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 Essays and a drama in five acts / 
 
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ESSAYS: 
 
 A DRAMA IN PIYE ACTS 
 
 BY eV^G. HOLLAND, 
 
 ADTHOB OF HEVIEW3 AND ESSAYS. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANr. 
 
 1852. 
 
K%'^^1(o7 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by 
 ' " E. G. Holland, 
 ' in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts 
 
 BOSTON : 
 PEISTED BT DlUKBLL & MOOBS, 
 
 16 Deyonsluie Street. 
 
INTRODUCTOEY. 
 
 Man, like the e»irtli, is two hemiapheres, and bears two 
 relations with which he cannot trifle except at the greatest cost. 
 These are his relations with things finite and infinite, with 
 things particular and universal. Either of these, neglected, 
 gives rise^ to inharmonious strength. The soul cannot expand 
 into godlike greatness ■without the presence of the latter ele- 
 ment ;, nor can it deal efficiently with definite causes and 
 results with the former. He who has lived and thought on 
 more than one side of existence is both a materialist and a 
 spiritualist. From the very constitution of things, Common 
 Sense and even Sagacity are as essential as Faith. In the 
 local and the Tparticular, the universal is revealed. In each 
 stone, leaf, and water-drop, laws are involved that hold good 
 millions of leagues distant. In the neglect of particulars, men 
 physically perish, nor is there a calling or a victory whose sub- 
 limity is not obliged to own the worth of detail. In human 
 nature, as in space, there is an earth of practical reality, and 
 over it the soft blue firmament of powers-, which suggest and 
 reveal the illimitable and the infinite ; and between these two, 
 a similar harmony is intended. Ideas may be justly considered 
 
IV INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 the victors in all great struggles. But wBat mighty revolutions 
 are there unaided by material effort and agency ? These it 
 is difficult to find. Hungary knows this, America knows this. 
 
 The eye takes in from the immensity of light enough to 
 dilate its pupil and to realize vision. The lungs cannot inhale 
 the whole aerial sea. For definite ends we draw certain quan- 
 tities from the Ocean. So we practically deal with the illimita- 
 ble. We take of ethics, and of ideas, as our needs require, 
 whilst in the feeling and apprehension of the boundless, unap- 
 propriated whole, we may permit ourselves the large dilation of 
 faith which its greatness ought to inspire. We should learn to 
 limit ourselves ; for the tree is noblest whose branches are not 
 myriads, but whose juices flow into a limited number. Perhaps 
 as yet we have not learned how to estimate the various services 
 of that eternally faithful servant we call Nature, who, in waiting 
 upon us, never grows weary or unskilful. As Americans, around 
 whom Nature unfolds on so grand a scale, and in whose retro- 
 spect a gigantic history has already developed its first acts, we 
 do well to entertain this question. And for reasons purely 
 intrinsic and cosmopolitan, would we revere alike the vastness 
 belonging to abstract truth and the glory due to affi individual 
 achievement. ^. Gf. H. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Nature, 1 
 
 American Sceneky, ■ • ■ • 23 
 
 The Central Nation, 77 
 
 Mystery, 107 
 
 Language, • 143 
 
 Symbolism, 179 
 
 Inspiration, 209 
 
 "'^"'' DRAMA. 
 
 Remarks, • • 243 
 
 The Highland Treason, 247 
 
 Notes and Kefleotions, 398 
 
ESSAYS. 
 
NATUEE. 
 
 "Rise, my soul, that I may pour thee forth on the pencil of 
 that Supreme Artist, •who compromised in a turn of His compass 
 all this wonderful scenery." — Hahz. 
 
 Reverence discovers, that in Nature, the- Godhead 
 and the Godheart are amply pictured. The domain of 
 the visible, whilst it conservatively veils the glory of the 
 Infinite, as the atmosphere tempers the sun's rays, also 
 serves as living expression, as the significant counte- 
 nance, -word, deed, smile, and frown of the Being who 
 displays Himself in these manifold creations. This is 
 the primary view under which nature ever addresses 
 the religious sentiment. 
 
 Philosophical perception also sees that the soul, 
 which forms our subjective self, is fully wrought out in 
 the laws, forms, operations and phenomena of Nature. 
 The vast Artist has drawn the likeness of the true man, 
 and it would seem that He had drawn it colossally, 
 unless we take into account the manifoldness of the 
 capacity, and the inconceivable greatness of the final 
 possibility belonging to the human original ; a view 
 to which, seems to have guided the sculpturing hand 
 1 
 
2 NATURE. 
 
 that creates in the visible realm. We need not be too 
 anxious to separate between the Soul and the higher 
 Divinity, when we speak of the symbol-representation 
 which the material creation offers ; since the same order 
 of powers exists in each, and since reverence will never 
 fail to own the presence of God as the basis of all things, 
 whilst, to philosophical contemplation, the universe will 
 appear as hailing from Man as its centre. These two 
 views, which probably had better be sentiments than 
 reflections, are perhaps the highest through which Nature 
 is enjoyed. The Maker takes immensity for his field, 
 and puts the same lessons into the finite and the infi- 
 nite, into the general and the particular. To look at 
 Nature as a divine edition opened before the senses, of 
 the meaning that lies in the mind and heart, is to 
 bring her intimately near ; is to find the marriage law 
 which unites creation to man ; a union which, though 
 to thousands never occurring in the form of reflection, 
 is, nevertheless, needful to the deepest and holiest sat- 
 isfactions of the Soul. What bottoms the frequent com- 
 plaint that nature is distant, is cold, is despotic ? What 
 makes her stem and distant ? She is so only to the 
 view that isolates her — that discovers not the loving 
 bond which relates her to the heart. Be true, be just, 
 be heroic, be love, and nature in the main shall be your 
 likenesss. When the artist has well drawn a noble 
 original, will the honored one complain that the picture 
 is despotic and unkindly reserved ? Are flowers and 
 insect songs, forests, and rising suns, cold and indif- 
 ferent teachers ? Do the rush of light, aiid the all- 
 pervading life of nature, ever seem despotic ? Law, 
 
DISTANCE AND RESERVE OE NATURE, 3 
 
 you say, is inflexible. Well, goodness will have it so. 
 There must be something inflexible, or there is an end 
 to confidence. But the inflexibility of nature, whilst it 
 amounts to a sublime firmness, is itself woven into a 
 system of beauty ; and its operations, whether in the 
 successions of time, as day, night, and seasons, or in 
 the achievements of gravitation, are attended by grace. 
 The stars, through the silent night hour, it is true, 
 behold us in reserve and mystery ; no more so, in- 
 deed, than is needful to touch, as by invisible fingers, 
 the latent feeling of reverence. Yet through this 
 chaste reserve does there not gleam a celestial friend- 
 ship, a serene love from afar, that wisely withholds the 
 familiar declaration ? Nature holds the true key of social 
 power, and easily enters the recesses and hidden depths 
 of the soul, when scholars, authors, divines, and even 
 acknowledged friends, are, as by necessity, debarred. 
 She is to us the perfect symbol in which freedom and 
 reserve are justly blended ; and before we demand 
 a teaching, which, as respects social freedom, shall be 
 untrue to the symbol before us, it may be well to ask 
 whether we are not craving a familiarity which, in the 
 end, will breed contempt, Messiahs come not to fondle 
 us, but to inspire together the reverence and the love, 
 which is evermore the impression and the influence of 
 the symbol that never decays. 
 
 We do not lastingly admire the friend who is careful 
 to shew, at the close of every transaction, that his con- 
 duct has flown from especial regard ; nor do we dislike 
 it that in the character of our associate we discover 
 unconquered territory stretching away in the distance, 
 
4 NATURB. 
 
 on whose heights we may quietly gaze, and whose even 
 plains shall sometimes suggest the feeling of fairy-land. 
 Nature is not too stoical, on the one hand, nor does she 
 fling around our neck the familiar arm, and utter words 
 that awaken the vanities. Her friendship is high-toned ; 
 her love is rich in the grandeur and greatness of ever- 
 lasting sentiment — of the ceaseless heart. Nature a 
 stoic ? The storm denies this charge. So do the 
 tropics, the seas, the groves, and the gales of the south. 
 Did the lover ever complain of her despotism ? Did the 
 hale saint ever weep over ker unwillingness or inability 
 to echo the holiest sentiments of his breast ? Has the 
 poet found her the inflexible, the indifferent empress ? 
 Has the prophet found her lifeless and uninspiring ? 
 They have eaten her meat, inhaled her air, drank her 
 rivers ; and in the blood of their life-veins may be traced 
 the diet she has given them. If nature is rigidly 
 oppressive, or stoically foreign to any minds, it must be 
 to such as do not recognize her mission, and fail to per- 
 ceive that she is and rejoices to be humanity's likeness. 
 She has not been known sufficiently by the eye of 
 analogy ; nor is it remembered that among her num- 
 berless phenomena, there are, in becoming proportion, 
 the simplicities as well as the more reverent grandeurs. 
 When a battle is fought on a hill or a plain ; when the 
 river side, or the bower is hallowed by the meeting and 
 vows of distinguished lovers ; when pilgrims land upon 
 a rock, and afterward leave a heroic history, nature, 
 which has unconsciously witnessed these events, becomes 
 newly signiflcant, and over men magnetic, because of 
 the near relation these parts of nature sustain to man. 
 
A FEELING OF CORRESPONDENCE. 5 
 
 What were Thennopylae, Salamis, Platea, "Waterloo, and 
 Bunker Hill, more than other neglected spots, but for 
 this connexion with man in his heroic struggles ? We 
 have succeeded in bringing localities into union with 
 ourselves ; but not sufficiently yet has the universe 
 seemed as ours, as related by sacred ties and affinities, 
 as being our own mysterious spirit, thrown out in mag- 
 nificent symbol. Never shall mankind feel the divine 
 welcome of Nature, and be at home amidst her myste- 
 ries, laws, and immensities, until they have learned to 
 behold the creation in the light of this truth. 
 
 Yet it is due to the latent wisdom of human con- 
 sciousness — which has also been strikingly expressed in 
 all the stages of life, in childhood, youth, and manhood, 
 as likewise through the different stages of the world's 
 culture — to say that mankind instinctively recognize a 
 beautiful connexion of correspondence between facts of 
 the outward world and of the inward life. The oldest 
 writings are eloquent with its figures. All poetry, all 
 eloquence is lighted up by its beauty. The denial of 
 this capacity is to ignore the origin of language, as an 
 expression of life and mind ; and, since man himself is, by 
 nature, the illustration of the universe, combining, as 
 he does, a material and a spiritual world in the unity of 
 his own constitutional being, in which the facts of the 
 former are expressive of the facts of the latter, would 
 it not be strange that he should have lived forever with- 
 out some presentiment of this universal truth. Man has 
 a presentiment of other great truths : of a Divine 
 Presence ; of Immortal life. Why not, also, of this, 
 since it is laid in his very being ? Why not, since the 
 
6 NATURE. 
 
 universe is built upon it ? We only complain that these 
 perceptions are darkened by excess of sensuality ; and 
 we would add to the presentiment the great truth, in the 
 form of idea, that man has but one true and complete 
 biography, which is the symbol-history of all nature. 
 
 There are two other general views to be taken of 
 nature, the first of which teaches the great subjective 
 truth, that the soul sheds its own ideal radiance, or 
 gloom, over the world — baptising earth and heaven in 
 its own glory, as sunsets often do the clouds and hill- 
 tops. This apparently transcendental vision of nature 
 is practical enough, we are sure, since it leaves all men 
 to feel that nature to them is dependent on their quality. 
 The soul richly invests nature with itself, and is happy 
 to see its own attributes enthroned in the stars, em- 
 bosomed in the repose of the earth, and stirring in the 
 manifold energies of the creation. Nature so grace- 
 fully returns us to ourselves, so eloquently gives us 
 back what is best in our consciousness, that we arise 
 with a pleasure like that we experience under the orator 
 who has given our own unspoken thoughts and feelings 
 the perfect utterance. Why am I pleased with the 
 Swedish songstress ? Because she knows how to articu- 
 late the primitive eternal music latent in my breast — 
 a music unknown, perhaps, to the gamuts, and cer- 
 tainly one I know not how to signify to others. Why 
 enchanted by nature ? Because she knows the won- 
 derful art of singing the heart's eternal music ; of 
 declaring its beauty, its sublimity, its love, its reverence, 
 its infinity. We arise from her eloquence satisfied, for 
 she tells us all. If we might unravel the last thread of 
 
NATURE INDEPENDENT. 7 
 
 her meaning, a thing unattainable here, it would shew 
 the most hidden mystery of man. 
 
 But this view, rightly poised in the balancing of truth, 
 never nullifies nature, nor dethrones her independence, 
 as an outward fact. She declines to sink herself in 
 humanity, but sublimely stands out, a royal objective, 
 asking no permission of man either to he this, or to do 
 that. She wears the princely diadem ; and in all her 
 serving there is nothing servile. She challenges rev- 
 erence by her distance, and love by her freedom and 
 sympathy. The reason why the soul sheds itself upon 
 nature, is because it is charmed out by the invitations 
 and correspondences of the symbol. 
 
 It is proper then to regard nature as an independ- 
 ence, as having a voice of her own. Particularly does 
 this conclusion weigh when nature accuses us. I sup- 
 pose that persons becoming false to conscious Right 
 feel a breach of the accustomed amity between them- 
 selves and nature. The sweet hymn of the bird, and 
 the innocent gurgle of the brook seem to accuse. It 
 is true that from high regions of the inward life the 
 same voices are heard, and the same accusations de- 
 scend, so that in this regard, the purity of nature only 
 seconds, as it were, the purity of conscience ; but the 
 teaching strikes us as independent when the pure heav- 
 ens admonish our uncleanness. Will, in chiselling out 
 character, has done its work • so viciously that nature 
 refuses to accept its labors as belonging to the circle 
 of her fellowship ; and it happens as by necessity that 
 the same nature which is the symbol of the true man 
 shall also accuse the false. The same light that throws 
 
8 NATURE. 
 
 upon the wall the shade of an Apollo or a Venus, 
 as truly reflects a cripple or a dwarf, provided he inter- 
 cepts the rays. Nature comes to us from a higher 
 position than the one we usually occupy, and therefore 
 her mission to teach, to accuse, to encourage and to 
 elevate is fully vindicated. 
 
 Berkley reduced nature to ideas, which are, we will 
 say, the riches of the empire ; yet it is insanity to 
 deny the reality of the forms. The Gibralter rock 
 and the Cheops pyramid are quite stationary thoughts ! 
 A little strange, is it not, that all travellers should meet 
 them in the same points of the terrestrial space, since 
 ideas are such racy itinerants ? Perhaps we can do 
 no better than to stamp upon the earth and say, '^ITere, 
 my dear etherialists, is solid ground. It grows wheat 
 and it pastures cows. In the hill yonder is compactest 
 granite. In God and humanity there are stern pur- 
 poses, and solid truth ; and, if you like, we will see 
 them pictured in the severe grandeurs, and in the time- 
 defying minerals ; but whilst the dearest correspondence 
 relates the whole panorama of the universe with the 
 whole of the human spirit, let each have its basis with- 
 out being at the mercy of the other. Orion is yonder 
 in celestial equipage ; Niagara roars in but one river ; 
 the Alps are in Switzerland ; and for one I hope for 
 good rooms in the Asylum when these shall be to me 
 only the thrown-off phantoms of my own brain, as when 
 the maniac sees the clash of artillery in the air." 
 
 Nature, in coming from the divine Heart, as its mes- 
 senger, was charged with the loftiest mission — the pro- 
 duction of Character. For this she pours her Beauty 
 
NATURE ENJOYED THROUGH SCIENCE. 9 
 
 and her Fragrance ; for this she displays her Sublimity 
 and even physical blessing ; for this she arouses us by 
 her Power ; for this her Ethics and her Religion are 
 forever unfolded ; for this she baffles and defeats us. 
 Nature has three eminent qualifications for this minis- 
 try we cannot omit to notice. The first is the Inex- 
 haustibility and the Original Freshness of her Truths. 
 The second is the Adaptation she bears to the Mind, being 
 able to strike every choi'd in the wonderfully strung 
 harp ; and the third resides in that unfragmentary and 
 entire Completeness which originates the ideal of a 
 balanced character. Look we into the radiant Cosmos, 
 and what do we see ? We meet a balance of forces, 
 a joy-dance of revolving worlds, of flowing suns, and 
 everywhere a harmony of antagonisms. 
 
 The intellect draws vigor and enjoyment from nature 
 by subjecting it to ThougM and to Scientific Analysis. 
 Science has purified the natural world, or rather the 
 mind that beheld it, from the superstitions that clouded 
 its agencies ; and though the marvellous legend, and 
 the supernal visitation have usually enriched the scene- 
 ry of the world in the way of association, the deeper 
 pleasure of the intellect is fed by the science attained, 
 whilst the solid rehance on the unlimited triumph of 
 order and law, on the inviolate union of cause and 
 effect, in all the possible extent of natural phenomena, 
 contributes most to the enjoyment of the material 
 world ; for the pleasures that accompany abiding truths 
 are perpetual, and of a high order. As a basis for the 
 intellectual enjoyment of nature, the idea and feeling 
 of a universe needs be established ; a universe of ade- 
 
10 NATURE. 
 
 quate causes and legitimate effects, one <X united and 
 of mutually dependent parts. The Reason discovers 
 that through the endless variety of phenomena, unity 
 unfolds itself, that one heart beats in nature's bosom ; 
 though it is said that in earlier ages man struggled 
 amidst the ever-recurring changes of form to recognize 
 the invariability of natural laws. In modern literature 
 and reflection, the idea of nature as a harmoniously 
 ordered whole, as a development of one inexhaustible 
 force, is very common ; and when I read that this view 
 was only a glimmering perception and a vague shadow 
 to primitive ages, the wonder is, that intuition, in the 
 absence of scientific observation, should not have seized 
 on the oneness of nature and rendered it certain. Man, 
 from the conscious unity of his own being, ought to 
 have divined the unity of God and of nature ; nor can 
 we glance at the early inspiration of the race without 
 meeting some traces of this unity. Under the broadest 
 horizon, on the sea-beach, and under the clearest canopy 
 of stars, the first deep pleasure of the mind does not 
 so much arise from the distinct perception of individual 
 objects, as from the consciousness of the vastness and 
 harmony of nature, giving to our minds the image of 
 infinity. It is not the scientific opinion of the order 
 uniting all things we most enjoy, but the presentiment, 
 the feeling. 
 
 We reap sciences from nature. We evoke phenom- 
 ena by experiment ; and when we think that nature 
 everywhere is sown with truth, most of which is yet 
 sleeping under the veil of mystery, we are rich in the 
 prospect that remotest ages of the future will find am- 
 
KNOWN EY INTUITION. 11 
 
 pie food for the mightiest intellect. Nature is so rich 
 in truth that she never can be exhausted. Philosophy 
 roots itself in the soul ; but nature is to a large extent 
 its diet, its play-ground, and its labor-field. And what, 
 let me ask,' is a theology good for if it omits the natu- 
 ral laws ? What test of experience or of reason can 
 it stand ? 
 
 Allusion has been made to Intuition ; and I am dis- 
 posed to say that quite above and beyond the strict 
 observations and experiments, reposes the power of 
 insight ; perhaps in the highest order of minds only 
 does it vindicate its sovereignty over the inductions of 
 experience. The soul, in knowing itself, knows Nature, 
 divines its order, beauty, glooms and glory. We find 
 beauty and divinity in Nature, not from logic so much 
 as from primitive instinct. If creation hails from man, 
 why should he not somewhat intuitively and instinctively 
 behold his own ? Must he learn, by pieces and by inches, 
 the laws of his own ancient architecture ? Humboldt is 
 everywhere present, in the wide accumulation of facts, 
 and of the laws pervading them ; and it is to be wished 
 that some one standing near the central sun, that enlivens 
 all, might announce from himself the law of nature, more 
 independently than the gifted judge, who, knowing so 
 clearly what the law ought to be, told it, assigning, 
 however, to his industrious and erudite associate, the* 
 task of hunting up the enactments and the precedents. 
 The child is a true botanist, for without tearing to 
 pieces the sacred gem, and talking of calyx, stamen, and 
 pistil, he sips a nectared delight from the beauty that 
 thrillingly flies from the rose to his heart. 
 
12 NATURE. 
 
 Not long since, it was our privilege to hear a lecture 
 on astronomy, which was full of scholarlike language, 
 and of astronomical statistics and discoveries. He 
 spoke lucidly enough on parallax ; and though he trod 
 over a long pavement of facts, the feeling survived the 
 performance that none of us had entered the heavens. 
 The speaker had not, for he was bounded on all sides 
 by the physical statement, never once rising into beauty, 
 or into the truths of which the physical heavens are 
 significant. There was not much astronomy in it. Ple- 
 iades was not there ; Lyra gave not one ray. It was 
 learned, and all the worse for that ; the spirit that 
 swung the stars in space finding no residence in the 
 genius of the orator, it happened that in a coasting 
 of two hours through the ether under this pilotage, we 
 not once touched upon heaven. But there is some 
 value in statistics. It is intuition that grasps and 
 unifies the dual teaching of Nature, that so seizes the 
 physical fact and law as to perceive in them Idea. 
 
 The Imagination accommodates us to Nature exceed- 
 ingly ; and whether its present or retrospect enjoy- 
 ment is considered, no power in the intellectual structure 
 seems more necessary. Our intercourse with Nature 
 must be free. No rule can be laid upon it ; the only 
 limit being truth and veracity. The manner in which 
 gleams of imagination fall into the discourse of the 
 great naturalist, Von Humboldt, enables his pen to 
 attract us somewhat mysteriously. " If I might," says 
 he, " be allowed to abandon myself to the recollections 
 of my own distant travels, I would instance, among the 
 most striking scenes of Nature, the calm sublimity of a 
 
ENJOYED BY IMASINATION. 13 
 
 tropical night, when the stars, not sparkling as in our 
 northern skies, shed, their soft and planetary light over 
 the gently heaving ocean ; or I would recall the deep 
 valleys of the Cordilleras, where the tall and slender 
 palms pierce the leafy vail around them, and waving on 
 high their feathery and arrow-like branches, form as it 
 were, ' a forest above a forest ; ' or, I would describe 
 the summit of the peak of Teneriffe, when a horizontal 
 layer of clouds, dazzling in whiteness, has separated 
 the cone of cinders from the plain below, and suddenly 
 the ascending current pierces the cloudy vail, so that 
 the eye of the traveller may range from the brink of 
 the crater along the vine-clad slopes of Orotava, to the 
 orange gardens and banana groves that skirt the shore. 
 In scenes like these, it is not the peaceful &harm uni- 
 formly spread over the face of nature, that moves 
 the heart, but rather the peculiar physiognomy and 
 conformation of the land, the features of the landscape, 
 the ever-varying outline of the clouds, and their blend- 
 ing with the horizon of the sea, whether it lies spread 
 before us like a smooth and shining mirror, or is dimly 
 seen through the morning mist. All that the senses 
 can but imperfectly comprehend, all that is most awful 
 in such romantic scenes of nature, may become a source 
 of enjoyment to man, by opening a wide field to the 
 creative powers of his imagination. Impressions 
 change with the varying movements of the mind, and 
 we are led by a happy illusion to believe that we receive 
 from the external world, that with which we have our- 
 selves invested it." * 
 
 * Cosmos, Vol. 1, p. 26. 
 
14 NATURE. 
 
 It is a solemn joy, a joy somewhat shaded, to con- 
 template Nature in its majestic forms, as when, on the 
 expanse of waters, the whole horizon rests — the stars 
 that rise and set on its calm reflective bosom ; the 
 storm that lifts its violent wave; and even the rich gloom 
 of the green forest, and the clouded sunset, have a 
 touch of longing and sadness in the pleasure they yield. 
 The passion and meaning of Nature are deep, and she 
 discourses little of superficial joy. I know not but that 
 a share of this pensiveness mingles in all our sublimer 
 views of Nature ; it is at least certain that this element 
 has always been expressed in those utterences of man- 
 kind, through which they have given to each other the 
 impressions received from the scenes of the external 
 world. Though every great joy and sorrow are 
 serenely shaded, though Nature is full of silence, and 
 throws over us her mysterious shadow, it is plain that 
 the spirit of the universe is hope. Verdure, fragrance, 
 and beauty on the earth ; the buoyancy of the racing 
 planets ; the rainbow on the clouded sky ; the face of the 
 sun ; and the bright joy-glow of every orb in heaven — 
 apprise us that love inhabits the temple, and that none 
 should, for one moment, despair. Beauty, somehow, is 
 on the side of goodness and hope, and if we are to 
 celebrate the lavish prodigality of Nature in anything, 
 it should refer to the generous distribution of the Beau- 
 tiful, which, in the tropics, gives the colossal flora, the 
 giant mountains, and the rolling seas ; which, in the 
 temperate regions, more nunutely diversifies its apparel ; 
 which, in the frozen north, gleams from the floating ice- 
 mountains, that, in the arctic seas, sparkle under the 
 
ENJOYED BT MORAL FEELING. 15 
 
 light of the sun and moon ; and which, over the dreary 
 deserts and the trackless wastes, hangs the lamps of 
 God, that throw over all their nocturnal lustre. 
 
 Have we approached Nature sufficiently from the 
 Conscience ? Let us know that this whole creation is 
 ethical. Its reproofs come down as from the sunny 
 heights of rectitude ; and somehow nature seems pleased 
 with every genuine charity and just action. The judge 
 that sits enthroned in our breast, final and supreme, 
 carries nature with him ; if he sanctions and approves, 
 the creation from every height bows applause ; if he 
 frowns and denounces, the very brook-murmur and the 
 bright shimmer of the air seem to reject us as unwor- 
 thy, and retire from familiar and confiding company. 
 The league between the universe and virtue is of eter- 
 nal standing ; and nature cannot be otherwise than 
 quite limitedly enjoyed till it is known and felt through 
 the complete ascendency of the moral sentiment; 
 
 Love makes all things new, whilst the sordid, selfish 
 craving, turns to indifference the miracles of beauty. 
 The dollar, of course, must be cared for ; business and 
 economy must hold fast their position. Nature allows 
 the utilitarian to approach her,' and freely returns to 
 him according to his labor and bis seeking, of harvests, 
 cattle, houses, and gold. She gives to the mammonite, 
 but always of her coarser coin ; her brighter eagles 
 being reserved for others. The propensities and the 
 animal wants are confessedly not on the highest plane ; 
 and since Nature itself is from the Eternal Love, it is 
 only through the diviner self that any may know and 
 enjoy its companionship. Nature is a Siberian snow- 
 
16 NATURE. 
 
 mountain under the exclusive research of the under- 
 standing ; but a summer bower under the freshness and 
 kindling animation of the heart. Emotion draws from 
 Nature ecstasy ; we feel the heart-beat of its life,when 
 we so fully surrender ourselves to its impressions as 
 to welcome its scenes emotionally. Yet what we should 
 never cease to admire is the catholicity that attaches 
 to her conduct. The cool philosopher is welcomed ; 
 the geologist, the botanist, the mineralogist are invited. 
 The astronomer is welcomed by the stars he examines ; 
 whilst the fervid soul of the poet, the prophet, and the 
 enthusiastic worshipper are received with the welcome 
 of home. To all temperaments, and to every combi- 
 nation of human faculties, Nature, in her all-sidedness 
 and catholicity says, " Come. I will be just and gen- 
 erous to you all. My ways are infinite." 
 
 Could we return to childhood with the vigor of fac- 
 ulty that experience has developed, Nature would be 
 more than we find it. We must be born of the unselfish 
 sentiment, of the spirit that inhabits Nature, ere the 
 true happiness and enlightenment can arrive. The 
 narrowness, technicality and bigotry of our culture 
 unfit us for Nature as thoroughly as do our frauds and 
 villanies. Make Nature no idol. I would not worship 
 her. But she shall be to me a teacher sent from God ; 
 a brain of wisdom and a heart of love that ages may 
 not exhaust ; a high-minded friend, reverent, free, re- 
 served, generous, distant, near, reproving, encouraging, 
 inspiring. Hers is the power of an eternally renewing 
 youth ; and the leading impression seems to be, an 
 infinite richness of faculty and force. 
 
KEFLECTED IN ORIENTAL LITEKATURB. 17 
 
 In Persian, and especially in Indian literature, abun- 
 dantly and often the thoughts are richly woven into 
 eloquent imagery. Jayadeva sings of " the firmament 
 obscured by clouds ; " of " the woodlands black with 
 the Tamala trees ; " of " the banks and blue streams of 
 Yamuna," sacred to the loves of Radha and Madhava ; 
 of the " gale that has wantoned round the beautiful 
 clove plants, that breathes from the hills of Malaya," 
 and of " the circling arbors that resound with the notes 
 of -the Cecil." " The full-blown Cesara that gleams 
 like the sceptre of the world's monarch— love ; " " the 
 far-scented Madhavi, that beautifies the trees round 
 which it twines;" "the fresh Mollica that seduces 
 with rich perfume, even the hearts of hermits ; " " the 
 Amra tree, with blossoming tresses, embraced by the 
 gay creeper, Atimucta ; " the " breeze from the fra- 
 grant flowers of the Cetaca, that kindles every heart, 
 while it perfumes the woods with the dust it shakes 
 from the Mollica with half-opened buda ; " with num- 
 berless figures of similar grace, glide into the poetic 
 eloquence of India. This masterly literature, which in 
 the strictest sense belongs to antiquity, is one in which 
 Nature bears a powerful sway. 
 
 All literatures springing from original fountains testify 
 that Nature is the mother of oratory, of song, of science, 
 and indeed of all immortal expression. The ancient He- 
 brew poetry, in profound inspirations of feeling, almost 
 constantly pours forth delight in Nature. The Greeks 
 and Romans enriched their literature from its symbols. 
 Nevertheless, the steady persevering examination of 
 the external world, the devotion of talent and genius 
 
18 NATDRE. 
 
 to its facts and laws as a distinct branch of education, 
 belongs to modern times ; nor is it reproachful to the 
 past that the mind, both in philosophy and in song, 
 took precedence of the material creation, as Egypt, 
 India, Palestine, and Greece at once remind us. The 
 Greeks, -who are preeminently the aesthetic race of all 
 antiquity, did not select the natural world as the distinct 
 field of poetic description, nor did they with any pro- 
 found and continued enthusiasm portray its natural 
 scenes. Man, in his aspirations, struggles, and for- 
 tunes, was the all-controlling and the all-absorbing idea 
 of the Grecian culture; the external world only coming 
 into service as illustration, as subordinate to the grand 
 theme. This fact, as observed by another, is owing to 
 this direction of Grecian literature, and not to any in- 
 susceptibility to scenic charms ; for an oppo^te conclu- 
 sion ignores their fine, harmonious nature, whose per- 
 ception and feeling of the Beautiful have immortal 
 monuments, both in sculpture and in poem. The deep 
 blue of the sea, which on the Mediterranean is carried 
 home to the very rocks and shores ; the bold relief of 
 the sea coast, adorned by vegetation, with bold cliffs 
 and inland heights, revealed a beauty to which the 
 Grecian mind was not at all insensible. But in its 
 development, man eclipsed the natural world, or was 
 so far the monarch of its aspiration, that Nature was 
 merely auxiliary. Though Homer touches the scenes 
 and objects of the animal and vegetable world ; though 
 Pindar sings of the " earth covered with new-born 
 flowers," and of iEtna as " the pillar of heaven, the 
 fosterer of enduring snow ; " though Sophocles, in 
 
SECOND TO MAN. 19 
 
 tragedy, sings of " the noble resting place of the illus- 
 trious Colonos, where the melodious nightingale loves to 
 tarry and pour forth its clear but plaintive tones," 
 and of " the verdant gloom of the thickly-mantling ivy, 
 the narcissus steeped in heavenly dew ; " though Cicero 
 celebrates the dearness of his woody solitude in the 
 lonely Island of Astura on the shore of the Tyrrhenian 
 sea, in language pensively elegant ; though descriptions 
 of scenery occur in Virgil and in Horace, — it is plain 
 that with both these schools of literature, Greek and 
 Roman, the interest in nature is but secondary and 
 incidental to the greater interest which devoted itself to 
 human beings, their wars, characters, struggles and 
 destinies.* 
 
 Nor will we renounce the doctrine that Nature is 
 secondary to man and to woman, that its interest must 
 mainly proceed from its relation to humanity. But we 
 would see an eternal relation uniting the two, which 
 the Greeks did not generally perceive ; a marriage of 
 Nature to man, by symbolic expression, and by service 
 rendered to his character, physically, intellectually, 
 morally, and religiously ; a union without which the facts, . 
 
 * It is a remarkable fact and corroborative of this ' view, that 
 the romantic beauties and sublimities of the Alpine regions 
 should have been so generally neglected by Greek and Boman 
 writers. In what poet of antiquity can you find a description 
 of their eternal snows and glaciers, as the sun rises and sets upon 
 them ? These regions were frequently passed by statesmen, gen- 
 erals, and men of letters on their way from Helvetia to Gaul, 
 who generally complained of the badness of the roads, without 
 deriving anything for the imagination. 
 
20 NATURE. 
 
 science, and beauty of the creation are as forsaken 
 temples, aimless and obsolete. We study man in na- 
 ture. All its beauty and order are latent in him: We 
 are therefore still in the human sphere whenever we 
 rightly explore the natural world. Man is entitled to 
 feel that it is his own spirit that blooms in the floral 
 varieties of spring, that sings in each melodious songster, 
 that expands in every wide prospect, and glows in the 
 soft night-calms of heaven. For what else is all this 
 endlessly diversified picture of nature but expression 
 of what we are, in our many phases and experiences, 
 conscious of ? Let the soul know its own superiority, 
 and bow never in sentimental idolatries and exaggera- 
 tions before the outward imagery. 
 
 Physical Nature assisted the Asiatics in the growth 
 of that calm contemplativeness, that feeling of the In- 
 finue, and submission to the All-Determining Force 
 characteristic of Oriental Nations. Nature to Eu- 
 ropeans is less colossal, is more definite, is sharper, 
 abounding more in relief and boldness of outline. And 
 this is the character of European intellect. It is defi- 
 nite, individual, practical, and result-loving. What says 
 Nature to Americans ? As a whole, taking into view 
 the entire continent, it is nearly a colossal compromise 
 of Asia and of Europe ; neither the gothic sharpness of 
 the latter, nor the luxuriancy and immenseness of the 
 former governing exclusively, but in generous blendings 
 we have both in one ; so that the nature-oracle in the 
 New World seems to intimate that when man shall 
 have here ripened into maturity, he will unite the best 
 of what Asia and Europe signify, will easily carry the 
 
UNITY OP SOUL WITH NATUKB. 21 
 
 Orient in the back and middle portion of his brain, 
 with Europe in the front, combining Reverence and Im- 
 agination with individual freedom, energy, and tact. 
 
 The highway of Nature and the highway of Spirit are 
 roads that lead to the same great truths. Either path 
 is a sure way to the central God. We find Him in 
 worlds, and in single leaves. We also find Him con- 
 sciously in our own heart. In the lives of degraded 
 sinners, we are sometimes tempted to be ashamed of 
 Nature as existing in the human form ; though each 
 serious question we ask restores us to a better feeling. 
 Has the lust-serving son of the lowef pleasures really 
 followed Nature ? Certainly he has wantonly disobeyed 
 the leading voices that are heard in its higher regions, 
 as in Eeason and in Conscience. What has Nature to 
 say when she prostrates him by disease, and robs him 
 of physical vigor ? No remonstrance, no chastisement 
 is more plainly told than this. What does Nature say, 
 when, as the result of his crimes, she takes from him 
 the self-support of self-respect, and gives him, instead 
 of sweet dreams and innocent visions, the dark images 
 of guilt ? Nature declares herself through the retri- 
 butions of humanity ; for these occur through the in- 
 strumentality of her own laws and agencies. We 
 think of what an evil doer enjoys. Think also iaf.what 
 he loses, and of what he suffers, before you render a 
 verdict on Nature's opposing agency to evil, and on her 
 restoring power. Could some one arise, who should 
 be competent merely to give voice to the idea and 
 operation of Nature in the degradation, woe, and suf- 
 fering of the worst parts of human society, we are 
 
22 NATURE. 
 
 sure that no sermons of penitence and warning the 
 world has ever heard would equal the overwhelming 
 truth and penetrating eloquence of such a prophet. 
 Human nature, by its suiFerings and miseries, vindi- 
 cates itself even in its worst and lowest forms. Nature 
 in man, and Nature in the material creation, unite to 
 reveal humility, meekness, energy, penitence, hope, 
 will, and submission ; indeed, they unite to manifest the 
 many opposite blendings of quality in character, in 
 which perfection at last is found to consist. The broth- 
 erhood of Nature is also so closely linked, and from afar, 
 that our limited experience of its laws creates unity 
 between ourselves and all who exist across the infinite 
 ocean of space. 
 
AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 " I would wish never more to quit Spain, since I am here at 
 the fountain head of tidings of the newly discovered lands 
 (America)." — Anghieka.. 
 
 Europe is rich in the associations of the past, like the 
 accumulated memories of the aged hero, divine, or 
 sage — memories shadowed upon its countenance and 
 resting on its silvered locks. America is young, tri- 
 umphant in energy and hope ; whilst its storied and 
 historical memories are confined to the romantic legends 
 of the Aboriginal races and^the stirring events of the 
 Revolution. To tbesefpqjhaps we ought to add those 
 relics of a mysterious past which are subterraneously 
 scattered throughout this country, Mexico, and South 
 America ; and to the eye of the geologist, those traces 
 of remoteness which have produced the conclusion that 
 this continent bloomed with vegetation whilst Europe 
 and Asia reposed in the depth of the sea. But these 
 latter traces are not freshly marked on the outer as- 
 pects of nature ; so that whatever marks of age the con- 
 tinent may bear in the eyes of science, nature in thfe 
 New World must appear to the popular vision as more 
 
24 AMERICAN SCENEKT, 
 
 youthful than in the Old. " We know of no mountain 
 summits on this side of the Atlantic " says our first 
 American novelist, " that wear the hoary hues of hun- 
 dreds that are seen on the other side of the water." 
 We are the New World in the aspects of nature, as 
 truly as in the eras of art and of history. 
 
 The discovery of America marked a new epoch in 
 the course of great physical discoveries, and gave a 
 new impulse to the study of nature ; not only by the 
 enthusiasm which naturally followed the establishment 
 of so great a discovery — enlarging to surprise the idea 
 of mankind in relation to the extent of the world, and 
 on the western nations acting even more powerfully 
 than the magical influence of the Crusades — but by lay- 
 ing open a new field to scientific observation ; by ofier- 
 ing new gradations of vegetable and animal forms ; by 
 exhibiting the varieties and contrasts of the earth's 
 climates in the temperatures and productions of its equa- 
 torial mountains ; by giving facts for important conclu- 
 sions on the composition of the atmosphere and its 
 eifects on human bodies ; by^offi»ring, in short, to the 
 naturalist a world of new material for the increasing 
 wealth of natural sciences. This period, commencing 
 in the discovery and exploration of the New Continent 
 through its volcanic Cordilleras and elevated plateaux is 
 singled out by the great German naturalist as the one 
 " which has presented in the shortest period of time the 
 greatest abundance of new physical observations to the 
 human mind." The discovery of the telescope, which 
 so soon led to great results in astronomy, followed as 
 early as 1608 ; nor can it be viewed otherwise than as 
 
AND AMERICAN IDEAS. 25 
 
 a striking coincidence that not far from the time when 
 the mind of Columbus was exercised in a way that pro- 
 duced the knowledge of the New World, the active 
 mind of Copernicus was engaged in a manner that 
 assigned to the earth its true position among the 
 celestial bodies ; and we cannot forget the further 
 coincidence that the same year Columbus died, and but 
 fourteen years subsequent to the discovery of America 
 the Copernican system of the universe was fully com- 
 pleted if not made generally known. To science, 
 therefore, as well as to the imagination, is the New 
 World a chosen minister. 
 
 We are struck with the similitude that subsists be- 
 tween American Scenery and American Ideas, the 
 largeness, variety, and boldness of the former answer- 
 ing well to a similar largeness and originality of the 
 latter. We suppose that accident and undesign never 
 delivered a continent from the womb of the sea. Inas- 
 much, therefore, as a continent comes not up to the sun 
 without a mission ; as climate, physical quality and as- 
 pect of nature prove themselves in time to be moral 
 causes ; we hope not to rank with the visionary, nor to 
 be swayed by excess of patriotism, when we say that 
 nature in America seconds the motion made by the 
 genius of this western development. These immense 
 territories, these unforbidding sea coasts, these vast 
 fields of fruitful soil are a welcome of nature to the 
 children of the olden world. What else is the entire 
 spirit of free American institutions ? The Declaration 
 of Independence, so boldly stating the wide doctrine of 
 natural rights ; the strong venture, as to the timid it 
 
26 ■ AMEKICAN SCENERY. 
 
 juight have seemed, of religion unsustained by state alli- 
 ance ; the enterprise which throws widely open its mil- 
 lion of doors ; education, as attainable by the mass ; 
 the state, as sovereign, yearly deciding questions of the 
 greatest national moment ; the meeting of all nations, 
 like the tributaries of the Amazon, in the flow of one 
 American life, are ideas seemingly welcomed by the 
 theatre of nature chosen for their performance. Did 
 not man improve by his passage westward from Asia to 
 Europe ? After his Asiatic culture, which is the earli- 
 est we can locate — in which he experienced a strong 
 development of the religious element, worshipping in the 
 vast idea and feeling of the Infinite, never rising, how- 
 ever, above the plane of absolute despotism — he found 
 in the European west the definite ideas of freedom, the 
 importance of the individual, the strength of enterprise, 
 the vigor of will. And is not this American school 
 destined to be a furtherance of man ? Coolly as the 
 astronomer obtains his parallax, do we conceive that 
 man, under the plan of the all-embracing Providence, is 
 here to solve problems of human interest by successful 
 demonstrations of practice which neither Asia nor 
 Europe have been able to solve ; and it is under the 
 colors of this faith that America, physically, rises to 
 our view. 
 
 What should we mean by American Scenery ? Cer- 
 tainly not the limited area of the United States alone, 
 where human cultivation has added to nature the various 
 accessories of art ; but an ideal should be cherished 
 which freely embraces all between the Atlantic and the 
 Pacific coasts ; mountains, many of which are wildly 
 
IN EXTENT. 27 
 
 romantic and graceful, in the Easteri^pd Middle 
 States ; lakes on the North resembli^^^eas'; rivers 
 numerous, that in any part of Europe would ha^ been 
 sung as marvels of the element; plains of fertility 
 ■which are the verdant promise of God to living millions, 
 eclipsiag the fields of Lombardy whose harvests are 
 now the support of vast numbers. Under the view of 
 American Scenery we would think of the western 
 prairies which spread out to the horizon like seas of 
 verdure, and graced with flowers of every hue ; of the 
 Rocky Mountains, whose loftier summits are crowned 
 with perennial snow; of the wonderful Cordilleras, 
 and the Andes of South America, on whose sloping 
 sides all the climates ^f the globe with their respective 
 vegetation are orderly seated, as if the earth, from the 
 frozen pole to the equator, had been lifted up into per- 
 pendicular exhibition ; these — with the profound ravines 
 and the mammoth rivers which there roll through chan- 
 nels of many leagues to the sea, amidst a grandeur of 
 forest and mountain truly picturesque; with the cas- 
 cades and cataracts that sing of beauty and thunder of 
 power in both divisions of the continent — arise to our 
 view whenever we attempt to realize the just idea of 
 American Scenery. 
 
 Nature contrives to appear in all possible diversity 
 of forms and forces, that her unity may be read through 
 the largest manifoldness of wisdom and beauty. By 
 the heavenly Artist the countenance and form of the 
 earth are not heedlessly drawn, but are full of expres- 
 sion. Of the land and water, which are the two great 
 elements of interest with us, it is difficult to say which 
 
28 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 is most variously beautiful. Immense variety spreads 
 out into tll^ontinents, islands, mountains, vales, and 
 plains, likewise in tlie trees, grasses, sbrubs, and flowers 
 of a single acre ; nor seems it less when you examine 
 oceans, seas, lakes, rivers, springs, and showers. The 
 ice and snow, " which are the flowers of winter," grace 
 the precipice in all diversity. The crystal snow-flakes 
 unite their parts at difierent angles. Look at the 
 stream and its green bank. The floral variety of the 
 bank is stationary in the landscape, whilst the surface 
 of the water is ever-varying ; its delicate ripples and 
 moving eddies ; its reflection of images ; its sparkling 
 brightness under the sun ; its difference of motion and 
 form arising from the declivities of its bed ; the con- 
 tractions and expansions of its channel ; the foaming 
 cascades ; and the musical murmurs of its flow, — yield 
 not in variousness to the more settled beauties of the 
 bank and mead. The polar air-currents that rush to 
 the equator, are repeated in submarine currents of the 
 ocean ; and lower down in the watery depths than are 
 the loftiest mountains in height, all the strata are alive 
 with countless hosts of organized life. Land, in its 
 productions, is the superior element ; but water, in its 
 endless diversity of forms, is always graceful. We 
 find the greatest interest in neither, separately, but in 
 the well-ordered combinations and unions of the two. 
 
 In the family of waters nothing is more beautiful 
 than a noble river. The symbol "has long since glided 
 into human discourse, as an eloquent figure, variously 
 expressive of the course of time ; the noiseless passage 
 of events ; and the peace of self-sustaining spirits ; 
 
SOUTH AMEEICAN EIVEKS. 29 
 
 ■whilst its easy winding through the quiet valley, -wash- 
 ing sometimes the feet of imposing mountains, and 
 accompanied by forest, meadows, and banks of flowers, 
 gives to this form of the element the largest loveliness, 
 rivalled by nothing except it be phenomena of certain 
 lakes. The silent motion of a river is a mingled joy- 
 fulness ; the sun-reflecting surface and the gentle mur- 
 mur are responsive to happiness, whilst the feeling of 
 seriousness mingles withal, since it is a seeker of vast- 
 ness in the distant and afar. These daughters of the 
 ocean are nowhere so magnificent as in South America, 
 where, for thousands of miles, the Amazon and the La 
 Plata, with their powerful tributaries, pass through the 
 richest variety of physical scenery, and with the broad- 
 breasted Orinoco, pour into the sea their incalculable 
 treasures of water, gathered from many latitudes and 
 from innumerable sources. The luxuriant might of the 
 Amazon — with its more than one hundred fathoms of 
 depth ; with its large tributaries of the Ucayal, the 
 Madeira, and many other considerable rivers ; looking 
 backward to the Andes for its lofty beginnings, and 
 forward to the Atlantic Ocean for its end ; with an 
 expanse of surface near its entrance, under the equator, 
 that apparently defies the power of mortal vision, from 
 shore to shore — suggests the idea of rivalry between a 
 river and a sea. As the immense volume of the Ama- 
 zon presses into the ocean, its progress is met by a 
 grand antagonism, the advancing waves of the sea ; 
 a sublime contention this, worthy of the forces that 
 direct it. For' seven hundred and fifty miles, this 
 river, in time and tune, responds to the sovereign 
 
30 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 ■waters in the ebb and flow of its tides. Birds of gorgeous 
 plumage fly over its waves. The leopard, tiger, and 
 other powerful animals roam freely on its banks, •whicn 
 are clothed with an immense woodland foliage, where 
 grow the pine and the cinnamon, the orange and the 
 cedar, with many other valuable vegetable productions. 
 America as a whole is glorious in its rivers. Nature in 
 the New World has wrought with a bold and a lavishly 
 generous hand ; and though the genius of the Past 
 does not hover over its scenes as in the hoary ruins of 
 the European world, the Angel of the Future spreads 
 his white wings over them, whilst all things intimate 
 that nature awaits a coming history. Europe is Mem- 
 ory, America is Hope. 
 
 Yet the associations of a chivalrous and a classical 
 past are rich additions to the interest of scenery, as 
 are likewise the creations of art, which blend with the 
 landscape and impress it with the image of cultivated 
 man. In both these respects Europe has immensely 
 the advantage. The classical associations that still 
 rest over the ruins of Greece and Italy ; the strong 
 architectural remains of the middle ages, as castles of 
 war and fortifications, Gothic churches and abbeys of 
 religion — which over all Europe are the massive monu- 
 ments of the feudal times — give to European scenery a 
 romance of association, a picturesqueness of view, and 
 a reverential impress of time, to which the more youth- 
 ful character of the new continent can lay no claim. 
 But whilst inferiority in these respects is frankly ac- 
 knowledged, a recompense for the difference is claimed 
 in the fact that scenery in America has more natural 
 
OUR LOW AND EVEN SEA COAST. 31 
 
 freshness and freedom ; that in primitive grandeur and 
 natural radiance it is happily adapted to awaken the 
 love of the beautiful, and to impress the mind on a- 
 large and generous scale with whatever is glorious in 
 nature around ua. 
 
 It has been said that the generally low and monoto- 
 nous surface of the American sea coast, and of the 
 shores of American lakes, gives to Europe the higher 
 charms belonging to this order of scenery ; nor can 
 we doubt that the bold reliefs appearing in the forest- 
 mantled cliffs and inland heights of the Mediterranean 
 unfold a striking and picturesque beauty of which our 
 usually even sea coast may not boast. But when we 
 take into view what is included in the idea of Ameri- 
 can scenery, we shall claim the variety which belongs 
 to th€ coast of the continent, in which the abrupt de- 
 clivities will sufficiently appear on the South American 
 coasts, with heights inland that rise into colossal gran- 
 deur and sublimity. A large share of the coasts on 
 the Pacific, west of the Rocky Mountain range, is also 
 abrupt and precipitous ; whilst the coast of England is 
 usually low and even, and that of Holland far more so 
 than any belonging to the Atlantic boundaries of the 
 United States. It will also be seen that interior lake, 
 and especially river scenery in America is often strik- 
 ingly effective and picturesque ; whilst it may justly be 
 said that the even character of the American coasts on 
 the Atlantic sea, though it does not move the imagina- 
 tion by a boldness of aspect, seems to express the 
 generous welcome of the New World. 
 
32 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 Very much of American scenery bears a fresh and 
 original beauty, rising often into romantic loveliness 
 and Striking sublimity, where the hand of civilization 
 has left no traces of art, no proof of human victory 
 over the domain of primeval nature. Places now 
 unnoticed, will, in the future, draw to themselves the 
 distant traveller. In South America, in the regions of 
 the Rocky Mountains, and elsewhere, are many glories 
 of visible scene, that are destined to a reputation 
 among the lovers of nature that shall extend over the 
 wide world; nor are we desirous of hastening the 
 period that shall realize this view. It will come with 
 the sure advances of improvement, and with the rapid 
 facilities of travel that shall one day unite the remoter 
 parts of the continent. 
 
 A cursory glance over the western borders discovers 
 a most striking variety of scenes. The immense tract 
 of land that stretches north and south, for hundreds of 
 miles, along the feet of the Rocky Mountains, and 
 drained by the tributary streams of the Missouri and 
 the Mississippi ; which, spreading forth into undulating 
 plains, desolate sandy wastes, monotonous and weari- 
 some — a region supposed by geologists to have been 
 the "ancient floor of the ocean," when, numberless 
 ages since, its wild waves smote the granite bases of 
 these rocky heights, and which now so strongly resem- 
 ble some of the immense steppes of Asia — contrasts 
 strongly with the variety of water course, ravine, moun- 
 tain, forest and prairie, that enrich the views of the 
 Western world. America, as well as China, Arabia, 
 
BEYOND THE KOOKY MOUNTAINS. 33 
 
 and Africa, has its desert, and, in time, it may become 
 the resort of lawless banditti. 
 
 Far beyond this sterile region, and extending from 
 the Rocky Mountains to the waves of the Pacific, lies 
 a region of country rich in all the varieties of wild, 
 grand, and beautiful prospects. And if the lesson of 
 civilization, taught by the example of the older continent 
 is to be repeated in the new — namely, that the highest 
 culture shall occur at the extremities of the same, where 
 denseness of population, fixedness of residence and prox- 
 imity to the sea, may yield their various advantages — 
 the future will find the noblest cultivation to exist along 
 the Atlantic States, in the peninsula of California, and 
 the long-extending region that lies between the Rocky 
 Mountains and the Pacific. We are induced by several 
 considerations, some of which are independent of the 
 idea suggested by the history of the Old "World, and 
 founded in the physical conditions and social causes of 
 the New, to believe that this will be the destiny of 
 our country. 
 
 One of the grand rivers of this region is the Colum- 
 bia, which, upwards of four miles wide at its mouth, 
 with a peninsula and promontory on one of its sides, 
 seems for thirty miles to be merely an estuary of the 
 sea. The valley of this river, which is sixty miles in 
 width, extending far southeast between parallel ridges 
 of mountains, commands some of the finest prospects. 
 Not to speak of the views of mountains that here un- 
 questionably rise into real grandeur and sublimity ; nor 
 of the large and beautiful stream, the Willammete, that 
 flow's through the centre of the valley, having wandered 
 
34 AMBEICAN SCENERY. 
 
 for hundreds of miles along a wilderness unsubdued ; 
 the rapids of the Columbia — the roaring and boiling 
 rush of the whole river through a rocky chasm only 
 forty-five yards in width, and its bold descent some 
 three and a half miles below over a ledge twenty-eight 
 feet in height, and extending almost from shore to shore— 
 cannot be otherwise than delightfully satisfying to the 
 beholder. At the Long Narrows, the Columbia roars 
 and foams through a rough bed of solid black rock for 
 the distance of three miles. The Blue Mountains, which 
 form the southeastern boundary of the great plains 
 along this river, are rich in their own original vestments 
 of dense and gloomy forest, whilst the mountains them- 
 selves are cut up with ravines deep and precipitous. 
 The character of the mountain region was observed by 
 Stuart to-be volcanic. Several summits were covered 
 with snow, from two of which, smoke, in considerable 
 volumes, was seen to ascend. 
 
 In 1832, Capt. Bonneville, with a hunting company of 
 over one hundred persons, left Fort Osage, on the Mis- 
 souri, to traverse the region west of the Rocky Moun- 
 tains ; and, taking his course down the deep ravine of 
 an uneven stream, he found the scenery adorning it of 
 an Alpine wildness and sublimity. He describes the 
 traveller as sometimes passing beneath wild cascades, 
 pitching from such lofty heights that the water fell into 
 the stream lilce heavy rain. The Snake River, which 
 is one of the most remarkable on the continent for 
 varied and striking scenery, rises in a volcanic region 
 amidst extinguished craters and mountains that still 
 bear the awful traces of the ancient fires that gave 
 
SNAKE AND BEAU RIVERS. 35 
 
 them birth ; and from its head waters In the Rocky 
 Mountains to its junction with the Columbia, a distance 
 of upwards of six hundred miles, it careers through the 
 largest possible variety of landscapes ; sometimes through 
 meadows green and smiling ; sometimes through great 
 plains of lava and sandy deserts ; through wide land- 
 scapes of Italian grace and loveliness ; and again through 
 vast sierras and mountain chains, that often present the 
 romantic view of awful precipices, and lofty summits 
 crowned with the venerable wreath of eternal snows. 
 
 Masses of basaltic rocks are piled one upon another 
 on its banks ; perpendicular cliffs in places rise two 
 hundred and fifty feet above the river, beetling over it 
 like dark and gloomy battlements, whilst the clear and 
 limpid current, merging its smooth and noiseless flow, 
 which through many kndscapes is its wont, into eager 
 rapidity, rolls, boils, and dashes its way for miles and 
 miles through the broken chasms and narrow channels, 
 sometimes pitching in beautiful cascades over the basal- 
 tic ridges that cross its bed. On Bear River, an area 
 of half a mile presents a level surface of white clay, 
 said to be perfectly spotless, which in all seasons is 
 strikingly beautiful, as its immaculate whiteness, like 
 Parian marble or dazzling snow, contrasts with the sur- 
 rounding verdure of summer, or the faded foliage of 
 autumn. Nearby, the trapper discovered springs of vari- , 
 ous sizes and temperatures, one of which boiled incessant- 
 ly, some two or three feet from the soil ; whilst another, 
 through an aperture of the earth, sent up a column of 
 steam that hung in the air, a perpetual cloud. And 
 how mysterious the feeling that must naturally have 
 
36 AMEEICAN SCKNEKT. 
 
 arisen in the breast of the traveller as he heard all about 
 him for a considerable distance, the hollow sound from 
 beneath, which accompanied the tramp of his horse on 
 the earth ! 
 
 Some of the tributaries of this river are said to equal 
 it in the wildness and picturesqueness of their scenery. 
 Particularly is the Beuneau attractive — a river that runs 
 through a tremendous chasm rather than a valley, for 
 the distance of a hundred and fifty miles. In depth the 
 valley is nearly two thousand feet, and the current is 
 bright and limpid. Here the rocks again rise in per- 
 pendicular grandeur, and the traces of volcanic action 
 are, as on many parts of the main river, strikingly 
 presented. Capt. Wyeth ascended a summit in this 
 neighborhood, from which, he said the whole country 
 seemed like an indescribable chaos ; " many mountain 
 streams disappear in the plains, either absorbed by the 
 thirsty soil, and by the porous surface of the lava, or 
 swallowed up in gulfs and chasms." The valley of 
 Immahah, seen from the height, lay stretched out below 
 them in lovely and cheering verdure. 
 
 Again they walked amidst the varied scenery of the 
 main river ; and, in the language of Irving, controlled 
 by the journal of Capt. Bonneville, we will read the im- 
 pression made by the nature surrounding them. " At 
 times," says he, " the river was overhung by dark and 
 stupendous rocks, rising like gigantic walls and battle- 
 ments ; these were rent by wide and yawning chasms 
 that seemed to speak of past convulsions of nature. 
 Sometimes the river flowed glossy and smooth, then 
 roaring amid impetuous rapids and foaming cascades. 
 
CALIFORNIA. 87 
 
 Here rocks were piled up in most fantastic crags and 
 precipices ; and in another place they were succeeded 
 by delightful valleys." " The grandeur and originality of 
 the views presented on every side," says Capt. Bonne- 
 ville, " beggar both the pencil and the pen. Nothing 
 we had ever gazed upon in any other region could for 
 a moment compare in -wild majesty and impressive 
 sternness with the series of scenes, which here at every 
 turn astonished our senses and filled us with awe and 
 delight." This original and extensive scenery of the 
 West, we have but a glimpse of; yet the fullest assur- 
 ance exists that the forms of nature appear on a grand 
 and impressive scale ; that the rounded and undulating 
 outlines common to the hill and mountain scenery of 
 several portions of the United States, here give way to 
 the bold, the striking, and the really sublime and pic- 
 turesque. 
 
 So indeed the great peninsula of California, which 
 Grosses the tropics and terminates in the torrid zone, 
 and separated from the main land by the Vermilion Sea 
 or Californian Gulf, which receives the waters of the Col- 
 orado of the West, is a wholly different order of scenery 
 from that which prevails in the Eastern States. All 
 California, extending along the Pacific Ocean from lati- 
 tude 23° to 42° North, is one of the most fertile and 
 beautiful regions of North America. Mount Shasta, 
 like a storm-beaten column, rears its head of snow 
 fourteen thousand feet ; and valleys of enchanting 
 loveliness are traversed by Californian rivers. Likewise 
 is the scenery of Mexico rich in the forms of a various 
 and a colossal vegetation ; nor is it rare to meet with 
 
38 AMERICAN SCENERT. 
 
 mountain elevations, .(such for instance as the volcanic 
 Colima, which shows so strikingly as an inland height 
 from the Pacific coast,) that overtower the monarch 
 summit of Europe.* 
 
 The Rocky Mountains, which commence far North, 
 in the unexplored regions, range through British Amer- 
 ica and the United States ; and meeting the Mexican 
 range they form the Northern part of the great conti- 
 nental chain that extends from the Straits of Magellan, 
 54° South, to the Frozen Ocean in 70° of Northern lat- 
 itude. Of a geological character more primitive than 
 the AUeghanies, and presenting an appearance dark, 
 precipitous, and awe-inspiring, these mountains, the 
 loftier of which are crowned with perpetual snow, justly 
 belong to the character of sublimity ; and particularly 
 grand must be the passage of the Missouri through 
 them, when the immense current narrows into a chasm 
 not much exceeding one hundred and fifty yards in 
 width, and rushes through it with the force and fleet- 
 ness of a cataract, whilst on either side rise the black 
 and perpendicular masses of rock, twelve hundred feet 
 above the surface of the river. 
 
 Mountains, which mysteriously awaken the feeling 
 of sublimity, are the proud monuments of the benevo- 
 lent action of those disturbing forces in the earth from 
 which have proceeded the inequalities of surface on 
 which the interest of scenery so much depends. There 
 is nothing picturesque, nothing that stirs the human 
 
 * Mont Blanc, according to the Austrian engineers, from Tre- 
 lod, is 15,748 feet higB. Colima, whicli is ninety miles from the 
 Pacific coast, is over 16,000 feet. 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF MOUNTAINS. 39 
 
 Spirit which does not proceed from difference and in- 
 equality in nature, qualities these, that receive the 
 constant praise of myriads of leaping brooks, brilliant 
 cascades, and majestic rivers. When -we look at moun- 
 tains, we think of the earnest throbbings of the earth- 
 heart, of which they are born ; for they are the giant 
 offspring of convulsion, of central fires, though they 
 seem to rise so silently into space, and to dwell in 
 lofty repose. We love mountains for their immense 
 prospects, for their capacity to awaken the feeling of 
 the infinite, for the sentiment of sacred mystery and 
 awe which has caused the superstition and legend of 
 every nation to find a home among them, making them 
 prominences, on which divinities and the numerous 
 tribe of supernal agents are pleased to descend.* We 
 admire them likewise as symbols of Permanence, and 
 terrestrial Immortality ; finding it good in a world of 
 whirling permutations to look out upon these beacon 
 heights and time-defying prominences. Jehovah deigns 
 to rest on the Judean summit. Jove honors by his 
 presence the Olympian peak. Worship obeyed a 
 natural instinct in kneeling on mountains long before it 
 entered the architectural sanctuaries. These solemn 
 
 * The answer of Cuvera's servant to Arguna illustrates the 
 depth of this superstition in India. "This mountain, with its 
 snowy peaks rending the cloudy sky in a thousand places, is, 
 when viewed, able to remove at once the sins of man. An im- 
 perceptible sometKing within it, the wise ever demonstrate to 
 exist by proofs difficultly apprehended. But Brahma alone 
 thoroughly knows this vast and inaccessible mountain as he 
 alone knows the Supreme Soul." — Asiatic Researches, vol. x. 
 
40 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 ■watchmen of the earth are revelations, also ; are apostles 
 from the deep, on whose palms are written the history 
 of marvellous ages. Man has seldom penetrated the 
 earth more than half a mile in depth ; but these subter- 
 ranean forces, in sending up their bold embassies from 
 earth to heaven, have tossed from many miles beneath, 
 the useful minerals into the paths of men ; making 
 accessible the granite, sienite, porphyry and trap-rock, 
 ■with many useful metals, and mineral substances. 
 There is somewhat in the character of these vast and 
 sudden upheavings of the central power that speaks of 
 nature as a Revolutionist and a Radical, renouncing all 
 gradualism and believing that nations may be born in 
 a day ; but, when we gather the geological instructions 
 thus laid open to our eyes, and the useful materials that 
 ornament the external forms of civilized life ; when we 
 think of the increased beauty yielded by the uneven- 
 ness of the earth's crust, and of the development of 
 the imagination caused by the picturesque conditions of 
 nature, we then see the noble and generous conserva- 
 tism of the awful forces. We then say. Away with all 
 weak and whimpering kindness. Only the great strokes 
 of power are far-sightedly kind. There is no accident 
 in the play of seeming chances when Nature blows the 
 trumpet of Revolution. That entire mountains in the 
 Alps, that the Green Mountains in Vermont, the High- 
 lands of New York, and most of the Alleghany range, 
 as far as Alabama — a distance not far from twelve 
 hundred miles — should have been so uplifted and 
 thrown over as now to occupy an inverted position, 
 exhibiting so clearly the more inaccessible strata as 
 
SUPERIOR IN SODTH AMERICA. 41 
 
 they once lay deep in tlie lap of earth, is no blind 
 stroke in the rapid commotion of natural forces. For 
 how else should these eminences stand as glorious Rev- 
 elators from beneath ? How else could they tell the 
 anciently hidden secrets as plainly as now ? We value 
 these immense forms of nature because they invigorate 
 our minds with a lofty energy, because they inspire the 
 spirit and speak the language of liberty, and because 
 in the dilation of their enlarged prospects they emanci- 
 pate us for the time from the bondage of the narrow 
 and the local. 
 
 No part of the globe probably unites in so large a 
 variety the grand aspects of nature as the mountains 
 of South America, which appear as a reserved wealth 
 for the imaginative interest of future times, to which 
 travellers wishing to commune with the grandeurs of. 
 the earth will bend their ways. Who will now visit 
 the cataracts of the Nile, which indeed scarcely equal 
 the Cohoes on the Mohawk, whilst the memory of Tren- 
 ton is fresh in his mind, and whilst the voice of Niagara 
 is familiar to his ears ? That the glorious scenery of 
 Europe and of Asia will retain a commanding interest 
 always, we joyfully believe ; but nothing to us is more 
 reasonable than the idea that the maturity of American 
 culture, the additions of art which time always makes 
 to nature, and the connecting intercourse which is des- 
 tined to unite the remotest parts of the New World, 
 will result in great celebrity for many places that now 
 attract no general interest from abroad, whilst, from 
 a tendency natural to mankind, the New World will 
 
42 AMERICAN SCENEET. 
 
 become most attractive to the Old, and the Old will 
 remain highest in the esteem of the New, so far as 
 respects the visions of beauty that reward and stim- 
 ulate the distant journey among the lovers of scenic 
 excellence. 
 
 The great Himalaya range in India, though its colos- 
 sal peaks of the Jawahir and the Dhawalagiri, surpass 
 the most celebrated summit of the Andes, the Chim- 
 borazo,* we are inclined to believe that in various sub- 
 limity fall far short of the impression made by the Cor- 
 dilleras, whose deep valleys, and tropical vegetation, 
 succeeded by the temperatures and productions com- 
 mon to the other climates of the earth, greatly enrich 
 the views. Height is not the sole condition of the sub- 
 limity of mountain scenes. The depth of the ravines, 
 the peculiar forms that nature assumes, the sky aspects 
 that blend with those of the earth, and the variety and 
 richness of the vegetation, that throw over the impos- 
 ing majesty which attaches to these great elevations, 
 the charm of life, are as essential to the excellence 
 of the phenomena as the mere altitude of particular 
 summits. 
 
 * Chimborazo measures 21,421 feet, which is twice that of 
 Mount Etna. The Jawahir and Dhawalagiri are respectively 
 25,749, and 28,074 feet high, though it must be confessed that 
 these last have not been measured with an accuracy that can be 
 regarded as at all certain. In 1827, Mr. Pentland, a traveller of 
 acknowledged learning and ability, in his expedition to Bolivia, 
 measured the elevation of two mountains East of Lake Titicaca, 
 the Sorata and the Illimani. He found the former 25,200, and 
 the latter 24,000 feet high. 
 
THE ANDES AND THE HIMALAYA. 43 
 
 These American mountains have the decided advan- 
 tage over those Indian Alps, in having upon their sides 
 thickly clustered the powerful vegetation of the tropics ; 
 ■whilst the latter are located in the temperate zone, and 
 command no views of majestic palm groves, " of humid 
 forests of bambusa," of the cycas and the bananas that 
 flourish on the former. They appear in the clothing of 
 species nearly similar to those which characterize Eu- 
 rope and Northern Asia. They are also less sublime 
 than the Andes in not having the striking phenomena 
 of volcanoes ; and having their limit of perpetual snow 
 three thousand feet lower than its range on these 
 American mountains, vegetation is arrested much 
 sooner than it is in the equinoctial Cordilleras. But 
 the greatest advantage, the one wherein lies the supe- 
 riority of these Cordilleras over all other mountain 
 scenery of the world, is so graphically stated by the 
 great naturalist* who visited them in person, that we 
 will here present his own words. " This portion of the 
 surface of the globe affords in the smallest space the 
 greatest possible variety of impressions from the con- 
 templation of nature. Among the colossal mountains 
 of Cundinamarca, of Quito, and of Peru, furrowed by 
 deep ravines, man is enabled to contemplate alike all 
 the families of plants, and all the stars of the firma- 
 ment. There at a single glance the eye surveys 
 majestic palms, humid forests of bambusa, and the 
 varied species of musacese, while above these forms of 
 tropical vegetation appear oaks, medlars, the sweet 
 
 * A. Von Humboldt. 
 
44 AMERICAN- SCENERY. 
 
 brier, and umbelliferous plants as in our European 
 homes. There as the traveller turns his eyes to the 
 vault of heaven, a single glance embraces the constel- 
 lation of the Southern Cross, the Magellanic clouds, 
 and the guiding stars of the constellation of the Bear, 
 as they circle round the arctic pole. There the differ- 
 ent climates are ranged the one above the other, stage 
 by stage, like the vegetable zones, •whose succession 
 they limit ; and there the observer may readily trace 
 the laws that regulate the diminution of heat, as they 
 stand indelibly inscribed on the rocky walls and abrupt 
 decUvities of the Cordilleras." 
 
 One striking difference between the Andes and the 
 mountains of Europe, consists in the relative thickness 
 and extent of the schistose and porphyritic rocks, 
 which in the former, viewed at a distance in certain 
 places, present the aspect of a vast assemblage of 
 dilapidated towers. Without the least mixture of any 
 other kind of rock, the porphyries of Chimborazo have 
 a thickness of eleven thousand four hundred feet, while 
 the pure quartz west of Caxamarca is no less than nine 
 thousand feet. Not abounding in calcareous rocks, the 
 Andes are said to contain but few petrifactions, though 
 the distinguished traveller already named reports the 
 chain as covered over with ostracites, (petrified oysters) 
 at the elevation of thirteen thousand two hundred feet 
 above the level of the sea, and the plains of the Orinoco 
 as presenting the rare phenomenon of petrified trees. 
 The fossil distribution of the bones of the Elephantes, 
 and the Mastodontes at an elevation of ten thousand 
 two hundred and twenty feet, which with the speci- 
 
THE HIGHEST SUMMITS OF THE ANDES. 45 
 
 mens discovered at the South of Quito and in Chih, and 
 the rare species of the' Mastodon found at the foot of 
 the volcanic Inibabura, on the high plains of Quito, 
 powerfully remind the observer of a former world, 
 when gigantic animal races mingled with the colossal 
 forms of nature that now awaken awe and reverence in 
 view of the vast and mysterious forces of the external 
 world. 
 
 Under the glowing sun of the Equator, and near 
 Quito, the Andes exhibit their loftiest summits. Here 
 Mount Chimborazo, Cayambe, Antisana and Gotopaxi 
 raise their snowy heads far into the deep azure blue 
 that so impressively reigns in equatorial skies. Chim- 
 borazo is whitened with perpetual snow the distance of 
 five thousand feet from its top, and presents a specta- 
 cle most magnificent, as seen from the shores of the 
 Pacific. This mountain exceeds twenty-one thousand 
 feet, and the three last named exceed nineteen thou- 
 sand feet of elevation, a; height far superior to the 
 loftiest summits of Europe ; and though under the 
 burning sun of the tropics, their tops for more than 
 three thousand feet beneath, -wear the crowns of eternal 
 snow. In latitudes between 14° and 17° South, the 
 Sorata and lUimani, outstripping the height of the 
 more celebrated Chynborazo by some thousands of feet, 
 pierce the clouds with their snowy summits ; and in 
 Southern latitude 20° the mountain of Potosi is attrac- 
 tive beneath its beautiful mass of porphyry by which it 
 is crowned. 
 
