-play from the main object of +her life.</p> + +<p>I had been employed for several weeks upon a picture of greater +importance than any before attempted. Miss Darry confidently declared it +would be accepted at the autumn exhibition of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_687" id="Page_687">[Pg 687]</a></span> paintings in the city; +and Mr. Leopold briefly advised me to make the attempt, backed by his +favor to get it in. It was the working up of the odd fancy in which +Annie and I had indulged so long ago,—that the forest haunts were not +deserted, even though man did not invade them. In a clearing in the +midst of the woods I had assembled the familiar squirrels, birds, and +flowers, to play their part in the revels Nature takes on summer +afternoons; and from the gnarled trunks and twisted vines whose +grotesque involutions hinted the serpent-life within to the elves which +peered from beneath the broad dank leaves, I had reasserted the old +childish faith.</p> + +<p>As I have said, Miss Darry approved my picture, though only as a +preliminary to better things, saying,—</p> + +<p>"You must paint Chimborazo, or some of the mammoth California scenery, +Sandy. The microscope, not the canvas, is the proper instrument by which +to scrutinize the minute. Genius certainly need not forever be peeping +at Nature through her key-holes, but can enter her open door and dwell +amid the grandest scenes of the universe."</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3> + +<p>I hurried away from the forge earlier than usual one July day, and, +finding the studio vacant, worked a full hour before Mr. Leopold +presented himself. He came in hurriedly, glanced at my picture, pointing +out a fault or two, then seated himself at his easel for an hour longer +of silent work. At the expiration of this time he rose, put away his +materials, and said, as he turned toward the door,—</p> + +<p>"Miss Merton and Mr. Lang are to be married this afternoon, Sandy. They +wished me to ask you down to the ceremony, which is to be private. An +unexpected affair, hurried on account of business which calls Mr. Lang +to town for a great part of the winter, and so would separate them much, +if she could not go with him."</p> + +<p>I was extremely surprised. However, Mr. Leopold was so collected that I +felt called upon to refrain all expression of astonishment.</p> + +<p>"You need not go home to make any alteration in your dress, Sandy," he +added. "Come up to my room and help yourself to all the minor articles +you need."</p> + +<p>It was not long before I entered the drawing-room, where I found Miss +Darry, evidently expecting me.</p> + +<p>"Well, Sandy, this is a hurried affair. Your presence was particularly +desired; and, by the way, Alice insisted upon dispatching a messenger to +Annie Bray with an invitation to the ceremony, but her mother sends word +that she is away on some excursion. Alice will be sorry, she has taken +such a fancy to her: you must explain that she was really wanted."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no,—Annie will be so disappointed! I can hunt her up and be back +here before Miss Merton is prepared for the occasion"; and I started for +the door, but the will stronger than my own recalled me.</p> + +<p>"Sandy, pray reflect a moment, and you will attempt nothing of the kind. +They leave in the eight o'clock train, and will be married some time +about sunset. In the interval you could never go and return from Warren +on any other horse than Mr. Lang's, and I suppose you would not expect +your little friend to ride before you. Besides, we have been busy to-day +planning other matters, and the final decorations have not been thought +of. You are the very one to make the proper disposition of light and +shade, flowers, etc."</p> + +<p>"Miss Darry, do call in Mr. Leopold to gather flowers and pull the +shades up or down, and let me try at least to find Annie," I answered, +impatiently.</p> + +<p>But she only replied,—</p> + +<p>"Mr. Leopold! why, you innocent youth, he hasn't half your artistic +capacity. I can see how you reverence him; but trust me, it is only from +the innate modesty of your nature."</p> + +<p>"He exhausted the fanciful region in which I dwell years ago, Miss +Darry,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_688" id="Page_688">[Pg 688]</a></span> and has gone up higher. You surely must see you undervalue his +great nature."</p> + +<p>"I see nothing just at present, Sandy, but the need of your assistance," +she replied.</p> + +<p>And by various devices she busied me until the arrival of the minister +and the few intimate friends banished all further thought of Annie's +regret at not being present. Miss Merton's loveliness and Mr. Lang's +manly beauty made a picture I would gladly have studied longer than the +time required to make them man and wife. I had long ago seen the +ceremony performed by Mr. Purdo for a rustic couple; but this was a new +and more fascinating phase of it. Impressed as I was apt to be by +anything appealing to my emotions or sense of beauty, I did not care to +join at once Miss Darry and Mr. Leopold, who engaged in their customary +repartee directly after the bride retired to prepare for her journey; +but Miss Darry, slipping away from Mr. Leopold, soon joined me on the +lawn, to which I had stepped from the French window.</p> + +<p>"What a serious expression, Sandy! One might imagine you had been making +all these solemn promises yourself. You must learn not to be so easily +affected by forms and symbols. It is a weakness of your poetic +temperament. Their love has existed just as truly all these months as +now; yet I never saw you grow serious over the contemplation of it, +until a minister consecrated it by prayer and address."</p> + +<p>I started.</p> + +<p>"You do not give much of a niche to Cupid in your gallery of life, Miss +Darry."</p> + +<p>"Now that is poorer reasoning than I should have looked for even from +you, Sandy. Because I laugh at your reverence for outward expression, do +I necessarily depreciate the sentiment?"</p> + +<p>"No," I answered, bluntly; "I was thinking how you bade me set aside +Annie Bray,—how you always slight her claims upon me."</p> + +<p>"Ah, it has a personal application, then," she replied, thoughtfully, +but frankly as before. "It is only because I want you to make the most +of your fine powers, that I would have you choose friends who can +appreciate you."</p> + +<p>"I know that you have been disinterested, noble," I returned, +remorsefully. "But outward success would never atone to me for the lack +of love. Perhaps it is through my very weakness that I cling so to the +only human being who really loves me."</p> + +<p>Miss Dairy's face changed color. For the first time in her intercourse +with me, she was strongly and visibly moved.</p> + +<p>"Sandy," she said, after a pause, in a low, broken voice, strangely at +variance with its usual ringing tone, "without this love I, as a woman, +have lived all my life, until a week ago; and then, because it was not +the love I demanded, even though I could have taken it with +inexpressible comfort into my lonely life, I rejected it. I tell you +this merely as an encouragement. If Annie Bray is all you crave, forsake +everything else for her; if not, deny yourself the gratification of +being worshipped, and wait until you also can bestow your whole heart."</p> + +<p>She stood there, in the waning light, plucking nervously the petals from +the rose-bush, and scattering them on the grass,—her dark eye filled +with a melancholy which I had never supposed could subdue its flashing +light, or relax the outlines of the thinly cut lips,—unsatisfied,—her +womanly nature rebelling against an unusually lonely lot. It needed just +this humble acknowledgment of human need and human love to make Frank +Darry irresistible, and my impressible fancy responded to the spell. +Impelled by a passion which from its very force forbade analysis, I bent +over her. Even then, as my hand fell upon her shoulder, and her eyes, +still lulled in their dangerous trance of sadness, met mine inquiringly, +my purpose was arrested by the voices of Nature around me, as if Annie +Bray, herself allied to them, were reminding me of claims which had once +held such power over me. I recall now the oriole<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_689" id="Page_689">[Pg 689]</a></span> whose nest swung like +a pendulum from the branch above, marking the passing of the summer day, +and whose clear note struck more sweetly than the cuckoo clock the +evening hour. I noticed a humming-bird nestled in its silver-lined +apartment, its long bill looking as though even the honeyed sweetness of +the flowers must be rendered more delicate before it could help to +nourish the exuberant and palpitating life of its little body. Then I +looked at the begonias and fuchsias in Miss Darry's hair, spilling their +precious juices on the stem, as they hurried to reveal the glowing +secret of their blossom; and while I yielded to the fascination of the +scene, the woman beside me was absorbed into its wonderful witchery, +Annie Bray and Frank Darry—timid, loving child and brilliantly +developed woman—both united to win from me the passion of my life. Had +I waited, the affinity of moods which drew us together would probably +never have been reproduced; but I exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>"Miss Darry, I can never entirely love any other woman than yourself!"</p> + +<p>She started almost convulsively from the contact of my hand, and met my +burning glance with one of such alarm and astonishment that I was stung +almost to madness. Undoubtedly, my anger was partly a reaction from the +period of dependence and tutelage, so galling to a proud and sensitive +nature.</p> + +<p>"You have no right," I cried, passionately, "to despise the love you +have created. Listen; I do not expect any return. I know how theories +are practically applied,—how one may work for the poor and ignorant on +the broad table-land of perfect equality before God, and yet shrink from +contact with the befriended brothers and sisters at the same social meal +or in the same church. Shakspeare might have blackened Othello's skin by +toil, instead of nature, and the obstacles to a happy love would have +been in no degree lessened."</p> + +<p>I paused; yet not a word did Miss Darry utter. Her face was so pale and +rigid that all my suspicion was confirmed; and I exclaimed, more +vehemently than before,—</p> + +<p>"Remember, you cannot avoid the fact that I, a mere blacksmith, am your +lover; if rejected and despised, your lover still. I shall think of you +daily. You will not come to me alone the companion of my studio, one of +those delicate visions which flit through an artist's brain. You shall +stand beside my anvil. I will whisper your name when rough men are about +me. You shall be the one gold thread embroidered into the coarse garment +of my life,—my constant companion; yes, though you marry the first man +in the land."</p> + +<p>Still she stood immovable, as if carved in her favorite marble.</p> + +<p>"Miss Darry," I implored, "I know how unworthy my character is of your +love. Speak! If it is that you reject, I say no more; but what if your +prophecies are fulfilled,—if I become what you desire?"</p> + +<p>Then my statue glowed with life,—a deep color on the cheek, a frank, +loving smile on the lips, banishing the doubtful, troubled expression I +had watched so narrowly.</p> + +<p>"You do not understand the woman you profess to love, Sandy," she +replied, "if you suppose her capable of staking her favor on your future +distinction. Not as blacksmith or artist, but as the man I love, I think +of you to-night," she added, in a lower tone, returning to my side.</p> + +<p>My happiness for the next few moments was complete. I held her closer in +that fading light, and studied with delight the sweet, half-yielding, +half-reproving expression with which she met my protestations of +gratitude and devotion, and which I fondly fancied my love had stamped +upon her face forever. Then I heard a quick step in the shrubbery, as of +some one sent to summon us, and reluctantly released from my hold the +embodiment at that instant of all I esteemed noblest and loveliest in +woman. With characteristic composure, Miss Darry answered the message by +gathering some of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_690" id="Page_690">[Pg 690]</a></span> roses beside us, and turning to reënter the +house. Afraid of my own lack of self-control, I would gladly have gone +home like a blushing girl; but my new pride of protecting Miss Darry +under all circumstances of difficulty compelled me to follow her. She +was, however, on returning to the house, the same bright, helpful person +as before. The scene on the lawn became, in half an hour, as the +baseless fabric of a dream; and thinking that Miss Darry's sentiment, +like that of the Colosseum, was best revealed by moonlight, I trusted in +the few parting words which I should seek occasion to speak to her on +the steps, as likely to restore her most captivating mood. When we +parted, however, she only said, with heightened color, to be sure,—</p> + +<p>"Sandy, I am well aware, that, were you the 'mere blacksmith' you called +yourself in momentary passion to-night, bounded by narrow aims and +desires, I could never love you. We must not, therefore, allow our +affection to delay the destiny which, if you are faithful, most surely +awaits you."</p> + +<p>The fervent nonsense which might naturally have disgusted or at least +wearied her she endured at first, as a necessary drawback; but it was +soon toned down by the consciousness that she was guiding me, as usual, +in paths best, if not always most agreeable to myself. She made no +stipulations of secrecy with regard to our engagement. Her frank nature +apparently admitted of no dim recesses to which only one must have the +key.</p> + +<p>After a few days, therefore, I resolved to disclose my new relations to +the Brays, though I felt a most unaccountable reluctance to so doing. +Mr. Bray received the information with indifference; Mrs. Bray looked +surprised, and said she always knew Amos was respected, still she +shouldn't have felt certain that the "school-ma'am" (in which capacity +Miss Darry was spoken of in the village) would like to marry his +apprentice; and Annie stole from her seat at the breakfast-table, and, +laying her little hand on my shoulder, with a troubled look in her large +blue eyes, asked,—</p> + +<p>"Do you really mean it, Sandy,—that you have promised to marry the +proud, handsome woman at Hillside?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my little Annie," I replied; "I have promised to love and +care for her, and I suppose we shall be married by-and-by. Miss Darry is +not proud; it is only because you are too young to understand her that +you think so."</p> + +<p>"But I understand Mrs. Lang, and I thought I understood you, Sandy. Are +you sure she will help you to grow happier and better?"</p> + +<p>The tears were in her eyes. What induced these two—my betrothed wife +and little sister—to have such doubts of each other?</p> + +<p>"Of course I am sure of her, Annie. She has helped me to grow more of a +man ever since I have known her; and as to being happier, two persons +loving each other must, of course, be happy together. Besides," I added, +smothering a sudden doubt, and assuming the philosopher, "we were not +placed in this world to be happy, Annie,—only to make of ourselves all +we can in every way."</p> + +<p>"And to make others happy, Sandy," she added, in a wistful, tremulous +way, as though her heart were full.</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly; and when I have a wife and home, I will make my little +Annie so. She shall live with me, and confess that my wife is not proud, +but noble and kind."</p> + +<p>"No, Sandy, I shall not leave my mother, father, and brother Tom, to +live with any one. I shall work with them and for them," she returned, +with a womanly dignity I had never before noticed in her.</p> + +<p>"You do not love me, then, Annie?" I asked, selfishly grasping at the +affection I had so lightly prized.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sandy, as you love me; but not as we either of us care for our +own,—you for Miss Darry, I for my mother, father, and Tom."</p> + +<p>This final, clear settlement of my claims was all that was granted, +though<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_691" id="Page_691">[Pg 691]</a></span> I lingered while she busied herself with her morning work, in +the hope of more hearty sympathy. I carried about with me all day a +restless, unsatisfied state of mind, quite strange in a newly accepted +lover, and scarcely to be exorcised by Miss Darry's bright cordiality in +the evening.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3> + +<p>Mrs. Lang returned from her wedding-journey happy and beautiful, charmed +by all she had seen, and Mr. Lang was unusually demonstrative to every +one in the excess of his joy; but I had reason to suppose that the +announcement of our engagement reduced his exuberance considerably. Miss +Darry did not, however, admit the least disappointment in their manner +of receiving it; her own judgment was an estimate, from which, for +herself, there was no appeal. She was the most entirely self-sustained +woman I have ever met. Having decided that I was a genius, and that she +loved me, the opinion of others was of no moment in her eyes. Mr. Lang +merely offered his congratulations to me by saying,—</p> + +<p>"Well, Sandy, my dear fellow, you are to obtain, it seems, what many a +man of wealth and position will envy you. You must pardon me for saying +that Miss Darry's choice is quite astonishing to her friends. If you +possess the genius of Raphael, I shall still regard you as two very +peculiar persons to come together; but I am in no mood to cavil at +love."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lang said, kindly,—</p> + +<p>"We must see more of you than ever, Mr. Allen, if you are finally to +deprive us of Miss Darry. She has lived with me ever since the death of +her parents, who were old friends of my mother, and we shall miss her +very much. She is a splendid woman. You are sure you understand her?" +she added, naively; "I freely confess I don't."</p> + +<p>My pride swelled at all this. Frank Darry's love was the most blissful +proof yet afforded of the personal power of the man who had captivated +her, and more vehemently than was perhaps natural under the +circumstances, I professed to comprehend, love, nay, worship Miss Darry.</p> + +<p>The efforts for my culture were now redoubled. In order to demonstrate +the wisdom of Miss Darry's choice, I must give palpable proof of +superiority. I had earned enough for present support, and my forge must +be given up. I must cut off all my old connections, go to the city, +visit studios, draw from casts, attend galleries of paintings, have +access to public libraries, make literary and artistic acquaintances, +pursue my classical studies, and display the powers which Miss Darry, by +her own force of will, projected into me. Such were the business-like +plans which usurped the place of those mutual adulatory confidences +presumed to occupy the first elysian hours of an engagement. Miss +Darry's love was not of that caressing, tendril description, so common +with her sex, which plays in tender demonstrativeness around the one +beloved; it helped constantly to keep the highest standard before him, +and to sustain rather than depend.</p> + +<p>About a week after Mr. and Mrs. Lang's return, Mr. Leopold, who had +accompanied them, came back; and Miss Darry intimated that it would be +well for me to inform him of our engagement. I said to him, therefore, +rather abruptly one afternoon, as I was about leaving to seek Miss +Darry, (who was never quite ready to see me, if my painting-hours were +abridged,)—</p> + +<p>"Mr. Leopold, I have sold my forge to-day. I wanted to ask your advice +about the course to be pursued in town; but I am under orders now of the +most binding kind, I am engaged to Miss Darry."</p> + +<p>Mr. Leopold was busy at his easel, his profile toward me. I was +certainly not mistaken; the blood rushed over his face, subsided, +leaving it very pale, and he made a quick, nervous movement which +overthrew his palette. He rose quietly and replaced it, however, saying, +in his usual tone,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_692" id="Page_692">[Pg 692]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Very well, Sandy. I am ready to help you in any way I can."</p> + +<p>"But you do not—no one congratulates me," I said, deceived by his +calmness, and supposing the momentary suspicion that his was the love +rejected by Miss Darry must have been a mistaken one.</p> + +<p>"If they do not, it is not because of any lack appreciation for either +of you," he answered slowly, "but that they fail to see the point of +union. I admire the pine; it is straight, strong, self-reliant, and yet +wind-haunted by many tender and melancholy sentiments; I like the +peach-tree, too, with its pink tufts of fanciful blooming in the +spring-time: but if these two should grow side by side, I am not sure +but I should wonder a little."</p> + +<p>His smile, as he looked me full in the eye, had genuine good-will +mingled with its humor; and it softened the indignation I felt at the +implied comparison.</p> + +<p>"You make me out the weaker vessel of the two, then?" I asked, +resentfully.</p> + +<p>"No, Sandy, I don't say that; possibly, as whatever power we have runs +parallel with Providential forces or against them, it makes mortal +strength or weakness. But may you become a truly noble man, if you are +to be Miss Darry's husband!" he answered, rising and extending his hand.</p> + +<p>I believe he was one to scorn a lack of self-control in himself; but I +do not think he cared either to reveal or to hide the love which I read +at that moment. I grasped his hand as cordially as it was given, and +hurried down stairs, out of the door, and over the hill, with a strong +conviction that Miss Darry was a mistaken and foolish woman, and a +prompting to disinterestedness not quite compatible with my relations to +her. I was in no mood for her society, so I resolved to delay seeing her +until evening, and conclude my arrangements at the forge, as I was to go +to the city the next week.</p> + +<p>Approaching the village, I overtook Miss Dinsmore; and though my new +pretensions had not increased my popularity among the villagers, I had +reason to consider her my firm friend and advocate; so I was quite +willing to escape my unpleasant train of thought in listening to her.</p> + +<p>"Well, Sandy, nobody gets a sight of you nowadays down this way. I never +was so set up as when I heard tell you was goin' to marry the +schoolmarm. Why, I was always certain sure you'd take to Annie Bray. +Such a sweet little lamb as she is; not a bit high-strung 'cause she's +made much of at the great house on the hill, though she does sing like a +bird in an apple-tree every Sunday, when Louisy Purdo doesn't drown her +voice with screechin'; but she's grown more sober an' quiet-like than +ever. Miss Bray says she helps a powerful deal about house, and Amos +don't swear so much now he sees it hurts her."</p> + +<p>"She's a dear little thing," I interrupted, impatiently; "but, Miss +Dinsmore, do you know Mr. Bray may have all the blacksmith-work to +himself now? for I'm going to town for the rest of the summer and +autumn."</p> + +<p>"You don't say so, Sandy! Well, old Dr. Allen wasn't one of us, as I +tell 'em, and there's no sort of reason why you should be; and your +mother was a real born lady, though she was so gentle-spoken 't wasn't +half the women could tell the difference between her and them."</p> + +<p>"But, Miss Dinsmore," I said, "I don't expect to forget my old friends, +because I hope to do better somewhere else than here. I shall often come +down to Warren."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you'll come down, I don't mistrust that," she replied, slowly +nodding her green calash, "as long as the schoolmarm is at the Hill; but +Annie will look paler than ever. She thinks a sight of you, poor thing, +and it will never be the same to her. She loves you like—a sister," +added Miss Dinsmore, the tears in her faded blue eyes, and her sense of +womanly modesty supplying the familiar title.</p> + +<p>We were very near the Variety Store. If I could for a moment drift away +from this annoying theme!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_693" id="Page_693">[Pg 693]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How did you like Mr. Leopold, that afternoon I introduced him to you, +Miss Dinsmore?" I asked, in desperation.</p> + +<p>"Oh! ah! Well, Sandy, to speak plain, I've seen him a matter of three or +four times, may-be, since. He set down, quite friendly-like, to a bit of +supper, last time he come. I suppose he feels lonely; he seems +pleasant-spoken, and is liked by everybody round here; poor man, he +oughtn't to be without a mate. He's taken a great likin' to Annie Bray; +but then, of course, he's got some sense of what's becomin'; she's years +too young for him."</p> + +<p>"Too young! I should think so," indignantly; "he's old enough to be her +grandfather."</p> + +<p>"No, Sandy,—no, I think not," said Miss Dinsmore, pausing thoughtfully +at her door-step. "Old Mr. Bray would have been nigh upon eighty come +next harvest; but then Annie has nobody to look out for her now you +know, exceptin' Amos, who a'n't over wide-awake, between you and me, +though an honester man never lived."</p> + +<p>I was very willing to part with Miss Dinsmore.</p> + +<p>"Another afternoon experience like this will make a hermit of me," I +muttered, impatiently, as I strode away in the same direction from which +I had come.</p> + +<p>Miss Darry, Mr. Leopold, anybody, was better than Annie Bray, with her +sweet, pale face, in my present mood.</p> + +<p>"Annie has nobody to look out for her now, you know": many a day I +remembered with a pang that this was too true.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER. XIII.</h3> + +<p>I sold my forge and went to the city. My name appeared in the catalogue +of the fall exhibition:—"Forest Scene, by Alexander Allen." I have no +reason to suppose that the genuine merit of my picture secured for it a +place in the gallery, though doubtless some as poor by established +artists found their way there; but these having proved they could do +better could afford to be found occasionally below concert pitch. +However, Mr. Leopold commended it as highly as his conscience would +permit, and I reaped the reward; while Miss Darry gloried over its +admission as an unalloyed tribute to ability, and treasured the +catalogue more carefully than my photograph. The same course of study +and labor which I had pursued in Warren was continued in the city, with +this difference: I had not the pure air, simple food, regular life, +manual exertion, or social evenings at Hillside. Miss Darry wrote to me +regularly, but I felt wearied after her letters. There were no tender +assurances of undying affection, so soothing, doubtless, to tired brain +and heavy heart; but they read somewhat in this style:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Sandy</span>,—Won't you begin at once a course of German +reading? 'Das Leben Jesu' of Strauss will help you +wonderfully. The old Platonic philosophers have done you +some good; but you have a faith too childlike, a complete +reliance upon Providence quite too unreasoning, for a man of +your ability. Through your own developed self you must learn +to find the Supreme Intelligence,—not to spell him out +letter by letter in every flower that grows, every trifling +event of your life. You began with belief in the old +theological riddle of the Trinity; then with perception of +the Creator in his visible world; but to your Naturalism you +must add at least a knowledge of Mysticism, +Transcendentalism,—mists which, veiling indeed the outward +creation, are interpenetrated by the sun for personal +illumination, more alluring by their veiled light, like +those sunned fogs Mr. Leopold deals with occasionally, than +the clear every-day atmosphere of beliefs sharply outlined +by a creed. When you have sounded the entire scale of +prevailing and past theories, even to the depths of +unbelief, then alone are you able, as a reasoning being, to +translate God's dealings with you into consistent religious +faith."</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_694" id="Page_694">[Pg 694]</a></span></p> + +<p>And ended often with,—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I hope you work hard, intensely, in your art. Do not think, +when you lay aside your brush, you lay aside the artist +also. Genius is unresting. A picture may shape itself in +your brain at any hour, by day or night; and don't be too +indolent, my dear boy, to give it outward embodiment, if it +does."</p></div> + +<p>"I was sadly disappointed at the result of the last," she wrote once. +"Mr. Lang showed it to Mr. Peterson, the sculptor, who pronounced it +slightly below the average first attempts. Of course, from your devotion +to coloring, you did not feel sufficiently interested to put forth all +your powers; still I accept the trial as a proof of your affection. +Having greater genius for painting, you could certainly succeed in +sculpture, nevertheless, if you heartily labored at it. I could never +accept the definition of genius given by the author of 'Rab and his +Friends,' which limits it, if I remember rightly, to an especial +aptitude for some one pursuit. Genius is a tremendous force, not +necessarily to succeed only in one channel, although turned to one by +natural bent."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Little Annie, at my earnest request, wrote to me occasionally. It was a +brief parting with her: she feared her own self-control, possibly. I +know I feared mine; for, had she showed actual grief, I might have +pacified it at the cost of my profession or my life. She wrote in this +wise:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Sandy</span>,—I know of course you are very busy, for Miss +Darry told me at Hillside that your painting was in the +Exhibition, and that you were rapidly becoming a great +artist; and this makes me think I ought to confess to you, +Sandy, that I was wrong that morning when I called Miss +Darry proud. She has been very kind to me lately. She said +it was not right that I should be taught music, and all +sorts of lovely, pleasant studies, and not know how to write +and cipher. So she teaches me with Mrs. Lang's sisters. She +says I already express myself better than I did, and I can +cast up father's account-book every Saturday night; but +please forgive me, dear brother Sandy, I long for that stiff +old work-hour to be over, that I may run up to Mrs. Lang's +sun-shiny room, with its flowers, pictures, piano, and +herself. Miss Darry, because of her very great talents, +Sandy, is far above me. Do you know, though you are to be a +great painter, she seems to me more talented than you, with +your old home-like ways? But then we sha'n't have those +home-like ways any more. Oh, Sandy, we miss you! but I do +hope you will be good and great and happy. Miss Darry says +you work night and day. But you must sleep some, or you'll +be sick. I always fancied great men were born great; it must +be hard to have to be made so. I guess you will be glad to +hear that father don't swear and scold now; he says he is +doing well, and he bought me a new dress the other day at +Miss Dinsmore's. She has got back from the city with the +gayest flowers and ribbons. My dress is orange-colored. I +don't fancy one quite so bright, and wear the old violet one +you gave me oftener; but I can't exactly see why I don't +like it, after all; for the very same color, on the breast +of the Golden Oriole that builds a nest in our garden, I +think is perfectly splendid. I hope you won't forget your +loving little sister,</p> + +<p class="right"> +"<span class="smcap">Annie Bray</span>."</p></div> + +<p>Sometimes she wrote less brightly and hopefully; but, oh, what a +blessing it was to have her write at all! I found myself watching for +those natural, loving words, for the acknowledgment of missing me, as, +wearied after viewing Alpine peaks, one might stoop cheered and +satisfied to pluck a tiny flower. Miss Darry never missed me. She +discouraged the idea of a long autumn vacation, and offered to come to +the city and board, that my work might still go on. I began to entertain +serious doubts, if, when we were married, I should be suffered to live +with her,—or whether she would not send me to boarding-school, or to +pursue my studies abroad.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_695" id="Page_695">[Pg 695]</a></span></p> + +<p>When October came, with the rich sadness of its days, at once a prophecy +of grief and an assurance of its soothing, I broke down utterly. My +æsthetic and literary friends did not feel that sympathy for my worn-out +body and soul which both demanded. I applied to the only legitimate +source for aid in my weakness and the permission to yield to it; but +before either arrived, Nature proved more than a match for Miss Darry, +and sent me exhausted to bed. Miss Darry appeared the next morning, and +if the whole breezy atmosphere of Hillside had clung to her garments, +she could not have had a more bracing effect. How bright, loving, and +gentle she was, when she found me really ill! To be sure, she prescribed +vigorous tonics, as was in accordance with her style; in fact, she was +one herself; but she relieved my weak and languid dejection by brilliant +talk, when I could bear it,—by tender words of hope, when I could not. +My late internal censures upon her, as a hard task-mistress, were now +the ghosts of self-reproach, which a morbid condition conjured about my +pillow; and the vision of her healthy, self-restrained nature presided +over every dream, recalling most derisively Mr. Leopold's simile of the +pine- and peach-trees.</p> + +<p>I left my bed, from very shame at prostration, long before I was able, +and returned with her to Hillside, whither Mrs. and Mr. Lang invited me +for the rest which she now considered necessary. Mr. Leopold had left +Warren, and retaken a studio in town for the fall and winter; but many a +memory of his kind deeds and pleasant manners lingered in the place. +Every village must have its hero, its great man of past or present, +looking down, like Hawthorne's great stone face, in supreme benignity +upon it. Mr. Leopold had been the first occupant of this royal chair in +Warren; for the enthusiasm which seeks a better than itself had just +been called forth by the teaching and influence of Hillside.</p> + +<p>One morning, when Miss Darry was occupied with her scholars, I wandered +through the village and to the Brays' cottage to make my first call. +Mrs. Bray was busy making cake. Annie, so tall and slender, that, as she +stood with her face turned from me, I wondered what graceful young lady +they had there, was prepared for her walk to Hillside, her books in a +little satchel on her arm. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of my +thin, pale face, though her own was fragile as a snow-drop; but she at +once apologized for and explained her sorrow by calling me her "dear old +brother Sandy." I proposed one of our old-time strolls together up the +hill, and we soon started in company. Half way up, at the meadow, where +we had arranged and painted our first picture, I yielded to the impulse, +which heretofore I had resisted, to sit again on the old stump and +recall the scene. I was really weary, for this was my first long walk, +and Annie looked as though rest would not come amiss; so I helped her +over the stile, and we sat down. The rich, fervid hues I used so +homœopathically by the stroke of my brush were spread over miles of +forest; a vaporous veil of mist hung over every winding stream and +mountain lake, and, reflecting the brilliant-colored shrubbery which +bordered them, they glared like stained glass; the sunshine filtered +down through haze and vapor like gold-dust on the meadow-land; gold and +purple key-notes of autumn coloring in many varying shades of tree, +water, and cloud blended to the perfect chord, uttering themselves +lastly most quietly in the golden-rods and asters at our feet. That +hazy, dreamy atmosphere uniting with my vague, aimless state of mind, I +would fain make it accountable for the talk which followed.</p> + +<p>First we went over the old times, I recalling, Annie assenting in a +quiet, half-sad way, or brightening as though by an effort, and throwing +in a reminiscence herself. We talked of those we had mutually known, and +I was just recalling the rude admiration of Tracy Waters to her mind, +when she suggested that she should be late for her lesson,—it was time +to leave.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_696" id="Page_696">[Pg 696]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, indeed, Annie!" I exclaimed, seizing her hand as she sat beside +me,—"this is the first hour's actual rest I have had for months; it is +like the returning sleep of health after delirium. You shall not go. +When have I ever had you to myself before? The time is beautiful; we are +happy; do not let us go up to Hillside to-day—or any more."</p> + +<p>I spoke not so much wildly as naturally and weariedly; but Annie's cheek +flushed scarlet, as she started, with a touch of Miss Darry's energy, +from the stump beside me.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sandy, we will go to Hillside at once; you shall tell Miss Darry, +that, in talking over by-gone days with your little sister, you forgot +yourself and overstayed your time; and I, too, must make my excuses."</p> + +<p>She walked quickly away, and before I had risen, in a half-stupefied +way, she was at the stile.</p> + +<p>It was rather difficult to rejoin her. I had the novel and not +altogether pleasing sensation of having been refused before I had asked; +and my child-friend, taught of Nature's simple dignity and sense of +right, was more at ease for the remainder of the walk than I.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER XIV.</h3> + +<p>I meant to have frankly confessed my talk with Annie to Miss Darry. No +orthodox saint could have been more penitentially conscious of having +fallen from grace. But she gave me no time. She was either so animated, +so thoroughly agreeable and entertaining, that I felt only pride at the +part I held in her, or else she gave premonitory symptoms of a return to +the drill, which always suggested to me the absolute need of physical +exercise, and ended in a walk or horseback ride,—in her company, of +course. At last I really was so far restored, that my plea of being so +much stronger, more at rest, near her, (which was true, for her oral +teaching was not unmingled with subtile fascination,) failed to call +forth the genial, loving smile. She began to pine for more honors, +greater development, more earnest life. Strange! I, the former +blacksmith, was a very flower, lulled in the <i>dolce far niente</i> of +summer air and sunshine, beside her more vigorous intellectual nature. +Sensation and emotion were scarcely expressed by me before they were +taken up into the arctic regions of her brain, and looked coldly on +their former selves.</p> + +<p>I resolved one day, by a grand effort, to leave the next. As I had not +seen Annie since the walk with her to Hillside, and had declined Mrs. +Lang's offer to invite her to the house that I might see more of her, on +the ground of fatigue and occupation in the evening with Miss Darry, it +became incumbent upon me to go to the cottage for a farewell.</p> + +<p>It looked very quiet, as I approached. The blinds were closed, as in +summer, and there was no one in the kitchen.</p> + +<p>Hearing footsteps in the sitting-room, however, I entered, and met Miss +Dinsmore with her finger on her lips and an agitated expression on her +face.</p> + +<p>"For mercy's sake, don't come here now, Sandy Allen! You might have done +some good by coming before; but now, poor, sweet lamb, she's very sick, +and Miss Bray's most distracted. You're the very last person she'd care +to see. You'd better go out just the very same quiet way you come in."</p> + +<p>"Annie sick? How? where? when?" I asked, breathlessly.</p> + +<p>Miss Dinsmore seized me by the shoulder, and pushing me, not too gently, +into the kitchen, closed the door, and stood beside me.</p> + +<p>"She's got brain-fever. I guess she caught cold the other day, when she +went up to Hillside. She a'n't been out since, and she's been +wanderin',—somethin' about not wantin' to go into a meader."</p> + +<p>"I shall go up and see her," I answered, turning again to the door.</p> + +<p>"Indeed you won't, Sandy Allen! You'll set her wilder than ever again."</p> + +<p>"I shall go up and see her," I repeated, firmly; and, pushing by Miss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_697" id="Page_697">[Pg 697]</a></span> +Dinsmore, I went up the front stairs to Annie's little room.