The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924098811395 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 3 1924 098 811 395 In compliance with current copyright law, Cornell University Library produced this replacement volume on paper that meets the ANSI Standard Z39.48-1992 to replace the irreparably deteriorated original. 2004 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUI^ THE GIFT OF Mitnv^ W. Sage 1891 ^D i..^.^jr^.^. z^ wo MAN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, AND KINDRED PAPERS RELATING TO THE SPHERE, CONDITION, AND DUTIES OF WOMAN. BY MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI, AUTHOR OF *' ART, LITERATURE, AND THE DRAMA," " AT HOME AND ABROAD," "life WITHOUT AND LIFE WITHIN," ETC- EDITED BY HER BROTHER, ARTHUR B. FULLER. 'St'ia attli Somplcte iSfittion, WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HORACE GREELEY. BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS. 1893. :&5 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by A. B. FULLEB, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts, Cambridge: Presswork by John Wilson and Son, PREFACE. It has been thought desirable that such papers of Margaret Fuller Ossoli as pertained to the condition, sphere and duties of Woman, should be collected and published together. The present volume contains not only her " Woman in the Nineteenth Cen- tury," — which has been before published, but for some years out of print, and inaccessible to readers who have sought it, — but also several other papers, which have appeared at various times in the Tribune and elsewhere, and yet more which have never till now been published. My free access- to her private manuscripts has given to me many papers, relating to Woman, never intended for publication, which yet seem needful to this volume, in order to present a com- plete and harmonious view of her thoughts on this important theme. I have preferred to publish them without alteration, as most just to her views and to the reader ; though, doubtless, she would have varied their expression and form before giving them to the press. It seems right here to remark, in order to avoid any misappre- 'hension, that Margaret Ossoli's thoughts were not directed so exclusively to the subject of the present volume as have been the minds of some others. As to the movement for the emanci- pation of Woman from the unjust burdens and disabilities to which she has been subject even in our own land, my sister could neither remain indifferent nor silent ; yet she preferred, as in respect to every other reform, to act independently and to speak IV PREFACE. independeutly from her own stand-point, and never to merge hei individuality in any existing organisation. This she did, not as condemning such organizations, nor yet as judging them wholly unwise or uncalled for, but because she believed she could herself accomplish more for their true and high objects, unfettered by such organizations, than if a member of them. The opinions avowed throughout this volume, and wherever expressed, will, then, be found, whether consonant with the reader's or no, in aU oases honestly and heartily her own, — the result of her own thought and faith. She never speaks, never did speak-, for any clique or sect, but as her individual judgment, her reason and conscience, her observation and experience, taught her to speak. I could have wished that some one other than a brother should have spoken a few fitting words of Margaret Fuller, as a woman, to form a brief but proper accompaniment to this volume, which may reach some who have never read her " Memoirs," recently published, or have never known her in personal life. This seemed the more desirable, because the strictest verity in speaking of her must seem, to such as knew her not, to be eulogy. But, after several disappointments as to the editorship of the volume, the duty, at last, has seemed to devolve upon me ; and I have no reason to shrink from it but a sense of inadequacy. It is often supposed that literary women, and those who are active and earnest in promoting great intellectual, philanthropic, or religious movements, must of necessity neglect the domestic concerns of life. It may be that this is sometimes so, nor can such neglect be too severely reprehended ; yet this is by no means a necessary result. Some of the most devoted mothers the world has ever known, and whose homes were the abode of every domestic virtue, themselves the embodiment of all these, have been women whose minds were highly cultured, who loved and devoted both thought and time to literature, and were active in philanthropio and diffasive efforts for the welfare of the race. The letter to M., which is published on page 345, is inserted chiefly as showing the integrity and wisdom with which Margaret advised her'friends ; the frankness with which she pointed out to every young woman who asked counsel any deficiencies of char- acter, and the duties of life ; and that among these latter she gave PKBFACE. V due place to the humblest which serve to make home attractive and happy. It is but simple justice for me to bear, in conjunction with many others, my tribute to her. domestic virtues and fidelity to all home duties. That her mind found chief delight in the lowest forms of these duties may not be true, and it would be sad if it were ; but it is strictly true that none, however humble, were either slighted or shunned. In comoon with a younger sister and brother, I shared her care in my early instruction, and found ever one of the truest counsellors in a sister who scorned not the ypungest mind nor the simplest intellectual wants in her love for communion, through converse or the silent page, vrith the minds of the greatest and most gifted. During a lingering illness, in childhood, well do I remember her as the angel of the sick-chamber, reading much to me from books useful and appropriate, and telling many a narrative not only fitted to wile away the pain of disease and the weariness of long confinement, but to elevate the mind and heart, and to direct them to all things noble and holy ; ever ready to watch while I slept, and to perform every gentle and kindly office. But her care of the sick — that she did not neglect, but was eminent in that sphere of womanly duty, even when no tie of kindred claimed this of her, Mr. Cass's letter abundantly shows ; and also that this gentleness was united to a heroism which most call manly, but which, I believe, may as justly be called truly womanly. Mr. Cass's letter is inserted because it arrived too late to find a place in her " Memoirs," and yet more because it bears much on Mar- garet Ossoli's characteristics as a woman. A few also of her private letters and papers, not bearing, save, indirectly, on the subject of this volume, are yet inserted in it, as further illustrative of her thought, feeling and action, in life's various relations. It is believed that nothing which exhibits a true woiaan, especially in her relations to others as friend, sister, daughter, wife, or mother, can fail to interest and be of value to her sex, indeed to all who are interested in human welfare and advancement, since these latter so much depend on the fidelity of Woman. Nor will anything pertaining to the education and A* VI PREFACE. 3are of children be deemed irrelevant, especially by mothers, upon whom these duties must always largely devolve; Of the intellectual gifts and wide culture of Margaret Fuller there is no need that I should speak, nor is it wise that one stand- ing in my relation to her should. Those who knew her personally feel that no words ever flowed from her pen equalling the eloquent utterances of her lips ; yet her works, though not always a clear expression of her thoughts, are the evidences to which the world will look as proof of her mental. greatness. On one point, however, I do wish to bear testimony — not needed with those who knew her well, but. interjestingj perhaps, to some readers into whose bands this volume may fall. It is on a subject which one who knew her from his childhood up — at home, where best the heart and sovl can be known, — in the unrestrained hours of domestic' life, —in various scenes, and not for a few days, nor under any peculiar circumstances — can speak with confidence, because he speaks what he " doth know, and testi- fieth what he hath seen." It relates to her Christian faith and hope. " With all her intellectual gifts, vrith all her high, moral, and noble characteristics," there are some who will ask, " was her intellectual power sanctified by Christian faith as its basis? Were her moral qualities, her beneficent life, the results of a renewed heart ? " I feel no hesitation here, nor would think it worth while to answer such questions at all, were her life to be read and known by all who read this volume, and were I not influenced also, in some degree, by the tone which has character- ized a few sectarian reviews of her works, chiefly in foreign periodicals. Surely, if the Saviour's test, "By their fruits ye shall know them," be the true one, Margaret OssoU was pre- eminently a Christian. If a life of constant self-sacrifice, — if devotion to the welfare of kindred and the race, — if conformity to what she believed God's law, so that her life seemed ever tne truest form of prayer, active obedience to the Deity, — in fine, if carrying Christianity into all the departments of action, so far as human infirmity allows, — if these be the proofs of a Christian, then whoever has read her " Memoirs " thoughtfully, and with- out sectarian prejudice or the use of sectarian standards of judg- ment, must feel her to have been a Christian. But not alone in PREFACE. VII ontward life, in mind and heart, too, was slie a Christian. The l)eing brought into frequent and intimate contact with religious persons has been one of the chief privileges of my vocation, but never yet have I met with any person whose reverence for holy things was deeper than hers. Abhorring, as all honest minds must, every species of cant, she respected true religious thought and feeling, by whomsoever cherished. God seemed nearer to her than to any person I have ever known. In the influences of His Holy Spirit upon the heart she fully believed, and in experi- ence realized them. Jesus, the friend of man, can never have been more truly loved and honored than she loved and honored him. I am aware that this is strong language, but strength of language cannot equal the strength of my conviction on a point where I have had the best opportunities of judgment. Eich as is the religion of Jesus in its list of holy confessors, yet it can spare and would exclude none who in heart, mind and life, confessed and reverenced him as did she. Among my earliest recollections, is her devoting much time to a thorough examination of the evidences of Christianity, and ultimately declaring that to her, better than all arguments or usual processes of proof, was the soul's want of a divine religion, and the voice within that soul which declared the teacliings of Christ to be true and from God ; and one of my most cherished possessions is that Bible which she so diligently and thoughtfully read, and which bears, in her own handwriting, so many proofs of discriminating and prayerful perusal. As in regard to reformatoij movements so here, she joined no organized body of believers, sympathizing with all of them whose views were noble and Christian ; deploring and bear- ing faithful testimony against anything she deemed narrowness or perversion in theology or life. This volume from her hand is now before the reader. The fact that a large share of it was never written or revised by its authoress for publication will be kept in view, as explaining any inaccuracy of expression or repetition of thought, should such occur in its pages. . Nor will it be deemed surprising, if, in papers written by so progressive a person, at so various periods of life, and under widely-varied circumstances, there should not alwayi be found perfect unison as to every expressed opinion. VIII PREFACE. It is probable that this will soon be followed by anothei volume, containing a republication of " Summer on the Lakes," and also the " Letters from Europe," by the same hand. In the preparation of this volume much valuable assistance has been afforded by Mr. Greeley, of the New York Tribune, who has been earnest in his desire and efforts for the diffusion of what Margaret has written. A. B F Boston. Miv lOrt \855. INTRODUCTION. The problem of Woman's position, or " sphere," — of her du- ties, responsibilities, rights and immunities as Woman , — fitly attracts a large and still-increasing measure of attention from the thinkers and agitators of our time. The legislators, so called, — those who ultimately enact into statutes what the really govern- ing class (to wit, the thinkers) have originated, matured and gradually commended to the popular comprehension and accept- ance, — are not as yet much occupied with this problem, only fit- fully worried and more or less consciously puzzled by it. More commonly they merely echo the mob's shallow retort to the pe- tition of any strong-minded daughter or sister, who demands that she be allowed a voice in disposing of the money wrenched from her hard earnings by inexorable taxation, or in shaping the laws by which she is ruled, judged, and is liable to be sentenced to prison or to death, " It is a woman's business to obey her hus- band, keep his home tidy, and nourish and train his children." But when she rejoins to this, ' ' Very true ; but suppose I choose not to have a husband, or am not chosen for a wife — what then 7 I am still subject to your laws (V^hy am I not entitled, as a rational human being, to a voice in shaping them ? I have phys- ical needs, and must somehow earn a living. Why should I not be at liberty to earn it in any honest and useful calling ? " — the mob's flout is hushed, and the legislator is struck dumb also. They were already at the end of their scanty resources of logic, and it would be cruel for woman to ask further : " Suppose me a wife, and my husband a drunken prodigal — what am I to do then 7 May I not earn food for my babes without being exposed to have it snatched from their mouths to replenish the rumseller's till, and i. INTKODTJCTION. aggravate my husband's madoess 7 If some sympathizing relative sees fit to leave me a bequest wherevrith to keep my little ones together, vfhy may I not be legally enabled to secure this to their use and benefit ? In short, vf hy am I not regarded by the lavr as a soul, responsible for my acts to God and humanity, and not as a mere .body, devoted to the unreasoning service of my husband ? " The state gives no answer, and the champions of her policy evince vrisdom in imitating her silnnce. The virriter of the follovfing pages was one of the earliest as well as ablest among American women, to demand for her sex equality before the law with her titular lord and master.. Her writings on this subject have the force which springs from the ripening of pror found reflection into assured conviction. She wrote as one who had observed, and who deeply felt what she deliberately uttered. Oth- ers have since spoken more fluently, more variously, with a greater affluence of illustration ; but none, it is believed, more earnestly or more forcibly. It is due to her memory, as well as to the great and living cause of which she was so eminent and so fearless an advocate, that what she thought and said with regard to the posi- tion of her sex and its limitations, should be fullyand fairly placed before the public. For several years past her principal essay on " Woman," here given, has not been purchasable at any price, and has only with great difficulty been accessible to the general reader. To place it within the reach of those who need and re- quire it, is the main impulse to the publication of this volume ; but the accompanying essays and papers will be found equally worthy of thoughtful consideration. H. Greeucv. CONTENTS. PARTI. FAOI WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTDRT, . 15 PAET II. MISCELLANIES 183 Aglauron and Laubie, 183 Wkongs and Duties oi' American WoMEif, . . . 217 George Sand, 228 TuE SAME Subject, 231 conscelo, 237 Jennt Lind, the " Consuelo" of Geoegb Sand, . . 241 Caroline, 250 Etbr-growing Lives, 256 Household Nobleness, 261 " Glumdalclitches," 266 " Ellen ; or, Forgive and Poeget," . . . 269 " COURRIEH DBS Etats Unis," 276 'I'he same Subject, 280 Xir CONTENTS. Books of Tbavbl 286 Keview op Mbs. Jameson's Bssats, . . . 288 Woman's Ikfluencb otxb the Insani:, . . .295 PocAHOiriAS, • . 298 Children's Books, 311 womau in potertt 315 The Irish Chakacteb, 321 The same Subject, 326 Educate Men and Women as Souls, . . . 336 PAET III. EXTRACTS FROM JOURNALS AND LETTERS, . 341 PART IV. MEMORIALS, S97 PEEPACE TO WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. The following eaeay is a reproduction, modified and expanded, of an article published in " The Dial, Boston, July, 1843," under the title of "The Great Lawsuit. — Man versus Men; Woman versus Women." This article excited a good deal of sympathy, and still more interest. It is in compliance with wishes expressed from many quarters that it is prepared for publication in its present form. Objections having been made to the former title, as not suffi- ciently easy to be understood, the present has been substituted as expressive of the main purpose of the essay ; though, by myself, the other is preferred, partly for the reason others do not like it, — that is, that it requires some thought to see what it means, and might thus prepare the reader to meet me on my own ground. Besides, it offers a larger scope, and is, in that way, more just to my desire. I meant by that title to intimate the fact that, while it is the destiny of Man, in the course of the ages, to ascertain and fulfil the law of his being, so that his life shall be seen, as a whole, to be that of an angel or messenger, the action of prejudices ajod passions which attend, in the day, the growth of the individual, is continually obstructing the holy work that is to make the earth a, part of heaven. By Man I mean both man and woman ; these are the two halves of one thought. I lay no especial stress on the welfare of either. I believe that the development of the one cannot be effected without that of the other. My highest wish is that thia truth should be distinctly and rationally apprehended, and the conditions of life and &ee- 9 XIV PREFACE. dom recognized as the same for the daughters and the eons of time ; twin exponents of a divine thought. I solicit a sincere and patient attention from those who open the following pages at all. I solicit of women that they will lay it to heart to ascertain what is for them the liberty of law. It is for this, and not for any, the largest, extension of partial privi- leges that I seek. I ask them, if interested by these suggestiona, to search their own experience and intuitions for better, and fill up with fit materials the trenches that hedge them in. From men I ask a noble and earnest attention to anything that can be offered on this great and still obscure subject, such as I have met from many with whom I stand in private relations. And may truth, unpolluted by prejudice, vanity oi selfishness, be granted daily more and more as the due of inhei'jtance. and only valuable conquest for us all ! November, 1844. WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY " Frailty, thy name is Woman." " The Earth waits for her Queen." The connection between these quotations may not be obvious, but it is strict. Yet would any contradict us, if we made them applicable to the other side, and began also, Frailtj', thy name is Man. The Eai'th waits for its King ? Yet Man, if not yet fully installed in his jpowers, has given much earnest of his claims. Frail he is indeed, — how frail ! how impure ! Yet often has the vein of gold displayed itself amid the baser ores, and Man has ap- peared before us in princely promise worthy of his future. If, oftentimes, we see the prodigal son feeding on the husks in the fair field no more his own, anon we raise the eyelids, heavy from bitter tears, to behold in him the radiant apparition of genius and love, demanding not less than the all of goodness, power and beauty. We see that in him the largest claim finds a due foundation. ly AVOMAN IN THE That claim is for no partial sway, no exclusive posses, sion. He cannot be satisfied with any one gift of life, any one department of knowledge or telescopic peep at the heavens. He feels himself called to understand and aid Nature, that she may, through his intelligence, be raised and interpreted ; to be a student of, and servant to. the universe-spirit ; and king of his planet, that, as an angelic minister, he may bring it into conscious harmony with the law of that spirit. In clear, triumphant moments, many times, has rung through the spheres the prophecy of his jubilee ; and those moments, though past in time, have been translated into eternity by thought ; the bright signs they left hang in the heavens, as single stars or constellations, and, already, a thickly sown radiance consoles the wanderer in the darkest night. Other heroes since Hercules have fulfilled the zodiac of beneficent labors, and then given up their mortal part to the fire without a murmur; while no God dared deny that they should have their reward, Siquis tamen, Hercule, siquis • Forte Deo doliturus erit, data prsemia nollet, Sed meruise dari sciet, invitus que probabit, Assensere Dei. Sages and lawgivers have bent their whole nature to the search for truth, and thought themselves happy if they could buy, with the sacrifice of all temporal ease and pleasure, one seed for the future Eden. Poets and priests have strung the lyre with the heart-strings, poured Dut their best blood upon the altar, which, reared anew ^■INETEENTH CENTDRV. 17 from age to age, shall at last sustain the flame pure enough to rise to highest heaven. Shall we not name with as deep a benediction those who, if not so imme- diately, or so consciously, in connection with the eternal truth, yet, led and fashioned by a divine instinct, serve no less to develop and interpret the open secret of love passing into hfe, energy creating for the purpose of hap- piness; the artist whose hand, drawn by a preexistent harmony to a certain medium, moulds it to forms of life more highly and completely organized than are seen else- where, and, by carrying out the intention of nature, reveals her meaning to those who are not yet wise enough to divine it; the philosopher who listens steadily for laws and causes, and from those obvious infers those yet unknown; the historian who, in faith that all events must have their reason and their aim, records them, and thus fills archives from which the youth of prophets may be fed ; the man of science dissecting the statements, testing the facts and demonstrating order, even where he cannot its purpose ? Lives, too, which bear none of these names, have yielded tones of no less significance. The candlestick set in a low place has given light as faithfully, where it was needed, as that upon the hill. In close alleys, in dismal nooks, the Word has been read as distinctly, as when shown by angels to holy men in the dark prison Those who till a spot of earth scarcely larger than is wanted for a grave, have deserved that the sun should shine upon its sod till violets answer. So great has been, from time to time, the promise, 2* 18 WOMAN IN THE that, in all ages, men have said the gods themselves came down to dwell with them ; that the All-Creating wan- dered on the earth to taste, in a limited nature, the sweetness of virtue; that the All-Sustaining incarnated himself to guard, in space and time, the destinies of this world ; that heavenly genius dwelt among the shepherds, to sing to them and teach them how to sing. Indeed, " Der stets den Hirten gnadig sich bewies." "He has constantly shown himself favorable to shep- herds." And the dwellers in green pastures and natural stu- dents of the stars were selected to hail, first among men, the holy child, whose life and death were to present the type of excellence, which has sustained the heart of so large a portion of mankind in these later generations. Such marks have been made by the footsteps of man (still, alas! to be spoken of as the ideal man), wherever he has passed through the wilderness of men, and when- ever the pigmies stepped in one of those, they felt dilate within the breast somewhat that promised nobler stature and purer blood. They were impelled to forsake their evil ways of decrepit scepticism and covetousness of cor- ruptible possessions. Convictions flowed in upon them. They, too, raised the cry: God is living, now, to-day; and all beings are brothers, for they are his children. Simple words enough, yet which only angelic natures can use or hear in their full, free sense. These were the triumphant moments ; but soon the lower nature took its turn, and the era of a truly human life was post|ione(l. NINETEENTH CENTURY. lit Thus is man still a stranger to his inlieritance, still a pleader, .still a pilgrim. Yet his happiness is secure in the end. And now. no more a glimmering conscious- ness, but assurance begins to be felt and spoken, that the highest ideal Man can form of his own powers is that which he is destined to attain. Whatever the soul knows how to seek, it cannot fail to obtain. This is the Law and the Prophets. Ejiock and it shall be opened ; seek and ye shall find. It is demonstrated ; it is a maxim. Man no longer paints his proper nature in some form, and says, " Prometheus had it ; it is God-like;" but "Man must have it; it is human." However disputed by many, however ignorantly used, or falsified by those who do receive it, the fact of an universal, unceasing revela- tion has been too clearly stated in words to be lost sight of in thought ; and sermons preached from the text, " Be ye perfect," are the only sermons of a pervasive and deep-searching influence. But, among those who meditate upon this text, there is a great difierence of view as to the way in which per- fection shall be sought. "Through the intellect," say some. "Gather from every growth of life its seed of thought ; look behind every symbol for its law ; if thou canst see clearly, the rest will follow." "Through the life," say others. " Do the best thou knowest to-day. Shrinlj: not from frequent error in this gradual, fragmentary state. Follow thy light for as much as it will show thee ; be faithful as far as thou canst, in hope thatfa':h presently will lead to sight Help 20 WOMAN IN THE Others, without blaming their need of thy help. Lc much, and be forgiven." " It needs not intellect, needs not experience," say third. " If you took the true way, your destiny wo'- be accomplished in a purer and more natural order. ^. ^ would not learn through facts of thought or action, i „ express through them the certainties of wisdom. ,,p quietness yield thy soul to the causal soul. Do not diij turb thy apprenticeship by premature effort; neitbt^ check the tide of instruction by methods of thy own. lig still ; seek not, but wait in obedience. Thy commissiiy will be given." ^ Could we indeed 'say what we want, could we give/ description of the child that is lost, , he would be founi As soon as the soul can affirm clearly that a certain dei onstration is wanted, it is at hand. When the Jewih prophet described the Lamb, as the expression of wht was required by the coming era, the time drew nigl', But we say not, see not as yet, clearly, what we woulc Those who call for a more triumphant expression of lovff a love that cannot be crucified, show not a perfect sens of what has already been given. Love has already beer, expressed, that made all things new, that gave the worm its place and ministry as well as the eagle ; a love to which it was alike to descend into the depths of hell, or to sit at the right hand of the Father. Yet, no doubt, a new manifestation is at hand, a new hour in the day of Man. We cannot expect to see any one sample of completed beings when the mass of men still lie engaged in the sod, or use the freedom of theii NINETBBNTH CENTURY. 21 limbs only with wolfish energy. The tree cannot come to flower till its root be free from the cankering worm, and its whole growth open to air and light. While any one is base, none can be entirely free and noble. Yet something new shall presently be shown of the life of man, for- hearts crave, if minds do not know how to ask it. Among the strains of prophecy, the following, by an earnest miad of a foreign land, written some thirty years ago, is not yet outgrown ; and it has the merit of being a positive appeal from the heart, instead of a critical declaration what Man should not do. " The ministry of Man implies that he must be filled from the divine fountains which are being engendered through all eternity, so that, at the mere name of his master, he may be able to cast all his enemies into the abyss ; that he may deliver all parts of nature from the barriers that imprison them ; that he may purge the ter- restrial atmosphere from the poisons that infect it ; that he may preserve the bodies of men from the corrupt influ- ences that surround, and the maladies that afflict them ; still more, that he may keep their souls pure from the malignant insinuations which pollute, and the gloomy images that obscure them ; that he may restore its serenity to the Word, which false words of men fill with mourning and sadness ; that he may satisfy the desires of the angels, who await from him the development of the marvels of nature ; that, in fine, his world may be filled with God, as eternity is."* Ajiother attempt we will give, by an obscure observer * St. Martin. 22 WOMAN IN THE of our 0-wn day and country, to draw some lines of the desired image. It was suggested by seeing the design of Crawford's Orpheus, and connecting with the circum- stance of the American, in his garret at Rome, making choice of this subject, that of Americans here at home showing such ambition to represent the character, by call- ing their prose and verse "Orphic sayings" — " Or- phics." We wish we could add that they have shown that musical apprehension of the progress of Nature through her ascending gradations which entitled them so to do, but their attempts are frigid, though sometimes grand ; in their strain we are not warmed by the fire which fertilized the soil of Greece. Orpheus was a lawgiver by theocratic commission. He understood nature, and made her forms move to his music. He told her secrets in the form of hymns. Nature as seen in the mind of God. His soul went forth -to- ward all beings, yet could remain sternly faithful to a chosen type of excellence. Seeking what he loved, he feared not death nor hell ; neither could any shape of dread daunt his faith in the power of the celestial har- mony that filled his soul. It seemed significant of the state of things in this eountry, that the sculptor should have represented the leer at the moment when he was obliged with his hand tc Aade hi? eyes. Each Orpheus must to the depths descend ; For only thus the Poet can be wise ; Must make the sad Persephone his friend, And buried love to second life arise ; KINETEENTH CENTUllY. 23 Again his love must lose through too much love. Must lose his life by living life too true, For what he sought below is passed above. Already done is all that he would do ; Must tune all being with his single lyre. Must melt all rocks free from their primal pain, Must search all nature with his one soul's fire. Must bind anew all forms in heavenly chain. If, he already sees what he must do, Well may he shade hia eyes from the far-shining view A better comment could not be made on what is re- quired to perfect Man, and place him in that superior position for which he was designed, than bj the interpre- tation of Bacon upon the legends of the Syren coast. "When the wise Ulysses passed," says he, " he caused his mariners to stop their ears with wax, knowing there was in them no power to resist the lure of that voluptuous song. But he, the much experienced man, who wished to be experienced in all, and use all to the service of wisdom, desired to hear the song that he might under- stand its meaning. Yet, distrusting his oivn power to be firm in his better purpose, he caused himself to be bound to the mast, that he might be kept secure against his own weakness. But Orpheus passed unfettered, so ab- sorbed in singing hymns to the gods that he cculd not even hear those sounds of degrading enchantmert." Meanwhile, not a few believe, and men themselves have expressed the opinion, that the time is come when Eurydice is to call for an Orpheus, rather than Orpheus for Etirydice ; that the idea of Man, however imperfectly brought out, has been far more so than that of Woman : 24 WOMAN IN THB that she, the other half of the same thought, the other chamber of the heart of life, needs now take her turn in the full pulsation, and that improvement in the daugh- ters will best aid in the reformation of the sons of this age. It should be remarked that, as the principle of liberty is better understood, and more nobly interpreted, a broader protest, is made in behalf of Woman. As men become aware that few men have had a fair chance, they are inclined to say that no women have had a fair chance. The French Revolution, that strangely disguised angel, bore witness in favor of Woman, but interpreted her claims no less ignorantly than those of Man. Its idea of happiness did not rise beyond outward enjoyment, unob- structed by the tyranny of others. The title it gave was "citoyen," "citoyenne;" and it is not unimportant to Woman that even this species of equality was awarded her. Before, she could be condemned to perish on the scaffold for treason, not as a citizen, but as a subject. The right with which this title then invested a human being was that of bloodshed and license. The Goddess of Liberty was impure. As we read the poem addressed to her, not long since, by Beranger, we can scarcely refrain from tears as painful as the tears of blood that flowed when " such crimes were committed in her name." Yes ! Man, born to purify and animate the unintelligent and the cold, can; in his madness, degrade and pollute no less the fair and the chaste. Yet truth was prophesied in the ravings of that hideous fever, caused by long igno- rance and abuse. Europe is conning a valued lesson NINETEENTH CENTURY. 25 from the blood-stained page. The same tendencies, fur- ther unfolded, will bear good fruit in this country. Yet, by men in this country, as by the Jews, when Moses was leading them to the promised land every- thing has been done that inherited depravity could do, to hinder the promise of Heaven from its fulfilment. The cross, here as elsewhere, has been planted only to be blas- ohemed by cruelty and fraud. The name of the Prince jf Peace has been profaned by all kinds of injustice to- ward the Gentile whom he said he came to save. But I need not speak of what has been done towards the Red Man, the Black Man. Those deeds are the scoff of the world ; and they have been accompanied by such pious words that the gentlest would not dare to intercede with " Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Here, as elsewhere, the gain of creation consists al- ways in the growth of individual minds, which live and aspire, as flowers bloom and birds sing, in the midst of morasses; and in the continual development of that thought, the thought of human destiny, which is given to eternity adequately to express, and which ages of failure only seemingly impede. Only seemingly ; and whatever seems to the contrary, this country is as surely destined to elucidate a great moral law, as Europe was to promote the mental culture of Man. Though the national independence be blurred by the servility of individuals ; though freedom and equality have been proclaimed only to leave room for a monstrous display of slave-dealing and slave-keeping ; though the 3 26 WOMAN IN THE free American so often feels himself free, like tije Ro- man, only to pamper his appetites and his indoltnct through the misery of his fellow-beings ; still it is not in vain that the verbal statement has been made, " All men are born free and equal." There it stands, a golden cer- tainty wherewith to encourage the good, to shame the bad. The New World may be called clearly to perceive that it incurs the utmost penalty if it reject or oppress the sorrowful brother. And, if men are deaf, the angels hear. But men cannot be deaf. It is inevitable that an external freedom, an independence of the encroachments of other men, such as has been achieved for the nation, should be so also for every member of it. That which has once been clearly conceived in the intelligence can- not fail, sooner or later, to be acted out. It has become a law as irrevocable as that of the Medes in their ancient dominion ; men will privately sin against it, but the la.w, as expressed by a leading mind of the age, " Tutti fatti a sembianza d'un Solo, Figli tutti d'un solo risoatto. In qual'ora, in qual parte del suolo Trasoorriamo quest' aura vital, Siam fratelli, siam stretti ad un patto : Maladetto colui che lo infrange, Che s'innalza sul fiacco che piange Che oontrista uno spirto immortal." * " All made in the likeness of the One, All children of one ransom. In whatever hour, in whatever part of the soil, We draw this vital air, * Manzoni. NINETEENTH CENTUllY. Z< We are brothers ; we must be bound by one compaot ; Accursed he who infringes it. Who raises himself upon the weak who weep, Who saddens an immortal spirit." This law cannot fail of universal recognition. Ac- cursed be he who willingly saddens an immortal spirit — doomed to infamy in later, wiser ages, doomed in future stages of his own being to deadly penance, only short of death. Accursed be he who sins in ignorance, if that ignorance be caused by sloth. We sicken no less at the pomp than the strife of words. We feel that never were lungs so puffed with the wind of declamation, on moral and religious sub- jects, as now. We are tempted to implore these " word-heroes," these word-Oatos, word-Christs, to be- ware of cant* above all things ; to remember that hypoc- risy is the most hopeless as well as the meanest of crimes, and that those must surely be polluted by it, who do not reserve a part of their morality and religion for private use. Landor says that he cannot have a great deal of mind who cannot afford to let the larger part of it lie fallow ; and what is true of genius is not less so of virtue. The tongue is a valuable member, but should appropriate but a small part of the vital juices that are needful all over the body. We feel that the mind may * Dr. Johnson's one piece of advice should be written on every door : " Clear your mind of cant." But Byron, to whom it was so acceptable, in clearing away the noxious vine, shook down the build Ing. Sterling's emendation is worthy of honor : " Realize your cant, not cast it off." 28 WOMAN IN THE " grow black and rancid in the smoke " even " of altars." We start up from the harangue to go into our closet and shut the door. There inquires the spirit, "Is this rhet- oric the bloom of healthy blood, or a false pigment art- fully laid on?" And yet again we know where is so much smoke, must be some fire ; with so much talk about virtue and freedom, must be mingled some desire for them ; that it cannot be in vain that such have become the common topics of conversation among men, rather than schemes, for tyranny and plunder, that the very news- papers see it best to proclaim themselves " Pilgrims," "Puritans," "Heralds of Holiness." The king that maintains so costly a retinue cannot be a mere boast, or Carabbas fiction. We have waited here long in the dust ; we are tired and hungry ; but the triumphal procession must appear at last. Of all its banners, none has been more steadily up- held, and under none have more valor and willingness for real sacrifices been shoivn, than that of the champions of the enslaved African. And this band it is, which, partly from a natural following out of principles, partly because many women have been prominent in that cause, makes, just now, the warmest appeal in behalf of Woman. Though there has been a growing liberality on this subject, yet society at large is not so prepared for the demands of this party, but that its members are, and will be for some time, coldly regarded as the Jacobins of their day. " Is it not enough," cries the irritated trader, " that you have done all you could to break up the nationa.l NINETEENTH CENTCRT. 29 union, and thus destroy the prosperity of our country but now you must be trying to break up family union, to talc^ my wife away from the cradle and the kitchen- hearth to vote at polls, and^ preach from a pulpit? Of course, if she does such things, she cannot attend to those of her own sphere. She is happy enough as she is. She has more leisure than I have, — every means of improvement, every indulgence." " Have you asked her whether she was satisfied with these indulgences ? " " No, but I know she is. She is too amiable to desire what would make me unhappy, and too judicious to wish to step beyond the sphere of her sex. I will never consent to have our peace disturbed by any such discussions." " ' Consent — you ? ' it is not consent from you that is in question — it is assent from your wife." " Am not I the head of my house ? " " You are not the head of your wife. . God has given hjr a mind of her own." " I am the head, and she the heart." " God grant you play true to one another, then ! I suppose I am to be grateful that you did not say she was only the hand. If the head represses no natural pulse of the heart, there can be no question as to your giving your consent. Both will be of one accord, and there needs but to present any question to get a full and true answer. There is no need of precaution, of indulgence, nor consent. But our doubt is whether the heart does consent with the head, or only obeys its decrees with a passiveness that precludes the exercise of its natural 3* 30 WOMA^J IN TKE . powers, or a repugnance that turns sweet qualities to bitter, or a doubt that lays waste the fair occasions of life. It is to ascertain the truth that we propose some liber iting measures." Thus vaguely are these questions proposed and dis- cussed at present. But their being proposed at all im- plies much thought, and suggests more. Many women are considering within themselves what they need that they have not, and what they can have if they find they need it. Many men are considering whether women are capable of being and having more than they are and have, and whether, if so, it will be best to consent to improvement in their condition. This morning, I open the Boston " Daily Mail," and find in its " poet's corner " a translation of Schiller's " Dignity of Woman." In the advertisement of a book on America, I see in the table of contents this sequence, " Republican Institutions. American Slavery. Amer- ican Ladies." I open the " Deutsche Schnellpest," published in New York, and find at the head of a column, Jzidenund Frauen-emancipation in Ungarn — "Emancipation of Jews and Women in Hungary." The past year has seen action in the Rhode Island legislature, to secure married women, rights over their own property, where men showed that a very little ex- amination of the subject could teach them much ; an article in the Democratic Review on the same subject more largely considered, written by a woman, impelled, it is said, by glaring wrong to a distinguished friend, hav- NINETEENTH CBHTUJiY. 