 Volcanoes -which diminish the dangers of earthquakes 
 in the regions they occupy, and which are sublime 
 
46 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 witnesses to the subterranean forces that gave them 
 birth, are no curiosity in South America or in Mexico. 
 In Chili they are exceedingly numerous. Their richness 
 of phenomena must be increased by the fact that their 
 igneous summits extend so far above the region of per- 
 ennial snow. Cotopaxi is nearly five times higher than 
 Vesuvius,* which is three times lower than the peak of 
 Teneriffe. We venture the statement upon high au- 
 thority, that among the volcanoes of the two hemispheres, 
 the conical form of Cotopaxi is the most beautifully 
 regular. Higher than the peak of Teneriffe by more 
 than three thousand feet, rises in an elongated form the 
 volcano of Rucu Pinchincha, at the foot of which lies 
 the city of Quito. Its mouth forms a circular hole of 
 nearly a league in circumference, whilst there is little 
 room to doubt that the depth of the crater is on a level 
 with the city itself; and we have the best authority for 
 saying that in the history of volcanoes, none on either 
 hemisphere, presents in its phenomena a grander or 
 more remarkable picture than this. To us it is roman- 
 tic to think of the extended plateaux that stretch along 
 the sides of the Andes, on which, in flourishing towns 
 and cities, the majority of the people reside ; and 
 though these inhabited plains and valleys are higher 
 above the Pacific than are the crests of the Pyrenees 
 above the blue Mediterranean waves, the inhabitants 
 seem wholly unconscious of this high poising in the air.f 
 
 * Vesuvius, 3,876 feet. Cotopaxi, 19,069 feet. 
 
 flhe village of Antisana is 13,500 feet above the level of the 
 
MEXICO. 47 
 
 In Mexico, a country low on its eastern and ■western 
 coasts, but rising gradually as the interior is approached, 
 where it spreads out into immense table lands on an 
 elevation of six thousand or eight thousand feet, one 
 sees the strange phenomenon of a level country set- 
 tled on the top of lofty mountains, extending at least 
 a distance of seventeen hundred miles. From ' this 
 elevation the traveller beholds the loftier summits shoot- 
 ing up into wild sublimity, some of granitic and some of 
 porphyritic structure ; whilst on the sides of the great 
 volcanoes, which strike the imagination as colossal fur- 
 naces kindled by the fires of a central depth, bloom 
 often the evergreen forests of pines and cedars. Here 
 several of the volcanic summits leave the proudest 
 mountain grandeurs of Europe far below them. Here 
 too are the deep ravines, and the combined vegetation 
 and temperatures of different climates settled on different 
 elevations of the aspiring mountains. Here are Alpine 
 solitudes, virgin forests, colossal flora, fragrant wild 
 flowers with gay and beautiful colors, blooming under 
 the dark shadows of the pine ; and here the enchanted 
 valley of Mexico, in which the ancient city of Cholula 
 reposed with " its hundred towers and pinnacles " in 
 the glory of its original power, opens in beauty to the 
 view ; on the west the bold barrier of porphyritic rock 
 rises as the guard of the vale ; in commanding view 
 stand the two huge volcanoes of the country, Popocat- 
 apetl* and Iztaccihuatl,"! and far away to the east 
 the magnificent OrizavaJ soars high above the clouds, 
 
 * 17,968 feet. f 16,000 feet. 1 17,697 feet. 
 
48 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 seeming in the distance like a marble dome towering 
 into the sky. This mountain is said to be the most 
 beautiful on a near approach, as it is the most magnifi- 
 cent in the distance. These volcanoes are covered with 
 eternal snow, and each rises to a height that overlooks 
 the sublime Mont Blanc of European pride. In this 
 hasty glance at American mountain scenery, the claim 
 of the New World to sublimity on a scale, that, all 
 things considered, may not perhaps be rivalled by any 
 other division of the Globe, is by its facts sufficiently 
 vindicated. In the Adirondack Mountains of northern 
 New York, in which the waters of the Hudson originate, 
 and in those of New Hampshire, sublimity may also be 
 derived ; and we have only to say, that sublimity, so 
 far as it respects the inferior element, water, (as it is 
 sometimes called,) does not allow a labor of contrast 
 with the conceded excellence of rivers and waterfalls 
 in the Old World. 
 
 Sublimity, from the very order of nature, and from 
 the ends to be answered by the earth in respect to 
 human wants, cannot be the general and universal 
 aspect of a whole country, and a whole continent. 
 Nature, constantly laid out in the forms of the sublime, 
 could not be well subjected to those various uses which 
 the wants of mankind so unceasingly require. Indeed 
 the very nature of sublimity, as having the highest 
 distinction, as awakening wonder, awe, surprise, implies 
 that it is comparatively rare ; for it is only through 
 contrast with the common and the general, that objects 
 in nature strike us as sublime. In looking at the char- 
 
THE ORINOCO. 49 
 
 acteristic landscapes of Europe, one sees that the 
 heights generally, as well as the most elevated moun- 
 tains, are more sharply defined, have an aspect more 
 goihic, angular, and abrupt, and therefore more pictur- 
 esque than the same kind of scenery usually prevailing 
 in the United States, where the rounded outline much 
 more prevails. There is, however, interior scenery 
 here, in which the bold and the striking are decidedly 
 prominent ; and in the sublimities of American moun- 
 tain scenery already mentioned, it will be observed that 
 nature takes the European characteristic alluded to, and 
 combines with it the characteristic oivastness abounding 
 in Asia. 
 
 The rivers of the New World express vastness also. 
 No channel of the width of the Mississippi carries so 
 large an amount of water into the sea. The Rio de 
 la Plata, or River of Silver, as the name implies, as 
 wide-breasted as the Amazon, enters the ocean under 
 a width of surface no less than one hundred and fifty 
 miles, a width which continues as far as to Montevideo. 
 The Orinoco, entitled to the third rank among South 
 American rivers, full of islands, and presenting shores 
 imposing and picturesque, afibrds the grandest pros- 
 pects from its rapids; and its prodigious quantity of 
 water convinced Columbus that the land,which afforded 
 it was a continent and not an island. It was here, near 
 its estuary, where the Orinoco like the Nile divides 
 into numerous branches, and its green waters so beauti- 
 fully contrast with the deep blue that rests on the 
 waves of the sea, that Columbus, inhaling the balsamic 
 fragrance of the land breeze, really supposed that the 
 3 
 
60 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 source of the Orinoco was in the terrestrial paradise, 
 and that he stood upon one of the four rivers named 
 in the second chapter of Genesis. The Rhine, which 
 is one of the finest rivers of Europe, is said to be un- 
 equal in its best places to the Hudson in its whole 
 course. Rising among the Alpine glaciers it might 
 seem to claim a nobler descent than the latter, which 
 has its source among the sublimities of the Adirondacks ; 
 it finds, however, a much inferior destiny. Whilst the 
 one disappears in struggling turbid waters in the low 
 marshes of Holland, the other in full power nobly en- 
 ters the Atlantic Ocean. 
 
 It is a trait of American rivers that they are ren- 
 dered picturesque by numerous islands, and by the 
 fulness of forest landscape through which they flow. 
 The Hudson, Connecticut, Susquehannah, Ohio, Ni- 
 agara and St. Lawrence are suggestions of these gen- 
 eral facts. The North American rivers far surpass 
 those of the Southern division of the continent in nav- 
 igable utility ; and in beautiful meandering and general 
 loveliness cannot be excelled. The Hudson, which at 
 New York seems like an estuary of the sea, is in its 
 whole course decidedly sacred to the imagination. The 
 Palisades for twenty miles above the city rise in a lofty 
 precipice of columnar basalt ; and the variety of green 
 meadow, villages, banks, forests, and clusters of trees, 
 dotted along with villas and tasteful mansions that ac- 
 company the river course, opens a constant succession of 
 agreeable views. . The Highlands come down closely to 
 the winding channel of the river, and seem to close it 
 in by steep hills of gneis, so that the passenger as he 
 
THE CATSKILL MOUNTAINS. 51 
 
 arrives at the entrance of the rocky gorge sees not 
 where he shall emerge from the labyrinth of abrupt 
 curves through which the Hudson passes these solemn 
 heights, whose shadows rest as a silent melancholy on 
 its waters ; but he soon emerges into a wide valley 
 where to the north looms up in the verge of the horizon 
 the blue heights of the Catskill. These last named ' 
 mountains, once " the wonder-land to the Indians, and 
 the themes of golden speculation to the sages of New 
 Amsterdam," from which indeed gold was once actually 
 procured,* are an inestimable wealth in the scenery of 
 the Hudson. Whether seen in the blue of distant 
 vision on the river above Poughkeepsie, where the 
 bending of the current and the meadowy and leafy 
 hills of various outline form the foreground of the pros- 
 pect, or seen from land-points in the counties adjoining 
 them, they ever appear as a graceful and gentle air 
 picture of inviting loveliness. Upon them, the traveller 
 enjoys about three thousand feet of elevation, before 
 whom a vast landscape is spread out, flowered with vil- 
 lages, and extending to the Highlands on the south, to 
 the Berkshire hills on the east, and to an unconfined 
 horizon on the north. The silver cascade is graceful ; 
 the rock scenery of the deep ravine is even grand ;f and 
 a sunrise, and a thunder storm echoing through the deep 
 ravines and roaring among the hills, are majestic. The 
 Hudson river scenery is rich also in Revolutionary 
 
 * So testified an eye-witness, Adriaen Van der Donk. 
 
 f The first fall is one hundred and .eighty feet ; the second 
 eighty ; and from the bottom of the third to the summit of the 
 first precipice is three hundred and ten feet. 
 
52 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 memories, in Indian legends ; Washington, Andre, 
 Livingston, Knox, Arnold with the dark hoverings of 
 Treason still upon his name, and Koskiusco, whose 
 white marble shaft in the Highlands points to his im- 
 mortal honor, all arise as shades of an ineffaceable past. 
 It is diiScult to imagine a more continuous line of 
 beauty than the course of the Susquehannah, a river 
 whose mild grace and gentleness combined with power 
 render it a message of nature to the affections and to 
 the /tranquil consciousness. This tr£iit of mildness, 
 even in its proudest flow, seems to hover upon its banks 
 and waters as the genius of the scene. No thunder of 
 cataracts anywhere announces its fame. It is mostly 
 the contemplative river, dear to fancy, dear to the 
 soul's calm feeling of unrufliled peace. This river of 
 noble sources and many tributaries, traverses the vale 
 of Wyoming, where, in other years, we have been de- 
 lighted with its various scenery. Its mountain ram- 
 parts which rise somewhat majestically to hail her on- 
 ward progress, are crowned with a vegetation of northern 
 fir, whilst the verdant and fertile valley is graced with 
 the foliage of the oak, chestnut and sycamore. At 
 Northumberland, where the east and the west branch 
 unite, the river rolls along with a noble expanse of sur- 
 face ; opposite the town rises, several hundred feet, a 
 dark perpendicular precipice of rock, from which the 
 whole prospect is exceedingly picturesque. The Alle- 
 ghany Mountains, which somehow seem to bear a pater- 
 nal relation to this river, lend it the shadow of their 
 presence through great distances. These mountains, 
 though they never rise so high as to give the impres- 
 
SUSQUEHANNAH AND LAKE GEOEGB. 53 
 
 sion of power and sublimity, are never monotonous. 
 Though they are not generally gothic, but of rounded 
 aspect, the northern part has those that are steep and 
 abrupt, sharp-crested and of notched and jagged out- 
 line. The Susquehannah is -wealthy also in aboriginal 
 legend, and in abundant foliage. Its rude raft like- 
 wise aids the picture. It has many beautiful sources, 
 particularly that in the lovely lajce of Cooperstown ; 
 and no thought concerning its destiny can be so elo- 
 quent as the one expressed by our first American nov- 
 elist whose name is alike honored by his countrymen 
 and by foreign nations. He spoke of it as " the mighty 
 Susquehannah, a river to which the Atlantic herself 
 has extended her right arm to welcome into her bosom." 
 Other scenery in Pennsylvania we have met, which 
 though less renowned than Wyoming and the Juniata, 
 is not less romantic and beautiful. A noble river is 
 indeed the image of unity, a representative of human 
 tendencies, wherein many separate strivings unite in 
 one main current of happiness and success. Man con- 
 centrates himself like a river in plans and purposes, 
 and seeks his unity in some chief end as the river seeks 
 it in the sea. 
 
 The clear waters of Lake ."George, surrounded by 
 bold and jutting shores and sprinkled with green 
 islands of bright vegetation, is the queen of American 
 lakes for all that is lovely and picturesque. Unlike the 
 waters of Lake Champlain, the Hudson, and indeed the 
 whole region between the Green Mountains and the 
 Mississippi, which are more or less impregnated with 
 lime. Lake George is preeminent in the purity and 
 
54 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 clearness of its waters. It might well have been named 
 Lake Sacrament. This scene of loveliness, however, 
 lies under an atmosphere of violent and stormy changes, 
 and within the companionship of mountains whose va- 
 riety of crag, chasm, peak and promontory enriches the 
 views with all the wild and agreeable romance of moun- 
 tain scenery. When the lake is tranquil, the small 
 islands with their reflections in the water have seemed 
 to some observers like " globes of leaves heaped up and 
 suspended in the air." The constant succession of new 
 views attendant on the change of position in the ad- 
 vances of the traveller, and the various character of the 
 mountain summits, some of which are ,of the bold and 
 sharp cone, some crowned with lofty pines in the azure 
 airy distance, with a thousand other scenic interests 
 only to be realized in a personal visit, render Lake 
 George, not by any means the first picturesque lake of 
 Christendom, but certainly one of exceeding beauty and 
 loveliness. 
 
 Time and space do not permit us to speak of the 
 lovely valley of the Connecticut, of the Housatonic, in 
 whose course occurs an interesting waterfall,* nor of 
 Mount Holyoke, so exquisitely fine in its prospect, nor 
 of the White Mountains f of New Hampshire, which 
 overlook a wide sublimity of wilderness untouched, by 
 human culture, and which own Mount Washington as 
 their sovereign height, where the sabbath of nature is 
 unceasingly kept, where to the eye, as far as it can 
 
 * Falls at Canaan are sixty feet in depth, 
 ■f Within a circuit of sixty miles are six summits that exceed 
 the elevation of 5,000 feet. Mt. Washington is 6,234 feet high. 
 
■WHITE MOUNTAINS AND THE ADIRONDACKS. 55 
 
 'I 
 
 reach, the blue expanding sea of mountains sends up 
 its powerful waves. Here the solemn majesty is re- 
 lieved by some joyous cascades that leap down their 
 leafy sides, eager in the play of their descent, till they 
 fall into the arms of the Saco. 
 
 " Mount of the clouds ! -when Winter round thee throws 
 The hoary mantle of the dying year, 
 Sublime amid the canopy of snows 
 Thy towers in bright magnificence appear ! 
 'Tis then we view thee Tvith a thrilling fear, 
 Till Summer robes thee in her tint of blue ; 
 When lo ! in softened grandeur, far, yet clear, 
 Thy battlements stand clothed in heaven's own hue. 
 To swell, as Freed'friis liome, on man's unbounded view." 
 
 Ten months in the year these mountains are crowned 
 with snow ; and from great distances at sea are they 
 observed, as mute orators publishing a welcome from 
 the more solid earth-basis from which the sons of the 
 ocean have strayed. In the valley of the Saco likewise, 
 with streaming cloud-banners floating beneath their 
 naked summits, these mountains are distinctly seen by 
 the traveller at the distance of thirty miles. 
 
 When a successor of Thomas Cole shall appear whose 
 genius shall carry forward the interests of American 
 landscape painting in the ability that characterized this 
 fine artist, his pictures will show that the Adirondack 
 Mountains, heretofore comparatively so little noticed, 
 are, with the Hudson Highlands, the attractive Switzer- 
 land of our northern country. A range of mountains 
 extending through the northern section of New York 
 
56 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 from Little Falls on the Mohawk, to Trembleau Point 
 on Lake Champlain, claims the Adirondacks southwest 
 from this lake as its loftiest group. With cone-like 
 peaks and jagged ridges, they pierce the clouds and 
 gild their brows in the upper- radiance, whilst they pour 
 from their sides in all directions the many cheerful 
 streams. Lakes clear as crystal, densely lined with 
 forest, lie embosomed among the bases of these moun- 
 tains, quiet amidst their wild and leafy solitudes ; and 
 though in most of the other attractive scenery in our 
 Atlantic States it is a matter of distant memory, when 
 
 " the bounding deer 
 Fled at the glancing plume," 
 
 in these forest solitudes now live several of the wild ani- 
 mal races, among which are the lurking panther and 
 the nimble deer. Mt. Marcy, Mclntyre, McMartin and 
 Santanoni are the loftiest summits, the two latter rising 
 above the tide five thousand feet, and the two former ex- 
 ceeding that elevation. The first, which is the highest 
 mountain in the State, has the significant Indian name Ta- 
 Aa-WMS," He splits the sky," — from whose summit of gray 
 rock spreads forth a forest prospect three hundred milea 
 in circumference ! The wild Adirondack Pass, between 
 two mountains, whose gorge is filled with huge rocks on 
 which green trees are faithfully cherished, and the per- 
 pendicular precipice of a thousand feet which rises on 
 one of its sides, are a scene worthy the superior artist. 
 Cole delighted us through, his picture of Scaron Lake, 
 whose densely-foliaged shores, under the distant gaze of 
 
THE POTOMAC. 67 
 
 the solemn Adirondacks, enclose a body of water pecu- 
 liarlj surrounded by the wild and the picturesque. 
 
 The scenery of Rhode Island in the vicinity of New- 
 port, which attracts so many strangers to that place, 
 which unites beauty of landscape with the sublimity of 
 the sea, is extensively celebrated ; and if causes may 
 be read in their results, we shall find the beauty of this 
 scenery reflected in the characters of Channing and 
 Alston, both of whom acknowledge their debt of grati- 
 tude to the happy influences of this external nature in 
 their, early development. If we were to select one 
 romantic spot for an hour's communion with the super- 
 lative in the picturesque, we should pause to behold the 
 Potomac scenery at Harper's Ferry. Whether viewed 
 from the Potomac side, where one glance embraces the 
 neat, tree-shaded village on the right, the sloping up- 
 land forming a part of its background, the bold and 
 imposing features of the mountains through which the 
 river here passes, or from the superior position of the 
 Blue Eidge, where a single glance embraces the grand- 
 est possible assemblage of delightful objects, the bold 
 mountain on the left, the union of two rivers which 
 have forced their way through mighty barriers of 
 nature, two green and beautiful islands in the waters 
 on the right, a charming vegetation all around, and an 
 outspreading landscape in front, — from either of these 
 positions the whole scene is a magical picture to the 
 imagination. 
 
 " The passage of the Potomac through the Blue 
 Ridge," says Jefferson, " is, perhaps, one of the most 
 stupendous scenes in nature. You stand on a very 
 
 3» 
 
58 
 
 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 high point of land ; on your right comes the Shenan- 
 doah, having ranged along the foot of the mountain a 
 hundred miles to seek a vent. On your left approaches 
 the Potomac in quest of a passage also ; in the moment 
 of their junction, they rush together against the moun- 
 tain, rend it asunder and pass off to the sea. The 
 first glance of this scene hurries our senses into the 
 opinion that this earth has been created in time ; that 
 the mountains were created first and the rivers began 
 to flow afterwards ; that in this place particularly they 
 have been dammed up by the Blue Ridge of mountains, 
 and have formed an ocean which filled the whole valley; 
 that continuing to rise, they have at length broken over 
 at this spot, and have torn the mountain down from its 
 summit to its base. The piles of rock on each hand, 
 but particularly on the Shenandoah — the evident marks 
 of their disrupture and avulsion from their beds by 
 the most powerful agents of Nature, corroborate the 
 impression. But the distant finishing which Nature 
 has given to the picture is of a very different charac- 
 ter ; it is a true contrast to the foreground ; it is as 
 placid and delightful as that is wild and tremendous ; 
 for the mountain being cloven asunder, she presents to 
 your eye, through the cleft, a small catch of blue hori- 
 zon, at an infinite distance in the plain country, inviting 
 you, as it were, from the riot and tumult roaring 
 around, to pass through the breach and participate of 
 the calm below. Here the eye ultimately composes 
 itself ; and that way, too, the road happens to lead. 
 You cross the Potomac above the junction, pass along 
 its side through the base of the mountain for three 
 
FOKM AND IDEA. 5l9 
 
 miles, its terrible precipices hanging in fragments over 
 yoTi, and, within about twenty miles, reach Frederick- 
 town and the fine country around it. This scene is 
 worth a voyage across the Atlantic ; yet here, as at 
 the Natural Bridge, are people who have passed their 
 lives within half a dozen miles, and have never been 
 to survey these monuments of a war between rivers 
 and mountains, which must have shaken the earth itself 
 to its centre." 
 
 In. nature, the cataract is the most concentrative 
 marvel of the watery element. It is the type of free- 
 dom. It is water apparently released from law, enjoy- 
 ing wildly its high moment, its holiday. It is genius 
 in its wild leap ; is courage and power in triumph ; the 
 drowsing lion aroused ; is Peter at Pultowa, Bonaparte 
 at the Bridge of Lodi, and Leonidas at Thermopylae. 
 The height of heroism is to be like the cataract, at 
 home on the precipice. 
 
 As the tailor's measurement of the human figure is 
 no knowledge of its life, mind or physiology ; as the 
 great epoch is not well known by statistics, but by the 
 achievement of its ideas ; so the material world is not 
 grasped by even accurate details : since Nature is full 
 of divine idea above and beyond the form ; — idea whose 
 invisible hoverings are the chief glory of every scene. 
 We reach the divinity of Nature only when we hail the 
 genius, the soul of a place which we sometimes catch 
 by a glance at the body of the material scene, though 
 to reveal it in words according to the Arabian idea of a 
 perfect description, one that " converts an ear into an 
 eye," is by no means the easy task, though it lawfully 
 
60 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 becomes our motto. We may also know scenery which 
 we have never seen, as we know Csesar and Bonaparte, 
 through their faithful history. 
 
 Two places on" the Orinoco, a river crossed by gran- 
 itic mountains, and twice confined in its course, obliging 
 it to break upon the rocky barriers that form steps and 
 transverse dikes, ofifer phenomena distinguishedly grand. 
 " Nothing can be grander," says the learned traveller, 
 " than the aspect of this spot ; neither the Eall of Te- 
 quendama, nor the magnificent scenes of the Cordilleras, 
 could weaken the impression produced upon my mind 
 by the first view of the rapids of Atures and of May- 
 pures. When you are so stationed that thp eye can 
 take in at once the long succession of cataracts, the 
 immense sheet of foam and vapors, illumined by the 
 rays of the setting sun, it seems as if you saw the whole 
 river suspended over its bed."* The sheet of foam at 
 Maypures stretches out a mile in extent, whilst " masses 
 of rock of an iron black color rear their ragged fronts, 
 like towers, out of this misty cloud. Every island, 
 every rock is ornamented with luxuriant trees closely 
 grouped together. A thick smoke constantly hangs 
 suspended over the water ; and through this foggy 
 vapor, which rises from the foam, shoot up the tops of 
 lofty trees. As soon as the burning rays of the set- 
 ting sun mingle with this humid cloud, the optical phe- 
 nomena which are produced, actually give an air of 
 enchantment to the scene. The colored arches succes- 
 sively appear and disappear, and their image incessantly 
 
 * Humboldt's Travels, Vol. TV, pp. 1,2. 
 
. ATURES AND TEQTIENDAMA. 61 
 
 hovers before the eye at the mercy of the wind. Dur- 
 ing the long season of the rains, the murmuring waters 
 have accumulated little islands of vegetable earth 
 around the naked rocks. Adorned with the Brosera, 
 the Mimosa with its foliage of silver white, and a mul- 
 titude of other plants, these form beds of flowers in the 
 midst of frowning rocks." Thus speaks the truthful 
 naturalist. 
 
 The cataract of Atures, thirty-six miles below, and 
 three hundred and forty-five west of the Cordilleras of 
 New Granada, with a horizon bordered by mountains 
 on which the palm-clusters shoot up more than a hun- 
 dred feet, and with its prospect of numerous islands 
 bearing amidst the watery foam their palmy verdure, 
 is exceedingly fine. A perpetual verdure is here ob- 
 served ; the peak of Uniana, of pyramidal shape, towers 
 in the west. Aside from the brilliant and vigorous 
 vegetation that grows Avithin the prospect, the division 
 of so large a current into separate torrents, the in- 
 gulfing of its waters into rocky caverns, in one of 
 which travellers heard the eager song of the rapids 
 chaunted, at the same time both above their heads and 
 beneath their feet, would alone constitute this place a 
 wild region of beauty. 
 
 But the glorious cataract of South America is found 
 in New Granada, on^ the Rio de Bogota, a river that ^ ^ 
 has forced its way through the mountains to the south- 
 west of Santa Fe de Bogota, and draining the valley 
 through which it passes, descends from its elevated 
 course toward the bed of the Magdalena, whose north- 
 ward flow to the sea is enlarged by its waters. In the 
 
62 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 current of this river is the magnificent cataract of the 
 Tequendama, about which, all that is picturesque in 
 nature seems to have taken its perennial residence. 
 It is a characteristic of powerful cataracts to narrow 
 their channels at and near the place of descent, se- 
 curing thereby concentration and force, a fact which, 
 seen by the imagination, implies the conscious appre- 
 hension of the element in relation to the crisis to which 
 it hastens, collecting and concentrating itself for the 
 heroic deed to which it violently moves. Thus the 
 Tequendama, which has a width of one hundred and 
 forty-four feet above, contracts itself within the compass 
 of thirty-six feet in passing the rocky crevice near its 
 descent ; and with a double bound plunges down an 
 abyss five hundred and seventy-four feet in depth, 
 more than three times the descent of our glorious 
 Niagara. The vapory column that rises from beneath 
 is clearly visible at the city, a distance of seventeen 
 miles ; whilst over all the scene, the lordly rainbow, 
 with an ever-varying beauty, sits constantly enthroned. 
 This double bound of the plunging current enhances 
 the interest, not only by increasing variety, but by the 
 peculiar aspect which a sudden arrest of falling water 
 by rocky projections, tossing it upward and forward in 
 white, broken forms, is always known to create. One 
 fact may be alleged of this fall which we presume may 
 be said of no other. We mean the diversity of vege- 
 tation which brings under the eye of the observer the 
 plants and trees common to temperate and tropical 
 regions ; for the summit and foot of the precipice are 
 adorned by totally different forms. There the observer 
 
CATARACT OF THE NAPO. 63 
 
 sees around him oaks, elms, and various other trees 
 reminding him of the northern vegetation, while to his 
 downward vision appears a country rich in bananas, 
 palms, and sugar-canes. This is no trifle in the glory 
 of the Tequendama. 
 
 We shall believe this to be the Niagara of South 
 America, unless future travellers verify the story of 
 the Spaniards under Gonzalo, who, in traversing the 
 banks of the Napo, one of the great tributaries of the 
 Amazon, and a river which in the Old World would be 
 esteemed of the first magnitude, found a stupendous 
 cataract formed by the precipitation of this broad ex- 
 panse of water in one volume of foam, over a preci- 
 pice of twelve hundred feet ! which is more than twice 
 the depth of the Tequendama. Above and below the 
 precipice the river narrowed itself to the breadth of 
 twenty feet, and for miles above the cataract it rushed 
 and foamed along in swift and powerful rapids. Through 
 the gloomy stillness of the forests, where no trace of 
 human hands indicated the least victory of man over 
 the wild and primitive grandeur of Nature, the ^appall- 
 ing sounds resounded; and the rude warriors who 
 heard it for eighteen miles above the cataract, were • 
 struck with awe, regarding it as subterraneous thunder. 
 
 Though sublimity, with respect to the common is 
 rare in terrestrial forms, all are admitted to its pres- 
 ence. Though it might seem at first view to be always 
 a superlative in Nature, it has, like beauty and loveli- 
 ness, a positive and a comparative degree, and many 
 forms. In view of this we shall not allow the gentle- 
 man who has seen a Rhighi sunrise in Switzerland, and 
 
6i AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 who thinks the sublime ever after can legally have but 
 one shape, to determine for us, ex offieio, what is be- 
 neath sublimity in the creation around us. Certainly 
 the skies unfold this attribute over every part of the 
 earth. It is touchingly mingled in the wild storm that 
 bends the forest to its will, in the cloudy sunset, in the 
 mysterious forces of Nature of which external phe- 
 nomena are the suggestions ; it reveals itself also in 
 great actions and characters, in universal truths, in 
 vast hopes and limitless desires that grasp the immor- 
 tal ; and particularly, in the feeling of a universe, which 
 awakens in reflecting minds. The question of sublimity 
 concerns Nature simply as an objective symbol, fore- 
 shadowing, answering, gratifying the real sublimity of 
 the soul. The question, therefore, " Is this or that 
 scene sublime ? " justly stated amounts to this : " Is 
 the symbol adapted to awaken the consciousness of 
 sublimity in the beholder ? " which must depend mu- 
 tually on the scene itself and the susceptibility of the 
 person, though a general agreement among men may 
 be so far presumed that real objective grandeur will 
 seldom be largely destitute of its true reputation. 
 Some, however, will not meet sublimity where its ma- 
 terial radiance is brightest ; others, from its fulness 
 in their own souls, will derive it from simpler sources. 
 In glancing over American waterfalls within the 
 Northern division of the continent, it is needless to 
 tarry long at the Falls of St. Anthony, which, instead 
 of the very steep descent ascribed to them by the 
 early French writers, are proven to have, on later and 
 more accurate examination, a precipice of but seven- 
 
KAtlT-A-HOO-RA. 65 
 
 teen or eighteen feet of perpendicular depth. Yet there 
 must be something impressive at this place, where the 
 Queen of Rivers robes herself in white, and gracefully 
 makes this downward passage of her destiny. In the 
 loneliness of the desert, the anthem of the waters dies 
 solemnly away in the distance of the forest ; romantic 
 scenery in the vicinity lends it aid ; and the spirit of 
 legend, wildly beautiful, still recites the fate of the 
 young Indian wife and matron, who, they say, on sunny 
 mornings, is yet often seen wandering near the preci- 
 pice where she perished, mourning her husband's 
 inconstancy, with her babes bound to her bosom. 
 
 Fifteen miles from Utica, in the county of Oneida, 
 and among primeval forests, are the exceedingly pic- 
 turesque Falls of the Kauy^a-hoo-ra. We hope not to be 
 readily forgiven should we ever call this beautiful river, 
 particularly where it passes the ravine of the several 
 cascades, by the usual name, " West Canada Creek," 
 so long as we remember that Kauy-a-hoo-ra is its eupho- 
 nious Indian appellative, and that this signifies " Leap- 
 ing Water." 
 
 Trenton is a combination wholly different from Ni- 
 agara. Beauty and loveliness, with a hovering of 
 dream and fairy-land, are the chief elements of Tren- 
 ton, as sublimity and beauty are those of Niagara, 
 sublimity being the central power. As the reader is 
 delighted in passing from Shakspeare to Burns, ot 
 from Goethe to Schiller, each entertaining him by 
 original genius, so are we happy in the same journey to 
 pass days at Niagara and days at Trenton. 
 
66 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 At Trenton we are struck with the sudden vision of 
 the deep ravine, at the bottom of which the staircase 
 leads. The feeling of being low down in the earth, of 
 being free and at home with Nature, and isolated from 
 the world, immediately arises in the mind; whilst a 
 walk along the side of the Kauy-a-hoo-ra, which is here 
 shaded by the high hills that rise on either side, dis- 
 covers the largest variety in the forms and in the 
 expression of the watery element. The water has, in 
 places, beneath its Ethiop lustre, the calmest expres- 
 sion, which with the shadows of the ravine upon the 
 current, sets off by contrast the white foam of the 
 rapids and the amber color of the cascades, before they 
 dash and break into snowy whiteness. Never have we 
 seen the element more rich in the dark lustre of its 
 surface, which seems as a symbol of Thought in its 
 tranquil depths, than, in certain places, it assumes at 
 Trenton. 
 
 The few racing rapids and the four principal cas- 
 cades, each of which varies the prospect, do not alone 
 make up the delightful satisfactions of Trenton. 
 Neither of the cascades probably exceeds forty feet in 
 depth. It is the entire scenery of the place ; the pecu- 
 liar gracefulness of the river ; its rapidity in the wild 
 and dazzling leap ; the bold, rocky heights that descend 
 so far above you, offering to every upward glance the 
 verdure of a full vegetation ; trees standing thickly on 
 the sides and summits of the ravine, and sometimes 
 coming down to the water's edge and bending over 
 it; the golden yellow that edges the water of the 
 precipice ; the white foaming silver of the High Fall, 
 
NIAGARA. 67 
 
 and the graceful shelves below ; the floor of rock, on 
 which ages far anterior to man are clearly written ;* 
 the placid, thoughtful sombre of the stream in places ; 
 and the flowers that gleam forth from the sides of the 
 rocky way in beauty, — these make Trenton a pic- 
 ture not to be forgotten, one that will often reappear 
 in retrospective revery. Reality, poetry, spirit-land, 
 dream-land, have expression on the Kauy-a-hoo-ra, 
 though the rounded and even outline, rather than the 
 sharp projective, prevails in the^hill scenes^that embosom 
 it. Trenton, in Germany, France, Italy, or England, 
 would be the universal worship of poets and scholars. 
 
 But the grand marvel of the earth, the divinity- 
 voiced water, which speaks in mightier eloquence than 
 all forms of the element, is Niagara. We should say 
 that this is the real voice of the New World, the 
 William Pitt, the summit eloquence of all the sublimity 
 that concentrates historically and prospectively in the 
 word America, somewhat as the roar of the lion is the 
 natural signal of his real power. In Niagara we con- 
 ceive that America roars. Yet whenever beauty or 
 sublimity reaches its superlative, it has a charm to 
 unnationalize the spectators, and makes them children 
 of the Universe only. Are the sun and stars German, 
 or are they English ? " There is no speech nor lan- 
 guage where their voice is not heard." Is Niagara 
 
 * The order of these rocks is Transition, the first that contains 
 fossil organic remains, and is, therefore, earlier than any trace 
 of human history. Orthooeratltes and Trilobites, of different 
 genera, Nautili, Crinoidea, Producta and other petrefactions, are 
 found in the Trenton rock. 
 
68 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 American, or is it English ? Is the voice of Mont 
 Blanc, " where rave the Arve and Aveiron ceaseless- 
 ly ," merely European ? Then is Lyra Italian, and 
 Cassiopeia Russian. A grand scenery is like St. 
 Peter's Pentecostian sermon; the pilgrim of every 
 nation hears it, each in his own tongue. As Niagara 
 is the celebration of thoughts and sentiments resident 
 in all men, as Nature everywhere .is a grand ritual 
 referring to what is greater in the spirit, we will not 
 be patriotic in the presence of the Universal, nor need 
 we catch Niagara spasms in the enthusiasm aroused 
 by the sublimity-revealing symbol, since no two men 
 ever saw the same scene, since none ever carried sub- 
 limity away from this dazzling miracle who did not 
 bring it to his confront with the scene. Yet we will 
 not quarrel with emotion, when in the near contact it 
 crowns the objective as all in all. 
 
 When, in 1698, Father Louis Henepin visited Ni- 
 agara, he found, on the Canada side, a third cascade, 
 at which the water was thrown inward, from West to 
 East, by a great rock. The same cross fall is men- 
 tioned by Kalm, a Danish naturalist who visited the 
 cataract in 1750, as having disappeared a few years 
 previous, from the falling down of the rock. 
 
 There can be no need of Alps or Andes to complete 
 or increase the sublimity of Niagara, since 'no moun- 
 tains known on either division of the globe would well 
 correspond with the scene. The sublimity of the land 
 is elsewhere sufficiently celebrated. This is due to the 
 other element. Niagara, though the central wonder, 
 is in perfect and symmetrical correspondence with the 
 
NIAGARA. 69 
 
 character of the rirer in -which it occurs, with its dis- 
 tant and mighty ancestral sources of lakes and rivers, 
 that have all the vast and permanent wealth of power, 
 of which its thunder is the trumpet ; and particularly 
 does it correspond with the wonders of the river- 
 wrought ravine through which it flows, where for miles 
 below is traced a sublime history of inconceivable 
 remoteness, through the series of geological phenomena 
 that now stand as certain proofs of an immensity of 
 changes both of land and sea, and of eras of time for 
 whose expression there is in nature no analogy. To 
 reflection, therefore, a grandeur of conception arises 
 equal to the vision that stirs the soul in beholding ; and 
 it is a sublimity in thought harmoniously flowing into 
 the total symphony of the scene. Niagara has kindred 
 all around ; for in receding from Queenston southward, 
 this cataract has dug a path of wonders ; and the facts 
 of its history, the truths laid open by its deep ravine, 
 and those discovered in its surrounding region, cause 
 the sublimity of the mighty past to encircle the vast 
 astonishment, whose song unceasingly announces the 
 Infinite, and whose form is sublimity itself. 
 
 When at Queenston, seven miles below, the flood of 
 the Niagara was sustained by a far loftier throne of 
 rock ; when at the whirlpool, two and a half miles 
 below the present precipice,. it stood upon the extreme- 
 ly hard basis of quartzose sandstone, where for ages it 
 may have been stationary, successfully resisting the 
 erosion which is constantly removing the cataract 
 nearer Lake Erie. The two constituent layers that 
 now uphold the rushing riv»r being of shale and lime- 
 
70 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 stone, each measuring in thickness ninety feet, it 
 will happen, that, as the process of erosion advances 
 through the action of the wind-driven spray against the 
 lower strata, (which is the shale and more easy of dis- 
 solution,) the bottom of the precipice will be a solid 
 massive limestone, after the cataract has receded two 
 miles from its present position ; which from its ^eat 
 hardness will be likely to again render Niagara a per- 
 manent wonder to innumerable ages. The prediction 
 of this solid future basis fairly resides in the two exist- 
 ing causes, the southward dip of the strata, which is 
 about twenty-five feet to the mile, and the sloping of 
 the river channel in the opposite direction. The deep 
 chasm of Niagara, twice broader at its top than at the 
 surface of the water, is one which the river and not 
 the sea has made ; and when we consider that the 
 several genera of fresh water deposits found imbedded 
 on Tris Island, with those discovered in the cliif below, 
 preceded the erosion of the ravine in which the river 
 now flows ; and when we reflect on the evidence prov- 
 ing that this river once occupied another channel three 
 hundred feet less in depth than the gorge of its pres- 
 ent waters, what can more solemnly impress the idea of 
 time-immensity than the history of this immortal river ! 
 The cycles of human jjevelopment, in comparison, are 
 but moments. Geology says that the interval of time 
 between the origin of the coralline limestone at the 
 top of the cataract, and the human epoch, is an im- 
 mensity too vast for ideal realization ; that Alps, Pyr- 
 enees and Himalayas have been slowly elaborated be- 
 neath the sea, and thrown 'up as mountain chains ; that 
 
NIAGARA. 71 
 
 land has often been converted into sea, and sea into 
 land, since that rock was formed. What other river has 
 so sublime a history ! Eoar, ye ceaseless torrents ! For 
 eternity-grasping tidings are all around you ! Be voice 
 to the sublimely-buried secrets, to the silent mysteries 
 of ages ! Has not Brainard spoken well to the occasion 
 in these words ? — 
 
 " It would seem 
 As if God poured thee from his ' hollow hand,' 
 And hung his bow upon thine awful front ; 
 And spake in that loud voice, which seemed to him 
 Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake, 
 ' The sound of many waters ; ' and had bade 
 Thy flood to chronicle the ages back 
 And notch His centuries in the eternal rocks." 
 
 The Niagara river connects Lake Erie with Lake 
 Ontario, the former being three hundred and thirty-four 
 feet higher than the latter ; and when it is remembered 
 that for fifteen miles the river spreads out into a calm, 
 Idke-like scenery scarcely descending as many feet, 
 and that it is reserved for the rapids and the precipice 
 to overcome the greater part of this distance, one can 
 imagine the activity of the element as corresponding to 
 the concentration of so large a descent. It numbers 
 forty islands before it reaches the Falls ; and it may 
 well flow with an unasking grace, for what queen ever 
 had such grand and loyal tributaries ? In the pres- 
 ence of the cataract the mind is so absorbed as not 
 usually to think of its distant and unseen sources of 
 vast lakes and rivers ; yet before leaving this uniform 
 
72 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 orator who never asks or suffers anything from the 
 changing seasons,* the mind "rushes to its adequate 
 causes hidden in the distance, and from happy analogy 
 is reminded that every world-stirring voice, whether 
 from Plato, Chatham or Kossuth, has in the distance 
 its great unseen sources of experience, knowledge, and 
 inspiration. 
 
 The river narrows to the breadth of a mile, a mile 
 above the cataract, at which place it is but three-fourths 
 of that distance. In looking southward from the bridge 
 or the island, the rapids in white-crested breakers 
 strike the imagination by their wild and passionate 
 play, all life and eagerness, as if the river itself were 
 bravely conscious of the awful crisis, and already shared 
 the soul of the precipice ; even as the human spirit, 
 agitated and aroused by the heroic greatness of the end 
 on which it resolves, bursts through all fear of conse- 
 quence, and hastens under the inspiring play of terrific 
 passions to its achievement. Since Byron spoke of the 
 " Hell of waters " in Childe Harold, 
 
 " Where they howl and hiss, 
 And boil in endless torture ; " 
 
 it has not been uncommon to meet the phrase and spirit 
 of this apostrophe to Velino in relation to Niagara. 
 But in what sense of the word it can so be styled, we 
 know not ; certainly not in the sense of despair, sin or 
 misery, for Niagara is hope, joy and heroism. Perhaps 
 its fullness of power, which is thrillingly terrific when 
 
 • No rains or drought ever perceptibly aflfect the volume of 
 the river. 
 
THE SUBLIME SOFTENED BT BEAUTY. 73 
 
 the scenes, in places, are beheld from beneath, may 
 cause some to think of it under this association, as Mil- 
 ton and others derive the fearless executive energy 
 mostly from hell, though Nature leagues with God and 
 truth ; nor does she in her finest triumphs picture hells 
 and devils. It is rather a heaven of waters. Sooner 
 think of Dante's Inferno when traversing the wonder- 
 fully picturesque, subterranean world in Kentucky, the 
 Mammoth Cave. 
 
 The whole scene is far more terrific when viewed 
 from beneath, where the solemn might and sublimity of 
 the place are unsoftened by those views of the graceful 
 current and the rising spray commanded by higher po: 
 sitions. There one is conscious of the awful forces. 
 Beneath! Are not the more terrible daring forces 
 thence ? From such were the mountains born. From 
 thence is the armed Satan of sacred mythology. Power 
 is the basis, and beauty is the summit of every fine 
 character. Bases are beneath. We demand of every 
 great man a certain solidity of will and principle over 
 which his grace and eloquence may pass, as in Niagara 
 we have the lofty rock-throne which supports the fluent 
 beauties of the hastening element. Such were Caesar, 
 Luther and Hannibal. 
 
 Nature usually contrives to beautify the sublime so 
 that the awe-inspiring shall be in some degree radiant 
 and lovely also. Mountains have verdure and joyous 
 streams ; likewise lingering gleams of sunlight. Ni- 
 agara is a contrast of waters where the milder phenom- 
 ena of beauty are mingled with the sublime. A mile 
 below the falls the river is the type of repose ; on the 
 
 4 
 
74 AMERICAN SCENERY. 
 
 Wire Bridge the eye surveys this calmness above, and 
 the hastening of the waters below. The delicate lines of 
 loveliness frequently displayed in this river, the white 
 bands of foam that stretch along like the Milky Way on 
 its surface, the gentle eddies that seem to imitate the 
 starry groups as they dance their waltz on the rocky 
 floor, the verdure and flowers that creep down the rocky 
 chasm, the gay vapors of spray that briskly dart from 
 beneath and sustain the many-colored rainbow both by 
 day and by night, and especially the grace of the cas- 
 cades themselves, when viewed from the higher positions, 
 exhibit clearly that blending of the beautiful with the 
 sublime, of gentleness with power ; in brief, all those 
 manifold contrasts in which the perfection of nature 
 resides, and which render Niagara the masterly picture 
 whose unexhausted interest challenges the frequent 
 visit, the long-beholding and the lingering look. Yet 
 we will not isolate this scene. The mountain and the 
 daisy, Shakspeare and the infant, are one in nature ; sa 
 is Niagara brother to the laughing rill. 
 
 No country has rivers that rank so high as the Amer- 
 ican on the ground of landscape beauty. Italy has 
 none that deserves to rank high in this regard; her 
 streams, for the most part, being dependent on the melt- 
 ing of the snows in the Alps and Pyrenees, have no 
 regular character. The Thames would be nothing iu 
 America. Neither the Seine, which has very fine 
 scenery between Rouen and the Channel, nor the Rhine, 
 which has great diversity of character and embellishes^ 
 a large extent of country in the heart of Europe, can, 
 as rivers, stand a moment's comparison with the Hud- 
 
WEALTH OE NATURE, 75 
 
 son. But, though Nature in America offers herself to 
 man in her primitive freedom and freshness, she is not 
 so picturesque in the accessories of art, in the sharp 
 and bold lines of ordinary heights and prominences, 
 such as a glance over Spanish, Swiss, or Italian scenery 
 would suggest, as in Europe. These picturesque re- 
 mains of the middle ages, the fortified war-castle and 
 the Gothic temple, are not here ; whilst in Europe the 
 lavish hand of Nature is not traced in rivers, forests and 
 prairies, as in America. American scenery needs 
 landscape painters of adequate genius to set forth its 
 true claims. Cole is worthy of his excellent fame. 
 But where are the pictures of American forests, lakes, 
 rivers, mountains and sunsets, in our own and in for- 
 eign galleries, that compare in finish with such paintings 
 of European landscape as have lately been seen in the 
 Dusseldorf gallery ? These acquisitions will undoubt- 
 edly be gifts of the future. But the just and exten- 
 sive appreciation of the scenery of America will not 
 occur until art becomes its faithful representative. 
 
 In these general glances at American scenery in 
 which we have found the home of the sublime and the 
 picturesque spread out over the New World in many 
 forms, we hope to awaken some new and general interest 
 in the subject. We would know the wealth of nature. 
 We would gather from it sources of inexhaustible 
 truth. We would revere its beauty, and in character 
 reproduce its impressions of energy, truth and loveli- 
 ness. We have spoken of America as combining traits, 
 belonging, by resemblance, to Europe and to Asia ; 
 yet it is a New World, with an expression original and 
 
76 AMERICAN SCENEET. 
 
 peculiar to itself alone. It unfolds its phenomena for 
 other and higher ends than mere subsistance ; and in 
 the faith that animates us, it is the designed and not 
 the accidental auxiliary of the new human development, 
 ■which, under the providence of God, shall further, and 
 we hope, fulfil man's nobler destiny here. 
 
 At least, those who regard the ennoblement of the 
 intellect, cannot disregard the forms and influences of 
 the outer world ; for to it they are more than books and 
 poems. If terrestrial nature is viewed simply from the 
 space it occupies in the inclosing immensity, it is of 
 course but a trifle ; its mountains are ant-hills, its seas 
 only drops of eternal dew. But if we view it from the 
 truths it expresses, from the educational power it has 
 over the whole nature of man, it is at once exalted 
 into the noblest agency. As one human creature is so 
 cunningly devised that he represents,inlittle, the whole 
 moral empire, as the infant is the entire world in minia- 
 ture, so this small globe with its manifold scenes may be 
 so comprehensively contrived as to represent the whole 
 material creation, whose limitlessness always strikes 
 mankind as sublime. From the mysteries, laws, forms, 
 and beauties of the present earth, shall be delivered to 
 efficient learners the keys that shall unlock every door 
 of the material universe ; for the genius of the creation 
 is triumphantly expressed in throwing the character of 
 the Whole into the Part, and in enabling the Part to 
 see its apotheosis in the Whole. Herein is the glory of 
 the earth. It is the miniature Universe, the rounded 
 Part, holding the fundamental truth and secrets so 
 sublimely expanded in the Whole. 
 
THE CENTRAL NATION.* 
 
 The unwillingness of a nation to be known does not 
 diminish our anxiety to know her, as a studied conceal- 
 ment only awakens and concentrates the closer scrutiny. 
 The unsocial position 'of China to the rest of mankind, 
 the consciousness of self-perfection in which she sep- 
 arates herself from the world, are, indeed, long-standing 
 and extraordinary traits ; styling her Emperor " The 
 Son of Heaven," and herself " The Flowery Central 
 
 * Souvenirs d'un Voyage dans la Tartaire, le Thibet, et la 
 Chine, pendant les Annes 1844, 1845 et 1846. Par M. Hue, 
 Prgtre Missionnaire de la Congregation de St. Lazare. 2 vols. 
 Paris: 1850. 
 
 On the Kawi Language in the Island of Java : with an Intro- 
 duction on the Difference of Structurfe observable in the Lan- 
 guages of Mankind, and its Influence on the Intellectual Devel- 
 opment of the Human Race. By William Von Humboldt. 3 
 vols. Berlin: 1836. ' 
 
 A Sketch of Chinese History, Ancient and Modern. By Kev. 
 Charles Gutzlaff. 2 vols. 
 
 The Middle Kingdom. A Survey of the Geography, Govern- 
 ment, Education, Arts, Religion, &c., of the Chinese Empire and 
 its Inhabitants. By S. W. Williams. 2 vols. 
 
 China and the English. By J. Abbott. New York : William 
 Holdredge. 1852. 
 
78 THE CENTRAL NATION 
 
 Nation," " The Celestial Empire," she sincerely imag- 
 ines that whatever is great and good in human history 
 has arrived at its highest possible summits in the past 
 developments of China ; and, in the feeling common to 
 perhaps the larger share of prosperous nations, if not 
 to the larger divisions of men every where, she looks 
 down upon all other portions of the human family with a 
 self-satisfying contempt, honestly enough regarding 
 them as barbarians. A gentleman in China loses caste 
 somewhat by travelling into foreign lands, as this seems 
 silently to imply an insufficiency in the excellence of 
 the Celestial Empire. 
 
 This national egotism is not uncommon in history, 
 and in the observation of the extensive traveller, but 
 not in the same excess ; for the nations who frequently 
 are obliged to measure themselves against their equals 
 and superiors in policy, enterprise, and physical vigor, 
 must arrive at a more correct estimate of their powers 
 than a people so isolated as the Chinese. It is as true 
 of nations as of individuals, that the proper self estimate 
 is never made until their respective forces are antago- 
 nistically measured by the forces of others with whom 
 they are to be compared. The Chinese standard of 
 comparison being wholly within themselves, they are, 
 from position, doomed to be the nation of egotism. 
 
 The oldest nation now living is the Chinese. With a 
 civilization as old as Egypt, and perhaps older ; with a 
 literature as early as Greece in its primitive blossoms ; 
 with a form of government the most ancient, founded 
 on the patriarchal idea of ruling society, it now stands 
 an unbroken, united, massive structure, defying time. 
 
THE SUBJECT OF NEW INTEREST. 79 
 
 as if its basis and sbructure were each of solid granite. 
 Nor can it be doubted that the thoroughly conservative 
 character of this people, which forbids innovation, and 
 which retires from intercourse with the modes of thought 
 and action adopted in other parts of the world, has 
 powerfully assisted in retaining through so many 
 ages the unity of this ^colossal empire. From the com- 
 mon susceptibility of man to be influenced by his 
 neighbor, it is safe to say that the action of the ideas 
 of enterprising nations, under a free and unrestrained 
 intercourse, would have proved too strong for the deep 
 originality of this unique people to have resisted. They 
 could never have kept the same ideas in the perpetual 
 ascendant, whilst the winds of thought from different 
 parts of the world were bravely stirring. Their reserved 
 isolation has therefore assisted to strengthen their union, 
 and to perpetuate their nationality ; an isolation grow- 
 ing out of egotism, assisted by the consciousness that 
 every physical want common to man may be supplied 
 in the resources of their productive art and soil. 
 
 Of late years, China has been the centre of new in- 
 terest from abroad. The mystery which hangs over its 
 internal affairs, the great antiquity of its origin, the 
 commercial importance it sustains in the traflSc of na- 
 tions, the many fine thoughts its ethical literature has 
 already given, the renown of the national sage, Confu- 
 cius, who, in the firmament of superior genius, shines a 
 light of first magnitude, have combing to inspire the 
 world of civilization and of letters, with a fresh interest 
 in every additional manifestation of intelligence, con- 
 cerning this secluded race. The United States, which 
 
80 THE CENTRAL NATION. 
 
 has heretofore sustained the second greatest commercial 
 relation with China, must very soon hold the first, as a 
 glance at the position of San Francisco on the map of 
 the world, and the rapidly increasing population of Cal- 
 ifornia, clearly indicate. The Chinese are one third 
 part of the human race. Every way is this vast pyra- 
 mid of empire, whose top and base are white with an- 
 tiquity, well worthy of thoughtful examination. 
 
 Situated on the far limits of Eastern Asia, it lay 
 safely beyond the circles of Greek and Roman con- 
 quests. In the remotest time, the same unambitious 
 trait not to be known abroad, by conquest or other 
 means, belonged to them ; for in ancient literature 
 there are but a few obscure hints that may be referred 
 to them. The Greeks and Romans wore their beautiful 
 silks, long before they knew of the country whence they 
 came, receiving them at first from Western Asia ; and 
 the failure of Marcus Antoninus in 161, and also that 
 of the other Roman embassy in 284, to establish with 
 them direct commercial relations, prove that their dis- 
 relish of intimate connections with the rest of mankind, 
 is of long standing. Indeed, what people ever so faith- 
 fully, so perseveringly obeyed the rough maxim of 
 " Mind your own business," as this nation of Odd Fel- 
 lows, the Chinese ? None other, we think. How they 
 dispose of the question of human brotherhood, and how 
 they speculate on the unity of our race, we know not ; 
 but nothing is ij^ore certain than that they would wish 
 forever to remain a sort of Masonic lodge in the world's 
 centre, without intermission or adjournment. 
 
 China Proper, situated mostly in the Temperate Zone, 
 
ITS SCENERY. 81 
 
 with its southern extremity resting on the Tropic of Can- 
 cer, has great variety of climate and temperature. The 
 culture of the Old World is eastern and western, China 
 and Japan being the highest at the former, and Europe 
 at the latter extremity. The scenery of this country 
 is exceedingly various ; and, though inaccessible to 
 travellers, its geography Is as exact as that of any coun- 
 try. Its area of 1,297,000 square miles is rich in the 
 scenery of noble rivers and of mountain ranges. With- 
 in its confines are four principal ranges, some of which 
 rise to lofty elevations, usually, however, falling below 
 the limit of perpetual snow. 
 
 The first summits of the Altai range, which takes 
 several names during its long course of two thousand 
 miles, form the northern limit of the table-land of Cen- 
 tral Asia, as well as the boundary between China and 
 Russia. The Belur-tag Mountains, (Tsung-ling,) which 
 lie in the southeast of Songaria, and separate it from 
 Badakshan, commence in latitude 50° N., nearly at 
 right angles with the Celestial Mountains, and, extend- 
 ing in a southerly direction, rise to a great height. The 
 Celestial Mountains, Tien-Shan, begin at the northern 
 extremity of the Belur-tag, in 40° N., which, extending 
 from west to east, between longitude 76 and 90° east, 
 and generally along^the 22d° of northern latitude, di- 
 vide Hi into Songaria and Turkestan.. A high glacier 
 above the snow line projects its summit, in longitude 
 79° east, to the east of which rise the highest peaks of 
 Central Asia, called Bogdo-ula, traces of volcanic action 
 appearing at the eastern end. Between the glacier 
 and the Bogdo-ula, is the Pi-Shan, the only active vol- 
 
 4* 
 
82 THE CENTRAL NATION 
 
 cano known in Continental China. Indeed, the exten- 
 sive mountain scenery of this empire forbids that I 
 should speak of all its larger details. The Himalaya 
 range, one of whose peaks surpasses all other colossal 
 elevations of the earth, bounds Thibet on the south, 
 whilst the Kwanlun defines it on the north. 
 
 The Chinese are justly proud of their noble rivers, 
 which, for natural facilities of inland navigation, eclipse 
 the glory of all other countries. The four largest are 
 the Yellow river, the Yangtsz'-kiang, the Amour, and 
 the Tarim. The largest and most useful is the Yangtsz'- 
 kiang. The Yellow river is the most celebrated. 
 Along the course of these magnificent streams, appears 
 elegant scenery, amid the most beautiful of which, it is 
 said, the Chinese poets have chosen their residence. 
 
 The entire surface of China naturally divides itself 
 into two parts, which are the great plain, and the 
 mountainous country, the latter comprising more than 
 half of the whole ; and the former, lying in the north- 
 east, forming the richest part of the empire, supports 
 by its productions a greater mass of human beings than 
 are sustained on the same area of surface any where 
 else on the globe. 
 
 But, dismissing for the present the physical aspects 
 of China, let us inquire into what is of far more im- 
 portance in the history of any country, namely, the 
 character of its people, its men, women, literature, 
 religion, customs. 
 
 Unlike the civilization of Greece, and of Europe 
 generally, it bears every mark of originality, borrow- 
 ing nothing, as it would seem, from other renowned 
 nations ; its literature, arts, and customs, having been, 
 
ORIGINAL AND CONSERVATIVE. 83 
 
 more than those of any other distinguished people, a 
 self-development. What nation have they imitated in 
 language or in law ? Owing no debt to Egypt, India, 
 Palestine, or the renowned culture of our classical 
 antiquity, the Chinese structure of government stands 
 in its own time-worn and original wisdom ; and, though 
 egotism and contempt of others are not the proof of 
 the highest power, they are likewise never the attributes 
 of utter weakness, as the individual or the nation that 
 always relies on its own sufficiency, asking no foreign 
 counsel or help, is far from being imbecile. 
 
 The Chinese, first of all, are a conservative race. 
 They have a grand paradise in the past ; and to its 
 imagined brightness they turn as benighted travellers 
 to the Eastern sun. Confucius himself, the moral 
 colossus of the empire, took his stand in the past, 
 through whose sages and rulers he instructed and 
 reproved his own age, and also future ages. The 
 religious sentiment, every where mighty and eternal, 
 universally looks to the past in the worship of ances- 
 tors. Firmness is implied in the very fixedness and 
 permanence of their institutions. I should say they 
 are not a skeptical race, but a people of reverence. 
 Hence the general loyalty to the ruling sceptre. The 
 emperor is reverenced as the paternal sovereign. All 
 his messages are received with prostration, and three 
 times does the ■ loyal auditor bow himself before his 
 majestic presence, as a reverential honor becoming his 
 personal presentation.* Though masses of citizens are 
 
 * The Dutch Ambassador was required to perform this 
 ceremony nine times whenever food was sent him from the 
 imperial table, because he was a barbarian envoy. 
 
84 THE CENTRAL NATION. 
 
 capable of temporary, violent outbreaks, they are inca- 
 pable of any revolution which may radically change 
 the ideas and framework of the government. This 
 conclusion fairly springs, not only from the uninter- 
 rupted sameness of the governmental machinery, but 
 from the fact that the thorough conquest of the Tar- 
 tars, which, though it brought a new race to the throne 
 of the Perpetual Empire, did not in any degree change 
 the theory of government or the long-established social 
 usages of the country. The absence of the military 
 skill and energy common to Europe and America, if 
 chosen as the measure of their civilization, will doubt- 
 less leave them at a very inferior point of observation. 
 That they should have greater skill in the making of 
 silk than in the conducting of war, may, after all, result 
 more from circumstances than from natural incapacity. 
 Any people who care not to be glorious, except in their 
 own eyes, and who decide that they will work out the 
 problems of life by peaceful industry on that area of 
 territory which Providence has assigned as their father- 
 land, cannot be expected to carry the science of war 
 any farther than is supposed to be necessary for self- 
 defence ; and, in forming an idea of the extent of this 
 necessity, the warlike ability of surrounding powers, 
 and not of the more distant and superior nations, would, 
 of course, be the measure of their aspiration. The am- 
 bition of conquest, and of glory in the eyes of the world, 
 is a needed stimulus to the development of military 
 genius in a people. That individual men may have 
 greatness and energy, without being able to fight much 
 with club or rapier, I suppose may be conceded ; and 
 
MILITARY CONQUESTS. 85 
 
 to such as may have leisure to think upon it, I could 
 offer the problem, whether the same may not be true of 
 a nation. But evident injustice is done to this peace- 
 loving race, should we omit to state that their history, 
 here and there, is dotted with some noble victories ; as, 
 for instance, in the time of Vespasian and Domitian, a 
 great Chinese expedition was headed by the general 
 Pantschab, under the Emperor Mingti, of the dynasty 
 of Han, which subdued the Hiungnu, levied tribute 
 from the territory of Khotan and Kaschgar, and car- 
 ried its conquering arms as far as the eastern shores of 
 the Caspian ; and, according to the Chinese writers, the 
 expedition would have attacked the Roman empire but 
 for the admonitory counsel they received from the 
 Persians. But, with its nominal army of more than a 
 million of soldiers, which seeks to ^inspire the necessary 
 awe in all the barbarian states around them^ as well as 
 to promote the subordination of the citizens -generally ; 
 with the word valor painted (so significantly) on the 
 hack of their jackets, as is usual in several corps ; with 
 an arrangement of officers not unlike those adopted by 
 Western tactics ; with their bows, arrows, and clumsy 
 matchlocks ; and with their navy of a thousand sail, 
 small and large included, we are obliged to regard 
 them as mere effigies of power, when thought of in 
 comparison with the military genius of England, Amer- 
 ica, or France. 
 
 It is the industry, the useful arts, and, above all, the 
 ethical literature of the Chinese we are to regard, if we 
 would see them in their principal worth. If we may 
 judge of them from their literature, we should say that 
 
80 THE CENTRAL NATION. 
 
 their moral ideas were their noblest Tvealth. It is not 
 the intellectuality of the Chinese that mostly distin- 
 guishes them, for their intellect does not appear to rise 
 expansively and vigorously into the form of reason. 
 They have perception, far more than reason ; and, in 
 our estimation, the Chinese nature is in no direction so 
 rich as in its affections and moral feeling. This fact 
 constantly unfolds itself in Confucius, in Mencius, and 
 in all their proverbial philosophy. 
 
 The very framework of their government bears tes- 
 timony to this view. Loyalty there is filial. The em- 
 peror is viewe«l as the sovereign father of his people. 
 Each ruler in the kingdom is supposed to bear the 
 paternal relation of sympathy and care to those he 
 governs. Throughout the whole of Chinese politics, 
 the idea of domestic relation, of a happily constituted 
 family, is the favorite symbol for good government, 
 which is applied to all departments of ruling, from the 
 ordinary magistrate to the august emperor himself. It 
 is indeed remarkable that ideas and words most sacred 
 to the affections should be thus expanded into all the 
 massive forms of empire. 
 
 In the same direction of thought, the worship of 
 ancestors, so general in China, leads us. Why worship 
 departed fathers ? Why offer incense upon their 
 graves ? Conceding the great distance from the highest 
 truth, which these acts of homage imply, the infer- 
 ence cannot be suppressed that the cause of this wide- 
 spread devotion takes deep root in the social affections. 
 They love their homes. And in the literature of what 
 country, let me ask, is the moral sentiment more cen- 
 
THE ETHICAL PEEDOMINANT. 8 
 
 trally enthroned than in China ? Where else -is the 
 precedence of right in all things more frequently and 
 decidedly expressed ? He who has read their classical 
 books, or perused any of the collected sayings of their 
 kings and sages, cannot have failed to notice the con- 
 stant predominance of the ethical over every other 
 element. That some credit is now generally, and justly 
 conceded to the larger principles of phrenology, will 
 not be denied ; and in unison with the conclusion drawn 
 from their literature, is the fact, that the moral brain 
 of the Chinese is far more full and prominent than the 
 intellectual. It is to be regretted that a people so de- 
 cidedly ethical should be circumstanced under such an 
 overpowering sway of absolutistical opinions and forms, 
 as not to possess more individual independence and 
 energy of character. Mildness and politeness are the 
 natural qualities of the Chinese. It is to be doubted 
 whether a true view of their character is to be derived 
 from the hasty opinions formed on their manners, as 
 seen at the outposts of trade, especially since their ed- 
 ucation causes them to look upon barbarians with so 
 much contempt. In the new and heterogeneous popula- 
 tion which the golden mines of California drew together, 
 under circumstances where the accustomed restraints 
 of older society were freely thrown off, we were not 
 surprised to hear of the sobriety^ honesty, and marked 
 uprightness of the Chinese. Marvellousness and imita- 
 tion belong to them in considerable fulness ; and in 
 the sphere of their artistic genius, they are very dexter- 
 ous and ingenious. 
 
 But the credit of some large discoveries of science 
 
88 THE CENTRAL NATIOK. 
 
 is due the Chinese intellect. They closely observed 
 the operations of the heavenly bodies ; and, in point of 
 accuracy and richness, their observations of nature are 
 of more worth than those made by the Greeks and 
 Romans. Even at this late day of victorious science, 
 the most enlightened naturalists find their astronomical 
 tables of value to them. " While the so-called classical 
 nations of the West," says A. Van Humboldt, " the 
 Greeks and Romans, although they may occasionally 
 have indicated the position in which a comet first ap- 
 peared, never afford any information regarding its ap- 
 parent path; the copious literature of the -Chinese, who 
 observed nature carefully, and recorded with accuracy 
 what they saw, contains circumstantial notices of the 
 constellations through which each comet was observed 
 to pass. These notices go back to more than five 
 hundred years before the Christian era, and many of 
 them are still found to be of value in astronomical ob- 
 servations."* 
 
 Fracastoro and Peter Apian first made it generally 
 known in Europe, during the sixteenth century, that 
 the tails of comets are always turned away from the 
 sun, so that their line of prolongation passes through 
 its centre, whilst the same fact was observed by the 
 Chinese astronomers as early as 837. Their annals 
 record great falls of shooting stars, dated earlier than 
 the second Messenian war ; two streams of these they 
 describe as belonging to the month of March, one of 
 which is 687 years before the Christian era. Out of 
 fifty-two phenomena which M. Biot collected out of 
 those annals, those of most frequent recurrence, he ob- 
 
 * Cosmos, Vol. I, p. 99, 
 
GHIBAT DISCOVERIES. 89 
 
 served, were recorded at periods corresponding to the 
 20th and 22d of July, 0. S., and might therefore he 
 identical with the stream of St. Lawrence's day, not 
 omitting to notice that it has advanced since the epochs 
 alluded to. In 134 B. C, the Chinese records of Ma- 
 tuanlin record the appearance of a new star in Scorpio, 
 which Sir John Herschel supposes may have been the 
 new star of Hipparchus, which, according to the state- 
 ment of Pliny, induced him to commence his catalogue 
 of the stars. The new star which appeared in A. D. 
 123, in Ophiuchus ; the singular large star that ap- 
 peared in Centaurus in 173 ; that in Sagittarius in 389 ; 
 that of 393 in Scorpio ; that of 1203, which, as the 
 record alleges, was " of a bluish-white color, without 
 luminous vapor, and resembled Saturn ; " the one of 
 1230 in Ophiuchus ; that of 1578 ; that in July of 
 1584 in Scorpio, with many others, are so accurately 
 described, and agree so well with other observations, 
 that the care and accuracy of Chinese observation 
 seem to be illustrated before us. Nor is it any ordina- 
 ry praise to Chinese invention, that, more than one 
 thousand years before our era, they had in active use 
 magnetic carriages, on which the movable arm of the 
 figure of a man continually pointed to the south, and 
 served as their guide in conducting them across the 
 immense grass plains of Tartary ; nor should it be for- 
 gotten that, in the third century of our era, which is 
 seven hundred years earlier than the use of the mari- 
 ner's compass in European seas, the Chinese* vessels 
 
 * Humboldt, Examen Critique de I'Histoire dela Geographie, 
 t. iii, p. 36. 
 
90 THE CENTRAL NATION. 
 
 navigated the Indian Ocean, under the guidance of 
 magnetic needles that pointed to the South, which in- 
 deed was the direction of navigation mostly at those 
 early times. The Greeks and Romans, less intelligent 
 of the uses of the magnetic needle, never knew the true 
 direction of the Apennines and the Pyrenees. 
 
 The government of China is wonderfully systematic, 
 and in its parts most closely linked. Its chief idea has 
 been already expressed. The doctrines of Confucius, 
 which refer so constantly to the state, exalting virtue 
 above all things, as being the greatest of national glo- 
 ries, do very much toward securing the good order 
 they commonly enjoy ; for upon his teachings the gov- 
 ernment may be said to rest, since the thorough study 
 of his writings is required of all persons who expect to 
 be honored with oflSce. Yau and Shun, the two most 
 celebrated kings of the remote antiquity, are the most 
 glorious samples of perfection ; on them Confucius 
 himself lavished extraordinary praise. Though a he- 
 reditary and absolute sovereign, censors are appointed 
 over his conduct, with a view of curbing somewhat his 
 immense authority ; and it is expected of him, when a 
 law is once established, that he will be governed by it 
 in the administration of justice. But one dash of his 
 red pencil may, at any time, degrade the loftiest stations 
 under him. Yearly confessions, supplications, and of- 
 ferings to Heaven he makes for his people, the state 
 religion which he wields on such occasions being not a 
 doctrine, but a sacred ritual. His dress is plain, and 
 the general appearances, by which he surrounds himself, 
 are quite free from the gorgeousness of many oriental 
 
COSMOGONY. 91 
 
 princes. He is regarded as the vicegerent of Heaven. 
 His laws are often severe, having penalties beyond the 
 intent of justice, thereby furnishing opportunity on the 
 part of his Majesty to exhibit mercy. The officers who 
 administrate are frequently false and cruel, whilst hun- 
 dreds of them aim at justice and the happiness of the 
 country. Somewhat touching are the lines of Chu, the 
 very popular and aged officer, addressed to the people 
 on resigning his charge : 
 
 " Untalented, unworthy, I withdraw, 
 Bidding farewell to this windy, dusty world ; 
 Upwards I look to the supremely good — 
 The Emperor — to choose a virtuous man 
 To follow me. Henceforth it will be well ; 
 The measures and the merits passing mine. 
 But I shall silent stand and see his grace 
 Diffusing blessings like the genial springs." 
 
 The history of the Chinese extends back into a night 
 of wonder and of fable. They imagine the universe 
 sprang from the masculine and feminine principles, 
 Yang and Ying. " Heaven was formless, an utter 
 chaos," says one of their authors, " and the whole mass 
 was nothing but confusion. Order was first produced 
 in pure ether, and out of it the universe came forth ; 
 the universe producsed air, and the air the milky way." 
 Another author said, " Reason produced one, one pro- 
 duced two, two produced three, three produced all 
 things." Pwanku is the Chinese Adam, who, however, 
 instead of finding a beautiful nature, and a paradise to 
 receive him, was obliged to re-act upon the chaos that 
 gave him birth, and to chisel out the earth to his liking. 
 
92 THE CENTRAL NATION. 
 
 The Kationalists picture him, with chisel and mallet in 
 hand, splitting and shaping the vast masses of granite 
 floating through space, whilst behind the openings made 
 by his powerful efforts, the sun, moon and stars gleam 
 forth, the brilliant monuments of his order-causing la- 
 bors ; and on his right stand the significant emblems of 
 the animal kingdom, the dragon, the phoenix, and the 
 tortoise. At last Pwanku died, thereby enriching his 
 own work ; mountains arose from his head, winds and 
 clouds from his breath, thunder from his voice, the four 
 poles from his limbs, the rivers from his veins, the 
 undulations of the earth from his sinews, the fruitful 
 fields from his flesh, the stars from his beard, the met- 
 als and rocks from his bones ; his falling sweat became 
 rain, and the insects of his body became people ! Be- 
 neath this myth of several nations, that nature is formed 
 of the man-giant, is there not a meaning concealed ? 
 It is this: that nature every where is a symbol of 
 humanity. It is through the beauty, order, virtue, and 
 joy of the mind, that the creation is beautiful, orderly, 
 innocent and joyous. Man, indeed, seems to have 
 made the universe, it being the external shadow of him- 
 self. He sees himself in it. The myth also signifies 
 that man is to re-create nature by art, and out of the 
 primitive wildness he is to construct a world of his own. 
 The three celestial, terrestrial, and human sovereigns 
 that succeeded Pwanku, one of whom brought down 
 fire from heaven, thereby becoming the first Prometheus, 
 held a reign of eighteen thousand years, it is said, in 
 which sleep was invented, and many useful arts estab- 
 lished. 
 