</p> + +<p>There she lay,—her bright, golden hair on the pillow, her eyes +closed,—a pale, panting phantom of herself, apparently in a troubled +sleep,—her mother, the bustling, gaudily attired woman, as quiet as a +little child beside her. She turned her head when she heard me, changed +color, and the tears filled her eyes; but it was probably owing to the +self-control of this woman, whom I had so looked down upon, that I did +not snap the thread of Annie Bray's life that day. With her child on the +brink of a precipice, she would make no moan to startle her off. The +doctor said her sleep must be unbroken. He, too, sat there; and, obeying +Mrs. Bray's quiet motion, I seated myself behind the others. The hours +wore on; the October sun went down. None of us moved, but gazed in mute +apprehension at the figure of her who, it seemed, could awake only in +heaven. This earthly love, so strong, so fierce, in the effort to retain +her,—would it prevail? This was the question which chained us there; +and when, at eight o'clock, she awoke, I waited until the doctor +pronounced his favorable opinion, then, without Annie's having seen me, +stole out by the other door and away.</p> + +<p>At Hillside, when I entered, pale with suppressed excitement, and told +where I had been, Mrs. Lang rose at once.</p> + +<p>"I wondered why she missed her lessons, until her brother brought word +she was not well. I will send some flowers and white grapes to her at +once"; and she would have rung the bell, but Miss Darry prevented her.</p> + +<p>"Dear Alice," she said, "white grapes are only water sweetened by a +little sunshine, and flowers she is too ill to enjoy. Let me make up a +basket. Come down with me, Sandy, to the pantry."</p> + +<p>Mechanically I followed her down, watched her moving busily about, and +heard her talk, yet could not find a word to utter in reply.</p> + +<p>"White grapes are excellent for people who sit down to a luxurious +dinner every day, but pale, feeble bodies like little Annie Bray's must +recuperate on richer fare,—a bottle of wine, some rich, juicy beef; and +the sight of this old working world from the window is worth all the +flowers in creation."</p> + +<p>She filled her basket, called a servant, and sent him off. Still pale +and silent, I neither moved nor spoke.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter with you, Sandy?" Miss Darry asked, a half-smothered +fear in her voice. "You are not strong enough for such excitement. Come +to the drawing-room, and I will play you to sleep with some of those +grand old German airs. You shall have Mendelssohn or Von Weber, if you +are not in the mood for Beethoven or Chopin," she added, compromising to +my nervous weakness.</p> + +<p>She led the way, I followed, to the parlor,—only, however, once there, +and finding it unoccupied, I led, and she listened.</p> + +<p>"No music this evening, Frank, for heaven's sake!" I cried, my voice +thick with emotion, as she seated herself at the piano. "I must be +truthful with you. I have been a weak fool; and to you, whom I respect +and admire so thoroughly, I will confess it. Bear with me awhile longer, +then you shall speak," I added, as she rose and came toward me.</p> + +<p>"In the first place, since I am a genius," I continued, bitterly, "I +ought to have had a clearer vision. I ought to have seen, that, because +you were the most fascinating, brilliant woman I had ever dreamed of, +the most highly cultured, and planned on the noblest scale,—because you +disinterestedly devoted yourself to my improvement, kindled a spark of +what you were pleased to call genius, and then gave your own life to fan +it into a flame,—I ought to have seen that all this did not necessarily +imply that subtile bond and affinity between us which alone should end +in marriage. But I did not see. I was touched to the heart by your +kindness. I thrilled with pride, when you turned from men of refinement +and intellect, to smile cordially, tenderly, upon me. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_698" id="Page_698">[Pg 698]</a></span> longed to be a +suitable companion for one so superior; and I have worked—honestly, +faithfully, have I worked—to become so. But what you grew upon made me +languid. I was satiated with study, weary even of my brush. Metaphysics +and mystical speculation bewilder a mind too weak to trust itself in +their mazes, without the old established guides, the helps to a +childlike faith. I was worn out and sick. Then your presence revived me; +all the doubts which have since become certainties were thrust aside. I +came here; I met Annie Bray; I said some foolish words one day, when we +were walking up here, about being worn out and staying where we were +forever. They were dishonorable words, for they were due first of all to +you; and they have haunted me since like a nightmare. It was Annie +herself who reproved and repelled them. To-day I went there with the +thought of saying good-bye. I was sure that my feeling for you was firm +as a rock; it is only periodically and indefinably, Frank, that it has +seemed otherwise; and now I would lay down my life to restrain these +words, to be worthy of the love I renounce. Some other and better man +must win what I have been too weak to keep. This afternoon has proved to +me that I do not belong exclusively to you."</p> + +<p>Was I base and unfeeling, or only weak, as I had said? Frank Darry +turned away, and walked to the long French window, looking out in the +moonlight upon the very spot, perhaps, where I had so passionately +declared my love. I could see her tremble with emotion. Yet I dared not +speak or go to her. Perhaps five minutes passed,—it might have been an +hour,—when, pale, but composed, she came to the sofa, upon which I had +thrown myself.</p> + +<p>"You love Annie Bray, then, Sandy?" she asked, calmly.</p> + +<p>"No," I answered, "I do not love her; but I feel that I have done +violence to what might have grown into love between us. I do not intend +to see her. I do not wish to ask for what would assuredly not be +granted. I desire only to go away, to be alone and quiet."</p> + +<p>"You are, indeed, forever rushing to extremes, Sandy," she said, slowly. +"We have both done wrong: I, in tempting you, without, of course, a +thought of self," she added, proudly, "to set aside this first and +strongest interest; and you, in your acceptance of fascination as love. +We have done wrong; but you are now right, for you are true. Let me be +so also. I consider it no disgrace to my womanhood to admit the pain +your avowal gives me, yet I thank you for making it. Remember, Sandy, if +a true affection spring up within you, do not crush it from a morbid +remembrance of this: it would be a poor revenge for me to desire."</p> + +<p>She spoke sadly. I could not reply to her. Such generosity was, indeed, +like coals of fire on my head. Say as I might to myself that her strong +will had held me spellbound,—reason as I might that it was only because +she had developed, made me, as it were, that this motherly, yearning, +protecting love had been lavished upon me,—there was still the fact, +that this rich, strong nature had given of its best treasure in answer +to my passionate pleading, had wasted it on me.</p> + +<p>"Frank Darry," I said, "why I do not entirely love what I completely +reverence and admire I cannot tell. To live without you seems like +drifting through life without aim or guide. I would gladly think that +one who suffered through my joy, one far better than I, should yet win +what he longed for."</p> + +<p>Then only did her paleness vary.</p> + +<p>"Sandy, spare me, at least just now, such complete renunciation. +Remember, I have not confessed what you have."</p> + +<p>She took my hand: it was, I know, burning, while hers was cold as +marble. She stooped and kissed my forehead.</p> + +<p>"Good night, and good bye, Sandy. The time may come, when, as teacher +and pupil, we shall think of each other tenderly."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_699" id="Page_699">[Pg 699]</a></span></p> + +<p>Where was the passionate avowal I would once have made? Had I learned a +lesson? Yes, the most bitter of my life. When I heard her firm foot-step +die away in the hall, I crossed to the library, and in a few brief words +explained to Mr. and Mrs. Lang that I must leave their house at once, +and that our engagement was broken because I alone had proved unworthy. +The color mounted to Mr. Lang's brow.</p> + +<p>"You are weak, Sandy," he ejaculated, bitterly; "it is what I always +feared."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Lang, in her gentle, kindly way, tried to soften his anger; but it +must have been a hard task with one who, while he pitied sin, scorned +weakness; and I did not await the result, but, hurrying to my room, +packed my portmanteau and left for the station.</p> + +<p>A fortnight later I received from Miss Dinsmore, in reply to my +inquiries, a letter giving a most favorable account of Annie Bray's +health. This was all I desired. I wrote a few lines of friendly +farewell, and, hinting at no period of return, merely explained that I +was about to leave for Europe. I restrained my desire to give her some +advice as to her pursuits in my absence. Such mentorship, at present, +seemed like creating another barrier between us. I assumed no +superiority myself, I had no disposition to seek it in others.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER XV.</h3> + +<p>Worn out and jaded, I began my travels. I strove to make these travels +as inexpensive as possible. I walked much, and at times lived both +cheaply and luxuriously, as one learns to do after a little experience +abroad. At first I resolved to make this tour one long summer day of +pleasure through the outward senses. I took no books with me. I painted +no picture. I rarely even sketched. Brain and heart rested, while there +flowed into them, through the outward avenues of eye and ear, new +pictures and harmonies,—I fancied, for present enjoyment merely, but in +reality for future use.</p> + +<p>When I reached Rome, my funds, which had even previously been eked out +by the sale of the few sketches I had made, were quite exhausted. +Anticipating this, I had, after great hesitation, written to Mr. +Leopold, desiring letters of introduction to some artists, in the hope +of obtaining work from them. I found his reply to this letter awaiting +my arrival in Rome; and though I had not hinted at my destitution, he +must have guessed it, for he inclosed a check and all the information I +desired. I provided myself with a humble studio and recommenced work. +How fresh and charming was this return to my old mode of life! I even +bought a few choice books at the old stalls, and revelled in poetry. +Dante opened his Purgatory to me just as I escaped from my own, and I +basked in the returning sun-light of a free and happy life.</p> + +<p>Copying in a painting-gallery one day, I beheld with pain, albeit he was +my benefactor, a ghost of my former life arising to haunt me. Mr. +Leopold, having arrived the night before, was enjoying the pictures +preparatory to hunting me up. His greeting was cordial; he cheered me by +most favorable opinions as to my progress in my art, and was dumb about +the past. He desired that I should again work in connection with +himself; and the profound respect I had always felt for his abilities +was confirmed and heightened by the affection he inspired in me. His +really harmonious character guided mine without the absolute surrender +of my individuality. One by one I resumed the old interests, and began +to feel the old heart which has throbbed through the centuries, from +Adam downward, beating within me. How very much I was like other men, +after all!</p> + +<p>"Sandy," Mr. Leopold said to me one day, as we sat sketching some old +ruin on the Campagna, "is it your wish to be silent as to the past? Are +you restrained by fear of yourself or me?"</p> + +<p>For only answer I exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>"How and where is Miss Darry?"</p> + +<p>"She is well, and at Munich," he answered, smiling +pleasantly,—"developing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_700" id="Page_700">[Pg 700]</a></span> in herself the powers with which she invested +you. As a sculptress she gives great promise; her figures show wonderful +anatomical knowledge."</p> + +<p>"And you, Mr. Leopold," I asked breathlessly, "how could you forgive and +befriend one who had so weakly treated the woman you alone were worthy +to love?"</p> + +<p>"You are indeed breaking silence, Sandy," he replied; "it is with you +the Chinese wall or illimitable space. Perhaps you have not really +wronged either her or me. She worked off some extravagant theories on +you. You exhausted your weakness, I trust, on her; and as for me, I have +learned to conquer through both."</p> + +<p>I have lived several years since that morning in Rome, where, at the +headquarters of the confessional, I opened my heart to Mr. Leopold. +Standing, as he does, at the head of his art, I follow him. Those who +prefer fancy to vigorous thought and imagination, the lovely and +familiar in Nature to the sublime, sometimes rank me above him. Time has +not evolved the genius which Miss Darry prophesied, yet I am as fully +convinced that I occupy my true position and do my appropriate work in +the world as though it had. Mrs. Leopold professes occasionally to me, +with a smile, that her opinion is unaltered, that my weakness was only +an additional proof of genius, but that her husband is a hero worth all +the geniuses in the world. She holds this subtile essence more lightly +in estimation now than formerly. Some think she possesses it; and her +groups of statuary fairly entitle her to more laurels than in her happy +domestic life she is likely to win. She laughs at my wife, and calls her +sentimental, because her Art instincts, like vines over a humble +dwelling, embroider only the common domestic life. Her many fanciful +ways of adorning our home, and her own sweet, sunny self, its perpetual +light and comfort, are to me just so many 'traps to catch the sunbeams' +of life, especially as I see beneath all this the earnest, developed +womanhood of the blacksmith's daughter. Do you ask me how I won her? I +can describe my passionate admiration, even the weakness and limitations +of my nature; but I will not unveil my love. Is it not enough that I am +a thorough democrat, have little faith in the hereditary transmission of +good or evil, and welcome Mr. and Mrs. Bray to my home and hearth? I am +not hurried now.</p> + +<p>"You have only this lifetime to make a <i>man</i> in, Sandy," Annie pleads +occasionally, when a call for service outside my profession presents +itself; "but any special power of mind, it seems to me, will have the +mending ages in which to unfold."</p> + +<p>To love men, to labor for them and for the ideas which free and redeem +them, seems the special mission of our times; and my little wife has +caught its spirit, and so helps me to recognize the virtue which +eighteen hundred years ago was crucified to rise again, which has been +assailed in our country, and is rising again to be the life and +inspiration of Christendom, the death-blow to slavery and oppression, +the light of many a humble home and simple heart. Unselfishness! +keystone to the arch through which each pure soul looks heavenward!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_701" id="Page_701">[Pg 701]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="KING_JAMES_THE_FIRST" id="KING_JAMES_THE_FIRST"></a>KING JAMES THE FIRST.</h2> + + +<p>A merry monarch two years and four months old.</p> + +<p>If we could have stood by when the world was a-making,—could have +sniffed the escaping gases, as they volatilized through the air,—could +have seen and heard the swash of the waves, when the whole world was, so +to speak, in hot water,—could have watched the fiery tumult gradually +soothing itself into shapely, stately palms and ferns, cold-blooded +Pterodactyles, and gigantic, but gentle Megatheriums, till it was +refined, at length, into sunshine and lilies and Robin Redbreasts,—we +fancy we should have been intensely interested. But a human soul is a +more mysterious thing than this round world. Its principles firmer than +the hills, its passions more tumultuous than the sea, its purity +resplendent as the light, its power too swift and subtile for human +analysis,—what wonder in heaven above or earth beneath can rival this +mystic, mighty mechanism? Yet it is formed almost under our eyes. The +voice of God, "Let there be light," we do not hear; the stir of matter +thrilled into mind we do not see; but the after-march goes on before our +gaze. We have only to look, and, lo! the mountains are slowly rising, +the valleys scoop their levels, the sea heaves against its barriers, and +the chaotic soul evolves itself from its nebulous, quivering light, from +its plastic softness, into a world of repose, of use, of symmetry, and +stability. This mysterious soul, when it first passed within our vision, +was only not hidden within its mass of fleshly life, a seed of +spirituality deep-sunk in a pulp of earthliness. Passing away from us in +ripened perfection, we behold a being but little lower than the angels, +heir of God and joint heir with Christ, crowned with glory and honor and +immortality.</p> + +<p>Come up, then, Jamie, my King, into the presence of the great +congregation! There are poets here, and philosophers, wise men of the +East who can speak of trees, from the cedar-tree that is in Lebanon, +even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall: also of beasts, and +of fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes. But fear them not, +little Jamie! you are of more value, even to science, than many fishes. +Wise as these Magi are, yesterday they were such as you, and such they +must become again or ever they shall enter the kingdom of heaven. Come +up, little Jamie, into the hall of audience! Blue eyes and broad brow, +sunny curls, red lips, and dainty, sharp teeth, stout little arm, strong +little hand, sturdy little figure, and most still and steadfast gaze: +truly it is the face and form of a king,—sweetness in power, +unconsciousness in royalty.</p> + +<p>"Jamie, you are a little beauty! You are too handsome to live!"</p> + +<p>"No!" says Jamie, vehemently, for the fiftieth time, stamping the royal +foot and scowling the royal brows. "Gamma say <i>not</i> too ha'some!"</p> + +<p>"But you are a young Apollo."</p> + +<p>"<i>No</i> my 'Pollo!"</p> + +<p>"What are you, then?"</p> + +<p>"I goo e baw," which is Jametic for good little boy.</p> + +<p>This microcosm, like the macrocosm, may be divided into many +departments. As the world is viewed geographically, geologically, +historically, astronomically, so in this one little Jamie we have many +Jamies. There is the Jamie philological, Jamie theological, Jamie +psychological, Jamie emotional, Jamie social; in fact, I can hardly +think of any natural, moral, or mathematical science, on which a careful +study of Jamie will not throw some light. Would you frame a theory of +metaphysics? Consult Reid, and Locke, and Hamilton warily, for they are +men, subject to like mistakes as we are; but observe Jamie with utmost +confidence and the closest care, for he is the book of God, and will +teach only truth, if your eye is single to perceive truth. +Theologically, Jamie has points superior to both Andover and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_702" id="Page_702">[Pg 702]</a></span> Princeton; +he is never in danger of teaching for doctrine the commandments of men; +nor have passion and prejudice in him any power to conceal, but, on the +contrary, they illuminate truth. For the laws of language, mark how the +noble tree of human speech springs in his soul from mustard-seed into +fair and fruitful symmetry. In good sooth, one marvels that there should +be so much error in the world with children born and growing up all over +it. If Jamie were, like Jean Paul, the Only, I should expect +philosophers to journey from remotest regions to sit at his feet and +learn the ways of God to man. Every one who presumed to teach his +fellows should be called upon to produce his diploma as a graduate of +Jamie, or forfeit all confidence in his sagacity. But, with a baby in +every other house, how is it that we continually fall out by the way? It +must be that children are not advantageously used. We pet them, and drug +them, and spoil them; we trick them out in silks and fine array; we +cross and thwart and irritate them; we lay unholy hands upon them, but +are seldom content to stand aside and see the salvation of the Lord.</p> + +<p>Tug, tug, tug, one little foot wearisomely ranging itself beside the +other, and two hands helping both: that is Jamie coming up stairs. +Patter, patter, patter: that is Jamie trotting through the entry. He +never walks. Rattle, clatter, shake: Jamie is opening the door. Now he +marches in. Flushed with exertion, and exultant over his brilliant +escapade from the odious surveillance below, he presents himself peering +on tiptoe just over the arm of the big chair, and announces his +errand,—</p> + +<p>"Come t' see Baddy."</p> + +<p>"Baddy doesn't want you."</p> + +<p>"Baddy <i>do</i>."</p> + +<p>Then, in no wise daunted by his cool welcome, he works his way up into +the big chair with much and indiscriminate pulling: if it is a sleeve, +if it is a curtain, if it is a table-cloth whereon repose many pens, +much ink and paper, and knick-knacks without number, nothing heeds he, +but clutches desperately at anything which will help him mount, and so +he comes grunting in, all tumbled and twisted, crowds down beside me, +and screws himself round to face the table, poking his knees and feet +into me with serene unconcern. Then, with a pleased smile lighting up +his whole face, he devotes himself to literature. A small, brass-lined +cavity in the frame of the writing-desk serves him for an inkstand. Into +that he dips an old, worn-out pen with consequential air, and +assiduously traces nothing on bits of paper. Of course I am reduced to a +masterly inactivity, with him wriggling against my right arm, let alone +the danger hanging over all my goods and chattels from this lawless +little Vandal prowling among them. Shall I send him away? Yes, if I am +an insensate clod, clean given over to stupidity and selfishness; if I +count substance nothing, and shadow all things; if I am content to dwell +with frivolities forever, and have for eternal mysteries nothing but +neglect. For suppose I break in upon his short-lived delight, thrust him +out grieved and disappointed, with his brave brow clouded, a mist in his +blue eyes, and—that heart-rending sight—his dear little under-lip and +chin all quivering and puckering. Well, I go back and write an epic +poem. The printers mangle it; the critics fall foul of it; it is lost in +going through the post-office; it brings me ten letters, asking an +autograph, on six of which I have to pay postage. There is vanity and +vexation of spirit, besides eighteen cents out of pocket, and the +children crying for bread. I let him stay. A little, innocent life, +fearfully dependent on others for light, shines out with joyful +radiance, wherein I rejoice. To-morrow he will have the measles, and the +mumps, and the croup, and the whooping-cough, and scarlatina; and then +come the alphabet, and Latin grammar, and politics, and his own boys +getting into trouble: but to-day, when his happiness is in my hands, I +may secure it, and never can any one wrest from him the sunshine I may +pour into his happy little heart. Oh! the time comes so soon, and comes +so often, that Love can only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_703" id="Page_703">[Pg 703]</a></span> look with bitter sorrow upon the sorrow +which it has no power to mitigate!</p> + +<p>Language is unceremoniously resolved into its original elements by +Jamie. He is constitutionally opposed to inflection, which, as he must +be devoid of prejudice, may be considered indisputable proof of the +native superiority of the English to other languages. He is careful to +include in his sentences all the important words, but he has small +respect for particles, and the disposition of his words waits entirely +upon his moods. <i>My</i> usually does duty for <i>I</i>. "Want the Uncle Frank +gave me hossey," with a finger pointing to the mantel-piece is just as +flexible to his use as "Want the hossey that Uncle Frank gave me." +"Where Baddy <i>can</i> be?" he murmurs softly to himself, while peering +behind doors and sofas in playing hide-and-seek. Hens are cud-dah, a +flagrant example of Onomatopœia. The cradle is a cay-go; corn-balls +are ball-corn; and snow-bird, bird-snow; and all his rosy nails are +toe-nails. He has been drilled into meet response to "how d' ye do?" but +demonstrates the mechanical character of his reply by responding to any +question that has the <i>you</i> and <i>how</i> sounds in it, as "What do you +think of that?" "How did you do it?" "How came you by this?" "Pit-<i>tee</i> +well."</p> + +<p>But his performances are not all mechanical. He has a stock of poetry +and orations, of which he delivers himself at bedtime with a degree of +resignation,—that being the only hour in which he can be reduced to +sufficient quietude for recitation; nor is that because he loves quiet +more, but bed less. It is a very grievous misfortune, an unreasonable +and arbitrary requisition, that breaks in upon his busy life, interrupts +him in the midst of driving to mill on an inverted chair, hauling wood +in a ditto footstool, and other important matters, and sweeps him off to +darkness and silence. So, with night-gown on, and the odious bed +imminent, he puts off the evil day by compounding with the authorities +and giving a public entertainment, in consideration of a quarter of an +hour's delay. He takes large liberties with the text of his poems, but +his rhetorical variations are of a nature that shows it is no vain +repetition, but that he enters into the spirit of the poem. In one of +his songs a person</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Asked a sweet robin, one morning in May,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sung in the apple-tree over the way,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>what it was he was singing.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Don't you know? he replied, you cannot guess wrong;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't you know I am singing my cold-water song?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>This Jamie intensifies thus:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Do' know my sing my co'-wotta song, hm?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>When he reaches the place where</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Jack fell down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boke cown,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>he invariably leaves Gill to take care of herself, and closes with the +pathetic moral reflection, "'At <i>too</i> bad!" Little Jack Horner, having +put in his thumb and picked out a plum, is made to declare definitely +and redundantly,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My <i>ga-ate</i> big boy, jus' so big!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>He persists in praying,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'F I should die 'fore I wake up."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Borne off to bed a last, in spite of every pretext for delay, tired +Nature droops in his curling lashes, and gapes protractedly through his +wide-dividing lips.</p> + +<p>"I seepy," he cries, fighting of sleep with the bravery of a +Major-General,—observing phenomena, <i>in articulo somni</i>, with the +accuracy and enthusiasm of a naturalist, and reasoning from them with +the skill of a born logician.</p> + +<p>A second prolonged and hearty gape, and</p> + +<p>"I two seepies," he cries, adding mathematics to his other +accomplishments.</p> + +<p>And that is the last of Jamie, till the early morning brings him +trudging up stairs, all curled and shining, to "hear Baddy say 'Boo!'"</p> + +<p>Total depravity, in Jamie's presence, is a doctrine hard to be +understood. Honestly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_704" id="Page_704">[Pg 704]</a></span> speaking, he does not appear to have any more +depravity than is good for him,—just enough to make him piquant, to +give him a relish. He is healthy and hearty all day long. He eats no +luncheon and takes no nap, is desperately hungry thrice a day and sleeps +all night, going to bed at dark after a solitary stale supper of bread +and butter, more especially bread; and he is good and happy. Laying +aside the revelations of the Bible and of Doctors of Divinity, I should +say that his nature is honest, simple, healthful, pure, and good. He +shows no love for wrong, no inclination towards evil rather than good. +He is affectionate, just, generous, and truthful. He just lives on his +sincere, loving, fun-loving, playful, yet earnest life, from day to day, +a pure and perfect example, to my eye, of what God meant children to be. +I cannot see how he should be very different from what he is, even if he +were in heaven, or if Adam had never sinned. There is so fearful an +amount of, and so decided a bent towards, wickedness in the world, that +it seems as if nothing less than an inborn aptitude for wickedness can +account for it; yet, in spite of all theories and probabilities, here is +Jamie, right under my own eye, developing a far stronger tendency to +love, kindness, sympathy, and all the innocent and benevolent qualities, +than to their opposites. The wrong that he does do seems to be more from +fun and frolic, from sheer exuberance of animal spirits and intensity of +devotion to mirth, than anything else. He seems to be utterly devoid of +malice, cruelty, revenge, or any evil motive. Even selfishness, which I +take to be the fruitful mother of evil, is held in abeyance, is +subordinate to other and nobler qualities. Candy is dearer to him than +he knows how to express; yet he scrupulously lays a piece on the mantel +for an absent friend; and though he has it in full view, and climbs up +to it, and in the extremity of his longing has been known, I think, to +chip off the least little bit with his sharp mouse-teeth, yet he endures +to the end and delivers up the candy with an eagerness hardly surpassed +by that with which he originally received it. Can self-denial go +farther?</p> + +<p>It seems to me that the reason of Jamie's gentleness and cheerfulness +and goodness is, that he is comfortable and happy. The animal is in fine +condition, and the spirit is therefore well served; consequently, both +go on together with little friction. And I cannot but suspect that a +great deal of human depravity comes from human misery. The destruction +of the poor is his poverty. Little sickly, fretful, crying babies, heirs +of worn nerves, fierce tempers, sad hearts, sordid tastes, half-tended +or over-tended, fed on poison by the hand of love, nay, sucking poison +from the breasts of love, trained to insubordination, abused by +kindness, abused by cruelty,—that is the human nature from which +largely we generalize, and no wonder the inference is total depravity. +But human nature, distorted, defiled, degraded by centuries of +misdealing, is scarcely human <i>nature</i>. Let us discover it before we +define it. Let us remove accretions of long-standing moral and physical +disease, before we pronounce sentence against the human <i>nature</i>. If it +ever becomes an established and universally recognized principle, as +fixed and unquestionable as the right and wrong of theft and murder, +that it is a sin against God, a crime against the State, an outrage upon +the helpless victim of their ignorance or wickedness, for an unhealthy +man or woman to become the parent of a child, I think our creeds would +presently undergo modification. Disease seems to me a more fertile +source of evil than depravity; at least it is a more tangible source. We +must have a race of healthy children, before we know what are the true +characteristics of the human race. A child suffering from scrofula gives +but a feeble, even a false representation of the grace, beauty, and +sweetness of childhood. Pain, sickness, lassitude, deformity, a +suffering life, a lingering death, are among the woful fruits of this +dire disease, and it is acknowledged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_705" id="Page_705">[Pg 705]</a></span> to be hereditary. Is not, then, +every person afflicted with any hereditary disease debarred as by a fiat +of the Almighty from becoming a parent? Every principle of honor forbids +it. The popular stolidity and blindness on these subjects are +astonishing. A young woman whose sisters have all died of consumption, +and who herself exhibits unmistakable consumptive tendencies, is +married, lives to bear three children in quick succession, and dies of +consumption. Her friends mourn her and the sad separation from her +bereaved little ones, but console themselves with the reflection that +these little ones have prolonged her life. But for her marriage, she +would have died years before. Of the three children born of this +remedial marriage, two die in early girlhood of consumption. One left, a +puny infant, languishes into a puny maturity. Even as a remedy, what is +this worth? To die in her youth, to leave her suffering body in the dust +and go quickly to God, with no responsibility beyond herself, or to pine +through six years, enduring thrice, besides all her inherited debility, +the pain and peril, the weariness and terror of child-bearing, to be at +last torn violently and prematurely away from these beloved little +ones,—which is the disease, and which the remedy? And when we look +farther on at the helpless little innocents, doomed to be the recipients +of disease, early deprived of a mother's care, for which there is no +substitute, dragging a load of weakness and pain, and forced down into +the Valley of the Shadow of Death before years shall have blunted the +point of its terrors, or religion robbed them of their sting,—it is +only not atrocious because so unwittingly wrought.</p> + +<p>And bodily health is only one of the possessions which every child has a +right to claim from its parents. Not merely health, but dispositions, +traits, lie within human control far beyond the extent of common +recognition. We say that character is formed at fourteen or sixteen, and +that training should begin in infancy; but sometimes it seems to me, +that, when the child is born, the work is done. All the rest is +supplementary and subordinate. Subsequent effort has, indeed, much +effect, but it cannot change quality. It may modify, but it cannot make +anew. After neglect or ignorance may blight fair promise, but no after +wisdom can bring bloom for blight. There are many by-laws whose workings +we do not understand; but the great, general law is so plain, that +wayfaring folk, though fools, need not err therein. Every one sees the +unbridled passions of the father or mother raging in the child. +Gentleness is born of gentleness, insanity of insanity, truth of truth. +Careful and prayerful training may mitigate the innate evil; but how +much better that the young life should have sprung to light from seas of +love and purity and peace! Through God's mercy, the harsh temper, the +miserly craving, the fretful discontent may be repressed and soothed; +but it is always up-hill work, and never in this world wholly +successful. Why be utterly careless in forming, to make conscious life a +toilsome and thankless task of reforming? Since there is a time, and +there comes no second, when the human being is under human +control,—since the tiny infant, once born, is a separate individual, is +for all its remaining existence an independent human being, why not +bring power to bear where form is amenable to power? Only let all the +influences of that sovereign time be heavenly,—and whatever may be true +of total depravity, Christ has made such a thing possible,—and there +remains no longer the bitter toil of thwarting, but only the pleasant +work of cultivating Nature.</p> + +<p>It is idle, and worse than idle, to call in question the Providence of +God for disaster caused solely by the improvidence of man. The origin of +evil may be hidden in the unfathomable obscurity of a distant, +undreamed-of past, beyond the scope of mortal vision; but by far the +greater part of the evil that we see—which is the only evil for which +we are responsible—is the result of palpable violation of Divine laws. +Humanity here is as powerful as Divinity.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_706" id="Page_706">[Pg 706]</a></span> The age of miracles is past. +God does not interfere to contravene His own laws. His part in man's +creation He long ago defined, and delegated all the rest to the souls +that He had made. Man is as able as God to check the destructive tide. +And it is mere shuffling and shirking and beating the wind, for a people +to pray God to mitigate the ill which they continually and +unhesitatingly perpetuate and multiply.</p> + +<p>The great mistake made by the believers in total depravity is in +counting the blood of the covenant of little worth. We admit that in +Adam all die; but we are slow to believe that in Christ all can be made +alive. We abuse the doctrine. We make it a sort of scapegoat for +short-coming. But Christ has made Adamic depravity of no account. He +came not alone to pardon sin, but to save people from sinning. +Father-love, mother-love, and Christ-love are so mighty that together +they can defy Satan, and, in his despite, the soul shall be born into +the kingdom of heaven without first passing through the kingdom of hell. +And in this way only, I think, will the kingdom of this world become the +kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Now, Jamie, having set the world right,—you and I, for which the world +will be deeply grateful,—let us see what you are about, for you have +been suspiciously still lately. What doing, Jamie?"</p> + +<p>"Hay-puh!" says Jamie, very red, eager, and absorbed, with no +intermission of labor.</p> + +<p>"Making hasty pudding! Oh, yes! I know what that means. Only taking all +the chips and shavings out of the wood-box in the closet and carrying +them half across the room by the eminently safe conveyance of his two +fat hands, and emptying them into my box of paper, and stirring all +together with a curling-stick. That's nothing. Keep on, Jamie, and amuse +yourself; but let us hear your geography lesson.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going one of these days?"</p> + +<p>"Min-nee-so-toh."</p> + +<p>"Where is Minnesota?"</p> + +<p>Jamie gives a jerk with his arm to the west. He evidently thinks +Minnesota is just beyond the hill.</p> + +<p>"Where is papa going to buy his horses?"</p> + +<p>"Ill-noy."</p> + +<p>"And where does Aunt Sarah live?"</p> + +<p>"Cog-go."</p> + +<p>"What river are you going to sail up to get to Minnesota?"</p> + +<p>"Miss-iss-ipp-ee."</p> + +<p>"That's a <i>good</i> little boy! He knows ever so much; and here is a +peppermint. Open his mouth and shut his eyes, and pop! it goes."</p> + +<p>There is, however, a pretty picture on the other side, that Jamie +thrusts his iconoclastic fists through quite as unconcernedly; and that +is the dignity of human nature. The human being can be trained into a +dignified person: that no one denies. Looking at some honored and +honorable man bearing himself loftily through every crisis, and wearing +his grandeur with an imperial grace, one may be pardoned for the +mistake, but it is none the less a mistake, of reckoning the acquirement +of an individual as the endowment of the race. Behold human nature +unclothed upon with the arts and graces of the schools, if you would +discover, not its possibilities, but its attributes. The helplessness of +infancy appeals to all that is chivalric and Christian in our hearts; +but to dignity it is pre-eminently a stranger. A charming and popular +writer—on the whole, I am not sure that it was not my own self—once +affirmed that a baby is a beast, and gave great offence thereby; yet it +seems to me that no unprejudiced person can observe an infant of tender +weeks sprawling and squirming in the bath-tub, and not confess that it +looks more like a little pink frog than anything else. And here is +Jamie, not only weeks, but months and years old, setting his young +affections on candy and dinner, and eating in general, with an appalling +intensity. It is humiliating to see how easily he is moved by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_707" id="Page_707">[Pg 707]</a></span> an appeal +to his appetite. I blush for my race, remembering the sparkle of his +eyes over a dainty dish, and the abandonment of his devotion to it,—the +enthusiasm with which his feet spring, and his voice rings through the +house, to announce the fact, "Dinnah mo' weh-wy! dinnah mo' weh-wy!" To +the naked eye, he appears to think as much of eating as a cat or a +chicken or a dog. Reasons and rights he is slow to comprehend; but his +conscience is always open to conviction, and his will pliable to a +higher law, when a stick of candy is in the case. His bread-and-butter +is to him what science was to Newton; and he has been known to reply +abstractedly to a question put to him in the height of his enjoyment, +"Don' talk t' me now!" This is not dignity, surely. Is it total +depravity? What is it that makes his feet so swift to do mischief? He +sweeps the floor with the table-brush, comes stumbling over the carpet +almost chin-deep in a pair of muddy rubber boots, catches up the bird's +seed-cup and darts away, spilling it at every step; and the louder I +call, the faster he runs, half frightened, half roguish, till an +unmistakable sharpness pierces him, makes him throw down cup and seed +together, and fling himself full length on the floor, his little heart +all broken. Indeed, he can bear anything but displeasure. He tumbles +down twenty times a day, over the crickets, off the chairs, under the +table, head first, head last, bump, bump, bump, and never a tear sheds +he, though his stern self-control is sometimes quite pitiful to see. But +a little slap on his cheek, which is his standing punishment,—not a +blow, but a tiny tap that must derive all its efficacy from its moral +force,—oh, it stabs him to the heart! He has no power to bear up +against it, and goes away by himself, and cries bitterly, sonorously, +and towards the last, I suspect, rather ostentatiously. Then he spoils +it all by coming out radiant, and boasting that he has "make tear," as +if that were an unparalleled feat. If you attempt to chide him, he puts +up his plump hand with a repelling gesture, turns away his head in +disgust, and ejaculates vehemently, "Don' talk t' me!" After all, +however, I do not perceive that he is any more sensitive to reproof than +an intelligent and petted dog.