PETER AND SUSAN LESLEY 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 PETER AND SUSAN LESLEY 
 
 Edited by their Daughter 
 
 MARY LESLEY AMES 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOLUME I 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 Zbe Iknlcftcrbocfter ipress 
 
 1909 
 
1^/ 
 
 Copyright, 1909 
 By MARY LESLEY AMES 
 
 OFC 90 1977 
 
S>ed{cated to 
 
 MY SISTER MARGARET 
 
 AND TO 
 THE TEN GRANDCHILDREN 
 
 OF 
 PETER AND SUSAN LESLEY 
 
PREFACE 
 
 It has been my desire in writing this Memoir to give a 
 hfehke impression of my father and mother. They were 
 unusually full of vitality, their interests were varied, and 
 their affections strong and constant. Any account of them 
 which did not show their abundant strength of mind and 
 heart would be of little value. 
 
 The most direct and natural way to accomplish this end 
 has seemed to be the use of their own intimate correspond- 
 ence, since by self-revelation rather than by the description 
 of others is the most vivid impression of personality made. 
 Fortunately we had for use not only the long series of their 
 letters, but also a large number of letters to intimate friends. 
 
 It is always difficult to decide how much or how little 
 of a private correspondence it is proper to give to the public 
 in such an undertaking. But, if a true picture is to be 
 shown, family reserve must be thrown aside to some extent, 
 and something more than the mere chronicle of events or 
 the statement of abstract opinions must be included. In 
 preparing these volumes, I have had it constantly in mind 
 that they would be read by many friends for whom every- 
 thing that related to my father and mother would have 
 interest, and perhaps on that account I have included more 
 than would have been done for an impersonal public. 
 
 The method of portraiture by means of letters has the 
 disadvantage of lack of continuity in any particular subject. 
 But what it lacks in that respect it gains in vividness. And, 
 since I have not so much wished to make a full record of the 
 external events of their lives as to give a faithful picture of 
 their personalities, I have felt this method to be best fitted 
 to my purpose. 
 
 Where persons are variously occupied, where their lives 
 run in a full, wide stream, their letters naturally pass rapidly 
 
viii PREFACE 
 
 from one topic to another, from one scene to another; and 
 yet at any one period there is apt to be a predominance of 
 some great interest which will give a certain unity to the 
 correspondence. I think there will be found such a unity 
 in parts of these volumes, as in the ante-helium times when 
 slavery questions were in the ascendant, during the war 
 itself, and again in the chapters on the Pennsylvania State 
 Geological Survey and the organization of the Associated 
 Charities of Philadelphia. 
 
 I have not thought it best to dwell on things which were 
 not made of much account by my parents themselves. 
 There was much ill-health in their lives, but I have omitted 
 constant mention of this fact, for it was seldom allowed by 
 them to be an excuse or impediment when important mat- 
 ters were to be accomplished. Again, they were people of 
 strong feeling, strong impressions, and strong prejudices. 
 I have tried not to show these characteristics unduly, for 
 they were usually controlled by good will and wise judgment. 
 
 I have not attempted to write of my father's scientific 
 life, not being competent to do so; but in the Appendix 
 will be found several of the obituary notices written by sci- 
 entific friends, which will to some extent supply this omis- 
 sion. 
 
 In deciding on his signature, I have used his baptismal 
 name, ''Peter Lesley," rather than that by which he was 
 known in scientific and business circles, — "J. P. Lesley." 
 The J. stood merely for "Junior," which he placed in front 
 instead of at the end of his signature. In early life he 
 much disliked his Christian name, and this was undoubtedly 
 his reason for adding this initial. Later he would have been 
 glad to drop it, but while in active business found it incon- 
 venient to do so. 
 
 The chapters have generally been named from the cir- 
 cumstances of my father's life. 
 
 In the original letters there was much variation in the 
 spelling of names and of places. In many cases unification 
 was impossible, and I have been obliged to give up any at- 
 tempt at consistency in this respect. 
 
 I wish to express my gratitude to various friends who 
 
PREFACE IX 
 
 have aided me in this work, — to my husband, without 
 whose encouragement and constant help in preparation and 
 revision I could never have accomphshed it at all; to my 
 sister for similar aid, and to whom most of the illustration 
 of the volume is due; to my friend Ruth Putnam for valu- 
 able aid in revision; to my cousin Benjamin Smith Lyman, 
 to whom I have constantly appealed for the verification of 
 facts; to Mr. E. V. D'Invilliers, who has assisted me in a 
 similar way; to my friend Eliza Orne White and my 
 cousin Henry Stilwell for valuable letters; and to Mr. B. 
 S. Lyman, Professor J. J. Stevenson, Dr. H. M. Chance, 
 Mr. Baird Halberstadt, Dr. Persifor Frazer, Sir Archibald 
 Geikie, and Dr. Charles Gordon Ames, for biographical 
 matter; also to my friend Miss Susan Hale for permission 
 to use as illustrations some sketches which she added to 
 my mother's Nile Journal. To all of these friends I return 
 hearty thanks. 
 
 Mary L. Ames. 
 St. Paul, Minnesota, January, 1909. 
 
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. Childhood. 1819-1832 i 
 
 II. Youth. 1832-1837 12 
 
 III. First Experience in Geological Work. 1839-1841, 20 
 
 IV. Princeton. Theological School. 1841-1844 ... 39 
 V. First Trip to Europe 55 
 
 VI. Switzerland and Germany 102 
 
 VII. Life as a Colporteur. 1845 ^34 
 
 VIII. First Year in Boston. 1847 142 
 
 IX. First Year of Parish Work, Milton. 1848 .... 162 
 
 X. Engagement. 1848 170 
 
 XL Marriage, and Milton Life. 1849-1851 213 
 
 XII. Summer of 185 i in Pottsville 238 
 
 XIII. Last Days in Milton. Removal to Philadel- 
 phia AND A Scientific Career. 1852 262 
 
 XrV. Professional Life. 1853-1858 283 
 
 XV. Eagleswood. Summer of 1858 356 
 
 XVI. Ante-bellum Times. 1858-1861 361 
 
 XVII. War Times. 1861-1863 393 
 
 XVIII. Second Voyage to Europe. 1863-1864 436 
 
 XIX. Last Year of the Civil War. 1864-1865 .... 481 
 
 XX. Lowell Lectures. 1865- 1866 504 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Page 
 
 Portrait from a Painting of Peter Lesley by his Daugh- 
 ter Margaret L. Bush-Brown Frontispiece 
 
 Portraits of Peter Lesley, Sr., and his Wife Elizabeth 
 
 Allen Lesley opposite 8 
 
 Sketches of St. George de Boucherville ....... 72, 73 
 
 Church of St. Etienne, Caen 77; 78 
 
 Dolmen near Saumur 83, 84 
 
 Chateau near Vic 98 
 
 Portrait of Mrs. Warren Delano (Catherine Ly- 
 man) opposite 164 
 
 Portrait of Judge Joseph Lyman opposite 171 
 
 Portrait OF Mrs. Anne Jean Lyman opposite 173 
 
 Portrait of Susan Inches Lyman from Painting by Chester 
 
 Harding opposite 175 
 
 Portrait of Susan Inches Lyman from Painting by 
 
 Sully opposite 181 
 
 Portrait of Peter Lesley from an old daguerreo- 
 type opposite 213 
 
 Portraits of Susan Inches Lesley and Peter Lesley from 
 
 old daguerreotypes opposite 283 
 
 Portrait of Peter Lesley from Painting by William Henry 
 
 FuRNESS opposite 350 
 
 Portrait of Susan Inches Lesley from old daguerreo- 
 type. opposite 356 
 
CHAPTER I 
 Childhood, i 819-1832 
 
 Peter Lesley was born in Philadelphia on September 
 17, 1819, — Constitution Day, as he hked to call it. He was 
 the fourth of that name in direct succession. 
 
 On the margin of one of the family papers I find these 
 words in my father's handwriting: "Grandfather's name 
 was Peter. His father, the Miller of Fifeshire, was Peter." 
 
 This " Miller of Fifeshire" was the first dim forefather of 
 our race. Back of him I find no record and of him only 
 this mention of his name. 
 
 His son, Peter the Second, was a carpenter or cabinet- 
 maker from Aberdeenshire, Scotland, who came over to this 
 country, landed in Boston, and (sending his kit of tools 
 round by sea) made his way on foot from there to Phila- 
 delphia, where he estabhshed himself in a shop, and lived 
 honorably and industriously, raising a family of sons and 
 daughters. 
 
 He married twice; lost his first family of children (or 
 most of them); and by his second wife, Catherine Ketler 
 (or Kitler), a Pennsylvania German woman, had five sons, 
 Peter, James, John (who died young), Joseph, and Robert. 
 Two daughters, Ann and Mary, were probably children 
 by his first wife. 
 
 In a letter from my father to Professor O. N. Rood* 
 he writes that this grandfather (Peter the Second) "hired 
 and Hved all the rest of his life in a wooden house, built 
 on the north fine of the city by WiUiam Penn for his gardener, 
 which house and lot he afterwards purchased and added to." 
 
 In a letter of my father's of July 4, 1865, to his little 
 daughter Margaret, are these words: "89 years ago your 
 
 * See Appendix for this letter. 
 I 
 
2 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, i 
 
 great-grandfather Lesley took his musket to fight for Lib- 
 erty under General Washington." 
 
 These few facts are all that I know of Peter Lesley the 
 Second, my father's grandfather. Five old paper-covered 
 volumes, "Shop-book" records, are his only literary remains, 
 — these and his will, of which his son Peter was the executor. 
 
 My grandfather, Peter Lesley the Third, must have been 
 born about 1792, and was the oldest of the five sons men- 
 tioned above. He was of half Scotch and half German 
 blood, and a man of vigorous character and strong mind. 
 With him begins the actual family record. 
 
 As in most Scotch famihes, the matter of the education 
 of the children was taken seriously; and my grandfather 
 Peter was intended to be a university man, and was edu- 
 cated towards that end. But, just as he was to enter upon 
 his collegiate career, his father died, leaving his widow 
 Catherine and his daughters and younger sons to the care 
 of this young Peter. There was nothing for him to do but 
 to give up college and take to the shop, and this he cheer- 
 fully did. He was but seventeen or eighteen years old, but 
 from that time on he seems to have been recognized as the 
 head of the family, to whom all cares must be brought and 
 by whom all burdens could be borne. He attended to the 
 affairs not only of his mother and young brothers, but of 
 certain cousins, and later, when himself married, to the 
 affairs of his wife's parents and sisters. In the many letters 
 from and to him there is a spirit of cheerful alacrity and 
 Vs-arm affection in his deahngs with this numerous family 
 connection, which gives one the impression of a noble and 
 gentle character, full both of power and affection. Such 
 was my father's father. 
 
 My father's mother was Elizabeth Oswald Allen, daughter 
 of John and Sarah Allen,* of Charlestown, Mass. John 
 Allen was a printer, and, being burnt out in the Charles- 
 town fire, he removed himself and family to Philadelphia^ 
 where he again established himself as a printer. 
 
 * For further genealogy of her family see, in Appendix, letter from 
 Peter Leslej' to his daughter Mary, April 23, 1891. 
 
CHILDHOOD 3 
 
 EKzabeth was the eldest, I believe, of three daughters, 
 and a beautiful character. She seems to have been of a 
 serene and cheerful spirit, with a certain sprightliness of 
 mind and a poetic quality, in that her love of beauty in 
 nature was very keen, and that at an early age she was fond 
 of putting her thoughts into verse. She was born about 1 790, 
 and was some few years older than my grandfather. They 
 were engaged to each other for a number of years, circum- 
 stances forbidding their marriage until the young Peter 
 felt safe to add the cares of a family of his own to those he 
 already carried. The letters between the two young people 
 during these waiting years are interesting only to their 
 descendants, but they show fine character on both sides 
 and a lasting depth of affection. Peter's letters are ardent, 
 sometimes a little impatient, deeply affectionate; EHza- 
 beth's, serene and earnest and equally fond. Both were 
 of a sincerely religious turn of mind; and, although bred 
 up in, and devoted to the Presbyterian faith, they were not 
 bigoted in their behef, nor gloomy in their outlook. The 
 love rather than the fear of God, seems to have filled their 
 thoughts. 
 
 Here is a httle poem written by Ehzabeth when she was 
 about eleven years old: — 
 
 On Schuylkill bank I love to stray, 
 While the last departing ray 
 Of sober Sol with yellow locks 
 Slow creeps behind the jutting rocks, 
 And bids the world good-night. 
 
 Now he is gone, and o'er the green 
 
 The sparchin sun no more is seen, 
 
 But silent, calm, serene, and fair, 
 
 The moon takes up her nightly care 
 
 And sweetly spreads her light 
 
 O'er the soft gliding wave, emblem of death. 
 
 E. O. Allen. 
 
 Ehzabeth had a merry spirit and a quick but gentle 
 tongue, and the family tradition is that she was also very 
 
4 LIFE AND LETTERS chap. I 
 
 pretty. She and her two younger sisters kept a small mil- 
 linery shop at one time, and this little story is told of her: 
 She was sitting one evening after her day's work was done, 
 resting herself on the doorstep, when some young dandies 
 passed along the street. One of them stopped, and, gazing 
 at her earnestly, said in a sentimental tone, "O Frailty, 
 thy name is woman!" Elizabeth, rising, responded with 
 indignation, "O Impudence, thy name is man!" and has- 
 tily retired into the house. 
 
 In a letter to one of her sisters, written somewhat later, 
 I find these sentences, probably quoted, but showing her 
 broad-minded, religious faith: — 
 
 This is the Sabbath of rest. ... I must say with William 
 Savery * it is not systems nor opinions, it is neither High Church 
 nor Low Church that I am speaking about now. There is but 
 one true and living church the whole world over. Men may 
 call themselves what they please. The world calls me a Quaker; 
 thee a Dissenter in another form; and thee a member of the Es- 
 tabhshed Church; but what is this? My friends, they are 
 names; they are distinctions among men; but are they distinc- 
 tions before God ? Does He know High Church or Low Church ? 
 Does He descend to inquire whether thou art a Methodist or a 
 Presbyterian, thou a Baptist, thou a Roman Catholic? No; but 
 is thy heart right ? Art thou sincere in thy desires to know Him 
 and to serve Him? This is the great point, — to know Him and 
 to know thy own self, . . . which may all of us do, for our Re- 
 deemer's sake. 
 
 The young people in their long period of waiting led very 
 busy lives, and had few times of recreation. Perhaps those 
 few were the more prized. Peter writes in regard to one 
 little excursion which he proposed for a free day, "The 
 romantic scenery of Wissahickon is undoubtedly the prefer- 
 able, but perhaps the mild serenity of Hamilton will delight 
 more the ever-placid mind of Elizabeth." 
 
 My grandfather and grandmother were married about 
 1816, and their life until her death on August iS, 1832, was 
 
 * A Quaker preacher, a tanner by trade. (See Life of Isaac T. Hop- 
 per, by Lydia Maria Child, pp. 38 and 446.) 
 
CHILDHOOD 5 
 
 one of complete happiness in each other. They had many 
 cares and small means, but they lacked for nothing essential ; 
 and they knew it. As the years passed, many children 
 came, and each new arrival was hailed with joy and grati- 
 tude by the parents. But Elizabeth was not strong, and a 
 growing anxiety shadowed Peter's hfe lest she should be 
 taken from him, and it required all his faith in the goodness 
 of God to live his hfe cheerfully. She had often to leave 
 home to regain strength. Sometimes she went alone, some- 
 times she took one or more of the children with her; and 
 it is owing to these absences that we have any record of my 
 father's early days, for his father and mother wrote almost 
 daily to each other, and their letters have been preserved. 
 
 My father, Peter the Fourth, was born, as I have said 
 before, September 17, 1819. He was the third child, and 
 five brothers followed him, who lived to grow up. I beheve 
 there were ten children in all, but I find record of but eight. 
 His sister EHzabeth was four years older than himself; and 
 there was an Allen, who Hved but a few days, born a year 
 before himself. Following Peter were another Allen, Henry, 
 Wilham, Alexander (who hved but two and a half years), 
 and Joseph. A half-brother, Alexander, born years later, 
 completes the tale. 
 
 Thus httle Peter had the inestimable blessing of being 
 born of a happy marriage, and of being received as a gift of 
 God by grateful parents. 
 
 He was an extremely nervous and sensitive child. His 
 mother's words, "O Peter, I wish this child were in Abram's 
 bosom! He has not ceased to cry for two days," tell of 
 much weary tending. But often the baby would be brought 
 into the shop by the busy mother, and seated among shavings 
 in a coffin which the father was fashioning, for in those days 
 cabinet-makers were also in charge of this lugubrious work. 
 There, amused arid happy, the httle Peter spent many hours, 
 watching the shavings fly and listening to the merry tap-tap 
 of the hammer. His father was an ardent baby-lover, and 
 later the best teacher that the boy had in practical arts and 
 handicrafts. There is constant mention of the child in his 
 father's letters: "Peter is very lively, says many words, — 
 
6 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, i 
 
 learning very fast, and cunning as ever." "Peter dancing 
 and capering around the room" (i| years old). And one 
 letter speaks of him as a very beautiful and engaging child. 
 It is the simple record of fond parents. 
 
 As the child grew older, he was often sent up to Lan- 
 caster to visit, where lived his mother's sisters, who were 
 as devoted to him as parents, and where there was greater 
 freedom and country life. 
 
 As he increased in size and activity and was sent to school, 
 he led the usual life of a healthy boy. He used. to tell us of 
 the delight of climbing and running over the long roofs of 
 a vinegar factory which was next door to his father's house; 
 of great snowball battles between the boys of his school and 
 those of a rival educational establishment. Philadelphia 
 in the twenties was a small city, and boys could barricade 
 streets or sidewalks with an impunity unknown to these 
 later days. I was amused to read in one of my grandfather's 
 letters that as late as 1831 there were chains stretched across 
 the streets near the Second Presbyterian Church, to prevent 
 vehicles passing during service time on the "Sabbath." 
 Peter Lesley, the father, at that date writes in great distress 
 to his brother James in Harrisburg, hoping that a bill will 
 not pass the legislature abolishing this useful precaution 
 for silence in the neighboring streets during divine service. 
 
 In my father's day there were no "athletics," so called, 
 but there was the usual immemorial cycle of games, and I 
 think he joined in them with zest and enjoyment. He was 
 considered a fine runner, and there was but one boy in the 
 school who could catch him. 
 
 One serious disability he had, — he was abnormally near- 
 sighted. This was not discovered until he was six or seven 
 years old, and until then he had the reputation of being a 
 very careless and awkward child, because he was contin- 
 ually knocking things over or tumbling over things himself. 
 One day he was taken to see a "Panorama," and, after 
 sitting patiently half an hour, he pulled his aunt's arm, and 
 asked, "When will it begin?" only to find that it had been 
 going on before his very eyes only a few feet off, and he 
 quite unconscious of it. So he was at once put into power- 
 
CHILDHOOD 7 
 
 ful glasses, an almost unheard-of thing for children in those 
 days; and often, as he passed along the streets, he would be 
 stopped and his little face turned upward,- that some friendly 
 or curious passer-by might regard the spectacled child. 
 
 In other respects he was a healthy boy, but with a sen- 
 sitive, nervous temperament and extremely acute senses. 
 His hearing was so keen and the organ so sensitive that until 
 he was a grown man he suffered torture from noises; and 
 sounds which were the delight of other boys gave him an- 
 guish. He ran and hid himself if a band passed by. The 
 noise of guns and the crash of thunder were things to dread, 
 because they caused him actual physical pain. 
 
 His sense of smell and his sense of touch were also very 
 keen, and he used to say in later hfe that in certain kinds of 
 mechanical representation, such as relief-map making, etc., 
 the human hand was capable of recognizing the slightest 
 variations of level, — ^and I believe his was. 
 
 Peter was sent to school young, and the family tradition 
 was that he was an apt scholar, but he seldom spoke of his 
 school or lessons in later life. I have only one record of 
 those early school-days. In a copy of " Sanford and Merton," 
 which he gave me on my eleventh birthday, he wrote on 
 the fly-leaf these words: "This book was my delight when 
 a boy. It was given to me as a prize for a successful exam- 
 ination upon Bonnycastle's Algebra, when I was eight or 
 ten years old. It rivalled 'Robinson Crusoe' and 'The 
 Pilgrim's Progress' in my young affections." And I have 
 heard him say that he was considered quick at mathematics. 
 He had a long course in German, probably beginning as 
 a child, and in Latin, but of that he said that he never liked 
 it or made much progress in it. History I am sure he loved, 
 and geography seemed to come to him naturally, for all his 
 life he pored over and delighted in maps ; and many were 
 the imaginary journeys which he took over land and sea. 
 
 He wasjndeed a very imaginative child, and this charac- 
 teristic caused him both joy and misery. While the sun 
 shone, he was a merry creature, fearless, and full of resources : 
 with darkness came terrors. Until a grown man he suffered 
 from this fear of the dark, and he used to say that it came 
 
8 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, i 
 
 of his Scotch blood. On the other hand, he used to imag- 
 ine pleasures in advance of their coming, so vividly, that 
 when the event occurred which he had so joyously antici- 
 pated, he no longer cared anything about it. When scarcely 
 more than a baby, his aunt dressed him in "Sunday best" 
 for a certain visit which he had much desired. But an hour 
 later, when ready herself, she found Peter no longer wishing 
 to go. "Now, Peter, I don't dress you for nothing — you 
 will go with me!" And he was borne off, vv'eeping. Often 
 in later years, when friends had heard him plan in detail, 
 and with the most evident delight, some journey to be taken 
 in the near future, did they wonder when no such journey 
 came to pass, and no doubt considered him fickle or unstable 
 of purpose. But his own people knew that his imagination 
 so completely fulfilled his desire for the fact, that its prac- 
 tical accomplishment was unnecessary to his pleasure or 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Of my father's early home only a few glimpses are given 
 to me. There was the simple family life, and simple but 
 abundant fare; mother and father busy, but not too busy 
 to feel interest in the children's joys and sorrows. It must 
 have been a rather tumultuous household, for there were 
 the four or five boys, full of the nervous activity and quick 
 temper which they had inherited from their father, and the 
 imagination and vivacity which had come to them from 
 their mother. My father used to look at the quieter ways 
 of his grandchildren, and remark that in his day there was 
 more of "friction." He recalled one occasion when he and 
 his brothers chased each other round the dining table, bran- 
 dishing chairs aloft, — if not with intent to kill, at least with 
 small friendliness in their little hearts. On the whole, how- 
 ever, harmony reigned, and strong affection. 
 
 My grandfather had certain practical views as to edu- 
 cation, more akin to our most modern theories, than to the 
 scholasticism of that date. He trained the observation of 
 the children in a way of his own. The half-hour after the 
 noon meal was devoted to them, and he taught them at an 
 early age to draw from objects. If nothing better offered, 
 he would cut the loaf of bread into shapes, and make them 
 
CHILDHOOD 9 
 
 copy that. Then, if they went anywhere, they were expected 
 to tell in detail about what they saw, and he corrected and 
 explained. He taught them the rudiments of architecture, 
 making them observe and draw any architectural detail 
 which he or they thought worthy. He was himself an excel- 
 lent draughtsman, and usually made use of a pencil in ex- 
 plaining things to his children. The children in turn soon 
 caught the same habit, and in later Hfe I seldom saw my 
 father or my uncles talking together without sooner or later 
 seeing the pencil and paper appear, and any mooted point 
 was made clear by a few strokes. None of these boys be- 
 came artists by profession, but several of them drew and 
 painted with much talent, and all of them found this early 
 acquired skill in handhng art implements of great assist- 
 ance to them in their various professions, and a constant 
 source of pleasure and recreation throughout life. 
 
 My father writes of this home training in his autobio- 
 graphical letter to Mr. Rood, as follows : — 
 
 In fact, I have no " family relations of interest to science," 
 unless it be that I owe all that I am and have been able to do to 
 the early training which I received from a very wise father, and 
 to the artistic nature of my mother. We were all taught perspec- 
 tive drawing, machine drawing, and geographical plotting, in 
 early childhood, between the plates on the breakfast, dinner and 
 supper table; statistics, by reference to the volumes of an encyclo- 
 paedia kept at hand; archaeology, from a fine copy of Calmet; 
 mechanics, from a copy of the " Circle of the Arts"; and language 
 by constant dialectic discussions of the proper meanings of words 
 and exact force of sentences. We were drilled daily in describing 
 events so that they could be understood, and in drawing every 
 kind of object in its true proportions, long before we went to a 
 grammar school. And in our father's workshop we were allowed 
 to become expert in the use of tools, and to try our hand at in- 
 ventions. I remember making a small steam-engine which 
 puffed across the kitchen floor. In the summer vacations we 
 all had our competitive windmills and watermills. My father 
 was one of the earliest shareholders in the Louisville & Lehigh 
 Canal Companies; was never weary of instructing us boys in the 
 Internal Improvement of the United States; and encouraged our 
 closest inquiries into the anthracite coal trade, and all that con- 
 
10 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, i 
 
 cerned mining and transportation. At the same time, he was a 
 lover of the EngHsh classics, read aloud to us modern and ancient 
 histories, and was thoroughly versed in theological controversies. 
 Neither our reasoning faculties nor our imaginations were allowed 
 to repose, and no mischievous or silly literature entered the house; 
 but we were given the largest liberty in athletic games; and in 
 frequent long walks he kept our attention awake to the works 
 of nature, as much as to the works of art. We were sent to the 
 best schools, and were not only taught Latin and Greek, but had 
 private teachers in French and German; but, certainly, the in- 
 struction which we received from our father was worth more, 
 in a strictly scientific sense, than what we received from all other 
 sources put together; for it laid a deep and broad foundation for 
 original investigation, not merely in one, but in various branches 
 of human knowledge; and started us on our careers equipped 
 for both seeing, thinking and describing, what we felt to be use- 
 ful and beautiful, as what we believed to be true. 
 
 But, when Peter was just under thirteen years old, the 
 home life was sadly broken by the death of his mother, after 
 several years of ill-health. 
 
 After the mother's death the family still kept together 
 for a few years. Young Elizabeth, then sixteen years old, 
 did her best to be a mother to the boys, who at this time 
 ranged from the twelve-year-old Peter to little Joseph, a 
 baby only a year old. The next older child, Alexander, 
 a beautiful boy something over two years of age, had 
 died shortly before his mother, and the grandmother, Cath- 
 erine Lesley, died, also, a few months after Elizabeth, so 
 that 1 83 1 was a sad year for the family. Young Elizabeth 
 was a lovely and lovable character, with her mother's beauty 
 and love of the beautiful, but with an anxious and nervous 
 temperament, which was naturally intensified by the care 
 of such a household at so early an age. Young Peter in 
 his letters home, when absent on visits to the aunts in Lan- 
 caster or to his uncle James Lesley in Harrisburg or else- 
 where, often speaks of his sister with deep affection, sends 
 her many messages, and begs her to be less anxious over 
 her "blessed charges," the boys. 
 
 Three years after his wife's death my grandfather mar- 
 
CHILDHOOD II 
 
 ried again. This proved not an entirely happy change for 
 the children, although there seems to have been no serious 
 friction in the household. A young half-brother, Alexander, 
 was born, who was received by them all with joy, and ten- 
 derly loved until his death as a young man. Ehzabeth 
 married, and the boys followed various academic courses. 
 Peter went to the university, and the young life of the family 
 was at an end. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 Youth. 1832-1837 
 
 The earliest letters of my father extant were written 
 from Abington just before his mother's death. 
 
 It was the custom of the parents to send the children out 
 of the summer heat of Philadelphia into the country, — 
 sometimes to the aunts in Lancaster, occasionally to some 
 cousins in New Jersey, sometimes boarding them at some 
 nearer farm or country town. 
 
 Peter's letters from Abington in the August of 1832 are 
 to his sister Ehzabeth and his father, and are full of the 
 ordinary boyish amusements, — fishing, swimming, etc. His 
 younger brothers, Allen, Henry, and William, are there with 
 him; and he writes of their doings and condition with elder 
 brotherly care, and inquires with anxious solicitude about 
 his mother's health and that of the baby, Joseph. It was 
 the year of the cholera, and he is anxious lest those he loves 
 at home should be attacked by it. His letters to his father 
 are manly and affectionate, with much about the younger 
 brothers and inquiries for all at home, including the grand- 
 parents, aunts, and uncles. He adds, "Wright's children 
 are well," and "I can swim." These Wright children were 
 the much-loved neighbors of my father and his brothers, — 
 the sons and daughters of Peter Wright, later known in the 
 shipping world as the head of the firm Peter Wright & Sons. 
 
 Mr. Wright lived next door to my grandfather, and 
 had an equal number of boys and several daughters, much 
 of the same ages as the Lesley children. The friendship 
 thus early begun continued throughout life. 
 
 On March 20, 1834, there is a letter from Peter in Phil- 
 adelphia to a cousin, giving a vivid description of a monster 
 anti-Jacksonite poHtical meeting: — 
 
 I have just come from the great meeting of the Anti-Jack- 
 sonites. I will attempt to tell you some little of a sight I never 
 
i834 YOUTH 13 
 
 witnessed before. About half-past three this afternoon I ar- 
 rived at the south entrance of the Independence Square, at which 
 the different trades were entering. On the south side of the street, 
 and nearly opposite the gate, in the third story of a brick building, 
 stood the ex-secretary Mr. Duane, to whom, whenever a banner 
 passed his house, there were given three cheers. Before I knew 
 who he was, I pitied him, thinking that he was deranged, and 
 that he thought the cheers were to him. After much pressing, 
 I got about thirty feet from the platform erected over the door 
 of the Tower on which the steeple is built. But there I stuck 
 fast and could get no farther, and at some times I believe if I had 
 risen from the ground two or three inches I could not have gained 
 it again for some time. Most of the persons around me had 
 their arms before them on their breasts, and could not look at their 
 feet. I never knew before rightly what a crowd was. When 
 the square was about half filled, I heard one say that there were 
 thirty thousand persons within, and afterwards it was filled en- 
 tirely, so that I think there must have been at least fifty thousand 
 persons in and about the square. The trees were filled so full 
 that there was danger of breaking down. The roofs were full, 
 and in short every place that could hold a person had its occu- 
 pant. Three gentlemen spoke; Mr. Peter A. Brown first. He 
 spoke well and boldly, and then read several resolutions, which 
 were adopted unanimously; two or three persons, answering 
 No, were turned out. Mr. Charles Jack spoke next, and lastly 
 Mr. Samuel Rush. One of them, speaking of what Jackson has 
 done for us, said that "it put him in mind of a story that he had 
 heard, about an Irishman and his cow. This cow was the best 
 in the parish, and gave most milk, but as soon as the pail was 
 full, would kick it all over." After the meeting was adjourned, 
 several of the banners were cheered with three cheers, the Consti- 
 tution with six, and as soon as the stage was taken down (which 
 was to prevent the Jackson party from taking possession of it and 
 undoing all that had been done), three were given to Mr. Duane. 
 And as the Jackson men boasted of the 4th of March, and called 
 it the Glorious Day, so I think we have a right to call this day 
 (about to be inscribed along with the 4th of July, 1776, in the 
 Annals of History, as said Mr. Brown) the Glorious 20th of 
 March, 1834. 
 
 A week later he writes to his father from Harrisburg 
 (whither he had gone to visit his uncle James Lesley), de- 
 
14 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, n 
 
 scribing a great iron foundry where the "rolls" for Girard 
 College were being made. He is also very emphatic in 
 reprobation of the conduct of a careless clerk in the bank 
 of which his uncle was cashier, which caused "a gentleman 
 to be suspected of theft." 
 
 This uncle, James Lesley, was very dear to my father 
 throughout his hfe, and deserves some mention here. He 
 was the next younger brother of my grandfather, and was 
 a man of very strongly marked characteristics. My grand- 
 father, although of an ardent temperament, was conserva- 
 tive both in regard to rehgion and pohtics. Uncle James, 
 more vivacious and with a very active mind, was incHned to 
 be something of a radical — ^by comparison. He was a man 
 who loved books, and was a good deal of a Hnguist, and 
 dehghted in the classics. He and my grandfather were 
 devoted to each other, and constantly corresponded, their 
 letters being largely on business of the family affairs, inter- 
 spersed with affectionate inquiries as to family and friends. 
 Uncle James certainly felt both admiration and respect for 
 his older brother, although in opinion they must sometimes 
 have differed much; for instance, in regard to slavery. My 
 grandfather regarded the institution with dislike, but did 
 not consider it a thing to be actively worked against. James, 
 on the other hand, as early as 1836, writes thus to his brother: 
 
 "If any one asks you my sentiments on the exciting question 
 of abolition, just tell him that I abhor and detest slavery in my 
 inmost soul, and that I shall hail with pleasure any measures 
 having a tendency to remove peaceably this national disgrace; 
 but I am not now connected ndr do I intend to connect myself 
 with any abolition society." 
 
 In later life I believe he was actively a member of the 
 Underground Railroad, and did good service to the cause 
 of freeing the negro. 
 
 I remember my uncle James only as an old man, but 
 still full of vivacity and with a certain whimsically affec- 
 tionate air that caused him to be much loved. He had 
 very bright eyes and a quick manner in speech and action. 
 
1835 YOUTH 15 
 
 My father loved him dearly, and in later life held opinions 
 more akin to his uncle's than to his father's more conserva- 
 tive standards. 
 
 My uncle had two sons, Edward and James, who were 
 throughout hfe near friends of my father and his brothers. 
 
 In the August of 1835 my father goes north to visit cousins 
 in the Mohawk Valley, and is charmed with the beauties 
 of the Hudson and Mohawk, has fine times swimming and 
 riding horseback. He finds Amsterdam, where he stayed 
 for some time, too much of a city, and writes, "I love retire- 
 ment," and rejoices that he is going into greater "solitude" 
 on the farm of another cousin. 
 
 The following summer he again goes north. This time 
 his letters are from Schenectady, where he is enchanted with 
 the "beauty and stillness of the place." 
 
 He writes to his father : — 
 
 How shall I describe midnight on the Hudson! My soul 
 was lifted it seemed higher than ever I felt it before, towards 
 the throne of God. Joy such as the lover of nature's pure ro- 
 mance alone can feel, I felt. It was a glorious sight. Fit for 
 an angel's gaze. Oh, evening on the Hudson! Give it me even 
 before the Mohawk's glorious scenes, whose western sky and 
 rolling mists present a splendid conflagration of a world. Italia's 
 scenes are fair (so travellers say), but give me Hudson's flood at 
 eve of day. Father, you must forgive me, for I never felt so in 
 my Hfe. . . . The Palisades rose high to the left and threw their 
 lengthened shadows over waters on which now and then a pure 
 white sail sped swift adown the flood, and joined the little fleet 
 around the point. 
 
 Broad are the hills, 
 And high the steeps, and deep the shadow'd vales, 
 At brightest noon of Highland scenery; 
 But broader — higher — deeper stand they forth 
 To midnight gaze enraptured. 
 
 But I must stop or I'll be in the third heaven of romantic 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 A fortnight later (August 23, 1836) he writes from Glen 
 (near Amsterdam); — 
 
i6 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, n 
 
 I dread coming back, to sit a whole year in the impure at- 
 mosphere of Philadelphia, with little or no exercise, and in a 
 race with Greg, for the head of the class; and after all the science 
 that I will become master of, and all the advantages that coming 
 out head of the class will make me incident to, what will they 
 do for me, when in a year or two, before I can do the good in the 
 world that talents natural or acquired ought to force a man to do, 
 I will be laid low in the grave "where there is no Wisdom"? 
 
 Yet in the same letter he writes: — 
 
 What would I not give for an hour or two at home now; I 
 can imagine you seated round the beautiful table, and I can pict- 
 ure to myself all that enlivens, all that instructs, at that to me 
 interesting and instructive time; for. Father, would you believe 
 it, I really think that I have received more benefit and good, whole- 
 some learning at our breakfast meals, than in all the schooling 
 and coUegation of ten years. 
 
 On February 21, 1837, my grandfather became secretary 
 and treasurer of the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal Com- 
 pany, and began on his duties on the 2 2d. This position 
 he held until his death eighteen years later. On April 13 
 of the same year he married for his second wife Mrs. Su- 
 sanna Ehzabeth Robbins. 
 
 All through his hfe my father suffered keenly from what 
 to less nervously sensitive and imaginative persons would 
 have seemed slight physical ills. So that he was frequently 
 to his own feeling "very ill" at one time in the day, while 
 a few hours later he would declare himself "perfectly well." 
 To strangers this was quite incomprehensible, and he must 
 have seemed whimsical in regard to his health. In youth 
 I suppose that he had the same characteristics, and I find 
 in his almost daily letters to his family at home rapidly alter- 
 nating reports of fine condition and of complete discomfort. 
 That he was not strong in health was evident. He had 
 grown tall rapidly; and, if he worked then with the inten- 
 sity and continuity which were habitual in later life, each 
 vacation in the school year must have found him in a state 
 of semi-exhaustion. But then, as later, he had great powers 
 
i837 YOUTH 17 
 
 of recuperation, and a few weeks or even days of rest put him 
 again in working condition. 
 
 It is evident, also, that from early youth his active mind 
 found interest in many directions. Nature, art, science, 
 and man interested him deeply. His earhest letters show 
 this. He was never "bored." He could always find refuge 
 from pain or sorrow in some congenial pursuit, in "books 
 or work or healthful play." 
 
 July 20, 1837, when he was nearly eighteen years old, 
 he again went into New York State, and writes from Fulton- 
 ville to his father, again descanting on the beauties of the 
 Hudson and of his admiration of Poughkeepsie, describing 
 its charms and industries. On the boat he had had much 
 conversation with the passengers: — 
 
 On the way I made acquaintance with a half a dozen, and 
 got a little information from each. An old man talked of the 
 Mississippi and the West; another of the South, and told me, 
 among other things, that the only time he travelled in fear was 
 on the S. C. R.R. from Savannah to Augusta, one hundred and 
 thirty-six miles, one hundred and twenty of which was through a 
 swamp (often forty feet above it on stilts) where it was death to 
 remain a night, and the air was so bad that it could be tasted. 
 They went the whole distance in nine hours, and saw multitudes 
 of negroes fiUing up around and beneath the stilts, working up 
 to their knees in mud and water, and under a sun with the ther- 
 mometer 102°. . . . 
 
 August 22, 1837, he writes to his father from Lysander 
 a long and intimate letter concerning his health, his rehgious 
 faith, his views of marriage, etc. 
 
 It must have been already the intention of his father, and 
 also his own, that Peter should devote himself to the ministry 
 as his hfe-work, and that as soon as his university course 
 was finished he should go to Princeton for his studies in 
 divinity. His health, however, was very uncertain; and 
 he often expresses the fear that he will not live to undertake 
 this work on which his mind and heart are much set. 
 
 September 11, to his stepmother, he quotes Newton 
 (a religious writer?), and is lonely, but cannot be "unhappy 
 
1 8 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, n 
 
 for a half -hour at a time" because he has plenty to do. 
 Throughout life, work was my father's refuge from all woes. 
 
 I rode horseback to Elbridge (ten miles south), and lost my 
 dinner, for they woiild not take my money. So I took Paley's 
 sixth apology for stealing (necessity) and a Dutchman's apples 
 at the same time, and with some crackers made out well. 
 
 September 14th, he writes to his father: "I am becoming 
 more happy and contented every day, and feel activity pervade 
 every limb. I have made a couple of bows and practise archery; 
 and moreover my fiddle bow does not hang idle. They teach 
 me husbandry fast. All's well." 
 
 He suggests that Allen and Henry write often to him as 
 good practice, it being a great advantage to write with ease ; 
 gives varied agricultural information, etc.; advises a book 
 ["a novel," forsooth!], "Harry and Lucy," by Miss Edge- 
 worth, for the boys. "The first part is to the comprehen- 
 sion of Joseph, the end will puzzle Allen. The fact is, it 
 suits in regular gradation each age." And he explains the 
 tides for his brother's benefit. 
 
 September 22, shortly before returning home, he writes: — 
 
 My dear Father, — Your kind solicitude for me I know not 
 how to return except by a corresponding love. Words are idle 
 and I feel it, but rest assured I feel your kindness most deeply 
 and God grant me to repay it with interest. After much anxiety 
 about the health of those I love at home and who engross so much 
 of my waking and sleeping thoughts, owing to the length of time 
 between your last letters, I received yours of the 13th. Forgive 
 the impatience of my last to you. Oh that I could rest easy as 
 to the future! Will my faith never be stronger? . . . My own 
 Father, I have been very cold and dead to my God, but he has 
 within a few days kindly shown me my wandering, and I hope 
 will lead me again to the fold. Oh for help from His arm alone, 
 and then whatever the result be, all will be well. "Commit thy 
 ways to the Lord and he will direct thy steps." How often have 
 I thought of and tried to act on that promise ! 
 
 My father's letters at this time show deep religious feel- 
 ing. 
 
1838 YOUTH 19 
 
 Another half-year of college life ensued, at the end of 
 which his health was in such a broken condition that my 
 grandfather felt greatly concerned as to his future. One 
 day the father and son were walking together in the Phila- 
 delphia streets, when they met Dr. Dallas Bache, who was 
 a friend of my grandfather. He inquired after Peter's 
 health, seeing, no doubt, that he looked thin and ill; and, 
 on my grandfather's telling him of his anxieties, he sug- 
 gested that Peter should take a season of outdoor work on 
 the new geological survey, which was under the direction of 
 Henry D. Rogers. 
 
 The upshot of the matter was that shortly after — ^the 
 appointment of assistant on the survey having been obtained 
 — ^my father repaired to Pottsville, and entered on a career 
 which was to mean much more to him than either he or his 
 father then suspected. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 First Experience in Geological Work, i 839-1 841 
 
 My father in 1876 published in Volume A of the Reports 
 of the Second Geological Survey of Pennsylvania a very 
 complete and interesting historical account of all previous 
 geological explorations in Pennsylvania and other States. 
 
 In this report he states hov^, after four years of unsuccess- 
 ful endeavors by the Geological Society of Pennsylvania 
 (organized in 1832), the legislature in the spring of 1836 
 passed a bill creating a survey of Pennsylvania, and intrusted 
 its direction to Professor Henry Darwyn Rogers, v\^ho had 
 already in 1835 had charge of the survey of New Jersey. 
 
 "The act of Legislature appointing a survey of the State 
 was dated the 29th of March, 1836, and authorized an 
 annual appropriation of expenditure of $6,400 for five 
 years, to pay the salaries of a geologist, two assistants, and 
 a chemist." 
 
 "Professor Henry D. Rogers was appointed geologist, 
 Mr. James C. Booth and Mr. John F. Frazer assistants, 
 and Dr. Robert E. Rogers chemist." 
 
 The second year of the survey, 1837, the appropriation 
 was enlarged to allow of four assistants and four aids, or sub- 
 assistants. In the third year, 1838, the corps was again 
 increased, and the expenses rose to $12,000. There were 
 nine assistants appointed to as many districts. 
 
 My father speaks of the year 1838 as the training year 
 of the first survey, adding: "At the end of it the first really 
 good idea of the detailed geographical geology of Pennsyl- 
 vania was grasped by Mr. Rogers and his assistants. By 
 the end of it three or four excellent field hands had trained 
 themselves for future work." In the following season, 1839, 
 he speaks of himself as "added to the corps" together with 
 Andrew A. Henderson. 
 
i839 FIRST GEOLOGICAL WORK 21 
 
 The period of my father's work on the first survey lasted 
 from April, 1839, to October, 1841. He spent the summers 
 of those three years in the field. How the winters were spent 
 I do not know, there being no letters while he was at home 
 to draw from. Possibly he used that time for working up 
 his field notes, and for the geological draughting of maps 
 and sections. Undoubtedly, he spent much time in study. 
 
 While in the field, he wrote home almost daily, and there 
 is much of interest in his letters, but not in proper form for 
 publication. These are full of descriptions of scenery, 
 details of his daily life both indoors and on the road, much 
 about his companions on the survey, of the books he found 
 time to read even in these busy days, and the expression of 
 religious feeling, and of his hopes for the future, and of 
 his anxious and loving thought for the family, especially 
 for the younger brothers at home. To his father he often 
 gives geological descriptions of the country he is working in. 
 To his brothers he tells of certain mechanical improvements 
 or inventions, and improved methods of farming. He 
 writes sometimes to the old grandmother Allen and to his 
 very dear aunts lovely descriptions of hill and vale, and of 
 the flowers he loves. 
 
 One of my father's biographers has said that he did not 
 love society. Only in the narrowest sense was this ever 
 true of him. He was never a "society man," so called, 
 and never could have become so, had he wished. But he 
 was eminently social, and by birth and education a thorough 
 democrat in his feeling for and with all sorts and conditions 
 of men. All through these early letters are the kindliest 
 descriptions of the people he met in the villages and farm- 
 houses, on the road, and on his journeys. His interest was 
 genuine and spontaneous, and he recognized no distinctions 
 of social rank, meeting each on the ground of a common 
 manhood. 
 
 This early contact with the common hand laborers of 
 the world was unconsciously a rich education for his mind 
 and heart. It gave him a catholic interest in mankind, con- 
 firmed his faith in the human heart, and justified his optimistic 
 hopes for the future. Once late in life, when we had been 
 
22 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, m 
 
 listening together to a theoretical sermon by one of our most 
 intellectual Unitarian ministers, he exclaimed with deep 
 feeling, "If that man had but lived one year among the 
 miners of Pennsylvania, he would know more of the heart 
 of man than to preach such a sermon." 
 
 That he did not wholly enjoy all the phases of this early 
 geological life is evident. He hated the dark temperamen- 
 tally, and did not enjoy the underground burrowings neces- 
 sary to his temporarily accepted profession. He hated also 
 the dirt and the foul air of the mines, and his imagination 
 no doubt added terrors to the dangers and discomforts actu- 
 ally around him. But he had acquired already that moral 
 courage which enabled him throughout life to do without 
 flinching the thing necessary to his work. He told me once 
 that when he was alone in the woods at night, he suffered 
 untold horrors from the vaguely seen shapes around him, 
 and that often he forced himself to walk quietly across a 
 clearing to place his hand upon some stump or stone, in 
 order to dispel the terror which its half-seen form had caused 
 him. 
 
 During these earlier days he was also comforted in all 
 troubles by a sense of the personal protection of God; but 
 in later years the theory of "special Providence" was not 
 only impossible to him, but was even an unpleasant thought. 
 These early letters, however, often express religious faith 
 in a special care and protection, and express also a special 
 gratitude. That sense of gratitude remained with him 
 throughout life, but it was a refined and enlarged gratitude 
 impossible to the narrower orthodoxy in which his earlier 
 religious training consisted. 
 
 To this period belong a few of the strongest friendships 
 of his life. Chief among these was that with Andrew A. 
 Henderson, who afterwards became a surgeon in the United 
 States Navy. Henderson was like my father in spirit, — a 
 thoughtful, sensitive, warm-hearted, shy enthusiast, as 
 gentle and pure as a woman, but with great strength of mind 
 and a touch of genius. My father loved him like a brother, 
 and I think the affection was fully returned. 
 
 Another vivid but less lasting friendship was with Whelp- 
 
1839 FIRST GEOLOGICAL WORK 23 
 
 ley, an erratic genius, older than himself, brilliant in mind, 
 but not akin in spirit. 
 
 A third was James T. Hodge, for whom my father felt 
 warm esteem and hearty affection, and whose friendship 
 he kept until Hodge's sad death by drowning in an accident 
 on one of the Great Lakes many years later. 
 
 John Fraser was another whom he greatly prized and 
 with whom in later life he was more constantly in company 
 than with any of the others. 
 
 One of my father's letters of 1839, when he was nearly 
 twenty years of age, gives his weight as one hundred and 
 thirty; and, as he had probably reached his full height of 
 six feet and half an inch over, he must at this time have been 
 a tall, thin stripling. 
 
 At the end of his first season's work he was taken very 
 ill with a combination of troubles, ending in inflammation 
 of the lungs. He was nursed back to health by his sister; 
 and the few letters of that date tell of his slow convalescence, 
 of his anxiety lest the state of his health should make it 
 imprudent for him to pursue his studies for the ministry, and 
 of his gratitude for the great kindness of his friends at the 
 Mt. Carbon House, Pottsville, during his illness. The 
 winter of 1839-40 was spent in regaining his strength, and 
 in the spring he was again in the field. 
 
 In the earlier part of this second season he seems to have 
 been alone, but later was evidently with companions, as he 
 writes of camp life and of "the party." 
 
 The first letter of this series is to his father, full of inter- 
 est in the new life and of geological facts. "Thus you see, 
 dearest Father, I have really commenced my work, and I 
 believe will find little difficulty in doing what is required of 
 me to the satisfaction of Rogers." 
 
 Thus begins that career which, with a few years of inter- 
 ruption, was to last throughout his life. Little did he or 
 his father suspect that such was to be the case. Peter was 
 destined for the ministry, — for the Presbyterian ministry. 
 This excursion into science, they thought, was but a short 
 turning aside from his life-work in the interest of health. 
 But in this earliest letter is the hint of what was eventually 
 
24 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, hi 
 
 to be his most absorbing interest, "structural geology"; and 
 in this alone did I ever hear him claim pre-eminent knowl- 
 edge. Other things — many other things in science and 
 art and literature — were of deep interest to him, and his 
 friends thought him wise in them; but he modestly rejected 
 any such claim of knowledge. Only in structural geology 
 did he consider himself an expert. 
 
 April 26, 1839. To HIS Grandmother. 
 
 I wish you all joy and peace and health till I am mercifully 
 brought to see you again. I love to think about you. . . . My 
 life, short as it has been, is a tissue of mercies and the meshes 
 often so small and delicate that the eye cannot distinguish. All 
 my days are mercies and should be all thanks. ... I have just 
 returned from a coal mine; the first I ever was in. ... I felt a 
 great deal of fear at first, but soon discovered that there could be 
 no danger, and I knew that I would be protected even if there 
 was, for I was doing my duty. 
 
 Mt. Carbon House [Pottsville], April 25, 1839. To his Sister. 
 
 This morning, Henderson and I, tired of moping, tried the 
 second time to visit the Delaware mines. They are about three 
 miles from here; so on the way thither (and we didn't go "a 
 la locomotive ") there was so much to be seen, — (for you must re- 
 member, H. is a natural philosopher, tho' by no means a pretty 
 one, I mean his face, for his thoughts and mind are beauty itself) 
 so many toads' spawn to magnify, and nev/ts' backs to examine, 
 and wonder at their golden specks, and spiders "walking the 
 water, like things of life"; so many flowers to cull, and birds 
 to listen to, that I forgot I was a dirty geologist about to seek 
 the lower regions, Ulysses-like, in some one of the muddy Averni, 
 of this Carbonic and almost Sardonic region, in my enthusiasm 
 after Daphnes and water bugs. We found a lovely little violet, 
 and its fragrance made me long to place it in your bosom; the 
 dry strawberry was also in bloom, and its yellow little flowers 
 were strangely contrasted with the mud and coal. The red-eyed 
 vireo sweetly sang from the ugly woods. You can scarcely 
 imagine how beauty and deformity, art and nature, sweetness 
 and filth, sterility and mud, are strangely mixed in this singular 
 place. And you would be still more surprised if you could feel 
 my feelings, and know that it is truly my home. I feel it such 
 
i839 FIRST GEOLOGICAL WORK 25 
 
 and am uncommonly spirited and happy in it. And yet, — poor 
 mortals ne'er have done repining — I want you and my flute, 
 but I guess both had better stay at home. . . . You know my 
 maxims, "what ought to be, will be" and "what's done, can't be 
 helped." That God, who has made us a happy family, asks 
 only our trust to keep us so. United or separated, it makes 
 small difference, if He be with each one. But I hear them; I 
 go now for a walk, and maybe a ride on the coal cars like this 
 morning. Will you come ? You'll only get black, that's all. 
 
 Philadelphia, May 10, 1839. Letter from 
 Peter Lesley, Sr., to his Son Peter. 
 
 . . . How is it with your own mind. Let nothing interfere 
 with that intercourse which it is your right to maintain with 
 your Covenant God and Saviour. I have written "right." I 
 should have said privilege — you understand my meaning. In 
 the family, our prayer is, that your faith fail not. ... 
 
 Your letters are read with great interest. You know that 
 you have the love of all — write frequently though it may be but 
 a few lines at a time — as a matter of course, we must be very 
 soHcitous about your health. God bless you. 
 
 Yours truly, my dear Boy Peter. 
 
 My grandfather was a sincerely religious man, in the 
 personal and spiritual sense of the term; and he was also 
 a "pillar" of his church in all practical ways. His cares 
 and responsibilities must have been many, and as in most 
 church organizations there were times of friction and even 
 dissension among the governing members of the congre- 
 gation. Peter Lesley was a just and kindly man, a great 
 worker, and without personal ambition; but he was ardent, 
 and not without temper, or, at any rate, he could feel right- 
 eous indignation on occasion, and act upon it. I find these 
 words in one of his letters to a brother elder, demanding an 
 explanation of some sort after some church meeting at which 
 he had not been present, and where he had either been spoken 
 ill of, or where his actions had been commented upon un- 
 favorably : — 
 
 As I have long since found that Christian Courtesy abounds 
 more among the children of the World than among the professed 
 
26 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, m 
 
 followers of Christ, I ask not therefore the explanation from you 
 as a brother in the family of our common Lord — but as a matter 
 which one gentleman has a right to demand of Another. 
 
 This is amusing as coming from one sober elder to an- 
 other, but I fancy may find sympathetic hearing from many 
 an overworked church trustee or deacon in these later days. 
 
 PoTTSViLLE, May 15, 1839. To his Stepmother. 
 
 I got a lecture on Geology from W. who complains bitterly 
 that the landscape is ruined to him because he looks down on a 
 valley and can't help saying, there's No. 7 — that next hill is No. 
 6, etc. In fact Geology destroys all poetry and one cannot be 
 an Arcadian, as long as he knows what formation he's standing 
 upon and what one he's looking at. 
 
 This reminds one of Darwin's statement that he had 
 lost the satisfaction of reading poetry from too great devo- 
 tion to scientific pursuits; and my father in later life used to 
 regret that the constant drawing of sections, maps, etc., 
 had destroyed his artistic power to sketch scenery and 
 architecture, at which in youth he had been very apt. 
 
 June 4, 1839. To HIS Father. 
 
 Whelpley leaves me in a day or two — ^good and bad! — 
 good, because he has been obtaining by his wonderful powers of 
 thought and mass of information too great an influence over me, 
 which might, if longer continued, be in future wrongly directed. 
 Yet it is hard to part with him, with whom my evenings and 
 part of my days have been most delightfully spent, passing in 
 review literature, arts, and ethics. He leaves me to undertake 
 a tour of the North of Maine, and its magnificent Alpine scenery 
 will be a feast I should like to partake of with him. 
 
 In a letter to his grandmother, June 10, he sends messages 
 to his aunt Hall. She had taken the position of matron of 
 the women's ward of the Eastern Penitentiary, a post which 
 she held with honor for many years until age and feeble- 
 ness obliged her to resign its heavy cares. Peter objects 
 to the "solitary confinement" theory of the institution: — 
 
1839 FIRST GEOLOGICAL WORK 27 
 
 A prison cell is surely not the scene for holy conversion. 
 True, the spirit of the Almighty can work anywhere, and does 
 work in many uncouth places, but it is, to me, idle to think of 
 putting a man into such a place, and to madden or sullen his 
 mind with solitude, to make him return into the bosom of So- 
 ciety a good (tho' branded) member. 
 
 His love of flowers must have been great, as he seldom 
 writes to his sister or aunts without speaking of his "findings" 
 of lovely blossoms in the fields and woods, often enclosing 
 a blossom or a spray in his letters to them. Perhaps his 
 intercourse with young Henderson may have quickened 
 his interest in these things, for Henderson was a botanist 
 enrage and a poet, too, at heart. 
 
 There seems at this time to have been some uncertainty 
 in Mr. Rogers's mind as to whether my father's health would 
 be sufficient to carry on the work necessary to be done in the 
 Pottsville district. But my father convinced him that he 
 was physically adequate ; and in a letter to his father of June 
 13 he says: — 
 
 He [Rogers] left my room apparently satisfied with the con- 
 fidence which I expressed and now feel of my ability to carry on 
 the whole of the very intricate business required here at my hands. 
 I have received as it were new vigor of body and mind from the 
 fact that from this day forward I have the field clear to myself, and 
 can use my own judgment in all cases after receiving the gen- 
 eral plans of operation from him. It will be at my option to 
 leave the mines unvisited through summer and devote some time 
 to them between November and Christmas when the cold weather 
 will make it a comfortable and safe work. 
 
 June 18, 1839. To his Sister. 
 
 I have just laid by '' The Life of Wilberforce " and feel humbled 
 and mortified at the way my life is spent when I think of the 
 good he has done in his time and the love to God and man he 
 ever exhibited. Great without vanity, an orator that perhaps 
 Earth never found his better, meek, modest, bold in and for 
 the right, earnest and sincere in his friendship, a man, a Chris- 
 tian, he stood among the men of his times a strange and beauti- 
 ful sight. Love flowed from his lips, mirth brightened his 
 
28 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, ni 
 
 face, and with eyes ever directed to " the gate at the head of the 
 way" he walked among his fellows, with a smile, a prayer, a gift 
 for every one. 
 
 Oh that I could be like him ! . . . 
 
 He is distressed with the condition and low moral stand- 
 ards of the miners, and especially by their constant drink- 
 ing of strong liquors. He takes much satisfaction in direct- 
 ing his own course of work, and feels that he works better 
 since matters are so left to him. 
 
 A little later in the summer Elizabeth went to the Mt. 
 Carbon House to make her brother a visit, and in her letters 
 home .gives a pleasant impression of the place, the society 
 in the little hotel, and Peter's friendly relations with it. She 
 speaks of the pleasant assembling of the household in the 
 parlors in the evening, when conversation, games, and 
 music filled the hours before retiring. Peter seems to have 
 shown himself clever in answering in verse some difficult 
 riddles, which gave his sister much pride and satisfaction. 
 
 I copy but one of his letters to Professor Rogers, to 
 whom he wrote frequently; but it seems worth while to give 
 this one almost entire, as an evidence of his growing pro- 
 ficiency in geology. (These, and many of his other letters 
 were illustrated by sketches and maps.) 
 
 August 24, 1839. 
 
 Dear Sir, — I am disappointed in my plan for obtaining a 
 knowledge of the coal north of Pingrove. One of the party has 
 returned with dysentery and another — Fisher — on whose knowl- 
 edge of the place I depended, is extremely ill with inflammatory 
 rheumatism. Having, therefore, no prospect of useful inquiry 
 there for the present, and having completed a section across the 
 valley on the line of S. Haven, from data obtained by repeatedly 
 crossing from Mountain to Mountain in several places, I will be 
 at Port Clinton, if nothing occurs to prevent, on Monday. . . . 
 
 Do these views clash with your own? If so, I will be glad 
 to receive instructions directed to Port Clinton. I was delighted 
 to-day by discovering, most accidentally, what I feared would 
 not be visible — I mean, the Axis north of Schuylkill Ridge run- 
 ning through S. Haven. I have been led to believe the existence 
 of such, from your conversation and from the position of rock 
 
i839 FIRST GEOLOGICAL WORK 29 
 
 North and South. I think there can be no error — it is in a right 
 place, — has every appearance of a great axis — is the summit of 
 a hill with ore on each side. The moment I saw it I was con- 
 vinced that I had found what I have looked so anxiously after. 
 I may yet be totally mistaken. . . . 
 
 I am becoming very familiar with the valley so as to know 
 from near objects where I am in any part of it and whither I 
 must go to find my particular object of search. The other sec- 
 tions will therefore be much more rapidly made than this most 
 difficult and centre one. 
 
 I feel the want of drawing paper very sensibly and will be 
 much pleased to receive it, as you said in your last. 
 
 A reason for the existence of the singular coves in the hill 
 S. of S. Haven struck me forcibly the other day — the rush of 
 water through the South Gap against the Hill and not with 
 sufficient violence to disrupt it entirely — its recurve produced an 
 eddy and the effect followed, to which you remember drawing 
 my attention in the winter — a hill of conical form and "wash" 
 character at the mouth of the cove. . . . 
 
 The same is observable at the bend in the river in Summer 
 hill where the tunnel is made. I have remarked another effect 
 of the rush of water — a bending aside of the strike of the rocks 
 towards the mouth of the stream. 
 
 Yours, dear sir, respectfully. 
 
 Septe^nber 17. To his Brother Allen. 
 
 I was thinking as I walked home this afternoon about your 
 speaking this year original addresses. If you will allow me a 
 word of advice, I would say, First choose a theme, which at first 
 you might be inclined to think too contracted (such as "the love 
 of Peace," etc., etc.). You can easily stretch out a subject, but 
 not so easily contract one. The leanest must be fat enough for 
 an eight-minute speech. Second, Think of your theme (after 
 choosing one early) in order to an analysis. Then, read a good 
 deal of some of the British orators, without writing, and so you 
 will catch their tone and style without being able to avoid it, and 
 easy imitation (tho' not a slavish one) will follow of course. Let 
 three weeks or more be so spent, then write and re- write. Third, 
 Aim not at a continued flow of beauty — eloquence or flower, but 
 by choosing a humble plain style, the bright spots will shine ten- 
 fold and lighten the whole piece. An all rich piece of compo- 
 sition is often spoiled in the eyes of an audience by one or two 
 "falls." 
 
30 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, in 
 
 Sept. 27. To HIS Sister. 
 
 And now maybe you would like to know how your dear 
 brother spends his time — I mean the "littles," the minuiice. 
 Well, I'll try to tell you. Five is my hour of rising generally, and 
 after reading a chapter in the German, and trying to thank Him 
 to whom all and constant thank is due, and to pray grace and pro- 
 tection for the day, I can mostly find time between the two break- 
 fast bells to write home some part of a letter at least, or in my 
 journal the incidents of the past day. At the table I meet intelli- 
 gence and vivacity enough to expedite digestion and make the 
 meal hours the pleasantest of the day, perhaps. Would you 
 like a table sketch? The pug-nosed good-humored but sar- 
 castic-eyed man sitting at my left hand is a Mr. , and 
 
 his ever -talking and very conversable little rib sits next him. 
 Opposite her is his brother, a doctor, who hasn't enough science 
 to cure the everlasting cold his own nose has caught, — but that's 
 no argument against his practice on others' noses. Sometimes 
 Whelpley, sometimes John White's son, takes a seat opposite to 
 me, — the one acute, bitter in irony, a little vain, handsome, strait, 
 with a wide sphere of information, tho' too logical and meta- 
 physical always to hit the truth; the other lantern- jaw'd, tall 
 and slim, travelled in Italy, France, Germany, England and 
 Scotland, and of course having much to say, yet never obtruding 
 or mocking the travelled ape, but by prejudice or education, not 
 I think by a narrow mind, shovdng often narrow views of gen- 
 eral questions. That straight-haired, high-shouldered, bent fig- 
 ure beside him is our acute, deep-thinking but hypochondriac 
 natural philosopher Henderson, about twenty-three. Next to 
 this melancholy character sits John White's brother, that man 
 with a hole in his forehead just over individuality, a little hard 
 of hearing, and thinking always of coal, but speaking seldom 
 of anything. Then comes a huge high-headed, dull-eyed Capt. 
 Mrs. Ralston sits at the head to carve and say "yes" or "no." 
 About as communicative is a young man in a jacket at my right, 
 and the one or two between him and the hostess are in "terra 
 incog." for all my attention is dravra the other way, and there 
 is surely no counteracting attraction thitherward. But what, 
 dear Sis, have I been doing? I ought surely to have deferred 
 this till more time had brought more opportunities of knowing 
 my fellow-bipeds. I hope I have injured no one; certainly not 
 wilfully. Carlyle's French Revolution, or Covi^per, or a chapter 
 of the Rambler, or a laugh over one of the adventures of the 
 Knight of the Rueful Countenance, helps digestion for an hour, 
 
i84o FIRST GEOLOGICAL WORK 31 
 
 and then — to horse. I then feel something bigger. Life is in 
 every nerve and all my muscles are in play, and my thoughts fly 
 fast as we scamper over the hills. I am becoming so accustomed 
 to the saddle that it gives me all the pleasure without the pain, 
 and will make me as straight-backed as an Indian. 
 
 Stroudsburg, May 30. To his Aunt Anna Wilson. 
 
 I have met many (old men) who could talk of the Revolu- 
 tion as a familiar event; when I meet them, I always get them 
 to tell me some anecdote or other of Washington. What satis- 
 faction it gives a man to say, "I remember sitting on his knee 
 and singing to him Amo, Amas, I loved a lass," or "I remem- 
 ber one day going to the city with his old carter, we met the 
 General" (they always call him so), "and he rode along a 
 mile with us talking," and no wonder it pleases them, since it 
 pleases us only to hear about it, when, if any other man was the 
 subject, we would tire of their tedious commonplaces. But what 
 American says "stop" when Washington is talked of? Not I. 
 
 May II. To his Aunt Hall. 
 
 There are two vast seas of mercy, pardon and adoption. The 
 one cancels all debts, removes all fears, — but gives no joys (except 
 that of absence of pain) — the other piles bliss upon bliss, and 
 still, as joy is added to joy, gives the soul strength to sustain 
 the load of blessedness. Oh may we all bear the burden to- 
 gether! Burden? 'Tis the burden that a bird bears — his 
 wings — it bears him up itself instead of sinking him down. 
 Yet if the life is not in the wing, it is an encumbrance, instead 
 of a help — so must God be in the joy or it turns to bitterness. . . . 
 
 Peter. 
 
 As he approaches the end of the third season's work, 
 his mind is much occupied with the future theological studies. 
 He doubts the expediency of devoting three years to mere 
 theoretical study, and wishes that he might spend at least 
 part of that time in practical work among the poor; and 
 suggests that such a course of "religious action" would be 
 of great use to him. 
 
 PoTTSViLLE, June 18. To HIS Father. 
 
 There is a plan, dear Father, that I have thought of, (in- 
 deed it was suggested to me by Mr. Tappan of Stroudsburg) 
 
32 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, m 
 
 which I would like to know if it be practicable or not. I am 
 informed, and experience in part makes me credit it, that in 
 no place generally is active expressive religion more hardly re- 
 tained, more rarely exhibited, than in a Seminary where we 
 expect most to see it. The cause of this is obvious. Religion, 
 in its love and faith, can only be kept bright by action. This in 
 a great measure is and cannot but be impracticable in such a 
 place. Now it is my earnest wish (if it can be done without part- 
 ing with other greater advantages to be had by a seminary course) 
 to have the advantages of practical as well as theoretical lessons in 
 religion. That is, that I may be taught not only to talk in the 
 pulpit, but to speak and act everywhere. When I conversed 
 with Dr. Warrington before leaving home this spring and ob- 
 tained information from him to enable me to study anatomy and 
 physiology next winter, as a valuable assistance to theology, he 
 told me I could also have opportunities, if I would embrace them, 
 of taking a course (if I can use the expression) of religious action, 
 by becoming connected with a physician or a dispensary or 
 other, and have opportunity thus of attaining at the same time 
 a knowledge of medicine and of the modes of thought, phases 
 of character, modes of influencing mind, etc. Mr. Tappan has 
 described his labors (ministerial entirely) among the destitute 
 in the city; laborious in the extreme and sometimes leading him 
 into uncouth and revolting scenes, but productive of great good 
 both to the miserable and vicious and himself. Now if I could 
 obtain instruction in theology from some clergyman in the city, 
 a comprehensive knowledge of the principles of mind and body 
 as taught by anatomy and physiology, and which I could obtain 
 in one year; and have also an opportunity for exerting myself 
 at the same time, how far preferable it would be to shutting my- 
 self in a small town and devoting my whole time to the theory, — 
 to come out at the end of three years an eloquent orator with a 
 deal of brilliance, but with a flame burning low and flickering of 
 zeal and love. I do not wish either to avoid a seminary course. 
 I might go to Princeton and pass through the two upper classes. 
 There are advantages which can only be obtained at a college 
 and these I am unwilling to lose, but the other plan may do to 
 start on while the seminary may complete. 
 
 With regard to the frame of mind I am now most familiar 
 with, you will be pleased to hear me say, "it is that of sweetest 
 peace." [Here follows a religious statement too intimate for pub- 
 lication,] 
 
1840 FIRST GEOLOGICAL WORK 33 
 
 Haemsbueg, July i. To his Sister. 
 
 Yesterday noon I fell in with an old Prussian who called 
 Napoleon a Coward, served under and against him eight years, 
 had two balls and a lance wound; was at Moscow; a prisoner 
 at K.; three 3^ears among the ferocious Spaniards and finished 
 his campaigns on the ground at Waterloo. "Buhler," said 
 he, "and we came up between three and four o'clock." I would 
 have enjoyed the old man's talk more, but I could scarcely 
 understand him; for instance, he said, "Napoliu tucht de Knickum 
 de Westfal awah fur Hereome." This was a well-pronounced 
 sentence to most of them. There is a sort of realizing feeling 
 in meeting with an actor, a real actor in the stirring scenes of 
 history. And always, to me, a question seems to arise,- — can 
 this man really have swum the Borodino or retreated under the 
 tricolor of Liitzen? Is it possible he has gazed on the mischief 
 workers of Europe until he can call the greatest of them a coward 
 for first walking up and down the ranks to be vive-1'empereured, 
 and then perch himself a mile off out of danger like a crow at a 
 tiger fight? 
 
 Now although I looked at him with so much surprise and 
 curiosity he didn't seem to think there was much strange in his 
 being one of some millions in the wars of French ambition, most 
 of them destroyed, he one of the few who have lived, and of the 
 still fewer who find listeners among the sons of the land of the 
 free and the home of the brave. The reason is, he was then and 
 there a machine in the fingers of others with higher intellects than 
 his, and now he is a saddler in a Dutch township, one of the 
 brainless canaille of a degraded nationality. Yet whose soul is 
 worth more or can be made larger than his? From an ex- 
 panded state of existence how will this man and such as he look 
 back with amazement on the narrow circle of their present ideas 
 and the feebleness of their present powers. Will we; will the 
 noblest intellect of earth find the change less? 
 
 July 17. To HIS Father. 
 
 Start this morning for Ebensberg. Fell most unexpectedly 
 and undesirably into a Loco Foco celebration supper for the 
 passage of the Sub Treas'y bill. There was but another Whig 
 at a table of a hundred. I cleared out to bed as soon as I 
 satisfied my hunger. They were a precious set of rowdies. 
 I heard about as much swearing in the time of their assem- 
 bling as I have in my whole trip from Philadelphia. Met to 
 
34 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, hi 
 
 celebrate the dagger thrust into the heart of their country's 
 liberty! God forgive us for a poor deluded people. 
 
 Camp Somerset Falls, August 29. To his Stepmother. 
 
 We have just had visitors. When called to breakfast, we 
 heard voices in the wood in the direction of the cleared field, 
 and presently a party of cherry-cheeked lassies came round 
 the spring and seated themselves on the tree that forms the 
 back-log to one of our fires, to watch our modus operandi, to 
 see how much milk went to a cup, how we cut the pork fat, 
 etc. One was an old crony of ours, a jolly Dutch wife about 
 23, who sends us cream instead of milk, and washes our clothes 
 nicely. So after breakfast she told us the girls had something 
 to say to us; on examination, what could it be but the flute; 
 they had heard its notes the other evening, and sent word the 
 next day that I must come down and play for them while they 
 danced. As I was ungallant enough to decline the honor and 
 they were determined to impose it, they came to me and I had 
 perforce to play for them. 
 
 Aug. ^i. To HIS Aunt Hall. 
 
 I have met some charming places dear Aunt, where a very 
 little cottage in a very little garden, with a very little orchard 
 behind it, would be just the thing for you. A little spring, a 
 little house over it and two or three little cows to cream it, a 
 little barn, a little stable with a little horse to live in it, a little 
 coop with some little banties and a little shed with some little 
 hives and a great deal of honey in them, some little pigs with a 
 great big mother and a wee dog to bark at them. What more, 
 Aunt? Wouldn't it be delightful, especially if we all had a big 
 house a little way off, and a little church on a little hill with a 
 very little steeple to it could accommodate you with a seat under 
 the sound of a good minister. 
 
 One is reminded of Herrick's little Pipkin. 
 
 The field season of the survey must soon after this have 
 ended, and he writes to his sister from Harrisburg, Feb- 
 ruary 20, 1 841, as follows: — 
 
 Rogers goes down I fear to-morrow morning and I remain to 
 read proof for the press. A week or more will see him here again 
 and me at work once more upon the report, writing the last chap- 
 
1841 FIRST GEOLOGICAL WORK 35 
 
 ter. I hope it will not be a long job. I wish [Father] could 
 lay his hand on a thick pamphlet by Carlyle, called "Chartism." 
 He will find the English rather unpleasant, but the thoughts 
 original and the conclusions correct and interesting to us who 
 think of nations as composed of the lower as well as the upper and 
 middle classes of society. He shows clearly the impossibility that 
 Chartism should not exist and the need and end of it; that it is 
 the stepping-stone to rights. 
 
 Did I ever tell you that Rogers had a letter sent by a man to 
 him as the State Geneologist? That was rather better than the 
 bill I got from a blacksmith for mending my wagon, and made 
 out to the debit of the Theological Survey of Pa. Heigh-ho, we 
 are all pretty much alike, every one flounders when the water is 
 a little too deep for him, — the baby in two-feet water, the giant 
 in ten. I would make just as much a fool of myself to talk about 
 astronomy, as the German or the English Metaphysician does 
 when he dives into the sink hole of absolutes and relatives. True 
 wisdom after all is to know and believe we live, must die, and 
 may by the goodness of God through the tender mercy of Christ 
 reach the enjoyment of an eternal expansion of all our faculties 
 and passions in a close imitation of the harmonious attributes 
 of our Heavenly Father. As a widely beautiful valley may be 
 portrayed on a square foot of canvas, condensing its beauties 
 but reflecting its truth; so will the image of the Good and Wise 
 God be painted on the tiny stretch of our souls in faithfulness 
 and beauty. 
 
 LuTHERSBURG, July 24. To HIS Father. 
 
 Prof. Rogers has been very complaisant and kind throughout 
 our correspondence. Every letter is filled with expressions of re- 
 gard and satisfaction, while he leaves all arrangements, plans and 
 executions in a great measure to me; thus I am neither ham- 
 pered nor pushed nor blamed; and I have another cause for sat- 
 isfaction, — the people everywhere treat me well, even kindly. I 
 sometimes feel more grateful than I can express, that my lot has 
 been made so pleasant. . . . 
 
 A woman yesterday, on my stopping for a glass of water, see- 
 ing the heat I was in, did everything in her power to make me 
 comfortable, and after a long chat bade me good-bye, begging 
 me to take care of myself and not fall sick in these woods. I 
 could readily account for her good feeling. The poor woman had 
 left her circle of friends in Portland, Maine, and accompanied 
 her husband to a mill-seat on the South Branch of the Sandy. 
 
36 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, m 
 
 They were very comfortable, well off for all things, but longed 
 to resume old habits of intercourse with their fellows, and enjoy 
 again the many pleasures and advantages of lije in a large town. 
 This woman was not alone in her feelings. I have met a number 
 such who are struggling more with their own habits and recollec- 
 tions than they ever are called to with all the inconveniences of 
 the forest life. One can easily get used to living on poor bread 
 and salt meat, but never to living without friends and books, 
 and the minor luxuries of the mind. I say never, because I 
 refer to those who have left such in middle or advanced life. 
 
 I will soon be at home and my studies soon commence. I 
 look forward with eagerness to the time. May my strength be 
 equal to my day, and I be honored as an instrument of good. 
 I do not deserve it. 
 
 Hazelton and Wilkesbarre State Road, September 3. 
 To HIS Stepmother. 
 
 [After a description of a long tramp in a wild wooded country 
 he says:] I forgot to tell you that I met a bear just as I was get- 
 ting onto the railroad, but he didn't give me a chance to ask 
 where he lived, — for it was but a grunt and a run, and the next 
 minute he was incog, among the bushes. 
 
 In a letter to his sister written from Pottsville October 
 7 he mentions "Lyell." This was Lyell's first visit to 
 America, and whether my father met him at this time I do 
 not know. Later in life they became well acquainted. 
 He writes: — 
 
 Dear Sister, — I have been very sorely disappointed, for, 
 while away beyond Pinegrove yesterday, Rogers and Lyell came 
 hither and left again without so much as leaving a letter in the 
 P.O. saying whither their course was directed. I accidentally 
 heard that from Mauch Chunk they were going to Beaver Meadow, 
 and though I rode nine miles this morning while the moon was 
 shining, I would have set off at once and headed them there; 
 but neither the letter from Philadelphia nor Harrisburg con- 
 taining money has arrived, and so I have to wait till to-night's 
 mail comes in. This will be too late, as they are scampering like 
 the wind from place to place. Lyell is a perfect hurricane. . . . 
 
 I wish not to be delayed in Philadelphia any longer than is 
 absolutely necessary, as I am already nearly two months behind 
 
1841 FIRST GEOLOGICAL WORK 37 
 
 the class. I would be in a pretty fix if the Faculty should refuse 
 me admission. 
 
 Evidently, no such unfortunate event occurred, for by 
 October 19, 1841, he writes to his father from Princeton 
 as follows in regard to the welfare and occupations of his 
 brothers Henry and Allen : — 
 
 Coming up, I thought much of your connection with that 
 farm. If I can aid you in any way, I cheerfully will. The only 
 plan I could suggest (and it is a mere suggestion) is, that you 
 should put Henry with me, and Allen there. Henry would not 
 suffer much in his studies, for I could direct him in them through 
 the winter. I would be able to study some, and complete what 
 I have to do for [Rogers] through the winter. How such a plan 
 would work, I leave you to decide. I am willing to do anything 
 that will relieve you and benefit the whole. I can be very com- 
 fortable here, I find, this winter, but do not let that affect any 
 disposal you may make of my time and strength in this matter. 
 
 His father in reply to this letter writes : — 
 
 This [referring to pecuniary matters] will afford me present 
 relief so that there need be no interference with your studies at 
 Princeton as you proposed. It would grieve me much to be the 
 cause of hindering your qualifying yourself in the shortest period 
 for the high employment you contemplate. 
 
 About this time or soon afterwards Peter Lesley, the 
 father, bought a farm in Delaware, and several of the younger 
 sons went there to study farming, and eventually took charge 
 of this land. 
 
 I have quoted more from these early letters than their 
 literary quality deserves, mostly to show the surroundings 
 of my father's life and how he regarded them. A few of 
 the letters I have given almost entire, because they seemed 
 to me very typical of his traits of character throughout life. 
 
 His greatest happiness at all times was in the love of 
 those nearest to him, and in the simple joys of home life. 
 His mind was open to a great variety of interests; and these 
 letters of his boyhood show this, as did his later ones. His 
 
38 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, m 
 
 love of nature and art, his interest in science now just opening 
 to him, abstract and philosophical discussions as to man 
 and life, and his religious aspirations and beliefs, all held 
 sway over him in these early days. His outlook widened, 
 and his beliefs changed as one experience followed another. 
 But the warm affections of his heart remained the same to 
 the last day of his long life. He was singularly devoid of 
 personal ambition, and was a hearty lover and admirer of 
 his fellow- workers. 
 
 At this time he was scarcely more than a boy, just out 
 of the university and home life, and looked at life and men 
 as one so young would; but, while amused at the simplicity 
 and ignorance of most of the people with whom he came in 
 contact, he was never supercilious in his intercourse, and 
 had a growing sympathy with their hardships and trials, joys 
 and sorrows, as his own mind and heart became more mature. 
 I think it may have been his intimate personal knowledge 
 of these poor and ignorant German settlers in Pennsylvania 
 during this summer of 1840 and that following, which turned 
 his thoughts towards them in missionary wise, when his 
 theological courses at Princeton and in Germany were 
 finished. The ignorance and superstition of the Pennsyl- 
 vania Germans whom he met from time to time seems to 
 have affected him strongly with a desire to help them. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 Princeton, i 841-1844 
 
 With the autumn of 1841 begins my father's three years 
 in the divinity school. It was the training for the ministry 
 to which he had from boyhood looked forward, and from 
 which ill-health had withheld him for several years. He 
 entered upon it with the intensity of interest with which 
 always he attacked any work which was before him. I 
 have comparatively few letters of this period to draw from, 
 and have only extracted such portions as seemed most indi- 
 cative of his interests and development during these years. 
 
 Feb. 14, 1842. To HIS Father. 
 
 I am well and doing well. Happy as I always am to visit 
 home and spend a few days with you, I am equally happy and 
 more contented by far to return to the studies which must at such 
 a time be necessarily laid aside, and a daily routine, monotonous 
 but good. Nothing agrees with me so well as to have my time 
 well proportioned and its parts of duty strictly kept; and I am 
 sure I am now forming habits of regularity which will be of the 
 highest importance to me through life. So far from time hang- 
 ing heavily upon my hands, I could welcome days of double 
 length and look forward to the near approach of May with little 
 pleasure. 
 
 March 28. To his Father. 
 
 Moore has been called to Carlisle. Another of my friends here 
 has accepted a temporary call to a very destitute place, the church 
 at Summit Mine. He will also missionize through the Orwigs- 
 burg Valley. I am delighted to hear this, for I know by expe- 
 rience the wants of that Community. 
 
 April II. To HIS Father. 
 
 Mar Johannan, the Nestorian Bishop, came with mission- 
 ary Perkins of Ovroomiah to hold a talk with us this morning. 
 The Bishop read a little old Syriac — talked a little modern Syriac 
 
 39 
 
40 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, iv 
 
 and sat before us like a maple-wood statue with a cushion on its 
 head and a cloth cloak around its body. Many questions were 
 asked and answered — some not a little silly, e.g. what time the 
 sun rose there, and whether there was much level ground there, 
 etc., etc. We, however, obtained a great deal of such informa- 
 tion as neither books nor sermons could afford us. . . . Dr. Miller 
 has promised to introduce me to him this afternoon, that I may 
 obtain some geological information from him. . . . 
 
 Sept. 7, 1842. To HIS Father. 
 
 [After a fine description of volcanic action as shown in trap 
 dikes of different kinds, and several sketches in illustration of the 
 same, he writes:] When Lyell discovered the solution of this 
 problem (which Whelpley laid before him to try his skill), he 
 clapped his hands over his eyes, got up, and wouldn't hear another 
 word on the subject, exclaiming "that's it exactly.^' He was de- 
 lighted, and so must any one be at so beautiful an exhibition of 
 the ever -varying combinations of the laws of God around us. 
 This, dear Father, is my only apology for troubling you with it. 
 What renders it so pleasing, I suppose to be the combination of 
 unity and diversity, which D'Aubigny says is not only a law of 
 nature, but of religion. If we were to see a bush bearing roses 
 and tulips at once, I don't think it would raise emotions of delight, 
 though it might of wonder. We love, however, to see roses on 
 one tree, each different from the other, and yet all alike; each 
 on its ovni stalk and surrounded by its leaves, and yet not two 
 stalks or two leaves exactly the same, yet all alike. Unity and 
 diversity seem to meet in everything which we call pleasant. 
 
 September 15. To his Stepmother. 
 
 I am quite at home; not pressed in time; and enjoying per- 
 fect health; my daily walk is very pleasant. The study of the 
 Greek Testament has attracted me unusually. Dr. Hodge is like 
 a good Refractor through which one may admire the rings of 
 Saturn and the spots of the moon : — the Scripture surface spreads 
 before his pupils' vision, and upon it appears, here a mountain 
 of light and there a dark valley dimly lit by reflected light 
 from neighboring hills, and sometimes caverns of impenetrable 
 dark, the mysteries of God. I never knew there was half so 
 much in the Bible before, or that it was half so plain when under- 
 stood. The letters of Paul which I have always been disposed 
 to think were a jumbled, ill-connected mass of expostulations, 
 
i842 PRINCETON 41 
 
 maxims, revelations and histories, are, under his instruction, seen 
 to be in the general clearly arranged and very natural in their 
 order. . . . 
 
 We were much interested a few days ago, at one of our meet- 
 ings, with the account which Mr. Badeau gave us of his views 
 and feelings on going to Africa. He is just now waiting the de- 
 termination of the Board of Missions. There is a missionary 
 there all alone, Mr. Sawyer, Alward and Carpard (?) having 
 died. It is so deadly that the Board won't send any one to the 
 Station. Badeau has determined to go and prevent the Mission 
 from being forsaken, which would be a pity now that the natives 
 are so eager to have it established among them. While he was 
 addressing us he stood in the place which Alward and (?) occu- 
 pied within the last two years. The professors then each one 
 said something, refusing to give advice, but at the same time ex- 
 hibiting how each one's feelings were moved on the matter. It 
 was a solemn thing to see one of the students as it were offering 
 himself up to almost certain death. For my part, I think if we 
 were to look at the interior of our own states we would find enough 
 sacrifices to make, and fields to occupy. The pines of Jersey; 
 the forests of Pennsylvania; the prairies of the West; the negro 
 villages of the South, cry unceasingly. However, when the spirit 
 calls one and another to go to the ends of the earth, there is no 
 conferring with flesh and blood to be done, but to rise up, leave 
 all and follow the voice. 
 
 I intend to give you a sketch of Wallenstein, from Schiller, 
 but if I don't put the letter in to-day (I have been already three 
 days writing it) you will stand a poor chance of receiving it this 
 week. . . . 
 
 My father's v^ords as to foreign missions are illustrative 
 of his thought and action throughout life. He always had 
 the deepest interest in and admiration for the work of other 
 men in paths completely different from his own; and es- 
 pecially did he enjoy reading of distant explorations and 
 work among alien peoples. But for himself the work nearest 
 at hand, and most surely his own to do, always commanded 
 his constant allegiance; and he worked at it, whatever it 
 might be, with an intensity and enthusiasm which was at 
 times exhausting. Often for hours he would sit at his desk, 
 bent over his sheet, his pen flying over the pages without 
 pause, until, his idea clearly expressed or his appointed task 
 
42 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, rv 
 
 completed, he would suddenly straighten himself, with a 
 long-drawn sigh of relief or satisfaction, rise, stretch himself 
 to his full height, and then, with a laugh or a pleased excla- 
 mation, take to pacing the room with his hands behind his 
 back; and, if any of his family or any near friend were by, 
 he would begin to talk with a delightful jubilancy, — ^perhaps 
 of his work or something suggested by it, perhaps of subjects 
 the most at variance to the former trend of his thought, but 
 always with animation and delight. 
 
 November 26. To his Father. 
 
 I find I must be satisfied with my situation here, and I be- 
 lieve my continued good health is mainly due to the walks I have 
 to take daily. I have plenty to do of course, a great deal of 
 writing, but no very hard study, that I can call so at least. . . . 
 "Boz" deserves most of what he gets; and yet we ought to ac- 
 knowledge that most of what he and others like him say and have 
 said about our manners and customs, is true and proved to 
 be true by their otherwise unaccountable uniformity of descriptive 
 testimony. . . . 
 
 Jan. 24, 1843. To HIS Father. 
 
 I mailed you last Saturday the first number of D'Aubigny; 
 the other four completing the work, you shall have as soon as 
 I receive them. I am beginning to learn that there is such a 
 thing as being in too much haste to buy. My D'Aubig. cost me 
 only $6.75. It is in French — which is good enough for a biblio- 
 maniac, but bad enough for a poor student; but it's foolish to 
 cry for spilt cream. 
 
 Feb. 17, 1843. To HIS Stepmother. 
 
 If I were ever witty, I ought to be so now, for I have just 
 finished Pascal's provincial letters with which you are too well 
 acquainted to need a description. Are they not racy and pure, 
 - — so gentle, manly and yet their point and the boldness with 
 which he develops the damnable heresies and polluted phi- 
 losophy and morality of the Jesuits must have driven them to 
 madness. Indeed they did accuse him and Arnault and the 
 Port Royalists of arrant Calvinism while all Europe was laugh- 
 ing them and their doctors, and their efforts to hide their 
 shame, to scorn. What is that within us all which so loves to 
 glory over detected vileness? Surely it alone must prove there 
 
i843 PRINCETON 43 
 
 lives above a holy God whose mirror, man, so scratched and 
 blurred as it is, will still reflect his love of Truth. In con- 
 nection with this I have read also the famous Seer eta Monita, 
 secret laws of the Jesuits and have been shocked beyond ex- 
 pression at the coolness with which all lengths of villany are 
 run, all measures justified, and all that is holy and true scoffed 
 at and thrust aside. I am told that already within but thirty 
 years of the societies' re-establishment (owing to the fright Na- 
 poleon gave the Pope) the societies are as strong, as wealthy, and 
 as active as they were at the moment when their suppression was 
 demanded by the prayers and tears of the whole world, and 
 obtained at the expense of the good and noble Ganganelli's life. 
 To one who knows how this fearful engine worked from 1540 to 
 the end of the iSth century, its present activity is of all others the 
 most alarming sign of the times. However, I can't pretend to 
 talk about this, for a hundred topics only watch an opening to 
 rush in and claim their share of regard. High Churchism among 
 the foremost. By the way, mother, I had the honor last night 
 of quaffing Imperial with Bish. Hobart's daughter, wife of the 
 Episcopal clergyman here, Mr. Hare — and with Mrs. Willet 
 up Vine St. So you see if Pascal ought to make me witty, Hobart 
 should give me dignity. But far away such! My moonlight 
 walk afterwards was the thing. My pen should flow with tropes 
 and rhymes, and revel in oceans of Castalias and on whole Andes 
 of Parnassuses. Oh, you can't imagine how beautiful it was, 
 and I'm sure I can't begin to describe it. It was the most charm- 
 ing scamper, all alone, over the ice fields, which anybody without 
 wings could ever have had. The ice cracked at every step and 
 long cracks would run clear across the fields to the opposite 
 fences, making noises like pistol firing. The air was delight- 
 fully still and the moon had just risen, and shone aslant the hill 
 through every little spire of ice, (for all the longer grass-blades 
 came up through the crust, all with icy jackcoats on) , and through 
 the icy branches of the trees, which glanced the light most beau- 
 tifully. What with an obstinate little fight with bronchitis and 
 toothache, I had been rather down in the mouth for a day or two, 
 but I made up for it last night. The way I scampered like a 
 hunted — or hunting ghost down the slopes and round the de- 
 serted tan-house and through the orchard and by the quarry, 
 was a caution to citizens and seminarians. 
 
 I nicknamed all my old friends in the Zodiac and roimd the 
 Pole, and made fun of my guide, the tip end star in the tail of 
 the Great Bear (which was standing straight up for my own 
 
44 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, iv 
 
 private amusement), and set the dogs barking for three miles 
 round till the distant echo of the farthest cur came lingering 
 over the fields from Kingston, while the great round red moon 
 lay her head on one side and laughed to see a great -coated, 
 thick-booted son of the clods so merry at nothing, as far as she 
 could see. It was a regular frolic, mother, I assure you, and 
 all the better for being alone. For you know one must keep up 
 one's dignity in company, and people are very angry with us if 
 we play the fool, or think that they play the fool any time but 
 when no one else is by. But after all it won't do to dissipate. 
 It's bad policy to get drunk on either whiskey, poetry or moon- 
 light, so I had a numbing headache when I got home, and as I 
 might have known, missed a figure in the morning, and slept so 
 late that there was but half an hour left to do my regular two 
 hours ante breakfast studying in. But here am I at the end of 
 my sheet and have told you nothing after all. 
 
 March 2. To his Aunts. 
 
 There is no use in my sitting and hooking up ideas out of 
 the ink-pot any longer, for I have vanity enough to suppose that 
 anything I say will come not amiss. There's the precious fruits 
 of your partiality and praises in bygone times. Ah, it's a sad 
 thing to let one know you love him! Never do it! Never; for 
 he's sure to put on airs. But I have another reason for setting 
 my pen agoing at once, — when one begins, the worst of any 
 work is over as to difficulty, and words when once let loose, 
 especially to those we love, rush, like the letting out of water 
 widening the breach, and with ever-increasing tumult and force. 
 I do wonder where all our thoughts lie packed away; or whether 
 they are all "made to order." If they are, the manufactory is 
 of the completest kind that ever was. However, that is no won- 
 der when we remember who put it up. We are indeed fearfully 
 and wonderfully made, and a part of a universe fearfully and 
 wonderfully made. But I want to talk just now a little about our 
 ewe lamb that we can't keep in the pasture. What do you think 
 of her leaving us?* But what a rate my pen is running this 
 morning ! it must be because it took such a good start. I had my 
 fire going at half-past four. There^s industry! there's soberness! 
 
 * Elizabeth Lesley was married soon after this to Mr. Elias Stilwell, 
 and went into the Mohawk Valley to uve for a number of years, returning 
 later to Philadelphia with her husband and four children, where she lived 
 for the remainder of her long life. 
 
i843 PRINCETON 45 
 
 there's energy for you! and now I have three long recitations 
 before me to-day, and my brain by supper time will be in a state 
 of conglomerated aberration quite pitiable and alarming. It 
 always is on Friday. 
 
 March 13. To his Father. 
 
 I thank you for your letter, and the pens enclosed, — they 
 will answer for some time, — and still more for your prayers: 
 none ever needed them more. As my services will always 
 be of little account, so their springs within have oftentimes but 
 Httle strength: — and yet "I can do all things through Christ 
 who strengtheneth me." To be a Zwingh or a Luther I hope 
 you never expect me, for you will surely be disappointed.* 
 To be an honored and admired preacher, after whom people will 
 run and say, "Let us go to-day: he preaches" — you must not 
 expect me, I have tried pra)'erfully to know my own powers and 
 they are small. My mind is naturally of no great strength, and 
 often filled with many absurd crotchets and quite unfit to be the 
 tenement of robust, lordly thoughts, and therefore I never can 
 hope to be a Luther, or Zwingli, an Edwards or a Whitefield; 
 but thanks be to God his meanest creature may carry wood and 
 draw water for his temple, — may love him and employ his little 
 talents to their full extent in his service, — may say a word in his 
 name or suffer to the death for his Son. That I may do this, 
 in his strength, dear Father, still continue to pray; and so look for- 
 ward to my appearance in the public ministry as not to be dis- 
 appointed at finding me come "in weakness and in fear and in 
 much trembhng with my speech and my preaching, not with the 
 enticing words of man's wisdom." God grant it may be yet "in 
 the demonstration of the spirit and of power." It gives me un- 
 bounded satisfaction, dear Father, that I have your love and ap- 
 probation in the life I now lead and that which is before me. 
 Had you opposed my wish to study and preach, it would have 
 been an endless fountain of bitter waters to me. But it is only 
 one of the innumerable kindnesses for which I am debtor to the 
 love of God; — one of the Chief nevertheless. . . . 
 
 Have you seen the comet? Of course you have. Isn't it a 
 great thing? How quietly, solemn and majestic it hangs like a 
 drawn sword in the hand of Uriel, the Angel of the Sun. It 
 
 * His father had written in a letter of March 7 these words: "To 
 be a Zwingli or a Luther is in my opinion to be more highly honored than 
 if you were to be possessed of all the honors which man could possibly heap 
 on you." 
 
46 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, iv 
 
 makes one feel something of the reality of the Universe, We are 
 apt to think the Solar System, etc., as pretty stories — true — oh, of 
 course true — ^but very surprising nevertheless when anything new 
 proves them true. Some have taken it for the Zodiacal light, 
 but they forget that that points along the Zodiac; this, if you will 
 observe, lies with its head (which by the by nobody that I can 
 hear of has yet got a gHmpse of) in the Zodiac and pointing 20° 
 South, right at Sirius. Beautiful! A great finger by which one 
 great sun points at another great sun, its nearest neighbor. On 
 Saturday we had a fair view of it. Prof. S. Alexander says it 
 will be in sight two months. When the moon goes down east, 
 how brightly it will blaze in the Zenith ! He thinks it is a comet 
 which recurs every 106 years. . . . 
 
 In the summer of 1843 ^^7 father visited his sister, newly 
 married, in Fort Plain, N.Y. His impression of New York 
 at that period I copy from a letter of August 24 to his father: 
 
 At New York I spent Saturday and Sunday nights, and saw 
 everything. I will never again, until the remembrance of what 
 I saw has faded, run a tilt for Phil'a. One may as well at- 
 tempt to compare London with Liverpool, or the Blue Mountain 
 with Barren Hill, as New York with Phil'a. The magnifi- 
 cence of its buildings, public and private — the throng of its 
 streets — the beauty of the fountains — the multitude of its ships 
 — give it as just a claim as any city ever had to the name Metrop- 
 olis. Its churches are superb. The Trinity still unfinished in 
 its tower (which is to be 275 feet high with a stone spire 100 feet 
 more) satisfied me that I at last had an accurate idea of the smaller 
 Cathedrals of Europe. Its elaborate ornament cannot be de- 
 scribed in any way but by painting. The effect upon my mind 
 was one of wonder and a sense of beauty — but not of sublimity. 
 
 The college with us [Girard College] is as far superior to any 
 building I have yet seen in New York as one building can be to 
 another; but all our others wane in the light of them. Wall 
 Street is a fair levee of Architectures. The facade of the Ex- 
 change is superb, and the Custom House has the face of our 
 U.S. Bank, with a nobler flank — yet it wants somehow the quiet 
 repose of our house, due perhaps to its size and proximity to 
 the cm-b. But how shall I express my delight and wonder at 
 the exquisite grace of the florid gothic University Chapel — or 
 young Bedell's new gothic church above Washington Square, 
 
i843 PRINCETON 47 
 
 or that gem, excelling everything else — the French Romish 
 Church in Canal Street, with its nave running into a noble dome, 
 frescoed and painted gloriously! I was in raptures with it. I 
 never was in a house which gave me such feelings of entire sat- 
 isfaction. A priest in white was teaching fifty boys the French 
 Catechism while listeners were scattered here and there in the 
 pews. 
 
 This is but the prelude to a lifelong delight in travel, 
 and especially of joy in architectural beauty. Peter Lesley, 
 the father, had trained his boys from childhood to notice 
 and understand architectural forms; and my father fully 
 proved the value of such instruction. As long as he lived, 
 his eyes were keen to see beauty of form and color wherever 
 it could be found. The lintel of a door, the gable end of 
 some building, the curve of a bridge arch, the capital of a 
 pillar, — everything worthy of notice delighted him. And 
 he much preferred to admire than to criticise, or to compare 
 unfavorably, although he could do both when truth de- 
 manded it of him. A very favorite quotation with him was 
 Dogberry's "comparisons are odorous." 
 
 In a letter written November 8 from Princeton to his 
 father is an intimation that his thoughts have turned toward 
 a trip to Europe. 
 
 McKinley writes me that Rogers goes to Boston in a few days, 
 and at his return will go up to Harrisburg to give bonds and 
 draw the funds — probably about New Year. I feel thankful 
 that Providence has thus provided me means for the future, 
 especially as it gives me for the first time solid expectations of 
 travelling in Europe; and not less because it will free me from 
 distressing anticipations of being burdensome to my dear Father. 
 
 The survey payments to assistants, coming from State 
 funds, were always uncertain as to time; and many were 
 the periods of anxiety, and many the practical straits to which 
 the youthful surveyors and geologists were put while waiting 
 for their hard-earned wage. My father seems to have partly, 
 perhaps chiefly, paid for his theological course out of his 
 three summers of work on the State Survey, and the trip 
 
48 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, iv 
 
 to Europe was also accomplished by the same means. My 
 grandfather seemed always ready to help with money when- 
 ever he suspected the least need for it; but he had a large 
 family of younger children, and it was but natural that 
 Peter, the oldest son, should dislike to be a burden to his 
 already overworked, and most generous of fathers. 
 
 In this same letter he speaks of "communing" with the 
 different sects in Princeton, — Episcopalian, Methodist, Con- 
 gregational, and Dutch Reform, — adding, "And would like 
 to complete the circle of Christian evangelical liberty with 
 our good brethren the Baptists, but fear there is no hope 
 of that unless I go under the wave and put on the coat of 
 thorns." The Puseyites he seriously objects to, but has 
 the highest admiration for Dr. Hare, the Episcopal clergy- 
 man. 
 
 Princeton, Dec. i, 1843. To his Stepmother. 
 
 Messrs. Baird and Santell have been with us this morning 
 and enlightened us, as they all do, on the subject of European 
 affairs. To tell you all Mr. Baird told us exceeds my powers 
 both of memory and patience; but a few things it will be pleas- 
 ant for you to hear. Last evening he gave us sketches of the 
 character of the Duchess of Orleans and Count Gasparin. The 
 former you know was queen heir apparent, and now by the 
 death of her husband is mother of the young heir apparent. She 
 is a pious Protestant and still is allowed to keep the management 
 of the education of her two boys. The latter is a young man 
 of the most brilliant talents and eloquence, and the most ardent 
 piety. Last winter he first took his seat in the Chamber of Dep- 
 uties, the only pious man among five hundred, and spoke re- 
 peatedly for the cause of Christ and Liberty with the greatest 
 boldness. You know that Napoleon's revolution of 1802-03 
 established Protestantism on equal footing with Romanism and 
 Judaism. The Papists never forgave Bonaparte, but were awed 
 by his despotism and popularity. 
 
 During the reign of the two brother Bourbons, Louis XVIII. 
 and Charles X., they obtained most of their lost power, and to 
 crush the newly regained power of the Papists was the chief object 
 of the Revolution of 1830 under Lafayette, Lafitte, and other 
 infidels and some few Protestants. They succeeded after a three 
 days' battle. Lafayette on his way to the Chamber on the morn- 
 ing of the Choice of a Constitution, stopped and spent an hour 
 
i843 PRINCETON ' 49 
 
 with our Reeves of Va. to ask his advice. Reeves advised him 
 to put up a Constitutional King. Lafayette was for a Repubhc 
 though he was pretty well convinced that the French nation 
 was not fit for one, "for," said he, "if we set up a King, what will 
 our friends in America say?" (He always considered himself 
 one-half an' American, and considered this country the first one 
 on earth.) Reeves told him all the good and wise knew the 
 state of the case and would praise him. Lafayette went, and 
 though they were all ready to make him president of a republic, 
 perhaps for life, in one hour's time Louis Philippe was King of 
 France. 
 
 No one has any idea of the immense genius, profound prac- 
 tical knowledge of men and letters, and energy of character 
 which Louis had before he was raised to a throne. He was con- 
 sidered also a friend to constitutional liberty. But in two weeks' 
 time Lafayette had reason to suspect him and in twelve months 
 left him altogether. In 1835 Lafayette said publicly that had he 
 known the King would have so blasted the hopes of the friends of 
 Liberty, he would have died before making him King. The 
 first year, 1831, he [Louis Philippe] tried to get Paris fortified 
 for his own security, as he distrusted the affection of the Prot- 
 estants, yet they were the very ones who held him on the throne 
 and the Papists were his worst enemies. The Archbishop of 
 Paris wouldn't go near him. When in 1840 France was all in a 
 blaze of indignation at England's interference in the Levant, an 
 army of 500,000 men was raised and 80,000 horses imported and 
 Louis Philippe cimningly took advantage of it to fortify Paris 
 and Lyons, the two cities hardest to govern. Fourteen forts are 
 nearly completed around the latter and Paris will have 2000 
 cannon on its walls in two years. The anger of the Protestants 
 and Liberals at being deceived excited them to secret societies, 
 to attempts on the King's life, and a total rupture with him. Louis 
 turned round and wooed the Papists. A young talented friend 
 of his from the lower clergy was (according to Nap's celebrated 
 concordat with the Pope) made Archbishop of Paris, and now 
 1000 or 1500 Jesuits (who are forbidden the soil by law) are in 
 France without disguise. The late dreadful blows in private 
 and public have had some effect upon the King's mind and much 
 upon the Queen's, and been taken advantage of by the priests 
 (who point to them as judgments of heaven) to instigate L. P. 
 to decided measures for Rome. A law forbidding more than 
 twenty to meet without permission of a magistrate, passed with 
 an express limitation (unhappily unengrossed) to political meet- 
 
50 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, iv 
 
 ings, is brought to bear on Protestant missionary labor, and 
 Guizot doesn't hesitate to say in the chamber, that the Government 
 thinks it due to past times and present affairs, that France should 
 become defender of the faith and do for Papist missionary sta- 
 tions abroad what England does for Protestant. 
 
 When the cannons are on the walls, L. Ph. may cast by the 
 constitution, annul the Protestant estabhshment Charter, and 
 persecute the Protestants, who look for the worst. Then a 
 revolution returns as a matter of course. So stands the case now 
 in France. 
 
 Washington Irving and other men now in France think 
 that the result of the revolution in Spain will be a kind of 
 confederated republic, as no monarch can be got to suit all 
 parts of Spain. Europe presents a most remarkable spectacle. 
 Twenty-five years of peace have not removed the scars of twenty- 
 five previous years of war, and therefore 1,500,000 men trained 
 in war and ready for war, are living without war, and without 
 a prospect of it for long time to come. To show how anxiously 
 their fear (?) is upheld Mr. B. told us an anecdote: when in Paris 
 three years ago, a friend (envoy of some German State) called 
 on him and said he had just been with the prime minister (Thiers) 
 whom he found greatly agitated with the news of a quarrel be- 
 tween England and Naples about the sulphur trade. Express- 
 ing his astonishment, Thiers replied, " Don't you see, if England 
 sends a fleet upon Naples, there will be an insiurrection all through 
 the kingdom at once — which will spread throughout Italy (for 
 Italy is Hke a sleeping volcano) and then Austria will march an 
 army to precipitate it. Italy, and of course France, will march 
 one to meet hers, and all Europe will be at once embroiled." . . . 
 Much more Mr. B. told us which I would hke to rehearse to 
 you, but cannot. I know with what interest Father receives any 
 hint, however slight, which goes to throw light on the affairs of 
 Europe. 
 
 When I go over next fall, I hope to be able to transmit you 
 more extensive though not half so correct a budget as that which 
 Mr. B. has given us. 
 
 Later in this letter he mentions Trumbull, whom I sup- 
 pose to have been the David Trumbull, a fellow-student in 
 the seminary, who was throughout life a very dear friend, al- 
 though they only met at intervals of many years. David, 
 after leaving the seminary, married and settled in Valpa- 
 
i844 PRINCETON 51 
 
 raiso, where he spent the remainder of a long life in mis- 
 sionary labors in that distant field. 
 
 Jan. 9, 1844. To HIS Stepmother. 
 
 I have just given threepence for a gold pen, so you may cal- 
 culate the amount of gold upon it. I intend to dedicate it to you 
 in a grave epistle upon Grahamites, CampbeUites, and Father's 
 misdemeanors, throwing in a conundrum for the boys, for good 
 measure. ... I am as busy as a bee, but find time for eating and 
 sleeping as usual, both which I execute in a masterful manner. 
 Poor fellows; had the students at Lane eschewed Graham and 
 obeyed nature, which, by filling the North with game and the 
 South with fruit, prompts and enables us in temperate climes to 
 partake reasonably of both, we would not have had such sad 
 news brought us. I suppose you have heard through the papers 
 that seven or eight students of Lane Seminary have died of Typhus 
 Fever. Only one of those attacked escaped, and he was known to 
 have occasionally eaten a little meat. Fevers of typhoid character 
 are usual in institutions of learning, I am told. Indeed most 
 of the deaths are by them. The constitution runs down, and 
 poverty or a mistaken economy, or even a perverted sense of 
 duty, induces low living, and the students become victims to the 
 first severe fever which attacks them. 
 
 You have perhaps heard also of the important discussion at 
 Lexington, Kent'y, between Mr. Rice and Alex Campbell, the 
 old and celebrated father of the CampbeUites. The discussion 
 has excited the greatest interest, and done, no doubt of it, much 
 good. It lasted sixteen days. Six questions were alternately 
 affirmed and denied by the combatants, who spoke four hours 
 each day, and three hours on four nights. 
 
 The large church was crowded most of the time although the 
 weather was bad. Campbell was confident of victory, and 
 preached his arguments from elaborately written papers. The 
 subjects were Baptism, and the work of the Holy Spirit. ... [A 
 description of Campbell's teaching and his defeat in this argu- 
 mentative battle with Mr. Rice follows.] 
 
 But I must leave a little room for Father's annihilation. 
 It is in vain for him to expect to do anything quietly. He was 
 seen to take notes in a certain church in yth St. ! Doctor Hare 
 was told that Mr. Lesley was among his audience and took notes. 
 Horribile dictui — Dr. Hare didn't exactly make use of that ex- 
 pression, but he laughed, and said it was an imfortunate Ser- 
 
52 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, iv 
 
 mon, but consoled himself that there was nothing in it which 
 offended charity. . . . But I would humbly advise that Father 
 give Mr. Hare notice forehand next time, or else when sermon 
 begins hold up his lead-pencil. . . . 
 
 My pen doesn't work well, but I must give the boys the 
 conundrum. I won't vouch for the poetry as it comes second- 
 hand and by memory. 
 
 "When to this world I first appeared. 
 My clothing it was red: 
 And what may seem more stranger still, 
 I was born without a head. 
 
 My parents were by nature hard, 
 
 For pity they had none. 
 They left me without hand to feed. 
 
 And without feet to run. 
 
 In thickness I am but a straw, 
 
 And not a finger's length. 
 Yet I defy the stoutest man 
 
 To equal me in strength. 
 
 Before I changed my robes of red, 
 
 And put on one of black, 
 You could not by yourself alone 
 
 Have raised me from my back. 
 
 But since unto my slender frame 
 
 United is my head. 
 My weight does not come up by far 
 
 Unto an ounce of lead." 
 
 Very decent backwoods poetry — isn't it, Father, as you're the 
 family judge. Now, boys, do your "Yallerest" as the hunters 
 told me when I tried their rifles. . . . 
 
 I am awaiting a letter from Rogers to determine me when 
 to see you again. Only four months remain of the Term. Had 
 anybody told me ten years ago when I commenced study, that 
 I should be only so far up the hill — I would have "squatted" 
 at its foot in despair. But Luther didn't know when he scolded 
 Tetzel that the end would be to blaspheme the Pope. 
 
i844 PRINCETON 53 
 
 February 5. To his Father. 
 
 But the chief matter of interest among us now is the revival 
 of religion which has been sent among us. The Lord of hearts is 
 moving many, and I hope a great many. . . . 
 
 February 7. To his Aunt Anna Wilson. 
 
 A revival has commenced and is going on in Princeton, and 
 I watch it with the more interest because I never before was where 
 I could see the movements of such a time both external and in- 
 ternal. ... It began with the unexpected conversion of a store- 
 keeper by means of Dr. Hodge's "Way of Life," left open on 
 the mantel-piece at his house. ... It is not only a happy time, 
 but a solemn one; in fact it seems to me as if people almost 
 feared to talk aloud about it, and had a kind of dread on them; 
 as if some great thing had happened or was about to happen. 
 And it is a great thing indeed. . . . But it can't be that our Saviour 
 only does good to his church by starts ; surely his eye is on us al- 
 ways, and on you and me and all his children, each one by him- 
 self. 
 
 During the spring he was in great uncertainty as to his 
 summer plans. Professor Rogers wrote urging him to again 
 join the Geological Survey Corps, and he seems at one time 
 to have very nearly decided to do so. But evidently his 
 desire for foreign travel and for theological studies in Ger- 
 many prevailed, and he writes from New York on May 
 17, 1844, the following letter to his father just before setting 
 sail for Europe: — 
 
 I write from George's table [a cousin George Ball perhaps] 
 with the children around. I received your two packets of letters^ 
 one to Edinburgh and two to London and Paris ; for which I thank 
 you; also the $10 enclosed. . . . Dr. Baird gave me this afternoon 
 twenty-one letters to persons in various directions, among others 
 to Monod, D'Aubigny, Tholuck, and Neander. He says some 
 to Italy shall be ready for me to-morrow. I am thankful I hope 
 to all such good friends for sending me off under so favorable 
 auspices, and most of all to you, dear Father, for training me up 
 in the way I should go, causing me to make such friends, and 
 making and assuring others by your own character. . . . 
 
 This is a good boat with a clean Captain (so G. says), and 
 has but three passengers in the 2nd cabin, and thirty-three in all. 
 
54 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, iv 
 
 1 expect to sail to-morrow noon — if it don't rain. Went to-day 
 to see Col. Voorhees. Found his works — the great Atlantic 
 Docks progressing rapidly, and the foundations of several stores 
 
 2 2 by 20 (walls three feet thick) laid. The piers are 150 feet 
 wide and the stores in the middle, leaving a street on each front. 
 I am told that the Great Britain Steamer stands on the stocks, 
 because forsooth the opening of the docks is too small for her 
 egress! Robinson Crusoe must be her owner's favorite author, 
 one would suppose. Two plans remain — one to carry her over 
 the dock piers — the other to widen the opening at the risk of 
 flooding the cellars of all the warehouses round the dock. . . . New 
 York is already and will in a few years be pre-eminently the 
 Gothic City. I know nothing which will afford you a richer 
 treat than going round its circle of fine churches, comparing 
 them with each other and with the unsightly results of the false 
 architectural taste of the last and beginning of the present cen- 
 tury, as exhibited in our public buildings — in England and 
 America. But although the variety, richness and beauty of their 
 Gothic Structures is very great, none that I have yet seen equals 
 that which I met within Brooklyn this afternoon (Dr. Stone's). 
 Its architecture is perfect. I did not detect a flaw in it. It is 
 absolutely a perfect and a very beautiful specimen of that style. — 
 But — I am not yet a traveller, and must not begin the long yarns 
 which are fated to put your patience to so severe a test. Every- 
 body talks of the riots — nobody understands them. Here, their 
 military organization is perfect. The Colonel of the Regiment 
 of National Guards is sheriff. Their Mayor is a good-natured, 
 decided, courageous man. When they had their violent meet- 
 ings some time ago — nobody said nay to them, but it always 
 happened that the volunteers were parading on those days, until 
 at their last meeting one furious speaker complained publicly 
 and bitterly that the gleam of muskets was always within view 
 of their meetings. The consequence was there was no trouble 
 and can be none. At seven taps of the city beU the troops of 
 the whole city are under arms and marching to Rendezvous. 
 
 Sat. morning, Wind E., received still another package from 
 Prof. Henry — passage paid, and all ready. . . . 
 
 Very affectionately, dear Father, 
 
 Yours, Peter. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 First Trip to Europe 
 
 In 1844 a trip to Europe was no such slight matter as 
 it is in these days, when ocean steamers by the dozen cross 
 and recross the water daily. To a young man of my father's 
 ardent and imaginative type it was a great event; and his 
 previous life had well fitted him to enjoy its pleasures and 
 advantages to the full. He returned to his native country 
 at the end of a year with his mind filled with beautiful im- 
 ages and his intellectual views of life widened by contact 
 with foreign peoples and intercourse with several of the finest 
 philosophical minds of the time. I believe that his inten- 
 tion in going abroad was not only to profit by foreign travel 
 in general, but more especially to fit himself by a thorough 
 study of German for preaching to the poor and ignorant 
 "Pennsylvania Dutch" of the regions through which his 
 geological work in the previous summers had led him. 
 
 To this end he had wished to travel to Europe in the 
 steerage of a sailing ship, but his careful father, more prac- 
 tically wise and free from this particular enthusiasm, per- 
 suaded him to be content with the second cabin. The ship 
 was laden with cotton and turpentine, and the second cabin 
 was a space some fourteen or fifteen feet square, taken out 
 from among the cotton bales (which thus formed its side 
 walls), and lined with wooden bunks. This cabin was 
 reached by a hatchway, and must have been entirely with- 
 out other light than that from above. If the second cabin 
 was like this, it is hard to imagine the steerage accommo- 
 dations. In this little space were gathered a small but 
 miscellaneous company. My father used to tell us that his 
 nearest companions were a good-natured old Irishwoman 
 in the bunk below his, and a lame boy in that next his feet. 
 This cabin he found on trial to be a quite sufficient expe- 
 rience of humble life to satisfy his democratic convictions; 
 
 55 
 
56 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 and he returned a year later as "first-class" as possible, 
 but with unimpaired determination for his chosen career 
 in the service of the poor and ignorant. 
 
 He brought back with him seven closely written manu- 
 script volumes, giving a minute and careful account of his 
 daily joumeyings and experiences; and, as much of this 
 travelling was done on foot and off the beaten track, and 
 as he interspersed among his written accounts delightful 
 sketches of scenery and architecture and of geological 
 and topographical views, these volumes form an unusually 
 interesting record of a year's travel before railroads and 
 steamboats had done away with tranquil and unhurried 
 sight-seeing, 
 
 I shall try to extract from these volumes only such portions 
 as seem unhackneyed, and also such as show his own par- 
 ticular penchants or traits of character. 
 
 The first part of his foreign stay was spent in England 
 and France, whence he passed through Switzerland into 
 Germany. There in the autunm he established himself 
 for a few months at Halle, to study German and to listen 
 to the lectures of some of the great German Protestant theo- 
 logians. It is to be remembered that at this period of his 
 life my father was a theologian in fact and in intention, and 
 had no thought but to follow his chosen profession through 
 life. In his travelhng on foot through France, he takes much 
 note of the French Protestant faith, and, whenever he can 
 attend the services of its pastors, he does so. No doubt, 
 unconsciously to himself, the daily contact with Catholi- 
 cism was modifying his Protestant Orthodoxy, but many 
 words here and there written in his journal bespeak the ardent 
 Protestant abhorring the things of Rome and deploring 
 her supremacy. 
 
 Running parallel with this theological interest is his 
 already keen intelligence concerning scientific (especially 
 geological) facts, and his ever-present delight in architecture. 
 We fmd sketched there a bit of moulding or the capital of 
 a pillar, and there an outcrop or profile of some hillside; 
 here the span of a stone bridge, and there an item of topog- 
 raphy; and the next page may be half -covered with out- 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 57 
 
 landish peasant caps and hats, or some queer cart or wagon; 
 here a "Druid barrow," and there a bit of ruin overhanging 
 a fertile river valley. I would that it were possible to repro- 
 duce these sketches as they stand, and much more of the text 
 than will be now appropriate. 
 
 My father seems to have sent parts of this journal to the 
 Presbyterian, published in New York and Philadelphia, for 
 I find thirteen articles written to that paper pasted into the 
 back of the said journal. 
 
 I have thought best to skip the descriptions of the long 
 voyage, and of his few weeks in England, and begin with 
 the most noteworthy parts of his stay on the Continent. 
 
 The month which he spent in Paris was of great interest 
 to him. Paris was at that time, as he used to tell us, one of 
 the quaintest cities in Europe, full of narrow and crooked 
 streets and old buildings. What he most enjoyed was to 
 walk through parts of the town least frequented by fashion 
 and the ordinary line of travellers, where he could observe 
 the native population, their occupations and methods of 
 living. He loved to cross the bridges at morn and eve with 
 the crowd of ouvriers coming to and returning from their 
 work; to sit on the quays and watch the life on the river; 
 to haunt the second-hand book-stalls and the markets; to 
 watch the children at play in the parks; to wander again 
 and again through the churches, seeing each time more 
 beauty in the whole, and new loveliness in the details; to 
 listen to lectures in the various courses on science and art, 
 for which Paris is famous, — ^in short, to go everywhere where 
 the people congregated, observing, meditating, dreaming, 
 philosophizing, and also sympathizing with the joys and 
 sorrows of the workers everywhere. He had his youthful 
 prejudices, and at this time saw dangers and wickedness in 
 things which in later life seemed to him innocent enough, 
 and sometimes even admirable. 
 
 I think this month in Paris gave him a love for the place 
 which returned again in later life with renewed force, when 
 he spent other months there with his daughters. 
 
 He also made use of this period to study French ac- 
 tively, and by the time he started out on his travels through 
 
58 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 the country he was able to speak and understand sufficiently 
 well, though he never was able to express himself in French 
 with the fluency which he acquired in German. 
 
 Foreign Journal 
 
 Wednesday, July 10, 1844. — In Paris everybody does what he 
 likes. It is a place of the most perfect sansculottian liberty. 
 The laborer goes along in the morning, loaf in hand, munching 
 his breakfast to save his time. The gentleman fills his hands 
 with cherries or gooseberries and sits on a post beside the canal 
 to eat them while he rests. You enter a church and tho' mass 
 be saying, you see strangers or citizens walking about with per- 
 fect nonchalance, gazing at the vaults or examining the pictures. 
 You go into the Palais Royal or the gardens and see parties 
 taking tea in the midst and under the surveillance of a crowd, 
 without heeding it a bit. You enter a restaiuant or cafe, and it 
 is filled with ladies dining in public and calling for what they 
 want upon the garfons in waiting. Young ladies without bon- 
 nets will guide you along a square if you are in search of a 
 boarding-house under their direction. 
 
 Seeing all this in daily operation, one soon learns to do like- 
 wise, nor wonders any more at the ease with which a people 
 move and act and speak in foreign lands who live so completely 
 in public when at home. ... 
 
 ... I mentioned Breguet's name. I called on him on Tues- 
 day. He showed me some beautiful little machines, and invited 
 me to dine with him on Friday, — the only such invitation I have 
 had from any one in Europe. I breakfasted with Professor 
 Graham. We had much difficulty in conversing, as he spoke 
 worse English than I do French, which is venturing to say a 
 great deal. 
 
 The three machines which I saw were these. First his metal- 
 lic spiral thermometer, which dotted down every hour on a silver 
 plate the exact temperature at the moment (and another experi- 
 mental one in which he has tried to combine with this a thermo- 
 pile to dot down the simultaneous temperature of the aerial vapors 
 — i.e. to get the dew point). Another was one for determining 
 the question whether light was emanation or an oscillation. . . . The 
 other machine interested me very much because of its striking 
 resemblance to one described by Professor Henry to the Centen- 
 nial of the Phil. Soc. at Philadelphia last spring. It is to mark 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 59 
 
 the velocity of a projectile (sent through successive screens) at 
 the various points on its course. [These machines are described 
 at much length, and with many sketches and diagrams.] 
 
 ... It seems to be an object of government to make all the 
 French, soldiers. Hence the multitudes of public military evolu- 
 tions. I foimd ten or fifteen squads of soldiers, embracing from 
 three to thirty men each, going through a course of drilling and 
 sacreing, under as many officers. The drill seemed to be pretty 
 severe and the performance (altho' it called for tremendous 
 vociferation and spring freshets of French) admirable. Yet I 
 had an opportunity of seeing some on a march yesterday. I 
 met them outside the fortifications. They were in double file 
 winding along the road running along the outside of the lines. 
 And they went very free and easy in a hop, skip and jump sort 
 of way, as different as could be from the stiff formal tread of 
 our volunteer troops. I liked it. It looked like a piece of that 
 part of the French character which I admire so much — their 
 naturalness. . . . 
 
 Sabbath, July 14, 1844. — ^The best I have spent since leaving 
 America. In the morning I walked along the Rue St. Honore 
 to the Wesleyan Chapel. It was not open yet and I stepped 
 into the Madeleine where a splendid service had collected an im- 
 mense crowd. Each paid something to men at the railing before 
 going into that part of the church where they were seated. ... A 
 splendid female voice rose and fell in luxurious modulations amid 
 the roar of a great choir and a powerful organ. 
 
 From all this I turned away and entered the little room, in a 
 hurry, near by, where fifty or sixty people soon collected to wor- 
 ship God "in spirit and in truth." It is by such contrasts one 
 comes to realize the state of things in Papist lands. When I go 
 into a great church, I see at a glance that all the wealth of the 
 nation is devoted to the Papal idolatry; when I wait there and see 
 a never-ceasing stream of comers and goers, the rich and the poor, 
 at all hours of the day and in all weather, and watch them bow 
 and cross themselves, even men in whose countenances of open 
 manliness, intelligence shines too clearly to be mistaken — I wonder 
 indeed at the strange perversion of the intellect, — but I must also 
 confess that the nation's heart is devoted to the Papal idolatry. 
 The Lord further the good reformation which they say is in prog- 
 ress in France! 
 
 I heard Mr. Touse (?) preach in English. The service of 
 the Wesleyans is that of the Church of England, but I find here 
 
6o LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 they sing a verse or a hymn before the opening exhortation 
 "Dearly beloved brethren," etc. . . , 
 
 The sermon was excellent, full of strength and warm with 
 piety. He too, like the preacher of the last Sabbath, dwelt much 
 on the general love of the brethren without distinction of sect. 
 Ah, soldiers of different regiments, in the same army, do not care 
 much to learn each other's number when they are fighting to- 
 gether side by side in the heart of the enemy's camp. At the 
 close a collection was taken up for the ministry of the Society 
 in France and among the Alps (in other words, as I guessed the 
 matter, for colporteurs, etc.). . . . 
 
 ... As I was too early and knew not where to go, I kept 
 on to the Arc d'Etoile and sat on one of its plinths. I thought 
 of its object and its hero, its architect and its admirers. I could 
 almost fancy myself in bloody Rome, going forth like a she-wolf 
 at evening and returning to store up the bones of her gnawed 
 victims in her den. How many half unintelligible thoughts follow 
 one another at such times and places — mostly painful. I cannot 
 take enthusiastic pleasure in these "monuments.". . . 
 
 . . . Here is this great structure: art is lavished upon it to 
 make it beautiful; but it is made hideous by having engraved 
 upon every stone within and without the name of some hero who 
 has killed his thousands, or some place where thousands were 
 killed. Its numerous statues are all of war; its reliefs all speak 
 of war; war made the man who raised it great, and every stroke 
 of the hammers lifted upon its countless stones was only the com- 
 memorating, and recording echo of sorhe groan from the countless 
 victims of his enormous crimes. Crimes too in which the nation 
 partakes, because to their glory they have raised this arch, and 
 when they pass under it they read with exultation and delight 
 the recital it yields of their magnitude and atrocity. 
 
 Monday, July 15, 1844. — ... It is bad enough walking along 
 the streets of Paris on any day, but when it rains it is an abomi- 
 nable job. The paves are so narrow that one soon learns the prac- 
 tical meaning of the old phrase "to give the wall"; in almost 
 every instance it is to take the street. ... In fact the whole street 
 arrangement of every part of Paris, except in the newer parts, to 
 the West and North, is one for riders and not for walkers. It 
 scarcely consults the convenience of the latter class in the least, 
 and leaves them to protect their own persons as they may. If 
 they are hurt, there are houses with signs over the door in many 
 quarters of the city, where Secours pour les Blesses can be had, 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 6l 
 
 at the public expense I believe. They are connected in some way 
 with the guard-houses of the Gendarmerie. 
 
 The explanation of this state of things is at hand in the past 
 history of France and indeed of all Europe. Those who rode 
 were lords in silken hose ; those who walked were slaves in wooden 
 shoes or hobnail boots. In a village we passed through on the 
 road from Amiens, I saw a woman climb into a window to escape 
 being crushed by the side of the diligence, and here in Paris I 
 have been alarmed more than once at my peril in turning corners 
 where the narrow trottoir ceased and gave place to a large stone 
 set upright against the corner to keep off the broad cart-wheels 
 from coming in contact with its brick edge. . . . 
 
 Wednesday, July 17, 1844. — Yesterday morning after my old 
 gentleman [his French teacher] had made his bow, I went through 
 the rain to attend the lecture on Chimie at the Jardin des Plantes. 
 It rained steadily. There were scarce a dozen there, seated 
 at the bottom of the great amphitheatre lecture-room. M. C. 
 lectured. 
 
 ... 12 ocl. approached, we made for that noble dernier ressort, 
 the Musee Royal. When I went into its immense suite of rooms, 
 hung with a vista of splendid pictures, and looked and walked 
 for hours, I conceived that I knew somewhat of the greatness 
 and glories of the Louvre. Afterwards I met a friend who asked 
 me if I had seen the statuary. I told him no, and went again, 
 and saw a second suite of rooms as vast and splendid as the 
 first, and then I thought I had exhausted the Louvre. . . . 
 
 . . . No! not yet. The corner room was filled like the rest 
 with paintings and designs of the masters, and in its centre stood 
 an enormous globe with massive brass mountings; but turning 
 once more to the left we saw yet another vista — more rooms filled 
 ail like the rest with inexhaustible — inestimable treasures. . . . 
 
 . . . Such is Paris to the stranger: a Louvre inexhaustible; 
 where new objects are ever unexpectedly arising to . excite his 
 wonder or gratify his taste. Such is the Musee Royal — a place 
 the like of which I could not have believed the world con- 
 tained. The British Museum is wonderful, but this is more 
 wonderful. . . . 
 
 July 18. — Boon came at eleven o'clock, and we sallied out, 
 — visited the museum of Dupuytren, and that of the Ecole de 
 Medecine, both filled with anatomical preparations, instruments 
 and imitations of diseased parts of the frame. I never would 
 
62 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 have believed that flesh was heir to so dreadful, complicated and 
 numerous ills. . . . 
 
 Nothing is more striking to a foreigner in Paris (and I am 
 told it is still more so further east) than the fact that the streets 
 are filled with a crowd, whose exact rank in society it is the easiest 
 matter to determine. With us every one is a gentleman; and if a 
 man or boy is seen shabbily dressed in the streets, we say at once, 
 oh, he is at work. Here the people generally are not only at work, 
 but wear a garb habitually which determines them to be working- 
 men — the working class. Yet they do not seem to do one-half 
 as much as our citizens; they seem to be an amusement -loving, 
 labor -hating people; loungers by nature first and second. They 
 will lie down in the open streets and sleep like negroes in the sun. 
 On the contrary the women seem to be active and industrious 
 beyond their sex. The streets teem with them; they carry bur- 
 dens, drag carts, drive donkeys, sit in the stores, rule in cafes, 
 and in short are everywhere doing everything and exhibiting a 
 powerful, well-made, large and good-looking frame, an indomi- 
 table spirit and a patient endurance which has often impressed 
 me with the odd desire to see them make an assault upon and 
 drive to their homes the gray-coated ranks of whipper-snappers, 
 whose muskets and big swords play such a conspicuous part in 
 the panorama of every street and every garden in this braggadocio 
 Paris. ... 
 
 . . . We went on to Notre Dame, which Boon had never en- 
 tered before. Every time I open the doors and find myself 
 under those immense arches, between those immense reeded tower 
 piers an awe descends upon my spirit and I move forward into 
 the nave and look up and around, and it all looks vaster, nobler, 
 more awful than the time before. One needs to return, again 
 and again, to those great churches and become accustomed to 
 them. New objects are detected and absorbed again within the 
 whole at every visit, and the idea becomes gradually perfect. 
 
 Saturday, July 20, 1844. — [Here we see the Paris of the days 
 before Baron Haussmann.] The neighborhood of the Ecole de 
 Medecine is a very quiet old neighborhood, full of alleys and 
 courts and ^'Impasses" from the sides of which rise stalks of 
 tall houses of a gray or drab color, bent and curved and angular, 
 standing in all relations to the streets and to each other, and 
 sometimes speaking very intelligibly of the olden time. But these 
 kinds of houses are not confined to the neighborhood. In the 
 direction of St. Sulpice and St. Germain des Pres, and in the 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 63 
 
 direction opposite that of the Pantheon and St. Medard, many- 
 such are to be seen. The strangeness of the houses is not so 
 apparent until one looks upward towards the roof. Some of 
 them indeed have great doorways and barred windows below, 
 and some have lanterns at the corners like the poops of ancient 
 ships, and some of these display much taste and deserve to be 
 called even beautiful. I saw one to-day which hung in the most 
 picturesque manner to the corner of a large castle-like house in 
 the Rue Jacob. It was square, and its bases supported by highly 
 ornamented and sculptured corbels or brackets. . . . 
 
 July 23 . — . . . Returning I stopped to see some more Murillos 
 and found one gem, a little boy stooping on the seashore with a 
 shell in his hand, but looking up with the most artless, natural 
 expression in the world, in the face of a mitred man who seems 
 to be wondering at something the child has done or said. If I 
 were called upon to point out the paintings which please me most 
 in the Musee Royal, I would say first Raphael's head, sometimes 
 called "the student"; second the child in this picture of Murillo; 
 third Raphael's St. — on the dragon's fin; fourth Vernet's sea 
 scene; fifth the great painting of Napoleon at Eylau. Then 
 came a hundred — and then a thousand — and after that two or 
 three thousand and so on. 
 
 July 24, 1844. — The idlers I saw yesterday, riding about the 
 Invalides in their voitures, and sitting under the trees in the Luxem- 
 bourg; the "ouvriers" I saw to-day passing in a thick, incessant 
 procession across the bridge at Notre Dame, from their homes in 
 the S. E. parts of the old city, over across the Isle de la Cite, 
 into the business thoroughfares north of the Seine. It was a 
 pretty and curious sight. Hundreds and hundreds of them came 
 thronging on, along the quay walks from as far up the river as 
 I could see, while others emerging from the various streets 
 abutting on the river, were also bending their steps toward the 
 bridge — one by which they could cross free. Men with coats 
 half on and bread under their arms or carrying implements of 
 labor; — women with willow corbs behind their backs, or with 
 brooms in their hands or baskets; porters with their frames 
 between their shoulders; girls and boys — all trudging along in 
 squads and lines, talking and laughing as they went, passed over 
 and round the front of the great church as it stood in the gray 
 subdued light of the early clouded sky, seemingly quite regardless 
 that these were they who filled its immense aisles on their solemn 
 
64 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 festivals. It rather seemed intent upon its own higher things 
 and thoughts, as it reached aloft its double head and gazed abroad 
 over the yet half-sleeping city. 
 
 I know not a more interesting walk than to go about 4.30 or 
 5 o'clock along some thoroughfare of Paris until you reach the 
 Seine, and then stand upon one of the bridges — say Pont Neuf — 
 and watch the young sunlight lighting up with sidelong rays the 
 Eastern front of the Louvre, and the more open and bolder face 
 of the palace on the Quai Conti, with its central pediment and 
 screen of columns, gleaming from the glass on the summit of 
 the dome of the Institute, while the Jong line of Tuileries is yet 
 in shade, and the wonderful Arc d'Etoile afar off stands hke a 
 thought just taking substance and a visible form in the misty air 
 of the West. Then to go along the quais of the Isle de la Cite, 
 and be charmed anew with the phantom of that solitary Tower 
 of the vanished church across the river, and pass on from bridge 
 to bridge, standing awhile under the round and ancient towers 
 of the Palais de Justice, or opposite the tall square tower at its 
 end — and stopping to admire the rejuvenized beauty of the Hotel 
 de Ville and the tall roof of the church of St. Antoine looking 
 down upon it from the East: and so going round past the sus- 
 pension bridge of Louis Philippe with its large central pier on 
 the point of the Isle de St. Louis, and the elegant little Gothic 
 suspension bridge a hundred steps beyond— until Notre Dame 
 rises before you on the right, with its beautiful arches and majes- 
 tic buttresses, lying like a sleeping lion in the greatness of its 
 might. . . . 
 
 . , . Paris is full of wonders — at least such as are wonders to 
 one of the Savages from the United States of America. . . . After- 
 wards I took my hat and went to the Bibliotheque Mazarin 
 where I saw some fine busts and vases. As I approached a bust 
 in a dark corner, at the first glance I exclaimed mentally "that's 
 old Benny." Sure enough; there was no mistaking the great 
 phiz. It was delightful to see the head of our philosopher in a 
 library of Paris. Among others I observed one of Azara who, 
 if his bust be a portrait indeed, must have been one of the hand- 
 somest men that ever lived. There is also here an immense 
 globe seven or eight feet through. There is some satisfaction in 
 studying geography or planning a tour on such a map. 
 
 But the great attraction here is a large collection of finely exe- 
 cuted models of the principal Cyclopean or Pelasgian structures 
 of southern Europe. Such as the arch at Arpinum, now Arpino. 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 65 
 
 The port or gate of the Acropolis at Tarentum, exhibiting the 
 successive styles of different ages. . . . 
 
 . . . On my way to the observatory I saw a crowd under 
 one of the rows of trees between the Luxembourg gardens and 
 the Observatoire Gate, and stepping up to it I soon learned 
 the meaning of the appellation Boulevards. The game had 
 two sides, apparently, like cricket, and began with rolling le 
 petit houle off in any direction. When it stopped, the large 
 balls (three inches through and ornamented with spots or stars 
 all over) were rolled after or towards it by the players, each 
 rolling two balls and the sides taking turns. The point was 
 gained, as in quoits, by the side whose ball or balls lay in next 
 the petit houle. Some of the players seemed to like a particular 
 kind of game best, and to take it for theirs; it consisted in "f rap- 
 pant" any of the opposite balls which lay so close in as to threaten 
 to take the game, and they would, instead of rolling their ball, 
 pitch it through the air on top of the ball which would otherwise 
 have won the game, but now, if struck fair, would be driven to 
 a great distance. The rolling balls were quite numerous — 
 perhaps twenty in number. When the last ball was rolled and 
 the point declared, the players all adjourned to the place where 
 the little ball lay, and one of them taking it up would roll it off 
 again in any direction and the game would continue. It was 
 quite exciting, for the ground of course was uneven, and it re- 
 quired a nice eye and a steady hand to make the houles take any 
 given direction with precision. . . . 
 
 Thursday, July 25, 1844. — Requested my French teacher to 
 come in future every day. We had a long talk about the places 
 he has been in as professor, or botanist, or visitor. . . . 
 
 There is a show of simple-hearted affection among all classes 
 of the French population which impresses a stranger with very 
 favorable ideas of their domestic life. The Americans are so 
 afraid of exhibiting emotion, that its repression in public by them 
 must injure its tone in private. Here freedom is in nothing more 
 apparent than in this. Men and women kiss in public, yet not 
 publicly. It is accomplished so delicately and dexterously, with 
 a complete absence of all the loud-laughing and bonnet-crushing 
 of boarding-school girls in America and England, at stage-coach 
 doors, etc., that if noticed at all it is but to be admired:— Boon 
 described to me a sight he enjoyed in the Champs Elysees 
 before one of the paAilion cafes on the Northern side of the avenue, 
 and did it as if his own feelings mingled with those which he 
 
66 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 described. A gentleman and lady — "they were lovers," said 
 he, "I know they were lovers" — were seated like hundreds of 
 others at one of the little tables under the trees; music came from 
 the balcony; lemonade stood beside them on the table; the seated 
 crowd talked and laughed and drank around them, but they 
 had no eyes nor ears but for each other. The lady was in grief 
 ■ — the gentleman was soothing her, taking her hands from her 
 face, and now and then whispering words of soft import to as- 
 suage the poignancy of her emotions, whatever they might be. 
 "It was charming — charming" — he exclaimed. "And was 
 no notice taken of it by others?" "Oh, no; everybody was 
 drinking their own lemonade and talking to their own wives 
 and children." Such is Parisian life in the evening. ... I went 
 to the Palais Royal; a crowd filled the upper part of the gardens 
 in front of the pavilion. . . . 
 
 . . . But my evening's search was for the children, nor was a 
 protracted search needful. There they were in a ring, a crowd of 
 delighted seniors among them, playing at a game, in which one 
 chased another alternately in and out of the circle. Their ingenu- 
 ous, artless countenances flushed with pleasure and exercise, their 
 ladylike manners and perfect decorum, with the unrestrained vi- 
 vacity which, as the offspring of this pleasure-loving, pleasure- 
 seeking people, they had to inherit, were delightful to behold. 
 I stood a half-hour watching the play of soul under those pretty 
 young masks, and smiling with unalloyed pleasure, as a hundred 
 others were doing also, at the happiness so unequivocally en- 
 joyed by these little ones. The French children are as generally 
 pretty and interesting as their mothers are the contrary. Tho' 
 their complexions are seldom quite clear and often are very 
 sallow, yet their benignity, cheerfulness and openness supply 
 the absence of all defects and render them exceedingly agree- 
 able. 
 
 When the little circle broke and scattered with the impromptu 
 rapidity with which everything is here done — for in matters of 
 amusement a French crowd seems actuated by a common instinct, 
 or at least by that telegraphic intelligence with which long habits 
 of crowding have provided them — I took a seat and employed 
 the rest of the evening observing the children's movements when 
 playing alone, or by two and three around the garden — with balls 
 and tops and hoops — winding undisturbed and unobtruding 
 thro' all the interstices of the crowds of older people, and paying 
 an extraordinary degree of attention to the wants and rights of 
 one another. There were also little ones in arms — or standing 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 67 
 
 by chairs, munching away at a kind of light cake rolled into a 
 cone, which seemed to be in great demand. . . . 
 
 Saturday, July 27, 1844. — First day of the fete des trois jours. 
 The bells of all the churches are going and high mass is saying 
 for the service of the victims of 1830. . . . 
 
 Monday, Jtdy 29, 1844. — The last great day of the Fete 
 opened at 6 o'clock with the firing of cannon at the Invalides. At 
 I o'clock Boon came for me and we went thither. . . . 
 
 ... But the King came at last, a short fat man in uniform 
 and not a voice or hand was raised, for the people are offended 
 with him for not redeeming his promises. And the Queen was 
 at his right, and Adelaide his sister at his left. Behind stood 
 the Dues de Nemours and Montpensier, and the king of the 
 Belgians, Leopold, Louis Philippe's brother-in-law. . . . 
 
 Tuesday, Jidy 30, 1844. — Began business, running round to 
 shop and after my passport, which I reclaimed at the ofl&ce of 
 the Prefecture of Police, and was directed to take a mile or two 
 off to the Hotel des Princes, where the bureau of our minister. 
 King, is at present. A gentlemanly young man, black, opened 
 the door and said Mr. King was just going out — and that the 
 passport hours (12-2) had expired. 
 
 What a sight for Frenchmen! Whether this man is a slave 
 or not, it makes little difference. Here comes to the Court of 
 Louis Philippe, to the City which is called the centre of the 
 world's civilization, an honorable ambassador for the United 
 States of America, the great and glorious Republic — the land 
 of Freedom. And when men enter his doors to greet him and 
 pay his country thro' him the honors it demands, the first object 
 they behold is the ambassador's slave. Even if he has freed him, 
 no matter, the lesson is the same. It might have been a slave 
 without libelling the American government. And yet since the 
 whites of the states are represented by a white Ambassador it 
 seems proper enough that the three millions of slaves should be 
 also represented in foreign courts, if for no other purpose than 
 to guarantee a perpetual tribute of reproach to our beloved 
 country from less highly favored lands. If slavery cannot be 
 removed from our own soil, at least let us not send forth men 
 who must thrust it under the very noses of foreign states. . . . 
 