EDUCATION. 93 
 
 Though much cloudiness rests on the extreme horizon 
 of Chinese history, which they themselves regard as 
 mythology, there is a supposed real, period, commenc- 
 ing with Fuhhi, five hundred and eight years before the 
 deluge. Chronology, at best, is a dim shadow from 
 the past ; and in the present state of our acquaintance 
 with Chinese history, and the paucity of our means to 
 compare its dates with other national histories, we 
 should not deride its ancient pretensions, nor blindly 
 extol, as the French may have done, its remote chronol- 
 ogy. We are satisfied in the belief that no civilization 
 can claim an earlier date ; not even that of Egypt, 
 Babylon, Nineveh, Iran, or Cashmir. 
 
 Education in China was carefully inculcated in the 
 earlj' ages ; and now Mr. Davis affirms that among her 
 millions, comparatively few can be found unable to 
 read and to write.* " Bend the mulberry tree while it 
 is young ! " is a maxim of the state ; and the universal 
 habit of calling the educated to posts of public respon- 
 sibility, of requiring that all persons who are to be 
 crowned with official honors, shall be versed in the 
 classics, books in which the ethics and the wisdom of 
 ruling are fully unfolded ; their cayeful public examin- 
 ations of all aspirants, with reference to mental qualifi- 
 cation, tend to exalt culture, and to make education an 
 important object. Before the voice of Confucius was 
 heard in the empire, the necessity of public schools was 
 taught. I quote" from the Book of Kites: "For the 
 purpose of education among the ancients, villages had 
 
 * Mr. Williams supposes a large number, unable to read. 
 
94 THE CENTRAL NATION. 
 
 their schools, districts their colleges, and principalities 
 their universities." And I am happy to learn from 
 Mr. Davis, that in the government of schools, great 
 reliance is placed upon persuasion, and that corporal 
 punishment is but seldom inflicted.* 
 
 The language of the Chinese is purely original, and 
 as unique in the languages of the earth, as they who 
 speak it are among its nations, f It is a language of 
 monosyllables. Only four hundred and fifty distinct 
 sounds are found in the language, -which, by the addi- 
 tions of tones and accents, are multiplied to a little 
 more than twelve hundred ; so that this number of 
 sounds, not admitting of combination, as in compound 
 words, (these not being in the Chinese united in sound,) 
 limits the spoken language of China to about the num- 
 ber of words just stated. This would seem insufficient 
 for free oral expression, were it not for the ample service 
 rendered to the meaning by gesticulation, repetition, 
 and the like. In written language they increase the 
 means of complicated and complete expression, by add- 
 ing to the original sound-signs, other conventional 
 signs, J which, though not expressive of sound, are 
 suggestive of particular meaning. Relation is expressed 
 not by particles, but by the positions of the words em- 
 ployed. It is a language wholly without inflections, 
 bearing evidence of having originated in a sort of pic- 
 ture-writing. What a word means, depends very much 
 
 * Mr. Williams gives a contrary opinion, 
 f North British Review, Nov., 1851, p. 119. 
 i Of these there are about 50,000. 
 
NATIONAL LITERATURE. 95 
 
 on its place in the sentence. The high degree of ex- 
 cellence belonging to the language, the consistency of 
 its structure, the copiousness of its expression, and the 
 complete success it achieves in designating different 
 formal relations without the use of significant sounds, 
 are freely admitted by those who have thoroughly 
 learned it. Yet how unlike the languages of India, and 
 of Europe ! The scholars, in various styles, write it 
 elegantly. An original language, well studied, must 
 reveal the soul of a people ; for how can the life, tho 
 genius of a nation, remain unexpressed in the methods 
 it creates for a free self-utterance ? 
 
 The national literature of China is mostly pure, a 
 better moral element prevailing in it than existed in 
 Greek and Eoman poets, and probably far better than 
 circulates in the most popular reading of our own coun- 
 try and time. The Chinese are a reading people, and 
 had in use, much earlier than other Asiatic nations, the 
 art of printing. Prominent in their literature are the 
 Four Books and the Five Classics, which, containing 
 the ideas of their sublime Confucius, and of many 
 other renowned authors, and being studied for pubho 
 reasons, have an unequalled influence over the peo- 
 ple of China. Elsewhere, literature far superior in 
 genius, and in enlivening variety, may easily be found ; 
 but where can a national literature be found, whose 
 higher forms are more free from every taint of moral 
 impurity, both in thought and expression ; and where 
 can a living literature be pointed out, whose active hold 
 on the reverence and moral practice of millions is so 
 deep and efficient as theirs ? It fades before the self- 
 
96 THE CENTRAL NATION. 
 
 , luminous orbs of ancient Greece, so far as the mental 
 excellences are concerned ; but in chastity of utter- 
 ance, the Chinese classics, and, indeed, all their highly 
 prized works, put the best classical teachers of Europe 
 to the blush ; nor is it with any partial bias that we 
 hazard the opinion, that no literature on earth is so 
 practically efficient as the Chinese, notwithstanding 
 original writers are not the common fruits of their pecu- 
 liar culture. 
 
 Poetry, drama and romance, of their kind, exist in 
 massive abundance. Myriads of novels and tales have 
 been been sent forth, which are there, as elsewhere, the 
 most popular books, since no door to the human mind 
 is so free, easy, and happy of entrance as the imagina- 
 tion. Though demoralizing tendencies may be traced 
 in many works of fiction, many also are written in the 
 purest style. Of the drama, and of theatrical exhibition, 
 the Chinese are exceedingly fond, and, under the con- 
 trol and direction of the priests, they depend wholly on 
 voluntary contributions for support. The bewitching 
 power of acted drama is particularly observable over the 
 villagers, to whom the more stirring amusements are 
 seldom known. Tragedy and comedy are variously 
 mixed ; unity of time and place is but carelessly re- 
 garded ; and the scenery is very simple, never subserv- 
 ing the ideas intended, by lending a rich and yielding 
 variousness of appearance to the senses, though the 
 costume of the actors is splendidly fine.* In strong 
 confirmation of the view I have taken of the striking 
 ethical richness of the Chinese literature over the intcl- 
 
 * So testifies a Russian Ambassador, as early as 1G92. 
 
DRAMA AND POETRY. 97 
 
 lectual, I would urge the fact, that -while the deficiencies 
 of scenery, plot, and management, are to European 
 intellect often conspicuous, the tendency of the plays 
 is strongly on the side of virtue and morality. 
 
 Players there, as elsewhere, are an itinerant band ; 
 and the audiences are usually quiet and orderly. The 
 Orphan of Chau, as translated by PrimSre, is the ground- 
 work of one of Voltaire's best tragedies, I! Orphelin 
 de la Chine, which rests upon an event a century pre- 
 vious to the birth of Confucius. The Heir of Old Age, 
 and the Chalk Circle, are celebrated pieces of mental 
 China-ware. Bazin names five hundred and sixty-four 
 plays, all belonging to the Mongol dynasty. The East 
 India Company have two hundred volumes of plays in 
 one work, spread out into forty volumes. Their litera- 
 ture is like their wall, a huge pile of ancient massive 
 labor ; and whatever it may be 'my!orth,it is their own, 
 woven, like spiders' webs, from interior resource. 
 
 Poetry is a pastime of the Chinese scholar : a piece 
 is always handed in at public examinations. A few 
 translations have come to us. Of course they have 
 neither a Homer nor a Shakspeare. • But two sons of 
 song, brighter, greater than all others, they celebrate, 
 in the poems of Li Taipeh and Su Tungpo ; poets, 
 these, combining the three traits of the bard — love of 
 flowers, wine, and song. The former, from the preco- 
 cious development of his tenth year, was styled the 
 " Exiled Immortal," but, from another taste in himself, 
 he assumes to be known as the " Retired Scholar of 
 the Blue Lotus." But, after a stormy and eventful 
 life, he is said to have sought an escape from the plots 
 
 5 
 
98 THE CENTRAL NATION. 
 
 of his enemies by death in drowning, exclaiming, as he 
 leaped into the water, " I am going to catch the moon 
 in the midst of the sea ! " 
 
 On education, we offer these lines : 
 
 " Men at their birth are radically good ; 
 In this, all approximate, but in practice widely diverge. 
 If not educated, the natural character is changed ; 
 A course of education is made valuable by close attention. 
 To bring up and not educate, is a father's error ; 
 To educate without rigor, shows a teacher's indolence. 
 Gems, unwrought, can nothing useful form ; 
 So men, untaught, can never know the proprieties." * 
 
 Anatomy, as yet, is unknown to Chinese physicians. 
 Their theory of medicine, therefore, so far as it has 
 value, must be founded mostly on experience. Their 
 practice, it is said, outstrips their theory. Valuable 
 books are spoken of, but the truly skilful practitioners 
 are far the fewer number. It is certain that medicine, 
 with them, can never be a science until the human 
 organism, in its many parts and functions, is clearly 
 understood. They even make no distinction between 
 venous and arterial blood, and apply the same word to 
 tendons and to nerves. 
 
 The legal profession there, alone and by itself can- 
 not secure a livelihood. Whether this historical fact 
 should be taken as a hint in favor of general order and 
 social soundness, I pause not to inquire. 
 
 Chemistry, as a science, is but very imperfectly 
 known. A complete course of mathematics is con- 
 
 » Middle Kingdom, Vol. I, p. 428. 
 
,• CHINESE ETHICS. 99 
 
 tained in \he Fang' STio Hioh, 36 vols., 8vo. But the 
 Chinese mind is not mathematical, like the European, 
 the science not being usually regarded beyond the 
 business demands of their vocations. In astronomy, 
 higher claims are made ; but how these claims should 
 be settled, as yet, does not in all respects appear. The 
 fact that astronomy is connected with astrology and 
 divination, even at the Imperial College of Pe King, 
 shows that the profound laws of the science are uncom- 
 prehended, however accurate they may be in their 
 observation of the course of planets, and the appear- 
 ance of new stars and of comets. They need a Novum 
 Organon to clear away their superstitions, and to teach 
 them the reign of law in the depths of immensity. We 
 know the Chinese have carried a few arts to great per- 
 fection ; but we believe that they lack the power to 
 arrive at great scientific generalizations. 
 
 But let us come to their Ethics, which is the great 
 wealth of this people. This is not to be judged of by 
 their daily lives, though in this respect it will not be 
 denied that they have more virtues than most pagan 
 nations, probably more than any other. Indeed, what 
 man, what country has a daily practice that fulfils its 
 best ideas ? Some few most flagrant vices that are too 
 often intruded upon the social peace of families under 
 our western civilization, are seldom known in China ; 
 and no where are life and property more strongly pro- 
 tected, and industry more justly rewarded, than among 
 the millions of the " Celestial Empire." 
 
 Confucius is the summit of Chinese morality, though 
 Mencius and other writers abound in great truths. He has 
 
100 THE CENTRAL NATION. 
 
 no idiosyncrasy, but is China in colossal representation. 
 The moral element in his character and teaching ab- 
 sorbs every other. Born five hundred and fifty years* 
 before the dawn of the Christian era, he shed his radi- 
 ance on this vast portion of the race not far from the 
 time that Pythagoras kindled such ennobling fires of 
 light in Athens, and Zoroaster in Persia. Three self- 
 luminous suns ! And whatever superiority, in purely 
 intellectual power, may be accorded to the glorious 
 Hellenic sage, Confucius is first of the three in effective 
 moral splendor, for his influences have gone farther, 
 and awakened more virtue in all classes, than may be 
 claimed for the works of both his illustrious rivals. 
 
 Confucius did not announce himself in dogmas. 
 Hence no narrowing creed belongs to his thoughts, and 
 none, through any subsequent folly of his disciples, has 
 yet sprung out of his writings. He was the grand 
 expounder of duty, of the eternal ethics sown in 
 the soul, and every where somewhat developed. He 
 claimed no inspiration ; yet there is a steady moral 
 brilliancy constantly falling upon his theme. He claim- 
 ed no originality, but professedly drew from the re- 
 mote wisdom of an ancient paradise of rulers, sages, 
 and people. But there was central light in him ; he 
 was the man of fine nature and culture. His senti- 
 ments are now styled Joo-kiau, the religion of scholars. 
 Though in a nation of local tendency and prejudice, he 
 taught universal doctrines. Many were the disciples 
 that attended him when living, but the chief power he 
 
 * Socrates was nine years of age when Confucius died, which 
 was 479 B. C. 
 
THE FILIAL RELATION. 101 
 
 has wielded has been through his written words, as set 
 in order by his learners. How true is this latter fact 
 of the world's most immortal teachers ! Jesus, Socrates, 
 Confucius, are of this number. 
 
 This teacher put mighty stress upon sincerity, as 
 being the very " origin and consummation " of things, 
 as that without which nothing could exist. He says 
 that, but for sincerity, the universe would be empty 
 nothingness ! And why not ? It is real, and exists 
 for truth ; all its purposes are earnest ; and what less 
 than the heart of the creation is lost in the total absence 
 of sincerity ? " One sincere wish," affirms the Confucius 
 wisdom, " would move heaven and earth." Add to this 
 the sincere deed, and heaven and earth are moved. 
 
 He builds upon the filial relation, carries a deep 
 reverence into every family, unites brother and brother, 
 parent and child, in loving, reverential concord. Final- 
 ly, the state is a family, and all mankind are brothers. 
 Deeply has this nation drunk of the reverence which 
 elsewhere said, "Honor thy father and thy mother, 
 that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord 
 thy God giveth thee." And have not their days been 
 long ? For a nation, I say, wonderfully long. Do we 
 feel the width and the ethical greatness of this relation ? 
 Nature and education have much to say of it, through 
 the constitutional indebtedness of soul, body, condition, 
 and culture of all persons to their paternal sources. Wise 
 government is necessarily paternal. The earth is our 
 mother, and heaven our father, in the use of appropri- 
 ate symbols. The universe is a revelation of masculine 
 /orce and feminine loveliness, and these unite in the 
 
102 THE CENTRAL NATION. 
 
 blessing of all spirits. What is religion in its last and 
 finest expression ? It is reverence to the infinite 
 Father ; the homeward movement of heart-sick prodi- 
 gals. Then had not the sage some eternal rock to stand 
 on, when unfolding his truth and duty under this social 
 symbol ? Evidently he stood on a God-appointed and 
 an eternity-enduring basis, although the sage did not 
 behold this human bond as the image of a higher and 
 an eternal relationship. 
 
 What is most beautifully worthy in these ethics is 
 the reverence that pervades them ; and without rev- 
 erence there is no profound beauty of character, no 
 sacredness, no deep worth. It is right to honor the 
 superior, and it is wrong to withhold the deference. The 
 superior man, in the eye of Confucius, has sincerity and 
 benevolence ; he practises his words before he speaks 
 them! Asked once if any one word could express 
 what is most fitting a whole life, he answered, " Will 
 not the word shu serve ? " which he explains by saying, 
 " Do unto others as you would have them do to you."* 
 Some have said Confucius only announced this grand 
 law of true religion in its negative forms, merely pro- 
 hibiting the doing of that to others which we would not 
 wish that others should do to us. Be it even so : the 
 negative precept implies the perception of the positive 
 law. This is a great truth ; and many have seen and 
 felt it originally, and from within. The very relations 
 of life impose the thought upon us ; and ib bottoms the 
 complaints even which men bring against each other, 
 
 * Middle Kingdom, Vol. I, p. 519-20. Also Mr. Davis. 
 
CONFUCIUS. 103 
 
 . '^ You would not wish me to tave dealt with j^oii thus." 
 How often is this said ! And what bases the plea ? 
 In substance, the golden rule. When it is remember- 
 ed that the golden rule is social wholly, and that the 
 fundamental faith of the Chinese mind is good govern- 
 ment and society, it is plain that a gifted moralist would 
 be aided in its discovery by the whole tendency and 
 striving of their deep national impulse. Attraction as 
 a law rests in nature, not in Newton. So this princely 
 truth of ethics depends not on personal authorities, nor 
 can it lose in force because several may have, either intu- 
 itively or logically, discovered its being and its beauty. 
 " The perfect man," said the sage, " loves all men ; 
 he is not governed by private affection or interest, but 
 only regards the public good or right reason." Retribu- 
 tion is certain. " How can a man be concealed ?" We 
 say. How can he ? Who can divorce cause and effect ? 
 The deepest Secret shall see the light. " The perfect 
 man ^ never satisfied with himself." " Knowledge 
 produces pleasure clear as water." " Complete virtue 
 brings happiness solid as a mountain." "Without 
 virtue, both riches and honor seem to me like a pass- 
 ing cloud." As a whole, he is elaborate, and his 
 high ideals of character are beautifully wrought. He 
 had a noble public zeal, though conscious of the derision 
 and ingratitude that came to reward his large solicitude. ^ 
 In some of his life-jeopardies he compared himself to 
 a dog driven from his home. *' I have the fidelity of 
 that animal, and I am treated like it ; but what matters 
 the ingratitude of men ? They cannot hinder me from 
 
lot THE CENTRAL NATION. 
 
 doing all the good that has been appointed me." The 
 same nation now chants the following psean : 
 
 " Confucius ! Confucius ! How great is Confucius ! 
 Before Confucius there never was a Confucius ! Since 
 Confucius there never has been a Confucius ! Confucius ! 
 Confucius ! How great is Confucius ! " 
 
 There can be no doubt that the moral ideal of per- 
 fection in China is far higher than the practical realiza- 
 tions of that country or of this. The fact, however, 
 in one regard is highly joyous, as it attests the moral 
 wealth of human nature to arrive at much light, to 
 receive by intuition, by reason, great truths. The 
 social nature must develop itself in social forms ; the 
 intellectual nature, in intellectual forms ; and the moral 
 nature must also yield its ideas in moral forms. The 
 soul cannot be hid. But Confucius dwelt almost wholly 
 on the moral ; he did not reach after the invisible, did 
 not awaken that feeling that yearns after the infinite, 
 that rushes upward to the embrace of Deity. Hence, 
 and for other reasons, the voice of Christianity must 
 yet give them life. Confucius is rightly to them the 
 First Saint, and Mencius the A-Shing, or Second 
 Saint. There is reason in the pride felt by the people 
 of Shantung, that the tomb of the glorious man is with 
 them, whose majestic monument in the midst of forest 
 oaks and gloomy shades, rears high a reverential sym- 
 bol of his moral greatness. 
 
 Buddhism, transplanted from India, flourishes in 
 China. The Rationalists, or sect of Tau, are quite 
 numerous. No religious caste, however, has ever 
 arisen to political power, so as to engraft itself on- the 
 
LAUTSEB. 105 
 
 state, and China has never had an ecclesiastical hie- 
 rarchy. Nor are they intolerant, since many Catholics 
 are still in the empire ; Mohammedans, half a million,* 
 who make a Sabbath of Thursday, and some of whom 
 hold important offices in the government ; and Jews, 
 who refuse to marry with the natives, who worship no 
 idols, take no oaths in heathen temples, honor Confu- 
 cius, like the Chinese, and, in their synagogue worship, 
 translate Adonai by Tien. These incarnate perma- 
 nences still pray westward towards Jerusalem. 
 
 Confucius, essentially the Chinese great man, believ- 
 ing in social order and institutions first of all, was 
 evidently indebted to his cotemporary, Lautsee, the 
 great transcendentalist of China, with whom he fre- 
 quently conversed, for those traces of exalted views in 
 regard to the soul_and its inherent faculties which are 
 interspersed among his writings. This retired sage, 
 who had far greater insight into man's spiritual life and 
 being than Confiicius himself, dwelt much on the divine 
 Reason in man, turned attention inward, and from the 
 sufficiency of the internal powers, excluded all authority 
 in ethics. He sowed some of the greatest truths. 
 Buddhism, which in the world sways at least three 
 hundred million of human beings, worships Supreme 
 Wisdom or Intelligence, turns with all the yearnings of 
 the heart to the Invisible, regards God as perfect 
 repose, as rest, as contemplation, as never willing, 
 commanding or doing. Denying the distinctions of 
 Brahminical caste, it affirms the native sacredness, the 
 
 * The computation of the early part of the last century. 
 
106 
 
 THE CKNTKAL NATION. 
 
 spirituality of every grade of man. Judaism there 
 affirms its one God, who is sole sovereign. Islam there 
 holds up this naked Unity, assigning will, command, 
 might, action and exclusive sovereignty, as his glorious 
 attributes. Roman Catholicism there exhibits the 
 Christianity of the middle ages ; and there the Confu- 
 cian school exalt intelligence, virtue and social order. 
 The seeds of all the greatness in the world seem 
 already separately sown in China, and time alone can 
 declare what shall be the ultimate fruits. 
 
 But this entire nation needs, most of all things, to 
 be stirred up by the activity of western intellect. 
 That this isolation is eternal, cannot for one moment be 
 believed. Antiquity, however incarnated, cannot re- 
 main forever on its own strength, with a sea of mental 
 progress dashing against its walls. The merchants of 
 China, even now, desire free intercourse with the world. 
 A part of the world cannot successfully isolate itself 
 from the whole. Isolation is against the dependency 
 and unity of parts, observable in both the physical and 
 the moral universe. SomeTiow, in the commerce and 
 conflicts of nations, this eastern extremity of civiliza- 
 tion in the old world will one day freely answer back 
 to the western ; and the unity of the human race, 
 which has been so slow in its dawn upon human con- 
 viction, will be seen and felt in China, to the over- 
 throw of its powerfully cemented exclusiveness. 
 
MYSTERY. 
 
 " Nature, like an Orient Maid, 
 LoTes the obseuriug veil to wear." — Eastern Romance. 
 
 The confession from the lips of Kewton, which is 
 occasionally repeated by the \Yisesfc men, that but little 
 is really known, that to the philosopher his own sublime 
 discoveries are as pebbles on the sea-shore, has some- 
 what in it, which makes us alive to the infinite wealth 
 residing in the Unknown. Why do the limits of pres- 
 ent knowledge ever seem small ? There must be some- 
 thing great in contrast, else this comparative verdict 
 could not be given. This greatness is the Illimitable 
 Truth, whose abysses are ever unsounded. The circle 
 of the known is the finite, that of the unknown is infi- 
 nite. Mystery, a word of several uses, mostly interests 
 us as the type of the Unknown, this being still the re- 
 gion where our higher tendencies have their freest play. 
 The imagination here has ample space. The joy of 
 beauty lies not a little in its nameless mystery. Hope 
 draws her rainbow on a shadowy sky. It walks never 
 on certainties, but requires that the future shall be 
 mystery, whose threads time alone is permitted to 
 
108 
 
 MYSTERY. 
 
 unravel. The calm beauties of faith, which belong not 
 to matters of certainty, are also set in the firmament of 
 mystery ; for, though -we cannot know what disposition 
 the Higher Powers shall make of us, it is good to cher- 
 ish the filial trust. Love also unfolds in the twilight of 
 mystery, as it never can assign the entire reasons for 
 its noblest enthusiasm and its thrilling delights. More 
 is imagined than is known. Mvu, from which our word 
 mystery is originally derived, meant to shut, to conceal; 
 and the frequent use of this word is to signify a pro- 
 found secret. Such were the celebrated mysteries of 
 the ancients. When we consider that man would know 
 all things, it is fair to regard whatever is unknown as 
 concealed, as being unfound secret. Is there science 
 yet in nature ? It then must be mystery until found 
 and brought to light. Whatever is unrevealed belongs 
 to the kingdom of mystery. 
 
 But though a mystery implies something uneompre- 
 hended, it cannot interest us except it is apprehended; 
 for without the latter we have nothing to pursue, noth- 
 ing for which to inquire. What we do know suggests 
 the existence, as well as the vastness of what we do not 
 know. It is not till the longest line and the weightiest 
 sinker have been let down into the sea, that we get the 
 impression that its dej^ths are unfathomable. On the 
 ocean, it is not until our vision is lost on the expanse 
 of waters, that we feel the immensity of the element in 
 regard to extent. Neither is it until our effort at com- 
 prehension has found its limit, that we apprehend, by a 
 Bally of the mind into chaos, that a boundless region is 
 before us. If you try to fill the infinite space with 
 
MARVELLOUSNESS. 109 
 
 your imagination, each effort will be accompanied by 
 the conviction that wider circles remain, that the blue 
 immensity in every direction is radiant with worlds be- 
 yond the empire of your imaginative sallies. This 
 kingdom of the Unknown, the fact of which we appre- 
 hend by the very limits of our knowledge, by an inability 
 to traverse the whole that we catch a glimpse of, is the 
 true domain of Mystery. In mystery there is an ab- 
 sence of demonstrative knowledge, such as the senses 
 demand, such as the materialist always requires ; but 
 there is light here, not the noonday of proof and evi- 
 dence, but glimmerings that cross its horizon, just as 
 the Borealis, the Milky Way, and the Zodiacal light 
 make the night beautiful when the moon is not to be 
 seen. This universe intimates but One intellect, in 
 whom is no darkness. He is the Infinite Soul, who 
 comprehends all phenomena, to whom nothing is hidden. 
 But when we have made this concession, that God 
 alone is above all mystery, we include the whole moral 
 creation, in different degrees, in the effort to conquer 
 the mystery of nature and of being, for which purpose 
 the human faculties are conferred. Who is omniscient ? 
 None save God. 
 
 We are aware that marvellousness, wonder, mystery, 
 have fallen into great disrepute, owing to the extrava- 
 gances which are covered by these terms. But the 
 excess of any human instinct or faculty cannot lead to 
 the duty of its" extirpation. Should the atmosphere be 
 abolished because a hurricane has demolished houses 
 and forests ? In degrading superstitions we meet these 
 elements of life in grossest excess, entering as they do 
 
110 
 
 MYSTERY. 
 
 into idolatrous homage, into painful asceticism, and 
 gloomy fears. Whatever belongs to human nature, 
 shows itself to disadvantage when contemplated from 
 so low a stage of development. But when we consider 
 that the man of lowest culture has all the germs of 
 nature that put forth in such beautiful majesty in 
 Socrates," we are admonished not to decide against 
 anything fundamental in our nature, because its dis- 
 gusting excesses appear in Hindoos, Jews, or Mussul- 
 mans. Let Fo be worshipped. If the worshippers 
 knew a better, Fo would be obsolete. 
 
 That which takes root in nature should not be lightly 
 spoken of. For God is the planter of every funda- 
 mental power. That the marvellous has always been 
 strong, is proven by the mythologies of every nation ; 
 by the ravishing delight found in legends, in the 
 reports of miracles in every country ; in poetry, in 
 romance, in the thrilling effect on the masses, of storied 
 ghosts and witches, of dreams, precursors and the in- 
 terpretations of destiny. Egypt had her mysteries, 
 which only the initiated knew. Greece was celebrated 
 for mysteries, which referred mostly to the gods, their 
 exploits and the true interpretation of mythological 
 fables. The farther back the inquirer goes into the 
 records of time, the denser are the clouds of wonder 
 and of marvellousness that darken the sky above him. 
 Nor are the modern times unfruitful. The Ganges 
 are still holy to the man of India. Daniel, it is true, 
 is not now called to explain a despot's dream, but 
 Wallenstein, as confidingly as the ancient Syrian put 
 his trust in astrology. 
 
BELIEF IN -WONDERS. Ill 
 
 " The stars He not ; but -we have here a work 
 Wrought counter to the stars and destiny ; 
 The science is still honest : this false heart 
 Forces a lie on the truth-telling heaven. 
 On a divine law divjnation rests ; 
 Where nature deviates from that law, and stumbles 
 Out of her limits, then aU science errs." 
 
 Death of Wallenstein. Act I. Scene IX. 
 
 And I know not that we are less believing in the 
 Wonderful, than others whose reputation for money- 
 making may be less. In this country we penetrate 
 stone walls, and annihilate both time and space by our 
 clairvoyance. We hear that the sick are still healed 
 by prayer ; and these as yet contested facts of mes- 
 merism and of spiritual illumination by the Divine 
 Spirit, as in Swedenborg, Eox and Behmen, are among 
 the noticeable things which indicate that society re- 
 ceives what is out of the accustomed routine of accom- 
 plishment. To dry up the Amazon would be as possi- 
 ble to any power of ours, as to destroy or expatriate 
 this love of the New and the Unaccountable. But the 
 other day, spirits from the other world were knocking 
 so loudly in Rochester, Providence, Boston and New 
 York, that many terrestrials, as by telegraph, took 
 news from that world which has been hitherto so gener- 
 ally silent. The witch-mania of England and Salem 
 is supposed, by some very intelligent gentlemen, to 
 have really had a degree of that sympathetic power in 
 it by which one will is able, through excitement, to af- 
 fect another. In the middle ages rude dramas were 
 acted, of which Ecclesiastics were the first composers 
 
112 
 
 MYSTERY. 
 
 and actors, designed to represent the mysterious doc- 
 trines of Christianity with the miracles of early saints 
 and martyrs. One of those plays, the Corpus Christi, 
 the famous Coventry Mystery begins with the creation 
 and ends with the judgment-day ; and in evidence that 
 the love for mysteries when coupled with action was 
 sufiSciently strong, we need only to name the fact that 
 one of these dramas lasted eight days in the "perform- 
 ance. 
 
 You observe that in all the ancient mysteries they 
 held the most intimate connection with religion, they 
 being mostly religious rites. The gods were not exactly 
 frank and open-hearted, but were supposed to put deep 
 meanings beneath the surface. They themselves ap- 
 peared from their concealment to mortals, only on rare 
 occasions. From the invisible nature of divinity, and 
 the great importance assigned to the powers which 
 govern the destinies of men, it is not surprising that 
 the mysteries should have been chiefly in the hands of 
 the priests, and that they should have chiefly referred 
 to religion. For in the analysis of human nature, 
 the religious sentiment is found to be the central, the 
 strongest element of all. Whence came the power of 
 the priest, with his mystic rites and symbols ? Chiefly 
 from this, that, in his rude way and for his time, he 
 represented the idea of the Sacred, an idea that, has 
 profound depths in humanity, an idea but for which 
 there had never been a priest or an altar. And, so 
 far as the connection between the mysteries and religion 
 was concerned, there is not much dissimilarity between 
 the moderns and the ancients. That there was an at- 
 
'marvellousness vindicated. 113 
 
 tempt, however, to explain the mysteries among the 
 ancients, is evident from the fact that they regarded 
 them as an order of knowledge which the initiated 
 understood, and which was not to be given to the com- 
 mon people. We would again say that the excesses 
 to which the feeling of wonder, of mystery has led, in 
 ages and in men not ruled by the highest enlighten- 
 ment, form no argument for their extirpation, as the 
 fact that these feeliiigs have root in the soul, gives the 
 sanction of the Creator to their healthful exercise. 
 The artist, whose pictures now delight you, possessed 
 them ; Jior can genius be found in the departments of 
 poetry and romance in which wonder and mystery are 
 not evident traits, as reference to Shakspeare and Sir 
 Walter Scott at once reminds us. Neither is it to be 
 feared that a delight in mystery of itself can lead to 
 error, inasmuch as it has a reverence for truth, and 
 since there is an eternal difference between a mystery 
 and an absurdity, the former containing a truth which 
 is clear when revealed, whilst the latter holds an error 
 which no power or sanctity can render true. Even 
 the superstitions of Greece were the handmaidens of 
 her arts, inspiring as they did the elegant statuary 
 which no age has since been able to excel. The worth 
 of each natural tendency, whether it be reason, love, 
 ambition or the marvellous, is to be judged not by its 
 excesses, nor by the hues which a rude culture may 
 have thrown over it. In nature, perhaps twilight is 
 the best symbol for our idea of mystery, though the 
 profound darkness may stand for some of its degrees. 
 
114 
 
 MYSTERY. 
 
 There is a blending of the known with the unknown. 
 There is no greater joy than in knowing a truth, than 
 in hailing the dawn of a new truth. A ne^ truth is 
 the conquest of mystery, the revelation of that which 
 was hidden. Man loves conquest, whether over the 
 elements, the wilderness or foes ; but no conquest is so 
 joyous to a contemplative thoughtfulness as the con- 
 quest of mystery, by bringing forth truth from its ob- 
 scurity to explain what was dark. He who first learned 
 that the eclipse of the sun was occasioned by the inter- 
 vention of the moon, made no small conquest of mys- 
 tery, since it dispersed the superstitious fears that 
 oppressed the masses with gloom when this phenomenon 
 was beheld. It is a fact not unworthy of thought that 
 whenever a new and striking phenomenon occurs in 
 nature, such as the appearance of a comet, or the shoot- 
 ing of stars, (as it is called,) fearful apprehension is 
 aroused, rather than new hope or joy inspired ; so that 
 the truths which explain the great and striking phe- 
 nomena as to harmonize them with nature in the popu- 
 lar esteem, thereby solving them in one system of gen- 
 eral benevolence, are a conquest of mystery which adds 
 to the happiness of mankind, as also to their intelli- 
 gence, and faith in the kindness of nature. What we 
 know of nature commands our reverence and awakens 
 our delight ; but the degree of reverence and delight 
 is greatly carried forward by the apprehension of the 
 unknown, an apprehension which teaches that the depth 
 of things is yet unsounded. We doubt that the feelings 
 of reverence, of awe, are ever profoundly reached, ex- 
 cept where the known is accompanied by the mysterious, 
 
MYSTERY CAUSES REVERENCE. 115 
 
 by that which stretches forth in the imagination as tin- 
 comprehended and unknown. This blending of the 
 two, is the highest attraction. "What is fully under- 
 stood soon ceases to interest, whilst the hovering of 
 mystery challenges curiosity, invites research ; and in 
 proportion to the apprehension of the unknown as to 
 kind, extent and importance, comes the feeling of 
 reverence toward the unfound worth. Of course we 
 speak of things that may be reverenced. But in a 
 coming event of sorrow, somewhat contingent, what 
 mostly oppresses us ? Is it the part that may with 
 most certainty be calculated upon ? Often the oppres- 
 sive gloom proceeds from the mystery in which the 
 results are concealed, in which the imagination is at 
 liberty to picture so vividly what is possible. We fear 
 not an opponent or a foe so much after his points of 
 power and weakness are well determined. But, on the 
 first dash of his energy, we see not his boundary. If 
 the known is significant of power, and if reputation 
 has said he is formidable, we infer too much, and are 
 often vanquished by that we could easily have met had 
 we known his limits. The world, then, is to be divided 
 into two parts, the known and the unknown ; or, knowl- 
 edge and mystery, the chief interest forever depending 
 on the union of these. 
 
 There was a time when, after this planet had under- 
 gone ages of. physical development, man first appeared 
 to take charge of the green ball, which still bears him 
 up amidst the stars, and carries him onward so swiftly, 
 so gracefully, so silently through space. What was 
 Ms relation to mystery ? To him there was nothing 
 
116 
 
 MYSTBEY. 
 
 but mystery. That he existed was the first mystery. 
 Man to himself was the first marvel, as likewise he is 
 the last. The stars did not seem to him as worlds. 
 What did he know of attraction ? What of weight ? 
 What of the uses of vegetation ? He knew not to use 
 the skin of a beast, until necessity and the power of 
 invention had led him to this rude conquest of mystery, 
 to clothe his person. Whence he came, whither he 
 tended, whence the elements, what their properties, 
 and what the general end of nature — these to him were 
 mystery, profound as the depths of the sea. But edu- 
 cation began with the duty of existence. He who first 
 walked, learned the truth of self-balance, thereby con- 
 quering one mystery. Contact with nature soon taught 
 the essential properties of matter. Hardness, softness, 
 beauty, deformity, size, distance, odor, sweetness, bit- 
 terness, weight, color, height and depth — such realities 
 soon became a part of knowledge. Man, in his efforts 
 to acquire bread, clothing and shelter from the elements, 
 won wisdom also. The world now all opens to the 
 mind of the child a mystery ; but in these early years 
 of original impressions, it makes fine conquests of mys- 
 tery as it existed in things, their properties and rela- 
 tions. 
 
 What are these mythologies, which, like changing 
 clouds, both darken and beautify the sky of history, 
 but the early efforts of man, to account for creation, 
 for himself, and for the government of the world ? In 
 the duty of existence with which man commenced, he 
 learned that there are causes, that he could realize 
 nothing without putting an adequate cause into opera- 
 
COSMOGONIES. 117 
 
 tion. This circumstance alone, that in the circle of 
 his own experience, it was mind that ruled and fashioned 
 matter, that every effect had the precedence of a cause, 
 was enough to incite him to inquire for the origin of 
 nature, and for the powers which rule its phenomena. 
 Egyptian culture, the oldest we can locate, whilst it 
 acknowledged the eternity of mind and matter, affirmed 
 that the latter is fashioned by the former ; that the 
 mind which built the world is Infinite and Eternal. 
 This was an early sally into the Unknown. And yet 
 it looks Herculean. Ocellus Lucianus, who taught 
 that the world was eternal ; Aristotle, who held the 
 universe more as an emanation than as a creation of 
 God ; Plato, who said the Universe is an eternal image 
 of the immutable Idea united from eternity with 
 changeable matter ; Xenophanes, who held that the 
 Universe is one with Deity ; Epicurus, whose atoms 
 chance blew together ; Anaxagoras, who first taught 
 the Greeks that God created the Universe out of 
 nothing ; the Eomans after him, who mostly adopted 
 this opinion ; the Etruscans ; Druids ; Magi ; Brah- 
 mins ; and we think, also, the Jews may be added to 
 the list, as adopting the same conclusion ; — these are 
 so many efforts of human nature to beat back the 
 mystery which envelops the origin of the world and of 
 man. The Northmen made the world from the body 
 of Ymir, the Ice-Giant, slain by the sons of Bor. But 
 these efforts at cosmogony, even the most ancient as- 
 sume that chaos was the original condition, and gener- 
 ally that a Supreme Intelligence brought forth the 
 order and harmony of worlds. 
 
118 
 
 MYSTERY. 
 
 The sentiment of worship, which belongs to all ages, 
 prompted a seeking, a learning, even, of the Divinity. 
 Altars, rites, hopes, and fears alike pointed to Him ; 
 and it is no small compliment to the unitary influences 
 of the universe that the Ethnical Faith should so gen- 
 erally recognize an Invisible One, unknown to the outer 
 senses. The famed Stagirite alleged that God is an 
 intelligent Spirit, Nouf incorporeal, eternal, immovable, 
 indivisible, and the Mover of All Things. What a 
 proof certain passages are in the sacred writings of 
 some nations, that the human spirit has sent deep 
 glances into the Mystery of Mysteries, into the essen- 
 tial nature of the Godhead ! "All which has been, all 
 which is, and all which shall be," say the Vedas of 
 India, " are in Vishnoo. He illuminates everything, 
 as the sun illuminates the world." And is not this a 
 truly mystic passage, found on an Egyptian temple 
 sacred to the goddess Neith ? — "I am all that has 
 been, all that is, all that will be. No mortal has ever 
 raised the veil which conceals me ; and the fruit I have 
 produced is the sun." Such sunbeams of the human 
 spirit sent into the Invisible are an effort to plant the 
 Standard of Knowledge in the region of undemon- 
 strated verities ; which, indeed, is the method of all 
 advancement since the world begun. 
 
 God, who is All in All, we yet but partially know. 
 We learn his Unity, since all things point back to this, 
 as the diverging rays of the sun, traced backward, lead 
 to their original source. We know that goodness and 
 wisdom, paternity and sovereignty, omniscience and 
 omnipotence are His. But who can know the things 
 
THE UNKNOWN CREATES DEEP INTEREST. 119 
 
 which Omniscience contains ? Who has the goodness, 
 the love, by which to know all that exists in the Infinite 
 love ? To do this to the full extent is to'be God. We 
 know the Universe is the forth-putting of His excel- 
 lence, the entemplement of the celestial radiance ; we 
 know the soul is His image, that the pure heart is His 
 mirror ; yet who can measure, in this confinement of 
 flesh, all the towers of the temple of nature ? Who 
 is far enough in sacred feeling and wisdom to fathom 
 the divine depths of Purity ? What we know compels 
 our love ; but the fact that He is unknown, moves 
 us by the wondrous power of awe and reverence. 
 No being can be all-sufiicient, of whom we comprehend 
 all. Beyond the limits of knowledge, we wish to ap- 
 prehend that which is unmeasured, undetermined. 
 This feeling, that none know all of Him, is universally 
 the accompaniment of worship; and. without this feel- 
 ing that He is the Unsounded Infinite, reverence, in 
 its deep, awful, thrilling power of silence, could never 
 hold us. Hence nature and the soul are conscious of 
 an All-Present Force, of a spiritual Vastness, for which 
 words and symbols are indeed but feeble types; He is 
 the Invisible, also the Unknown ; the old Athenian 
 altar being still significant. 
 
 In our admiration of Character the same law obtains. 
 We are, like Diogenes, always looking for a Man ; 
 more, we are always expecting one. Hence the high 
 and fresh hopes with which we come to a new guide or 
 teacher ; and when he fails, to still another, and so on- 
 ward. Your new great man dazzles you to-day in the 
 first hearing. He is an empire without bound. But 
 
120 
 
 MySTEET. 
 
 to-morrow you detect repetition, the story grows famil- 
 iar, and 'soon you are conscious of having measured 
 his whole capacity and thought, when immediately you 
 look above and beyond him. After this his reign de- 
 clines. Tou again take the sceptre of your own mind, 
 and address him as a common citizen. You have known 
 his limits. You believe not that back of his efforts he 
 still has kingdoms of reserved power. 
 
 We admire the simplicity and transparency which 
 are not wanting in genuine greatness. Though a great 
 soul draws us to himself by delight as well as by rev- 
 erence,, we feel that there are reserved forces, that 
 beyond the exhibitions we witness, there is yet more ; 
 and in every month and year of our acquaintance, we 
 find new traits. Who, of the associates of Bonaparte, 
 and who of his foes, felt that there was not more of him 
 than the incidents told ? Who does not apprehend in 
 Shakspeare infinitely more than what one is able to 
 grasp in a single play ? Washington has serene depth, 
 of which the historical incidents are only partial signs. 
 There is a nameless mystery in every fine character, 
 as in every fine picture. In the paintings of the 
 Dusseldorf gallery, the first moments of beholding are 
 rewarded with delightful discovery of beauty; but, 
 after the eye has passed from picture to picture, and 
 again returned to those previously examined, new 
 shades and hues, undiscovered before, greet you. 
 Where nature and culture have joined their influence 
 to produce fine intellect or fine character, the perfec- 
 tion of the work long lingers to reward us with new 
 
EEVEALED IN CHAKACTER AND BOOKS. 121 
 
 discovery. Such was Fenelon, Buch was Allston, such 
 was Channlng. 
 
 If you would allow us most reverently to find an 
 illustration of this idea in Jesus of the New Testament, 
 it will appear strikingly clear, that what was known of 
 him in his age, was small compared to those divine 
 riches of soul which the flowing centuries have not been 
 able to exhaust. It was the fulness of his spiritual 
 life, that placed him above the rigid symbolism of 
 Judea. His character, we would say, was natural as 
 the wayside flower, transparent as the white cloud of 
 summer on purest currents gliding ; yet his purpose of 
 founding the kingdom of heaven in the spirits of men, 
 and the great depths of his character, were not known. 
 How slowly was he comprehended by his nearest friends ! 
 Beyond all they knew of him, lay in calm repose that 
 wealth of divinity which has proved a sun, and a foun- 
 tain of life to the purest hearts for all ages. And now, 
 the Unknown of this character is not fully conquered ; 
 perhaps purer ages shall see in him what we have not 
 discovered. 
 
 In this reading age, we may draw from volumes sup 
 port to this view. What are the books that take the 
 deepest hold upon us ? Are they those whose mean- 
 ings lie so plainly on the surface that one perusal is 
 suflScient, and concerning which no controversies can 
 possibly arise ? By no means. Plato and Shakspeare 
 reveal to you anew from year to year, the wealth of 
 their meaning. We like the author whom we have not 
 exhausted in the first and second readings, who gives 
 us difficulty somewhere, and whose meaning sometimes 
 
122 ' MYSTERY. 
 
 causes us to pause and wonder what it is, and in -whose 
 page we always find something new. A degree of 
 mystery is conquered when such a truth-teller is under- 
 stood. The merit of the Bible is indicated by the fact 
 that it is never fully understood. 
 
 In Wilhelm Meister, as in other of Goethe's writ- 
 ings, the rays of meaning shoot so far beyond the 
 statement, that you might read the work at intervals 
 your lifetime, and draw fresh interest from his pictures. 
 This fact in nature is the reason why it never grows 
 old ; and only such productions of genius as have this 
 large hold on nature, containing a share of her mystery, 
 can live. In this justly celebrated work of Goethe, 
 the finest example of the charm of mysterious worth, is 
 in Mignon, the little girl who is at first rescued from 
 the master of the itinerant rope-dancers, by Wilhelm, 
 who arrests him in the act of beating her unmercifully 
 because she will not perform the egg dance. This at 
 once places her in our sympathy. Then the mystery 
 which hangs over the parentage and early years of this 
 gifted creature, the gracefulness of all her movements, 
 the suddenness of her mental action, her native sense 
 of what is proper and real, which outruns all education, 
 give to Mignon a power to attract us as mysterious as 
 that which lives in the magnet. She does not assign 
 her reasons generally, and in the salutations of persons 
 around her, she has varying modes, corresponding to 
 her immediate perception of their character, condition, 
 or peculiarity. Wilhelm, whom she ardently attaches 
 to herself, does not fully comprehend her. She is as a 
 sunbeam, stealing upon our admiration so gently, glides 
 
THE MAID OF OKLBANS. 123 
 
 before us in the very genius of grace, knows always so 
 much more than she signifies, and is always somewhat 
 shaded, like those fountains in nature whose depth is 
 more than common. Thus, through the major part of 
 the work, Goeth^ carries Mignon, who draws with her 
 our attention, reverence, and sympathy, by the union 
 of that which is clear with that which is unrevealed in 
 her spirit and character. 
 
 The Maid of Orleans, the heroine of whom France 
 may justly be proud, (and of whom her nation was at 
 the time unworthy,) is a striking illustration of this 
 kind of interest. Only in part was she understood by 
 her father and sisters ; a humble shepherdess in Dom- 
 remi, tending her father's flocks on the mountains and 
 peaceful valleys, she walks in regions of thought 
 unknown to those around her. The ancient and majes- 
 tic Fairy tree, which others feared, she chooses for her 
 shade, beneath which she meditates, adorns the image 
 of the sacred Virgin with flowers, and sings hymns to 
 her praise. She shuns the gay companionship of her 
 sisters, lives her real life in solitude, sees visions of an- 
 gehc beings, thinks she hears the voices of the High 
 Spirit, apprising her that she is born for the assistance 
 of France, in its darkest day, which conviction rises 
 into magnanimous enthusiasm, and cool, yet mighty 
 resolve, when she hears that the English warriors are 
 stationed in the heart of France, that in two great bat- 
 tles France had lost the day, that even to the waters of 
 the Loire the land was theirs, and that for the siege of 
 Orleans the whole hostile force was making. We are 
 thrilled when this maiden puts the helmet on her head. 
 
12-1 
 
 MYSTERY. 
 
 to obey the Spirit's voice ; when wo read her farewell 
 words, as Schiller in drama has given them : — 
 
 " Fare-well, ye grottos, and ye crystal springs ! 
 Sweet echo, vocal spirit of the vale, 
 Who sangest responsive to my simple strain, 
 Johanna goes, and ne'er returns again." 
 
 Still more, perhaps, when she rushes into the terrors of 
 battle, awing the multitudes to her command, whom 
 she inspires with courage almost supernatural, are we 
 impressed with the mystery of her power. All her 
 trusts are sacred. She never doubts the reality of the 
 Voices. As she thus bears aloft the orifiamme of war, 
 on whose white surface the enthroned Saviour is pic- 
 tured, holding the symbol of the whole earth in his 
 hand, and by angels attended, we are pierced with her 
 voice of courage : — 
 
 " Why be dismayed, brave Frenchmen ? On the foe ! 
 Were they more numerous than the ocean sands, 
 God and the Holy Maiden lead you on ! " 
 
 Here lay a mystery of power which logic never wielded ; 
 and throughout her life is Joan d'Arc the true, the 
 good, the mysterious woman. Yoii cannot read her 
 wonderful life without a thrill and a tear, though it be 
 easy to drowse over the pages of ordinary saints. 
 
 Nature is an immense fact, too vast to be explained. 
 The worlds are marvels all. Nature does not tell us 
 her profounder meanings ; a few of them, perhaps, she 
 tells to those who come near her. What lies in the 
 heart of the earth ? We may invent hypothesis, but 
 
BEAUTY ENKICHED BY MYSTERY. 125 
 
 ■who will journey the four thousand miles to bring up 
 this Uvarnpiov to the light of demonstration ? The height 
 of the air and the depth of the sea are yet unknown. 
 Is light rays, or is it vibrations f Is it material, or im- 
 material ? We conceive that much dogmatism on these 
 points is unauthorized, since difficulties can be started 
 against either position. We cannot assure ourselves 
 that we have brought out every secret contained in a 
 single element of matter. Nature does not publish her 
 aims ; we here and there hit on a good interpretation 
 of her procedure. We have a visible universe, but 
 its every law is invisible. The agencies working in a 
 plant are out of sight ; and so much of nature's labor 
 is done in the dark, we fail to reach the processes. 
 What is the art which builds the sea-shells ? How is 
 the interior so finely smoothed and polished ? How 
 did the Artist shape the exterior, draw the lines of order, 
 and provide safety ? Who shall reveal the mystery of 
 life in one violet or cedar ? Newtons and Bacons are 
 as dumb here as Sandwich Islanders and Australians. < 
 The Beauty of the Universe is infinitely enriched by 
 its mystery. On its inexhaustibility all orders of intel- 
 lect and sanctity have been fed. Philosophers, poets, 
 artists, orators, musicians, prophets and saints, have all 
 grown by its teachings. In the aspects of nature, as well 
 as in her law, there is the unknown, the mysterious. At 
 the great Cataract, the soul is uplifted, awed and 
 aroused ; also softened and delighted. But what is the 
 power of Niagara ? We see a wide river, rolling over its 
 lofty throne of rocks, the waves above the precipice 
 
126 MYSTERY. 
 
 all eagerness and bounding activity, the spray below 
 darting and rising in the most delicate clouds from 
 the white abyss, the rainbow rising in modest loveli- 
 ness to preside over the thunder of waters, to soften the 
 terror, to beautify the awe awakened by the scene. 
 But this is only water and rock and land ; there are 
 water, rock and land elsewhere as good as those. 
 Wherein, therefore, lies the power that attracts and 
 inspires ? The forms awaken these emotions, because 
 they are the very countenance of grandeur and beauty ; 
 yet the great glory of the place contains a fulness of 
 mystery which constantly reveals new traits ; and when 
 you leave, the feeling of mystery still lives in your 
 deepest impression. The unknown, the undefined im- 
 press you, and this assists to perpetuate forever the 
 influence of the most marvellous scene of the continent, 
 a scene which beyond all others combines the highest 
 degree of sublimity with tender and delicate hues of 
 beauty and loveliness. The same element, so far as we 
 ' know, dwells in all the great and captivating scenery 
 of the world. 
 
 Few of us are aware of the vast variety that beauty 
 assumes in the clouds of summer ; for most persons do 
 not examine these everchanging landscapes of the sky, 
 with that mitfuteness and continuity necessary to see 
 the beauty which is constantly gliding over us. The 
 white, fibrous structure of the cirrus, supposed by 
 a German scholar to consist of snowfiakes, which in 
 great variety of form soars the highest of all clouds ; 
 the white heaps of the cumulus, whose radiant tops 
 
CLOUDLAKD. 127 
 
 gleam like the snowy peaks of distant mountains ; th e 
 long and slender bars of the stratus, Tvhich, gilded 
 with gorgeous light, are seen to rest near the horizon 
 at sunrise and sunset, and sometimes seen running 
 through the fleecy heaps of the cumulus ; the delicate 
 gauze-like cloud which sometimes overspreads the whole 
 sky (cirro-stratus) through which the sun and moon 
 are dimly visible ; the darker, foreboding hues of the 
 nimbus, filled with rain ; these cloud-forms, to watch 
 their combination with each other, and the mystic shapes 
 they perpetually assume, resembling rocks, mountains, 
 ships, islands floating on the aerial sea, — man, woman, 
 or groups of persons, — or whatever similitudes the 
 imagination may suggest, is to witness the transforma- 
 tions of beauty more rapidly than in any other scenic 
 contemplation. We wonder that the ancient divines 
 did not take the cloudland as the scene of their skill, 
 rather than the stars, which are so fixed in relation to 
 men. Had they done this, the constant change of 
 aspect had better corresponded to their doubtful art. 
 We allude to the sky and clouds thus, because, as 
 appearances, they are a more mystical phase of na- 
 ture than solid forms ; hence they are so difficult to 
 describe, or to paint. Even a Roman dared not besiege 
 a city whilst the shadow of a cloud rested upon it ; and 
 always has its lightning and thunder been by the many 
 mysteriously associated with the Divine agency. A 
 feeling of mystery, calmly inspiring, always pertains to 
 a gorgeous sunset. 
 
 As a whole, nature must be always significant of 
 
128 MYSTERY. 
 
 mystery, from its immense concealment of unfound truth 
 and from the tendency of every conquest to suggest 
 unconquered territory beyond. The Known aids in 
 finding the Unknown ; and should coming ages greatly 
 increase the quantity of the Known, the further victories 
 over the Unknown will be vastly multiplied, since each 
 truth becomes in time the parent of another truth. 
 Our reverence for and delight in Nature, are both 
 equally cherished by the Unknown ; and when we 
 think on its inexhaustibility and its unconquered mys- 
 tery, we wonder not that ages have been satisfied by 
 its aspects and influences, and that with all the sorrows 
 of human lot man is so unwilling to dissolve his material 
 connection with it. 
 
 Man, we said, is the first mystery, also the. last. 
 Has he enabled himself to say what life is ? From 
 this perpetual mystery he knows not how to pluck the 
 heart, as no mortal has lifted the veil from its substance. 
 By what process does an act of the will get obedience 
 from the unintelligent muscles ? Wonder, man, but 
 speak not. The divine mystery is here. The pen with 
 which you write, can you account for it ? You talk of 
 statues, but look to living men ! See the artistic soul 
 working its image on the forehead, face, the movement 
 and form. A vile passion pictures itself on the clay ; 
 and the gigantic power, the holy feeling, the noble cul- 
 ture, the idiotic and lunatic mind, alike daguerreotype 
 themselves on this living form. There a smile, a scorn, 
 a pity, an anger, a tear ! Each change of thought and 
 emotion is thrown upon the countenance by the spirit 
 with a living finish which puts to shame the chisel and 
 
DREAMS. 129 
 
 the toil of the artist." These, Raphael, are the wonders, 
 not thy lifeless imitations. 
 
 The sleep in which our every sense is locked, what 
 do we know of it ? Why this, that it is sleep, and it 
 refreshes mind and body. The mystery remains. 
 
 In Judea and in Asia generally, dreams are whis- 
 pers of the deep wisdom. What is a dream? As 
 a phenomenon, it exhibits the imagination as more 
 creative. In dreams, you see objects more vividly than 
 you can paint them in waking hours. What so draws 
 these pictures that you hesitate for a moment whether 
 it is dream or reality ? If you read, or meet a friend, 
 or speak in verse, or see a page of Greek, what makes 
 the letters so minute to the eye, what makes the per- 
 son so distinct, or the verse so much better than the 
 ability of the person ? 
 
 We suppose it not unphilosophical to assume that the 
 dreams of men, like their waking follies and wisdoms, 
 bear some resemblance to the character of the person. 
 Innocence dreams more sweetly than sin. A fine 
 nature will dream finer than a vulgar coarseness. A 
 coward in emergency would be less apt to dream of 
 acting valiantly than a true hero of the battle ; and a 
 gigantic spirit shows itself in these shadows of thought 
 by the original and colossal figures it puts forth, so that 
 whether we sleep or act, the fact of character lying at 
 the bottom of each developement is not unrepresented. 
 Columbus the world-finder, when laying sick near the 
 river Belem, says that the Unknown Voice thus whis- 
 pered to him in a dream : " God jvill cause thy name to 
 be wonderfully resounded through the earth, and will 
 
130 MYSTERY. 
 
 give thee the keys of the gates of the ocean, which arc 
 closed with strong chains." * 
 
 Death is a beautiful mystery whether found in vege- 
 table or in human forms. The tree drops its leaves, and 
 the spirit drops its fleshly garment, in obedience to a 
 beneficent law. What is death? We have so far 
 pierced the mystery as to accept it as a change of po- 
 sition merely, not of character, as a sort of birth into 
 the higher sphere. Like life and the beating of the 
 heart and the rolling of the globules of blood in the 
 supply and renovation of body, the twilight of mystery 
 settles down upon the wisdom involved in the fact. So 
 Time, whether past or future, has its more than myriads 
 of buried secrets. In ruins, in hieroglyphics, in pas- 
 sages of history, and in fossil remains we have sought 
 to force some openings in the cloud which settles over 
 ancient ages ; and in the prophecies of hope and the 
 carrying forward of present analogies, we have ven- 
 tured to draw the colossal pictures of happiness, of 
 millennial ages, of heavens. But of past and future, 
 the unknown remains the infinitely greater part. 
 
 Superstition with its mountains of credulity has this 
 fact to plead, that we are always surrounded by powers, 
 the nature and possibilities of which, no one knows ; 
 and that it is beyond us to say what is possible. The 
 myths show a gigantic belief in power ; nor has the 
 error lain in the over-statement, as there is more po- 
 tency than we have ability to. state. The mistake 
 
 * A dream related to, the Catholic monarch in a letter, 
 July r, 1503. 
 
CONQUEST OVER IT. 131 
 
 dwells in the manner, sources, and ends of its direc- 
 tion. If we would bask in the truly marvellous, it is 
 needless to visit pyramids, the Dead Sea, Rome or 
 Athens ; still less is it necessary to call in the diviner 
 to oifer a sham encounter to the inevitable darkness of 
 things. All we need do is to listen to our heart-beat, 
 to gaze on the new-born infant, and wake betimes to 
 hail the rising sun. The dance of the planets around 
 their king, is mystery enough for us ; mystery at once 
 joyous and sublime. 
 
 But we do more than to delight in mystery. We 
 rejoice in our triumphs over it. Though we revere 
 Nature, Man and the Creator from their inexhausti- 
 bility, we are summoned by the insatiable thirst of 
 knowledge to make the largest possible conquest of 
 mystery. The philosopher is he who has conquered 
 largely. The artist has some conquest of which to 
 speak. A good man makes conquests in the mystery 
 of godliness. The prophet conquers in the realm of 
 spirit and of time. The antiquarian gives us secrets 
 of the past ; the prophets, those of the future. Each 
 makes a conquest. Each science conquers mystery, 
 showing in part nature's way, and announcing her law. 
 Newton and Herschel pushed their victories far into 
 space, and showed us attraction as ruling solar orbs, 
 and the far distant double stars, whose motions around 
 each other, prove its supremacy there. How wise a 
 man was Newton ? This is the same as to say. How 
 much mystery did he conquer ? Pope alleged that 
 
 " Nature and nature's laws lay Md in night ; 
 God said, Let Newton be ; and all was light." 
 
132 MYSTERY. 
 
 If this be true, he must have conquered like a Caesar. 
 Gallileo held up a grand secret when he said that the 
 earth was a sphere, and moved ; Hervey, when he found 
 the circulation of the blood ; Swedenborg, who first 
 demonstrated the office of the lungs; Priestly, in the 
 announcement of oxygen as an element of the atmos- 
 phere ; for to mate known a fact hidden and concealed 
 is to conquer a mystery ; for a mystery is a secret, and 
 a secret known is no longer such. 
 
 Art reveals the mystery of form. In nature stood 
 some of the suggestive types whose hints art has put 
 into its own creation. And so far as the perception of 
 form is perfectly expressed in art, the secret is actual- 
 ized. When the inventor draws a new power out of 
 an old element, or gives an old power a new use, as 
 ' steam in navigation, electricity in health, gas for illum- 
 ination, victory is achieved over what was hidden. 
 Civilization is a conquest of mystery, or that which was 
 so at first ; for it discovers that human nature is some- 
 what to be respected, that a right to life, name and 
 property, belongs to it. Ancient knighthood and chiv- 
 alry beat back some darkness, for they saw what before 
 had not been learned, the respect and honors due to 
 woman. Anatomy and physiology have at last descend- 
 ed into the mysteries of the temple of human form ; 
 have explained structure and function ; and with the 
 addition of mental philosophy, have driven away the 
 supernal agencies to which the ancients ascribed the 
 chief diseases of man. But geology, though compar- 
 atively an infant science, is the greatest conquest over 
 the mystery of time, and over the former conditions of 
 
GEOLOGY A GREAT CONQUEST. 133 
 
 this planet. Science observes that the earth bears now 
 the evidences of all its former conditions ; and when 
 the geologist has examined these, the mythologies and 
 cosmogonies of nations are rolled away, and in the 
 earthy strata the silent work of ages is read, teaching 
 the gradual formation of the exterior, that creation in 
 this planet was a work that took ages for its days, that 
 man is comparatively a recent inhabitant of its surface. 
 To the naturalist we owe much of the influence that 
 has led us to accept the idea of a progressive develop- 
 ment of nature. A mystery dies when it sees the light, 
 as mists are dispelled by the sun. At Niagara, whose 
 ravine is a chronometer of ages, you seize the proofs 
 that eras inconceivable have passed away in the forma- 
 tion of the present channel of its waters. Are not 
 Werner, Lyell and Agassiz, conquerors of the mystery 
 that was ? So Judaism and Christianity are both con- 
 quests over mystery ; the former over that of polythe- 
 ism through its idea of Divine Unity, and the latter over 
 that of enslaving localism and of outer formafism by 
 its Catholicity and Inward Life.* Man, then, is put 
 on this planet to subdue mystery and tame the chaos 
 before him. 
 
 We might, indeed, have spoken about the excres- 
 cences, or the unphilosophical developments of the love 
 of mystery. We might have spoken of ghosts and 
 witches ; of astrology, palmistry and hieromancy ; of 
 late mysterious knockings, which some very intelligent 
 persons have more than half sanctioned as eflects of a 
 
 * Col. 1 : 26. Kom. 16 : 25, 26. Eph. 3 : 9. 
 
13-1 MYSTERY. 
 
 power over -which the mediums have no control. But 
 we do not do this because these, as yet, have not struck 
 us as the great genuine mysteries, a genuine mystery 
 being that which contains truth when explained. These 
 pretended arts only assUme to conquer mystery, whilst 
 they are but sham battles with the powers of darkness. 
 In the sixteenth and to the middle of the seventeenth 
 century, the astrologer waxed fat upon his living, whilst 
 the alchymist had a starving trade. Cousin, the French 
 metaphysician, thinks that great men usually have 
 superstitions. Extraordinary ambition often believes 
 in its own star of destiny. Bonaparte thus confided. 
 But he added to this the most practical belief in causes. 
 Great men, those who are instruments of Providence to 
 great purposes, are perhaps conscious of the Higher 
 Power, and their relation to it. 
 
 In this world, where but the smaller portion of truth 
 is demonstrated, where there is always a verge to the 
 known, where a half-glimmering isthmus unites the two 
 hemispheres of Keality, the Known and the Unknown, 
 there opens a space to be filled by the Mystic. Neither 
 logic, history, nor inductive reasoning, gives us the 
 whole truth. The spirit has intuitions diviner than 
 its arguments, inspirations which, in many cases, are 
 more far-reaching than the inferences of experiment, 
 and of a detailing observation. Plato was a mystic, 
 vast as he was in knowledge. Swedenborg, the most 
 learned man of his time, who could write the best 
 essays on Finance, and the Iron Mines, as well as on 
 the arcana of Nature, Scripture, Spirits and Angels, is 
 the philosopher and the* Shakspeare of mystics. That 
 
SWEDENBORa. ~ 135 
 
 he could Tvrite well on finance and iron should redeem 
 his credit with practical men from the imputation of 
 an idle dreamer ; that Charles XII greatly esteemed 
 and honored him, shows that he was a man among men. 
 This calm thinker, whose books were all written in Latin, 
 and over fifty large octavos, is one to whom the world, 
 more than formerly, is turning attention. He was him- 
 self a whole university in matters of learning and sci- 
 ence. It would sound the depths of our medical 
 fraternities to well comprehend his work entitled the 
 Animal Kingdom. Always self-consistent and self- 
 collected, never sectarian or sinister of purpose, he 
 wrote on the greatest themes, on matter, its properties, 
 its laws ; the Soul, in which Will and Understanding are 
 the principal elements, the former being receptive of 
 goodness, the latter of wisdom, the former of love, the 
 latter of truth. He wrote of the Creator, whose unity 
 he held sacred, in whom he finds a beautiful trinity of 
 love, wisdom and use, which is reproduced in a repre- 
 sentative capacity in the whole creation. He explains 
 Christianity, finds the literal facts and images of the 
 Scriptures symbolical of deep spiritual meanings, the 
 moon standing for faith, the horse for carnal under- 
 standing, the feet for the affections, water for truth. 
 He wields this Scripture symbolism in a new and origi- 
 nal way. But Swedenborg comes as the seer of the 
 other world, claims that by the opening of his spiritual 
 senses he really, saw, heard, questioned and answered, 
 the inhabitants of the Spirit-world. He saw several 
 personages, Cicero, Abraham, Mahomet, Moses, and 
 others ; saints and angels many, also the sinful of every 
 
136 
 
 MYSTERY. 
 
 dje. Love, he says, is the life of man, that which 
 creates character ; Wisdom is its executive, and Use is 
 the procession from the activity of the two. Among 
 the great conclusions of this Seer of Sweden is the idea 
 that the conditions of mankind hereafter grow out of 
 their present lives, of their present good and eVil, as 
 naturally as the branches, leaves and flowers grow from 
 the trees and stems they adorn. He teaches that spir- 
 itual beings, that the departed are really with us, that 
 they still influence our thoughts and aflections. If we 
 might take Swedenborg as the prophet of the Spirit 
 Life, his conquests over profound mystery would throw 
 the achievements of all seers into the shade. We can- 
 not accept him as authority, though we concede the 
 wonderful wealth of analogical perception, reflection, 
 and of learning claimed by his friends ; and would think 
 that poets might as wisely omit the bard of Avon, as 
 divines the lines of Swedenborg. Yet the great theo- 
 logical mystery is unsolved, as no man living or dead 
 has ever reconciled the two great facts, the eternal 
 prescience, and each man's conscious freedom. What 
 brain shall give us so vast a generalization ? We wait 
 to see. 
 
 We all make some conquest over the mystery of 
 futurity, not only from the fulness of hope we all have, 
 which sheds some light on the future, always arching 
 its sky with rainbows, but from the necessary analogies 
 and l,ikenesses which unite the two lives, or rather the 
 one life, in its passage through many stages. The 
 reason why childhood in its impressions prepares for 
 youth and manhood, is because childhood is a miniature 
 
PKINCIPLB OF LIKENESS. 137 
 
 manhood. Each truth, each lesson it gains, -widens out 
 into complicated use, when the mature years have 
 come. Have the meadow, the sun, moon, brooks, flow- 
 ers, woods and storms impressed those young spirits for 
 nothing ? Believe it not ; for in those years are things 
 which, through their similitudes, point on to all the 
 wider circles of human life. In nature and in expe- 
 rience, each period is connected with a previous, out of 
 which the last condition merges, as the growth of plants, 
 trees, and the successive stages of character and culture 
 indicate. Why is the new comer at a university free 
 and at home ? Because he knows that what he has 
 learned in lower institutions is here only widened and 
 perfected ; that truth in the little is one with truth in 
 the great. Why is the new oflScer skilled for the bat- 
 tle ? Because there is some likeness between the 
 teaching of West Point and the practice at Buena Vista 
 and Monterey. This principle of likeness between the 
 end and the educational means which exist in every- 
 thing that may be called preparation, when applied to 
 the future ages of our being, doubtless compels the 
 conclusion that this life and world are types and 
 shadows of that life and world ; that the disclosed mys- 
 teries of the world to come, when they shall appear, 
 will correspond to what is best and true in our present 
 learning; that all our impressions from the material 
 world, and all the right developments of our nature in 
 experience, may be subservient in some way to the uses 
 of the future progress. As it is the same humanity 
 without addition or subtraction of faculty that lives 
 hereafter, as over both worlds the same administrative 
 
138 
 
 MYSTEKT. 
 
 Deitj forever presides, we may without the aid of a 
 seer, safely infer that we shall be ourselves ; that the 
 nature of virtue will always be a spontaneous action ; 
 that worship rooted in the soul shall prove an eternal 
 fact ; that man now is the type and the illustration of 
 the two worlds, natural and spiritual ; that the law of 
 affinity shall alone associate kindred spirits ; that the 
 further development and nobler activities of the spiritual 
 faculties, there as here will shine forth as the end of 
 being, as the explanation and the justification of the 
 whole array of means that may surround the immortal 
 being. These conclusions reside in what is now known 
 of the soul and its God. We would also add, that, as 
 immortality must be progressive in order to accord 
 with the genius of either matter or spirit, its highest 
 intellectual glory will forever consist in the conquest of 
 mystery, the unknown never being wholly subdued. 
 All progress is and must be such a conquest. 
 
 When one like the Swedish songstress successfully 
 invites the spirit of harmony, resident in all nature, to 
 dwell in her heart and voice, when such an one calls 
 up the mystery of song to her perfect command, the 
 multitudes gather with deep enthusiasm to celebrate 
 her victory over the untold secret of melody. The 
 music masters, gamuts and notes cannot signify it. 
 The nightingale and the linnet are now unmusical be- 
 fore an amazing acquisition. Handel and Beethoven 
 were kings in the mystery of music, and though the 
 secret of their power was not communicable, it was in 
 them a conquered mystery. Indeed, what in human 
 
SATISFACTIONS OF THE NEW. 139 
 
 life is more undefinable than the emotions awakened 
 by music ? The ideal perfection to which man ever 
 aspires is never so divinely vivid as then. We have 
 listened to strains of this mysterious power, which 
 awoke ideas never to be realized in actual life. This 
 delightful witchery of song eludes the grasp of logic. 
 The heart alone interprets the mystery of voice, whose 
 melodies are utterances of the heart's unpublished faith 
 and feeling. 
 
 We still love to revive in imagination the burning 
 bush, from the midst of whose aspiring and unconsum- 
 ing flames the voice of the Lord addressed his servant. 
 We still love to picture the rising sun, as awakening 
 music in the stony breast of Memnon's lifeless statue. 
 The face of Moses so bright with the radiance of his 
 God that the people could not behold it ! Of such pic- 
 tures do we weary ? 
 
 Men would get tired of their trades and occupations 
 sooner but for the oft-repeated fact that something new 
 in each branch is constantly to be learned. In looking 
 over the path of civilization, we are apt to flatter our- 
 selves that since the days when Jews believed that there 
 was water above the heaven, science has lifted the veil 
 of mystery from off" the face of the Creator's work. 
 So, indeed. But Greenlanders, in 1852, to account 
 for rain, presuppose a lake of water in the skies, which, 
 overflowing its dam, produces showers. Our victories 
 are local as yet ; perhaps not one is universal. 
 
 There is no mystery too sacred to be searched, as 
 man, by his nature, is entitled to all possible conquest. 
 