</p> + +<p>His logical faculty develops itself somewhat capriciously, but is very +prompt. He seldom fails to give you a reason, though it is often of the +Wordsworthian type,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"At Kilve there was no weathercock,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And that's the reason why."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Don' talk t' me! I little Min-nee-so-toh boy!"—as if that were an +amnesty proclamation. You invite him to stay with you, and let Papa go +to Minnesota without him. He shakes his head dubiously, and protests, +with solemn earnestness, "Mus' go Min-nee-so-toh ca'y my fork," which, +to the world-incrusted mind, seems but an inadequate pretext. I want him +to write me a letter when he is gone away; but, after a thoughtful +pause, he decides that he cannot, "'cause I got no pen." If he is not in +a mood to repeat the verse you ask for, he finds full excuse in the +unblushing declaration, "I bashful." He casts shadows on the wall with +his wreathing, awkward little fingers, and is perfectly satisfied that +they are rabbits, though the mature eye discerns no resemblance to any +member of the vertebrate family. He gazes curiously to see me laugh at +something I am reading,—"What 'at? my want to see,"—and climbs up to +survey the page with wistful eyes; but it is "a' a muddle" to him. He +greets me exultantly after absence, because I have "come home pay coot +with Jamie"; and there is another secret out: that it is of no use to be +sentimental with a child. He loves you in proportion as you are +available. His papa and mamma fondly imagine they are dearer to him than +any one else, and it would be cruel to disturb that belief; but it would +be the height of folly to count yourself amiable because Jamie plants +himself firmly against the door, and pleads piteously, "Don' go in e +parly wite!" He wants you to "pay coot" with him,—that is all. If your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_708" id="Page_708">[Pg 708]</a></span> +breakfast shawl is lying on a chair, it would not be sagacious to +attribute an affectionate unselfishness to him in begging leave to "go +give Baddy shawl t' keep Baddy back warm." It is only his greediness to +enter forbidden ground. Sentiment and sensibility have small lodgement +in his soul.</p> + +<p>But when Jamie is duly forewarned, he is forearmed. Legally admitted +into the parlor to see visitors, he sits on the sofa by his mother's +side, silent, upright, prim, his little legs stuck straight out before +him in two stiff lines, presenting a full front view of his soles. By +the way, I wonder how long grown persons would sit still, if they were +obliged to assume this position. But Jamie maintains himself heroically, +his active soul subdued to silence, till Nature avenges herself, not +merely with a palpable, but a portentous yawn. "You may force me to this +unnatural quiet," she seems to say; "but if you expect to prevent me +from testifying that I think it intolerably stupid, you have reckoned +without your host."</p> + +<p>And here Jamie comes out strongly in favor of democracy, universal +suffrage, political equality, the Union and the Constitution, the +Declaration of Independence, and the rights of man. Uncontaminated by +conventional rules, he recognizes the human being apart from his worldly +state. He is as silent and abashed in the presence of the day-laborer, +coarsely clad and rough of speech and manners, as in that of the +accomplished man of the world, or the daintiest silken-robed lady. With +simple gravity, and never a thought of wrong, he begs the poet, "Pease, +Missa Poet, tie up my shoe." He stands in awe before the dignity of the +human soul; but dress and rank and reputation receive no homage from +him. He is reverent, but to no false gods. The world finds room for +kingdoms and empires and oligarchies; but undoubtedly man is born a +democrat.</p> + +<p>Is there only one Jamie here? Can one little urchin about as high as the +table so fill a house with mirth and mischief, so daguerrotype himself +in every corner, possess, while claiming nothing, so large a share of +the household interest? For he somehow bubbles up everywhere. Not a +mischance or a misplacement but can pretty surely be brought home to +him. Is a glass broken? Jamie broke it. Is a door open that ought to be +shut? Jamie opened it. Or shut that ought to be open? Jamie shut it. Is +there a mighty crash in the entry? It is Jamie dropping the crowbar +through the side-lights. The "Atlantic" has been missing all the +morning.</p> + +<p>"Jamie,"—a last, random resort, after fruitless search,—"where is the +'Atlantic Monthly'?"</p> + +<p>"In daw."</p> + +<p>"In the drawer? No, it is not in the drawer. You don't know anything +about it."</p> + +<p>Not quite so fast. Jamie knows the "Atlantic Monthly" as well as you; +and if you will open the drawer for him, he will rapidly scatter its +contents till he comes to the missing "Monthly," safe under the shawls +where he deposited it.</p> + +<p>If you are hanging your room with ground-pine, he lays hold of every +stray twig, and tucks it into every crack he can reach. Will you have +some corn out of the barrel? It is Jamie for balancing himself on the +edge, and reaching down into the depths after it, till little more than +his heels are visible. If, in a sudden exuberance, you make a +"cheese,"—not culinary, but <i>whirligig</i>—round go his little bobtail +petticoats in fatuous imitation. You walk the floor awhile, lost in day +dreaming, to find this little monkey trotting behind you with droll +gravity, his hands clasped behind his head, like yours; and he breaks in +upon your most serious meditations with, "Baddy get down on floor, want +wide on Baddy back," as nonchalantly as if he were asking you to pass +the salt. All that he says, all that he does, has its peculiar charm. +Not that he is in the least a remarkable child.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I trust we have within our realme<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Five [thousand] as good as hee."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Otherwise what will befall this sketch?</p> + +<p>I do not expect anything will ever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_709" id="Page_709">[Pg 709]</a></span> come of him. In a few years he will +be just like everybody else; but now he is the <i>peculiar</i> gift of +Heaven. Men and women walk and talk all day long, and nobody minds them; +while this little ignoramus seldom opens his lips but you think nothing +was ever so winsomely spoken. I suspect it is only his complete +simplicity and sincerity. What he says and what he does are the direct, +unmistakable effusions of his nature. All comes straight from the secret +place where his soul abideth. Even his subterfuges are open as the day. +You know that you are looking upon virgin Nature. Just as it flashed +from its source, you see the unadulterated spirit. If grown-up persons +would or could be as frank as he,—if they had no more misgivings, +concealments, self-distrust, self-thought than he,—they would doubtless +be as interesting. Every separate human being is a separate phenomenon +and mystery; and if he could only be unthinkingly himself, as Jamie is, +that self would be as much more captivating as it is become great and +subtle by growth and experience. But we—fashion, habit, society, +training, all the culture of life, mix a sort of paste, and we gradually +become coated with it, and it hardens upon us; so it comes to pass +by-and-by that we see our associates no longer, but only the casing in +which they walk about; and as one is a good deal like another, we are +not deeply fascinated. Sometimes a Thor's hammer breaks this flinty rock +in pieces. Sometimes a fervid sun melts it, and you are let in to where +the vigilant soul keeps watch and ward. Sometimes, alas! the hardening +process seems to have struck in, and you find nothing but petrifaction +all the way through.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, after all, it is just as well; for, if our neighbors won upon +us unawares as Jamie does, when should we ever find time to do anything? +On the whole, it is a great deal better as it is, until the world has +learned to love its neighbor as itself. For the present, it would not be +safe to go abroad with the soul exposed. You fetch me a blow with your +bludgeon, and I mind it not at all through my coat-of-mail; but if it +had fallen on my heart, it would have wounded me to death. Nay, if you +did but know where the sutures are, how you would stab and stab, dear +fellow-man and brother, not to say Christian! No, we are not to be +trusted with each other yet,—I with you, nor you with me; so we will +keep our armor on awhile, please Heaven.</p> + +<p>And as I think of Jamie frisking through the happy, merry days, I see +how sad, unnatural, and wicked a thing it is, that mothers must so often +miss the sunshine that ought to come to them through their little ones. +We speak of losing children, when they die; but many a mother loses her +children, though they play upon her threshold every day. She loses them, +because she has no leisure to bask, and loiter, and live in them. She is +so occupied in providing for their wants, that she has no time to sun +herself in their grace. She snatches from them sweetness enough to keep +herself alive, but she does not expand and mellow and ripen in their +warmth for all the world. And the hours go by, and the days go by, +evening and morning, seed-time and harvest, and the little frocks are +outgrown, and the little socks outworn, and the little baby—oh! there +is no little baby any more, but a boy with the crust formed already on +his soul.</p> + +<p>I marvel what becomes of these small people in heaven. They cannot stay +as they are, for then heaven would be a poorer place than earth, where +all but idiots increase in wisdom and stature. And if they keep +growing,—why, it seems but a sorry exchange, to give up your tender, +tiny, clinging infant, that is still almost a part of your own life, and +receive in return a full-grown angel a great deal wiser and stronger +than you. Perhaps it is only a just punishment for our guilty ignorance +and selfishness in treating the little things so harshly, that they die +away from us in sheer self-defence. And how good is the All-Father thus +to declare for His little ones, when the strife waxes too hot, and the +odds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_710" id="Page_710">[Pg 710]</a></span> too heavy against them! We can maltreat them, but only to a +certain limit. Beyond that, the lovely, stern angel of Death steps in, +and bears them softly away to perpetual peace. I read our vital +statistics,—so many thousands under five years of age dying each year; +and I rejoice in every one. If their chances were fair for purity and +happiness, the earth is too beautiful to slip so quickly from their +hold; but, with sin and suffering, twin beasts of prey, lying in wait to +devour, oh! thrice and four times happy are they who escape swiftly from +the struggle in which they are all too sure to fail. So many, at least, +are safe within the fold.</p> + +<p>And thus, too, it seems providential, that the sin of pagan nations +should take the form of infanticide. It is Satanic work, but God +overrules it for good. Evil defeats itself, and hatred crowds the lists +of love. From misery and wickedness, from stifled cities, over-full, +from pagan lands, steeped centuries long in vice and crime, from East +and West and North and South, over all the world, the innocent souls go +up,—little lily-buds, swelling white and pure from earthly slime to +bloom in heavenly splendor.</p> + +<p>Jamie, Jamie, do you see birdie has put his head under his wing and gone +to sleep? What does that mean? It means "Good night, Jamie." Now come, +let us have "Cr-e-e-p, cr-e-e-p, cr-e-e-p!" And two fingers go slowly, +measuring Jamie from toe to neck, and Jamie cringes and squirms and +finally screams outright, and almost flings himself upon the floor; but, +as soon as his spasm is over, begs again, "Say, 'K-e-e-p, k-e-e-p, +k-e-e-p!'" and would keep it going longer than I have time to wait.</p> + +<p>In this very passion for reiteration may be found a sufficient answer to +those uneasy persons who are perpetually attempting to bring new +singing-books into our churches, on pretext that people are tired of the +old tunes. You never hear from Jamie's pure taste any clamor for new +songs or stories. Whenever he climbs up into your lap to be amused, he +is sure to ask for the story of "Kitty in Ga'et Window," though he knows +it as Boston people know oratorio music, and detects and condemns the +slightest departure from the text. And when you have gone through the +drama, with all its motions and mewings, he wants nothing so much as +"Kitty in Ga'et Window 'gen." Let us keep the old tunes. It is but a +factitious need that would change them.</p> + +<p>Gentle and friendly reader, I pray your pardon for this childish record. +Some things I say of set purpose for your good, and the more you do not +like them, the more I know they are the very things you need; and I +shall continue to deal them out to you from time to time, as you are +able to bear them. But this broken, rambling child-talk—with "a few +practical reflections, arising naturally from my subject," as the +preachers say—was penned only for your pleasure—and mine; and if you +do not like it, I shall be very sorry, and wish I had never written it. +For we might have gone away by ourselves and enjoyed it all +alone;—could we not, Jamie, you and I together? Oh, no, no! Never +again! Never, never again! for the mountains that rise and the prairies +that roll between us. Ah! well, Jamie, I shall not cry about it. If you +had stayed here, it would have been but a little while before you would +have grown up into a big boy, and then a young fellow, and then a man, +and been of no account. So what does it signify? Good night, little +Jamie! good night, darling! Do I hear a sleepy echo, as of old, wavering +out of the West, "<i>Goo-i-dah-ing</i>"?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_711" id="Page_711">[Pg 711]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_SLEEPER" id="THE_SLEEPER"></a>THE SLEEPER.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">I.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The glen was fair as some Arcadian dell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All shadow, coolness, and the rush of streams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save where the dazzling fire of noonday fell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like stars within its under-sky of dreams.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rich leaf and blossomed grape and fern-tuft made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Odors of Life and Slumber through the shade.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">II.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O peaceful heart of Nature!" was my sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"How dost thou shame, in thine unconscious bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy calm accordance with the changing sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O quiet heart, the restless life of this!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take thou the place false friends have vacant left,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bring thy bounty to repair the theft!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">III.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So sighing, weary with the unsoothed pain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From insect-stings of women and of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uneasy heart and ever-baffled brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I breathed the silent beauty of the glen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the fragrant shadows where she stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Evoked the shyest Dryad of the wood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">IV.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lo! on a slanting rock, outstretched at length,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A woodman lay in slumber, fair as death,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His limbs relaxed in all their supple strength,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His lips half-parted with his easy breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by one gleam of hovering light caressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bare brown arm and white uncovered breast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">V.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Why comes he here?" I whispered, treading soft<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hushing moss beside his flinty bed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Sweet are the haycocks in yon clover-croft,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The meadow turf were light beneath his head:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could he not slumber by the orchard-tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leave this quiet unprofaned for me?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">VI.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But something held my step. I bent, and scanned<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(As one might view a veiny agate-stone)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hard, half-open fingers of his hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strong cords of wrist, knit round the jointed bone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sunburnt muscles, firm and full of power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But harmless now as petals of a flower.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_712" id="Page_712">[Pg 712]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">VII.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The rock itself was not more still: yet one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Light spray of grass shook ever at his wrist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Counting the muffled pulses. Where the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The open fairness of his bosom kissed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I marked the curious beauty of the skirt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dim blue branches of the blood within.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">VIII.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There lay the unconscious Life, but, ah! more fair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than ever blindly stirred in leaf and bark,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warmth, beauty, passion, mystery everywhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond the Dryad's feebly burning spark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of cold poetic being: who could say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If here the angel or the wild beast lay?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">IX.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then I looked up and read his helpless face:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Peace touched the temples and the eyelids, slept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On drooping lashes, made itself a place<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In smiles that gently to the corners crept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of parting lips, and came and went, to show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The happy freedom of the heart below.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">X.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A holy rest! wherein the man became<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Man's interceding representative:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Sleep's white realm fell off his mask of blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And he was sacred, for that he did live.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His presence marred no more the quiet deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all the glen became a shrine of sleep!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">XI.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then I mused:—How lovely this repose!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How the shut sense its dwelling consecrates!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sleep guards itself against the hands of foes:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its breath disarms the Envies and the Hates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which haunt our lives: were this mine enemy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My stealthy watch could not less reverent be!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">XII.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here lie our human passions, sung to rest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By tender Nature, anxious to restore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some hours of innocence to every breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To part the husks around the untainted core<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of life, and show, in equal helplessness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hearts that wound us and the hearts that bless!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_713" id="Page_713">[Pg 713]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">XIII.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How swiftly in this frame the primal seeds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of purity and peace revive anew!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One wave of sleep the stain of evil deeds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Effaces, as with Heaven's baptismal dew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pure white flame through all its ashes burns:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The effluent being to its source returns.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">XIV.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So hang their hands that would have done me wrong;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So sweet their breathing whose unkindly spite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Provoked the bitter measures of my song;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So they might slumber, sacred in my sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I in theirs:—why waste contentious breath?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forget, like Sleep, and then forgive, like Death!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i10">XV.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I bowed my head: the sleeper gently smiled,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How far he lay from every sting and smart!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some sinless dream his wandering thought beguiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And left its sweetness in his open heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The God that watched him in the lonely glen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sent me, consoled and patient, back to men.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="DOCTOR_JOHNS" id="DOCTOR_JOHNS"></a>DOCTOR JOHNS.</h2> + + +<h3>XL.</h3> + +<p>It would lead us far too widely from the simple order of our narrative +to detail the early history of Madame Arles; and although the knowledge +of it might serve in some degree to explain the peculiar interest which +that poor woman has shown in the motherless Adèle, we choose rather to +leave the matter unexplained, and to regard the invalid enthusiast as +one whose sympathies have fastened in a strange way upon the exiled +French girl, and grow all the stronger by the difficulties in the way of +their full expression.</p> + +<p>Madame Arles did not forego either her solicitude or the persistence of +her inquiry under the harsh rebuff of the Doctor. Again and again, after +nightfall, he saw her figure flitting back and forth upon the street, +over against Adèle's window; and the good man perplexed himself vainly +with a hundred queries as to what such strange conduct could mean. The +village physician, too, had been addressed by this anxious lady with a +tumult of questionings; and the old gentleman—upon whose sympathies the +eager inquirer had won an easier approach than upon those of the severe +parson—had taken hearty satisfaction in assuring her, within a few days +after the night interview we have detailed, that the poor girl was +mending, was out of danger, in fact, and would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_714" id="Page_714">[Pg 714]</a></span> presently in a +condition to report for herself.</p> + +<p>After this, and through the long convalescence, Madame Arles was seen +more rarely upon the village street. Yet the town gossips were busy with +the character and habits of the "foreign lady." Her devotion to the +little child of the outcast Boody woman was most searchingly discussed +at all the tea-tables of the place; and it was special object of +scandal, that the foreign lady, neglectful of the Sabbath ministrations +of the parson, was frequently to be seen wandering about the fields in +"meeting-time," attended very likely by that poor wee thing of a child, +upon whose head the good people all visited, with terrible frowns, the +sins of the parents. No woman, of whatever condition, could maintain a +good reputation in Ashfield under such circumstances. Dame Tourtelot +enjoyed a good sharp fling at the "trollop."</p> + +<p>"I allers said she was a bad woman," submitted the stout Dame; and her +audience (consisting of the Deacon and Miss Almiry) would have had no +more thought of questioning the implied decision than of cutting down +the meeting-house steeple.</p> + +<p>"And I'm afeard," continued the Dame, "that Adeel isn't much better; she +keeps a crucifix in her chamber!—needn't to look at me, +Tourtelot!—Miss Johns told me all about it, and I don't think the +parson should allow it. I think you oughter speak to the parson, +Tourtelot."</p> + +<p>The good Deacon scratched his head, over the left ear, in a deprecating +manner.</p> + +<p>"And I've heerd this Miss Arles has been a-writin' to Mr. Maverick, +Adeel's father,—needn't to look at me, Tourtelot!—the postmaster told +me; and she's been receivin' furren letters,—filled with Popery, I +ha'n't a doubt."</p> + +<p>In short, the poor woman bore a most execrable reputation; and Doctor +Johns, good as he was, took rather a secret pride in such startling +confirmation of his theories in respect to French character. He wrote to +his friend Maverick, informing him that his suspicions in regard to +Madame Arles were, he feared, "only too well-founded. Her neglect of +Sabbath ordinances, her unhallowed associations, her extreme violence of +language, (which was on a signal occasion uttered in my hearing,) have +satisfied me that your distrust was only too reasonable. I shall guard +Adaly from all further intercourse with extreme care."</p> + +<p>Indeed, Miss Eliza and the Doctor (the latter from the best of motives) +had scrupulously kept from Adèle all knowledge of Madame Arles's +impatient and angry solicitude during her illness. And when Adèle, on +those first sunny days of her convalescence, learned incidentally that +her countrywoman was still a resident of the village, it pained her +grievously to think that she had heard no tender message from her during +all that weary interval of sickness, and she was more than half inclined +(though she did not say this) to adopt the harshest judgments of the +spinster. There was not a visitor at the parsonage, indeed, but, if the +name were mentioned, sneered at the dark-faced, lonely woman, who was +living such a godless life, and associating, as if from sheer bravado, +with those who were under the ban of all the reputable people of +Ashfield.</p> + +<p>When, therefore, Adèle, on one of her early walks with Reuben, after her +recovery was fully established, encountered, in a remote part of the +village, Madame Arles, trailing after her the little child of +shame,—and yet darting toward the French girl, at first sight, with her +old effusion,—Adèle met her coolly, so coolly, indeed, that the poor +woman was overcome, and, hurrying the little child after her, +disappeared with a look of wretchedness upon her face that haunted Adèle +for weeks and months. Thereafter very little was seen of Madame Arles +upon the principal street of the village; and her avoidance of the +family of the parsonage was as studied and resolute as either the Doctor +or Miss Eliza could have desired. A moment of chilling indifference on +the part of Adèle had worked stronger repulse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_715" id="Page_715">[Pg 715]</a></span> than all the harsh +rebuffs of the elder people; but of this the kind-hearted French girl +was no way conscious: yet she <i>was</i> painfully conscious of a shadowy +figure that still, from time to time, stole after her in her twilight +walks, and that, if she turned upon it, shrank stealthily from +observation. There was a mystery about the whole matter which oppressed +the poor girl with a sense of terror. She could not doubt that the +interest of her old teacher in herself had been a kindly one; but +whatever it might have been, that interest was now so furtive, and +affected such concealment, that she was half led to entertain the +cruellest suspicions of Miss Eliza, who did not fail to enlarge upon the +godlessness of the stranger's life, and to set before Adèle the thousand +alluring deceits by which Satan sought to win souls to himself.</p> + +<p>Rumor, one day, brought the story, that the foreign woman, who had been +the subject of so much village scandal, lay ill, and was fast failing; +and on hearing this, Adèle would have broken away from all the parsonage +restraints, to offer what consolations she could: nor would the good +Doctor have repelled her; but the rumor, if not false, was, in his view, +grossly exaggerated; since, on the Sunday previous only, some officious +member of his parish had reported the Frenchwoman as strolling over the +hills, decoying with her that little child of her fellow-lodger, which +she had tricked out in the remnants of her French finery, and was thus +wantoning throughout the holy hours of service.</p> + +<p>A few days later, however, the Doctor came in with a serious and +perplexed air; he laid his cane and hat upon the little table within the +door, and summoned Adèle to the study.</p> + +<p>"Adaly, my child," said he, "this unfortunate countrywoman of yours is +really failing fast. I learn as much from the physician. She has sent a +request to see you. She says that she has an important message, a dying +message, to give you."</p> + +<p>A strange tremor ran over the frame of Adèle.</p> + +<p>"I fear, my child, that she is still bound to her idolatries; she has +asked that you bring to her the little bauble of a rosary, which, I +trust, Adaly, you have learned to regard as a vanity."</p> + +<p>"Yet I have it still, New Papa; she shall have it"; and she turned to +go.</p> + +<p>"My child, I cannot bear that you should go as the messenger of a false +faith, and to carry to her, as it were, the seal of her idolatries. You +shall follow her wishes, Adaly; but I must attend you, my child, were it +only to protest against such vanities, and to declare to her, if it be +not too late, the truth as it is in the Gospel."</p> + +<p>Adèle was only too willing; for she was impressed with a vague terror at +thought of this interview, and of its possible revelations; and they set +off presently in company. It was a chilly day of later autumn. Only a +few scattered, tawny remnants of the summer verdure were hanging upon +the village trees, and great rows of the dead and fallen leaves were +heaped here and there athwart the path, where some high wall kept them +clear of the winds; and as the walkers tramped through them, they made a +ghostly rustle, and whole platoons of them were set astir to drift again +until some new eddy caught and stranded them in other heaps. Adèle, more +and more disturbed in mind, said,—</p> + +<p>"It's such a dreary day, New Papa!"</p> + +<p>"Is it the thought that one you know may lie dying now makes it dreary, +my child?"</p> + +<p>"Partly that, I dare say," returned Adèle; "and then the wind so tosses +about these dead leaves. I wish it were always spring."</p> + +<p>"There is a country," said the parson, "where spring reigns eternal. I +hope you may find it, Adaly; I hope your poor countrywoman may find it; +but I fear, I fear."</p> + +<p>"Is it, then, so dreadful to be a Romanist?"</p> + +<p>"It is dreadful, Adaly, to doubt the free grace of God,—dreadful to +trust in any offices of men, or in tithes of mint and anise and +cumin,—dreadful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_716" id="Page_716">[Pg 716]</a></span> to look anywhere for absolution from sin but in the +blood of the Lamb. I have a conviction, my child," continued he, in a +tone even more serious, "that the poor woman has not lived a pure life +before God, or even before the world. Even at this supreme moment of her +life, if it be such, I should be unwilling to trust you alone with her, +Adaly."</p> + +<p>Adèle, trembling,—partly with the chilling wind, and partly with an +ill-defined terror of—she knew not what,—nestled more closely to the +side of the old gentleman; and he, taking her little hand in his, as +tenderly as a lover might have done, said,—</p> + +<p>"Adaly, at least <i>your</i> trust in God is firm, is it not?"</p> + +<p>"It is! it is!" said she.</p> + +<p>The house, as we have said, lay far out upon the river-road, within a +strip of ill-tended garden-ground, surrounded by a rocky pasture. A +solitary white-oak stood in the line of straggling wall that separated +garden from pasture, and showed still a great crown of leaves blanched +by the frosts, and shivering in the wind. An artemisia, with blackened +stalks, nodded its draggled yellow blossoms at one angle of the house, +while a little company of barn-door fowls stood closely grouped under +the southern lea, with heads close drawn upon their breasts, idling and +winking in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>The young mother of the vagrant little one who had attracted latterly so +much of the solitary woman's regard received them with an awkward +welcome.</p> + +<p>"Miss Arles is poorly, to-day," she said, "and she's flighty. She keeps +Arthur" (the child) "with her. You hear how she's a-chatterin' now." +(The door of her chamber stood half open.) "Arty seems to understand +her. I'm sure I don't."</p> + +<p>Nor, indeed, did the Doctor, to whose ear a torrent of rapid French +speech was like the gibberish of demons. He never doubted 't was full of +wickedness. Not so Adèle. There were sweet sounds to her ear in that +swift flow of Provençal speech,—tender, endearing epithets, that seemed +like the echo of music heard long ago,—pleasant banter of words that +had the rhythm of the old godmother's talk.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you're a gay one! Now—put on your velvet cap—so. We'll find a +bride for you some day—some day, when you're a tall, proud man. Who's +your father, Arty? Pah! it's nothing. You'll make somebody's heart ache +all the same,—eh, Arty, boy?"</p> + +<p>"Do you understand her, Miss Maverick?" says the mother.</p> + +<p>"Not wholly," said Adèle; and the two visitors stepped in noiselessly.</p> + +<p>The child, bedizened with finery, was standing upon the bed where the +sick woman lay, with a long feather from the cock's tail waving from his +cap. Madame Arles, with the hot flush of the fever upon her, +looked—saving the thinness—as she might have looked twenty years +before. And as her flashing eye caught the newcomers, her voice broke +out wildly again,—</p> + +<p>"Here's the bride, and here's the priest! Where's the groom? Where's the +groom? Where's the groom, I say?"</p> + +<p>The violence of her manner made poor Adèle shiver.</p> + +<p>The boy laughed as he saw it, and said,—</p> + +<p>"She's afraid! <i>I'm</i> not afraid."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" said the crazed woman, turning on him. "You're a man, Arty: +men are not afraid,—you wanton, you wild one! Where's the groom?" said +she again, addressing the Doctor, fiercely.</p> + +<p>"My good woman," says the old gentleman, "we have come to offer you the +consolations that are only to be found in the Gospel of Christ."</p> + +<p>"Pah! you're a false priest!"—defiantly. "Where's the groom?"</p> + +<p>And Adèle, hoping to pacify the poor woman, draws from her reticule the +little rosary, and, holding it before the eyes of the sufferer, says, +timidly,—</p> + +<p>"My dear Madam, it is I,—Adèle; I have brought what you asked of me; I +have come to comfort you."</p> + +<p>And the woman, over whose face there ran instantly a marvellous change,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_717" id="Page_717">[Pg 717]</a></span> +snatched the rosary, and pressed it convulsively to her lips; then, +looking for a moment yearningly, with that strange double gaze of hers, +upon the face of Adèle, she sprang toward her, and, wreathing her arms +about her, drew her fast upon her bosom,—</p> + +<p>"<i>Ma fille! ma pauvre fille!</i>"</p> + +<p>The boy slipped down from the bed,—his little importance being +over,—and was gone. The Doctor's lips moved in silent prayer for five +minutes or more, wholly undisturbed, while the twain were locked in that +embrace. Then the old gentleman, stooping, says,—</p> + +<p>"Adaly, will she listen to me now?"</p> + +<p>And Adèle, turning a frightened face to him, whispers,—</p> + +<p>"She's sleeping; unclasp her hands; she holds me tightly."</p> + +<p>And the Doctor, with tremulous fingers, does her bidding.</p> + +<p>Adèle, still whispering, says,—</p> + +<p>"She's calm now; she'll talk with us when she wakes, New Papa."</p> + +<p>"My poor child," said the Doctor, solemnly, and with a full voice, +"she'll never wake again."</p> + +<p>And Adèle, turning,—in a maze of terror, as she thought of that +death-clasp,—saw that her eyes had fallen open,—open, and fixed, and +lustreless. So quietly Death had come upon his errand, and accomplished +it, and gone; while without, the fowls, undisturbed, were still blinking +idly in the sunshine under the lea of the wall, and the yellow +chrysanthemums were fluttering in the wind.</p> + + +<h3>XLI.</h3> + +<p>In the winter of 1838-9, Adèle, much to the delight of Dr. Johns, avowed +at last her wish to join herself to the little church-flock over which +the good parson still held serenely his office of shepherd. And as she +told him quietly of her desire, sitting before him there in the study of +the parsonage, without urgence upon his part, it was as if a bright +gleam of sunshine had darted suddenly through the wintry clouds, and +bathed both of them in its warm effulgence. The good man, rising from +his chair and crossing over to her place, touched her forehead with as +tender and loving a kiss as ever he had bestowed upon the lost Rachel.</p> + +<p>He had seen too closely the development of her Christian faith to +disturb her with various questionings. She rejoiced in this; for even +then, with all the calm serenity of her trust, it was doubtful if her +answers could have fully satisfied the austerities of his theological +traditions. Nay, she doubted, even, if the exuberance of her spirits +would not sometimes, in days to come, bound over the formalities of his +Sunday observance, and startle a corrective glance; but withal she knew +her trust was firm, and on this had full repose. Even the little rosary, +so obnoxious to the household of the parsonage, was, by its terrible +association with the death-scene of Madame Arles, endeared to her +tenfold; and she could not forbear the hope that the poor woman, at the +very last, by that clinging kiss upon the image of Christ, told a prayer +that might give access to His abounding mercy.