 July 7,1st. — . . . Went this morning to M. Monod, who had 
 but five minutes to spare, and told me to get my trunk wrapped 
 
68 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 in straw and sent by a "roulage" — a, slow wagon (20-30 days 
 on the road) to Geneva. He gave me a note which I afterward 
 delivered at the office of the Society, and received a copy of the 
 instructions given to colporteurs and two memoranda by which 
 I can see the men a I'ceuvre. Their object is to have two men 
 in every one of the 86 departments of France — some depart- 
 ments are divided into 700 cantons. What a labor! I saw one 
 of their atlases in which is a separate map of every department, 
 and all its villages dovm — under each of which has been vis- 
 ited (i.e., every house in it) is dravra a red line; and then each 
 man makes his monthly report by mail of the cantons visited, 
 number of Bibles and Testaments sold, etc. 
 
 I went also and got my passport signed by Mr. Martin, Sec- 
 retary of Legation, but heard nothing of the letter I left yesterday 
 for Mr. King. I then took my passport to Meurice's Hotel, as 
 I was aware I would have much labor and many annoyances if 
 I attempted to get myself the signatures of the Ambassadors of 
 all the European states I mean to travel in. To do this is best, 
 since if they be not obtained here all at once, they must else- 
 where in many different places. I left my passport at the bureau 
 of the Hotel with a list of countries pinned on it, and am to call 
 for it on Friday afternoon. Two days at least are required. 
 Commissionaires are to be found in the streets, but I was deter- 
 mined the thing should be done right, and give me as littie trouble 
 and anxiety in future as possible. 
 
 Thursday, August i. — Made all my arrangements and packed 
 up; bought a trunk for 32 francs, etc. Evening, went and 
 called upon Elie de Beaumont, who received me politely in the 
 cheerless ofl&ce of his distillery (as I took it to be) behind the 
 Invalides, — but didn't invite me into his house. . . . He has a 
 ragged, wear and tear look. How our ungrounded anticipations 
 of men and things are deceived, when they come into presence! 
 I handed him the trace-paper draft of the Bear Gap Section which 
 I received last spring from Harrisburg. He handed it back when 
 he had looked at it, but when I half uttered an offer of it for his 
 acceptance, he drew in his hand with a rapidity which showed 
 he had been very desirous to retain it. He said it was very inter- 
 esting. He talks English very well for a Frenchman in Paris, 
 but I have remarked how purely Saxon they all talk. It is easily 
 accounted for, since all our monosyllables and most of the neces- 
 sary subjects of every-day conversation belong to that section 
 of our language. . . . 
 
ig44 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 69 
 
 Friday, August 2. — ... It was my intention to have left to- 
 morrow for Rouen, but Boon is in great trouble about not receiv- 
 ing answers from London to his letter to his agent there, and I 
 put it off till Monday. 
 
 At three o'clock I went, by appointment with M. Elie de 
 Beaumont, to the School of Mines, and saw his large and very 
 beautiful geological map of France. He then lent me four sec- 
 tions of its duplicate to take with me home to take notes from, — 
 a mark of confidence sufficiently strong, seeing he didn't know 
 even where I stayed in Paris. 
 
 I bought to-day a knapsack and a blouse, the first for 18, 
 the latter for 1 5 francs. The blouse is a fine dress, warm, pleas- 
 ant and picturesque (before it gets dirty and slouchy) and is 
 confined by a leather "ceinhcre" in folds to the waist. It is noth- 
 ing more or less than a hempen shirt, tight all round the skirt 
 and finished with two little pockets on the breasts. Some wear 
 a girdle of leather, double, with openings for purses as in the 
 East, looking and buckling very much like the circingle of a 
 horse. Genteel blouses are gray, and fashionable ones are frilled 
 and girt when made, like a woman's frock body. 
 
 My intention is to wear in very hot days only the blouse; 
 in morning and evening walks, my tweed coat with the blouse 
 above; and in cold weather, I carry a linen frock coat, which I 
 put underneath both. 
 
 "Antiquaries greatly regret the loss of a statue of the goddess 
 Isis which had been allowed to remain standing over the prin- 
 cipal door of the Church of St. Germain des Pres, on account 
 of its antiquity. In 15 14 a good woman having taken this figure 
 for that of the Virgin Mary and being about to burn before it a 
 bunch of candles, the Abbe in a pious rage had it broken to pieces 
 to prevent future idolatry, and they placed in its stead a great 
 cross which remains there yet." If Papacy be not idolatry, 
 why was this woman's mistake productive of such mischief to the 
 poor image? If she burned candles to the Virgin Mary and 
 not to her image — then one stone figure, in the shape of a woman, 
 would have answered her purpose just as well as another. No! 
 Rome allows no worship to be rendered to any gods but those 
 she herself makes. . . . 
 
 Aug. 4. — I look forward to the opening of my journey on 
 to-morrow with unusual irresolution and distrust. I seem to be 
 letting go of my last hold upon civilization and of home, on 
 letting go of Paris. I have not enjoyed Paris as many do — 
 
70 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 yet it has been to me a temporary home, and my habits have long 
 been such that a spot where I reside for a week becomes dear to 
 me as a scene of rest and a place of recollections. 
 
 And now I depart into the wilderness. Alone: — a stranger 
 in a strange land, to make my way against many obstacles, to 
 submit to many inconveniences, impositions and mishaps, — yet, 
 I hope, also to prove in many a new way the goodness of the 
 Lord to one of his most unworthy servants. I commit myself to 
 his long suffrance, guiding care and watchful protection, and 
 committing my ways unto the Lord, I hope in his promise to 
 direct my steps. ... 
 
 Aug. 5. — From Paris to Gaillon I came in one of these third- 
 class open cars. . . . 
 
 . . . There was a laughable book printed 50 or 60 years ago and 
 very well received at Paris, entitled "A voyage from Paris to 
 St. Cloud by sea, and a voyage from St. Cloud to Paris by land"; 
 and the noted places of the world were laughably introduced 
 as located by the voyager, in his ignorance of any world but 
 Paris, in its immediate vicinity. 
 
 I left this poor fellow's world, pour parcourir le nionde, with 
 a feeling of sincere satisfaction, and scarcely gave a parting 
 look at the noble columns of the Madeleine as I passed. Knap- 
 sack and blouse on back, and umbrella in hand, I felt that I was 
 once again a free man ; and I stepped under my burden with the 
 elasticity of hope and the firmness of determination. With all 
 my care, articles accumulated, and the knapsack is not a very 
 light one, twelve pounds — although a veteran guide would laugh 
 it to scorn. , . . 
 
 My father found a charming reminder of this trip down 
 the Seine in a little volume entitled "Our Autumn Journey 
 on French Rivers," which he read many years later with 
 great delight. 
 
 The scenery of the Seine bears much resemblance to that of 
 the Mohawk, and from the same cause; a wide valley of denuda- 
 tion; excavated in a rolling country of nearly horizontal dip; 
 and filled and flattened by diluvial and alluvial deposits. Some- 
 times the ranges of hills on each side — i.e., the escarpments of 
 the upland, were regularly grooved and fluted, and strikingly 
 like the Orwigsburg valley hills of F. VIII. (?) The material 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 71 
 
 in both cases is soft; here a chalk, there a compact slate; and 
 in both homogeneous and slightly inclined. 
 
 The severity of the rain however, forbade much extensive 
 examination, until after having passed numerous villages, and 
 through a two-mile (2480 Yards) tunnel, which seemed as though 
 it had no other end, I got out at the station for Gaillon, and 
 shouldering my sack, walked down to the ferry. A large punt 
 came over for us, for quite a party had collected on the bank. It 
 was propelled by the force of the stream against its side, while 
 it was held in an oblique position, by a large rope extended from 
 side to side of the river and working over wooden pulleys, on the 
 gunwale. 
 
 Four miles brought me to the object of my excursion, Rich- 
 ard's pet castle of Normandy — Chateau Gaillard or the saucy 
 fortress, and which he built in one year, in spite of the promise 
 he had given his rival Philip Augustus, not to fortify Andelys. 
 I was highly delighted with it. Before reaching it however, 
 I had sketched it, while still on the road over what seemed to be 
 a cultivated commons. 
 
 While making my rude sketch two peasants passed me whom 
 I afterwards overtook and held in conversation along the road 
 until, passing through a street of huts, filled with cows and women 
 leading them, and men going to labor, after their dinner hour had 
 passed, — and so under the chalk cliffs on which the mouldering 
 walls of the old castle still stand — we entered the little valley of 
 Pet. Andelys 
 
 Wednesday, August 7, 1844. — I am more and more of the 
 opinion that the Norman houses were built by artists who came 
 from the East and South, or at least that they had followed the 
 knights in the crusades, or the pilgrims in the pilgrimages to 
 Palestine. No one who looks down upon the two splendid 
 towers of Jumieges Abbey but will be struck with their complete 
 Roman appearance. One might suppose himself gazing at two 
 of Herod's towers. Running up plain and massive, as though 
 they were to bear a mountain, to the height of a hundred or a 
 hundred and fifty feet, and then in stories with Roman arch win- 
 dows, a hundred feet more, ending in octagonal tops — they are 
 the perfection of architectural grandeur and beauty. I am 
 only too discontented with myself that I did not draw them, but 
 I thought I would find them in print shops elsewhere. Had 
 they their ancient spires on, they would look more Gothic and 
 less Roman, it is very true, but as they stand they are irre- 
 
R:'""- :,. 
 
 m^\ 
 
 .'■t 
 
 i -'.'/J 
 
 ^,'/, ,. ;<o J .; J..- 
 
 '4 ''' 
 
 Z/-^^'' 
 
 1 
 
 T 
 
 , l-..,^.::.,- 
 
 ii'/ 
 
 St. Georges de Boucherville 
 Aug. 7, 1844 
 
p i 
 
 .1^''^ ^-ff > 
 
 
 St. Georges de Boucherville 
 Aug. 7, 1844 
 
*J4 LIFE ANt) LETTERS cSAl>. V 
 
 fragable evidences to the Roman parentage of the Norman 
 Architecture. 
 
 It must have been ii o'clock when I resumed my knapsack 
 and trudged back through other streets of the little village and 
 along the main road again towards Duclair. ... At one time I 
 stopped and stared in amazement at what I supposed to be the 
 remains of an immense dilapidated castle, but on going round 
 it I saw that it was but a "pulpit rock" left by the denudation, 
 and composed of the horizontal and evenly stratified layers of 
 chalk and flint. Sloops were tacking against the stray North- 
 west wind, down the river, and a brig was anchoring front of a 
 large chalk quarry, where the chalk was so pure and soft that it 
 seemed scarcely to need refining. Then I came to where the 
 face of the promontories had been cut down straight, either by 
 water or the hand of man, and in them were doors and windows; 
 and their sides were smoked, and chimneys projected from their 
 angles or ran up the wall of rock. I had come to the abodes 
 of the Troglodytes of France. . . . 
 
 Afterwards I sat and wrote until two diligences rolled by and 
 reminded me I had a long way yet to walk. Just before I entered 
 the house I saw a steamboat go puffing down the river, and soon 
 after a band of music struck up some martial air on board, and 
 the tones floated charmingly over the waters. 
 
 Between St. Georges and Duclair, as I said, the road and 
 scenery was charming. . . . 
 
 Thus I walked under the trees, occasionally plucking some of 
 the innumerable varieties of wild flowers, and vainly wishing 
 that she I loved was enjoying the charms of all this with me, my 
 dear sister, until I again emerged on the open road and passed 
 the chateau, or country house, such as we are used to seeing 
 everywhere near our cities in the spots of the landscape which are 
 most attractive to a reiined taste and generous heart. Most of 
 these chateaux may be described as large "double" houses, two 
 windows on each side of the door and two stories high. Some- 
 times additions are made to them (perhaps from time to time) of 
 other buildings on each side, the whole very neat, but not dis- 
 playing any magnificence, or much true taste — (a thing, by the 
 by, which seems to have been only recently imported into France) . 
 Up to these chateaux there generally leads a stiff avenue of great 
 elms, happy if left in virgin loveliness, but frequently most 
 barbarously trimmed of their fair proportions, and presenting to 
 foreign eyes pictures of distress. In the court or lawn before one 
 of these minor chateaux, I saw a poor box-tree which had been 
 
 J 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 75 
 
 metamorphosed into a chanticleer, and seemed to be choking 
 with grief in an ineffectual attempt to crow its expostulations 
 towards the sitting-room windows of its cruel master. . . . 
 
 . . . Leaving Duclair, I again toiled up the escarpment, to 
 cross the next peninsula, and when within a very short distance 
 of the little village of Yainville I turned again to the left to seek 
 the abbey ruin of Jumieges two miles distant. . . . 
 
 . . . Leaving the abbey with regret, I was forced to hurry 
 on, tired as I was, to attempt to reach Caudebec by night. It 
 was six o'clock, and at seven, as I ascended the long hill beyond 
 letrain [sic], ... I listened with delight to the high tones of the 
 church bell of Jumieges, floating in long cadences down the valley, 
 and I thought of the song of the convent bell and how it was 
 when the bell hung in the abbey church tower and died away in 
 its sonorous cadences long before it reached the ears of the outer- 
 most peasantry of the lord abbot. 
 
 Reaching the top of the hill, in a hard shower (for I seem to 
 be as unfortunate in France as I was favored in England) , I waited 
 there till an omnibus came up into which I got and rode until it 
 turned aside at the la Maillerie ferry. I never knew rightly 
 what I paid the man, for I gave him a five-franc piece and he 
 handed me back a handful of change amounting as I thought to 
 its full equivalent. I am not yet quite up to the coin. Continu- 
 ing along the road "over the shoulders of the hills" and scarcely 
 able to move from fatigue, night fell before I reached the little 
 village of Caudebec. . . . 
 
 Aug. 8. . . . The next morning I was away as usual about 
 six o'clock, and reached Lillebonne by eleven, and Bolbec by noon, 
 where I dined on some fine cold veal and potatoes (hot), and at 
 two o'clock took the diligence to Havre, being completely used up 
 about the lower extremities. My knapsack is nothing to carry, 
 indeed it feels rather comfortable than otherwise; but my feet 
 became painfully blistered and I lay at Havre late in bed and 
 wrote all the morning of Friday, until it was time to take the boat 
 at two-thirty p.m. for Caen. 
 
 Before leaving Caudebec, I went to the church and admired its 
 very beautiful tower and spire, standing at the side of the church. 
 I can only recall these churches to mind by fixing their locality, 
 and to do that some occurrence must be remembered. For this 
 I can remember it by recollecting how I stopped and looked over 
 a wall, to sketch the remarkable dorsal fin which the architect 
 had lost his wits enough to afi&x to it. The effect of the immense 
 
76 LIFE AND LETTERS CSAP. V 
 
 towers to these village churches is quite indescribable, giving to 
 them an air of peculiar grandeur, and casting a spirit of poetry 
 around the localities where they stand. A village is so dignified 
 by one such splendid steeple, massive with stone, yet rich and 
 light with tracery of Gothic arches, pinnacles, buttresses, and 
 galleries, that one enters it with respect and leaves it with regret. . . . 
 
 The road to Lillebonne was very tiresome, yet very pretty 
 through the Pays des Caux (Caletes — Celts?) a high table-land, 
 ''fertile, but rather arid." The scenery was of course flat, but 
 very pretty. The descent upon Lillebonne very pleasing. Here 
 I caught sight of the round tower of the castle of William, where 
 he opened to his barons the scheme of invading England. I saw 
 no more of it than I give in the sketch a page back. A little 
 further on, I came to the Roman Amphitheatre, almost the only 
 one in the north of Europe. . . . 
 
 The ride in the front seat, with the French lady and child, 
 behind the fat jolly fellow in the night-cap and the two 
 drivers, was quite pleasant. Our descent upon Harfleur was 
 charming, and our ride to Havre interesting. . . . 
 
 Friday, August g, 1844. — I took a forward passage to Caen 
 in the rain, for five francs (cabin six francs), and had rather a 
 forlorn time of it, until we reached still water and the mouth of 
 the funny little Orne, its mouth bent with shoals and rocks, and 
 the rest of its way a broad canal, the steamboat (which only drew 
 three and one-half feet of water) almost filling it up from side to 
 side. . . . 
 
 Saturday, August 10, 1844 (Caen). — Took a walk, altho' 
 it rained hard all day, to see some of the churches. The most 
 interesting are St. Pierre and St. Etienne or Abbaye aux Hommes, 
 built by William the Conqueror and where he was buried. At 
 the other end of the town I visited its twin sister, Abbaye aux 
 Dames, built by Matilda his wife, and now a hospital as the other 
 is a college. , . . 
 
 Nothing could be nobler than this severely plain front — 
 unless it be the front of Jumieges. The immense size of these 
 structures cannot be exhibited in a picture. . . . 
 
 Alas, the evidences are drawn in broad lines that this is a 
 land of darkness, where superstition reigns. The Sabbath is 
 broken almost by the whole population. The market is fuller 
 than on Saturday. I saw a man cross himself in church as I 
 approached him, not in his prayers, but because a heretic was by. 
 The people are also excessively poor, and the poor are more 
 
i844 
 
 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 
 
 77 
 
 numerous here than I have seen them yet anywhere. The whole 
 of the bas peuple — forming the mass of the population, wear the 
 aspect of extreme poverty and beg without blushing. It was 
 curious too that they would beg of me when I had no blouse on 
 and my tweed coat appeared, but did scarcely trouble me when 
 my blouse covered the tweed. This morning I saw a crowd 
 of beggars — old men and women — haggard — dirty — decrepit — 
 yet all making some attempt at a show of decency, as far as I 
 could see, were receiving sous and centimes from the hand of a 
 young man at the street door of one of the stores near the church. 
 I made inquiry and found it was a custom for the poor, after 
 receiving tickets of authenticity from the Mayor, to make the 
 
 Church of St. Etienne, Caen 
 
 tour of the city, and receive at various houses the pittances doled 
 out to them. It was, as the man said, tres bien. It looked good, 
 and no doubt promoted greatly good feeling between the various 
 classes, as well as being a considerable help to those who are 
 forced to live daily upon a few sous. Ah, if we had the heart 
 to give, we might soon learn that the wants of the world that 
 has not, would soon drain the resources of the world that has. . . . 
 
 Sabbath, August ii, 1844 (Caen). — Attended Mr. Hardy's 
 French service in the Protestant chapel (Temple, as it is called 
 in France, to distinguish it from the church of the Papists) and 
 was delighted with its Presbyterian simplicity, and with the pious, 
 solemn earnestness of his manner. . . . 
 
Church of St. Etienne, Caen 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 79 
 
 The churches are better attended here, it seems to me, than 
 elsewhere I have been; yet I have had but little facility for judg- 
 ing. Generalizations are easily made, but less easily maintained 
 when made. . . . 
 
 Left Caen at 4.30 o'clock by the highroad to Bayeux, and 
 past the gray towers of St. Etienne. . . . 
 
 The houses in Normandy all seem to be dreading an enemy — 
 all clothed in mail. You enter a village, and instead of passing 
 between rows of happy cottages with gardens in front or at least 
 open windows and doors at the pave, you walk a narrow paved 
 street, under high blank stone walls with here and there a window 
 up towards the roof, buttressed, and heavily gated where there 
 is a gate — all things speaking of border raids and baronial feuds, 
 and plundered villages, and people living in constant terror of 
 their lives. A multitude of picturesque affairs grow of this 
 indeed. You see stone set up and stone carved and stone falling 
 down and stone defaced, in all their infinite varieties of place. 
 Houses approached in all ways and built in all fashions and often 
 with little touches of taste and nicety where one would least ex- 
 pect to find them, as if the rough-fisted necessity of the times that 
 built them had now and then stopped awhile to recreate and 
 amuse itself in tasty trifles. This is indeed a characteristic of 
 all buildings here. Ornament sticks to them in byways, and is 
 as capricious as nature. 
 
 The morning sun broke gloriously. The air was pure from 
 the ocean ; great masses of gray clouds came from the East ; the 
 lark fluttered up, up, up, singing all the while as if its little throat 
 would burst with melody, and descending, only ceased its song 
 when it dropped into the grain. I took out my testament and 
 read; suddenly I raised my eyes and there, spanning the wide 
 heavens, standing like an angel suddenly and unexpectedly made 
 visible, glowed a glorious rainbow in the west and then, its mis- 
 sion completed, gradually faded away. Troops of laborers were 
 in advance of me, in their blue frocks, singing as merrily, but not 
 quite so sweetly as the larks had done. Coming up with them, 
 I entered into conversation with one, and learned that they were 
 all conscripts, going to Cherbourg for the Marine. 
 
 Tuesday, August 13, 1844 (Bayeux). — I set oflf on foot for St. 
 Lo. 21 miles. I was weak and had sore feet. The morning 
 was warm, but the country very pretty. ... 
 
 The cathedral at St. Lo has a commanding position, but I 
 did not and could not examine it. That at Coutances, where I 
 
8o LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 arrived at 6 o'clock, is remarkably beautiful and well propor- 
 tioned, altho' not so large as the first-rate cathedrals of the North- 
 east. . . . 
 
 Coutances is the most curious, quaint-looking town I have 
 yet fallen in with. Seated on a conical hill, its streets are all up 
 and down, and so narrow that, to prove it, I went along with 
 my arms outspread and touched both sides at once. At first I hesi- 
 tated to traverse them, thinking they were private thoroughfares 
 belonging to a squad of houses. Of course little light and air 
 could be expected from such. Hence they are built up with high 
 walls of hard stone — long, dreary, winding walls, with house walls 
 and roofs rising up behind them, announcing that they are but 
 mere enclosures to gardens and house lots within. This gives 
 a very remarkable air to the whole place. The main route, 
 and one or two other streets pretty wide traverse the hill, but all 
 the rest are these little lanes. . . . 
 
 Wednesday, August 13, 1844 (Coutances — Avranches). — ... I 
 left Granville afoot for Avranches, distant 26 kil. (16-17 miles), 
 and reached the latter about 7 o'clock. I find I cannot count 
 upon more than 15 miles a day walking — nor expect to make it 
 at a gait faster on the average than 3 miles an hour. I walked 
 5 hours without stopping (except for 5 minutes at a "belle vue'' 
 — a hillside, down which I looked upon a charming little vale, 
 adorned with woods and fields half hidden, half revealed, two 
 mills, a bridge, and an old man gathering sheaves of tall French 
 clover and carrying them up the steep slope to his cart. I felt 
 like giving up Avranches for the night and helping him. . . . 
 
 The wind was strong and helped me up the hills vastly. The 
 country is rolling — on account of the parallel ridges of primary 
 rock — and hedges and orchards abound, thus assimilating NW. 
 Normandy with England. Some church towers would now and 
 then peep up at a distance; but as many a flower is born to 
 blush unseen, so the tourist in Normandy must imagine there 
 are many beautiful spots and picturesque remains which he is 
 never to see — which live only for those who love them and have 
 a right to love them by birthright. 
 
 Thursday, August 14, 1844 (Avranches — St. Michel). — Dili- 
 gence to Precy, a little village, where I turned off to the right 
 to St. Michel on foot (6 or 7 miles). On my way conversed 
 with a French sportsman who thirsted for war with England, 
 and said all the French did, — and the guard and the conducteur 
 grinned and showed too plainly they joined him. Why? I 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 8i 
 
 asked, — war has produced immense misery in France hitherto. 
 Et void, coup de gloire aussi was his reply, as quick as lightning, 
 and he took off his cap and showed his bald head and flashing 
 eyes. Glory, said I. Glory is nothing — Hen — Hen. . . . Out — 
 et dieu aussi et dieu aussi, said he, putting his face close to mine. 
 Glory is the god of France. Un dieu faux, was my sorrowful 
 reply, and he readily assented that it was. Yes — a false god 
 whom they worship with wonderful ardor. Ah, said he — we 
 have many things against England, and we want nothing more 
 than to come to battle with her. Well, said I, England some 
 day or other must fall together by her own weight and be de- 
 stroyed by herself. Oui, oui, oui, said he, and we French will 
 just give her one little poke in the side, pour le faire plus vite 
 — plus vite, and he grew nervous with desire at the thought. 
 Ah, Louis Philippe and Queen Victoria, Lord Palmerston and 
 Guizot — and all good men — may labor in vain to preserve peace 
 between two nations, each unknown man and boy of whom 
 thirsts for war, and shows his fowling-piece to strangers with 
 a smile — as if it were a mousquet. No, no, said the guard — not 
 that — cannon — cannon . 
 
 His visit to the Mont St. Michel was a notable one, 
 which he often described. He went across from the mainland 
 alone, and at that date there was no causeway across to 
 the castle. At low tide the sands were bare, but so infested 
 with quicksands that only those acquainted with the spot 
 could safely venture over. My father got over with suffi- 
 cient ease, taking note with a surveyor's instinct that 
 the spot from which he had started was marked by a white 
 house. When he set out on his return, however (the tide 
 having begun to rise), he found to his dismay that there 
 were a number of white houses on the mainland along the 
 water front, and he could not tell which one of them was 
 his intended guiding point. He ran, therefore, at full speed, 
 tacking about from side to side to keep on solid ground, 
 and reached the mainland at last, wet to the knees and in a 
 state of exhaustion. 
 
 FHday, August 15, 1844 (Pontorson — Dinan). — My walk 
 of 19 kil. (11^ m.) to Dol was charming. . . . 
 
 Then there were old granite houses and barns, built as if 
 
82 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 to stand forever. . . . And the by-roads, deep grooved into the 
 earth by the wheel-wear of centuries, no wider than a single cart, 
 and enclosed by thick hedges and rows of trees on the top of 
 their high banks — all was curious and very beautiful, for the 
 fertility of the soil and the vast abundance of isolated and grouped 
 trees would have rendered a less picturesque country most in- 
 teresting to the pedestrian. 
 
 Aug. 1 6 — . . .1 have lost much of my enthusiasm already, 
 and seldom go much out of my way for anything not very curious. 
 I look principally for the hearts of the towns, to see their ancient 
 modes of building, and would if I could take many a sketch of 
 these, but they are generally too full of people, and my foreign 
 dress attracts too much attention. . . . 
 
 My ride to Rennes in the morning from nine to two was 
 rather pleasant. The country was as usual fiat, but descended 
 occasionally into valleys. I rode between the driver and guard, 
 and had with the latter much conversation, in very laughable 
 attempts at bad French. I explained to him how America was 
 not a little island, but two great continents and had diverse gov- 
 ernments, of many religions, and multitudes of people, cities, 
 etc., all which astonished him beyond measure. He thought it 
 was an island dependent upon England. The conversation 
 turned upon religion, and when I told him I was also a Protestant 
 (in answer to his question) he looked on me with greater curiosity. 
 I took out my testament and told him how I valued it; and when 
 he asked me if I was not much attached to my religion, I told 
 him I would die for it; — I supposed — I added — he would for his. 
 He smiled and pointed to the horses, and said — his religion was 
 like theirs. I asked him if he hadn't a soul — je ne sais pas — • 
 was his answer — I can't feel it — I don't know — it is like the 
 horses there. You believe there is a God ? — je suppose; — peut-etre; 
 je ne sais pas. "Why," I asked, "who made those trees, and 
 these horses and all things?" He shrugged his shoulders and 
 said — Of course there was a God. "And you think then," was 
 his next question, "that when you die you will go to heaven?" I 
 told him I had hope of it, through Jesus Christ my Saviour. He 
 said he knew that when he died he would be put into the ground, 
 but didn't know whether there would be any more after that. 
 
 We then talked of the priests. He asked if there were any 
 in America. I told him how the sects stood there, and what 
 we Protestants thought of our priests — that, they were wise men, 
 but only men — they read the Bible and so did we — they were 
 
Top of Dolmen near Saumur, and Implements found 
 within it 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 85 
 
 our instructors, guides to heaven, nothing more. We didn't 
 confess to them, but to God and one another. He seemed to 
 think that excellent, and said he didn't perform the pratique of 
 his religion very much. I spoke then of the way of life, and how 
 it could only be got from the Bible, and advised him to get one in 
 French and read it. But from the very great difficulty he had 
 in spelling out a little French sentence I wanted him to explain 
 the meaning of to me, I doubt that he could do much with the 
 written word if he had it. It needs there be preachers sent 
 among this poor people. They are very religious— they crowd 
 the churches — they listen with attention to their preachers (as 
 I saw on Sunday evening in the Cathedral at Nantes — at a sermon 
 on virtue, its difficulty and facility) — and they sadly need the 
 true light which lighteth all men that cometh into the world. 
 
 From Rennes he went by way of Nantes to Angers, where 
 he made sketches of the castle with "its 17 towers as round 
 as buttons," and thence to Saumur, where he was greatly 
 interested in the famous Dolmen (see sketches adjoining, 
 which are two of four pages of sketches taken of this spot), 
 and describes as follows : — 
 
 Aug. 22nd. — At a little cottage — ^built, as all the rest in this 
 beautiful region, of neady squared tufa stone and ornamented 
 with mouldings — I got the key of the Dolmen and a ladder, 
 and after looking at it within and on top and drawing it from two 
 positions, returned to Saumur and ascended the hill behind the 
 Castle. . . . 
 
 After dinner at Sorgiais [or Longrais?] and after having 
 written awhile and seen a post-chaise off with two travellers, who 
 changed their post horses before the door, I went my way three 
 mUes to St. Mars. As I left Sorgiais I unexpectedly came upon 
 the flanking towers and then the front of a castle— right down at 
 the side of the street, and in the village (or town as it deserves 
 to be called for its size), and soon after a noble church spire. 
 The latter I couldn't get admission to ; the castle was uncommonly 
 beautiful, and inhabited. Repairs and new constructions of 
 triffing importance were going on, but the old towers looked down 
 from the upper air most majestically. It seems to me that the 
 art of building castles has been lost. No modem structure that 
 ever I saw, approached in beauty and the picturesque, these 
 ancient castles. Perhaps it is because they were built under 
 
86 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 rtde, [?] in defiance of regularity; because they rose like trees, 
 one part after another — capriciously shooting forth a limb here 
 and a limb there, each beautiful and similar, but not the same 
 with the rest. Harmony without uniformity is their chief charm. 
 A harmony hardly obtained by similarity of form as much as by 
 similarity of idea. A violin is said to be all the better the oftener 
 it is broken, patched and glued. A castle may also be said to be 
 all the more picturesque the more it has been shattered and re- 
 newed in various ages and by different hands. . . . 
 
 I then set off again for Luynes, and had not my feet hurt 
 me so dreadfully (I don't know what I am to do with them) — 
 I would have been delighted. A continued village of Troglo- 
 dytes lines the road on the land side. The strangest confusion 
 prevails. Some people's lanes are on top of other people's walls; 
 some people's front yards are on other people's roofs: — some 
 people's chimneys shoot up along other people's front doors, — • 
 and such climbing and winding and manoeuvring to arrange 
 dwellings and courtyards and alleys and wells — it is curious to 
 see. I could have spent a whole day in sketching had I had 
 the time. . . . 
 
 How much the efforts of a stranger in a foreign tongue re- 
 semble the constructions of Art in her gradations through the 
 ages! The man at first in sheer defiance of all its rules of gram- 
 mar, makes use of single words of great force — constructing a 
 whole wall of thoughts with half a dozen such cyclopean, pelas- 
 gian rocks: — soon wearied with the labor requisite for such, he 
 builds but little and only for his necessities. By and by he 
 acquires greater facility in the language — he begins to break his 
 great words and cement them with the smaller rubble of articles 
 and conjunctions: — then he comes to square his blocks by rule 
 and compass, causes them to diminish in detail while his struct- 
 ures rise in magnitude and become diversified for use — until at 
 length — with myriads of lingual bricks, handled each one with 
 marvellous celerity and fitting each with the other with admirable 
 precision, he builds whole cities whose inhabitants are thoughts, — 
 and sometimes castles and cathedrals whose majesty and beauty 
 astonish his fellow-men. 
 
 From Tours he went by diligence to Bourges (August 22). 
 At Bourges on Sunday, August 25, he happened into a Prot- 
 estant church where the sermon and the manner of the 
 preacher so much attracted him, that after the service he 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 87 
 
 took the opportunity to talk with him. As it chanced that 
 this was the beginning of a lifelong friendship, I copy my 
 father's account of the occurrence: — 
 
 Sabbath, August 25, 1844 (Bourges).— To my chagrin it was 
 ten o'clock when I awoke and dressed in haste and breakfasted 
 at the table d'hote. Inquiring my way, I reached the Protestant 
 chapel in the Rue St. Ambroise, and occupied a few minutes 
 before service in copying the chart afi&xed to the inner door of 
 the church, to this effect. "Le tresor des pauvres" — a Bible in 
 wood-cut — underneath, two columns of scripture. . . . 
 
 Over the church door was Oratoire — and on the pediment 
 "Nous prechons Christ le seigneur. II. Corinth, iv. v. 5." 
 
 The congregation was small, perhaps twenty. He spoke 
 at some length on the Massacre of St. Bartholomew (which was 
 yesterday in date) and spoke of seeing himself the coin struck 
 in glory of it — now at Rome. I could understand but little of 
 the sermon, his pronunciation was rather thick. But it was 
 remarkable for its familiar manner, even interlarded with ex- 
 pressions in common use of surprise, indignation, etc., etc. — such 
 as chut — ah — oh — et bien — shrugging the shoulders — spreading 
 the arms in French method — smiling — throwing up the eye- 
 brows — and all in so perfectly natural and easy a manner that it 
 added greatly to the effect without causing a disagreeable feeling. 
 
 After service I remained and addressed him, to know if he 
 had another service, — he said yes, three miles distant at Asnieres 
 and asking me if I was a stranger, offered me a seat in his mule 
 voiture, which I at once accepted. After gearing up the mule 
 (the straps not running back to a swingletree, but hooked on 
 by another strap to the shafts far forward), and receiving two 
 boys one on each shaft and soon after a young man in a blouse — 
 we rode on together over a very miry and rather rolling road to 
 the village. On the way I taught him how to stop his stubborn 
 beast with whom he had much trouble in that respect and it 
 afforded him much amusement and some laughable imitations. 
 Arriving at his house, his little sons met us, and going in we found 
 his wife and daughter; the latter a mature and very pretty young 
 lady — with rich full black eyes and lively expression — about 
 eighteen. We dined and went to church, through an entry and 
 door in the same house. It was a plain chapel room filled with 
 men on one side in Sunday embroidered blue blouses — and 
 women in the centre and on the other side, in white caps and 
 kerchiefs — mostly with bare arms to the elbow where a little 
 
88 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 white edge of the under linen came out from beneath the gray 
 or snuff-colored, tight frock sleeve. In front sat three men, 
 perhaps elders, and on the side of the pulpit the children of the 
 parish (of 300 Protestants). Then he called by name to see 
 who were absent and gave some severe rebukes — which were 
 received by a general smile through the church — a smile not of 
 mocking — nor of contempt — but an animal smile, such as dogs 
 might give. Ah, said he afterwards to me, the people were mere 
 ^'Animaux" — beasts — slow beasts — no love — no hate — pas- 
 sionless and ignorant, sending for a surgeon immediately when 
 their cows were sick, but saying their children would soon get 
 well without — ^refusing to take medicine if it was at all "bad" 
 ■ — and as stubborn as mules. They never run except when their 
 cattle are in danger. (And yet that is instinct — on them depends 
 their living and they know it.) To get them to come to church 
 in time, he had at last to resort to the plan of locking the lag- 
 gards out. They sleep very generally in church even when they 
 are singing. Ah, how my heart leaped at the well-remembered 
 notes of the old tune which they first sung! It took me back into 
 the old church at the corner of Arch St., and revived vigorously 
 my desires for home. The music here was much more like 
 music than in other churches I have been in in France; better 
 formed in stanzas — and not a mere continuity of notes without 
 design. 
 
 After church M. Bost took me into his study and left me 
 alone until seven o'clock, while he attended to his duties, and 
 while his daughter instructed thirty or forty women for one 
 and a half hours in the church — their singing coming delight- 
 fully soothing through the casement of the little bedroom at 
 the end of the study. I enjoyed a good season here for a couple 
 of hours, and then was called to a supper of milk and fruit. 
 
 Here we talked much of the ignorance of the people and of 
 the plainness, sternness and patience necessary to deal with them. 
 They are much like our German population, I have no doubt, and 
 I obtained a glimpse into the future through the ministry of 
 this man of God — first-fruit of the great revival at Geneva com- 
 mencing 1802 and bursting gloriously forth in 181 6. For a 
 long time there were only five or six of them, and they longed to 
 go to England to find Christians, but every Christian traveller 
 
 warned them against such a step. At last Mr. of the Scotch 
 
 Church came and instructed them more fully in the Scriptures, 
 and in the liberty of Christians, and that they could separate 
 lawfully from the established church, which they did; and then 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 89 
 
 persecution arising, a noise was made — attention attracted and 
 the work went on. Mr. Bost was prosecuted for attacking too 
 violently the other clergy, and was in danger of six months' im- 
 prisonment and 2000 francs' fine; but the Lord preserved him. 
 
 The people over whom he has now been settled for sixteen 
 months and among whom he says he can perceive a gentle move- 
 ment of intelligence and good wishes — are as ignorant as beasts. 
 Even the few whose hearts are no doubt right in the sight of God 
 are exceedingly deficient in Christian intelligence. For the 
 rest, they are besotted: — "I doubt sometimes," said he, "whether 
 they have souls." I was amazed and no doubt looked my amaze- 
 ment at such an expression from a Christian minister, but he 
 continued — ^no doubt they have the seeds of souls — but unde- 
 veloped. Their intelligence is all animal — instinctive. (What he 
 meant by the seeds of souls undeveloped I'm sure I can't tell.) 
 What is to be done with such a people, I asked. Speak to them 
 like thunder — said he. . . . 
 
 And he told his daughter ... a long story in French how he 
 had asked them what God was (or something like that, I did not 
 understand his story very well), and they answered that they 
 didn't know, they thought the sun was God! "Yes," said he, 
 turning to me, " a good many of them think the sun is God, — 
 ah, they are heathens — heathens!" 
 
 These kind people, Pastor Bost and his family, insisted 
 on my father's staying with them over night, and made 
 him so much at home among them that he ever after felt 
 the warmest affection for any one of the name of Bost, 
 and the friendship has continued until the present day 
 between our two families. They were a very musical house- 
 hold. The lovely daughter was a beautiful musician. I con- 
 tinue to copy a little more from the description of this unex- 
 pected visit among strangers in a strange land : — 
 
 It is peculiarly delightful thus to make a home in a strange 
 land. After supper the father and daughter sat down and played 
 me several four-handed pieces of Thalberg and Czerny — en- 
 thusiastically expressing their delight at some of their charming 
 passages — especially those of the march which I first heard from 
 the trumpet of Gambatti in New York, — ten years ago. They 
 concluded with Rossini's storm in "William Tell" and the sweet 
 Ranz des Vaches. The feeling with which all entered into the 
 
90 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 music and especially into the Swiss songs — imitating with the 
 utmost vivacity the notes of the horn and joining in low chorus 
 in the words — and the soul energy of the father, a master on the 
 piano, and a composer himself, — whose music is now sung by 
 the heathens in S. Africa — was charming. At parting he gave 
 me a copy of his Cantiques de I'Apocalypse. 
 
 They pressed me to stay again the night with them, but I 
 declined — they however urged me and assured me I should not 
 be too late in the morning. So we all sat down around the table, 
 on which lay a kind of reprint of the penny magazine — the only 
 periodical they take — and talked and laughed till ten o'clock, 
 when bread and butter were brought in for the father who said he 
 must always eat after an idle evening. I love to recall the little 
 things that made the visit so delightful. An artist must paint 
 leaves, or his trees will be lumps of mud or blocks of stone. 
 
 We amused ourselves greatly at his expense, over his en- 
 thusiasm about the North Pole. "Oh," said he, "how I would 
 love to be at the North Pole for a while! Not to turn when all 
 the world turns. To have the North Star right over one's head: — 
 to dwell in the bosom of eternal solitude. Oh, it would be glorious. 
 I do love solitude, so much! And they say," he added, "that it 
 is not colder at the pole than within a certain distance of it — 
 rather warm if anything." This last I demurred to, and tried 
 to explain why the former should be true, from the size of the 
 angles of the sun's rays subtended by chords of various lengths. 
 And he again and again broke out — "but, oh, how I would like to 
 be at the North Pole!" He said laughingly that he had thought 
 of writing a volume of reflections upon such a situation (and 
 I have no doubt it would have been rich in thought and racy 
 with poetry), but he had never done so. I told him, he might 
 obtain his desires more readily by ascending in a balloon; but 
 he shrugged his shoulders and exclaimed — "it is not solid — it 
 is not solid." He caught the idea of the concave perspective 
 in an instant and was pleased with it. "Ah," said he, "it must 
 be frightful to feel yourself standing still in the air, and the great 
 earth rushing down, away from under you — as they say it seems 
 to do!" 
 
 Conversation again turned upon the wretched state of the 
 people. He said he had been accustomed to preach against two 
 sorts of avarice — the avarice of the rich and the avarice of the 
 poor. When a widow refuses to give her mite — she's avaricious. 
 "I tell the people, if you won't give to God — God won't give to 
 you"; — and then he repeated the Hebrew saying, that when a 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 91 
 
 man gives his handful to God — God returns him His own hand 
 full; — beautiful! — "Ah, my dear — my dear — you lose time" — 
 he will say to the peasants when they work on the Sabbath; — 
 "and they are beginning" — he added — "to understand what I 
 mean by it." . . . 
 
 With how much regret did I take leave of this interesting 
 family! receiving their blessing and good wishes and the address 
 of their son in Geneva. To Timothy I gave my little double lens 
 — which I thought he would prize because it had been my com- 
 panion in 8,000 or 10,000 miles of travel in America since 1838. 
 
 After leaving these new friends, who had made for him 
 a social oasis in a sohtary tour, he went by diligence toward 
 Clermont. He notes the changing type of the scenery 
 and the geological indications. Sometimes he descends 
 from the coach and walks long distances, especially after 
 leaving Mont Lufon and coming into a more mountainous 
 region does he often take short cuts on foot, observing and 
 studying the geology and topography as he goes. 
 
 Arrived at Clermont and visiting the cathedral, he there 
 falls into conversation with a young cure, "for I am fort- 
 unate with the priests," he remarks in another place. 
 
 It was on top of the tower I met the young cure, who told 
 me afterwards he had studied theology two years. Our conversa- 
 tion turned at first, as usual, upon the languages and I told him 
 of the various pronunciations of ough in English. We then 
 walked out, and finding to his great surprise that I had studied 
 theology also, he asked me if it was my sincere conviction that 
 my religion was the true one. One thing led on to another. 
 After coming out of the garden where are the limestone rock and 
 house for petrifying, and cabinet of beautiful little baskets of 
 flowers and nuts and husks and burrs and birds, etc., of which 
 I bought a medal, — we found ourselves sitting on a pile of stones 
 in a narrow walled up lane, vulgate in hand, and earnestly dis- 
 puting for the faith on the passage hoc est corpus meum. I 
 had infinite difficulty to understand him, for he talked very fast 
 and straddled over me, in his eagerness to convert me, putting 
 me in mind of Apollyon and the pilgrim; but I wrong him by the 
 comparison (and no doubt myself too) — for he was a gentle 
 little fellow and very kind, tho' very zealous. I referred to Corin- 
 
92 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 thians where it says also the cup is the testament, which taken 
 literally is quite absurd. Then we got upon the four marks of 
 a true church, — and finding it late returned hurriedly to the Arche- 
 veche, where he was joined by a brother cure, still younger, whom 
 he kissed. The latter lisped a litde. After I had dined I found 
 them both on the hotel pavement and the lisper pressed me 
 warmly and told me he hoped to see me the next day after my 
 return from the Puy de Dome. I told the other candidly that 
 there was but one way of accounting for the ignorance and super- 
 stition and wickedness of the people in Catholic countries. Their 
 religion leads down to hell and is idolatry. " Oh, " he exclaimed. 
 
 I select a few portions of the descriptions of his moun- 
 tain climbing in the Puy de Dome region: — 
 
 Aug. 29. — I am getting very tired of travelling; it is hard 
 work and very little pay. I am not however to-day in a very 
 unprejudiced state to judge, for the ascent of a mountain of lava 
 six miles off, all the way on foot there and all the way back, is 
 no light excursion. I started this morning at six o'clock, getting 
 a bowl of milk in a back street as I went, and putting a roll of 
 bread in my pocket in case of need. Inquiring the route, I was 
 directed to leave the city by a succession of lanes flanked with 
 stone walls without windows — from five and six to twelve and 
 thirteen feet high, and enclosing the gardens of the environs. . . . 
 
 The ranges which I had seen from the Cathedral and could 
 see no law for them, now arranged themselves into spurs of the 
 table-land of basalt and lava around the cones, and were nothing 
 but the remains of the extension of that table -land into the plain 
 of the Limagne. . . . 
 
 I thought that with two eyes — two mountains and a guide 
 book, I shouldn't need a guide to ascend a cone naked as my 
 hand and smooth as a house roof, not a mile distant. But I was 
 mistaken. The whole plateau is covered with a number of roads 
 and cow-tracks, for it is one grand ploughing and pasturing field 
 without an enclosure of any kind upon it, after leaving the hamlet, 
 a little distance. . . . 
 
 I passed on and was soon obliged to stretch myself at length 
 on the bluebell turf, the pain in my left chest having come on 
 me, which afterwards increased to so great and strange excess, 
 that I feared I would have to be carried home. Stopping to rest 
 only seemed to make it worse — yet I struggled up the ridge. . . . 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 93 
 
 A boy came to me as I sat — leaving his cows on the other 
 side, and begged charity; he said he had neither father, mother, 
 brothers nor sisters — and kept the cows on the mountains in 
 summer, but went into the villages in winter '■'pour demander 
 son pain" — to beg — poor fellow. I gave him my pocket full of 
 sous and made him sit down to talk; asked him if he ever 
 prayed, could read, etc., and made him promise to repeat every 
 day the prayer of Mr. Best's poor fellow — "O Dieu, donne- 
 moi ton saint esprit.'" He could read, but never had heard of 
 the Bible. . . . 
 
 ... I asked him, in reply to his question where he could get 
 one, if he had never seen a man in a blue blouse, with a pack of 
 books on his back. He said, yes; I told him to apply the next 
 time to him for one and my last words as we parted on the chaus- 
 see, were, probably in as bad French as his own — '' obtiens Pun 
 et le lisez." Poor creatures. . . . 
 
 It must not be supposed, though I speak of lava, that one would 
 ever suspect he was looking down upon lava — were he not in- 
 formed of the fact. The country is one of singular features indeed 
 ■ — ^but still so sheeted and shrouded in common nature that the 
 imagination has much work to do in uncovering and investigating 
 by occult signs the mysteries within. Guide books and geologists 
 talk of craters and cones, scoria, basalt, lava plains, waves and 
 currents and all that; but to an ordinary spectator nothing more 
 appears than rather steep and isolated mountains — and a wide 
 plain covered with flowery furze and ploughed like any other — 
 with its black soil manured from carts slow moving over the sur- 
 face, drawn by oxen attended by broad-hatted peasants. He 
 sees irregularities in this plain, and that it falls off towards the 
 east down deep parallel gorges between its arms, which are 
 extended like ordinary ranges of hills, and he looks beyond with 
 delight upon the great plain deep sunk below and called, as he 
 knows, the Limagne of Auvergne. "But where are all these 
 lava currents they talk about?" he cries: — "I don't see any of 
 them. They tell me these cones have once been volcanoes: — 
 but there is only one which has anything like a crater, and that 
 looks very much like an ordinary punch-bowl hollow valley, — 
 rather odd, it is true — and more so because on top of a moun- 
 tain — but yet not so very astonishing. They say one can trace 
 lava currents up to the tops of these craters and cones: — but I 
 see nothing of the kind. They talk about one great current — 
 stopped by a granite island and divided into two currents, flow- 
 ing one one way, the other another, down two lateral valleys. But 
 
94 LIFE AND LETTERS CHAP. V 
 
 here is a plain, and there a low ridge, and that is all I can make 
 out." And so he goes on — wholly at a loss to understand the 
 great events which he knows have taken place; and obliged pain- 
 fully and slowly to construct out of the ambiguous data before 
 him everything—by mere force of conception. He sees Auvergne 
 with his bodily eyes — but he sees its geology and its history 
 only with the eyes of his imagination. In nothing is a traveller 
 more disappointed than in this. There are here no roaring flames 
 and leaping rocks — no rivers of fire desolating the fertile valley 
 and spreading abroad terror and magnificence upon the face of 
 night. The exhibition is over. He looks on a still-Hfe picture. 
 The battlefield remains silent with the carcasses of the dead 
 alone upon it, and he must painfully reconstruct the scene, and 
 revivify it for himself. It shall never live again. . . . 
 
 Saturday, August 31, 1844 (Massiac a Murat). — ^The patois 
 of the people in the mountains I cannot understand. It has all 
 the characteristics of the Welsh, except the //. It is spread over 
 and round the tongue in the same way and sounds so much like 
 it that, were I not in Auvergne, I would say it was Welsh which 
 I listened to. It has the two sounds th and ch {finals German) 
 so foreign to the French, and like the English of the Elizabethan 
 and earlier ages ending its words with the now mute e — as grand-e; 
 un-e; etc. It is then a refinement of languages to suppress the 
 vowels ? It certainly shortens discourse. 
 
 At eight o'clock on Friday morning I was seated in the straw 
 in the seatless banquette of the great diligence now running to 
 St. Flour. The diligence to Murat on the direct (geological 
 and picturesque) route to Aurillac going at night, I would not 
 take it. At six o'clock in the afternoon I was set down before 
 the Auberge at the entrance of Massiac. Until twelve o'clock 
 when the heat became very oppressive, the wind coming along 
 with us, it was a delightful ride up the broad Limagne and the 
 valley of the AUier. I never saw a more beautiful agricultural 
 country and the ranges of basaltic -capped fresh water hills with 
 the primary (?) ridge in the distant east made it amply pictur- 
 esque. . . . 
 
 But the chief charm was given to the landscape by the tall 
 cliffs and peaks projecting from the table-land and capped by 
 horizontal masses of basaltic lava all jagged and toothed by 
 time, until they stood up a forest of rocky pinnacles, and on 
 their summit often stood some old half-ruined castle, and round 
 its walls a village. The habits of the feudal ages are retained 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 95 
 
 under the reign of the King of the French. The villages that 
 fled to the mountain tops, to the castle walls of their seigneurs 
 for protection, have not yet all come down. Ten or twenty such 
 shine distinctly from the summits and at the tops of the slopes 
 of the Auvergnian mountains, along this single valley — and some 
 of them seem large enough to have 20,000 inhabitants. And in 
 this one day's ride and one day's walk — of 60 miles, I have seen 
 as many castles as in all my journey — I believe, — through France 
 together. . . . 
 
 I can obtain by personal inspection very little information 
 of the geology of a country so extended as France. It is like 
 taking up an interesting book, indeed, to read five lines on every 
 tenth page. I catch the general style of the earth's great Author 
 in this one of his works, — the subject at least of which he treats; 
 — it is useful: — but it is not half so pleasant as one's imagination 
 and thirst for the evidence of the senses have anticipated. Yet 
 very accurate ideas of a few good types may be obtained — and 
 what is far better, those vague, enormous, monstrous imagin- 
 ings may be reduced and unclouded, and a way be prepared for 
 a happier and more successful return to the books which treat 
 in detail of the geology of the various parts. . . . 
 
 Descending the zigzags to Massiac, we met also many groups 
 — men and women in carts — women on ass-back, astraddle, 
 between the panniers ; — men and their red-cheeked wives on one 
 horse — old fashion; — and many groups and strings of girls with 
 baskets in their hands and crimson in their faces, some of them 
 exceedingly pretty and coquettish withal — to whom our driver 
 had for every one a word and a nod. But after the many-colored 
 dresses they wore and the little flocks of sheep and pigs which 
 they drove before them — what invested the scene with its chief 
 singularity was the remarkable and very ludicrous kind of bonnet 
 worn by the women. It is straw, often with a ribbon or a string 
 about it, and just stuck on the head and let fly as straw will in the 
 most absurd deshabille imaginable. But the young girls all had 
 theirs trimmed around the edge with black ribbon pleated and 
 sewed round. . . . 
 
 On the way just after I had sketched the above, the musician 
 with his cornemuse or bagpipe joined me and I had much relig- 
 ious conversation with him. He had travelled as far as Madrid 
 and Milan, playing for dances, etc., in the winter taking his ass 
 and becoming a merchant of handkerchiefs from village to village, 
 except for the two months of the most rigorous weather. He 
 could therefore not only speak the patois (and indeed acted the 
 
96 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 interpreter for me in several cases, especially with the old women 
 where I ate my second breakfast), but he could also talk pretty 
 good French, so that I had little difficulty in understanding him. 
 He said he confessed only once a year perhaps — and smiled when 
 he said it. Pointing to a little church down by the side of the 
 water, 200 feet below us, he said there was a famous place of de- 
 votion and many miracles were wrought there. It was built 
 by the English, he said, when they had possession of the country. 
 I told him I did not believe in modern miracles, but he assured 
 me he knew one young man whose arm had been useless twenty 
 years, who had had it restored "whole like the other" by one 
 day's devotion in the little church. I shrugged my shoulders 
 and was silent, simply saying "les pretres sont tres sages.'' He 
 seemed to understand and acquiesce in all the charges I brought 
 against them, and to apprehend also my definition of a true 
 Christian, soii il Catholique, soit il Protestant, and said our relig- 
 ion was bonne, trh bonne. 
 
 Other similar talks with fellow-travellers follow, ending 
 with the remark: — 
 
 There is a great charm to me in such conversations. I 
 fathom an unknown sea, — I geologize in the souls of my 
 fellowmen, I read universal laws by multitudes of divine phe- 
 nomena. . . . 
 
 I say France has two engagements at present — Religion and 
 War. The Jesuits have returned and openly operate. M. Bost 
 gave me a little pamphlet in which he answers a calumnious 
 piece in the papers — occasioned by the preacher of Lent's refusal 
 to give him an opportunity in a public conference, to support 
 the truth of the Protestant behef, which the preacher had a month 
 before in his Lenten sermon vehemently attacked. 
 
 But war! The papers are crowded with news, speculations 
 and what not from the seat of war in Morocco. The late victory 
 at Isly (or some such name) by which the army of the emperor 
 was routed and all his cannon taken is glorified day after day as 
 if it were a Marengo or an Austerlitz. No one in America can 
 understand or conceive of the language used in the war papers 
 (i.e. the opposition papers) about the war. This is a little matter, 
 as to French policy, altho' it makes the Christian shudder and 
 sigh to see such blindness fall upon a nation. A people whom 
 I believe to be as cowardly except in moments of enthusiasm, 
 
 I 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 97 
 
 as they are bloodthirsty in moments of rage, present the singular 
 spectacle of a people bragging over and challenging the whole 
 world. . . . 
 
 But how is this now apparent? They hate England. No 
 one can conceive of the extent and the rancor of their irritation 
 against England — who has not gone amongst them. One might 
 suppose the papers were full of it for political purposes merely — 
 but let him travel in France and he will find, whatever be the 
 personal designs of the editors of La Steele — their language 
 answers, word for thought, with the cherished malice and deadly 
 enmity of the whole population towards their nobler neighbors. 
 And he will find too, that, as in America, the backwoodsman 
 grasps his rifle and says "let the British come; we'll give it to 
 them," so it is in the interior that the thirst se battre les anglais, 
 reaches its acme. Surely it is because they are not known: 
 because ignorance sleeps heavily on all the souls of middle France. 
 Surely it is because the priests of Rome hate and fear the mission- 
 aries of London. Surely it is because French peasants are brutes. 
 I am amazed — and can no longer restrain my fear that, let Louis 
 PhiHppe and M. Guizot, Lord Aberdeen and Sir Robt. Peel do 
 what they will to keep the peace, — war is inevitable in Europe, 
 and — O God, what then? Thou knowest. 
 
 Italy and Greece are in great, invisible emotion. Spain is 
 yet quivering in all her members. France thirsts for war — 
 and burns to wipe out the fancied disgrace of Waterloo, by crush- 
 ing her best friend (if she did but know it). Ireland only waits 
 and pants for war between England and France, to massacre 
 her Saxon oppressors and establish a parliament (a King?) in 
 College Green. In the Hungarian diet a seigneur speaks openly 
 of revolt if Austria continues her exactions. Russia winters 
 her fleet, not as usual at Cronstadt, but at Elsinne, ready for the 
 first breath of spring. Holland and Belgium are two spiders 
 in a bottle, and poor Germany is a bunch of grapes in the centre 
 of a circle of foxes. What is coming ? 
 
 After a long description of an ascent of the Puy de 
 Guion, he continues: — 
 
 Sabbath, September 2, 1844 (Murat to Vic). — ... As I went 
 on towards Thiezac the road became more and more beautiful, 
 and continued a succession of cliffs above, precipices below, fan- 
 tastically shaped rocks of all sizes, slopes of pasture, groves. 
 
98 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 CHAP, V 
 
 ravines, bridges, terraces, villages and chateaux, in a series which 
 ended only to expand upon the richer and wider portion of the 
 valley below the town of Vic, where I spent the night. Here for 
 the first time in my life I struck a billiard ball. . . . 
 
 Sept. 3. — ^A few miles below Vic I sketched the picturesque 
 chateau of Polmistac [opposite leaf], but very unsuccessfully. 
 As an amateur I select scenes rich and heavy in foliage, but as 
 an artist these are just the ones I should avoid, and fix upon 
 wide scenes, naked slopes, sharp peaks, etc. Still these rude 
 
 
 Chateau one Mile below Vic 
 
 sketches may fall into the hands of some one who can work up 
 the outlines of beautiful thoughts, and give light and shade to 
 all the foliage. 
 
 At Montauban he visited the Protestant pastor M. 
 Monod, and was received cordially by him and his house- 
 hold. 
 
 Thursday, Sept. 5, 1844. — Before taking the diligence for 
 Toulouse, I called again on Mr. Felice and his family, and was 
 most affectionately received and dismissed. He accompanied 
 me to the outer gate and wished me the favor and presence of 
 the Lord, and then made me kiss him on both cheeks according 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE 99 
 
 to the fashion of the country. He gave me also a letter to the 
 two or three brothers, Courtois of Toulouse, head of the little 
 Protestant communion there; and also the address of Mrs. F.'s 
 father's family at Lausanne. . . . 
 
 ... A ride of four hours over the almost dead level 
 of the diluvial valley brought us into Toulouse. 
 
 ... I then after going for a while into the immense, Norman 
 Chm^ch of St. Servin, made my way along for half a mile through 
 the dark streets to the rue de la Dolbad (pronounced as in Welsh 
 dolbath, and as in modern Greek) where I found a reunion or 
 meeting of Protestant Christians in a lower room (fitted up as 
 a plain chapel) of the house of MM. Courtois. I stood outside 
 for some time talking French ( ?) with two women about the Abbe 
 Muret (Maurette), one of whom told me she had been a Catholic 
 10 or 15 years back and had talked with M. Malan of Geneva. 
 She was an exceedingly interesting woman about thirty (?) and 
 seemed to be very proud of her recollections of the great and 
 good " Chretien" M. Malan. . . . 
 
 After a service of an horn*, during which a bench full of boys 
 troubled us a good deal, sitting right before me and loving to 
 torment us, — and after a hymn and prayer and pretty long ad- 
 dress by M. Courtois and a short but home -thrust address and 
 
 prayer by M. , a large man, I gave my letter and was 
 
 invited upstairs to tea. . . . 
 
 I conversed with the two brothers on the affairs of the French 
 Church and then on the dangers of German philosophy (with 
 which he says many of their theological students have been 
 injured) until ten o'clock. 
 
 The troubles of the Protestants are most serious. Not one 
 of them knows how long he will be out of prison, since the plan 
 now is to prosecute for the books they publish. The Abbe M. 
 is now in prison for twelve months for his little work against 
 the Cathohcs — condemned for "attacking one of the estab- 
 lished religions of the state." Yet a Papist may say what he 
 will against them. Reverend M. Roussel with whom is con- 
 nected that interesting conversion of a whole parish near Limoges 
 of 800 people, and which has driven the clergy mad, is now pros- 
 ecuted for publishing Middleton's (?) "Pagan Rome." Yet it 
 is the tenth edition. Still the law is that each edition is liable 
 to attack for the first six months of its appearance — after that 
 it is free. Yet the next edition, of which two copies are again 
 sent to the bureau, is open to the same process. 
 
lOO LIFE AND LETTERS chap, v 
 
 And much more about the condition of rehgion in 
 France. 
 
 The pecuHarity of Toulousan architecture, I take to be, an 
 inordinate love of the arch — the round arch. It occurs every- 
 where. Private houses have their doors and v^^indows included 
 in arcades sunk in the front, and running from the ground where 
 the second-story window leads. Above the facades — in many 
 houses along the quais below the bridge, I saw upper little stories 
 like fly-traps — and standing separately like dormant windows 
 on the houses. Very odd. 
 
 After leaving the region of the volcanic mountains of 
 Auvergne, he had continued south-eastward to the Pyrenees 
 by way of Montauban, Toulouse, and Tarbes to Bagneres- 
 de-Bigorre. His memory of the beauty of this country 
 and the wonderful views of the mountains remained with 
 him always, and he often referred to those few days of 
 climbing their sides. The chmax of this part of his journey 
 was an expedition to the Lac d'Oo, a little lake situated 
 high up in the mountains, surrounded by precipices, — a 
 most romantic spot. But his minute description of this 
 ascent, which he accomplished alone and on foot, is too 
 long to print. Speaking of it at the time, he writes: — 
 
 Sept. 9, '44. — I have passed through, in this two days' walk, 
 the finest parts of the Pyrenees, and seen a variety of their aspects. 
 The beautifully pastoral vale of the Adour, the magnificent pan- 
 orama of the Col d'Aspin, the narrow head of the Vallee de 
 Loudun, the gorge, the precipice, the lakes and the mountain 
 peaks of Oo, and the remarkable traverse of the Arboust Valley 
 down to Luchon. To describe it in detail would demand a 
 dozen pages. 
 
 Of the people he says : — 
 
 As I approached the Pyrenees I remarked a great change 
 for the better in the aspect of the people. They are here a noble 
 race; — men and women have the very finest features — often very 
 handsome, but rather too strongly marked to be called beautiful. 
 Erect — ^robust — quick-eyed — their eyes bright, full and black — 
 
i844 FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE loi 
 
 rich curly hair — and often swarthy — they put me strongly in 
 the faith of their Visigoth origin and Spanish amalgamation. 
 Yet ascending the valley I also saw many wretched specimens 
 of humanity. The has peuple here seem as everywhere else in 
 France to be stunted, shrunken, shrivelled, blackened and crip- 
 pled. While the young have all the elasticity and beauty befit- 
 ting youth, the aged exhibit the evidences of a hard life of con- 
 stant and destructive toil and deep, lifelong poverty. 
 
 From the Lac d'Oo he went by way of Toulouse, Car- 
 cassonne, Montpellier, Nimes, Alais, Aries, Avignon, Valence, 
 and Grenoble to Geneva, where he remained some days. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Switzerland and Germany 
 
 Theological Studies 
 
 During his short stay in Geneva he was much occupied 
 with hearing lectures and talking with several notable Swiss 
 divines, chief among these Cassar Malan and Merle 
 d'Aubigny * They received him kindly, and M. Malan 
 made him much at home among his family. 
 
 Geneva, Oct. 6. — ... I went at two o'clock to the Oratoire in 
 the upper town. It seemed to be a new building. Here I met 
 the theological class of perhaps twenty students: — with the pre- 
 paratory class, they make about forty or forty-five. We waited 
 half an hour for M. Gaussen (who looks exactly like his por- 
 traits) during which there was all sorts of innocent fun going on, 
 and all the liveliness of French conversation in full play. I felt 
 much at home among them, and seemed to recognize some famil- 
 iar face whichever way I turned. I could perceive no difference 
 between them and those I had left at Princeton. The same 
 variety of expression of apparent intellect — of apparent dispo- 
 sition; and neither — on the whole — better nor worse. 
 
 * Cesar Henri Abraham Malan, D.D., clergyman and author, born 
 at Geneva, Switzerland, July 7, 1787, of French Protestant descent; was 
 bred a Socinian, and ordained in 1810; became a Trinitarian under the 
 guidance of Robert Haldane and of Rev. Dr. John M. Mason of New 
 York, and was (1820-63) the pastor of an independent church at Geneva. 
 His sect was called Momiers (Comedians) by the people. He was the 
 author of many religious works. His h3mins, Les Chants de Sion (1826, 
 with original music 1841) and Les Grains de Seneve (1846), are noteworthy. 
 Many of his works have been translated into English. Died in Geneva 
 May 18, 1864. See his life by his son Cesar (Geneva, 1869). (From the 
 Universal Cyclopedia.) 
 
 Jean Henri Merle d'Aubigny. Born at Eaux-Vives, near Geneva, 
 August 16, 1794; died at Geneva October 20, 1872. A celebrated Swiss 
 Protestant church historian, after 1830 professor of historical theology at 
 the ficole de Theologie fivangelique at Geneva. He wrote "Histoire de 
 la reformation," continued in "Histoire de la reformation au temps de 
 Calvin," etc. {From Century Cyclopedia.) 
 
i844 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 103 
 
 After M. Gaussen had lectured half an hour on Theopneusty 
 he was interrupted by the calling of somebody up the stairs to 
 say that M. Merle waited. 
 
 M. Merle d'Aubigny— far from being a pleasant-looking 
 or pleasant-spoken man — with a long face and heavy eyebrows, 
 and dark in visage and commanding in form — gave an opening 
 lecture on Homiletics, describing the difference between Chris- 
 tian oratory and Demosthenic and Forensic. 
 
 I did not address either professor, but a student offered 
 me his conduct to-morrow evening to M. Merle. 
 
 At seven I waited at Dr. Malan's — he was visiting the sick 
 and Mrs. M. entertained me for a while. . , . 
 
 As before, the supper table was charming, and the conversation 
 almost wholly in English (one of the sons is at present in Plymouth 
 for his health — spending a few weeks). But my time came 
 afterwards. The Dr., on rising, drew me into a corner on the 
 sofa and began, as he expressed it, to hunt the fox — and expurge 
 the Arminianism — the American venom as he loved to call it 
 — which he had been sure was in me. In three minutes he 
 wound me up completely, and I didn't know what to say. His 
 plan was to stick his finger just under my sore rib — what is faith ? 
 and he showed how Arminian I was — / the ultra-Calvinist — the 
 fatalist whilom. And thus you think you will go to heaven! 
 Why? Because Christ died. For whom? for all believers. 
 Bah! — There is your Arminian: — it's not true. . . . Christ did 
 not die for believers, but for sinners. 
 
 Oct. 10. — Leaving the church, I went out to call on Prof. 
 Merle, and we had a half-hour's chat together. He said I had 
 better see Tholuck at Halle, because he would be interested in 
 my object, and might effect for me a good location in Berlin in 
 a family. He also gave me the names of some places on my 
 route thither, of interest. . . . And some detail of the religious oper- 
 ations of Schleiermacher, who tho' approaching nearest Hegel 
 twenty years ago, was nevertheless the deadly enemy and exe- 
 cutioner of the vulgar Rationalism of Germany. Before that 
 the cry was, Christianity is contrary to Reason. He advanced 
 a step by saying it was all from reason. I told him about Camp- 
 bellism, and he concluded it was much the same with the Socin- 
 ianism of Geneva. The people here say, it is enough to lead 
 a moral life and believe that Jesus is the Son of God. Some are 
 Arians, some Semi-Arians, some Socinians, — all hate creeds (as 
 do the Campbellites) ; and so strong is this hatred among them 
 
104 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 that it has issued from them and affected even Christians who 
 come also to dislike creeds, altho' in all other respects they think 
 prudently and well. . . . 
 
 Leaving Geneva October 12, he went by way of Vevey 
 and Berne to Basle, where he visited the schools. 
 
 Tuesday, October 15, 1844 (Basle). — ... I chanced to go into 
 the school-room opposite the church, and soon had my hands 
 full, and business for three hours, for a little fellow was sent 
 to take me to the gymnasium or public school next door, and 
 the rector handed me over to a teacher who spoke English fluently. 
 From nine to ten, I went from room to room, from the first or 
 smallest class to the sixth or most advanced — both those of 
 humanists and those of realists. The humanists are boys who 
 study classics — the realists do not. . . . 
 
 The principle is that the younger classes shall commit much 
 to memory, and the elder reason much. Again — that the author- 
 ity of the masters shall not be acquired by conflict, but be estab- 
 Hshed by law. This is a point much overlooked in America, 
 where democracy has reduced to a level master and pupils — 
 and what power he has over them he has obtained by the force 
 of his own character. Here authority is acknowledged — estab- 
 lished — firm; and so the master may descend to his lowest pupil 
 without fear, and may, as they do, call upon the scholars to 
 observe and signify mistakes committed by them, that they may 
 obtain redress. Hence the most perfect subordination obtains; 
 and also confidence, for confidence is reposed in them. Nothing 
 delighted me more than to see the perfect freedom and careless- 
 ness with which at recess time the scholars clustered round the 
 teacher's desk, ran about the room, up and down stairs, making 
 just what noise they pleased — for they were a goodly number — 
 and exhibiting all that security which a child feels in the presence 
 of a loving parent. . . . 
 
 My informant gave several little errands to the boys, and 
 said that they loved dearly to oblige their teachers in any way 
 and would study harder and more cheerfully after it. 
 
 He then had me to a distant part of the city, to the mission 
 house, which I so much desired to see. He was master there; 
 one of three masters. . . . 
 
i844 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 105 
 
 He went from Basle by way of Strasburg, Frankfort -on- 
 Main, and Eisenach to Gotha. He visits the chamber 
 of Luther, and, after describing it, adds:— 
 
 But what interested me more than anything in the room was 
 a picture of Luther's mother, on one side of the wall, and a pict- 
 ure of his father on the other side. Both as ugly as if the earth 
 was to be peopled with ogres. But the father's forehead and 
 determined look and strong shrivelled chin told of young Luther's 
 in a way not to be mistaken. Yet I have seen just such ugly 
 little obstinate-looking, half-cunning, half-confiding Dutchmen 
 more than once. What became of their young Luthers? Ah 
 — it is not the i6th Century. God does not need just such for just 
 such purposes now. Wait till the circle returns — there will be 
 another old Luther and another young one. . . . 
 
 He went by Weimar and Leipsic to Halle, which he 
 reached October 24, and after consultation with Professor 
 Tholuck he decided here to remain to prosecute his theo- 
 logical studies and perfect his German. The five or six 
 months which he spent at Halle were a notable part of his 
 life, and I shall quote more at length from this portion of the 
 journal. 
 
 Evening, Oct. 24. — Five o'clock called on Prof. Tholuck.* A 
 most ungainly, awkward man. He came into the room, with 
 his elbows out sideways behind, and stuck his face into mine 
 as if he were scared to death by an apparition and wanted in- 
 stantly to relieve himself by discovering its nature. This arose, 
 as I soon learned, from his excessive near-sightedness, but it 
 exhibits itself also — his awkwardness — in ways not so easily 
 explained. For instance he sits and talks with one, swaying his 
 
 * Friedrich August Gotttreu Tholuck. Born at Breslau, Prussia, 
 March 30, 1799: died at Halle, Prussia, June 10, 1877. A German Prot- 
 estant theologian and preacher, professor of theology at Halle from 1826. 
 He was educated at Breslau and Berlin, where he was appointed professor 
 (extraordinary) in 1823. His works include "Die Lehre vom Sunder und 
 Versohner" ("The Doctrine of the Sinner and Redemption"), "Stunden der 
 Andacht" ("Hours of Devotion," 1840), commentaries on Romans, John, 
 the Sermon on the Mount, Hebrews, and Psalms, an answer to Strauss's 
 "Leben Jesu" (" Glaubwiirdigkeit der evangelischen Geschichte," 1837), 
 " Vorgeschichte des Rationalismus" (1853-62), "Geschichte des Rationalis- 
 mus" (1865), etc. {From Century Cyclopedia.) 
 
io6 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 body to and fro, and rubbing his knees all the time until one is 
 in a fit of nervous irritability. But — these are specks in the sun — 
 specks rather on its serene surface. What if a man has freckles 
 on his skin? 
 
 I shall probably learn more about him soon, but only say 
 now that he is described as being an exceedingly active Christian, 
 always busy for his Master and his cause — has students at his 
 table, at his walks and in every way interests himself in them, 
 speaking most practically to them on all occasions. 
 
 . . . The reasons for my remaining here would be that it is 
 more easy to acquire intimate acquaintance with people here, be- 
 cause they are not so busy. Students are numerous and accessible 
 here, and from them one must hope most in the way of acquiring 
 language. It is cheaper — a student being able to live comfortably 
 for 200 Thaler a year (says Professor Tholuck). 
 
 Oct. 25. — Was taken by Mr. Lyman to see M. Roby, and in 
 the afternoon attended three lectures. Tholuck on Introduction 
 two o'clock, somebody on the French Revolution at three, and 
 another on Logic at four. They stayed to hear the same on the 
 history of Philosophy at five. 
 
 Government has built a huge square house with a covered 
 court in the centre, up which goes the great staircase, and around 
 it galleries, — around which are the spacious lecture-rooms, in 
 use every hour of the day by some one or other of the seventy 
 professors to some or other of the 700 students. As the students 
 strive to get near seats, the rooms are filled before the time. At 
 the end of three-quarters of an hour the professors run out and 
 the students follow — some home — others to promenade in the 
 galleries until the commencement of the next hour. I can now 
 understand how it is some German students hear eight hours of 
 lecture in the day. These intermissions are invaluable. 
 
 A pastor's wife (widow), may take me [as boarder], but must 
 wait the return of her daughter from Magdeburg — and moreover 
 fears for her husband's oil paintings. But I happily am no 
 smoker. 
 
 Here I suppose must end my Journal; past source of an- 
 noyance; future source of regret and pleasure. Were it worse 
 written I could burn it; were it better it would be worth pre- 
 serving. As it is, it is a monument of an ineflfectual search after 
 truth; of vain wanderings with shut ears among the noisiest 
 crowd in the universe — a crowd of mankind; a monument of 
 wasted time impossible to redeem, altho' attempted; misused 
 
1844 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 1O7 
 
 opportunities turned executioners when wooed as friends. A 
 monument of insufficient reading, narrow generalizations, im- 
 perfect observations; also a monument of struggles after the 
 half gained, of hopes half realized, of shackles loosened if not 
 unboimd; above all of mercies experienced, and faith confirmed. 
 May God bless the future, and give it a better joiurnal than the 
 past has had. Amen. 
 
 In spite of this rather solemn farewell to his journal, my 
 father seems to have continued it without interruption. 
 The following entry on the same page was made in the 
 evening of the same day: — 
 
 Evening, Oct. 25. — Attended a service of English and Scotch 
 at Dr. Tholuck's. Present, eight or nine; one a Scotch lady, 
 Mrs. T. is a charming woman. 
 
 Sabbath, October 27. — Attended Dr. Tholuck's service in the 
 Dom Church. It was said to be a fine sermon. The order of 
 service, hymns, etc., were handed to us by ushers at the doors. 
 Most of the strait nave (same height as the aisles, and no clere- 
 story of course) was pewed for women. Some men sat near the 
 pulpit. The most of the men stood in the aisle in front of little 
 watch-houses set in line against that wall, and two stories high, 
 in which Mrs. Tholuck and other ladies took their seats, and 
 might enjoy fire. . . . 
 
 Oct. 28 — . . . Every man in Prussia, not bed-ridden or a 
 cripple, must carry arms. If students wish to avoid a forced 
 military duty of two years, which will rob them of most of their 
 time and subject them to great hardship, they must volunteer 
 for one year and buy their own accoutrements. They are how- 
 ever in this case generally made officers after the first months, 
 and then can command enough time to attend lectures. . . . 
 
 It is very odd to see six or eight or ten of these young men 
 in handsome undress uniforms crowding into the lecture-rooms, 
 walking over the benches to their seats, fixing their portfolios 
 for the lecture, and thrusting their spiked horns into the bench 
 before them — with the rest. But here all serve for war, from 
 the prince to the school-boy, none is exempt. A grand parade 
 and review was held here a few weeks ago, and 30,000 troops 
 deployed. The Hussars cut a fine figure. The King, his brother 
 
lo8 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 Generalissimo, the King of Saxony and a score of other crown 
 princes of Germany were present. . . . 
 
 Oct. 29. — Mr. , who lectures on philosophy, yesterday 
 
 spoke of the Grecian philosophy as all childlike, characterized 
 by the quiet, undoubting, unquarrelling simplicity of childhood. . . . 
 
 When he goes too fast, or when they wish him to repeat or 
 when he speaks too low, the students hiss; also when the least 
 noise is made. It is most amusing to see him after the room is 
 full and quiet, come scampering in and commence his lecture 
 without a hem or a haw and almost before he had taken his seat, 
 just as if he had but quitted his seat to pick up his handkerchief. . . . 
 
 Closed with Frau Criminal Inspector Schultze, at sixteen 
 Thaler a month, washing, light, and fuel excluded. " Two very 
 pleasant rooms — one a little bedroom, and the other opening on 
 to the garden. . . . 
 
 Calling on Mrs. Tholuck, I was talking with her when the 
 Professor came in with a string of students, and cried to me that 
 there were two Nestorians above, if I wanted to see them. Two 
 Historians, said I, oh, certainly. Historians — no, no, Nestorians, 
 and they all laughed. And sure enough, upstairs were two Welsh 
 missionaries and two Nestorian big-noses in gowns. I was intro- 
 duced as an American, and they regarded me as I did them, and 
 the East and the West shook hands over the table of the centre. 
 But the air was tormented thereafter. The general conversation 
 was in German. The missionaries spoke to the Nestorians in 
 Turkish. Professor Tholuck to the missionaries in Persian and 
 Arabic. The missionaries to some one else in French, and Tho- 
 luck to me in English. Syriac was at the disposal of the priest 
 and his companion, and Welsh and Italian at that of the mission- 
 aries. . . . 
 
 Oct. 31. — Sent my trunk in the morning by my new Stiefel- 
 putzer, and went to tea to Mrs. Schultze's, . . . 
 
 Nov. I.— Called on Professor Erdmann* below stairs at his 
 Sprech-stunde (9-10 a.m.), and he professed great pleasure at 
 the opportunity for learning the English. . . . Cold. 
 
 * Johann Eduard Erdmann. Bom at Wolmar, Livonia, Russia, 
 June 13, 1805: died at Halle, June, 1892. A German philosopher, 
 professor at Halle. He published "Versuch einer wissenschaftlichen 
 Darstellung der Geschichte der neuern Philosophie " (1834-53), etc. (Cen- 
 tury Cyclopedia.) 
 
i844 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 1 09 
 
 Nov. 2.- — . . . I have hitherto spent my time in earnest study 
 of OUendorf's grammar — and in some ludicrous attempts at a 
 double translation of Dr. Malan's little book, "Assurance of 
 Faith," into English and German. . . . 
 
 After describing a musical party, he adds: — 
 
 It is therefore as cheap as it is a pleasant mode of public 
 recreation for a convivial people. Indeed the cheapness and 
 simplicity of life here is quite unknown to the mass of Americans, 
 living in cities 
 
 Sabbath, Nov. 3. — ^Went in the mud and came in the rain 
 away from the church on the Platz. . . . 
 
 The preacher spoke very clearly, so that I understood half 
 what he said at first. I afterwards learned that it was the Ration- 
 alist Professor Francke. His subject was the liberty of belief, 
 Glanbensfreiheit — for this is the Reformation's Festtag — the 
 anniversary of the aj6&xation of the theses on the door of the Wit- 
 tenberg Church by Luther. The king has ordered it to be 
 solemnized yearly, beginning this year. Franke is a venerable 
 oldish man with the mien of a Catholic priest, which is heightened 
 by his wearing, like them, a black velvet skullcap, over his bald 
 head. This is however common with old Germans. . . . 
 
 Nov. 4. — ^Was invited by Professor Tholuck, with Mr. Fulton, 
 the Scotch student from Dr. Burns' congregation at Paisley, to 
 walk with him and Professor Ulritzi [Ulrici] * to whom he intro- 
 duced us. The latter can speak Swedish, Danish, a little Russian, 
 Polish, German, English, French, Spanish, Italian, Latin, and 
 Greek, Persian and Arabic, and of course understands the Hebrew 
 and Chaldsean. 
 
 He gave me some valuable information about the course of 
 ecclesiastical deposition in Prussia. 
 
 Nov. 6. — Attended the evening meeting of students at Pro- 
 fessor Tholuck's. It was very crowded, because he was to give 
 a continuation of his account of things, as he saw them in Sweden 
 
 * Hermann Ulrici. Born at Pforten, Prussia, March 23, 1806: died 
 at Halle, Prussia, January 11, 1884. A German theistic philosopher and 
 critic, professor at Halle. His works include "Ueber Shakspere's dra- 
 matische Kunst," a number of philosophical works, etc. (From Century 
 Cyclopedia.) 
 
no LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 and Norway. Three concentric rows of chairs were filled by the 
 students — and the sofa behind the table at one end of which 
 Professor T. sat, (rubbing his knees,) while all hung with breath- 
 less attention upon his lips; many others stood in the corners, 
 and filled the little anteroom (his proper study), to the door of 
 which was wheeled a sofa for one or two ladies. When those 
 who stood got very tired — those who sat, very kindly gave up to 
 them their seats. It opened at eight o'clock and closed at ten- 
 fifteen. He first spoke of the constitution of the Swedish church, 
 and made a student read a few pages of a description of the oath 
 taken at the inauguration of a ( ? ) to show how fixed 
 all was. (He told him if he didn't read louder he would never 
 become a preacher.) Then he described the two Universities — 
 of Upsala (Royal) and Thom ( ?) and spoke of their being some- 
 times Schleiermacherish and at others Hegelian, and at others 
 Straussisch, etc., etc. (Such is the mode of talking here.) Ger- 
 many and the German Europe seems to be a great devil take 
 the hindmost race-course. As Ulrici said — speaking of old 
 (?) and his 103 one edition works, "a German never 
 merely writes one book — he must write many — he must keep on 
 writing or he is speedily forgotten." But when he is dead he 
 writes no more — hence the dead are dead in Germany. They 
 first die themselves, and then soon after their influence dies. 
 German Pedantry forbids their memory to die. Now Hegel is 
 all the rage. Nothing is heard of but Hegel. He is the great 
 philosopher. (He died in the cholera a few years back.) But 
 how long he will continue such, especially as he is dead, no one 
 can foresee. What is Kant now ? 
 
 We think Hengstenberg * a great man, said I to Fabian last 
 night. "You Jo.?" said he, lifting up his hands and eyes — "he 
 is a humbug — he blows a big trumpet, with both cheeks full — 
 is a very little man." So it goes — here. . . . 
 
 Nov. 8. — Gave a first lesson to Professor Erdmann in English. 
 On Fridays we are to read "Nicholas Nickleby," and on Tuesdays 
 translate a German book. I feel that I am making good prog- 
 ress in the German, but it is exceedingly difficult and the vista 
 of the dictionary opens out fearfully. 
 
 * Ernst Wilhelm Hengstenberg. Bom at Frondenburg, Westphalia, 
 October 20, 1802- died at Berlin, May 28, 1869. A German Protestant 
 theologian, leader of the orthodox Lutherans, professor of theology in 
 Beriin from 1826. He wrote " Christologie des Alten Testaments" (1825- 
 35), etc. {From Century Cyclopedia.) 
 
i844 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY iii 
 
 Nov. 13. — ^Monday I was cited to appear at the police passport 
 office, where I had left my passport, and I received a permit to 
 stay six months, for ten groschen. . . . 
 
 "How many physicians have you in Halle ?^' I asked of Miss 
 Malvina to-day. "80." "80! for a city of 2700 people?" "Yes 
 — including 60 students." "Ah, that is another thing — quite. 
 And how many of them are homoeopathists ? " "Not one." 
 "Why so?" "No homoeopathist would consent to live here, 
 his condition would be made so disagreeable by the other phy- 
 sicians. So that the people who favor that system must prac- 
 tise it themselves, or put up with the old practice." 
 
 Yesterday evening went and introduced myself to Professor 
 Baimieister, entomologist (I thought geologist), who told me 
 something of the geology of Germany. . . . 
 
 . . . We then spoke of the state of religious feeling in the 
 North and South of Germany respectively. Here as I see all 
 is very cold. Not a lecture — ^not a house meeting, begins with 
 prayer. . . . 
 
 The reformed here are divided — one part cry — "all our 
 troubles have come from das Wissen — knowledge — we must 
 lay it aside and go to Faith": — and they are disposed to enter 
 Herrnhut, having left Berlin. The other part (where Hengsten- 
 berg and Neander, etc., found themselves) cry — "no, let us treat 
 the disease homoeopathically; what has killed shall cure. We 
 will fight the infidels on their own ground. We will know what 
 these knowing ones know, that we may know what they do not 
 know," . . . 
 
 Nov. 22. — ^Professor Erdmann, speaking to-day of the preju- 
 dice against color in America, told me that the same kind of 
 feeling existed here, until within a few years, among the com- 
 mon people against any, even to the fourth generation, tainted 
 with Wendish (Vandal) blood. The Guilds would not receive 
 them, or would eject them if inadvertently received. They could 
 not be masters in any workshop, and were almost on a par with 
 Hangmen's children. 
 
 Lately Prussia has abolished the Guild system; any man 
 by payment of a few dollars to the Government may set up as 
 soon as he likes for himself. . . . 
 
 Nov. 23. — ^The same complaints are made here over ineffi- 
 cient servants, — dirty, slovenly, ignorant cooks. . . . 
 
 It seems also that the system obtains of luring away a good 
 
112 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 cook from the family that enjoys her, not by higher wages, but 
 in hopes of Hghter work and better treatment. Open fight has 
 occurred between a master and his servant. But I suppose 
 not oftener than in England or America. But I heard of one 
 curiosity at least. 
 
 A cook comes to obtain a place in a family at Berlin. She 
 is satisfied and so is the mistress, but looking round she says, 
 "I do not see any place where I can place my piano." "No," 
 says the lady. "I am very sorry then that I cannot serve you," 
 she replies and leaves the house to seek another more commo- 
 dious or more compliant. . . . 
 
 Sabbath, Nov. 24. — Nine o'clock heard Professor Erdmann 
 in the Moritz Kirche, . . . The sting of death is sin; we have 
 the victory by Jesus Christ. . . . 
 
 A cold sermon: a beautiful sermon — chaste, elegant, simple, 
 eloquent, sublime in the purity of thought and clearness of enun- 
 ciation, — but dead as the pillar before which it was recited. 
 The application of Scripture was so rich and so aptly true, that 
 I started more than once, lifting my face with wonder to him, 
 asking myself — is this the Hegelian? — has he become a preacher 
 of righteousness ? It was an angel of darkness in robes of light. 
 Saul was only among the prophets. 
 
 I was much struck with the resemblance which Professor 
 Erdmann bore to Persico's Mephistopheles, in his studio at 
 Philadelphia — the sculptor. Erdmann has a noble, accurate 
 mind. 
 
 Dec. 2. — On the third invitation of Professor Tholuck, I took 
 advantage of the charming, cold sky, and took a long walk with 
 him and Professor Ulrici. 
 
 Dec. 4. — I am almost overburdened with favors all at once — 
 three gentlemen students have come upon me, one at ten, one 
 at eleven and one at 3I o'clock, to walk with me and exchange 
 English for German. These with Professor Erdmann's Eng- 
 lish lessons twice a week, Mr. of the Waisenhaus, twice 
 
 a week and WandePs daily lesson, the only one I pay (five gros. 
 an hour = 12J cts.). I find four hours of the day taken up in 
 pitre talk. Then is the dinner hour and the supper hour, and 
 the hour to sit to listen to Erdmann's philosophical lecture — 
 making seven hours of regular study; — besides this I have two 
 hours in the morning and two at night (before supper) of quiet 
 German reading, — making eleven; — and one or two after supper 
 
i844 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 113 
 
 according to circumstances and wakefulness. So that I am trav- 
 elling at the rate of at least twelve hours a day on the road to 
 somewhere, with the advantage of a single track to drive upon. 
 I sleep seven hours — sometimes eight — and idle many a five 
 minutes away without being aware of it. But I try to redeem 
 the whole day. . . . 
 
 Dec. 11th. — Closed with Mr. Zimmerman for 18 Th. a month 
 and everything. ... 
 
 This means, no doubt, that he changed his lodging and 
 boarding place. 
 
 Saturday, December 14, 1844 (Halle). — Quite at home; my 
 room however not quite dry, and so not in it yet. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Zimmerman, Captain Gould (expecting to go to India) and 
 young Frederick . . . from W. Indies, compose the household. We 
 speak much German, and a fine little library is open to my use. . . . 
 
 February 11, 1845. — Take up my journal again after a two 
 months' interruption. . . . 
 
 . . . My stay in Halle draws to a close. The cold weather 
 of late November was succeeded by a wondrously mild and 
 beautiful winter, suddenly breaking up at the beginning of this 
 month into a series of daily cold blows and snows, with which 
 the ground is now bedecked, and over which all the old and 
 new sleighs which Halle boasts of, drive hither and yon in mad 
 career. The peculiarity of sleighing in Germany consists in 
 furnishing the sleigh with a narrow straddle seat behind, across 
 which a man sits with his feet on two irons projecting above the 
 runners, cracking from time to time an immense whip-lash at- 
 tached to a short handle, and producing therefrom divers re- 
 ports of guns and pistols in the several stages of their development. 
 The performance seems to be the translation into German of 
 the common English expression "here we go!" . . . 
 
 Prof. Blanc finished "Tartuffe" (Moliere) yesterday, and next 
 Thursday begins a course of lectures on the French theatre; 
 of course in French. Our old Hofrath Holman above us con- 
 tinues his prosy readings of Boccaccio's " Decamerone," translating 
 into German with tedious interludes of reminiscences, traditions 
 and what not, half in Italian, half in German. 
 
 The best method of teaching a language in lectures is, as I 
 think, to take a good and not abstract author, to translate it 
 
114 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 sentence by sentence, not too slowly, but taking care to give 
 the translation into good English of each sentence he'jore reading 
 the sentence in the original. Thus much time is saved and 
 tedium also avoided. It is natural to become impatient of mere 
 sounds before knowing their meaning; and it is necessary when 
 they are known to return and go over them again, in thought at 
 least. The translation should be so conducted that the grammar 
 should come in, not in the way of precept, but of practice. Thus 
 in the first lesson; begin by saying that the general form of the 
 article is so and so. Then every time a form of the article occurs, 
 run through the three genders of that particular case and tell 
 the pupils to do the same in a low voice. In case of confusion 
 of forms, proceed by stating the case, and then give the three 
 genders. Thus the students will soon be able to repeat per- 
 fectly, and in their natural connection, the phases of the article 
 and never give one case instead of another; while no time has 
 been lost in the process. So of other points of grammar, taking 
 them up one at a time, not too hurriedly. Grammar is easily 
 learned in the course 0} time, but is exceedingly difficult to learn 
 in mass, at once. 
 
 February 12, 1845 (Halle). — News has arrived from Berlin 
 
 that since the visit of Herr B minister at London to the King 
 
 last year and their secret comprenus together, the King has been 
 working upon a constitution, and is about to give it in to the 
 several Landtags of the provinces, — now, for four weeks from 
 the last Monday, in session. Germany is electrified. Wandel, 
 as a student, is half-crazy with joy. Surmises are numberless 
 upon its contents. The King is immortalized upon the spot, 
 and all dissatisfaction on the point of taking wings to fly away. . . . 
 
 I have borrowed Strauss' * Life of Jesus and am reading it. 
 I took up the book with fear and trembling, and prayed ear- 
 nestly that my faith might stand if it were a good faith, and that 
 God would lead me into the way of all truth, by opening my 
 eyes to discern where truth lay and where error. The first page 
 I opened troubled me beyond measure; it was a rapid, concise, 
 
 * David Friedrich Strauss. Bom at Ludwigsburg, Wiirtemberg, Janu- 
 ary 27, 1808: died at Ludwigsburg, February 8, 1874. A celebrated Ger- 
 man theological and philosophical writer and biographer. He was edu- 
 cated at Tubingen and Berlin, and was "repetent" at the Theological 
 Seminary and lecturer at the University of Tiibingen 1832-35. He was 
 deprived of his office on account of hig "Leben Jesu " {Century Cyclo- 
 pedia,) 
 
 I 
 
i84S SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 115 
 
 sharp-sighted, clearly presented although only by the by coining 
 catalogue of Harmonic difficulties in the way of the truth of the 
 Gospel. 
 
 It was in the last chapter of his introduction. I then turned to 
 his first chapter in the life of Jesus when a child, and read it 
 with care. No one can imagine the joy I experienced when 
 closing the book I reflected upon the exceeding ease with which 
 a soul filled with the ideas of first the necessity of a Revelation, 
 and second the power and presence of God, and third the con- 
 sistency existing between His power and will, and the exhibi- 
 tion of the same in the way of miracles — could listen calmly to 
 the mild, logical, unimpassioned, almost disinterested words of 
 Strauss, and pass unhesitating judgment upon the presumption, 
 and folly of his Standpunct (point of view). His effort is to 
 prove that the account of the birth of John Baptist is a myth, 
 i.e. that some Christian wishing to take advantage of the no- 
 toriety, in history, of the Baptist, in order to interweave his 
 career with that of Jesus, and satisfy thereby the general feeling 
 among the Jews that the Messiah was to have a forerunner, — 
 framed the history of his birth from materials gathered here and 
 there out of the Old Testament such as the births of Isaac, Sam- 
 son, etc. The grand talisman of criticism which Strauss uses 
 is that unbelieving sentence, es ist gar nicht wahrscheinlich, "it 
 is very improbable." 
 
 His book is valuable to the theologian for its contents. It 
 embraces a summary of best hypotheses on the side of Chris- 
 tian and Rationalistic Harmonists, and gives the quintessence 
 of objection which can be made to the several parts of the Holy 
 Scripture. May God confound the wisdom of the wise and lead 
 this man to the knowledge of this truth! . . . 
 
 On Monday last I walked with Tholuck, Lyman, and H. 
 I put the first a question somewhat like this: Why are the Old 
 Testament Scriptures so low esteemed in Germany? He an- 
 swered, because it was not a part of the Bible,— and asked me 
 if what was said in it about God's will and works was not too 
 grausam (cruel) to be true? I replied it was grausam thus to 
 think and thus to speak. They all three laughed heartily. I 
 felt much more like crying than laughing. Grausam! yes, cruel 
 enough to poor souls which wish to have, to keep and to be saved 
 by a Bible, when that Bible is torn from them by impertinent, 
 ignorant criticism. Since I have been in Germany, I have heard 
 every book or collection of books in the Bible pronounced, in turn, 
 by different persons, of different opinions, spurious. One says 
 
Ii6 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 Genesis is a fiction; another says Job was written by a returned 
 captive; another says the Hebrews are not genuine, that Peter 
 is apocryphal, that the first chapter of John, of Luke, are added ; 
 every verse you bring up of a decided power against a man's 
 errors, becomes immediately in his eyes an interpolated verse. 
 Some reject the Old Testament, some the New, and some call the 
 whole a moral, a fiction, or a lie. Germany is a wareshop of 
 Biblical unbelief; purchasers from abroad will find here a full as- 
 sortment. The Christian who wants no such ware, looks on, and 
 holds his whole Bible the tighter to his breast. 
 
 In later years my father delighted in the "Higher Crit- 
 icism," and read omnivorously along this line of Biblical 
 research, so that I find it difficult to imagine him possessed 
 in youth of so different a view of the subject. 
 
 February 14, 1845 (Halle). — ^Which is most to be pitied, upon 
 physical considerations, that poor old woman toiling across the 
 promenade with her panier of Torjstein bending her half-down 
 to the ground, — or yonder professor hobbling down the stairs 
 of the University, with arms half-spread in instinctive guard 
 against the possibility of falling, whose youth-life was consumed 
 by incessant toil, whose limbs are cracked and shortened by 
 rheumatism contracted by sitting with his feet in cold water to 
 keep his exhausted nature from falling into sleep before his daily 
 task was performed ? The one is a Bauer's wife or widow — the 
 other Professor Tholuck, with his half-shut eyes, thought-fur- 
 rowed brow, ill-set clothes, straight-rimmed old hat, unstrapped 
 pantaloons, — a professor run to seed — a godly man above the 
 world — an incipient Gabriel in flesh,, bone, leather and wool 
 arrayed, waiting for his presentation at court. . . . 
 
 History. Weltgeschicte. History of the development of 
 the human world soul. History of philosophy from the time 
 the world went to Thales' infant school, to the date of its last 
 brochure from the press, of Kant, Schilling, Fichte, Hegel and 
 Co. What a nonsensical jumble the philosophical historian 
 of historical philosophy makes of it all! What with "tasks" 
 and developments, necessities and probabilities, antipathies and 
 analogies, actions and reactions, what an amount of " Heftpapier" 
 one must use up to put it all down upon! And after all one 
 learns nothing new — one just turns round and round and comes 
 down the tall old corkscrew staircase of the old Time Cathedral, 
 
i845 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY I17 
 
 and finds that though every single step sets him with his face to a 
 different point of the compass until he is in a state of philosophical 
 and most unphilosophic desperation — yet that every step is 
 exactly under and agreeable to the eighth or the sixteenth in 
 order above it — and the eighth or the sixteenth in order belovi^ 
 it — and that the door at the bottom faces exactly the same way 
 as the door at the top. A man must lay both hands on the straight 
 stem in the middle all the way down, if he doesn't wish to get 
 giddy and come down with the run. The post in the centre I 
 take to be a composition granite — its mica, felspar and quartz 
 are, I suspect, Christianity, common sense and an abomination 
 of modern Germanism. 
 
 February 15, 1845 (Halle). — . . . My day's work is as regular as 
 the snow. Up between 6^ and 7. Bible and breakfast and 
 Thomas a Kempis until 8; letters, etc., etc., till 9 o'clock. Wandel 
 comes and stays till 10, and leaves me exhausted or with a head- 
 ache. Strauss or Franke till 11. Go to read "Vicar of Wake- 
 field " with Myers (or if on Tuesday and Friday, to talk English 
 with Professor Erdmann) till 12. Dinner and German con- 
 versation till I. Strauss, etc. till 2; (or Monday and Thurs- 
 day, French with Blanc at the University). Walk with Voigt 
 till 3. (English and German every alternate day.) Leo's 
 lecture on French Revolution Monday, Wednesday and Friday; 
 and Holman, Italian (Boccaccio), Tuesday and Thursday until 
 4. Then walk with Wandel or whoever will go, or return and 
 read till 5. Erdmann 's lecture upon History of Philosophy till 
 6. Supper and German. Translation into German from Cecil's 
 "Remains," etc., until 10 (one evening in the week, 7 to 8 Bible 
 study, one evening in the week, 8 to 10, Tholuck's levee). Bible 
 and Andacht's B. to bed. 
 
 I find myself very weak and very lazy. I have often to lie 
 down on the sofa for 5 or 10 minutes to gather strength. The 
 German students take another but a worse way to attain the 
 same object. They drink coffee, and smoke. This gives them 
 an immediate increase of strength. Some will drink 10 cups of 
 coffee and more in the course of the day, and smoke almost 
 as many pipes. . . . 
 
 Evening, loj o'clock. Just returned with Robie Lyman, 
 Perston and two German students, from a great ^'Commers" 
 or meeting of students in the large hall of the Wein Traube, 
 quarter of a mile out the Gebigenstein gate, beyond the peni- 
 tentiary. Three large circular oil chandeliers hung from the 
 
li8 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 ceiling. An arcade supporting a gallery for a fine brass band 
 filled up one end of the room. Square tables were ranged in 
 rows along it, and shifted at pleasure, but always kept in line, 
 for the parties and rows of students, of whom 300 might be present. 
 
 As Roby and I, after our quiet walk over the snow beneath 
 the rows of small trees in the deep-cut road, reached the build- 
 ing, the rich swell of a student song, full of Freiheit and Vater- 
 land, rose and fell upon the night air. On entering we took a 
 seat at a side table and were soon joined by Lyman. Gould and 
 Wandel we descried seated against the wall on the opposite side 
 of the room. The song continued. Every voice made itself 
 heard. The pipes hung idly in the hands. Heads were thrown 
 back over the chairs, the face upturned, and the soul following 
 the song to heaven — the students' heaven! Little boys ran up 
 and down the aisles between the tables carrying out the empty 
 mugs and replacing them full before each student, and received 
 his half-groschen in return. The song swells and dies and swells 
 again, — the choruses shake the room. Now all rise and every 
 one strikes his glass against as many of his friends as are within 
 his arm's reach, and the song and the last chorus end together. 
 
 When they ceased singing, they all rose and walked and 
 crowded together, talking, laughing, filling the air with a cloud 
 of smoke and a roar of joyous noise. Some were noble fellows. 
 Faces in which deep thought had left its impression: — faces of 
 full-moon good fellowship — faces of deep melancholy — faces of 
 singular beauty — faces common, and ugly, striking and tame, — 
 faces of every character except vulgarity and brutality — all beam- 
 ing with the easy nonchalance and overflowing bonhomie and 
 thorough satisfaction, so indigenous to the soil of German " Bur- 
 schen" life. 
 
 Most wore their caps — the little student Miitze. One or 
 two had decorated them with long red tassels. Many had their 
 long hair falling in straight masses upon their back and shoulders 
 (for the German hair not often waves). All had the indispensable 
 long pipe or the less fashionable cigar, and left their great glass 
 mugs with silvered hds before their chairs upon the table. 
 
 Here were men of all the Germanic nations, and the coming 
 of the Englishman among them (for they recognize no distinc- 
 tion between the English, Scotch and Americans) gratified them 
 all. Here were Russians and Saxons and Pommerns, West- 
 phalians, Swabians, Baiems, Austrians and Hungarians with 
 their long black hair and virgin bushy beards. Men from the 
 Rhine, from the North Sea, and from beyond the Carpaths met 
 
i845 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 119 
 
 here on common ground, and loved each other with German 
 hearts. As the 5000 met in 1820 to sing songs of Freedom on 
 the Wartzburg hill; in the same spirit these 200 met here to-night 
 to sing the same songs — at least those of them that are not pro- 
 hibited by law — and to feel, if they dare not speak, for Germany 
 and Freedom. 
 
 But another and more immediate and therefore stronger 
 principle of union operates to-night. These assembled are part 
 of the 330 who have organized in minor kneipes or societies, 
 and now for the first time assemble together (under pretence 
 of a concert, inserted in the corner of the newspaper, at which it 
 was understood none but students would be present — in order 
 to escape the punishment attached to secret or public gather- 
 ings of students as such) avowedly in opposition to the "Club," 
 i.e. the 100 students who in time past have self-constituted them- 
 selves a court of honor, and ruled the 700 students of the Univer- 
 sity with a rod of iron. The story of the tyranny exercised by 
 this selection of imperious spirits from the various kingdoms of 
 Germany, would be a long one. Now their reign is past. A con- 
 stitution will be formed next week, in which the laws of dwelling 
 will be accurately detailed, closely adhered to, and energetically 
 carried into effect. A general president, who holds his place 
 four weeks presiding covertly (else he would be ejected from the 
 University); and every little circle of 10 or 20, with a vice-presi- 
 dent at its head, judges upon every case brought before it, and 
 the verdict of the parts becomes the verdict of the whole. 
 
 The most perfect unanimity and good feeling reigned through- 
 out the room. Song followed song. At last several came to us, 
 pleaded against our isolation, carried off our table and joined it 
 with Wandel's party, with whom I seated myself and joined with 
 all my voice in the glorious music, although it was about " Music, 
 wine and love" — and the glories of the Burschen life. 
 
 At half-past 10 I left. . . . 
 
 Sabbath, February 16, 1845 (Halle). — ... I feel an ever -in- 
 creasing, ever more continuous desire of seeking the salvation 
 of the souls around me; yet this desire is never gratified. Instead 
 of leading the conversation, I am led by it. Despair often comes 
 over me when I think of the future. If I am ever to do any 
 good, now is the time, as well as a year hence, when I may be in 
 another world. If I am too weak, too selfish, or too unbeliev- 
 ing now, what reason have I to believe such dispositions will 
 come with a change of scene or a formal assumption of office? 
 
I20 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 I am incessantly reminded of David; * — a friendless refugee, 
 ignorant of the language, timid, modest, sensitive, yet burning 
 with so pure a love for the souls of men and zeal for the glory 
 of his Saviour, that before six months had passed over his head 
 in America God had given him five or six seals [sic] to his unas- 
 suming ministry. And what have I done here? Absolutely 
 nothing. Too timid to rebuke, too cold to plead, too selfish to 
 offend, I have no doubt I encourage the indifference I see around 
 me rather than remove it; and yet I feel and say to myself in 
 my own room, I would give or do anything to win souls to Christ. 
 The next hour I go out, find opportunities, neglect them, return 
 and say the same words. Such a man has a right to doubt that 
 he is a Christian, will be drowned in the ocean as he goes to take 
 up his office, or deposed from his ministry after he has assumed it. 
 
 What is to be done? My heart says, goodness is a gift of 
 God: one must not look a gift horse in the mouth. Conscience 
 cries out at the thought, and warns me that God has said. Be 
 perfect as I am perfect. Work while it is called to-day. Be 
 instant in season and out of season. Offer up your soul and 
 body a reasonable service. My heart replies, I wish to: and, 
 pointing to the books loading the table, bids me reflect on the 
 number of hours I spend in translating German. Conscience 
 is not satisfied, but ask if preparation for duly to come is to exclude 
 duty at hand. The heart pleads a regular cheerful life, a stead- 
 fast rejection of error, even occasional zeal for the truth when 
 it is attacked. Conscience replies: must not precept accompany 
 example? must not general truth be made particular by being 
 made personal? Man's heart is like Babylon with its gardens. 
 If the Christian blockades it merely, his hopes are in vain, for it 
 has provision enough within itself to sustain an endless siege. 
 He must attack it and if possible take it by storm. 
 
 Driven to extremities, the heart, as a last resort, pleads that 
 the heart of man is in the hand of God. That all the talking 
 and preaching in the world will do no good unless God sees proper 
 to make men better by his own Almighty grace. Conscience 
 answers, if that were a good reason for Christians to hold their 
 peace and live among other people like other people, it were 
 also a good reason for abolishing the ordinance of the ministry, 
 and even for neglecting the preaching of an innocent and useful 
 Christian life. 
 
 * His friend David Trumbull probably, who had gone to Valparaiso 
 as a missionary. 
 
i845 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 121 
 
 But, says the heart, if you ask every one you meet if he loves 
 Jesus, if he ever prays, etc., etc., you vs^ill offend him, make 
 yourself generally hated and shunned as a fanatic and fool, and 
 of course can then do no good. 
 
 And do you do any good if you do not ask these questions ? 
 is the reply of Conscience. Besides people who live in imme- 
 diate connection with j^ou will find it hard to shun you in common 
 intercourse of life, and repeated questions get at last an answer. 
 Moreover it is not so easy to offend another by a Christian Ques- 
 tion as you think for. People also are much more accessible 
 on religious ground — much oftener indeed anxious to be asked 
 these very questions, to which shame prevents them seeking from 
 others solutions, than is generally imagined. 
 
 No! it is a nameless shame worthy of the devil, but most 
 unworthy of a saved soul — the shame of speaking about the good, 
 in this bad world; about God among those who fear and dis- 
 like Him; of being in direct opposition with those who know 
 with you, but cannot feel with you; of hurting them, by exciting 
 within them that internal dissension, which they are ever at 
 such pains — such unavailing pains to allay. That is the true 
 reason of the Christian's backwardness to ask the kind and 
 simple question — do you ever pray? It is as disagreeable, and 
 precisely for the same reasons, as to ask a person whose honesty 
 you suspect — have you seen my watch? You sympathize so 
 much with his chagrin — ^you feel his shame so much yourself 
 before it comes on him — ^you are so unwilling to hurt his feelings 
 in their tenderest point,. their self-respect, that rather than do it, 
 you leave him in his unpraying, unreconciled condition, and he 
 is damned forever. You, whom God in mercy has led to secure 
 your own salvation, are too unwilling to hurt your fellow -creature's 
 feelings — ^rather say, are too unwilling to wound your own self- 
 loving, sympathetic heart — to save his soul from Hell. Fy! upon 
 such a Christian! 
 
 Monday, February 17, 1845. — ^Why am I a Calvinist, etc.? 
 is a question which has often given me and no doubt multitudes 
 of lovers of the truth much trouble to answer. The ordinary 
 answer is, because Calvinism is the truth. I retort — so I think, 
 but can I be certain of it, seeing so many others, equally and 
 better qualified to judge of what is truth, decide otherwise, and 
 have each one his own system? The answer to the question, 
 Why I am so and so? as it is a universal question, should be 
 a universal answer. 
 
122 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 I would therefore rather give this answer. When all comes 
 to all, every man must decide for himself upon the phases of 
 truth and error as presented to him, and act accordingly. His 
 question then, as far as action is concerned, becomes not, what 
 is Truth ? but, what is Truth to me ? What are my probabilities 
 of Truth? 
 
 I am a Calvinist therefore, not because Calvinism is Truth 
 to the exclusion of other isms (although for all I can say or others 
 can say to the contrary, it may be so) — but because it is that 
 system of asserted truths which to my mind seems the most con- 
 sequent or consistent. 
 
 I thus avoid first the immodesty of asserting something to 
 be truth, in the face of denying thousands, although in the end 
 the thousands may be wrong and I alone right: and . . . second, 
 the necessity of denying asserted truths which though inconse- 
 quent to my system seem too well established to be denied with- 
 out injury to the delicacy of either conscience or reason. 
 
 As a Calvinist, a geologist, an artist of a particular school, 
 etc., etc., I defend these particular systems of Truth as being 
 those phases of Truth which I as an independent reasoning being 
 must regard, respect and be subject unto. While I can look 
 without hostility upon all the, to me, inconsequent assertions or 
 phases of truth which other men around me are in like manner 
 subject unto. 
 
 In a word one must cease to polemize upon Eternal truth, 
 and be satisfied with investigating, acting upon, and sustaining 
 temporal phases which it presents to one. Modesty and a love 
 of Truth are sisters. . . . 
 
 Friday, February 28, 1845 (Halle). — . . . The attempted 
 coalition among the students has been discovered and broken 
 down. The students were foolish enough to venture on holding 
 a committee meeting in the day-time. The University poodles 
 (hired spies unknown and frequently changed) of course dis- 
 covered. The four vice-presidents at the meeting were cited, 
 and at once, according to general agreement and the infinite sur- 
 prise of the senate, Schultze and Pernice at the head, told every- 
 thing. On Wednesday evening the committee for drawing up 
 their constitution met, at 7 o'clock some of them, the whole at 11. 
 After they had come in from the museum, Tholuck's, etc., etc. 
 (whither they had gone to elude suspicion), in a house in the 
 country and remained in violent debate until 9 o'clock next morn- 
 ing. Had the discovery been delayed a few weeks longer, until 
 
i84S SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 123 
 
 their constitution was finally settled and adopted, that the true 
 object of the association could have been self-apparent, they 
 would not have cared. Now they had to do all they were to do, 
 at once. They met again yesterday. But unhappily there are 
 two elements contained in the common desire to break down the 
 duelling and despotic clubs. One part of the coalition are Chris- 
 tians and have formed a party in favor of a constitution upon a 
 strictly moral basis; the rest say no, morality must not enter — 
 for if it does all duelling will be abolished, and while this every-day, 
 childish slashing of noses should be effectually put a stop to, there 
 will arise cases of justifiable duel, which we must provide for in 
 our constitution [?]. They can come to no agreement and it is 
 difficult to imagine a compromise, for the moralists dare not ad- 
 vance a step from their ground; without subjecting themselves 
 to the danger of being at some time or other drawn into a duel. 
 
 In March he seems to have visited Berlin and several 
 other places, returning to Halle the 27th of March. 
 
 Friday, March 14, 1845 (Berlin). — . . . After one or two 
 attempts among the splendid private residences in it and Linni 
 Street found Mr. Fay's * house, and soon after sat listening with 
 a delight, somewhat difficult to explain perhaps, to the sounds 
 made by a little girl in the next room, who was repeating and sing- 
 ing to her mother the first verse or two of the old ballad "cruel, 
 cruel, cruel, sarpent," in the purest English. I thought I never 
 had heard music more sweet. I have not heard the voice of an 
 English woman since. I left Paris, as well as I can remember; 
 nor of an English child. This was still better, for it was American 
 English. 
 
 Mr. Fay soon came in, and gave me Jewitt's old address, 
 and some kind but quite unnecessary medical advice, and in- 
 formed me of a letter which had been presented to him many 
 times, and no later than last evening. He is quite a young man, 
 slender and suffering. He thinks Berlin air inflammatory. 
 
 . . . Returning to the University I heard a lecture from Nean- 
 
 * Theodore Sedgwick Fay. Born at New York, February 10, 1807. 
 An American miscellaneous writer and diplomatist. Associate editor of 
 the New York Mirror in 1828; secretary of the American legation at 
 Berlin in 1837-53; minister resident at Bern, Switzerland, 1853-61, when 
 he retired to private life. Author of "Great Outlines of Geography," 1867. 
 {Century Cyclopedia^ 
 
124 . LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 der,* an ugly, crooked, dark - eyebro wed, rascally -looking little 
 fellow, with yellow skin, and nothing but a pair of delicious eyes 
 to recommend him. He lectured behind a high desk, on which 
 he leaned his face on his arm, so that he was rarely visible, and 
 swung it forward and backward on its two front legs. 
 
 March i6th. — . . . The King once sent an invitation to Nean- 
 der to supper (the Queen wanted to see him). He told his sister 
 he hadn't time to answer the note, and she must write and say that 
 he had made an appointment with two students for the hour 
 named and couldn't come, but would call in some other time. 
 The King knew the man and sent another invitation another day. 
 Neander came, but soon after his coffee had been poured out, he 
 got up, looked at his watch, and said (almost the first thing he 
 had said) that he had forgotten some business he had to do, and 
 went away. He is one of the most indefatigable students in 
 Germany and talks ancient [Greek — or Hebrew?] almost like 
 German. The stories of his new pantaloons; walking home in 
 the gutter; swelled foot; change of residence, etc., etc., are very 
 amusing, but need verification. No doubt his personal defects 
 have contributed to wean him from the world and society and to 
 make him the contemplative being he is. He is said to have 
 about as little active Christianity as he has much of the passive. 
 He is said to take little interest in any of the great religious move- 
 ments of the day, such as the conversion of the Jews — tho' once 
 himself a Jew. He is much beloved by all who approach him. 
 He was sick. At the end of a week, he returned to the lecture- 
 room and saw it decorated with garlands. He burst into tears. 
 
 March 20. — ... I then went to see Neander, talked five 
 minutes, . . . and made my bow, admiring more than ever the 
 long hanging black eyebrows and the love eyes. He didn't ask 
 me to sit, but seemed willing to converse as long as I pleased 
 — about America. . . , 
 
 March 21. — . . . Went to the Street called' Behind-the-foundry 
 Street, and was ushered through two finely furnished rooms 
 
 *Johann Wilhelm Neander (originally David Mendel). Born at 
 Gottingen, January 16, 1789: died at Berlin, July 14, 1850. A noted 
 German Protestant church historian and theologian of Hebrew descent; 
 professor at Berlin from 181 2. His chief work is "Allgemeine Geschichte 
 der Christlichen Religion und Kirche" ("General History of the Christian 
 Religion and Church," 6 vols. 1825-52), etc. {From Century Cyclopedia.) 
 
i845 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 125 
 
 and seated on a splendid ottoman, beside the little old von Buch,* 
 while among other books on a table before it lay the first copy 
 of J Hall's volume of the N. Y. Geological Report, which has 
 as yet struggled across into Germany. The old man seemed 
 pleased to see me, but nothing more, — polite, not cordial, yet 
 talked freely in his mumbling German intonations, and listened 
 courteously to my horrible attempts to express myself in the 
 same language. Showed me some encrinites. 
 
 [Geological conversation.] Still — and it is strange, yet not 
 strange — no mention of dynamics. All is comparison litholog- 
 ical — and identification palsontological. When I said I thought 
 the Jura just like the Alleghany, he looked at me a decided No; 
 for he had but the one idea — the Jura limestone does not cross 
 the Atlantic. Rogers will wake them to new life when he comes 
 to Europe this summer. Our maps would also do it if they were 
 only printed. . , . 
 
 March 27. — . . . Spring has indeed set in. This has been 
 so far a golden week. Read IfHand's f "Jager" on Tuesday, and 
 Prutz's "Moritz von Sachsen" yesterday. The latter has been 
 suppressed and therefore become celebrated. There is noth- 
 ing in the tragedy which would suggest to a trans-Atlantic mind 
 the idea of suppression. He makes Moritz a new German free- 
 dom hero, spouting of the fatherland, etc., etc., conquering his 
 father-in-law Philip and John Fredk. of Saxony out of a 
 romantic love for the star of Germany "the one hero living" 
 Charles V. — and casting him off, not so much to liberate the cap- 
 tive princes as to save Germany from a hereditary monarchy, 
 and Philip of Spain. 
 
 March 28. — ^Yesterday a great crowd assembled at the Eisen- 
 bahn to receive the from-Leipzig-coming Ronge,$ Chezsky and 
 others of their party. I did not see them, but was told that 
 Ronge is a young, bashful, amiable-looking man, Chezsky older 
 and finer in his bearing. They supped last evening with their 
 inviters and the professors who liked them and whoever else 
 
 * Christian Leopold von Buch. Born at Stolpe, Prussia, April 26, 
 1774: died at Berlin March 4, 1853. A celebrated German geologist and 
 traveller. {Century Cyclopedia) 
 
 t August Wilhelm Iffland. Born at Hannover, Prussia, April 19, 1759: 
 died at Berlin, September 22, 1814. A noted German actor and dramatist, 
 {Century Cyclopedia.) 
 
 X Johannes Ronge. Religious leader. {See Universal Cyclopedia.) 
 
126 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 chose to pay 50 cents for a ticket. Zimmerman came in half- 
 frantic, saying that he had actually pressed his hand. . . . 
 
 March 29. — Yesterday saw Ronge, Chezsky and the new 
 Catholic Gemeinde (congregation) just organized in Halle. They 
 were all breakfasting together in the Stadt Zurich. 
 
 . . . Ronge is young — 28 perhaps — with a very engaging, 
 amiable, smiling countenance, and long black hair. I looked 
 at him long and attentively, but could not believe that I had 
 before me a Luther, or a Calvin or even a Joe Smith. Nothing 
 like greatness shone in his countenance, and when he arose, as 
 in the noise and movement he frequently did, to greet others, 
 his little stature and boyish look was anything but commanding. 
 Some kissed him ! Indeed I saw a good deal of kissing going on 
 among the members of the breakfast party, and done in so ready 
 and accurate a manner as to prove they had long been accus- 
 tomed to the form. My ideas of German brotherhood and love 
 have much changed, and altho' when I see two red-faced men 
 playing the woman upon each other's lips or cheeks I don't 
 think of Joab's " how art thou my brother " to Abner, yet I remem- 
 ber how much like other men the Germans are within and how 
 readily they take offence or become suspicious slanderers of their 
 neighbors or their seeming friends. All is not gold that glit- 
 ters, and German Biederkeit and German Bruderschaft bears 
 too suspicious a resemblance to the honesty and fellowship of 
 other people, for a spectator not to think on "German Metal," 
 used instead of virgin gold leaf, to give a lustre to toys and 
 gingerbread. 
 
 Be Ronge what he may — be he a bold and indefatigable 
 fanatic (which I think incredible) — or an ardent, zealous lover 
 of the truth, his fellow-men and God (for which I see no evi- 
 dence) — or merely a man of common passions and uncommon 
 bonhomie, whom accident (to use a bad word in a good sense) 
 has forced into notice by the sudden outbreak of young indig- 
 nation at abuses which he saw around him — be he what he may 
 — he is just now a hero. His route is a triumph, crowds await 
 and welcome him. Europe caresses his name. 
 
 But this cannot well last long. The movement is too univer- 
 sal to be led by one man, when he is not a Luther. A bolder 
 or more powerful man will usurp his station and his fame. Would 
 God it were a second war against the heresies of Rome! But, 
 alas, it is merely the shaking away the old skin of the snake — 
 sloughing off the popedom, confession and celibacy, — but the 
 
i845 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 127 
 
 snake remains. Not a word is said of purgatory, of the presence 
 of the eucharist; saints may yet be worshipped; good works 
 save the soul. 
 
 As for Chezsky, who entered the room with a cloak, the great 
 fur collar lying over his shoulders, he is less remarkable in his 
 features even than Ronge; also small, unintellectual ; unim- 
 aginative; without inspiring any sentiment of respect, other 
 than that of man for man. 
 
 One of the party rose and made a short, embarrassed speech, 
 perhaps a minute in duration, and proposed a toast to some one 
 present, Prof. Wigand I think. The latter rose and did the 
 same. Two others followed. Every time the jingling of glasses 
 was enormous. Every man seemed to feel his conscience bur- 
 dened if his glass had not touched all within reach. Ronge rose 
 and in a low, musical but hesitating voice made a speech three 
 or four minutes long, in which he alluded to the precedence of 
 the Schneidemiihle congregation in the work, and explained 
 why a closer connection had not formed between that congre- 
 gation and his at Breslau, merely by saying that the latter could 
 not adopt all the former had. (In other words the Schn. congr. 
 was evangelical, or nearly so and the Breslau congr. not.) Say- 
 ing a few commonplace things in rather an earnest, but some- 
 what also of a canting manner, he gave the toast— /wr ewige 
 Eintracht der neu-catholischen Gemeinde in Halle — "to the 
 eternal unanimity of the New Catholic Congregation in Halle." 
 
 He evidently has a strong conviction of the propriety of the 
 step he has taken, and a desire, common to multitudes of the 
 transalpines, to throw off the burdensome yoke of Italian priest- 
 craft. 
 
 April I. — After seeing all my things removed to our new 
 dwelling back of a house in the Rheinische Strasse, south of the 
 Moritz Kirche, I couldn't resist the temptation to go with Roby, 
 Wandel and Mrs. Perston to Gnadau at five p.m. Gnadau lies 
 nearly at the mouth of the Saale and perhaps 30 miles north of 
 Halle (10 S. of Magdeburg). . . . 
 
 At Gnadau we four went to a brother's house with whom 
 Mrs. P. had made an agreement beforehand, and were greeted 
 on entrance by himself and wife; the father-in-law stood behind 
 a high chair in one corner, a boy was bathing his frosted feet 
 before the great stove, and a little daughter completed the family 
 circle. We had tea with them, and our host expressed his pleas- 
 ure at hearing for the first time a prayer in English. . , , 
 
128 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 Wednesday, April 2, 1845 (Gnadau). — Gnadau is a charming 
 little Dorf, of 300 inhabitants, clean, comfortable, and noise- 
 less. A Sabbath stillness rests about it. It is a quadrangle of 
 houses, crossed by two main streets, at right angles, passing through 
 the centre, quadrangular, hedge-enclosed and tree-covered square. 
 On the outside of this quadrangle, runs a hard-beaten foot- 
 path or walk, under trees, forming a charming promenade, 
 and filled just now by scattered pairs and parties of strangers and 
 citizens, ministers, students, and "sisters." From this walk, out- 
 ward, stretches the level of the plain, with here and there, some 
 miles in the distance, a clustered village with its church tower. 
 Otherwise it is an unbroken waste of ploughed and sown land, 
 without an object to catch the eye except a heap of manure or a 
 mounting lark. I am wrong, however, to make it so universal, 
 for on one side stand a pair of windmills, man and wife. 
 
 Thus stands the little brotherhood of houses, in its seclusion 
 from the world, yet maintaining a close connection with Herrn- 
 hut* in the South, Paris and Bethelem in the West, S. Africa, the 
 islands, and Greenland. One of the sisters is about to be sent out 
 to the Cape of Good Hope to marry a missionary she has never 
 seen. He wrote lately for a wife, and she will be the first answer 
 to his letter. She is a choice woman, and her loss at Gnadau 
 will be severely felt. He is a Dane, she has been in Gnadau 
 for 14 years back — is 28 years old. 
 
 The government is simple. The Inspector (of religious af- 
 fairs) and his wife, the superintendent (of temporal affairs) and 
 his wife, the Warden of the brothers' house and the matron of 
 the sisters' house (the former has 40 -f-, the latter 70, inmates) 
 form, with one common brother, generally the oldest in the Ge- 
 meinde, a committee or council, for casting the lot, and any other 
 matter (if there be any other coming under their jurisdiction; 
 of which I am not aware). From Herrnhut emanate the decisions 
 respecting missionary changes, appointments, support, etc. The 
 inspectors of the Gemeindes at Gnadau and elsewhere over the 
 world, observe, note, and report the characters of every member 
 of the Gemeinde to Herrnhut. An emergency arises, a mission- 
 ary is wanted for a station, or a wife for a missionary. At Herrn- 
 hut the choice is made, and word sent to the one chosen. He 
 has the option of laying the case before the Lord himself and if 
 he has no " freudiges Gefuhl" about it, — i.e. if he declares hecan- 
 
 * Herrnhut. A town in the governmental district of Bautzen, Saxony, 
 45 miles east of Dresden. The chief seat of the Moravian Brotherhood, 
 founded 1722. {Century Cyclopedia.) 
 
i845 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 129 
 
 not feel the call, — to decline — or of submitting it to the decision 
 of the Lord in the lot. The lot is cast by the seven after fasting 
 and prayer, and the decision is final. 
 
 Breakfasting together on coffee and cream (they gave me a 
 pot of milk) in Mrs. P.'s room, we soon received notice of the 
 fine day, and M^ent out for a walk. 
 
 At 8J o'clock the people began to assemble in the church. 
 Wandel and I took our stations in the organ gallery which ran 
 across one end of the church. Roby took a seat among the 
 students and ministers in one of the movable benches in the 
 body of the house. And Mrs. P. with her female friends went 
 among the sisters in the gallery at the opposite end. Below the 
 gallery was a great window looking into the church, filled with 
 women's heads, each having the peculiar Moravian cap on, in 
 which many of the younger ones look exceedingly well. The 
 pretty French teacher who sat on the sofa with Mrs. P. last 
 evening after tea, and talked French, and who resembled S. C. 
 so much, wore hers very gracefully; she is said to be an earnest, 
 modest, and most useful Christian, and Roby was as much 
 pleased with her as I was. 
 
 Buying a copy of the songs to be sung and theses to be dis- 
 cussed at a little table near the entrance, where those about to 
 belong to the association designated their names with a cross, 
 we took our place, and soon after Westermeier, the Moderator, 
 gave out the 13th hymn, and the organ led the singing. A long, 
 earnest, even vehement and quite un-German prayer followed by 
 Mr. W., and then Tholuck was called upon to speak. He took the 
 chair and chose this for his theme, "What has the Lord done 
 for us, and what do we do for him?" He spoke of a request 
 made him when he was only a guest of the body (he had first 
 enrolled his name) to speak upon the state of religion in Germany; 
 that he had been then prevented, and wished now to comply. He 
 began at the time of Germany's darkness, 1 780-1810, and de- 
 scribed the gradual advancement of the cause of God to the present 
 time, introducing many of his choicest anecdotes, and being 
 listened to with extraordinary attention. Indeed whenever he 
 rose afterwards to speak, however wild the tumult of voices might 
 happen to be, the loud hiss ran instantly through the assembly, 
 and a dead silence ensued. His words are devoured as oracles. 
 He says little, and every word tells. 
 
 Returning to his seat against the wall beside the pulpit, or 
 desk rather (for it is nothing more), facing the assembly (about 
 200 in number), the chairman gave out the 3rd hymn, and after- 
 
130 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 wards said a few words, and then requested brother Gloel to 
 come forward and read his theses, that motion might be taken 
 upon them. Altho' that is too formal an expression to correspond 
 with the childish informahty of all the proceedings, the object 
 was to pass a unanimous assent to the theses and print them 
 for Germany. 
 
 Brother Gloel is a great square -shouldered, wide-cheeked, 
 ungainly German of 50 or thereabout, and rolling up to the desk, 
 stood thereon and delivered himself, in a series of clear intona- 
 tions, of the contents of his pamphlet, beginning with the title of 
 Wislecenus' last — Oh Schrift? oh Geist? (Whether the letter or 
 the spirit of Scripture ?) 
 
 The 70 theses were read in order, the ministers assenting 
 to most of them with a murmured ja, gut, or some such sign 
 of satisfaction running through the benches, breaking out into 
 rather louder utterance at any very good decided orthodox sen- 
 tence. To some, however, objections were raised; discussion 
 arose; the ministers would get to talking to each other, instead 
 of to the chair; at which the Moderator would cry, hitte, hitte, 
 till he was quite warm, and as a last resource seize and ring an 
 auctioneer's bell which stood before him. However he would 
 not suffer if he could help it anybody to interrupt another in 
 speaking, yet he broke in himself with his opinion wherever he 
 liked and at one time he and Gloel were addressing most vehe- 
 mently the two sides of the house at the same time. 
 
 Though this assembly was quite a choice one, though they 
 felt themselves closely united by Christian love and mutual Chris- 
 tian interests, though politeness, friendship and affection com- 
 bined to render their action harmonious and their expressions 
 mild and conciliating, yet it was impossible to keep wholly out 
 of view the evidences of the fact which here made its appearance 
 as a universal one — as one connected with Christian humanity 
 in its most general relations — ^namely the divisions into an Au- 
 gustinian and a Pelagian party; a stern, unflinching truth-telling, 
 and a lax, conciliating, construction-interpreting party; a practical 
 and a theoretical party. 
 
 The great island which divided the waters, was the question 
 of verbal inspiration. . . . 
 
 All went at 4 o'clock to dinner and left the large, plain, but 
 pretty church to solitude. It stands on one side of the centre 
 square, with the brothers' house on one side and the sisters' on 
 the other. Opposite the latter was the house in which we lived, 
 and at the end of the street towards the windmills the tavern, 
 
i845 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 131 
 
 the rooms of which were full of guests, sitting at a table and 
 listening to a paper read by a brother standing in a doorway. 
 Tholuck came in and asked me if I would come to dinner with 
 him — I had dined at one o'clock. 
 
 Promenading, supper, and discussion with the Frau superin- 
 tendent from Halle (who gave us some nonsense out of her late 
 Hegelian studies upon the glories after death) closed the evening, 
 after that a former Moravian minister who had regained his 
 speech (and used it well in questioning us) had taken a seat 
 among us, and conducted the family worship by reading a verse 
 or two, and notes thereon out of an Andachtbuch, and praying 
 sitting. Singing preceded and followed. The host read also a 
 chapter of mysticism from Zinzendorf. 
 
 We all went to bed with headaches, and thoroughly worn out 
 by the unusual excitement of the day. 
 
 As the time for his return to America approaches, he finds 
 he has acquired several strong friendships among his daily 
 companions, and he looks forward with regret to leaving 
 them. His journal is full of mentions of "Lyman" and 
 "Roby," "Gould," "Mrs. Perston" and "Wandel." Of 
 the two latter he writes with especial affection. "Why we 
 should have felt so 'innig' for each other and why we should 
 not have discovered it sooner is equally a mystery to me," 
 he writes of Wandel. 
 
 There were farewell calls on his masters, also, Tholuck 
 and Ulrici: "Prof. Tholuck, whose parting greeting was 
 affecting, — *Ah, you have a thranen Leben before you, and 
 none can tell what that is better than I.' " 
 
 On the 2ist of April he left Halle "forever," as he re- 
 gretfully writes. 
 
 Before leaving Halle, he had begun to think of associating 
 himself with the American Tract Society, as is evidenced 
 by several expressions in his journal: — 
 
 Apr. 17. — I was surprised by a message from Prof. Tholuck, 
 and found there a Reverend Mr. Nast, Meth. German minister 
 in Cincinnati, ... an old friend and classmate of Strauss; con- 
 verted by the Methodists; founder of the ist Methodist church 
 in Cincinnati and the selecter of the German colporteurs for the 
 Tract Society. 
 
132 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vi 
 
 Apr. 21. — Just before leaving [Halle] I received a letter 
 from Dr. Alexander [of Princeton] in which he gives me expecta- 
 tions of an arrangement for me with the Tract Society. 
 
 After leaving Halle, he went by way of Quedlinburg, the 
 Ross Trappe, Ilsenburg, and Brunswick to Bremen. 
 
 April 21. — . . . The view of Quedlinburg from the cutting 
 in the hill for the great Chaussee (where I was reprimanded for 
 springing over the drain to examine the rocks of pure white 
 friable sand) is striking. It lies in the wide shallow valley of 
 the Bode; the Hartz mountain line in view on the south; as you 
 descend, two, three, then four and five picturesque churches, 
 with high roofs and single or double towers, appear straggling 
 along the long line of thick-set houses, in the walls; and finally 
 on the extreme right, the really extensive mass of buildings, not 
 very easy to decipher out, and called the Schloss or palace. . . . 
 
 But on the way I had the pleasure of seeing a stork in its 
 nest on the peak of a low tower in one of the villages. My com- 
 panion narrated a little story of a stork on the Rhine. Shot in 
 the wing by a boy, healed and tamed, which on being let go had 
 a silver medal slung upon its neck saying, "this stork summered 
 so and so on the Rhine." Next spring it returned with a gold 
 medal in French saying "this stork wintered here in Algeria, 
 such and such a year." 
 
 Another story he told was of Tholuck and his meeting the 
 Ethiopian on the Rhine. Tholuck addressed him in 14 languages 
 and was answered (as fluently, sometimes more so) in all except 
 Latin and ancient Greek. And he talked with all his soul. He 
 had been made a captive when a boy, taken to court, then to 
 England and then travelled as a "commercial man" over Europe. 
 
 Tuesday, April 22, 1845 (Ross Trappe). — Rose about five. 
 Another glorious day. Walked out and sketched the Schloss, 
 built on an isolated knob of rock at the southern extremity of 
 the town. . . . 
 
 Here to my infinite delight, and after I had lost all hope of it, 
 as we were walking through the noble avenues of great and closely 
 set linden-trees, we heard, in a thicket to the left, the Schlag of 
 a nightingale, and after following some of the paths and making 
 a circuit, stood some time listening to the little fellow's hilarious 
 music. By imitating we could get the Schlag now and then from 
 him. This is a prelude note, clear, sweet, melancholy and re- 
 
i845 SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY 133 
 
 peated 4, 5, 6 times either on the same note, or descending and 
 then running off into trills and fancy bars, or imitations of other 
 birds. The place upon the scale is determined by the age of the 
 bird; the older the bird the deeper the tone of the Schlag. When 
 in twilight and solitude, it enters the heart of the listener, filling 
 it with melancholy. The little fellow we were examining could 
 scarcely be induced to utter it at all, or more than once or twice 
 at a time; but kept up an incessant and most joyous carolling, 
 composed of a great variety of sweet and full-toned notes, so simi- 
 lar to those of our catbird that, had I not known I was in Germany 
 and listening to a nightingale, I should have asserted confidently 
 that they came from the catbird's throat. One carol made me 
 cry that the bird had been to America, for I had heard it a thou- 
 sand times in our woods and quite unaltered. Many of the notes 
 were very similar to those of our wood robin's call, " pee-ye-a-weet," 
 in the fulness, sweetness, clearness and exactness of the intonation. 
 After listening to him for some time, and hearing one or two 
 others, who were also enlivening (with a multitude of other birds) 
 the thickets between the avenues, I came to the conclusion that 
 while we have the wood robin and the catbird we need never 
 give one sigh for the absence of the nightingale. The difference 
 between them is nothing, or so little that one is in dilemma 
 which to prefer. . . . 
 
 Thursday, April 24, 1845. — To Brunswick. 
 
 Friday, April 25, 1845 (Brunswick). — ^Wrote all the morn- 
 ing. At 12 o'clock had my baggage expedirt to Hanover, intend- 
 ing to go in the Viertel auf Zwei train. . . . 
 
 At 7 rode over to Hanover in a covered but open-sided third- 
 class car. . . . 
 
 Saturday morning arrived in Bremen. 
 
 Sailed from Bremerhaven May 9 in a ship. 
 
 And now, just as he had reached the end of his foreign 
 trip, he became suddenly violently homesick, so ill, indeed, 
 that he spent some of this last week in bed, — a curious experi- 
 ence which he used to tell us of in later years with amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 Landed about June 21, after a voyage of six weeks. 
 
CHAPTER Vn 
 
 Life as a Colporteur. 1845 
 
 Returned from his foreign trip, my father, now equipped 
 with the German language, prepared himself to take up 
 his chosen missionary labors among the secluded Pennsyl- 
 vania farms and villages of the poor German settlers. 
 
 For this purpose he put himself into communication 
 with the American Tract Society, and received presently 
 an appointment as a colporteur in that association. 
 
 In later years I think he did not much care to dwell 
 on this portion of his life, probably because his theological 
 views had undergone a complete revolution. Therefore, 
 I shall copy small portions only of the letters written this 
 year, although to leave it entirely unrecorded would be 
 to omit a notable year of varied experiences. He used 
 often to speak of the physical aspects of this period, of the 
 long solitary rides through the forest, the chance meetings 
 with other wanderers, his preaching two or three times of 
 a Sunday in some village church or school-house, often 
 holding services during the week-days whenever a little 
 company could be gathered together to listen to "the word 
 of God." I wish we had some record of that preaching 
 from the lips of the young enthusiast, who burned with a 
 missionary zeal for his kind. He came to them with his 
 heart on fire and his mind full of the visions of a varied 
 experience, and stimulated to intellectual activity by his 
 recent contact with so many of the great theological teachers 
 of the time. 
 
 It is not to be wondered at that a year of this arduous 
 and vivid work was enough to wear out his strength both 
 of body and spirit, so that he was forced to seek a less exact- 
 ing occupation. 
 
 New York, Sept. 25, 1845. To his Father. 
 
 ... I am unfortunately pinned here for at least two weeks 
 longer. I have books to examine, addresses to write, and 
 
 134 
 
i84S LIFE AS A COLPORTEUR 135 
 
 meetings to attend. I will then go through Philadelphia to 
 Lebanon, and after stopping there two or three weeks pass 
 on to Huntingdon Co., and make a beginning. They* have 
 treated me in a most satisfactory and gratifying manner. 
 Several of us addressed a very large audience at the Tabernacle, 
 last Sunday night. The society have been looking rather to 
 the good they might do than the means of doing it, and have 
 now 150 men out. The donations in the next seven months 
 must amount to $80,000, and as $60,000 has been the yearly 
 receipt of the Society an extra effort must now be made by all 
 hands. The evidences of the divine blessing have been very 
 numerous, and we have proof, of the most sterling quality, that 
 Bishop Hughes and his peers dread the movements of the Col- 
 porteurs in the West as they dread nothing else. 
 
 They told me to fix my own salary, but in view of all things 
 I thought best to claim only the support allowed to Colporteurs, 
 — $150 and my expenses paid. This with economy ought to 
 supply my wants, and when the society's funds are in better 
 case I will if needful ask and receive more. They wished to 
 name me general agent for the Appalachian range, but I told 
 them to wait awhile and give me a commission as Colporteur, 
 and see if I was fit for a more extended operation. The vast- 
 ness and importance of the work I never saw rightly until yes- 
 terday afternoon, when I felt myself suddenly crushed down 
 by it, and could scarcely command myself; but I see the diffi- 
 culty of exposing its magnitude to others. The Lord grant me 
 strength to perform the work, and make me, not noted, but 
 notable for energy, comprehensive views and straightforward 
 piety. I feel now that lor me there is nothing but this worth 
 living for. If this is to be my life-work the feeling is a good one. 
 If not — it will find its future correction and be replaced by an- 
 other. It is unspeakably good to be laboring for Christ. . . . 
 
 October 2. To his Father. 
 
 I have been to Staten Island and to Hoboken. But I 
 must confess that it gives me no pleasure. I feel no satis- 
 faction in anything which I used [to] love. Even the pleas- 
 ures of friendship have become tasteless, and I live as if I 
 lived not. One thought occupies me day and night. I would 
 not be weary of the world, but I cannot help it. I have not 
 lived intemperately, and yet I am thoroughly Uase^ with all 
 
 * American Tract Society, I suppose. 
 
136 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vii 
 
 the things that others seem to enjoy. Oh, if I can only do some- 
 thing! How willingly I would die this moment! And yet I 
 would consent to live a hundred thousand years if I could only 
 see some results that would not seem to be utterly unprofitable, 
 as those of the lives, thoughts, and actions of the mass of man- 
 kind. And it is so hard to do good. I sometimes think, dear 
 Father, that I am the laziest man alive. You love to work. I 
 hate work. I hate to think, for it is such a weariness to the 
 flesh. Nothing but the incessant conviction of duty moves me 
 from the delightful repose of doing nothing. Verily all my 
 strength must come from Him, wherever others may get theirs. 
 Every day makes plainer to me too the imbecility of my intel- 
 lect, when compared with that of the head workers among the 
 people. I can't originate thought. There is no difficulty in 
 receiving impressions — catching ideas — clapping them down 
 on paper, — but when it comes to issuing one's own thoughts, 
 and filling and moving other people's minds — then comes the 
 trouble. I donH want fame. That desire has been crushed out 
 of me. But I do want to be useful; not to revolve like a black 
 mass through space round the sun, without giving a ray of 
 light to any living thing. It's horrible, such a fate. Thank 
 God, things can burn, if they can't shine; and if I ever excited 
 one feeling of pure love, that's something, — almost equal to 
 having aroused a true thought. Isn't it? . . . 
 
 This letter was evidently written out of an hour of the 
 depression which was always apt to follow a period of over- 
 activity and intellectual enjoyment. I have no doubt that 
 the social occasions of those days in New York, while wait- 
 ing to set forth on his mission, were harder for his spirit 
 than the weeks and months of actual toil which followed. 
 
 Chambersburg, November i. To his Father. 
 
 ... I have been much occupied in visiting and writing ser- 
 mons. To-morrow I preach twice, and have appointments for 
 Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday evenings at Mercersburg and 
 Greencastle. Then I go direct to Lebanon. . . . 
 
 POTTSVILLE, Nov. 17, 1845. To HIS FATHER. 
 