140 MYSTERY. 
 
 " It is the glory of God," * said the Hebrew sage, " to 
 conceal a thing." This is true ; for his depths are 
 necessarily hidden, and to the concealment we owe the 
 joy and the activity of finding. By exercise, the pow- 
 ers grow perfect and strong. In the structure of the 
 earth, in each life that blooms, in the body and mind 
 of man, He has concealed the greatest truths ; but it 
 is the glory of Man to find them out. And this he is 
 gradually doing. Our mission, then, for all time and 
 all eternity, is the conquest of mystery ; and we may 
 feel assured that beyond each victory a boundless 
 territory of the unknown will constantly open. Moses 
 is heroic example ; for whilst the people were afraid, 
 " he drew near to the tAicJo darkness where God was."f 
 The regions of the Unknown being confessedly illim- 
 itable, we, at first sight, might seem to share an insect 
 feebleness when compared with it. To withstand hero- 
 ically this overwhelming sublimity, we are to draw 
 courage from the' fact that two keys, capable of an im- 
 mensity of uses and applications, are given us, in man 
 and the physical earth. Give me a perfect knowledge 
 of all the truths and mysteries that are thrown into the 
 structure of this small planet, and I could then be at 
 home on Saturn, Neptune, or wherever else ; I would 
 then have reason to say that I am successfully intro- 
 duced to the whole material creation ; for the Unity of 
 the Universe is carefully invested in the part, which by 
 numberless analogies, links itself to the whole. Also 
 give us to know Man perfectly, though he be a scarcely 
 half-developed germ, and we will be at home anywhere 
 
 *Prov. 25 : 2. f Ex. 20: 21. 
 
MAN THE CENTRAL MYSTEKY. 141 
 
 in the boundless empire of spirit. We might then in- 
 terpret the Divine Soul, and walk freely the chambers 
 of seraphic mind. Man is himself the vast mystery, 
 " Know thyself." But ask not that frankness shall 
 give to you all knowledge of your neighbor. He, too, 
 is his own kingdom, and may of right reserve himself. 
 We shall not say, enough is known. The past has di- 
 vine days ; also the future. We will believe ourselves 
 in the Temple of Mystery wherever we stand. We will 
 therefore be reverent, and evermore direct our pilgrim- 
 age toward the Unknown. 
 
LANGUAGE. 
 
 We concede in the outset that all persons might as 
 well have been mutes but for this, that there is some- 
 thing real to be spoken. Fiction and unreality could 
 never have justified so high a gift. Speech is conferred 
 because Truth exists and ought to be spoken. For 
 Truth's sake language became possible, taking . the 
 word language in its widest sense. In this sense all 
 things come under its dominion, since it is no poetic 
 fiction that the Heavens declare the glory of God, and 
 that the whole visible creation, in its unity and diversity 
 of parts, is a symbol-shadow of the soul, and of that 
 which transpires within it. Nothing in nature or art 
 seems unwilling to stand as the sign of idea ; and for 
 what else do words stand ? These are but signs, signs, 
 which in the common assent of men have a certain sig- 
 nificance. The silent formation of rocks in the earth 
 speaks of past ages, whilst their distribution on the sur- 
 face converses of the great subterranean heat. The 
 shadow of the pine speaks of the form that caused it, 
 whilst each human countenance and achievement speaks 
 of intellect and character. Is net a fortress as intelli- 
 
144 LANflUAGE, 
 
 gible as a maxim ? Man's whole tendency is to self- 
 expression. Bonaparte in war, Milton in song, Astor 
 in money, are but successful efiforts at self-expression, 
 so that the work one does, like the words he utters, 
 goes to reveal his inward life. 
 
 With the world's great men, those who hav^ com- 
 bined ideas and practice, their language has been 
 action, and their action has been language. Our words 
 and our silence both communicate. 
 
 But man alone articulates the profound and varied 
 wisdom of nature and events. From the established 
 superiority of the soul, from the rich diversity of its 
 powers, man has, and must continue to have the most 
 to express, therefore requiring a manifold power of 
 utterance. His nature and his experience are many- 
 phased. He has occasion therefore so to combine the 
 simple sounds out of which all language and song arc 
 coined, sounds all of which are in the animal world, 
 perhaps in the various notes of the wind itself, in a way 
 sufficiently diversified to meet this wondrous manifold- 
 ness of the human powers, and of human experience. 
 Man, so to speak, is God in the germ. He contains all 
 the diversity of which creation is the type ; whence it 
 is that all things come to his assistance in the formation 
 of language. 
 
 We rejoice in this beautiful gift which is probably 
 used and misused more freely than any other. A few 
 persons have swayed the world by their tongues, and a 
 few have done it by their pens. The clear, flowing 
 rivers of inspiration come down to us in the channels 
 of language, in the words of ancestors, of olden bards, 
 
ITS MISSION. 145 
 
 prophets and sages. Thus in the nineteenth century we 
 listen to David's chant, to Virgil's song, to Plato's -wis- 
 dom. As a bond of union between the ages, we cel- 
 ebrate this wonderful endowment, as also for the facility 
 it affords for present utterance. It is the high office of 
 language to give permanent residence to the invisi- 
 ble and otherwise fleeting beauties of mind ; to hold 
 fast the knowledge and acquisitions of other ages ; to 
 aid the mental operations, since we think as well as 
 speak in words ; to subserve the social sympathy ; to 
 make known the whole diversity of the world within 
 and without, so far as knowledge may extend ; to relieve 
 the heart by utterance of its burden of grief ; to send 
 the electric shock of courage to another ; to warn and 
 animate ; to educate the untaught ; to worship God. 
 In short, language is the power by which our myriad- 
 phased nature utters itself in all its moods, wants, ideas 
 and aspirations. It reacts upon the speaker, giving 
 order to his ideas, deepening the emotions set forth, 
 and contributing, so far as he has elegant, forcible, and 
 systematic habits of speech, to similar habits of feeling 
 and of thought. That we learn many things without 
 writing or speaking, our five senses can testify ; but, so 
 far as man is the educator of man, language must 
 always be, as it has always been, the chief instrumen- 
 tality of success. The great Kevelatrons of Heaven 
 retain and exert their power in words. Nature and 
 her mysteries are unknown to the multitudes, until 
 their law and order are spoken. The wonderful prop- 
 erty of language resides in the fact that the soul puts 
 forth its every attribute and quality in words. Christ 
 7 
 
146 
 
 LANGUAGE. 
 
 lives in the ages through the words of the Evangelists. 
 Saints and sages are immortally imbedded in words, 
 and, like the Missouriums and Mastodons left in the 
 soils, whose entire figure naturalists construct, we get 
 at their characters in the things they have said. If 
 the science of human nature were perfect, we might 
 learn a character from a true discourse, somewhat as 
 Cuvier gave the entire figure of extinct races from a 
 single bone. We think in words, though in reality 
 thought must p-ecede language in the mental processes, 
 else the selection of appropriate words could not take 
 place. To Teveal, therefore, the inward life, and to in- 
 terpret the outward world, we gratefully celebrate the 
 wondrous gift. 
 
 Much as we differ from Talleyrand on the ofiSces of 
 language, who said its end is to conceal our thoughts, 
 we shall differ but little on its uses, however much we 
 may regret its perversion in falsehood, profanity and 
 tergiversation. Are we equally agreed in relation to 
 its origin ? 
 
 The majority of persons, perhaps, have taken the 
 position of its supernatural commencement, alleging 
 that the first inhabitants of the earth were miracu- 
 lously taught a language, though what language none 
 can now venture to be positive. The same view has 
 been extended to the origin of civilization. Human 
 beings, it is said, do not speak until they hear speaking. 
 That they can only articulate by imitation is boldly 
 assumed, from which it is inferred that the Creator, or 
 some supernatural agent, must have been the original 
 speaker. Following the line of history, it is observed 
 
NATURAL TO MAN. 147 
 
 that each civilization is imparted, that Greece gave cul- 
 ture to Rome, that Egypt imparted it to Greece, and 
 that there is a supposed earlier seat of civilization from 
 which Egypt and India drew, whence it is inferred that 
 the first civilization, like the first language, must have 
 been miraculously produced, and that in the operation 
 of the merely human powers, no original fountain ex- 
 isted ; that imitation, with the power to modify and 
 enlarge, without the ability to originate, was man's 
 highest prerogative as respects language and culture. 
 Questions of this nature are always open to debate-, 
 ' though their doom must soon be sealed if brought to 
 the judgmentseat of Philosophy alone ; and to this the 
 present question evidently belongs, since the problem 
 is laid so far back in the night of antiquity as to ex- 
 clude History from acting as judge. The origin of lan- 
 guage was necessarily lohg before the eras of history. 
 
 We claim in behalf of Philosbphy, that she knows 
 of no excellence in human attainments except that 
 to which the human powers, aid«d by favoring circum- 
 stances, are fully competent. It seems to us, that all 
 the excellence to which the inferior creation arrives, is 
 the analogical expression of this view. What is there 
 in ' the form, fragrance and beauty of any plant or 
 flower' which does not proceed from its own substance 
 and life ? What animal, what tree does not unfold its 
 proportions fronr its own life alone ? True, climate 
 modifies ; foreign influences, as sun and rain, assist ; 
 but that which is characteristic in every unfolding form 
 springs not from foreign sources, but from its own mys- 
 
148 
 
 LANGUAGE. 
 
 terious, hidden power. In the nature of every race, the 
 Creator has sown ike competency for every excellent 
 result which the history of that race can ever exhibit. 
 
 The contrary position implies, that with our own 
 race there were designs beyond the reach of capacity ; 
 that the ends of creative wisdom are not corresponded 
 to by a perfect precedence of means, from which failure 
 the foreign addition became necessary. Development, 
 we say, is the lesson taught by every life. Nature is 
 forever teaching, that whatever is manifested in the 
 growth, was hidden in the germ. We know not the 
 exception to this law. Hence wo say that Philosophy, 
 in relation to man, refuses to isolate him from the gen- 
 eral system by lifting him out of it, and ascribes the 
 excellence of human culture, under God, to the ever- 
 productive faculties of man. We know that intellect 
 and love are original powers, that from the abundance 
 of these, the first men of the earth had something to 
 say. We know that self-subsistence in the world, that 
 contact with outward things constantly demanded the 
 use of words, of nouns, adjectives, verbs, adverbs, and 
 prepositions ; for things must have been named, some 
 qualifications concerning them must have been express- 
 ed, action must have been denominated in the manner of 
 its occurrence, and the relation of thing to thing must 
 have been indicated. The soul, conscious of the great 
 inward elements of Reason, Imagination, Love and 
 Appetite ; also seeing, hearing, tasting, feeling so much 
 from the outward world, certainly must have longed to 
 utter itself ; and having command of a body in which 
 the organs of speech are perfect, — the mouth, larynx, 
 
ITS ORIGIN. 149 
 
 trachea, from the use of which the atmosphere of the 
 lungs is coined into articulate sounds, — the practice of 
 utterance must have commenced with the first inhabi- 
 tants, and from practice came still. The first efforts 
 at using ■ any of the voluntary organs are necessarily 
 unskilled ; but as the restless spirit of action in the 
 child leads to development of muscle, so the social 
 impulse, the love of knowledge, and the strong innate 
 thirst to communicate one's self, led to the use of 
 articulate speech. 
 
 The view we here oppose implies that man only 
 improves by imitation. But in his finite sphere does 
 he not originate and invent ? He has genius. He can 
 make language, if he chooses, as easily as rail-cars and 
 air-balloons. By neglecting the old, and calling every 
 thing by new names, any ingenious person can form a 
 new language. Facts not only prove that men are 
 able to originate language, but that children can do it ; 
 for the children of the Manchester factory workers, left 
 to gather in large companies for amusement a great 
 part of the day, are said to make a great deal of new 
 language. In a work on South Africa, Robert Moffat 
 states that in the isolated villages of the desert, fathers, 
 mothers, and all who can carry a burden, are com- 
 pelled to journey, for weeks at a time, over the wilds, 
 and that the children left behind, some of whom are just 
 beginning to lisp whilst others may command a whole 
 sentence, romping and playing the live-long day, be- 
 come accustomed to a language of their own.* Two 
 
 * Missionary Scenes and Labors in South Africa. 
 
150 LANGUAGE. 
 
 young men in the State of Connecticut, who were 
 much in each other's society, on good authority, are 
 said to have arrived at a new language, which served 
 the purpose of conveying to each other whatever they 
 wished to impart. Thus it is proven by examples that 
 creative power in this department is as easily possible 
 to men as in statuary, painting, and architecture. It 
 is even more so. For speaking is a more natural, 
 spontaneous production of the mind, than the physical 
 sciences. It is as true of singing and of walking, as 
 it ever could have been of speaking, that mankind 
 usually do not walk or sing until they have observed 
 walking and heard music ; but who will carry this last 
 concession back to the first inan, or to the first men of 
 the earth, and from it conclude that walking and sing- 
 ing were supernaturally taught? We see no reason 
 why imitation should not be assumed with reference to 
 these last arts as justly as it can be in relation to the 
 first, since man has ever been as well furnished with 
 the ability and the occasion for speaking, as he has for 
 walking, singing, or laughing. And surely it is no 
 exercise of credulity to concede to the first men the 
 originative ability which facts now compel us to concede 
 to children, especially when we remember that the 
 necessity for language among the first men was favor- 
 able to the mightier development of human genius in 
 its production. 
 
 As to original civihzations, history does not hesitate 
 to record them. The refined and elegant Mandans of 
 North America are an instance. Mr. Catlin found 
 them in a fortified village, where they cultivated the 
 
ITS OKIGIN IN WATUEB. 151 
 
 arts of manufacture, enjoyed not only the comforts 
 but the luxuries of life, and had attained to a remark- 
 able refinement of manners. Being settled so far in 
 the vast regions of the North-West, they were -wholly 
 beyond the influence of the culture of the States. 
 With this example may also be ranked the improve- 
 ment found among the Jolofs, Mandingoes, and Caffres, 
 in Africa. And is not the civilization of China, em- 
 bracing a third part of the human race, purely origi- 
 nal ? It is human nature, therefore, under favoring 
 physical conditions, that has put forth the blossoms of 
 culture, and of perfection of speech, wherever these 
 are to be found. 
 
 Notwithstanding this whole subject of language 
 comes under the law of purely human development, it 
 is true, true in the highest, deepest, and widest sense, 
 that God teaches us language. He taught it, and he 
 teaches it. The only question that may be raised is 
 this, — How does he teach it ? And this question will be 
 answered in the views which follow. 
 
 In the conditions of things, in the relation man sus- 
 tains to outward things, the demand for language is 
 laid. For the very diversity and complexity which the 
 external world presents, not only in the forms, colors, 
 weights, and whatever properties belong to matter, but 
 the action and relation which there so variously subsist, 
 require a similar extent and manifoldness of language. 
 
 First there were real objects in nature. Man himself" 
 was in his own knowledge the first object, surrounded 
 by numberless other objects. Thence, and not from 
 the grammarian, came nouns. The soul, able to enjoy 
 
152 
 
 LANGUAGE. 
 
 the beauty of the creation, to admire a flower, a sky, a 
 sea, or to find a law in nature, or to subject to its 
 control the elements and the brute beasts, would never 
 allow them to go unnamed. See how God has sown 
 prepositions, in the relations of things ! From everlast- 
 ing has there not been an out of, an into, a from this, 
 an of that, a to which, and a to ivhat ? Always this 
 has been. Each day man saw the sun coming out 
 of the East. He saw him sink in the West. The rills 
 poured from their springs ; the differences in altitude 
 made an above and a heloiv ; the properties inhering 
 in things, the procession of effects from causes, have 
 always called liberally for these designations. Has not 
 heat ever been of the fire, and light of the sun ? An 
 above, against, and a helow, preceded all dialects. Lan- 
 guages which have no prepositions as separate words, 
 express the ideas for which they stand, by terminations 
 or other means. 
 
 Witness how the Creator, in the conditions of things, 
 has called for verbs, and, indeed, for every essential 
 part of speech ! If nothing more than a storm raged, 
 or lightning darted across the sky, the verb was needed 
 to state it. Man has always been an actor, has alwaya 
 observed action in the operations of the Universe. He 
 also notices that some things are the recipients of action, 
 that relatively there is the absence of both action and 
 passion in a thousand objects about him. If the struc- 
 ture of man and the world had not contained these 
 facts, an agent acting, and an object receiving the 
 action, no language could ever have held an active and 
 a passive verb ; and a world that should not have re- 
 
ITS SOUKCB IN NATURE. 153 
 
 quired these, would have been a lifeless, motionless 
 waste, utterly unlike all the Creator has made. Mo- 
 tion is the supreme law of the Universe ; whence it is 
 that on no world in space can verbs be dispensed with ; 
 nor, indeed, any of our essential parts of speech. It 
 is a thought worthy of notice, that the origin of lan- 
 guage as being based on the established facts and 
 relations of space, goes to prove that the prime elements 
 of language, as we now have it, must flow in the lan- 
 guage of every world ! The language of Saturn must 
 have our essential parts of speech, for the objects, qual-; 
 ities and relations of the material world demand them. 
 From the unchanging law of things, which demands 
 that each particular object shall have a locality, arises 
 the Where, for which we have such millions of uses ; 
 and because to all things there are origin and tendency, 
 language, in each of its dialects, must have a WTience 
 and a Whither. Is there a barbarian so rude that his 
 speech does not contain a E.ow, a Whence, and a Where ? 
 Time also aids in the making of language, since the 
 duration of things, and the occurrence of events stand 
 in various relations to centuries, years, months, days, 
 hours, and so forth. We could well have dispensed 
 with our When and its kindred, but for this eternal fact 
 of Time. Events which belong to one hour and day 
 must forever belong to them. Hence the importance 
 of these distinctions. There is no one essential part of 
 language, which, traced put, is not demanded by the 
 conditions of things, by realities common to mankind. 
 Man, therefore, has never made language from pure 
 volition. The seeds of language are sown everywhere 
 
 7* 
 
151 LANGUAGE. 
 
 in the creation. The relations existent in space, the 
 qualities of matter, the various action inseparable from 
 human life, or from brute matter ; in short, all the order 
 and truth of the creation known to men, always did, 
 and always must, modify, and even create language, 
 whatever may be its forms. We speak not of particu- 
 lar words, or particular languages ; we mean, that, 
 allowing these to be what they may, the surrounding 
 creation is such, and human experience is such, that 
 they tend to throw into all language the same first ele- 
 ments. Over and above all that man has ever designed, 
 the whole system of things has operated for the produc- 
 tion of language. All life and nature are a creative 
 school, a flowing fountain of philology to man. Is it 
 not, then, a truth great and glorious, that God taught 
 language, that he is ever teaching it ? He teaches it 
 through those laws and developments of nature and of 
 human experience, to which Jew and Greek, Indian and 
 Tartar, are equally debtors. 
 
 The great pleasures and pains that entered into 
 human experience, assisted the growth of language. 
 Who could have long enjoyed an exquisite pleasure, 
 and at the same time have allowed it to go unnamed ? 
 Who could have met a thrilling danger, or a painful 
 injury, from brute beasts or from brute matter, without 
 distinguishing it to himself, and to others, by a name ? 
 Such a neglect were totally impossible. Each thrill of 
 delight and of sorrow, of hope and of fear, which the 
 external world was able to communicate, or which his 
 social condition brought him, naturally, and we would 
 say, necessarily, led to language. The diversities of 
 
ITS ORIGIN IN GOD. 155 
 
 human experience, and the diversities of creation, 
 united to produce language. Not only the multiplicity 
 of objects, but the multiplicity of qualities, which each 
 object possesses ; the numerous relations, uses and de- 
 pendencies belonging to every particular thing ; the 
 importance that attaches to the manner of actions, in 
 ■which there are right and wrong ways, the latter often 
 leading to the greatest danger, and the former to the 
 most advantageous results, must necessarily have led 
 to the closest verbal distinctions, so that this endless 
 complexity and numerousness, found in the particulars of 
 nature and experience, served to enrich language with 
 a similar multiplicity of verbal signs. The Realities 
 preceded the Words ; wherefore the increase of knowl- 
 edge, both with reference to the visible world and to 
 man, caused a similar enlargement of language, nor 
 can we hesitate to predict a still greater perfection of 
 language in proportion as man's knowledge shall extend 
 its triumphs over the creation, and over himself. 
 
 In the foregoing remarks, we see wherein God is 
 the Father of language, so far. as language springs 
 from the order of outward things. Here we see that 
 He is the Logos universally diffused. But this is only 
 one hemisphere of the subject, which, though first arid 
 preparatory in the order of human development, is by 
 no means equal to that which remains, the World 
 WITHIN. This is to have expression. Mind, Soul, 
 though unseen, is the great nature. Its value must be 
 incomparably greater than the material worlds ; for it 
 judges their beauty and their grandeur, and so far as 
 we can learn, their mission appears to lie in its develop- 
 
156 
 
 LANGUAGE. 
 
 ment. The highest office of language is to reveal 
 the Soul, its thought, feeling, hope, love, sorrow, joy, 
 hatred, fears, vices — all that dwells in the conscious- 
 ness, all that transpires within man, which in variety is 
 not outstripped by the phenomena of the material world. 
 Language now arrives at a two-fold service, beginning 
 in the material and sensuous, and ending in the higher 
 uses of Spirit. To answer this purpose the whole 
 vocabulary of things, which was the earliest attain- 
 ment, came up^ to serve the soul", to assist in the 
 unravelment of every head and heart in the world. 
 This is indeed a wondrous service, and no small law is 
 involved in the fact that immense armies of verbs, 
 adjectives, nouns and other forms, which had purely 
 physical bases, should all go up so readily and so 
 efficiently into this labor of self-expression. But such 
 is the fact, such has been, and such will continue to be 
 the fact, when language shall have come to its final per- 
 fection. We shall also ere long ask for the law which 
 this phenomenon involves. 
 
 We imagine that the first person who applied a 
 name to the stone or the rock little supposed that 
 very soon the same terms would be needed to express 
 hardness of heart or solidity of character. They who 
 first gave names to the sunlight and the darkness, little 
 suspected how soon these were to become the types 
 of purely mental conditions. The child that learns 
 what weight and lightness are, suspects not that these 
 will serve him as types of what is powerful and what is 
 not so in argument, influence and character. But how 
 soon does the mind recognize its own true servants ! 
 
ITS DOUBLE SERVICE. 157 
 
 We all glide so unconsciously into this higher use of 
 words that we appear to employ no reasoning on the 
 fitness of their application. The school-boys ask light 
 on their problems, and accuse each other of being in 
 the 7nist long before they have reflected on any simili- 
 tudes of mind and matter. The history of the word 
 Tieart, which so generally signifies the reigning love, is 
 a universal instance of this transition by analogy, 
 which has entered into every language on the earth. 
 The tide of the river, which has been emblematical 
 of human life, and the silent flow of time ; the crystal^ 
 which has stood for that transparency of character 
 proceeding from simple wisdom and virtue ; the green 
 hills, flowery meadows, and budding blossomsj which 
 have been Jwpe in human discourse ; the storm and 
 rage of elements, that shadow the violence of passion ; 
 the calmness of the landscape^ the sea and the firma- 
 ment, which severally picture the soul's tranquillity ; the 
 delicate loveliness of flowers in which the gentler affec- 
 tions behold themselves reflected ;, the aromatic odors 
 that in the balmy air speak to us of the influence 
 of every pure love ; the ■ great space-immensity, in 
 which the numberless worlds like radiant flowers are 
 sown, emblematical of that immensity in Spirit through 
 which we are conscious of our claim in the Universe, in 
 God, in Immortality, in Eternity — these are slight 
 fractions of the great process by which all language has 
 seized the symbols of matter for the statement of spirit- 
 ual facts. When we find that Right at first meant 
 only the straightness of a line, that wrong on]j meant 
 twisted, that spirit was the name of wind, we are 
 
•158 
 
 LANGUAGE. 
 
 apprised that words have had a tendency upwards, that 
 it is a happy mystery which so marries material to 
 spiritual things as to cause the former to administrate 
 language to the latter. What is umbrage ? A shade. 
 It is also an offence, intercepting the sunlight of the 
 souL 
 
 There is, indeed, a multitude of words so long appro- 
 priated to mental facts that their physical origin is 
 never thought of, and a vast number whose physical 
 bases are lost in the night of ancient ages. But as 
 each man shows some ancestral attribute even in his 
 higher fortunes, so each word retains something of its 
 primitive character when carried into its highest uses. 
 
 But what is the Law of this phenomenon, which so 
 traverses the entire world of Visible and Invisible, 
 as to permit, or cause this linguistic service from 
 outward things ? We announce the fact that matter 
 and soul are wedded from everlasting, that the bond is 
 still inviolate ; and that Similitude is the law which 
 carries us from the outward creation to the inward life. 
 But whence this similitude ? This is the primary ques- 
 tion, back of which there is nothing. And the Simili- 
 tude flows naturally and necessarily from the likeness 
 that must subsist between every creator and his work. 
 Our simple faith declares that God made the visible 
 Universe. Here lies the grand generalization which 
 bottoms the entire symbolism of the creation ; for what 
 God creates is full of himself, and He being Spirit, it 
 follows that nature shall serve as his symbol in its 
 myriads of facts. All the rays of analogy, therefore, 
 from the material world ascend to Him. Not only so, 
 
THE LAW INVOLVED, 159 
 
 but they all converge in Man ; for lie being the son of 
 God by descent, finds himself an Original in the midst 
 of this limitless realm of forms and laws, so that the 
 same necessity -which plants likeness between the 
 Creator and the natural world, plants it as perfectly 
 between the soul and nature ; whence it is that all our 
 spiritual attributes are glassed in the material world ; 
 and for the same reason does the language which ex- 
 presses what is known of the outward world grow so 
 readily convertible into the signs of all that is known 
 of the soul itself. So far we go in respect to the 
 language-service rendered by the visible creation in 
 revealing the realities of the soul. 
 
 But here is a little world in which man is directly 
 the creator, — his arts, manners, movements, which 
 also contribute to this higher use of wocds ; for very 
 many of the terms which express the facts belonging to 
 mind and to character are thence derived. Walking, 
 howing, running, fighting, working, though the most 
 literal of facts, readily glide into the expression of 
 analogous facts in relation to mind. Supercilious, the 
 raising of the eyebrow, Progress, primarily a moving 
 forward by muscular motion, easily indicate haughti- 
 ness of spirit, and the advancement made in intellectual 
 and moral attainment, though the latter of these terms 
 still remains in its double use, to express the improve- 
 ment which appertains to mind, or to vegetable and 
 animal growth, or the merely forward movement of 
 physical power. We ask no clearer proof of the 
 existence of the perfect, secret analogy which marries 
 matter to mind, than this easy transition of words, from 
 
160 
 
 LANGUAGB. 
 
 the expression of things of matter to the expression of 
 mental realities, — a transition so easy that none are 
 conscious of reasoning on its fitness. So perfect is 
 this analogy, that our speech, which denotes the rela- 
 tions in space, as by, with, above, through, against, 
 when applied to the relations of thought, is found to 
 answer equally well. For ages the discourse of the 
 orator and poet has flown along with the radiance of 
 symbols sparkling on its surface, and of whatever else 
 we may tire, the picturesque in language will always 
 captivate us. 
 
 Why, it may be asked, do you ascribe height to 
 virtue ? Why do you call a man of the propensities 
 low? Why describe the indifferent as cold? Why 
 denominate love or anger, a fire f Is there altitude in 
 the spirit ? JSTdne, certainly, that rules and lines may 
 measure. We concede that no mensuration learned in 
 the books or in magnitudes can show the inebriate as 
 low, that no degree of Fahrenheit will ever indicate a 
 stoic as cold, that no anger or love ever ignited wood or 
 charcoal, yet in the ever-diffusive circle of Analogy, 
 we are sure that there ^is something in these facts of 
 spirit which entitles them to be so called, something of 
 which these outer facts are objective pictures. We 
 see, therefore, in the very structure of the Universe, 
 that the provident Creator has aimed at language, that 
 by His hand the Logos is every where sown. He who 
 globed the worlds scattered thickly the seeds of lan- 
 guage over all his Universe. 
 
 As language flows from the material World, from 
 human nature, for the answering of human wants, we 
 
AFFINITIES. 161 
 
 should expect it to possess a large degree of unitj'. 
 For in man's nature wherever found, in the external 
 creation wherever known, there is a reign of Unity. 
 Man is One. Nature is One, and is from One. Accor- 
 dingly, the same great elements are found in all lan- 
 guages, though the forms may vary ever so widely. 
 
 But there must be diversity also. There is need for 
 languages, for the very diversity of human nature and 
 its outward conditions, would, of necessity, lead to many 
 forms of language. The Primitive language, which 
 Grotius and others say preceded all known languages, 
 traces of which he thinks may be found in all ; the 
 primitive language, from which Gobelin taught that 
 every dialect was derived, the language "natural, neces- 
 sary, universal and imperishable," " inspired by God 
 himself," cannot be named or • learned. We kiiow of 
 no such language. It is true, that the affinities between 
 the languages of Europe and Western Asia, are deci- 
 dedly marked, so much so that linguists have classed 
 the German and the' Sanscrit dialects together, under 
 the generic name of Germano-Indian ; but, that these 
 affinities prove a general descent of all languages from 
 one. primitive language, we deny, on the authority of 
 evidence gathered from both continents. Crossing the 
 Ganges towards Chinas all these affinities disappear, 
 where it is found that the monosyllabic language of the 
 Chinese — a language without syntax or inflection of 
 words — the oldest language now spoken on the earth, 
 and spoken by at least a third part of the human fam- 
 ily — has no affinity whatever, with the polysyllabic, 
 and the syntactic languages of India. In the vast ter- 
 
162 LANGUAGE. 
 
 ritories of aboriginal America, all the spoken languages 
 were connected by affinities, but hold nothing in com- 
 mon with the Chinese ; as these men of the woods uttered 
 themselves in good long words, in eloquent sentences, 
 and in rich grammatical forms. Where, then, is the one 
 primitive language ? The chain of affinities is broken. 
 History knows no one primitive seat of civilization, no 
 one primitive language out of which all others have 
 sprung. The unity of the human race, supposed to be 
 favored by a common origin of languages, does not, we 
 think, need such argument in its defence ; for, so far as 
 this essential unity is concerned, it is proved by the 
 possibility and contents of human language everywhere, 
 in which the rational and moral nature, in which the 
 ideas of cause and efifect, of religious homage to Divine 
 Power, of moral right, and of a future life are exhibit- 
 ed — these great common sentiments, which must prove 
 a common nature in those who are capable of their pos- 
 session, are all-sufficient evidence that the race is essen- 
 tially one. Articulate speech in any form, unfolding 
 an order of thought and love, of retrospect and prospect, 
 which alone pertain to the sphere of rational and moral 
 nature, is infallible proof for the unity of the race, 
 though no trace of word-affinity be found. 
 
 That there should have been a multitude of different 
 languages, seems natural and inevitable. Even grant- 
 ing the one primitive language of Grotius, there must 
 have been in hwman nature the diverging cause, to have 
 broken it up into so many different dialects. If we 
 might be allowed to suppose ourselves as destitute of 
 all language, and that three persons should be sent to 
 
MANY iANGUAGES NECESSAKY. 163 
 
 spend seven years in the formation of language to four 
 exceedingly isolated positions of the globe, when the 
 twelve should return, can we imagine thaif they would 
 come back with the same language ? We are far from 
 believing that they would or could fall upon the same 
 language, though divested of all education from the 
 past. Many accidental likenesses, however, would be 
 detected among the four languages created. That the 
 same tendency of human nature which leads to diversity 
 of intellect, genius, form, and character, should also 
 develop diversity of language, we take to be a safe 
 position. We will here name some principal causes 
 which would naturally lead to many languages. 
 
 1. There are peculiarities of the Vocal Oegans, 
 which diversify the pronunciation of manMnd, No 
 three, of a dozen small children, in pronouncing mono- 
 syllables after a teacher, will be apt to pronounce exactly 
 alike. The teacher may speak ever so plainly, they 
 will vary in following him. There are sounds in several 
 languages, which it is difficult for foreigners to attain. 
 This diversity in pronunciation, would, in time, cause 
 diflFerence of language. 
 
 2. ManMnd differ in the particular structure of 
 their Intellectual and Sympathetic nature. There 
 is in every people, capable of much good or evil, 
 an Original Genius which distinguishes them from 
 others. The Hebrew and the Greek, the Roman and 
 the Chinese, differed as widely in their genius as a 
 people as they are found to have differed in their lan- 
 guages. The Indian of America and the African of 
 Guinea, would, left to themselves, necessarily adopt 
 
164 
 
 LANGUAGE. 
 
 different forms of speech, for the diversity of their 
 minds could not fail to represent itself in their lan- 
 guage. A language, originally, is from the soul, the 
 life, the experience of a people. Who does not see 
 the strong worshipful Hebrew heart in the Hebrew 
 language ? Who fails to recognize the harmonious, 
 aesthetic soul of the Greek, his fine fancy and subtle 
 intellect, in his elegant, symphonious speech? This 
 originality of a people, which leads them to excel in 
 very different directions, to do that which stamps their 
 nationality upon it, has necessarily filled the world with 
 thousands of languages. From this fundamental origi- 
 nality of a people, which lies back of education, and 
 which causes the interesting diversity of mankind, we 
 are obliged, to infer that nature, and all things objec- 
 tive, would not strike any two nations under the same 
 aspects and impressions, no more indeed than they do 
 any two individuals, even were the external scenery 
 and conditions exactly similar, which is never the case. 
 What men, in different parts, or in the same parts, 
 ever contemplated hfe and nature underthe same hues 
 of reason and fancy ? And would not this diversity of 
 impression, in a people whose language is being formed, 
 in a people unbound by inherited habits of association 
 as to language, appear in the formation ? 
 
 3. The great diversity which reigns in External 
 Nature, thereby awakening different thoughts and 
 emotions, must have proved influential in the formation 
 of different languages. The power of physical condi- 
 tions on character, has long been acknowledged, though 
 of late years, more than ever before, has the idea been 
 
ITS PERMANENCE. 165 
 
 made prominent. It is found that a tropical sun 
 awakens not only a different flora from the temperate 
 and the arctic, but it also develops a different man. 
 He is as tropical as the palm or the cedar. We know 
 not how this fact of climatic and scenic differences may 
 strike others, but to us it is plain that the same causes 
 which develop different Mnds of men, physically, men- 
 tally, and morally, would powerfully assist in the de- 
 velopment of different hinds of language. We mourn 
 not the diversities of language ; for man had need of 
 them. The radical variousness of human nature and 
 experience, and the same yariousness of all developing 
 influence from physical conditions, could not but lead 
 to many languages. We know that a language once 
 formed goes down to many generations by education, 
 as do traditions. We know the immortal toughness of 
 an old language among a settled people, a toughness 
 defying time, as vindicated in the essential sameness of 
 the languages of India and China, which are supposed 
 to be, at least, four thousand years old. We know 
 that the spirit of a nation is embalmed in its language 
 ages after the language is spoken. How may the 
 Hebrew soul fade from the world's memory ? How 
 may the Greek or the Roman character be forgotten ? 
 Our own English is substantially what it was in the 
 days of Spenser and Shakspeare, the changes belong- 
 ing mostly to costume. But before the establishment 
 of languages, these diversifying causes could freely 
 operate, and even after they are established, they 
 operate both in modifying them, and in giving rise, at 
 last, to new languages. 
 
166 
 
 LANGUASB. 
 
 But our ablest languages claim ancestry in tbe 
 remotest times. Old nations, long since dead, are 
 found sleeping at the roots of our most eloquent words. . 
 Nations now living assist eacli other in the commerce 
 of language. Persia gave us this adjective — better, 
 which flows not from good, but from the Persian Beh, 
 which means good, and Behter, better. In present liv- 
 ing languages the fossil remains of ancient intellect are 
 imbedded, as remote ages are inscribed on the various 
 strata of the earth. 
 
 The comparative study of languages was long kept 
 in the back ground because no masterly hand had put 
 them in a position to be examined in contrast, a pur- 
 pose finally accomplished by two illustrious Germans, 
 John 'Christopher Adelung and his able successor, 
 John Severin Vater, who first gave the world a scien- 
 tific classification of all the known languages, and a 
 correct description of each idiom. 
 
 But the competency of language to reach the high- 
 est aim, to express perfectly all that exists in Thought, 
 all that is known and felt in human experience, is 
 questioned and denied. It is called a weak and 
 partial instrument. We have hesitated on the all-suf- 
 ficiency of this medium. When we have read Shak- 
 speare, we have said, there is nothing in us, nothing in 
 the whole circle of consciousness but that may be sig- 
 nified ; but when hearing others, or attempting our- 
 selves to speak what is highest, deepest, and holiest in 
 life, we have felt that language is insufficient. But if 
 we are going to test the sufficiency of language for a 
 perfect mental expression, we are to let masters wield 
 
ITS MANIPOLDNESS. 167 
 
 it, otherwise its entire power cannot be known. Let 
 the masters play with its wondrous forces. We have 
 entire faith in the sufEciency of language for a perfect 
 expression when wielded by the best minds, and vrhen 
 it addresses a kindred expbeienoe, as words are signs, 
 whose interpretation must always lie in the experience 
 of the hearer, — an experience which in all of us is 
 somehow so widely various that we know, for the most 
 part, what is best and worst in saints and sinners, in 
 wise and unwise, ambitious and unambitious, slothful and 
 active, happy and miserable. There are joys and woes 
 that fathom for a time the abyss of being, and though 
 words may never signify these to philologists and gram- 
 marians, they depict them clearly enough to him who 
 has been similarly sounded by the same agencies. 
 
 We are told truly that man is the grand Mystery, 
 that his nature and experience are exceedingly mani- 
 fold, that as he is all things, he is only partially sig- 
 nified in language, which is called a narrow instrument. 
 We are induced to reply that language has the same 
 manifoldness that man and the creation possess, for it 
 is the offspring of these. The manifoldness of God, 
 represented in nature and in humanity, resides in human 
 language, which has sprung up as the harvest of seeds 
 anciently and divinely sown. We have the means of 
 expressing all contrarieties and opposites, so that if any 
 one chooses to remain in a narrow comer of faith or 
 science, it is no fault of language that he does so. 
 
 The tendency of experience and consciousness to 
 outstrip the skill of expression, we concede ; but when- 
 ever it does this to any considerable extent, it forms a 
 
168 liANSUAGB. 
 
 demand for new language, which demand is a promise 
 that the supply is forthcoming. The ability shared by 
 men and children to create language is ample guar- 
 anty that every want shall be fulfilled. If you are 
 moved by a truth, a joy, a woe, which your words can- 
 not reveal, your countenance, eyes, and movement will 
 effectually become your word. 
 
 In looking after the sources of language, we find 
 that HUMAN EXPERIENCE is One of them. What man- 
 kind have thought, enjoyed, suffered, called for utter- 
 ance, and satisfaction came in utterance. Whatever 
 there is, therefore, of manifoldness in human experi- 
 ence, has passed into human expression, into language. 
 Man has studied his own history, has inquired into him- 
 self somewhat, and each triumph of knowledge over 
 himself, as over nature, has multiphed and enriched 
 language, either in its words or its uses. In the actual 
 life, man has expressed himself in results as varied as 
 he is. All things supposable of heaven, earth, or hell, 
 have already appeared in human history. This fulness 
 of result is the fulness of language, for language com- 
 mands it all in the service of expression. What feel- 
 ing, what form of thought, what passion, has not told 
 itself in deeds ? If there is one yet unexpressed, it 
 will create a channel, and we shall yet listen to new 
 accounts of the soul. 
 
 We refer to the amplitude of symbol in the crea- 
 tion as lasting evidence of the perfect sufficiency of 
 language as a medium of thought. Thought cannot 
 very far transcend language, provided we commonly or 
 always think in language, or with language always fol- 
 
ITS SUFFICIENCY, 169 
 
 lowing closely after. The visible Universe is exceed- 
 ingly manifold, the type of Man, the type of God. We 
 have already seen how prolific it has been in the yield- 
 ing of language to mankind. The manifoldness of man 
 inwardly has been answered by the outward manifold- 
 ness of Mature. Every possible mood and aspiration 
 are pictured there. The mystery of man lies imaged 
 in the mystery of creation. What we know of him, 
 and all we know of him, is imaged also. My words do 
 fail. But when I look into the earth and heaven, I 
 find that I am published in symbol, in a perfect utter- 
 ance by an Eternal Author. We are aware of the 
 illimitable richness of the material creation, and we shall 
 bo unable to deny the sufficiency of language for the 
 entire expression of mind, until we are first shaken in 
 the belief that the material world is a perfect symbol- 
 shadow of the spirit. It is true that we have but par- 
 tially conquered this wild of nature ; we have called 
 what little we know into language. But man and 
 language are to advance together. As the former 
 unfolds into completeness through the ages, he will 
 wield more extensively the vast symbolism of nature. 
 The whole creation is destined to pass gently into 
 human speech ; for man will require it all in his future 
 self-expression. 
 
 The enchantment dwells in the master's skill, though 
 something is due to the harp. Paganini drew melo- 
 dious wopders out of a single strand. Shakspeare and 
 Milton, striking the king's English, have sung the 
 many-voiced melody of poem. Under the touch of 
 Eobert Burns, the old Scotch brogue grew heartily 
 
 8 
 
ITO language! 
 
 musical in Scotia's rural scenes. Goethe, extending 
 ■his ample utterance to the verge of night in the Ger- 
 man, Homer inspiring the myriads on the Hellenic harp, 
 teach that the sufficiency of a language depends on the 
 genius of him who plays. 
 
 The narrowness of logicians and of formulists lies in 
 an attachment to certain words and definitions, as if Truth 
 had eternal habitation in these, as if the Universe could 
 easily be cut up into village lots, and settled by mortals. 
 They have yet to learn that Truth is Infinite and disdains 
 narrow walls as her eternal palace. They have yet to 
 learn that man is not measured, that he, and nature, and 
 God, are too vast for his propositions, too great for his se- 
 lected words. Does the creed contain Christ ? Does the 
 Life of God operate within the circle of an opinion ? 
 Does not nature live but fragmentarily in the Principia ? 
 We are fools voluntarily if we have not learned that 
 all human knowledge is vastly outstripped by the depths 
 of nature, humanity, and Divinity ; and to suppose that 
 even all human words transcend human knowledge, is 
 to forget both the origin and end of language. There- 
 fore, the embodiments of logicians and creed-formers 
 are by necessity meagre and partial. The stars glow- 
 ing, moving in space, rest not, depend not on astrono- 
 my. The flowers, various, many-colored, sweet-scented 
 creations, ask nothing of Linnseus. This body, the in- 
 geniously wrought clothing of the spirit, depends not 
 on books, nor have books told its perpetual mystery. 
 We have Christ in his life, not in creeds. We have 
 God in creation, in history, in the Soul, not in exegesis 
 of belief or scripture. We will therefore dismiss to 
 
THE LOaOS PERVERTED. 171 
 
 the winds all prospect of ever putting the vast fulness 
 of Truth and of Life into definitions, and will learn 
 them in those natural forms in which the Creator gives 
 them embodiment. 
 
 One would think that there is speaking enough, and 
 language enough, without taxing much the inventors. 
 Words are as leaves on the trees, as sands in the 
 desert. No lack of words, no lack of tongues. Talk- 
 ing and quilling are overdone. In public life what 
 dashes of oratory, what storming of sentences announce 
 to us that Consequence is on the platform, that the 
 public weal at last has found a lover ! And oh ! what 
 professions, what apostrophes to renowned exemplars, 
 and what emptj echoes of heart and head daily go 
 forth in words ! Thou earthly Logos ! Divine in the 
 beginning, thou art becoming the basest of sinners. 
 Yet in defiance of all froth and foam of demagogues 
 who can remedy all evil in a day, we hold this power of 
 defining our wants, of sending electric shocks of life, 
 hope and courage to another, of making manifest what- 
 ever transpires in this invisible realm of mind, to be 
 the divinest of gifts ; and let him be thankful who 
 can, on fit occasions, be mouth for himself and mouth 
 for others. But greatness and goodness never were 
 all Word. The silence *which reigns in thehlue depths 
 of Heaven, and - in the depths of the sea, belongs to 
 these. God himself is not all Word. He is Spirit. 
 He is Power. He is Deed. He performs in holy 
 Stillness. He sounds no trumpet when the victorious 
 sun, with noiseless beams, dissolves the domain of snow 
 and ice. Nothing is said when trees leave, and flowers 
 
172 
 
 LANGUAGE. 
 
 blossom. And is not the silent work of honest worth 
 the gem that wins us at last ? There may be frequent 
 hollowness in the use of speech, yet in language itself 
 there is nothing meaningless. Could there ever have 
 been a word for sun and moon in different languages, 
 if these orbs had not actually shone in the heavens ? 
 Would any person ever have said green, or hlue, if 
 these colors had not appeared in nature ? Impossible. 
 And would hypocrisy ever have been a human word, 
 provided all voluntary beings had been strictly true ? 
 Would the \i&xxK.a falsehood and beauty ever have glided 
 into general discourse, had truth forever been spoken, 
 and had deformity instead of excellence universally 
 appeared in nature ? We are convinced that, without 
 the preceding realities, the words could never have been 
 born. 
 
 This view leads to one or two important conclusions. 
 It mirrors to us that the great and many-phased expe- 
 rience, and history of man, are written in the sum of 
 all human words. For he, through the ages, has been 
 uttering himself. His good and his evil, his truth and 
 his error, are all expressed. There was a call for each 
 word. In no book, and by no author, is his full history 
 given. It is recorded nowhere, but in the sum total of 
 human words. Would man ever have said holiness, or 
 virtue, or honor, unless the realities had called f r the 
 names ? Our faith is deepened when we meet in the 
 many languages, the words Goodness, Infinity, Eternity, 
 Love ; we feel at once that such words must have root 
 in being ; that the soul's wealth of ideas, of experience, 
 of consciousness, is vindicated through the infinitude of 
 
GOOD WORDS, PROOFS OF GOOD THINGS. 173 
 
 words, and words of such vast significance. Faith, 
 hope and charity, meekness, purity, sweetness, and 
 magnanimity, all the host of terms which denominate 
 the excellences, are faith to us. We know that human 
 life has developed these excellences, or the words had 
 never been born. The word God, in the good, sense in 
 which religion uses it, could never have been spoken, 
 had the race been utterly depraved. 
 
 In the light of the same view, we discover how per- 
 severingly the human heart has beaten in unison with 
 Eternal Rectitude. Look at the entire vocabulary of 
 words which represent moral qualities, and the evidence 
 glares upon you like sunrise, that the sanction of the 
 human soul has alw^s been given to the good and the 
 true ; that its condemnation has always fallen on the 
 evil and the false. Our terms fidelity, kindness, gen- 
 erosity, forbearance, on the one hand, and meanness, 
 treachery, falsehood, cruelty, avarice, on the other, may 
 be taken as an example of the manner in which the 
 structure of universal language illustrates the moral 
 feelings of mankind, as always clinging to the right, 
 and as opposing every wrong, — an evidence this supe- 
 rior to all theorization on humanity, since it sprang up 
 spontaneously, in the formation of language, without 
 any intention of establishing a philosophy or a creed. 
 
 But the high, practical law of language is, that it 
 takes vitality from the mind that speaks it. Out of 
 the abundance of the heart, the Word proceeds. If 
 sweetness and harmony have inward residence, their 
 quality will go forth a living melody in words. It steals 
 upon us like celestial enchantment. The spirit thinks, 
 
ll-i LANGUAGE. 
 
 the heart muses in words, giving to the messages which 
 reach us, a primary baptism of the light and love they 
 are seiit to fulfil. The question. What is said ? is not 
 the sole question ; rather is it to be asked. Who said 
 it ? for, as a late writer has intimated, " it makes some 
 difference in the force of words and sentences, whether 
 a man stands behind them or not." Style is ever the 
 subject of admiration and criticism, which, so far as it 
 is not the result of imitation, originates in and expresses 
 the mind of the author, as a stream reveals its fountain. 
 Nor is imitation unworthy of notice, since each person 
 shows something of himself in what he imitates, in the 
 selection of his model. 
 
 In this law of language, we discover the delusion of 
 artificial rhetoric. No man carries others beyond him- 
 self. They may go beyond, but it is by their own power, 
 not by his. In the real depths of wisdom, in clearness 
 and in freshness of perception, in purity and energy of 
 moral sentiment, in the power of the passions earnestly 
 directed, all high and mighty eloquence must forever 
 proceed. What avail graces of manner, when a man 
 is listener, provided the truth is not present ? We de- 
 sire that our speaker, first of all, be sincere. If he 
 convinces us that he is true to himself, we will ask no 
 pledge of his trueness to God, to us, and to all others. 
 In the corruption of the world, true eloquence declines. 
 Children are eloquent, because they are unseduced from 
 sincerity and self-faithfulness. The' difference in the 
 words of the wise man and the idiot, of the saint and 
 the outlaw, of the lover and the stoi6, is forever remind- 
 ing tis, that SOULS, and not tongues, speak; that 
 
ELOQUENCE. 175 
 
 divine graces originate inieriorly; whence obedient 
 tongue, hand, voice, and form, should render them de- 
 lightfully visible. What, then, shall render your speech 
 powerful and persuasive ? It is this: First, be sure of 
 an exalted purpose. I^hen, be strong in a manly will. 
 Possess the knowledge of truth, and rely on it. Earn- 
 estly cherish the love of Principle. Be your own man. 
 Bravely utter your real convictions, surrendering your- 
 self freely to the inspiration of the ideas that sway the 
 sceptre of your own spirit. Cherish good, earnest feel- 
 ings. Allow them free and joyous play. If you would 
 speak with the greatest effect, never speak for effect, 
 certainly not for applause, in any form. The bird that 
 charms you in May, never sings to please, but to utter 
 the inborn melody it delights to express. This bird is 
 the teacher of orators. Though men must have elo- 
 quent minds before they can have truly eloquent 
 tongues, we shall be unjust to the merit of preceptive 
 teaching, unless we concede that awkwardnesses may be 
 pointed out, and that natural impediments may be fre- 
 quently overcome. Conversational power grows perfect 
 in much practice. By practice, children gracefully 
 control the personal form. Disciplined energy is more 
 than a match for raw forces. The orator's business, 
 said Socrates, is to spmh the truth, which undoubtedly 
 is the full idea of his calling, provided he speaks it well. 
 To have the highest eloquence, that'which accords with 
 rising suns and rolling seas, one should cherish an entire 
 fellowship with the Creation, and freely drink the influ- 
 ence of the beauty, freedom, and power, its forms 
 express. Like Nature, he may refuse to grow old, and, 
 
176 LANGUAGE.- 
 
 like her, maj share in an eternal joy and hopefulness. 
 He must know the human heart, and be able to strike, 
 as with angels' fingers, its ten thousand chords. If we 
 said the best of what we really feel and think, declam- 
 ation could never impoverish by taking the place of 
 eloquence. If we copy and repeat, bow to authority, 
 and apologize for differing with our ancestors and our 
 neighbors, we may omit surprise that no bursting foun- 
 tains cheer us with music on so dead a level, and that 
 no mountains of independent power, such as awe soula, 
 tower into converse with stars. Let the teacher who 
 has nature in him, assist those who have forsaken her 
 paths, to return ; but let us never delude ourselves into 
 the belief, that what the gods call eloquence, ever came 
 from the gymnastics of the rhetorician. 
 
 It might seem Unity-like, to hear one language spoken 
 from pole to pole, but it would not be the true, various 
 unity of mankind. Such a triumph of uniformity over 
 the diverse originalities of races, we are satisfied can 
 never occur. The vegetation of one zone will as soon 
 become the vegetation of all zones, as the language of 
 one country will absorb or displace all other languages. 
 God sets impassable limits to uniformity of every kind. 
 Becher, who, in the middle of the seventeenth century, 
 clai'med three hundred crowns of the German prince, 
 for having discovered a universal language, received a 
 dinner, and some royal compliments — all he deserved, 
 certainly. 
 
 Since the structure of the Universe aims at the 
 development in man of language, and since the origi- 
 native ability to produce belongs to mankind, we cannot 
 
ALL .THINGS YIELD IT. 177 
 
 doubt, that, in every country, time, and state of cul- 
 ture, man will speak in the form best suited to himself. 
 We think man is destined to improve on this planet ; 
 and that his forms of communication will grow more 
 amply perfect with the progress of his mind, is a result 
 certain and inevitable. We would aspire to a pure 
 mind, and a pure speech. We would live our literature 
 to be truly literary. We also cherish the calm faith, 
 that when true men, and fully grown, shall walk the 
 earth, the symbolism of the whole creation will be 
 gracefully wielded in their self expression. For, in all 
 its manifoldness, it now comes to mirror the higher 
 manifoldness of humanity ; and, in what has already 
 occurred, there is a pledged willingness of all nature, 
 to aid, now and forever, the efforts of man at a more 
 perfect utterance of ^is consciousness and. experiences. 
 
SYMBOLISM. 
 
 The soul in manj ways takes help from the senses. 
 We seem to see with our whole vision when the exter- 
 nal and the internal senses grasp the same truth, a 
 fact which evidently occurs in the genuine use of sym- 
 bols. For here the eye traces the image which holds 
 fast the truth the inl^jllect would penetrate and pos- 
 sess. It happens that nothing is so real to mankind as 
 what they see, hear, smell, taste, feel ; whence it is 
 that all language referring to these is familiar, and 
 available for use. Hence the service rendered by 
 images to abstract thoughts. If mind is hazy and 
 tends to an ocean-wide diffuseness, there is that in the 
 respective types which sets forth the truth in greater 
 definiteness. Ideas which are invisible of themselves, 
 in this way get body and form, so that we behold their 
 light as radiant in a living countenance. " I will in- 
 cline mine ear to a parable ; I will open my dark say- 
 ing upon the harp." * 
 
 It has been thought that the age of symbol-fondness 
 is the uncivilized and half-barbarous state when the 
 
 * Ps. 49 : 4. 
 
180 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 senses and the imagination bear sway over intellect, 
 and prevent the refinements of culture. Under this 
 view we suppose it was that the distinguished English 
 essayist expressed the /ear that mankind would never 
 be able to dispense with symbols. We know that 
 savages are fond of glaring pictures, that simplicity is 
 omitted in the grosser ■ conditions of mind, that to live 
 in pure truth and from inward self-subsistence is char- 
 acteristic of the spiritual. But we ask what state of 
 mind is there that borrows nothing from the senses ? 
 Who would close his eyes to landscapes and to setting 
 suns ? Who would turn away, as unworthy of regard, 
 from the pictures of art ? Who would turn out of 
 truth's service the imagination which creates and 
 paints, drawing such sudden and vivid maps of outward 
 scenes, of past experience, of future prospect, of present 
 truth ? We know of no dishonor as coming upon 
 spiritual things through material agency. For the 
 structure of the universe is such, that the material 
 worlds fulfil moral ends, and every law and agency be- 
 comes a teacher. The railways and telegraphs money 
 has built, are moral as well as physical agencies ; for 
 by making mankind near neighbors, by transmitting so 
 widely and speedily the thoughts of men, by opening 
 and diversifying enterprise, character and intellect are 
 affected. Nor is there any part of the world, either 
 as island, sea, air, continent or distant star, which does 
 not exist for mind, for truth. To ask mankind to dis- 
 pense with symbols in the largest sense, is in reality 
 asking them no longer to see the Invisible imaged and 
 reflected by the Seen, which can never be complied 
 
ITS KIip) SHOWS THE CULTUKB. 181 
 
 •with whilst the body is expressive of the soul, whilst 
 the external creation declares the attributes of its God, 
 and whilst it is the tendency of every cause to grow 
 visible in the effect. It is to ask that the eternal mar- 
 riage of matter and mind, in the bond of analogy, shall 
 be dissolved. This cannot be, for God has benevolently 
 planted this union from everlasting. Wherever there is 
 light, substance will be reflected in shadow, a truth 
 which must hold in the advanced stages of being as 
 truly as now. Though we outgrow the grosser condi- 
 tions of matter and mind ever so far, the relative bal- 
 ance of what is signified in each will be retained, for 
 the union of these realities is radical, and being so 
 wisely laid in the germ of life, must be reflected 
 through all the gradations of its future development. 
 
 The hind of 'symbol that satisfies for the mefttal ex- 
 pression of any person, community or age, is the sure 
 test of the degree to which they have arrived in the 
 scale of culture. From the gross pictures and images 
 of pagan idolatry, to the higher representation of idea 
 in the Catholic Church, this truth is apparent. Because 
 we demand symbol, does it follow that we need the 
 hind which assisted and satisfied the Egyptian homage ? 
 Does it follow that any one age or sect is to have a 
 monopoly in determining what it shall be ? Not at all. 
 For in no school-boy sense are we to accept the doc- 
 trine of symbols, but we are to give it the widest range 
 of meaning, that the infinite diversity of truth may be 
 served. Those who arrive at a faith and a love that 
 are absoltfte, will use it in this wide significance, seeing 
 the " invisible things " shadowed forth in those " that 
 
182 
 
 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 are made," thus putting the creation, in all its unity 
 and variety, into a representative service. 
 
 The earliest language of men was the picturesque, 
 the language of symbol ; and is it not now the favorite 
 language, the one of which we never tire ? Abstrac- 
 tion soon wearies us. But truth, coming in beautiful 
 and living imagery, is as a divine. play, having a certain 
 life and inspiration that awaken and delight us. We 
 lay by the dullest books not till we have noticed the 
 pictures. Catholic countries have continued reverence 
 to particular saints through the centuries, by picture 
 as successfully as by legend. And who can say that 
 his idea of Jesus has borrowed nothing of its radiance 
 from the simple pictures art has consecrated to his 
 memory ? Ideas are never so vividly seen, so joyfully 
 receiv^ or so long remembered, as when they visit us 
 in the clear and simple light of their own appropriate 
 symbols. Children easily learn when thus taught. 
 Say what we will of the understanding, it is through 
 the door of imagination that the celestial guests ap- 
 proach us. 
 
 There is a double delight, when the material and the 
 spiritual senses are jointly blessed, as by the cataract 
 of the Nile the poet enjoyed the beauty of the scene, 
 as he gazed in such unison with the beauty of thought 
 it awakeried, as to be conscious of only one picture be- 
 fore him. Symbol borrows sacredness from the truth 
 it represents ; and its office is to set it forth so objec- 
 tively that it may be clearly seen ; to give it definite- 
 ness, freshness, and force ; to serve as the medium of 
 its radiance, to bring back the hallowed memory, to 
 
ALL THINGS ARE SYMBOLICAL. 183 
 
 recall the truth, as mementoes which friends leave 
 cause them to be present when absent. As ideas al- 
 ways assume forms of expression which are their sym- 
 bol, as spirit and body are ever wedded, as soul and 
 nature, being of the same family, are forever answer- 
 ing back to each other through resemblance and affinity, 
 the noblest culture will always be assisted by the light 
 which the visible reflects of that which pertains to our 
 spiritual being and to God. 
 
 Each countenance is the symbol of each soul. Ev- 
 ery great man, every good man, and every bad man 
 casts before him the visible shadow of his quality in 
 the work he achieves. No man is so poor but he 
 leaves himself inscribed on something. Art is the 
 symbol of the artist. Nature is the symbol of God. 
 Time is the shadow of Eternity. The institutions of 
 an age are a picture of its accepted ideas, the church 
 and the state being but monuments of these. 
 
 That there is law at the source of things which 
 causes agreement between figure and fact, between 
 the powers of the inward and the facts of the outward 
 life, is implied in the manner of remark common to 
 every country, in their eloquence, proverb and poem. 
 Good illustrations from Nature are nothing more than 
 such correspondences between external forms and men- 
 tal realities as in the nature of things subsist. In 
 poems and in parables it is implied that some eternal 
 law runs through these two hemispheres of nature, 
 matter and spirit uniting them into one. The great 
 truth like the sun has always shone, though its philoso- 
 phical announcement. has seldom appeared. Did Swe- 
 
184 
 
 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 denborg give the world its first light- on the subject of 
 Correspondences ? Evidently not ; for he who first illus- 
 trated any part of his mental experience by facts in 
 nature, stood upon this basis of correspondence. And 
 have not mankind always used their knowledge of the 
 material world, as a means of giving expression to their 
 inward experience? The very history of language 
 proves this, for it was by means of the language first 
 given to outward things, and to outward relations, pro^ 
 perties, and events, that the purely mental facts be- 
 came expressed. It has been shown that language of 
 pkydcal origin has largely served to reveal what is real 
 in the mind. On what principle, we ask, was it that 
 language primarily referring to nature, to things, should 
 have rendered this service to the soul and its experi- 
 cences ? Only on the ground of the correspondence 
 forever subsisting between Soul and Nature, from which 
 flow the endless analogies uniting them. Hence the 
 words of the latter readily rise into the representative 
 service of the former. The science of correspondences 
 is founded in the structure of the universe, not in an 
 author or a school. The author, if he have merit, is 
 founded in this eternal science, a consciousness of 
 which has always more or less clearly broken forth in 
 the utterances of men. "All things are double, one 
 against another," was the Hebrew aphorism. 
 
 The learned seer of Stockholm undoubtedly has 
 given this subject a prominence in sacred literature, 
 which in Europe it never before possessed. But has 
 he announced the highest generalization on which the 
 subject of correspondences rests ? Of this we doubt. 
 
THE GRAND GENERALIZATION. 185 
 
 His best statement is that every fact in the natural 
 world answers to some truth, to some kindred fact in 
 the spiritual world, that the visible world is the type 
 and shadow of what the spiritual world contains. But 
 this view merely states the fact of such connection ; it 
 announces nothing of the law which stands behind it. 
 Nor are we sure that this contrast of " Natural world " 
 and " Spiritual world " will prove as intelligible as would 
 one or two other statements that might be made, which 
 shall find in God and the creation, the soul and the 
 world surrounding it, the chief points of contrast, the 
 one standing as the mirror of the other and the higher- 
 These terms, the soul, and God, contain all that may 
 ever be meant by the phrase " spiritual world ; " and 
 that such a correspondence exists between the soul and 
 the creation is evidenced by all the satisfactions and 
 delights the former derives from the latter. Every 
 beauty and grandeur man ever saw in the visible crea- 
 tion, was but the outward symbol of his inward sense, 
 else the fact of delight and of admiration had been im- 
 possible to him ; as much so indeed as to the animal 
 races. 
 
 The first idea that helps us to the grand generaliza- 
 tion on which the science of correspondences is bot- 
 tomed, is evolved from the simple relation which Mat- 
 ter sustains to Q-od. The material world is from Him, 
 is His creation. He is One. Hence the whole crea- 
 tion is one, is linked together by harmony of parts-; 
 there being no discord in the author, fundamentally 
 there can be none in his work. . Now it is a law eter- 
 nal and unchangeable that every being shall be repre- 
 
186 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 sented in his effects, in that which he does ; and when 
 we think that creation is the putting forth of the Infin- 
 ite mind inform, it is clear that the material world in 
 its manifold relations must yield His likeness, must con- 
 tain endless means of illustrating Him. From the 
 necessary expression of a Creator in his work, we 
 readily and easily see why it is that Nature should be 
 rich in the symbols of His thought, His justice, His 
 love. His mirror, then, is Nature. 
 
 The second idea entering into the grand generalization, 
 is evolved from the relation which the material world 
 sustains to man. Man is the image of God, the son of 
 God, having in the germ His entire order of faculties. 
 This unity of his nature with the divine, does not rest on 
 hypothesis. It is a strongly demonstrated truth, inas- 
 much as the ability to know, love, and worship the 
 Creator, implies the kindred elements of being in man, 
 or there could be no such knowledge and worship. 
 Man, therefore, being the image of God, finds an ex- 
 pression of himself in nature. His mind and his heart, 
 in all their diversity of faculty and feeling, are here 
 symbolized ; so that the various hist^y of matter is full 
 of 'analogy with the human mind. These two ideas 
 give us the highest generalization belonging to the 
 subject of correspondences. They show us, that every 
 spiritual excellence is mirrored in the visible world. 
 This too is our experience. We find in the outward 
 creation, God and ourselves. 
 
 The same conclusion is ours when man alone is 
 our starting point. For the body,' in its every func- 
 tion, limb, and law, answers to some higher faculty and 
 
NO SYSTEM IS SUFFICIENT. 187 
 
 fact in the soul. Nutrition, digestion, and the incor- 
 poration into life, are as true of the mental as of the 
 bodily processes. Man's material form and his work 
 on earth are a symbol-representation of himself. His 
 likeness is upon them. The spiritual world, therefore, 
 .cannot fail to find a representation in the Natural, since 
 it has nothing which the two ideas of God and the 
 Soul, in their various developments, do not contain. 
 But the confession becomes us that much is due the 
 Swedish seer for stating the fact of this correspondence 
 so clearly, and for his numerous labors in evolving a 
 system of correspondences. Whatever may be said 
 about the excessive theological use of his theorization, 
 it is certain that under his views the external world, 
 which so many value chiefly for its corn and its cotton, 
 every where grows eloquent with thought, and becomes 
 identified with high moral meanings. 
 
 But no man can strike out a system of correspond- 
 ences in the symbols of Nature or Scripture, for others, 
 no more than one person may give a creed which shall 
 deserve always to stand as the permanent statement 
 of faith. The same truth and the same scene strike 
 different minds under different aspects ; and whilst this 
 is so, the free action of individual intellect will not 
 abide a dictionary of terms, nor express the ' same 
 truths by the same symbols. The same mind will vary 
 these at different times ; for what prophet, poet, or 
 sage, ever rigidly adhered to the same terms, or 
 figures, in setting forth his emotions and ideas ? Be- 
 fore any fact or object in • nature is used as a symbol, 
 the speaker must discover the analogy, the resem- 
 blance uniting it to his truth. He has the truth in his 
 
188 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 mind ; and from his knowledge of this he lights uppn 
 its kindred image and images. A truth burning for 
 utterance calls to its aid its kindred, its own. No one 
 symbol is the servant of the same truth always ; truth 
 frequently dismisses old symbols, and finds expres- 
 sion in new, as' certain rivers have forsaken their old 
 courses to flow in new channels. Nothing is rightfully 
 enslaved. Truth has no bondsmen for life. One sym- 
 bol borrowed from nature may serve many truths, as its 
 rays of analogy may shine upon many ; and one truth 
 may be served by many symbols, as its rays of simili- 
 tude may fall upon many. Moon, says the distin- 
 guished author, stands for faith ; and water, for truth. 
 But why does not this orb as properly signify all femi- 
 nine grace, from the modesty and purity it represents ? 
 It stands for chastity, in the discourse of any who so 
 wish to use it, as truly as it can for faith. It is chastity, 
 empress, love, change, and untiring service. Faith 
 sheds light upon the dark world, like the moon, and 
 ■why not also like the sun, -which, relatively, it is true, 
 symbolizes to stronger advantage the Love, which, 
 with truth, illuminates the world. Many ideas and 
 chSracters may and have been served by this symbol. 
 The sun is God in figure ; is monarch, fidelity, friend- 
 ship, immortality, truth. "Water, like truth, refreshes 
 and purifies. But its occasional treachery and vio- 
 lence make it the emblem of other attributes, of insta- 
 bility and rage, " Unstable as water, thou shalt not 
 excel," said Jacob to his unfaithful son.* Why should 
 
 * Gen. 49 : 4. 
 
THE EBEBDOM OE SYMBOLS. 189 
 
 horse* always mean understanding, as a symbol of the 
 Scripture ? He is a noble animal ; and in right percep- 
 tions of analogy, there are several other qualities of 
 which this creature would sooner remind us. The inti- 
 mate manner in which one thing is united to another in 
 nature, and the shades of resemblance and contrast for- 
 ever playing between the skies of spiritual truth and 
 the earth of natural symbol, are so infinitely delicate 
 and various, that symbols are necessarily fluxional in 
 their meaning and use ; and when we add to these 
 important considerations, the fact that our mental 
 states are always changing, being never twice exactly 
 alike, and when we remember the constitutional differ- 
 ence in men's minds, leading them to diversity in their- 
 perceptions of analogy, we cannot but discover the 
 necessary failure of every attempt to get up a system 
 of correspondences, in which each symbol shall be 
 wedded to a definite truth, and each truth wedded for 
 life to a definite symbol. We are, then, properly left 
 to employ these correspondences freely, and not after 
 the manner of monotony and enslavement. 
 
 Perhaps a better, or a similar system of correspon- 
 dences to that which the Sweedish seer h9,s applied to 
 the sacred literature of Palestine, might be more 
 
 * We understand that, to a certain extent, the seer of Stock- 
 holm allows a transition in the use of symbols ;' for instance, the 
 ■word heat may signify love or anger, as the relation requires. A 
 symbol which stands for a good, or a truth, in one relation, may 
 also be used to express the opposite evil or falsity, in another. 
 This gives some flexibility to their service, though it falls far 
 short of/ the freedom and manifoldness, which to us the law of 
 symbols demands. 
 
190 SYMBOLISM, 
 
 triumphantly carried through the Vedas of India, their 
 oldest monuments of the religious sentiment ; and, I 
 would say, equally -vvell through Homer, Virgil and 
 Horace. I have three reasons for saying this ; the 
 first of which appears in the fact that the ready per- 
 ception of analogy between facts of the outward and of 
 the inward life, which is the power through which suc- 
 cess in all efforts of the kind is possible, is a power 
 limited to no one field. Rather there is no field where 
 it may not ingeniously play. From an ancient, eternal 
 marriage between mind and matter, parallel lines may 
 be drawn through each of these hemispheres, so that it 
 is impossible that any region of imagery and outward 
 fact should do otherwise than picture what is analogous 
 to itself in the world of mind, idea, and truth. The 
 second is this, that in rising from the external events 
 and images to higher meanings, ancient poetry and 
 mythological history must always be propitious ground. 
 The third is, that the Vedas, in which the sentiment of 
 nature so richly abounds, and whose pages are profusely 
 adorned with natural images that are brought into the 
 most intimate relations with the internal and the exter- 
 nal life of man, do not impose the embarrassments of so 
 much rigidly historical narrative, which, in both Testa- 
 ments, cannot be so easily regarded in any other than 
 the ordinary sense. He who speaks well from imagi- 
 nation, feeling, or tradition, as in mythological history, 
 says what is necessarily true when carried beyond the 
 literal statements. These readily point to what is be- 
 yond themselves ; and if, in looking at the olden state- 
 ments, I see in the Promethean efibrt that dreV down 
 fire from heaven, the truth that man derives all genuine 
 
THE WAY TO HIGHER TRUTHS. 191 
 
 inspiration from lofty moral sources, or if, in the 
 obedience of sun and moon to Joshua, I read the truth 
 that man is greater than nature and has an intended 
 supremacy in it, the myths have kindled a light and a 
 pleasure beyond the design of the original incidents. 
 When, however, we derive sublimer thoughts from the 
 ancient utterances than the letter expresses, it is 
 usually unfair to ascribe them to the ancient writers in 
 any other way than we would ascribe to nature the 
 paternity of superior thoughts in our own minds, when 
 originating in the observation of its scenes. The free 
 analogical power is in the mind itself; and there is 
 nothing arbitrary in the facts and images that deter- 
 mines the exact ideas which we are to find in the 
 symbol. 
 
 The rough places are smoothed and beautified when 
 analogy draws down upon them the light of higher 
 truths. Thus certain vindictive prayers of David, and 
 the warlike ferocities of the Hebrews, grow mild under 
 the view that the former signified his spiritual foes, that 
 the latter indicate the triumphant contest of good over 
 evil thoughts and passions. The admirers of Hafiz say 
 that by wine he means devotion, that sleep signifies 
 meditation on divine attributes, that beauty, perfume,, 
 Jcisses and lips signify divine perfection, hope of heav- 
 enly favor, raptures of piety, and the hidden mysteries 
 of His essence. Thus the gay Persian bard ministers 
 to thoughts that were quite foreign to his own inspira- 
 tion when penning his lines. In the process of death, 
 says an Indian scripture, " the heart," into which the 
 soul with all its faculties has withdrawn, " the summit 
 
192 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 of that viscus flashes and lightens the passage by which 
 the soul is to depart." " The dwelling of Brahme," 
 say they, " is the heart." What clear symbols these 
 of the power of love to brighten every intense darkness 
 of life and being, and to retain the divine presence ! 
 The supremacy of truth is seldom so grandly pictured 
 as in the Brahminical arrangement of the seven worlds, 
 in which truth is the summit world, the residence of 
 Brahme, and entitled the Sublime Abode. But the 
 absence of sufficient motive will, of course, prevent such 
 patient and systematic effort to subject the best writings 
 of antiquity to the principle of correspondences, as is 
 applied by the Sweedish seer to the Hebrew and Chris- 
 tian Scriptures ; though without such effort one sees 
 that it has often been beautifully wielded by the mys- 
 tics of Persia and India. We care not how high the 
 idealizing power may exalt the primary fact, provided 
 two things are observed, namely, that we retain our 
 grasp of solid fact, where it exists, as a terra firma to 
 stand on when the wings of idealization shall weary, 
 and that we respect the perfect freedom of the law of 
 symbols. If a symbol to-day shall come to serve a 
 truth, let us not, in our admiration of the service, seize 
 the beautiful visitant and force it into a changeless 
 dictionary, thereby compelling it to mean always the 
 same thing. Freely it came, freely let it depart when 
 called for by another service. We stand upon this, 
 that the character of symbols is eternally free and 
 infinitely fluxional, and that violence is done to the law 
 whenever we enslave the symbol for life ; that it is wrong 
 to treat it as the Hebrews did the stupid slave who 
 
ITS CHIEF MERIT. 193 
 
 neglected to improve his chance for liberty on hearing 
 the blast of the grand Jubile trump. 
 