81 ing shown the defects in the existing laws, and the state of opinion from which they spring ; and an answer from the revered old man, J. Q. Adams, in some respects the Phocion of his time, to an addi-ess made him by some ladies. To this last I shall again advert in another place. These symptoms of the times have come under my view quite accidentally : one who seeks, may, each month or week, collect more. The numerous party, whose opinions are already labeled and adjusted too much to their mind to admit of any new light, strive, by lectures on some model- woman of bride-like beauty and gentleness, by writing and lending little treatises, intended to mark out with precision the limits of Woman's sphere, and Woman's mission, to prevent other than the rightful shepherd from climbing the wall, or the flock from using any chance to go astray. Without enrolling ourselves at once on either side, let us look upon the subject from thi beat point of view which to-day offers ; no better, it is to be feared, than a high house-top. A high hill-top, or at least a cathrdral- spire, would be desirable. It may well be an Anti-Slavery party that pleads for Woman, if we consider merely that she does not hold property on equal terms with men ; so that, if a husband dies without making a will, the wife, instead of taking at once his place as head of the family, inherits only a part of his fortune, often brought him by herself, as if she were a child, or ward only, not an equal partner. We will not speak of the innumerable instances in 32 WOMAN IN THE which profligate and idle men live upon the earnings of industrious wives ; or if the wives leave them, and take with them the children, to perform the double duty of mother and father, follow from place to place, and threaten to rob them of the children, if deprived of the rights of a iusband, as they call them, planting themselves in their poor lodgings, frightening them into paying tribute by taking from them the children, running into debt at the expense of these otherwise so overtasked helots. Such instances count up by scores within my own memory. I have seen the husband who had stained him- self by a long course of low vice, till his wife was wea- ried from her heroic forgiveness, by finding, that his treachery made it useless, and that if she would provide bread for herself and her children, she must be separate from his ill fame — I have known this man come to in- stall himself in the chamber of a woman who loathed him, and say she should never take food without his com- pany. I have known these men steal their children, whom they knew they had no means to maintain, take them into dissolute company, expose them to bodily danger, to frighten the poor woman, to whom, it ' seems, the fact that she alone had borne the pangs of their birth, and nourished their infancy, does not give an equal right to them. I do believe that this mode of kidnap- ping — and it is frequent enough in all classes of society — will be by the next age viewed as it is by Heaven now, and that the man who avails himself of the shelter of men's laws to steal from a mother her own children, or arrogate any superior right in them, save that of superior NINETEENTH CENTURY. 33 virtue, will bear the stigma he deserves, in common with him who steals grown men from their mother-land, theii hopes, and their homes. I said, we will not speak of this now ; yet 1 have spo- ken, for the subject makes me feel too much. I could give instances that would startle the most vulgar and callous ; but 1 will not, for the public opinion of their own sex is already against such men, and where cases of extreme tyranny are made known, there is private action in the wife's favor. But she ought not to need this, nor, I think, can she long. Men must soon see that as, on their own ground, Woman is the weaker party, she ought to have legal protection, which would make such oppres- sion impossible. But I would not deal with " atrocious instances," except in the way of illustration, neither demand from men a partial redress in some one matter, but go to the root of the whole. If principles could be established, particulars would adjust themselves aright. Ascertain the true destiny of Woman ; give her legiti- mate hopes, and a standard within herself; marriage an(J all other relations would by degrees be harmonized with these. r— But to return to the historical progress of this matter. Knowing that there exists in the minds of men a tone of feeling toward women as toward slaves, such as is expressed in the common phrase, ' ■ Tell that to women and children ; " that the infinite soul can only work through them in already ascertained limits ; that the gift of reason, Man's highest prerogative, is allotted to them m much lower degree ; that they must be kept from mia 34 WOMAN IN THE 3hief and melancholy by being constantly engaged in active labor, which is to be furnished and directed by those better able to think, &c., &c., — we need not multi- ply instances, for who can review the experience of last week without recalling words which imply, whether in jest or earnest, these views, or views like these, — know- ing this, can we wonder that many reformers think that measures are not likely to be taken in behalf of women, unless then- wishes could be publicly represented by vomen ? "That can never be necessary," cry the other side. " All men are privately influenced by women; each has his wife, sister, or female friends, and is too much biased by these relations to fail of representing their interests ; and, if this is not enough, let them propose and enfoi'ce their wishes with the pen. ' The beauty of home would be destroyed, the delicacy of the sex be violated, the dignity of halls of legislation degraded, by an attempt to introduce them there. Such duties are inconsistent with those of a mother ; " aijd then we have ludicrous pictures of ladies in hysterics at the polls, and senate-chambers filled with cradles. But if, in reply, we admit as truth that Woman seems destined by nature rather for the inner circle, we must add that the arrangements of civilized life have not been, as yet, such as to secure it to her. Her circle, if the duller, is not the quieter. If kept from ''excitement," she is not from drudgery. Not only the Indian squaw carries the bui-dens of the camp, but the favorites of Louis XIV. afloompany him in his journeys, and the NINETEENTH CENTUBY. Ha washerwoman stands at her tub, and carries home Iter' work at all seasons, and in all states of health. Those who think the physical circumstances of Woman would make a part in the affairs of national government unsuit- able, are by no means those who think it impossible for negresses to endure field-work, even during pregnancy, or for sempstresses to go through their killing labors. As to the use of the pen, there was quite as much opposition to Woman's possessing herself of that help to free agency as there is now to her seizing on the rostrum or the desk ; and she is likely to draw, from a permission to plead her cause that way, opposite inferences to what might be wished by those who now grant it. As to the possibility of her filling with grace and dignity any such position, we should think those who had seen the great actresses, and heard the Quaker preachers ' of modern times, would not doubt that Woman can express publicly the fulness of thought and creation, without losing any of the peculiar beauty of her sex. What can pollute and tarnish is to act thus from any motive except that something needs to be said or done. Woman could take part in the processions, the songs, the , dances of old religion ; no one fancied her delicacy was impaired by appearing in public for such a cause. As to her home, she is not likely to leave it more than she now does for balls, theatres, meetings for promoting missions, revival meetings, and others to which she flies, ill hope of an animation for her existence commensurate with what she sees enjoyed by men. Governors of ladies'-fairs are no less engrossed by such a charge, than 36 WOMAN IN THE the governor of a state by his ; presidents of Washing- tonian societies no less away from home than presidents of conventions. If men look straitly to it, they will find that, unless their lives are domestic, those ot the women will not be. A house is no home unless it con- tain food and fire for the mind as well as for the body. The female Greek, of our day, is as much in the street as the male to cry, "What news?" We doubt not it was the same in Athens of old. The women, shut out from the market-place, made up for it at the religious festivals. For human beings are not so constituted that they can live without expansion. If they do not get it irx one way, they must in another, or perish. As to men's representing women fairly at present, while we hear from men who owe to their wives not only all that is comfortable or graceful, but all that is wise, in the arrangement of their lives, the frequent remark, "You cannot reason with a woman," — when from those of delicacy, nobleness, and poetic culture, falls the con- temptuous phrase " women and children," and that in no light sally of the hour, but in works intended to give a permanent statement of the best experiences, — when not one man, in the million, shall I say ? no, not in the hun- dred million, can rise above the belief that Woman was made for Man. — when such traits as these are daily forced upon the attention, can we feel that Man will always do justice to the interests of Woman ? Can we think that he takes a sufficiently discerning and religious view of her office and destiny ever to do her justice, except when prompted by sentiment, — accidentally or NINETEENTH CENTURY. 37 trausiently, that is, for the sentiment will vary according to the relations in which he is placed? The lover, the poet, the artist, are likely to view her nobly. The father and the philosopher have some chance of liberality ; the map of the world, the legislator for expediency, none. TTnder these circumstances, without attaching impor- tance, in themselves, to the changes demanded by the champions of Woman, we hail them as signs of the times. We would have every arbitrary barrier thrown down. We would have every path laid open to Woman as freely as to Man. Were this done, and a slight tem- porary fermentation allowed to subside, we should see crystallizations more pure and of more various beauty. We believe the divine energy would pervade nature to a degree unknown in the history of former ages, and that no discordant collision, but a ravishing harmony of the spheres, would ensue. Yet, then and only then will jnankind be ripe for this, when inward and outward freedom for Woman as much as for Man shall be acknowledged as a right, not yielded as a concession. As the friend of the negro assumes that one man cannot by right hold another in bondage, so should the friend of Woman assume that Man cannot by right lay even well-meant restrictions on Woman. If the negro be a soul, if the woman be a soul, apparelled in flesh, to one Master only are they accountable. There is but one law for souls, and, if there is to be an inter- preter of it, he must come not as man, or son of man, but as son of God. Were thought and feeling once so far elevated that 4 do WOMAN VS THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. Man should esteem himself the brother and friend, but nowise the lord and tutor, of Woman, — weri hereallj bound with her in equal worship, — arrangements as to function and employment would be of no consequence. What Woman needs is not as a woman to act or rule, but as a nature to grow, as an intellect to discern, as a soul to live freely and unimpeded, to unfold such powers as were given her when we left our common home. If fewer talents were given her, yet if allowed the free and full employment of these, so that she may render back to the giver his own with usury, she will not complain ; nay, I dare to say she will bless and rejoice in her earthly birth-place, her earthly lot. Let us consider what obstructions impede this good era, and what signs give reason to hope that it draws near. I was talking on this subject with Miranda, a woman, who, if any in the world could, might speak without heat and bitterness of the ppsition of her sex. Her father was a man who cherished no sentimental reverence for Woman, but a firm belief in the equality of the sexes. She was his eldest child, and came to him at an age when he needed a companion. From the time she could speak and go alone, he addressed her not as a plaything, but as a living mind. Among the few verses he ever wrote was a copy addressed to this child, when the first locks were cut from her head ; and the reverence expressed on this occasion for that cherished head, he never belied. It was to him the temple of immortal intellect. He respected his cliild, however, too much to be an indulgent parent lie called on her for clear judgment, for courage, for MIRANDA. 89 honor and fidelity ; in short, for such virtues as he knew. In- so far as he possessed the keys to the wonders of this universe, he allowed free use of them to her, and, by the incentive of a high expectation, he forbade, so far as possible, that she should let the privilege lie idle. Thus this child was early led to feel herself a child of the spirit. She took her place easily, not only in tho world of organized being, but in the world of mind. A dignified sense of self-dependence was given as all her portion, and she found it a sure anchor. Herself securely anchored, her relations with others were established with equal security. She was fortunate in a total absence of those charms which might have drawn to her bewildering flatteries, and in a strong electric nature, which repelled those who did not belong to her, and attracted those who did. With men and women her relations were noble, — affectionate without passion, intellectual without coldness. The world was free to her, and she lived freely in it. Outward adversity came, and inward conflict ; but that faith and self-respect had early been awakened which must always lead, at last, to an outward serenity and an inward peace. Of Miranda I had always thought as an example, tha.t the restraints upon the sex were insuperable only to those who think them so, or who noisily strive to break ■ them. She had taken a course of her own, and no man stood in her way. Many of her acts had been unusual, but excited no uproar. Few helped, but none checked her ; and the many tuen who knew her mind and her life, sho^-'ed to her confidence as to a brother, gentleness 40 WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CEXTUKY. •as to a sister. And not only refined, but very coarse men approved and aided one in whom they s;iw resolution and clearness of design. Her mind was often the leading one, always eiSietive. When I talked with her upon these matters, and had said very much what I have written, she smilingly replied: "And yet wo must admit that I have been fortunate, and this should not be. My good father's early trust gave the first bias, and the rest followed, of course. It is true that I have had less outward aid, in after years, than most women ; but that is of little conse- quence. Religion was early awakened in my soul, — a sense that what the soul is capable to ask it must attain, and that, though I might be aided and instructed by others, I must depend on myself as the only constant friend. This self-dependence, which was honored in me, is deprecated as a fault in most women. They are taught to learn their rule from without, not to unfold it Jtom within. " This is the fault of Man, who is still vain, and wishes to be more important to Woman than, by right, he should be." " Men have not shown this disposition toward you," I said. "No; because the position I early was enabled to take was one of self-reliance. And were all women as sure of their wants as T was, the result would be the same. But they are so overloaded with precepts by guardians, who think that nothing is so much to be dreaded for a woman as originality of thought or char MIRANDA. 41 acter, that their minds are impeded bj doubts till they lose their chance of fair, free proportions. The difficulty is to get them to the point from which they shall natu- rally develop self-respect, and learn self-help. " Once I thought that men would help to forward this state of things more than I do now. 1 saw so many of them wretched in the connections they had formed in weakness and vanity. They seemed so glad to esteem women whenever they could. "'The soft arms of affection,' said one of the most discerning spirits, ' will not suflSce for me, unless on them I see the steel bracelets of strength.' "But early I perceived that men never, in any ex- treme of despair, wished to be women. On the contrary, they were ever ready to taunt one another, at any sign of weakness, with, " ' Art thou not like the women, who,' — The passage ends various ways, according to the occa- sion and rhetoric of the speaker. When they admired any woman, they were inclined to speak of her as ' above her sex.' Silently I observed this, and feared it argued a rooted scepticism, which for ages had been fastening on the heart, and which only an age of miracles could eradi- cate. Ever I have been treated with great sincerity ; and I look upon it as a signal instance of this, that an intimate friend of the other sex said, in a fervent mo- ment, that I ' deserved in some star to be a man.' lie was much surprised when I disclosed my view of my position and hopes, when I declared my faith that the 42 WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. feminine side, the side of love, of beauty, of iioliness, was now to have its full chance, and that, if either were better, it was better now to be a woman ; for even the slightest achievement of good was furthering an especial \vo)k of our time. He smiled incredulously. ' She makes the best she can of it,' thought he. 'Let Jews believe the pride of Jewry, but I am of the better sort, and know better.' '■' Another used as highest praise, in speaking of a character in literature, the words ' a manly woman.' "So in the noble passage of Ben Jonson : ' I meant the day-star sbould not brighter ride. Nor shed like influence from its lucent seat ; I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet. Free from that solemn Tice of greatness, pride ; I meant each softest virtue there should meet. Fit in that softer bosom to abide. Only a learned and a manly soul I purposed her, that should with even powers The rock, the spindle, and the shears control Of destiny, and spin her own free hours.' " •'Methinks," said I, "you are too fastidious in object- ing to this. Jonson, in using the word 'manly,' only meant to heighten the picture of this, the true, the intel- ligent fate, with one of the deeper colors." "And yet," said she, "so invariable is the use of this word where a heroic quality is to be described, and I feel so sure that persistence and courage are the most womanly no less than the most manly qualities, that I would exchange these words for others of a larger sense, at the risk of marring; the fine tissue of the verse. MIRANDA. 43 Bead, ' A heavenTard and instructed soul,' and I should be satisfied. Let it not be said, -wherever there is energy or creative genius, ' She has a masculine mind.' " This by no means argues a willing want of generosity toward Woman. Man is as generoas towards her as he knows how to be. Wherever she has herself arisen in national or private history, and nobly shone forth in any form of excellence, men have received her, not only willingly, but with tri- umph. Their encomiums, indeed, are always, in some sense, mortifying ; they show too much surprise. " Can this be you?" he cries to the transfigured Cinderella ; "well, I should never have thought it, but I am very glad. We will tell every one that you have ' surpassed your sex.' " In every-day life, the feelings of the many are stained with vanity. Each wishes to be lord in a little world, to be superior at least over one ; and he does not feel strong enough to retain a life-long ascendency over a strong nature. Only a Theseus could conquer before he wed the Amazonian queen. Hercules wished rather to rest with Dejanira, and received the poisoned robe as a fit guerdon. The tale should be interpreted to all those who seek repose with the weak. But not only is Man vain and fond of power, but the same want of development, which thus affects him mor- ally, prevents his intellectually discerning the destiny of Woman. The boy w'ants no woman, but only a girl to play ball with him, and mark his pocket handkerchief. 44 WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CEMUKY. Thus, in Schiller's Dignity of Woman, beautiful aa the poem is, there is no "grave and perfect man," but only a great boy to be softened and restrained by tlie influence of girls. Poets — the elder brothers of their race — have usually seen further ; but what can you expect of every-day men, if Schiller was not more prophetic as to what women must be ? Even with Rich- ter, one foremost thought about a wife was that she would "cook him something good." But as this is a delicate subject, and we are in constant danger of being accused of slighting what are called "the functions," let me say, in behalf of Miranda iind myself, that we have high respect for those who "cook something good," who create and preserve fair order in houses, and prepare therein the shining raiment for worthy inmates, worthy guests. Only these "functions" must not be a drudg- \ ery, or enforced necessity, but a part of life. Let Ulysses drive the beeves home, while Penelope there piles up the fragrant loaves; they are both well em- ployed if these be done in thought and love, willingly. But Penelope is no more meant for a baker or weaver solely, than Ulysses for a cattle-herd. The sexes should not only correspond to and appre- ciate, but prophesy to one another. In individual instances this happens. Two persons love in one another the future good which they aid one another to unfold. This is imperfectly or rarely done in the gen- eral life. Man has gone but little way ; now he is waltz- ing to see whether Woman can keep step with him ; but, instead of calling out, like a good brother, "You can do PLATER. 45 it, if you only think so," or impersonally, "Any one can do what he tries to do; " he often discourages with school-boy brag : " Girls can't do that ; girls can't play ball." But let any one defy their taunts, break through and be brave and secure, they rend the air with shouts. This fluctuation was obvious in a narrative I have lately seen, the story of the life of Countess Emily Plater, the heroine of the last revolution in Poland. The dignity, the purity, the concentrated resolve, the calm, deep enthusiasm, which yet could, when occasion called, sparkle up a holy, an indignant fire, make of this young maiden the figure I want for my frontispiece. Her portrait is to be seen in the book, a gentle shadow of her soul. Short was the career. Like the Maid of Orleans, she only did enough to verify her credentials, and then passed from a scene on which she was, proba- bly, a premature apparition. When the young girl joined the army, where the report of her exploits had preceded her, she was received in a manner that mai-ks the usual state of feeling. Some of the officers were disappointed at her quiet manners ; that she had not the air and tone of a stage-heroine. They thought she could not have acted heroically unless in buskins ; had no idea that such deeds only showed the habit of her mind. Others talked of the delicacy of her sex, advised her to withdraw from perils and dangers, and had no comprehension of the feelings within her breast that made this impossible. The gentle irony of her reply to these self-constituted tutors (not one of whom showed himself her equal in conduct or reason), is 46 WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTUKY. as good aa her indignant reproof at a later period to the general, whose perfidy ruined all. But though, to the mass of these men, she was an embarrassment and a puzzle, the nobler sort viewed her with a tender enthusiasm worthy of her. " Her name," said her biographer, " is known throughout Europe. I paint her character that she may be as widely loved." With pride, he shows her freedom from all personal affections ; that, though tender and gentle in an uncom- mon degree, there was no room for a private love in her consecrated life. She inspired those who knew her with a simple energy of feeling like her own. " We have seen," tliey felt, " a woman worthy the name, capable of all sweet affections, capable of stern virtue." It is a fact worthy of remark, that all these revolu- tions in favor of liberty have produced female champions that share the same traits, but Emily alone has found a biographer. Only a near friend could have performed for her this task, for the flower was reared in feminine seclusion, and the few and simple traits of her history before her appearance in the field could only have been known to the domestic circle. Her biographer has gath- ered them up with a brotherly devotion. No ! Man is not willingly ungenerous. He wants faith and love, because he is not yet himself an elevated being. He cries, with sneering scepticism, " Give us a sign." But if the sign appears, his eyes glisten, and he offers not merely approval, but homage. The severe nation which taught that the happiness of the race was forfeited throiijrh the fault of a Woman, ar EVE AND MART. 47 showed its thought of what sort of regard Man )wed her, by making him accuse her on the first question to hia God, — who gave her to the patriarch as a handmaid, and, bj the Mosaical law, bound her to allegiance like a serf, — even they greeted, with solemn rapture, all great and holy women as heroines, prophetesses, judges in Israel ; and, if they made Eve listen to the serpent, gave Mary as a bride to the Holy Spirit. In other nations it' has been the same down to our day. To the Woman who could conquer a triumph was awarded. And not only those whose strength was recommended to the heart by association with goodness and beauty, but those who were bad, if they were steadfast and strong, had their claims allowed. In any age a Semiramis, an Elizabeth of England, a Catharine of Russia, makes her ■ place good, whether in a large or small circle. How has a little wit, a little genius, been celebrated in a Woman ! What an intellectual triumph was that of the lonely Aspasia, and how heartily acknowledged ! She, indeed, met a Pericles. But what annalist, the rudest of men, the most plebeian of husbands, will spare from his page one of the few anecdotes of Roman women — Sappho ! Eloisa ! The names are of threadbare celeb- rity. Indeed, they were not more suitably met in their own time than the Countess Colonel Plater on her first joining the army. They had much to mourn, and their great impulses did not find due scope. But with time enough, space enough, their kindred appear on the scene. Across the ages, forms lean, trying to touch the hem of their retreating robes. The youth here by my 48 WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. side cannot be weary of the fragments from the life of Sappho. He will not believe they are not addressed to himself, or that he to whom they were addressed could be ungrateful. A recluse of high powers devotes him- self to understand and explain the thought of Eloisa ; he asserts her vast superiority in soul and genius to her master ; he curses the fate that casts his lot in another age than hers. He could have understood her ; he would have been to her a friend, such as Abelard never could. And this one Woman he could have loved and reverenced, and she, alas ! lay cold in her grave hundreds of years ago. His sorrow is truly pathetic. These responses, that come too late to give joy, are as tragic as anytliing we know, and yet the tears of later ages glitter as they fall on Tasso's prison bars. And we know how elevating to the captive is the security that somewhere an intel- ligence must answer to his. The Man habitually most narrow towards Woman will be flushed, as by the worst assault on Christianity, if you say it has made no improvement in her condition. In- deed, those most opposed to new acts in her favor, are jealous of the reputation of those which have been done. We will not speak of the enthusiasm excited by act- resses, improvisatrici, female singers, — for here mingles the charm of beauty and grace, — but female authors, even learned women, if not insuiferably ugly and slovenly, from the Italian professor's daughter who taught behind the curtain, down to Mrs. Carter and Madame Dacier, are sure of an admiring audience, and, what is far bet- LET ALL THE PLANTS GROW! 49 ter, chance to use what they have learned, and to learn more, if they can once get a platform on which to stand. But how to get this platform, or how to make it of reasonably easy access, is the difiSculty. Plants of great vigor will almost always struggle into blossom, despite impediments. But there should be encouragement, and a free genial atmosphere for those of more timid sort, fair play for each in its own kind. Some are like the little, delicate flowers which love to hide in the dripping mosses, by the sides of mountain torrents, or in the shade of tall trees. But others require an open field, a rich and loosened soil, or they never show their proper hues. It may be said that Man does not have his fair play either; his energies are repressed and distorted by the interposition of artificial obstacles. Ay, but he himself has put them there ; they have grown out of his own imperfections. If there is a misfortune in Woman's lot, it is in obstacles being interposed by men, which do 7iot mark her state ; and, if they express her past ignorance, do not her present needs. As every Man is of Woman bom, she has slow but sure moans of redress ; yet the sooner a general justness of thought makes smooth the path, the better. Man is of Woman born, and her face bends over him in infancy with an expression he can never quite forget. Eminent men have delighted to pay tribute to this image, vH TROM A CRITICISM ON CONSUELO. 239 that any good thing can come out of Nazareth, we reply that we do not know the true facts as to the history of George Sand. There has been no memoir or notice of her published on which any one can rely, and we have seen too much of life to accept the monsters of gossip in reference to any one. But we know, through her works, that, whatever the stains on her life and reputation may have been, there is in her a soul so capable of goodness and- honor as to depict them most successfully in her ideal forms. It is her works, and not her private life, that we are considering. Of her works we have means of judging ; of herself, not. But among those who have passed unblamed through the walks of life, we have not often found a nobleness of purpose and feeling, a sincere religious hope, to be compared with the spirit tha,t breathes through the pages of Consuelo. The experiences of the artist-life, the grand and penetrating remarks upon music, make the book a precious acquisition to all whose hearts are fashioned to understand such things. We suppose that we receive here not only the mind of the writer, but of Liszt, with whom she has publicly corresponded in the " Lettres (Tun Voyageur." None could more avail us, for " in him also is a spark of the divine fire," as Beethoven said of Ichubert. We may thus consider that we have in this book the benefit of the most electric nature, the finest sensibility, and the bold- est spirit of investigation combined, expressing themselves in a little world of beautiful or picturesque forms. Although there are grave problems discussed, and sad 240 MISCELLANIES. and searching experiences described in this work, yet its spirit is, in the main, hopeful, serene, almost glad. It is the spirit inspired from a near acquaintance with the higher life of art. Seeing there something really achieved and completed, corresponding with the soul's desires, faith is enlivened as to the eventual fulfilment of those desires, and we feel a certainty that the exist- ence which looks at present so marred and fragmentary shall yet end in harmony. The shuttle is at work, and the threads are gradually added that shall bring out the pattern, and prove that what seems at present confusion is really the way and means to order and beauty. JENNY LIND, THE "CONSUELO" OF GEORGE SAND. Jenny Lind, the prima donna of Stockliolm, is among tlie most distinguished of those geniuses who have been invited to welcome the queen to Germany. Her name has been unknown among us, as she is still young, and has not wandered much from the scene of her first triumphs ; but many may have seen, last winter, in the foreign papers, an account of her entrance into Stock- holm after an absence of some length The people received her with loud cries of homage, took the horses from her carriage and drew her home ; a tribute of respect often paid to conquerors and statesmen, but seldom, or, as far as we know, never to the priesthood of the muses, who have conferred the higher benefit of rais- ing, refining and exhilarating, the popular mind. An accomplished Swede, now in this country, com- municated to a friend particulars of Jenny Lind's career, which suggested the thought that she might have given the hint for the principal figure in Sand's late famous novel, " Consuelo." This work is at present in process of translation in " The Harbinger," a periodical published at Brook Farm, Mass. ; but, as this translation has proceeded but a little way, and the book in its native tongue is not generally. ■1\ 242 , MISCELLANIES. though It has been extensively, circulated here, we will give a slight sketch of its plan. It has been a work of deepest interest to those who have looked upon Sand for some years back, as one of the best exponents of tlie difficulties, the errors, the aspirations, the weaknesses, and the regenerative powers of the present epoch. The struggle in her mind and the experiments of her life have been laid bare to the eyes of her fellow-creatures witli fearless openness — fearless not shameless. Let no man confound the bold unreserve of Sand with that of those who have lost the feeling of beauty and the love of good. With a bleeding heart and bewildered feet she sought the truth, and if she lost the way, returned as soon as convinced she had done so ; but yhe would never hide the fact that she had lost it. "What God knows, I dare avow to man," seems to bo her motto. It is impossible not to see in her, not only the distress and doubts of the intellect, but the tempta- tions of a sensual nature ; but we see too the courage of a hero and a deep capacity for religion. This mixed nature, too, fits her peculiarly to speak to men so dis- eased as men are at present. They feel she knows their ailment, and if she find a cure, it will really be by a specific remeiy An upward tendency' and growing light are observable in all her works for several years past, till now, in the present, she has expressed such conclusions as forty years of the most varied experience have brought to one who has shrunk from no kind> of discipline, yet still cried to God an)id it all ; one who, whatever you may say JENNY LIND. 243 against her, you must feel has never accepted a word for a thing, or worn one moment the veil of hypocrisy ; and this person one of the most powerful nature, both as to passion and action, and of an ardent, glowing gcinius. These conclusions are sadly incomplete. There is an amazing alloy in the last product of her crucible, but there is also so much of pure gold that the book is truly a cordial, as its name of Consuelo (consolation) promises. The young Consuelo lives as a child the life of a beggar. Her youth is passed in the lowest circumstances of the streets of Venice. She brings the more perti- nacious fire of Spanish blood to be fostered by the cheer- ful airs of Italy. A vague sense of the benefits to be derived, from such mingling of various influences, in the formation of a character, is to be discerned in several works of art now, when men are really wishing to become citizens of the world, though old habits still interfere on every side with so noble a development. Nothing can be more charming than the first volume, which describes the young girl amid the common life of Venice. It is sunny, open, and romantic as the place. The beauty of her voice, when a little singing-girl in the streets, arrested the attention of a really great and severe master, Porpora, who educated her to music. In this she finds the vent and the echo for her higher self Her afiections are fixed on a young companion, an unworthy object, but she does not know him to be so. She judges from her own candid soul, that all must be good, and derives from the tie, for a while, the fostering 244 MISCELLAMIKS. influenous which love alone has for genius. Clear per- ception follows quickly upon her first triumphs in art. They have given her a rival, and a mean rival, in her betrothed, whose talent, though great, is of an inferior grade to hers ; who is vain, every way impure. Her master, Porpora, tries to avail himself of this disappoint- ment to convince her that the artist ought to devote himself to art alone; that private ties must interfere with his perfection and his glory. But the nature of Consuelo revolts against this doctrine, as it would against the seclusion of a convent. She feels that genius requires manifold experience for its development, and that the mind, concentrated on a single object, is likely to pay by a loss of vital energy for the economy of thoughts and time. Driven by these circumstances into Germany, she is brought into contact with the old noblesse, a very dif- ferent, but far less charming, atmosphere than that of the gondoliers of Venice. But here, too, the strong, simple character of our Consuelo is unconstrained, if not at home, and when her heart swells and needs expansion, she can sing. Here the Count de Rudolstadt, Albert, loves Consuelo, which seems, in the conduct of the relation, a type of a religious democracy in love with the spirit of art. We do not mean that any such cold abstraction is consciously intended, but all that is said means this. It shadows forth one of the greatest desires which convulse our age. A most noble meaning is couched in the history of Albert, and though the writer breaks down under such JENNr LIND. 245 great attempts, and the religion and philosophy of the book are clumsily embodied compared T\'ith its poesy and rhetoric, yet great and still growing thoughts are expressed with sufficient force to make the book a com- panion of rare value to one in the same phase of mind. Albert is the aristocratic democrat, such as Alfieri was ; one who, in his keen perception of beauty, shares the good of that culture which ages have bestowed on the more fortunate classes, but in his large heart loves and longs for the good of all men, as if he had himself suf- fered in the lowest pits of human misery. He is all this and more in his transmigration, real or fancied, of soul, through many forms of heroic effort and bloody error ; in his incompetency to act at the present time, his need of long silences, of the company of the dead and of fools, and eventually of a separation from all habitual ties, is expressed a great idea, which is still only in the throes of birth, yet the nature of whose life we begin to prognosti- cate with some clearness. Consuelo's escape from the castle, and even from Albert, her admiration of him, and her incapacity to love him till her own character be more advanced, are told with great naturalness. Her travels with Joseph Haydn are again as charmingly told as the Venetian life. Here the author speaks from her habitual existence, and far more masterly than of those deep places of thought where she is less at home. She has lived much, discerned much, felt great need of great thoughts, but not been able to thmk a great way for herself She fearlessly accom- 21* ' 246 MISCELLANIES. panie3 the spirit of the age, but she never surpasses it , that is the office of the great thinker. At Vienna Consuelo is brought fully into connection with the great -world as an artist. She finds that its real- ities, so far from being less, are even more harsh and sordid for the artist than for any other ; and that with avarice, envy and falsehood, she must prepare for the fear- ful combat which awaits noble souls in any kind of arena, with the pain of disgust when they cannot raise them- selves to patience — with the almost equal pain, when they can, of pity for those who know not what they do. Albert is on the verge of the grave ; and Consuelo, who, not being able to feel for him sufficient love to find in it compensation for the loss of that artist-life to which she feels Nature has destined her, had hitherto resisted the entreaties of his aged father, and the pleadings of her own reverential and tender sympathy with the wants of his soul, becomes his wife just before he dies. The sequel, therefore, of this history is given under the title of Countess of Rudolstadt. Consuelo is still on the stage ; she is at the Prussian court. The well-known features of this society, as given in the memoirs of the time, are put together with much grace and wit. The sketch of Frederic is excellent. The rest of the book is devoted to expression of the author's ideas on the subject of reform, and especially of association as a means thereto. As her thoughts are yet in a very crude state, the execution of this part is equally bungling and clumsy. Worse : she falsifies the characters of both Consuelo and Albert, — who is revived again by JENNY LIND. 247 subterfuge of trance, — and stains her best arrangements hv the mixture of falsehood and intrigue. Yet she proceeds towards, if she walks not by, the light of a great idea ; and sincere democracy, universal relig- ion, scatter from afar many seeds upon the page for :i future time. The book should be, and will be, univer- sally read. Those especially who have witnessed all Sand's doubts and sorrows on the subject of marriage, will rejoice in the clearej-, purer ray which dawns upon her now. The most natural and deep part of the book, though not her main object, is what relates to the struggle between the claims of art and life, as to whether it be better for the world and one's self to develop to perfec- tion a talent which Heaven seemed to have assigned as a special gift and vocation, or sacrifice it whenever the character seems to require this for its general develop- ment. The character of Consuelo is, throughout the first part, strong, delicate, simple, bold, and pure. The fair lines of this picture are a good deal broken in the second part ; but we must remain true to the impression origi- nally made upon us by this charming and noble creation of the soul of Sand. It is in reference to our Consuelo that a correspond- ent * writes, as to Jenny Lind ; and we are rejoiced to find that so many hints were, or might have been, fur- nished for the picture from real life. If Jenny Lind did not suggest it, yet she must also be, in her own sphere a Consuelo. * We do not know how accurate is this correspondent's statement of Tacts. The narrative is certainly interesting, — Ed. 248 MISCELLANIES. " Jenny Lind must have been born about 1822 or 1823, When a young child, she was observed, playing about and singing in the streets of Stockholm, by Mr. Berg, master of singing for the royal opera. Pleased and astonished at the purity and suavity of her voice, be inquired instantly for her family, and found her father, a poor inn- keeper, willing and glad to give up his daughter to his care, on the promise to protect her and give her an excel- lent musical education. He was always very careful of her, never permitting her to sing except in his presence, and never letting her appear on the stage, unless as a mute figure in some ballet, such, for instance, as Cupid and the Graces, till she was sixteen, when she at once executed her part in ' Der Freyschutz,' to the full satis- faction and surprise of the public of Stockholm. From that time she gradually became the favorite of every one. Without beauty, she seems, from her innocent and gracious manners, beautiful on the stage and charming in society. She is one of the few actresses A^hom no evil tongue can ever injure, and is respected and welcomed in any and all societies. "The circumstances that reminded me of Consuelowere these : that she was a poor child, taken up by this sing- ing-master, and educated thoroughly and severely by liim ;. that she loved his son, who was a good-for-nothing fellow, like Anzoleto, and at last discarded him ; that she refused the son of an English earl, and, when he fell sick, his father condescended to entreat for him, just as the Count of lludolstadt did for his son ; that, though plain and low in stature, wlien singing lier best parts she appears JENNY LIND. 249 beautiful, and awakens enthusiastic admiration : that slie is rigidly correct in her demeanor towards her numerous admirers, having even returned a present sent her bj the crown-prince, Oscar, in a manner that she deemed equiv- ocal. This l-ist circumstance being noised abroad, the next time she appeared on the stage she was greeted with more enthusiastic plaudits than ever, and thicker showers of flowers fell upon her from the hands of her true friends, the public. She was more fortunate than Consuelo in not being compelled to sing to a public of Prussian corporals." Indeed, the picture of Frederic's opera-audience, with the pit full of his tall grenadiers with their wives on their shoulders, never daring to applaud except when he gave the order, as if bj tap of drum, opposed to the tender and expansive nature of the artist, is one of the best tragi- comedies extant. In Eussia, too, all is military ; aa soon as a new musician arrives, he is invested with a rank in the army. Even in the church Nicholas has lately done the same. It seems as if he could not believe a man to be alive, except in the army ; could not believe the human heart could beat, except by beat of drum. But we be- lieve in Russia there is at least a mask of gayety thrown over the chilling truth. The great Frederic wished no ilisguise ; everywhere he was chief corporal, and trampled with his everlasting boots the fair flowers of poesy into the dust. The North has been generous to us of late ; she has sent us Ole Bull. She is about to send Frederika Brener. May she add Jenny Lind ! CAROLINE. The other evening I heard a gentle voice reading aloud tlie story of Maurice, a boy who, deprived of the use of his limbs by paralysis, was sustained in comfort, and almost in cheerfulness, by the exertions of his twin sister. Left with him in orphanage, her affections were centred upon him, and, amid the difficulties his misfortunes brought upon them, grew to a fire intense and pure enough to animate her with angelic impulses and powers. As he could not move about, she drew him everywhere in a little cart ; and when at last they heard that sea-bathing might accomplish his cure, conveyed him, in this way, hundreds of miles to the sea-shore. Her pious devotion and faith were rewarded by his cure, and (a French story would be entirely incomplete otherwise) with money, plaudits and garlands, from the by-standers. Though the story ends in this vulgar manner, it is, in its conduct, extremely sweet and touching, not only as to the beautiful qualities developed by these trials in the brother and sister, but in the purifying and softening influence exerted, by the sight of his helplessness and her goodness, on all around them. Those who are the victims of some natural blight often fulfil this important office, and bless those within their sphere imre, by awakening feelings of holy tender CAROLINE. 