</p> + +<p>Nor did Adèle seek to comprehend in their entireness all those wearisome +dogmatic utterances which were familiar to her tongue, and which she +could understand might form the steps to fulness of belief for the +rigorous mind of the Doctor: for herself there was other ladder of +approach, in finding which the emotional experiences of Reuben had been +of such signal service.</p> + +<p>To Reuben himself those experiences, brought a temporary exhilaration, +but as yet no peace. He has a vague notion creeping over him, with +fearfully chilling effect, that his sensibilities have been wrought upon +rather than his reason; a confused sense of having yielded to +enthusiasms, which, if they once grow cool, will leave him to slump back +into a mire worse than the old. Therefore he must, by all possible +means, keep them at fever-heat. A dim consciousness, however, possessed +him, that, for the feeding of the necessary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_718" id="Page_718">[Pg 718]</a></span> fires, there would be +needed an immense consumption of fuel,—such stock as an ordinary +experience could hardly hope to supply. By degrees, this consciousness +took the force of conviction, and he became painfully sensible of his +own limitations. There was a weary, matter-of-fact world to struggle +with, in whose homely cares and interests he must needs be a partner. He +could not wear the gyves of a Gabriel on the muddy streets of life, or +carry the ecstatic language of praise into the world's talk: if he +could, he would be reckoned insane, and not unjustly, since sanity is, +after all, but a term to express the average normal condition of mind. +He looked with something like envy upon the serene contentment of Adèle. +He lived like an ascetic; he sought, by reading of all manner of +exultant religious experience, to keep alive the ferment of the autumn. +"If only death were near," he said to himself, "with what a blaze of +hope one might go out!" But death was not near,—or, at least, life and +its perplexing duties were nearer. The intensity of his convictions +somehow faded, and they lost their gorgeous hue, under the calm +doctrinal sermons of the parson. If the glory of the promises and the +tenderness of Divine entreaty were to be always dropping mellifluously +on his ear, as upon that solemn Sunday of the summer, it might be well. +But it is not thus; and even were the severe quiet of the Ashfield +Sundays lighted up by the swift and burning words of such fiery +evangelism, yet six solid working-days roll over upon the heel of every +Sunday,—in which he sees good Deacon Tourtelot in shirt-sleeves driving +some sharp bargain for his two-year-old steers, or the stout Dame +hectoring some stray peddler by the hour for the fall of a penny upon +his wares, and wonders where their Christian largeness of soul is gone. +Is the matter real to him? And if real, where is the peace? Shall he +consult the good Doctor? He is met straightway with an array of the old +catechismal formulas, clearly stated, well argued, but brushing athwart +his mind like a dusty wind. The traditional dislikes of his boyhood have +armed him against all such, <i>cap-à-pie</i>. In this strait, he wanders over +the hills in search of loneliness, and a volume of Tillotson he carries +with him is all unread. Nature speaks more winningly, but scarce more +helpfully.</p> + +<p>Adèle, with a quick eye, sees the growing unrest, and, with a great +weight of gratitude upon her heart, says, timidly,—</p> + +<p>"Can I help you, Reuben?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, Adèle. I understand you; I'm in a boggle,—that's all."</p> + +<p>The father, too, at a hint from Adèle, (whose perceptions are so much +quicker,) sees at last how the matter stands.</p> + +<p>"Reuben," he says, "these struggles of yours are struggles with the +Great Adversary of Souls. I trust, my son, you will not allow him to +have the mastery."</p> + +<p>It was kindly said and earnestly said, but touched the core of the son's +moral disquietude no more than if it were the hooting of an owl. Yet, +for all this, Reuben makes a brave struggle to wear with an outward calm +the burden of the professions he has made,—a terrible burden, when he +finds what awful chasms in his faith have been overleaped by his +vaulting Quixotic fervor. Wearily he labors to bridge them across, with +over-much reading, there in the quiet study of the parsonage, of Newton +and Tillotson and Butler; and he takes a grim pleasure (that does not +help him) in following the amiable argumentation of Paley. It pains him +grievously to think what humiliation would possess the old Doctor, if he +but knew into what crazy currents his boy's thoughts were drifting over +the pages of his beloved teachers. But a man cannot live a deceit, even +for charity's sake, without its making outburst some day, and wrecking +all the fine preventive barriers which kept it in.</p> + +<p>The outburst came at last in the quiet of the Ashfield study, Reuben had +been poring for hours—how wearily!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_719" id="Page_719">[Pg 719]</a></span> how vainly!—over the turgid dogmas +of one of the elder divines, when he suddenly dashed the book upon the +floor.</p> + +<p>"Confound the theologies! I'll have no more of them!"</p> + +<p>The Doctor dropped his pen, and stared as if a serpent had stung him.</p> + +<p>"My son! Reuben! Reuben!"</p> + +<p>It was not so much the expression that had shocked him, as it was the +action and the defiance in his eye.</p> + +<p>"I can't help it, father. It's the Evil One, perhaps. If it be, I'll +cheat him, by making a clean breast of it. I can't abide the stuff; I +can't see my way through it."</p> + +<p>"My son, it is your sin that blinds you."</p> + +<p>"Very likely," says Reuben.</p> + +<p>"It was not thus with you three months ago, Reuben," continues the +Doctor, in a softened tone.</p> + +<p>"No, father, there was a strange light around me in those days. It +seemed to me that the path lay clear and shining through all the maze. +If Death had caught me then, I think I could have sung hosannas with the +saints. It was a beautiful dream. It's faded dismally, father,—as if +the Devil had painted it."</p> + +<p>The old man shuddered, and lifted his hands, as he was wont to do in his +most earnest pleas at the Throne of Grace.</p> + +<p>"The muddle of the world and the theologies has come in since," +continued Reuben, "and the base professions I see around me, and the +hypocrisies and the cant, have taken away the glow. It's all a weariness +and a confusion, and that's the solemn truth."</p> + +<p>The Doctor said, measuredly, (as if the Book were before him,)—</p> + +<p>"'<i>Some seeds fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth; and +forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth. And +when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, +they withered away.</i>' Reuben! Reuben! we must agonize to enter into the +strait gate!"</p> + +<p>"It's a long agony," said Reuben; and he rose and paced back and forth +for a time; then suddenly stopping before the Doctor, he laid his hand +upon his shoulder, (the boy was of manly height now, and overtopped the +old gentleman by an inch,)—"Father, it grieves me to pain you,—indeed +it does; but truth is truth. I have told you my story; but if you wish +it, I will live outwardly as if no such talk had passed. I will respect +as much as ever all your religious observances, and no person shall be +the wiser."</p> + +<p>"I would not have you practise hypocrisy, my son; but I would not have +you withdraw yourself from any of the appointed means of grace."</p> + +<p>And at this Reuben went out,—out far upon the hills, from which he saw +the village roofs, and the spire, and the naked tree-tops, the fields +all bare and brown, the smoke of a near house curling lazily into the +sky; and the only sound that broke the solemn stillness was the drumming +of a partridge in the woods or the harsh scream of a belated jay.</p> + +<p>Never had Reuben been more kind or attentive to the personal wants of +the old gentleman than on the days which followed upon this interview. +There was something almost like a daughter's solicitude in his +watchfulness. On the next Sunday the Doctor preached with an emotion +that was but poorly controlled, and which greatly mystified his people. +Twice in the afternoon his voice came near to failing. Reuben knew where +the grief lay, but wore a composed face; and as he supported the old +gentleman home after service, he said, (but not so loudly that Adèle +could hear, who was tripping closely behind,)—</p> + +<p>"Father, I grieve for you,—upon my soul I do; but it's fate."</p> + +<p>"Fate, Reuben?" said the Doctor, but with a less guarded voice,—"fate? +God only is fate!"</p> + +<p>The Doctor was too much mortified by this revelation of Reuben's present +state of feeling to make it the subject of conversation, even with Miss +Eliza, and much less with the elders of his flock.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_720" id="Page_720">[Pg 720]</a></span> To Squire Elderkin, +indeed, whose shrewd common-sense he had learned to value even in its +bearings upon the "weightier matters of the law," he had dropped some +desponding reflections in regard to the wilful impetuosity of his poor +son Reuben, from which the shrewd Squire at once suspected the +difficulty.</p> + +<p>"It's the blood of the old Major," he said. "Let it work, Doctor, let it +work!"</p> + +<p>From which observation, it must be confessed, the good man derived very +little comfort.</p> + +<p>Miss Eliza, though she is not made a confidant in these latter secrets +of the study, cannot, however, fail to see that Reuben's constancy to +the Doctor's big folios is on the wane, and that symptoms of his old +boyish recklessness occasionally show themselves under the reserve which +had grown out of his later experiences. She has hopes from this—true to +her keen worldly wisdom—that the abandoned career of the city may yet +win his final decision. But her moral perceptions are not delicate +enough to discover the great and tormenting wrangle of his thought. She +ventures from time to time, as on his return, and from sharp sense of +duty, some wiry, stereotyped religious reflections, which set his whole +moral nature on edge. Nor is this the limit of her blindness: +perceiving, as she imagines she does, the ripening of all her plans with +respect to himself and Adèle, she thinks to further the matter by +dropping hints of the rare graces of Adèle and of her brilliant +prospects,—assuring him how much that young lady's regard for him has +been increased since his conversion, (which word has to Reuben just now +a dreary and most detestable sound,) and in a way which she counts +playful, but which to him is <i>agaçant</i> to the last degree, she forecasts +the time when Reuben will have his pretty French wife, and a rich one.</p> + +<p>Left to himself, the youth would very likely have found enough to admire +in the face and figure and pleasantly subdued enthusiasm of Adèle; but +the counter irritant of the spinster's speech drove him away on many an +evening to the charming fireside of the Elderkins, where he spent not a +few beguiling hours in listening to the talk of the motherly mistress of +the household, and in watching the soft hazel eyes of Rose, as they +lifted in eager wonderment at some of his stories of the town, or fell +(the long lashes hiding them with other beauty) upon the work where her +delicate fingers plied with a white swiftness that teased him into +trains of thought which were not wholly French.</p> + +<p>Adèle has taken a melancholy interest in decking the grave of the exiled +lady, which she has insisted upon doing out of her own resources, and +thus has doubled the little legacy which Madame Aries had left to the +outcast woman and child with whom she had joined her fate, and who, with +good reason, wept her death bitterly. Hour upon hour Adèle pondered over +that tragic episode, tasking herself to imagine what message the dying +woman could have had to communicate, and wondering if the future would +ever clear up the mystery. To the good Doctor it seemed only a strange +Providence, by which the religious convictions of Adèle should be +deepened and made sure. And in no way were the results of those +convictions more beautifully apparent than in the efforts of Adèle to +overcome her antipathies to the spinster. It is doubtful, indeed, if a +bolder challenge can be made to the Christian graces of any character +whatever than that which demands the conquest of social prejudices which +have grown into settled aversion. With all the stimulus of her new +Christian endeavor, Adèle sought to think charitably of Miss Eliza. Yet +it was hard; always, that occasional cold kiss of the spinster had for +Adèle an iron imprint, which drove her warm blood away, instead of +summoning it to response.</p> + +<p>For her, Miss Eliza's staple praises of Reuben, and her adroit stories +of the admiration and attachment of Mrs. Brindlock for her nephew, were +distasteful to the last degree. Coarse natures<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_721" id="Page_721">[Pg 721]</a></span> never can learn upon +what fine threads the souls of the sensitive are strung.</p> + +<p>Adèle felt a tender gratitude toward Reuben, which it seemed to her the +boisterous affection of the spinster could never approach. She +apprehended his spiritual perplexities more keenly than the austere +aunt, and saw with what strange ferment his whole nature was vexed. Had +he been a brother by blood, she could not have felt for him more warmly. +And if she ever allowed herself to guess at a nearer tie, it was not to +Miss Eliza that she would have named the guess,—not even, thus far, to +herself. As yet there was a soft fulness in her heart that felt no +wound,—at least no wound in which her hope rankled. Whether Reuben were +present or away, her songs rose, with a sweeter, a serener, and a +loftier cheer than of old under the roof of the parsonage; and, as of +old, the Doctor laid down his book and listened, as if an angel sang.</p> + + +<h3>XLII.</h3> + +<p>In the summer of 1840 the Doctor received a letter from Maverick which +overwhelmed him with consternation; and its revelations, we doubt not, +will, prove as great a surprise to our readers.</p> + +<p>"My good friend Johns," he wrote, "I owe you a debt of gratitude which I +can never repay; you have shown such fatherly interest in my dear +child,—you have so guided and guarded her,—you have so abundantly +filled the place which, though it was my duty, I had never the +worthiness to fill, that I have no words to thank you. And now you have +crowned all by giving her that serene trust"——</p> + +<p>"Not I! not I!" says the Doctor to himself,—"only God's mercy,—God's +infinite mercy!"—and he continues, "that serene trust in Heaven which +will support her under all trials. Poor child, she will need it all!"</p> + +<p>"And that this man," pursues the Doctor meditatively, "who thinks so +wisely, should be given over still to the things of this world!"</p> + +<p>"I hear still further,—from what sources it will be unnecessary for me +now to explain,—that a close intimacy has grown up latterly between +your son Reuben and my dear Adèle, and that this intimacy has provoked +village rumors of the possibility of some nearer tie. These rumors may +be, perhaps, wholly untrue; I hope to Heaven they are, and my informant +may have exaggerated only chance reports. But the knowledge of them, +vague as they are, has stimulated me to a task which I ought far sooner +to have accomplished, and which, as a man of honor, I can no longer +defer. I know that you think lightly of any promptings to duty which +spring only from a sense of honor; and before you shall have finished my +letter I fear that you will be tempted to deny me any claim to the +title. Indeed, it has been the fear of forfeiting altogether your regard +that has kept me thus far silent, and has caused me to delay, from year +to year, that full explanation which I can no longer with any propriety +or justice withhold.</p> + +<p>"I go back to the time when I first paid you a visit at your parsonage. +I never shall forget the cheery joyousness of that little family scene +at your fireside, the winning modesty and womanliness of your lost +Rachel, and the serenity and peace that lay about your household. It was +to me, fresh from the vices of Europe, like some charming Christian +idyl, in whose atmosphere I felt myself not only an alien, but a profane +intruder; for, at that very time, I was bound by one of those criminal +<i>liaisons</i> to which so many strangers on the Continent are victims. Your +household and your conversation prompted a hope and a struggle for +better things. But, my dear Johns, the struggle was against a whole +atmosphere of vice. And it was only when I had broken free of +entanglement, that I learned, with a dreary pang, that I was the father +of a child,—my poor, dear Adèle!"</p> + +<p>The Doctor crumpled the letter in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_722" id="Page_722">[Pg 722]</a></span> his hand, and smote upon his +forehead. Never, in his whole life, had he known such strange revulsion +of feeling. With returning calmness he smooths the letter upon his desk, +and continues:—</p> + +<p>"I expect your condemnation, of course; yet listen to my story +throughout. That child I might have left to the tender mercies of the +world, might have ignored it, and possibly forgotten its existence. Many +a man, with fewer stains on his conscience than I have, would have done +this, and met the world and old friends cheerily. But then the memory of +you and of your teachings somehow kindled in me what I counted a +worthier purpose. I vowed that the child should, if possible, lead a +guileless life, and should no way suffer, so far as human efforts could +prevent, for the sins of the parents. The mother assented, with what I +counted a guilty willingness, to my design, and I placed her secretly +under the charge of the old godmother of whom Adèle must often have +spoken.</p> + +<p>"But I was no way content that she should grow up under French +influences, and to the future knowledge (inevitable in these scenes) of +the ignominy of her birth. And if that knowledge were ever to come, I +could think of no associations more fitted to make her character stanch +to bear it than those that belong to the rigid and self-denying virtues +which are taught in a New England parish. Is it strange that I recurred +at once to your kindness, Johns? Is it strange that I threw the poor +child upon your charity?</p> + +<p>"It is true, I used deceit,—true that I did not frankly reveal the +truth; but See how much was stake! I knew in what odium such trespasses +were held in the serenity of your little towns; I knew, that, if you, +with Spartan courage, should propose acceptance of the office, your +family would reject it. I knew that your love of truth would be +incapable of the concealments or subterfuges which might be needed to +protect the poor child from the tongue of scandal. In short, I was not +willing to take the risk of a repulse. 'Such deceit as there may be,' I +said, 'is my own. My friend Johns can never impute it as a sin to +Adèle.' I am sure you will not now. Again, I felt that I was using +deceit (if you will allow me to say it) in a good cause, and that you +yourself, when once the shock of discovery should be past, could never +reprimand yourself for your faithful teachings to an erring child, but +must count her, in your secret heart, only another of the wandering +lambs which it was your duty and pleasure to lead into the true fold. +Had she come to you avowedly as the child of sin, with all the father's +and mother's guilt reeking upon her innocent head, could you have +secured to her, my dear Johns, that care and consideration and devotion +which have at last ripened her Christian character, and made her proof +against slander?"</p> + +<p>Here the Doctor threw down the letter again, and paced up and down the +room.</p> + +<p>"The child of sin! the child of sin! Who could have thought it? Yet does +not Maverick reason true? Does not Beelzebub at time reason true? Adaly! +my poor, poor Adaly!"</p> + +<p>"It seemed to me," the letter continued, "that there might possibly be +no need that either you or my poor child should ever know the whole +truth in this matter; and I pray (with your leave) that it maybe kept +from her even now. You will understand, perhaps, from what I have said, +why my visits have been more rare than a fatherly feeling would seem to +demand: to tell truth, I have feared the familiar questionings of her +prattling girlhood. Mature years shrink from perilous inquiry, I think, +with an instinct which does not belong to the freshness of youth.</p> + +<p>"But from your ears, in view of the rumors that have come to my hearing, +I could not keep the knowledge longer. I cannot, dear Johns, read your +heart, and say whether or not you will revolt at the idea of any +possible family tie between your son and my poor Adèle. But whatever +aspect such possibility may present to your mind, I can regard it only +with horror. If I have deceived<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_723" id="Page_723">[Pg 723]</a></span> you, the deceit shall reach no such +harm as this. Whatever your Christian forgiveness or your love for Adèle +(and I know she is capable of winning your love) may suggest, I can +never consent that any stain should be carried upon your family record +by any instrumentality of mine. I must beg, therefore, that, if the +rumor be true, you use all practicable means, even to the use of your +parental authority, in discountenancing and forbidding such intimacy. If +necessary to this end, and Reuben be still resident at the parsonage, I +pray you to place Adèle with Mrs. Brindlock, or other proper person, +until such time as I am able to come and take her once more under my own +protection.</p> + +<p>"If you were a more worldly man, my dear Johns, I should hope to win +your heartier cooperation in my views by telling you that recent +business misfortunes have placed my whole estate in peril, so that it is +extremely doubtful if Adèle will have any ultimate moneyed dependence +beyond the pittance which I have placed in trust for her in your hands. +Should it be necessary, in furtherance of the objects I have named, to +make communication of the disclosures in this letter to your son or to +Miss Johns, you have my full liberty to do so. Farther than this, I +trust you may not find it necessary to make known the facts so harmful +to the prospects and peace of my innocent child.</p> + +<p>"I have thus made a clean breast to you, my dear Johns, and await your +scorching condemnation. But let not any portion of it, I pray, be +visited upon poor Adèle. I know with what wrathful eyes you, from your +New England standpoint, are accustomed to look upon such wickedness; and +I know, too, that you are sometimes disposed to 'visit the sins of the +fathers upon the children'; but I beg that your anathemas may all rest +where they belong, upon my head, and that you will spare the motherless +girl you have taught to love you."</p> + +<p>Up and down the study the Doctor paced, with a feverish, restless step, +which in all the history of the parsonage had never been heard in it +before.</p> + +<p>"Such untruth!" is his exclamation. "Yet no, there has been no positive +untruth; the deception he admits."</p> + +<p>But the great fact comes back upon his thought, that the child of sin +and shame is with him. All his old distrust and hatred of the French are +revived on the instant; the stain of their iniquities is thrust upon his +serene and quiet household. And yet what a sweet face, what a confiding +nature God has given to this creature conceived in sin! In his +simplicity, the good Doctor would have fancied that some mark of Cain +should be fixed on the poor child.</p> + +<p>Again, the Doctor had somewhere in his heart a little of the old family +pride. The spinster had ministered to it, coyly indeed by word, but +always by manner and conduct. How it would have shocked the stout Major, +or his good mother, even, to know that he had thus fondled and fostered +the vagrant offspring of iniquity upon his hearth! A still larger and +worthier pride the Doctor cherished in his own dignity,—so long the +honored pastor of Ashfield,—so long the esteemed guide of this people +in paths of piety.</p> + +<p>What if it should appear, that, during almost the entire period of his +holy ministrations, he had, as would seem, colluded with an old +acquaintance of his youth—a brazen reprobate—to shield him from the +shame of his own misdeeds, and to cover with the mantle of +respectability and with all the pastoral dignities this French-speaking +child, who, under God, was the seal of the father's iniquities?</p> + +<p>As he paced back and forth, there was a timid knock at the door; and in +a moment more, Adèle, blooming with health, and radiant with hope, stood +before him. Her face had never beamed with a more wondrous frankness and +sweetness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_724" id="Page_724">[Pg 724]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="BOOKS_FOR_OUR_CHILDREN" id="BOOKS_FOR_OUR_CHILDREN"></a>BOOKS FOR OUR CHILDREN</h2> + + +<p>The war is over, yet our fight is not through; and we always, in this +life of ours, and especially in this new country and eventful age, have +trouble enough to keep our eyes open when they ought to sleep, and our +hands busy when they have earned the right to rest. Several knotty +questions already begin to try us sorely, although we are confident that +the knots can be untied by skillful fingers without calling upon the +sword to cut them. We shall settle the Reconstruction problem, the +Negro, the Debt, John Bull and Louis Napoleon, all in due time, and +without war. But there is a question to be settled which comes nearer +home to each family, and which distances all others in magnitude and +interest:—What shall we do with our children? how train and teach them +in body and mind, by schools and books, by play and work, for that +marvellous American life that is now opening to us its new and eventful +chapter in the history of man? The Slaveholders' Rebellion is put down; +but how shall we deal with the never-ceasing revolt of the new +generation against the old? and how keep our Young America under the +thumb of his father and mother without breaking his spirit or blighting +his destiny? Our brave old flag has swept the waters of all Secession +craft, and our iron-clad Monitors do not flinch in fear of the model +fleets of France and England mustered at Cherbourg. But what standard +rules over our children and youth? and what Monitors are keeping watch +over our countless schools and playgrounds? Our people have risen to a +new and mighty sense of our national life, and the thousands of +Americans who are now returning from Europe say that the tide there has +wholly turned in our favor, and Americans are too proud to boast of +their country, and are quite safe in leaving her to speak for herself. +But how are we recruiting the ranks of the nation from the fresh blood +and spirits, the new impulses and passions of childhood? And how does +our legion of juvenile infantry compare with the young legions of +England, France, Germany, Russia, or Italy? These are grave questions, +not to be approached without misgiving, yet not by any means with +mistrust, much less with despair. We of course do not propose to try to +answer all or any of them now, but must be content with throwing out a +few plain thoughts upon the kind of intellectual food we are giving our +children, and especially upon the kind of juvenile literature that we +ought to encourage. We do not claim for the American child any exemption +from the common lot, nor make him out to be above or below the human +nature to which he belongs, in common with the children of the Old +World. He is a chip of the old block; and that old block is from the old +trunk that has been growing for ages, is a great deal older than the +father or mother, as old as mankind; and each new comer into the field +bears with him some traces or remains of all the traits and dispositions +and liabilities that have appeared in the ancestors and become the +heritage of the race. Not only the is the American child of the same +nature as his European contemporary, but he is born into very much of +the same life, the same general circumstances of climate, scenery, +morals, and religion, and surely into much of the same nursery talk and +juvenile amusement, not excepting books. "Mother Goose" has a nursery +catholicity wherever the English language is spoken, that is denied to +any other book; and fruitful as America has been and is in children's +books, we have not yet apparently added a single one to the first rank +of juvenile classics, and have distanced Æsop, Bunyan, De Foe, +Edgeworth, and the old fairy story-tellers, as little as we have +distanced Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_725" id="Page_725">[Pg 725]</a></span> and Goethe in +the higher imagination.</p> + +<p>It may be that the children's books that have been most characteristic +of our native authors have been in important respects a mistake, and the +"Quarterly Review," not without reason, assailed them some years ago in +two articles of considerable sagacity and much patient study. But we +have outgrown them now, and see the error that afflicted them. We have +ceased to think it the part of wisdom to cross the first instincts of +children, and to insist upon making of them little moralists, +metaphysicians, and philosophers, when great Nature determines that +their first education shall be in the senses and muscles, the affections +and fancy, rather than in the critical judgment, logical understanding, +or analytic reason. Peter Parley—Heaven rest his soul!—has gone to his +repose, and much of his philosophizing and moralizing is buried deeper +than his dust; yet Peter himself lives, and will live, in the graphic +histories, anecdotes, sketches of life and Nature, and the rich +treasures of pictorial illustration, that have blessed the eyes and +ears, the hearts and imaginations of our children. He was wisest when he +least thought of being wise, and weakest when he tried to be strong. We +are not likely to repeat his mistakes, and our best new juvenile +literature is too loyal to the old standards and to common-sense to +undertake to make a precocious reasoning monster of the dear little +child whom God is asking us to help onward in the unfolding of his +senses and the observation of the world and its scenes and people.</p> + +<p>We must be willing to own that our America is a child of the ages, and +to give our children a full share of their birthright as heirs of the +juvenile treasures of all nations. Judæa must still give her sacred +stories, that charm youth as much, as they edify maturity; Arabia loses +nothing of the enchantment of her marvellous tales in the clear light of +this nineteenth century, but makes her dreams dearer, as science and +business insist that we shall not dream at all; the old classic times +shall still teach us in the fables of Æsop, and the romantic ages shall +be with us in the legends of fairies and elves, dwarfs and giants, +saints and angels, that are constantly coming up with faces new or old; +the Protestant Reformation shall speak to our little folks in the lives +of the martyrs and in "Pilgrim's Progress"; the age of modern adventure +shall never tire in "Robinson Crusoe"; the new secular era of ethical +schooling shall not lose its power so long as Maria Edgeworth finds a +printer; nor will the didactic school of writers of juvenile religious +books die out so long as Hannah More stands by our Sunday schools and +Tract Societies, and keeps their piety and ethics from swamping +themselves wholly in dogmatism and dulness.</p> + +<p>Yet whilst we are thus to acknowledge and use the old treasures, we are +none the less bound to have a juvenile literature of our own; and +because we are possessed by the truly catholic spirit that appreciates +all good things, we are more likely to have a full and fair growth from +the good seed that takes root in our own nurseries. What that new growth +shall be we do not presume to predict, for it cannot be fully known +until it comes up and speaks for itself; yet it is not presumption to +undertake to say what are the essential conditions of its rise and the +probable traits of its character. It must grow out of our civilized +Christian mind under the peculiar circumstances and dispositions of our +children, according to the great laws of God, as they bear upon our +sensibilities, tastes, faculties, and associations. It is already +showing unmistakable signs of its quality, and none the less so, +although we must allow that its best specimens are fugitive stories, +stray poems, and magazine pieces, rather than any conspicuous +master-works of literature that rival the old standards.</p> + +<p>The American child is undoubtedly in some respects peculiar alike in +temperament, disposition, and surroundings. He is somewhat delicate and +sensitive in organization, and not as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_726" id="Page_726">[Pg 726]</a></span> tough and thick-skinned, surely, +as his English cousins. He grows up in the midst of excitement, with an +average amount of privilege and prosperity unknown heretofore to the +mass of children in any community. Our children are generally supplied +with pocket-money to an extent unknown in the good old times; and the +books that circulate among them at holiday seasons, and are sometimes +found in school and Sunday libraries, often have a richness and beauty +that were never seen fifty years ago on the parlor tables or shelves of +parents. Reading begins very early among us; and the universal hurry of +the American mind crowds children forward, and tempts them in pleasure, +as in study and work, to rebel at the usual limitations of years, and +push infancy prematurely into childhood, childhood into youth, and youth +into maturity. The spirit of competition shows its head unseasonably, +and there is a precocious fever of ambition among those who are taught +almost in the cradle to feel that here the race for the highest prizes +is open to all, and the emulation of the school is the forerunner of the +rivalry of business, society, and politics. Our heads are apt to be much +older than our shoulders, and English critics of our juvenile literature +say that much of it seems written for the market and counting-room +rather than for the nursery and play-ground. Yet we are not disposed to +quarrel with the American child, or put him down at the feet of the pet +children of Europe. He is a precious little creature, with rare +susceptibilities and powers, whose very perils indicate high aptitudes, +and whose great exposures should move us to temper not a little our pity +for his failings with admiration for his excellence. Our boys and girls +have done nobly, and the nation which they have now become may well +prove its greatness by new wisdom and care for the boys and girls who +are yet to grow up men and women and become the nation that is to be.</p> + +<p>There are vital questions that meet us at the very outset of the +discussion:—What are children? and what is the difference between them +and grown people? and what should be the difference in the reading +provided for the two? Some persons seem to think and speak of children +as a distinct order of beings, and not as a part of mankind. The simple +truth is, that they are men and women in <i>nature</i>, but not in +<i>development</i>. All that is <i>actual</i> in the mature mind is <i>potential</i> in +them, and there is no theory more absurd than that which affirms that +the adult powers and dispositions are wholly factitious, and education +makes us what we are, instead of simply bringing out what is born in us. +The great human mind is in the little child as well as in the +gray-headed sage; but it has not come forth into activity and +consciousness. The most complete culture, instead of obliterating +diversities of natural talent and tendency, does but develop them more +effectually; and our great masters and schools are more memorable for +the strongly pronounced minds and wills that go forth from them than for +any monotony of mediocre scholars or uniformity of paragons of genius. +True culture brings out the common human mind in all, and the rare gifts +that are in the few, and vindicates the force of Nature by the +perfection of its art. Our juvenile literature should proceed upon this +idea, and treat its little readers as representatives of the great human +mind on its way to its full rights and powers and quite true to its high +birthright, as far as it puts forth its prerogative.</p> + +<p>What error, then, can be greater than to take it for granted that +children have no mind, because they have not had time and means to bring +out their whole mind? As far as it goes, is not their mind the great +human intelligence? and even in its lispings and stumblings, does it not +give hints and promises of the majestic powers that are on the way to +development? Children are, indeed, treated and written about, sometimes, +as if they were <i>little fools</i>, and any baby-talk or twaddle were good +enough for them; but we are inclined to believe that they are in the +main <i>great fools</i> who make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_727" id="Page_727">[Pg 727]</a></span> this mistake, and so sadly libel God's +handiwork. In fact, it is probably safe to say, that, so far as their +mind works, it works with more intensity and quickness than the adult +mind; for they are fresh and unworn, and they put their whole life into +the first play of their faculties. They do not know many things, indeed, +and require constant instruction; but their <i>intelligence</i> is by no +means as defective as their <i>knowledge</i>, but is as sharp and unwearied +as their insatiate appetite for food. Talk nonsense to children, +forsooth! Rather talk it to anybody else,—far rather to the pedants and +worldlings who have fooled away their common-sense by burying thought +under book-dust, or by hiding nature under shams and artifices. Children +not only want the true thing said to them, but want to have it said in a +true and fitting way; and no language pleases them so much as the pure, +simple speech which the good old Bible uses, and which all our great +masters of style follow. Any one who has seen the quizzical expression +of a score or two of bright little children in listening to some old or +young proser, who is undertaking to palm off upon them his platitudes +for wisdom and his baby-talk for simplicity, cannot remain long in doubt +as to which party leans most towards the fool.</p> + +<p>There is, indeed, great difference between tween the mind of children +and of adults, and literature should respect and provide for this +difference,—although it is true that the best books please and edify +both, and the nursery and parlour can meet in pretty full fellowship +over "Æsop's Fables," "Robinson Crusoe," and "Pilgrim's Progress," if +not over the "Vicar of Wakefield" and Edgeworth's "Popular Tales." The +great distinction between juvenile and adult literature is a very +obvious and natural one. Not to discuss now the absence of business +cares and ambition, children, in their normal, healthful state, know +nothing of love as a passion, whilst it is the conspicuous feature of +adult society, and the motive of all romances for readers of advanced +years, and especially for all who have just passed into the charmed +borders of adult life. I do not say, indeed, that children are to know +nothing of love, or that it should be shut out of their habitual +reading; for love is a part of human life, and is organized into manners +and institutions, and sanctioned and exalted by religion. As a fact, and +as sustaining great practical relations, love is to be treated freely in +juvenile literature, but not as a passion. Every boy and girl who reads +the Prayer-Book, and hears every-day talk, and sees what is going on in +the world, knows that men and women marry, and young people fall in love +and are engaged. This is all well, and children's stories may tell +freely whatever illustrates the home usages and social customs of the +people; but the more the love senses and passions are left to sleep in +their sacred and innocent reserve within their mystic cells, so much the +better for the child whilst a child, and so much the better for the +youth when no more a child, and Nature betrays her great secret, and the +charming hallucinations of romance open their fascinations and call for +the sober counsels of wisdom and kindness.</p> + +<p>But if love, as a passion, does not belong to our juvenile literature, +its place is fully supplied by a power quite as active and +marvellous,—the mighty genius of play. Try to read a three-volume novel +of love and flirtation to a set of well-trained, healthfully organized +children, or try them with a single chapter that describes the raptures +or the jealousies, and gives the letters and dialogues, of the enamored +couple, who are destined, through much tribulation, to end their griefs +at the altar, not of sacrifice, but of union, and you will find your +auditors ready to go to sleep or to run away. The girls may, indeed, +brighten up, if a famous dress or set of jewels, a great party or grand +wedding, is described; and the boys may open their eyes, if the story +turns upon a smart horse-race or a plucky fight. Children, in their +normal state, do not enter into the romance of the passion, nor should +they be trained to it. They may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_728" id="Page_728">[Pg 728]</a></span> be bred in all courtesy and refinement +without it; and the girls and boys may be true to their sex, and have +all the gentle manners that should come from proper companionship. The +boys will not want a certain chivalry in the schoolroom, play-ground, +and parlor, and the girls will learn from instinct as well as discipline +the delicacy that is their charm and shield. Nothing can be worse than +to ply them with love-stories, or throw them into the false society that +fosters morbid sentiments and impulses, and gives them the passions +without the judgment and control of men and women. Kind Providence, in +the gift of play, has mercifully averted this danger, and brought our +children into a companionship that needs no precocious passion to give +it charm.