 Perhaps the great merit residing in symbol-service, 
 when applied to writings in which the popular rever- 
 ence concentrates, is the introduction it gives the best 
 minds into regions of truth overlaying the common be- 
 lief ; especially is this service great to those minds, 
 which, to be true to themselves, must transcend the 
 popular level of accepted ideas, minds that would suffer 
 intense spiritual death under the opinional thraldom 
 weighing upon the mass. By this method they easily 
 ascend into the sublimer contemplations where they are 
 free and at home ; whilst the absence of this analogical 
 elevation has caused many to openly revolt against the 
 sacredness of venerated pages, thereby doing some 
 violence to the reverence of mankind. In all great 
 faiths the happy benefits of this method are realized ; 
 even in the faith of Islam, the best minds have accepted 
 the strong statements of Mohammed as symbols, by which 
 they enjoy an ideal paradise far above the range of the 
 prophet's intellect. But you may say, did these writers 
 intend the meanings derived ? This question is really 
 of no account, since all men who speak well speak 
 wiser than they know, and since he who acts or speaks 
 cannot say to what his 4Vord or his deed shall ultimately 
 come. The smallest direct motion of your arm, if in- 
 finitely extended, would cross the paths of many stars 
 in the sublime distance ; so each of your short truth- 
 utterances, when extended on, leads always into the 
 sublime grandeurs of truth. 
 
 The symbolism of the world is of two kinds, the first 
 
 9 
 
194 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 and best being unconscious symbolism ; and the second, 
 the conscious, or that which is made by men on purpose 
 to have a visible embodiment. The tmconscious sym- 
 bolism includes the natural world, -with all its order 
 and its beauty. Man there applies no art to picture 
 divine ideas. His symbols are set before him in living 
 and eternal beauty by Him who in joy and benevolence 
 created the world for man. The noblest symbolism in 
 human life, also, is that in which human hands have 
 not designedly engraved. A man who goes straight 
 forward in his duty and works out his inmost faith^ 
 leaves in the deeds of his faithfulness the best possible 
 symbol of his faith. It is so with a community. Let 
 them have the simple aim to do God's will, to fulfil 
 their mission, and the works that will naturally follow 
 this purpose, will prove a greater and holier monument 
 to their genius, spirit, and character, than ever could 
 be found in statuary, or in pictured emblem, or in 
 written formula. No people have a perfect represen- 
 tation except in that which they do in faithfulness, to 
 the aspiration which inwardly impels them ; and .this for 
 other and for better purposes than mere self remem- 
 brance and self-expression. A creed created for the 
 sake of making a people known to others can never 
 represent them perfectly, because it has not flown from 
 their real faith alone, but has an eye upon future suc- 
 cess and present eifect, whilst every part of their 
 earnest utterance is full of their life and genius. The 
 Greeks, smitten with the divine beauty of the gods, 
 did leave a glorious symbol of their faith in the elegant 
 statuary formed _ to their memory ; but this belongs 
 
JODAISM. 195 
 
 rather to the division of unconscious symbolism, for it 
 was a work to which they were impelled by a deep 
 thirst, by an inspiration of the beautiful within them, 
 kindled by the perception of the sacred. 
 
 Judaism was rich in symbols, — shadows of good 
 things already possessed, and of better things to come. 
 Pagan worship, ethnical faith generally, luxuriates in 
 the visible emblem, as the word Idolatry (EuJuAov — 
 shape, figure, image) imports. But over the synjbol- 
 ism of Jewish worship bowed the clear sky of Rever- 
 ence and spirituality, for this people held the One God 
 in so pure a reverence that they shrunk from the idea 
 of vulgarizing the glorious perception by attempts of 
 human art. They also cherished and uttered the glo- 
 rious idea of a Divine Man who should come to the 
 world as its redeemer, but in this, as in the former idea 
 by which this race was distinguished, no graven image 
 sought to impress an idea of his form. The two great 
 ideas of Judaism were too divine, too ' spiritual, and 
 withal too great in their minds to admit of the profana- 
 tion of sculptured wood or marble. A profound rev- 
 erence declines to commonize and materialize the 
 highest idea by public images ; and when we reflect on 
 the wonderful creativeness of the imagination, when 
 working in union with the moral feeling and the earnest 
 love, in creating a beautiful ideal in the personal ab- 
 sence of the one to whom the heart inclines, we are 
 obliged to own the impotency of brazen artifice, com- 
 pared to the delightful and free influence of story 
 which offers the precious materials of character, from 
 which the hallowed ideal may arise. In this way, each 
 
196 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 follows, not an arbitrary beauty determined by a soli- 
 tary artist, but the free beauty which easily and natu- 
 rally rises in his own mind, so that the Messiah of his 
 love is more truly, and therefore more dearly Ms. As 
 no personal image embodied the idea of Jesus in proph- 
 ecy, we doubt whether the multiplication of images, 
 made to represent the idea of him in history, has actu- 
 ally aided the true reverence. The glory has been 
 dimmed by this immense number of images ; and Jesus, 
 it seems to us, has been vulgarized by the abundance of 
 that which undoubtedly was meant to honor him. He 
 is peculiar. He was in the bosom of the Father. 
 And when we think of his likeness, and nearness to 
 the Perfect, Incorporeal Spirit, when we think of his 
 vast participation of the Divinity, we are tempted to 
 enter protest against all engraving, against all lifeless 
 statue, as we would against the endeavors of the arti- 
 san to inscribe the Deity on canvass or stone. But 
 we are reminded that he had a personal history, that 
 in all points he was tempted " like as we," that suffer- 
 ing, sorrow, persecution, and death were his ; and in 
 these reflections we arc reconciled to a sparing use of 
 picture and cunning artifice in portraying his imagined 
 form and expression, believing, however, that the en- 
 graving which chiefly honors him, is the impress of his 
 character in the Christian heart, in which the lofty 
 ideal of his purity and Godlikeness ever sheds its radi- 
 ance. 
 
 The Hebrew symbolism was not designed to image 
 the higher meanings of the future, by the early wor- 
 shippers, so much as to express their own aspirations 
 
THE CHRISTIAN SYMBOLISM. 197 
 
 and feelings. But as every condition predicts succeed- 
 ing stages, it came to be a symbolic utterance of a 
 future and better age. This, therefore, belongs to the 
 first division of symbols, and was not in its day an ar- 
 bitrary making. 
 
 Christianity, above Judaism and all Ethnical worships, 
 is marked by its spirituality, and freedom from outward 
 symbols. The primitive church looked at the heart of 
 things, worshipped " in Spirit and in Truth ; " and the 
 Christ they loved was so deep in their hearts, and so 
 real, that they had little inclination to gaze upon mate- 
 rial images as a means of bringing him near. During 
 the age of the Apostles, we affirm this as true, and, 
 when visible representation was resorted to, it is not 
 difficult to discover in its origin, the same love of the 
 external which accompanies the worship of the nations. 
 The Christian faith, however, values symbol as much 
 as any other, the difference resting altogether in the 
 hind. It dismisses forever the whole Jewish pomp of 
 ritual ; has only baptism and the supper ; the one a 
 confession, the other a memorial ; and, whilst it puts 
 faith in its absolute form, the love of man and the love 
 of God, it assigns preeminence to Christ, who is himself 
 God's highest living symbol, " the express image of his 
 person, and the brightness of his glory." The primi- 
 tive statement of Christianity, its impression on society, 
 the historical development of its ideas among men, 
 constitute the chief historical symbol of this reli- 
 gion. But, whilst Christianity gives the most enlarged 
 faith, it uses the widest symbolism ; not finding its 
 representatives in any definite creations of art, it dis- 
 
198 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 covers in the earth and the heavens, in the beautj, 
 power, and loveliness of these, the -deathless images of 
 its gr6at ideas. Divine Paternity is clearly written in 
 nature. The whole of God is Paternal ; and, as nature 
 is one of his perpetual methods, it must be representa- 
 tive of his Paternity. It does so, always, by satisfying 
 so many wants of soul and body, through all generations. 
 The Love of which Christianity is the revelation, is 
 there imaged in its universality, whilst the Purity, the 
 Hope and the Joy, which so brightly characterize this 
 religion, are sweetly and ceaselessly sung in the spirit 
 and forms of the great creation, in which all the worlds 
 are radiant, in which the flowers bloom, and the glory 
 of day comes forth, and the harmonious march of 
 worlds occurs, each bearing the expression of Purity, 
 Hope, and Joy. 
 
 Jesus was in love with symbols. They came at bis 
 bidding, to enforce his thoughts. All things paid this 
 willing tribute to assist his moral utterance. " I am 
 the true vine," said he, when surrounded by the vine- 
 clad hills of Palestine. The manna that fell in the 
 desert, the rock that mocked the power of centuries, 
 the temple that arrested the gaze of the stranger by its 
 magnificence, the sun as it rose on Olivet, each, in its 
 way, spoke of the Christ. When near the sacred tem- 
 ple, he said, " Destroy this temple, and in three days 
 I will raise it up ; "* making a sudden transition from 
 the building before him to the temple of his body. 
 " Beware," said he, " of the leaven of the Scribes and 
 
 * JoliD, 2 : 10. 
 
JESTJS. 199 
 
 Pharisees," when the disciples murmured about having 
 no bread. When the flocks ascended the hill of sacri- 
 fice, he took occasion to say, " I am the good shepherd : 
 the gooil shepherd giveth bis Kfe for the sheep." * In 
 conversation with the woman of Samaria, who had come 
 to draw water from the well that was deep, he answered, 
 " Whosoever drinketh of this water, shall thirst again : 
 Bat whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give 
 him, shall never thirst ; but the water that I shall give 
 him, shall be in him a well of water springing up into 
 everlasting life." f He had seen the sun rising upon 
 the nations, during his early and accustomed visit to 
 the Mount of Olives, and, with this glorious image in 
 his view, he said, " I am the light of the world : he 
 that foUoweth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall 
 have the light of life. J The chief peculiarity of his 
 intellect, as a teacher, was this ready, perfect percep- 
 tion of analogy, by which all things led his mind to 
 truths above themselves. His ministry is a sublime 
 monument to the service of symbols, which he used 
 most freely, and which so happily commended religion 
 to the sentiments of men. These clear perceptions 
 beautify his discourse, and send the reader to depths of 
 wisdom reposing beneath the mere letter of his word. 
 His example, therefore, is the justification of symbol in 
 its best and widest sense, not a dead symbolism of rites 
 and forms, but the living, inspiring symbolism of the 
 creation, and of human life. 
 Indeed, the Oriental mind, generally, was a stranger 
 
 * John, 10 : 11. f John. 4 : 13, 14. t John, 8:12. 
 
200 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 to our occidental habits of analysis, and poured itself 
 out in the full luxury of symbol. This is its marked 
 distinction. We do well, therefore, to remember that 
 the order of intellect through -which the nlightiest 
 moral and religious inspirations have ever come, is one 
 preeminently given to a bold symbol-utterance ; and 
 one of the practical uses we are to make of this truth, 
 is to warn ourselves against a technical, literal, and ex- 
 acting criticism, in the interpretation of the Scriptures. 
 The tropical clime develops a tropical man, whose speech 
 necessarily partakes of the large and gorgeous forms 
 of life peculiar to his natural scenery. All parabolic 
 instruction required the hearer to perceive analogy, to 
 pass from the sensuous imagery to the meanings in- 
 tended. 
 
 To this reflection of spiritual, in material history, 
 there is, indeed, no end. In the history of our planet 
 human nature is imaged. This globe was once, it is 
 thought, when new and young, a kind of liquid ball, 
 made so by its vast amount of internal heat. No trees, 
 flowers, ice, or snow, were borne upon its bosom. But 
 an immensity of time cooled this violent heat, so that 
 we rest in the cooling shades, whilst the herds roam, 
 and the harvests wave. Time cooled and fertilized its 
 surface. Is not this our own symbolic history ? The 
 first ages were ages of passion, not of thought. Phy- 
 sical heroes were the world's early great men. The 
 child now, as if repeating the history of the race, 
 pours out passion vehemently, not being able to state 
 definitely its griefs, nor to reason on its wants. Ages 
 had passed a\yay before a philosopher was possible. A 
 
THE EARTH A SYMBOL. 201 
 
 cool thinker, a Pythagoras, a Plato, was a late fruit on 
 the tree of humanity. Religion has slowly arisen into 
 the intellect, to shine with all the lights of science and 
 knowledge, and it remains for the future to show the 
 actual harmony of sanctity and intellect, of the pro- 
 foundest faith and the widest knowledge. The ardent 
 youth, whose hopes the world cannot contain, grows 
 cool in his plans under much experience, calculates on 
 defeat, merges fancy into prudence. Thus are we 
 symbolized in our planet's history. 
 
 Still further. Science has told us, that, to every 
 fifty-four feet, or nearly so, downward, there is an in- 
 crease of one degree of heat* until not far from thirty 
 miles below the terrestrial surface granite probably 
 exists in a state of fusion. 
 
 This idea of the fire-heart of the earth, soft and 
 liquid, whose inestimable forces never go out, and which 
 has heaved up mountains of grandeur, and in them vast 
 resources of mineral wealth, strikes us as a fresh truth, 
 as a beautiful fact, especially when viewed in contrast 
 with the surface of polar ice and Siberian snows. We 
 know the soul of nature is love. The heart of the earth 
 holds the hardest substances liquid, whatever may be 
 the chills of the surface. But with human nature, as 
 with the earth's mystery, we do not arrive at the cen- 
 tre, being only able to break through the formalism and 
 indifference of life, a limited distance, seldom getting a 
 near access to the divinity of the heart. We allege 
 that man is superficially known in his phenomenal life, 
 
 * Cosmos, Vol. I, pp. 173-4. 
 
202 
 
 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 though a close analysis of his entirehistorj convinces 
 us of his deep internal forces, as the unstratified rocks, 
 in our hills and mountains, hear indubitable proofs of 
 their igneous origin. We usually analyze man, as we 
 do the earth, from the surface ; and from the aims and 
 the loves there thrown up into personal history, we 
 gather proofs of the great central powers, which are so 
 constantly veiled from notice. The temperature of 
 love increases from the surface, nor do we complain 
 that this vital energy has a somewhat conservative ex- 
 terior, nor that we have some moral volcanoes pouring 
 out the central lava unmingled, though, in the world's 
 moral, as in its natural scenery, we wish the instances 
 few. In both man and earth, the cooled exterior is 
 the guaranty from danger, and is the fruitful source of 
 beauty and benefit. Why am I to burst into flames 
 because Hindostan has its own religion, and the im- 
 proved African serves a master? I must be cool 
 enough to comprehend what is best and what is worst, 
 or the Hindoo and the black man are unassisted. Bril- 
 liant fire-works last but a night, whilst the Sun and Si- 
 rius shine forever. The kindness of nature is some- 
 what taciturn. Timbers, soils, and quarries are always 
 ready for use, and always indifferent to notice. 
 
 Nature, we are accustomed to think, is better than 
 our actual selves, and lives to reveal the true man. 
 But what signify the venomous serpents, the deadly 
 poisons, and the fighting animals ? A world of 
 beino'S having thoroughly attained the three recti- 
 tudes, physical, moral and Cental, would scarcely be 
 met by such revolting facts. Nature in the distance, 
 
THE TWO METHODS. 203 
 
 as when we gaze at starry fields of space, and in the 
 main, is all a high and beautiful expression ; likewise 
 is nature in the near, in terrestrial forms beautiful also ; 
 but under man's immediate notice and within the circle 
 of his personal contact with the creation, it is arranged 
 that he shall meet the types of his actual vices as well 
 as those of his diviner aspiration.' Hence serpents he 
 in his way, tigers prowl in his forests, and eagles soar 
 in his heaven. 
 
 When John Milton and Robert Burns die neglected 
 and some little noisy creatures are carrying the whole 
 world along with them, the wise observer is often dis- 
 gusted for the moment with what we call the world. 
 How this great influence from these little men ? He 
 looks into space and sees comets whose solid mass is 
 not one five-hundredth part that of the earth, followed 
 by tails extending over space many millions of miles. 
 Surely, he exclaims, there is a purpose for both these 
 orders of disproportion. 
 
 The ascending method of symbolism rises from things 
 to thoughts, beginning in the senses. The descending 
 method begins in independent thought, in the high 
 truths, and comes spontaneously down into the natural 
 images. Either way acknowledges the free reciprocity 
 of spirit and matter, and admonishes us to reject one 
 sided theories that build on either exclusively. We 
 can start with no great truth, without at once finding a 
 response In the material world. Rectitude, for instance, 
 which is the chief rehance in character, is carried out 
 into the visible creation, in which the revolution of ev- 
 ery world in space, and the action of every law, be- 
 
204 
 
 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 come the willing tjpe of this idea. Within the limits 
 of her chosen order the earth never fails. No second 
 is lost from noon to noon. No law is treacherous. 
 Eectitude, without a shadow of turning, is Nature's 
 eternally repeated lesson. 
 
 We must yet learn to assail evil after the example 
 of the sun. His golden victory over millions of miles of 
 darkness is noiseless and perfect. His assault is calm 
 on snow and ice, and on every death-form beneath his 
 eye ; whilst his developing power over all germinal life 
 in the earth, is the type of the highest mental action, 
 of the highest quality of influence against evil, and for 
 good. We need reformers, whose example is the sun. 
 The world is most lai-gely blessed by those who can 
 pour down upon it the golden flood in the form of light 
 and love, men whose battles are bloodless, being the 
 antagonism of truth with error, of love with selfishness. 
 Sin should be approached from a higher position. The 
 earth has no noon till the sun beholds it from his lofti- 
 est point in heaven ; yet good proceeds from the coarser 
 conflicts. 
 
 The war-policies of the ocean by sword-fish and 
 shark, the biting contests of even the animalcula in 
 vinegar, the fighting of land animals, all correspond to 
 the passions that now live in us. And as the principle 
 of progress shows itself as clearly in matter as in mind, 
 we may suppose that the developments of each will 
 keep pace together, so that the ages which shall wit- 
 ness man as a harmonized being will also find terrestri- 
 al nature throughout the sytnbol of his divinely condi- 
 tioned spirit, which indeed is but' the fulfilment of some 
 
A FREQUENT BIGOTRY. 205 
 
 eloquent ancient prophecies toueliing the golden future,* 
 language as true in the figure as in the fact. Nature 
 in this July bloom, with its lavish fulness of life and 
 beauty, is the emblem not only of the inexhaustible 
 richness of the Eternal Spirit, but of the luxury of the 
 human faculties, its resource of Thought and Affection. 
 There is no end to this elegant service -which the visible 
 creation is always ready to render the mind ; and the 
 very freedom and versatility of the service exclude all 
 idea of ever reducing it to a standing definite system. 
 The suicide which has attended the symbolism of the 
 ■world consists in the bigoted adherence of a people 
 to the symbol, after the idea for which it stands has 
 had its day, and no longer satisfies. The Jews exalted 
 their symbol above the ideas that gave them sacredness ; 
 and in their pious tenacity for form, forgot the spirit of 
 the Law and the Prophets. This worship of the sym- 
 bol narrowed their souls even to the rejection of Chris- 
 tianity. Socrates could not bow to the Pagan symbolism 
 surrounding him ; and the persecution and death of 
 this sweet saint of Athens arose from the bigoted ad- 
 herence of his countrymen to the mere symbol, for it 
 is evident that Socrates had profound reverence and 
 worship. To liberate men from the Bondage of olden 
 form is to bring them where Truth can once more freely 
 play with their faculties. We should remember that 
 the truths are masters and the symbols are servants. 
 The former are eternal ; the latter are mostly tempora- 
 ry and changing. 
 
 * Isaiah, 11: C, 7, 8. 
 
206 
 
 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 Books, men, institutions, creeds, finally get out of 
 date. But are oceans and continents ever behind the 
 age ? The sun and moon and stars — these are never 
 out of date. Neither are the seasons, the sweet 
 flowers, and the songs of birds. Thus in all the muta- 
 tions of the world we find that Eeason and Conscience, 
 Hope and Trust, man's nature and woman's nature, 
 with the divine heart in each, never are out of date. 
 These vitalities are our permanent indemnification. 
 As Nature is primarily the symbol of God, we will 
 rise above the symbol to Him as greater than all. 
 We see beauty. But God, the Cause, is far more 
 beautiful. We witness loveliness. But He is far more 
 lovely. We see terror. But He is far more terrific 
 and awe inspiring ! We meet rectitude. But He is 
 far more just. We expand in the view of natural 
 grandeur and jnfinitude. He is far more grand and 
 infinite. Art is great. The soul is greater. Philoso- 
 phies have light, but the reason has more. Creeds 
 and sacred institutions have worth, but the eternal 
 sacred element in man is to these results as the ocean 
 to its own magnificent showers. 
 
 As the world of nature is an entire and not a partial 
 symbol of soul and consciousness, as it would be un- 
 adapted to a symmetrical developmenE, which is the 
 end of culture and the glory of man, without having 
 this entireness as a symbol ; also as human life, objec- 
 tively viewed, contains the signs of all that has befallen 
 mankind inwardly, we are obliged to say that language 
 is all-sufficient, to signify what now belongs to human 
 idea and consciousness. The soul has cast its full-sized 
 
IDEA AND PEACTICE. 207 
 
 shadow in the visible realm. Nature and the great 
 Providence, both of which are many-voiced, are the 
 everlasting Parable of God, the myriad-strung harp on 
 which He musically opens His dark saying forever. 
 
 As Spirit and Matter are eternally wedded, we ask 
 no longer for spiritualists, nor materialists, but men ! — 
 men in whom body and soul, idea and action, know how 
 to harmonize. When the colossal ones shall appear, 
 they will rest in neither of these extremes ; their feet 
 shall walk the solid earth, their breathing lips disperse 
 the clouds, and their right arms extending upwards 
 shall pluck the stars. Development is called the end. 
 But in practice it is not well, perhaps, to be aware of 
 this. When one sits down to his meals or goes to his 
 work, why need he say. This I do that my btfdy may 
 be replenished ? He may eat from relish, and work 
 from preference, if so he choose, and growth and vigor 
 will follow as results. So no one need to say. This 
 truth I receive, this duty I do, that I may spiritually 
 unfold. It is enough that he receive truth from revei-- 
 ence ; and culture will duly exhibit itself among the 
 fruits. Let no man despise the humble clod, since it is 
 one with rose and skylight ; and since a deeper hafmo- 
 ny settles at the bottom of hearts who accept of the 
 Universe as a unit including ants and angels, we may 
 look for the same divine current flowing through the 
 infinite range, so that dig where we will, the well of 
 water clear as crystal gurgles up. Physically, man is 
 made to dine upon all kingdoms of nature ; so indeed 
 mentally, for all yield him repasts of beauty and truth. 
 We cannot interpret the Universe as yet, each having 
 
208 SYMBOLISM. 
 
 conquered scarcely bis acre of mystery ; yet we will 
 relieve ourselves of the poverty of man, through faith 
 that in Mm the Universe is summed up even to its last 
 fraction, so that if we knew man perfectly, there would 
 be nothing else to learn ; or if we comprehended na- 
 ture well, every cloud could be resolved into hght that 
 now invests the inward life. But from these infinitely 
 diversified analogies, through which man and nature 
 are forever answering back to each, we would, in con- 
 clusion, only allude to motion as the supreme Law, su- 
 preme in the TXniverse, and supreme in all the right 
 and healthy conditions of mind ; and it shall be the 
 practical reproof of our inertia whenever we think of 
 the unceasing flow of all the starry worlds, of the per- 
 petual activity of the life-currents in every plant, and 
 of the tireless motion of the heart, that rolls, through 
 thousands of delicate channels, the crimson globule of 
 renovating blood. 
 
INSPIHATION. 
 
 '• A fountain broke the silent turf; 
 AH clear it flowed along ; 
 A golden joy was on its breast, 
 The heart was in its song." — Natubal Voices. 
 
 That the inspired man is dearly remembered when 
 logicians and disciplinarians are forgotten, all antiquity 
 teaches, since among its gifted thousands, the inspired 
 alone now interest and instruct us. Their words come 
 across immense distances of time, as the light of the 
 great stars traverses the vast intervals of space. So 
 strong was their hold upon nature, that, after the flow 
 of centuries and millenniums, we now draw from olden 
 prophets as from wells of living water. Pages that 
 were once truly inspired, like each returning spring 
 and summer, are always new. Deity cannot be old. 
 Truth wears " no wrinkle on her azure brow." Nature 
 is eternal youth, showing herself forever in a glorious 
 prime. The soul, true to itself, is a life, and shares 
 preeminently in this everlasting verdure ; whilst its 
 creations, whether in deed, conversational utterance or 
 written expressions, possess a vital energy, which like the 
 
210 ' INSPIRATION 
 
 roots of changing flowers, sends up yearly new blades 
 and blossoms. Inspiration is doubtless our dearest 
 reality ; and all nature comes forth as its constant 
 symbol. 
 
 If we regard the growth, movement, and silent 
 changes that occur upon this planet, or the active life- 
 aspects of the celestial regions, we are necessarily con- 
 vinced that an Original Life omnipresently operates 
 jis creatively now as ever. In all material phenomena 
 does not the God come forth ? Does He not fill all 
 space, and enliven all matter ? We behold motion as 
 the supreme empress of the heavens, as the amazing 
 whirl and flow of starry systems through space clearly 
 indicate, whilst it is evident that each kingdom of mat- 
 ter is alive, if not with animal and vegetative vitality, 
 then with diverse chemical affinities and active forces. 
 Clouds glow in the solar crimson. The forest is fra- 
 grant with flowers. Waters joyously roll, and the 
 brightness of heaven rejoices upon their happy waves. 
 In all this a symbolic inspiration of thought and love 
 is arrayed before us, forcing the inquiry, whether we 
 have any thing in society that answers to this out- 
 ward type. Awakened by this symbol we inquire, 
 What is inspiration ? Is it a fact obsolete, like certain 
 plants and animals, which in the counsels of creation 
 have ceased to exist ? Or shall inspiration rank with 
 sun and moon, and be a present reality for the illumi- 
 nation of every day, and every clime ? Is it now possi- 
 ble ? And what are its sources, helps, aims, and 
 hindrances ? These questions are indeed very far- from 
 
BELONGS TO MAN. 211 
 
 being unconnected with the emancipation and growth 
 of the human mind. 
 
 If the complete development of man or his noblest 
 action is the end of being, it follows that things are to 
 be esteemed as good or evil, beneficial or injurious, from 
 their ability to retard or to promote this purpose. 
 From this, let us measure the worth of every creed 
 and the damage of every thraldom. Every growth 
 demands freedom. Man especially must have it to 
 unfold his various nature. It would seem that in the 
 general opinion the Holy Spirit has lost its ancient 
 abilities, that it has somehow become superannuated, 
 so that we are only to sing of its ancient might, not 
 believing its sublime oracles may now be uttered in the 
 human breast, nor that Gentile Americans as well as 
 ancient Hebrews may be mediums of its original teach- 
 ings. Why is Palestine the only spot on which the 
 original, celestial radiance should deign to fall ? Must 
 we eternally subsist upon memory ? Is there no fresh 
 and original future ? Have we no independent hope ? 
 Are we not made to sustain an original relation to 
 nature and to God ? The great avenues of light never 
 were closed by the Divine Being. But by neglecting 
 these, by narrowing the spirit in theories, we fail of 
 reaching the higher forms of faith and of hope. The 
 soul cannot wield its rightful power. But this is 
 a large confinement compared to that observable in 
 practice ; for most persons not allowing to themselves 
 the free and bold range of the sacred literature of Pa- 
 lestine, but pledging themselves for life to particular 
 creeds, approach those writings under a bias, and seek 
 
212 INSPIRATION 
 
 support for the theories they avow. At least the sacred 
 pages must be read and understood in unison with cher- 
 ished theories. These restraints on the mental action 
 are evident hindrances to its free and beautiful growth ; 
 and if the law of inspiration, which unnoticedly lies 
 behind its own phenomena, may, by its generality and 
 eternity, relieve us from a bigoted though well-meaning 
 adherence to partial forms, the setting of it forth is the 
 spreading of a new horizon over us. In these remarks 
 I have only intimated the practical importance of the 
 present theme. It is not in the rejection of any one 
 form of inspiration that good can come, but rather in 
 the right reverence of all its forms. Inspiration is a 
 unit ; a unit which for human welfare has assumed and 
 must assume great diversity of forms. 
 
 The question which sums up the chief controversial 
 difference on this subject, is the one that asks whether 
 the most reliable inspiration is within or above the 
 natural law of spiritual development ; whether inspira- 
 tion falls within any natural relation between the Cre- 
 ator and the soul ; whether it violates, breaks or sus- 
 pends any of the spirit's laws. I am not anxious to dwell 
 tenaciously on either side of this question, since inspira- 
 tion, whether in a supernatural order or within the 
 natural relation which the soul sustains to Him, must 
 rest upon what is permanent, and unchanged by time. 
 God's order, whatever it be, is fruitful and life-giving. 
 The good sense of supernaturalism disdains to regard 
 the inspired minds of the pa,st as mere conductors of 
 foreign wisdom, for the particular culture, tempera- 
 ment, and genius of the men who wrote and spake, 
 
IN RELIGION. 213 
 
 were exhibited in the strongest marks of their respec- 
 tive individualities. No issue has ever been taken in 
 reference to the inspiration of which the arts and 
 sciences are witnesses. Whatever of this quality 
 belongs to the general truths of the intellect, to the 
 birth of high purpose and heroic deed, to the expression 
 of beauty in poetry and in art, however perfect, is con- 
 fessedly within the natural law. It is, therefore, to the 
 giving of moral ideas, or to the one branch of human 
 interest, Religion, that admits of any difference of opin- 
 ion in this respect. I say that all difference is con- 
 fined exclusively to the religious department, because 
 religion includes all necessary ethics. 
 
 That inspiration here shouM have been lifted out of 
 the natural law is by no means surprising, as the idea 
 of the Sacred overtowers all other ideas. The Deity is 
 great beyond utterance. Mystery pervades the Infinite. 
 From the very depth of reverence in the human heart, 
 it rightfully happens in all history that religion stands 
 the highest of all themes. And is it strange that the 
 millions, feeling the towering supremacy of the theme, 
 should have isolated it V£rj largely from all other phe- 
 nomena allowedly within the range of human capacity 
 and of human development ? This to me is not strange, 
 but is the most natural thing possible to the past con- 
 ditions of human culture. The fact grew out of the 
 colossal greatness of the religious phase of man's nature. 
 There were times indeed when poets invoked miracu- 
 lous aid, when gods and goddesses invented arts, when 
 they both mpernaturally and contra-naturally assisted 
 and opposed terrestrial heroes ; but in the triumphs of 
 
214 INSPIIEATION. 
 
 intelligence, war, poetry, and the arts, have found a 
 permanent place within the natural law ; whilst religion 
 alone, like a Dhawalagiri, or a Mont Blanc, towers in 
 human belief sublimely above it. I glory in this fact 
 of man's moral history, for it attests the sovereignty of 
 that part of his nature which aspires to the Divinity, 
 and which looks above, the realm of visible things. I 
 rejoipe in this sublimity. God forbid that I should seek 
 to lessen in the faith of one human creature the wonder- 
 ful grandeur of this sentiment. It is only proposed to en- 
 large somewhat the common idea of what is possible to 
 the soul, of what the High Spirit is still able to radiate 
 upon it ; and to intimate, that, as the giant mountains 
 which seem to go up «n embassies " from earth to 
 heaven," are, truly as the quiet vales and the flow- 
 ing brooks, included in the one globe, and are held 
 under the same law of common gravity, so the senti- 
 ment of religion is a part of humanity, and its inspira- 
 tions, though of more cloud-piercing grandeur, are still 
 but the highest form of the One Inspiration, whose 
 unity is unbroken by its diversity of operations and of 
 forms. Thus, reverence unb^ken, in its powerful and 
 solemn enchantments, still possesses us. 
 
 The cutting edges of bigotry are somewhat softened 
 by the view that the highest inspiration is a mode of 
 truth simply, not the truth itself. It is the sure and 
 ready vision. It is also a blooming life, nor ceases it 
 to be such under whatever names may be given it. If 
 we accept the Gospels, the beams of the eternal sun 
 reach us, nor ought we to quarrel with ourselves or our 
 neighbors about the modes through which the enlivening 
 
REVERENCE. 215 
 
 rays have advanced. The grandest of all essentials, 
 and the one without •which the kingdom of heaven is 
 infinitely distanced from all persons, is reverence. I 
 conceive this to be the soul of religion, the ground- 
 work of philosophy, and the inspirer and upholder of 
 all good works, that private citizens, public philanthro- 
 pists, or secluded worshippers are able either to con- 
 ceive or to execute. The very thought of God is 
 itself reverence ; and all worship is its utterance. 
 Wherever there is faith, virtue, or love, there is rever- 
 ence. No depths of character, no approaches to divinity 
 on earth, are possible but by its presence and aid. If 
 I worship, it is because there is a Being above me 
 whose character challenges my utmost reverence ; if I 
 disdain the vicious act, or repel an indignity, it is be- 
 cause I revere my moral being and the law pervading 
 it. If I bow to superior worth and to superior gifts ; 
 if nature, full of untold greatness and mystery, awes or 
 inspires me ; if I bow to the friendless and lowly in acts 
 of charity, and assert self-government for each human 
 being on earth in opposition to the despotisms, reverence 
 is found to bottom it all. It is the life of every holy 
 aspiration, and the power of every moral self-denial. 
 Therefore religion is reverence, and reverence is re- 
 ligion. Sooner believe in all the miracles ever confided 
 in, sooner embrace the supernaturalisms of every creed 
 on earth, should this be demanded by your revering 
 nature, than dismiss, through coldness ' of sceptical 
 speculation, or the satirical triumphs of gross denial, 
 the instinctive feeling of reverence, by which God, 
 
216 INSPIRATION. 
 
 man, truth, nature, are invested with the halo of sacred- 
 ness. 
 
 We know that with progressive minds reverence has 
 transitions from less to greater, and from good to bet- 
 ter. Once it concentrated in kings, in despots. Now 
 it is gradually passing over to the many. Once it said, 
 " Revere the TJirone." Now it is saying, " Reverence 
 Man." Once it was a book-reverence. Now its voice 
 is not of creeds or chapters ; but low and majestically 
 it whispers, " Reverence God. Worship truth. Bow 
 to principle. Behold creation as the obverse and 
 beautiful declaration of thee ! " But in the name of 
 holiness, never, never so treat a human being as to 
 crush and spoil this " holy of holies " in the human 
 breast ; for when this is done all sanctity and beauty 
 have fled the inner temple, and unbelieving sensualistn 
 is crowned. The East had reverence to excess ; but 
 our occidental culture is somewhat barren from its ab- 
 sence. How men speculate on natural and supernatu- 
 ral, we care but little to know, having barely one ques- 
 tion to ask of each and all, namely, has he reverence ? 
 If so, is he not true and sound ? If not, does the 
 cipher fail to announce his utmost value ? 
 
 If forced into the use of logic on a life-theme so 
 sacred as this, we should say there is no supernatural 
 that can be eowira-natural, since God in his modes of 
 action cannot, from the eternal harmony of his nature, 
 be to himself adverse ; and that the verdict deciding a 
 thing to be supernatural, rests always on the limit 
 which is implied or expressed as the boundary of the 
 natural. The terms are found to be flexible and rela- 
 
MIRACLES HIGHLY SIGNIFICANT, 21T 
 
 tive. If we agree on a limit to human physical energy, 
 as its utmost possibility, then whatever strikingly 
 transcends it, is miraculous in the ordinary sense ; if 
 not in kind of power, certainly it would appear so in 
 degree. Likewise in the realm of moral and intellectual 
 perfection, no one calls a character or a given manifes- 
 tation of ideas supernatural, until the limit set to the 
 mental and moral possibilities of man is transcended ; 
 whilst it is positively clear that the soundness of the 
 verdict must rest wholly on the accuracy of the limit on 
 which men have agreed, concerning which, it may not 
 be unworthy of a thought to all parties, that it is easier 
 to under-estimate the moral possibilities of gifted and 
 faithful minds, who, unlike the mass of men, have the 
 heroism to be true to their high and holy aspirations* 
 than it is to misjudge the limits of mere physical forces, 
 since the spiritual resources of humanity are much 
 greater than the physical, and ordinarily but partially 
 developed in actual life. But the limits heretofore set 
 to physical power have been gloriously and astonish- 
 ingly transcended. We love to read the miraculous 
 pages of history. They teach. They are at least 
 grand ideal triumphs of soul over matter, attesting the 
 supremacy of spirit in nature. They are startling 
 attestations to the drowsing and stupid senses of Divine 
 Presence ; whilst their inwoven extension through all 
 the religions of the earth, and the dearly cherished 
 character of miracle as the darling of faith, must silence 
 the scoff and the jeer, for in a fact which has taken so 
 deep a hold on the moral and religious feelings of man- 
 kind, there must be a profound significance, whatever 
 
 10 
 
218 INSPIRATION. 
 
 may be the incredibility we ought to attach to the par- 
 ticular events glorified in traditional belief. Marvel- 
 lousness, among the nations, baa strongly ruled the 
 intellect in religion ; yet through the clouds of exagge- 
 ration shines the truth of man's affinity with the Being 
 who sways the realm of nature, and of his heir-claim 
 somehow to a throne in the universe. Man shows him- 
 self quite near to God when hills, storms, and raging 
 seas obey him ; and still nearer in the eyes of saints 
 and angels when his whole life is profoundly swayed 
 by rectitude and purity. The miracles that are eter- 
 nally fresh with divinity, and of which we never tire, 
 are the seasons and their offerings, the rivers, trees, 
 troops of flowers, and the far-off worlds that glow in 
 the language of hope to mortals. These are constantly 
 sent, and from their newness of life, we might say they 
 are each day turned off afresh from the hands of the 
 Maker. 
 
 What is Inspiration ? This we aslc knowing before- 
 hand the necessary incompetency of verbal definitions, 
 in which we care not to be very minute. We know 
 that the lesson of history is that a few individuals, in 
 the excellence of their gifts, transcend the mass, and 
 that the great teachers of the world, through whom the 
 multitudes have been taught and elevated, are compar- 
 atively few, and that among these the prophet of moral 
 sanctity has a rightful claim to precedence. The 
 order of Providence is, one Moses, one Socrates, one 
 Confucius, one Jesus ; the millions learn and follow. 
 Without dispensing in any case with discipline, we dis- 
 tinguish at once between inspired minds, and those of 
 
A FACT OP THE SOUL. 219 
 
 mere students and disciplinarians. In space there is 
 a diiference of stars in glory ; some being radiant 
 chiefly by reflection, whilst others are self-luminous. 
 This last fact is our highest idea of the prophet. He 
 is a self-luminous star. It is his nature to emit light. 
 Through the inspiring God, present in spirit, he is a 
 sun, and not an echoing valley through -which a foreign 
 voice is resounded, nor a speaking trumpet of passive 
 instrumentality. As money never bought the divine 
 gift, neither has the college ever caused an inspired 
 soul ; though culture is always implied in the existence 
 of every superlative excellence. Shakspeare, compar- 
 atively unclassical, had, we think, from selfelected 
 methods, a higher culture than the profound scholar 
 Johnson ; and it may be pretty generally relied on, 
 that an active impulse will accompany the great gift in 
 the same line to which the superior capacity belongs. 
 As life is not foreign to that which it animates ; as vision 
 is a fact of the eye and the mind, although the helping 
 light may have journeyed from afar ; as the flowering 
 of a plant is a fact of its own life, though the genial 
 drop and ray assist it from abroad, so inspiration is pure- 
 ly a fact of the soul, though " the mighty rushing wind " 
 that supplies it may blow from afar. Inspiration as a 
 physical fact is an involuntary original process, subject 
 to a certain control of the will ; and when this noblest 
 of words is carried from its physical basis up to its 
 higher subserviency in cause of spirit, it there holds 
 the same characteristics. The natural color of the eye, 
 and the ordained stature of man, were never changed 
 by foreign gifts. We shall judge that to be the high- 
 
220 INSPIRATION. 
 
 est form of inspiration in •which great truths unfold in 
 a human mind as a magnolia hlossom unfolds from its 
 stem ; and that utterance ■will we regard as most in- 
 spired, which flows from the clean fountain of the heart, 
 as streams gush from the mountain sides. 
 
 Inspiration being the name given to the highest 
 action of mind, we will conserve^ its nobility by apply- 
 ing it chiefly to the highest themes. Mathematics, 
 which reveal God as the exact order, doubtless came 
 out of the eternal Unity ; and from everlasting was it 
 foreseen that the intellect needs be sharpened by the 
 constantly recurring questions of How much f What is 
 equal ? Wliat is unequal ? as likewise it needs be sub- 
 limed by a secondary service in enabling man to ex- 
 tend his celestial campaigns far into the infinite space. 
 Though mathematical sciences did not spring up chiefly 
 from mere observation of nature and experience, but 
 were grasped by a few great minds who intuitively 
 reached and combined their fundamental principles ; 
 though the common fact that " two and two make four" 
 is as truly a law of God as the precept, " Thou shalt 
 not steal," and as indispensable to the well-being of the 
 Universe, we still do not usually bestow the word on 
 the highest mathematical gifts, for it is only when the 
 power of inspiration rises into the region of moral sen- 
 timent, of beauty, and of worship, that we instinctive- 
 ly and deeply feel its sacredness. The instincts of man- 
 kind, which are called wiser than their arguments, will 
 never admit Euclid and Fulton to the rank of prophets. 
 On the plane of utility, creativeness may do wonders, 
 and win renown ; but steel and iron will sooner lose 
 
THE TWO CHIEE STATEMENTS. 221 
 
 their distinctive names than will the benefactor of me- 
 chanical discovery pass for the man inspired. He has 
 genius j and though the same distinctive marks belong- 
 ing to inspiring energy when acting on its highest 
 plane characterize his power, it is only he who speaks 
 to the heart, and who sheds light like a God on the 
 paths of men, whom ages will agree to call inspired. 
 Ready beholding and deep intuition of moral truth is 
 the mark of the prophet ; and this sure, quick, unar- 
 guing insight is found in other departments also, solving 
 sometimes the problem in numbers so rapidly that pro- 
 cesses may not be given. 
 
 That man has found the satisfaction of his physical 
 wants, that he has learned agriculture, -architecture, 
 and manufacture, under such assistance from God as 
 excludes the idea of the supernatural, will probably be 
 conceded. The existence of the wants to be met, the 
 means of satisfaction, and the various faculties of man, 
 have, under the kind providence of the All- Wise, been 
 efficient in the redress of every physical want. Neither 
 ought we to lose sight of the analogy which this 
 truth suggests when we inquire after the ways in which 
 man finds the needed satisfactions of his superior na- 
 ture. Here indeed are the great wants. The satis- 
 fying objects also exist ; the manifold powers are for- 
 ever inherent, whilst the fertilizing rain-cloud and the 
 heaven of life-aiding light bend with equal kindness 
 over both these orders of, human need. 
 
 There are indeed but two great statements into 
 which the truth of inspiration will ever be likely to fall, 
 each one of which has its own peculiar advantages and 
 
222 
 
 INSPIRATION. 
 
 merits. The one is the common objective statement 
 that God comes down, that he bows the heavens, that 
 earth trembles beneath his feet, that He directly gives 
 the word ; as in nature we like to say the sun rises and 
 sets. The other is the subjective statement, that there 
 is a spirit in man, which, under the best conditions, is 
 adequate to the original perception of every great 
 moral idea the world possesses ; as in nature we say 
 the earth revolves, whenever the scientific truth is called 
 for. The earth revolves — therefore the day — and in 
 strict truth the spirit revolves, and therefore the day, — 
 as this puts us into the divine beams which eternally 
 flow. Yet we cannot well dispense with the language 
 of appearance and emotion ; nor can it stand otherwise 
 than the first truth, that God in his independency, like 
 the central sun, is forever the radiating source. Yet 
 it should not be forgotten that His favorite home is the 
 purified soul, through whose elements he may shine 
 upon the world as stars glow through the ether of an 
 unmeasured space. These two statements, the one 
 ever wearing the hues of the miraculous, the other the 
 mark of the rational, will continue, and harmoniously 
 enough to each other when theological science .shall 
 have approximated to its liberal unity of perfection. It 
 is the latter statement, the one of strict truth, to which 
 our thoughts are now devoted. 
 
 The Holy Spirit is indeed the spirit of Truth ; and 
 Truth is omnipresent. Though all truth is God's voice, 
 heard in whatever kingdom, as already intimated, it will 
 happen that the spirit of truth shall begin to seem holy, 
 as by preeminence, when it rises into the moral and 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL. 223 
 
 religiou3 feelings, when in the realm of conscience and 
 of sacred homage it grows oracular and makes us ac- 
 quainted with the sweeter and sublimer tones of the 
 eternal voice. Yet God's word is in the mineral, in 
 the vegetable, in the animal, and in the moral soul, 
 somewhat as the same mysterious life of the body which 
 animates the sparkling eye and the wisdom-speaking 
 brow, also circulates in the subservient arms and feet. 
 1. We cannot but feel that when the high creative 
 spirit unfolds itself in the Beautiful, it is worthy of the 
 name inspired ; for these revelations speak to a primi- 
 tive sense, and address the heart through a refined, 
 ennobling influence. The phenomena of beauty are in- 
 deed a great part of the diversified aspects of the nat- 
 ural world ; and in proportion as man improves, the 
 sesthetic element ascends and becomes a power in the 
 sway of his life. In nature and in humanity, the beau- 
 tiful is equally balanced ; and in art it is the highest 
 aim. As we trace the beauty of nature to the heart of 
 God, so its most captivating phenomena in human art 
 we trace, through discipline, to the primitive sense of 
 beauty in man, which is older than culture, and which 
 owes nothing to external forms except as they may 
 serve as developing symbols. The artist, inspired by 
 his divine idea, labors to give it expression, Phydias in 
 statue. Homer in song, Kaphael in picture. Though all 
 of us are sharers in this primitive sense, there are cer- 
 tain creative minds in whom its fountain is deeper, and 
 who successfully imbody all that we admire under the 
 name of esthetic art. It is plain, therefore, that iti 
 humanity hes the element from which the beautiful in 
 
224 INSPIRATION, 
 
 human achievement has always descended. God hav- 
 ing put this element of his own being into the human 
 mind, has also sought to educate it through surround- 
 ing revelations of beauty, and by offering to its service 
 the inventive faculty. 
 
 2. We also agree to refer what philosophical phe- 
 nomena we meet in the world, in every stage of their 
 manifestation, to the Rational power in man. Other 
 forces may have commingled, such as imagination and 
 the igneous action of passion in some of the systems 
 struck out ; still it is the rational faculty that has ren- 
 dered a philosophy possible, this, from which every 
 system from Pythagoras down has flown. By these 
 phenomena the wealth of the intellect has been largely 
 revealed, though the rational nature is neither exhaust- 
 ed nor measured by such expressions, which are only 
 its products yielded under many disadvantages ; the 
 rational nature bearing the philosophies on its breast, 
 as the Mississippi its rafts, which, though the timbers 
 may perish, itself flows on forever. God is the foun- 
 tain and the inspirer of reason. He gave the native 
 power to grasp the universal, to seek a cause, to find 
 an effect; and through a universe of causes and conse- 
 quences, as likewise through a life, which, in every 
 country is a series of causes and results. He gives also 
 the developing impulse. 
 
 3. Whilst the world's philosophical phenomena bear 
 •witness to their corresponding source in humanity, its 
 ethics should be accepted as the revelation of the depth 
 and richness of the Moral Nature, for it is on the 
 moral sense native to man that the possibility of ethics 
 
OUK MORAL NATURE PRODUCTIVE. 225 
 
 depends. All share this moral nature, though its great 
 prophets, like those of the intellect, are few. Convinc- 
 ing proofs are always being evolved, which show the 
 greatness of the moral sentiment ; if they come not in 
 the radiance of noble characters, they multiply in our 
 miseries and remorse. 
 
 In the world, there are not now, and, indeed, never 
 have been, more than a few great moral ideas ; and 
 when we consider the simplicity that belongs to these, 
 and how naturally they spring out of the relations of 
 life, and out of the unalterable conditions of human 
 welfare, it is apparent that we fail of the highest rever- 
 ence, when we deny that the moral nature, from its 
 own intuitions, from its advantages of experience, is 
 adequate to their discovery. Ethics are eternal. Moral 
 laws, no more than physical, are caused by man, or by 
 celestial messenger. They are inlaid in our being ; 
 and, aside from direct consciousness, the circumstances 
 and relations of life are such, that their outward de- 
 velopment more or less becomes inevitable. Shall we 
 sink so low in unbelief as to deny the productiveness of 
 our moral nature, whilst we are obliged to own the fruit- 
 fulness of the intellect, and to see in the demonstrations 
 of fact, that the moral nature always claims a sove- 
 reign precedence, and asserts its power unconquerably, 
 both in the bright and gloomy destinies of mankind ? 
 Is our mightiest faculty unproductive, and always un- 
 original ? 
 
 The relations of life have always been moral. Man 
 is forever neighbor to man. Each having similar wants 
 to be satisfied, the same desire for good, and substan- 
 
226 
 
 INSPIRATION. 
 
 tially the same liability to evil ; and each holding 
 property, life, and name, as sacred possessions, amidst 
 the clashing of individual interest and action, the prac- 
 tical question has always arisen, and often, under 
 circumstances, tasking the noblest powers of man, — 
 What is Justice? "What is Right ? And under the 
 unceasing stimulus of these conditions, which demand 
 that moral ideas be applied to life, it would, indeed, be 
 strange, if humanity, through the long ages of its 
 experience, had not arrived at several great moral dis- 
 coveries, and this under the general causes by which 
 man is educated on earth. The perception of number 
 and of physical relation, laid the groundwork of math- 
 ematics ; and the origin of ethics is equally simple. 
 
 There are two reverences that lie at the bottom of 
 morals, the first being a reverence for Man, -whose 
 native dignity becomes a shield against insult and injury, 
 . a dignity so inherent as not by degradation to be utterly 
 effaced. Human rights can never be regarded, and , 
 human beings can never be approached, with true 
 courtesy, until this reverence is attained.* The second 
 is a reverence for Truth and Goodness, in which every 
 moral precept is rooted ; and it is well to remember 
 that these reverences are not inductions of logic, nor 
 fruits of experience, but inborn sentiments, native in- 
 stincts. It is the same of the third reverence, on ■which 
 
 * Though the recognition of the dignity of man is natural to 
 a certain extent, the full enlightened reverence is formed in. the 
 contemplation of the truths through which man ia spiritually 
 known. 
 
CONDITIONS OF LIFE ARE ETHICAL. 227 
 
 Religion rests, from •which worship proceeds ; as the 
 feeling of reverence for God is involuntary and instinc- 
 tive, and, in its purest state, refuses to adore the Infinite 
 under the aid of graven symbol. " Thou shalt not 
 steal," " Thou shalt not bear false -witness/' " Thou 
 shalt -worship the Lord thy God," are truths that live 
 and have their being in the moral instincts of men. 
 
 The golden rule, -which is justly regarded as the 
 colossal truth of ethics, a truth found in Confucius, 
 Plato, and the moral teachings of Jesus, is suggested 
 by the lasting conditions of human life, and is implied 
 substantially by the frequent complaint that another has 
 done that -which the doer -would not be willing to re- 
 ceive, and by the simple transfer of one's-self to another 
 in settling a question of right and -wrong. What de- 
 ceiver wishes himself to be deceived ? Who esteems 
 his name so poorly as to relish a calumny ? Who in 
 want disdains the kindly act ? In the absence, there- 
 fore, of the intuitive power, logic itself -would have won 
 the sentiment expressed in this cardinal precept. The 
 immensity and boundlessness of the universe is -well 
 adapted to awaken in man universal feeling ; and in 
 hearts of great richness, and in minds of magnanimity, 
 love takes the form of universality, and is capable of 
 extension to enemies. No miracle -was ever needed to 
 prove or sustain a moral truth ; and in those which so 
 benevolently cluster about the personal history of Jesus, 
 it is remarkable that they are never appealed to as 
 such evidence but solely as visible credentials of a 
 divine mission,* Moral truths lose nothing by not 
 
 «John 20: 30,31; 10: 25. 
 
228 INSPIRATION. 
 
 requiring a prodigy for their sanction. Throw a stone 
 into the air, and you shall see the proof of attraction. 
 Do a moral act, and the moral law shall be demon- 
 strated. 
 
 In the inspirations of the moral sentiment Palestine 
 would seem to be preeminent, having held up to man- 
 kind the divinest model of character, and sent forth a 
 literature baptized in the mind of its central personage, 
 that has vindicated its enduring excellence in the wants 
 it has met and in the revolutions it has made. In the 
 fact that intellect in the Christian nations, has, all things 
 considered, unfolded itself in forms of thought, language 
 and action, which prove it superior to the other divi- 
 sions of the globe, we have the most certain evidence 
 of the vital merit of the literature of Judea ; for these 
 advanced nations would not so long have retained it as 
 their standard without good reason in the literature it- 
 self. As one man sometimes eclipses all others in some 
 one form of art to which his genius inclines, so it hap- 
 pens that one race anticipates centuries in the excel- 
 lence of its attainments, as Greece in aesthetic art, 
 Rome in jurisprudence, and Palestine in rehgious intu- 
 ition. The same law which so justly places Greece at 
 the head of aesthetic sentiment, makes Palestine the 
 summit of religious truth among the nations of the past. 
 The idea of one God, impelling the exclusion of all 
 idolatries, is its original, sublime distinction ; whilst the 
 freedom of the idea from all visible image exhibits the 
 great purity of the Hebrew reverence. His immedi- 
 ateness in all events and natural agency, the large hope 
 that turned the eyes of the prophets upon the brighter 
 
ITS SYMB(fL THE SUN. 229 
 
 futura', and the fact that the religious element -whose 
 earlj development was stern and bleak in the homage 
 of power, became finally soft and verdant under the 
 golden beams of the Christ, whose love-radiance was 
 the last and crowning glory of Palestine, are the three 
 most distinguishing marks of the sacred development of 
 the Hebrews ; a race whose adamantine toughness indi- 
 cates its preemenent capacity to endure. 
 
 But we are unjust to the world, to the world's 
 Maker, and to the elements of human nature, in iso- 
 lating Palestine from the general system of light to 
 the nations, in making that narrow spot the only 
 ground on which the eternal sun deigned to pour 
 original beams, thereby subjecting the great majority 
 of mankind to such illumination as may be derived 
 from the mere reflex and rebound of its rays. God is 
 a sun. He pours upon the nations ; and though one 
 region, owing to its peculiar character and position, 
 may unfold in different phenomena from another, all 
 may greet the original beams. The true type of 
 divine inspiration is the sun in heaven, through whose 
 glances all paths and regions are visited with light. 
 " There are diversities of operations, but the same 
 spirit." * In no other way can we see the wide Pater- 
 nity of Him on whom mankind depend, and in no 
 other way can we philosophically view the moral phe- 
 nomena offered in the history of the nations. Nor 
 ought we to think that God is one who may confine 
 himself to a book, or a race, or even to a single world 
 
 * 1 Cot. 12 : 4. 
 
2ao 
 
 INSPIRATION. 
 
 or a single system of worlds ; for He is the Being of 
 the Universe, and makes numerous ways for reyealing 
 Himself through all parts of his infinitely extending 
 empire. The " true Light," as St. John has testified, 
 is that " which lighteth every man that cometh into 
 the world," * and is, therefore, like the sun's radiance, 
 a visitant of all persons. When in the calm night we 
 raise our eyes toward heaven, we joyfully see that 
 each region of space is illuminated, and that our chief 
 star which extinguishes our vision of other stars from 
 the nearness of his position to us, is but a single fact 
 among the countless millions of equally luminous facts ; 
 and the universality of original light impresses the 
 imagination. We then in the universality of the beau- 
 teous symbol read the true character of the Creator's 
 moral radiance, of his all-diffusive light of truth. 
 
 South of the Himalaya chain of mountains, within 
 and near the tropics, where constantly verdant and 
 blooming' forests excite the imagination and arouse an 
 animated love of nature, the mind of the East Arian 
 nations, rich in native endowment, has unfolded, in many 
 beauties of thought, in a profound contemplativeness, 
 in deep meditations on human life, the soul, the forces 
 of nature, the condition of man after death, and the 
 Divine Essence ; and nowhere can be found in greater 
 richness these two exalted traits, an earnest love of 
 nature and the constant recognition of the Divine in all 
 its forms and agencies, than appear in the literature of 
 Brahminical India. A large share of the moral 
 
 « John 1 : 9. 
 
IN INDIA. 231 
 
 radiance, it would seem, once fell upon India. The 
 grand aim of its many philosophies is to teach the 
 means of eternal beatitude, to reunite the soul with 
 the supreme Brahma in absolute perfection and -bliss ; 
 whilst the many ideas which attest a masterly move- 
 ment of the moral sentiment and of imagination even 
 in very remote times, as well as in later periods, are 
 unfolded in a life-like symbolism of nature, that now 
 often cause the reader to feel that he is walking 
 through fragrant groves^ amidst the rich colorings of a 
 world that is perpetually renewed in the baptism of 
 tropical light. In an inspiring love for nature India 
 eclipses all we celebrate under the name of antiquity. 
 In no other part of the world perhaps is knov/Udge and 
 abstract contemplation so much insisted on as conditions 
 of the soul's elevation, of its purity, and liberation from 
 the objects^ of sense ; and perhaps in none other is 
 there a greater amplitude of exact religious forms. 
 Buddhism celebrates the spiritual nature of man, and 
 announces its identity with the Divine. We cannot, of 
 course, get at all the wealth of thought existing in this 
 ancient culture ; but enough is easily attained to teach 
 the lesson, that though truth in India, as elsewhere, is a 
 metal mixed with ore and dross, there is a sufSciency 
 of it to vindicate God's paternity over these worshipful 
 millions. The seeds of true moral greatness repose in 
 the faith of Brahma and Buddha. 
 
 Persia,* a country of great beauty, situated be- 
 yond the tropics, and therefore without the same luxu- 
 
 * A country called by its inhabitants the Empire of Iran, the 
 name Persia being given by them to a single province only. 
 
232 INSPIRATION. 
 
 riant forms and colors of nature by which the better 
 soil of Hindostan is embellished, has a literature less 
 masterly and ancient than the latter, yet one in -which 
 some of the greatest moral ideas are reflected. Its 
 primeval religion clearly revealed One Supreme Being, 
 ■who made the world and governs it by his Providence. 
 It inculcates the chief moral duties, among which is 
 fraternal affection for the whole human species, and a 
 comparative tenderness even to the brute creation. It 
 is unfair to accuse one country of stealing or borrowing 
 its light from another, on the mere supposition that all 
 light belongs to one nation ; and, instead of thinking 
 that the scattered gleams of sacred knowledge on earth 
 are the traditions that one race has by intercourse, or 
 other means, spread over the world, would it not be 
 well to pause awhile in the reflection that God is pres- 
 ent in all nations, that the religious ele9ient which 
 leads to divine seeking is a general power of humanity, 
 that moral as well as rational intuition is thg gift of at 
 least some superior minds in every nation having a' 
 development, and that nature, the manifold teacher, 
 is in her originalities and freshness forever around 
 them all ? It cannot be unsafe to say that there are 
 and have been brave people on the earth who did not 
 borrow the skilful use of their eyes, feet and hands 
 from the Jews ; and we judge that as much may be 
 safely affirmed of each and all of the spiritual faculties 
 of which other races of men are possessed. 
 
 On a high plane of thought and enthusiasm are found 
 the mental treasures of the Sufis, whose mystical range 
 of contemplation not only represents the most learned 
 
IN PERSIA. 233 
 
 and intellectual sect of Persia, but also the highest 
 minds of India and of the Mussulman profession. The 
 idea that God is the only absolute existence, that the 
 human soul is an emanation from his essence, separated 
 for a time from its heavenly source to be at last reunited 
 •with the Infinite, that the highest happiness is born of 
 such a oneness, that the supreme good on earth resides 
 in the most perfect union possible with the Eternal 
 Spirit, for vrhich purpose the heart should release itself 
 from the grasp of sensuous objects, are abstract con- 
 templations to -ffhich no very ordinary class of mind 
 could ever be warmly arid constantly attached. The 
 saint of the Sufis shall " be straight and free as the 
 cypress, whose fruit is hardly perceptible," and shall 
 not bow under burdens like the fruit tree attached to a 
 trellis. He shall disrobe himself of worldly attach- 
 ments in the seeking of Beatitude, as " the swimmer " 
 strikes the element most efficiently when " unencum- 
 bered with clothes." The soul is to be " overwhelmed 
 with the idea of celestial beauty ; " and since the 
 divine perfections and the ardors of devotion so much 
 surpass the adequacy of words, say they, the great 
 beauty and love are to be spoken of in terms of the 
 nearest approach, having always a transcendent and 
 mystical sense over and beyond their ordinary use. 
 Like a reed torn from its native bank, which, 
 
 "in sadly pleasing tales 
 Departed bliss and present wo bewails," 
 
 man laments his absence from the Divine in melancholy 
 music, and looks forward to his disengagement from 
 
234 iNSPiRATiojsr. 
 
 earthly trammels as the arrival "of the supreme and 
 ultimate good. These views flow in the strains of'Hafiz 
 and Maulovi, as well as in the best lyrics of India ; and 
 the tendency of a people to view their superior nature 
 in such close relations to the Divinity, and to realize 
 such powerful aspirations toward the Heavenly, is not 
 only the proof of a universal longing after the conscious 
 but unfound Perfection, of which human history so 
 widely testifies, but it implies the actual enjoyment of 
 the great light, which from age to age is saying, " Set 
 your affection on things above."* 
 
 We cannot within common limits pursue the many 
 traces of the inspiration of the moral sentiment in dif- 
 ferent countries, in which we may gather proofs that 
 God is nigh to mankind. On the masses of China the 
 same illumination has taught the perfection of Virtue, 
 the supremacy of Duty in human relations. The rude 
 savages of America held to the Divine Unity in a spir- 
 itual form. The same eternal causes that have illumin- 
 ated the past, now exist to encourage the future ; and, 
 since Soul, Nature, and Holy Spirit, are neither shorn 
 of their perpetual energies, we shall plead the possibility 
 of present and future inspiration, testing, however, with 
 great caution and severity, all actual pretension. 
 
 But the conditions of Inspiration are high. Knowl- 
 edge alone never attains it ; it must be married to 
 Love. Purify thyself. Let no irreverence obstruct 
 the ingress of Divinity. Be disinterested, and turn 
 somewhat into solitude. Be able to sacrifice ; accept 
 
 * Col. 3 : 2. 
 
ITS CONDITIONS. 235 
 
 of no master and no final authority in the Past. The 
 animal passions must not be allowed to rile the waters 
 of life. Gold and public opinion must cease to be gods. 
 Motive must be high, large faith and hope must dilate 
 the heart, ere the flashing streams of heavenly truth 
 will pour down the mount of God. In the glow of the 
 heart's love nature shall become a prophet, and in its 
 enlivening force shall dry fact kindle into flame. 
 
 Man, to be inspired of God, first of all, is to have 
 His order of faculties. These are ours inherently. 
 " From the moment when I heard the divine sentencOj 
 ' I have breathed into man a portion of my Spirit,' " says 
 Hafiz, " I was assured that we were His, and He ours." 
 Next to this comes kindred character, since our sins 
 cloud the bright canopy, and only inward Truth and 
 Pureness make the character a transparent medium ; 
 as glass and white cloud admit the sun, whilst the 
 granite wall prevents him. There are also certain fine 
 organisms, susceptible, men angel-born, who are natu- 
 rally sweeter harps through which the Eternal Spirit 
 may sing to us, though the organs of heavenly inspir- 
 ation are not fashioned after one casting, but vary from 
 the rough hewer of a John in the wilderness, to the 
 John reclining on the Master's bosom. In measuring 
 out the Quality and Quantity of a human soul, nature 
 determines the limits of inherent* capacity. 
 
 The subject beheld is inspiring also, if it yields great 
 and universal truths, as every subject from the mirthful 
 to the sublime leaves impressions of its own land. The 
 local affair never elevates us until it yields a Univer- 
 sal principle ; then our spirits dilate as in the presence 
 
236 INSPIRATION. 
 
 of seas and mountains. Original characters, striking 
 events, grand, and even delicate scenery of the outward 
 world, all help to tune the heart for its holiest melody. 
 The Holy Spirit of which the creation is born, gleams 
 through it still ; and here is one point of union where 
 we may forever meet the Divine. Yet there is an action 
 of the Holy Ghost without mediums, which is its highest, 
 so that without external occasion, without the aid of a 
 fellow apostle, and without the call of visible nature, the 
 mind shall be inspired, the world-senses closed, and the 
 soul-senses open to the coming light. 
 
 The Divine Spirit never theologized since the world 
 begun. The Being that built the world uttered no 
 opinions. He silently enveloped truth in all things, 
 poured life into all worlds,but never made an " ahstract " 
 of truth, never theorized on anything. " Holy men of 
 old spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost ; " 
 but they were never moved to bind themselves or others 
 in dogmatic forms of belief. Since God is the same, 
 likewise the soul and nature, as when acknowledged 
 prophets sang his praise, we may ask, What door of 
 entrance has been closed ? What key of divine access 
 has been lost? What once-known secret has disap- 
 peared since John saw the angel standing in the sun ? 
 Is truth less great ? Is the Eternal Spirit, aged and 
 obliged to look in retrospect at its ancient abilities, no 
 longer possessed ? Is the- last inspired man whom the 
 ages of history shall ever know on this planet, necessa- 
 rily a Jew 1 We hope not. For there is a divine 
 eternal power working in man as well as in nature, and 
 we cannot but hope in its fruits. 
 
ITS UNITY. 237 
 
 We stand for Unity. Wisdom, though million-formed, 
 is One. Goodness, though uttered in granite, lightning 
 and day-dawn, is essentially One. Inspiration, though 
 many-phased, is also One. Palestine, in some great 
 points, may crown the summit of the pyramid, but it is 
 one with the sides and the base. The soul is receptive 
 as the flower is, of dew and light ; and its relations to 
 Divinity are equally simple. We take this general 
 view of divine inspiration on earth as of a sun pouring 
 upon nations, because the highest Keverence demands 
 it ; and we hail the goodness of Providence that has 
 assigned to great divisions of the world, forms of the 
 religious sentiment suited to their respective wants, — 
 a distribution seemingly partaking of the same wisdom 
 that has arranged their various plants and animals. 
 The Christianity of the New Testament has this pecu- 
 liarity ; it is a missionary religion. Its eye is upon the 
 world. No other faith has the " Go forth into all 
 nations," attached to it ; a feature this which equally 
 attests its catholicity and superiority ; and when the 
 world is subdued to the Harmony that is its final end, 
 the great principles of Christianity will be found to sus- 
 tain it. 
 
 Why should the statement of one age, however per- 
 fect, remain the statement for all ages ? The religious 
 sentiment, like palms and cedars, will attire itself in 
 new foliage. 
 
 We cannot say that religion is based on a book. For 
 religion is older than books ; and the marvellous merit 
 of the Bible lies chiefly in this, that it is an expression 
 of its great and everlasting principles. And we can- 
 
238 
 
 INSPIRATION. 
 
 not forget that expression implies both the indepen- 
 dency and the antecedency of that which is expressed. 
 Neither is it based upon the church, for there must be 
 faith and individual worship prior to the possible con- 
 struction of a church. What then is its rock ? It has 
 a rock of ages in the soul itself, in its radical eternal 
 instincts and in the ever ceaseless revelation of the 
 Divinity to man. Suns and stars may perish, but reli- 
 gion can never perish. 
 
 Let the world retain what inspiration it already pos- 
 sesses, and hope serenely for more. We will keep and 
 find. Because the New World was discovered, ought 
 Europe, Asia, and Africa to have been thrown away ? 
 We will keep and find. Often would the celestial cur- 
 rent have refreshed us with living water but for its 
 commingling with the darker current of our lives, so 
 that, like the union of the pure blue waters of the 
 Rhone with the turbid flow of the Arve, it ceases to be 
 the "river of life, clear as crystal." The Holy Spirit 
 asks a temperate body and a chaste life. 
 
 The permanent religions of the past, and the fulness 
 of certain instincts of human nature, such as marvel- 
 lousness, unite to teach the necessity of the miraculous 
 element that has given wings to every great and trium- 
 phant faith since the world begun. The imagination is 
 always the golden door of entrance to the human heart. 
 The soul, which shares in a degree the Omnipotent 
 energy, has a luxury of bliss in soaring above the pres- 
 ent limits of the possible. It would at times, in idea, 
 at least, sport and play with fixedness. Miracle also 
 exalts the hero into the splendrous region of Power ; 
 
THE MIRACULOUS. 239 
 
 and power, in all its forms, involuntarily commands re- 
 gard and homage. There is no sacred colossus in his- 
 tory uninvested with the halo of miracle ; and it may 
 he long before the masses surrender the full heart to 
 any prophet who does not bear this popular seal and 
 sanction of divinity. Yet the purest Reverence will at 
 last demand but one miracle, that which eclipses all oth- 
 ers, the miracle of stupendous character, in which the 
 "whole typical creation of power and beauty shall be re- 
 flected. Whoever brings this miracle into the world 
 offers that which shall, of necessity, survive all changes. 
 " In how many miracles do you believe ? " said the 
 young student to his senior, the solitary sage. " In 
 more surely than you can count," responded he, " in 
 twenty ages. For the worlds you cannot number, their 
 laws and forces you cannot reckon, and the organized 
 wonders of the earth beneath your feet, are infinitely 
 beyond your estimates. I revel in miracles ; and they 
 all have one great meaning whether wrought in matter 
 or found in history, which is, that man is king in nature ; 
 so that when the true King shall come, he will be the 
 sovereign wonder, in whom all miracles are jointly 
 merged." 
 
THE HIGHLAND TEEASON. 
 
REMARKS. 
 
 I wish it distinctly understood that the following Drama, in 
 the form I have given it is not at aU designed for the stage, but 
 solely for perusal ; a conviction which the most hasty reading 
 would create in the minds of those at all acquainted with stage 
 arrangement and effect. Its length, multiplicity of speakers, 
 abundance of historical narrative, combined with the abstract 
 expression of the philosophical and moral significance of the 
 revolution, •mth other features of the work, at once confine it to 
 the category of reading drama. In the determination to pre- 
 serve for it this character, I have secured two methods of self- 
 protection against a merely possible contingency ; the one is 
 plainly in the structure of the play itself; the other is reserved. 
 