251 ness ami compassion, than a man healthy and strong can do by the utmost exertion of his good-will and energies. Thus, in the East, men hold sacred those in whom they find a distortion or alienation of mind which makes them unable to provide for themselves. The well and sane feel themselves the ministers of Providence to carry out a mys- terious purpose, while taking care of those who are thus left incapable of taking care of themselves ; and, while fuliill- ing this ministry, find themselves refined and made better. The Swiss have similar feelings as to those of their families whom cretinism has reduced to idiocy. They are attended to, fed, dressed clean, and provided with a pleas- ant place for the day, before doing anything else, even by very busy and poor people. We have seen a similar instance, in this country, of voluntary care of an idiot, and the mental benefits that ensued. This idiot, like most that are called so, was not without a glimmer of mind. His teacher was able to give him some notions, both of spiritual and mental facts ; at least she thought she ■ Iiad given him the idea of God, and though it appeared by his gestures that to him the moon was the representa- tive of that idea, yet he certainly did conceive of some- thing above him, and which inspired him with reverence and delight. He knew the names of two or three per- sons who had done him kindness, and when they were mentioned, would point upward, as he did to the moon, showing himself susceptible, in his degree, of Mr. Car- lyle's grand method of education, hero-worship. She had awakened in him a love of music, so that he could be 252 MISCELLANIES. soothed in his most violent moods by her gentle si iging. It was a most touching sight to see him sitting opposite to her at such times, his wondering and lack-lustre eyes filled with childish pleasure, while in hers gleamed the same pure joy that we may suppose to animate the looks of an angel appointed by Heaven to restore a ruined world. We knew another instance, in which a young girl became to her village a far more valuable influence than any patron saint who looks down from his stone niche, while his votaries recall the legend of his goodness in days long past. Caroline lived in a little, quiet country village — quiet as no village can now remain, since the railroad strikes its spear through the peace of country life. She lived alone with a widowed mother, for whom, as well as for herself, her needle won bread, while the mother's strength and skill sufficed to the simple duties of their household. They lived content and hopeful, till, whether from sitting still too much, or some other cause, Caroline became ill, and soon the physician pronounced her spine to be affected, and to such a degree that she was incurable. This news was a thunder-bolt to the poor little cottage. The mother, who had lost her elasticity of mind, wept in despair ; but the young girl, who found so early all the hopes and joys of life taken from her, and that she was seemingly left without any shelter from the storm, had even at first the faith and strength to bow her head in gentleness, and say, " God will provide." She sustained and cheered her mother. And God did provide. With simultaneous vibration OABOLINK. 263 the hearts of all their circle acknowledged the divine obligation of love and mutual aid between human beings. Food, clothing, medicine, service, were all offered freely to the widow and her daughter. Caroline grew worse, and was at last in such a state that she could onlj be moved upon a sheet, and by the aid of two persons. In this toilsome service, and every other that she required for years, her mother never needed to ask assistance. The neighbors took turns in doing all that was required, and the young girls, as they were grow- ing up, counted it among their regular employments to work for or read to Caroline. Not without immediate reward was their service of love. The mind of the girl, originally bright and pure, was quickened and wrought up to the finest susceptibility by the nervous exaltation that often ensues upon affection of the spine. The soul, which had taken an upward im- pulse from its first act of resignation, grew daily more and more into communion with the higher regions of life, permanent and pure. Perhaps she was instructed by spirits which, having passed through a similar trial of pain and loneliness, had risen to see the reason why. However that may be, she grew in nobleness of view and purity of sentiment, and, as she received more instruc- tion from books also than any other person in her circle, had from many visitors abundant information as to the events which were passing around her, and leisure to reflect on them with a disinterested desire for truth, she oecame so much wiser than her companions as to be at last their preceptress and beat friend, and her brief 22 254 MISCELLANIES. gentle comments and counsels were listened to as oracles from one enfranchised from the films which selfishness and passion cast over the eyes of the multitude. The twofold blessing conferred bj her presence, both in awakening none but good feelings in the hearts of others, and in the instruction she became able to confer, was such, that, at the end of five years, no member of that society would have been so generally lamented as Caroline, had Death called her away. But the messenger, who so often seems capricious in his summons, took first the aged mother, and the poor girl found that life had yet the power to bring her grief, unexpected and severe. And now the neighbors met in council. Caroline could not be left quite alone in the house. Should they take turns, and stay with her by night as well as by day ? "Not so," said the blacksmith's wife ; "the house will never seem like home to her now, poor thing! and 't would be kind of dreary for her to change about her nusses so. I '11 tell you what ; all my children but one are mairied and gone off; we have property enough ; I will have a good room fixed for her, and she shall live with us. My husband wants her to, as much as me." The council acquiesced in this truly humane arrange- ment, and Caroline lives there still ; and we are assured that none of her friends dread her departure so much as the blacksmith's wife. "'Ta'n't no trouble at all to have her,'' she says, " and if it was, I should n't care ; she is so good and still, CAROLINE. 255 and talks so pretty ! It 's as good bein' with her as goin' to meetin' ! " De Maistre relates some similar passages as to a sick girl in St. Petersburgli, though his mind dwelt more on the spiritual beauty evinced in her remarks, than on the good she had done to those around her. Indeed, none bless more than those who "only stand and wait." Even if their passivity be enforced by fate, it will become a spiritual activity, if accepted in a faith higher above fate than the Greek gods were supposed to sit enthroned above misfortune. EVER-GROWING LIVES. " Age could not wither her, nor custom stale Her inBoite variety." Sc was one person described by the pen which has made a clearer mark than any other on the history of Man. But is it not surprising that such a description should apply to so few ? Of two or three women we read histories that corre- spond with the hint given in these lines. They were women in whom there was intellect enough to temper and enrich, heart enough to soften and enliven the entire being. There was soul enough to keep the body beauti- ful through the term of earthly existence ; for while the roundness, the pure, delicate lineaments, the flowery bloom of youth were passing, the marks left in the course of those years were not merely of time and care, but also of exquisite emotions and noble thoughts. With such chisels Time works upon his statues, tracery and fretwork, well worth the loss of the first virgin beauty of the ala- baster ; wliile the fire within, growing constantly brighter and brighter, shows all these changes in the material, as rich and varied ornaments. The vase, at last, becomes a lamp, of beauty, fit to animate the councils of the great, or the solitude of the altar. EVER-GEOWING LIVES. 257 Two or three women there have been, who have thua grown even more beautiful with age. We know of many more men of whom this is true. These have been heroes, or still more frequently poets and artists ; with whom the habitual life tended to expand the soul, deepen and vary the experience, refine the perceptions, and immor- talize the hopes and dreams of youth. They were j)ersons who never lost their originality of character, nor spontaneity of action. Their impulses proceeded from a fulness and certainty of character, that made it impossible they should doubt or repent, whatever the results of their actions might be. They could not repent, in matters little or great, because thej' felt that their actions were a sincere expo- sition of the wants of their souls. Their impulsiveness was not the restless fever of one who must change his place somehow or some-whither, but the waves of a tide, which might be swelled to vehemence by the action of the winds or the influence of an attractive orb, but was none the less subject to fixed laws. A character which does not lose its freedom of motion ind impulse by contact with the world, grows with its years more richly creative, more freshly individual. It IS a character governed by a principle of its own, and not by rules taken from other men's experience ; and therefore it is that " Age cannot wither them, nor custom stale Their inlinite vai'iety." Like violins, they gain by age, and the spirit of him who discourseth through them most excellent music. :258 MISCELLANIES. " Like wine well kept and long. Heady, nor harsh, nor strong. With each succeeding year is quaffed A richer, purer, mellower draught." Our French neighbors have been the object of humor- ous satire for their new coinage of terms to describe the heroes of their modern romance. A hero is no hero unless he has " ravaged brows," is "blase " or ''brise " or " fatigue." His eves must be languid, and his cheeks hollow. Youth, health and strength, charm no more ; only the tree broken by the gust of passion is beautiful, only the lamp that has burnt out the better part of its oil precious, in their eyes. This, with them, assumes the air of caricature and grimace, yet it indicates a real want of this time — a feeluig that the human being ought to grow more rather than less attractive with the passage of time, and that the decrease in physical charms would, in a fair and full life, be more than compensated by an increase of those which appeal to the imagination and higher feelings. A friend complains that, while most men are like music-boxes, which you can wind up to play their set of tunes, and then they stop, in our society the set consists of only two or three tunes at most. That is because no new melodies are added after five-and-twenty at farthest It is the topic of jest and amazement with foreigners that what is called society is given up so much into the hands of boys and girls. Accordingly it wants spirit, variety and depth of tone, and we find there no historical pres- snces, none of tlie charms, infinite in varictj-, of Cleopiitra, EVBBrGROWINa LIVES. 259 ao heads of Julius Csesax, orerflowing with meanings, as the sun with light. Sometimes we hear an educated voice that shows ua how these things might be altered. It has lost the fresh tone, of youth, but it has gained unspeakably in depth, brilliancy, and power of expression. How exquisite its modulations, so finely shaded, showing that all the inter- vals are filled up with little keys of fairy delicacy and in perfect tune ! Its deeper tones sound the depth of the past ; its more thrilling notes express an awakeniug to the infinite, and ask a thousand questions of the spirits that are to unfold our destinies, too far-reaching to be clothed in words. Who does not feel the sway of such a voice ? It makes the whole range of our capacities resound and tregable, and, when there is positiyeness enough to give an answer, calls forth most melodious echoes. The human eye gains, in like manner, by time and ex- perience. Its substance fades, but it is only the more filled with an ethereal lustre which penetrates the gazer till he feels as if " That eye were in itself a soul," aad realizes the range of its power ** To rouae, to win, to fascinatei to melt, And by its spell of undefined control Magnetic draw the secrets of the soul." The eye that shone beneath the white locks of Thor- waldsen was such an one, — the eye of immortal youth, the indicator of the man's whole aspect in a future sphere 260 MISCELLANIES. We have scanned such eyes closely ; when near, we saw that the lids were red, the corners defaced with omi- nous marks, the orb looked faded and tear-stained ; but when we retreated far enough for its ray to reach us, it . seemed far younger than the clear and limpid gaze of infancy, more radiant than the sweetest beam in that of early youth. The Puture and the Past met in that glance. for more such eyes ! The vouchers of free, of full and ever-growing lives ! HOUSEHOLD NOBLENESS. " Mistress of herself, though China falL" Women, in general, are indignant that tte satirist should have made this the climax to his praise of a ■woman. And yet, we fear, he saw only too truly. What unexpected failures have we seen, literally, in this respect ! How often did the Martha blur the Mary out of the face of a lovely woman at the sound of a crash amid glass and porcelain ! What sad littleness in all the department thus represented ! Obtrusion of the mop and duster on the tranquil meditation of a husband and brother. Impatience if the carpet be defaced by the feet even of cherished friends. There is a beautiful side, and a good reason here ; but why must the beauty degenerate, and give place to meanness ? To Woman the care of home is confided. It is the sanctuary, of which she should be the guardian angel. To all elements that are introduced there she should be the "ordering mind." She represents the spirit of beauty, and her influence should be spring-like, clothing all objects within her sphere with lively, fresh and ten- der hues. She represents purity, and all that appertains to her should be kept leli lately pure. She is modesty, and 262 MISCELLANIES. draperies should soften all rude lineaments, and exclude glare and dust. Slie is harmony, and all objects should be in their places ready for, and matched to, their uses. We all know that there is substantial reason for the offence we feel at defect in any of these ways. A woman who wants purity, modesty and harmony, in her dress and manners, is insufferable ; one who wants them in the arrangements of her house, disagreeable to everybody. She neglects the most obvious ways of expressing what we desire to see in her, and the inference is ready, that the inward sense is wanting. It is with no merely gross and selfish feeling that all men commend the good housekeeper, the good nurse. Neither is it slight praise to say of a woman that she does well the honors of her house in the way of hospital- ity. The wisdom that can maintain serenity, cheerful- ness and order, in a little world of ten or twelve persons, and keep ready the resources that are needed for their sustenance and recovery in sickness and sorrow, is the same that holds the stars in their places, and patiently prepares the precious metals in the most secret chambers of the earth. The art of exercising a refined hospitality is a fine art, and the music thus produced only differs from, that of the orchestra in this, that in the former case the overture or sonata cannot be played twice in the same manner. It requires that the hostess shall combine true self-respect and repose, " The simple art of not too much," with refined perception of individual traits and moods in HOUSEHOLD NOBLENESS. 26o character, with variety and vivacity, an ease grace and gentleness, that diifuse their sweetness insensibly through every nook of an assembly, and call out reciprocal sweet- ness wherever there is any to be found. The only danger in all this is the same that besets us in every walk of life ; to wit, that of preferring the outward sign to the inward spirit whenever there is cause to hesitate between the two. " I admire," says Goethe, " the Chinese novels ; they express so happily ease, peace and a finish unknown to other nations in the interior arrangements of their homes. " In one of them I came upon the line, ' I heard the lovely maidens laughing, and found my way to the garden, where they were seated in their light cane- chairs.' To me this brings an immediate animation, by the images it suggests of lightness, brightness and ele- gance." This is most true, but it is also most true that the garden-house would not seem thus charming unless its light cane-chairs had lovely, laughing maidens seated in them. And the lady who values her porcelain, that most exquisite product of the peace and thorough-breed- ing of China, so highly, should take the hint, and re- member that unless the fragrant herb of wit, sweetened by kindness, and softened by the cream of affability, also crown her board, the prettiest tea-cups in the world might as well lie in fragments in the gutter, as adorn her social show. The show loses its beauty when it ceases to represent a substance. 264 MISCELLANIES. Here, as elsewhere, it is onlj vanity, narrowness and self-seeldng, that spoil a good thing. Women would never be too good housekeepers for their own peace and that of others, if they considered housekeeping only as a means to an end. If their object were really the peace and joy of all concerned, they could bear to have their cups and saucers broken more easily than their tempers, and to have curtains and carpets soiled, rather than their hearts by mean and small feelings. But they are brought up to think it is a disgrace to be a bad house- keeper, not because they must, by such a defect, be a cause of suffering and loss of time to all within their sphere, but because all other women will laugh at them if they are so. Here is the vice, — for want of a high motive there can be no truly good action. We have seen a woman, otherwise noble and magnani- mous in a high degree, so insane on this point as to weep bitterly because she found a little dust on her picture- frames, and torment her guests all dinner-time with excuses for the way in which the dinner was cooked. We have known others to join with their servants to backbite the best and noblest friends for trifling derelic- tions against the accustomed order of the house. The broom swept ouf the memory of much sweet counsel and loving-kindness, and spots on the table-cloth were more regarded than those they made on their own loyalty and honor in the most intimate relations. "The worst of furies is a woman scorned," and the sex, so lively, mobile, impassioned, when passion is aroused at all. are in danger of frightful error, under HOUSEHOLD NOBLENESS. 265 great temptation. The angel can give place to a more subtle and treackeroua demon, though one, generally, of less tantalizing influence, than in the breast of man. In great crises, Woman needs the highest reason to restrain her; but her besetting sin is that of littleness. Just because nature and society unite to call on her for such fineness and finish, she can be so petty, so fretful, so vain, envious and base ! 0, women, see your danger ! See how much you need a great object in all your little actions. You cannot be fair, nor can your homes be fair, unless you are holy and noble. Will you sweep and garnish the house, only that it may be ready for a legion of evil spirits to enter in — for imps and demons of gossip, frivolity, detraction, and a restless fever about small ills ? What is the house for, if good spirits cannot peacefully abide there? Lo ! they are ask- ing for the bill in more than one well-garnished man- sion. They sought a home and found a work-house. Martha ! it was thy fault ! 23 "GLUMDALCLITCHES." This title was wittily given by an editor of this city to the ideal woman demanded in " Woman in the Nine- teenth Century." We do not object to it, thinking it is really desirable that women should grow beyond the average size which has been prescribed for them. We find in the last news from Pans these anecdotes of two who " tower " an inch or more ''above their sex," if not yet of Glumdalclitch stature. " Bravissi'tna ! — The 7th of May, at Paris, a young girl, who was washing linen, fell into the Canal St. Martin. Those around called out for help, but none ven- tured to give it. Just then a young lady elegantly dressed came up and saw the case ; in the twinkling of an eye she threw off her hat and shawl, threw herself in, and succeeded in dragging the young girl to the brink, after having sought for her in vain several times under the water. This lady was Mile. Adele Chevalier, an actress. She was carried, with the girl she had saved, into a neighboring house, which she left, after having received the necessary cares, in a fiacre, and amid the plaudits of the crowd." The second anecdote is of a different kind, but displays a kind of magnanimity still more unusual in this poor servile world: GLrMDALCLITCHES. 267 " One of our (French) most distinguished painters of sea-subjects. Gudin, has married a rich young English lady, belonging to a fnmily of high rank, and related to the Duku of Wellitigton. M. Gudin was lately at Berlin at the same time with K , inspector of pictures to the King of Holland. The King of Prussia desired that both artists should be presented to him, and received Gudin in a very flattering manner ; his genius being his only letter of recommendation. "Monsieur K has not the same advantage; but, to make up for it, he has a wife who enjoys in Holland a great reputation for her beauty. The King of Prussia is a cavalier, who cares more for pretty ladies than for genius. So Monsieur and Madame K were invited to the royal table — an honor which was not accorded to Monsieur and Madame Gudin. " Humble representations were made to the monarch, advising him not to make such a marked distinction between the French artist and the Dutch amateur. These failing, the wise counsellors went to Madame Gudin, and, intimating that they did so with the good-will of the king, said that she might be received as cousin to the Duke of Wellington, as daughter of an English general, and of a family which dates back to the thirteenth cen- tury. She could, if she wished, avail herself of her rights of birth to obtain the same honors with Madame . K . To sit at the table of the king, she need only cease for a moment to be Madame Gudin, and become once more Lady L ." Does not all this sound like a history of the sevep^ 268 MISCELLANIEb. teenth century? Surely etiquette was never main- tained in a more arrogant manner at the court of Louis XIV. But Madame Gudin replied that her highest pride lay in the celebrated name which she bears at present ; that she did not wish to rely on any other to obtain so futile a distinction, and that, in her eyes, the most noble escutcheon was the palette of her husband. I need not say that this dignified feeling was not com- prehended. Madame Gudin was not received at the table, but she had shown the nobleness of her character. For the rest, Madame K , on arriving at Paris, had the bad taste to boast of having been distinguished above Madame Gudin, and the story reaching the Tuileries, where Monsieur and Madame Gudin are highly favored, excited no little mirth in the circle there. "ELLEN: OR, FORGIVE AND FORaET." We notice this coarsely-written little fiction because it is one of a class which we see growing with pleasure. We see it with pleasure, because, in its way, it is genuine. It is a transcript of the crimes, calumnies, excitements, half- blind love of right, and honest indignation at the sort of wrong which it can discern, to be found in the class from which it emanates. That class is a large one in our country villages, and these books reflect its thoughts and manners as half-penny ballads do the life of the streets of London. The ballads are not more true to the facts ; but they give us, in a coarser form, far more of the spirit than we get from the same facts reflected in the intellect of a Dickens, for in- stance, or of a.ny writer far enough above the scene to be properly its artist. So, in this book, we find what Cooper, Miss Sedgwick and Mrs. Kirkland, might see, as the writer did, but could hardly believe in enough to speak of it with such fidelity. It is a current superstition that country people are more pure and healthy in mind and body than those who live in cities. It may be so in countries of old-established habits, where a genuine peasantry have inherited some of the practical wisdom and loyalty of the past, with most 2?.* 270 MISCELLANIES. of its errors. We have our doubta, though, from the stamp upon literature, always the nearest evidence of truth we can get, ■whether, even there, the difference between town and country life is as much in favor of the latter as is generally supposed. But in our land, where the country is at present filled with a mixed population, who come seeking to be purified by a better life and cul- ture from all the ills and diseases of the worst forms of civilization, things often look worse than in the city; perhaps because men have more time and room to let their faults grow and ofiend the light of day. There are exceptions, and not a few ; but, in a very great proportion of country villages, the habits of the people, as to food, air, and even exercise, are ignorant and unhealthy to the last degree. Their want of all pure faith, and appetite for coarse excitement, is shown by continued intrigues, calumnies, and crimes. We have lived in a beautiful village, where, more favor- ably placed than any other person in it, both as to with- drawal from bad associations and nearness to good, we heard inevitably, from domestics, work-people, and school-children, more ill of' human nature than we could possibly sift were we to elect such a task from all the newspapers of this city in the same space of time. We believe the amount of ill circulated by means of anonymous letters, as described in this book, to be as great as can be imported in all the Prench novels (and that is a bold word). We know ourselves of two or three cases of mortiid wickedness, displayed by means of anony- mous letters, that may vie with what puzzled the best wits ELLEN : OR, FORGIVE AND FORGET. 271 of France in a famous law-suit not long since. It is true., there is, to balance all this, a healthy rebound, — a sur- prise and a shame ; and there are heartily good people, such as are describ.ed in this book, ■who, having taken a direction upward, keep it, and cannot be bent downward nor aside. But, then, the reverse of the picture is of a blackness that would appall one who came to it with any idyllic ideas of the purity and peaceful loveliness of agricultural life. But what does this prove ? Only the need of a dis- semination of all that is best, intellectually and morally, through the whole people. Our groves and fields have no good fairies or genii who teach, by legend or gentle apparition, the truths, the principles, that can alone pre- serve the village, as the city, from the possession of the fiend. Their place must be taken by the school-master, and he must be one who knows not only "readin", writin', and 'rithmetic," but the service of God and the destiny of man. Our people require a thoroughly-dif- fused intellectual life, a religious aim, such as no people at large ever possessed before : else they must sink till they become dregs, rather than rise to become the cream of creation, which they are too apt to flatter themselves with the fancy of being already. The most interesting fiction we have ever read in this coarse, homely, but genuine class, is one called " Metiil- lek." It may be in circulation in this city ; but we bought it in a country nook, and from a pedlar ; and it seemed to belong to the country. Had we met with it in iny other ^y■:\J. it would probably have been to throw it 272 MISCELLANIES. aside again directly, for the author does not know hoid to write English, and the first chapters give no idea of his power of apprehending the poetry of life. But hap- pening to read on, we became fixed and charmed, and have retained from its perusal the sweetest picture of life lived in this land, ever afforded us, out of the pale of personal observation. That such things are, private observation has made us sure ; but the writers of books rarely seem to have seen them ; rarely to have walked alone in an untrodden path long enough to hold com- mune with the spirit of the scene. In this book you find the very life ; the most vulgar prose, and the most exquisite poetry. You follow the hunter in his path, walking through the noblest and fairest scenes only to shoot the poor animals that were happy there, winning from the pure atmosphere little benefit except to good appetite, sleeping at night in the dirty hovels, with people who burrow in them to lead a life but little above that of the squirrels and foxes. There is throughout that air of room-enough, and free if low forms of human nature, which, at such times, makes bearable all that would otherwise be so repulsive. But when we come to the girl who is the presiding deity, or rather the tutelary angel of the scene, how are all discords harmonized ; how all its latent music poured forth ! It is a portrait from the life — it has the mystic charm of fulfilled reality, how far beyond the fairest ideals ever born of thought ! Pure, and brilliantly blooming as the flower of the wilderness, she, in like manner, shares while she sublimes its nature. She plays ELLEN : OR, FORGIVE AND FORGET. 273 round the most vulgar and rude beings, gentle and caressing, yet unsullied; in her wildness there is nothing cold or savage ; her elevation is soft and warm. Never have we seen natural religion more beautifully expressed ; never so well discerned the influence of the natural nun, who needs no veil or cloister to guard from profanation the beauty she has dedicated to God, and which only attracts human love to hallow it into the divine. The lonely life of the girl after the death of her parents, — her fearlessness, her gay and sweet enjoy- ment of nature, her intercourse with the old people of the neighborhood, her sisterly conduct towards her "suitors," — all seem painted from the life; but the death-bed scene seems borrowed from some sermon, and is not in harmony with the rest. In this connection we must try to make amends foi the stupidity of an earlier notice of the novel, called " Margaret, or the Real and Ideal," &c. At the time of that notice we had only looked into it here and there, and did no justice to a work full of genius, profound in its meaning, and of admirable fidelity to nature in its details. Since then we have really read it, and appre- ciated the sight and representation of soul-realities ; and we have lamented the long delay of so true a pleasure. A fine critic said, "This. is a Yankee novel; or rather let it be called the Yankee novel, as nowhere else are the thought and dialect of our villages really represented." Another discovered that it must have been written in Maine, by the perfection with which peculiar features of ' scenerv there are described. 274 MISCELLANIES. A J'oung girl could not sufiSciently express her delight at the simple nature with which scenes of childhood are given, and especially at Margaret's first going to meet- ing. She had never elsewhere found written down what she had felt. A mature reader, one of the most spiritualized and harmonious minds we have ever met, admires the depth and fulness in which the workings of the spirit through the maiden's life are seen by the author, and shown to us; but laments the great apparatus with which the consummation of the whole is brought about, and the formation of a new church and state, before the time is yet ripe, under the banner of Mons. Christi. But all these voices, among those most worthy to be heard, find in the book a real presence, and draw from it auspicious omens that an American literature is pos- sible even in our day, because there are already in the mind here existent developments worthy to see the light, gold-fishes amid the moss in the still waters. For ourselves, we have been most charmed with the way the Real and Ideal are made to weave and shoot rays through one another, in which Margaret bestows on external nature what she receives through books, and wins back like gifts in turn, till the pond and the mythology are alternate sections of the same chapter. We delight in the teachings she receives through Chilion and his violin, till on the grave of "one who tried to love his fellow-men" grows up the full white rose-flower of her life. T'le ease with which she assimilates the city ELLEN : OR, FORGIVE AND FORGET. 275 life when in it, making it a part of her imaginative tapes- try, is a sign of the power to which she has grown. We have much more to think and to say of the book as a whole, and in parts ; and should the mood and summer leisure ever permit a familiar and intimate acquaintance with it, we trust they will be both thought and said. For the present, we will only add that it exhibits the same state of things, and strives to point out such remedies as we have hinted at in speaking of the little book which heads this notice ; itself a rudo char- coal sketch, but if read as hieroglyphics are, pointing to important meanings and results. "COURRIER DES ETATS UNIS. No other nation can hope to vie with the French ia the talent of communicating information with ease, vivacity and consciousness. They must always be the best narrators and the best interpreters, so far as pre- senting a clear statement of outlines goes. Thus they are excellent in conversation, lectures, and journalizing. After we know all the news of the day, it is still pleasant to read the bulletin of the "Courrier des Etats Unis." We rarely agree with the view taken; but as a summary it is so excellently well done, every topic put in its best place, with such a light and vigorous hand, that we have the same pleasure we have felt in fairy tales, when some person under trial is helped by a kind fairy to sort the silks and feathers to their different places, till the glittering confusion assumes the order. — of a kaleidoscope. Then, what excellent correspondents they have in Paris ! What a humorous and yet clear account we have before us, now, of the Thiers game ! We have traced Guizot through every day with the utmost dis- tinctness, and see him perfectly in the sick-room. Now, here is Thiers, playing with his chess-men, Jesuits, &c. A hundred clumsy English or American papers could COURRIER DES ETATS TJNIS. 277 not make the present crisis in Paris so clear as we see it in the glass of these nimble Frenchmen. Certainly it is with newspaper-writing as with food ; the English and Americans have as good appetites, but do not, and never will, know so well how to cook as the French. The Parisian correspondent of the ' '^Schnellpost'" also makes himself merrj with the play of M. Thiers. Both speak with some feeling of the impressive utter- ance of Lamartine in the late debates. The Jesuits stand their ground, but there is a wave advancing which will not fail to wash away what ought to go, — nor are its roarings, however much in advance of the wave itself, to be misinterpreted by intelligent ears. The world is raising its sleepy lids, and soon no organization can exist which from its very nature interferes in any way with the good of the whole. In Germany the terrors of the authorities are more and more directed against the communists. They are very anxious to know what communism really is, or means. They have almost forgotten, says the correspondent, the repression of the Jews, and like objects, in this new terror. Meanwhile, the Russian Emperor has issued an edict, commanding the Polish Jews, both men and women, to lay aside their national garb. He hopes thus to mingle them with the rest of the mass he moves. It will be seen whether such work can be done by beginning upon the outward man. The Paris correspondent of the "Courrier," who gives an account of amusements, has always many sprightly passages illustrative of the temper of the times. Horse- 24 278 MISCELLANIES. races are now the fashion, in which he rejoices, as being likely to give to France good horses of her own. A famous lottery is on the point of coming off. — to give an organ to the Church of St. Eustache, — on which it does not require a very high tone of morals to be severe. A public exhibition has been made of the splendid array of prizes, including every article of luxury, from jewels and cashmere shawls down to artificial flowers. A nobleman, president of the Horticultural Society, had given an entertainment, in which the part of the dif- ferent flowers was acted by beautiful women, that of fruit and vegetables by distinguished men. Such an amuse- ment would admit of much light grace and wit, which may still be found in France, if anywhere in the world. There is also an amusing story of the stir caused among the French political leaders by the visit of a n )ble- man of one of the great English families, to Paris. "He had had several audiences, previous to his departure from London, of Queen Victoria ; he received a despatch daily from the English court. But in reply to all overtures made to induce him to open his mission, he preserved a gloomy silence. All attentions, all signs of willing con- fidence, are lavished on him in vain. France is troubled. ' Has England,' thought she, ' a secret from us, while we have none from her ? ' She was on the point of invent- ing one, when, lo ! the secret mission turns out to be the preparation of a ball-dress, with whose elegance, fresh from Parisian genius, her Britannic majesty wished to dazzle and surprise her native realm." 