</p> + +<p>How wonderful it is, this instinct for play, and how worthy of our +careful and serious study! It is the key to the whole philosophy of +juvenile literature: for we take it for granted that books for children +belong to the easy play, rather than to the hard work of life; and that +they are an utter failure, if they do not win their way by their own +charms. Here, in fact, we distinguish between juvenile literature and +school-books. School-books are for children, indeed, but not for them +alone, but for the teacher also, and they are to be as interesting as +possible; yet they are not for play, but for work, and it is best to be +quite honest at the outset, and let the little people know that study is +work and not play, and that their usual gift-books are not for study +mainly, but for entertainment. In this way, study is the more patient +and comforting, and reading more free and refreshing. Children make the +distinction very shrewdly, and are quite willing to pore carefully over +their school-lessons, but are very impatient of lessons that are sugared +over with pleasantry, and detect the pedagogue under the mask of the +playmate. They are willing to have their pills sugared over, but do not +like to have them called sugar-plums.</p> + +<p>Playfulness does not require the sacrifice of good sense or sound +principle or serious purpose, but subjects them to certain conditions; +and there is no form in which exalted characters or sacred truths are +brought home more effectually to the hearts both of young and old than +in the stones and dramas that make life speak for itself, and play +themselves into the affections and fancy. It does require that the laws +of attention and emotion, the unities and the varieties of æsthetic art, +shall be observed; and as soon as the book is dull, and offers no +sparkling waters nor fair flowers nor tempting fruits to lure the +flagging reader over its intervals of dusty road or sandy waste, it is a +failure, and not what it pretends to be. With children, play demands +more the <i>varieties</i> than the <i>unities</i> of Art; and their first +education deals with those spontaneous sensibilities and impulses that +insist upon being played upon freely, with little regard to exact +method. Those sports are most pleasing to young children, especially, +that touch the greatest number of the keys of sensation and will, and +make them answer to the pulse of Nature and companionship. One may learn +a deal of philosophy from the most popular nursery rhymes; and Mother +Goose, good old soul, who has sung many of those strange old verses to +children for a thousand years, if the antiquaries are not mistaken, +proves to us that the way to please little ears and eyes is by +presenting a variety of images in the easiest succession, without any +attempt at intellectual method or logical unity. Her style is that of +the kaleidoscope, and she turns words and pictures over as rapidly, and +with as little method, as that instrument shows in its handling of +colors. As the child's development advances, the varieties need more of +the unities, and the favorite sports rise into more method and sequence, +nearer the rule of actual life: marbles give way to cricket, and +blindman's bluff yields to chess. For a long time, however, anything +like severe intellectual unity of plan is irksome, and even the toys +that require careful thought and embody extraordinary workmanship are +less agreeable than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_729" id="Page_729">[Pg 729]</a></span> the rude playthings that can be knocked about at +will, and made to take any shape or use that the changing mood or fancy +may decree. The rag baby is more popular with the little girl than the +mechanical doll; and a tin pot, with a stick to drum upon it, pleases +little master more than the elegant music-box. As long as the child's +mind is in a chaos of unsorted sensations and impulses, he does not like +plays that are so utterly in advance of his position as to present a +perfect order that calls up Kosmos within him before its time. There is +a good Providence in this necessity, and Nature is servant of God in her +attempt to touch and voice the separate keys of the great organ, before +she tunes them together to the great harmonies and symphonies that are +to be performed. She is busy with each key first by itself; and there is +something winning, as well as healthful, in that intensity which +attaches to the sensations and impulses of children in this their first +education. They are finding themselves and the universe at once; and the +marvellous zest with which they see and feel and hear and handle +whatever comes within their reach is a kind of rapturous wedding of the +senses to the world of Nature and life, and a prelude to that more +interior and spiritual union that is to be.</p> + +<p>Our best books for children must not forget this great fact, and they +must present great variety of impression and images in such sequence and +unity as the young reader's mind can easily appreciate and enjoy. The +great juvenile classics are rich illustrations of this law, and they +have a "variety" as "infinite" as Cleopatra's, whilst they aim at a +purpose far more true and persistent than hers, and do not end with a +broken life and a serpent's sting. They are invariably <i>sensuous</i> in +their imagery, but not <i>sensual</i>; and the great masters of the nursery +well know that the senses are not made to be earth-born drudges of the +flesh, but godly ministers of the spirit, and their true office is to +open the gates of the whole world of truth and goodness and beauty. All +who know the ways of true children will understand the distinction +between <i>sensual</i> and <i>sensuous</i> impression. Hold up before a true child +a ripe, red apple, or a bunch of purple grapes, and how the eye sparkles +and the hand reaches forth! But the desire expressed is half aspiration +and half appetite, and the dainty rises into ideal beauty under this +dear little aspirant's gaze, and is seen in a light quite other than +that which falls on a gourmand's table, after he is gorged with viands +and wine, and ends his gross banquet with a dessert of fruit which his +stupid and uncertain eye can hardly distinguish. The child is +<i>sensuous</i>, the gourmand is <i>sensual</i>. We should give the benefit of +this distinction to all of our authors who abound in graphic description +and encourage pictorial illustration. The senses should be skilfully +appealed to, and the higher spheres of the reason, conscience, and +affections may thus be effectually reached. Pictures, whether in words +or lines or colors, are symbols; and the child's mind is a rare master +of all the true symbolism of Nature and Art. There is no end to the +range of susceptibility in children to impressions from this source; and +all the chords of feeling and impulse, pathos and humor, seem waiting +and eager to be played upon. Instead of needing to be laboriously +schooled to pass from one emotion or mental state to another, they go by +alternations as easy as the changing feet that pass from a walk to a run +and back again, as if change were the necessity of Nature, not the work +of the striving will.</p> + +<p>Our books for children should study this great law, and be free to go +"from grave to gay, from gentle to severe," as is the habit of all high +literature. They should not be afraid to let the child have a good +hearty laugh before or after telling him that he should study or should +pray. It is odd to see the rapid transitions through which very +well-behaved children will go in an instant; and I have known a child +who has been romping in a complete gale of innocent roguery to burst +into tears, if not duly called to the table in time to hear grace<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_730" id="Page_730">[Pg 730]</a></span> said, +and, after clucking with the hens, crying as if heart-broken over a dead +bird. I went last spring with a friend to witness a great religious +festival at a distinguished ecclesiastical community,—the festival of +Corpus Christi, with its gorgeous procession. We were admitted through +the private entrance, and saw the altar-boys in the entry waiting in +caps and robes to lead off the pageant. They were in high spirits, and +pulling and nudging each other like boys of the usual mould. Soon they +appeared in church with folded hands, chanting the "Lauda Sion" before +the uplifted Host as demurely as if they had walked down from the +pictures of seraphs on the walls. "What little hypocrites!" the +Philistines at once cry; "what a trick, thus to affect to be pious, +after those pranks of mischief!" I say, No such thing; and although not +personally given to Corpus-Christi ceremonials as a devotee, I interpret +such transitions as I would interpret the conduct of my own children who +came from a frolic on the lawn or a game of croquet to a Scripture +lesson or the household worship. Let us be true to human nature, and +give every genuine faculty and impulse fair play. Our American +literature can afford to be more generous to children than it has been, +and let them gambol on the play-ground none the less from keeping the +library open for grave reading, and the chapel not closed in ghostly +gloom.</p> + +<p>Our books for children must be truthful as well as interesting; and we +are quite strong in the belief that they should be true to all our just +American ideas. It cannot be expected, indeed, that our story-tellers, +poets, and biographers for the young will desert their pleasant arts, +and inflict upon their readers prosy essays upon American law, society, +reform, and progress. What we should expect and demand is, that our +children should be brought up to regard American principles as matters +of course; and their books should take these principles for granted, and +illustrate them with all possible interest and power. They should be +trained in the belief that here the opportunities for education, labor, +enterprise, freedom, influence, and prosperity are to be thrown open to +all; and the highest encouragement should be given to every one to seek +the chief good. We are not afraid to say that our children's books +should be thoroughly republican, or, in the best sense of the word, +democratic, and should aim to give respect to the genuine man more than +to his accidents, and to rank character above circumstance. They should +rebuke the ready American failings, the haste to be rich, the passion of +ostentation, the rage for extravagance, the habit of exaggeration, the +impatience under moderate means, the fever for excitement, and the great +disposition to subordinate the true quality of life to the quantity of +appliances of living. They should especially assail the failing to which +our children are tempted,—the morbid excitement, precocious +sensibility, and airs and ambition to which they are prone. Some of our +best juvenile books, especially some of our best magazine writers, do +great service in this way; and it has seemed to use that we may well +learn wisdom from the juvenile literature of France in this matter, and +translate with profit many of those excellent books for children which +do not for a moment countenance the idea that they are to have any +hot-bed forcing, or have their senses and fancy turn upon the passions +and cares that belong to mature years. Christendom has no cause for +gratitude to France for its adult romantic literature; and it is an +offence to American as to English homes for its free notions of married +life. But the French literature for the young is quite another matter, +and may teach purity and wisdom to the parents who allow their sons and +daughters to ape the ways and often the follies of men and women, and +spoil the flower and fruit of maturity by forcing open the tender bud of +childhood and youth.</p> + +<p>We may take quite as serious lessons against the wrong of schooling the +young in precocious care and calculation,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_731" id="Page_731">[Pg 731]</a></span> and setting a bounty upon the +too ready covetousness of our people. We spend freely, indeed, as well +as accumulate eagerly; but there is a fearful over-estimate of wealth +amongst us, in the absence of other obvious grounds of distinction; and +the evil is nurtured sometimes from childhood. Such books as "The Rich +Poor Man and the Poor Rich Man" do vast good; and it is very important +that our sons and daughters should have a loving, helpful, cheerful, +devout childhood, a true age of gold, to look back upon and ever to +remember, without the taint of Mammon-worship that multiplies care, +blasts prosperity with inordinate desires, and curses adversity by +making it out to be the loss of the supreme good, and little short of +hell. It is well to take very high ground with them, and train them to +know and enjoy the supreme treasures that are open to them all, to make +them observers and lovers of Nature and Art, and to take it for granted +that the best gifts of God and humanity are freely offered to every true +life. Our magnificent country should be held before them as their +rightful heritage, and its flowers, plants, trees, minerals, animals, +lakes, rivers, seas, mountains, should be made a part of every child's +property. What observers of Nature, in its uses and beauty, bright +children are, and how much may be made of their aptness by good books +and magazines! I confess, for my own part, that I never saw and enjoyed +Nature truly until I learned to see it through a bright child's eyes. +Good Providence gave us our little farm and our little May at about the +same time; and the child has been the priestess of our domain, and has +made spring of our autumn, May of our September. She noticed first only +bright colors and moving objects and striking sounds; but with what zest +she noticed them, and jogged our dull eyes and ears! Then she observed +the finer traits of the place, and learned to call each flower and tree, +and even each weed, by name, and to join the birds and chickens in their +glee. She gathered bright weeds as freely as garden-flowers, and, with +larger wisdom than she knew, came shouting and laughing with a lapful of +treasures, in which the golden-rod or wild aster, the violet or +buttercup, the dandelion or honeysuckle, were as much prized as the pink +or larkspur, the rose or lily. Darling seer, how much wiser and better +might we be, if we had as open eye for loveliness and worth within and +without the inclosures of our pride and our pets! I called the first +rustic arbor that I built by her name; and May's Bower, on its base of +rock, with solid steps cut in the granite by a faithful hand, and with a +sight of the distant sea through its clustering vines, is to us a good +symbol of childhood, as observer, interpreter, and lover of Nature. When +I see in a handsome book or magazine for children any adequate sketch of +natural scenes and objects, I am grateful for it as a benefaction to +children, and a help to them in their playful yearning to read that +elder alphabet of God.</p> + +<p>How much power there is in the elements of the beautiful that so abound +in the universe, and what capacity in children for enjoying them, +especially in our American children, may we not say! The constitution of +Americans is in some respects delicate, and shows great susceptibility +in early life, and capability of æsthetic culture. Our children are +vastly wiser and happier by being taught to distinguish beauty from +tinsel pretence, and to see the difference between the fine and +superfine. The whole land groans in ignorance of this distinction; and +the most extravagant outlay for children and adults is made for dress +and furniture, toys and ornaments, that are an abomination to true +taste. We may begin the reform at the beginning, and apply the ideas of +the truly beautiful in the books and magazines that we put before our +children. We can make Preraphaelites of them of the right kind, by +training their eye, not to love bald scenes and ghostly figures, but to +appreciate natural form, feature, and color, and composition, and so +possess their senses and fancy with the materials and impressions<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_732" id="Page_732">[Pg 732]</a></span> of +loveliness, that, when the constructive reason or the ideal imagination +begins to work, it will work wisely and well, and not only dream fair +visions and speak and write fair words, but carve true shapes, and plan +noble grounds, and rear goodly edifices for dwelling, or for study, art, +humanity, or religion. The child that learns to see the beautiful has +the key of a blessed gate to God's great temple, and can find everywhere +an entrance to the shrine. What a new and higher Puritanism will come, +when we learn to apply pure taste to common affairs, and carry out all +the laws of truth and beauty, as the old saints carried out the letter +of the Bible! The day is coming, and is partly come. Do not many +New-Yorkers look upon the Central Park as being, with its waters and +flowers and music for all, as good a commentary on the Sermon on the +Mount as any in the Astor Library? and does not solid Boston regard its +great organ as a part of that great interpretation of the Divine Mind +which Cotton and Winthrop sought only in the sacred book? Give us a +thirty years' fair training of our children in schools and reading, +galleries and music-halls, gardens and fields, and our America, the +youngest among the great nations, will yield to none the palm of +strength or of beauty; and as she sits the queen, not the captive, in +her noble domain, her children, who have learned grace under her +teaching, shall rise up and call her blessed.</p> + +<p>In claiming thus for our children's books this embodiment of wholesome +truth in beautiful forms, we are not favoring any feeble +<i>dilettanteism</i>, or sacrificing practical strength to pleasant fancy. +Nay, quite the contrary; for it is certain that truth has power, +especially with the young, only when it is so embodied as to show itself +in the life, and to speak and act for itself. We believe in dynamic +reading for children; and we now make a distinct and decided point of +this, quite positive, as we are, that books are a curse, if they merely +excite the sensibilities and stimulate the nerves and brain, and bring +on sedentary languor, and do not stir the muscles, and quicken the will, +and set the hand and foot to work and play under the promptings of a +cheerful heart. Undoubtedly many children read too much, and spindle +legs and narrow chests and dropsical heads are the sad retribution upon +the excess. But the best books are good tonics, and as refreshing and +strengthening as the sunshine and the sea-water, the singing-circle, and +the play-ground. Let us encourage this tonic quality in our juvenile +literature, and favor as much of sound muscular morality and religion as +stories of adventure, sketches of sports, hints of exercise and health, +with all manner of winning illustrations, can give. It is well that Dio +Lewis is now on a mission to our Young Folks, and after exhorting +adults, and especially the clergy, to repent of their manifold sins +against the body, he is now carrying the gospel of health to children; +and I have been quite amused at having him quoted against my own +physical transgressions, by his most attentive reader, the youngest +member of the family. The cure should not stop there; but the tonic +force should knock at every door of the mental and moral faculties, and +touch every chord of latent power. A fresh, free, dauntless will should +breathe through every page, and be the invigorating air of our juvenile +literature, and be as essential to its strength as truth is to its light +and beauty to its color. The great social, civil, and religious forces +that move the nation should be brought to bear upon the young, not by +learned essays or by ambitious philosophizing, but by living +portraitures and taking life-sketches, stirring songs and ballads. A +good home story can express as much of the law and economy of the +household as a chapter of Paley or Wayland. Our girls and boys will feel +the great pulse-beat of patriotism and loyalty more free, by following +the brave old flag through perils to final peace, in graphic sketches of +our history, from Washington's times to Lincoln's, from the days of +Greene and Putnam to those of Sherman and Grant,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_733" id="Page_733">[Pg 733]</a></span> than from any learned +lectures on the Constitution, or abridgments of Kent and Story. Those +more universal and spiritual forces that bind us to our race and to God +are surely not to be ignored in books for children, difficult as it is +to present them adequately; and the absence of a national church makes +religion so various in its ideas and forms as not to offer that ready +and common symbolism that makes the cross as expressive as the flag to +some nations, and binds the home and country to the altar. But our best +writers are finding the way to touch the chords of supreme religion in +the young, and the nation is fast developing a faith and worship that +meet the wants of youthful feeling and fancy better than catechisms and +lectures. Our children have a much more genial church nurture now than +their parents had, and the worship in their chapels is sometimes more +impressive than that in the churches. I confess to great regret that we, +who are now in our prime, had so little joy and action in connection +with our early religious impressions, and wish better things for our +children, and delight to see the signs of amendment. Our best books are +helping it on, and bringing poetry and art, as well as good sense and +devout faith, to the rescue of our boys and girls from the prosy +pedantry that forgets that the religion of the Bible itself did not +begin in the dry letter, but was a rich and various life with Nature and +among men, before it was made into a book.</p> + +<p>All moving forces, whether domestic, social, civil, or religious, reach +children most effectually through personal influence; and not only do +they imitate the examples, but they seem to imbibe or breathe in the +spirit of their associates and teachers. Hence the importance of having +our best people write for children, and give them the precious ministry +of all their high qualities of mind and heart. The little readers may +not take in the whole of the influence consciously at once, but they are +more receptive than they know, and take in the grace of refined manner +and pure culture, even as they take diseases, without being aware of the +fact at the time. Is it not well to treat them in their relation to +human life as God treats them in their relation to the universe? He puts +before them the broad earth and the glorious heavens from the first, and +He does not strike off a toy edition of Nature to come down to little +eyes and ears. Children look upon the whole universe at once, and their +first impressions store up truths that years may interpret, but cannot +exhaust. Why not throw open the best minds, and their earth and heaven +of earthly sense and starry wisdom, with equal generosity to the young, +and put them into communication with the best writers and thinkers of +the land? They will not take the whole sense and spirit of the talk or +story in at once, but they will have a certain impression or germinal +seed of it within; and even before they can interpret or explain what +they have learned, they will feel and enjoy and apply most of its +meaning and power. Especially do they take in more than they know of the +higher manifestations of moral and spiritual life; and a good story of a +true soul, or an earnest sermon or devout prayer, goes deeper into their +minds and hearts than they can understand, and they may have a great +deal of religion before they know a word of theology.</p> + +<p>In view of this assimilating force of example and personal character, it +is cheering to note the number of our first-class writers who are giving +their pens and studies to our children. The authors who figure on the +list of contributors to our leading juvenile magazine need not hide +their heads before any staff of contributors to any periodical in the +country; and they do not seem to lose their wisdom or their wit in +getting down from their stately heights to chat and romp with the boys +and girls who come thronging to meet them. It is a good sign for our +American letters; and I am not ashamed to say, that, after reading some +of the numbers of that monthly, and talking over the remainder with a +bright child of six, and as bright a girl of eighteen, I felt somewhat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_734" id="Page_734">[Pg 734]</a></span> +envious of the position of those writers, and wondered whether I could +write anything that the rising millions of American children would be +eager to read. Who might not be envious of the distinction, and which of +our poets may not be proud to walk in the steps of Whittier, and sing +loving words for the nursery and play-ground, after ringing the +liberty-bell and sounding the bugle-call of liberty through the nation?</p> + +<p>We close these cursory thoughts by presenting one idea that seems to us +of the highest importance, although it may strike others as far-fetched +or fanciful. It refers to the start that our children are to take in +life, or, rather, to the ground from which they are to start. Their +destiny depends, of course, upon what they make of themselves in their +career; but does it not also depend upon their starting-ground, and is +there not something dreary in the frequent remark that we can make +anything of ourselves, and the implication that we are nothing at all at +the outset? The old civilization reversed this and the great question +was not, What shall a man make of himself? but, What is his <i>status</i>? +and his family or national birthright was more urged than his individual +enterprise. Now I am not fighting against our American individualism, or +expecting to establish a new national caste; yet may I not hint that it +would be well, if our children were brought up in such sense of their +native privilege, worth, and respectability as to start upon a solid +ground of loyalty and reliance, and to go forth into the world with the +feeling, that, whilst they have much to win, they have also much to +hold? I would not have them bred in Jewish exclusiveness or pride; yet +even that is better than no sense of birthright at all. How striking and +suggestive is that trait in the life of one of the most benevolent and +liberal-minded of our American Israelites, who, when his leg was broken, +and his physician advised amputation, stoutly refused to submit to the +knife, and said that he would rather die first, since he was of the +tribe of Levi, and none of that tribe were allowed to enter the +sanctuary with mutilated limbs! A plucky son of Abraham indeed; and his +pluck would be worthy of our imitation, if we insisted on such a +<i>status</i> of manly integrity as to refuse to do any wrong to our manhood, +on the ground of its destroying our position and selling our birthright. +We do need certainly some deeper sense of our personal and national +worth at the outset: and our children should be trained to look upon +themselves as heirs of the ages, children of Providence, and bound to +keep the priceless trust confided to them. A cheerful home should love +them before they can return the love, a great nation guard over +themselves, and a broad and exalted and genial and helpful church should +be mother to them before they know how to interpret her care; and the +golden light of the first home should shine upon them as but the faint, +earthly gleam of that uncreated light that kindles every rational +intelligence, and sends it into the world, as if, "trailing clouds of +glory," we came "from God who is our home." We ask our writers for +children to throw this cheerful radiance upon the outset of their +pilgrimage, and relieve the sore pressure of care, and the anxious +burden of never ceasing responsibility, and the force of incessant +temptation, by the great and blessed conviction that we start from the +supreme good, and, if we go away from it, we not only come short of a +precious prize, but we forfeit a sacred birthright. All the ages, +nations, leaders, sages, heroes, apostles, have endowed us and our +children with a priceless heritage; and we are not to start in life as +if we were a set of beggars, aliens, slaves, or heathen. Rome has +thought to bless and enrich our America by putting the land under the +watch of the immaculate and supernatural Mother. I will not stop now to +fight against Rome, but will be content to say that our children have +from God a peculiar guardianship from the natural mother who bore them, +and from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_735" id="Page_735">[Pg 735]</a></span> that natural humanity which is the daughter of God and the +recipient of all natural and supernatural graces. Mystical as this +thought may seem, when stated in general terms, every genuine American +poem and story is full of its meaning; and our best juvenile literature +is making it our household faith and love. We shall see good days, when +our children start from the true home feeling, and a sacred memory joins +hands with a brave and cheerful hope. Our good old mothers thought so; +and our books are good as they repeat their wisdom and renew their love. +We might weary our readers, if we tried to say what is in our minds of +the American mother in history, and the ideal mother that should charm +our books and pictures; but no more now.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="DIOS_TE_DE1" id="DIOS_TE_DE1"></a>DIOS TE DE.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the green and shadowy woodpath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the Fly-bird's<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> golden hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a shower of broken fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lights the forests of Peru,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid primeval sward and tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lives the bird, <span class="smcap">Dios Te De</span>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There the Indian hunter roaming<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Softly through the massive shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the Laurel and Cinchona<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the thick-leaved Balsam made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Halts beneath the canopy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the sounds, <span class="smcap">Dios Te De</span>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the bow unbent reposes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the poisoned arrows rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a gush of solemn feeling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thrills with awe the savage breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the bird unharmed and free<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rocks and sings, <span class="smcap">Dios Te De</span>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If the name of God thus dropping<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the preacher of the wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the solitude of Nature,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wraps with awe the forest child,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What a meaning deep have we<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the bird, <span class="smcap">Dios Te De</span>!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> "May God give thee."</p></div> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> <i>Trochilas Chrysurus.</i></p></div> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_736" id="Page_736">[Pg 736]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="MODE_OF_CATCHING_JELLY-FISHES" id="MODE_OF_CATCHING_JELLY-FISHES"></a>MODE OF CATCHING JELLY-FISHES.</h2> + + +<p>Not the least attractive feature in the study of these animals is the +mode of catching them. We will suppose it to be a warm, still morning at +Nahant, in the last week of August, with a breath of autumn in the haze, +that softens the outlines of the opposite shore, and makes the horizon +line a little dim. It is about eleven o'clock, for few of the +Jelly-Fishes are early risers; they like the warm sun, and at an earlier +hour they are not to be found very near the surface. The sea is white +and glassy, with a slight swell, but no ripple, and seems almost +motionless as we put off in a dory from the beach near Saunders's Ledge. +We are provided with two buckets: one for the larger Jelly-Fishes, the +Zygodactyla, Aurelia, etc.; the other for the smaller fry, such as the +various kinds of Ctenophoræ, the Tima, Melicertum, etc. Besides these, +we have two nets and glass bowls, in which to take up the more fragile +creatures that cannot bear rough handling. A bump or two on the stones +before we are fairly launched, a shove of the oar to keep the boat well +out from the rocks along which we skirt for a moment, and now we are +off. We pull around the point to our left and turn toward the ledge, +filling our buckets as we go. Now we are crossing the shallows that make +the channel between the inner and outer rocks of Saunders's Ledge. Look +down: how clear the water is, and how lovely the sea-weeds above which +we are floating! dark brown and purple fronds of the Ulvæ, and the long +blades of the Laminaria with mossy green tufts between. As we issue from +this narrow passage we must be on the watch, for the tide is rising, and +may come laden with treasures, as it sweeps through it. A sudden cry +from the oarsman at the bow, not of rocks or breakers ahead, but of "A +new Jelly-Fish astern!" The quick eye of the naturalist of the party +pronounces it unknown to zoölogists, undescribed by any scientific pen. +Now what excitement! "Out with the net!—we have passed him! he has gone +down! no, there he is again! back us a bit." Here he is floating close +by us; now he is within the circle of the net, but he is too delicate to +be caught safely in that way; while one of us moves the net gently +about, to keep him within the space inclosed by it, another slips the +glass bowl under him, lifts it quickly, and there is a general +exclamation of triumph and delight;—we have him! And now we look more +closely. Yes, decidedly he is a novelty as well as a beauty (<i>Ptychogena +lactea</i>, A. Ag.). Those white mossy tufts for ovaries are unlike +anything we have found before, and not represented in any published +figures of Jelly-Fishes. We float about here for a while, hoping to find +more of the same kind, but no others make their appearance, and we keep +on our way to East Point, where there is a capital fishing-ground for +Medusæ of all sorts. Here two currents meet, and the Jelly-Fishes are +stranded, as it were, along the line of juncture, able to move neither +one way nor the other. At this spot the sea actually swarms with life: +one cannot dip the net into the water without bringing up Pleurobrachia, +Bolina, Idyia, Melicertum, etc., while the larger Zygodactyla and +Aurelia float about the boat in numbers. These large Jelly-Fishes +produce a singular effect as one sees them at some depth beneath the +water; the Aureliæ, especially, with their large disks, look like pale +phantoms wandering about far below the surface; but they constantly +float upward, and if not too far out of reach, one may bring them up by +stirring the water under them with the end of the oar.</p> + +<p>When we passed an hour or so floating about just beyond East Point, and +have nearly filled our buckets with Jelly-Fishes of all sizes and +descriptions, we turn and row homeward. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_737" id="Page_737">[Pg 737]</a></span> buckets look very pretty as +they stand in the bottom of the boat with the sunshine lighting up their +living contents. The Idyia glitters and sparkles with ever-changing +hues; the Pleurobrachiæ dart about, trailing their long, graceful +tentacles after them; the golden Melicerta are kept in constant motion +by their quick, sudden contractions; and the delicate, transparent Tima +floats among them all, not the less beautiful because so colorless. +There is an unfortunate Idyia, who, by some mistake, has got into the +wrong bucket, with the larger Jelly-Fish, where a Zygodactyla has +entangled it among his tentacles and is quietly breakfasting upon it.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/image1.jpg" width="400" height="367" alt="Ptychogena lactea." title="" /> +<span class="caption">Ptychogena lactea.</span> +</div> + +<p>During our row the tide has been rising, and as we near the channel of +Saunders's Ledge, it is running through more strongly than before, and +at the entrance of the shallows a pleasant surprise is prepared for us: +no less than half a dozen of our new friends, (the Ptychogena, as he has +been baptized,) come to look for their lost companion perhaps, await us +there, and are presently added to our spoils. We reach the shore heavily +laden with the fruits of our morning's excursion.</p> + +<p>The most interesting part of the work for the naturalist is still to +come. On our return to the Laboratory, the contents of the buckets are +poured into separate glass bowls and jars; holding them up against the +light, we can see which are our best and rarest specimens; these we dip +out in glass cups and place by themselves. If any small specimens are +swimming about at the bottom of the jar, and refuse to come within our +reach, there is a very simple mode of catching them. Dip a glass tube +into the water, keeping the upper end closed with your finger, and sink +it till the lower end is just above the animal you want to entrap; then +lift your finger, and as the air rushes out the water rushes in, +bringing with it the little creature you are trying to catch. When the +specimens are well assorted, the microscope is taken out, and the rest +of the day is spent in studying the new Jelly-Fishes, recording the +results, making notes, drawings, etc.</p> + +<p>Still more attractive than the rows by day are the night expeditions in +search of Jelly-Fishes. For this object we must choose a quiet night; +for they will not come to the surface if the water is troubled. Nature +has her culminating hours, and she brings us now and then a day or night +on which she seems to have lavished all her treasures. It was on such a +rare evening,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_738" id="Page_738">[Pg 738]</a></span> at the close of the summer of 1862, that we rowed over +the same course by Saunders's Ledge and East Point described above. The +August moon was at her full, the sky was without a cloud, and we floated +on a silver sea; pale streamers of the aurora quivered in the north, and +notwithstanding the brilliancy of the moon, they, too, cast their faint +reflection in the ocean. We rowed quietly along past the Ledge, past +Castle Rock, the still surface of the water unbroken, except by the dip +of the oars and the ripple of the boat, till we reached the line off +East Point, where the Jelly-Fishes are always most abundant, if they are +to be found at all. Now dip the net into the water. What genie under the +sea has wrought this wonderful change? Our dirty, torn old net is +suddenly turned to a web of gold, and as we lift it from the water, +heavy rills of molten metal seem to flow down its sides and collect in a +glowing mass at the bottom. The truth is, the Jelly-Fishes, so sparkling +and brilliant in the sunshine, have a still lovelier light of their own +at night; they give out a greenish golden light, as brilliant as that of +the brightest glow-worm, and on a calm summer night, at the spawning +season, when they come to the surface in swarms, if you do but dip your +hand into the water, it breaks into sparkling drops beneath your touch. +There are no more beautiful phosphorescent animals in the sea than the +Medusæ. It would seem that the expression, "rills of molten metal," +could hardly apply to anything so impalpable as a Jelly-Fish, but, +although so delicate in structure, their gelatinous disks give them a +weight and substance; and at night, when their transparency is not +perceived, and their whole mass is aglow with phosphorescent light, they +truly have an appearance of solidity which is most striking, when they +are lifted out of the water and flow down the sides of the net.