 ... I addressed a huge Sabbath School (Pres.) yesterday, 
 and will address their prayer meeting to-night, the Lord wiUing. 
 May he bless his own cause in this important field! Great cour- 
 
1846 LIFE AS A COLPORTEUR 137 
 
 age — ^great confidence in the teachings of God's providence as to 
 duty, is requisite in going forward. I was thoroughly exhausted 
 last night, so that it was a pain to utter a word; but I went to bed 
 early and slept late and intend to rest as much as possible to-day, 
 and so feel refreshed. But what rest can a man get in such 
 a work? He can't rest if he would. It is drive, drive, all day 
 and every day. He gets no sabbath on Sunday, and can't find 
 the heart to take one on a week-day; and it's not until he sud- 
 denly breaks down that he discovers the drain he has been mak- 
 ing of his strength. The more I see and do, the more convinced 
 I am that I am in my way of duty, and by many mistakes I 
 am learning the modus operandi. Oh for thorough and untiring 
 self-devotion! I am willing to be nothing, but not to do noth- 
 ing. . . . 
 
 Bellefonte, Jan. 9, 1846. To his Father. 
 
 I have more than hand and head can accomplish every day 
 to do, and scarcely know which way to turn me. Just arrived 
 by stage from Lewistown, and addressed a prayer meeting, and 
 now write answers to half a dozen letters, and expect to leave 
 in the three o'clock a.m. stage for Hublersburg, to preach for 
 Mr. Cooper on Sabbath. 
 
 Jan. II. 
 
 . . . Made many friends in Mififlin. Organized a Society. 
 Expect to be there again on the 22nd, and return to Bellefonte 
 the next day. — At Potter's Mills (Centre Co.) on the i8th and 
 Bellefonte from 23rd-2 7th. 
 
 After that, can't tell where: wish to go to the new settle- 
 ment of St. Mary's in Elk Co. (near Ridgway), and then per- 
 haps down the West Branch.— Will keep you advised. 
 
 Whether all this labor and pains shall prove productive or 
 not, is to be seen yet. It is essentially experimental, and shall 
 have a full trial. I long to see you, with a great longing, but 
 dare not. Don't ask me to come until I feel permitted. When 
 I can, I will with wings, and hope to spend a month at home. . . . 
 
 Potter's Mills, Jan. 17, 1846. To his Stepmother. 
 
 . . . Preaching five or six times a week is not often called for. 
 I feel a little weak but otherwise pretty well. Am exciting an 
 interest in the county, and have every prospect of succeeding 
 in getting these wealthy farmers and iron-masters to support 
 the good work among their own hills. I love dearly to lay 
 their duty before them and see how earnest and solemn they 
 
138 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vii 
 
 become, and put their names or their money down afterwards, 
 as though the eye of God was looking into their motives. . . . 
 Thursday night I walked down the pike from Bellefonte to Miles- 
 burg, through the Gap, and met a little Baptist party at a prayer 
 meeting in the school-house. They gave me nearly $8 in small 
 sums. I have a fine opportunity of warning the young against 
 reading bad books; and I seldom let it slip. I heard, a few 
 hours ago, of a young schoolmistress, about the West Branch I 
 believe, who regularly received the numbers of the Wandering 
 Jew, and distributed them without thought to any of her schol- 
 ars who requested them. Satan's agents are more active than 
 Christ's. 
 
 I wish you could see me from day to day, how happily I 
 find myself in the households of the good people. The only 
 trouble is that I am too much among the rich and well educated, 
 and therefore too well used. We are all apt to grow conceited 
 and selfish, when assiduously cared for and politely listened to. 
 One is tempted to indulge taste among the refined, at the expense 
 of duty to the unrefined. . . . 
 
 Fort Plain, N.Y., March 23, 1846. To his Stepmother. 
 
 ... I preached for the Dr. yesterday morning and listened 
 to him in the evening. He speaks parables, and never explains 
 them; enunciates general principles, and never applies them. 
 So when the people want bread, he feeds them with stones. 
 How sad it makes one feel to see it! It is consoling to reflect 
 that the greater number of preachers preach righteousness and 
 truth: and though with various shades of purity, and under the 
 influence of many different motives, mostly Christ is preached, 
 and souls are saved — "and therein do I rejoice." 
 
 New York, April 21, 1846. To his Father. 
 
 . . . Four of the sixty Theological students at New Haven 
 will spend the vacation in our work, and this excites an interest 
 in it there which I hope shall prove permanent for good. If 
 this system shall have no other effect upon our religious and cleri- 
 cal community than that of making them known and spreading 
 and confirming a Harlan Page spirit, and reviving general zeal 
 in the work of pastoral visitation and private appeal, it will be 
 worth all our efforts; but I am happily now at the focus of in- 
 telligence, and letters from Colporteurs in every state of the Union 
 pass through my hands giving intelligence of personal hopeful 
 conversions, of revivals, and of general elevating movements, 
 
1846 LIFE AS A COLPORTEUR 139 
 
 especially in the most neglected districts, brought about by their 
 dissemination of Bibles and books, that make me very happy. 
 It is, I am well convinced, a chosen agent — a machine of yet un- 
 known capabilities, rapidly developing its powers for good and 
 removing doubts of abuse, and predicting great things for our 
 beloved land. 
 
 My visit was a most pleasant one [to New Haven]. I spent 
 most of my time with my friend W. and found it as always, 
 an intellectual treat of no ordinary kind. I have confirmed 
 some slowly arrived at general principles, and received light con- 
 cerning others. His mind I am rejoiced to see is becoming 
 gradually more symmetrical; his views more clear and true, 
 and I hope the thought of the Sovereignty of grace, the necessity 
 of instant prayer and the blessing of a Mediator, are becoming 
 more and more appreciable to him. He is a Platonist and one of 
 the beings of pure thought that, if they ever enter the Kingdom 
 of Heaven, are carried to the wicket gate by a roundabout path 
 through the air. Such was the celebrated Schleiermacher of 
 Berlin, the instrument wherewith God slew the gross Rationalism 
 of the first decade of our Century, but who wandered in regions 
 of strange intellectual light and strange spiritual darkness, and 
 died upon one little rock in the midst of the raging sea — that 
 little sentence of the Lord's — "Him that cometh unto me, I will 
 in no wise cast out." "It is all darkness round me," said he, 
 "and that verse is my only hope." "Not many wise" — and 
 they come unto the little gate and have all their fine robes torn off 
 in the passing through. Blessed are the intellectually meek. 
 
 Little Pine Creek, Aug. 1, 1846. To his Father. 
 
 We have through the mercy of God brought an arduous 
 week to a close, but have enjoyed it as much as any previous 
 one. Leaving Jersey Shore and the open valley of the Sus- 
 quehanna by the way of Lurge (?) creek and visiting as we 
 went, we entered the Alleghany by the gorge of Hogland's 
 run, which issues three miles west of the outburst of the magnifi- 
 cent valley of the Lycoming, of which with its buttressed sides 
 of semi-alpine aspect we had a noble view. At half-past seven 
 we left the house at the mouth of Hogland run valley. At three 
 P.M. we reached the "old Cogan house," eight miles distant. 
 Here, overcome with fatigue, we got for dinner a bowl of bread 
 and milk, and were then told that the freshets of last spring 
 had torn out all the bridges along Lick Run, and to reach Pine 
 Creek was impossible. We must retrace our steps, and ascend 
 
140 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vii 
 
 the main creek from Jersey Shore. This we determined never 
 to do. To go round forty miles to reach a place only six miles 
 distant! You know I am not easily frightened from a purpose. 
 So next morning early, (we visited the settlement the previous 
 afternoon) we started with two men with axes, and cut and 
 bridged our way down the run. When we stood at length on 
 the rich bottoms of the First Fork, its magnificent dome-shaped 
 mountains rising in all directions, and the wilderness of the Cogan 
 Valley behind us, — I assure you it was like waking from an un- 
 pleasant dream on a beautiful morning. We felt thankful that 
 our wagon stood it without flinching; it must be excellently built. 
 But what magnificent woods those are through which we passed! 
 How I would like to take a thousand of those magnificent pines 
 and build a cathedral of them! One could do it easily, and 
 put up such a house that all the world would tour it up the West 
 Branch. The depth of shade and utter silence of the original 
 forest, as it seems to breathe in an eternal slumber, strikes the 
 soul with a certain awe, as well as admiration. And the rising 
 of the pines is somxCthing quite sublime. And every now and 
 then, one, that has stood its time, comes thundering down, and 
 the echo of its crash makes the traveller pause and listen, hardly 
 understanding the mysterious sound, in the profound abysses 
 of the Mountain depths, by the mouth of which he is passing. . . . 
 
 My father often spoke in later years of this sound of the 
 falling of great trees, breaking the absolute silence of night 
 in the primeval forest. His life, both now in this early 
 time and later in his professional field work, often occa- 
 sioned him to spend his nights in the forest, sometimes 
 entirely alone. These were experiences of which he never 
 lost the memory. Something of poetry and of solitude 
 was in them, which suited the instincts of his spirit. 
 
 Monday morning (Henry Tomb's). — ^This is a little oasis. I 
 preached yesterday twice, and felt much freedom, and was heard 
 with attention. I reasoned on "Judgment to come," in the fore- 
 noon in a httle school-house back in the woods. In the afternoon, 
 urged the claims of the Sabbath. 
 
 Caexisle, Nov. 23, 1846. To his Stepmother. 
 
 I received your kind letter addressed to Milton (Pa.). One 
 has since come to my hand from Mr. Rogers, and meeting 
 
1846 LIFE AS A COLPORTEUR 141 
 
 some wishes that I expressed to you when last at home, has 
 determined my action this winter. He requests me to aid him 
 in preparing to present his report to the Legislature in the 
 spring in its final form, and offers me great facilities for study 
 and observation, and $400 for my services for the four months. 
 The lectures will be free to me, and the libraries and the best 
 scientific and philosophical society of that city [Boston]. You 
 may estimate the advantages I can embrace with his offer. 
 
 It grieves me to leave my home. But what comfort can I 
 have of home or home of me should I stay in these bleak moun- 
 tains all winter? And you see how impossible it is for me to 
 run home every week. I have already been seven weeks away. . . . 
 
 I meet with amiable people everywhere. Prof. McClintock 
 greeted me as a college mate should. He has a capacious mind 
 and means to go to Germany to spend two years in study there. 
 They have kept me talking about my travels here until I am 
 positively ashamed to look a plain body in the face, and got so 
 tired in the muscles of my bellows that I could scarcely speak 
 above my breath. It is poor business at which a man grows poor. 
 I hope to do more thinking than talking the next four months. 
 This arrangement gave me much anxious thought in its decision, 
 but I feel satisfied it is the best. I cannot consent needlessly to 
 suffer as I did last winter, and the work can be as well carried 
 on in spring and summer as in winter. 
 
 You may think me fickle, but to change in the external is 
 often to be stationary in the internal. Some people are stones, 
 and others are wheels. All I ask is to know what God's will 
 may be. . . . 
 
 This letter marks the close of my father's short-lived but 
 earnest and devoted missionary labors. He was worn out 
 with his arduous year, and Professor H. D, Rogers, desiring 
 help in making a map of Pennsylvania showing the work done 
 by the First Geological Survey cf Pennsylvania, offered him 
 the opportunity for a winter of quieter work in Boston. The 
 decision which he made in going to Boston was a momen- 
 tous one for him, far more so than he had any idea of when 
 making it. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 First Year in Boston. 1847 
 
 Arrived in Boston, my father was so fortunate as to be 
 able to make his home with Mr. and Mrs. George S. Hillard. 
 I do not know how this came about, but suppose that it 
 was through Professor Rogers, who was a warm friend of 
 the Hillards, and probably gave his former assistant some 
 introduction to these and other Eastern friends. At any 
 rate, it proved in many ways to be one of the happiest cir- 
 cumstances of his life. 
 
 For a man of my father's vividly intellectual type to 
 come to Boston for the first time, and to be at once thrown 
 among the leaders of thought in every line of modern in- 
 vestigation — literary, moral, and scientific, — ^was an in- 
 spiring experience. It was in the days when Agassiz had 
 recently come from his Swiss home to vivify interest in 
 Natural Science, when Emerson was charming the few and 
 making anxious the many, when Theodore Parker was 
 standing boldly for liberty of thought beyond what the 
 Liberals of the hour thought expedient, when Wendell 
 Phillips had begun to thunder eloquently in behalf of the 
 slave, and Garrison stood ready to die for the principles 
 dear to his heart. Into this seething yet cheerful life my 
 father, the young orthodox licentiate, stepped, and felt 
 some astonishment and confusion of mind at what he daily 
 saw and heard. 
 
 The older days of Boston have often been described by 
 its own people. This is a record of its impression on an 
 outside mind, one brought up away from Puritan associa- 
 tion, and bringing with him the standards and traditions 
 of a different community. 
 
 Boston, Dec. i6, 1846. To his Stepmother. 
 
 A few minutes, and the clock will strike for Bishop 
 Potter's lecture, and I must go early if I desire a seat. You 
 
 142 
 
i847 FIRST YEAR IN BOSTON 143 
 
 would be amazed at the immense audiences of these Lowell 
 Lectures. There are four lecturers this winter (Rogers, Potter, 
 Agassiz and Hillard). Each gives twelve lectures, and re- 
 ceives $1200 for them. They ought to be good, you say. . . . 
 
 What a contrast, — Boston and the Woods! And I assure 
 you I feel charmingly contented and happy; as much at home in 
 three hours after getting into my room as I could expect to be- 
 come in three years. If you were all only within pleasant walk- 
 ing distance. 
 
 Boston, Jan. 3, 1847. To his Father and Stepmother. 
 
 A happy New Year and great grace for every time of need. 
 God has graciously preserved my health under very severe 
 pressure of work, and given me to-day, my first day of rest, 
 which was greatly needed and greatly enjoyed. I heard a Mr. 
 Phelps to-day on Washington St., that runs through the neck. 
 And this evening attended a concert of prayer, where 3000 were 
 present, and most wishy-washy addresses given. The ministerial 
 talent here is at freezing point. Kirk and Dr. Beecher are the 
 only two men who preach like GoUeshelden — great hearts, p.m. 
 strayed into a Unitarian church without knowing it. 
 
 Boston, Jan. 18, 1847 [Pinckney Street]. To his Stepmother. 
 
 I store up many interesting things for my home letters from 
 day to day, but when I sit down to write, the accumulated 
 mass vanishes tout ensemble, and leaves my pages as blank as 
 a hermit's ought to be. Boston is by no means dull, and I 
 see some of its interesting people now and then, but find 
 little that is good evidence of decided superiority over a 
 Philadelphia Society. Indeed, our street throngs have beyond 
 doubt the advantage in manners and appearance. It is a 
 beautiful sight to see on Sabbath morning the multitudes fill 
 these narrow streets, until they become like embryonic tissues 
 permitting one universal reticulated blood circulation. The bells 
 here ring at eight a.m. for the working people, and again at one, 
 and then the curfew rings at nine at night, to warn the folks of 
 bed. Every evening however just as we are all completely fixed 
 around the centre table, Hillard comes dovsm, haggard and sleepy 
 from his Miltonic studies, little lamp in hand, and gazes at us. 
 "Well, my dearly beloved Owls, isn't it time to go to bed?" 
 Some one looks at his watch and finds it eleven o'clock — "Oh, 
 no, not yet!" So he throws himself upon a lounge, or takes his 
 
144 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vni 
 
 departure, as he feels inclined, and we betake ourselves again to 
 Rymer Jones, "Hyperion," the American Quarterly, and Opie's 
 "White Lies," and about half-past eleven begin to gap, and about 
 twelve to move, and at half -past twelve are all reproducing with- 
 out and beyond law what before was presented to us under the 
 strictest law, — in plain English, are dreaming, — and rise at eight. 
 This quite suits me. Are you not dumbfounded ? It is however 
 even so. Agassiz took tea with us and amused us greatly. He is 
 radiant with the prospect of realizing Davis' invite to dredge, 
 when the season for the Coast Survey opens, along Nantasket. 
 He has barrelled up thousands of fish skeletons, which he boiled 
 down at Albany and New York. All sorts of fish are welcome 
 to his kettle. — Some one asked very earnestly the other day of 
 one of his messengers where A. kept shop. Thought perhaps 
 he had opened a restaurant! He has sent out standing orders 
 to all the Michigan hunters for all they can send in of wild. He 
 received a wild turkey from Detroit a day or two ago, and some 
 fresh fish from Lake Ontario. Wonderful country this! He has 
 a jolly disposition: declares he can't learn the American fashion 
 of doing up science running — must walk. Says the fish are his 
 prime collectors, sometimes finds two or three shell-fish in one 
 vertebral fish, more or less decomposed, and generally of various 
 species. He gives his last lecture next Wednesday. 
 
 Mitchell of Cincinnati begins his Astronomical lectures tomor- 
 row night. Hillard his on Milton in six weeks. Mrs. Sedgwick 
 will be here to see us in a few days. Went to the top of the Monu- 
 ment. Enormous structure, fine view. But what a pity after all 
 that it is hollow and has windows at the top! It's a different 
 monument when you leave it. Its virgin dignity is gone. Its 
 construction is quite admirable however, only one can't help 
 thinking how disagreeable it would be when half-way to the top 
 to be caught by a good stout — earthquake! 
 
 Boston, and its dependences (together making a city as large 
 as Philadelphia — 240,000) fringe the shores of this cluster of 
 peninsulas, and make the scenery enchanting, even in winter. 
 
 Heard a noble sermon from Dr. Beecher yesterday. I have 
 not preached for two Sabbaths, needing rest. The organ stunned 
 us, and was played quite as badly as omrs; but the choir was 
 immense, filling a large gallery. . . . 
 
 Boston, Feh. 8, 1847. To his Father. 
 
 . , As I have no logical order in mind just now by 
 which to arrange my how d'ye do, you will not object to that 
 
i847 FIRST YEAR IN BOSTON 145 
 
 last expression recalling a conversation I had with a queer 
 little lady, after we rose from table the other day from a 
 lively discussion upon ethics and physics, — aright and wrong, 
 nature, law, etc. The professor carries his views of law so far 
 that he oversteps the limits of a clear and reasonable estimation 
 of the good wrought by the individual atoms in the mass of 
 the community, or by the daily and hourly performance by agents 
 animate and inanimate of their respective functions for the hap- 
 piness of all, each in his own little sphere, and therefore none 
 being required to step forth from his sphere. 
 
 I say he carries this so far as not only to make it the grand 
 law of God's providence and goodness among men, but to make 
 it the only law, not even allowing that extraordinary spheres 
 and actions and agents are necessary — that Howards and White- 
 fields and Misses Dix did or do more good than if they each had 
 stayed at home and attended to their personal and social duties 
 punctually. In short, he thinks that all extra effort of good 
 people, though apparently greatly beneficial and dragging the 
 world a huge step forward at a bound, in the end, has given 
 it no progress, produced for it no stable increase of real happi- 
 ness, or made it truly wiser or better. This little lady. Miss 
 Metcalf, sprang from table, saying, "Oh, you are all quite too 
 scientific here; one knows not what is good, or right, or duty, 
 or possibility, while among you ! " and we went upstairs. When 
 we were alone around the register in the parlor she said to me: 
 " Don't you feel a want among these people ? are you not frozen 
 by their leaving out something warm and hearty in all their con- 
 versations and disquisitions?" I told her I was truly so, missing 
 heartily the supernatural. "Yes," said she; "that is the lacking; 
 they never think of the depravity of the human heart being the 
 real cause of the world's trouble, nor that the good Holy Spirit 
 can alone regenerate it. Don't you find the Unitarians a very 
 uncomfortable people to talk to?" I told her, yes! I was con- 
 tinually as if thrown upon the broad of my back, by some re- 
 mark which I felt it impossible to reply to without an explosion 
 of controversy that would upturn the earth under foot, and go 
 as it were through the centres of ten Worlds; — and so it is, dear 
 Father. I really do not know what to make of them. The 
 Society of Boston is the strangest hasty pudding in our American 
 world, I verily believe. Swedenborgians, Unitarians of two 
 schools at least. Baptists semi-orthodox, — fill the same drawing- 
 rooms, while Evangelical Congregationalists and Baptists form 
 an entirely separate community. When Mr. Kirk came to 
 
146 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vm 
 
 Boston five years ago, he produced a profound sensation, con- 
 verted hundreds from the error of their ways, gathered an im- 
 mense Church, and made all the women whom he wouldn't visit, 
 and all the ministers whom he robbed of parishioners, his enemies. 
 The women got up a story to hurt his moral character; the pastors 
 decried his preaching; the novelty became old; his huge meet- 
 ing-house was completed, and remains crowded; but his popu- 
 larity among all classes has died away. Great numbers of Uni- 
 tarians were brought to a saving knowledge of the truth under 
 his preaching; but it was losing caste too harshly to marry the 
 hangman's daughter — to take a Congregational pew; so the con- 
 verted wife or husband, or father or child, would persuade to a 
 half-way step, and all rushed into the Episcopal Church. Dr. 
 Vinton's vestry became crowded, and a third powerful element 
 is introduced into Boston hfe, viz., evangelical Episcopalianism. 
 A schism has been brought about in the Unitarian ranks. The 
 harsh old school, embittered by the past, and abhorring vital 
 godliness, accuse Mr. Clarke [James Freeman Clarke] and others 
 as being too orthodox, preaching regeneration and repentance, 
 faith in Christ and Christian self-denial, and therefore not true 
 genuine Unitarians; while the old barriers of prejudice, espe- 
 cially of social caste and haul et has ton are still too strong to be 
 thrown down to permit the latter to enter the Evangelical bodies, 
 even if they could look upon our Redeemer as One with the 
 Father, as well as Full of Grace and Truth. . . . 
 
 It was perhaps in reply to this letter that my grand- 
 father wrote to his son February 18, 1847: — 
 
 I am very solicitous about your exposure to being drawn 
 away from the simplicity of the Gospel in the cold Unitarian 
 atmosphere of Boston — intellectual and learned Boston. Your 
 only safety is in a childlike dependence on Christ as the great 
 teacher. . . . 
 
 To which my father answers: — 
 
 Febrtiary 2^th. 
 
 Your fears are natural, but I trust groundless. I am always 
 cold while in the cold. When I get into the heat again I shall 
 be warmed. My piety has always been more intellectual than 
 cordial, but therefore more simple and permanent, less waver- 
 ing,— more principle, less feeling. I am greatly benefitting by 
 
i847 FIRST YEAR IN BOSTON 147 
 
 my present intercourse with a new kind of people; I have means 
 of observation quite as important as any elsewhere. I have 
 unlimited reliance upon Destiny, i.e., Christ's purposes con- 
 cerning me as one of his little ones. I trust he will take as good 
 care of all whom I love. Day before yesterday we all came to 
 an understanding in our historical Club. I read a paper which 
 excited great controversy, and I was forced to stand upon views 
 against all the rest, but in the end was glad to see that simplicity 
 and honesty must conquer among good people everywhere. 
 Even Mr. Kirk who was most bent upon fixing upon me the re- 
 proach of scepticism, when it came to his turn to speak, said he 
 should no longer call me a sceptic, but simply "his cautious 
 friend" and begged me to take a subject among the rest. I have 
 shoved it off for weeks, but was forced to promise to write upon 
 Peter the Hermit, and the Crusades. What I read them was 
 hastily scratched down the previous evening. It took me three 
 hours, however, after I had already written and drafted seven 
 hours through the day. Every day has its labors, or you should 
 hear from me more regularly. 
 
 Another letter, written March 14, speaks more vig- 
 orously still of the cold philosophy of the Unitarian utter- 
 ances, of Theodore Parker's preaching, etc., adding: — 
 
 I do not doubt that the experience of every honest child of 
 God's truth will affirm the divinity of the injunction to try all 
 things, holding fast that only which is good, avoiding on the one 
 hand the inane superstition and high Worldliness of Laud, and 
 on the other the one-sided, short-sighted scepticism and cool 
 philosophy of Parker. We do not often moot these vital matters 
 in Pinckney Street, — ^but a discussion arose at dinner table to-day 
 which was prolonged upstairs into the parlor, and embraced the 
 whole ground of the atonement and mission of the Redeemer. 
 Darkness and light, oil and water might sooner dwell at one 
 together. On this side [the Unitarian] is progress, development, 
 universal capacity for good, no atonement needed, no special 
 inspiration permissible, no miracles possible, all according to 
 law and in universal order and (at least prospective) harmony, 
 etc., — on the other side, death, depravity, future change of whole 
 economy, God made man, and slain for man, conversion, two 
 great classes in the world and — eternal death. 
 
 All religions are alike was the astounding but unconscious 
 
148 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vm 
 
 comment upon our discussion by Theodore Parker in his morning 
 sermon. All Jews, Mohammedans, Pagans and Christian sects 
 believe alike in the fundamental: only one has more and better 
 faith than another. One man holds a drop, another an ocean, 
 but both of the same pure water from heaven. 
 
 I am in danger of overloading my letters and your patience 
 with these Unitarian details, but I shall not be much longer in 
 Boston, and have pleasanter things to talk about. I have in- 
 dulged in the utmost freedom of action since being here, and gone 
 where I pleased, and listened to whom I pleased, and made the 
 personal acquaintance of as many as I could, because I have con- 
 sidered it an opportunity given me by the Lord to increase in 
 Wisdom, and I had no excuse for shunning its advantages. 
 
 April 22. To HIS Father. 
 
 One of the chief pleasures that are mine in life, one that 
 I do not know what I should do without, one that always has 
 an evident influence upon my inner well-being as well as 
 outer, making me better as well as happier — is the pleasure 
 of reading a letter from you. A child does not simply inherit 
 his parent's life, and reputation and property, but even his 
 very hopes and fears ; his affection impels him to realize the former, 
 and make the latter fruitless, whenever he can discover them. So 
 I often wish I were a better man, not so much for my own sake 
 as for yours, and sometimes half believe that I don't so much 
 belong to myself as I do to you. How rich is His goodness, how 
 cunning His wisdom, who thus hedges us about with sweet in- 
 fluences, and carries on his process of our education by almost 
 invisible but truly irresistible agencies! These ties of earth are 
 however — not too strong — but too exclusive; we often forget that 
 we are not our own, nor our friends', but Christ's, bought with 
 a price, the highest that anything or anybody was ever sold at. 
 I fear that I have lost sight of this too much this winter. I have 
 faithfully fulfilled my worldly duties, even to an overplus on the 
 side of equity; but it is too easy to have the attention taken up 
 with that, and to neglect meditation, almsdoing and prayer. I 
 don't mean almsgiving, because I find it easy to give away money, 
 especially when one's avarice has never been cultivated. But I 
 do think our active benevolence, in the way of visiting, and com- 
 forting, and helping to get people's matters to rights for them, 
 who are in trouble, might be more like that of the early Christians, 
 or like what it would be if we were in a persecuted condition, — 
 than it is. 
 
i847 FIRST YEAR IN BOSTON 149 
 
 Boston, May 18. To his Father. 
 
 I send you with this a number of Littell's Living Age, and 
 draw your attention to the admirably written article on Irish 
 emigration. Bennett Forbes says that the condition of the people 
 is perfectly inconceivable by us, as he saw it in Cork. . . . 
 
 As summer approached, the uncertainties of his future 
 began to require attention from my father. There came 
 opportunities to work as a Presbyterian minister in Pennsyl- 
 vania. Concerning this he writes to his father May 18: — ' 
 
 I have opened a correspondence direct with Senior Elder, 
 but feel no disposition to accept a call from them. I cannot 
 leave Boston until this work is completely off our hands, and 
 that cannot be for several weeks. I am in no hurry, and feel as 
 if I never should be in a hurry again. If a pulpit should be opened 
 to me in Philadelphia I should probably enter it with pleasure. 
 Distance from you, however, and the unpleasant climate would 
 be the only drawbacks I should be conscious of in preferring a 
 pulpit here. I can settle in New England without difl&culty, 
 especially if I am content with a small salary and country congre- 
 gation. I should like much to have one not too far from Boston, 
 but yet far enough back from the bay to escape the east wind. 
 From all I can learn of it by intercourse with the orthodox breth- 
 ren here, I decidedly prefer the Congregational form of govern- 
 ment and the whole church polity of New England, and the tone 
 of feeling and religious spirit of the country, to their counterparts 
 with us; although this liking I hold lightly, and as a prejudice 
 to which my agreeable relations with people here and my more 
 complete knowledge of things in Pennsylvania naturally subject 
 me. ... 
 
 May 24. To his Brother Allen. 
 
 [A long letter on Remusat's work on the Osmanli -Turkish 
 language, Turkish emigrations, other works on Oriental languages, 
 and winding up with :] Tired, tired, — I'll lay down Pritchard and 
 take up Sydney Smith at his Noodles' oration, which might be 
 delivered before most audiences with startling effect. But before 
 I wind up the evening in such agreeably witty company, after a 
 three-hours perambulation of great and little Turkestan, let me 
 bid you good-night, and repeat my promise to give you a sheet 
 on Hebrew and Arabic in a few days. I have not seen Kraitzer 
 yet. He keeps school all day and goes to the opera every even- 
 
150 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vm 
 
 ing; I can't follow him at either place. Tedesco has turned 
 people's heads; she comes on Sunday night with the other two 
 prima donnas to sing, perhaps I should say squall, with Mad. 
 Arnout next door to us. Strange utterings and lamentations 
 fell haunt the neighborhood meanwhile. Black women group 
 themselves on the opposite curbstone; we sit upon the back bay 
 window valves; it sounds like a storm around corner walls, or 
 the audible ghost that frightened the family with its "vance 
 I was hap^hap — happy, but nieu I am meeserable," and 
 turned out to be a forsaken turnspit rusty in its joints. . . . 
 
 My map is a most tedious affair; my eyes are almost ruined 
 and regular neuralgic paroxysms are produced by it in the left 
 head and jaws every day. It cannot last forever. . . . 
 
 June I. To his Father. 
 
 . . . My plans assume a definite shape. Our little Com- 
 monwealth goes to ruin. Rogers leaves for New Brunswick 
 next week, Hillard goes to Europe in July, the Binneys to the 
 country, and their mother's residence, the house is let and Ma- 
 dame afloat for eighteen months (until her husband's return) 
 — and I expect in two weeks to spend a few days on the Mohawk, 
 and so pass on west to Geneva and down to Williamsport, to 
 preach for the church there on trial * . . . 
 
 June 21. To HIS STEPMOTHER. 
 
 . . . The map that I have almost completed is surprisingly 
 beautiful, and will receive the last stroke perhaps on Thursday 
 next. Two more days will be required for laying in the tints 
 upon the one we mean to color, and then I shall be a happy 
 man. Rogers has been in New Brunswick these ten days, and 
 will perhaps return next Wednesday evening, when we will either 
 go up together to Lunenburg to bask a day or two in the sun- 
 shine there, or directly to Pittsfield to trace the boulder trains, 
 previous to his trip to New Jersey and my departure for Williams- 
 port.* . . . Hillard sails on the first, and is in the midst of his 
 P.P.Cs. We called together on Mrs. FoUen, relict of the lamented 
 Dr. FoUen who perished in the Lexington, last evening and found 
 her one of those enthusiastic, partisan souls, who can see no 
 faults in friends, nor virtues in enemies. Her whole being is 
 moved just now in support of Charles Sumner, a prominent 
 
 * Instead he remained in Boston and its vicinity during the summer, 
 and did not go further south until mid-autiunn. 
 
i847 FIRST YEAR IN BOSTON 151 
 
 "Young New England" lawyer, engaged in conducting a public 
 discussion before the Prison Discipline Society, adverse to the 
 course of its Secretary, Mr. Dwight, and in this discussion all 
 Boston takes sides, and its most prominent men tilt against 
 each other. Pres. Dr. Wayland, Hillard, Summer, Dr. Howe, 
 Fuller, on one side represent the Reform or "Radical" so 
 called, or perhaps miscalled, party, who desire to do justice to 
 the Philadelphia system, and that the Society should seek the 
 truth, and not support a side; while Dwight, Elliot, . . . Gray, 
 Allen, a powerful writer of the last twenty years, and one rascally 
 B.S., a lawyer of ill fame, are prominent on the other, upholding 
 the Auburn system, defaming the originators of the system of 
 total seclusion, vindicating the ex parte course of the Society and 
 its secretary, and refusing with indignation and scorn all overtures 
 that propose retraction or improvement. Night after night, and 
 upon a series of adjournments, the discussions have proceeded, 
 until they are become the only evening amusement of the city, 
 at which before crowded audiences, these men, or the more ex- 
 citable of them, bait each other like dogs and bulls, to the shame 
 of all their honors, and the origin of personal feuds of the most 
 bitter and lasting kinds. 
 
 The general result is however probably attained, and will 
 prove good. 
 
 The whole community has become interested in the canvass, 
 and will be better able hereafter to judge and act for whatever 
 good such societies are capable of effecting. Sarah Martin 
 did more good, I think, than a hundred Boston Prison Discipline 
 Societies are like to do. I have made the better acquaintance 
 of our queer, amiable, talented and truly useful friend, Miss 
 Eliza Robbins of New York, who came on to sail with H. to 
 England, but puts it off three months longer. She offered me 
 the Chaplaincy of Sing-Sing. I declined the post as above my 
 strength and zeal. What a strange society is this! Not a man, 
 not a woman I meet, but has a distinctive character, of which I 
 can learn something either by precept or example. One of my 
 latest and most valued (at first sight) friends is Wm. H. Channing, 
 an enthusiast, an altruist, an associationist, a transcendental 
 genius of the first water, self-sacrificed to what he thinks the 
 ripest, truest form of Christianity, with remarkable insights into 
 the evils, but less ability to see the goods of Society, and called 
 by his Circle of admirers (every genius has one here) "the born 
 prophet." His eloquence is bewitching — to the reason; his 
 private conversation very seductive. I have heard him preach 
 
152 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, viii 
 
 upon the text " God is love, and he that dwelleth in love, dwell- 
 eth in God and God in him," and many of his thoughts were as 
 true as beautiful, especially that, when he said that there had 
 always been three classes of theorists about virtue, the Sen- 
 timentahsts, the Rationalists, and the Utilitarians. The first 
 considered no man virtuous who does not do good from impulse; 
 the second, no man who does not do good in obedience to law; 
 the third, no man who considers not the end in view. Said he, 
 the true virtue unites and fulfils the three, it is the life of the 
 love of God in the soul as a principle, working through and 
 under law, to and for the universal good. But I am not in tune 
 to give you a resume of his exquisite sermon. But a gulf, not 
 to be bridged over, separates the philosophy of these men's re- 
 ligion from ours. I approach them, and am repelled again. 
 Their embrace is warm, living, healthful, inspiring, but so founded 
 upon errors in dogmatic theology that I stand always in amaze 
 at the ripe richness of their practical Christianity. They aboimd 
 in good works, exhibit singular love to each other, and tolera- 
 tion for all diversities of opinion, and thus show that the life of 
 godliness may live in and in spite of theoretical heterodoxy at 
 its most extreme limit. I have studied them carefully this winter, 
 and you will be pleased to learn that I at length accepted Mr. 
 Clarke's [James Freeman Clarke] invitation to preach for his 
 people last Sunday, he himself being called away suddenly to 
 Buffalo by the dying of his relative, and that I preached a care- 
 fully prepared sermon in which I made most prominent this 
 truth, that "no man must expect to attain to a right knowledge, 
 or to the true favor of God the Father, who does not warmly, 
 devotedly, personally love Christ." "The Father loveth you, 
 because ye have loved me," etc., John 14 : 37. After all my 
 observations I consider that in this most the Unitarians come 
 short. I do not blame them for being Arians, or Sabellians. It 
 is not strange indeed that with their imperfect (I beheve it so 
 to be in all cases) theological training they should sink down 
 to a mere humanitarian ground. But while acknowledging 
 Christ Jesus to be the inspired and peculiar Son of God, the 
 teacher, the Saviour, the Lord (all this they all acknowledge 
 and teach), they do fail most lamentably in any true friendly, 
 brotherly, or even servile affection for him. They revere him 
 apparently as a greater Socrates, and Paul's and Peter's master, 
 but not as their own dear Lord and Elder Brother, who died 
 for them, and waits to receive them unto himself. The heart of 
 their deficiencies seems to be a most imperfect view of the Atone- 
 
i847 FIRST YEAR IN BOSTON 153 
 
 ment. I cannot but return with an ever -increasing assurance of 
 its truth, to our hypothesis of the Atonement, although you would 
 be astonished beyond measure at the variety and ingenuity of 
 the hypotheses here broached and defended with thought and 
 feeling by powerful and honest minds. It [ours] is the clearest; 
 it resolves Scriptiure language most easily; it affords the heart 
 a foimtain of warm sentiment and having for its special object 
 what Peter's confession and John's love fastened on, the person 
 and proprieties of "the man Christ Jesus," "the beloved Son," 
 not as a devotee, or a martyr to Philanthropy, or as a light in 
 and to the world, but as the Lamb of God, the proxy of the world 
 awaiting punishment, my substitute and personal Saviour. Chris- 
 tianity in its second stage will reveal to the initiated his heavenly 
 character; but this is his earthly and that with which Christianity 
 has most now to do. ... 
 
 I have given a large part of this letter, which expresses 
 what was later so foreign to my father's thoughts and re- 
 ligious sentiment, because I believe it was entirely true 
 to his views at the time written. A little later his opinions 
 in regard to the value of "Dogmatic Theology" and the 
 Calvinistic scheme of salvation through the "Atonement" 
 must have undergone complete changes. At the time the 
 above letter was written, he stands still clad in his outworn 
 and already tattered coat of orthodox dogma. It is full 
 of rents and too thin to warm him. That orthodox father 
 who had from earliest childhood trained him to look upon 
 the world with intelligent eyes, to reason for himself on 
 all that he saw or read, and who had taught him that fear- 
 less truth in speech and action was the only right method 
 of expressing the light that was in him, — that father had 
 thus torn the first rent in his theological garment; science 
 as learned in the field and in books had rent it a second 
 time; German Philosophy had worn it thin; and now life 
 among these Boston thinkers and workers was rapidly mak- 
 ing it threadbare. It needed but one more agency — and 
 that the most powerful of all — to cause him to slip the 
 wretched excuse for a garment from his shoulders, and 
 stand forth in the sunshine of free thought, but possessed 
 still of the same devout spirit as in his youthful days. Many 
 
154 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vrii 
 
 men in leaving an outworn form of religion go through 
 bitter suffering of mind and soul. I do not think my father 
 ever did so suffer. He told me more than once that the ele- 
 ment of fear never had entered into his religious life at any 
 time. It was the warming, healing quality of religious faith 
 which had always been the vital matter to him. Fear and 
 punishment were negative ills : not "pardon," but "adoption" 
 (as he writes in an early letter), was the saving grace. And 
 so probably, in dropping his old theology, — when and how 
 I do not know, — ^he left nothing behind him that mattered 
 greatly to his heart. 
 
 Milton, June 28. To his Stepmother. 
 
 Last Friday R., having returned from New Brunswick, 
 with the mere discovery of a basin, not containing rocks 
 above the Danville ore formation, but receiving higher rocks 
 to the Eastward, and finally the Coal, at the lake east of the 
 St. John's, — I put the last stroke to the map, and turned to 
 coloring the original, which I half accomplished, beginning 
 with fear, but ending in delight; it excels our hopes. Satur- 
 day was too hot to work in, and Mrs. Robbins came in from 
 Milton to beg me to give their people a sermon. By the last 
 train of cars I came out to her husband's country seat [Brush 
 Hill], and go in to-night. It is useless to attempt a description 
 of these beautiful scenes, every way worthy of England. All 
 his [Mr. Robbins'] fields are surrounded, as the Norman fields 
 are, by tall shrubbery and trees, elms, etc., which form the most 
 beautiful alleys and vistas, through which appears a beautiful 
 landscape, look where you will. It is but six miles from Boston, 
 yet as secluded as a farm on the first fork of Pine Creek. Within 
 sight, three miles distant indeed, is the highest of the Blue Hills, 
 seven hundred feet, on the top of which Bache set up his chief Coast 
 beacon, and from it the battle of the Chesapeake and Shannon 
 was watched and reported. ... A new annoyance woke me last 
 week. A string of carts led by Irishmen began to take their 
 course at sunrise past our house (62 Pinckney St.), toting away 
 the soil thrown out from the foundation of the city aqueduct 
 reservoir, which will be surrounded by houses just as those in 
 Paris are. These continue all day to drag their slow length 
 along, jarring the house and setting one frantic with the noise. 
 Music continued ad libitum, the children practising for Polk's 
 advent. Mr. Robbins says Polk's grandfather PoUuck (Pol'k) 
 
i847 FIRST YEAR IN BOSTON 155 
 
 and R.'s father came over on the same ship from Scotland. He 
 [Robbins], an influential person in the orthodox church, and his 
 wife, an Episcopalian, warm-hearted and devout, desire me to 
 settle here as the pastor. I shall be well contented to do so. 
 Will at least wait the result of their negotiations. . . . 
 
 Milton, July 26. To his Father. 
 
 ... I preached my appointed sermons yesterday. The in- 
 telligent were delighted; the greater number repeated the re- 
 buke that I have so often received, by saying that they did not 
 understand me. That is an unpardonable fault in a preacher. 
 But when truth is stripped of its technical dress for greater evi- 
 dence, it becomes to all who are not trained to think, really 
 less evident than before. ... I do not think I will suit them, 
 although I regret to think so. They asked me to preach again 
 next Sunday, but I declined for at least four weeks. Then 
 I shall preach extempore. My mode I find to be so much out 
 of the usual track, that I must find a very indulgent people, and 
 be permitted to train them to it. . . . 
 
 In August my father took a trip through the White Moun- 
 tains, whither had preceded him Mrs. Hillard, Mr. Rogers, 
 and other Boston friends. He writes to his father with delight 
 of the scenery and of the geology of the region, and of the 
 pleasant travelling companions he meets in the various ex- 
 cursions. He also speaks of the constant changing of his own 
 thought in regard to life, as experience widens his view: — 
 
 Were it not for my fixed faith in Him who came to save the 
 lost, according to the Father's eternal purpose, I should give up 
 all for lost and sink into blank fatalism, as I see myself swept 
 from point to point, like a pebble down the bed of a mountain 
 stream, by one influence after another, that exert their forces 
 upon me in turn, — forced to modify my plans, to exchange my 
 opinions, to feel new sentiments and form new relations with 
 the world of fact and the other world of thought, continually. 
 But thank God that faith never fails me. Not a tremor ever 
 shakes the firm ground on which my feet were placed, and I can 
 look down the slope of ages, and descry dimly the forms of in- 
 finite changes without any particle of anxiety. Ever onward, 
 unfolding, realizing in myself ideas of grace that until thus 
 developed and made history in my own experience are mere 
 
156 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, viii 
 
 abstractions, however surely predestined to be real. The dif- 
 ference between the fatalism of the Unbeliever and that of the 
 believer is only this (and all this), that the one is indifferent to 
 the future because unknown by man, while the other is confident 
 in the future because arranged in Christ. 
 
 Boston, August 19. To his Father. 
 
 A note from my friends at Brush Hill [Milton] notified 
 me that I am expected to fill the pulpit there three Sabbaths. 
 I agreed to do so. . . . 
 
 My stay among Unitarians has changed me no doubt, but 
 not in any way I think that your views of gospel truth or hearty 
 piety would cause you to regret. The theological hypotheses 
 of the Princeton School upon the Westminster basis, seem to 
 me the only ones to be drawn logically from scripture. But I 
 am changed and still changing in this respect, that I do not iden- 
 tify truth with logic, and faith with dogma, as much as once, 
 when my logical consistency, while relieving me from doubt, 
 plunged me often in despair, and hardening my sensibility to 
 man's responsibility, landed me in fatalism. I study to be less 
 precise and consistent in the jointing of my system than formerly, 
 and more desire to grow in love to Christ and knowledge of and 
 obedience to his will, and submission to his designs, and in a 
 clear view of man's condition, wants, and ways of relief, than in 
 the skilful handling of words. I think I am becoming more 
 spiritvial and less technical; more of a New School man in one 
 sense, yet sympathizing with even Dr. Nevins; always less an 
 Arminian, but perhaps somewhat semi -Pelagian : in fine I see 
 my progress to be as it has ever been a waving line, but the re- 
 sultant of a composition of forces, to which I yield myself in 
 faith of the faithfulness of my divine Redeemer. I sit at table 
 with a Swedenborgian, and appreciate the one great truth of 
 which that denomination is the curious exponent. I talk daily 
 and intimately with a Catholic young lady of sincere piety, with a 
 Unitarian clergyman of whose piety I have little less doubt, and 
 with a Methodist and a Presbyterian of shining gifts and graces, 
 with all whom I feel quietly at home, not as agreeing with the sum 
 of all, but with some of each, — and seeing in them as in myself 
 Christ formed the hope of Glory. It is time enough for me to 
 assume an iron shoe and a Russian belt, when I am installed. 
 From that time I shall certainly grow more consistent — ^by growing 
 less. An old tree comes to perfection when it no longer puts forth 
 a new branch, but simply extends its old ones. . . . 
 
i847 FIRST YEAR IN BOSTON 157 
 
 Boston, Sept. 3. To his Stepmother. 
 
 I write, I know not why to-day — perhaps to keep my 
 hand in; although for that matter it is so cramped by my last 
 week's work that its digits will hardly count five. I am in ex- 
 cellent health and very happy with some good friends, and very 
 lovely and lively friends, only untiring Garrison abolitionists. 
 They read everything, and talk like musical boxes. I enjoy their 
 chat and music wondrously; moreover a friend sent me out as 
 his substitute yesterday, an aged incumbent of the Wrentham 
 See, 80 odd years old, who supplied the pulpit for me: next 
 Simday another friend does the same and in another week a 
 third will do me the like favor — all for love; so I revel in the 
 Deluge, in my heart's content; wrote thirty pages on Friday, 
 and forty on Saturday, and found a prize in the Athenaeum 
 to-day, viz., Mrs. Gray's "Sepulchres of Ancient Etruria," and 
 another at Binney's, viz., Dane's "Mythology of the Ancient 
 Britons"; so I bid fair, as far as good rakes go, to heap the ashes 
 of the forgotten dead into a tumulus high as the Bers Nimroud, 
 or the pyramid of Cholula. It is a grand subject. I wish I had 
 still more time to devote to it; it opens up like a Cathedral 
 nave before me. 
 
 The weather has set in for charming October already. But 
 it is very sickly: we have all the varieties of cholera, from the 
 Asiatic down through Dysentery to Cholera Infantum. The great 
 orator Wendell Phillips lay on Saturday at the point of death. 
 I feel very great anxiety about him, — all his friends do yet. He 
 was better to-day. I esteem him very highly, and we were to be 
 dear friends one day. But in truth time cures us of ever forming 
 visions before us. Who could have thought that a shameful peace 
 like that of Charles Albert and Radetzky's late making would, could 
 follow so radical an overturn of all things as at first threatened 
 utter exile to Austrian influence from Lombardy? . . . 
 
 If I had money, which I have not, I would go to Philadelphia 
 this month at the meeting of the Association of Geologists on 
 the 20th. I must forego it this year, and also seeing you. Henry 
 [D.] Rogers is making a great figure at the British Association, 
 and he has a right to. There are few his equals in the body. . . . 
 
 A letter from Philadelphia, September 8, from his father, 
 contains these words; — 
 
 I cannot divest myseil of anxiety about your stay in Unitarian 
 Society. The Great Enemy is full of wiles — and sometimes trans- 
 
158 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, vm 
 
 forms himself into an angel of light — and were it possible deceives 
 the Elect. I pray God that your zeal in his cause be not abated 
 and that your mind be kept from error. Stray minds have been 
 unchained and warped by strange delusions. I hope your stay 
 may be for good and I pray my fears may not be realized. My 
 trust is in him who is able to keep you from falling. 
 
 Boston, September 11. To his Father. 
 
 [After speaking of his past year's work, and his uncertainty 
 as to what his future work shall be, he continues:] I have re- 
 fused a call to Williamsport because I am not sure of support 
 and do not desire to be shut up from mental improvement. A 
 letter received last week from my friend Hepburn urges me to 
 come to them. — On the other hand a parish is open to me at 
 Milton, close by the city, with many advantages to allure me. I 
 am however not sure of a call by any means. ... I have as little 
 sympathy with the Arminian philosophy of New England ortho- 
 dox preachers as with the frigid humanitarianism of New Eng- 
 land Unitarianism. I may in time fall gradually into one or 
 the other more or less; God knows what is possible; I do not 
 think it probable. But for the present I am changed in nothing 
 essentially Princetonian : only my views of the realization of 
 theological theories, of the need of preaching practical godliness 
 and laying much less stress upon orthodox faith, have become 
 stronger, clearer, deeper. And this I am happy to believe I owe 
 to contact with and study of Unitarian life and conversation. I 
 consider I have been most radically benefited; but that I have 
 nearly exhausted that good which /, at least, am to draw from 
 Unitarianism. My whole feeling is now of reaction, repulsion. 
 You have seen a pith ball fly to a conductor and then charged 
 with its electricity fly back and stand aloof. Such a spiritual 
 phenomenon I have realized in my own spirit here. But I have 
 grown stronger and freer than before I came to Boston. . . . All 
 things slowly change their relations to each other and to me, but 
 in such a way that I believe myself progressing upon a heavenly 
 road. . . . 
 
 About returning South. — Next Sunday is the last of my en- 
 gagement at Milton. Something was said about inviting me to 
 preach six months. . . . The meeting of the Geological Society 
 (of which I am truly an unworthy member, for I write nothing) 
 takes place on the 20th (October). I shall of course stay out 
 that week. ... 
 
 But besides my liking Boston and the necessity for my remain- 
 
i847 FIRST YEAR IN BOSTON 159 
 
 ing here if I desire to settle in a New England parish near it, I 
 have another motive for staying through the winter or the early 
 half of it. Mr. Rogers desires to go to Europe in the spring, and 
 to carry with him not only the maps, etc., of our survey, which 
 he cannot publish here, but some work of his own which he can; 
 he and his brother have half written a manual which embodies 
 their views, describes the general geology of the U.S. and will in- 
 sure their taking rank with De Beaumont, Murchison and others 
 at the head of science there. My friendship for him would decide 
 me upon Staying to give him certain necessary aid, provided that 
 in so doing I violate no higher duty. If I settle in Milton, or if 
 I am invited to preach anywhere in the vicinity for the time, I 
 can give him what assistance he requires and which no other can. 
 — It would be much more agreeable to me to drop the whole 
 matter and make my home with you for a while, until some place 
 offered itself for a permanent settlement. 
 
 If you were wealthy I should desire you to support me part 
 of the year as a Colporteur, and allow me to study and write in 
 my own family circle the rest of the year. But as I am to obtain 
 by the labor of my hands the bread that I put into my mouth, 
 as Paul did, I consider myself blessed in the opening of a certain 
 path of science to me for that end. I only wish it would yield 
 me more money, that I might help some of my friends. . . . 
 
 You see, dear Father, that unless I were to determine to return 
 to the mountains of Pennsylvania in connection with the Tract 
 Society (and with my relations personal with them, probably 
 from my own fault, I am rather disgusted) or as pastor of Williams- 
 port Church, where there is really no need of me, for the two 
 churches ought to be under one minister,- — or unless I were to 
 accept Trumbull's proposition to take his place at Valparaiso or 
 go to California (and while you live I shall never do any such 
 thing, and probably never at all)- — there is no earthly reason for 
 my leaving a certain occupation of my hands, heart and head, 
 here in Boston, while it lasts. Whither shall I go? My heart 
 draws me to your roof. But you would be justly astonished 
 and offended, if I returned to you and remained, as you would 
 think, whatever employed me, idly at home. There is no pulpit 
 open to me in Philadelphia or near it that I know of. If further 
 off — then I might as well be here. I cannot see, therefore, that 
 any better course offers, since I am here neither idle nor in danger, 
 than for me to continue to do what I find to do, as long as occu- 
 pation of the right sort lasts. 
 
 I have a heart for social affections: I have talents for public 
 
i6o LIFE AND LETTERS chap, viii 
 
 usefulness, but every day furnishes new evidence that my charac- 
 ter is not yet wholly perfected, and therefore I can neither see how 
 my heart is to be satisfied nor how my talents are to be employed. 
 And yet neither of these two is meanwhile either rusting or 
 wasting. This whole life is a probation, a preparation, a muta- 
 tion, a wandering, an attempt, — change and effort and failure 
 then must satisfy us. My worldly prospects are poor enough 
 and yet I am satisfied. . . . And so I stand, fearless of any ill, and 
 without an enemy in the world, full of peace within, with a con- 
 science void of all offence towards God and man, ready to go 
 where my Master calls and to do what falls to my share; I con- 
 sider myself not less happy than undeserving, — and of nothing 
 more than of having a Father who is willing and worthy to 
 receive such a letter as this, from your own son Peter. 
 
 To which the father answers by a deeply affectionate 
 letter September 14, containing this sentence: — 
 
 I am sorry that you could allow a thought to occupy your 
 mind for a moment that I " would be justly astonished and offended 
 if I returned to you and remained as you would think, whatever 
 employed me, idly at home." Dear son, my home is your home 
 — and always open to your stay and comfort. . . . 
 
 October 19 my father writes to his brother Allen from 
 Philadelphia : — 
 
 All my hopes and plans have been dashed by a letter from 
 Milton signifying the election of another man to fill the pulpit 
 for the time (eight weeks) and of a colleague also to Dr. Codman. 
 The disappointment that I feel made me first really acquainted 
 with the intensity of my desire to return to Boston. All things 
 work for good to them that love God, I can only say, and that 
 with a heavy heart. Presbytery will have me organize a church 
 about the corner of Poplar Lane, or Girard Avenue and loth 
 Street. I am buying books and getting to work. 
 
 Nevertheless, December 11 finds him again in Boston, 
 after a home visit and some travelling in Pennsylvania, and 
 on the 1 8th he writes to his mother from Milton as if estab- 
 lished there in parish work: — 
 
i847 FIRST YEAR IN BOSTON i6l 
 
 It has just ceased snowing here, and the sun is struggling 
 through the long cold cobwebs that still hang across the — 
 whether East, West, South or North, I'm sure I cannot tell, for 
 there is neither sign-post nor weathercock, by which to rectify 
 .one's topography, that I have yet discovered in all the parish. 
 Every straight road runs in a curve, and all the parallel roads 
 manage to meet and triangulate the township and the temper to- 
 gether. I am not permitted to take a guide in visiting the people, 
 because it would be said that I were "such-a-one's minister." So 
 I go whither I am sent, and if I arrive rightly, well and good; but 
 if not, it matters little, for I find myself then somewhere else, 
 and my invitations come from all directions. Much of my time 
 is spent in writing for the Sabbath; the rest in walks which keep 
 me in excellent bodily health. . . . 
 
 I was obliged to meet thirty or forty ladies and a few of their 
 husbands, at a Dorcas Society meeting the other day, and spend 
 three or four hours with them, quite ill at ease to know what to 
 say or remember who was which. My sermons last Sunday 
 gave satisfaction and were unusually well attended, but the day 
 was a very fine one and tempted many out. I have just finished 
 the last of two sermons for to-morrow on Naaman's history, 
 and the doctrine of imputation, but however well I may please 
 them I cannot please myself, and only receive comfort from dis- 
 covering baldness and emptiness and commonplace in Massillon 
 with all his grandeur, and Havel with all his unction — and from 
 reflecting that " God gives the increase." 
 
 I am very happy here, enjoying the most complete seclusion, 
 quietude, command of time, and peace of mind, and able to study 
 ten hours in the twenty-four, but in great danger of being too 
 happy and growing selfish. . . . 
 
 Milton, December 26. To his Father. 
 
 The Committee met after Church (to-day) and extend an 
 invitation to me to supply the pulpit for an indefinite time; I, 
 to give them two weeks' previous notice of intention to leave them. 
 
 This last week I have been overwhelmed with evidences of 
 not only respect, but affection. The place is considered a most 
 desirable one, and is greatly sought after. . . . 
 
 This began my father's ministry in Milton. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 First Year of Parish Work, Milton. 1848 
 
 Early in the year 1848, my father, being established in 
 Milton, although not actually "settled" over the parish, 
 made an attempt to prevail upon his aunt Hall and aunt 
 Wilson and the latter's two children to come to make their 
 home with him. This they with wise kindness refused to 
 do, and he continued for some months to lodge, bachelor- 
 fashion, among his new parishioners. I think he suffered 
 from a certain loneliness in being so far from his own family, 
 and this is expressed from time to time in the home letters. 
 Nevertheless, he was happy in his surroundings, and already 
 deeply attached to a few and much interested in many of 
 his wide circle of new friends and acquaintances. 
 
 Milton, Feb. 13, 1848. To his Brother Allen. 
 
 ... I am drawing a whole train of work: abstracting Miiller's 
 Dorians; Stewart's Old Testament; sifting and writing on the 
 whole abolition subject, from a pile of books that Wendell Phillips 
 has sent me; mapping the Jura and copying Thorwaldsen's 
 " Night " in oil — besides my two sermons a week. You might per- 
 haps retort that it is not strange in such a dust that I should not 
 be able to " Know myself." [The first half of this letter is philo- 
 sophic, — German philosophic rather.] I have very few unoccu- 
 pied hours and I can boast nee otium nee dignitatem, I fear. 
 I read Thomson's "Winter" (season) to-day. He seems to my 
 ear tediously inflated, i.e., with his innumerable adjectives and 
 participles. But there is nevertheless a distinctness in his pict- 
 ures, and sometimes a sublime simplicity of outline, above praise. 
 But Spenser has completely stolen my heart. If you have never 
 read him do get the first book of his " Faery Queen " in large type, 
 without delay and make acquaintance with it. If you only read 
 one canto, — it will dwell with you, like the remembrance of a 
 beautiful stage companion, or an angel in a dream. It is a shame 
 not to be able to say "I love Spenser." You will be entertained 
 
 162 
 
1848 FIRST YEAR OF PARISH WORK 163 
 
 too with abundant Germanisms in words and terminations; e.g., 
 the terminal verbal— ew — see dedication sonnet to Earl of Essex, 
 9th line — "with bolder wing shall dare aloft to sly" (steigen — 
 mount), etc. 
 
 And the letter ends as follows: — 
 
 What's the matter with my name?! 
 'Tis harsh and horrid, like the roar of rocks 
 
 Let loose by thunder from their mountain dwelling, 
 Clattering and crashing down with slips and shocks 
 
 Through underwood, and brush and garden paling.. 
 All I can say is that I want a better; 
 
 John, James, Tom, Harry — anything but . 
 
 He always disliked his Christian name, and several times 
 tried futilely to settle upon another. He finally added the 
 J. at the beginning, by which he is most widely known. 
 
 March 14. To his Father. 
 
 Last Friday they buried Adams' corpse in the next township. 
 I wish I had a copy of Theodore Parker's sermon to send you, 
 but three editions were immediately exhausted. He is an odd 
 fish and will say what nobody else dares to — in public. My 
 friend Lyman,* of Halle, spent Sunday with me, to my great 
 pleasure. He is not a whit changed. 
 
 A meeting was appointed for this week, but is deferred to next 
 week. The salary will be the only question. I shall have serious 
 difficulty I expect, with any council, i.e., a pro re nata sort of pres- 
 bytery, that may be called together to settle me. I do not think 
 myself sufficiently orthodox to meet their demands; and unless 
 I give them satisfaction, they will refuse to ordain me or give me 
 the hand of fellowship. You may imagine then what sort of a 
 gauntlet I think I should run in a Presbytery in Pennsylvania. 
 
 * Joseph Bardwell Lyman, son of Timothy Lyman, . . . closely con- 
 nected with us through one of the three original Lyman brothers two hundred 
 and fifty years ago, . . . our sixth or seventh cousin. Born at Chester, 
 Mass., October 6, 1829; graduated from Yale College 1850; studied law 
 in Tennessee; married July 14, 1858, Laura E. Baker, of Maine 1863 
 settled in New Orleans in the profession of law; . . . returned North in 1863, 
 and settled in Stamford, Conn., in 1865, where he was engaged in literary 
 efforts as a profession. Died in Richmond Hill, L.I., January 28, 1872. 
 Was a great reader and good scholar. {Taken from a letter of Benjamin 
 Smith Lyman.) 
 
1 64 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, ix 
 
 However it is foolish to meet trouble half-way; or anticipate with 
 anxiety what may exist only in the imagination. My sermons 
 of last Sabbath on Sin would have been denounced by any Pres- 
 bytery of ours I am quite sure; and yet they were received with 
 unbounded satisfaction. I am improving rapidly in strength and 
 clearness of style and precision of expression, — this is just the 
 direction in which I wish to advance. But it requires incessant 
 toil, and I cannot stand it long unless I succeed in effecting ex- 
 changes more frequently than I have been able to do this winter. 
 The people generally speak of my settlement among them with 
 that enthusiasm which is so easily got up around a new man and 
 so easily forgotten when he is no longer such. . . . 
 
 Evidently, in April or May, he went South to see his 
 family, and the following letter marks his return: — 
 
 Milton, May, 1848. To his Father. 
 
 We have just arrived. The family opposite became very 
 uneasy and telegraphed this morning to know if Forbes had left 
 New York. He came on with us, and Lyman's * sister, the beauti- 
 ful Mrs. Delano, and her party, unexpectedly formed part of our 
 cortege. . . . The Captain said it was a severer blow than any 
 since last September. ... I shall eschew the Sound routes here- 
 after, having now tried them all. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, May 3, 1848. To Brethren of the Presbytery. 
 
 In applying to you for a letter of dismission to the Norfolk 
 County Association of Massachusetts, I have been met by a com- 
 munication to the Presbytery, charging me with preaching in Nor- 
 folk County, Mass., "infidel" sentiments, or those wearing "the 
 worst form of German Rationalism," with "denying the Inspira- 
 tion of the Scriptures, etc." 
 
 Inasmuch as the writer of that letter never heard me preach, 
 and probably never read anything that I ever wrote, and frankly 
 named a single friend (a woman) as the medium of his informa- 
 tion, but refers the Presbytery for further information to other 
 persons, naming one, — he has treated me with a careless un- 
 kindness, common in the Church and in the World, such as I 
 would display towards him, did I fire a gun into a grove, knowing 
 him to be there, but too intent upon killing a particular bird to 
 
 * Joseph Lyman, my mother's brother. 
 
PORTRAIT OF MRS. WARREN DELANO (CATHERINE LYMAN) 
 
1S48 FIRST YEAR OF PARISH WORK 165 
 
 regard that. For while in strictness the words, InfideHty, Ger- 
 man Rationalism, and a Denial of Scripture Inspiration, mean 
 nothing definite, and no man of thought regards their applica- 
 tion in the general to any person or persons, — yet in common 
 parlance they do mean a great deal, appealing to very ancient tra- 
 ditions and to personal passions made intense by habit and self- 
 interest. To be an Infidel is everwhere shameful. To be a 
 German Rationalist among English Christians is to be an object 
 little short of horror. To deny Inspiration is to be at the least 
 a Deist, at the most an Atheist, given to materialism, and with- 
 out a safeguard from ruin. I do not desire, therefore, to have 
 attached to my name, now or ever, words which do not at all 
 describe my past or present life, and from the use of which neither 
 my friends nor my enemies (if I unfortunately have any) can 
 tell what I believe or according to what principles I live. I con- 
 sider, therefore, that I have not only suffered wrong at a brother's 
 hand, but have the highest right to claim protection and a kind 
 redress at the hands of my brethren of this Presbytery, and 
 I hereby ask of them a letter or paper or opinion or resolution 
 in some plain form and in fraternal language, saying, that in 
 their opinion I cannot with propriety, in Christian charity and 
 truth, be said to preach Infidelity, or to be a German Rationalist, 
 or to deny the Inspiration of the Scriptures, as has been to them 
 reported. 
 
 I rest my claim to such opinion or resolution on the following 
 ground: 
 
 The man who believes in the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of 
 God, as one with the Father; as the Jehovah of the Old Testa- 
 ment World and the Messiah of the New; as the only name given 
 whereby men may be saved; as the vicarious sacrifice for sin; 
 as the Head of the Church, the dispenser of the Holy Ghost, and 
 the future visible King of the Nations — cannot be called an In- 
 fidel. 
 
 The man who teaches with offensive plainness the Cal- 
 vinistic view of the scheme of salvation, in its parts of Election, 
 Reprobation, Limited Atonement, InabiHty and Effectual Call- 
 ing, — cannot be said in any sense to be a German Rationalist. 
 
 The man who believes in the primary distinction between 
 the Church and the World, the Living and the Dead, the In- 
 spired and the Uninspired; in other words, in the gift of the 
 Holy Ghost, as the Spirit of all Truth, to every elect child of 
 God, in every age and place where God has had his Church — 
 cannot deny the Inspiration of the Scriptures, seeing that these 
 
1 66 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, ix 
 
 were written by holy men of old, and are judged and found true 
 by the same Inspiring Spirit dwelling in us. 
 
 As I am a man, believing and teaching these things accord- 
 ing to the measure of the evidence I have for each, I can neither 
 be called an Infidel, nor a German Rationalist, nor deny the 
 Inspiration of the Holy Scriptures. And as such a man, sub- 
 ject to the attacks of ignorance and zeal, like other men, in duty 
 bound to guard myself against them by all proper means, I 
 simply request all or as many of my brethren of this Presbytery 
 as can do it, to attest this my position in Life, in the degree of 
 their Knowledge. 
 
 Furthermore, I desire that my brethren of the Presbytery 
 not only thus protect me against the above accusation, formally 
 or informally made, and more or less public as it is now, or may 
 by any action of the Presbytery become hereafter, — but that 
 they moreover dismiss me to the Norfolk County Association 
 of Massachusetts, not as a member of the Presbyterian Church, 
 nor as a licentiate of a Presbytery, but as in their past experi- 
 ence and present apprehension, a Christian man and brother, 
 of unexceptional morals and in good report, holding and avowing 
 and desiring to teach the characteristic and fundamental doc- 
 trines of the Westminster Confession of Faith, but differing 
 at present from many, or it may be all, of my brethren: i, in 
 my views of the nature and necessity of Creeds; 2, in my views 
 respecting the Order of the Ministry; and 3, in my theory of 
 Inspiration; under the last of which may be included my con- 
 victions of the greater credibility of scientific deductions, wherever 
 and so long as they oppose any assertion of the written word, 
 correctly interpreted. 
 
 I offer, of course, no apology for these exceptions to the views 
 prevailing in the Presbyterian Churches, but only claim to be 
 dismissed as holding such views, and nevertheless regarded by 
 brethren of this Presbytery as no more worthy of the name of 
 Infidel and German Rationalist than venerated men like Profes- 
 sors Neander and Tholuck, who entertain and avow, perhaps, 
 the same. 
 
 Brethren of the Presbytery, let us part in love. Send me 
 away with a prayer and a blessing, to be received by others, else- 
 where, with a prayer and a blessing, and recommend me for that 
 which I am, and not for that which you would rather I should 
 be, to the Christian fellowship of Christian people. 
 Your fellow-servant to Christ, 
 
 Peter Lesley, J. 
 
1848 FIRST YEAR OF PARISH WORK 167 
 
 On the outside of the page this is marked "Copy of 
 letter sent to the Presbytery of Philadelphia, May 3, 1848." 
 
 Milton, May 24. To his Father. 
 
 In the 2nd week of June the North Suffolk Ass. meets, at 
 which I shall present myself. . . . Pray let Mother ask Dr. Cuyler 
 next Sunday for a paper certifying my membership in the Seventh 
 St. Church, and send it on as soon as possible. If it be not in 
 hand, nothing can be done at the Association. It is the paper 
 with all Congregationalists. 
 
 Milton, June 3. To his Father. 
 
 Your letter of ist inst. with its enclosed certificate has just 
 come in. It supplies all that I at present need. . . . 
 
 The week of the Anniversaries is closing. I attended none 
 of them, for fear of their excitement. Fine speeches were at a 
 discount. It is a perfect Carnival of Benevolence, a sort of spirit- 
 ually Bacchanalian orgie. Shawls and white cravats filled the 
 city. — I am still at Lyman's.* 
 
 In a letter of June 19th to his mother he tells of several 
 meetings in regard to his claims to be settled over the Milton 
 parish, but no decision was made by the Association. He 
 says, "I have formally released the parish from their obli- 
 gations to me after next Sunday." Nevertheless, he con- 
 tinued to preach for the Milton church for some months to 
 come, and he writes that his people "sustain me to a man 
 with the most perfect unanimity and most gratifying ex- 
 pressions of affection." In the same letter he writes: — 
 
 I am still with Lyman, at most comfortable quarters and 
 within reach of the pleasant people Milton affords. Some of the 
 respect with which I am treated is due to the anomalous position 
 that I occupy. Things are at a strange pass here. Unitarian- 
 ism, which was the Churches' protest forty years ago against the 
 dry and heartless dialectics of the old orthodoxy, has done its 
 work and had its day and is drying up and vanishing. Unitarian 
 ministers are rapidly becoming evangelical and orthodox minis- 
 ters "liberal." Everywhere we see portents of a sort of practical 
 eclectic amalgamation, according to which the church general 
 
 * This must have been Joseph Lyman, his future brother-in-law. 
 
i68 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, ix 
 
 shall adopt the freedom and science and moral tone and bene- 
 ficence of the Unitarian school on the one side, and the high and 
 heavenly theology, the mystical spiritualism of orthodoxy on the 
 other. In a few weeks Bushnell of Hartford will utter the Phi 
 Beta Kappa oration before Harvard, and then dine with a dozen 
 Unitarian ministers on Milton Hill. Men like Simmons and 
 Clarke and Waterston don't know where to belong. Such men 
 are multiplying. Well might brother Eells say in his letter about 
 "one Lesley, preaching in Milton," that orthodoxy in New Eng- 
 land was tumbhng to pieces. What between Harvard and 
 Andover, Science and steam, the future has much hope to feed 
 upon. A simple, childlike faith in Christ crucified, the son of 
 God, — an untiring assertion of the necessity of the purest and 
 most efficient morality, in the Temperance-Anti-slavery-and 
 Anti-war-Church, — and an unbounded trust in all truth, practical, 
 scientific and religious, as divine, — these are becoming the pillars 
 and watchwords of Christianity in New England. 
 
 In response to anxious letters from home in regard to 
 his personal spiritual condition and worldly prospects, he 
 writes cheerily to his father July 13th: 
 
 But let me assure you that I am twenty-nine, with some Chris- 
 tian and worldly experience, inheriting a tolerably good mind and 
 a pretty firm will, a love of right and liberty, and willing to suffer 
 much if need he (which there isn't) in what I consider a good 
 cause. But there is neither cause nor suffering in the present 
 case. I am doing nothing, fighting nothing, supporting nothing, 
 but living a very quiet, peaceable, honest and perhaps useful life 
 from day to day like other people. Believe this and do not 
 jancy otherwise. 
 
 Milton, Aug. 6, 1848. To his Father. 
 
 Will's letter with your attache came duly to hand at my return 
 from a very pleasant round through the Connecticut region. I 
 stopped two days at Bellows Falls, four days at Brattleboro 
 with several friends, and two days at Northampton, — the most 
 beautiful of villages, in the midst of the great diluvial meadows 
 of the Connecticut. These meadows are not alluvion, made by 
 river sediment ; but are the last throw-down of the diluvial waves 
 in their draining off, impeded by the great trap dykes thrown 
 obliquely across the valley. The dykes rise from the gently 
 undulating meadows, very abruptly, and command magnificent 
 
1848 FIRST YEAR OF PARISH WORK 169 
 
 scenery. That from the end of Holyoke is famous and worthy 
 of all its praise. I made some valuable friends at Northampton. 
 My friend Lyman of Amherst, with whom I was at Halle, made 
 me comfortable there, and introduced me to the celebrated collec- 
 tion of bird-tracks collected by Prof. Hitchcock who was unfort- 
 unately absent.* I was invited by the Congregational Minister at 
 Brattleboro to preach for him, and did so in the afternoon. He 
 only requested that I would not touch moot points. Of course I 
 would not. . . . 
 
 The people here [in Milton] during my absence have done all 
 that I could desire; they have signed personally men and women 
 a written agreement (fearful lest in this busy season a meeting 
 would not be well attended) to have me supply them for a year, 
 . . . and dating back to my acceptance of the call. . . . 
 
 Milton, August 28. To his Father. 
 
 I went last Thursday to hear Bushnell's oration before the 
 Phi Beta Kappa Society at Cambridge. It was very rich, acute, 
 elegant and eloquent and gave high delight. The subject was 
 Work and Play; work preparatory to play. . . . 
 
 Hearing such rare addresses from so rare a man, I not only 
 inquire why there are so few such; but find all my early ambitions 
 fired again to attain a point so enviable. . . . 
 
 * Years later my father wrote the obituary notice of Edward Hitchcock, 
 and read it before the meeting of the American Association held in 1867 at 
 Northampton. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 Engagement. 1848 
 
 Melton, Oct. 9, 1848. To his Father. 
 I am happy to be able to say that a very lovely woman has 
 promised to be my wife. ... She is all that I can desire; but has 
 neither health nor wealth at present. . . . 
 
 It was with these words that my father announced to 
 his father that which was the most momentous event of 
 his life. 
 
 In the previous summer he had met Susan Inches Lyman, 
 daughter of Judge Lyman and his wife, Anne Jean, of 
 Northampton. It seems to have been instantly felt by 
 both the young people that they belonged to each other. 
 
 Practically everything was against this match. My 
 father was not strong, or, at least, had an appearance of 
 delicacy and nervous excitability, and had no established 
 means of supporting himself or a family. Moreover, he 
 was hazarding his own chosen career in the ministry by 
 heterodox preaching. My mother was in extremely poor 
 health and had small worldly prospects. Her relatives and 
 friends were naturally much opposed to the engagement, 
 and used all legitimate means of prayer and persuasion to 
 at least delay the marriage. But, once certain of the affec- 
 tion of each for each, neither would accede to adverse argu- 
 ment, and both were firm in their determination to shape 
 their future as seemed right to themselves. Yet they tried 
 not to distress those nearest to them in affection more than 
 was necessary; and in the end opposition was overcome, 
 and they were married on February 13, 1849, with the good 
 will of a large and affectionate circle of relatives and friends. 
 Susan Inches Lyman was born in Northampton, April 7, 
 1823. Her father was Judge Joseph Lyman, whose mem- 
 ory is still revered in Northampton. Dr. Rufus Ellis wrote 
 
 of him: — 
 
 170 
 
JUDGE JOSEPH LYMAN 
 
ENGAGEMENT 171 
 
 To many, many hearts the words, "Judge Lyman" are 
 charmed words. They call up the image of one, the manly beauty 
 of whose person was but the fit expression of a most noble soul; 
 they recall a man singularly gifted and singularly faithful, a 
 thinker, clear-sighted, yet reverent, a lover of religious Hberty, 
 yet only for the pure Gospel's sake; a devoted friend, a self- 
 sacrificing philanthropist, an ardent patriot, a man diligent in 
 business, yet ready to meet the largest demands of every hos- 
 pitable office; a cheerful giver, one who made virtue venerable 
 and lovely by the uniform dignity, grace, and courtesy of his 
 manners, and by the sweetness of his speech; a man whose moral 
 and social qualities so occupied attention, that we could hardly 
 do justice to a very wise, discriminating and cultivated intellect.* 
 
 My grandmother wrote the following words of her hus- 
 band soon after his death: — 
 
 His life has been an uncommonly happy one, owing to a more 
 calm and equable temperament than is usual — added to a well- 
 balanced mind. He was not disturbed by the little inequalities 
 and mutations which must occur in the course of a long life. 
 "Society, Friendship, and Love," the means of which are so 
 abundantly scattered through this Universe, furnished his great- 
 est sources of enjoyment through life. . . . His sympathies were 
 so warm that his friends' happiness increased his own.f 
 
 Joseph Lyman was born about 1767, as my mother 
 says that he was forty-four years old at the time of his mar- 
 riage to her mother, October 30, 181 1. He had been earlier 
 married to Elizabeth Fowler, and had a family of five chil- 
 dren, — Elizabeth, Samuel, Mary, Dvdght, and Jane (a 
 fourth daughter, Fanny, had died at the age of twelve). J 
 
 ♦ From page 66 of "Recollections of my Mother," by Susan I. Lesley. 
 
 t Page 399, "Recollections of my Mother." 
 
 t Elizabeth, born October 16, 1792; married Samuel Henshaw; died 1875. 
 
 Edmund D wight, born November 20, 1795; died 1834. 
 
 Frances Fowler, born August 31, 1797; died January 11, 1809. 
 
 Samuel Fowler, bom May 3, 1799; died January 3, 1876. 
 
 Mary, bom March 27, 1802; married Thomas Jones; died 1834. 
 
 Jane, bom April 22, 1804; married Stephen Brewer; died March, 1859. 
 
172 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 Judge Lyman came of New England farmer stock. He 
 had one brother, Erastus, and a sister Mary (later married 
 to Joseph Lord). He owed his education to an accident. 
 Seeing a battle with the Indians [ ?] when a child, he climbed 
 into a tree to obtain a better view, became faint at the sight 
 of blood, and fell to the ground, breaking his skull, which 
 was trepanned. Being, in consequence of this accident 
 too dehcate to go to school, he was taught by the pastor of 
 the town, who fitted him at eleven years of age to enter 
 Yale College. He was sent thither on horseback, seated 
 behind his elder brother, going barefoot and in a homespun 
 suit of clothes. 
 
 October 30, 181 1, Judge Joseph Lyman was married to 
 my grandmother, Anne Jean Robbins, daughter of Edward 
 Hutchinson Robbins, of Milton, near Boston. 
 
 On her mother's side my mother traced her ancestry 
 through her great-grandfather, James Murray,* to Scotch 
 sources, reaching back to a certain "Outlaw," Murray, nat- 
 urally much prized by the youthful members of the family 
 of later generations ; and through her grandfather, Edward 
 Hutchinson Robbins, to that notable Anne Hutchinson, the 
 "sectary," exile and martyr, in which relationship she herself 
 took much satisfaction. She loved also her kinship to her 
 great-grandfather, Nathaniel Robbins, the pastor for forty 
 years of the old church in Milton; and she delighted, when 
 she was an old woman herself, to look from her chamber 
 window, when the autumn winds had cleared the view from 
 leafy foliage, at the white spire of that old church where he 
 had so long and faithfully served his people. Her grand- 
 father, Edward Hutchinson Robbins, was a man of much 
 force and sweetness combined. "A man of noble character 
 and warm heart, who has left to his descendants the richest 
 of inheritances, in the fine flavor of humanity that has kept 
 his memory green, even to the third and fourth generation," 
 she writes in her volume in memory of her mother (page 17). 
 
 To her mother's memory Susan has written this notable 
 volume, and it is impossible to condense into a few sentences 
 
 * Letters of James Murray, Loyalist. Edited by Nina Moore Tiffany, 
 assisted by Susan I. Lesley. Boston, 190 1. 
 
Mrs. ANNE JEAN LYMAN 
 
ENGAGEMENT 173 
 
 an adequate description of so strong and varied a character. 
 Anne Jean Robbins, married at twenty-two to a man twice 
 her age, became at once his cordial companion in all his 
 active work, the head of an already large household, a power 
 in the village life, a mover in social activities, and foremost 
 in such reforms as the time demanded. As a girl, she had 
 shown great capacity in practical matters. She came of a 
 large family herself, being the third of seven sons and daugh- 
 ters.* She had a vigorous mind and a perfectly healthy 
 body, and was rather intolerant of weakness in any form; 
 but her warm heart prevented this intolerance from becom- 
 ing hardness, and only caused her presence to act as a tonic 
 upon weaker natures. She and her husband were very 
 unlike temperamentally, but sympathized wholly in their 
 spiritual outlook and their principles of life. 
 
 They had five children: Joseph, born August 14, 1812; 
 Anne Jean, born July 7, 1815; Edward Hutchinson Robbins, 
 born February 10, 1819; Susan Inches, born April 7, 1823; 
 and Catharine Robbins, born January 12, 1825. 
 
 My grandmother says in a letter written to a favorite 
 niece, Abbie Greene, in September, 1823, "My baby was 
 named Susan Inches; and a loveher creature I never saw." 
 Another httle daughter, Catharine Robbins, born about 
 twenty months later, was also an exquisite little child. The 
 two sisters grew up together in united loveliness of person 
 and spirit, until at eighteen Catharine was married to Warren 
 Delano, Jr., and left the simple life of the Northampton 
 home to live in New York, and later China, under much 
 changed surroundings and circumstances. 
 
 * Children of Elizabeth Murray Robbins and Edward Hutchinson 
 Robbins, married November, 1 785 : — 
 
 Eliza, born August 26, 1786; unmarried. 
 
 Sarah Lydia, born December 16, 1787; married Judge Samuel Howe. 
 
 Anne Jean, born July 3, 1789; married Judge Joseph Lyman. 
 
 Edward Hutchinson, born March 24, 1792; married. 
 
 Mary, born October 16, 1794; married Joseph Revere (son of Paul 
 Revere). 
 
 James Murray, born June 30, 1796; married Frances Mary Harris. 
 
 Catharine, born March 25, 1800; unmarried. 
 
 (Taken from Appendix to "Letters of James Murray, Loyalist. Edited 
 by Nina Moore Tiffany.") 
 
174 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 The Lyman children were born into very happy surround- 
 ings. The older brothers and sisters were near and dear, 
 and, as these married and were established in homes of their 
 own, the little sisters were often with them. One half- 
 sister, Mary, was very much like a mother to the little Susan, 
 and she remembered always her bitter grief when Mary 
 married Mr. Jones, and left home, and how she ran weeping 
 after the carriage which carried off the bride and groom. 
 Eliza, the oldest of the half-sisters, married Mr. Samuel 
 Henshaw, of Boston, and went there to live. Samuel, the 
 oldest son of the first marriage, married Miss Almira Smith 
 of East Hampton, settled in Northampton, and became 
 Judge Lyman in later days, and a much beloved and re- 
 spected citizen. Jane married Mr. Stephen Brewer, of 
 Northampton. Dwight died unmarried. 
 
 The deepest sorrow of my mother's youth was the death 
 of her older sister, Anne Jean, a beautiful girl of eighteen, with 
 a rare character of sweetness and strength. My mother 
 could never speak of Annie without emotion, and even to 
 the end of her own long life this was a never-forgotten sorrow. 
 She owed much of her religious feeling to this sister, who 
 had died when Susan was but twelve years old; and Susan 
 revered her as a saint and a protecting spirit, besides feel- 
 ing her to be a best -beloved sister. 
 
 My mother was much more like her father than her 
 mother, temperamentally, mentally, and spiritually. She 
 used to say that she was almost wholly a Lyman. In as- 
 pect also she greatly resembled her father. She had the 
 broad forehead, the wide-sweeping brow, and large mild 
 brown eyes that are almost typical in the Lyman face, 
 the well-formed, slightly aquiline nose, and firm, shapely 
 chin. Her small mouth, owing to much ill-health and 
 suffering, was in repose rather sad, but, when she spoke, 
 her whole face changed, and her expression became both 
 animated and serene. From her father she also inherited 
 a certain emotional tendency, with which she had to struggle 
 throughout life. She used to tell how her mother would 
 sometimes exclaim in times of family excitement, " Oh, those 
 Lyman flood-gates, those Lyman flood-gates!" Yet my 
 
SUSAN INCHES LYMAN 
 From a portrait by Chester Harding. Taken about 1838 
 
ENGAGEMENT 
 
 175 
 
 mother never wept in times of stress or when there was need 
 for action. And tears never came to her when they might have 
 aided her in gaining a point or in caUing forth sympathy. 
 
 She had great powers of endurance, and fortitude in 
 suffering. 
 
 She had a great love of books, and was happy in being 
 born into a family where reading was one of the recognized 
 needs of hfe. My grandmother was of course a very busy 
 woman, but she used to keep a book beside her on the table 
 or in her mending-basket, and, if she found no time to peruse 
 it herself, would get one of the children, as time permitted, 
 to read aloud to her. Books were not so plenty then as 
 now, but were perhaps more prized, and those volumes 
 which did come into the house were not only read, but dis- 
 cussed with avidity. Grandmother writes to her niece Abbie 
 Greene July 15, 1839: — 
 
 Since you left us, Susan has read aloud to me the first 
 vol. of Sparks' Life of Washington, "Undine" — what nonsense! 
 and stories connected with the times of Charles II., which are 
 nearly as absurd as "Undine." In the intervals, Mr. Lyman 
 pegs away upon Dwight's Life of Thomas Jefferson, which, how- 
 ever, I am quite interested in, as it shows the history and origin 
 of the Democratic Party. 
 
 Susan, I doubt not, found in "Undine" something other 
 than nonsense. She was a very sensitive and reserved child, 
 poetic in her taste and full of sentiment. She might have 
 become a sentimentahst, had not her surroundings been so 
 healthy and vigorous. As it was, her love of the beautiful, 
 which is the heart of true sentiment, served to glorify and 
 sanctify the things of hfe, and only strengthened her char- 
 acter, joined as this sentiment was to a New England con- 
 science and a strong sense of duty. 
 
 I have only a few reminiscences of my mother's childhood. 
 One story, which she told me a few years ago, seemed to me 
 most characteristic of her thoughtful and religious nature. 
 She and her Httle sister were lying in bed, side by side, half 
 asleep. Some guests in the household were brought in to 
 
1 76 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 look at the little girls, and, supposing them quite uncon- 
 scious, began to exclaim at their beauty. My mother lay 
 quite still, but heard it all. She was troubled at first that 
 she had overheard what was not intended for her ear, and 
 felt a sense of guilt. Suddenly these words of William Penn, 
 which she had somewhere read, came into her mind: "Art 
 thou beautiful? Live then in accordance with the curious 
 make and frame of thy creation, and let the beauty of thy 
 person lead thee to adorn thy mind with holiness, the orna- 
 ment of the beloved of God." The words comforted her, 
 and she fell peacefully asleep. I found only a few months 
 before her death these same words tremulously pencilled 
 on a piece of paper in her portfolio, showing that the re- 
 membrance of that distant night remained with her through- 
 out her long life. 
 
 Another little incident I find mentioned in a letter of 
 July 10, 1883, from Boston, to her "children in the West":' — 
 
 Sunday I stepped down to King's Chapel to hear Henry 
 Foote and enjoy the service, and it was pleasant to be there again. 
 I recalled a time when Cousin Mary Ware took me, a child of 
 five, with John, a child of seven, to see a great wedding in the 
 church, I can't remember whose. But I got frightened about 
 the great sounding-board, and suggested to John that it might 
 come down on the Minister's head. And John thought it cer- 
 tainly would, which did not reassure me. And so we clung 
 together as children do in that half-fear, half-drama of fear, in 
 which they have a queer pleasure, until the wedding party came 
 in and absorbed our attention and dispersed our fears. I don't 
 believe I have ever been in that church but once since, — and how 
 it all came back to me. 
 
 Happy as she was in her family, she was yet much alone 
 in her inner life, as all fine natures must be, and sometimes 
 felt a lack of understanding in those around her. This is 
 but a phase, however, in all youthful development, and one 
 need not dwell on it. I only mention it here because in her 
 marriage she found just that comprehension of her inmost 
 nature which filled her heart with entire content and a 
 sense of repose unknown before. 
 
ENGAGEMENT 177 
 
 One thing she used to tell her children later as one of 
 the best lessons learned in her youth from her mother: 
 "Mother used to tell me, 'Susan, it doesn't matter in the 
 least what other people do to you, but it matters very much 
 what you do to other people'; and I have blessed her for 
 that lesson all my life." It stiffened a sensitive nature to 
 meet the inevitable buffets of life with an unperturbed 
 spirit. 
 
 Of friends she had a host, some of them dear as her 
 family itself. Her father's house was open for hospitality 
 the year round, and to it came some of the finest men and 
 women of the time. That in itself was the best kind of 
 education which a child could have. 
 
 As for regular school education, I think Susan had few 
 opportunities, chiefly because of her delicate health. She 
 was at one time for a year or two in school at Deerfield, a 
 lovely village in the Connecticut Valley, a little north of 
 Northampton; and later, when she was about fourteen years 
 old, she was sent to Mr. George B. Emerson's school in 
 Boston, famous as the best of its kind in that day. Here 
 she formed several lifelong friendships, chief among which 
 were those with Margaret Eliot Harding* and Lucretia P. 
 Hale. Margaret she had known and loved from infancy, 
 and Lucretia from a little later period. For her teacher, 
 Mr. Emerson, she had great veneration and affection. 
 
 I find a volume of letters marked ^^ Pentad Letters, ^^ 
 which mark this period. The Pentad consisted of Lucretia 
 Hale, Margaret Harding, Mary Bangs, Annie Barnard, 
 and Susan Lyman. They all married, excepting Lucretia 
 Hale, and became respectively Mrs. William Orne White, 
 Mrs. Edward Head, Mrs. William Davis, and Mrs. Peter 
 Lesley. 
 
 My mother's oldest brother, Joseph, married Miss Susan 
 Bulfinch Coolidge, and settled near Boston; the second 
 brother, Edward, married Miss Sarah Low, and lived in 
 Brooklyn; and her younger sister, Catharine, married 
 
 * Sketch of the life of Margaret E. White by her daughter, Ehza Ome 
 White, in "After Noontide," published by Houghton, Miffin & Co., 
 1907. 
 
178 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 Warren Delano, Jr., and went to New York, and soon after 
 to China, where she spent three years, returning in 1847 
 to New York. 
 
 After Catharine's return to New York, my mother used 
 often to visit her, and found there also her mother's old 
 friend, Lydia Maria Child, whom she delighted to be with. 
 Mrs. Child had a circle of interesting people around her, 
 to whom she introduced her young friend. Among these 
 were Isaac T. Hopper, his son John and his wife Rosa, his 
 sister Mrs. Gibbons, Sidney Howard Gay and his wife 
 Elizabeth, and others of that set who were interested in the 
 great reform of the day, Anti-slavery, as well as in other 
 good works. With John Hopper, Susan visited the slums 
 of New York, and became deeply interested in the problems 
 of poverty and distress to which in later life she found 
 time to devote herself with wisdom and energy. 
 
 In the winter of 1846 her mother had a terrible illness, 
 called at that time black erysipelas, from whose effects 
 she never wholly recovered, — as my mother expresses it, 
 "an illness whose consequences darkened the whole re- 
 mainder of her life." 
 
 In December, 1847, her father died at an advanced age, 
 from the last of several attacks of paralysis. 
 
 My mother, as I have said above, was of a very delicate 
 physique, and had throughout her life much ill-health and 
 suffering. 
 
 But, although delicate, she was full of reserve force, and 
 was possessed of a most active mind. She never would 
 allow herself to be called an invalid or admit that she was 
 exempt from the ordinary duties and cares of life. On the 
 contrary, the moment disabling pain left her, she was at 
 work again, and she accomplished much more than many 
 a strong and vigorous person, because possessed of the in- 
 tention of "service," and a high resolve to accomplish all 
 that her nature demanded from her. 
 
 It was perhaps a spiritual similarity which drew my 
 father and mother together. My father's spiritual inheri- 
 tance and development I have endeavored to show in the 
 previous chapters. My mother's I can only hint at in a few 
 
ENGAGEMENT 1 79 
 
 words, for I have fewer records of her early experiences. 
 In preparing the life of her mother, I think she must have 
 destroyed all the family letters and records which she did 
 not use in her book. At any rate they are not now in my 
 possession. 
 
 I have said already that she came of earnest and active 
 parents, and that her home was the resort of many of the 
 finest men and women which New England produced. 
 Shortly before her birth her parents went through the 
 experience of a change of religious belief. They adopted 
 the Unitarian heresy, left the old church (Jonathan Ed- 
 wards's church), and with a handful of other persons formed 
 the Unitarian society. In her Memorial Volume she has 
 given a description of this notable event in the family life. 
 
 She herself was brought up in ardent liberalism. She 
 used to say she sometimes thought that her intensity of love 
 for the Unitarian faith may have come from her having 
 been born at a time when her father and mother were going 
 through the pain and excitement and spiritual exaltation 
 of leaving the old faith and joining with the httle company 
 of worshippers in the new society of Unitarian Christians. 
 Whatever we may think of the theory of pre-natal influence, 
 it is certain that her religious feehng was profound and 
 fervent. The "pale negations" of HberaHsm were not 
 for her. It was the joy of hving in the freedom of truth, 
 of worshipping that which her mind and heart could both 
 approve, which filled her with a glow of solemn joy; and 
 her faith was always with her, a burning and a shining light 
 to the last days of her long hfe. 
 
 I have a long series of letters written by my mother to 
 her most intimate friend, the afore -mentioned Margaret Eliot 
 Harding, beginning with the date of August, 1838, when 
 they were both scholars in Mr. George B. Emerson's school, 
 and were fifteen years old. 
 
 It is the record of a most intimate friendship, beautiful 
 in its unbroken constancy and in the entire and sympathetic 
 understanding and love which existed between two noble 
 women. Their friendship was of the healthy, strengthening 
 kind which is born of respect as well as of love, and there 
 
i8o LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 was nothing exclusive in it. It embraced as well a number 
 of "mutual" friends, very dear to both. Margaret Harding 
 was a rare character, strong and sweet, with a broad sym- 
 pathy and tolerance, combined with strong common sense 
 and great practical ability. My mother always felt her 
 a tower of strength and comfort in times of uncertainty or 
 trouble, and craved her companionship at all times. 
 
 These girhsh letters constitute my best record of my 
 mother's early life. They are much more mature and 
 introspective in tone than letters written by the modern 
 girl. She used to tell me that she was very "sentimental" 
 in those days. But I find nothing morbid in them, although 
 perhaps I must admit that they disclose a somewhat over- 
 introspective and over-conscientious tone in regard to per- 
 sonal responsibility. They are the evidence of an intensely 
 thoughtful, sensitive, and religious nature. 
 
 Her mind was open to the influences which surrounded 
 her, rejoicing hourly in the beauty of her mountains and 
 valley, the sounds and sights of the varying seasons, the 
 faces of her friends, and the intercourse of an unusually 
 fine social circle. Books were a source of constant interest, 
 and are descanted upon often and at length. She and 
 Margaret read a great variety of literature, but novels 
 seem to have occupied their attention much less than 
 more solid matter. They write of "Pride and Prejudice" 
 and "Valerian," but more frequently and at greater length 
 of such books as Sparks' s Life of Washington, Bancroft's 
 History, Ripley's translation of Cousin and Jouffroy, Young's 
 "Pilgrim Fathers," Wordsworth's "Poems," Robertson's 
 "Charles V.," etc. 
 
 There are many references to music. My mother was 
 never strong enough to do much herself in the way of prac- 
 tising, but she rejoiced in every opportunity to hear good 
 music. Occasionally something worth while came to 
 Northampton, and the year or two in which Mr. John S. 
 Dwight was settled over the little Unitarian parish brought 
 to the young people of the place a new knowledge of what 
 was lastingly fine in music. He introduced them to Beet- 
 hoven, and this was the rising of a great new light on their 
 
SUSAN INCHES LYMAN 
 From a portrait by Sully. Taken in Philadelphia in 1844 
 
ENGAGEMENT i8i 
 
 horizon. Every visit to Boston and New York was glori- 
 fied by some opportunity, eagerly seized, to hear fine con- 
 certs. There was much singing in the little circle, and 
 they mention many songs of old days now quite forgotten. 
 Among these I note "They have given her to another," 
 "Oh, cast that shadow from thy brow," "Cara Liza," 
 "Believe me, if all those endearing young charms," "Tell 
 me, kind seer, I pray thee." 
 
 There was much household work for Susan and her 
 friend, inevitable to the daughters of large families with 
 only moderate means. They exchange accounts of house- 
 work and cooking, patterns for "night-caps" and sacques, 
 etc. 
 
 I was surprised to find that my mother had been very 
 fond of riding horseback. In one place she speaks of a 
 sixteen-mile ride, and in another letter speaks of finding 
 that this exercise is the best cure for headache that she 
 has ever experienced. 
 
 Living in a village, she naturally early learned to feel 
 interest in the sick and poor, and to minister to them in 
 the neighborly spirit. Later in life she carried this inter- 
 est into wider circles, without losing that personal touch 
 which alone can make charity vitally effective. 
 
 Religion was an active interest in their lives, and the 
 weekly sermon is often described and discussed. Many of 
 the great preachers of Unitarianism were young men in 
 those days, and their names are often mentioned in these 
 pages, sometimes with a prophetic instinct as to the power 
 that was to come. Among the ministers most frequently 
 spoken of were Rufus Ellis, who was for a number of years 
 their much-loved pastor, and Edward Everett Hale, just 
 then beginning his pastoral life. James Freeman Clarke, 
 Henry W. Bellows, and others appear from time to time. 
 
 Of the older ministers she knew and loved Henry Ware 
 and the Peabodys; and of the great Channing she writes: — - 
 
 July 15, 1848. 
 
 I have been recalling Mr. Channing as I remember him when 
 I went to Lenox with him long years ago, the spring of Mr. 
 
1 82 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 Dwight's ordination. I can bring him before me very vividly as 
 he sat on some high hill, with a large shawl wrapped round his 
 little, feeble frame, shading his eyes with his hand and looking 
 at the beautiful prospects. He used to get out of the stage and 
 walk up the hills; I did not dare to speak to him then, but I re- 
 member distinctly his conversations with older people. 
 
 Speaking of Channing's letters, which she was reading 
 with delight, she writes: — 
 
 Did you observe a certain something in many of his letters 
 to friends that seemed like the Christ-like authority with which 
 Fenelon always writes upon spiritual subjects ? It is a tone which 
 I cannot describe, humble, yet assured, a sort of certainty quite 
 different from the beautiful speculations of many new lights. 
 
 From these letters I will copy only a few extracts, merely 
 suggestive of her daily interests. I cannot, however, give 
 the tone of the whole series, which varies with her mood 
 from gay to sad, and is truly an index to her gentle yet 
 strong nature. 
 
 March 2nd, '39. 
 
 I feel so differently to-day from what I ever did before. I 
 have heard our dear Mr. Emerson's farewell address, and I can- 
 not tell you how it affects me. 
 
 Throughout her life Emerson's writings and philosophy 
 were among her chief satisfactions and a constant source 
 of inspiration. She could not understand how people failed 
 to catch the meaning of his words. To her they were as 
 clear as day. The days when she heard him speak or 
 met him for a few moments were "red-letter days." 
 
 March 10th, '40. 
 
 When you come back, — oh, how soon will that be ? — ^and we 
 all meet, if it is permitted us, — oh, I can't help thinking what a 
 transcendental meeting that will be. 
 
 April 13, '41. 
 
 I went on Sunday to hear Mr. James Freeman Clarke preach, 
 . . . you would have enjoyed it. . . . Lu [Lucretia Hale] has given 
 me Jemmy Lowell's poems; are not many of them perfect? 
 
1841 ENGAGEMENT 183 
 
 July 3, '41. 
 
 How strange that we five [the Pentad] who feel so much alike 
 in everything else should also be troubled with very much the 
 same mental feelings ! It is as you say, dear Meggie, the addition 
 of care as we grow older does sober us some, and it is natural it 
 should. When we are perfectly reconciled to the change, we shall 
 be very happy and cease to look back upon the loss of our light- 
 heartedness with as much regret, though I imagine there will be 
 to the end of our lives a bright halo round those lost days which 
 will shine in our hearts and kindle our speech whenever we meet. 
 Imagine us five trembling old women, talking over the past. But 
 I will not anticipate such a time, for it is rarely given to so many 
 intimate friends to live to old age. _. 
 
 5'u s <*** J. f 
 May 6, 1842. 1^^,,^-t 
 
 How apt we are to change our impressions of people when j,^^ .^f f| 
 we really see them! I had never thought of Mrs. Chapman* in 
 any other way than as the great Abolition woman who spoke at 
 public meetings, and whose name was in all the newspapers. 
 But I was surprised to see a lady of such quiet, unobtrusive man- 
 ners, and such interesting conversation on all subjects. When 
 she spoke of slavery, her manner was very fervent, and her voice 
 deep, as if her whole soul had dwelt upon the matter until it had 
 kindled all the enthusiasm she had; but there was something so 
 very persuasive about her, so gentle and free from all violence, 
 that though I could not feel as if she had the whole truth of the 
 thing, yet there was a something that could not fail to excite ad- 
 miration. 
 
 Oct. 15, 1842. 
 
 I have had a high enjoyment of late. . . . Joe [her brother 
 Joseph Lyman] was kind enough to let me read a file of Charles 
 Emerson's t letters, written to him in their college days and after. 
 and you can easily beheve they would be interesting if only for 
 the fact of their intimate friendship. But they are full not only 
 of deepest affection, but of the purest sentiments, most perfect 
 love of truth, and an undoubting faith in the elevation our souls 
 can attain to on earth. I felt as it were inspired while I read 
 them, and they did me much good. 
 
 * Maria Weston Chapman. 
 
 \ The youngest brother of Ralph Waldo Emerson, who died in youth. 
 
1 84 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 Of their friend Lucretia Hale she writes: — 
 
 Oct. 15, '42. 
 
 I have always felt about her that few are worthy to enter 
 into the sanctuary of her thoughts, and shall always be satisfied 
 if I may have but a few ghmpses. 
 
 Jan. 27, '44. 
 
 I have been thinking much of my childhood lately. . . . then 
 I was a child if I ever was. You and I never were children, — 
 how strange it seems to me to hear people looking back to their 
 childhood as light-hearted and unconscious! mine never was. 
 Can you remember the moment since you were a very little child 
 that you had not a sense of personal responsibility ? . . . My child- 
 hood had clouds, and I saw nothing behind ; there have been some 
 clouds too over my youth, but they have all had silver linings to 
 some extent, and some very shining ones. Yet I love to think 
 of those times, for whatever our childhood was, those were the 
 hours when our angels beheld the face of our Father in heaven. 
 
 Members of such large families, heavy sorrows were sure 
 to be frequent visitors to their hearts. Changes and losses 
 often made them sad enough. 
 
 Speaking of a friend's interest in Fourierism, she says : — 
 
 Nov. gth, '44. 
 
 I am not at all interested in it. ... I believe as he does that 
 Society is wrong in many things, and I mourn for its faults and 
 inequalities, but it seems to me that no new social organization 
 can remedy these evils, — that all reform must begin inwardly, 
 not outwardly. 
 
 Cambridge, Aug. 26th, '48. 
 
 Yesterday I enjoyed the Phi beta unspeakably. Dr. Bush- 
 nell was grand. His subject was that Idea I have been thinking 
 about more than any other for years, that the end of all work is 
 play.* He carried it out very fully indeed, into so many rela- 
 tions that I should have to talk it over with you, to give you the 
 faintest conception. It was very Madame Guyon-ish. 
 
 I have enjoyed these two days highly from the fact that James 
 
 * I note with interest that my mother and father were both present at 
 this Phi Beta address, probably quite unconscious of each other's presence. 
 
1848 ENGAGEMENT 185 
 
 Thayer and Chauncey Wright have entered Harvard, and James 
 without a single condition. Mother is a Httle too happy. She 
 spent this day in preparing his room, — putting down a carpet. 
 . . . Aunt Howe is my dehght. Mary Howe and I have been 
 sitting at the window, and saw our two Ancients set forth, arm 
 in arm, with hammer and tacks, Aunt Howe hobbHng along, 
 and mother dressed like any old Irishwoman. We have chris- 
 tened them the Cheeryble sisters. 
 
 I copy no more of these letters here, because we reach 
 in the above extracts the date of her engagement and mar- 
 riage. 
 
 A little while ago, in reading the volume of " Letters from 
 George William Curtis to John S. Dwight," page 137, I 
 came upon the following sentence, which I think well ex- 
 presses the impression my mother made at this time upon 
 acquaintances : — • 
 
 At our church, a few Sundays since, I saw Mrs. Delano, 
 late Kate Lyman, and her sister Susan. The latter was beauti- 
 ful. She seemed like a pure, passionless saint. Had I been in 
 a Catholic church I had imagined her to have been some holy 
 being, incarnated by her deep sympathy with the worshippers. 
 I hardly saw her, just enough to receive a poetic impression. 
 
 It was in the late summer of 1848 that my mother 
 first met my father, he having gone to Northampton for a 
 few days. I believe he stayed during those days at her 
 home. The engagement was not consummated until the 
 autumn. 
 
 I have said that my father and mother were alike in their 
 spiritual life. In other respects they were very unlike, 
 forming counterparts to each other. My mother was by 
 nature calm and hopeful, not naturally nervous, and much 
 inclined to underrate physical suffering in herself. My 
 father, imaginative and excitable, inclined to melancholy 
 moods, and extremely sensitive as to physical conditions. 
 My mother loved a quiet and somewhat uniform life. My 
 father delighted in change and variety. Yet were they 
 
1 86 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 absolutely happy when together, and their differences of 
 temperament and desire were usually only cause for friendly 
 merriment between them. 
 
 Both were great workers, both had great respect for 
 each other's occupations; and each respected also the indi- 
 vidual liberty of the other, and thus was prevented much 
 of the friction in household life so common where different 
 temperaments dwell together. My father was in his way 
 very orderly, my mother very unmethodical. Both loved 
 beauty in art and nature, and both had a wise insight into 
 character. My mother had also great tact in social inter- 
 course, something in which my father at times was a little 
 lacking. 
 
 But I am sketching their characters as seen in the long- 
 drawn perspective of years, and must return to let the story 
 tell itself in their own words. 
 
 Milton, Oct. g, 1848. To his Father. 
 
 My dear Father, I am happy to be able to say that a very 
 lovely woman has promised to be my wife. She is all that I can 
 desire; but has neither health nor wealth at present. ... [I repeat 
 the words beginning this chapter.] Mr. and Mrs. Robbins, my 
 kind friends on Brush Hill, treat me as their child, and Susan 
 is their niece. . . . Susan is a woman with a thousand friends, of 
 great beauty, and the most childlike truth and gentleness, — but 
 with a will which nothing like mere authority or force can change. 
 She is twenty-five, and has been disciplined to the deepest piety 
 by sorrow and struggle. She has been trained up a Unitarian 
 in her theological opinions, but a humble, diligent, guileless Chris- 
 tian in her sentiments, with a hope that is as bright as sunlight, 
 and a simple-minded faith which will greatly strengthen and con- 
 firm my own. You will love her very much. 
 
 She has been very ill lately, I went to Springfield and took 
 her to Brooklyn, where she now is fast convalescing. . . . Our 
 united income will not be over $1,000, but we are prepared to cut 
 our clothes according to our cloth, until it grows larger. It has 
 become impossible for me to live unmarried, and God has, by a 
 very odd series of conjunctions, sent me just the wife I can be 
 most happy with, and to whom I am already entirely attached. 
 I know, dear Father, that, though you may think I were wiser to 
 seek more of the means of comfortable living with a wife, I shall 
 
1848 ENGAGEMENT 187 
 
 as it is have your affectionate sympathy in my present happiness, 
 which is very great. . . . 
 
 To this letter his father replied with the affection and 
 good will which his son expected with certainty from him. 
 Later the father became deeply attached to his son's wife, 
 and sent many messages to "that dear Susan," although 
 it was not until after a number of years that they met per- 
 sonally with any frequency. 
 
 To his aunt Hall, his nearest and dearest friend after 
 his father, my father wrote October 16: — 
 
 . . . Susan is just everything that my heart and taste demand, 
 simple and refined, truthful as yourself, and gentle and forgiving, 
 but full of energy and of a determined will, a Christian from a 
 child, and brought up under the best of influences, full of reading 
 and a beautiful pianist,* — loving me with an entire confidence 
 which is wonderful, and beloved by a host of friends herself, as few 
 ever were. You will be startled when I tell you that she is a Uni- 
 tarian by birth, education, and, I suppose, conviction, and that she 
 is likely to continue so. But her Christianity is of the most perfect 
 sort, and while she continues to teach me how to love and follow 
 Christ, I shall not be very anxious about her opinions respecting 
 his mysterious nature. She will be the wife of an orthodox minis- 
 ter, and in closest contact with Trinitarians, but I have learned, 
 after our Lord's example, to think much more of the purity of 
 men's hearts and their love to God and their fellow-men than of 
 the distinction of their reasonings upon the doctrines of the Church. 
 I judge all men by their fruits, and judging thus, I have an angel 
 in a wife. . . . 
 
 All the letters of this period show a warmth of love and 
 interest in their families and friends which proves the lack 
 of the exclusive element in their affection, and is very in- 
 dicative of the spirit of their later life together. They were 
 
 * My mother would have smiled with amusement over this item. 
 She did play on the piano with feeling, and loved good music. Her good 
 taste in that respect she always said she owed to the influence of John S. 
 Dwight, — at one time minister to their little society in Northampton, who 
 was later the regenerator of musical culture in New England. 
 
1 88 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 so completely content and happy in each other that they 
 longed to share their joy with all they loved, and to enrich 
 other lives. There are many letters to other friends, written 
 at this time, overflowing with affection, and breathing the 
 most genuine interest in the affairs of those dear to them. 
 
 I give here one letter from my father to Miss Catherine 
 Robbins, my mother's aunt, which, although of almost too 
 intimate a character for print, has yet a certain abstract 
 quality which makes me willing to publish it. It is so fine 
 an apology and justification of their unworldly and seemingly 
 reckless marriage that it may give courage to some other 
 young couple to risk poverty and discomfort, in the belief 
 that a marriage entered into with strong affection and earnest 
 purpose does not need certainty of material possessions to 
 make it a success. 
 
 Milton, Oct. 6, 1848. 
 
 My dear Friend, you will find this to be no idle form of ad- 
 dress, either, on my side. I shall love those best whom Susan 
 loves most, and who are truly her best friends. 
 
 You are kind in writing. I expected just such a letter and 
 thank you for it. I do not wholly deserve your good opinion, but 
 shall in time. I have much to learn, and to do, and to become. 
 The oldest and best have. 
 
 You accuse me of rashness. What do you think of Susan ? 
 She was a thousand-fold the more rash of the two. I knew on 
 what / staked life (if the experience of ten active years and much 
 forced and earnest contemplation of the world were to be at all 
 relied upon), and the voice of every New England friend I have, 
 who knows her, justified my judgment. Do you account a man 
 rash for stooping to pick up a guinea the moment he sees it in 
 his path? Would you advise him to walk on and return twenty 
 times, walk round and round it, and at last examine it with anx- 
 ious scrutiny, when the whole experience of his business life 
 enables him to detect its nature in an instant, and test its goodness 
 with a single wave of the hand? You know in your own heart 
 that I was not rash in stretching my hand out towards the treas- 
 ure the instant I fairly saw it. And so little hope had I, that 
 rashness was my only salvation; had 1 delayed, I should never 
 have dared, but have suffered both torture and loss. You say 
 a boy of 18 could not have done worse. I know it and am delighted 
 to find that I have so much of that delightful spontaneity of life 
 
1848 ENGAGEMENT 1 89 
 
 left, in which I once revelled all the year long. You heard Bush- 
 nell's Phi Beta Kappa; you know the difference between work 
 and play. I did what I did, because I was inspired; not beside 
 myself — a spectator coolly calculating chances and changes, as 
 some of my kind friends are doing — but simply myself, moved 
 from within, as a man ought to be, not from without; conscious 
 not of being under dominion to the world, but of right and power 
 to make times and things subserve me. I hope always to be thus 
 rash. The bad man dares not be rash: he must consider the 
 consequences of every step, for he deserves evil. The good 
 man, just in the measure of his having attained to pure wishes and 
 a right will, becomes rash, or spontaneous, and finds his highest 
 safety and chief glory therein. Now you know, dear Friend, 
 that my conduct in this matter best illustrates this truth. Had 
 I not seen and loved, wished for and wooed the person, upon 
 whom you yourself lavish every epithet of loveliness, and who 
 you say is altogether unspeakably dear to you, at once and at 
 first, you would have called me hlind, not prudent; for not to 
 detect goodness is the quickest detection of badness; and if any- 
 thing helps me to throw off the depressive sense of unworthiness, 
 and dread of future inability to be to Susan all that I ought to be 
 — it is the encouragement I take from the fact that the first hour 
 I saw her I said to myself — "here is your wife, if you can obtain 
 her." I am vain of the rashness with which I saw through her 
 whole nature, and hope that it argues both a love of the good 
 and a power to cherish and imitate it. 
 
 All this is very transcendental, you say. Let us come to the 
 practical. But when happiness — not luxury — is the topic, — 
 the transcendental is the only real. Happiness in life does not 
 consist in the food we eat and clothes we wear, but in the tran- 
 scendental state of the soul within, sitting and regarding the 
 world without with satisfaction and joy, be that outward world 
 of eating and drinking what it may. It is said that one cannot 
 live upon love: certainly the body cannot, but the soul must;, 
 and happiness is not of the body, but of the soul; and all the 
 world knows (for all the world is poor) that the lack of the out- 
 ward is no certain bar against a plenty of true inward life and 
 joy. I expect a great deal of trouble in this life, but I am alto- 
 gether unwilling to anticipate it; and I should be a fool to wish 
 to meet it badly assorted, rather than mated with an angel. Come 
 it will — sorrow is as sure as sun -rising; it matters very little 
 by what particular channel it shall come, — but everything, in 
 what frame and with what support we meet it as it comes. If 
 
I go LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 Susan loves me in any proportion to my love for her, we shall 
 meet the inevitable ills of life (and they will be very numerous) 
 twice as bravely as we would if alone. I have tried the outward 
 hardships of life and despise them, and so can any true-minded 
 person learn to do, in a very little time. But I have had heart 
 sorrow and had to bear it alone. The enemy got within the 
 outworks, and I had none to help me fight it out. 
 
 I am poor, and so is Susan, and we will probably always con- 
 tinue so. But while we are good and faithful and affectionate 
 and dutiful, a piece of dry toast and meat once a week will be no 
 hardship, I very well know. And when we cease to be that, we 
 will be unhappy with a fortune in a palace. But poverty, truly 
 so called, is not likely to be our lot in this country. It is true 
 my wealth lies not in railroad shares, but in thoughts. I would 
 like to know which God guarantees best and oftenest. My 
 situation is not certainly permanent. Neither is that occupied 
 by any living being from Louis Philippe to John Carroll. I do 
 not put a nominal or even a mystical faith in Providence; but I 
 do believe my Master's promise "that the morrow shall be made 
 to take care for its own things." I have nothing to do with the 
 future. My whole duty is due to the present, and I shall strain 
 every nerve in the present to deserve God's blessing in the future. 
 If I fail, I fail. If Susan suffers — she may also, if married to 
 a millionaire. Neither she nor I has the gift or the right of proph- 
 ecy. These are my principles of life; applied indeed at the spur 
 of the moment to the event, but adopted and settled years ago. 
 I did not "assume therefore this responsibility with too little re- 
 flection," but I acted in view of conclusions to which the most 
 earnest reflection upon life for years had led me. Had I not 
 settled by reflection all these things before, I never could have 
 acted with the happy "rashness" which has so astonished my 
 friends. I should have hesitated and reasoned upon the pru- 
 dence of loving beauty, goodness and affectionateness — upon the 
 risks of poverty, — and bliss, — and walked round the guinea until 
 some one else had picked it up. 
 
 "But," you say, "all this regards yourself, not Susan. You 
 argue egoistically." That dear friend, she must herself decide. 
 If she argue in the same way, and can justify her "rashness" 
 by similar "reflection," then you see how strongly we stand for 
 and to and in each other. But if she argues otherwise, then I 
 shaU change and argue with her, for my whole reasoning depends 
 upon her agreement. If she can endure all things for my sake — ■ 
 not otherwise — then will our imprudent union be a prudent one, 
 
1848 ENGAGEMENT 191 
 
 and in the very midst of apparent troubles our happiness will be 
 constant and real. But if she cannot, then indeed I have done 
 wrong to lead her, as I have done, to promise me happiness. — 
 I will lose, give up every hope for the future, rather than cause 
 her an hour of pain. . . . 
 
 But ask her the question, which she prefers : to live ten years 
 with me, or twenty with some one else. If you asked me — I 
 could answer for myself with greater odds than that. 
 
 But I repeat it, her union with me is not necessarily impru- 
 dent: it risks neither her health nor comfort. On the contrary, 
 the quiet regular Hfe she will then lead, will go far to re-establish 
 her constitution; and if we be poor, we shall have the benefits 
 of Temperance. If she were a rich man's wife, all the world 
 knows her health would stand less chance than as it is. In fact 
 we have no data worthy of confidence upon which in any given 
 case to predict the future, and therefore, as I said, we have nothing 
 to do with it, but to expect it with hope and faith, and meet it 
 with courage and a cheerful piety. 
 
 You say dear Susan is deficient in some things, not only in 
 physical strength, but in prudence. I might answer that no one 
 is perfect, and I am content to give a less for a greater. But is 
 she not a reasonable being, and growing in wisdom every year? 
 She may not be much of a Yankee in buying and selling, giving 
 away and making both ends meet; but that will only result 
 in our being a little poorer; it is merely a sort of discount upon 
 the prize drawn. Suppose our income be looo dollars a year 
 (you wish me to be practical), and Susan is so silly as to pay a 
 cent a yard too much for calico, or give two dollars to a poor 
 woman when she ought to give but one, and so we have in the end 
 to live on 900. Where is the odds, in the long run ? How miser- 
 able to be sure that will make us! — On the contrary every loss 
 made or suffered, every mistake committed will teach us both, 
 and turn out gain in some way or other. Such things don't last 
 forever, and never give pain when husband and wife continue to 
 be lovers. I never saw a person with ordinary capacity who did 
 not become prudent after marriage, in all things wherein prudence 
 was desirable. In some things it is not desirable. 
 
 You speak of my frail health. The expression took me by 
 surprise. A man's health must be judged of by the amount of 
 labor he can perform. There is no other standard. I leave the 
 application of the test to any who have had an opportunity of 
 estimating the amount of work I have performed the last five 
 years. My constitution is of iron. I am never sick of acute 
 
192 LIFE AND LETTERS chap. X 
 
 diseases. . . . My pains were due to unnatural modes of living 
 and over-exertion, and no constitution but such a one as mine 
 could have endured them, and they are so rapidly diminishing 
 that I am fast rene vising my youth. I am both able and v^^illing 
 to work to the end of life, with a prospect of its being sufficiently 
 long. 
 
 It is a great mistake to suppose "obedience to God's natural 
 laws" in commencing married life, to consist in dependence upon 
 deposits in banks or mortgages of land. On the contrary no man 
 or woman ought to require "better provision for future comfort 
 and independence" than just that ability and willingness to 
 earn daily bread, which as you truly say, "any accident or illness 
 may deprive them of." But accident and illness are natural con- 
 tingencies, to be only so far regarded as to keep alive a conviction 
 of our dependence upon our Father in Heaven. It comes of the 
 unnatural state of our social life that we consider it needful to 
 begin married life with a provision of wealth held in reserve. 
 
 I do indeed feel the force of your arguments, and tremble at 
 the shaking of a leaf in the future against the happiness of the 
 one who is now dearer to me than life and all things, and there- 
 fore I dare not take the responsibility of dragging her after me in 
 my destiny. If God has given her the heart to rise and follow 
 me, — I shall do all in human power to reward her for it; none can 
 ever love her more tenderly, none can be more self-denying and 
 patient and diligent than I will be; and then the name of our 
 dwelling must be simply — Jehovah Jireh. I can do — I can say 
 no more. Tell her this. 
 
 Your Friend, J. p. l. 
 
 No untoward external conditions could make a marriage 
 entered into by both parties in the spirit of that letter im- 
 prudent. 
 
 From this time on my father and mother wrote daily to 
 each other whenever apart, so that this series of letters forms 
 the best record of their lives. 
 
 The letters are too intimate to be quoted from largely, 
 but I shall extract one here and there in the hope of 
 giving the reader some sense of the entire oneness of thought 
 and purpose which characterized the union of these two 
 from the moment of their betrothal through all the long years 
 of their life together. 
 
1848 ENGAGEMENT 193 
 
 Milton, Oct. 7, 8. Peter Lesley to Susan I. Lyman. 
 
 [After a page of geological physical facts, etc.] I do not 
 know whether — or how much, you are interested, dear Susan, 
 in such physical conceptions, but trust you will be, for they 
 give my soul its life. I have the profoundest reverence for 
 Facts; for in them, bald and material and mechanical as they 
 are, I see eternal truths; for every fact is the incarnation or in- 
 humation of a divine idea, the product of infinitely complicated, 
 extended and outstretching agencies, informed of God. It is no 
 light question, then, why the whorls of a sea shell turn to the 
 left and not to the right, or vice versa; the infinite and the eternal 
 are elements of the problem. But when I pass from the mere 
 stationary Fact to the advancing Process, and examine not the 
 Ens but the Fiens, not the Become but the Becoming, — stand on 
 one side to see the Creator Creating — I feel a divine happiness, — ■ 
 and this you must enjoy with me. . . . 
 
 Oct. 14, 1848. Peter Lesley to Susan I. Lyman. 
 
 . . . You may tell your Mother that I have solved our riddle, 
 the sentence of Emerson. It stands at the head of his essay on 
 Love, and the whole essay is its interpretation. "Every soul is a 
 celestial Venus to every other soul." I know not what sadness 
 there is exhaling from the beauty of that Essay; but reading it 
 seemed to me like smelling of Poppies, and the keen life with 
 which my heart (all instinct with your love) comprehended and 
 took measures of its universal truth, at first, gave place to a sleep, 
 as I approached the end, which was like nothing so much as the 
 Absorption, of the Hindu Philosophy, in the Infinite. I mean 
 that I felt the reality, personality, I may say perhaps, the materi- 
 ality of my Love, dissolving like a white nimbus in the far heights 
 of heaven, and I mourned for it and thought it poorly replaced by 
 the spotless blue, however infinite and bright, of a universal philan- 
 thropy. The idea of this wonderful man, for I must call him so, 
 is this. The spirit of man is susceptible of infinite and eternal 
 dilation. It is in the end to stand in relations of perfect harmony 
 with all parts and members of the Universe, — relations of love 
 and well being. This dilation must commence. The end is Phi- 
 lanthropy; the beginning is Love. The means perishes in attain- 
 ing the end. Love is human and mortal, and is made to disappear 
 into the eternal, which is Philanthropy. The love of one to one 
 can exist but for a time, as a foretaste and discipline of the love 
 of one to all, and all to all. We meet with our first Venus in order 
 only to know that every soul shall also be a Venus to us. The 
 
194 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 first is an earthly idol; the others are divinities, "celestial Venuses." 
 "Thus even love, which is the deification of persons," says he, 
 "must become more impersonal every day." I thanked him for 
 his next sentence: But "of this at first it gives no hint." No; 
 nor do I, for one, wish to anticipate this seer's knowledge. I 
 have read his essay again and again, and find something in it 
 superior to all writing. It is a wonder. It becomes more dis- 
 tinct as I read it, and brighter, like a far off Cometic star approach- 
 ing. But it is, as I said, sad to see one's white home glittering 
 from the far end of a prairie, when one is still a whole day's 
 journey off. I feel strong and young when I think of you as my 
 own, and of my own life and soul as yours, and believing in a 
 union which shall never grow old or pass away. But I feel as 
 if an angel touched me, and my thigh had shrunk, and I must 
 go halting all my days, when I read: "But the lot of humanity 
 is on these children. Danger, sorrow and pain arrive to them, as 
 to all. Love prays. It makes Covenants with Eternal Power 
 in behalf of this dear mate." But "the union thus effected . . . 
 is yet a temporary state. Not always can flowers, pearls, poetry, 
 protestations, nor even home in another heart, content the awful 
 soul that dwells in clay." But he gives me back my strength in 
 that admirable sentence: "Meanwhile as life wears on, it proves 
 a game of permutation and combination of all possible positions 
 of the parties, to extort all the resources of each and acquaint 
 each with the whole strength and weakness of the other. For it is 
 the nature and end of this relation, that they should represent 
 the human race to each other." . . . 
 
 Have you read any of the poems of my friend W. W. Lord? 
 I left you the volume, that you might study in particular his 
 "Sky," and "Ode to Niagara." His "Sonnet to a Great Man" 
 is very fine. You would charge me with extravagance were I 
 to tell you all that I think of them as poems. He has more of 
 the strength and majesty of Milton than any man, I think, since 
 Milton wrote. But as I feel all his lines through and through, it 
 is not fair to trust his fame to your cold and critical eye; it should 
 come to you first through the affectionate ear. I want to read 
 them to you some day. . . . 
 
 My mother wrote in response: — 
 
 I delight in your explanation of Emerson's celestial Venus — I 
 heard that, when it was fresh from his soul, when he delivered it 
 as a lecture a long time ago in Boston. I can never read it now 
 
1848 ENGAGEMENT 195 
 
 without recalling his voice, accent, gesture, the most inspired I 
 have ever listened to. 
 
 My father was already at odds with the organized re- 
 ligious associations of the Orthodox Church, and his chosen 
 occupation as a pastor under such an organization was 
 hanging in the balance. In a letter of October 18 to my 
 mother he writes as follows of his intended action: — 
 
 Let me tell you what I am doing, because it is for your in- 
 terest, a thing no human power could bring me to. I have glo- 
 ried in the steadiness with which I have stood firm to my opinions 
 in the face of all earthly interests, and have thanked my Lord 
 for causing me to prosper when every one predicted the ruin of 
 all my prospects for life. I determined to go on as I had begun, 
 and not only yield to no man for an instant, but to wait the oppor- 
 tunity, and then, in full preparation some years hence come for- 
 ward as successful in the offensive as I have stood firm in the 
 defensive. I have told this to no one. This however was my 
 view of the future. I had devoted it to the public discussion of 
 certain great questions, and intended to present myself in a 
 proper time as a prepared leader in a movement which is in- 
 evitable in our scientific and religious world — a movement from 
 error towards truth, one already begun. But your happiness 
 forbids me to take the part I would have done had I remained 
 a solitary being in the world, unmated and unblessed. My first 
 step I took the other day by dining with Mr. Blagdon. This 
 morning I go to see my friends in Charlestown and East Boston, 
 to signify to them my willingness now to enter their association * 
 vrith as little friction from my personal opinions as possible, and 
 thus to prepare the way for a speedy settlement of my position. 
 I shall lose something thus in inward strength, but I will make 
 your way more easy, for your friends are anxious for you, be- 
 cause as they say my position at Milton is insecure, — not know- 
 ing, as I do, and your Uncle James [Robbins] and some few 
 others, that my security (if there is such a thing in this life, in 
 man's sense of the term) at Milton depends so entirely on the 
 personal good understanding, confidence and love, between the 
 people and myself, that license and ordination will lessen instead 
 of increasing it. When a man has tried and fomid that he can 
 
 * Suffolk North Association (of Congregational ministers) . 
 
196 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 stand alone, he is a thousand times stronger than when connected 
 with even the most powerful organization. But, nevertheless, I 
 am not only willing, but have already begun to sacrifice my views 
 and prejudices to smooth your way, my future blessed wife. . . . 
 
 A letter of October 20 to Susan is full of his joy in the 
 congratulations of friends in Boston and Milton, now that 
 the engagement of the young couple was made known. 
 These were most of them dear friends and relations of hie 
 wife-to-be. 
 
 With your Wednesday morning letter came two to me from 
 Trumbull at Valparaiso, a man whom I loved with great devo- 
 tion at Princeton and afterwards, and still. But I have not seen 
 him now these three or four years, and letters are four months in 
 transit to and fro. He . . . says by a mere accident as you 
 may see, this "If you have a wife, tell her I love her for your sake." 
 Of course this message is for you. Have you room for another 
 friend ? He is a man of simplicity and zeal, of great truthfulness 
 and with what / greatly want, the practical talent, in excess. He 
 can accomplish anything, is always ready, and has just enough 
 irritability of temper to flavor the natural and consistent sweet- 
 ness of his affections, and make him refuse to be imposed upon 
 or to see it tried upon others. 
 
 Saturday Noon, 21. 
 
 ... By the way Hillard has brought back with him Men- 
 delssohn's grand prayer, "O rest in the Lord," in the "Elijah." 
 Madame [Mrs. Hillard] will take it with her to New York, for you 
 to see. 
 
 I am receiving congratulations from all sides. The people 
 seem overjoyed. On Milton Hill, too, they tell me there is quite 
 a buzz. . . . Bennett Forbes shook me cordially by the hand 
 as I issued from the Boston post-ofl&ce. . . . 
 
 My mother on her side writes of the friends in New York, — 
 John Hopper and his young wife, Lizzie Gay, Lydia Maria 
 Child, and others, of whom she was very fond, — and begs him 
 to meet her dear friends, the Hales, in Boston, especially 
 that Lucretia who, with Margaret White, was the friend 
 nearest her heart. 
 
 My mother had written him of some of the work in New 
 
1848 ENGAGEMENT 197 
 
 York slums to which her friend John Hopper had intro- 
 duced licr, and in which she was deeply interested. 
 
 Mn-TON, October 28. 
 
 . . . That reminds me, . . . what will you do in this dull 
 town, where you will have no ragged school to teach, no Five 
 Points to visit, no poor to take care of. I fondly trust you will 
 not let your zeal and piety decay in your new life, but how you 
 can provide them with food I do not yet clearly see. 
 
 I sometimes rise from my books and shake my mane like a 
 lion with a rage at my own sloth and the intellectual idleness of 
 my present life, when I remember how I spent days and nights 
 in the woods, and climbed the mountains on foot, with my knap- 
 sack and through the snow, to reach the houses of the vicious 
 and the destitute, — or when I read of the destitution and sin of 
 the poor wretches crowded in the cities of Europe and of our own 
 Coast; but I rise only to lie down again. It is but one inter- 
 minable Schwatzerei — a perennial Babble about Virtue. I feel 
 as if my hands and feet were tied, and I long to break from the 
 happiness of these easy places and times, and die with the Bible 
 and staff in my hands, and show that "faith worketh, by love," 
 that the Christian is a minister of mercy while on earth, that 
 "the love of Christ not only restrains, but constrains us," that 
 when we talk of bearing a cross it is no figure of rhetoric, but a 
 reality. I feel mean to be happy while millions are miserable. 
 My philosophy of cause and efifect, compensation, world prog- 
 ress, laissez-faire, has no force, my Calvinism does not relieve 
 me. I pant to be engaged with other devoted men in doing 
 something to save mankind; and I care not who the men are, 
 by what names they are called or in what repute the world holds 
 them, if they only follow Christ and save mankind. But I live 
 in such an unpractical world of ideas. I hope much, my love, 
 from contact with your younger but more perfect experience in 
 the art of doing good. All my science does not help me here. . . . 
 
 November 8th. 
 
 . . . You will be surprised, Susie, to see how much, how closely 
 our views will often coincide. On the question of the Com- 
 munion I have for years been what is called a Zwinglian Protes- 
 tant, and many a loving conflict I have had with my good Bom- 
 berger and Harbaugh, who follow Nevins and Schaff and Dwight 
 and Owen and Calvin in ascribing to the Sacraments some mys- 
 
198 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 terious opus-operatum power by virtue of which the spirit is 
 strengthened by the flesh. I have been rapt into heaven at the 
 Communion, but not by any emanation from the elements, but 
 by the perfection of that ''remembrance" of my Lord and Re- 
 deemer, which he secured, in visible form we may say, by the 
 ordinance of the supper, to his latest disciples. How it enters 
 into the ground law of the invisible made visible, the embodiment 
 of ideas in forms and things, — how it is a necessity of the church — 
 we will discuss that some quiet hour, and then you will feel how 
 at one we are in this part of truth. . . . 
 
 Holiness comes like light by influx, not by eating. The bread 
 and wine and assembly and silence and prayers, and what not, 
 only form the glass through which we see with clearness the Christ 
 and his twelve, the bread and wine, the lifted hand and divine 
 face, looking down the table — yes, eighteen centuries, — to catch 
 our eye, and bless us with a smile of benediction. . . . While 
 others are settling their faces into grief, and calling up sad thoughts, 
 and uttering lugubrious sentences, and singing psalms most 
 mournfully selected, as appropriate to the occasion, — I always 
 feel like taking down some seraph's harp and improvising to the 
 overflowings of my joy all happy words, congratulations, anthems 
 and benedictions, and I cannot repress my feelings, so that they 
 sometimes threaten to break out as glee — for has not Christ been 
 born and died and risen again, to save mankind and make us 
 Kings and priests to God? . . . 
 
 In November my father went to Northampton to visit 
 his betrothed, and spent a fortnight there, becoming attached 
 to several of her friends there, among others their much- 
 beloved pastor, Rufus Ellis. 
 
 After his return to Milton the daily letters begin again: — 
 
 November 2ph (?). 
 
 . . . Wendell Phillips will be of service to me in the matter 
 of lectures, both by his experience and extensive acquaintance. 
 I shall see him soon. Everything inspires me with confidence 
 for our future. . . , 
 
 November 2 ph. 
 
 . . . Rogers has sent me an affectionate letter from London, 
 full of congratulation. I shall mail it to you in a few days. You 
 will smile to find that his first intimation of my ecclesiastical 
 
1848 ENGAGEMENT 199 
 
 matters came through Charles Lyell. He is quite mistaken. 
 Who told Lyell I cannot imagine, unless it might be Sumner or 
 G. Ticknor, and none of them knows anything about it. Besides 
 Rogers knew all that was to be known, last spring. 
 
 I dined with Wendell Phillips and afterwards borrowed some 
 books from Theodore Parker, and intend to set earnestly to work 
 at my essay on Friar Bacon, and some lecture or other. 
 
 November 2gth. 
 
 ... I was amused yesterday with a sentence in the life of Simon 
 Ockley, the Orientalist and learned author of the history of the 
 Saracens, to this effect: "If the letters of the widows or orphans 
 of many of our eminent authors were collected, they would dem- 
 onstrate the great fact, that the man who is a husband and a 
 father ought not to be an author. They might weary with a 
 monotonous cry, and usually would be dated from the gaol or 
 the garret." Do you not tremble, love? What will you do when 
 I am in Charlestown penitentiary ; and how will we stow away our 
 children under the eaves of our garret? Ockley lived under 
 William and Mary and George the Third, and in England. 
 Thank God, we live under James K. Polk (political), Saint and 
 Martyr, of blessed memory, — and in New England. 
 
 Friday morning. 
 
 . . . What a happy day I passed yesterday, Susie! I was like 
 a Chamois in the Upper Alps all day long. I found that I could 
 stir the hearts of my friends too, by descending like the angel at 
 Bethesda among them — ^pardon the unworthy comparison. I 
 wanted to copy you a charming epitaph from Haydn's Die. of 
 Dates, but shall reserve it for my next letter. I send a fine head 
 of Aristotle for you to admire; you will observe the enormous 
 disproportion between the head in front of and the head back 
 of the ear; as well as the finely developed chin, perhaps the 
 surest mark of genius. The hemisphere is not high, above the 
 eyes, although the brow rises finely. It is from a statue in the 
 Spada Palace. . . . 
 
 December ist. 
 
 ... By the way, you ask me for my Thanksgiving sermon. 
 I wish I had it to send you, but you must ask the walls and pews 
 for it, it came and went like the wind: It shook the Cave and 
 bent the trees, but left no trace visible. They said they felt its 
 influence; but there is no knowing. I told them how happily the 
 
200 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 day opened upon me and within me. How it was one of many im- 
 pulse days in the year, but next to Christmas the most beautiful 
 of them all. How it differed in its catholic and loving spirit, from 
 the narrow, national, or Stirpal, selfish Jewish and Heathen days 
 of thanksgiving for a victory over enemies. I led them through 
 a series of thankful retrospects; showing how we should be thank- 
 ful for Life, not that of stones, trees, brute beasts, but immortal, 
 angelic powers, — for Life under the most favorable physical 
 conditions of development in the temperate zone, in the New World, 
 in the 19th Century, in peace and plenty, — then for Life raised 
 to the summit of spiritual prosperity, in an age of unshackled 
 learning, of religious freedom, of reform and universal philan- 
 thropy and a purer Christianity, . . . and then showed them how 
 in the Christian thanksgiving day, they must rejoice for all 
 mankind, in all that is good for the redemption of the race. . . . 
 
 December 6th. 
 
 ... I heard Emerson lecture last night. He analyzed the life, 
 times and nature of Plato, saying that in him a symmetrical, 
 synthetical intellect was born, with European habits and oriental 
 tastes; able to graft upon the Culture of the West the idealism 
 and unityism of the East; able to perceive and adore the incom- 
 prehensible oneness into which all thought solves all things, and 
 also to work back into the abundant detail of life and definition 
 all its phenomena. He called him no Greek, no European, no 
 Asiatic, but a whole man; a quotation from humanity, hence a 
 type man and a moderner. Hence all his sayings seem natural 
 and even commonplace in aU ages, and enter into the feeling and 
 philosophy of every wise one. 
 
 James F. Clarke said at the breakfast table this morning, that 
 it was very uncomfortable and depressing to hear such a lecture, 
 and asked why. [One can see the half-whimsical smile with 
 virhich he would say this!] I told him I thought it was partly 
 because all history is unsatisfactory. If we could read it from 
 a bright point at its beginning and trace it thenceforward with 
 clearness to the present day, widening its body and perfecting its 
 spirit, and comprehend every phenomenon, such as a Plato or 
 a Napoleon, in its action and consequences, count the paroxysmal 
 earthquakes of mind, and see how they have shaken together 
 humanity more solid, like a phial shaken as it fills with sand, — 
 we would be joyful in reading, patient in waiting, and hopeful 
 for the end. But it is very different. History is unreadable. 
 Plates exist here and there, and we neither know why they came 
 
1848 ENGAGEMENT 201 
 
 nor what they did. And all the light that Emersons can cast 
 on the Platos of the past, only increases the darkness before and 
 behind them, and makes us despair, after a few moments, of 
 ever learning their origin or object. 
 
 But there is another reason. We see Plato thus nicely dis- 
 sected, and despise him. We are taught to understand him, and 
 so the luxury of veneration is taken away from us. And we can't 
 bear a man who comprehends Plato, and whom yet we can com- 
 prehend in his turn. It leaves us nothing more on earth to won- 
 der at. It shows us how little there is of gold in the best specimen 
 of the ore of humanity. 
 
 Do I afflict you . . . with essays? I write, as you see, just 
 what comes first. As the day is, so is my letter. . . . 
 
 And my father had as little regard for "consistency" 
 as Emerson himself. He could be optimistic on one page 
 and pessimistic on the next, and feel no need to justify the 
 one view or the other. 
 
 December i2ih. 
 
 ... I rode home from Brush Hill, blacked my boots and 
 shaved, and whipped up for the depot, in time for the cars, seized 
 your billiette, jumped into the train and in half an hour (thanks 
 to steam and iron, and the 19th century!) was discussing the 
 Cartesian philosophy, primary scepticism, cogito ergo sum, Vorti- 
 cal ethers, the merits of Aristotle et id omne genus with a set of 
 wiseacres in Marlboro Place until all created things grew blue and 
 danced double, and then — I went to dinner, at Judge Cushing's. 
 ... I stopped to talk with Mr. Blagdon, and again took the train 
 out, supped with John Forbes and discussed the new gold fever, 
 the British National debt, repudiation. Association and the theory 
 of central heat; justice, temperance and coal mines. Kissed the 
 children, and then went to Mrs. A.'s. . . . 
 
 The most intense anxiety is felt and expressed now by the 
 people, that I should agree with the Association, on the 26th. If 
 we differ again, as we did in June, I shall have my hands full; but 
 in my determination to sacriiice All for Truth, and in my faith in 
 your love for me in all and through all, I have a world of strength; 
 and " he that trusteth in Jehovah shall never be made ashamed.". . . 
 
 Ttiesday morning. 
 
 . . . And first, as to my vortical storms, assure my good Mother 
 and aunt that I scorn their insinuations. My storms are honest 
 
2o5 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 fellows that know what their duty is and do it; even though they 
 have their fun now and then, and go about it so as occasionally 
 to throw dust in people's eyes. 
 
 You can't see through a millstone without looking in the right 
 place; and you can't circumscribe a vortex of a thousand miles' 
 diameter without making observations at a thousand points. The 
 generalization to which Redfield and Maury have come is a vast 
 one, based upon the records of years, and observations spread 
 over the whole Atlantic, and seaboard states. There are, as Sam 
 would say, vheels vithin vheels, Httle eddies within great vortices; 
 side eddies, back currents, side compensations and what not, to 
 be allowed for and taken in, before you get a true idea of the 
 whole. Nature does nothing perfectly, in detail; but only, in the 
 gross. All is imperfection, exception, disorder when regarded in 
 detail; the order rises from out the infinite, the whole, only. Even 
 the Sun never rises or sets at the same point twice in six months. 
 Exception is the rule until you find the rule; then the exception 
 becomes part of its proof. The great weekly vortices produce 
 sub-weekly currents and eddies, but they are local and various, 
 not universal and cyclical. Verbum sat.! 
 
 If I wished to be Emersonian I should say " Laws are excep- 
 tional at every point. Nature despises and masks herself on all 
 sides, but in the end is found out and must be herself. Look at 
 her long enough, the very transformations will reveal the original. 
 Keep awake long enough, and the brazen head will speak, and 
 declare how the land of science may be walled round with brass. 
 The truly patient man is the philosopher; Nature's patient, whom 
 she cures of every error, after the expectant method." Chaos is 
 the true sages' paradise, there grows his tree of knowledge and 
 of life. There he becomes as God. He creates, he reduces to 
 order, he rules there and becomes immortal by living on eternal 
 truths," . . . 
 
 My father always took great interest in the problems of 
 air currents, etc. And when, years later, the Weather 
 Bureau was established, he was a constant defender of 
 "Old Prob." from the captious criticisms of the less scien- 
 tific members of his household. 
 
 December i^th. 
 
 . . . You have long already discovered in me an inconstancy of 
 feeling which may trouble you. But the changes are so rapid, 
 
ENGAGEMENT 203 
 
 that like the various impulses of the terrestrial magnetism, they 
 practically hold the needle steady in the end. And in you I see 
 what will be a full compensation, a singular and admirable steadi- 
 ness, which I know not how to praise or love enough. . . . 
 
 December i^th. 
 
 . . . This affair of the Association gives me no uneasiness and 
 very little trouble, for I attend to it only when I go to town on 
 Mondays, and when I would not wish to study. As to its future 
 consequences, I refuse absolutely to consider them. I have 
 nothing to do with them. Nor do I think they will materially 
 affect my plans regarding Milton, nor do I think they need affect 
 our marriage in any way. . . . 
 
 If I thought that I was not in practical unity with these men 
 [of the Association] or the body that they represent, I could not 
 make this advance towards them. In fact, it is rather because 
 the Christian people whom I serve here, have a right to be in 
 Christian fellowship with Christian people whom these men serve, 
 that I yield to their request to be recognized as a Christian 
 brother by the Association. While I do so, I claim my rights as 
 a man, I shall never cease to protest against all falsehood, biogtry, 
 misuse of authority, and every arrogant claim of authority, in 
 the Church of Christ, and especially among the Clergy. No man 
 shall be a lord over God's heritage, if my voice can prevent him. 
 And as I shall enter the Association, if at all, upon these true 
 principles, I shall be in all things my own man in the Association 
 hereafter; pledged to no system of art or power; saying always of 
 things and men what I think to be truth, and prepared at any 
 moment to retire from them when I cannot any longer dwell with 
 them in harmony. I shall never conceal my views, nor consent 
 to an injustice. Here lies the whole difficulty. I do not wonder 
 that they, some of them, feel afraid that in licensing me they en- 
 courage heresy, and in receiving me afterwards they admit a fire- 
 brand. I understand their motives and give them credit for them; 
 but they cannot change my mode of action, any more than my views 
 of truth. 
 