'T is a pity Americans cannot learn the grace which COUKKIEK DES ETATS UNIS. 279 decks these trifling jests with so much prettiness. Till we can import something of that, we have no right to rejoice in French fashions and French wines. Such a nervous, driving nation as we are, ought to learn to flj along gracefully, on the light, fantastic toe. Can we not learn something of the English beside the knife and fork conventionalities which, with them, express a certain solidity of fortune and resolve ? Can we not get from the French something beside their worst novels ? • COURRIER DES ETATS UNIS." OUK PROT:^aBE, QUEEN VICTORIA. The Courrier laughs, though with features somewhut too disturbed for a graceful laugh, at a notice, published a few days since in the Tribune, of one of its jests which scandalized the American editor. It does not content itself with a slight notice, but puts forth a manifesto, in formidably large type, in reply. With regard to the jest itself, we must remark that Mr. Greeley saw this only in a translation, where it had lost whatever of light and graceful in its manner excused a piece of raillery very coarse in its substance. We will admit that, had he seen it as it originally stood, connected with other items in the playful chronicle of Pierre Du- rand, it would have impressed him differently. But the cause of irritation in the Courrier, and of the sharp repartees of its manifesto, is, probably, what was .said of the influence among us of " French literature and French morals," to which the " organ of the French- American population " felt called on to make a spirited reply, and has done so with less of wit and courtesy than could have been expected from the organ of a people who, whatever may be their faults, are at least acknowledged in wit and courtesy preeminent. We hope that the French who come to us will not become, in these respects, Ameri- COURKIER DBS BTATS TJNIS. 281 canized, and substitute the easy sneer, and use of such terms as "ridiculous," "virtuous misanthropy," &c., for the graceful and poignant raillery of their native land, •which tickles even where it wounds. We may say, in reply to the Couri-ier, that if Fourier- ism "recoils towards a state of nature," it arises largely from the fact that its author lived in a country where the natural relations are, if not more cruelly, at least more lightly violated, than in any other of the civilized world. The marriage of convention has done its natural ofiBce in sapping the morals of France, till breach of the marriage vow has become one of the chief topics of its daily wit, oie of the acknowledged traits of its manners, and a favorite — in these modern times we might say the favorite — subject of its works of fiction. From the time of Moliere, himself an agonized sufferer behind his comic mask from the infidelities of a wife he was not able to cease to love, through memoirs, novels, dramas, and the volleyed squibs of the press, one fact stares us in the face as one of so common occurrence, that men, if thev have not ceased to suffer in heart and morals from its poisonous action, have yet learned to bear with a shrug and a careless laugh that marks its frequency. Under- stand, we do not say that the French are the most deejily stained with vice of all nations. We do not think them so. There are others where there is as much, but there is none where it is so openly acknowledged in literature, and therefore there is none whose literature alone is so likely to deprave ine-xperienced minds, by familiarizing them with wickedness before they have known the lure 24* 282 MISCELLANIES. and the shock of passion. And we believe that this is the very worst way for youth to be misled, since the miasma thus pervades the whole man, and he is corrupted in head and heart at once, without one strengthening eflfort at resistance. Were it necessary, we might substantiate what we saj by quoting from the Courrier within the last fortnight, jokes and stories such as are not to be found so fre- quently in the prints of any other nation. There is the story of the girl Adelaide, which, at another time, we mean to quote, for its terrible pathos. There is a man on tiial for the murder of his wife, of whom the witnesses say, " he was so fond of her you, would never have known she was his wife ! " Here is one, only yesterday, where a man kills a woman to whom he was married by his relatives at eighteen, she being much older, and disagree- able to him, but their properties matching. After twelve years' marriage, he can no longer support the yoke, and kills both her and her father, and "his only regret is that he cannot kill all who had anything to do with the match." Either infidelity or such crimes are the natural result of marriages made as they are in France, by agreement between the friends, without choice of the parties. It is this horrible system, and not a native incapacity for pure and permanent relations, that leads to such results. We must observe, en passant, that this man was the father of five children by this hated woman — a wickedness not peculiar to France or any nation, and which cannot fail to do its work of filling the world with sickly, weak, COURRIER DES ETATS UNIS. 283 or depraved beings, who have reason to curse their brutal father that he does not murder them as well as their wretched mother, — who, more unhappy than the victim of seduction, is made the slave of sense in the name of religion and law. The last steamer brings us news of the disgrace of Victor Hugo, one of the most celebrated of the literary men of France, and but lately created one of her peers. The aifair, however, is to be publicly " hushed up." But we need not cite many instances to prove, what is known to the whole world, that these wrongs are, if not more frequent, at least more lightly treated by the French, in literature and discourse, than by any nation of Europe. This being the case, can an American, anx- ious that his country should receive, as her only safe- guard from endless temptations, good moral instruction and mental food, be otherwise than grieved at the pro- miscuous introduction among us of their writings ? We know that there are in France good men, pure books, true wit. But there is an immensity that is bad, and more hurtful to our farmers, clerks and country milliners, than to those to whose tastes it was originally addressed, — as the small-pox is most fatal among the wild men of the woods, — and this, from the unprincipled cupidity of pub- lishers, is broad-cast recklessly over all the land we had hoped would become a healthy asylum for those before crippled and tainted by hereditary abuses. This cannot be prevented ; we can only make head against it, and show that there is really another way of thinking and living — ay, and another voice for it in the world, ^e 284 MISCELLANIES. are naturally on the alert, and if we sometimes start too quickly, that is better than to play " Le noir Faine- ant " — (The Black Sluggard). We are displeased at the unfeeling manner in which the Courrier speaks of those whom he calls our models. He did not misunderstand us, and some things he says on this subject deserve and suggest a retort that would be bitter. But we forbear, because it would injure the ianocent with the guilty. The Courrier ranks the editor of the Tribune axaong "the men who have undertaken an ineffectual struggle against the perversities of this lower world." By ineffectual we presume he means that it has never succeeded in exiling evil from this lower world. We are proud to be ranked among the band of those who at least, in the ever-memorable words of Scrip- ture, have "done what they could" for this purpose. To this band belong all good men of all countries, and France has contributed no small contingent of those whc se purpose was noble, whose lives were healthy, and whose minds, even in their lightest moods, pure. We are better pleased to act as sutler or pursuivant of this band, -(vhose strife the Courrier thinks so impuissante, than to reap the rewards of efficiency on the other side. There is not too much of this salt, in proportion to the whole mass that needs to be salted, nor are " occasional accesses of virtuous misanthropy " the worst of maladies in a world that affords such abundant occasion for it. In fine, we disclaim all prejudice against the French nation. We feel assured that all, or almost all, impartial iiiinds will acquiese in what we say as to the tone of lax COURRIER DES ETATS ["NIS. 285 moralitj, in reference to marriage, so common in their literature. We do not like it, in joke or in earnest ; neither are we of those to whom vice " loses most of its deformity by losing all its grossness." If there be a deep and ulcerated wound, we think the more " the richly-embroidered veil " is torn away the better. Such a deep social wound exists in France ; we wish its cure, as we wish the health of all nations and of all men ; so far indeed would we " recoil towards a state of nature." We believe that nature wills marriage and parentage to be kept sacred. The fact of their not being so is to us not a pleasant subject of jest ; and we should really pity the first lady of England for injury here, though she be a queen ; while the ladies of the French court, or of Parisian so- ciety, if they willingly lend themselves to be the subject of this style of jest, or find it agreeable when made, must be to us the cause both of pity and disgust. We are not unaware of the great and beautiful qualities native to the French — of their chivalry, their sweetness of temper, their rapid, brilliant and abundant genius. We would wish to see these qualities restored to their native lustre, and not receive the base alloy which has long stained the virgin- ity of the gold. ON BOOKS OF TRAVEL * '^ * * * * * Among those we have, the best, as to observation of particulars and livelj expression, are by women. They are generally ill pre:3ared as regards previous culture, and their scope is necessarily narrower than that of men, but their tact and qui(!kness help them a great deal. You can see their minds grow by what they feed on, when they travel. There are many books of travel, by women, that are, at least, entertaining, and contain some penetrating and just obs(!rvations. There has, however, been none since Lady Mary Wortley Montague, with as much talent, liveliness, and preparation to observe in various ways, as she had. * It need not be said, probably, that Margaret Fuller did not think the fact that books of travel by women have generally been piquant and lively rather than discriminating and instructive, a result of their nature, and therefore unavoidable ; on the contrary, she regarded woman as naturally more penetrating than man, and the fact that in journeying she would see more of home-life than he, would give her a great advantage, — but she did believe woman needed a wider cul- ture, and then she would not fail to excel in writing books of travels. The merits now in such works she considered striking and due to woman's natural quickness and availing herself of all her facilities, and any deficiencies simply proved the need of a broader education. — [Edit.] bo,:ks of travel. 287 A good article appeared lately in one of the English periodicals, headed by a long list of travels by women. It was easy to observe that the personality of the writer was the most obvious thing in each and all of these books, and that, even in the best of them, you travelled with the writer as a charming or amusing companion, rather than as an accomplished or instructed guide. REVIEW OF "MEMOIRS AND ESSAYS, BY MRS. JAMESON."' Mrs. Jameson appears to be growing more and more desperately modest, if we may judge from the motto : " What if the little rain should say, ' So small a drop as I Can ne'er refresh the thirsty plain, — I'll tarry in the sky?' " and other superstitious doubts and disclaimers proffered in the course of the volume. We thought the time had gone by when it was necessary to plead " request of friends " for printing, and that it was understood now-a- days that, from the facility of getting thoughts into print, literature has become not merely an archive for the preservation of great thoughts, but a means of general communication between all classes of minds, and all grades of culture. If writers write much that is good, and write it well, they are read much and long ; if the reverse, people simply pass them by, and go in search of what is more interesting. There needs be no great fuss about publish- ing or not publishing. Those who forbear may rather be considered the vain ones, who wish to be distinguished MBS. JAMESON. 289 among the crowd. Especially this extreme modesty looks superfluous ia a person who knows her thoughts have been received with interest foir ten or twelve years back. We do not like this from Mrs. Jameson, because we think she would be amazed if others spoke of her as this little humble flower, doubtful whether it ought to raise its head to the light. She should leave such afiectations to her aunts ; they were the fashion in their day. It is very true, however, that she should not have pub- lished the very first paragraph in her book, which pre- sents an inaccuracy and shallowness of thought quite amazing in a person of her fine perceptions, talent and culture. We allude to the contrast she attempts to estab- lish between Raphael and Titian, in placing mind in con- tradistinction to beauty, as if beauty were merely physi- cal. Of course she means no such thing ; but the passage means this or nothing, and, as an opening to a paper on art, is indeed reprehensible and fallacious. The rest of this paper, called the House of Titian, ia full of pleasant chat, though some of the judgments — that passed on Canaletti's pictures, for instance — are opposed to those of persons of the purest taste ; and in other re- spects, such as in speaking of the railroad to Venice, Mrs. Jameson is much less wise than those over whom she assumes superiority. The railroad will destroy Venice ; the two things cannot coexist ; and those who do not look upon that wondrous dream in this age, will, probably, find only vestiges of its existence. The picture of Adelaide Kemble is very pretty, though there is an attempt of a sort too common with Mrs 25 290 MISCELLANIES. Jameson to make more of the subject than it deserves Adelaide Keiable was not the true artist, or she could not so soon or so lightly have stept.into another sphere. It is enough to paint her as a lovely woman, and a woman- genius. The true artist cannot forswear his vocation ; Heaven does not permit it ; the attempt makes him too unhappy, nor will he form ties with those who can con- sent to such sacrilege. Adelaide Kemble loved art, but was not truly an artist. The "Xanthian Marbles," and " Washington AUston,'" are very pleasing papers. The most interesting part, however, are the sentences copied from Mr. AUston. These have his chaste, superior tone. We copy some of them. "What U(/ht is in the natural world, such is fame in the intellectual, — both requiring an atmosphere in order to become perceptible. Hence the fame of Michel Angelo is to some minds a nonentity ; even as the Sun itself would be invisible in vacuo." (A very pregnant statement, containing the true reason why " no man is a hero to his valet de chambre.") " Fame does not depend on the will of any man ; but reputation may be given and taken away ; for fame is the sympathy of kindred intellects, and sympathy is not a subject of willing ; while reputation, having its source in the popular voice, is a sentence which may be altered or suppressed at pleasure. Reputation, being essentially contemporaneous, is always at the mercy of the envious and ignorant. But Fame, whose very birth is posthu- mous, and which is only known to exist by the echoes of MRS. JAMESON. 291 Its footsteps through congenial minds, can neither be in- creased nor diminished by any degree of wilfulness." " An original mind is rarely understood until it has been reflected from some half-dozen congenial with it ; so averse are men to admitting the true in an unusual form ; while any novelty, however fantastic, however false, is greedily swallowed. Nor is this to be wondered at, for all truth demands a response, and few people care to think, yet they must have something to supply the place Of thought. Every mind would appear original if every man had the power of projecting his own into the minds of others." " All efibrt at originality must end either in the quaint or monstrous ; for no man knows himself as an original ; he can only believe it on the report of others to whom he is made known, as he is by the projecting power before spoken of" "There is an essential meanness in wishing to get the better of any one. The only competition worthy of a wise man is with himself" " Reverence is an ennobling sentiment ; it is felt to be degrading only by the vulgar mind, which would escape the sense of its own littleness by elevating itself into the antagonist of what is above it." " He that has no pleasure in looking up is not fit to look down ; of such minds are the mannerists in art, and in the world — the tyrants of all sorts." " Make no man your idol ; for the best man must have faults, and his faults will naturally become yours, in addi- tion to your own. This is as true in art as in morals." 292 MISCELLANIES. " The Devil s heartiest laugh is at a detracting witti- cism. Hence the phrase ' devilish good ' has sometimes a titer al meaning." "Woman's Mission and Woman's Position" is an ex- cellent paper, in which plain truths are spoken with an honorable straight-forwardness, and a great deal of good feeling. We despise the woman who, knowing such facts, is afraid to speak of them ; yet we honor one, too, who does the plain right thing, for she exposes herself to the assaults of vulgarity, in a way painful to a person who has not strength to find shelter and repose in her motives. We recommend this paper to the consideration of all those, the unthinking, wilfully unseeing million, who are in the habit of talking of " Woman's sphere," as if it really were, at present, for the majority, one of protec- tion, and the gentle offices of home. The rhetorical gentlemen and silken dames, who, quite forgetting their washerwomen, their seamstresses, and the poor hirelings for the sensual pleasures of Man, that jostle them daily in the streets, talk as if women need be fitted for no other chance than that of growing like cherished flowers in the garden of domestic love, are requested to look at this paper, in which the state of women, both in the manufac- turing and agricultural districts of England, is exposed with eloquence, and just inferences drawn. " This, then, is wliat I mean when I speak of the anomalous condition of women in these days. I would point out, as a primary source of incalculable mischief, the contradiction between her assumed and her real position , between wLat is called her proper sphere by the laws of MRS. JAMBSOJil. 293 God and Nature, and what has become her real sphere bj the laws of necessity, and through the complex relations of artificial existence. In the strong language of Carlyle, I would saj that ' Here is a lie standing up in the midst of society.' I would say ' Down with it, even to the ground ; ' for while this perplexing and barbarous anom- aly exists, fretting like an ulcer at the very heart of society, all new specifics and palliatives are in vain. The question must be settled one way or another ; either let the man in all the relations of life be held the natural guardian of the woman, constrained to fulfil that trust, responsible in society for her well-being and her mainten- ance ; or, if she be liable to be thrust from the sanctuary of home, to provide for herself through the exercise of such faculties as God has given her, let her at least have fair play; let it not be avowed in the same breath that protection is necessary to her, and that it is refused her ; and while we send her forth into the desert, and bind the burthen on her back, and put the stafi" in her hand, let not her steps be beset, her limbs fettered, and her eyes blindfolded." Amen. The sixth and last of these papers, on the relative social position of " mothers and governesses," exhibits in true and full colors a state of things in England, beside which the custom in some parts of China of drowning female infants looks mild, generous, and refined ; — an accursed state of things, beneath whose influence nothing can, and nothing ought to thrive. Though this paper, of which we have not patience to speak further at this moment, is valuable from putting the facts into due relief, 25* 294 MISCELLANIES. it is very inferior to the other, and shows the want of thoroughness and depth in Mrs. Jameson's intellect. She lias taste, feeling and knowledge, but she cannot think out a subject thoroughly, and is unconsciously tainted and hampered by conventionalities. Her advice to the gov- ernesses reads like a piece of irony, but we believe it was • not meant as such. Advise them to be burnt at the stake at once, rather than submit to this slow process of petri- faction. She is as bad as the Reports of the " Society for the relief of distressed and dilapidated Governesses." We have no more patience. We must go to England our- selves, and see these victims under the water torture. Till then, k Dieu ! WOMAN'S INFLUENCE OVER THE INSANE. In reference to what is said of entrusting an infant iic the insane, we must relate a little tale which touched the heart in childhood from the eloquent lips of the mothet. The minister of the village had a son of such uncommon powers that the slender means on which the large family Lred were strained to the utmost to send him to college. The boj prized the means of study as only those under such circumstances know how to prize them ; indeed.far beyond their real worth ; since, by excessive study, pro- longed often at the expense of sleep, he made himself insane. All may conceive the feelings of the family when their star returned to them again, shorn of its beams ; their pride, their hard-earned hope, sunk to a thing so hopeless, so helpless, that there could be none so poor to do him rev- erence. But they loved him, and did what the ignorance of the time permitted. There was little provision then for the treatment of such cases, and what there was was of a kind that they shrunk from resorting to, if it could be avoided. They kept him at home, giving him, during the first months, the freedom of the house ; but on hia making an attempt to kill his father, and confessing after- wards that his old veneration had, as is so often the case 296 MISCEx 3. in these affections, reacted morbidly to its opposite, sc that he never saw a once-loved parent turn his back without thinking how he could rush upon him and do him an injury, they felt obliged to use harsher measures, and chained him to a post in one room of the house. There, so restrained, without exercise or proper medi- cine, the fever of insanity came upon him in its wildest form. He raved, shrieked, struck about him, and tore off all the raiment that was put upon him. One of his sisters, named Lucy, whom he had most lf»7ed when well, had now power to soothe him. He would listen to her voice, and give way to a milder mood when she talked or sang. But this favorite sister mar- ried, went to her new home, and the maniac became wilder, more violent than ever. After two or three years, she returned, bringing with her an infant. She went into the room where the naked, blaspheming, raging object was confined. He knew her instantly, and felt joy at seeing her. "But, Lucy," said he, suddenly, "is that your baby you have in your arms ? Give it to me, I want to hold it!" A pang of dread and suspicion shot through the young mother's heart, — she turned pale and faint. Her brother was not at that moment so mad that he could not under- stand her fears. " Lucy," said he, " do you suppose I would hurt your child?" His sister had strength of mind and of heart ; she could not resist the appeal, and hastily placed the child in his THE INSANE. 297 ann,i. Poor fellow ! he held it awhile, stroked its little face, and melted into tears, the first he had shed since his insanity. For some time after that he was better, and probably, had he been under such intelligent care as may be had at present, the crisis might have been followed up, and a favorable direction given to his disease. But the subject was not understood then, and, having once fallen mad, he was doomed to live and die a madman. POCAHONTAS.* Yesterday, the 4th July, we passed in looking through this interesting work. The feelings and re- flections it induced were in harmony with the aspect of the day, a day of gloom, of searching chill and dripping skies. We were very sorry for all the poor laborers and children whom the weather deprived of pleasure on the pleasantest occasion of their year — most of all for those poor children of the Farm Schools on this, perhaps, the first holiday of their dull, nar- row little lives. But the mourning aspect of the day seemed to us most appropriate. The boys and boyish young men were letting off their crackers and revelling in smoke and hubbub all day long ; a din not more musical, of empty panegyric and gratulation, was go- ing on within the halls of oratory ; the military were parading our profaned banners. But the sweet heav- ens, conscious of the list of wrongs by which this na- tion, in its now more than threescore years and ten of independent existence, has abused the boon, veiled themselves in crape and wept. * Memoirs, Official and Personal; with Sketches of Travel among the Northern and Southern Indians. By Thomas L. M'Kenney, late Chief of tlie Bureau of Indian Affairs. POCAHONTAS. 299 The nation may wrap itself in callousness and stop its ears to every cry except that of profit or loss ; it may build its temples of wood and stone, and hope, by formal service of the lips, to make up for that paid to Mammon in the spirit, but God is not mocked ; it is all recorded, all known. The want of honor and even honorable sentiment shown by this people in the day of repudiation ; the sin of slavery and the conduct of the slaveholder, who, at first pretending that he wished, if possible, to put an end to this curse of un- lawful bondage, has now unveiled his falsehood by the contrivance and consummation of a plan to perpetuate it, if possible, through all ages ; the intolerance and bigotry which disgrace a country whose fundamental idea affords them no excuse, shown in a thousand ways and on every side, but, of late, in a most flagrant form, through the murder of the Mormon leader, the expul- sion of his followers, and their persecution even while passing out of these borders, persecution of precisely the same kind, excused on the same grounds, as that with which the Egyptians pursued the Hebrews ; these things must make every thoughtftil spirit sad. And to these must be added the war which at present engages us, at whose very triumphs those who have steady in- tellect or steady principle must look with an aching heart, and which the Louisiana Marseillaise is fain to celebrate in such terms as these : "Levez vous! fils de rAraerique, La patrle iuvoque vos bras, oOO MISCELLANIES. Verrez vous \efaible Mexique, liavager, piller vos Etats ! " " Eise, sons of America, your country demands your aid, will you set feebh Mexico ravage, pillage your States ! " And even in this city they were not ashamed to pen and sing verses calling on the citizens to figlit in defence of " Hberty," as if it were not the Mexicans alone, the feeble Mexicans, that were fighting in de- fence of their rights, and we for liberty to do our pleasure. But of all these plague-spots there is none from which we feel such burning pain of shame and indig- nation, as from the conduct of this nation toward the Indians. Spoliation, aggression, falsehood of the black- est character, a hundred times repeated, each time with increased shamelessness, mark every step of this inter- course. If good men have sometimes interposed, it is but as a single human arm might strive to stay the torrent. The sense of the nation has been through- out, " Might makes Right ; we will get what we want at any rate. What does it signiiy what becomes of the Indians ? They are red. They are unlike us in character and person. Let them save themselves if they can, the Indian dogs." During the last twen- ty-five years these proceedings have assumed a still darker shade, and it has been the eflFort of public and private avarice alike to drive the Indians beyond the Mississippi. Treaties have been made by treachery, signed only by a minority of the tribes, then en- POCAHONTAS. 80i forced by our Government so long as they served its purpose, broken then and new ones made and adhered to with the same fidehty. How bitter is the satire of the Indian phrase, " A White Man's Treaty ! " How just and natural the reply to the missionary who urged upon them the religious benefit of becoming Christians. " Christians ! — Why, the white men are Christians ! " Most of the facts on these subjects contained in Colonel M'Kenney's book we knew before ; but they are here detailed in their full force by one intimately connected, often an eye-witness, and whose benevo- lence, liberal views, and manly sympathy had made him a " beloved brother " to the red man. He can conclusively show the falsehood of the pretext that the Indians are incapable of civilization, a pretext, indeed, refuted by all who please to look at it, and by the pros- pects of the Cherokees, if they had not been so wick- edly arrested in their progress. He can show how open they are to the advice of any friend who they think has judgment combined with sympathy for their sad and difficult position. This reliance is expressed toward Colonel M'Kenney with the most touching simplicity by these stalwart men, childlike because representing a race reduced to the weakness of child- hood. " Brother : We have opened our ears wide to your talk ; we have not lost a word of it. We were happy and our hearts grew big, when we heard you had come 302 MISCELLANIES. to our country. We have always thought of you as our friend ; we have confidence in you ; we have lis- tened more close, because we think so much of you ; we know well you would not deceive us, and we be- lieve you know what is best for us and for our chil- dren. Brother, do not you forsake us. Our friends, as you told us, are few — we have none to spare — we know that." How deeply affecting are the images in the follow- ing magnificent speech of the Choctaw chief ! SPEECH OP COLONEL COBB, Head Mingo of the Choctaws, East of the Mississippi, in reply to the Agent of the United States. "Brother — We have heard your talk as from the lips of our father, the great white chief at Washington, and my people have called upon me to speak to you. The red man has no books, and when he wishes to make known his views, like his father before him, he speaks from his mouth. He is afi.'aid of writing. When he speaks he knows what he says ; the Great Spirit hears him. Writing is the invention of the pale-faces ; it gives birth to error and to feuds. The Great Spirit talks — we hear him in the thunder — in the rushing winds and the mighty waters — but he never writes. " Brother — Wlien you were young we were strong, POCAHONTAS. 303 we fought by your side ; but our arms are now bro- ken. You have grown large : my people have become small. " Brother — My voice is weak ; you can scarcely hear me ; it is not the shout of a warrior, but the wail of an infant. I have lost it in wailing over the mis- fortunes of my people. These are their graves, and in those aged pines you hear the ghosts of the departed. Their ashes are here, and we have been left to protect them. Our warriors are nearly all gone to the far countiy west ; but here are our dead. Shall we go, too, and give their bones to the wolves ? " Brother — Two sleeps have passed since we heard you talk. We have thought upon it. You ask us to leave our country, and tell us it is our father's wish. We would not desire to displease our father. We respect him, and you his child. But the Choctaw always thinks. We want time to answer. "Brother — Our hearts are full. Twelve winters ago our chiefs sold our country. Every warrior that you see here was opposed to the treaty. If the dead could have been counted, it could never have been made; but, alas ! though they stood around, they could not be seen or heard. Their tears came in the rain- drops, and their voices in the wailing wind, but tlie pale-faces knew it not, and our land was taken away. " Brother — We do not now complain. The Choc- taw suffers, but never weeps. You have the strong arm, and we cannot resist: but the pale-face worships 304 MISCELLANIES. the Great Spirit. So does the red man. The Gre» Spirit loves truth. When you took our country you promised us land. There is your promise in the book. Twelve times have the trees dropped their leaves, yet we have received no land. Our houses have been taken fi'om us. The white man's plough turns up the bones of our fathers. We dare not kindle our fires ; and yet you said we might remain, and you would give us land. " Brother — Is this truth ? But we believe now our great father knows our condition, he will listen to us. We are as mourning orphans in our country ; but our father will take us by the hand. When he fulfils his promise, we will answer his talk. He means well. We know it. But we cannot think now. Grief has made children of us. When our business is settled, we shall be men again, and talk to our great father about what he has proposed. " Brother — You stand in the moccasons of a great chief, you speak the words of a mighty nation, and your talk was long. My people are small, their shadow scarcely reaches to your knee ; they are scattered and gone ; when I shout, I hear my voice in the depth of the woods, but no answering shout comes bach. My woi'ds, therefore, are few. I have nothing more to say, but to request you to tell what I have said to the tall chief of the pale-faces." Still more affecting, however, is the address of POCAHONTAS. 805 Lowrey, the now acting chief of the Cherokees, to the Christian community of the United States, published in our papers a few days since. It is affecting, not from its ehjquence, like the preceding, but from its broken-hearted, subdued tone as overpoweringly pa- thetic, from this once great, strong, seemingly indom- itable race, as when the perishing Csesar cries, " Give me some drink, Titinius, — like a sick girl." He ap- peals to the Christian community, which to-day has been dozing in the churches over texts of Scripture which they apply only to the by-gone day, while there is before them at this moment such a mighty appeal for sympathy, for justice, such wrong to be set right, such service to be done in obedience to the gospel, " Love one another ! " — " Feed my Iambs ! " — " Go forth to the Gentile ! " O Jesus ! how dare we say to thee, " Lord, Lord " ? Can there be hope of avoiding the repulse — "Depart from me, I never knew ye." Colonel M'Kenney, in showing the mistakes that have been made, and the precious opportunities lost of doing right and good to the Indians, shows also that, at this very moment, another such opportunity is pre- sented, probably the last. We bespeak attention to this plan. We do not restate it here, preferring the public should be led to it by gradual steps, through his own book, which we hope to see in general circulation. We shall content ourselves with repeating that the time to attend to the subject, get information and act, is NOW, or never. A very short time and it will be 26* 306 MISCELLANIES. too late to release ourselves, in any measure, from tliu weight of ill-doing, or preserve any vestiges of a race, one large portion of the creation of God, and whose life and capacities ought by all enlightened and hon- est, not to say religious, minds to be held infinitely precious, if only as a part of the history of the human family. The details of conduct in General Jackson are very characteristic. That a man so incompetent should have been placed in so responsible a position at such a crisis, merely because he had a ray of genius, some fine instincts, and represented the war spirit in the country, was very sad and fatal. Happy those who op- posed it, vanquished though they were ! The account of Osceola's and the Agent's conduct relatively at the time when the Indian thrust his knife into the treaty, on being urged, as if he had been a sullen school-boy, to malce Ms mark, is a history in little of the whole re- lation between the two races. No wonder Osceola, on his death-bed, painted his face red, in token of eternal enmity to the whites. This work is embellishe'd with many appropriate de- signs, and, as frontispiece to the second volume, boasts a colored lithograph portrait of Pocahontas, from an undoubted original, painted in London in 1616.* The * A copy of this portrait, of a larger size than that in the volume, was presented to my sister by Colonel M'Kenney as a token of his appreciation of her sympathy for the Indian race. Th's portrait was much valued by Margaret, and is now carefully preserved ;y me. — Ed. POCAHONTAS. 307 face is extremely lovely, the eye has the wild, sweet look of the Indian women, with more fulness of soul . than they usually possess ; the lips, too, are full, the upper one too much so for regular beauty, but very expressive of tenderness and generosity. The skin has that golden lustre which makes the Indian complexion as beautiful, compared with the swarthy or dingy red, as the softest blonde is, compared to the coarse or tar- nished skins so common among Europeans. The hair is flowing and slightly curled ; the dress, a rich green, hned and faced with white, leaving bare the neck and the lower part of the arms, is very beautiful and no less becoming. The possession of so fair a copy of a beloved original would, of itself, alone, make the book a desirable possession to many. All men love Pocahontas for the angelic impulse of tenderness and pity that impelled her to the rescue of Smith. We love her for a sympathy with our race which seemed instinctive and marked her as an instru- ment of Destiny. Yet we pity her, too, for being thus made a main agent in the destruction of her own peo- ple, and sympathize much with Philip, Pontiac, Te- cumseh, Nappier, who died in defence of the stock from which they sprang. Of the tender mercies which were to be the reward of every kindness conferred by the red upon the white man, we have a sample in the way in which Smith meets, in his native land, the lovely heroine who had saved his life. She, alone among strangers, rushes to him, calls him father, se- 308 MISCKLLANrES. cure of a kind welcome to his heart. He, entrenched in cold conventional restraints, takes her hand and leads her to a chair, addresses her as Miss or Madam, and freezes back at once the warm, gushing stream of her affections with the ice of civic life. A comment upon this is found in the position of the Indian boys brought up by Colonel M'Kenney, and especially in the catastrophe of McDonald. The book, adorned with the portrait of Pocahontas, is enriched by many traits especially calculated to in- terest women. Among these is the punishment of an Indian for ill-treatment of his mother-in-law, received with acclamation by the women of the tribe, as bring- ing a new era in their destiny. We could have wished, however, that the punishment had been some- thing else than the degradation of the brave to the position of a woman. The Indian custom to that eiFect being the most powerful expression of the con- tempt in which they hold the sex, ought not to have been countenanced in an attempt to rectify this way of thinking. The book is appropriately dedicated to two women. The first volume, with a portrait of the au- thor for its frontispiece beneath which might have been inscribed as a proud title which few can boast, " The Indian's Friend," is dedicated to Mrs. Madison, and an autograph letter from her in reply, forms an interesting prefix to its pages. The second, with the portrait of Pocahontas, is dedicated to Mrs. Saunders, of Salem, Mass., as having also shown herself with talents, time, POCAHONTAS. 309 and money, a friend to the Indians, a happiness which we envy lier, and must wish her many competitors more powerful and leisurely than ourselves in its en- joyment. Honors are paid to the character of John Ross, which it gives us great pleasure to see, as confirma- tion of what we have always felt. There is a tone not to be mistaken in the papers which Ross has addressed to the public — a grave, majestic sorrow, a resolute honor, justice, and courage to act as love and duty prompt in a losing cause to the last, an excellent discernment, and a serenely tempered wisdom. We have often wished to extend the hand of friendship to tins man, and assure him that there was one pale-face who, not having seen, yet knows him, and prizes his efforts as they deserve. We may name, in the late Dr. Channing, another who felt thus toward Ross from the perusal of his writings. We solicit an extensive perusal of this book ; the interest of its contents will repay the money and trouble that may be thus expended. We scarcely dare hope that anything righteous will be done in conse- quence, for our hopes as to National honor and good- ness are almost wearied out, and we feel obliged to turn to the Individual and to the Future for con- solation. Yet, oh Father ! might we pray that thou wouldst grant a ray of pure light in this direction, and grant us to help let it in 1 It were a blessed com- 310 MISCELLANIES. pensation for many sorrows, many disappointments. At all events, none who have leisure and heart to feel on these subjects may stand excused from bear- ing open testimony to the truth, whether it avail or no. childrilN's books. Thbeb is no branch of literature that better deserves cultivation, and none that so little obtains it from worthy hands, as this of Children's Books. It requires a pecu- liar development of the genius and sympathies, rare among men of factitious Ufe, who are not men enough to revive with force and beauty the thoughts and scenes of childhood. It is all idle to talk baby- talk, and give shallow accounts of deep things, thinking thereby to interest the child. He does not like to be too much puzzled ; but it is simplicity he wants, not silliness. We fancy their angels, who are always waiting in the courts of our Father, smile somewhat sadly on the ignorance of those who would feed them on milk and water- too long, and think it would be quite as well to give them a stone. There is too much amongst us of the French way of palming off false accounts of things on children, " to do them good," and showing nature to them in a magic lantern "purified for the use of childhood," and telling stories of sweet little girls and brave little boys, — 0, all so good, or so bad ! and above all, so little, and every- thing about them so little ! Children accustomed to move in full-sized apartments, and converse with full- ^rown men and women, do not need so much of tliis 312 MISCELLANIES. baby-house style in their literature. They like, or would like if they could get them, better things much more. They like the Arabian Nights, and Pilgrim's Progress, and Banyan's Emblems, and Shakspeare, and the Iliad and Odyssey, — at least, they used to like them ; and if they do not now, it is because their taste has been injured by so many sugar-plums. The books that were written in the childhood of nations suit an uncorrupted childhood now. They are simple, picturesque, robust. Their moral is not forced, nor is the truth veiled with a well-meant but sure-to-fail hy- pocrisy. Sometimes they are not moral at all, — only free plays of the fancy and intellect. These, also, the child needs, just as the infant needs to stretch its limbs, and grasp at objects it cannot hold. We have become so fond of the moral, that we forget the nature in which it must find its root ; so fond of instruction, that we for- get development. Where ballads, legends, fairy-tales, are moral, the morality is heart-felt ; if instructive, it is from the healthy common sense of mankind, and not for the convenience of nursery rule, nor the " peace of schools and families." 