</p> + +<p>The various kinds present very different aspects. Wherever the larger +Aureliæ and Zygodactylæ float to the surface, they bring with them a dim +spreading halo of light, the smaller Ctenophoræ become little shining +spheres, while a thousand lesser creatures add their tiny lamps to the +illumination of the ocean: for this so-called phosphorescence of the sea +is by no means due to the Jelly-Fishes alone, but is also produced by +many other animals, differing in the color as well as the intensity of +their light; and it is a curious fact that they seem to take possession +of the field by turns. You may row over the same course which a few +nights since glowed with a greenish golden light wherever the surface of +the water was disturbed, and though equally brilliant, the +phosphorescence has now a pure white light. On such an evening, be quite +sure, that, when you empty your buckets on your return and examine their +contents, you will find that the larger part of your treasures are small +Crustacea (little shrimps). Of course there will be other phosphorescent +creatures, Jelly-Fishes, etc., among them, but the predominant color is +given by these little Crustacea. On another evening the light will have +a bluish tint, and then the phosphorescence is principally due to the +Dysmorphosa.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the beauty of a moonlight row, if you would see the +phosphorescence to greatest advantage, you must choose a dark night, +when the motion of your boat sets the sea on fire around you, and a long +undulating wave of light rolls off from your oar as you lift it from the +water. On a brilliant evening this effect is lost in a great degree, and +it is not until you dip your net fairly under the moonlit surface of the +sea that you are aware how full of life it is. Occasionally one is +tempted out by the brilliancy of the phosphorescence, when the clouds +are so thick, that water, sky, and land become one indiscriminate mass +of black, and the line of rocks can be discerned only by the vivid flash +of greenish golden light, when the breakers dash against them. At such +times there is something wild and weird in the whole scene, which at +once fascinates and appalls the imagination; one seems to be rocking +above a volcano, for the surface around is intensely black, except<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_739" id="Page_739">[Pg 739]</a></span> +where fitful flashes or broad waves of light break from the water under +the motion of the boat or the stroke of the oars. It was on a night like +this, when the phosphorescence was unusually brilliant, and the sea as +black as ink, the surf breaking heavily and girdling the rocky shore +with a wall of fire, that our collector was so fortunate as to find in +the rich harvest he brought home the entirely new and exceedingly pretty +little floating Hydroid, described under the name of Nanomia. It was in +its very infancy, a mere bubble, not yet possessed of the various +appendages which eventually make up its complex structure; but it was +nevertheless very important to have seen it in this early stage of its +existence, since, when a few full-grown specimens were found in the +autumn, which lived for some days in confinement and quietly allowed +their portraits to be taken, it was easy to connect the adult animal +with its younger phase of life, and thus make a complete history.</p> + +<p>Marine phosphorescence is no new topic, and we have dwelt too long, +perhaps, upon a phenomenon that every voyager has seen, and many have +described; but its effect is very different, when seen from the deck of +a vessel, from its appearance as one floats through its midst, +distinguishing the very creatures that produce it; and any account of +the Medusæ which did not include this most characteristic feature would +be incomplete.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ADELAIDE_ANNE_PROCTER" id="ADELAIDE_ANNE_PROCTER"></a>ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.</h2> + + +<p>In the spring of the year 1853, I observed, as conductor of the weekly +journal, "Household Words," a short poem among the proffered +contributions, very different, as I thought, from the shoal of verses +perpetually setting through the office of such a periodical, and +possessing much more merit. Its authoress was quite unknown to me. She +was one Miss Mary Berwick, whom I had never heard of; and she was to be +addressed by letter, if addressed at all, at a circulating-library in +the western district of London. Through this channel, Miss Berwick was +informed that her poem was accepted, and was invited to send another. +She complied, and became a regular and frequent contributor. Many +letters passed between the journal and Miss Berwick, but Miss Berwick +herself was never seen.</p> + +<p>How we came gradually to establish at the office of "Household Words" +that we knew all about Miss Berwick, I have never discovered. But we +settled somehow, to our complete satisfaction, that she was governess in +a family; that she went to Italy in that capacity, and returned; and +that she had long been in the same family. We really knew nothing +whatever of her, except that she was remarkably business-like, punctual, +self-reliant, and reliable; so I suppose we insensibly invented the +rest. For myself, my mother was not a more real personage to me than +Miss Berwick the governess became.</p> + +<p>This went on until December, 1854, when the Christmas number, entitled +"The Seven Poor Travellers," was sent to press. Happening to be going to +dine that day with an old and dear friend, distinguished in literature +as "Barry Cornwall," I took with me an early proof of that number, and +remarked, as I laid it on the drawing-room table, that it contained a +very pretty poem, written by a certain Miss Berwick. Next day brought me +the disclosure that I had so spoken of the poem to the mother of its +writer, in its writer's presence; that I had no such correspondent in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_740" id="Page_740">[Pg 740]</a></span> +existence as Miss Berwick; and that the name had been assumed by Barry +Cornwall's eldest daughter, Miss Adelaide Anne Procter.</p> + +<p>The anecdote I have here noted down, besides serving to explain why the +parents of the late Miss Procter have looked to me for these poor words +of remembrance of their lamented child, strikingly illustrates the +honesty, independence, and quiet dignity of the lady's character. I had +known her when she was very young; I had been honored with her father's +friendship when I was myself a young aspirant; and she had said at home, +"If I send him, in my own name, verses that he does not honestly like, +either it will be very painful to him to return them, or he will print +them for papa's sake, and not for their own. So I have made up my mind +to take my chance fairly with the unknown volunteers."</p> + +<p>Perhaps it requires an editor's experience of the profoundly +unreasonable grounds on which he is often urged to accept unsuitable +articles—such as having been to school with the writer's husband's +brother-in-law, or having lent an alpenstock in Switzerland to the +writer's wife's nephew, when that interesting stranger had broken his +own—fully to appreciate the delicacy and the self-respect of this +resolution.</p> + +<p>Some verses by Miss Procter had been published in the "Book of Beauty," +ten years before she became Miss Berwick. With the exception of two +poems in the "Cornhill Magazine," two in "Good Words," and others in a +little book called "A Chaplet of Verses," (issued in 1862 for the +benefit of a Night Refuge,) her published writings first appeared in +"Household Words" or "All the Year Round."</p> + +<p>Miss Procter was born in Bedford Square, London, on the 30th of October, +1825. Her love of poetry was conspicuous at so early an age, that I have +before me a tiny album, made of small note-paper, into which her +favorite passages were copied for her by her mother's hand before she +herself could write. It looks as if she had carried it about, as another +little girl might have carried a doll. She soon displayed a remarkable +memory and great quickness of apprehension. When she was quite a young +child, she learned with facility several of the problems of Euclid. As +she grew older, she acquired the French, Italian, and German languages, +became a clever piano-forte player, and showed a true taste and +sentiment in drawing. But as soon as she had completely vanquished the +difficulties of any one branch of study, it was her way to lose interest +in it and pass to another. While her mental resources were being +trained, it was not at all suspected in her family that she had any gift +of authorship, or any ambition to become a writer. Her father had no +idea of her having ever attempted to turn a rhyme, until her first +little poem saw the light in print.</p> + +<p>When she attained to womanhood, she had read an extraordinary number of +books, and throughout her life she was always largely adding to the +number. In 1853 she went to Turin and its neighborhood, on a visit to +her aunt, a Roman Catholic lady. As Miss Procter had herself professed +the Roman Catholic faith two years before, she entered with the greater +ardor on the study of the Piedmontese dialect, and the observation of +the habits and manners of the peasantry. In the former she soon became a +proficient; and on the latter head, I extract from her familiar letters, +written home to England at the time, two pleasant pieces of description.</p> + + +<h3>A BETROTHAL.</h3> + +<p>"We have been to a ball, of which I must give you a description. Last +Tuesday we had just done dinner at about seven, and stepped out into the +balcony to look at the remains of the sunset behind the mountains, when +we heard very distinctly a band of music, which rather excited my +astonishment, as a solitary organ is the utmost that toils up here. I +went out of the room for a few minutes, and on my returning, Emily +said,—</p> + +<p>"'Oh! that band is playing at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_741" id="Page_741">[Pg 741]</a></span> farmer's near here. The daughter is +<i>fiancée</i> to-day, and they have a ball.'</p> + +<p>"I said,—</p> + +<p>"'I wish I was going!'</p> + +<p>"'Well,' replied she, 'the farmer's wife did call to invite us.'</p> + +<p>"'Then I shall certainly go,' I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"I applied to Madame B., who said she would like it very much, and we +had better go, children and all. Some of the servants were already gone. +We rushed away to put on some shawls, and put off any shred of black we +might have about us, (as the people would have been quite annoyed, if we +had appeared on such an occasion with any black,) and we started. When +we reached the farmer's, which is a stone's throw above our house, we +were received with great enthusiasm; the only drawback being, that no +one spoke French, and we did not yet speak Piedmontese. We were placed +on a bench against the wall, and the people went on dancing. The room +was a large whitewashed kitchen, (I suppose,) with several large +pictures in black frames, and very smoky. I distinguished the 'Martyrdom +of Saint Sebastian,' and the others appeared equally lively and +appropriate subjects. Whether they were Old Masters or not, and if so, +by whom, I could not ascertain. The band were seated opposite us. Five +men, with wind instruments, part of the band of the National Guard, to +which the farmer's sons belong. They played really admirably, and I +began to be afraid that some idea of our dignity would prevent my +getting a partner; so, by Madame B.'s advice, I went up to the bride, +and offered to dance with her. Such a handsome young woman! Like one of +Uwins's pictures. Very dark, with a quantity of black hair, and on an +immense scale. The children were already dancing, as well as the maids. +After we came to an end of our dance, which was what they call a +Polka-Mazourka, I saw the bride trying to screw up the courage of +<i>fiancé</i> to ask me to dance, which, after a little hesitation, he did. +And admirably he danced, as indeed they all did,—in excellent time, and +with a little more spirit than one sees in a ball-room. In fact, they +were very like one's ordinary partners, except that they wore ear-rings +and were in their shirt-sleeves, and truth compels me to state that they +decidedly smelt of garlic. Some of them had been smoking, but threw away +their cigars when we came in. The only thing that did not look cheerful +was, that the room was only lighted by two or three oil-lamps, and that +there seemed to be no preparation for refreshments. Madame B., seeing +this, whispered to her maid, who disengaged herself from her partner, +and ran off to the house; she and the kitchen-maid presently returning +with a large tray covered with all kinds of cakes, (of which we are +great consumers and always have a stock,) and a large hamper full of +bottles of wine, with coffee and sugar. This seemed all very acceptable. +The <i>fiancée</i> was requested to distribute the eatables, and a bucket of +water being produced to wash the glasses in, the wine disappeared very +quickly,—as fast as they could open the bottles. But elated, I suppose, +by this, the floor was sprinkled with water, and the musicians played a +Monferrino, which is a Piedmontese dance. Madame B. danced with the +farmer's son, and Emily with another distinguished member of the +company. It was very fatiguing,—something like a Scotch reel. My +partner was a little man, like Pierrot, and very proud of his dancing. +He cut in the air and twisted about, until I was out of breath, though +my attempts to imitate him were feeble in the extreme. At last, after +seven or eight dances, I was obliged to sit down. We stayed till nine, +and I was so dead beat with the heat that I could hardly crawl about the +house, and in an agony with the cramp, it is so long since I have +danced."</p> + + +<h3>A MARRIAGE.</h3> + +<p>"The wedding of the farmer's daughter has taken place. We had hoped it +would have been in the little chapel of our house; but it seems some +special<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_742" id="Page_742">[Pg 742]</a></span> permission was necessary, and they applied for it too late. +They all said, 'This is the Constitution. There would have been no +difficulty before!'—the lower classes making the poor Constitution the +scapegoat for everything they don't like. So, as it was impossible for +us to climb up to the church where the wedding was to be, we contented +ourselves with seeing the procession pass. It was not a very large one; +for, it requiring some activity to go up, all the old people remained at +home. It is not the etiquette for the bride's mother to go, and no +unmarried woman can go to a wedding,—I suppose for fear of its making +her discontented with her own position. The procession stopped at our +door, for the bride to receive our congratulations. She was dressed in a +shot silk, with a yellow handkerchief, and rows of a large gold chain. +In the afternoon they sent to request us to go there. On our arrival, we +found them dancing out-of-doors, and a most melancholy affair it was. +All the bride's sisters were not to be recognized, they had cried so. +The mother sat in the house, and could not appear; and the bride was +sobbing so, she could hardly stand. The most melancholy spectacle of +all, to my mind, was, that the bridegroom was decidedly tipsy. He seemed +rather affronted at all the distress. We danced a Monferrino,—I with +the bridegroom, and the bride crying the whole time. The company did +their utmost to enliven her, by firing pistols, but without success; and +at last they began a series of yells, which reminded me of a set of +savages. But even this delicate method of consolation failed, and the +wishing good-bye began. It was altogether so melancholy an affair, that +Madame B. dropped a few tears, and I was very near it,—particularly +when the poor mother came out to see the last of her daughter, who was +finally dragged off between her brother and uncle, with the last +explosion of pistols. As she lives quite near, makes an excellent match, +and is one of nine children, it really was a most desirable marriage, in +spite of all the show of distress. Albert was so discomfited by it that +he forgot to kiss the bride, as he had intended to, and therefore went +to call upon her yesterday, and found her very smiling in her new house, +and supplied the omission. The cook came home from the wedding declaring +she was cured of any wish to marry; but I would not recommend any man to +act upon that threat, and make her an offer. In a couple of days we had +some rolls of the bride's first baking, which they call Madonna's. The +musicians, it seems, were in the same state as the bridegroom; for, in +escorting her home, they all fell down in the mud. My wrath against the +bridegroom is somewhat calmed by finding that it is considered bad luck, +if he does not get tipsy at his wedding."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Those readers of Miss Procter's poems who should suppose from their tone +that her mind was of a gloomy or despondent cast would be curiously +mistaken. She was exceedingly humorous, and had a great delight in +humor. Cheerfulness was habitual with her; she was very ready at a sally +or a reply; and in her laugh (as I remember well) there was an unusual +vivacity, enjoyment, and sense of drollery. She was perfectly +unconstrained and unaffected; as modestly silent about her productions +as she was generous with their pecuniary results. She was a friend who +inspired the strongest attachments; she was a finely sympathetic woman, +with a great accordant heart and a sterling noble nature. No claim can +be set up for her, thank God, to the possession of any of the +conventional poetical qualities. She never, by any means, held the +opinion that she was among the greatest of human beings; she never +suspected the existence of a conspiracy on the part of mankind against +her; she never recognized in her best friends her worst enemies; she +never cultivated the luxury of being misunderstood and unappreciated; +she would far rather have died without seeing a line of her composition +in print than that I should have maundered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_743" id="Page_743">[Pg 743]</a></span> about her here as "the Poet" +or "the Poetess."</p> + +<p>With the recollection of Miss Procter, as a mere child and as a woman, +fresh upon me, it is natural that I should linger on my way to the close +of this brief record, avoiding its end. But even as the close came upon +her, so must it come here, and cannot be staved off.</p> + +<p>Always impelled by an intense conviction that her life must not be +dreamed away, and that her indulgence in her favorite pursuits must be +balanced by action in the real world around her, she was indefatigable +in her endeavors to do some good. Naturally enthusiastic, and +conscientiously impressed with a deep sense of her Christian duty to her +neighbor, she devoted herself to a variety of benevolent objects. Now it +was the visitation of the sick that had possession of her; now it was +the sheltering of the houseless; now it was the elementary teaching of +the densely ignorant; now it was the raising up of those who had +wandered and got trodden under foot; now it was the wider employment of +her own sex in the general business of life; now it was all these things +at once. Perfectly unselfish, swift to sympathize, and eager to relieve, +she wrought at such designs with a flushed earnestness that disregarded +season, weather, time of day or night, food, rest. Under such a hurry of +the spirits, and such incessant occupation, the strongest constitution +will commonly go down; hers, neither of the strongest nor the weakest, +yielded to the burden, and began to sink.</p> + +<p>To have saved her life then, by taking action on the warning that shone +in her eyes and sounded in her voice, would have been impossible, +without changing her nature. As long as the power of moving about in the +old way was left to her, she must exercise it, or be killed by the +restraint. And so the time came when she could move about no longer, and +took to her bed.</p> + +<p>All the restlessness gone then, and all the sweet patience of her +natural disposition purified by the resignation of her soul, she lay +upon her bed through the whole round of changes of the seasons. She lay +upon her bed through fifteen months. In all that time her old +cheerfulness never quitted her. In all that time not an impatient or a +querulous minute can be remembered.</p> + +<p>At length, at midnight on the 2d of February, 1864, she turned down a +leaf of a little book she was reading, and shut it up.</p> + +<p>The ministering hand that had copied the verses into the tiny album was +soon around her neck; and she quietly asked, as the clock was on the +stroke of one,—</p> + +<p>"Do you think I am dying, mama?"</p> + +<p>"I think you are very, very ill to-night, my dear."</p> + +<p>"Send for my sister. My feet are so cold! Lift me up."</p> + +<p>Her sister entering as they raised her, she said, "It has come at last!" +and, with a bright and happy smile, looked upward, and departed.</p> + +<p>Well had she written,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Why shouldst thou fear the beautiful angel, Death,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who waits thee at the portals of the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ready to kiss away thy struggling breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ready with gentle hand to close thine eyes?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, what were life, if life were all? Thine eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are blinded by their tears, or thou wouldst see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_744" id="Page_744">[Pg 744]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="BEYOND" id="BEYOND"></a>BEYOND.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">From her own fair dominions,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Long since, with shorn pinions,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">My spirit was banished:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But above her still hover, in vigils and dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ethereal visitants, voices, and gleams,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That forever remind her<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of something behind her<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Long vanished.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Through the listening night,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With mysterious flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Pass those winged intimations:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like stars shot from heaven, their still voices fall to me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far and departing, they signal and call to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Strangely beseeching me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Chiding, yet teaching me<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Patience.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Then at times, oh! at times,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To their luminous climes<br /></span> +<span class="i8">I pursue as a swallow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the river of Peace, and its solacing shades,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the haunts of my lost ones, in heavenly glades,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With strong aspirations<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Their pinions' vibrations<br /></span> +<span class="i10">I follow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">O heart, be thou patient!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Though here I am stationed<br /></span> +<span class="i7">A season in durance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chain of the world I will cheerfully wear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, spanning my soul like a rainbow, I bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With the yoke of my lowly<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Condition, a holy<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Assurance,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">That never in vain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Does the spirit maintain<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Her eternal allegiance:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through suffering and yearning, like Infancy learning<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its lesson, we linger; then skyward returning,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On plumes fully grown<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We depart to our own<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Native regions!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_745" id="Page_745">[Pg 745]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CLEMENCY_AND_COMMON_SENSE" id="CLEMENCY_AND_COMMON_SENSE"></a>CLEMENCY AND COMMON SENSE.</h2> + +<h3>A CURIOSITY OF LITERATURE; WITH A MORAL.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Instabile est regnum quod non elementia firmat.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Incidis in Scyllam, cupiens vitare Charybdim.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Here are two famous verses, both often quoted, and one a commonplace of +literature. That they have passed into proverbs attests their merit both +in substance and in form. Something more than truth is needed for a +proverb. And so also something more than form is needed. Both must +concur. The truth must be expressed in such a form as to satisfy the +requirements of art.</p> + +<p>Most persons whose attention has not been turned especially to such +things, if asked where these verses are to be found, would say at once +that it was in one of the familiar poets of school-boy days. Both have a +sound as of something that has been heard in childhood. The latter is +very Virgilian in its tone and movement. More than once I have heard it +insisted that it was by Virgil. But nobody has been able to find it +there, although the opposite dangers are well represented in the voyage +of Æneas:<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Dextrum Scylla latus, lævum implacata Charybdis Obsidet."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Thinking of the historical proverb, I am reminded of the eminent +character who first showed it to me in the heroic poem where it appears. +I refer to the late Dr. Maltby, Bishop of Durham, who had been a +favorite pupil of Dr. Parr, and was unquestionably one of the best +scholars in England. His amenity was equal to his scholarship. I was his +guest at Auckland Castle early in the autumn of 1838. Conversation +turned much upon books and the curiosities of study. One morning after +breakfast the learned Bishop came to me with a small volume in his hand, +printed in the Italian character, and remarking, "You seem to be +interested in such things," he pointed to this much-quoted verse. It was +in a Latin poem called "Alexandreïs, sive Gesta Alexandri Magni," by +Philippus Gualterus, a mediæval poet of France.</p> + +<p>Of course the fable of Scylla and Charybdis is ancient; but this verse +cannot be traced to antiquity. For the fable Homer is our highest +authority, and he represents the Sirens as playing their part to tempt +the victim.</p> + +<p>These opposite terrors belong to mythology and to geography. +Mythologically, they were two voracious monsters, dwelling opposite to +each other,—Charybdis on the coast of Sicily, and Scylla on the coast +of Italy. Geographically, they were dangers to the navigator in the +narrow strait between Sicily and Italy. Charybdis was a whirlpool, in +which ships were often sucked to destruction; Scylla was a rock, on +which ships were often dashed to pieces.</p> + +<p>Ulysses in his wanderings encountered these terrors, but by prudence and +the counsels of Circe he was enabled to steer clear between them, +although the Sirens strove to lure him on to the rock. The story is too +long; but there are passages which are like pictures, and they have been +illustrated by the genius of Flaxman. The first danger on the Sicilian +side is thus described in the Odyssey:<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>—</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Beneath, Charybdis holds her boisterous reign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Midst roaring whirlpools, and absorbs the main;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrice in her gulfs the boiling seas subside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrice in dire thunders she refunds the tide.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, shun the horrid gulf! by Scylla fly!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'T is better six to lose than all to die."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But endeavoring to shun this peril, the navigator encounters the +other:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Here Scylla bellows from her dire abodes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tremendous pest, abhorred by men and gods!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Six horrid necks she rears, and six terrific heads;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her jaws grin dreadful with three rows of teeth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jaggy they stand, the gaping den of death;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her parts obscene the raging billows hide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her bosom terribly o'erlooks the tide."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_746" id="Page_746">[Pg 746]</a></span></p> + +<p>Near by were the Sirens, who strove by their music to draw the navigator +to certain doom:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Their song is death, and makes destruction please.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unblest the man whom music wins to stay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nigh the cursed shore and listen to the lay:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more the wretch shall view the joys of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His blooming offspring, or his beauteous wife!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Forewarned is forearmed. Ulysses took all precautions against the +opposite perils. Avoiding the Sicilian whirlpool, he did not run upon +the Italian rock or yield to the voice of the charmer. And yet he could +not renounce the opportunity of hearing the melody. Stuffing the ears of +his companions with wax, so that they could not be entranced by the +Sirens, or comprehend any countermanding order which his weakness might +induce him to utter, he caused himself to be tied to the mast,—like +another Farragut,—and directed that the ship should be steered straight +on. It was steered straight on, although he cried out to stop. His +deafened companions heard nothing of the song or the countermand,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Till, dying off, the distant sounds decay."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The dangers of both coasts were at length passed, not without the loss +of six men, "chiefs of renown," who became the prey of Scylla. But the +Sirens, humbled by defeat, dashed themselves upon the rocks and +disappeared forever.</p> + +<p>There are few stories which have been more popular. It was natural that +it should enter into poetry and become a proverb. Milton more than once +alludes to it. Thus, in the exquisite "Comus," He shows these opposite +terrors subdued by another power:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i23">"Scylla wept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chid her barking waves into attention<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In the "Paradise Lost," while portraying Sin, the terrible portress at +the gates of Hell, the poet repairs to this story for illustration:<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i9">"Far less abhorred than these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vexed Scylla, bathing in the sea that parts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calabria from the hoarse Trinacrian shore."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And then again, when picturing Satan escaping from pursuit, he shows +him<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i19">"harder beset<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And more endangered than when Argo passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through Bosphorus betwixt the justling rocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or when Ulysses on the larboard shunned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Charybdis and by the other whirlpool steered."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Though thus frequently employing the story, Milton did not use the +proverb.</p> + +<p>Not only the story but the proverb, was known to Shakspeare, who makes +Launcelot use it in his plain talk with Jessica:<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>—"Truly, then, I +fear you are damned both by father and mother; thus, when I shun Scylla, +your father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, you are gone both +ways." Malone, in his note to this passage, written in the last century, +says,—"Alluding to the well-known line of modern Latin poet, Philippe +Gaultier, in his poem entitled 'Alexandreïs.'" To this note of Malone's, +another editor, George Steevens, whose early bibliographical tastes +inspired the praise of Dibdin, adds as follows:—"Shakspeare might have +met with a translation of this line in many places; among others in the +Dialogue between <i>Custom and Veretie</i>, concerning the use and abuse of +Dancing and Minstrelsie:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'While Silla they do seem to shun,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In Charibd they do fall.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But this proverb had already passed into tradition and speech. That +Shakspeare should absorb and use it was natural. He was the universal +absorbent.</p> + +<p>The history of this verse seemed for a while forgotten. Like the +Wandering Jew, it was a vagrant, unknown in origin, but having perpetual +life. Erasmus, whose learning was so vast, quotes the verse in his great +work on Proverbs, and owns that he does not know the author of it. Here +is this confession:—"<i>Celebratur apud Latinos</i> hic versiculus, +quocunque natus auctore, <i>nam in presentia non occurrit</i>."<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> It seems +from these words that this profound scholar regarded the verse as +belonging to antiquity: at least I so interpret the remark, that it was +"celebrated among the Latins." But though ignorant of its origin, it is +clear that the idea which it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_747" id="Page_747">[Pg 747]</a></span> embodies found much favor with this +representative of moderation. He dwells on it with particular sympathy, +and reproduces it in various forms. Here is the equivalent on which he +hangs his commentary: <i>Evitata Charybdi, in Scyllam incidi</i>. It is easy +to see how inferior in form this is to the much-quoted verse. It seems +to be a literal translation of some Greek iambics, also of uncertain +origin, although attributed to Apostolius, one of the learned Greeks +scattered over Europe by the fall of Constantinople. There is also +something like it in the Greek of Lucian.<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> Erasmus quotes words of +kindred sentiment from the "Phormio" of Terence: <i>Ita fugias ne præter +casam</i>, which he tells us means that we should not so fly from any vice +as to be carried into a greater.<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> He quotes also another proverb with +the same signification: <i>Fumum fugiens, in ignem incidi</i>, which warns +against running into the fire to avoid the smoke. In his letters the +ancient fable recurs more than once. On one occasion he warns against +the dangers of youth, and says that the ears must be stopped, not, as in +the Homeric story, by wax, but "by the precepts of philosophy."<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> In +another letter he avows a fear lest in shunning Scylla he may fall on +Charybdis:—"<i>Nunc vereor ne sic vitemus hanc Scyllam, ut incidamus in +Charybdim multo perniciosiorem</i>."<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> Thus did his instinctive prudence +find expression in this familiar illustration.</p> + +<p>If Erasmus had been less illustrious for learning,—perhaps if his +countenance were less interesting, as we now look upon it in the +immortal portraits by two great artists, Hans Holbein and Albert +Dürer,—I should not be tempted to dwell on this confession of +ignorance. And yet it belongs to the history of this verse, which has +had strange ups and downs in the world. The poem from which it is taken, +after enjoying an early renown, was forgotten,—and then again, after a +revival, was forgotten, again to enjoy another revival. The last time it +was revived through this solitary verse, without which, I cannot doubt, +it would have been extinguished in night.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"How far that little candle throws his beams!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Even before the days of Erasmus, who died in 1536, this verse had been +lost and found. It was circulated as a proverb of unknown origin, when +Galeotto Marzio, an Italian, of infinite wit and learning<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> who +flourished in the latter half of the fifteenth century, and was for some +time the instructor of the children of Matthias Corvinus, King of +Hungary, pointed out its author. In a work of <i>Ana</i>, amusing and +instructive, entitled "De Doctrina Promiscua," which first saw the light +in Latin, and was afterwards translated into Italian, the learned author +says,—"Hoc carmen est Gualteri Galli de Gestis Alexandri, et non vagum +proverbium, ut quidam non omnino indocti meminerint." It was not a vague +proverb, as some persons not entirely unlearned have supposed, but a +verse of the "Alexandreïs." And yet shortly afterwards the great master +of proverbs, whose learning seemed to know no bounds, could not fix its +origin. At a later day, Pasquier, in his "Recherches de la France,"<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> +I made substantially the same remark as Marzio. After alluding to the +early fame of its author, he says,—"C'est lui dans les oeuvres duquel +nous trouvons un vers, souvent par nous allegué sans que plusieurs +sachent qui en fut l'auteur." In quoting this verse the French author +uses <i>Decidis</i> instead of <i>Incidis</i>. The discovery by Marzio, and the +repetition of this discovery by Pasquier, are chronicled at a later day +in the Conversations of Ménage, who found a French Boswell before the +Bosweil of Dr. Johnson was born.<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> Jortin, in the elaborate notes to +his Life of Erasmus, borrows from Ménage, and gives the same +history.<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p> + +<p>When Galeotto Marzio made his discovery,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_748" id="Page_748">[Pg 748]</a></span> this poem was still in +manuscript; but there were several editions before the "Adagia" of +Erasmus. An eminent authority—the "Histoire Littéraire de la +France,"<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> that great work commenced by the Benedictines, and +continued by the French Academy—says that it was printed for the first +time at Strasburg, in 1513. This is a mistake, which has been repeated +by Warton.<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> Brunet, in his "Manuel de Libraire," mentions an edition, +without place or date, with the cipher of Guillaume Le Talleur, who was +a printer at Rouen, in 1487. Panzer, in his "Annales Typographici,"<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> +describes another edition, with the monogram of Richard Pynson, the +London printer, at the close of the fifteenth century. Beloe, in his +"Anecdotes of Literature,"<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> also speaks of an edition with the +imprint of R. Pynson. There appears to have been also an edition under +date of 1496. Then came the Strasburg edition of 1513, by J. Adelphus. +All these are in black letter. Then came the Ingolstadt edition, in +1541, in Italic, or, as it is called by the French, "cursive +characters," with a brief life of the poet, by Sebastian Link. This was +followed, in 1558, by an edition at Lyons, also in Italic, announced as +now for the first time appearing in France, <i>nunc primum in Gallia</i>, was +a mistake. This edition seems to have enjoyed peculiar favor. It has +been strangely confounded with imaginary editions which have never +existed; thus, the Italian Quadrio assures us that the best was at +London, in 1558;<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> and the French Millin assures us that the best was +at Leyden, in 1558.