 December i8th. 
 
 ... I have fortunately found Bunsen's Egyptian work and 
 must hurry through it. I heard Parker lecture on Transcenden- 
 talism last evening. It was both good and bad; clear, but inac- 
 curate; very suggestive, and on the whole satisfactory. . . . 
 
204 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 December 2isi. 
 
 ... I am reading Bunsen's Book with satisfaction and profit; 
 I have mastered about 200 pages of it to-day. It handles my 
 favorite subject, the chronology of the primeval ages, in a masterly 
 manner. But at every third page I see your "zwei schwartz- 
 hraunen Auglein" peeping at me over the top to the dismay and 
 utter rout of all sober, antiquarian thoughts. . . . 
 
 His application came up before the Suffolk North As- 
 sociation December 26, and he writes at once to Susan to 
 tell her the result of the meeting : — 
 
 Boston, December 26th. 
 
 I have just returned from Maiden, . . . and am in no condi- 
 tion, I am sorry to say, to write or talk, or do in fact anything but 
 go into oblivion, as indeed it seems to be the wish of more than 
 one that I should. The whole question has been to-day put at 
 rest. After three or four hours' discussion, some insisting upon 
 my returning to the Presbytery of Phil 'a, others proposing to 
 refer the matter to the Association of Norfolk Co., others wish- 
 ing to commend it to a council and thus to forward my interests 
 and at the same time escape responsibility themselves, it was 
 voted to let the whole matter drop and have no more to do with 
 it, three of my friends not voting and one recording a negative 
 vote, to prevent its being said that the resolution was unanimously 
 adopted. 
 
 Thus it is finished. One poor arm has no strength against 
 ten thousand, for I contend not with twenty men, but through 
 them with the combined associations and presbyteries of the 
 United States. They hang together, act together, uphold each 
 other and chase a recusant from one to another like a hunted 
 slave. I am not in a condition to decide upon anything to-night. 
 I felt my impotence there keenly, and saw the compactness of 
 the wall under which I had tried to thrust my slender crowbar, 
 as I never had done [before]. Every sentence uttered was a time- 
 honored plea of tyranny and bigotry. There was a shameful 
 personal dispute at one time, which disgusted me with men call- 
 ing themselves Christians. And those who saw most clearly 
 what was true, timorously drew back, indeed expressed a sort 
 of fright at the charge of heresy. I felt humiliated by my pres- 
 ence and, as Judge Smith of New Hampshire said, that it was 
 a very hard thing to apply for admission into bad society and 
 
1848 ENGAGEMENT 205 
 
 be refused. ... I have injured my own internal sense of strength, 
 by my application to the Association again, as I expected to, 
 but I have the satisfaction of feeling that I sacrificed my own 
 feelings and judgment to the wishes of the People, and having 
 done all that can be asked of me, am a freer man. I may sit 
 down and publish something, but I can decide as yet on nothing. 
 When the first excitement passes away, matters will move on 
 quietly until May next. By which time' if not earlier, they may 
 be prepared to act with all the vigor I desire to see them exhibit 
 [meaning his parish]. I need all my wisdom, honesty and strength, 
 . . . and more — which God grant. As I have so often said, I 
 once would scarcely think about it twice, but now all my thoughts 
 are filled with speculations how this and indeed every event, 
 great or trivial, shall affect your happiness. Carrying so precious 
 a vase, I am affrighted by every little stone in my way. I find 
 now that I hoped against hope that I could, with the help of 
 friends, amicably adjust the difficulty; and I would be tempted 
 to look back upon to-day with a sort of self-reproach and fear 
 that I had betrayed in wish, if not in word, my convictions of the 
 truth, did not the entire reprobation which I received from the 
 older and more influential men convince me that however much 
 I desired to bridge over the gulf between us, I was not permitted 
 to speak as a hypocrite; for they did me the honor to say that I 
 was worse than ever, — ^yes, in the very earnest and sincere attempts 
 I made to please them. 
 
 So that I cannot but hope that the truths I profess and for 
 which I am in danger of losing name and place and profession, 
 have indeed been formed within me, and pervade my nature, 
 to the rendering it now impossible for me to feign or pervert 
 or refuse to utter them; — that I really am what I have thought 
 myself to be. . . . 
 
 To which Susan replies on the 28th: — 
 
 ... I had been expecting all day that I should hear that such 
 was the result of your meeting with the Association — I was there- 
 fore less disappointed than either Mother or Aunt Kitty, for 1 
 had scarcely hoped anything from it. I have never believed ir> 
 your having much outward success anyway. From the moment 
 that I first entered in spirit into your spirit, to share its hopes, 
 fears and destiny, I saw there what would hinder your outward 
 success, and that which was in singular sympathy with my own 
 belief about my own destiny before it was united to yours. . . . 
 
2o6 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 Might I say — Preach with great tranquillity, and look forward 
 with real calmness to whatever may result from this bad Associa- 
 tion's doings; forgive me — I know it is a great deal harder, now 
 that thee carries me for thy "precious vase"; but do not be 
 affrighted, I am a tough little vase, made of that material, which 
 will not be broken, if you should trip over the stones. . . . 
 
 Brush Hn.L, De*. 29, 1848. Peter Lesley to Susan Lyman. 
 
 Again I pray that it may be your happiest year, and the prelude 
 to a long series of happy years, in which our union shall become 
 every day more entire and our mutual confidence confirmed. 
 Gradually we shall invent blessings for each other, ever varied, 
 and always new. We shall become master also of our com- 
 bined powers and learn to employ them for the good of others. 
 
 A letter from his father, dated December 15, contains 
 the following sentences: — 
 
 It would rejoice me much to hear that you received licensure 
 from the Association. In such event you might, when here preach 
 in our pulpits — as it is, you are shut out from all. — May I ask, 
 having no right to command, that you will not bring before the 
 Association your peculiar notions — notions which have no prac- 
 tical bearing on usefulness or happiness? — It is my sincere belief 
 that you have, by bringing them forward, interfered most seriously 
 and very extensively with your usefulness — and certainly with 
 our happiness. — I may have prided myself too much in your 
 mental powers and acquirements. — If the association favors you 
 with an opportunity of admission, do, I pray you give them no 
 cause for keeping you out, — and pray to the great Head of the 
 Church that He will give you wisdom for the occasion. I believe 
 that you have been by Him called to the work of the Ministry, 
 called to preach Him and His Righteousness. 
 
 To which my father answered December 21: — 
 
 I shall say but little about my application for licensure, as 
 I will not mail this until I can announce the result. But I am 
 determined beyond all recalls, to sacrifice home and friends and 
 name and life itself to what I believe to be the Truth, so help me 
 God and all good angels! I have lived to learn that the fame of 
 the world is a folly, and the comforts of life are worthless, and 
 
1848 ENGAGEMENT 207 
 
 that nothing but Truth is worth living for, or dying for. Nor 
 will I sacrifice an iota for any earthly consideration. And as 
 it is not given to me to know what points of truth are to do good 
 and what are of no especial moment, I must assert all that I 
 believe, as times and opportunities and occasions demand, — • 
 cum, tamen, omni modestia, et excusatione, as Roger Bacon said, — 
 "nevertheless, with all modesty and with all caution." . . . 
 
 It is not needful that I preach at all in the pulpits of Phila- 
 delphia; but it is very needful that when I preach in my own 
 pulpit, or any other, I preach simply what I beheve; neither 
 more nor less; and at all points. And if I be excluded from all 
 pulpits, I shall go to cabinet-making and serve God better there 
 than as a time-serving Minister in a pulpit. I have neither hopes 
 nor fears; nor have I permission to consult such; I must do and 
 say. what at each moment I believe to be true and right; nor am 
 I in any way held responsible for the Consequences. But if I 
 fall short, if I mutter and peep and, speak out of my belly, as 
 the men of the times do, I shall have a fearful responsibility to 
 come upon me. No, dear Father, do not weaken my hands; 
 it is the privilege of a father to strengthen his son's hands against 
 the world and to believe in him also further than a hundred 
 human examinations. 
 
 The Association of Suffolk Co. does not favor me with an 
 opportunity of admission, but is itself favored in having a man 
 apply to act with them, in whose heart God has put an upright 
 spirit, free from all fear and yet anxious to be taught even by a 
 child. I have higher authority and a diviner power within me 
 than that possessed by any human organization however perfect. 
 No ecclesiastical machinery was ever inspired (though Puseyites, 
 from Rome to Cherry Street, assert it); but every Christian is. 
 And by the simplicity of a Christian inspiration, I have already 
 and shall again confound the theories of any assembly of divines 
 who cover up their private inspiration, in order to put upon their 
 worldly dignities the surplice of an impossible Verbal inspira- 
 tion. I shall therefore ever deny the alleged inspiration of the 
 written word, in order to establish the inspiration of the Holy 
 Men of old who wrote the written word, and of all in every age 
 in whom likewise dwelleth the Holy Ghost. When Paul says 
 to me, what the Holy Ghost of Christ says in me, then will I 
 believe him, not before. When David curses his enemies in 
 plain words, and Christ bids me bless mine in plain words, it 
 will take more than the scholasticism of Princeton or the sub- 
 tleties of Cambridge to make me believe that he (David) spoke 
 
2o8 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 just then by inspiration of the "one spirit" "that speaketh and 
 worketh in all," and in Christ first of all. . . . 
 
 My engagement with the Church runs on until May. Perhaps 
 they will get over their bashfulness and ordain me themselves. 
 If not, I shall continue to employ some one to administer the 
 ordinances, and of that they are already sick. If they get tired 
 of me, I shall go to school-keeping. At any event I have a wife 
 who will bear me on angel's wings, for she has even a more de- 
 termined will to give up all for truth than I; and we will eat 
 bread and drink water together with a good conscience, if we have 
 no other thing to season our meal. Mr. Robbins gives me every 
 encouragement, and all my friends express sympathy enough. 
 But I want strength, and will try what the press can do. I shall 
 probably take steps at once to publish a number of my sermons, 
 and an essay or two. Affectionately your son, 
 
 Peter. 
 
 To this letter my grandfather, January 17, returned an 
 affectionate reply, regretting still Peter's peculiar views, 
 yet offering to assist him in the expense of the publication 
 of his proposed "Address" and some sermons, and sending 
 greeting to Susan, "the beloved." 
 
 20, 1849. To HIS Father. 
 
 ... I do not wonder, dear father, that you think my course a 
 foolish one. But think of it as rather forced upon me than chosen. 
 I have humbled myself to appear before a body of men, most 
 of whom arc rny inferiors in experience, knowledge and, I dare 
 to add, the love of the Truth. I offered to submit to the usual 
 examination and begged the usual license. They violated their 
 acknowledged duty, denied me my acknowledged rights, re- 
 fused me even an examination, though they claim the right to 
 license and examine, and sent me away to get along as best I can. 
 . . . How often have I heard you, these twenty years past, com- 
 plain of the sermons you listened to, meagre technicalities and 
 stale generalities, coming from a brain gone to sleep these years 
 past, and finding no access to the heart! I preach another way. 
 I say nothing — I never will say, what I do not feel myself, and 
 which I can make the ground of some new resolution to a better 
 obedience in the lives of my parishioners. And if I cannot make 
 my friends here more godly as well as more devotional, better 
 sons and daughters, wives and husbands, fathers and mothers, 
 
i849 ENGAGEMENT 209 
 
 as well as better Church-goers, I shall quit preaching with the 
 conviction that the Lord has not sent me. . . . 
 
 In one sense you are quite right in saying, Father, that the 
 points of difference are unimportant. Technically it is so, but 
 really my very foundation principles are different from theirs. 
 In theology I agree with them; in Christianity I am at swords' 
 points with them. My logic makes me explain the Bible as they 
 do; my experience in life and the grace of God in my heart make 
 evident to me gross defects in the modes adopted by men of learn- 
 ing and influence to regenerate the world. 
 
 I am convinced that to be a Christian, one must follow Christ 
 in all things; reject all unlawful authority; scorn all worldly 
 bribes; work hard; suffer much and with patience; be forgiving 
 to the utmost extreme of non-resistance; oppose and rebuke all 
 falsehood and evil in the world, be hated by many, reviled, slan- 
 dered by many, misunderstood by almost all. 
 
 I cannot give up my Christian liberty. I cannot say or, do 
 anything to violate my conscience, at any price, or for any ad- 
 vantage to myself or others. Truth, honesty, simplicity, dili- 
 gence, love — these are the only agencies I can employ to save 
 men. . . . 
 
 Milton, December 23, 1848. To his Brother Allen. 
 
 . . . You asked me how I voted? I did not vote at all; pri- 
 marily because I was not at home; secondarily because I am 
 something of a disunionist, come-outer, no-church, no-state man, 
 Quaker, or what you please. But so far as I have a political 
 heart, it was every fibre of it for the Free Soil movement. I 
 know nothing about the Candidates; but I do know something 
 about principles. I cannot distinguish Whig principles from Dem- 
 ocratic very nicely (though so far as I can I am a Democrat 
 and not a Whig, i.e. I am opposed to all restriction, monopoly, 
 etc.), but I find no difficulty in determining the value of the new 
 Northern principle, and wish it to obtain from Maine to Mexico. 
 I would therefore have voted for Van Buren had I been at home, 
 though I have no assurance that he could have played fair with 
 the principle. It was everything, however, to poll 300,000 votes 
 upon a principle. It matters very little, I suspect, what sort 
 of a government or of what politics, we have; but it matters every- 
 thing what sort of a people and of what principles. I never 
 would think of overturning a government, however bad. Re- 
 form the people's views, and rectify their feelings, and every- 
 thing desirable is accomplished. Louis Napoleon, Cavaignac, 
 
2IO LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 and Lamartine will in turn become presidents, as the people 
 become Louis Napoleons, Cavaignacs, and Lamartines, in a 
 progressive series. When all the Citizens of this "free land" 
 become freemen by principle and not by custom, and peace- 
 able on principle and not on expediency, then General Taylors 
 can no more easily be elected to the presidential chair than 
 Frelinghuysens can now. Such are my politics in the rough. . . . 
 
 Jan. 2, 1849. To Susan I. Lyman. 
 
 ... I am preparing two sermons for publication and an ad- 
 dress to the Association expressing my views and detailing the his- 
 tory of our affair in brief. This last I shall write in Northampton. 
 I think this is the best way of correcting common rumor. The 
 people here are very determined, and I believe very unanimous, 
 but naturally anxious. They are both timid and angry. Nothing 
 will be done, and excitement will gradually allay itself. By 
 May they will be prepared either to renew our contract as it stands, 
 with the inconvenience to which I must submit next Sunday, 
 of getting some one to fill my place, — or to pass a resolution as 
 a church, empowering me to fulfil all the functions of a Minister. 
 This will be old-fashioned Congregational ordination. . . . 
 
 January 22nd. 
 
 To-day I went into town and read my paper on Roger Bacon 
 to the Club and afterwards dined at James Savage's, and spent 
 an hour at Mr. Revere's where I found Dr. F., Mrs. Davis and 
 their beautiful little girl, your namesake; Mrs. Howe also came 
 in. I did not see Mrs. Hillard to-day. Nor did I see Rogers 
 again, with whom I spent two very happy hours on Saturday. 
 He is in fine health and spirits and will commence his lectures 
 in six weeks. Yesterday I preached two sermons on Govern- 
 ment, from the fifth Commandment, which to my great astonish- 
 ment were very much approved. The California fever has at- 
 tacked the best young men of Boston Bay. Married men are 
 lesLving their families too. All eyes are strained in the direction 
 of the dear Idol. All ships, casks, crackers, preserves, hams 
 and divers other things are bought up for the ships, and not to 
 be had by honest folks for love or money. Come, Susie, shall 
 we go? 
 
 January 2^h. 
 
 . . . Adam Ballou's masterly tract upon Non-resistance has 
 made me more than ever unwilling to use any language which 
 
i849 ENGAGEMENT 2ii 
 
 might covertly practise retaliation or exhibit the least spirit of 
 revenge or even self-defence. Still I feel the strongest leaning 
 to an open utterance of opinion, let the consequences be what they 
 may. Why should truth come to us but to be again distributed! 
 I am dissatisfied with everything I write, but that is but the lees 
 of endeavor. Aristotle in his great Ethics makes Energy, and 
 not Success, equivalent to Happiness. ... 
 
 January Tpth. 
 
 . . . I heard Fanny [Kemble] Butler read "Midsummer Night's 
 Dream" last evening. She read two hours, and came as near as 
 possible to doing the impossible. The best evidence to me 
 of her success, and the reach of her exquisite art, is that I could 
 with all my introversion detect no trace of that ringing recollec- 
 tion of one tone, which always follows the continued reading of 
 all other persons to my ear. . . . There was too much acting, shak- 
 ing the head and baring the gums, in it, as she sat before the 
 great folio copy of the immortal bard, . . . but the intonations 
 of her voice were the most melodious music. . . . 
 
 We will talk some day of this. The best test of genius per- 
 haps is that it makes a spectator or listener feel himself endowed 
 with some exaltation of his own talents, or with some new talent 
 which he never knew before. 
 
 My father had written once, bewailing his many moods 
 and variable temper of mind and spirits, fearful lest he 
 should prove a trying companion as the years went on. My 
 mother in a letter written only a few days before their mar- 
 riage comforts him in these words : — 
 
 You often speak of your variable moods, as if you thought 
 they would trouble me. But it is never so. I rejoice that you 
 express them all, and I rejoice that they all give a variety to 
 my own thought, which my more monotonous temperament 
 fails to supply me with: — indeed I am constantly rejoicing in 
 the unlikeness of our temperaments, as much as I delight in 
 the likeness of our hopes, aims, tastes and purposes. 
 
 I would not assert that the hours of deep depression 
 which my father was always liable to, were never a sor- 
 row or trial to my mother, but that she was never irritated by 
 
212 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, x 
 
 them I can say. And she never allowed them either to dis- 
 turb her own inner serenity of spirit, or the underlying 
 happiness of the household. The fact that they were but 
 fleeting shadows over the brightness of our family life, neither 
 she nor my father ever forgot. 
 
 Feb. 8, 1849. Peter Lesley to Susan I. Lyman. 
 
 . . . My plans, notions, thoughts, often suddenly formed and 
 crude, may not always please you, and may sometimes even 
 make you a little anxious, — but better that than not to know 
 them all. We must lead but one life between us. I desire to 
 have no pleasure that I cannot share with you, — and I am afraid 
 to keep a sorrow back from your sharing it. And I am very sure 
 that you will let me help bear all your sorrows, whatever they 
 may be. That will be the great joy of my life. . . . 
 
PETER LESLEY 
 From an old Daguerreotype 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 Marriage, and Milton Life. 1849-185 i 
 
 My father and mother were married by their friend 
 Rufus Ellis in Northampton, February 13, 1849. My 
 mother was in such delicate health that the wedding was 
 of the quietest, and no friends even were invited. The 
 young couple repaired at once to Milton, where they lived 
 for some months at Mr. James Robbins's home on Brush 
 Hill. Mr. Robbins was my mother's uncle, and he and his 
 wife were affectionately devoted to her, and to her husband. 
 Later in the season they found it best to set up independent 
 housekeeping, and took rooms on the Brook Road, in a 
 house backed up against a large sand pit. This not prov- 
 ing a healthy residence, they moved to Mattapan, and finally 
 spent their last year on Milton Hill, in a little house which 
 stood, I believe, on a front corner of Mr. Watson's place, 
 and which was later moved away. During these years my 
 mother suffered much ill-health, and at times was very near 
 death. No one thought it probable that either she or my 
 father was fated to live out a long life, and the many friends 
 in and around Milton did everything which friendship could 
 devise to make their days happy; and, in spite of all anxiety 
 and suffering, very happy years these were. My father 
 eked out his slender salary as pastor of a small church, by 
 constant work of various kinds on week-days. Mr. Rogers 
 supplied him with geological and topographical drafting, 
 and he wrote occasionally magazine articles, and gave a 
 lecture here and there, as opportunity occurred. What 
 would have been a sufficient income with health, was in- 
 sufficient to the needs of constant illness, and it required 
 all his efforts to keep out of debt and a little "ahead." 
 This state of things, however, was what both the young 
 people were prepared for, and they met it with a, brave 
 spirit. I find no repining or complaint in the letters written 
 during this time. 
 
 213 
 
214 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xi 
 
 One great blessing, among others, they had. My 
 mother's aunt, Catherine Robbins, came to her, and again 
 and again tenderly nursed her back to health, guarding 
 her for months at a time from over-exertion. My mother 
 loved her dearly, and my father became deeply attached to 
 her, — an affection which she most richly deserved. During 
 this period she was an almost constant member of their 
 household. 
 
 My father was himself the tenderest of nurses. He had 
 the gentle yet firm touch of hand which brings comfort to 
 an invalid, and he knew instinctively how to lift and carry 
 a sick person or a child in such a way as to give most relief 
 and least pain. He was also full of devices for the comfort 
 or amusement of a sick friend, and untiring in his devotion. 
 
 My mother told us once, referring to these happy yet 
 anxious days, how one day, after weeks of hard work over 
 some map-making, he came running into her sick-room and 
 threw twenty-five dollars into her lap, crying gleefully, 
 "There, Susie, my map is done, and that will keep you in 
 little birds for a month." 
 
 He was often away from home for weeks at a time on 
 surveying trips in Pennsylvania, in spring, summer, or 
 autumn, whenever he could make arrangements for leaving 
 his parish, and during such absence they wrote daily to 
 each other. 
 
 Brush Hill, Thursday Morning. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO HER Mother. 
 
 When we reached the Boston depot, there was Uncle Edward 
 and the man, with the covered sleigh. . . . We rode over Milton 
 Hill, the day was bright and beautiful, and the view perfect. We 
 stopped a few minutes to see Mrs. Ware and leave my flowers, 
 which had kept very fresh, and looked lovely. . . . Her eyes are 
 very large and unnaturally bright, and her whole appearance 
 gives you the feehng that there is nothing left but the spirit. . . . 
 Peter sends his best love to you. He went right to work the 
 minute he got here, and he is to-day quite shocked that both 
 his sermons are not written. In vain I tell him that this is a 
 remarkable week. He does not seem to think that being married 
 can take a person from his work, only just long enough to have 
 the knot tied. 
 
i849 MARRIAGE. MILTON LIFE 215 
 
 Brush Hill, Thursday, Feb. 15, 1849. To his Father. 
 
 Your kind letter gave me great pleasure. How much I owe 
 you in the past ! and the future will only bind me the more closely 
 to your heart. I can now present you with a daughter, for we 
 were married day before yesterday, and returned yesterday, stop- 
 ping at Worcester to permit of my making G. Bushnell's acquaint- 
 ance. He is a very agreeable man and holds a strong position. 
 He has lately been attacked by the Champions ( ?) of Newbury- 
 port (Eells and Dana?), but laughs at them. 
 
 We are in our own nice room, at home, and so good a home 
 few have ever had. Susie is as happy as an angel, and I — still 
 happier. We feel disposed to doubt our ever having lived 
 asunder, it seems so natural to live together. Our tastes click 
 together like two clocks. . . . 
 
 Milton, February 21. To his rother William. 
 
 . . . Last week I went to see Miss Frederika Bremer, the cele- 
 brated Swedish Novelist, who is staying at the house of a friend 
 of mine, Mr. Benzon, now in Europe. I found her very good- 
 natured and thoughtful, modest and ladylike. She is small and 
 not what would be called handsome, but with fine soft eyes. She 
 could not tell me about my German friends, the Tholucks, because 
 they did not correspond with her after leaving Sweden. Miss 
 Bremer last Monday dined at the Hillards with the English Pro- 
 fessor Johnson, who is delivering a course of Agricultural and 
 Scientific lectures at the Lowell Institution this year. After 
 dinner they persuaded her to go to see the new Enharmonic 
 Organ invented by young Poule, and the only successful attempt 
 of the kind since Liston's celebrated organ at Calcutta, which 
 was a bungling concern compared with this. . . . 
 
 Last evening I lectured before the Lyceum here on the 
 Aboriginal settlement of Europe. [A long ethnological descrip- 
 tion follows.] Then I showed them a map in distemper colors 
 which I completed yesterday, on which I laid down the original 
 boundaries of the older races. . . . 
 
 His father wrote him a letter February 21, in which these 
 words occur: — 
 
 I sometimes feel very gloomy about your situation — ^would 
 that I had more faith in the great Head of the Church, that my 
 fears might be calmed. I send you a number of the North Amer- 
 
2i6 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xi 
 
 ican — look at the Article on Fourierism — I hope you have dis- 
 carded that crotchet. — I cannot but say that your entertaining 
 that theory has given me more alarm than anything else — for it 
 does appear to me to be utterly impracticable in practice, and 
 being so, highly mischievous in all its bearings on Society. — Man 
 is not fitted for the system — and will not be until the Millennium. 
 
 To which his son replied as follows: — 
 
 Febrtiary 2^th. 
 
 ... I laughed at your paragraph on Fourierism. The paper 
 did not come; it will perhaps by to-day's mail and I shall read 
 the article. But you know that a newspaper article seldom either 
 exhausts a subject or plumbs any great distance towards its bot- 
 tom. As to the Science of Social life, I treat it as I do the science 
 of Geology, or of antiquities, — I have established its foundation 
 principles, and accept all further light, incorporating all new 
 facts as they come. More than that I cannot do. I preach, 
 i.e. express my convictions of the Science, when opportunities 
 occur, just as I do about any other science, — but that is all I can 
 do. Everybody knows I am a Fourierite, just as everybody 
 knows I am a Geologist and a Calvinist, — but I cannot help 
 that; and no one seems to care — and why should they? I do 
 not preach any of these ideas or convictions of mine, as Mo- 
 hammed did his, with a Scimetar. But I always say what I think, 
 at all times, on all subjects, and surely that is right. But how 
 seldom the subject of social matters comes up in any dogmatic or 
 polemic mode, you would see if you spent a week or two here, — 
 and fail to feel any more anxiety. . . . 
 
 To which Susan adds: — 
 
 . , . How I wish too, you could go to our little church, and 
 see the devoted attention that all the people give to dear Peter's 
 words. — ^Their affection for him is very beautiful, and I feel 
 sure that this is a useful position for any one who is faithful and 
 devoted. . . . 
 
 April 13, 1849. Peter Lesley to Mrs. Lyman. 
 
 Susan wishes to write herself, but is not able. She is in fact 
 a very crank ship; I wish she could fairly right herself, and 
 keep righted. Providence sent her off through life with a very 
 evident label "Crockery. This side up with Care." All her 
 sweetness is Muscovado: a sort of broken-loaf. She's like an 
 
1849 MARRIAGE. MILTON LIFE 217 
 
 old Cremona: the more she is broken and glued up again, the 
 sweeter and clearer is her tone. I have a notion that in spite 
 of all prophecies adverse thereunto, our destiny is to grov^ old 
 together. We call ourselves Cherubim, — and we have six vi^ings, 
 all right, — with two we cover our eyes (for no poor couple ever 
 thought or cared less for the future), — with two we cover our feet 
 (nobody knew less or cared less about ways and means, or the 
 ground on which they stood), — and with two we do fly, — nicely. 
 In fact you never saw such flying. Life is a simon-pure dream, 
 of the Chateau d'Espagne kind, to which I hope there will be no 
 waking. . . . 
 
 I have told in the last chapter of my father's applica- 
 tion to the North Suffolk Association to ordain him as min- 
 ister, and of their refusal to do so. At that time, December, 
 1848, it will be remembered, he wrote to his father, "I shall 
 probably take steps at once to publish a number of my ser- 
 mons and an essay or two." 
 
 In the following spring he carried out this intention and 
 published "An address to the Suffolk North Association of 
 Congregational Ministers."* 
 
 This little volume was a vigorous plea for the rights of 
 the congregations and people to take charge of their own 
 affairs, choose, ordain, and depose their own ministers, etc. 
 It was also a demand for individual freedom of belief, for 
 the right of change in that belief, of development, of en- 
 larged vision, from the experiences of life. The address 
 closes with these words: — 
 
 And does any of you, O Veritatis filii immutahiles! know what 
 he shall be to-morrow? By the grace of God you are what you 
 are, if you have either goodness or truth. Perhaps God has not 
 taught you everything yet; and certainly by his good grace alone 
 can you stand in your present faith, if it be the right one. ... I 
 lay no claim to consistency, because the very law of life is Change 
 and Progress, and he [a minister mentioned in the address] is incon- 
 sistent from the necessity of that law, working in the marrow and 
 
 * An Address to the Suffolk North Association of Congregational Min- 
 isters, by J. P. Lesley, Minister of the First Evangelical Church, Milton 
 (58 pages), Boston, 1849. Also sermons on the Rule of Faith, Inspiration 
 of the Scriptures, and the Church (pp. 59-130). 
 
2i8 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xi 
 
 joints of his spiritual being — let him profess consistency as he 
 please. Is he a fit overseer of souls? Read his autobiography 
 and see. Am I ? Read my sermons, examine my conversation 
 and see. Try all trees by their fruits. And in the end all fruits 
 vi^ill be tasted. 
 
 Farewell, brethren of the Suffolk North Association. God 
 give you light, and light to us all, and help us walk in the futher- 
 ance of the Gospel and the setting up of the kingdom of his dear 
 Son. I have said but little with all these words, and some of 
 them may pain you, and some may anger you, for which I shall 
 be sorry. I have friends among you who will know how to take 
 my words when others mistake them. To the good, I can do no 
 injury; the good are always safe; there are none but chained lions 
 in the Way of Life. To the influence of the bad I wish I could do 
 irreparable injury. Every plant that our Heavenly Father has not 
 planted must be rooted up, sooner or later, by agencies of his own 
 appointment, of the number of which are we. I have said nothing 
 new, nothing that has not been said better, a thousand times re- 
 peated, a thousand times ridiculed, rebuked, punished, and put to 
 silence, and a thousand times spoken out again. I am but one of 
 a thousand, and speak in sympathy with thousands. If I can by 
 the sacrifice of peace which this will cost me, nerve the heart of 
 one young man, whom the clerical system is about to rob of Sin- 
 cerity and Liberty, and to turn into an agent of tyranny, I shall 
 be compensated. 
 
 I remain with due respect your friend and Christian Brother, 
 
 J. P. Lesley. 
 
 His father sent an earnest appeal to him to refrain from 
 publishing his "Address," saying, "You may take pride in 
 raising a ' hubbub ' among your clerical brethren, but depend 
 upon it, your Master who called you to preach His Gospel 
 never constituted you a veritable Don Quixote to drive a 
 lance at every error, which a young man like you may sup- 
 pose to exist in the world." To which he replies as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 Brush Hill, May lo, 1849. To his Father, 
 
 Your kind letter of the fifth met me on my return from 
 Cambridge this afternoon, and sensibly touched me. I not only 
 deserve your rebuke, but would be a better man for more like 
 it. . . . But with respect, dear father, to my ecclesiastical connec- 
 
i849 ■ MARRIAGE. MILTON LIFE 219 
 
 tions, I have been actuated not only by the passions of the 
 human heart (oppression making even a wise man mad), but 
 by an irresistible sense of duty. I feel myself called upon to say 
 calmly certain things that now ought to be said, by somebody; 
 whoever says them must suffer for it; I shall suffer less than many 
 others would. You know what the shepherd boy sang, "He that 
 is down need fear no fall." It is impossible that anything I may 
 put into print can hurt me now, for my ecclesiastical condition is 
 as bad as it well can be, — for me still to be respected as an honest 
 and plain-spoken man. On the contrary it is due to my opinions 
 and character that I say what I can in self-justification. But that 
 I think httle of. I am sure that such things as I say, are needful 
 and good, and I am neither ashamed nor afraid of them. What 
 they are, and how I have said them, you shall learn in a few days, 
 the second sheet duodecimo being to-day under the press. Some 
 things will offend and startle you perhaps, but the greatest part 
 you will affirm to be just and good. I have shrunk from publish- 
 ing, because of the "hubbub," which I am the last to desire to 
 raise or to endure. 
 
 No, dear Father, I have allowed everything to hinder me and 
 to postpone this publication. I read it to five several persons, 
 three of them ministers, and one of them a member of the Associa- 
 tion, accepting his corrections, and carefully rewriting facts after 
 his dictation, lest I might do any injustice. I struck out para- 
 graphs that Susie thought too hard, and others which Mr. Guern- 
 sey considered unjust. And now that the text is in publication, 
 I give the issue into God's hand, for in God's sight I have tried 
 only to do my duty. . . . 
 
 I thank you many times for your mention of Susan. She will 
 appreciate it, as I do. But the dear girl sustains me when my 
 courage fails in what I believe to be my Duty. I do not war 
 with Truth, nor Orthodoxy, nor Society, nor any man or set of 
 men, as such; but with a system of despotic power from which I 
 have suffered severely, and which I have the fairest opportunity 
 and excuse for attacking, doubtless to the great comfort and 
 strengthening of some hereafter. It is true that I wish to degrade 
 the Clergy — but only to their true platform of duty; and in order 
 to elevate private Christians to their proper height of privilege 
 and duty also. . . . 
 
 Northampton, May 19. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 Before going to bed last night I looked over your Address, 
 for the last time, Mother having read and liked it; and then I 
 
220 LIFE AND LETTERS -chap, xi 
 
 prayed most earnestly that if it did no good, it might not lose you 
 any of the real influence you already possess. — You would not 
 thank me for keeping any thought to myself, and so I do not. I 
 feel confidence in its being printed because you sacrificed taste 
 and feeling to what seemed a painful duty, and I shall ever be 
 regardless of any consequence, that does not affect your power of 
 doing good. But I see in you, every moment, something so far 
 higher, and more beautiful than you could by any possibility ex- 
 press in an effort of this kind, that I cannot but rejoice that you 
 will never again have such a duty to do. . . . 
 
 May 22. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I have read the last proof and joyfully join you in believing 
 and praying that no duty of this kind shall come to me again. . . . 
 Do not think any more of the address; it is odious to me; yet it 
 had to he. I do not regret — I only feel disgust. Nor do I fear 
 anything. . . . 
 
 Whether the Address produced the "hubbub" dreaded 
 by my grandfather or whether it was taken seriously enough 
 to produce the small amount of good which my father hoped 
 from its appearance in print, I have no way of knowing. 
 My father, having accomplished any piece of work, turned 
 his mind to other things, and seemed to regard with slight 
 interest what might follow from it. He was singularly 
 devoid of personal ambition, which may partly account 
 for this. And he was also so fully and constantly absorbed 
 in present work and present duties that for him to let "the 
 dead past bury its dead" was a necessity, as it was also a 
 natural habit of mind. 
 
 Milton, May, 1849. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I spent an hour with Hinckley * on my way home from the 
 lower village yesterday, — his deer picture is very pretty; six 
 deer in sight, on highlands overlooking the sea. ... A little note 
 from Wendell Phillips lies before me, inviting me to speak next 
 week before the Anti-slavery Society. I do not feel called to 
 do so; and if I did, I should have to say some practical truths 
 which they would not like to hear perhaps, and which I certainly 
 
 * Thomas Hinckley, an animal painter of some note. 
 
i849 MARRIAGE. MILTON LIFE 221 
 
 would not like to utter. I cannot endure their neglect of exact 
 truth, any more than their lack of the spirit of tenderness and 
 love, in what they write and speak. At the same time I see the 
 cause, and appreciate it, — they roar by instinct like lions, and 
 wise people must interpret. . . . 
 
 Brush Hill, July 13. Susan I. Lesley to Peter Lesley, Sr. 
 
 . . . Peter has made seats out of boughs, and put them in 
 every little nook about the place, so that in our walks we can 
 rest wherever we like. — He has now taken his books and writing, 
 and gone to one of the shadiest, to work till dinner-time. He 
 has not been as well as I wish he were, all summer, but he rarely 
 has to stop writing a whole day, and I keep hoping that when the 
 extreme hot weather is over, he will be much better. We spend 
 the evenings in visiting our good people, which often takes us a 
 circuit of six miles through the most beautiful scenery and wooded 
 lanes in all the country round. We have been reading together 
 a book that has delighted us much, "Earth and Man," — ^you 
 would like it too — it is by a Mr. Guyot whom Peter has seen. . . . 
 
 Medford, Aug. 20, 1849. Peter Lesley to his Father. 
 
 . . . The scientific Association has been meeting all last week 
 and this, at Cambridge. Susan and I have therefore made our 
 headquarters here at Edward Head's, and I walk to Cambridge 
 every morning and back in the evening. The sessions have been 
 of high interest. The walking has done me material benefit. 
 I need more exercise than I get. My sermons are of a kind to 
 require much time, and I am also preparing a course of lectures 
 for the winter, and with unlooked-for success in the investigation 
 of the particular subject which I have selected. I shall try to 
 deliver the course next year in Philadelphia, with illlustrations 
 and diagrams. It embraces the whole ground of ethnological 
 and mythological Unity of the human race and refers all ancient 
 history back to the facts of the Noachic Deluge. . . . 
 
 Mllton, Oct. 6, 1849. Peter Lesley to his Aunt Hall. 
 
 My dearest "Mother Aunt," — . . . How can I describe 
 to you how we live in living by ourselves! It is a paradise. . . . 
 We do as we see best, with none to molest or make us afraid. 
 Sometimes Mother Lyman comes from Northampton and dines 
 with us, and lives the rest of the time on Brush Hill. Some- 
 times Aunt Kitty Robbins, who is to Susan what you are to me, 
 
222 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xi 
 
 comes over from Cambridge and stays with us. . . . Soon we 
 expect Dr. Henderson, my old and valued friend at Chelsea, 
 to come and pass a night with us. Then we have visitors enough 
 in the afternoon to prevent life from stagnating, and so the days 
 move on. I am as busy as a bee laying up honey for winter, for 
 I expect to lecture in a good many places this winter and must 
 be prepared, and that too will help us make both ends meet. . . . 
 Then I went to Cousin Susan Hillard's; and after tea the 
 artist Cranch and his wife from Italy came in, and the music 
 enthusiast John Dwight, both Susan's friends, and two young 
 ladies and another friend, — and we had songs, and pieces from 
 Mendelssohn and Wolf and Schubert and other fine composers, 
 quite as much as my poor quieit country head could bear. It 
 is good to hear sweet sounds occasionally, to revive one's ideas 
 of the beauty of the world of sound, the counterpart and comple- 
 ment, equally fair and almost as infinite, of the world of sight. 
 The ear is as much a window looking out upon the universe as 
 is the eye; and why should it remain close shuttered up? I 
 play a little on the flute still. But I long for your sweet voice 
 and Aunt Anna's. Miss Ballard's singing would have been 
 applauded by a concert audience; but I thought of yours, and 
 felt how poor it was. I would rather hear you sing five minutes 
 than her five hours. ... 
 
 Milton, Nov. 2. Peter Lesley to Mrs. Lyman. 
 
 Susan has been so ill for several weeks that all my time has 
 been taken up in tending her. I have had no exchanges in 
 my pulpit of late, but have got on very well by writing a little 
 and speaking extempore. The church is full, and the attendance 
 as good afternoon as morning. I have begun to lecture before 
 the Lyceums. ... 
 
 In answer to a letter regretting his outspoken anti- 
 slavery views, he writes: — 
 
 Nov. 6, 1849. To HIS Father. 
 
 . . . Let me here say, Father, that so far from knowing your 
 interest in Gen. Taylor, I did not even know you voted for him, 
 and thought that in many things your political views had become 
 radically democratic. I am sorry to have hurt your feehngs by 
 my zeal for what I think to be real private 'and national Chris- 
 tianity. But I am as unfortunate before my friends here too. 
 My poHtics are very heresy in Boston, even with my best friends; 
 
i849 MARRIAGE. MILTON LIFE 223 
 
 just as my theology is laughed at as "self-destructive" by the 
 Independent of N.Y. and the Congregationalists of New Haven, 
 and considered fearfully Parkerish by the more strict sect of the 
 Puritans in Washington St. and Cornhill. But, dear Father, 
 I have thought and felt and seen too much for myself in the last 
 ten years to be the sport of any local wind of doctrine, or to see 
 a bugbear before me in any man or set of men on earth. . . . 
 
 Milton, Dec 16, 1849. Peter Lesley to his brother Allen. 
 
 Your letter of October 9th, your sceptical letter I mean, has 
 been punished sufficiently. I shall now answer it. In truth 
 however it has been absolutely impossible for me to answer 
 before. For Susan has not only been sick, but sick for six weeks, 
 ten miles off, beyond the city, and my sermons and lectures 
 before Lyceums, and goings to and fro between Milton and 
 Cambridge, and house-cleaning, furniture-seeking and fixing 
 up generally have made me a slave without manacles. 
 
 Now for the letter. How shall I handle it? What an intol- 
 erable scoffer you are! How remorselessly you have twisted 
 off the budding fancies of my Arkism as they timidly sprouted 
 in your presence. But I wish you could have examined the 
 ground in which their roots ran. I tell you what it is, Allen, 
 I shall yet maintain my position and prove that chess is a druid 
 game symbolic of the Deluge. What are the pawns but pens, 
 i.e. (Welsh) heads, peaks, or mountain tops, little magic move- 
 able pyramids, tumuli around the ccer side, the druid cell, the 
 shrine of the Patriarch, — like the thousands that cover the plain 
 around Stonehenge.* . . . 
 
 I greatly prefer at any rate this Don Quixote campaigne (that 
 word I never could spell, to save me) in old, older, oldest regions 
 of antiquity, against cromlechs and barrows, to any participation 
 in any of the campaigns of political parties of any shade or side.f 
 
 * My father had a lifelong hobby in Hnguistic and symbolic investiga- 
 tion, which he later called Arkite Symbolism, and it filled many a happy 
 hour for him throughout his active life. His brother Allen was also much 
 interested in Oriental languages and kindred lines of investigation, and 
 was a great traveller, so that to him my father was wont to write most copi- 
 ously on these subjects. 
 
 t Politically, the brothers were quite out of sympathy, which was later 
 a great grief to my father. Allen had been settled in Delaware for a num- 
 ber of years, and together with the two next younger brothers had become 
 decidedly Southern, not to say pro-slavery, in his sympathies, while my 
 father and the two youngest brothers were most warmly anti-slavery and 
 abolitionist. 
 
224 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xi 
 
 I believe more fully every year that all politics are useless and 
 hurtful, all governments not based on true Christian socialist 
 principles retardative of the Millennium. I have no love for Whig, 
 Democrat or Free Soil pohtics, but of the three I think the Free 
 Soil are the most plausible because based (however slightly) on 
 a real spiritual principle. I have no respect at all for the Demo- 
 crats, for they prostitute the principle and betray it at the same 
 'time. I think the Whigs are as selfish and unprincipled as the 
 rest. But the great mass of each party, I mean the people who 
 are not voted for, nor desire office, are honestly infatuated with 
 the idea that governments are good for something, and that tariffs, 
 excises, internal improvement bills, bank charters or private bank- 
 ing bills, — in a word, special legislation, will save or sink a nation. 
 The cork may as well think it supports and directs the river. 
 Governments are feathers on the flood of great social and natural 
 laws, which have their way through and over governments, like 
 freshets through a froth dam. I pray that the fools at Washing- 
 ton may continue at their ridiculous schemery \sic\ all winter; 
 the wise would willingly pay them their $8 per diem to keep them 
 at it — and out of mischief. So much for pohtics. You will 
 laugh when I tell you that while I was nursing Susan at Cambridge 
 on election day, I was actually run as a Democratic candidate 
 for legislature, and got 38 votes, none of which of course were 
 from my friends, who laughed heartily at the joke. The fellows 
 who put me up gave as their excuse, that I had no enemies, and 
 would therefore run well against the Whigs. I guess they had 
 never heard my two fast day sermons, — nor divers other dis- 
 courses of like tone. 
 
 But serious times may come. Things look squally. There 
 may be a short collision between the infatuated South and the 
 indifferent North, which now feels its true might, and the result 
 will be much trouble and perhaps many lives lost, until things 
 settle on their proper basis. The South must become cured of its 
 madness by a crisis more or less dangerous. When a Mountain 
 stands on its Summit, its turning over must crush many things. 
 To suppose that the world can last much longer with slavery as 
 a protected thing, is inconceivable. Free-soilism is no power, no 
 force; it is a mere indication. It announces, like surface ice, the 
 chilling down to the bottom of the whole pool; Free-soilism could 
 never have made in a night over the north, had not the north 
 become very anti-slavery down through all strata of its depth. 
 Let the ice melt again and disappear; another colder day will 
 freeze all sohd. Thousands of Abolitionists in New England 
 
1850 MARRIAGE. MILTON LIFE 225 
 
 never took part in the Free-soil movement. You haven't the least 
 Conception of the universality and fixedness of the anti-slavery 
 sentiment of all New England and the North West settled by New 
 Englanders. I predict that in ten years the whole North will not 
 only feel with the Free Soilers, but act with the ultra-Abolitionists. 
 And all the struggles of the South are those of a maniac in a 
 strait -jacket. It is of no use. Destiny will have its course. The 
 world was made for freedom and freemen; for an endless move- 
 ment and mingling of races, and the gradual improvement of the 
 whole. I shall live to see a black man governor of Georgia. . . . 
 
 Milton, Jan. 23, 1850. Peter Lesley to his 
 
 YOUNG brother ALEXANDER.* 
 
 The great secret of letter-writing lies in this: never to write 
 unless you have something to say; and to say what you wish to 
 write in the shortest, clearest and kindest manner possible. The 
 next rule to remember is: that a good and short letter is more 
 likely to be read twice, than an ill-written long one. And the 
 third rule is this: Never make apologies; they are always more or 
 less impertinent; for if they are good ones, your correspondent 
 will make them for you; but if they are poor ones, only made to 
 excuse yourself for slovenly, hasty or selfish writing, they are 
 worse than none at all, and "add insult to injury." 
 
 Milton, Feb. 3, 1850. Peter Lesley to his 
 BROTHER Allen and his Wife. 
 
 I am diligently at work upon my Arkism; have lately studied 
 Fellow's "Lycia," and got some ideas from the analysis of the 
 Lycian almost unaecipher language. It was an oddity; a sister of 
 the Zend, written with a Greekoid alphabet, with ten vowels and 
 sixteen consonants. I have also been studying J. C. Pickering's 
 ethnological volume of the Exploring Expedition, and got large 
 materials from it for future use. He makes eleven races, Mongol, 
 Malay, Papuan, Australian, Negrillo, Felingan, Abyssinian, Ethio- 
 pian, Negro, Hottentot and Arabian (or White, Caucasian), etc. . . . 
 
 Milton, Feb. 8, 1850. Peter Lesley to his Father. 
 
 My scientific studies have taken almost exclusively the direc- 
 tion of history, and I pursue them not only from affection, but as 
 the best safeguard against a garrulous and empty old age such 
 
 * Then eleven or twelve years old. 
 
226 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xi 
 
 as Dr. 's and a hundred others, which I regard with feelings 
 
 akin to terror. They in fact fill up the cask which is continually 
 tapped to the lees. . . . 
 
 I hear that our church intends to pass a vote that I be em- 
 powered to dispense the ordinances. This is the only ordination 
 necessary according to the old New England practice and principle, 
 and will make my position respectable in the eyes of the most 
 bigoted. A silent pursuit of the right will in the end bring about 
 every good man's best desires. . , . 
 
 Feb. 14, 1850. Peter Lesley to his Father. 
 
 ... I lectured at Medford last night (but one) on Stonehenge. 
 I have lectured twelve times this winter, and it has brought me 
 in $70. I am still to go to Worcester once or twice. 
 
 February 20. Peter Lesley to Mrs. LYM.^N. 
 
 I am told that Susie wrote you a few days ago that Mr. [James 
 Freeman] Clarke would not live. He is however decidedly better, 
 and we will be spared the pain of so serious a loss. I know few 
 in this part of the world with whom I can less easily bear to part. 
 We sympathize in many matters, and have the same constitutional 
 tendencies towards a sceptical eclecticism, and the same hopes of 
 a good time coming. 
 
 Wm. Thayer, you will be pleased to learn, is told by Mr. 
 Elliot that he (Mr. Elliot) has certain books to publish, and will 
 employ him (Wm. Thayer) next summer for several months, in 
 writing, after his commencement graduation. I lectured yester- 
 dav at Medford with great pleasure, being kindly received by all. 
 And last night here in Milton on a new subject, the Aboriginal 
 settlement of Europe. . . . 
 
 The William Thayer here mentioned was brother to James 
 B. Thayer, for many years Royall professor of law at Har- 
 vard. Both brothers were much loved by my father and 
 mother. William died, still young, in Egypt, where he was 
 for several years consul-general. 
 
 MrLTON, March i, 1850. Peter Lesley to his Father. 
 
 Many superstitious people will rejoice in last night's snow- 
 storm in confident anticipation of its causing a lamb-like exit of 
 the month now just commenced. The storm caught us at Joseph's 
 
i8so MARRIAGE. MILTON LIFE 227 
 
 in Roxbury, whither we went on Wednesday last; and where 
 I had the pleasure of bringing Susie and my dear friend Cook 
 face to face. 
 
 I find at Joseph's the library of Russell Sturgis, mostly com- 
 posed in China. For two days I have been hard at work upon 
 two of the radicals in Medhurst's Chinese Dictionary, and have 
 succeeded in exhuming materials by which I can finally demon- 
 strate some very troublesome conjectures of mine upon certain 
 things relating to the South and South West of Asia and of Europe. 
 The language itself is of the most curious construction. . . . 
 
 I have hardly left room to say that Mr. Ellis of Northampton 
 has lately published a little memoir of Susie's uncle, Judge Howe, 
 and in it are some beautiful notices of her Father. I shall send it 
 on by to-morrow's mail if possible. . . . 
 
 Milton, March 6, 1850. Peter Lesley 
 TO Dr. Frederick Winsor. 
 
 My dear WmsoR, — I have had to think a great deal about 
 the right method of preaching, and have found myself sometimes 
 tossed about upon a sea of conjectures; but I never found my 
 preaching itself much influenced by my theories of the what and 
 the how. Nor do I think, in fine, that a really independent and 
 self-alive man can alter, to any great extent, the directions out 
 which his teaching will run itself, nor the vehicles it shall invent 
 or accept for itself. One who thinks by rule, can preach by rule; 
 one who submits to outward law, can regulate his methods by 
 theoretic formula; but he who accepts truth as he happens to 
 pass it by, or as it happens to pass by him, cannot say as to his 
 utterances of truths so received, "I shall utter them so and so." 
 The free thinker is not his own master; whatever he is to be, he 
 strives not to become, but to be; and, whatever he is to be, he 
 becomes, not of himself, but by destiny. Therefore he becomes 
 sometimes one thing and sometimes another; and what he is, 
 he says; what he becomes, he reveals; he is his own logos; only 
 what he thinks, he knows; only what he knows, he says; only 
 what he says, he feels. If I be wholly immersed in art, I speak 
 only poetry; if in devotion, I preach mysticism; if in science, 
 I can only tell and try to explain. To be full of beauty, divine 
 love and human knowledge all at once and in true proportions, 
 is to be — at any rate more than / am yet. Find such a propor- 
 tion in a man, and the world will assemble to listen to him; strive 
 to be such a soul, and you will be the preacher of preachers. 
 Such in fact was our Lord Christ. . . . 
 
228 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xi 
 
 About this time he wrote a long letter to Jesse Tucker, 
 deacon of the First Evangelical Church, Milton, in which 
 he says that he should be glad to preach for the Milton 
 society another year, provided that the church and parish 
 desire the same; and, secondly, provided that the church 
 do, before the opening of the year of engagement, — i.e., before 
 the first of next April, or before the recurrence of the next 
 communion season — pass a resolution to the following or 
 like effect, viz.: — • 
 
 "Resolved, that we, members of this Evangelical Church in 
 Milton, do, by virtue of our Christian liberty and right, select, 
 appoint and ordain our brother Peter Lesley, Junior, to do for 
 us, in his place of teacher and preacher of the gospel, and at the 
 proper and usual times, and in the proper and usual mode, all 
 that is necessary to lead our devotions, both ordinary and ex- 
 traordinary; both at times when we do not meet for the breaking 
 of bread, and at times when we do, and also at times when we pro- 
 fess our faith in Christ by the baptism of adults or of infants; 
 — thus lawfully ordaining and making him hereby our minister 
 in all these services, — and praying for God's blessing." 
 
 It is with heartfelt gratitude and pleasure that I herewith 
 acknowledge my obhgations to the members of this Church and 
 Parish for their very uniform and considerate kindness to me 
 and mine; and pray that, whether the will of God be that I re- 
 main for a longer or shorter time among them, or be called to 
 some other place of usefulness, the best blessings of the love of 
 God in Christ may always and abundantly abide with them. 
 
 I remain, dear Sir, with the sincerest affection, gratitude and 
 respect, Your brother and friend in the Lord, 
 
 J. P. Lesley. 
 
 The church was not able to make up its mind to defy 
 the Association by performing the simple kind of ordination 
 which is proposed in the above letter. Therefore, in April, 
 1850, my father left them, and, followed by a portion of the 
 congregation, began to preach in the Town Hall. It was, 
 I believe, intended by these friends to build another meeting- 
 house at the "Upper Village," now Mattapan. But this 
 was never accomplished, and later on, when my father had 
 
1850 MARRIAGE. MILTON LIFE 229 
 
 left Milton, his little society dissolved. A few of its mem- 
 bers returned to the Orthodox Church, and the remainder 
 joined the Unitarian Church, at that time served by Rev. 
 Dr. Morison, who remained many years its honored pastor. 
 
 March 23, 1850. Peter Lesley to his Father. 
 
 . . . Please forward the enclosed appendix to my last letter to 
 Allen, to him. I have opened a new country to the Ethnologists. 
 Our science of the distribution of the races and the relationships 
 of language must be put upon a new basis. [This sounds like 
 vast conceit, — it is really only enthusiasm.] 
 
 I went down to Salem last Saturday, and spent Sunday with 
 my good friends the Pickerings and Stones, and Judge White. 
 The old man's great lingual library is scattered to the winds; 
 but the old house, built by his lineal ancestors of the sixth and 
 seventh remove in 165 1, with their own good adze and hammer, 
 stands as it always stood, surrounded by its grounds, and little 
 altered by a few new eaves and windows. Immense rooms, 
 low enough to touch the great brown timbers that support the 
 ceiling, and oddly partitioned off from one another with a mighty 
 central stack of chimneys, open to receive all friends. Old family 
 portraits grace the walls, and the silence of the quaint, old, un- 
 paved city, makes the home most beautiful. 
 
 April 3, 1850. To HIS Father. 
 
 ... I have often thought of you of late, but it has been a dis- 
 tracted month.* The end of the year came round last Sunday. 
 The church is a close corporation, and the parish has no voice 
 in matters. They wished me to stay on the old conditions, but 
 I said that was impossible. So they did not vote to re-elect me. 
 A Church is to be formed out of the old, leaving it very poorly 
 furnished I fear, and a new house built here at the Upper Mills. . . . 
 
 April 29, 1850. To HIS Father. 
 
 . . . Last Monday I went out of the house for the first time, and 
 was very weak, but quite well. I have now my usual strength. 
 ... If the student's feelings are sharpened to the keenest of all 
 
 * During this spring my mother was very ill, at the point of death for 
 many weeks. My father also seems to have had a short but severe illness, 
 after which he was persuaded to go southward for change of scene and air, 
 my mother being temporarily better. 
 
230 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xi 
 
 edges, happily his studies are the surest and safest of all reliefs. 
 Hand me an edition of Dupuis' " Origine des Cultes," and I am no 
 longer a person, but an impassible idea. Set me down to explore 
 the worship of the Lion or the Crocodile, with the Edinburgh and 
 Penny Cyclopedias on one side, and Malcolm, Kitto, Hyde and 
 Anthon on the other, and I belong no longer to the present, and 
 escape from the dominions of accident, and am for the time being 
 a disembodied spirit, among the disembodied spirits of every age 
 and clime. . . . 
 
 New York, April 30, 1850. Peter Lesley to his Wipe. 
 
 I missed the cars yesterday by our being detained between 
 New Haven and New York, — a beautiful road. Trumbull I 
 found was in Phil'a. I went up and took tea with Isaac [T. 
 Hopper] and all the rest of yom* lovers, and then went with John, 
 Rosa and her sister Sarah [Hopper], Mrs. Silsbee and Mrs. 
 Appleton to the opera, and shall never go again. The minutes 
 of good music cannot atone for three hours of bombast nonsense, 
 and the degradation of music and man's imagination to a lower 
 level than I ever believed it possible. 
 
 After a few days with his father, a short stop at New 
 Castle, Del., to see his brother Allen, he went to Washing- 
 ton: — 
 
 Washington, May 8. To his Wife. 
 
 The road to Baltimore is not interesting, and that to Wash- 
 ington is much like that from Providence to Boston; ... I amused 
 myself with making out an immensely Arkite analysis of the 
 Abyssinian calendar; and with the half school-boy half senatorial 
 conversation of one Mr. Wise. He kindly pointed out to me 
 Lord Baltimore's descendant's mansion, a man c[uite worthy 
 every way of his illustrious ancestor. Also the bridge at Bladens- 
 burg, over which the British charged upon the cowardly militia, 
 scattering them in all directions; and the house that General 
 Washington built for himself near the Capitol to encourage the 
 occupation of the district; and gave me direction to the House 
 in which I am now writing — the National; and where I find my 
 friend Dr. James Rogers. He tells me that Prof. Bache holds 
 a levee to-night and [Joseph] Henry and his brother Henry 
 [Rogers] will be there. . . . 
 
i8so MARRIAGE. MILTON LIFE 231 
 
 MoRVAN, NEAR New Castle, May 13, 1850. Peter Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine RoBsms. 
 
 ... I spent part of a day and night in Baltimore, but saw 
 nothing new, except two meals and a plate of oysters, a fresh cold 
 bed-room, and a damp slow steamboat, in which we puffed up the 
 bay to Frenchtown, a city of one house and a horse-shed attached. 
 It rained all the voyage, but I rejoiced in the merry companion- 
 ship of the old son of Elisha Tyson, the celebrated philanthropist 
 of Baltimore. The old son said his age was seventy-three. His 
 cousin, a Quakerish hardware merchant, and a fimny chap, 
 gave me all sorts of addenda memorabilia to the old son's life and 
 conversation. 
 
 But I breathe freely now that I am (almost) off this accursed 
 slave soil, and out of that dank and damnable atmosphere. I 
 could almost feel the mildew it deposited on all things. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, May 14, 1850. To the Same. 
 
 ... I am this minute arrived from below, " ah inferno, inferio- 
 ribus, infimis — si non infimissimis" as either Dante's or Maro 
 Virgil's hero would say, that is from the pits of the oppressor 
 (cries of hear, hear, from the W. L. G.), as happy and sound in 
 wind and limb as a thoroughbred from the Marquis of Water- 
 bury's stud. Four letters, — I read three which were your good 
 gifts, backwards; not Hebrew-wise, but last first, according to 
 a higher prophecy. . . . 
 
 But he returned hastily to Milton to find his wife at 
 death's door, and the following weeks were spent in alternat- 
 ing despair and hope. He writes to his father with an almost 
 broken heart, yet with a patient and uplifted spirit. As 
 soon as the crisis was over, and Susan's recovery assured, 
 he fell to work again, — writes of copying "Bache's Har- 
 bor map." He expresses the most heartfelt gratitude to 
 the good doctor: "He will receive nothing but my lifelong 
 gratitude. And as for the nurse, the quietest, kindest, 
 most cheerful, faithful, inventive woman that ever lived, 
 she has saved Susie's life almost by the loss of her own; 
 I feel as if I could give her all the little that I owned in the 
 world, or could earn for years." 
 
232 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xi 
 
 Milton, June 5, 1S50. Peter Lesley to his Father. 
 
 The people here wish for some ceremony like an ordination, 
 and I shall gratify them next Sunday week. For the present I have 
 settled my mind to my regular pastoral duties for this summer. 
 
 June 21, 1850. To HIS Father. 
 
 Last Sunday morning the people had their lay ordination 
 service, which was simple contract in public between me and them 
 for our mutual good order in all the public services of religion. 
 I preached a sermon on the organization of the church; and two 
 members of the church, in turn, read papers, recounting in brief 
 our church history, and announcing our church creed. One of 
 them requested the church as a whole to rise and signify their 
 will respecting my ordination to be their preacher; the other 
 requested the communicants to do the same as to my leading them 
 in the sacraments. All express themselves pleased with the ser- 
 vice and satisfied. The house was quite full. A number came 
 from a distance. This sets the matter at rest, for even the Editors 
 of the Puritan dare not deny that this is the very order of the 
 Puritans down to about the year 1660 or 70; since which time 
 only one such has occurred (that is, about seventy years ago) 
 in any orthodox church; a number have occurred among the 
 Unitarians. . . . 
 
 During August my mother was moved to Rainsford 
 Island, where she remained several weeks, and rapidly gained 
 health and strength. My father went back and forth from 
 Milton to the island, and was very much occupied with some 
 maps of the Shamokin Basin, which he was preparing for 
 Mr. Rogers. He writes to his father in a letter of August 
 19 of the impossibility of his becoming a Unitarian, as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 I never come into close contact with Unitarians, but I am 
 chilled and repelled; and I am returning daily to the mysticism 
 of my childhood. . . . Neander is just dead. I feel as if the sun 
 were put out in heaven. He was the greatest man of our day; 
 and as good as the best. . . . 
 
 Milton, Oct. 2, 1850. To his Father. 
 
 . . . This turns my thoughts to a theme of real horror to 
 many here, indeed I trust to all good people everywhere, I mean of 
 
1850 MARRIAGE. MILTON LIFE 233 
 
 course this new and dreadful law for returning the slaves. The 
 newspapers will give you many details of the excitement it has 
 produced everywhere, and the only mitigation of the horror that 
 all feel comes from the hope that, as Satan always overreaches 
 his own ends, the very enormity of the thing will produce a speedy 
 repeal. ... 
 
 I find a long lette. to his friend James Freeman Clarke at 
 
 Meadville, of November 3, 1850, — a letter-press copy, — of 
 which I give the greater part:^ 
 
 . . . When distinguished men retire to the hills and lakes much 
 is expected of them; at least a Dom Daniel Thalaba, a Prelude or 
 a Traveller, a Vicar of Wakefield or an essay on Man. Tell me 
 what you are about, what you propose to do; let me into some 
 of the secrets of your present life: you will find nothing more 
 amusing I assure you, at least it is to my interest to persuade you 
 to think so. You have, I suspect, left the world of books behind 
 you, and ramble like a moth now between the leaves of the great 
 book of the World, therefore, ceasing to collate and criticise, 
 you must needs begin to discover and create. We spirits are 
 like cats that fall on their feet from whatever windows of heaven 
 they may be thrown. That's a great comfort, in this "Vale of 
 tears." . . . You will be pleased to hear that Susan is quite well 
 again and has just made me a waistcoat. That is, I suppose, 
 a coat to be wasted, as all my garments are, unaccountably fast. 
 I wish we could go back to the good old time when coats of mail 
 were worn. We have just been reading Irving's playful life of 
 Goldsmith and have had many a hearty laugh over his " bloom- 
 colored suit of breeches" and crinison over-cloak; his blue velvet 
 dancing dress, etc., etc. The poor fellow thought himself so 
 ugly that even the radiant beauty of his soul he did not dare to 
 trust with the duty of making him acceptable or rather pardon- 
 able to the World. Nobody is perfect. It's a pity however 
 that the homely good can't forget their noses. The ugliest man 
 almost I ever knew was I think one of the very handsomest. 
 
 I have had a crowd of projects thronging my brain of late. 
 I am translating (half and half paraphrasing and condensing) 
 Hengstenberg's two-volume treatise on the "Authenticity of the 
 Pentateuch." I have been reading Newman's books, his "Hebrew 
 Monarchy" and "Phases of Faith," followed by Norton's " Gene- 
 sis," and want to know what the curious erudition of the great 
 
634 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xi 
 
 German bigot will make out in favor of the antiquity of those 
 strange old scriptures. I wish to publish it in the Bib. Sacra, and 
 have written Parke to that effect. 
 
 Buddington has returned from Europe, and put into my 
 hands Sherer's two letters on Inspiration, the first one of which 
 to D'Aubigne, on resigning his chair, made such a stir. With 
 this come two attacks upon the man, one by Darby, the Cele- 
 brated Irvinite, who opens by saying that he never read so bad 
 a book, etc. Susie and I amuse ourselves in the evenings trans- 
 lating these letters, which I shall give to Morison to print if he 
 will. I had to write a sermon against the Fugitive Slave Law 
 last Sunday and then had to allow it to be published in the Lib- 
 erator and Chronotype, which by the by, is on its legs again. I 
 wish Wright could use better English in better taste. We are 
 terribly tossed about, like very Sanchos, in the blanket of this 
 law, by the Southerners. 
 
 Everybody in Boston is armed in one way or another, if 
 not with dirks and pistols, at least with scripture and indigna- 
 tion. A hundred extra fugitives have already entered the City 
 as a place of refuge. Tell me how matters go in Western Penn- 
 sylvania. 
 
 I said I had a hundred projects in my brain, and I have, — 
 I want to write a poem (cries of hear! hear! from the left) on 
 Fanaticism. I should like to choose an AboHtionist for hero, 
 make him a pure, consistent, noble, intelligent, eloquent fellow, 
 hunted and slain in Boston in the year 1830 or thereabouts. 
 Why should we always go upon matter 1800 years old? 
 
 I have another crotchet. I would like — I mean some day 
 to collect under a score or two of heads the sayings of the wisest 
 men of the East and old, and collate them with the scriptures. 
 For instance under Faith, all that can be found from Confucius, 
 Mencius, Zeno, Plato, Seneca, and the Hebrews, — and what 
 Christ and the Apostles have taught concerning Faith. And so 
 on with the subjects of the ten commandments, and the cardinal 
 maxims of universal and particular creeds. Why should we 
 not see clearly what is peculiar to Judea, and what common 
 to man? 
 
 I want to write a novel. What shall it be about? Oh for 
 the hands of Briareus and the heads of Hydra! I am at work on 
 the map of Virginia which will occupy me all winter; and I am 
 just finishing my suite of pictures to illustrate my lecture on 
 Caves. . . , 
 
1850 MARRIAGE. MILTON LIFE 235 
 
 He had been asked to preach as candidate by a society 
 wishing a man "free from denominational shackles," liberal, 
 with fixed opinions of his own of the orthodox type, and yet 
 one willing to exchange now and then with the Unitarian 
 clergymen around. 
 
 Dec. 16, 1850. Peter Lesley to his Father. 
 
 New England is full of parishes ripe for such a project as 
 this, and in ten or twelve years will be full of just such Union Soci- 
 eties, and of Ministers of a new stamp, undogmatic, inquiring, 
 devotional, charitable, reformers, intolerant of the old theologi- 
 cal intolerance, and yet as much averse to the cold-blooded moral- 
 ism of the Unitarian reaction. The mutual influence of the two 
 great factions of New England religious people, the orthodox 
 and the Unitarian, upon each other, has been the greatest of 
 blessings to the country. The Orthodox will bequeath to the 
 next generation their devotion, zeal and earnestness of purpose, 
 and the Unitarians will have established the reforms on an intel- 
 lectual basis; the two elements combined will carry our whole 
 country forward a great step. You would be surprised to see 
 how your religious side would lean towards the orthodox people 
 of New England if you lived here, while your sentiment of jus- 
 tice and benevolence and your intellectual powers would be 
 listed in favor of the others. Everybody feels the difference and 
 owns the power of both. . . . 
 
 Milton, Dec. 20, 1850. To his Father. 
 
 o . . I am at work on the Virginia Map, and on some distemper 
 scenes to illustrate my Cave lecture. We had tickets to a con- 
 cert given us, and went, but the heat, crowd and light made 
 Susan's head ache, and I was far from having my expectations in 
 all points realized. She [Jenny Lind] is an angel, that is true, 
 and I shall always love to remember having seen and heard her. 
 And her singing is the most wonderful imaginable; but her voice 
 is not first-rate and she makes a good deal of effort sometimes. 
 She has no passion, but a singular and irresistible earnestness and 
 goodness. Her character seems perfection itself, and her arch- 
 ness, simplicity and unconsciousness captivate all. Everybody 
 wants to hug and kiss her. I entreat you to go once, at any 
 price, and rather to see than to hear her. If you could take 
 Aunt Hall, it would make me very happy. You won't wish to 
 go again, but you will never regret going once at any price. . . . 
 
236 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xi 
 
 Milton, Jan. 2, 185 1. To his Father. 
 
 Where we are now * the number of the children on the hill 
 is a happy incident, being well bred and full of frolic. They 
 enjoy themselves more than any children I ever saw, for the So- 
 ciety on the Hill has gradually been collected about one or two 
 original wealthy families, and has a certain family character. 
 We meet with the whole troupes and companies of children wher- 
 ever we go out to visit, and they have their own plays and even- 
 ing parties, and whatever in the way of enjoyment as well as in- 
 struction they require. . . . My last week's geological lecture was 
 very satisfactory to me. . . . 
 
 Milton. Jaw. 26, 185 1. To his Father. 
 
 . . . Our home and the air about us and our habits of life are 
 all that we could wish, and only leave room for an apprehension 
 that they may not be long bestowed upon us. We shall never be 
 happier or in a better position for enjoying life than we are now, 
 unless in such a home we may hope at some distant time to have 
 you with us. . . . 
 
 My business and my sickness have prevented me from going 
 into town for the past month, since my lecture at Concord, and 
 pleasant visit to Ralph Waldo Emerson, the great Impracticable. 
 Next week I am invited to lecture at Great Falls in New Hamp- 
 shire. Two of my Geological Course in Milton have gone off 
 very successfully, and the third will occupy me next Wednesday 
 night. . . . 
 
 Feb. 25, 185 1. To HIS Father. 
 
 . . . The month has been a remarkably agreeable one in point 
 of weather. But the storms that have raged in the communities 
 of Eastern New England, about these centre-points of tyranny, 
 the so-called Courts of the U.S. Fugitive Commissioners, have 
 caused our moral skies to be anything but clear. What with 
 the selfish pro-slavery cotton merchants, with their unlimited 
 command of the means of bribery and intimidation, and what 
 
 with the ConserA^ative Tories of the , , and other families, 
 
 connected often by marriage with the slaveocracy of the South, — 
 and what with the enormous preponderance of foreign and 
 Irish population of late years over the native New England 
 inhabitants, justice is denied and dishonored, and righteousness 
 is trodden down in the streets. How long the tyranny with the 
 
 * They had moved to the house on Milton Hill. 
 
i8si MARRIAGE. MILTON LIFE 237 
 
 long arm, which sits in Washington, and is worked by the wire 
 pullers further South, will be permitted to grapple in the bowels 
 of liberty and conscience here, God alone knows. I am ashamed 
 of my American birth, and more shocked than grieved to find 
 that in New England, the very sanctum and last refuge of lib- 
 erty, the poor fugitive is as unsafe as elsewhere. I send you 
 the letter of the son, only son and worthy scion, of the great 
 man who is gone before the evil came, John Q. Adams. It will 
 repay your attentive perusal and please you much. , . . 
 
 Milton, March 23, 185 1. Peter Lesley to his brother Allen. 
 
 ... I wish to consult you about something else. John Forbes 
 wishes me to undertake a foreign correspondence with the Lon- 
 don Times or Chronicle, and supply them with weekly or fort- 
 nightly matter illustrative of men and events in America. I 
 can't. I am worn out and good for nothing. But if you will 
 undertake it I will go shares with you in the business.* ... I 
 am under electrical treatment in Boston for my eyes which 
 have been put out by drawing, etc. — It works wonders — I mean 
 the electro-gal vano -magneto manipulations. . . . The whole coun- 
 try here is moved to its foundations by the Fugitive Slave 
 Law. . . . The poor wretches are hid away in garrets and 
 cellars, and starving because afraid to work. The very law 
 and measures meant to confirm the Union, will assuredly dis- 
 solve it. We are all trembling upon the eve of an eruption, 
 over a volcano just ready to break out. I never knew such a 
 state of public feeling, so deep, so still, so fierce, so expectant. 
 
 * Allen was at this time either in England or about to start for England . 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Summer of 185 i in Pottsville 
 
 In May, 1851, my father took his wife for her first visit 
 to his family in Philadelphia. She became at once devoted 
 to her father-in-law. Their opportunities to meet were 
 never frequent, but the warmest sympathy subsisted between 
 them, and she always spoke of him with deep affection. 
 
 After a short visit in Philadelphia and several weeks 
 spent among her relatives in Brooklyn and on the Hudson, 
 she returned to Milton, where my father joined her in July. 
 Later in the season, however, he went back to the coal 
 regions, and in September she joined him there, where he 
 was again engaged with Rogers in a geological survey, and 
 where were gathered also several other men of science. It 
 was for her an entirely new experience, and one which she 
 greatly enjoyed. I think it was the only time in her life 
 when she was able to be near her husband when he was 
 engaged in field work, for the later cares of married life 
 prevented her ever again accompanying him in his geological 
 trips. Her letters give a pleasant impression of the little 
 group assembled in the dingy town, busied with the scien- 
 tific interests which opened a new world of thought to her, 
 and which she entered into with sympathy, if not with much 
 understanding of the technique of their conversation. In 
 the philosophic side of their thought, and in the generaliza- 
 tions of science, she always took great interest and delight. 
 
 Pottsville, May 6, 185 1. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 I wish you every happiness. We arrived an hour late, and 
 Shaefer met me at the Hotel at which you can live in the fall 
 with me, if you please, with great comfort, as then my head- 
 quarters will be here. I go this noon to Mt. Carmel, Northum- 
 berland Co., fifteen miles hence, and immediately take stage 
 to Shamokin to sketch the gap. The storm has overlaid the 
 
 238 
 
1851 SUMMER IN POTTSVILLE 239 
 
 Mts. with five inches of snow. All the land is one complicated 
 puddle. My first purchase is a pair of Sancho-Panza boots — 
 like Father's. It was a most melancholy ride yesterday slowly 
 up from spring and paradise to winter and desolation; every- 
 thing seemed dead or dying. . . . 
 
 Mount Caemel, May 8, 1851. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Yesterday was a tremendous tax upon my young enthu- 
 siasm. We started about 7 o'clock on foot, for a certain coal 
 drift two miles east of the house. How beautiful were all things! 
 The forest was in the happiest mood, the air exquisite, the wild 
 cherry, June berry and dogwood in full blossoms, and arbutus 
 and purple violets peeped innumerable from the leaves. All 
 sorts of happy little brooks danced down the mountain side, 
 and our party of five, with slouched hats and surveying gear, 
 moved on along the old grass wood road in the most picturesque 
 manner. . . . Presently I found myself in the forest alone with 
 the flowers and birds, and my memories of former years. . . . 
 
 Mount Carmel, May 9, 1851. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I feel very tired, but the recollections of the stillness 
 of the Mountain Summit — oh, how often have I enjoyed it in 
 past years! I am a Tartar, Turk, or TuARick by every 
 right, you see, a child of the mountain and the woods, — of the 
 millions of fresh Houstonias which have all peeped out since 
 yesterday, — of the sudden blow of insect life, on feet and wing — 
 of the glorious views I obtained from a few fine bench promon- 
 tories looking out over clearings to the North West — of the deli- 
 cious breath of the air, a very zephyr in quiet sweetness. . . . 
 Then the sense of returning vigor, the fresh feel in my bones 
 and vitals, the relief which my brain experiences, are unspeak- 
 able — you must imagine them and rejoice with me. . . . 
 
 Mount Carmel, May 11, 185 1. To his Wipe. 
 
 ... I spent the whole of yesterday over the drafting table, plot- 
 ting lines and mapping out the Valley. . . . To-day I have iDeen 
 sitting in the quiet room all alone, all day long, in the rocking- 
 chair, reading all sorts of things, with an intense rehsh of lib- 
 erty I cannot describe. Stuart's book on the Old Testament 
 chiefly. Also extracts from the finest orations of ancient and 
 modem days. . . . 
 
240 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xii 
 
 May 12, 185 1. To his Wife. 
 
 I wish you knew my Shaefer, he is a jewel, a religious, strong- 
 minded, gentle-hearted, noble fellow. ... It is good to be with 
 him, and it reminds me of so many dear good words of yours. . . . 
 Oh, the grandeur and awful beauty of Goodness in its simplicity! 
 I would lather be a good man than the wisest of sages, the most 
 brilliant of orators, — I cannot speak of the lesser fortunes of fame, 
 power and wealth. But I would a thousand times rather be good 
 than learned. 
 
 Peter Shaefer became a lifelong friend. In later years 
 he was always spoken of in our household as Shaferlein, 
 a suggestive term of endearment. When he died, my father 
 was chosen by the American Philosophical Society, of which 
 they were fellow-members, to prepare an obituary of his 
 friend. 
 
 Thompson's, May 29, 1851. 
 
 We have just had the monotony of Country life broken in 
 that pleasant way, by the passage of the stage and the arrival of 
 friends. Desor* and Rogers stopped and had a chat with us and 
 half persuaded me to pack up and go along with them to Shamo- 
 kin, but I must once more cross the Green Ridge with Patrick. 
 Shaefer went promising to hunt out good quarters for me, and 
 here I am alone. How still it is! Nothing but the patter of the 
 eaves-droppings on the doorstep, and the shrill of the tree-frogs 
 and locusts to be heard. It has been a day of adventure once 
 more. . . . The thunder-gust of the night had not improved the air; 
 it was very sultry; it had however wet the bushes and the party did 
 not take the road until late. I was occupied until after dinner 
 with my scale and protractor, and then, half undressing, sallied 
 forth with Patrick. Turning aside at the first left-hand wood 
 road, we were soon behind a ridge, on a great fiat, lost in the 
 underbrush, plunging among morasses, tearing our way through 
 vines, running along fallen trees, hunting out old cow-paths anx- 
 iously, taking obscure sights over the bushes at nothing, and sweat- 
 ing until every thread was a thread of fluent exercise. Presently 
 we emerged upon an ancient clearing, now grown up like an 
 English park, but in clumps of evergreen. Here through green 
 aisles, a perfect paradise, the deer are frequently seen, and often 
 
 * fidouard Desor, of Neuchatel, Switzerland, eminent geologist. 
 
i85i SUMMER IN POTTSVILLE 241 
 
 quietly feeding with the cows, who know the place and resort to 
 it from a distance. A road once used to haul out coal skirted 
 one end of it, and on this road at a great distance to the North- 
 ward were the coal openings which I was searching for. ... I 
 kept on drafting until tea time, and then the old woman came 
 and sat down with us, for a rarity. She had been out in the broil- 
 ing sun, shearing the few sheep which her husband keeps. She 
 toils the whole year through with unabated cheerfulness, talking 
 without intermission, now in English, then in Dutch, and both 
 with a most amusing brogue and rare simplicity. . . . 
 
 The conversation ran upon witches and sorcery; "I don't know 
 what to think about that," said she. "Dere is an olt man ofer 
 in Mahony, what kin brauchen as tay kail it." I pricked up my 
 ears, of course, and asked all about it. But all they could tell me 
 was that the old Germans say that when a man is bitten by a 
 snake or is otherwise diseased, there are some people who profess 
 to "branch" them with a powwow; but they always employ con- 
 jointly with the powwow some herbs which they go out and gather 
 in the woods. Especially one "dragon's blood." "Brauchen," 
 said I, "means in German to need, or use; "Yes," said she, 
 "but it means also Hexerei" (i.e. witchcraft). "It means in 
 Hebrew to bless '^ (Baruch), said I. "Ah! can you talk Hebrew?" 
 said she. "What a joy," she continued, "it must be to a person 
 to talk both German and English too!" The "old Mahanoy" 
 (Valley) to the South of this is famous for the superstition of its 
 inhabitants, who are indeed shut out by long unbroken mountains 
 from the civilization of the open country. It is the home of many 
 a rare old Arkism, I will warrant. 
 
 We talked of land warrants, of the difficulty of finding old 
 lines. "Now there is Indian Creek Valley," said Shaefer to old 
 Thompson, who had come in and sat down to his supper. — " One 
 day I went over to look up an ancient tract there. We were out 
 three days, would you believe it, without finding a single line tree 
 or mark of any kind. We hunted the whole Valley through, and 
 ran all the adjacent main lines, but not a stump or a stone could 
 we find. The agent of the Philadelphia owner was with us, and 
 fortunately was a man of great resolution. He insisted on trying 
 another day. 'Now,' said he, 'my men, I will give a dollar to 
 the first fellow who finds a line tree.' We were scattered all over 
 the woods, but we got together again at noon, and gave it up; but 
 he insisted on finishing the day; 'now,' said he, 'I will give five 
 dollars to the first man who finds a line tree." We all set to 
 work again hard. And just about four o'clock I was going 
 
242 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xn 
 
 through a beautiful oak grove, — they call it the Fairy's Dance, 
 for it is quite free from underbrush, and covered only with soft 
 moss and grand old white oak-trees, — I thought I saw a pine-tree 
 marked. I made for it, I tell you, and saw it had been blazed. 
 If it was a line tree it should be blazed on both sides; I popped 
 round the other, and there it was blazed also, and right in line. 
 It was the first sign of a survey we had seen yet. I called 
 an axeman, and got him to block out (i.e. to cut) the blaze and 
 we counted the rings and it was just fifty-six years, the very date 
 of the certified copy of the warrant which I held in my hand." 
 
 I expressed my surprise. "Oh," said he, "there is a great 
 difference in trees. A White Oak grows so fast that you can tell 
 how old a mark on it is, when it has been made more than fifty 
 years, and hardly under that; but a pine-tree it is very easy to 
 tell; and a hemlock, it grows so slow, that I have known a blaze 
 to be shown on it for 120 years. I once blocked out a young 
 hemlock only 5 inches through, and counted 52 years since the 
 line mark was made upon it, and it was exactly the date to the 
 survey. The rings are close together and you can read them with 
 a microscope, or by getting the axeman to cut in very slanting, 
 it puts them farther apart." 
 
 I sat for some time musing upon Truth, and the Record of 
 Facts. How immortal is Truth! How irrevocable is a Fact! 
 How simple and severe is the Truthfulness of Nature! How 
 easily it hides, how readily and completely it utters its secrets, — 
 hides them from the fool, utters them to the Wise Man. 
 
 Shaefer continued — "In the Pottsville Valley, where every 
 inch of land is claimed, and four or five Warrants of different 
 dates cover the same tract, and the whole country is covered with 
 stone corners and stakes and line trees, every tree almost marked, 
 the only way we can settle anything is to study the dates of the 
 marks. Rockfelder and Fisher and I have got so that we don't 
 often need to block. — ' How old do you think that is ? ' — Fisher 
 will say to me. ' Oh, it is a young mark — it isn't twenty years 
 old.'" 
 
 It seems that the flat scar of the axe is encroached upon each 
 year by the new ring of wood, until the bark covers it and only 
 an unshapen cicatrice remains. But inside of all this new wood, 
 the old flat axe-cut remains unchanged, and of course signifies 
 the very year of its event. 
 
 Many were our anecdotes, and many you would neither under- 
 stand nor feel interested in, about land surveys in old time, when 
 the Quaker Lightfoot made bis first surveys in a forest of fifty 
 
1851 SUMMER IN POTTSVILLE 243 
 
 miles' unbroken sweep. But these I have written with fear of 
 wearying you, but in hopes of interesting you. 
 
 I spoke yesterday of triangulating. You may wonder what 
 that is. In fact, I was running up and down the only open farm 
 in the region, standing under all the lone-lorn widder trees I could 
 descry, examining minutely into their mutual relationships, — not 
 of family, but of compass direction, — ^with all the assiduity and 
 perseverance of any James Savage or James Robbins in the Anti- 
 quarian World. . . . 
 
 I have copied nearly the whole of this letter, as a good 
 example of many others written from his surveying days, 
 giving a fair impression of his busy life, occupied by turns 
 with field or table work, full of interest in nature and the 
 simple society which surrounded him. They show also 
 how he tried to share all things with his wife, knowing well 
 her affectionate interest in all that was of interest to him, 
 whether she fully understood it or not. 
 
 June I, 185 1. Peter Lesley to his Father. 
 
 ... I have a grand companion in Shaefer, and another in Desor, 
 the Swiss, a man of celebrity in Eiu-ope, and of great genius. . . . 
 
 June I, 185 1. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 Desor gave me an amusing description of his travels with 
 the Cumberland Presbyterian delegates to Pittsburg, on his 
 return for Cincinnati. But I cannot relate it. Let me tell you 
 instead an anecdote of Robert, the great painter, whose pictures 
 hang in Joseph's (Lyman) dining-room. Robert was a citizen 
 of Neufchatel, and fell in love with one of the family of Bona- 
 parte. Unable to obtain his desires, he fell into a profound 
 melancholy, and his friends sent him off to the Maremma, or great 
 harvest plain of Italy, to see the scenes of joy which there occur 
 at the harvestings in autumn. There he painted his celebrated 
 pictures of the return, and of the fete de la Madonna, in both 
 which you remember are immense oxen and dancing peasants 
 crowned with flowers and fruit. Remark the joyous scenery 
 of either of these paintings, and you will nevertheless observe 
 that every face has a certain tinge of melancholy, quite inconsist- 
 ent with the nature of the scene and the habitual aspect of the 
 people. Poor Robert! Afterward he undertook to paint the 
 
244 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xii 
 
 departure of the fishermen going to fish for tunny. This was 
 a scene of mournful action, wives and husbands and lovers part- 
 ing, and a deep melancholy covers all. He painted it and erased 
 it three times. It was announced for one of the exhibitions at 
 Paris and a prominent place reserved for it, but it did not appear. 
 Finally Robert informed his friends that on the morrow it would 
 be ready in his studio for exhibition. At the appointed hour 
 they knocked at his door, but it was shut and all was still within. 
 They entered by force. There lay the artist dead at the foot of 
 his easel, and the glorious work completed over him. A letter 
 on the table said that life had for years been a protracted misery, 
 that he had felt obliged to finish this his greatest painting, but 
 when that was done he felt himself released. 
 
 The picture was purchased for a large sum by a wealthy 
 Parisian, who exhibited it for one franc, and five francs on Mon- 
 day for the benefit of a charitable institution, and all the city 
 poured into the chamber to see the chef d'(euvre of poor Robert; 
 so that its proceeds realized an ernormous sum, some 150,000 
 francs. 
 
 Now let me tell you a different anecdote, and one of the florid 
 and honest Dean of York. Buckland travelled in Switzerland 
 once with Desor. He was always too late. One night he was 
 to go off for certain, early in the morning, and had to pack some 
 valuable fossils in a box. "What are these little boxes?" said 
 Desor, laying his hand on two that rested on the one he wished 
 to open. "Stop awhile," said the Dean, "I will show you." 
 So in due time he opened one of them and there was a snake, 
 a large common snake of the country, alive and as hideous as 
 nature. "Eh! What you want to do wit tis?" said Desor. 
 Buckland gave a funny tweak to his eye, and opened the other 
 box. — ^There was a great huge toad, not at all extraordinary, 
 and as full of life as the snake. "But what do you vant tees 
 ukly tings for?" — was again Desor's question. "Why," said 
 Buckland, " you see that when I come to land in England, I don't 
 wish my boxes opened and disturbed. So I put these boxes on 
 top of the rest, and when the officers at the Custom house ask 
 me what I have in them, I shall say — oh — some objects of nat- 
 ural History. "Well, but what are they?" they will ask. "Why 
 various things; open some and see." Then they will open this 
 and out will come the snake. They will clap down the lid on 
 him, and I shall have no more trouble." And the old gentle- 
 man laughed heartily. 
 
 "That is just like one of the Buckland's funny tricks," said 
 
1851 SUMMER IN POTTSVILLE 245 
 
 Rogers, when we had recovered from our amusement. Poor 
 man, he is now — ^not insane — but idiotic, quite fatuous. — Think 
 of that. Dear! The author of the Bridgewater treatise, the great 
 Dr. Buckland an idiot! . . . 
 
 Shamokin, June 6, 185 1. To his Wife, 
 
 ... I , . . have had pleasant work running a remarkably in- 
 teresting railroad line, with the transit instrument, to lay a base 
 line whence the whole country is to be laid down, and all our 
 other plotting corrected and proved. It is also an unusiially 
 important geological section line. ... I have nothing new to tell 
 you to-night, except that Shaefer returns home, and his absence 
 will be a great loss to me; but Desor is enough to keep a dozen 
 men in humor. . . . Haldeman has written me another full sheet 
 of Philology, in apparent high spirits to think that he has found 
 a person who can sympathize with his hobby. He proposes my 
 joining him in a joint publication of a new English Dictionary! 
 
 No, I thank you, Mr. Sam! . . . 
 
 Samuel Haldeman was another of the group of friends 
 who belonged to these early survey days. I remember him 
 as a whimsical-faced old man, very genial and kind, who 
 could make the most outrageous guttural sounds in his 
 throat when pronouncing impossible Indian and other alien 
 languages. He and my father had many points of sympa- 
 thy in their precious linguistic hobbies, and had a warm 
 personal affection for each other. 
 
 June 6, 1 85 1. 
 
 . . . Desor is a most entertaining fellow, and keeps us in 
 good humor when we would be at loggerheads. His company 
 at meal times is invaluable. He is every inch a man, and noble- 
 man. . . . 
 
 June gih. 
 
 Desor told us yesterday about one Count Degens of Napo- 
 leon's army in Egypt, an anecdote that will please you as a fine 
 illustration of the organization of labor. He became a great 
 favorite with the hussars under his command, and being him- 
 self an entomologist he induced each man to provide himself 
 with a tin case into which he could pop every insect, bug, fly, 
 etc., which he encountered. The result was the grandest ento- 
 mological collection in the world. It was sold lately in Paris. 
 
246 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xii 
 
 That is the way to do things. What an enormous collection 
 of minerals and fossils might have been made to Pennsylvania, 
 had all the local land surveyors been attached by some means 
 to the State Geologist, and interested in his exploration! 
 
 I give you another instance. ,* I forget his name, 
 
 vi'hose great vs^ork on the Fossils of Bohemia is just coming through 
 the press, ten years ago made himself master of the stratigraphy 
 of that region of Europe, i.e. learned the order of the strata, 
 and especially some remarkable fossiliferous beds, — selected 
 ten laborers, taught them the elements, gave them a hammer, 
 microscope, bag, basket, and pick each, and kept them at work 
 on laborer's wages, ten years. What is the result? The finest 
 local collection of fossils in the world, — but better yet, the dis- 
 covery of the entire life of many of these fossils, the tracing of 
 trilobites, for instance, through all stages of growth, from the 
 embryo to full maturity. He has been able to throw 20 species 
 and 12 genera into one, as showing that what were considered 
 20 different kinds of creatures were but different appearances 
 of the same creature, at different stages of its development. 
 
 Verneuil has done the same in his region. He has got all 
 the quarrymen in Picardy to know him, and by paying them 
 a few sous for any curiosities they had, he has got them into a 
 systematic way of laying such aside until he comes again, and 
 thus his collection has become so fine, and his name now stands 
 out prominent among and before most of the palaeontologists of 
 the day. 
 
 This is precisely what I want so much to do in my own field. 
 It is high time that I had students or boys at work analyzing the 
 different languages of the world. And if I can only pursue such 
 a system ten or fifteen years, I shall attain wonderful results, 
 such as I can discern thereof the distant mountain tops. . . . 
 
 June 10, 185 1. To his Wife. 
 
 I wrote yesterday, about Volk's polyp at Nice, and the law 
 of natural progress in Creation. A very wonderful discovery — 
 wonderful to those who have fixed immovably their theories, 
 I mean, — to others nothing is wonderful, all is wonderful;— 
 but a very unexpected discovery has lately been made by Logan 
 of the Canada Survey, about which I can scarcely restrain my 
 enthusiasm. It is that of a long train of footprints, a trail of 
 
 * Joachim Barrande, probably. 
 
 I 
 
1851 SUMMER IN POTTSVILLE 247 
 
 parallel steps of some quadruped, extending for 120 feet along 
 the surface of a sandstone exposure. 
 
 Perhaps I have formerly told you that much geological rea- 
 soning necessarily rests upon negative facts, that is, upon the 
 presence of certain phenomena in certain ages, and their appar- 
 ent absence at other (later or) earlier epochs. For example 
 it was taken for granted that fish were first created quite recently 
 — in the formation preceding the Tertiary. There they were dis- 
 covered abundantly in the New Red. For several years all argu- 
 ments assumed this as the era of their first appearance on the 
 globe. One day they were discovered in the carboniferous, 
 and now it is known that they extend far down in the oldest 
 sedimentary deposits. Theorists are greatly troubled by this 
 backward movement of the dates of the first appearance of the 
 different orders of creatures. Especially does it disturb book- 
 makers. 
 
 So it was with the reptilia. It was an astounding blow 
 when the footprints of the Connecticut Valley (New Red) were 
 discovered to be not only reptiles, but birds. It was a new world 
 for conjecture opened when the creatures of the old red sand- 
 stone (under the Carboniferous) were found to have shells like 
 tortoises, but everybody rejoiced that they were not real tor- 
 toises (reptiles, quadrupeds), but only fish with tortoise shells. 
 Now comes the footprint of a real tortoise, not in the Old Red, 
 but miles below it, even at the very base of the whole known 
 series of sedimentary fossiliferous rocks in this or any yet explored 
 Continent, in the Potsdam Sandstone, our Primal S. (No. i). 
 
 The tracks were cast and sent to London; the great Owen 
 pronounced them to be those of a Chelonian * or Turtle, or 
 something of that kind. A creature with four legs, stumpy and 
 without long claws, — four legs, the two hindmost the largest. 
 A creature wider than it was long, i.e. which waddled as it went — 
 took very short steps and yet very wide apart, etc. — A creature 
 also that either had a tail which trailed along the mud, or whose 
 bony under-shell was sharp and made an impression between 
 the steps, a long channel or groove, like that which a pendent 
 tail would be likely to make. 
 
 Lyell speaks of this in his address. At the Cincinnati meet- 
 ing, everybody lifted up their voices and wept — or rather flew 
 into a rage both with Logan for finding, and Owen for discovering. 
 Desor alone took their part. Jorne urged that Logan must have 
 
 * Chelonia, order of reptiles containing turtles, etc. 
 
248 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xii 
 
 mistaken the rock for one at the very uppermost limit of the 
 series — which was a great impertinence. Logan is no boy, 
 and is on his own ground, and has been there five years, and close 
 by the place where the rock received its name. Others said 
 that Owen was mistaken. But Owen has the greatest of names 
 to protect, the first of modern reputations to maintain, and when 
 he asserts an opinion it dare not be on slight grounds. Agassiz 
 said it was nevertheless an impossibility — and if it were a fact 
 even, then the thing with its four legs must still be a fish. Others 
 like Henry were struck with a sort of amusing terror, saying 
 that if so then all geological rules were overturned — as if that 
 would bring the world to an end, — as if we would not go right 
 to work to make better ones. Henry was also frightened by the 
 discussion; he thought it so dangerous to attack wide-spread 
 views of things. 
 
 The discovery itself is a grand one. It is a windfall to Lyell 
 and the old Huttonians, who hold that there is no progression 
 but an eternity of matter, cycle following cycle, in everlasting 
 repetition and return. That all things have been and are what 
 they have been, is the motto of such, and they cannot but rejoice 
 in finding a turtle even earlier than any fish has been as yet made 
 out to exist. 
 
 I feel a sort of placid admiration at it. It renders specula- 
 tion for the present speechless, and thus gives pause to the con- 
 flict which ever rages like a storm in the higher regions of philo- 
 sophical inquiry. It helps me to believe that there never was a 
 time when God was not, — his wisdom and power embodied in 
 admirable forms, and those also not the lowest. It removes 
 further back the possibility of the beginning of his creative inven- 
 tiveness as a divine faculty in only an incipient or embryo state, 
 and rather on the contrary gives me a glimpse into his eternal 
 glory backward through our beginning of things, — through the 
 dark night that hangs over our beginning of things, into other 
 preceding and equally luminous days beyond, under the suns 
 of which planets before this were covered with their various 
 creations. 
 
 Shamokin, June 16, 185 1. To HIS Wife. 
 
 I rose from a grand day's work, eight hours of plotting, and 
 ascended the mountain at the mouth of the gap, making sketches 
 as I rose upon its side. But suddenly the path turned and I 
 stood in presence of one of the sublimest scenes it has ever been 
 my good fortune to behold. To think that it is not a mira- 
 
1851 SUMMER IN POTTSVILLE 249 
 
 cle, but always there, is admirable. I stood at the head of a 
 timber slide three hundred feet high, plunging into the jaws of 
 the gap which lay in shadow beneath. The Mountain rose oppo- 
 site with its broken conglomerates in great stairways confronting 
 that on which I stood. Its mighty flank swept far out down 
 into the Valley, to my left. Over the tree and bush jagged line 
 of the same I saw forward up the valley an immense distance, 
 fifteen miles at least. . . . 
 
 Last evening after writing to you I heard a bell, and following 
 its sound found myself in a Methodist German Church or school- 
 house rather, crowded, filthy and with filthy people. A man 
 stood up in the pulpit who looked something like a dog, and 
 something like a fox, and something like a goat, and something 
 like a hog, and a great deal like a real hard one at both temporal 
 and eternal things, and his preaching corresponded. How 
 fearfully he bellowed! . . . But the singing was glorious. Oh, 
 those old German hymns of Luther and Melanchthon, and the 
 hundred poets of that terrible age of madness and melody, how 
 they peal like the organs of Europe down the great aisles of 
 Time! Never will their voice cease — their sounding chords go 
 forth throughout all the earth; they preach in hamlets where 
 fools follow their diverse wisdom with inanity and mischief, 
 but the folly is forgotten and only these angelic verses and their 
 soul-moving melodies sink into the memories and lives of the 
 people. Blessings on thy head, O Luther, prince of bards, 
 rival of the son of Jesse. Endless honors crown thy head. In 
 every land thy name, thy verse, thy soul, shall be the watchword 
 of devotion, the inspiration of crowds, the delight of the weary 
 and woful, the wonder of the young. Where thou passest by, 
 singing, magic virtue drops like dew upon the heart, heaven 
 opens and the Lord descends again, faith stands up refreshed, 
 feuds are forgotten, earth is absorbed, dissolved, dissipated, 
 and there remains but the absolute, the infinite, eternity, good- 
 ness, love, praise, God the Father, The Son and The Holy Ghost 
 and man worshipping. 
 
 We stood and sang together, and none could discern whether 
 we were miners, scholars, speculators or princes. We stood 
 and sang together, and at every repetition of the "Herr Jesu" 
 every hair stood on end, as if we saw a spirit. There I saw 
 dull fox-fire eyes lit up with supernatural radiance. Blessed 
 be the Creator that hast given Poetry to man. Blessed be every 
 poet who inspires the multitudes with holy and happy words, 
 and the poet of music, who furnishes the voice, the vehicle of 
 
250 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xii 
 
 the thought. Dear Susie, Music and Poetry are Mysteries, as 
 the Ancients said they were. 
 
 June 21, 1851. 
 
 ... I have enjoyed a new Arkism mightily. The feud of the 
 Montagues and Capulets I suspect to be the same as that of the 
 Guelphs and Ghibellines. . . . 
 
 How Hke hunting diamonds — gold sand, or rather fossils, 
 all this work is! A happy hit and a crowd of indices lead you to 
 a vein — to a stratum — to a systematic understanding of the 
 whole why and how. 
 
 Desor illustrated this beautifully yesterday when he described 
 his last journey to Lake Superior. He and Whitney entered the 
 unexplored wilderness of swamps between Lake Superior and 
 Green Bay. Three days they travelled without seeing a rock. 
 Giving it up in despair, they returned to a river and encamped. 
 Going dov^Ti the bank, as was his wont, to examine the height 
 and form of the drift, he saw a stone apparently in place — struck 
 it with his hammer and out leaped a fossil. — ^Yes, there was one 
 of the little characteristic shells of the Trenton limestone. 
 He shouted this to Whitney who would not believe it; but he 
 heaved the mass on his arm and ran with it up the bank — how 
 he did it he could not teU — and convinced him. That one fossil 
 and rock paid them for their three days' search, and made out 
 the geology of the whole region. 
 
 A few extracts from my mother's letters of this summer 
 are not out of place: — 
 
 Danzkammer [her sister, Mrs. Delano's, home on the Hudson], 
 June I, 185 1. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Aunt Kitty speaks with much enthusiasm of a lecture of 
 Mr. Emerson's on the Fugitive Slave law, which he has been de- 
 livering everywhere about Boston. She says she particularly 
 respects him for it, because all agitation is particularly distaste- 
 ful to him. . . . 
 
 June 19. To her Husband. 
 
 ... I have been reading some excellent tracts of Mr. James 
 Hamilton, a Scotch divine, and vdsh I could put them in the hands 
 of all our people. Aunt Eliza made them presents to the domes- 
 tics here, thinking as they are all Scotch Presbyterians they 
 would like them. They are addressed to the working classes, and 
 are full of good practical religious instruction, entirely dififerent 
 
i8si SUMMER IN POTTSVILLE 2 51 
 
 from the vague appeals one often finds in such tracts. What an 
 excellent library we would put in our kitchen for Mary and 
 Nancy if we could, containing Hannah More's beautiful tracts, 
 these of Hamilton's, and many others I can think of. . . . 
 
 Aunt Eliza . . . told us a story about the Duke of Sussex, 
 Victoria's Uncle. On a journey in Scotland he met a lady with 
 whom he fell deeply in love and after a long correspondence, 
 he married her. This, you know, was entirely out of rule, for 
 one of the royal family to marry into the family of an obscure 
 Scotch nobleman, and the marriage was pronounced legal, but 
 not regal. As his wife could not be admitted to court, he re- 
 tired from court and they lived on a beautiful estate in Scotland, 
 quite out of the world, and caring nothing for its favors, as they 
 were both superior to them. They devoted themselves to the 
 improvement and education of the poor on their estates, lived 
 piously and beautifully all their days and found such entire peace 
 in each other's affection that they had nothing left to desire. 
 Their love was such as poets might have sung. When Victoria 
 was a very little girl, she was occasionally sent to her Uncle in 
 Scotland for the benefit of change of air, and she became passion- 
 ately attached to her gentle and accomplished Aunt, Lady Cecilia. 
 Though she had not seen her for many years, the very first thing 
 Victoria did when she ascended the throne, was to send mes- 
 sengers to Scotland, to inform the Duke of Sussex that she had 
 conferred upon his wife the title of Duchess of Inverness and 
 wished them to appear at court. The good Duke was affected 
 to tears by this remembrance, but they had lived too long in 
 their happy retirement to wish to quit it, and they begged the 
 Queen to excuse them. After a few years more he died, leaving 
 a direction that his remains should not be buried at Windsor 
 Castle, where the rest of the Royal family are laid, but that he 
 might repose in the churchyard of his own estate, "where my 
 Cecilia may rest beside me." The story impressed me very 
 much, as Aunt Eliza told it, simple as it is. I loved the good 
 Duke from my heart. ... 
 
 Milton, July 4, 1851. To her Husband. 
 
 . . . After church in the afternoon Edward Hale, who was 
 preaching at Dorchester, drove over with Lucretia and spent 
 an hour. Aimt Eliza has found Charley Hale an excellent 
 listener to her discourses upon education, and has explained to 
 him the value of her books over all others of the kind, and is 
 charmed to have found such a young man. . . . 
 
252 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xn 
 
 Yesterday after breakfast we heard of Cousin Bennett's 
 [Forbes] arrival and very soon saw him. He came in to give us 
 a greeting, and seemed very well, and happy as he could be to 
 be at home once more. He went into Miss Shepherd's school 
 and proclaimed a holiday for all, and kissed the children all 
 round. There was a great careering over the neighborhood, 
 Margaret and Fanny, Bennett and Rose and John's family driv- 
 ing in and out of the avenue all day long. Mother was greatly 
 moved, and lost her spectacles continually, also her thimble, 
 and everything but her head. . . . 
 
 My father adds in a letter of the same date to Catherine 
 Robbins, "Charles Hale has carried off the prize from all 
 competitors, and is now usher at the Latin School, at which 
 William Thayer rejoices greatly." 
 
 By July, 1 85 1, my father and mother had returned to 
 Milton, rejoicing to be again in the little home on the hill. 
 They were surrounded on all sides by relatives and friends; 
 and besides themselves the little house seems to have given 
 shelter to Mrs. Lyman, Aunt Kitty Robbins, and the young 
 friend William Thayer, and several others who came and 
 -J. went. There was also of the family one Mary Walker, 
 an escaped slave, who seems to have come from Philadelphia 
 the previous winter, and her safety, after the passage of 
 the "infernal" Fugitive Slave Law, was a matter of great 
 solicitude to my parents. I find letters of 1850 and 1851 
 
 _^ from my father's cousin, James Lesley, who had evidently 
 befriended her in Philadelphia and who had aided in getting 
 her to Milton. She is often mentioned in the letters of this 
 
 ^ date and later, and eventually went to live with Mrs. Lyman 
 
 when she established herself in Cambridge, and was most 
 faithfully devoted to her. Mary was a fair quadroon, and 
 a finely trained house servant, an exquisite seamstress, and 
 a woman of refinement and considerable beauty. I re- 
 member well her gentle voice and sad eyes. When the war 
 
 .^ broke out, she went South under the auspices of the Freed- 
 
 * man's Bureau, and taught, I believe, seeking to find her 
 three children. She was not successful, but later, through 
 General Howard, two of her children were found, and re- 
 
1851 SUMMER IN POTTSVILLE 253 
 
 turned to her, — a grown man and woman, whom she had 
 last seen as little children. After a month in Milton my 
 father returned to Pennsylvania for another season of field 
 work, and this time my mother was well enough to accom- 
 pany him; and, after making a visit in Chambersburg to 
 James Lesley, she established herself at Pottsville for the 
 autumn months. 
 
 Pottsville, Aug. 17, 1851. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . You will certainly be received with Vivas when you arrive, 
 so intense is public expectation on your account. Desor was 
 there with his good face, and his deaf friend Lesquereux and 
 Peter Shaefer, and I was borne in triumph to the hotel, R. insisting 
 on attending to my luggage. ... 
 
 Pottsville, Aug. 21, 1851. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Desor with his usual good fortune, and he is a veritable 
 child of good luck, has just made a most happy discovery, and 
 thus set the seal to the demonstration that these curious nuts and 
 branches belong to true palms. Lesquereux was hammering 
 away an hour in a good locality, when D. returned, picked up a 
 rock, cracked it open, and there was a cabbage or young suckling 
 palm, as big as a child's head, and when broken open full of young 
 leaves all branching from an axis or stalk or root. It is a splendid 
 discovery. I am sitting in the midst of palm branches, ferns, 
 algas, slime plants and turtle tracks, all discovered in the red 
 shales, — and — to think! — how many years our whole corps were 
 crossing and recrossing these strata, and never knew what we 
 looked at. For many years the finest specimens of fossil tracks 
 yet discovered stared down upon all passers-by from the face of a 
 cliff not a mile from this. It is beautifully illustrated, now and 
 then, how the eye must be trained to see. Rogers and Desor 
 sat for several hours looking at some rocks, and saw nothing but 
 ferns: after a while they returned and suddenly saw palm leaves: 
 they went to another locality to see some tracks, and returning, 
 saw suddenly a multitude on the very surfaces where they had 
 been gazing so long. 
 
 But the conditions of light and shade are all-important. A 
 change of light will instantly produce or obliterate the appearance 
 upon many surfaces. . . . 
 
254 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xii 
 
 POTTSVILLE, Aug. 23, 185 1. To HIS WiFE. 
 
 . . . My work here is very mechanical, mere clockwork, but ex- 
 tremely interesting. You will be charmed with Lesquereux, he 
 is a rarity. 
 
 In September my mother joined my father in Pottsville. 
 
 PoTTSViLLE, Sept. II, 185 1. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... I came from Phil'a . . . last Thursday. . . . The hills round 
 Pottsville are beautiful. I had no idea that there was so much to 
 admire here in the natural scenery. It is true, the town itself is 
 a dirty little coal hole. But we are surrounded on all sides by 
 mountains covered with verdure, and we cannot see out of them. 
 One feels shut in from all the rest of the world. Our hotel is 
 very comfortable, and we have a very good room, though it does 
 not possess either closet or bureau, both of which articles Mr. 
 Rogers says are the last and highest efforts of civilization. 
 
 You may imagine, that it requires some contrivance on my part 
 to keep the room in tolerable order, which is quite necessary, as it 
 is the rendezvous of Mr. Rogers, Desor, Lesquereux, Shaefer, and 
 Colter, at all hours of the day when they are at work indoors, and 
 need to consult continually with Peter, or bring him new materials 
 for his map. I am delighted to be here, the air is fine and bracing, 
 and I never felt better in my life. It is also delightful to see Peter 
 so completely in his element, working very hard, but uncommonly 
 well and strong, free from all nervous troubles, and as happy as 
 the day is long. I had no conception he could go through so 
 much fatigue and exposure without sickness, but he sleeps as he 
 never has done since I have known him, and wakes refreshed. 
 It is certainly the best life for him. We had a beautiful Sunday. 
 We walked and read together, and took one of the loveliest rides 
 at sunset, that I ever saw. We rode through the gap of the 
 mountains, to Schuylkill Haven, and home through fragrant pine 
 groves, with one of the finest skies I ever saw all round us. I 
 see very little of the gentlemen, in any way to converse with them, 
 they are all so busy, and so wholly absorbed in their work. But 
 I enjoy very much seeing them come in to their evening meal, 
 tired to death; but Desor always good-humored and full of talk, 
 and poor deaf Lesquereux, the most interesting to me of the whole 
 group. I think I must tell you his history as Desor told it to 
 Peter. Perhaps you may not know that he is the greatest fossil 
 
1851 SUMMER IN POTTSVILLE 255 
 
 botanist in the world. He was born in Neufchatel, the son of a 
 poor watchmaker. He was very earnest and devoted in his piety 
 and early studied for the ministry. . . . Later he earned a liveli- 
 hood at Stuttgart by teaching, while he devoted himself to fossil 
 botany in his leisure hours. Among his pupils was the beautiful 
 Adelaide Von WolflFskeel von Ruchenberg, a favorite of Goethe 
 and Schiller, and the daughter of a nobleman of high rank. She 
 was very accomplished, was much at court, and the favorite of 
 the literary circles of Saxe-Weimar. . . . Their intimacy ripened 
 at length into a sincere attachment, and her father consented to 
 their marriage, being willing to overlook Lesquereux's want of 
 birth and fortune, on account of his talents and worth. Lesque- 
 reux was soon made a professor in the University of Stuttgart, and 
 was much honored and beloved. Suddenly one evening while at a 
 hterary party with his wife, he saw the lips of people moving 
 around him, and many addressing him, but heard no sound. 
 From that hour he has been stone-deaf.* He cannot hear the 
 loudest sound through a trumpet at his ear. Of course his Pro- 
 fessorship, his happy home and all his prospects for life vanished 
 in a day, and he was left with a wife and five children quite desti- 
 tute. He bore his affliction like a man and a true Christian, and 
 at once set himself at work at his father's trade of watchmaking, 
 and maintained his family for some years in that way. But his 
 hard labors in ways so foreign to his early habits and tastes wore 
 upon his health, and he fell sick for two long years. Then his 
 wife Adelaide laid aside all the prejudices of her early education, 
 and with astonishing perseverance learned a branch of the watch- 
 making trade, and supported her husband and five children for 
 nearly three years. Was she not a wonderful woman? When 
 Lesquereux recovered, he sent some papers he had prepared to 
 some Scientific society and he was soon made commissioner on 
 Peat Bogs in Switzerland, and afterwards by the Prussian Gov- 
 ernment for the whole of Scandinavia. These reports were 
 greatly admired. But Desor told him that his five boys would 
 have a better chance in this Country than in Europe, and advised 
 him to bring them over and settle in the West. ... He followed 
 Desor's advice and took his family [West] . . . Desor has the 
 greatest affection and respect for Lesquereux, and indeed no one 
 can help it. He has the sweetest and most gentle spirit, the most 
 calm and Christian fortitude that I ever met with. He has all 
 
 * In my father's memoir of Leo Lesquereux, read before the National 
 Academy, April 16, 1890, the account of his deafness gives it as a more 
 gradual appearance. 
 
256 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xii 
 
 those lovely ways that one rarely meets with in our countrymen. 
 He brings his slate and pencil in the parlor for me to talk with 
 him sometimes, and he is very quick in observing the motion of 
 the lips. His broken English is very funny (his wife taught him 
 to speak English after he became stone-deaf). He wanted to tell 
 me that a good wife is the best gift of Providence, the other day, 
 and this is the way he expressed it: "A goot vife is the most petter 
 present dan Providence can never gif to somebody." He is long- 
 ing to see his wife (who he says is a great deal better than he is), 
 for he has been here three months. . . . 
 
 Peter has this moment come in from a continuous tramp of 
 nine hours. . . . 
 
 My mother found kind friends in the Walkers of Potts- 
 ville, who had been friends of her brother Joseph at a former 
 period. Here she stayed sometimes when my father was 
 away in the field at some little distance from Pottsville. 
 
 Fremont, Sept. 19, 185 1. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I have just had a scuffle with my bottle-nosed landlord, who 
 swears that the country will never be safe until some of these 
 abolitionists are swung up by the neck. So I must keep cool or 
 I shall be lynched in this land of the free and home of the brave. 
 I reproach myself for not giving a greater preference to the sua- 
 viter in modo. . . . 
 
 Fremont, Sepi. 20, 185 1. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I have been pleased with the simplicity of the amiable 
 Yakuts who saw Erman make his astronomical observations at 
 Yakutsk (the coldest place on earth) and were told and believed 
 it that one of the St. Petersburg stars had been lost, and he had 
 been commissioned to traverse Siberia and see if he could find 
 it in their skies. The story finally spread through all the Yakut 
 region and even among the wandering Tunguses on the confines 
 of the' Kamchatkan sea; and when at last he crossed the Aldan, 
 and ascended to a yurt in the mountains overlooking the Pacific 
 he was again accosted with the question whether he meant to 
 hunt the star up in their sky. . . . 
 
 Sept. 21, 185 1. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Desor told me last evening that he thinks he has solved the 
 mystery of the mushroom. A fine mould covers the earth, im- 
 
1851 SUMMER IN POTTSVILLE 257 
 
 perceptible except by microscope. This is the real plant, covered 
 with polyps, and the mushroom that grows up in one night is 
 the flower. . . . 
 
 I hope you have had as good a Sunday as I have — I garnished 
 our room, sat down and read the Bible, then Desor's Paper on 
 the Analogies, . . . you must read it, for it is highly interesting. . . . 
 
 Sept. 28, 185 1. Susan I. Lesley to her Aunt Catherine Robbins, 
 
 . . . We have very comfortable quarters at a little Dutch 
 tavern at Fremont. Our little bedroom opens into a nice little 
 parlor, which is only occupied by our own party. Here, Rogers 
 and Shaefer, Colter and Desor sit of evenings, and talk of coal and 
 conglomerate, and all sorts of geological matters, and I am be- 
 coming very familiar with all their talk and their peculiar lan- 
 guage. They arrange their plans for the next day, and suggest 
 to each other different arrangements. You would not know I 
 was in the room. I sit on a corner of the sofa with my knitting 
 and listen, and am none the wiser for a great deal of their talk. 
 In Pottsville I had all sorts of discussions with Desor, upon the 
 Immortality of the soul, the various analogies in the Natural 
 World for his own belief, and many other subjects. His relig- 
 ious ideas are entirely rationalistic, and I should think that he 
 believes in the final absorption of all souls in God. But however 
 this may be, he has very clear views of the individual conscious- 
 ness and progress through many successive stages of existence, 
 and I was much interested in hearing him speak of the insight 
 into spiritual things which his constant observation of natural 
 laws, had given him. The decrepitude of old age, which to so 
 many of us is a mystery, is to him one of the most clear and beau- 
 tiful proofs of a progressive existence. I will try, if I can explain 
 it to you, though I cannot do it as he does. As I understand 
 him, all living beings are subject to two laws, that of procreation, 
 and that of death. All the lower animals, as soon as they have 
 fulfilled the first law, yield to the second. Man also, after hav- 
 ing lived to carry on the race, must die. But he does not [do so] 
 for a long time. Both soul and body endure for many years after 
 the birth and education of children has been completed. He 
 resists the second law of all animal life, and though he cannot 
 so entirely overcome it that both mind and body shall not become 
 weaker, and finally die in an earthly sense, yet the fact that he 
 does resist it, alone of all creatures, proves him to be fit for immor- 
 tality, and that he will pass into another form at death. Peter 
 has found a beautiful analogy in the growth of a grain of wheat, 
 
258 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xn 
 
 so beautifully observed in Corinthians, with which D^sor is highly 
 delighted. I shall show you when I come home Peter's de- 
 scription of the wheat, also Desor's beautiful one of the star- 
 fish and jelly-fish, and the changes of the intestinal worms. 
 Sometimes it seems strange to me to hear people trying so hard 
 to prove the Immortality of the Soul from Natural Phenomena 
 when we have the promise in scripture and the record of Christ's 
 resurrection; still all the added weight of testimony derived from 
 these analogies, is a great thing to some minds, and ought to be 
 interesting to all. . . . 
 
 Oct. 26, 185 1. Susan I. Lesley to her Aunt Catherine Robbins. 
 
 I often think how much Desor would please you on this ac- 
 count, he seems so entirely free from the usual vices of scientific 
 men. He seems never to think of himself or of his own advance- 
 ment, never makes any secret of his discoveries, is not afraid of 
 other people at all, and possesses his own soul in perfect peace. 
 I do not think he has the least charity or sympathy for nervous 
 people, or irritable sensations of any kind, but this is not strange, 
 as he has a perfect constitution, has never known a day's ill-health, 
 and says he does not know what people mean by feeling nervous. 
 He is always genial and good-humored. We call him our sun- 
 shine and shall miss him much, in leaving here. 
 
 You can't think how Peter and I are longing to be at the little 
 home once more. I saw Peter smiling the other morning, and 
 asked him why; he said he was thinking of the little house under 
 the Elms and Aunt Kitty running out the door to meet us. — But 
 we shall not be there before the first week in December ? . . . 
 
 On the way home a visit was made at Fort Plain, N.Y., 
 to my father's sister, Elizabeth Stilwell. 
 
 Fort Plain, Nov. 21, 1851. Peter Lesley to his Father. 
 
 . . . The New Yorkers seem really determined to go the whole 
 figure in their reception of the Man of the Age. Is it not amus- 
 ing to hear of Lord Palmerston's note assuring the Vienna Cabi- 
 net that the British Government "will endeavor to bring the 
 Kossuth Mania to its limit, in as speedy a manner as possible" ? 
 Kossuth's cool way of showing the shoulder to the Socialists is 
 admirable, and what he says at London settles the question what 
 government he desires for Hungary — viz., English or American. 
 
i8si SUMMER IN POTTSVILLE 259 
 
 Ftjltonville, Nov. 26, 185 1. Peter Lesley to 
 Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... I have been studiously inclined of late over Martin's 
 Volumes upon Eastern India and admire the many strange per- 
 versions of good taste and morals, in the horrid rites and man- 
 ners of the Hindus and Mohammedans. . . . 
 
 . . . But how unsatisfactory it proves to wade through a 
 history of the conflicts of barbarous nations! We certainly 
 feel how little we have to do, as far as our immortal thinking 
 principle is concerned, with mere acts and facts and the move- 
 ments of matter, whether organized or not. Unless through all 
 this as a waving veil, we can behold behind it the quiet living face 
 of some idea, which alone is the reality, we feel ennui. After 
 all there is nothing real but the idea. Fact is only phenomenal, 
 transient, and the interpreter of the Ideal or Eternal. I grow 
 more inclined to believe in the eternity of matter, the infinite 
 back extension of history, and the infinitely slow progress of 
 any change in the fate or modus of nations, every day. 
 
 I find my health improving, but it is difficult to remain sat- 
 isfied with inactivity after a few active months. I rather dread 
 the coming of winter because I shall have more than two months 
 of close drawing, and I have a settled conviction of inability so 
 to do. 
 
 Milton, Dec. 11, 185 1. Peter Lesley to his Brother Allen. 
 
 I never ought to have an excuse for writing you, but this 
 time I have one which you might think frivolous, but for the 
 sacredness of all the little ceremonies of family life, hallowed 
 by tradition and memory. Among these one of the most beau- 
 tiful is that of making New Year's presents, and the way that 
 all old families have of concocting these in the utmost secrecy, 
 and bringing them suddenly forth on the great day invested 
 with all the charms of surprise. Our friends the Hales of Bos- 
 ton keep up this custom, and are busily occupied just now behind 
 sofas and rocking-chair backs in the manufacture of certain, as 
 yet anonymous and unmentionable bonbons, boons, as our old 
 English calls them, and in Swedish Yule Claps. Years ago they 
 established a Mede and Persian law; that the question "What 
 are you making?" should be unlawful any time within three 
 weeks of Christmas, and might be lawfully answered by "it is 
 Corban." That year they called their Christmas gifts Corbans. 
 The next year they got an Italian name, and so some different 
 term in each succeeding year. Last year they were Yule Claps, 
 
26o LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xii 
 
 because Miss Bremer was arrived, and all the world (of Boston) 
 followed after her. This year they are fairly ashore, having 
 exhausted all their comparative philologies, and so I promise to 
 come to their aid, and get from your German Turkish diction- 
 ary the Turkish word for present or gift, beyond which of course 
 we cannot go because that unfortunate nation holds no Christmas 
 festival; but in lieu of it a Ramazan. They fairly clap their hands 
 at the suggestion now that the Star of Hungary has just exploded 
 from the Turkish heaven upon us. Assist me therefore, je 
 vous prie, and receive my best thanks. . . . 
 
 An occasional short sentence in the letters of this time — 
 autumn of 185 1 — shows the sense of an impending change 
 in their method of life. 
 
 Susan says in one place: "I sometimes feel as if our life 
 in Milton may close in the spring, and hope this winter 
 may be a happy one in our dear little home. And yet we 
 may live there for years, and none of us can look forward 
 even a few weeks." And again, in another letter, "Peter 
 says it breaks his heart to think of closing the church." 
 
 Milton, March 13, 1852. Peter Lesley to his Father. 
 
 Your kind favor of the 9th met us on our return from a short 
 visit to Mrs. [Lydia Maria] Child, now living in West Newton, near 
 Boston. ... I have no time to say more than that Rogers is now 
 in Phil 'a. If all were ready, I would be tempted immediately to go 
 to Philadelphia and soon to take the field. ... I am sorry to say 
 that Susan will not accompany me. It is risking too much for 
 her to leave home as she did last year. She may meet me some- 
 where in July or August, but otherwise I shall be alone. . . . 
 I cannot discuss the reasons for my feeling so deeply about my 
 brother's residences and views,* but these pain me deeply when 
 I permit myself to reflect upon them. For we might view every 
 evil, vice, ignorance and accident in the world as permitted by a 
 wise providence, and therefore to be let alone, — but Christ taught 
 the reverse of that. He bids us be our brother's keepers — to 
 hunt out wrong and redress it, — to war against all unrighteous- 
 ness to the death — to keep no brotherhood with avowed evil- 
 doers — and to preach the gospel of liberty, good will and a right 
 
 * Allen, Henry and William, lived at this time in Delaware. 
 
1852 SUMMER IN POTTSVILLE 261 
 
 life, to all men, all the time, at all risks to themselves. And if 
 slavery existed in the Ancient Hebrew polity (which I doubt — 
 viz., such slavery as ours), it was allowed "for the hardness of 
 their hearts," and done away by Christ. To conceive of a Chris- 
 tian slaveholder is simply an impossibility. Although it is easy 
 to conceive of a Calvinistic or a Methodist or an infidel or a 
 good-natured demoniac slaveholder, — but a Christian slave- 
 holder is grammatical nonsense. 
 
 But, as I said, I cannot discuss a subject which in dividing 
 loving hearts by the cold steel of a money-making, political pol- 
 icy, gives the keenest pain. I am no fanatic in my abolitionism; 
 but it is my life, and goes to the extremities of all my politics 
 and religion, as all life must. 
 
 I hope soon to be with you again, dear father, until when — 
 with best love and blessings I remain your affectionate son, 
 Peter. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Last Days in Milton. — Removal to Philadelphia and 
 A Scientific Career. 1852 
 
 April i, 1852, my father again left home and his Milton 
 parish, and went via Northampton to Philadelphia. My 
 mother remained in Milton, occupying herself with the sick 
 and poor of the parish, with the sorrows and anxieties of 
 her hand-maiden, Mary Walker (the fugitive slave), and 
 other cares which she willingly undertook for those she 
 loved and those who needed her love. 
 
 My father was at this time in great uncertainty as to 
 what his further course in life should be. He had been for 
 years becoming more and more a man of science, and prob- 
 ably the life of the ministry was becoming increasingly diffi- 
 cult to him, I think he was temperamentally unsuited 
 to the life of a pastor. Personal social relations of a formal 
 and regular character were always difficult to him. To 
 make calls at stated intervals, to talk of neighborhood in- 
 terests and small matters of personal import, to prepare 
 two sermons every week, etc., — all these things were alien 
 to his nature. On the other hand he dearly loved to preach, 
 and loved the pulpit as his chance for spreading abroad 
 what seemed to him truths of vital import. He used to say 
 that there was no pleasure greater or more inspiriting than 
 to feel one's self holding and swaying the thought and 
 emotion of an attentive audience. Moreover, he had the 
 warmest personal friendship with those of his parish who 
 needed comfort, help, encouragement. To them he could 
 come with counsel and hope. Then, too, he was essen- 
 tially a "man's man," and the country pastor is too much 
 confined in his parish work to feminine society. In one 
 of his letters he says in a fit of impatience, "A man should 
 have to do with but three women, — ^his mother, his sister 
 
 262 
 
18S2 REMOVAL TO PHILADELPHIA 263 
 
 and his wife, and hardly so many as that!" But, above all, 
 in my father's case was the great strain he was under of 
 fulfilling double duties, — his sermons and church work, on 
 the one hand; his drafting, geologizing, lecturing, and writ- 
 ing for print, on the other. The time had come when he 
 must choose between the two, and in view of his health it 
 was almost inevitable that the choice should fall on the side 
 of science. For in field work, variety of occupation, and 
 exercise he found the best chance for vigor and physical 
 comfort to himself. I may have given the impression that 
 he was unsocial. This is far from true. He was of a very 
 social nature, and absolutely democratic. His life from 
 the beginning was full of friendship. He was a hearty lover, 
 his affection was strong, intense, and lasting. But for 
 formal, so-called "society life," he had no taste, and no 
 leisure time to devote to it. 
 
 Massasoit House, Springfield, April 5, 1852. 
 Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 I reached Northampton Saturday p.m. and was warmly 
 greeted by Ellis and your brother Sam, who wished me to go 
 home with him. . . . 
 
 It was bleak and cold and I tumbled incontinently into bed 
 and dreamed of murdering somebody, and being pursued all 
 night long by the officers of justice, through snow heaps. As 
 you may suppose I woke quite refreshed, and preached twice, — 
 in the morning the sermon you selected on Living and Dying 
 and felt it much myself. The people were as quiet as mice. . . . 
 
 Mr. Joy's sage head and glorious eyes stood ready to give 
 me a hearty shake of the hand at the door, and Mrs. Clarke 
 walked home with us. In the afternoon I chose Aunt Kitty's 
 sermon on Conservatism, and was shocked to find myself pulled 
 up in mid-career — to the unbounded astonishment also of my 
 very respectable audience — for the other half was missing. So 
 they escaped with a short sermon. Going home with Sam 
 Lyman, I saw his wife and daughters and little Jane Brewer, and 
 had a most agreeable visit there. After tea we sat an hour with 
 the Joys, who have both swallowed an air-tight stove and can 
 scarcely speak loud, but were interesting enough even at that. 
 Miss Cochrane was too sick for me to see, but Mr. and Mrs. Thayer 
 and Sarah came to the EUises in the evening. After which I talked 
 
264 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiii 
 
 with Rufus until I almost dropped from my chair into the open 
 fireplace with sleep. Voila — c'est toute mon histoire. . . . 
 
 My thoughts are very much in conflict about my course. . . . 
 I feel immense strength and inexhaustible resources, and now 
 is the time to reap their harvest, if ever — for you. ... If you 
 could see my inner man you would hardly recognize it, under the 
 energizing influences of an opening season and a wide field of 
 enterprise. The moment I am emancipated from the petty thral- 
 dom of the study chair, and shake off the small responsibilities 
 of the weekly sermon, I am a man again. . . . 
 
 I shall try to do something in the way of London Times illus- 
 trations this summer. . . . 
 
 I send love as usual to Aunt Kitty and Mother, if with you, 
 and to William Thayer, and wish always to be remembered to 
 Mary [Walker] and Nancy. A slave has suddenly been captured 
 in New York and remanded to the South. Let them be very 
 cautious, — the sword is always over them. , . . 
 
 Philadelphia, A-pril 7, 1852. To his Wife. 
 
 I have seen all who are to be at once seen about home, supped 
 with our Grand Father and just had him fussing round to light 
 my gas-burner and see that I am comfortable before he goes to 
 bed. It is nearly nine o'clock. I feel at rest, and wish to revise 
 the hours. When I travel I live many days' lives in one. In the 
 streets, in the boat, in the cars, infinite trains of reflection, all 
 vehement, succeed each other. Every new person condenses 
 the intercourse of months into an hour or half an hour. In 
 medias res is the motto, and an arrow sticking in the white spot 
 of the target is the symbol of travellers. Hence the fatigue from 
 which you suffer so much, and which only insures me sleep. . . . 
 
 April II, 1852. To HIS Wife. 
 
 ... I got into lively conversation with my old friend Dr. Hare 
 of Princeton, David Trumbull's favorite, upon German, and 
 general theology, history and criticism. He is more of a hare 
 than ever, except in courage, much of which he exhibited, with 
 a full assurance of faith, on the technics of science, which was 
 pleasing. My brain is sluggish; — it has been so overworked of 
 late it needs a rest to-day, and shall have it. I desire some spir- 
 itual converse, and surely it is to be had; yet the difl&culty which 
 poor Man is made to feel when he endeavors to find food for the 
 body, because he wants fine and rich food, and much more, has 
 
1852 REMOVAL TO PHILADELPHIA 265 
 
 its counterpart in the vain longings we often feel for manna — 
 vain because too high strung; for the soul needs common and 
 even coarse nourishment, or it also becomes dyspeptic. Is it not 
 possible ? I have tried lately to restore my appetite for common- 
 place spiritualism, and the daily fare of the good who are not 
 puffed up with wisdom over -much. Do you not think, that this 
 is wise? 
 
 Thank you for telling me about B and his family and for 
 
 doing there what was right. If we don't get on in the world very 
 fast, let us have the happiness of doing a little for others as we 
 jog along. You must feel, my darling, that I am with you in will 
 and act, in all such things, and while you are entirely free to 
 do what your heart proposes, only join me to yourself in spirit 
 in such good offices, and I will be satisfied. . . . 
 
 My mother writes, April 12, 1852, these words in one of 
 her long letters: "Whatever plan you decide upon, believe 
 it will suit me. Do not forget how good a Lecturer you 
 may be, if other things fail." 
 
 April 14, 1852. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Aunt Kitty and I have laughed and cried over the first 
 volume of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" for two days, and are waiting 
 impatiently for the second. It is a book that will make a vast 
 impression for good, I am sure. It opposes all pro-slavery views, 
 far better than arguments and reasoning could do. There is 
 not a bitter word against Slaveholders in the whole of it, and is 
 written in a wholly different spirit from any of the Abolitionist 
 articles. How I wish Father and Joe and Allen would read it. 
 I am sure they would feel it to be a good book, and as Mrs. Stowe 
 is a thorough colonizationist, they would not be offended by her 
 principles. The religion running through it is the pure religion 
 and undefiled. I wonder that Mrs. Child should have called it 
 Theology, or anything else but real vital fervent Christianity, 
 the spirit of Jesus that is to renovate the world, and right all 
 wrong. I don't know whether I want you to read it or not, for 
 you feel such things so intensely, but it is undoubtedly the story 
 of the age. . . . 
 
 PHn,ADELPHiA, April 14, 1852. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... If I adopt the profession of Geologist or topographer, you 
 are aware, dear, that it may carry me off every summer, the Lord 
 
266 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiii 
 
 only knows where. That is its worst feature. But man is a pil- 
 grim and a stranger upon the earth. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, April i8, 1852. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I wandered all day yesterday about the streets, but was 
 remunerated after all by finding that I could hold this tyrannical 
 gloominess in a very effective and wholesome check. I sought 
 out the objects of human woes among the crowds, stood and 
 looked at the wilted and woe-worn apple-women, planted myself 
 on the wharfs for an hour at a time, comparing the mien and 
 expression of travellers entering the New York Steamboat, 
 sympathizing with the seedy old gentlemen in scrimped coats and 
 tarnished metal buttons, and worn-out bank clerks going into 
 the country, — watched the real pleasures, and compared them 
 with the sudden and violent outbursts of rage and misery of the 
 Newsboys, until I became calm and self-possessed. I am always 
 satisfied with life; I do not know what it is to complain of my 
 lot. It is not that — but a profound hopelessness and an exhaus- 
 tive criticism of the instability and general unsoundness of all 
 things, blows upon me like an enervating sirocco from the deserts 
 of No Faith. . . . 
 
 I saw Kossuth yesterday also. His shoulder almost touched 
 mine as he went onto the Steamboat. There were twenty or 
 thirty here who suspected the hour when he would pass through. 
 He drew his hat so very low over his brow that I could only see 
 distinctly his lower face. He seemed as full of business, and as 
 completely and unconsciously at home in it, as the best of our 
 business men, as wholly imconscious of the crowd as were the 
 other stragglers who came running up, afraid they were too late. 
 I comprehended then the expression used by so many, and which 
 always struck me rather unpleasantly — I remember Mrs. Bennett 
 Forbes used it the evening of the party at the Chapmans, — "his 
 characteristic feature was that of profound humility." It is in- 
 conceivable that a man of his history and make and nature should 
 exhibit it, should look and walk as he does. I took off my hat as 
 he passed and let it fall to the ground, and looked after him, saying 
 to myself, there moves an imconscious imiverse in space. God 
 bless the unselfish patriot. ... 
 
 Philadelphia, April 23, 1852. To ms Wife. 
 
 Henderson has delighted me, and he says I have made him 
 very happy. He was in solitude, he says, until I came. "We 
 
 A 
 
i8s2 REMOVAL TO PHILADELPHIA 267 
 
 are much alike in our inwards," as John James Garth Wilkinson 
 ought to say, but probably would not. He is to be appointed to 
 the Asylum here, I judge, for a couple of years, and will not leave 
 the Navy for his farm in Penn's Valley. . . . 
 
 A letter from my mother, undated, says: "I went to 
 town yesterday to see the Kossuth reception, or rather him- 
 self. Aunt Kitty and I had a fine view of his noble face as 
 he slowly passed Mrs. Wolcott's house in Boylston Street 
 where we were. . . . But the best of all is that Estes [Howe] 
 is going to get me a chance to go to Faneuil Hall to-morrow 
 eve, and hear him speak." 
 
 April 28, 1852. To HIS Wife. 
 
 ... I am charmed at your seeing Kossuth. I wish we had 
 seen him together, and I lay awake last night, thinking how you 
 were moved under his voice. I shall be impatient to hear about it. 
 
 May I, 1852. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 It seems a long time since I have written to you, though I 
 did write on Thursday, but so much has happened in the inter- 
 vening time that it seems a week. I went into town Thursday 
 afternoon, joined the Cambridge party in Court St., and pro- 
 ceeded to Faneuil Hall, two hours before the time. I never had 
 a conception of a crowd before. We soon found ourselves in the 
 midst of a sea of people, pressing upon each other from three 
 directions, there was not space enough anywhere to wedge in a 
 cane. We were hterally taken off our feet forty minutes in this 
 position. I wonder that ribs and backbones were not broken by 
 the pressure of large fists and elbows — yet I had also no idea 
 that a crowd could be so good-natured. There were the funniest 
 things said by the sufferers, and repeated through the crowd, with 
 many laughs and cheers. An immensely fat man behind me laid 
 his great palms against my shoulders, when there was an onward 
 movement of the people, saying as he shoved me, with an inimi- 
 table Yankee tone — "It is quite important marm to give a leetle 
 larch.'' He was certainly acquainted with "Our Seth's boat, 
 when it upsot." Well, your Susie got in unhurt, had an excellent 
 seat in the gallery, and heard Kossuth. I was not in the least 
 carried away, though I am glad I have seen and heard him. 
 There was the greatest enthusiasm in the audience. I shall send 
 you the speech. There were beautiful things in it, but it was not 
 
268 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xin 
 
 brilliant, and as for eloquence, that is out of the question, where 
 a man reads every word, as if from a book, with downcast eyes, 
 without gesture, or ever departing from his notes. I was alto- 
 gether much moved with his appearance. There is a profound 
 melancholy in his whole air, and his eyes have the saddest look 
 I ever saw. Susan Hillard has been very intimate with Madames 
 Pulsky and Kossuth, ever since they came, is with them all the 
 time, and accompanies them in all their visits to the schools, 
 asylums, etc. She tells beautiful stories about them. They are 
 two heroic women, — Madame Pulsky highly intellectual. They 
 are worn out and anxious, always shrouded in the deepest mourn- 
 ing dresses, for Hungary. They say that the whole Hungarian 
 nation wear black, and deny themselves every luxury that comes 
 from the Austrian hand. These two ladies weep over the luxu- 
 rious entertainments given them in this country. "So much 
 wealth here," said Madame Pulsky to Cousin Susan, "and to 
 think that it would buy life and liberty for our poor Hungary." . . . 
 
 Attached to this letter is a curious printed dollar-bill 
 "dated at New York, 2nd of February, 1852," promising 
 to pay the holder one dollar, one year after the establish- 
 ment of the Independent Hungarian Government. Signed 
 by L. Kossuth. 
 
 May 2, 1852. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . For myself I am completely without wishes, sure of being 
 happy anywhere, and free from that strong clinging to Milton I 
 had a year ago, though I have been very happy here and no doubt 
 should be. I wish only for yoiir health, happiness and success 
 anyway, more in the heavenly treasures than any other, and 
 believe that God will allow us to do our small share of good, as 
 well in one place and occupation as another. 
 
 On May 5, 1852, my father was offered by Mr. Miller, 
 "Head Engineer of the Pennsylvania Railroad," $1,200 a 
 year and "a constant supply of architectural, mechanical, 
 and topographical drawing here in the city the year round." 
 This offer, after forty-eight hours of uncertainty and pon- 
 dering, he thought best to accept. He writes my mother: 
 "The Rubicon is passed, if it will only not grieve my darling. 
 ... It is a very important step, but I think that I have acted 
 
1852 REMOVAL TO PHILADELPHIA 269 
 
 on the whole for the best." Thus ended his life in the min- 
 istry, and the pleasant Milton years. It was certainly hard 
 for my mother to leave the dear friends who surrounded her 
 in the New England home, and in later years she told us 
 of the wrench it had been to all her nature to make the 
 change. She loved the place, the people, the little church, 
 their own parishioners, and the position of love and esteem 
 she and her husband held in the community. But she 
 never allowed her own feelings of sorrow to disturb him, 
 and probably her judgment approved the step on his ac- 
 count. He, however, realized what the change meant to 
 her, and grieved over it, even while he felt the necessity. 
 She was to remain in the little home on Milton Hill until 
 late autumn, and then join him in Philadelphia. In a letter 
 of May II, 1852, after approving his acceptance of Mr. 
 Miller's offer, she adds, "I cannot help hoping that we may 
 end our days in New England, yet I have no prejudice 
 against living elsewhere, and feel sure of becoming strongly 
 attached to any place and people where I am thrown." 
 
 Fateihaven, May 15, 1852. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Perhaps you do not like my little saving schemes; you 
 would, dear, if you only saw how they all look forward to a little 
 home of peace, where we can bless others tenfold. — ^But I do not 
 want, when we have a home, that our liberality should always be 
 cut short by the fear of debt, and you be forced to neglect doing 
 one thing well, for the sake of making both ends meet, which 
 always makes you do odd jobs of every kind, for the piirpose of 
 raising money. — In the long run, it would sour your temper and 
 ruin your health. Do not let us now take upon ourselves so many 
 burdens, that we cannot finally have a home, where brothers and 
 sisters and children and friends, the poor and the sorrowing may 
 come to find peace and rest. We will never be stingy in the 
 present for any futiire, but I am sure it is worth saving for, to 
 found a home that shall not be a heavy burden to us. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, May 16, 1852. Peter Lesley to 
 Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 I am glad that you saw and heard Kossuth. His speeches 
 are still fresh to me, and the quality of immortality which char- 
 
270 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xm 
 
 acterizes only the highest and best of things. At Bunker Hill 
 he was no doubt to a degree inspired, but that could not appear 
 in his speech, seeing that it was written before he went, but it 
 may well have influenced his tones and mien. I have heard noth- 
 ing about him for a week. . . . 
 
 Kossuth's influence upon the age will be immense. His 
 outward appearance, his personal impression upon a crowd, 
 ought to be slight, for he belongs to the world of invisible and 
 omnipotent ideas or universalities, as one of the spiritual impon- 
 derables, — not to that of the picturesque form or material, passive 
 and plastic. He is like the magnet shut up within the helix, 
 the exhibitions of its life are at the opposite poles — a thousand 
 miles off — in all directions. The passion and power of oratory 
 lie in the nerves and sensibilities of the bodily frame; the greater 
 the brain or head, the more powerful the effect. But the revolu- 
 tions of eras are effected by what size cannot measure nor weight 
 weigh, which occupies neither time nor space, the spirit or logos 
 of man, which seems to be merely vivified and self-conscious 
 truth, clad in flesh to exhibit itself and multiply its consciousness. 
 This cares nothing for mere exhibition, or that which appears 
 to disappear. It always seeks in its deeds its own immortality 
 and its own universality. The Kossuth therefore cares nothing 
 for local effects, but only for permanent realizations of Right, 
 and their multiplication and repetition everywhere where they 
 suit. It is a great misfortune not to have, seen a Kossuth — once. 
 But the men of wealth and form must hate him. It is the fate 
 of luxury to hate permanent ideas. It seeks perpetual change, 
 for it lives only in the passing moment, is chagrined at the past, 
 and is fearful of the future, and therefore its punishment is to 
 be ennuye with the present, which is an eternal punishment. 
 God give us the freedom of the Great Jerusalem of thought and 
 truth! There alone can we live. . . . 
 