0, that winter, freezing, snow-laden winter, which ushered in our eighth birthday ! There, in the lonely farm-house, the day's work done, and the bright wood- fire all in a glow, we were peimitted to slide back the panel of the cupboard in the wall, — most fascinating object still in our eyes, with which no stateliest alcoved library can vie, — and there saw, neatly ranged on its two shelves, not — praised be our natal star ! — Peter Parley, nor a children's books. / 313 History of the Good Little Boy who never took anything that did not belong to him ; but ike Spectator, Telem- achus, GoldsmitK s Animated Nature, and the Iliad. Forms of gods and heroes more distinctly seen, and with eyes of nearer love then than now ! — our true uncle, Sir Roger de Coverley, and ye, fair realms of Nature's history, whose pictures we tormented all grown persons to illustrate with more knowledge, still more, — how we bless the chance that gave to us your great real- ities, which life has daily helped us, helps us still, to interpret, instead of thin and baseless fictions that would ail this time have hampered us, though with only cob- webs! Children need some childish talk, some childish play, some childish books. But they also need, and need more, diiEculties to overcome, and a sense of the vast mysteries which the progress of their intelligence shall aid them to unravel. This sense is naturally their delight, as it is their religion, and it must not be dulled by premature explanations or subterfuges of any kind. There has been too much of this lately. Miss Edgeworth is an excellent writer for children. She is a child herself, as she writes, nursed anew by her own genius. It is not by imitating, but by reproducing childhood, that the writer becomes its companion. Then, indeed, we have something especially good, for, " Like wine, well-kept and long. Heady, nor harsh, nor strong. With each succeeding year is quaJfed, A richer, purer, mellower draught." 27 MI90ELLANIES. Miss Edgeworth's grown people live naturally with the shildren ; they do not talk to them continually about angels or flowers, but about the things that interest themselves. They do not force them forward, nor keep them back. The relations are simple and honorable ; all ages in the family seem at home under one roof and sheltered by one care. The Juvenile Miscellany, formerly published by Mrs. Child, was much and deservedly esteemed by children. It was a healthy, cheerful, natural and entertaining com- panion to them. We should censure too monotonously tender a manner in what is written for children, and too constant an atten- tion to moral influence. We should prefer a larger pror- portion of the facts of natural or huir.an history, and that they should speak for themselves. WOMAN IN POVERTY. Woman, even less than Man, is what she should be as a whole. She is not that self-centred being, fall of pro- found intuitions, angelic love, and flowing poesy, that she should be. Yet there are circumstances in which the native force and purity of her being tesich her how to conquer where the restless impatience of Man brings defeat, and leaves him crushed and bleeding on the field. Images rise to mind of calm strength, of gentle wis- dom learning from every turn of adverse fate, — of youth- ful tenderness and faith undimmed to the close of life, which redeem humanity and make the heart glow with fresh courage as we write. They are mostly from obscure corners and very private walks. There was noth- ing shining, nothing of an obvious and sounding heroism to make their conduct doubtful, by tainting their motives with vanity. Unknown they Uved, untrumpeted they died. Many hearts were warmed and fed by them, but perhaps no mind but our own ever consciously took account of their virtues. Had Ai't but the power adequately to tell their simple virtues, and to cast upon them the light which, shining through those marked and faded faces, foretold the glo- ries of a second spring ! The tears of holy emotion 316 MISCELLANIES. which fell from those eyes have seemed to us pearla beyond all price ; or rather, whose price -will be paid only when, beyond the grave, they enter those better spheres in whose faith they felt and acted here. From this private gallery we will, for the present, bring forth but one picture. That of a Black Nun was wont to fetter the eyes of visitors in the royal galleries of France, and my Sister of Mercy, too, is of that com- plexion. The old woman was recommended as a laun- dress by my friend, who had long prized her. I was im- mediately struck with the dignity and propriety of her manner. In the depth of winter she brought herself the heavy baskets through the slippery streets ; and, when I asked her why she did not employ some younger person to do what was so entirely disproportioned to her strength, simply said, " she lived alone, and could not aflford to hire an errand-boy." " It was hard for her ? " " No, she was fortunate in being able to get work at her age, when others- could do it better. Her friends were very good to procure it for her." " Had she a comfortable home ? " " Tolerably so, — she should not need one long." " Was that a thought of joy to her? " " Yes, for she hoped to see again the husband and children from whom she had long been separated." Thus much in answer to the questions, but at other times the little she said was on general topics. It was not from her that I learnt how the great idea of Duty had held her upright through a life of incessant toil, sor- row, bereavement ; and that not only she had remained upright, but that her character had been constantly pro- WOMEN IN POVBRTT, 817 gressive. Her latest act had been to take home a poor sick girl who had no home of her own, and could not bear the idea of dying in a hospital, and maintain and nurse her through the last weeks of her life. " Her eye- sight was failing, and she should not be able to work much longer, — but, then, God would provide. Some- body ought to see to the poor, motherless girl." It was not merely the greatness of the act, for one in such circumstances, but the quiet matter-of-course way in which it was^done, that showed the habitual tone of the mind, and made us feel that life could hardly do more for a human being than to make him or her the somebody that is daily so deeply needed, to represent the right, to do the plain right thing. " God will provide." Yes, it is the poor who feel themselves near to the God of love. Though he slay them, still do they trust him. " I hope," said I to a poor apple-woman, who had been drawn on to disclose a tale of distress that, almost in the mere hearing, made me weary of life, " I hope I may yet see you in a happier condition." " With God's help," she replied, with a smile that Raphael would have delighted to transfer to his canvas ; a Mozart, to strains of angelic sweetness. All her life she had seemed an outcast child ; still she leaned upon a Father's love. The dignity of a state like this may vary its form in more or less richness and beauty of detail, but here is the focus of what makes life valuable. It is this spirit which makes poverty the best servant to the ideal of human nature. T am content with this type, and will only 27* 318 MISCELLANIES. quote, in addition, a ballad I found in a foreign periodi- cal, translated from Chamisso, and which forcibly recalled my own laundress as an equally admirable sample of the same class, the Ideal Poor, which we need for our con- solation, so long as there must be real poverty. "THE OLD WASHERWOMAN. ■' Among yon lines her hands have laden, A laundress with white hair appears. Alert as many a youthful maiden. Spite of her five-and-seventy years ; Bravely she won those white hairs, still Eating the bread hard toil obtained her, And laboring truly to fulfil The duties to which God ordained her. " Once she was young and full of gladness, She loved and hoped, — was wooed and won ; Then came the matron's cares, — the sadness No loving heart on earth may shun. Three babes she bore her mate ; she prayed Beside his 3icl£-bed, — he was taken ; She saw him in the church-yard laid. Yet kept her faith and hope unshaken. " The task her little ones of feeding She met unfaltering from that hour ; She taught them thrift and honest breeding. Her virtues were their worldly dower. To seek employment, one by one. Forth with her blessing they departed. And she was in the world alone — Alone and old, but stUl high-hearted. " With frugal forethought, self-denying. She gathered coin, and tiax she bought. WOMEN IN POVERTY. 319 And many a night her spindle plying, Good store of fine-spun thread she wrought, Ihe thread was fashioned in tlie loom ; She brought it home, and calmly seated To work, with not a thought of gloom, Her decent grave-clothes she completed. " She looks on them with fond elation ; They are her wealth, her treasure rare. Her age's pride and consolation. Hoarded with all a miser's care. She dons the sark each Sabbath day. To hear the Word that faileth never ; Well-pleased she lays it then away Till she shall sleep in it forever ! " Would that my spirit witness bore me That, like this woman, I had done The work my Master put before me Duly from morn till set of sun ' Would that life's cup had been by me Quaffed in such wise and happy measure. And that I too might finally Look on my shroud with such meek pleasure ! " Such are the noble of the earth. They do not repine, they do not chafe, even in. the inmost heart. They feel that, whatever else may be denied or withdrawn, there remains the better part, which cannot be taken from them. This line exactly expresses the woman I knew: — " Alone and old, but still high-hearted." Will any, poor or rich, fail to feel that the children of such a parent were rich when " Her virtues were their worldly duwer " '.' 320 MISCELLANIES. Will any fail to bow the heart in assent to the aspira- tion, " Would that my spirit witness bore me That, like this woman, I had done The work my Maker put before me Duly from morn till set of sun " ? May not that suffice to any man's ambition? [Perhaps one of the most perplexing problems which beset Woman in her domestic sphere relates to the proper care and influence which she should exert over the domestic aids siie employs. As these are, and long must be, taken chiefly from one nation, the following pages treating of the Irish Character, and the true relation between Em- ployer and Employed, can hardly fail to be of interest. They contain, too, some considerations which Woman as well as Man is too much in danger of overlooking, and which seem, even more than when first urged, to be timely in this reactionary to-day. — Ei) ] THE IRISH CHARACTER. In one of the eloquent passages quoted in the " Trib- une " of Wednesday, under the head, " Spirit of the Irish Press," we find these words : " Domestic love, almost morbid from external suffer- ing, prevents him (the Irishman) from becoming a fanatic and a misanthrope, and reconciles him to life." This recalled to our mind the many touching instances known to us of such traits among the Irish we have seen here. We have known instances of morbidness like this. A girl sent '-home," after she was well established her- self, for a young brother, of whom she was particularly fond. He came, and shortly after died. She was so overcome by his loss that she took poison. The great poet of serious England says, and we believe it to be his serious thought though laughingly said, "Men have died, and worms have eaten them, but not for love." 322 MISCELLANIES. Whether or not death may follow from the loss of a lovei or child, we believe that among no people but the Irish would it be upon the loss of a young brother. Another poor young woman, in the flower of her youth, denied herself, not only every pleasure, but almost the necessaries of life to save the sum she thought ought be hers before sending to Ii-eland for a widowed nother. Just as she was on the point of doing so she heard that her mother had died fifteen months before. The keenness and persistence of her grief defy description. With a delicacy of feeling which showed the native poetry of the Irish mind, she dwelt, most of all, upon the thought that while she was working, and pinching, and dreaming of happiness with her mother, it was indeed but a dream, and that cherished parent lay still and cold beneath the ground. She felt fully the cruel cheat of Fate. '•' Och ! and she was dead all those times I was thinking of her ! " was the deepest note of her lament. They are able, however, to make the sacrifice of even these intense family affections in a worthy cause. We knew a woman who postponed sending for her only child, whom she had left in Ireland, for years, while she main- tained a sick friend who had no one else to help her. The poetry of which I have spoken shows itself even here, where they are separated from old romantic associa- tions, and begm the new life in the New World by doing all its drudgery. We know flights of poetry repeated to us by those present at their wakes, — passages of natural eloquence, from the lamentations for the dead. THE IRISH CHARACTER. 323 more be:»utiful than those recorded in the annals of Brit- tany or Roumelia. It is the same genius, so exquisitely mournful, tender, and glowing, too, with the finest enthusiasm, that makes their national music, in these respects, the finest in the world. It is the music of the barp ; its tones are deep and thrilling. It is the harp so beautifully described in " The Harp of Tara's Halls," a song whose simple pathos is unsurpassed. A feeling was never more adequately embodied. It is the genius which will enable Emmet's appeal to draw tears from the remotest generations, however much they may be strangers to the circumstances which called it forth. It is the genius which beamed in chivalrous loveliness through each act of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, — the genius which, ripened by English culture, favored by suitable occasions, has shed such glory on the land which has done all it could to quench it on the parent hearth. When we consider all the fire which glows so untam- ably in Irish veins, the character of her people, consider- ing the circumstances, almost miraculous in its goodness, we cannot forbear, notwithstanding all the temporary ilia they aid in here, to give them a welcome to our shores. Those ills we need not enumerate ; they are known to all, and we rank among them, what others would not, that by their ready service to do all the hard work, they make it easier for the rest of the population to grow efieminate, and help the country to grow too fast. Bit that is her destiny, to grow too fast : there is no use 324 MISCELLANIES. talking against it. Their extreme ignorance, their blind devotion to their priesthood, their pliancy in the hands of demagogues, threaten continuance of these ills yet, on the other hand, we must regard them as most valua- ble elements in the new race. They are looked upon with contempt for their want of aptitude in learning new things ; their ready and ingenious lying ; . their eye-ser- vice. These are the faults of am oppressed race, which must require the aid of better circumstances through two or three generations to eradicate. Their virtues are their own ; they are many, genuine, and deeply-rooted. Can an impartial observer fail to admire their truth to domes- tic ties, their power of generous bounty, and more generous gratitude, their indefatigable good-humor (for ages of wrong which have driven them to so many acts of desperation, could never sour their blood at its source), their ready wit, their elasticity of nature ? They are fundamentally one of the best nations of the world. Would they were welcomed here, not to work merely, but to intelligent sympathy, and efforts, both patient and ardent, for the education of their children ! No sympathy could be better deserved, no efforts wiselier timed. Future Burkes and Currans would know how to give thanks for them, and Fitzgeralds rise upon the soil — which boasts the magnolia with its kingly stature and majestical white blossoms, — to the same lofty and pure beauty. Will you not believe it, merely because that bog-bred youth you placed in the mud-hole tells you lies, and drinks to cheer himself in those endless diggings ? You are short-sighted, my friend : you do not look to the THE IRISH CHARACTER. 325 future ; jou will not turn jour head to see what may have been the influences of the past. You have not examined your own breast to see whether the moniton there has not commanded you to do your part to coun- teract these influences ; and yet the Irishman appeals to you, eye to eye. He is very personal himself, — he expects a personal interest from you. Nothing has been able to destroy this hope, which was the fruit of hia nature. We were much touched by O'Connell's direct appeal to the queen, as " Lady ! " But she did not listen, — and we fear few ladies and gentlemen will till the progress of Destiny compels them. 28 THE IRISH CHARACTER. Since the publication of a short notice under this head in the " Tribune,'" several persons have expressed to ua that their feelings were awakened on the subject, espe- cially as to their intercourse with the lower Irish. Most persons have an opportunity of becoming acquainted, if they will, with the lower classes of Irish, as they are so much employed among us in domestic service, and other kinds of labor. We feel, say these persons, the justice of what has been said as to the duty and importance of improving these people. "We have sometimes tried ; but the want of real gratitude which, in them, is associated with such warm and wordy expressions of regard, with their incor- rigible habits of falsehood and evasion, have baffled and discouraged us. You say their children ought to be educated ; but how can this be effected when the all but omnipotent sway of the Catholic religion and the exam- ple of parents are both opposed to the formation of such views and habits as we think desirable to the citizen of the New "World ? We answer first with regard to those who have grown ap in another land, and who, soon after an iving here, are engaged in our service. THE IRISH CHARACTER. 327 First, as to ingratitude. We caanot but sadlj smile jn the remarks we hear so often on this subject. Just Hearen ! ■ — and to us how liberal ! which has given those who speak thus an unfettered existence, free from religious or political oppression ; which has given them the education of intellectual and refined intercourse with men to develop those talents which make tliem rich in thoughts and enjoyment, perhaps in money, too, certainly rich in comparison with the poor immigrants they employ, — what is thought in thy clear light of those who expect in exchange for a few shillings spent in presents or medicines, a few kind words, a little casual thought or care, such a mighty payment of gratitude ? Gratitude ! Under the weight of old feudalism their minds were padlocked by habit against the light ; they might be grateful then, for they thought their lords were as gods, of another frame and spirit than theirs, and that they had no right to have the same hopes and wants, scarcely to suffer from the same maladies, with those creatures of silk, and velvet, and cloth of gold. Then, the crumbs which fell from the rich man's ta^)le might be received with gratitude, and, if any but the dogs came to tend the beggar's sores, such might be received as angels. But the institutions which sustained such idea? have fallen to pieces. It is understood, even in Europe, that " The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The miin 's the gowd for a' that, A man 's a man for a' tliat. ' ' A.nd being such, has a claim on this earth for some- 328 MISCELLANIES. thing better than the nettles of which the French peas- antry made their soup, and with which the persecuted Irish, "under hiding," turned to green the lips white before with famine. And if this begins to be understood in Europe, can you suppose it is not by those who, hearing that America opens a mother's arms with the cry, " All men are born free and equal," rush to her bosom to be consoled for centuries of woe, for their ignorance, their hereditary degradation, their long memories of black bread and stripes ? However little else they may understand, believe they understand well this much. Such inequal- ities of privilege, among men all born of one blood, should not exist. They darkly feel that those to whom much has been given owe to the Master an account of stewardship. They know now that your gift is but a small portion of their right. And you, giver ! how did you give ? With religious joy, as one who knows that he who loves God cannot fail to love his neighbor as himself ? with joy and freedom, as one who feels that it is the highest happiness of gift to us that we have something to give again ? Didst thou put thyself into the position of the poor man, and do for him what thou wouldst have had one who was able to do for thee? Or, with affability and condescending sweetness, made easy by internal delight at thine own wondrous vir- tue, didst thou give five dollars to balance five hundi'ed spent on thyself? Did you say, " James, T shall expect you to do right in everything, and to attend to my con- cerns as I should myself : and, at the end of the quarter. THE IRISH CHARACTER. 329 I will give you my old clothes and a new pocket-handker- chief, besides seeing that your mother is provided with fuel against Christmas ? " Line upon line, and precept upon precept, the tender parent expects from the teacher to whom he confides his child ; vigilance unwearied, day and night, through long years. But he expects the raw Irish girl or boy to cor- rect, at a single exhortation, the habit of deceiving those above them, which the expectation of being tyrannized over has rooted in their race for ages. If we look fairly into the history of their people, and the circumstances under which their own youth was trained, we cannot expect that anything short of the most steadfast patience and love can enlighten them as to the beauty and value of implicit truth, and, having done so, fortify and refine them in the practice of it. This we admit at the outset : Krst, You must be pre- pared for a religious and patient treatment of these people, not merely ww educated, but i//-educated ; a treatment far more religious and patient than is demanded by your own children, if they were born and bred under circumstances at all favorable. Second, Dismiss from your minds all thought of grat- itude, too what you do for them for God's sake, and as a debt to humanity — interest to the common creditor upon principal left in your care. Then insensibility, forgetful- ness, or relapse, will not discourage you, and you will welcome proofs of genuine attachment to yourself chiefly as tokens that your charge has risen into a higher state of thought "n 1 feeling, so as to be enabled to value the bene- 28* 330 MISCELLANIES. fits confeixed through you. Could we begin so, there would be hope of our really becoming the instructors and guardians of this swarm of souls which come from their regions of torment to us, hoping, at least, the benefits of purgatory. The influence of the Catholic priesthood must continue very great till there is a complete transfusion of character in the minds of their charge. But as the Irishman, or any other foreigner, becomes Americanized, he will demand a new form of religion to suit his new wants. The priest, too, will have to learn the duties of an American citizen ; he rfill live less and less for the church, and more for the people, till at last, if there be Catholicism still, it will be under Protestant influences, as begins to be the case in Germany. It will be, not Koman, but American Cathol- icism ; a form of worship which relies much, perhaps, on external means and the authority of the clergy, — for such will always be the case with religion while there are crowds of men still living an external life, and who have not learned to make full use of their own faculties, — but where a belief in the benefits of confession and the power of the church, as church, to bind and loose, atone for or decide upon sin, with similar corruptions, must vanish in tlie free and searching air of a new era. ***** Between employer a,nd employed thei-e is not sufficient pains taken on the part of the former to establish a mutual understanding. People meet, in the relations of master iind servant, who have lived in two different worlds. In this respect we are much worse situated than the same THK IRISH CHARACTER. 331 parties have been in Europe. There is less previoua acquaintance between the upper and lower classes. (We must, though unwillingly, use these terms to designate the state of things as at present existing.) Meals are taken separately ; work is seldom shared ; there is very- little to bring the parties together, except sometimes the farmer works with his hired Irish laborer in the fields, or the mother keeps the nurse-maid of her baby in the room with her. In this state of things the chances for instruction, which come every day of themselves where parties share a common life instead of its results merely, do not occur. Neither is there opportunity to administer instruction in the best manner, nor to understand when and where it is needed. The farmer who works with his men in the field, the farmer's wife who attends with her women to the churn and the oven, may, with ease, be true father and mother to all who are in their employ, and enjoy health of con- science in the relation, secure that, if they find cause for blame, it is not from faults induced by their own negli- gence. The merchant who is from home all day, the lady receiving visitors or working slippers in her nicely-fur- nished parlor, cannot be quite so sure that their demands, or the duties involved in them, are clearly understood, nor estimate the temptations to prevarication. It is shockina; to think to what falsehoods human beinss like ourselves will resort, to excuse a love of amusement, to hide ill-health, while they see us indulging freely in tlie one, yielding lightly to the other ; and yet we have, 332 MISCELLANIES. or O'.ight to have, far more resources in either temptation than they. For us it is hard to resist, to give up going to the places whei-e we should meet our most interesting companions, or do our work with an aching brow. But ■we have not people over us whose careless, hasty anger drives us to seek excuses for our failures ; if so, perhaps, — perhaps ; who knows ? — we, the better-educated, rig- idly, immaculately true as we are at present, might tell falsehoods. Perhaps we might, if things were given us to do which we had never seen done, if we were sur- rounded by new arrangements in the nature of which no one instructed us. All this we must think of before we can be of much use. We have spoken of the nursery-maid as the hired domestic with whom her mistress, or even the master, is likely to become acquainted. But, only a day or two since, we saw, what we see so often, a nursery-maid with the family to which she belonged, in a public conveyance. They were having a pleasant time ; but in it she had no part, except to hold a hot, heavy baby, and receive fre- quent admonitions to keep it comfortable. No inquiry was made as to her comfort ; no entertaining remark, no information of interest as to the places we passed, was addressed to her. Had she been in that way with that family ten years she might have known them well enough, for their characters lay only too bare to a care- less scrutiny ; but her joys, her sorrows, her few thoughts, her almost buried capacities, would have been as unknown to them, and, they as little likely to benefit her, as the Emperor of China. THE IRISH CHARACTER. 333 Let the employer place the employed first in good physical circumstances, so as to promote the formation of different habits from those of the Irish hovel, or illicit still-house. Having thus induced feelings of self-respect, he has opened the door for a new set of notions. Then let him become acquainted with the family circumstances and history of his new pupil. He has now got somo ground on which to stand for intercourse. Let instruc- tion follow for the mind, not merely by having the youngest daughter set, now and then, copies in the writing-book, or by hearing read aloud a few verses in the Bible, but by putting good books in their way, if able to read, and by intelligent conversation when there is a chance, — the master with the man who is driving him, the lady with the woman who is making her bed. Explain to them the relations of objects around them ; teach them to compare the old with the new life. If you show a better way than theirs of doing work, teach them, too, why it is better. Thus will the mind be prepared by development for a moral reformation ; there will be some soil fitted to receive the seed. When the time is come, — and will you think a poor, uneducated person, in whose mind the sense of right and wrong is confused, the sense of honor blunted, easier of access than one refined and thoughtful ? Surely you will not, if you yourself are refined and thoughtful, but rather that the case requires far more care in the choice of a favorable opportunity, — when, then, the good time is come, perhaps it will be best to do what you do in a way that will make a permanent impression. Show the Irish- 334 MISCELLANIES. man that a vice not indigenous to his nation — for the rich and noble who are not so tempted are chivalrous to an uncommon degree in their openness, bold sincerity, and adherence to their word — has crept over and becoiLe deeply rooted in the poorer people from the long oppres- sions they have undergone. Show them what efforts and care will be needed to wash out the taint. Offer your aid, as a faithful friend, to watch their lapses, and refine their sense of truth. You will not speak in vain. If they never mend, if habit is too powerful, still, their nobler nature will not have been addressed in vain. They will not forget the counsels they have not strength to follow, and the benefits will be seen in their children or children's children. Many say, " Well, suppose we do all this ; what then? They are so fond of change, they will leave us." What then ? Why, let them go and carry the good seed else- where. Will you be as selfish and short-sighted as those who never plant trees to shade a hired house, lest some one else should be blest by their shade ? It is a simple duty we ask you to engage in ; it is, also, a great patriotic work. You are asked to engage in the great work of mutual education, which must be for this country the system of mutual insurance. We have some hints upon this subject, drawn from the experience of the wise and good, some encouragement to offer from that experience, that the fruits of a wise plant- ing sometimes ripen sooner than we could dare to expect But this must be for another day. One word as to this love of change. We hear people THE IRISH CHARACTER. 335 blaming it in their servants, who can and do go to Niag- ara, to the South, to the Springs, to Europe, to the sea- side ; in short, who are always on the move whenever they feel the need of variety to reanimate mind, health, or spirits. Cliange of place, as to family employment, is the only way domestics have of " seeing life " — the only way immigrants have of getting thoroughly acquainted with the new society into which they liave entered. How natural that they should incline to it ! Once more ; put yourself in their places, and then judge them gently from your own, if you would be just to tho™ if you would be of any use. EDUCATE MEN AND WOMEN AS SOULS. Had Christendom but been true to its standard, wbile accommodating its modes of operation to the calls of suc- cessive times, Woman would now have not only equal power with Man, — for of that omnipotent nature will never suffer her to be' defrauded, — but a chartered power, too fuUj recognized to be abused. Indeed, all that is wanting is, that Man should prove his own freedom f by making her free. Let him abandon conventional I restriction, as a vestige of that Oriental barbarity which j confined Woman to a seraglio. Let him trust her en- I tirely, and give her every privilege already acquired for himself, — elective franchise, tenure of property, liberty to speak in public assemblies, &c. Nature has pointed out her ordinary sphere by the circumstances of her physical existence. She cannot wander far. If here and there the gods send their missives through women as through men, let them speak without remonstrance. In no age have men been able wholly to hinder them. A Deborah must always be a spiritual mother in Israel. A Corinna may be excluded from the Olympic games, yet all men will hear her song, and a Pindar sit at her feet. It is Man's fault that there ever were Aspasias and Ninons. These exquisite forms were intended for the shrines of virtue. MEN AND WOMEN AS SOULS. 337 Neither need men fear to lose their domestic deities. Woman is born for love, and it is impossible to turn her from seeking it. Men should deserve her love as an in- heritance, rather than seize and guard it like a prej. Were they noble, they would strive rather not to be loved too much, and to turn her from idolatry to the true, the only Love. Then, children of one Father, they could not eiT nor misconceive one another. -^ Society is now so complex, that it is no longer possible to educate Woman merely as Woman ; the tasks which come to her hand are so various, and so large a proportion of women are thrown entirely upon their own resources. I admit that this is not their state of perfect development ; but it seems as if Heaven, having so long issued its edict in poetry and religion without securing intelligent obedi- ence, now commanded the world in prose to take a high and rational view. The lesson reads to me thus : — Sex, like rank, wealth, beauty, or talent, is but an \ accident of birth. As you would not educate a soul to be S an aristocrat, so do not to be a woman. A general regard i to her usual sphere is dictated in the economy of nature. You need never enforce these provisions rigorously. Acliilles had long plied the distaiF as a princess ; yet, at first sight of a sword, he seized it. So with Woman : one hour of love would teach her more of her proper relations than all your formulas and conventions. Express your views, men, of what you setk in women ; thus best do you give them laws. Learn, women, what you should demand of men ; thus only can they become themselves. Turn both from the contemplation of what is merely phe- 29 338 MISCELLANIES. nomenal in your existence, to your permanent life as souls. Man, do not prescribe how the Divine shall dis- play itself in Woman. Woman, do not expect to see all of God in Man. Tellow-pilgrims and helpmeets are ye, Apollo and Diana, twins of one heavenly birth, both beneficent, and both armed. Man, fear not to yield to Woman's hand both the quiver and the lyre ; for if her urn be filled with light, she will use both to the glory of God. There is but one doctrine for ye both, and that ia the doctrine of the SOUL. PAUT III. EXTRACTS FEOM JOURNALS AND LETTERS [The following extract from Margaret's Journal will be read with a liegree of melancholy interest when connected with the eventful end of her eventful life. It wa3 written many years before her journey to Europe, and rings in our ears now almost with the tones of prophecy. — Ed.] I LIKE to listen to the soliloquies of a bright child. In this microcosm the philosophical observer may trace the natural progression of the mind of mankind. I often silently observe L , with this view. He is generally imitative and dramatic ; the day-school, the singing- school or the evening party, are acted out with admirable variety in the humors of the scene, and great discrimina^ tion of character in its broader features. What is chiefly remarkable is his unconsciousness of his mental processes, and how thoughts it would be impossible for him to reoal? spring up in his mind like flowers and weeds in the soil. .But to-night he was truly in a state of lyrical inspiration, his eyes flashing, his face glowing, and his whole compo- sition chanted out in an almost metrical form. He besan by mourning the death of a certain Harriet whom he haO let go to foreign parts, and who had died at sea. Ho described her as having "blue, sparkling eyes, and a Bweet smile," and lamented that he could never kiss her cold lips again This part, which he continued for some 29* 342 MISCELLANIES. time, was in prolonged cadences, and a low, moumfdl tone, with a frequently recurring burden of " 0, my Harriet, shall I never see thee more ! " EXTRACT FROM JOURNAL. TV TV TV *!? "T^ *rr It is so true that a woman may be in love with a woman, and a man with a man. It is pleasant to be sure of it, because it is undoubtedly the same love that we shall feel when we are angels, when we ascend to the only fit place for the Mignons, where ** Sie fragen nicht nach Mann und Weib.'* It is regulated by the same law as that of love between persons of different sexes, only it is purely intellectual and spiritual, unprofaned by any mixture of lower in- stincts, undisturbed by any need of consulting temporal interests ; its law is the desire of the spirit to realize a whole, which makes it seek in another being that whicli it finds not in itself. Thus the beautiful seek the strong ; the mute seek the eloquent ; the butterfly settles on the dark flower. Why did Socrates so love Alcibiades? Why did Korner so love Schneider ? How natural is the love of Wallen- stein for Max, that of Madame de Stael for do Recamier, mine for ! I loved for a time with as much passion as T was then strong enough to feel. Her face was always gleaming before me ; her voice was echoing in my ear ; al 1 poetic thoughts clustered round the dear image. EXTRACT FROM JOURNAL. 343 Tbia Icve -was for me a key whicli unlocked many a treasure which I still possess ; it was the carbuncle (em- blematic gem ! ) which cast light iuto many of the darkest corners of human nature. She loved me, too, though not so much, because her nature was "less high, less gravCj less large, less deep ; " but she loved more tenderly, less passionately. She loved me, for I well remember her suffering when she first could feel my faults, and knew one part of the exquisite veil rent away — how she wished to stay apart and weep the whole day. These thoughts were suggested by a large engraving representing Madame Recamier in her boudoir. I have so often thought over the intimacy between her and Madame de Stael. Madame Recamier is half-reclining on a sofa ; she is clad in white drapery, which clings very gracefully to her round, but elegantly-slender form ; her beautiful neck and arms are bare ; her hair knotted up so as to show the contour of her truly-feminine head to great advantage. A book lies carelessly on her lap ; one hand yet holds it at the place where she left off reading ; her lovely face is turned towards us ; she appears to muse on what she has been reading. When we see a woman in a picture with a book, she seems to be doing precisely that for which she was born ; the book gives such an expression of purity to the female figure. A large window, partially veiled by a white curtain, gives a view of a city at some little distance. On one side stand the harp and piano ; there are just books enough for a lady's boudoir. There is no picture, except one of De Recamier herself, aa 344 MISCELLANIES. Corinne. This is absurd ; but the absurdity is interest- ing, as recalling the connection. You imagine her to have been reading one of De Stael's books, and to be now pondering what those brilliant words of her gifted friend can mean. Everything in the room is in keeping. Nothing ap- pears to have been put there because other people have it ; but there is nothing which shows a taste more noble and refined than you would expect from the fair French- ■s»omaii. All is elegant, modem, in harmony with the delicate habits and superficial culture which you would look for in its occupant. TO HER MOTHER. Sept. 6, 1837. * * * * If I stay in Providence, and more money is wanting than can otherwise be furnished, I will take a private class, which is ready for me, and by which, even if I reduced my terms to suit the place, I can earn the four hundred dollars that will need. If I do not stay, I will let her have my portion of our income, with her own, or even capital which I have a right to take up, and come into this or some other economical place, and live at the cheapest rate. It will not be even a sacrifice to me to do so, for I am weary of society, and long for the opportunity for solitary concentration of thought. I know what I say ; if I live, you may rely upon me. God be with you, my dear mother ! I am sure he will prosper the doings of so excellent a woman if you LETTER TO M. 345 will onlj keep your mind calm and be firm. Trust your daugliter too. I feel increasing trust in mine own good mind. We will take good care of the children and of one anotter. Never fear to trouble me with your perplexities. I can never be so situated that I do not earnestly wish to know them. Besides, things do not trouble me as they did, for I feel within myself the power to aid, to serve. Most affectionately. Your daughter, M. PART OF LETTER TO M. Providence, Oct. 7, 1838. * * * J'or yourself, dear , you have attained an important age. No plan is desirable for you which is to be pursued with precision. The world, the events of every day, which iio one can predict, are to be your teachers, and you must, in some degree, give yourself up, and submit to be led captive, if you would learn from them. Principle must be at the helm, but thought must shift its direction with the winds and waves. Happy as you are thus far in worthy friends, you are not in much danger of rash intimacies or great errors. I think, upon the whole, quite highly of your judgment about people and conduct ; for, though your first feelings are often extravagant, they are soon balanced. I do not know ct ler faults in you beside that want of retirement of mini which I have before spoken of If M and A want too much seclusion, and are toe 346 MISCELLANIES. severe in their views of life and man, I think you are too little &o. There is nothing so fatal to the finer faculties as too ready or too extended a publicity. There is some danger lest there be no real religion in the heart ■which craves too much of daily sympathy. Through your mind the stream of life has coursed with such rapidity that it has often swept away the seed or loosened the roots of the young plants before they had ripened any fruit. I should think writing would be very good for you. A journal of your life, and analyses of your thoughts, would teach you how to generalize, and give firmness to your conclusions. Do not write down merely that things are beautiful, or the reverse ; but what they are, and why they are beautiful or otherwise ; and show these papers, at least at present, to nobody. Be your own judge and your own helper. Do not go too soon to any one with your difiBculties, but try to clear them up for yourself I think the course of reading you have fallen upon, of late, will be better for you than such books as you for- merly read, addressed rather to the taste and imagina- tion than the judgment. The love of beauty has rather an undue development in your mind; See now what it is, and what it has been. Leave for a time the Ideal, and return to the Real. I should think two or three hours a day would be quite enough, at present, for you to give to books. Now learn buying and selling, keeping the house, directing the servants ; all that will bring you worlds of wisdom TO HER BROTUER. 