<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> No such editions appeared; and the only edition +of that year was at Lyons. After a lapse of a century, in 1659, there +was another edition, by Athanasius Gugger, a monk of the Monastery of +St. Gall, in France, published at the Monastery itself, according to +manuscripts there, and from its own types, <i>formis ejusdem</i>. The editor +was ignorant of the previous editions, and in his preface announces the +poem as <i>a new work</i>, although ancient; according to his knowledge, +never before printed; impatiently regarded and desired by many; and not +less venerable for antiquity than for erudition:—"En tibi, candide +lector, opus novum, ut sic antiquum, nusquam quod sciam editum, a multis +cupide inspectum et desideratum, non minus antiquitate quam eruditione +venerabile."</p> + +<p>This edition seems to have been repeated at St. Gall in 1693; and these +two, which were the last, appear to have been the best. From that time +this poem rested undisturbed until our own day, when an edition was +published at Hanover, in Germany, by W. Müldener, after the Paris +manuscripts, with the following title:—"Die zehn Gedichte des Walther +von Lille, genannt von Châtillon. Nach der pariser Handschrift +berichtigt, und zum ersten Male vollständig herausgegeben von W. +Müldener." Hanover, 1859, 8vo. Such an edition ought to be useful in +determining the text, for there must be numerous manuscripts in the +Paris libraries. As long ago as 1795 there were no less than nineteen in +the National Library, and also a manuscript at Tours, which had drawn +forth a curious commentary by M. de Forcemagne.<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a></p> + +<p>I ought not to forget here that in 1537 a passage from this poem was +rendered into English blank verse, and is an early monument of our +language. This was by Grimoald Nicholas, a native of Huntingdonshire, +whose translation is entitled "The Death of Zoroas, an Egyptian +Astronomer, in the First Fight that Alexander had with Persians."<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> +This is not the only token of the attention it had awakened in England. +Alexander Ross, the Scotch divine and author, made preparations for an +edition. His dedicatory letter was written,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_749" id="Page_749">[Pg 749]</a></span> bearing date 1644; also two +different sets of dedicatory verses, and verses from his friend David +Eclin, the scholarly physician to the king,<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> who had given him this +"great treasure." But the work failed to appear. The identical copy +presented by Eclin, with many marginal notes from Quintus Curtius and +others, is mentioned as belonging to the Bishop of Ely at the beginning +of the present century.<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> But the homage of the Scotchman still exists +in his dedicatory letter:—"Si materiam consideres, elegantissimam +utilissimamque historiam gestorum Alexandri magni continet; certe sive +stylum, sive subjectum inspicias, dignam invenies quæ omnium teratur +manibus, quamque adolescentes nocturna versentque manu, versentque +diurna."<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> It will be observed that he does not hesitate to dwell on +this poem as "most elegant and most useful," and by its style and +subject worthy of the daily and nightly study of youth. In his verses +Ross announces that Alexander was not less fortunate in his poet than +the Greek chieftain in Homer:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Si felix præcone fuit dux Græcus Homero,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Felix nonne tuo est carmine dux Macedo?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There was also another edition planned in France, during the latter part +of the last century, by M. Daire, the librarian of the Celestines in +Paris, founded on the Latin text, according to the various manuscripts, +with a French translation; but this never appeared.<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></p> + +<p>Until the late appearance of an edition in Germany, it was only in +editions shortly after the invention of printing that this poem could be +found. Of course these are rare. The British Museum, in its immense +treasure-house, has the most important, one of which belonged to the +invaluable legacy of the late Mr. Grenville. The copy in the library of +Lord Spencer is the Lyons edition of 1558. By a singular fortune, this +volume was missing some time ago from its place on the shelves; but it +has since been found; and I have now before me a tracing from its +title-page. My own copy—and perhaps the only one this side of the +Atlantic—is the Ingolstadt edition. It once belonged to John Mitford, +and has on the fly-leaves some notes in the autograph of this honored +lover of books.</p> + +<p>Bibliography dwells with delight upon this poem, although latterly the +interest centres in a single line. Brunet does full justice to it. So +does his jealous rival, Graesse, except where he blunders. Watt, in his +"Bibliotheca Britannica," mentions only the Lyons edition of 1558, on +which he remarks, that "the typography is very singular." Clarke, in his +"Repertorium Bibliographicum," bearing date 1819, where he gives an +account of the most celebrated British libraries, mentions a copy of the +first edition in the library of Mr. Steevens, who showed his knowledge +of the poem in his notes to Shakspeare;<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> also a copy of the Lyons +edition of 1558 in the library of the Marquis of Blandford, afterwards +Duke of Marlborough. This learned bibliographer has a note calling +attention to the fact that "there are variations in the famous disputed +line in different editions of this poem": that in the first edition the +line begins <i>Corruis in Scyllam</i>, but in the Lyons edition, <i>Incidis in +Scyllam</i>; while, as we have already seen, Pasquier says, <i>Decidis in +Scyllam</i>. Bohn, in his "Bibliographer's Manual," after referring in +general terms to the editions, says of the poem, "In it will be found +that trite verse so often repeated, <i>Incidis</i>, &c.,"—words which he +seems to have borrowed from Beloe.<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> "Trite" seems to be hardly +respectful.<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a></p> + +<p>Very little is known of the author. He is called in Latin Philippus +Gualterus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_750" id="Page_750">[Pg 750]</a></span> or Galterus; in French it is sometimes Gaultier and sometimes +Gautier. The French biographical dictionaries, whether of Michaud or of +Didot, attest the number of persons who bore this name, of all degrees +and professions. There was the Norman knight <i>sans Avoir</i>, who was one +of the chiefs of the first Crusade. There also was another Gautier, +known as the Sire d'Yvetot, stabbed to death by his sovereign, Clotaire, +who afterwards in penitence erected the lordship of Yvetot into that +kingdom which Béranger has immortalized. And there have been others of +this name in every walk of life. Fabricius, in his "Bibliotheca Latina +Mediæ et Infimæ Ætatis,"<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> mentions no less than seventy-six Latin +authors of this name. A single verse has saved one of these from the +oblivion which has overtaken the multitude.</p> + +<p>He was born at Lille, but at what precise date is uncertain. Speaking +generally, it may be said that he lived and wrote during the last half +of the twelfth century, while Philip Augustus was King of France, and +Henry II. and Richard Cœur-de-Lion ruled England, one century after +Abélard, and one century before Dante. After studying at Paris, he went +to establish himself at Châtillon; but it is not known at which of the +three or four towns of this name in France. Here he was charged with the +direction of schools, and became known by the name of this town, as +appears in the epitaph, somewhat ambitiously Virgilian, which he wrote +for himself:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Insula me genuit, rapuit Castellio nomen;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Perstrepuit modulis Gallia tota meis."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But he is known sometimes by his birthplace, and sometimes by his early +residence. The highest French authority calls him Gaultier of Lille or +of Châtillon.<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> He has been sometimes confounded with Gaultier of +Coutances, Archbishop of Rouen, who was born in the island of +Jersey;<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> and sometimes with the Bishop of Maguelonne of the same +name, who was the author of an Exposition of the Psalter, and whose see +was on an island in the Mediterranean, opposite the coast of France.<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p> + +<p>Not content with his residence at Châtillon, he repaired to Bologna in +Italy, where he studied the civil and canon law. On his return to France +he became the secretary of two successive Archbishops of Rheims, the +latter of whom, by the name of William,—a descendant by his grandmother +from William the Conqueror,—occupied this place of power from 1176 to +1201. The secretary enjoyed the favor of the Archbishop, who seems to +have been fond of letters. It was during this period that he composed, +or at least finished, his poem. Its date is sometimes placed at 1180; +and there is an allusion in its text which makes it near this time. +Thomas à Becket was assassinated before the altar of Canterbury in 1170; +and this event, so important in the history of the age, is mentioned as +recent: "<i>Nuper—cæsum dolet Anglia Thomam</i>." The poem was dedicated to +the Archbishop, who was to live immortal in companionship with his +secretary:<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a>—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Vivemus pariter, vivet cum vate superstes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gloria Guillermi nullum moriture per ævum."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The Archbishop was not ungrateful, and he bestowed upon the poet a stall +in the cathedral of Amiens, where he died of the plague at the +commencement of the thirteenth century.<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a></p> + +<p>This does not appear to have been his only work. Others are attributed +to him. There are dialogues <i>adversus Judæos</i>, which Oudin publishes in +his collection entitled "Veterum aliquot Galliæ et Belgii Scriptorum +Opuscula Sacra nunquam edita." This same Oudin, in another publication, +speaks of a collection, entitled "Opuscula Varia," preserved<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_751" id="Page_751">[Pg 751]</a></span> among the +manuscripts in the Imperial Library of France, as by Gaultier, although +the larger part of these Opuscula have been attributed to a very +different person, Gaultier Mapes, chaplain to Henry II., King of +England, and Archdeacon of Oxford.<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> But more recent researches seem +to restore them to Philip Gaultier. Among these are satirical songs in +Latin on the world, and also on prelates, which, it is said, were sung +in England as well as throughout France. Indeed, the second verse of the +epitaph already quoted seems to point to these satires:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Perstrepuit <i>modulis</i> Gallia tota <i>meis</i>."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In these pieces, as in the "Alexandreïs," we encounter the indignant +sentiments inspired by the assassination of Becket. The victim is called +"the flower of priests," and the king, <i>Neronior est ipso Nerone</i>.<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> +But these poems, whether by Walter Mapes or by Philip Gaultier, are now +forgotten. The "Alexandreïs" has had a different fortune.</p> + +<p>The poem became at once famous. It had the success of Victor Hugo or +Byron. Its author took rank, not only at the head of his contemporaries, +but even among the classics of antiquity, Leyser chronicles no less than +one hundred Latin poets in the twelfth century,<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> but we are assured +that not one of them is comparable to Gaultier.<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> M. Édélestand du +Méril, who has given especial attention to this period, speaks of the +"Alexandreïs" as "a great poem," and remarks that its "Latinity is very +elegant for the time."<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a> Another authority calls him "the first of the +modern Latin poets who appears to have had a spark of true poetic +genius."<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> And still another says, that, "notwithstanding all its +defects, we must regard this poem, and the 'Philippis' of William of +Brittany, which appeared about sixty years later, as two brilliant +phenomena in the midst of the thick darkness which covered Europe from +the decline of the Roman Empire to the revival of letters in Italy."<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> +Pasquier, to whom I have already referred, goes so far, in his chapter +on the University of Paris, as to illustrate its founder, Peter Lombard, +by saying that he had for a contemporary "one Galterus, an eminent poet, +who wrote in Latin verses, under the title of the 'Alexandreïs,' a great +imitator of Lucan"; and the learned writer then adds, that it is in his +work that we find a verse often quoted without knowing the author,<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> +These testimonies show his position among his contemporaries; but there +is something more.</p> + +<p>An anonymous Latin poet of the next century, who has left a poem on the +life and miracles of Saint Oswald, calls Homer, Gaultier, and Lucan the +three capital heroic poets. Homer, he says, has celebrated Hercules, +Gaultier the son of Philip, and Lucan has sung the praises of Cæsar; but +these heroes deserve to be immortalized in verse much less than the holy +confessor Oswald.<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> In England, the Abbot of Peterborough transcribed +Seneca, Terence, Martial, Claudian, and the "Gesta Alexandri."<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> In +Denmark, Arnas Magnseus made a version in Icelandic of the "Alexandreïs +Gualteriana," which has been called "<i>Incomparabile antiguitatis +septentrionalis monumentum</i>."<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a> It appears that the new poem was +studied, even to the exclusion of ancient masters and of Virgil himself. +Henry of Ghent, who wrote about 1280, says that it "was of such dignity +in the schools, that for it the reading of the ancient poets was +neglected."<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> This testimony is curiously confirmed by the condition +of the manuscripts which have come down to us, most of which are loaded +with glosses and interlinear explanations, doubtless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_752" id="Page_752">[Pg 752]</a></span> for public use in +the schools.<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> It is sometimes supposed that Dante repaired to Paris. +It is certain that his excellent master, Brunette Latini, passed much +time there. This must have been at the very period when the new poem was +taught in the schools. Perhaps it may be traced in the "Divina +Commedia."</p> + +<p>Next after the tale of Troy, the career of Alexander was at this period +the most popular subject for poetry, romance, or chronicle. The Grecian +conqueror filled a vast space in the imagination. He was the centre of +marvel and of history. Every modern literature, according to its +development, testifies to this predominance. Even dialects testify. In +France, the professors of grammar at Toulouse were directed by statutes +of the University, dated 1328, to read to their pupils "De Historiis +Alexandri."<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> In England, during the reign of Henry I., the sheriff +was ordered to procure the Queen's chamber at Nottingham to be painted +with the History of Alexander,—"<i>Depingi facias Historiam Alexandri +undiquaque</i>."<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> Chaucer, in his "House of Fame," places Alexander with +Hercules, and then again shows the universality of his renown:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Alisaundres storie is so commune,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That everie wight that hath discrecioune<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath herde somewhat or al of his fortune."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>We have the excellent authority of the poet Gray for saying that the +Alexandrine verse, which "like a wounded snake drags its slow length +along," took its name from an early poem in this measure, called "La +View d'Alexandre." There was also the "Roman d'Alexandre," contemporary +with the "Alexandreïs," which Gray thinks was borrowed from the latter +poem, apparently because the authors say that they took it from the +Latin.<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> There was also "The Life and Actions of Alexander the +Macedonian," originally written in Greek, by Simeon Seth, magister and +protovestiary or wardrobe-keeper of the palace at Constantinople in +1070, and translated from Greek into Latin, and then into French, +Italian, and German.<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> Arabia also contributed her stories, and the +Grecian conqueror became a hero of romance. Like Charlemagne, he had his +twelve peers; and he also had a horn, through which he gave the word of +command, which took sixty men to blow it, and was heard sixty +miles,—being the same horn which afterwards Orlando sounded at +Roncesvalles. That great career which was one of the epochs of +mankind,—which carried in its victorious march the Greek language and +Greek civilization,—which at the time enlarged the geography of the +world, and opened the way to India,—was overlaid by an incongruous mass +of fable and anachronism, so that the real story was lost. Times, +titles, and places were confounded. Monks and convents, churches and +confessors, were mixed with the achievements of the hero; and in an +early Spanish History of Alexander, by John Lorenzo, we meet such +characters as Don Phoebus, the Emperor Jupiter, and the Count Don +Demosthenes; and we are assured that the mother of Alexander fled to a +convent of Benedictine nuns.</p> + +<p>Philip Gaultier, With all his genius, has his incongruities and +anachronisms; but his poem is founded substantially upon the History of +Quintus Curtius, which he has done into Latin hexameters, with the +addition of long speeches and some few inventions. Aristotle is +represented with a hideous exterior, face and body lean, hair neglected, +and the air of a pedant exhausted by study. The soldiers of Alexander +are called <i>Quirites</i>, as if they were Romans. The month of June in +Greece is described as if it were in Rome:—</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Mensis erat, cujus juvenum de nimine nomen."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Events connected with the passion of Jesus Christ are treated as having +already passed in the time of Alexander.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_753" id="Page_753">[Pg 753]</a></span></p> + +<p>The poem is divided into ten books,<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> and the ten initial letters of +these books, when put together like an acrostic, spell the name of the +Archbishop, <i>Guillermus</i>, the equivalent for William at that time, who +was the patron of the poet. Besides this conceit, there is a dedication +both at the beginning and at the end. Quantity, especially in Greek or +Asiatic words, is disregarded; and there are affectations in style, of +which the very beginning is an instance:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Gesta</i> ducis Macedûm totum <i>digesta</i> per orbem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Musa, refer."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In the same vein is the verse,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Inclitus ille Clitus," etc.;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and another verse, describing the violence of the soldiers after +victory:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Extorquent torques, et inaures perdidit auris."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>A rapid analysis of the poem will at least exhibit the order of the +events it narrates, and its topics, with something of its character.</p> + +<p>Alexander appears, in the first book, a youth panting for combat with +the Persians, enemies of his country and of his father. There also is +his teacher, Aristotle. Philip dies, and the son repairs to Corinth to +be crowned. Under the counsels of Demosthenes, the Athenians declare +against him. The young King arrives under the walls of Athens. +Demosthenes speaks for war; Æschines for peace. The party of peace +prevails; and the Macedonian turns to Thebes, which he besieges and +captures by assault. The poet Cloades, approaching the conqueror, chants +in lyric verses an appeal for pardon, and reminds him that without +clemency a kingdom is unstable:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Instabile est regnum quod non clementia firmat.</i>"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And the words of this chant are still resounding. But Alexander, angry +and inexorable, refuses to relent. He levels the towers which had first +risen to the music of Amphion, and delivers the city to the flames: thus +adding a new act to that tragic history which made Dante select Thebes +as the synonyme of misfortune.<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a> Turning from these smoking ruins, he +gathers men and ships for his expedition against Persia. Traversing the +sea, he lands in Asia; and here the poet describes geographically the +different states of this continent,—Assyria, Media, Persia, Arabia, +with its Sabæan frankincense and its single Phœnix, ending with +Palestine and Jerusalem, where a God was born of a Virgin, at whose +death the world shook with fear. Commencing his march through Cilicia +and Phrygia, the ambitious youth stops at Troy, and visits the tomb of +Achilles, where he makes a long speech.</p> + +<p>The second book opens with the impression produced on the mind of +Darius, menaced by his Macedonian enemy. He writes an insolent letter, +which Alexander answers simply by advancing. At Sardes he cuts the +Gordian knot, and then advances rapidly. Darius quits the Euphrates with +his vast army, which is described. Alexander bathes in the cold waters +of the Cydnus, is seized with illness, and shows his generous trust in +the physician that attended him,—drinking the cup handed him, although +it was said to be poisoned. Restored to health, he shows himself to his +troops, who are transported with joy. Meanwhile the Persians advance. +Darius harangues his soldiers. Alexander harangues his. The two armies +prepare for battle.</p> + +<p>The third book is of battle and victory at Issus, described with +minuteness and warmth. Here is the death of Zoroas, the Egyptian +astronomer, than whom nobody was more skilled in the stars, the origin +of winter's cold or summer's heat, or in the mystery of squaring the +circle,—<i>circulus an possit quadrari</i>.<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> The Persians are overcome. +Darius seeks shelter in Babylon. His treasures are the prey of the +conqueror. Horses are laden with spoils, and the sacks are so full that +they cannot be tied. Rich ornaments are torn from the women, who are +surrendered to the brutality<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_754" id="Page_754">[Pg 754]</a></span> of the soldiers. The royal family alone is +spared. Conducted to the presence of Alexander, they are received with +the regard due to their sex and misfortune. The siege and destruction of +Tyre follow; then the expedition to Egypt and the temple of Jupiter +Ammon. Here is a description of the desert, which is said, like the sea, +to have its perils, with its Scylla and its Charybdis of sand:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i25">"Hic altera sicco<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scylla mari latrat; hic pulverulenta Charybdis."<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Meanwhile Darius assembles new forces. Alexander leaves Egypt and rushes +to meet him. There is an eclipse of the moon, which causes a sedition +among his soldiers, who dare to accuse their king. The phenomenon is +explained by the soothsayers, and the sedition is appeased.</p> + +<p>The fourth book opens with a funeral. It is of the queen of the Persian +monarch. Alexander laments her with tears. Darius learns at the same +time her death and the generosity of his enemy. He addresses prayers to +the gods for the latter, and offers propositions of peace. Alexander +refuses these, and proceeds to render funeral honors to the queen of the +king he was about to meet in battle. Then comes an invention of the +poet, which may have suggested afterwards to Dante that most beautiful +passage of the "Purgatorio," where great scenes are sculptured on the +walls. At the summit of a mountain a tomb is constructed by the skilful +Hebrew Apelles, to receive the remains of the Persian queen; and on this +tomb are carved, not only kings and names of Greek renown, but histories +from the beginning of the world:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Nec solum reges et nomina gentis Achææ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sed generis notat hisorias, ab origine mundi<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Incipiens."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Here in breathing gold is the creation in six days; the fall of man, +seduced by the serpent; Cain a wanderer; the increase of the human race; +vice prevailing over virtue; the deluge; the intoxication of Noah; the +story of Esau, of Jacob, of Joseph; the plagues of Egypt,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hic dolet Ægyptus denis percussa flagellis";<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>the flight of the Israelites,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"et puro livescit pontus in auro";<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>the manna in the wilderness; the giving of the law; the gushing of water +from the rock; and then the succession of Hebrew history, stretching +through a hundred verses, to the reign of Esdras,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Totaque picturæ series finitur in Esdra."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>After these great obsequies Alexander marches at once against Darius. +And here the poet dwells on the scene presented by the Persian army +watching by its camp-fires. Helmets rival the stars; the firmament is +surprised to see fires like its own reflected from bucklers, and fears +lest the earth be changed into sky and the night become day. Instead of +the sun, there is the helmet of Darius, which shines like Phœbus +himself, and at its top a stone of flame, obscuring the stars and +yielding only to the rays of the sun: for, as much as it yields to the +latter, so much does it prevail over the former. The youthful chieftain, +under the protection of a benignant divinity, passes the night in +profound repose. His army is all marshalled for the day, and he still +sleeps. He is waked, gives the order for battle, and harangues his men. +The victory of Arbela is at hand.</p> + +<p>The fifth book is occupied by a description of this battle. Here are +episodes in imitation of the ancients, with repetitions or parodies of +Virgil. The poet apostrophizes the unhappy, defeated Darius, as he is +about to flee, saying,—"Whither do you go, O King, about to perish in +useless flight? You do not know, alas! lost one, you do not know from +whom you flee. While you flee from one enemy, you run upon other +enemies. Desiring to escape Charybdis, you run upon Scylla."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i24">"Quo tendis inerti,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rex, periture, fuga? Nescis, heu! perdite, nescis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_755" id="Page_755">[Pg 755]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quern fugias; hostesque incurris, dum fugis hostem;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Incidis in Scyllam, cupiens vitare Charybdim</i>."<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The Persian monarch finds safety at last in Media, and Alexander enters +Babylon in triumph, surpassing all other triumphs, even those of ancient +Rome: and this is merited,—so sings the poet,—for his exploits are +above those of the most celebrated warriors, whether sung by Lucan in +his magnificent style, or by Claudian in his pompous verses. The poet +closes this book by referring to the condition of Christianity in his +own age, and exclaiming, that, if God, touched by the groans and the +longings of his people, would accord to the French such a king, the true +faith would soon shine throughout the universe.</p> + +<p>The sixth book exhibits the luxury of Alexander at Babylon, the capture +of Susa, the pillage of Persepolis. Here the poet forgets the recorded +excesses of his hero with Thais by his side, and the final orgy when the +celebrated city was given to the flames at the bidding of a courtesan; +but he dwells on an incident of his own invention, which is calculated +to excite emotions of honor rather than of condemnation. Alexander meets +three thousand Greek prisoners, wretchedly humiliated by the Persians, +and delivers them. He leaves to them the choice of returning to Greece, +or of fixing themselves in the country there on lands which he promises +to distribute. Some propose to return. Others insist, that, in their +hideous condition, they cannot return to the eyes of their families and +friends, when an orator declares that it is always pleasant to see again +one's country, that there is nothing shameful in the condition caused by +a barbarous enemy, and that it is unjust to those who love them to think +that they will not be glad to see them. A few follow the orator; but the +larger part remain behind, and receive from their liberator the land +which he had promised, also money, flocks, and all that was necessary +for a farmer.</p> + +<p>The seventh book exhibits the treason of Bessus substantially as in +Quintus Curtius. Darius, with chains of gold on his feet, is carried in +a covered carriage to be delivered up. Alexander, who was still in +pursuit of his enemy, is horror-struck by the crime. He moves with more +rapidity to deliver or to avenge the Persian monarch than he had ever +moved to his defeat. He is aroused against the criminals, like Jupiter +pursuing the giants with his thunder. Darius is found in his carriage +covered with wounds and bathed in his blood. With the little breath that +remains, and while yet struggling on the last confines of life, he makes +a long speech, which the poet follows with bitter ejaculations of his +own against his own age, beginning with venal Simon and his followers, +and ending with the assassins of Thomas à Becket:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Non adeo ambiret cathedraæ venalis honorem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jam vetus ille Simon, non incentiva malorum<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pollueret sacras funesta pecunia sedes."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Thus here again the poet precedes Dante, whose terrible condemnation of +Simon has a kindred bitterness:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O Simon mago, o miseri seguaci,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Che le cose di Dio, che di bontate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Denno essere spose, voi rapaci<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Per oro e per argento adulterate."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>These ejaculations are closed by an address to the manes of Darius, and +a promise to immortalize him in the verse of the poet. The grief of +Alexander for the Persian queen is now renewed for the sovereign. The +Hebrew Apelles is charged to erect in his honor a lofty pyramid in white +marble, with sculptures in gold. Four columns of silver, with base and +capitals of gold, support with admirable art a concave vault where are +represented the three continents of the terrestrial globe, with their +rivers, forests, mountains, cities, and people. In the characteristic +description of each nation, France has soldiers and Italy wine:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Francia militibus</i>, celebri Campania Bacco."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>From funeral the poet passes to festival, and portrays the banquets and +indulgence to which Alexander now invites his army. A sedition ensues. +The soldiers ask to return to their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_756" id="Page_756">[Pg 756]</a></span> country. Alexander makes an +harangue, and awakens in them the love of glory. They swear to affront +all dangers, and to follow him to the end of the world.</p> + +<p>The eighth book chronicles the march into Hyrcania; the visit of +Talestris, queen of the Amazons, and her Amazonian life, with one breast +burnt so as to accommodate the bent bow; then the voluntary sacrifice of +all the immense booty of the conqueror, as an example for the troops; +then the conspiracy against Alexander in his own camp; then the +examination and torture of the Son of Parmenio, suspected of complicity; +and then the doom of Bessus, the murderer of Darius, who is delivered by +Alexander to the brother of his victim. Then comes the expedition to +Scythia. The Macedonian, on the banks of the Tanaïs, receives an +embassy. The ambassador fails to delay him: he crosses the river, and +reduces the deserts and the mountains of Scythia to his dominion. And +here the poet likens this people, which, after resisting so many +powerful nations, now falls under the yoke, to a lofty, star-seeking +Alpine fir, <i>astra petens abies</i>, which, after resisting for ages all +the winds of the east, of the west, and of the south, falls under the +blows of Boreas. The name of the conqueror becomes a terror, and other +nations in this distant region submit voluntarily, without a blow.</p> + +<p>The ninth book commences with a mild allusion to the murder of Clitus, +and other incidents, teaching that the friendships of kings are not +perennial:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i18">"Eternim testatur eorum<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Finis amicitias regum non esse perennes."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Here comes the march upon India. Kings successively submit. Porus alone +dares to resist. With a numerous army he awaits the Macedonian on the +Hydaspes. The two armies stand face to face on opposite banks. Then +occurs the episode of two youthful Greeks, Nicanor and Symmachus, born +the same day, and intimate, like Nisus and Euryalus. Their perilous +expedition fails, under the pressure of numbers, and the two friends, +cut off and wounded, after prodigies of valor, at last embrace, and die +in each other's arms. Then comes the great battle. Porus, vanquished, +wounded, and a prisoner, is brought before Alexander. His noble spirit +touches the generous heart of the conqueror, who returns to him his +dominions, increases them, and places him in the number of friends,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Odium clementia vicit."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The gates of the East are now open. His movement has the terror of +thunder breaking in the middle of the night,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Quean sequitur fragor et fractæ collisio nubis."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>A single city arrests the triumphant march. Alexander besieges it, and +himself mounts the first to the assault. His men are driven back. Then +from the top of the ladder, instead of leaping back, he throws himself +into the city, and alone confronts the enemy. Surrounded, belabored, +wounded, he is about to perish, when his men, learning his peril, +redouble their efforts, burst open the gates, inundate the place, and +massacre the inhabitants. After a painful operation, Alexander is +restored to his army and to his great plans of conquest. The joy of the +soldiers, succeeding their sorrow, is likened to that of sailors, who, +after seeing the pilot overboard, and ready to be ingulfed by the raging +floods, as Boreas dances, <i>Borea bacchante</i>, at last behold him rescued +from the abyss and again at the helm. But the army is disturbed by the +preparation for distant maritime expeditions. Alexander avows that the +world is too small for him; that, when it is all conquered, he will push +on to subjugate another universe; that he will lead them to the +Antipodes and to another Nature; and that, if they refuse to accompany +him, he will go forth alone and offer himself as chief to other people. +The army is on fire with this answer, and vow again never to abandon +their king.</p> + +<p>The tenth book is the last. Nature, indignant that a mortal should +venture to penetrate her hidden places, suspends her unfinished works, +and descends<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_757" id="Page_757">[Pg 757]</a></span> to the world below for succor against the conqueror. +Before the gates of Erebus, under the walls of the Stygian city,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ante fores Erebi, Stygiæ sub mœnibus urbis,"—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>are sisters, monsters of the earth, representing every vice,—thirst of +gold, drunkenness, gluttony, treachery, detraction, envy, hypocrisy, +adulation. In a distant recess is a perpetual furnace, where crimes are +punished, but not with equal flames, as some are tormented more lightly +and others more severely. Leviathan was in the midst of his furnace, but +he drops his serpent form and assumes that divine aspect which he had +worn when he wished to share the high Olympus,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i24">"Cum sidere solus<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clarior intumuit, tantamque superbia mentem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Extulit, ut summum partiri vellet Olympum."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>To him the stranger appeals against the projects of Alexander, which +extend on one side to the unknown sources of the Nile and the Garden of +Paradise, and on the other to the Antipodes and ancient Chaos. The +infernal monarch convenes his assembly. He calls the victims from their +undying torments,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">"quibus mors<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Est non posse mori,"—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>where ice and snow are punishments, as well as fire. The satraps of Styx +are collected, and the ancient serpent addresses sibilations from his +hoarse throat:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hie ubi collecti satrapæ Stygis et tenebrarum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Consedere duces, et gutture sibila rauco<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Edidit antiquus serpens."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>He commands the death of the Macedonian king before his plans can be +executed. Treason rises and proposes poison. All Hell applauds; and +Treason, in disguise, fares forth to instruct the agent. The whole scene +suggests sometimes Dante and sometimes Milton. Each was doubtless +familiar with it. Meanwhile Alexander returns to Babylon. The universe +is in suspense, not knowing to which side he will direct his arms. +Ambassadors from all quarters come to his feet. In the pride of power he +seems to be universal lord. At a feast, surrounded by friends, he drinks +the fatal cup. His end approaches, and he shows to the last his grandeur +and his courage. The poet closes, as he began, with a salutation to his +patron.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Such is the sketch of a curiosity of literature. It is interesting to +look upon this little book, which for a time played so considerable a +part; to imagine the youthful students who were once nurtured by it; to +recognize its relations to an age when darkness was slowly yielding to +light; to note its possible suggestions to great poets who followed, +especially to Dante; and to behold it lost to human knowledge, and +absolutely forgotten, until saved by a single verse, which, from its +completeness of form and its proverbial character, must live as long as +the Latin language endures. The verse does not occupy much room; but it +is a sure fee simple for the poet. And are we not told by an ancient, +that it is something, in whatever place or recess you may be, to have +made yourself master of a single lizard?