 The American Revolution, which was so much wiser than 
 either its actors or its spectators knew, is replete with dramatic 
 interest ; and there can be no doubt that the development of 
 the Highland Treason which presents the ablest warrior of the 
 Eevolution in the deep plotting of his intellect and the revenge- 
 ful treachery of his aims, borders more strongly than the associ- 
 ations of any other local event, on the purely tragical element. 
 Its passions and its incidents are appalling. Without deeming it 
 necessary to advocate either of the conflicting views in relation 
 
244 EEMARES. 
 
 to the hero of Saratoga, which have been oflFered -within the last 
 few years by able American writers, I suppose that, without 
 essential diflFerence, the great majority of impartial readers wiU 
 always concede to Benedict Arnold the most brilliant military 
 achievements on the one hand ; and whilst they admit the exis- 
 tence of powerful causes that operated to ripen so great a result 
 in a highly ambitious and sensitive nature, they will believe, on 
 the other, that it was the absence of moral principle alone that 
 rendered him unqualified to bear the temporary trials of his 
 position with a sustaining trust in the future ; and that whatever 
 may be justly said of provocations, abuses, and discouragements, 
 of which he had good reason to complain, justice, in the hearts, 
 mouths, and pens of nations, will continue to regard him as pro- 
 foundly guilty of treason to a noble and struggling cause. But 
 that he undertook the defence of his country with good motives, 
 that he was the truest warrior of Kevolutionary history, that he 
 had, until the last, the utmost confidence of Washington, that he 
 encountered violent prejudices, and through them was not 
 always treated according to his miKtary deserts, and that he had 
 always some good and brilliant qualities, are facts over which it 
 is needless to exercise equivocation or denial. 
 
PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Benedict Arnold, Major-General in tHe American Army. 
 John Andr^, Adjutant-General to the British Army. 
 Oeiana, "Wife to General Arnold. 
 George Washington, Commander-in-Chief of the American 
 
 Army. 
 Marquis De LaFatette, General in the American Army. 
 Richard Montgomery, Major-General in the American 
 
 Army. 
 Sorceress. 
 Eustic. 
 
 Sir Henry Clinton, Chief Commander of the King's forces. 
 Paulding, Williams, and Van Wert, Captors of Andre. 
 Two Sons of Arnold. 
 Oeesta, Daughter of Arnold. 
 Officers, Statesmen, Oarsmen, Citizens, Soldiers, Noblemen and 
 
 others. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Boston. A Street. 
 Three Citizens. 
 
 1st Cit. The war 's begun. Nor ends it in the smoke 
 And blood of Lexington. Such passions are 
 Inflamed as never cool by fear, England's 
 Aim is spoken ! These ships of war, with mighty 
 Ordnance, whose white wings are in our harbors 
 Folded, her darker meanings tell ; to which 
 I add the leagued and biassed judges, the swarms 
 Of soldiers, and the general tone of 
 Parliament. 
 
 2d-Oit. And blood speaks it ! When in such oration 
 Proud England speaks, know that much is in it. 
 No fickle humor plays upon her will ; 
 Her purposes are iron ; and nothing 
 But such effort as decides the prize as 
 Lost or won, will ever end this new-born war, 
 
 Sd Cit. Not so. One shower of justice from the sky 
 Of Royalty shall quench these angry flames ; 
 For these colonial hearts are from custom 
 
248 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Loyal. No doubt, misguided by her King 
 And ministers, England errs. Yet it is 
 paternal feeling blindly aiming at 
 Our correction. 
 
 Id Git. Most charitable belief! A little 
 More would add you to the saints. 
 
 3cZ Cit. And charity hopeth all things — 
 
 \.st Git. Reasonable. A Jew, in those days when 
 Elias made that mighty prayer which took 
 From heaven its rain, as well a shower 
 Might find to bless his fields, as we those drops 
 Of justice which bid the nation thrive. Believe. 
 It, the Bull is mad — the earth has entered 
 Taurus ! What mean this threat, and show of cannon ? 
 
 id Git. J had hoped for calmer skies. But when I 
 View the gulf of difference betwefen these 
 Two contending countries ; 
 When I see that the royal treasure to 
 Enrich, is made the burden of our lives, 
 Whilst no voice of ours in Parliament resounds, 
 A thing opposed to that Constitution 
 Which our common rights defend, my hope is 
 Lost in fear. The dog that asks his master's 
 Eavor wins the mild notice of his eye, 
 Whilst our earnest prayers with scorn are met, 
 Till patience is out of heart, and every 
 Element that wakes the hell of war is 
 Into revolution bursting. It will not cease. 
 
 M Git. Noble England is our mother still. This 
 Mood of violence precedes her wiser 
 Love, else the darkest problem here remains 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 219 
 
 Unsolved, — why a lasting war should England wago 
 On her own flesh and blood ? 
 
 2d. Oit. Remember age is politic, and gray 
 Hairs are with caution silvered. Caesar his 
 Tribute loves. Man seeks power, which, fed on 
 Long success, into omnipresence widens, 
 Covering oceans, isles, and continents. 
 Power is also jealous, and in its 
 Jealousy prophetic ; seeing in this 
 Giant offspring a people full of strength. 
 Lest his manhood should despise control, deep 
 Lessons of obedience needs into 
 His early growth be woven, that this being 
 Part of his future bone and muscle, his 
 Glory shall never be an independent 
 Star, but glitter always in his royal 
 Crown, a jewel wholly his. Then masters. 
 Even noble masters love to rule, and 
 To sustain a high prerogative of 
 Will, great sacrifices offer. And what 
 
 \_Enter a Citizen. 
 The recent news ? 
 
 4ih Oit. Each brow is type, so plainly set, that they 
 Who never knew a letter may quickly 
 Read the word it spells. 
 
 2,d Oit. What word ? 
 
 Ath Oit. That word of all most dreadful ! It denies 
 That men are brothers, that God is Father 
 To us all. 
 
 Jurors refuse their oaths to take ; judges, 
 ii» 
 
250 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Their Justice-Halls forsake to scorn the crown's 
 Dark will ; whilst from the Heaven's four quarters 
 Blow the eager winds of strife. 
 
 1st Cit. Then everything a war portends. Death 
 And fear are trifles growing, amidst this 
 Clash of greater things. Let it come ! 
 
 2d Cit. Ay, let it come ! 
 
 ^th Cit. I say, let it come! Peaceful men do now 
 The harness of the war put on ; like clouds 
 That once on balmy winds were borne, now charged 
 With fire electric, let fly their dazzling 
 Spite, so they the crown oppose. Sprouts of th' old 
 Saxon tree, no perils daunt them. 
 
 {^Exeunt Zd and Ath citizens. 
 
 Scene II. — Cambridge. An Open Place. 
 Two Tories, 
 
 1st Cit. Soldiers and patriotism gather here 
 As if this Cambridge ground were some enchanted 
 Place, some central gravity of souls. 
 
 1st Tory. Upon my life, you lie ! None gather here 
 But rebels. George is a king, a holy 
 King, the best oT kings. In heaven would you 
 Rebel, though angelic princes held the reins. 
 I have a prayer deeper than the heart 
 Of common love, which says, God save the king. 
 
 1st Cit. " God save the king ! " For what ? His 
 people's sake. 
 When he whose glory it should be to help 
 And bless, his faithful care takes off, bleeding 
 His subjects by cursed edicts till their face 
 Of life grows pale, then perish he who makes 
 
THE HIGHLAND TEBAgpN. 251 
 
 The cry " God save the king," be he Swede or 
 Dane or English blood. [^Braws Ms sword. 
 
 1st Tory. A miser's heart ! For this you nov 
 unsheathe the sword. 
 
 Is* Whig. Tory, 't is not the money's worth which 
 now 
 The furnace of our passion fires. The wrongs 
 Awake the lion of our hearts. England 
 Taxes without consent ; averts the course 
 Of justice ; takes jurors from their sacred 
 Office ; gives to admiral courts, whom she 
 Sways as winds the slender reed, a dang'rous 
 Sum of power ; she breaks the bars our good 
 Forefathers made against the powers tyrannic ; 
 By fleets and armies now enforces all 
 Her edicts. Her sword now drinks our precious 
 Blood. These, Tory, in our humanity, 
 Light up the primal fires which burn for war 
 And liberty. 
 
 Two Tories. God save the king ! 
 
 Id Whig. God save the wrecking mariner ! God 
 save 
 The idiot from the fire. Save ye the penny ! 
 Save the king ! 
 
 1st Whig. With pilots, blind, England is a noble 
 Ship, now by conjecture guided, and the stars. 
 The ocean between us such vast distance 
 Makes, that the wildest folly into his 
 Princely ears becomes distilled. 
 I will teach thee now a better prayer : 
 Crod save our country ! Pray aloud ! The hills 
 
262 THE HIGHLAND TKEASON. 
 
 • 
 
 And valleys echo its music back to heaven ! 
 Our homes are here. And here the loving wife 
 And laughing child our good protection have ; 
 And here our prospects find a bound, until 
 The great eternity, all beauteous. 
 Its gates unclose. We fly to arms ! To arms 
 We fly, not to annul the royal sceptre, 
 But to win our due redress. 
 
 Is J Tory. Your cause shall end in ruin. 
 Satan works in this revolt. God, order. 
 Law, each is oflended. Lay down these rebel 
 Weapons ; stay these sad complaints. 
 
 \st Cit. Forbear this long debate. If a city 
 Burns, we rush to quench the flames, not asking 
 Sow it came. Fools are they to waste their time 
 In proving that by burning straws, or yet 
 By swelling casks of oil, the fierce disaster 
 Came. Wise men rush to quench the fire. You see 
 This great resistance speaks a cause ; you see 
 The land and waters flame with war ; you see 
 That in our hearts there is a king older 
 Far than George. His brave words obey. , Under 
 Him shall we our history indite. 
 
 Two Tories. Never ! never ! 
 Loyalty is the highest virtue. 
 
 Scene III. — The same. 
 Six men, the Committee of Safety for Massachusetts. 
 
 1st Com. To us great charge pertains ; 
 For we, the Committee of Safety for 
 This, the eldest daughter in the family 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 253 
 
 Of states, to whose advice the younger sisters 
 Look confidingly, have much to do, that 
 Our humble means, through vigilance and skill 
 May Boston rid of crimson-coated hosts. 
 
 2c? Com, One cause is ours, one living cause. If 
 struck 
 In distant parts, it bleeds the same, and weakens 
 All. The northern border lies exposed, whilst 
 England holds Ticonderoga, aiming 
 At the mastery of all the lakes, which 
 If once obtained, our cause endangers. What 
 Plan do we approve ? 
 
 3i Com. Plans for this must be delayed. There is 
 to us 
 A scarcity of means. Who comes ? 
 
 Elder Abnold. 
 Good morning. Will you forgive us if we 
 Here misjudge, for to us and to our wish 
 You seem to come for our assistance. 
 
 Am. My course is self-elected. 
 
 Zd. Com. To aid us ? 
 
 Am. I espouse the Provincial cause. 
 
 3d! Com. And why ? 
 
 Am. Because I have a reason. 
 
 3d Com. That unity may join us, let us know your 
 cause. 
 
 Am. Here is a realm I call mine own ! In it 
 Calmly rests the end I seek. Deep buried 
 In this realm there dwells a cause why I go 
 Forth against my king. Let this sufiScQ. 
 
254 THE HIGHLAND TEBASON. 
 
 Ist Com. How would you serve us ? 
 
 2d Com. Yes, how ? this question most of all be- 
 comes us. 
 
 Am. Sirs, I have a plan. 
 
 1st Com. A plan ? We need execution. 
 
 Am. Ay, a plan ; and, if you will believe it, 
 I have EXECUTION also. 
 
 2d Com. Before you are permitted to give us 
 Plans, we must know who and whence you are. 
 
 Am. Boldly, as sun and moon throw off disguise 
 When clouds dissolve, and clear blue ether views 
 Us, do I my name and place announce. 
 I am Arnold ! New Haven is my home. There 
 The goodly cheer of a growing family 
 Smiled upon me, whilst business so thrived 
 That I would have stayed in this my paradise. 
 But the sad tale of Lexington, swift-winged 
 And in blood bedewed, summoned anxious scores 
 Together, to speak, on public ground, their 
 Hearts' relief. Seizing this hour of impulse, 
 * I poured into their bursting hearts these words : 
 " Whoever of you, my countrymen, so 
 Love your homes, property, wives and children. 
 As to peril your lives in their defence, • 
 And stay the tide of blood that now aggressive 
 Meets us ; whoever of you, my countrymen, 
 Can face the horrors of war with brave hearts 
 And determined visage, to my guidance come ; 
 At dawn meet me ; on this patriotic 
 
 * See note A. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TKBASON. 255 
 
 Green meet me." Ere the sun arose, sixty 
 
 Men, of spirit valorous, joined my cause. 
 
 Here are we ; some from even the classic 
 
 Halls, who, should they wield a sword as they do 
 
 The Greek or Latin tongue, will wonders show 
 
 In war. Here are six, good samples of the ten times six. 
 
 Enter six citizens of New Haven, thfee middle-aged 
 men and three students. 
 
 2d Com. Have you counted well the mighty cost ? 
 Have you learned that war is strown with thorns ? 
 
 1st Sol. Surely we have learned it. 
 
 2d Com. Young man, rough is the literature of 
 War. Battles are our poems. What book is that ? 
 
 Stu. The Iliad in Greek. Its pages fired 
 Great Alexander for the fight. I draw 
 From it a warlike inspiration. 
 
 2d Com. Well, go to your comrades. I will talk with 
 Your commander. [^JSxeunt soldiers. 
 
 As seriousness our mood determines, and 
 Haste our labor drives, at once unfold 
 Your cherished plan. 
 
 ■Am. Give me just four hundred men, and I will 
 From the lion's grasp tear all the northern forts, 
 Ticonderoga and all dependent posts. 
 I know the ground like those my childhood trod ; 
 For, in the war when angered France disgorged 
 Her hatred on us, this Fort the English 
 Held : by some restless spirit driven, I 
 From my town and parents ran, to mix in 
 
256 TilB HIGHLAND TREASOK. 
 
 The war's tumult ; — to this old post I made 
 
 My way when I but-sixteen summers knew. 
 
 There for months, I know the ground. I know their 
 
 StrengtTi ; and, with the men I ask, they shall be ours. 
 
 5th Com. A bold movement ! Make out his instruc- 
 tions. 
 Meantime declare what constitutes in your 
 Esteem the Officer and Soldier. 
 
 Am. The qualities are much the same, save this : 
 To command, the 6fficer must know. Quick, 
 Seeing as a flash the danger rising. 
 With passions like a storm beneath a sky 
 Of reason cool ; a soul for honors made ; 
 Of honors jealous ; with nerves most steady 
 And purpose firm, all fed by such fervent 
 Love of country as no dangers freeze, or 
 Injuries avert. The true warrior 
 Is coolest in the face of death, and acts 
 Most from the inspiring genius, when most 
 Fiercely blows the storm of battle. 
 
 Qth Com. Before such, the strong elements have 
 bowed. 
 But the soldier should be sound in body. 
 
 Am. Nor is the soft philosophy of peace 
 His creed. In the coursings of his thoughts, he 
 Reasons thus : Justice over peace is' twice 
 Olympus high : and, in war's sad clashing, 
 The Might and Right are one in each event — 
 The ends ordained of Heaven. The sea and winds 
 Do angry strive, yielding ample proof that ~ 
 He who made Orion's brightness, into 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 257 
 
 Nature's mighty heart did drop the seeds of war. 
 Since man his fellow chained, has Freedom paid 
 The price of blood. 
 
 1st Com. Thou hast a Warrior's /aM. Now make 
 known 
 A warrior's work ! • Here, take your papers ; 
 At to-morrow's rising sun four hundred • 
 Strong shall meet you. 
 
 Am. Thank you, Gentlemen. Hardships shall be my 
 Pillow, labor »my cordial, and danger 
 My bosom friend ; so that the state be honored 
 And the country served. \_JExeunt Am. and Com. 
 
 Scene .IY. — Same. A Room, 
 Enter tivo Citizens of Boston. 
 1st Cit. When, good Sir, may we wisely hope this 
 
 war shall end ? 
 2c? Cit. I know not. Years taay pass ere His Sove- 
 reign 
 Will with us agrees. The deep courage that 
 Now inspires the Provincial troops, is doubtless 
 Firm, and sure to last. I think great struggles. 
 Much suffering, and bloodshed, will appear 
 Ere the king and we, his injured subjects, 
 Are at one. 
 
 1st Cit. And through the blackening cloud and storm 
 of war 
 Must rise the heads of heroes, on whose names 
 Historic light shall fall with praise. Our cause. 
 Though now Rebellion styled, under the light 
 Of reasons given, shall wear an honor. 
 
258 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 That from France and countries far remote, shall 
 Turn admiring eyes, 
 
 2d Cit. Latent, slumbering greatness waits the call 
 Of great events, •which, fast coming, may robe 
 "With praise new heroes. But, 't is on success 
 All glory rests. This, turning east or west. 
 Shall turn with it the world ; 
 For, in the world, all great success bears off 
 The palm of praise, whilst every cause that 
 Claims it not, is hissed and laughed to sccJrn. High 
 Virtue, then, a beggar proves ; and heroes' 
 Names are changed for rogues' and traitors'. 
 
 JEnter a Soldier. 
 
 Sol. I am here to say not " How d' ye do ; " but 
 " Have you ample courage ? " 
 
 1st Cit. Strange question ! 
 
 Sol. Why? 
 
 1st Cit. Heroism speats not before its time. The sea 
 From out its noiseless depths no storm proclaims. 
 Though on its surface walks the storm. Better 
 Say that life is less than liberty. 
 
 Sol. George Washington holds the chief command. 
 How will he fill the oiEce ? 
 
 2d Cit. As the sun in Heaven his office fills ; 
 Thus fair, thus true. In mind reserved, in thought 
 Profound, in purpose firm, in foresight great. 
 In trust, on God relying ; no good, no 
 Humble cause of doubtful issue, could e'er 
 To worthier hands be given. 
 
 1st Cit. What other news ? 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 259 
 
 Sol. Ticonderoga is taken ! Crown Point * 
 By Arnold now is held. 
 
 1st Cit. What else ? 
 
 Sol. Saint John is captured from the foe, with spoils 
 And men of war ! 
 
 2d Cit. Safe is our Northern border ! 
 Yet, in the sty, a cloud of stern, terrific 
 Gloom, its shadows casts upon us. England 
 Is the Lion of the earth. ^ Since news-laden 
 You appear to be, say, what were Arnold's deeds ? 
 
 Sol. At Castleton, this side Ticonderoga, 
 He the strong forces of Easton and of 
 Allen met, o'er whom he claimed the chief 
 Command; which at once opposed in scorn, he 
 With Allen, at even sides, entered the gates 
 Of Ticonderoga. When the hoarse, deep 
 Thunder of Allen's voice, at deep midnight. 
 In the " great Jehovah's name," had from La Place 
 The full surrender forced, again he claimed 
 Supreme control, basing the demand on 
 A commission from the older State. This 
 New demand awoke the anger of the camp ; 
 And now the breath of calumny is spent 
 Upon his name. 
 
 1st Cit. Ambition is no stranger in his breast. 
 What think you of him? [2b the citizen. 
 
 2d Cit. He is a man of valiant parts. But like 
 
 * Arnold occupied this post, that he might better command 
 the expected battles of the lake. It is in full view of Lake 
 Champlain. 
 
260 THE HIGHLAND TKBASOW. 
 
 A shaded fountain as yet I do not 
 
 See what he conceals. Time alone can shed 
 
 The light that may his mystery show. I 
 
 Hear new forces throng to aid the king, that 
 
 Tories number like the leaves. Let us go 
 
 The battle of our rights to wage ; to storm 
 
 The earth with thunder and with blood ! For now , 
 
 The war-cry thunders in our ears. [^Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Boston. A Street. 
 Seven Officers. 
 
 1st Off. An expedition has Congress ordered 
 To Quebec. Who comes ? lUnter Arnold. 
 
 What bring you from your Northern Post ? 
 
 Am. The same I carried there, a mind to serve my 
 country. 
 
 2d Off. I like it that the war's great feature is de- 
 fence. 
 
 3d Off. There 's no aggression in it. 
 
 ^th Off. Yes, England now aggresses. 
 
 Sd Off. But wo defend. Self defence, sacred as 
 The God we worship, lives in all. Far down 
 In lower beings' order, lives the sense 
 That turns upon a foe ; and mightier 
 Is it in the sphere of thought and will, where 
 Greater powers of grandeur hold. " Defend 
 Thyself," is God's and Nature's voice. But one 
 Aggressive blow may History ne'er record. 
 For wife, for liberty, for life and home. 
 Be poured our blood in freest streams ; 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON, 261 
 
 For these let armies gather on the hostile fields ; 
 For these let truthful men the steel put on 
 And draw the sword in Justice' name ; for these 
 The Holy God invoke. 
 
 Qtk Off. Thus, most noble officer, you speak my 
 Head and heart. 
 
 Am. Not thus, 
 Brave sirs, do you my sentiments express. 
 
 bth Off. Then speak them for yourself — 
 I mil listen. 
 
 Am. In war we need the thorough man. 
 The half-work loved by modest men, divides ' 
 The force. The cause that 's worth our being's half, 
 Is worth our being's whole. If heaven or hell 
 We serve, 't is better to make the bold rush, 
 And rally all we have ! To do it largely 
 Is our greatest merit or offence. 
 
 bth Off. But Justice is eternal. 
 To pass its border never proves the man. 
 
 Am. To women and to children leave fiiaer 
 Threads of sentiment. The thmgs of war touch 
 Not, except firm heart and tearless purpose 
 Are your own. When war is real, one wish 
 O'er all obtains, which, in wild vehemence 
 Would tear in fragments what it hates* I hold 
 Aggression and assault great merits in the war. 
 
 Qth Off. We only seek redress. 
 
 Am. True. But to win it bravely. 
 Tear all Canada from the royal crown. 
 Storm Quebec! 
 
262 THE HIGHLAND TKEASON. 
 
 &th Off. The ■wild flashing of your eye bold daring 
 Indicates. But, sir, be not so vain. 
 
 Am. So vain ! Hold ! 
 
 Qth Off. To this bold scheme our Congress is the 
 fount. 
 She dares to push it onward. Instrument 
 Are you. 
 
 Am. Hold ! By Heaven, you do me "vvrong. 
 
 6<A Off. Your pardon, if I have. 
 
 Am. It was 
 
 Months ago that I to our wise Congress 
 Wrote; offering her this plan. At first my 
 Counsels were omitted ; but now, when time 
 Has seasoned thought, they blossom in her favor, 
 So that in hers and Washington's good pleasure, 
 I lead my army to Quebec. In me 
 Originates the plan, let it lead to Fortune 
 Or Despair. 
 
 &th Off. Which way ? 
 
 Am. Through the Northern wilderness I lead them 
 forth. 
 
 1st Off. The region is unexplored. 
 
 Am. True. 
 
 2c? Off. The current of the Kennebec rolls on 
 Against the way you choose. '. 
 
 Am. Truly. 
 
 3c? Off. There are cataracts and dashing waters, 
 Crags, swamps, ravines, to the savage and the wild 
 Beast only known. 
 
 Am. The way I know. [Holds up a map. 
 
 Where many a Norridgewock lay strown on 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 263 
 
 Fields of savage battle ; -where Father Ralle,* 
 In venerable gray hairs, a victim 
 Fell to heathen violence ; ■where rolls th' swift 
 And flashing waters pf the bold Chaudiere ; 
 Where cataracts divide the streams in spray ; 
 Where rolls the Dead River, and the mountain 
 Towers ; -where stretches long the damp morass, 
 And the forest landscape breaks and widens 
 Into grandeur — through these I lead my army, 
 Eleven hundred strong, to storm the walls 
 Of old Quebec. 
 
 5th Off. But in Quebec are mighty thousands. 
 They -will proudly rally to its defence. 
 
 Am. I have intelligence from within its walls. 
 The fires of discontent burn hotly there, 
 And half the people -will arise in joy 
 To greet my banner in the opened gates. 
 
 6th Off. You surprise me. Is it so ? 
 
 Am. Upon my life it is. 
 
 6th Off. Then shall the roughness of the dreary way 
 Your spirits harden for their task. 
 
 Am. Before I reach Quebec, I hope to raise 
 Assistance from the common mass. They too 
 Are ill content. Already are my men 
 Embarked. , lUxit. 
 
 1st Off. Hazardous enterprise ! Results uncertain ! 
 Yet, if success crown it, its perils are 
 Laurels bravely won. Time, which all things proves, 
 Shall this unfold, or mark it as a dream. \_Uzmnt Off. 
 
 * A Catholic missionary -who had lived twenty-six years •mih 
 the Norridge-wocks. 
 
264 THE HISHLAND TREASON, 
 
 Scene VI. — The base of the High Mountain near 
 which the Dead River flows. Near 
 * sunset. It storms. 
 
 \_Some are observed climbing steep ascents over 
 rocks, others carry their bateaux, others exhibit 
 broken fragments of bateaux, which had been 
 dashed among the rapids and falls. All being 
 much fatigued, they encamp. 
 
 Arnold and several Officers. 
 
 Am. Thus far on our journey's way, undismayed 
 By accident and hardship, let us rest 
 Till Nature's angry mood is wholly past. 
 
 \st Off. It is cold and chilly. Fatigue weighs down 
 The spirits of our men. 
 
 Am. How little care the ungoverned elements 
 For all the patriot seeks ! Their savage 
 Sports and hiting chills the same remain. But 
 In this dreary solitude, I will raise 
 My country's flag, and under this symhol 
 Sleep. The Indian and the mountain wolf may 
 Wonder at its stars.* 
 
 [Plants the flag over Ms tent, which he enters. 
 
 2d Off. Hark ! what rushing sound disturbs my ear ? 
 [J3e advances forward — sound increases. 
 It is a waterfall of more precipice 
 Than yet hath stopped us ! 
 
 Zd Off. Well for to-morrow's safety that this danger 
 is discovered. 
 
 * A hamlet in that vicinity has since honored this event by- 
 taking the name of the Flag-Staif. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 265 
 
 4dh Off. Provisions lessen fearfully. 
 If the sad fortune of these few days shall 
 Be repeated in the breaking of our barks 
 And loss of food, we shall be men, iron 
 Nerved, our way to press into this 
 Remote dominion of our king. 
 
 bih Off. The wild animals will we slay. 
 These storms are the chorus of our march. 
 
 Enter three Indians, who utter the war-whoop and dis- 
 charge their arrows. 
 
 Hold, savage ! we go to fight the white man's king. 
 
 1st Ind. Where is white man from ? 
 
 bth Off. From the great ocean of the East. 
 What do you here ? [Indian offers him weapons. 
 
 1st Ind. Indian here kill bear and wolf. He 
 Slay deer and catch fish. Indian here 
 Walks large, and dances to the Great Spirit. 
 
 &th Off. A gleam of the setting sun ! 
 On this high mountain's top, all white with snow. 
 It settles ! Could I but climb the dizzy 
 Height so as to touch his snowy cap, there 
 Might I view the spires of Quebec. Indian ! 
 Try to send your arrow one half the tithe 
 Of distance to its top. \Se shoots his arrows. 
 
 Ind. High ! Brothers, high ! 
 
 bih Off. Still will I press its loftiest snow.* [Exit. 
 [Exeunt all the officers except one. 
 
 * Tradition has told the pioneers of the forest, and repeated 
 the marvel till it is believed, that Major Bigelow had the courage 
 as well as leisure to ascend its top, with the hope of discovering 
 
 12 
 
266 TUB HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Ist Off. \He calls to Aknold, who comes to him. 
 And is it your order — 
 
 Am, Mine ? — 
 
 \st Off. Colonel Enos with three companies 
 Has returned to Cambridge. 
 
 Am. My orders ? Never ! 
 Curses on the coward's heart. I only 
 Wrote that back to Norridgewock he should send 
 The sick and feeble. Were he present, I 
 Would be daggers in his bosom. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VII. — Plains of Abraham. An open place 
 hefore the City. 
 
 Enter Aenold and Montgomery. 
 
 Am. My brave Montgomery ! 
 
 Mont. Good morning ! As in war, wisdom is 
 supreme ; 
 I applaud the skill that moved your late retreat. 
 
 Am. So circumstance ordained. My papers with 
 An Indian I had trusted, who, proving 
 Treacherous, to the king's agents gave them. 
 But for this the gates of yon walled city 
 Had opened at my coming. 
 
 Mont. I and my force from Montreal will join 
 To aid this great assault. 
 
 Am. Nor shall my men, wilderness-hardened, be 
 Outdone. They anxiously wait the conflict. 
 
 from this lofty eminence the hills of Canada and the spires of 
 Quebec. From this supposed adventure it has received the 
 name of Mount Bigelow. — Jared Sparks. 
 
THE HISHLAND TREASON. 267 
 
 Mont. This Is hallowed ground ! 
 For it was here that Wolfe and Montcalm fell ! 
 Leaning on a soldier's breast, and the fresh 
 Blood fast from its new wound leaping, there played 
 Along the face of the gallant Wolfe a smile 
 Of joy. Envied be his bed of death — it had 
 True friendship for its pillow, and, " I die 
 Happy," as its sacred words. [/i snows. 
 
 Am, The repelling barriers must be scaled. 
 In that city's unsurrendered heart, we 
 Meet, or in the attempt we die ! To that 
 Proud heart, two paths do lead. Which 
 Take you ? 
 
 Mont. Cape Diamond. 
 
 Am. I the St. Roque. 
 Meanwhile this snow of leaden gloom assists, 
 Veiling us from notice. Already has 
 The war-inspiring Mars poured his furies 
 Into the boiling blood of all my men, 
 Raising to such high and awful pitch the force 
 Of inward resolution, that from its height 
 The downward glance beholds a soldier's death 
 As but a diamond to be seized. [ Oloeh strikes. 
 
 Our summons ! Farewell, Montgomery ! 
 
 Mont. Farewell ! \_Ilxeunt at different sides. 
 
 Enter an Englishman and an American. 
 Eng. I am yet astonished. 
 Amer. At what ? 
 Eng. At this great cost of blood. 
 
268 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Amer. This is but a drop to what shall be. One 
 In language, one in blood, one in reverence 
 For the royal rule, it a pity is ; 
 But they who proximate, more deeply hate ; 
 Fraternal anger is nearest hell. 
 
 Eng. What is your aim ? New goyernment to build 
 On this revolt ? 
 
 Amer. No such dream has flitted over us. It 
 Is redress alone that points our steel. 
 
 JEng. Pitt speaks in your behalf. 
 
 Amer. Saying that from His " Majesty's crown has 
 Fallen the brightest je^el." England is great. 
 The mother of heroes, bards, and sages. 
 Who are suns and moons to other lands, she 
 Has whereof to glory ; but in this dire 
 Eclipse of all her radiance, justice 
 Writes her cause accursed. Blood shall sprinkle all 
 The altars of our former peace ; but when 
 The storm is cleared away, the stars of sweet 
 Fraternal bond again their light may lend 
 Us. Now all is storm and blackness. 
 
 Ung. Hear ! \_Noise of battle. 
 
 See ! Yonder see ! Whose tall form rises 
 On the rock ? 
 
 Amer. Ay, whose ? The first barrier is carried. 
 
 Eng. True. Heaven stay their progress- 
 
 Amer. He rallies to the second ! Hear his voice, 
 That thunders the command. 
 
 Ung. I hear. Who leads the English force ? 
 
 Amer. The cloud of battle my eyes prevent. Near, 
 The bright sword glitters in the air ; thunder-voiced 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 269 
 
 Is his command ; as cataracts send 
 
 Forth their echoing voice, so sounds the war-cry 
 
 Of the battling hour. \_S.ound increases. 
 
 Scene VIII. — Mar Quebec. A Boom. 
 
 Amer. Here we have a better view. 
 The bravery of the day is worthy 
 Leonidas. But who comes ? 
 
 [^Unttr two Soldiers, hearing Arnold wound- 
 ed — the hlood still rushing from his wound. 
 They bandage Ms limlb. 
 
 Am. But for this, the day in glorious 
 Victory had ended. ' Men without a guide. 
 Are hands without a head. 
 
 Amer, Fatigue and weakness invite thee now to 
 
 slumber. 
 Am. Then let a soldier's bosom be my pillow. 
 
 [^The first soldier reclines; Arnold leans 
 upon his breast — the other soldier sits near 
 him; a clear light from the lamp falls upon his 
 face as he sleeps^ 
 
 Eng. He bears a warrior's visage. On it 
 Did nature leave the lineament of Mars. 
 
 \_Exeunt Amer. and Eng. 
 [Enters from a distance, and slowly advanc- 
 ing, a Sorceress. She silently gazes into the 
 face of Arnold. The soldiers see lier with 
 emotion, but do not speak. 
 Sor. [Low."] — Sleep ! Warrior, sleep ! 
 I have watched the high sweeping cloud at night. 
 
270 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Reading the Destiny-Spirit in its shapes. 
 I have paused in the deep silence ! I have 
 Read the Darkness ! I have felt the Power 
 That governs all ! 
 
 I have the brow of man and woman traced, 
 Reading the mystic letters the spirit 
 Works, and the destinies it weaves. There, I see 
 A page, a fage, -which could the earth but see, 
 And the air but know, the conscious ground would 
 Instant open, and the whirlwind wheel away 
 The vital breath. Nature ! why hast thou 
 Left the print of thine inner Devil sleeping ? 
 
 2d Sol. Woman, away ! the warrior sleeps. 
 
 Sor. Hark ! I tell thee a mysterious web 
 Is weaving there. Dark threads are in it ! 
 
 2d Sol. Woman, away, away ! the warrior sleeps. 
 
 Sor. Stay thy hand. 
 I will read his Destiny. 0, Mystery ! 
 Mystery ! Within that inward self I 
 See another self! Strange things are there infolded. 
 Mine eye is dimmed by darkness. I cannot 
 Read them now — but this I see, that Heaven's 
 Sweet light trembles as it on them falls. 0, 
 Better that thou hadst perished on the rock ; 
 Better that the ball by which thou bleedest 
 Had rested in thy proud heart for ever ! 
 Thy hand I see ; yet I cannot read thee now. 
 Mine eye is dimmed by darkness ! Oh ! — Oh ! — Oh ! 
 I hasten to my gloomy bower. \Exit. 
 
 Arn. Who spoke to me ? 
 
 \st Sol. No one. Sleep, warrior, sleep. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 271 
 
 Arn. A strange sound offends my ears. Still will I 
 
 Slumber on this faithful pillow. [JSe sleeps, 
 
 [Enter two officers and two soldiers hearing 
 
 MoNTGOMEKT, dead — they lay him a few yards 
 
 from Arnold. 
 
 1st Off. In the crisis of his victory he fell. 
 What terror, this day, has thrilled the city ! 
 Their alarm is as an earthquake. 
 
 \st Sol. Here lies Montcalm's better. 
 
 2c? Off. Aye, and Wolfe's better. be silent, for 
 This is the ground of fallen heroes. 
 
 Arn. [Awakes and arises.^ How went the day ? 
 
 1st Off. It has been the minister of terror 
 To all Quebec, still untaken. 
 
 Arn. Where is my brave Montgomery ? 
 
 [The officer is silent. Arnold looks around! 
 My God ! Is this Montgomery ? Do these 
 Dim senses lie ? No ; it is Montgomery ; 
 Without breath, but not without honors. 
 I heard his words on Wolfe — I live for ends 
 I know not. Where dwells his wife ? To her must 
 This honored temple be conveyed: 
 
 2d Off. In the East she lives, keeping his farewell 
 Words, " You ne'er shall blush for your Montgomery." 
 
 Arn. Cover the dead with honors. 
 Yet^the dead can here no service render. 
 On the Lakes now hovers the cloud of war. 
 All black with ire. I will now my forces 
 Rally, and superior numbers meet, 
 Baffling the lion on the treacherous element. [Uxeunt, 
 
272 THE HIGHLANB TREASON, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — Hartford. A room. 
 Enter two Citizens. 
 
 1st Cit. The news ! Who ever knew it weightier ? 
 
 2d Git. Never were the flying winds more heavy 
 Laden. The loud trumpets of the sky, which 
 Long since foretold the bellowing strife that 
 Yet long years must rage, still blow their mighty blast. 
 The battles of the Northern Lakes are full 
 Of courage ; though against the greater force, 
 The cool daring and ready tact are full 
 Of praise. 
 
 1st Cit. Liberty from kings 't Is hard to draw. Hence 
 A wondrous toil must patient work. 
 Washington keeps the prudence of the gods. 
 Knowing always when to risk and where to strike. 
 His eye surveys the whole, taking in the parts 
 Of danger and defence. East, West, North, South, 
 His calm surveyance feel. 
 
 2c? Cit. A wild bravery stirs in the Northern 
 News. The storming of Quebec, tragical 
 In issue, which nearly ended in her 
 Capture, stands among the boldest deeds. I 
 Hear that Congress the rank of Brigadier 
 On Arnold has conferred. 
 
 1st Cit. Upon his little fleet a great assault 
 Was made. A shower of British balls, thickly 
 As drives the rattling hail, beat upon his 
 Galley, which, to a wreck reduced upon 
 The second day, (twelve times hulled, her mainmast 
 
THE HIGHLAND TKBASON. 273 
 
 Wounded, her rigging into pieces cut, 
 
 Surrounded by seven sail of hostile 
 
 Force, with scores of killed and wounded all around) 
 
 He calmly paanaged, running his flotilla 
 
 To a place designed, and burned it in the sight 
 
 Of all his foes. Whilst its flames to heaven 
 
 Aspired, in arms attired, his forces led 
 
 To shore, breasting the waves, and forcing back 
 
 The hostile English that sought upon the shore 
 
 To land. Throughout this bold affray the tone 
 
 Of stern defiance was retained ; — these with 
 
 Other gallant acts, his fame enlarge, 
 
 Which, like the Banian tree, is spreading wide. 
 
 2c? Cit. In the spirit and the dauntless courage 
 Of our troops I much rejoice ; but in Arnold's 
 Nature burn volcanic fires that never 
 Knew a quiet life. 
 
 \at Cit. But are not these volcanic times ? Etna 
 Constant blazes ! 0, give us souls that burn 
 With zeal, spirits born of fire, that under 
 Higher guidance, they may indifference 
 Slay, and wake the lion of our land. Let 
 Time each character unfold. 
 
 %d Cit. Where is he ? I leara that of sad complaint 
 And bitter murmuring he is full. 
 
 1st Cit. By Washington's order, he to theTEastern 
 Coast is gone to meet the enemy now 
 Hovering there. Letters from Major Brown, 
 In Congress a prejudice has raised ; five 
 Major Generals are newly made, who. 
 Though less in talent and in service, are 
 
 12* 
 
274 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Now above him in their rank, — a fact that 
 Stirs his restless blood. 
 
 2d Cit. Public fame and private life are things that 
 Frequent clash ; but no true servant of the State 
 Should fail of honors due, because a few 
 Retain an ill report. 
 
 1st Git. True ; but let dishonor meet rebuke. 
 What news ? 
 
 Enter a citizen of Danhury. 
 
 2)d Cit. Yesterday night our town was burned. 
 
 l&t Cit. What town? 
 
 3cZ Cit. Danbury. But to-day we are avenged. 
 
 1st Cit. How ? 
 
 ^d Cit. To waste the hamlets of our State, and awe 
 Us into low subjection, two thousand 
 Troops landed on the Sound ; but in their march 
 Triumphant, whilst scattering death around, 
 They met defeat from Arnold, to whose banner 
 Rallied four hundred men, with whom were baffled 
 All their foul intents ; Rldgefield saved, though near. 
 The horse that loves the battle-rage, beneath 
 The hero fell ; there, in hope a fadeless 
 Wreath to bear away, a soldier hastened 
 The warrior chief to slay, who had in 
 Silence motionless his steps beheld, till 
 The pointed steel was gazing at his heart ; 
 When suddenly the foe lay cold upon 
 The ground ; and amidst the whistling volleys 
 Of the fatal lead the leader made his 
 Proud escape, which, with other things, causes me 
 To say — that in daring, he a Devil 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 275 
 
 Is ; in plans, a Cassius cool ; in pride, 
 A Roman ; in will, all flint and steel. 
 
 1st Cit. Where now are the troops ? 
 
 3c? Cit. Chased to their ships, they no more molest us. 
 
 1st Cit. Triumph may yet our eflbrts crown. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Providence. A Room. 
 Enter Arnold. 
 Arn. Alone ? aye, alone ! 
 Strange presentiment its deep oppression 
 Makes in this, my realm of spirit. What means it ? 
 Have I lived this life before, that so oft 
 At certain passes of the voyage this 
 Conscious soul should flash its deep and sudden 
 Light across my path, so as half to teach 
 The coming ill ? Or does th' invisible 
 Air so touch the warrior's nerve, as tells 
 Him of approaching storm ? Either way, sure 
 Destiny fills my sail, and guides my ship. 
 . To reach that gold-encircled height, where fame 
 Looks down the dizzy steep, is now mine aim, 
 Though rough and thorny leads the way, with rocks 
 To climb, precipices to leap, serpents 
 To hiss, with tongues forked and venomed ; foul fiends 
 To tear and rend me. These shall be zephyrs 
 In my bosom till the summit I have won. 
 
 [^Enter a messenger, hearing a letter. It has 
 upon it a Congressional seal. Arnold opens 
 and reads. 
 
276 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 I am a Major General ! — Merit 
 Over prejudice wins its day. 
 
 [5e continues to read; Ms countenance 
 suddenly changes, indicating indignation and 
 surprise.'] 
 This date ! Accursed date ! Prejudice still 
 Lurks behind the stately wires. I am bound 
 To know that hidden cause. 
 31ess. I have done my duty. 
 
 Arn. And begone ! [^Uxit Mess. 
 
 Come hail, come thunder, and come storm ! Let me 
 Be stronger than mine evils. • \^Exit. 
 
 Scene III. — PMladdphia. A Street. 
 Enter three Congressmen. 
 
 Ist Cong. Honorable sirs, 
 This is the first day of our new epoch. 
 The risen sun seems a newly created orb. 
 
 id Cong. I understand you — the Declaration, 
 With names most venerable. A new age 
 Begins, changing the aspect of the war. 
 No longer fight we for redress, bowing 
 Still our patient necks to George's sceptre ; 
 The full freedom of this goodly nation. 
 Based on the primal worth and equal nature 
 Of man's humanity, whence th' eternal 
 Rights do flow, now makes our worthier aim. 
 For in our nature's proper science, no 
 Potentates of lordly pomp, or constitutions 
 Gray with years, e'er made a right. 
 Man makes not a hair upon his head, nor 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 277 
 
 The color in his eyes, nor the tough nails 
 
 On his fingers growing. How, then, his rights ? 
 
 Sd Cong. True, my truth-discerning friend. 
 Then, as truth, like the firmament's soft light, 
 Is practical, I say, prune not the old 
 Despotic tree, in this our goodly vineyard, 
 But by the roots uptorn, and by the earth 
 Uncherished, may the sun wither and th' rains 
 Rot it evermore. 
 
 ] st Cong, Are we bees, to need of kings and queens ? 
 
 id Cong. Toss this question into the future's lap. 
 If nature needs of kings and queens, she here 
 Can bear them, Our skies are bright, our hills are 
 Green, and noblest veins of nature course in 
 Our humanity. 
 
 Here the bosom of our prospects hath its 
 Bounds, till vast Eternity unrolls its 
 Heaven above us. Here new mountains rise, 
 Here new rivers flow, here new flora bloom ; 
 Sere, I say, here, 
 
 A New World opens to the sun. And here, 
 Let new thoughts make their fitting channels. Here 
 May institutions new, anew reveal 
 Man's sacred unknown worth': and here, here, 
 On those summits gr&nd, which in future skies 
 The clouds of olden darkness cleave, 
 May the Eagle fold his sky-fledged wings in 
 Safe and quiet rest. 
 
 Zd Cong. Since the great days,, when/rom the spirit 
 high 
 The Nazarene our brotherhood proclaimed, 
 
278 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 This Declaration no equal knows. It 
 Plas a breadth widening to the poles. 
 
 1st Cong. Then our cause hath swolkn from the 
 mountain 
 To the world ! For this, the dark embroidery 
 Of storm hangs rich upon the heavens. 
 
 l_JEnter Arnold. 
 Good cheer, my General. Since this noble 
 Instrument the light hath seen, new motive 
 Your nerves inspirits, new patience sprinkles 
 O'er your toils, and your heart, so great in courage, 
 Must still greater in its valor swell. 
 
 Am. Sir, I know my heart. I know 
 Its likes and hatreds. 
 
 1st Cong. This darkness of your visage ill besuits 
 Our history's better page. 
 
 Am. I too a history have. In it no 
 Page of gold unfolds. 
 
 1st Cong. But if you are the patriot true, your 
 Private griefs, like rain-drops on the sea, 
 Will in the general joy be lost. 
 
 Am. In the Declaration I acquiesce. 
 In the war I have more than acquiesced ; 
 My body bears the proof of perils 
 Have fronted ; but, sir, here burns a fire — 
 
 2d Cong. What sort of fire ? The sun and stars 
 are fire. 
 Celestial beaming. What fire ? 
 
 Am. Not soft beaming like the upper orbs ; 
 More like that the heavy clouds engender. 
 I am wounded in mine honors. Congress 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 279 
 
 In giving me my present title, has, 
 Bj its date, left me far below the five. 
 Who, from ranks below me, she had lifted 
 O'er my head. 
 
 This date ! This accursed date ! 
 Proof of sober hate and disesteem ! I 
 Come to find redress ; and, were all the stars 
 Dancing to their hymn of joy, were .angels 
 Filling earth and heaven with the fragrance 
 Of their breathing song, I my stern demand 
 Would urge, that, the charges forced upon me 
 Now be sifted — damn me with your total 
 Might, or save me through the same. 
 
 '2.d Gong. I admit the value of your service. 
 But, sir, your purpose now define. 
 
 Am. First, then, the clearance of myname/rom all 
 Which the blast of calumny from th' northward 
 Blowing, has brought against it. Secondly, 
 I ask the righting of my rank, which is 
 The chief of all my seeking. 
 
 Id Cong. The nation will be just, nor largely deal 
 In clemency and favor, as to harm 
 The solemn law. The charges that darken 
 Your high name, shall to a Board of War be 
 Given, whilst the alteration of your 
 Rank shall wait upon our pleasure. 
 
 Am. Hasten the issue. 
 
 Ist Cong. With care and caution. \_Exeunt Cong. 
 
 Am. [To himself. 1 My quarrel with the Major 
 This harm has brewed. I should so explain it, 
 That a board of war, careless of old disputes, 
 
280 THE HIGHLAND TKBASON. 
 
 Will shed upon my soiled repute th' sunbeam 
 
 Of their grace. Then follows Who comes ? 
 
 What will you ? [^Unter a gentleman, leading a horse 
 
 richly caparisoned. 
 
 Gent. In honor, Sir, of your late achievements. 
 And in behalf of the American Congress, 
 I offer you this horse. 
 
 Am. It is a noble gift. 
 Good precursor of an honored clearance, 
 And the righting of my rank ! I accept. 
 This steed is llacTc ; so is the storm ; and guilt ; 
 And so the warring tempest. Then Tempest 
 Be thy name, bearing me over peril's brink. 
 " Who clothed his neck with thunder ? " 
 
 Gent. Of such a gift I could be proud ; 
 Not for its value in blood and muscle. 
 But from the honors it implies. [Arnold orders him 
 
 away. 
 
 Am. True, my gentleman. \^Exit gent. 
 
 Two levers the great world move — interest 
 And /ear. He is great who wields them each his 
 Ends to win. Faces are seen, whilst hearts 
 In darkness beat ; 
 
 And over inward springs thick coverings 
 May be drawn. I know my value in the war. \_JEJxit. 
 
 Scene IV. — Same. A Boom. 
 
 Unter Rustic and a Soldier. 
 Sol. By grace, tell me your calling. 
 JRus. I reason. 
 Sol. Noble attribute ! But for what end ? 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 281 
 
 Hus. That I may speak the truth. 
 
 Sol, Why choose you this trade ? 
 
 Hus. To avoid competition. 
 
 Sol. Ha ! there's comfort in saying what we know. 
 
 Hus. More in saying what we guess. 
 Here 's good chance to hit. 
 
 Sol. Have you never fought ? 
 
 Hus. Yes, I fought my inclination when I fought 
 and warred. But my commander was slain at Quebec, 
 so I do not fight, having no man to serve. 
 
 Sol. Quebec ! why went you there ? 
 
 Hus. To fight for my rights. 
 
 Sol. Were your rights in Canada ? 
 
 Hus. Yes, I had rights in the rainbow,'' 
 And I had rights in the sun, 
 
 I had rigits all over, -ripe to bo- won. 
 
 Sol. If you reason, say, what is a hero ? 
 
 Hus. A he-ro is doubtless a he, a he-ro-ic person ; 
 if he 's a hungry, his kindness will not prevent him 
 from killing a chicken for dinner. 
 
 Sol. Is this it ? 
 
 Hus. Ay, only know there 's somehow a straw's dif- 
 ference between a true thing and a false thing. But- 
 tons, in the dark, pass for shillings ; hawks, in foggy 
 air, if they be noiseless, are taken for eagles ; brass, in 
 the sun, the silly have took for gold. 
 
 Sol. Earthquakes have their causes ; thunder has 
 its ; wars, theirs ; little eels fight in vinegar — what 
 makes war ? 
 
 Hus. l_I}rops a dollar.'] There lies yer answer. 
 
 Sol. Mere paltry trash. 
 
282 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Bus. But the father of more briles than all the ab- 
 stracts of creed and reason, sin' Nimrod killed his 
 bear. 
 
 Sol. You silly thing. Has man no soul ? 
 
 Bus. Yes, somethin' tendin' that way. But tax it 
 not too roughly. 
 
 Sol. You belie our manhood. If money is greater 
 than souls, it can buy souls ; greater can always buy 
 less, but less cannot buy greater. Now England courts 
 our treason by holding out rewards of money. Though 
 we are all poor, who can be bought by money ? 
 
 Rus. Seriously, there 's none so base. The devil 
 was the first traitor. Who 's the last ? 
 
 Sol. But, Rustic, supposing impossibility possible, 
 what punishment does he deserve, who, in the great 
 crisis of affairs, should betray us to the enemy ? Come^ 
 philosopher, let your light shine. Porpoises near Cape 
 Arenas produce a flaming radiance by striking, as they 
 swim, their tails upon the water. After their example, 
 lend us your lights — come, strike. 
 
 Rus. I '11 not be severe. I will talk of no life-long 
 dungeons, nor gibbets ; for I al'ays tho't the eyes was 
 made for to see ; and, on grounds o' taste, I object to 
 the gallows. It is so very imperlite to put a rope 'round 
 one's neck, and a cap on him, — I '11 not be severe. 
 I 'd say, let Mm die, in ecstacy, not to mingle a whit 
 in nature's soft and fruitful elements, but through some 
 old 'migration-power, dissolve into sarpents, crawlin' 
 the earth and bearin' the curse forever ! 
 
 Sol. You should migrate him more speedily. You 
 
THE niGHLAND TREASON. 283 
 
 no man to serve ? Pali ! Serve the brave Arnold, if 
 you are a man. 
 
 Rus. Not notv. 
 
 Sol. Why ? 
 
 Hus. I cannot. I will not. 
 
 Sol. Your look implies a reason. Have you aught 
 against him ? 
 
 Rus, Nothing. I know he robbed birds' nests when 
 a boy. Guess all is as it may be — why tax me with 
 such a question ? I leave you, Sir. Adieu. {^Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — Same. A larger room. The Board of 
 War in Session. 
 
 Pres. Long time and patient have we our session 
 Held, looking evidence in the face, that 
 We may the lineament of justice trace. 
 Ere wo our bold decision make, 
 Let the General speak. 
 
 Aec, Off. Meantime will T your memories refresh. 
 Citing o'er his crimes. 
 
 Enter Arnold. 
 First, then, for private ends, at Montreal, 
 He seized some goods, transferred them to Chamblee, 
 Where on the river's bank they rotted in 
 The rain ; then, on another cast the blame. 
 He a martial court insulted ; I say 
 Insulted, first by protest, then with challenge. , 
 His haughty pride at every corner 
 Wakes a host of foes. We pray you, gracious 
 Judges, from our army take so foul a blot. 
 
284 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 For we the conquering Heaven offend 
 By holding Satan at our helm. 
 
 Pres. General, speak. 
 
 Am. Were I not compassed by restraint, God knows 
 What might befall ! \_Collecting Mmself. 
 
 Since this fatal war begun I steered my 
 Course in honor's way, unstopped by peril 
 Or despair. The nation's voice did trumpet 
 Well my service, which in the expedition 
 That crossed our Northern border, stood approved. 
 To aid the public service the goods I 
 Took, which had thus done but for my faithless 
 Agent. Evidence has shown that I wrote 
 To public men of what I did. Do thieves 
 Proclaim their actions to the world ? I need 
 Not ask it. 
 
 Ace. Off. But your rashness to the court 
 
 Am. They het my blood, refusing me my witness. 
 
 Ace. Off. Such accursed temper who may trust ? 
 
 Am. I sure have temper ! 
 Where God and nature great fires have built, large 
 Sparks are oft emitted. I have temper ; test 
 It not too roughly. The foes I wake at 
 " Every corner," — of them 1 take the charge. 
 
 Pres. Interrupt not the General in his defence. 
 
 Am. My wounds the patriot bespeak. 
 The faithful horse that shares the pride of war 
 Has oft beneath me fallen ; and, when danger 
 Blackened most, I his face confronted. 
 In the midst of deaths thick-flying, to God 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 285 
 
 My life has precious been. This war long years 
 Must count, so hard the struggle. My altar 
 Is my country ; but be careful of mine 
 Sonors ! 
 
 Ace. Off. Thus does he ask the mercy of the court. 
 
 Am. Mercy ? 
 
 A.CC. Off. Aye, mercy. 
 
 Arn. Give mercy to repenting sinners. Justice, 
 Rock-hard and sword-sharp, is my sole demand. 
 
 AcG. Off. Then a halter may attend it. 
 
 Pres. To Congress must our grave report be made, 
 Which if they sanction, all is well. [Uzeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. — JSnter two old men. 
 
 1st. Good day, my long tried friend ! 
 Many years have shed their frosts upon us. 
 In which time wild ambitions numerous 
 We have seen dispersed ; bubbles of empty 
 Air sought with fiery zeal ; 
 Yet in the cause for which our younger swords 
 Are drawn, I see a sober permanence, 
 That wears the rainbow freshness of success ; 
 And though our Washington retreats before 
 A mightier number, and the great Burgoyne 
 From the north has made his ingress, with boasts 
 Goliath may not have reached, my heart still 
 Beats in hope, that he who bore the pilgrims 
 Hither, hath ripening ends, to which-this 
 Bloody war is minister. How beats thy 
 Heart, my brother ? 
 
286 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 2d. In unison with thine. The sun rolls 
 Truly, outliving every lie. His 
 Sacred radiance yet shall fall upon 
 Our nation freed. My heart like Simeon's 
 Now predicts, and prays for this deliverance. 
 
 1st. But Burgoyne is a mighty general. 
 
 2d. Yes. But the younger class, who fathers call 
 Us, are so vigilant and ready, that, 
 In encounters equal, they will valiant 
 Act : having a planning General, such 
 As Washington would commend, Burgoyne, 
 Methinks, might learn to spare his boast. Let us go ; 
 For younger men our counsels ask. [^^xeunt. 
 
 Enter Arnold and a Congressman at different sides. 
 
 Cong. Hail ! I have news. 
 ^ Am. What news ? 
 
 Cong. To-day the Board of War has made report. 
 
 Am. And what ? Give me substance. 
 
 Cong. Unanimous is the verdict. Congress 
 Also gives its sanction. 
 
 Am. \_Excited.'\ And what ? 
 
 Cong. That in character, which to man is as 
 The fragrance to its rose, the lily to 
 Its stem, the radiance to its star, you 
 Have been groundlessly, cruelly aspersed. 
 
 Am. Good senator, I thank you. This forbodes 
 The righting of my rank, which has long time 
 To me a cancer proved ; now will I, like 
 Nature's elements, my true place obtain. 
 Holding then the equal balance. These acts 
 My good foreshow, or like an island they 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. £87 
 
 Stand alone, amidst a dark and treacherous 
 Waste of waters. 
 
 Cong. {Aside.^ Expectancy most vain. 
 
 Am. Thus far your tidings warm my breast. 
 Pray tell what more is done ? 
 
 Cong, Nothing, General, nothing. 
 
 Am. Nothing ! Do you say it ? 
 
 Cong. I do. 
 
 Am. No nothing ever held so great a curse. 
 Is nothing more intended? 
 
 Cong. Nothing more, my general. 
 
 Arn. The great injustice lives ! The old grudge 
 Still lurks beneath this friendly seeming. I >swear 
 By all the powers that me uphold, nothing 
 Shall my wits beguile. If by one hand I 
 Am blessed, and by the other struck, it is 
 A dual treatment, politic at best. 
 Which may bite and bow as occasion asks. 
 I am degraded in mine honors ! Men 
 Are June's foliage, shaken by the fictions 
 Breeze ; and Justice, once the maid celestial, 
 Now is daughter to Caprice. Then tell me, 
 Has Congress faid my dues accruing from 
 The Northern expedition ? 
 
 Cong. Sir, there is great hesitation. 
 
 Arn. Hesitation ! Honesty may hesitate, 
 But not over just demand. What means it ? 
 
 Cong. I know not. The wonder is, 
 Your dues should be so ponderous. 
 
 J.rM. My much service in the war did cause them. 
 
288 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Cong. Have you certificates of what your book 
 records ? 
 
 Am. I have certificates. \Se offers papers. 
 
 Cong. Do these cover the grounds of all your claims ? 
 
 Am. Perhaps no more than half. 
 
 Cong. What then of the uncovered half ? 
 
 Am. My word for that. I have it in the gross. 
 
 Cong. Strange, methinks. 
 
 Am. Know this, that' in the hasty campaign, no 
 Counting-rooms or common leisure allow 
 Us to note each item, and /or each to 
 Take receipt. Things require the swift despatch. 
 
 Cong. My words in courtesy, I trust, may not 
 Offend ; still must my speech be plain. Distrust 
 Falls upon your page. 
 
 Am. \_Amazed.'\ Go on. 
 
 Cong. There is a silent unbelief, for which 
 The eye and action are surer signs than words. 
 These, policy restrains ; to their vision 
 No crystal art thou ; — rather a twilight. 
 An uncertain glimmering, a mirage, 
 A prophecy, an oracle not yet 
 Interpreted, a nebulous vapor, 
 Distant, cosmical, floating through space, half 
 Baffling the telescope that would espy ; — 
 All this, and more ; yet nothing will be said. 
 General, abate your claim. 
 
 Arn. /abate nothing. 
 My brain is not so hot but that my words 
 I weigh. Just God be witness ! 
 By all the heroes of this battling earth. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 289 
 
 By all the sacred ashes of the mighty 
 
 Dead, I do this war renounce. In Leth^ 
 
 Will I seek my soul's baptism, till I forget 
 
 There is a king, a cause or country. 
 
 Here, take my resignation, nor see me 
 
 More, till by Congress it is accepted. [ Cfives it Mm. 
 
 Tell them I had rather with the savage 
 
 Mate, or the hungry wolf, than to endure 
 
 This damned strife about mine honors. 
 
 Cong. Your order I obey ; but patience I 
 Commend. Your haste devours you. IJExit Cong. 
 
 Am. Can Etna be cool, when at its heart fires 
 Upheaving burn ? What exhortation calms 
 The sea when lashed and roused by storm ? 
 How now ? 
 
 jEnter an Officer from the army. 
 
 Off. The army gathers new recruits. .1 think 
 This year will be fruitful in victories. 
 
 Am. But not through me. I know no army. 
 
 Off. How can that be when all the army know you ? 
 
 Am. I know not it. Perish every trust. 
 
 Off. This is a sad change. You know Washington ? 
 
 Am. I know he sought the righting of my rank. 
 Nought else. 
 
 Off. What ! Do you eease from that limpid fount 
 The patriot drinks with joy ? 
 
 Am. He who has no character, has no country. 
 
 Off. But you have character. 
 
 Am. I am wounded in my rank. Prejudice 
 Builds her wall against it. I have resigned. 
 
 Off. This must not be. To Albany 
 13 
 
290 THE HIGHLAND TRBASOBT. 
 
 A mighty and a hostile host is marching. 
 The enemy must be met. 
 
 Am. What enemy ? 
 
 Off. Mine, yours, ours. 
 
 Am, My enemy is near. To meet him, I 
 Need not lift my sword upon a Briton. 
 
 Off. But danger threatens as ne'er before. Will 
 You not wave a private grief ? 
 
 Am. I often have fronted danger. My wounds 
 Are witness. Still my rank is unadjusted. 
 
 Off. How thick, how thick they hover ! 
 It is Burgoyne that leads the invading host. 
 
 Am. Burgoyne ? 
 
 Off. Aye, Burgoyne. 
 
 Arn. I know him. Legion is his rightful name. 
 
 Off. Who shall meet the modern Hannibal ? I 
 Tremble as I ask it. 
 
 Am. I know not. 
 
 Off. Nor care ? 
 
 Arn. This I did not say. 
 
 Off. Se derides our generals, our soldiers 
 Mocks, and in triumphant boast has said, " They 
 Have no man to meet me." 
 
 Arn. Few, indeed, are his equal. 
 
 Off, Pray, recall your resignation. Will you, 
 will you hear to Washington?* 
 
 Arn. I will hear Mm. What are his words ? 
 
 Off. [ Opens a letter from Washington, addressed to 
 Congress. Se reads.] 
 
 Hear this. " Great danger approaches us. Bur- 
 
 * See note B. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 291 
 
 goyne with powerful numbers is making his way qo 
 the heart of our greatest northern State. Send Gen- 
 eral Arnold to the northern army, for he is active, 
 judicious, and brave." 
 
 This is WASHINGTON'S voice. You must hear it. 
 
 Am. I honor Washington. I know Burgoyne. 
 I own my pride is touched by such a boast. 
 But I have now resigned. 
 
 Off. As yet no action has been taken. I 
 Pray you wave this private grief. 
 
 Am. These fiery griefs my strong official 
 Zeal well nigh had drowned. To sons of blood-red 
 Mars, to whom pertains such flame of soul, rank 
 And office are divine. Opportunity, 
 Anew to win the dazzhng prize, thereby 
 Extorting justice from my foes, has come. 
 One bright glory-cloud upon me resting. 
 Would dark prejudice illume ; so that, midst 
 The general voice of praise, my rights shall 
 Be respected. In the army St. Clair 
 Serves ; raised above me in the partial vote, 
 That all my merits slighted. This will I 
 Suffer, that, in all his boast and honors 
 Valiant, Burgoyne is humbled in the dust. 
 Me is mine equal ; therefore to danger's 
 Flying shaft will I my breast oppose. Bring 
 
 [ Qalls his servant. 
 My Tempest, that on his fearless vigor 
 I may into tempest plunge ; whilst the joy 
 Of peril and high achievement, that jointly 
 
292 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Stir the coursing blood and the heroic 
 Element in the heart, my bliss shall be. 
 For in passion's whirlwind of assault, in 
 • Which the planning intellect doth rule, by 
 Action followed of all that 's great in man, 
 A joy is born, so wild, so deep, so strong. 
 That in its glance all troubles cease ; and he 
 Who was, in all that sates a longing heart, 
 So sadly poor, now reigns a king. I go. 
 
 Off. For my, country's sake, success. \_Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — Stillwater. 
 Enter two Officers. 
 
 1st Off. Fort Edwards is by the British taken ; 
 And the murder of Miss Jane McCrea 
 By savage violence, more feeling wakens 
 Than all the hostile issue of events. 
 
 2d Off. Jones, her lover, had in the English cause 
 Enlisted, but hoped ere long his bride to 
 Take, who near Fort Edwards still remained. But 
 The Indian band who bore his letter, charged 
 To bring her safely unto him, truthless 
 Proved ; and in the angry parle that raged th' chiefs 
 Between, the fierce warrior ruthless slew 
 Her. No lovelier image on the cold 
 Earth was ever strown ; no sunbeam kissed a 
 Milder innocence ; no heart as his e'er 
 Knew so deep a grief, when, instead of her 
 Graceful form and sparkling eye, he met 
 The savage trophy, her severed locks of 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 293 
 
 Flowing hair. But what the recent news ? 
 
 {1st Off, holds a paper. 
 
 1st. The only instance in which the yeas and nays 
 In Congress yet recorded, now lies before me. 
 
 2d. What is the subject ? 
 
 1st. The rank of General Arnold. His claim 
 Is voted down, yes, three to one ! 
 
 2c?. Then contention terminates. 
 
 1st. And he the army leaves. Then surely one 
 Gallant service to our cause is lost. 
 
 2d. This he must deeply feel. Being a thorough 
 Warrior I shall much regret to see 
 Him the active service leave. 
 
 1st. Thorough and successful. But if justice 
 Is enacted, then will I not despair 
 Though one chief actor leaves us. 
 
 2c?. But our enemies are strong and many ; 
 Efficient generals 't is rare to find ; 
 When found, their value is immense ; for in 
 A bold commander's voice deep courage lies, 
 Which the multitude inspirits, raising 
 Them to bold resolve and mighty effort. 
 
 1st. Let justice reign. 
 
 2d. May able generals be saved. 
 
 Scene II. — Saratoga. An open place. 
 Enter the Chief Commander of the Northern Army 
 and General Arnold. 
 Am. Good evening, my old compatriot in arms ! 
 I am here by Washington's request. 
 
 Chf. Com. I discover that you are here. [ Coldly. 
 
294 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Am. And by order of Congress. 
 
 Chf. Com. To act what part ? 
 
 Am. The part your honor shall assign. 
 
 Chf. Com. Well remembered ; for I assign. 
 
 Am. True, to assign is yours. To accept is mine ; 
 And only what with my name comports will 
 I accept as mine. "What is my place ? 
 
 Chf. Com. Sir, I have well considered all your 
 claims ; 
 And though the storm that has between us raged 
 May now in silence pass, my word and will 
 In this agree, that, in the action of 
 To-morrow, you hold no commanding part. 
 
 Am. I ask the cause. 
 
 Chf. Com. I dread your rashness. 
 
 Am. So let it be ; but remember this, that 
 In solemn faith I call the stars of Heaven 
 To witness, that, if in to-morrow's doubtful 
 Struggle our Eagle's wings shall broken be, 
 And he to earth shall fall in humbled pride, 
 I from every blame am free ; for here 
 I am ready to act my utmost strength. 
 
 Chf. Com. You know my will and hear my words. 
 Repent I shall not. 
 
 Am. Washington is insulted. No favor 
 Do I ask. Damnation is your desert. 
 
 Chf. Com. I know the wildness of your deeds. Pru- 
 dence 
 Must now oppose our crafty foe ; 
 And since you have it not, to yourself I 
 Leave you. Here end my words. \_Exit. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TRBASOK. 295 
 
 Am. Devils ! They are r&al. Into this breast 
 Of fire conspire to pour your awful pleasure ; 
 Jealousy my path obstructs ; envy my 
 Merits darkens. Hark ! a stroke of art I 
 See that yet most well may serve me. The hour 
 let me wait ; let darkness on my counsel 
 Slumber until the moment dawns — then, then 
 Pour the wine-cup of a sweet revenge. \_Mmt. 
 
 Scene III. — Behmus Heights. An open place. 
 An Officer. 
 
 Off. The sun comes forth in brightness ; but whether 
 Our Eagle falls with shattered pinions, or 
 Triumphant rises with his prey, 
 No fate-disclosing oracle makes us to know'. 
 The sun, on whose face the mark of rage ne'er 
 Kindles, on many a cold brow his ray 
 Shall spread ere he westward sinks. The thick smoke 
 Of battle shall prevent his beam ; thousands. 
 Of life careless, shall face the flying deaths. 
 Thus in life's tragedy man's cheapness proving. 
 No October held so great a seventh ! 
 
 Enter Chief Commander. 
 
 Chf. Com, Swift to your command. 
 
 Off. ' Loyal as the Mars I serve. What prospect ? 
 
 Chf. Com. The day shall be terrible. 
 Burgoyne is proud in hope ; his thousands, though 
 From yesterday's repulse forced to think more 
 Highly of our valor, are well-disciplined 
 Troops, sharing the power of their leader's 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Heart and will. My plans are rightly laid ; I 
 Trust in their success. 
 
 Enter Arnold hoTdng angrily and dejected. 
 Off. Welcome ! Terrible days ask terrible 
 Agents. What is your part ? 
 
 Arn. I have no part assigned me. The sword of 
 Quebec is dormant ! I am nothing. 
 
 Off. You shock me with surprise. I call it strange. 
 Am. Nothing hence is strange. Were the goldgn 
 sun 
 To eastward set, or should gloomy midnight 
 Follow noon, I would call it order. Chaos 
 Is the law. 
 
 Chf. Com. Go hence to your command. 
 Off, Your pardon I implore. lUxit. 
 
 Arn. lAside.'] The stringent rules and technicals 
 of war 
 I now a bondage find. Where do you stay ? 
 Chf, Com, I remain in camp. 
 Arn, Leonidas stayed not behind. Burgoyne 
 Will head his troops. [ Walks to and fro excited, 
 
 Chf. Com, My purpose no repentance knows. 
 Arn, Though Congress, Washington, country, man, 
 God, 
 Are all insulted ! Study well your words. 
 
 [^Laying his hand wpon his sword, 
 [Aside,] My voice to thousands has been law. Thou- 
 
 Yonder know its breaks aud echoes in the field, 
 
 [Looks furious. 
 Of carnage and of victorj ; still their 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 297 
 
 Hearts would leap at its first loud tones. 
 
 l_To Chf.2 I love retirement. I will rest in thought. 
 
 Ohf. Com, Then begone ! [^Exit, 
 
 Thus will I keep the tiger chained. I know 
 The fury of his blood. 
 
 Enter Col. Armstrong. 
 How is the battle ? 
 
 Arm. Hot as torrid suns, fierce as panthers' screams. 
 Doubtful as a riddle. 
 
 Chf. Com. responsibility ! Thou hangest 
 On the warrior. I have chained the fierce 
 Spirit, nor shall he be loosed ; this day is 
 Fate-laden. 
 
 Arm. Thus it seems. 
 
 Ohf, Com. So many chances. Trifles shift the 
 course of fortune. 
 
 Arm. Nay, in war there are no trifles. Great doors 
 Oft on such small hinges swing. What spirit 
 Have you restrained ? Spirits, methought, are free, 
 And mortals all beneath them.- 
 
 Chf. Com. Do you not understand ? 
 
 Arm, Assuredly I do not. What may be your 
 meaning ? 
 
 Chf. Com. I meant the furious Arnold, who rolls 
 Like a wheel of fire over every 
 Thing within his way. I have given him 
 No command. , 
 
 Arm. A moment since I saw him. The winds I 
 Th'ught were not so free. 
 
 13* 
 
298 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Chf. Com. Where ? [^Surprised. 
 
 [^N'oise of battle is heard from a long distance. 
 
 Arm. All unchained 
 
 Ohf. Com. But where ? [Uxcited. 
 
 Arm. Mounted on his steed. As the winds fly he 
 Rode, shouting to his horse, and shouting to 
 The air, whilst a sword he swung on high, which 
 Seemed to cut the sunbeam that danced upon 
 Its edge. 'T was surely he. I saw the dark 
 Rolling of his visual orbs ; he it was, 
 Wearing the firm and desperate visage 
 Which before a battle is his wont. 
 
 Chf. Com. Lawless villain ! Rash marauder ! 
 Armstrong, 
 Fly ! Order his return, lest his rashness 
 Ruin all my plan. Haste ! 
 
 Arm. I go ; but lightning should your courier be 
 To execute this bidding. [^Exit. 
 
 Chf. Com,. that the earth, 
 
 Which to Korah and Abithan made her chasm, 
 Might open unto him ! What next ? His fierce 
 Ambition would Heaven face, would from each 
 Brow the sacred laurel tear, and trample 
 Down the dignities of honor. Few words 
 His sum do not express. Once I shielded 
 Him, and from mortal shafts of ire ; now let 
 Him bear the whole result of all his deeds. 
 I dread, I hate, and yet I half esteem 
 Him. Who comes ? 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 299 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 What tidings ? 
 
 Mess. Greek meets Greek. 
 
 Ghf. Com. Then are -we matched. But which 
 Greek, think you, 
 "Will prove the better Greek ? 
 
 Mess. Ours, I hope — theirs, I fear. 
 
 Chf. Com. Your message ? 
 