347 if you keep it subordinate to the one grand aim oi per- fecting the whole beiug. And let your self-respect for- bid you to do imperfectly anything that you do at all. I always feel ashamed when I write with this air of wisdom ; but you will see, by my hints, what I mean. Your mind wants depth and precision; your character condensation. Keep your high aim steadily in view ; life will open the path to reach it. I think , eren if she be in excess, is an excellent friend for you ; her char- acter seems to have what yours wants, whether she has or has not found the right way. TO HER BROTHER, A. B. F. Providence, Feb. 19, 1838 My dear a. : *^ ' ^ -Ur ^ ^ ^f- ij(- .^ I wish you could see the journals of two dear little girls, eleven years old, in my school. They love one another like Bessie Bell and Mary Gray in the ballad. They are just of a size, both lively as birds, affectionate, gentle, ambitious in good works and knowledge. They encourage one another constantly to do right ; they are rivals, but never jealous of one another. Orte has the quicker intellect, the other is the prettier. I have never had occasion to find fault with either, and the forward- ness of their minds has induced me to take both into my reading-class, where they are associated with girls many years their elders. Particular pains do they take with 348 MISCELLANIES. their journals. These are written daily, in a beautiful, fair, round hand, well-composed, showing attention, and memory well-trained, with many pleasing sallies of play- fulness, and some very interesting thoughts. TO THE SAME. Jamaica Plain, Dec. 20, 1840. * * * * About your school I do not think I could give you much advice which would be of value, unless I could know your position more in detail. The most im- portant rule is, in all relations with our fellow-creatures, never forget that, if they are imperfect persons, they are immortal souls, and treat them as you would wish to be treated by the light of that thought. As to the application of means, abstain from punish- ment as much as possible, and use encouragement as far as you can without flattery. But be even more careful as to strict truth in this regard, towards children, than to persons of your own age ; for, to the child, the parent or teacher is the representative oi justice ; and as that of life is severe, an education which, in any degree, excites vanity, is the very worst preparation for that general and crowded school. I doubt not you will teach grammar well, as I saw you aimed at principles in your practice. In geography, try to make pictures of the scenes, that they may be present to their imaginations, and the nobler faculties be brought into action, as well as memory. TO HBK BROTHER. 849 In histovy, try to study and paint the characters of great men ; they best interpret the leadings of events amid the nations. I am pleased with your way of speaking of both people and pupils ; your view seems from the right point. Yet beware of over great pleasure in being popular, or even beloved. As far as an amiable disposition and powers of entertainment make you so, it is a happiness ; but if there is one grain of plausibility, it is poison. But I will not play Mentor too much, lest I make you averse to write to your very affectionate sister, M. TO HER BROTHER, R. I ENTIRELY agree in what you say of tuition and intui- tion ; the two must act and react upon one another, to make a man, to form a mind. Drudgery is as necessary, to call out the- treasures of the mind, as harrowing and planting those of the earth. And besides, the growths of literature and art are as much nature as the trees in Concord woods ; but nature idealized and perfected. TO THE- SAME. 1841. I TAKE great pleasure in that feeling of the living pres- ence of beauty in nature which your letters show. But you, who have now lived long enough to see some of my prophecies fulfilled, will not deny, though you may not 350 MISCELLANIBS. yet believe tiie truth of my words when I say you go to an extreme in your denunciations of cities and the social institutions. These are a growth also, and, as well as the diseases which come upon them, under the control of the one spirit as much as the great tree on which the insects prey, and in whose bark the busy bird has made many a wound. When we get the proper perspective of these things we shall find man, however artificial, still a part of nature. Meanwhile, let us trust ; and while it is 'the soul's duty ever to bear witness to the best it knows, let us not be hasty to conclude that in what suits us not there can be no good. Let us be sure there must be eventual good, could we but see far enough to discern it. In maintain- ing perfect truth to ourselves and choosing that mode of being which suits us, we had best leave others alone as much as may be. You prefer the country, and I doubt not it is on the whole a better condition of life to live there ; but at the country party you have mentioned you saw that no circumstances will keep people from being frivolous. One may be gossipping, and vulgar, and idle in the country, — earnest, noble and wise, in the city. Nature cannot be kept from us while there is a sky above, with so much as one star to remind us of prayer in the silent night. As I walked home this evening at sunset, over the Mill-Dam, towards the city, I saw very distinctly that the city also is a bed in God's garden. More of this some other time. TO A YOUNG TKIEND. 853 TO A YOUNG FKIEND. Concord, May 2, 1837. My Dear : I am passing happy here, except that I am not well, — so unwell that I fear I must go home and ask my good mother to let me rest and vegetate beneath hei sunny kindness for a while. The excitement of con- versation prevents my sleeping. The drive here with Mr. E was delightful. Dear Nature and Time, so often tjalumniated, will take excellent care of us if we will let them. The wisdom lies in schooling the heart not to expect too much. I did that good thing when I came here, and I am rich. On Sunday I drove to Watertown with the author of " Nature." The trees were still bare, but the little birds care not for that ; they revel, and carol, and wildly tell their hopes, while the gentle, " voluble " south wind plays with the dry leaves, and the pine-trees sigh with their soul-like sounds for June. It was beauteous ; and care and routine fled away, and I was as if they had never been, except that I vaguely whispered to myself that all had been well with me. TT -ff -rf ^ ^ ^ The baby here is beautiful. He looks like his father, and smiles so STy^eetly on all hearty, good people. I play with him a good deal, and he comes so natural aiitor Dante ind other poets. Ever faithfully your friend. 852 MISCELLANIES. TO THE SAME. 1837. Mt beloved Child : I was very glad to get youi note. Do not think you must only write to your friends when you can tell them you are happy ; they will not misunderstand you in the dark hour, nor think you for- saken, if cast down. Though your letter of Wednesday was very sweet to me, yet I knew it could not last as it was then. These hours of heavenly, heroic strength leave us, but they come again : their memory is with us amid after-trials, and gives us a foretaste of that era when the steadfast soul shall be the only reality. My dearest, you must suffer, but you will always be growing stronger, and with every trial nobly met, you will feel a growing assurance that nobleness is not a mere sentiment with you. I sympathize deeply in your anxiety about your mother ; yet I cannot but remember the bootless fear and agitation about my mother, and how strangely our destinies were guided. Take refuge in prayer when you are most troubled ; the door of the sanctuary will never be shut against you. I send you a paper which is very sacred to me. Bless Heaven that your heart is awakened to sacred duties before any kind of gentle ministering has become impossible, before any relation has been broken.* * It has always been my desire to find appropriate time and place to correct an erroneous impression wbicli has gained currency in regard to my fatlier, and whicli does injustice to his memory. That impres- Bion is that he was exceedingly stern and exacting in the parental relation, and osrr-.'ially in regard to my sister ; that he forbid oi LINKS. 353 LINES WEITTEN IN MARCH, 1836. " I win not leave you comfortlesB." , Friend divine ! this promise dear Falls sweetly on the weary ear ! Often, in hours of sickening pain, It soothes me to thy rest again. frowned upon her sports ; — excluded her from intercourse witli othei children when she, a child, needed such companionship, and required her to bend almost vinceasingly over her books. This impression has, certainly in part, arisen from an autobiographical sketch, never written for publication nor intended for a literal or complete statement of her father's educational method, or the relation which existed between them, which was most loving and true on both sides. While the narrative is true, it is not the all she would have said, and, therefore, taken alone, conveys an impression which misleads those who did not know our father well. Perhaps no better opportunity or place than this may ever arise to correct this impression so far as it is wrong. It is true that my father had a very high standard of scholarship, and did expect conformity to it in his children. He was not stern toward them. It is doubtless true, also, that he did not perfectly comprehend the rare mind of his daughter, or see for some yeiirs that she required no stimulating to intellectual effort, as do most children, but rather the reverse. But how many fathers are there who would have understood at once such a child as Margaret Fuller w.as, or would have done even as wisely as he? And how long is it since a wiser era has dawned upon the world (its light not yet fully welcomed), in which attention first to physical development to the exclusion of the mental, is an axiom in edu- cation ? Was it so deemed forty years ago ? Nor has It been considered that so gifted a child would naturally, as she did, neek the companion- ship of those older than herself, and not of children who had little in unison with her. She needed, doubtless, to be urged into the usual sports of children, and the company of those of her own age ; ii nol 30* 864 MISCELLANIES. Might I a true disciple be, Following thy footsteps faithfully, Then should I still the succor prove Of him who gave his life for love. When this fond heart would vainly beat For bliss that ne'er on earth we meet. For perfect sympathy of soul, From those such heavy laws control ; When, roused from passion's ecstasy, I see the dreams that filled it fly. Amid my bitter tears and sighs Those gentle words before me rise. urged to enter these she was never excluded from either. She needed to be kept from books for a period, or to be led to those of a lightel cast than such as • she read, and which usually task the thoughts of mature men. This simply was not done, and the error arose from no lack of tenderness, or consideration, from no lack of the wisdom of those times, but from the simple fact that the laws of physiology as connected with those of mind were not understood then as now, nor was attention so much directed to physical culture as of the primary importance it is now regarded. Our father was indeed exact and strict with himself and others ; but none has ever been more devoted to his children than he, or more painstaking with their education, nor more fondly loved them ; and in later life they have ever been more ttnd more impressed with the conviction of his fidelity and wisdom That Margaret venerated her father, and that his love was returned, is abundantly evidenced in her poem which accompanies this letter. Tliis, too, was not written for the public eye, but it is too noble a tribute, too honorable both to father and daughter, to be suppressed. I trust that none, passing from one extreme to the other, will infer from the natural self-vepronch and upbraiding because of short-comings, felt by every true mind when an honored and loved parent departs, that sb"^ lacked fidelity in the relation of daughter. She agreed not always with his views and methods, but this diversity of mind never affected their mutual respect and love. ■ — [En.] LINES. 355 With aching brows and feverish brain The founts of intellect I drain, And con with over-anxious thought What poets sung and heroes wrought. Enchanted with their deeds and lajs, I with like gems would deck my days ; No fires creative in me burn , And, humbled, I to Thee return ; When blackest clouds around me rolled Of scepticism drear and cold, When love, and hope, and joy and pride, Forsook a spirit deeply tried ; My reason wavered in that hour, Prayer, too impatient, lost its power ; From thy benignity a ray I caught, and found the perfect day. A head revered in dust was laid ; For the first time I watched my dead ; The widow's sobs were checked in vain. And childhood's tears poured down like rain In awe I gaze on that dear face, In sorrow, years gone by retrace. When, nearest duties most forgot, I might have blessed, and did it not ! Ignorant, his wisdom I reproved, Heedless, passed by what most he loved, Knew not a life like his to prize, Of ceaseless toil and sacrifice- No tears can now that hushed heart more, No cares display a daughter's love. 856 A1ISCELLANIE». The fair occasion lost, no more Can thoughts more just to thee restore. What can I do 7 And how atone For all I 've done, and left undone ? Tearful I search the parting words Which the beloyed John records. " Not comfortless ! " I dry my eyes, My duties clear before me rise, — Before thou thiuk'st of taste or pride, See home-affections satisfied ! Be not with generous thoughts content. But on well-doing constant bent ; When self seems dear, self-seeking fair. Remember this sad hour in prayer 1 Though all thou wisbest fly thy touch, Much can one do who loveth much. More of thy spirit, Jesus give. Not comfortless, though sad, to live. And yet not sad, if I can know To copy Him who here below Sought but to do his Father's will. Though from such sweet composure still My heart be far. Wilt thou not aid One whose best hopes on thee are stayed? Breathe into me thy perfect love, And guide me to thy rest above ! TO HER BROTHER, R . * * * Mr. Keats, Emma's father, is dead. To me this brings unusual sorrow, tliougli I luive never yel TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 357 seen him ; but I thought of him as one of the very few persons known to me by reputation, whose acquaintance might enrich me. His character was a sufficient answer to the doubt, whether a merchant can be a man of honor. He was, like your father, a man all whose virtues had stood the test. He was no word-hero. TO A YOUNG FRIEND. Providence, June 16, 1837. My dear : I pray you, amid all your duties, to keep some hours to yourself. Do not let my example lead you into excessive exertions. I pay dear for extravagance of this sort ; five years ago I had no idea of the languor and want of animal spirits which torment me now. Animal spirits are not to be despised. An earnest mind and seeking heart will not often be troubled by despondency; but unless the blood can dance at proper times, the lighter passages of life lose all their refreshment and suggestion. I wish you and — z lia-d been here last Saturday. Our school-house was dedicated, and Mr. Emerson made the address ; it was a noble appeal in behalf of the best interests of culture, and seemingly here was fit occasion. The building was beautiful, and furnished with an even elegant propriety. I am at perfect liberty to do what I please, and there are apparently the best dispositions, if not the best prepara- tion, on the part of the bundled and fifty young minda with whom I am to be brought in contact. 358 MISCELLANIES. I sigh for the country ; trees, birds and flowers, assuri! me that June is here, but I must walk through streets many and long, to get sight of any expanse of green. I had no fine weather while at home, though the quiet and rest were delightful to me ; the sun did not shine once really warmly, nor did the apple-trees put on their blos- soms until the very day I came away. SONNET. TO THE SAME. Although the sweet, still watches of the night Find me all lonely now, yet the delight Hath not quite gone, which from thy presence flows, The love, the joy that in thy bosom glows, Lingers to cheer thy friend. From thy fresh dawn Some golden exhalations have I drawn To make less dim my dusty noon. Thy tones Are with me still ; some plaintive as the moans Of Dryads, when their native groves must fall. Some wildly wailing, like the clarion-call On battle-field, strewn with the noble dead. Some in soft romance, like the echoes bred In the most secret groves of Arcady ; Yet all, wild, sad, or soft, how steeped in poesy ! Provident e, April, 1888. TO THE SAME. Providence, Oct. 21, 1838. * * * * I AM reminded by what you say, of an era in my own existence ; it is seven years bygone. For TO A YOUNG FllIEND. 359 bitter months a heavy weight had been pressing on me, — the weight of deceived friendship. I could not be much alone, — a great burden of family cares pressed upon me ; I was in the midst of society, and obliged to act my part there as well as I could. At that time I took up the study of German, and my progress was like the rebound of a string pressed almost to bursting. My mind being then in the highest state of action, heightened, by intel- lectual appreciation, every pang; and imagination, by prophetic power, gave to the painful present all the weight of as painful a future. At this time I never had any consolation, except in long solitary walks, and my meditations then were so far aloof from common life, that on my return my fall was like that of the eagle, which the sportsman's hand calls bleeding from his lofty flight, to stain the earth with his blood. In such hours we feel so noble, so full of love and bounty, that we cannot conceive how any pain should have been needed to teach us. It then seems we are so born for good, that such means of leading us to it were wholly unnecessary. But I ha^'c lived to know that the secret of all things is pain, and that nature travaileth mast painfully with her noblest product. I was not with- out hours of deep spiritual insight, and consciousness of the inheritance of vast powers. I touched the secret of tlie universe, and by that touch was invested with talis- manic power which hiis never left me, though it some- times lies dormant for a long time. One day lives always in my memory ; one chastest, 360 MISCELLANIES. lieavenliest day of communion ivith the soul of things. It was Thanksgiving-day. I was free to be alone ; in the meditative woods, by the choked-up fountain, I passed its hours, each of which contained ages of thought and emo- tion. I saw, then, how idle were my griefs ; that I had acquired the thought of each object which had been taken from me ; that more extended personal relations would only have given me pleasures which then seemed not worth my care, and which would surely have dimmed my sense of the spiritual meaning of all which had passed. I felt how true it was that nothing in any being which was fit for me, could long be kept from me ; and that, if separation could be, real intimacy had never been. All the films seemed to drop from my existence, and I was sure that I should never starve in this desert world, but that manna Would drop from Heaven, if I would but rise with every rising sun to gather it. In the evening I went to the church-yard ; the moon sailed above the rosy clouds, — the crescent moon rose above the heavenward-pointing spire. At that hour a vision came upon my soul, whose final scene last month interpreted. The rosy clouds of illusion are all vanished ; the moon has waxed to full. May my life be a churcli, full of devout thoughts and solemn music. I pray thus, my dearest child ! " Our Father ! let not the heaviest shower be spared ; let not the gardener forbear his knife till the fair, hopeful tree of existence be brought to ita fullest blossom and fruit ! " TO THE SAME. 361 TO THE SAME. Jamaica Plain, June, 1839. * * * I HAVE had a pleasant visit at Naliant, but was no sooner there than the air braced me so violently as to drive all the blood to my head. I bad headache two of the three days we were there, and yet I enjoyed my stay very much. We had the rocks and piazzas co ourselves, and were on sufficiently good terms not to destroy, if we could not enhance, one another's pleasure. The first night we had a storm, and the wind roared and wailed round the house that Ossianic poetry of which you hear so many strains. Next day was clear iind brilliant, with a high north-west wind. I went out about six o'clock, and had a two hours' scramble before breakfast. I do not like to sit still in tliis air, which exasperates all my nervous feelings ; but when I can ox- liaust myself in climbing, I feel delightfully, — the eye ia so sharpened, and the mind so fall of thought. The outlines of all objects, the rocks, the distant sails, even the rippling of the ocean, were so sharp that they seemed to press themselves into the brain. When I see a natural scene by such a light it stays in my memory always as a picture ; on milder days it influences me more in the way of reverie. After breakfast, we walked on the beaches. It was quite low tide, no waves, and the fine sand eddying wildly about. I came home with that frenzied headache which you are so unlucky as to know, covered my head with wet towels, and went to bed. After 31 302 MISCELLANIES. (limier I was better, and we went to the Spou..iig-hor« C was perched close to the fissure, far above me and, in a pale green dress, she looked like the nympl' of the place. I lay down on a rock, low in the water, where I could hear the twin harmonies of the sucking of the water into the spout, and the washing of the surge on the foot of the rock. I never passed a more delight- ful afternoon. Clouds of pearl and amber were slowly drifting across the sky, or resting a while to dream, like me, near the water. Opposite nie, at considerable dis- tance, was a line of rock, along which the billows of the advancing tide chased one another, and leaped up exult- ingly as they were about to break. That night we had a sunset of the gorgeous, autumnal kind, and in the evening very brilliant moonlight ; but the air was so cold I could enjoy it but a few minutes. Next day, which was warm and soft, I was out on the rocks all day. In the afternoon I was out alone, and had an admirable place, a cleft between two vast towers of rock witli turret-shaped tops. I got on a ledge of rook at their foot, where I could lie and let the waves wash up around me, and look up at the proud turrets rising into the prismatic light. This evening was very fine ; all the sky covered with crowding clouds, profound, but not sullen of mood, the moon wading, the stars pee])ing, the wind sighing very softly. We lay on the high rocks and lis- tened to the plashing of the waves. The next day was good, but the keen light was too much for ray eyes and brain ; and, though I am glad to have been there, I am aa glad to get back to our garlanded rocks, and richly -green TO THE SAME. 363 Celds and groves. I wish you could come to me now ; we have such wealth of roses. TO THE SAME. Jamaica Plain, Aug., 1839. * * * * I EETUENBD home well, full of earnest- ness ; yet, I know not why, with the sullen, boding sky came a mood of sadness, nay, of gloom, black as Hades, which I have vainly striven to fend ofiF by work, by exer- cise, by high memories. Very glad was I of a painful piece of intelligence, which came the same day with your letter, to bring me an excuse for tears. That was a black Friday, both above and within. What demon resists our good angel, and seems at such times to have the mastery ? Only seems, I say to myself ; it is but the sickness of the immortal soul, and shall by-and-by be cast aside like a film. I think this is the great step of our life, — to change the nature of our self-reliance. We find that the will cannot conquer circumstances, and that our tem- poral nature must vary its hue here with the food that is given it. Only out of mulberry leaves will the silk- worm Bpin its thread fine and durable. The mode of our exist- ence is not in our own power; but behind it is the immutable essence that cannot be tarnished ; and to hold fast to this conviction, to live as far as possible by its light, cannot be denied us if we elect this kind of self- trust. Yet is sickness wearisome ; and I rejoice to say that my demon seems to have been frightened away by !^04 jMiscellanies. this da;'s sun. But, conscious of these diseases of the mind, believe that I can sympathize with a friend when subject to the same. Do not fail to go and staj with ; few live so penetrating and yet so kind, so true, 30 sensitive. She is the spirit of love as well as of intellect. * * * * TO THE SAME. My beloved Child : I confess I was much disap- pointed when I first received your letter this evening. I have been quite ill for two or three days, and looked for- ward to your presence as a restorative. But think not I would have had you act differently ; far better is it for me to have my child faithful to duty than even to have her with me. Such was the lesson I taught her in a better hour. I am abashed to think how often lately I have found excuses for indolence in the weakness of my body; while now, after solitary communion with my better nature, I feel it was weakness of mind, weak fear of depression and conflict. But the Father of our spirits will not long permit a heart fit for worship " to seek From "weak recoils, exemptions weak. After false gods to go astray. Deck altars vile with garlands gay," etc. His voice has reached me ; and I trust the postpone- ment of your visit will give me space to nerve myself to what strength I should, so that, when we do meet, I shall rejoice that you did not come to help or soothe me ; for I TO ^EE IBEOTHBR, K, 365' Bhallhave helped and soothed myself. Indeed; I Would' not so willinglj that you should see my short-comings as' know- that they exist. Pray that I may neyer lose sight- of my vocation ; that I may not make ill-health a plea' for. sloth and cowardice; pray that, whenever I do, I may be punished more syriftly than this time, by a sad- ness as deep as now. TO HER BKOTHEK, E. Cambridge, Mugust 5, 1842. My dear E. : I want to hear how you enjoyed your journey, and what you think of the world as surveyed from mountain-tops. I enjoy exceedingly staying among the mountains. I am' satisfied with reading these bolder lines in the manuscript ' of Nature. Merely gentle and winning scenes are not enough for me. I wish my lot had been cast amid the sources of the streams, where the voice of the hidden torrent is heard by night, where the eagle soars, and the thunder resounds in long peals from side to side ; where the grasp of a more powerful emotion has rent asunder the rocks, and the long purple shadows fall like a broad wing upon the valley. All places, like all persons, I know, have beauty ; but only in some scenes, and with some people, can I expand and feel my- self at home. I feel all this the more for having passed my earlier life in such a place as Cambridgeport. There I had nothing except the little flower-garden behind the house, and the elms before the door. I used to long and sigh for beoutiful places such as I read of. There was 31* 366 MISCELLANIES. not one -walk foi- me, except over the bridge. I liked that very much, — the river, and the city glittering in sunset, and the lovely undulating line all round, and the light smokes, seen in some weather. LETTER TO THE SAME, Milwaukie, July 29, 1843. Dear R. : * * * Daily I thought of you during my visit to the Rock-river territory. It is only five years since the poor Indians have been dispossessed of this region of sumptuous loveliness, such as can hardly be paralleled in the world. No wonder they poured out . their blood freely before they would go. On one island, belonging to a Mr. H., with whom we stayed, are still to be found their "caches" for secreting provisions, — the wooden troughs in wMcL they pounded their com, the marks of their tomahawks upon felled trees. When he first came, he found the body of an Indian woman, in a canoe, elevated on high poles, with all her ornaments on. This island is a spot, where Nature seems to have ex- hausted her invention in crowding it with all kinds of growths, from the richest trees down to the most delicate plants. It divides the river which there sweeps along in clear and glittering current, between noble parks, richest green la-nns, pictured rocks crowned with old hemlocks, or smooth bluffs, three hundred feet high, the most beau- tiful of all. Two of these, — the Eagle's Nest, and the Deer's "Walk, still the resort of the grand and beautiful creature from which they are named, — were the scene of TO MISS K. 367. BJme of the happiest hours of mj life. I had no idea, from verbal description, of the beauty of these blaflfs, nor can I hope to give any to others. They lie so magnifi- cently bathed in sunlight, they touch the heavens with so sharp and fair a line. This is one of the finest parts of the river; but it seems beautiful enough to fill any heart and eye all along its course, nowhere broken or injured by the hand of man. And there, I thought, if we two could live, and you could have a farm which would not cost a twentieth part the labor of a New Eng-, land farm, and would pay twenty times as much for the labor, and have our books and our pens and a little boat on the river, how happy we might be for four or five years, ' — at least, as happy as Fate permits mortals to be For we, I think, are congenial, and if I could hope per- manent peace on the earth, I might hope it with you. You will be glad to hear that I feel overpaid for coming here. Much is my life enriched by the images of the great Niagara, of the vast lakes, of the heavenly sweetness of the prairie scenes, and, above all, by the heavenly region where I would so gladly have lived. .My health, too, is materially benefited. I hope to come back better fitted for toil and care, as well as with beauteous memories to sustain me in them. Affectionately always, &c. TO MISS E. Chicago, Augxui i, 1843. I HATE hoped from time to time, dear , that I should '•eceivc a few lines from you, apprizing me hoAv you are 368 ' miscellan'ibis. thia summer, bat a letter from Mrs. F lately comes to tell me that you are not better, but, at le&at -vvlieh at Saratoga, worse. So writing is of course fatiguing,- and I must not ex- pect letters any more. To that I could make up my mind if I could hear that you were well again. I fear, if your malady disturbs you as much as it did, it must wear on your strength very much, and it seems in itself dangerous. However, it is good to think thalt yoiir composure is such that disease can only do its legitimate work, and not undermine two ways, — the body with its pains, and the body through the mind with thoughts' and fears of pains. I should have written to you long ago except that I find little to communicate this summer, and little inclina- tion to communicate that little ; so what ktters I harve sent, have been chiefly to beg some from my friends. I have had home-sickness sometimes here, as do children foi the home where they are even little indulged, in the boarding-school where they are only tolerated. This has been in the town, where I have felt the want of compan- ionship, because the dissipation of fatigue, or expecting soon to move again, has prevented my etnploying my- self for myself ; and yet there was nothing well woi'th looking at without. When in the country I have enjoyed myself highly, and my health has improved day by day. The characters of persons are brought out by the little wants and adventures of country life as you see it in this region ; so that each one awakens a healthy interest ; and tho same persons who, if I saw them at these hotels, T6 Miss E. 369 would no , liave a fford to say that could fix the attention, become most plea iing companions ; their topics are before them, and they take the hint. You feel so grateful, too, for the hospitality of the log-cabin ; such gratitude as the hospitality of the rich, however generous, cannot inspire ; for these wait on you with their domestics and money, and give of their superfluity only ; but here the Master gives you his bed, his horse, his lamp, his grain from the field, his all, in short ; and you see that he enjoys doing so thoroughly, and takes no thought for the morrow ; so that you seem in fields full of lilies perfumed with pure kindness ; and feel, verily, that Solomon in all his glory could cot have entertained you so much to the purpose. Travelling, too, through the wide green woods and prai- ries, gives a feeling both of luxury and repose that the sight of highly- cultivated country never can. There seems to be room enough for labor to pause and man to fold his arms and gaze, forgetting poverty, and care, and the thousand walls and fences that in the cultivated region must be built and daily repaired both for mind and body. Nature seems to have poured forth her riches so without calculation, merely to mark the fulness of her joy ; to swell in larger strains the hymn, " the one Spirit doetli all things T'ell, for its life is love." I wUl not ask you to write to me now, as I shall so soon be at home. Probably, too, I shall reserve a visit to B for another summer ; I have been so much a rover that when once on the road I shall wish to hasten home. Ever yours, M. 370 MISCELLANIES. TO THE SAME. Cambridge, January 21, 1844. My dear : I am anxious to get a letter, telling me how jou fare this winter in the cottage. Your neighbors who come this way do not give very favorable accounts of your looks ; and, if you are well enough, I should like to see a few of those firm, well-shaped characters from your own hand. Is there no chance of your coming to Boston all this winter ? I had hoped to see you for a few hours at least. I wrote you one letter while at the West ; I know not if it was ever received ; it was sent by a private opportu- nity, one of those "traps to catch the unwary," as they have been called. It was no great loss, if lost. I did not feel like writing letters while travelling. It took all my strength of mind to keep moving and to receive so many new impressions. Surely I never had so clear an idea before of the capacity to bless, of mere Earth, when fresh from the original breath of the creative spirit. "To have this impression, one must see large tracts of wild country, where the traces of man's inventions are too few and slight to break the harmony of the first design. It will not be so, long, even where I have been now ; in three or four years those vast flowery plains will be broken up for tillage, — those shapely groves converted into logs and boards. I wished I could have kept on now, for two or three years, while yet the first spell rested on the scene. I feel nucli refreshed, even by this brief .intimacy with Nature, in an aspect of large and unbroken lineaments. TC MISS K. 371 I came home with a treasure of >right pictures and BUggestions, and seeminglj well. But my strength, which had been sustained by a free, careless life in the open air, has yielded to the chills of winter, and a very little work, with an ease that is not encouraging. How- ever, I have had the influei^za, and that has been about as bad as fever to everybody. Now I am pretty well, but much writing does not agree with me. * * * I -svish you were near enough for me to go in and see you now and then. I know that, sick or well, you are always serene, and sufficient to yourself; but now you are so much shut up, it might animate existence agreeably to hear some things I might have to tell. * * * TO THE SAME. * * * 1844. Just as I was beginning to visit the institutions here, of a remedial and benevolent kind, I was stopped by influenza. So soon as I am quite well I shall resume the survey. I do not expect to do much, practically, for the sufifering, but having such an organ of expression as the Tribune, any suggestions that are well grounded may be of use. I have always felt great interest for those women who are trampled in the mud to gratify tho brute appetites of men, and I wished I might be brought, naturally, into contact with them. Now I am so, ajid I think I shall have much that is interesting to tell you when we meet. I go on very moderately, for my strength is not great ; but I am now connected 'with a person who Is 372 MISCELLANIES. anxious I should not overtask it. I hope tc do more for the paper by-and-bj. At present, beside- the time I spend in looking round and examining my new field, I am publishing a volume, of which you wi.l receive a copy, called "Woman in the Nineteenth Century." A part of my available time is spent in attending to it as it goes through the press ; for, really, the work seems but half done when your book is tvrittefi. I like being here ; the streams of life flow free, and I learn much. I feel so far satisfied as to have laid my plans to stay a year and a half, if not longer, and to have told Mr. G that I probably shall do so. That is long enough for a mortal to look forward, and not too long, as I must look forward in order to get what I want from Europe. Mr. Greeley is a man of genuine excellence, honorable, benevolent, of an uncorrupted disposition, and of great abilities. In modes of life and manners he is the man of the people, and of the American people. * * * I rejoice to hear that your situation is improved. I hope to pass a day or two with you next summer, if you can receive me when I can come. I want to hear from you now and then, if it be only a line to let me know the state of your health. Love to Miss Gr , and tell her T have the cologne-bottle on my mantle-piece now. I sent home for all the little gifts I had from friends, that my room might look more homeilike. My window com- mands a most beautiful view, for we are quite out of the town, in a lovely place on the East River. I like this, as I can be in town when I will, and here have much retire- ment. You were right in supposing my signature is the star. Ever aifectionately yours. TO HER BEOTHER, R. 373 TO HER BROTHER, R. Fishkill-Landing,JVov 23, 1844. Dear B. : ****** The seven weeks of proposed abode here draw to a close, and have brought what is rarest, — fruition, of the sort proposed from them. I have been here all the time, except that three weeks since I went down to New York, and with visited the prison at Sing-Sing. On Saturday we went up to Sing- Sing in a little way-boat, thus seeing that side of the river to much greater advan- tage than we can in the mammoth boats. We arrived in resplendent moonlight, by which we might have supposed the prisons palaces, if we had not known too well what was within. On Sunday addressed the male convicts in a atrain of most noble and pathetic eloquence. They lis- tened with earnest attention ; many were moved to tears, — some, I doubt not, to a better life. I never felt such sympathy with an audience ; — as I looked over that sea of faces marked with the traces of every ill, I felt that at least heavenly truth would not be kept out by self- complacency and a dependence on good appearances. I talked with a circle of women, and they showed the natural aptitude of the sex for refinement. These women — some black, and all from the lowest haunts of vice — showed a sensibility and a sense of propriety which would not have disgraced any place. Returning, we had a fine storm on the river, clearing up with strong winds. 32 374 ' MISCELLANIES. TO HBE BROTHER, A. B. F. Rome, Jj.n. 20, 1849. Mt dear a. : Your letter and mother's gave me th3 first account of your illness. Some letters were lost dur- ing the summer, I do not know how. It did seem very hard upon you to have that illness just after your settlement ; hut it is to be hoped we shall some time know a good reason for all that seems so strange. I trust you are now becoming fortified in your health, and if this could only be, feel as if things would go well with you in this difiioult world. I trust you are on the threshold of an honorable and sometimes happy career. From many pains, many dark hours, let none of the progeny of Eve hope to escape ! * * * * Meantime, I hope to find you in your home, and make you a good visit there. Your invitation is sweet in its tone, and rouses a vision of summer woods and New Eng- land Sunday-morning bells. It seems to me that mother is at last truly in her sphere, living with one of her children. Watch over her carefully, and don't let her do too much. Her spirit is only all too willing, — but the flesh is weak, and her life BO precious to us all ! * * * * TO MAZZINI. "Al Cittadino Reppresentante del Popolo Roaiano." Rome, March 3, 1849. Dear Mazzini : Though knowing you occupied by the most important affairs, I again feel impellei to writfl TO MAZZINI. 