</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Est aliquid, quocumque loco, quocumque recessu,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unius sese dominum fecisse lacertæ."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>A poem of ten books shrinks to a very petty space. There is a balm of a +thousand flowers, and here is a single hexameter which is the express +essence of many times a thousand verses. It was the jest of the +grave-digger, in "Hamlet," that the noble Alexander, returning to dust +and loam, had stopped a bung-hole. But the memorable poem celebrating +him is reduced as much, although it may be put to higher uses.</p> + + +<h3>MORAL.</h3> + +<p>At the conclusion of a fable there is a moral, or, as it is sometimes +called, the application. There is also a moral now, or, if you please, +the application. And, believe me, in these serious days, I should have +little heart for any literary diversion, if I did not hope to make it +contribute to those just principles which are essential to the +well-being, if not the safety of the Republic. To this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_758" id="Page_758">[Pg 758]</a></span> end I have now +written. This article is only a long whip with a snapper to it.</p> + +<p>Two verses saved from the wreck of a once popular poem have become +proverbs, and one of these is very famous. They inculcate clemency, and +that common sense which is found in not running into one danger to avoid +another. Never was their lesson more needed than now, when, in the name +of clemency to belligerent traitors, the National Government is +preparing to abandon the freedmen, to whom it is bound by the most +sacred ties; is preparing to abandon the national creditor also, with +whose security the national welfare is indissolubly associated; and is +even preparing, without any probation or trial, to invest belligerent +traitors, who for four bloody years have murdered our fellow-citizens, +with those Equal Rights in the Republic which are denied to friends and +allies, so that the former shall rule over the latter. Verily, here is a +case for common sense.</p> + +<p>The lesson of clemency is of perpetual obligation. Thanks to the +mediæval poet for teaching it. Harshness is bad. Cruelty is detestable. +Even justice may relent at the prompting of mercy. Do not fail, then, to +cultivate the grace of clemency. Perhaps no scene in history is more +charming than that of Cæsar, who, after vows against an enemy, listened +calmly to the appeal for pardon, and, as he listened, let the guilty +papers fall from his hand. Early in life he had pleaded in the Senate +for the lives of conspirators; and afterwards, when supreme ruler of the +Roman world, he practised the clemency he had once defended, unless +where enemies were incorrigible, and then he knew how to be stern and +positive. It is by example that we are instructed; and we may well learn +from the great master of clemency that the general welfare must not be +sacrificed to this indulgence. And we may learn also from the Divine +Teacher, that, even while forgiving enemies, there are Scribes and +Pharisees who must be exposed, and money-changers who must be scourged +from the temple. But with us there are Scribes and Pharisees, and there +are also criminals, worse than any money-changers, who are now trying to +establish themselves in the very temple of our government.</p> + +<p>Cultivate clemency. But consider well what is embraced in this charity. +It is not required that you should surrender the Republic into the hands +of pardoned criminals. It is not required that you should surrender +friends and allies to the tender mercies of these same pardoned +criminals. Clearly not. Clemency has its limitations; and when it +transcends these, it ceases to be a virtue, and is only a mischievous +indulgence. Of course, one of these limitations, never to be +disregarded, is the <i>general security</i>, which is the first duty of +government. No pardon can be allowed to imperil the nation; nor can any +pardon be allowed to imperil those who have a right to look to us for +protection. There must be no vengeance upon enemies; but there must be +no sacrifice of friends. And here is the distinction which cannot be +forgotten. <i>Nothing for vengeance; everything for justice.</i> Follow this +rule, and the Republic will be safe and glorious. Thus wrote Marcus +Aurelius to his colleague and successor in empire, Lucius Verus. These +words are worthy to be repeated now by the chief of the Republic:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i15">"Ever since the Fates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Placed me upon the throne, two aims have I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kept fixed before my eyes; and they are these,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not to revenge me on my enemies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And not to be ungrateful to my friends</i>."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It is easy for the individual to forgive. It is easy also for the +Republic to be generous. But forgiveness of offences must not be a +letter of license to crime; it must not be a recognition of an ancient +tyranny, and it must not be a stupendous ingratitude. There is a +familiar saying, with the salt of ages, which is addressed to us +now:—"Be just before you are generous." Be just to all before you are +generous to the few. Be just to the millions <i>only half rescued</i> from +oppression, before you are generous to their cruel taskmasters. Do not +imitate that precious character in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_759" id="Page_759">[Pg 759]</a></span> gallery of old Tallemant de +Réaux, of whom it was said, that he built churches without paying his +debts.<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a> Our foremost duties now are to pay our debts, and these are +twofold:—first, to the national freedman; and, secondly, to the +national creditor.</p> + +<p>Apply these obvious principles practically. A child can do it. No duty +of clemency can justify injustice. Therefore, in exercising the +beautiful power of pardon at this moment in our country, several +conditions must be observed.</p> + +<p>(1.) As a general rule, belligerent traitors, who have battled against +the country, must not be permitted <i>at once</i>, without probation or +trial, to resume their old places of trust and power. Such a concession +would be clearly against every suggestion of common sense, and President +Johnson clearly saw it so, when, addressing his fellow-citizens of +Tennessee, 10th June, 1864, he said,—"I say that traitors should take a +back seat in the work of restoration. If there be but five thousand men +in Tennessee, loyal to the Constitution, loyal to freedom, loyal to +justice, these true and faithful men should control the work of +reorganization and reformation absolutely."</p> + +<p>(2.) Especially are we bound, by every obligation of justice and by +every sentiment of honor, to see to it that belligerent traitors, who +have battled against their country, are not allowed to rule the constant +loyalists, whether white or black, embracing the recent freedmen, who +have been our friends and allies.</p> + +<p>(3.) Let belligerent traitors be received slowly and cautiously back +into the sovereignty of citizenship. It is better that they should wait +than that the general security be imperilled, or our solemn obligations, +whether to the national freedman or the national creditor, be impaired.</p> + +<p>(4.) Let pardons issue only on satisfactory assurance that the +applicant, who has been engaged for four years in murdering our +fellow-citizens, shall sustain the Equal Rights, civil and political, of +all men, according to the principles of the Declaration of Independence; +that he shall pledge himself to the support of the national debt; and, +if he be among the large holders of land, that he shall set apart +homesteads for all his freedmen.</p> + +<p>Following these simple rules, clemency will be a Christian virtue, and +not a perilous folly.</p> + +<p>The other proverb has its voice also, saying plainly, Follow common +sense, and do not, while escaping one danger, rush upon another. You are +now escaping from the whirlpool of war, which has threatened to absorb +and ingulf the Republic. Do not rush upon the opposite terror, where +another shipwreck of a different kind awaits you, while Sirens tempt +with their "song of death." Take warning: <i>Seeking to escape from +Charybdis, do not rush upon Scylla</i>.</p> + +<p>Alas! the Scylla on which our Republic is now driving is that old rock +of <i>concession and compromise</i> which from the beginning of our history +has been a constant peril. It appeared in the convention which framed +the National Constitution, and ever afterwards, from year to year, +showed itself in Congress, until at last the Oligarchy, nursed by our +indulgence, rebelled. And now that the war is over, it is proposed to +invest this same Rebel Oligarchy with a new lease of immense power, +involving the control over loyal citizens, whose fidelity to the +Republic has been beyond question. Here, too, are Sirens, in the shape +of belligerent traitors, suing softly that the Republic may be lured to +the old concession and compromise. <i>Alas! that, escaping from Charybdis, +we should rush upon Scylla!</i></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> <i>Æneis</i>, Lib. III. v. 420.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Book XII.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Book II. v. 660.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Ibid. v. 1016.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> <i>Merchant of Venice</i>, Act III. Sc. 5.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Erasmi <i>Opera</i>, Tom. II. p. 183; <i>Adagiorum</i> Chil. I. cent. +v. prov. 4.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Erasmi <i>Adagia</i>, ubi supra.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Ibid.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> Jortin's <i>Erasmus</i>, Vol. II. p. 163, note.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> <i>Opera</i>, Tom. II. p. 645; <i>Epist.</i> 574.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> For a glimpse of this interesting character, see +Tiraboschi, <i>Storia della Letteratura Italiana</i>, Tom. VI. pp 289-294; +Michaud, <i>Biographie Universelle, nomen</i> Galeotto Marzio.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Tom. I. p. 276, Liv. III. cap. 29.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> <i>Ménagiana</i>, Tom. I. p. 177.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Vol. II. 285.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Tom. XV. p. 117.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> <i>History of English Poetry</i>, Vol. I. p. clxviii.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Vol. I. p. 510.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Vol. V. p. 256.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> <i>Della Storia e della Ragione d' ogni Poesia</i>, Tom. VI. p. +480.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> <i>Magasin Encyclopédique</i>, Tom II. p. 52.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> Millin, <i>Magasin Encyclopédique</i>, Tom. III. p. 181; +<i>Journal des Savans</i>, Avril, 1760.</p></div> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> Ritson's <i>Bibliographia Poetica</i>, p. 228.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> For a list of His works see Watt's <i>Bibliotheca +Britannia</i>, <i>nomen</i> Echlin.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> Beloe's <i>Anecdotes of Literature</i>, Vol. V. pp. 255-260.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> Ibid. p. 256.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> Millin, <i>Magasin Encyclop.</i> Tom. III. p. 181.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> From a priced catalogue of Mr. Steevens's sale it appears +that his copy, which was the edition of Lyons, brought £2 2<i>s.</i> in 1800. +<i>Cat.</i> No. 514.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> <i>Anecdotes of Literature</i>, Vol. V. p. 258.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> See also Graesse, <i>Trésor de Livres rares et précieux, ou +Nouveau Dictionnaire Bibliographique</i>, <i>nomen</i> Galterus; Millin, <i>Mag. +Encyc.</i> Tom. III. p. 181; Senebier, <i>MSS. Franc. de la Bibliothèque de +Genève</i>, p. 235; <i>Allg. Lit. Anz.</i> 1799. pp. 84. 263, 1233, 1858; +<i>Sitzungsber. der Wien. Acad.</i> T. XIII. p. 314; Giesebrecht, <i>Allg. +Zeits. für Wiss. und Lit.</i> 1853, p. 344.</p></div> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> Tom. VI. p. 328.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> <i>Histoire Littéraire</i>, Tom. XV. p. 100.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> Ibid, Tom. XVI. p. 537.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> The latter mistake is gravely made by Quadrio, in his +great jumble of literary history, Tom. VI. p. 480; also by Peerlkamp, +<i>De Poetis Latinis Nederlandorum</i>, p. 15. See also Édélestand du Méril, +<i>Poésies Populaires Latines</i>, p. 149.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> <i>Alexandreïs</i>, Lib. X. <i>ad finem.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> Graesse, in his <i>Trésor de Livres Rares</i>, which ought to +be accurate, makes a strange mistake in calling Gualterus <i>Episcopus +Insulanus</i>. He was never more than a canon, and held no post at Lille. +Fabricius entitles him simply <i>Magister</i> Philippus Gualterus de +Castellione, Insulanus. <i>Bibliotheca Lat. Med. et Inf. Ætotis</i>, Tom. VI. +p. 328. See also Wright's <i>Latin Poems</i>, Preface, xviii.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> <i>Histoire Littéraire</i>, Tom. XV. p. 101</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> Édélestand du Méril, <i>Poésies Populaires Latines</i>, pp. +144-163; Wright, <i>Latin Poems commonly attributed to Walter Mapes</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> <i>Historia Poematum Medii Ævi.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> <i>Histoire Littéraire</i>, Tom. XVI. p. 183.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> <i>Poésies Latines Populaires</i>, p. 149.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> Millin, <i>Magasin Encyclop.</i> Tom. II, p. 52.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> Michaud, <i>Biographie Universelle</i>, <i>nomen</i> Gaultier.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> <i>Recherches de la France</i>, Cap. 29, Tom. I. p. 276.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> Warton, <i>English Poetry</i>, Vol. I. p. clxix.; Dissertation +II.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> Ibid.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a> Fabricius, <i>Bibliotheca</i>, Tom. IV. c. 2.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a> Ibid. Tom. VI. p. 328. See also Leyser, <i>Historia Poematum +Medii Ævi</i>, <i>nomen</i> Galterus.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> <i>Histoire Littéraire</i>, Tom. XV. p. 118.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a> Warton, <i>History of English Poetry</i>, Vol. I. p. clxix.; +also p. 132.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> Madox, <i>Hist. Exchequer</i>, pp. 249-259.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> Gray, <i>Observations on English Metre</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> Warton, <i>History of English Poetry</i>, Vol. I. p 133.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> Vossius, <i>De Poetis Latinis</i>, p. 74. is mistaken in saying +that it had nine books instead of ten. See also <i>Ménagiana</i>, Tom. I. P. +177.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> <i>Inferno</i>, Canto XXXIII.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> This is the passage translated into blank verse by the +early English poet, Grimoald Nicholas.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> There is a contemporary poem in leonine verses on the +death of Thomas à Becket, with the same allusion to opposite dangers:— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ut post Syrtes mittitur in Charybdim navis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flatibus et fluctibus transitis tranquille,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tutum portus impulit in latratus Scyllæ."<br /><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Du Méril, <i>Poésies Populaires Latines</i>, p. 82.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> Some of the expressions of this passage may be compared +with other writers. See Burmanni <i>Anthologia Latina</i>, Vol. I. pp. 152, +163; Ovidii <i>Metam.</i> Lib. I. 514.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> "C'était un homme qui battait des églises sans payer ses +dettes."</p></div></div> + +<p>The old Oligarchy conducted all its operations in the name of State +Rights, and in this name it rebelled. And when the Republic sought to +suppress the Rebellion, it was replied, that a State could not be +coerced. Now that the Rebellion is overthrown, and a just effort is made +to obtain that "security for the future" without which the war will have +been in vain, the same cry of State Rights is raised, and we are told +again that a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_760" id="Page_760">[Pg 760]</a></span> State cannot be coerced,—as if the same mighty power +which directed armies upon the Rebellion could be impotent to exact all +needful safeguards. It was to overcome these pretensions, and stamp <i>E +Pluribus Unum</i> upon the Republic, that we battled in war; and now we +surrender to these tyrannical pretensions again. Escaping from war, we +rush upon the opposite peril,—<i>as from Charybdis to Scylla</i>.</p> + +<p>Again, we are told gravely, that the national power which decreed +emancipation cannot maintain it by assuring universal enfranchisement, +because an imperial government must be discountenanced,—as if the whole +suggestion of "imperialism" or "centralism" were not out of place, until +the national security is established, and our debts, whether to the +national freedman or the national creditor, are placed where they cannot +be repudiated. A phantom is created, and, to avoid this phantom, we rush +towards concession and compromise,—<i>as from Charybdis to Scylla</i>.</p> + +<p>Again, we are reminded that military power must yield to the civil power +and to the rights of self-government. Therefore the Rebel States must be +left to themselves, each with full control over all, whether white or +black, within its borders, and empowered to keep alive a Black Code +abhorrent to civilization and dangerous to liberty. Here, again, we rush +from one peril upon another. Every exercise of military power is to be +regretted, and yet there are occasions when it cannot be avoided. War +itself is the transcendent example of this power. But the transition +from war to peace must be assured by all possible safeguards. "Civil +power and self-government cannot be conceded to belligerent enemies +until after the establishment of security for the future." Such security +is an indispensable safeguard, without which there will be new disaster +to the country. Therefore, in escaping from military power, care must be +taken that we do not run upon the opposite danger,—<i>as from Charybdis +to Scylla</i>.</p> + +<p>Again, it is said solemnly, that "we must trust each other"; which, +being interpreted, means, that the Republic must proceed at once to +trust the belligerent enemies who have for four years murdered our +fellow-citizens. Of course, this is only another form of concession. In +trusting them, we give them political power, including the license to +oppress loyal persons, whether white or black, and especially the +freedman. For four years we have met them in battle; and now we rush to +trust them, and to commit into their keeping the happiness and +well-being of others. There is peril in trusting such an enemy, more +even than in meeting him on the field. God forbid that we rush now upon +this peril,—<i>as from Charybdis to Scylla</i>!</p> + +<p>The true way is easy. Follow common sense. Seeking to avoid one peril, +do not rush upon another. Consider how everything of worth or honor is +bound up with the national security and the national faith; and that +until these are fixed beyond change, agriculture, commerce, and industry +of all kinds must suffer. Capital cannot stay where justice is denied. +Emigration must avoid a land blasted by the spirit of caste. Cotton +itself will refuse to grow until labor is assured its just reward. By +natural consequence, that same Barbarism which has drenched the land in +blood will continue to prevail, with wrong, outrage, and the +insurrections of an oppressed race; the national name will be +dishonored, and the national power will be weakened. But the way is +plain to avoid these calamities. <i>Follow common sense; and obtain +guaranties commensurate with the danger.</i> Do this without delay, so that +security and reconciliation may not be postponed. Every day's delay is a +loss to the national wealth and an injury to the national treasury. But +if adequate guaranties cannot be obtained at once, then at least +<i>postpone all present surrender to the Oligarchy</i>, trusting meanwhile to +Providence for protection, and to time for that awakened sense of +justice and humanity which must in the end prevail. And finally, <i>take +care not to rush from Charybdis to Scylla</i>.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_761" id="Page_761">[Pg 761]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="REVIEWS_AND_LITERARY_NOTICES" id="REVIEWS_AND_LITERARY_NOTICES"></a>REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>The Works of Epictetus, consisting of his Discourses in +Four Books, the Enchiridion and Fragments.</i> A Translation +from the Greek, based on that of Elizabeth Carter. By <span class="smcap">Thomas +Wentworth Higginson</span>. Boston: Little, Brown, & Co.</p></div> + +<p>Happy the youth who has this Stoic repast fresh and untasted before him! +Heaven give him appetite and digestion; for here is food indeed!</p> + +<p>Epictetus and Marcus Antoninus, at the two extremes of the social +system,—the one that most helpless of human beings, a Roman slave, the +other that terrestrial god, a Roman Emperor,—are yet so associated in +fame that he who names either thinks of the other also. Neither of them +men of astonishing intellect, though certainly of a high intelligence, +they have yet uttered thoughts that cannot die,—thoughts so simple, +vital, and central, so rich in the purest blood of man's moral being, +that their audience and welcome are perpetual. Without literary +ambition, one of them wrote only for his own eye, merely emphasizing the +faith he lived by, while the other wrote not at all, but, like another +and yet greater, simply spoke with men as he met them, his words being +only the natural respirations of belief. Yet that tide of time which +over so many promising ambitions and brilliant fames has rolled +remorseless, a tide of oblivion, bears the private notes or casual +conversation of these men in meek and grateful service.</p> + +<p>A vital word,—how sure is it to be cherished and preserved! All else +may be neglected, all else may perish; but a word true forever to the +heart of humanity will be held too near to its heart to suffer from the +chances of time.</p> + +<p>Of these two authors, Epictetus has the more nerve, spirit, and wit, +together with that exquisite homeliness which Thoreau rightly named "a +high art"; while Antoninus is characterized by more of tenderness, +culture, and breadth. The monarch, again, has a grave, almost pensive +tone; the slave is full of breezy health and cheer. One commonly prefers +him whom he has read last or read most. The distinction of both is, that +they hold hard to the central question, How shall man be indeed man? how +shall he be true to the inmost law and possibility of his being? Their +thoughts are, as we have said, respirations, vital processes, pieces of +spiritual function, the soul in every syllable. And hence through their +pages blows a breath of life which one may well name a wind of Heaven.</p> + +<p>Our favorite was Antoninus until Mr. Higginson beguiled us with this +admirable version. For it is, indeed, admirable. It would be hard to +name a translation from Greek prose which, while faithful in substance +and tone to the original, is more entirely and charmingly readable.</p> + +<p>Of mere correctness we do not speak. Correctness is cheap. It may be had +for money any day. A passage or two we notice, concerning which some +slight question might, perhaps, be opened; but it would be a question of +no importance; and the criticism we should be inclined to make might not +be sustained. Unquestionably the version is true, even nicely true, to +the ideas of the author.</p> + +<p>But it is more and better. It is ingenious, felicitous, witty. Mr. +Higginson has the great advantage over too many translators (into +English, at least) of being not only a man of bright and vivid +intelligence, but also a proper proficient in the use of his mother +tongue, melodious in movement, elegant in manner, fortunate in phrase. +Now that Hawthorne is dead, America has not perhaps a writer who is +master of a more graceful prose. His style has that tempered and chaste +vivacity, that firm lightness of step, that quickness at a turn, not +interfering with continuity and momentum, which charms all whom style +can charm. Lowell's best prose—in "Fireside Travels," for example—has +similar qualities, and adds to them a surprising delicacy of wit and +subtilty of phrase, while it has less movement and less of rhythmical +emphasis. Between the two, in the respects mentioned, we are hardly able +to choose.</p> + +<p>Mr. Higginson is, indeed, a little fastidious, a little inclined to +purism, a little rigid upon the mint, anise, and cumin of literary law. +But this rendered him only the more fit for his present task. A +translator must bear somewhat hard upon minor obligations to his +vernacular, in order to overcome the resistance of a foreign idiom.</p> + +<p>He has succeeded. He has given us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_762" id="Page_762">[Pg 762]</a></span> Greek thought in English speech, not +merely in English words. It is, indeed, astonishing how modern Epictetus +seems in this version. This is due in part to the translator's tact in +finding modern <i>equivalents</i> for Greek idioms, or for antiquated +allusions and illustrations. Once in a while one is a littled startled +by these; but more often they are so happy that one fancies he must have +thrown dice for them, or obtained them by some other turn of luck.</p> + +<p>But he was favored, not only by literary ability, but by a native +affinity with his author and an old love for him. His taste is very +marked for this peculiar form of sanctity and heroism, the simple Stoic +morality, especially in that mature and mellow form which it assumes +with the later Stoic believers. In these first centuries of our era a +suffusion of divine tenderness seems to have crept through the veins of +the world, partly derived from Christianity, and partly contemporaneous +with it. In the case of Epictetus it must have been original. And the +peculiar simplicity with which he represents this tender spirit of love +and duty, while combining it with the utmost iron nerve of the old Stoic +morality,—its comparative disassociation in his pages with the +speculative imaginations which glorify or obscure it elsewhere,—is +deeply grateful, one sees, to the present translator.</p> + +<p>He must have enjoyed his task heartily, while its happy completion has +prepared for many others, not only an enjoyment, but more and better +than that. May it, indeed, be for many! What were more wholesome for +this too luxuriant modern life than a little Stoic pruning?</p> + +<p>Having mentioned that the book comes forth under the auspices of Little, +Brown, & Co., we have no need to say that it is an elegant volume.</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>An Examination of Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy, and of +the Principal Philosophical Questions discussed in his +Writings.</i> By <span class="smcap">John Stuart Mill</span>. In Two Volumes. Boston: +William V. Spencer.</p></div> + +<p>Mr. Mill in this book defends England from the reproach of indifference +to the higher philosophy. Americans are at least not indifferent to John +Stuart Mill; and for his sake the volumes will no doubt be attempted by +many a respectable citizen who would be seriously puzzled whether to +class the author as a Cosmothetic Idealist or as a Hypothetical Dualist. +And assuming, as such a reader very possibly will, that this last name +designates those who are disposed to fight for their hypotheses, he will +hardly think it in this case a misnomer. Yet Mr. Mill seems very +generous and noble in this attitude. He has consented to put on the +gloves since he fought Professors Whewell and Sedgwick without them; and +there is perhaps no finer passage in the history of controversy than his +simple expression of regret, in his preface, on attacking an antagonist +who can no longer defend himself.</p> + +<p>Yet his handling of Sir William is tolerably unflinching, when he +settles to the work; and he will carry the sympathy of most readers in +his criticisms, whatever they may think of his own peculiar views. The +students of his Logic were rather daunted, years ago, on discovering +that a mind so able was content to found upon mere experience its +conviction that two and two make four, and to assume, by implication at +least, that on some other planet two and two may make five. He still +holds to this attitude. But so perfect are his candor and clearness, +that no dissent from his views can seriously impair the value of his +writings; and though no amount of clearness can make such a book +otherwise than abstruse to the general reader, yet there are some +chapters which can be read with pleasure and profit by any intelligent +person,—as, for instance, the closing essay on mathematical study. This +must not, however, be taken for an indorsement of all which that chapter +contains; for it must be pronounced a little inconsistent in Mr. Mill to +criticize Hamilton for underrating mathematics without having studied +them, when this seems to be precisely his critic's attitude towards the +later German metaphysics. He speaks with some slight respect of Kant, to +be sure, but complains of the speculations of his successors as "a +deplorable waste of time and power," though he gives no hint or citation +to indicate that he has read one original sentence of Fichte, Schelling, +or Hegel. Indeed, he heaps contempt in Latin superlatives upon the +last-named thinker, and then completes the insult by quoting him at +second-hand through Mansel, (I. 61,)—that Mansel some of whose +doctrines he elsewhere proclaims to be "the most morally pernicious now +current." (I. 115.) He afterwards makes it a sort of complaint against +Hamilton, that he had read "every fifth-rate German transcendentalist"; +but if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_763" id="Page_763">[Pg 763]</a></span> this was so, surely a competent critic of Hamilton should have +followed him at least through the first-rates. This unfairness,—if, +indeed, these surmises be correct,—although it seems very much like the +Englishman whom our current prejudices represent, seems very unlike John +Stuart Mill.</p> + +<p>As the ablest work that modern British philosophy has produced, this +book will doubtless have many American readers, and well deserves them.</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Speeches of Andrew Johnson, President of the United +States.</i> With a Biographical Introduction, by <span class="smcap">Frank Moore</span>. +Boston: Little, Brown, & Co.</p></div> + +<p>The publishers have done well in placing this volume before the public. +One among the most important results of the war is that of vastly +increasing the practical, however it may be with the theoretical, power +of the executive. It has done this, in the first place, by direct +addition. The "war powers of the President," though beyond question +legitimate, made him for the time being wellnigh absolute; and now that +overt war is ended, it is found impracticable to return immediately to +the ancient limits of executive authority. Exercises of sovereignty, +accordingly, which would once have been called most dangerous +encroachments upon coördinate branches of government, pass without +protest, it be with general approbation. An instance of such is seen in +the appointment of Southern governors who by an explicit law of Congress +are ineligible. But, in the second place, this power is increased, +perhaps, even more by the marked disposition of the people to accept the +initiative of the President. The prodigious bids made by the Democratic +party for his countenance, and the extreme reluctance of the Republicans +to open an issue with him, illustrate this disposition, and are of great +significance.</p> + +<p>We are stating facts, not complaining of them. A great change has +undoubtedly taken place in the practical economy of the Government,—a +significant change in the relative importance of its coördinate +branches. It may not be permanent, but it can scarcely be brief.</p> + +<p>A the same time the importance of the Government as a whole has been +greatly enhanced. We have reached a point where the nation, for, +perhaps, the first time, is to be saved by statesmanship, and where it +is apparent that only statesmanship of a high order will be equal to the +task. Formerly the Government could be contemptible without being fatal. +When its imbecility led to civil war, the courage, patriotism, and +persistency of the people sufficed to purchase victory; and though the +Government was tasked heavily, its tasks were of a simple kind. But now +a point is reached where must begin a long stretch of wise, far-seeing, +faithful statesman's work, or where, in the want of this, prospects open +which on patriot can contemplate with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>A series of able, temperate, true-hearted Presidents has now become +indispensable; but the highest qualities will be needed in no subsequent +administration so much as in the present; and very serious mistakes in +the present would go far to render the highest ability in the future +unavailing. Under these circumstances, there must be a common and +anxious desire to know what may reasonably be expected of President +Johnson.</p> + +<p>Hence the timeliness and importance of the volume under notice. An +attentive perusal of these pages will afford ground for some critical +estimate of the man in whose hands so much power is lodged, and whose +use of power so great issues depend. The biographical sketch, though +somewhat vague, and marked by occasional inaccuracies, affords some +tolerable notion of the experience he has passed through; and the +speeches, though covering but few years, exhibit that portion of his +opinions which is most related to existing problems.</p> + +<p>We find here the image of a very honest, patriotic man, vigorous in +mind, resolute in will, definite in character, and bearing deeply the +impress of a special and marked experience. Of his honesty, to begin +with, there can be no doubt. His administration may be mistaken, but it +will not be corrupt. And to feel assured of so much is very healthful. +But an honest man, in his position, <i>must</i> be patriotic,—must be +looking to the welfare of the country, rather than casting about to make +bargains for his private advantage; and we gather from this book, that, +if any meditate buying or bribing the President, they will learn a +lesson in due time. He may come to coincide with them, but it will be by +their acquiescence in his judgment, not by his acceptance of their +proffers.</p> + +<p>It is when we come to inspect his intellectual position, to consider the +quality of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_764" id="Page_764">[Pg 764]</a></span> honest convictions, as determined chiefly by his +peculiar experience, that the real question opens.</p> + +<p>Mr. Johnson was a Southern "poor white." He became the ornament, then +the champion of his class; rescued it from political subjection in +Tennessee, and, in his own election to the Governor's chair, and then to +the United States Senate, gave it a first feast of supremacy. In this +long struggle, the peculiar opinion and sentiment of his class—that is, +of its best portion—became with him, though in an enlarged form, +impassioned convictions, deeply incorporated with his character, and +held with somewhat of religious fervor.</p> + +<p>In the first speech contained in the present collection, dating so +lately as 1858, he is found still resting upon this experience. His +sympathy is wholly with the simpler forms of country life, with +mechanics and small landholders, "the middle class," as he calls them. +He hates cities; he cannot help showing some mild jealousy of the +commercial and manufacturing interest; literature and science he does +not wish to undervalue, but his whole heart is with the class who live a +well-to-do, honest life, by manual labor in their own shops or on their +own acres. Like his class, he dislikes the cotton lords, but likes +Slavery, and has no faith in the negro; it has not occurred to him to +think of the negro as a man, and he wished that every white man in the +country had a slave to do his "menial" labor.</p> + +<p>In the next speech, made two years later, he is confronting the +immediate probability of Secession. He grapples with it sturdily, but +still regards it from a strictly Southern point of view,—that of his +class. The South, he thinks, has real grievances; it has, indeed, been +wronged by the election of a "sectional President and Vice-President"; +it is entitled to redress; only it should seek redress in the Union, not +out of it.</p> + +<p>Even when what he feared and fought against was become overt and bloody +war, when his own life was vengefully sought, when his own friends were +hunted down, and either murdered without mercy or dragged mercilessly +away to fight an alien battle with a sword behind and cannon in front, +even then he finds great difficulty in changing his point of view. He +speaks no more of wrongs which the South has suffered; but it is because +his feeling of that is overwhelmed by his sense of the horrible wrong it +is committing. He declares, at length, that, if Slavery or the Union +must go down, he will stand by the Union; but he evidently accepts the +alternative with reluctance, though with resolution. When it becomes +apparent that this possible alternative is indeed actual, he is true to +his pledge; but it is a new charge in his mind against the +Secessionists, that they have forced him to such election. They will +have it so, he says, and since they will have it so, be it so; the +necessity is not of his making; the retribution is real, but it is +deserved. His final proclamation of freedom in Tennessee, in advance of +executive warrant, was an intrepid and memorable act, worthy of his +resolute spirit,—but was an act rather directed against the Rebels than +prompted by sympathy with the slaves. His career in Tennessee was +already far advanced before he fairly held forth his hand to the negroes +as men, with the rights and interests of human beings; and it needed all +the roused passion of his soul, all the touching trust of this people in +him as their "Moses," all his intensity of recoil from treason, and all +his sense of personal outrage, to nerve him for that triumph over his +traditional prejudices.</p> + +<p>The impression of Andrew Johnson which this book gives us is that of a +deep, powerful, impassioned nature, inflexible, but inflexible rather by +definite determination of character and fixity of conviction than by +obstinacy of will. A man of large ability, he is, so to speak, deeply +immersed in his own past,—limited by the bonds of his earnest, but, +until lately, narrow experience. His power to change his point of view +upon theoretical considerations is small, for he does little but expand +his experience into theory. Facts alone can instruct him; and if these +run counter to his intellectual predilection, they must be impressive to +be effectual. He follows the law of his mind in proceeding to make an +"experiment" in dealing with the South, and in making it as nearly as +possible in accordance with the ancient customs of his thought. There is +danger, we think, that he will look at facts too much with a traditional +eye; but there is no danger that he will not act upon them with vigor, +courage, and honest patriotism so far as he shall see them in their true +light.</p> + +<p>It should be said, that, to learn the latest modifications of his +opinions, the reader must consult the Introduction.</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. +98, December, 1865, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ATLANTIC MONTHLY, DECEMBER 1865 *** + +***** This file should be named 33009-h.htm or 33009-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/0/0/33009/ + +Produced by Joshua Hutchinson and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. 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