 My father's dear friend Henderson was married in May 
 to Miss Virginia Picot, of Philadelphia, a very beautiful 
 and charming woman. He describes the wedding to my 
 mothfer at length, in a letter of May 23, and winds up thus: — 
 
 Presently it was at an end; the benediction was echoed from 
 heart to heart, they turned and faced a crowd of prophets and 
 prophetesses of their future happiness ; every one flew dovra upon 
 them with a hand-grasp, or for a kiss. Virginia ran about kissing 
 
1852 REMOVAL TO PHILADELPHIA 271 
 
 everybody, red as a sunset, like the Jungfrau when she takes good- 
 night of the Bernese people. — Two old Scotchmen in one comer 
 shook hands, and said one to the other, — "Wull, wuU, late us nu 
 gang bock into thaw Woruld." I felt that for me there was 
 no going back into the world — it was all "well, well," in too high 
 a sense to leave the world our prison. Nothing like the great 
 facts of the world, realized by the good, with beauty, for lifting us 
 out of the dungeons of the satanic trade and cant world which 
 we call the "woruld." I went, it is true, down Chestnut St. to 
 my office, and met hosts of coats and frocks walking, but I was 
 still at the wedding and at our wedding; . . . and then I vdshed 
 to make some present to the pair, to bring my bodily life up into 
 the spirit life where my soul moved. I mooted the question of 
 an immediate resurrection, so to speak, through some tangible 
 present. Some one had brought in to Virginia just at the hour 
 an exquisite flower basket of biscuit ware. That was well — but 
 I had something better. I could lend them new eyes to see nature 
 with, I could bring the beauties of their route closer to them. 
 I could command the elements, and subsidize light for their mar- 
 riage tour, — that was much better. I rode home in the first 
 omnibus, got my lorgnette in its old case, with the band still 
 round it, torn and dusty, jumped into another bus that passed 
 just by, and found them as they stepped into the boat. They 
 were of course pleased with my lenses, and when the bell rang, 
 we left them alone in the crowd together on the waters, with the 
 evening sun lightening up the trees of the Jersey shore, boats 
 crossing each other's wakes over the whole stretch of the river, 
 and the sky just so tempered in its blue vdth cloudy fleece as to 
 typify to them subdued hopes and chastened joys. In half an 
 hour I was deep in calculation how many feet must be taken 
 from the north boundary of the Powell property, so as to leave 
 just 30 acres of land on each side of the R. Road curve in West 
 Philadelphia. At half-past six I locked my door, strolled up 
 Walnut Street, bought some nuts at the corner of 5th — fed the 
 squirrels and peacocks in Independence Square, turned from 
 Chestnut Street up 6th under the scaffolding of the new buildings, 
 bought six oranges at the Confectioner's in Market Street next 
 to Uncle's store, who told me they were as sweet as strawberries, 
 and some taffy at the old woman's in Sugar Alley, where I used 
 to get it 30 years ago — for Aunt Hall — and sat down, tired as a 
 hod-carrier and happier than any lord, to tea with my dear old 
 Governor and his very tolerable and almost amiable wife and 
 my petit beau-frhe, and talked and joked and read Kossuth's 
 
272 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xni 
 
 last speech — and — went to bed and dreamed I was married 
 myself — but I won't say to whom, for you would be shocked. 
 
 May 24, 1852, he moved out to Germantown, where he 
 lodged first at Buttonwoods, "a famous hotel for thirty 
 years back." 
 
 May 26, 1852. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Susan [Hillard] is entirely absorbed in the business of rais- 
 ing a subscription for the poor Hungarian ladies who are expected 
 this week. The mother of Kossuth, an old lady of seventy, 
 her three widowed daughters and eleven children, will all arrive 
 in a day or two, without money or clothing, sent from an Austrian 
 prison to this country, without time or means to collect the neces- 
 saries of life. They are going to Cincinnati, to open a school, 
 but they have nothing to get there with. Kossuth reHgiously 
 keeps all the money he has obtained here, for his people, so they 
 cannot be benefited except by private kindness. Madame Pulsky 
 tells Cousin Susan, that Kossuth's mother is a noble old lady, much 
 worn with long imprisonment, and that the daughters are pious, 
 excellent, devoted, one of them possessing great genius, and that 
 they only need the means to get them to Cincinnati, . . . and 
 they can get their own living without anybody's help. . . . 
 
 Juite 8, 1852. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 ... I wish you would get Sandy to read "Uncle Tom's Cabin." 
 In a private letter to a friend, that I have seen, Mrs. Stowe speaks 
 joyfully of the numbers of children that read it, and says when 
 she thinks of that, she thanks God, and takes courage, and shall 
 try again. Old Mr. Amos Lawrence keeps an immense number 
 of copies on hand, and gives to everybody that visits him, grown 
 or little folks, that have not read it. He also bought two hun- 
 dred copies, and sent out to California, to be distributed there, 
 and another hundred he sent to friends in the South. Amer 
 HoUingsworth, who never cared a sou for Anti-slavery was in- 
 duced to read it in a queer way. He had larger demands for 
 paper than ever before, and found he could not with all his efforts 
 make enough. Publishers sent to him asking if he would not set 
 up a new mill. "Uncle Tom" was called for so fast that I should 
 not dare to tell you how much paper was wanted. Amer Hol- 
 lingsworth kept his paper-mill going extra hours, and then had 
 the curiosity to read the book that kept him so busy. He and 
 
1852 REMOVAL TO PHILADELPHIA 273 
 
 his wife cried over it, and come what will, they are Anti-slavery 
 people henceforth. It is a book of wonderful power, and what a 
 work it will do! . . . 
 
 At this time my father was very busy over plans for a 
 new depot for the Pennsylvania Railroad in Pittsburg. 
 His letters are full of architectural ideas, sketches, descrip- 
 tions, etc. What became of all this work I do not know. 
 
 June 10, 1852. Peter Lesley to his Wipe. 
 
 ... I do nothing but draw, draw, draw all day, and haven't 
 an extra thought to throw to a dog. . . . 
 
 He writes rather whimsically: — 
 
 * June II. 
 
 My pressing piece of work was duly signed, sealed and de- 
 livered to Adams & Co. Public Benefactors and addressed to 
 O. W. B. P. A. E. P. R.R. for the benefit of the City Fathers 
 in Pittsburg (a gang of soap-boiling ragamuffins — by all accounts) 
 — to recommence negotiations about shutting up two alleys, 
 to erect an incredible monstrosity called a Station House. Said 
 Station House duly skylighted, towered, plastered, round-win- 
 dowed, balustraded, flat-roofed, and flattened generally down to 
 the taste of the American pubHc, and conscript Pittsburg Fathers 
 
 in particular; but in a more especial manner adapted to Mr. ■ 
 
 's appreciation of the beautiful. 
 
 June 16, 1852. To his Wife. 
 
 . . I have been again among the squalors of the newly pur- 
 chased property between Market and Kelly, Thirteenth and Juniper 
 Sts. There sat a score of feeble and feverish mothers, on doorsteps, 
 in little back yards, watching scores of dirty children playing in 
 the gutters. Some asked me eagerly if I intended to build them 
 better houses. My smile was no doubt a sad one when I replied 
 that I wished I could. The little children fought who shoiild hold 
 the ring end of my tape, as I went from one brick edge to an- 
 other, and measured one filthy wall after another. There were 
 sheds also inhabited, and afterwards stables innumerable, full 
 of horses, and ending in old wooden houses full of Irish people; 
 and the backs of Market Street flash {sic) shops, and so I wormed 
 
2 74 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xm 
 
 in and out like the Devil in Paris, taking the measure of human 
 enormities, questioned by beings of every species. 
 
 June 20, 1852. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 How I felt for the miserable people who asked if you were 
 going to build them little houses! What a pity that more rich 
 people do not set about such enterprises! — ^What a pity that any 
 boy should grow up, with property, without being inspired with 
 the same ideas that have led Charles Barnard, and Sam Eliot, 
 and Charles Norton and Dr. William Lawrence, to devote their 
 lives and money to the erection of Children's Hospitals, schools, 
 and employment houses! Just after you left here, I saw the 
 large house in Channing St., where the Mothers who go out days to 
 work leave their yoimg children for the day, . . . 
 
 Here follow^ed a description of the arrangements for the 
 good of the children. 
 
 July I, 1852. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . To-day ... I have lain on the sofa all day, reading the 
 Memoirs of Agrippina, and rejoicing that I did not live in her 
 day, unless indeed my lot had been cast among the early Chris- 
 tians. Aunt Kitty complains that I gobble up books so fast, she 
 can't keep me supplied. She and I have lately read a novel 
 "The Head of the Family," deeply interesting, and the hero 
 reminds me much of my Peter. I was much pleased with Les- 
 quereux's letter, which you sent me. How I wish I could see 
 him! Do I vmderstand him rightly, that he is convinced Desor 
 will never retiu-n to this country ? . . . Aunt Kitty sent you a paper 
 containing Elossuth's speech at the Tabernacle, which we thought 
 the most beautiful of all his speeches. I shall send you also 
 a Commonwealth containing [Joshua] Giddings' speech on Sla- 
 very, which seems to me very fine. I only hope that Charles 
 Sumner will wake up to the same degree of righteous boldness. 
 The Abohtionists are making anxious inquiries after his back- 
 bone, but I have faith in him still. 
 
 My father had evidently another plan for the depot on 
 hand, for he writes:— 
 
1852 REMOVAL TO PHILADELPHIA 275 
 
 July 9, 1852. To HIS Wife. 
 
 ... I have devised a noble Egyptian front to my Depot, and 
 w^ill have three artists work in inventing crowds of figures for the 
 frieze to represent in stiff Egyptian style the handicraft, commerce, 
 steam and telegraph of modern days. It's a bright thought, 
 and worth trouble which I shall not spare. If I can induce enough 
 taste in the men I deal with to accept my designs, I shall intro- 
 duce a new style into our Architectural Art. . . . 
 
 Your letters are springs of cool water by a turnpike road, in 
 a hot and hilly land. . . . 
 
 July 14, 1852. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Cousin Susan Hillard is now rejoicing in having been the 
 means of uniting a husband and wife, who have had for years 
 no trace of each other. The wife escaped from slavery years ago, 
 perhaps ten years since. The husband escaped and reached 
 Boston a month ago. Somehow he fell in with Susan and told 
 her his story. She wrote numerous letters to Canada, among 
 others, one to Jones Lyman in Montreal. . . . Jones hunted the 
 colored population through, and when the poor man reached 
 Montreal, was at the station house to receive him, and conducted 
 him to his long-lost wife. . . . Mrs. Stowe has received ten thou- 
 sand dollars from the sale of "Uncle Tom," and gives largely 
 to any distressed fugitive case. . . . 
 
 Do you know that a few weeks since the Consociation in 
 Connecticut voted a second trial of Dr. Bushnell, and that his 
 church were so indignant at it, that they at once withdrew from 
 the jurisdiction of the Consociation, and made themselves an 
 independent church, without even asking Dr. Bushnell's advice 
 or consent. . . . 
 
 In August of 1852 my mother had joined my father in 
 his Germantown lodgings, and there they remained for 
 several months, after which they removed to rooms in Phila- 
 delphia for the winter. It was, as I have said before, a 
 heavy trial to my mother to leave Milton. My father also 
 regretted the change, but it is evident from the tone of his 
 letters that the new life better suited his temperament and 
 instincts, and that the relief from sermon-making and reg- 
 ular parish duties was very great. He was in truth a man 
 of science, and felt himself now to be working in the line 
 
276 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiu 
 
 for which his talents best fitted him. I do not think he ever 
 regretted the years given to the Theological School or to 
 the work of the ministry, and he retained throughout life 
 certain intellectual and spiritual interests which were the 
 direct outcome of those early studies. I well remember 
 his delight in such books as Kenan's "Vie de Jesu," Kuenen^s 
 "History of Israel," and Stanley's "Jewish Church." They 
 stood side by side on his mantel-shelf with the latest scien- 
 tific manuals, magazines, and brochures, where in a leisure 
 half -hour he could find them, and, sinking into the neigh- 
 boring arm-chair, light his short pipe full of mild tobacco, 
 and read (and mark with his blue pencil as he read) either 
 to himself or, if he found a willing listener, aloud, until 
 duty called him again to his drawing-board, manuscript, 
 or proof-reading. 
 
 In September they went to visit the Delanos at their 
 new place on the Hudson, "Algonac." My father remained 
 there two or three weeks, and then returned to Philadelphia, 
 and presently went into the field in Western Pennsylvania 
 for the rest of the season. 
 
 Latrobe, Oct. 5, 1852. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . The work is interesting, the weather fine, the scenery 
 charming. The river winds through beautiful meadows with 
 wooded banks, and dashes its folds against high and steep wooded 
 bluffs. . . . After my work was over with the party, I went along 
 the river -bank, far from any house, under a lovely alley of great 
 trees extending for a quarter of a mile. The setting sun streamed 
 through them, and slanting over the high bank under which I 
 walked, struck full upon the red and yellow trees that crowd up 
 the opposite slope and were reflected, every branch and tinted leaf 
 in the still mirror of the water. I walked with you in spirit, and 
 recalled some fine utterances of Aunt Kitty in her last letter to 
 me, by which I learned that she was enjoying the ever -young 
 nature there, but how much more would she have enjoyed this 
 here ! I walked till the sun was long down, and thought with much 
 grateful feeling how work is hghtened to the laboring man. I can 
 give you no adequate conception of the surpassing loveliness of 
 these scenes. . . . 
 
 To-day a letter comes from Lesquereux, just arrived at Colum- 
 
i8s2 REMOVAL TO PHILADELPHIA 277 
 
 bus . . . He begs me to come to see him; expresses the greatest 
 joy and gratitude at getting home after five months' absence, well, 
 and finding all well. Says he has everywhere been successful 
 with his identifications, . . . The impression he made at the Sum- 
 mit* was extraordinary; they speak of his visit as of an angel's. 
 
 New Alexandria, Oct. 13, 1852. To his Wipe. 
 
 . . . By the time I had got back to the "big house," it was quite 
 dusk, and an old man with a face like a deacon's, two young men 
 and a woman, all evidently deacon's children (or elder's 1 should 
 say in Pennsylvania), were sitting down at the table in the kitchen 
 where the old lady presided. And there was a vacant chair there 
 also. They had no doubt had a family consultation (as to board- 
 ing and lodging me for the night) in my absence, and resolved, 
 on Christian principles, to take the stranger in; so down I sat, 
 and soon made friends of the old couple, for sure enough the old 
 father was an elder in the Presbyterian church, and I could tell 
 him endless stories of Dr. Green and Dr. Alexander, and specu- 
 late upon the probabilities of Dr. Humphrey's resignation, and 
 all that. But I never let on that I was ever deeper in the mys- 
 teries of Clerical society than a spectator might be. After tea, 
 I drew my boots and opened my charts, and showed him where 
 Slatter's line ran fifteen years ago down Crab tree branch, across 
 his flats, and up McClelland's run. Yes, he remembered it right 
 well. He could show me about where they passed his lane above 
 the locust-tree, and although he supposed the stakes were all 
 gone, yet there was a hickory-tree up the run, which had a long 
 time ago many figures and "strange marks" upon it, and he'd 
 shew me that. A common big-wick tallow candle stood between 
 us on the parlor table, his son drew up a chair, and three news- 
 papers lay on the table, each of us took one and sat a long time 
 in silence reading, the daughter sat still behind, knitting, the 
 Mother in the kitchen. My paper happened to be the Presby- 
 terian. A queer sensation ran through me as I opened it, which 
 I now always feel whenever I meet it, as if an enemy whom I 
 despised met me. "What! Here too Billy Engles !" is its trans- 
 lated meaning. "Thou old fox! Thou half -saint sinner of a 
 Church politician ; with thy Calvinism and thy sneers at De Hawkes 
 and Oberlin, etc., — art thou friend and Cure here also?" How 
 ubiquitous — how omnipotent in his way, is the editor of a popu- 
 
 * The Summit was at Cresson, on the top of the Alleghanies, and the 
 home of my father's friend, Dr. Robert Jackson. 
 
278 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xra 
 
 lar, especially of a religious denominational organ of a news- 
 paper! Yet I never fail to feel my disgust gradually subside into 
 a sort of happy satisfaction as I leave the second page, and turn 
 to the first, and especially to the fourth, where all sorts of tender 
 harmonies of the soul, tales of faith and charity, receipts for the 
 cure of heartsickness, and what not, are spread out like delicious 
 viands on table before these innumerable country families. I 
 hit upon a pretty story (if true), of a mouse that during the ab- 
 sence of the family had got into a canary bird's cage, and when 
 the family returned was not only quite domesticated there, but 
 had begun to take music lessons and actually ( ?) learned to imi- 
 tate perfectly the canary's song, but in a low sweet tone, and loved 
 to prompt the bird, and lived upon its seed and cake. Tell that 
 to Dora and say for me that I mean to have a kiss for that pretty 
 story, when I return. Indeed I think she will grant that it is 
 worth one a day for a whole week. . . . 
 
 New Alexandria, Oct. 15, 1852. Peter Lesley to 
 Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . The Loyalhanna itself is as beautiful as its name, gambol- 
 ling (I can call its action by no other name) from side to side in 
 wonderful eccentric loops, down through now wild solitudes, and 
 now most smiling farms. I wish Thoreau had chosen it instead 
 of the tame Merrimack for his description. The biography of 
 such a river, even flowing as it does through almost unhistoric 
 scenes, would if well written arrest the attention of the world. 
 It is pleasant to think that every year helps to make our land 
 historical, adding the tints of age, the mosses of romance, filling 
 local scenery with family adventure, and giving dead nature 
 life. ... 
 
 I have greatly enjoyed my occupation ; but you know I have an 
 unhappy habit of soon tiring of everything, and I already heartily 
 wish that I were at home. Dear Aunt Kitty, you little know how 
 intense my longings are after an ideal perfection in nature, temper, 
 morals and manners, which successive years only seem to post- 
 pone more surely. These aspirations are probably common to 
 most men; if so, their being so commonly unfulfilled suggests 
 despair. And yet when I see you so patient, self-sacrificing, 
 affectionate, and wise in your judgment and your treatment of 
 others, I cannot despair of some day becoming more worthy of 
 life. What astonishes me is that I ever dared to patronize virtue 
 and preach Christianity. What is it in the difference of airs in 
 New England and in Pennsylvania, that makes a person radical 
 
1852 REMOVAL TO PHILADELPHIA 279 
 
 there and conservative here? For I am becoming conservative, 
 in very fact. One reason may be that here no topic of high 
 morality is ever mentioned. If the traveller introduces a reform- 
 ing thought, it lies down in a general silence, like a gazelle fawn 
 dropped in the snows of Nova Zembla, and is instantly frozen to 
 death. To talk of anything but courtship and marriage or rail- 
 road business here, one must set to and preach, monopolize con- 
 versation, and be damned for a pedagogue. Religion is quite 
 perverted to mere orthodoxy, and so great a fear of any liberal 
 thought pervades all minds that people will not dare talk to you. 
 You can no more get them to discuss faith and free will than you 
 could get the Spaniards to discuss the supremacy of the Pope in 
 the days of Torquemada. — You tell us in your letters always just 
 what we most wish to know, about our friends and their affairs. 
 TeU William [Thayer], if you please, that I flagellate my spiritual 
 back daily for not writing to him, but have come to the conclusion 
 that I am too much of a fool to do it. He sent me a To-day 
 with a capital critique on Hawthorne, the latter part of which I 
 especially admired, as it gradually cleared itself, and completely, 
 from the few faults of style (to me) which appeared in the first 
 page or two before his pen grew warm. I am in such a desert 
 as to literature, that I cannot find him even a cactus flower to 
 send. I shall die mentally of inanition at this work. . . . 
 
 Oct. 17, 1852. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Six o'clock. I have been to prayer meeting, and my ears are 
 full of wind, and my belly of chaff. God knows I preached 
 better than that ! I thank him for it. Certainly I did not blow 
 such oat-bread dust about, or purvey such stony provender to 
 our little flock at Milton. There is to be a prayer meeting at 
 twelve o'clock next Sunday, in lieu of preaching, as the venerable 
 dealer in chaff is to meet his brethren in Synod. I have a mind 
 to come and preach myself. Surely the words of our good Master 
 would do good, and I could find some wheat even among the 
 chaff of my own unwinnowed life. ... 
 
 New Alexandria, Oct. 22, 1852. To his Wife. 
 
 ... It is very amusing to observe the great variety and dis- 
 tinct individuahty of character, as one stops to dinner or to sleep, 
 at one house after another. All are differently composed, — the 
 families I mean, — and every man, woman and child is himself 
 and no other person; yet some remind me of others whom I have 
 
28o LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiii 
 
 known elsewhere. The Postmaster here, for instance, strongly 
 recalls to my remembrance Wendell Phillips. But these are rare 
 exceptions. I can run over in my mind now fifty different people, 
 old and young, whose acquaintance I have made this week, and 
 whom I know as well as if I had seen them under ordinary cir- 
 cumstances every day or two for half a year, — ^who are perfectly 
 well defined in face, mien, and mental culture, and spiritual 
 nature. Family resemblances, however strong, do not obliterate, 
 but rather set forth this astonishing individuahty, which the open 
 air, hard work, scant resources of pleasure, and free room for 
 the will, in such a land as this, are sure to generate. I wish you 
 were a man, my darling, that you could go with me where I go, 
 see what I see, and become as much one with me in these infi- 
 nitely varied sceneries as we are one in all things else. . . . 
 
 Oct. 22, 1852. To ms Wife. 
 
 I have spent this week down the valley at farm-houses, far 
 from any post road. . . . Yesterday and day before I suffered 
 great pain, but the weather was too fine to stop, and my anxiety 
 to get through kept me running and climbing until I fairly con- 
 quered the pain, and it left me entirely to-day. I surveyed the 
 wildest gorge yesterday, walled in with subhme cliffs hoary with 
 age and moss, and at their feet ran the little river, among immense 
 rocks fallen from above, and broken hemlocks, and matted 
 laurel. The sun went down, the owls began to hoot, the river 
 began to shine out like one of Turner's pictures in the dusk, 
 and I looked about in vain for some path, however rough, out of 
 this Purgatory, as the neighbors have named it. I at length 
 faced the vast wall of rocks and shingle, and clambered straight 
 up, twice as high above the water as Warren's house is above the 
 Hudson, and then to the summit of a noble hill, whence I could 
 overlook the region far and wide, even to the Mountains. I 
 espied a house also down to the right, in a lovely concentration 
 of little vales, and there came up from it a sonorous blast from 
 the supper horn; so taking one sight to the great brick church 
 at Saltzburg to fix my place, I shouldered my tripod, hurried 
 down some lanes, and was received like an old friend by a charm- 
 ing family of North Irish people by the name of Johnston, — of the 
 worthiest sort; and nothing they could do for my comfort seemed 
 to satisfy them. We sat up late (for us), then they gave me the 
 big Bible, and with a happy heart I went with the old man up 
 to the nicest of bedrooms, full of beds, and slept within curtains, 
 in lamb's-wool blankets, a sweeter sleep than I have had since 
 
1852 REMOVAL TO PHILADELPHIA 281 
 
 leaving home. . . . When I left this morning, they all begged me 
 to "call again," which I heartily promised to do. 
 
 Oct. 24, 1852. To HIS Wife. 
 
 . . . The oddities of country life come out in many unexpected 
 ways. They have new idioms here — such as the use of Vast as 
 a noun, "a vast of houses," — or "of snow"; this is our original 
 waste, a great stretch of desert. Talking of the new hotel putting 
 up here in Latrobe, two men agreed in my hearing that " it would 
 be a real bully house"; I suppose this to be the vulgar Enghsh 
 of helle, as jolly is of jolie. I have heard it used by many vulgar 
 people, but especially by boys, which proves its great antiquity. 
 Traditions of great old fashion are here in general vogue; for 
 instance they would as soon dispense with the bread or with the 
 wine at communion as with the httle round leaden "tokens," 
 which are here a perfect absurdity, but in Scotland were a neces- 
 sity, inasmuch as it was impossible to "fence the tables" without 
 them, where six or eight large congregations met to commune by 
 thousands, governed by ten or twenty ministers. Without tokens 
 of some sort, all sorts of wolves would get in among the sheep. 
 They retain also the beautiful custom of spreading long tables 
 in open parts of the churches and sitting round them. You would 
 be surprised and charmed with the sound common sense and 
 acute argumentative powers of the elderly people. I think they 
 resemble very much the inhabitants of the Connecticut valley, 
 but are not quite so well educated. Books abound in the farm- 
 houses, and in many of them an exemplary neatness and great 
 comfort. Others are horrid, bare and miserable in their lives, 
 and many are filthier than you could conceive of . . . . 
 
 Oct. 27, 1852. To HIS Wipe. 
 
 . . . We have just heard of Webster's death. It gave me a 
 great shock. I then realized first his true and awful position 
 in the universe — in universal history. 
 
 Oct. 30, 1852. To HIS Wife. 
 
 . . . Sat up reading Tom Hood's "Up the Rhine"; but how 
 soon protracted humor palls! It is the lowest wholesome food of 
 the human soul. It makes me doubt whether there really be any 
 humor in heaven. Wit is quite another and a better thing; it is 
 the soul, to humor, the body. I had a most forlorn time here 
 Wednesday afternoon and evening. It rained, and I fell into the 
 
282 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xin 
 
 dumps, and megrims of all shades beset me, and I began to doubt 
 and hate everything and everybody, and would have gone to 
 bed so, but for my kind hostess coming in with two nice volumes 
 of "Uncle Tom," which I read and reread till quite late, wonder- 
 ing that there was so much in it that I had neither seen nor 
 heard, and wondering more and more at the perfection of the 
 book as a mere work of art. . . . 
 
 November 6 my father returned to Philadelphia, where 
 a few days later my mother joined him. Long letters of 
 this date to my grandmother Lyman tell of how they settled 
 themselves into rooms on Arch Street, and of the various 
 friends they made, — Dr. Furness and his brother James 
 Furness's family, Mrs. Palmer (Isaac T. Hopper's sister), and 
 several others. Of Dr. Furness my mother writes: "He 
 is a remarkably genial and happy man. One feels that he 
 has really attained to the liberty wherewith Christ makes 
 his followers free." 
 
w ^ 
 
 t-1 ^ 
 
 1-1 »^ 
 
 w « 
 
 ^ s 
 
 < I 
 
 P ft; 
 
 CO 
 
 H s 
 
 Ah § 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Professional Life, i 853-1 858 
 
 The ten years from 1853 to 1863 were years of anxiety 
 and struggle, but at the end of that time my father's repu- 
 tation as a competent working geologist was fully estab- 
 lished, and he had become widely known as a man of science. 
 
 My father and mother had left Mrs. Lyman and Miss 
 Robbins in the Milton house, where they remained for some 
 months, after which my grandmother moved to a house in 
 Cambridge, on Garden Street, where she remained eight ^ 
 or ten years. Here my mother usually spent her summers, 
 while my father was occupied with geological field work, 
 not only in Pennsylvania, but occasionally in the South and 
 West. He was often obliged to be absent from home on 
 these expeditions late into the autumn, and even until mid- 
 winter. The exposure and hardship of the winter trips 
 was often very great, but, on the whole, the life suited his 
 health better than a purely sedentary occupation would 
 have done. 
 
 He and my mother were deeply interested in the anti- 
 slavery question, and they felt the gathering clouds of na- 
 tional trouble, which were to culminate in the Civil War. 
 They were personally interested in the fate of several fugi- / 
 tive slaves, chief among these Mary Walker, their faithful 
 handmaid in the little Milton home. The letters make 
 frequent reference to her sorrows and anxieties, to the Fugi- 
 tive Slave Law ("that wicked law," as my mother once ex- 
 pressed it), to the Kansas and Nebraska sufferers, and to 
 the hopes and fears of the reform party in the national 
 election of 1856. 
 
 It seems best here to make some small reference to the 
 most painful episode of my father's life, — ^his rupture with 
 his old friend and master, Henry D. Rogers. 
 
 283 
 
284 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 He had always great respect for Dr. Rogers's abilities 
 as a geologist and a man of science, and often mentioned 
 with great satisfaction the honors paid to him at various 
 times by scientific men in Europe, as well as in this country. 
 But I fancy he had always found it difficult to work under 
 Rogers, and probably they were temperamentally antag- 
 onistic. Both were extremely nervous men, and probably 
 suffered from the irritability common to such sensitive 
 physiques. I find in the letters of the summer and autumn 
 of 1 85 1 a growing anxiety on my father's part lest he should 
 not much longer be able to work under Rogers. He was 
 still at that date, apparently, under his direction, for he says 
 in a letter to my mother, June 15, 185 1 : — 
 
 Do not be uneasy yet about the Survey, for at the bottom 
 I can rest securely upon R.'s honesty and good will, altho' he is a 
 most uncomfortable partner in any work. If I have made those 
 I have been with this winter half so uncomfortable as he has 
 sometimes made me, it is high time that I were under ground or 
 above the clouds. 
 
 The following spring, 1852, my father and Mr. Rogers 
 decided to break their business connection, as it had become 
 impossible for them longer to work together. I suppose 
 also that Dr. Rogers considered that my father had deserted 
 him unwarrantably, but I am sure that such was not the 
 case, and that it had become impossible for him longer 
 to continue in the relation towards Rogers which he had held 
 for years. In a letter of April 20, 1852, to my mother, he 
 writes (after describing the final arrangements for this sepa- 
 ration), "I felt ... as if I had waked from a long and fright- 
 ful nightmare, to find myself in a summer morning among 
 the trees of an orchard, and the birds." 
 
 Possibly this breaking of business relations would not 
 have caused the complete destruction of personal friendship 
 which afterward resulted. Several years later, however, 
 when Dr. Rogers published the Report of the First Geo- 
 logical Survey, my father and other assistants on that sur- 
 vey found that he had not given sufficient credit for the 
 
1853-58 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 285 
 
 large share of that work which they, the assistants, had 
 done. 
 
 Very possibly this fact was not due to an ungenerous 
 intention, but to the theory that, since the responsibility of a 
 survey rested on the head of that survey, to him also was 
 due the credit of the work done. 
 
 However that may have been, my father felt that an 
 injustice had been done, and one that should be taken note 
 of. Therefore, when he published in 1859 his "Iron Man- 
 ufacturers' Guide," in its preface he gave a stinging rebuke 
 to the "so-called Author" of the Report of the First Pennsyl- 
 vania Survey, and enumerated with spirited emphasis the 
 names and deeds of the various assistants on that survey 
 unmentioned in the geological report. 
 
 This public criticism finished matters. It was an un- 
 forgivable insult. Thus, no doubt. Dr. Rogers considered 
 it. The breach was completed, and he never spoke to my 
 father again. 
 
 I do not know that my father regretted what he had 
 done. The truth as he saw it demanded personal sacrifice, 
 and he was ready to accept that. But I know that he suf- 
 fered deeply, nevertheless. He never talked about this 
 lost friendship, and I have had to chiefly construct my own 
 theory as to the catastrophe from what I have found in the 
 letters. 
 
 When he came to write his own Reports of the Second 
 Geological Survey of Pennsylvania, while fully carrying out 
 his thepry that credit should be given to every aid on his 
 survey, he took satisfaction, in his chapter on the history of 
 the First Survey,* in giving full credit to Dr. Rogers for 
 his great ability in carrying on that work. 
 
 In 1853 my father took his young brother Joseph as 
 assistant to himself, and very soon trained him to be an 
 excellent aid. Joseph later left the profession, and became 
 
 * Second Geological Survey of Pennsylvania: Vol. A, Historical 
 Sketch of Geological Explorations, chap. iii. pp. 53-197. Note also in 
 the same Volume A, in a second edition, 1878, in the preface, a letter from 
 William B. Rogers, Jr., concerning the work on the Final Report of the First 
 Survey. 
 
286 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 in after years secretary of the Pennsylvania Railroad. A 
 year or two later a nephew of my mother's, Mr. Benjamin 
 Smith Lyman, also became his assistant, well known later 
 in the scientific world as a distinguished geologist. Mr. 
 Lyman vv^as also a valued friend, one whom my father 
 throughout his life loved, honored, and trusted. 
 
 In September, 1856, my father accepted the office of 
 secretary of the Iron-masters' Association, "with a salary 
 of $1,200," he writes. "I am to be allowed my own way 
 of doing things, and will have half the year to devote to 
 coal, etc." 
 
 The taking up of this work involved the visiting of all 
 the iron works of the United States, and occupied many 
 months of the two following years. The financial crisis 
 of 1857 caused great distress in all departments of activity, 
 and I judge that he rarely or perhaps never received the 
 remuneration for this work which the Association had in- 
 tended. He, nevertheless, continued the investigation to 
 the end, and published the bulky volume recording the 
 statistics of the Iron Industries up to that date, — a volume 
 considered of great value by contemporaries: 
 
 He had, however, in 1856, before publishing the "Iron 
 Manufacturers' Guide" (in 1859), published his own little 
 "Coal Manual," a volume which has always been highly 
 regarded. He evidently intended this first edition as a 
 partial statement, and hoped in later editions to fill it out 
 with fuller text and illustration; but a time never came 
 when he could do so, because of the constant press of busi- 
 ness which filled his working years. 
 
 My cousin Benjamin S. Lyman, in his biographical 
 notice of J. Peter Lesley, speaking of the "Manual of Coal, 
 and its Topography," says: — 
 
 This modest little octavo of 224 pages was, in geology, 
 an epoch-making book of the highest importance and novelty; 
 for it was the first to show how clearly and strongly the topography 
 often indicates the geological structure through the varied effect 
 of the outcrops of underlying basins or saddles of harder or softer 
 rock-beds upon the form of the earth's surface, the mountains, 
 
1853-58 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 287 
 
 hills and valleys. He briefly, but no less vivaciously than cor- 
 rectly, describes, with many apt and striking illustrations, the 
 varied results of the erosion of the outcropping surfaces of rock- 
 beds of different hardness and disimilar inclination. But, per- 
 haps betraying some traces still at that time of the supernatural 
 influences of his theological training, he insists, throughout, 
 that the erosion was done by a cataclysmic flood rushing south- 
 ward from the Arctic Ocean, and was accomplished " with infinite 
 force and speed, and ceased forever," in the way Rogers had 
 conjectured. Lesley, however, already feels doubt as to the 
 correctness of Rogers's twin conjecture, that the rock-folds had 
 likewise instantaneously been caused just previously by immense 
 waves of the molten interior of the earth raised by tremendous 
 cataclysmic earthquakes, waves rolling northwestward and steep 
 on the northwest side, and gentle on the southeast; yet he dis- 
 plays unstinted admiration for the grandeur of the idea. The 
 book also gives concisely his excellent practical methods of topo- 
 graphical surveying, the result of his own experience in an art 
 that was at that time little understood and still less practised 
 in America, even by engineers to whom topography was impor- 
 tant. Only a small edition of the book was printed ; and it has 
 been too little read, too seldom understood, and appreciated 
 by too few. After the lapse of some years, he dreamed of rewrit- 
 ing it, with a young assistant's help in the surveying part. But 
 though the plan was discussed from time to time for many years, 
 the moment of convenient leisure never came. Its careful, pains- 
 taking way of really surveying and making an accurate topo- 
 graphical map, in order to study out the geology, is distasteful, 
 compared with the magical plan of perceiving the subterranean 
 facts merely by second sight. 
 
 In the summer of 1855 my father began a large survey 
 on the Broad Top Mountain region, of Central Pennsylvania, 
 a notable piece of geological work; "a minute survey and 
 contour-line map of the Broad Top semi-bituminous coal 
 fields, with over eleven thousand stations levelled." 
 
 In 1854 their dear friend, Martha Swan, became one 
 of the family for the year. She spent many months of 
 future years with them. 
 
 In the winter of 1855 my grandfather Lesley died, — an 
 irreparable loss to his family. 
 
288 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 During this summer my father was anxious to invest 
 safely a few thousand dollars left him by his father, for the 
 good of his family, and finds it difficult to settle upon a 
 proper investment. In reply to what he has written her 
 concerning this matter, I find this answer characteristic 
 of my mother: — 
 
 •Jamaica Plain, July 2gth, '55. 
 
 I can well imagine that you should be much troubled with 
 regard to purchasing lands. I feel with you that it will be better 
 for mind and soul to stick to your profession. Money cer- 
 tainly gives great power, but when the uncertainty and risk of 
 obtaining it is so great, it is hard to have to sacrifice so much 
 time and peace of mind to it, and worry one's self with dealings 
 with people whom one has no confidence in. There is after all 
 something far better in professional life, and certain though 
 small gains, than all the harassing turmoil, that belongs to the 
 making of fortunes. 
 
 About 1857 he devised an aneroid barometer, and sev- 
 eral other mechanical inventions, of which Mr. B. S. Lyman 
 
 says : — 
 
 About 1857 he devised one that was made for him by the 
 skilful Becker, and was in successful use for many years. It had 
 twelve vacuum-boxes and a dial plate 14 in. in circumference, 
 corresponding to only 2 in. of the mercurial column, or about 
 2,000 ft. of height; and was well compensated and light. In 
 1862 he experimented a little with stadia measurement, and was 
 convinced of its advantages; but encouraged a young assistant 
 to elaborate the method further within the next two or three 
 years. A highly convenient micrometric pair of dividers for 
 plotting field-notes was an invention of Mr. Lesley's in 1868, 
 and was described by him in a paper read before the Philosophical 
 Society in April, 1873, and republished in the R.R. Register, 
 June 28, 1873. It was so pubHshed in order to save his fellow 
 topographers from any risk of having to pay a royalty to anybody 
 else, though he did not desire a patent upon it himself. 
 
 Early in 1858 my father was elected librarian of the 
 American Philosophical Society, — a position which he held 
 
1853-58 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 289 
 
 for twenty-five years, with enjoyment to himself and ad- 
 vantage, I may say, to the society. During all that period 
 he gave much time and attention to its affairs. He took 
 entire charge of its publications; and he was a constant 
 attendant at the meetings, whose discussions he aided to the 
 best of his ability. 
 
 The hall of the society and its other rooms are in an 
 old building within the precincts of Independence Square, 
 with a view of the tower of Independence Hall opposite its 
 back windows. Here, in the quiet of the old rooms, were 
 spent many hours, full of occupation, but from the repose 
 of the place refreshing to the tired brain. 
 
 I had the privilege of being my father's assistant in 
 this library work for a number of years, and I have a vivid 
 remembrance of the tranquillity of the hours spent there, 
 and the chances for comparatively uninterrupted work. 
 It is true that, when he was known to be there, there was less 
 quiet, and many people came to see him for various reasons. 
 But he often sought the privacy of these rooms after hours, 
 and worked in the peace which he could gain nowhere 
 else in the city. 
 
 In his day the rooms were surrounded by deep glazed 
 bookcases of colonial architecture, filled to overflowing 
 with books and magazines, memoirs and brochures, "Pro- 
 ceedings" and "Transactions" of the scientific societies 
 of every civilized spot in the world. Above the chimney 
 places and over the wide folding doors hung the portraits 
 of the various presidents of the society, from Benjamin 
 Franklin, its founder, to Frederick Fraley, who presided in the 
 latter half of the nineteenth century. On a raised dais at the 
 upper end of the room stood Franklin's leather-covered 
 arm-chair, with the president's table in front of it. Below 
 the dais were two baize-covered tables, around which the 
 members sat at the meetings. Everything was a little 
 shabby, — carpets and table-covers and old chairs; but it 
 was a delightfully retired and cheerful retreat, with the sun- 
 shine slanting in through the large and rather dusty windows, 
 which on two sides overlooked Independence Square. 
 Since those days the old rooms have taken on a more modern 
 
290 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 aspect, have good carpets and uniform tables and chairs 
 and better-arranged bookcases, and no doubt serve a greater 
 number of aspiring young men of science and letters. In 
 our day it was in truth a rather sleepy place: not many 
 books were taken out, not a great many people attended 
 the meetings. But it had its activities of a quiet kind. 
 Many a notable publication was brought forth under its 
 fostering care, and much intercourse with the first scientific 
 minds of the age was carried on. If the actively present 
 membership was small, it was of the kind that made it a 
 most honorable body to be numbered among. Something 
 of the flavor of those homely but beautiful old rooms will 
 hang round the place for long. 
 
 The "Library" of the society supplied our family with 
 interesting work for many years. It had never been properly 
 catalogued, perhaps had never been catalogued at all. 
 With characteristic energy my father at once undertook to 
 provide a "card" catalogue, and invented a method of 
 classification, which, I think, might still be useful in 
 connection with a scientific library. My mother and Miss 
 Swan used to devote much time to this card catalogue. I 
 find also from her letters that in 1858 my mother was as- 
 sisting in making up the Statistical Tables of Forges and 
 Rolling Mills for the "Iron Manufacturers' Guide." She 
 writes to Miss Robbins, "I write four hours every day, 
 letting nothing hinder." It was always a great delight to 
 her to be able in any way to help on her husband's work. 
 She had a beautifully even and clear handwriting, and wrote 
 rapidly, so that she could often assist him in copying lists, 
 etc. 
 
 Philadelphia, Jan. 11, 1853. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO HER Mother. 
 
 In the evening he [Peter] read to me, as I was able to hear, 
 Parker's sermon on Webster, which I think is one of the finest 
 that has been uttered; also Wentworth Higginson's Installation 
 Sermon, a beautiful discourse, which he sent us last week; and 
 another very fine sermon, a farewell by the Rev. David Wasson, 
 of Groveland, Mass. ... He is evidently a Come-outer from 
 Orthodoxy, and a very original thinker. I was surprised to 
 
i853 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 291 
 
 find Parker's sermon so very tender towards Webster. There 
 is none of his usual bitterness of tone in it, he only mourns 
 sadly as any Christian must over his fall, but casts no stones 
 and utters no anathemas. I have had two or three beautiful 
 visits from Mrs. Gibbons, who is visiting Mrs. Palmer. She 
 is one of the salt of the earth. . . . 
 
 At this period my father and mother were much occupied 
 with the sorrows of Mary Walker. She was placed, soon 
 after their departure to Philadelphia, with my grandmother 
 Lyman, and lived with her for many years. There were 
 great efforts made by her friends to obtain her children for 
 her, — ^by purchase, — but, as Mary herself was liable to be 
 arrested and returned to her master, all the negotiations had 
 to be carried on with great caution and secrecy. There 
 are many references to this difficult business in the letters 
 of this date and later. 
 
 March 9, 1853. Susan I. Lesley to Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 , . . Oh, dear! What a horror and nightmare over the land this 
 slavery is! Some days it oppresses me like a thick darkness, 
 and the hope seems so dim and faint. Now I can understand 
 all the intense indignation of the Abolitionists, all their expres- 
 sions of bitterness. Christ himself would utter the same, were 
 he now upon the earth. You must assure Mary that we never 
 pass a day without thinking of her and wishing to see her. , . . 
 
 [Cambridge, Mass.] June 6, 1853. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO HER Husband. 
 
 ... I must tell you of the latest evidence of Robert G. Shaw's 
 
 insanity, in the minds of R and other old conservative fogies. 
 
 They considered him a man remarkable for common sense all 
 his lifetime, and cannot account for such a departure on any 
 other hypothesis. About an hour before he died, he desired his 
 children to be summoned. He then told them he had just had a 
 vision, in which the other world was revealed to him; that there 
 he had seen multitudes of fugitive slaves, who had not only 
 suffered much in this world, but were still suffering from the 
 remembrance of their woes, and the sorrows of those they had 
 left behind. He then solemnly charged them (his children), 
 whatever they neglected in hfe, never to refuse the claims of the 
 
292 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 fugitive. These were his last words, and the crowning proof of 
 his insanity to all but his children, in the circle he moved in. . . . 
 
 It was the grandson of this Robert G. Shaw who died 
 at Fort Wagner, leading his negro regiment to the hope- 
 less but glorious charge, and to whose memory Saint- 
 Gaudens has reared so noble a tribute. 
 
 New Florence, June 15, 1853. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Our evening walk from the blacksmith's shop to-night, 
 over the Fishmill creek to Mr. Hewson's, neither Joe nor I will 
 soon forget. ''This is a place for lovers to walk in," said I. 
 We hold sweet converse together, this dear brother and I, 
 Susie. He is a treasure of treasures to me. . . . 
 
 About three o'clock a tremendous gust swept over the valley. 
 We took refuge in a cottage with an old man and young woman 
 and little boy, whose hearts we made a conquest of, — or Joe did, — 
 he comes, he sees, he conquers everywhere. It is marvellous 
 what a magic is in his smile, what wonders it works. . . . 
 
 We crossed the hill to where we had left our instruments, 
 and then toiled along the road towards Fairfield till noon, when 
 we dined with a family on a high hill, made them laugh heartily, 
 read "Pickwick" to them, returned for shelter from another 
 thimder-gust, and then the old woman begged me to prescribe 
 for her daughter. It was my gold spectacles, — but I couldn't 
 laugh, for the poor girl had taken to coughing last winter. . . . 
 I saw she was destined. I prescribed little blisters and no drugs, 
 and extra clothing at nightfall. 
 
 Blairsville, June 19, 1853. To his Wife. 
 
 Graham is a tall, spare man with a dark, kind, sad face, quiet, 
 firm, always active, but noiseless, and the father of six sons 
 grown up, and two yoimger ones. He told me that his home 
 was all changed — and I saw it was — his wife died eighteen 
 months ago. I cannot help it, but whenever a man tells me 
 that, he might almost as well fell me with a blow on the head. — 
 I shrink together and feel a sort of death envelop me in which I 
 cannot breathe or hope. The room grew dark as he spoke, 
 and his dark, tall, thin form grew darker, like a black oak in the 
 twilight in the woods. Is it because I am so selfish? I think 
 not. But to belong to some one, is the deepest of human pas- 
 
i853 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 293 
 
 sions, the most absolute of needs. . . . To me life is worthless, 
 unless it be devoted to making other lives more real and true and 
 good. To lose the wife is to lose the life, — its end and aim, its 
 thole-pin, its lynch-pin, its mill's grist — the hopper bums itself 
 up for want of grain to grind, — it is home lost — honor, wealth, 
 knowledge accumulated in vain, wasted. . . . 
 
 Sunday, June 20, 1853. 
 
 ... At two o'clock we reached the furnace. Descending 
 the stairs behind the old and silent stack, we entered the deserted 
 village, a broad, grass -grown street between neglected gardens 
 in which stood immense trees and under these tenantless houses. 
 It was a scene beautiful as Eden after the first pair had left it. 
 We walked on up the great avenue towards a large white house 
 embosomed in verdure, and surrounded by a wilderness of roses. 
 We knocked, but there was no answer. The ground was cov- 
 ered with rose-leaves. We pushed through the bushes round 
 to the other side of the house, and saw an old negro sitting on 
 the kitchen steps. A white woman then came out and soon sat 
 down with us to a nice little dinner, to which we did ample jus- 
 tice after a bath on the front steps. Then a man appeared 
 who led me through a splendidly furnished parlor upstairs to 
 one of a suite of noble bedrooms, all furnished equally well. I 
 was amazed. We had fallen into the hands of the proprietor's 
 son, young Mathiot, a homely, shy, thin, quiet person, who 
 explained that they had run the furnace so long through the hard 
 times, that now they could not take advantage of the present 
 high price of iron. There were but two other famihes therefore 
 left in the place. It would be tedious to tell you how comfortably 
 we read and wrote and supped, what a nice walk we had in a 
 curious garden beyond the creek, and what a pleasant chat with 
 two ladies, who made their appearance in the parlor in the even- 
 ing. Our beds crowned all. Our morning breakfast was as 
 good. ... 
 
 I had not heard of Mrs. Bigelow's death, and can comprehend 
 the shock it must have given you, and aXso— perfectly— the peace 
 and quiet faith it left behind in your heart. I understand it all. 
 Yes. Let the universe roll and unroll and roll on, as it must and 
 will, and let nations and men and women open and close their 
 destinies in course and season marked out, let the inevitable 
 envelop us as a fog or a terrible thunder roaring, we will quiedy 
 possess ourselves in knowledge that the inevitable though inex- 
 plicable is all right, that we are at home always in our Father's 
 
294 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 house, and nothing can harm us if we be followers of the 
 Good. . . . 
 
 The little household at Philadelphia had a small and 
 uncertain income at this time, and yet they seriously con- 
 templated purchasing (if it could safely be accomplished) 
 the young daughter of Mary Walker, In a letter of June 
 27, 1853, I find these words: "I am still of the same mind 
 about Mary and perfectly willing, if you are, to cash our 
 investments and buy her child. Why shoudn't we invest in 
 
 Southern Securities as well as the R s and L s of the 
 
 land, with the additional advantage over them of purchas- 
 ing the soul, where they only purchase the flesh and blood?" 
 There were many negotiations, and some efforts made to 
 reach and obtain this child, and, although it was all in the 
 end unsuccessful, quite large sums of money (considering the 
 family income) were spent in the attempt. After the Civil 
 War, as I have said elsewhere, two of these children were 
 found, and joined the mother in her Northern home. 
 
 [Perhaps Dumm's Tavern, Chestnut Ridge], July 2, 1853. 
 Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . There sat beside me a fine-looking, stout, fresh, rather Ger- 
 man countenance, evidently accustomed to both city and country 
 life, one who was a commissioner I believe for a wool house in 
 Phil'a, and collector of dues, etc. An open, generous-looking, 
 intelligent, powerful man, of 45 or 50, who began a conversation 
 with me, which I enlivened with an episode on Irish brogues or 
 brogans, and the history of boots and shoes in general, to which 
 he added notices on sabots, and the talk wandered upward through 
 the various attire of the sexes, to the caps and hats, and especially 
 to those of the low countries, Friesland and thereabouts. Then 
 it flew upward, and lit upon a higher theme, the towers of Ghent, 
 and the history of that quaint burgher city. Finally he gave me 
 his own history {in petto) and said that he was born in Ghent, so 
 many hours (Stunden) from Brussels and so many from the field 
 of Waterloo, which was fought when he was there a boy, and 
 Louis the i8th was then in Ghent. His father was from the 
 further side of Russia, a Russian, and his mother, a Hollander. 
 "Why, how did your father find your mother out?" was my 
 involuntary exclamation — although had I stopped a moment to 
 
i853 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 295 
 
 reflect on the mystery of the universe life, I need not have put 
 the question, any more than how the Canada thistle got into 
 Chester County. — "Ah, that's the very question," — said he 
 with a serious sort of interested twinkle, — "he was a political 
 refugee, you see." 
 
 And so it is. The persecutions of this bedevilled earth, the 
 whips and fires of politics, are but the winds which scatter human 
 seed about far from the family trees, and cause that intermixture 
 which is the health and improvement of the nations. Bedevilled! 
 no — the earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof — and the 
 cattle on a thousand hills — that is — the statesmen of a thousand 
 Capitols, the courtiers of a thousand courts. Full of Providence, 
 as it is of electricity. Admirable framework — admirable motions 
 — its eccentric wheels, which look so blundering, are its very life 
 gear, and without their eccentricity the great pistons could not 
 for a moment go. Whatever is, is right. The worst is best — if 
 we can but bear it — as God does. ... 
 
 Cambridge, July 5, 1853. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 ... I have some beautiful books now reading, the only draw- 
 back being that I keep coming to passages I want to read with you. 
 The "Life and Letters of Niebuhr," Henry Taylor's "Notes on 
 Life" and Brace's "Life in Germany." I have nearly finished 
 the "Notes on Life," and the other two I read alternately. I 
 wish Father had them both, particularly Brace's book. ... He 
 gives very interesting accounts of Neander and Tholuck, also of 
 many philanthropists, particularly of one lady in Hamburg, a 
 Miss Sieveking (?) who is a second Dolly Dix. — He says it is 
 much more difficult for a woman to take such a position there 
 than here, for she immediately gets the name of an "emancipist" 
 — ^which is a term of great contempt, and let her be ever so pious, 
 and modest, and quiet, in carrying out her ideas, she never meets 
 with the respect that is shown in England and America to Mrs. 
 Fry and Miss Dix. 
 
 I am delighted with Niebuhr, and so would you be. Some 
 anecdotes of his childhood, I long to write you, but it would tire 
 me too much. There is a splendid essay on Children and their 
 Education in Taylor, which has moved me much. . , . 
 
 Blairsville, July 16, 1853. Father to Mother. 
 
 How beautiful are your letters! The one of Wednesday, 
 which I have this moment read, is — I will not tell you what it is, 
 
296 LIFE AND LETTERS chap. Xiv 
 
 lest you become puffed up. It is a perfect thing in its way, I 
 assure you, — and a positive garden of Eden in mine, verstehst dti? 
 Your resume of Niebuhr's life is a masterpiece. Gretchen, Amelia, 
 Mad. Hensler (whom however I never could forgive for not 
 becoming Niebuhr's wife) stand out against the gray confused 
 background crowd of German literati, politicians, poet-philoso- 
 phers. 
 
 In olden times, monarchy and the ancestral worship made 
 isolated statues of the great names, and we have no task in looking 
 up and outlining the Caesars, Sardanapali, Davids, Aarons, 
 Achilles. But when democracy lifts all to the level of the bard 
 and baron, and every man shouts his own name, reads his own 
 philosophy, announces his discoveries, states his opinions, shoul- 
 ders his musket, and lynches his naughty neighbor with his own 
 hand, — to read history becomes not merely a task, but an im- 
 possibility. Hence the specialties in which our historians and biog- 
 raphers now indulge. Thus must [it be.] Everything has become 
 microscopic, for democracy makes the atom noble, and sees the 
 spirit of life not in the whole, but in its ultimate constituents. 
 Hence the little Gretchen becomes historic, like Juno, and Aspasia, 
 and Marie Antoinette. I am equally charmed with Guizot's 
 Corneille. He draws, under the same democratic impulse of 
 the age, the titbits of the landscape so large and round, that they 
 fill the eye as much as would kingdoms and pageants. And he 
 can masterly evolve, from the occurrences of the boudoir and 
 green-room, the laws by which European civilization is reaching 
 its development. 
 
 I never told you how Jackson talked about Kossuth. . . . Kos- 
 suth, he said, was a glorious being, but bound still by some very 
 strict and narrow views. Especially he has never freed himself 
 from the prejudices of government. [His belief in] its necessity, or 
 rather the necessity of its infinite and eternal painstaking solici- 
 tude for the poor helpless people — is a great drawback to his 
 advancing spirit. "What strikes you as the most wonderful 
 development of life on this side the planet, Mr. Kossuth?" 
 — asked Jackson. The question roused him — he pricked his 
 ears, and began to speak. "Freedom; — the immense boundless 
 freedom of the development itself" — he replied; "the room — 
 the liberty to do as one likes — the unconsciousness of constraint 
 from a superior organization or government — the restless move- 
 ment of the whole population, free to move and not drugged to 
 keep it quiet." This was his endless astonishment. And when 
 I am disposed to scoff at the half-done-up look of all things in 
 
i%3 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 297 
 
 these villages, from a dining fork to a church and its preacher, 
 — and sigh for the urbanity, arts, landscapes, ruins and associa- 
 tions of the old world, and lament that I am not wealthy enough 
 to take you to England and France, to live and die — I am checked 
 and satisfied again by the same wonder which fell upon Kossuth. 
 Here is an embryonic world, a strong man-child of the future, 
 born of a weak mother of the past. Here are to be the work- 
 shops, and here also the museums of the Millennium. Here new 
 forms of human society are to appear, and prove the world not 
 to be decrepit — that God is not yet dead. Here is to rise the 
 river of Hfe, for the healing of all nations. We are born upon 
 its laurel-covered banks. The laurels are to disappear. Cities, 
 cathedrals, palaces (of the people), arts and sciences, are to grow 
 like elms and pines upon its meadows and mountain sides. It 
 is a goodly land, the best for freemen, the best for future men to 
 live in, and I will not go back — go back into the luxurious feudal- 
 ism of Europe, or the effete childish barbarism of Asia, to find 
 a happiness vmworthy of the manhood of a man whose youth was 
 spent in young America. . . . 
 
 Last night I lay in bed and read to him [Joe] Emerson's 
 "Threnody." He lay quite still and I thought he was asleep, 
 but he was not. This morning I found him reading it himself. 
 What a stout fable that is : — 
 
 "The former called the latter 'Litde Prig.'" "Neither can 
 you crack a nut." — And that exquisite "Forbearance." 
 
 "Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? Loved the 
 wood-rose, and left it on its stalk? At rich men's tables eaten 
 bread and pulse?" etc. "Then be my friend — and teach me to 
 be thine," goes right to the heart. We say that to the dear Father 
 in Heaven, with an infinite enlargement of desire, hope and joy. 
 Oh . . . the desire to become good — perfect, becomes at length a 
 passion — an absorbing passion. What an easy thing is martyr- 
 dom then! provided it be quick. It is slow martyrdoms that 
 weary down virtue and aspiration. These are the devil's bailiffs, 
 making so many rogues and mad people, prostitutes, trade-thieves 
 and hypocrites. God save us from slow misery, for who can 
 endure it? . . . 
 
 Cambridge, July 20, 1853. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 This morning came your fine letter of Saturday and Sunday. 
 
 I longed to sit down at once, and answer it, . . . but Mrs. Morison 
 
 arrived to spend the day, and Wm. Ware and Chauncey Wright 
 
 dropped in, it being Commencement Day, and the sounds of music 
 
298 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 on the Common, all made the day seem a confused one; so I gave 
 up my portfolio. . . . 
 
 I am sorry you wish that Madame Hensler had married Nie- 
 buhr; you would not could you read the letters. . . . 
 
 To-day is Phi Beta day, and I hope that Mother will go to hear 
 Mr. Bellows, who is the Orator of the day. . . . 
 
 Here is an undated letter of my father's, containing the 
 following judgment in regard to his own literary ability: — 
 
 What you say about my writings is very true; they are too 
 careful, you might have said careworn; but it is an ingrained 
 fault; it resides in my thinking and speaking, and therefore must 
 appear also when I write. I am sorry for it, and especially since 
 it robs me of what I hoped would be my crowning pleasure, and 
 in fact for which almost alone I now write, — your approbation, — 
 I mean by your pleased applause. When you smile, I am proud. 
 If you would dance, I would pipe all day. But when you seem 
 to put your hands to your ears — why, what remains for me to -do, 
 but to break my flute? The sustained elevation of Gibbon or 
 Guizot, even the cold classica-1 faultlessness of Everett, excite my 
 admiration, but my training has forever forbid them to my pen. 
 I must use my own style, which is like myself, impetuous, irreso- 
 lute, zigzag often, full of solecisms, a sort of flying-fish dashes at 
 the upper air, followed rapidly by modest and homely flipflaps in 
 the lower water. But all readers have their writers, and all 
 writers their readers, and it is no slight honor to be called "sug- 
 gestive," and it is not well to torture one's self too much with intro- 
 spection. An author will find himself among too many wildcats, 
 as soon as he hies out, without turning his own claws against 
 himself. I have such a horror of slovenliness in writing or think- 
 ing, that I am always in danger of primness. 
 
 I think this is apropos to a chapter on Music which he 
 had sent to my mother early in August, and which she 
 "read with real enjoyment," but criticises, after a sort, 
 thus: "The last half of all you write is always better than 
 the first. It was so with your sermons and lectures. You 
 get up the steam as you advance, and I doubt not that the 
 alternations of dull and vivid are quite as important in a 
 book as in a landscape." 
 
i853 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 299 
 
 » 
 
 BlAiRSViLLE, Sunday, Aug. 14, 1853. Peter Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 You say . . . that you are so old-fashioned as both to believe 
 and rejoice in the superintending care of the All Good. I rather 
 think that is the newest fashion, likewise. It is a faith so natural 
 to Man, that everybody has it, and it is never supplanted but by 
 the most elaborate and systematic force. It is, however, certainly 
 not in many so- calm and effective a principle of hfe as I think it 
 is in you, nor will I pretend that it has remained to me a machinery 
 of practical comfort, as it was some years ago. In lieu of it, I 
 have what jor me answered better, namely an ever -strengthening 
 stoicism. I feel more and more content to have things worked 
 out according to their natures ; I do not assert to myself either the 
 abstract proposition that as a whole things are best arranged or 
 best natured; on the contrary I rather think this world, or any 
 other, might be improved, or have "been originally constructed on 
 better principles; I do not know nor care. Whatever is, — let it be. 
 The remedy is in one's self. Mohammed can go to the Mountain. 
 In old orthodox quaintness — if God will not as we will, why then 
 we will will as God wills, and so again all will be well. One comes 
 very near hereby to shaking hands with Mad. Guyon, only I 
 think it is rather from above than from below; — but that may be 
 "Spiritual pride." Any way — it amounts practically to the same 
 faith in Providence, or Law and Order, wise and good, — which 
 founds the virtue and happiness of all the innumerable faithful, 
 who have learned in this way not to kick too hard against the 
 pricks. And now, dearest friend, you may be quietly smiling, 
 and sadly too, to think how soon you may see all this stoicism 
 and pseudo-faith disgraced and overthrown, and lying breathless 
 on the ground, in some instant unexpected and inevitable calamity. 
 Well. But herein lies our real immortality; there is a well-spring 
 of will and hope and faith within us, which may disappoint him 
 who comes in a hot day to drink and finds nothing there but fetid 
 mud, and the tramphngs of oxen's feet — but will run again in a 
 week or a month as copious and clear and sweet a rill as ever. 
 He who sweats and thirsts on wooded mountains many years, 
 can never lose his faith in man's immortal courage; it has too many 
 visible analogies in nature. . . . 
 
 You tell me Susan is doing well — ^in both senses. I thank 
 God, and take courage. I half believe that when I am an old 
 decrepit man sitting all day in a well-worn arm-chair, my volatile 
 and restless nature fixed like carbonic gas into a solid, snow-cold 
 equanimity, she will be briskly moving round me like a bright 
 
300 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 planet round a gone-out sun, and returning me the little borrowed 
 light and heat I have ever been so happy as to give her." 
 
 Latrobe, Sunday, Aug. 28, 1853. Peter Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . You wish to controvert some things in my last? It is 
 needless. The same actual landscape is a different ideal from 
 different points of view. All are equally true. There is no such 
 thing as positive truth. It is always relative and conditional. 
 This fact, while it explains the innumerable ethics and metaphysics 
 of men, allows infinite latitude also to the freedom of the individual. 
 It is my belief that God doesn't disturb himself about the ways 
 and thoughts and sufferings of men, except by a sort of ubiqui- 
 tous sympathy. He is, in this view, at once Himself and all men. 
 Having set laws to all things, it is his delight to see them work, 
 nor can what we call evil or sin interfere with, but only illustrate 
 their working. If we be also little gods, little lower than the 
 angels, we are free to think and do what we please, and reap the 
 weal or woe accordingly; but as for His interfering, I cannot think 
 it, — except in the way of sympathy; which, after all, is all we could 
 wish to ask of any being whom we reverence and love. If I were 
 to pluck my wife from a destruction, in which I thereby perished 
 myself, all I could ask to make me happy in it, would be to see 
 the love and sympathy shed upon me by her eyes. So with God, 
 all I want is for him to know and love me — not to superintend 
 my dairy and brickyard. That sort of special providence is a 
 great annoyance to me. I want him to let me alone — but to 
 sympathize, console and strengthen me. . . . 
 
 Gatiss's on Towanda Mt., Sunday Morning, Sept. 18, 1853. 
 Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 Yesterday was the 34th anniversary of my birthday . . . We 
 have been working in the heart of the hemlock forest, imtouched 
 by the hand of man, dense, dark, silent, full of marshes and rills, 
 undergrown with endless forms of mosses and fungi, paved with 
 immense prostrate mouldering trunks and branches without 
 number, and broken rocks by the thousand ton, infinitely old and 
 gray. Deer browse in the brier patches, and in the laurel swamps 
 in winter, or dash over the knolls at full gallop. Bears lurk in 
 the low places. Wolves and wildcats are plenty. Pigeons 
 rustle from tree top to tree top, in the deep shadow of the meeting 
 roof of hemlock boughs, far up. Rattlesnakes and copperheads 
 
i8s3 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 301 
 
 crawl over the cliffs, whereon the table-land breaks down to the 
 ravine or main valley. The north side of the whole mountain 
 overlooking Towanda creek is alive with black snakes. Porcu- 
 pines are everywhere. Such is the projecting finger of the great 
 forest body which stretches hence westward, over all Sullivan, 
 Potter, Lycoming and Elk Counties. How vast is the interval 
 that separates this animated nature from the art of cities! Analo- 
 gies exist between them, and between their corresponding details 
 — rank growth, desperate rottenness, multitude, belong to both, 
 and the solitude and silence of the soul is as sincere sometimes 
 in New York as that of the sense is here; and windfalls rive 
 alleys through cities in pestilential seasons, as they do through 
 the forest in storms. But the hum and roar of that immense 
 cascade of life — a city — so wearing to the stoutest soul, is here 
 a remembered sound, as is the ordinary rustle and whaugh of the 
 wind, round the house comer, or through the soHtary apple-tree. 
 In such a wood as this, infinitely old, interminable and immutable 
 as it seems, a whole world' in itself of ancient and natural life, 
 the man walks beneath its canopy, in its silence and over its floor 
 in a perpetual reverie, in converse with the beginnings and mean- 
 ings of things; not questioning, for all seems right; not doubting, 
 for all is real; not hoping, for nothing other or new seems possible; 
 nor fearing, for it is a world at peace, in order and evidently obe- 
 dient to man's slightest wish; his will is the master, in this ances- 
 tral hall. How often have I longed for a home on earth, which 
 my Fathers owned, and my children might inherit! Here it is. 
 This is my father's dwelling-place, the bosom of nature, the verit- 
 able paradise. I am never a freeman, until I re-enter this my 
 castle; then I defy the tyrannies, and no longer pines my soul at 
 the disorders and woes of the race. The great primeval forest, 
 the mountain upland, the swamp, the lake, the glen, the fall, the 
 crag, the windfall, the cave, the trail, the lick, the cabin — these 
 are the true ancestral home of man. 
 
 Gatiss's, Sept. 20, 1853. To His Wife. 
 
 ... I also am very happy, in my work. . . . Sunday we rested, 
 it was a bright, calm, quiet day. I preached a little sermon to 
 them all, four or five famihes of Enghsh people, in the school- 
 house, an old deserted log hut nearby. In the evening I plotted 
 our fines out, and we pasted up a levelling rod with white paper 
 in lieu of paint, and inked the feet and tenths upon it. . . . 
 
302 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 Cambridge, Sept. 26, 1853. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Had a delightful visit from David and Maria Child on Sat- 
 urday. She told me many pleasant things, and gave me a "Life 
 of Friend Hopper." "Tell Peter," she said as she went laughing 
 out of the room, " that I am as wabid a wadical as ever, and give 
 him my love." — ^Poor David! poor, broken down, trembling old 
 man! He kissed me fervently, as he bent over my bed, stroked 
 my hair, and said " God bless you, dear Susie." 
 
 Would not my story of Cuvier's meeting with the Devil, after 
 he left this world, come in nicely, somewhere in your chapter 
 on the Devil? Theodore Parker sent me by Sarah Hunt last 
 week a splendid bunch of fringed gentians, with his regards; 
 but they got pitched out of the omnibus, and trodden in the dust. 
 I am reading a dear little quiet book, called "Cranford," and 
 learning a beautiful poem to wile away the long night hours with, 
 every verse of which ends with these lines, 
 
 "For God, thro' ways they have not known, 
 Will lead his own." 
 
 In November the first child was born, — a girl, — and a 
 new kind of happiness came to the little household. My 
 father and mother both had a great love for children. They 
 were very shy of making advances toward the little people 
 with whom they came in contact, waiting until some re- 
 ciprocal interest was shown on the child's part. I have 
 seen my father watch a child with silent attention many min- 
 utes, and then cautiously begin an acquaintance with a sign 
 of friendliness, or a question gently spoken. He respected 
 its individuality too much to demand any recognition of 
 friendship suddenly. They reprobated talking about chil- 
 dren before their faces, either in praise or blame, or simple 
 comment, for they prized greatly the unconsciousness and 
 simplicity of childhood, and would run no risks of spoiling 
 those children with whom they had to do by such careless 
 speeches. They had greatly longed for children, and now 
 that this little daughter came they fully rejoiced in her 
 possession, and the letters between them are frequently full 
 cf hopes, fears, and plans concerning her. 
 
 Almost immediately after the birth of the child, my father 
 
i8s4 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 303 
 
 returned to field work, which continued until winter's cold 
 drove him back to town. 
 
 In January of 1854 he took a trip south on business. 
 
 He did not like the South, and even the genial hospi- 
 tality of its inhabitants could not make up to him for the 
 aristocratic social forms and theories of life which were 
 alien to his belief in the equality of personal opportunities 
 and rights. In one letter he remarks: "A certain coarse- 
 ness and rudeness runs like broad smooch lines across all 
 this southern life. I observe it here, as in Richmond, and 
 Washington, and in Virginia, as I did last spring in Georgia 
 and Tennessee." 
 
 Wythe, Va., Feh. 21, 1854. Peter Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... I beguiled my ride this morning with book-making. You 
 laugh, — ^but in fact it is time for me to write. — ^First, a small 
 book on Coal* — Chapter i. Its position. 
 
 Chapter 2. Its quality. 
 
 Chapter 3. Its history, past, present, et avenir. 
 Then a book on Topography. — ^Both small manuals, practical, 
 saleable, and such as will best do for advertisements — for what 
 else are books now written for. No Epopoea can be born in an 
 iron and coal age. 
 
 The spring of 1854 seems to have been a hard one for 
 him. Whether the discomforts and exposure of the winter 
 month or two among the Virginia mountains had exhausted 
 his strength, the letters do not say, but my mother, in a 
 letter to Miss Robbins, writes: "He has had on the whole a 
 miserable spring, suffering more from nervous exhaustion 
 than at any time since we left Milton." In May he took 
 short trips into Ohio and Virginia and New England, and 
 in June he started on a longer journey, going by way of 
 Chicago to St. Louis. 
 
 Monroeville, Ohio, May 30, 1854. Peter Lesley to his Wiee. 
 
 Here once more in New England! How plain and dear is 
 the welcome-home! from the white cottages and pillars, gardens 
 
 * This may be his first thought of the "Coal Manual," published later. 
 
304 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 and neat fences. There is music in the very slang and snuffle — 
 suppressed as they are. I have ridden — whirled through the 
 garden of the Earth to-day. I am enchanted with the fertility, 
 beauty, freshness, largeness, homishness of the land. The houses 
 are seldom seen from the railroad, they are all over the country. 
 The villages are groups of workshops, mills, factories, iron-works, 
 but clean and wealthy-looking, not squalid, tasteless, reckless 
 masses of brick and ruined stucco and filth piles, as in Pennsyl- 
 vania. . . . 
 
 I rode yesterday till after midnight, having in the dark a long 
 discussion with a Southeastern Ohio man (Irish ?) on Nebraska, he 
 referring it to the Pope, and upholding law and order, etc. Ev- 
 erybody talks about it; mostly with caution, as if it were danger- 
 ous to say much, — or difficult, — but commonly remarking that 
 the Boston riot is but the beginning of its evils. I can as yet get 
 no later telegraphic news than Sunday evening. I hope to hear 
 that poor Burns* has been rescued, — ^but hope against hope, — 
 for the New Englanders are not brave like their ancestors — they 
 have become cowardly, through trade and unbelief. Ideas are 
 not longer worth blood and life. Dollars are worth more. They 
 have too much to lose in this world, and too little to gain in an- 
 other — to endanger their lives even for liberty. Honor, to the 
 Southerner, stands in place of the old Northerner's faith, — ^there- 
 fore he [the Southerner] continues to be rather brave. But the 
 New Englander dare not fight a duel, nor commit suicide, nor stab 
 a tyrant, because he has lost his paradise reward. . . . 
 
 In St. Louis he remained a week or ten days, and made 
 some surveys in the low lands of the river bottom. The 
 labor and heat, and incautiously working after sunset in 
 order to finish his work rapidly, caused him to fall a victim 
 to malaria. . He had a series of violent chills and fever im- 
 mediately on the conclusion of this piece of work, which 
 much exhausted him, and for the remainder of Lis life he 
 
 * "Then came the Fugitive Slave Law, under which runaway slaves 
 were arrested, tried here, and sent back to their owners; the last and bit- 
 terest case being that of Anthony Burns, who, guarded by a marshal's posse 
 of hired roughs, by United States troops and by our best Massachusetts 
 militia, acting from a sense of duty and in obedience to law, was marched 
 from the Court House in Boston to the United States revenue cutter lying 
 at the wharf and bound for Virginia." (^From address by Major Henry 
 Lee Higginson, delivered in Sanders Theatre, Cambridge, May 30, 1897.) 
 
i854 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 305 
 
 was troubled by similar attacks, whenever in a depressed 
 condition of health. 
 
 In St. Louis he met pleasant friends in Dr. William 
 Ehot and his family and Judge ICrum and his household, 
 who made him at home whenever he had a free hour from 
 his business. 
 
 Waverly, Monday, 9 o'clock [July 10, 1854]. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . What do you think I do with myself these long two hundred 
 and fifty mile railroad rides? Can you think? Don't you won- 
 der? To-day I have read the livelong day, and am ashamed 
 of myself, for no ordinary eyes — no brain — can stand it. I have 
 exhausted Sophocles' History of the Greek Alphabet, and made 
 additional improvements (! ?) of my own. Moreover I read the 
 Tribune all through, and the Herald out. Digested all the Eu- 
 ropean news, settled to my mind the Eastern question, resolved 
 what should be done with Cuba, organized the new RepubHcan 
 Party in the North, and held a jury of one upon all the fires, 
 murders, petty larcenies and gigantic Schuyler frauds of the last 
 forty-eight hours. Amen. 
 
 TowANDA, July II, 1854. To HIS Wife. 
 . . . This afternoon I have slept most of the time, and then Over- 
 ton came, and after looking over my notes a Httle longer I went 
 up to his house to take tea with another Englishman, Wandsey, 
 with whom I formed an abolition alliance against our host, who 
 had need of all his politeness to restrain himself even within the 
 bounds of decency in his denunciation of fanatics and political 
 clergymen. For you must know that at three o'clock, 4th of July, 
 the people rang the bells, and at five o'clock the Episcopal Clergy- 
 man (a fine fellow whom I know) Douglass (Robt. Parvin's 
 successor) began to toll his church bell, and immediately all the 
 other bells began to toll; which aroused a great tumult, and the 
 bells were stopped as soon as possible, but leaving the ears of a 
 great many people very tender. Wandsey has been here these 
 twenty-five years, so that I was delighted to find him right side up. 
 
 TowANDA Mt., July 14, 1854. To his Wife. 
 
 The lark is naturalized in Delaware at last, and is singing its 
 matin hallelujahs as on the plains of Bayeux and Liitzen. 
 
 Yesterday, weary with everything, I took up an old beautiful 
 English print of Bunyan's "Pilgrim," and read the conversations 
 
3o6 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 of the friends Christian and Faithful approaching Vanity Fair, 
 and I thought it never had been half so beautiful, holy, chaste, 
 tasteful and edifying. I read, — as I drink cool water in a hot 
 day. There is something in all that, — which answers to deep 
 wants in the soul. There is more truth and propriety in Bible 
 words and orthodox quotations, in such hands as the Martyrs 
 of Smithfield and Bedford, than we usually allow. How excel- 
 lent is the analysis of Talkative! Give me, after all, the simple 
 Christianity of John Bunyan, and let science, Hterature, and the 
 arts bless whom they may; I will envy none of them. 
 
 TowANDA, Gatiss's, Sunday, July i6, 1854. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Do you not think huckleberrying one of the best ways of 
 spending Sunday known to man? I do. When alone, — how- 
 ever. Many's the Sunday I have lost myself in thought and in 
 a huckleberry patch — as I did this morning — on some mountain 
 top. The hands are busy. So is the mind. So is the heart. 
 Working all different ways, but in such harmony. Silence, such 
 at least as Nature loves, — not ultra silence, — but a gentle mur- 
 muring, mixed of bees, and flies, and wind-stirred leaves, the 
 rustle of a young covey of partridges, or a hedgehog, or a striped 
 and checkered snake, or a red bunt squirrel. Kneeling on the 
 half-bared rocks and selecting the ripest blues — in the shade of 
 some hemlock-tree — or beside some immense prostrate and black- 
 ened tree stem, — in the cooling wind, — ^with a world of open coun- 
 try down below spread out to gaze, valley, hills, innumerable 
 fields, meadows, orchards, scattered houses, and in the distance, 
 other high mountains. Gratitude springs up like water from 
 a well. One feels the providence that feeds the birds and bears, 
 on a succession of delicious fruit. Faith, Hope — and Love is 
 never far away from the pair — are natives to the place. The 
 air is full of worship. 
 
 Philadelphia, July 29, 1854. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I was disappointed after going so far, to find the church 
 doors closed. I then kept on and spent the morning and dined 
 with Edward Lesley. . . . He says De Gerando * astonishes him. 
 
 * De Gerando, Marie Joseph (1772-1842). Distinguished ethical 
 and metaphysical philosopher of France. . . . Two of his great books 
 were "Histoire Comparee des Systemes de Philosophie relativement aux 
 Principes des Connaissance Humaine"; and "Du Perfectionnement Moral, 
 §t 1' Education de soi-meme." . . , {From EncyclopcBdia Britannica.) 
 
i854 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 307 
 
 Every sentence so good, the whole so tiresome. Three hundred 
 and eighty pages of abstraction? Well, I offered to take it home; 
 and as I walked I read — the chapter on Obedience and Inde- 
 pendence, — the most beautiful analysis ever penned, I think. 
 And after I came home, the chapter on Pride, Vanity, Self-love, 
 etc. A clear sunlight shines along the page — a truly heavenly 
 Hght. I can now understand its magic power over you, when 
 beginning to define your conceptions of truth, and duty, and how 
 it has remained to you a household deity, a sort of Mercurius 
 Terminus in your garden ever since. ... 
 
 Blairsville, Aug. 16, 1854. Peter Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... I happened into a Swedenborgian Chapel last Monday, 
 and justified your strictures on the dry and unfeeling religionism 
 of that singular people. But I have observed that while the very 
 idea of the Devil quickens the intellect, every phase of UniversaHsm 
 seems to opiate it. Damnation is certainly the brandy and water of 
 Christendom. I call Swedenborgianism a phase of UniversaHsm, 
 because their hells are too good-natured to scare a hare; and all 
 common folks ask is to be let alone after death. Mrs. Stowe's 
 fame I am bold to say will be greatly sustained by her travels. 
 They are of masculine strength of reflection. She lays hold d la 
 Beecher, and startles the traveller with new views of ground he 
 thinks he has made his own. 
 
 But you must read Ruskin, it is more admirable than most 
 books, — better English — better taste — sounder common sense — ■ 
 nicer analysis. ... I am once more interrupted. It is now late 
 in the evening. We have made our last arrangements and are 
 quite ready for what to many would be intolerable toil, but to us 
 is much more of a frolic. I already smell health, — ^like Virgil's 
 horses on the plains of Spain, in the distant air. . . . 
 
 Blairsville, Aug. 27, 1854. Peter Lesley to his Wipe. 
 
 . . . But must I confess it — your nicest letters are those which 
 contain most about baby. Senseless Papa, — finally vanquished, 
 — enslaved to a chub face. It floats before me Hke a wee white 
 cloud in a clear blue sky. Every little thing you tell me about 
 her seems to become history to me, and is clearer than the rocks 
 I look at to my vision. , . , 
 
3o8 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 Sept. lo, 1854. To HIS Wife. 
 
 . . . You say there is but little religion now — that few live near 
 to God — that no poet now sings — 
 
 " O happy servant he 
 In such a posture found!" 
 
 No, my wife, — the religious feeling is a perpetual passion in 
 mankind, distinguishing it from brute kind. As well might you 
 lament the cessation of all exhalation in this draught. As well 
 might you imagine the Aurora, or the northern Aurora, or any 
 of the magic streamings forth of the imponderable forces of the 
 world, to become exhausted, — as that man can cease to reverence 
 and desire God. I have been reading the life of Pythagoras, and 
 am amazed at the minute and complete resemblance of that 
 ancient system of faith and ethics to the Christian, and the resem- 
 blance of their expressions to that which characterizes the utter- 
 ance of certain schools to-day. 
 
 " O happy servant he 
 In such a posture found!" 
 
 It will ring like the sound of the bells of Shannon, forever through 
 all serious hearts to the end of time. But every age of spiritual 
 impulse is a new springtime for the flowers of poetry. We may 
 even say, a new era of thought in which, while the types continue, 
 new genera and species of utterance and sentiment are created; 
 so as to leave Universal History a Unit, and yet make it infinitely 
 diversified. 
 
 It is still true that where the intellect is excessively exercised, 
 and especially apart from nature, — there the religious passion 
 with all the other passions takes a subordinate role in the expe- 
 rience of the life, — both of the individual and of the society, — 
 in Madame Cote, and in New England. But the Passion is still 
 there, and may be called into activity at any moment by sick- 
 ness, suffering, persecution or reaction. 
 
 We have Thoreau's "Walden" here. What a dream it is! 
 worthy of an Apollo Agricus. I have great delight in it. He says 
 exquisitely: 
 
 " We may waive just so much care of ourselves as we honestly 
 bestow elsewhere." 
 
 Isn't that glorious? And then he adds mystically, out of 
 some inspired depth of consciousness — For 
 
 "Nature is as well adapted to our weakness as to our strength." 
 
i854 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 309 
 
 Here is something both new and true, — never uttered before, 
 I wager a world. And so kind an inducement to benevolence, 
 so soft and gentle a protection afforded to the timid lovers of 
 men who dare not do good till they are assured against ill to 
 themselves, — unable to pursue the hosts of devils without a long 
 line of paradise forts to fall back upon at every step, not knowing 
 that the whole world is the good man's fortress, and nature uni- 
 versal his overruling providence. 
 
 Thoreau is a poet all the more, because without pretension 
 to any quaintness or ultra originality of style. He is as su- 
 perior to Alcott, as Milton's English is superior to Carlyle's. 
 Yet now and then one is charmed with a neat symbol — for in- 
 stance when he says, 
 
 "What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, 
 or rather indicates, his fate." 
 
 And his "rather indicates" is a whole volume or two volumes 
 of metaphysics in two words. 
 
 But let me charm you with a sentence from JambHchus, which 
 speaks home to our own two parent souls, brooding like birds 
 over our nest, gazing like two eyes of one soul with love on our 
 daughter. He is speaking of Pythagoras — "That Man." 
 
 "When also he was married, he so educated the daughter 
 that was born to him and who was afterward married to Meno 
 the Crotonian, that when she was a Virgin she was a leader of 
 Choirs, but when she was a wife, she held the first place among 
 those that approached the Altars." 
 
 Is not that a sweet prophecy within our souls? . . , 
 
 Greensbueg, Nov. 3, 1854. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 I have read some score of pages in Humboldt's lives to-night, 
 but I am sorry to say that my earnest desire to love what you 
 like is ineffectual in this instance. The book is written by a very 
 small fellow, I think, a better sort of Bozzy, who not only over- 
 praises his hero, but has no conception of what travelHng and 
 labor is, — ^whose hair stands on end at the shadow of a danger, 
 and to whom mosquitoes and lions are monsters in the same 
 catalogue, if not of equal magnitude. Humboldt did much — ^very 
 much — and for science. But he did not do half what many 
 less praised names have done. But he was noble born and 
 wealthy, and while his means were so ample that highways were 
 laid ready-made for his feet, — his connections were such that 
 honors came to meet him, and found a thousand avenues for his 
 communications to reach the ear of the world. He was in per- 
 
3IO LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 feet health also, never had been hard worked and always had 
 played. 
 
 Thus cheerfulness, the great sustainer and enthusiastic guide 
 of man, made it easy for him to do what others have more than 
 done under sickness and in poverty, I was amazed to find that 
 his celebrated Orinoco journey was only 380 miles long. It is 
 narrated as if it had been 3,800. 
 
 Yet I am deeply interested in the book, and shall read it 
 through. Meanwhile I am wading at leisure moments through 
 Bopp's discussion of German and Sanskrit Vowels, a large and 
 valuable pamphlet which will do more for my Sanskrit than 
 anything I have seen yet, for it always gives the German pro- 
 nunciation of Sanskrit words, and many roots also. But I have 
 little time for reading. The notes are very copious, and must 
 be calculated up, indexed and mapped from day to day, to keep 
 all straight, and show what is next to be done. . . . 
 
 A letter from my mother to her aunt Catherine Robbins, 
 of uncertain date, perhaps spring of 1854, has the follow- 
 ing sentence: — 
 
 You have not suffered more about this miserable Nebraska 
 business, and slave case in Boston, than we here. Dr. Furness 
 y has appeared in the deepest affliction. I never saw him so be- 
 fore. He has preached two sermons that people call wails. I 
 heard one, and thought if I ever did faint away, I should have 
 done so then, from intense emotion. Peter has been very sad, 
 even on his journeyings, and with all the diversions of business 
 and travelling. Oh, how easy it would have been for Judge 
 Loring or Governor Washburn to have shown themselves un- 
 compromising! How ashamed of us our ancestors must be, if 
 they can look down ! 
 
 A visit from William Thayer and Chauncey Wright in 
 November (?), 1854, gave great pleasure, but, unfortunately, 
 my father seems to have been kept still away in the field, 
 and missed seeing these friends. My mother writes on their 
 departure : — 
 
 William came on Wednesday afternoon, and went yesterday 
 an hour or two before Chauncey. He was as bright as a dollar, 
 saying the funniest things in the most absent and dreamy 
 
i854 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 311 
 
 fashion, as if quite unconscious of any humor. He was on his 
 way to Washington for the winter. He left us "Lyteria," a 
 Dramatic Poem of extraordinary beauty which Martha Swan 
 and I are charmed with. It is by young Josiah Quincy of 
 Boston, who was I think, a class or two later than William. . . . 
 
 Greensburg, Nov. 23, 1854. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Let me explain, while I think of it, that I would not indulge 
 her [the baby] from weakness. But my idea is, that while a 
 habit is easily formed by indulging an unnecessary desire or a 
 mere whim of the child — there are certain natural impulses 
 which grow vehement by opposition, and require only a momen- 
 tary indulgence. For instance after lying abed from seven to 
 two, that is seven hours, any one as nervous as I am finds his 
 nature insisting upon getting up and feeling the floor, — I do not 
 see why a nervous child shouldn't have the same [feeling]. My 
 sympathy with her is so great that I would wish to give her nerves 
 this short relaxation, knowing that it is only occasionally, i.e. when 
 she is sick, that she needs it, and therefore not afraid of form- 
 ing any habit out of it. 
 
 I have just been to see Dr. King's new coal plant fossil, 
 on a fragment of sandstone from Chestnut Ridge. Every- 
 body is excited about it, insisting upon its being an ancient in- 
 scription. But he and I agree that it is a fossil plant of an en- 
 tirely new genus. It is marked very strangely. [Here follows 
 a sketch of the prints.] These are square holes of various sizes 
 and shapes ranged in an order, and I suggested to him the fact, 
 which we soon found correct, that the angle 73° of the rows 
 to one another is precisely the angle of the Lepidodendron stig- 
 mata. This settles the question of its vegetable nature. Tell 
 Henderson about it. . . . 
 
 Tyrone, Dec. 6, 1854. To his Wife. 
 
 I enclose you a beautiful relic of Thomas Jefferson, in a 
 letter to his daughter, when a girl left at school in Philadelphia 
 in 1789. Keep it, and our little girl shall find it among our 
 papers, at a time perhaps when it may touch the right cord in 
 her heart and be an assistance against some temptation or a sup- 
 port under some trial. How we desire to hedge up her path 
 against foes and seductions! And how vain is that desire! No, 
 let us not say so, — ^for no instinct is vain, but each has its appro- 
 priate ends. If we do our duty, we may leave the rest to the 
 laws of our God, to bless and save her dear life. You remark 
 
312 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 no doubt the air of paternal authority and dignity, not only in 
 this letter of Jefferson's, but in the old times generally. This 
 also has for me a peculiar charm, suggestive of grand views, 
 pyramids, cathedrals, processions, thrones, and their array, 
 gray locks waving over noble shoulders, worship and reverence. 
 The whole past is a revering of Age. The history of mankind 
 is an ancestral worship. It is pecuharly fit that a father should 
 say this, — or that, — shall make you, — my child — more worthy 
 of my love. God thus speaks to us. If Young America can 
 presage anything but a manifest destiny of ruin, it will be be- 
 cause the seeds of this Nature's 5th Commandment are not, and 
 can never be wholly destroyed from her soil. As the youth of our 
 country becomes manhood, the roystering irreverent genius of 
 the people will pass into a more worshipful frame, and much of 
 the conservatism, and more of the domestic aristocratism, of 
 the old world times, will reappear in the New World's future. 
 We need not therefore share in the terrors of the old women, 
 or anticipate a radical change in humanity upon the planet. The 
 moral cosmos will forever reproduce its phenomena, as the physi- 
 cal cosmos does its own. . . . 
 
 In a letter of February 20, 1855, from my mother to 
 her aunt Catherine Robbins, she says : — 
 
 Peter has been gaining slowly the last fortnight, and is able 
 to work again, some hours every day. He is much interested 
 in writing a little Manual on Coal, which he commenced in the 
 summer, and he hopes to get it published in May. I feel a little 
 anxious about his writing so much just now, for he has very many 
 feeble days, and times of great nervous prostration. But I like 
 the plan of the little book, better than anything I have ever known 
 him to write. It is clear and practical, and has very pretty illus- 
 trations, which he means to draw on stone himself, to save 
 expense. 
 
 My grandfather Lesley was taken very ill in February, 
 and early in March died, after several weeks of terrible 
 suffering. It was for my father a loss never to be forgotten, 
 but he took it with the serenity and hopeful faith natural to 
 him in times of heavy affliction. He wrote of his father's 
 death to Mrs. Lyman on March 6, 1855, as follows: — 
 
i855 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 313 
 
 The calamities we so much dread in advance look very 
 much like blessings, when they are endured and recollected. 
 The first shock of my Father's death was even severer than I 
 expected it to be, but already I begin to feel how impossible it 
 is for Christians, with a faith in immortal glory, to regard the 
 departed in any other light than that of a saint and divinity. 
 I do not wonder now, if I ever did, at the ancestral worship of 
 the Eastern people of the earth. The noble man has become 
 a nobler man, a crowned and exulting triumpher, laughing at the 
 limitations of space and matter, and already planning great 
 things; while he looks with noble curiosity and heavenly wonder 
 at greater things, and beings who are to be henceforth his ex- 
 amples and his company. The thought fires the imagination. 
 "To be glorified," is too indefinitely suggestive; — "to be with 
 Christ," is too technical and Hmited and hierarchical; — "to live 
 again," contains too large a savor of the death preliminary; — • 
 "to be among the saints and angels," expresses much and well, 
 but not all, for the harps and trumpets are not satisfactory to 
 all; — but all these and like phrases do give us such grand pictures, 
 and open such enrapturing vistas into better worlds, suggest so 
 many various spheres of power and happiness, such a super- 
 abundance of stored up love and work, that we can but wave our 
 hats after him, with tearful eyes and quivering lips, but with a 
 hearty God be with Thee, O our dearest Father, into that royal 
 land. 
 
 In a later letter he writes to his v^ife: — 
 
 Alas, there is no one in the world now who takes the same 
 kind of interest in us as our dear Father did. His loss is irrep- 
 arable. He has carried away the Nameless Thing with him; 
 that gives blue to the sky and greenness to the grass. . . . 
 
 From Huntingdon, probably May 15, 1855. Peter Lesley 
 TO HIS Wife at Algonac, Newbtjrg. 
 
 . . . Kiss Dora and Annie and Louise for me, and tell them I 
 am in the country of the three bears, but have not yet been to 
 their house to see their three beds and three chairs and three 
 soup dishes. Ask them if they think the three bears will make 
 much of a growl if I venture to taste their porridge, to see whether 
 it is too cold or too hot or just right. 
 
 Your letter is dated Saturday night, so we are close together 
 
314 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 again and I bless God for your health and happiness. You 
 wonder where I was on Sunday. I was for once at home in a 
 Presbyterian church, and touched deeply with a Presbyterian 
 sermon. Not that I liked any more than ever I do the wrath 
 and hell and original pollution that was in it; but the preacher 
 was a man of genius, of piety, of sense, of sympathy and of the 
 people, — a printer once by trade, and a preacher by vocation, 
 you could prove it by every tone of his voice and every gesture 
 of his body. He preached the Past, it is true, Cain and Gehize 
 and Ananias and Sapphira, but also the eternally present Christ, 
 and the wants and powers of the Soul. If his illustrations were 
 antiquated, his theme was modern, and his spirit penetrated to 
 the joints and marrow of our souls. In the evening his sermon 
 was from Proverbs. He that covereth his sins shall not prosper, 
 but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall — I forgot what — 
 but it is some blessedness, and just what one — doesn't matter, 
 as they are all alike and resolve themselves into one — knowing 
 God 
 
 Algonac, May i8, 1855. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 I have been lying beside our little beloved (who is taking 
 her noon nap), reading Charles Sumner's grand lecture in New 
 York, from the Tribune. What a triumph it is that such words 
 are listened to with enthusiasm by such multitudes of people! 
 How I have been longing to read it aloud to you. . . . 
 
 Algonac, Sunday Morning, May 20, 1855. To her Husband. 
 
 ... I looked over the bookcase for a religious book. The Wares, 
 Channings, etc., however good, were all too familiar. I took 
 up my old friend Madame Guyon and Fenelon, by Professor 
 Upham, and wondered if the old feeling would come back in 
 reading it. Lately I have had a longing for an awakening of all 
 devout and affectionate sentiments. I opened at Bossuet's 
 conversation- with Madame Guyon. It is fine, and in reading 
 it again, I recognize the source of many of my fixed views, on 
 religious subjects. Her description of the subjection and sanc- 
 tification of the will to God, the passively active condition of a 
 soul in which God lives and works, was very clear. But my old 
 enthusiasm in reading the book was gone. It did its work, 
 years ago, shed a lovely peaceful light upon my spirit, but now 
 it can do no more. . . . 
 
1855 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 315 
 
 The outdoor life, hard and exposing as it was, seems to 
 have again brought health to my father. He writes all 
 through May of greater zest of life, and in a letter of May 
 22 remarks: "Think of me without care, for I am entirely 
 well. I have the happiest visions of your dear and amiable 
 circle at Algonac, in these days of bright soft May." 
 
 Here is a pleasant description of his talks and walks 
 with one "Chavannes": — 
 
 June 17, 1855. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 How the same combinations in life perpetually reappear! 
 Chavannes has been telling me stories in which all my old friends 
 are mixed up. Just now he made us laugh by this anecdote 
 of old Cffisar Malan. They were in the same car on the Stras- 
 burg Railroad, when Malan was informed that one of the sons of 
 his old friend and fellow Pasteur, Chavannes, was in the train. 
 He came and sat down by him, and his first word was — "£/j, 
 mon ami — what is the health of your soul? Comment porte-t-il 
 votre dme?" Chavannes is enough of an American not to be 
 very cordial with strangers (he says), so he replied — after a lit- 
 tle reflection, "A/'ew/ there are two things, — one may believe 
 he has a soul, or one may doubt it; — if he believes, he may care 
 for his soul, or he may not; — if he care for his soul, it may be 
 either more than for his body or less; — if he care for his body, 
 he will not if he be wise expose it to the practice of any quack 
 in any public place, but will go to a good and well-known physi- 
 cian; much more, if he care for his soul will he do the same." — 
 Malan stroked his chin; said no more and soon went away. — 
 Some days afterwards, Malan came to see Chavannes, the father, 
 who introduced him to his children. When it came to Gabriel's 
 turn, — Gabriel grew red, — and Malan laughed, saying, — "Ah, 
 no occasion to introduce us: we know each other." Then the 
 story was told and old Chavannes was heartily amused. But, 
 says Gabriel — ^Malan was a good man, only a little faible. . . . 
 His uncles are in Tennessee, the rest of the family in Holland. 
 They were scattered, during the Revolution, in Canton Vaud, 
 in 1846. How pleased you would be with him! His English 
 is a thousand times worse, — more laughable than Desor's or 
 even Lesquereux's. He makes us infinite music; the first day 
 was one perpetual joke. His blunders are sometimes perfect 
 linguistic gems, opening down vistas of etymology among old 
 forms of expression; as when he talks about the horse's foot 
 
31 6 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 becoming sorry, instead of sore.' He cried out yesterday as he 
 was sawing away with his knife at a large sapHng — "Heh! it 
 was very better to get one axis." This unutterably ridiculous 
 congeries of blunders haunted me for hours, and made me sore, — 
 sorry, — with inward laughter. He always says empeche, for 
 prevent. He is an enthusiastic botanist, for the sake not of 
 classification, but chemistry, and is thorough in mathematics. . . . 
 During these walks we have conversed on all subjects, and he 
 is a continual pleasure to me. He was in the war of revolution 
 of Canton Vaud. He was also in the great fight in Paris, around 
 the Pantheon wherein ii,ooo lives were lost, and with his own 
 rifle brought down a revolutionist from the summit of the dome. 
 He tells me items of these histories that throw quite new light 
 on the secret springs of action in Europe, and although a thor- 
 ough conservative has eyes open wide to the marvellous miseries 
 and wrongs of the workmen in France and Germany, and pre- 
 dicts with confidence a red republican revolution sooner or later. 
 You will be pleased to hear also, that he predicts with equal con- 
 fidence the abolition of slavery sooner or later in Tennessee. . . . 
 
 June 19, 1855. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . My yesterday's plotting has brought out the whole 
 structure of Broad Top (I stand astonished at the precision and 
 effectiveness of my method of work, — thanks to my habits of 
 faithful laborious investigation, and to my early experience in 
 self-directed science — thanks to the Providence of God), and 
 I cannot but see how small a part of Broad Top is available for 
 years to come. This is new light. It tells, you see, upon the 
 Allegheny — ^for the less coal available is here, the more valuable 
 is the available coal there. ... 
 
 Of this work he again remarks in a letter of June 28, 
 1855: 
 
 The other discovery was the structure of the country I have 
 been so laboriously and doubtingly studying. It all came, as it 
 all always comes, in a flash, by a kind of prepared inspiration. 
 My work will henceforth be intellectually easy. 
 
 My mother adds a playful postscript to a long letter of 
 June 24, 1855 :— 
 
i855 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 317 
 
 Since tea I have been amusing Chauncey Wright with our 
 prospective future in Broad Top lands, and all our castle -build- 
 ing. He also is to make a fortune in some unheard-of way, and 
 William Thayer also. We are then all to retire from the world, 
 and live together, you devoting yourself to Arkism, Chauncey to 
 Astronomy, and William to Poetry, while Martha Swan and I 
 keep house in the most aesthetic manner, and Mary affords pleas- 
 ant pastime to the three students. — Don't you think our castle 
 in the air is a fine institution ? 
 
 Beoadtop, July 24, 1855. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... As we approached Spur's, we heard the rain coming again 
 across the forest below, and started, but too late; we were drenched. 
 This opened up the fertile subject after tea, and Chavannes de- 
 scribed thunder-storms below one in the Alps, and then said that 
 the noise of the hail in heaven before it falls is supposed by some 
 one recently to be the rattle of the first crystals dancing up and 
 down between the two strata of clouds, one negatively the other 
 positively electrified. After dancing a long time, they grow too 
 heavy for the attraction and fall through the lower cloud to the 
 earth. It is a beautiful hypothesis. 
 
 Did I tell you it struck me the other day that the political 
 name Tory is a true Arkism, Tori, and equal to Dorian, Druid, 
 etc. ? Observe it is the mysterious name of the High Church 
 party. Yesterday I was enchanted by lighting on a sentence in 
 Harrison Ainsworth's "St. James." He describes the trial of 
 Sacheverell, in Queen Anne's time, and says that the vast mob 
 came with an "Oak leaf" in their hats, the distinguishing badge 
 of the High Church party. You see how entirely this confirms 
 my conjecture that the Tory party is the modern representative 
 of the exclusive Arkite Clerical Aristocracy, the Druids of old. 
 
 Cambridge, July 30, 1855. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . While little Mary sleeps, I must try to give you the history 
 of the last two days. They have been quite eventful. Friday we 
 had agreed some days before to spend at the Hillards, with the 
 Hoppers and Stearns; — but when we waked, the day was alter- 
 nately rainy and cloudy, and we knew not what to do. I did not 
 feel inclined to persevere in going, but Cousin Susan had invited 
 Mary Walker, and I thought it would be a pleasant excursion and 
 change for her; so at eleven o'clock, between the drops, we set off 
 in the omnibus. Our going was certainly an inspiration. — ^When 
 
3i8 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 we got there, we found Mrs. Stowe had arrived the day before, to 
 spend two days at the Hillards, and had with her a young colored 
 friend from Philadelphia, — a Mrs. Webb, who has a remarkable 
 voice and great talents as a reader. — She gives readings and reci- 
 tations of Shakespeare, Sheridan and others, and goes by the 
 name of the black Siddons. Well, she and Mary cottoned to- 
 gether a good deal, although M. has had too much sorrow and is 
 of too deep a nature, not to be quite reserved. — This woman's 
 father was a Spaniard, her mother a very black woman and a 
 slave, who belonged to the finest of the African tribes. Mrs. 
 Stowe said she was of a splendid race. — This mother was per- 
 fectly happy in slavery, until she knew she was to have a child. 
 Then she became miserable until she escaped: — She longed to 
 have her child born free. — Through many dangers she reached 
 New Bedford, three weeks before this daughter was bom, — having 
 travelled on foot for months, suffering everything from conceal- 
 ment and starvation. She lived in New Bedford many years in 
 great comfort, and much respected, gave her daughter an excel- 
 lent education, sent her to Europe to study languages, and finally 
 died during her absence, of a fit of apoplexy, occasioned by her 
 horror at hearing of the passage of the Fugitive Slave Bill. . . . 
 After M. had gone, Mrs. Stowe asked me about her, and was 
 much interested in her. She promised to write to Lord Elgin at 
 once, she knows him well. — Also to have advertisements in Eng- 
 land. — She also said I must say to you, if other means failed of 
 getting the girl,* she has a friend in New York, who has succeeded 
 in getting off hundreds, and who never fails. — I am almost afraid 
 to write about it, but the great reason of his success is that he is 
 in connection with a young slaveholder at the south, who has a 
 perfect enthusiasm for running oflf slaves. He is afraid to be 
 known as an Abolitionist, has an immense property in lands and 
 slaves, but, Mrs. S. says, is of an extreme temperament, a sort 
 of John Hopper, and knows that his game would be up in the 
 South were he to avow his principles. — What do you think of 
 it — I mean of the slaveholder and his principles ? It is certainly 
 not avowed Christianity, and yet what could he do were he 
 known? 
 
 How I wish you had been at the Hillards at dinner on Friday, 
 and at breakfast on Saturday! — Mrs. Stowe was to have gone 
 home Friday, but Mrs. Webb tripped and fell on the stairs and 
 hurt her foot so badly that she was obliged to have a painful 
 
 * Mary Walker's daughter. 
 
i8ss PROFESSIONAL LIFE 319 
 
 operation performed. — What a day that was! Hungarians com- 
 ing and going, in earnest conclave with Cousin Susan, the Hoppers, 
 and Stearns, and Mr. Hillard, all in their most genial humor, — 
 now and then a deep groan from the room where Cousin Susan 
 and Mrs. Stowe and the Doctor were helping Mrs. Webb through 
 the operation. In the evening, to our surprise (for Mrs. Webb 
 was in great pain, and lying on a sofa), Mrs. Stowe opened the 
 folding doors, and asked us to listen to Mrs. Webb's reading, as 
 it would divert her from her sufferings. — You know, dear, that I 
 never heard Fanny Kemble, or any other great reader; so it was 
 all new to me and I enjoyed her much, particularly her reading 
 passages from ''Uncle Tom" in which Topsy figures. — It was 
 pleasant to watch Mary Walker's face while all this was going on. 
 It was a day of days to her. . . . 
 
 Aunt Kitty will soon send you an account of Henry Ward 
 Beecher's Phi Beta, and I will send a Post, with Wm. Thayer's 
 account of his shipwreck. ... 
 
 The greatej- part of this August, 1855, they spent to- 
 gether in Cambridge, and probably attended a meeting of 
 the American Association, which met in Providence, R.I., 
 on the 15th of that month. 
 
 In his field work of this season he had evidently felt very 
 much the absence of his brother Joseph in Europe, who 
 had become an expert aid to him, as well as a most con- 
 genial companion. In a letter from my mother of September 
 4 I find words which mention another relative and friend, 
 who was to become a lifelong aid and companion in his 
 scientific work. She writes, "About Ben Lyman, Chauncey 
 thinks he would be faithful and valuable and soon learn all 
 you wished." Young Lyman, who had just been gradu- 
 ated at Harvard, soon after this joined my father, and in 
 the years which followed more than fulfilled the expectations 
 of their mutual friend, Chauncey Wright, 
 
 Several letters of September of this year speak of Pro- 
 fessor James Hall, of Albany, and of his desire that my 
 father should come to Albany to five, and join him in his 
 scientific work there. Evidently, my father was tempted 
 to do so, but in the end decided to remain in Philadelphia. 
 A warm and hearty friendship existed from this time on 
 
320 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 between my father and Professor Hall, to which was joined 
 a sincere admiration of each other's work. 
 
 In the autumn of 1855 the small household moved into 
 a new house, much more comfortable, overlooking the pretty- 
 garden of their friends the James Furnesses, which was 
 an unusual advantage in a city house. In writing of this 
 Httle house to Miss Robbins, my father says, "It will be a 
 very pretty one, and very quiet, and a very spacious one — 
 for us." As I remember it, no stretch of the imagination 
 could make it spacious, but it served all the uses of a palace, 
 and must have had India-rubber walls to hold all the guests 
 who were at different times sheltered under its hospitable 
 roof. I well remember the long narrow parlor, rather 
 bare as to furniture, but cheerful with a piano, books, and 
 some good engravings on the walls, and my mother's sofa 
 near a front window. My father had a little library over 
 the kitchen, which was more than furnished with his book- 
 cases and big drawing table; but he did not always have 
 the use of this room. I well remember one entire season 
 when it was given up to a scientific friend who was very 
 ill, and whom he brought home to nurse, and for whom there 
 was no other place in the house. Our good friend, Miss 
 Martha Swan, was hving with us at this time, and was a 
 great blessing to both my parents, in her devotion to their 
 children, as well as a constant aid to them in many other 
 ways. To eke out the small means of the family, .my mother 
 was very glad to take such boarders as could be accommo- 
 dated in the Httle house. One winter we had in this way 
 Miss Anne Whitney, later the famous sculptor; another 
 year, a young Mr. Perry, also an artist ; and my uncle Joseph 
 Lesley and cousin Benjamin Lyman, who were both stu- 
 dents and assistants to my father, made their home with 
 us during different seasons. Besides these more perma- 
 nent members of the household, there was a constant suc- 
 cession of visitors for a few days or weeks at a time, and 
 this seeing of old and dear friends was a great happiness. 
 The housekeeping was of the simplest, — good and plentiful 
 food, but plain of its kind, — and the hospitable entertain- 
 ment offered was a share in their life, full of intellectual 
 
i85S PROFESSIONAL LIFE 321 
 
 interests and strong affections. As I remember those early 
 days, it is chiefly a procession of fine and notable faces 
 which passes before my mind's eye, certain tones of voices, 
 and a general sense of richness of life, not overstrained, 
 but vivid and interesting. Nobody was ever bored in that 
 little house, and, if at times there was weariness or illness 
 from overwork, this did not suffice to cause dulness or 
 depression. The house was full of cheer, and of not in- 
 frequent merriment. 
 
 Broadtop, Oct. 28, 1855. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I went out up the road in the growing dark, through the 
 mire and over the rocks a mile into the forest, to meet them [the 
 boys] and help them carry the instruments in. I have a horror of 
 the dark, and especially of the forest at night. Superstitious images 
 crowd around me, and voices follow and whisper after me. Every 
 whitened stump becomes alive, and the chinks of sky through the 
 matted tree tops seem spirits. I have often walked alone in the 
 woods after dark, in order to conquer these fears, and I tried 
 to-night how far my self-education had succeeded. I went on sur- 
 rounded by my reflections and an atmosphere of the infinite. 
 The solitude was profound, — increased by one star shining down 
 into the deep cleft made by the road. I stood upon a few tree 
 stems thrown across a swamp place in the tracks, and uncovered 
 my head and pra3'ed for guidance and courage for all time. If 
 God made me, — let Him guide me! Time enough hereafter to 
 know Him, — only let Him lead me in the ways of life everlasting. 
 David was a man of soul and his prayers are of the texture of 
 all our breaths. . . . 
 
 Stonerstown, Nov. 9, 1855. Peter Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbdsts. 
 
 . . . Whatever be the reason, I confess frankly I anticipate no 
 great happiness this winter in our new house. So all that comes 
 (and no doubt much will come) — ^your visit included — will be 
 clear gain. As for " music and dancing," — to hear Rachel once 
 will suffice. You think her fine? It raises my opinion of her. 
 But why portray on the stage artificial pangs and dying scenes, 
 knd deadly crimes of which the world is full and weary? I do 
 not like tragedy, and shall not like Rachel, though she may be 
 a very fine actress. My antipathy to suffering, — gratuitous, 
 unnecessary suffering I mean, — is unabated, and increases yearly. 
 
32 2 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 The sufferings which mistakes and self-mistakes make, which 
 deliberate malice and unintentional awkwardness make, and 
 which the customs of society awry at every joint make, — they are 
 intolerable, and yet of these comes the very stuff of tragedy. I 
 wish every one to be good and happy — how can I take delight in the 
 broils of lovers and the murder of innocents? I cannot: nor do 
 I think it a great mark of genius to imitate death scenes, and 
 accesses of passion. It requires only artistic skill, time and 
 patience, and the will to do it. Now a great comedian is to me 
 a great man. Shakespeare is to me, not the great tragedian, 
 but the great comedian. His fine humor, exhaustless wit, his 
 bonhomie, which pervades all life, like sun rays, and obliges 
 us to look with lenient eyes on weakness, and loving eyes on 
 mediocrity, in men and women, his fancy for happy denoue- 
 ments and sweet sayings, in the very heat and toil of the plot — 
 make him, I think, the greatest of all — because the most natural 
 and noble of all comedians, — Comus personified. No, I do not 
 like tragedy; we have enough of its shadow always on the earth, 
 and so much of it in memory. It is a fatal defect in genius that 
 after picturing a creation and golden age of paradise, it will 
 always wind up things with a deluge, and a final conflagration, 
 and utter destruction from the presence of the Lord. . . . 
 
 This letter expresses a very constant aversion. My 
 father never chose to see a tragedy enacted, seldom read a 
 tragical story, and even disliked to begin a tale or novel 
 M^hich he knew was to end badly. 
 
 Philadelphia, Dec. 9, 1855. Peter Lesley 
 TO Mrs. Lydia Maria Child. 
 
 I have not fulfilled my promise to you until now, because I 
 wished to read your admirable book,* and not skim through it 
 or "look it over," as the phrase goes. And reading a book is no 
 joke at the present day, — nor do I indeed think it ever was, — 
 except for a few natural jokers perhaps, with Websterian Horace 
 Hu-man heads. I heard Horace [Mann] lecture last night, and 
 the way he slew the bigots, and dispensed the clergy, and re- 
 instated science and common sense, would have done credit to 
 Shamgar and Samson of old. But his brow oppresses me. It is 
 a beetling crag, snow-clad, — it must feel heavy sometimes. 
 
 * The Progress of Religious Ideas through Successive Ages. 3 vols. 
 1855- 
 
i85S PROFESSIONAL LIFE 323 
 
 Your book meets my unqualified — approval, I should say 
 if I were the teacher instead of being the scholar; I therefore 
 say, admiration. It has pleased me all the way through. I 
 have read about three-fourths of it, and am still reading, with the 
 same pleasure as at first. I never read a book — any book, least 
 of all one like this — consecutively, but begin at the end, then 
 read the preface — then plunge into the middle of affairs, ex- 
 amine then how it opens, and after that dash here and there along 
 the lines like a literary aide-de-camp, keep my thoughts of all in 
 line. This argues a bad taste perhaps in your opinion, but in 
 my experience it argues only a bad memory. It is the only way 
 by which I see at once from end to end of my piano board — ^by 
 moving my head along the keys. So we read score also — and 
 so the rocks and other symphonia. 
 
 I wish I could tell you what pleases me so much in it. Shall 
 I confess that I did not expect to be quite satisfied — and Susan 
 had a sort of terror about it — a presentiment of thunder and 
 lightning, and perhaps the odor of sulphur? But there is not 
 so much as would come from a first quality bougie. You have 
 admirably steered between Scylla and Charybdis. I have yet to 
 see an irreverence, and no one of course would look for a cant 
 phrase. You carry the heart with you sweetly, all the way through 
 — your sketches are masterly — your delineations of character, 
 pure, just and very exciting. I never have read anything in 
 biography finer than your Julian and Augustine, and who would 
 have expected you to succeed in both these ? Your last chapter 
 is a perfect poem of wisdom and love done into elegant Enghsh. 
 Pardon me for what you may think indelicate praise, for I know 
 that we suspect what is unalloyed; but I am not writing for the 
 newspapers, or the Westminster, or the Revue des Deux Mondes, to 
 gratify the learned with annotations, or the common world with 
 frequent criticisms, but to your own heart my own feelings which 
 I know are yours about your own work. You must love it, and 
 feel sure and half-proud, and altogether contented of it. Is it 
 not strange that any one else can? But I do also. The old 
 Hebrew proverb — about "A stranger not intermeddling with it," 
 doesn't apply to such things. I felt about this book as some old 
 maids do about their neighbor's children, — quite as tender an 
 affection for them, and a great satisfaction in not having had the 
 trouble of bearing and breeding them to their present state of 
 beauty and sense. I couldn't have written your book, but I feel 
 as if I — in some way or other, unconsciously — had. 
 
 How was it possible for you to write so calmly, and neither 
 
324 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 fall into vituperation nor sarcasm? I cannot comprehend it. 
 Have you gone back over your finished MS. and eliminated 
 everything except the fine wit, and sweet expostulation with 
 folly and arrogance? The tone throughout is beautiful — per- 
 fectly beautiful. There were four or five shockingly funny, and 
 shockingly energetic things in Horace Mann's lecture last night, 
 of an hour and a half long. There is not one that I have seen in 
 all your three volumes; but a thousand places where the smile 
 curls round the heart like a kiss-glow, and where the light comes 
 into one's eyes, as when one reaches the top of a hill. What 
 a divine gift this is, of a pure, noble, glowing style ! pure to save 
 the feelings, glowing to excite them, and noble to reward them. 
 Your English is absolutely music, and fully equals Irving's or 
 Hillard's, and pardon me for a little of man's arrogance, when 
 I say that there isn't a trace of woman's weakness about it. I 
 defy a jury of twelve critics to determine whether a man or woman 
 wrote it. I think this great praise, for my highest ideal of hu- 
 manity is the married man, — the man-woman, — the caulacau of 
 the Gnoois; nor can any angel be painted of either sex without 
 falling. 
 
 There is one thing I cannot well comprehend, I mean your 
 positive philosophy. You evidently do not mean to obtrude 
 one. But you leave your readers in a sort of perplexity about 
 your own opinions on all but minor matters, and negations. It 
 is evident that you have no sympathy with bigots, nor with pro- 
 fane atheists. You are neither an Athanasian, nor a Brahmin 
 nor a Talmudist; but the only decided sympathies — not expressed, 
 but intimated in your book, are first, with the oppressed in fact 
 — and secondly, with the growing soul of humanity — that is, 
 with every possible natural posture of the heart-head in all 
 races, climes and ages. I see shining through the book a very 
 soft and steady radiance, and it comes from your faith in all 
 things being well made and lovable, always everywhere. Every 
 effort of the thinking mind, or acting hand, or aspiring heart, 
 you watch with the same interest you do a child's. The same in 
 Egypt, India, China or America. And you seem to lose your 
 hatred of bigotry under this light, because it is a natural phase of 
 heart and mind, proper to certain places and times. I can on 
 no other theory understand your uniform good temper in de- 
 scribing its exhibitions. But you seem in detail both to believe 
 in and ridicule or suspect the supernatural. You describe mira- 
 cles, etc., in such a charming way, that we are left in a most 
 delicious perplexity as to whether you advise us to cultivate 
 
i85S PROFESSIONAL LIFE 325 
 
 Le Roy Sunderland or join the Know-nothings. Permit me to 
 ask entre notes — unter vier Augen — whether you really think 
 Apollonius was born twice. — Did two she-bears eat up forty-two 
 children at the command of the un-" magnanimous " Elisha? 
 (Susan specially desires an answer to the last as our marriage 
 was never considered complete until her proclamation of con- 
 viction on that point.) It's pretty plain you have a leaning to the 
 Unitarians, and don't believe in original sin. But it is not so 
 evident whether or not you consider Moses a reality, or Christ 
 and Chrisna identical. In one word it is a book of historical 
 and not dogmatical statements, and the author steps further into 
 the background than usual, — in fact most of the time quite out 
 of sight. 
 
 Sunday p.m. December 9, 1855. 
 Continuation of the Same Letter. 
 
 The most extraordinary sermon I heard this morning, at the 
 dedication of a Cathohc Chapel on the Immaculate Conception of 
 the Virgin Mary, to which (not to whom) the Chapel is dedicated. 
 It was an incredible mass of stuff, incredible to any audience but 
 such a congregation of low foreheads and weak chins. Father 
 Ryder said, — "how could we imagine the son of God able to en- 
 dure the taunt of the Devil, 'Your own mother was once my 
 servant'?" Therefore! Mary never could have been in sin. 
 The promise of a savior was made after the fall; therefore the 
 Saviour's mother must be taken out of the rule of the race, become 
 an exception, be set apart from all the preceding world, and be 
 in fact an Eve mother of the new race of Christ, the redeemer of 
 the old. The woman was to crush the serpent's head (a false 
 quotation, but c^est egal), therefore Mary must have been made 
 a second Eve to do it, etc. 
 
 It was very interesting to me, for I saw in it the modern 
 representation of the universal and sempiternal worship of the 
 Bagi, Celestial Virgin, Bark of Safety, mother of all avatars, and 
 refuge and solace of man's and woman's imaginative heart. The 
 mass performed was Mercadante's, — one of those glorious visions 
 of the heaven that await us in the Eternal Music. I cannot de- 
 scribe [to] you their effect upon me. Like tempests in the lassi- 
 tude of summer they wake up the dying life, clear away fogs and 
 vapors, purge heaven, and restore an ineffable calm and bhss, 
 worthy of the disembodied state. 
 
 How could I thank you for your lovely worship of music, 
 throughout your book! I sympathize with every word. But I 
 
326 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 doubt somewhat one expression, — although it is so fascinating 
 a conception that it ought to be true, — viz., that music itself can 
 neither sin nor receive the taint of sin, by which, you remember, 
 you would illustrate the innate essential purity of truth and true 
 religion ; the discord of sects and the wrath of bigots do but obscure 
 it for a time, but under all malign aspects its harmony may be 
 discerned by the true listening ear. WiUiam Henry Furness the 
 very day I read this passage described to me the effect upon him 
 of some of "Don Giovanni" of Mozart, in which he says he felt 
 the wickedness, without the words. 
 
 I wish I had noted a score or two of things I meant to write to 
 you about; but in fact I have been so exceedingly busy that I 
 have only been able to read by stealth, at intervals, in pubHc 
 places, and surrounded by chatterboxes, when pen and pencil 
 would have been an absurdity. I remember one thing however, 
 which excited merriment as I read it aloud — for I have read half 
 a volume aloud — and it is this. You quote Mosheim, and some- 
 body else, to explain the explosions from the foundations of 
 JuHan's new temple on Mt. Moriah, by fire-damp. But Mosheim 
 and Guizot ought to have known that fire-damp never collects 
 except in coal mines, and that the gases which are found in wells, 
 and caves, and subterranean excavations, are choke-damps, oxy- 
 carbonic, and utterly non-combustible, even extinguishing flame. 
 You gave the story, as well as the explanation, for what it is worth. 
 Now / beheve the story, but would much rather see in it a Guy 
 Fawkes' prank of the Christian priests, more successfully played 
 than the one in the House of Commons. Is not history to your 
 eyes a Mother Hubbard's Cupboard, where her dog-man, every 
 time she goes out, appears in some new transformation? Is it 
 not a phantasmagoria in which nothing astonishes, — and as the 
 juggler ends off by bringing out a cannon-ball and promises to 
 swallow it, you feel persuaded that he can and probably will, 
 after all the other equally incredible feats that he has performed ! 
 Is anything incredible in that awful hall — that museum of the past, 
 — at the far end of which where the vista closes in with dim groups, 
 and veils, and dancing lights, we descry angels, God, chaos, and 
 creation: I am profoundly superstitious. 
 
 And is not music a superstition of the heart? "What pangs 
 it gives us, what starts and frights, what weird forms, fire from 
 heaven, earthquakes, portents, miracles of beneficence, proceed 
 along the score! It is a mythology, instinct with Apollo, Venus, 
 Mars — an Olympus of its own. — I do not wonder that the 
 oracles were moved by music, I could myself prophesy in the 
 
1856 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 327 
 
 midst of the crash of an orchestra, — or after one of those divine 
 upward scales, those Jacob ladders of harmonies, every step of 
 which is a higher universal plane full of its own angelic hosts, like 
 the paradises of Mahomet; and the summit is lost in the heights 
 of possibility, that ecstatic infinity of the third octave, where the 
 sharp hght of the ultimate tones blinds the ear, and shuts in 
 glories for which we can but pant, and wait, hstening tiptoe, at the 
 fates of heaven. 
 
 One more pardon — I did not mean so long a letter, but I 
 could write still more. But I have been repeatedly interrupted, 
 and like the spider who has spun a web in a too pubhc place, I 
 give up in despair and only beg you to beheve me, 
 Ever affectionately and truly 
 
 Your friend Peter. 
 
 Postscript by Susan I. Lesley. 
 
 Dearest Maria, — Let Susie send her dear love to thee, 
 though it is late, and the space is small. Poor Peter is worked 
 down to a very thin specimen of humanity, and rarely has a 
 moment to write. But I have never seen him enjoy a book more 
 heartily than yours. — He has read much of it aloud to me, and 
 we have enjoyed it together.- — I was scared before it appeared, 
 on account of other people, not myself, but I find nothing in it 
 to scare any one. 
 
 We are very happy in our new home, and our little Mary, 
 and your name is a household word to us. My best love to 
 David, and think now and then of your loving Susie. 
 
 Philadelphia, 'Jan. 23, 1856. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 I received your kind letter this morning and its contents 
 made us most happy, to think that we may soon see you face to 
 face. Peter has been very unwell the last two weeks, with real 
 chills and fever. ... I hope it is gradually wearing out, but it has 
 tried his constitution very unfavorably. On Monday morning 
 early, we were astonished at the sight of four gentlemen at nine 
 o'clock in the morning. They were Professor Hall of Albany, 
 Prof. Haldeman, Dr. Le Conte, and Dr. Henderson. They were 
 all day in Peter's study, having great scientific sympathy and very 
 animated conversation. At about twelve, Peter came down and 
 said they were all going to stay to dinner. I had been sick with 
 a stiff neck and sore throat for three or four days, but I jumped 
 
328 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 up to calculate my resources. My woman was in the midst of her 
 washing, and we had calculated on a very mean dinner of cold 
 scraps. — ^But Martha ran out and hired a cook, and brought an 
 elegant pair of fowls; and to a confectioner's and got pies. And 
 at two o'clock precisely came off one of the nicest of dinners, — 
 with Mary, all dressed and waiting on table, — four kinds of vege- 
 tables, a bottle of sparkhng Catawba and everything to match. 
 Peter had not calculated on anything so fine, and was all struck 
 of a heap at the sight. It was also a feast of reason and flow of 
 soul. Professor Hall had just returned from Iowa, and was full 
 of talk, and Dr. Le Conte is very witty and wide-awake. I really 
 wish that Mother and you had been here, I think you would 
 have enjoyed the company so much. At five in the afternoon 
 our friends left. , . . 
 
 To change a "mean dinner" into a feast was one of 
 the delights of my mother's life. Many a time did she rise 
 from a sick-bed, and prepare the hospitable board for guests, 
 sure that, however simple the fare, the meal would be made 
 delightful by that "feast of reason and flow of soul" that 
 added zest and savor to every meal at that table. 
 
 Huntingdon, May 14, 1856. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 I feel now as if the season had actually commenced. It is 
 late to begin work, but you will say that my late two trips to Beaver 
 County was work. It was a long dusty ride to-day, but how 
 beautiful the spring earth! It would have rejuvenated you to 
 have seen the world of blossoms and young grasses, the ploughing 
 and sowing, and to have felt the winds from the woods and hills. 
 After exhausting poHtics and geology, I fell into a musing half- 
 sleep, and dreamed verses in your praise. I can only remember 
 
 Breathe, balmy May, sweet wishes to my love, 
 
 From whom my feet as still they rove 
 Dance at the very mention of her name. 
 
 Deeming it lovelier thus with love to trip, 
 Than to descend through all the lists of fame 
 
 With sad and stately steps. 
 Breathe, balmy May, sweet wishes to my love, 
 
 Sitting at home the faithful dove. 
 While I fly devious through the foreign air, 
 
 But only double winged to return. . . . 
 
1856 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 329 
 
 The rest was lost in sleep. But it was all true. That is the 
 only beauty of my poetry, — it is all true. I composed also divers 
 dictations to the government of Ohio upon the geological survey 
 bill of next winter, — perhaps I will say something about it in 
 my book, — I have it pretty well arranged. It seems rather odd 
 to be meddling with what is yet none of my business, but we 
 must do that sometimes. — I have suffered miserably the last week 
 from wounded pride about my sermon, Sunday night. Not that 
 I don't believe all I said, but I long now to say everything true 
 in such a way as will cause it an easy entrance, and an agreeable 
 one, into people's hearts. You will smile, and say yes, — you 
 know I am greatly changed in this. — I am, in truth! . . . 
 
 [Philadelphia] May 18, 1856. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO HER Husband. 
 
 ... I have been reading the volume of "Modern Painters," 
 which you left, with delight. I am about half through it. I know 
 so little of art, that I cannot judge whether Ruskin is one-sided, or 
 not, but I do Hke his ideas very much. They seem more natural 
 and truthful than the usually received ones. — Shall we ever read 
 such books together? You can't tell how truly I enjoy them, 
 nor how difficult it is for me to lay down the book. There are 
 a thousand things I want to ask you about in the book, but it 
 would take many sheets of paper and much time to ask you. I 
 like very much the chapter on the Religious Ideal, — also the one 
 on the Purist school. His illustrations of thought are so excel- 
 lent and inspiring, that they appeal to every common reader, 
 who knows absolutely nothing of the subject, and give fresh 
 impulse to his observation. . . . 
 
 CoALMONT, May 25, 1856. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Shell has just arrived with the startling news that Sumner 
 has been nearly killed in the Senate Chamber, and Lawrence 
 destroyed by the U.S. Marshal, — two events which we may be 
 permitted to say should have occurred at least together.'^ We may 
 ask indeed — what are we coming to? I think certainly to dis- 
 solution. I feel as if the Southern party, having got all they 
 expect to get — intend now to exasperate the Northern party to 
 a secession, and thus force them off the Union ground. Hoping 
 thus to reduce the Northern party to the inhabitants of one or 
 two states, — Massachusetts or perhaps New England, Northern 
 
 * Atchison and Lawrence. See pp. 441— 456, vol. i., "Abraham Lin- 
 coln, a History. By Nicolay and Hay." 
 
330 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 Ohio, Michigan, Wisconsin, Iowa and Minnesota. But if vio- 
 lence is to bring about the end, — let us have enough of it to open 
 Northern eyes. . . . 
 
 May 26, 1856. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 ... I suppose you have heard of Charles Sumner's time at 
 Washington. I was not at church last Sunday, but hear that 
 Mr. Furness preached about it, and four people went out of 
 church. Henry Ward Beecher and many Boston ministers 
 preached also about it. Are there not great crises coming? 
 Think of Hillard's speaking at the indignation meeting. — I am 
 afraid that the Bostonians won't economize their wrath, and will 
 use it all up in indignation meetings. . . . 
 
 COALMONT P.O., BrOADTOP, HUNTINGDON Co., PA., Jum 23, 1856. 
 
 Peter Lesley to Mrs. Lydia Maria Child. 
 
 At length I can return your compliment. In a week or two 
 you shall get a Httle "Manual of Coal and Topography," which 
 may interest you because my name will be in front of it. How 
 much other interest you may find in it, I can't tell until I hear 
 it from yourself. It will no doubt be read by a good many young 
 men and some old ones, and some men of science will find it 
 trashy because it does not tell everything, and other men of busi- 
 ness will feel it to be unsatisfactory for the same reason. But 
 in fact I have merely organized the subject in this edition, and 
 reserve its development for the next, for I am self-confident enough 
 to believe there will be a next. I hope to be allowed to issue an 
 edition every winter, and in a few years make it somewhat worthy 
 of its themes. There is nothing ignoble that is real. — I have 
 deeply felt this truth in writing upon Coal, and Map making. 
 In its frame and forces, a spider, or a leech, involves a world. 
 Every fact is a dewdrop, in which we see reflected from all sides 
 all things, — if the eye will but place itself at all possible points 
 in turn around it. How is it that I, who deal so wholly with the 
 real, live for it, and by it, and have almost nothing of the original 
 poet — which every youth is — left in me, — love yet so dearly 
 the fairy tale, the legend, the child's story ? Is it not because the 
 ideal is the realest real that is ? Little sweet " Eastward of the sun 
 and westward of the moon" who married the white bear, is almost 
 as dear a reality to me as my own little Mamie. — Your flower 
 for children * was snatched from me by Willie Furness before 
 I could read more than ten pages. — It is as fresh as a daisy, and 
 
 * Flowers for Children. 3 vols. 1844-46. 
 
i§56 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 331 
 
 as real and true. This is the sort of thing we children want and 
 we will bless you for every bunch of flowers you gather for us 
 in your paradise. I long for the time when my darhng daughter 
 shall sit at my knee, and read it to me. Ah, that is too great a 
 happiness to hope for. — I dare not trust myself with such a hope. 
 
 I must see you again this summer. Where shall it be? Do 
 you know that fate favors rogues, and has decreed me some work 
 — bona fide work — among the Berkshire Hills. After assisting 
 at the inauguration of the Dudleyan Observatory at Albany, 
 in August, I mean to spend three months in Maine and in Western 
 Massachusetts, and Connecticut. There are certain problems 
 to settle there, which are to be incorporated into the Canada 
 Survey, and govern us in our United States geological maps. . . . 
 
 I have lately been waked, or worked up, — whichever you 
 please — by our grand, enthusiastic, harmonious, and, I trust, 
 eventually triumphant. Republican Convention, — a company 
 of as fine heads, faces, and hearts as I ever saw together, — evi- 
 dently men who know what they mean, speak straight out, and 
 are accustomed to success. I brought back from New York 
 with me the news that the National Fillmore Club have gone 
 over unanimously to Fremont. It is my belief that the politics 
 of the country are to be remodelled, at least for a time, and our 
 history to receive a check in the wrong and an impulse at last in 
 the right direction. To reconstruct the political sentiments of 
 a government is an almost hopeless task, we may cherish a hope, 
 however, that something real in the way of progress may be 
 effected. 
 
 Three times have I essayed in vain to finish this rambling 
 epistle. It is now a gem of a Sunday morning; birds, crickets, 
 children, even the hoofs of the horses in the stable, are vocal with 
 that quiet intense life of a still fine day. The sky is what all 
 skies ought to be; the sun has just been created; the small apples 
 attract attention, — the trees are full of them; you can almost 
 hear the com and grasses grow. Last night I looked out over 
 toward the Allegheny, and there lay a great bright Bay of Naples 
 in the sunset, with Ischia and Procida, and purple shores, and 
 emerald infinites, beyond, inviting, maddening the heart to 
 shoot Ariel-like out beyond the homed moon, and lose itself in 
 brilliant silences and solitudes. . . . 
 
 My dear friend, God bless you with eternal youth, is the prayer 
 of a heart that you have made to remember its youth and in- 
 spired with a grateful love so that it is by a divine right, 
 
 Yours truly, Peter. 
 
332 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 Cambridge, July 13, 1856. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 ... I have been reading a life of Fremont, which is deeply in- 
 teresting, by Charles Upham. People here are wide-awake. Poor 
 Charles Sumner! Do you know, his friends fear very much a 
 softening of the brain — William Thayer writes to James that he 
 sees him often, and that he is running down, and it is now the 
 seventh week since the assault. I have been to church this 
 evening, to hear your old friend Mr. Stone, formerly of Salem, 
 preach the annual sermon to the Divinity school, or rather to 
 the class leaving. — It had a very noble Anti-slavery close. . . . 
 
 July 18, 1856. To HER Husband. 
 
 . . . Nothing is talked of anywhere I go but Sumner, and 
 Kansas, and Fremont. . . . 
 
 Jackson's [Alleghany Top], July 19, 1856. Peter Lesley 
 TO HIS Wipe. 
 
 . . . Terrible things crowd round us, like demons in the Valley 
 of the Shadow. A hundred children burnt and crushed up on the 
 Chestnut Hill Railroad. — Another steamer burnt on Lake Erie. — 
 The emigrants fired into, robbed and imprisoned, by the Missouri 
 pirates, on the river. — ^Another Northern member clubbed by a 
 Southern bully: — ^What are we living into — but an age of blood 
 and anarchy! I do not wonder that Henderson felt so badly on 
 leaving Virginia and his children, for a three years' cruise. — ■ 
 Personal interests, however dear, are swallowed up in public in- 
 terests, when the race and its last best gains of the ages are at 
 stake. For ourselves, we are safe — come what may — death is 
 but a removal. But for the country, — the great ideas of lib- 
 erty, equality, justice, fraternity, art, science, piety — we tremble 
 and may well be willing to fight. This Teutonic blood is one 
 that does not readily endure forever. It always in time rebels. 
 The Southern degraded type of it must not be permitted to incu- 
 bate on all that the Century has gained, through so much strug- 
 gle and death. What a wretched development is that, — of the 
 vaunted destiny of the best stock of mankind! 
 
 But a few more martyrs, and the Union will be saved by being 
 lost. I hope to live to see a northern army sweep with a ma- 
 jestic irresistible movement over the South, and remodel at a 
 blow the monstrous frame of Society, that has grinned at us 
 across the line, and lashed at us from above so long.— What will 
 
1856 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 333 
 
 a few thousand lost lives be in comparison with a saved age, an 
 emancipated race, a regenerated tone of sentiment in America ? 
 
 Yet among the ways by which the footsteps of the Avenger 
 and Arranger come, are some of peaceful readjustment, — and 
 we may hope that by these our salvation will appear. War is a 
 horror, — but it is much more of a physical than a moral horror. 
 It horrifies cotton raisers, and cotton workers more than it can 
 philosophers and Christians. These are horrified rather by the 
 peace of immorality and venality, the death of soul and decay 
 of noble sentiment. 
 
 I have felt lately as if I ought to turn to and help stump our 
 state. Here the Crisis hinges, here in Pennsylvania. If we 
 lose this, we lose probably all. But it requires peculiar quali- 
 fications to make an impression on the public. When the money 
 comes, I mean to send a few dollars to the New York Club, to 
 help others stump it. . . . 
 
 Cambridge, July 24, 1856. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Yesterday was a day of great excitement in Boston, on ac- 
 count of a fugitive slave case. The man hid himself on board a 
 vessel coming from Mobile, was discovered before he reached this 
 port by the Captain, who swore to deliver him up to the authori- 
 ties. He jumped overboard and swam to an island. Boats 
 were put off for him, and he was retaken, but the thing getting 
 wind friends were ready at once. The case was carried at once 
 in court, and Judge Metcalf would not allow time for any tele- 
 graphing, or collecting of evidence, but decided at once that 
 the man was free, in the absence of evidence to the contrary. 
 Thereupon, William Francis Channing whisked him into a car- 
 riage, and drove off, the Lord knows where, a great multitude 
 of people cheering and hurrahing, till he was out of sight. Mr. 
 Mumford remarked to Susan Hillard, "Strange that Theodore 
 Parker should have been off duty, he was all the time at Cam- 
 bridge Commencement." — "Yes!" she said, "and so was Judge 
 Shaw. — ^They always pair off together." We have had three 
 days of constant interruptions from visitors, so that I have not 
 been able to write you since Sunday evening. Rosa Hopper 
 was here yesterday. They are staying a month at the Lorings 
 in Beverly, in company with the Danas, and are having a de- 
 lightful time. She told me a httle secret. The papers state 
 that Charles Sumner has gone to a retired place, but do not men- 
 tion where. But he is really at Cape May, at the James Fur- 
 ness's and they do not wish it known, because he is so ill that he 
 
334 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 needs perfect rest and quiet. The accounts of him are very sad. 
 It is said that he has the constant sensation of rapping on his 
 head, and that there are many symptoms of softening of the brain. 
 When he walks, he totters Hke an old man. Oh, is it not shame- 
 ful that that rascally Brooks should go unpunished, and that 
 
 there are men like Professor , wicked enough to uphold his 
 
 conduct! . . . Everybody here is intensely excited. Even poor 
 unsettled Mother sits and sews for the sufferers in Kansas. Over 
 one hundred thousand dollars has been raised in Boston alone, 
 for the Kansas sufferers, and Wentworth Higginson has been out 
 there, and advises that a road shall be made through Iowa. . . . 
 
 Massu^lon, July 25, 1856. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . The country here about presents one of those striking 
 ethnological phenomena, common all over the earth, of a city or 
 town population quite different from that of the country. Here 
 the towns are full of Yankees, bright, shrewd, open-faced, 
 straight, long-nosed, high-browed, nervous -looking, tall, thin, 
 intelligent New England men, intellectual -looking and often 
 handsome women and girls and large-eyed boys. The country 
 is a wilderness of Pennsylvania Deutsch — children and grand- 
 children of the Orm and other German settlers of the east, — true 
 to their hereditary instincts, accumulating hard cash from the soil, 
 living filthily, or if cleanly still uncomfortably, in small houses, 
 and talking the familiar old patois. Good, honest, close, timid 
 people, ready to defend their rights, however, obstinately con- 
 servative, credulous to a wonderful extent, yet shrewd, — a strange 
 compound of the lion and the lamb, the fox and the sheep. A 
 race, which whenever set free from the restraint of mountains, 
 and developed by cultivation for one or two generations, stands 
 deservedly foremost of the human series. . . . 
 
 Cleveland, July 27, 1856. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Yesterday my heart sank to see a crowd of men, half 
 drunken, selfish, mean-eyed men, each with the capacities of life 
 within him, but without its opportunities, — crowded together in the 
 station house at Alliance, after a political debauch, the raising of 
 a Buchanan pole, and speeches for the saving of the Union — 
 waiting for the various trains to bear them home. — Home! what 
 a misnomer for the place where such soul locates its body — 
 north, east, south and west. As our train arrived, we sat down 
 to supper, and the first speakers and actors to depart came hurry- 
 
i8s6 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 335 
 
 ing in. I soon found myself in an earnest discussion with the 
 part of the table next me, — the only anti-slavery man in the crowd. 
 They justified Brooks, or rather insulted Sumner in every sen- 
 tence, and I defended him with my blood at boiling point. Roars 
 of brutal laughter rang up and down the supper-room. Fi- 
 nally the whistle gave the signal and they vanished like ghosts at 
 a cock-crowing. After that for an hour I had to sit in the gen- 
 eral room, surrounded by a loathsome crew, for whom I must 
 confess my heart wept with the saddest pity. Hopeful — yes, 
 a man's heart must be an eternal fountain of hope, — to hope 
 for such lost souls. How irreclaimable! How they descend 
 step by step ! I read their fates in their faces with a mute agony. 
 I thought of the hundreds of thousands of such lost souls in this 
 land. I thought of the vain struggle of the few against the many, 
 the good and true and noble, against the ignorance, meanness, 
 degradation, brutal passion, stubborness and perversity of the 
 masses. Here in the state [Ohio] I always thought the model 
 of the Middle States, the hope of the Northwest, I have seen the 
 old handwriting on the Pennsylvania walls — German, German, 
 Ignorance and Vice. The Reserve cannot save Ohio. It may 
 conquer in one election or another, but it is like sweeping out a 
 rising inundation with a few brooms. Yet there is no giving 
 up — we must fight, as well as work, while the day lasts, die in 
 armor and trust in God. . . . 
 
 There are fine anecdotes of Col. Bissell of Indiana, and Cum- 
 back of Indiana, both real northern Liberty men. The House 
 has struck a terrible blow at the administration, in the matter 
 of the Army Bill, — refusing appropriations until the Kansas 
 bogus laws are repealed; — that's the proper place to strike. All 
 English history says to us — stop the supplies and the throne must 
 do what is right. . . . 
 
 Saxton, July 31, 1856. To his Wipe. 
 
 ... At Cleveland I inquired for Dr. Newberry, and his fish 
 and plants. He has gone to Washington. ... I found however 
 a young man, A. V. Lauderdale, whom we picked up in our 
 carriage, and he carried us to see a small collection he had made 
 himself with Newberry, and said that he has found bones of a 
 true Salamander, which Newberry had sent to Dr. Wyman of 
 Boston. I must see about that. On leaving he gave me a small 
 fish and two teeth — quite an unexpected, and very pleasant little 
 courtesy, which would be natural in Europe, but not here. The 
 fossils occur in great numbers in the four-inch slate, attached 
 
336 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 to the bottom of the great seven-foot bed at the mouth of Yellow 
 Creek, near Willsville, on the Ohio below Beaver. . . . 
 
 Broadtop, Aug. 3, 1856. To his Wipe, 
 
 ... I hope you have got the book [the " Coal Manual "], as it 
 will please you in its appearance. But I know you will think it 
 very small. In fact it has been cheaply gotten up, — and not so 
 nicely therefore. It was published for the benefit of the book- 
 seller, not of the author. 
 
 I am glad the EUises seemed like old times. Ben says Rufus 
 is very conservative, and is troubled at the laxity of the times in 
 his church. He told me that four out of the six "parts" at 
 the Divinity School this year were too infidel to be allowed, 
 whereat Rufus groaned. I don't wonder that he despairs of 
 the country, for it takes bright eyes to see light ahead just now. 
 I have had another terrible conflict at dinner table with the 
 Honorable Mr. Moore of Philadelphia, — Judge Dougherty and 
 Mr. Smith, a merchant, one Buchanan and two Filmore men, who 
 say that we are fools to vote for Fremont, because when in Con- 
 gress he voted altogether with Atchison and Co. against Banks 
 and Co. How do the New England men account for that ? It is 
 the one thing which has all along troubled me. If he plays 
 traitor, the disappointment will be fearful. 
 
 Camkridge, Aug. 6, 1856. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Well! New England's the best place in the world. The 
 Stearnses drove over from Medford this evening full of Kansas 
 talk, Fremont, etc. James Freeman Clarke wishes to stump 
 Pennsylvania, with you for a companion. It is said that Reeder, 
 Robinson and Burlingame will do so, also a German Duher, 
 lately arrived, who is as eloquent as Kossuth, and whose ap- 
 pearance is considered providential. Thirty thousand copies of 
 Fremont's life have been sold in Boston alone. The Stearnses 
 have presented me with the finest lithograph of Charles Sumner, 
 beautifully framed. . . . 
 
 Huntingdon, Aug. 9, 1856. Peter Lesley to his Wipe. 
 
 . . . Sunday morning. Have had a pleasant breakfast with 
 Bishop Potter. Saw James Buchanan last night. An old, fat, 
 Charles Chauncey looking man, in an apoplectic white cravat, 
 with one eye looking wide of the other, a most disagreeable physi- 
 ognomy. He has a " false " eye — ^you cannot trust it. His 
 
1856 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 337 
 
 manners are those of a hoary politician — extremely disagreeable. 
 I am sorry I saw him — if he is to be president, which God forbid. 
 He reminds me of the descriptions we have of some of the popes. 
 
 Cambridge, Aug. 10, 1856. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 ... I asked George Stearns yesterday about Fremont's voting 
 with Atchison, against Banks. He says it is not so. Fremont 
 was only four weeks in Congress, and then wholly absorbed in 
 California matters. As a Democrat he voted with Democrats on 
 all minor matters, but he has never done so where Slavery was the 
 subject. His whole course has been an Anti-slavery one, so 
 say all the friends of freedom. 
 
 Philadelphia, Aug. 14 ( ?), 1856. Peter Lesley to his Wlfe. 
 
 . . . The excitement in town and country is becoming tremen- 
 dous. The Maine election intoxicates the one side, and makes des- 
 perate the other. Pennsylvania is now I think safe. Mr. Sumner 
 thinks that the South will take steps before long, — perhaps before 
 the election, to secede. I do not think so. I have just brought 
 him a roll of caricatures. I supped with Dr. Wistar last evening 
 by appointment with Annie, who however supped with her sick 
 father. Sumner was not so well yesterday. His friends to the 
 last must not only be patient, but very tender of him. He is still 
 quite a sick man — in that sense that he can bear no excitement 
 and has no physical vigor. His nervous system is badly shocked, 
 but his brain uninjured. ... 
 
 In August, 1856, my father attended the meeting of the 
 American Association of Sciences in Albany, my mother 
 joining him there, after which he returned by way of Ver- 
 mont to Philadelphia. In September he accepted the office 
 of secretary of the Iron-masters' Association. 
 
 Sept. 9, 1856. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I have a world to say to you to-night. Where shall I 
 begin? I dined with Charles Sumner to-day, supped with him 
 yesterday, had a merry time; saw Dr. Wistar with him this morn- 
 ing, the Dr. commands him to rest until October ist, then try a 
 journey homeward cautiously, to see how it will go. Charles 
 groans and moans, and says it is a dreadful lot. We all laugh 
 at him, and tell him posterity declines his further services. He 
 
338 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 storms at the administration, and pants to stump the state. The 
 Doctor says he is immensely improved, but that a false step will 
 return him to the middle or beginning of August. 
 
 J. F. Clarke writes me a vigorous and despairing list of 
 queries, which I shall answer hopefully. Things look brighter 
 here, but my heart breaks and sinks about the poor people in 
 Kansas. May the curses of the righteous destroy our tyrants. 
 I have no heart to write on personal topics. What is our in- 
 terest compared with this immense crisis — this impending fate 
 of all American hope and life — this shipwreck of liberty, truth 
 and righteousness? . . . 
 
 Cambridge, Sept. ii, 1856. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 ... I wish I felt like telling you about the Kansas meeting last 
 evening. Lucre tia [Hale] came out to spend the night with me. 
 . . . Lucretia, Chauncey and I were quietly taking tea when 
 the Stearnses and Augusta King walked in and told us of the 
 Kansas meeting. So Chauncey [Wright] went after Aunt Kitty 
 and the Howes, and we all proceeded in a body to the Hall. I 
 got seated by Dr. Francis, when very soon Theodore Parker came 
 in and sat next me on the other side, was very cordial and made 
 many inquiries after you. Emerson spoke very well, but was 
 very sad; he evidently /ee/j- the wrongs of Kansas to the heart's 
 core. Mr. [Moncure D.] Conway from Washington spoke very 
 finely, and then Huntington in his deep voice made the earnest 
 Christian appeal, and spoke mournfully of the dreadful apathy 
 and indifference even here in the heart of New England. He 
 closed with offering five hundred dollars from his own small salary, 
 to any man or body of men, who would go to Kansas, and take 
 the body of Ephraim Nute,* whether living or dead out of the 
 hands of his persecutors. Lucretia was deeply moved. She had 
 passed some hours with Nute just before he left for Kansas the 
 last time, and said the last thing she heard him say, in his quiet, 
 gentle tone, as if it were quite a matter of course, was, " I am 
 ready to die for Kansas." Huntington's speech was very noble. 
 He said that God had been trying to rouse us from our luxury, our 
 apathy, our indifference, these many years. First, came the claims 
 of our suffering black brothers and sisters at the South. We slept 
 on. — ^But now our white brothers and sisters at the West are 
 falling around us, and still we sleep. What will be the end ? He 
 
 * At one time a Unitarian minister in Chicopee, Mass., who went to 
 Kansas before this date. 
 
1856 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 339 
 
 and Mr. Emerson thought that no family, no individual, should 
 rest easy, till they have made some great sacrifice for Kansas. 
 We ought not to allow ourselves a single luxury, while there is 
 such suffering there. A poor woman, the wife of one of the pris- 
 oners, was then announced as one of the audience, and ready to 
 answer any questions after the meeting adjourned. Aunt Howe, 
 and Aunt Kitty went and spoke to her, and I tried to listen, but it 
 was too painful, and I went off. . . . 
 
 September 17 my father writes from Montreal, whither 
 he had gone on a scientific trip, accompanied by Miss Robbins 
 and Chauncey Wright, telling of excursions with Sir WilHam 
 Logan, T. Sterry Hunt, and Professor Dawson, of examining 
 "specimens, fossils, maps, note-books, etc." He visited 
 Quebec and Northern New Hampshire, after which trip he 
 and my mother returned to Philadelphia. 
 
 Philadelphia, OcL 3, 1856. Susan I. Lesley to her 
 BROTHER Joseph Lyman. 
 
 ... We did all we could to detain Mr. Sumner. The Fur- 
 nesses and all greatly disapproved of his going. We shall not 
 cease to be very anxious for many days. I spent many hours 
 alone with him, the few days before he left, Mrs. Furness being 
 much occupied with her sick mother. Of course the advice of 
 a small person like myself is worth nothing, but I told him the 
 opinion of all the wisest persons I know. He was racked with 
 doubt and hesitation, and continual telegraphs and sleepless 
 nights, and was finally brought to a decision by the fixed idea, 
 which I believe is a fallacious one, that he could in some way 
 affect Burlingame's election, to whom he seems much attached. 
 He has been greatly depressed by the state election, and by his 
 own continued feebleness. One day he said to me, "Oh if I 
 had but died last spring! I know my own powers, and nothing 
 I shall ever be able to do for this country will ever be of half the 
 value that my death would have been." I don't repeat these 
 things except to you. He is talked about too much. ... 
 
 Philadelphia, Oct. 3, 1856. Peter Lesley to Miss Robbins. 
 
 . . . Saw Burlingame, S., George S., Ed. Davis last evening. 
 All goes well — the talk is now of 45,000-70,000 for F. Don't 
 tell this, or you will be considered crazy and so will I. 
 
340 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 Philadelphia, Oct. 19, 1856. Peter Lesley to Miss Robbins. 
 
 . . . C. Sumner went to Washington Friday last. We are 
 hopeless about the next election; the Democrats have gotten this 
 one by 3,ooo-|- majority, 11,000 extra (false ?y votes were cast 
 here in Philadelphia alone. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Nov. 2, 1856. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbests. 
 
 ... I have paid an occasional visit to Mr. Sumner on my way 
 to and from Market, and grieve to say that he left us yesterday. 
 We all think him entirely unfit for the reception in Boston, and 
 shall wait anxiously for news of him. He has been much de- 
 pressed by the State election here, and has shown by his late 
 journey to Washington how physically feeble he is, and how un- 
 able to bear the smallest fatigue or excitement. Margie is 
 intensely anxious about him. . . . 
 
 Well! The day is at hand. Heaven help us and the country. 
 We feel almost hopeless here; but even if the worst happens, 
 God can bring good out of the seeming evil, and He alone knows 
 what is best for us.* . . . 
 
 Nov. 21, 1856. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Before starting, and while waiting for the cars from 
 Bloomsburg, a young countryman, seventeen years old or there- 
 abouts, attached himself to me, and sat crouching in the sunshine 
 under the depot windows, to tell me how he had never seen the cars 
 yet so nearby, how he was afraid it would seem kind o' strange for 
 the first few miles, how he had heard that they went darned fast, 
 and his brother had gone in them all the way to Milton, three 
 weeks ago, etc. I felt the same sort of instinctive taking to him 
 that I always do to the harmless, cute little creatures of the woods, 
 the squirrels and green snakes, and examined his inner consti- 
 tution streaked over with these quaint prejudices, fears and 
 wonderings, just as I would the antennae or tarsi of a coleop- 
 terous insect through a lens. I wonder if the savans among the 
 angelic hosts examine us so; or if our Heavenly Father is as 
 much tickled with our naivetes as we are with those of such 
 children. . . . 
 
 * This refers to Buchanan's election. 
 
1856 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 341 
 
 Algonac, Dec. 12, 1856. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 The truth is, he [Peter] found as he always does a great deal 
 of unexpected work in this iron business. For instance, he now 
 expects to be obhged personally to inspect and visit all the fur- 
 naces in the state, an immense undertaking, and one which will 
 keep him away nearly two months, probably the whole of Jan- 
 uary and February. . . . 
 
 Washington, Dec. 14, 1856. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . , . My business here is to collect materials for a map, which 
 Hall wishes, to explain his report to the War Department of the 
 fossils of the boundary of Mexico. Major Emory introduced me 
 to Captain Humphreys yesterday, and I saw Prof. Henry, and 
 Spencer Baird and Dr. Andelys, but not Dr. Newberry. . . . 
 
 Washington, Dec. 16, 1856. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Yesterday I danced attendance on some men, and to-day 
 on others. It is a miserable city to work in. Can do nothing 
 before ten nor after three. Nobody knows where anything is, 
 whether it can be got, or whose business it is, and jealousy of 
 one another characterizes both individuals and bureaus. Every- 
 body is trying to keep and get credit for what passes through 
 their hands. Dr. Andelys, Newberry, Hayden, Baird, Henry, Lap, 
 Humphreys, Lieutenants Ives, Parke, and Mr. Campbell have all 
 treated me cordially. Last evening Prof. Le Conte of the south 
 gave us his first eloquent lecture on coal, before a fine audience 
 in the Smithsonian, and stole a little of my thunder. (I couldn't 
 help laughing at his literal quotation.) But I forgave him as 
 he stole a great deal more of Ruskin's. But it was rather fine. 
 Eloquence is a gift of these Southerners. They appropriate 
 charmingly. I got quite new views of my own ducks and drakes, 
 and admired them more when another stroked them than I ever 
 did in my own hands. . . . 
 
 Washington, Wednesday, Feb. 11, 1857. Peter Lesley 
 to his Wife. 
 
 It is impossible for me to do more than record the principal 
 events of the last forty-eight hours and leave it to your imagina- 
 tion to fill up the details. . . . All yesterday I spent in this seat 
 (Wm. Thayer's reporter's desk in the gallery of the Senate Cham- 
 
342 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 ber, over the speaker's head) Hstening to an exceedingly inter- 
 esting debate on the Ohio River survey, which Butler of S.C. 
 shook his long gray locks at, and Stewart of Michigan made a 
 fool of himself against; which was splendidly advocated by Pugh 
 of Ohio (whom I greatly admire), and nobly sustained by Critten- 
 den (whom I have long desired to hear), in language and senti- 
 ment which commands my unqualified admiration. Opposite 
 me is Sumner's vacant seat, which, — tell James Furness, — speaks 
 in an awful thunder tone, like a volcano in activity on the distant 
 horizon. Not that I wish to imitate Mrs. Browning's "Loud 
 thunders of white silence," — ask William Henry Furness where 
 that comes from, — or get up enthusiasm for want of facts. But 
 I have been awed and strangely moved by the sight of the chair, 
 and the strange scene around it. There is certainly a majesty 
 in the Senate of the United States which all our prejudices and 
 all its failing cannot hide. And if they be not great men who 
 come here — (I think they be) — they must be made great men by 
 being here. That is different indeed from saying good men, I 
 confess. But I saw and heard more good yesterday than I ex- 
 pected to see or hear in the U.S. Senate in a year. As we grow 
 old, we come to know more and more that all things outside of our 
 own circle deserve more respect than we give them, and all things 
 inside of it, less. 
 
 Washington, February ii 1857. Peter Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 You see to what shifts I am reduced. But I am in the Capi- 
 tol Library, and they are too poor to indulge in the luxury of 
 ink. They only have $25,000,000 to get rid of. The question 
 is how to do it. They will probably take off duties, and kill all 
 our manufactures, Lron, Cotton, Wool, Sugar. Here I am to 
 protect Iron. Poor abstraction that I am — called upon to pro- 
 tect the realest and hardest reahty of real things ! It amuses me. 
 I have been at it for a month, erecting paper fortifications, tabu- 
 lated bastions, formuhstic curtains, newspaper articles for re- 
 doubts and covered ways, bomb proofs in the shape of private 
 correspondence, and mines under the pamphlet lines of the enemy. 
 In the end the conflict is of a very doubtful issue, and we may 
 find ourselves beaten after any number of victories of any size. 
 I am however heartily interested in the fight and wish the iron 
 interest success, with a real if not an entire disinterestedness. 
 One gets to love anything which one tries to foster, and the poorer 
 or sicker it is, the more. I am pledged to. . . Protection, — 
 
i8s7 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 343 
 
 odd as it may seem, — and all because I see that the prosperity 
 of the country at a thousand points is half involved in the success 
 of innumerable furnaces, founderies, forges and rolling mills, 
 scattered all over a dozen states, and feeding half a million of 
 people, besides giving point and spirit to their intelligence and 
 energy. I see something so real in all this. The good is so tan- 
 gible. One can count heads and daily wages, and follow the 
 results into so many of the channels of the arts, fairly out into 
 the world of science, — that I am heartily devoted to Protecting 
 Iron. . . . 
 
 Washington, Feb. 13, 1857. Peter Lesley to 
 Lydia Maria Child. 
 
 I have read Mrs. Browning's "Aurora." I despised it. I 
 pished and phewed and spoke disrespectfully of it. I read pages 
 here and pages there and confounded it circumstantially. Sophy 
 Howard came and sat and praised it, and I dispraised it, and 
 grew furious at Susie's coming to her aid. I read your admira- 
 tion of it and said it was a weak spot I had found in you. Fi- 
 nally one evening I was left at home alone, sick, and cross and 
 wickedly disposed toward all men, and towards "Aurora Leigh" 
 in particular, — but nevertheless took it up and read it. I began 
 near the end — and read on. The pages began to glow and my 
 own soul grew serene. I woke in a sort of Eden of delights, and 
 hour after hour passed away in a rosy sort of dream. They 
 returned, and caught me in a crowning emotion and triumphed 
 over me, — and so may you. It is a noble poem. The episode 
 is wonderfully beautiful, and has a sort of might about it, such as 
 I suppose resided in Marian's beautiful face. 
 
 Maria, Maria, be good! I hope some day to see you at the 
 head of an "Establishment." How wonderfully fine a Regina 
 Britannica you would make ! How you would sweep up the Rev- 
 erend Peabodies into wicker baskets and sell them for overdried 
 pulse! How you would hold the little head of the Reviews, 
 and pry open their contorted baby mouths with a large spoonful 
 of sulphur and treacle — (as I was treated when a boy, mark you, 
 and therefore I know what I'm talking about) — and tell them to 
 swallow that; it would do them good; it would cleanse their 
 blood; it would enable them to receive Religious Ideas. Ah! 
 my hands rub at the picture. 
 
 Establishments may not like you, — but if you had the making 
 of them, you would find that everybody would like them; and 
 you yourself would not be so bitter against them. Our phi- 
 
344 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 losophy ends in establishments of some kind or other, always; 
 and in fact they are natural institutions, just like trees. Trees 
 are establishments, you know. Thank Heaven, they don't con- 
 tinue to grow forever, and they are sure some day or other 
 to perish, every one. But what would one poor fleeting sky- 
 scape do, without these grand establishments of forest and moun- 
 tain under it ? The conservatism of the world has become really 
 quite beautiful to me, since I backed off far enough in this direc- 
 tion from it to view it in this light. Its precipices, avalanches, 
 howling wildernesses, freezing pinnacles, heartless cavernous 
 immensities, in which all individualism seems swallowed up, and 
 an infinite Fate everywhere forbids and punishes Liberty, — all 
 this is a reality — but it is the frame of the picture, the tough bone 
 skeleton of the rosy flesh, which is the point of designation and 
 return for the immortal free — free soul. 
 
 Come, dear friend, I begin to enjoy the world, now I see it 
 as it is and accept it at all points. Let us walk round evil as 
 we swerve from the puddles in the road; but in the Stanfield [?] 
 of it even these have their indispensability and beauty. Really 
 now, since I got rid of my own, I should rather hate to lose all 
 the white neckcloths out of the panorama. They look quite as 
 picturesque as their kin, the peacocks and penguins; — to say 
 the least. — I begin to suspect that we may say of them, as of 
 spiders, and sloths, — they must have their uses, or they would 
 not be; and uses involve beauties. . . . 
 
 But patience now, this is the very last page. Remember, 
 I have it in my power to write four hundred. I wonder if it 
 won't be a favorite amusement in the coming state of exist- 
 ence, to write letters across the nebulous systems on Morse's 
 telegraph. The materialistic philosophies of our day seem to 
 leave heaven bare of most matters except electricity. Can it be 
 that the Almighty Wisdom can find employment to their tastes 
 for so many universefuls of thinkers and doers! Let us trust 
 Him, and be patient. If I could only be sure (here or hereafter) 
 that those loved me really whom I really loved, I could be con- 
 tent to sit like a chained bear on the top of the north pole for- 
 ever, and be pelted at with icebergs by northwest exploring ex- 
 peditions ad infinitum. Love involves all — swallows up all — 
 receives all means and ends into its own bosom, and remains the 
 universe, whether full or empty. My hunger to be loved grows 
 forever. Every friend becomes more and more indispensable, 
 and every loss inconsolable. If we regard Love as Soul-light, 
 the eastern faith that the good are absorbed into light is true. 
 
i8s7 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 345 
 
 Like space — which exists before and after all material things, 
 equally well with and without them, — Love is a reality, and 
 whole world, for or in spite of, with or without, all actions, ends 
 and goods whatever. Is it not so ? Are we not thus immortal ? 
 
 Philadelphia, Feh. 22, 1857. Peter Lesley 
 TO Miss C. Robbins. 
 
 Shall I laugh at you ? shall I scold you ? shall I apologize ? 
 shall I write )^ou an essay on politics? shall I refer to the fact 
 that I write on Washington's birthday? shall I remind you that 
 my only historical principle has always been never to be con- 
 sistent? or shall I prove, secundum artem, verbatim et literatim 
 et sequiterim, that I have never run the risk of changing? No. 
 I will quote St. Paul. O woman of Cambridge, thou art, I per- 
 ceive, in this thing too superstitious. The idea! I — I — I — a 
 recreant and apostate from the universally true and nineteenth- 
 century-wise divine idea of free soil, to the old fogy theories of 
 special tariff and protection! How coidd you? Beauty of 
 science? It shines as gloriously as ever into my soul; and the 
 hour strikes when all nations, freed of tyrants, shall toil pro 
 &0W0 wm/z^o, and be remunerated. "Glory of freedom"? Never 
 truer than now! Freedom for all the nationalities! But not 
 for the aristocrats and despots, who pocket the consequences of 
 our free-trade experiments, while their starving poor starve on 
 just as before. Freedom? Why, let us do all we can to bring 
 over to this land the oppressed fabricators, and then their em- 
 ployers and masters may go to the devil and starve, while they 
 will become coefficients of liberty here where they are needed. 
 The "excellence of free trade" is a general law, including appar- 
 ent exceptions, as every real current involves eddies. To offer a 
 fictitious free trade in iron, is to ruin our iron-works, and give 
 the English nobility a monopoly of the manufacture; — what 
 follows? direr enslavement of their own work hands, and the 
 injury of the free-trade background here. No, the weapons with 
 which Free Trade shall get the victory, are special accurately 
 and scientifically adjusted tariff. For example, England pro- 
 tected her manufactures from year to year, until they were per- 
 fect, and then came English free trade. Let our iron-works be 
 protected five years longer, and no one will ask for a tariff. Some 
 abolitionists desire the opening of the slave trade, for the same 
 reason — to abolish slavery. I do not, — because there are better 
 ways. But not so with iron, wool, etc. Protection first, and free 
 trade follows inevitably; just as you protect a child, sure that 
 
346 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 thereby you insure his manly independence. The only question 
 is the how, and how far. 
 
 On May 19, 1857, a second daughter was born to the 
 household, much to their joy. My father had, however, 
 little time to enjoy in peace the new baby. It Avas a busy 
 season. Already in March and April he had spent a num- 
 ber of weeks in New England, visiting iron-works and mills 
 in many places, — ^as far north as Canada and south into 
 Rhode Island and Southern Massachusetts. These jour- 
 neys were followed almost immediately by trips into Western 
 and Northern Pennsylvania, and June found him again 
 travelling constantly, to nearer points in Pennsylvania, 
 and then into New York. This constant travelling was 
 often very irksome to him, and he had frequent twinges of 
 homesickness and depression. Always, however, his in- 
 tense interest in his profession, his real love of and satisfac- 
 tion in hard work, his delight in nature, and his (sometimes 
 amused) study of man in the very varied conditions in 
 which he found him, carried him through the days with 
 usual cheerfulness. One of the things which he often re- 
 ferred to in later years was his enjoyment of the small 
 theatre companies and their performances, which he often 
 came across in his wanderings. The following extract 
 illustrates one of these occasions : — 
 
 Reading, June 15, 1857. 
 
 I went round to the different works after supper, and about 
 nine and a half stopped before a little theatre, through the win- 
 dows of which we could see the green-room proceedings — and 
 went in. As usual, I was paid well by a sight at a funny audience 
 showing funny emotions, at very funny acting; but especially by 
 a real feast, over hearty, sound, honest, English love — tried and 
 found trustworthy — noble and disinterested, and rewarded well. 
 — Such scenery of life as is peculiar, I sometimes think, to the 
 English and German nature, but must be germane to all human 
 nature. I prefer to think so, — so do you. I never go to a country 
 theatre without feeling bettered in every noble sentiment, and 
 grateful to the unknown, obscure, commonplace writers of these 
 very ridiculous, but very admirable, and beneficial plays, and to 
 
i8S7 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 347 
 
 the poor provincial players who enact them. Certainly the play 
 
 I heard to-day was better for the people in that room — myself 
 
 included — than most of the sermons I have heard the last ten 
 years. 
 
 He loved dearly, in later life, the parts of Dickens's 
 v^orks which dealt with these simple players. Nicholas 
 Nickleby and his Crummleses, Miss Snevellicci and the 
 Infant Phenomenon, were no impossible exaggerations 
 to him. He had seen their sisters and brothers in the pro- 
 fession, not only before the footlights, but in the intercourse 
 of many a country tavern, or among the varied discom- 
 forts of travel to which he, as well as they, were subjected, 
 in cold stages on rough roads, or on the early railways of 
 both East and West. 
 
 Indeed, he was a hearty lover of Dickens, and of other 
 novelists who dealt with "all sorts and conditions of men." 
 He had himself lived among such varieties of human kind, 
 and was so true a lover of humanity that strange types sel- 
 dom seemed outre to him. He could match them through 
 experiences of his own. He loved humor, but it must be 
 kind, to please him. Satire or the cutting sneer he could 
 not endure, be it ever so witty. Neither did he enjoy the 
 description of tedious mediocrity, especially smug respecta- 
 bility. It did not amuse him, but, on the contrary, bored 
 him wofully. 
 
 Algonac, July 30, 1857. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband, 
 
 . . On Sunday I read Wendell Phillips' speech at Framing- 
 ham, on the Fourth of July, lent me by Mrs. Brown, in the Stand- 
 ard. It seems to me one of his most magnificent efforts, and 
 makes one feel that the subject can never be exhausted. I also 
 read an article by Mr. [Brownlee (?)] Brown in the July number 
 of Putnam, (the same that contains Lucretia's story), on the Ideals 
 of Modern Fiction. It does not give me a high idea of his mind, 
 is rambling, has not point enough, and wanders into regions that 
 I left long ago. The transcendental fashion of saying, "I want 
 to know what to do with my day, — how to influence my neigh- 
 bors," &c. does not come home to me at all. What am / or my 
 influence anyway? The duties and necessities and pleasures of 
 
348 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 every day seem to me sufficient, without questioning or scanning 
 them very much. There is too much consciousness in all this 
 philosophy to please me, and what he says of Dickens, and of 
 "John Halifax," and art generally, I don't agree with. And yet I 
 think we do not do enough to make our homes agreeable by the 
 cultivation of Art. How hard to do it when the body is too 
 weary with the happiest cares of life, to be able to practise the 
 finest music, or listen to the finest poem, or look at the most beauti- 
 ful painting! . . 
 
 Myer's Mills, Somerset Co., Aug. 2, 1857. 
 Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Friday night I passed with unexpected pleasure in the 
 society of Noah Webster's son and grandson, and pleasant talks 
 about New England people, Percival the geologist. Professor 
 Fitch and others. His father and yours, Susie, were old cronies, 
 he said. His son played a fine Bohm flute, and he accompanied 
 him on a boxwood eight-key flute. I played them some German 
 airs, and among others the " Im Grabe ist Ruh," which they ad- 
 mired exceedingly. 
 
 This afternoon I lay on the bed reading M. Bost's first volume. 
 It is admirably written; has intense interest for me; speaks of all 
 those men I met, of all the events I was interested in, and appeals 
 with wonderful accord to my convictions and penchants. I wish 
 I had time to translate it. It would be a delicious labor of love 
 to do it and send the proceeds to him. . . . 
 
 I have written Lovering that I shall read three papers: [at 
 the American Association of Science] on Tongued Flexures in 
 Coal; on Ethnological Bearings of Certain Architectural Forms; 
 and on the Word " Celt." Am I not bold ? for none of them are 
 yet written. . . . 
 
 Fairfield, Somerset Co., Aug. 4, 1857. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I am deHghted to find the Kentucky Anvil Rock here, in 
 its true place; an immense thickness of coals; a facsimile section 
 of the Dauphin Co. basin sections; and plenty of fossils. I shall 
 bring home a fine collection and a set of new ideas. Now I must 
 write to Lovering. I am still charmed with M. Bost's life. He 
 says, page loi, " Faites une declaration de voire foi chaque fois 
 qu'on vous en demandera, mats ne stereotypez rien." This is 
 better than I said it in my address. 
 
 I have beautifully arranged my "Celt." I sat in the parlor 
 alone looking at the full moon two hours last evening, and thought 
 
i8s7 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 349 
 
 of you, and Mamie, and the Celts, and made discoveries. It was 
 very much like telescope work in an observatory, I thought. . . . 
 
 Algonac, Aug. 4, 1857. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 ... I went this afternoon to visit Sculptor Brown's wife, while 
 the family were driving out, the first visit I have made anywhere. 
 Their little cottage is the very picture of comfort, just such a 
 little quiet home as you and I should delight to pass our days in, 
 with our children about us, and green fields for them to roam 
 in.* I enjoyed my conversation with her very much. She is a 
 sensible, cultivated woman, devoted to her husband, and perfectly 
 happy in her own resources, a Vermont woman with the usual 
 feeble health of New England women, and also the high standard 
 of life, and practical good sense, that abound there. . . . 
 
 Yesterday we drove to Idlewild, Willis' place. . . . 
 
 Montreal,! Aug. 13, 1857. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Interrupted to go to dinner. I read my paper this morn- 
 ing and took part in some discussions with Logan, Ramsay, Dana 
 and others, of a very interesting kind. Now I must go see Hall. . . . 
 
 Montreal, Aug. 14, 1857. To his Wife. 
 
 . , . Our papers of interest are nearly all read, and I have seen 
 almost all the people I wish to see, and after the debate to-morrow 
 on Ramsay's paper of yesterday on the British fossils, I think I 
 shall start for Newburg. The excitement is great and constant, 
 and I can get no rest until I am with you. I wish to spend two 
 or three days with you. Yesterday we all went over to St. Helen's 
 Island, where the fort is, and Sir William Logan took Ramsay, 
 Hall, and us to see the Clinton Conglomerate full of lower Silurian 
 fossiliferous pebbles and capped and underlaid apparently with 
 Niagara fossils. This is one of three little outliers of that great 
 formation. He told me that after I left him on Lake Magog last 
 year he found thousands of Niagara fossils. — ^To see these will 
 be one of the few things to detain me. I have seen B. SiUiman 
 and his wife, Dana, Hosford, Gould, Henry, St. Alexander, 
 Guyot, Whittlesey, Whitney and wife, Haldeman and Mrs. Haley, 
 
 * It was a pleasant coincidence that in later years my mother's young- 
 est daughter and her husband came to this very cottage, and made it their 
 home, — "Little Brook" as the place was named. 
 
 t At a meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of 
 Arts and Sciences, 
 
350 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 Bache and his wife, Dawson and his wife, Anderson of Rochester, 
 Wilson of Toronto, Le Conte of S. Carolina, Gibbons of the Assay- 
 office, S. Carolina, Emmons and his wife, Daniels, Swallow, of 
 Missouri, Hall, his wife and daughter. Dr. Hitchcock and wife. 
 Prof. Sanborn, Holton, Hubbard, Ruggles, Wyman, and many 
 others of inferior note. We have had eulogies on Bailey and Red- 
 field, dead last year. A great entertainment given by the Nat. 
 Hist. Society in the evening was so badly managed, that Hall's 
 address was only half delivered and the Governor-General, Eyre, 
 left town in a huff. ... I read one paper on coal, and two on my 
 Arkism, which this time seems to have excited some interest. I 
 read to-morrow on Lesquereux's identifications, what I trust will 
 do him justice. Joe seems highly interested. He is much liked 
 as acting secretary of subsection B, the ethnological. Hunt is a 
 great man here, and has received the highest and heartiest scien- 
 tific applause. Ramsay is a noble fellow, and we have been 
 taught with delight the wonderful analogies of' Scandinavian, 
 British and American lower Rocks. I will tell you all about 
 these things when we meet. . , . 
 
 Philadelphia, Sept. 5, 1857. Peter Lesley to his Wipe. 
 
 ... I am writing my report on Somerset Co. for Wolf; my 
 papers for the proceedings of the Montreal meeting; my table 
 of rolling mills, and seeing various parties on the Coal Burner and 
 Coal Land Business. . . . 
 
 In September, 1857, on returning home from New Eng- 
 land, my mother was delighted to find in her little parlor 
 ''an excellent portrait of Peter, in oils, by William Henry 
 Furness, one that I am sure will satisfy every friend of his, 
 and will be most valuable to me," she writes. 
 
 Autumn, 1857 or 1858 probably. Peter Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... I am hard at work on my lectures and paintings, and Joe 
 on his. . . . Theodore Parker has just written me a queer little 
 letter, just Hke him. Wendell Philips gave us his "Lost Arts," 
 and a grand speech on Slavery last week. He means to give up 
 lectures next winter. . . . 
 
 Give my love to Chauncey, and tell him to spend the next 
 two years among the stars, for the earth will not be habitable 
 
PETER LESLEY 
 
 From a portrait by William Henry Furness in 1857 
 
i857 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 351 
 
 till after that. I wish I had any brains left. I would write for the 
 magazines and newspapers, and die at the rate of a penny a line 
 like other literary ruins, till something turned up. ... As for 
 the times, the worst seems over, and I would not be surprised if 
 two months saw things returned nearly to their ordinary state. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Oct. 11, 1857. Peter Lesley 
 TO Lydia Maria Child. 
 
 . . . We have awful times. A nightmare broods over society. 
 The City is as still as a Sabbath day. The oldest, wealthiest 
 houses are crashing down day by day, as their heaviest payment 
 days come round. Scores of thousands are out of work. Bread 
 riots are dreaded. Winter is coming. God alone foresees the 
 history of the next six months. . . . 
 
 October, 1857. Susan I. Lesley to her 
 Aunt Catherine Robbests. 
 
 . . . But, oh! Aunt Kitty, what lessons we are being taught as 
 a nation; shall we remain deaf, dumb and blind? Mr. Furness 
 has preached three fine sermons on the times. How 3^ou would 
 have enjoyed them! If we do not now allow such truths to sink 
 into our hearts as the Saviour so earnestly taught, when shall we ? 
 "Man shall not Hve by bread alone," &c. "The just shall live 
 by faith," and many others. 
 
 We see terrible suffering, and hear of more. A poor woman 
 walked all the way from Frankford, with twin children on each 
 arm, only three weeks old, to beg Peter for bread; the babies 
 were starving because she was. So many large factories and 
 establishments have turned away their hands, that the very worst 
 consequences are feared, when the cold weather comes. At 
 home, we have all we can ask for, but it is depressing to think 
 of the thousands who have not. Peter sold stock at an immense 
 sacrifice, to carry us through this crisis, and we shall spin it out 
 to its utmost extent. He receives no salary, and has no private 
 work. Do not speak of this, it is all we can do now, and we bless 
 Father Lesley for the care and toil with which he saved us any- 
 thing. . . . 
 
 November, 1857. Susan I. Lesley to her 
 Aunt Catherine Robblns. 
 
 . . . Peter and Joe went off this morning to pass the day at 
 Eagleswood, and give a lecture there, according to an invitation 
 from Mr. Marcus Spring. . . , 
 
352 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 Well, what a winter this is! Generally, when individuals 
 suffer, they can turn their minds to others who are more pros- 
 perous; but the peculiarity of this time is, that there is no such 
 diversion of one's cares, for all are more or less involved in the 
 public calamity. I do not doubt that a great deal of good will 
 grow out of it. Peter possesses his soul in much patience, and 
 is much less depressed and anxious than I should have supposed. 
 Do you know that he and I, between us, wrote fifty letters to 
 every probable quarter where he might lecture, and they have 
 all been answered, and not one with encouragement. So that 
 hope has faded out. Well, he learned to labor long ago, and 
 now he must learn to "wait." — I expect to have a boarder in a 
 week or two. . . . 
 
 We went to hear Wendell Phillips lecture, both evenings he 
 was here. Mr. Furness sent us tickets. I enjoyed both the 
 "Lost Arts" and the "Slavery" extremely. It was a great treat 
 to me to listen to him. When you write, will you some time tell 
 me who wrote each article in the Atlantic Review? — Of course 
 I recognize Emerson's and Lowell's pieces, but there are some 
 I don't know. Who wrote "Pendlam " ? * 
 
 Philadelphia, Nov. io, 1858. Peter Lesley 
 TO Theodore Parker. 
 
 I feel perfect security in attacking your good-nature for. a 
 favor. My business (narrated above after the most approved 
 fashion of the puff) [in a letterhead] has collapsed under the 
 pressure; — or if you please retired to winter quarters and will 
 hibernate profoundly, the good Lord only knows how long. Mean- 
 time eight dozen teeth, incisors, canines, and molars, and an extra 
 mouth without one of either kind, gnash hungrily around me. 
 I must, in a word, lecture this winter, and will be very grateful 
 to )^ou for suggesting my name for any lists to be made up this 
 winter anywhere or for any vacancies. To be up to the hetero- 
 dox notch, as bread is my object, I shall lecture on stones. My 
 professional theme is Iron, in connection with coal, and its gen- 
 eral geology ; and as I have been Acting Secretary to the American 
 Iron Association for a year past, I have a mass of unpublished 
 
 * See page 583 of the Fiftieth Anniversary Number, November, 1907, 
 Atlantic Monthly, "An Early Contributor's Recollections," by John 
 Townsend Trowbridge, in which he writes, "My story was 'Pendlam, 
 a Modern Reformer,' a satire aimed not at spiritualism itself, but at the 
 follies and impostures that flaunted in its train, and cast discredit on the 
 cause with which they claimed kinship." 
 
i857 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 353 
 
 information which with suitable illustrations I can make popularly 
 interesting: I have other reasons for wishing to present the sub- 
 ject in many places this winter. We intend this office to be the 
 centre point of the iron manufacture of the New World, so far 
 as organization is concerned. 
 
 I have no objection to ride some of my old hobbies, however, 
 and would like very well to lecture on Primeval History, with 
 Language and Architecture to illustrate my particular views. 
 
 The occasional hour in the year which I enjoy in your won- 
 derful room is a sort of Aldebaran in my memory, and I feel sure 
 that your happiness would be doubled if you could rightly know 
 how much happiness is thus received by the many like 
 
 Your friend, J. P. Lesley. 
 
 My dear wife would most cordially unite with me in warmest 
 expressions of respect and esteem if she were here. Her health 
 has suddenly improved, within a few days, and we believe in a 
 Merry Christmas and Happy New Year with all our hearts. . . . 
 
 Eagleswood, N.J., Nov. 27, 1857. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . What shall I say ? It is more beautiful here every hour. 
 My lecture pleased them yesternight. Joe left this morning — and 
 me in bed until nine o'clock. At eleven, we began to bury James 
 G. Birney, and placed him in the grave at one o'clock, — strew- 
 ing evergreens and singing hymns. If you could have heard 
 Theodore Weld eulogize him, and the wet eyes, and holy hymns 
 ■ — I should find my happiness in this little visit complete. I have 
 just been round with Marcus Spring engineering and looking at 
 the house, and selecting sites and sights. Now I stipulate for 
 a quiet day to-morrow, and may take the four o'clock boat and 
 be with you at 9 p.m.; but I think I shall stay until Monday, 
 and see you Monday noon. 
 
 Philadelphia, Dec. 26, 1857. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 ... I wrote you that Joe and I heard Mr. Foster * about 
 Kansas, last Sunday, and that I was extremely interested. On 
 Tuesday evening we had another treat. We went to hear George 
 [Wm.] Curtis lecture on Sir Philip Sidney, or the Christian Gen- 
 tleman. . . . The lecture was splendid, full of brave, heroic and 
 inspiring ideas which he applied finely to our age and country. 
 
 * Probably Stephen K. Foster. 
 
354 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xiv 
 
 He glorified youth and enthusiasm, as the great achievers of all 
 things good. — It tries me after listening to such speakers, to hear 
 people criticise and talk coolly, about scholarship, voice and 
 manner, and what not, as if the great thing were not the ability 
 to present animating and lofty ideas and principles. It was good 
 to look at Mary Johnson's speaking face, and see that she felt 
 with me. . . . 
 
 PiTTSBTJRG, Jan. 3, 1858. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . The four verses of Lowell which Joe sent me are the 
 instinct of every noble New Englander, and make that people 
 such remarkable writers and speakers, — such idealists — abstrac- 
 tionists — reformers and fanatics, as the world calls it. Earnest- 
 ness is one prime characteristic of the New England mind and 
 heart; and faith in the future, in the eternally steadfast and vic- 
 torious right and true, is its basis — ^a faith which this world can 
 neither give nor take away. . . . 
 
 Pittsburg, Jan. 4, 1858. To his Wipe. 
 
 ... I send you a line to mail to Maria Child, who of course 
 wrote "Maya the Princess," in the Atlantic of this month. I 
 have read no more of it. Think of Wendell Phillips lecturing 
 here Friday night, and I knowing nothing of it until just this 
 moment. . . . 
 
 Columbus, Jan. 8, 1858. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I have just spent an hour with our dear friend Lesquer- 
 eux, and have seen his wife. — She is a noble woman. — I go now 
 to spend an hour with Mather by appointment, and after dinner 
 will spend the afternoon in Lesquereux's cabinet. ... I had a 
 public discussion on slavery in the car with a renegade Northerner, 
 now living in Kentucky, and for a wonder reduced him to silence. 
 How one's soul loathes such a recreant! . . . How inimitably 
 funny O. W. H.'s table talk is in the Atlantic! . . . 
 
 Ironton, Jan. 16, 1858. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I think you need not be uneasy about Mamie's untruth- 
 fulness. Her cases are sporadic, not epidemic, and due to her 
 imagination as much as anything. She is not a literal child, you 
 know. Set her a good example of exactness in narrating, as well 
 as faithfulness in promising, and she will grow into truthfulness. 
 Remember also that fear is the mother of falsehood; and a timid 
 child cannot be an altogether, always truthful one. A paroxysm 
 
i8s8 PROFESSIONAL LIFE 355 
 
 of fear, which you may not see, and could not comprehend, will 
 breed a lie instantly, and all your training and correction before 
 and after won't be of any avail. Take it easy, and trust to nature, 
 time and a good example. . . . 
 
 Hampden, Sunday, Jan. 23, 1858. To his Wife. 
 
 ... If I consulted my feelings, I would not attempt to write to 
 you, for it must be in a bar-room. . . . This part of Ohio is Vir- 
 ginian, a little mixed with Pennsylvania elements — not of a supe- 
 rior kind. Houses are uncomfortable, roads vile, people rough 
 but good-natured, beds soft and short, bread hot and doughy, 
 churches few and intermittent. On arriving at Church this 
 morning, I was informed that the preacher's wife was sick and 
 I must take his place; so I preached from the Sermon on the 
 Mount, and they would have me speak to them again this even- 
 ing. I left Portsmouth for Monroe Furnace, Thursday, and 
 spent one night at Monroe, one at Washington, one at Berlin 
 and the last here; making use of my days in plumbing the depths 
 of clay roads up to my horse's belly, in visiting the furnaces 
 which lay off the railroad. ... I am in excellent health and so 
 occupied with my work that I seldom think of home, except 
 when nestled in bed and not always then. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, April 6, 1858. Peter Lesley 
 TO Theodore Parker. 
 
 ... At Blairsville returning, we were obliged by a smash-up 
 on the Central line to walk out four miles to the Junction Station, 
 and thereby had a chance to see a fight between a mob of negroes 
 and three kidnappers. In the Depot were concealed thirty, 
 and in the barn fifty armed men, and the woods were full. Three 
 thousand good and true men could be concentrated in thirty-si:S 
 hours at any point in Indiana County — entre nous. . . . 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 Eagleswood. Summer of 1858 
 
 In May of 1858 my mother took her children to Eagles- 
 wood, near Perth Amboy, on the New Jersey coast, where 
 she spent the summer, and where my father from time to 
 time spent a few days with them, whenever he could take a 
 short hohday. 
 
 Several families had come together in this place with 
 some plan, I believe, of forming a " Community" here. 
 Mr. Marcus Spring and his family were of this number, 
 and Mr. Theodore Weld and his family. The latter built 
 up a fine school, which was notable for its excellent and 
 original methods of teaching. The following letter from 
 my mother to her aunt, Miss Catherine Robbins, gives some 
 idea of the place and its work and society: — 
 
 At last I find a spare hour to sit down and talk with you, and 
 it seems a great luxury. I have been at this place two weeks 
 yesterday. It has rained steadily every day but two, since I came 
 here, but to-day the sun has shone, and the place has looked 
 lovely. I have already got into the life of the place, a quiet routine, 
 with just that amount of pleasurable excitement coming from 
 the school and intercourse with young people, which is animat- 
 ing and healthful. At quarter to six the bell rings to wake us, 
 and at half-past we breakfast, five tables in a long dining-room, 
 the scholars headed by Mr. and Mrs. Weld, Miss Grimke and 
 Miss Shepherd, occupy three of the tables; the other two are 
 occupied by the permanent and transient boarders. The fare 
 is of the simplest and most healthful, with sufficient variety; the 
 house is kept by a good New England family. 
 
 At twelve we both go to the gymnasium when the bell rings 
 and join the class there. I go through all the drill that I have 
 strength for, and Mamie is full in the faith that she does also. 
 At any rate it is a fine entertainment for her. At half -past twelve 
 the bell rings us all to dinner. At two Christine takes the chil- 
 
 356 
 
SUSAN INCHES LESLEY 
 From an old Daguerreotype 
 
185S EAGLESWOOD 357 
 
 dren out for the afternoon, and I lie down till four, — usually 
 sleep soundly. At four I join Mrs. Spring, Mrs. Brown, and 
 Miss Shepherd in a reading class, which occupies us till six, the 
 tea hour. We are now reading Mrs. Child's "Progress of Re- 
 ligious Ideas." . . . 
 
 Saturday nights everybody on the place, except the servants, 
 join in a dance at the School Hall. Tell Chauncey that when 
 Mr. Lesley came last Saturday, he could not believe his eyes 
 to see me dancing with old Mr. Weld, till the gunpowder ran 
 out of the heels of my boots. Last Sunday we had an unusually 
 pleasant service at the hall. A Mr. Thom, an Orthodox Clergy- 
 man from Cleveland, Ohio, preached a very good sermon. Mr. 
 Weld's brother spoke very finely, and Peter gave a very strong 
 practical turn to all the suggestions that had been made. The 
 scholars always sing the hymns sweetly. I think the school 
 is the only one I ever saw that entirely meets my ideas, and Peter 
 is enchanted with it, and says he does not hesitate to pronounce 
 it the first in the country. I find the greatest temptation to spend 
 half my time in the school, as many of the ladies do here, and I 
 have to restrain myself continually by thinking of my health 
 and other duties. But the method of instruction is so interest- 
 ing and so clear, and Mr. Weld is so glad to have every one, 
 old and young take advantage of it, that it seems to me a real 
 loss to spend two hours on the bed every day instead of there. . . . 
 
 Extracts from later letters without date: — 
 
 Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . This morning we had a meeting, and Miss Holley, the 
 Abolition lecturer, was the principal speaker. For myself I can 
 only say that being rooted and grounded in Anti-slavery prin- 
 ciples, I don't care to hear much more discussion of them. It is 
 stale to me. . . . 
 
 Sunday. 
 
 . . . We had a very interesting meeting this morning. Lucy 
 Chase's brother Thomas, from Haverford, was here, and spoke 
 on Prayer. Then Mr. Theodore Weld broke out in a flood of 
 eloquence, such as I never heard surpassed. It came from the 
 depths of a prayerful soul, a soul living in the closest communion 
 with God. He bowed his head and nearly wept when he closed. 
 It was an address to scholars, which each one of them must have 
 
358 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xv 
 
 felt. After dinner I walked with Miss Shepherd. She told me 
 all about his early hfe, how narrowly he had escaped death at 
 the hands of a mob, several times in the West, when he com- 
 menced his Anti -slavery career; how he had saved the lives of 
 several persons from drowning by risking his own; how enthu- 
 siastic he had been in his friendships, — how devoted in every 
 relation of life. You should have seen the glow on her pure, 
 calm face, as she sat under a tree in the ravine, telhng me all 
 this. She says that he loses money every year by this school, 
 and always has; that as long as he can afford to he is glad to. 
 Not more than half the scholars are paying scholars; he gets 
 interested in them, and if the parents are poor, keeps them for 
 half-price, or nothing at all. — Oh, I must tell you something 
 good; Mr. Weld and I are both descended from Anne Hutchin- 
 son straight, therefore we are cousins. His ancestors have been 
 Orthodox preachers for nine successive generations, and he was 
 the first to break the line. What an amount of conscience and 
 force must have come down to him! ... 
 
 To which my father makes reply : — 
 
 May the day be all brightness for the descendant of the 
 Hutchinson Martyr, the cousin of ten generations of orthodoxy! 
 It seems as if my darling had kinship with the whole Church 
 Universal. What it is to be born an angel! But, au contraire, 
 to be condemned to live outside the walls of one's paradise! 
 
 . . . Peter Cooper is coming down to spend next Sunday at 
 the Springs. . . . Such a sermon from Theodore Weld and such 
 gentle, true words from Pliny Chase. Then young Louis Weld, 
 from New York, Theodore's nephew, as blue Orthodox as indigo, 
 preached us a sermon in the evening full of fire and heavenly 
 unction, from the text, " I am the true vine, and my Father is the 
 husbandman." His illustrations were pecuHarly fine and strik- 
 ing, and every word would have touched me; but my Unitarian 
 ears were so often offended by his insisting that those who did 
 not receive Christ as equal with God, rejected him utterly. Com- 
 ing out, Theodore Weld said to me, "A very fine rider on a very 
 poor horse." . . . 
 
 . . . We have been having a visit from Mrs. Farnham, Aunt 
 Eliza's old friend, who has lately returned from California. She 
 is lecturing here to the women, on "Woman," and I have been 
 
1858 EAGLESWOOD 359 
 
 to two of these meetings in Mrs. Bimey's parlor. It is all new 
 to mfe, — not the views, all of them, — but I never heard the sub- 
 ject discussed before. She does not assume the equality of the 
 sexes, but considers woman both physically and spiritually to 
 have a higher being than man; says that physically she has one 
 more organ, and greater complexity of structure, and is more 
 individualized than man, etc. How I wanted you here, to ask 
 you some questions as to facts! She has spoken remarkably 
 well, and has said many excellent things which I should like 
 to tell you, if I had time. Unlike most women talkers, she in- 
 sists on the mistake of women assuming most of man's duties, 
 and brought many facts from observation and history to show 
 how certain was the deterioration of her own peculiar, and as 
 she considers, higher functions, when she undertakes to com- 
 pete with man in the heavy labors and external works of life, 
 that require a different physical constitution and greater strength. 
 All that she said on the subject of Gestation, Pregnancy, Chastity, 
 etc., was more beautifully, simply and purely expressed than I 
 ever heard any one do it. I am convinced that the whole sub- 
 ject, treated in that way, would be elevated to the serious and 
 religious ground it ought to occupy. ... 
 
 ... He [Charles Weld] is high up for free discussion, thinks 
 it isn't free enough here. Was ever such a medley of minds as 
 here? . . . 
 
 . . . There is a great deal to interest one in the life of the 
 place, and never did I see so powerfully in exercise the influ- 
 ence of one ruling spirit. Emerson says, "A saint should be as 
 dear as the apple of an eye," and so is Theodore Weld to the 
 hearts of all who know him. ... As for Mr. Spring, as Aunt 
 EHza used to say, "There isn't but a little of the salt of the earth 
 left and Marcus is a part of it." . . . 
 
 . . . Mary Porter . . . came down here last Saturday and 
 stays until Thursday, and has spent her whole time in the school. 
 She is teaching herself in Brooklyn, and says she has received 
 most valuable suggestions from Mr. Weld's method of instruc- 
 tion, and that the few days spent here have been as happy and 
 refreshing to her mind as anything in her whole life. Teachers 
 have so many discouragements, that I think it must be like a 
 draught of cold water to the thirsting to come in contact with so 
 strong, clear and genial a mind and heart as Theodore Weld's. . . . 
 
360 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xv 
 
 ... I have commenced reading Livingstone's "Africa," the large 
 edition, and find it very interesting. I borrowed it at the Springs ! 
 Mrs. Palmer talked Spiritualism to me last evening, and I felt as 
 if I had lost the whole day. . . . 
 
 . . . Don't say a word against Eagleswood — I adore the people 
 here. [This feeling became somewhat modified later.] 
 
 . . . The Springs are distressed at the loss of a Swedish lady 
 who was in the Austria, and on her way to spend the winter with 
 them here. If she liked Eagleswood froin this winter's residence, 
 Hans Christian Andersen was to join her next spring. . . . 
 
 This summer in Eagleswood was always remembered 
 as a pleasant episode, and several of the friendships made 
 there were continued throughout life. My parents never re- 
 turned to the place again, and in the course of a few years, 
 I believe, most of the members of this rather unique society 
 were scattered, and Eagleswood and its school became a 
 thing of the past. Those, however, who had been "of it," 
 or whose children had been under Mr. Weld's wise care, 
 never lost their affection for the place, nor their love and 
 admiration of this wise and good man. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Ante-bellum Times, i 858-1861 
 
 The years from 1858 to 1861 were full of varied occu- 
 pation. Times were still hard, and my father's letters 
 mention extra ventures in the way of lectures, and essays, 
 to aid in "keeping the pot boiling." 
 
 Meanwhile my mother endeavored to fill her spare 
 rooms with boarders, and we had several interesting per- 
 sons with us, among others George Fuller, the artist, who, 
 however, spent only a few weeks in Philadelphia, not find- 
 ing it the art centre he desired. Miss Anne Whitney, the 
 sculptor, and Mr. Perry, another artist, were also with 
 us for some months. 
 
 The pubHcation of the "Iron Manufacturers' Guide" 
 came in the spring of 1859. 
 
 As has been seen in some previous letters, my parents 
 were much moved by the Kansas and Nebraska troubles, 
 and in 1859, when the John Brown raid occurred, they 
 were deeply affected and distressed. The letters printed 
 in this chapter, telling of my mother's meeting John Brown's 
 wife, are interesting chiefly as indicating one phase of senti- 
 ment in Philadelphia. The tumultuous condition of pubHc 
 opinion there, divided between Northern and Southern 
 sympathizers, and the timidity ruling the mass of the popu- 
 lation are shown in these letters. 
 
 In May, i860, Theodore Parker died. My mother's 
 brother, Joseph Lyman, had gone abroad to be with him, 
 and he and my parents felt his death deeply. My uncle 
 was Mr. Parker's hterary executor or editor, I beheve,* and 
 was occupied several years with the work of going over his 
 letters and manuscripts. 
 
 * Susan Lesley to her brother Joseph, July 3, i860: "I am so glad 
 that you are to edit Mr. Parker's papers." Later letters speak of the mat- 
 ter as uncertain. 
 
 361 
 
362 LIFE AND LETTERS csap. xvi 
 
 Philadelphia, May 18, 1858. Peter Lesley to his Wefe. 
 
 . . . Jackson presses me to give out a prospectus of a Pennsyl- 
 vania Geology for schools. . . . The Iron Association has put me 
 into correspondence with Wiley & Putnam for a five hundred 
 page book on Iron. I am very busy therefore. . . . 
 
 June i$th. 
 
 . . . Our Board agreed that I should contract with Wiley Sz 
 Halstead, last night. We had a splendid sermon from the Metho- 
 dist blacksmith preacher, CoUyer, with whom I spent the p.m. . . . 
 
 June 16th. 
 
 ... I saw Virginia [Henderson] this morning, for she left her 
 card under my door last evening, while I was at the great Tarifif 
 meeting (until midnight) to say that the Portsmouth had arrived. 
 Andrew [Henderson] will no doubt be here by Saturday. ... I 
 am in the midst of an immense index proof of 6,000 names and 
 numbers. ... 
 
 June ^oth. 
 
 ... I took tea with Dr. Elwyn and wife and daughter, and 
 talked Pelasgic-Welsh ethnology with John Elwyn, who lives 
 near Le Conte's in Spruce St., and is an extraordinary Portsmouth, 
 N.H., genius. His analytical faculty is superb, and his research 
 indefatigable. I see in him as in a mirror how I will feel about 
 it all at fifty-five, unless I publish. . . . 
 
 July 9. 
 
 ... I slept beautifully after overhauling my Roger Bacon 
 MS. which I will send to Edward Hale, for the Atlantic. It is 
 rather stiff, but I cannot rewrite it, and it is rather good on the 
 whole — full of honest stuff put up in sufficiently good order to 
 bear criticism. I rather like it — and your doing so also resolves 
 me. . . . 
 
 COALMONT, Aug. 8th. 
 
 ... I came up with Old Jake Cresswell, and found a number 
 of friends at Huntingdon and here. I can't help getting attached 
 to even the roughest of these rowdy fellows, for they always turn 
 their best side towards one, and flatter me by asking and taking 
 my advice. It is divine to teach ! Wisdom should never be sold. 
 It is so costly, it should always be bestowed. 
 
 Aug. 12th. 
 
 . . . My review of Owen's Report in the Franklin Journal is 
 just out and reads right. ... 
 
i8s8 ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 363 
 
 Aug. 14th. 
 . . . Dr. Owen is with us and I cannot leave. . . . 
 
 Aug. 16th. 
 
 Yesterday was a great day. I cannot trust myself to write 
 about the wonder of the age, the spirit that is flashing to and fro 
 along the bed of the ocean. There was another wonder I went 
 to see yesterday, and grieved that you were absent. Mr. Stewart's 
 aloe — Agave americana — is in glorious blossom. The whole 
 stalk has risen in six weeks — what an effort of concentrated life! 
 It reminds me of the moth's million of eggs followed by death. 
 Stewart can trace this plant back ninety-five years, during which 
 time it has showed no trace of fruitfulness. [There is a sketch 
 to illustrate this.] 
 
 A third miracle. Mr. Rehn has discovered and is using a 
 process for lithographing photographs. I am to see his fossils 
 to-day. This is an era in the history of illustrations, as wonder- 
 ful and decisive as the telegraph connection between Europe and 
 America. 
 
 Perry says a fourth great event has occurred — Lambden and 
 he have bought a new great camera for $120. . , . 
 
 Library, Sep. 21st. 
 
 ... I am working as hard as I can stand work, and feel very 
 well. But I get along very slowly. My third article came out 
 in the Tribune yesterday, and was too rambling. . . . 
 
 Sep. 2^th. 
 
 . . . Went to see the Ravels; the first quarter of a dollar I 
 have dared spend in pleasure for a month. I am " forging ahead," 
 — as the sailors say of a ship in a storm plunging forward against 
 her anchors, — with my book. 
 
 ... I felt yesterday as if the book would kill me, but I feel 
 better to-day; in fact quite well. My maps will be beautifully 
 done by Rehn. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, OcL 10, 1858. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . He [Peter] is driven as if with forty whips all the time, so 
 do not think it is from any forgetfulness, that he seems so unmind- 
 ful of old friends. The last year has been really a hard scrabble 
 with him to provide the bare necessities of life and the coming 
 winter promises the same. Perhaps you sometimes see scientific 
 
364 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 articles in the Tribune. — You need not tell, but perhaps you may 
 enjoy them the better to know they are his. 
 
 Philadelphia, Nov. 20, 1858. Peter Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... I think I am growing dead to the world, fast. Not in 
 any angelic sense. But the future may be more productive of 
 flowers and honey. You embody to me all New England and 
 the Past, and I love you very tenderly, but have no way to show 
 it because you want nothing which I could provide. . . . My 
 forced absence from Boston this summer has been a sorrow to 
 me, for I live the year round in the hope of a week there. My 
 heart is always there, but my work is here, and if death does not 
 play me one of his awful tricks, I shall forget my disappoint- 
 ment this season in a happy visit next year. . . . 
 
 December, 1858 ( ?). SuSAN I. Lesley 
 to Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . Peter had a warning that he must resign his Librarian- 
 ship [A. P. S.], which was a great disappointment to him. He how- 
 ever did it, it was in fact the only right thing to do. For one 
 week he had not the slightest idea what we should do, but some- 
 how we neither of us felt discouraged. To our great surprise, yes- 
 terday he received word that the two parties at the Library had 
 had a meeting and come to a spirit of wonderful unanimity and 
 harmony. Judge King, a member of the opposite party, had said 
 in the meeting that it was a shame to part with a man who in one 
 year had done so much to make the Society efficient; and finally 
 on all sides it was agreed to recall him and give him a thousand 
 dollars. You may imagine how glad we are. . . . We like Mr. 
 Fuller.* 
 
 * George Fuller. Born at Deerfield, Mass., 1822: died at Boston, 
 March 21, 1884. An American figure and portrait painter. In 1842 he 
 studied with the sculptor Henry K. Brown at Albany, after which he studied 
 painting in Boston, New York, London, and on the Continent. His first 
 public success was attained in 1857, when he was elected associate of the 
 Academy (New York). From 1860-79 ^e devoted himself to farming at 
 Deerfield, but in 1876 he exhibited some fifteen pictures in Boston, which 
 gained him fame and patronage. In 1879 he exhibited at the Academy 
 (New York) "The Romany Girl" and "And She was a Witch"; in 1880, 
 "The Quadroon" and a boy's portrait; in 1881, "Maidenhood" and 
 "Winifred Dysart"; "Loretti" and "Priscilla Fauntleroy" (1882), "Fagot 
 Gatherers" (1883), "Fedalma" (1884), etc. {Century Cyclopedia.) 
 
1858 ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 365 
 
 Dec. 25, 1858. Susan I. Lesley to Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . Fuller is evidently a very superior man, one who has 
 had many deep experiences, is full of taste, feeling and a quiet 
 repose. He seems a strong man and wholly free from sentimen- 
 tality, at the same time that his sensibilities are all alive. . . . 
 
 Last week we had a splendid lecture from Mr. Emerson on 
 the "Law of Success." I think I never enjoyed him more. He 
 always renews one's faith in the higher principles, and makes 
 one feel that the only success that is of real importance in this 
 life is on the spiritual or intellectual plane. . . . 
 
 Jan. 23, 1859. Same to Same. 
 
 . . . Mr. Furness has been quite ill for a few days and a Mr. 
 CoUyer, a Methodist blacksmith who lives about ten miles out in 
 the country, preached for him. It is very long since I have listened 
 to such effective and impressive sermons, his style perfectly orig- 
 inal, his thoughts also. It seems that Mrs. Morison discov- 
 ered him last summer and introduced him to Mr. Furness. He 
 and his wife are English, Yorkshire people, living in the most 
 humble way you can conceive, with their blacksmith shop close 
 to the little house, a family of children, and a very scanty supply 
 for them. He was turned out of the Methodist connection, on 
 account of his liberal views. ... He never had any education 
 except such as he gives himself, but is evidently a man of much 
 reading and thought, and with a self-possession, and dignity of 
 manner, beauty and fluency of language, that would make him 
 at home in any society. I had a great desire to have him come 
 to tea, but Mrs. Morison had invited several gentlemen to meet 
 him at her house. His face is a very noble one, with the sweetest 
 and most winning expression mingled with unusual force and 
 vigor. I think it cannot be long before he is found out and sought 
 after, it is so rare nowadays to find a man of so much vigor. In 
 some things he reminded me of both Theodore Parker and 
 Beecher, especially in the aptness and force of his illustrations, 
 but he is much more gentle than either of them. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Feh. 13, 1859, "Our Wedding Day." Susan I. 
 Lesley to Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 "Forbes girls and Miss Hallowell" to dine. 
 
 Mr. Fuller about to leave for N.Y., having had nothing to 
 do in his two months in Philadelphia. Ben gone to Concord to 
 help Mr. Sanborn in his school. 
 
366 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 It is ten years to-day since we were married, perhaps you 
 have remembered the date. You are so associated with all those 
 early times that we cannot recall them without you. Looking 
 back, I cannot but recall the years with unspeakable gratitude, 
 and when I think of all that Heaven has done for me, I feel that 
 you were the chief agent in my restored health, and my abihty 
 to enjoy so much of hfe, even before health came. "When I looked 
 forward ten years ago, I expected many troubles that have never 
 yet come to me, for I did not enter the condition without counting 
 the cost. I looked for great trials and great compensations. 
 The trials have been small, and the compensations abounding. 
 God grant we may grow in grace, it is all I ask for. Last Sunday 
 Mr. CoUyer, the blacksmith and preacher, spent the day and 
 night with us. His conversation and presence was even finer 
 and more elevating than his sermons. Truly it was an angel's 
 visit to me. He refreshed my faith in Providence, and in eternal 
 principles, and made me feel satisfied in resting on them. He 
 has received a call from Chicago to take a ministry at large. 
 
 . . . Peter's Iron book magnified in size after he got into it. 
 He is still delving away with many hindrances on all sides. He 
 is constantly receiving proof, and never has a moment's leisure 
 for any other thought. 
 
 ... It is more than a year since he has pursued this incessant 
 brain labor, without change of any kind. I cannot but see 
 however with some satisfaction, how much better he bears the 
 strain than he would have done ten years ago. He is certainly 
 stronger and less nervous. In two weeks more the book will 
 be complete. . . . 
 
 Feb. 26, 1859 (?). Susan I. Lesley to her 
 BROTHER Joseph Lyman. 
 
 ... I am having a delightful visit from Mary Lyman and 
 Fanny Brewer, both lovely girls, and pleased with everybody 
 and thing. Thursday I took them to Cheltenham to spend the 
 day with Lucretia Mott, a really white day in their Calendar, 
 Mary says. The old lady was heavenly that day, a;s indeed she 
 always is, when I see her, full of conversation on the highest 
 themes, sufficiently opposed, though very gently and respectfully, 
 by her four married daughters, to make her earnest and animated, 
 and as thoughtful and attentive to every little want of those about 
 her, as if she never did anything in her life but keep house grace- 
 fully. She is nearly seventy, and as full of fire as ever. . . . 
 
i8S9 ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 367 
 
 March 2, 1859. Susan I. Lesley to her 
 BROTHER Joseph Lyman. 
 
 I have had two artists, Mr. Fuller and Mr. Perry, boarding 
 with us. But Mr. Fuller has just gone to New York, because 
 he can find more to do there than here. He is perhaps the best 
 portrait painter in the United States, really a man of genius, but 
 so modest a man that he will never push himself at all. He is 
 an intimate friend of the Sculptor Brown,* at Newburg, and 
 I used to go to school with him at Deerfield when a child. 
 
 Philadelphia, May 15, 1859, Same to Same. 
 
 ... A few Sundays ago, Mr. Lesley and I went to hear Lu- 
 cretia Mott at Quaker Meeting, the Sunday after our slave case 
 here. I really wish you could have heard her, she was more elo- 
 quent than I ever imagined, well as I know her. Ben and I are 
 going out to take tea with her this week. She preached at a 
 colored church, the afternoon of that day, and the people were 
 all much excited by the events of the week before. They shouted 
 and cried, "Come it, Lord! That's you, Lord!" and similar 
 things at every pause. Lucre tia was much amused, never having 
 been at their meetings before. 
 
 I wish you a prosperous time and safe return, dear Joseph. 
 Remember us to Mr. Parker and say that we hail with joy every 
 news of his improvement.! . . . 
 
 * Henry K. Brown, born at Leyden, Mass., February 24, 1814, died 
 at Newburg, July 10, 1886. He began life as a portrait painter, studying 
 under Chester Harding. When he had attained an acknowledged position 
 as a sculptor, living then at Albany, he went abroad in 1842, living in Rome 
 most of the time for the following four years. His principal works are: 
 equestrian statues of General Winfield Scott and General Nathanael 
 Greene in Washington, D.C.; statues of General Kearney, General Nathan- 
 ael Greene, General George Clinton, and Richard Stockton in the National 
 Gallery at Capitol in Washington. He made two statues of Lincoln, one 
 for New York City and one for Brooklyn. If he had finished his work 
 for the South Carolina Capitol, it would have been one of his most important 
 works. {Note written by Mr. Brown's nephew, the sculptor Henry K. 
 Bush-Brown.) 
 
 t Joseph Lyman was going abroad to join Theodore Parker, and was 
 with hirn, I believe, until his death. 
 
 Theodore Parker: Life and Correspondence. By J. Weiss. New York, 
 1864. 
 
 Theodore Parker: A Biography. By O. B. Frothingham. G. P. Put- 
 nam's Sons, 1886. 
 
 His complete works were edited by F. P. Cobbeo (12 vols., 1863-65.) 
 
368 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 Philadelphia, May 20, 1859. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 I suppose you have received Peter's book and see the result 
 of his hard labors the last year. You may be sorry for his ex- 
 posure of Mr. Rogers in the Preface, but it was truly done under 
 conviction, and severe as it sounds, poor Lesquereux attests in 
 his letter of yesterday that it is less than true. Still I feel that 
 the consequences of telling the truth in such a case are often very 
 trying, and though Peter looked them all in the face beforehand, 
 I feel them for him. Good people may and do often act most un- 
 wisely, but if their aim and motive is not unworthy, it will not cause 
 them any real loss. I felt very uncertain about the wisdom and 
 expediency of Peter's Preface, but never any doubt about its 
 being done from the conviction of months, and without passion. 
 
 New York, June 12, 1859 [from John Hopper's house]. 
 Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Went to hear [Octavius B.] Frothingham preach, to an ex- 
 cellent-looking congregation, gathered in a pleasant upper cham- 
 ber, and I never enjoyed a service more. Then we came home to 
 a dinner of Christian Socialists, where John [Hopper] cut up like 
 the old Harry. Mr. Perry was there by the way, and William 
 Thayer, Carter and James Lyman. Do you want to hear one of 
 William's dry witticisms? John observed to Carter, "What a 
 signal mercy it was. Carter, that your pantaloons were such a 
 capital fit for Hurlbut, really providential !" "It is a divinity 
 that shapes our ends," murmured William in inimitable tones. . . . 
 
 In May, the "Iron book" being finished, my father was 
 again in the "field," writing from Beaver IMeadows first: — 
 
 Beaver Meadows, June 12, 1859. Peter Lesley to 
 Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... I find the waters of the old love of preaching rise as high 
 in the bore-hole as ever before the engine stopped and the pan fires 
 went out. But the once rare sentiment of unworthiness is now a 
 constant check. There are so many good men and women about 
 — all of them preaching well. The preaching of the lips and brain 
 is so imperfect, so unreasonable, so inadequate, so erroneous; 
 and the preaching of the good life is so perfect and prompt. As 
 we gain experience, we become better satisfied with the common 
 preaching of common preachers, I think; appreciating the meaning 
 
i8S9 ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 369 
 
 rather than the expression, the spirit rather than the letter, of 
 what is said. Surely, if the common theology were so mischievous, 
 the whole population would rebel. 
 
 You do not criticise my book. I have suffered a great deal 
 silently, about that awful business of the preface. It is no joke to 
 be compelled to witness for the truth — especially under circum- 
 stances which cast an imputation of selfishness upon one. Every 
 dissenting opinion also is a stab in the dark, which one cannot 
 see very well how to parry. Nor can a perfect conviction of 
 doing or having done right be won in practical matters of this sort, 
 such as we win in theoretical and high religious matters, which so 
 capture the conscience as to enforce the complete acquiescence of 
 the judgment. There is so much unknown, behind what is 
 known, and the effect to be produced depends so much upon 
 accident, that one must take up one's line of conduct upon a 
 general view of the whole case, rather than upon any well-argued- 
 out mathematical rule or scale of principle. I am too old to 
 lament, and say, alas ! why are we not guided ? or why is there not 
 an infallible rule ? But although one must go ahead and do one's 
 best (I Kke the vulgar word, one's prettiest), yet where old friend- 
 ships are to be trodden over, like dying soldiers in a charge, and 
 every advance made and every duty taken is with strain and bruise, 
 the hope will spring up of some good time ahead where such ter- 
 rible prices will not be asked for the food and clothing of the soul. 
 
 I am absorbed in a discussion of the structure of these basins, 
 on which will depend some expensive operations hereafter, if we 
 succeed in opening the coal bed we seek for. I am very tired of 
 this responsibihty. Oh for a lodge in some nice Paradise! We 
 must nevertheless work while it is to-day, for we know not when 
 the night cometh. No need to say as much to you. For you 
 have spent a life of self-sacrifice, and usefulness and will get your 
 amaranthus crown in better condition and wear it much more 
 gracefully than the rest of us. 
 
 What an iron crown that old diadem of Italy has been to 
 every emperor who has meddled with it!* Have you any faith 
 
 * "On the 4th of June the French fought the battle of Magenta, which 
 ended ... in the defeat of the Austrians." 
 
 " On the 24th of June they [the AUied troops] encountered the Aus- 
 trian army at Solferino and San Martino. French, Piedmontese and Aus- 
 trians fought with courage and determination. Nor was it until after ten 
 or eleven hours of hard fighting that the Allies forced their enemy to 
 retreat." .... 
 
 (From page 249 of "Italy from 1815 to 1878. By John Webb Probyn. 
 Cassell & Co., Limited: London, Paris, and New York.") 
 
370 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 in the Liberator? Do you read all the news? I have been in- 
 tensely interested in every scrap of the Herald and Tribune I 
 could find. How wonderful that in every hamlet of the United 
 States, on every twig of every bough of the great Mississippi 
 water tree, the policy, plans and progress of the conflicting hosts 
 and generals are studied with as much interest and comprehended 
 with more judgment than in the cities of Europe itself! Our 
 national position is a great anomaly. We swing aloft, as it were 
 in a balloon over the earth — over it and in it, but not of it, — as if 
 we lived in the moon, and had long telescopes and quick ears 
 enough to see and hear all that passed, with no power to inter- 
 meddle. We have our own interests, but they seem to be all 
 municipal and personal. 
 
 June 20. 
 
 . . . Such are our humble pleasures here. Lying on my back in 
 the sunshade of a tall pine, at noon, I have fancies of books to be 
 written, when we are rich, and I invent titles, such as: "Laissez 
 Faire; — or Nature Does All"; "Chicques Rock, — or the Young 
 Geologist"; "John Smith, Esq., — the Ex Saint and Martyr," — • 
 for them. Themes as full of truths and recollections as eggs are 
 full of meat, could one but do justice to them. And who is wise 
 enough to refrain from attempting what he cannot be expected 
 to do well, when the very attempt is a pleasure in itself? The 
 multitude of books ought to deter us. But it is easy to see that 
 the abundance of grain does not deter the farmer from sowing, 
 for he knows that every year must have a new crop for all the 
 new little mouths that have just opened, and for the old ones too. 
 People complain that books are compilations, and contain all 
 the old thoughts of the dead. So do our granaries. The world 
 must be content to see very few new species — to say nothing of 
 genera — of things created in any one age. To discover the new, 
 we go backward through the past ages rather than forward 
 through the future. It is possible to think new thoughts, but 
 they will not be generally acceptable to the public, nor long agree- 
 able to the thinker, even. They are like monstrous products of 
 the orchard, garden or forest, — curious, but neither lasting nor 
 useful. They are out of harmony with the whole, and form a 
 discord with that which is the common belief. When new thoughts 
 are to become common property, they are produced like a new 
 species of plant or animal, all over the region it is to inhabit at 
 once; the world suddenly blooms with the novelty. So a Revolu- 
 tion or a Reformation introduces a vocabulary; inaugurates a fresh 
 
i859 ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 371 
 
 encyclopsedia of thought. But for us individuals, we must be con- 
 tent with talking on as if we chatted at home, and repeat the 
 commandments and traditions of our fathers. 
 
 So I shall write my book some day — and leave out perhaps 
 all the Arkism. 
 
 Poor Arkism! Where is my child? Lost — ^perhaps forever. 
 
 Beaver Meadows, June 26, 1859. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I have listened two hours this afternoon to a sermon 
 on Lazarus and Dives, and after service read Emerson's 
 essay on Friendship with a new unction. Yet — . Can any one 
 rise to such a height! Sometimes one thinks it possible, as one 
 thinks a balloon trip to Europe; but whose nerves are strong 
 enough for the actual trial? I feel as if Emerson's philosophy 
 here is the echo of human necessity merely We have books of 
 all kinds here, and are beginning to feel quite contented. But 
 the tone of life is very low — on this mountain top. A poor Circus 
 Company passed this v/ay to-day; a file of vans, filled with seedy, 
 unprincipled vagabonds, to look at whom made your heart sick. 
 I long to join you among our friends, where goodness and truth, 
 wit and wisdom, frankness and politeness temper all the air. 
 I rejoice that you can make these annual pilgrimages to a shrine 
 where your native virtues receive a fresh baptism and benedic- 
 tion, and your memory is re-enforced for all that is worthy to be 
 transmitted to our offspring. May I enjoy some effluence from 
 your journey when we meet again. How ardently I burn to be 
 transplanted like a withering tree to some warm, rich, well wat- 
 ered soil, where I could grow in beauty and decay with honor, 
 like one of those splendid elms we know of! But why should 
 the hemlock of the mountain side, or the hemlock of the swamp, 
 wish itself other than it is made? Yet is not this the distinction 
 between man and the lower creatures, and has not the will and 
 power to roam been given to him therefore? . . . 
 
 Beaver Meadows, Carbon Co., June 27, 1859. 
 Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I am reading Guizot's life of Madame la Duchesse de Chev- 
 reuse, the beautiful, briUiant, audacious and in many respects 
 noble lady, friend of Anne, wife of Louis XIII. and enemy of 
 Richelieu. Her character of an intriguante is brilliantly sketched. 
 She charms one with the picture of perfect fidelity to her friend- 
 ships. She dares all for those she loves, and she suffers every- 
 
372 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvl 
 
 thing with them. In a weak or silly woman, this is a redeem- 
 ing charm. How glorious a halo it sheds round a strong, wise 
 beauty, who looked on men to vanquish whom she chose in a 
 moment ! 
 
 Those old songs or hymns of the ages are so stirring that I 
 must find and copy for you the original Latin. No English trans- 
 lation will endure reading beside the Latin original. What a 
 charm lies in a foreign sound to a familiar word, — in a foreign 
 word for a familiar thing! 
 
 Old Biebelheimer, eighty-nine years old, has just appeared 
 upon our tavern porch. A celebrity of the first settlements, 
 a hunter prince, one who has killed his thousands of deer and 
 many a bear and panther, when the Indians possessed these 
 woods ; and many an Indian too, for he hated them with a deadly 
 hatred, and killed one whenever he could shoot him quietly in 
 the thickets of the woods. His hair is white, but his limbs are 
 strong, and he walked to-day from Berwick, twenty-one miles 
 over two intervening mountains. Twenty years ago he went 
 to the West, and two years ago came back, to the astonishment 
 of his children who all supposed him dead. 
 
 Such are the possibilities of this fine human frame. We 
 wonder at a tortoise, or an elephant, a hundred years old, but 
 why, when man can live as long ? But who would wish to ? . . . 
 
 Beaver Meadows, Jiily i, 1859. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . My levelling is advancing, and to-day Ben and I have 
 been putting all our work down on paper. We commenced the 
 third augur hole yesterday, to discover coal. All that has yet 
 been done is preliminary, and very thorough. I feel as if I were 
 on some great national survey, everything is on so generous a 
 basis, and the ideal is followed so openly. But here in the woods 
 — on a mountain top — dining by springs, and listening all day to 
 the song of birds, the hum of insects, and the shouts of a target 
 bearer, what can I have to interest you ? Not an idea in which 
 you can sympathize. No time remains for books, and no mind 
 can keep its brightness, that is not polished by intercourse with 
 a various society. It is with souls as with ox chains and com- 
 pass chains, only by steadily dragging are they kept polished. 
 
 Philadelphia, Jtily 3, 1859. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 All yesterday in the cars I read ''Tom Brown's School Days" 
 and entered heart and soul into the author's feehngs and views. 
 It is a noble little book. The influence of little Arthur on Tom 
 
i859 ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 373 
 
 and East is splendidly developed, and the scene of the bedroom 
 and Arthur's mother and Tom is touching enough. His views 
 of EngKsh fighting I like, they are philosophical and Christian, 
 too, which I can't say (at once) of any other manner of treating 
 the difficult subject of non-resistance I have heard. Some other 
 things in the book would make a profound impression, if any 
 book could nowadays, but they are too numerous to stay long by 
 one and our memories have all the non-elasticity taken out of them 
 by the newspaper habits of the day. One idea chases another 
 like sheep over a stile. 
 
 Beaver Meadows, July 10, 1859. To his Wefe. 
 
 ... I have just laid down the first numbers of a serial his- 
 tory of the Lehigh Valley, where I find two very nice photographs 
 of two of the principal furnaces, and I mean to get the plates 
 from the publishers, for the use of the "Guide." Did I tell you 
 Wiley wrote me that he sees his way clear to print soon a new 
 edition? In this history of the Lehigh Valley, and others like 
 it, are superabundant materials for an admirable romance, such 
 as I have long had in mind to write; mingling Indian, Quaker, 
 Moravian, Scotch Presbyterian, Huguenot and hunter life, with 
 geological adventure. There is the great Purchase Walk, which 
 originated the early Indian Wars. Then the great immigration 
 of the Palatinates and Redemptioners, then the deluge of the 
 Irish which brought on the second Indian Wars. The Moravian 
 Settlement, and the War of Independence would be episodes on 
 a large scale; and scenes of a wedding, of the Hexenkopfy the 
 murder of the Englishwoman flirt by the German mothers, the 
 sale of his master by the last Redemptioner of the gang, etc., 
 would be smaller episodes. The vast correspondence of the 
 Penns and Co. abroad, with the resident politicians, would fur- 
 nish tres recherche matter. How beautifully a year might be spent 
 at such a romance, which might blend the sweetest love scenes, 
 and the wildest adventure, with the most enduring and varied 
 religious enthusiasm! In fact this almost unbroken ground will 
 one day be taken possession of by a great Pennsylvania Romancer 
 who will build an enduring reputation for himself out of materials 
 which everybody now passes unheedingly. 
 
 But how needful that a romancer, a magician, a soother and 
 searcher of the popular heart, the modern bard and sage, should 
 be inspired nobly himself! Inspired with genuine and not per- 
 functory or professional sentiments! Inspired with an intense 
 hatred of wrong and love of right, with a profound faith in God 
 
374 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 and all his creatures, with a prophetic hope and affection for a 
 good time coming, worthy of his self-martyrdom over the table. 
 How he should believe in the reality of ideas, and the power of 
 words, and the susceptibility to improvement in the populace! 
 How he should read into [sic] the history of his forefathers, hke 
 a confident gold digger sure of a fortune in due time, and sure of 
 the solid value of what is there hidden! No milk-and-water 
 aesthetic, eclectic, sceptic, can write a true romance. No man 
 who has not fought, and loved, and believed, and confided, and 
 discovered, and suffered, and conquered, can claim to be loved 
 and followed by the people, as every true romancer is. Our 
 artificial education spoils us for this noble work. The Peg Wof- 
 fingtons and Tom Browns and Uncle Toms come slantwise across 
 a corner of the school close only. They are an ti -scholastic, and 
 written by half-educated rebels to the artificial refinements and 
 developments of modern learning and science. See how a Hugh 
 Miller breaks the necks of the savans with his mechanics' sledge, 
 in winning his way to the centres of London and Liverpool and 
 the central heart of every man. Real, early, honest bigotry, 
 superstition, rudeness, — the virtues of the flesh-and-bone part of 
 the soul — are the wheels of such a career. Man hates ghosts, 
 and loves roast beef. There is no use mincing matters when any- 
 thing great is to be done. Every great author must take off his 
 stock, and roll up his sleeves, whether beaux laugh or not. . . . 
 
 Beaver Meadows, July 24, 1859. To his Wipe. 
 
 . . . Have you read Gerrit Smith's discourse on Natural Re- 
 ligion, published in yesterday's Tribune? Did you know he was 
 so fine a writer ? His sentences are pure, sweet, elegant EngHsh, 
 pithy, without the slightest effort at point, and full of sense. His 
 whole code of thought and morality seems quite perfect. His 
 notions of marriage took my heart by storm. I have never had 
 my feehngs and views so truly echoed and so elevated by any one 
 except by your own dear self. . . . His way of putting the Bible, 
 Hell, Slavery, and other great topics, into discussion, is original 
 and very fine. 
 
 , . . Yesterday I toiled hour after hour through the long-cut 
 lines, setting, levelling, reading, calculating, sketching, over and 
 over in an endless series, along the ridge. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Sept. 2, 1859. To his Wife. 
 
 I didn't receive your letter until yesterday and was so im- 
 prisoned by the son of Gov. Clarke — ^Lewis and Clarke of Rocky 
 
i859 ANTE-BELLUM TIMES . 375 
 
 Mt. memory — all day with the old MSS. deposited here [in the 
 A. P. S. Library perhaps?] which he wishes to sort and complete 
 and perhaps pubHsh, that I didn't get a mouthful to eat from 
 7 A.M. till 6 P.M. and therefore couldn't send you any money. 
 
 I long earnestly to preach in New England. But I comfort 
 myself with the reflection that your health is evidently better here 
 in Philadelphia and that the daughters' health might perhaps be 
 injuriously affected there. Still, I would jump for joy at a fairly 
 involuntary "Call." It seems to me strange that I cannot settle 
 to one vocation like other men. Surely it would not be wrong 
 to try. I have begun Buckle's History, and it is all and more than 
 all I have ever heard it called in the way of good writing and think- 
 ing. . . . The Owens came through here, but I did not see them. 
 
 Mr. Clarke told me yesterday how his father's fine map of 
 the western part of the continent had been loaned to Nicollet for 
 several months and so came into Fremont's hands when Fremont 
 was Nicollet's young amanuensis and draughtsman. The great 
 discoveries of Fremont are all down in Clarke's map! Clarke 
 {fls) calls Fremont a scamp. 
 
 Sept. 4, 1859. To HIS Wife. 
 
 It is the Sabbath, dear Susie; how we love the day of rest! 
 I trust you have enjoyed it well. Mr. Furness opened his church 
 to-day with a magnificent speech to the people, upon the sub- 
 ordination of the forms to the spirit and work of religion, and 
 wound up with a noble protest against the tendency in the Uni- 
 tarian Church to an unwritten creed and liturgical forms. Our 
 high mass, said he, is a cup of water extended to a panting fugi- 
 tive, in the name of hberty and love. Lee grasped my hand going 
 out, saying, "that is eternal truth we have had to-day." Even 
 Mr. Winsor was entirely pleased. James walked down to church 
 with me, and back part way, and evidently felt proud and satis- 
 fied with his brother's views and eloquence. But I told him 
 that I could support liturgies with good arguments — the living 
 always need the dead to grow on — ^vines on walls, trees on mould, 
 corals on coral dust, the freedom of a people on the remembrance 
 of its hampered past, the liberalism of age on the habitual senti- 
 ments acquired in infancy and youth. I am not afraid of forms 
 killing the spirit, — now that we see the spirit has fought forms 
 through all ages, and come off more than conqueror. I, for one, 
 need forms and rituals to arrest my treacherous memory, my 
 wandering eye, as well as to arouse my sluggish imagination and 
 quicken my heart. 
 
376 LIFE AND I.ETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 Philadelphia, Sept. 6, 1859. To his Wife. 
 
 , . . Dr. Jackson appeared last night and will spend a few 
 days with me. It is a godsend to have some one in the house, 
 for I am or have been lonelier than words can convey an idea of, 
 and therefore very unhappy, shame be it to say. I went last 
 evening in desperation to see Booth in "Richard III.," and came 
 home after the third act. What a wonderful genius, that inspired 
 those immortal plays! The "my Lord," and "your Majesty," 
 and all the attendant royal sentiments, come as natural to us as 
 if we were not blue republicans. There is a practical spirit 
 airiong the boys however, which greets anything really and es- 
 sentially ridiculous with a genuine roar of derision. . . . 
 
 Sept. 16, 1859. To HIS Wife. 
 
 . . . Last evening I entertained Brinton Cox and Mr. [Charles 
 G.] Leland to tea, and afterwards we had a tall talk on Arkism. 
 Leland is the only other Arkite in America, except Dr. Johalel 
 Abbott of New York, whose book on Mythology in three volumes 
 is nearly ready for press. ... 
 
 Philadelphia, Oct. 2, 1859. Peter Lesley to 
 Mrs. Lydia Maria Child. 
 
 Your commission has waited patiently a long, long time for 
 my slow motions and perhaps you have entirely forgotten it. 
 
 I send you by to-morrow's mail rolled up (safely, I trust) the 
 little picture you wished to have, and a little beauty it is. I 
 wish I could go on east myself to take it to you and have a day's 
 chat with you before the fine fall weather is lost in the snows and 
 gray skies of winter and the chilling blasts of your earlier spring. 
 Can't you break away from home awhile and cheer us here with 
 a visit? Think of it and try. We were married again the first 
 of October — as usual, and a happy home I have had of it ever 
 since, and I hope she also. After a summer of sickness I enjoy 
 an autumn of buoyant health and am full of work and plans of 
 work. I wish you would help me to edit a half-scientific, half- 
 literary weekly. I think very seriously of commencing the pub- 
 lication of one, devoted to geology. It seems to be wanted and 
 must soon be had; the space is vacant and I am the man for it; 
 it only requires energy to start it, to make it go. I should like 
 to devote the residue of my mortal career to establish such a mag- 
 azine of science here as should last after I had gone, a centre of 
 work and thought for future generations. Resigning modesty, 
 I think I could gradually increase it, by a healthy growth, care- 
 
i859 ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 377 
 
 fully nourishing it only with the best food and not pushing it at 
 its work beyond its strength. I look upon Dwight's Journal of 
 Music as a model. If you see him, tell him so. 
 
 Baby is a jewel of the first water — a ruby of a baby, good as 
 a cherub and as bright as a flame of ficre. Our darling Mary 
 has not made her appearance yet, but we hope to have her in our 
 arms in a few days. 
 
 What a sad affair this of Harper's Ferry is! What a mad 
 scheme and yet how characteristically heroic and martyr-like! 
 I am glad to learn that Cook's capture has put that part of Penn- 
 sylvania into a ferment and meets with general execration. Had 
 he taken the North Mountain side of the Valley, he would have 
 escaped easily. I can't say poor Brown — for his name at all 
 events is safe for immortality and if any event of the last twenty 
 years will have produced its effect his death will accomplish 
 much for liberty. Yet I cannot but hope that the Virginians will 
 be wise enough to let him live. 
 
 Give David my best love, and Susie's, who often speaks of 
 him, and you. She was delighted, and so was I with a peep at 
 Rosa [Hopper] in New York the other day. I have been so 
 busy in the mountains this summer that I have scarcely seen 
 my friends, at all, an}^where. 
 
 Breakfast is ready and you know how unappeasable the 
 human appetite is. The most monotonous of all functions, its 
 calls are the least and last to be neglected. Adieu therefore, 
 may your breakfasts never be fewer nor reduced to pork chops. 
 
 I remain ever faithful, Peter. 
 
 Philadelphia, Nov. 27, 1859. Susan I. Lesley to her 
 AtnsTT Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... I can't tell you how distressed Peter and I have been 
 with this dreadful Harper's Ferry affair, but you have felt the 
 same. It is rare to disapprove so entirely of a man's deed, and 
 yet have such entire sympathy with his motives and character. 
 Truly it is a long time since we have witnessed anything like 
 the heroic exaltation of John Brown's purpose. Have you read 
 all of his letters published in the Tribune ? Are they not sublime ? 
 Tell Mary Walker that last Sunday William Still * came round, 
 and told us that Mrs. Brown was staying at his house, and he 
 
 * An educated negro, who was later the editor of "The Underground 
 Railroad," a volume which recorded the history and escapes of the fugitive 
 slaves who passed through the hands of that association. Mr. Still was, 
 I believe, the secretary of the Underground Railroad. 
 
37B LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 wished we would go and see her. Peter and I were just leaving 
 the house, with little Mary, for a walk, so we went at once. I 
 shall never forget the poor woman's face, it has haunted me ever 
 since. — She looked stunned with grief. She spoke very little, 
 said it was a bitter disappointment to her not to go to her husband, 
 but she thought he was right about it, perhaps we would like 
 to see his letter about it. So she took it from her pocket and I 
 read it first, and then Peter. It was a noble, manly, self-sus- 
 tained letter, full of feeling, but more of high reUgious exalta- 
 tion. He begged her and the children never to feel disgraced 
 by the manner of his death, to remember the ignominious method 
 by which the Saviour of the world, and many of the early Chris- 
 tians perished. He spoke of his own soul as being calm, nay, 
 even joyful. To his little daughter, Mary's age, he sent the quo- 
 tation of a little couplet I wish I could remember. The first 
 line was, 
 
 "Count that day lost, whose low-descending sun," the idea 
 of the second is, "Bears not the record of some deed of mercy 
 done," but those are not the exact words. I can give you but a 
 faint idea of the letter. Every letter he has written to his wife has 
 breathed the same quiet, heavenly, disinterested spirit. The 
 friends here feel a growing veneration for her, and the little she 
 tells them at intervals of his life and character deepens the impres- 
 sion. She is staying now, between the McKims and Lucretia 
 Mott, both of whom were quite determined not to identify them- 
 selves in any way with John Brown, so much so, that they de- 
 chned to go and see her, when she first came. — But their feelings 
 for the man, overcame their non-resistance enough to make them 
 feel deeply in this particular case. They are now only anxious 
 to minister to the poor soul's comfort so far as any human sym- 
 pathy can. — She stays until after the execution, because she can 
 hear from him oftener here than at a greater distance. She 
 is usually very quiet and patient, and seldom manifests visible 
 emotion, but Mr. McKim said that when he was reading to her 
 the other day John Brown's letter to his old schoolmaster, Mr. 
 Vaill, she was quiet till he came to that allusion to their two 
 sons who fell, and then she broke down. She said that although 
 their father never urged them to go with him, or said a word 
 to induce them to join so dangerous an enterprise, yet they were 
 in such entire sympathy with him, they would go. And yet she 
 said when they bade her farewell, it was as if they went to cer- 
 tain death. She heard their sobs for a quarter of a mile after 
 they left her, and she could never forget the morning. . . . 
 
1859 ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 379 
 
 She is an immensely large, strong-looking woman, much the 
 build of Mary Cashman three years ago, with a good face and 
 expression, but the saddest you ever saw. I have carefully kept 
 from Mamy the coming event that hangs over the poor woman, 
 for she was greatly impressed by her. Thanksgiving Day, Mr. 
 Fumess preached a very powerful sermon, which is to be printed 
 in the Standard, and I will send it to you. Mrs. Brown was 
 present, but he did not know it. Coming out of church, Mamy 
 and I saw her lingering till the congregation had passed out, that 
 she might escape notice. Her dress is that of a very poor woman. 
 She said, "Your minister's remarks are very consoling to me." 
 Then she lifted Mamy up and kissed her, and burst into tears. 
 
 We are going to-morrow evening to hear Wendell Phillips 
 lecture upon Toussaint L'Ouverture. Many ignorant Phila- 
 delphians don't know who he was, and are going to hear the lecture, 
 without the faintest idea. An editor came to Mr. Fumess yes- 
 terday, and said "who is this 'Toosaint Lee Overture'? Hadn't 
 you better write a little notice of him, so people will know what 
 the lecture is to be about?" "By no means," said Mr. Furness, 
 "they will find out when they get there." . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Dec. 2, 1859 [Day of John Brown's Martyrdom]. 
 Susan I. Lesley to her brother Joseph Lyman. 
 
 I believe I will close this eventful day in our Country's his- 
 tory by writing you a few lines, although it is ten o'clock and 
 I am tired. — I rose early this morning, to attend to my children 
 and household matters, that I might do my day's work at the 
 Library (which I let nothing interfere with) before the hour of 
 noon, when I went to the sympathy meeting at National Hall, 
 where Lucretia Mott, and Robert Purvis, and Dr. Furness, and 
 others, talked and prayed. The meeting was at National 
 Hall, and we hoped it would be a solemn one. But a parcel of 
 Virginia Medical Students contrived to disturb and annoy all 
 the speakers, in spite of a large and eflQcient poHce force. You 
 may see an account of the meeting. I sat in a seat with four or 
 five excellent -looking colored women, who seemed very much 
 moved at the idea of John Brown's suffering for their race, as they 
 said. Coming out, I said to one, "We should have had a good 
 meeting if it had not been for those young men." " Oh, never 
 mind,Marm," said she, with a pleasant smile. "Let them have 
 their fun to-day, for they're only here for the winter, them Vir- 
 ginny students; but we'se in a free state, all the year round." . . . 
 I wrote to Mary Walker this afternoon, and have spent this even- 
 
380 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 ing with Mr. Sumner, who says he knows nothing about John 
 Brown, and evidently has not got into the feehng about him at all. 
 This is quite natural, when one thinks that he has but just re- 
 turned; but you can't think how hard it was for me to sit and 
 hear him talk about Tennyson and the Brownings, and all sorts 
 of foreign people and things, when I have scarcely been able 
 to sleep or eat this last week, for thinking of this Harper's Ferry 
 matter. I know that my feehng about the matter has been 
 much increased by seeing Mrs. Brown twice, and by her showing 
 me letters from her husband, far more beautiful than any you 
 see in print, and by hearing from Lucretia Mott, with whom she 
 has been staying, so much about the family. I thought I would 
 mention to you, although you may know it, that Mrs. Brown will 
 pass through this city at noon to-morrow, and from here James 
 Mott, the husband of Lucretia, will accompany her to Boston, 
 with the remains of her husband. I do hope that there will be 
 a spontaneous demonstration there, and real honor paid to his 
 remains. Will you be kind enough to send me any paper that 
 contains a full account ? It cannot be that Boston will be so cold 
 as Philadelphia. — Here we are accustomed to people being still 
 in the dark ages, — surely there will be some heartfelt sympathy 
 there. How Mr. Parker must regret his absence from the coun- 
 try at this crisis, and yet how well it is ! ... It would nearly kill 
 him to go through such excitement. Dr. Furness is like a person 
 recovering from severe illness. 
 
 P.S. — I had a letter from Mrs. Child last week, and a very 
 interesting one. In it, she said she should not write the life of 
 John Brown (although she wished much to do it), because Red- 
 path was doing it. I see in yesterday's Tribune that she is doing 
 it, but think that may be a mistake. Much as I am attached 
 to her, and interesting as I know she would make such a biog- 
 raphy, I really would rather it were Mrs. Stowe who did it. I 
 think she would understand and appreciate the style of his relig- 
 ious character far better. Was not Maria's last letter to Gov- 
 ernor Wise a stunner ? * 
 
 Whoever writes his life should say very little about him — his 
 letters will speak for themselves. 
 
 * See page 107 of "Letters of Lydia Maria Child," Houghton, Mifflin 
 &L Co., Boston, 1883, "for Mrs. Child's noble reply to Governor Wise of 
 Virginia. The whole correspondence is included in pages 103 to 120." 
 
 Wise's "End of an Era," published within a few years, gives the South- 
 em view of the John Brown episode. 
 
i859 ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 381 
 
 Philadelphia, December, 1859. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 I had a little evening gathering a week ago which was remark- 
 ably pleasant. I wished you had been here. Mary Thayer, 
 and her cousins Mrs. Jackson and Mrs. Reed, came to tea, and 
 in the evening the Havens, and Furnesses, and Mrs. Palmer 
 and the Wrights and Mr. Gangouly the Brahmin, who has em- 
 braced Unitarian Christianity, and about whom you have prob- 
 ably heard in Boston.* He is young, only twenty-three, and is 
 really an interesting man. When one thinks that he has Hterally 
 given up father and mother, brothers and sisters and caste, for 
 the Kingdom of Heaven's sake, it seems quite a different thing 
 from our own Christianity, which we have breathed in from birth. 
 Peter had a good deal of talk with him, and found that some of 
 his old Arkite conjectures connected with the Hindu faith were 
 really facts. We heard him preach on Sunday, and even Mamy 
 enjoyed listening very much. I was glad to know just how the 
 doctrine of the Trinity would strike a Hindu mind, and found 
 that it seemed to him exactly like his old worship of Brahma, 
 Vishnu and Siva. — ^He said, I like better to think "God is my 
 Father, Christ is my Master; and as for Holy Ghost, I don't 
 think much of him." Tuesday evening we went to hear him 
 lecture, and it was very pleasant to hear his account of Hindu 
 Social Life, — or rather, very sad. 
 
 We get on nicely with our Library work, and Peter is much 
 pleased with his two assistants. Martha intended to go home 
 about this time, but I hope she will stay on indefinitely, for she 
 would be an immense loss every way. 
 
 Since I wrote to you last, there have been other scenes enacted 
 in the terrible tragedy at Harper's Ferry, f — I think I have suf- 
 fered even more at the thought of Cook's and Coppic's death 
 than I did at John Brown's. — They were both so young, and had 
 made such efforts for life, and they were not sustained, as he was, 
 by the thought that they were dying to seal their devotion to a 
 great principle. Oh, what a thrill of dehght I should have felt, 
 had they escaped the night before the execution! Did you read 
 McKim's account of the journey to North Elba, and the Old 
 Man's funeral ? Mrs. Palmer and Fanny knew Coppic very well, 
 
 * I believe this Gangouly turned out later to be not so fine a character as 
 his friends had supposed. 
 
 t John Brown raid, "Abraham Lincoln, by Nicolay and Hay," vol. ii. 
 chap. xi. 
 
382 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 and have felt dreadfully about his fate. They say he was a lovely 
 fellow, and I am sure his letter to Mrs. Brown was an excellent one. 
 It seems as if you could hardly realize in New England the fear- 
 ful excitement that exists here. I went to George [William] Cur- 
 tis's lecture on Thursday evening, a lecture advertised three months 
 ago, as the last of a course; and I never dreamed of there being 
 any trouble, although the subject was Slavery. The audience 
 was a small one, and the lecture a most moderate Republican state- 
 ment. And yet after I got seated with Joe Lesley, who escorted 
 me, we were astonished to see four or five policemen on every seat 
 in the hall. Directly after, a band of fifty policemen marched 
 through the aisles, in single file, and we knew that trouble was 
 expected. Before the lecture commenced, I was surprised to 
 see Peter, whom I had left at home not meaning to come, seated 
 not far from us. It seemed that he had learned from the Fur- 
 nesses, where Curtis was staying, that the Mayor had written 
 to Curtis warning him that the Virginia Students intended to 
 break up the meeting, but if he chose to deliver the lecture, he 
 would sustain him by an efl&cient police. — ^Well, there were six 
 hundred and fifty policemen in that building, and more outside, 
 and we should certainly have had great trouble, if the Mayor had 
 not been so efficient. There was a great deal of hissing and 
 screaming, six or eight young men carried out by the police, 
 and windows broken, and vitriol and stones thrown in by out- 
 siders — but nothing worse. One young girl had her face badly 
 burned, and her clothes ruined by the vitriol, but thank God 
 no lives were lost. In the mean time there were 4,000 disorderly 
 people outside, speechifying and cheering, and urging each other 
 to enter and break up the meeting; but with an armed police, 
 they made very Httle headway, except in noise. Is it not dread- 
 ful to think of such a community set on by a few hundred Vir- 
 ginia Medical students, miserable rowdies, who walked the 
 streets the day of John Brown's execution, telling how many 
 "niggers" they owned, and wearing red ribbons? The Profes- 
 sors locked them up as soon as they found it out, but it does not 
 seem to have done them much good. — I wish the city were well 
 rid of them. They succeeded last week in driving the Anti- 
 slavery fair out of Concert Hall. But Mary Grew and the 
 rest, whom Dr. Furness calls the " Irrepressible Women," were not 
 to be put down. They moved their things to a smaller and more 
 inconvenient place and kept on. Ah well! I trust that better 
 days are dawning, but this Southern spirit will be long in chang- 
 ing, I fear, . . . 
 
i86o ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 383 
 
 Philadelphia, Feb. 26, i860. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... I was very much touched with Lucretia Mott's thoughtful- 
 ness, so different (as indeed she always is) from most distinguished 
 women. I mentioned to Mrs. Hopper that I was going out to 
 see her mother, and would take my young ladies with me for 
 a call, which one is always safe in doing, as she is so very cordial 
 to strangers. The next day, the girls who had never been to 
 a Quaker meeting, went to the Cherry St. meeting. It was Wash- 
 ington's birthday, and great was their luck, for Mrs. Mott was 
 there, and from Mary's description, she must have spoken with 
 unwonted fire and enthusiasm. I was at the Library. After 
 the girls got home, Mary said the door bell rang, and she heard 
 a sweet voice say, " Are Susan Lesley and her nieces within ?" 
 and Mrs. Mott came in, greeted them both most cordially, and 
 said she came to invite them and me to spend the next day with 
 her. So the next day I left my Library work for the first time, 
 took both my little girls with me and Mary and Fanny and left 
 here at nine o'clock for a good day. Mr. Mott met us with his 
 wagon at the York road station, and we had a most successful 
 day. The day was beautiful, and Mamy and Meggy romped 
 and played with the Httle Cavenders and Lords on the wide 
 piazzas, all day long. — Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Lord live with their 
 mother, and Mrs. Cavender lives near, and was spending the day 
 there to meet us. Mrs. Earle, and Mrs. Pugh, and Mrs. Wm. 
 Furness, Jr., were also there, and really it was a white day in our 
 Calendar. — Mrs. Mott was unusually animated and took the 
 greatest pains to entertain and instruct the young people. — 
 She brought out fine old letters for them to read, grew serious, 
 earnest and pathetic, over the great events and duties of our 
 times, took up the theme of her sermon the day before and en- 
 larged upon it fully: the idea which she is full of now, and which 
 I think she maintains with most forcible arguments, namely, 
 that no good can come from evil, that a corrupt tree cannot bring 
 forth good fruit, etc. This train of thought had been suggested 
 to her by the fact, that so many Abolitionists seem really almost 
 to rejoice in the defeats and wrong-doing of their opponents, 
 as in some way doing good to their cause. She thinks this a 
 very pernicious and dangerous doctrine to hold, and says the 
 conviction grows upon her every year, and she wishes all young 
 people to lay it to heart and examine the facts by the light of con- 
 science. — She went back over the history of the Anti-slavery 
 cause, told how first one friend and then another had said, "Don't 
 
384 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 deplore the burning of Pennsylvania Hall, it all works well for 
 us; don't regret the Fugitive Slave Law, it wakes up the people," 
 and so on. — "Alas! they forget," she said, "the train of miseries 
 that must follow every evil act, the increased number of obstacles 
 to be overcome." That there is good enough in the world and 
 in society to conquer these evils, she firmly hopes, but cannot 
 bear the idea of trusting in good coming out of evil. This brought 
 on an animated discussion on the old and never-to-be-settled 
 question, the necessity of evil, in which all the daughters opposed 
 her, but most respectfully and pleasantly. Our conversation 
 was greatly enhvened by Mrs. Earle's racy wit, and indeed all 
 the party were mutually agreeable. I thought, should I never 
 see the heavenly old lady again, I should like to remember her 
 as she seemed that day, sitting cutting off towels and table linen, 
 now and then giving directions quietly about her dinner, so 
 gentle and affectionate to the little children, and interested in 
 hunting up dolls and playthings for them, and then presiding at 
 that long dinner table full of guests, with such grace and dignity. 
 It was a good, plain, abundant dinner, and the children had a 
 side table close by. — Mary and Fanny were enchanted. . . . 
 
 Hopewell, April 29, i860. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Yesterday I read Seward's great speech, to Joe aloud. 
 I must read it again to you. It is very grand. It is like a dis- 
 tant view of a range of Alps, when you can only see the different 
 solid masses and highest peaks. He passes from sentence to 
 sentence, from one great idea or group of ideas to the next, not 
 always in an evident logical sequence, but yet really so that a 
 little reflection shows the profound connection. I cannot agree 
 with Mrs. Child. There is certainly something higher even 
 than the enthusiastic advocacy of the truest and humanest prin- 
 ciple. Life is the most precious thing on earth; yet the law of 
 order is superior to the law of life; life is wasted freely to main- 
 tain order, — by man's police and by God's providence alike. 
 Seward's attitude was unshrinking, unmoved, sublime. He 
 says nothing harsh, because he evidently feels no fear. He 
 hurries nothing forward, because he is so sure of the result. The 
 whole scheme and policy of the South must have cowered and 
 sunk into the ground before him, as he delivered the speech. It 
 is a condensed history — quintessence and extract of the past 
 history of the Republic, projected visibly upon the canvas of 
 the future. I use a mixed metaphor, but you know what I mean, 
 and I don't know how else to express it. He is the only far- 
 
i86o ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 385 
 
 seeing statesman, as far as I can judge by what is said and printed, 
 that we now have. I mean thoroughly philosophical and clear- 
 sighted. His advocacy of Liberty seems to me perfect. And 
 even when he says that extraordinary sentence, "All of the states 
 are parcels of my own country, . . . the best of them not so 
 wise and great as I am sure it will hereafter be; the state least 
 developed and perfected among them all, is wiser and better 
 than any foreign state I know"; and, again, "Throughout the 
 wide world, where is the state where class and caste are so utterly 
 extinguished as they are in each and every one of them?" I 
 hesitate to dissent from him, by naming Alabama and South 
 Carolina, because I feel that he must have a deeper meaning 
 than I apprehend. But you must read it with me, and compare 
 your opinion of it with mine and hers. . . . 
 
 May or June, i860. SuSAN I. Lesley to her 
 Aunt Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... I wanted to tell you about a beautiful evening visit we 
 had before Peter left, from a lovely old Scotchman, an Iron Master 
 from Glasgow, who brought letters to Peter. He was a Mr. 
 Young, an intimate friend of Dr. Livingstone of African celeb- 
 rity, and who has. the charge and guardianship of Dr. Living- 
 stone's wife and family. He told us many anecdotes of him, 
 and gave us an account, not yet made public, of his late dis- 
 covery of an immense cotton-growing tract in Africa, near the 
 river Zambesi. If all turns out as it reasonably should, this 
 cotton will supplant the Southern cotton, and strike a death- 
 blow at slavery in the South in ten years' time. I wish I had 
 time to give you all the facts and circumstances and statistics, 
 detailed in Dr. Livingstone's private letter to this gentleman, 
 but it does really seem as if Heaven and earth were combining 
 to make the odious sin of slaveholding unprofitable. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, May 15, i860. Peter Lesley to his Wipe. 
 
 ... I have no particular news to tell you ; except that I heard 
 Booth in "Hamlet," last evening. It is a marvellous play. I 
 thought I understood it, for the first time. It represented to 
 me the inefficiency of mere thinking, — the inharmonious work- 
 ing of a philosophic mind heroic in theory, and rich in ideas, 
 with an epicurean, utilitarian, optimistic will resulting in a 
 laissez-faire and compromise conduct. How often we see such 
 a character, at war with itself, unable to bring itself to dare 
 what it would do, and with a philosophic suspicion that, 
 
386 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 after all, its aims may not be the highest and best ends to strive 
 for! the father's ghost may be a devil; then the act of justice 
 will have been an act of misguided passion; and where will be 
 the gain? The martyrdom has been thrown away. A Hamlet 
 has no idea that martyrdom can be beautiful or desirable for 
 itself; but only for its uses. The key to the play is wonderfully 
 offered to the audience, where, after a long and thorough prepa- 
 ration for it, Hamlet opens an act with the celebrated monologue 
 "to be, or not to be." Yes, that was his question — all the way 
 through. It is the question of every such gentle philosopher. 
 Not his own "to be," but that of every object he sees and act he 
 does. "Am I deceived or am I sure of my work, — that is the 
 question." Do I walk amid deceptions, and is all my zeal for 
 justice and truth to be a morning cloud, or evening aurora; 
 and is the other life like this — and death a sleep wherein we 
 merely dream ? If so, why mart>Tize our souls for truth, and 
 our bodies for temperance. 
 
 I am convinced by this play that, whether Shakespeare, or 
 Lord Bacon, or Sir Walter Raleigh wrote it, the writer was the 
 greatest the world has ever produced. No painting, no sculpt- 
 ure, no epic poem even rivals it as work of art or genius. Its 
 moral teachings come in like those grand rare phenomena of 
 the natural cosmos, falls of stars and volcanic eruptions, each 
 complete in itself, and perfectly ornamental to the interval [in- 
 tegral?] whole of commonplace life. It is a privilege to be born 
 with English for one's mother tongue, to hear this play. . . . 
 
 Phu-ADELPHia, May 19, i860. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I have not learned the news, but fear that Seward is 
 nominated. If so Douglas will be at Baltimore, and the elec- 
 tion go into the House next winter, when after a stormy session 
 and the secession of Georgia, Mississippi and Co., Bell or 
 Guthrie will be made President, and another four -year fight 
 commence. Seward is selfish and untrustworthy, cold-hearted 
 and ambitious. . . . 
 
 May 20, i860. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Last evening George Steams * arrived from Kansas, and 
 occupied my thoughts from five to ten p.m. I took him to see 
 James Lesley and Professor Cleveland, and the latter gave us a 
 
 * See "The Life and Public Services of George Luther Stearns." By 
 Frank Preston Stearns. J. B. Lippincott Company: Philadelphia and 
 London. 1907. 
 
i86o ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 387 
 
 list of people likely to help us with money to support county 
 organizations, to protect and make it perfectly safe for the negroes 
 to settle among them. I will tell you some of his remarkable 
 stories when we meet again. . . . 
 
 May 22, i860. To His Wipe. 
 
 . . . Last evening — yesterday in fact at 2.30 p.m., Steams 
 and I dined with Hector Tyndall and his wife, and then hunted 
 up Ned Lesley, and coming home to see all was well here, went 
 again there to tea at seven, had a hot dispute about Whitman 
 ("Leaves of Grass" Whitman) and held our meeting at eight 
 when Ned Lesley, Edward M. Davis, Professor Cleveland, 
 McKim, Passmore Williamson, and Wm. B. Thomas and his 
 nephew Allen, dropped in, and a Kansas lecture was delivered 
 by Stearns with interruptions from us. It was admirable to see 
 how under pressure all his ordinary weaknesses vanished. He 
 was clear, precise, short, and full. We were all much interested 
 and will do what we can to organize here. . . . 
 
 May 27, i860. Peter Lesley to Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . How do you fancy the Representative Man set aside, 
 and Old Abe put in his place? I am democrat enough to like 
 the idea of a fiat-boat man and farmer rising to rule over 30,000,- 
 000 of people. The lawyers and gentry are sadly vexed about it. 
 For my part I would extinguish these two classes, if I could, and 
 certainly never let them sit in any seat of power. If we could get 
 rid of lawyers and gentlemen, clergymen would grow good and 
 politicians honest, for want of encouragement to be time-serving. 
 It would be a nice way to reach a reform. The probabilities now 
 are decidedly in favor of a republican triumph. Then what next? 
 
 George Stearns spent three days with me, trying to organize 
 a Philadelphia Kansas Society {stib rosa). His communications 
 were very interesting, and show that the question out there is far 
 from being settled. We may hope for the best, however, as the 
 free state population is numerous and vigorous, determined to 
 protect themselves and the blacks, and to make the border coun- 
 ties impassable. . . , 
 
 Philadelphia, June 15, i860. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I read Sumner's* speech this morning, and wish to fall 
 at his feet and worship him. He is a great man. I am astonished 
 
 * "The Barbarism of Slavery," a speech by Charles Sumner in the 
 Senate in June, i860 (see page 322, Life of Charles Sumner, by Jeremiah 
 Chaplin and I. D. Chaplin). 
 
388 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 that the Tribune did not print it entire. It is the most symmet- 
 rical and perfect, the strongest and grandest of orations on the 
 greatest subject of our day. Ought not every man to throw 
 himself into the coming conflict ! Is not now the time ? I cannot 
 see that any other topic is worth a word. Stearns writes me that 
 he has raised $i,ooo in Boston. . . . 
 
 Roadside [Germantown], June 17, i860. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . After the Friday evening meeting I went up Chestnut 
 Street and stood for an hour at the corner of Sixth, and then 
 worked my way up through dense crowds, until I was finally 
 stopped opposite the Girard House. The Japanese occupied 
 windows and balconies of the Continental, and about eleven 
 o'clock the procession came down. The roaring and singing 
 of the crowds was fearful. Every fire company carried torches 
 and fired volleys of Roman candles which burst against the walls 
 and on the roofs. Many of them were shot among the Japanese. 
 I never saw a more barbarous, brutal exhibition. The steam 
 fire-engines burnt red fire and sounded their whistles along the 
 line. I was tired before half the play was played out, and went 
 home to bed, glad to escape from the uproar.* . . . 
 
 Judge Coxe will have me go with him this week to the Nes- 
 quihoning Mountain. But next Tuesday coming, Frazer, Ken- 
 dall, Trego and I meet the Committee of the University Trustees 
 at Fairman Rogers' house to talk about lectures next winter. 
 Rogers paid me $17.50 as my share of the receipts. Hamilton 
 has sent for me to pay me what the Franklin Institute owes me, 
 for the course there last winter. 
 
 At present I am very busy at the Library and can keep Mr. 
 Dyke occupied v\dth the Catalogue and answering letters while I 
 am away. 
 
 I shall now take a walk, happy to think that you are safe 
 with Katie. I send you Greeley's and Weed's letters. Keep 
 them carefully and read them, for they are very interesting. 
 Adieu. 
 
 June 17, i860. Peter Lesley to his brother Allen. 
 
 . . . My ov^Ti plans are very indefinite. I shall spend this week 
 on the Nesquihoning Mountain, north of Mauch Chunk, and 
 
 * See William Garrett Browne's "Tenth Decade of the United States" 
 (Atlantic for July, 1905, p. 33). "In i860, eight years before the Burlingame 
 embassy from China, a Japanese embassy, the first ever sent to any foreign 
 country, had visited the United States to exchange ratifications of the sec- 
 ond Harris treaty." 
 
i86o ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 389 
 
 next week perhaps at St. Mary's, in Elk County; probably some 
 time in the Broad Top, and the last week of July at Newport, 
 where the Association meets this year. I am trying to make it 
 a summer of rest, which I need. 
 
 How beautiful the freshness of June is! In the City, in 
 politics, in dry scientific details, we lose our own freshness, like 
 the August nature, hot, dry, faded, but bearing fruit in autumn. 
 
 I have been reading the newspapers more than books, for a 
 year past. I revel in politics, on both sides of the water. You 
 know my ardent democratic and republican tendencies. — They 
 have ample enjoyment now in the steady advance of democratic 
 ideas along great practical ways, in Europe, and in the full as- 
 surance of the overthrow of the present an ti -democratic govern- 
 ment in this country, next spring. I half wish I had a good excuse 
 for going practically into politics. Every honest man will be 
 wanted next year to keep the conquering party straight; up to 
 their past principles and true to general principles. For I have 
 no faith in professional politicians of any name. But I have 
 unshaken faith in the superior power of good politics over bad, 
 in the course of years. Politicians, as people, are so apt to think 
 their private operations in politics can be kept secret from their 
 public acts and general influence over politics. I judge also that 
 many a "great man" has honestly so mean an opinion of himself, 
 that it never comes to his consciousness fairly that anything he 
 may do for his private benefit will be considered of national im- 
 portance by the nation. ... 
 
 Philadelphia, June 21, i860. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I send you some beautiful words of Emerson about 
 Parker. How we should have enjoyed them together there! 
 But these words are like winds from clover fields and can reach 
 the furthest places. . . . 
 
 Algonac, June 22, i860. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Did you read Emerson's speech about Parker? It was 
 noble. . . . 
 
 June 22, i860. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Douglas is nominated. The Southerners have seceded. 
 The victory is ours. I hope our President will rule wisely. It 
 is a crisis in the world's history. . . . 
 
390 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 Algonac, July 7, i860. Peter Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... I shall go to Canada (Rudeau Canal), on the twenty-third 
 and work round to Boston by the third or fourth of August. In 
 which case I shall try to stay in your parts for a week or two. I 
 should like to travel with you somewhere, but am not sure I can. 
 I have just dodged a government coal survey in New Granada 
 and Costa Rica of four months, and have another in Illinois hang- 
 ing by the eyelids. . . . 
 
 About this time my father, in connection with an expert 
 instrument maker, Becker, invented a very sensitive barome- 
 ter, to be used in preliminary topographical surveys, etc. 
 There v^ere but five of these instruments made, which were 
 distributed among a few intimate friends and assistants. 
 One of them was sent to his brother-in-law Mr. Joseph 
 Lyman, one to his brother Joseph Lesley, one to Mr. Ben- 
 jamin S. Lyman (?), and one to his friend Hodge, perhaps. 
 The fifth he kept himself, and used constantly until the end 
 of his field-work career. In 1874, when he wished to find 
 equally sensitive barometers to be used by his assistants 
 on the Second Survey, he sought for some time in vain to 
 find Becker, to get him to make them, but the latter had 
 become an old man, and, when found, was unable to under- 
 take such work any longer. My father always considered 
 his original five barometers as the most sensitive ever con- 
 structed, and used to say that they would measure and record 
 two feet of vertical height with great regularity. 
 
 From a short trip to New Hampshire with Miss Rob- 
 bins, to recruit after an illness, he writes the following 
 pleasant letter of social enjoyment: — 
 
 Waterville [N.H. ?], Aug. 12, i860. Peter Lesley 
 TO HIS Wipe. 
 
 . . . There are a few little children here, one of them [E. D. H.] 
 a rare precocious child of five years' age, with a weird, deep, sweet 
 voice, and who asks the strangest questions and makes the oldest 
 remarks, is the most attractive. A Miss Means plays superbly 
 for us, mostly Chopinish music, but in a way that don't make me 
 swear; and "to her," as the stage directions have it, came yes- 
 
i86o ANTE-BELLUM TIMES 391 
 
 terday the young architect , with sketch box and board, 
 
 a lover of chess, and a faithful recipient of the Tribune. I shall 
 cultivate him. Then we have other Valuables. The Mr. Knapp, 
 to whom Foster and Whiting give the credit of discovering the 
 celebrated Minnesota Copper mine, and who bought, worked 
 and sold it years ago, and has since devoted himself at Jackson 
 (seventy miles west of Detroit) to Pomology and Horticulture, 
 has been here several weeks, and is adventurous after crystals, 
 etc., to the tops of the peaks. So is another old fellow whom 
 I don't yet much know. — On the side of philology I have young 
 Frank Scudder, a year out of the Andover School, and to go to 
 Madeira as a Missionary next winter. With him I have had 
 long discussions on Tamil and Sanskrit, grammars and vocabu- 
 lary of which he has here, heaven be praised! to refer to. . . . 
 
 The views are fine all the way up, as Mt. Lafayette, and the 
 rest of the Franconia peaks were in full view, mixed with the 
 mountains of the Mad River. [Sketch.] 
 
 An important geological fact is the procession of great dips 
 S. E. or S. S. E., from 5° to 15° only in strength, showing that the 
 whole country is cut out of nearly horizontal strata, and con- 
 forming excellently with the section I made at Gorham. 
 
 To-day, Sunday, we have had services in the large drawing- 
 room, a sermon from young Scudder at 10.30 of a strong Andover 
 liberal type, and good; and a lecture on the Druses and Maro- 
 nites, this afternoon at 2.30. — Since then I have been sleeping .... 
 
 Waterville, Aug. 14, i860. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . We live here very quietly, reading, writing, walking up 
 and down the hall, eating and sleeping. Books are plenty, and 
 appear mysteriously. I have greatly enjoyed a late number 
 of the BibUotheca Sacra; articles on Sophocles, and Michelet's 
 history, especially one on the reality of the resurrection of Christ, 
 gave me a new assurance of its reahty. . . . Chess has been a 
 
 great resource. and I have played nine games with equal 
 
 success. A game is going on before me, on the other side of the 
 kerosene lamp, and a boy is drumming up recruits for charades, 
 so that I can't tell my own thoughts in the confusion. 
 
 The Catalogue advances. — I spend about four hours on it 
 a day and find that that about exhausts my spare strength. The 
 mountain air and especially the pleasant stir and happy excite- 
 ment here has kept me in fine spirits and I take again hopeful 
 views of the future. . . . 
 
392 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvi 
 
 Philadelphia, Sept. 17, i860. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Evening spent with Frazer until ten o'clock — very agree- 
 ably. — ^Le Conte came in. — ^Politics run high — ^very high here. 
 Lincoln is acknowledged president; but Curtin's governorship 
 is a little uncertain. 
 
 Sherman did himself immense honor the other night. Schurz, 
 the great German, speaks at the Wigwam to-night. . . . 
 
 Sept. 18, i860. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Our own new Provost, Mr. Goodwin of Hartford, was in- 
 augurated last Monday [University of Pennsylvania]. That was 
 another thing I missed. It is not judicious for me to be always 
 absent from these times. Goodwin is a jovial gentleman, a liberal 
 clergyman, who will bring trouble on himself by telling all he 
 thinks. He is greatly liked, and will influence the boys well. 
 Tell Chauncey he has begun already to inform his class that they 
 naturally know more of mind than of matter — to the great amaze- 
 ment of the faculty and scandal of the Academy of Natural Sci- 
 ences. 
 
 Yesterday I supped with the Chases, who got home Friday, 
 and went afterward with them to the Wigwam, to see and hear 
 the great Carl Schurz. It was crowded and stifling, and I stayed 
 but to see him and hear his first few sentences in German. He 
 has a fine head and fine voice, speaks as if old at the business, 
 and commands his audience. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Dec. 16, i860. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO her Aunt Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . What a miserable state of times we are living in! Our 
 Mayor Henry, whom we thought so much of, has caved in ut- 
 terly, as I fear half the Republicans will do. — He has actually 
 prevented [Geo. Wm.] Curtis from lecturing here, on a purely lit- 
 erary subject, and after the hall had been hired for months. I 
 though the John Brown sympathizers were very unwise to have 
 any meeting at all in these exciting times, in Boston. They might 
 have been quiet, without sacrificing any principle, and the great 
 fault of the AboHtionists is, that they never will pay the least re- 
 gard to times and seasons. Still I was quite disgusted that 
 
 . . . should have been one of the miserable party who wished 
 
 to stop free speech, and passed such horrid resolutions. ... I 
 have been greatly refreshed by reading Mr. Emerson's last vol- 
 ume; and Buckle, which I began two years ago, but never fin- 
 ished. . . » 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 War Times. 1861-1863 
 
 The winter of 1860-61 was an anxious one. My 
 father had entered into a business connection with some 
 Boston men to carry on a process for the desulphurization 
 of coal, to be used in iron foundries. He was agent in 
 Pennsylvania and several other States for the patent of this 
 process. 
 
 A coal-yard was purchased, and he both superintended 
 the workings, and travelled to promote the use of the patent 
 in other locahties. It proved an unfortunate undertaking, 
 owing to bad faith on the part of some of his associates, 
 and probably also to lack of capital. Whatever the causes 
 of unsuccess may have been, it was an anxious and unhappy 
 period for the little household, and my father was very glad, 
 at the end of a year or two, to get rid of the whole thing, 
 at a loss, but leaving him cleared of debt and responsibihty. 
 He never again was wilHng to embark on any business or 
 semi-business undertaking, but confined his energies to 
 purely scientific and literary work. 
 
 In the spring of 1861 the loss of a Httle son, who died 
 at birth, was a deep sorrow to both my mother and father. 
 She writes to her Aunt Catherine Robbins, March 26: — 
 
 I could see his strong resemblance to my brother Joseph. 
 It was no fancy. As I looked at him, and thought of what his 
 father and all his grandfathers on both sides of our family were 
 for many generations, I could not think he would have had other 
 than a good nature to start with. But my faith is sure that that 
 little germ of life will be carried on and perfected elsewhere. It 
 seemed very important to me to have that little child, but no 
 doubt the lessons of this last year of suffering were more im- 
 portant to me, in the harmonious plan of the eternal Provi- 
 dence. 
 
 393 
 
394 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvii 
 
 In the winter of 1862 my father went to Montreal on 
 scientific business, and in the summer of the same year spent 
 several months on the Nova Scotia coast, at Gaspe and its 
 neighborhood, making a geological survey in the interest 
 of a Boston company. 
 
 From about this time (1862) he often mentions the 
 Sunday evenings spent at his friend John Frazer's house. 
 These evenings were the greatest social pleasures which he 
 ever experienced. Here met weekly a group of men active 
 in many lines of scientific and literary work; and as most 
 of them were intimates, these evenings were delightfully 
 informal, and full of vivacity and fun, mixed with the most 
 serious conversation on broad and high themes. To these 
 meetings also it was the custom for the regular guests to 
 bring with them any visiting friend to whom they might 
 wish to give a great pleasure. Professor Frazer's cordiality 
 welcomed all such accessions to the social group with genial 
 hospitality. 
 
 These meetings were kept up for many years, and after 
 Professor Frazer's death were (after an interval) continued 
 by Professor Fairman Rogers, where much of the same 
 good comradeship and spirit of personal affection prevailed. 
 My father used to return at the end of such an evening in 
 the most deHghtful spirits, and retailed to us such points 
 of the brilliant conversations as he could bring home in 
 his memory. 
 
 The breaking out of the Civil War affected the lives of 
 all citizens, — of those who were merely lookers-on as well 
 as of those in the armies of the North and South. 
 
 Philadelphia was near enough to the seat of war to feel 
 the constant throb of the battles to the south of it, and daily 
 Northern troops marched through its long avenues on their 
 way from the Kensington Station at the north to the old 
 Baltimore depot on the southern edge of the city. All 
 day the drums beat, and the children hurried to watch the 
 soldiers pass. Later we saw the sadder sights of the return- 
 ing troops, limping and weather-worn, with tattered flags 
 and tarnished uniforms. 
 
 The city was full of hospitals, and the environs of camps. 
 
1861-63 WAR TIMES 395 
 
 Every one who could, was mending and making and knitting 
 and cooking for the soldiers. Even the little children in 
 many a household, and at church and social gatherings, 
 picked lint, and felt themselves a part of the great struggle. 
 Many a private house was an adjunct to the hospital, and 
 had its wounded men to tend. Those who hved through 
 those days in a border city will seldom hear drum-and-fife 
 sound without the old war scenes coming back to memory, 
 or without the tear rising to the eye, or without feeling the 
 sob in the throat. 
 
 There is nothing remarkable in these letters of 1861-63, 
 but they give the vivid impression of what an ardent Union 
 man and woman — ^Abolitionists as well — felt and thought 
 and suffered in that dark period. It was only what the 
 great crowd of thoughtful lookers-on experienced, but it 
 represented the sentiment of the better part of the North, 
 that which gave courage to those in power, and to the sol- 
 diers on the field to carry the great struggle to a successful 
 finish. 
 
 In the spring of 1863 my father was asked to be one of 
 the corporators of the new National Academy of Sciences, 
 and became one of the original fifty to form that famous 
 association. In April it was established. The account 
 of the meeting for incorporation shows that political differ- 
 ences and sectional animosities were felt even in scientific 
 circles. 
 
 In June, 1863, he made a surveying trip to Glace Bay, 
 N.S., where he spent about two months. My cousin Benja- 
 min S. Lyman was with him in this work. 
 
 Philadelpbxa., Jan. 19, 1861. Susan I. Lesley to 
 Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... I have had great pleasure in listening to fine conversations 
 the last few weeks. Peter often has gentlemen here of an evening, 
 Mr. Towne, Mr. Winsor, Professor Frazer, now and then a young 
 Storer, and Cox, very intelligent fellows. Dr. W. is often brill- 
 iant with anecdotes, has had a most varied and eventful life, 
 and is full of vivid imagination. I lie on my sofa in the far corner 
 of the room, and pick up a few ideas now and then, on Mechanics, 
 Metaphysics, Psychology and the hke, without the trouble of 
 
396 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvii 
 
 hunting for them. Peter is thus far very successful in his lectures 
 at the [Franklin] Institute, the audience large and enthusiastic, 
 requesting him to exceed his time and showing much interest. 
 Every day he finds time to read the Tribune nearly through, to 
 the Dr. and myself, and then we speculate on secession, and the 
 other public questions. What an uncertain labyrinth public 
 events are wound up in, and who can see the end ? It seems as 
 if one must just stand for months, a watcher on a tower, not 
 knowing what he will next see pass by him. . , . 
 
 In April, 1861, my father went West as far as St. Louis 
 in the interests of the patent. 
 
 Indianapolis, April 11, 1861. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . To-morrow at eleven a.m. I shall leave again for St. Louis, 
 and be there at nine p.m. There are iron-works here which I 
 wish to see in the morning, if it stops raining. The utter cheer- 
 lessness and loneliness of his journey exceed all I ever experi- 
 enced on the road. A wide fiat desert, ornamented with occasional 
 shanties, and not half of it yet cleared of its timber, stretches 
 from the Beaver river in Pennsylvania to the banks of the Missis- 
 sippi, — a land of horror and silence to the poet and historian; — 
 a land of brutality now — what it is to be God knows, not I. . . . 
 Renan's book on Language and David's on Jupiter have amused 
 the tedium of the way; but it is wearisome to read at thirty or 
 forty miles an hour, and I do not agree with either of the writers. 
 ... I write in a roofed desert called in America a Hotel — acres 
 long and deep, without a comfort or a picture, or a reminiscence, 
 in all its hundred rooms. . . . 
 
 Terre Haute, April 12, 1861. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . No political excitement manifests itself anywhere along 
 the line. To-morrow morning I shall expect news of a battle at 
 Charleston, at my breakfast in St. Louis. . . . 
 
 St. Louis, Sunday, April 14, 186 1. To his Wife. 
 
 A beautiful day opens over this great city, and the greater 
 river rolling and swelling beside it. The incessant rains of the 
 last few weeks are coming down this, their grand channel, to the 
 sea, like the history which a poet writes, from all the gatherings 
 of his past thoughts and feelings. It is a law that the universal 
 
i86i WAR TIMES 397 
 
 shall strive ever to impress itself upon time, by concentration. 
 Thus it obtains personality. The electricity of the atmosphere 
 becomes the flash and bolt; the w^orld life breaks forth in the 
 child; God, in man; the possible, in single facts; the disease of 
 years, in a sudden death struggle; the strain of ages, in a momen- 
 tary earthquake; the animosity of races, in a battle. How sicken- 
 ing are these black streams of news, which flow now hour by hour 
 across our land, — Acheron and Styx, with Charon's boat, waiting 
 to take our Liberties across into the land of shades! I see as 
 much to dread from the sudden inauguration of military rule at 
 Washington as at Montgomery. How suddenly the bale-fires 
 glare up from the whole north! Don't tell me that the Northerner 
 is not warlike! I feel sure that there is opened a tremendous 
 campaign. I foresee ship after ship leaving the Northern ports, 
 for a month to come, to carry desolation along the southern shores. 
 If so, then the defence must be, carrying the war into Africa, and 
 that can only be done through Virginia and Kentucky Northward. 
 I feel more sorry than ever that I have undertaken this new busi- 
 ness now. I have learned much here. 
 
 Called there on Mr. Eliot * and had a very pleasant interview. 
 He kindly interested himself in my matters and gave me assist- 
 ance. After supper I went to see the " Judenfamilie " played at 
 the German Opera House and was charmed. It realized my 
 ideal of the drama, gentle, earnest, intellectual and moral, a 
 little too finely written (of course) and therefore less piquant and 
 stirring, but leaving the whole heart warm. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, April 16, 1861. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO HER Husband. 
 
 . . . Yesterday was very exciting day in the city owing to 
 the war news. Generals Patterson and Cadwalader were mobbed 
 and obliged to put out Union flags or there is no telling what 
 would have become of them. The Mayor was obliged to take 
 in charge a building occupied by a Secession newspaper, or it 
 would have been torn down. The excitement is fearful, and the 
 North fairly aroused. . . . 
 
 St. Louis, April 15, 1861. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I have been so busy and so happily occupied that I could not 
 spare time to write. Yesterday I went to church; heard a charm- 
 
 * See "William Greenleaf Eliot, Minister, Educator, Philanthropist. 
 By Charlotte C EUot. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.: Boston. 1904." 
 
398 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvn 
 
 ing sermon from Mr. Eliot and the most heavenly music. Went 
 home to dine with Judge Krum and his lovely wife, and loveliest 
 little Meggie, and her brother. . . . Meggie sat on the arm of my 
 chair with her arm round my neck and I told her about "The Pil- 
 grim's Progress," and other books she must read. Little Angel, 
 Little Gypsy. . . . 
 
 Politically things look worse and worse. The greatest ex- 
 citement prevails. All business is stopped. Even the shipping 
 of grain and flour down the river stopped to-day. The rumor of 
 Scott's resignation has struck the Republican party dumb; but 
 there is a general inability to believe the rumor. The Germans 
 here are all Northern men. But the city is full of desperate 
 characters, backed by the country, and they may override the 
 strong Union sentiment of the citizens. If Missouri secedes, as 
 they threaten in five days to make it, it will precipitate the border 
 states into the Southern confederacy. Your decided action in 
 Philadelphia, and that of Baltimore still more (what did I tell 
 you about Maryland?) has had the most beneficial effect here 
 already in strengthening the Union party, and making the Seces- 
 sionists hesitate. There are rumors of an assault on the arsenal, 
 but it is heavily guarded. 
 
 . . . May the good spirit of Christ rule in the minds and hearts 
 of the millions of the North! I have great confidence in the 
 Christian common sense, and sense of right and wrong, of the 
 North. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, April 25, 1861. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . Peter arrived home from St. Louis last Friday night. 
 His journey was a very fatiguing and exciting one. He came 
 along with large bodies of troops, saw the most heart-rending 
 leave-takings all along the route, talked with officers and men, 
 and got all the various opinions about the war from the wise and 
 the unlearned. At the top of the Alleghanies, the train broke 
 down from a slide of earth, or rather they were tossed up into 
 the air and off the track. No one fatally injured, which seemed 
 a miracle, but the detention was trying. 
 
 Here, you have no conception of the excitement. At night 
 it is difficult to get asleep, for Broad Street is filled with troops 
 drilling, the drums beat all night, and companies constantly 
 arriving and marching to the Broad and Prime Street Station. 
 There is the strangest sound all over the city like the humming 
 of a top. I think I never dreamed of anything like this. The 
 
i86i WAR TIMES 399 
 
 Girard House has a thousand women and about 800 machines 
 all making army clothing, and the ladies all over the city are busy 
 as possible. Margie Fumess works all the time, and has a ma- 
 chine for rolling bandages besides. . . . 
 
 New York, May 27, 1861. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I sat an hour in the balcony talking with a gentleman 
 just from Fortress Monroe (yesterday a.m., Saturday) who said 
 the taking of Sewell's point was a "Cunard,''^ not a gun was 
 fired; — and with a fine old gentleman who had just returned 
 from Washington to offer to return into the Navy. He was 
 raging over the sangfroid of the government about Prendergast's 
 villanous giving up of the Navy Yard instead of destroying Nor- 
 folk and Gosport, as he should have done. But Prendergast 
 was a Virginian, said he bitterly. The other one said it was a 
 great mistake. Before the act, the Union men in Norfolk were 
 two to one; after it not a Union man existed. The work was 
 only half done, and Virginia is being made impregnable by the 
 use of this yard. We must remember that Scott is a Virginian! 
 
 From this end, troops leave New York to-day and last night. 
 It was very dusty on the road. A young Englishman from 
 Wilmington, North Carolina, sat by me. He was in Richmond 
 when the U.S. took Alexandria, and saw the delight with which 
 the South heard of Ellsworth's murder, whom they dreaded very 
 much. He had to turn aside thus and go around by Harper's 
 Ferry, where he and another Englishman were hard put to it by 
 the mob, until they showed passports. . . . 
 
 The summer of 1861 my mother spent with the children 
 at a farm near Philadelphia, where my father could reach 
 her in an hour or two, and frequently spend a day with her. 
 
 Philadelphia, June 28, 1861. Peter Lesley 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . George Stearns came to see me this morning at ten 
 o'clock, fresh from Washington, and I went up to Bristol with 
 him. He had a hundred interesting stories to tell me of public 
 affairs, which he looks upon with a very hopeful and happy en- 
 thusiasm. So do I. All goes well. Is it possible that the Botts 
 letter in the Tribune of to-day is a truth — or is it a Canard ? I 
 cannot believe it; and yet it ought to be true. I spent an even- 
 
400 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvii 
 
 ing with Charles Sumner a week ago, and all he said failed to 
 change my conviction that in three months the war will be at 
 an end. The Southern army must melt away, like snow before 
 the sun's advance towards the equinox. I see the brutal host 
 scatter and fly like the cloud after a storm, chased apart and away 
 by the great northern wind. Meigs, and Banks, and Lyon, and 
 the two Blairs, and the great young hero McClellan, and Chase 
 and the stable old Kingpost of the realm, Abe Lincoln himself, 
 with the generalissimo like a Titanic body-guard or Mace-bearer 
 of the Union, form a glorious group. How good it is not to 
 have died last year! 
 
 Private affairs all wait on the national adventure. In a 
 few months this Empire (Republic no longer) will shake itself 
 from its war clothes, bathe, and dress in peaceful working garb, 
 and turn to its avocations with a new force and pleasure, be- 
 ginning a new history. 
 
 How full the camps must be of personal stories, hair-breadth 
 escapes, acts of daring and suffering! What a discipline of 
 strength for the effeminate boys of the cities! How unexpectedly 
 everything happens! Every news comes like a flash of Hght- 
 ning from some fresh quarter of the horizon. You have seen, I 
 suppose, that Hurlbut has been captured as a spy down South. . . . 
 
 LoNGBEACH, Aug. 6, 1 86 1. Peter Lesley to 
 Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . , . The conflict of ages is surely this: Between a desire to 
 hold converse with distant friends and a hatred of pen, ink and 
 paper. The older one grows, the more intangible and incom- 
 pressible are the spirits to be embodied, limited and subjected to 
 language in a letter. How much description a single glance 
 around one calls for! How many reams of paper might be filled 
 from ten minutes' recollections! How useless the task to ex- 
 press the hopes, plans and dread of the immediate future! In 
 fact, a letter is a mere touch of the hand, — it goes for so little, — 
 it leaves so much to be said, most of which is unsayable. . . . 
 
 We are half a mile from the beach; cannot see the sea from 
 the house, and have no rocks of any kind to look at, or sit on or 
 see from. It is no place for me. I find myself perpetually wish- 
 ing you and Susan and I were together on the New England coast. 
 Susan wonders if you and she will ever again sit on the N.E. 
 rocks until the tide waves come up to your feet. 
 
 Nature finds us up some new kind of pleasure or new kind 
 of peace, — instead of repeating the old. 
 
i86i WAR TIMES 401 
 
 How do the political heavens look to you now? They are 
 changed from grand sunrise to gray mom. The lull of impatient 
 expectation in the nation is like that at a theatre or grand review 
 when the principal action is over. Everybody now seems to 
 have handed the responsibility to government and to feel that it 
 is useless to talk about it. I cannot but think that our future 
 is to be that of an absolute military autocracy, broken up oc- 
 casionally by rebellions of sections in the North. Like crises 
 in the life of a human body, a long disease has come to a head, 
 and will be lived through and come out of with some essential 
 constitutional change. The patient has been consumptive and 
 will henceforth be bilious. It is of little importance, for these 
 thirty millions are but the thirtieth part of the human race, and 
 their fate has next to no influence upon that of other nations — 
 even the European. The change of our tariff has more effect in 
 England than the overthrow of our constitution, and the murder 
 of every tenth male would have. Nations grow independently 
 of each other like animals or trees, — and die independently. 
 Only epidemical diseases affect the groups, as tornadoes or floods 
 do in the vegetable and animal world. 
 
 It is with philosophic calmness then we can follow the course 
 of these events, after all the excitement of the spring and early 
 summer. Until another battle. These battles will rouse the 
 nation like successive peals of thunder following each other at 
 intervals through a still night; — now far off, now close by. Was 
 there ever a war extended over so vast a country? The tele- 
 graph makes it awful, for it brings all parts of the field into imme- 
 diate presence. 
 
 We ought to celebrate annually the passage of the Confisca- 
 tion Act of Saturday. It is the date of the Emancipation of Amer- 
 ican Slaves. It will work slow, but sure, I hope. 
 
 Man is certainly nomadic by nature; rooted by necessity; 
 art and luxury return to him at last his nomadic privileges. For 
 my part I have been so privileged in past years that I have no 
 right to complain, if the gout or bad times veto my roaming pro- 
 pensities forever more, — until gout and bad times are among the 
 things which are not. But bad times never last, and in a few 
 years I shall be able to take you and Susan up the Nile. By 
 waiting until then the Speke controversy about its source will 
 have been settled for us, and we can better enjoy its muddy 
 current. Other things will be settled also — in the muddy current 
 of our own fortunes. 
 
402 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvii 
 
 Philadelphia, Sept. 23, 1861. Peter Lesley to his Wipe. 
 
 ... I wonder if the Eastern politicians are not chicaning to 
 ruin Fremont — the idol of the West. How little we know of the 
 Secrets of the Cabinet; of the hidden forces of the political world; 
 and of the private by-play of the passions throughout the great 
 events of our history! Dominus regnat, populus gaudeatf Sat 
 sapienti, Susanna. Et Petro. 
 
 Philadelphia, Sept. 24, 1861. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Everybody is troubled about the Lexington surrender. 
 MagoiiSn is a hero. But they say he was ordered to take the 
 money and come away. Instead of that, he was persuaded by 
 the citizens to disobey orders and stay to defend them. [W. E. F.] 
 says he himself will go to the war if another defeat occurs. How 
 the young can joke about war and cannon-balls is a mystery to 
 me, — for life ought to be doubly dear to them. Joe proposed 
 to me to-day to take the whole business, and let him go join 
 General Anderson's body-guard dragoons (100), now recruiting. 
 It is to be composed of young engineers from all the counties 
 of Pennsylvania. He has been sick of asthma, etc., but was a 
 little better to-day. His desire to go is simply from a sense of 
 duty. Kentucky is in great danger. All the young blood of the 
 Blue Grass is for Secession. They constitute the wealth and 
 spirit of the State — although they are outnumbered by the old 
 people and the Mountaineers. Both parties are fearfully exas- 
 perated, and it looks more like a war of extermination there than 
 it has vet anywhere. But God and the Right is our motto. 
 Surely the government will be forced to fight upon a principle 
 before long. . . . 
 
 Algonac, Sept. 25, 1861. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Truly it does seem as you say, as if the Eastern politi- 
 cians are determined to ruin Fremont. And yet what mean 
 all these tales of his neglecting to reinforce the brave Lyon, and 
 also Mulligan, when he might? And who is to know the truth 
 about anything in the midst of so many Hes, so many wheels 
 within wiieels, and so much that we can never know not being 
 behind the scenes? And what means the forced resignation of 
 Stringham? Are the Government determined to punish every- 
 body who achieves a victory, for fear they should become too 
 popular? It looks so. . . . 
 
 Yesterday we went down to the H. K. Browns, to tea, and 
 
i86i WAR TIMES 403 
 
 had a lovely time. Mr. Brown showed us all his drawings and 
 designs of the Capitol at Columbia,* and, oh, how we laughed to 
 think that the stupid Southerners never dreamed of the intense 
 satire conveyed in his figures of Hope, Justice, and Liberty, 
 where he introduces negroes, cotton fields and rice plantations, 
 in the slyest and most picturesque way, and to a Northern eye 
 so plain, that he who runs may read! He said he could hardly 
 keep his countenance, when one after another of the Southern 
 gentlemen came in to look at his work, they chuckled and said, 
 "That's right, Brovm, put in the nigger, put in the nigger." . . . 
 
 Phu-adelphia, OcL 4, 1861. Peter Lesley to his Wipe. 
 
 . . . Last night, 9.30 p.m., I reached home from Washington, 
 to which place I went down the night before. I cannot tell you 
 how the quiet and the war scenes together impressed me — till 
 we meet. Breakfasted with James and Lizzie [Lesley], the boys. 
 Dr. Thompson and Colonel T. A. Scott. Wrote two hours in 
 Scott's room in the War Department, and then surveyed the 
 deserted Potomac from the top of Willard's. The advance of 
 the Army has caused it to disappear from view behind the Vir- 
 ginia hills. The Capitol is infinitely grand. Mills' statue of 
 Jackson looks much better at a second visit. General Cameron 
 was to dine with James, but I could not stay. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Oct. 7, 1861. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I have but a moment to add a line to the Sonnets I v^nrote 
 yesterday, and if you like parts of them as much as I do, you 
 can hand them to Estes for the Atlantic. 
 
 I spent a very long, brilliant evening at Frazer's vsdth M. 
 Pecher of the Patent Office, and as fond as I of Egyptological 
 questions. He is an amiable, accomplished German, fifty yards 
 from whom (strange to say) I lived in Halle in 1844-1845. We 
 had a high time over Halloren gossip. 
 
 * Henry K. Brown the sculptor's "work on the capitol at Columbia, 
 S.C., was never finished or paid for. In April, 1861, the firing on Fort 
 Sumter opened the war, and soon after Mr. and Mrs. Brown came north 
 and were on the last train before the tracks into Washington were torn up. 
 When Sherman arrived before Columbia, some years later, and opened a 
 bombardment on the city, some of the first shells crashed through Mr. 
 Brown's studio, which was beside the old capitol. Everything was de- 
 stroyed, and a photograph is all there is left of the group showing 'niggers' 
 for the capitol. It was a group tympanum, the central figures were fin- 
 ished in marble, and the rest were in various stages of completion." {Note 
 by Henry K. Bush-Brown.) 
 
404 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvn 
 
 Phil'a, October 8, 1861. 
 
 . . . Now the leaves begin to fall, and the army must soon 
 move. I wish I could see the great review of Cavalry and Ar- 
 tillery to-morrow at Washington. 
 
 Philadelphia, Dec. 24, 1861. Peter Lesley to 
 Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . Susan and I have just filled the children's stockings with 
 little acrobats, sugar plums, books, lead-pencils and pennies, 
 and have two large dolls to pile up the agony, still in reserve. . . . 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bond have just come in and say that Chestnut St. 
 is crowded and loud with horns and drums. People in masks 
 and Santa Claus dresses are numerous. This is new in Phila- 
 delphia, and shows how the war excitement has affected the 
 public mind, developing other extravagances. We are in a 
 fever of excitement, not knowing what to expect. There are 
 vain conjectures on all hands. No one can predict even the 
 probabilities. England seems to be in a blaze of excitement 
 also. Want and war are foes to sober sense and prudent con- 
 duct. If war breaks out with Europe, the extremity of evil will 
 soon be reached. But our hope is that the men at Washington 
 feel so much more in danger than we do here, that they will go 
 even further than we would do in pacifying England. It is no time 
 now for us to stand on dignity. Nor do I think our government 
 will think of such a thing. But this is a Christmas letter, and 
 I meant not to make it a political essay. ... 
 
 In February, 1862, he was invited by Mr. T. E. Black- 
 well, of Montreal, to go north, to assist him in some geological 
 or topographical work. 
 
 Troy, Feb. 20, 1862. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Here I sit in the Troy House, which we were talking about 
 the other day, where we spent a night thirteen years ago, on our 
 wedding tour to Amsterdam. 
 
 . . . We had a great deal of Seceshish talk in the cars, good- 
 humored enough, but plain to see, the vast preponderance of 
 sentiment is in favor of readjustment on the old basis, provided 
 the Southern bluster is stopped. People think only of their own 
 little feelings, and forget (how is it possible!) the immense wrongs 
 of the Slaves and Poor Whites of the South. . . . 
 
i862 WAR TIMES 405 
 
 Rutland, Feb. 21, 1862. To his Wife. 
 
 How I wish Mamie and you had been in the cars with me 
 yesterday! After advancing forty miles, we stuck fast on a siding 
 for three hours after dark. For the first half-hour we were silent 
 and a little moody; but then the stiffness was broken by the 
 eccentricities of an old lady who got up and walked to the door 
 several times, and losing patience began to demand that some- 
 thing should be done; at least that there should be a consultation 
 to see if nothing could be done about it, for she was open to 
 conviction. Gently rallied at first, she replied with spirit, and 
 soon the fun grew brisk and the wit sparkling. Most of the 
 people in the car were the best kind of New England folks, 
 with plenty of spunk, and hair-riggers every son of a gun among 
 them. We sat and joked and roared and clapped, and dis- 
 cussed the conductor, the brakeman, the old lady's adventure, 
 the possibility of some Secesh being present, and at the bottom 
 of it, the war and the weather at large. I never enjoyed three 
 hours more. . . . 
 
 ... It is delightful to think of the near approach of a vic- 
 torious peace. I trust in God that a new cohort of strong men will 
 take the power at Washington, and reform all things. It is not too 
 much to hope and pray for. When I stand on these whitened 
 hills of Vermont, and look down the great line of Empires stretch- 
 ing to the gulf, and think that summer already reigns at the far 
 end, — how varied have been the fates! how various are the 
 powers and uses of the United States! how complicated must 
 always be their common political economy! how conservative and 
 calm must be the central governor! I am reminded of the Chariot 
 and horses of the Sun, on St. Mark's Column [cathedral?] at 
 Venice, and on the Arc de la Place du Carrousel at Paris, — a 
 fiery divergent team. — I am struck with the almost religious 
 faith in Lincoln's honesty, energy and wisdom, which has taken 
 hold of men's minds. There is but the one thing said: — No 
 other could have saved the Country! This is extravagant; but 
 worthy of consideration. He must be a worthy man who im- 
 presses a whole nation thus. 
 
 Here I am among the Taconic hills, and can see nothing. 
 It is vexatious. A geologist in four feet of snow is a somnam- 
 bulisr with eyes open seeing nothing. How I long to map this 
 country properly! I am sure that I could map Vermont in one 
 season, and Massachusetts in another. 
 
 ... I must go now and try to find some geologist in Rutland 
 to talk to, and see, if I can, some of the Taconic fossils. 
 
4o6 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvn 
 
 Montreal, Feh. 24, '62. 
 
 After a morning spent with Sir William [Dawson] (who asked 
 of his own accord in the midst of a geological discussion, after 
 you, and whether you had not come along with me), and Sterry 
 Hunt, over the maps, and documents, and specimens, of the 
 Taconic System, in the great Cabinet; and after a tremendous 
 buffeting walk through a blinding sleety snow-storm back; I 
 sit down between dressing for dinner and the dinner bell at two 
 o'clock to continue the letter which I failed to put in the Post- 
 office this morning. 
 
 Sunday morning they took me to the Cathedral. . . . The 
 first pew was filled by Sir Fen wick Williams (Hero of Kars), 
 Commander-in-Chief in Canada, a bald-headed, fine-looking man, 
 wrapped in a great-coat; his aid, Captain Grant; another gen- 
 eral whom I forget; and Colonel Wetherell. Beauty and wealth 
 filled the church. You never saw such cunning little round caps 
 of fur as the girls wear, with nets for the hair behind, and face 
 or eye veils in front. And the music — I mean the responses, 
 especially from the dhildren in the chancel, was lovely. I en- 
 joyed every moment. On my way back Mr. Gurdwood, Assistant 
 Surgeon in one of the regiments, and young Stevenson, whom 
 you recollect, persuaded me to return to the Cathedral to see the 
 parade of the Fusileers and Guards (parts of two regiments) 
 into the Cathedral, for their own especial service at 1.30 o'clock. 
 I stood beside as they filed into the Church, and saw them with 
 great emotion. They were all apparently picked men, although 
 I have since been told that they were not; tall, stout, firm, steady, 
 plucky men, most of the Guard looking like workingmen, or rather 
 as if they belonged to the class of English footmen; their ser- 
 geants, sons of the nobility, and their other officers men of high 
 rank; Lord Fred. Pawlet, of distinguished fame, their brigade 
 major. These Guards are the nobility of the English army, 
 their Captains ranking as high, I believe, as the Colonels of the 
 other regiments (of the line). The Fusileers are a Scotch regi- 
 ment of the same grand size, — no man accepted under six feet. 
 I saw one man who must have been nearly seven feet. Many 
 of them being Presbyterians, were marching to a meeting-house, 
 while these came to the Cathedral. The Fusileers looked in the 
 face better — I mean as if they were educated — which none of 
 the Guards did. But compare even the Fusileers with a Mas- 
 sachusetts regiment, and you see at once the superiority of the 
 latter, as gentlemen and men of mind. But in physique, and 
 bulldog courage, and dogged resolve to die for the Queen and 
 
i862 WAR TIMES 407 
 
 their flag, — God save us from an avalanche of these dreadful 
 troops upon our soil! Yet all Canada is now in the same whirl 
 of excitement, in anticipation of a war with us, that we were this 
 time last year, or a httle later. They all think war inevitable. 
 Every man is drilling; the whole volunteer force, or rather militia 
 of the Provinces, is under arms; and they accuse us of having 
 sent over surveyors, to map the strategic points along the St. 
 Lawrence, and the Lakes, which has greatly exasperated them. 
 I find a much more quiet feeling toward the North, — much less 
 sympathy with the South, than I anticipated. The victories 
 have done wonders. We must remember, too, that these same 
 terrible Roman-like troops of England followed blindly their 
 blind leaders into the net at Saratoga, and Yorktown, and were 
 repulsed before New Orleans, as before the Redan. By the 
 way, last evening Colonel Conolly took tea with us: — he was 
 in that awful charge of Balaklava, and told us that every twenty- 
 ninth of October (?) the survivors meet in London to dine, and 
 drink only two toasts, — the Queen, and the lost in the charge. 
 Neither he, nor any one else who has been in the charge, will 
 speak of it except in a distant way in connection with other sub- 
 jects. 
 
 Montreal, Feb. 2'jth, 1862. 
 
 The Bishop's party was last evening, a grand affair (to me). 
 He is Archbishop of the Provinces. I was the last person to 
 leave the room, and talking with him a few minutes, in a little 
 group round some flowers in the upper end of the room, he pulled 
 an English primrose, and gave it to me for you. Here it is; 
 badly crushed, I am sorry to say; but receive it direct from apos- 
 tolic metropolitan hands. The hall was a trussed-ceiling hall, 
 with the entrance from the narrow staircase hall on the middle 
 of one side, and to the other rooms, and great staircase on the 
 other. A table ran down the middle; library cases occupied the 
 sides, an aquarium and air-tight flora box to one end, and a 
 gorgeous west end window the other. Soon after we arrived, 
 and were announced by name, and received by the Bishop, and 
 his little old wife (without a sign of hoops), the place began to 
 crowd up with young ladies, in vast gauze flounces, and low-neck 
 dresses; ugly and coarse, old and elderly ladies, spruce, good- 
 looking, unintellectual clergy and bar, and a score or two of 
 scarlet uniforms elegantly pointed, barred and edged with gold 
 lace, and in some few cases fronted with decorating. One old 
 general I saw with a row of decorations, beginning with the 
 
4o8 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvii 
 
 Peninsular and Waterloo, and ending with China, Sebastopol and 
 the Mezjid, which dangled forward in a sort of tattered curtain, as 
 he bent to look at the foot of a fly, in the magnificent microscope 
 of Mr. Blackwell, which Mr. King (with whom I drive to see 
 the deflection of the Bridge to-day) exhibited to guests, seeking 
 relief from the press and heat, in a little room opposite the re- 
 freshment rooms. Among others who came, there was the fat 
 old Dean, whom I could not seduce into conversation; and the 
 P. M. O. (Principal Medical Officer, — our Brigade Surgeon, or 
 Staff Surgeon I suppose) Taylor, whom I found to my delight 
 an ardent friend of our Side. I had an animated talk with Adj't 
 Gen. Colonel McKenzie, who is just arrived with the fresh troops, 
 to teach us courtesy and submission perhaps to her Majesty 
 the Queen, which conversation is to be shortly renewed under 
 more favorable circumstances, when I will enlighten him further. 
 In fact, I have had excited an ardent desire to give a lecture to 
 these military gentlemen, and may yet do so, when I have com- 
 pleted the great map of the United States, which I commence 
 to-day. You will have few and short letters from me hereafter, 
 I fear, because my only time is before breakfast. All the rest 
 of the day I am talking, or examining documents, or sleighing 
 to some point of interest. 
 
 '. , . You have no idea how I enjoyed last evening. A journey 
 to Vesuvius would not have afforded me more curious pleasure. 
 But I must go further back, for I left off my narrative on Mon- 
 day. You had (I see) a terrific gale on Saturday and Sunday. 
 It reached us on Monday, with a deadly cold. I spent the morn- 
 ing with Sir William Logan and Hunt in the museum, and the 
 evening with two friends at home, not being able to take the 
 ladies to Miss Lunn's "Blue" or soiree, where a little lecture is 
 part of the programme. 
 
 Tuesday morning, we drove in the fierce arctic wind to the 
 shops at St. Charles Point, where the roofs were covered with 
 icicles bent by the wind. There we saw the great twenty-five 
 by fifteen foot map, making, on the floor of the upper room at 
 one end of the great car-shop, by Mr. Plunket. 
 
 At dinner-time, Jos. Savage called on me, and at tea Mrs. 
 Dawson came; afterwards Sir William Logan, Hunt and Dr. 
 Dawson himself, and we talked until midnight. 
 
 Wednesday, we went to the office on the Main Street in the 
 city to see what room I can occupy, to work in; and wrote long 
 letters to various parties in Washington, on business. Spent the 
 evening as I have described at the Bishop's. 
 
i862 WAR TIMES 409 
 
 We are just starting for the Victoria Bridge, to study the 
 effect of the sunlight on its sides, and this evening I tea with 
 Dawson and see his collection. 
 
 Saturday we have Dr. Muir, and Sir William, and to-morrow 
 perhaps, or next Monday, Lord Pawlet and his aide Captain 
 Seymour. 
 
 So it goes. My health is very good. I take long walks in the 
 snow. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Feb. 28, 1862. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Mr. Bliss told me that Government have taken since 
 yesterday all the steamers great and small between New York, 
 here and Baltimore. Newspapers are forbidden to publish any 
 War news, and things look like a great time of some sort. Mr. 
 Sumner writes James Furness that our late victories have put 
 back the Anti-slavery cause. Mr. Bliss says if the War comes 
 to an end without advancing Emancipation, the Anti-slavery 
 agitation will be such as the Country never dreamed of, for hun- 
 dreds and thousands of men like himself who have always kept 
 quiet, will then be worse than the most rabid AboHtionists. How 
 strange are the chances of War! . . . 
 
 Montreal, March 16, 1862. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Things go on as usual here. I am very much worn out 
 with my huge map, although it is beautiful and every one delighted. 
 Of course I see a great many errors and faults in it which others 
 do not suspect. But all these will correct themselves in time. 
 To-morrow I begin to lay on colors. . . . 
 
 I am surrounded here with magnificence and luxury; curios- 
 ities and rarities, instruments, cabinets; each room a gallery 
 of precious works of art, water-colors and engravings, bronzes 
 and parian statuettes; but — I want none of them; I am satisfied 
 with our future prospects of a single room and our four selves. . . . 
 There may be infinite opportunities, means and desires; but the 
 performance amounts to next to nothing. I have had a glimpse 
 of the EngHsh nobiHty; — it is on the whole no more attractive than 
 the professional, the mercantile, or the mechanic worlds; less so 
 in one important and ruling sense; it is dolce far niente — labo- 
 rious pleasure, accomplishing nothing worthy of remembrance or 
 record. Inutility characterizes all that I have seen here. The 
 grand military immigration is a step forward for no purpose but 
 to be taken back again. The Grand Trunk is a "job" to enrich 
 
41 o LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvn 
 
 the over-rich; and could hardly have been a worse planned or 
 worse executed enterprise. But for its right arm, the Portland 
 branch, it would be a dead body. The whole population of 
 English residents here seem to me to be loafers, fed by a sort of 
 aristocratic poor-law system. Young men (all of them, whom 
 I have seen) do their work in the most slovenly, awkward, slow 
 and protestant manner, — as if it was a great mistake that they, 
 and not others, had been set at the work. Play here is as ruling 
 a passion as work is in the States. Our military arrangements 
 and undertakings and performances are, I think, far in advance 
 of anything of which England is now capable. Certainly our 
 Civil inventions and executions overwhelm hers with shame — 
 I speak soberly. I used to think English mechanic art supreme; 
 I do not think so now. I go back to the States with my patriot- 
 ism intensified and enlightened in more than one point. 
 
 Brooklyn, May 5, 1862. Susan Lesley to Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... I have read the May Atlantic through, and admire the 
 "Hindrance," which I suppose is Mr. Emerson's, and was much 
 pleased with the Slavery article. — Is not that Higginson's? Mr. 
 Hodge brought me to-day a long and very interesting letter to 
 read, from Dana Greene, — First Lieutenant on the Monitor, 
 describing the whole action. . . . 
 
 Sunday Evening, May 18, 1862, Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I cannot go to sleep without sending you my blessing and 
 my congratulations on the wonderful news of the fall of Norfolk 
 and Portsmouth, the recovery of the Navy Yard, the destruction 
 of the dreaded Merrimac, the victory of Foote's flotilla over the 
 rebel fleet at Fort Wright, and the imminent capitulations of the 
 two rebel armies. How wonderful is this rush of the drama to its 
 finale! It all sounds like a fiction. Wars used to be waged by 
 Commanders for their amusement, or for their private interest. 
 This war is the earnest effort of a nation to save itself. It seems 
 more like the combined effort of the faculties of the human body 
 to conquer and throw off a disease at the crisis — than like anything 
 else in history. McClellan will now indeed be the hero of the 
 day. He will replace WeUington. We must despair of nothing. 
 Let us not croak about the war coming too rapidly to an end. 
 God will know how to complete the work. Let us have a re- 
 newed faith in providence. Let us rejoice without cavilling. A 
 generation of strong and honest men have been born to us in 
 
i862 WAR TIMES 
 
 411 
 
 the last year, and in their hands, slavery will find no favor. 
 The whole nation has received eyesight and hearing, and it will 
 be hard for the worn-out Democratic partisan leaders to make 
 their old arts succeed, in the new times on which we enter. The 
 black men may not get all their rights immediately; but let us 
 hope that they will get them as fast as they can find opportu- 
 nity for exercising them. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, May 20, 1862. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . The President has repudiated Hunter's proclamation.* 
 And yet how touching are the good man's words! He seems 
 to me like one from another world, so pure and true, — in spite 
 of the ten-acre lot. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, May 27, 1862. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . The excitement here upon Banks' defeat reminds me 
 of this time last year. The passage of the Confiscation bill, the 
 close vote and defeat of the Emancipation bill, the uncertain 
 condition of all our armies, the coming of the great man, Sigel, 
 to headquarters, the call for 200,000 Volunteers, the mobbing 
 of Secesh men in Maryland, make together a din in which one's 
 soul can't hear itself speak. All business was abandoned yester- 
 day. But I have confidence that order will come out of this 
 confusion. . . . 
 
 In June, 1862, he again v^ent north on a surveying 
 trip to the coast of Cape Breton at Glass Bay, and he spent 
 about two months in those bleak solitudes. 
 
 * In May, 1862, General David Hunter, whom Lincoln had recently 
 appointed to command the Department of the South, "issued an order of 
 Military emancipation." . . . This order declared "Slavery and Martial 
 law in a free country are altogether incompatible. The persons in these 
 three States — Georgia, Florida, and South Carolina — heretofore held as 
 slaves are therefore declared forever free." 
 
 The President did not receive news of this order for a week. "Lin- 
 coln's own judgment of the act was definite and prompt. 'No command- 
 ing general shall do such a thing.'" 
 
 "Three days later (May 19th, 1862) the President published a procla- 
 mation reciting that the Government had no knowledge or part in the issu- 
 ing of Hunter's orders of emancipation, that neither Hunter nor any other 
 person had been authorized to declare free the slaves of any State, and that 
 his order in that respect was altogether void." . . . {From Abraham Lin- 
 coln, a History, Nicolay and Hay, vol. vi. pp. 90-96.) 
 
412 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvii 
 
 Sydney, N.S., June 29, 1862. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Our whole voyage has far surpassed my worst expecta- 
 tions. . . . My accommodations for the next three weeks will be no 
 doubt as bad as possible. . . . The ship was full, but Estes [Howe] 
 and I had a state-room. At the next table were plenty of raging 
 French exiles from the intolerable despotism of General Butler, 
 at New Orleans. I pitied them, for they said it was the first day 
 since "The Occupation" that they had dared to wag their tongues. 
 ... At Halifax we had two hours, and went all over the fine 
 fortification on the hill above the parliament building, and round 
 the town. It is a stone citadel of great extent, with lunette forts 
 outside, and commands a great plain back of the city. In the 
 Senate or Council Chamber, I saw portraits of the Georges, and 
 of the Judges — Haliburton, etc., — and old Winthrop of Massa- 
 chusetts. The Harbor is magnificent, and seems to me finer 
 than that of New York. But who would live in such a dead-and- 
 alive village, on such an inhospitable coast? 
 
 The life at "Little Glass Bay" was hard and bare, with 
 rough lodging and scanty food, but the letters show that 
 my father enjoyed the place and the work. I quote only 
 small portions of these letters. 
 
 Little Glass Bay, neae. Sydney, July 9, 1862. 
 Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... In the morning we attended the Scotch Church ... A 
 hard-featured congregation remained to hear a second sermon, — 
 in Gaelic, or the native Highland Scotch. I was too tired to stop 
 to listen; in fact, I know but two or three Gaelic words, one of 
 which is uiske, which means water. This island of Cape Breton, 
 of which Sydney was the capital, was chiefly settled by the High- 
 land Scotch, and we have in the Company's employ three Roder- 
 ick Dhus. Two miles south of us lives Donald McDonald; and 
 among the hands may be found various members of the Clans, 
 McPherson, Mclntyre, McEachran and McPhail; with here and 
 there a border name, such as Campbell; but not a Graham nor 
 Murray nor Lesley to be heard of, for these belong to the lowlands. 
 The long parallel peninsulas, v^dth fiords or friths between, and 
 islands at their ends; the high mountains and indented shores; 
 the sea fogs and fisheries, all combine to make the Scotch High- 
 lander feel himself at home here; and thus we have another fine 
 illustration of the law according to which species creep along 
 
i862 WAR TIMES 413 
 
 natural zones of the earth's surface, and plant themselves at a 
 distance, only when all their new circumstances resemble the 
 old. 
 
 Last evening I walked in the moonlight along the shore, before 
 going to bed, and never felt so perfectly happy and peaceful in 
 the contemplation of nature. The immense expanse of waters 
 and skies; the never-ceasing waves beating on the shores; the 
 round, bright, silent, cheery, beneficent moon, preceding the tides 
 and magnetizing every vein of life in our planet; the exquisite 
 simple reflection of it in the unstirred bay, and the sparkling trail 
 of light and delicate striation crosswise of the image, when a sigh 
 of wind crept across its face; the tall and silent machinery, brood- 
 ing, sleeping over the begun work; the silent workshops and 
 forges on the bank; the great half-finished scows on their beds, 
 looking like sick men who have dozed away after long protracted 
 pains, pounded as they are by the caulkers and carpenters all 
 day; the far-off ships at anchor in the roads, waiting for the coal 
 lighters to come again to-morrow; and the backwoods of the in- 
 land, a multitudinous race, harboring untold life, of bugs and flies 
 and larger creatures, all asleep. . . . 
 
 AIJ. other topics and events [except the War] seem insignificant. 
 I can see clearly no end to this history. Europe stands appalled 
 and horror-struck at the desperation, size and ruin of the con- 
 flict. All other emotions seem swallowed up in one — a dread 
 amazement. . . . 
 
 Saturday, July 18. 
 
 More news to-day makes me so sad and anxious, so heart-sick 
 about the country, that I can hardly remain here. . . . 
 
 Jamaica Plain, July 22, 1862. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO HER Husband. 
 
 . . . The state of the country at this time keeps all serious 
 persons anxious and earnest. Most thoughtful people have utterly 
 lost faith in McClellan as a General, and the late developments 
 of Mr. Chandler of Michigan in Congress prove him to have been 
 a blunderer and a bungler from the beginning. The President's 
 last address to the border states men is a fine statement of some 
 of his difficulties. I have cut it out and send it, thinking you may 
 not see it. The complications of the War grow more and more 
 difficult to meet and solve, and bad as McClellan is, who is 
 there to take his place? . . . 
 
414 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvii 
 
 Aug. 12, 1862. To HER Husband. 
 
 . . , We are saddened to-day by news of the fearful attack on 
 Banks' division and the probable loss of so many we know. James 
 Savage left dying on the battlefield, and Gary, Quincy, and so 
 many fine young men of Boston, either wounded or missing. 
 And to think of Port Royal and our young people there,* and the 
 poor negroes who have kept saying so touchingly to their teachers, 
 "Too good to last, Massa, too good to last." Think of their being 
 in danger of attack, and not half protected. God help our be- 
 loved country! How dark everything looks! . . . 
 
 Phh-adelphia, Sept. 3, 1862. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . This morning's news are somewhat better, but brave 
 Kearney is gone. How flat and profitless all the common doings 
 of life seem at such a time! But I believe in the overruling hand; 
 that it will redress our wrongs slowly and surely, and bring order 
 out of confusion and a new and lasting peace out of this wicked 
 war. The excitement on McClellan's behalf was intense on Mon- 
 day, several men being mobbed and beaten for pronouncing him 
 (what I believe him to be) a traitor. It is dangerous here to say 
 so in the street. The Ingersoll traitors manufacture this ''' demo- 
 cratic" sentiment in his favor, to thwart the government. 
 
 Jamaica Plain, Sept. 5, 1862. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Pray do not consider McClellan a traitor. Think only 
 how much he would lose by being one, and gain nothing. Think 
 too how everything shows simply shiftlessness and incompetency, 
 gross crimes it is true in times like these, but still not treachery. 
 Please don't think that, I beg of you. . . . 
 
 Sept. 8, 1862. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . The political news are not discouraging. The rebellion 
 only seems to prosper. It is the last blowing and beating of the 
 air of a gladiator bleeding to death. If the Lord send us a few 
 days' rain to swell the Potomac, we will catch them all. In any 
 case, they cannot penetrate far north. The invasion will only 
 rouse the North. We have got rid of McDowell and Pope is sent 
 to St. Louis. Heintzelman and Reno are A No. i, and Sigel will 
 be the next to try. 
 
 * See "Letters from Port Royal, written at the time of the Civil War. 
 Edited by Elizabeth Ware Pearson. Boston: W. B, Clarke Company, 1906." 
 
i862 WAR TIMES 
 
 415 
 
 Philadelphia, Sept. 10, 1862. To his Wlfe. 
 
 ... I heard my friend Harned repeat this morning conversa- 
 tions with Heintzelman, greatly to McClellan's credit, and Pope's 
 disadvantage. He says McDowell would have died to retrieve 
 Bull Run, but followed Pope's orders and so incurred the wrath 
 of the soldiers. Heintzelman avers he saw Pope's o^vn troops 
 march and countermarch twice across the field and refuse to fire 
 a gun, so intensely they hated Pope. They would not fight. 
 Four of our chief generals laid their commissions on Stanton's 
 table — unless Pope was dismissed. 
 
 Whom can we believe ? What is truth ? But all will be well 
 in the end. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Sept. 10, 1862. Peter Lesley 
 TO Miss C. Robbins. 
 
 ... I ought to have put into this letter to you, instead of into 
 one I wrote Susan this morning, what I heard about Heintzelman, 
 Pope and McClellan. It is surprising how every assertion of his 
 enemies is point-blank contradicted by his friends, and how en- 
 tirely satisfied people seem here with McClellan being in supreme 
 command. For my part I have no faith in any one who once be- 
 longed to Quitman, and the Lone Star Association. I cannot 
 agree with you in interpreting Heaven, — for the prolongation of 
 the war may be the one thing needful — the dog-day weather to 
 ripen the fruits. . . . 
 
 In this night a nation's liberties are being born, and the idea 
 of ideas born again. If the black race receive liberty and educa- 
 tion by it, the sorrows of the war will be forgotten. My heart 
 bleeds for the widow and the orphan nevertheless; for my own 
 wife may be a widow, and my children orphans, before the war 
 ends. I wish I could see my way clear. I would start to-morrow 
 for Sharpsburg. Horace Furness is there, making himself very 
 useful. The army ofiicers at last confess they don't know what 
 they would have done without the Sanitary Commission. . . . 
 Then all my professional engineering abilities and experience go 
 for nothing, at a time when they might be useful. Bache says 
 they need very much a military map of the environs of Philadel- 
 phia. But I have no means to make one and am so bound by 
 engagements that I can't stir.* . . . 
 
 * My father's extreme near-sightedness made it impossible for him to 
 be a soldier 
 
41 6 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvii 
 
 Philadelphia, Sept. i8, 1862. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... All the world is moved with joy and grief and horror at the 
 carnage and victories of the last few days. Whatever may be 
 in future our lot, certainly the success of the rebel raid would 
 have been dreadful, and we therefore rejoice that it is stopped. 
 Henry is sorely distressed about his favorite regiment, Col. Greg- 
 ory's — all cut to pieces. Col. Miles seems to have played the 
 Ball's Bluff game over again, and been shot to escape hanging. 
 Carlyle says, " The American war is the dirtiest chimney that 
 has been on fire for a century." Let it burn itself out; it will 
 purify the atmosphere of the whole world. I wish I could take 
 the cheerful view of the issues of the war, that I took last spring. 
 But let us do our duty as individuals and God will write our 
 history. Our own little terms of life are but very short, and all 
 the future is not to be hurried up at the command of our impa- 
 tience. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Sept. 25, 1862. To his Wlfe. 
 
 ... I have just returned from . . . West Chester. . . . On the 
 roads, we saw poor, weary, returned soldiers, for whom I felt 
 great compassion. I feel a continual shame and desire to take 
 part in the war, much as I shrink from bloody deeds and the 
 violent ways of doing good. The example of good men, and 
 especially of good young men, is very magnetic. Then, the great 
 proclamation which has suddenly come at last, converts the war 
 into what we wished it to be at first, a holy crusade for human 
 liberties. The death of Edward and wounding of Paul Revere* 
 touch me deeply. Poor parents! poor Wife! poor Sisters! 
 How many wives are inconsolable! How many children are 
 adrift for life! Words cannot write the history of such a war. 
 While others suffer, we are safe. I feel as if this ought not to be. 
 Happiness at such a time is almost a crime. I do not know what 
 to think or say about our affairs. I feel unwilling to criticise any- 
 body's character or conduct; except those flagitious wretches 
 whose personal pride, and the ambitious, arrogance of whose 
 class, have precipitated us into this maelstrom of woes. I take 
 no interest in the subjects of daily life, when two short months 
 must decide for another year of carnage — or against it. The 
 drums beat all day long under my window; and the loveliest 
 music plays in the' centre of the square in the afternoon; but 
 these are the trappings of death. . . . 
 
 * A Memorial of Paul Joseph Revere and Edward H. R. Revere. Pri- 
 vately printed. Boston: William Parsons Lunt. 1874. 
 
i862 WAR TIMES 417 
 
 [Mass. Gen. Hosp.] Sept. 26, 1862. Susan I. Lesley 
 TO HER Husband. 
 
 . . . The poor Reveres are bearing their grief like Christians. 
 Edward did not die as I told you [by a spent ball]; that was 
 the first supposition. He had done all he could for the wounded 
 on the battlefield, had performed several amputations and dressed 
 all the wounds, when some one cried out, " Our men are flagging, 
 Col. Lee has lost all his staff officers." — "Do our men flag?" 
 cried Edward. "Hayward," he said to his assistant surgeon, 
 " I have done all I can do here. Col. Lee must not fail for officers." 
 And he seized the arms of a fallen man, and rushed into the 
 ranks, restoring order by his presence, and cheering on the men. 
 It must have been less than an hour after that that he fell. Shot 
 through the heart. In the confusion that followed his body lay 
 two days on the battlefield, before he was found. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Sept. 27, 1862. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Your account of Edward Revere excites my admiration. 
 Poor Palmer, Joe's friend and admiration, Colonel of the Ander- 
 son troop, is lost — perhaps hung as a spy. Joe was terribly 
 excited yesterday by the telegrams of the railroad disaster. Two 
 other disasters succeeded it the same day. The Convention of 
 Governors had some secret history, which is now to be suppressed, 
 if possible. Oh — I hear worlds of things which I can't write — 
 and forget even to repeat. The planets have forsaken their 
 courses. God rules, nevertheless. . . . 
 
 Oct. 2, 1862. Peter Lesley to Miss Catherine Robbins, 
 
 ... I have taken two days round with the U.S. Navy Com- 
 mission to show them the iron elephant. The champagne and 
 lobster salad are sad remembrancers; but otherwise it was pleas- 
 ant. — The death and desolation of the Civil War is strangely 
 crossed and seamed with these anomalous frolics. When I 
 reflect — I take an interest in nothing personal. Private losses 
 and business troubles are moonshine and shame, to the night of 
 public misery in which we travel. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Nov. 3, 1862. To the Same. 
 
 . . . Yesterday was every way a good day for us, and to-day 
 . . . money unexpectedly comes from London, . . . and I pray 
 the elections in New York may disappoint the rebel hopes and 
 re-enforce the good President's right hand. The rudder clatters 
 
41 8 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvii 
 
 fearfully, and the ship minds the helm badly enough; . . . but in 
 this Country, as a rule, every secret thing is made known sooner 
 or later, and the covert wickedness is punished before it has 
 grown over-powerful. Let us hope on, hope ever. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Day after Thanksgiving [Nov. 20 (?), 1862.] 
 Susan I. Lesley to Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . The day was fine, and Mr. Furness preached well, and 
 took the most hopeful view of these dark times. He quoted a 
 letter from Washington, written to one of his Generals in the 
 third year of the old war, in which he spoke of Patriotism having 
 died out of the country, and the army, even the very idea of free- 
 dom, as also of the persons in high places, whose sole object was 
 some small personal, political and private end. Mr. Furness said 
 we are so in the habit of dwelling on the degeneracy of this war, 
 that it is well to know that the same complaints were made then, 
 in spite of their great and final success, and that the men of those 
 times were not all saints and heroes, more than now. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Dec. 5, 1862. Susan I. Lesley 
 
 TO HER BROTHER JOSEPH LyMAN. 
 
 ... I was much obliged to you for vsriting "Some sinking 
 Peter" an encouraging letter on the times. Before he received 
 it, he was considerably set up by McClellan's removal, but, oh, 
 dear, one needs letters from New England, and everything else 
 to keep up hope, that has to live in this benighted region. . . . 
 Philadelphia generally is what I call "in the gall of bitterness 
 and bonds of iniquity." . . . 
 
 Feb. 14, 1863. Peter Lesley to Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . The Country is in a bad way apparently, just now, and 
 unable to cast off its sickness, but it will not be mortal. Depend 
 upon the balance of power being in the end upon the side of right 
 and liberty. Recuperation keeps pace with exhaustion. Like 
 flying neuralgia, the war attacks now one region, now another 
 of the body politic, and will give it constant and terrible pain, but 
 life is tenacious, and the forces of nature infinite and self-pro- 
 ductive. The democracy is divided, and the government has the 
 armed organization to guard itself against treason. The South 
 is growing more and more desperate, but more and more exhausted. 
 Above all men, women and children are growing accustomed 
 to the new ideas of the day. These are the forces to rule the 
 
1863 WAR TIMES 419 
 
 future. Look at the whole and not at details, and you will 
 feel how much better off God is than the devil, in this hand-to- 
 hand conflict. . . . 
 
 In a letter from my mother to her brother, Joseph Lyman, 
 of March 8, 1863, is the following sentence: — 
 
 Yesterday came an official letter from the Honorable Henry 
 Wilson, naming him [Peter] as one of the corporators of the new 
 National Academy of Sciences, and asking his attendance at 
 the first meeting in New York. This was a very great surprise 
 to Peter, a thing entirely unsought and unsolicited, and gives 
 him pleasure. He says he is quite mortified at himself, that he 
 can be so tickled with a straw. . . . 
 
 Walter Brown's, New York, April 23, 1863, Thursday. 
 Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Yesterday I dined here and went down to the eight 
 o'clock evening session, at which we heard and began to vote 
 upon the constitution and by-laws, as reported by the committee 
 of nine appointed in the morning. When it came to the article 
 imposing the fealty oath of the Government upon candidates for 
 membership, we had a most exciting debate, in which I was com- 
 pelled to join in three or four speeches, against Leidy, St. Alex- 
 ander, W. B. Rogers, Newberry, and one or two others, while 
 the most stirring and thorough-going little speeches were made 
 by Agassiz, Bache, Gould and Frazer. After repeated protes- 
 tations from the Copperheads that they were ready to take that 
 or any oath, but unwilling to exclude "repentant" "brethren" 
 "for all time" "who had gone through lire," etc., etc., I urged 
 there were men among [us] who had goni: through the same fire 
 and come out pure gold; but those they were providing for had 
 failed to stand the test. This brought Barnard of Mississippi 
 to his feet, who had forsaken all and come North. He spoke 
 as only the Union men in the South can speak. He assured us 
 there was not a man of science in the South who would not 
 continue to be a rebel, and spit on our diploma. Leidy threat- 
 ened to resign. When we passed the resolution, he asked to be 
 recorded against it. Frazer and I immediately called for the 
 ayes and noes; but afterwards it was all hushed up and no record 
 was made, by general consent. Agassiz, like a glorious fellow 
 as he is, led off and gave us courage; Bache, like a cunning old 
 
420 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvn 
 
 dog, waited until we had all spoken and then came in, like the 
 ironsides, with one of the most thundering broadsides ever fired. 
 W. B. Rogers, who yesterday came to me and inquired affection- 
 ately after you, and told me that Emma was going out to see the 
 black regiment when he came away, was extremely embarrassed 
 and troubled, appealing to his record as an old and consistent 
 anti-slavery man. Robert sat by and said nothing, looking so the 
 picture of consumptive and dismembered despair, that my heart 
 bled whenever I saw him. [Prof.] Henry escaped by being in 
 the chair. Caswell, the Secretary, Gould and other politic ones 
 urged all the while that when the time of penitence and recon- 
 ciliation should come, the oath should be set aside ( !) . Some one, 
 I willingly forget who, argued that we would lose government 
 patronage, unless we bid for it with the oath; I suspect it was 
 only an unfortunate way of stating a higher truth, that we are 
 the children of the government, and the Academy is the creation 
 of the government, and owes it an oath of allegiance as its first 
 duty. . . . 
 
 AsTOR Library, New York, April 24, 1863. Peter Lesley 
 TO HIS Wife. 
 
 ... It is Friday afternoon, four o'clock, and we have just ad- 
 journed, ... I have a world of anecdote, to tell you about the 
 long hard three days' meetings, and the splendid success of the 
 organization as it appears. Time will show how much reality 
 underlies this show. We have laid down the base of a pyramid 
 for all ages. . . . 
 
 Early in June, 1863, my father again went north to the 
 Cape Breton country. On the way spent four delightful 
 days among his Boston friends. 
 
 Boston, June 3, 1863. To his Wipe. 
 
 . . . I can't describe my "emharras des riches ses^^ in the way 
 of friends. I have forty miles of houses to call at, and only 
 four days to do it in. Monday a.m. early I take cars to Port- 
 land to catch the steamer. I arrived here Wednesday five p.m., 
 having had Runkel for a brilliant companion. He and Wm. B. 
 Rogers have founded the Institute of Technology. . . . Spent 
 the whole afternoon with Chauncey [Wright]. He is fat and 
 
 "handsome," as • insists on our saying. Winlock, head 
 
 of the Nautical Almanac, and member of National Academy, 
 came in, and I saw B. Peirce in the street. . . . 
 
1863 WAR TIMES 421 
 
 Boston, June 14, 1863. To his Wife. 
 
 „ . . As I walked towards the house last evening, Mr. Green 
 drove by and pulled up and greeted me with great delight. Sent 
 his and Mrs. Green's love to you, etc., etc. I found him again 
 at the cars, with Wendell Phillips, who is boarding there, and 
 who told me that the President assured him last January ist that 
 he meant to have 100,000 blacks under arms by February, and 
 200,000 by August. We have now less than 20,000. He now 
 promises to Stearns to grant commissions to the blacks who 
 deserve them. 
 
 Parker House, Boston, June 14, 1863. To his Wife. 
 
 ... At every turn I meet a new and well-loved face. How 
 many friends we have! . . . 
 
 . . . Went to church. James F. Clarke preached a wonder- 
 fully touching and enlightening sermon from "In my Father's 
 house," etc., and a large and living congregation sang divinely 
 some lovely songs. I had a hand-shake from him and his wife, 
 and Mr. Bond, but could not find Cousin Susan to come home 
 with. I dined with them however, and then called on Julia 
 Metcalf, who took me to the splendid new Jesuits' church, to 
 vespers, and afterwards into the college, to introduce me to 
 Father Varsi, a young professor of Natural History, etc., an 
 Italian, with whom she and I and Miss Dana had a delightful 
 talk of half an hour. . . . 
 
 At Sea between Eastport and St. John, June 16, 1863. 
 To HIS Wife. 
 
 ... I blow you a kiss, across wind and wave, and over the 
 land; where the old Puritan fathers lived, and loved, and worked, 
 and died, in faith of an immortal life, — the land of energy and 
 fidelity, — the land of piety and charity, — the blessing of the earth, 
 — from which streams of intelligence and high-mindedness have 
 gone forth to make green the West, — the arsenal of conquests 
 over and salvations for the South, and for distant regions not yet 
 entered on the ledger book of History. I seem to see this work- 
 shop and school-house of New England sending out millions 
 of mechanic master minds, and prophets, and apostles of knowl- 
 edge, to show a thousand nations how to be born, and to grow up, 
 between [the Arctic Circle and] the Straits of Magellan. What a 
 destiny! . . . 
 
 There are a number of interesting people on board; a lonely 
 girl in a great pea-jacket, coming down to the ground; half a 
 
422 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvn 
 
 dozen supercilious English people; wounded soldiers returning, 
 armless and on crutches; lumbermen from the Aroostook region. 
 But I cannot get up any interest in anything. "My heart's in 
 the Highlands, my heart is not here." If you were by my side 
 how different it would be! Old — old — old — alas for the departed 
 joy of youth! The spring of life is tempered out. The needle 
 slowly answers to the current; its pivot requires new sharpening. 
 The hot heart alone keeps its full life. The Lord's will be done. 
 — The news from the Rappahannock disturbs me. I am afraid 
 Hooker will be worse than McClellan. The Lord's will be 
 done. But I wish I could see how. . . . 
 
 Chaelottetown, Prince Edward Island, June i8, 1863. 
 To HIS Wife. 
 
 ... I spent the whole evening with Howard, discussing the 
 war and the previous history of Sec. Chase, Lincoln, and other 
 politicians personally known to him. Chase was an obscure 
 and detested Cincinnati lawyer, known only by his resistance to 
 the Fugitive Slave Law, when he was sent to Congress first, 
 by three "liberty men" who held the balance of power between 
 fifty-four Whigs and fifty-four Democrats. The Democrats 
 accepted their nomination of Chase for fear the Whigs would do 
 the same. He was made governor of Ohio by his anti-slavery 
 course and abilities in Congress, and returned to the Senate by 
 acclamation, when selected for the Treasury ofl&ce. 
 
 Here I am again returned to our muttons, instead of serving 
 you up foreign lamb. But the late news, garbled and secesh 
 telegrams as they are, have made me so anxious that I can take 
 little interest in the passing scenes. We left St. John in the cars 
 with a flock of fine-looking and agreeable Methodist preachers, 
 going to attend a Convention, on Prince Edward Island. Some 
 of them are evidently interested for our success. But it was 
 hard to lie in my berth at midnight, when the boat touched land, 
 and hear the sardonic chuckling with which the news was retailed 
 on board, as it came fresh from the telegraph ofl&ce. They sup- 
 pose here that the late nomination of Vallandigham by the Copper- 
 head Convention at Columbus was his election by the people of 
 Ohio. "Peace in three months," is the cry. "Washington is 
 taken, it is all up with you." ... Do send me as many papers 
 as you conveniently can. Never mind the expense. If two- 
 thirds miscarry, I must get our statements of the news, or these 
 hateful Southern telegrams will drive me mad. . . I felt like turn- 
 ing round and returning, several times. But one can do litde 
 
i863 WAR TIMES 423 
 
 good when hundreds of thousands are wanted. And my duty 
 lies before me. 
 
 At Moncton we had a view of the broad bend of the Petit- 
 codiac River, round which comes in the famous bore of the Bay 
 of Fundy tide, sixty feet high, the roar of which can be heard 
 on a still air, for many miles. The rise of the tides here is seventy- 
 five feet. I was strongly tempted to turn aside here, and take 
 the high stage road down the isthmus to Pictou; over the Cobe- 
 quids, and past the Hillsborough Albert oil coal mine, and other 
 interesting places; perhaps I shall return this way. . . . 
 
 Other letters from Charlottetown, Antigonish, etc., 
 en route to Sydney, are full of descriptions of the country 
 and towns, great religious conventions, geology, etc. 
 
 Sydney, June 22, 1863. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . The evening of Simday at Plaister Cove, I got into a fear- 
 fully hot and personal discussion with three Irishmen, a doctor 
 educated in Philadelphia, a merchant and a surveyor, who all 
 took the Southern side insultingly. They begged my pardon 
 afterwards; and I then learned that two of them were Catholics, 
 and nursed a grudge against me for my story of the riots of 1844, 
 at the supper table. My companions in the morning were an 
 electioneering member of parliament and his friend, from Says- 
 borough to Arashat, a Nova Scotian sea captain of Yarmouth, 
 going to look after his fine ship just wrecked in Cow Bay; and a 
 great, red, hale, good-hearted pilot from Newfoundland, who had 
 piloted the great steamer from Quebec to the Gut, which the 
 United States had bought at Buffalo and ordered round to New 
 York. Each would 'make a hero for a novel. The Yarmouth 
 man was very insulting at first, good-humored always, but cour- 
 teous and extremely friendly at the close. I worked hard to con- 
 vert the party to the Northern faith, and think I succeeded. 
 Perhaps not. The cold wet night wore round at last, and I fell 
 asleep after daybreak, to find myself at this charming old home 
 of Mrs. Rigby's. 
 
 Sydney, June 28, 1863. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I cannot conceal my admiration for Victor Hugo's pict- 
 ure of the good Bishop of D . I must confess that Victor 
 
 Hugo is one of the masters of the craft. He moreover turns its 
 arts to the divinest purposes. Here applies the maxim: "/w 
 
424 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvil 
 
 creatura creator, creaturaque in creatore." The Bishop of D 
 
 is Victor Hugo himself, or part of him. I have conceived a ven- 
 eration for the exile of Guernsey, and noM^ comprehend his great 
 reputation. You ask me to name for you some improving book 
 for this summer. Such books as "Les Miserables," "The Cloister 
 and the Hearth," and "A Tale of Tvi^o Cities" seem to me read- 
 ing, par excellence. What have v^^e to read? three things: his- 
 tory, science, and love; or nature, mankind and the soul. The 
 late novelists give you these together, and Christianized. If you 
 were a girl beginning life, I would know what to recommend — 
 each of these in detail, systematized and exemplified; or the 
 sciences, biography and history, with geography, and meta- 
 physics with religion. But you have matronly habits now, a 
 mother's duties, a brain not so well under command as once. If 
 I recommended "The Cosmos" of Humboldt, you would yawn 
 over it for a month, and reproach me for a year. If I said, read 
 Darwin, or Huxley's last, on species, or Lyell's last on human 
 vestiges in the drift, you would grow cold sitting out in such a 
 wind without sunshine. The other sciences have text-books — 
 dry impossible stuff for you. Shall you read Thiers' 46 Volumes, 
 or Bancroft's 7, or Palfrey's 2 ? If we could sit together alone 
 of evenings, or afternoons under a tree, or in a porch overgrown 
 with honeysuckles, it might succeed. Even then you would 
 forever interrupt with some story of the heart, or allusion to the 
 children, which would be charming none the less. No, read good 
 novels and reflect on what you read. . . . 
 
 July 4, 1863. To HIS WrFE. 
 
 ... I will draw you a map of our place and its surroundings, 
 by which you will understand how we have been occupied since 
 Tuesday last in surveying the country between Glace Bay Bar 
 and Schooner Bay; and the Cow Bay Road, which we did not 
 finish; but all that I undertook for identifying the coal beds and 
 enabling me to trace them across B. G. Bay on to the company's 
 lands, was very successfully performed. I have also completed 
 my materials for the continuation of my memoir for the American 
 Philosophical Society. 
 
 Ah, bah! why do I talk of all this poverty and barrenness, 
 when the land of fancy and life Hes open before us so broadly? 
 Tired with the mechanics of writing, I have just taken up Victor 
 Hugo's divine tragedy at page 78, where he begins an episode 
 suddenly with, " Once upon a time there lived a kind fairy, who 
 created meadows and trees expressly for lovers," and then for- 
 
r86.3 WAR TIMES 425 
 
 getting his fairy tale, he flies forward in his career with the words, 
 "Hence comes that eternal school among the groves for lovers, 
 which is always opening, and which will last so long as there 
 are thickets and pupils Hence comes the popularity of spring 
 among thinkers," etc. His thoughts come in the midst of his 
 descriptions, like flashes of lightning along the night tempest; 
 and his philosophies rival themselves like great ubiquitous roll- 
 ings of thunder. I have already begun to excerpt sentences 
 for you, such as: — "She who would remain virtuous, must have 
 no compassion for her hands," which I read "he" and "his," 
 and thereby re-enforce my respect for laboring men, and my 
 gratitude to the Almighty that I was not born a gentleman. . . . 
 Of Tholomyes de Toulouse he says, "But as his youth died out 
 his gayety increased; he replaced his teeth by jests, his hair by 
 joy, his health by irony, and his sick, weeping eye was always 
 laughing. He was dilapidated but covered with flowers." — His 
 most tonching appeal to charity for the French prostitutes and 
 his most brilliant honmot is a mere speck of crimson like one of 
 Turner's on a yellow landscape, ending a long description with 
 the simple ejaculation, "Alas' was the Jungfrau ever hungry?" 
 O genius! how mysterious, godlike and desirable thou art! The 
 poet is above all. One who can feel all joys and woes, describe 
 all situations as if from the finest cliffs, pronounce righteous sen- 
 tence on every action of high and low life, and still keep the rising 
 suns and coming harvests of time in full mind — is the true poet 
 and the Messias of his generation, unto whom every knee bows 
 and every tongue confesses to the glory of God the Father of 
 All. — I confess it — a new world has been opened to me by this 
 man Victor Hugo. A new style of thinking and speaking has 
 been, if not invented, brought to perfection by him. His genius 
 diffuses itself through both civilizations, that of Europe and that 
 of America, must act hke the carbonic vapors which issue from 
 some vast volcano, and spread themselves through the atmos- 
 phere of the whole planet, giving a new impulse to vegetation. 
 What infinite joy to be ordained to play such a role! But I see 
 clearly that in this case, as in all others, genius is rooted in labor 
 and is watered by time. His one chapter "On the Year 1817" 
 must have cost him six days at least of hard work. Nor can any 
 man deal so deftly with his tools, and toss over such heaps of 
 material to select out what stuff he wants, who has not spent a 
 lifetime in the practical industry of his profession. I wish I 
 knew something of his life in his island exile; I mean, what it 
 has been. Is he rich? Is he well bred, well born? Is he soli- 
 
426 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvn 
 
 tary, or much visited? Does he write by night, or by day? 
 Does he travel, or always stay at home? These and a hundred 
 other questions one puts while reading "Les Miserables." 
 
 I lament the brusque reply I made in my last letter to your 
 sweet request for some book to study. When I said your time 
 for study was passed, I meant to imply no diminution of your 
 intelligence; far from it; but only a change in your hmitations 
 of life. Reading for you now is rather to keep you from reverie 
 on the one side and gossip on the other than for systematic study. 
 It is so with me also, except when I am "reading up" a partic- 
 ular point or theme. Reading of good books converts reverie into 
 meditation; and gossip into conversation. To perform these two 
 functions, reading must be suggestive, liberal, noble-minded, in 
 other words, be characterized by information, experience and 
 reverence. The best novels are so characterized, for the best 
 novelists have studied science, travelled abroad, read history, 
 and returned to Christianity. In their stories you perceive that 
 they describe others, but are really themselves. Heroes and 
 heroines nowadays must be gentlemen and ladies of the truest 
 types or novel and novelist are together sent by the reading public 
 to Coventry. The only danger is, one that my Susie runs; she 
 reads a novel through at a sitting. This converts the medicine 
 to poison; and makes the wholesomest food an indigestible load 
 on the brain; it shuts out meditation, and prevents the memory 
 storing up for conversation; it siirrenders the reader's soul to 
 the story, as helplessly as a wreck rolls on a sea before the winds. 
 The first symptom of fatigue should be to the reader as significant 
 and as imperative, as the first sense of satiety to the eater. This 
 habit of steady reading, without intervals of work, silence, walking 
 or conversation, is what enervates and ruins the so-called "novel- 
 reader." 
 
 But I ought to have written you, before, my views of the 
 benefit it will be to you, to read elementary books to the chil- 
 dren, provided they be not elementary moral and religious books. 
 The most invigorating truths for us are the commonest. It is 
 capital exercise for the head to read to children, their geography, 
 natural history, physics or language lessons. These remind us 
 of those facts and laws and general conclusions to which thinking 
 men have arrived on all subjects proper to their life; and they 
 form the skeleton, muscles and skin of knowledge, the organic 
 machinery of education. To inspire this body, you already have 
 your own genius, your inspirations, your elevated moods, and 
 just instincts, and earnestness, and hope and love. But the 
 
1863 WAR TIMES 427 
 
 body must not be left unexercised at any age, otherwise decrepi- 
 tude comes unbidden. In educating your children by reading 
 their school books to them, with explanations when they call 
 for such, you do for your mind, what the happy mother and father 
 do otherwise, when they take a walk into the country with their 
 children. Besides, you acquire the new science of the day also 
 and do not fall behind the age and your children, who are part 
 of it. For in their school books you will learn, what they learn, 
 the latest knowledge of the day. A mother ought not to allow 
 her children to acquire a contempt for her as un peu passee. . . . 
 
 [Northampton? or Bellows Falls?], July 3, 1863. 
 Mother to Father. 
 
 . . . Sunday after tea came Martha, and Mary Ann Cochran, 
 with Wentworth Higginson's Journal of last winter, which they 
 had copied from the time he took command of his regiment of 
 Colored South Carolina Volimteers. Oh, it was splendid, I 
 assure you, just as fine as could be; how I long to have you sit 
 beside me, and hsten. She read till darkness came on, and then 
 promised, to come up to tea Tuesday, and finish it. Although 
 the whole Journal is written in the highest style of manly enthu- 
 siasm, you feel that he has the keenest perception of both the 
 finer and weaker traits in the black character. His descriptions 
 of Camp life, of the evenings under the Live Oaks, the speeches 
 and songs of his men, and all their peculiarities were both thrill- 
 ing and amusing. His accounts of their celebration of the first 
 of January, and reading of the President's Proclamation, was 
 magnificent. 
 
 ... All this last week we have been having the most exciting 
 news from the neighborhood of Philadelphia: Lee's army so 
 near, Hooker removed, Meade in his place, and no one knowing 
 how anything is to end. 
 
 At the Northampton station we heard that Generals Pleason- 
 ton and Reynolds were killed. ... The state of the country 
 too makes us anxious, and I miss your words about the war, 
 which have always been encouraging. The present crisis is a 
 trying one certainly, and every day it appears to me that the North 
 are miserably apathetic, and unaware of the opportunities they 
 are losing. . . . Our companions [on the stage ride from Littleton 
 to Whitefield] were two orthodox ministers who conversed on 
 the end of the world and the general judgment, and the piety of 
 Stonewall Jackson and Beauregard, who always partook of the 
 Sacrament before every battle, while our impious Generals, 
 
428 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvn 
 
 Hooker for instance, made only such remarks as that "he had 
 got Lee's army where God Almighty couldn't get him out." 
 Such prayers as the Rebel Generals made, they argued would 
 beat down the very battlements of heaven. . . . 
 
 In July my mother's cousin, Paul Revere, was killed 
 at Gettysburg, and she suffered much. She writes sadly 
 to my father:: — 
 
 Dear Peter, — It's of no use to try to be happy while this 
 war lasts — we can only be patient, and feel that our country is 
 passing through a great retribution, out of which it may come 
 cleansed and purified, but for which the sacrifice is immense. 
 To think that this poor suffering family is only one of thousands. 
 
 July lo. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Captain Parrott has just arrived from Sydney, bringing 
 the news of the fall of Vicksburg and the defeat of Lee; the fall 
 of gold to 130 and of flour in proportion. My heart swelled 
 with gratitude, and a great weight seemed lifted off. The tele- 
 gram says, the Confederates have lost 11 generals, t,^ colonels, 
 and 30,000 troops. I see so much in this event, that I am dumb 
 about it. No words describe a great revolution past; how much 
 less one to come! . . . 
 
 Sydney, Little Glace Bay, July 12, 1863. 
 Peter Lesley to Miss Robbins. 
 
 I cannot do better than finish my Sunday with a reply to 
 your kind letter of the 23rd ultimo. Since then we have heard 
 of the fall of Vicksburg and the defeat of Lee's army of invasion. 
 It made a profound impression upon us all. I never doubted of 
 either result; yet the news seemed too good to be true when it 
 came. It bewildered me. How many thoughts these sudden 
 vicissitudes occasion! Surely the events of history are the great- 
 est of all phenomena to thoughtful minds. The same emotions 
 arise so regularly in the heart, that they become habitual. I look 
 out upon the firm land, and the still firmer sea, and wonder 
 that all things are so permanent. There is an equanimity of 
 nature which reflects the equanimity of God. The same sun 
 and moon, the same winds, the same passions and actions of 
 mankind, like moods of society, like changes of history, ever- 
 lasting basis of nature, ever-working forces of society, perpetual 
 
1863 WAR TIMES 429 
 
 repetitions of personal experience, endless alternation of work 
 and rest, night and day, fixed aversions, unalterable affections, 
 faith that confirms itself daily, charity that always exacts, hope 
 that finds no rest but in the eternal and infinite, — all things seem 
 to centre in the immutable God. Duty perpetual, time a mighty 
 river hardly conscious of tides, character consolidated like a 
 pvramid, existence still a mystery; nothing saves us from ennui 
 but the conviction that all things must continue. Happiness, 
 a wayside flower, sure to bloom in the spring, if we are patient 
 over winter. Good, waiting for us in its season. God, an eternal 
 presence. 
 
 Tuesday, July i/^h. 
 
 My work is so far advanced that it has become monotonous. 
 Ben, with four men, is sinking a second hole in search of the great 
 bed, and if he does not strike it to-day, will commence a third 
 to-morrow. For my part, I stick to my ofiice work, and in the 
 afternoon go over to see how he gets along, and do a little instru- 
 mental work in that neighborhood. These afternoon walks 
 along the cliffs are very pleasant. At other times I continue my 
 readings of "Les Miserables." I find it a great, a charming, a 
 wonderful book. It cheers me; it inspires and it enlightens me, 
 I find reflected in it many of my oldest and most cherished 
 thoughts. I find here for the first time a distinct enunciation 
 of my theory of species, in the spiritual world — soul species. But 
 his pictures of goodness are so well sustained, so moderate and 
 considerate, have so much self-respect, are so religious and also 
 philosophical, carry such loads and are so practical and precise, 
 as to mode and subject, that the reading of the book is a per- 
 petual ravishment. . . . 
 
 I should hate to be able to write a book which by its popu- 
 larity would help other books to draw off people's attention from 
 those of Victor Hugo. 
 
 Glace Bay, July 14, 1863. Peter Lesley to his Wipe. 
 
 ... I am delighted to see that the President has at last taken 
 that pestilent scoundrel. Mayor Wood, in hand, and ordering him 
 to appear before him in Washington, has " seriously advised him 
 to back off from his treasonable ways." They say he is com- 
 pletely cowed. Vallandigham's presence here in N.S. is making 
 no commotion. He will certainly be forgotten, after all. The 
 news of victory will suppress the new desires of Europe to inter- 
 vene. A Polish war seems imminent, for all Europe. But no 
 
430 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvn 
 
 predictions in history are worth much. I tremble all over with 
 excitement at the accounts of the pursuit. I know the country 
 so well, it all goes on as it were in full view under my eyes. I see 
 the armies separating, pursuing different diverging and converg- 
 ing roads, passing sideways through gaps, ascending the banks 
 of rivers, halting, intrenching, scouting, fighting, flying. I burn 
 with impatience to know if Lee can cross at Williamsport, or 
 has had to go up to Hancock. Has Meade passed through the 
 South Mountain gaps, or crossed at Harper's ferry or at Point 
 of Rocks? We hear that Dix has even reached Culpeper, 
 That must be a fiction; but he has certainly surrounded Rich- 
 mond on the North and Northwest. Rosecrans at Chattanooga; 
 Banks and Grant moving East; Meade at Gordonsville; the 
 rebellion is dead when these three events are realized. Did you 
 ever read such a description as that of Waterloo, in " Cosette"? 
 How terrible! How minute! How perfectly picturesque and 
 comprehensible! It is as perfect a piece of work as the picture 
 of the Convent. . . . 
 
 LriTLE Glace Bay, July i6, 1863, To his Wife. 
 
 ... I cannot refrain from announcing our success yesterday, 
 by the Steamer's mail to-day, if I cannot go over to Sydney. At 
 supper-time we were all nine telling stories, when I called on 
 Mr. Lyman for a side dish, at which the Captain was much 
 astonished. Ben came downstairs with a large piece of coal 
 which he had taken that afternoon from the new eight-foot bed, 
 after which we have pursued so long, and which was opened only 
 yesterday, to my inexpressible relief. A weight was taken off 
 my mind, for its discovery could not have been more opportune; 
 the two companies being on the spot consulting, and new opera- 
 tions to be decided on at once. Moreover Ben found the place 
 of the five-foot bed still further down (Ross'), also on their land; 
 and the evening was passed in jollity and shaking up the tea 
 canister full of egg nog. . . . 
 
 Waumbece House [Jefferson, White Mountains], Sunday, 
 July 19, 1863. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 ... I felt a little self-condemned by your last most excellent 
 advice, for I had just gobbled up the rest of "Les Miserables," 
 after reading " Fantine " carefully. I shall try to mend my ways 
 in future. I always want to get a novel "off my mind," so as to 
 do my work, and that is the reason I seldom read one. For I 
 
1863 WAR TIMES 431 
 
 am so weak as to become absorbed in the story. When I first 
 got here, I was worn out with my journey and visit to Northamp- 
 ton, and glad to read. I wish I had now any book that interested 
 me as John Stuart Mill's work on Liberty did last summer. I 
 shall never lose my interest in reading ethics, or biography, and 
 some time I mean to collect a little library of my own, of the 
 books I loved and lived upon years ago. I note what you say 
 of going along with the children's studies — geography, history, 
 etc. It is that, I think, that has kept Meggie's [White] mind so 
 bright. I regret that all these things are so great an effort to me, 
 and that my education was so poor in youth, but I shall struggle 
 against it as best I may. 
 
 . . . Have not the Riots in New York and Boston been dis- 
 graceful ? It is so hard I cannot get newspapers to send you, but 
 I find it impossible here. ... A letter from Mrs. Rebecca Low 
 of Brooklyn to-day tells me they are terribly excited by the Riot, 
 which is not yet entirely quelled. These Copperheads give us 
 even more anxiety than the Rebels. . . . 
 
 Sydney, Glace Bay, July 20, 1863. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I never replied to your long letter from Bellows Falls 
 which I read again and to Ben this morning, with renewed interest. 
 There is no better way of getting an adequate idea of the world's 
 populousness, the infinity of interests in Society, the affiuence of 
 personal adventure, and providential happiness, enjoyed by man- 
 kind. It enlarges my view of life on the planet. We are too apt 
 to overlook the masses of life around us, just as we overlook the 
 grass, on a walk through the fields. People are like grass-blades — 
 flesh is grass in this sense also, — in the sense of number and in- 
 dividuality, — but they are also rooted together like grass-blades, — 
 each waves separately, but is anchored in the common soil. Each 
 also feels the common sunshine, electric currents and rain. Yet 
 each draws what it can of the common manure. The struggles 
 of man with man, child with child, family with family, seaport 
 with seaport, nation with nation, is a grand balance of forces. 
 The philosopher comes back from seeing all this, and some one 
 asks him "well, what do you want?" He replies, "nothing." . . . 
 
 Sydney, July 26 (?), 1863. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I have but a few minutes for you, for I foolishly wasted 
 all yesterday in writing a reply to Judge Marshall's attack on Sir 
 Charles Lyell in the Provincial Wesleyan, and made myself half 
 
432 LIFE AND LETTERS . chap, xvn 
 
 [sick ?] by it too. Have [had] an exciting debate all the afternoon 
 with an Englishman and Scotchman about the Alabama, etc., 
 etc. Tired out. . . . 
 
 Oh, the iniquities of Earth! Oh that my head were a fountain 
 of tears, to weep for the sorrows of the daughter of my people! 
 But the daily sun and frequent rain preach peace and hope. The 
 laws of God suffer no insurrection among them, their Union is 
 everlasting, their Constitution is perfect. Let us live under that 
 Constitution and Union, peacefully and hopefully. One genera- 
 tion passeth, and another cometh. Each must be born and die, 
 gather its flowers and fruits, and bear its summer's toil and win- 
 ter's cold. Why should we make an outcry, when things go for- 
 ward a little more rapidly than usual ? there will be a compensation 
 of sloAAm.ess for all this haste; peace and war alternate. The evil 
 after all is swallowed up of good, as life will be swallowed up of 
 immortality. Let us train up our little ones, and hold ourselves 
 in readiness for the day when our change shaU come . . . 
 
 Early in August he returned southv^ard, stopping for 
 a day or two to visit my mother in the White Mountains, 
 and then after a short stay in Cambridge he went home. 
 
 NORTHUMBEEXAND, N.H., Aug. 12, 1863. TO HIS WiEE. 
 
 ... A hot and dusty ride of ten miles up the pretty Connecti- 
 cut brought me to this little depot village of the Grand Trunk 
 R.R. over the Ammonoosuc. Going in to dinner, exclamations 
 were exchanged — Sam Johnson and his party were there, and 
 looked at me as if I had tumbled through the roof. We had a 
 tremendous time for four hours on the balcony. . . . Johnson 
 talked in his old lively, earnest style. Told me all about his Lynn 
 church, now eight or ten years old, and the only independent 
 church he knows of in New England. They intend soon to build 
 a chapel. But I confess I prefer association with liberty, to the 
 liberty of isolation. 
 
 He and Longfellow [Samuel] are getting out a new edition of 
 their "Sam Book," omitting old and inserting new hymns; hymns 
 of the day. I don't like that. Let us sing the old and act the 
 new — marry the divine spirit of both times — eat the honey of 
 last year while we tend the hives in the garden of the present. 
 Must we always be made to prefer green cheese ? I like Old Stil- 
 ton for my part; and old port, and old music, and poetry, and 
 
1863 WAR TIMES 433 
 
 heroism, and old wives' fables too, if the Apostle will pardon me 
 for saying so. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Aug. 18, 1863. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . The Thermometer this summer has ranged unusually 
 high, 98 J° in an exposed place, 93 J° an average for two weeks! 
 Twenty cases of sunstroke per day! The soldiers are dying fast 
 in our overcrowded hospitals. Think of our having 70,000 rebel 
 prisoners and they between 15,000 and 20,000 of ours! Think of 
 13,000 nearly naked, and more than half -starved prisoners on 
 Fort Delaware island alone, working for their living in the broil- 
 ing sun, unloading the four great transports that perpetually 
 bring them provisions! The common soldiers all say — "only let 
 us get back and we won't fight you any more; we'll let the whole 
 thing slide and go back to our work." But the officers — sons of 
 wealthy planters — say: "you thrashed us severely at Gettysburg; 
 but we will be exchanged soon and we'll give you another trial." 
 The exchange goes slowly on account of the formahties. So does 
 the siege of Charleston. I have no hope of that proving success- 
 ful for two months, if at all. Sumter is an old fort. The new 
 railroad iron batteries are invulnerable and can be built any- 
 where. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Aug. 26, 1863. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . How I wish I were a poet! What a joy it must be to 
 speak what is in the heart of humanity! Poets ought to be drunk 
 with the delights of their divine craft all the while. To think of 
 the luxury of that ability to glorify all we love, to paint halos 
 round the heads of all our saints and angels, to substantiate and 
 perpetuate our praises and blessings, to call an assembly of man- 
 kind to admire what we admire, and enjoy what we enjoy, and 
 make music to our dancing, and dance to our music! Shall we 
 not all be reborn into this faculty in another life, although we are 
 born without it here ? It is a doubling of the gift of poetry, when 
 the poet is also a musician, and can sing his own verses. Such 
 indeed were the Merlins and Taliessins (?) and Ossians of old; 
 and such was Tom Moore in the last generation. Lever has a 
 charming description of Moore singing his own verses in a scene 
 of "Barrington." 
 
 Aug. 26. 
 
 To-day the joyful news comes (alas for the love of Christ!) 
 that Fort Sumter is a total ruin, and the bombardment of Charles- 
 
434 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvn 
 
 ton has commenced. What astonishing perfection in the art of 
 war, when out of 600 odd shots fired by the siege guns on Morris 
 Island, 400 odd should strike and breach Fort Sumter, at the 
 distance of two miles ! I am very much afraid that the three rebel 
 rams will lay Boston or New York under contribution in Septem- 
 ber; they are nearly ready to sail from Liverpool. I have no 
 doubt that they are destined for New York, and that Gov. Sey- 
 mour knows it, and has prepared to use them, or rather their 
 attack, for his nefarious purposes. 
 
 Joe tells me a most laughable story of Coatesville (where L. S. 
 is to live) . Just before the raid, the Pennsylvania R. R. Company 
 sent all their rolling stock from Altoona (at which the rebels were 
 dashing to all appearance) west to Pittsburg, and east to Coates- 
 ville. At each place, many miles of siding were filled with loco- 
 motives, etc. At Coatesville 30 or 40 men were placed in charge 
 of this stock. One morning at dayhght these rascals assembled 
 in the valley, a few miles above (west of C), and sent in a deputa- 
 tion of 18 on horseback to demand the surrender of the place, 
 stating that they were the advance-guard of an advancing force, 
 and wished to spare blood. The burgesses were dreadfully 
 scared, and assembled hastily and surrendered the place with all 
 the stock of railroad cars, etc. (to the keepers of the same!), and 
 agreed to pay a certain sum of money to save the place from de- 
 struction. . . . When the joke came out, the railroad boys who 
 had played the trick didn't dare to show themselves within reach 
 of the enraged burgesses for a week. ... I think such stories of 
 the war ought to be treasured for history. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Aug. 31, 1863. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Now, as I never conceal anything from you, even at the 
 risk of giving you anxious hours, I must tell you that I am holding 
 it under advisement (I wish I could say advice, — but I can get 
 none) to go to Europe for three months or more, for Mr. Scott. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Sept. 3, 1863. To his Wipe. 
 
 ... I stopped at Lippincotts' and found he had still 225 
 copies of my Manual. I wished to clear the edition out by tak- 
 ing them to Europe. 
 
 He introduced me to a historic character. Judge Trimble 
 of Tennessee, the man who protested in the Senate, and walked 
 out alone. He told me he had entire faith in the vitaHty of the 
 Nation; that Rosecrans has 50-60,000 men and BiU'nside 
 
1863 WAR TIMES 435 
 
 30-40,000 and that they will probably establish themselves in 
 Eastern Tennessee and Georgia. 
 
 I heard yesterday that the United States Government had 
 sent an ultimatum to England, making the sailing of the Alex- 
 andra a casus belli, and that the troops in New York were not 
 only to guard the drafting, but to invade Canada. 
 
 Read the President's letter to the Springfield men. It made 
 me sore with laughing. Think of his talking about "Uncle 
 Sam's web feet"! and "making their tracks wherever the land 
 was even a little damp"! I have not had so good a laugh for 
 a long while. 
 
 But it comforted my faith. He is so straightforward, and open- 
 hearted, and right-minded. Charley F. told me, that Robert 
 Lincoln told him, that his father had written along the secret 
 history of the Cabinet, and meant to pubhsh it at the end of his 
 term of ofl&ce! What an overturning of etiquette is there, my 
 countrymen! He said his father had aged greatly under the 
 steady pressiu^e. Did I tell you that Meigs and Hammond are 
 removed? . . , 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 Second Voyage to Europe, i 863-1 864 
 
 In October of 1863 my father made his second trip to 
 Europe. This journey was taken, as Mr. Lyman states in 
 his "Biographical Notice," on the commission of the Pennsyl- 
 vania Railroad Company, for the purpose of examining 
 "into the methods of hardening the surface of rails, and the 
 success of the Bessemer process." In manner of travelling 
 it was in great contrast to his first European trip. Then 
 he went many miles on foot or by slow conveyance, stopping 
 when and where he pleased : now he hurried from point 
 to point by the most rapid trains, and with greatest ease and 
 comfort. 
 
 Yet in spite of his haste he found time to visit his old 
 friends, the Bosts, in Southern France and Switzerland, 
 and to "eat his Christmas dinner with Tholuck and Erd- 
 mann at Halle." 
 
 He visited England, Belgium, Western and Southern 
 France, Switzerland, and Austria, being gone from home 
 about three months. 
 
 This was the most socially pleasant of all his foreign 
 trips. His letters are full of the meetings with agreeable 
 and distinguished persons, some of whom he had known 
 before, others with whom he was only acquainted through 
 their scientific work and writings. 
 
 In France he enjoyed especially a visit to Abbeville, 
 to see the newly discovered relics of prehistoric man in the 
 gravels of that neighborhood. He had always been deeply 
 interested in this line of investigation, was quite fearless as 
 to deductions to be drawn from any discovery, only in- 
 terested that the truth should be made out as clearly as 
 possible. If the truth so evidenced was inconveniently 
 destructive to established scientific and philosophic theories, 
 
 436 
 
1863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 437 
 
 he was entirely ready to readjust these theories to fit the 
 new facts. On the other hand, he would not accept a new 
 theory on insufficient evidence, but was willing to wait 
 until the number of evidences collected justified more fully 
 that theory. 
 
 During this trip, on the few occasions when it was possi- 
 ble for him to explain the true causes and objects of our 
 Civil War to those who were under the common foreign 
 misconceptions of the whole matter, he did so with earnest 
 conviction. His chief opportunity for such explanation 
 was at a dinner of the "Royal Society Club," described 
 slightly in a letter of October 15. I have heard since that 
 he spoke on that occasion with great clearness and force, 
 and gave his hearers their first full understanding of the 
 Northern position in our great struggle. 
 
 The company on the steamer was a pleasant one, de- 
 scribed in my father's ship letter as follows : — 
 
 Oct. I, 1863. 
 
 At the head of our table sits Captain Moody, and by his 
 side Sir Henry Holland, the physician of Queen Victoria, on 
 his return home from what may have been a diplomatic mission 
 to Washington. He is an old man, dressed with scrupulous 
 care in black, and walks about deck in a velvet Scotch cap. He 
 must be a very agreeable person. Mrs. Greenough sits opposite. 
 . . . Mrs. Eliot and Prof. Charles W. Eliot next Sir Henry. 
 
 Oct. 4, 186 J. 
 
 . . . Besides those whom I mentioned in my last letter, is 
 one W. Marcet, a Swiss-born English physiological chemist; 
 a Mr. Roberts, who, with Cobby and Harden, form a trio of men 
 interested in mines of coal; a Mr. Monroe and his young friend 
 Nichols, who has been in the army as surgeon, and now goes to 
 Paris to study. Sir Henry Holland I find a most agreeable com- 
 panion, and to-day have learned another connection between 
 us in his intimacy with the Harcourts, father and son. 
 
 The Archbishop of York married him, he says; and Mr. 
 Harcourt was the Archbishop's son, who wrote upon the Deluge, 
 and started me on my long train of mythological research, which 
 lasted at least ten years, and will bear fruit yet, I hope. His 
 son again, young Harcourt, a London lawyer, 38 or 40 years 
 
438 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviri 
 
 of age, has written three admirable papers in the Times, in favor 
 of the United States, and signed his name Historicus (I think). 
 
 Then we have an EngKsh captain of the army, who tells 
 amusing stories of Pekin, and the American General Ward, 
 how he rose from nothing to be the leader of fifty bandits in the 
 Chinese service against the Chinese rebels, until he was made 
 grand mandarin, and given a great wife, and made general of 
 3000 troops, and buried with all the admirals walking behind 
 his hearse. 
 
 There is a Spanish painter on board, who tells Mrs. Greenough 
 and me stories of the great pictures at Madrid. . . . 
 
 There is a great, strong, intellectual English litterateur on 
 board, who knows all the penny-a-liners in London, and can 
 tell the qualities of every writer of the Westminster Review, 
 the Spectator, and the Times. He has an off-hand, fine way 
 with him, denoting power, and he reminds me constantly of Mr, 
 Ripley. 
 
 Then we have a broad, straw-hatted individual from Califor- 
 nia, who, after spending most of his life in hunting and trap- 
 ping in the Rocky Mountains, settled down near Sacramento 
 City, and was ruined by the great floods five years ago, since 
 when he has dug gold and regained a larger fortune than the 
 waters swept away. This was retributive justice, for he used 
 the very rivers, which had ruined him, for sluicing out his golden 
 sands. 
 
 London, Tuesday, 11 p.m., Oct. 13, '63. 
 
 I left Boston Wednesday, the 30th, and arrived at the car 
 in the Mersey Saturday night, October loth, and went up to Liv- 
 erpool Sunday morning, October nth, and to London Monday, 
 12th. . . . After dining at five p.m., I learned that Henry Ward 
 Beecher was to preach at Great George St. Chapel at six o'clock. 
 I got a seat in a front pew in the gallery, and looked down the 
 immense well upon a vast congregation, arranged so as to lose not 
 the least space. The organ is behind the pulpit; the choir sits 
 below and around the pulpit, and an accordion one side of the 
 pulpit led the most massive and exciting choral or congregational 
 singing I ever heard, in tunes which were evidently as ancient 
 as they were English. Such singing would enchant the angels; 
 none of the dry, senseless, unmodulated commonplace tunes 
 with which we are starved; but the grand impassioned cadences, 
 all fire and life, expressing the sentiments of ages, the feeling of 
 the heart of all mankind. The orator was worthy of the occa- 
 
1863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 439 
 
 sion. He spoke of trust in God, the trust we yield to man in love 
 and friendship, in business, pohtics and morals, and begged us 
 to bestow the same on God. . . . 
 
 The audience were evidently puzzled and astonished at the 
 preacher. He captured and commanded them repeatedly, but 
 as often lost his hold of them; but only to recapture them by some 
 new and more astonishing outburst of sentiment, imagination 
 and argument. ... 
 
 London, Tuesday, Oct. 13, 1863. 
 
 . . . Bidding my companion good-bye at the station, I took 
 a cab to Morley's Hotel, on the Trafalgar Square. I forgot to 
 tell you that I gave Sir Henry [Holland] my preface to the Cata- 
 logue to read in the cars, and he smilingly observed, on laying 
 it down, that it sufl&ced to show him my character. I looked at 
 him, but said nothing. " I see," said he, " that you are learned and 
 imaginative." I smiled and still said nothing. ... I am always 
 a little too late. It is to be written on my tombstone "Here lies 
 P. L. who, like the little nurse of Moloch, always arrived when 
 the monkey had finished exhibiting." The last time, I left 
 London without seeing Westminster Abbey, or the Zoological 
 Gardens, in order to see the Great Paris Exhibition; but by turning 
 aside to see Amiens, arrived in Paris the day after the Exhibition 
 had closed. This time I arrive in London on the day that Lord 
 Lyndhurst — the greatest of men — dies. I am three days also 
 too late for the great Social Science Meeting at Edinburgh; and 
 one day too late to see the great service for the new Greek King 
 in the Greek Church. I have all my life tarried by the way. I 
 write but one volume of any book. My best thoughts, my dis- 
 coveries, are all anticipated before I can prepare myself to pub- 
 hsh them. Well! 
 
 Before dining in Morley's Coffee Room, I sent a messenger 
 to Baring Bros. 81 Co. to ask for Joseph Lyman, and for letters. 
 After dining, I drove to High Holborn and into Wood's Hotel, 
 Furnival Inn. Joseph Lyman and Mr. Weiss had sailed for 
 Boston on the 29th. Prepared as I was for this, I was strangely 
 disappointed and felt utterly lonely. So I went to the theatre; 
 not to Covent Garden, for the Prince and the King of Greece were 
 to be there and there was no chance of a seat; but to the Adelphi, 
 on the Strand, where after a little comedy, the beautiful tragedy 
 of "Leah" was put upon the boards. First, I was captivated 
 by the sweet face and artless manners of Miss Henrietta Simons 
 as Madelena; and then shaken to the centre of my being by the 
 
440 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 denouement of the first act, where Miss Bateman as Leah, pur- 
 sued by the ferocious villagers, instigated by the concealed apos- 
 tate Jew, the schoolmaster, is saved by the village magistrate, 
 and the village priest holding the crucifix over her head. . . . 
 It is something fine to see such acting supported so by the whole 
 troupe upon the stage. This is what we do not enjoy in America. 
 One must come to such a centre of the world as this. . . . 
 
 . . . Then to Baring Bros., 8 Bishopsgate St. Within, and 
 saw Russell Sturgis, who said he ought to know me; did I not 
 marry Susan Lyman? . . . Then I walked round the Bank for 
 No. 20 Tokenhouse yard, and chatted half an hour with Gerard 
 Ralston, who was glad to see me, and made me promise to go 
 with him next Sunday to the fine service in the Temple Church. 
 A black man came in. G. R. is wholly devoted to the blacks; is 
 a good aboHtionist, and longs for the redemption of our Israel. 
 I loved the old man, as my father loved his father. . . . My 
 coast is clear. It will take two months to get the patent through. 
 I must then return to London to sign it. Meanwhile I go to 
 Brussels and Paris to take out patents there, and perhaps to 
 Madrid. . . . 
 
 London, Wednesday night, October 14, 1863. 
 
 . . . The dream continues. It is a strange mixture of the 
 old and the new, the real and the fanciful, necessity and ease, 
 wealth and service. Last evening I wandered round, with an 
 acquaintance, to three play-houses of the most modern sort; 
 this afternoon I lost myself among the blackened porticos, cor- 
 ridors and courts of the Temple; to-morrow morning I shall 
 breakfast with Sir Henry and Lady Holland in a West End city 
 house; next day I shall go out with Russell Sturgis to his coun- 
 try seat. Meanwhile I roam in and out of the shops of the Fleet, 
 St. Paul's churchyard and the Strand, or cab it up and down 
 Holborn, Skinner and Newgate, looking alternately at the million 
 inventions of modern luxury, and at the solemn and beautiful 
 old church spires, around the towers of which like trees these in- 
 numerable dry leaves of art and fashion fall and perish every 
 moment, — as they should. St Dunstan; St. Bride's, with her 
 exquisite pyramid of lanterns; St. Michael's with that wonder- 
 ful doorway of moulded arches, set with little- heads, and six 
 slight red syenite (or porphyry) shafts; Bow Church with an 
 open-work, dome-like lantern around a shaft sustaining another 
 lantern up above, one of the rarest, loveKest products of the 
 fancy; and above all the Temple Church, that home of mystery 
 
i863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 441 
 
 and romance; After I had finished all my work to-day — it was 
 after four o'clock — I left my packages in Dollond's shop and 
 entered St. Paul's. A wooden railing led us, penned in from 
 the nave, round under the north aisle, to a chapel at the base 
 of the north tower. Distant sounds like the far-off chantings 
 of angels, came floating through the mighty arches of the nave 
 and under the dome. I followed a scanty crowd, and as we 
 advanced, the music grew and complicated itself in fugued 
 measures, perfectly entrancing to hearken to. Psalm after psalm 
 was chanted, in the most lavish variety of modes. Boys, men 
 and women singers, wove this weird dance of heavenly symphony, 
 like a flock of martens round the eaves of a church where they 
 have built their nests. Often — six or seven times — I walked 
 away along the aisle intending to depart, and as often was brought 
 back by some new device of celestial harmony. . . .Went to 
 the Ha)^market Theatre to see the "Rivals" and real complete 
 acting for the first time in my life ; for every character was well 
 sustained; there was no rant, no fustian, no appeal to the audience, 
 no false sentiment, but all was as quiet and natural as life, ex- 
 quisitely comical and, in a word, satisfactory beyond criticism. . . . 
 
 Oct. 15. 
 
 I rose this morning by my alarum at eight o'clock, dressed, 
 and drove to Sir Henry Holland's (25 Brook Street W.), to break- 
 fast at 9.30. He was standing before a fire at the side end of 
 a great room, with a screen across the middle, and a breakfast 
 table. Miss Holland came in, a gentle and pretty girl of eighteen, 
 and then her mother. We had a cordial hour over curry and 
 fish, capital coffee and the voyage, and afterwards I sat in Sydney 
 Smith's easy-chair, playing with Sydney Smith's gold eyeglasses, 
 and chatted about the probability of reaching the North Pole 
 east of Spitzbergen, the voyages across Australia and into Chinese 
 Tartary. Returning to the hotel, I arranged packages for dis- 
 tribution and drove to Jermyn Street Museum of Practical Geol- 
 ogy, where Mr. Riggs (?) the librarian treated me well enough, 
 but I could see neither Ramsay, Hunt, Huxley, nor Murchison 
 until Monday. At twenty minutes to two exactly, I kept my 
 appointment at the Athenaeum Club, when Sir Henry drove 
 up and took me through the rooms; then to the Reform, Conser- 
 vative and other clubs near by, some of them splendid palaces, 
 adorned with Roman atria, mosaic floors, statues and paintings, 
 and all that the stomach or the soul could wish. The Athenaeum 
 Club is very small and select, but has 80,000 volumes in its li- 
 
442 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvm 
 
 brary. Then he drove me to the Colonial office in Westminster, 
 and to the Privy Council building, past the Horse Guards, Ad- 
 miralty, etc., etc., to Burlington Palace, where upstairs we found 
 Major-General Sabine, and I had a long talk with him. He after- 
 wards introduced me to Dr. Sharpey, Secretary of the Royal 
 Society (in whose rooms we stood), and they made me promise 
 to attend the dinner at the Royal Society Club at six o'clock. . . . 
 An hour's rest, and I drove again (through the constant rain) to 
 the St. James Hotel, corner of Barclay and Piccadilly, where 
 every Thursday afternoon the Royal Society has its club dinner. 
 Here in a little room, before a fire, a little table was spread for 
 say twelve people; soon double that number came, and the ser- 
 vants had to enlarge the table and much fim ensued. The presi- 
 dent placed me on his left, and Lord Littleton on his right. I 
 was overjoyed to be introduced to Wheatstone, a quiet, quizzical 
 elderly gentleman, opposite to me, and to Tyndall, a young spry 
 person, further down the table. Dr. Sharpey took the foot of 
 the table, and a black Ceylonese barrister sat on my side of 
 it half-way down. Young Capt. Douglass Galton of the War 
 Office, was put, for want of room at the head of the table, between 
 Genl. Sabine and me, — and on my left was a talkative, anecdote- 
 telling nobleman, who knew everybody and kept our end of the 
 table in the finest humor. I told the story of poor, good meek 
 Mr. Launet, asking an EngHsh officer at Malta, "Please, sir, 
 where do you think Paul was shipwrecked?" and receiving the 
 answer, "None of your damned conundrums, sir, here," at which 
 they laughed immensely. After one or two toasts they drew me 
 into politics, and for half an hour I fought them all. The Gen- 
 eral then asked me to give them an account of the National Acad- 
 emy, which I did, upon which great laughter arose, many ques- 
 tions were put, much discussion ensued and the evening passed 
 away. Making rendezvous with me for future times, and getting 
 a promise that I would be present at their anniversary, Novem- 
 ber 30th, to dine with them that evening, I was about to go, when 
 Dr. Sharpey and another Fellow captured me on Iron, and so I 
 must go to-morrow to Dr. Sharpey's house. No. 2 Craven Hill, 
 Bayswater. He says he will have his book on iron ready for 
 me on my retiim in December. He wanted to know when I 
 came in whether I were the Lesley who wrote the great book 
 on iron. . . . The intense anxiety they all manifested to catch 
 my lightest expression of opinion about the war was painful to be- 
 hold; and the earnest assurances they continually repeated to rne, 
 that I would find no passion among Englishmen, — but a desire 
 
i86s SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 443 
 
 to do exactly right, showed how they desired to influence Ameri- 
 cans and ease their own troubled consciences. I spoke always 
 with a smile and half jestingly, hit as plainly as possible. . . . 
 
 Mokley's, London, October 16, 1863. 
 
 . . . One of the first things we learned, to our joy, on arriving, 
 was the fact, that the broad arrow had been put upon the Rams,* 
 according to the promise of the Government that it should be, 
 provided the Lairds could not prove that they were meant for 
 other parties than the Confederate States. It was a truly diplo- 
 matic way to get the Government out of its embarrassing situation, 
 for it to throw the onus probandi upon the Lairds. I pitied a 
 poor fellow with jaunty cap and black mustaches, who kept him- 
 self seclusive all the voyage, but let it leak out tlaat he was sent 
 over by the Confederate States to sail the rams to Charleston. 
 Mason is also at the Washington Hotel, on the same business. 
 
 Morley's, Oct. lyth. 
 
 After making up more packets for the mail and parcel de- 
 livery, Friday morning (October i6th), I drove to Mrs. Hall's 
 
 * In October of 1863 two ironclad rams which the "eminent ship- 
 builder Laird, at Birkenhead," had constructed for the Confederate States, 
 were ready to sail. Remonstrances concerning these vessels had proceeded 
 for some months previously from Mr. Adams, our minister, to the British 
 government. Finally, on the 4th of September, Mr. Adams "informed 
 the Foreign Office that one of the rams was preparing to leave the port, and 
 on the same day he received a note from Lord Russell, already three days 
 old, giving the discouraging and alarming answer that 'Her Majesty's 
 Government are advised that they cannot interfere in any way with these 
 vessels.' Mr. Adams at once replied, expressing his profound regret at 
 this conclusion, and added in words of solemn warning, which are rarely 
 heard in diplomatic circles except on the eve of actual hostilities, 'It 
 would be superfluous in me to point out to your Lordship that this is war.' 
 But on the 8th of September he received a note, which saved Europe and 
 America from incalculable evils, that instructions had been issued which 
 would prevent the departure of the two iron-clad vessels from Liverpool. 
 The government finally bought them, and they were taken into the royal 
 navy under the names of the Scorpion and the Wyvern." {From Abraham 
 Lincoln, a History, Nicolay and Hay, vol. viii. pp. 258-259.) 
 
 Concerning the purchase of these vessels a different and most interesting 
 tale is told in chapter xxv. of "Chittenden's Recollections of President Lin- 
 coln and his Administration." 
 
 In the "Letters and Recollections of John Murray Forbes, edited by 
 his daughter Sarah Forbes Hughes," is a very interesting account of much 
 of the inside history of this international episode. See vol. ii., chap, 
 sdv., pp. 3-9, 16, 20-27, and chap, xv., pp. 41-49, 55-66. 
 
444 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvin 
 
 boarding-house, beyond Regent Place (35 Weymouth St.), to 
 see the Eliots and Mrs. Greenough, but they had flown to Paris. 
 Then to Mr. Adams' house at the corner of R. Place and the 
 Crescent, at the Park Gate, and had ten minutes with him. He 
 does not like to talk; agreed with me that the anxiety of the 
 English to make the impression that they are quite impartial and 
 just, shows a conscience ill at ease; and gave me a hint of the 
 system of speeches to constituents in the vacation, by which the 
 Government ministers give outside information of affairs. Sir 
 Roundley Palmer's speech at Richmond the other day, is less 
 favorable to us in Trent, Alabama, and Steam Ram matters 
 than was expected and hoped from the new Attorney-General; 
 still is a great change for the better from Lord Atherton who 
 was compelled to resign because he was a stick and a muff. Eng- 
 lish politics, I think, are much easier for an American [to 
 understand], than American politics for the English; because 
 English politics have to do so much with place-holding, person- 
 alities, and details of a well-established historical policy; while 
 American politics are always experimental, and transcendental; 
 in fact, are the discussion by practice of broad principles. 
 
 Then I drove to a station (Euston Street), and dove down two 
 or three stories under the thoroughfare, where I found a dark 
 vaulted railway, so full of sulphuretted hydrogen and azote 
 mixed that I feared a fresh attack of asthma. A train soon 
 came along and whirled me, in the dark, past three stations to 
 a fourth under Paddington. Emerging to-day again, a cab 
 carried me to No. 2 Craven Hill, where Dr. Percy was waiting 
 for me in his study, and at once made me at home, with cheroots 
 and a glass of sherry, over the lithographs and proof-sheets of 
 his second volume, on Iron ; the first, on Copper, is already nearly 
 out of print. My own book, the Guide, was lying open on his 
 little desk, and he spoke of it in the kindest manner; asked my 
 opinion of the Thomas Co. Furnaces, which he adopts as the 
 typical anthracite furnace of the world (a great compliment to 
 America); made me promise *to write something for him before 
 I left town; showed me curious old anticipations in 1640 — and 
 1750 — of the mechanical lamp, and of the malleable iron process; 
 and finally occupied me two hours longer with American poli- 
 tics. I find he coincides with some of my cherished geological 
 views, and in every way proved a most agreeable acquaintance. 
 People have sent him gratis ;^iooo worth of drawings for his book, 
 which will appear in about a month. 
 
 Just before I left his house came in the distinguished archae- 
 
1863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 445 
 
 ologist Mr. Faulkner, who has studied the East Indian mytho- 
 logical remains, and we had a most interesting chat over the 
 new commission, headed by Cunningham, for preserving the an- 
 tiquities, and copying the inscriptions of Hindustan. He begged 
 me to induce Dr. Leidy to cut and analyze Dickenson's human 
 pelvis of Vicksburg, for Lyell has forsaken his old doubts and 
 based his new calculations upon this "so-called" antiquity. . . . 
 
 Oci. 20. 
 
 . . . Then I went to the Emancipation Society rooms, and bought 
 a stall ticket to H. W. Beecher's great speech in Exeter Hall 
 this evening. Returning home, I drove to Jermyn Street, and 
 had a warm welcome from Ramsay, and a nice little chat with 
 Murchison, who was going out of tovm, and says we shall see 
 each other more in December. Ramsay invited me to dine at 
 his house, 29 Upper PhiUimore Place on Kensington Road, three 
 miles due west of here. . . . Driving to Lyell's, I received the 
 warmest greeting from him and then from Mrs. Lyell, who is 
 more beautiful, sweet and pensive than ever, a perfectly lovely 
 woman; we three had a nice time together in the upper parlor. 
 ... In the evening after writing awhile for Percy on iron, I felt 
 worn out and drove to Covent Garden Opera house, an immense 
 theatre, beautifully adorned. . . . 
 
 Wednesday, October 20th, to-day, I hoped to get more letters, 
 but was disappointed. I drove first, to the British Museum, 
 and was cordially received by Owen in his den. His is a charm- 
 ing face, spiritual, vivacious, powerful, sensitive, gentle. He gave 
 me his last brochure on the lizard bird of Solenhofen, and then 
 took me to it where it stood under its glass cover, and showed 
 me where the difi&culties lay — in the abnormal look of the head, 
 which Owen thinks is the front jaws of some fish which the bird 
 has eaten, and not at all its own head. He showed me also com- 
 parisons of the great pachyderms of Australia with its existing 
 ostriches and marsupials; and how he found by the lachrymal 
 duct, outside the orbit, that his great new carnivore was not 
 placental, but marsupial. 
 
 I must here tell you one of Sir H. Holland's jokes on Lyell. 
 He saw him running across the street to him one day saying, " have 
 you heard the news?" "No, . . . is Lucknow relieved ? " "Oh, 
 I don't know about Lucknow — but haven't you heard that we 
 have just got another new marsupial from the dirt bed at Leyme ? " 
 I find Lyell as nervous as ever — more so in fact, — and far more 
 interesting. . . . Then I drove out to Ramsay's, and Mrs. Ram- 
 
446 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 say, a sprightly little woman, claimed to have seen us at the Halls' 
 in Albany. At dinner I sat opposite Selwyn, the Australian 
 geologist, beside whom sat Best of the British Ordnance Survey, 
 and opposite him next me Riggs, the chemist in Jermyn Street. 
 Mrs. Ramsay took one end and Ramsay the other end of the 
 table, and we made a merry party until two little girls (six and 
 ten), and a boy between them, came and took seats among us. 
 Adjourning to the parlor, Selwyn showed us his photographs of 
 plants and shells, graptolites and the greatest aerolite ever found, 
 dug up from the gravel in North Holland. . . . 
 
 London, Oct. 21, 1863, Wednesday. To his daughter Margaret. 
 
 . . . This letter shall be all to you. I have not forgotten the 
 lovely letter you wrote to me last summer; and it deserved a reply; 
 this shall be my reply. But first of all you must tell Mamma 
 what a great time there was at Exeter Hall last night; what a 
 great crowd inside, and in the street, of people who could not 
 get in; common folks, and nobility, and gentry; what great 
 enthusiasm prevailed; what cheering and thrice times three given 
 tremendously, all standing, when Mr. Beecher said that Lincoln 
 was an honest man; and how Mr. Beecher was compelled to go 
 on, again and again, for two long hours, until he craved permis- 
 sion to stop; how two other great orators followed him, and res- 
 olutions were cheered; how questions were asked him, and 
 answered; and how one fellow who proposed to cheer Jeff. Davis 
 was rolled out of the room. Mamma will hear nothing of all 
 this in the newspapers, for they are furious at such exhibitions 
 of the good will of the English people; and the leader in the 
 Times to-day is written in the tone half-impudent, half-scoffing, 
 half-lordly and indignant, and introduces into the report of the 
 speech, as prominent cries, the one or two single "Noes!" etc., 
 which were heard near the door. The discussions also among 
 the crowd were mostly in a decidedly Northern tone, and the whole 
 thing was satisfactory. 
 
 And now I must tell you about the Zoological Gardens. . . . 
 But now let me tell you about another pretty thing I saw to-day. 
 Coming home, I bought some white kid gloves and put on my 
 party dress and a white cravat, with a gold scarf pin in the bow, 
 and drove off to Harley Street, to little Master Lyell's birthday 
 celebration. There were lots of pretty children round the table 
 in the dining-room, with Sir Charles at the head, and Lady Lyell 
 at the foot of the table (or vice versa); so Miss Lyell took me 
 upstairs to the parlor; after which came in the two yoimg 
 
i863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 447 
 
 Browns of Sydney (studying in Jermyn Street), Mr. Adams, son 
 of the minister, old Mr. Horner (Mrs. Lyell's father), ex-president 
 of the Geological society, Charles Darwin {the Darwin), a gentle 
 shy person of 55 -]- years of age, and Mrs. Bishop Colenso with 
 her two children (she has five). After we had gone downstairs 
 again and taken our tea, and returned to the parlor, where the 
 children were raising Ned, we formed a circle and played "post- 
 man"; and Meggie would have been astonished to see her old 
 father dodging round a blind postman in the centre to exchange 
 seats with Calais, or Vienna, or Balmoral, on the other side, 
 and mortally afraid of being caught by the blind postman, in 
 the act. It was very funny to see sweet Lady Lyell or funny 
 old Sir Charles, with a handkerchief round his head, dancing 
 about to catch us. Afterwards the back room became a dress- 
 ing-place for charades, and troops of children with soldier caps 
 came in, marching round the room. ... Sir R. Whittington was 
 Knighted by the King in royal robes, and his cat mewed by his 
 side (a little boy with a shawl tied up for a tail and two great 
 newspaper ears). Then a spectral scene was introduced, the 
 lovely Miss Lyell had her head dressed by Susanna, the Irish 
 maid, in the most extraordinary style and was put to bed on 
 three chairs, snored, and was beset by a dozen terrible spirits, 
 who appeared to her, because, she had eaten some pork pie. . . . 
 Meanwhile I had some charming talks with Mr. Horner, with 
 Lyell, and with Mr. Colenso, who told me they had lost most 
 of their dearest friends, since the publication of the book.'^ The 
 bishop remains at Oxford another year to get out Vol. V. and VI., 
 and then all of them return to Natal. . „ . 
 
 London, October 24. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I have just been regarding with amazement, and deep 
 ponderings, some marvellous scenery at the Drury Lane Theatre 
 whereby Byron's "Manfred" was illustrated, before a large audi- 
 ence; with enchanting views of the Alps, and the Staubbach 
 Fall, Martin's pandemonium and the appearance of the most 
 beautiful spirits, representing his dead Astarte. . . . 
 
 Yesterday I went by railroad to Kew, crossed the river bridge 
 and rang at Sir Wm. Hooker's gate. What a lovely place it is! 
 a village green surrounded by quaint old houses, taverns and 
 hot-houses on the riverside, and by lovely ivy and flower-em- 
 
 *The Pentateuch, ist volume published in 1862; 7th and last in 
 1879. 
 
448 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 bowered cottages on the other, with a village church and spire 
 at one end, and the great gates of the palace gardens on the 
 other. . . . Admitted through the hall, I was told I was expected, 
 and Lady Hooker ordered the footman to see me through the 
 cottage garden by a private gate into the grounds. I walked for 
 half an hour in search of Sir William and his son Dr. Hooker, in- 
 quiring of every group of laborers and gardeners; but none had 
 seen him pass. At last I got round to the great gates, and no 
 porter being there, I was let out by two ladies who entered with 
 their own key. . . . Returning to Sir William's front gate, I 
 met him crossing the road and he brought me in and took me 
 again through the private garden, and began to show me the many 
 museum buildings, filled with polished specimens of all the 
 various woods known in the whole world, with all the tropical 
 plants, with all the temperate plants, with all the orders of plants, 
 etc., etc. In one of these [buildings] we found the men whom we 
 sought — the two great African travellers. Dr. Kirke (Livingstone's 
 companion and physician, a lovely person) and Dr. Mann, the 
 first explorer of the Gaboon coast, and Camaroon Mountains, 
 and Fernando Po. We all four then went through the vast 
 conservatories, each costing from ;^2 5,000 to ;^5o,ooo, under the 
 domes of which grew groups of tall palm-trees, the dropped 
 fruit of which we ate, and pronounced the little oranges things 
 not bad to take. ... It was a private palace of Victoria, with 
 seven acres of garden and 700 of park, but she made Sir William 
 Hooker superintendent, and gave the whole to Government for 
 the enjoyment of the people. . . . He has already taken in 380 
 acres into the gardens, and has 400 more at command. . . . All 
 Baines' collections and paintings in Australia are there. . . . 
 Mann went home, but Kirke and I went with Sir William to the 
 house, and Lady Hooker and we three made a jolly party at 
 lunch for a good hour; she being a good Abolitionist and he very 
 shy of the subject. After pressing me to come again, and sending 
 messages to the Baches, they dismissed Kirke and me to the city. 
 Oh, how desperately tired I was! I could hardly drag my legs 
 across Hungerford bridge up to the Strand. But I only had a 
 few minutes' rest, and then had to return across the bridge to the 
 Waterloo Station, where I found Dr. Marcet awaiting me with his 
 brother-in-law, Pasteur. . . . 
 
 Paris, Oct. 2Sth. 
 
 ... I left London Saturday last in the seven o'clock morning 
 train for Dover; in a dense fog. . . . [Having for companion in 
 
i86j SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 449 
 
 the train from Calais to Paris an intelligent young woman going 
 to Pau for her health, he fell into conversation.] 
 
 I gave her a complete account of the American rebellion 
 and our English relations, as I understood them, because she 
 was going among 3,000 or 4,000 English people at Pau, who 
 have nothing to do but bathe and talk. It is good missionary 
 ground. . . . Life here is as much without as in London it is 
 within. The utter externality of sentiment and conduct, the 
 complete extemalization of all life, is overwhelmingly ludicrous, 
 terrible, pitiable, to the new-comer. The stage represents the 
 cause of it. In the comedies and melodramas of the French 
 stage you see that the past life of the city has been so drugged 
 and starved alternately, that it has been decrepit, peevish, sen- 
 sual, selfish, superficial in its knowledge of things and in its 
 estimation of principles, without desire for the quiet depths of 
 home life and virtuous love; or if the desire remains, without 
 the ability to produce these grand phenomena. Home! Love! 
 The French stage has its chateau and its lover; but the chateau 
 is the home of appearances, and the love is not eternal. I do not 
 think this harsh judgment can be justly applied to the whole 
 country of France, and yet it was from the country chateaux 
 that the currents of poison, streams of poison, flowed into the city. 
 All France partook of the Circean banquet, and all Frenchmen 
 became swine and wolves and other hideous animals. One 
 universal debauch of soul and body reigned for generations. In 
 the midst of it came the Reformation, and a milhon Protestants 
 were manufactured out of the residue of reason and affection 
 that was left to the unhappy land. But they were persecuted 
 down and persecuted off, that the nobles might continue their 
 debauch and the peasants their agony. At last the Revolution 
 came, and with it a new reformation. It is possible that in com- 
 ing time the growth of liberal ideas, the preaching of the free 
 church, the reform of the common schools and the republication 
 of American and English books, may gradually deepen the con- 
 victions of the French people in all that is inward, permanent and 
 good. I believe that these influences will have their effect. I 
 believe that the forces of spiritual nature resident here will have 
 in the future a more open way. I beheve that there is a good deal 
 of genuine home Hfe, truth, love and constancy, worship and 
 benevolence, I mean beneficence, in France. But I cannot be- 
 lieve that France does not need a great reformation, to make 
 her comprehend our meaning of the words, Home and Love and 
 Virtue. 
 
450 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvm 
 
 But I am giving you sentiments instead of adventures, opin- 
 ions instead of facts; a mistake which I thought I should avoid. 
 Let me continue then my journal. . . . 
 
 The rest of Monday and Tuesday we spent trying to deliver 
 letters and publications of the American Philosophical Society 
 to Elie de Beaumont, De Verneuil, M. Gay, and M. Dr. P. Broca 
 (Secretary Anthropological Soc.) . . . Old Mr. Gay was very funny 
 and sociable and admired our visit, especially as I brought him 
 Mr. Durand's box of Rocky Mountain mosses. Bossange was 
 exceedingly amiable and obliging, and pressed me to say how he 
 could oblige me. Broca took us to the rooms of the Anthropologi- 
 cal Society and showed us the great cabinet of French skulls, 60 
 Basque skulls (all but one dolichocephalic!), 33 just got from Or- 
 rouy (near Compiegne, N.E. of this, say 30 miles), with great 
 jawbones, and of the stone age (but with one or two bronze 
 articles !), from a cavern in a gentleman's (English) park; a great 
 find, and especially important because 8 of the 33 thigh bones 
 have a hole at the end, like the monkeys and Hottentots and Quan- 
 chos, but so rare that of 400 Merovingian French thigh bones, 
 only one had the hole. Broca also showed us the MS. report of 
 the Commission on the famous jaw discovered in the Diluvium 
 near Abbeville, in favor of its genuineness, signed by Quatrefages 
 (President of the Anth. Soc), and the other members of the Com- 
 mission. Falconer came over first and, returning to England, 
 wrote to the Athenaeum that it was undoubtedly genuine. The 
 pressure upon him was so great, that he then reversed his judge- 
 ment in a letter to the Times newspaper. Afterwards others came, 
 and finally the Commission sat upon it, and its ^'precis" will be 
 published in the next number of the Journal of the Society. In 
 England, Lyell it was, I think, who told me the jaw was of course 
 a forgery, and M. Boucher des Perthes a little crazy. Perhaps 
 it was Hooker who told me so ; I forget which. M. Boucher des 
 Perthes is over 80 years of age now, and his servant breaks the 
 ice for him in winter, to let him have his morning bath. I shall 
 soon see him. . . . 
 
 Paris, October 31, 1863. Saturday. 
 
 . . . We spent a pleasant hour with Mr. Beckwith and Leonard, 
 yesterday, and I afterwards sat another with Mrs. Beckwith, her 
 daughter, and the younger son; showed them your portrait and 
 the children's; talked of spiritualism. ... I was most cordially 
 welcomed by M. Soeman (Louis), the great mineralogist, in his 
 cabinet, 45 Rue St Andre des Arts, and he made me promise to 
 
i863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 451 
 
 come to the Geological Society meeting, next Monday night. He 
 gave me some idea of the iron -works; but sent me^to Mr. Friedel, 
 Conservateur de la Collection Mineralogique de V Ecole des Mines 
 (out of town), and M. Gruner, Directeur des Etudes, on whom 
 Aleck [Lesley] and I called to-day and received every atten- 
 tion; letters to rolling mills and furnaces in the South; instruc- 
 tion how to get across to them; how to get a geology-chart of 
 France; &c. . . . 
 
 ... I make slow headway, and know not how to act with 
 prudence and decision at once, until I see the whole ground, and 
 this costs time. I have now my choice to go to the great iron- 
 works of Liege, or to those of Creuzot, or to those of St. Etienne. 
 The continuation of this letter will tell you how I plan for the 
 ensuing week. , . . 
 
 Amiens, November i, 1863. 
 
 ... It was indeed all saints' day to me. And then to wake 
 from the vision, and find myelf sitting to-day in the self-same 
 place and with the same emotions, as twenty years ago, yet with 
 a lifetime of adventure interjected ! . . . 
 
 Abbeville, Monday, November 2, 1863. 
 
 I walked across the river through the old city, passed the 
 cathedral as vespers were commencing; but had to go first to 
 the Tete-de-Boeuf tavern, and find a nice bedroom with petit 
 salon before it, where I now write all these tedious trivialities to 
 you. . . . 
 
 ... A well-dressed, gentlemanly fellow of 35 perhaps came 
 to meet me, saying he was the Concierge of M. Boucher des 
 Perthes, and would show me his collection. First however I paid 
 my respects to the great archseologue, who looks to be 60, but is 
 80 at least, and rather lame just now; and then wandered through 
 a palace of antiquities, relics of every age, paintings, sculptured 
 tables and buffets, porcelain, wood and stone ware of all times, 
 Roman arms, Celtic stone weapons, and chief of all those spear- 
 heads of reddish dark hue at least 50 in number, which have been 
 discovered at Moulin-Quignon, just outside of the city, at the 
 bottom of the drift, and with them the jaw (mdchoir humaine) now 
 in the charge of M. de Quatrefages and the joint Commission. 
 I spent all last evening reading the various reports of Milne Ed- 
 wards, De Quatrefages, and extracts from writings of De Beau- 
 mont, Falconer, and others, to get a complete idea of the ''situa- 
 
452 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 tion," and this morning I go to see the locality. But I must 
 leave that to my next letter, for the mail must take this to-day to 
 Liverpool if it is to reach you by next steamer. . . . 
 
 Melun, November 3, 1863. Ttiesday. 
 
 . . . Me voila! fairly started on my journey! But to begin 
 where I left off Sunday night at Abbeville: 
 
 . . . Monday morning at 10 o'clock I posted my letter in a 
 quaint old house opposite the Cathedral, bought a seal on which 
 I ordered my initials cut, climbed into a sort of gig, stopped at the 
 gate of the courtyard of M. Boucher des Perthes and was shown 
 once more over the wonderful cabinet of its master ; but, this time, 
 by himself. Now, in fact, I comprehended first its marvels. He 
 showed me hundreds on hundreds of objects, fashioned by the 
 antediluvians; flints in the forms of birds, beasts, fish and men; 
 weapons of all kinds; tools for digging, scooping, cutting, scraping, 
 fishing, polishing, sharpening; hatchets of deers' horns, in the ends 
 of which were stuck sharp fiints,and through their middle were thrust 
 wooden and horny handles, now decayed ; wedges for splitting trees ; 
 spearheads, arrowheads, mallets and knives. Many of these had 
 been found at the bottom of the gravel; many more had been found 
 in the innumerable "tourbUres " or peat bogs, which almost occupy 
 the fiat meadows of the Somme, from end to end. Of course, 
 the most interesting of them all, to me, Coheleth /r / » 
 
 the Arkite, were sundry funny adoptions of quaint An y ? J? ) 
 roots and flints by the infantile fancy of those incip- ' ^ 
 
 lent humanities, in which they no doubt found the same pleasure that 
 our children do, in the same sort of objects. In every case where a 
 root or a flint could be tortured into an animated form, especially 
 where one eye was naturally present, the poor creatures had turned 
 it over and punched or chipped another eye to correspond, and 
 oftentimes they had added a mouth, and now and then rude legs. 
 In a few instances the mouth was capitally well done. Some few 
 human faces would have astonished you. In one single instance 
 a root representing a man had been notched above the face, to 
 represent two horns or Pan's ears! There was no doubt about 
 the object, and the resemblance to the old devil-form was absurdly 
 close. Some of the birds were most laughable types of swimming 
 ducks, and flying storks; there were also strutting men, and even 
 women in long clothes. As to the implements found in the dilu- 
 vium, the same sort of design was more utilitarian, but equally 
 artistic. You could not grasp a specimen but you found your 
 thumb sink into a nicely chipped cavity on one side, and your 
 
1863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 453 
 
 forefinger into another cavity on the other side; and the positions 
 of these holes determined the use of the tool, whether for thrust- 
 ing, striking, cutting or scooping. Some were so arranged that 
 one end was an adze, and the other a chisel; or one end a scoop, 
 and the other a knife. A few were playfully bored into rings; 
 and some of the knuckle-bones were made into "preachers" just 
 like the vertebrae which are sold at our fairs. I laughed heartily 
 at the completeness and absurd pointedness of the evidence, and 
 got the old gentleman quite excited by my sympathy. He gave 
 me lots of books which he had published, and took me to the street 
 to be sure that my Voiturier knew how to drive me to the quarries 
 where these objects (and the celebrated jaw) were found. 
 
 The drive was a charmingly exciting episode. We passed 
 the old church of St. Gilles, and issued by two gates, through 
 two lines of fortifications, over three fosses with drawbridges and 
 winding military roads, upon the great plain, gently — hardly 
 perceptibly — rising towards a group of windmills, the first of which 
 was the celebrated — the now immortalized — Moulin-Quignon 
 (Quignon being the miller's name), near which some common- 
 looking gravel pits had furnished the human jaw. Samson's 
 jawbone of an ass did not half the execution upon the Philistines, 
 that this jawbone of an antediluvian has brought upon the Eth- 
 nologists. I carefully examined the section of soil, gravel of 
 broken flints, and various kinds of bone; and selecting a broken 
 flint, I tried to insert it, in such a way as to deceive an observer; 
 but it was a difficult — I thought an impossible feat. At all 
 events, after the joint Commission had fought over the affair for 
 three days in Paris, and adjourned to Abbeville, they became 
 agreed upon the impossibility of so inserting a jaw as to deceive 
 M. Boucher des Perthes. They agreed that it is a genuine fossil, 
 like the genuine fossil implements; and there is but one of them 
 now, I believe, — -so at least M. De Verneuil told me, last night — ■ 
 viz. M. Elie de Beaumont, who does not make the jaw, the imple- 
 ments, and the mastodon, sow, deer, bear and other extinct re- 
 mains, all of the same age. De Beaumont strangely holds to 
 Cuvier's exploded fancy, that the ground is a debacle, or land- 
 slide from above, in which these objects, of different ages, have 
 been entombed together. I see not the slightest trace of a land- 
 slide — not even a "creep." It is not on the side of a hill, or slop- 
 ing wall of a valley, at all; but on an open and almost level 
 plain, and evidently undisturbed. This became still more evident 
 when I rode back and entered the city by the Port de Bois, passed 
 through it lengthwise, and out by another gate, to the quarries 
 
454 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 of Menchecourt, which are far more extensive and curious and 
 which have yielded a richer harvest. These quarries I examined 
 carefully, and took sketches of various sections of the drift above 
 and the loam below. The hill is higher here; but the slope is 
 insignificant, and there is not the slightest evidence of slip or move- 
 ment at any subsequent time. . . . 
 
 In fact I can prove by the internal structure of the face of 
 the quarry, along its whole extent, that it is an undisturbed deposit. 
 It is therefore now a simple question of chronology, to deter- 
 mine, in fact, at what age, or in what century before Christ, the 
 extinct animals lived, whose remains are here mingled with the 
 productions of human skill, want and fancy. And then there 
 arises this other question, Have we here the primitive race of 
 mankind? Or are these works the rude attempts of a debased 
 and decayed offshoot from the nobler primeval people of some 
 other happier clime, the East for instance? The theologians 
 have still this last door behind them to escape by, and carry ofif, 
 like iEneas from burning Troy, their dear Anchises, Adam. We 
 will see, if they found another Troy at Rome. 
 
 But I weary you with this long story. Let me turn from it 
 to tell you about the quaintest of all suburbs of the quaintest of 
 all old fortified cities, this of Abbeville. . . . 
 
 Paris, November [4 ?]. 
 
 ... It was the evening of the meeting of the Geological 
 Society. I was set down by mistake at the gate of the Zoological 
 Society in the Rue de Lille, No. 19, and mounting to the second 
 story, all was dark. No one knew where the Geological Society 
 held its reunion. I wandered about in the rain, hopeless. At 
 last a cab went by. I arrested it and drove to Socman's house. 
 He was expecting me, but we waited for a third, a friend; and 
 then we all three walked, until I was completely lost. We passed 
 the Eglise de St. Severin ( ?) and stopped at the far end of the Rue 
 des Fleurs. Upstairs we uncloaked in two little closets, used for 
 a library, and entered a long and narrow room, like our old 
 parlor in Wetherill Street (no larger), where I was introduced 
 to M. Albert Gaudry the president, a young man, who after a 
 long buzz of conversation, all the members standing, called the 
 meeting to order, and made an Eulogium on somebody, I do 
 not know whom. I was introduced also to De Verneuil, who 
 came and sat next to me. Soeman sat before me and gave me 
 information as I asked it. Hebert sat at the other end of the 
 room on the front bench. Near him sat Delesse. Both these 
 
i863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 455 
 
 I was made to know afterwards. Mortillet, the friend of Desor, 
 and the upholder (against Desor) of the theory of the scooping 
 out of the lacs by glacial action, and principal engineer of the 
 Lombard railroads, sat next to Hebert, and presented a note 
 on his favorite subject. He gave me afterwards a copy. The 
 meeting was very informal; the members talked sitting, and 
 indulged freely in jocose remarks and repartees, "causing great 
 laughter at the time." But I was chiefly amused, and a little 
 astonished, at the side discussions, and positive but good-natured 
 fights got up indiscriminately among them. Hebert was es- 
 pecially pugnacious, but evidently knew what he was talking 
 about. I understood only the general drift of the proceedings 
 and not at all the detailed remarks. The air of the room was 
 asphyxiating, as Verneuil justly remarked, as the old janitor got 
 up on a chair to stop one of the "mechanical lights" from smok- 
 ing. All France burns oil in this one kind of lamp. The great 
 variety which we see in American lamps is unknown in France. 
 Walking home after some conversation with De Verneuil and 
 Delesse, on Hunt's metamorphosis theories, I left Soeman and 
 Delesse in the street, and caught a cab and drove home, where 
 after an hour's packing, Aleck [Lesley] joined me and about 11.30 
 we went to bed. 
 
 Lyons, Nov. 7. 
 
 . . . What would I not give to have had your charming so- 
 ciety during my last three days' journeying from Paris to Melun, 
 on Tuesday; from Melun to Chagny, Montchanin and Creuzot 
 on Wednesday; from Creuzot by Montchanin and Chagny to 
 Lyons, on Thursday; and all over Lyons with Mr. Viollot and 
 Uncle James [Lesley] yesterday! To-day I am writing letters, 
 walking with Uncle and dining with Mr. Turgot (?) and M. 
 Viollot. To-morrow is Sunday; Monday will send Uncle and 
 me to St. Etienne, and Tuesday back by Rive de Gier to Lyons 
 again. . . . 
 
 Lyons, Sunday, November 8, 1863. 
 
 ... A tedious ride in the cars in darkness, and an exciting 
 ride in a diligence of five miles further, behind three white horses, 
 in full trot, along an unknown road, brought me to the long steep 
 hillside village of Creuzot, and to a tavern undergoing radical 
 repairs. 
 
 , . . My letter to Mr. Blair will have told you the essential 
 results of my visit to these wonderful works, where 6000 men 
 and 300 women are employed, in every form of iron-work, from 
 
456 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 coke-burning and ore-smelting to engine-building and rail-roll- 
 ing. But I would fain describe the views from the terrace of 
 the palatial residence, upon the plain. ... 
 
 . . . We went higher up the valley, to St. Etienne, a city of 
 100,000 inhabitants, but as mean and dirty as Pottsville. . . . 
 We drove first to the school of mines. . . . M. Lesiure sent me 
 in his carriage to the great steel-works above Lorette (five miles 
 up the valley), where M. Bonassier, a jolly little round fellow, 
 who was an evident expert, showed me the utmost kindness, 
 showed me everything, even to the details of the machinery of 
 the Bessemer process. ... At 11.30 I was at the station and had 
 a glorious ride to Lyons where I arrived time enough to hear the 
 band begin at two o'clock, on the Place Bel Court. . . . 
 
 . . . Thursday, November 12th, a carriage at the door by 
 nine o'clock took me to the cars and five hours brought me to 
 Geneva. But what a ride! I was all the time like a squin-el in 
 a wheel, flying from one side of the coupe to the other, undecided 
 whether to pay most heed to the ancient villages and castles on 
 the left, or the Rhine and the Alps on the right; in despair at being 
 obliged to consult a diffuse guide book, three maps, and an 
 indicateur, while some precious chateau, viaduct, old tomb, 
 fair view, or remarkable geological exposure might slip by me 
 unobserved. When we entered the gorges of the Jura, where 
 the geology, the civil engineering and the romance of the route 
 seemed to combine for the purpose of overwhelming me, I could 
 not but sometimes throw book and glass away together, and give 
 my spirit up to float vdth the genii of the place, whithersoever 
 they said. The silence and the solitude of the ride lent it a sort 
 of spiritual perfection. I whistled and sang incessantly, like a 
 bird, keeping time to the rhythm of the swift-moving scenery, 
 and the shifting trains of thought which they produced; the 
 gigantic, unearthly-looking walls of Jurassic limestone against 
 the sky, stretching for miles and miles, on each side of the pro- 
 found ravines through which we made our way. . . . 
 
 Going to the Hotel Metropole [Geneva], they gave me a third- 
 story window on the lake! I telegraphed to Desor. I dined 
 early, at four. I got a carriage and drove round in vain to find 
 my dear old Caesar Malan, but he lives an hour's drive away; 
 at Vandoeuvres; and I must go to-morrow; I must see Pictet 
 also; but I have no time to waste, and Desor perhaps can help 
 me in my business; so I am in a hurry to get back to Lyons and 
 to go to Alais, whence I go to Bordeaux to the iron-works there, 
 and so to Paris and Liege. I am already becoming impatient 
 
1863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 457 
 
 of the daily delays. ... A telegram this moment from Garnier, 
 saying, "Desor est en Afrique depuis un mois. Retour pas encore 
 fixe." . . , 
 
 Nov. iT,th. 
 
 ... I wish you could have accompanied me in my ride to-day, 
 to Vandoeuvres to see old Caesar Malan, and then round by 
 Cologny and MoHngnou to see Adolph Bost. . . . Amid this 
 beautiful scenery I found my venerable friend in a charming 
 cottage, behind a country church. I was led through a court- 
 yard of two yards' width, in a hall, into a charming little parlor; 
 and presently the old man came down, looking very little older 
 than when I saw him last, but evidently, as he called himself, 
 a good-for-nothing old fellow, that is, entirely broken down, 
 but with age only; for although he complained of his memory 
 and said he did not at all know who I was, yet my words recalled 
 much of the past, and illuminated his spirits, so that the old fire 
 came to his face again. He called me always "dear man" or 
 "my dearest," and would not talk about anything but my past 
 history and present duties and position, insisting on details, and 
 expressing the greatest delight with your portrait and the chil- 
 dren's. After half an hour he became tired of talking English 
 and with excitement and made me pray with him, following my 
 prayer with a short one for me and mine. He then dismissed 
 me with a benediction, and many thanks for my goodness in 
 coming to see him. He considered, he said, my position in 
 America a high one, and thereby my responsibilities were much 
 increased — this he said with his old smile and sparkle. 
 
 As I rode away, I had a new prospect — a spiritual one added 
 to the marvellous world of beautiful nature spread out around me. 
 Somehow I was dissatisfied, however. My dream of twenty years 
 was substituted by a reality; the old had been annihilated by 
 the new. This always shocks me. But I think now that the 
 new dream is pleasanter even than the old one, and the old one 
 shines through it. . . . 
 
 ... I returned to the hotel, warmed myself, began my letter 
 to you, ate my second breakfast, and drove at one o'clock up 
 through the new boulevards on the destroyed fortifications, into 
 the wilderness of old, quaint, six story streets, about the Hotel 
 de Ville, the courts and St. Peter's Church, to the palatial resi- 
 dence of the celebrated Francois J. Pictet-De-la-Rive, the pa- 
 laeontologist. His hall stretched across the whole front of the 
 court and beyond it; in a splendid parlor, I waited for his en- 
 
458 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 trance from his chamber on the right; for he was sick with rheu- 
 matism in the left arm. He received me well, and we talked in 
 French of many things, and persons, especially of Desor, who 
 was here three months ago, on his way to the Atlas Mountains 
 to return at New Year. . . . He then took me upstairs over the 
 different departments of the Museum — the anatomical room; 
 the rooms of Natural History and the rooms of geology and min- 
 eralogy. In the last suite, I had the pleasure of seeing the great 
 classical collection of De Saussure, and over the case himg his 
 Alpenstock with which he made the first ascent ever made of 
 Mont Blanc. Albeit not given to relics, I gazed at it with awe. 
 
 Nov. 14. 
 
 . . . Once more I descended the covered ways to the hotel, 
 where I wrote and rested until Bost came to me at quarter of 
 four o'clock to go to the Gare, where we took first-class places for 
 Lausanne and arrived there at six; took chocolate at a cafe, and 
 walked to Troyon's. 
 
 We knocked at a small door in a stone wall with Troyon's 
 name upon it, and were ushered along a narrow stone passage to 
 a parlor door. In the parlor were sofas and chairs and a cen- 
 tre table, and around the walls from ceiling to floor were glass 
 cabinets, deep enough to have shelves of different depths in 
 three sets of three each. In these cabinets he had arranged 
 I. the most ancient stone and stag-horn implements of the tu- 
 muli and of the pilotis. 2. The bronze relics. 3. The relics of 
 the age of iron. 4. The Merovingian and Roman. 5. Those 
 down to Charlemagne. 
 
 I cannot stop to describe the most interesting of these things; 
 but I bring with me his sketch, over which we can talk; especially 
 over the apple-core, chestnut, hemp-seed, scorched wheat, linen 
 twine, cloth and netting, nephrite and serpentine knives set in 
 horn, sharpening blocks, and a dovetailed panel door! All these 
 he described to us in French, from which, as my head was too 
 tired to comprehend his involved sentences, Bost would translate 
 into German for me. He then introduced us to his wife, a little 
 older than himself, and two other ladies, who vacated the little 
 drawing-room (a mere entry) (sending a servant back for their 
 old-fashioned foot-stoves) in our behalf, that Troyon might 
 show us all the boxes he had filled with new species from C. 
 in his last exhibition a few weeks ago. The government au- 
 thorized him to dredge, and he has men at work; and although 
 
1863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 459 
 
 he has been to the place forty times already, he told us there must 
 be, in proportion, left for him to get, at least 60,000 more; knives 
 of boar's tusks were especially beautiful. 
 
 He lit us to the door (the wee little weazened-faced old anti- 
 quary) where our voiture stood, and bidding me say many amiable 
 things to one Mr. Franklin Peale of Philadelphia, and offer 
 him a fresh exchange, he said good-night; and we gathered up 
 our things at the cafe and drove on an hour. 
 
 November 15, 1863. 
 
 I had told Bost, as we sat sipping some hot drink in the cold 
 stone-floored eating-room, before going to bed, and warming our 
 feet at a little fire, that the most characteristic word of Christ to 
 me, was where it was said of him, for " those whom he loved he 
 loved unto the end," and that I sympathized more with those 
 words than with any others. So after we had got into our beds, 
 he rose on his elbow to blow out the light, and looking over the 
 back of his bed towards me, said, "we part now, perhaps never 
 to meet again; receive therefore as my last words, 'those whom 
 I love I love unto the end'; adieu." To this I said, "adieu," 
 and lay in silence for hours (as you do), too full of thoughts 
 and feelings to sleep. I go to-night at 4.10 to Valence, and 
 to-morrow to Alais Iron Works. . . . 
 
 Alais, November 17, 1863. Tuesday Night. 
 
 ... I will continue my narrative. After sending off three 
 letters to you, packing up, signing Uncle's will, and bidding 
 them a cordially affectionate good-bye, I took a five minutes' 
 glance around the inside corridor of the grand Court of the Palais 
 des Beaux Arts, where I saw arkisms enough on Christian and 
 Roman tombs, altars and statues to set me wild. But what 
 have I to do with such things while patenting a railroad bar? 
 I left Lyons in the coupe, over a grand bridge, and went down 
 the valley into the Country of Pontius Pilate, but in a fog (bruy- 
 hre) too dense to see mountains or monuments with any com- 
 fort; and it fell dark about 4.30 o'clock, and I sat in a long dream 
 until we arrived at Valence at eight. . . . All these are famous 
 for Protestant sufferings, for the country of the South is the 
 land of the persecuted Camisards, the scene of the dragonades 
 of Louis. . . . Then passing Lorges where Onobarbus defeated 
 the Celts, you approach the wonderful Avignon, with its many 
 noble churches, its long and high and perfect ancient fortifica- 
 tions, its elegant suburbs and, above all, its gigantic palace of 
 
460 ■ LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvin 
 
 the popes rising like a magic mountain into the air. Let me 
 die in Avignon ! * 
 
 But why do I tell all this? The eye grows drunken, and 
 charges the memory to make each object immortal. But picture 
 follows picture so rapidly that they obliterate each other, and 
 all the soul remembers is, that it has been, — like Paul, through 
 heaven, and seen wonderful things that it is against the laws of 
 language to relate. . . . 
 
 ... At Nimes, I peeped in vain down the streets, as we flew 
 past, for some glimpse of the Arena or the Maison Carree. 
 Changing cars again for Alais, we backed out to a junction and 
 then came up by long steep grades 32 miles, crossing the Gar- 
 danne twice, and passing at least two dozen most remarkable- 
 looking towns, all of them fortified, usually with a great square 
 tower in the midst and a church beside. . . . 
 
 . . . Now here I am, in two cold rooms, but with a fire, and 
 ready for bed. To-morrow morning I start out to see the iron- 
 works, and learn if I can whether the Dod process is to be our 
 stumbling-stone. France is a great country; far greater than the 
 United States; far more advanced, more powerful and more pro- 
 gressive. Restoration, embellishment, establishment, expansion, 
 perfection, stability, liberty, security, instruction, these are French 
 expressions for national life. There is far more life in France 
 than in the United States; a more intense and energetic dealing by 
 ideas with things. Improvement is more universal than with us. 
 The immense solidity and perfection of their handy-work perpet- 
 ually amazes me. They do not put up with shifts as we do. 
 To talk of France exhausting or impoverishing herself by war 
 is absurd. 400,000 young men come of age every year in France ! 
 Every railroad cutting is walled! They spend thousands of 
 dollars where we spend hundreds. The whole empire is growing 
 a crop of bronze statues! Every town and city in the Kingdom 
 is rebuilding, widening its streets, restoring its edifices, getting 
 a railroad to its gates. And all Europe owns that France is the 
 mistress of Europe. She rules the world. . . . 
 
 * When this letter was received and read aloud at home, m}' little 
 sister, a child of about six years old, was not supposed to be interested in 
 it at all, but a few days later our old friend Dr. Meigs called to see my 
 mother, and, on his inquiring after my father, little Meg from the corner, 
 where she was playing with a doll, called softly, but with dramatic effect, 
 "Father says, 'Let me die in Avignon!'" This much amused the doctor. 
 
i863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 461 
 
 NImes, Thursday, 2 o'clock, Nov. 19, 1863. 
 
 ... I was afraid to arrive at Bordeaux exhausted by night 
 rides, and so I threw away a day in order to get two good nights' 
 rest, — one here and the other at Carcassonne, where I expect to 
 arrive at 8.30, and whence I shall depart at the same hour to- 
 morrow morning. ... I ought to mention particularly the great 
 peak de St. Loup to the north in approaching Montpellier, with 
 a wonderful precipice of 1000 feet (?) towards the east; the pict- 
 uresque approach to Cette, over the long sandy Causeway between 
 the blue Mediterranean and the Salt lagoons, with the port full 
 of steamers to Algeria and the Spanish cities on the left as we 
 approached, and the high hill (600 ft.) behind the city to the 
 right. I was delighted with the tall pillar memorial to Rinaud, 
 the engineer of the great canal, on a pile of rocks, to the right, 
 as we passed over the summit level of the great plain at Segala; 
 and with the set of ridges which died out en echelon on the left, 
 explaining to me, what I never understood before, the connec- 
 tion of the Pyrenees with the Cevennes and Jura mountains 
 to the North. 
 
 Saturday, November 21, 1863. 
 
 . . . When I got supper at Bordeaux, I wandered out to find 
 the consul, and then a Protestant minister. . . . He told me 
 how to find Jackson's iron-works, and John Best's establishments 
 at Laforce; but I resolved to go first to Pau. 
 
 So Saturday morning I was flying over the desolate Landes, 
 past the Bay of Arachon, watching out for shepherds on stilts, 
 and studying the low, flat, tiled roofs of the isolated houses on 
 the sands; past the newly bought possessions of the Emperor, 
 with his new villages, new farms, new churches and new projects 
 for regenerating this great wilderness of the Bay of Biscay Coast. 
 I passed stacks of iron ore, piles of rails; heard of lots of forges to 
 the right and left; swept over the Adour at Dax in view of its 
 castle and great church; past Orthez with its immense town of 
 Moncade (little dreaming of the Joys in store for me at its foot), 
 where Gaston Phoebus, Count of Foix, carried his lovely mistress 
 and murdered his own son, and died himself; up the lovely Gare 
 de Pau, and was met at the railroad depot by old Father Bost, 
 to whom I had sent a flying telegram from Monceaux where I 
 dejeunered. The old man was wild with excitement all through 
 our crowded omnibus drive to his house, taking me down to walk 
 around the platform of the terrace of Henri IV., where I got my 
 view of the Pyrenees; but I had been enjoying them for two 
 
462 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 hours already in the cars. Oh, what glories! Three masses of 
 Alpine forms, three worlds of rock and snow, three synods of the 
 gods, sitting at once, in celestial dignity, in silence, crowned with 
 clouds! No tongue to tell the magnificence of this scene. It 
 excels the celebrated view of the Bernese Oberland from the 
 Dom Platz at Berne. . . . 
 
 This letter describes his visit to his friend John Bost at 
 his Establishments for Incurables : — 
 
 MoNPOirt:, November 26, 1863. 
 
 . . . Approaching Laforce, we began to descry, on the top of 
 the hillside on the left and far in front, the white houses of the 
 Establishments, and when we came abreast of them, after passing 
 a few houses in a line, and when we were just catching a glimpse 
 of the spires of Bergerac, still 10 Kilometres ahead of us on the 
 grand route, we turned sharp to the left, and reaching the foot of 
 the hills, entered a ravine. In advance of the shay, I walked 
 up the winding road, behind the Establishment above, and along 
 a street of nice, white houses, old and quaint however as all the 
 rest in this country, past the police station, and found my way 
 to the door of a mansion, where John Bost lived until the last 
 two years, in fact the manse or Parsonage. A little elderly soft- 
 spoken gentleman in blue spectacles, whom I learned afterwards 
 to know as pastor (I forget his name), Bost's vicar, lately come, 
 parleyed with me awhile and sent for Mr. Bost. Meanwhile 
 I was ushered through the hall into a large room, with a centre 
 table covered with a few pamphlets, etc., and a fire. Soon a 
 beautiful face came in, evidently beaming with intelligence and 
 goodness and full of business, and took my hand with many 
 questions; first of all f I had received his letter to De Kaseville; 
 and in the same breath told me he had got one that morning from 
 his mother, telling him I was coming. (Think of the energy and 
 thoughtfulness of the old lady, and how anxious she must be to 
 please me!) But still John did not know me. He thought I 
 was an iron merchant, some friend of Timothy's. . . . We walked 
 into the little garden behind the house. The sun was setting; 
 they led me to the edge of a parapetted precipice; and all the 
 world of the Dordorgne and the Garonne Bay stretched before 
 us; one of the great scenes of the world; but without the Pyre- 
 nees. Oh, how I longed for you! Then I was taken by John 
 to the front door, and we arranged to have the driver and his 
 
i863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 463 
 
 shay stay over night, and take me on to Jackson's iron-works at 
 nine this morning; — after that we walked arm and arm, first to 
 one place then to another, talking together; every now and then 
 meeting some group of children; or some cripple; or some queer 
 old crazy man; or some blind girl; or some "incurable"; to 
 every one of whom John put some pointed, practical question, 
 as to how they were, where they were going, what they had just 
 been doing, where some one else was; or gave some command, 
 to walk, not sit in the damp, to go back home; to take care not 
 to fall; or sent them off. . . . 
 
 ... In other parts of the hill, he showed me other equally 
 large low buildings devoted to miserable boys; to incurable girls; 
 to epileptics, by themselves; and everywhere I found gentle and 
 practical matrons presiding. I knew not how to wonder enough 
 at the skill he displayed in meeting all these creatures — many 
 of them half-restored to soundness by his humanity and skill. 
 
 Two years ago the French Academy at Paris awarded him 
 the Prize of Virtue, against several hundred competitors, — to him 
 ignorant of the whole thing, — to him the first Protestant to whom 
 it had ever been awarded. . . . 
 
 PAias, December i, 1863. Tuesday. 
 
 ... I have spent all yesterday and to-day in a carriage seeing 
 the Eliots, Beckwiths, Jackson, Delesse, Soeman, Bossange, 
 Rienwald, Gruner, Moigno, photographers, — and Aleck with 
 me constantly. I have got more iron information; but all of the 
 same unsatisfactory kind. I shall go off now to Vienna and return 
 by Liege to London, reaching England in, say, two weeks. . . . 
 
 . . . Here leaving my valise (foolishly), I rode alongside of 
 the railroad 15 miles west to St. Leurin, and was permitted to 
 see the steel -works of Jackson, who was away; but I could obtain 
 no interview with Johnstone, his superintendent. Here I found 
 the Bessemer process in full blast. 
 
 Paris, December 3, 1863. Wediiesday. 
 
 ... I am going to-day or to-morrow to Pontoise, and Friday 
 to Wiesbaden; thence direct to Vienna and return to London by 
 Liege. I do this to save time. It would not be right for me to 
 return without studying the German side of the subject, and 
 my friend Heidinger is chief of the Geological Survey of the 
 Austrian Empire, and very anxious to do all he can for me. Tell 
 Joe that a few days in Vienna will teach us the chances of the 
 patent in all southern Germany. If I can find the Krupp Steel 
 
464 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 manufacture on the Rhine, I will have no need to go into 
 Silesia. . . . 
 
 Offenburg on the Rhine, Monday, Dec. 8, 1863. 
 
 . . . Twenty years ago I leaned over the bridge at Kehl, and 
 mused on the rushing waters; — did the river remember me ? How 
 destitute of a soul is nature! How brutal are all its forces! And 
 people talk of the religion of nature! and of the love of nature! 
 as if it were not our loves reflected from the pool, the sky, the 
 mountain side, that we so love. 
 
 The great plain of France! How vast a platform for a 
 nation it is! I have just gone once more from its centre to its 
 circumference, — from Paris to Saarburg. No wonder that such 
 a people are mighty, with a unity of intelligence and will that 
 is irresistible. There is not a barrier of any kind from the granite 
 hills of Britanny on the west, to the Devonian range of the Cote 
 d'Or and Vosges on the east; from the swamps of the Rhine- 
 mouth to the volcanic plateaus of Auvergne. Paris is the natural 
 centre of this vast field of wealth and population, the boss to 
 this glorious shield, held always flaming in the face of the na- 
 tions. The valleys of the Rhine and the Rhone are no parts of 
 France. . , . 
 
 Tuesday, December 9, 1863. 
 
 ... I have had a most interesting day; although I have 
 neither seen sun nor earth, for a dense fog has hung upon the 
 muddy plain of the Rhine and perhaps over all Europe. . . . 
 But after breakfast at the Black Eagle, I was driven in the omnibus 
 to Mr. Chas. Schinz's house, where he received me, upstairs, 
 in his "bureau" or engineer's rooms, very cordially; read Dr. 
 Genth's letter; and showed me first his glass factory furnaces 
 in course of erection, close by; and afterwards his plans for the 
 application of the generator and regulator to the exactly proper 
 production of carbonic oxide from coal for heating and melting 
 purposes. He has erected one in Belgium, in Wiirtemberg, in 
 Bavaria, in Russia, two in Switzerland and now is erecting one 
 in Baden. It is a great step in advance in metallurgy. . . 
 
 ... I had many interesting discussions with M. Schinz, 
 who is an honest, thorough, gentle, energetic man, about the 
 difference between the English, Americans, French and Germans 
 and Italians, on the score of work. He dislikes the Germans; 
 he is a Swiss himself; he likes the French; but says the English 
 are still better; and the Americans better than all. One Ameri- 
 
1863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 465 
 
 can bricklayer will do the work of seven Germans here. The 
 Rouen and Paris Railroad employed solely English hands, and 
 paid them double wages; yet the economy was 40 per cent! . . . 
 We talked German and English, as it happened. It is good 
 to get where I don't have to break my head over the French, 
 which I never, no never, no never will learn. But I miss the 
 gentle and polite ways of the French; their affectionateness 
 and their good taste. Here all is jabber, slobber and tobacco 
 smoke. I have just returned from the theatre. What a contrast ! 
 Ye Gods (in Paris) and little fishes (here)! There — all tasty 
 and trim, elegant diction, neat wit, courteous audience; — Here 
 — all dirty and crowded and gaudy, tawdry, fustian, brutal and 
 coarse. . . . 
 
 Wednesday, December 10, 1863. 
 
 . . . The ride down the Neckar to Ludwigsstadt, and then 
 up to Stuttgart delighted me; but far more the exquisite valley 
 of the Raus from Stuttgart east toward Nordlingen, where I expect 
 to spend the night. It is through a country of low hills, rising 
 gradually to about 2000 feet above the sea, with hills at least 
 1000 feet higher, covered with pine woods. . . . 
 
 . . . But what are these dead walls and bloody histories of 
 oppression, to compare with the glorious image of Christ in the 
 Hospital Church at Stuttgart! Dannecker's Christ! the statue 
 of statues! 
 
 For the first time in my life I knew what idolatry meant — the 
 worship of the man in his image. Such dignity, such sweetness, 
 such humanity, simplicity, beauty of form, winsomeness of gest- 
 ure, such divine purity, never were portrayed together before. 
 Other statues fall below their reputation; this only of all I have 
 seen, rises above it. It is clay. The marble is at St. Peters- 
 burg. . . . 
 
 I ride alone, everywhere alone, in the first-class car, musing, 
 reading, making notes, planning, smoking now and then when 
 I wish to descend from the clouds. 
 
 From Stuttgart I went by railroad to Aalen, and got a car- 
 riage one mile to the Iron Works of Wasseralfingen, where I 
 had to stay five hours, until 9, and arrived at Nordlingen all 
 worn out at 10.30. 
 
 Here at the iron-works I was excellently well received by 
 young Gmelin, the former director of the Mt. Savage works in 
 America. 
 
466 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 WiEN, Saturday, December 12, 1863. 
 
 . . . After arriving at the southern side of the outer city, and 
 traversing the wide Boulevards to St. Stephen's central place, in 
 the omnibus, and walking to the Erzherzog Carl Hotel, where I 
 found a letter from Aleck and the good news of Grant's victory 
 over Bragg (alas for the hearts again broken!), I took a carriage 
 out of the city eastward to the Lichtenstein palace, where I ex- 
 pected to find Heidinger, in the geological museum, but I had to 
 drive south to the Elizabeth palace, where he received me with 
 open arms and a merry laugh, and introduced me to his two 
 daughters. . . . 
 
 . . . Then I drove to see Lothrop Motley and found him a 
 great enthusiast — not a bit of a diplomat. And with him was a 
 Mr. Ed. D. H , of Milwaukee, a better sort of western mer- 
 chant, chuck full of patriotism and common sense, without having 
 been spoiled by a "liberal education." We had a grand jollifica- 
 tion together — we three. I drove H. to his hotel, and promised 
 to try to go with him on the road to Trieste Monday. . . . 
 
 . . . Then I drove to the L. Palace again (stopping in at St. 
 Stephen's on my way) and had a long talk with Fotterle, Heid- 
 inger's right-hand man, who told me all about all the iron-works 
 in Styria, Carinthia, Bohemia and Moravia. Returning to dine at 
 the hotel, F. came for me and I drove him to Heidinger's, where 
 we made a most merry tea-party, with the addition of an Edin- 
 burgh medical student, Russell, and another of the gentlemen of 
 the Survey of the Empire, M. Von Hauer. . . . 
 
 Austria is the natural home of Catholic Romanism. You 
 descend the Danube towards the east, and the gorgeous mytho- 
 logical radiance from the eastern world grows deeper and stronger 
 as you advance. The enormous palatial monastery of Molk, 
 with its princely cathedral, towering above it out of its midst, is 
 one of the great visions of this mythology which greets the trav- 
 eller descending the Danube towards Vienna. But right and 
 left, among the mountains are still more celebrated, vast and 
 wealthy shrines. One understands at last why these great re- 
 ligions last from millennium to millennium, indestructible and un- 
 changeable. Hundreds of millions of souls were born into them, 
 and pass through out from them again into the unknown world, 
 every century. Like the giants of the forest, they have charmed 
 lives; and parasitic forms spring into being on their barks and 
 among their boughs, and perish from them, as mere accidents of 
 variety. To change such religions is impossible. Proselytism 
 is mere parasitism. Here one can study the length of traditions. 
 
i863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 467 
 
 Venus becomes Mary, but continues Venus still. The orgies of 
 the Druids are repeated in the woods of Marienzell every summer 
 still. Adonis' and Bacchus' songs are sung in Vienna on Sunday, 
 December 13, 1863. I heard them myself to-day at one o'clock 
 in the great Redatta Hall, where 200 or 300 men stood up to- 
 gether between the Imperial Orchestra and a vast audience, sing- 
 ing, to the music of Schubert and Mendelssohn, wine and love 
 songs. The first piece was from the heathen Edda, set to music 
 by Ferd. Hiller. It is an invocation to All Kraft, ... the Pan- 
 Life of Germany, calling on fire to give unity and a happy future 
 to the fatherland. Hear it once, and you will feel the heathenism 
 of the people. 
 
 "Men! All together! 
 Join the choir — in the night! 
 Crackle, O flames. 
 Mounting upward — in the night! 
 Eternal Power, Wodan's fire! 
 Stream down on us and illuminate us yet more! 
 Fire is freedom, 
 Joy and curse — in the night! 
 Write this trinity 
 
 Furthermore in the book — in the night! 
 Fire runes on the mountains clear, 
 Fire runes from year to year. 
 Fire is truth, 
 
 It eats up deceit — in the night! 
 It shines forth in clearness; 
 That is the curse — in the night! 
 Cursing the bad, cursing the mean, 
 Eternal curse through all lands. 
 Freedom and joy; 
 Conquering may — in the night! 
 Ye are both one; 
 Come hither — in the night! 
 A resurrection, yes, a resurrection. 
 Must go through woods and nations!" 
 
 No one can fail to feel the intense nationalism of the German 
 fancy. I say fancy, for I see no evidence of a deeper penetration 
 of the German nature. It is a hopeless swan-song always. They 
 say themselves: we have no unity, we can accomplish nothing; 
 Litde Denmark pulls Germany's great nose with impunity. All 
 
468 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 other nations make themselves free — we only sing and dream of 
 liberty. 
 
 Poor fellows, they have a half comprehension that the moun- 
 tains split up Germany, more irresistibly and inexorably than 
 princecraft or priestcraft. There is no unity possible for Ger- 
 many. Never will Germany be a nation. Never. I have been 
 studying to-day in the geological rooms (a magnificent museum), 
 with Fotterle, the marvellous maps they have been making of 
 Bohemia, of Styria, of Hungary, etc. Each is a vast plain, sur- 
 rounded by Alps. Each has a language, a religion, a history of 
 its own. 
 
 Yet they dream of Union and Unity! And call themselves 
 philosophers! Even Hungary can never become free. I believe 
 it now. The Academy at Buda publish altogether in Magyar! 
 There is also an inextinguishable aptitude for Absolutism and 
 Aristocracy here. Democracy is also a dream. It is a vast crowd 
 of flunkies, who sing of the innate nobility — the future-acquired 
 dignity of the independent man, — and thereby of the free nation! 
 
 I never so clearly saw the majestic form of American liberty. 
 Her throne — a new world; her charter, the sunshine and wind of 
 the forest and the prairie; her guards, the free school, the free 
 church, the free poll; her birthplace the log cabin, her palace the 
 great future. Christ and Columbia are the two names vsritten 
 in the eastern and western heavens. 
 
 And yet — God has been always kind to man. I find here, 
 and everywhere else, beauty, happiness, intelligence, industry, 
 and virtue; the fine arts, the mechanic arts, science and poetry. 
 What more vdll you have? I could live in happiness anywhere. 
 Why are so many anxious and so many inflamed, and so many 
 desponding? Because Excelsior is also in the grammar which 
 God teaches everywhere to man. And this, after all, is the 
 guarantee. To better one's self — is the first law of every man's 
 life. 
 
 Sunday, December 13, 1863. 
 
 I drove to St. Stephen's on my way to the Geological rooms 
 in the Lichtenstein palace, in the east suburb, where Fotterle led 
 me through all the cold rooms, and finally into the laboratory 
 where Von Hauer was, and his brother came in afterwards. In 
 the collection I saw a magnificent square table slab just i Klofter 
 (6 ft. 2 in.) square; a splendid Lepidodendron Sternhergii, that 
 made my eyes water; a splendid flabellaria; splendid rock crystals 
 and felspar crystal with rock crystals projecting; whole cases full 
 
i863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 469 
 
 of fossil insects, — of fish — the finest I ever saw; a room side full 
 of coals of all kinds, the best being 60% carbon, 2% ash; but above 
 all glorious maps colored by hand (each worth 80 dollars); the 
 one of Bohemia, 8 feet square looking like an opal. Over or 
 before these maps we discussed the structure of the Alps, and 
 the nature of the double trachyte and basalt ejections. F. says 
 the real backbone of the Alps is underground, and has never been 
 seen; and that trachyte is always older than the basalt, coming up 
 first, because lighter, being an acid lava, while basalt is a haric 
 lava. In any given epoch both are emitted, but always the basalt 
 last. It always cuts trachyte; just as porphyry cuts augite. The 
 Alps he showed me to be truly anticlinal; but the two great lines, 
 parallel, through Carinthia and Styria. He showed me that the 
 little Carpaths were the continuation of the Styrian Alps across 
 the Danube at Presburg. 
 
 We parted with the imderstanding that we should meet on 
 my return from the iron-works of Styria. You will be surprised 
 at my resolution to go towards Trieste. But I cannot help it. 
 I must see M. Tunner at Leoben, the head of the school of mines 
 there. The valley of the Mur is Uke that of the Gere in France. 
 I must see it. The Bessemer process is there begun. I shall 
 take the fast train on Tuesday (there is none to-morrow), and 
 return next day. Thursday I slip off to Prag, Friday to Halle, 
 Saturday to Coin. I am so late already that I shall be detained 
 in England imtil Allen [his brother Allen Lesley] arrives on the 
 4th, when I shall take the first steamer after that home. 
 
 On my way back from the Palace I went to hear the Manner- 
 chor sing at the great Redoutensaal, in the Imperial Palace 
 (Hofburg), and stood through several songs; but ah, Susie dear, 
 what is man without woman! The music had in itself a sort 
 of perfection; but man's music without the voice of woman is 
 daylight without the sun, moimtains without chalets, meadows 
 without water, the night sky without stars, the ocean without ships, 
 science without religion, jiistice without love. A heroic chorus 
 of soldiers or hunters in an opera is fine, for a moment, but only 
 as grand basis for the chorus of maidens, or the solos and duets 
 and trios, which carry the real story to the heart. . . . 
 
 . . . After breakfasting at 3 o'clock, I rode over to call again 
 on Motley, who seemed glad to see me again, and invited me to a 
 family dinner at 5.30 to-morrow. I shall go. He is a little 
 too enthusiastic, and I can see why some one spoke of him with a 
 little contempt; for they think an ambassador ought to be staid 
 and dignified. He reminds me forcibly of George [Wm.] Curtis 
 
470 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvm 
 
 of Staten Island, and of Prof. Peirce— if you can imagine such a 
 curious combination. Yet it is just that; and yet I like him. 
 
 Returning, I stopped at the Carl Church, a curious, vast, 
 Italian pile, with an enormous oval dome, and no nave, with two 
 towers, and two minarets, siu-rounded with bas-reliefs of the life 
 of Carl Borromeo. As I entered, the organ was playing, and 
 the whole congregation singing as if to itself (I cannot otherwise 
 express the strange effect), a sweet vesper hymn. Oh, how sweet 
 it was! Here and there the people had stuck little candles on 
 their pew doors, or had little boys to hold them, so as to see 
 to read the hymn they sang, for the church was quite dark, except 
 the candles at the great altar, and in the shrines. . . . 
 
 Monday, December 14, 1863. 
 
 . . . After writing the above, I began my day's work, drew 20 
 pounds from the nice old banker Henrickstein; had a long and 
 pleasant call at St. Stephen's and saw the stock in Eisen, the 
 stump of the tree, — the last relic of the primeval forest which 
 once covered the place where Vienna stands, so full of nails 
 driven in for good luck, by apprentices, setting out on their 
 travels, that it is a mass of iron. . . . 
 
 . . . After dinner I wrote, and went out to buy charts at 
 Artaria's, with whom (the yoimg man) I had a two hours' dis- 
 cussion of American affairs and guns. He would not let me go. 
 He says Europe will also be free in 10 years. Then to a charm- 
 ingly pleasant dinner with Motley, his wife and three daughters, 
 with three Uveries circulating round the table. Then to the 
 opera with the ladies and so to bed. . . . 
 
 Peag, December 18, 1863. Friday evening. . 
 
 ... At Bruck, where I took a voiture (out of a many who 
 fought for my patronage), 10 miles further to Leoben, arriving at 
 8 o'clock. I sent my card to Mr. Tunner, and took my chocolate 
 and steak at the end of a triple-vaulted restaurant, where a 
 raised table covered with a cloth was prepared for some strolling 
 singers. The landlord directed me then three doors distant, and 
 upstairs to a casino, wherein I found Mr. Tunner at the end of 
 a long table, at which 20 persons were drinking beer and smok- 
 ing. We were soon deep in the black art and he grew cordial 
 and communicative. I like him exceedingly. He is a practical 
 rather than a theoretical professor, and was picked out by the 
 Archduke MaximiUan for that reason. He makes the students 
 
i863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 471 
 
 wind up their course by going into the works, and puddling 
 iron with their own arms, until they comprehend it all. 
 
 Wednesday morning, December 16th. 
 
 My Kutscher was ready at quarter to eight, and drove me 
 to the Academy, where Tunner showed me his own cabinet 
 of iron and steel, crystals, etc., Bessemer products and curiously 
 fine wire, etc., for half an hour, until we were both nearly frozen, 
 altho' I had my fur robe on. Then he had his first lesson to 
 give and I had only just time to ride down the beautiful valley 
 of the Mur, back, the ten miles to Bruck, to catch the train from 
 Trieste. We just did it. 
 
 Thursday, December 19, 1863. 
 
 o . . My journey to Prag was a finisher. It lasted 14 hours 
 and we sat a long time a quarter mile from Prag, because the 
 movement of troops towards Dresden (Schleswig-Holstein) 
 blocked up the depot. I got a good sleep in the bottom of the 
 coupe at starting, and when I sat up I had nothing but the vast 
 plain of Wagram and Austerlitz to look at, until we struck the 
 north border hills at Briinn, the castle and church of which are 
 on two eddy hills in front of the valley of the Zwitta, up which 
 our road lay. How well I shall remember that scene. In that 
 castle lay the Baron Trenck* of my young days, and Silvio Pellico, 
 whose fate has so often touched yoirr heart. . . . The church of 
 St. Peter is a grand object on its pedestal. . . . The appearance 
 of industry about this capital of Moravia gives you a foretaste 
 of what you will notice everywhere from here northward. Its 
 innumerable chimneys and great factories, which make it the 
 Leeds of Austria, are only the beginning of a long line of villages 
 and factories, along the beautiful and often most romantically 
 picturesque valley. . . . 
 
 CoLN, December 22, 1863. Tuesday. 
 
 ... As I sat in the Dom this morning, one of those broad 
 bursts of illumination enwrapped my spirit, and I understood 
 anew the universal religion, the community of worships, based 
 on the symbolic analysis of the instinct of adoration. Well do 
 the Germans call the science of the history of religions '^Sym- 
 holik." 
 
 * Baron Franz von der Trenck, born at Reggio, Calabria, January 
 I, 1711. Died at Briinn, Moravia, October 14, 1749. An Austrian officer 
 and adventurer. 
 
472 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 Why then do we condemn idolatry? Because the genius of 
 symbolism is the hunger of the soul for its like, and worship is the 
 feeding of the soul on that by which it grows. If then it feeds 
 on the vile, it becomes vile; if it worships "idols," in the icono- 
 clast sense, it becomes brutal, savage, mean. But is the universal 
 worship of the dear Christ, of the sweet Mary, of the patient cross, 
 of the noble prophets, apostles and martyrs, of the assisting angels, 
 whose images are everywhere in sight in this old world — of that 
 degrading kind ? This is then not idolatry. It must better the 
 souls ©f these millions, I feel sure. But I can no longer vsrrite my 
 thoughts, as formerly, I know not why. It is a great labor. I 
 dream more and talk less. I think more and write less. Good 
 for myself, good for others. Where did I leave off my Journal ? 
 
 Sunday Morning, Dec. 20th. Halle. 
 
 My journey from Prag, I recounted in my last letter. . . . 
 It was enlivened by pleasant fellow-passengers. On arriving 
 I supped and went to see Prof. Tholuck and his wife and amanu- 
 ensis, young Unruhe, with whom I took tea. Mrs. Tholuck 
 is very sweet, but 5 years ago was at death's door, and has never 
 recovered from the shock. He is more quiet, but as living as 
 ever. They received me with the utmost cordiality. . . . 
 
 . . . Then I went to see Erdman. You would have laughed 
 at his enthusiasm. He danced — he shook hands a dozen times — 
 he made me stay to dinner, see his wife, drink wine, tell stories, 
 and followed me into the street. I was equally enchanted to be 
 with them again, good people, nice people. "No damn nonsense 
 about them." She talks English elegantly and is a real philoso- 
 pher's wife; how you would get to love her! 
 
 At 4 o'clock I went back to walk with Tholuck in his portico 
 at the rear of the garden, looking through on to the promenade 
 and opposite Erdman's house; the new one he has bought, not 
 the old one in which we both lived; Schultz's. Tholuck and I 
 discussed the religious state of Germany, the reaction first against 
 Hegelianism in favor of materialism, in behalf of accurate science 
 (physical); and secondly against pietism in behalf of infidelity, 
 on account of the alliance of pietism with state absolutism. He 
 told me that Bruno Bauer was converted and had become a 
 preacher of conservatism in state and church! He said also that 
 Erdman had lost many scholars. Erdman had told me how 
 the desire for metaphysical enlightenment had become converted 
 into a love of exact science. 
 
i863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 473 
 
 I had intended to leave for Coin by the night train; but was 
 too tired. The ride through Magdeburg, Braunschweig, Hanover, 
 through the Porta, or gate of the Weser, where the river breaks 
 through a ridge like our Sharp or Blue Mountain, and past the 
 coal mines and iron- works, linen factories, zinc- works, etc., of 
 the prosperous country east of the Rhine was very agreeable. 
 
 Three most pleasant and enlightened men made the journey 
 shorter, and an adventure I had with a Texan Quartermaster 
 from Matamoras amused us for a long time. He wore blue, 
 and a broad hat. I addressed him, and he immediately proposed 
 a drink, and I as a toast, "Speedy Peace." . . . 
 
 Tuesday, December 22. 
 
 . . , Ch. Aubel spent from 3 to 5 with me at the Hotel, and went 
 to the railroad station to see me off. His conversation was ex- 
 ceedingly interesting and important to me. He is 28; has built 
 three Rachette furnaces in the Ural; a Bessemer three- ton flask 
 there; a Rachette copper furnace in Bavaria; will finish one for 
 iron here in three weeks and begin one in the Harz. ... I arri\'ed 
 at Verviers at 8.30, by a lovely, enchanting moonlight ride down 
 the wonderful valley, through tunnels, over bridges, past many 
 great factories and villages, all alight, and was received with open 
 arms by Theophile Bost, his lovely wife and sister. . . . 
 
 London, December 26, 1863. 
 
 . . . My last was written, at Coin; from which place I went 
 to Verviers, by rail, after 5 o'clock, so that I only caught glimpses 
 of the beautiful valley, full of rocks, bridges, and manufacturing 
 villages. Theophile Bost met me at the depot, and we walked 
 in a sort of snow-storm, through the city, over the bridge, and up 
 broad steps to his house, under the same roof with a nice little 
 church; one of the cosiest, prettiest, little things you ever saw. 
 He has had his own troubles, and half his congregation left him, 
 because he was a little radical, but the conservative pasteitr who 
 came to take charge of them, treats him with cordiality, and all 
 seems to go on well. When we meet, I can give you an account 
 of the curious movement towards a rationalism like that of the 
 best Unitarians in New England, among the French free church 
 ministers. The gradations and modifications are curious to 
 examine. I have seen the cake in all stages of baking, from not 
 yet risen to done beautifully brown. But more of this anon. . . . 
 
474 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 CHAP. XVIII 
 
 Sheffield, January 7, 1864. 
 
 . . . Jan. I, 1864, I spent, as I wrote you, in the shops of 
 Sir Wm. Armstrong at Newcastle, on my return from Glasgow. 
 Capt. Noble was extremely courteous and took the breech-loaders 
 to pieces to exhibit them. 
 
 . . . After dinner I pushed on to Crewe, crossing the great 
 coal and iron field of England, through a wonderful succession 
 of factory villages or rather cities, situated like the Belgian, in 
 deep glens, among hills. . . . 
 
 Sunday, Jan. 3, 1864. 
 
 ... In London I got letters from Berthoud of Paris, and the 
 picture he made for Lesquereux. I had long talks with Mrs. 
 Blackwell about the maps, and with Trtibner about Maury's 
 sailing directions. I sealed the English patent, and paid up 
 Carmichael & Co. Bought some presents for the Whites, and 
 intended to get away Wednesday morning to Sheffield and Dur- 
 ham. But at the geological rooms, Ramsay made me promise 
 to stay to the club dinner of the Geological Society, and to the 
 meeting on Wednesday ; which I did. We were seated thus: — 
 
 rt 
 
 David 
 Forbes 
 
 Lesley 
 
 Sir Rod I. 
 
 Murchison 
 
 Lord 
 Enniskellen 
 
 Selwyn 
 
 John 
 Evans 
 
 Sir Charles 
 Lyell 
 
 Capt. Galton 
 
 Rupert 
 Jones 
 
 Smyth 
 
 Falconer 
 
 Bigsby 
 
 ffl 
 
 I forget the rest. Ramsay is President of the Society and 
 Hamilton, perpetual Secretary. Smyth is Clerk. Evans is the 
 great Geological Antiquary, and has proved the forgeries at 
 Abbeville, and disproved the jaw. Forbes has been 5 years 
 in South America, and just returned from Sweden. Selwyn is 
 the Australasian geologist. Lord Enniskellen has the finest col- 
 lection of fossil fish in the world; — I promised him some from 
 America. Falconer is great on Indian fossils, and a fine, great, 
 noble, generous fellow. . . . There was a paper on peat, and re- 
 mains, at the Society in Somerset House, which elicited speeches. 
 I was so cold that I came away while they were reading one on 
 the coral crag. 
 
 I spent an hour with Lyell, and gave him Desor's letters to 
 read, sent me by Berthoud, yesterday. 
 
 I spent two hours with Sabine and Mrs. Sabine; full of 
 interest. 
 
 . . , To-morrow at quarter of ten I am to see the Bessemer 
 
i863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 475 
 
 steel made, and then go to Rotherham to Dodd's, and then to 
 Liverpool. . . . 
 
 The following are extracts from my mother's letters 
 during the same period: — 
 
 Cambridge, Oct. 8, 1863. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 ... I enclose for you old Josiah Quincy's letter. What a 
 thing to be able to write like that at ninety-one years old! Our 
 President's Proclamation for the National Thanksgiving, to 
 take place on the same day that the States had appointed, is 
 very fine. What an affection all feel for Abraham! I hear that 
 Sir Henry Holland was enchanted with him. . . . 
 
 Cambridge, October 18, 1863. 
 
 ... I have just sent into Boston by Chauncey for a season 
 ticket to the Parker Fraternity Lectures, for Aunt Kitty and 
 myself. So I shall hear Emerson, and Beecher, and all the rest. 
 To-morrow I have promised to assist Mary Howe in making 
 sheets for the Hospitals. There is a loud call from the Sanitary 
 in all the papers, and many thousand must be ready by Friday. 
 Chauncey has just been in and read me a very fine letter that 
 John Forbes received, from the Editor of the Spectator in London, 
 expressing deep interest in our cause. . . . 
 
 Cambridge, October 20, 1863. 
 
 . . . Sunday morning, Chauncey called for me, and Aunt 
 Kitty, Meg and I, all went up to Watertown in the horse-cars, 
 to hear Mr. Weiss preach his first sermon after returning. His 
 tribute to the sea would have met your views exactly. Nothing 
 about it fine, he declared, except the coast line. He considers 
 the ocean a great mistake. Let us hope, he said quaintly, that 
 the rising of the continents in various places is a prophecy of 
 that Millennial period, when there will be no more sea. He had 
 much to say of England, and her position towards us. It seemed 
 to me a very fair statement of the English character as I imagine 
 it, slow, stable and conservative to the last degree, but always 
 able to back out of a false position at precisely the right moment. 
 He described the people as having the forms of men, but the 
 faces of boys. He urged the maintaining of peace with Eng- 
 land on accoimt of the people, the masses of England, who are 
 all on our side, and who in case of war would necessarily be con- 
 
476 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xvni 
 
 solidated round the Government, which would be a great mis- 
 fortune, both to them and to humanity everywhere. Told 
 how universally the London Daily News and the Star are taken 
 throughout the kingdom, and how splendid the editorials are; 
 that they might any of them have been written by Charles Sumner 
 and Senator Chase, so intelligently do they discuss everything 
 relating to our war. None of these views are new to you. I 
 only tell you what I hear and am interested in 
 
 Cambridge, October 27, 1863. 
 
 ... In spite of the talk against Sumner's address in England, 
 he, Joseph Lyman, thinks it has done great good, and was the 
 real cause of the Rams not being allowed to leave England. 
 
 October 30, 1863. 
 
 . . . Do you know a funny little panic I had, reading your 
 last letter an hour ago, wherein you mentioned that you were to 
 dine with Sir Henry and Lady Holland. Lest you should forget 
 that Lady Holland is Sydney Smith's daughter, and say something 
 against her father's wit. It is so easy for "Smalphri" like myself 
 to keep the run of people's relations, and so hard for a man who 
 has his head as full as you have. 
 
 This was but one of many such panics. My father had 
 no memory for personal names, and seldom connected a 
 bit of gossip with the name to which it belonged. Indeed, 
 he disliked personalities in general. He often said that he 
 could see no difference between Johnson and Tompkins 
 in point of remembering them. Consequently, he was 
 always liable to social mishaps, and we came to recognize 
 a certain look of half-amused apprehension on my mother's 
 face when certain mistakes were on the point of happening — 
 at our social board or on other occasions of friendly gather- 
 ing. Once I remember her breaking into the midst of a 
 tale which my father was relating to a dinner company, with 
 the emphatic words, "Peter, you shall not tell that story!" 
 My father, bewildered, paused, mildly inquiring, "Why 
 not?" But he was effectually suppressed for the time. 
 The story was a good and funny one, but unfortunately 
 it concerned the father of one of the company present, 
 of which fact my father was serenely unconscious. 
 
i863 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 477 
 
 New Bedford, Nov. 5, 1863. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . After tea Lizzie [Ware] took out her case of Port Royal 
 letters, and read to us, till far into the night, Harriet's and Charley's 
 Journal of the last year. What a contrast to your London letters, 
 this life among the Freedmen at St. Helena and Cofi&n's Point, 
 and how interesting both! . . . 
 
 Cambridge, November 10, 1863. 
 
 . . . Saturday ... we visited Sarah Thayer at her office in 
 the Studio Building, where the Freedmen's Association and 
 Educational League is. She thought you must see WiUiam in 
 Paris, that Mr. Bigelow would tell you of his being there. . . . 
 Then to Whipple's, where I got for you these two photos of 
 Lowell and Putnam which I send. The one of Colonel Shaw, 
 I shall enclose in my next. Pray show them, as o\ir representative 
 young men in this war. They all fell martyrs to the Anti-slavery 
 cause, which they espoused intelligently. Sons of our wealthiest 
 and most aristocratic famiUes, with everything on earth to live 
 for, they wilhngly poiured out their heart's blood, — "Greater 
 love hath no man than this." Shaw was but twenty-one, and 
 left his yoimg bride of eighteen. . . . When told that he would 
 lose caste by commanding a colored regiment, he answered, "Not 
 with one soul whose opinion I care a fig for." . . . Putnam was 
 but nineteen, and Chauncey Wright, who was his tutor, speaks 
 of him with enthusiasm, says he had the purest and most heroic 
 soul. James Lowell bore an angelic character; he was Putnam's 
 cousin. All these boys had mothers of the noblest stamp. Lowell 
 died in the hands of the rebels, ten days after his wounds, and 
 rebel officers said to one another, "See how a brave Union Soldier 
 dies." . . . 
 
 CAMBRrocE, November 13, 1863. 
 
 ... I found Sam. Longfellow in the cars, and had a most 
 interesting talk with him all the way in. He was greatly in- 
 terested in hearing about your times, and what you said of the 
 Exeter Hall occasion. 
 
 . . . Hear this about Colonel Higginson: — 
 
 "There was a young preacher of Worcester 
 Who could have a command if he'd choose to, 
 But he said, " each recruit must be blacker than soot, 
 Or I'll go back and preach where I used to." 
 
478 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 Cambridge, November 23, 1863. 
 
 [Apropos to a sense of personal consequence]: ... I don't 
 believe old Abe thinks he is a person of much consequence, yet 
 is he not? I enclose his speech at Gettysburg, so wonderful for 
 its simplicity and pathos. . . . 
 
 Nov. 27, 1863. Susan I. Lesley to her brother Joseph. 
 
 . . . How do you think that George S. Hillard's house was 
 used, Thanksgiving Day? Cousin Susan gave a splendid dinner 
 to fourteen fugitive slaves, of every shade of complexion, from jet 
 to pale yellow. Mary Walker was one of the guests, and pro- 
 noimced it a fine affair. — ^At the table, Mr. Williams rose and 
 lowered the window-shades, saying, "Since Mrs. Hillard gives 
 us this fine dinner, don't let the white folks that go by, see her 
 parlor all filled up with black people." . . . 
 
 Dec. I, 1863. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Sunday I did not go to church. . . . Joseph read us Henry 
 Ward Beecher's speech in New York telling what he said to the 
 English when there. It was wonderfully fine. I wish I could send 
 it to you. The Sunday papers brought news of our great vic- 
 tory at Chattanooga. I send you the account of General Meigs. 
 We are all longing to have Richmond taken, on account of the 
 poor Union prisoners, whose sufferings are frightful, and who 
 are daily dying of want and starvation. The rebels have broken 
 faith with our Government, and used the stores we have sent, 
 and clothing also, for their own army. People whose sons and 
 husbands are prisoners at [Libby ?] suffer agonies in their behalf. 
 But our cause is gaining ground, the Lord is on our side, and the 
 thought that we shall be a truly free and regenerate people, fills 
 all loyal hearts with a glow. . . . 
 
 December 4, 1863. 
 
 . . . Tuesday evening I went in to Mr. Emerson's lecture. 
 I could not state the subject, but he did say a great many funny 
 and true things about England and the English. What a thor- 
 ough Yankee he is! . . . 
 
 Cambridge, December 11, 1863. 
 
 . . . Wednesday, James Barnard sent me a two-dollar ticket 
 to hear Beecher in the evening, proceeds to go to the Sanitary. 
 So I got another for Aunt Kitty. . . . Beecher was more Beechery 
 than ever, the audience very enthusiastic, old Mr. Quincy sat 
 
i864 SECOND VOYAGE TO EUROPE 479 
 
 by him on the platform, and he paid him high honors. . . . He 
 told what he had said to the English. How he answered their 
 questions, etc., and begged us to be magnanimous to the English. 
 He said he heard Lord Brougham, what was left of him, in ad- 
 dressing the people, speak of our Country as being governed by a 
 mob. It was his (Beecher's) privilege to tell the English people that 
 no country in the world had so few mobs, and those we had were 
 all imported. There were no end of good things, of strong com- 
 mon sense, American ideas, and enlarged benevolence, all united 
 to such justice for our neighbors on the other side, such kindli- 
 ness and bonhomie, that he leaves behind no sting anywhere. 
 I enjoyed hearing him talk through his nose, and could fancy he 
 would not care a bit if all England were down on his nasal twang. 
 Yesterday was Thursday, and Lois took me to Medford to 
 call on the Stearnses. George is just home from Nashville for 
 two weeks, but is going back for the winter, and doing finely in 
 raising Colored Regiments. The President's Proclamation just 
 come is fine as ever. No backing down in Abraham; the "Gos- 
 pel of Peace" * belied him, when it said that his foot continued 
 not down in the right place. He is something more than Abraham 
 the well meaning. . . . 
 
 PniLADELpmA, Feb. 18, 1864. Susan I. Lesley to her 
 Aunt Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . The Hoppers . . . invited us to tea on Sunday, and took 
 me to the Freedmen's Association on Tuesday eve, where Phillips 
 Brooks spoke very finely; also Dr. Furness, and Bishop Simpson, 
 and Mr. McKim, who had just come from Tennessee and told 
 very interesting stories of the state of things there. How this 
 great interest unites all sorts of people. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, March 20, 1864. Susan I. Lesley to Same. 
 
 ... I have read about the whole of Theodore Parker's life. 
 There are about twelve pages I wish could have been left out. 
 I do not sympathize at all with his views of our Saviour, his spec- 
 ulations on future Christs, and especially that view of human- 
 ity, which sees a future angel in the lowest and most debauched 
 criminal. I would not limit the power of God or the recuperative 
 power of the soul in some future state of being, under more favor- 
 able conditions ; still I think it is a wrong use of terms and a very 
 
 * Anonymous. Ascribed to Richard Grant White. 
 
480 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xviii 
 
 harmful one, to speak of persons in brothels as on their way to 
 glory. . . . Whatever future chance God may give them, they 
 are certainly not now on their way to any good thing. 
 
 With these exceptions, I think there is a great deal to enjoy 
 in the book, and that it has been much too severely criticised. He 
 gives me the impression of a truly conscientious man, one of the 
 hardest workers for God and man, and a person of a much more 
 affectionate nature than is generally supposed. Do you not con- 
 sider some of his letters to statesmen as truly prophetic of the 
 present crisis? I thought his letter to Dr. John Ware, on Mr. 
 Henry Ware, a very fine one. . . . 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 Last Year of the Civil War. i 864-1 865 
 
 The spring and summer of 1864 were unusually full 
 of professional work for my father, and he was frequently 
 away from home on short trips, and evidently too busy to 
 write many letters. 
 
 In April he received a letter from John Amory Lowell 
 concerning a future course of lectures before the Lowell 
 Institute in Boston. To this request he replied that he 
 "should be much pleased to deliver a course of lectures 
 before Lowell Institute; that is, after the summer of 1865." 
 Mr. Lowell then replied, May 13, 1864, "I will consider you 
 as engaged for the season of 186 5- 1866. I did not expect 
 you to treat a professional subject, but rather some topic 
 connected with geology. When you shall have selected it, 
 let us know, for my government in arranging other courses." 
 To which my father suggested in a letter of May 20, as a 
 title, "The Unsolved Problems of Geology." But later he 
 decided on a more general scientific theme I " his course, 
 which was called "Man's Origin and Destmy, sketched 
 from the Platform of the Physical Sciences." 
 
 Philadelphia, July 1, 1864. Peter Lesley to Joseph Lyman. 
 
 ... I sent you last week . . . the two photographs you wished 
 me to get you in Paris, St. Augustine and his Mother. There is 
 something touchingly fine in their faces, although the attitudes 
 are too listless and enervated. In a day like this we grow impatient 
 of any exhibition of life which does not embody strength. The 
 slow passionless progress of nature, — the endless, issueless, 
 unpointed dreaming of the soul in trance metaphysics, —pictorial 
 art, — even love, which at other times is an end unto itself and its 
 own excuse for being, — all these and like things, belonging to the 
 immutable and eternal, grow somewhat tedious and impertinent, — 
 seeing that Richmond is to be taken, or gold will go up to 300. 
 
 In spite of that, I have set once more to work on Lyell in the 
 
482 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xix 
 
 morning and Renan at night; both books are first-rate. Lyell's 
 nervous temperament has been admirably kept under control in 
 this calm well-balanced statement. Renan's' analysis, or rather 
 picture of Jesus' life, is the first ever made; but now and then 
 it strikes one as shockingly false; as if you were counting witch 
 gold, and saw it turn to leaves and rags. You were studying 
 God in human form — but who is this common Jew boy? An 
 uncommon Jew boy, replies Renan, with a sneer. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, July 2, 1864. Peter Lesley to his Wipe 
 IN Peinceton, Mass. 
 
 , . . Gold dashed up to 280, and down again before night 
 to 235, on news of Fessenden being appointed to take Chase's 
 place. Hope he will, for he is a perfect despot, and will rule that 
 ill-assorted Cabinet with a rod of iron. He is a giant in intel- 
 lect. I hope he will smash the Blairs, and kick Wells in a para- 
 bolic curve from Washington to Connecticut. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, July 3, 1864. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Last evening Henderson walked up from the Library 
 with me, took tea and talked till 8.30; when I tried to find Winsor 
 and went to the [Union] League. There I saw Mr. James, H. C. 
 Carey, Mr. Brown, Geo. Brown, and Rosengarten, and Frazer. 
 We had also a Mr. St. Claire from England, with documents to 
 prove the state of feeling there, the efforts of Bright and Cobden, 
 etc., and the list of a committee to organize systematic emigra- 
 tion to this Country. , . . 
 
 I wish I could work! Oh, I have such lots to do, and no 
 heart to take up anything. The few geological things that remain 
 tmdone, haunt me and I dread them, and am not sure, if they 
 were out of the way, that I could get at any future work; my cat- 
 alogue lies in wait for me like a rattlesnake, down town, and my 
 Lowell Lectures and North American Review like two Copper- 
 heads up town. How blessed a condition when one need not 
 work for money! My dream is to bury myself a month in Prince- 
 ton [Mass.] in August; but I know I cannot; and if I could, I 
 would not work there. I should, if I could, spend a month in 
 Brush Hill piazza, with you. But that is out of the question. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, July 7, 1864. To his Wiee. 
 
 ... I spent yesterday in a lively manner; with printers and 
 artists in the morning, men of iron and J. D. Whitney talking 
 
i864 LAST YEAR OF THE CIVIL WAR 483 
 
 over the great California discoveries of Trias and Lias, Mr. 
 Ord, etc, etc.; and the afternoon, after preparing to get off to- 
 morrow, I spent several hours with Whitney, took tea with him 
 at the League House, spent the evening with A. and the V.'s at 
 the Lapierre House, . . . read Charles the Bold until midnight, 
 and am just ready now to depart for Harrisburg. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Sunday, July 10, 1864. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . After a day or two of considerable adventure, here I am 
 again, as the clown says. I spent the first night at Harrisburg, 
 the second at Newville, "in the midst of alarms"; the third at 
 Patterson, also in the midst of alarms, of another sort, for the 
 freight trains shrieked and roared under my windows every twenty 
 minutes, all night long. ... 
 
 But you would have been amused, indignant and sorry by 
 turns, if you had sat with me in Jones' porch, to see the fugitives.* 
 They came in droves, and by scores, on horseback, on foot, in 
 wagons of all kinds and sizes, from a dog-cart up to the gigantic 
 fossil Conestoga wagon, ship-shaped, and drawn by never less 
 than six horses. At the depot, the ground and platform and 
 doorsteps and lumber were black with blacks, men, women and 
 children, who had skedaddled from Maryland and York, Adams 
 and Franklin Cos., Pennsylvania. But the main stream of white 
 refugees poured from over the bridge up the main street and on 
 towards Lebanon. They were coming in droves at 8 o'clock in 
 the evening, and they had been coming since 6 o'clock in the 
 morning. I was astonished at the number of horses and mules, 
 some fine ones, others not worth stealing, and almost man for 
 horse, throughout, and such men! No wonder they ran away 
 from a rumor; for they did not seem to have soul enough in 
 them to keep their clothes from falhng off their backs. A poor 
 miserable race, cowardly, ignorant, slow, the real white trash 
 of the north. But the whole scene was eminently picturesque. 
 
 Thursday, no, Friday morning, at 7 o'clock, we were in a 
 large two-horse carriage, making across the bridges for the seat of 
 war. As we passed the far toll-house, through the Union guard, 
 
 *This must have been just before a raid into Pennsylvania in July, 
 sent by General Early. " He sent his cavalry forward under John McCans- 
 land to ransom or destroy other towns near the border of that State [Mary- 
 land] and Pennsylvania. The town of Chambersburg was the first selected 
 for this barbarous treatment." 
 
 This place was burned July 30, 1864. 
 
 (See "Abraham Lincoln, by Nicolay and Hay," vol. iv. pp 175-177.) 
 
484 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xix 
 
 under the guns of the fort, and saw the crowd of fugitives com- 
 mencing for the day, and the soldiers examining each horse to 
 see if it had been stolen from the United States Government, 
 I began to realize the gravity of the situation. All day we were 
 beset by eager and anxious groups, at the taverns, where we waited, 
 to learn the latest news of the rebels. Were they here? Were 
 they there? Was it true they had burnt Hagerstown? Had 
 they taken Frederick? Had Grant sent up two corps from 
 Petersburg? Turning off from the great pike and taking the 
 road southwest, through Shepherdstown, into York County, we 
 found every half-mile or so picturesque encampments on the 
 roadside, and about the farm-houses, of wagons filled with all 
 sorts of plunder, but chiefly with hay and grain for the horses. 
 Wom.en and children had all been left at home. The rebels were 
 after the stock, and the farmers were resolved, the stock they 
 should not have, if they themselves had to paddock them all 
 between Lebanon and Reading. To all inquiries we repHed: 
 good news: stay where you are: time enough to cross the river, 
 vAien you receive orders so to do. The day was glorious, the 
 covmtry a paradise. We stopped to see some old ore banks, 
 but pushed on and over the Yellow Breeches, where the first ore 
 bank was which our party owned. . . . ' 
 
 . . . But whom do you think I have upstairs? A poor old 
 farmer of Mercer Coimty, whom I found in the cars at Harris- 
 burg. They told him that the rebels were about to cut the North 
 Central at York, and he must reach Washington via Philadelphia. 
 He had been riding all night, and was after a son dangerously 
 wounded in the EUiott Hospital at Washington. So I gave him 
 $10 for his Harrisburg, Baltimore check, and after considering 
 the subject, invited him to spend the rest of the day with me, for 
 he can't get on to Baltimore until 10.30 this evening, and his 
 head is sorely addled with sorrow, and anxiety, and the noise 
 and motion and confusion and strangeness of everything, and 
 I knew you would have done just so, if you had been along. I 
 shall take him out to dine now, and then to Covenanter's Church, 
 and give him a cup of tea, and take him to the Baltimore depot 
 this evening. ... 
 
 July II, 1864. To HIS Wife. 
 
 ... At last the drum beats to arms. Troops marched through 
 all last night. We hope the City will be put imder martial law, 
 and every one of us conscripted. We are such a law-and-order 
 people, that it takes weeks to move us; but when once moved, 
 we go with awful momentum. 
 
i864 LAST YEAR OF THE CIVIL WAR 485 
 
 ... If I am compelled by circumstances to take arms with 
 the rest, remember that I am in the very best health and spirits, 
 . . . and not a non-resistant. 
 
 It looks now as if the whole Comitry is about to rise; but 
 no one knows certainly what is going on, and Governor Curtin 
 is a haby, and Mayor Henry a gentleman, both bad things in a 
 civil war. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Tuesday, July 12, 1864. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I have just seen my "entertained angel unawares" ofif 
 in a train for Elmira. Poor man! ^/zere is trouble! Sick incurably 
 himself, lame, his left leg shrivelled up, his son lying at the point 
 of death in Washington, the rebels barring his progress, afraid 
 to return to his wife on account of her tears; poor, because in- 
 flexibly honest, and straining every nerve to pay off mortgages 
 on his httle farm, I could not help contrasting his lot with mine. 
 I left him after tea, to mail two letters for him, and found myself 
 at the League House, in the garden, among a hundred excited 
 members, as much at a loss to know what to do in the crisis as 
 if they had been babies. I learned that the military committee 
 had resolved to be responsible for raising one regiment; that 
 the Corn Exchange, the Merchants' Exchange, and the Coal 
 Exchange were each raising one regiment. I told them what 
 I knew of the Cumberland Valley; and suggested the necessity 
 of ignoring the Mayor and establishing a Vigilance Committee; 
 I found a ready response from a few, chiefly old men. At last 
 young Scovill came over from Camden, and a Captain Calhoun 
 was introduced to us, and spoke for half an hour, on his Kentucky 
 birth, and Libby experience, which exceeded tenfold my worst 
 imaginations. Scovill began to propose action and I seconded 
 him, and kept pushing propositions, always a little ahead of what 
 had been last proposed, hoping to have the iron struck when 
 hot. At last we resolved to march up in a body to Mayor Henry's 
 house and demand a town meeting to-morrow. We were then 
 informed that he lived in Frankford, and was not in town (at such 
 a time !) . So we had a call to the people written (rather too high- 
 falutin for my taste), by Scovill, and we all signed it, and I send 
 it to you in the Enquirer. 
 
 Last evening bad news poured in awfully. Maj.-Gen. 
 Franklin taken (no great loss); five trains robbed and burnt; 
 Gunpowder Bridge (a vast work) burnt; 2,500 cavalry on the 
 Susquehanna ready for a dash on Lancaster; the Florida, at 
 Cape May, burning all vessels entering or leaving, by the Capes 
 
486 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xix 
 
 — our only remaining road to Washington; Governor Seymour 
 resolutely withholding New York troops. No Pennsylvania 
 organization, the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal threatened, 
 no news from Hunter! Phew! I came home at 10.30 red-hot, 
 and cooled off on Charles the Bold. 
 
 I feel as if I should like now to go into these affairs, and play 
 some efl&cient part in them. I think I should keep a cool head, 
 and act with vigor. Mais c'est le premier pas qui coHte. I kept 
 in the background last evening, but supported those who would 
 speak and act, which made me feel like a conspirator. I could 
 not help all the time remembering the Girondists. It is bad stuff, 
 this city gentry, neither good enough to ignore all personal con- 
 sideration, nor bad enough recklessly to dash forward to an end. 
 Always looking at both sides, just to all interests, never blinded 
 like the mob by the passion of the moment, such a body of men 
 can have no momentum. They push heavily, but cannot strike 
 irresistibly. It was in strange contrast with that young fiery 
 Kentucky Captain; damning the rebels to hell, and shouting for 
 vengeance, standing on his crutches. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Thursday, July 14, 1864. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Before I turn to my writing for to-morrow's meeting, I 
 must teU you how excited the people were yesterday and how 
 relieved to-day. I never thought the raid serious; but I felt 
 seriously anxious to know how the civilians at Washington would 
 behave. All now seems well; and better; and prophesying 
 a still better future. This is not the last dying spasm of the rebel- 
 lion; but it is one of them. 
 
 Princeton [Mass.], July 12, 1864. Sxjsan I. Lesley 
 TO HER Husband. 
 
 . . . How I wish you were here to tell me about the war! 
 things look disheartening to me. William Forbes was taken 
 prisoner on Saturday, and will fare badly, being Lieutenant of 
 Colored Cavalry. Colonel Russell was severely wounded three 
 weeks ago, so the Forbes family are again in heavy trouble. 
 Poor John ! no wonder he is old and worn. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, July 23, 1864. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I shall probably have to pay $500 for a substitute, as 
 the draft occurs September 5th, and I am 45 not until September 
 17th. And even if I be exempted on account of my sight, I should 
 feel bound to provide a substitute. . . . 
 
i864 LAST YEAR OF THE CIVIL WAR 487 
 
 Poor Greeley has fallen into the trap. Those scoundrels 
 have caught both him and old Abe, and made fools of them both. 
 But thank God, simplicity is wisest in the long run. . . . 
 
 July 31, 1864. To HIS WrFE. 
 
 . . . This morning Chambersburg was laid in ashes by the 
 rebels. To-day the state is all in commotion again. 
 
 I still suppose that I can finish my business, . . . attend to 
 Society matters, provide myself with a substitute for the draft, 
 and perhaps vote on Tuesday; all in time to take the cars on 
 Tuesday for New Haven. [To attend the meeting of the Ameri- 
 can Association for the Advancement of Science.] . . . 
 
 Jamaica Plain, Aug. 17, 1864. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Ten days of idleness at Princeton with you . . . was 
 very demoralizing to your humdrum. . . . He can scarcely 
 "effectuate" his penmanship, or take up his old thread in the 
 labyrinth of life. But I have nice hours since then. Let me 
 tell. ... I have just written a long letter to Dana, embodying 
 Desor's latest discoveries in the Piloti lakes. He wishes to have 
 Dana visit him. . . . 
 
 You will rejoice with me in che appearance of a new and 
 more successful attempt by Grant upon Richmond, from the side 
 of Malvern Hill and Fort Darling; although the news of the 
 partial capture of Ft. Darling must be an entire mistake, inas- 
 much as it stands on the West or South side of the James River, 
 and the new movement is wholly on the East and North side. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Aug. 20, 1864. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . The substitute scheme is a failure. Rosengarten has 
 sent back my check of $400, saying it was of no use; and Henry 
 tells me that no volunteering is going on, because the draft is 
 inevitable, and substitutes who could get $1,000 to-day will get 
 $2,000 next month, and they hang back therefore with good reason. 
 
 I sent you yesterday Lesquereux's charming letter, in which 
 he foolishly gives me all the thanks for his election to the Acad- 
 emy vacancy. I shall tell him that he may thank his own genius, 
 and goodness, and diligence, alone. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Aug. 23, 1864. To his Wife. 
 
 .... How overwhelming is the work of life! How can one 
 poor mortal face and fight the host of demands upon his 
 
488 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xix 
 
 me, his S3'^mpathies, his brains? I was discouraged to-day, 
 — I felt so weak and lonely and distracted with divers plans 
 and duties. So many things I ought to do, so many I wish 
 to do, so many I feel that I could do, if — ; and the i} was so 
 unconquerable! 
 
 I could not drink my tea. I walked down to see Pliny [Earle 
 Chase], and took him to the precinct, to vote for delegates at the 
 primary election. Then we found James and Charles Furness 
 at home, and spent the evening comparing notes. He also was 
 as much impressed with and astonished at the New England 
 despondency as I. When everything is going so well, it is sad to 
 see the stanch old Puritan land cast down. Eut the decimation 
 of its promising youth accounts for it. 
 
 They have learned that Will Forbes is at Macon in prison. 
 Eliot Furness is at Morganza [Penn.] on the White River, with 
 a large force concentrated there. I cannot find out whether I 
 am enrolled or not. James Furness could not learn yesterday 
 whether Charley was enrolled or not. I don't comprehend the 
 matter at all. Le Conte advises me to advertise in the news- 
 papers. But I think I shall quietly wait for the fifth of Septem- 
 ber, and be governed by circumstances then. It is very unset- 
 tling; and nobody seems able to give any advice or get any infor- 
 mation. It is supposed by many that the draft will not be en- 
 forced; I am perfectly sure that it will be, and it will be a great 
 shame if it is not. If 50,000 of us were sent to each of the three 
 armies, the whole history would wind up. 
 
 Philadelphia, Aug. 29, 1864. Father to Mother. 
 
 . . . What is my patriotism worth, if it doesn't bear fruits! 
 And what devilish crab-apples are the fruits it bears — murders, 
 arsons, and all the vices of the Camp, and maimed and ruined 
 lives besides. How can I pay another to go to a hell which I will 
 not myself name without a shudder ! Yet how can peace be won, 
 except by the sword! You see that Fort Morgan is ours, and 
 that a Commissioner from the State of Georgia has arrived at 
 Washington to treat separately for peace; two very important 
 events; the latter, if true, infinitely important. I pray God it 
 may be so. It looks as if McClellan will be nominated at Chi- 
 cago. If so, it will argue a complete fusion of the adverse 
 elements of the Democratic party and a dangerous political cam- 
 paign. ... 
 
1864 LAST YEAR OF THE CIVIL WAR 489 
 
 My father went in September to visit his brother-in-law, 
 Joseph Lyman, in Jamaica Plain, after having spent a 
 few days in Princeton with his family. 
 
 [Jamaica Plain], Sept. [5], 1864. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... I spent the evening with Joseph . . . and have been dis- 
 cussing Desor, and Politics — in the parlor, ever since. 
 
 . . . Joseph described to me his hailing a boat at Maysville, 
 December, 1839, getting a complete set of Harrisburg newspapers 
 from the returned delegates, knocking up William Greene at Cin- 
 cinnati, and after breakfast, going with him in a boat down to 
 Great Bend, 16 miles; finding General Harrison, in servant's 
 clothes, with head bound up, dining in his kitchen with his ser- 
 vants, and giving him news, four days in advance of the mails, 
 of his nomination. How the old man cried and grasped the 
 papers with trembling hands, and afterwards dined and wined 
 them in the best parlor, till he got quite high on the occasion. It 
 is a fine piece of romantic history. . . . 
 
 Jamaica Plain, Sept. 6, 1864. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I spent most of the day reading George Wilson's and 
 Archibald Geikie's life of Edward Forbes, with whom Joseph 
 was so well pleased, meeting him years ago; and whose youngest 
 and only surviving brother David, I learned to like, sitting vis-a- 
 vis, at the Geological Society Club dinner in London, last De- 
 cember. The first six chapters by Wilson are six exquisite land- 
 scapes of life, one of them giving the story of the progress and re- 
 form of the Sciences at Edinburgh, between 1830 and i860, in a 
 masterly style. I wished a hundred times for your open ears and 
 answering eyes beside me. Biography is the prince of literature; 
 no offence to fiction, either! for are they not one? Equally true, 
 equally false, equally charming and instructive, equally suggestive 
 and invigorating! So pensive, so pathetic, so funny and fresh 
 and bright, so noble and inspiring, such stimulants to love, learn 
 and work, believe and be patient ! I find a thousand little sketches 
 of myself in these pages. He began science as I did, pencil in 
 hand. He studied medicine by advice and mistake, as I did 
 theology. He was a mystic and loved symbols, especially my tri- 
 angle, although he put no ark upon it. His enormous verse- 
 writing was as profuse and almost as doggerel as mine (before you 
 knew me). Female faces float round the margins of all his note 
 books; yet he married late and left but one child. He loved a 
 
490 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xix 
 
 wide range and many-sided culture, the harmony of the sciences, 
 and was inaccurate in details. He was a great worker, but wasted 
 half his energies in nonsensical ballad writing, and extracting all 
 sorts of trash knowledge into his note books, keeping no journals 
 beyond the most cabalistical jottings and datings of persons and 
 places, names, etc. But he kept his soul alive by frequent walks 
 and voyages, for the collection of plants, and the dredging of sea 
 animals, and by a conviviality in which entire groups of friends 
 and fellows were constructed or crystallized about him. Here, 
 his would be the loudest laugh and his the funniest caricature. 
 He was a boy to the end of his earthly days, loved and respected 
 by everybody. Think of him growling, roaring, and lashing his 
 coat-tails from side to side among the "Red Lions," to express 
 approbation, dissent, or disgust, at what was said at the meet- 
 ing, and getting that sort of thing established as the rule of the 
 club! Blessed privilege of genius, to play the fool, while an- 
 gels stand, hats off, grinning from ear to ear! I have suffered 
 abominably with neuralgia all over, and feared, at one time 
 yesterday, that perhaps an attack of inflammatory rheumatism 
 might be impending, but I reckon not. My cerebellum is just 
 like one of those lumps of 90 per cent, tin, 10 per cent, lead 
 dredged up lately in the Thames, marked 
 I can't hold it up all day long, it is so 
 heavy. I seem to see it in front of me 
 in the form of Mary's hair net. I tried 
 yesterday to write on my report of War- 
 wick Furnace; but after plotting out a few miniature ownerships 
 on the map, and inserting half a dozen elevations, I gave it up 
 as no good. 
 
 To-day I take the cars to Brush Hill and shall finish the tour 
 of Milton before I return, according to your programme. 
 
 Think! Mrs. Hale told me the girls had heard the mpst 
 magnificent sermon from Dr. Hedge, that morning, and that if I 
 had been there, I might also have been introduced to Goldwin 
 Smith, who was brought to church by Charles Head, his com- 
 panion in the steamer. 
 
 Think also! James Freeman Clarke really did preach m 
 Boston Sunday morning after all! 
 
 I spent Sunday evening, after the others went to bed, readmg 
 the whole report of proceedings of Presbytery against Coquerel, 
 flls (friend of Scherer and Company), Paris. 
 
 Mi®' 
 
i864 LAST YEAR OF THE CIVIL WAR 491 
 
 Jamaica Plain, Sept. 9, 1864. To his Wlfe. 
 
 . . . Wednesday morning . . . saw Mr. Whitcomb and got 
 him to janitor me about the Lowell Institute, and show me the 
 artist who does the illustrations; sat a few minutes with G. S. 
 Hillard; had a nice half-hour with Wm. Ware and Cabot, and 
 fifteen minutes with Sarah Thayer; — an hour in the music hall 
 (12-1) listening to Dr. Thayer on the wonderful great organ. . . . 
 
 A complete nervous breakdown followed this Eastern 
 trip, and my father was unable for some weeks to do any 
 work at all; but in October he was again actively engaged 
 in surveying, etc. 
 
 [Autumn, October, 1864.] Susan I. Lesley to her 
 Atxnt Catherine Rob bins. 
 
 . . . This week will decide our fate as a nation; God save the 
 country, and defeat McClellan! Mr. Furness preached an ad- 
 mirable sermon to-day on the coming election; he spoke beauti- 
 fully of Lincoln, said we ought to be thankful in times like these 
 that we had a man who, amidst the confusion of voices, listened 
 for the voice of the people, and followed it. He was not born for 
 a leader or a guide, and as he was not, it is a special Mercy that 
 he does not pretend to guide. He said it would have been far 
 easier for us to have been able to shift the heavy burden of private 
 anxiety and responsibility, on to the shoulders of a heavy leader, 
 but it would not have been half so good for us as a people, or for 
 our fate as a nation. I confess I was much struck with his view 
 of it. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Nov. 5, 1864. Peter Lesley to 
 Miss Catherine robbins. 
 
 . , . Yesterday . . . Susie and I took them [the children] to 
 see the forty thieves burnt alive by Miss Morgiana, each in his 
 separate olive jar. . . . 
 
 But what are theatricals of the reddest fire stamp compared 
 with the drama enacting in real life now! The city resounds with 
 the tramp of regiments returning to vote ; and the shouts of crowds 
 at mass meetings in the Music Hall, the National Hall, the Con- 
 cert Hall, the Musical Fund Hall and in Independence Square. 
 Old people especially are excited to the last pitch of endurance. 
 When the strain is taken off next week, we will all feel the reaction. 
 I am confident that the Republic will be saved; but what if it 
 were not! I shudder at the possibility of some great catastrophe. 
 
492 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xix 
 
 All accounts from the south are encouraging, especially the 
 news from North Carolina. But surely in no spirit of cant, and 
 with no undue straining of the doctrine of divine providence and 
 of superintendence, I say, that we lie in the hands of the Almighty 
 disposer of events, and the turner of hearts as He will. I feel the 
 possibility of the exercise of some mysterious and general influence 
 upon the minds and hearts of men, by which God may protect us 
 at the polls, so as no appointment of Butlers and Hookers, no 
 sending home of regiments, no scrutiny of the ballot boxes, no 
 speaking by night or devising by day, no court-martials and pro- 
 vost martials could do it. Let us pray for such an influence — 
 prompt as the Sirocco to make the glaciers disappear, and as 
 invisibly exerted. 
 
 We may be wrong in considering the future of the world 
 dependent upon the struggle. God may see quite another future. 
 But so far as men are good and true, they are all ranging them- 
 selves on this side, and taking this view. 
 
 Washington, Jan. 4, 1865. (?). To his Wife. 
 
 Yesterday the Academy met and elected officers, etc. , . . 
 Then came papers; a time measurer for gun practice by Hilgard, 
 which measures to the loooth part of a second. Then a mag- 
 nificent discovery of Agassiz in the homologous relationships exist- 
 ing between shell fish, the argonauta forming an outer shell, the 
 nautilus an inner, and the ammonite both; and between the mantle 
 of the gasteropods and the tentacle arms of the cuitle-fish, etc. 
 
 Then a fuie paper of Baird's on the distribution of birds over 
 America. Le Conte and Agassiz had something to say about it, 
 and we broke up and rode home to dinner at five, bringing Whit- 
 ney with us, who had just made his appearance, having assisted 
 at a horrid accident in Jersey City. The locomotive exploded 
 blowing off a third story from a house, etc., etc. 
 
 The magnificence of the Capitol* surpasses description. It 
 is a fairy tale in marble. No building the world ever saw can 
 
 *The Capitol at Washington, D.C. "The first Capitol was erected 
 on the same site, the corner-stone laid by George Washington, Sept. 18, 
 1793. Before its completion the building was destroyed in 1814. The 
 present central structure dates from 1818 (completed 1827), and the ex- 
 tension or wings from 1851. The corner-stone of the Capitol extension was 
 laid in 1851, and the Hall of Representatives . . . was first occupied in 1857, 
 and the Senate Chamber in 1859. The work was continuously prosecuted 
 during the civil war, until the Statue of Liberty crowned the Summit on 
 Dec. 12, 1863." {From the Universal Cyclopedia, vol. xii.) 
 
i865 LAST YEAR OF THE CIVIL WAR 493 
 
 have compared with it. Inside it is as beautiful as outside, it is 
 sublime. The dome is a dream of majesty. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, Feh. 2, 1865. Peter Lesley to Miss Robbins. 
 
 ... I send this only to assure you of my affectionate remem- 
 brance, and to acknowledge the receipt of yours of the 12th of 
 last month; but especially to congratulate your heart, faithful 
 to liberty and the cause of righteousness, on the grandeur of the 
 event * which occurred day before yesterday in the House of Rep- 
 resentatives at Washington. It was there recognized as the great- 
 est moment of our history since July 4, 1776, to which it was the 
 supplement. The Senate does not represent the popular will, 
 except so far as that happens to be fixed in the cunning of aged 
 politicians. In the House of Representatives the people are rep- 
 resented, and the pronouncement of liberty by the Constitutional 
 Amendment is a ratification of the last vote at the polls. There 
 is no possibility that the states will not ratify the vote of the House, 
 because in this country and in these times things never go back- 
 ward, and common sense is the prime characteristic of the people. 
 We may conclude therefore that what was prompted by interest 
 and confirmed by principle, will be completed by pride. The 
 pride of the American nas been increased by the war, and will 
 feel itself pledged to universal liberty. The great hand of God 
 is visibly working out the times, and we may all look with satis- 
 faction into the future. . . . Your remarks upon Chauncey's 
 metaphysical speculations seem to me very just. I have no liking 
 for fog, when I am to live in it; but I like to see fogs rolling up 
 mountain sides at noonday, or descending to lake-like levels at 
 sundown ; or reflecting the rising sun in the morning. Such are the 
 charms of metaphysical discussions. In others they are beauti- 
 ful, — in my own soul, chilling, obscure, and causing to err from 
 the plain way. I love the old soil and common daylight, the 
 wholesome sunshine of the old faiths, and the homestead of com- 
 mon sense. I am now and then overwhelmed by the wonders of 
 the universe, but only as I am blown from my equilibrium, now 
 and then, by powerful winds on a mountain top. No one but an 
 owl can live in a perpetual gaping admiration. We must be con- 
 tent with matter, in the main, and let forces attend to their own 
 affairs ; and spirits the same. . . . 
 
 * This was the Thirteenth Amendment. For an excellent account of the 
 history of this Amendment see "Abraham Lincoln, by Nicolay and Hay," 
 vol. X. pp. 71-90. 
 
494 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xix 
 
 Pittsburg, March 5, 1865. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Living without a separation from you all the fall and all 
 the winter, made it very hard to begin again my travels. 
 
 I amused myself this morning with studying a very beautiful 
 memoir in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, on the neces- 
 sity for drawing down, by 24 or 25 years, Archbishop Usher's 
 chronology of the Kings of Israel and Assyria; and in brooding 
 over a grand scheme of associating our geologists and young men 
 who wish to study geology, so as to form a working school, self- 
 supporting, to which all professional work would be forced to 
 come, sharing the proceeds among the members of the Sodality, 
 and employing all the time not devoted to orders, Vin strictly 
 scientific work, in field and ofSce, so as to accomplish a complete 
 survey of the State in the end. I really think the plan is feasible 
 in a business point of view, as it involves no extravagant depend- 
 ence upon perfections in human nature, and no essential changes 
 in the business habits of the men to whose interests it would 
 appeal. 
 
 ... I am sorry to learn that the oil mania has forestalled my 
 designs upon the Gap. A well is going down in the spot I had 
 chosen for L. The whole range from Dunkard's creek past 
 Uniontown and Connellsville towards Greensburg has been 
 leased or bought up, or is held tightly by its owners for their own 
 oil purposes. I expect to hear of hundreds of derricks building or 
 built all along the west foot of Chestnut ridge. But do not accuse 
 me of the folly of regretting that I have held aloof from leasing, 
 boring or investing in wells, for no man can serve two masters — • 
 faithfully. . . . 
 
 Philadelphia, March 9, 1865. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . Yesterday came a note from Lamborn, informing you 
 that you were made a member of the Steel and Iron Association 
 in consideration of your past services. . . . 
 
 A sentence in a letter of March 16, 1865, shows the 
 amount of work my father now had in hand : — 
 
 I am carrying studding-sails in a gale, and every spar 
 creaks ; but my health is good and I bar out every thought not in 
 the line of my business. I have three separate reports to make 
 at Brady's Bend, Sarah Furnace and Red Bank. The men whom 
 Hall sent here have gone off offended because I did not wait to 
 
i86s LAST YEAR OF THE CIVIL WAR 495 
 
 "confer" with them another day. So, for Hall's sake, I must 
 write the Layton Station report. Then comes the Slippery Rock 
 (just postponed by the telegraph until the 28th), and then my 
 Kentucky journey, which I dread. A man here wishes my re- 
 port on 5000 acres as I come back down the Sandy; and another 
 report on West Virginia, after my return. 
 
 He used to utilize his journeys also for work. Many 
 a report or other article for publication was written on the 
 train. He was also often occupied with sketching or map 
 making at his hotel, after a long day's work in the field. 
 "When he was well, there seemed no limit to his capacity for 
 work. And, even when ill and suffering, he accomplished 
 a great deal. Often, when tired with productive brain 
 work, he would turn to some piece of drudgery, from writ- 
 ing a report to making a catalogue or index, which was 
 more purely mechanical; or from the accurate plotting of 
 a map to the fine shading of some portion of the same. He 
 must have found this a relief to his brain, although to the 
 looker-on it seemed equally hard work. Then he always 
 had at hand some reading quite alien to his business life; 
 and he had certain linguistic and archaeological hobbies 
 which served him in good stead throughout life, to rest his 
 overstrained brain. 
 
 PmsBURG, March 17, 1865. Peter Lesley to ms Wife. 
 
 . . . The tremendous fall in the price of gold; the panic in 
 New York; the decline of the iron trade here; the strike of a 100- 
 barrel well yesterday near the Virginia line, on Dunkard's Creek 
 (Ross's) at 350 feet depth; the irresistible, glacier -like movement 
 of Sherman's different corps towards Richmond by way of Ra- 
 leigh; the new military league for future operations in Mexico; — 
 these are the topics of general discourse. . . . 
 
 Cincinnati, March 21, 1865. 
 
 . . . This afternoon ... I take boat to Catlettsburg, . . . river 
 steamer for Louisa, . . . and another to Paintsville, where our 
 headquarters will be made. . . . 
 
 I take the taste of the world out of my mouth, now and then, 
 with a chapter of Dickens. His last is better than his first. 
 
•> 
 
 496 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xix 
 
 Here is a typical week of geological campaigning: — 
 
 Louisa, Ky., March 29, 1865. 
 
 . . . March 20th: We embarked on the Telegraph at Cin- 
 cinnati and were compelled to lay up, the Tuesday night fol- 
 lowing at Portsmouth, by a great storm, which overturned the 
 Marietta steamboat, loaded with passengers; but all were saved. 
 
 March 23rd: We took the Victress up Sandy to Louisa, and 
 attempted to take the little river there, for Paintsville; but the 
 storm continued, blew us ashore, and obliged us to spend the night 
 in this rattletrap. We walked up to the fort, and had a merry 
 party. 
 
 March 24th, Friday, we started on the River. I wish you 
 could have seen us ! and were all day getting up to Buffalo shoals, 
 upsetting on our way a small boat full of people, and a dead man 
 in a coffin, creating a great excitement. After dark we formed 
 a procession of fifty men and two women with lanterns, and walked 
 waded, climbed and stumbled over to Paintsville three miles. 
 
 March 25, Saturday: We could get no horses and I spent the 
 day talking oil and studying my reports, and notes of Owen, 
 Lyon, and Joe's, and got my first night's sleep. 
 
 March 26, Sunday: Five of the party started on foot up 
 Paint Creek, and Ogden Lewell and I, on horses, into the most 
 tremendous land of crags, ravines, cascades, oil springs, forests 
 and guerillas, and reached Wash Webb's, to sleep in a cabin, 
 while an old woman with a pipe studied curiously our mode of 
 undressing. Before retiring we had a guerilla fright; not a 
 pleasant episode. We rode cavalry horses, by the by. 
 
 Monday, 27th: Having opened communication with the foot 
 party (who got lost among the precipices), we continued up three 
 miles to Lyon's well, got specimens of oil rock, waded the creek 
 forty times, found the XI iron ore, and joined them five miles 
 up Little (Oil) Fork of Paint, where we ate a chicken, filled our 
 bottles with tar, smoked the pipe of peace, discussed plans for 
 the future, and the best mode of cutting up the 100,000 acres. 
 Back three miles across the bend to Williams' (where the foot- 
 men had spent the night) and left them there unable to proceed. 
 I got Carlisle to ride with me back to Paintsville, where we arrived 
 nearly dead with fatigue. I had been very sick in the night with 
 a sort of inflammation of the lungs, and asthma in the morning, 
 which has stuck to me ever since. 
 
 Tuesday, 28th: Lucky in finding the Red Brick (a scow with 
 
i865 LAST YEAR OF THE CIVIL WAR 497 
 
 a locomotive on board) descending to Louisa, at daybreak. 
 Unlucky in not taking the Rover when we passed her lower down. 
 Were arrested by the military post at Louisa, who wanted the 
 boat, and obliged to spend last night there (here). 
 
 Wednesday, 29th : Desperate finding the Red Brick impressed, 
 and no certainty of the Victress, Mason or Clarke getting up, 
 because the waters have fallen. If they do, I shall be in Catletts- 
 burg to-night, and try to reach Pittsburg by Saturday, April ist, 
 a precious fool for ever embarking on such an expedition. . . . 
 
 Of course the great events of the early spring of 1865, 
 the taking of Richmond and the assassination of Lincoln, 
 affected my father and mother deeply, as they did all earnest 
 people. Even the children of the household felt the heavy 
 pall which fell over society with the latter event, and which 
 did not lift for many a week. 
 
 April 24, 1865. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 . . . The Wares came on Monday. . . . They describe the 
 Secession element in Baltimore as very rampant, and their brother 
 John's church is the only Union church, with the exception of a 
 small Baptist one. The ministers there have taken such violent 
 Secession ground since the President's death, that General Lew 
 Wallace has had to order them to be quiet, or he would close 
 their churches. I suppose you are as much pleased as I am that 
 Booth was taken dead. I am thankful that the public will be 
 cheated out of a trial and a hanging, which are so demoralizing, 
 and never fail to create a morbid sympathy for the criminal in 
 certain minds. . . . 
 
 Pittsburg, April 28, 1865. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Were you not glad that the assassin of the President was 
 shot ? I have dreaded his protracted trial and execution, demoral- 
 izing the brutal part of the national mind. Better so. "The 
 reign of terror looks to me advancing — begun. God knows 
 to what pitch it may be carried. . . . 
 
 This view of the situation was very characteristic of both 
 my father and mother. Revenge, public or private, was 
 abhorrent to them. I well remember that we children were 
 never allowed to sing the words, "We'll hang Jeff Davis 
 
498 • LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xix 
 
 on a sour apple-tree," when that song was one of the popu- 
 lar melodies of the day and those words were habitually 
 sung by most children with a special emphasis. 
 
 Philadelphia, May, 1865. Susan I. Lesley to 
 
 HER BROTHER JOSEPH LyMAN. 
 
 . . . When he [Peter] has finished his present engagements, 
 I am going to insist on his quitting his present overstrained life 
 for the summer. I shall pretend that it is important to my own 
 health, that he devotes himself to me. . . . 
 
 How quiet it seems, and how the news of surrender and peace 
 fall on our ears without realization, since the good President has 
 gone! . . . 
 
 Springfield, June 19, 1865. Susan I. Lesley to 
 HER Aunt Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . Do you not anticipate many sorrows and many wrongs 
 to this present generation of Freedmen? This question of Re- 
 construction seems to require divine wisdom to deal with. I 
 consider these times quite as anxious and perplexing as any during 
 the war, except that the bloodshed is ended. . . . 
 
 The summer of 1865 was spent by the family in New 
 England, where my father joined us in July. 
 
 He found time during his busy days to write every now 
 and then a long, delightful letter to one or other of his chil- 
 dren. Here is one of them to his eight -year-old daughter 
 which I think worth printing, because of the time and 
 the occasion of which it tells : — 
 
 Philadelphia, Sunday, June 25, 1865. Peter Lesley to 
 
 HIS DAUGHTER MARGARET. 
 
 ... I must write you a letter now. And I have something 
 beautiful to write about, — something that will please you. How 
 I wished you were with me yesterday in the Academy of Music, 
 to see the whole house filled with people who had come together 
 to arrange a home for the poor wounded soldiers and sailors, 
 who are now coming home, without feet to walk with, nor hands 
 to work with, nor eyes to see with, and all because they fought 
 to keep us safe from the rebels, and to win liberty for the negroes ! 
 
 The great broad deep place they call the stage, which is nearly 
 as large itself as a common-sized church, was entirely full of 
 
i865 LAST YEAR OF THE CIVIL WAR 499 
 
 girls, dressed in white, and rows of boys between them, to keep 
 them quiet; I mean, that the boys would not have been quiet 
 had they not been distributed about among the girls. 
 
 And every boy and girl had a flag! 
 
 And there were six hundred of them! 
 
 How sweetly they sang, I cannot pretend to describe; the 
 tears blinded me so that I could not see, and the words choked 
 my heart so that I could not hear. I felt as if I were floating on 
 a cloud of music up to heaven. 
 
 And when General Grant came and took the big chair, what 
 a stamping! and a shouting! and a hurrahing! and how they 
 kept it up, and never would stop ! How they began over and over, 
 shouting and waving their 600 flags all about him on the stage, 
 and the audience standing up, waving their handkerchiefs and 
 hats, — 1000 handkerchiefs and 500 hats! And all screaming 
 at the tops of their voices, and going on as if they were all mad; 
 but to look in their faces and see how happy and eager they all 
 were to get a good look at the great, silent hero, who stood and 
 looked shyly back at them and said nothing, while they over- 
 whelmed him with a tempest of hurrahs and a cataract of nose- 
 gays; and some laughing, and some smiling, with all their might, 
 and some crying, and all hurrahing — oh, it was a fine sight I assure 
 you and I wish you had been there. 
 
 But you shall see General Grant some day, for he is a Phila- 
 delphian now. The people have given him a fine house in Chest- 
 nut Street and he will live among us. 
 
 The songs the children sang were all lively, quick tunes in 
 the new style — I don't know where it comes from — but very 
 inspiring, and all about Jesus, and the Church, and Jerusalem, 
 and the Christian's struggle to be good, and the Victory, the 
 Victory at last. 
 
 They opened with a wonderfully fine hymn called " Glory to 
 God on High." Whoo! it made one's hair stand on end to hear 
 them sing it so. 
 
 " Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast ordained 
 praise, said David," said Bishop Simpson who made a little 
 speech to us between two hymns. . . . 
 
 Brookline, July 26, 1865. Susan I. Lesley [at the Hales'] 
 TO Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . Peter hates to leave here, and I don't wonder. He has 
 got into quite a regular way of life, and I think he is much better 
 this week than he was last. He retires to the unoccupied parlor 
 
500 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xix 
 
 every morning to write his lectures, and no one disturbs him till 
 dinner. Then the family conversation is very resting and divert- 
 ing to him. In the afternoon he takes me to ride, or plays croquet 
 which he has become very fond of, or walks over to Joseph's 
 [Lyman, at Jamaica Plain]. He finished his first Lecture yes- 
 terday, and I read it aloud to Lucretia [Hale] for criticism. It 
 is upon the Classification of the Sciences, and we thought it very 
 interesting. I had a feeling last year that I would much rather 
 he should give a Geological course, as that would be more likely 
 to interest such an audience; still, I can see that for himself, 
 it is quite desirable to get away from the subject he is so perpet- 
 ually occupied with, and I hope he can make this course tolerably 
 instructive, if not popular. I can give you no idea how much 
 he enjoyed Commemoration Day. He had never once thought 
 of going, and was seated at his writing as usual, when Edward 
 Hale, who was driving Miss Rotch over to Cambridge, stopped 
 and left three tickets for the family at the door. So Nathan and 
 Mr. Lesley and Susie got a carryall, and drove over. They were 
 too late for the first part in the church, but heard and saw all the 
 best, and then went to the dinner, which was very fine. Peter 
 said it was altogether a most splendid occasion, and he would not 
 have missed it on any account. He thought it was very emotional 
 as well as brilliant, the music, poems, ail, truly touching. He 
 thought Judge Loring presided better than he ever saw any one. 
 He saw and spoke to many old friends, and said he really wished 
 he had been educated at Cambridge, to have the feeling of belong- 
 ing there that they all seem to enjoy so much. John S. Dwight's 
 poem was the best I have seen. . . .They all say that Lowell's 
 was the finest, but that has not been printed, so that I have 
 not seen it. Peter sat with Nathan's [Hale] class at the dinner, 
 so he was in very good company. All said that the arrangements 
 were as perfect as possible. . . . 
 
 Beveexy, Aug. 7, 1865. Susan I. Lesley to her 
 Aunt Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . Saturday ... he [Peter] went to Joseph's at Jamaica 
 Plain, and remained till to-day. He wrote the whole of his third 
 lecture while there, on "The Antiquity of Man," which I am 
 sure he could not have done here. He is now going to rest, and 
 roam the rocks with the children for a day or two, and then he 
 will go up again and write his fourth lecture, either at Joseph's 
 or at the Hales'. . . . 
 
i865 LAST YEAR OF THE CIVIL WAR 501 
 
 Aug. 13, 1865. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . This morning I lay on the grass, and read the third 
 volume through — of " Sir Charles Grandison." I wish I had known 
 this admirable book in early life. It would have saved me many 
 a heartache, and other people many a piece of ill-bred imperti- 
 nence from me. But it is never too late to mend. I shall make 
 some improvements yet. 
 
 It may be as well to say here that my father continued 
 enthusiastically to peruse "Sir Charles Grandison" to the 
 very end of the ninth volume, and ever after declared it a 
 noble work. 
 
 Jamaica Plain, Aug. 22, 1865. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I cannot write on my fifth lecture to-day, as I intended 
 to do. My sick feelings of the last three days have destroyed or 
 driven off all my thoughts; and it is a difficult lecture to begin. 
 
 ... I often query what it is that makes us so fond of express- 
 ing ourselves. The fool has the prompting, like the wise man. 
 The birds and beasts share it also. Utterance — the going out 
 of ourselves, as a tree pushes forth its life in leaves and buds and 
 fruit. God seems not above the sentiment which he has bestowed 
 upon all his creatures. 
 
 But if we could restrain the faculty or passion — to its legiti- 
 mate indulgence! Only speak what is good and true — and when 
 we have something good and true, or useful, or beautiful, to 
 say! . . . 
 
 On the 24th he is in Northampton at the meeting of the 
 American Association for Advancement of Science. 
 
 . . . The meeting began with thirteen, but has improved 
 steadily. To-day we will have twenty. But we miss Bache, 
 Henry, Agassiz,* Gray, Wyman, Hall, the Rogerses, old Silliman, 
 dear old Hitchcock, old Dr. Hare, and all the ancient worthies 
 whose eloquent speeches and sallies, and quarrels lent life to the 
 A. A. A. S. 
 
 Dalton and Rood were sworn in. They do not look like 
 giants, but are no doubt first-class men. To-day we meet lo-i; 
 dine; go to Amherst under Whitney's escort; and business at 
 7-30- • • • 
 
 * Absent merely. 
 
502 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xix 
 
 Northampton, Aug. 26, 1865. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I accept your enthusiastic admiration of my poor lect- 
 ures in good faith and with much pleasure. . . . But your praises 
 of the first four lectures make it all the harder to look forward to 
 a successful handling of the remaining eight. I have not been 
 able to touch the fifth yet. Every hour of every day has been 
 occupied either in sleeping, or eating, or croqueting with these 
 lovely girls, or council meetings, or business meetings, or general 
 meetings, or rides to Amherst, or talks with Whitney, Newberry, 
 Pumpelly and Ben [Lyman] — that I could do nothing — not even 
 write to you. Everybody is kind. Hitchcock (Charles I mean) 
 slept here last night, and won our hearts. Sterry Hunt dined with 
 us, and his mother and sisters spent two hours here also. Lots 
 of nice geology! The meeting, twenty-three strong, perfectly 
 harmonious! All sorts of clever papers! Brother Sam and the 
 girls entoozimoozy ! At six this afternoon, all was at an end. 
 I have just declined a party at the Bakers', and seen all the girls 
 and old folks off, and had an hour with Mrs. Thayer, and must 
 take tea with her to-morrow night. Amiable uncle! Lovely 
 nieces! are become quite household terms among us. Monday 
 morning I go to Springfield to spend the day and night. Now 
 I must go to bed. Adieu. . . . 
 
 Poor Lesquereux has been down with inflammation of the lungs, 
 and even couldn't complete his paper for me to read. Hall has 
 gone to Maryland this week. 
 
 I am delighted with Thoreau's letters. Some of his sentences 
 are superb, and ennobling to the reader rather than to the writer. 
 I was deeply impressed with his chapters on love — chastity — 
 etc. He says it is not enough to be truthful; we must have 
 worthy thoughts and high designs, to be truthful about. — He 
 says the imagination and the heart are equally expressed in love; 
 if one be insulted, the other is estranged, and the imagination is 
 the most sensitive. I have long felt this, but never knew before 
 how to translate it into words. How indebted we are to these 
 souls of genius! 
 
 In October he went again to the mouth of the St. Lawrence 
 and to Montreal, returning in November much benefited by 
 the change. My mother writes to her brother, "He has 
 written the greater part of three lectures in his absence, and 
 says he feels quite easy in his mind now, and will do no 
 more field work until spring." 
 
i865 LAST YEAR OF THE CIVIL WAR 503 
 
 Philadelphia, Nov., 1865. Susan I. Lesley to her 
 Aunt Catherine Robbins. 
 
 . . . Peter has been driving away at his Lectures, at the table 
 near me, and every now and then coming to read me a few pages, 
 and get my opinion. He is now writing the eleventh and it 
 semes to me, he has kept up the interest remarkably well. Don't 
 you think I am very presumptuous ? I have given him the sub- 
 ject for his twelfth Lecture, and he has promised to write on it, 
 and to take my heads to enlarge upon. I want him to give a sort 
 of resume of the whole, and then state just how much and how 
 little the exact Sciences can do for the human mind; how they 
 enlarge, by giving a grand picture of all created things ; and how 
 they belittle, by confining the attention to details; how they 
 materialize the mind and nature, by the habit of looking into 
 causes; and how they may spiritualize, by taking us behind the 
 curtain and giving us a grand view of the Divine Hand, in the 
 very act of creation. This lecture, I thought out, one night 
 when I was lying awake, and was highly pleased to find that it 
 was suggestive to him. And if you are able to go and hear any, 
 I wish you would hear this, and tell me how you like it. . . . 
 
 But the twelfth lecture was never written. My father 
 says in the preface to the lectures published in 1868: "Not 
 much more than half of each lecture was read, except in 
 the case of the last two, which occupied four evenings; the 
 course being courteously extended to that purpose. The 
 twelfth lecture was, therefore, never written out, and is 
 committed for the present to the imagination of the reader, 
 with the suggestion that it would better justify one portion 
 of the title chosen for the book* than anything actually 
 to be found between its covers. " 
 
 * Man's Origin and Destiny. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 Lowell Lectures, i 865-1866 
 
 My father went to Boston to deliver his course of lectures 
 before the Lowell Institute the latter part of December, 1865, 
 and spent the next six or eight weeks there, enjoying greatly 
 meeting old friends, and, as he expressed it, "the having but 
 one thin'g to attend to." /" 
 
 The title of his course was j-^' Man's Origin and Destiny, 
 Sketched from the Platform of Hie_Sciences";* and the titles 
 of the respective lectures were: — 
 
 1. On the Classification of the Sciences. 
 
 2. On the Genius of the Physical Sciences, Ancient and Mod- 
 
 ern. 
 
 3. The Geological Antiquity of Man. 
 
 4. On the Dignity of Mankind. 
 
 5. On the Unity of Mankind. 
 
 6. On the Early Social Life of Man. 
 
 7. On Language, as a Test of Race. 
 
 8. The Origin of Architecture. 
 
 9. The Growth of the Alphabet. 
 
 10. The Four Types of Religious Worship. 
 
 11. On Arkite Symbolism. 
 
 12. (Never written.) 
 
 He must have enjoyed greatly writing these lectures, for 
 they embodied not only results of his serious occupations, but 
 the fruits of his fancy and imagination. Ethnology and 
 Archaeology, History, Philosophy, and Religion had occu- 
 pied his more leisure hours since youth; and he drew from 
 his knowledge of these, as much as from his geological and 
 
 * "Man's Origin and Destiny" was published in London in 1868 by 
 N. Trubner & Co. 
 
 A second edition, enlarged, was published by Geo. H. Ellis, Boston, 
 in 1881. 
 
 504 
 
i86s LOWELL LECTURES 505 
 
 other scientific learning. The last lecture — "On Arkite 
 Symbolism" — was indeed so much a hohhy (in the eyes of 
 others, at any rate) that in the last edition of his lectures, 
 published in 1881 in Boston, he left it out, and added sev- 
 eral chapters in its place, entitled: — 
 
 Chapter 11. The Possible in Destiny. 
 " 12. The Destiny of Man. 
 " 13. The Physical Destiny of the Race. 
 " 14. The Social Destiny of the Race. 
 " 15. The Future Economics of Mankind. ' 
 " 16. The Intellectual and Moral Destiny of the Race. 
 
 Boston, Dec. 28, 1865. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 ... It is Thursday morning, and the ordeal is over. My first 
 lecture is delivered — I do not know how. I was terribly fright- 
 ened — don't laugh! and could scarcely speak. Had I started 
 off as I used to do, I should have broken down square in quarter 
 of an hour. But I spoke very low, and very slow, and got through 
 just within the limits of the hour, by hurrying the last three 
 pages. . . . "-^ 
 
 It was a very nice audience, — chiefly consisting of men. J 
 ut there were a few women knitting. ^ 
 
 .__. . But I slept, so sweetly! And I am so relieved of all care! 
 
 It is heaven upon earth, here, with nothing to do but read, and 
 talk, and think! , . . 
 
 Jamaica Plain, Dec. 31, 1865. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . Oh for my old love of letter-writing, back again! How 
 I did love it once! It would give you so much pleasure to have 
 every day from me a real good jolly gossip. . . . 
 
 But now, burning with loving thoughts I sit down, and before 
 I can get "Dear Love" down — puff! — away they have gone, and 
 some hard, cold, uninteresting facts flow out of my pen's nib 
 instead. 
 
 So it is with thought — as with affection. No more troop 
 round me, various reflections of the day's events, in similes and 
 apologues and moral maxims or religious inspirations, as of 
 wont. All is cold, dry matter of fact now. Business — money- 
 making — has killed my imagination and hardened my heart. 
 
 No, I am wrong there ; for I find it is only a sort of volcanic 
 crust over the burning lava. While the audience laughed, last 
 
5o6 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xx 
 
 evening, at my story of the poor woman who sent me her horo- 
 scope to make, I came very near crying right in their faces; it 
 struck me as so very piteous. 
 
 I think a little rest and leisure and happy intercourse with 
 friends would restore me to my youthful amiability. I shall 
 try what six weeks will do towards it, at any rate. 
 
 They are quite disappointed at not seeing you nere. . . . 
 
 I am reading a nice book. Dr. Newman's "Apologia pro 
 vita sua"; against the Reverend C. Kingsley. It is remarkable 
 for style, — clear, forcible, not at all stilted or scholastic, — and for 
 animus, bold, polite, frank, but with a suppressed passion, and, 
 I cannot help thinking, secretly chafing pride, and animosity, 
 struggling to express themselves. His logic is trenchant. His 
 credulity unbounded; he believes firmly in the blood of St. Jan- 
 uary ! His autobiography is very na'if . 
 
 We have all sorts of talk, on all sorts of subjects. The news- 
 papers; the Revue des Deux Mondes; Carlyle's "Frederick H."; 
 Desor's pamphlets; "Roba di Roma " ; Whately's "Vestiges of the 
 Natural History of the Creation"; things old and new. . . . 
 
 Boston, Jan. 3, 1866. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I have had a splendid time. Yesterday I came in early 
 and drew a diagram in the cold rooms, and then got a nice dinner 
 down town; took the cars and spent the p.m. with Chauncey 
 Wright discussing the absolute and the conditional until six 
 o'clock, when we made a call on Aunt Kitty; and then passed 
 on to the Eliots' house. We took a little side-table tea together, 
 we three, in the library behind the parlor. . . . He [Charles W. 
 Eliot] is fully engrossed with his Technological Institute Chair 
 of Chemistry, and I happened to know some things of interest 
 to him specially at the moment. We had a nice time, until 
 Frank Storer dropped in; then Cooke, the University Chemist; 
 and they continued to come all along for an hour, — C. E. Norton, 
 Alex. Agassiz, Jeffries Wyman, Lovering, Asa Gray, Prof. Child, 
 Atkinson of the Technological, and Watson, their Professor of 
 Civil Engineering. Chauncey came along also, but Gurney sent 
 an excuse. We had a jolly evening, and I had a good talk with 
 every one of them. Discussed Academy with half a dozen, and 
 got authority from Lovering, the Secretary, to say that the Ameri- 
 can Association would certainly be called to meet next August. . . . 
 
 A charming little breakfast, — only people keep me talking, 
 talking, and I can't get enough to satisfy my hunger. I am get- 
 ting to feel well, and enjoy society extremely. While Agassiz 
 
i866 LOWELL LECTURES 507 
 
 was talking to me about the senselessness of scientific quarrel- 
 ling, Gray came and sat down beside me to make sure I should be 
 at the next Academy Meeting, Tuesday, at Theo. Lyman's. 
 
 . . . Young Agassiz is a fine fellow. I had nice talks with 
 him and Norton. Gray has a new spider, about which I will 
 write my Meg. ... I must send this letter ofif to-day, and write 
 some more, and go to work to try to resolve which paragraphs 
 of my lecture to leave out this evening. I sail between Scylla 
 and Charybdis; desiring to keep all the introduction, and not to 
 abridge my facts; but Hesiod says — ''He is a fool who knows 
 not that the half is better than the whole." . . , 
 
 Brookline, Jan. 4, 1866. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I am happy to say the audience last night (No. 3) was 
 better than ever, at least 700 I should think, and 50 turned away 
 by the doorkeeper for coming too late. Mr. John A. Lowell 
 and Mrs. Lowell, Mrs. Dr. Cotting, Nathan and Lucretia [Hale], 
 Joseph Lyman and Miss Clapp, Dr. Gould, and Estes Howe, 
 and Mr. Converse, came in to see me before and after the lecture; 
 and Whipple and his wife stayed with me to the shutting up, 
 loud in their praises of my dramatic powers! I tell you this 
 nonsense because you love a little flattery, and I can't administer 
 it in any other way. If, for instance, I should tell you all that 
 Prof. Child told me about you, night before last, how he saw you 
 at Mr. Emerson's once and said you looked like a "Middle-Age 
 Angel," and they all exclaimed: "rather young for that!" you 
 would accuse me of poking fun at you. I was enamoured of his 
 child face that evening, and warm heart. . . . After dining at 
 the hotel yesterday, I called on H. Apthorpe at his office; and 
 towards dark on Dr. A. A. Gould, who made me stop to tea, and 
 promise to do so every night I came to town, "just as if I were 
 your brother, or more so," said he. After lecture (which he 
 went to, in spite of its being Natural History Society night) he 
 insisted on my walking back with him to this house; but I re- 
 fused, as people had been making me talk half the day, and 
 the lecture was tremendously fatiguing. So I went for half an 
 hour to the Boston Museum to see the tail end of " Jeannette"; and 
 so to bed, . . . and after breakfast took the cars and came here. 
 Mrs. Hale and Lucretia are sitting in the cheery winter "Green 
 Room," sewing. I have read them extracts from your last 
 letters, — and the end of ' Doctor Marigold"; and discussed 
 the printing of Lucretia 's Httle "Communion Make-up," a copy 
 of which I will soon send to you. The introduction by Edward 
 
5o8 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xx 
 
 is very good; and extracts from Colani's Sermons* very touching. 
 So is the sweet hymn by Faber on page 41, "The true Shep- 
 herd." Lucretia tells me that she is commencing the transla- 
 tion of Colani's three volumes of printed sermons, to be published 
 by Mr. Low, Chairman of the Unitarian Association. . . . 
 
 Jamaica Plain, January 4. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I ought to have told you that I cut out all the sentences 
 and paragraphs which I thought you would be sorry to have me 
 recite, and made my statements of the oppositions of Science 
 and Religion as mild as possible. Dr. Gould gave me some kind 
 advice about it, and I remembered Hesiod's verse, " the fool knows 
 that half is more than all." I think I am past the breakers now. 
 But in spite of my pruning-hook, I found the end of the hour at 
 hand, as I arrived at the " Stop here " mark; which I had arranged 
 to pass unnoticed and finish. What can I do? Shall I let the 
 whole series push forward like one of Pharaoh's snakes? Or 
 shall I chop the heads and tails of all the lectures off ? . . . 
 
 It is a great blessing to both of us, to all of us, that you are 
 disposed to make the most of what you have about you, and not 
 murmiu- at Providence. For myself, never mortal had a happier 
 lot, a richer portion. Such a wife! such children! such friends! 
 such lots of them! such a training for life-work! such a nice 
 science to work in and for! such an age to be born in! such a 
 Country to call one's own! 
 
 Yesterday I walked over, after dinner [from Brooldine]; 
 the Pond open still; but this morning the thermometer read at 
 8.30 o'clock 4 degrees below zero, and the warmer water was 
 steaming Uke an overdriven horse. It was a curious spectacle. 
 I shall stop in the house all day and copy a lecture on the origin 
 of writing, that has been just found among Theo. Parker's MSS., 
 written when 25 years of age, before he had ever had a day's 
 schoohng. I read it last evening before bed-time, when left alone 
 in the parlor. All the afternoon and evening Joseph [Lyman] 
 and I kept up a conversation on all subjects. He is now in the 
 parlor, hard at it over Sam Haldeman's "Affixes and Prefixes," 
 which he greatly admires. I told him Sam's history yesterday. 
 How fimny to see the intense genealogical tendency of the 
 Robbins blood! ... 
 
 *Timothee Colani, theologian et publiciste protestant, ne en 1824; mort 
 en 1888. 
 
i866 LOWELL LECTURES 509 
 
 Philadelphia, Jan. 4, 1866. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 ... I have read when my head would let me some fine arti- 
 cles in the Littell . What witch-work in Jamaica ! How can the 
 English ever twit us again? Lucy Chase's letter gives a most 
 lamentable picture of the state of feeling towards both Yankees 
 and negroes in both South Carolina and Georgia, says that she 
 and Sarah were treated grossly in Charleston, and heard the 
 same talk everywhere, arrogance and brutality, and universal 
 talk of the negro as merely an animal. I must say, I see little 
 hope for this generation. 
 
 Ben has been in this evening, and has read me the Prospectus 
 of the Social Science organization in Boston. And I should 
 think that that association would be the place for you some day 
 to ventilate your Land Reform ideas. . . . 
 
 I remember my father's saying once that he thought 
 land should have been made free, as the waters and air 
 are free, — only available to be borrowed and held for actual 
 uses, and not for private property. Probably he held in 
 theory somewhat the view which Henry George later ad- 
 vocated. 
 
 Jamaica Plaest, Jan. 7, 1866. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Lecture IV. ought to have come off last night. But 
 Lecture III. was not quite finished, so I had to read six more 
 pages; then explain the diagrams on the walls; and then begin 
 Lecture IV., which of course I could only get 20 pages into, leav- 
 ing the other 30 for next Wednesday night. You see the con- 
 sequence: I shall have no Xllth lecture; no man of the future 
 to write, — which is a blessing, — nor to read, — which I am sorry 
 for 
 
 Boston, Jan. 7, 1866. To his Wife. 
 
 ... It is very encouraging, I confess, to get hearty commen- 
 dations from competent judges; and yet I can't help entertain- 
 ing and acting upon the conviction that no one is so good a judge 
 of one's mistakes and one's leanness as one's own self. I am 
 extremely dissatisfied with these performances. They treat the 
 subjects concerned with an appearance of profundity, but real 
 superficiality. They are the result of years of reading and reflec- 
 tion; yet are after all mere outline sketches. I see my mistake 
 now. Had I taken but one subject (say the Unity of Mankind), 
 
5IO LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xx 
 
 and said all that could be said, and given all the illustrations in 
 full, and then permitted the parts of the theme to stimulate my 
 fancy and draw out my experiences — I should have done some- 
 thing to live and last. But we must live and learn. . . . 
 
 Jamaica Plain, Jan. 8, 1866. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I foresee great trouble in the South; but not of apubHc 
 or general kind. It will be personal abuse, such as Lucy Chase 
 speaks of. Think that it was from 1780, when the war [of the 
 Revolution] really stopped, until 1789 before a good working 
 Constitution could be got up. It will be some years before we 
 settle down in our old, humdrum, money-making ways again. 
 Think too how long the Tory sentiments burned and made them- 
 selves obnoxious in speech. It was 1812 — 1782=: 30 years 
 before war broke out again with England; and that with a steadily 
 growing antagonism. But the course of years will be all on the 
 side of knitting together the North and South. 
 
 As for your suggestion of ventilating my land views before 
 the Social Congress,— had you seen the absurd display it made ! — 
 Thank you; no! . . . 
 
 Jan. 8, 1866. To his Wife. 
 
 ... I believe Miss Clapp sent you a flaming notice of my 
 Wednesday lecture, by Mr. Whipple in his paper, the Transcript. 
 Mr. D3^ke's enthusiasm is worth something, for it is all pure love; 
 but Mrs. Ball's and Mr. Whipple's and G. S. Hillard's, etc., etc., 
 comes out of the head; and I don't think as much of Yankee 
 heads as I do of Yankee hearts. 
 
 Phineas Dyke was an old friend of my Lesley grand- 
 parents, had rocked my father in his cradle, and was abso- 
 lutely devoted to the whole family. My father, when he 
 became librarian of the American Philosophical Society, 
 had made him his assistant, with a tiny salary; and, although 
 he could hardly serve in any capacity in a modern library, 
 he did very well then as the devoted attendant at that quaint 
 and charming old establishment. Perhaps his mental 
 powers were not great, but he had a heart of gold. 
 
 Parker House, Boston, Thursday, Jan. n, 1866. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . How can I describe to you the excitement which has fol- 
 lowed the ennui of those bitter cold days of Saturday and Sunday 
 
i866 LOWELL LECTURES 51 1 
 
 and Monday? When the warmth returned, I came in town 
 Tuesday to see Rist[ori].* That evening I took tea with Dr. 
 A. A. Gould, and walked with him to Theodore Lyman's, in 
 Beacon Street, where the American Academy were assembling. 
 But mistaking the number, etc., we walked far down Beacon Street 
 into the Back Bay part, and got back to find about 40 members 
 seated in the magnificent parlor in front of tables covered with 
 virtii, and strips covered with diagrams. It was an uncommonly 
 rich evening. Five members read papers. Lyman himself was 
 describing his vases when we entered. I was led through to a 
 seat between Pickering, Wyman and Gould. Chauncey was 
 secretary in the far corner, and Gray presided next him in an 
 arm-chair. Gould pressed me to follow up Lyman's remarks, but 
 I decHned. Then Wyman gave us a fine paper on the normal 
 irregularity of the honey-bee's comb. Chauncey followed with 
 a fine statement that the economy of the bee was rational, but 
 not sensible, and the absurdity of the old saying that the bee 
 builded more accurately than the mathematicians calculated. 
 He had not spoken before in the American Academy for five 
 years! I was in luck. EHot followed, describing a power meas- 
 urer or dynamometer [sketch]. 
 
 I cannot describe it for you on paper, but it is one of a splendid 
 series of happy inventions by Mr. Ruggles, who invented the 
 press of his name, and the Boston Blind Alphabet. Finally, 
 Cook gave us an extraordinary paper on his discovery of the 
 enormous effect excessively moist atmospheres (high dew points) 
 have on the spectrum, multiplying and strengthening the dark 
 lines in the yellow and red part of it. 
 
 Adjourning downstairs, to the oysters and ice-cream, F. 
 Storer introduced me to Dr. Warren (Petroleum chemist). Ed- 
 ward Hale did the same to Mr. Marsh, the new palaeontologist of 
 New Haven (just from three years in Europe). His collection 
 of Trias and St. Cassian (upper Keuper) beds is the best in 
 America. I was introduced to Dr. Bigelow; Clarke, Agassiz's 
 enemy; Rufus Ellis' brother and Geo. B. Emerson both intro- 
 duced themselves to me, to inquire after you. Pickering, Alex. 
 Agassiz, and others had talks with me. Finally, Theo. Lyman 
 got me to agree that, as he intended to carry his vases to the 
 Warren party Thursday evening, I would say something. 
 
 Chaimcey stuck to me when Dr. A. A. Gould left me, smoked 
 and talked metaphysics in my room before the fire, until two 
 
 * Ris( in MS. probably means Ristori, as she was in America in 1866. 
 
512 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xx 
 
 o'clock in the morning. Of course I couldn't sleep, so I read up 
 for Thursday evening until four o'clock. . . . 
 
 Wednesday, I spent three hours with Pickering over his strange 
 MSS. He is Coptic mad. Thinks Coptic the Mother tongue; 
 thinks its letters (Egyptian hieroglyphics) represent Hfe, marriage, 
 birth, childhood, school days, business, etc., in a regular order. 
 Many of his special discoveries are beautiful. But his whole 
 system seems to me to be the merest dream. It is not supported 
 by more than a few scattered coincidences, which can be other- 
 wise accounted for. He gave me some important light however 
 on Egyptological matters, and I thank my stars I went to see 
 him when I did. He was evidently delighted to find anybody 
 to take an interest in it, and said I must stay to dinner and see 
 three times as much which remained over. His great compara- 
 tive Flora, based on the Egyptian Expedition was printed 500 
 pages before the war and then stopped; 500 still remain un- 
 printed. 
 
 After dining at the Parker House, I called on Mrs. Henshaw, 
 who was glad to hear about you; and walked round the new city 
 of palaces; round the skating pond (a fine sight), to the Provi- 
 dence Depot, and reached Joseph's house at three. Got my 
 lecture and a change of clothes, returned at four, and wrote until 
 seven; hastily teaed, and lectured to the same audience as before. 
 I saw Gray, Cotter, C. Wright, Estes Howe, Mayor Quincy, 
 John A. Lowell, Mrs. Sohier, and lots of others; — Whipple again, 
 Nathan Hale and Lucre tia and Dr. Hedge. . . . You would 
 hear a pin drop from the beginning to the end. One lady fainted 
 from heat, and was taken out; but otherwise all is as still as 
 death. I have recovered command of my throat and chest 
 muscles, and speak very slowly and distinctly. Hillard and 
 Susan were there again; and after lecture I walked up and sat 
 an hour with them. I see nothing of them, nor of any friends. 
 I am in the hands of a new set. Aunt Kitty came in, but did 
 not see me. Ben Gould has sent me a note begging me to fix a 
 dining day with him. I am to dine to-day at three, with Mr. 
 and Mrs. Quincy, 4 Park Street. I shall go to see Mrs. Sohier, 
 5 Park Place. This evening I take tea with Dr. Gould, and go 
 to the Warren party. Sunday, I spend with Estes Howe. Mon- 
 day at three I go out to the Wares'. 
 
 You can't imagine what amusement my flat-footed advocacy 
 of the monkey origin of man occasioned. There was no end to 
 the jokes. I couldn't get such an audience anywhere else in the 
 United States, . . . 
 
 J 
 
i866 LOWELL LECTURES 513 
 
 Jamaica Plain, Friday, Jan. 12, 1866. To his Wife. 
 
 . . . After breakfast I hung my pictures for Saturday, and 
 made a new diagram of the Dolmen distribution in France, for 
 the evening party. Then I wrote to you, and then studied up 
 what I should say respecting the burials of the ancients. 
 
 At 5.30 I returned to Parker's and rested for an hour, and 
 then took tea with Dr. Gould, and walked with him to Mr. Sils- 
 bee's, at the far west end of Beacon Street, where the Warren Club 
 assembled. Thirty of us sat round the walls of the front parlor, 
 and spilled into the centre hall (upstairs). Dr. Williams, the 
 great ocuKst, had on the centre table all sorts of specula for the 
 eye, ear, throat, bladder, and explained their uses and improve- 
 ments. Theo. Lyman had on the table his urn and tazza and 
 lamp, and went over the same description that he gave at the 
 Academy meeting Tuesday night; and then called on me by 
 name to explain. I said I did so with diffidence, because my 
 reading on the subject was merely riding a hobby, and because 
 the facts, though numerous, were not yet well classified. I de- 
 scribed the recent discovery of separated catacombs at Rome, 
 and then took up the Celtic monuments, so called, and showed 
 (after Desor's pamphlet) that they were not Gallic, because not 
 to be found east of a line drawn from Marseilles to Brussels. 
 Here my map came in, which I had drawn in the morning. I 
 described the Saumur Dolmen* (and longed for a good draw- 
 ing of it), and the contents of the French monuments. Then 
 I described the new African discoveries, and gave the new theory 
 of western Europe being settled from the Sahara and Atlas by 
 Berbers, or Tamhu (the name of the Tuaric language) a white 
 race, so painted on the XVIIth dynasty monuments of Egypt; 
 a great and venerated "western" people clad in skins. But Dr. 
 Pickering considers them Northerners (Thracians?), because 
 of their furs, and because the beaver appears for the first time 
 with them on the monuments. I described the African Schujas, 
 and Sebkas, or Armorican Golgols and Kistvaens. . . . 
 
 I spoke ... for I suppose three-quarters of an hour, was 
 listened to with great attention, and clapped at the close. Lyman 
 asked me afterwards a question about the stone Kelts of Japan, 
 which gave me an opportunity to state that I did not believe in the 
 stone age theory, as it is commonly stated ; for we live now in the 
 stone age. Agassiz thanked me for this afterwards. After I got 
 through, Dr. Hays showed us a most magnificent mass of den- 
 
 * See picture on page 83, Vol. I., of his first foreign trip. 
 
514 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xx 
 
 dritic silver, from the Cliff mine, Michigan, and explained that 
 there were no ''fused" metals found there; but all were electro- 
 typed. . . . Then Dr. C. T. Jackson described some fine speci- 
 mens of glazed, scratched or grooved rocks, which he brought 
 in from California, and objected to the formation of the grooves 
 by ice, because he found them between all the upturned slabs. 
 The glazing, however, was only on the outside slab; and he 
 objected to Blake's account of the glazing by wind-driven sand, 
 and thought it was a fire glazing, or a hot-water glazing. . . . Then 
 Wm. B. Rogers made a fine little speech on Humboldt's harmonic 
 note-detecting glass ear tubes, and described the way the quality 
 of different instrumental tones is made out by the variety and 
 pitch of the harmonic notes, grouped about or involved in the 
 keynote. 
 
 Then we went down to oysters, croquettes, ice-cream and 
 fine brown sherry, and fair champagne. At eleven I walked 
 home with Dr. Gould, and sat talking until midnight, when I 
 went to Parker House, and slept until eight this morning very 
 well. But I feel jaded and shall stop this rush next week. I 
 found Whipple at the party — he seems to fancy my lectures 
 greatly, and sticks to me at other times. He wrote the sketch 
 Miss Clapp sent you. 
 
 My mother having suggested that this course of lectures 
 should be given in Philadelphia, he expresses entire willing- 
 ness, but adds: — 
 
 But I assure you, my love, we can't get up an audience for 
 them in Philadelphia which will hold together six nights. There 
 never was got together in Philadelphia such an audience as I had 
 last Wednesday evening here in Boston. The Warren Club 
 has impressed upon the educated merchants' class of Boston a 
 love for such things, and for Science, not as means, but as end, 
 such as none of our machinery in Philadelphia is capable of 
 stamping. . . . 
 
 Cambridge, Jan. 14 [1866 ?]. To his Wefe. 
 
 . . . How well I know what you mean by your Apostrophe 
 to Solitude! No soul can grow without its benign blessing; nor 
 stay in health. We lose heart in a crowd. The perpetual drop- 
 ping of water will wear away the rock. 
 
 . . . My sixth evening and fifth lecture was as well attended 
 
i866 LOWELL LECTURES 515 
 
 as usual yesterday. New faces were there. Kitty Ireland came 
 to speak to me, and I shall probably take tea with her. 
 
 . . . Friday afternoon and Saturday morning I was greatly 
 distressed about my lecture, and changed the whole of it in my 
 mind and resolved to speak extempore. But, after dining with 
 B. A. Gould and Wolcott Gibbs at Cambridge, and going in 
 before tea to hang my drawings, I got frightened, and forgot it 
 all and so had to read straight ahead and stop (before I had 
 begun) on the 35 th page. It is a splendid audience and ad- 
 mirably behaved. 
 
 Philadelphia, Jan. 14, 1866. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 ... I was so glad I had persuaded Miss Pugh to stay over 
 Sunday. When we went to church this morning, Mr. Furness 
 preached a very striking sermon on the 41st anniversary of his 
 settlement here. He described his baptism into Anti-slavery, 
 and a very impressive scene at the Tabernacle in New York, 
 where Rynders' mob behaved so dreadfully, and the speeches 
 of two black men on the occasion. Miss Pugh said she believed 
 she was the only other person besides himself in the church, who 
 was present on that memorable occasion, and she waited to 
 speak with him after church. . . . 
 
 My mother's anxiety lest he should disturb the good 
 taste and other susceptibilities of his distinguished auditors 
 is amusingly illustrated by a few lines in a letter of this date : — 
 
 I think it would not do in a Boston audience to introduce 
 the name of E. M. (you wrote it H. ...)... Likewise couldn't 
 you leave it to be inferred that you don't believe in Abraham, 
 Isaac and Jacob, without saying so, out and out? You will 
 know best about these things, — I merely suggest. . . . 
 
 Jan. 19, 1866. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . How the folks laugh at your timidity about the Patri- 
 archs ! You would be astonished how coolly the audience takes — 
 anything. I did not leave out A. : but many other things I marked 
 and left out; and J. F. Clarke laughed about them this morning 
 and said his wife was sure the marks and erasiires were yours, 
 and that you had as much trouble with me as she has with James. 
 He said he always fought hard for these morceaux, but felt after- 
 wards that they were best out. . . . 
 
51 6 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xx 
 
 Jamaica Plain, Jan. 20, 1866. Peter Lesley to his Wipe. 
 
 . . . After my long egotistical letter of yesterday, I am ashamed 
 to write again. But I hear so many nice stories, and see so many 
 nice friends of yours, that I should like to keep on gossiping to 
 you all the livelong time. 
 
 Lots of things you would have enjoyed, were said at table, 
 and my poor memory has let them all slip. How I long for you 
 to go about with me among these dear good people, to whom my 
 soul is being knit fast every day! 
 
 What an ocean of life breaks on these rocks of Boston So- 
 ciety! 
 
 At eight, Edward and I walked off together, he to a German 
 lesson, I to Mrs. Revere's and Josiah Quincy's. . . . 
 
 Miss Phillips, the prima donna, was there, and sang opera 
 music and "Auld Robin Gray" in superb stage style. Rather 
 too strongly spiced heef a la mode for my delicate taste. But she 
 is a good girl, handsome, in spite of her coiffure, and in abound- 
 ing health and spirits, gloriously in love with stage life, and 
 beloved and respected by all her friends. 
 
 Dr. Guillamette sang also several times, and played his own 
 accompaniment, a thundering sweet basso. His piece de resis- 
 tance was the "Wandering Jew." 
 
 I talked with Hillard, who came alone; Rev. Bulfinch; 
 Edmund Quincy, and Miss Quincy the elder, whom I like more 
 and more, and shall go to see. As I shall also the Miss Inches. 
 
 Mrs. Revere promised to make my excuses, and I slipped away 
 to escape the small talk, quavered sostenuto notes, and ice-cream, 
 at ten and sat in the Depot, and walked the platforms, and watched 
 the inroad of passengers, until 11. 10, and took a carriage from 
 the Jamaica Plain Station to Joseph's house, and sat up until 
 two o'clock reading "Nicholas Nickleby." I feel dreadfully 
 used up to-day. . . . 
 
 Jamaica Plain, Friday, Jan. 24, 1866. To his Wife. 
 
 The vm lecture (9th evening) was admirably well re- 
 ceived. . . . Lucretia and Nathan were there as usual, and said 
 it was "splendid." Aunt Kitty, and Mrs. Fisher, and George, 
 who is studying law, came into the little room. So did Chauncey, 
 to bring me Norton's invitation. Abby Bent and her husband 
 came in also, and Sam Johnson who had come up from Salem 
 to attend the Anti -slavery Meeting, and take part in the great 
 fight between Ajax and Achilles. I see by this morning's paper 
 
r866 LOWELL LECTURES 517 
 
 that Wendell Phillips has won the day, and Wm. Lloyd Garrison "^ 
 was whipped out of his boots. By a large and indignant female 
 majority the vote was to continue the Organization, to uphold 
 the ark, never to lower the banner, alwa3'S to hurrah for Wendell, 
 to make a finance committee of four women! and to conduct the 
 Society on as offensive, digressive, demonstrative and impracti- 
 cable a system as possible. . . . But although I make fun of Wen- 
 dell, I must confess my admiration for these Amazons and Knights 
 Errant, who are resolved to fight it out to the bitter end, and 
 never give up the field while there are any "faces of the damned 
 old Gods" to be covered up left. 
 
 Yesterday and to-day the snow-storm lasted. I painted 
 and wrote and slept and wished myself dead, and probably will 
 continue to live on in that amiable mood until to-morrow night 
 when I shall exchange the sentiment for a wish to kill somebody 
 else. I have now and then a slight desire to see you once more 
 before I die. Perhaps you will oblige me by coming on next 
 week. W^hy don't you write to me oftener? I have never re- 
 ceived from you more than two letters a day except once or twice 
 when I got three, one by each mail. I forgot to tell you I bored 
 holes in the big boots, screwed into them Joseph's skates, and cut 
 up high Dutch on the pond with Eva, until I dropped with ex- 
 haustion. Couldn't I swear a little, without God hearing it now 
 and then? I think I must try it pretty soon. 
 
 Phh-adelphja, Jan. 25, 1866. Susan I. Lesley to her Husband. 
 
 ... I believe I told you that I should not go to the Parlor 
 Concert,* last evening, but when evening came Mrs. Towne kindly 
 sent her carriage to take the girls [Fanny and Mary] and me, 
 so I felt I could go. The music was exquisite, Beethoven, Mozart, 
 and a most perfect "Invention and Gigue," by Bach. Poor Miss 
 Jackson played in agony, having fallen on the ice three days 
 ago, and strained a nerve in her hand and arm. But no one 
 knew it. ... I have been reading aloud, yesterday and to-day, 
 a little volume of Ruskin's that Alex lent us, called "Sesame and 
 
 * These parlor concerts, organized by Miss Anna Jackson, were most 
 delightful occasions. Miss Jackson took the piano parts, and had two 
 or three stringed instruments besides, and the music was of the very best 
 of the Classic School. At first they were held in the largest parlors to be 
 found among the homes of her pupils. But later, as people began to know 
 of them, and she had a larger assured following, they were held in Nata- 
 torium Hall, which seated 400 or 500 persons, and they were well attended 
 by an intelligent and enthusiastic audience. 
 
5i8 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xx 
 
 Lilies," two lectures delivered at Manchester, which are per- 
 fectly charming. I don't know when I ever enjoyed anything 
 more. Indeed I must read them again with you. 
 
 Jamaica Plain, Jan. 28, 1866. Peter Lesley to his Wife. 
 
 . . . Yesterday I went early in town, and painted a dozen 
 diagrams, on my hands and knees, on the floor, dining at three 
 o'clock with Mrs. and Mr. Revere, and returning to paint again 
 until dark. I then went to Mrs. Parker's to tea. . . . 
 
 My lecture on the Alphabet went off finely. . . . 
 
 I was very much fatigued with the lecture. ... I slept very 
 little all night, but woke up quite well, and have been talking with 
 Joseph and the rest all day; hearing him read the Edinburgh, 
 and reading myself Mrs. Gaskell's "North and South." Last 
 evening, alone, I read the Radical containing R. W. Emerson's 
 superb lecture to the divinity students, which gave him his first 
 fame. . . . 
 
 Boston, Thursday, Feb. i, 1866. To ms Wife. 
 
 ... I should have written to you yesterday, and feel guilty 
 at not making more effort; but you will see how difficult it was 
 by what I shall tell you. 
 
 After drawing my diagrams and wiiting to you on Tuesday, 
 I rode out to spend a happy hour and take tea with Aunt Kitty. 
 
 My bones were full of rheumatism, but after tea I walked 
 down to Chauncey's, found his door locked, and had to pilot my- 
 self, out past Estes Howe's and Charl-es Eliot's house along 
 the Norton Avenue back to the old mansion, in the snow. What 
 a grand old place it is! What a splendid library parlor it is! 
 Books from ceiling to floor from X to Y. [Sketch.] At R. on a small 
 table stood a recent painting of Ruskin's; a great boulder of the 
 Alps, painted to show how much history there is in a stone, mag- 
 nificent bit of drawing and coloring. C. E. Norton received me 
 cordially and introduced me to his mother and wife, and two 
 lovely sisters. Soon came Dr. Palfrey, Longfellow, Gray, Lov- 
 ering, Jeffries Wyman, C. Eliot, C. Wright, and somebody else 
 who knew me very well, but I couldn't make him out. My even- 
 ing was charming in every respect. It began with a long talk 
 with Norton, then with his wife, then with his elder sister, and 
 others afterwards, ending after oysters and hock and ice-cream, 
 with a charming tete-a-tete over sherry and cigars between Norton, 
 Dr. Palfrey, Wyman and me, about bindings, with all sorts of 
 anecdotes. I had always wished to see Dr. Palfrey. He was 
 
i866 LOWELL LECTURES 519 
 
 full of life and humor and old stories. Said he did not remem- 
 ber you, but spoke with affection and respect of your father 
 and spoke of his connection with "Jo" in the Commonwealth 
 paper in 1843-1844. 
 
 They pressed me to stay. I wish I had ; . . . but I had to go 
 back to town, so as to get down to Salem. We formed a proces- 
 sion over the grounds. Gray and I walking together, and one 
 and another dropped off, Wyman last, leaving Chauncey and 
 me to reach the cars together. 
 
 I reached the Parker House after midnight; lay awake a 
 good deal ; and was roused early by bad pains in my upper chest. 
 I could imagine nothing better than pleurisy, or pneumonia, and 
 the hospital, and felt very forlorn. I rose however at 8.30, and 
 breakfasted slowly, and then crawled to the Institute, hardly able 
 to catch a good breath. Feeling better, I painted all the morn- 
 ing, got all my diagrams mounted on the curtains; dined; talked 
 with Converse, and then went with Hubbard to talk with Bart- 
 lett, of Little and Brown, about printing. 
 
 I went to see Miss Whitney in a charming studio. Her 
 boy Lotus Eater, or "Sehnsucht," stood in the back room on a 
 turntable, finished in marble, after many dangerous adventures. 
 It is beautiful, original, native, modem, with a touch of the 
 ancient spirit. [Sketch.] At X, was a little plaster group of 
 babies, one with wings. At Y, a great recumbency hid with a 
 sheet. We talked a half-hour. 
 
 Lying down for an hour in my room, my distress came back 
 so strongly, that I dressed and got over to Mrs. Parker's, to see 
 if Joseph and Miss Clapp had got home. They were there, 
 cosily reading the papers. I told them how ill I was, and that 
 I was going to Dr. Gould, which I did. He laid me down for an 
 auscultation, and then his daughter spread a mustard plaster 
 for my breast. We chatted until it burned; then coffee upstairs 
 with the ladies; then a half -hour with the Cottings, Lucretia and 
 Nathan, and others in the waiting-room; then an extemporary 
 lecture, finishing up the Alphabet; voice loud, clear and easy; 
 then lots of friends, General Gordon and wife (tea Monday night), 
 Duncan Lamb, Kitty Ireland, etc. . . . Walked with Aunt Kitty 
 on my way to the Academy Meeting, where I heard three memoirs 
 and saw Gray, C. T. Jackson, Warren, Oliver, Chauncey Wright, 
 a splendid new bust of Lyell, etc. Dr. Gould prescribed for 
 me Dover's powder, calomel, whiskey punch, which I took, and 
 slept well. This morning I have spent with Aunt Kitty at the 
 Reveres, and with Uncle James, and Aunt Mary. Joseph was 
 
520 LIFE AND LETTERS CSAP. xx 
 
 angry with me yesterday for going round instead of going to bed. 
 But I know best how to treat myself, . . . 
 
 Jamaica Plain, Feb. 2, 1866. To his Wife, 
 
 . . . We had a jolly evening, Joseph in the highest spirits, 
 reading all sorts of things to us, in alternate basso, alto, squeako, 
 and nasalo. Nelly brought him his new Webster illustrated 
 dictionary, over which he pored long and enthusiastically. He 
 read me to sleep before dinner on the sofa, by translating for me 
 a French essay on Parker by Michel. After dinner, he trans- 
 lated for me a lithograph letter and section of the lakes and 
 mountains of Neuchatel, by Desor, just arrived by mail. 
 
 We are all rejoicing at the passage of the second great con- 
 stitutional amendment — apportioning representation to the suf- 
 frage classes. We agree that President Johnson must succumb 
 to Congress. , . . 
 
 Cambridge, Feb. 5, 1866. To his Wife. 
 
 , , . I must tell you how busy a time I have had since my 
 last letter written, — on Saturday morning, I think it was. I 
 spent all the rest of the day (after my very bad night's rest) 
 lounging, and reading a novel of Mrs. Gaskell's. After dinner, 
 Joseph and I marched off to the cars and across the Common, 
 he to Mrs. Parker's to get Miss Clapp, and I to the Institute 
 to hang up two or three more little pieces, which I had already 
 made to hand. My lecture was given with great effort, John 
 A. Lowell and Nathan Hale being the only persons who came in 
 to talk with me beforehand. But afterwards there came a crowd 
 — Miss Shepherd, Hon. J. Williams, Abby and Susan Bent, and 
 several others. Aunt Kitty and Chauncey walked with me to 
 the cars, and I found Estes at home ready to welcome me. Whip- 
 ple and his wife, I forgot — Whipple said it was the most audacious 
 thing he had ever heard in his life — but splendid. John A. 
 Lowell remarked that the last sentence saved the lecture. Chaun- 
 cey said the same to me yesterday, when in our afternoon con- 
 versation in his room he proposed another classification — into 
 Superstitious and Religious — and agreed to my proposal to sub- 
 divide thus all four of my grand types. 
 
 Sunday morning called on Aunt Kitty. . . . Then to Mrs. 
 Higginson's, where Martha Cochran was all ready to show me 
 a sweet picture of Fuller's. Fuller has married Alice Higginson, 
 and is farming at Deerfield, but is painting again this winter, 
 
i866 LOWELL LECTURES 521 
 
 and the Yales are buying his pictures. He is an American Rem- 
 brandt. Mrs. Higginson seemed to know you well. Everybody 
 speaks so affectionately of you — everybody. 
 
 It was now dinner time and I found James Russell Lowell at 
 Estes' house. After dinner we had a smoke, and a long talk 
 together in the study. He told me lots of funny stories, includ- 
 ing some of Gowrowski; too long to write — but good to keep 
 till I get home again. 
 
 Then I went over to spend two hours with Chauncey, discuss- 
 ing the Infinite and Absolute, as if we had never before broached 
 the subject. Then a walk with him in the bitter air to Mrs. 
 Jewett's. and a tea-table talk with MrS. James K. Mills, the 
 Cochrans, Mrs. Chiverick, etc. By this time I was sick tired. 
 But I had heard from Aunt Kitty that Susan Hillard expected me 
 in town, so I walked back with Chauncey to the car, and got 
 some rest in it; but got lost among the hill windings, and found 
 myself in the neighborhood of the State House. The zodiacal 
 light was magnificent; I have never but twice seen it in such 
 perfection. 
 
 Found General Buford and wife there, and afterwards Julia 
 Metcalf, but not Henry James and wife as they expected. We 
 had an odd time with this military enthusiast, and child-hearted 
 old Hermetic mystic. He adores General Hitchcock, and sent 
 his love to Joe [Lesley], of whom he spoke (at Island No. 10) 
 with the highest and warmest praises. At quarter to ten I took 
 Julia home and arrived myself at Estes at quarter to eleven. 
 To-day I devote to my last lecture, and to-morrow to getting 
 ready to go home on Wednesday. 
 
 Of his last lecture he merely says: "I gave the audience 
 my Arkism. They were as patient as lambs under the in- 
 fliction." 
 
 Returned from the social enjoyment and excitement of 
 his weeks in Boston, he again took up his professional life 
 in Pennsylvania. 
 
 Feb. 28, 1866. Susan I. Lesley to her Aunt 
 Miss Catherine Robbins. 
 
 ... As to our beloved country, Peter and I are both killed 
 with the President's behavior, and feel that he is putting back the 
 good cause for many years. I guess Wendell Phillips understood 
 the drift of events after all. I never could see that beneficent 
 
522 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xx 
 
 providence in the removal of our upright and good Abraham 
 Lincoln, which seems so clear to many minds. It was always 
 an unmitigated affliction to me. I don't doubt in the least that 
 God will effect His own good purposes in spite of that terrible 
 loss, but that his death was not quite untimely and quite con- 
 trary to the will of providence, I never shall believe. Wordsworth 
 tells about "the years that bring the philosophic mind"; surely 
 we need it more and more as time goes on. 
 
 RiDGEWAY, June 23, 1866. Peter Lesley to his Wipe. 
 
 ... It has been a long time since I had the satisfaction of sitting 
 down after breakfast, in a tolerably quiet place, with the feeling 
 that I could spend the whole morning, if I chose to do so, in writ- 
 ing out my thoughts to you. I cannot satisfy my judgment that 
 it was intended for man to Hve at the railroad pace which we 
 pursue in our country, — to pile occupation upon occupation, 
 until we lose our soul's best life beneath the heaps, — to under- 
 take so much that all is done in haste and nothing well, — to feel 
 the spur in the side even where the road is shady, and the pros- 
 pect beautiful, — to forget there was a past, and that there is to 
 be a future, in the noise and hurry of the presjent moment. Surely 
 we have departed many thousand years and miles away from 
 the patriarchal life. How hard it is to imagine an Abram sitting 
 at the door of his tent and receiving angels, to wait upon them! 
 Yet surely a part of every one's existence should be thus spent. 
 But cities are the antipodes of the plains of Mamre, quite as 
 much as the Pere -la-Chaise is the contrast of the cave of Machpelah. 
 You would be horrified at the hostility of this wild life to the 
 ideal — the heau ideal — how beautiful it is! — which haimts the 
 poet's soul and makes the blessedness of the saintly life. Idle- 
 ness with[out] leisure, leisure without cultivation, activity with- 
 out fine monuments, energy displayed for mean purposes, hurry 
 and bustle, brutality intensified and made more malicious and 
 self-destructive by civiUzation, such are one's surroundings in 
 a country like this. I write in what ought to be a comfortable 
 inn, in what ought to be a lovely village. The streets are broad 
 and well kept, the houses good and large, the gardens cleared 
 of weeds, the sidewalks and Kttle bridges all in order, a church 
 and Court House and unoffending plain walled jail at the top of 
 a slope, behind which rises a grandly wooded hill, from the top 
 of which spreads back for miles the densest forest in the state. 
 No doubt if I could get within the charmed circle of the family 
 in these houses, I would find good people; but the trade of the 
 
i866 LOWELL LECTURES 523 
 
 covmtry spoils all, — lumber — coal — oil. A universal demoral- 
 ity pervades the atmosphere; in cars, in depots, in bar-rooms, 
 in the street. A race, originally well derived, — in fact several 
 races, mingling, have been spoiled by intermixture, spoiled by 
 the melee into which this grand battle of the forces of man with 
 the forces of nature has developed itself. If a population lives 
 too long stationary, it spoils like water kept in casks; but if it 
 moves all the time, it never ripens, like wine always disturbed. 
 Ideal society is the product of two tendencies, the conservative 
 and the progressive. We need home associations, beautified by 
 the arts and enlightened by travel. But there ought to be a plus 
 of quietness, and sober staying at home, to grow — and a minus 
 of excitement. Think of lions, and braman cows, in a travelling 
 menagerie — and you will have my conception of what people 
 become — who live the lives of Americans. Every trait changes 
 from nature. All distinctions disappear. The lion and the 
 cow are equally tame, and equally sick and cross. The gentle- 
 man and the churl jostle each other into one common degrada- 
 tion, and make common cause for a compromise of self-indul- 
 gence; the gentleman brutalized by the chvu^l, and the churl 
 taught presumption by the gentleman. I am all the time pictur- 
 ing to myself a paradise, in which singing will take the place of 
 swearing, and courteous conversation of obscure and horrid 
 gossip. But where will it be found? It wearies me of exist- 
 ence, — this ubiquitous debased democracy, without culture ex- 
 cept from newspapers, without aspirations except for some inde- 
 finable political elevation, which is in its very nature subversive 
 of all fine sentiment, which is retrograde and downward towards 
 the infernal. 
 
 Can we save our children from this awful abyss of American- 
 ism ? Surely the church must be the refuge of those who see and 
 wathe \sic\ the world, — as it always has been. We may despise 
 cant and dread hvpocrisy as much as we can, yet there is an un- 
 speakable elevation above common life, even in the lowest of all 
 the many courts of the House of the Lord on the Holy Hill of 
 Zion. I fled from the tavern last Wednesday evening to the 
 church in Huntingdon, and found it a heaven upon earth. I 
 followed the church bells — blessed bells. There was reading of 
 the Scriptures, two or three halting prayers, two or three hymns 
 and that was all ; but it was enough to calm the perturbed spirit 
 and give it a chance to hear the still small voice of the Spirit 
 speaking better things than all the science and business of the 
 XIX century. 
 
524 LIFE AND LETTERS CHAP. XX 
 
 What is good and pretty of this village, is the result of a New 
 England influence, which has entered this state from Western 
 New York, and is slowly taking possession of the ground South- 
 ward. Every footstep of this New England genius touches my 
 emotions, like the footprint on the sands of a desert island. But 
 it awakens such a longing for the land where it is at home. Surely 
 the time must come when this homesickness will be cured by 
 my going home. There are plenty of villages in New York, 
 in which we could live, if we could not in New England. . . . 
 
 [Philadelphia], July g, 1866. To his Wife. 
 
 , . . Yesterday I devoted to the "Ecce Homo." It filled me 
 with wonder. It is the greatest of religious books. I shall read 
 it over and over again. I shall read every word of it in your 
 presence. After taking tea with Pliny [Earle Chase], and going 
 with him to sit in the cool League Garden, and being driven 
 home again by a thunder gust, I read aloud to him two chapters. 
 No wonder the whole English world accepts the book. It is infi- 
 nitely satisfying. 
 
 This morning I began Renan's "Apostles"; and am more 
 pleased with it than with his "Jesus." What he says in self- 
 vindication in Chapter one is finer than I thought the man could 
 say. He repudiates miracles distinctly, but praises the church. 
 He anticipates the drawing together of the Christian Protestant, 
 Christian Catholic, and Jewish churches, while they will always 
 remain separate. He predicts a split in each, between the bigots 
 and the liberals. 
 
 Ttiesday, July 10, 1866. 
 
 Yesterday I did an immense day's work from ten to five, and 
 finished the topography of the whole map. I forgot my dinner, 
 and then as I could not get it at home, had to wait until 5.30 at 
 the League, when it nearly killed me; and after waiting until 
 eight o'clock to see General Sherman, I was seized with melan- 
 choly, and walked to hear the music in Vine Street; but it did 
 me no good and I returned home to read that great chapter of 
 "Ecce Homo" which completes the first part, and sets forth the 
 distinction between philosophy and Christianity, Socrates and 
 Christ. I here find all my secret thoughts (of the last two years) 
 openly, clearly, tersely, and with demonstration expressed. It 
 is the decline of love that dates the decline of goodness. It is 
 the withdrawal which science makes of its votary from active 
 benevolence, that antagonizes so successfully his piety. The 
 
i866 LOWELL LECTURES 525 
 
 church — the church, — that is the soul's castle and farm-house 
 together. The church living, active, benevolent, growing, — not 
 the church dead, dogmatic, bigoted, persecuting and self-indul- 
 gent. 
 
 Renan and this author have much in common. But there is 
 a marked difference of tone, — and I think this man makes mira- 
 cles the base of all his edifice, when he built the history of Chris- 
 tianity. 
 
 Do you notice that the Italians are defeated in their first great 
 battle, just as we were at Bull Run? They will have to sub- 
 stitute some able general for their jolly, rash, high-spirited Victor, 
 who can't gain a victory. Let him be an Immanuel, but not a 
 shaddai. 
 
 How many princes are afield just now! They dotted the fields 
 like blackberries. Prince Amadeus received a scratch, it seems. . . . 
 
 In August came a meeting of the American Association 
 for the Advancement of Science, in Northampton, to which 
 my father and mother both went. It was a very delightful 
 occasion. "A brilliant meeting," says my mother in a letter 
 of August 14. My father delivered his obituary memoir 
 on Dr. Edward Hitchcock,* and this address caused some 
 commotion in the town among the ministers of the orthodox 
 churches. 
 
 Dr. Hitchcock was a man with many intellectual interests, 
 and the fact that he was at one time both president and pro- 
 fessor of natural theology and geology in Amherst College 
 seems to point to an equal interest in two somewhat an- 
 
 * Edward Hitchcock, D.D., LL.D., geologist. Born in Deerfield, 
 Mass., May 24, 1793. Died in Amherst, February 27, 1864. Principal of 
 Deerfield Academy, 1818. 1821-1825 pastor of the Congregational church 
 in Conway, and at the same time engaged in a geological survey of Western 
 Massachusetts. 1825-44 professor of chemistry and natural history in 
 Amherst College. 1844-54 president of Amherst College and professor of 
 natural theology and geology. "When he resigned the presidency, he 
 retained the professorship, and devoted the remainder of his life to his 
 favorite science of geology, but always in its connection with religion. 
 
 His many writings were also chiefly upon Geology or Theology, al- 
 though he wrote also upon literary subjects and upon other branches of 
 science. I note only two of his principal publications, "The Religion of 
 Geology and its Connected Sciences" (1850) and "ReHgious Truths Il- 
 lustrated from Science" (1857). {Condensed from Universal Encyclopcedia, 
 vol. V.) 
 
526 LIFE AND LETTERS chap, xx 
 
 tagonistic lines of research, and would seem also to 'ustify 
 the final paragraphs in my father's address :-— 
 
 "Such was Edward Hitchcock, one of the Fathers of American 
 Geology, and one who continued to the close of a long life to be 
 an original investigator. A man of ardent fancy, impulsive, 
 curious and credulous, docile and teachable beyond any adult 
 man of science I ever knew; modest to a marvel; yet with all 
 this, a man of sufi&cient self-reliance and determination for the 
 most important practices of life, patient of difficulties, persever- 
 ing and industrious for final success in any undertaking, sound 
 in judgment and disciplined in temper, a friend to all and the 
 friend of all ; his whole career laid claim to eminence, which would 
 have been pre-eminence in American Theology, had it not been 
 for the interference of his Science; or in American Science, had 
 it not been for his devotion to the ecclesiastical and financial inter- 
 ests of the College which he saved from premature decay, and 
 refounded upon the deliberate sacrifice of his own ambition. ' ' [Taken 
 from a letter-press copy of the address.] 
 
 It was this last sentence (which I have italicized) that 
 made the commotion, and of which my mother in a letter 
 of August 23d writes: — 
 
 Such a tempest in a teapot as the last lines of your eulogy 
 have made! Dr. Hall of the Edwards church preached upon it 
 last Sunday, and was invited by the Young Men's Christian As- 
 sociation to repeat it next Sunday evening, which he is going to 
 do. The Northampton Editor proposes that Dr. Eddy's and 
 Dr. Hall's sermons should both be printed along with your 
 eulogy — making one volume. — It makes one laugh. How much 
 more folks must think of Theology than Religion, after all ! 
 
$ 
 
BOSTON COLLEGE 
 
 3 9031 01765307 2 
 
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 / ^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 V\a\f 30 
 
 )Q^Q 
 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 
 
 QE 
 
 
 
 
 22 
 
 .l6 
 
 
 
 AMES. 
 
 AT 
 
 
 
 
 V( 
 
 Dl. 
 
 1 E 
 
 taost Li 
 
 brarv 
 
 
 Boston College 
 Chestnut Hill, Mass, 02167