375 a few lines. What emboldens me is the persuasion that the best friends, in point of sympathy and intelligence, — ; the only friends of a man of ideas and of marked charac- ter, — must be women. You have your mother ; no doubt you have others, perhaps many. Of that I know nothing ; only I like to oiFer also my tribute of affection. When I think that only two years ago you thought of coming into Italy with us in disguise, it seems very glorious that you are about to enter republican Rome as a Roman citizen. It seems almost the most sublime and poetical fact of history. Yet, even in the first thrill of joy, I felt "he will think his work but beginning, now." When I read from your hand these words, " H lungo esilio teste ricominciato, la vita non confortata, fuorche d'affetti lontani e contesi, e la speranza lungamente pro- trata,, e il desiderio che comincia a farmi si supremo, di dormire finalmente in pace, da che non ho potuto, vivere in terra mia,'' — when I read these words they made me weep bitterly, and I thought of them always with a great pang at the heart. But it is not so, dear Mazzini, -^ you do not return to sleep under the sod of Italy, but to see your thouglit springing up all over the soil. The gardeners seem to me, in point of instinctive wisdom or deep thought, mostly incompetent to the care of the garden ; but an idea like this will be able to make use of any implements. The necessity, it is to be hoped, will educate the men, by making them work. It is not this, I believe, which still keeps your heart so melancholy ; for I seem to read the same melancholy in your answor 876 MISCELLANIES. to the Exjman assembly. You speak of "few and late years," but some full ones still remain. A century ia not needed, nor should the same man, in the same form of thought, work too long on an age. He would mould and bind it too much to himself. Better for him to die and return incarnated to give the same truth on yet another side. Jesus of Nazareth died young ; but had he not spoken and acted as much truth as the world could bear in his time ? A frailty, a perpetual short-coming, motion in a curve-line, seems the destiny of this earth. The excuse awaits us elsewhere ; there must be one, — for it is true, as said Goethe, "care is taken that the tree grow not up into the heavens." Men like you, appointed ministers, must not be less earnest in their work ; yet to the greatest, the day, the moment is all their kingdom. God takes care of the increase. Farewell ! For your sake I could wish at this mo- ment to be an Italian and a man of action ; but though I am an American, I am not even a woman of action ; so the best I can do is to pray with the whole heart. " Heaven bless dear Mazzini ! — cheer his heart, and give him worthy helpers to carry out his holy purposes." TO MR. AND MRS. SPRING. Florence, Dec. 12, 1849. Dear M. and R. : * * * Your letter, dear R., was written in your noblest and most womanly spirit. I thank you warmly foj your s,7mp3,thy about my little TO ME. AND MRS. SPKING. 377 boy. What he is to me, even you can hardly dream ; you that liave three, in whom the natural thirst of the heart was earlier satisfied, can scarcely know what my one owe-lamb is to me. That he may live, that I may find bread for him, that I may not spoil him by over- weening love, that I may grow daily better for his sake, are the ever-recurring thoughts, — say prayers, — that give their hue to all the current of my life. But, in answer to what you say, that it is still better to give the world a iiving soul than a portion of my life in a printed book, it is true ; and yet, of my book I could know whether it would be of some worth or not ; of my child, I must wait to see what his worth will be. I play with him, mj ever-growing mystery ! but from the solemnity of the thoughts he brings is refuge only in God. Was I worthy to be parent of a soul, with its eternal, immense capacity for weal and woe ? " God be merciful to me a sinner ! " comes so naturally to a mother's heart ! *^ Jfc iifc -ifc Jifc -it "R" -J(- 'R- ')(■ -TV' "H" What you say about the Peace way is deeply true ; if any one see clearly how to work in that way, let him, in God's name ! Only, if he abstain from fighting against giant wrongs, let him be sure he is really and ardently at work undermining them, or, better still, sustaining the rights that are to supplant them. Meanwhile, I am not sure that I can keep my hands free from' blood. Cobden is good ; but if he had stood in Kossuth's place, would he not have drawn his sword against the Austrian ? You, could you let a Groat insult your wife, carry off your son to be an Austrian serf, and leave your daughter bleeding 32* 378 MISCELLANIES. in the dust? Yet it is true that while Moses slew the Egyptian, Christ stood still to be spit upon ; and it is true that death to man could do him no harm. You have the truth, you have the right, but could you act up to it in all circumstances ? Stifled under the Eoman priesthood, would you not have thrown it off with all your force ? Would you have waited unknown centuries, hoping for the moment when you could see another method? Yet the agonies of that baptism of blood I feel, how deeply ! in the golden June days of Et)me. Consistent no way, I felt I should have shrunk back, — I could not have had it shed. Christ did not have to see his dear ones pass the dark river ; he could go alone, however, in prophetic spirit. No doiibt he foresaw the crusades. In answer to what you say of , I wish the little effort I made for him had been wiselier applied. Yet these are not the things one regrets. It does not do to calculate too closely with the affectionate human impulse. We must be content to make many mistakes, or we should move too slowly to help our brothers much. TO HER BROTHEK, K. Florence, Jan. 8, 1850. My dear R; : * * * * The way in which you speak of my marriage is such as I expected from you. Now that we have once exchanged words on these important changes in our lives, it matters little to write letters, so much has happened, and the changes are too great to be TO HER BROTHER, R. 379 made clear in wriiing. It would not be wortli while to keep the family thinking of me. I cannot fix precisely the period of my return, though at present it seems to me probable we may make the voyage in May or June. At first we should wish to go and make a little visit to mother. I should take counsel with various friends before fixing myself in any place ; see what openings there are for me, &c. I cannot judge at all before I am personally in the United States, and wish to engage myself no way. Should I finally decide on the neighborhood of New York, I should see you all, often. I wish, however, to live with mother, if possible. We will discuss it on all sides when I come. Climate is one thing I must think of. The change from the Roman winter to that of New England might be very trying for Ossoli. In New York he would see Italians often, hear his native tongue, and feel less exiled. If we had our afiairs in New York and lived in the neighboring country, we could find places as quiet as C , more beautiful, and from which access to a city would be as easy by means of steam. On the other hand, my family and most cherished friends are in New England. I shall weigh all advan- •■ages at the time, and choose as may then seem best. I feel also the great responsibility about a child, an.l the mixture of solemn feeling with the joy its sweet ways and caresses give ; yet this is only different in degree, not in kind, from what we should feel in other relations. We may more or less impede or brighten the destiny of all with whom we come in contact. Much as the child lies in our power, still God and Nature are there, furr 380 MISCKLLANIES. nishing a thousand masters to correct our erroneous, and fill up our imperfect, teachings. I feel impelled to trj for good, for the sake of my child, most powerfully ; but if 1 fail, I trust help will be tendered to him from some other quarter. I do not wish to trouble myself more than is inevitable, or lose the simple, innocent pleasure of watching, his growth from day to day, by thinking of his future. At present my care of him is to keep him pure, in body and mind, to give for body and mind simple nutriment when he require! it, and to play with him. Now he learns, playing, as we all shall when we enter a higher existence. With him my intercourse thus far has been precious, and if I do not well for him, he at least has taught me a great deal. I may say of Ossoli, it would be difficult to help lik- ing him, so sweet is his disposition, so disinterested with- out effort, so simply wise his daily conduct, so harmoni- ous his whole nature. And he is a perfectly unconscious character, and never dreams that he does well. He is studying English, but makes little progress. For a good while you may not be able to talk freely with him, but you will like showing him your favorite haunts, — he is so happy in nature, so sweet in tranquil places. TO What a difference it makes to come home to a child ! How it fills up all the gaps of life just in the way that is most consoling, most refreshing ! Formerly I used to feel sad at that hour ; the day had not been nobly spent. TO MR. AND MKS. S. 381 — I had not done my duty to myself or others, and I felt S3 lonely ! Now I never 'feel lonely ; for, even if my little boy dies, our souls will remaia eternally united. And I feel infinite hope for him, — hope that he will serve God and man more loyally than I have done ; and seeing how full he is of life, how much he can afford to throw away, I feel the inexhaustibleness of nature, and console myself for my own incapacities. Madame Arconati is near me. We have had some hours of great content together, but in the last weeks her only child has been dangerously ill. I have no other acquaintance except in the American circle, and should not care to make any unless singularly desirable ; for I want all my time for the care of my child, for jaj walks, and visits to objects of art, iu which again I can find pleasure, and in the evening for study and writing. OssoU is forming some taste for books ; he is also studying English; he learns of Horace Sumner, to whom he teaches Italian in turn. TO ME. AND MKS. S. Florence, Feb. 5, 1850. Mt dear M. and R. : You have no doubt ere this received a letter written, I think, in December, but I must suddenly write again to thank you for the New- Year's letter. It was a sweet impulse that led you all to write together, and had its full reward in the pleasure you gave. I have said as little as possible about OssoU and our relation, wishing my old friends to form theii 382 MISCELLANIES. ' own impressions naturally, when they see us together I have faith that all who ever knew me will feel that 1 have become somewhat milder, kinder, and more worthy to serve all who need, for my new relations. 'I have ex- pected that those who have cared for me chiefly for my activity of intellect, would not care for him ; but that those in whom the moral nature predominates would gradually learn to love and admire him, and see what a treasure his affection must be to me. But even that would be only, gradually ; for it is by acts, not by words, that one so simple, true, delicate and retiring, can be known. For me, while some of my friends have thought me exacting, I may say Ossoli has always outgone my expectations in the disinterestedness, the uncompromising bounty, of his every act. He was the same to his father as to me. His affec- tions are few, but profound, and thoroughly acted out. His permanent affections are few, but his heart is always open to the. humble, suffering, heavy-laden. His mind has little habitual action, except in a simple; natural poetry, that one not very intimate with him would never know anything about. But once opened to a great impulse, as it was to the hope of freeing his country, it rises to the height of the occasion, and stays there. His enthusiasm is quiet, but unsleeping. He is very unlike most Ital- ians, but very unlike most Americans, too. I do not expect all who cared for me to care for him, nor is it of importance to him that they should. He is wholly with- out vanity. He is too truly the gentleman not to be respecte(5 by all persons of refinement. For the rest, if TO MR. AND Mils. S. 383 my life is free, and not t»o much troubled, if he can enjoy his domestic affections, and fulfil his duties in his own way, he will be content. Can we find this much for ourselves in bustling America the next t^ree or four years ? I know not, but think we shall come and try. I wish much to see you all, and exchange the kiss of peace. There will, I trust,' be peace within, if not with- out. I thank you most warmly for your gift. Be assured it will turn to great profit. I have learned to be a great adept in economy, by looking at my little boy. I cannot bear to spend a cent for fear he may come to want. I understand now how the family-men get so mean, and shall have to begin soon to pray against that danger. My little Nino, as we call him for house and pet name, is in perfect health. I wash, and dress, and sew for him ; and think I see a great deal of promise in his little ways, and shall know him better for doing all for him, though it i^ fatiguing and inconvenient at times. He is very gay and laughing, sometimes violent, — for he is come to the age when he Avants everything in his own hands, — but, on the whole, sweet as yet, and very fond of me. He often calls me to kiss him. He says, "kiss," in preference to the Italian word bcicio. I do not cherish sanguine visions about him, but try to do my best by him, and enjoy the pres- ent moment. It was a nice account you gave of Miss Bremer. She found some " neighbors " as good as her own. I'ou say she was much pleased by ; could she kr ow her, she might enrich the world with a portrait as full of 38i MISCELLANIES. little delicate traits as anj in her gallery, and of a higher class than any in which she has been successful. I would give much that a competent person should paint . It is a shame she should die and leave the world no copy. *^ j^ ^ jf. 1^ TT T^ ^r tt tt to mr. cass, charge d'affaires des etats unis d'amekique. Florence, May 2, 1850. Dear Mr. Cass : I shall most probably leave Flor- ence and Italy the 8th or 10th of this month, and am not willing to depart without saying adieu to yourself. I wanted to write the 30th of April, but a succession of petty interruptions prevented. That was the day I saw you first, and the day the French first assailed Rome. What a crowded day that was ! I had been to visit Ossoli, in the morning, in the garden of the Vatican Just after my return you entered. I then went to the hospital, and there passed the night ariiid the groans of many suffering and some dying men. What a strange first of May it was, as I walked the streets of Rome by the early sunlight of the next day ! Those were to me grand and impassioned hours. Deep sorrow followed, — many embarrassments, many pains ! Let me once more, at parting, thank you for the sympathy you showed me amid many of these. A thousand years might pass, and you would find it unforgotten by me. I leave Italy with profound regret, and with only a rague hope of returning. I could have lived here TO -. S8& always, full of bright visions, and expanding iu my faculties, had destiny permitted. May you be happy who remain here ! It would be well worth while to be happy in Italy ! I had hoped to enjoy some of the last days, but the weather has been steadily bad since you left Florence. Since the 4th of April we have not had a fine day, and all our little plans for visits to favorite spots and beauti- ful objects, from which we have long been separated, have been marred ! I sail in the barque Elizabeth for New York. She is laden with marble and rags — a very appropriate com- pajiionship for wares of Italy ! She carries Powers' statue of Calhoun. Adieu ! Remember that we look to you to keep up the dignity of our country. Many im- portant occasions are now likely to oflfer for the American (I wish I could write the Columbian) man to advocate, — more, to represent the cause of Truth and Freedom in the face of their foes. Remember me as their lover, and your friend, M. 0. TO Florence, Jlpril 16, 1850. * * * Tbere is a bark at Leghorn, highly spoken of,, which sails at the end of this month, and we shall very likely take that. I find it imperatively necessary to go to the United States to make arrangements that may free me from care. Shall I be more fortunate if I go in person ? I do not know. I am ill adapted to push my 33 386 MISCELLANIES claims and pretensions ; but, at least, it will not be such slow Tvork as passing from disappointment to disappoint- ment here, where I wait upon the post-oflSce, and must wait two or three months, to know the fate of any propo-, sition. I go home prepared to expect all that is painful and difficult. It ^f ill be a consolation to see my dear mother ; and my dear brother E., whom I have not seen for ten years, is coming to New Engknd this summer. On that account I wish to go this year. ****** May 10. — My head is full of boxes, bundles, phials of medicine, and pots of jelly. I never thought much about a journey for myself, except to try and return all the things, books especially, which I had been borrowing ; but about my child I feel anxious lest I should not take what is necessary for his health and comfort on so long a voyage, where omissions are irreparable. The, unpro- pitious, rainy weather delays us now from day to day, as our ship, the Elizabeth, — (look out for news of ship- wreck !) cannot finish taking in her cargo till come one or two good days. I leave Italy with most sad and unsatisfied heart, — hoping, indeed, to return, but fearing that may not be permitted in my " cross-biased " life, till strength of feeling and keenness of perception be less than during these bygone rich, if troubled, years. I can say least to those whom 1 prize most. I am sc sad and weary, leaving Italy, that I seem paralyzed. * * * * * ' * TO . 387 TO THE SAME. Ship Elizabeth, off Gibraltar, June 3, 1850. Mt DEAE M : You will, I trust, long ere receiv- ing this, have read my letter from Plorence, enclosing one to my mother, informing her under what circumstances I had drawn on you through , and raentioning how I wished the bill to be met in case of any accident to me on my homeward course. That course, as respects weather, has been thus far not unpleasant ; but the dis- aster that has befallen us is such as I never dreamed of. I had taken passage with Captain Hasty — one who seemed to me one of the best and most high-minded of our American men. He showed the kindest interest in us. His wife, an excellent woman, was with him. I thought, during the voyage, if safe and my child well, to have as much respite from care and pain as sea-sickness would permit. But scarcely was that enemy in some measure quelled, when the captain fell sick. At first his disease presented the appearance of nervous fever. I was with him a great deal ; indeed, whenever I could relieve his wife from a ministry softened by great love and the courage of womanly heroism. The last days were truly terrible with disgusts and fatigues ; for he died, we sup- pose, — no physician has been allowed to come on board to see the body, — of confluent small-pox. I have seen, since we parted, great suffering, but nothing physical to be compared to this, where the once fair and expressive mould of man is thus lost in corruption before life has fled. lie died yesterday morning, and was buried in deep 388 MISCELLANIES. water, the American Consul's barge towing out one from this ship which bore the body, alout six o'clock. It was Sunday. A divinely calm, glowing afternoon had suc- ceeded a morning of bleak, cold wind. You cannot tlunk how beautiful the whole thing was : — the decent array and sad reverence of the. sailors; the many ships with their banners flying; the stern pillar of Hercules all bathed in roseate vapor ; the little white sails diving into the blue depths with that solemn spoil of the good man, so still, when he had been so agonized and gasping as the last sun stooped. Yes, it was beautiful : but how dear a price we pay for the poems of tliis world ! We shall now be in quarantine a, week ; no person permitted to come on boa/rd until it be seen whether "disease break out in other cases. I have no good reason to think it will not ; yet I do not feel afraid. Ossoli has had it ; so he is safe. The baby is, of course, subject to injury. In the earlier days, before I suspected small-pox, I carried him twice into the sick'-room, at the request of the captain, who was becoming fond of him. He laughed and pointed ; he did not discern danger, but only thought it odd to see the old friend there in bed. It is vain by prudence to seek to evade the stern assault? of destiny. I submit. Should all end well, we shall be in New York later than I expected ; but keep a Ibok-out. Should we arrive safely, I should like to see a friendly face. Commend me to my dear friends ; and, with most affec- tionate wishes that joy and peace may continue to dwell in your house, adieu, and love as you can, Your friend, Margaret LETTER EBOM HON. LEWIS CASS, JR. 389 .LETTER EROM HON. LEWIS GASS, JR., UNITED STATSa CHARQB d'affaires AT ROME, TO MRS. B. K. CHA-N- NING. Legation des Etats Unis d'Amerique, Rome, May 10, 1851. Madame : I beg leave to acknowledge the receipt of j-our letter of tlie — ult., and to express my regret that ihe weak state of my eyesight has prevented me from giving it an earlier reply. In compliance witli your request, I have the honor to state, succinctly, the circumstances connected with my acquaintance with the late Madame Ossoli, your deceased sister, during her residence in Rome. In the month of April, 1849, Rome, as you are no doubt aware, was placed in a state of siege by the approach of the French army. It was filled at that time with exiles and fugitives who had been contending for years, from Milan iu the north to Palermo in the south, for the republican cause ; and when the gates were closed, it was computed that there were, of Italians alone, thirteen thousand refugees within the walls of the city, all of whom had been expelled from adjacent states, till Rome became their last rallying-point, and, to many, tbeii: final resting-place. Among these was to be seen every variety of age, sentiment, and condition, — striplings and blanched h6ads; wild, visionary enthusiasts; grave, he- i-oic men, who, in the struggle for freedom, had ventured all, and lost all ; nobles and beggars ; bandits, felons and brigands. Great excitement naturally existed ; and, in the general apprehension which pervaded all classes, that 33* 390 MISCELLANIES. acts of personal violence and outrage would soon be com- mitted, the foreign residents, especially, found themselves pla^jed in an alarming situation. On the 30th of April the first engagement took place between the French and Roman troops, and in a few days subsequently I visited several of my countrymen, at their request, to concert measures for their safety. Hearing, on that occasion, and for the first time, of Miss Fuller's presence in Eome, and of her solitary mode of life, I ventured to call upon her, and offer my services in any manner that might conduce to her comfort and security. She received me with much kindness, and thus an ac- quaintance commenced. Her residence on the Piazzi Barberini being considered an insecure abode, she re- moved to the Casa Dies, which was occupied by several American families. In the engagements which succeeded between the Roman and French troops, the wounded of the former were brought into the city, and disposed throughout the different hospitals, which were under the superintendence of several ladies of high rank, who had formed themselves into associations, the better to ensure care and attention to those unfortunate men. Miss Fuller took an active part in this noble work ; and the greater portion of her time, during the entire siege, was passed in the hospital of the Trinity of the Pilgrims, which was placed under her direction, in attendance upon its inmates. The weather was intensely hot ; her health was feeble and delicate ; the dead and dying were around her in every stage of pain and horror ; but she never shrank LETTER FROM LEWIS WASS, JR. 391 from tbe duty she had assumed. Her hean and soul were in the cause for which these men had fought, and all was done ' that Woman could do to comfort them in their sufferings. I have seen the eyes of the dying, as she moved among them, extended on opposite beds, meet in commendation of her universal kindness ; and the friends of those who then passed away may derive conso- lation from the assurance that nothing of tenderness and attention was wanting to soothe their last moments. And I have heard many of those who recovered speak with all the passionate fervor of the Italian nature, of her whose sympathy and compassion, tliroughout their long illness, fulfilled all the offices of love and affection. Maazini, the chief of the Triumvirate, who, better than any man in Rome, knew her worth, often expressed to me his ad- miration of her high character ; and the Princess Bel- giojoso, to whom was assigned the charge pf the Papal Palace, on the Quirinal, which was converted on this occasion into a hospital, was enthusiastic in her praise. And in a letter, which I received not long since from this lady, who was gaining the bread of an exile by teaching languages in Constantinople, she alludes with much feeling to the support afforded by Miss Fuller to the republican party in Italy. Here, in Rome, she is still spoken of in terms of regard and endearment, and the announcement of her death was received with a degree of sorrow not often bestowed upon a foreigner, especially one of a differ- ent faith. On the 29th of June, the bombardment from the French camp was very heavy, shells and grenades fall 892 MISCELLANIES. ing in every part of the city. In the aftefmoon of the 30th, I received a hrief note from Miss Fuller, requesting ine to call at her residence. I did so without delay, and , found her lying on a sofa, pale and trembling, evidently much exhausted. She informed me that she had sent for rae to place in my hand a packet of important papers, which she wished me to keep for the present, and, in the event of her death, to transmit it to her friends in the United States. She then stated that she was married to Marquis OssoH, who was in command of a battery on the Pincian Hill, — that being the highest and most exposed position in Rome, and directly in the line of bombs from the French camp. It was not to be expected, she said, that he could escape the dangers of another night, such as the last ; and therefore it was her intention to remain with him, and share his fate. At the Ave Maria, she added, he would come for her, and they would pro- ceed together to his post. The packet which she placed in my possession, contained, she said, the certificates of her marriage, and of the birth and baptism of her child. After a few words more, I took my departure, the hour she named having nearly arrived. At the porter's lodge I met the Marquis Ossoli, and a few moments afterward I saw them walking toward the Pincian Hill. Happily, the cannonading was not renewed that night, and at dawn of day she returned to her apartments, with her husband by her side. On that day the French army entered Rome, and, the gates being opened, Madame Ossoli, accompanied by the Marquis, immediately pro- ceeded to Rieti. where she had left her child in the charge LETTER FROM LEWIS CASS, , JR. 393 of a confidential nurse, formerly in the service of the Ossoli family. She remained, as you are no doubt aware, some months at Rieti, whence she removed to Florence, where she resided until her ill-fated departure for the United States. During this period I received several letters from her, all of which, though reluctant to part with them, I enclose to your address in compliance with your request. I am, Madame, very respectfully, Your obedient servant, Lewis Cass, Jb. PART lY. MEIOEIALS OP lAE&AEET PULLER OSSOLL [In place of the Appendix to this volume, which appeared ii the previous editions, and which contained only extracts from o.her writers than my sister Margaret, I have inserted the following me- morials and critiques upon her writings, believing them of more interest to the public. The first memorial, by her constant friend, Horace Greeley, deserves a permanent record, dS does all which appears from his pen. It is alike generous and discriminating. The second, by Mrs. A. A. Livermore, and the third, by Mrs. Hanaford, are valuable for themselves, and as indicating how my sister's views and character are regarded by her own sex. The entire articles are not inserted, but most which pertains to these poiuts. Excellent articles by Mrs. Crosland, in her "Memorable Women," and Mrs. Dall, in " Historical Pictures," are not inserted here,, b« ■:;ause easily accessible to the public elsewhere. — Eo.] lARGAEET FULLER OSSOLI BT HON. HOBACB GKEELET. TEisr years ago — on the 19th of July, 1850 — Mar- garet Fuller Ossoli, with her husband and child, was lost to, her mortal friends and kindred, in the wreck of the bark Elizabeth, from Leghorn to- New York, on Fire Island Beach, Long Island, just as she came within sight of her native shores, after a most eventfitl absence of more than four years ; and her printed works * — all that the. general public can ever know * " Memoirs and Complete Works of Margaret Fuller Ossoli," 6 vols., edited by her brother. Rev. Arthur B. Filler. Published by Brown and Taggard, 29 Comhill, Boston. 34 39S MBaStOEIALS OF of her genius and her character — have only been given complete to the reading world within the last few weeks. This delay, though not calculated, has not been unfortunate. Their preparation has been thor- ough and conscientious ; time has been gained for inquiry, for reflection, for comparison of recollections and impressions, and for unlocking the private cabinets wherein somS of her choicest thoughts lay hidden, under garb of casual letters to valued friends ; so that these six volumes afford a clearer and deeper insight into the mind and heart of Margaret Fuller than any number could have done if issued in the hot haste which the interests of "the trade" are supposed to require. Could they have been put forth within the year of her startling and widely-lamented decease, they would probably have been more generally, but less usefully, less satisfactorily read, than now. Yet mean- time the public appreciation of their author-subject has been steadily broadening ; and the full series will be welcomed and treasured by many who had never heard of her while she lived. Then the new and brighter page opened in the history of Italy — that sunny land of classic memories, for whose redemption she dared and did all of which a high-souled woman is capable — will necessarily win fresh regard for her who was one of the earliest, most enthusiastic, most devoted, American champions of Italian liberty and unity. But who was Margaret Fuller Ossoli ? Hon. Timotliy Fuller, of the fourth jreneratioi' from MARGARET FULLER OSSOLL 399 Thomas Fuller, a Puritan who migrated from Old to New England in 1638, was born in the Island of Mar- tha's Vineyard, Massachusetts, in 1778, and in 1809 married Margaret, daughter of Major Peter Crane, of Canton, Mass. Of the seven children born of this union, Margaret, our subject, was the first. The father was an industrious, energetic, painstaking law- yer, with some solid but no shining qualities, who began life in very straitened circumstances, but, early attaching himself to the old JefFersonian Republican party, rose with its rising fortunes, and became in 1815 a state senator, thence in 1817 a representative in Congress, where he served till 1825, resisting the Mis- souri Compromise and efiBciently contributing to the election of John Quincy Adams to the Presidency. He served afterward in the Executive Council, and died suddenly of cholera in 1835, leaving his widow and six surviving children in very moderate circum- stances. The mother was a woman of modest intellec- tual attainments, but of rare mental as well as per- sonal loveliness, who survived her husband twenty-four years, dying on the 31st of July, 1859. The oldest daughter gave very early indications of rare intellec- tual force, and her mental vivacity and love of acqui- sition were rather stimulated than judiciously restrained by the father, not through vanity or mistaken pride, but simply because in his day the laws of life and health, and their rigorous exactions of a due proportion between mental and physical exertion, were not under- 4©0 MEMORIALS ©F stood as they now are. At , eight years of age, we have heard, the child was required by him, as a part of her daily tasks, to eoiitpose a number of' Latin verses ; at fourteen, she had .probably made larger and more various intellectual acquisitions, whether of words, of facts, or of ideas, than any other person of like years in the world. But these treasures had been won at a serious cost to a physical frame naturally vig- orous and robust, and she endured much in after-life, and was often disabled for days by sick headaches and spinal sufferings resulting from these youthful excesses in study. Her education mainly proceeded under her father's immediate guidance and his roof; but she spent some time at a boarding-school, .and some years afterward became principal teacher in a seminary for young women in Providence^ E,. I., where her rare intellectual powers were evinced and acknowledged. Returning to Massachusetts, she, in 1839, commenced in Boston a series of " Conversations " for women-, which were continued through the two or three suc- ceeding winters. Her first book — a translation of Eck- erman's Conversations with Goethe — was published about this time. In 1841 she .partly translated the letters of Giinderode and Bettine. " The Dial," a quafl:'terly serial of eminent originality and force, was commenced in 1840,, edited by Mai'garet Fuller, as- sisted by E. W. Emerson, and others ; and she gave to it some of her best days and energies throughout the four years of its existence, though lacking the MARGARET FULLER OSSOLL" 401 stimulus and almost the hope of pecuniary recom- pense. The essays on Goethe, Haydn, Mozart, Han- del, Bach, Beethoven, the two Herberts, and some othei-s reprinted in these volumes, first appeared in "The Dial," and so replete are they with fresh, vigorous thoughts that they will yet be read with interest and profit by thousands. In 1843 she made a summer excursion with some friends to Niagara and the (then) Far West, — that is, the prairies surrounding the head of Lake Michi- gan, — journeying so far west as Rock River. Her pictures of that region, then just beginning to resound to the hum of civilized industry, are at once gracefijl and -invid, truthful and poetic, and may still be read with pleasure as enduring records of a state of things which will seem stranger to none than to those who now inhabit those regions, and who reflect that the villages of Chicago and Milwaukie, described by her, are separated by barely seventeen years from the cities now covering their sites. The Indians who then camped beside them, the prairies which stretched, vast and in virgin solitude, beyond them, have seldom or never been gazed on with more discerning, sympa- thizing eyes. Toward the close of 1844, she removed to New York, the better to fiilfil an engagement then formed to contribute to the Hterary department of " The Tribune." Here she remained till the August of 1846, and about one fourth of the contents oi" the 34* 402 MEMORIALS OF four volumes of her writings now before us first ap- peared in our columns, distinguished by the * signa- ture so welcome to our more- cultivated readers of fifteen years ago. Thomas Hood — Edgar A. Poe — Frederick Douglass — Festus — Emerson's Essays — Capital Punishment — Cassius M. Clay — New Year's Day — St. Valentine's — Fourth of July^ — First of August — Thanksgiving — Christmas — Grace Church — The Rich Poor Man — The Poor Rich Man — Farewell to New York, — such are the titles of a few of the essays which many readers who " were younger once than they are now," will be glad to greet again in these fair volumes. In 1846, Margaret found herself able to fulfil her long-cherished, reluctantly postponed desire to visit Europe. Accompanying a family of beloved and loving fHends, she traversed England, Scotland, France, thence proceeding to Italy, and finding at leno-th a resting-place in Rome, that " city of the soul," wherewith her name and fortunes were des- tined to be henceforth blended. Entering its walls almost simultaneously with the dawn of the new hopes for Italy and for Man based on the accession of Pius IX. " the Reform Pope'," she flung her whole soul into the struggle then initiated, never blinded bv the glare of present unbounded and almost unresisted triumph to the black thunder-clouds gathering and muttering in the distance ; honoring the Pope for his kindly feelings and good intentions, she was yet MAEGAE£T FULLKB OSSOLI. 408 never oblivious of the weakness of liis character, the infirmity of his purpose, and the unchangeable hos- tility of the influences surrounding the institutions enshrouding him, to that development of popular in- telligence, freedom of discussion, and independence of judgment which is the essential basis of republican liberty. While others, more sanguine, less far-see- ing, were dancing in exultation over the grave of civil and religious despotism, she was appealing to her countrymen at home for sympathy, arms, mate- rial aid, in. view of the deadly struggle inevitably a,pproaching. Hence the hour of overwhelming re- action, of deadly perils, of priestly maledictions and popular consternation, of mustering legions and gleam- ing bayonets converging from France, from Austria, frona Naples, to quench the beacon-fires of liberty still b,u™i'ig brightly if not cheerily on the ramparts of the seven-hilled city, found her calm, resolute, tearless, leaving her young babe in its rural nest to stand through the night-watches beside her husband in the batteries on the ramparts of the beleaguered city, and give her days to sympathizing labors in the hospitals where the wounded soldiers of the Republic, torn with cannon-shot and parched with fever, were breathing their last in the bitter consciousness that they had poured out their life-blood in behalf of a hopeless, ruined cause. The triumph of despotism, though nobly resisted, was inevitable. The defence of Rome, hopeless frora 404 MEJ^ORFALS OF the first, was yet necessary and beneficent. It ar- rested and fixed the gaze of the civilized world, com- pelling millions to perceive and realize the ready, instinctive union of all the powers of darkness and des- potism to quench the fiame of liberty, — the readiness alike of sacerdotal and political oligarchies to shed torrents of blood for the retention or recovery of justly forfeited power. Rome fell ; but nations saw and comprehended the catastrophe ; and the seed watered by the blood of her martyred defenders al- ready throbs with the new life quickening in its bosom. Yet a little while, and the upspringing tree of liberty will overspread the sunny land of the Gracchi and of Rienzi, and twenty-five millions of happy people will exult in its protecting shade. After the fall of Rome, Margaret lingered some months in Italy, mainly in Florence, devoting her time and energies to a history of the uprising of 1848, and the disastrous overthrow of 1849. That history, still in manuscript, was irrecoverably lost with her in the shipwreck of July 19, 1850. The lovers of freedom, throughout the world have reason to lament this loss. No one else could have set forth so clearly, so forcibly, so movingly, that magnificent uprising of a nation ; no one could have more effec- tively aroused and diffused indignation at the mani- fold treacheries and crimes which quenched the hopes of Italy in a sea of her own blood. Aside from that lost history, all of her writings thai MARGARET FULLER OSSOLL '405 were not in their nature special and temporary will be found collected and fitly presented in the volumes before us. We believe them surpassed in Value and suggestiveness by those of no other American woman. They combine richness and ripeness of culture with vigorous independence of thought and absolute fear- lessness of utterance. No human being ever lived whose mental habitudes were more thoroughly self- centred and self-reliant than those of Margaret Ful- ler. No one ever wrote in more perfect and pure unconsciousness of the dictates of " Society " — of Mrs. Potiphar and Mrs. Grundy. Hence she some- times gave expression to what scarcely another woman would have said, yet what, once uttered, many felt grateful to her for saying. Her " Woman in the Nineteenth Century," especially in its avowals of sympathy for the debased and scorned outcasts of her own sex, and in its stinging rebukes of those fashionable butterflies who loathe the thought of speaking to one of these, yet associate freely and smilingly with those whom they well know to be the authors of their ruin, the partners of their guilt, could hardly have been more direct and unsparing. We consider this the most original and effective of her works ; and yet, regarded from a strictly literary stand-point, it is not entirely satisfactory. It con- vinces you, if yon need to be convinced, that the position, the consideration, the education of Woman, are not what they should be; it does not so clearly 406 MEMORIALS OT point out, to the general mind, the practical reforms whereby theae are to be rectified. No woman, no man, ever read it without profit; but many have closed it with but vague . and dim ideas of what ought to be done. And this resulted inevitably from the structure of the author's mind. She was a philanthro- pist, preeminently a critic, a relentless destroyer of shams and outworn traditions ; not a creator, a legis- lator, a builder. No book was ever better calculated to arouse and quicken intellect ; none has more clearly demonstrated that something should and must be done ; but just what should be done was left to be devised and indicated by others, whom this living word should awaken to a consciousness of wrong, of necessity, and' of duty. Hence many abuses have been and will be corrected, many wise and humane modifications of our laws affecting Woman have been and will be enacted, in consequence of this book, by persons who have scarcely heard the name, and know nothing of the works, of Margaret Fuller. How large a proportion of our young women, now acquiring an education, are qualified to read the writings of Margaret Fuller with interest and ap- preciation, we will not judge; but for all who can thus read them, we are sure that the possession of these volumes will prove of greater value and profit than an additional quarter at the most expensive or the most famous seminary. Those who would know Margaret Fuller as a MAKGA.RET FULLER OSSOLl. 