 Mess. To speak the courage of our arms. 
 
 Chf. Com. Then speak, I long to hear. 
 
 Mess. When the battle in hours was young, I saw 
 A tall commander enter. His presence 
 Doubled the vigor of every nerve. 
 Where danger hovered most, I saw him go ; 
 Into smoke and blaze of arms I saw him 
 Plunge ; and the thunder of his voice terrific. 
 And sometimes joy-inspiring, was followed 
 By that quick obedience which always 
 Tells a strong reliance. {Noise of battle continues. 
 
 Ghf. Com. The villain has no command. 
 
 Mess. Sir, the whole command is his. Wherever 
 JSe moves, Jiis voice is law, 
 
 Chf. Com. He has no authority, I tell you. 
 
 Mess. A war-god speaking from the cloud never 
 had more. 
 
 Chf. Com. Begone.' Send Armstrong hither. 
 
 \_Ilxit Mess. 
 The sinner is obeyed, and honors flock 
 His head to crown. 
 
300 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Scene IV. — Saratoga. British Camp. Open place. 
 Two Grentlemen. 
 1st G-ent. The rebels will get their full of it ere they 
 see the end of this affray. The English, God knows it, 
 have pluck, — the men have pluck, and the women have 
 pluck — and no strife ever ends without proofs of their 
 pluck. 
 
 2c? G-ent. This war, if it end not in three months, will 
 terminate in six. The result is evident. We have 
 been a little wrong ourselves ; but it will end in six 
 moons, with the provision that the taxes shall be one 
 half, or nearly so, diminished ; that the king's colonies 
 shall have representatives in Parliament, who shall be 
 allowed to debate their interests against all who plead 
 a high taxation. This will be about all, save a lesson 
 of moderation to both parties. 
 
 Ist G-ent. The friendship between the two countries 
 will at last be stronger, as none make such lasting 
 friendships as they who have fought each other bravely. 
 To-day closes the great victory of Burgoyne. To- 
 morrow, Albany may be taken ; the next day, other 
 principal towns, till the whole north, being subdued, 
 Mr. "Washington will forsake the rebels, and do penance 
 for his evils. 
 
 2d Gent. These results are quite certain. In view 
 of them, and of the beautiful and fertile fields of plen- 
 ty that spread in boundless profusion, I have made ar- 
 rangements to settle here as soon as the war ends in 
 the results I have mentioned. Rodolph, your hand to 
 the same purpose. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 301 
 
 1st Cfent. I have selected a site in Ohio, not far 
 from that noble river, on which I will raise a stone 
 building, and ornament it with gardens and trees. My 
 wife writes me that she is elated with the prospect. I 
 will meet you in Albany to-morrow at sunset. 
 
 2c? Grent. When the city is ours. 
 
 1st Gent. Yes, then ! You know ! Farewell. 
 
 [^xeunt. 
 
 Scene T. — Behmus Heights. In a tent. The grass 
 verdant, and around it are trees of different hinds. 
 
 Enter Arnold wounded, and supported by 
 two officers, and attended ly several officers 
 and soldiers. Music is heard without, indica- 
 tive of victory. Some weep as the blood rushes 
 prof vLsely from the wound. 
 Am. I have done the rash deed ! And thous- 
 ands know it. 
 Now death is easy ; Burgoyne is taken ! 
 Enough, enough ! \Shouts of applause. 
 
 1st Off. Make room ! [He is seated. 
 
 Bind the fractured limb ; victory is sweet. 
 But costly blood is e'er its price. 
 
 [The surgeon dresses his wound, 
 2d Off. To the Highest give praise ; 
 We are but instruments. 
 
 Sd Off. He hath saved us. In great events, as in 
 The whirling orbs. His presence is most near ; 
 Let then the solemn chant His providence 
 Repeat ; our harps to victory be tuned ; 
 
302 THE HIOHLAND TREASOK. 
 
 To courage will we march ; whilst our full hearts shall 
 swell to joy. 
 
 Enter Chief Qommander. 
 Chf. Com. Rejoicing tragedy ! 
 1st Off. Yes, and yonder bleeds the hero without 
 Whom this joy had been our sadness. 
 
 ith Off. Let it so remain. 
 Orders have come from Washington, Here are 
 Epaulets. From France they came. Two pair to 
 Washington were given ; one pair now grace 
 His ExcellenC3''s shoulders ; and with these, 
 His orders say we shall our hero crown. 
 Take them, do his bidding. 
 
 1st Off. Most properly bestowed. [Takes them. 
 Chf. Com. Grace not the lawless. I will not see it. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 Am. Weakness is strength's reaction. 
 Oh, let me slumber ; and on a soldier's bosom. 
 
 [J2e is removed a short distance, where he rests 
 on the ground; reclining on an officer, he sleeps. 
 1st Off. Lest noise his rest disturb, prepare him 
 solitude. [Exeunt all save Arnold and the officer. 
 
 Enter the Sorceress, silently, looMng awhile 
 on vacancy, then turning her eyes to Arnold 
 sleeping : she starts back suddenly on seeing him 
 — silent — then advancing speaks. 
 Sor. Thy horse beneath thee fell. Scarce saved by 
 fate 
 Thou breathest still. 
 Strange son of destinies, darkly winding 
 
THE HIGHLAND TKEASON. 303 
 
 As the inward current of thy life ! For 
 
 What we destiny call, is but the bud 
 
 And blossom of our will, the coming out 
 
 In full expanse of what our heing holds. 
 
 The darkness in thee no more my vision 
 
 Dims — I see the wondrous web, whose black threads 
 
 Must yet unravel. The future holds such 
 
 Swimming monsters in its deep, such giant 
 
 Meanings stride across its plain, that even 
 
 Their shadows are a terror. Its sky holds 
 
 Such thunder-bursting clouds, that the mountains 
 
 Tremble at their sight ; birds fly to their nests ; 
 
 Trees wave with wailing sighs. Ihear its notes 
 
 In hollow-sounding echoes at my heart. 
 
 Beneath that manly daring, to which the stars 
 
 Pay homage, I see the coiled serpent ; 
 
 The Self, which too much angered shall bite with 
 
 Poisonous fangs, nor like his symbol dread, 
 
 Will he the fa,tal warning give. 
 
 Sol. Avra,j, thou Spirit of midnight ; away ! 
 Disturb not the hero in his slumber. 
 
 Sor. Hark ! My soul must speak. 
 The sun that set tonight, crimsoned the edge 
 Of blackest clouds : the first stars that eastward 
 Rose were set in red ; and the first winds that 
 Blew, so hollow sounded, rustling so fierce 
 Among the trees, they struck my nerves most wildly ; 
 The first bird which broke the forest silence 
 So sadly moaned, that I was summoned as by 
 Ministers of fate to this my night-walk ; 
 And trusting to the guidance of my light, 
 
304 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Whose rays none others see, 
 
 I was led to this lone place. The Greatest 
 
 Bids me speak. [^Fixing her eyes on Arnold intently. 
 
 I saw thy star so brightly shine, that to 
 
 Shame it put the fair Arcturus. But on 
 
 Its splendor fell a mist, a hazy mist. 
 
 Which darkcn'd into blackness as the stars 
 
 Rode on : and from this dire eclipse it ne'er 
 
 Awoke till day was born. The sun came up. 
 
 Telling his world that night and stars are not. 
 
 And this my vision stood the test of light. 
 
 Terror shakes my truth-struck frame ! I had loved 
 
 The warrior's weal, else I less had cared. 
 
 From his early years his star I watched. I 
 
 Still his path will view till time relieves me 
 
 Of my burden. Glory gilds that proud externe ; 
 
 But oh ! when the inner mystery breaks, 
 
 Satan shall uplift his huge and cloudy 
 
 Brows, and breathe his fiery flames of joy 
 
 Athwart the gloomy realm. 
 
 Sol. Woman — 
 
 Sor. Speak not, lest I the fated curses here 
 Invoke. Hush, thou sinner. I am the daughter 
 Of midnight, of wild dreams ; the rain and hail 
 My temples beat ; the woods my shelter make ; 
 My league is with the powers invisible. 
 Think not that I obey. 
 
 [Fixing Tier eyes on Arnold. 
 When next I meet thee, the hidden cause shaU 
 Dawn. Sleep, warrior, for thou wakest to 
 Sorrows. \_Exit Sorceress. Arnold awakes. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TKEASON. 305 
 
 Am. What has pierced my slumbers ? 
 
 Off. Only a •wild gypsy ; sleep. 
 
 Am. I cannot. My dreams are horrid pictures, 
 
 \IIe resumes his seat. The 
 officer takes the epaulets. 
 
 Off. These tokens of your bravery accept. 
 
 Am. From whom ? 
 
 Off. From Washington. 
 
 Am. Noble gifts are these. Let them my shoulders 
 
 grace. \_Offieer puts them on. 
 
 [^Enter a messenger with a letter, which he hands 
 
 to Arnold. Se opens and reads ; lifts his eyes 
 
 with joy to heaven. 
 
 Off. What gracious news, my General 1 
 
 Am. My rank is now adjusted ! Congress has 
 Leaped the wall of prejudice at last, to 
 Render justice. The king of every wish 
 Is now enthroned. Heal thou my bleeding flesh ; 
 This joy shall aid thee. 
 
 Off. • Then is another victory come, not 
 Less than that which has Burgoyne eclipsed. 
 
 Am. Ah ! such is man that great success his praise 
 Extorts, when mere defeat, with upright aims, . 
 Might feed the venom rage, and sharp the teeth 
 Of malice. Then come, Success, and on me 
 Eest thy golden wings. Great battles yet remain. 
 With darkness on their issues. But if it 
 So occurs, that Freedom's tide, here starting, 
 Shall onward flow to eastern seas, my name 
 Shall ride upon its waves. \Exeunt. 
 
306 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Scene VI. — Philadelphia. A street. 
 
 Urdertwo Citizens. 
 
 1st Git. Our city free from foreign rule, let us 
 rejoice ; long has it been our enemies' fortress ; now 
 our possession is as quiet as though the war had been a 
 pleasant joke. 
 
 2d Cit. Not so of New York, which is the centre of 
 all their force. Sir Henry Clinton is proud of that 
 position which connects him with the North River and 
 its fortresses, and which is so favorable to the reception 
 of foreign supplies, as likewise to that various move- 
 ment on land and sea, north, south and west, which 
 the sudden shifts and exigency might ask. War, like 
 love and clouds, is always changing its aspect ; and 
 sudden shifts of policy often confuse the enemy and 
 hasten his defeat. 
 
 1st Git. But, in the name of the nine mysteries, 
 why does Gen. Arnold take command of this city ? 
 He loves a stirring life, as the waters of a cataract love 
 to leap. Why should this quiet, Quaker, thee-and-thou, 
 brotherly-love community be his station ? Hereafter I 
 will send a panther to a Peace Convention ; or, what is 
 the same thing, the bird of Jove shall talk lamb and 
 dove to all other birds. 
 
 2d Git. You should know the reason, too serious to 
 be laughed at. Since the battle of Saratoga he cannot 
 ride on horse. He takes command here till his flesh 
 mends, which, not being steel or pot-mettle, requires 
 more time than Vulcan uses in righting fractures. 
 
 1st Git. Very well. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 307 
 
 2d Oit. That remains to be known. We have tur- 
 bulent spirits here. North of 75° there's neither 
 thunder, storm, nor earthquake, -which multiply as you 
 near the equator ; so in this Philadelphian latitude, 
 ■where the sun more hotly strikes our men and women, 
 there 's no impossibility preventing the offices of light- 
 ning when called for ; if close friction strike§ fire from 
 ice, this thee-and-thou community can boil whenever the 
 sub-furnaces are hot. "What 's the first proclamation ? 
 
 1st Oit. That no goods shall be sold within the city 
 for thirty days ! This will win the love of merchants, 
 speculators, and such as wish to buy their wedding 
 dresses ! 
 
 2d Cit. This alone will make enemies. His aim is 
 good enough ; it 's necessary to know what goods are 
 ours, and what are theirs ; but let enemies spring up. 
 He can fight, by Jupiter ! music don't tremble till the 
 strings are struck. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Arnold. 
 
 Am. England is mighty ! She is gray in craft, rich 
 In years, proud in purse, honored in arms, great 
 In foresight, terrible in will, prompt to act, 
 Rome of all the seas, whilst we are young in 
 Policy and arms : yet, as justice oft 
 With lightning's force breaks through the strife, ruling 
 The war of seeming chances, till all to law 
 Conforms, as when the rain in globes descends ; 
 So Heaven's dice, so bravely cast, may 
 Turn to our account. Then courage at my 
 Heart ! Since mine honors now do flourish, let 
 Me live more princely. What house my head shall 
 
308 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Hold ? Not this, not that. Some honored floor my 
 Feet shall press, some honored walls my bed shall 
 Grace. Yon mansion, shaded by primeval 
 Trees, where dwelt the honored Penn, my home shall be. 
 
 Scene VII. — Same. A room in Pbnn's house. 
 
 Arnold. A favorite officer reclines upon the 
 
 sofa, whom Arnold does not perceive. 
 
 Am. {Alone.'\ Her heart is mine. As morn the 
 o'ershadowed 
 Earth with joy relumes, her smile my sorrows 
 Dissipate ; and 0, she is beautiful, 
 As though Truth her father, and Love her mother 
 Were. My home is now the golden sun, whence 
 I downward view life's darker phase. Misery, 
 My former visitant, I now forget 
 Thee, as the violet's blood within me 
 Courses. Oriana ! \_Pauses some moments.'\ 
 All nature has joined her sweet influence 
 To make thee what thou art. I charge you thus, 
 Ye stars of Heaven, and you mild beauties 
 Of the earth ; for he who watches Pleiades, 
 Or sees the rainbows span the darkened Heaven, 
 Or into his bosom garners all that 
 Joys the eye, and all sweet sounds and odors 
 Springtime yields, is yet so scarce of symbol 
 He cannot name thee. Her family in rank 
 Exalted, in style the rose of admiration 
 
 Emulous These tardy hours that are to 
 
 Me eternities, roll on ! I know 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 309 
 
 That ere to-morrow's sun shall know decline, 
 Her noble name is lost fore'er in mine. 
 
 Off. [Rises and advances forward still unperceived. ] 
 
 General ! 
 
 Arn. [Turning toward him surprised."] I would 
 That thou wert silence ; for this alone should 
 Hearken. 
 
 Off. To me so much the sweeter. It is then 
 The heart unfolds. General, your life is one 
 Precipitous whirl of change. But yesterday 
 You stood on the precipice of war ; now 
 On that of love ; to-morrow you will stand 
 On the precipice of matrimony. 
 And next day your path will open where yawns 
 Another. Look you onward ; ponder on 
 The many rocks. Ask their meaning. 
 
 Arn. And herein lies each thrilling joy. Leaping 
 Torrents, under a solar smile, yield us rainbows. 
 
 Off. Your change I noticed. 
 May it bring you lasting joy. 
 
 Enter Oriana, a beautiful young lady. 
 
 Arn. [To Oriana.] A thousand welcomes. 
 In Heaven the eternal stars are met, 
 That afar do send their palpitating 
 Light ; and in the ecstatic vision I 
 Long had stayed, but for a sweet remembrance 
 Of yet brighter orbs. 
 
 Ori. There comes my father. 
 
 Enter her Father. 
 You bless me with many honors. 
 
 Arn. [To him.'] The war still prospers. 
 
310 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Fath. And still my holiest prayer is this, 
 That in the triumph of British order 
 This strife may end. England is our rightful 
 Master. 
 
 Arn. Your honesty I cannot doubt. 
 
 Ori. Still, my father, may not the mighty 
 Providence, that many kings have spoiled, be 
 Working now for good ? England is so far 
 Away, how can she govern like ourselves. 
 
 Fath. England was once more near. Inches into 
 Leagues have lengthened. 
 
 Ori. Native as the breath I drew was my love 
 For England : but now I freely answer, 
 That against that love a greater rises 
 In my heart, so that, as in the silent 
 Strifes of our affections, the less to greater 
 Yields, I now desire that England may be 
 Happy in herself, and that, in freedom 
 Perfect from her control, we may teach th' world 
 That men and States themselves may rule. 
 
 Fath. My thoughts remain; no doubt the good 
 sceptre 
 That from ages has been honored, will rest 
 Again in peace o'er all our heads. Fortunes 
 New your hopeful heart would try ; 
 So let it be ; 
 
 But if to shame this cause be put, if to 
 Life-long vassalage England dooms the chiefs 
 Of this rebellion, a father's wiser 
 Love shall wall your safety in. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 311 
 
 Am. I have no words to strive : 
 Away all difference ; unity is here. 
 \To Oriana.] The air is balmy : I hear th' nightingale's^ 
 Soft notes : let us away to nature. 
 
 Ori,- Dearest father ! 
 
 [^Exeunt Arnold and Oriana and the 
 father at different sides. 
 
 Off. New leaves, egad ! Marriage ties are ties ; 
 and the General, in the glitter of style, so ties his heart 
 and ears, that he must frequently receive royal endear- 
 ment, hear praises of the king, condemnations of the 
 radicals, and the devil knows what. Then, to equal 
 his new friends, the General lives costly, falls beyond 
 his depth in debt ; and, adding to these his original 
 sins of temper and large airs, which are fast putting 
 Ishmael's visage on many of the citizens, it will require 
 a philosopher gifted with second sight to say where 
 these qualities^nd events shall land him. For one I 
 shall take the watch tower to see into what gulf these 
 rivers run. [^Exit. 
 
 Scene VIII. — Same. A Street. 
 
 Miter eight strong, rough-loohing men, some of whom 
 
 are citizens. 
 
 1st Man. Away from the world's eyes let us dwell 
 upon our purpose. I hate him as I do the greasy can- 
 nibal. What say you, comrades ? 
 
 2d Man. The General's fame is not increasing. He 
 has many enemies. 
 
 3d Man. He stopped the sale of goods for thirty days. 
 This fool of power thrusts his fingers into trade. What 
 
312 THE HIGHLAND TKBASON, 
 
 does this Indian-shooter and Burgoyne-smiter know 
 about trade ? Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 4iA Man. He lives too costly. By Jupiter he 's no 
 patriot. Here, Tom, let us drink. \^He drinks and 
 offers to his comrade.] Down with every impostor, 
 since we all are brave fellows. 
 
 5th Man. He apes the British nobles in his Style ; 
 wherefore he has put to blush that modest gospel which 
 lately whispered in our ears that men are equals. 
 that I could beat drum and blow trumpet through hell 
 till I could raise to my banner a legion of devils who 
 come to their sad pits by trying to be more than they 
 ought ; then the Gineral might read in their sooty eye- 
 brows and dejected faces, what sorts o' kindred he 
 invokes. To bring down high looks is to be like our 
 Maker : whether by words, pistols, knives or hickory, 
 it matters not, if each is knowing of his call. 
 
 6th Man. A drink. Tarn O'Shantei^s my priest — 
 ale, comrades ! [^Drinks and gives to his comrades.'] 
 He that knocks down a brave fellow must himself be 
 brave ; so drain the cup. Heigh ho ! Comrades, I 
 have a head, and there 's that in it to which Socates 
 and Zantip never quite attained. He who took Burglne, 
 was greater than Burgine ; d' ye see, Billy ? else how 
 should he a' taken him ? So he that takes the taker of 
 Burgine, is greater than the two ; d' ye see, Billy ? 
 I say a flogging on the street, and glory on our heads ! 
 
 'ith Man. True, brother, you are a great man. I 
 rally to your banner. But who shall first assail him as 
 he comes ? [^A long pause. 
 
THK HIGHLAND TREASON. 313 
 
 1st Man. I will strike ; then, comrades, thickly as 
 devils scatter their poisonous seeds in goodly fields, 
 swarm -around me. The great folks will praise us. 
 2d Man. Then hold fast the secret : watch time 
 and place. 
 That this our vengeance run its ample race. 
 Ale, ho ! drink, brothers, drink. [^Passes the cups. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ScENK IX. — Same. A room mPENN's Jiouse. 
 Arnold and three Congressmen. 
 
 Ist (fong. Much joy. 
 
 2d Cong. Much joy. 
 
 3c? Cong. In matrimonial blisses deeply 
 Buried, trials, sad to other men, to 
 You must be as jokes. 
 
 Am. I am not sure of this. How may I serve you ? 
 
 Ist Cong. By listening to our mission. 
 
 Am. Speak. 
 
 1st Cong. Before our venerable body appeared 
 The Council of our State. 
 
 Am. For what ? 
 
 Is* Cong. To prefer charges against your honor. 
 
 Am. No one having honor has thus appeared. 
 This I swear. 
 
 1st Cong. These charges to a committee all referred. 
 They gave you full acquittal ; 
 But ere it had the sanction of our body. 
 The Council's prayer was granted, that months hence 
 A board of war your cause should try. 
 
 14 
 
814 TUB HISHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Am. My cause ! 
 The greatest curse is this suspense. My God ! 
 Suspicion is the murdering harm ; for 
 The imagination, unchained by facts, will 
 Revel in excess till all men's inward 
 Darkness is outward poured. 
 
 1st Cong. Debate is needless. The crisis hastens. 
 
 Am. Let the crisis hasten, if you will ; let 
 The waves of madness whiten round me ; I 
 Will meet the terrors as they thicken. 
 
 2d Cong. Most dew calm nights absorb. Be patient. 
 Trust time, trust friends. 
 
 Am. Friends! I ^woi*; this word. It means — 
 Friends, does it not ? Surely nothing else. 
 
 Enter a Messenger with dunning letters. 
 
 [Se reads. Exit Messenger. 
 
 Am. [Walks to and fro in restless feeling. "] Debts ! 
 But life itself is all indebtedness ; 
 In this I rank with all. 
 Yet do not debts and devils some kindred 
 Hold ? They each with d begin, nor may their 
 Meanings differ to him whose purse grows lank 
 Upon his living. These day-ghosts, avant 
 Couriers of social breakings begin 
 To haunt my house. Two thousand this, at bank ; 
 Five hundred this ; one thousand this ; and more 
 Such visitants soon ! Congress yet withholds 
 My pay ; — some great loan, whilst my credit in 
 The upper walks remains, must now be made, 
 That bankruptcy, which more than crime eclipses 
 Men, be hidden from the world. Who comes ? 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 315 
 
 Enter Oriana, wife of Arnold.' 
 
 Ori. This day is beautiful. Nature seems so 
 Conscious of her Creator's joy. 
 
 [J2e gives her his hand, hut remains silent; 
 she suddenly perceives hidden emotions. 
 What ! so soon unhappy ! 
 
 Am. I said not I was unhappy. My thoughts, 
 Running in deeper channels than their wont, 
 Induced my silence. 
 
 Ori. I know that silence oft may nurse the soul's 
 Most precious thoughts ; and oft the harbinger 
 Of storms, it broods upon the darter tempest 
 Of the heart. Are you well ? 
 
 Am. \_Commanding himself .'] Most perfectly well. 
 Another hour I will be robed in sunbeams by your side. 
 Now I covet solitude. 
 
 Ori. May it bring you happiness. [Exit. 
 
 Am. [Alone.'] Two maelstroms whirl in this new 
 Charybdis 
 Of mine evils. First and least, the noisy 
 Debtors that clamor for my purse ; then comes 
 This new peril of mine honors, which now 
 To my farthest vision has a swell more 
 Mountainous than any I have known. 
 The council of a state. 
 My opponent becomes ; and, though I- their 
 Stratagems and schemes may yet to fragments 
 Break, still there is a danger. For to keep 
 The smile of mighty ones, policy dark 
 Windings takes ; then prejudice may reign ; then 
 Off me, like large autumn leaves, may fall mine 
 
316 THE HIGHLAND TRBASOW. 
 
 Honors, whilst the press that loudly trumpets all 
 
 Disgrace, shall sound my evil to the world. 
 
 What then ? Let me think long nights away. I 
 
 See down an awful precipice, a deep 
 
 Abyss. Where terrors and solitudes their 
 
 Empires hold, there let me meditate. 
 
 What now ? \_Ilnter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Monsieur de la Luzerne, envoy from 
 France, asks your presence. 
 
 Am. Invite him hither. \_JExit Serv. 
 
 Miter Envoy. 
 
 En. I am glad to see you. 
 
 Am. And twice your gladness has your coming 
 caused. 
 So that like Gloster, I am bound to say, 
 " Now is the winter of our discontent 
 Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; 
 And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house, 
 In the deep bosom of the ocean buried."* 
 
 En. Thank you. Thus would I prove, had I the 
 power 
 To act the sun upon your fortunes. 
 
 Am. And this you have ; therefore to you will I 
 Disclose my grief, which in iron secrecy 
 Should be held, for I speak what others know 
 Not. This war, on which my honors grew, has 
 Beggared my estate. My sacrifices 
 Have outnumbered all the Jewish rites ; my 
 Wounds exhaust my body's strength ; my 
 
 * King Richard the Third. Act I : Scene I. 
 
THE HIOHLAND TREASON. 317 
 
 Services, like rivers till now have all 
 
 Disinterested flown ; and for my pains, 
 
 Ingratitude my countrymen possess. 
 
 Congress injustice does me ; 
 
 My pay withholds ; my foes assists ; 
 
 And Hell has built its furnaces so hotly 
 
 In the breast of my persecutors, that 
 
 Flames of malice rise continually. 
 
 In few, my private means are ruined. I 
 
 Must ask a loan equal to my debts, or 
 
 A profession leave which with poverty 
 
 Rewards me. Good envoy, my plan is this : 
 
 The king of France has much at stake, and greater 
 
 Still will have in this our country. 
 
 Conflicting issues must arise. His cause 
 
 Would be subserved were he to win the heart 
 
 Of a general high in rank — this, sir. 
 
 He may purchase by making loan to me 
 
 The sum I now desire. Your mind, envoy. 
 
 En. Easily this service I could render 
 But for this, — it would us both degrade. When 
 Envoys of foreign powers give or loan, 
 'T is to make men creatures of him they serve ; 
 To corrupt, to buy ; to buy, and not secure. 
 It leaves no nobility of motive. 
 No generous freedom of the will, which 
 Is the marrow of manly actions. My 
 Mission allows no secret practice, no 
 Cabal ; only in the open course of duty 
 May I your cause subserve. 
 General, to resent the public acts 
 
318 THE HianLAND TKEASOW. 
 
 Of public bodies ; to strongly murmur 
 At persecutions, is not the better 
 Way. Still render to your country, service. 
 Make conscious innocence your full support. 
 Generously disregard the artifice 
 Of foes. Go right forward in the right. When 
 Few years shall pass, these temporal storms will 
 Disappear, leaving your useful acts to 
 Shine, like galaxies of stars in heaven. 
 Am. \_Aside.'\ Money I wanted, not advice. Dark- 
 ness 
 Cover the friendless earth, for man is foe 
 To man. [To envoy.'] Then is the joy of our converse 
 Ended j — for want is master to our heart. 
 
 Scene IX. — Same. A street. 
 
 [ The eight assailants stand on a street which 
 Joins a larger street at right angles. Arnold 
 walks on the larger street, with a gold-headed 
 cane, wearing an overcoat. Se walks a little 
 lame. 
 
 Ist Ass. Courage, comrades, he 's on his way. I '11 
 pounce to jelly the first head whose owner quakes with 
 fear or deserts his purpose. 
 
 2d Ass. Let me get a better position. SchwuU, 
 give place. [-2e gets hack of the rest ; another trem- 
 bles.'] Iwill bring up the rear in earnest. 
 
 3c? Ass. Blosdell, you rascal ! I half believe you 
 tremble. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 319 
 
 2d Ass. No, by thunder, do I. I am brave. I 
 faced a panther with only a forked stick, when I was 
 but seven. [2Ve?w6Zes.] I 'm a blood, depend on't. 
 1st Ass. Pass the cups, comrades. Drink fire, 
 drink flames, till the blood dances, till it boils. \^They 
 drinh.'] Spelfil, I know that you are brave. Soft ! 
 he 's within five rods. [^All silent. Arnold gets near- 
 ly opposite.^ Sally, comrades, seize the prince of 
 devils. 
 
 [The first assailant strikes at him with his 
 cane ; Arnold wards off the blow, and hnooks 
 him down. The third from behind strikes him 
 with a cane across the back, another on the 
 side. Two others advance with canes in front. 
 He knocks the canes out of their hands. The 
 first gets up and throws a stone at him without 
 hitting. The eighth assailant, coming up 
 stealthily from behind, seizes hold of his cane to 
 hold it, when three others cast him on the 
 ground. Se struggles with them; disengag- 
 ing himself, rises without his staff. 
 Am. Assassins, cowards, dogs degenerate, 
 Prowling at night the unsuspecting way ; 
 Wolves, made human only by your form ; but 
 For my wounds in earnest battles given, 
 I to your gods had sent you. Law awaits 
 Your crimes ; and into the jaws of the statute 
 I will see you thrust. 
 
 1st Ass. We defy the law. We are the law. Com- 
 rades, are we not Abraham's seed ? " The soul that 
 
320 THE HIGHLAND TKEASOK. 
 
 sinneth, it shall die." Then take up Btones, fellows ; 
 throw the metals as Moses has commanded. 
 
 [Arnold disappeare ; they throw stones at Mm. 
 
 2d Ass. I threw one that hit. I will lead you 
 '[still trembles'] on to victory. 
 
 Sd Ass. We have done him good, if it 's good to be 
 afflicted. Once more, comrades, to the breach. We'll 
 try our hands again. 
 
 All. The law of might is always right ; [Sin^ng. 
 We brave the highest sinner, O : 
 We stroll the night, with little light, 
 And make our cause the winner, 0. 
 
 Satan 's a knave, but he was brave 
 
 In the first beginning, ho ! 
 In his flaming fire, there burns th' ire. 
 
 That wastes the stoutest sinner, ho ! 
 
 On his fiery floor they dance it o'er, 
 The tune that we are singing, ho ! 
 
 Take we his son, then, ev'ry one, 
 Around our ears is ringing, ho ! 
 
 But in the cup let 's courage sup. 
 
 Daring imps and demons, ho ! 
 Setting right in the dark midnight 
 
 All the straying evils, ho ! 
 
 \st Ass. Here flows the black river of our wrath. 
 [Pouring out a hlackish liquor from ajlash. 
 Comrades, swear by this your oaths to keep. 
 All. We swear, we swear. 
 
 [Each drinJfsfrom the flask. Exeunt. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 321 
 
 Scene X. — Same. A room in P&mUs House. 
 Arnold and Mrs. Arnold. 
 
 Am. Each angry passion burns around us. 
 
 Oriana. What, husband, what ! Your countenance 
 affrights me. 
 
 Arn. Assassins fell upon me in the street. 
 Eight in number. 
 
 Ori. Heaven, defend us ! Where are they ? 
 
 Arn. Prowling the streets, belching forth their 
 menace. 
 
 Ori. Help! Appeal to the State. 
 
 Arn. Appeal to ice for fire. Away the State. 
 A guard of twenty shall my person keep ; 
 Men who loved and served me. Paper, pen, ink ; 
 To Congress will I write. [ Writes. 
 
 Ori. Inhuman wretches. 
 When such fiendish deeps break up, methinks they 
 Mean great floods of ill. Kind Providence ! my 
 Young, ambitious heart, of Thee must learn. If 
 Thou to a wheel of fire hast bound me, 
 Give patience that I may with it roll. 
 
 [Arnold calls a servant. Sends his letter to 
 a friend in Congress. 
 
 Miter a Messenger mth three papers. Gives them 
 to Mrs. Arnold. [Exit Mess. 
 
 Arn. \_Risingfrom the table.] But, dearest Oriana, 
 Suppress your tears. I can still longer with 
 The whirlwinds play. When but a boy, my dear, 
 I used to wind my tender form into 
 
 14* 
 
322 THE HIGHLAND TKBASOBT. 
 
 The massive water-wheel, swift whirling ; my 
 Mates, amazed, took fearful pleasure in 
 The sight, as swiftly rolling, and untouched 
 By fear, I broke the waters roughly. Now, 
 In iJestiny's greater wheel, let it roll 
 Its pleasure, so that our hearts are unsubdued. 
 God sends his agents through much fiery 
 Discipline, when high missions are intended. 
 
 [Oriana hands him the three patera. He 
 reads them. In low tones he utters, — " More 
 debts, more duns. Ahead bankruptcy lies, an 
 open gulf." 
 
 Ori. Methinks that evils lower upon us. 
 
 Arn. They are temporary. Be calm. 
 
 Ori. Have you planned your way in future ? I fear 
 What yet shall happen. 
 
 Arn. There is a current beneath a current, 
 And a wheel revolves a wheel within. 
 
 Ori. I know that something yet unuttered works 
 Within your mind. Your sleep is much disturbed. 
 You say, " Assassins ! " You utter menace ; 
 And the lonely walks and constant thinking 
 Which I have late observed 
 
 Arn. My dear, pray cease these fears. 
 Do you know John Andrd ? 
 
 Ori. I know John Andr^ ? Yes. Humanity is 
 Honored in his virtues. 
 
 Arn. You still correspond ? * 
 
 Ori. We do. My familiar friend in former 
 Years, I much enjoy his letters. 
 
 * See note D. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 323 
 
 Arn. Have you heard from him lately ? 
 Ori. But yesterday, from New York. Why ? 
 Arn. I ask one favor. 
 
 Ori. ISurprised.l Favor ! If there's aught where- 
 by your welfare 
 I may in any way subserve, call it 
 Duty, call it happiness. What is it ? 
 
 Arn. I will not name it now. Moments even 
 Are great in changes. Reply to Andr^, 
 And before your letter to the post is 
 Given, show it me. 
 
 Ori. Most freely. Why, husband, do you think — 
 
 Am. Not now. Ask me nothing. 
 
 Ori. [Loiv.^ Mysterious ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Congressman. 
 Arn. And who have they chosen for my guard ? 
 The ruffians are desperate as robbers. 
 
 Cong. Your prayer is refused. You are referred 
 To the State for protection. 
 
 [Arnold suppresses deep emotion. 
 Arn. The Primitive State ! My swords must be 
 sharpened. 
 
 \_Takes down two swords; examines them ; 
 loads two pair of pistols ; puts a large hnif^ 
 into Ms coat. 
 A strange refusal this. The State protects ? 
 Say to them /appeal to the State. How 
 Rests the question of my pay ? 
 
 Cong. Unsettled as before. It is hoped you 
 Will abate your claims. 
 
324 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Am. When earth abates its being — not before. 
 Enter a Messenger from Washington ; he hands to him 
 a letter. He reads. 
 
 Am. The crisis hastens. This notifies me 
 Of my trial — it hastens. Morristown 
 Is the judgment-seat. I am ready. 
 
 Cong. Your enemies I see are formidable. 
 
 Am. Else I would not meet them. 
 
 Cong. I will be your friend. [Exit Cong. 
 
 Am. [Alon^."] At Rome, the imtZmifMaZ in the s<a<« 
 Was lost ; but Jam no Roman. 'T was man 
 That made the state, and is he less than it ? 
 Nay, man is more, and I am man. Then God 
 His work may judge ; yea, rule ; yea, destroy. 
 On mountains' edges I long have stood, till 
 In my brain a thought is born. Oh ! make this 
 Bosom marble, this heart all stone ! 
 That no weak or vile contritions my purpose 
 E'er disturb. Thus far it is contingent, — 
 Ay, every whit contingent. No sin 
 Against heaven ; but even were it, sins 
 Piled up in chains of mountain greatness, 
 Strike heaven with less offence. 
 Cordilleras, Himalayas 
 
 Of what the world condemns, must challenge some 
 Regard, since creative will alone can 
 Build them. If they harm mine honors, — if — if^ 
 If they blast mine honors — let me not name 
 It to these echoing walls. [^His frame trembles. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 325 
 
 I]nter Oriana. 
 Ori. What mean these cold drops upon your temples, 
 This inward agitation ? 
 Arn. Not much. 
 
 [(SAe wipes his brow with her handkerchief. 
 Ori. Oh ! that I could wipe away the cause ! 
 Surely it becomes a wife to bear one half her husband's 
 sorrows. 
 Am. If it is anything, 't is what thou couldst never 
 
 bestr. 
 , Ori. What ! not my half ? You know not 
 The hidden force of woman's heart — the heart 
 That's beating here. 
 Arn. No, not the tithe. 
 Ori. Mystery is fear. What is the /awr — 
 Arn. Your letters to Andr^ let mc seal. 
 Ori. Most cheerfully ; not only seal, but read. 
 Arn. Only to seal. 
 Ori. You make me laugh. 
 Arn. Laughter and I have sadly parted. 
 Ori. Try, then, this gentle art. 
 
 [ Gives him the letter. Exit. 
 [Arnold walks the room ; sits down to write ; 
 hand trembles ; rises. 
 Arn. Arnold ! Wast thou e'er at Saratoga ? 
 Who art thou ? Stay, these loud whispers of my 
 Folly, for if they strike mine honors ! 
 Oh ! if they do ! [_Seats himself. 
 
 The hand disguise ; a name assume ; give words 
 A double sense ; let their literal import 
 Honest flow, but beneath this surface such 
 Meanings put, as wake a hell o' thoughts. Word 
 
326 THE niGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 It as a merchant ; propose risks, bargains, 
 Profits to Sir Henry's house. Gustavus 
 Is my name ; all may trade. Are goods and vice 
 The same ? Thus if detected, I rout them 
 In the plea. [ Writes. 
 
 Mnter Sokceress unperceived ; at a distance. 
 8or. \^Low.] The hidden cause, the" stream of mid- 
 night, 
 The ray of hell, the wild untutored will. 
 Begin to flow. {^Loud.^ ye innocent space, 
 To be thus profaned ! Gustavus seeks his grave. 
 
 [^Uxit suddenly. 
 Am. What voice was this ? To this brain's action 
 does 
 Hell keep time ? Beat on, beat on. Yet there is 
 
 [ Writes. 
 Too much truth in these my nerves, more than in 
 My will. This y erase — too natural 
 It seems. [^Urases it ; writes ; opens her letter and en- 
 closes his own ; seals it. 
 Within these thoughts of crystal, I have put 
 This thought of trade. Compassed by truth, go thou ; 
 Reach Sir Henry's house. [Exit. 
 
 Scene XI. A forest near his residence, 
 
 [ The moon is obscured hy clouds which dark- 
 en the larger part of the sky. Some star-lights 
 glimmer through openings in the clouds. 
 
 Arnold. 
 
 Am. How much this war on me depends ! lam 
 The hinge on which the massive door doth swing. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 327 
 
 If I might end so great a strife, England 
 Her grateful eyes would lift — [^Hesitates, stops. 
 
 Great would be the change, and awful. Yet revenge 
 Is sweet. 0, if they do it, let the earth 
 Be .plucked from its orbit ; let it be thrown 
 Into the face of the burning" sun ! Let noon 
 Be darkness ! Let the stars be quenched, till this 
 Universe has not a lamp to light it,*- 
 .Rather than this revenge live on unsated. 
 The heavens, whose frowns |he moon obscure, do 
 Witness this my purpose. '[Low.J My correspon- 
 dence. 
 My correspondence.* [Exit. 
 
 Scene XII. — Morristown, A room in the house 
 used as Washington's Head Quarters: 
 
 [Present the Board of War, the Council of 
 Pennsylvania, Washington, Arnold, and 
 other Officers. 
 Wash. In the name of justice we are here ; here 
 Its work to do. The light which truth on you 
 Shall shed, that follow evermore. Justice 
 Is the basis of His throne ; 
 
 Nought else the test of time shall stand ; nought else 
 With God can be accepted. Therefore let 
 Justice, unmixed with prejudice or passion. 
 All your counsels rule. Then shall harmony 
 Be restored, and with united effort 
 Our noble cause shall prosper. 
 
 * See Note. F. 
 
328 THE HIGtHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Pres. General Arnold stands accused of four of- 
 fences. 
 
 1. He has transcended his command. 
 
 2. Harsh treatment to American citizens. 
 
 3. Using public wagons for private ends. 
 
 4. Giving permission to citizens of Pennsylvania 
 to launch from our Philadelphian port, a vessel, whilst 
 that port was held by England, thus clashing with an 
 article of war. These charges were once discussed ; 
 and since our session, much evidence has become 
 our pavement, so that we may now make true deci- 
 sion. Have the plaintiffs aught that 's new ? 
 
 1st Conn. Nothing further. Our proof is ample. 
 We trust this leopard-spotted sinner, may 
 Now receive his recompense. Otherwise 
 Our confidence is lost, and with it dies 
 Our useful zeal. 
 
 Am. I know that ye are sons of Mars, most stem 
 Of purpose. I know yov, need not be told 
 That J have on my country's altar bled. 
 My wounds are ft-esh ; they speak, they cry. You 
 
 know 
 My sacrifice has been ample as the waves. 
 Whilst the records of the past aflSrm, that 
 My conduct won the general praise. I 
 Stand upon my proofs. 
 
 Pres. Have you aught that 's new ? 
 
 Am. Why add more water to the sea ? 
 
 Pres. Impartial justice thus decrees : 
 From the first two charges the accused is clear. 
 Likewise of the other two, so far as 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON, 329 
 
 Touches criminal intent. But, as some 
 
 Imprudence is implied, a reprimand 
 
 We here impose, given by our chief commander. 
 
 [Arnold suppresses a deep emotion; the mem- 
 hers of the Council are full of joy ; others wear 
 the expression of sadness. A deep silence is for 
 several moments unbroken. 
 Washington. Our profession is the chastest of 
 all. The shadow of a fault tarnishes our most brilliant 
 actions. The least inadvertence may cause us to lose 
 that public favor which is so hard to be gained. I re- 
 primand you for having forgotten, that, in proportion 
 as you had rendered yourself formidable to our ene- 
 mies, you should have shown moderation towards our 
 own citizens. Exhibit again those splendid qualities 
 which have placed you in the rank of our most distin- 
 guished generals. As far as it shall lie in my power I 
 will myself furnish you with opportunities for regaining 
 the esteem you have formerly enjoyed. * 
 
 Pres. [^To Am."] What further do you say ? 
 Arn. [ With suppressed emotion.'] I acquiesce. 
 
 \_Silence continues. 
 1st Ooun. Honored wisdom ! 
 2d Ooun. Righteous judgment ! 
 Zd Ooun. Triumphant justice ! 
 
 \_Exe.unt all save two witnesses. 
 Ist Wit. Did you notice how General Arnold looked 
 as he rose to receive the reprimand ? 
 2d Wit. I did. 
 
 * This is literally the reprimand administered by Washing- 
 ton. 
 
330 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Is* Wit. What did you think ? 
 
 2d Wit. I thought I never saw a greater struggle 
 than that which he had with himself. 
 
 1st Wit. Did you notice the triumph that sat so vis- 
 ibly on the brows of the Council ? 
 
 2c? Wit. Certainly I saw it : and though order has 
 thoroughly prevailed in the administration of law, the 
 deepest passions have burned in many a breast. 
 
 1st Wit. How will this new disgrace be borne ? 
 
 2d Wit. I cannot say. I think bravely; for the 
 general is very ambitious and will seek to cover this 
 darkness by the brilliancy of new achievements. 
 
 1st Wit. This is reasonable ; and in time it may be 
 seen that this fiery conflict is the parent of increased 
 heroism. Thus let us hope. [_Uxeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — Philadelphia. A room in PenvUs house. 
 Arnold. 
 Am. {AlonR.^ Contingency is dead. Slander 
 now his 
 Deep mouth opens, giving to the wanton 
 Winds my late reproach. My friends are silent. 
 Revenge ! gorge thine appetite. Drink blood 
 From the very heart till thou art drunken ! 
 Name ? what is it ? a leaf, a shade ! Country ? 
 Ishmael's wild desert is my country. 
 Though fame outlives the angry storm, and shines 
 In glory when the wrath is gone, yet burn. 
 Thou deep Vesuvius ! To ashes burn 
 My lesser loves. Hark ! 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 331 
 
 Enter an Officer. 
 My old companion in arms, welcome. I 
 Gladly see you. Where bound ? 
 
 Off. To camp, on business of war. 
 
 Am. Say that I long to join them, heart and hand, 
 To fight new battles that eclipse the old. 
 Bespeak a place ; since foxes, bears, comets, 
 Fit place possess, why should not I ? 
 
 Off. To heroes there 's no lack of place. Where 
 lies your choice ? 
 
 Am. [^Affecting indifference.] I scarcely know. 
 West Point perhaps might do as well. 
 
 Off. I will so speak to Washington. 
 
 Am. So do. [Uxit Off. 
 
 This, added to what my friend in Congress 
 Wrote, will quite secure the post. [-He advances to 
 the table, takes vp a letter, opens, reads. 
 
 " More intelligence is now desired. Our firm is 
 fond of enterprises, risks, and great speculations. We 
 would buy out the whole stock of Gustavus to increase 
 our own : but not at present. Give us news. We 
 purchase when your stock is much increased. 
 
 "John Anderson." 
 Grand disguise. [Writes. 
 
 " Here's my answer. I soon take larger business, so 
 that I can supply your whole demand, selling you, 
 perhaps, my entire amount of goods. A meeting of 
 negotiation and much ready money will be the chief 
 essentials. 
 
 [Rising and looking all about.'] " Gustavus." 
 
 The brain of one might generate its scheme, 
 But execution asks a friend, since one 
 
832 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Is powerless. Wallenstein ! Friends came 
 Into thy council-chamber, and thou went 
 Out a corpse. Gustavus ! 't is thine to work 
 Alone, not letting the angel of thy 
 Bosom near thee, lest she breathe it in a dream. 
 [Low.'] Slumber here, thou dark oracle ! The spirit 
 Of night brooding over the deep of souls, 
 Alone can know thee. Silence ! darkness ! 
 
 Scene II. — Wed side of Sudson River. 
 Enter Washington, La Fayette, Officers, Soldiers. 
 
 Wash, The plan is understood. If Sir Henry 
 Clinton now leaves the city of New York 
 To stop the landing of the allied French 
 At Newport, we on the eastern side descend 
 And take the city. For this intent I 
 Lead my army across the river. 
 
 La Fay. Whatever lies in me and in these my 
 Bilious Frenchmen, is wholly at your service. 
 
 Wash. A lively campaign is setting in ; great 
 Need for active men. 
 
 Enter Arnold. 
 Welcome ! 
 
 Am. I am glad to join you. Like the eagle 
 Caged has my spirit pined. Now loosed, I try 
 My joyful element. Since summer is 
 Not of old verdures formed, nor trees in olden 
 Leaves arrayed, I would not be dressed in past 
 Achievement ; but, like each new-born day, would 
 Stand in new-born honors ; 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 333 
 
 So give me a place, that this eager hand 
 
 May turn off a deed eclipsing all that *3 
 
 Done. What place does your Excellency assign ? 
 
 Wash. Suiting your rank and ardent love of active 
 Life, I assign you my left division. 
 
 [^Turns about to converse with La Fayette. 
 Arnold's countenance falls. 
 
 Off. This places you so near to Washington ; 
 An honor I would covet. 
 
 Am. My wounds are not respected. 
 
 Off. Does then your zeal abate ? 
 
 Am. No. It is quenchless. 
 
 Off. What place suits you ? 
 
 Arn. West Point. I crave the Highlands. 
 
 Off. What! does their sublimity awe you ? 
 
 Am. Not that ; I am no poet. 
 
 Off. Does their solitude attract ? 
 
 Am. I am neither a sage nor a hermit. 
 
 Off. Strange. 
 
 Washington. 
 
 Wash, 'yij commander of the left division — 
 
 Am. This honor I decline. My wounds declare 
 My inability to ride. I ask 
 West Point, the only place within your gift 
 Where I can well my country serve. 
 
 Wash. [^Loohs for a time surprised.'] What house 
 will you occupy. 
 
 Arn. Robinson's. He having joined the British, 
 I will his dwelling consecrate to Liberty. 
 
 Wash. Go, then, to your place. The God of our cause 
 Be with you. 
 
334 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Am. The mountain eagle shall be emblem to 
 My wish, and the river, seaward coursing, 
 My tendency shall speak ; for thus my soul. 
 Through the winding of each vicissitude, 
 Into public good shall flow. A word with you. 
 
 [2'o La Fayette. 
 Have you spies in New York ? 
 
 La Fa. Several. 
 
 Am. Giving to news a swifter speed, let it 
 Reach you through West Point, which, to facilitate, 
 Let me know their names. 
 
 La Fa. Sir, I am by honor bound. 
 
 Am. I am ready for the Highlands. 
 
 Off. Men may be high in Lowlands and low in High- 
 lands. [Exeunt Washington, LaFayettb ; 
 all hut two soldiers. 
 
 Am. True ; but high or low, to my place I go. 
 
 lExit. 
 
 Ist Sol. Tom, I am going into the mysteries. 
 
 2d Sol. Well, do. What is the soul ? 
 
 1st Sol. The spirit, of course. 
 
 2d Sol. No, the mind; but never mind that. Did 
 you ever hear Washington sai/ he loved his country ? 
 
 1st Sol. No, never. Did you ever hear him speak 
 of his sacrifices ? 
 
 2c? Sol. Never, 'pon my life. 
 
 1st Sol. Did you ever know men of riches show their 
 purses ? 
 
 2d Sol. Never, by Jupiter ! Suthin' bottoms this. 
 What is it ? Hush ! I see the drift. Hush, Nat ; 
 don't spatter the dignities. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 835 
 
 1st Sol. But, Tom, let your thoughts stir freely. I 
 for one shall keep a thinkin'. 
 
 Scene III. — Banks of the Hudson. 
 Enter a Yankee and an Englishman. 
 
 Eng. Since Sir Rodney has joined us -with his pow- 
 erful fleet, since we hold New York so safely, and since 
 the king is to send fresh thousands to our assistance, I 
 judge that Jonathan will give up the ship at last. 
 
 Yan. I reckon otherwise. A cat thrown from the 
 window, or the eaves, or from any other place, will 
 make the somersets that put her on her feet by the 
 time the bottom is reached. This, sir, is our genius. 
 Drive us into whatever corner he can, whilst John Bull 
 is applying his long system, we can calculate an escape. 
 'D'ye see ? 
 
 Eng. Half true, by George ! But your cause is 
 treason ; therefore must it fail. 
 
 Yan. It is true to us, therefore no treason. It 's 
 true to God, therefore no treason. You borrow your 
 rule from the 'sumed right of your silly kings. You 
 never come it over these Yankees. They outsee ye, 
 and they outact ye, and they turn round quicker, and 
 they start quicker, and they aim surer, and their brains 
 beat twenty per cent, faster than an Englishman's. 
 With half your force we 'd contrive a certain victory. 
 
 Eng. Well, let us watch the issue ; I will meet you 
 in New York a few months hence, and if your cause 
 prevails, I will help to bear your banners high in the 
 air; if mine succeeds you shall assist in that city 
 
336 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 to bear our signal, the great Lion. To this I agree, 
 however mortifying it may be to bear rebellious colors. 
 Yayok. Agreed. The Eagle and the Stars, versus 
 the King o' beasts ! I'll give you a great flag to lift, 
 I reckon you may reel under a weight of glory. Agreed, 
 I say, agreed. [^Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — Mobinson's House in the Highlands. 
 A room, Arnold is meditating. 
 
 Am. To have the inward man and outward seeming 
 In such opposing states, much care requires, 
 Since the great contradiction works against 
 That free and onward utterance which nature 
 Holds her own. If angel or Satan be 
 Our central heart, 'twere joy to act in union 
 With him, taking off restraint. Better be 
 Damned for tearing empires into pieces. 
 Than through unjust intent to filch the penny. 
 Sir Clinton's House must be addressed ! 
 
 [^Seats himself by his table and writes. En- 
 ter Oriana unperceived, remaining in a dis- 
 tant part of the room. He rends. 
 " Mr. Anderson : My firm is greatly augmented ; 
 having gained a location better fitted for great bargains, 
 I am ready to capitulate. Much caution must be ob- 
 served. I have no confident. I will meet an agent 
 from Sir Henry's house to settle the terms, but he 
 must be well chosen, a man of my own mensuration. 
 He must be fully authorized, and able to command the 
 adequate sum of ready money. I insist that the person 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 337 
 
 who shall meet me within the American lines is Adju- 
 tant General John Andr^. In the night of September 
 20th, I will send a person to Dobbs'a Ferry or on hoard 
 the Vulture, with a boat and flag of truce, whose honor 
 and secrecy can be depended on. It wilUbe necessary 
 for him to be in disguise. And if there is no danger 
 in passing your lines, you will be perfectly safe where 
 I propose a meeting. My part shall be safely man- 
 aged, as I am an old merchant, accustomed to deal in 
 those transactions which require much skill and fore- 
 sight. Yours in Commerce, 
 
 "GUSTAVUS." 
 {^He arises, and advances towards her. 
 
 Ori. Husband ! 
 
 Am. What would you ? 
 
 Ori. The Court at Morristown. 
 
 Am. What of it? 
 
 Ori. Why was their verdict there so harsh ? 
 A friend has told me all. Husband, you were 
 Much dishonored. 
 
 Arn. True. And if the cause you seek to learn, in 
 This it lies inclosed : that Pennsylvania 
 Baggage wagons, mere trash to nobler minds. 
 In worth eclipsed my name and ranh. But do 
 Not touch such fiery springs ; 
 It wakes a passion yet unsated. 
 
 Ori. And what is your redress ? 
 
 Arn, Still to love and serve my country. 
 
 Ori. Then a saint's grace is needed. 
 
 Arn. Yes, saint's, seasoned in the light of Heaven. 
 
 15 
 
338 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Ori. But victory the highest now awaits thee ; 
 
 To outlive- our evils, to conquer them 
 
 With good, is triumph all divine. 
 
 ■ lArn. Your words oppress me. Solitude is my 
 
 Sole relief. 
 
 Ori. Your pardon let me ask. [^Uzit, 
 
 Am. Robinson in the Vulture waits. This bold 
 
 Letter shall be enclosed in mine to him ; 
 
 For no more her radiant friendship, like 
 
 Saturn's rings about their inner orb, shall 
 
 E'er infold my message. The crisis comes ; 
 
 This is my last. [^Seals and encloses it. 
 
 Fly, dear riddle ! Go swift ! Not as comets, 
 
 Alarming as they run, go thou. Quiet 
 
 Be thy speed ; for fatal traps until they 
 
 Spring are more silent than brooks and trees. Go ! 
 
 A nation's heart and soul, and blood and flesh, 
 
 Are in thee. \Exit. 
 
 Scene V. — New Tork. Room in Sir Senry Qlin- 
 torCs house. 
 Sir Henry Clinton and Andre'. 
 Clint. Sir Rodney with his mighty fleet our naval 
 Service strengthens. Could we but seize the forts 
 On all this Hudson range, our king's cause should 
 Double in its prospect. Andr^, a great 
 Vicissitude opens on us. But mystery 
 In part doth veil it. 
 
 And. Then let us tear off the veil and calmly 
 See its face. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TKBASON. 339 
 
 Clint, The unknown Gustavus ! All my wakeful 
 Hours are on him. To guess aright this riddle 
 Is of value to the king. , 
 
 And. Truly. 
 
 Clint. Long time his messages appeared, pouring 
 Out such disaffection, and sending forth 
 Such fast intelligence of things about 
 The great revolt, that I know he stands most 
 Near the central wheels of its projected 
 Movements ; and since he asks with you, my agent. 
 To hold his conference, and this far up. 
 The Hudson Eiver, I have a more than 
 Dim conjecture of his rank. Art is his ; 
 Cunning, foresight, coolness, aspiration, 
 Secrecy, avarice, and strong resolve. 
 All which, through that silvered instrument whose 
 Powerful magic turns the hearts of men. 
 Are at my service. Sir, West Point once gained, 
 Makes me master of the ground, from which, in 
 Well concerted action, I will supplies 
 Cut off, derange the unitary efforts 
 Of Mister Washington ; facilitate 
 My intercourse with the great Canadian 
 Forces ; so that, with this advantage, I will 
 Break the vain republican bauble which 
 Floats upon their folly. Andr6, will you 
 Meet Gustavus ? 
 
 And. I much dislike the task. 
 
 Clin. It is my request. 
 
 And. To serve my king I count no sacrifice. 
 Still I crave another task. 
 
340 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Clin. Obey my orders and you are safe. 
 
 And. What? 
 
 - Clin. In dress use no disguise. Meet Gustavus 
 In the Vulture. Enter not the enemy's lines. 
 Give money, give oflSce, not sparing cost, 
 So that you ■ffin the grand surrender. 
 Accept no papers, and leave no trace 
 To meet the eye of Washington. Now the Vulture 
 seek. 
 
 And. My heart is in my mission. 
 
 Clin. Farewell ! God be with you. [Exit. 
 
 And. Since I found this dizzy whirl of war, 
 In which the early sorrows of an aching 
 Void were drowned, I have learned to hold in calm 
 Contempt the policy of life, which counts 
 Too closely each effect. As prophets on 
 Their inspiration rest, so I on impulse 
 Generous cast my lot. I will go this night. 
 
 Enter the Sorceress. 
 
 Sor. This night ! 
 
 And. Who art thou ? 
 
 Sor. '' This niffht ! " I heardst thou say it. 
 
 And. Whence this strange figure ? What art thou ? 
 To me your voice, though sounding strangely, 
 Has notes not wholly new. 
 
 Sor. I heardst thou say, " This night ! " 
 Didst ever thou know Honora ? 
 
 And. Yes ; [^agitated] I knew her. 
 
 Sor. Ha ! thou well may say it, for love of her, 
 Too deep to ask the mockery of words, 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 341 
 
 Had wrecked thy nature wholly, 
 
 So that a shattered tree by lightning riven 
 
 Had been thy symbol ; 
 
 But war its tumults brought thee. Let a day 
 
 Of calmness thy spirit bless, and Honora 
 
 Is still thy deepest fact. 
 
 And. Why comest thou here ? Sorceress, demon ! 
 
 Sor. I heardst thou say, " This night I " 
 By this night's shadow, — by its stars, — 
 By Honora' s image in thy heart, more perfect 
 Than" the pictured moon on the sleeping sea, 
 I conjure thee to stay thy purpose. 
 
 And. Nay, as I love my king, I must go this night. 
 Oh ! invoke not her sacred image. 
 
 Sor. Show me, if thou durst, 
 What bearest thou so near thy heart ! 
 
 And. Strange. My watch, woman. 
 
 Sor. Nearer still. Show me, if thou durst. 
 
 And. Never, never ! Thou knowest it not. 
 
 Sor. Honora's image ! Deny it not. 
 Eternity-remembered likeness ! Though 
 It shall perish with the life-organ that 
 Beats the tune of love in this your once thrice 
 Happy breast, the fact which each doth serve, shall 
 In thine higher powers outlive the stars, 
 Outbloom the violet, outshine the sun,. 
 Outflow the rivers, and outbless the spring's 
 Sweet fragrance. By her sweet image, and by 
 The foresight that in me darts its glance of 
 Knowledge, I pray thee stay thy purpose. 
 
 And. Never ! I am loyal. 
 
342 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 A star of glory gives its glimmering 
 
 Ray on what I now resolve. Let me to it. 
 
 I see the honors falling on my brow 
 
 Like showers of golden rain. My great task 
 
 In the Highlands once complete, my king is 
 
 Honored, and his cause is won. Honora's 
 
 Ears its fame shall hear. 
 
 Sor. Dangers, dangers ! 
 Deep is the voice that bids me say it. This 
 Night thy choice undoes thee. Turn away thy 
 Purpose, and other stars, more thick, more bright,- 
 Will constellate the sky that over thy 
 Future bends. Blackness your way attends if 
 Unto the Vulture. 
 
 And. Away, your words are chilling. [ Walks away. 
 
 Sor. Blind mortal, of prophecy bereft ! 
 Thou who showerest on me these rays. of 
 Light, that reflecting forward, all th'"future 
 Show, turn to falsehood this presentiment 
 Of ill. Powers celestial, balm the air 
 He breathes when perils thicken. 
 And the dark angel strikes the chord that yields 
 Sad melody of death ; for rare it is 
 That spirits of more rare divinity 
 In mortal tenements lodge. But this 
 Foul, unworthy task ! [^Exit. 
 
 And. Mystery yet has living voices. \^Exit. 
 
 Scene VI. — King's Ferry. Banks of the Sudson. 
 
 Am. Here I had hoped his Excellency to 
 Meet, whom with suite and La Fayette I would 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Ferry o'er the stream ; for coincident 
 With his return, the great trap is sprung with 
 All its costly game. Ha ! There lies the Vulture ! 
 In her the costly secrets dwell. 
 
 Enter Washington and Suite, and La Fayette. 
 
 WasTi. How prospers your command ? 
 Am. \_Slightly agitated.'] All is safe and ready in 
 the Highlands. 
 My barge is waiting. 
 
 Wash. First I will eye that Vulture ! 
 Why came she up so high. 
 
 \Se speaks in low tones to those around him. 
 Arnold is excited by fear that his plot is sus- 
 pected. 
 Am. Surely I know not. Though vultures are fond 
 Of highlands, highlands fear not vultures. 
 The barge is ready, 
 ia Fay. Where is Count de Gruichen ? Since, 
 General, 
 You have correspondence with the enemy, 
 Please inform us. 
 Am. [Excited.'] Sir, I demand your meaning. 
 La Fa. I mean the free exchange of papers between 
 These hostile points. 
 Am. I understand. 
 
 La Fa. That new achievement which shall your 
 Former deeds eclipse ! 
 
 Am. I know not the mysteries of your speech. 
 Perhaps it's but amusement you intend. 
 La Fa. That is all. [Arnold suppresses emotion. 
 
344 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Am. TF/ja^ c?ay does your Excellency return ? \^To 
 Washington.'] 
 
 Wash. The twenty-fourth. Say to Mrs. Arnold I 
 then will breakfast with her. 
 
 [Exeunt WASHINGTON and La Fayette. 
 
 Am. [Low.l Am I discovered ? Half I fear. 
 But accidents, like idiots, at times, look wise. [HxU. 
 
 Scene VII. — Near Long Qlove, on the Western Bank 
 of the Sudson, at the foot of a mountain. 
 
 Am. The sun is down. Nor lingers twilight in 
 The lofty air, nor comes the fair Virgin 
 To light the earth with silver, nor 
 Come the stars in soft and varied radiance : 
 But here beneath the veiled ether, darkness 
 Eeigns to sharp the mental vision. These rocks. 
 These shadows dense, the thickening wild-wood. 
 And this hovering silence, unbroken 
 Save by the low murmur of the tide, hold 
 Such sympathy of nature with our intent, 
 That time and place are agents with me. 
 The Etna of my deep revenge still burns 
 Beneath, and soon 
 
 From its top the smoke shall cloud the heaven. 
 And fire shall chase the sovereign stars. My pat/ 
 Is yet withholden. sovereign Heaven, 
 By whom I am and hope to be, I praise 
 The plentitude of power, that unto 
 Me strong heart bestowed, the pulse that ne 'er beat 
 Low, the will that never its hold relaxed. 
 The mind that ne'er repents its doing. 
 Caution is safety's angel. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 345 
 
 The walker over dens of serpents, or 
 On the edges of the brink, must be hold 
 And wise together. I'll not near the Vulture ; 
 Him, I will bring to shore ; will here the plans 
 Complete, which of ponderous weights shall rid 
 Me. My oarsmen, ho ! Come, oarsmen. 
 
 Unter three Oarsmen. 
 Good oarsmen, good oarsmen, your country's weal 
 You much promote. Go bring him from the Vulture ; 
 He's filled with knowledge for our cause. 
 
 1st Oars. I am most heartily willing. My fellows 
 are full of doubts. 
 
 Am. Doubt ! What means that, I pray ? 
 
 id Oars. Why go in the night ? 
 
 Am. The day will be too late. 
 
 3c? Oars. The guard boats will take us up. 
 
 Am. Say " Congress" and all is safe. 
 
 2d Oars. I slept none last night. 
 
 Am. Nor I. 
 
 2)d Oars. It 's very dark. 
 
 Am. It is never too dark, to serve your country. 
 
 1st Oars. No, never. 
 
 2d Oars. Who ^s in the Vulture ? How much does 
 he know ? 
 
 Am. Sirs, as oarsmen, I your service ask. Give 
 Me not advice. 
 
 2d Oars. I will not go. 
 
 M Oars. Nor I. 
 
 Am. Jam a Major General! This strange 
 Refusal proves your heart in hatred with 
 
 15* 
 
346 THE HIGHLAND TRBASOX. 
 
 Our cause ; and lest this seed of bitterness 
 Into foulest treason grow, I will arrest 
 You now. 
 
 2d Oars. [^Alarmed.'] We will go, but give us a re- 
 ward. 
 
 Am. Take these persuasive letters. Muffle your 
 Oars — go gently. [^Hxeunt Oarsmen. 
 
 A few moments, and he is here. No word 
 May reach an oarsman's ear, for words are knives 
 And swords and conflagrations. Mere the shrubs 
 Grow thickly. [ Walks about.'] Well chosen ! Ho ! 
 
 ho ! ho ! ho ! 
 Sounds drop to the earth as if ray words were 
 Leaden weights. Well chosen ; ha, ha ! I will 
 Meditate. [^Sits down. 
 
 [SoECERESS comes within a few rods. 
 
 Sor. Hour of hours ! 
 
 Night of nights ! Sin is the sepulchre of 
 Brilliant parts ; and in the tomb it here hath 
 Hewn, no light of resurrection e'er shall dawn. 
 The cause of liberty is born above, 
 And vain is all this plot against it. I 
 Dreamed of one whose form was tall and stately ; 
 His eyes were dark ; and on him costly garments 
 Hung, outglittering far the sun. His sword 
 Was by him, and he stood a god admired. 
 But lo ! a darkness fell upon that sword ; 
 His face it veiled until he seemed an Ethiop 
 Born, when suddenly as light, rushing from 
 Her celestial throne, the gilded vestments 
 That did the sun outshine, into fragments 
 
THE HIGHLAND TKBASOH-. 347 
 
 Broke and fell, till the bodily presence, 
 
 All disrobed, was dark as raven's wings. 
 
 Anon tbe ample folds of flesh, that now 
 
 All blackness was, began to drop away. 
 
 Whilst the trembling frame no meanings echoed, 
 
 As if by pride prevented. There standing, 
 
 A fleshless image, a ghastly skeleton 
 
 Of nerve and bone, a spectre deathly, his 
 
 Eye-balls flashing in their sockets, and from 
 
 His mouth an eager flame was burning, that 
 
 Spiralled round the bald and ebon sphere, from 
 
 Which the hair had all aflrighted fallen. 
 
 Oppressive vision, that saw this proud heart 
 
 Abolished, and loathsome serpents crawling 
 
 In the hollow form, each entwining round 
 
 The other, till their complex positions 
 
 Plain letters formed, which before the gaze of 
 
 Earth and Heaven did spell that awful word 
 
 Which notes the grand offence of Hell's enthroned 
 
 Monarch. Till my dream had ceased he stood one 
 
 Cold and moveless statue of despair. Though 
 
 Seraphs in sweet voices should assure no 
 
 Harm, I still would feel the danger thrill. He 's 
 
 Near ! hark ! But, ah ! a thread shall break in this, 
 
 Your closely-woven web, that will your skill 
 
 Unravel. Oh ! sweet Liberty, thou shalt not die. 
 
 ^Hxit, turning half round and uttering a 
 wild scream. Arnold coming out of the thicket 
 in surprise, looks around in silence, and returns 
 to his place. 
 
348 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Unter Andre' and the Oarsmen. 
 
 1st Oars. I 'spose you know your own business. I 
 see nobody here. 
 
 2cZ Oars. If we row ye to the Vulture this night, 
 your stay must not be long. 
 
 And. \_Surprised.'\ Be at ease ; sing songs, make 
 merry your hearts till I return. 
 
 [LooTcs for Crustavus in the ihichet. 
 
 1st Oars. This we did for public good and fifty 
 pounds o' flour. What is public good ? ■ 
 
 2d Oars. A good public, fool, No odds 'tween the 
 two. 
 
 ^d Oars. Anderson has an intelligent eye. 
 
 1st Oars. But how silent he was ! 
 
 2c? Oars. Aye, and full of meditation ! 
 
 3c? Oars. Let's go home. I've no faith for such 
 night-service ; and its poor works where there 's no faith. 
 
 2d Oars. Good night ! [_IExeunt. 
 
 {^AndrS still walks in the thicket. 
 
 And. Gustavus ! [^Low.'] 
 
 Am. [iow.] This way. 
 
 A7id. [^Approaches him.'] Is this Gustavus ? 
 
 Arn. I am he. 
 
 And. Where, sir, is your command ? The night is 
 dark, 
 And neither voice nor visage tells me who you are. 
 
 Arn. 1 hold West Point. 
 
 Andi Truly, truly. The time is short. What do you 
 desire ? 
 
 Arn. I would make allegiance with my king. 
 
 And. Allegiance ! It is not a bad word. 
 
 Am. Aye, and I have such revenge that I will 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 349 
 
 Not Dame it here. But soft ! ILooTcs all about. 
 
 The oarsmen being gone — 
 
 And. What ! am I not to return to-night ? 
 I already too far have tempted danger ! 
 
 Am. No, the day is near, and long will be our 
 Parley, on the matter. A vacant house. 
 And a horse to bear you, await us at th' dawn. 
 Speak freely. 
 
 [Andre', turning round, discovers the Vul- 
 ture apparently in flames. Both, looh at it, and 
 at last discover that she is returning the fire just 
 received from the Americans on the other side. 
 
 And. Two points are now at rest, who Gustavus is, 
 And that to true allegiance he would come. 
 A third remains. [J. pause ; they looh earnestly. 
 
 Am. Aye, a third, which is more than half. Say 
 what. 
 
 And. The terms ? 
 
 Am. Truly, this is it. 
 
 And. What should be the offer of our gracious king ? 
 
 Am. Embracing what ? 
 
 And. Yourself, West Point and all dependent posts. 
 Yourself, forever ! 
 
 Am. In other words, you ask a nation at 
 My hands. For surely as the sun in trueness 
 Rolls, the whole cause, so long with blood bedewed. 
 Is bounded by your asking. 
 
 And. What shall I name ? 
 
 Am. Stop ! The vastness of this pi-esent theme your 
 Haste rebukes. Come, whilst the night is on us, 
 To the vacant house. [Uxeunt. 
 
350 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Scene VIII. — Second floor in the house of Joshua 
 S. Smith. 
 [Arnold leads the way. He lights a taper 
 in the room below, directs Andre' up a steep 
 stairway to the chamber, holding his hqnd be- 
 fore the light so as to conceal his eyes from 
 Andre'. In this position he resumes. 
 Am. Let your offer with the grandeur of th' end 
 Accord. A nation won, a victory 
 Gained, a widening theatre of trade. 
 And power for ages yet to come — these. 
 Turning on a pivot in my control, 
 Challenge great sums of wealth and honors. 
 
 And. I own the greatness of the end. ' T was this 
 That brought me hither. But, sir, this question 
 Has its limits. Say what. 
 
 Am. Too fast, too fast. Bethink you how great my 
 Sacrifice shall be ! In honor I am 
 Known through all the land. I am a pillar 
 Viewed ; and though some sad disputes have sown spots 
 Of darkness on my fame, yet it holds much 
 Sunlike splendor, which, the present clouds dispersed, 
 Might gild the heights of monumental towers 
 In time's forth-coming honors. Bid high, young 
 Noble, or silence keep. 
 And. These thoughts, though right for you, Gusta- 
 vus, are 
 Not the, measure of my judgment. I act 
 Solely from the value to my king. And war 
 Makes lean his treasure. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TKBASON. 351 
 
 Am. My plan shall fill the royal treasure, ending 
 all expense. 
 
 And. What shall satisfy ? The hours are swift. 
 
 Am. Your blood is young. Be not so fast. I add, 
 The hazards I do run ; for small mishap 
 Doth oft the weighty scheme o'erthrow, when care 
 Hath toiled and patient wrouglit ; in which disaster, 
 The heated vengeance of united millions 
 Would on me fall. 
 
 And. True. It is fit that you should count the cost. 
 A fourth point appears. How may the king's force 
 The grounds perceive ? the where to land ? the where 
 To march ? the where to strike ? 
 
 Arn. Maps ! maps ! [ Unrolls three papers. 
 
 My hand hath drawn them so exact and true, 
 That the ancient Jew, copying sacred 
 Scrolls, could not, in accuracy, be more 
 Minute. This, the where to land, this the where 
 To march, this the where to strike. And this I 
 Give, [a newspaper"] showing the plotted disposition 
 Of my troops. 
 
 And. Wonderfully correct. 
 
 Arn. Aye, speaking my better skill in words, do 
 I not evince the perfect skill of 
 
 And.- Treason [ 
 
 Arn. [Angry.} Sir, are you an Englishman ? 
 
 And. I glory in the name. 
 
 Arn. Then denominate this great revolt.. 
 
 And. It is rebellion. 
 
 Am. If you are an Englishman, this makes not 
 Half your vision. On the ruins of your 
 Mighty king, new government it rears. 
 
852 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 And. It is a general Treason. 
 
 Arn. That treason Ihetray ; that treason, steeped 
 In crime, I here forsake. If a general 
 Treason, then am I a treason- G^ewemZ.^ 
 I am the Prodigal homeward moving ; 
 So make merry and rejoice. To murder 
 Sucking babes, their brains dashing on the wall, 
 To dance the sighs and screams of dying souls. 
 To sunder time-hallowed ties and pile 
 Up burning heaps of orphan bodies, I 
 Well could do if need required. But this, this 
 
 And. Sir, once more I tell you, 
 And I do it reverently, proclaim 
 Your terms. A nation is your hearer. 
 
 Arn. He who thus a mighty work begins, his 
 Mind should cool, giving to fancy and to 
 Hotter blood the sterner checks of will. One 
 Mighty reason let me add. In the war 
 That shakes the nations now, I on your side 
 A double host would prove, knowing well 
 The secret springs, the lightning shifts, that mark 
 A Yankee's tact ; a knowledge this in which 
 Your ablest men are dolts. 
 
 And. Announce your terms. Patience is waning 
 fast. 
 
 Arn. Great wealth and honors should crown this 
 grand surrender. 
 
 And. [ Writes a sum and an office on apiece of paper, 
 passing it to him as a proposal.'] Will that suffice ? 
 
 Am. {_Scorns the offer, dropping the paper at his 
 feet.] Never. You forget that I am General Arnold. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 353 
 
 • 
 
 And, [ Writes again, doubling the sum and naming 
 the office of Major Creneral in the British Army.'] 
 This is my highest sum. This refused, I 
 Leave you unrevealed, to fight against my king. 
 
 Am. Hark ! I heard a voice beneath. \_They listen. 
 
 And. A voice ! What said it ? 
 
 Am. It hollowly sounded, Conspirators ! 
 
 And. List ! Methinks I hear. 
 
 Am. It may be a freak of imagination. [^Eeads. 
 A " Major General ! " The doubled sum ! 
 
 '[Fause. Andre' looks indifferent and firm. 
 I — I — I — accept ; then shall my revenge 
 Be a sea of nectar. Deliciously, 
 
 deliciously will I drink it all. 
 
 The nation on whose altars I have served 
 
 And bled, is thine. Come, take it, thou brave young 
 
 Man, and on the crazy ruins of revolt 
 
 Plant the Lion's standard .strong. To-morrow 
 
 Land your troops, take our stores, our ordnance, 
 
 And our men, our ofiScers, whose presence 
 
 1 will misdirect ; take the Hudson all. 
 
 And each dependent post. All shall then be 
 Ready. To-morrow ! _ 
 
 And. I am still in the American lines. 
 
 \\Ex'pressive of fear. 
 
 Am. Perhaps they may row you to the Vulture. 
 
 And. Perhaps ! Is this my condition ? My God, 
 How great have been my ventures ! 
 
 Am. Then across the river a friend shall guide 
 You ; and via the White Plains on horse, you 
 May safely reach the city. Here is your 
 
354 THE HIGHLAND TEEASOlf. 
 
 Pass. These maps that show the disposition 
 Of my troops, the strong redoubts, and all that 
 Victors need to know, put next your sole ; for 
 Sharp suspicion scarce will think, that men, on 
 Sacred matters, tread. 
 
 [^Talces off his boots and secretes them. 
 I must hie me to the Highlands. Here two 
 Nations met and bargained ; here two nations 
 Shake their friendly hands ; here two nations now 
 Do separate, again to meet in one 
 Firm unison forever. Adieu, till 
 We more joyful meet in the victorious 
 Highlands. 
 
 And. Adieu. [Uxit Arnold. 
 
 Still insecure. If I have dangers tempted 
 Beyond the scope of counsels given, let 
 Me brave them wisely, hoping a work to 
 Do, that over my path may rise an arch 
 Triumphal, as I reenter London. [^EMt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Tarrytown, east of the Hudson a few hun- 
 dred yards. 
 [^The road crosses a small broo7c,from each side 
 of which the ground rises into a hill covered with 
 trees and underbrush. Eight rods south of the 
 brooh, on the west side of the road, were hidden, 
 "Williams, Paulding and Van Wert, the cap- 
 tors of Andre'. 
 'Will. Here, neighbor, let us watch ; let us take 
 seats under this goodly tree, this old ash. Here we 
 
■THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 365 
 
 can see spies and plunderers if they pass. The oow 
 hoys have driven many a fourfooter through these parts 
 to the enemy ; and there have bin fellers through this 
 pass, who with Merican faces had news and hearts with 
 the Britishers. But let 'em try it now, \^pnming their 
 guns] if they will. 
 
 Faul. Passing, we see him, and seeing, we hail him. 
 Is 't best to hail each passing stranger ? 
 
 Van W. Yes, unless we know him ; for many dan- 
 gerous bodies pass this way. If they 're good, they '11 
 . thank us for it ; if bad, we gain our ends. So hail 'em 
 one, so hail 'em all. 
 
 All. Hail all, all hail. 
 
 Will. As none are passing, let us try a hand at 
 cards. We are good volunteers. Come, for a touch 
 o' whist, old sledge, or poket — come, deal out, deal 
 out. 
 
 Paul. {^Dealing.'] Hearts do trump. 
 
 Will. Who goes ? A footman. Ho ! fellow ; stand 
 upon your life ! [ Presenting Ms gun. ] Can ye 
 answer four questions, if asked upon your honor ? 
 
 Foot. I guess I can. 
 
 Will. Wal, whithgr boj^nd ? What's your aim ? 
 What name do ye sign ? "An' to which party do ye be- 
 long, hey ? 
 
 Foot. I'm bound to the White Plains. My name is 
 
 Ned White. I go to get news for Major Talmage. 
 
 My party is the American.' Can you let a feller go, 
 
 ' after he has told lou the truth ? Pity if ye can't. 
 
 *' yfrn. Pass on. iExit Foot. 
 
356 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Paul. Hearts were trumps ; and the stranger, put to 
 his trumps, proved, honest-hearted. 
 
 Van W. There 'go three more ! [ Thet/ rise,'] Von 
 Peters, Sterling, and VonVelt — true blue — pass on. 
 Hearts trump ; and all are honest-hearted. But all 's 
 confused. [_Deals again.'] Clubs ! dark card he. 
 
 Paul. There goes a gentleman. Stand, upon your 
 life. IPresenting Ms gun ; he comes near on horse.] 
 
 And. Gentlemen, I hope you belong to our party. 
 
 Paul. I suppose we do. What party ? 
 
 And. The lower party. 
 
 Paul. That 's it exactly. 
 
 And. I am an offieer in Britain's cause ; 
 In the country I have been, on business 
 Important to our king. Detain me not 
 One moment. \^He takes out a costly gold watch. 
 
 Will. [Low to his, comrades.] Good evidence ; for 
 even Washington only fobs a silver turnip. 
 
 Van W. He is a Britisher. 
 
 Paul. Sir, we order you to dismount. 
 
 And. [Dismounts.] My God, anything I must do 
 to get along. [Tries to laugh. 
 
 Beware how you detain moy! For General 
 Arnold I am agent ; to Dobl5S's Ferry 
 I am bound. Here is his pass. 
 
 [Hands 'Pkgl-di&g his pass. 
 
 Paul. [Reads.] Permit Mr. John Anderson to 
 pass the guards to the White Plains, or below if he 
 chooses, he being on public business ^y miy directiofc' 
 
 B. Arnold, Maj. Q-en. ' 
 
 This reads well ; but not a minute ago you said you 
 
THE HISHLAND JEEASON. 367 
 
 was a British officer ; and Arnold don't employ Brit- 
 ish officers to get news for him. Any two facts, sir, 
 wherever you find 'em, will splice ; -and unless you can 
 join these, one to the other, which, I would risk a cask 
 of John Barleycorn, lies not in your nice little brains 
 to do, we will hold you in suspicion. 
 
 And. That I said merely to get along. 
 
 Faul. But you looked as honest then as you do 
 now; and since you stand 'tween two statements 
 that your wits cannot join, we will examine your per- 
 son. Take off your hat, coat and vest. [^He does so.; 
 they search his pockets, turn inside out the binding in 
 his [hat, find nothing to eonfirrn , suspicion.] We 
 find nothing bad yet; perhaps, Mr. Anderson, you 
 are a good fellow, tho'f you're honest, our search does 
 you no harm, for gold never grew black by rubbing. 
 
 And. Gentlemen, you are wonderful searchers ; 
 I admire your thoroughness. L^t me go. 
 
 WilL I see no cause. [5e makes ready to depart. 
 
 Van W. It may be he has got. it in his boots. 
 
 Paul. Likenough. 
 
 And. Folly, g^ntlem||^"; you must be satisfied. 
 Why the bdunds of reason pap ? w 
 
 Will. Pull off your boota^PfWe must be certain. .^ 
 
 And. Why persist in troubling me ? Already has 
 Your search been ample. The business that #" 
 Forward urges me, is one that calls for 
 Haste and speed. I cannot longer wait. . 
 
 JPaul. Strangejfabe seated. I will be your humble 
 •servarffc, even youjroootjack, sir. l_ffauls it off, turns it 
 lottevj, side up, thrusts his hand into it. 
 
358 THE HIGHLAND TKEASON. 
 
 And. Sir, an empty boot ! Let me fill it. 
 
 Van W. I heard a rustlin' in the stocking. 
 
 Paul. Then pull off your nice gray stocking. It 's 
 long time since we backwoodsmen have seen a really 
 white foot ; come, if there 's nothing at your sole, then 
 your soul is free from fault, [fizs countenance elianges, 
 with a shade of oppressive foreboding ; he pulls it off and 
 hands it to Pauldins, who turning it inside out lets fall 
 three papers, at which all the captors seems surprised.'] 
 Three papers ! What a strange pocketbook, Mr. An- 
 derson, is this. [ITe picks them up and reads.] All 
 about West Point! Pull ofiF the other. You're a 
 patent right on the. mail. \_Se obeys, and Paulding 
 takes out three other papers.] West Point agin. You 
 carry more matter at your feet than many do at their 
 heads. These papers have a meaning ; and though 
 I 'm no philosopher, I hnow that you are a British spy. 
 
 Will. He 's a spy. 
 
 Van W. And a Britisher. When d' ye see Arnold ? 
 
 And. Gentlemen, I am in your power. But 
 Let me to your bosoms make appeal. To 
 You it matters little what I am. My 
 precious freedom let me nurchase, since I 
 T)an do it after that generous and 
 Princely sort, that gladdens the heart of all 
 Good volunteers ; for truly to me my 
 Liberty is more than money's worth. 
 
 Paul. What, sir, will ypu give for your release ? 
 
 And. This noble horse that bore nie hither ; this. 
 Bridle, saddle, watch, all which are many "• 
 Guineas worth. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 359 
 
 Van W. Is this all you 'd give ? 
 
 And. I would give more. 
 
 Van W. Say what. 
 
 And. I would one hundred guineas add. 
 
 Paul. Tour freedom is of great concern. 
 
 And. Truly is it, 
 
 Paul. What more ? 
 
 And. Any amount that you may name of goods 
 And money, to be sent as you desire. 
 What say you, good volunteers ? 
 
 Paul. I would not release you for ten thousand 
 guineas. 
 
 Will. Nor I. 
 
 Van W. Nor I. 
 
 Paul. Come, go with us to North-Castle. Colonel 
 Jameson will know the matter. 
 
 Van W. When d' ye see Arnold ? 
 
 Will. Did he write the whole on 't ? 
 
 And. Pray with questions do not importune me. 
 I am friendless and alone. 
 
 [^Aside.'] 0, Sir Henry's sound advice ! Now I see 
 Its excellence too late, and only pray 
 The favoring angels of my unseen 
 Fate, to gather near ; for darkness walks before me. 
 
 [^Uxeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Mobinson's Souse. A room, 
 
 Unter Arnold. 
 
 Arn. Deception is the warp and thread of being ; 
 The sky is fickle, the elements are 
 Traitors all. The spider plots his living 
 
360 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 In deceit, and in the air tlie kingly 
 
 Birds, with cruel art, on weaker ones descend, 
 
 And gorge their appetite. Beasts and fish, to whom 
 
 Pertains some lordly sway, turn land and sea 
 
 Into a fitting stage for treacherous drama, 
 
 Whose plot the Almighty laid. Therefore do 
 
 I stand in Nature's centre, my foot feeling 
 
 Her heart-beat whilst I scheme. 
 
 Great fears do oft the great event forerun. 
 
 Oh 'tis awfully nigh in failure or success. 
 
 But he is in the city safe ; and ere 
 
 This new-born sun shall throw his farewell beam 
 
 At eventide upon these mountains wild, 
 
 It shall see me well avenged, and newly 
 
 Robed in wealth and honors. If after all 
 
 My sleepless care, this plot shall fail, then sink 
 
 The stars that rule my fortune evermore. 
 
 Blot out their lustre from the sky. 
 
 Enter Oriana, seating herself hy the window. 
 
 Oriana, this day is lovely. 
 
 Ori. Was a lovelier e'er of autumn born ? 
 The sky so clear and softly blue, the sun 
 So fair, the river so calmly pure, these 
 Venerable mountains so full of aged 
 Gravity, and this teaching stillness of 
 All the Highland scenes, which with the sweet voice 
 Of the autumn bird so thrill my heart with 
 Nature's joy and holy eloquence, that 
 Methinks my conscious soul now beats in union 
 With the stars, and could chant their joyous hymn. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 361 
 
 Oh, how I love the speech of all such cloudless 
 Openings of day ! Husband, see on yon 
 Beetling cliflf the Eagle gazing on his 
 Shadow in the stream. 
 
 Am. I saw him, and wished myself happy as he. 
 Ori. Why not as happy ? I am happier. 
 
 Am. Ah, I tread the rough and stormy way of war. 
 All is so uncertain. 
 
 Ori. I know that war's dread tempests do blast 
 the rose 
 Of being, quenching that peaceful spirit 
 Through which nature seems an angel to us. 
 But when this war shall end, then, each autumn 
 Let us come, and taintless, taste ffie joy of 
 Nature, as she sends her rosy light to 
 Blush upon the hills. What say you ? 
 
 Am. 'T is wild conjecture. We know not the births 
 Of time, no, not of this day. 
 
 Ori. This day ! what ? 
 
 Am. I know not what. I hope more even than 
 thou. 
 
 Ori. Mysteries hover about you, like sunset 
 In the darker clouds. 
 
 Am, " He maketh darkness his pavilion ; yea, 
 Thick darkness his covering. " 'T is Godlike 
 Not to be wholly seen and read. 
 
 Ori. Washington and La Fayette breakfast with us. 
 Washington — [Arnold starts unconsciously. 
 
 Am. Where is Washington ? 
 
 Ori, Not arrived yet. 
 16 
 
362 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 l_Servant apprises them hreahfast is reaS,^ 
 With the two Aides-de-camp of Washington, 
 they sit down to hreahfast. 
 Am. Gentlemen, I dislike the French alliance. 
 It robs us of the glory ; and France is 
 Our old and crafty foe. 
 
 Ist Aide, (who is Samilton.) But assistance now 
 is needed ; 
 And to reject assistance Trhen it comes, 
 Is pride we cannot cherish. 
 
 Ori. Surely La Fayette is noble. I much 
 Admire him. 
 
 Am. Nearly as good as your friend Andr^. 
 Ori. You know I am slow to see his equal ; 
 Yet I like the General. 
 
 \^Unter a Messenger, handing Arnold a let- 
 ter from Col. Jameson, apprising him that 
 Andre' is taken, and that the papers found on 
 his person are sent to General Washington. 
 He is excited and agitated as he reads, hut so 
 controls himself as not to attract notice. Me con- 
 tinues eating a while, then suddenly rises from 
 the table. 
 
 Am. Gentlemen, over to West Point I am 
 Called most unexpectedly. My absence 
 You will then excuse ; soon I will return 
 To receive his Excellency General Washington. 
 
 [^Leaves for Mrs. Arnold's room somewhat hastily, 
 0, death and ruins ! Andr^ 's taken' ! My 
 Plan, so costly in its thought and care, is 
 Known, is brought into open day. Hell to 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 363 
 
 Infinity dilates. 0, how short the sight 
 Of man, when trifles sport with all his schemes. 
 Cornelia ! [_Enter the servant girl. 
 
 Go call your mistress quickly. [Exeunt servant. 
 
 Misery, Misery, I am thy son forever. 
 \_Enter Mrs. Arnold. 
 Ori. What so shakes your frame ? You horrify me. 
 Arn. Oriana ! Prepare your spirit for 
 Terrors, aye, for terrors ! \_Ilmhracing her."] Angel 
 
 of innocence, 
 Your lot is darkened sadly. 
 
 Ori. Sweet Heaven, give strength to weakness. 
 Pray, what storms are raging in thee ? Tell me, what ? 
 
 Arn. Sweet Oriana, I love thee ever. 
 But thunder shall utter it, ages will 
 Repeat it, mountains and valleys shall echo 
 The cry, rolling like the strain of angry 
 Oceans, from myriads of souls, that I, your 
 Husband, am guilty of wha;t the whole world 
 Adjudges Treason ! 
 
 Ori. God have i^rcy on us ! 
 
 [Partly swoons away. 
 Am. Andr^, your good and much-remembered 
 friend, 
 With all my papers trusted, is taken, 
 And through the rigorous rules of war, I 
 Fear will hang upon a gibbet. 
 
 Ori. Earth and heaven and sea are each of ire ' 
 Bereft, to have rained such horrors on us. 
 What more shall yet in thunder burst upon us ? 
 Tell me. I will drink thy cup of misery 
 
364 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 To its last dregs, its awful, bitter dregs, 
 Trusting in Thee, Great Father-King above. 
 
 Am. Let none for hours your face behold, lest in 
 Your storm of grief they read the horrid tale. 
 Oriana, dear Oriana, 
 
 Your heart prepare ! My life, my all on a few 
 Brief hours depend, if in the doubtful play 
 Of chances I shall reach the Vulture. Kiss 
 For me the cherub child, and to you, in 
 The stern necessity that rules, I say 
 Farewell, perhaps, forever. [_JEmhraces her.'] [Exit. 
 
 [_She falls senseless. 
 [Exeunt Aides-de-camp from another part of the house. 
 
 Scene III. — Another room in Hobinson's house. 
 
 Enter General Washington, 1st Aide-de-camp and 
 Suite. 
 
 Wash. Where is General Arnold ? 
 
 1st Aide. Sudden as the call that summoned him, was 
 His departure ; but from West Point, whence came 
 The call, he soon returns to greet you. 
 
 Wash. I know the skill and great despatch with 
 which 
 He executes. I am glad he is gone 
 Before us ; let us follow, and meet him 
 There. Among these mountains, on a morn so 
 Still, the salute of cannon by which we 
 Shall be greeted, will be a noble welcome. 
 So far as I have noticed, order in 
 All the works prevails. [Exewni all save 1st Aide. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 365 
 
 1st Aide. [Alone.'\ We have reached the crisis of 
 affairs, in 
 
 Which solicitude grows doubly anxious, 
 
 And expectation decisive answer waits. 
 
 A few more battles turn the scale. 
 
 \Enter a Messenger, with papers and two 
 letters in the form of a sealed package, directed 
 to Washington. Aide receives, opens, and 
 reads. Exit Messenger. Se first reads the six 
 papers. 
 
 This on West Point ! Also this, and this, this. 
 This. To the unacquainted, or as hints 
 To some new commandant, these might be good 
 And useful. But what do they mean ? Why send 
 Such scraps to Washington ? Him they cannot 
 Teach. Perhaps these letter^ may explain. 
 
 \Reads first Jameson's letter, stating that 
 these papers were found in the stockings of a 
 British soldier on his way to New Yorh. Se 
 next reads Atsd^^'s letter to Gen. Washington. 
 Is this a phantom ? It is real. I 
 Will my words refrain, though I have tidings, 
 That once expressed, will through all the nation 
 Fly, turning millions of earnest hearts to ^i"" 
 Burning altars of avenging wrath. I 
 Wait the return of Washington. \Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. — A place near the river. 
 
 Wash. Surely there is some mistake. I met not 
 General Arnold ; nor has he these two 
 
366 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Days been seen about the fortress. Perhaps 
 He is at home. 
 
 l^nter Hamilton, 1st Aide, hastily; leclcons 
 Washington away from the company, and 
 speaks to him in low and hasty tones. 
 
 Sam. I hold important news. 
 
 Wash. Has General Arnold returned ? 
 
 Ham. He has not ; pray look at what I hold. These 
 Six papers were sent to you. 
 
 Wash. \_Reads.'] 1. " Artillery Orders, showing 
 how each corps shall dispose of itself in case of alarm. 
 2. An estimate offerees at West Point and its depend- 
 encies. 3. An estimate of the number of men requisite 
 to man the works. 4. A return of the ordnance in the 
 different forts, redoubts and batteries. 6. Remarks on 
 West Point. 6. A report of a council of war lately 
 held at Head Quarters " — What ! I sent this to Gen. 
 Arnold a few days since. [Hamilton now offers Mm 
 Jameson's letter.] " These papers were taken from 
 the stockings of a man calling himself Anderson, on his 
 way to New York." [Hamilton hands himthe pass.] 
 "Permit Mr. John Anderson to pass to the White 
 Plains." [Hamilton now hands him Andre's letter.'} 
 " It is to vindicate my fame that I speak, and not to 
 solicit security. The person in your possession is 
 Major John Andre, Adjutant-General to the British 
 Army." [He beckons aside La Fayette ancZ Knox.] 
 lExeunt all but these two, Washington and 
 Hamilton. 
 The case is plain. General Arnold has 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 367 
 
 Deserted to the enemy ! Whom can 
 
 We trust now General Arnold has failed 
 
 Us ? [^Apause.] He is rowing to the Vulture. Go, 
 
 Hamilton, arrest his onward course.- At 
 
 Verplank's arrest him. No violence of 
 
 Treatment let the citizens bestow. Bring 
 
 Him safely hither, that justice may its 
 
 Power impress on all who see his fate. 
 
 Sam. Swiftly as winds obey their Lord, I thy 
 Word will execute. \^JExit. 
 
 Wash. The whole forces in instant readiness 
 Must now be put ; for no one knows the wideness 
 Of the plot ; and assault may be intended. 
 Nothing can now surprise us. His warm zeal 
 This post to gain, now has explanation. 
 I offered him a noble place, a place 
 In nearness to myself, the command of 
 The left division ; and though to action 
 Lively had his every impulse led, 
 And prospect*pointed on to stirring times. 
 He sighed and plead for this quiet post. 
 
 La Fay. A hidden demon is disclosed. At this 
 Hellish deed, his brains these many months have 
 Beaten. He asked my spies to know, and when 
 Of Guichen I had spoken, conscious of 
 His guilt, I saw him blush and roll his guilty 
 Eyes. When you eyed the Vulture in low tones 
 Speaking, he was suspicious and uneasy. 
 Which now appears the fearful twinges of 
 His guilt. for a gallows high heaven 
 To touch, that on it might hang the plotting 
 
.368 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Villain, for ages blackening in th' sun, 
 The rebuke and terror of all imposture. 
 
 Wash. My trust is in the Highest ; 
 Though men may treacherous prove, plotting death 
 Upon their allies, the unseen Worker 
 Shall their aims despoil. Thy gracious hand, 
 Providence, hath radiant wrought. What now ? 
 
 Writer a Soldier. 
 
 iSol. I see the Major Andr^ when delivered, and 
 will yer Excellency believe it, the captors o' the fellow 
 brought him to North-Castle, showed the writins they 
 had tuk from his stockins to Col. Jameson, all in Ar- 
 nol's handwritin', ye see ; an' stid of keepin' it all a 
 secret from the traitor, the Colonel, believin' it all a plan 
 of the British to break up a 'Merican Gineral, sent the 
 papers to yer Excellency, and ordered a letter.and 
 Anderson to Robinson's house, so that had it not a bin 
 for Major Talmadge, who plead up that Arnol' possibly 
 might be a rogue, and got the pris'ner^ent to Salem, 
 both the spirators had gone to the Vulter. But he 's 
 safe kep below. 
 
 Wash. Go quickly ; to the Highlands the prisoner 
 Bring. Under a strong guard conduct him. [^Uxeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — A room in Mobinson's house. 
 Miter Oriats A, frantic with excitement. 
 Ori. Who can tell my earthly doom ? The future, 
 That to others is a summer's green, to 
 Me is arched with darkness. for one ray 
 Of hopeful light. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 369 
 
 Enter Washington and La Fayette. 
 
 Wash. I am glad to meet you. 
 
 La Fay. I am happy to see you. 
 
 Ori. But spare, spare my guiltless child. 
 
 Wash. God bless the child. God succor thee. 
 
 Ori. Your cruel plots are on us laid. For me 
 No prayer I ofiFer ; but spare, in mercy 
 Spare my guiltless child. It cannot know its 
 Father's wrong. [ We&ps aloud. 
 
 Wash. We are still your friends. Some recent grief 
 your 
 Reason harms. Be quiet and assured. 
 
 Ori. Sweet Heaven, can you yet give light and solace 
 To unprotected ones ? Is there one ray 
 Of joy in all your stars for me ? Then come 
 Now to the heart which love hath torn, and sorrow 
 Darkened. It comes not. [ Weeps. ^ Shame me not, 
 Nor strive to tear me from him ; for I loved him in 
 His glory, I loved him in his fiery 
 Trial, and I will love him evermore. 
 The whole earth may hiss and frown, burying 
 His name in infamy's dark vaults forever, 
 Yet will I love my warrior husband. \JEmt. 
 
 [Exeunt Washington and La Fayette. 
 Enter Andre' and two Quards. 
 And. What house is this ? 
 
 1st Guard. It is Robinson's house, occupied till 
 recently by General Arnold, who, being born under an 
 unknown star, named Narrow Escape, got to the Vul- 
 ture and thence to New York, where he is hand in 
 
 16* 
 
370 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 glove witli his country's enemies. Could we catch him, 
 a Board of War would soon render a verdict, whose 
 execution would send him near to the king he serves, 
 I guess. 
 
 And. I would see His Excellency, General Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 2d Guard. This I learn will not be granted. 
 
 And. Then I have cause for much regret. 
 Pray, whg,t obstacle should prevent ? 
 
 Id Guard. I know no reason. I only know the 
 fact. 
 
 And. Misfortune and not guilt has brought me here. 
 All I did was but to serve my king, and win 
 That glory in achievement, which in a 
 Warrior's eyes eclipses midday suns 
 And all the troops of autumn stars. But I 
 Am now a prisoner, to my fate submissive ; 
 And though my life for many years should last. 
 This rare kindness from those my foes in war, 
 Which has breathed like vernal zephyrs 
 On my heart, shall always live in memory. 
 Your obedient servant. 
 
 Unter an Officer. 
 Off. I hope I see you well. 
 
 And. Very well. I hope before long to join my 
 friends in the lower country. What do you think will 
 be my fate ? - 
 
 Off. I know not, the Board of War must answer. 
 Not unjust, I hope. 
 
 And. I trust I will soon be free. 
 
 Off. Many questions will be asked you. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 371 
 
 And. Of myself, sir, I am most free to speak. 
 Of others, most reserved. 
 
 Off. Came you from the Vulture under the sanction 
 of a flag ? 
 And. Surely not ; else I might have so returned. 
 0^. Were these papers found upon your person ? 
 And. Yes, by my captors. 
 
 Off. Did General Arnold 
 
 And. I cannot answer. Of myself alone 
 I freely speak. 
 
 Off. [To the guards.] Presently you will conduct 
 the prisoner to the Board of War. Is Major Andr^ 
 ready ? 
 
 And. To answer for all his conduct. 
 
 [^Unter Oriana, who offers her hand to An- 
 dee'. After a few moments of silence, she ut- 
 ters low moans of grief, her eyes covered with a 
 handkerchief, and without uttering a word 
 leaves the room. He turns aside and weeps. 
 
 I saw her at the Meschianza, * when 
 In youthful prime, her life was set in rainbows ; 
 Her spirit buoyant as the eagle's wing, 
 Her hopes fresh as fountains ever flowing, 
 Her beauty like the evening star, ruling 
 The eye of all observers, she forward 
 Looked, shedding on future time the baptism 
 Of her spirit. From life to death, from height 
 To depth, the vision now is changed ; and I 
 Am here the child of Fate. 
 
 * A festival held at her father's, in Philadelphia, in honor of 
 Lord Howe. 
 
S72 THE HIGHLAND TEEASON. 
 
 1st Cruard. Is Major Andr^ ready to appear before 
 his judges ? 
 
 And. Yes, and without the least disguise. The book 
 Of fate no passages contains that Andr^ 
 Fears to read. [^Exeunt Andkb' and Chuards. 
 
 JEnter two Officers. 
 
 Off. Arnold, the base traitor, the incarnate 
 Devil, to Washington has written. First 
 Hefatliers all the guilt of this detested 
 Treason. Second, he threatens, if Andre's 
 Blood is spilled, to cruelly revenge it 
 On all who fall within his power. Third, 
 He states that Andr^ landed with a flag — 
 A flag of truce. Fourth, he resigns his oflSce 
 In the army ; and, fifth, declares his wife an 
 Angel, of his devices ignorant. 
 
 2c? Off. He meets reward. I have heard the voice of 
 Mighty waters echoing down the vale ; 
 I have listened to the thunder as it 
 Rocked the hills together ; but louder are 
 The peals of wrath bursting on the traitor. 
 
 1«( Off. Millions are thirsting for his blood. A plan 
 Is laid to get him ; then Andr6 may be freed. 
 
 2d Off. Heaven speed it. An example must be 
 Made. Death, the grim persuader, must speak in 
 Terrors to the false. 
 
 that the dark-eyed traitor might a trumpet 
 Be to the mouth of death, that justice may 
 Pierce the world with its echo. 
 
 1st Off. Clinton still hopes to save his Adjutant. 
 
 2d Off. The majesty of law is as the gods. 
 One fate it deals to every spy. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 373 
 
 Scene _^VI. — New York. A room in Sir Senry 
 ClintorCs house. 
 
 Olint. When will they liberate my Adjutant ? 
 
 Am. Quite soon, I am assured. They mil awhile 
 Retain him, say one month or so, that they 
 May some thought of dignity sustain, or great 
 Prizes gain for his release. 
 
 Clint. Sir, I cannot lose this priceless man. Three 
 Have I deputed, with evidence amply 
 Armed, to go and prove his innocence. What 
 May we further do ? 
 
 Am. I have threatened Washington. I have 
 Fathered all the wrong. Andr^, sir, will be released. 
 
 Clint. Sir, it is due yourself to say your name 
 Is roughly handled. 
 
 Am. My name ? For what ? 
 
 Clint. You returned not Andr^ to the Vulture. 
 
 Am. Then accuse the stubborn oarsmen. 
 
 Clint. Oh my noble Adjutant ! His like I 
 Ne'er shall see. Let me hope in his release. 
 
 Scene VH. — Tappan. A room in the prison. 
 
 [J3e is dressed in the full uniform of a Brit- 
 ish Officer. • , 
 And. A prisoner of hope with fate content, 
 I await the verdict ; knowing well 
 That bravery of heart and conscious right 
 Were ne'er subdued. But for slip'ry accident, 
 I had here a conquerer been ; yet to 
 Him who knoweth all, does chance pertain ? Nay, 
 
374 THE HIGHLAND TKEASOIT. 
 
 He knoweth all. Mother, sister, Honora, [ Weeps, 
 Over the sea ! Who comes ? 
 
 Miter an Officer and several others. 
 I hope, gentlemen, I see you well. No 
 Doubt you come to announce the verdict. 
 
 Off. This is my solemn mission. \_Looking sadly. 
 And. Proceed. 
 
 Off. It is decided that Major Andke' is a spy ; and 
 that as such he ought to suffer death. \^A deep silence. 
 And. [ Very serene.'] I am ready, gentlemen, at any 
 moment. 
 
 Enter Andrb''s servant, tvho bursts into tears. 
 Leave me, until you can more manly seem. 
 
 [^Exit Servant, wailing. 
 Still, there yet a choice remains. Washington 
 In clemency of heart will this confer. 
 That I may die a soldier's death, and not 
 As some felonious outlaw upon 
 A gallows perish. To die I fear not. [^Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VIII. — Tappan. An open place. 
 
 [A large procession is heard advancing. Offi- 
 cers of the highest ranks present. Music is 
 hec^rd at a distance — a solemn death-march is 
 played. 
 Enter two Officers, a Colonel, and a Major. 
 Maj. There is the spot where Andr^ dies. Since no 
 One knows how far the treason spreads, 'tis meet 
 To hear death's silent oratory. 
 Col. Aye, death must speak. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TKBASON. 375 
 
 Maj. Arnold cannot be caught. All means have failed- 
 Col. So Andr^ dies. 
 Maj. Because a spy. 
 I own his fine nobility of parts ; 
 His soul ingenuous ; 
 His good address and aspiration high ; 
 Yet a want of foresight, 
 And less independency of will than 
 To greatness is accustomed, gently mark 
 Him premature, unskilled to deal in policy 
 Profound. [Pointing to the swn.J Heaven's glowing 
 Eye, which alike beholds the bloom of beauty and the 
 
 death 
 Of kings, witnesses a deed which ages 
 Shall remember. 
 
 [Music near. Procession passes along the 
 stage ; Andre' in front, between two officers arm 
 in arm. They pause. Andre' stands alone. 
 He suddenly loohs up and discovers a gallows, 
 and starts hack. 
 And. What ! Am I to perish on a gibbet ? 
 I am a soldier. How then a felon 
 Doomed ? As a soldier let me die. 
 
 [There is no reply: a deep solemnity and 
 silence follow. Many weep for thi sufferer. H6 
 looks confused; rolls over a stone before him 
 with his foot; chokes somewhat in attempting to 
 speak. Collects himself arid says: 
 It is but a momentary pang. I 
 Will submit. 
 
 [His servant stands near, holding his clothes, 
 
 Maj. Has Major Andr^ aught to say ? 
 
376 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 And. I have this to say, 
 
 My fate I do not mourn ; for the Heaven 
 
 Whose light is on us, bears -witness to my 
 
 Honor. Officers, whose tears and kindness 
 
 Warm my bosom in this shade of death, farewell 
 
 Forever. [-He hows — ^ they how, taking off their hats. 
 
 Soldiers, whose valor moistens this fatal 
 
 Hour, farewell forever. 
 
 [Bows to them — they return the courtesy, 
 talcing off their hats. Bids adieu to his servant. 
 
 Thou green earth, whose sunblest bosom I have 
 
 Joyful trodden, which to me beautiful 
 
 Was and holy, farewell forever ! 
 
 And ye nightly stars and various clouds, 
 
 Which from childish years I have watched entranced, 
 
 Farewell forever ! 
 
 Weep not. For in Hope's sublimity there 
 
 Lives a voice which tells me 
 
 That soon mine eyes to a universe of 
 
 Brighter stars and fairer suns shall open. 
 
 Of sweeter flowers and fresher rainbows 
 
 Than e'er in temporal earth and heavens were set. 
 
 [Takes a likeness from his hosom, looks at it 
 with intense interest, then replaces it. 
 
 Honora! [Low.'] 
 
 [ The gallows is pushed backward so that a 
 part is seen by the audience. Se takes out two 
 large white handkerchiefs from his pockets, gives 
 one to the Provost Mashal, who loosely pinions 
 his arms. Andre' takes off his hat and stock, 
 and with the other bandages his own eyes. He 
 lifts the bandage. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 377 
 
 I pray you to bear me -witness, that I 
 As a brave man die. 
 
 \MounU the scaffold, puts the rope around 
 his neck unassisted hy the executioner. He falls 
 and expires. Cheers, soldiers, and others weep. 
 Maj. Still Andre's death is glory given, 
 Since all the hatred toward the traitor burns ; 
 And sympathy shall fondly linger on 
 His virtues. Pilgrims shall hither come. 
 
 [jBKs coffin is home along the stage. 
 Strangers on this grave shall weep, 
 And on the Highland Treason think, whose dark 
 And selfish plottings brought him here. 
 
 \_The procession returns. 
 
 Scene IX. — New York, A room in Sir Henry Olin- 
 ton^s house. 
 
 Arnold, alone. 
 
 Arn. If to revenge, disappointment her swift 
 Addition makes, the compound is despair. 
 He who tumbles down some craggy height, his 
 Life forsakes ; or if he lives, the dizzy 
 Senses make him conscious of a floating 
 World. So he who headlong dashes from his 
 Lofty scheme is much confused. Beneath 
 The courteous show, I see a vengeance 
 Lurks. Thus the whelming tide of love to him 
 A maelstrom proves to me, to whom no remedy 
 Belongs save to drown their murmur with greater 
 Noise. 
 
S78 THE HISHLAWD TREASON. 
 
 Enter Sir H. Clinton, and several officers. 
 
 [The officers carry an expression of disdain 
 to Arnold. 
 
 Clint. What news about my Adjutant ? 
 
 Am. I have assurance of his release. 
 
 Clint. Joyful. Heaven grant it. 
 
 Am. His blood will not be spilled. 
 
 Clint. Somehow they charge you with his fate. 
 
 Am. Andr^ erred in saying he was a British officer. 
 Had he shown my pass, calling himself American, he 
 had gone forward unharmed ; or if they had taken him 
 to the British camp, his friends had saved him. You 
 did not send my equal. 
 
 Clint. For such business I did not your equal 
 Have ! But I send you into the war. 
 
 Am. Good. I would the hours were battles. 
 
 Clint. But this restriction on you rests. Nothing 
 Execute without two others asking. 
 
 Am. I ask my pay. [Uxcited.'] 
 
 Clint. For what ? 
 
 Arn. For my allegiance. 
 
 Clint, Six thousand pounds I here count out. 
 
 \_ire counts and Arnold pockets the guineas. 
 
 1st Off. Who was it that pleased the Jews for thirty 
 pieces of silver ? 
 
 2c? Off. I know not. Did he not go to his own place ? 
 
 1st Off. He was a loving man. 
 
 2d Off. He broke his own neck. 
 
 1st Off. But who loved Caesar ? 
 
 2d Off. " Brutus is an honorable man." 
 
 Sd Off. Who was Wallenstein ? 
 
 1st Off. Wallenstein ? Who was Cataline ? 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 379 
 
 2d Off. Who broke the concord in the blissful 
 Heaven ? 
 
 Arn. [ Cries] Order ! I say, order ! 
 1st Off. Hebrews call him Satan, Greeks, Diabolos, 
 Romans, Diabolus, and Frenchmen politely say, Diable, 
 ■whilst Persians call him Ahriman, who, spelling his 
 name backwards, inverting each letter, signify his topsy- 
 turvy operations. But, pshaw for the name, so long 
 as his character makes him the first Traitor and the 
 Father of all Treason. Traitors are not orphans yet. 
 Clint. Gentlemen, an expedition awaits us ; who, 
 with Col. Arnold, your leader, will go to conquer stub- 
 born rebels ? [^All leave, bowing disdainfully. 
 Enter Andrb''s Servant, hearing his master's letter and 
 
 baggage. 
 Good fellow, where is your master ? 
 
 \_Servant bursts into tears. 
 Clint. What ! What harms your master Andr^ ? 
 When does he visit us ? soon, of course. 
 iServ. Never ! . 
 
 \_Attempts to speak, but cannot. Sands Sir 
 H. Clinton the letter. Se reads a few lines ; 
 Weeps over the intelligence given. 
 Clint. Enough. The tale is told. Andr^ they have 
 Executed. The noblest ornament of English blood 
 Has to ruthless usage fallen. We mourn his fate, 
 Making the deep silence his fitting eulogy. 
 
 \_Exit Clinton and Servant, the former ap- 
 parently indignant at Arnold. 
 Arn. The lightning gathers. 
 Burst, then, with mad eflfulgence ! A fool might 
 Ask a refuge or a friend, not I. Let 
 
380 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 The whole earth my enemy become ; turn 
 To blackness every smiling face ; 
 My bravery shall be to front the terrors 
 Of their wrath ; for in my bosom there 's one 
 Promethean spark from which to live. I 
 Claim not virtue ; yet my basis shall be 
 Inward, for I have will on which to rest. 
 My sword and war ! 
 
 \_l)raws Ms sword; makes various evolutions 
 with it in the air. 
 Sanguinary steel, thy history rebukes me. 
 I '11 bury thee out of my sight, [Throws it away. 
 
 For thou speakest of Saratoga. \_Loohs at it. 
 
 Away this weakness, for by thine edge of power 
 I will avenge the blood of Andr^. [^Violently seizes it. 
 Henceforth accustomed mercy is forgotten ; 
 I will play the untaught savage in my acts. 
 
 Scene X. — Same, An open place. 
 Enter the Yankee and the Englishman. 
 
 Tan. How now, friend John ? Does the news please 
 you, the close of war ? 
 
 Eng. Yes, if it restores to my king his lawful 
 Provinces. 
 
 Tan. It restores peace to both countries, leaving us 
 independent. The battle of Yorktown, which made 
 captives of Lord Cornwallis and seven thousand men, 
 ends the contest, so that according to agreement you 
 must bear the flag I give you. 
 
 Eng. If true, but — 
 
 Tan. Nothing is more true. In a few m hs Eng- 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. S81 
 
 and, France, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Russia, and the 
 Hollanders shall acknowledge our Independence. 
 Enter Sir. Hbistrt Clinton and some forty officers, 
 from opposite sides. 
 Clint. I announce the perils of the camp, with 
 All its strifes of war, are closed : let peace, 
 Like the winds, which, from the great Pacific 
 Blow, fan the brow of all. The sword we leave, 
 To seize the sickle and the plough ; to meet 
 The joyous wife and laughing child. Come, our 
 Mighty fleet, to sail the seas prepare. Let us 
 All to merry England go. [^Received mth joy. 
 
 Yan. [To the Eng.l The flag that you are bound 
 to bear, I hold 
 For your acceptance. Under stars and eagles 
 Make your way, showing to this assembled 
 Force that the Eagle over the Lion soars. 
 
 [He offers him a large, long shaft of hickory, 
 on which is inscribed "U Pluribus Unvm.'" 
 Three eagles, of the larger form, are pictured 
 ahove the letters, and over the eagles in a cir- 
 cular constellation appear thirteen glowing stars 
 of the first magnitude. An American hears a 
 flag on which is inscribed, " Know thyself." 
 Another, with the picture of Washington on it, 
 beneath which are the words " Reason, virtue, 
 FREEDOM." Another with the words "Govern 
 thyself." "Freedom is humanity's birth* 
 bight." Another moves along the stage hear- 
 ing a flag on which is written, " Self go vest- 
 ment IS THE ETERNAL LAW." "AMERICA IS 
 
 her own." " The future is our promise." 
 
382 THE HIGHLAND TRBASOlf. 
 
 All silent : exeuTit Englishmen on one side ; enter 
 
 Americans on the other, their countenances 
 
 bright with Joy. 
 An Amer. The sword that works its cruel sport, the 
 
 lowness 
 Of our culture proving, this redeeming 
 Trait possesses. 
 
 That the earth's great battles, by the sway of 
 Princely lords engendered, have such victories 
 Made, as turn like needles by their magnets 
 Touched, to poles of general good. Thus we 
 Gather golden fruits ; and thus Salamis, 
 Yorktown, each declare. Henceforth shall rest in 
 Peace the crimson-edged sword ; — the earth that 
 Waits for spade and plough, our laboring hands 
 Shall bless, and honest toils shall plenty yield us. 
 Thus ends the war. It ends in solemn right. 
 Though fierce the storm and dark the brooding night. 
 
 l_Uxeunt. 
 
 Scene XI. — Same. A lonely place, at twilight. 
 Enter Arnold. 
 
 Arn. My natlva land, farewell ! 
 I see the destined greatness of the cause 
 I did betray. I see that had I patient 
 Borne mine evils, and checked extravagance 
 Of life, this hour my fame had been in height 
 A pyramid, whilst the pen, which is a trumpet 
 To the world of what distinction does, would 
 To it the memory of ages give. 
 But darker prophecies like mountains rise. 
 Showing unborn millions my name to hate, , 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 383 
 
 It growing darker in time's distance. Weep 
 Not, Tier pine, but reassemble all thy 
 Powers, thou sternly smitten soul ; nor blush, 
 Nor shrink from angel's gaze, looking great 
 And small in the full face. Where shall I go ? 
 
 [_Hesitates. 
 America mortal hatred nurses ; 
 Englishmen my name despise. 
 for the desert by man untrodden ! Tear from 
 My being, Heaven, this better part. 
 And leave me that with which my acts agree. 
 Nayj I will seek my king across the seas. [_IIxit. 
 
 ScENB XII. — On the sea. The Quarter Deck. 
 
 \It is within a half hour of sunset. The 
 shy is partly clouded, and the sun shines bril- 
 liantly on the waters ; also, throws over the iso- 
 lated clouds various hues of beauty. 
 
 Captain and a Passeng^. 
 
 Pass, This, Sir, is a goodly voyage. Behold, 
 Around you gather wonders of the deep ; 
 The sun and stars, before your eyes, do constant 
 Rise and set ; and, so much beauty round you 
 Congregates, that I have marvelled oft that 
 Seamen were not angels. 
 
 Oapt. Humph ! Your wonder is a wonder. Say then 
 Their hearts are rough and honest ; but over 
 The inspiring beauty of the waves they 
 Glide with eyes of beetles. Coarseness is their 
 Mother. 
 
 Pass. Yet I have seen the poor unlettered tar. 
 
384 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 At midnight on the taffrail leaning, 
 
 In earnest study of the stars that danced 
 
 Upon their watery pavements ; 
 
 And -when the violent winds did blow, tossing 
 
 In angry sport the bounding ship, I have 
 
 Seen the kindling joy that in him wakened, 
 
 And thought that in his coarser breast there is 
 
 A home for beauty. I like the sea life. 
 
 Capt. It is both good and evil. 
 At times our heart is well resolved to bid 
 The boisterous main adieu ; to seek th' shade 
 Of goodly trees, and ask, through spade and plough, 
 A blessing of the earth ; but when we leave 
 The ocean's storm, resting ourselves in quiet 
 Life, again the venturous spirits tempt, 
 And we its scenes renew. 
 
 Pass. The sea is life-like. Islands rising in 
 The watery waste, coasts that frown with rocky 
 Cliffs, and winds, and storm, that wildly riot 
 On the deep, arff inspiration's welcome. 
 Behold this glow of sunset. 
 
 Capt. I love the billowy ocean much, for 
 All it yields of riches : its precious gems 
 And costly pearls ; its light-engendering 
 Oil, our nightly hours to brighten ; its fish, 
 That gorge our hungry appetite ; and its 
 World-wide reach of thrifty trade links us to 
 Its treacherous waves. What are your reasons ? 
 
 Pass. The sea is guard to liberty, a bond 
 Of union, and of separation wide, 
 That by its commerce, one community 
 Of nations makes ; and by its distance, to 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 385 
 
 Empire and to lordly sway a limit 
 Forms. America, -whose budding promise 
 Fills the world with hope, had been but Europe's 
 Westward shadow, or yet but imitation 
 Dull without the wall that lies between, thus 
 Proving that in Nature's great divisions 
 She eyes the growth of liberty. For this, 
 And yet for other ends, I love th' ocean 
 World. When reach we England ? 
 
 Caft. The doubtful winds can better say. Yet from 
 All that now as signs appear, our voyage 
 Will not be long. Where is your home and country ? 
 
 Pass. Manheim is my home, Germany is my country. 
 
 Caft. Then you worship Freedom. 
 
 Pass. Else I were no German ; for to us, from 
 Olden time, the love of art, liberty. 
 And song, is an unquestioned birthright ; and 
 We our nature much belie, and all our 
 History p-ofane, when liberty to 
 tiife is second. 
 
 Qa'pt. Sir, do you hold to destiny ? 
 
 Pass. Assuredly I do. 
 
 Gaft. For individuals or nations ? 
 
 Pass. Both. He who formed the limit of the flood. 
 That triumphs o'er its wild domain, and gave 
 To spheres their circled course, has to ev'ry 
 Power its limit given. Why doubt you 
 This ? Could Caesar go beyond his strength ? Could 
 Rome go up and take the moon ? 
 
 Caipt. Unused to questions of this sort, I ask 
 As pupils ask their teachers ; in th' world 
 17 
 
386 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 I 've been a sharp observer, and seen that 
 Some have fortune in their stars, and rule their 
 Kind without a strife, whilst others lowlj 
 Bend their suppliant knees, beseeching in 
 Their looks. Thus nations have their different 
 Stars. The strong lion drives the woodland tribes, 
 To whom his voice is terror ; so England 
 In her will and vigorous strength is born 
 To wield the sceptre. 
 
 Pass. But not beyond her border. Though from all 
 The sides of life, mystery in cloudy 
 Veils doth thickly hang, this glimpse of faith is 
 Mine, that where the sceptre shall much oppose 
 The great and ripening ends of Heaven, 
 There shall its power be broken. 
 
 Capt. Children need paternal care. The New 
 World needs a wise direction. 
 
 Pass. Yet development is the sovereign end 
 To which all things do willing minister ; 
 The rose, within the warming light unfolds ; 
 The trees grow strong against the stirring winds, 
 And birds that fly where'er they list, fall not 
 Below their measure. Thus in freedom's air 
 And self elected method, a growing 
 Nation into greatness passes. Does power 
 E'er brook a master ? From the mass, suppose 
 That we a single person take ; and though 
 In natural powers he should the hopes 
 Of men outstrip, surpassing all that had 
 Been held as nature's possibility, 
 Yet if his thoughts are by strong authority 
 Suppressed, and every central action of 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 387 
 
 His will o'erborne by stronger violence, 
 
 The promise which had so largely blossomed, ' 
 
 Withers on its stem, and power into 
 
 Puny weakness fades. This reveals the law 
 
 Of life. Nations ought to heed it. 
 
 Capt. I 've seen the shark his game pursue ; the 
 Sword-fish from the whale his distance measure, then 
 Plunge into his life with heated violence. 
 Driving him to the water's top, when rose 
 With crashing thunder the thrasher on his 
 Back, forcing him down the watery depths ; 
 Thus between his double foes I 've seen him 
 Work till his massive, lifeless form, lay stiff 
 Upon the sea. 
 
 Pass. And what of this ? 
 
 Capt. Thes3 are the ethics of the deep. I have 
 Seen them acted ; and nations but act this 
 Drama over. Power alone is God. 
 
 Pass. You shock my better sense ; is there yet no 
 Moral law ? 
 
 Capt. None that sways the general passion. 
 
 Pass. Out of all antagonisms, some destined 
 Good proceeds ; yet this observe. 
 That in the soundless sea no monster roams 
 Whose kingly sway, is not in check : the chief 
 Of all the main is oft destroyed ; lions. 
 Emperors in Afric's sunny wild, are 
 Often slain in their encounter, so that 
 Trueness to your own discourse this fact 
 Evinces, that no earthly king his reign 
 Of terror holds, unsubject to some fatal 
 Power. To your lion's strong and mighty 
 
388 THE HIOHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Grasp are limits wisely fated ; so that 
 In freedom from his fierce control, the world 
 May guide its action. What brings you hither ? 
 Unter a Sailor. 
 
 Sail. A storm is gathering. 
 
 Capt. So good a sunset harbingers for us 
 A better night. You are mistaken. 
 
 Sail. Believe, master, the sea is troubled. If you 
 think old Richard fails to know, when he 's bin on the 
 sea these thirty years, then cast out a look yourself. 
 There 's anger in the sound. When his master's tem- 
 per is provoked, can 't Richard tell it ? He sees it in 
 his eye ; he hears it in his voice ; and howsomever he 
 fails on other things which he owns his betters know, 
 Richard can see the anger in his master's trembling 
 body. So I watch the sea, which is my oldest master, 
 and know every change about his temper, from his 
 playing, frisking sport, up to his madness that knocks 
 agin the Heavens. Look, master. 
 
 Capt. Away to your place. My mates will herald 
 Each coming storm. [Exit Sailor, 
 
 Pass. Methinks I feel the vessel rock. Perhaps 
 Upon your wake, the war-god loves to follow. 
 
 Capt. There 's nothing in the menace. 
 
 Pass. Of life how careless is the savage sea ! 
 On land, where man is lord of all that lives, 
 His consequence he feels, thinking for him 
 The orbs of heaven do shine and gyrate ; 
 But on th ' billowy ocean tossed, nature 
 Sports with his dominion. 
 
 Capt. I have been upon the rocking billows 
 When every sense was dizzy ; when hearts in 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 389 
 
 Grief were bursting ; and, in the loud roar of 
 The maddening waves our highest voice was 
 Silenced, whilst even Neptune trembled as 
 He shook his trident o'er us. I have been 
 Upon the sea, when they whose mouths had poured 
 Blasphemous volleys and as infidels 
 Did make their boasts, fell down in prayer to 
 Heaven. Only some sportive revel is 
 Intended. 
 
 Enter the M Mate. 
 
 [The vessel is agitated. 
 3d Mate. The storm is coming. 
 Copt. Then prepare the ship for the encounter. 
 
 [ Captain steps aft, discovers the signs of 
 storm, orders the mate to have the topsails close 
 reefed, and to set the main staysail. 
 Pass. [^Alone."] Darkness puts out eternal lights. 
 Still it is the kindly minister, teaching 
 Us awe and reverence ; for in the great 
 Uncertainty of all that shall be, of 
 Which this is the shadow, we find the joy 
 Of faith. Bodies alone the elements 
 Subdue ; let soul be kingly quiet. 
 
 \_Qaptain orders the men to house the topgal- 
 lant-mast, and the royal-topgallant-yards to be 
 taken on deck. The storm increases, and the 
 ship strikes on a rocJc, from which, after much 
 exertion, it is removed. A multitude of persons 
 move about in confusion, 
 Capt. If you have influence with the Master 
 Who sways these stubborn elements, I pray 
 
390 THE HXGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 You supplicate His aid, that these struggling 
 Fears may be allayed. 
 
 Pass. No words do sway the Eternal will ; my 
 Impulse might the cry of mercy utter, 
 My thought would drown all voice in silence. 
 
 [fie speaks to an aged minister. 
 Min. [^Prai/s.'] Thou, the world's all constant 
 Friend, whose voice 
 Is in the passing terror, thy wrath o'er 
 Us assuage. Give us now the elemental 
 Peace ; control the angry floods ; and yet thy 
 Perfect will be done. If amidst these rocks 
 The precious union of soul and sense shall 
 Be dissolved, and we to graves descend, which 
 With light and verdure are unadorned, to 
 Thyself receive our better part. 
 
 \_The vessel gradually comes out into the ac- 
 customed course of navigation, when the agita- 
 tion of the passengers is partially quieted. The 
 'minister reads from the Prop hets selections 
 of Scripture, and they sing a hymn of confidence 
 and praise. 
 
 Scene XIII. — London. A street. 
 
 Arnold and two Nollemen. 
 
 Am. I seek the house of Major Andr^, whose 
 Sister and mother yet survive. 
 
 1st Noh. Sir, you stand by the door. [Pointing. 
 Am. I am General Arnold, from America. 
 \st Mb. From the Highlands ? ' 
 Am. Yes. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 391 
 
 2d Nol. The traitor by money purchased ? 
 
 J.rw. No. The IThey leave disdainfully. 
 
 Achilles' noble spear could heal the wounds 
 It made. Have I not equal power ? 
 
 [ Walks to the door, rings ; enter Servant. He 
 asks if Miss and Mrs. AndrS are at home. 
 
 Sen. They are. What name ? 
 
 Am. General Arnold, from the United States. 
 
 \_Exit Servant. 
 I will cleanse myself in their esteem. 
 
 Serv. They are not prepared to receive you. 
 
 Am. Tell them — — 
 
 Serv. I cannot be your messenger. 
 
 Am. Say that General [^Serv. closes the door. 
 
 What ! a foe in every breast ? Must I 
 Be damned for changing once ? Nature 
 Changes — ■ why not I ? These things declare that 
 I must yet withstand the three-fold torrents 
 Of human conscience, prejudice and speech, 
 Which will I strive to do, though the universe 
 Of powers are leagued against me. Curse on, 
 Blast, blow, strike, with venomed tongue. Como 
 Forth, ye antique languages. Babel's jargon, come ; 
 And every tongue beneath the Heaven, 
 Yield up your hateful epithets to these 
 Mine enemies. Fire the arrows at me ; 
 This bared bosom shall not relent. 
 Enter a Lord. 
 Who enters the opposite way ? 
 
 Lord. It was Colonel Wadsworth. • 
 
 Am. From the United States ? 
 
 Lord. Yes, from Hartford. 
 
392 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Am. I know him. In war he has heard my voice ; 
 And will he know me ? Yes, the bonds that soldiers 
 Join are not as others. \_JExit Lord. 
 
 [ Croes to the door, rings, servant opens. 
 Is Colonel Wadsworth at home ? 
 
 Serv. What name ? " 
 
 Am. General Arnold. 
 
 Sero. Not at home, sir. 
 
 Am. He is. 
 
 Serv. He is not, sir. 
 
 Am. I see him above the stairs. 
 
 \A voice is heard above. 
 
 Serv. He says, " Tell General Arnold I am not at 
 home for him, and never shall be." [ Closes the door. 
 
 Am. Rave on ! Cleave rocks and firm hills asunder. 
 Where might I see the American dog, 
 Whose feeling would not prompt a bite ? I own 
 I gave them cause ; — to myself I own it. 
 
 [Three American Travellers pass. 
 
 1st Trav. Sir, will you direct us to Westminster Ab- 
 bey and Holborn Hill ? 
 
 Am. Strangers here ? 
 
 1st Trav. We are American travellers. 
 
 Am. Ah ! I am General Arnold. 
 
 1st Trav. He who held West Point ? 
 
 Am. Yes. And west the gentle Thames, 
 And west the House of Parliament, passing 
 White Hall 
 
 1st Trav. Away, thou traitor ! A sacred cause thou 
 Didst betray. The innocent earth rots beneath 
 A traitor's feet, and flowers that seek the sun, 
 Die as he approaches. Haste ! We 're Upas shaded. 
 
THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 393 
 
 [^Uxeunt travellers, swiftly. Arnold raises his cane. 
 
 Am. Dash down the cataract, thou dark river of 
 Contempt ! A heart of adamant your 
 Wrath endures, whilst age sends down his hoary 
 Frost, and death will soon this temple strike. 
 To bear life's load of guilt and pain, a faith 
 Demands like that that 's borne, 
 So that the strength of nature, unhalved, may 
 Fit this union of guilt and woe, making 
 The intellect and moral sense with low 
 Prepense conjoin, to support upon their 
 Stronger palms the ponderous weight of ill. 
 
 to win my spirit's unity, so 
 
 1 may bear this scorn of earth and Heaven. 
 I have a home in London — let me seek it 
 Amidst the sable signs of storm combining 
 In the West. 
 
 Scene XIV. — Same. 
 [Arnold seated, Mrs. Arnold, two sons, 
 and his daughter Oresta. Storm is heard. 
 Ores. This is a wild night of storms. 
 Arn. Yes, my daughter, it is wild. 
 Ores. Before the winds began their revel, I 
 Watched the sky as I am wont. The new moon, 
 So radiant yesternight, is all obscure ; 
 And Lyra, Capella, and Betelguese, 
 Syrius, Aldebaran, my' ever 
 Favorite stars, ar^ quenched in heaven, over 
 Whose face the darkest clouds I ever knew 
 17* 
 
394 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Are drawn. I Instantly felt a horror, 
 A sudden presentiment of ill. 
 
 Am. Heed not presentiments, I hear 
 The gurgle of a rill. 
 
 Ores. A sweet note amidst the storm. 
 
 Am. No. It reproves me, I know not how. There 
 Was a time when Nature's brighter visions 
 Gave me strength and pleasure. But now I find 
 A breach of amity, as if Nature were 
 Oifended. She, too, has turned against me. 
 
 Ores. Then some sin needs be repented. 
 
 Am. Nay, your father never repents. My sons, 
 What business do you intend ? 
 
 \st Son. I know not. Prejudice against us its 
 Iron wall has built. They call us traitor's 
 Sons, the branches of the deadly Upas ; 
 Business wears distrust ; lovely maidens 
 Our hands decline, and society, 
 Its gold and two-leaved gates of honor hath 
 Closed against us. 
 
 Am. [^Rising.'] Unworthy of your father's blood. 
 The world against you barred ? Then scale or brea 
 Its bars. If the world 
 Shall heap its curses on me till the black 
 Pyramid shall kiss the darker cloud, you 
 Can break the spell, and stop their sullen work, 
 By shouting, " Saratoga ! " \_Storm grows violent. 
 
 Ores. My presentiment. is now oppressive; 
 Furies are visiting the earth. 
 
 Am. He who lives a life of storms, no thunders, 
 
THE HIGHLAND TEEASON. 895 
 
 Winds or lightning can disturb. Oh ! my pains 
 Are most intense. \_Putting Ms hand to his left 
 
 breast; turns pale. 
 
 Mrs. Am. Call the physician. Invite the minister. 
 Quick, my son. [_JExit 2d son. 
 
 Am. I see but dimly. Is it dark ? some foul 
 Disease is reaching forth his vulture fangs 
 Of death. I feel the demon here. \Left breast. 
 
 Ores. Like a flash of destiny my sad dream 
 Revives. In the full midnight five stars I 
 Saw, each glowing in his sphere so brightly, 
 I felt them friendly and mine own. I watched 
 Till a cloud veiled them from me. Then it passed 
 Away, when each star trembled in the sky, 
 As if affrighted, giving forth increased 
 Splendor. Then more sudden than a thought, I 
 Saw the large and central star, which seemed th ' group 
 To rule, shedding a light so rare and mystic, 
 To blackness turn, and shoot across the sky ; 
 The [^trembling earth at its report was shaken. 
 Whilst the four remaining orbs behind thick 
 Sombre clouds did pass, and all was dark 
 And lonely. this night my heart forebodes 
 Fulfilment ! 
 
 Am. I feel the demon here. 
 
 j[Sis hand over his heart. 
 But be unsubdued. I hear a stormful 
 Cry of injured nature. What bodes this inner 
 Oracle ? My hand, thou man of drugs. How 
 Unter Physician and Ilinister. 
 
 ^Physician feels his pulse. 
 Dances life in these my veins ? 
 
396 THE HIGHLAND TREASON. 
 
 Phys. A wild, disorderly beat thy heart attends. 
 Hast thou sins yet unrepented ? 
 
 Am. All my sins are unrepented. 
 
 PJtys. The heart is life's prime seat. Oft have I 
 Known it break in sudden death. It labors strangely. 
 
 Min. There is Heaven, its doors of mercy yet 
 Unclosed. Beseech, thou sinner, its mercy now. 
 
 Arn. Away, thou foul impertinence. 
 
 Min. The cry of elements now calls thee unto prayer. 
 
 Am. I obey not elements. They are my slaves. 
 
 Min. Heaven is against thee and thy sins. 
 
 Am. Then will I Heaven withstand. I will draw 
 On Michael my glittering sabre. I 
 Will spill the white blood of angels. 
 
 3Iin. Blind mortal. Dying impenitent the arch 
 Fiend shall roll thee ever in his quenchless flames. 
 Ask for mercy. Ask now. 
 
 Am. I cannot supplicate. My sins shall be 
 My near companions hence. If in rayless 
 Realms of horrors cast, I will strike the sovereiiin '% 
 Of the gloom, piercing the hands that warred in 
 Heaven. Hell shall know me unsubdued. 
 
 Mrs. Am. Nay, husband, ask. 
 
 Ores. Yes, father, for this black storm a heaven 
 Of light conceals, and in that peaceful sky 
 Is mercy lodged. To ask is but to say 
 What all must own, that they have sinned upon 
 Its gentle grace. 
 
 Am. Ask not this self-surrender. Far sooner 
 Would I pluck the hair from my head, the eyes 
 From their sockets, than bow to earth or Heaven. 
 I see no mercy-dropping Heaven. I 
 
THE HIGHLAND TEEASON. 397 
 
 See the lightning's livid gleam, I hear those 
 Savage winds and mountain-rocking thunders, 
 But they speak not of mercy. No, rage on, 
 Ye double storm ! Flash, thou minister of 
 
 l^Storm increases. 
 Vengeance ; cry, ye savage winds, and roar, ye 
 Thunders, wildly ! You that were the noisy 
 Heralds of my birth and prophecy of 
 All my life, come now and be my heralds 
 And my prophets too. Give me my sword ! 
 Phys. Hold, your brain fevers. 
 Am. I say, give me my sword. 
 
 \_JEs frame trembles with emotion. 
 Min. A tiger is uncaged. Withhold the weapon. 
 Am. My sword, my sword ! 
 
 [J2i"s son hands it. All move bach afraid. 
 I live a hero still ; I hear the noise 
 Of battle. Ha, ha, I see, I see ! Hark ! 
 They come ; they come. 
 
 ■ \_Storm rages. He advances slowly forward. 
 Ores. darkness and terrors ! S^eet Heaven, I 
 Ask your wise defences. .^^ 
 
 "^"^tfArn. [Belirious; holes interdly.'} Rally ! rally ! rally. 
 My conquering heroes ! Th^ come ; they come. 
 Where 's Montgomery ? Ha, ha, I see. Storm 
 
 \_IAghtning gleams upon his brow. 
 The Hessians in their fortress strong ; on, my 
 Bravest braves ! On, — the mighty Hessians 
 Storm ! Burgoyne surrenders ! God triumphant ! 
 The day is ours ! ours ! ! ours ! ! ! 
 
 [Rushes forward, falls and expires. 
 
NOTES AND REFLECTIONS. 
 
 Note A. The sixty volunteers, ■who met Col. Arnold to 
 march at once to the scene of action, were destitute of ammuni- 
 tion, which the selectmen of the city were unwilling to supply, 
 owing to the summary way in which Arnold had collected his men. 
 He, unwilling to discuss the matter, drew up his men in martial 
 array, threatening to break open the magazine by force unless 
 the keys were immediately surrendered to his use. This threat 
 was effectual. He then marched to Head Quarters and pro. 
 posed the plan of wresting from the British the old and formidable 
 Fort of Ticonderoga. — See Sparks' Life of Arnold, p. 13. 
 
 Note B. The same day that Arnold communicated his let- 
 ter of resignation to Congress, " they received a letter from 
 Washington, recommending that Gen. Arnold should be imme- 
 diately sent to join the northern army. " He is active, judicious, 
 and brave," said Washington, " and an officer in whom the 
 militia will repose great confidence." He consented to go. 
 " He went still fardral' and volunteered an act of magnanimity. 
 Gen. St. Clair was in the northern army, and he was one of 
 the five Major Generals'who had been promoted over Arnold. 
 With his keen sensibilities o^his subject, it.might be presumed 
 that he would insist on his rights, arid^^ffie to be commanded 
 by an officer thus situated ; but he generously waved aU con- 
 siderations of that kind, declaring that he would do his duty 
 faithfully in the rank he then held, and trust to the justice of 
 his claims for a future reparation." — Id. pp. 98-9. 
 
 Note C. All accounts concur in saying that before a battle 
 Arnold's countenance was exceedingly furious. 
 
 Note D. When the British evacuated Philadelphia, many 
 families remained, who had been intimate with the British 
 
NOTES AND REFLECTIONS. 399 
 
 officera, and who sincerely hoped that the British arms would 
 triumph. Prominent in this class, was the very respectable 
 family of Edward Shi ppen, afterwards Chief Justice of the State 
 of Pennsylvania. His youngest daughter beautiful, gay, and 
 attractive, with no ordinary share of social ambition, received 
 the admiration and flattering attentions of the English officers. 
 The festival of the Mlschianza, celebrated in American legend, 
 was held at her fathers, on which occasion she is spoken of as 
 the principal personage. She afterward married General Arnold, 
 during his prosperous command in that city. Her acquaintance 
 with Andr^ was such that she corresponded with him after the 
 British army had retired to New York. All Arnold's letters 
 touching his contemplated treason were sent directly to Sir H. 
 Clinton, through Major Andre, under an assumed name and in 
 a disguised hand. 
 
 Note E. " He was the last man that remained on board, nor did 
 he leave his galley till the fire had made such progress that it could 
 not be extinguished. The flags were kept flying, and he maintain- 
 ed his attitude of defence on the shore, till he saw them consumed 
 and the whole of his flotilla enveloped in flames." — Id. p. 79. 
 
 Note F. The entire causes that operated to produce the 
 Treason of which Benedict Arnold must always be considered 
 guilty, are not so generally known as some may suppose, nor 
 shall we here present them. The turning point on which his 
 course depended, whether to adhere to the-American cause or 
 to forsake and betray it to its enemies, was the verdict that 
 jhould be rendered by the Military Board at Morristown, New 
 Jersey, to which he was summoned to answer the State Council 
 of Pennsylvania on charges that afiected his official character. 
 These chaxges had been 'preferred against him before the Con- 
 gressional body then convened in Philadelphia. These charges 
 were referred to a Committee, who in their report fully exon- 
 erated Arnold. But before Congress had sanctioned this report, 
 a petition from his enemies was received and granted, that 
 transferred the whole subject to a Board of War to be summoned 
 by Gen. Washington, which did not meet until after several 
 months. This transfer and suspense greatly offended Arnold ; 
 
400 ifOTBS AND KEFLECTIONS. 
 
 he resolved ifhe was condemned he would find a selfish revenge. 
 Only four charges -were presented. He refuted two of them, 
 and was exonerated from criminal intent on the remainder; 
 but as imprudence was implied, he was sentenced to a repri- 
 mand by the Commander-in-Chief. 
 
 It is just that the reader should be informed of charges on 
 which the pubhe reprimand w^as based. 
 
 1. An irregularity, without criminal intention, in granting a 
 written protection to a vessel, before his command in' Philadel- 
 phia, while at Valley Forge. 
 
 2. Using the public wagons of Pennsylvania for the trans- 
 portation pf private property from Egg Harbor. 
 
 The owners of this vessel were citizens of Pennsylvania ; and 
 the solicitation of Gen. Arnold's name to a permit to enter any 
 port in the United States, indicates its general weight of influ- 
 ence through the country. Though all criminality of purpose 
 on the part of Gen. Arnold was an idea the Court did not cher- 
 ish, it was thought to be a violation of one of the rules of war, 
 inasmuch as Philadelphia was then held by the British. In 
 reference to the second charge, Gen. Arnold proved to the 
 court that he had used the wagons when they were not required 
 by the public service, and that he had paid for using them. It 
 is very remarkable that the formidable accusers of Gen. Arnold 
 should not have sustained one great and important charge 
 against his rectitude as a public officer ; and though the trial was 
 protracted and thorough in the presentation and sifting of evi- 
 dence, it will always remain the surprise of the historian that so 
 little testimony was found against the accused. Perhaps no man 
 in modern times, of the same ability and distinction, was ever 
 doomed to so great a disgrace on charges pf similar weight. He 
 stood disgraced after this reprimand, both in the eyes of the 
 English and Americans ; so much so, that nothing in his ability 
 and standing rendered him a prize in the view of Sir Henry Clin- 
 ton ; he chose, on the contrary, to .hold out to hiin no induce- 
 ment to a change. It was the immense value of his p.Osition 
 at West Point th^t turned this purposfSnto the dee|)est solici- 
 tude on Sir H. Clinton's part. 
 
MM 
 
 
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