407 Woman as well as a Thinker, will find her, faith- fully and vividly depicted in these volumes, especially in those which coDstitute her Memoirs, being in good ])art the personal recollections of her near and true friends, Ralph Waldo Emerson, James Freeman Clarke, and William Henry Channing. Some fur- ther revelations of the reverent admiration and fer- vent affection wherewith she was justly regarded as a daughter, sister, and family counsellor and guide, •will be found in the brief but fit prefaces to the several volumes of her works by her brother, Rev. Arthur B. Fuller. How truly and deeply she was loved by the members of her home-circle, — by the child barely old enough to climb to her knee, — the humble, illiterate servant who was encouraged by her kindness to make her a confidant, and who found .in her a true friend, — by the unfortunate, the destitute, the despairing, — can never be fully set forth, yet is sufficiently indicated in these volumes. No one in limited circumstances ever dealt more generyusly with those whose needs were more pressing than her own ; few have oftener found in others a more ready ami. sympathetic response to the liberaUty of her own large nature. Misconceived and disparaged by many of lior contemporaries, whom sectarian prejudice or dread of her reformatory tendencies made her enemies, she has, since her death, grown steadily and visibly in the re- gard of the -high-souled and philanthropic in either hemisphere, and generations yet unborn will honor 408' MEMORTAT.S OF the gienius and intrepidity, the labors and achieve- ments of Margaret Fuller Ossoli. — New York Tribune. lAEGAEET FULLER OSSOLI, A REPRESENTATIVE WOMAN. BY MKS. A. A. LIVEKMOKE. We have but lately received the Memoirs and Works of Margaret Fuller Ossoli ; and we have only waited to reperuse thoughts which have always been fiiU of jsuggestlon to us, before we give our latest im- pressions of one who, for want of a better term, we denominate a rep-esentative woman. In doing this, we will endeavor to express what we mean by it, as applied to one who, by her native talent and acquired culture, and through authorship, stands prominent before the American public. If we mistake not, she was the first who raised a clear note, so as to command attention, in behalf of a higher culture, greater privilege, and a rightful sphere of activity/ for the women of ber country. It is curious to note the result, through an overrul- ing Providence, of the intention of her father to give her what is called a masculine education, (though he evidently meant only to properly unfold her uncom- MAliGARET FULLER OSSOLL '409 mon powers,) by which she rose to the point of most thoroughly appreciating what is peculiarly feminine in woman, and by her advocacy of its worth, to open a way for its needed influence. That she did not create the desire for a better cul- ture, privilege, and sphere of activity, is mginifest by the almost simultaneous rising of persons in different localities in favor of the same, which has resulted in what is called the " Woman's Rights Movement." She but expressed in strong and definite terms the prompt- ings of her own full nature, and therefore stands as the representative of a general want. It is not necessary to suppose that she suffered pe- culiar disabilities in any form of her outward lot ; on the contrary, she was unusually favored with affection, respect, and opportunities of mental acquisition. But she was one of the disinterested few, who, through warm sympathy and a keen sensibility, gather into themselves the woes of their race, suffering their evils, and lacking their needed good. For this large-hearted, this magnetic and electrifying life, even more than for her uncommon attainments, do we place her foremost of all who have plead for their sex, and we cannot but regard the full publication of her writings as an important era in the movement, and as giving a fit opportunity to say a few words upon the same. To the unobservant and unthinking, it must seem revolutionary for a class who from nature and custom 410 MEMORIALS OF Reetn to love and to rest irl dependence, to ask an( even demand the enjoyment of rights and the perform ance of duties which in the past have been confined t the masculine minds of the commiinitv. But we must consider the different position womai at once assumed in the emancipation of our countr; from British rule. The commencement of our hostil ities with England, which gave her a share of thi responsibilities and dangers of that struggle, was thi true date of her resistance to the established order oi things, and essentially instituted her equal freedom b; its success. Ever since that time hei" way of life ha been one specially suited to deivelop her energies an( increase her self-respect. Iii pioneering, planting, an( building, she has had her full sliare of incidental priva tions and toils ; while, in her dpsire to aid the commoi cause, she has seldom paused to think whether he helping hand stopped short or [went beyond the em ployments usually assigned her. Added to this, sinc( education has become the ruling passion of our people her brain has been stimulated to incessant activity while the very air she breathes, filled as it is with thi life of unprecedented action, compels her, as a matte of course, to new uses of her powers. As the press uiv of business keeps the head of the family much fron home, and its weight of care returns him to it weariec and oppressed, longing for rest and recreation rathe than to enter it as a scene of discipline and correction the government ot its younger members devolves mucl MAEGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 411 upon herself, which, when added to the experitnental cliaracter which our republican principles give to out whole domestic menage, no less than to our social life, taxes her faculties to an uncommon degree. So when, as often occurs, he whose protection she would gladly shelter herself under, falters through manifold worldly temptations, and falls by the way-side helpless and bur- densome, or worse still, comes home to heap upon her abuse, and those to whom she has given life return, it may be, from its snares, marred and spoiled, to mock her best endeavors in their nurture, it is but a natural and slightly forward step for her to seek to bring more within her own power the hoarded means of the fam- ily, by calling for a change of law to aid her, and to ask to sliare in devising social and public restraints to save her own from moral and physical ruin. Or, if this is impossible, that the prohibitions of society, or the self- ish rivalry of the more fortunate, may not prevent her seeking in some sphere a little aside from the common one that support denied her by her appointed guardian. This, in simple terms, is what we understand by the plea for woman's rights. It is for this that Margaret Fuller entreated ; and when she said, " Let her be a sea-captain if she will," she but expressed in strong and somewhat exaggerated terms her wish for them to be allowed to prepare for any emergency. Singularly 2nough, this duty has since devolved upon a lady through pressing necessity, and was performed, as is '412 MEMORIALS OF well known, with such success as to win iinmingled approbation.* That there has been heat and passion in the discus- sion, is but the necessary accompaniment of the intro- duction of a new subject for public attention. It seems as if it were necessary that the human mind should thrust itself beyond the boundaries of reason and thor- ough judgment, that it may obtain a vantage ground from which to overlook a subject, before it settles down into that medium position safe alike from the degrada^- tion of servitude and the dangers of license. It is for the restrained tone of feeling with which she advocates her cause, for its mingled womanly ear- nestness and lady-like reserve, that we turn to Marga- ret Fuller's pages with satisfaction and hope. Through her own example and precepts she shows that an in- crease of benefit is to come to us chiefly by the culture of a higher tone of thought, a truer life, and a more faithful employment of time and talent. For this end she was ever ready to help and encourage both the older and the younger. To her inspiration as a teach- er many must date the upward tendencies of their lives. Her keen discernment of their qualities of mind, her ready perception of character, and her gen' erous sympathy, must have had an untold force upon those whom she taught, and made her their truest benefactor. The rapid and intense working of her mind, coii- • Mrs. Patten. MARGAKE'X FULLER OSSOLI. 413 iiected with its uncommon grasp, caused her to in- clude within the moderate term of her one life the thoughts, feelings, and experiences of many, while the necessity there was for busy action gave it a practical and wise direction. This told, also, upon her natural temper, being one to seek the original right and reason of things, rather than to walk un- reflectingly in the beaten way, which, in itself, cre- ating for her a loneliness of spirit, might, but for industry, have degenerated into morbidness and mis- anthropy. Though at times, through her thoughtful far-sighted- ness, her native idealism, and inherent energy, slie be- comes impatient of the slow unfolding of events, and forgetful of life's limitations, — feels herself, as it were, withheld by fate, — yet she never abates her labors, or loses her faith in the final triumph of good. For her wonderful combination of natural talent for study, genius for colloquial expression, ability to use her varied gifts for her wide-spread philanthropy and domestic virtues, and especially for her power of moral inspiration, we might challenge the world to produce her equal. As critic, narrator, essayist, journalist, and historian, this woman of a century, who never wrote a sentence which her own con- science did not sanction, and which was not the fruit of rigid self-culture, may well stand for us as a sj-m- bol of woman's capabilities. Her poems, as she says, were but the attempt to 35* •iXi. MEM01UAI.S OF vaiy for herself her mode of expression, and do not reveal hev fiill power. Had she stopped to miisu until the fire burned in that direction, she nnglit have become a lyrist of no mean stamp. Her " Fare- well to Summer " shows a thirst for harmony, and a sense of melody which, when worked and waited for patiently, flows out into verse. But then slie might not have been our representative woman. As it was, her poetic feeling heightened for her the value of life and its opportunities ; it exalted her conception:. of duty, opened her eyes to the worth of humanity, and made her eloquent in behalf of the suffering. It cleared from her vision the false illusions which often surround the most applauded, and ennobled for her the least virtues of the lowly. It made her coun- try's interests her own, and induced her to share in the sufferings of Italy, and rejoice in its every gleam of success. It nerved her to moral courage when pain- ful truths were to be uttered, and gave to her pres- ence a dignity from which the selfish coxcomb retired, thanking her for a rebuke, and melted to tears the murderous brigands who, with a strong arm, at the risk of her life, she divided from their strife. It drew to her the young maiden in loving and whole- some confidence ; it sent from her the young man with the dawn of new and better purposes in his breast, and softened the prejudices of the older and more cautious who had been slow to approach her. It is for this unfaltering poetic spirit, an essentially MAIUJAUET KULLKK USSOLI. 415 i-eligious one as it is, wliicli ever points to liip:Ker and more refined excellence, and infuses itself through every pao-e of her woi-ks, for which more than any- thing else we cordially hope they may find a place in every woman's library. It is not that she is fault- loss, a model woman, a pattern for all,- — ^far from it. She had quick impulses and a spirit of sarcasm which she found hard to train, prejudices which were with difficulty corrected, the imperiousness of a strong mind, which knows its power, and is determined to use it for her own good and others' welfare, and which is slow to mellow into that just and graceful influence which in the end is most effective. There was in her the visible self-consciousness of a nature continually pressing upon itself from its abundant fulness, and at times an abandonment to self-laudation, which were absurd did we not see in it a recognition of the value of our common humanity ; and an assertion of her influence over other minds simply amusing were it not in spirit so true. But with all her idealism, her love of progress, and intensity of interior life, she was yet eminently conservative, and self-denying for her- self and others in the application of means to ends. While she demands privilege for her sex, she incul- cates the idea, and sets herself to work to secui'e their proportionate culture. While she asks for them a healthful sphere of activity, and aspires after a wider range for her own faculties, she is yet chary of at- tempting wlint she fears not to achieve, and in ad- 416 MEMORIALS OF vocating the cause of woman she never forgets tne self-restraint appropriate to the lad}'. For this mingling of reserve and frankness in writ- ing of woman's disabilities and needs, for her energy of cliaracter and general grasp of mind, we have been accustomed to place Margaret Fuller at the head of the ameliorating movement for woman ; and though others may have done much, we consider her its greatest representative. And as we turn from the mists and mazes of trans- cendentalism and rationalism to the clear teachings of De. Channing, in which he points to the pure theism of the Scriptures, and to the value of our com- mon nature, as is shown in the Gospels, so do we turn with equal satisfaction from the extravagances of womanly conventions to the books before us, and give our assent to her definition of what is peculiar to woman, in words somewhat enigmatical, it is true, in which she speaks of their quickness of perception, their promptness in action, and their religious de- sires. Add to these the patience which, through much pondering, becomes, so to speak, an intellectual virtue, and the tact which, through a never-sleep- ing sense of responsibility, becomes a moral one, and the circle of traits which enable her to act most beneficently may be considered complete. If it should be said that our notice of Margaret Fuller bears a tone of exaggerated praise, it is from no personal friendship for her. We knew her not, MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 417 and were but seldom in the way of hearing of her. Once only we took a glance at her as she walked with stately step through the hall of the White Mountain Hotel, (in familiar conversation with a friend,) where for an hour our ways chanced to meet. We have but taken these books, read and re-read them, and what we have written of her is the spirit of their teaching, and the summary of our study of her character and life. It was in Italy, now so present to our interests and hopes, that she found a second home, and the companion of her life. Shipwrecked in their worldly fortunes by the disasters of his country, she sought in her own a support for her beloved ones, and the sympathies of her friends. There were hearts wait- ing to claim her again as their own, minds whose opening genius mothers desired to consign to her direction, and eyes to see how the muse and the authoress would act the part of the mother and the wife. But the waves closed over her and she was no more. But not so ; for a soul so living can never die ; and that among the many mansions where her spirit has found a home, must ever be a beneficent element in creation. Peace to her memory we cannot say to what will be more and more a presence amonc us, but rather joy to her re-awakening; hencefortli go on rejoicing ! In conclusion we must be allowed to thank the devoted brother who, through years of patient labor, 418 MEMORIALS OF has gathered up these literary remains of a sister so revered, and given them to the public in so readable and worthy a form. Wherever Margaret Fuller Ossoli is known, he will be named with her as one who appreciated her genius, venerated her worth, and did what he could X make them known to the world. — New York iJhnm-an Inquirer. MAEGAEET PULLEE OSSOLI. BT MBS. J. H. HAHAFOKD. When a true and noble soul passes from earth, it is wise to preserve some memorial of its excellence, some record of the circumstances which surrounded it, some delineation of its personal peculiarities and description of character, while fighting the battles of life, and winning, eventually, the victory. Such a memorial may prove as a way-mark to some one of similar habits, pursuits, and character, who desires to tread a similar pathway tending upward toward celestial heights of excellence. This desirable result has been the aim of the biog- raphers of Margaret Fuller, Marchioness Ossoli, whose published works and tragic death must he familiar to many readers. Her Memoirs, by W. H. Channing, R. W. Emerson, and J. Freeman Clarke, have been for MARGARET FULLER OSSOLL 415 several years before the public. They have recently been republished, edited by her brother, Re\. Arthur B. Fuller, in connection with her complete works, and with the addition of a genealogical sketch of the Fuller family, and a touching tribute, by her son, to the memory of Margaret's mother. Having read them with deep and absorbing interest myself, I am anxious that others may share in my delight; and should any, by this brief sketch, be inspired, as I was by the Memoirs, with more earnest intellectual aspirations, and a deeper consciousness of the power which lies in true nobility of soul, I shall not have written in vain. As an author Margaret Fuller wUl never be forgo1> ten. Many of the ideas contained in her writings are those that succeeding generations will see developed into harmonious existence, and their early advocate must be held in remembrance. ' In this brief sketch, opportunity is not afforded for presenting an extended account of her Hfe and writings. But it may serve to induce the young women of our country, especially, to seek a further acquaintance with its noble and pure-minded subject, that they may imitate her virtues. Faults she un- doubtedly had, for she was human ; and it is only in a future state that we are to realize the bliss intimated in Jude's Tsniiption of pr'Uie. " Now unto him that is able . . . . to present you faultless before the 120 MEMORIALS OF MARGARET FULLER OSSOLL presence of his glory with exceeding joy he glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever ! " In many a loving heart is the memory of Margaret fondly cherished, and long after her bereaved friends and relatives shall follow her to the tearless land, will she be proudly numbered among the most gifted and highly cultured daughters of America ; while the historian of Italy, in coming days, shall write no name upon his list of freedom's firiends, which shall shine brighter, or be dearer to Italian hearts, than that of Margaret Fuller OssoH. — NeiO York lAfe Illustrated. MARGARET FULLER'S WORKS AND MEMOIRS. WOMAN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, and kindred papers relating to the Sphere. Condition, and Duties of Woman, Edited by her brother, Arthur B. Fuller, with an Introduction by Horace Greeley. In i vol. i6mo, jpi.50. ART, LITERATURE, AND THE DRAMA, i vol. i6mo, J^i.50. LIFE WITHOUT AND LIFE WITHIN; or, Reviews, Narratives, Essays, and Poems, i vol, i6mo. $1.50. AT HOME AND ABROAD; or, Things and Thoughts in America and Europe, i vol. T6mo. ffi-50. MEMOIRS OF MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. By Ralph Waldo Emerson, William Henry Channing, and James Freeman Clarke. With Portrait and Appendix. 2 vols, i6mo. ^3.00. Cheap edition. Two vols, in one. ^1.50. ^— Margaret Fuller will be remembered as one of the "Great Conversers," the " Prophet of the Woman Movement " in this countiy, and her Memoirs will be read with delight as among the tenderest specimens of biographical writing in our language. She was never an extremist. She considered woman neither man's rival nor his foe, but his complement. As she herself said, she believed that the development of one could not be affected without that of the other Her words, so noble in tone, so moderate in spirit, so eloquent in utterance, should not be forgotten by her sisters. Horace Greeley, in his introduction to her " Woman in the Nineteenth Century," says : " She was one of the earliest, as well as ablest, among American women to demand for her sex equality before the law with her titluar lord and master. , Her writings on this subject have the force that springs from the ripening of profound reflection into assured convicrion. It is due to her memory, as well as to the great and living cause of which she was so eminent and so fearless an advocate, that what she thought and said with regard to the position of her sex and its limitations should be fully and fairly placed before the public." No woman who wishes to understand the full scope of what is called the woman's movement should fail to read these pages, and see in them how one woman proved her right to a position in literature hitherto occupied by men, by filling it nobly. Ihe Story of this rich, sad, striving, unsatisfied life, with its depths of emotion and its surface sparkling and glowing, is told tenderly and reverently by hei biographers. Their praise is eulogy, and their words often seem extravagant but they knew her well, they spoke as they felt The character that could awaken such interest and love surely is a rare one. 5t^*" The above are imifonnly bound in doth, and sold separately 01 in sets. Sold eveiywhere. Mailed, post-paid, by the Publishers, ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. Messrs. ROBEETS BROTHERS' LIST OF Biographical Publications. LATE BIOGRAPHIES. THE LIFE OF RICHARD COBDEN. Byjohn Mor- ley. I vol. 8vo. Cloth. "With Steel Portrait. Price. . gi.50 " This life has been compared to Trevelyan's * Life of Macaulay.* This is rather, we assume, as an illustration of its expected popularity with readers than on any other ground. It is hardly a compliment to place it on a par with the * Life of Macaulay ' in other respects. It is an abler work than the latter; a more important work; a more artistic work. Mr. Trevelyan writes in a certain florid style of composition which Mr. Merely does not attempt to follow; but his manner is more terse and vigorous than that of Mr. Trevelyan, and his picture of the life and times of Cobdenis more effective than that made of Macaulay, This book does not aim to be picturesque ; there is no attempt at fine writing in its pages ; but it is essentially a graphic presenta- tion of its subject. ^ It is always mterestmg. There_ are marks m it of a mind fully conscious of the dignity and importance of its subject; and there is a firm grasp of all the matenal, and a masterly weaving of it into a lucid and thoroughly life-like narrative, that it would be difficult to overpraise. * * * • It is a picture of the most important era of English politics of the present century, and it is a record of one of the most interesting of lives in its personal relations. It records English legisla- tion for a third of a century; it pictures the inner life of the man who was the finest figure in it. The diaries, the letters, the speeches, the correspondence of Cobden are ail drawn upon to give the narrative clearness, and make the presentation complete. Twice Mr. Cobden visited America, and once he made the tour of Europe. He was in constant correspondence with the more liberal men both in our own country and abroad. Several of his letters to Charles Sumner are used, either in whole or in part^ in this department of the biography. " — Saturday Evening Gazette. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH : A Biographical Sketch, with Selections from his Writings in Poetry and Prose. By A. J. Symington, With Portrait of Wordsworth and View of Rydal Mount. 2 vols. i6mo. Cloth. Price, $2.00 " Mr. Symington quotes in full no less than forty-seven of the almost matchlesr flonnets, which are, in our opinion, the portion of Wordsworth's work which ensurer him an undying fame, and which must command admiration even from those who have but little sympathy with the poet's general teaching, and who even dislike the great mass of his work. Mr. Symington's book will be found an excellent popular guide to the study of Wordsworth, and a true picture of one who never *blazed,_the comet of . a season,' but lived in obscurity, and sowed seed to bear fruit in increasing measure ; and Mr. Symington, while devoted to his subject, allows his enthusiasm to be guided by common sense, and does not rush into extremes." — Manchester Examiner. GASPARA STAMPA. By Eugene Benson, With a selection from her Sonnets translated by George Fleming, author of " Kismet." i8mo. Cloth. Price, |i.oc " Gaspara Stampa is a name that has lived only in the keeping of choice and well furnished minds. Her brief stoiy is told in the^e pages in a style well fitted to the subject, with no superfluity and no poverty of words. She is depicted in the beauty of her person and the brilliancy of her mind, as possessed of gemus to give her rank with Sappho, and endowed, like her, with the perilous gift of love. The fatal grief that fell on her heart, though it sent her to the grave, drew from her the sonnets which keep her name alive in literature. * George Fleming's' selections are done by her into English in a style which preserves the tenderness and the passion of the origi- nals," says the Independent. BIOGRAPHICAL PUBLICATIONS. ANDREW (JOHN A.) A Memoir of Governor An- drew, with Reminiscences. By Peleg W. Chandler. With Illustrations and Portrait. l6mo jSl,25 ARNDT {ERNST MORITZ), Life and Adventures of. With Preface by J. R. Seeley, M. A. With Portrait. Crown 8vo 2.25 BRASSEY (THOMAS), Life and Labors of. 1805-1870. By Arthur Helps. With Portrait. 8vo 2.50 CHANNING (\WILLIAM ELLERY, D. D.). A Cen- tennial Memory. By Charles T. Brooks. With nine Illustrations, including Portrait after Gambadella. i6mo. 1.50 CHANNING (WILLIAM ELLERY, D. D.), Remi- niscences of. By Elizabeth P. Peabody. l6mo. . . . 2.00 COBDEN (RICHARD). The Life of. By John Morley. With Portrait. 8vo 1.5c D'ARBLAY (MADAME). The Diary and Letters of Madame D'Arblay. Revised and Edited by Sarah Chauncey Woolsey. With Portraits. 2 vols. i2mo. . 4.00 DELANEY (MRS.). The Autobiography and Corres- pondence of Mrs. Delaney. Revised from Lady Llan- over's Edition, and Edited by Sarah Chauncey Woolsey. With Portraits. 2 vols. i2mo, , . 4.00 DE MUSSET (ALFRED), The Biography of. From the French of Paul de Musset By Harriet W. Preston. Square i2mo. Gilt top 2.00 DESBORDES-VALMORE (MADAME), Memoirs of. By C. A. Sainte-Beuve. i6mo 1.30 DE SEVIGNE (MADAME). Letters. Edited by Mrs. Sarah J. Hale. With Portrait. i2mo 1.5c FLETCHER (MRS.), Autobiography of. With Letters and other .Family Memorials. Edited by the Survivor of her Family. Two superb steel-engraved likenesses of Mrs. Flefcher at the ages of fifteen and eighty. i2mo. . . . i.u, FULLER (MARGARET), Memoirs of. By Ralph Waldo Emerson, and others. With Portrait 2 vols. l2mo. $300. Cheap edition. Two vols, in one j cq BIOGRAPHICAL PUBLICATIONS. BROWN (JOHN). Life and Letters. By F. B. Sanborn. With Portraits. 8vo $2.50 GODWIN (WILLIAM) ; His Friends and Contem- poraries. By C. Kegan Paul. With Portraits and Illus- trations. 2 vols. 8vo 6.00 JAMESON (ANNA), Memoirs of the Life of. Author of "Characteristics of Women," etc. By her Niece, Gerardine Macpherson. With Portrait. 8vo 2.50 LAMB (CHARLES). A Memoir. By Barry Cornwall. i6mo. . 1.50 MAY (REV. SAMUEL J.), Memoirs of. With a steel- engraved Likeness. i6tno. 75 MODERN FRENCHMEN. Five Biographies. By P. G. Hamerton. Square i2mo. . 2.00 MONTAGU (MARY WORTLEY). Letters. Edited, with a Memoir, by Mrs. Sarah J, Hale. i2mo 1.5c PELLICO (SILVIO). My Prisons. Memoirs of Silvio Pellico. With an Introduction by Epes Sargent. i2mo., $2.25. i6mo., $1.50; paper covers 50 PORTRAITS OF CELEBRATED W^OMEN. By C. A. Sainte-Beuve. Translated by H. W. Preston. i6mo. ... 1.50 PROCTER (BRYAN W^ALLER). [Barry Cornwall.] An Autobiographical Fragment, and Biographical Notes, with Personal Sketches of Contemporaries, Unpublished Lyrics, and Letters of Literary Friends. Edited by Mrs. Procter and Coventry Patmore. With Portrait. Square i2mo. ... 2.00 RECAMIER (MADAME). Memo'irs and Correspon- dence. Translated from the French of Mme. I^enormant, by I. M. Luyster. With Portrait. i6mo 1.30 RECAMIER (MADAME) and her Friends. By Mme. Lenormant. Translated by I. M. Luyster. i6mo. . . . 1.50 RUSSELL (JOHN, EARL). Recollections and Sug- gestions of Public Life, 1813-1873. 8vo 3.00 BIOGRAPHICAL PUBLICATIONS. SISTER DORA : A Biogpraphy. By Margaret Lonsdale. With Portrait. i6mo I1.25 SOMERVILLE (MARY). Personal Recollections from Early Life to Old Age. With a selection from her Cor- respondence. By her daughter, Martha Somerville. With Portrait. i2mo I-SC STEIN, LIFE AND TIMES OF; or, Germany and Prussia in the Napoleonic Age. By J. R. Seeley, M. A. With Portrait and Maps. 2 vols. 8vo 6.00 SUMNER (CHARLES), Memoir and Letters of. By Edward L. Pierce. With two newly engraved Likenesses of Sumner. 2 vols. 8vo 6.00 SWETCHINE (MADAME), Life and Letters. Edited by Count de Falloux. Translated by H. W. Preston. l6mo .... 1.50 SWETCHINE (MADAME), Writings. Edited by Count de Falloux. Translated by H. W. Preston. i6mo. 1.25 THOREAU: The Poet Naturalist. By William EUery Channing. i6mo 1.50 THORVALDSEN : His Life and Works. By Eugene Plon. 8vo. Fully Illustrated. Bevelled boards, gilt top. 4.00 TURNER (J. M. W.), The Life of. By P. G. Hamer- ton. Square i2mo 2.00 WORDSWORTH ( WILLIAM ). A Biographical Sketch, with Selections from his Writings in Poetry and Prose. By A. J. Symington. With Portrait of Words- worth and view of Rydal Mount. 2 vols. i6mo. . . . 2.00 WOLLSTONECRAFT (MARY), Letters to Imlay, with Prefatory Memoir by C. Kegan Paul. Two Portraits after Opie. i2rno a.oo These books are all neatly bound in cloth, and are espedaUy adapted for Libraries. Mailed post-paid, on receipt ^'s letters has so long been admowledged that crincism is uncalled for in referring to them, nor would it be easy to find a word of admiration or praise that has not already been pronounced in theii favor. For spontaneity, tenderness, playfulness, sweetness, they are unequalled. The style is all that is most simple and natural and graceful. Madame de S^vign^ has no variety of inspiration, and but little profundity of thought. She is inspired by only one sentiment, her love for her daughter; but this single note is so sweet, and is sung in so many keys, and with such a pleasing accompaniment of spicy gossip and pensive meditation, that its monotony is never unpleasing. The influence which these letters have exerted upon thff development of the French language and French literature has again giver them a classical reputation, which works of far greater pretension and power have never attained. They will ever be classed with the works of a few greal authors, who founded in France the distinctive Hterary school that at a later period obtaiqed a development so varied and so brilliant. By the simplicity and sincerity of her genius, Madame de SMgne corrected the false taste anu feeble sentimentality of her day, while the purity of her stj-le exerted an im- mense influence in forming the language in which she wrote." — Min Vakghan, in The Leader. ,♦ Sold by all Booksellers. Mailed, postpaid, by the pub. ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. Messrs. Roberts Bruthers' Publications. Mm Eecaiier and Her Friends. From the French of Madame Lenormant, by the Translator or "Madame R^camier's Memoirs." vine volume, imiform with " Madame R^camier's Memoirs.*' Price $i.$o From the Atlantic MbniAiy. This volume comes to supplement the " Memoirs and Correspondence o* Madanie R^camier," which, although a lively and exceedingly entertaining sketch nf the society of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, occasioned very general dissatisfactir-r iraong both its French and American readers ; for, being made up of letters which were written to her, and not of those which she had herself penned, it did nox leave upon the mind any clear, definite impression of the real character of Ma dame R^camier, into whose secret history all the world was curious to inquire The failure of that copious work in its main purpose is the ostensible cause of thr existence of this after volume, in which are introduced over forty of the private nutes and letters of Madame Rdcamier; these are as graceful, genial, and chatt> as any of the gossip, legitimized under the name of memoirs, recollections, cor reapondence, or what not, which we have met with, but they hardly fill the ga). vbich was left in the previous volumes. From, the Unitarian Review, We think this book in many respects much more valuable than the last- How- ever charming the other was, we cannot resist the feeling that it must have been injurious to woman of society with us, in giving them a longing after unreal pleasures . . . We believe in the friendships of men and women. But when the blandishments and artificialities of fashionable society come in, there is danger that the dignity of the sentiment \rill be lost in the passion of love. This second volume shows more of this true kind of friendship. Madame R^camier was , the other recommending to her the joys of religion. Chaieaubriand does not inspire our respect, and she betrays again her early Jove jf conquest in keepine the young and passionate Ampfere so long at her side- We must not, however, compare Madame R^camier with our highest American or English ideal of what a woman in distinguished social position should be, but with the voluptuous and ambitious women of her day and race, and we shall see her standing forth a bright and charming and beloved vision, far transcendine tbsmaU. Sold everywhere by all Booksellers, Mailed^ postpaid, h\ the PuhiisherSy ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications. MEMOIRS AND CORRESPONDENCE OF Madame Recamier. Transuvted from the French and Edited b/ Isafhkns m. lxtyster. With an elegant Steel Engraved Portrait. One volume. i6mo. Price $1.50. Front the Boston Transcript. " The biography of a woman who admirably fulfilled a great social missioQi by r.- cnminating insight Some years ago he collected a volume of these papers and pubhshed it, under the title of " Portraits of Celebrated Women." They arc among the best of his writmgs in those fine quahties of knowledge, sentiment, and /the house of Messrs. Roberts Brothers. We were already indebted to this aouse for the Memoirs and Correspondence of Madame R^camier," and the Life and Letters of Madame Swetcliine," two of the most charming, instiuc- Uve, and exemplary works in modem literature. They have largely added to our obligation by the present work; for no cultivated and aspiring person can read It without delight and edification. Sainte-Beuve has done his work with all the !i^r "f?L'l, Tl ^°.''.8"« "f ^ ■^fi»?,d S^nius Miss Prestdn has accomplished ?.1,>ii^ T^ "^ M^u* "P<:'"n"°° skill, with pervading accuracy and frequent Wmtv. The publishers have put the book m our hands in a shape at once altrao- toe, conyement, and inexpensive. It only remams for the favored reader to do „JP*^J'IP°™"^^ the volume with the docUe and loving attenUon doe to iu Qoitly and oscinatuig contents. Sold everywhere. Mailed, postpaid, by the Publishers, ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston Messrs: Roberts Brothers' Publications. jFamous SSEomen .SerteiS. MARGARET FULLER. By JULIA WARD HOWE. One Tolume. 16ino. Clocu. Price $1.00. " A memoir of the woman who first in New England took a position of moral and intellectual leadership, by the woman who wrote the Battle Hymn of the Republic, is a literary event of no common or transient interest. The Famous Women Series will have no worthier subject and no more illustrious biographer. Nor will the reader be disappointed, — for the narrative is deeply interesting and full of inspiration." — Wonian^s yourtial. ** Mrs, Julia Ward Howe's biography of Margaret Fuller^ in the Famous Women Series of Messrs. Roberts Brothers, is a work which has been looked for with curiosity. It will not disappoint expectation. She has made a brilliant and an interesting book. Her study of Margaret Fuller's character is thoroughly sympathetic ; her relation of her life is done in a graphic and at times a fascinating manner. It is the case of one woman of strong individuality depicting the points which made another one of the most marked characters of her day. It is always agreeable to follow Mrs. Howe in this ; for while we see marks of her own mind constantly, there is no inartistic protrusion of her personality. The book is always readable, and the relation of the death-'scene is thrillingly impressive." — Satur- day Gazette. " Mrs. Julia Ward Howe has retold the story of Margaret Fuller's Hfe and career in a very interesting manner. This remarkable woman was happy in having James Freeman Clarke, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and William Henry - Channing, all of whom had been intimate with her and had felt the spell of her extraordinary personal influence, for her biographers. It is needless to say, of course, that nothing could be better than these reminiscences in their way." — New York IVorld. "The selection of Mrs. Howe as the writer of this biography was a happy thought on the part of the editor of the series ; for, aside from the natural appre- ciation she would have for Margaret Fuller, comes her knowledge of all the influences that had their effect on Margaret Fuller's life. She tells the story of Margaret Fuller's interesting life from all sources and from her own knowledge, not hesitating to use plenty of quotations when she felt that others, or even Margaret Fuller herself, had done the work better." — Miss Gilder^ in Philadel- phia Press. » Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of the pricey by the publishers., ROBERTS BRpTHERS, Boston, Mass. SARAH TYTLER'S ART BOOKS. The Old Masters and their Pictures. Modern Painters and their Paintings. By Sarah Tytler, author of ** Papers for ThoughtfiiJ Girls." i6mo. Cloth, neat. Price of each, $i.5a Designed for the use of Schools and Learners in Art, and extenuvel; used ij Academies, Seminaries, &c., throughout the country. " An excellent introduction to the history of axt.** — Daily News. *■* These two books give in a simple and concise manner the prominent tacti that every one who desires to be well informed should know about the great artists of the world. For beginners in art and for school use they are valuable/ — Courier-y hmity to refer to original sources of information. Not the least attractive portioi of tkfl work is the sketch of ^Vagner with which it doses. MARGARET. By Sylvester Judd. One volume. Price $1.50. SELECTIONS FROM SOME NOTABLE REVIEWS. Front (he Stnitkern Quarterly Review. This book, more than any other that we have read, leads us to believe in tlu Swsibiiity of a distinctive Americao Literature. ... It bears the impress of Nen -jglanil upon all its features. It will be called the Yankee novel, and rightly ; foi Q'jwhere else have we seen the thought, dialect, and customs of a New England Village, Bo well and faithfully re^iresented. . . . More significant to our mind th.?!; any book that has yet appeared in our country. To us it seems to be a prophecy ^ the future. It contemplates the tendencies of American life and charamer tffowhere else have we seen, so well written out, the very feelings which our rivers And woods and mountains are calculated to awaken. . . . We piedict the time wheo MaKgaret will be one of the Antiquary's text-books. If contains a whole magazine of Ctirious relics and habits. ... as a record of great ideas and pure sentiments, wc place it among the few great books of the age." From the North A merican Review. ** We know not where any could go to find more exact and pleasing descriptioiu 9f the scenery of New England, or of the vegetable and animal forms which give it life. . • . As a representation of manners as they were, and in many respects are Still, in Mew England, this book is of great value." Front the London Athemeitnu "This book, tbough published some time since in America, has only recentiy twcome known here by a few stray copies that have found their way over. ItE leading idea is so well worked out, that, with all its faults of detail, it strikes us as deserving a wider circulation. . . . The book bears the impress of a new country, and is tiiU of rough, uncivilized, but vigorous life. The leading idea which it seems bitended to expound is, that the surest way to degrade men is to make themselves degraded ; that so long as that belief does not poison the sources of eKperience, ^ mI things* — even the sins, follies, mistakes, so rife among men — can be mad* ' to work tc^ether for good' This doctrine, startling as it may sound at first, is wrought out with a fine knowledge of human nature." Front the A nii-Slavery Standard. ** A remarkable book, with much ^ood common sense in it. fiill of deep thought. pervaded throughout with strong religious feeling, a full conception of the essence of Christianity, a tender compassion for the present condition of man, and an abiding hope through love of what his destiny may be. . . . But alt who, like Margaret, ' ^eam dreams,' and * see visions,' and look for that time to come when man shai] have * worked out his own salvation,' and peace shall reign on earth, and good-will tc men, will, if they can pardon the faults of the book for hs merit, read it with avidity and pleasure." From the Boston Daily Advertiser. ** This is quite a remarkable book, reminding you of Southey's ^ Doctor,' per- haps, more than of any. other book. . . . Margaret is ? most angelic being, who loves everybody and whom everybody loves, and Yiha>9e &-wcct ini5uenoe ia fell v4ietever she appears. She has visions of ideal beauty, and her waking eyes sec beauty .^d joy in every thing." From tlie Christian Register. *' This is a remarkable book. Its scene is laid in New England, and its period ome half century ago. Its materials are drawn from the most familiar cJementf of every-day life. Its merits are so peculiar, and there is so much that is original and rich in its contents, that, sooner o' ^ter, it will be appreciated. It is imposs- ble to predict with asburance the fate of a book, but we shall be much raistako? if Margaret does not in due season work its way to a degree of admiration Eoidoir attained by a work of its class." Sold everywhere. Mailed^ prepaid^ on receipt of pricey by fie Publishers^ ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston