THE J. PAUL GETTY MUSEUM LIBRARY 
 
 
 
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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
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PUTNAM’S MONTHLY 
 
 MAGAZINE 
 
 American literature, detente, ant) girt. 
 
 VOL i 
 
 ' ^ 
 
 l0U- 
 
 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1853 . 
 
 NEW- YORK : 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM & CO., 10 PARK PLACE. 
 LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, SON <fc CO. 
 
 M.DCCC.LIII. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by 
 6. P. PUTNAM & CO., 
 
 In the Clerk’s Office in the District Court for the Southern District of New-York. 
 
 JOHN F. TROW, 
 Printer & StkrkotvpeR, 
 49 Ann-street» 
 
CONTENTS OF VOL I 
 
 
 Alison’s Histories, 561 
 
 Ambassador in Spite of Himself, 436 
 
 Andrew Cranberry — Attorney-at-Law, IS 
 
 Anecdote of James Smithson, 105 
 
 Are we a good-looking People ? 308 
 
 Autumn Picture, 607 
 
 Bancroft, 300 
 
 Benevolent Institutions of New- York, 673 
 
 Best Society, Our 170 
 
 Bourbon Question, 194, 442 
 
 Canada, Excursion to 54, 179, 821 
 
 Canadian College, Life in a 392 
 
 Cat’s Fugue, The 530 
 
 Choric Hymn, 252 
 
 Close of the First Volume, 704 
 
 Confessional, Small Story of the 80 
 
 Cuba, 3 
 
 Editorial Notes, 
 
 I. American Literature. 
 
 Kraitsir’s Glossology — Children of Light — Romanco of 
 Student Life — Clark’s Knick-Knacks — Goodrich’s British 
 Orators — Barry Cornwall’s Prose — Macaulay’s Speeches 
 — Hildreth’s Theory of Politics — Prismatics — Bancroft’s 
 Revolution — Downing’s Horticultural Papers— Meagher’s 
 Speeches — Lectures — Cooper Monument — Hale’s Wo- 
 men’s Record — McLeods Life of Sir Walter Scott. 106 
 
 Christmas Books — Reprints of Alford’s and Mackay’s 
 Foems — “ To-day ” — Critics Differ— Land of the Caesar 
 and the Doge — Rector of St. Bardolph — War of Ormuzd 
 and Ahriman in the 19th Century — American Books in 
 England — Callicott’s Gazetteer — Industrial Exhibition 
 
 Catalogue. , . . 230 
 
 After the Holidays — The Footpath and Highway — Ander- 
 son’s American Villa Architecture — Matt Ward’s Eng- 
 lish Items— Fun and Earnest — Deck of the Crescent City 
 — New Work by Hawthorne — Adventures in Fairy Land 
 — The Lofty and the Lowly — Whittier’s new volumo — 
 Wallis’s Spain — Types of Mankind — The Curse of Clif- 
 ton — Miseries of Human Life — Death of Samuel Judd — 
 Works of Sir W. Hamilton — New edition of Coleridgo 
 — Macaulay’s Speeches — De Quinccy. . . 235 
 
 Copyright Treaty — Note on harsh judgment— Stoddard’s 
 Adventures in Fairy Land — Calhoun’s Works — Bcccner’a 
 Works— Amabel — Dr. Skinner’s Translation of Vinet’s 
 Pastoral Theology — Neander’s Library — Judge Story’s 
 Life — Memoir of Wheaton — Thalatta — Considerations 
 
 upon Social Theories. 463 
 
 Works of William H. Seward — Lives of the Brothers Hum- 
 boldt — The Captive in Patagonia — Correspondence of the 
 Revolution— Rural Essays by Downing— New Bond of 
 Love — Stuart’s Naval and Mail Steamers — Bartbtts 
 Commercial and Banking Tables — Autobiography of an 
 English Soldier — Virginalia — Reason and Faith — Jeffer- 
 son’s Works — Willis’s Cruise in the Mediterranean — Dr. 
 
 Cox’s Interviews 582 
 
 Prismatics, by Richard Haywarde — Judge Campbell’s 
 Captain Kidd and Robin Hood — The Translators Revived 
 — Mrs. Ellett’s Summer Rambles — Literature of the 
 Rappers — Life of Chalmers — Publications of Uncle Sam — 
 New Rome, or the United States of the World — Thalatta 
 — Coral Reefs and Islands — Dr. Park’s Handbook for 
 American Travellers— Old English Authors Revived— 
 Benton’s Thirty Years in the Senate— M. B. Field’s 
 Three Tales — Carey’s Slave Trade — Brace’s Home Life 
 
 of the Germans — One Year of Wedlock — Writings of 
 Prof. B. B. Edwards — Boyd’s Cowper — E. C. Wines’ 
 Commentaries on the Laws of the Hebrews — Spooner’s 
 Dictionary of ^Painters. • . . . 69? 
 
 II. English Literature. 
 
 Bunsen’s Hippolitus— ' Thackeray’s Henry Esmond— Tonny- 
 son’s Ode on Wellington — FelinBki’s Revelations of 
 Siberia — Wanderings of a Pilgrim — Alison’s New His- 
 tory — Mrs. Hall’s Pilgrimages — Collins’s Basil — Tenants 
 
 of the Woods — Head’s Ireland, etc 107 
 
 “The Times” on Henry Esmond — Layard’s Babylon — Life 
 of Niebuhr — Editorship of Edinburgh Review — Welling- 
 ton’s Speeches — Westminster Review — Ruskin’s New 
 Volume — Sidney’s Australia — St. John’s Isis — New 
 novels by the authors oi Jane Eyre and Mary Barton ; 
 
 and by Mrs. Moodie 231 
 
 Collier’s new Shakspeare — New works in press — Titled 
 Lecturers— Faber’s new work on the Prophecies— Gulis- 
 tan — The Dean’s Daughter — Spencer’s Tour through 
 
 France and Italy 840 
 
 Alexander Smith — Nelly Armstrong 584 
 
 Memoirs of Thomas Moore. 694 
 
 III. French and German Literature. 
 
 Annuaire des deux Mondes — Des Interets Catholiques an 
 XIX. Si&cle — Histories of the Restoration — Origines de 
 l’Eglise Romaine— Essai sur St. Martin— Influence de la 
 Literature Fran^aise — Haxthausen’s Studies on Russia 
 — Tegoborski’s Russia — Villebois’ Memoires Secretes — 
 Lewitz’s Mirabeau — Duntzer’s Women of Goethe’s Youth 
 — Stahr’s Weimar aud Jena — Seibert’s Illustrated Faust 
 — Ritter’s Palestine — Grimm’s German Dictionary — 
 Planta’s Science of the State— Lepsius’s Egypt, Ethiopia, 
 &c.— Weber’s Indian Literature— Stark’s Philistine Coa9t 
 — Radowitz’s Writings — Raumer’s Historical Pocket- 
 book — Winter’s Popular Representation— Masius’s Skiz- 
 zen, &c.— Wuttke’s History of Heathendom — Jacob’s 
 Horace and his Friends— Gutzkow’s Autobiography. 109 
 Calvin’s Commentaries — Th6atre de Balzac — Emile Souves- 
 tre — John Lemoinne — TraitG de Chimie R6vue Archa;- 
 ologique — Dumas — Auerbach — Gutzlaff — Muhlbach — 
 Sternberg — Deutsche Balladenbuch — Ticknor’s Spanish 
 Literature in German — Szemere’s Life of Gorgey — Dus- 
 
 seldorf Kunstler Album 234 
 
 Beauchesne’s Life of the Dauphin — Painting on Glass — 
 Works of Napoleon I. — New work on Asia Minor — Pon- 
 tificat de Clement XIV. — Polish Authors in Paris — Me- 
 moirs of Mallet du Pain — Works published in France in 
 1852 — Alexandre Dumas’ Isaac Laquedem — VictorCousin 
 — Gervinus’s History of the Nineteenth Century — Die 
 Konige— Marriage by Mr. Von Lafaulx — Musical Portraits 
 — Rosenkranz’s System of Science — May Queen — Henry 
 Heine — Quickbom — Dr. Ungwitter — Christian Lammfel 
 — Poems of Luis Ponce de Leon — Seibold’s Japan — Der 
 
 Getreue Ritter 342 
 
 Le Monde des Oiseaux — Madame Emile de Girardin’s Lady 
 Tartuffe — Jules Janin on Canary Birds— Mirim6e’s False 
 Demetriuses — Girontere’s Philippines — Mignet’s Charles 
 V. — Deltuf’a Conies — Houssaye’s Rcgence— Krasinski’s 
 Slaves — Cbaix’s Peru — Burkhardt’s Constantine the Great 
 — Hengstenberg’s Song of Solomon — Newman’s Dis- 
 courses— Schwartz’s Holy Land— Spindler’s Devil at the 
 Bath — Tiedefreud’s Napoleon III. — Romancers — Nor- 
 wegian Songs . . . 464 
 
 Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter — La Vie Parisienne--M. Tego- 
 borski’s E8eai sur les consequences 6ventuelles de la d6- 
 converte des gites auriferes en Californie et en Australia — 
 Mazzini jug6 par lui-meme — Giulio— Les Cesars— Contes 
 
IV 
 
 Contents of Volume I. 
 
 tie Printeinps— La Lotus tie la Boune Loi — Madame Gir- 
 ardrn’s new Comedy — Mont Reveehe, by George Sand — 
 New History of the German People — Richard Wagner — 
 Dr. Klopp’B Narratives and Traits of Character — Hof- 
 mann Von Fnllersleben — Symbolism of the Homan Form 
 — Dr.Betk’s Plato— Uschold’BCompendiumofPsychology 
 — Eschenmayer’s Betrnchtungen — Der Krieslauf des 
 Lebens — Translations from Household Words — Otto 
 Schimdt — August Stiiber’s Sagen des Eshms— History 
 of Free Masonry in France— Chrysander’s Minor Mode iu 
 Music— Life and Artistic Career of the Negro, Ira Aldridge 
 —Songs of Mirza Schaffy— Deutsche Hnuschronik — F .Ger- 
 stacker’s American Travels. . . . * . 585 
 
 Huet’s Social Reign of Christianity— Wnllon’s Presse de 
 1848— Stanislas Julien— Thierry’s History of the Forma- 
 tion of the Tiers-Etat— Pierre Clement’s Jacques Cceur — 
 Jules Lecomte— Bodin and his Times— Dr. Bouvet’s Cor- 
 sets— L’ Architecture Monastique —Bernard’s Origin of 
 Printing— Quatre Anntes de Presidence de la Republique 
 — L’Orient, by Eugene Flandin— Le Caucase Pittoresque— 
 Works of Rembrandt — Camp’s Egypte— History of Con- 
 stantinople, by Pujoulftt — Studies in Russia— Garden’s 
 History of Treaties of Peace— Heine’s Reisebilder— Gods 
 in Exile — The Comtesse d’Argoult — Jules Janin’s His- 
 toire de l’Art Dramatique — The Imperial Guard, by 
 Cbarlet — Bozquet’s History of the French. Clergy. 694 
 
 New Periodicals — Thackeray’s Pendennis — Wnldmuller’s 
 Poet’s Night-Quarters — Patriotic Poems — Gedichto, by 
 Chisch — Alfred Meissner — Florien Mul — Brockhnus’ Con- 
 versationaa-Lexikon — History of German Imaginative and 
 Poetic Literature, by Gervinus — Have we a Bourbon among 
 Us? — City Stories, by Max Ring — Theatrical Almanachs — 
 Contributions to the Aesthetics of the Vegetables — Ritter 
 Bunsen— Tales of Poor Folks— Nagler’s New Dictionary 
 of Art— New Work on the French Army— Sketches of 
 Greek Travel— ICaulbach’s Illustrations of ShakBpeare — 
 
 Pictures of Travel and Life 696 
 
 IY. Miscellaneous. 
 
 Italy : — The Civita Catholics—' The Hebrew of Verona, 347 
 Denmark. 347 
 
 Belgium : — Reply to Certain Journals relative to the af- 
 fairs of Turkey. ....... 5SS 
 
 International Copyright, ...... 335 
 
 Note on the Bourbon Question, 352 
 
 Note on Old Ironsides, 592 
 
 Y. Scientific Intelligence, 114, 236, 347 
 
 YI. Music, 117, 237, 348, 463, 5S8, 69S 
 
 VII. The Fine Arts, 120, 240, 351, 471, 700 
 
 Elegant Tom Dillar, 525 
 
 Ericsson’s Caloric Ship, 102 
 
 Excursion to Canada, 54, 179, 321 
 
 Family Portraits, 329 
 
 Fashion, 6S 
 
 Fine Arts (See Editorial Notes). 
 
 Fountain of Youth, 45 
 
 French Almanacs, 49 
 
 From Venice to Vienna, 164 
 
 Franklin, Sir John, and the Polar Seas, 629 
 
 Galgano, 512 
 
 Glance at Havana, 185 
 
 Gondola Songs, 31 
 
 Greenough, the Sculptor, 317 
 
 General Ogle — A Character, 661 
 
 Havana, A Glance at, 1S5 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us ? 194 
 
 Hidden Light, , 5S1 
 
 Homes of American Authors, 23 
 
 Honolulu, Reminiscences of, 55S 
 
 How they Live in Havana, 2SS 
 
 How they Manage in Europe, 427 
 
 Introductory, 1 
 
 Inns, 612 
 
 Japan, 241 
 
 Letter to John Bull, 221 
 
 Life in a Canadian College, 392 
 
 Literature ( See Editorial Notes). 
 
 Living Corpse, 32 
 
 Lowell the Poet, 547 
 
 Mary L. Ware, 370 
 
 Mary Spears, 267 
 
 Meditation by Paul Potiphar, Esq., 653 
 
 Melville 155 
 
 Midnight Sun, 60S 
 
 Mill Pond, 369 
 
 Miss Peck’s Friend, 539, 618 
 
 Modern Spiritualism, 39 
 
 Music (See Editorial Notes). 
 
 My First French Teacher, 816 
 
 Necklaces 334 
 
 New Livery, Our, &c., 382 
 
 Newport in Winter, 149 
 
 New-York, Benevolent Institutions of, 673 
 
 New-York Daguerreotyped, 121, 353 
 
 Nineveh and Babylon, 498 
 
 November — December, 402 
 
 Old Ironsides, 473, 593 
 
 Ornithomanes, 572 
 
 Our Best Society, 170 
 
 Our New Livery, &c., 382 
 
 “Our Own,”'. 403, 533 
 
 Our Young Authors, 74, 155 
 
 Personal Reminiscences of Thorvaldsen, 93 
 
 Polar Seas, The, and Sir John Franklin, 629 
 
 Popocatepetl, Visit to, 408 
 
 Rail Road Lyric, 488 
 
 Reminiscences of Honolulu, 558 
 
 Review of Reviews, 146, 264 
 
 Robinson Crasoe's Island, 275 
 
 Scientific Intelligence ( See Editorial Notes). 
 
 Sculptor’s Funeral, 137 
 
 Simpkins, on his Baldness, 299 
 
 Small Story of the Confessional, 30 
 
 Smithson, James; Anecdote of, 105 
 
 Songs of Venice, 22 
 
 Spears, Mary, 267 
 
 Spiritualism, Modern, 59 
 
 Spring or Summer, 16 
 
 Stevens, The late John L., , 64 
 
 St Nicholas, The; and the Five Points, 509 
 
 Student Life of Daniel Webster, 517 
 
 Swiss Journal 89 
 
 Thackeray in America, 638 
 
 Thorwaldsen, Personal Reminiscences o£ 93 
 
 Uncle Bernard’s Story, 670 
 
 Uncle Tomitudes, 97 
 
 Venice, Songs of, 22 
 
 Venice to Vienna, 164 
 
 Villette and Ruth, 535 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form, 78, 139, 253 416, 492 
 
 Visit to Popocatepetl, 40S 
 
 Warden of the Cinque Ports, 17 
 
 Ware, Mary L., 870 
 
 Webster, Student Life of, 517 
 
 What is the use? 217 
 
 Woman, and the “Woman’s Movement,” 279 
 
 Works of American Statesmen, 642 
 
 Young Authors, Our, 74, 155 
 
PUTNAM’S MONTHLY. 
 
 % Utagap* of ifiterato, j&cme, aitir %xt 
 
 VOL. I.— JANUARY 1853.— NO. I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 STRONOMERS assert that the nebulous mist with which the ether is charged is 
 
 perpetually taking form — that the regions of space are but a celestial dairy, in 
 which the milky way is for ever churned into stars. Nor do the new stars extin- 
 guish the old ; for, as the thirteenth man in the omnibus always says — there is room 
 for one more. It will not, therefore, surprise the public to see a new Magazine. The 
 reader, like the astronomer cognizant of infinite star-dust, knows very well that in the 
 rapid life of this country there is a constant scintillation of talent, which needs only 
 a nucleus to be combined into beams of light and heat. 
 
 Taking the reader, therefore, by the hand, or rather by the eye, here at the portal, 
 we invite a moment’s conversation before he passes within. 
 
 A man buys a Magazine to be amused — to be instructed, if you please, but the les- 
 son must be made amusing. He buys it to read in the cars, in his leisure hours at 
 home — in the hotel, at all chance moments. It makes very little difference to him 
 whether the article date from Greece or Guinea, if it only interest him. He does not 
 read upon principle, and troubles himself little about copyright and justice to authors. 
 If a man goes to Timbuctoo and describes his visit picturesquely and well, the reader 
 devours the story, and is not at all concerned because the publisher may have broken 
 the author’s head or heart, to obtain the manuscript. A popular Magazine must 
 amuse, interest and instruct, or the public will pass by upon the other side. Nor will 
 it be persuaded to “ come over and help us” by any consideration of abstract right. 
 It says, very justly. “ if you had no legs, why did you try to walk ?” 
 
 It is because wo are confident that neither Greece nor Guinea can offer the Ameri- 
 can reader a richer variety of instruction and amusement in every kind, than the coun- 
 try whose pulses throb with his, and whose every interest is his own, that this Maga- 
 zine presents itself to-day. The genius of the old world is affluent ; we owe much 
 to it, and we hope to owe more. But we have no less faith in the opulence of our 
 own resources. Not alone in the discussion of those graver contemporary interests 
 of every kind, which is the peculiar province of the foreign Quarterly Review, but 
 in the treatment of minor matters of daily experience, which makes so much of the 
 distinctive charm of a Magazine, we hold to the conviction that our genius is as 
 good as it is in practical affairs. To an American eye, life in New-York, for instance, 
 offers more, and more interesting, aspects, than life in London or Paris. Or, again, life 
 
 vol. i. — 1 
 
Introductory. 
 
 [Jan 
 
 in London and Paris is more interesting and intelligible to an American when reported 
 by an American, than by the man of any other country. America practically goes to 
 Europe with every American. We do not mean, of course, with every man whose 
 birth chanced to fall in America, and to whom Europe is Paris, and Paris a Jardin 
 Mabille, or a Magasin des Modes, but with every man who sees through “ American 
 spectacles,” as a late anonymous author expresses it. We all understand his impres- 
 sions and estimates, because they are made by a standard common to ourselves. And 
 if we add to this, the essential freshness of feeling and true poetic sense of the Ameri- 
 can, we find some reason for the opinion that not only does an American know how 
 to travel, but he knows how to tell his travels well. Hence, in a popular Magazine, 
 which is a running commentary upon the countless phenomena of the times as they 
 rise — not, as in a newspaper, in the form of direct criticism, but in the more perma- 
 nently interesting shapes of story, essay, poem and sketch — this local reality is a 
 point of the utmost importance. If there are as sharp-eyed and cunning-handed men 
 in New-Tork or Cincinnati, or New Orleans, for instance, who can walk into the 
 markets, and search all the mysteries of characteristic life in those cities, and then 
 with emphasis and skill, make all of us see as they saw, why is it not as interesting 
 as the same thing done in London 7 
 
 This is true in other spheres — of thought, as well as life. W e trust to show not 
 only the various aspects of life, but to hint at their significance. In what paper or 
 periodical do you now look to find the criticism of American thought upon the times'? 
 We hope to answer that question, too, by heaping upon our pages the results of tire 
 acutest observations, and the most trenchant thought, illustrated by whatever wealth 
 of erudition, of imagination and of experience, they may chance to possess. 
 
 A Magazine, like a poet, we know must be born and not made. That is, it must 
 be founded upon fact. No theory of what a good Magazine should be, will make a 
 Magazine good, if it be not genuine in itself and genuinely related to the time. And 
 it has been already announced in our prospectus, that we have no desire to try an ex- 
 periment. 
 
 Are we then so sure 7 Lias not the long and dreary history of Magazines opened 
 our eyes ? Is there some siren seduction in theatres and periodicals that for ever 
 woos managers and publishers to a certain destruction ? Why do we propose another 
 twelve-month voyage in pea-green covers, toward obscurity and the chaos of failures 7 
 
 These are fair and friendly questions, while we stand chatting at the portal. With 
 the obstinacy of Columbus, — if you please — we incredulously hear you. and still be- 
 lieve in the West. No alchemist, after long centuries of labor, ever discovered the 
 philosopher’s stone, nor found that any thing but genius and thrift would turn plaster 
 and paper into gold. But, if even he had withstood his consuming desire, he would 
 have perished at first of despair, as he did, at last, of disappointment. 
 
 So our Magazine is a foregone conclusion. Columbus believed in his Cathay of the 
 West — and discovered it. 
 
 We pray the reader to enter, and pardon this delay at the door. Within he will 
 find poets, wits, philosophers, critics, artists, travellers, men of erudition and science, 
 all strictly masked, as becomes worshippers of that invisible Truth which all our ef- 
 forts and aims will seek to serve. And as he turns from us to accost those masks we 
 remind the reader of the young worshipper of Isis. For in her temple at Sais, upon 
 the Nile, stood her image, for ever veiled. And when an ardent neophyte passionate- 
 ly besought that he might see her, and would take no refusal, his prayer was granted. 
 The veil was lifted, and the exceeding splendor of that beauty dazzled him to death. 
 Let it content you, ardent reader, to know that behind these masks are those whom 
 you much delight to honor — those whose names, like the fame of Isis, have gone intc 
 i©ther lands. 
 
Cuba. 
 
 3 
 
 1853.] 
 
 Finally, our Magazine shall say for itself what was said in the person of a young 
 enthusiast born into the world and determined to reform it: “ Now, though I am very 
 peaceable, and on my private account could well enough die, since it appears there was 
 some mistake in my creation, and that I have been missent to this earth, where all the 
 seats were already taken, — yet I feel called upon in behalf of rational nature, which 
 I represent, to declare to you my opinion, that, if the earth is yours, so also is it mine. 
 My genius leads me to build a different manner of life from any of yours.” 
 
 This, says Putnam’s Monthly, to its contemporaries who have already taken front 
 seats in this prosperous world. 
 
 CUBA 
 
 I ^REEDOM of discussion on every sub- 
 ject, whether foreign or domestic, is a 
 right claimed by the citizens of this re- 
 public. And it is exercised. We are 
 at peace with France: she was our ally 
 in our struggle for independence. We 
 have with her existing reciprocating trea- 
 ties. But this does not prevent the 
 freest and most forcible expressions of 
 opinion on the subject of her late revolu- 
 tions. Some of our most respectable 
 journals can scarcely find language suffi- 
 ciently strong to express their disgust of 
 the apathy of the French nation, and 
 their indignation against Louis Napoleon, 
 who is denounced as a perjured traitor, 
 murderer, and assassin. To be sure, this 
 is a business with which the French have 
 rather more to do than we, but we claim 
 the right to express our opinions for all 
 that. Indeed, notwithstanding our na- 
 tional policy not to mix or embroil our- 
 selves with the affairs of the Old World, 
 we do daily discuss them with the greatest 
 freedom. And this is right. The field of 
 man’s action and contemplation is the 
 World. We cannot, if we would, re- 
 main indifferent to what is passing in any 
 of the civilized states. One great ef- 
 fect of freedom is to fill the heart with 
 an earnest desire that every living being 
 should participate in its privileges. It is 
 this which makes us feel a lively sympa- 
 thy for the oppressed everywhere. But 
 oppressions are various. There are dif- 
 ferent aspects of the picture. One indi- 
 vidual cannot be expected to regard them 
 all. Some among us are engrossed with 
 attempts to benefit the heathen in dis- 
 tant lands ; others feel a profound inter- 
 est in the enslaved negro, at home ; oth- 
 
 ers think only of the oppressed Hunga- 
 rians, while others, still, are pitying the 
 unconscious French, or lamenting over 
 the condition of the injured Irish, or the 
 wretched operatives of Great Britain. 
 The serf of Russia, the poor Indian of 
 America, the unfortunate Pole, have also 
 friends and honest “sympathizers” among 
 us. We do more than sympathize. We 
 express our sympathy freely, boldly, with- 
 out the slightest regard to those whom 
 we consider tyrants and despots. 
 
 In the case of Hungary, the appeals of 
 a down-trodden nation found an ample 
 response in the hearts of Americans, and 
 the great Magyar was received by us 
 with the most enthusiastic appreciation. 
 Throughout the length and breadth of 
 the land there was one grand ovation to 
 Kossuth, with express reference to the 
 position he had assumed toward Austria. 
 More than that, our Government received 
 him on our shores with discharges of ord- 
 nance, and gave him an official welcome 
 to the Capitol. The reanimated leader 
 announced that he was ready to receive 
 lawful contributions in money and arms, 
 and both were freely contributed. Yet 
 Austria and the United States were at 
 peace, and treaties and diplomatic rela- 
 tions existed between them. A short 
 time before, when Ireland seemed about 
 to arouse from her state of degradation 
 and oppression, subscriptions were most 
 generously raised here to aid her chiefs in 
 their efforts, and highly respectable par- 
 ties — from among our own citizens — acted 
 as a committee to take charge of the fund 
 thus created. Yet Great Britain and the 
 United States were at peace ; the most 
 friendly relations subsisted between them ; 
 
i 
 
 Cuba. 
 
 and no one dreamed of their being dis- 
 turbed by these manifestations of indi- 
 vidual sympathy or outbursts of individ- 
 ual opinion. Farther back, how strongly 
 did we manifest our sympathy for the 
 Greeks, in their struggle for liberty; 
 how generously was our individual aid ex- 
 tended to them ; and who does not remem- 
 ber the stirring eloquence of Henry Clay 
 in their behalf, when, in his zeal for the 
 generous cause, he forgot for the time even 
 the constitutional objection against grant- 
 ing to Greece national aid. 
 
 Such instances are not confined to our 
 own experience. England enjoys constitu- 
 tional freedom, and she exercises to the 
 largest extent the rights of free discussion. 
 She too has something to sajr about Louis 
 Napoleon. She too made a hero of Kossuth, 
 and not content with that, some of her stur- 
 dy brewers taking the affair into their own 
 hands, took certainly undue liberties with 
 the person of Ilaynau. Doubtless they 
 did wrong ; they broke the laws of the 
 realm ; they committed a breach of the 
 peace ; but there was a sound and whole- 
 some indignation at the bottom, which, if it 
 does not excuse, goes far to palliate the out- 
 rage. Further than this, Great Britain 
 has expressed her sympathy loudly and 
 energetically on the side of the African ; 
 she compelled Spain to enter into a treaty 
 by which the slave-trade should be sup- 
 pressed; and she now endeavors to en- 
 force that treaty by her armed vessels of 
 war. 
 
 So for nearly all the oppressed on the 
 earth, there are ready sympathizers, here 
 and elsewhere: for the Frenchman, the 
 Hungarian, the Pole, the Sclavic serf, the 
 English operative, the Irishman, the Afri- 
 can, the Indian ; and, now that Russia is 
 casting her malign shadow eastward, for 
 the Turk also. 
 
 But there is almost within sight of our 
 own shores a province of one of the 
 monarchies of the old world whose inha- 
 bitants are suffering under greater and 
 more oppressive burthens, and are gov- 
 erned by a sway more absolute and tyran- 
 nical, than has ever been exercised against 
 Sclave. Magyar, Pole or Indian. It is 
 the Island of Cuba. We propose to 
 present its history briefly, so as to show 
 its actual condition, before taking up the 
 subject of our relations with Spain, or 
 canvassing the various collateral questions 
 which are now daily presented. 
 
 Previous to the eighteenth century, the 
 history of Cuba is principally occupied 
 with accounts of the settlements com- 
 menced by the first governor, Diego 
 Velasquez. Its advance was extremely 
 slow, and, having exhausted the native 
 Indian population — who were a docile 
 
 [Jan 
 
 and gentle race — the island was only 
 held by- Spain as a convenient military 
 and naval station on the way to the mines 
 of Mexico. Notwithstanding this, we 
 notice in the laws and municipal rights of 
 Cuba the same independent and liberal 
 spirit which prevailed in all the settlements 
 of that nation, among the Moors or else- 
 where, so far as the Spanish settlers or 
 their descendants were concerned. Even 
 in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries 
 public assemblies of citizens were held to 
 elect the members of the corporations ; 
 free and bold charges were made and 
 sustained against governors ; and no taxa- 
 tion was permitted which was not sus- 
 tained by these bodies. 
 
 In 1812 the constitution was proclaimed 
 in Spain ; the whole people of the colo- 
 nies were assimilated to the inhabitants 
 of the mother country with respect to 
 representation ; and Cuba sent her rep- 
 resentatives to the Spanish Chamber of 
 Deputies. In 1818 Senor Arango, the 
 deputy from Havana, obtained a royal or- 
 dinance for the abolition of restrictions 
 on Cuban commerce. From this period 
 we may date the prosperity of the island. 
 Before she had been a burthen to the 
 home treasury. Now she began to re- 
 mit large sums annually to the govern- 
 ment ; an army of 25,000 men, sent 
 from Spain in a miserable plight, was 
 maintained by her, and in a few years 
 * was entirely equipped, clothed and disci- 
 plined in the best manner, without ex- 
 pense to the mother country. Indeed, 
 since 1S30, in every embarrassment of 
 her government, Spain has been sup- 
 plied with means from the treasury of 
 Cuba, and it has been a reserved fund 
 for her even - pressing emergency. When 
 the civil list failed Queen Christina, Cuba 
 furnished resources for defraying the pro- 
 fuse expenditure of the palace. The con- 
 tributions wrung from the island formed 
 no small portion of the riches bequeathed 
 by Ferdinand Seventh to his rapacious 
 widow and to his reputed daughters. 
 From Cuba also were derived the means 
 of setting on foot the luckless expedition 
 of Barrados for the reconquest of Mexico ; 
 and from 1832 to 1841 it had exchanged 
 thirty-six millions of dollars against an 
 equal amount of government paper. At 
 length, so much importance was attached 
 to the revenues of this island, that they 
 served as ample guarantees for loans, for- 
 eign and domestic. The wealth, the beau- 
 tv, the fertility of Cuba proved her ruin. 
 By degrees, she came to be regarded only 
 as a machine for raising money ; and to 
 carry out the purposes of the home ad- 
 ministration to the fullest extent, it was 
 necessary to destroy the privileges and 
 
1853.] 
 
 Cuba. 
 
 the liberties which the Cubans had here- 
 tofore enjoyed. 
 
 Although the standard of Independ- 
 ence was raised across the Gulf of Mexi- 
 co, and Cuba was invited to join in its 
 defence, and although Mexico and Co- 
 lombia prepared an expedition which 
 should give liberty to the island, the in- 
 habitants shut their eyes to the allur- 
 ing prospects, and maintained an unwa- 
 vering loyalty. They were repaid for 
 their fidelity as tyrants are apt to re- 
 ward such conduct. On the plea that 
 disturbances in South America might 
 require the exercise of arbitrary power 
 by the governor of Cuba, in 1825, a 
 royal order was issued, and it is still in 
 full force, addressed to the Captain Gen- 
 eral, which after the usual preamble, pro- 
 ceeds as follows : “ The king, our master, 
 in order to keep in quietude his faithful 
 inhabitants, confine within the proper li- 
 mits such as would deviate from the path 
 of honor, and punish such as, forgetting 
 their duties, would dare commit excesses 
 in opposition to our wise laws ; and being 
 desirous of preventing the embarrass- 
 ments which, under extraordinary circum- 
 stances, might arise from a division in tho 
 command, and from the complicated au- 
 thority and powers of the different offi- 
 cers of government, for the important end 
 of maintaining in that island his sover- 
 eign authority and the public quiet : it has 
 pleased his majesty, in conformity with 
 the advice of his council of ministers, to 
 authorize your excellency, fully investing 
 you with the whole extent of powers 
 
 WHICH BY THE ROYAL ORDINANCES ARE 
 GRANTED TO THE GOVERNORS OF BESIEGED 
 
 towns. In consequence thereof, his majes- 
 ty most amply and unrestrictedly author- 
 izes your excellency not only to remove 
 from that Island such persons , holding 
 offices from Government or not, whatever 
 their occupation, rank, class, or situat ion 
 in life may be, whose residence there you 
 may believe prejudicial, or whose public 
 or private conduct may appear suspi- 
 cious to you, but also to suspend the exe- 
 cution of whatever royal orders or gener- 
 al decrees in all the different branches of 
 tDi Administration, or in any part of them, 
 as your excellency may think conducive 
 to the royal service.” 
 
 The sad effects of this royal order were 
 not immediately felt. The island was at 
 that time governed by General Vives, 
 whose policy, during the whole of a long 
 administration, was mild and conciliating ; 
 and he was so far from putting into execu- 
 tion the terrible authority with which he 
 was endowed, as to act on his wise convic- 
 tion, that it would be equally disadvan- 
 tageous to Cuba and to Spain. This was, 
 
 however, merely the good foitune of the 
 inhabitants ; the fearful decree stood, in 
 all its terrors, only waiting the presence 
 of a despot to carry it out in its fullest 
 force. Such an one was found in tk c per- 
 son of Don Miguel Tacon, who, two j ears 
 after the retirement of Vives, was ap- 
 pointed Captain General. This was in 
 1834. It should meanwhile be borne in 
 mind, that during the several crises in 
 Spain, from 1808 to 1837, — and they 
 were seven in number, — we find the “ al- 
 ways faithful island of Cuba” receiving 
 and promptly obeying the decrees of the 
 crown. Throughout all the disturbances, 
 in every revolution or change of ministry, 
 Cuba remained the same, always loyal, 
 obeditiit, uncomplaining. 
 
 From the accession of Tacon may be 
 dated a series of injuries, cruelties and op- 
 pressions, against the unfortunate island, 
 unparalleled in the history of civilized com- 
 munities. This man’s administration has 
 been frequently lauded by strangers, who 
 regarded him in the light of a reformer 
 of the social disorders which prevailed, at 
 that time, to a frightful extent. Indeed, 
 his coming was hailed with joy by the 
 mass of proprietors, while every well-dis- 
 posed person beheld with gratification his 
 energies directed to prevent and punish 
 robbery and assassination ; to the destruc- 
 tion of dogs in the streets ; the cleansing and 
 macadamizing of the principal thorough- 
 fares ; the erection of markets, a prison, 
 a theatre, &c., &c. But if Tacon exer- 
 cised a strong and arbitrary will in carry- 
 ing out these projects, he soon displayed 
 the same qualities in oppressing persons 
 of every class. The fact is, he was a ty- 
 rant. He possessed a jealous nature, was 
 short-sighted and narrow-minded, and 
 had an uncommon stubbornness of cha- 
 racter. Never satiated with power, he 
 found in the royal order of 1825 ample 
 authority for every species of despotism, 
 lie knew that all they required of him at 
 home was to extort as much money as 
 possible from the inhabitants of the is- 
 land : for the rest, no questions would be 
 asked. It was through his influence that 
 the wealthy portion of the community 
 was divested of the privileges conferred 
 on them by the estatuto. He even de- 
 prived the old municipalities of Havana 
 of the power of naming the under-com- 
 missaries of police. To sustain his abso- 
 lute government by trampling on every 
 institution, was a necessary consequncee 
 of his first violent and unjustifiable act. 
 In order to obtain credit in the manage- 
 ment of the police, he displayed a des- 
 potic and even brutal activity in the mode 
 of exacting, from the inferior officers, dis- 
 tributed in the several wards of the city 
 
6 
 
 Cuba. 
 
 [Jan 
 
 under personal responsibility, the appre- 
 hension and summary prosecution of cri- 
 minals., They soon found that there 
 would be no complaint, provided they 
 acted vigorously in bringing up prison- 
 ers. So far from presuming their inno- 
 .'i-ncc, or requiring proof of their crimes, 
 those who were once arrested were put 
 to the negative and difficult task of pro- 
 ving their innocence. The more unwar- 
 rantable the acts of his subalterns, the 
 more acceptable to him, since they, in his 
 opinion, but displayed the energy of his au- 
 thority. They trembled in his presence, 
 and left it to persecute, to invent accusa- 
 tions, to imprison, and to spread terror 
 and desolation among the families of the 
 island. It is but just to add, that banditti 
 and thieves and professed gamblers were 
 terrified by his sweeping scythe, and be- 
 came much more modest than they had 
 been during the brief administration of 
 the weak and infirm General Ricafort, his 
 predecessor. The timid and short-sight- 
 ed merchant or planter who perceived this 
 reform, did not comprehend or appreciate 
 the illegality of the system, nor its per- 
 nicious effects on the future destinies of 
 the country, and was the first to justify 
 the man who interposed himself between 
 the subject and the crown, not permitting 
 any petitions contrary to his pleasure. 
 
 The consequence of all this was. a reg- 
 ular system of espionage. The prisoners 
 were distributed in the castles, because 
 the jails were insufficient to contain them. 
 In the dungeons were lodged nearly six 
 hundred persons, the causes of whose de- 
 tention nobody knew — a fact authentically 
 proved by a casual circumstance. In 
 about eighteen months of his administra- 
 tion Tacon caused one hundred and ninety 
 persons to be deported. Resides these, 
 seven hundred and twenty were sent 
 away under sentence of banishment for 
 life, while in the Gallera. vast multitudes 
 of prisoners, of all grades, the innocent 
 and the guilty, were huddled together in 
 one long narrow hall. The misery of this 
 awful place cannot be exaggerated. Sehor 
 Tanco styles it “ un infierno de immorali- 
 dad.” Tacon’s only object in building it 
 was to rid the government house of the 
 fumes of pestilence which were engen- 
 dered in the dungeons of that palace in 
 which he lived. Not content with these 
 acts ot horrible cruelty, he destroyed 
 at a single blow all freedom of discussion 
 in the municipal body, usurped its powers, 
 and frightened away such members as he 
 thought would not bow to his will. Du- 
 ring the government of Tacon the act of 
 exclusion was passed at Madrid, which 
 shut out the unfortunate island from all 
 representation in the Cortes. This was 
 
 in February, 1837, and the act, it should 
 be borne in mind, was in direct violation 
 of the new constitution, which had just 
 been adopted, the 28th article of which 
 stated that the basis was the same for na- 
 tional representation in both hemispheres, 
 while by the 29th article, the basis in 
 Cuba was the population of the island, 
 composed of persons who, in both lines, 
 were of Spanish origin. The rejection of 
 the Cuban deputies at Madrid completed 
 this rapid enslavement. The Cubans 
 were henceforth cut off from even the 
 possibility of relief. From the same pe- 
 riod also may be dated a new series of 
 wrongs, injuries and oppressions against 
 her unfortunate inhabitants. The Spanish 
 Cortes, jealous of the extensive trade of 
 Cuba with the United States, had already 
 imposed a duty of nearly ten dollars a bar- 
 rel on flour imported from them into Cuba. 
 This was now raised to about ten dollars 
 and three-quarters, thus placing the enor- 
 mous tax of 150 per cent, on the first 
 necessary of life. When it is considered 
 that all articles of primary necessity come 
 from abroad, and that they are all enor- 
 mously taxed, this one item of her tariff 
 will be readily appreciated, both in itself 
 and in its relations. At the same time the 
 tonnage dues of Cuban vessels were placed 
 nearly on the same footing with those of 
 foreign vessels. This was of course ruin- 
 ous to her merchant marine, and was es- 
 pecially aggravating, since the island of- 
 fered vast advantages in her fine forests 
 for shipping, and up to 1798 had furnished 
 timber for the construction, in the Arsenal 
 at Havana, of one hundred and twenty- 
 five vessels — fifty-three of which were 
 frigates, and six three-deckers. This line 
 of policy once adopted, it was carried out 
 with relentless vigor. The home govern- 
 ment now considered, not how large a 
 revenue the island yielded, but how it was 
 possible to get more from it. Ingenuity 
 was racked to devise new objects and 
 measures of taxation. The list of the dif- 
 ferent Cuban taxes is a curiosity of itself. 
 The prime ministers of other monarchies 
 might learn a lesson from it, were it not 
 that there is no government which would 
 dare avail itself of such an enormous sys- 
 tem of oppression. 
 
 The pursuit of robbery and plunder — 
 it can be called by no milder name — has 
 been reduced to a complete system. 
 Each official reserves to himself a large 
 sum from the amount wrung from the 
 inhabitants, so that while the revenue 
 of the island, from the various sources of 
 taxation, must be at least twenty-five 
 millions of dollars (it is ordinarily incor- 
 rectly stated at about twelve millions), 
 only about three millions find their way to 
 
Cuba. 
 
 7 
 
 1853.J 
 
 the Spanish treasury. Tn the mean time 
 the slave-trade is carried on as extensively 
 as ever, and with greater cruelty. Spain 
 will not abolish it. She is determined, in 
 spite of treaties, to pour annually into 
 Cuba a fierce black population which shall 
 intimidate the Creoles from any attempt at 
 freedom. This, and this only, is the secret 
 of the unflinching prosecution of the slave- 
 trade in the face of treaties, and contrary 
 to the wishes of the Creole population. 
 It has been said that the continuance 
 of the traffic is owing to the enormous 
 bribes to the Captain-General, of thirty- 
 two dollars for each slave, and that this 
 is the only reason it is not abolished. It 
 is ridiculous even to suppose that Spain, 
 if she had no other object but to enrich 
 an unscrupulous official, would run the 
 risk of continually breaking her treaty 
 with so powerful a nation as England, 
 always on the alert if possible to enforce it. 
 
 But that no one may have a doubt of 
 the ultimate object of Spain in constantly 
 flooding Cuba with Africans, we translate 
 the following from the Heraldo of Ma- 
 drid: — “It is well for all to know, whether 
 native or foreign, that the Island of Cuba 
 can only be Spanish or African. When 
 the day comes when the Spaniards should 
 be found to abandon her, they null do so 
 by bequeathing their sway to the blacks, 
 just as a commander abandons a battery 
 to the enemy after defending it as long 
 as possible, but taking care, above every- 
 thing. to spike the cannon, that the adver- 
 sary shall not make use of them.” While 
 the Spanish organ in New-York, the Cro- 
 nica, holds the following language : — “ If, 
 in consequence of the war, signs should 
 be manifested that the hostile, elements, 
 now subdued by the interests of our 
 common race, were to be let loose, 
 Spain would arm her Africans, and 
 would guide them as auxiliaries as long 
 as it were in her power to do so, and 
 would grant them full liberty as a re- 
 ward for their aid, when she should per- 
 ceive that these means were not suffi- 
 ciently powerful to enable her longer to 
 resist J” 
 
 It will be seen that Spain has not only 
 deprived Cuba of all means of redress, 
 but also that she openly avows a deter- 
 mination to hold her in chains by the 
 g most terrible of all menaces, that of en- 
 couraging a servile insurrection. 
 
 But to proceed : The press, under the 
 most infamous and servile censorship, is a 
 weapon wielded only against her rights. 
 A petition, signed by more than two, is 
 condemned as a seditious act. The cor- 
 porations, as we have stated, have no 
 longer a representative character, and they 
 are under the immediate control of the 
 
 Captain-General, who appoints their mem- 
 bers, and dictates at will their resolutions. 
 The Board of Improvement has become a 
 mere arm of the government, to sanction 
 despotic acts, to support additional taxes, 
 and to introduce mixed races into the po- 
 pulation. All who have dared to oppose 
 these measures are forced into obscurity, 
 or persecuted, or expatriated. 
 
 The Creoles are excluded from the army, 
 the judiciary, the treasury, and the cus- 
 toms, and from all influential or lucrative 
 positions; private speculations and mono- 
 polies are favored and established with a 
 view of taking from them their means of 
 wealth ; the poor in the country are com- 
 pelled to serve in the precarious police, 
 which is thus sustained ; and fines are 
 imposed, and forced aid for the repairing 
 of the roads, according to the will of the 
 officer in command, or the pliancy of the 
 individual. 
 
 The twenty-five millions of taxes, after 
 deducting what is embezzled by the offi- 
 cials, are employed in supporting an army 
 of twenty thousand men, and likewise the 
 entire navy of Spain, in the paying of 
 a vast number of officers residing either 
 on the island or at home ; and in remit- 
 tances for general purposes. In spite of the 
 enormous tithe collected, it is only by sub- 
 scriptions that the inhabitants can secure 
 to themselves temples for their worship, 
 or cemeteries for their dead ; and for a 
 baptism or a burial, or to obtain any of 
 the consolations of religion, the care of 
 which is indirectly under the all-absorb- 
 ing military authority, a large additional 
 sum must be paid. The military gov- 
 ernment has taken from the other political 
 and administrative branches the control 
 of education, in order to restrict, to limit, 
 and to embarrass it. The tributary sys- 
 tem has drained many sources of wealth. 
 The flour monopoly has put down the 
 cultivation of coffee ; and the grazing of 
 cattle has become a ruinous business from 
 the tax on slaughtered animals. 
 
 Every inhabitant is compelled to ask 
 for a license, and pay for the same, when 
 he wants to go from the place of his resi- 
 dence. No citizen, however peaceful and 
 respectable he may be, is allowed to walk 
 through the city after ten o’clock in the 
 evening, unless he carry with him a lan- 
 tern, and obtains leave successively of all 
 the watchmen on his way, the infraction 
 of which law is punished with immediate 
 arrest, and a fine of eight dollars. He is not 
 permitted to lodge any person in his house 
 for a single night, be the same either na- 
 tive or foreigner, his friend or a mem- 
 ber of his family, without giving informa- 
 tion of the fact, under the penalty of a 
 like punishment. He cannot remove his 
 
Cuba :. 
 
 residence from one house into another, 
 without giving notice, previously, of his 
 intention, to the authorities, under the 
 penalty of a heavy fine. An order has 
 been made which in effect prohibits pa- 
 rents from sending their children to the 
 United States for purposes of education, 
 and such as wish to do so are driven to 
 the expedient of proving or feigning ill 
 health in their children, in order to ob- 
 tain passports for them. 
 
 This view of Cuban affairs is not derived 
 from Cubans alone, nor from our own 
 countrymen. English and F rench writers 
 on the subject sustain it fully. A work 
 on Cuba was published in London in 
 1849, by Mr. R. R. Madden (author of 
 the well-known book on the Infirmities 
 of Genius), who held, by appointment 
 from the British government, the office 
 of Acting Commissioner of Arbitration, 
 under the treaty relative to the slave- 
 trade with Spain, during the years 1836, 
 ’7, 5 8 and ’9, and who claimed to have 
 closely investigated the condition of the 
 island. Mr. Madden remarks : “ The po- 
 licy of Spain was renewed of considering 
 every species of Cuban produce as a com- 
 modity of a distant region, that it was 
 legitimate to burthen with oppressive 
 taxes and then very forcibly depicts 
 through several pages the “ violence and 
 rapacity of the governors of Cuba,” and 
 sums up the case very concisely as fol- 
 lows : “ The Spanish government regards 
 this colony as its property. It thinks 
 the smaller quantity of liberty it can 
 give to Cuba, the greater quantity of 
 money it can take from it.” Mr. Robert 
 Baird, an eminent Scotch barrister, who 
 published two volumes in Edinburgh and 
 London in 1850. on the West Indies and 
 North America, records his testimony as 
 follows : “ The Governor or Captain- 
 
 General of Cuba, may be said to enjoy 
 despotic power. The present Governor, 
 Roncali, Count of Alcoy, since his arrival 
 in the island, has constituted himself a 
 supreme tribunal, having a complete ju- 
 risdiction of all cases ! I had no oppor- 
 tunity of witnessing his Excellency’s 
 freaks in this so-called summary court 
 of justice ; but if half that I heard of 
 it were true, it must have been a strange 
 sight, in a civilized country, to see a com- 
 paratively illiterate soldier professing to 
 decide of his own knowledge and judg- 
 ment, and after a few minutes, questions 
 involving intricate facts, disputed rights, 
 and important principles. Indeed, it is 
 said that the plaintiff, the person who 
 first applies for Count Roncali’s aid, has 
 always the best chance. 
 
 For a confirmation of Mr. Baird’s re- 
 marks, and the justice of his impressions, 
 
 [Jan 
 
 by a French author, the reader is referred 
 to an article entitled, L’lle de Cuba, par F. 
 Clave, Revue des Deux Mondes, Juin, 
 1847. 
 
 If a true statement has been given of 
 the situation of Cuban affairs, Cuba has 
 a right to attempt her freedom. Taking 
 what has been said for truth, a case is 
 made out which would justify Cuba by the 
 unanimous voice of mankind for the act 
 of revolution. For it is a safe proposition 
 to submit to the civilized world, that no 
 nation shall oppress by any arbitrary or 
 tyrannical despotism a dependent country 
 or colony. Although the means of re- 
 dress may not always be at hand, no one 
 disputes the right of the oppressed to 
 seek for or to use them. 
 
 But how do the inhabitants of Cuba 
 regard their situation ? Are they content 
 to bear their chains ? Have they no idea 
 that they are oppressed and trampled on? 
 If they are alive to all these grievances, 
 why do they not raise the standard of 
 independence, proclaim themselves a free 
 people, and do as our thirteen colomes 
 did in 1776? There is no doubt — it can- 
 not, indeed, be questioned — that since 
 1836-7, a general feeling of disaffection, 
 we may say of hatred, toward her op- 
 pressors, has pervaded the whole Cre- 
 ole population of Cuba. Mr. Madden, 
 whom we have before quoted, remarks, 
 “All the inteiligence, education, worth, 
 and influence of the white natives of the 
 island (Creoles), have been enlisted against 
 the government of Spain, and an intense 
 desire for independence excited .” He 
 adds further, “it is needless for recent 
 political writers of Cuba to den} - the ex- 
 istence of a strong feeling of animosity 
 to the mother country, and a longing de- 
 sire for separation. From my own inti- 
 mate knowledge of these facts I speak 
 of their existence Let it be borne in 
 mind that this language is from an Eng- 
 lish official, who was four years a resident in 
 Cuba, and who manifests strong jealousy 
 of the United States. That the Creoles 
 do not attempt revolution, is not so much 
 from dread of the powerful army which is 
 maintained in the island, as from their 
 apprehensions of the colored population, 
 and that Spain would make good her 
 threat to arm the slaves against their 
 masters. We doubt if such tremendous 
 odds as the unfortunate Creole has to 
 contemplate, in view of a revolutionary 
 movement, would deter the Saxon from 
 asserting and battling for his liberty. 
 But the Cuban character is puerile and 
 submissive compared with the hardy bra- 
 very which nerves the other race. So 
 that while they might risk life, pro- 
 perty, everything, on a fair venture for In- 
 
1853.] 
 
 Cuba. 
 
 9 
 
 dependence, they shrink from encountering 
 what seems to them an irresistible force. 
 And perhaps, as they are situated, it is 
 irresistible. Our ancestors had an im- 
 mense country to fall back upon ; they 
 could retreat into impenetrable forests, 
 or fill mountain passes, or take advantage 
 of the enemy’s ignorance of their geogra- 
 phical resources. They had no fears of 
 the rising of a fierce black population, 
 nearly double their own, in numbers, 
 and incited to hostility by the mother coun- 
 try ready to furnish them with all the 
 means of war. On the contrary, the 
 Cuban inhabits an island which, al- 
 though considerable in extent, is but 
 little over fifty miles in mean breadth. 
 Hemmed in by the sea, a terrible enemy 
 within his gates, scores of soldiers ready 
 to overrun his territory, to pillage, to 
 ravage, and destroy, his situation is cal- 
 culated to challenge our commiseration 
 more than that of any other subject of op- 
 pression in the world. The very apparent 
 hopelessness of his condition adds to his 
 claims upon our sympathy. 
 
 We have given a brief abstract of the 
 political history of Cuba, and presented 
 the actual condition of the Creole popu- 
 lation, without even a reference to any ex- 
 traneous question. We have stated the 
 case between Spain and Cuba just as we 
 would one between Austria and Hungary. 
 Thus far, a stranger unacquainted with 
 geographical divisions, would not know 
 but the island was situated in the Medi- 
 terranean instead of the Caribbean Sea, 
 or lay at the entrance of St. G.eorge’s 
 Channel, instead of the mouth of the 
 Mississippi. 
 
 We have seen that the position of 
 the Creoles of Cuba is that of an oppress- 
 ed and degraded race, fully sensible of 
 their wrongs ; that they now regard the 
 power which oppresses them with detes- 
 tation ; that, notwithstanding their ear- 
 nest desire to be free, they are kept under 
 by the terrors of a servile insurrection, 
 and the fear of relentless persecution. 
 But do the Cubans despair altogether of 
 liberty? Have they no hope from any 
 ^ quarter? or, if from any, from what quar- 
 ter ? There is no doubt that they look 
 to the United States, and to the United 
 Slates only, as their ultimate hope and 
 salvation from the cruelties of Spain. 
 American authority on this point may 
 not be disinterested; it is more satisfac- 
 tory to quote again from Mr. Madden, 
 who strongly opposes the annexation of 
 Cuba to the United States, while, at the 
 same time, he avows very candidly that 
 he did his utmost to prevail on England, 
 in 1837 (the particular period before re- 
 ferred to, when the Cuban deDuties were 
 
 rejected), to guarantee the island from the 
 intervention of any foreign power; and 
 he adds, “ if England could have been in- 
 duced to do so. the white inhabitants were 
 prepared to throw off the Spanish yoke .” 
 He remarks very naively, in a foot-note ap- 
 pended to this assertion, that he “ pestered 
 his superiors with his opinions on the sub- 
 ject in 1836-7-8-9, and he could say con- 
 scientiously tli at he had freed his mind in 
 regard to it, if the star-spangled banner 
 were floating to-morrow on the Moro Cas- 
 tle, or flaunting in the breeze at St. Jago 
 de Cuba.” Mr. Madden proceeds to ob- 
 serve that “ the leading men of the Cre- 
 ole, or white Cuban people, had then 
 (1837) little anxiety or fear as to the re- 
 sult of an effort for independence. A 
 liberal allotment of land in the island for 
 the soldiers who might be disposed to 
 join the independent party, it was ex- 
 pected, was a prospect which would suf- 
 fice to gain over the army, nominally 
 consisting of 20,000 men (Spaniards), in 
 the island ; but the actual number of na- 
 tive Spaniards did not exceed 16,000 men. 
 The chief apprehension that was enter- 
 tained was of the slaves, of their taking 
 advantage of the revolution to get rid of 
 all the whites, both Spanish and Creole. 
 But the hope of obtaining any guarantee 
 from England was not likely to be real- 
 ized, and the terrible fear of a rising of 
 the slave population, gaining ground the 
 more as time was spent in deliberation, at 
 length all thoughts of independence, were 
 merged in consideration of interests that 
 were thought of more immediate import- 
 ance — those, namely, of life and property. 
 Spain is indebted to these considerations, 
 and to these alone, for the retention of the 
 island of Cuba, ever since the period I have 
 referred to.” Mr. Madden continues, “ It is 
 not to England, now that the white na- 
 tives of Cuba look for aid or countenance 
 in any future effort for independence. It 
 is to America they now turn their eyes , 
 and America takes good care to respond 
 to the wishes that are secretly expressed 
 in these regards.” The writer, after par- 
 tially exonerating the Government of the 
 United States from any agency in the 
 matter, goes on: “This feeling, I am 
 sorry to say, had already begun to gain 
 ground among the intelligent and educated 
 class of Creole Cubans, in 1839, before I 
 left the island. All the communications 
 I have had with natives of Cuba, of the 
 class 1 refer to, of late years in other 
 countries, and in the present year par- 
 ticularly, would lead me to imagine that 
 the desire to link the fortunes of Cuba 
 and the United Slates is now very gene- 
 rally and strongly felt.'’’' Mr. Madden 
 then proceeds to deprecate such an event 
 
10 
 
 Cuba. 
 
 at considerable length, which makes his 
 testimony on the point before us unques- 
 tionable. He next shows the reason why 
 Cuba looks with hope if not with confidence 
 to the United States; “the property of 
 the island,” he says, “ has derived no small 
 advantage from the numerous American 
 establishments in it. Improved modes of 
 agriculture, of fabrication, of conveyance, 
 were introduced by the Americans. I was 
 present at the opening of the first railway, 
 from Havana to Guines, in 1837. To 
 American enterprise and energy, solely, 
 
 I have reason to know, this great under- 
 taking was indebted.” And further on : 
 
 “ The substitution, in Cuba, of the old 
 grinding-mill, rudely constructed of wood, 
 by steam-engine machinery, is also chiefly 
 due to the Americans. To them, there- 
 fore, Cuba is indebted for the various im- 
 provements in the fabrication of sugar, and 
 the modes of conveying the produce of its 
 plantations, which enable the proprietors to 
 compete successfully with those ofthe Eng- 
 lish colonies. Cuba, ever since I knew it, 
 has been slowly but steadily becoming 
 Americanized .” That we may present fur- 
 ther evidence from a similarly independent 
 foreign source, we quote from a work pub- 
 lished in London, in 1851, entitled “ The 
 United States and Cuba,” by the late 
 John Glanville Taylor, written with re- 
 markable candor and correctness. “ Every 
 step of progression,” says this author, 
 “ which Cuba has made, every undertak- 
 ing which has been projected and accom- 
 plished, every opposition to and breaking 
 through of the mists of Spanish prej udice, 
 has been carried out by Anglo-Saxon en- 
 terprise. Her mines, her railroads, her 
 improvements in machinery and agricul- 
 ture, are all due to it, and it is only by 
 continually pushing and driving on their 
 part, that the Spanish authorities can be 
 coerced, as it were, into abating a jot of 
 their old fashions and policies. They see, 
 or ought to see by this time, that it was 
 a continuance in them which lost them 
 all their other possessions, and would also 
 lose them Cuba ; they are letting in light 
 now, it is true, but it is not of their own 
 kindling , and I have reason to know that 
 even the mighty engine of the press is 
 carried on and worked by American en- 
 terprise, and that the very types are cast 
 in the United States. Ominous sign ! If 
 these improvements in Cuba were due to 
 the exertions of a regenerated race of 
 Spaniards alone, we might yet hope ; but, 
 with such facts before us, unless some- 
 thing extremely unlikely should occur, I 
 can see but one end.” 
 
 Considerable sensation has lately been 
 excited by the publication of the official 
 papers relative to the policy of our gov- 
 
 [Jan 
 
 ernment in regard to the island of Cuba 
 for the last thirty years. A great many 
 have condemned this publication as ex- 
 ceedingly unwise and injudicious at the 
 present juncture. On the contrary, we are 
 glad that the whole story is out. We 
 do not believe in any secret policy what- 
 ever. Honesty and straightforwardness 
 require no concealment. Only rogues 
 should dread the publicity of their actions. 
 We hold in contempt the hackneyed doc- 
 trine of diplomacy which, in its tortuous 
 and detestable course, winds snake-like 
 towards its object. The diplomatist fears 
 everything which seems to be honest and 
 outspoken, as if the intercourse between 
 governments should be marked step by 
 step by cunning intrigue. Fair, open, 
 and direct dealing between individuals 
 is everywhere commended. Even the sen- 
 sible knave learns to exclaim that honesty 
 is the best 'policy. This is quite as true 
 of intercourse between nations — a fact 
 which we commend to diplomatists gener- 
 ally, while we avow our conviction that 
 the sooner the present system, known by 
 the name diplomacy, is abolished, the bet- 
 ter. A word about these official docu- 
 ments. They do not present any new 
 facts. They only exhibit the course of 
 diplomatic transactions. Everybody knew 
 that the United States had regarded Cuba 
 for many years with eager interest ; that 
 for thirty years she has declared that from 
 reasons of self-preservation she would not 
 permit Spain to part with Cuba to any 
 other European power ; that she was con- 
 tent, so long as it remained subject to 
 Spain ; that England has intrigued more 
 or less to achieve the independence of 
 Cuba, and that President Polk offered one 
 hundred millions of dollars for the island. 
 These facts, we say, were all known 
 before the publication of the official pst- 
 pers, but the dates and attending circum- 
 stances we get more particularly from 
 them. We cannot however overlook the 
 clear and elaborate correspondence on this 
 subject of John Quincy Adams while Sec- 
 retary of State. We commend the whole 
 to the perusal of the reader as indicating 
 a manly avowal of opinions and a for- 
 cible defence of them. We quote from 
 his letters to Mr. Forsyth, as follows, un- 
 der date of April 28, 1823 : 
 
 “In the war between France and Spain, 
 now commencing, other interests, pecu- 
 liarly ours, will, in all probability, be 
 deeply involved. Whatever may be the 
 issue of this war, as between those two 
 European powers, it may be taken for 
 granted that the dominion of Spain upon 
 the American continents, North and 
 South, is irrevocably gone. But the is- 
 lands of Cuba and Porto Rico still re- 
 
Cuba. 
 
 11 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 main nominally, and so far really, depen- 
 dent upon her, that she yet possesses the 
 power of transferring her own dominion 
 over them, together with the possession of 
 them, to otiiers. These islands, from 
 their local position and natural appenda- 
 ges to the North American continent, and 
 one of them, Cuba, almost in sight of our 
 shores, from a multitude of considerations 
 has become an object of transcendent im- 
 portance to the commercial and political 
 interests of our Union. Its commanding 
 position, with reference to the Gulf of 
 Mexico and the West India seas; the 
 character of its population, its situation 
 midway between our Southern coast and 
 the Island of St. Domingo, its safe and 
 capacious harbor of the Havana, fronting 
 a long line of our shores destitute of the 
 same advantage ; the nature of its pro- 
 ductions and of its wants furnishing the 
 supplies and needing the returns of a com- 
 merce immensely profitable and mutually 
 beneficial, give it an importance in the 
 sum of our national interests with which 
 that of no other foreign territory can be 
 compared, and little inferior to that which 
 binds the different members of this Union 
 together. Such indeed, are, between the 
 interests of that island and of this coun- 
 try, the geographical, commercial, moral 
 and political relations formed by nature, 
 gathering, in the process of time, and even 
 now verging to maturity, that, in looking 
 forward to the probable course of events 
 for the short period of half a century, it 
 is scarcely possible to resist the conviction 
 that the annexation of Cuba to our feder- 
 al republic will be indispensable to the 
 continuance and integrity of the Union 
 itself. It is obvious, however, that for 
 this event we are not yet prepared. Nu- 
 merous and formidable objections to the 
 extension of our territorial dominions be- 
 yond sea present themselves to the first 
 contemplation of the subject; obstacles to 
 the system of policy by which alone that 
 result can be compassed and maintained 
 are to be foreseen and surmounted, both 
 * from at home and abroad ; but there are 
 laws of political as well as of physical 
 gravitation ; and if an apple, severed by 
 the tempest from its native tree, cannot 
 choose but fall to the ground, Cuba, for- 
 cibly disjointed from its own unnatural 
 connection with Spain, and incapable of 
 self-support, can gravitate only towards 
 the North American Union, which, by the 
 same law of nature, cannot cast her off 
 from its bosom. 
 
 “ In any other state of things than that 
 which springs from this incipient war be- 
 tween France and Spain, these considera- 
 tions would be premature. They are 
 now merely touched upon to illustrate the 
 
 position that in the war opening upon 
 Europe the United States have deep and 
 important interests involved peculiarly 
 their own — the condition of Cuba cannot 
 but depend upon the issue of this war. 
 As an integral part of the Spanish terri- 
 tories, Cuba has been formally and sol- 
 emnly invested with the liberties of the 
 Spanish constitution. To destroy those 
 liberties, and to restore in the stead of 
 that constitution the dominion of the 
 Bourbon race, is the avowed object of this 
 new invasion of the Peninsula. There 
 is too much reason to apprehend that, in 
 Spain itself, this unhallowed purpose will 
 be attended with immediate, or at least 
 temporary, success. The constitution of 
 Spain will be demolished by the armies of 
 the Holy Alliance, and the Spanish nation 
 will again bow the neck to the yoke of big- 
 otry and despotic sway. Whether the pur- 
 pose of France or of her continental allies 
 extend to the subjugation of the remaining 
 Ultra Marine possessions of Spain or not, 
 has not yet been sufficiently disclosed. 
 
 “ But to confine ourselves to that which 
 immediately concerns us — the condition of 
 the island of Cuba — we know that the 
 republican spirit of freedom prevails among 
 its inhabitants. The liberties of the con- 
 stitution are to them rights in possession ; 
 nor is it to be presumed that they will be 
 willing to surrender them because they 
 may be extinguished by foreign violence 
 in the parent country. As Spanish terri- 
 tory, the island will be liable to invasion 
 from F ranee during the war ; and the only 
 reasons for doubting whether the attempt 
 will be made, are the probable incompe- 
 tency of the French maritime force to 
 effect the conquest, and the probability 
 that its accomplishment would be resisted 
 by Great Britain. In the meantime, and 
 at all events, the condition of the island, 
 in regard to that of its inhabitants, is a 
 condition of great, imminent and compli- 
 cated danger ; and without resorting to 
 speculation upon what such a state of 
 things must produce upon a people so sit- 
 uated, we know that its approach has al- 
 ready had a powerful effect upon them, and 
 that the question, what are they to do 
 upon contingencies daily pressing upon 
 them and ripening into reality, has for the 
 last twelve months constantly excited 
 their attention and stimulated them to ac- 
 tion. Were the population of the island 
 of one blood and color, there could be no 
 doubt or hesitation with regard to the 
 course which they would pursue, as dic- 
 tated by their interests and their rights ; 
 the invasion of Spain by France would be 
 the signal for their declaration of inde- 
 pendence. That even in their present 
 state it will be imposed upon them as a 
 
12 
 
 Cuba. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 necessity, is not unlikely ; but among all 
 their reflecting men it is admitted as a 
 maxim fundamental to all deliberation 
 upon their future condition, that they are 
 not competent to a system of permanent 
 sell dependence ; they must rely for the 
 support of protection upon some force from 
 without ; and, in the event of the over- 
 throw of the Spanish constitution, that 
 support can no longer be expected from 
 Spam — their only alternative of depend- 
 ence must be upon Great Britain or upon 
 the United States. Hitherto the wishes 
 of this government have been that the 
 connexion between Cuba and Spain should 
 continue as it has existed for several years ; 
 these wishes are known to the principal 
 inhabitants of the island, and instructions, 
 copies of which are now furnished you, 
 were some months since transmitted to 
 Mr. Forsyth, authorizing him in a suitable 
 manner to communicate them to the Span- 
 ish government. These wishes still con- 
 tinue so far as they can be indulged with 
 a rational foresight of events beyond our 
 control , but for which it is our duty to be 
 prepared. If a government is to be im- 
 posed by foreign violence upon the Spanish 
 nation, and the liberties which they have 
 asserted by their constitution, are to be 
 crashed, it isneitherto beexpected nor de- 
 sired that the people of Cuba , far from 
 the reach of the oppressors of Spain, 
 should submit to be governed by them. 
 Should the cause of Spain herself, issue 
 more propitiously than from its present 
 prospects can be anticipated, it is obvious 
 that the trial through which she must 
 pass at home, and the final loss of all her 
 dominions on the American continents, will 
 leave her unable to extend to the island 
 of Cuba that protection necessary for its 
 internal security and its outward defence.” 
 
 We have previously shown how Spain 
 was enabled to retain Cuba, notwithstand- 
 ing the numerous revolutions through 
 which she passed ; and we cannot add 
 anything to the clear statements of Mr. 
 Adams relative to the policy of our gov- 
 ernment on the subject. 
 
 We may now lay down the following 
 propositions regarding Cuba. She is op- 
 pressed beyond any parallel in history. 
 She dreads and hates her oppressor. She 
 longs for freedom. She looks for aid to the 
 United States, to which she is indebted 
 for nearly all her late improvements. She 
 has been gradually becoming American- 
 ized for the last fifteen years. While the 
 government of the United States has de- 
 clared that it would not consent to her 
 transfer to any other European power, but 
 was content that she should remain, as 
 she is, subject to Spain, it has still desired 
 to purchase the island, and Spain has re- 
 
 fused to sell it. Finally, France and Eng- 
 land have invited the United States to be- 
 come a party with them in a convention, 
 by which the three powers should sever- 
 ally and collectively disclaim, now and for 
 the future, all intention to obtain posses- 
 sion of the island of Cuba, and by which 
 they should also be bound to discounte- 
 nance all attempts to that effect on the 
 part of any power or individual whatever ; 
 which invitation has been respectfully de- 
 clined by our government, on the ground 
 that, in the language o{ President Fillmore, 
 
 “ the proposed measure w r ould be of doubt- 
 ful constitutionality, impolitic, and una- 
 vailing” 
 
 What is the duty of our government 
 in this emergency? Such is the next 
 question, in logical order, to be presented. 
 It requires no great amount of reasoning 
 power, no great exercise of judgment, to 
 decide on any practical line of conduct, 
 when one brings to bear on it the plain tests 
 of honesty and truth. This is as true of 
 states as of persons. But where these are 
 to be shirked, it requires a vast amount 
 of argument, of sophism, and of special 
 pleading, to make “ the worse appear the 
 better reason.” There is not, we affirm, 
 one rule of morality for a nation, and 
 another for an individual. What is right 
 will be right always, and what is wrong 
 will always be wrong, whether in persons 
 or in governments, no matter how much 
 the wrong is attempted to be whitewashed 
 with the affectation of a desire to promote 
 liberal principles, or concealed by the tor- 
 tuous intrigues of a narrow diplomacy. 
 We may foresee that certain events will 
 come to pass, but the instrument which 
 hastens them is not always to be com- 
 mended. Offences must come, but woe is 
 denounced on him through whom the of- 
 fence cometh. “ Thou shalt not covet,” is 
 a law addressed to all intelligences, indi- 
 vidual or aggregate. Our neighbor may be 
 a drunkard, a spendthrift, or a man incom- 
 petent for business ; his farm, which ad- 
 joins our own, may be fast going to ruin; 
 we foresee that he cannot long hold it ; that 
 it must come into the market, and that wa 
 alone, in such an event, can possibly pur- 
 chase it : but this is no reason why we 
 should plot to hasten the consummation 
 which we know will put us in possession 
 of the desired fields. It would be unman- 
 ly, it would be base for us to do so. Yet 
 the profligate or feeble possessor of the 
 estate has by his own conduct brought 
 ruin on himself; he is properly punished ; 
 he suffers a just reward. Now while we 
 assert, that, as between Cuba and Spain, 
 the latter has forfeited all right to a su- 
 premacy over the former, this gives to the 
 United States no rights in the case what 
 
1853.] 
 
 Cuba. 
 
 13 
 
 ever. It is true that the unfortunate 
 island is entitled to the sympathy of all 
 Christendom; and although as individuals 
 we should feel her wrongs, and in all 
 proper ways assist any people struggling 
 with despotism, yet, in such an instance, 
 a nation is not permitted to do so. The 
 reason is plain enough. If one man be- 
 holds another inflicting blows and wounds 
 upon a weaker and unresisting fellow- 
 creature, he does not hesitate to interfere 
 in his behalf, without stopping to inquire 
 whether or not he may be committing a 
 technical assault. But a nation cannot 
 proceed in the same way. The subject 
 who comes forward to protect his fel- 
 low is amenable to the law of the land in 
 which he lives, and he must answer to it 
 if he has done injustice. But a nation is 
 amenable to no constituted earthly au- 
 thority. Hence the necessity — indeed the 
 absolute necessity — of the rule we have 
 laid down. Situated as the United States 
 are with Cuba, every expression of sympa- 
 thy, even from individuals, will be looked 
 upon with suspicion by other states. Mer- 
 cenary motives, than which nothing can 
 be more utterly wicked and contemptible, 
 influence great numbers of our population 
 to ask for Cuban independence and for 
 annexation. And this tends to throw dis- 
 trust on the honest, earnest sympathy of 
 the great body of our citizens. In such a 
 condition of affairs, considering that Spain 
 is a weak nation, tottering toward ruin, 
 our government should be especially cau- 
 tious to conduct toward her with a strict 
 adherence to existing treaties. 
 
 It is excellent 
 
 To have a giant’s strength ; but it is tyrannous 
 To use it like a giant. 
 
 Nothing could disgrace our country more 
 than to take advantage of her strength, 
 and of Spain’s weakness. And it is pro- 
 per that we avoid all excuses and pretexts 
 for any quarrel ; to endeavor to create 
 such excuses and pretexts would be piti- 
 able. 
 
 Much has been said, of late, about “ man- 
 ifest destiny,” and the term has got to be 
 a sort of watchword in the mouths of pa- 
 triotic orators and political speech-makers. 
 II is. 1 iowever, a poor excuse for the un- 
 lawful seizure ol the territory of a friend- 
 ly power, oi for an unwarrantable inter- 
 ference with their rights, to raise, in avoid- 
 ance of the charge of robbery or oppression, 
 this plea of “manifest destiny;” for the 
 proposition is as good on the part of the 
 highwayman, as on that of a power which 
 shall take to the high road of nations, 
 and, armed with more resistless energies, 
 prey upon the weak or distracted. We 
 must take care in this respect that the 
 republic suffer no disgrace, that it pre- 
 
 serve untarnished its integrity and its 
 good faith. 
 
 But what of the Future ? Is it not 
 our duty, as well as our right and privi- 
 lege, to regard the signs of the times, and 
 form judgments in relation to them ? We 
 have spoken of “ manifest destiny ” as a 
 political watchword. There is a sense in 
 which it may be used by the more pru- 
 dent and reflective, and in which it be- 
 comes no longer absurd : for when the 
 judicious observer of events endeavors to 
 form an opinion as to the future, and, 
 from examination of the past, and all that 
 he can see in the present, a result pre- 
 sents itself which is not to be mistaken, 
 he is content to say that it is this which 
 it is the manifest destiny of a nation to do, 
 to become, or to achieve. 
 
 It is a fact, that Cuba longs for admis- 
 sion into our Union. She pleads earnestly 
 and continually. She tells us, that from 
 the moment she becomes an integral por- 
 tion of the United States, all the exactions 
 and oppressions which now weigh so heav- 
 ily upon her, will be at an end. The slave- 
 trade will be abolished ; the people will 
 enter at once into the enjoyment of free- 
 dom ; her ports will be open to the com- 
 merce of the world, her soil cultivated to 
 its full capability, her products sent to an 
 unrestricted market ; and under the in- 
 fluence of the moral and political forces 
 which are the vital elements of the Amer- 
 ican nationality, her children educated, 
 and her pulpits and presses set at liber- 
 ty, she would become the most prosper- 
 ous of the States. On the other hand, 
 she depicts the advantages which will 
 accrue to the United States from the an- 
 nexation of Cuba, as incalculable. She 
 argues that, if annexation were fully con- 
 summated, Cuba would be as valuable to 
 our confederacy as New- York itself — as 
 an outpost, essential to American trade, 
 and as a centre of transit and exchange, 
 increasing in importance to the whole 
 family of the confederation, in even mea- 
 sure with the growth of the states on the 
 Pacific, and the rising tide of oriental com- 
 merce which the flag of the Union is about 
 to lead from Asia across the Isthmus. 
 She lies exactly in the track of the golden 
 current, and none of the states are, like 
 her, in a position to watch and defend its 
 every inlet and outlet. In the circle of 
 production, essential to a home supply, 
 always sure, and independent of foreign 
 interference, Cuba claims that she would 
 fill a remaining gap, with her coffee, co- 
 coa, and tropical fruits : thus serving all 
 her sister states, since she would sell to 
 every one, and buy of every one, which is 
 not true of the special products of any oth 
 er state. She would also add as much as 
 
14 
 
 Cuba. 
 
 the Union really needs to the production 
 of sugar, and would make that, henceforth, 
 a strong and distinct feature in the na- 
 tional balance of interests. She urges that 
 a new sectional pursuit always implies 
 another mediation in the councils of the 
 confederacy — a proved truth in favor of 
 the permanent equilibrium of the repub- 
 lic. The manufacturing east, the wheat 
 and cattle-raising west, the commercial 
 centre, the cotton-growing southwest, the 
 rice and sugar-planting south, and, last 
 and latest, the new-born and gigantic 
 mineral resources starting up on the great 
 northwestern lakes, and seaming the con- 
 tinent, down to the far Pacific, with their 
 sudden influence — have each and every 
 one their independent geographical weight 
 and 'representation, as well as a diffused 
 reciprocal dependence on each other, and 
 on the Union as a whole. In the perpet- 
 ually recurring — but under these balance 
 checks never fatal — state jealousies, every 
 distinct interest is a distinct guarantee for 
 the general equity of adjustment. It has 
 been seen in the slavey discussions how 
 far sectional bitterness can go, when the 
 whole Union is reduced to two great con- 
 flicting parties, with no disinterested and 
 intermediate powers to urge peace, and 
 teach conciliation. Yet even in this diffi- 
 culty it will be found, at last, that the 
 counsels which suggest, and the votes 
 which compel moderation and compromise, 
 will come from almost a third interest. 
 Cuba may sutler from the dispute between 
 the free and slave states ; but apart 
 from this, she desires to come into the 
 Union without offence to any, and to the 
 absolute profit of every partner in the 
 confederacy. In bringing to the com- 
 monwealth a class of luxuries which each 
 state largely demands and consumes, and 
 which is not produced by any, she also 
 brings to the Union fresh elements of me- 
 diation, harmony, and stable equipoise. 
 
 Such is the argument which Cuba is 
 constantly addressing us. And indivi- 
 dually we cannot help but approve it. Oth- 
 ers there are who do not hesitate to make 
 rash avowals, and harebrained threats, 
 appealing to improper motives, urging false 
 reasons, and dangerous suggestions, by 
 which, unhappily, many are led astray. 
 In every land there is a class of men of 
 “ desperate fortunes everywhere we 
 find a certain number of “ fiery volun- 
 taries.” What these have already done, we 
 know; what they are preparing to do, we 
 can guess. There is nothing more noble 
 than to battle in the cause of freedom. 
 We honor Lafayette — we surround with 
 glory the name of Kosciusko— we bless the 
 memories of those foreigners who hastened 
 to our shores in the war of the revolu- 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 tion to fight with us for independence — 
 for we know that they were disinterest- 
 ed. No rich soil attracted them, no pro- 
 spective emolument or reward, no promise 
 of divisions of lands, no hope of office, 
 no receipt of scrip. Had they been in- 
 fluenced by any of these things, their 
 characters would have sunk into that of 
 base and mercenary soldiers of fortune. 
 We have some such among us, but we 
 believe the number is limited. Yet, even 
 such may make or hasten a denouement. 
 We have but to watch and to wait, care- 
 ful to preserve our honor. 
 
 In this connection it will not be unin- 
 teresting to see how British writers re- 
 gard the future of Cuba. We quox * 
 once more from Mr. Taylor : “ Shall I 
 
 say,” he remarks, after all, what I 
 think on this subject of annexation with 
 the United States, which I have not ad- 
 verted to before ? I am not at all sure, then, 
 but that this would he one of the best 
 things that could happen for Cuba. The 
 Americans are an enlightened, progressive 
 race ; the Spaniards the extreme reverse ; 
 and however lamentably split and op- 
 posed in party views the Americans 
 themselves may be. yet, as a tracts, few 
 of them would think of defending sla- 
 very.” “ I find it extremely difficult,” 
 he continues, “to pass any judgment on 
 the effect which might be produced by 
 the annexation of Cuba to the United 
 States. That its conquest would be cer- 
 tain, if undertaken by the United States 
 government, few even doubt. It is per- 
 haps as well that the late miserable buc- 
 caneering attempt on that fine island 
 failed in the ridiculous manner it did, since 
 it defers the entire subject, as it were, to 
 maturer consideration. May success at- 
 tend all America’s nobler aims to advance 
 the human race and character ! And let 
 the Spanish government beware, for it 
 will be quite out of its power to travel 
 much longer in its old tracks, and if it 
 cannot accomplish the essential reforms 
 leading to freedom, it will be surely done 
 for it.” 
 
 Mr. Baird, whose work I have also 
 before referred to, writes as follows 
 “ Could any one, who has personally as- 
 certained the truth of transactions and oc- 
 currences such as those before recorded, 
 feel much regret were Cuba to pass 
 out of the hands of Spain into those 
 of the United States'? No doubt there 
 are serious objections to the acquisition 
 of Cuba by the United States of Ameri- 
 ca. In the first place there is the im- 
 portant want of a causa belli to justify 
 anything like a forcible, seizure. In not 
 making with Spain such treaties as Eng- 
 land has done, and covenanting with her 
 
1853.J 
 
 Cuba. 
 
 15 
 
 for the suppression of the slave-trade, and 
 paying her money as the price of her con- 
 sent, America has deprived herself of a 
 justifying cause for warlike proceedings 
 against Cuba, which she might now have 
 turned to very good account. But while, 
 for previous reasons, I do not think it 
 likely America can buy Cuba; I have 
 not the same horror that some express 
 at the idea of her taking it. I also differ 
 from those who think that the possession 
 of Cuba by the United States, would 
 strengthen the hands of the supporters 
 of the slave system in America itself, 
 and procrastinate or prevent the settle- 
 ment of that question — the great national 
 question of the American continent. But 
 my conviction is, that it would just leave 
 the slave question where it is ; while, at 
 the same time, it would effectually put 
 an end to the traffic in slaves, at least in 
 as far as Cuba is concerned. 
 
 “ I submit then,” he concludes, “ to the 
 public of my native country, that were 
 Spain’s debt to England, for the repay- 
 ment of which Cuba may be considered 
 as part of the security, duly provided for 
 or secured, there is little or no interest 
 which could or should prevent England 
 from viewing the occupation of Cuba by 
 our brethren of the United States of 
 America with feelings of complacency. 
 For the honor of America herself, such 
 occupation, if it is to be undertaken, should 
 be undertaken only on some justifying 
 cause, or by a legitimate transaction of 
 sale. If America gets Cuba, the possession 
 may not be very valuable to herself, 
 whatever it is under the present system 
 to Spain ; but her doing so will, at all 
 events put an end to the slave-trade, in 
 so far at least as the importation of slaves 
 into Cuba is concerned.” 
 
 So much for the opinions of candid 
 English writers on the subject of the an- 
 nexation of Cuba to the United States. So 
 far as English interference is contemplated, 
 we have always regarded it as a dream. 
 A nation living on credit, whose masses 
 are deprived of labor at the slightest 
 threat of war, and whose capital and com- 
 mercial business are so interwoven and 
 confounded with those of the American 
 people, cannot run the risk of even a tempo- 
 rary suspension of friendly relations with 
 them. On the other hand, the present con- 
 siderable consumption of English manu- 
 factures in Cuba, can but increase under 
 the more liberal regulations of our own 
 government. Peace, and markets for her 
 manufactures, are matters of life and death 
 for England ; the minister, Tory or Whig, 
 who forgets these truths, would bitterly 
 lament his error; because the mind of 
 man is not able to compass the disasters 
 
 which a war, especially with her ancient 
 colony, would bring upon herself and upon 
 the commerce of the world. But we be- 
 lieve there are higher and far more impor- 
 tant reasons for amity between the two 
 countries. Say what we will, bluster as 
 we may, and as we sometimes do, there is n 
 cordial feeling now existing, and fast in- 
 creasing, and which must and will Bind 
 them together. We see evidences of this 
 daily, notwithstanding the efforts of shal- 
 low-minded people on both sides to excite 
 national prejudices, and irritate national 
 feelings. 
 
 Still, what of the future ? Cuba will 
 become a part of the United States. The 
 how or the when, it is useless to predict. 
 Political events have transpired so rapidly 
 within the last few years, that 
 
 u That of an hour’s age doth hiss the speaker.” 
 
 We are borne onward by a force which 
 seems hastening some great consumma- 
 tion. If all do not agree as to the result 
 which these changes are to bring, no one 
 can shut his eyes to the changes them- 
 selves. They have multiplied within the 
 year ; they are multiplying ; they will 
 continue to multiply. The conservative 
 and the radical — the ultra Whig and the 
 ultra Democrat — are all overwhelmed by 
 the resistless course of things, if they 
 stop even but a moment to contemplate 
 it. What is to be done ? Shall we at- 
 tempt to stay this sweeping current, and 
 be carried away by it ? or shall we rather 
 do what we may to control and direct 
 it ? Let us see what are the principles 
 on which this extraordinary progression 
 depends. 
 
 The people of the United States as- 
 sert political, religious, and commercial 
 freedom ; they believe in the philanthropic 
 mission of their country to extend the 
 same throughout this hemisphere ; and, 
 while they acknowledge that slavery is 
 constitutional , and beyond the reach of 
 abolitionary cabals, they claim that it is 
 not beyond the moral influence of civili- 
 zation, which slowly induces its peaceful 
 termination. Such, in our view, is the 
 expression of public opinion in the United 
 States; of that opinion which, being the 
 result of the contests of parties, guides 
 the acts of the government. As a peo- 
 ple, too, we contend that the physical 
 and moral wants of mankind cannot be 
 disregarded. If subjects are oppressed 
 by tyrants, supported by brute force, the 
 citizen of the free state will be very 
 likely to use his individual might and 
 influence to take off the irons from the 
 victims. 
 
 The power of the American confederacy 
 lies in the number of resolute freemen 
 
16 
 
 Spring or Summer ? 
 
 who cover the surface of its territory — 
 in the fact, that their industry does not 
 sustain heavy taxation to pay debts con- 
 tracted by preceding generations, nor to 
 support menials, office-holders, or princes, 
 useless or injurious ; or armies, only neces- 
 sary to perpetuate wrong. More even 
 than all this, does their power spring, es- 
 pecially in foreign countries, from the cer- 
 tainty that the cause of the Americans is 
 the cause of individual right. It is this 
 which makes America the asylum of the 
 oppressed of all Europe, and the govern- 
 ment of the Union, that which approaches 
 nearest perfection, by indefinitely diffus- 
 ing enjoyments, her nationality the prac- 
 tical realization of cosmopolitanism. The 
 expansive arms of her policy find no ob- 
 stacle in the origin of her citizens. The 
 Dutch peopled New-York, the Swedes 
 New Jersey and Delaware, the Germans 
 Pennsylvania, the French flew to South 
 Carolina after the revocation of the edict 
 of Nantes, and in Louisiana and Florida 
 the French and Spanish still preserve the 
 usages of their ancestors. The result 
 has been astonishing. We have increased 
 in wealth, civilization, industry and power, 
 in a manner unprecedented in the annals of 
 the world. Our population doubles every 
 twenty-five years ; and a progression so 
 stupendous foils human calculation as to 
 what will be our power and influence in 
 times to come. More than twenty mil- 
 lions of souls now, forty millions in 1873, 
 and so successively on, till we come to 
 three hundred and twenty millions in 
 one century. Make from this estimate, 
 founded on experience, what reasonable 
 deductions we please, and what results 
 may we not still expect ? Those are now 
 in existence who will see this vast confed- 
 eracy holding a population of two hun- 
 dred millions ! Where is the model, the 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 precedent, the resemblance of this great 
 spectacle, in history ? 
 
 The careful and philosophical observer of 
 the essential progress of mankind in our 
 times, has been led more and more to 
 cherish a belief in the sublime idea of the 
 fraternizing and cementing of the na- 
 tions, which shall be a fulfilment of the 
 crowning prophecy of inspiration. It has 
 pleased Heaven to make our country the 
 home of freedom, the birthplace of lib- 
 eral institutions, the best example for the 
 struggling, and the surest hope of the en- 
 franchised everywhere. More than this, 
 we have rendered feasible, purposes and 
 systems, in policy and civilization, which 
 might well have been regarded as impos- 
 sible, but for steamboats, railroads, tele- 
 graphs and printing-presses, that in an 
 hour are capable of flooding continents 
 with intelligence. We find under these 
 circumstances a glorious truth confessed, 
 which a little while ago was regarded as 
 incredible, that the extension of empire 
 by conquest will soon be superseded by 
 the irrepressible desire of states to become 
 united to each other by the new law 
 of annexation. This is already inspir- 
 ing no inconsiderable proportion of the 
 inhabitants of every nation on this conti- 
 nent to become an integral part of our 
 own great Republic. The history of the 
 future will be, in a continually increasing 
 degree, a detail of the rapid operation of 
 this principle, until the world shall he 
 completely united and bound together by 
 the tracks of its intercommunication, the 
 combinat ion of its interests, the sympathies 
 of its intelligence, and the unity and one- 
 ness of its hopes ; and the last triumph 
 which is ordered by Providence, has rear 
 lization in the dawn of that period when 
 all the nations of the earth shall be as 
 one people. 
 
 SPRING OR SUMMER? 
 
 S WIFTLY the young Spring came,— 
 Love is not dearer — 
 
 Whispered the Summer’s name 
 As ever nearer. 
 
 Swiftly the young Spring fled, 
 
 Dawn is not fleeter, — 
 
 Promiser or promis6d, — 
 
 Heart ! which was sweeter 1 
 
THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. 
 
 A MIST was driving down the British Channel, 
 
 The day was just begun, 
 
 And through the window-panes, on floor and panel, 
 Streamed the red Autumn sun. 
 
 It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon, 
 
 And the white sails of ships ; 
 
 And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon 
 Hailed it with feverish lips. 
 
 Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hithe, and Dover 
 Were all alert that day, 
 
 To see the French war-steamers speeding over, 
 
 When the fog cleared away. 
 
 Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions, 
 
 Their cannon, through the night, 
 
 Holding their breath, had watched in grim defiance 
 The sea-coast opposite. 
 
 And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations 
 On every citadel ; 
 
 Each answering each, with morning salutations, 
 
 That all was well ! 
 
 And down the coast, all taking up the burden, 
 
 Replied the distant forts, 
 
 As if to summon from his sleep the Warden 
 And Lord of the Cinque Ports. 
 
 Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure, 
 
 No drum-beat from the wall, 
 
 No morning gun from the black fort’s embrazure 
 Awaken with their call ! 
 
 No more, surveying with an eye impartial 
 The long line of the coast, 
 
 Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field-Marshal 
 Be seen upon his post ! 
 
 For in the night, unseen, a single warrior. 
 
 In sombre harness mailed, 
 
 Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, 
 
 The rampart wall has scaled. 
 
 He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, 
 
 The dark and silent room ; 
 
 And as he entered, darker grew and deeper 
 The silence and the gloom. 
 
 He did not pause to parley or dissemble, 
 
 But smote the Warden hoar ; 
 
 Ah ! what a blow ! that made all England tremble 
 And groan from shore to shore 
 
 Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited, 
 
 The sun rose bright o’erhead ; 
 
 Nothing in Nature’s aspect intimated 
 That a great man was dead ! 
 
18 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 ANDREW CRANBERRY, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. 
 
 1 COULD never tell why, but I arose 
 that morning repeating Coleridge’s 
 translation of Schiller’s “ Hymn to Bac- 
 chus” — 
 
 “Never, believe me, 
 
 Appear the immortals, 
 
 Never alone,” &c. 
 
 I had not been dining out. I had re- 
 fused Horatio Tidd’s invitation to step 
 round to the club, and take it hot with 
 sugar, which was Tidd’s practice. I had 
 returned home at the moral hour of ele- 
 ven, and, after composing myself with 
 the “North American” (the best of seda- 
 tives), had slipped quietly into the sheets ; 
 and that was the end of me until seven, 
 A. M. 
 
 At that hour I awoke, with my eyes 
 turned towards the ceiling, and instantly 
 began to repeat the lines 1 have quoted. 
 
 “ Come, Cranberry,” said I to myself, 
 “ this is a little absurd for you, who have 
 to go down town and arrange the means 
 of getting a dinner, to lie here in bed and 
 babble heathenish hymns, as if life were 
 only a luxurious nap. I advise you to 
 get up.” 
 
 “Certainly,” replied I to myself, “if 
 you think best. So here goes.” 
 
 And I sprang up, and sat a moment 
 upon the edge of the bed. Yet instantly 
 I began again — 
 
 “Never, believe me,” 
 
 and away I went, half-musing, half-mut- 
 tering, until I felt a little chilly about the 
 ankles. 
 
 “Well,” said I, laughing to myself, “I 
 agree with you ; this is about the most 
 Silly business I have been lately engaged 
 in.” 
 
 And I began to strop my razor. 
 (That reminds me of my bon-mot, gen- 
 erally known as the Cranberry-joke. Once 
 dining with a select party, and being 
 asked how I secured such a kid-glove 
 quality to my chin every morning, 1 an- 
 swered, “I steel it.” Upon which there 
 was a subdued smile all round the table ; 
 and old Stryng Beenz, wishing, after his 
 Dutch fashion, to compliment my good 
 looks, cried out, “ Then Cranberry steals 
 the best part of himself every day.” At 
 which, as no one clearly understood it, 
 every body loudly laughed.) 
 
 To return. I placed myself before my 
 shaving-glass, and began to “steel” my 
 chin. But in the midst, as I stood there, 
 holding my nose awry, with my chin half- 
 raised and saturated in lather, out came 
 the words again, like a torrent, and I said 
 confidentially to myself, in the glass — 
 “Never, believe me,” 
 
 and cut my chin for my pains. 
 
 Now, I am a reasonable man, I believe. 
 Andrew Cranberry, Attorney-at-Law, is 
 not held to be superstitious ; but there 
 was something peculiar in this constant 
 recurrence of my mind to a poem that I 
 had not read for years. 
 
 “What does it portend?” inquired I, 
 as I wiped my face with a damp towel, 
 and walked meditatively towards the 
 shower-bath. 
 
 “ Does it mean,” thought I, interroga- 
 tively, as I took the string in my hand, 
 “ that I shall ever feel gay enough to sing 
 hymns to the jolly god ? Or is it a sort 
 of devil’s taunt that I must drink only a 
 Barmecide cup, and content myself with 
 cold water ?” 
 
 Splash ! came the shower as I spoke. 
 I had inadvertently pulled the cord. 
 
 But the water did not wash away the 
 subject of my thoughts. The sun shone 
 brightly through the muslin curtains of 
 my windows. I felt, without seeing, the 
 beauty of the day. 1 knew that the life 
 of Babylon was already coursing along its 
 veins — those stony veins called streets. 
 I knew that men had been hard at work 
 since sunrise — since daybreak — toiling 
 heavily at labor that should not end until 
 their lives ended ; confined in close and 
 noisome places, in which the day was 
 never very bright, and their hopes grew 
 daily darker. I knew that in the green 
 parks and gardens — under the trees and 
 upon the margin of fountains — children in 
 bright dresses were playing in the sun, 
 shouting, singing, and frolicking. I knew 
 that the endless miles of monotonous red 
 brick wall which makes the exterior of 
 city houses, inclosed every kind and de- 
 gree of joy and sorrow ; that the street 
 door saw gay equipages, and smiling and 
 perfumed fashion, and an air of festal con- 
 tent — as if Babylon were Paradise — while 
 the chamber-door witnessed bitter envies, 
 and cold bickerings, and loveless lives. 
 
 All these images came to my mind as I 
 slowly dressed myself, and I half shud- 
 dered to feel that I was one of them ; that 
 the inevitable course of events went on ; 
 that the stream of life, an aggregate of in- 
 finite drops — mine as large as any — flowed 
 steadily forward ; and that no power, no 
 prayer, no despair could arrest it. 
 
 “ Heigho !” said I to myself, “ what does 
 all this mean ? Andrew Cranberry, what 
 the deuce ails you? Mark my word, 
 young man, this means something.” 
 
 And I shook my finger solemnly, for 
 my own edification ; rubbed the ox-mar- 
 row upon my hair (I am a little particu 
 
1853.] 
 
 Andrew Cranberrj , Attorney-at-Law. 
 
 19 
 
 lar) with peculiar unction, as if to say, 
 “ Andrew ! hold hard, keep dark.” 
 
 Finally, after stepping to the glass, and 
 solemnly winking at myself, to secure a 
 perfect understanding, I went down with 
 an air of quiet determination, to breakfast. 
 
 I may as well confess it now and here, 
 I lived in a boarding-house. 
 
 Boarding-houses rose with the fall. 
 They came in with the going out from 
 Paradise. I honor the austere Dante, 
 and I sympathize with him that, in the 
 departments of his Inferno, he omitted the 
 boarding-house. “ It is enough,” he seems 
 to say ; “ I have painted terrors enough to 
 warn you to the right. Should I an- 
 nounce the possibility of an eternity of 
 boarding-house, human effort would be 
 paralyzed.” 
 
 Fancy it, my dear second cousin Lucy 
 Arrowroot, invalid widow of Nee Britchiz, 
 ancient book-keeper — you who live, or 
 whose days are wasted in that dingy 
 square room, with four rusty black hair 
 cloth chairs, with the seedy carpet, with 
 the angular bedstead, the square wash- 
 stand, the square bureau with the square 
 portrait over it upon the dingy wall. You, 
 pale Lucy, once the rosiest of village girls, 
 arch coquette — whose ringing laugh now 
 hushed makes that country silence sad 
 (one day I shall tell your story), you 
 who lived in the sunshine like a flower, 
 and whom now only rarely and by 
 stealth, creeping between chimneys and 
 along dark walls, a sunbeam visits — will 
 you please fancy how you would shrivel 
 up with terror — like a bird before a snake 
 — at the very idea of an eternity of 
 boarding-house. 
 
 I mean, of course, no reflection upon 
 Lucy’s landlady, estimable Mrs. Frizzle 
 Front — one of whose dismal back rooms I 
 occupied until a prolonged fit of depression 
 of spirits seriously alarmed my physician 
 for my sanity — and whom I therefore 
 know very well. It is the nature of 
 boarding-houses to be dismal, and the 
 landlady cannot help it. 
 
 But then, again, why have landladies 
 such a tendency to be elderly widows in 
 unmitigated mourning — or attenuated 
 spinsters of a serious turn ? In my dark- 
 er and more misanthropic moments, I have 
 audaciously fancied them revenging them- 
 selves upor the world by keeping a few 
 persons endurably miserable for a regular 
 sum per week. 
 
 When young Mcelle de Bceuf — that 
 sprightly Parisian — came to Babylon, he 
 said to me (having brought letters from 
 my old tutor, the Rev. Agnus Peewee 
 who was then in Paris, “ studying man,” 
 as he expressed it), “ Now, mon ami, I 
 wish to find ‘ apartments.’ ” 
 
 I trembled, for I knew very well, from 
 Peewee’s letters, what “ apartments” mean 
 in Paris — a nice, snug, quiet, airy, hand- 
 some suite of rooms, with a ditto, ditto., 
 ditto little chambermaid, called femme-de- 
 cliambre, or something pretty ; and I 
 hadn’t the heart to show him the funereal 
 abodes which with us correspond to that 
 Parisian arrangement for bachelor happi- 
 ness. Poor, pale Lucy, when I spoke 
 to her about De Bceuf, and his account of 
 the accommodations for single men in Pa- 
 ris, said, in her faint, sweet way, “ I am 
 glad to hear that bachelors can be made 
 happy” — and then glanced at the grim, 
 square portrait of old Nee Britchiz upon 
 the dingy wall, and the ghost of a smile 
 glimmered upon her face, as if her matri- 
 monial life with the ancient book-keeper 
 had been so happy ! 
 
 “ Well,” said Mcelle, “ even if I couldn’t 
 find pleasant apartments, I can get some 
 sunshine out of a good dinner. Just show 
 me your best caffs — your Trois Freres — 
 your Caff Anglais — Maison Doree — Cafe 
 de Paris, &c.” 
 
 So I took him — this flaneui — this 
 spray of la jeunesse doree — to whom a 
 substantial aroma was a light lunch, and 
 showed him our caffs — the holes in the 
 sides of the street where steaming Baby- 
 lon gorges its dinner, and considers the 
 necessity of mastication a blunder in the 
 organization of nature, as wasting pre- 
 cious time. 
 
 I avoided him after that ; I never dared 
 to meet him again. But once I could not 
 escape. It was at Mrs. Parr Venoo’s 
 great fancy ball, in her great fancy house 
 upon the Twentieth Avenue. Moelle de 
 Bceuf, quivering with jewelry, wandered 
 mournfully around the rooms, constantly 
 “ setting” his face — that long, bird-like 
 face, with round blank eyes, and a heav- 
 ily-hooked moustache — between the heads 
 of people in the crowd, so that many of 
 the most sprightly belles looked as if they 
 had a forlorn owl perched upon their 
 shoulders. He said nothing — this patent- 
 leathered Mcelle de Bceuf, quivering with 
 jewelry — but the expression of his face, 
 as he gloomed and glowered from every 
 corner of the rooms, apostrophized our 
 native land thus : “ Oh, unhappy country, 
 which forces men to marry, that they may 
 have a decent place to live in, and a de- 
 cent dinner to eat ! I wonder no more at 
 your lank-visaged children — their solem- 
 nity is intelligible now ! Oh, unspeakable 
 land ! where, in the fury of making a liv- 
 ing, men forget to live !” 
 
 And the owl flitted from fashionable 
 shoulder to fashionable shoulder, impress- 
 ing me so deeply, that I can rarely mingle 
 even now in the social festivities of Baby- 
 
20 
 
 Andrew Cranberry , Attorney -at- Law. 
 
 Ion without seeming to see the solemn, 
 silent, ewelled, patent-leathered Moelle 
 de Boeuf, languishing for the Boulevards 
 and the amenities of Paris. 
 
 But this is partly digressive. I left 
 myself coming down to breakfast. A 
 boarding-house breakfast is — but no mat- 
 ter. “ It’s of nc consequence.” 
 
 Breakfast over, I brushed my hat, put 
 on my gloves, took a final survey of the 
 general effect of Andrew Cranberry in the 
 square mirror, over the high mantel, upon 
 which stood two solemn spectral old can- 
 dlesticks, that seemed to have only offici- 
 ated as light-givers at funerals, evening 
 meetings, and other melancholy occasions, 
 and did not at all suggest brilliant festiv- 
 ity, clouds of flounced muslin, French 
 flowers, music, perfume, smiles, and all 
 the delicious jam and crush of an evening 
 party. Poor old candlesticks ! 1 sup- 
 
 pose they are there yet, summing up in 
 themselves the dreariness of the house, 
 and presiding, in severe stillness, over the 
 desolation of those dingy parlors. 
 
 Thank Heaven ! we are now about 
 stepping into the sunshine. 
 
 1 opened the door. IIow warm and 
 kindly streamed the sun against me — 
 hearty, broad and cordial as Carlo’s wel- 
 come upon my annual visit to him. It 
 put me in gay good humor directly : 
 
 “Never, believe me. 
 
 Appear the immortals, 
 
 Never alone,” 
 
 whispered I to myself, as I stepped briskly 
 down the street, enjoying a good deal of 
 joking and laughing with myself at my 
 own expense, for harping so constantly 
 upon the lines. 
 
 “Andrew,” said I jocosely, but confi- 
 dentially, “ Cranberry, you unconscion- 
 able wretch ! you know that you expect 
 something to come out of this little inci- 
 dent of the poem — you know perfectly 
 well, that you are on the look-out for ad- 
 ventures.” 
 
 “ Not at all,” said I, with the air of a 
 man delighted that his secret is discover- 
 ed, but too proud to own it. — “ It has 
 happened a thousand times before. I of- 
 ten wake up with the fragment of a tune 
 in my mind, and go on humming and 
 singing it, all day long. Oh no ! it’s a 
 pleasant little incident, that’s all. It 
 shows that Blackstone and Chitty and 
 the Admiralty practice, and all the rest 
 of that preposterous rubbish heaped up 
 in little stout calf covers, and called Law, 
 has not driven poetry out of my head.” 
 
 “I should rather say not,” said Mr. 
 Andrew Cranberry', Attorney-at-Law, 
 quietly smiling at his own thoughts. 
 
 At that moment a dark object fell flut- 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 tering at my feet. It was a black lace 
 veil, which I lost no time in picking up, 
 and looldng about for the owner. No- 
 body could have dropped it but a woman 
 of slight figure, and dressed in black, 
 whom I saw hurrying along the street, 
 and who must have unconsciously drop- 
 ped it as she passed me. Of course, I 
 instantly matured a theory' of the perfect 
 youth and beauty of the slight lady in 
 black, and hurried after her with the 
 most gallant of bland smiles upon my 
 face, — 
 
 “ Permit me, madam,” said I, accost- 
 ing her, and holding my hat a little re- 
 moved from my r head, as College Profes- 
 sors hold theirs when they pass in be- 
 tween the students to the Commence- 
 ment Dinner — “is this, possibly, your 
 veil ?” 
 
 A pair of surprised black eyes answer- 
 ed me with a glance so expressive that 
 my hat came quite off in my r hand, and I 
 ended my address with a most respectful 
 bow. 
 
 “ Thank yon, it is mine was all the 
 response 1 received, and the next moment 
 the dark slight figure was floating along 
 as before, and Andrew Cranberry stood 
 alone upon the sidewalk. 
 
 But for a moment only r . To jeer at 
 myself for stopping and staring, instead 
 of investigating further the history of the 
 surprised black ey'es, was the business of 
 a fleeting instant — to follow and proffer 
 courteous attentions was the inspiration 
 and the action of the next. 
 
 Fair reader ! be not alarmed, nor fear 
 that when you chance to drop y r our veil, 
 you therefore expose yourself to the in- 
 sults, or the attentions, of any r chance 
 Cranberry ; not at all. I simply' followed 
 the invitation of the eyes, in following 
 that slight figure floating along the street; 
 and if y r ou, Moelle De Boeuf, or any other 
 French-minded man, dares suppose that 
 those eyes might not have been the pure 
 orbs of Rosamund Gray herself, you do 
 foul wrong to a maiden, and to the 
 character of an irreproachable Attornev- 
 at-Law. 
 
 No, no. The invitation was entirely 
 involuntary and unconscious upon the 
 part of the lady, but it was of that 
 character which permitted me directly to 
 accept it. Had the lady — 0 floating 
 figure, forgive the word, — winked , in ac- 
 knowledgment of my handing the veil, I 
 should instantly have hailed an omnibus, 
 or rushed into the Bowery to take the 
 cars. 
 
 I rapidly gained upon her. I reached 
 her side. It was a lonely part of the 
 street, and there were no noisy carriage- 
 wheels to drown the sound of my voice 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Andrew Cranberry , Attorney-at-Law. 
 
 21 
 
 with their roar. Then, with all the re- 
 spect of a Crusader kneeling to the image 
 of his lady upon his shield, 1 said — 
 “ Madam, may 1 hope that the little ser- 
 vice I have rendered you is but the begin- 
 ning of ” 
 
 She turned toward me. I saw again 
 the surprised black eyes fixed full upon 
 me. You, Moelle Dc Boeuf, would have 
 withered in that glance, because it was 
 not alone surprise but indignation. I too 
 should have trembled and shrunk away, 
 if I had not been full of the fairest inten- 
 tions. Meaning nothing but what the 
 Chevalier Bayard, without fear and with- 
 out reproach, might have meant, I stood 
 my ground manfully, and continued, — 
 
 “ 1 am perfectly aware how singular, 
 and preposterous this conduct may seem, 
 but 1 may never see you again, and — and, 
 and I want to know you,” said I, trusting 
 to Providence. 
 
 “ It is singular, sir,” said a low sweet 
 voice, “ to accost a lady whom you do 
 not know in this way, and in the street. 
 Y'ou are mistaken, sir. 1 will wait until 
 3 'ou retire.” 
 
 She stood still, but I could see a little 
 mournfulness in her eyes, as if she were 
 grieved that a man whose aspect had 
 pleased her (I knew that immediately), 
 should disappoint her, and prove to be 
 only a Moelle De Boeuf, after all. 
 
 “ Madam,” said I, “ you do me a great 
 wrong, if you fancy that I have any 
 thought which .you would not honor. I 
 have indulged a whim in speaking to you, 
 but I do most solemnly assure you, it 
 was the result of a genuine wish to know 
 you.” And I pulled out my card-case, 
 and handed her a card, Mr. Andrew Cran- 
 berry'. 
 
 “ Mr. Cranberry,” replied the lady, “ I 
 am willing to believe what j r ou say ; and, 
 looking in your face, I do believe it. Yet 
 I do not know why you should wish to 
 know me, whom you have never before 
 seen, and whom you could hardly expect 
 to see again. Propriety, Mr. Cranberry, 
 the usage of the world, &c., &c.,” con- 
 tinued she with a slight smile, “ would 
 require me to order your instant depar- 
 ture ; but I am able to take care of my- 
 self, and I am confident you mean no 
 wrong.” 
 
 So saying, the lady resumed her walk, 
 and I accompanied her. She had that 
 subdued, sweet manner, which implies a 
 latent grief — a sorrow that has become a 
 habit. The quiet self-possession revealed 
 a character moulded by actual contact 
 with the world, a manner more beautiful 
 to me than the conventional reserve and 
 timidity of the daughters of my Twentieth 
 Avenue friend, Mrs. Parr Yenoo. Our 
 
 conversation fell upon obvious topics, but 
 in all she said there was a maidenly wis- 
 dom which was no less new than fascina- 
 ting. I do not very distinctly remember 
 what we said. It was that glancing talk 
 by the way, of which the spirit, the tone 
 and the feeling are so much more than 
 the words. 
 
 I only remember this, that with every 
 step of the way, I went whole leagues 
 into love. She belonged to no “set” 
 with which 1 was familiar. She knew 
 none of the fashionable ladies. She had 
 no gossip. The walk with her was liko 
 a warm day in winter — like a summer 
 week in the country to a tired Pearl- 
 street Jobber. She knew the poetry of 
 the poets I loved, the music of the com- 
 posers most dear to me. But in all she 
 said, and in all I asked, there was no al- 
 lusion to her situation in life, — nothing 
 which informed me with whom I was 
 speaking. 
 
 Suddenly — it was somewhere in the 
 Twenty-second Avenue — she paused be- 
 fore the door of a small house in a poor 
 block. There was a sign under the front 
 windows “ Madame Beignct de Pommc, 
 Milliner from Paris.” She went up the 
 steps leaving me standing upon the side- 
 walk. 
 
 “ I thank you for a very pleasant 
 walk,” said she, as she rang the bell. 
 
 “ Is this your home ?” inquired I. 
 
 “ Yes, for the present,” answered she. 
 
 “You are a milliner?” 
 
 “ I am a milliner.” 
 
 “ You are not Madame De Pomme?” 
 
 “ I am not Madame De Pomme.” 
 
 It was evident that she did not choose 
 to be questioned further in that direction, 
 and I said no more. 
 
 “ Will you allow me to come and see 
 you sometimes?” asked I. 
 
 She did not immediately answer, but 
 stood looking on the ground and think- 
 ing, at length she said ; “ Mr. Cranberry, 
 I am quite alone in this city ; in fact, I 
 have scarcely a friend. You will under- 
 stand, therefore, how easy it is for people 
 to speak ill of me. Yet I am not willing 
 to lose all the pleasure of such society as 
 I most enjoy (and which I rarely meet), 
 because evil tongues wag so readily. If 
 I consent to see you, I shall do so at a 
 great sacrifice.” 
 
 As she spoke, a fiery gloom gathered 
 in her eyes, like jealous passion in the 
 eyes of a Spanish girl. “ It is a wicked 
 world,” she continued ; “ that will not let 
 me see a friend, without slandering my 
 reputation. But if you will sometimes 
 come to see me, I shall not hesitate to re- 
 ceive you.” 
 
 She said it with a firm emphasis, as if 
 
22 
 
 Songs of Venice. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 forcing down the suggestions of timidity 
 and pride. 
 
 “ Good morning, Mr. Cranbeny,” said 
 she as the door opened, and she passed 
 into the house. 
 
 Andrew Cranberry, Attorney-at-Law, 
 went down to his office, and did a very 
 confused day’s work. I do not think he 
 said any thing to any body that had not 
 the strictest relation to business. In the 
 intervals of work he looked into the little 
 court beneath his window, in which the 
 prosDect consisted of the iron shutters 
 and dingy brick wall of the stores oppo- 
 site, and where the sunshine looked pale 
 and sickly, and dead ; and saw nothing 
 there but June days in a pleasant coun- 
 try, with broad acres of wild flowers, and 
 waving grain, and the edges of green 
 woods, and a gentle lawn sloping to a 
 river. He saw a house too, as he looked 
 into the dead sunlight of the court, an 
 easy, rambling, wooden country-house, 
 with a piazza, and vines wreathing the 
 columns, and pots of flowers in the win- 
 dows. Upon the piazza, as he still look- 
 ed, in the softest of summer days, sat a 
 figure quietly sewing, and he thought he 
 heard the murmur of a low song. If the 
 deep dark eyes of that figure had ever 
 been sad, they were so no longer, — if the 
 sweet and noble manner had ever seemed 
 to betray a habit of grief, it had utterly 
 
 lost it now, — there was pare summer in 
 the sky, summer on the landscape, sum- 
 mer in those eyes and in the repose of that 
 figure. But even while he gazed, two or 
 three smaller figures came bounding up 
 the gentle lawn from the river, with a 
 huge shaggy black Newfoundland dog. 
 He was sure he heard the loud and happy 
 shouts of children, — he was sure the 
 figure, quietly working, raised the black 
 eyes not surprised, but with a tranquil 
 and maternal delight — and, wildest vision 
 of all — he was sure that in the window 
 of a library opening upon the piazza, and 
 watching that group with eyes moist with 
 happiness, stood, in a loose coat and slip- 
 pers, and leaning against the side of the 
 window, with his forefinger in a book, 
 Andrew Cranberry, Attorney-at-Law. 
 And, by Jove ! as he looked into that 
 pale, sickly sunshine of the court, he was 
 sure he heard that figure speak to the 
 lady, and say 
 
 “Never, believe me, 
 
 Appear the immortals, 
 
 Never alone!” 
 
 — Whether all this had any thing to do 
 with a certain card that was ordered to 
 be engraved within six months of the day 
 that the veil was picked up, is a curious 
 inquiry. That card ran thus : 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Cranberry. 
 
 SONGS OF VENICE. 
 
 T RANCED on the calm Lagune, 
 
 In the dusk of the setting moon, 
 While the gondola glides 
 O’er the receding tides, 
 
 Will I pray of your grace a boon. 
 
 Oh ! because in your eyes is that star 
 In your motions the free waves are, 
 Your grace will I pray 
 The sole word to say, 
 
 That would not the silence mar. 
 
 Low the waves lap on the prow, 
 Faint thy kisses touch my brow; 
 Bells upon the still air beating, 
 Day along the sea retreating. 
 
 Our dark boat a bridal barque, 
 Threading the enchanted dark, 
 Floats, a murmurous love-ditty, 
 Through the ocean-hearted city. 
 
1853.] 
 
 23 
 
 THE HOMES OF AMERICAN AUTHORS.* 
 
 A LI BABA, when he entered the Cave 
 of the Forty Thieves, could not have 
 been more amazed by the wealth of its 
 contents, than some people will be when 
 they first read the title of this book ; for 
 it flies in the face of two very ancient and 
 quite sacred traditions. 
 
 It implies, firstly, that the ambiguous 
 class of men called authors, may be in 
 the possession of Homes , — consequently 
 of wealth, social position, and respecta- 
 bility ; and, secondly, that among the 
 three thousand American writers who 
 pretend to the name, there are some at 
 least who are really authors, by which is 
 meant, literary creators or men of genius. 
 Are not both of these, assumptions which 
 the general mind will regard as extreme- 
 ly hazardous? 
 
 The records of literary adventure have 
 produced the impression the world over, 
 that authors are a peculiar and exception- 
 al class, — a race of shiftless, seedy and 
 improvident individuals, who, unable to 
 live by any of the recognized methods of 
 society, have betaken themselves to the 
 expedient of living by their wits. It is 
 understood that they reside, when they 
 reside any where, in some vacant corner 
 of a garret, like grubs in a hole ; that they 
 pass their days in a pot-house or in lurk- 
 ing out of the way of bumbailifFs and 
 landladies ; and that, after leading lives of 
 vicissitude, poverty, neglect, and sorrow, 
 when they come to die, they revenge their 
 long quarrel with mankind by bequeath- 
 ing to it certain inestimable treasures of 
 poetry,., • wit, or profound thought, over 
 which it will gloat and glow for ever. 
 
 Who cannot recall a multitude of es- 
 says that has been written on the hapless 
 lot of the poet who “ learned by suffering 
 what he taught in song?” How often 
 have literary men bewailed the cruel in- 
 justice of society to their order ? What 
 sighs have not been exhaled and tears 
 wept over the pitiful stories of miscon- 
 ceived and unrewarded genius ? Nor 
 have these lamentations been wholly 
 without foundation. The sad experi- 
 ences of Savage, the miserable death of 
 Otway, and the more miserable death 
 of Chatterton, “the sleepless boy who 
 perished in his pride,” the miscarriages 
 of Burns, the indigence of Coleridge, the 
 protracted struggles of Hook and Hood, 
 the suicide of Blanchard, and a thousand 
 other mournful histories have been a sta- 
 ple product of the literary memoirs. 
 Have not the calamities of authors fur- 
 nished the indefatigable Disraeli with the 
 
 materials for a volume ? Or is there 
 any possibility of our forgetting those 
 lines of Moore, how 
 
 Bailiffs will seize his last blanket to-day, 
 
 "Whose pall shall be held up by nobles to-morrow. 
 
 While the pretty fable of Schiller is ap- 
 propriate, — the fable in which he repre- 
 sents J upiter as dividing all the wealth of 
 the world among the different classes of 
 his creatures. To the kings he gives taxes 
 and tolls, to the farmers lands, to the 
 merchants trade, and to the abbots and 
 monks most excellent wine ; but after 
 having disposed of all, he espies a poet 
 wandering away from the rest, destitute 
 and alone. “ What ho ! my good fellow,” 
 exclaims the father of men, “ where wert 
 thou when the general distribution was 
 going forward ?” The bard modestly re- 
 plied, “ Mine eyes were drunk with the 
 glory of thy coming, and mine ears filled 
 with the harmonies of heaven !” When 
 the monarch of the gods, apparently no 
 less open to delicate flattery than any 
 mortal, — to him thus : “Well, it’s a sad 
 case, my boy ! I have nothing left on the 
 earth to give you, but as a compensation, 
 you shall have, after death, the topmost 
 round on my throne in the skies.” The 
 poet was doubtless pleased, and went 
 away, and ever since, this has been the 
 inheritance of his tribe. We may ob- 
 serve of it, that though a good reversion 
 for the next life, it is not one on which 
 money could be raised in Wall-street. 
 
 Well, incidents and memories such as 
 these have given rise to the unfavorable 
 estimate of authorship as a profession, 
 to which we allude, so that in the minds 
 of many, the writing of sonnets is equi- 
 valent to going shirtless, and the perpe- 
 tration of a romance the next thing in 
 its social consequences, to the perpetra- 
 tion of crime. And although the distin- 
 guished successes of a few individuals, 
 the facts, for instance, that Scott could 
 build a baronial castle, and Dickens live 
 like a lord, and Disraeli achieve the chan- 
 cellorship, and Bancroft get to be a for- 
 eign ambassador, &c., have partially cor- 
 rected the opinion, there is reason to be- 
 lieve that a majority of the world still 
 looks upon literature as no better than a 
 miserable and desperate dernier resort. 
 Only the other day, Mr. William Jerdan, 
 himself pretending to be one of the lite- 
 rary Corapheii of Great Britain, wrote 
 a book which is one long wail over the 
 unhappy conditions and prospects of wri- 
 ters as a class, and an earnest appeal to 
 
 * Tho Homes of American Authors, &c. &c. G. P. Putnam & Co. New-York: 1853. 
 
24 
 
 The Homes of American Authors. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 young men to avoid the professional pur- 
 suit of letters as they would avoid any 
 temptation of the devil. “ Let no man,” 
 ho says, “ be bred to literature, for as it" 
 has been less truly said of another occu- 
 pation, it will not be bread to him. Fal- 
 lacious hopes, bitter disappointments, un- 
 certain rewards, vile impositions, and cen- 
 sure and slander from the oppressors, are 
 his lot as soon as he puts pen to paper for 
 publication, or risks his peace of mind on 
 the black, black sea of printers’ ink. 
 With a fortune to sustain, or profession to 
 stand by him, it may still be bad enough ; 
 but without one or the other, it is as fool- 
 ish as alchemy or desperate as suicide.” 
 This is the old story, but we think 
 there is a great deal of misconception in 
 it ; at least we ought not, from Mr. Jer- 
 den’s failure, which, as a late foreign re- 
 view proves, is to be ascribed to his own 
 want of capability and prudence — we 
 must not infer the inevitable fate of the 
 whole circle of authors ; and, we cordial- 
 ly agree with that periodical further, that 
 literature is as lucrative and promising as 
 any other profession, to men who are re- 
 ally qualified to discharge its exacting 
 and lofty functions. One reason why it 
 records the disastrous rout of so many 
 of its followers is, that so many rush into 
 ft without the requisite capacities, and 
 then their defeats are chronicled, if not 
 by themselves, by others, and so heralded 
 to the world. Hardly a shiftless Cory- 
 don fails in walks of art that demand the 
 loftiest endowments of the mind — and 
 what crowds of such are there every" year 
 — that he or his friends do not parade 
 him as another example of melancholy 
 shipwreck, as if he deserved or could fairly 
 have anticipated any" other end. If the 
 same note were taken of the miscarriages 
 in law, medicine and divinity, — if every 
 briefless barrister, every physician with- 
 out a patient, and every' clergyman with- 
 out a cure, could make his griefs the talk 
 of the town, as authors manage to do 
 theirs, the disadvantages of their voca- 
 tions would swell mtc the magnitude and 
 enormity' of those of letters, and literature 
 would no longer stand solitary in its ag- 
 gravations. 
 
 For, it is not true that literature is a 
 peculiarly unkind and unnatural mother. 
 Her favors to those children that are 
 worthy of her, if not exuberant, are yet 
 not stinted. It is true, that writing is not 
 so productive of moneys as cotton spin- 
 ning or merchandise, because, as the Re- 
 view we have just quoted well argues, the 
 conditions of literary' and of ordinary 
 commercial labor, are very different. 
 The latter supplies a constant want, the 
 former ministers only to an intellectual 
 
 luxury, or to wants that do not wear out 
 the supply with such rapidity as to keep 
 up a high and incessant demand. Both 
 must be regulated, to some extent, by' the 
 vulgar law of supply and demand, and 
 their profits, by the same law, cannot be 
 forced beyond the natural level of cost 
 and competition. “ The latter combines 
 the joint action of capital and labor ; 
 it feels a continual competition ; it is 
 not dependent upon the humor or the ao- 
 cidents of the time ; no prosaic transi- 
 tion of the public taste converts its 
 productions, like poetry, into a drug ; 
 however people may become indifferent 
 to books, they are never likely to dispense 
 with shirts, or to decline the advantage 
 of the steam engine ; and although the 
 writer to whose merits the age is insensi- 
 ble, or whose merits arc of no utility to 
 the age, may be left to starve, the manu- 
 facturer will thrive. Is it reasonable to 
 protest against a state of things which 
 has been inevitable from the beginning of 
 the world, and which will continue to be 
 inevitable, so long as the material wants 
 of the world must be served, let its intel- 
 lectual wants shift as they may' ? The 
 aims of the two classes are essentially 
 different, and each has its own reward. 
 The literary man has a glory which is 
 denied to the manufacturer, nor could he 
 envy the latter his wealth, if he knew 
 how to appreciate his own position at its 
 true value. He has fame, if he deserves 
 it, — honor, if he merits it; nor need he 
 doubt of achieving the highest social dis- 
 tinctions, if he asserts his right to them 
 as he ought, and maintains them with in- 
 tegrity and self-respect ; while the other 
 may be left to the unenvied possession of 
 wealth and obscurity'.” 
 
 This is well said, and is true ; but it 
 should also be admitted, in behalf of lite- 
 rary' men, to explain and excuse, if not to 
 justify' their complaints, that with most of 
 them, the difficulty' is not so much the in- 
 sufficiency' of their incomes, as the liberali- 
 ty' of their outgoes. A thousand peculiar 
 temptations, springing partly from those 
 mental susceptibilities which difference 
 them from others, and partly from their so- 
 cial eligibility', beset them to spend more 
 than they make. The very' qualities 
 which form their greatest glory, are those 
 often which lead them into the deepest pain 
 and humiliations. If they were as hard, 
 as unimaginative, as careful of the main 
 chance, as the cotton spinner or the mer- 
 chant, they would grow rich like the cot- 
 ton spinner or the merchant ; but they 
 are not so constructed. That delicacy of 
 organization, which makes them alive to 
 those finer perceptions out of which lite- 
 rature comes, renders them keenly sensi- 
 
The Homes of American Authors. 
 
 25 
 
 1853.] 
 
 tive also to the pressures and discomforts 
 of existence, — those sands which drop in 
 and grit between the shell of our outward 
 condition and the fleshy sensibilities. 
 They yearn consequently to bring their 
 surroundings into a better correspondence 
 with their tastes and aspirations, and their 
 perpetual tendency is to gather costly ap- 
 pliances and comforts about them, to shut 
 out the actual existence by one of ideal 
 refinement; or, as our young poet Stod- 
 dard has it, in his “ Castle in the Air,” 
 they would sport among 
 u The garnered excellence of Earth and Time,'' 1 
 
 Besides, with superior powers to enter- 
 tain, or an elevated fame to render their 
 acquaintance a distinction, authors are 
 more sought for than others by general 
 society, where, whether they learn refined 
 or dissipated habits, they equally expose 
 themselves to expense. It is impossible 
 to keep up a varied and generous inter- 
 course, without falling into more or less 
 extravagance ; and genius with its irrita- 
 ble fancies and impetuous impulses, is least 
 of all likely to resist the allurements of 
 luxurious living, or to temper the seduc- 
 tions of taste with the cold discipline of 
 judgment. Not that genius is ever des- 
 titute of judgment, — seeing that the most 
 subtle, strong, unerring judgment is its 
 very essence, — but then its judgment is 
 the theoretic judgment, which is dis- 
 played in the creation and providence of a 
 great drama or poem, and not the prac- 
 tical judgment, which controls every-day 
 affairs. It is in danger therefore of run- 
 ning into prodigality, or, for want of ap- 
 propriate and ample nourishment, is be- 
 trayed into questionable indulgences. 
 Ah ! then the clouds darken about it : the 
 present grows comfortless and the future 
 minatory : and poor genius, losing its 
 freshness and glow, is genius no more. 
 It utters its wail into the uncaring uni- 
 verse, like one who falls at midnight from 
 some on-rushing steamship, and hearing 
 no reply but the plash of its own sinking, 
 goes down into the unyielding depths ! 
 
 But is the world to blame for such 
 miscarriages ? Is the literary profession, 
 as a practical pursuit, to blame ? Is 
 this lot worse, in its external liabilities, 
 than that of other men ; and would not 
 the chimney-sweep or the lawyer, who 
 should forget the actual conditions of so- 
 cial existence, to indulge in dreams and 
 idealizations, fail as signally as the au- 
 thor ? 
 
 Let us not be understood, however, to 
 maintain in the foregoing remarks, that 
 want of success in authorship is always 
 evidence either of want of merit, or of 
 want of prudence. We mean no such 
 
 thing : on the contrary, we know that 
 works of the most unquestionable excel- 
 lence have often to wait for appreciators, 
 — in fact, that genius, as a general thing, 
 must create its own audience ; but this is 
 as true of other professions as it is of litera- 
 ture. It is true in art ; true in science ; 
 true in mechanical inventions ; and some- 
 times true in practical enterprise ; and all 
 that we design to urge is simply that 
 authorship is no exception to other pur- 
 suits. We believe that if competent men 
 engage in it with industry, patience, and 
 consistent purpose, conducting their af- 
 fairs with average foresight, they will 
 reap at the least the average pecuniary 
 rewards. The depreciating view that 
 prevails is an unjust as well as an inju- 
 rious one, — and one therefore that ought 
 to be removed. It is unjust because it 
 exaggerates the disparagements of a true 
 and worthy literary life, and injurious, 
 because it happens in this world, that the 
 respectability of a pursuit too much de- 
 pends upon what the Californians call the 
 “ prospecting,” or the chance of turning 
 up some genial and ravishing deposit of 
 sunny ore. 
 
 Nowhere has the literary profession 
 been supposed to be more hopeless than 
 in the United States ; and yet, we are 
 persuaded that here as elsewhere, in spite 
 of all the drawbacks, adventitious or ne- 
 cessary, a career of honor and profit is 
 open to all who engage in it with the 
 proper qualifications, and pursue it with 
 fidelity and self-control. We do not say 
 that the pecuniary rewards of it are as 
 generous as they ought to be, or probably 
 will be hereafter ; we do not say that it 
 will become in the present state of socie- 
 ty as fertile as trade, or even as the 
 learned professions ; but we do say that, 
 besides its peculiar harvests in the way 
 of reputation and influence on the great 
 cotemporary and prospective movements 
 of thought, it holds out the guerdon of 
 reasonable pecuniary success, — and of so- 
 cial compensations that ought to satisfy 
 reasonable desires. 
 
 In proof of this, we appeal to the ex- 
 perience of those writers among us, who 
 have shown by their works, their fitness 
 for their vocations. They are nearly all 
 in comfortable positions, and many of 
 them are affluent. Mr. Putnam’s book 
 contains an account of some twenty of 
 them (announcing others that are to fol- 
 low) — and scarcely one of the number 
 can be said to be poor. Mr. Prescott en- 
 joys a princely income, a part of it inher- 
 ited, it is true, but the other part derived 
 from his books : the old age of Irving is 
 made glad by more than competence, 
 worthily won by his pen : Mr. Cooper’s 
 
26 
 
 The Homes of American Authors. 
 
 novels enabled him to live generously 
 during his whole life : Bancroft is indebt- 
 ed for his political and social position 
 to his merits as a historian : Bryant, 
 though not altogether by his poetry, yet 
 by the exercise of his literary abilities, for 
 the newspaper is a branch of literature, 
 has been placed at his ease : while among 
 those not included in this volume, Mel- 
 ville, Mitchell, Headley, Stephens, Curtis 
 and others, have reaped large rewards 
 from their publications. On the other 
 hand, if Hawthorne and others are not 
 yet at the summits of fortune, the} - have 
 at least a glimpse of the golden heights. 
 
 These results are the more remarkable, 
 because in this country, success is ren- 
 dered difficult by an artificial obstruction 
 thrown in its way. The American au- 
 thor has to contend against two rival- 
 ries, — both formidable — first, that of 
 his native competitor; and second, that 
 of the foreign writer. And in respect to 
 the latter, he enters the lists under the 
 additional disadvantage, that while his 
 own works must be paid for by the pub- 
 lisher, those of the foreigner are furnished 
 like the showman’s wonders, free gratis 
 and for nothing.” No sooner is a litera- 
 ry venture of Bulwer, Thackeray, or 
 Dickens afloat, than a whole baracoon 
 of “ bookaneers,” as Hood called them, 
 rushes forth to seize it, and so long as they 
 may do this, they will not spend money, 
 not much of it certainly, — in any regular 
 merchandise. Who will buy domestic 
 goods when he can import foreign goods 
 without price? It is not in human na- 
 ture to drive so thriftless a trade. Our 
 manufacturing friends of the protectionist 
 school, declaim dolorously against the poli- 
 cy of government which exposes their arts 
 to the cheap competition of Europe ; but 
 what a clamor would they raise if the ex- 
 otic productions, which come into market 
 against their own, were admitted, not 
 merely duty free, but without having 
 been subjected to an original cost ? Yet 
 this is precisely the sorrow of the Ameri- 
 can author ! At great expense himself, he 
 works against an antagonism which costs 
 nothing; for the slight per centage al- 
 lowed to foreign writers by our Ameri- 
 can publishers, for the privilege of a first 
 copy, is virtually nothing. His case, 
 therefore, is even worse than that of the 
 broomseller of the old anecdote, who, 
 stealing his raw materials, wondered how 
 Ills rival could undersell him ; until he 
 was told that the cunning rogue stole his 
 brooms ready-made. Thus, the publish- 
 er gets his commodity ready-made, and 
 floods the market with it, while the poor 
 American producer hawks and sings his 
 articles about the streets in vain ! 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 How long the latter will submit to this 
 injustice, we cannot say, — but let us ex- 
 press the hope, by way of episode, that 
 now, when we are about to have in the 
 chief seat of political power a gentleman, 
 one of whose distinctions it is, that he is 
 the warm personal friend of our most il- 
 lustrious tale writer, — he will signalize 
 that friendship by exerting his influence 
 to secure to the craft of Hawthorne its 
 just and long-delayed rights. Let him 
 do this, and the authors of America, — 
 destined to a longer life than its politi- 
 cians. — will take care of his good fame. 
 
 But all these considerations take for 
 granted the second assumption of Mr. 
 Putnam’s book, to which we alluded in 
 the outset, viz., that we have genuine 
 American authors. Is it so? We know 
 that a different opinion obtains, and that 
 foreign writers declare, with some degree 
 of emphasis, that, as yet, we are mere 
 imitators, — unfledged provincials, — re- 
 peating the copies set in the Old World, 
 and quite destitute of originality, inde- 
 pendence or native force. It is not three 
 months since a callow Scotch critic, 
 speaking ex cathedra , in the North Bri- 
 tish Review , conceded to us only three 
 poets, and those, as he dogmatically al- 
 leged, were servile echoes of Wordsworth 
 and Tennyson. Other writers before 
 him have repeatedly and triumphantly 
 asked for our dramatists, novelists, essay- 
 ists, and wits ; and Monsieur Philarete 
 Chasles, in his late self-complacent French 
 summary of American literary achieve- 
 ments, finds it difficult to drum up more 
 than half-a-dozen authors on whom he 
 bestows any thing like praise. There is, 
 therefore, considerable unanimity in the 
 judgment against us ; and, though the 
 London Times in its recent notice of the 
 “ Blithedale Romance,” relaxes a little of 
 its accustomed severity, and warns its co- 
 temporary British writers to bestir their 
 pens, it must be confessed that there still 
 exists a general incredulity abroad, if not 
 a lurking contempt, in respect to our lite- 
 rary pretensions. 
 
 We will not gainsay the partial justice 
 of the sentence, nor endeavor to hide the 
 rags and tatters of our poverty ; and yet. 
 whether moved thereto by overweening 
 national pride or by an egregious igno- 
 rance, — let others decide — we are disposed 
 to maintain that our literature is wrongly 
 depreciated, and that we have at least 
 done as much as could have been expect- 
 ed from us under the circumstances of 
 our national history and development. 
 
 The issue, it seems to us’, has never 
 been accurately stated, and, the discus- 
 sion in consequence has been needlessly 
 embarrassed. As we conceive them, 
 
The Homes of American Authors. 
 
 27 
 
 1853.] 
 
 the only important points are, whether 
 we possess a native literature at all, — 
 whether that literature, if it exists, is 
 equal to what might be justly asked of 
 us, — and whether, such as it is, it fur- 
 nishes any adequate and generous ground 
 of hope for the future ? 
 
 It would be absurd to expect of us, in 
 this the seventieth year of an independ- 
 ent national existence, as full and rich a 
 literature as that possessed by the older 
 nations, — absurd, for the reason, that 
 we have had no time to produce it in, 
 while our intellectual energies have been 
 absorbed in other ways. A man who 
 has his fields to clear, his house to build 
 out of the primeval forest, his shoes and 
 clothing to make, his ways of access to 
 his neighbors to open, and above all, his 
 government and social order to institute, 
 — in short, who has to provide by dint of 
 the severest toil for the most immediate 
 and pressing wants of his existence, is 
 not the man who constructs epics, or 
 amuses his fancy with the invention of 
 dramas or tales. His epics, and dramas, 
 and romances he finds in his work. The 
 giants of the woods are giants more for- 
 midable to him, and whose conquest is 
 more important, than any his imagination 
 might conjure from the dim twilight of 
 Greek or Scandinavian mythology ; he is 
 battling face to face with the frost, and 
 hail, and mud jotuns that Carlyle speaks 
 of, and has as little relish as he has op- 
 portunity, for idle whimsies or songs. 
 At the same time should he be deeply 
 engaged in' a novel and somewhat mo- 
 mentous national experiment, working 
 out into practical and victorious solution, 
 a problem in which the political destinies 
 of half a world are involved, the stern and 
 and trying task laid upon him, will scarce- 
 ly permit of his turning aside to the gentler 
 and more imaginative arts. If, therefore, 
 the whole of his earlier life should exhibit 
 an absolute want of literary activity, the 
 fact would not argue against his capacity 
 for that kind of production, but simply 
 that his powers had been diverted into 
 other channels of development. But this 
 consideration is so obvious that we need 
 not press it further. 
 
 Or, if in the progress of wealth and 
 leisure, with the growth of intellectual 
 wants and refinements, we find him 
 prone to imitate the artistic efforts of 
 those who had gone before, he would on- 
 ly be guilty of a very common trait of 
 youth. Nothing is more natural than for 
 juniors to copy their seniors. Even men 
 and nations endowed with indisputable 
 genius, are apt in their first crude endea- 
 vors, to pursue the paths and ape the 
 manners of their predecessors, whose suc- 
 
 cesses have kindled their imaginations, 
 and for whose qualities they feel a kin- 
 dred sympathy, but the secrets of whose 
 self-dependence they have not yet learned. 
 Fearful at first of the strength of their 
 untried wings, yet full of the impulse of 
 flight, like young birds they watch the 
 motions of their elders, until in due time 
 they themselves launch forth into the air. 
 Indeed, we remember years ago to have 
 read the work of some unrecognized 
 western philosopher, who maintained, — 
 with an abundance of instances to con- 
 firm his theory, — that early imitation was 
 a characteristic mark of genius, and that 
 the greatest of men have always begun 
 their careers by the conscious or uncon- 
 scious adoption of some far advanced mo- 
 del. But be that is it may, we know, in 
 respect to nations, how much of the ear- 
 lier art and science of Greece was derived 
 from the opulent storehouses of the East, 
 though Greece became the mistress of the 
 intellectual world ; we know how de- 
 pendent the Romans were upon Greece, 
 though Rome subsequently enriched man- 
 kind from her native sources ; and we 
 know, too, what infusion of the Latin 
 there has been into English speech. May 
 we not infer from these examples then, 
 that if America, as she is tauntingly 
 charged, has sucked too much of her 
 earliest instruction and culture from the 
 breasts of her noble mother, it does not 
 prove that she is now unable tc go alone 
 but it simply shows that America was 
 once quite young. Speaking the lan- 
 guage of England was it not inevitable 
 that we should read the literature of 
 England, and draw thence much of our 
 intellectual nurture ? N ay, more, — is 
 not the whole earlier literature of Eng- 
 land just as much ours as it is that of 
 modern Englishmen ? Up to the time 
 of our revolutionary separation, it was 
 surely the common possession of the En- 
 glish race ; and the mere change in our 
 political relations worked no defeat of our 
 claim. We have a right to appeal to 
 Chaucer, Spenser, Shakspeare, Milton, 
 &c., as our ancestors in the direct line, 
 just as the younger members of a family 
 call the common progenitor father, though 
 they may not have inherited the title and 
 the estates. They may have quarrelled 
 with the elder brother even, and quit the 
 paternal roof, and begun new life-methods 
 for themselves in some distant region of 
 the globe, but their lineage remains as 
 clear and indisputable as that of the first- 
 born. 
 
 Now, all this being admitted, the ques- 
 tion of American originality narrows it- 
 self down to this, — whether the stock has 
 depreciated by crossing the ocean, or in 
 
28 
 
 The Homes of American Authors. 
 
 being exposed to the different influences of 
 new natural and social conditions ? Do 
 such of us as hare devoted their energies 
 to literature give evidence of deteriora- 
 tion or decay ; or is the old vigor still in 
 our loins ? 
 
 W e think that no fair mind can hesi- 
 tate as to the answer. We believe that 
 our authors have at least not degenera- 
 ted. On the other hand, we believe that 
 they are worthy scions of the old stock, 
 and more than that, that under the inspi- 
 ration of a new order of things, such as 
 exists in this country, they have laid the 
 foundations of a peculiar literature. — not 
 yet copious, not yet comparable for rich- 
 ness, depth, variety or grace, with either 
 of the ancient or modern literatures, but 
 still full of native freshness and vigor. 
 Like a noble youth rounding into man- 
 hood, we are wild, extravagant and impul- 
 sive, betraying the faults of want of dis- 
 cipline and culture, but strong in the 
 consciousness of mighty powers, and 
 bounding forward to a future of glorious 
 developments. 
 
 No ! we may not point to bright galax- 
 ies like those which shed lustre from oth- 
 er heavens ; we have no thickly studded 
 constellations and luminous groups scat- 
 tered all above us ; but we may claim 
 single stars that shine with an unbor- 
 rowcd and unfading brilliancy. Few will 
 be disposed to deny that in metaphysics 
 and moral reasoning Jonathan Edwards 
 is of the same order of men with Locke 
 and Butler ; in experimental philosophy, 
 Franklin, and in the science of naviga- 
 tion Bowditch, are names consecrated by 
 history. Hamilton, Jefferson, and Madi- 
 son rank with the statesmen of any age ; 
 the historians Bancroft and Prescott take 
 their places by the side of the best mo- 
 dern historians, Alison, Thierry, Guizot, 
 whether we regard the accuracy of their 
 research, or the perspicuity and finish of 
 the style ; Cooper as a novelist is only in- 
 ferior to Scott, to whom all others are in- 
 ferior ; the pleasant essays of I rving fear 
 no comparison with those of Addison and 
 Goldsmith ; there are poems of Bryant 
 which will be read with delight as long 
 as Gray’s elegy, or Coleridge’s Genevieve, 
 or Milton’s Lycidas, or Burns’ songs, be- 
 cause like those immortal productions 
 they are perfect in their kind ; when we 
 name the only eloquence in our language, 
 which approaches the comprehensive and 
 masterly speeches of Burke, we recall that 
 of Webster ; the artist of all modern ar- 
 tists who approaches nearest to Titian 
 is Allston ; the liveliest magazinist of 
 the day, not excepting Jules Janin, is 
 Willis ; the woman, who has written a 
 Shook which has had a wider instant cir- 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 culation than the book of any other wo- 
 man or man, is Mrs. Stowe. W r ell, this 
 is not much : it is not Shakspeare, Mil- 
 ton, or Bacon — it is not Swift, Fielding, 
 Thackeray, but it is some proof of what 
 we contend for, — that the old Saxon blood 
 has not turned to water in our veins, nor 
 the old fire of the heart become a putrid 
 phosphor. 
 
 It is a piece of unworthy prejudice 
 to pretend that our leading writers are 
 only second editions of European celebri- 
 ties. Cooper is no more an imitator of 
 Scott than is Bulwer or Dickens ; his 
 materials and his methods of present- 
 ing them are his own ; and no man 
 not born in America, in the shadow of 
 her primeval woods, under the inspi- 
 rations of her democratic institutions, 
 could have written any of the best of his 
 works. Bryant is wholly American, or 
 if he resembles Wordsworth or Cowper, 
 it is because he writes English with the 
 deep meditative wisdom of the one, and 
 the pensive grace of the other ; but nei- 
 ther Wordsworth nor Cowper have writ- 
 ten more true, beautiful, or indestruct- 
 able poems than the Waterfowl or the 
 Prairies. Whom does Emerson imitate ? 
 Carlyle i Why, with scarcely a quality 
 in common with Carlyle, he is the supe- 
 rior of Carlyle, in clearness and depth 
 of insight, as he is in simplicity and 
 melody of style. Has Mr. Dana a pro- 
 totype. has Channing, has Audubon, has 
 Webster, has Hawthorne, has Melville, 
 has Uncle Tom ? 
 
 There always must be more or less 
 structural uniformity in the literature of 
 nations which speak the same language. 
 Out of the same deep heart of the na- 
 tional life, from which language comes, 
 literature also is born ; and those myste- 
 rious indwelling causes, and those appa- 
 rent external influences, which mould and 
 modify the one, must give form and color 
 to the other. It is impossible to separate 
 ourselves wholly from the features or the 
 predominant traits of our parents. Had 
 the earlier settlers of this country been 
 mainly French or German, as they were 
 English, our subsequent growth would 
 probably have partaken of a French or 
 German tenor. What literature we 
 might create would have borne a family 
 likeness to Voltaire, or Goethe, to Vic- 
 tor Hugo, or Freligrath, instead of to 
 Milton and Sir Walter Scott, to Addison 
 and Pope ; and we should in that event 
 have had to struggle ourselves clear of 
 German mysticism, and French elegance, 
 as we now have to make our way out of 
 the heavy and melancholy gravity of 
 John Bull. 
 
 But this resemblance between our own 
 
1 853 .] 
 
 The Homes of American Authors. 
 
 29 
 
 literature and that of England, springing 
 from an identity of race and tongue, — 
 made especially apparent during the for- 
 mative and transitional stages of our 
 growth, — will not prevent a remarkably 
 new and original development in the ma- 
 turer future. Already we have cut our- 
 selves loose from the leading-strings which 
 were inevitable to our childhood, — not 
 in our political system only, but in 
 our manners, morals, and arts ; and, un- 
 der the torrent of influences pouring in 
 upon us from the vast accessions to our 
 population from the Old World, our whole 
 literary and social character is undergo- 
 ing change. This is not the place to 
 speak of the social indications, but, as it 
 regards the literary, we allege that our 
 younger writers abound in them, — in the 
 most unmistakable evidences of a new 
 and vigorous direction given to their ha- 
 bits of feeling and thought. They are 
 not only less English than their prede- 
 cessors were ; they are not only more 
 universal in their affinities and tastes, the 
 consequence of wider sympathies, and the 
 infusion of the European element ; but 
 they are more entirely independent, self- 
 sustained, and have a more distinct cha- 
 racter of their own. A certain ready, 
 open impressibility, which takes in all the 
 wonders of nature and all the excellen- 
 cies of art, and has a quick feeling for 
 every variety of human character, — is the 
 mark of most of them, accompanied by a 
 fresh, buoyant, genial enthusiasm. With- 
 out losing the earnestness of their north- 
 ern origin, they have had superinduced 
 upon it the volatile and graceful vivacity of 
 the south ; they are more external, sensu- 
 ous, impassioned, but none the less intense 
 and thoughtful. The Saxon and the Cel- 
 tic bloods unite in their veins, giving bril- 
 liancy and facility to a foundation of en- 
 durance and power. 
 
 It is scarcely time for these new com- 
 binations to show themselves in full force 
 — except in practical enterprise, where our 
 achievements both in grandeur of concep- 
 tion and ease of execution surpass all that 
 is recorded in modern annals. — but in that 
 branch of literature, which comes nearest 
 to enterprise, — in narratives of travel, 
 there are many signs of a new and vigor- 
 ous tendency. Stephens in Central Ame- 
 rica, Melville in the South Seas, Curtis 
 in Egypt and Syria, have marked out 
 styles of their own, each different from 
 the other, and each different from any 
 travellers that have gone before them. 
 They are full of freshness and broad, sen- 
 suous life, — not like the worn-out de- 
 bauchees of Europe who travel to get rid 
 of themselves or to find a new sensation, 
 but like marvellously wise children, capa- 
 
 ble of surprises, but accepting all novel- 
 ties with good humor ; indeed, with a 
 certain rollicking fun, and at the same 
 time estimating them at their true value 
 with an unerring practical sagacity. 
 
 Among our nascent poets, too, — such 
 as Saxe, Boker, Read, Taylor, and Stod- 
 dart, — we discern the earnest of a de- 
 parture from old methods, and an en- 
 trance upon a new and original career. 
 They are more free, frank, and expan- 
 sive than the modern British poets, and 
 superadd to the concentrated force and 
 strength of their insular models a more af- 
 fluent, richly colored and catholic view of 
 life. A luxuriance, as of some deep virgin 
 soil, shooting up into weedy extrava- 
 gance at times, bestrays the inspiration 
 of our prolific nature, and reminds us of 
 broad rivers and lakes, flowery prairies, 
 and interminable leafy woods. Their 
 faults, therefore, are faults of excess and 
 not of deficiency. They want discipline, 
 but not sensibility nor native vigor. They 
 have the hale, ruddy-complcxioned look 
 of health, and above all, a sincere fearless 
 spirit, which betokens a living spirit with- 
 in, and the capacity for lusty human 
 growth. Let them be true to the prom- 
 ises of their youth, and their manhood 
 will ripen into luscious and fragrant ful- 
 filments. 
 
 But we cannot pursue these topics ; we 
 have already dwelt so long upon them, 
 that we have left ourselves little space to 
 speak of the work by which they have 
 been suggested. It is confessedly the book 
 of the year. In the splendor of its em- 
 bellishments no less than in the interest of 
 its contents, we know of no holiday book 
 that can compare with it, — none at least 
 issued on this side of the ocean. Still we 
 have some faults to find with it : the 
 plates are, here and there, hastily execu 
 ted : and the letter-press of a few of the 
 contributions is not so sprightly, anecdo- 
 tal, personal as we should like to have 
 found. It is a prevailing vice of our wri- 
 ters to be too didactic and sedate ; and in 
 such a book, of all others, heavy writing 
 is out of place. But this criticism dees 
 not apply to the whole volume, in which 
 there is much admirable and vivacious 
 writing : while the entertainment which 
 it furnishes could not well be better. It 
 introduces us by pencil and by pen, to the 
 haunts of novelists and poets, who are 
 dear to the hearts of some, and will live 
 long in the imaginations of others. Ha- 
 ving given us many hours of the purest 
 delight, we desire to know them more 
 intimately, as they are known by those 
 permitted a friendly intercourse. We 
 visit Audubon in his snug retreat on 
 the Hudson, while his favorite deer are 
 
30 
 
 A Small Story of the Confessional. 
 
 stalking about us on the grass, and his 
 favorite birds sing to us from his trees : 
 We wander with Bryant through his 
 island woods, where his heart has learned 
 »ts lessons of severe simplicity, and his 
 imagination caught the glow of its bright 
 autumnal foilage : we loll in the sumptu- 
 ous study of Longfellow, where the old 
 panels suggest the memory of Washing- 
 ton, while the poet sings us golden legends 
 of the Old and the New World: we hold 
 high discourse with Emerson, in the sha- 
 dows of his Concordian Mecca, while the 
 wierd Hawthorne, himself a shade, flits 
 through the umbrage of the Old Manse : 
 the opulent library of Everett is opened 
 to us ; Lowell, l'resh from his European 
 harvest, conducts us about the nooks of his 
 paternal mansion: Miss Sedgwick roams 
 with us amid the glorious hills of Berk- 
 shire: Simms chaperons us among the wild 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 bays and pines of the Carolina plantation : 
 Kennedy welcomes us to the hospitality 
 of the warm South : the generous Coop- 
 er throws open his lordly Northern hall : 
 Irving tells quaint stories of the Western 
 hunters, or of Spanish Dons, or of old 
 English cheer, as we sit beneath the fan- 
 tastic gables of Wolfert’s Roost: and Da- 
 na strolls with us along the shores of the 
 far-resounding sea, where we listen to the 
 beat of its mighty pulses, till some image 
 of its boundlessness and glory passes into 
 our souls. But there is one Home, near 
 that same sea, in which we loiter with 
 pleasure no more ; for the presiding ge- 
 nius has departed from it, and we tread 
 the vacant lawns, and walk silently 
 through the deserted halls of Marshfield, 
 full of sad and thoughtful memories of 
 Webster 
 
 A SMALL STORY OF THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 S OME twenty-five years ago a young 
 Irishman came to New-York. in search 
 of a fortune, bringing a letter of recom- 
 mendation to the late D. L from 
 
 Lady S — — ■. After remaining in New- 
 
 York a few weeks, and not finding any 
 employment to his liking, lie called upon 
 Mr. L. and told him he wished to go 
 South, but had not the means to pay his 
 passage ; upon hearing this Mr. L. loaned 
 him the sum which he required. The 
 adventurer departed on his way, and a 
 few years afterwards Mr. L. died. As 
 he made no memorandum of the sum 
 loaned, of course his family knew nothing 
 about it. But it was not forgotten by 
 the young Irishman, who, last summer, 
 returned to his native country in bettered 
 circumstances, and confessed to his priest 
 that his conscience was troubled about the 
 money he had borrowed twenty-five years 
 ago and had never returned. The priest 
 told him he must return the money, with 
 compound interest, to the heirs of Mr. 
 L., if any could be found. Application 
 was made to Lady S., in Dublin, for in- 
 formation on the subject, and as she hap- 
 pened to know a gentleman who was on 
 the point of making a visit to the United 
 
 States, she said if the money were sent 
 to her she would place it in his hands, 
 and request him to pay it over to the de- 
 scendants of Mr. L. The full amount 
 was accordingly handed to her. in Bank of 
 England notes, some five times the origi- 
 nal sum loaned, and General D 
 
 promised to make diligent inquiries for the 
 rightful owners. After his arrival iu 
 New-York. however, he forgot the mat- 
 ter, but was reminded of his trust by ac- 
 cidentally meeting a daughter of the de- 
 ceased Mr. L. at a dinner party. He 
 stated the circumstance to her, and pro- 
 mised to send the money to her, to be 
 distributed by her among her brothers and 
 sisters. But, on looking over his papers, he 
 could neither find the roll of bills, nor any 
 memorandum by which he could ascer- 
 tain the amount. It so chanced, howev- 
 er, that a few days afterwards he had oc- 
 casion to look in a book of heraldry, and 
 there he found the notes, which had been 
 carefully placed there by himself, but for- 
 gotten. They were accordingly handed 
 to the rightful claimants, who could well 
 have afforded to forgive a debt whose ex- 
 istence they were not aware of. 
 
GONDOLA SONGS. 
 
 R USHES lean over the water, 
 
 Shells lie on the shore, 
 
 And thou, the blue ocean’s daughter, 
 Sleep’st soft in the song of its roar. 
 
 Clouds sail over the ocean, 
 
 White gusts fleck its calm, 
 
 But never its wildest motion 
 Thy beautiful rest should harm. 
 
 White feet on the edge of the billow 
 Mock its smooth-seething cream ; 
 Hard ribs of beach sand thy pillow, 
 And a noble lover thy dream. 
 
 Like tangles of sea-weed streaming 
 Over a perfect pearl, 
 
 Thy fair hair fringes thy dreaming, 
 O sleeping Lido girl ! 
 
 n. 
 
 Girl on the marble riva, 
 
 You watch the gondolas glide ; 
 The gondoliers are silent, 
 
 The lovers sit side by side 
 
 The gondoliers are silent, 
 
 The lovers have all to say ; 
 The cheek of the blushing lady 
 Is paled by the dying day. 
 
 Her long fair hair is braided, 
 
 Yours falls in a midnight shower ; 
 
 Her face from the sun is shaded, 
 
 Your bloom is a sun-bronzed flower. 
 
 The whispering lovers see you, 
 
 As they glide by the marble shores ; 
 
 You are the shade of their picture, 
 And they are the light of yours. 
 
 You do not glide in a gondola, 
 
 Nor lie on a lover’s breast ; 
 
 You stand in the palace shadow, 
 
 And look on the sunset West. 
 
 There glitter your proud pavilions, 
 And, breathing a summer air, — 
 Dark girl on the lonely riva, 
 
 The lover awaits you there. 
 
82 
 
 L J a a 
 
 THE LIHXG 'CORPSE. 
 
 J HY the fancy has seized me to write 
 the strange history which follows, is 
 to me inexplicable. My utter indifference 
 to human sympathy, human praise, or 
 human opinion, which will soon be seen 
 to he no vain affectation, would seem to 
 render such an act superfluous. Perhaps 
 the necessity for some species of action, 
 which even the inert granite is supposed 
 to be imbued with by the progressive 
 spirit of Nature, may account for the 
 proceeding. Since, however, I intend to 
 write, 1 propose to write intelligibly. It 
 is difficult to describe sensations where 
 memory alone must furnish their corres- 
 ponding ideas. Were I a human being, 
 in the strict sense of the word, I should, 
 if I may judge by what I see others do, 
 apologize for the imperfection of my nar- 
 rative. As it is, I shall reproduce the 
 images of the past with the fidelity as 
 also with the indifference of an echo. It 
 is perhaps the first time that a Dead 
 Man has spoken in the language of the 
 living, though approximations to the phe- 
 nomenon are to be found in many writers 
 of the day, whose works, I being abso- 
 lutely destitute of passions, can alone 
 dispassionately criticise. Weak minds 
 will either fail to comprehend, or recoil 
 with horror from my revelations. To 
 the thinking few, they will be a curiosi- 
 ty, which I affirm gravely to be unparal- 
 leled in the annals of literature, or the 
 records of history. 
 
 I was not always a living corpse. I 
 am not a natural monster. I was born 
 alive, in the full sense of the word. Nay, 
 I was the result of an unbridled passion, 
 and gifted with all the fiery vitality 
 which such lawless indulgences not un- 
 frequently produce. My mother was an 
 Italian Princess, my father a private sol- 
 dier in the Prussian cavalry. My birth 
 took place in secrecy, and with all the 
 precautions of pride and shameful terror. 
 I was brought up in an atmosphere of 
 mystery, and though invisibly protected, 
 was, from my earliest recollection, an ut- 
 terly isolated being. At the age of one- 
 and-twenty, after completing, as they say, 
 
 my studies at the University of . I 
 
 was placed in possession of a fortune of 
 one hundred thousand dollars invested in 
 the English funds, and informed that 
 henceforth I was my own master ; whilst 
 I was supplied with a plain and probable 
 legend to serve as a convenient substitute 
 for a more authentic pedigree. It was 
 under these circumstances that I set out 
 on my travels, in the prime of youth and 
 love of enjoyment. My form was tall 
 
 and powerful, my face of a rare and 
 marked beauty, and my talents of that 
 order which make the great heroes, poets, 
 and criminals of this imperfect world. 
 My destiny was in my own hands, and I 
 became, if not the greatest, at least the 
 most extraordinary of earth’s children. 
 I state these facts in their naked simpli- 
 city, because what is termed vanity, is so 
 utterly impossible to a being of my unique 
 nature, that I can waive all common 
 forms, and introduce myself at once in 
 my true colors to the reader. 
 
 I shall commence by a brief account of 
 my youth and education, or rather of the 
 early movements of my mind, which led 
 me to adopt a course so singular in its 
 audacity, both of conception and execu- 
 tion. 
 
 My two dominant passions, before the 
 extraordinary events which it is the main 
 purpose of this tale to record, were an 
 intense longing for exalted sensations ol 
 pleasure, and as a means to this end, a 
 burning thirst for knowledge. Having 
 renounced all religious creeds, and set at 
 defiance all social prejudices, I resolved 
 to make the aim of my existence the at- 
 tainment by study and experiment, of the 
 most certain methods of scientific enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 I was naturally what the world calls 
 pre-eminently selfish ; as if one man 
 could be more or less selfish than anoth- 
 er ; as if. in obeying the laws of his or- 
 ganization, any one could act otherwise 
 than yield invariably to the strongest 
 motive, as if any motive could be aught 
 else than a certain amount of force acting 
 upon an individual being ! 
 
 But I will not philosophize. My hu- 
 man and living readers would not under- 
 stand me if I did. Their perceptions are 
 clogged by passions and prejudices. 
 Hence truth is strange to them, and even 
 terrible. There are some few, eagle-eyed 
 who can gaze upon the sun, undazzled. 
 To these my philosophy would be imper- 
 tinent ; to the mass it is incomprehensible. 
 
 I will tell my story without obscurity. 
 I will use the plainest language, and speak 
 to popular acceptations. 
 
 I was then, a voluptuary, but not a 
 common voluptuary. I saw that the or- 
 dinary mines of enjoyment were soon ex- 
 hausted, or only to be worked more deep- 
 ly by labor that defeated its object. I 
 perceived that the most crowded paths of 
 pleasure turned back, by circuitous cour- 
 ses, in never-ending circles. 
 
 I resolved to abandon these pastures of 
 gregarious man. But before abandoning 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Living Corpse. 
 
 33 
 
 them, I tested them by experience. - 1 
 plunged into all the dissipations of my 
 age. I sought all the distractions that 
 youth, a strong well-nerved body, and an 
 active mind could hope to obtain. I 
 bought all the diversion that gold could 
 buy. I lived with my generation ; I sur- 
 passed them ; I led them. I practised 
 systematized moderation. I essayed un- 
 bridled excesses. And — I was disap- 
 
 pointed. 
 
 I did not, as the cant phrase goes, 
 awake from my illusions. I had read, 
 seen, and thought too much. I was too 
 clear-headed to have any illusions. 
 Where others saw misty prospects, I saw 
 naked facts. I summed up, and found 
 the balance on the wrong side. My ex- 
 periment was a failure. 
 
 I had travelled, I had seen the wonders 
 of art, and the beauties of nature. I had 
 had access to the best, and to the worst 
 of society. I had labored, and been re- 
 warded by fame. The book which I 
 wrote, won the applause of a nation. I 
 foresaw that it would obtain new tri- 
 umphs in foreign lands; and my fore- 
 sight has been confirmed by fact. Last- 
 ly, I was united to the woman I loved ; 
 who brought me thrice the fortune I ex- 
 pected, and a mind cultivated beyond my 
 hopes. And with all this — I was dissat- 
 isfied. I craved for intenser pleasure ; 
 more exalted excitement, and I could not 
 disguise from myself that it was so. I 
 reflected deeply. 
 
 “ What,” said I, “ is happiness ? Is it 
 a monotony of sensations, which are ta- 
 ken to be pleasurable on the faith of pop- 
 ular opinion, whilst the inward voice still 
 whispers languor and tedium, whilst half 
 the day is passed in a dreary vacuity of 
 mind, which is, at best, merely the bare 
 negative of pain 1 Is it a feverish work- 
 ing and striving for objects which on at- 
 tainment invariably become insipid and 
 indifferent V 
 
 “ Certainly not. Reasonably regarded, 
 it is surely a positive, appreciable state of 
 consciousness, in which we can say with- 
 out hesitation to the moment, in the 
 words of Goethe, ‘ 0 linger yet, thou art 
 so fair !’ It is a certain condition of the 
 nervous system, and without that condi- 
 tion — misery.” 
 
 I fell to watching myself studiously at 
 different times, and under various circum- 
 stances. 
 
 I observed that, at a certain stage, wine 
 produced sensations of extreme delight. 
 But I also observed that these sensations 
 soon gave way to other and more sombre 
 feelings ; that, in fact, there was a happy 
 crisis in alcoholic stimulus, which, when 
 once past, could not be recalled on one 
 vol. l — 3 
 
 and the same occasion. Indulgence, too 
 in wine was, I perceived, followed by a 
 vague, dreary despondency, that lasted in- 
 comparably longer than tbe brief passing 
 moments of delicious exhilaration it pro- 
 duced. 
 
 On the whole, it was better to leave the 
 mind to nature and mere mental excite- 
 ments, than to attempt to light the sacred 
 fire at the now neglected altars of Bac- 
 chus. 
 
 I need not say, that to become vulgarly 
 intoxicated, was, with me, out of the ques- 
 tion. There are some strong brains that 
 defy the utmost possibilities of wine. I 
 could have poisoned myself, but I could 
 not render myself an unreasoning animal, 
 by any amount of spirituous liquors. 
 Often 1 persevered to the last, and when 
 all my wild companions had sunk, I may 
 say in many cases fallen beneath their 
 potent draughts, I alone sat erect, and at 
 worst discovered that my stomach was a 
 weaker organ than my head. In such 
 cases a feeling of awful and gloomy sad- 
 ness would possess me, and after sitting 
 long in silent and strangely lucid medita- 
 tions, I would walk home calmly in the 
 gray of the morning with little outward 
 indication of the debauch from winch I 
 had emerged. 
 
 It was evident that no cascades of wine 
 — even though they beggared Niagara in 
 their ruby or topaz-like curves— could 
 overarch for me that enchanted palace, 
 in which I desired to spend my days, and 
 defy the adversary — Pain, Evil, Devil, 
 Typhon, Ariman or Sathanas, in a word, 
 the dread foe, named or nameless, describ- 
 ed or indescribable, of human happiness 
 and its continuance. 
 
 Apart from all more palpable causes of 
 suffering, man sits between Memory and 
 Desire, between the Past and the Future, 
 as between two rival mistresses, each 
 dragging him towards her by turns with 
 uneasy passion ; whilst before him, and as 
 it were balanced on an eternal and invisi- 
 ble tight-rope, sways the only nymph that 
 can bless him with her love, the only 
 goddess he can really and truly possess, 
 if indeed he can possess anything, the di- 
 vine Present — and he — dares not clasp the 
 radiant virgin to his heart, dares not drive 
 to the East nor to the West, along the in- 
 terminable roads of space, the furies that 
 torment him, madden him, and devour 
 him, now, then, and evermore ! 
 
 For my part, I said to the sad and pale 
 brunette, the angel Prseterita, and to the 
 blonde seductive blue-eyed spirit Futura, 
 a like farewell. The genii of Past and 
 Future ruled the race of man — the Earth- 
 God. But one was a rebel and an outlaw ; 
 and that one was I. 
 
34 
 
 The Living Corpse. 
 
 I said to the Universe, 11 Let me feel 
 happiness, not merely dream it.” And 
 everlasting echoes from all the depths of 
 Kosmos, even from the farthest bounds 
 where creation, ever encroaching, borders 
 upon awful chaos, everlasting echoes an- 
 swered “DREAM!” 
 
 And I replied to the spirits of the In- 
 finite, and demanded proudly, “ Ye blind 
 legions of monitors ! where in nature is 
 your unclouded happiness ? where is your 
 perfection ?” 
 
 And the echoes laughed back in mock- 
 ery, “perfection /” 
 
 Then 1 ceased to ask counsel of any 
 men or spirits. For 1 was determined to 
 be my own guide, and my own teacher, 
 since all the wisdom of the world had 
 not yet led to happiness. Therefore I 
 scorned its pretensions, and derided its 
 impotence with justice. 
 
 St * * * * * 
 
 I became a great smoker. I purchased 
 the rarest tobaccos and the costliest pipes. 
 1 had a perfect museum of meerschaums, 
 nargules, chibouques, and tubes and 
 bowls of all sorts of shape, size, and con- 
 trivance for the inhalation of the fragrant 
 weed. I purchased, at extravagant prices, 
 the choicest boxes of cigars. 1 smoked 
 grandly, incessantly, infernally. The at- 
 mosphere grew dark with my smoking ; 
 at least to my imagination. I wrapped 
 my soul in the incense of tobacco. I 
 created worlds of fancies out of its wreath- 
 ing vapors. I began to think I had found 
 the resource 1 wanted, and I often ex- 
 claimed in dreamy ecstasy — " Divine Ni- 
 cotiana!”* I doubted whether the va- 
 pors which inspired the l’y thoness did not 
 arise from the hookahs of the priests 
 smoking in solemn divan in the subterra- 
 anean halls of Delphi. And I gave them 
 high credit for having so well preserved 
 the secret they had discovered. 
 
 At the same time, like a true Turk, 
 I took care to have the finest coffee 
 of Mocha prepared by the most perfect 
 machinery. 1 found that, after fasting, 
 the effect of coffee upon the nerves was 
 almost supernatural ; but combined with 
 tobacco, it was Elysian. It produced an 
 intense state of enjoyment, diming which, 
 I would discourse with a marvellous elo- 
 quence to my adoring Mira, who was 
 never weary of following the train of my 
 prolific and far-stretching fantasies. How 
 easily in this period of my madness (as I 
 have since learned to deem it) did 1 un- 
 ravel knots in science and philosophy, 
 that had puzzled the wise men of ages. 
 How intuitively did I seize on combina- 
 
 * Nicotiana is the scientific name for tobacco, 
 who first imported it to France. 
 
 [Jan 
 
 tions, whose results, in the hands of prac- 
 tical men, might have rendered them the 
 acknowledged benefactors of the world, and 
 enriched whole nations of workers ! But 
 with me, all was a reverie of selfish re- 
 creation. I created glorious plans, I fore- 
 shadowed mighty inventions, as a volup- 
 tuous exercise of the mind ; I played as 
 it were grand symphonies on the most in- 
 tellectual themes, and the compositions 
 perished with the dying sounds, like the 
 fantasias of musicians, which are never to 
 be repeated. 
 
 But this could not last. My powerful 
 organization resisted for a time the exag- 
 gerated abuse of drugs, which, common 
 though they be, are in excess, like all 
 other substances, the deadliest poisons. 
 Smoking destroys the appetite, and ruins 
 the digestive powers. Its effect upon the 
 nerves then becomes tremendous. I soon 
 made this discovery. A neuralgic irrita- 
 tion attacked me, which, as I still pursued 
 my diabolical fumigations, went on with 
 a fearfully crescendo movement. Deadly 
 sickness of a peculiar inactive character, 
 fits of the horrors, in which all things 
 became repugnant, wearisome, and nau- 
 seating; ideas of suicide, and awful de- 
 spondencies, descended upon me like a 
 flight of vultures on a dying antelope. I 
 abandoned the poisons. My prostration 
 was complete and unbearable. 1 partially 
 resumed them, and tried change of air and 
 scene. I just recovered sufficiently to be 
 able to suffer more acutely. I had evi- 
 dently, at least temporarily, undermined 
 my constitution. It was at this period, 
 that, like a demon watching his occasion, 
 opium became my comforter. 
 
 For the first time a book fell into my 
 hands, a dangerous book, which has made 
 many wretched : I mean “ The confessions 
 of an English opium-eater.” This work, 
 as all the world knows, was written by 
 Thomas de Quincy, an Englishman of let- 
 ters, who is still living. And with regard 
 to this de Quincy. I will mention one thing 
 that is curious. He is intimately per- 
 suaded that he is a great philosopher. In 
 reality he is a fragmentary poet, imbued 
 with considerable transcendentalism. His 
 book is extremely amusing, but the re- 
 verse of philosophical, for it arrives at no 
 conclusion. It is an opium book in more 
 senses than the writer would have you 
 believe. Such as it is, however, this book 
 was the imm ediate cause of my taking to 
 opium. 
 
 Its first effects were delightful. It 
 tranquillized my irritated nerves, and I 
 entered, as it were, a new world of dreamy 
 
 It Is derived from a Frenchman of the name of Jean Jficot 
 
The Living Corpse. 
 
 35 
 
 1853.] 
 
 speculation. An invisible barrier seemed 
 raised between me and the external world. 
 Nothing troubled me, nothing annoyed 
 me. I was on the verge of being utterly 
 inpoverished by a dispute as to the title 
 of my wife’s property. Hut it gave me 
 no uneasiness. The danger passed away 
 as it came — like a fleeting fancy. The 
 only ihing that slightly interfered with 
 my peaceful ecstasy of indolent reverie, 
 was the apprehensions of my wife. iShe 
 had heard that opium-eating was a shock- 
 ing thing, and she could not at once get 
 reconciled to the idea. Nor would any 
 thing induce her personally to taste the 
 talismanic liquid — the happiness in bot- 
 -lles, as de Quincy has aptly termed it. 
 
 The effect of opium in producing dreams, 
 so forcibly dwelt upon and splendidly il- 
 lustrated by that writer, I need not en- 
 large upon. Enough to state that the 
 number and variety of my visions were in- 
 finite. Ages were crowded into nights. 
 The most monstrous and gigantic images 
 were familiar things. Time and space 
 were extended beyond all conception, ex- 
 cept that of an opium-eater. Neverthe- 
 less, opium palled upon me, and the opi- 
 um-dream-world became almost tedious. 
 I had. too. an excessive dislike to the taste 
 of laudanum, which, strange to say, in- 
 creased rather than diminished. One day 
 I returned home with a small vial of bright 
 green liquid in my pocket. It’s very color 
 had a mystic poisonous fascination. How 
 much more potent and cabalistic was 
 its spell than the dark, thick, brown, 
 drowsy-looking laudanum ! It was Has- 
 chisch. Haschisch is a sort of Indian 
 hemp (Canabis Indicus). The liquid in 
 the vial was an extract from its stalks. 
 This Indian poison is mentioned in Lamar- 
 tine’s Vision of the Future, and in Alex- 
 ander Dumas’s Monte-Cristo. Their ex- 
 aggerated, or rather apparently exagge- 
 rated descriptions of its effects have no 
 doubt caused the majority of their read- 
 ers to consider this marvellous drug as a 
 mere figment of the poet and novelist’s 
 brains. It has, however, a real existence, 
 and is in extensive demand amongst the 
 initiated. In effect it resembles opium, 
 but is more exhilarating, and less narcotic. 
 I continued for a whole year to increase 
 ray doses of this new elixir of happiness, 
 and did not find myself assaulted by any 
 of the horrible fancies which de Quincy 
 complains of, as the after results of opium. 
 Like King Mithridates, I was becoming 
 familiar with poisons, and they began to 
 respect their master. Hut, though I lived 
 as much in another world from that of or- 
 dinary mortals, as if my habitation had 
 been in the planet Uranus, I could not 
 escape a more terrible poison than even 
 
 the Hydrocianic, commonly called Prussic 
 acid, in which, as an antidote to certain 
 effects of the Canabis Indicus , I freely 
 indulged. Ennui , the spleen, that mys- 
 terious and tyrannical malady, pursued 
 me, even into my poison-guarded dream- 
 world. I grew accustomed to the life, the 
 old dreams and fancies recurred, and be- 
 came tiresome. Already I meditated a 
 deeper plunge in Venemum. I fell in, acci- 
 dentally, in some review, with an account 
 of the Arsenic-eaters of Styria, and of the 
 results of that mania, in heightening the 
 personal beauty of its devotees. Certainly 
 the pure delicacy of Mira’s clear fair com- 
 plexion left no room for improvement, ex- 
 cept in the fancy of a madman. Never- 
 theless, I longed to try the effect of an 
 arsenic varnish — if I may so express my- 
 self — upon both her and my own coun- 
 tenance. Who could tell whether seem- 
 ing more beautiful to one another, our love 
 might not acquire new strength, and de- 
 velope new sources of delight. I was in 
 the midst of a profound reverie or rather 
 Haschisch dream on this subject, when I 
 received a letter from a scientific friend, 
 announcing the discovery of the effects of 
 inhaling ether , in destroying sensation and 
 rendering surgical operations painless. 
 
 I thought that ne\v light burst upon my 
 soul. In one instant, I became a convert 
 to an entirely new' system of nervous in- 
 fluence. 1 rushed out to buy some recti- 
 fied sulphuric ether , and a machine for 
 inhalation. The latter consisted of a bot- 
 tle to which was attached a flexible tube, 
 about tw'O feet long, and two inches in di- 
 ameter. I eagerly poured in some ether 
 and applied the funnel-like mouth-piece 
 to my lips. After a few' inspirations of 
 the vaporized ether, I felt a most marvel- 
 lous and delicious effect. I felt a stream 
 of joyous expansion steal rapidly through 
 my veins, even to the tips of my toes, 
 w'hich tingled with delight. I at once felt 
 the vast superiority of inhaling the stim- 
 ulant over sw'allowing it. Instead of going 
 through the tedious process of digestion, 
 whose functions it disturbed and impeded, 
 as in the case of wine, the purified and 
 refined spirit (for ether is but rectified al- 
 cohol) entered at once into the lungs, 
 thence into the aerated blood, and thus 
 through every' part of the body' with the 
 crimson flood of impatient arteries, and so 
 back with the blue current of the veins, 
 to evaporate harmlessly, leaving nothing 
 but its memory behind it ! 
 
 “ Hence !” I exclaimed, “ wine, coffee, 
 tobacco, opium, haschisch ! away henbane, 
 arsenic, hydrociana ! Coarse and noxious 
 stimulants, narcotics, and nerve-swindlers, 
 who wrap the soul in cumbrous veils, that, 
 like the robe of Dejanira, invades the life 
 
36 
 
 The Living Corpse. 
 
 of your votaries. I am no de Quincy, I, 
 to mock myself with vain half realized 
 fantasies, to stand up to the middle in 
 Styx, and murmur vaguely — Suspiria 
 de profundis /” 
 
 And now a new field opened to my re- 
 searches. The world of gas spread tempt- 
 ingly before me. Little do the vain mob 
 understand the import of that word — to 
 them the emblem of emptiness. " It is all 
 gas !” they cry. Yes, truly every thing is 
 gas, is, was, and ever shall be gas. The 
 most solid and material things resolve 
 themselves into mere gaseous combina- 
 tions. .V little more of one gas, a little 
 less of another, and lo ! all the varieties 
 in nature are produced. All was origi- 
 nally gas. Chaos was the confusion of 
 gases. All must resolve itself ultimately 
 into gas. You and I are gas, and gas is 
 every thing. 
 
 1 became a man of gas, a maker and an 
 experimentalist of gaseous mixtures. I re- 
 membered the exhibitions which in my 
 youth I had witnessed of the effects of 
 laughing gas. the inhalation of which 
 causes the wildest intoxication, or rather, 
 exaltation of the brain, and causes those 
 who breathe it to exhibit the most fan- 
 tastic feats, illustrative of their predom- 
 inant passions. If there is truth in wine, 
 in gas there is revelation. Yet the man 
 in whom reason is the ruling faculty, will 
 subdue all outward indications of the 
 mighty afflatus. There is a supreme gas, 
 % a gas of gases, and its particles are souls. 
 All other gases exist by numerical ar- 
 rangement, as Pythagoras well conjec- 
 tured, when he prefigured the atomic 
 theories of modem days. But there is an 
 ultimate atom, a gas which is the basis of 
 all others, and without which all is va- 
 cuum. 
 
 I knew that in an atmosphere of pure 
 oxygen, the gas essential to life, and at 
 the same time the agent of all decay, the 
 sour stuff {sauer staff) as the Germans 
 call it, an animal could live, and live with 
 a wondrous acceleration of all the phys- 
 ical processes. In man this rapid con- 
 sumption of matter was accompanied by 
 an equal intensifying exaltation of the 
 mental faculties. On this fact I founded 
 my experiments, and the result was at 
 length, the combination of oxygen with 
 other gases, in an artificial atmosphere 
 of the most astounding and admirable 
 qualities. 
 
 To breathe this air. was to breathe pos- 
 itive enjoyment. It was vaporized nectar 
 and ambrosia. Its respiration was the 
 life of a God. But it was also the em- 
 bodied Sansar — " the icy wind of death.” 
 No mortal could live more than a few 
 months even in its partially diluted perfec- 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 tion. It was the short life and merry of 
 the reckless popular adage, reduced to pal- 
 pable embodiment. 
 
 On the other hand, this rapidity of life 
 was only apparent. For we measure time 
 by sensations ; and the exalted powers of 
 sensation, confirmed by breathing the 
 wondrous gas, gave time a supernatural 
 extension similar to the life of dreams, 
 but free from all their shadow)' indistinct- 
 ness. 
 
 My resolution at once was taken. I 
 would five and die in this glorified atmos- 
 phere. I would bid farewell to all that 
 was earthly, without hesitation. I bought 
 a magnificent chateau in the South of 
 France. I furnished it by the expenditure 
 of one-third of my fortune, in a few days, 
 with all the luxury that imagination could 
 suggest. I fitted up my apparatus for the 
 production of the gas, and engaged, at the 
 rate of some thousands of francs, monthly, 
 a young chemist of first-rate education, 
 and superior energy and abilities. To him, 
 I confided all the management and regu- 
 lation of the apparatus, and also the abso- 
 lute control of the servants, and of the 
 whole establishment. One suite of rooms, 
 the most splendid, and with the finest 
 prospect in the chateau, were to be my 
 own enchanted habitation. Into these 
 apartments, except at certain times and 
 with due precautions, no servants were to 
 enter. Every thing that I required was to 
 be sent up through the floor, by means of 
 tables that screwed up and down, by 
 noiseless machinery. Noone was to disturb 
 me on any pretext ; no letters were to be 
 given me, and, as the chemist was poor, 
 almost starving when I first patronized 
 him, I knew that so long as every month 
 brought him a little fortune in itself, I 
 might count on his absolute devotion. 
 Besides, I deceived him as to my inten- 
 tions. There was only one room — the 
 largest and most splendidly furnished in 
 the house — which was to be actually filled 
 with the life-accelerating gas. It commu- 
 nicated with the other apartments by 
 carefully constructed double doors, and of 
 course it never entered the mind of the 
 chemist that I intended to live and die in 
 the deadly atmosphere which he was to 
 create, or that, after so carefully ordering 
 these hermetically closing double doors, 
 I should purpose fixing them wide open, 
 the moment I was shut up within my 
 mysterious domicile, and thus causing the 
 whole suite of apartments to fill with the 
 same ethereal poison. 
 
 In other respects, the chemist was just 
 the person I wanted: he was patient, 
 faithful, and industrious. At the same 
 time, he was a cold stem man, well fitted 
 to repress any insubordination or curiosity 
 
1853 .] 
 
 The Living Corpse. 
 
 37 
 
 on the part of the household. And now 
 all was prepared for the experiment. It 
 only remained to persuade Mira to be my 
 companion. For I confess that without 
 her, even the potence of the marvellous 
 gas must have failed in its action on my 
 nerves. Her love had become a habit, a 
 part of my being, 1 could not live or die 
 without her. 
 
 And here let me for the first time say a 
 few words about Mira. 
 
 She was an entirely exceptional woman. 
 When I married her, some three years be- 
 fore the date of my final experiment, she 
 was only sixteen years of ago. Her 
 beauty (I can find no newer or more in- 
 telligible image) was of the order which 
 the finest painters strive to impart to their 
 embodiments of angels, and beings supe- 
 rior to man. Its supreme loveliness was 
 not in its delicate regularity of feature, 
 dazzling whiteness and purity of skin, 
 and majestic symmetry of form. All these 
 seemed merely indispensable conditions of 
 such an individuality. What made her 
 irresistibly pleasing to the perceptions of 
 an imaginative and thoughtful man, was 
 a certain calm, unalterable dignity and 
 noble gentleness, that placed her above 
 even the possibility of any of the mean- 
 nesses and pettinesses of the sex. She 
 had the strong mind of a man, with all 
 the purity and softness of an exquisitely 
 delicate female organization. In temper- 
 ament, she was my opposite, although in- 
 tellectually, there existed between us a 
 perfect sympathy. She was as calm 
 and serenely contented, as I was feverishly 
 dissatisfied and eager for excitement. 
 Yet she understood and entered into all 
 my wild speculations, as into an interest- 
 ing drama, of which she was the sympa- 
 thizing spectator. She was my only con- 
 fidant, my only friend, my only real com- 
 panion. With all my restless cravings 
 for greater intensity of enjoyment, her 
 love was my world, my treasure, and my 
 hope — the more so that I might almost be 
 said to mistrust its possession. 
 
 That Mira loved me, was indeed indu- 
 bitable, yet there was a calmness, a purity, 
 and passive even tenor in her love, that 
 could not be called coldness, and which 
 yet in a manner disappointed the fiery 
 adoration with which 1 loved her. I would 
 not have lost one of her kisses for all the 
 embraces of all the beauties of the earth ; 
 and yet, to my fierce and impassioned na- 
 ture, there seemed more snow upon her 
 bosom, than a poet’s simile implies, more 
 than perchance would ever melt beneath 
 my lip’s ecstatic pressure. 
 
 In the delusion of my wild tempest-tost 
 soul, which, after all, was but that of a 
 mad poet’s, astray in the deserts and pri- 
 
 meval forests of thought, I knew not that 
 the crown of her glorious beauty and of 
 my delicious, because never satiated, pas- 
 sion, lay in the very qualities which I re- 
 gretted, and which I insanely hoped to 
 conquer by my infernal and pitiless in- 
 ventions. 
 
 To my surprise, I had no difficulty in 
 persuading Mira to enter the enchanted 
 atmosphere. A first trial of its virtues 
 was of course decisive. We gave our- 
 selves up to the intense joy of a life, to 
 which pain, care, and sorrow, regret for 
 the past or apprehension for the future, 
 were necessarily strange. The outer world 
 became nothing to us. Love, exalted to a 
 degree of power which to the breathers of 
 common air is inconceivable, appreciation 
 of beauty and delights which are alike 
 inexplicable and incomprehensible, made 
 up the sum of our existence. I pass over, 
 therefore, the seven times seven days of 
 our ethereal life, a period which in ideas 
 and sensations was equivalent to the ordi- 
 nary lapse of ages, and hasten onward to 
 the extraordinary catastrophe which left 
 me what I am — a monster, more rare and 
 wonderful than the sphinxes and chime- 
 ras of old, my fabulous prototypes. 
 
 Nor let the reader foolishly imagine that, 
 because memory or science give me the 
 power of describing passion, and thereby 
 exciting his sympathies, that I personally 
 do or can feel any echoing vibration of the 
 wild chords which I cause to resound. 
 Unearthly is the music— unearthly the 
 musician. 
 
 Opening from the grand saloon of the 
 chateau, was a superb conservatory of 
 more than ordinary dimensions, command- 
 ing a view of one of the most splendid 
 landscapes in the world. In the fore- 
 ground, yet not sufficiently near to inter- 
 cept the view, rose from the side of the 
 hill, on which stood the chateau, the min- 
 gled foliage of an old and primitive forest, 
 while beyond was visible the shining- 
 stream of the Rhone, lying, like the crooked 
 sabre of some gigantic Paladin, upon the 
 greensward ; and far, far beyond rose the 
 bluish shadowy outlines of mountains be- 
 hind which the sun would set in golden 
 glory, that made each snow-crowned peak 
 a throne worthy of Sathanas — “ the Em- 
 peror of the furnace.” 
 
 Round this conservatory were arranged 
 a collection of strange exotic and tropical 
 plants, so as to leave the centre unoccu- 
 pied, save by a few couches, chairs and 
 tables, on which lay volumes of poetry 
 and philosophy, and portfolios of exquisite 
 engravings and drawings. This was our 
 favorite sitting-room. It was only neces- 
 sary to open the glass doors between it 
 and the saloon, to fill it with the same 
 
38 
 
 The Living Corpse. 
 
 enchanted air ; and I may mention as a 
 curious example of the effects of this at- 
 mosphere on vegetation, that the grapes 
 which were quite green and hard on its 
 first introduction, ripened perfectly in a 
 few days, and were the largest and most 
 luscious fruit 1 had ever tasted or seen. It 
 was one of Mira’s greatest enjoyments to 
 call me to watch the camelias budding and 
 flowering actually before our eyes ! Were I 
 in the humor 1 could write a hundred pages 
 on the wonders of vegetation with which 
 my residence in this gas-world made me ac- 
 quainted. But I refrain without difficulty. 
 To me no science is worth a thought. 
 
 In the centre of this hall of crystal 
 stood a white marble statue of Minerva, 
 the only statue in which that goddess has 
 ever been represented entirely without 
 drapery. The figure was Mira’s. I my- 
 self modelled it during the first year of 
 our marriage, and it was carved by one 
 of the most eminent French sculptors, who 
 afterwards died mad from a hopeless pas- 
 sion for the original. The fountain sprang 
 from and formed the foliage of a glass 
 tree stem, against which she leant, whilst 
 the point of her spear drooped earthward 
 from her arm, as if languid with the war- 
 fare against folly. Her head alone was 
 covered with a helmet, which imparted a 
 singular charm to the divine beautj^ of 
 Mira’s countenance. 
 
 At length, one day, towards evening, 
 after seven weeks of solitude and happi- 
 ness, which no Paradise could more than 
 realize, a fatal accident destroyed at once 
 our enjoyment, our experiment in science, 
 and our lives. Yes — I learned it after- 
 wards — we were killed by the merest acci- 
 dent. My chemist who managed the gas- 
 generating apparatus, forgot to examine 
 the metre at the proper time. The gas 
 continued to enter in unprecedented vo- 
 lumes, and its effects were speedily per- 
 ceptible. 
 
 We were seated in our favorite place in 
 the conservatory, our eyes turned towards 
 the setting sun, listening to the swelling 
 and harmonious cadences of Weber, pro- 
 duced by a self-playing instrument of the 
 rarest workmanship, which I had pur- 
 chased at Paris for an enormous sum, of 
 its inventor, when a more than usual ec- 
 stasy seemed to possess us. Our arms, 
 entwined round one another’s forms, seem- 
 ed to contract almost convulsively, our 
 eves, our lips met with delirious love, and 
 — I remember no more. When I recover- 
 ed possession, not of my senses, but of 
 my consciousness, I was still seated upon 
 the sofa, on which the angel of death had 
 surprised us, whilst on the marble pave- 
 ment. at full length, her face turned up- 
 wards with an expression of supernatural 
 
 [Jan, 
 
 felicity, lay Mira — Mira, my wife, friend, 
 and goddess — the fairest and noblest of 
 women. She was dead. 
 
 Mira was dead. That was evident. 
 But what was I ? I rose, and regarded 
 curiously the culpable chemist, who. hav- 
 ing discovered his oversight, had hurried 
 too late to our rescue. He had thrown 
 wide open the windows of the conserva- 
 tory. I inhaled the common air of the 
 sky. But, though I breathed and moved, 
 however incredible may appear the state- 
 ment of a fact, hitherto unknown to 
 science, I was to all intents and purposes 
 as much a dead person as Mira herself. 
 That is to say. I was dead to all sensation, 
 emotion, passion, or by whatever other 
 phrase may be described the action of the 
 external world upon the sensitive being. 
 It is true, I could hear, see, feel, taste, 
 and smell, but such sensations had no 
 longer any influence upon me either in 
 causing dissatisfaction or satisfaction. My 
 sensations were mere facts to my con- 
 sciousness and no more. Mira was dead, 
 that was a fact. She lay there, pale and 
 beautiful, before me — a fact. I myself 
 had lost the half of my life — a fact. The 
 chemist, who was the author of these 
 hideous calamities, as men would say, 
 stood trembling before me — another fact. 
 In a word. I was a living corpse. One 
 class of nerves, the nerves of sympathetic 
 sensation, appeared either paralyzed or ex- 
 hausted of their circulating fluid. Love 
 and anger were no longer my attributes. 
 I had reached, truly, and at one stride, 
 the centre of indifference told of by 
 some philosophers. But it was a centre 
 of indifference which they talk of without 
 understanding. I did not understand it — 
 I icas in it. 
 
 The chemist stood pallid and trembling 
 before me. He was a cold, unimpassion- 
 ed, little impressionable man. But in 
 the presence of my dead eye and marble 
 rigidity of feature, he trembled involun- 
 tarily. No doubt he mistook my absence 
 of emotion for some tremendous effect of 
 internal passion. He evidently dreaded 
 an explosion of a terrible nature. But I 
 merely said — 
 
 “ She is dead — you are no longer want- 
 ed — go.” 
 
 For one moment, he looked at me with 
 a most extraordinary expression, then, 
 overwhelmed by the icy look with which 
 I covered him, he departed in silence. 
 
 I remembered that Ins salary from the 
 beginning was unpaid. Nor had he ever 
 the courage to ask for it. Of course I could 
 have no motive in sending it to him. The 
 happiness of others was to me no longer 
 a possible subject of interest. A man 
 takes no interest in others, who can take 
 
1853 .] 
 
 A Swiss Journal. 
 
 39 
 
 none in himself. The chemist, driven to 
 despair by poverty, committed suicide in 
 the course of the same year. 
 
 At the end of a week, the body of Mira 
 was buried. In the mean time, from phy- 
 sical habit, as it appeared, I one day took 
 up a book — a volume of poetry. It was 
 no longer poetry to me, but a collection 
 of signs representing certain phenomena. 
 A book of arithmetic was to me of pre- 
 cisely equal interest. 
 
 I had eaten and drunk nothing since 
 the great catastrophe, though I had been 
 urged to do so by people to whose en- 
 treaties and pity I was alike indifferent. 
 But, remarking that my body was wast- 
 ing away, I ate a measured quantity, 
 which I contiuued to do regularly after- 
 wards, though without any appetite or 
 enjoyment. 
 
 I had reason and power of command 
 over my body as much as ever. But 
 those operations which formerly were the 
 result of impulse, I had now to perform 
 as pure acts of will. The only reason 
 why I did not quietly await death, was a 
 clear intellectual consciousness of the fact 
 that I was in an abnormal state, and that 
 it was also possible that I should return 
 to the natural conditions of humanity. 
 
 Without being a desire, the discovery 
 of the means of effecting this change be- 
 came my only object ; and in order to at- 
 tain what, in reality, I cared nothing 
 about (the contradiction is only apparent), 
 
 I spent years in trying the most extraor- 
 dinary experiments in natural science ever 
 imagined. Perfectly indifferent to the 
 success or non-success of my experiments, 
 I yet worked on. If I might be said to 
 have any thing left resembling a desire, it 
 was a passionless inclination towards ab- 
 stract truth, which seemed to be a sort of 
 mechanico-spiritual law of my being. But 
 to compare this mere gravitation towards 
 an abstract centre to the ardent enthu- 
 siasm of ordinary men of science, would 
 be absurd. And here, I recognize the im- 
 possibility of conveying to a living man 
 the impressions of a corpse. Therefore 
 I abandon further attempt at illustration. 
 
 Perhaps one fact may explain more 
 than much analysis. After some years, 
 during which time I made numerous sci- 
 entific discoveries of the most remarkable 
 character, I lighted upon the secret. I 
 had it in my power at any moment to re- 
 turn to life, to rise again from the dead, 
 and once more to share the passions and 
 cares of men. But I had no motive to 
 change my condition. I remained a 
 corpse. The discovery was to me — a fact. 
 
 Why should I again inhale the gas of 
 happiness and destruction, why revive to 
 an existence that would be a type of the 
 fabled hells of legendary lore ? Mira is 
 dead. I am a living corpse ; and I am the 
 onlj r being bearing the shape of man who 
 could ever honestly declare himself to be 
 perfectly contented with his lot. 
 
 A SWISS JOURNAL. 
 
 “ — Take thy flight: possess, inherit; 
 
 Alps or Andes— they are thine.” 
 
 W ORDSWORTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 FREIBOURG. 
 
 “ T^REIBOURG !” said my heavy-eyed 
 neighbor, as the cars slackened 
 speed in the dusk of an August day. 
 
 From Strasbourg we had been constant- 
 ly darting toward the Black Forest, 
 through a country of garden cultivation. 
 The wide plain of the Rhine was festally 
 hung with vines, that had waved wel- 
 come all the golden afternoon, as if Bac- 
 chus had been in the train proceeding, 
 express, to his Italian estates. My heavy- 
 eyed friend was not entirely unlike the 
 jolly god, minus Greece and poetry, and 
 plus Germany, sauer-kraut and Bavarian 
 
 beer. He represented Bacchus quite as 
 well as the figures of the early German 
 painters represent saints, angels and beau- 
 tiful women. 
 
 But the waving vines were gradually 
 lost in the darkness, the Black Forest 
 grew blacker and blacker, and when my 
 drowsy fat friend snorted and gurgled, 
 rather than said, “Freibourg,” it was 
 impossible to see more than a lofty spire 
 reaching up into the evening air — solemn 
 and stately like all Gothic spires. 
 
 A completed cathedral is a rare sight, 
 and we slept before seeing it. In the 
 morning we walked through the clean 
 streets of quiet Freibourg, which are 
 drained by a stream of such clear water 
 
40 
 
 A Swiss Journal. 
 
 as slips through a mountain gorge, and 
 which dashes through these streets as 
 swiftly, and stood in the square alone 
 with the one-spired cathedral, a few earl}' 
 fruit women, and a few early worshippers 
 who passed in to pray. Nothing but 
 the most general outline of the building 
 suggested the resemblance, yet the no- 
 ble church built 800 years ago, with its 
 single spire 513 feet high, recalled a New 
 England meeting-house. Of course the 
 likeness was much like that of my friend 
 in the cars to Bacchus, and yet when fan- 
 cy was once on the scent, away it went, 
 and in the square around the church with 
 its quaint German houses, its fruit stands, 
 and old men and women, saw the bare 
 common about the village meeting-house, 
 where fairs and the general training take 
 place. 
 
 “ Clearly showing,” said Annad, to 
 whom I communicated this absurd whim, 
 “ the essential unity of the human race, and 
 the subtle relation between the mediaeval 
 Gothic genius and Yankee shrewdness. 
 When we reach Greece 1 have no doubt 
 you will find the Parthenon reminding 
 you of a log cabin on the prairies.” 
 
 “Or in Italy pure Falernian of hard 
 cider,” chimed in Franz. 
 
 A completed Gothic cathedral ! The 
 only one in Germany, and the only really 
 great European church that I remember 
 fully completed according to the original 
 design except the Madeleine in Paris, and 
 St. Paul's in London. Neither St. Peter’s 
 (which is not Gothic), nor the Milan Ca- 
 thedral. nor the Florence Duomo. nor St. 
 Stephen’s at Vienna, nor Notre Dame in 
 Paris, nor the Cathedral of Strasbourg, 
 nor that of Cologne is finished yet. nor 
 ever will be. Although the king of Prus- 
 sia, — a great lover of Art and a great 
 hater of Liberty — announces every little 
 while a magnificent project for the com- 
 pletion of the Cathedral of Cologne. 
 
 The “ Dome” of Freibourg is a large 
 church of florid Gothic. The base of the 
 spire is massive and plain, with only one 
 or two statues. But it becomes gradually 
 richer as it rises, refining more and more, 
 until finally it wreathes away into the blue 
 air in aerial stone-work. The tower and 
 spire are pyramidal from the base to the 
 point. The building is of a rusty gray co- 
 lor, and stands sad and lonely in the midst 
 of the little town of unsympathizing build- 
 ings, for there are only 10,000 people in 
 Freibourg. The sentiment of Gothic ar- 
 •ohitecture is always aspiration, but in no 
 example is it more impressive than at Frei- 
 bourg. where the Cathedral, all its parts 
 consenting, soars into the sky. — a grand 
 old mystic rapt in sublime devotion, rais- 
 ing his soul in prayer. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 We followed the pious pilgrims of th“ 
 early morning, and entered the Cathedral. 
 A reverent group knelt at a side altar, 
 and a priest — fasting, as the church re- 
 quires — said morning mass. Handsome 
 boys, the acolytes, passed rapidly to and 
 from the door of the Sacristy, or knelt in 
 white robes, holding candles and ringing 
 the silver bell. Yielding to the same 
 feeling which in the New England meet- 
 ing-house makes the worshipper rise in 
 prayer. 1 knelt upon the stone floor of the 
 Cathedral, as the sweet voice of the bell 
 announced the moment of transubstantia- 
 tion, and a fragrant cloud of incense sof- 
 tened the fervor of the sun. Annad, of 
 course, pulled his whiskers and looked at 
 the pictures, waiting for the end of the 
 mummery, that he might inspect the 
 church. Franz sedately bent his head, — 
 his principles forbade him to bend his 
 knee. 
 
 Near me knelt a young girl, not bent 
 over, with her face concealed, but with 
 her hands lying upon her knees, and her 
 face turned upward toward the altar like 
 the Magdalen of Canova. She was, per- 
 haps. nineteen years old. but the lines up- 
 on her face, the sharply-cut features, and 
 the wan sadness of the eye, showed clear- 
 ly enough that her knowledge of life had 
 not been gathered from description, but 
 had been wearily worn into her heart. 
 Iler light hair was loosely pushed under 
 a cap. and a few locks straggled down her 
 hollow cheeks. The blue of her eyes was 
 lustreless; it had no longer that soft, 
 swimming richness which is so alluring 
 in the blue eyes of youth, health and 
 happiness, and her whole aspect and po- 
 sition indicated a heart-breaking despair 
 that fell like a cloud upon the beauty of 
 the day. The girl shed no tears. It 
 seemed as if she wondered whether she 
 should be touched by the service, whether 
 in the church, in the sunshine, in the 
 cool, sweet morning, there was any succor 
 or consolation for her. But as the low 
 sound of the bell fell like trickling music 
 upon her ear and heart, — was it the bell, 
 or the face of the boy who rang it, or the 
 sun that reached through the rainbow 
 window and laid his warm hand upon her 
 head, or the sudden thought of youth be- 
 fore grief, or the comfortable conviction 
 that there was a love warmer than the 
 sunshine, and a forgiveness more effica- 
 cious than that of men. — the girl passion- 
 ately clasped her hands, and bent for- 
 ward in an agony of tears, and the few 
 fair locks that straggled down her hollow 
 cheeks, seemed in the sunlight a hale 
 around the head of a repentant Magda- 
 len. 
 
 The Cathedral of eight centuries w£s 
 
1853.] 
 
 A Swiss Journal. 
 
 41 
 
 forgotten in that moment, nor until the 
 girl arose, long after the congregation had 
 dispersed, and passed out of the church, 
 did I remember myself sufficiently to 
 look around and begin to “ do” the Ca- 
 thedral, as became a young gentleman 
 travelling for “ the improvement of his 
 mind,” as my letters of introduction sta- 
 ted my case. 
 
 The interior of the Freibourg Cathedral 
 is richer than that of Strasbourg. Upon 
 the columns, toward the nave, is a range 
 of statues standing in niches, an arrange- 
 ment that deepens the sense of beauty 
 and elaboration, and does not destroy 
 that of grandeur. In fact, wherever 
 the general grand outline is preserved, the 
 details of ornament rather increase than 
 diminish the vastness of the impression, 
 as in the case of the painted scenes upon 
 the columns and walls of Egyptian tem- 
 ples. Past these statued columns the eye 
 glides into the pointed solemnity of the 
 choir. Loftily arched windows break 
 with colored light the grave uniformity 
 of the wall, and at the end of each side 
 aisle a massive rose-window of stained 
 glass preserves upon the air of the 
 church, dusky with incense, the symbol 
 of the original compact with Heaven. 
 The dignity of the spot gives meaning to 
 the service. — even when it is a snuffy old 
 Gregory XVIth mumbling mass in St. 
 Peter’s, or a hard formalist reading the 
 service in Westminster Abbey, or a ca- 
 daverous preacher in that same Now 
 England meeting-house, consuming the 
 sweet summer air that blows in at the 
 open windows, in insisting to his audience, 
 who gravely nod in the pews and ex-offi- 
 cio believe it — that they are blacker than 
 any known blackness. Cathedral, abbey 
 and meeting-house have a grave and reli- 
 gious influence that no Pope nor preacher 
 can destroy. An influence founded in 
 the association with the building, not on- 
 ly of its intention, but of those who have 
 been truly ambassadors of peace within 
 its walls. 
 
 The Suabians have the start of Madame 
 De Stael in her remark (which I beg 
 pardon for quoting here), that architec- 
 ture is frozen music. For they said long 
 ago, and the saying is now a tradition, 
 “ An architect wished to sing a psalm to 
 the praise of God, and Freibourg Cathe- 
 dral came of it.” When it was com- 
 menced, the people, the nobles and the 
 clergy all united, in zeal and copious con- 
 tributions of money, to secure its speedy 
 completion. But, after a time, the prin- 
 ces and priests grew cold toward a pro- 
 ject that promised them so little, and re- 
 linquished their aid, so that the great Ca- 
 thedral remained for years unfinished, a 
 
 Leviathan statue half blocked out. Ir. 
 the Cologne Cathedral the traveller can 
 see what a melancholy sight that is. 
 When a gallant ship strikes upon the 
 rocks and is lost it is sad ; yet it is sadness 
 with consolation in it, because the ship 
 was sailing upon the sea, as ships are 
 meant to do. But when the vessel lies 
 stranded unfinished upon the stocks, and 
 a huge skeleton that was never graced 
 with flesh bleaches in the sun of long 
 centuries, the spectacle is monstrous and 
 unnatural. So there are few more touch- 
 ing things to see than the flowers and 
 long grass that bloom and wave in the 
 crevices of the unfinished towers and but- 
 tresses of Cologne Cathedral. In the or- 
 der of things they do not belong there. 
 Time, weary of men’s delay, hangs the 
 bewitched and abortive edifice that never 
 knew nor shall know the dignity of ma- 
 ture completion, with the memorial gar- 
 lands that belong to decay. 
 
 The priests and princes gave out, but 
 the people of the neighborhood, after 
 grieving over the goodly promise of so 
 fair a work, and unwilling that it should 
 come to naught, met together and resolved 
 that the Cathedral should be completed ; 
 and, as the account emphasizes it, com- 
 pleted without princely or priestly gold, 
 even if the people should be obliged to 
 tear the tiles from their roofs to do it. 
 The result proved the sincerity of that 
 vow. Houses and lands, even when he- 
 reditary, were pledged, and when a man 
 had no house nor acre, to raise money 
 upon, he gave his days and his strength 
 to the actual work of building. 
 
 This contrasts pleasantly with the 
 funds for building St. Peter’s, raised by 
 selling indulgences, or for building St. 
 Paid’s, by an extra duty on coals. The 
 Freibourg Cathedral is a monument of 
 human heroism and self-denial, and genu- 
 ine religious fervor. All the best beauty 
 of human character is worked into that 
 massive, and rare and delicate structure. 
 After twenty-four years of such work as 
 this, the building was so far advanced 
 that St. Bernard was called to Freibourg 
 to consecrate the Cathedral, and here 
 upon this spot, when onty the nave was 
 completed, stood the great ally of Peter 
 the Hermit, and preached the first sermon 
 and his first call to the Crusade, on the 
 13th of July, 1146. And on the same 
 day three hundred knights and gentle- 
 men sewed on to their armor the red 
 cross of the Crusade. Yet not until 
 1513, nearly three hundred years after- 
 ward, was the church finished as we now 
 see it. Its spire is its marvel. The foun- 
 dation is sunk 40 feet under ground. 
 The lower story of it above ground is 
 
42 
 
 A Swiss Journal. 
 
 square, and 120 feet high ; then succeeds 
 a twelve-cornered story, ending in a gal- 
 lery, and from this to the summit, 415 
 feet from the ground, rises the octagonal 
 shaft of stone filagree. It is the darling 
 of the early Gothic. “Whoever,” says 
 Wiebeking, in his work upon German 
 architecture, “ wishes to know the true 
 greatness of the early German architects, 
 must study the tower of Freibourg Ca- 
 thedral.” 
 
 It was during the Schleswig-Holstein 
 war that we were in Freibourg, and as we 
 emerged into the square the rappel, or 
 general military call, was beating. From 
 every lane and street, and, as it seemed, 
 from all the doors, came soldiers with 
 heavy knapsacks accoutred for a march. 
 Few others were yet stirring. The) - fell 
 into rank rapidly. Officers moved among 
 them uttering sharp crisp orders. There 
 was the rattle of shouldering arms, a roll 
 call, a sudden silence, and then with a 
 loud — it seemed mocking — burst of mu- 
 sic, the troops moved at a rapid rate out 
 of the square and out of the town, and 
 marched with equal rapidity toward glo- 
 ry. 
 
 We sauntered through the streets, and 
 the whole air of the town and of the 
 towns-people was that of tranquil, do- 
 mestic, provincial life. There was honey 
 for breakfast at the hotel. It was a 
 strain of Switzerland, for honey belongs to 
 Helvetia as much as to Ilymettus. Annad 
 declared that he tasted the Righi and 
 the Finsteraarhorn in his, and I confess a 
 flavor of Mont Blanc in mine. Franz 
 cracking his teeth upon a crust, swore 
 that it was worse than nibbling the 
 Rhone glacier, while Binge, in whom na- 
 ture had combined Apollo and Peter the 
 Hermit, moistened his crust in water, and 
 said nothing. 
 
 The brilliant morning was still flashing 
 through the airy spire of the Gathedral 
 as we stepped into the cars, and entered 
 upon the last stage to Switzerland. The 
 shriek of the locomotive rang through 
 the air like the impatient snorts of a 
 charger snuffing victory. We, knights 
 of more balanced temper, lay, as Franz 
 said, quoting from an old college theme, 
 “ cased in the glittering armor of hope, 
 and put the lance of expectation in rest.” 
 
 We darted on. The gray spire nestled 
 down among the hills as we left it, and 
 was soon seen no more. The hills upon 
 the left of our way rose rapidly into 
 mountains as we neared them, and opened 
 into alluring valleys. Heavy clouds 
 loomed jealously over them, settled deep 
 into them and hung along the ridges, a 
 roof of night, while the sun-stricken 
 grain at the base of the hills, lined that 
 
 [Jan 
 
 sullen gloom with gold. Little showers 
 skimmed along the hills, blotting out 
 their dark line against the sky. April 
 redivivus was wreaking his most charac- 
 teristic whims upon the mountains of the 
 Black Forest at our left, while far over 
 the plain upon our right beamed a calm 
 June morning. 
 
 The clouds passed. June triumphed 
 over April at the base of the hills, and 
 drove it far over their summits. The 
 cars stopped. We were at the end of the 
 railroad, and mounting the top of the 
 post-coach we pushed forward again, up 
 — up — up a hill so steep that the horses 
 could scarcely draw us. But still higher 
 and still forward, until we reached the 
 ridge of the long hill, and a fresh wind 
 blew a welcome from Switzerland. The 
 day was cool and clear, nothing was 
 wilted, there was none of the sereness 
 of late summer ; nothing was sad. There 
 were no low wailing airs, but a vigorous 
 wind ; no sighing leaves, but trees that 
 rustled bravely in the blast ; no long, 
 dreamy vapors floating in the sky, but 
 stately and rounded cloud masses. 
 
 Conversation gradually ceased as we 
 bowled along. Our eager eyes were like 
 mariners’ eyes at sea, watching for a pro- 
 mised land ; when — suddenly — seen from 
 the highest point of the hill, Switzerland 
 lay sketched in tumultuous outline against 
 the distant horizon. Soft as shadows 
 were the Alps upon the sky, or rather the 
 Jura, for it was the Jura we saw. 
 
 We dashed down the hill toward that 
 shadowy land. Directly beneath us was 
 the Rhine again, glittering sinuous among 
 the gardens. Swiftly down the hill, 
 through vineyards trained high, and wa- 
 ving glossy in the breeze ; through coun- 
 try scenery so tranquil, and fertile, and 
 refined, that even John Bull would have 
 rememberingly smiled, — singing with 
 unanimous and energetic chorus all the 
 scraps of old songs we could remember, 
 and humming the Schleswig Holstein 
 march, we rattled down the hill, crossed 
 the Rhine which dashes under the bridge 
 at its foot, of a briny hue, like sea-water, 
 and along whose bank, picturesque and 
 cheerful, is grouped the town of Basle, 
 into whose gate we clattered — our first 
 Swiss station. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE TOWN OF BASLE. 
 
 In such gallant style we charged into 
 the ancient town of Basle, and naturally 
 dashed up to the “ Gasthof Zum Wilden 
 Mann.” the Hotel of the Wild Man. 
 
A Swiss Journal. 
 
 43 
 
 1853.] 
 
 But the meek and well-ordered host had 
 evidently put all his ferocity into his sign- 
 board, for I have not met a milder man. 
 Over his hospitable door hangs a dreadful 
 presentment of a fierce fellow-creature, 
 and below the image are the ominous 
 words, “The Savage Hotel.” It seemed 
 a very resonant prelude to the pastoral 
 enjoyment of Switzerland ; like Don Gio- 
 vanni opening with a midnight tragedy, 
 and gradually dwindling toward Zerlir* 
 and the peasants’ dancing. 
 
 Here in the Savage Hotel we made the 
 final arrangements for walking. All our 
 young and active friends who had been in 
 Switzerland had tried walking, but we 
 could not learn from any of them that they 
 had long continued the habit. Usually 
 there is a brave beginning. From the 
 embrace of some “ Wild Man ” at Basle or 
 elsewhere, the proud young pedestrian 
 sets forth toward Mont Blanc and the 
 eternal glaciers, with his knapsack slung 
 over his shoulders, a heavy alpen-stock or 
 walking-stick in his hand, and great reso- 
 lutions and heroisms in his heart. He 
 thinks with a kind of pity of his fellow- 
 countrymen tamely accepting the conve- 
 niences of civilization, and, as he puts his 
 foot forward, and his chin up, ho snuffs 
 Switzerland afar off, and glories in being- 
 young, well, and a pedestrian. Such 
 have I seen at morning, “ when the sun 
 was low,” and the dews of sleep lay 
 sweet upon the brow, and the hard road 
 was as yet untrodden. But as noon 
 scorched the face, and the hard road blis- 
 tered the feet, and the soft south wind 
 melted all that energy into languor, I 
 have seen that hero quail, and lay his 
 knapsack upon the guide’s shoulders, and 
 long for the luxury of tea and bed. 
 And the next morn, how often have I seen 
 him setting forth upon the diligence, or in 
 a hired carriage, vowed to eternal sdence 
 upon the charms of “walking through 
 Switzerland.” 
 
 A yellow leather bag held all the ward- 
 robe that was to be divided among four 
 knapsacks. But how much a yellow lea- 
 ther bag can hold ! At least one-fourth 
 of it is no feather weight. Whatever was 
 deemed not absolutely necessary was re- 
 stored to the bag, which was committed 
 to the charge of the gentle host of the 
 Savage Hotel, until, Switzerland accom- 
 plished, we should return and claim it. 
 These arrangements made, and some veal- 
 cutlets and stewed prunes consumed, we 
 stepped forth to “ do ” Basle. 
 
 The mind of this town, notwithstand- 
 ing the Great Council of Basle, and the re- 
 sidence of Erasmus, who died here in 
 1536, and the University founded by 
 Pope Pius Second, in 1460, and notwith- 
 
 standing the claim of the Basilians to the 
 discovery of the manufacture of paper in 
 
 1417, and that of the art of printing in 
 
 1418, appears to have great difficulty in 
 expressing itself in the English idiom. For 
 not only did our courteous host astonish 
 English eyes with his “ Savage Hotel,” 
 but the sacristan of the cathedral informs 
 an inquiring public that “ the Interior is 
 to be applied for,” at a neighboring house. 
 
 The said Interior contains the tomb of 
 Erasmus and of the Queen of Rudolph 
 of Hapsburg, the founder of the present 
 Austrian Dynasty. But as we did not 
 apply for the Interior, we failed to see 
 them. We saw, instead, the broad rich 
 prospect from the terrace beneath the two 
 towers of the cathedral, and the quaint 
 devices of charging knights upon the 
 front of the building, and found, upon con- 
 sulting the guide-book (merely, of course, 
 to refresh our memories), that in the 15th 
 century Basle was the largest free city 
 upon the upper Rhine. The books say 
 that the battle of St. Jacob, near Basle, 
 was the Thermopylae of the Swiss. Pro- 
 bably it was ; but few travellers could 
 say what the battle of St. Jacob won or 
 lost, while every man with eyes could 
 see the picturesque beauty of the old 
 town, and feel the charm of its dull 
 streets, and enjoy the irregular straggle 
 of its quaint buildings along the banks oi 
 the river. 
 
 It is a cheerful town, and the streets 
 are clean and still. Its 14,000 people are 
 gradually growing fewer and fewer, for the 
 Basilians are as proud as they are repub- 
 lican, and so much enjoy the privilege of 
 citizenship, that they will not confer it 
 upon strangers, who have therefore no in- 
 ducement to come to Basle and settle. 
 And as the original Basilians are fond of 
 emigration, there are not many to fill their 
 places, and the once most populous town 
 of Switzerland is slowly rusting away. 
 There is a sadness inseparable from these 
 old places. They have culminated; the 
 freshness of morning, the glory of noon, 
 have passed. Nothing remains but re- 
 spectable decay. So you feel here, as 
 in so many other European towns, and 
 all the more if you are an American, as 
 you pace the quiet streets and observe 
 the neat and comfortable houses. It is 
 the same in Nuremberg. The life of such 
 towns has a touching solemnity. There 
 are cleanliness and silence in the streets. 
 There is gravity in the aspects and man- 
 ners of the citizens. In Nuremberg the 
 statue of Albert Durer, sedate, almost 
 austere, typifies the life of the town. Its 
 sobriety and quaint dignity are summed 
 up in that ilowing beard. Here in Basle, 
 Erasmus in his scholar’s cap and gown, 
 
44 
 
 A Swiss Journal. 
 
 belongs to these high and dingy streets. 
 Let some learned correspondent from 
 Bologna, Padua or Oxford, in all of 
 which towns he has been, reverently 
 encounter him, and enter the curious li- 
 brary where hang Holbein’s master- 
 pieces. Or farther on they may visit 
 Paracelsus, greatest of that learned bro- 
 therhood of Basle, who lives again for 
 us with all his fiery ambition, his grand, 
 great hopes, his scorn and tenderness, in 
 Robert Browning’s poem. Paracelsus 
 speaks of learned Erasmus in that poem. 
 
 “Those shelves support a pile 
 Of patents, licenses, diplomas, titles. 
 
 From Germany, Franc*), Spain and Italy; 
 
 They authorize some honor : nevertheless, 
 
 I set more store by this Erasmus sent: 
 
 He trusts me.” 
 
 But even these large figures, that make 
 Basle famous, look sadly out upon us as 
 they turn from their folios and crucibles, 
 and as those phantoms of old scholars glide 
 shadowy along the street this August 
 morning, it is so still that we can hear 
 them saying : 
 
 “ That truth is just as far from me as ever: 
 
 That I have thrown my life away ; that sorrow 
 On that account is vain, and further effort 
 To mend and patch what's marred beyond repairing, 
 As useless; and all this was taught to me 
 By the convincing good old-fashioned method 
 Of force, by sheer compulsion. Is that plain ?” 
 
 Alas ! poor ghosts ! 
 
 The pleasant morning shifted with the 
 mood of our fancy, and a rain drove us 
 home to the Wild Man. But it was a 
 weeping shower — Aprile’s tears, perhaps, 
 as she mused of Paracelsus. There were 
 no ghosts, but a, party of very substantial 
 travellers at the table d’hote of the Sav- 
 age Hotel, who went solemnly and un- 
 pleasantly through the whole, thrusting 
 their knives into their mouths, dispensing 
 with the ceremony of fresh plates and 
 knives and forks for the different courses, 
 and concluding by carefully scraping their 
 plates with their knives and mopping them 
 with pieces of bread, as if the Wild Man 
 had no scullion to wash the dishes. 
 
 After dinner we looked our last upon 
 the yellow leather bag, strapped our new 
 knapsacks on our shoulders, took sticks 
 in hand — I holding one with which I had 
 stirred Vesuvian lava, and whose point I 
 hoped to cool in the snows of Mont Blanc 
 or the Finster Aarhorn. But when we 
 reached the door we unstrapped the knap- 
 sacks and slung them up to the top of the 
 diligence, and mounted into the banquette, 
 the covered seat behind the driver. This 
 was not a surrender, nor any want of 
 heart for pedestrianism. But the point of 
 departure for walking was a little village 
 in the shadow of the .Jura. 
 
 We passed out of old Basle in a soft 
 summer shower. The heavy, moist clouds 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 hung about the horizon, and glimpses of 
 pure sunny blue broke through them at 
 intervals and finally shattered them all 
 to pieces. The sun reigned supreme 
 over Switzerland, and we bowled up 
 the Miinster-thal in the golden after- 
 noon, the valley of the river Birs and 
 the finest vale of the Jura. To us it was 
 a winding avenue to untold delights. 
 With what curious regret the old and 
 blase traveller looks upon the fresh enthu- 
 siasm of first travel ! “ It’s very pretty,” 
 
 said a compassionate old gentleman by 
 the side of the driver just below us, in as- 
 sent to our suggestion that, like the outer 
 room of a picture-gallery hung with va- 
 rious paintings, as hints of the magnifi- 
 cence beyond, so precipices and moun- 
 tains, and green reaches and gurgling 
 streams, of a mild and moderate grandeur, 
 were heaped along this exquisite valley as 
 earnests of the Bernese xllps and the wild 
 landscape of mid-Switzerland. “ Oh ! cer- 
 tainly, certainly, it’s veiy pretty,” said 
 the compassionate old gentleman. 
 
 The smooth fields lay to the edge of the 
 merry little stream, and fine large trees 
 stood separate and stately upon the green. 
 They were true Swiss trees, worthy to 
 stand in the soil in which Mont Blanc is 
 rooted. Out of this smooth green started 
 the bare, rocky, battlemented mountain- 
 sides, that went deepening and curving 
 down the valley, holding up, far above the 
 clustering foliage whose wet moss flashed 
 with diamond sheen in the setting sun- 
 light, sharp, rocky peaks, that drew the 
 rosiness from the light, and stood poetic 
 as the mountain peaks of story. The little 
 villages were uninteresting. The people 
 were not handsome, nor strikingly pictur- 
 esque, yet from one open window as we 
 rolled along, looked a face of character- 
 istic Swiss beauty, — a drop of nourish- 
 ment to expectation in articulo mortis — 
 and bowing and kissing hands to that as- 
 tonished damsel, we passed on and left her 
 far, and now utterly forgotten, in the 
 Miinster-thal and the past. A few groups 
 were mowing upon the hillsides, a few cat- 
 tle grazing, and a few peasants passed, 
 lifting their broad hats to the diligence. 
 
 Toward evening the valley opened into a 
 broad open space, level as the bed of a dried 
 lake, and walled by the mountains. The 
 sunset streamed full up the valley, and 
 golden light flashed responsive from the 
 windows of convents and castles scattered 
 upon the plain and the hill-sides. The 
 diligence rattled up to the door of a little 
 inn. We jumped down, and said Wie 
 gehts to the chambermaid at the window. 
 She looked hurt, and disappeared. The 
 old gentleman watched compassionately 
 our exuberant spirits. Our windows look- 
 
The Fountain of Youth. 
 
 45 
 
 1853.] 
 
 ed down the valley. A crescent moon 
 hung in the west. I saw it over my right 
 shoulder, and babbled of Italy where one 
 should see it full. A moonlight upon 
 
 Como dazzled my imagination. “ Oh ! 
 yes, certainly, certainly, very pretty,” 
 said the dear old gentleman, who could 
 screw his enthusiasm to no higher pitch. 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. 
 
 ’TIS a woodland enchanted ! 
 
 1 But by no sadder spirit 
 Than blackbirds and thrushes, 
 That whistle to cheer it 
 All day in the bushes, 
 
 This woodland is haunted : 
 
 And in a small clearing, 
 
 Beyond sight or hearing 
 Of human annoyance, 
 
 The little fount gushes, — 
 
 First smoothly, then dashes 
 And gurgles and flashes, 
 
 To the maples and ashes 
 Confiding its joyance ; 
 Unconscious confiding, 
 
 Then silent and glossy 
 Slips winding and hiding 
 Through alder-stems mossy, 
 Through gossamer roots 
 Fine as nerves, 
 
 That tremble as shoots 
 Through their magnetized curves. 
 The allurement delicious 
 Of the water’s capricious, 
 
 Thrills, gushes, and swerves. 
 
 n. 
 
 ’Tis a woodland enchanted ! 
 
 I am writing no fiction ; 
 
 And this fount, its sole daughter, 
 To the woodland was granted 
 To fling holy water 
 And win benediction ; 
 
 In the summer-noon flushes, 
 When all the wood hushes, 
 
 The dragon-fly, knitting 
 To and fro in the sun, 
 
 With sidelong jerk flitting 
 Settles down on the rushes, 
 
 And, motionless sitting, 
 
 Hears it bubble and run, 
 
 Hears its low liquid singing, 
 
4C 
 
 The Fountain of Youth. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 While, level-winged swinging, 
 On green- tasselled rushes, 
 
 He dreams in the sun. 
 
 in. 
 
 ’Tis a woodland enchanted ! 
 
 There the great August noonlight, 
 
 Through myriad rifts slanted, 
 
 Leaf and bole thickly sprinkles 
 With flickering gold ; 
 
 There, in warm August gloaming, 
 
 With quick silent brightenings. 
 
 From the meadowland roaming, 
 
 The fire-fly twinkles 
 His fitful heat-lightnings ; 
 
 There the magical moonlight 
 With meek saintly glory 
 Steeps summit and wold ; 
 
 There whippoorwills plain in the solitudes hoary, 
 With lone cries that wander 
 Now hither, now yonder, 
 
 Like souls doomed of old 
 To a mild purgatory ; 
 
 But through noonlight and moonlight 
 The little fount tinkles 
 Its silver saints-bells, 
 
 That no sprite illboding 
 May make his abode in 
 Those innocent dells. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ’Tis a woodland enchanted ! 
 When the phoebe scarce whistles 
 Once an hour to his fellow ; 
 
 And, where red lilies flaunted, 
 Balloons from the thistles 
 Tell summer’s disasters; — 
 
 The butterflies yellow, 
 
 As caught in an eddy 
 Of the air’s silent ocean, 
 
 Sink, waver and steady 
 O’er the goatsbeard and asters, 
 Like souls of dead flowers, 
 
 With aimless emotion 
 Still lingering unready 
 To leave their old bowers ; — 
 
 And the fount is no dumber, 
 
 But still gleams and flashes, 
 
 And gurgles and plashes, 
 
 To the measure of summer ; 
 
 The butterflies hear it, 
 
 And by some spell are holden 
 Still balancing near it 
 O’er the goatsbeard so golden. 
 
 v. 
 
 ’Tis a woodland enchanted ! 
 A vast silver willow, 
 
 I know not how planted, 
 (But this wood is enchanted, 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Fountain of Youth. 
 
 47 
 
 And full of surprises), 
 
 Stands stemming a billow, 
 
 A motionless billow 
 Of ankle-deep mosses ; 
 
 Two great roots it crosses 
 To make a round basin, 
 
 And there the Fount rises ; 
 
 Ah, too pure a mirror 
 For a man sick of error 
 To see his sad face in ! 
 
 No dewdrop is stiller 
 
 In its lupin-leaf setting 
 
 Than this water moss-bounded ; 
 
 But a tiny sandpillar 
 From the bottom keeps jetting, 
 
 And mermaid ne’er sounded 
 Through the wreaths of a shell. 
 
 Down amid crimson dulses 
 In some dell of the ocean, 
 
 A melody sweeter 
 Than the delicate pulses, 
 
 The soft, noiseless metre, 
 
 The pause and the swell 
 Of that musical motion : 
 
 I recall it, not see it, 
 
 But could vision be clearer 7 
 Half I’m fain to draw nearer, 
 
 Half to turn round and flee it ; 
 
 The sleeping Past wake not, 
 
 Beware ! 
 
 One forward step take not, 
 
 Ah break not 
 That quietude rare ! 
 
 By my tread Unaffrighted 
 A thrush hops before it, 
 
 And o’er it 
 
 A birch hangs delighted 
 Dipping, dipping, dipping its tremulous hair ; 
 Pure as the fountain once 
 I came to the place, 
 
 (How dare I draw nearer 7) 
 
 I bent o’er its mirror 
 
 And saw a child’s face 
 
 ’Mid locks of bright gold in it ; 
 
 Yes, pure as this fountain once, — 
 
 Since — how much error ! 
 
 Too holy a mirror 
 
 For the man to behold in it 
 
 His hard, bearded countenance ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 ’Tis a woodland enchanted ! 
 
 Ah, fly unreturning ! 
 
 Yet stay ; — 
 
 ’Tis a woodland enchanted, 
 Where wonderful chances 
 Have sway ; 
 
 Luck flees from the cold one, 
 But leaps to the bold one 
 Half way ; 
 
 Why should I be daunted 7 
 Still the smooth mirror glances, 
 Still the amber sand dances, 
 One look — then away ! 
 
48 
 
 The Fountain of Youth. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 0, magical glass, 
 
 Canst keep in thy bosom 
 Shades of leaf and of blossom 
 When summer days pass, 
 
 So that when thy wave hardens 
 It shapes as it pleases, 
 
 Unharmed by the breezes, 
 
 Its tine hanging gardens ? 
 
 Hast those in thy keeping 
 And canst not uncover, 
 
 Enchantedly sleeping, 
 
 The old shade of thy lover ? 
 
 It is there ! I have found it ! 
 
 He wakes, the long sleeper ! 
 
 The pool is grown deeper, 
 
 The sand-dance is ending, 
 
 The white floor sinks blending 
 With skies that below me 
 Are deepening and bending, 
 
 And a child’s face alone 
 That seems not to know me, 
 
 With hair that fades golden 
 In the lieaven’s-glow round it, 
 
 Looks up at my own ; 
 
 Ah, glimpse through the portal 
 That leads to the throne, 
 
 That opes the child’s olden 
 Regions Elysian ! 
 
 Ah, too holy vision 
 
 For thy skirts to be holden 
 
 By soiled hand of mortal ! 
 
 It wavers, it scatters, 
 
 ’Tis gone past recalling ! 
 
 A tear’s sudden falling 
 The magic cup shatters, 
 
 Breaks the spell of the waters, 
 
 And the sand-cone once more, 
 
 With a ceaseless renewing, 
 
 Its dance is pursuing 
 On the silvery floor, 
 
 O’er and o’er, 
 
 With a noiseless and ceaseless renewing. 
 
 VII. 
 
 ’Tis a woodland enchanted ! 
 
 If j'ou ask me — where is it ? 
 
 I only can answer — 
 
 ’Tis past my disclosing ; 
 
 Not to choice is it granted 
 By sure paths to visit 
 The still pool enclosing 
 Its blithe little dancer ; 
 
 But, in some day, the rarest 
 Of many Septembers, 
 
 When the pulses of air rest 
 And all things lie dreaming 
 In the drowsy haze streaming 
 From the wood’s glowing embers. 
 
 Then sometimes, unheeding 
 And asking not whither, 
 
 By a sweet inward leading 
 My feet are drawn thither, 
 
 And, looking with awe in the magical mirror, 
 I see through my tears. 
 
1853.] 
 
 French Almanacs for 1853. 
 
 49 
 
 Half doubtful of seeing, 
 
 The face unperverted, 
 
 The warm, golden being, 
 
 Of a child of five years ; 
 
 And, spite of the mist and the error, 
 And the days overcast, 
 
 Can feel that I walk undeserted, 
 
 But forever attended 
 
 By the glad heavens that bended 
 
 O’er the innocent past ; 
 
 Toward fancy or truth 
 Doth the sweet vision win me ? 
 
 Dare I think that 1 cast 
 In the fountain of youth, 
 
 The fleeting reflection 
 Of some by-gone perfection 
 That still lingers in me ? 
 
 FRENCH ALMANACS FOR 1853. 
 
 T)HYSICIANS tell us that if you sup- 
 I press the humors of the natural body 
 they will break out in sore places, and the 
 same appears to be true of the body po- 
 litic. Stop the free publication of opinion, 
 and it will publish itself quite as freely, 
 but in irregular and abnormal methods. 
 The blessed President of the French na- 
 tion, proclaimed Emperor while this sheet 
 is preparing, has abolished the daily press 
 as an instrument of discussion, but, in do- 
 ing so, has imparted new virility to the 
 almanac. 
 
 There has always been a plentiful crop 
 in France of these messengers of science 
 and sentiment, as the jour de Pan or day 
 of each new year, approached, but this 
 year, of all others, Paris has teemed with 
 the product. We have before us some 
 thirty or forty different specimens, and 
 though they are not so various or edifying 
 as the works which Pantagruel found in 
 the library of St. Victor, they are suffi- 
 ciently interesting as signs of the times. 
 
 The first and principal of them, the 
 most dignified and learned, is of course the 
 Almanac of France, put forth by the Na- 
 tional Society, having a sort of official 
 character, and aiming at high didactic pur- 
 poses. A motto on the cover states that 
 “ fifteen millions of Frenchmen learn from 
 the almanac all that they know of the des- 
 tiny of Europe, of the laws of their coun- 
 vol. i. — 4 
 
 try, of the progress of science, art, and in- 
 dustry, and of their duties and their rights.” 
 What a confession, if it be true ! And 
 yet recent events in France render it veri- 
 similar, and under present prospects, we 
 should say that even the almanac will be 
 superfluous soon ; for there will be few du- 
 ties or rights left to the people whereof to 
 get informed ! 
 
 It is twenty years since this almanac 
 was established, on the model of our 
 Franklin’s “ Poor Richard’s,” and having 
 devoted itself during the interval to the 
 diffusion of healthful and useful notions 
 among the poorer classes, of the towns 
 especially, besides giving the usual statis- 
 tics of such publications, we think the 
 statement in the preface for this year sig- 
 nificant. It says, “ The actual legislation 
 having forbidden excursions into the do- 
 main of politics or even of social economy ; 
 we shall conform to the law, yet, regretting 
 that we may not allude to the events of the 
 past year.” Poor mortals, they cannot 
 give the working men so much as a crumb 
 of advice on their daily pursuits, or a 
 scrap of information as to what their 
 rulers have been doing, without running 
 the hazard of a visit from the police. 
 Great cowards these despots ! 
 
 But what do they write about in the 
 absence of these topics ? you ask ; we will 
 tell you. They give of course the ephem- 
 
50 
 
 French Almanacs for 1853. 
 
 eris, the ecclesiastical feasts, the state of 
 the tides, the rising and setting of the sun, 
 &c., for in these there appears to be no pos- 
 sible constructive offence to the govern- 
 ment ; and they give also moral essays, 
 on such novel themes as “ disinterested- 
 ness.” and “ modesty,” or a brief tale il- 
 lustrative of “ filial devotion,” or an ac- 
 count of an exposition of dowers, together 
 with the necrology of the year, a timor- 
 ous anecdote or two, a judicial decision, 
 some curious medical cases, and several 
 agricultural and domestic receipts. Now 
 — you will answer — that if this is the na- 
 ture of the reading which fifteen millions 
 of Frenchmen get, you are not surprised 
 at the fantastic tricks of the nephew of 
 his uncle. Nor are we ! 
 
 Unfortunately this is not all the reading 
 they find. Three of the small annuals 
 on our table are devoted to the special 
 task of indoctrinating them into the beau- 
 ties of imperial rule. One is called the 
 Almanac of the Empire, and relates all the 
 great things that the Emperor did during 
 the days of his power. Another is the 
 Almanac of Napoleon, and tells what the 
 same glorious individual did all the rest 
 of his days, how lie was totally superior 
 to all the other men that ever lived, and 
 how France by his means was raised to a 
 pinnacle of prosperity and renown quite 
 miraculous to see. But then comes the 
 third — for which the foregoing two are 
 only preparatives — called the Imperial 
 Almanac, with a great staring L. N. on 
 the title page, with the " ugly mug” of the 
 same L. N. profusely illustrating the other 
 pages, and a faithful portrait of the iden- 
 tical eagle which lit upon his shoulder 
 (there was some raw meat besides his head 
 in the hat) at the famous descent upon 
 Boulogne. It narrates with a snobbish 
 fidelity that is charming, all the brilliant 
 exploits of the nephew’s fife, from the time 
 he was born to the time he was about to 
 declare the empire — how he was quite a 
 remarkable infant, and had teeth early; 
 how he rowed his mother in a boat ; how 
 he jumped into a stream to save a lady’s 
 1 lower ; how he wanted to become a soldier 
 like his uncle, but did not ; yet to solace 
 his disappointment, thought it Would be 
 equally glorious to sell violets like the little 
 fellow at the gate of the Tuileries ; how he 
 put out the gauze of .Madame Saqui, the 
 rope-dancer, once, when she caught fire, 
 and many other illustrious and wonderful 
 deeds not chronicled in any other history. 
 We are further informed that he rises at 
 seven o’clock in the morning ; that he eats 
 breakfast at eleven ; that when sitting at 
 the council board he draws curious figures 
 with a pencil on scraps of paper, having 
 nothing better to do ; that he sometimes 
 
 [Jan, 
 
 rides out in a tilbury ; that he dines at 
 seven ; that he goes to the opera or some 
 of the minor theatres, and that he sleeps 
 — but nothing is said of that. 
 
 The “Almanac of Literature and the 
 Fine Arts.” furnishes statistics of the 
 twenty-six theatres of Paris, the names of 
 their directors and principal performers, 
 the pieces that have been performed du- 
 ring the year, portraits of Rachel, Meyer- 
 beer, Sontag, Rohan. Cerito, &c., the offi- 
 cers of the different literary and artistic 
 societies, and a sprinkling of anecdotes 
 about distinguished writers. The latter 
 we do not find very original or very pi- 
 quant, though a sketch named “ a First 
 Representation, or the little Miseries of a 
 Dramatic Author,” has much sprightliness 
 of manner. After his play was written, he 
 assembled his friends to hear it read. 
 There were just fifty of them present, and 
 at the close of the exercise he received 
 just fifty different criticisms. One said it 
 had too much action ; another, too much 
 dialogue ; a third, that the love passages 
 were too ardent ; a fourth, that a little love 
 now and then would warm up the heavier 
 parts ; another, that it was too classical ; 
 another, that it was too romantic ; another, 
 that if the three acts were reduced to one 
 it would be capital ; and another, that if 
 they were extended to five nothing could 
 surpass its certain success. Thus the man- 
 ager who had accepted it went away with 
 a long face, the actors who were to per- 
 form it were disgusted, and even the call- 
 boys began to put their thumbs to their 
 noses. But the play had been announced, 
 and must be played. Then the chief of 
 the claqueurs — as they name the applaud- 
 ers — had to be dealt with, and the proper 
 places for his more or less vehement ap- 
 provals rehearsed ; then the free tickets 
 had to be distributed to suitable person- 
 ages ; then the bill-stickers of other the- 
 atres bought up ; then the feuilletonists 
 or critics of the journals propitiated by a 
 supper ; then the dresses of the leading 
 actress presented to her ; then the bou- 
 quets for the other actresses purchassed, 
 then came the shaking of hands with 
 friends in the saloons ; then the lively jests 
 behind the scenes; then the raising of the 
 curtain, and then — an instant, peremptory, 
 irretrievable damnation of the piece, as 
 stupid beyond endurance ! 
 
 In the “Almanac of the Illustration,” 
 we have pictorial excellence as the chief 
 feature, — characteristic scenes for each 
 month of the year, views of famous places, 
 copies of pictures, such as the Conception 
 of Murillo, which sold lately for half a 
 million francs; portraits of well known 
 individuals, the figures of the Carnival, 
 popular sports, and caricatures, all exe- 
 
1853.] 
 
 French Almanacs for 1853. 
 
 51 
 
 cuted with skill and the invariable French 
 love of effect. Of the latter, or the cari- 
 catures, the best is a series representing a 
 ball at Paris. First, an old gentleman 
 full-dressed, with his hands under his 
 coat-tail, and his eyes turned to the chan- 
 delier, exclaims, “ No one yet ! it’s diaboli- 
 cal, and so many wax lights burning !” 
 Next, the mistress of the house points out 
 a lank fellow busily consuming ice-cream. 
 “ A calamity, that chap,” she says, “ he is 
 now on his fifteenth glass, cost 17 francs 
 50 centimes, and the soiree has scarcely 
 commenced.” Then, an ambitious mother 
 presents a hideously ugly old man to a 
 modest young girl, remarking aloud, “ Er- 
 nestine, this gentleman does you the honor 
 of inviting you to dance,” and at the same 
 time whispering, “ Do the amiable, my 
 child ; he has thirty thousand francs in- 
 come.” “ It would seem, my friend,” ob- 
 serves one dandj r to another, that they 
 give no supper to-night ;” to which the 
 other replies nonchalantly, “ Then I stop 
 my expenses,” and coolly takes off his new 
 pair of gloves. Finally the lady enter- 
 tainer, a fat frowzy creature of two tons or 
 less, not having been invited to waltz the 
 whole evening, pouts out with great indig- 
 nation, “ Catch me at giving another ball 
 to such idiots!” At the same time the 
 master is thrust violently against the 
 wall by the foot of a dancer, who capers 
 altogether too nimbly under the influence 
 of champagne. On the whole, it is an 
 excellent social satire, and we only wish 
 we could give our readers the cuts as well 
 as the conversation. 
 
 Fun is the staple of these almanacs. For 
 two or three consecrated to useful pur- 
 poses, we have fifteen or twenty given up to 
 anecdotes, calembours, jests, quips, cranks, 
 plays, rebuses and caricatures. It is quite 
 curious to see how they find names for so 
 manv works of the same purport. There 
 is the Laugher'' s Almanac, the Comic Al- 
 manac. the Droll's Almanac , the Face- 
 tious Almanac , the Wit's Almanac , the 
 Almanac of Anecdotes, the Almanac of 
 Games, and a great many others whose 
 sole aim it is to raise a smile. Nor do 
 they always succeed in accomplishing it, 
 in spite of the most prodigious and hercu- 
 lean efforts. Sometimes, indeed, their at- 
 tempts at droll attitudes, are the most hor- 
 rible distortions. Old jokes are pursued 
 through a thousand transparent changes, 
 run a gauntlet of travesties, and at the end 
 come out the same old jokes, only a little 
 battered and worn, in consequence of the 
 hard usage they have received. Every 
 event of the year is twisted and turned 
 in many ways to discover its ludicrous 
 side. Every personage of note is the butt 
 of innumerable mots. There are comic 
 
 reviews of new books, comic notices of the 
 theatre, comic reports of the tribunals, 
 comic sketches of character, comic odes, 
 comic sermons, comic dramas, comic mu- 
 sic, comic pictures, and comic conundrums. 
 All the vices of men, and all their misfor- 
 tunes, and all their miseries, and all their 
 virtues, are food for laughter. In fact, life 
 itself appears only as a vast field of jokes, 
 or Parisian golgotha, where all the skulls 
 are on the broad grin. 
 
 But though many of these dashes at 
 fun are disastrous failures, such is the 
 liveliness of French nature, that the great 
 part of them are really amusing pleasan- 
 tries. We had determined to entertain 
 our readers with specimens of them, but 
 like the man who went into a wilderness 
 to find a straight stick, and returned with- 
 out any, we found ourselves at the close 
 of the last volume positively bewildered 
 by the multitude of our materials, — it was 
 a veritable embarras dv, richesse — and 
 so we threw them by in despair. 
 
 Besides the almanacs expressly face- 
 tious, there are others quite as much so 
 without intending it, we mean the astro- 
 logical almanacs, and those whose special- 
 ity consists in the mysteries and morali- 
 ties of the art of divination. The mar- 
 vels they record are truly wonderful. 
 Spirit rappings are elementary phenomena 
 in comparison with them, and the strange 
 revelations of clairvoyants are of quite in- 
 ferior note beside the lore that one may 
 acquire from cheiromancy, palmistry, led- 
 gerdemain, biblical sorties, or the study 
 of the stars. Old Albertus Magnus has 
 yet his numerous school of disciples ; the 
 necromancers are held in grateful remem- 
 brance, while the stern Hebrew prophets 
 are tyros and quacks in the light of the 
 illustrious attainments of the modern Mer- 
 lins and Zadkiels. But in the midst of a 
 great deal of absurdity and pretension, 
 there are some curious things. One pre- 
 diction is recorded — a prediction authen- 
 tically traced to the sixteenth century, 
 which clearly indicates the separation of 
 the United States from the mother coun- 
 try, its rise in political power, and its 
 enormous physical developments, and sev- 
 eral other striking facts in our history. 
 This prediction, however, is not yet closed, 
 and it goes on to say, that after a time the 
 mother and daughter will be completely 
 reconciled, that they will enter into an 
 alliance, that their sovereignty will be ex- 
 tended over other nations, and especially 
 that the United States will acquire Japan. 
 Who will not believe in the “ manifest 
 destiny” after that ? 
 
 This prophecy is of course cast in the 
 rather vague and symbolical language 
 which marks the vaticinating afflatus — as 
 
52 
 
 French Almanacs for 1853. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 if a man who saw into tho future inconti- 
 nently lost the use of the common tongue — 
 but it is yet quite as clear as any utterances 
 of the sort that we have had. It speaks 
 thus : 
 
 “ The proud son (America) and the 
 rough and grasping mother (England) 
 separate with looks of blood. The streams 
 flow with blood. 
 
 “The leopard (or lion, England) wars 
 fearfully. A good man, wise, strong as 
 David, when his divinely-directed sling 
 struck down the Philistine giant (Wash- 
 ington) raises up the azure standard sown 
 with stars like the firmament. His mighty 
 voice drives back the raging monster into 
 the seas (the Revolution). 
 
 “ And causes peace, equity, commerce 
 and industry to flourish. A new world 
 arises. A powerful nation possesses the 
 future. May tho name of the just and 
 holy be three times blessed.” 
 
 The prophecy then alludes in a brief 
 way to the contest between Napoleon and 
 England, which is closed in this figurative 
 line, “ The claws of the terrible bird (Na- 
 poleon), are worn out by the patience 
 and cunning of tho leopard (England).” 
 Though, more authentic history relates 
 that those claws were rather extracted as a 
 skilful dentist extracts teeth, and the im- 
 perious eagle himself put into a small cago 
 at St. Helena, where he chafed and raved 
 in a quite undignified way. Yet it was 
 not to be expected, as the modem French 
 historians omit very particular reference 
 to these facts, that an old French prophet 
 of 1608 would be at much trouble to fore- 
 tell them, and the more especially, as his 
 main object was to show how the proud 
 son was going to whip his mother. 
 
 But to resume our own more immediate 
 concerns, the prophecy goes on to declare 
 how the leopard would make prodigious 
 incursions into India and China, and then 
 says : 
 
 “Is poison then a weapon allowed a 
 great nation (opium) ? The land of idols, 
 of rivers, of waters unknown to foreign 
 ships, is invaded by fire (men of war) ! 
 
 “But thy justice is eternal! Worlds 
 arise from the ruins. The children recog- 
 nize their mother (the English and Amer- 
 icans meet in the East). 
 
 “ There is the azure banner again, and 
 there the terrible and conquering leopard, 
 t hey are meeting beyond the sea (in 
 Japan most likely). 
 
 “ But times are altered, the rough and 
 grasping mother and the rebellious son 
 meet in a friendly embrace at the limits 
 of the old world (take courage, Kossuth, 
 and ye who dream of an alliance between 
 England and the United States, and mark 
 the consequence) ! 
 
 “And barbarism and idolatrous wor- 
 ship disappear before them.” They will 
 together establish Christianity over the 
 lace of the globe. 
 
 All that is doubtful about this prophecy 
 is, whether it was written at the time it 
 purports to have been, or whether it bears 
 a later date, when the events to which it 
 alludes were already looming on the hori- 
 zon. We have no knowledge on the sub- 
 ject which enables us to give an opinion, but 
 we may state that the Almanack Prophe- 
 tique solemnly avers that it was printed in 
 a book written by one Pierre Matisac, 
 under the name of “ Spectacle Merveilleux 
 et Edifiant de L’ Avenir,” as far back as the 
 year 1008, in Paris. The publisher’s 
 name was Abraham Saugrin, and many 
 copies of the work are still extant in dif- 
 ferent parts of France. 
 
 Another prophecy, given in the same 
 Almanack , relates to the invention of 
 balloons, and is credited to a Jesuit 
 named Boniface Cerrachi, who went from 
 Italy to France in the suite of Cardinal 
 de Bcmis, about the time the latter was 
 engaged in the embassy to Venice. He 
 wrote a work which was entitled “ Pro- 
 phi tie .Matkimatique pour la fin du dix- 
 kuilicme siicle” of which a limited num- 
 ber of copies only were published. In 
 this work there is this announcement : 
 
 “ In the middle of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury Europe will witness a real miracle. 
 It will occur in the air, will change the 
 face of the earth, and work a revolution 
 in the relations of nations, their commerce 
 and industry.” 
 
 This is briefer and more obscure than 
 the previous prophecy, and does not ne- 
 cessarily refer to the construction of bal- 
 loons ; it may mean a comet or some un- 
 expected and unknown celestial phenom- 
 enon, but the writers of the Almanack 
 are clear that it means balloons, and we 
 suppose they know as much about it as 
 anybody. At any rate, balloons appear 
 to be in the legitimate line of succes- 
 sion, or fulfilment, and as we have some 
 pet anticipations ourselves in that respect, 
 we give in our adherence to the balloon 
 theory, which, to say the least of it, is far 
 more pleasant and Christian -like, than any 
 bellicose upturn of the elements or a fizzing 
 spitfire of a comet that may take it into 
 its tail (comets have no heads — have 
 they ?) to knock our planet into the future 
 state. 
 
 Following these and other prophecies 
 are a number of curious apparitions and 
 other tales that might have been taken 
 out of Mrs. Crowe’s “ Night-Side of Na- 
 ture,” but that some of them have occur- 
 red since that marvellous record of ghostly 
 visitings was issued. Am ong the rest, the 
 
French Almanacs fur 1853. 
 
 53 
 
 1853.] 
 
 Count de Touche-baeff Claremont , ona 
 of the most eminent and honorable sol- 
 diers of France, relates that when he was 
 with the army in the Peninsular, it was his 
 duty, on the night of the 5th April (1815), 
 to be upon the main guard, during a bi- 
 vouac directly in front of the English 
 troops. It was in Madrid near the Escu- 
 rial. He made several rounds of observa- 
 tion during the night, and having returned 
 from these, he got down from his horse, 
 it being after midnight, and threw him- 
 self, enveloped in his cloak, upon a bundle 
 of chopped straw. But he had no sooner fal- 
 len asleep than a vision of his mother, then 
 in France, in a dying condition, appeared to 
 him. He awoke under the excitement of 
 the emotions caused by the event, but fell 
 asleep again very soon. The apparition 
 was repeated, though at no time was a 
 sign made or a word spoken. 
 
 He was very much impressed by the 
 circumstance, but as the French army 
 soon after made a forced retreat across 
 the mountains, the tumult of camp-life 
 quite erased it from his mind. The bat- 
 tle of Yittoria, on the 21st June, in which 
 he was engaged, and the flight that fol- 
 lowed, would have served to have dispelled 
 all traces of it, if any had remained. But 
 at length, when the fugitive troops had suc- 
 ceeded in reaching the frontiers of France, 
 he wrote a letter to his mother announc- 
 ing his safety and return. It was a long 
 while before he received an answer, owing 
 to the various movements of the soldiers, 
 and when he did, it informed him that his 
 “ dear good mother had died during the 
 night of the 5th and Gth of April.” 
 
 As to the graver instruction vouchsafed 
 these poor destitute French readers,— de- 
 pendent upon the Almanac, remember, 
 for their intellectual pap, — we take the 
 following statement, which is meant to 
 illustrate the primitive condition of Ameri- 
 can journalism. The writer begins by 
 saying that every body knows the gigan- 
 tic proportions of American newspapers. 
 “ These great sheets are such provinces 
 of paper, their conductors, to fill them up, 
 are obliged to receive and print articles re- 
 lating to the most trivial domestic matters. 
 Thus, it happens that the fourth page is 
 always devoted to the private correspon- 
 dence of different citizens of the Union, 
 who thereby effect notable economies in 
 postage. For example : 
 
 “ Mr. Crawford, tailor, warns Mr. Ed- 
 ward Burns that he will be compelled to 
 send the sheriff after him, if he does not 
 call and settle his little bill, of which a 
 
 duplicate is hereunto annexed. For one 
 cloak called a mackintosh,” &c., &c. Or, 
 
 “ Mr. John Davis requests his friend 
 Seathan to come and breakfast with him 
 to-morrow morning, at, &c. Note . — He 
 has just recieved some excellent alligator 
 from Florida.” 
 
 The journal fell into an error of the 
 press, and printed Seethan for Seathan. 
 The next day a gentleman presented him- 
 self to Mr. John Davis. 
 
 “ What is your wish ?” 
 
 “ You have been so kind as to invito 
 me to breakfast !” 
 
 “ There must be some mistake ; you are 
 not my friend Seathan !” 
 
 “ I regret that ; but read the newspa- 
 per, sir ; there is my name, every letter 
 of it, — I thought perhaps that you had 
 heard of me by chance, and desired to 
 make my acquaintance. As I have also 
 always professed great philanthropy, I 
 am the friend of all the world, and conse- 
 quently yours. It would have been con- 
 trary to my principles to refuse your kind 
 invitation. I dare to flatter myself, too, 
 that my appetite is as good as Mr. Sea- 
 than’s any time.” 
 
 Thereupon he sat down at the table and 
 devoured the alligator. 
 
 The next day the newspaper had this 
 paragraph. “Mr. John Davis conceives 
 it to be his duty to put his fellow-citizens 
 on their guard in respect to the gluttony 
 of an individual, calling himself Mr. See- 
 than, who introduced himself to me under 
 the pretext of a mistake, and eat up all 
 my game !” 
 
 A third example, 
 
 “ Mr. Edgar Mortimer, clerk in a store, 
 to Miss Pamela, milliner, with whom he 
 fell in love by looking at her through his 
 glass windows. Young miss ! pardon me 
 the liberty I take in addressing you this 
 letter. Why strive to hide your ardent 
 passion,” &c. 
 
 To which the young lady replies, in the 
 next number, 
 
 “ I shall be angry, sir, if you continue 
 to trouble the peace of a sensible milliner, 
 with your inflamed accents. You wish 
 to compromise me; but,” &c., &c., &c. 
 
 The next day a gentleman enters the 
 store of Mr. Mortimer, reproaches him 
 with his letters, and thrashes him with 
 a cane. Then there is a silence for 
 eight days. The subscribers to the news- 
 paper wait impatiently for the sequel of 
 the correspondence, conjecture a thousand 
 things as to the causes of its interruption, 
 and renew their subscriptions.” 
 
54 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 AN EXCURSION TO CANADA. 
 
 “ Now England is by some affirmed to be an island, bounded on the north with the river Canada (so callH 
 from Monsieur Cane).” — Josseljn's Rarefies, 
 
 L 
 
 CONCORD TO MONTREAL. 
 
 [ FEAR that I have not got much to 
 I say about Canada, not having seen 
 much ; what I got by going to Canada 
 was a cold. I left Concord, Massachu- 
 setts, Wednesday morning, Sept. 25th, 
 
 , for Quebec. Fare seven dollars 
 
 there and back ; distance from Boston, 
 five hundred and ten miles; being obliged 
 to leave Montreal on the return as soon 
 as Friday, Oct. 4th, or within ten days. 
 I will not stop to tell the reader the names 
 of my fellow-travellers; there were said 
 to be filteen hundred of them. I wished 
 only to be set down in Canada, and take 
 one honest walk there as I might in Con- 
 cord woods of an afternoon. 
 
 The country was new to me beyond 
 Fitchburg. In Ashburnharn and after- 
 ward, as we were whirled rapidly along, 
 1 noticed the woodbine ( ampelopsis quin- 
 quefolia), its leaves now changed, for the 
 most part on dead trees, draping them like 
 a red scarf. It was a little exciting, sug- 
 gesting bloodshed, or at least a military 
 life, like an epaulet or sash; as if it were 
 dyed with the blood of the trees whose 
 wounds it was inadequate to stanch. 
 For now the bloody autumn was come, and 
 an Indian warfare was waged through the 
 forest. These military trees appeared very 
 numerous, for our rapid progress connected 
 those that were even some miles apart. 
 Does the woodbine prefer the elm ? 
 The first view of Monadnoc was obtain- 
 ed five or six miles this side of Fitz- 
 william, but nearest and best at Troy 
 and beyond. Then there were the Troy 
 cuts and embankments. Keen-street 
 strikes the traveller favorably, it is so 
 wide, level, straight and long. I have 
 heard one of my relatives who was bom 
 and bred there, say. that you could see a 
 chicken run across it a mile off. I have 
 also been told that when this town was 
 settled they laid out a street four rods 
 wide, but at a subsequent meeting of the 
 proprietors one rose and remarked, “We 
 have plenty of land, why not make the 
 street eight rods wide?” and so they 
 voted that it should be eight rods wide, 
 and the town is known far and near for 
 its handsome street. It was a cheap way 
 of securing comfort, as well as fame, and 
 I wish that all new towns would take pat- 
 tern from this. It is best to lay our plans 
 
 widely in youth, for then land is cheap, 
 and it is but too easy to contract our 
 views afterward. Youths so laid out, 
 with broad avenues and parks, that they 
 may make handsome and liberal old men ! 
 Show me a youth whose mind is like some 
 Washington city of magnificent distances, 
 prepared for the most remotely successful 
 and glorious life after all, when those 
 spaces shall be built over, and the idea of 
 the founder be realized. I trust that every 
 New England boy will begin by laying 
 out a Keen-street through his head, eight 
 rods wide. I know one such Washington 
 city of a man, whose lots as yet are only 
 surveyed and staked out, and except a 
 cluster of shanties here and there, only 
 the capital stands there for all structures, 
 and an}' day you may see from afar his 
 princely idea borne coachwise along the 
 spacious but yet empty avenues. Keen is 
 built on a remarkably large and level in- 
 terval. like the bed of a lake, and the sur- 
 rounding hills, which are remote from its 
 street, must afford some good walks. The 
 scenery of mountain towns is commonly 
 too much crowded. A town which is 
 built on a plain of some extent, with an 
 open horizon, and surrounded by hills at 
 a distance, affords the best walks and 
 views. 
 
 As we travel north-west up the coun- 
 try, sugar-maples, beeches, birches, hem- 
 locks. spruce, butternuts and ash trees, 
 prevail more and more. To the rapid 
 traveller the number of elms in a town is 
 the measure of its civility. One man in 
 the cars has a bottle full of some liquor. 
 The whole company smile whenever it 
 is exhibited. I find no difficulty in con- 
 taining myself. The Westmoreland coun- 
 try looked attractive. I heard a passen- 
 ger giving the very obvious derivation of 
 this name, West-more-land, as if it were 
 purely American, and he had made a 
 discovery ; but I thought of “ my cousin 
 Westmoreland ” in England. Every one 
 will remember the approach to Bel- 
 lows’ Falls, under a high cliff which rises 
 from the Connecticut. I was disappoint- 
 ed in the size of the river here ; it ap- 
 peared shrunk to a mere mountain stream. 
 The water was evidently very low. The 
 rivers which we had crossed this forenoon 
 possessed more of the character of moun- 
 tain streams than those in the vicinity of 
 Concord, and I was surprised to see every- 
 where traces of recent freshets, which had 
 carried away bridges and injured the rail- 
 
1853.] 
 
 An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 55 
 
 road, though I had heard nothing of it. 
 In Ludlow, Mount Ilolly, and beyond, 
 there is interesting mountain scenery, not 
 rugged and stupendous, but such as you 
 could easily ramble over — long narrow 
 mountain vales through which to see the 
 horizon. You are in the midst of the 
 Green Mountains. A few more elevated 
 blue peaks are seen from the neighborhood 
 of Mount Holly, perhaps Killington Peak 
 is one. Sometimes, as on the Western 
 railroad, you are whirled over mountainous 
 embankments, from which the scared 
 horses in the valleys appear diminished to 
 hounds. All the hills blush ; 1 think 
 that autumn must be the best season to 
 journey over even the Green Mountains. 
 You frequently exclaim to yourself, what 
 red maples ! The sugar-maple is not so 
 red. You see some of the latter with 
 rosy spots or cheeks only, blushing on 
 one side like fruit, while all the rest of the 
 tree is green, proving either some partiality 
 in the light or frosts, or some prematurity 
 in particular branches. Tall and slender 
 ash trees, whose foliage is turned to a 
 dark mulberry color, are frequent. The 
 butternut, which is a remarkably spread- 
 ing tree, is turned completely yellow, thus 
 proving its relation to the hickories. I 
 was also struck by the bright yellow tints 
 of the yellow-birch. The sugar-maple is 
 remarkable for its clean ankle. The 
 groves of these trees looked like vast 
 forest sheds, their branches stopping short 
 at a uniform height, four or five feet from 
 the ground, like eves, as if they had been 
 trimmed by art, so that you could look 
 under and through the whole grove with 
 its leafy canopy, as under a tent whose 
 curtain is raised. 
 
 As you approach Lake Champlain you 
 begin to see the New-York mountains. 
 The first view of the Lake at Vergennes 
 is impressive, but rather from association 
 than from any peculiarity in the scenery. 
 It lies there so small (not appearing in that 
 proportion to the width of the State that 
 it does on the map), but beautifully quiet, 
 like a picture of the Lake of Lucerne on a 
 music box, where you trace the name 
 Lucerne among the foliage ; far more ideal 
 than over it looked on the map. It does 
 not say, “ Here I am, Lake Champlain,” as 
 the conductor might for it, but having 
 studied the geography thirty 3^ears, you 
 crossed over a hill one afternoon and be- 
 held it. But it is only a glimpse that 
 you get here. At Burlington you rush 
 to a wharf and go on board a steam- 
 boat, two hundred and thirty-two miles 
 from Boston. We left Concord at twenty 
 minutes before eight in the morning, and 
 reached Burlington about six at night, but 
 too late to see the Lake. We got our 
 
 first fair view of the Lake at dawn, just 
 before reaching Plattsburg, and saw blue 
 ranges of mountains on either hand, in 
 New-York, and in Vermont, the former 
 especially grand. A few white schooners, 
 like gulls, were seen in the distance, for 
 it is not waste and solitary like a lake in 
 Tartary ; but it was such a view as leaves 
 not much to be said ; indeed I have post- 
 poned Lake Champlain to another day. 
 
 The oldest reference to these waters 
 that I have yet seen, is in the account of 
 Cartier’s discovery and exploration of the 
 St. Lawrence in 1535. Samuel Champlain 
 actually discovered and paddled up the 
 Lake in July, 1009, eleven years before 
 the settlement of Plymouth, accompany- 
 ing a war-party of the Canadian Indians 
 against the Iroquois. He describes the 
 islands in it as not inhabited, although 
 they are pleasant, on account of the con- 
 tinual wars of the Indians, in consequence 
 of which they withdrew from the rivers 
 and lakes into the depths of the land, 
 that they may not be surprised. “ Con- 
 tinuing our course,” says he, “ in this 
 Lake, on the western side, viewing the 
 country, I saw on the eastern side very high 
 mountains, where there was more on the 
 summit. I inquired of the savages if those 
 places were inhabited. They replied that 
 they were, and that they were Iroquois, 
 and that in those places there were beauti- 
 ful valleys and plains fertile in corn, such 
 as I have eaten in this country, with an 
 infinity of other fruits.” This is the earliest 
 account of what is now Vermont. 
 
 The number of French Canadian gen- 
 tlemen and ladies among the passengers, 
 and the sound of the French language, 
 advertised us by this time, that we were 
 being whirled towards some foreign vor- 
 tex. And now we have left Rouse’s Point, 
 and entered the Sorel river, and passed 
 the invisible barrier between the States 
 and Canada. The shores of the Sorel, 
 Richelieu or St. John’s river, are flat and 
 reedy, where I had expected something 
 more rough and mountainous for a natural 
 boundary between two nations. Yet I 
 saw a difference at once, in the few huts., 
 in the pirogues on the shore, and as it 
 were, in the shore itself. This was an in- 
 teresting scenery to me, and the very reeds 
 or rushes in the shallow water, and the 
 tree-tops in the swamps, have left a pleas- 
 ing impression. We had still a distant 
 view behind us of two or three blue moun- 
 tains in Vermont and New-York. About 
 nine o’clock in the forenoon we reached St. 
 John’s, an old frontier post three hundred 
 and six miles from Boston and twenty- 
 four from Montreal. We now discovered 
 that we were in a foreign country, in a 
 station-house of another nation. This 
 
so 
 
 An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 building was a barn-like structure, looking 
 as if it were the work of the villagers 
 combined, like a log-house in a new set- 
 tlement. My attention was caught by the 
 double advertisements in French and Eng- 
 lish fastened to its posts, by the formality 
 of the English, and the covert or open 
 reference to their queen and the British 
 lion. No gentlemanly conductor appeared, 
 none whom 3 ’ on would know to be the 
 conductor by his dress and demeanor; 
 but, ere long we began to see here and 
 there a solid, red- faced, burly-looking Eng- 
 lishman, a little pursy perhaps, who made 
 us ashamed of ourselves and our thin and 
 nervous countrymen — a grandfatherly per- 
 sonage, at home in his great-coat, who look- 
 ed as if lie might be a stage proprietor, cer- 
 tainly a railroad director, and knew, or had 
 a right to know when the cars did start. 
 Then there were two or three pale-faced, 
 black-eyed, loquacious Canadian French 
 gentlemen there, shrugging their shoul- 
 ders ; pitted as if they had all had the 
 small-pox. In the meanwhile some sol- 
 diers, red-coats, belonging to the barracks 
 near In’, were turned out to be drilled. 
 At every important point in our route the 
 soldiers showed themselves ready for us ; 
 though the} r were evidently rather raw 
 recruits here, the} - manoeuvred far better 
 than our soldiers ; yet, as usual, I heard 
 some Yankees speak as if they were as 
 great shakes, and they had seen the Acton 
 Blues manoeuvre as well. The officers 
 spoke sharply to them, and appeared to be 
 doing their part thoroughly. 1 heard one, 
 suddenly coining to the rear, exclaim, "Mi- 
 chael Donothy, take his name !” Though 
 1 could not see what the latter did or 
 omitted to do, it was whispered that Mi- 
 chael Denotin' would have to suiter for 
 that. I heard some of our part}' dis- 
 cussing the possibility of their driving 
 these troops off the field with their um- 
 brellas. 1 thought that the Yankee, 
 though undisciplined, had this advantage 
 at least, that he especially is a man who, 
 ever}-where and under all circumstances, is 
 fully resolved to better his condition es- 
 sentially, and therefore he could afford to 
 he beaten at first ; while the virtue of the 
 Irishman, and to a great extent the Eng- 
 lishman. consists in merely maintaining his 
 ground or condition. The Canadians here, 
 a rather poor-looking race, clad in grey 
 homespun, which gave them the appear- 
 ance of being covered with dust, were 
 riding about in caleehes and small one- 
 horse carts called charettes. The Yankees 
 assumed that all the riders were racing, 
 or at least exhibiting the paces of their 
 horses, and saluted them accordingly. We 
 saw but little of the village here, for nobody 
 could tell us when the cars would start; 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 that was kept a profound secret, perhaps for 
 political reasons ; and therefore we were tied 
 to our seats. The inhabitants of St. John’s 
 and viemit} - are described by an English 
 traveller as “ singularly unprepossessing,” 
 and before completing his period he adds, 
 “besides, they are generally very much 
 disaffected to the British crown.” 1 sus- 
 pect that that “ besides” should have been 
 a because. 
 
 At length, about noon, the cars began to 
 roll towards La Prairie. The whole dis- 
 tance of fifteen miles was over a remark- 
 ably level country, resembling a western 
 prairie, with the mountains about Cham- 
 bly visible in the north-east. This novel, 
 but monotonous scenery, was exciting. At 
 La Prairie we first took notice of the tin- 
 ned roofs, but above all, of the St. Law- 
 rence, which looked like a lake ; in fact it 
 is considerably expanded here ; it was 
 nine miles across diagonally to MontreaL 
 Mount Royal in the rear of the cit} r and 
 the island of St. Helen’s opposite to it, 
 were now conspicuous. We could also 
 see the Sault St. Louis about five miles up 
 the river, and the Sault Yomian still far- 
 ther eastward. The former are described 
 as the most considerable rapids in the St. 
 Lawrence ; but we could see merely a 
 gleam of light there as from a cobweb in 
 the sun. Soon the city of Montreal was 
 discovered with its tin roofs shining afar. 
 Their reflections fell on the e}'e like a clash 
 of cymbals on the ear. Above all the 
 church of Notre Dame was conspicuous, 
 and anon the Bonsecours market-house, 
 occupying a commanding position on the 
 qua}', in the rear of the shipping. This 
 city* makes the more favorable impres- 
 sion from being approached by water, and 
 also being built of stone, a grey limestone 
 found on the island. Here, after travel- 
 ling directly inland the whole breadth of 
 New England, we had struck upon a city’s 
 harbor — it made on me the impression of 
 a seaport — to which ships of six hundred 
 tons can ascend, and where vessels draw- 
 ing fifteen feet lie close to the wharf, five 
 hundred and forty* miles from the Gulf ; 
 the St. Lawrence being here two miles 
 yvide. There was a great crowd assem- 
 bled on the ferry-boat wharf, and on the 
 quay, to receive the Yankees, and flags of 
 all colors yvere streaming from the y r essels 
 to celebrate their arrival. When the gun 
 yvas fired, the gentry hurrahed again and 
 again, and then the Canadian caleche 
 drivers, yvho were most interested in the 
 matter, and who, I perceived, were sepa- 
 rated from the former by a fence, hur- 
 rahed their welcome ; first the broadcloth, 
 then the homespun. 
 
 It was early in the afternoon when we 
 stepped ashore, with a single companion. 
 
1853.] 
 
 An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 5V 
 
 I soon found ray way to the church of 
 Notre Dame. I saw that it was of great 
 size and signified something. It is said to 
 be the largest ecclesiastical structure in 
 North America, and can seat ten thousand. 
 It is two hundred and fifty-five and a half 
 feet long, and the groined ceiling is eighty 
 feet above your head. The Catholic are 
 the only churches which I have seen worth 
 remembering, which are not almost wholly 
 profane. I do not speak only of the rich 
 and splendid like this, but of the hum- 
 blest of them as well. Coming from the 
 hurrahing mob and the rattling carriages, 
 we pushed aside the listed door of this 
 church, and found ourselves instantly in 
 an atmosphere which might be sacred to 
 thought and religion, if one had any. There 
 sat one or two women who had stolen a 
 moment from the concerns of the day, as 
 they were passing ; but, if there had been 
 fifty people there, it would still have been 
 the most solitary place imaginable. They 
 did not look up at us, nor did one regard 
 another. We walked softly down the 
 broad-aisle with our hats in our hands. 
 Presently came in a troop of Canadians, 
 in their homespun, who had come to the 
 city in the boat with us, and one and all 
 kneeled down in the aisle before the high 
 altar to their devotions, somewhat awk- 
 wardly. as cattle prepare to lie down, and 
 there we left them. As if you were to 
 catch some farmer’s sons from Marlboro’, 
 come to cattle-show, silently kneeling in 
 Concord meeting-house some AVednesday ! 
 Would there not soon be a mob peeping 
 in at the windows ? It is true, these Ro- 
 man Catholics, priests and all, impress me 
 as a people who have fallen far behind the 
 significance of their symbols. It is as if 
 an ox had strayed into a church and were 
 trying to bethink himself. Nevertheless, 
 ftfiey are capable of reverence ; but we 
 Yankees are a people in whom this senti- 
 ment has nearly died out, and in this re- 
 spect we cannot bethink ourselves even as 
 oxen. I did not mind the pictures nor the 
 candles, whether tallow or tin. Those of 
 the former which I looked at appeared 
 tawdry. It matters little to me whether 
 the pictures are by a neophyte of the Al- 
 gonquin or the Italian tribe. But I was 
 impressed by the quiet religious atmos- 
 phere of the place. It was a great cave 
 in the midst of a city ; and what were 
 the altars and the tinsel but the sparkling 
 stalactics, into which you entered in a 
 moment, and where the still atmosphere 
 and the sombre light disposed to serious 
 and profitable thought ? Such a cave at 
 hand, which you can enter any day, is 
 worth a thousand of our churches which 
 are open only Sundays — hardly long 
 enough for an airing — and then filled with 
 
 a bustling congregation — a church where 
 the priest is the least part, where you do 
 your own preaching, where the universe 
 preaches to you and can be heard. * 
 
 * * * In Concord, to 
 
 be sure, we do not need such. Our forests 
 are such a church, far grander and more 
 sacred. AVe dare not leave our meeting- 
 houses open for fear they would be pro- 
 faned. Such a cave, such a shrine, in one 
 of our groves, for instance, how long would 
 it be respected 1 for what purposes would 
 it be entered, by such baboons as we are ? 
 I think of its value not only to religion, 
 but to philosophy and to poetry ; besides 
 a reading room, to have a thinking room 
 in every city ! Perchance the time will 
 come when every house even will have 
 not only its sleeping rooms, and dining 
 room, and talking mom or parlor, but its 
 thinking room also, and the architects will 
 put it into their plans. Let it be furnished 
 and ornamented with whatever conduces 
 to serious and creative thought. I should 
 not object to the holy water, or any other 
 simple symbols if it were consecrated by 
 the imagination of the worshippers. 
 
 I heard that some Yankees bet that the 
 candles were not wax, but tin. A Euro- 
 pean assured them that they were wax ; 
 but, inquiring of the sexton, he was sur- 
 prised to learn that they were tin filled 
 with oil. The church was too poor to 
 afford wax. As for the Protestant 
 churches, here or elsewhere, they did not 
 interest me, for it is only as caves that 
 churches interest me at all, and in that 
 respect they were inferior. 
 
 Montreal makes the impression of a 
 larger city than you had expected to find, 
 though you may have heard that it con- 
 tains nearly sixty thousand inhabitants. 
 In the newer parts it appeared to be 
 growing fast like a small New-York, 
 and to be considerably Americanized. 
 The names of the squares reminded you 
 of Paris — the Champ de Mars, the Place 
 d’ Amies, and others, and you feel as if a 
 French revolution might break out any 
 moment. Glimpses of Mount Royal ri- 
 sing behind the town, and the names of 
 some streets in that direction make one 
 think of Edinburgh. That hill sets off 
 this city wonderfully. I inquired at a 
 principal book-store for books published 
 in Montreal. They said that there were 
 none but school-books and the like ; they 
 got their books from the States. From 
 time to time we met a priest in the streets, 
 for they are distinguished by their dress 
 like the civil police. Like clergymen 
 generally, with or without the gown, they 
 made on us the impression of effeminacy. 
 AVe also met some Sisters of Charity, 
 dressed in black, with Shaker-shaped 
 
58 
 
 An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 black bonnets and crosses, and cadaver- 
 ous faces, who looked as if they had al- 
 most cried their eyes out, their complex- 
 ions parboiled with scalding tears ; insult- 
 ing the daylight by their presence, having 
 taken an oath not to smile. By cadaver- 
 ous I mean that their faces were like the 
 faces of those who have been dead and 
 buried for a year, and then untombed, 
 with the life’s grief upon them, and yet, 
 for some unaccountable reason, the pro- 
 cess of decay arrested. 
 
 “Truth never fails her servant, sir, nor leaves him 
 
 "With the day's shame upon him.” 
 
 They waited demurely on the sidewalk 
 while a truck laden with raisins was driv- 
 en in at the seminary of St. Sulpice. never 
 once lifting their eyes from the ground. 
 
 The soldier here, as every where in 
 Canada, appeared to be put forward, and 
 by his best foot. They were in the pro- 
 portion of the soldiers to the laborers in 
 an African ant-hill. The inhabitants evi- 
 dently rely on them in a great measure 
 for music and entertainment. You would 
 meet with them pacing back and forth 
 before some guard-house or passage-way, 
 guarding, regarding and disregarding all 
 kinds of law by turns, apparently for the 
 sake of the discipline to themselves, and 
 not because it was important to exclude 
 any body from entering that way. They 
 reminded me of the men who are paid for 
 piling up bricks and then throwing them 
 down again. On every prominent ledge 
 you could see England’s hands holding 
 the Canadas, and I judged by the redness 
 of her knuckles that she would soon have 
 to let go. In the rear of such a guard- 
 house, in a large gravelled square or pa- 
 rade ground, called the Champ de Mars, 
 we saw a large body of soldiers being 
 drilled, we being as yet the only specta- 
 tors. But they did not appear to notice 
 us any more than the devotees in the 
 church, but were seemingly as indifferent 
 to fewness of spectators as the phenome- 
 na of nature are, whatever they might 
 have been thinking under their helmets, 
 of the Yankees that were to come. Each 
 man wore white kid gloves. It was one 
 of the most interesting sights which I 
 saw in Canada. The problem appeared 
 to be how to smooth down all individual 
 protuberances or idiosyncrasies, and make 
 a thousand men move as one man, anima- 
 ted by one central will, and there was 
 some approach to success. They obeyed 
 the signals of a commander who stood at 
 a great distance, wand in hand, and the 
 precision, and promptness, and harmony 
 of their movements could not easily have 
 been matched. The harmony was far 
 more remarkable than that of any quire 
 or band, and obtained, no doubt, at a 
 
 greater cost. They made on me the im- 
 pression, not of many individuals, but of 
 one vast centipede of a man, good for all 
 sorts of pulling down ; and why not then 
 for some kinds of building up 1 If men 
 could combine thus earnestly, and pa- 
 tiently, and harmoniously to some really 
 worthy end, what might they not accom- 
 plish ! They now put their hands, and 
 partially perchance their heads, together, 
 and the result is that they are the imper- 
 fect tools of an imperfect and tyrannical 
 government. But if they could put their 
 hands and heads, and hearts and all to- 
 gether, such a co-operation and harmony 
 would be the very end and success for 
 which government now exists in vain — a 
 government, as it were, not only with 
 tools, but stock to trade with. 
 
 I was obliged to frame some sentences 
 that sounded like French in order to deal 
 with the market women, who, for the 
 most part, cannot speak English. Ac- 
 cording to the guide-book the relative 
 population of this city stands nearly 
 thus: two-fifths are French Canadian; 
 nearly one-fifth British Canadian ; one- 
 and-a-half-fifth English, Irish, and Scotch ; 
 somewhat less than one-half-fifth Ger- 
 mans, United States people, and others. 
 I saw nothing like pie for sale, and no 
 good cake to put in my bundle, such as 
 you can easily find in our towns, but 
 plenty of fair-looking apples, for which 
 Montreal Island is celebrated, and also 
 pears, cheaper, and I thought better than 
 ours, and peaches, which, though they 
 were probably brought from the South, 
 were as cheap as they commonly are with 
 us. So imperative is the law of demand 
 and supply that, as I have been told, the 
 market of Montreal is sometimes supplied 
 with green apples from the State of New 
 York some weeks even before they are 
 ripe in the latter place. I saw here the 
 spruce wax which the Canadians chew, 
 done up in little silvered papers, a penny 
 a roll ; also a small and shrivelled fruit 
 which they called cerises mixed with 
 many little stems somewhat like raisins, 
 but I soon returned what I had bought, 
 finding them rather insipid, only putting 
 a sample in my pocket. Since my return, 
 I find on comparison that it is the fruit of 
 the sweet viburnum ( viburnum lentago), 
 which tv i tli us rarely holds on till it is 
 ripe. 
 
 I stood on the deck of the steamer John 
 Munn, late in the afternoon, when the 
 second and third ferry-boats arrived from 
 La Prairie, bringing the remainder of the 
 Yankees. I never saw so many caleches, 
 cabs, charettes, and similar vehicles col- 
 lected before, and doubt if New York could 
 easily furnish more. The handsome and 
 
1853.] 
 
 Modern “ Spiritualism ' 
 
 59 
 
 substantial stone quay, which stretches a 
 mile along the river side, and protects the 
 street from the ice, was thronged with 
 the citizens who had turned out on foot 
 and in carriages to welcome or to behold 
 the Yankees. It was interesting to see 
 the caleche drivers dash up and down 
 the slope of the quay with their active 
 little horses. They drive much faster 
 than in our cities. I have been told that 
 some of them came nine miles into the 
 
 city every morning and return every night, 
 without changing their horses during the 
 day. In the midst of the crowd of carts, 
 I observed one deep one loaded with sheep 
 with their legs tied together, and their 
 bodies piled one upon another, as if the 
 driver had forgotten that they were sheep 
 and not yet mutton. A sight, I trust, 
 peculiar to Canada, though I fear that it 
 is not. 
 
 MODERN “ SPIRITUALISM.” 
 
 T HE existence of occult or latent powers 
 in the human organism, entirely tran- 
 scending the bounds of every-day experi- 
 ence, as well as the materialist’s concep- 
 tion of nature and her immutable laws, 
 is not of recent discover}'. Archaeologists 
 assert that pictorial representations of the 
 process commonly known as magnetizing 
 a human subject have been found in the 
 Egyptian catacombs ; and there is no other 
 mode of accounting for the marvels re- 
 corded of ancient Egyptian priestcraft, 
 the later Grecian Oracles, or some of the 
 feats of Hindoo jugglery, half so easy or 
 probable, as that which supposes the 
 operators in either case to have possessed 
 a competent knowledge of what is popu- 
 larly designated Mesmerism, Psychology, 
 Clau-voyance, &c., &c. Medical books of 
 observation, written centuries ago, record 
 phenomena of like nature with those of 
 Clairvoyance, and equally without the do- 
 main of vulgar probability. That sick per- 
 sons, especially when near death, have often 
 exhibited a condition termed Coma, Trance, 
 or Catalepsy, wherein the soul would 
 seem to have shaken off its carnal fetters, 
 and taken cognizance of whatever attract- 
 ed r r, regard in absolute defiance of phy- 
 sical impediments, is as well established 
 as any fact of unusual occurrence. Cases 
 in which a mortally diseased, keenly suf- 
 fering, partially or wholly insane person 
 has perceived and simultaneously de- 
 scribed occurrences, both ordinary and ex- 
 traordinary, which were taking place at a 
 very considerable distance, sometimes in 
 remote apartments of the edifice wherein 
 he lay, but of which it was absolutely 
 impossible that he should know any thing 
 through the medium of the senses, — are 
 
 abundantly authenticated. That Sweden- 
 borg perceived and proclaimed the exist- 
 ence of a great conflagration in a far dis- 
 tant city, is a fact no longer disputed ; as 
 also that he, on other occasions, evinced a 
 power of cognition beyond the range of 
 the senses. Others have possessed this fa- 
 culty, and have left indubitable proof of its 
 exercise. “ Second sight ” and its kindred 
 pretensions had probably a basis of re- 
 ality, as with the Oracles ; but, the faculty 
 ceasing or being withdrawn, its place was 
 supplied, so far as it might be, by deceit 
 or simulation, more or less conscious, un- 
 til finally the whole degenerated into sheer 
 craft or imposture. As the false coin or 
 note implies the pre-existence of a genuine 
 counterpart, to which the counterfeit 
 owes its transient currency ; as hypo- 
 crisy implies the pre-existence of genuine 
 faith and love ; so do the very mock- 
 eries of a prescience above the reach of 
 the senses imply and demonstrate a pre- 
 ceding verity. Can you imagine such 
 a fraud as the Delphic Oracle at last be- 
 came, deliberately plotted and originated 
 by men conscious that they had no power 
 of divining or foreseeing beyond that 
 possessed by all human kind? 
 
 It is now some seventy years since 
 Mesmer startled the learned and polite 
 world, by the proclamation of his dis- 
 covery as to the power which one human 
 being might, under certain circumstances, 
 exert and maintain over the nerves, the 
 motions, and even the perceptions and 
 will of another. The curious and the 
 restless welcomed him for the usual nine 
 days as a magician, or seer ; the learned 
 and scientific listened impatiently while 
 they must, then shrugged their shoul- 
 
60 
 
 Modern “ Spiritualism . 
 
 ders and bowed him out ; the pious and 
 priestly execrated, and would gladly have 
 exorcised him ; the multitude waited, in- 
 credulous, yet uneasy and half eager, for 
 the judgment of the savans ; the French 
 Academy turned him over to a committee 
 who subjected him to this test — “ Mes- 
 merize the toughest subject among us, or 
 we will condemn you as a deceiver and 
 charlatan !” He tried the experiment 
 and failed; proving — what? That Mes- 
 merism was a fraud or a delusion ? By no 
 means. A naturalist might just as rea- 
 sonably have been required to obtain an 
 egg from a fowl regardless of its sex, and 
 on his failure in the attempt, because the 
 bird happened to be a male, his theory of 
 the propagation of fowls through the me- 
 dium of eggs been stigmatized as a glar- 
 ing imposture. Time has long since de- 
 monstrated the existence of a far broader 
 and deeper reality in Mesmerism than its 
 modern discoverer ever suspected ; though 
 we do not remember that the Academy has 
 even yet reversed or modified its original 
 sentence of condemnation. And now, 
 men who would have scoffed at Mesmerism 
 sixty years since, assume its undoubted 
 truth as the basis of an argument against 
 Clairvoyance ; as they may 3 -et admit 
 and build upon the veritj r of Clairvoyance 
 in order to refute thereby the reality of 
 the so-called “ Spiritual 'Manifestations.” 
 
 What, then, of the modern “ Spiritual- 
 ism ?” 
 
 Several years have now elapsed since 
 the societies of communist celibate asce- 
 tics calling themselves “Christian Friends,” 
 but common!}- designated “ Shakers,” pro- 
 fessed to be in the direct receipt of al- 
 most daity communications from “ the 
 spirits of the just made perfect.” This 
 claim attracted very little attention; it 
 was quite generally deemed (as it still is) 
 only a natural outgrowth or develop- 
 ment of the fanatical folly and knavery 
 which (at least in the popular estimation) 
 form the bases of Shakerism. Two or 
 three German books, of which “ The 
 Seeress of Prevorst ” is the most remark- 
 able, were reprinted here about the same 
 time, and excited some interest among the 
 curious. Except by those having a strong 
 tendency to mysticism, however, they were 
 regarded as far more indebted for their 
 origin to German beer-drinking, tobacco- 
 smoking, and opium-eating, than to any 
 inlet from the Spirit World. Finally, 
 during the summer and autumn of 1849, 
 it began to be whispered about that com- 
 munications from the spirits of the de- 
 parted had been and were being received in 
 the city- of Rochester, N. Y. — the alleged 
 “ mediums ” being three sisters, Mrs. Ann 
 Leah Fish, and Misses Margaretta and Ca- 
 
 [Jan 
 
 therine Fox, the two latter then some fifteen 
 and thirteen years old. At length, on the 
 14th of Nov., 1849, in accordance, as was 
 said, with directions from “ the spirits,” a 
 public lecture on the origin and character 
 of the alleged “ Spiritual Manifestations ” 
 was given in Corinthian Hall, Roches- 
 ter, at which the “ mediums ” were pre- 
 sent. “ Manifestations ” were had, and a 
 Committee was chosen from the audience 
 to report upon their nature and origin 
 at an adjourned meeting the next even- 
 ing. That Committee in due time re- 
 ported that they had made such inves- 
 tigations as they thought proper in the 
 presence of the “ mediums,” at a place with 
 which these persons were previously un- 
 acquainted, and where they could have 
 made no preparations for juggle or decep- 
 tion — that the answers given by the al- 
 leged “ spirits ” to their questions were 
 partly correct, and part]}- otherwise — 
 that the “ mediums ” had apparently 
 given every facility for the investigation ; 
 but that the Committee had utterly failed 
 to discover how the mysterious sounds or 
 “ raps” were produced, or what was their 
 cause or origin. 
 
 The adjourned public meeting, after some 
 discussion, selected another Committee, 
 consisting of five well-known and respected 
 citizens, including three of social and poli- 
 tical eminence, who made a further inves- 
 tigation in another place, with substan- 
 tially the same results. Thereupon a 
 third Committee was appointed, who ap- 
 pointed a sub-committee of ladies, who 
 took the “ mediums ” into a private room 
 of a hotel to which they were strangers, 
 disrobed and searched them, to be certain 
 that no machinery or fixtures were con- 
 cealed beneath their dresses whereby the 
 mysterious sounds were produced. The 
 “ mediums” were then made to stand on 
 pillows, with handkerchiefs tied tightly 
 around their ankles ; but all in vam. The 
 “ raps ” were repeated, and intelligent an- 
 swers to unpremeditated questions were 
 thereby given. A physician had pre- 
 viously applied a stethescope to the breasts 
 of the “ mediums,” in order to be sure 
 that the sounds were not made by ventri- 
 loquism. He reported that no movement 
 of their lungs or chests was perceptible 
 when the sounds were heard. At the 
 first trial of standing the “ mediums” on 
 glass, no sounds were perceived ; but the 
 experiment was repeated, and the “ raps 35 
 were heard as usual. At one of the 
 meetings for investigation, the Commitee 
 excluded all persons but themselves 
 and the “ mediums,” in order to pre- 
 clude the chance of collusion by un- 
 suspected outsiders. At one meeting, 
 members of the Committee wrote theil 
 
1853.] 
 
 Modern 11 Spiritualism.' 
 
 61 
 
 questions privately, so that the “mediums” 
 could not know (by any ordinary means) 
 what was their purport ; and yet the re- 
 plies to them (by “ raps”) were said to 
 have been given correctly. So with re- 
 gard to mental questions. On these 
 points, however, no reports were made by 
 either Committee as such. Their formal 
 scrutiny was limited to the single point 
 of detecting the trick or juggle in which 
 the “ raps ” were presumed to originate ; 
 and on this point their reports were 
 unanimous, that every facility for investi- 
 gation was proffered them, and that no 
 cheat could be detected. 
 
 Thus far, and so long as the “ Manifes- 
 tations” were confined to “the Fox fa- 
 mily,” the evident presumption necessarily 
 was that the “ mediums” were exceedingly 
 clever impostors. Their story imported 
 that the “ rappings” had been first heard 
 in their humble rural dwelling at the 
 little hamlet of Hydesville, township of 
 Arcadia, Wayne County, N. Y., some two 
 years before, and while that dwelling 
 was occupied by another family — that 
 they ceased after a while, and were not 
 heard again until March, 1848, (the fa- 
 mily of Mr. JohnD. Fox having occupied 
 the house since the preceding December) 
 — that they very naturally excited alarm 
 and terror in Mr. F.’s family, and induced 
 them (on the evening of the 31st of 
 March), first to call in their neighbors to 
 counsel and encourage them in the pres- 
 ence of these unaccountable noises, and 
 that the first indication of intelligence in 
 the sounds was given them a few days 
 before, in consequence of the youngest 
 daughter, (then twelve years old) at- 
 tempting to imitate the mysterious “ rap- 
 ping ” by snapping her fingers, when the 
 “ raps ” immediately repeated the number 
 of distinct sounds made by her, and pro- 
 ceeded to “ rap ” five, six, or any number 
 of times, as requested ; then to tell the 
 age of any person present by giving a rap 
 for each year, if desired, &c., &c., until a 
 very tolerable telegraphic communication 
 with the invisible cause of these perturba- 
 tions was established, — that the noise fol- 
 lowed the greater portion of the family on 
 their removal to Rochester, and that the 
 telegraph was gradually improved by the 
 employment of the alphabet : the “ me- 
 dium,” or some one else present, calling 
 over the letters in succession until a 
 “ rap ” indicated that the right one had 
 been reached, when said letter was jotted 
 down, and the alphabet called again, and 
 so on until the “ rap ” ceased, when the 
 letters already set down were divided into 
 words, and the sentence thus obtained re- 
 ceived as a communication from behind the 
 curtain. &c., &c. All this, though appa- 
 
 rently straightforward, and corroborated 
 by neighborhood testimony, would hardly 
 have attracted attention outside of a nar- 
 row circle, or been regarded by any con- 
 siderable number as other than the spe- 
 cious web of falsehood wherein the pre- 
 conceived imposture had enveloped itself. 
 
 But the “Manifestations” were not long 
 confined to the Fox family. They were 
 soon heard of in different towns of W est- 
 ern New-York; then in Western Ohio; 
 then in Providence, R. I., and various 
 parts of New England ; and in Philadel- 
 phia, Cincinnati, St. Louis, &c., and recent 
 letters speak of them as quite extensively 
 witnessed in California ; while late ad- 
 vices chronicle their outbreak in Hull, 
 England. If this “ Spiritualism ” be a 
 sheer delusion, it is one of so singular a 
 character, of such extensive prevalence, 
 and producing consequences so serious, 
 that it demands the most earnest scrutiny 
 and thorough exposition. 
 
 But it is really no longer possible for 
 rational beings familiar with its history 
 and nature to brand it and brush it aside 
 as a mere human juggle or imposture. 
 How far the Ancient Nicholas is mixed up 
 with and responsible for it, this writer 
 cannot presume to decide, as he cannot 
 boast any critical familiarity with the 
 works and ways of that eminent person- 
 age. If he is at the bottom of it, or there 
 is good reason to suspect him of being 
 there, that fact, so far from estopping in- 
 vestigation, ought to induce and enforce it. 
 A careful watch over and shrewd com- 
 prehension of the enemy’s manoeuvres, de- 
 vices and dodges is one of the character- 
 istics of good generalship, and would 
 seem as essential in spiritual as in carnal 
 warfare. If the devil is in it, then that 
 alarming fact should be demonstrated and 
 established ; but it is really too late in 
 the day to rig out any novel phenomenon 
 with horns, hoofs and tail, and thereupon 
 forbid any one’s going near or looking to- 
 ward it. The immense probability that 
 the apparition which looms so awful and 
 ghostly in the dark will be resolved into 
 every-day flesh and blood, or else into an 
 inoffensive stump or rock, — at all events 
 be reduced to conformity with nature’s 
 recognized laws and their comprehended 
 results — if we only bring it to the fight, 
 should preclude our leaving it a mystery 
 and a marvel, merely because Old Nick 
 has had the bantling fathered upon him, 
 by those who know very little about the 
 matter, and are stubbornly resolved never 
 to know any more. 
 
 That there are jugglers, or downright 
 cheats, among those who profess to be 
 “mediums” of this novel illumination, is 
 very probable, — nay, is morally certain, 
 
62 
 
 Modern “ Spiritualism 
 
 a priori , and confirmed by indubitable 
 testimony. The world is too familiar 
 with counterfeit clairvoyants, shamming 
 mesmerizers, hypocritical religionists, &c., 
 to believe that, if there were real recipi- 
 ents or channels of influx for “ light from 
 the spirit world,” there would not be 
 knavish or self-deluded pretenders to such 
 gifts, as well. IIow far self-delusion may 
 go, we cannot pretend to estimate ; but we 
 all know that men otherwise sane, have 
 honestly believed themselves specially 
 commissioned and guided from Heaven to 
 admonish, prophecy, and work miracles, 
 when in truth they had no such commis- 
 sion and could do no such mighty works 
 as they contemplated. Salem witchcraft, 
 religious frenzy evinced through un- 
 seemly contortions, jerkings and tumb- 
 lings, are among the familiar examples of 
 wide-spread contagious delusions, which 
 often exhibited the apparent effects of 
 unaccountable if not supernatural power. 
 But the supposition that all the alleged 
 “mediums” are conscious, intentional 
 swindlers, is utterly irreconcilable with 
 facts, and at war with human nature. 
 Many of these “ rappers,” or “ tippers,” or 
 “ writers,” or “ speakers,” (for the modes 
 of “manifestation” are now various,) are 
 little children, even down to five }'ears of 
 age ; others are grave, stern, honored men, 
 whose integrity is absolutely beyond sus- 
 picion ; others, again, are beloved and sensi- 
 tive women, who dread and recoil from 
 any intercourse, while in the body, with the 
 invisible world, and would not be known 
 as “ mediums” for a kingdom. In many 
 families the secret that “ manifestations” 
 have occurred there is guarded with re- 
 ligious care, and any allusion to the sub- 
 ject in the presence of non-members there- 
 of repressed, as if it were the acme of 
 shame and sin. Yet the contagion spreads, 
 and every month adds to the number of 
 the witnesses and “ mediums.” 
 
 We know it is urged that human nature 
 is fearfully depraved and deceitful, and 
 that we cannot know the motive — 
 whether love of notoriety, hope of gain, 
 the prosecution of some private intrigue, 
 or some other — which induces this or that 
 individual who has heard of the “ rap- 
 pings,” and the usual modes of “Mani- 
 festation.” to take courage by the success 
 of others and undertake to produce some- 
 thing of the kind herself. Let us cite, 
 then, one or two samples of the “Mani- 
 festations” as they are attested to have 
 occurred, and see whether this theory will 
 account for them. 
 
 A few days ago, a Mr. Humes, residing 
 in one of the interior towns of Connecti- 
 cut, happened to be in Bridgeport, and 
 there called on his friend Dr. Jaques, to 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 whom he casually broached the subject 
 of “spiritual manifestations,” avowing his 
 total incredulity with regard to them. 
 Dr. J. replied that, if evidence would con- 
 vince him, he thought his skepticism 
 might be overcome ; and they soon agreed 
 to visit in company a Miss Middlebrook 
 (some twelve or thirteen years old), who 
 is a reputed “ medium.” On their way, 
 Mr. II. concocted four or five questions 
 which he resolved to ask the invisibles in 
 presence of Miss Middlebrook. saying to 
 Dr. J. that if these questions were an- 
 swered correctly he would be no longer 
 incredulous. lie asked his questions ac- 
 cordingty, and they were all answered to 
 his satisfaction ; but now he thought of a 
 few more that he would like to put, which 
 he did with equal success. At length 
 he asked — “ Who are you that answer 
 me ?” Arts. “ I am your uncle William.” 
 — “ No, you are not,” said Mr. II., 11 for 1 
 never had any uncle William .” — “Yes, 
 you did,” persisted the invisible, “but 
 you never saw and probably never heard 
 of me. I left Connecticut when very 
 young for the interior of New- York, and 
 died there a great many years ago.” — Mr. 
 Humes persisted that he never had any 
 such uncle, and the interview rather ab- 
 ruptly closed. 
 
 Several days thereafter, Dr. Jaques, in 
 the course of an inland ride, came across 
 the father of Mr. Humes, a venerable pa- 
 triarch of eighty, whom he abruptly ac- 
 costed thus, — “ Mr. Humes, had you ever 
 a brother William ?” — “ No, sir,” was the 
 ready reply. The doctor turned away ra- 
 ther crest-fallen and was riding off. when 
 the old man recalled him with — “ Stop, 
 doctor! I was mistaken. I had a brother 
 William ; but he went off west and died 
 several years before I was born, and I 
 haven’t thought of him for many j-ears 
 till now. I don’t think there is another 
 person alive who knows that I ever had 
 such a brother. What could have put 
 him into your head ?” We have this narra- 
 tion at second-hand, but on te.stimoryy 
 whose accuracy and truth we cannot doubt. 
 
 Of like bearing with the above is the 
 testimony of Apollos Munn, (now de- 
 ceased,) that, on the occasion of his first 
 visit to a “ medium,” in a city over three 
 hundred miles from his residence, and 
 where he was quite sure no one knew him, 
 he asked a number of questions, which 
 were answered with what seemed to be 
 superhuman perspicacity, until he finally 
 asked, “ Who are you that answer me V' 
 — “ I am your sister Lois.” — “ I never had 
 such a sister — my sister’s name was Lou- 
 isa.” — “No, my name was Lois.” — He 
 left the matter thus at a dead lock, and 
 on returning to his home, said- Mother ! 
 
Modern “ Spiritualism 
 
 63 
 
 1853.] 
 
 can I be mistaken as to the name of my 
 deceased sister? Though I never saw 
 her, I supposed I could not be mistaken as 
 to her name.” — “It was Lois” quietly 
 responded the mother. 
 
 1 do not see how such relations as these, 
 assuming that they are not utter fabrica- 
 tions, are to be accounted for on the theory 
 of juggle, or even on that of contagious 
 self-delusion. I f we attribute the whole 
 business to Satan, we get rid of this diffi- 
 culty, but only to rush inevitably on 
 others, perhaps no whit less formidable. 
 Among these is the intrinsic improbability 
 that the old reprobate should give utter- 
 ance to such counsel as is very often prof- 
 fered through “mediums,” and which, as- 
 suming that Satan is their author, would 
 seem entirely to contradict Lord Byron’s 
 observation with reference to his own 
 “ Cain,” that “ if you permit the devil 
 to speak for himself, you mustn’t expect 
 him to talk like a parson.” For instance, 
 in the backwoods of western Pennsyl- 
 vania dwells a rude but good-hearted 
 pioneer of our acquaintance named Mar- 
 tin King, whose little daughter of twelve 
 or thirteen years became a “ medium” 
 about a year ago. Martin is in the main 
 a good creature, but his education is very 
 defective, which is the only excuse we can 
 make for his bad habit of keeping a bar- 
 rel of whisky on tap, to deal out at a 
 shilling per quart to his hail-fellow neigh- 
 bors. The “ spirits” who manifested 
 themselves through the medium of the 
 daughter promptly demanded that the 
 “spirits” (and water) confined in the 
 whisky-barrel should be cast out, and no 
 more be harbored on the premises. It 
 would take direct and abundant evidence 
 to convince us that it was Beelzebub in 
 this instance who directed the casting out 
 of the alcoholic demon. 
 
 But having no settled belief of our own 
 with regard to the origin and nature of this 
 modern “ spiritualism,” we are very far 
 from wishing to impose one on others. We 
 might cite many well authenticated facts 
 and incidents which tend quite as strongly 
 as those we have just cited, to prove these 
 '■ manifestations” the work of some super- 
 human power ; we could cite many others 
 which point to an opposite conclusion. 
 Should the subject prove of general in- 
 terest, we may quote and contrast some of 
 these apparently contradictory phenom- 
 ena hereafter. Meantime, the lesson we 
 would insist on is this — Let us not fear 
 to open our eyes lest we see something 
 contrary to our preconceptions of Nature 
 and Providence ; for if these preconcep- 
 tions are at war with facts , it is high time 
 they were revised and corrected. Bacon 
 very justly observed that “a little learn- 
 
 ing inclines us to Atheism, but more learn- 
 ing carries us back to a belief and trust 
 in God and we have no doubt that, when- 
 ever we shall clearly and fully understand 
 whatever of truth is involved in these 
 “ knockings,” etc., we shall realize its per- 
 fect accord with nature, with reason, and 
 with the beneficence, omniscience, and pa- 
 ternal guardianship of the God and Father 
 of us all. 
 
 P. S. Since the foregoing was in type, 
 the writer has received the following letter 
 from Mrs. Sarah H. Whitman, of Prov- 
 idence, R. I., in reply to one of inquiry from 
 him, as to her own experiences in “ Spirit- 
 ualism,” and especially with regard to a 
 remarkable “ experience” currently report- 
 ed as having occurred to Hon. James F. 
 Simmons, late U. S. Senator from Rhode 
 Island, and widely known as one of the 
 keenest and clearest observers, most un- 
 likely to be the dupe of mystery or the 
 slave of hallucination. Mrs. Whitman’s 
 social and intellectual eminence are not so 
 widely known, but there are very many 
 who know that her statement needs no 
 confirmation whatever. Her reply was 
 so long delayed, owing to illness, that 
 on]}" a part of it can here be given ; but 
 the most material portion is as follows : 
 
 “ Dear Sir : — I have had no conversa- 
 tion with Mr. Simmons on the subject of 
 your note, until to-day. I took an early op- 
 portunity of acquainting him with its 
 contents, and this morning he called on 
 me to say that he was perfectly will- 
 ing to impart to you the particulars of 
 his experience in relation to the mysteri- 
 ous writing performed under his very 
 eyes in broad daylight , by an invisible 
 agent. In the fall of 1850, several mes- 
 sages were telegraphed to Mrs. Simmons 
 through the electric sounds, purporting 
 to come from her stepson, James D. Sim- 
 mons, who died some weeks before in 
 California ! 
 
 “ The messages were calculated to stim- 
 ulate curiosity and lead to an attentive 
 observation of the phenomena. Mrs. S., 
 having heard that messages in the hand- 
 writing of deceased persons were some- 
 times written through the same medium, 
 asked if her son would give her this evi- 
 dence. She was informed (through the 
 sounds), that the attempt should be 
 made, and was directed to place a slip 
 of paper in a certain drawer at the house 
 of the medium, and to lay beside it her 
 own pencil, which had been given her by 
 the deceased. Weeks passed on, and, 
 although frequent inquiries were made, 
 no writing was found on the paper. 
 
 “Mrs. Simmons, happening to call at 
 the house one day, accompanied by her 
 
64 
 
 The Late John L. Stephens. 
 
 husband, made the usual inquiry, and re- 
 ceived the usual answer. The dr awer had 
 been opened not two hours before, and 
 nothing was seen in it but the pencil lying 
 on the blank paper. At the suggestion of 
 Mrs. S., however, another investigation 
 was made, and on the paper was now 
 found a few pencilled lines, resembling 
 the handwriting of the deceased, but 
 not so closely as to satisfy the mothers 
 doubts. Mrs. Simmons handed the pa- 
 per to her husband. He thought there 
 was a slight resemblance, but should 
 probably not have remarked it, had the 
 writing been casually presented to him. 
 Had the signature been given him he 
 should at once have decided on the re- 
 semblance. He proposed, if the spirit 
 of his son were indeed present, as alpha- 
 betical communications, received through 
 the sounds, affirmed him to be, that lie 
 should, then and there , affix his signa- 
 ture to the suspicious document. 
 
 “In order to facilitate the operation, 
 Mrs S. placed the closed points of a pair 
 of scissors in the hands of the medium, 
 and dropped his pencil through one of the 
 rings or bows, the paper being placed 
 beneath. Her hand presently began to 
 tremble, and it was with difficulty she 
 could retain her hold of the scissors. 
 Mr. Simmons then took them into his 
 own hand, and again dropped his pencil 
 through the ring. It could not readily be 
 sustained in this position. After a few mo- 
 ments, however, it stood as if firmly poised 
 and perfectly still. It then began slowly 
 to move. Mr. S. saw the letters traced 
 beneath his eyes — the words James D. 
 Simmons were distinctly and deliber- 
 ately written , and the handwriting 
 was a facsimile of h is sou's signature. 
 But what Air. S. regards as the most as- 
 tonishing part of this seeming miracle, is 
 yet to be told. 
 
 “ Bending down to scrutinize the writ- 
 ing more closely, he observed, just as 
 the last word was finished, that the top 
 of the pencil leaned to the right; he 
 thought it was about tc slip through the 
 ring, but to his infinite astonishment, 
 
 [Jan, 
 
 he saw the point slide slowly back along 
 the word ‘ Simmons' till it rested over 
 the letter i, where it deliberately im- 
 printed a dot. This was a punctilio 
 utterly un thought of by him; he had 
 not noticed the omission, and was there- 
 fore entirely unprepared for the amend- 
 ment. He suggested the experiment, 
 and hitherto it had kept pace only with 
 his will or desire; but how will those 
 who deny the agency of disembodied 
 spirits in these marvels, ascribing all to 
 the unassisted powers of the human will 
 or to the blind action of electricity, — how 
 will they dispose of this last significant 
 and curious fact? The only peculiarity 
 observable in the writing, was, that the 
 lines seemed sometimes slightly broken, 
 as if the pencil had been lifted and then 
 set down again. 
 
 “ Another circumstance I am permitted 
 to relate, which is not readily to be ao 
 counted for on any other theory than 
 that of Spiritual agency. Mr. S., who 
 had received no particulars of his son’s 
 death until several months after his de- 
 cease, purporting to send for his re- 
 mains, questioned the spirit as to the 
 manner in which the body had been dis- 
 posed of, and received a very minute 
 and circumstantial account of the means 
 which had been resorted to for its pre- 
 servation, it being at the time unburied. 
 
 “Improbable as some of these state- 
 ments seemed, they were, after an inter- 
 val of four months, confirmed as liter- 
 ally true by a gentleman, then recently 
 returned from California, who was with 
 young Simmons at the period of his 
 death. Intending soon to return to San 
 Francisco, he called on Mr. Simmons to 
 learn his wishes in relation to the final 
 disposition of his son’s remains. 
 
 “I took down the particulars in wri- 
 ting, by the pel-mission of Mr. S., during 
 his relation of the facts. I have many 
 other narratives of a like character from 
 persons of intelligence and veracity ; but 
 they could add nothing to the weight of 
 that which I have just reported to you.” 
 
 THE LATE JOHN L. STEPHENS 
 
 I T is a melancholy duty to which we 
 are called, in this our first number, to 
 speak of the recent death of one whose 
 memory has a double claim on our affec- 
 tionate remembrance. His personal cha- 
 racter, as well as his connection with 
 American literature, entitled him to our 
 
 regard, and justify this notice at our 
 hands. 
 
 John Lloyd Stephens was born at 
 Shrewsbury, Monmouth county, New Jer- 
 sey, Nov. 28, 1805. He was the son of 
 Benjamin Stephens, who still survives, one 
 of the “oldest inhabitants” of New-York; 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Late John L. Stephens. 
 
 05 
 
 his mother was a daughter of Judge 
 Lloyd, of Monmouth county, New Jersey. 
 Both his parents were natives of New 
 Jersey. The future traveller was brought 
 up and educated in the city of New-York. 
 lie received his classical education at the 
 schools of Mr. Boyle and Mr. Joseph 
 Nelson, the blind teacher, from the latter 
 of which he entered Columbia College at 
 the early age of 13. He entered low in 
 his class, but left at its head. He remained 
 four years in college, where he was a gen- 
 eral favorite with his fellows. On grad- 
 uating, he entered the office of Daniel 
 Lord, as a student-at-law. He remained 
 in his office about a year, and then enter- 
 ed the Law School, at Litchfield, Conn., at 
 that time under the charge of the late 
 Judge Gould. Here he remained a year, 
 and on his return to the city of New-York 
 entered the office of George AY. Strong 
 as a student-at-law, where he remained 
 until admitted to the practice of the law. 
 On his return from Litchfield his early 
 taste for travelling developed itself. In 
 company with a cousin, of about the same 
 age with i imself, he projected a visit to a 
 sister of his mother’s residing in Arkan- 
 sas, at that t me almost a terra, incognita. 
 After making their visit, instead of return- 
 ing home, as at first contemplated, it was 
 determined to go to New-Orleans. They 
 accordingly descended the Mississippi in 
 flat-boats, at that time the only mode of 
 conveyance on its waters. After an ab- 
 sence of some months, ho returned home 
 by sea, from New-Orleans, and resumed 
 his study of law. At the end of his no- 
 vitiate he entered upon the practice of the 
 law, at which he continued for about eight 
 years ; but he never felt or exhibited 
 much ardor or zeal in the pursuit of this 
 profession. During that period he took 
 a somewhat active interest in politics, 
 united himself to the Democratic party, 
 and became a sort of pet speaker at Tam- 
 many Hall. He always advocated the 
 doctrine of free trade, and was strongly 
 opposed to all monopolies. His manner 
 was earnest, and every one who heard 
 him could see that he felt what he spoke. 
 Owing, perhaps, to his public speaking, 
 he contracted a disease of the throat, which 
 bid fair soon to break up his constitution. 
 His physician happening to hint at a voy- 
 age. he seized upon it immediately, and 
 hastened to carry it into effect. He em- 
 barked in the autumn of 1834, in the packet 
 ‘Charlemagne,’ for Havre, and landing 
 on the coast of England, went up to Lon- 
 don, and from thence crossed to France. 
 Thence he visited Italy, Greece, Turkey, 
 and Russia, returning by the way of Po- 
 land and Germany to France. On liis 
 return to France from the North of Eu- 
 vol i. — 5. 
 
 rope, and when his family expected to 
 hear of his embarkation for home, he sud- 
 denly took passage on board a steamer 
 at Marseilles for Egypt, by the way of 
 Malta. He landed at Alexandria, visited 
 Cairo, ascended the Nile as far as Thebes. 
 He returned home in the latter part of 
 1836. Prior to his return, some of his let 
 ters written from Scio, in Greece, and other 
 places, were published, by the request of 
 his friends, in a magazine, edited by Mr. 
 Charles F. Hoffman, and were generally 
 copied in the papers of the day. In 1837 
 he published his first work, entitled, “ In 
 cidents of Travel in Egypt, Arabia Pet 
 rsea and the Holy Land.” This was fol- 
 lowed, in 1838, by “Incidents of Travel 
 in Greece, Turkey, Russia, and Poland.” 
 Of the former 21,000 copies have been 
 printed, and of the latter 12,000. These 
 works were republished in London, and 
 received favorable notice from the re 
 viewers.. 
 
 In 1839, he was recommended to Go 
 vernor Seward for the appointment oi 
 Agent of this State to visit Holland, for 
 the purpose of collecting records of our 
 colonial history ; but, being opposed by 
 the Whigs in the legislature, he did not 
 receive the nomination, which was con- 
 ferred on Mr. Brodhead. About that 
 time Mr. Van Buren, being then Presi- 
 dent, gave him the appointment of Special 
 Ambassador to Central America, for the 
 purpose of negotiating a treaty with that 
 country. On his return to the United 
 States he prepared a third work, entitled, 
 “ Incidents of Travel in Central America, 
 Chiapas and Yucatan;” it appeared in 
 June, 1841. Of this 15,000 copies have 
 been printed. AVhile on this mission his 
 attention was first turned to a passage 
 across the Isthmus of Darien. 
 
 In 1842 he again visited Yucatan, and 
 published, in 1843, the result of his labors 
 in another work, entitled, “ Incidents of 
 Travel in Yucatan.” Of this latter work 
 9,750 copies have been printed. 
 
 In 1846 he was chosen a delegate from 
 the city of New-York, to the State Con- 
 vention of New-York to revise the Con- 
 stitution. He was nominated by the 
 Democrats, but on account of his popula- 
 rity was also placed on the AVhig ticket. 
 He introduced, and advocated the pro- 
 vision for a Conciliation Court, which was 
 adopted by that body. In 1847, the 
 subject of ocean steam navigation greatly 
 attracted the public attention. England 
 had the monopoly of this mode of con- 
 veyance. It was said, America could not 
 compete with her in navigating the Ocean 
 with steam. She had neither the capital, 
 nor could she build vessels and machinery 
 of sufficient strength and power — Mr 
 
66 
 
 The Late John L. Stephens. 
 
 Stephens became deeply interested in the 
 project, and a charter was obtained from 
 the State of New-York, incorporating The 
 Ocean Steam Navigation Company in the 
 city of New-York. Of this Company 
 Mr. S. was a director, and the result of 
 the enterprise, were the steam-ships 
 Washington and Hermann. The former 
 made the tirst trip, and proceeded from 
 the port of New-York to Southampton, 
 England, and thence to Bremer-Haven, 
 the port of the city of Bremen, Germany. 
 Mr. S. embarked in the Washington, on 
 this her iirst trip, and had the happiness 
 of seeing an experiment in which he felt so 
 deep an interest successfully carried out. 
 He was present at the felicitations offer- 
 ed at the different ports, and at Bremen the 
 excitement on her arrival was intense. 
 The thunder of cannon, and tumultuous 
 rejoicing of every kind greeted her arrival, 
 amid much speechifying, in which Mr. S. 
 took a prominent part. This decided the 
 question of America’s competition with 
 England, in Ocean Steam Navigation. He 
 returned to England to meet the Wash- 
 ington by way of Hamburg, Berlin, <fcc., 
 visited Humboldt, at Potsdam, and pub- 
 lished in the Literary World an account 
 of his visit to this distinguished traveller 
 and philosopher, entitled "An Hour with 
 Humboldt.” 
 
 He took a strong and active interest in 
 the Hudson River Railroad, and warmly 
 supported its claims in a speech at the Mer- 
 chants’ Exchange, in the city of New-York. 
 
 In 1849, he became one of the associates 
 of the Panama Railroad Company, and one 
 of its most zealous advocates. About 1st 
 July, 1849, the Company was organized, 
 and Mr. S. was chosen its Vice-President. 
 In the ensuing autumn he visited the 
 Isthmus, and Panama, for the purpose of 
 inspecting the route ; from Panama he 
 went to Bogota, the capital of New Gra- 
 nada, and concluded an arrangement with 
 that Government most favorable to the 
 interests of the road. On the journey on 
 mule-back to Bogota he met with a very 
 severe accident, by the falling of his mule. 
 His spine was very much wrenched, and it 
 was with the utmost pain and difficulty 
 that he reached Bogota. On his arrival 
 there he was obliged to take to his bed, 
 lie in one position, and thus carry on amid 
 the most violent pain and anguish of body, 
 all his communications with the Congress 
 of the New Granadian Government. Tills 
 accident may have helped to impair his 
 health, or at least to make him more sus- 
 ceptible of disease. Certain it is, he never 
 recovered entirely from its effects.* He re- 
 
 [Jan 
 
 turned home by the way of Carthagena, 
 whence he took a steamer for the United 
 States. On his way back he stopped at the 
 Island of Jamaica, and made a Hying circuit 
 of that beautiful island. So much was he 
 struck with its natural beauties, and the 
 moral and social aspects growing out of 
 its present anomalous condition, viz., the 
 abolition of slavery, that it is believed he 
 made some very considerable notes of in- 
 cidents with a view to future publication. 
 On his return to New-York. and upon the 
 resignation of Sir. Thomas W. Ludlow, 
 then President, Mr. S. was appointed in 
 his place, and assumed the duties of Presi- 
 dent of the Panama Railroad Company. 
 To the duties of this office all his energies, 
 mental and physical, were bent. The two 
 following winters of 1850-1 and 1851-2, he 
 visited the Isthmus and personally super- 
 intended the work and progress of the 
 road. To this great work he devoted 
 himself; his zeal was as conspicuous as 
 his hopes in its success were firm and un- 
 wavering. On his return in the Spring 
 of 1852, he seemed in as good if not better 
 health than usual, and so continued for six 
 or eight weeks, when he was attacked by 
 a disease of the liver, which developed 
 itself in an abscess, and after an illness of 
 about four months, in almost continued 
 pain and suffering, terminated his life. 
 
 As a literary man, the contributions 
 of Mr. Stephens were in the department 
 of travels alone ; his observations how- 
 ever had extended over a field so wide in 
 both hemispheres, that his countrymen 
 were wont to call him “ the American 
 traveller.” And so unstudied, familiar 
 and agreeable was his mode of telling 
 what he had seen, that those who had 
 ever listened to his verbal relation of his 
 “Incidents of Travel,” had the man per- 
 fectly before them as they read his lively 
 pages. Perhaps there never lived a wri- 
 ter less ambitious of producing an impres- 
 sion by the mere graces of “ style or 
 one more wilfully and blissfully ignorant 
 of the petty artificial devices, the little 
 tricks of literary composition, by which 
 small writers sometimes contrive to make 
 a shallow rivulet of thought meander over 
 a large field of letters. In truth, he es- 
 chewed trickery of all kinds, and was as 
 incapable of employing it when he wrote, 
 as he was of carrying it into the business 
 transactions of life. And it is precisely 
 this naturalness of manner, added to the 
 truthfulness of his character, which have 
 made his writings so universally popular. 
 With a quick and keen observation, an ap- 
 preciative and good-natured sense of the 
 
 * From Bogota be was carried in a cliair constructed on purpose, supported on pillows, and carried on the 
 shoulders of men to the steamer on the Carthagena river. 
 
1853 .] 
 
 The Late John L. Stephens. 
 
 67 
 
 ludicrous, and a remarkable faculty of 
 retaining vividly to the last the freshness 
 of first impressions, he sat down and told 
 his story with the pen very much as he 
 would have told it to his intimates with 
 the tongue, had he encountered them just 
 after emerging from one of his many ad- 
 ventures. 
 
 It happened to the writer of these lines 
 to meet him in London on his return 
 homeward from his eastern travels, when 
 he had no expectation of becoming an 
 author (though for the sake of his friends 
 he had kept memoranda of his observa- 
 tions) ; and many an hour was agreeably 
 occupied in listening to his stories, partic- 
 ularly of his journey through Idumea, re- 
 lated almost precisely as they were after- 
 wards given to the world. Indeed the 
 publication of his first volumes of travels 
 afforded a remarkable proof of the intrin- 
 sic worth of the book, as well as a most 
 unexpected and gratifying instance of lite- 
 rary success : that which was prepared, 
 chiefly for the sake of personal friends, 
 passed rapidly through several editions ; 
 and a work unheralded by previous lau- 
 datory announcement, and not bearing on 
 its title-page a name established in the 
 world of letters, obtained, by virtue of its 
 contents alone, a wide-spread celebrity, 
 and conferred on its author the character 
 of a popular American writer. 
 
 It was not learned, but it was truthful 
 and intelligible to the mass of readers, 
 and this insured its success. We are in- 
 clined to believe that the unexpected re- 
 ception of this first attempt, made our 
 author a traveller on our own continent. 
 In repeated conversations with the present 
 writer, the attention of Mr. Stephens was 
 called to the ruins of Guatemala and Yu- 
 catan, as represented in the works of Del 
 Rio and Waldeck. Ilis was just the en- 
 thusiasm of character to be captivated by 
 the thought of explorations where so little 
 was known ; and his diplomatic appoint- 
 ment to Guatemala by President Van 
 Buren afforded him precisely the field he 
 wanted, with the advantages his work 
 might derive from official station. He 
 used laughingly to say that he travelled 
 over all Guatemala looking for the gov- 
 ernment to which he was accredited, and 
 which he never could find ; while his jour- 
 ney ings enabled him to discover some- 
 thing which would probably prove more 
 interesting to his countrymen than any 
 diplomatic correspondence. And it was 
 more interesting, not merely to his coun- 
 trymen, but to the learned of Europe 
 also. His travels in Central America and 
 Yucatan are unquestionably the richest 
 contribution ever made by any one man 
 to the subject of American Antiquities. 
 
 Those who knew him are aware that 
 he possessed in an eminent degree, many, if 
 not all the requisites necessary for pre- 
 cisely such a work as he had undertaken. 
 Hi s single deficiency was, that he had not 
 had time to acquire the learning of a well 
 read antiquary. But he had all things 
 else that were needed. Sustained by his 
 enthusiasm, he could and would endure 
 an incredible amount of bodily fatigue; 
 his perseverance was indomitable ; indeed 
 energy of character was probably the 
 strongest element of his nature. He 
 possessed also, with a large knowledge of 
 men, extraordinary tact in his intercourse 
 with them, and a courage, moral and phy- 
 sical, which nothing could daunt. To 
 this we may add, an ever-ready power of 
 accommodating himself to circumstances, 
 and making the best of them, with a 
 good humor that laughed at inconve- 
 niences when they were remediless, and a 
 generous kindliness of heart, prompt to 
 respond to human suffering. He had 
 large sympathies with his kind. There 
 was about him, too, a truthfulness which 
 made its impression even on the shortest 
 acquaintance. Every one, therefore, who 
 knew him was satisfied that he would use 
 no traveller’s privilege ; that what he 
 related as facts within his own knowledge 
 might be implicitly relied on. even to the 
 measurement of an inch in the length of 
 a wall. These were the qualities which 
 he carried into the work of an explorer 
 among our buried cities ; and the results 
 of the employment of these qualities, told 
 in his own unpretending manner, often 
 relieved by an outbreak of his quick sense 
 of the ludicrous, have made, and will long 
 continue to make, his books of American 
 travels a source at once of information 
 and amusement, that will last until a 
 fresher interest is created by fresh explo- 
 rations and newer discoveries ; but let who 
 will succeed him in the field, not one 
 will be more truthful than John L. Ste- 
 phens. 
 
 His life was spent in action ; and it is 
 a sad thought that the very enthusiasm 
 and energy which formed in him such 
 marked characteristics, probably contri- 
 buted, in no small degree, to send him to 
 the grave at the comparatively early age 
 of forty-seven. His 'travels in Central 
 America subjected him to exposure and 
 disease, of which, at the time, he thought 
 less than they deserved. They doubtless 
 gave to his constitution a blow which but 
 little fitted it to encounter fresh exposure 
 on the Isthmus of Panama, whither he 
 was led by the same unconquerable energy 
 and perseverance which had marked his 
 previous career. The great work of con- 
 necting the two oceans proceeded toe 
 
68 
 
 Fashion. 
 
 [Jan 
 
 slowly for his enthusiastic nature. He 
 saw its importance, and resolved that 
 it should he finished speedily. As 
 President of the Company he repaired 
 in person to the spot, and enduring toil, 
 and exposure, and sickness, returned 
 
 home but to die ; but he has It ft his mark 
 upon the age in which he lived. The 
 railroad is nearly completed, and the first 
 iron track between the Atlantic and Pa- 
 cific is henceforth indelibly connected 
 with the name of John L. Stephens. 
 
 FASHION. 
 
 A PORTRAIT of my grandmother 
 J I hangs upon my parlor wall. It was 
 taken at least sixty-five years since, and 
 represents the venerable lady, whom I re- 
 member in my childhood, in spectacles 
 and comely cap, as a young and blooming 
 girl. She is sitting upon an old-fashioned 
 sofa, by the side of a prim aunt of hers, 
 and with her back to the open window, 
 ller costume is quaint, but handsome. 
 It consists of a cream-colored dress made 
 high in the throat, ruffled around the 
 neck, and over the bosom and the shoul- 
 ders. The waist is just under her shoul- 
 ders. and the sleeves arc tight, tighter 
 than any of our coat sleeves, and also 
 ruffled at the wrist. Around the plump 
 and rosy neck, which I remember as 
 shrivelled and sallow, and hidden under 
 a decent lace handkerchief, hangs, in 
 the picture, a necklace of large ebony 
 beads. There are two curls upon the 
 forehead, and the rest of the hair flows 
 away in ringlets down her neck. The 
 hands hold an open book : the eyes look 
 up from it with tranquil sweetness, and 
 through the open window behind you see 
 a quiet landscape, — a hill, a tree, the 
 glimpse of a river, and a few peaceful sum- 
 mer clouds. Often in my younger days, 
 when my grandmother sat by the fire af- 
 ter dinner lost in thought, — perhaps re- 
 membering the time when the picture was 
 a portrait — I have curiously compared 
 her wasted face with the blooming beauty 
 of the girl, and tried to detect the like- 
 ness. It was strange how the resem- 
 blance would sometimes appear : how, as 
 I gazed and gazed upon her old face, age 
 disappeared before my eager glance, as 
 snow melts in the sunshine, revealing the 
 flowers of a forgotten spring. 
 
 It was saddest of all to see my grand- 
 mother herself contemplating the portrait. 
 The story is told of old Wycherly, the 
 wit and dramatist, that when his brief day 
 
 of popular homage was over, he called, in 
 his decay, for the full-wigged portrait ta- 
 ken when he was the fashion, and wrote 
 under it “ quantum mutatus ab illo !” 
 Alas ! bow changed from that ! The feel- 
 ing in the superannuated man about town 
 seems hardly genuine, and like every 
 thing those men did, has a slight theatri- 
 cal air. But it was touching to see my 
 grandmother steal quietly up to her por- 
 trait, on still summer mornings when ev- 
 ery one had left the house, and I, the 
 only child, played, disregarded, and look 
 at it wistfully and long. She held her 
 hand over her eyes to shade them from 
 the light that streamed in at the window, 
 and I have seen her stand at least a quar- 
 ter of an hour gazing steadfastly at the 
 picture. She said nothing, she made no 
 motion, she shed no tear, but when she 
 turned away there was always a pensive 
 sweetness in her face that made it not less 
 lovely than the face of her youth. I have 
 learned since what her thoughts must 
 have been, — how that long, wistful glance 
 annihilated time and space, how forms and 
 faces unknown to any other, rose in sud- 
 den resurrection around her, — how she 
 loved, suffered, struggled and conquered 
 again ; how many a jest that I shall never 
 hear, how 7 many a game that I shall never 
 play, how many a song that I shall never 
 sing, were all renewed and remembered 
 as my grandmother contemplated her pic- 
 ture. 
 
 My own thoughts were of a very dif- 
 ferent character. I, too, used to study 
 that portrait, but my aim was to discover 
 why it made my old friend look unlike 
 an } 7 young person I had ever seen. Had 
 it been the likeness of Helen or of Aspa- 
 sia, I said to myself, when I began to stu- 
 dy Greek, it would not be surprising that 
 it did not resemble my cousin Maude, but 
 why Maude’s grandmother less than sev- 
 enty years ago should look like no girl I 
 
1853.] 
 
 Fashion. 
 
 69 
 
 ever saw, was a great mystery to me. It 
 was none the less so when Smith took me 
 to his father’s house to see the “ family 
 portraits.” Among these there were some 
 of the same strange young women, and I 
 racked my fancy again, to discover why 
 they were so different from our young 
 women. Smith suddenly explained the 
 whole mystery. 
 
 “ What an odd, old-fashioned style of 
 dress,” said Smith. 
 
 It was a very obvious remark, and so 
 was the fact of gravitation very obvious 
 before the apple hit Newton on the nose. 
 I looked at my grandmother’s picture 
 with new eyes, and saw why a human 
 being, of the female species, sixty years 
 ago was so entirely different from the 
 same creature now. Fashion was the 
 Magician. Fashion was the great com- 
 mander who said “ wear ruffles,” and they 
 were worn ; “ elevate the waist,” and it 
 was elevated ; “ powder the hair,” and it 
 was powdered. For a few days after 
 Smith’s remark, it really seemed as if 
 fashion were the secret of history. Had 
 Marshal Turenne marched to victory in 
 the uniform of the “ Light-Guard,” or that 
 of “Duryee’s Regiment,” I trembled to 
 think how much prestige he would neces- 
 sarily lose. The horse-hair wig and the 
 polished armor began to seem too large a 
 part of Marshal Turenne ; and as I pon- 
 dered on the portraits of the beautiful la- 
 dies of the Court, they seemed to me only 
 paint, patch, and scratch. Then those 
 Elizabethan towers upon the head ! How 
 gladly my fancy fled from them and 
 rested contentedly in the close, comely, 
 Grisette-ish little cap of Mar}', Queen of 
 Scots. 
 
 Who makes the fashion then, since so 
 much depends upon it? That is a ques- 
 tion which I cannot get answered. My 
 philosophical friends have their theories 
 about it. Flamingo, in his lofty way, 
 says that every fashion has a profound 
 significance, and that if you could really 
 see the reasons of things as you walk 
 down Broadway, you would enjoy in a 
 sedate and instructive manner the glitter- 
 ing varieties of costume,— in fact, he says, 
 you would distil a drop of the honey of 
 wisdom from every flower of folly that 
 blooms in that gay parterre. 
 
 “ Exactly,” I say to Flamingo, “but you 
 miss the point. Here comes my cousin 
 Maude in her new suit of furs. She fol- 
 lows the fashion which, this winter, pre- 
 scribes small muffs. You see she can 
 scarcely squeeze those darling hands into 
 that bit of a muff, which is no larger than 
 a good-sized cuff. Now what, pray, is the 
 ‘ profound significance’ of that absurdity 
 of my cousin Maude’s ?” 
 
 “ Well,” says Flamingo, “ I suppose the 
 significance of carrying a muff in winter, 
 is to keep the hands warm. The size is a 
 matter of convenience.” 
 
 “ Not at all ; it is a matter of whim, or 
 of fashion, which only concerns the form, 
 and has nothing to do with the essence. 
 Last winter Maude carried a muff as large 
 as a bearskin, and next winter she will 
 wear thread-gloves, if it is the fashion.” 
 And it is the truth. Flamingo can 
 never get any nearer to his profound rea- 
 son in fashion than this, that people imi- 
 itate the dress of one whom they acknow- 
 ledge as a leader, just as boys imitate the 
 handwriting, and collegians the rhetorical 
 style of certain persons whom they ad- 
 mire. Fashion is a kind of hero-worship, 
 he says. “ Poetical young men turn down 
 their collars and drink gin and water be- 
 cause Childe Llarold did it.” Fashion 
 is imitation founded in genuine reverence. 
 Your tailor pads and puffs and squeezes, 
 says philosophical Flamingo. Why does 
 he do it ? To make your figure some- 
 what resemble what is called the ideal 
 figure of the Apollo, or some other type 
 of fine manly form. The individual tailor 
 knows nothing of this principle, but never- 
 theless, that is the reason of the pigeon- 
 breasted waistcoats and the stuffed coats 
 which he makes. Fine tailoring co-ope- 
 rates with fine arts, says Flamingo. It 
 tries to make a man as handsome as a 
 statue. 
 
 But this, I confess, seems to me seeing 
 much more in a picture than the painter 
 meant. I will not deny that it is often 
 truly so, and that there is beauty in a 
 work, according as it is seen, and even 
 more and a different beauty than was in- 
 tended. Yet I still recur to the inquiry, 
 Who makes the fashion ? because I cannot 
 believe that there is any very profound 
 reason for my browsers being cut straight 
 this winter, when they lapped a little over 
 the foot a year ago. Nor do I fancy there 
 is any especial mystery in the fact that 
 the skirts of my street-coat must now 
 hang to the calves of my legs, when last 
 year they scarcely fell below my waist. 
 What would induce my cousin Maude to 
 receive visitors this morning in the cos- 
 tume of my grandmother’s portrait ? Yet 
 it is much more simple and picturesque 
 than any thing Maude will wear. The 
 only reason she can give is, that it is “out 
 of fashion.” Who put it out ? And who, 
 from time to time, continues to put “ out 
 of fashion ” what is graceful and pictu- 
 resque, and to put “ in fashion ” very 
 graceless and clumsy contrivances ? The 
 other day my aunt Jane entertained the 
 little folk who came to take tea with 
 Clara by coming down in her bridal hat. 
 
VO 
 
 Fashion. 
 
 There was one burst of laughter from 
 young and old. “ You may laugh,” said 
 aunt Jane, smiling, “ but when I went to 
 church, after my marriage, in that hat, I 
 assure you it was the envy and despair of 
 the whole town ; and, by next Sunday, 
 the church was full of all kinds of imita- 
 tions of it.” When the little people came 
 to take leave of aunt Jane, she said to 
 them, "keep the bonnets you are wearing- 
 to-night for twenty years, and then you 
 will laugh as heartily at them as you do 
 at my bridal hat to night.” Should we 
 not? Here is Claude Fay in the very 
 plenitude of this winter’s fashion. Let 
 him walk down Broadway twenty, or ten 
 years hence in this suit, which to-day all 
 we young men envy and admire so much, 
 if he dare ! 
 
 Not many years ago our mothers all 
 wore leg-of-mutton sleeves, — stiff, starch- 
 ed, clumsy wings, opposed to every feeling 
 of propriety and sense of beauty. Then 
 came the sleeves puffed about the shoulder 
 and upper part of the arm. Aunt Jane, 
 
 I remember, used to wear under-sleeves, 
 or circular cushions, stuffed with down, or 
 feathers, or something else, to make the 
 puff of the outer sleeve sufficiently promi- 
 nent ; they used to sit in these deformed 
 dresses, and laugh by the hour over 
 Queen Anne’s hoops and heels, and the 
 Chinese coiffure of Louis XIV’s ladies. 
 And to-day at dinner, as cousin Maude 
 held her plate for a cut of roast turkey, 
 and dipped her falling-lace under-sleeve 
 into a dish of gravy, and then draggled it 
 over the tabic-cloth, she was shouting 
 with laughter at the idea of my mother 
 in those other sleeves. Maude hates the 
 Bloomers, because they are contemporary, 
 but merely derides the high heels and 
 short skirts of earlier days. This she did 
 vehemently one day last week, as I es- 
 corted her up the Fifth Avenue, and, at 
 the same moment, her skirts were sweep- 
 ing the mud and offal of the street, to the 
 great saving of the scavenger’s salary, but, 
 unhappily, to the great disgust of every 
 decent person. 11 My dear coz.,” Maude 
 says to me, " one must be in the fashion.” 
 But who makes it ?” inquire I desperately. 
 
 • Don’t be a fool, John,” she replies, and 
 f om this pious devotee, I can get no other 
 account of the goddess. 
 
 After such little passages with her, I 
 stroll slowly homeward to my bachelor 
 cigar, and wonder why Maude will be so 
 subservient to Fashion. But often enough 
 I turn upon myself, and demand if I am 
 not equally so, if we are not all more or- 
 thodox in that faith than in any other. I 
 say to myself, Would you now wear Farm- 
 er Bullock’s bell-crowned beaver down 
 Broadway ? W ould you go to Mrs. Bounce’s 
 
 [Jan 
 
 ball to-night, in the coat your father was 
 married in ? You remember it, with the 
 long swallow tail, and the lappets upon 
 the waist; or would you even wear the 
 waistcoat you wore to her first ball, seven 
 years ago ? Being a young man, I natu- 
 rally say, no. Or if Claude Fay, who is a 
 lover of my cousin Maude’s, wished to se- 
 cure her favor, would he be likely to array 
 himself in a “green, half-trimmed frock 
 and breeches, lined with silk,” or a 
 “ Queen’s blue dress suit,” or “ a half-dress 
 suit of ratteen, lined with satin,” or even a 
 “ pair of silk stocking-breeches, and an- 
 other pair of a bloom-color ?” Yet Oliver 
 Goldsmith donned all this gear to win the 
 smiles of the Jessamy Bride. And, cou- 
 sin Maude ! the Jessamy Bride found it 
 “impossible not to love and respect his 
 goodness of heart.” She thought less of 
 the ratteen coat, than the true human 
 heart it covered, and when he, who, in his 
 credulous and childlike way, had loved and 
 honored her, lay dead in his solitary room, 
 the Jessamy Bride carried from his coffin 
 a lock of the poet’s hair. 
 
 Now. why would not Claude Fay wear 
 what Oliver Goldsmith wore ? Simply and 
 only, because it is not the fashion. And 
 why shouldn’t it be the fashion to wear 
 bloom-colored breeches now ? Is it, after 
 all, more than a whim ? Has fashion any 
 deeper foundation than the love of change ? 
 I find myself in October giving away 
 all the cravats I bought in June. They 
 are quite as handsome as then, and would 
 be equally available for the next season. 
 But I have done with them, I am tired of 
 them. My younger brother, Hal, may 
 wear them, but I would rather go through 
 next summer in a black silk ribbon, than 
 use the ties I liked so much this season. 
 I doubt if you can make more of it than 
 love of change. Uncle Solomon and his 
 set were great judges of wine. At least, 
 they said so, and I know that they were 
 great drinkers. I dined often at uncle’s 
 table and saw much of the set. They 
 swore by Madeira. Sherry was a thin, wo- 
 man’s wine; and the}- quaffed foaming 
 glasses of the sparkling ruby liquor. This 
 was ten years ago. How they laughed at 
 Clarence’s death in a butt of Malmsey. 
 “Why,” said Uncle Solomon, “a man who 
 loved such a wine deserved no better fate.” 
 “There couldn’t be but one worse fate 
 than being drowned in Malmsey,” said 
 jolly old bottle-nosed Crabtoe, Uncle Sob’s 
 partner. “ And what is that ?” asked I 
 timorously, “ Why, drowning Malmsey in 
 yourself,” cried Crabtoe. Falstaff and his 
 friends fared no better. “ Sack and sugar,” 
 said another of this dogmatic crew, “ oh ! 
 Lord !” So they drained their Madeira, 
 and cracked their nuts. Wine-drinking, I 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Fashion. 
 
 71 
 
 inferred, was a matter of taste and not of 
 fashion : or, perhaps, of country. But [ 
 devoutly clung to Madeira and the Crabtoe 
 doctrines, and when 1 heard from a young 
 friend, that his father, who had lived sev- 
 eral years in England, always drank Sher- 
 ry to his dinner. I grieved for his father, 
 as for a man who had become uncivilized. 
 '1 he next time I dined with Uncle Solo- 
 mon, I spoke of French wines, and Ger- 
 man and Italian wines. They were damn- 
 ed directly. They were “ stuff,” and “ ex- 
 ecrable,” and “ women’s wine,” and many 
 other disagreeable ihings. Madeira was 
 the wine for a man. “ Amen,” thundered 
 Crabtoe, but broke off suddenly, smarting 
 with a twinge of the gout. “ Claret is 
 your gouty wine,” cried Uncle Sol. “ Your 
 Rhenish is vinegar,” said another guest. 
 “And your Italian wines, muddy sweet- 
 ened water,” added a very rich gentleman 
 at the foot of the table, who had never 
 travelled farther than Saratoga. 
 
 Uncle Sol. and his set were fairly en- 
 titled to their opinion, and might drink 
 what wine they preferred. But why this 
 monstrous contempt and commiseration 
 for other tastes than theirs 7 Are not sweet 
 Tokay and the Rhenish wines, the wines 
 of history and poetry 7 Did anj r old drink- 
 ing Baron, whose exploits in emptying 
 beakers have made wine-drinking an histo- 
 ric fact, ever condescend to the fire that 
 burned in Uncle Sol.’s ruby Madeira 7 
 Would Horace have exchanged a single 
 sip of his exquisite Falernian for a tun of 
 such lava? Was the wine of Cyprus, 
 which old Crabtoe pishes at as cordial, 
 ever drunk by modern traveller without 
 emotion 7 To hear Uncle Sol. and his set, 
 you would have fancied that no one ever 
 drank wine with understanding, until this 
 blessed club of diners-out met for the pur- 
 pose. It imposed upon me for a long 
 time, and I had a secret pity for men who 
 did not believe in Madeira. But I pre- 
 sently crossed the sea myself, and dis- 
 covered what good wine was. I drank 
 the pure vintage of the Rhine, and the 
 Danube, and the Arno, the Sicilian shore, 
 and the broad fields of France ; and tasted 
 the grape and its blossom, the sun, the 
 country, and the climate, in each wine I 
 quaffed. I remembered those tables at 
 home flaming with hot wines, and a brief 
 glimpse of cool claret at the end of dinner, 
 introduced as a curiosity. I saw the lithe, 
 mercurial Frenchmen, of all men the most 
 nimble, and who live on claret, and re- 
 membered Uncle Sol.’s decree, “ Claret is 
 your gouty wine.” Uncle Sol., I laughed 
 harder at you than ever you did at Cla- 
 rence. Well, when I came home after six 
 years’ absence, I dined one day with the 
 remnant of the old set. Old Crabtoe’s 
 
 nose had, in the meanwhile, blossomed so 
 brilliantly, that the set called it the burn- 
 ing bush. “ Why don’t you take in your 
 sign, Crabtoe 7” said Uncle Sol., “good 
 wine needs no bush !” and they all roared 
 again. Yet six years had swept away 
 much prejudice and much wine. I found 
 them drinking Claret, Rhenish, and Sher- 
 ry, to a man. There was a bottle of very 
 old Madeira introduced as a curiosity, and 
 every man took a thimble-full. But 
 “the staple tipple,” as Claude Fay calls it, 
 was light wine. “ Light wine’s all the go 
 now, my boy,” said Uncle Sol. “ Why 7” 
 said I. “ Oh ! I don’t know : it’s the fashion. 
 We don’t swig and guzzle as we used to 
 do,” replied he. 
 
 This seems very ridiculous. Are we 
 mere puppets which this magician Fashion 
 moves at will 7 Are we lay-figures only, 
 draped by this capricious Fairy? “I 
 will not submit,” cried I, “ ’tis unmanly. 
 Peach-bloom breeches are as good as my 
 gray trowsers. I will be bold, I will be 
 free. I will be .” 
 
 “ Out of the fashion, if you dare,” said 
 Claude Fay, who heard me. 
 
 And was he not right again 7 Is it not 
 easier to stretch the truth a little, than to 
 wear a high black-satin stock 7 Yet that 
 was the top of fashion when the first gentle- 
 men in Europe wore it. Show me a man 
 bold enough to be out of fashion, not for 
 a freak, or a bet, or for an occasion, but, 
 if you choose to say so, upon principle, 
 afid 1 will show you a hero. We none 
 of us like it. We like to have our hats 
 and boots and waistcoats in the fashion. 
 We are averse to having our wives and 
 daughters — how much more our mis- 
 tresses — say — “ oh ! how old-fashioned.” 
 Nothing more completely describes a 
 man or woman than that term. To 
 say “ an old-fashioned gentleman,” is to 
 evoke a grave and courtly figure in the 
 mind, with an amplitude of ruffle and a 
 generous coat, bowing, as if bowing were 
 one of the cardinal virtues, and addressing 
 a woman as if he were Solomon’s ambas- 
 sador to the Queen of Sheba. There is a 
 certain quaint grace about it, which is 
 characteristic and winning. The “old- 
 fashioned ” manner, like the costume of 
 my grandmother in her portrait, instantly 
 restores the old times and the old society. 
 But you and I study it and enjoy it, as 
 we do Egyptian specimens. IV e have 
 
 no wish to be Pharaoh nor Ptolemy. 
 
 Is it not, after all, mere whim? When 
 Uncle Joseph died, Aunt Jane went 
 into prodigious mourning. She was hung 
 in black, like a city at a public funeral. 
 She darkened the sunshine as she walked. 
 Every rustle of her widow’s sable shook 
 out gloom. Smiles died upon the face of 
 
72 
 
 Fashion. 
 
 [Jan, 
 
 children and in their play they regarded 
 her coming with terror, as haymakers a 
 rising thunder-cloud. Aunt Jane’s widow- 
 hood, merely from those clouds of dark- 
 ness round about her, is an inky blot 
 upon my memory. Why did she swathe 
 herself so solemnly ? “ To manifest the 
 
 gloom of her feelings, and the night of 
 sorrow which had swallowed up the day 
 of her happiness,” responds Flamingo, the 
 philosopher. But have the Chinese no 
 feeling, then ? Are “ Celestial ” widows 
 so gay at their Lords’ decease that they 
 must show it to all the world, by donning 
 white ? If you come to philosophy, white 
 is the absence of color as much as black ; 
 and, religiously, it seems to me that it is 
 as well for the widow to show her faith 
 and resignation by indicating symbolically 
 that her spouse has gone to heaven, as 
 that she is broken-hearted. At least, our 
 neighbors of the Antipodes have as much 
 reason for their white as we for our black. 
 The truth is, Aunt Jane entombed her- 
 self in sables, because it is the fashion. 
 Had it been the habit to mourn in green, 
 do you not know that my Aunt Jane 
 would have been a perfect pea ? 
 
 ’Tis fashion that makes cowards of us 
 all. A belle’s face in the bonnet of a 
 score of years since, was like a rose at 
 the bottom of a coal-scuttle. Now it 
 stands forth from her bonnet, like that 
 rose bursting from the bud. I consider 
 that we are the gainers. But I am not 
 very turbulent in my joy, for I wonder 
 whether the next freak will not be to 
 cover the face with the oriental Yash- 
 mak, leaving one eye only to beam soft 
 splendor through that terrible eclipse. 
 It is fashion that rules us. not taste, not 
 beauty, not the becoming, nor the pic- 
 turesque. I like the Rubens hat, 1 think 
 it graceful and handsome. It harmonizes 
 with my face, my moustache and beard. 
 I would wear the Rubens hat if I dared. 
 But if I should go down Nassau-street 
 to-morrow morning in that hat, my mer- 
 cantile credit would suffer. Claude Fay 
 is a lawyer ; that is. he hires a room in 
 William-street, and puts “Claude Fay, 
 Attorney at Law,” upon the door. Claude 
 hates the law and adores dancing. But 
 he doesn’t dare to grow a moustache. 
 His uncle told him that a moustache was 
 without precedent in the profession, and 
 would ruin his prospects. But I make 
 Claude’s mouth water by telling him of 
 the silken splendors that drape the lips of 
 French and Italian advocates. 
 
 “Poor Claude,” you say, and so do I. 
 But we are all in the same ship. I can- 
 not make much of it. Why does old Un- 
 cle Sol. insist upon drinking Rhenish out 
 . of green glasses ? The wine tastes no bet- 
 
 ter. It has no beauty, then, but a dirty 
 green color. The golden amber of Marco- 
 brunner and the pale hue of Liebfraumilch, 
 are all forced to . show the same. But 
 Uncle Sol. would fight rather than not 
 drink his “ Hock,” as he calls it, out of a 
 green glass. Crabtoe has the same freak 
 about his delicate Sherry. Wine that a 
 few years since was too weak to dilute 
 water, as he expressed it, he now exposes 
 for years in his attic with nothing but a 
 bit of gauze over the mouth of the demi- 
 john, so that what little original fire there 
 was, exhales, and when it is decanted and 
 brought to table, Crabtoe will not drink 
 it, nor will he let any body else drink it, 
 except out of the thinnest smooth glass, 
 with a wisp of a stem. “ It enhances the 
 delicacy of the wine, sir,” sa} r s Crabtoe. 
 “ Delicate wine !” says Gawl, his Boston 
 friend, “I call it ether. What do you 
 drink such stuff for?” “Stuff!” cries 
 Crabtoe, “ it costs me a hundred dollars 
 the dozen.” I drink it out of a tumbler, 
 and it is just as delicate. Let old Crab- 
 toe try a little water out of thin and thick 
 glasses, and see if he discovers any differ- 
 ence. They all iced their Claret, when 
 it first came, and no wine could be cold 
 enough. Now they say that ice numbs 
 the wine and destroys the flavor, and that 
 Claret should be of the same temperature 
 as that of the room in which it is drunk. 
 Catch John Bull drinking half-and-half 
 out of any thing but pewter 1 If you ask 
 him why not, he mumbles some indistinct 
 science about “galvanic action,” between 
 the liquid and the metal, a statement which 
 he knows, and we all know, is of the same 
 scientific dignity, as the medical practice 
 of the old woman who transfers rheuma- 
 tism to apple-trees. Metal was a more 
 economical ware for the ale-house than 
 glass, and thus economy set the fasl ion. 
 
 And I confess, too, that it is pleasanter 
 to drink ale out of a tankard, and fine wine 
 from delicate glass. Yet you. on your part, 
 must confess that it is only a whim of fancy 
 — a mere matter of taste. And this would 
 be enough to explain the fashion, if, unfor- 
 tunately, the experience of fashion did 
 not show that to-morrow the whole thing 
 may be reversed, and we may be all drink- 
 ing Claret out of black mugs, and ale from 
 glass. In Germany, Bavarian beer is 
 drunk from glass tankards, and Lager-bier 
 is kept in earthen bottles. It is melan- 
 choly to see how we are bandied about, 
 how impossible it is to get a foothold upon 
 the fact of this mystery. 
 
 And yet, could it be calculated, it would 
 cease to charm, perhaps to sway. The 
 bailor in Paris, whose audacious hand 
 dares cut my trowsers shorter or longer, 
 broader or narrower, has already effected 
 
1853.] 
 
 Fashion. 
 
 73 
 
 a revolution. The legs of farthest America 
 are affected by that bold stroke. Whole 
 wardrobes, now unconscious, are antiqua- 
 ted by that deviation from the old rule. 
 When my fellow-traveller Lorraine passed 
 through Paris on his way to Italy, he or- 
 dered a host of waistcoats. Lorraine was 
 enamored of the French mode, and, like 
 other lovers, indiscreet. Six months after- 
 wards. those garments reached Rome, and 
 Lorraine saw, with cold perspiration, that 
 he could not wear them. Probably it was 
 upon the very last day of the old fashion 
 that he had ordered those unhappy clothes. 
 The next morning M. Blanc arose to ful- 
 fil his mission and “inaugurate a new era” 
 of waistcoats. What had been yesterday 
 an inch, became an ell to day. The peace- 
 ful revolution was accomplished, but Lor- 
 raine’s waistcoats were the innocent suf- 
 ferers. 
 
 Flamingo, the philosophical, indulges in 
 one startling theory. Personal modesty, 
 he saj^s, as distinguished from the genuine 
 instinct, is altogether a matter of fashion. 
 Thus our grandmothers shuddered more 
 at the idea of showing their ears, than 
 our sisters their ankles. In the East a 
 woman shields her face from observation, 
 at all hazards, whatever other part of her 
 person may be exposed. Ladies and gen- 
 tlemen in Queen Anne’s time talked, read 
 and wrote with a luscious breadth of style 
 that is altogether too cloying for modern 
 taste (says Flamingo) ; and they listened 
 to plays which no decent woman would 
 now care to read. “And to bring the 
 matter a little closer,” said Flamingo to 
 Claude Fay at Mrs. Bounce’s ball, “why 
 should any girl here complain of any habit 
 of any time, when even your friend Miss 
 Maude is draped around the neck with 
 such generous parsimony ?” 
 
 Fashion is but a whim of form, then. 
 There is the universal instinct of modesty, 
 but its expression varies. There is the 
 universal necessity of clothing, but its ma- 
 terial and its arrangement differ with coun- 
 tries and times. Only certain New Zea- 
 land chiefs can wear particular feathers, 
 only certain warriors be tattooed in a pe- 
 culiar way. The change of fashion has 
 no deeper foundation than restlessness and 
 quick satiety. My grandmother’s aunt 
 u . the portrait stepped stately in the min- 
 uet, my cousin Maude hops and quivers 
 in the redowa and polka. Herodias dan- 
 
 ced in a way unknown to us. The Egyp- 
 tian Ghawazee’s ballet is a singular gym- 
 nastic, full of expression, and all over the 
 European continent the national and 
 characteristic dances have each their charm 
 and individuality. Here, upon the ave 
 nues, or in any street from 4th to 40th, we 
 elaborate the Schottish upon a stretched 
 linen, in rooms as rich as we know how 
 to make them, in the glare of gas, the soft- 
 er brilliancy of wax, and amid intoxicating 
 clouds of whirling lace and muslin, and 
 the thick breath of exotic flowers. Three 
 hundred years ago, wild red Indians, paint- 
 ed yellow and green, with equal frenzy 
 threaded the mazes of their dances, and 
 held rude festival. The difference is a 
 change of fashion — nothing more. The 
 instinct was the same in the first of the 
 Mohicans and in the last girl “out.” We 
 all laugh at fashion, but we take care not 
 to sin against it. “What an intolerable 
 vanity,” says Uncle Sol. of the balls to 
 which Maude drags him. But Uncle Sol. 
 squeezes his feet into patent leather boots 
 and his hands into kid-gloves, puts on a 
 black suit and a white shirt, and proceeds 
 to Martyrdom. Uncle Sol. is wise. It is 
 better to submit. No man null wisely 
 try to wear woollen clothes in the fervors of 
 the Dog-star, nor to saunter up Niagara. 
 It is a mortifying thing, if you please, that 
 the master is mastered ; that man, who is 
 the head of nature, must submit to such 
 dumb forces as the sun and Niagara. 
 
 Muse to the last upon the mortification, 
 but while you muse you submit. The 
 image of my grandmother contemplating 
 her picture shall take the sting from that 
 submission. Upon those still Summer 
 mornings, though she stood withered and 
 wan in a plain black silk gown, a close cap 
 and spectacles, and held her shrunken and 
 blue-veined hand to shield her eyes, yet, 
 as she gazed with that long and wistful 
 glance, upon the blooming beauty that 
 had faded from her form for ever under 
 that flowing hair and that rosy cheek — the 
 immortal fashions of youth and health — 
 and beneath those many ruffles and that 
 quaint high waist — the fashions of the 
 day — she recognized the same true and 
 loving woman. If her face was pensive 
 as she turned away, it was because truth 
 and love are, in their essence, for ever 
 young ; and it is the hard condition of na- 
 ture that they cannot always appear so. 
 
^4 [Jan 
 
 OUR YOUNG AUTHORS. 
 
 I. 
 
 MITCHELL. 
 
 THE author of the “Reveries” is anatu- 
 4 ral man, — of course we speak of him as 
 he appears in his books. He does not pad, 
 or stuff, or wear fustian, or carry a long- 
 rapier which is always getting between 
 the legs of its owner. Ilis curls are his 
 own, his color is his own, his breath is 
 sweet, and his smile is pleasant. He is 
 not. to be sure, very grand or forcible. He 
 is no Farnese Hercules, with great huge 
 muscles of thought standing out in bold 
 relief from his form. Rut he is the An- 
 tinous of the Fireside, graceful, delicate 
 and dreamy. Fie well named his book 
 •• Reveries.” Dreamland appears to have 
 descended to him by some territorial right, 
 and he wanders with the free step of an 
 owner among his shadowy possessions. 
 .1 udging from his books, Mitchell is a very 
 impressionable man. His nature is, as it 
 were, iodised, and registers, with the sen- 
 sitive accuracy of a daguerreotype, every 
 passing light and shade of such characters 
 as come within his sphere. But unlike the 
 daguerreotype, he is not universal. We 
 find in his pictures, no huge granitic 
 masses, such as Hawthorne loves to fling- 
 at his canvas, careless where they stick, 
 or what the}- deface. Fie paints only the 
 gentle, the grieving, and the beautiful. A 
 mother weeping over the grave of her son 
 of fifteen summers ; a husband stealing 
 with soft step, modulated voice, and im- 
 prisoned agony, round the death-bed of 
 his young wife; a love-scene between a 
 youth and maiden, where passion exhales 
 itself into a dreamy mist, enveloping them 
 both and softening their outlines to our vi- 
 sion till they melt away in a cloud of 
 splendor, and leave us pleased, but unsa- 
 tisfied: these, and such similar subjects, 
 does the author of the “ Reveries ” depict. 
 How long they are going to last, time 
 only can tell. Like those angelic heads 
 that Sir Joshua Reynolds painted, the de- 
 licate colors may fleet, and leave nothing 
 after them but deathlike memories. 
 
 Mr. Mitchell, in his books, has dreams 
 within dreams. He dreams of a hero, 
 who dreams in turn of himself, or some 
 one else in whom he is interested, and so 
 rolls an endless chain of reveries, like the 
 long perspective of receding mirrors, that 
 we see when we place two looking-glasses 
 face to face. This produces, in the end, a 
 most unsatisfactory result. We see no Finis, 
 nor ever will see one. All is vague, slid- 
 ing and unfinished. A weary panorama, 
 
 beautifully painted, j asses before us, but 
 it has no end, and after a time all features 
 and scenery melt into pretty, unsubstan- 
 tial clouds. We long to see one good solid 
 rock or tree on which to fasten our at- 
 tention, but there is none. Like Alciphron 
 we swing in air and darkness, and know 
 not whither the wind blows us. 
 
 In his “Lorgnette, or Studies of the 
 Town,” Mr. Mitchell has essayed dealing 
 with social realities, more than in his other 
 or later works. Sometimes he succeeds 
 in hitting off a character very fairly, but 
 we see in a little while that analytic hu- 
 mor is not his forte. Give him a heart 
 suffocating with tenderness or grief, and 
 he will lay its secrets bare with exquisite 
 gentleness and skill, and have some little 
 anod}me of his own to lay upon the wound 
 afterwards ; but the broad, grinning mask 
 of every-day life, is too coarse for him to 
 handle. Farce turns the edge of his deli- 
 cate scalpel, and we feel instinctively that 
 he had better let it alone altogether. Mas- 
 ter Timon, coming home to his boarding- 
 house, and talking about belaced dandies, 
 and painted, fashionable ladies, does not 
 interest us half as much as the “ Bachelor ” 
 in his lonely New England farm-house, 
 dreaming sweetly in his arm-chair, and 
 seeing numberless faces, and romances, and 
 recollections, in the white ashes of the 
 pine-logs. 
 
 Mr. Mitchell does not bear reading 
 from cover to cover. The want of sus- 
 tained interest in his books, and the very 
 fragmentary manner in which he arranges 
 them, are indeed unfavorable to a contin- 
 uous perusal. He is to be taken bit by 
 bit. When you have been all day long 
 slaving at some hard, dry business, that 
 chokes up all kinclly sympathies, and 
 parches every secret spring, come home, 
 put on your dressing-gown, place a cup of 
 delicate French chocolate on a table near 
 you, and read the third chapter of the 
 “Reveries of a Bachelor.” When you 
 have finished it, be sure your heart will 
 be no longer arid. If nothing else fresh- 
 ens the soil, your tears will at least fall 
 there, and there is no dew so invigorating 
 to our natures as that which we weep our- 
 selves. 
 
 But Mr. Mitchell cannot be read en- 
 tire. There is a sameness about their very 
 perfections that wearies us as we go on. 
 They are the champaign lands of senti- 
 ment ; beautiful levels over which an hour’s 
 gallop or a day’s meditation is charming. 
 But to stay there for any length of time, 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Our Yo ung Authors. 
 
 75 
 
 induces terrible lassitude, and mental de- 
 pression. This arises from the almost 
 feminine delicacy of Mr. Mitchell’s nature. 
 He takes us captive with those gentle 
 spells for which the sex are famous, and 
 we like to dally for awhile with the sweet 
 thoughts that he whispers to us, and to 
 daintily taste of the rich, ripe fruits that 
 he has spread upon the board. But like 
 Rinaldo in Armida’s garden, such pleas- 
 ures are soon exhausted, and we sigh for 
 the sterner fields of thought that we for- 
 sook to join him in his dalliance. Most 
 young American authors of the sentimen- 
 tal school, have one model whom they fol- 
 low in their first flights. They could 
 scarce have one purer or better than Wash- 
 ington Irving ; but it would be better for 
 their originality if they contemplated 
 rather than copied him. There can be 
 little doubt, on looking over Mr. Mitchell’s 
 books, of Iris having been inspired by the 
 author of the Sketch Book. He has much 
 of the rounded gentleness of Irving in his 
 construction, with considerable grandilo- 
 quence, which is his own. lie has a Bul- 
 werian affection for capital letters and re- 
 sonant sentences. Though his ideas are 
 seldom forced or conceited, he is exceed- 
 ingly anxious to present them to you with 
 their best foot foremost. He dresses them 
 up in their shiniest clothes, and groups 
 them after the most approved models. lie 
 occasionally, however, draws inspiration 
 from other sources besides the writings 
 of Mr. Irving. In his “ Fresh Gleanings ” 
 occurs a passage which bears so singular 
 a resemblance to Sterne’s famous chapter 
 of “the Monk,” that we cannot help think- 
 ing that Mr. Mitchell travelled in Styria 
 and Carinthia with the Sentimental Jour- 
 ney in his pocket. The passage which 
 we refer to runs as follows, and is entitled 
 
 BEGGAR-BOYS. 
 
 “ At the very first stopping-place after 
 we had gone over the hills, there came up 
 to me such a winning little beggar as ne- 
 ver took my money before. Italy, with 
 all its Cai ita, and pel ’ amove de Santa 
 Maria , makes one hard-hearted. I kept 
 my money in my breast-pocket, buttoned 
 tight over my heart. • I had learned to 
 walk boldly about, without loosing a but- 
 ton for a pleading eye. The little Hun- 
 garian rogue took me by surprise ; I had 
 scarce seen him before he walked straight 
 up beside me, and took my hand in both 
 his, and kissed it ; and then, as I looked 
 down, lifted his eye timidly up to meet 
 mine ; and he grew bolder at the look I 
 gave him, and kissed my hand again, — 
 “ Molle meum levibus cor est violabile 
 telis.” And if I suffer this, I shall be 
 conquered, thought I ; and looked down 
 
 at him sternly. He dropped my hand, as 
 if he had been too bold; be muttered two 
 or three sweet words of his barbarian 
 tongue, and turned his eyes all swimming 
 upon me, with a look of gentle reproach 
 that subdued me at once. I did not even 
 try to struggle with the enemy, but un- 
 buttoned my coat and gave him a handful 
 of kreitzers.” 
 
 Is not there a strange resemblance be- 
 tween the poor Franciscan and the little 
 Hungarian mendicant ? Does not Mr. 
 Mitcbell button up his pockets very much 
 like Laurence Sterne ? Does he not re- 
 lent afterwards, just as that sentimental- 
 izing divine relented ? It is a very pretty 
 picture. Mr. Mitchell, only that Sterne 
 had it first 1 
 
 The book of Mr. Mitchell’s, which, in 
 the eyes of the world and ourselves best 
 exemplifies the peculiar beauties of his 
 style, is the “ Reveries of a Bachelor.” It 
 is, as we said before, desultory and frag- 
 mentary in its nature ; but in it there are 
 some tender Greuze-like pictures, that it 
 does one good to study. Melancholy is 
 the key-note of the book ; but it is sub- 
 dued and richly toned. No querulous 
 wailing or mad laments ; but a sad iEo- 
 lian harp, over which a Summer wind, 
 laden with the breath of flowers, sweeps, 
 drawing forth a mellow sorrow. The 
 Bachelor mourns like an epicurean, who 
 makes even his melancholy pleasurable ; 
 who gazes with a voluptuous grief on the 
 form of the dead. He stands by the bier, 
 cithern in hand, and laments musically ; 
 wreaths of violets and lilies lie on the 
 pavement. He picks them up, and twines 
 them around the corpse, and covers the 
 pall with perfume. He mourns as a 
 pastime, and illuminates the book of 
 Death. It is soft, gentle, low, almost effem- 
 inate. and one longs every now and then 
 for some fierce, passionate burst of grief, 
 such as tears from the choking throat of 
 Philoctetes. or like what Lear howls forth 
 under the impending shadows of madness 
 and desolation. Witness the following 
 passage from “ The Reveries.” A young 
 couple lose their only child ; the shock 
 bears the wife down, and she sinks slowly 
 into consumption. 
 
 “But the trial comes: — colder and 
 colder were growing the embers. 
 
 “ That wife, over whom your love broods, 
 is fading. Not beauty fading ; — that, now 
 that your heart is wrapped up in her 
 being, would be nothing. 
 
 “ She sees with quick eye your dawning 
 apprehension, and she tries hard to make 
 that stay of bers elastic. 
 
 “ Your trials and your loves together 
 
76 
 
 Our Young Authors. 
 
 have centred your affections. They are 
 not now as when you were a lone man, 
 wide-spread and superficial. They have 
 caught from domestic attachments a purer 
 lone and touch. They cannot shoot out 
 tendrils into barren world-soil, and suck 
 up thence strengthening nutriment. They 
 have grown under the forcing-glass of 
 home-roof, they will not now bear exposure. 
 
 “ You do not now look men in the face 
 as if a heart-bond was linking you, — as if 
 a community of feeling la} 7 between. There 
 is a heart-bond that absorbs all others; 
 there is a community that monopolizes 
 your feeling; when the heart lay wide 
 open, before it had grown upon, and closed 
 around particular objects, it could take 
 strength and cheer from a hundred con- 
 nections that now seem colder than ice. 
 
 And now those particular objects — 
 alas for you ! — are failing. 
 
 " W hat anxiety pursues you ! How you 
 struggle to fancy there is no danger ; how 
 she struggles to persuade you there is no 
 danger ! 
 
 “ How it grates now on your ear — the 
 toil and turmoil of the city ! It was mu- 
 sic when you were alone; it was pleasant, 
 even, when, from the din, you were elabo- 
 rating comforts for the cherished objects; 
 when you had such sweet escape as even- 
 ing drew on. 
 
 “ Now it maddens you to see the world 
 careless, while you are steeped in care. 
 They hustle you in the street ; they smile 
 at you across the table ; they bow care- 
 lessly over the way ; they do not know 
 what canker is at your heart. 
 
 “ iTie undertaker comes with his bill for 
 the dead boy’s funeral. lie knows your 
 grief ; he is respectful. You bless him in 
 your soul ; you wish the laughing street- 
 goers were all undertakers. 
 
 “ Your eye follows the physician as he 
 leaves your house : is he wise, you ask 
 yourself ; is he prudent ? is he the best ? 
 did he never foil ? is he never forgetful ? 
 
 “And now the hand that touches yours, 
 is it no thinner — no wilder than yester- 
 day 7 Sunny days come, when she re- 
 vives ; color comes back ; she breathes 
 freer ; she picks flowers ; she meets you 
 with a smile ; hope lives again. 
 
 " But the next day of storm she is fallen. 
 She cannot talk even : she presses your 
 hand. 
 
 “ You hurry away from business before 
 your time. What matter for clients ; — 
 who is to reap the reward? What matter 
 for riches, — whose is the inheritance ? 
 
 “ You find her propped up with pillows ; 
 she is looking over a little picture-book 
 bethumbed by the dear boy she has lost. 
 She hides it in her chair ; she has pity on 
 3’ou. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 “ Another day of revival, when the spring 
 sun shines, and flowers open out of doors. 
 She leans on your arm, and strolls into 
 the garden where the first birds are sing- 
 ing. Listen to them with her; — what 
 memories are in bird-songs ! You need 
 not shudder at her tears — they are tears 
 of thanksgiving. Press the hand that lies 
 light upon your arm, and you, too, thank 
 God, while yet you may ! 
 
 “You are early home — mid afternoon; 
 your step is not light, it is heavy, terrible. 
 
 “ They have sent for you. 
 
 “ She is lying down ; her eyes half closed ; 
 her breathing long and interrupted. 
 
 “ She hears you ; her eye opens ; you 
 put your hand in hers ; yours trembles ; 
 hers does not. Her lips move, it is your 
 name. 
 
 “ ‘ Be strong,’ she says, ‘ God will help 
 you !’ 
 
 “ She presses harder your hand, — 
 
 1 Adieu !’ 
 
 “ A long breath — another ; — you are 
 alone again, no tears now ; poor man 1 
 you cannot find them ! 
 
 “ — Again home early. There is a smell 
 of varnish in your house. A coffin is there ; 
 they have clothed the body in decent 
 grave-clothes, and the undertaker is screw 
 ing down the lid, slipping round on tip- 
 toe. Does he fear to waken her ? 
 
 “ He asks you a simple question about 
 the inscription upon the plate, rubbing it 
 with his coat-cuff. You look him straight 
 in the ej r e ; you motion to the door ; you 
 dare not speak. 
 
 “ He takes up his hat and glides out 
 stealthful as a cat. 
 
 “ The man has done his work well for 
 all. It is a nice coffin — a very nice coffin ! 
 Pass your hand over it. How smooth ! 
 
 “ Some sprigs of mignonette are lying 
 carelessly in a little gilt-edged saucer. 
 She loved mignonette. 
 
 “It is a good stanch table the coffin 
 rests on ; — it is your table ; — you are a 
 housekeeper — a man of family ! Aye, of 
 family ! Keep down outcry or the nurse 
 will be in. Look over at the pinched fea- 
 tures ; is this all that is left of her ? And 
 where is your heart now ? no, don’t thrust 
 your nails into _your hand, nor mangle 
 your lips, nor grate your teeth together. 
 If you could only weep ! 
 
 “ — Another day. The coffin is gone 
 out. The stupid mourners have wept — 
 what idle tears ! She, with your crushed 
 heart, has gone out ! 
 
 “ Will you have pleasant evenings at 
 your house now ? 
 
 “ Go into your parlor that your prim 
 housekeeper has made comfortable with 
 clean hearth and blaze of sticks. 
 
 “ Sit down in your chair, there is another 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Our Young Authors. 
 
 77 
 
 velvet-cushioned one, over against yours — 
 empty. You press your fingers on your 
 eyeballs, as if you would press out some- 
 thing that hurt the brain, but you cannot. 
 Your head leans upon your hand, your 
 eye rests upon the flashing blaze. 
 
 “ Ashes always come after blaze. 
 
 “ Go now into the room where she was 
 sick — softly, lest the prim housekeeper 
 come after. 
 
 “ They have put new dimity upon her 
 chair, they have hung new curtains over 
 the bed. They have removed from the 
 stand its phials, and silver bell ; they have 
 put a little vase of flowers in their place, 
 the perfume will not offend the sick sense 
 now. They have half opened the window, 
 that the room so long closed may have 
 air. It will not be too cold. 
 
 “ She is not there. 
 
 “ Oh, God 1 thou who dost temper the 
 wind to the shorn lamb — be kind !” 
 
 This is very sweet, pathetic and tender, 
 but there is a want of manly force about 
 it that impresses us with more melancholy 
 than any of the sad details. The author 
 knocks at our hearts with a muffled hand. 
 His grief glimmers like a twilight, soft, 
 hazy, and indistinct. Some of the fine 
 feelings of a heart in sorrow, are disclosed 
 with quiet precision. But we look upon 
 it rather as a curious operation, than the 
 exposition of a terrible interior. Had 
 Hawthorne been painting such a scene, 
 how differently would he have handled it. 
 Analytic as he is when treating of human 
 sentiments, here he would at once have 
 thrown aside the scalpel, and grasped the 
 subject with nervous, quivering hand, and, 
 Milo-like, rent it asunder. We would have 
 had no gently-sorrowing husband, creeping 
 about the house, with slippered grief! no 
 girlish sentiment over gilt-edged saucers 
 of mignonette, no feeble reflections about 
 empty chairs. 
 
 The husband would have sat mas- 
 sively, like Marius, amid the shattered ru- 
 ins of his love. The sky would have been 
 black above his head; the wind would 
 have shrieked among the fallen pillars, 
 terrible dissonances of sorrow. There 
 would have been no light in the picture, 
 no trustfulness in the Great End, such as 
 Mr. Mitchell paints. All would have 
 been huge, black, mountainous despair, be- 
 fore which we could not help trembling, 
 and which we could not forget. 
 
 If Mr. Mitchell could graft some of this 
 rude oak upon his pale rose-bushes, it 
 would make a delicious mixture. His exqui- 
 site appreciation of the gentler human sor- 
 rows, his tender consideration of all earthly 
 grief, would gain 'a new soundness and 
 lustre if backed with some solider ground. 
 
 The diamond, plain, unset, is beautiful, but 
 there is a want of depth in its splendor. 
 It is too pure for great effects; one glance 
 goes through it to the other side. Let it 
 be set. Let a solid background be given 
 to it, and it blazes out with surpassing 
 brilliancy. The dark cloud of metal be- 
 hind is the very cause and origin of its 
 additional splendor. So with Mr. Mitchell. 
 His books are pure to the very core. 
 They are limpid, pellucid streams of 
 thought, flowing in mid-air, with never a 
 bed beneath them. No dark rocks lie at 
 the bottom, no secret channels in the rifted 
 stones whose very mystery invites exam- 
 ination. All is clear, true and transparent, 
 but we find ourselves sighing for some 
 dark unfathomable pool into which we 
 might gaze and wonder, hour upon hour. 
 
 Of Mr. Mitchell’s “Fresh Gleanings,” 
 and “ Battle Summer,” we would wish to 
 dwell less than on the Reveries. The 
 style in which Mr. Mitchell excels is 
 scarcely suitable to such subjects as the 
 stormy ravings of a mad Parisian mob. 
 Here and there some fine passages strike 
 upon us pleasantly, but the general effect 
 is crude, short-coming and unsatisfactory. 
 He does not deal with Raspail, Blanqui 
 and Rollin, as they should be dealt with. 
 They are too fierce, too headlong, too un- 
 social, so to speak, for the gentle author 
 of the Reveries to comprehend or sympa- 
 thize with them. He who painted the 
 wife’s death-bed with such mellow sad- 
 ness is not at home among the barricades, 
 where blood and powder mingle. He who 
 in the Lorgnette painted with a lynd of 
 velvety humor the different phases of cul- 
 tivated life, the dreamer and the scholar, 
 he cannot sit down in a filthy cafe, filled 
 with Red Republicans, and foul-mouthed 
 jsoissonni res, and crack jokes with them 
 over bad wine, and submit to be slapped 
 on the back by robbers and called “ cam- 
 aradeP This is not the Bachelor’s ele- 
 ment, at least was not, when he wrote 
 the two books of which we are speaking. 
 How far he may have lost his dreamy se- 
 cluded nature since then we know not. 
 The style of “ the Battle Summer” is not 
 good, inasmuch as it is not Mr. Mitchell’s 
 own. It is a vei’y obvious attempt at the 
 Carlylean style of writing, and we confess 
 that we don’t like our author in borrowed 
 clothes. He wears his own so gracefully 
 that we would never wish him to change 
 them. All we would alter is the coat. 
 That might be a little more ample and 
 forcible. 
 
 Let Mr. Mitchell, as he values his repu- 
 tation, write no more “ Dream Lives.” 
 The Reveries were so beautiful and tender, 
 that it was a sad pity to weaken their ef- 
 fect by so pale a reflex. Besides, such a 
 
18 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 style of writing does not bear repetition. 
 A song in the minor is delicious, and fills 
 us with plaintive pleasure. But who 
 would write a whole opera in such a key ? 
 Let him strike another chord. There are 
 plenty around him in the world that will 
 yield full rich tones when struck by such 
 a master-hand. 
 
 We understand that Mr. Mitchell is at 
 present engaged on a history of Venice 
 — a noble subject, to which he will doubt- 
 less do justice, — but let him remember 
 that Venetian history is a dark, sullen pic- 
 ture, and is not to be treated daintily. 
 Crime and mystery and restless ambition 
 hover over those dark, narrow canals 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 There lingers the memory of a secret, im- 
 penetrable power, unsurpassed in the 
 world’s history for undeviating, inevita- 
 ble vengeance. There treachery has left 
 its signet-ring upon the Lions’ Stairs, and 
 the Lions’ mouths still gape wide for accu- 
 sations. There Faliero planned his mighty 
 vengeance ; there he was defeated and 
 died. There sleep beneath the bright 
 waters of the Laguna, into which no fish- 
 erman dare cast his nets, withering skele- 
 tons, victims of unknown assassins. 
 
 Mr. Mitchell has a stern task before 
 him. Let him go to it with a stalwart 
 pen. 
 
 VIRGINIA 
 
 IN A NOVEL FORM. 
 
 CHAPTER I, 
 
 INTRODUCES AN OLD VIRGINIA FAMILY. 
 
 T AM the undistinguished and not very 
 flourishing member of an old Virginia 
 family. I am the daughter of a planter 
 — whose broad acres stretch away for 
 miles — whose cattle dot the distant slopes 
 — whose bending fields wave as far as the 
 eye can reach — whose home is an old- 
 fashioned Virginia home. 
 
 We, the Rushtons, are a branch of an 
 old federal family of talent, prejudice, 
 and unpopularity. Among our immediate 
 ancestors we number a colonel, a member 
 of Congress, a respectable house-carpen- 
 ter. a mad gentleman, several thrifty 
 landholders, one genius, and one beauty. 
 There arc others among our ancestors who 
 are suppressed in the family history, for 
 reasons best known to grandma and aunt 
 Phoebe Braxley, who always close the 
 doors, and stuff the key-holes, whenever 
 they hold a confab over these suppressed 
 individuals. These honest old Virginia 
 families do not like to disillusionate people 
 who are kind enough to take their word 
 for the good conduct of their progenitors. 
 1 am quite sure if papa were to overhear 
 grandma and aunt Braxley, dabbling into 
 these family secrets, he would soon put 
 a stop to their confidential disclosures. I 
 need not say to the intelligent reader, that 
 it is the keenest delight of grandma’s life 
 to conjure up these proscribed individuals. 
 She gloats over their misdeeds, and she, 
 and Mrs. Braxley, will steal off from the 
 gayest companies to con over this dark 
 page in the family history. 
 
 I dislike to be formal, but there are 
 little ceremonies which cannot be comfort- 
 ably neglected, and I now beg to present 
 to my readers me various members of our 
 famity, who are left to cheer up the wide 
 halls, and well-fumished apartments, of 
 the old hill house. 
 
 First, we have grandma, Mrs. Barbara 
 Rushton, the sole surviving link of a gene- 
 ration which has passed away. She is a 
 little, straight, plump, weasel-looking, 
 keen, shrewd, voluble old lady, with clat- 
 tering knitting-needles, and tongue of 
 rare speed and bottom. She sports a 
 black satin on gala days, and an illusion 
 cap. She is fond, to this day, of fashion 
 plates, and would not, for the world, of- 
 fend the authorities in the cap of a sleeve, 
 or the trimming of a collar. She is the 
 embodiment of terror to giggling servant- 
 maids, and mischievous boys. Dogs, with 
 any pretensions to sagacity, instinctively 
 avoid her ; and the old house cat can 
 snooze more comfortably on the opposite 
 side of the hearth. Mrs. Barbara Rushton, 
 being in a state of savage warfare with 
 the nineteenth century, thinks it her duty 
 to express her opinion on all subjects, and 
 to make some people know their places. 
 She attacks servants from all points, and 
 is possessed of the gift of ubiquity. Being 
 a lady of property, she keeps her own 
 maid, who makes nothing of wishing she 
 had a hundred arms, and fifty pairs of 
 legs, so perplexing, multifarious, and 
 pressing, are the duties devolving upon the 
 honored body-servant jaf Mrs. Barbara, 
 
 I now present my father, Mr. Dabney 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 79 
 
 Rushton, a gentleman of stately presence, 
 stern politics, retiring habits, and princely 
 hospitality. I am afraid his otium cum 
 dignitate is rather burdensome, and that 
 his aristocratic pretensions somewhat 
 hinder the free use of his limbs, and 
 overwhelm his luxurious days with 
 ennui: but I never heard him say in all 
 my life, that he was tired sitting in his 
 library, or that it was at all fatiguing to 
 act the gentleman of elegant leisure. I 
 have only regretted in my unsophisticated 
 way, that he was obliged to yawn out his 
 winter days, arid sleep and fan out his 
 summer ones ; being too much of a land- 
 holder and slaveholder to condescend to 
 any bodily work, and not inclining parti- 
 cularly to disarrange the books on the 
 shelves of his library. 
 
 Next we have my mother, Mrs. Theo- 
 dora Rushton, a lady quiet, pale, pious, 
 and lady-like, but much addicted to spoiling 
 her children, and over-indulging her ser- 
 vants. Like all Virginia mothers, she 
 looks much older than she really is, and 
 persists in wearing caps over her rich 
 auburn hair, which grandma declares are 
 several years too old for the oldest inhabi- 
 tant. Mamma worries her days out over 
 the servants, who seldom heed a word she 
 says, and is always wondering what she 
 had better have for dinner. 
 
 My brother, Mr. Robert Ashley Rush- 
 ton. This remarkably handsome gentle- 
 man possesses many claims to the reader’s 
 notice, having spent a great deal of money 
 at college, and being still industriously 
 engaged in digging a large hole in the pa- 
 ternal estate. He is a noble, lordly, care- 
 less, dashing fellow of twenty-one. Papa 
 likes to hear him talk, and see him swell. 
 He is such a royal buck, with such a free 
 off-hand manner, and Ciceronian flow of 
 words. This young gentleman walks over 
 mamma like a Juggernaut. She follows 
 him with her eyes, and listens at him 
 with her ears, and thanks Heaven that 
 she has such a son. He goes slashing 
 about, and is the wonder and admiration 
 of all the lady visitors, and servants about 
 the house. lie comes down late of morn- 
 ings, with dressing-gown on, and newspa- 
 per in hand, and reads, and sips his coffee 
 after the latest and most approved manner, 
 while mamma sits patiently beside the cof- 
 fee-pot, looking fondly on. He says it 
 was ordained that I should carry the 
 family nose, and hopes I do not find it at 
 all burdensome. He has his own servant 
 and groom, who hold themselves above 
 the other servants. He has what he 
 calls a span of horses, and a hunter. He 
 goes to Old Point in July, and to the 
 White Sulphur in August, where he cuts 
 quite a figure he says. He has grand and 
 
 foreign visitors, who take the whole plan- 
 tation when they come. On these inte- 
 resting occasions mamma puts on the black 
 silk, and papa appears in varnished boots, 
 and strangely cut hair. Louise is sent 
 for from aunt Braxley’s, and a round of 
 dinners, visits, hunting, fishing, and pick- 
 nicking, takes place all in the good old 
 English style. Every thing is out of 
 joint, old family rules and regulations en- 
 tirely disregarded. Late breakfasts, late 
 dinners, and midnight suppers, intrude 
 upon our regular family arrangements. 
 Hounds, and horns, and hunters, and ser- 
 vants, and juleps, and champagne, create 
 such anarchy, and confusion, that Mrs. 
 Barbara generally gathers up her maid 
 and shadow, Epsy, and retreats to her 
 room in high dudgeon. Mr. Robert is 
 very fond of our sister Louise. He con- 
 siders her a trump, he says. 
 
 Our sister Louise has all the peculiar 
 charms of a Virginian country lady, high 
 born and rich. Her time, and good looks,’ 
 have never been frittered away upon balls, 
 routs, and empty chit-chat. Neither have 
 her delicate fingers been hardened and 
 reddened by rubbing, scrubbing, cooking, 
 washing, cleaning, and all those wonder- 
 ful operations carried on by the stirring 
 ladies of the north. This young creature 
 has the gaacious, kind manner of those 
 who rule — the inborn pride of birth ; the 
 native generosity and loftiness of the no- 
 bles of her state. Added to this, she has 
 the ease and superb indolence of an Orien- 
 tal beauty. The perfect consciousness of 
 superiority, requiring no eagerness for dis- 
 play. The magnificent repose and flow- 
 ing outline of untasked perfection. Here 
 are no angles, no quick, fidgety, restless, 
 uneasy seekings for effect. No show, no 
 ostentation, no pomp, but unconscious dig- 
 nity and ease, combined with the anima- 
 tion and flexibility of youth. Her step is 
 royal, and her lifted head superb. Fire 
 sleeps beneath the alabaster, and courses 
 through fine veins of purple tint. 
 
 Louise has the long, black lash, the hid- 
 den, mysterious, lambent eye of the South, 
 and the pure, clear, moonlight face, so pe- 
 culiar to ladies born under a Virginian 
 sky. She has, also, the small arched 
 head, Grecian brow, undulating figure, 
 and dainty feet of the lustrous beauties of 
 the tropics. She is not impetuous, not 
 daring, but unconquerable and firm. One 
 of those fair, startling creations we see 
 gliding like moonlight visions, here and 
 there ; consolidating in one bright gem all 
 the far-famed beauties and frailties of wo- 
 man’s nature. She is beautifully timid, 
 and fearfully bold ; showing the strength 
 of the lion, and the meekness of the dove. 
 Thrilling, provoking, indolent, passionate, 
 
80 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 variable, mysterious. Men die of love of 
 these creatures, while the favored one 
 exults. There is no sacrifice they would 
 not endure, no whim they cannot exhibit, 
 no trifle they cannot pursue, no danger 
 they cannot confront. Keenly sensitive 
 to ridicule, jealous guardians of the deli- 
 cacy of the sex, ever alive to the slightest 
 breach of gallantry or tenderness, these 
 creatures wield weapons of their own, 
 scorning woman’s rights, elections and 
 politics. They would not enter the arena, 
 they would not be jostled by the crowd. 
 They know familiarity breeds contempt, 
 and the}’ stand aloof, fair and angelic, 
 enlisting all the latent chivalry of that 
 sex, who boast that they can be led 
 through interminable labyrinths, but can- 
 not be driven an inch. Well do these fair 
 creatures know that their weakness is 
 their strength ; their delicacy the seat of 
 their power ; their dependence their pro- 
 tection, and their smiles the axis upon 
 which the busy world turns. 
 
 These idle, luxurious Virginians love by 
 chance. They never calculate. They 
 love honor, and generosity, and refinement, 
 when well gotten up and exquisitely em- 
 bodied. They love, and they never change. 
 Happy he who first pleases the eye, and 
 is then thought worthy of the heart. 
 Be he planter or beggar, he is loved. I 
 have seen these high-born, gloriously pro- 
 portioned creatures, being married to a 
 pair of whiskers, or a moustache, after a 
 trial of constancy and heroic endurance of 
 years. They are the impersonation of 
 truth, and cannot understand falsehood. 
 Hence they are often deceived by fortune- 
 hunters, coming from afar, with handsome 
 persons, selfish hearts and nimble tongues. 
 Indolent, opulent, dreamy, ideal and con- 
 centrative, love, and sometimes hate, ab- 
 sorbs their very being. They are dan- 
 gerous beauties, men say, with their glo- 
 rious flounces and headlong darts. 
 
 My sister Louise is the idol of the young 
 men, a pet of aunt Braxley’s, and the 
 pride of Mr. Robert Rushton’s heart. 
 She is so fair, so unsuited to rough it 
 and tough it here below, so unfitted to 
 encounter the wear and tear of life, that 
 it is the business of our family to shield 
 her and guard her like a rare exotic; 
 and she is to be spared, by our exer- 
 tions, the common pains and ills of our 
 mortal lot. 
 
 As to myself, I am, dear reader, the 
 humblest of narrators. I am the family 
 knitter and darner, and am decidedly more 
 useful than ornamental. I am called 
 Jenny, after somebody I presume. Grand- 
 ma does not think I will ever get married. 
 She sees no earthly possibility of my ever 
 having a beau, and darkly and alarmingly 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 hints that, when girls begin to knit at the 
 rate I knit, the game of a young lady’s 
 life is up for them. She thinks my pros- 
 pects would have been better if I had not 
 thought proper to bring back into this 
 world Peggy Rushton’s nose, and Buck 
 Rushton’s top lip, which, as a sincere 
 friend of the family, she had fondly hoped 
 were buried with Peggy and Buck, both 
 of whom, it seems, died in a state of single 
 blessedness. She advises me to become a 
 missionary to Feejee, or some jumping-off 
 place or other, and to write a book on 
 cannibals, their probable destiny and pre- 
 sent uses, as a complete damper to the 
 outrageous pretensions of the nineteenth 
 century. This cannibal book, she says, 
 she intends as a pill for some folks, and a 
 cap, which it wiR be surprising to see how 
 many it will fit. She regales me on driz- 
 zly days and misty evenings with anec- 
 dotes of her triumphs and conquests, and 
 informs me that she has rejected nearly 
 every distinguished man of her day. She 
 hopes mutton-ham sleeves will soon come 
 back, for they were so becoming to her 
 figure, and wonders who, in the name of 
 common sense, sets the fashions nowa 
 days. Whoever it is, she says, that per- 
 son has a spite against her, and is only 
 one of the numerous enemies furnished 
 her by the nineteenth century. But the 
 greatest enemy she has in the world is 
 the man, or demon, who invented a gen- 
 tleman’s sacque coat. She is sure if gen- 
 tlemen could only see their own backs 
 they* would feel ashamed of themselves, 
 and if her grandson, Robert Rush ton, will 
 persist in wearing them, she respectfully 
 requests that he will back out of her pre- 
 sence and keep out of her sight. 
 
 But, dear reader, we must descend to 
 particulars. We must leave off stretching 
 and enter, heart and soul, into the cares 
 and joys of our old Virginia family of the 
 good old school. 
 
 Spring ! dear delicious spring is come at 
 last — but she has been with us before. 
 She came with fair blue skies and south- 
 ern breezes, early in February, to look up 
 sunny sides and sheltered nooks for her 
 first-born. And then, old winter frowned 
 upon her, shaking his hoary locks sav- 
 agely, until she stole away, leaving the 
 tender buds of her care to bear up against 
 many a chilling blast, and icy breath, ere 
 the day of promise come. March came 
 rushing headlong upon us, determined to 
 conquer or to die. But like many a brisk 
 ling warrior, he was by gentleness o’er 
 come, and yielded in his truly good-na 
 tured way, turning the keen edge of his 
 blasts, and telegraphing to his snows that 
 they had better come down as showers, or 
 
Virginia. 
 
 81 
 
 1853.] 
 
 they would be pretty badly received. Ac- 
 cordingly, these piping blasts turned about 
 and gave us cooling breezes, and the snows 
 came gently from their heavenly heights 
 as fragrant showers, and the sun’s eye 
 grew melting and tender, and old March 
 turned upon his heel and made his exit. 
 And with him, the whole pack of un- 
 welcome storms, Jack-frosts, heavy snows, 
 and pelting hails. 
 
 Now the long, warm, languid days are 
 come. Children, and thinly-coated, lambs 
 grow frisky, and fine ladies grow dull and 
 take a blue pill. IIo ! for the country 
 now ! Ho ! for the ploughed fields and 
 green wheat ! Milkmaids are exalted, 
 and opera-girls, and ballet-troupes, and 
 tinsel and glare are gone out with the gas. 
 Ploughmen walk erect, and the brindle 
 cow lies down to ruminate in the early 
 shade, for city folks are sketching them, 
 and the picturesque is the order of the 
 day. The tall old pines look rusty beside 
 the dainty pea-green of the oaks. Red 
 berries and evergreens have had their day. 
 and the holly needs a new suit. Straw 
 bonnets are all the go, and the broad brim 
 of the palm-leaf hat looks tempting. The 
 old country-house begins to stir, rubbing 
 up, and yawning at windows and doors 
 until it is wide awake. Beds are sunning 
 on the flat-crowned cedar hedges, carpets 
 are beaten, walls are whitewashed, floors 
 are scoured, maids are running with buck- 
 ets of water, and jostling each other, and 
 passing merry words at every turn. Ne- 
 gro dames, of grave demeanor and imper- 
 turbable dignity, take off their party-co- 
 lored handkerchiefs, and turn out them 
 crisp locks to the sun. The cottage door 
 is opened, turning out its swarms of knotty 
 pates, and the old dame in the clean cot- 
 ton gown takes the wheel out upon the 
 grass, and keeps it buzzing all the long 
 fair day. Birds trill and warble and 
 chatter, and get up trios and quartettes 
 high up in their leaf}"- homes, and mischief- 
 loving mocking-birds mock on, and bandy 
 merry, gladsome, light-hearted notes, un- 
 til the cool still hours of the night. Mar- 
 tens, those gay absentees, return to their 
 summer residences, bringing troops of 
 lively chattering friends. Little chickens, 
 with grave countenances, go every morn- 
 ing before any body is up, and scratch up 
 all the gardener’s carefully-sown seed, aid- 
 ed and abetted by their mammas, who 
 ought to know better. Cool shadows 
 thicken under the trees, and golden drops 
 of sunlight dance and flicker under the 
 low-hanging boughs. Light zephyrs sit 
 upon the waving branches, and swing and 
 quiver all the day. The cooing of the 
 dove comes up from the deep cool groves, 
 and the croaking of the sun-awakened 
 
 VOL. i. — 6. 
 
 frogs, fills up the pauses in the glad light 
 music of the Spring. 
 
 Master John feels lazy, and loiters on 
 his way to school, and wishes that he 
 could play like Jim and Ned, and won- 
 ders what his papa wants to send him to 
 school for. Valetudinarians and hard- 
 working men complain that the nights are 
 getting too short for them. Housekeepers 
 pitch their voices an octave higher, and 
 get alarmed when people drop in to din- 
 ner. Ilot-beds are thrown open, and long- 
 legged plants run up, like gosling boys who 
 outgrow all their clothes. Lilacs and 
 jasmine are perfuming the rooms, and 
 adorning the vases on the mantel. In- 
 valids throw open their windows, and 
 thank God that they have lived to see an- 
 other spring. The cook pets the pig for 
 holiday, and the pig thinks “ sufficient 
 unto the day, &c.” Ladies are seen out 
 in the gardens with long bonnets on, stoop- 
 ing over flower-beds, and talking with the 
 gardener, who leans upon his hoe, and 
 points about with the air of a connoisseur. 
 Doctors have reluctantly dismissed all 
 obstinate coughs, pneumonias, and pleu- 
 risies, and are lying in wait for those 
 delightful summer visitors, chills, and 
 typhoid and bilious fevers, having at 
 the same time, a most tender yearning 
 for dyspeptics, and for plethoric gentle- 
 men of luxurious habits. Meantime, 'as 
 though to dissipate all such charitable an- 
 ticipations, on the part of the soft-footed, 
 low-voiced, mysterious gentlemen, the glo- 
 rious sun, fresh and health-inspiring, rises 
 regularly every morning, and sets every 
 evening, per that time-honored oracle, the 
 Virginia and North Carolina Almanac; 
 and we are having the pinkest mornings, 
 and most sapphire evenings imaginable. 
 
 On the broad highway, where the way- 
 ward road emerges from a dark pine 
 grove, and makes a sweeping bend, ere it 
 goes undulating afar — we pause. Here, 
 in the bend of the road, is the old hill 
 house — blessed Fairy Hill, — which has 
 been the family seat of the Rushtons, 
 since Sir William Berkeley’s time. Here 
 is a large commodious dwelling, with a 
 good well of water, out-houses, and to- 
 bacco fixtures in excellent repair, as the 
 newspapers would say ; and here, in the 
 stately, old-fashioned house, before which 
 the road bends obsequiously, one can find 
 as much happiness, and charity, and ec- 
 centricity, and pride, and old-fashioned 
 Virginia hospitality, as one need desire to 
 find anywhere. Here, the stranger may 
 ride and tie his horse, and halloo for the 
 groom, and enter, booted and spurred, if 
 he like, and be welcomed. 
 
 Here, the old organ-woman, and the 
 tambourine children, and the weary-look- 
 
82 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 mg monkey, may halt, and be fed. Here, 
 the beggar, ruddy and lithe of foot, may 
 come, and trump up any fancy sketch 
 of shipwreck, conflagration, avalanche, or 
 earthquake, and lie politely trusted, kind- 
 ly relieved, and sent on his way with a 
 blessing. Here, the man with the sixteen 
 children, and bedridden wife, on the other 
 side of the water, all waiting to be brought 
 over by his means, delights to bi-annually 
 come, and tell his tale with its last addi- 
 tions, and get his money, and chuckle to 
 himself as he goes along, wondering at 
 that charity which he cannot understand. 
 Here, the Yankee schoolmaster, the rawest 
 of all that honored fraternity, may come, 
 and cut rare didoes, and make ludicrous 
 mistakes, and call young ladies by their 
 Christian names, and the grinning servant- 
 man mister, and every thing else under 
 the sun " sauce,” if such be his habit, and 
 he will never detect a smile, or awaken to 
 all the horrors of his situation, so long as 
 he lives. Here, the prosy parson may 
 talk, and talk, and talk, and no yawn will 
 ever warn him of the hour. Here, the 
 man brimfull of theories may open his 
 budget, and tell his plans, and have that 
 luxury to him, a listener. Here, the 
 busy world lulls, and the bustle and con- 
 fusion cease, and time ambles withal, and 
 one finds rest, and social pleasures, and 
 home comforts, and peace. 
 
 On one of those dreamy, delicious, body- 
 relaxing, soul-expanding, heaven-descend- 
 ing days, mamma came to me with a look 
 of some importance, to say, that my bro- 
 ther’s friends, viz., Mr. Blauton. and his 
 sister, and the widow of the late John- 
 ston Blauton, were coming on a visit to 
 Fairy Hill, and that she wished to consult 
 with me about domestic matters. This 
 piece of news threw u.s into a panic. We 
 commenced active preparations immedi- 
 ately ; we overhauled the china-closet, 
 and made excursions into the pantry, and 
 clothes-presses. The family plate is rub- 
 bed up, and servants are drilled, fattening 
 coops tilled, and every body exhorted 
 to do their duty. 
 
 Louise is sent for, from aunt Braxley’s, 
 and Robert invites his friend F rank Dash- 
 wood to join the party. Mamma and I 
 have only a week for preparation. As- 
 sisted by the housekeeper, and head ser- 
 vants, mercilessly harassed by grandma, 
 we accomplish herculean feats. We ar- 
 range the sweetest and most inviting cham- 
 bers, impart quite a learned and dignified 
 look to the old library, furbish up the 
 parlors, and touch up the summer-house, 
 arbors, and walks, for Louise. Dashwood, 
 and other lovers of romance. Robert 
 takes a snake-infested and dilapidated 
 grotto, and a very unpromising, briery, 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 brawling, unmanageable spring, branch 
 in hand, and plays magic work in those 
 deep-shadowed and sequestered regions. 
 His man Sappingwood, who has an eye 
 for the picturesque, contrives rustic fix- 
 tures admirably. Gnarled roots are 
 turned into rude but inviting seats, vines 
 into swings and festoons. The brawling 
 brook is cleared of all obstacles, and comes 
 tripping down the lull-side into a bright 
 pool, where it gurgles and dimples at the 
 grotto’s foot. Into this pool, little fishes 
 are thrown, and from the cool banks the 
 noontide heat is warded off. Mr. Robert 
 looks around upon his handiwork com- 
 placently, and declares that he intends to 
 talk love to the widow here, in a strain 
 unsurpassed in poetry or prose, and thinks, 
 upon his honor, that there are not m my 
 of the softer sex who could withstand 
 the grotto, the pool of water, and him- 
 self. Papa submits to be measured by 
 Robert’s tailor, and mamma, poor, unam- 
 bitious mamma, thinks the black silk will 
 do, and, instead of purchasing new spring 
 dresses, concludes to lay in an extra sup- 
 ply of butter, eggs, and chickens. 
 
 Louise comes home with a straw-color- 
 ed barage, which throws quite a halo over 
 her clear complexion, and a blue silk, 
 which makes her pale and madonna-like, 
 and a pink tissue, which envelops her in 
 faint coleur de rose , together with any 
 number of little quaker morning wrappers 
 and coquettish coiffures, and numerous 
 little trifles of the toilette, which are of 
 so much importance to pretty ladies, and 
 alas ! so hopelessly useless in the case of 
 ugly ones. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OUESELVES AND OUE GUESTS. 
 
 “ I say, Jenny, this room is badly ar- 
 ranged,” said Louise to me, after all our 
 preparations were completed, and we were 
 in hourly expectation of our guests. 
 
 “ I look confoundedly green about the 
 mouth,” said Robert, looking towards a 
 mirror, “ there is a bad light somewhere ; 
 where is it ?” 
 
 “ I suspect it is from the window open- 
 ing upon papa’s shrubbery, which, you 
 know, he says must be opened,” said I. 
 
 “ Pshaw ! and we are to have a bad 
 light. Louise, you look cadaverous.” 
 
 “ Can it be the new carpet ?” asked my 
 sister. 
 
 “Upon my word, the new carpet is 
 abominable. Have we had the yellow 
 fever or not ? Are we all going off into 
 ghastly jaundices immediately ?” inquired 
 Robert, sinking down upon a sofa in 
 alarm. “ Are we to be ghosts for papa . 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 83 
 
 who doubtless selected these ghastly 
 greens, and dingy yellows, at the instiga- 
 tion of some demon shopkeeper. Jenny 
 do close those blinds, and call Sap to me.” 
 
 “ Indeed, 3-011 are a pretty fellow,” said 
 Louise, indignantly. “If I were Jenny, 
 3 r ou might call Sap yourself, and close the 
 blinds too, sir. I know where I can sit to 
 throw a rosy tint on me.” 
 
 “ Do you ?” faintly ejaculated our bro- 
 ther. 
 
 Now, Sappingwood, who was seldom 
 out of hearing, entered, with his eternal 
 bo\*, closed the window, turned the blinds, 
 drew the curtains a shade closer together, 
 opened the folding-doors about the eighth 
 of an inch more, and glided about the 
 room, giving a touch here and a turn there, 
 until his master consulted the mirror, and 
 said the green shadow about the corners 
 of his mouth was no longer to be seen. 
 Sappingwood then gracefully retired, and 
 Mr. Robert Rushton’s usual volubility re- 
 turned. 
 
 “ I say, Louise, when my widow comes, 
 you may hide 3’our diminished head,” he 
 began, in a half jocular way. 
 
 “ Your widow ! oh, you are a ghost, if 
 one may judge from appearances. Well, 
 Mr. Ghost, I am not afraid of your widow, 
 nor can I conscientiously consent to be 
 annihilated by her, even though it be 
 j r our ghostlj'- pleasure.” 
 
 “ You should see her — everybody should 
 see her !” cried Robert. 
 
 “ Oh ! she is the dearest, loveliest, prat- 
 tling little creature in the world. She is 
 always as earnest and intent as a child. 
 She has some of the gravest and most 
 comic little ways, which, upon my soul, 
 no mortal of human organization can re- 
 sist. Her hair, my dear girl, is a lus- 
 trous, changeable brown — not sandy, you 
 know,” said our fastidious brother, with a 
 shudder. 
 
 “ But nevertheless suggesting such an 
 idea,” said Louise, laughing, “no — a thou- 
 sand times no ! — but the color, the very 
 identical color of that deep, old-fashioned 
 black molasses I used to love so when I 
 was a boy.” 
 
 “ And the boy is father of the man, you 
 know,” remarked Louise. “ Yes, I being 
 my own father, love those soft rippling 
 locks— perhaps, who knows 1 perhaps — 
 for the sweet associations which they un- 
 consciously recall ! Philosophy befriend 
 me !” said Robert, plunging into a reverie. 
 
 “ But do furnish the sketch of your 
 widow,” said Louise. 
 
 “Eh! heigho — where was I? Well, 
 this widow with the remarkable hair is a 
 perfect gem of a woman. She has a little 
 son,” said Robert, with a rueful counte- 
 nance, but with the sublime air of a martyr, 
 
 “ who is considered a very remarkable 1103- 
 for his age. Indeed, all bo3 r s are con 
 sidered remarkable boys for their ages, I 
 think ; ah, they are a pair of cherubs, this 
 little fat Therese and her darling little 
 Adolphe ! They froliek and gambol toge- 
 ther, and their soft caressings are beauti- 
 ful to behold. On him, the dear little 
 woman lavishes all that exuberance of af- 
 fection, for which the generality of man- 
 kind would be so grateful. Upon him, 
 she bestows the overflowings of a heart 
 brimfull of tenderness. Dashwood sa3's 
 she is deep — but upon my word she is no 
 such tiling. Her 03-03 are like a pair of 
 clear, oval mirrors of the soul, and they 
 reflect faithfully every impulse, and un- 
 tutored thought which animates this 
 little being. You think your shoulders 
 and arms are fine, Louise, and, if I am not 
 mistaken, you set up for a model in that 
 wa3 r ; but wait until you see Therese 
 dressed out for dinner, I advise everybody 
 to wait until then.” “ I suspect she is very 
 handsome,” said Louise. “ Brother Dash- 
 wood calls her a flirt, but for your sake. 1 
 hope she is not. I shall love her, I shall 
 be obliged to love her, if she is, as 3-011 say, 
 a warm-hearted little creature, with pure 
 oval e3'es and cheeks.” “ And Miss Willi- 
 anna Blanton,” continued Robert, “I must 
 prepare you for her. Indeed. I consider it 
 my bounden duty as master of ceremonies, 
 to prepare your nervous system, by some 
 judicious manoeuvre, for the shock. Ima- 
 gine. young ladies, a long-limbed, long- 
 necked creature, very closed resembling 
 a crane. Having recovered from this ef- 
 fort of the imagination, 3-011 can picture to 
 yourselves this crane-like concern advanc- 
 ing upon 3-0U, with the stride of a Jack 
 heron, combined with the awkwardness 
 of an alarmed ostrich.” 
 
 “ Oh ! my dear brother !” I ejaculated, 
 in disma3 7 . 
 
 “With sloping — I may say falling-off 
 and dwindling-away shoulders, sandy 
 hair, and a pair of pink albino e3 r es. Then 
 this neck, the property evidently of some 
 crane, is turned out regularly at dinner, 
 I presume for anatomical observations. 
 Her arms are hung with bracelets of all 
 shapes and sizes, which they cannot fill 
 up ; and are ruthlessly exposed in a very 
 naked and attenuated condition. These 
 highly ornamented extremities are fre- 
 quently dangerously chalked, and being 
 fond of hooking themselves on to gentle- 
 men’s coat-sleeves, manage to carry on a 
 considerable business in the whitewash- 
 ing line. Finally, girls, she apes my wid- 
 ow ! She affects the innocent and artless, 
 you know, and audaciously apes my 
 inimitable Therese !” 
 
 “ And Mr. Blanton — what of him ?” 
 
84 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 Jan. 
 
 <! Old Hal — why he is a prim, long-leg- 
 ged stork of a man — very stiff and parti- 
 cular. He loved Therese once ; but while 
 he was deliberating about making his pro- 
 posal to her, he learned, to his dismay, 
 that his brother’s wedding day was fixed 
 — and he thus had the supreme satisfac- 
 tion of becoming the only brother of his 
 adorable. Rather a trial, wasn’t it ? 
 and a lesson to deliberators generally.” 
 Here Robert ceased his admirable sketch- 
 ing, and thought he heard carriage wheels 
 approaching. Our guests were coming. 
 
 I heard papa call Mike to run to the gate, 
 and every servant darted to his post. 
 There were two carriages, and a servant 
 on horseback ; Miss Blanton, the little 
 Adolphe, and a maid, alighted from one 
 carriage. After this, Mr. Blanton, as stiff 
 as a poker, descended from the other car- 
 riage. My brother ran nimbly up, and 
 gave his hand to Mrs. Blanton, who 
 sprang out, talking as fiist as she could, and 
 gesticulating to Mr. Blanton, the happy 
 Robert, and her own maid, who emerged 
 from the carriage laden with dressing- 
 cases, and shawls. 
 
 Papa welcomed the new-comers in his 
 happiest manner. Mamma kissed the 
 cherub boy of Robert’s widow; and the 
 whole party came up the walk to the house, 
 where they were met by Louise and my- 
 self. Louise soon took possession of Mrs. 
 Blanton, who seemed delighted with every 
 thing in the world — running everywhere, 
 and admiring every thing, leaving Miss 
 Blanton and myself in an anxious state 
 about servants, chambers, luggage, and 
 baths. 
 
 In the course of time, Mrs. Blanton 
 sprang in at the unlucky window opening 
 upon papa’s shrubbery, and consented to 
 be shown to her room, having made the 
 tour of the grounds, and caught some fish 
 with her own little hands, out of Robert’s 
 pond, at the foot of the grotto. 
 
 We had scarcely settled the Blantons 
 ere Dashwood arrived, dusty and fatigued, 
 and was shown to his own room in Robert’s 
 rather luxurious office-building. 
 
 Now, Sappingwood felt that his hour 
 was come. Mr. Dashwood had thought 
 proper to come on horseback, no doubt ex- 
 pecting Sap to wait upon him. And Mr. 
 Blanton, poor, particular man, required 
 two servants; his own man to wait on 
 himself, and somebody else to wait on his 
 man — which latter duty plainly devolved 
 upon Sap. 
 
 Under these formidable circumstances, 
 I must do Sappingwood the justice to say. 
 that he was as nimble and active as it is 
 possible for a valet of human organization 
 to be. 
 
 The new maids were showered and 
 
 sprinkled with compliments as he dashed 
 about with shaving-cans, dressing-cases, 
 boots, curling-tongs, and clothes-brushes. 
 Mr. Sappingwood, as he brushed by the 
 Blanton maids, had to regret that the gen- 
 tlemen had not brought their own men 
 with them, as in that comfortable event he 
 should have had more time to devote to 
 the ladies. He respectfully hoped that the 
 gentlemen would get shaved, and curled, 
 and pumped, in the course of time, and he 
 fervently wished he were fifty Saps, instead 
 of one. 
 
 About four o’clock, they were all dressed 
 for dinner. Therese, fairer and fresher, was 
 out upon the upper balcony with her little 
 boy. admiring the beautiful scenery around 
 Fairy Hill. My brother and Dashwood 
 were lounging in the office portico, looking 
 up, now and then, at the widow and her 
 boy, as they walked up and down the bal- 
 cony. Louise selected her straw-colored 
 barege for her debut, and had no cause to 
 hide her diminished head in Mrs. Blanton’s 
 presence. The witching Therese, I must 
 confess, was rather a dumpy woman, and 
 decidedly inclining to embonpoint. But 
 my brother adored dimples at the points 
 of ladies’ elbows, and upon their knuckles, 
 and he could overlook many minor defects 
 to secure these rare and all-important 
 beauties. 
 
 1 am sorry to say that grandma posi- 
 tively refused to make her appearance, 
 not being able to see why all the rules 
 and regulations of a highly respectable 
 family should be broken in upon, and to- 
 tally set at naught by Bob’s friends : she 
 declined making her appearance at all. 
 For her part, she always dined at one 
 o’clock. Her ancestors, who were every 
 whit as good as the “Blarntons” (Mrs. 
 Barbara sounded her a’s very broad, as 
 all aristocratic Virginians do) or the any- 
 body-else’s, she was credibly informed 
 had always dined at one o’clock, and if 
 she couldn’t have her dinner at one o’clock 
 she wouldn’t have it at all. She begged 
 the privilege of eating a crust of bread 
 in her own son’s house at any hour she 
 chose, and of keeping her room. Still, 
 she couldn’t for the life of her see why a 
 respectable house was to be invaded in 
 this way by a chunky widow, a yellow 
 old maid, and what seemed to her to be a 
 man may-pole ( Mr. Blanton) ; and if her 
 son, Dabney Rushton, was going to be 
 quietly led by the nose by that conceited 
 fellow Bob, who, she would take occasion 
 to say, used more tobacco than he’d ever 
 make — she wasn’t ; she ’d keep her room 
 from now until the crack of doom, rather 
 than allow Bob to lead her by her nose. 
 
 The ladies and gentlemen were now as- 
 sembled in our large drawing-room. Miss 
 
Virginia. 
 
 85 
 
 1853.] 
 
 Blanton appeared in a pink silk, very low 
 and with short sleeves ; she wore a set 
 of emeralds, several serpentine bracelets, 
 and a heavy chatelaine. Therese was 
 dressed in a thin white muslin, very soft 
 and delicate, cool, and most artistically 
 arranged, which seemed to float about her 
 like a snowy summer cloud. This effect 
 was heightened by a long illusion scarf, 
 which half concealed her beautiful arms, 
 and wreathed about her pure white neck 
 like vapor, and was most coquettishly 
 worn. Mrs. Blanton wore no jewelry at 
 all ; on her bosom she had a white rose- 
 bud, and geranium leaf, gallantly given 
 by Robert. 
 
 Papa and mamma complimented the la- 
 dies, hoped they were refreshed, said a 
 great many kind things, and exerted them- 
 selves to be agreeable. Robert, exqui- 
 site^ dressed, put on airs, looked careless 
 and indolent — seemed rather to tolerate 
 papa and mamma — and gave people to un- 
 derstand that they were really verjr good 
 sort of folks in their way. 
 
 Dashwood, handsome and fastidious, 
 was “spreading himself out,” to use my 
 brother’s expression, to conquer the whole 
 company at one sitting. Never was mor- 
 tal man so brilliant and delightful before 
 dinner, as was Dashwood on this occasion. 
 Master Alphonse, who was dressed out 
 quite fancifully, had a passage at arms 
 with his 11 bonne, n as he called the severe 
 yellow person who presided over him. 
 This skirmish, at first very unpromising, 
 ended in quite a tender scene between 
 Robert and the widow ; he begging per- 
 mission to dismiss the “bonne” and to 
 assume the whole responsibility of Al- 
 phonse, and Therese earnestly declaiming 
 that he knew nothing about managing 
 children, and could do nothing with Al- 
 phonse at all, while the little boy ran to 
 Robert and clung to him, as though with 
 childish instinct he had already recognized 
 in that gentleman his natural protector. 
 
 I say this was a tender scene, rendered 
 with great effect, and considerably height- 
 ened by a dark background, composed 
 of Mr. Blanton, in a pair of tight boots, 
 looking savage, scowling, and distressingly 
 uncomfortable. In a few minutes The- 
 rese, without any apparent effort, had her 
 brother-in-law by two of his stiff fingers, 
 telling him a string of anecdotes in her 
 voluble, earnest way, while he began vis- 
 ibly to thaw under her genial smiles. 
 
 It is impossible for my pen to follow the 
 graceful movements of this gifted and se- 
 lect company. My eyes were completely 
 fascinated by this easy, natural, and co- 
 quettish little creature, Mrs. Blanton. She 
 seemed to have the warmest heart, the 
 most jocund smile, the archest ways, and 
 
 the most untiring little tongue in the 
 world. Circling about, easy, and without 
 the slightest effort, saying naive things 
 with the naivest of airs, she was a very 
 witch of a little woman. Her presence 
 was like a charm ; and people loved each 
 other better, and had more charity for 
 their neighbors, and their hearts were 
 warmer, when she was in their midst. 
 
 “ I say, mamma, may I ride the pony ?” 
 began Alphonse. 
 
 “ The pony would run away with you, 
 and then poor mamma would have no dear 
 little Alphonse,” said the little woman. 
 
 “No, he wouldn’t; I would just hold 
 him so, sir, and draw him this way, and 
 saw him just so, and Sap says he would 
 pace like the very deuce, mamma,” said 
 the little fellow, with great animation, 
 gesticulating all the while most admira- 
 bly. 
 
 “ Sap says ! and pray who is Sap, Al- 
 phonse ?” 
 
 “ Sap ; why don’t you know Sap ? don’t 
 you know a yellow man, mamma, who 
 lives here '? He makes faces at little boys, 
 and he says he ate up a little boy just 
 about my size once. I tell you, mamma, 
 he talks exactly like this Mr. Rushton ; 
 not like the dark Mr. Rushton, but like 
 the one that sits by you so much.” 
 
 “ Thank you, Alphonse,” said Robert, 
 laughing. 
 
 “ You are not polite, sir,” said Miss 
 Blanton. 
 
 “Well, aunty, he does talk like Mr. 
 Rushton, and when he walks, he steps 
 just so, exactly like Mr. Rushton.” 
 
 Here every body laughed very much 
 at Alphonse, who was walking across the 
 room like that pink of valets, Sap. 
 
 I say every body laughed, but mamma 
 did not laugh, for she was painfully un- 
 easy about dinner, and actually afraid to 
 leave the room, beeause Robert would not 
 like it. He said fashionable ladies never 
 attended to their own dinners, indeed sel- 
 dom knew what was on the table till it 
 was uncovered. Poor mamma had un- 
 bounded confidence in her son’s know- 
 ledge on all subjects. She therefore sat, 
 endeavoring to smile, while her thoughts 
 were with the dinner, which, for aught she 
 knew, might at that very moment be 
 spoiling in the kitchen. Divining her 
 forebodings, indeed, beginning to feel some- 
 what alarmed myself, I glided out, and 
 found the housekeeper in a stew over the 
 soup. She declared it was not fit for a 
 dog to eat. She brought me a spoonful 
 to taste, and it was awful stuff. I could 
 liken its taste to nothing but a decoction 
 of turpentine. I ran to mamma’s room 
 and gathered all the authorities I could 
 find, — Miss Leslie, Mrs. Randolph, and 
 
86 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 others, and returned to the kitchen armed 
 to the teeth. 
 
 “ Have you pepper in that soup?” I 
 inquired, glancing over the receipt. “Yes. 
 missis,” ejaculated the cook, wiping her 
 face with her apron and fanning violently. 
 
 “ And eelery seed pounded ? ” 
 
 She shook her head and the housekeeper 
 revived. 
 
 1 now took the unfortunate soup in 
 hand, and before I was done with it, I am 
 sure it was dark enough, and highly 
 enough seasoned for the most blase epi- 
 cure. I had the satisfaction, in ten mi- 
 nutes, of bringing it to a clear purple color, 
 while it emitted an odor of great fragrance. 
 I fancy few young ladies, of a literary 
 turn, could have finished off that iin- 
 promising soup as artistically as the 
 humble authoress of these pages. While 
 I stood, cookery hook in hand, exult- 
 ing over my soup, the dining-room ser- 
 vant rushed upon us to say, that Robert 
 said it was dinner time. People never 
 could be free and social until after dinner, 
 and Mr. Robert Rushton desired his com- 
 pliments to the housekeeper, and cook. 
 This report spread dismay and consterna- 
 tion in our ranks. Every idea in the cook’s 
 head immediately took flight, and the 
 housekeeper put men, women and children 
 to confusion. The spirit lamps burned 
 blue, and then expired. The soup threaten- 
 ed to grow cold, and poor mamma was en- 
 during torture in the drawing-room. Hav- 
 ing got the soup off safely, I began to ex- 
 hort the discomfited housekeeper and cook 
 to keep calm, as the worst was over. I 
 went into the dining-room, and found mat- 
 ters progressing finely here. After this, 
 1 went into the back parlor to await the 
 summons which was to test my soup. Here 
 I found only Alphonse, riding about on 
 papa’s walking-stick, on which he seemed 
 determined to practise until he learned 
 enough of horsemanship to be promoted 
 to the pony. 
 
 Dinner was announced, and Robert 
 came through the back-parlor with Mrs. 
 Blanton on his arm, to look after Alphonse. 
 1 followed them into the dining-room, 
 determined to take a seat where I could 
 be of service to somebody during the 
 weighty ceremonies of dinner. I sat by 
 Mr. Blanton, who wore a forlorn and be- 
 nighted look, and was likely to require 
 assistance I thought. 
 
 To my surprise Mrs. Blanton exclaimed, 
 
 “ What delicious soup !” and Dash- 
 wood, charming man, responded “ Ca- 
 pital !” 
 
 The Virginia housewife, if so notable 
 and estimable a personage should deign 
 to read these pages, can appreciate my 
 feelings on this occasion. She, and only 
 
 [Jan 
 
 she, can know the instant relief felt by 
 poor mamma, and the light bound which 
 my heavy heart gave, as these delightful 
 guests made the above remarks. I could 
 have hugged Mrs. Blanton, and squeezed 
 Dashwood, so grateful was I for their 
 tribute to my culinary qualifications. 
 Mamma gave me a bright glance, and 
 verily 1 had my reward. 
 
 While we were discussing this royal 
 purple, and most delicious soup, and papa 
 and Mr. Blanton were talking of tobacco. 
 Mr. Barren, our bachelor neighbor, was 
 announced. Miss Blanton bridled up, 
 and grew very red at the mention of his 
 name, and Dashwood looked at Louise. 
 The servant came in to say that Mr. 
 Farren had dined. “What an amazingly 
 industrious man he is,” said Dashwood. 
 “ He rises by day,” said Robert, “ goes 
 fox-hunting to earn an appetite for his 
 breakfast ; breakfasts on cream, boiled 
 eggs, and cold bread ; walks over his 
 plantation until twelve ; dines precisely 
 at three, after which he visits the ladies, 
 and amuses himself.” “ You have not 
 mentioned half,” said papa ; “ I am an old- 
 fashioned man, and have lived full fifty 
 years, and I have seen, in my half cen- 
 tury, enough to know that these are the 
 men who control the destinies of nations. 
 These early-risers, hard-workers, strong- 
 minded, independent country gentlemen, 
 are not bound by any clique.” 
 
 “ Confined by no pent-up Utica,” re- 
 marked Miss Blanton. 
 
 “ Exactly,” said papa, with a bow ; 
 “ they are the bone and sinew of the 
 country ; they put their shoulders to the 
 wheel, these sturdy, educated, wealthy 
 country gentlemen, and are, in fact, the 
 great propellers of the ship of state.” 
 
 My brother looked at the servant, 
 who changed the plates. 
 
 “ Tom Farren can do more in one day,” 
 said papa, now fairly launched, and for- 
 getting to help to fish, “ than any young 
 man of my acquaintance. 1 say young 
 man, because old men work more now- 
 adays than young ones.” 
 
 “Mrs. Blanton null trouble papa,” said 
 Robert. 
 
 “ I beg a thousand pardons, madam,” 
 said papa, helping neatly to fish. “ May 
 I give you fish, Miss Blanton ? Mr. Dash- 
 wood, pray allow me, my dear sir, take a 
 bit of the head — ahem — and by this 
 great bodily exercise my young friend, 
 Thomas Farren, stimulates his mind, and 
 builds up. if I may so express myself, the 
 mental and physical fabric together.” 
 
 “ He makes enormous crops, I under- 
 stand,” remarked my neighbor, Mr. Blan- 
 ton. 
 
 “ And invariably gets the highest prices. 
 
Virginia. 
 
 87 
 
 1853.] 
 
 He has, I suppose, on his plantations, up- 
 wards of three hundred slaves, who are 
 most kindly and most admirably man- 
 aged. He will be sent to Congress, sir ; 
 be must be sent to Congress, sir ; we 
 want working men in our Legislative bod- 
 ies, sir ; he is the kind of mail we need 
 in our high places, sir,” said papa, regard- 
 less of etiquette, ladies, and Farren’s posi- 
 tion as a suitor of our sister’s, and all Rob- 
 ert’s interruptions. 
 
 “I should like to see him,” said Therese, 
 “he is quite a catch, is he not, Louise?” 
 “I do not know, indeed,” replied Lou- 
 ise, blushing; “he is very handsome, and 
 very fascinating.” 
 
 “Fascinating?” inquired Robert and 
 Dashwood in a breath. 
 
 “Yes, I should say so,” said Louise, “lie 
 is somewhat reserved, but I understand 
 he is uncommonly fascinating, and can 
 please any body when he chooses.” 
 
 “ When he chooses. Oh, perhaps so — 
 he never chose to fascinate me, Miss Lou- 
 ise,” said Dashwood, in an under tone, to 
 my fair sister. 
 
 “Nor me, I declare, but,” — 
 
 “I wonder if he will choose to fascinate 
 me?” asked Therese, pouting beautifully. 
 “I wish somebody would take the trouble 
 to fascinate me, really.” 
 
 This provoking little speech being taken 
 by Robert altogether to himself, he began 
 to be very mysterious indeed, and to ask 
 Mrs. Blanton if she had ever seen a snake 
 charming a bird. If so, she must have 
 observed how still, and drooping, and pow- 
 erless the poor bird was under the snake’s 
 all-charming eye. And she could easily 
 imagine how delighted the poor bird would 
 be, had he only the power to charm his 
 charmer back again. Whereupon, Mr. 
 Blanton dropped his fork, and savagely re- 
 marked that he had yet to learn how his 
 sister-in-law could possibly resemble a 
 snake in any particular. 
 
 “Brother, you have not tasted your 
 wine !” returned Therese, laughing very 
 much, and trying her best to reach her 
 brother’s foot, under the table. Thinking 
 she had succeeded, this dear little woman 
 bore down upon my unoffending toes with 
 great strength. At the proper moment, 
 mamma obeyed a look from Robert, and 
 rose to leave the table. Mr. Rushton, 
 junior, pressed the widow’s hand, and saw 
 her to the door. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ROMANCE AND NONSENSE, WHICH, IN OLD VIRGINIA, 
 ARE 8YNONYMES. 
 
 We returned to the drawing-room, and, 
 of course, were agreeably surprised to find 
 
 Mrs. Barbara and Mr. Farren sitting to- 
 gether, the old lady regaling her favored 
 guest with some racy old anecdotes, which 
 she always reserved for great occasions. 
 After a highly interesting introduction oi 
 all parties, Miss Blanton selected an iso- 
 lated seat, and by an adroit manoeuvre, 
 forced Mr. Farren to attach himself to 
 her. This interesting couple sat at arm’s 
 length, Miss Willy “laying herself out” 
 to secure Mr. F arren by every art she pos- 
 sessed, and Mr. Farren literally shocked 
 at the bare idea of her attempting such a 
 thing. Grandma’s keen eyes, lifted above 
 her spectacles, were circling around the 
 room. She noticed the widow’s bare 
 shoulders, and exceedingly low corsage, 
 which was only partially concealed by her 
 cloud-like vapory scarf. She noticed the 
 scarcely perceptible sleeve, and perfect 
 dimpled arm, and asked me, in a whisper, 
 if she was going to a party? “In my 
 days,” said grandma earnestly to me, “a 
 girl would disgrace her family by dressing 
 out in that way !” 
 
 “ Indeed !” 
 
 “ Yes ; and that yellow thing, talking 
 to Thomas Farren, would be confined to a 
 mad-house.” 
 
 “ What fine days those were !” 
 
 “ People had to behave themselves, and 
 dress properly in those days, 1 tell you. 
 And pray, what is that?” abruptly in- 
 quired Mrs. Barbara, as Alphonse en- 
 tered. 
 
 “ Master Alphonse,” I answered. 
 
 “Upon my word, that’s a figure to 
 bring into a gentleman’s drawing-room ! a 
 varstly fine figure. I should say, that un- 
 ruly lad had broken away from his nurse 
 only harf drest. I should be constrained 
 to surmise, in all charity, that his jacket 
 had yet to be put on. Bless my soul, 
 what are widows and the rest of mankind 
 coming to !” 
 
 The gentlemen now entered, and poor 
 Farren brightened up at the prospect of a 
 release from Miss Blanton. But Mr. 
 Thomas Farren was evidently sold to the 
 lady with the emerald-eyed serpents. In 
 vain he looked around upon those he had 
 deemed his friends, nobody came to the 
 rescue. They sat apart, cruelly parti- 
 tioned off from every living creature, and 
 conversation was getting low. Mr. Far- 
 ren began to learn to his dismay, that he 
 was “ touching bottom.” He had discuss- 
 ed the last new novel, the watering places, 
 and the spring hats. He had admired 
 the baubles on her chatelaine, and done 
 every thing that mortal man, of iron nerve, 
 could do under the circumstances, and 
 Miss Willianna still hung on. 
 
 “ Poor Tom Farren !” said Dashwood to 
 Louise. 
 
88 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 “ Why poor Tom Farren ?” asked Lou- 
 ise. shrugging her white shoulders. 
 
 ‘•Because he is getting to he so despe- 
 rate. His glances this way are soul-har- 
 rowing. I declare Bob ought to go to his 
 relief, and allow unhappy Blanton a word 
 with his sister-in-law. I would take Miss 
 Willianna myself, but — I am so fastidious 
 in these matters you know.” 
 
 “ Yes, 1 know.” 
 
 “So painfully fastidious, that an hour’s 
 conversation with that interesting creature 
 in pink, would unfit me (for the remainder 
 of my visit, nay, perhaps for life, for any 
 rational pleasure under the sun.” 
 
 Fate had grouped the company in one 
 drawing-room. She had given Farren over 
 to Willianna, and Dashwood to Louise. 
 She had perched me, diabolically, vis-a-vis 
 to speechless Mr. Blanton, across a table 
 of bijouterie — and she had ensconced the 
 favored Robert snugly in an alcove with 
 Therese. It was painfully evident to me 
 that my vis-a-vis had only eyes and ears 
 for his brother’s fascinating relict. I had 
 seen her trying to mollify him, by hanging 
 about him in her half childish affectionate 
 way ; calling him brother — ever brother, 
 and looking up to him, starch-necked and 
 stern as he was, as her brother, her only 
 brother. She had a way of trying to sof- 
 ten him by taking his hand familiarly into 
 her little velvet palm ; and stretching his 
 long fingers one by one, over the length 
 and breadth of her little hand, and 
 then laying her other hand gently over it, 
 as she talked away earnestly to him, 
 which lapped the monster brother-in-law 
 in Elysium. He adored her, he had adored 
 her for years, and she was kind, and at- 
 tentive, and soothing to him, because of 
 his years of suffering and untiring love. 
 Mrs. Blanton had a gentle woman’s heart, 
 returning ever love for love. Nobody 
 could be kind to her without gaming her 
 whole heart. Nobody could be in trouble 
 without this little woman’s crying as 
 though her very heart would break. She 
 was not brilliant, or witty, but so tho- 
 roughly good. She was coquettish, fond 
 of dress, volatile, and childish ; but this 
 was only from an excess of kindness, a 
 thorough woman’s nature, and a happy 
 light heart. She could not bid her brother 
 cease to love her, and frown upon him and 
 turn away, and leave him in his trouble. 
 She thought rather to turn the current of 
 his love, and by all gentleness, and sin- 
 cere affection, to make him look upon her 
 as a sister. She knew, that while she 
 listened to Robert’s pleasant talk, he was 
 looking intently upon her charming shoul- 
 der, and dimpled elbow, which were the 
 only points visible from the recess, and she 
 would have comforted him if she could. 
 
 A splendid scheme now entered my 
 head. I determined to rescue these suf- 
 ferers, Blanton and Farren ! I determined 
 to play a waltz, and thereby change every 
 body’s position, and make every body hap- 
 py. I felt that it devolved upon me to 
 play the part of the good fairy, and thus 
 to thwart the diabolical arrangements of 
 fate. I accordingly struck up an animat- 
 ed and heel-inspiring waltz, which no 
 lover of waltzing could ever hope, even 
 under the most fortuitous circumstances, 
 to resist. My beloved reader, I had the 
 supreme satisfaction of seeing Robert take 
 Therese in his arms and wheel away with 
 her. Then, Dashwood, with his consum- 
 mate grace flung his arm about Louise, 
 and off they went ; leaving Mr. Blanton 
 stark and stiff, sitting bolt upright in the 
 middle of the room, like a shipwrecked 
 man for life. I need not say that this 
 unhappy man served also as a target for 
 grandma’s wonder, amazement, and in- 
 tense scrutiny. Really, I had amused 
 Messrs. Blanton and Farren capitally ! 
 From their countenances, I should say it 
 was a highly hilarious amusement, to see 
 a couple of faultlessly moustached, magni- 
 ficently-limbed youngsters, flying about 
 with their adorables in their arms 
 
 “ Do you waltz ?” poor Farren asked 
 of his pink tormentor. 
 
 “ Yes, sir ; with those I with par- 
 
 ticular friends.” 
 
 “ Do let us take a turn.” 
 
 She yielded, and he took her respect- 
 fully by the tips of her elbows, and whirl- 
 ed oft’ with her. The desperate Farren 
 and the chary Willianna were dangerous 
 navigators. They seemed to steer at ran- 
 dom. The}' soon brought Robert and 
 Therese to a dead halt, and made Dash- 
 wood and Louise wheel away for dear life. 
 They bore down upon that rock-bound 
 and stranded man, Blanton, and to the 
 lookers- on he was in imminent danger. 
 Finally, they cleared the circle, and caused 
 grandma to open her eyes, and gather up 
 her skirts. When they had distinguished 
 themselves sufficiently by their perform- 
 ance, Mr. Farren released his pink part- 
 ner, and took occasion to deposit her in 
 a more thickly-settled part of the room, 
 which I regarded as the most sensible 
 part of the performance. 
 
 There was a whisper going the round 
 of the saloons, that Miss Blanton loved 
 Tom Farren, and that he could get her 
 for the asking, which, I dare say, was 
 highly probable. Her open display of 
 preference, her silly smirking way, made 
 Tom Farren perfectly miserable. He ad- 
 mired shy, retiring, modest ladies, and de- 
 monstrations unbalanced him. He was a 
 young man of sound judgment, much 
 
Virginia. 
 
 89 
 
 1853. J 
 
 modesty and discretion, and was really 
 hurt by Miss Blanton’s attentions. Her 
 great riches, and distinguished relations, 
 could not tempt him. She should have 
 bestowed them upon that handsome su- 
 percilious fellow, Dashwood, who. of all 
 things, wanted money enough to take him 
 to Europe. 
 
 “ Pray, who is this Mr. Dashwood ?” 
 Miss Blanton inquired of me. 
 
 “ Mr. Dashwood,” said I, “ is one of the 
 most talented young men I know. He is 
 my brother’s particular friend, and likely 
 to distinguish himself some day.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! I thought him only a dandy, 
 you know.” 
 
 “ On the contrary, he is anything else.” 
 
 “ Dear me, how odd these geniuses are ! 
 One never can keep the run of them. 
 Sometimes they are exquisites, then again 
 they are slovens. They should adopt a 
 uniform, for there is no telling them from 
 other people. 1 slighted a lady, who, it 
 seems, was one of them, the other day. 
 She was so pert and disagreeable, and put 
 on airs which I really did not think her 
 appearance justified, and I cut her. We 
 Virginians are so particular, you know ; 
 so I quietly gave her to understand my 
 position, and who do you think she was ? 
 Why, Mrs. Haller, the great authoress, 
 who was making a tour for the express 
 purpose of studying Virginia, and the 
 Virginians. I shall be down in her next 
 book. I feel that I am doomed to be 
 slaughtered by that woman’s pen. 
 
 “ Dreadful !” I exclaimed. 
 
 “ Horrible ! wasn’t if? But pray, how 
 is one to know them ? I would not will- 
 ingly slight them, but how am I to know 
 them ?” 
 
 “ By consummate effrontery, and un- 
 bounded assurance,” said Mr. Farren, 
 bitterly. 
 
 “ Not always,” said I, “ sometimes they 
 are diffident ; indeed I may say they are 
 always diffident, until they are spoilt by 
 battery, for which other people should 
 have to answer.” 
 
 “ One thing I know,” said Miss Blanton, 
 “ I shall never slight a lady with a gray 
 shawl, large foot, mashed bonnet, and 
 long nose again. I shall know she is a 
 genius. Do you write poetry, Miss ?” 
 she said, turning to me. 
 
 1 quickly said “ No.” 
 
 “ Yes, you do, now — indeed you do. 
 Will you write me an acrostic? do oblige 
 me, will you ?” 
 
 “You must call on Mr. Dashwood,” 
 said I. 
 
 “ Mr. Dashwood, Mr. Dashwood !” 
 cried the pink female, trying to be child- 
 ish, like Therese, “ will you write me a 
 piece of poetry ?” 
 
 “ I, madam ! I am thunderstruck ; upon 
 my word I am thunderstruck at your re- 
 quest,” cried Dashwood, running his fin- 
 gers through his hair, and putting on a 
 favorite porcupine look of his ; “ but 1 
 will confidently assert, and stoutly main- 
 tain, that if I am ever to write poetry, if 
 there be a spark of poetry in me, such a 
 request would instantly cause spontane- 
 ous combustion.” 
 
 At this little Mrs. Blanton was seized 
 with an uncontrollable fit of laughter, for 
 which nobody could reasonably account. 
 
 “ But they tell me you are a poet,” 
 urged the lady, drawing a chair near him. 
 
 “ Long, long ago,” commenced Dash- 
 wood, with a low intense voice, and a 
 glittering vibratory eye, “ when first my 
 heart shook off its swaddling clothes, l 
 was foolish enough to dream I was a poet.” 
 I looked around me upon the heav- 
 ens and the earth, and lo ! the old famil- 
 iar hills shone with a newer fire, and the 
 sun’s track deepened and gleamed, and 
 the arrowy beams vibrated intensely, and 
 there was a fervor and a glow come over 
 creation ; and still I dreamed — oh, foolish 
 dream ! — that I was a poet !” 
 
 “ Did you ?” ejaculated the lady in 
 pink. 
 
 “ I dreamed,” continued Dashwood, his 
 face lighting up, “that I saw with no 
 common eye, and that I felt with a deep- 
 er and a stronger power I was not all 
 clay, nor like this one, and that one, whose 
 eye had none of the soul-light of mine. 
 Oh, this blessed, intense, quivering, bliss- 
 ful dream ! Sweeping o’er the waking 
 heart-strings, and bringing music from 
 the vasty deep ; and there was music, 
 gushing, swelling chords, and aerial bound- 
 ing notes, floating o’er this blessed, mourn- 
 ful dream ! Then budding thought was 
 bursting, and latent powers were awak- 
 ing, and hidden feelings were revealing ; 
 and I hugged to my heart, and guarded 
 from the dull, unsympathizing world, my 
 great and wondrous gift from God. I 
 tramped on, and on, jostling the soulless, 
 and pushing on, that 1 might lay my gift 
 upon the altar. I felt neither hunger nor 
 thirst. The body was a fetter I despised, 
 detaining me from my great end. 1 longed 
 to throw it aside as unceremoniously as I 
 would my overcoat upon a summer’s day, 
 Miss Blanton, and press on ! Herculean 
 fellows, who hungered, and slept, and 
 ministered to their bodies like slaves, 
 pushed me aside. Ladies of great mental 
 balance and bodily strength looked at my 
 frantic efforts with a sneer, and passed 
 proudly on, heralded by Fame. Poets, 
 with eyes glowing with fire,— my own 
 fire, I knew it at a glance, — followed in 
 their wake. Fame was up at auction, 
 
90 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 they said, and they crowded on. Still 
 dreaming, I went on, toiling after I knew 
 not what, hoping for more than this poor 
 world can give. Dreaming, y r et dreaming, 
 still on 1 went, and this fierce race ended 
 in the maddest brain fever that ever poet 
 had. I awoke from this ecstatic trance, 
 to find myself nearly scalped by the Doc- 
 tors, from which judicious treatment you 
 will perceive that my poetic locks have 
 not yet entirely recovered. I was food 
 for leeches, and the peculiar delight of 
 scarificators, for more than three weeks. 
 Whether the leeches went off with my 
 exuberant poetry, or it was taken off with 
 my scalp, 1 am not prepared to say.” 
 
 “ What a blessing, young man,” said 
 grandma, handing around her snuff-box, 
 “ that the doctors interfered before you 
 made a ninny of yourself. You may re- 
 gard it as a special providence, that at- 
 tack.” 
 
 “ Poesy, my dear madam,” said Dash- 
 wood, with a profound bow to grandma, 
 “ is defined by physicians to be a chronic 
 congestion, or extravasation of the brain, 
 occurring in persons of highly nervous and 
 sanguinous temperament.” 
 
 “ To be relieved by partial beheading,” 
 said Robert, laughing. 
 
 ' To be allayed by leeching, and anti- 
 phlogistics. Cases of long standing be- 
 long to the mad-house, the faculty think,” 
 said Dash wood. 
 
 •• But you write acrostics occasionally, 
 do you not asked Miss Blanton. 
 
 “ It was an acrostic to this lady,” said 
 Dash wood, turning to Louise, “which 
 brought about those terrible results I 
 have been telling you of. My physician 
 advises me to beware of acrostics. He 
 considers them the most inflammatory 
 and dangerous species of poetry.” 
 
 Poor Robert laughed until he was 
 ashamed of himself, at Dashwood’s ear- 
 nest countenance and unshrinking gravi- 
 ty. Miss Blanton had to give up all 
 hopes of an acrostic, so she turned upon 
 grandma, and began to question her. 
 The reader can easily imagine that Miss 
 Blanton immediately found herself in clo- 
 ver, as the saying is. She had only to 
 ask the most trivial questions to set Mrs. 
 Barbara’s tongue in motion. She had 
 only to suggest an idea, or gently 7 to jog 
 her memory, in order to provoke a perfect 
 avalanche of anecdote. Miss Blanton had 
 now aroused the right passenger. Mrs. 
 Barbara straightened up, and proceeded 
 to draw from the great storehouse of her 
 memory, treasure after treasure. She re- 
 verted to one of her favorite topics, the 
 burning of the Chatterton Theatre. 
 
 “If it hadn’t been for that fire,” said 
 Mrs. Barbara, in a mysterious and im- 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 pressive tone, “ I should never have been 
 a Rushton ! I think it highly probable 
 I should have been a Maddon !” 
 
 “Indeed!” exclaimed Miss Blanton, 
 thrillingly interested, “ was Maddon 
 burned ? ” 
 
 “ No, but you shall hear it all, and then 
 blame me if you can. You see, I was en- 
 gaged to Maddon, and had discarded Rush- 
 ton. On this eventful and destiny-de- 
 stroying night,” commenced grandma 
 forcibly, “the management presented to 
 the lovers of the drama a most attractive 
 and enticing bill. We all determined to 
 go to the play 7 . My hair was splendid in 
 those days, and at least two hands longer 
 than Louise’s. I had it arranged in the 
 morning by 7 a hair-dresser, who thought 
 proper to saturate it with a kind of oil, 
 which, to my horror, I afterwards learned 
 was highly combustible. Maddon came 
 to our house rather early, with tickets, 
 and spoke rapturously of Mrs. Somebody 
 — I forget her name, — who, he said, was 
 going to electrify 7 all Chatterton by 7 her 
 performance that night. We were sitting 
 in our box, patiently awaiting the rising 
 of the curtain, after the second or third 
 act, when a whiff of smoke came from the 
 stage, accompanied by 7 a slight, crackling 
 sound. I thought they were making their 
 thunder and lightning y 7 ou know, and was 
 perfectly easy. Not so Maddon. He stood 
 up, his ey 7 es flashing, his nostrils dilating, 
 and his lips compressed. Presently ‘ fire ! 
 fire ! ’ was heard, and Maddon dashed over 
 the railing upon the heads of the pit, 
 stepped over the orchestra, and into the 
 foot-lights upon the stage, leaving me un- 
 ceremoniously to take care of myself, 
 wondering what on the face of the earth 
 was to pay. I hadn’t sense enough to 
 move hand or foot. The crowd writhed, 
 and swore, and elbowed, and fainted, and 
 trampled on each other, while 1, absolutely 
 petrified, remained glued to my seat. I 
 could not budge an inch. People mashed 
 me, and tore me all to pieces, and tall men 
 stepped over my head, without so much 
 as - by 7 your leave, Miss.’ Finding that 
 every body 7 was making for the doors, I 
 bethought me of looking out for a window. 
 As soon as I began to move I found my 7 - 
 self in a current of human beings, while 
 crash after crash, and scream after scream 
 was heard. I was pushed on by the 
 crowd, until I stood before a window, and 
 I hung on to my place. I heard somebody 
 crying out to me from below. It was 
 Rushton, calling on me to spring from the 
 window. He placed a feather-bed upon the 
 pavement, and, calling frenetically to me, 
 implored me to jump out. But I was 
 paralyzed by fright. People were pushing 
 me away, and jumping out like shot out 
 
1853.] 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 91 
 
 of a shovel. In the crowd below I recog- 
 nized the deserter Maddon, with the ac- 
 tress in his arms, who had fainted in the 
 street. Again Rushton screamed to me, 
 and begged me to spring out upon the bed. 
 1 hadn’t sense enough to move. Presently 
 a flame licked me upon the back of my 
 head, which, as 1 told you, was all satu- 
 rated with a highly inflammable oil, — and 
 I assure you, Miss Blanton, l sprang out 
 with such superhuman strength, that I 
 cleared the feather bed, passed over Rush- 
 ton, and descended upon a large lot of 
 household and kitchen furniture, belong- 
 ing to Pratt & Brothers, next door above. 
 People were astonished at me, and all 
 eyes were turned upon me, as I reclined 
 comfortably upon the household and 
 kitchen furniture. I understand it was 
 the greatest jump made that night. The 
 tight-rope dancers didn’t come near me. 
 Suffice it to say,” concluded Mrs. Barbara, 
 with great gravity and importance, “ that 
 Mr. Rushton’s gallantry, as contrasted 
 with Maddon’s shameful desertion, and 
 devotion to the actress, caused me to be- 
 come a Rushton ! ” 
 
 Grandma’s maidenly choice was uni- 
 versally applauded. Every body thought 
 she was right in discarding Maddon, and 
 consenting to adorn, and illuminate, the 
 Rushton family. 
 
 But about Robert’s eccentric friend 
 Dashwood. This handsome fellow was a 
 perfect riddle to ordinary people. He 
 had a way of flashing out sometimes, in a 
 dazzling electrifying manner, and then 
 subsiding into a man of less than ordinary 
 pretensions. Sometimes people would 
 begin to think him most extraordinary, 
 destined for great things, capable of won- 
 ders, and suddenly he would put all-such 
 charitable notions to flight, by some unac- 
 countable freak, which would have the 
 happy effect of precipitating public 
 opinion below zero. Robert alone, and 
 perhaps Louise, held the key to his ab- 
 surd whimsicalities. To Robert he was 
 the most glorious and piquant of men. 
 To Louise, — ah, what was he to Louise 1 
 More than mortal, more than lover, more 
 than beloved. That he was pervaded by 
 a poetic something, nobody could doubt. 
 That he was lifted above his fellows, was 
 beyond a question. That he had rare 
 powers, glorious powers, every lady of any 
 refinement and cultivation, of his acquaint- 
 ance, was ready to admit. But, in the 
 ordinary business of life — in buying and 
 selling — making money, and the most of 
 one’s talents, our brilliant Dashwood was 
 hopelessly inferior. He could assume, at 
 a moment’s warning, any character under 
 the sun. Sometimes, for whole weeks, he 
 was the man of business, going about 
 
 with a brisk manner, closely buttoned 
 coat, and knit brows. During these 
 business attacks, he would shoot ahead 
 of the old stagers, throw a flood of light 
 upon matters before shrouded in darkness, 
 give quite a new turn to the old way of 
 doing things, and after triumphantly 
 proving himself eminently worthy of the 
 counting-room or the desk, and blazing 
 away to his own satisfaction, a complete 
 reaction would take place. 
 
 The next thing you would hear of 
 Dashwood, he would be idling about his 
 lodgings, in gorgeous slippers, trailing 
 robe, and jewelled cap, writing poetry for 
 the magazines. 
 
 Again he would assume his profession 
 of the law with an ardor and impetuosity, 
 which could not last, make a crack speech, 
 astonish the court, gain his suit, pocket 
 his fee, and live like a lord, eschewing 
 every thing but love, wine, and cigars. 
 After this, he would take a trip off to a 
 watering-place, or some fashionable place 
 of folly, and smirk, and polk, and create 
 sensations, until he was tired. Of course, 
 after this, he would have a severe attack 
 of dolce far niente , and then the usual 
 return of otium cum dignitate: He did 
 
 not care a fig for money, because he could 
 generally contrive to make a little when 
 hard pressed. He was not called a dis- 
 sipated man, or a man of bad habits, but 
 people called him an uncommon man, an 
 astonishing man, a psychological riddle, a 
 jack at all trades and good at none. His 
 varied talents, his brilliancy, his powers, 
 ever obedient, and ready to rise equal to 
 any emergency, his eloquence, his intuitive 
 knowledge of almost everything, his splen- 
 did person, and flexibility of manner, 
 gave him a position among men, from which 
 no freak on his part could displace him. 
 To confess the truth, people petted his 
 whims, in order to secure the use of his 
 talents. Generally, if a fellow-citizen had 
 a very unpromising case on hand, which 
 he knew could only be gained by a mas- 
 ter spirit, or some legerdemain peculiar to 
 lawyers, or some trick of oratory, he con- 
 sulted Dashwood, who, if in the want of 
 money at that particular time, or exactly 
 in the vein, would take hold of the mat- 
 ter, turn the whole strength of his soul 
 and body upon it, and make such an effort 
 for his client as few men, even in Virginia, 
 could make. 
 
 To love such a man as this, was to tie 
 one’s self to a wheel at once. To love 
 Dashwood was perfect folly. But there 
 are some women, doubtless, provided by 
 Providence for such men, who exult in 
 martyrdom ; who, of all things, love to 
 make living sacrifices of themselves; 
 whose hearts are moved by wonders, and 
 
92 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 astonishment, and who must have a demi- 
 god. for nothing short of a demi-god can 
 fill up their capabilities of loving. The glit- 
 ter and the glare of great personal beaut} 7 , 
 astonishing powers, and irresistible man- 
 ners, envelope them, and they are lost. 
 
 Louise, woman-like, first loved him, and 
 then began to search about for reasons to 
 sustain her. She loved him, first, because 
 she could not help it, and because amid 
 all his fickleness he was true to her. He 
 was as steady in love, as he was unstable 
 in every thing else. True, my sister was 
 enough to fill a poet’s eye, yet it must have 
 been flattering to her, to see this man an- 
 chored, you may say, at her feet. He 
 never swerved from her, or pretended to 
 love another, or deigned to think there 
 was any thing loveable in any other wo- 
 man under the sun. Let him be politi- 
 cian, lawyer, poet, or dandy, his love for 
 her remained the same. This was his 
 great redeeming grace. What young lady 
 of eighteen could withstand poetry, law, 
 oratorju grace, fashion, great personal 
 beauty, and most of all, constancy, com- 
 bined '? What southern beauty, spoilt by 
 over-indulgence, never knowing the want 
 of money or of friends, kept in seclusion, 
 and guarded from all the ills that flesh is 
 heir to, would not have loved this flashing 
 Dash wood ? 
 
 There are many, older and more experi- 
 enced than our beautiful sister, who would 
 have yielded to his power. 
 
 Tom Farren — upright, economical, well- 
 balanced, systematic, money-making, plan- 
 tation-managing Tom Farren, detested 
 our poor Dashwood. He would be ready 
 to say “ fudge ’’ at the bare mention of his 
 name. He could see nothing but folly 
 and consummate assurance in all he said 
 and did. Lie wondered how people could 
 tolerate such a man, who was, in fact, no 
 man at all. How Robert and, most of all, 
 Louise, could listen to him him with any 
 patience. 
 
 There had been a talk among the sov- 
 ereigns who adored and petted Dashwood, 
 of sending him to Congress, some day ; 
 but the neighboring gentry and landhold- 
 ers were in favor of Farren. Robert, too, 
 who was a mighty man among the young 
 girls and old maids in the neighborhood, 
 and patronized incipient dandies, and car- 
 ried on with old ladies and gossips at a 
 high rate, was heart and soul for Dash- 
 wood. He declared Virginia hadn’t given 
 such a son to the world since she favored 
 mankind with John Randolph, and always 
 excused every vagary of his friend, by a 
 dark and oracular allusion to the “ eccen- 
 tricities of genius.” It was a rare frolic 
 to Robert, this wheedling human nature, 
 and enticing poor gullibility, to help Dash- 
 
 [Jaa 
 
 wood up the ladder. He hadn’t had any 
 thing so rich since the old rebellion days 
 at college. He flattered, and joked, and 
 visited among the outsiders, and was seen 
 gallanting some of the oddest dressed crea- 
 tures to church — solely for Dashwood’s 
 sake, he said. He would take giggling 
 country lasses on his arms, and supply 
 the babies with gingerbread, and keep 
 mammas posted up in the news, solely be- 
 cause some day Dashwood might need 
 popularity. Of course, Robert upheld 
 Louise in her preference for her brilliant 
 and meteor-like lover; and he sustained 
 her nobly, in trying times, when grandma 
 and papa would call her to account for re- 
 fusing Farren again and again. Grandma 
 was really awed by Tom Farren. She ne- 
 ver raised her eyes to him without think- 
 ing of three hundred negroes, five plan- 
 tations, his uncle, Governor Farren, two 
 dwelling houses, and perspective winters 
 in Washington. Our dear mamma, though 
 still and placid, and seldom obtruding her 
 opinions before folks, had, nevertheless, a 
 strong dash of romance in her composition, 
 which all the Rushton practicability could 
 not entirely eradicate. Papa had no more 
 pociiy in him than a vice ; he had so 
 ridiculed all such nonsense, so preached 
 against novel reading, so railed against 
 Byron, so laughed at Dickens, and so com- 
 pletely annihilated Thackeray, that mam- 
 ma had to withdraw her opinions and re- 
 tire within herself. She was forced to 
 read her favorite authors in her own room, 
 to weep over Effie Deans and Byron’s 
 sad effusions in secret. The timid woman 
 took a mother’s pride in seeing her own 
 smouldering embers of poetry and senti- 
 ment burning defiantly and glowing in- 
 tensely in the magnanimous Robert, and 
 the tender Louise. 
 
 She nourished them with her treasured 
 books, she imbued them with her poetry, 
 she sketched for them the wonders of the 
 realms of thought ; she read to them of 
 the inner life ; she talked to them of clouds 
 land and the yearnings of the heart ; she 
 held up before their eyes a beautiful world 
 which they could make their own; she 
 purified them from the dross, and bade 
 them throw oft - the earthy particles with 
 contempt ; she aroused imagination, and 
 beheld with delight the mighty giant rear- 
 ing its magnificent head. She thought 
 she was arming them for the battle of 
 life ; she thought there were moments of 
 darkness and gloom for all, and that these 
 treasures would lighten them ; she thought, 
 dear mother, of woman in her solitude, 
 embalmed within her narrow, wearying 
 sphere, of her long, dark, hopeless hours, 
 of her isolation and loneliness, of the win- 
 ter days and winter nights, after the gay 
 
Personal Reminiscences of Thorwaldsen. 
 
 93 
 
 1853.] 
 
 summer should be o’er, and she gave her treasures, that they might comfort and 
 beautiful daughters these, her hidden beguile her then. 
 
 (To be continued.) 
 
 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF THORWALDSEN. 
 
 1" T is seldom that we hear much about a 
 i man without forming some idea of his 
 personal appearance, and it is still more 
 seldom that this idea bears any resem- 
 blance to the original. In this respect I 
 have always looked upon myself as very 
 lucky in my first sight of Thorwaldsen ; 
 for the impression which I had carried 
 away from my first hasty glance at his 
 stadio, was so mixed up with the Vatican, 
 and the Capitol, and baths and monuments 
 and temples, and the thousand wonders 
 that crowd upon you during a first visit to 
 Rome, that I had scarcely asked myself 
 whether the long line of statues and bas- 
 reliefs which I had passed before in those 
 vast halls in the piazza Barberini, was the 
 production of a living man or was some old 
 museum under repair. One evening, while 
 my mind was still in this delightful state, 
 I came home somewhat later than usual 
 to the pleasant little circle which time and 
 the chances of life have now scattered far 
 and wide, and hurried into the drawing- 
 room, to try my new stock of phrases 
 upon any unfortunate wight that would 
 have the patience to hear his own beauti- 
 ful language mutilated for the profit of a 
 stranger whom he might never see again. 
 There were very few in the room, but 
 there was the old card-table in one cor- 
 ner, with its usual occupants, the talka- 
 tive abbe and my good-natured landlord ; 
 Monsignore in his arm-chair, the young 
 ladies in eager chat with my fellow board- 
 er, all, in short, but the landlady, in their 
 accustomed places, and she evidently 
 doing her best to entertain a visitor whom 
 I had never seen there before. He was a 
 plain-dressed man, apparently past sixty, 
 with a clear, fresh complexion, that appa- 
 rently owed something to the sun of Italy, 
 though there was no mistaking its trans- 
 alpine origin, — features irregular, but 
 massive and strong ; in spite of the thin- 
 ness of the lips and the defective outline 
 of the nose, a full blue eye, clear and soft 
 and bright, and yet with an occasional 
 dreaminess that seemed to rise from some 
 unseen depths, like those dreamy clouds 
 that start forth all of a sudden from the 
 depths of a summer’s sky, giving a sort 
 of hazy softness to what, a moment be- 
 fore, was pure and liquid blue, and with a 
 general expression of serene and thought- 
 ful repose upon his lips and brow that I 
 
 never saw any where else, but in the ma- 
 jectic face of Cuvier. He rose from his 
 seat as my landlady mentioned my name, 
 and shook my hand very cordially, with 
 a few courteous expressions, which I ra- 
 ther guessed at than understood ; for my 
 Italian was very imperfect, and he, though 
 he had an exquisite ear for music, had ne- 
 ver succeeded in throwing off one of the 
 strongest of German accents. After a 
 minute or two he resumed his conversa- 
 tion with the landlady, ancl I sat down to 
 look at him at my leisure. I had ob- 
 served when he rose to shake hands with 
 me, that though his frame was large, he 
 was not tall ; and now I could note the calm 
 dignity of his manner, his easy self-posses- 
 sion, and the peculiar character which his 
 long full locks gave to every movement 
 of his head. I had seen great men before, 
 generals, statesmen, historians and philo- 
 sophers. and heard them talk freely about 
 great things, but never before had I seen 
 a man whose presence impressed me so 
 directly with the sense of greatness. In 
 Rome, kings and princes are very little 
 things. I have seen them drive through 
 the streets and not a dozen heads turn to 
 give them a second look. Nothing seems 
 to produce a permanent impression there 
 but the creations of the mind, and those 
 conceptions which, passing into the out- 
 ward life of great deeds, show how closely 
 all the higher forms of intellect are allied 
 together. The great poet is a great man 
 there, and the great artist still more so, 
 from his more intimate connection with 
 the daily wants and enjoyments of the 
 city. Canova had been dead several years, 
 and now not even the most bigoted 
 could deny that Thorwaldsen was the 
 greatest of living artists. And there he 
 sat, conscious, yet simple in all his glory, 
 and talking as cheerfully about the trifles 
 of the hour as if he had never dreamed of 
 immortality. 
 
 Several years passed before I saw him 
 again, and the measure of his glory, alrea- 
 dy so full, had become fuller still. But 
 now I could meet him under better aus- 
 pices ; for I could understand him in spite 
 of his accent, and make myself understood. 
 The first evening that I passed in his com- 
 pany, there was a good deal of singing, 
 and I was very much amused to see how 
 heartily he joined in the chorus. A 
 
94 
 
 Personal Reminiscences of Thorwaldsen. 
 
 Scotchman who was present, was called 
 upon for a Scotch song, and after ex- 
 plaining to the company when the chorus 
 would begin, gave us “Auld lang syne!” 
 In a few moments they had caught the 
 air, and though there were only three or 
 four in the room who could make any 
 thing out of the words, carried it through 
 with great spirit. It was amusing to ob- 
 serve Thorwaldsen. He was a passionate 
 lover of music, giving himself up to it en- 
 tirelv, and so absorbed by any thing that 
 pleased him, that, as he sat motionless and 
 close to the instrument, with his eye riveted 
 on the performer, and every now and then 
 something floating over it, as if some new 
 visions of beauty were just rising from 
 out that sea of harmonies, you might al- 
 most have taken him for one of his own 
 statues. But now the music was partly 
 lost in the confusion, and the style of it 
 was not of a kind to move him very pow- 
 erfully, and all that he could do was to 
 watch for the chorus, and then join in and 
 play the boy with the rest of us, which 
 lie did with as good a grace and pleasant 
 a smile as if it had been the most amusing 
 thing in the world. 
 
 One of the pleasantest ways of meeting 
 Thorwaldsen was at dinner. lie was a 
 hearty eater, and though moderate in his 
 use of wine, knew how to season his meal 
 with a cheerful glass, and grow all the 
 more interesting for it. In winter he was 
 too busy with great dinners and great 
 folks, but in summer it was the greatest 
 of treats to get him to come and dine with 
 you when the day’s work was over, and 
 he could sit and draw out the even- 
 ing — those delicious summer evenings of 
 Rome — with music and talk. J ust as the 
 clock struck you would be sure to see 
 him. the clay and dust carefully washed 
 off, in his standing dress suit of black, and 
 with the air of a man who is not afraid 
 of fettering his spiritual wings, by letting 
 dinner come in for its share as one of the 
 pleasures of the day. Then, when the 
 first dish was over, he was ready to talk ; 
 and nothing was easier than to bring him 
 to the subjects you cared most to hear 
 from his lips. There was nothing bril- 
 liant in his conversation. He gave his 
 opinions simply and earnestly : told his 
 anecdotes without any pretension : spoke 
 readily and unaffectedly about himself: 
 candidly of his cotemporaries: of the an- 
 cients with the firmness of a deep-set 
 conviction ; occasionally with somewhat 
 of humor ; and upon one or two subjects 
 with an asperity which showed that, if oc- 
 casion called for it, a vast deal of fire 
 might be found under the calm and placid 
 dignity of his general bearing. 
 
 On one of these occasions we happened 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 to be speaking of birth-places and ages. 
 “Oh,” said he, “when any body asks me 
 when I was born, I always say in 1 796.” 
 “Why so, Signor Commendatore ?” his 
 usual title. “Because it was in 170 G that 
 I came to Rome, and that is the true date 
 of an artist’s birth.” “ Bartolini, you 
 know, does not accept that doctrine, and 
 says, that if nature has marked you out 
 for an artist, it makes no difference wheth- 
 er you were born in the midst of Florence, 
 or in the midst of a forest.” “ Nonsense. 
 Before I left Copenhagen, I had modelled 
 a number of little things, as well as 
 I knew how, with the little help that 1 
 could get there; but 1 had no idea of art.” 
 “ Suppose, however, you had staid there 
 till now ?” “ What should 1 have done 7 
 
 Made a few dry bas-reliefs and bad stat- 
 ues ; been appointed president of the acad- 
 emy, and director, perhaps, of some mu- 
 seum, and never produced a single thing 
 worth looking at.” 
 
 We spoke of the ancients. “I don’t 
 know what it is,” said he, “ but there is 
 something in the antique which no mod- 
 ern has ever equalled. Canova never did, 
 and I never did. What it consists in I 
 cannot tell ; but I never look at an old 
 statue without feeling it.” 
 
 I had been to a studio with him a few 
 days before, to see a new statue before it 
 was cast. The hips were too large, and 
 after the first glance, he stepped up to the 
 stand, and drew the true outline upon the 
 clay with his thumb. It was the work 
 of an instant — a single glance — a rapid, 
 firm movement of the hand, and there 
 was a line which would have served as 
 well as Apelles’ own to tell who had been 
 there. I reminded him of it, and asked 
 him whether he had always had the same 
 feeling for proportion. “No,” said he, 
 “it is all hard study. I have had to 
 work for it ; but now a fault of propor- 
 tion grates upon me like a discord in mu- 
 sic.” 
 
 Some allusion was made to his early 
 struggles. “ It was all up hill,” said he, 
 a slight touch of irony' mingling with his 
 usually good-natured tone. “At first 
 they would not allow that I could do any 
 thing. Then they were for cutting me down 
 to bas-reliefs — Thorwaldsen for bas-re- 
 liefs, and Canova for statues. And now, 
 they allow, I believe, that I can make 
 statues too.” His rivalry with Canova 
 had been long and bitter ; and though the 
 question itself had long been decided, the 
 bitterness was not yet all gone. I had 
 occasion to observe this in speaking of a 
 torch-light visit to the Vatican. “Yes, 
 that is one of Canova’s ideas ; but there 
 is no light for a statue like pure day- 
 light.” 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Personal Reminiscences of Thorwaldsen. 
 
 95 
 
 I never heard him make a deliberate 
 criticism, though he gave his judgments 
 very freely and decidedly. “ That volca- 
 no of Michael Angelo,” I remember as an 
 expression I once heard him apply to that 
 wonderful man, though I cannot remem- 
 ber what it was that called it forth. A 
 few years before, Raphael’s bones had been 
 discovered, opened, and reinterred with 
 great solemnity, the principal artists, with 
 Thorwaldsen at their head, taking a prom- 
 inent part in the ceremony. “ 1 saw his 
 bones,” said Thorwaldsen, in telling me of 
 it ; and the feeling with which he uttered 
 it seemed the very feeling which Irving 
 expresses so beautifully in speaking of the 
 old sexton who had seen Shakspeare’s ; 
 it was something to have seen such 
 bones. 
 
 But there was one subject on which he 
 never failed to grow warm, and that was 
 the monument of Pius VII. The canons 
 of St. Peter’s had behaved very badly 
 towards him, thwarting and teasing him 
 every way in their power; and the old 
 gentleman, who was perfectly conscious 
 that he had given them, in that noble 
 work, the only great monument in the 
 church, could never speak of them with 
 patience. After the first two or three 
 words, I have seen him spring from his 
 chair, and pace the room rapidly. “ Yes, 
 taking me to task — wanting me to come to 
 them like a schoolboy, and learn my les- 
 son of a set of ignorant priests, not one of 
 whom could draw a nose.” 
 
 Another favorable hour for visiting 
 Thorwaldsen 'was in the morning. In 
 his youth, I believe, he was an early 
 riser, but when I knew him jmu might 
 very easily, by taking an early breakfast, 
 find him still in bed. On these occasions 
 I used to go directly to the little private 
 studio adjoining his bedroom, and amuse 
 myself, till he came, with looking at the 
 new figures on the modelling slate, or 
 the casts and engravings that covered the 
 walls. Very soon, however, the bed- 
 room door would open and the old gentle- 
 man come out in dressing-gown and slip- 
 pers, with a little cap on his head, and 
 every appearance of having just quit his 
 pillow. A simple nod of recognition was 
 all that you could expect, for his head 
 was full of his last day’s work, and till 
 he had examined that carefully, not a 
 word would he utter. But walking di- 
 rectly up to his slate, he would stand for 
 several minutes without moving, then 
 draw his thumb rapidly over it here 
 and there, correcting a detail, or work- 
 ing in a new outline, and giving, by a few 
 rapid touches, an entirely new aspect to 
 the whole composition. Then he would 
 turn round, shake hands, and be ready 
 
 for a pleasant chat. It always seemed 
 to me as if, from the first moment of his 
 waking, he must have been going through, 
 on his pillow, something like that sim- 
 mering process by which Scott used to 
 prepare his daily chapter while dressing ; 
 for it was very evident that his correc- 
 tions were, in part at least, the result of 
 a comparison of his morning thoughts 
 with the work of the preceding day. 
 
 This little studio of his, by the by, 
 and indeed the whole house, would well 
 deserve a description. It is a classic spot 
 in art. Piranesi had once lived there, 
 and Canina, a great name in archaeology 
 and architecture, still lived on the opposite 
 side of the court. The rooms, of course, 
 were all on a floor, that great blessing of 
 Italian houses, with brick floors, thick 
 walls, and high windows. The two first 
 rooms, which looked on Via Sistina, were 
 hung close with modern paintings, some 
 of them gifts, and some of them pur- 
 chases, and which seemed naturally 
 enough to have come and clustered around 
 him during his long life. Corresponding 
 with these, but with their windows on 
 the court-yard, were three smaller rooms, 
 the two first, studios, and the third a bed- 
 room. The first studio was for figures, 
 the other for bas-reliefs, and in this Byron 
 had sat to him for his bust. The furniture 
 throughout was plain, neither carpets nor 
 lounges, nor stuffed chairs, nor gilded 
 tables, but here and there a fragment 
 from the antique, an Etruscan vase, pic- 
 tures, engravings, with a fair sprinkling 
 of plaster arms, and hands and feet, and 
 all the appropriate paraphernalia of an 
 artist’s study. Next to the modelling 
 stand, the principal object in the smaller 
 studio was an old bureau, with a folding 
 leaf, half chest of drawers, and half 
 ■writing desk, such as still may be found 
 in many an old house even on this side 
 of the Atlantic. Here he used to keep 
 his rarities, his favorite drawings, his 
 letters, and sometimes even his money. 
 Add to this, an old straw-bottomed settee, 
 and you have as correct a picture as my 
 memory can afford me of the room in 
 which kings and princes came to pay 
 their tribute to a greatness more endur- 
 ing than their own. 
 
 This may seem a very simple style of 
 living for a very rich man. But T'hor- 
 waldsen’s habits were always very sim- 
 ple. In the beginning, from necessity, 
 and at last, from that same feeling which 
 has made many an old man stick to his 
 kneebuckles and white-topped boots, long 
 after they had given place, with all the 
 rest of the world, to straps and patent 
 leather. And an artist’s life in Rome is 
 simple, as a matter of course. A bed- 
 
96 
 
 Personal Reminiscences of Thorwaldsen. 
 
 room and a studio are all that he wants 
 of a house ; and the bedroom may be a very 
 plain one, for it is in his studio that he 
 reads, writes, works, and does every thing, 
 in short, but eat and sleep. And even 
 part of his eating may be done there too, 
 for his breakfast is little more than coffee 
 and bread. For dinner he goes to Lepri, 
 or if he feel inclined to something a little 
 better than usual, to the Falcone. And 
 then when the clay’s work is over he 
 saunters down to the Cafe Greco, and 
 sips his coffee in clouds of smoke from 
 pipes and segars innumerable, and amid 
 the discordant clang of all the languages 
 of Europe. 
 
 A monotonous life it might seem, and 
 yet it is anything but monotonous. There 
 is no monotony in his day’s work, for if he 
 is but a student, every day makes him 
 stronger in the art he loves, and reveals 
 some beauty which he had never seen be- 
 fore. With what delight he takes his 
 stand before his Raphael, fits his canvas 
 upon the easel, spreads his pallet, re- 
 touches the lines of yesterday, scans his 
 copy carefully, and then turns again to 
 the original, feeling that he has got some- 
 what nearer to its spirit, though it is still 
 so far above him. There is a life’s study 
 in that figure, a new revelation of the ex- 
 pressive power of the human form, which 
 lie never felt fully till to-day, and to-mor- 
 row he will feel it still more. And yet he 
 is not discouraged by the sense of his ina- 
 bility to reproduce it, for he feels that the 
 perception of it which he has now reached 
 is in itself a great gain, and that however 
 far he may always fall short of his mas- 
 ter’s perfection, still there is abundant re- 
 ward for all his labors, in having learnt 
 to breathe freely on these summits of art, 
 and touch as it were familiarly the hem 
 of his garment. 
 
 And then his morning studies at the 
 Academy from the living model. He 
 never felt the difficulty of an outline before, 
 nor how much power there is in a single 
 stroke of the pencil. Every joint and 
 limb becomes the object of a new study. 
 There are untold wonders in the lights 
 and shades of the surface and varying 
 play of the muscles ; the slightest change 
 of posture, the slightest elevation or de- 
 pression of a hand or an arm, the mere 
 contraction or expansion of a feature or a 
 limb, unfolds some new resource of his 
 art, and' contains lessons which if properly 
 treasured up, may extend their influence 
 through the whole of his career. Every 
 week adds something to his portfolio, and 
 when at last he comes to draw from his 
 own resources, and try to give form and 
 movement to the creations of his own 
 imagination, he finds in these detached 
 
 1853.] 
 
 studies abundant materials for rich, and 
 varied, and truthful expression. 
 
 And if he has reached this end of all 
 his efforts, and can follow freely the sug- 
 gestions of his own feelings, what a world 
 is his. How swiftly the days glide b} r him 
 when each brings with it some newvisioi 
 of beauty, or records some new step in the 
 development of a cherished conception. 
 No sunbeam ever lighted up the landscape 
 with a radiance so dazzling as that which 
 gleams upon him in this dream-world, 
 which is henceforth to be his home. No 
 strains from voice, or harpstring, or na- 
 ture’s own minstrelsy, were ever so sweet 
 as those which float around his steps, at- 
 tuning his mind and heart to the mysteri- 
 ous harmonies which he is about to unveil 
 by the ministry of a sister art. All the trea- 
 sures of the past are gathered anew for him ; 
 the deeds of its great men, the thoughts of 
 the wise, the struggle, the triumph, and the 
 reward ; for it is through him that they are 
 to assume new forms of grandeur and 
 power, and become, as it were, a living pre- 
 sence for all ages. And nature opens her 
 treasures, and pours forth new beauties in 
 lavish profusion, and reveals the secret of 
 her all-pervading sympathies. Yes, strug- 
 gles and cares and bitter trials though 
 there be in this fife of the mind — and what 
 is creative art but one of its manifold 
 forms — but there are hours too of proud 
 consciousness and thrilling delight, when 
 the vision of truth or beauty first beams 
 upon the intellectual age, and the indistinct 
 conception gradually expands into pure 
 and definite proportions, which more than 
 atone for them all. 
 
 But it is not the artist’s life that I have 
 undertaken to describe. If I had, I would 
 have told of joyous days in the vineyards 
 in delicious October, of walks in early 
 spring, to catch the first sight of the al- 
 mond blossom ; of twilights on the Pin- 
 cian and sunsets from the -Janiculum, with 
 all Rome at your feet and the last sun- 
 beams sleeping with their golden glow on 
 the craggy peaks of the Sabine Mounts, 
 while the shadows steal gently over the 
 soft slopes of Albano. I should say too, 
 that in those discordant tongues at the 
 Caffe Greco, you would learn the thoughts 
 of the profound and earnest German, 
 hear the quick and volatile Frenchman, 
 the Italian with his keen perceptions and 
 electric feelings, the grave Spaniard, who 
 hopes some day to renew the glories of 
 Murillo, and the Russian, toiling on his 
 pension for an Imperial smile and permis- 
 sion to pass another five years in Italy. 
 Dusseldorff and Munich, Paris and St. 
 Luke, meet face to face ; opinions are sifted, 
 judgments weighed, impressions compared, 
 new works discussed, the whole field 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Uncle Tomi tudes. 
 
 97 
 
 of art passed in review ; and this was part 
 of what Thorwaldsen meant, when lie said 
 that Rome was the artist’s home. 
 
 lie meant also, that there was an ideal 
 in Rome which was not to be found any 
 where else, and which, however high he 
 might go, still rose far above his highest 
 flight. He was never satisfied, with any 
 work of his own but once. In the height 
 of his career he had made his group of the 
 Graces, which, like Venus, seem to have 
 become a kind of touchstone with sculp- 
 tors, ever since that beautiful old group in 
 the cathedral of Siena was, first brought 
 back to the light. 
 
 Canova’s group is well known. Thor- 
 waldsen’s was equally celebrated, but he 
 felt, even when he had given the last 
 touches to the marble, that it was by no 
 means what he wanted it to be. Many 
 years afterwards he received an order for 
 a duplicate, which in the pressure of other 
 engagements he put off ■from time to time, 
 and might perhaps never have executed 
 if he had not happened to find a favorable 
 moment after his last return from Den- 
 mark. He went over it all carefully ; the 
 alterations were not great, amounting to 
 little more than a few changes in the de- 
 tails of the grouping, and particularly, if I 
 recollect aright, in the arms of the nymphs 
 and the position of the Cupid. But, how- 
 ever slight, the effect was magical, and 
 even the dullest eye would have been 
 struck by it. I happened to call on him 
 just as the change was completed. It 
 was in the winter, and there was a party 
 of strangers there to get a sight of the 
 old gentleman, under pretext of seeing his 
 pictures. “Wait a moment,” said he when 
 he saw me, “ I’ve got something to show 
 you. They are only here,” and an expres- 
 sive shrug closed the sentence. In a few 
 moments we were alone, and he led the 
 way to his modelling room, took me by 
 the hand, put me in the position he wanted, 
 and “ now,” said he, “ look at that.” It 
 was the group of the Graces in the fresh 
 beauty ot his last correction. “ This was 
 wrong, and this was wrong,” continued 
 he, pointing out the alterations, one b3 r one, 
 
 and then seating himself like a boy, on his 
 modelling steps, and turning to it again, 
 “ How do you like it? I never was satisfied 
 before, via ora son contento — si son con- 
 tent oP 
 
 One more anecdote and I have done ; 
 and I place it here not only as a record of 
 Thorwaldsen, but as a tribute to a man 
 whose memory I love as a friend, and re- 
 vere as an American. I mean Cole. Cole 
 passed a winter in Rome not long after 
 Thorwaldsen’s last return from Denmark, 
 and repainted his ‘Voyage of Life.’ He 
 was naturally anxious to have Thorwald- 
 sen see it, and I arranged the interview. 
 At the appointed hour, ten in the morning, 
 the old gentleman came. The four pic- 
 tures were standing in a row, the first 
 three completed, the last still wanting in 
 some finishing touches, but all that was 
 essential to the story was there. I never 
 saw Cole so nervous as when he opened 
 the door. Common criticisms he did not 
 mind, but this was an ordeal to shake even 
 his practised nerves. Thorwaldsen walked 
 directly to the first piece, and taking the 
 .words from Cole’s mouth as he began his 
 explanation, went through the whole story, 
 reading it from the canvas as readily as 
 if the trees and flowers had been words. 
 When he came to the last scene, he paused 
 and stood silently before it, his eye resting 
 with an expression of solemn musing on 
 that cloud-veiled ocean which he too was 
 to sail so soon. Twice he returned to ex- 
 amine the other three, and twice returned 
 to gaze again at the closing scene with the 
 same deep expression of earnest sympathy. 
 I hardly ever passed an hour with him after 
 that day, but what he would bring in some 
 mention of Cole : “ When I had heard from 
 him? what was he doing? A great artist! 
 what beauty of conception, what an ad- 
 mirable arrangement of parts, what an 
 accurate study of nature, what truth of 
 detail.” I have often heard him speak of 
 artists, friends and foes, the living and the 
 dead, but never with such a glow of heart- 
 felt enthusiasm as when he recalled his 
 visit to the study of Cole. 
 
 UNCLE TOMITUDES. 
 
 H ERE is a miracle ! or something, at 
 least, that has not happened before, 
 and consequently, for which the world 
 was not prepared ; for the belief of King 
 Solomon still prevails, that nothing will 
 be which has not already been, and every 
 new thing is incredible until it hp,s been 
 duplicated. Uncle Tom, therefore, is a 
 VOL. !. — 7 . 
 
 miracle, his advent had not been foreseen 
 nor foretold, and nobody believes in him 
 now that he has come, and made good his 
 claim to be considered somebody. But, 
 Uncle Tom’s superiors were not believed 
 in at first, and he can well afford to bide 
 his time. 
 
 Never since books were first printed 
 
98 
 
 Uncle Tomiludes. 
 
 has the success of Uncle Tom been equal- 
 led ; the history of literature contains no- 
 thing parallel to it, nor approaching it ; it 
 is, in fact, the first real success in book- 
 making, for all other successes in literature 
 were failures when compared with the 
 success of Uncle Tom. And it is worth 
 remembering that this first success in a 
 field which, all the mighty men of the 
 earth have labored in, was accomplished 
 by an American woman. Who reads an 
 American hook, did you inquire, Mr. 
 Smith 1 Why, your comfortable presence 
 should have been preserved in the world 
 a year or two longer, that you might 
 have asked, as you would have done, 
 “ who does not ?” 
 
 There have been a good many books 
 which were considered popular on their 
 first appearance, which were widely read 
 and more widely talked about. But, 
 what were thej r all, compared with Uncle 
 Tom, whose honest countenance now 
 overshadows the reading world, like the 
 dark cloud with a silver lining. Don 
 Quixote was a popular book on its first 
 coming out, and so was Gil Bias, and 
 Richardson’s Pamela, and Fielding’s Tom 
 Jones, and Hannah More’s Ccelebs, and 
 Gibbon’s Decline and Fall ; and so were 
 the Vicar of Wakefield, and Rasselas, and 
 the Tale of a Tub, and Evelina, the Lady 
 of the Lake, Waverley, the Sorrows of 
 Werter, Childe Harold, the Spy, Pelham, 
 Vivian Grey, Pickwick, the Mysteries of 
 Paris, and Macaulay’s History. These 
 are among the most famous books that 
 rose suddenly in popular esteem on their 
 first appearance, but the united sale of 
 the whole of them, 'within the first nine 
 months of their publication, would not 
 equal the sale of Uncle Tom in the same 
 time. 
 
 But this success does not, by any means, 
 argue that Uncle Tom is superior to all 
 other books ; but it is an unmistakable 
 indication that it is a live book, and that 
 it will continue to live when many other 
 books which have been pronounced im- 
 mortal, shall be dead and buried in an 
 oblivion, from which there is no resurrec- 
 tion. 
 
 Uncle Tom is not only a miracle of it- 
 self, but it announces the commencement 
 of a miraculous Era in the literary world. 
 A dozen years ago, Uncle Tom would 
 have been a comparative failure — there 
 might not have been more than a million 
 copies sold in the first year of its publica- 
 tion. Such a phenomenon as its present 
 popularity could have happened only in 
 the present wondrous age. It required 
 all the aid of our new machinery to pro- 
 duce the phenomenon ; our steam-presses, 
 steam-ships, steam-carriages, iron roads; 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 electric telegraphs, and universal peace 
 among the reading nations of the earth. 
 But beyond all, it required the readers to 
 consume the books, and these have never 
 before been so numerous ; the next year, 
 they will be more numerous still, and 
 Uncle Tom may be eclipsed by the shadow 
 of a new comer in the reading world. 
 It is not Uncle Tom alone who has made 
 the way for himself; the road to popu- 
 larity has been preparing for him, ever 
 since the birth of Cadmus ; he has only pro- 
 claimed the fact that the great avenues of 
 literature are all open, wide, and well paved, 
 and free to all who have the strength to 
 travel in them. Hereafter, the book which 
 does not circulate to the extent of a mil- 
 lion of copies, will be regarded as a failure. 
 What the first edition of a popular novel 
 will be by-and-by, when the telegraphic 
 wires will be printing it simultaneously, 
 in New-York, St. Petersburgh, San Fran- 
 cisco, Pekin and the intermediate cities, it 
 is not easy to estimate. Then, when an 
 international copyright shall secure the 
 whole world to the popular author, for his 
 market, authorship, we imagine, will be a 
 rather more lucrative employment than it 
 happens to be at present. The possibility 
 of such a time does not appear half so im- 
 probable now, as the actualities of Uncle 
 Tom would have sounded in the earlier 
 dines of the Edinburgh Review. 
 
 It is but nine months since this Iliad 
 of the blacks, as an English reviewer calls 
 Uncle Tom, made its appearance among 
 books, and already its sale has exceeded a 
 million of copies ; author and publisher 
 have made fortunes out of it, and Mrs. 
 Stowe, who was before unknown, is as 
 familiar a name in all parts of the civilized 
 world as that of Homer or Shakspeare. 
 Nearly two hundred thousand copies of 
 the first edition of the work have been 
 sold in the United States, and the pub- 
 lishers say they are unable to meet the 
 growing demand. The book was pub- 
 lished on the 20th of last March, and 
 on the 1st of December there had been 
 sold one hundred and twenty thousand 
 sets of the edition in two volumes, fifty 
 thousand copies of the cheaper edition in 
 one, and three thousand copies of the 
 costly illustrated edition. The publishers 
 have kept four steam-presses running, 
 night and day, Sundays only excepted, 
 and at double the ordinary speed, being 
 equal to sixteen presses worked ten hours 
 a day at the usual speed. They keep two 
 hundred hands constantly employed in 
 binding Uncle Tom, and he has consumed 
 five thousand reams of white paper, 
 weighing seventy- five tons. They have 
 paid to the author twenty thousand three 
 hundred dollars as her share of the pro- 
 
1853.] 
 
 Uncle Tomi tudes. 
 
 99 
 
 fits on the actual cash sales of the first 
 nine months. But it is in England 
 where Uncle Tom has made his deepest 
 mark. Such has been the sensation pro- 
 duced by the book there, and so numer- 
 ous have been the editions published, that 
 it is extemely difficult to collect the sta- 
 tistics of its circulation with a tolerable 
 degree of exactness. But we know of 
 twenty rival editions in England and 
 Scotland, and that millions of copies have 
 been produced. Bentley has placed it 
 among his standard novels. Routledge 
 issues a handsome edition of it with a 
 preface by the Earl of Carlisle ; and 
 this virtuous nobleman, with the blood 
 of all the Howards in his veins, sees noth- 
 ing out of the way in Venting his indig- 
 nation against American Slavery, in the 
 preface of a book which is stolen from its 
 author and published without her consent. 
 Bentley also tacks on an “ indignant pre- 
 face” to his edition, but it is stated that 
 he gives a per centage on the sale to the 
 author', which gives him a right to be in- 
 dignant, if he chooses. But the Earl of 
 Carlisle and Routledge might have re- 
 served their indignation against slavery, it 
 strikes rrs, until they had taken to honest 
 courses themselves. Another publisher in 
 London issues an edition and proposes to 
 share profits with the author, while a 
 penny subscription has been got up as a 
 testimonial to her from all the readers of 
 the work in Great Britain and Ireland. 
 We have seen it stated that there were 
 thirty different editions published in 
 London, within six months of the publi- 
 cation of the work here, and one firm 
 keeps four hundred men employed in 
 printing and binding it. There have 
 been popular editions published also, in 
 Edinburgh and in Glasgow ; and it has 
 been dramatized and produced on the 
 boards ol nearly every theatre in the 
 Kingdom. Uncle Tom was played in 
 six different theatres in London at the 
 same time. An illustrated edition is now 
 publishing in London by a bookseller 
 named Cassell, the illustrations being fur- 
 nished by the famous and inimitable 
 George Cruikshank. The same publisher 
 has issued an Uncle Tom Almanac, with 
 designs by some of the most eminent ar- 
 tists of London. The whole Beecher 
 family, of which Mrs. Stowe is a mem- 
 ber, have been glorified in the English 
 periodicals, and are exciting as much atten- 
 tion just now, as the Napoleonic family, 
 to which they bear great resemblance ; 
 one being a family of Kings and Queens, 
 and the other of preachers and authors — 
 sovereigns in the intellectual world. 
 
 Uncle Tom was not long in making his 
 way across the British Channel, and four 
 
 rival editions are claiming the attention of 
 the Parisians, one under the title of le 
 Fire Tom , and another of la Case de 
 V Oncle Tom. But the fresh racy de- 
 scriptions of the author, lose their vigor and 
 force when rendered into French, though 
 the interest of the narrative remains. The 
 book reads better in German than in 
 French, and makes a deeper impression on 
 the Teuton than upon the Gallic mind. 
 
 The Allgemein Zeitung , of Augsburg, 
 says of it in the course of a long review : 
 
 “ We confess that in the whole modern 
 romance literature of Germany, England 
 and France, we know of no novel to be 
 called equal to this. In comparison with 
 this glowing eloquence, that never fails of 
 its purpose, this wonderful truth to na- 
 ture, the largeness of these ideas, and the 
 artistic faultlessness of the machinery in 
 this book, George Sand, with her Spiri- 
 dion and Claudie , appears to us untrue 
 and artificial ; Dickens, with his but too 
 faithful pictures from the popular life of 
 London, petty ; Bulwer, hectic and self- 
 conscious. It is like a sign of warning 
 from the New World to the Old. In re- 
 cent times a great deal has been said about 
 an intervention of the youthful American 
 Republic in the affairs of Europe. In lite- 
 rature, the symptoms of such an intel- 
 lectual intervention are already percep- 
 tible.” 
 
 This is rather stronger praise, than any of 
 the French critics have bestowed upon Un- 
 cle Tom, one of whom thinks it inferior to 
 Hildreth’s Archy Moore. But Mrs. Stowe’s 
 epic is more read in Paris, just now, than 
 any other book, and it is said to have a 
 greater success than any similar production 
 since the publication of Paul and Virginia. 
 
 Uncle Tom has found its way into Italy, 
 where there are more American travellers 
 than American books. Our charge , at 
 Sardinia, reports that it is making its mark 
 there, as in other parts of Europe, in a 
 manner that astonishes the people. Two 
 editions in Italian have been published in 
 Turin, and one of the daily papers was 
 publishing it as a feuilleton, after the 
 manner of the Paris press. 
 
 What progress Uncle Tom has made in 
 the other northern nations of Europe, in 
 Russia, Sweden, Denmark, Poland and 
 Lapland, we have not been informed , but 
 it is undoubtedly drawing its tears from the 
 eyes of the hyperboreans, as well as from 
 the inhabitants of the mild south. India 
 and Mexico, and South America, have yet 
 to be Uncle Tomitized, for we have not 
 heard of any editions of Mrs. Stowe’s great 
 romance among the descendants of the 
 Aztecs, the Gauchos, or the Brazilians. It 
 must spread over the whole earth, like the 
 cholera, only reversing its origin and the 
 
100 
 
 Uncle Tomitudes. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 order of its progress. One of our newspa- 
 per critics compares the Uncle Tomific, 
 which the reading world is now suffering 
 from, to the yellow fever, which does not 
 strike us as a very apt comparison, be- 
 cause the yellow fever is confined wholly 
 to tropical climes, while Uncle Tom, like 
 the cholera, knows no distinction of cli- 
 mate or race. He is bound to go ; and 
 future generations of Terra-del Fuegians 
 and Esquimaux, will be making Christmas 
 presents at this season of the year, of Uncle 
 Tom’s Cabin in holiday bindings. 
 
 Not the least remarkable among the 
 phenomena that have attended the publi- 
 cation of Uncle Tom has been the numer- 
 ous works written expressly to counteract 
 the impressions which the book was sup- 
 posed likely to make. This is something 
 entirely new in literature. It is one of 
 the most striking testimonials to the in- 
 trinsic merit of the work that it should 
 be thought necessary to neutralize its in- 
 fluence by issuing other romances to prove 
 that Uncle Tom is a fiction. Nothing 
 of the kind was ever before deemed neces- 
 sary. When Mrs. Radcliffe was bewitch- 
 ing the novel-reading world with her 
 stories of haunted Castles there were no 
 romances written to prove that ruined 
 Castles were not haunted. But Uncle 
 Tom had scarcely seen the light when 
 dozens of steel pens were set at work to 
 prove him an impostor, and his author 
 an ignoramus. Some dozens of these anti- 
 Uncle Tom romances have been published 
 and many more of them remain in ob- 
 scure manuscript. We have had the 
 pleasure of looking over a score or two, 
 which were seeking a publisher, and nearly 
 all of them were written by women, upon 
 the principle of similia similibus. The 
 writer of one of these unpublished anti- 
 Tom novels had made a calculation, the 
 innocent ingenuity of which tickled our 
 very midriff. She had ascertained that 
 one hundred and fifty thousand copies of 
 Uncle Tom’s Cabin had been sold, and she 
 calculated that every reader of that ro- 
 mance would be anxious to hear the other 
 side of the story of domestic slavery, and 
 her romance being the silver lining of the 
 Southern institution, she came to a pub- 
 lish 3i- with a modest proposal based upon 
 a certain sale of one hundred and fifty 
 thousand copies of her work. But this 
 good lady had not made a greater mis- 
 take than the majority of our reviewers 
 who have assumed that the “ golden joys” 
 of Mrs. Stowe’s authorship were all owing 
 to her having sung of Africa. Most un- 
 accountably they imagine that it is the 
 subject, and not the manner of its 
 treatment, that has fascinated the read- 
 ing public. But a more effete subject, 
 
 one of which the public were more 
 heartily wearied, which was more unwel- 
 come to ears polite than that of slavery, 
 it would not have been easy to select. 
 Whoever touched it was sure of that 
 crudest of all martyrdoms contemptuous 
 neglect. The martyr age of anti-slavery, 
 as Harriet Martineau called it, had passed 
 away, and the more fatal age of indiffer- 
 ence and contempt had succeeded. The 
 public had been inundated and surfeited 
 nith anti-slavery sentiment in all possible 
 forms, from the fierce denunciations of the 
 Pilsbury Garrison school, down to the 
 mild objurgations of Lucre tia Mott. Every 
 possible form of literary composition and 
 pictorial embellishment had been devoted 
 to the subject, and no one either needed, or 
 desired, any further enlightenment about 
 it, when Uncle Tom’s Cabin was an- 
 nounced to the world of novel readers. 
 The chances were a thousand to one 
 against the success of the book. And 
 yet it has succeeded beyond all other 
 books that were ever written. And the 
 cause is obvious ; but, because it was obvi- 
 ous and lay upon the surface, it has been 
 overlooked, there being an opinion among 
 most men that truth must he a long way 
 out of reach. 
 
 “When I am reading a book,” says 
 Dean Swift, in his Thoughts on Various 
 Subjects, “ whether wise or silly, it seems 
 to me to be alive and talking to me.” 
 This is the secret of the success of Uncle 
 Tom’s Cabin ; it is a live book, and it talks 
 to its readers as if it were alive. It first 
 awakens their attention, arrests their 
 thoughts, touches their sympathies, rouses 
 their curiosity, and creates such an inter- 
 est in the story it is telling, that they can- 
 not let it drop until the whole story is told. 
 And this is done, not because it is a tale 
 of slavery, but in spite of it. If it were 
 the story of a Russian Serf, an evicted 
 Milesian, a Manchester weaver, or an Ital- 
 ian State prisoner, the result would be 
 the same. It is the consummate art of 
 the story teller that has given popularity 
 to Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and nothing else. 
 The anti-slavery sentiment obtruded by 
 the author in her own person, upon the 
 notice of the reader, must be felt by 
 every one, to be the great blemish of 
 the book ; and it is one of the proofs of 
 its great merits as a romance, that it has 
 succeeded in spite of this defect. If Mrs. 
 Stowe would permit some judicious friend 
 to run his pen through these excrescences, 
 and to obliterate a flippant attempt at Pic- 
 wickian humor, here and there, Uncle 
 Tom’s Cabin would be a nearly perfect 
 work of art, and would deserve to be 
 placed by the side of the greatest roman- 
 ces the world has known. It has often 
 
Uncle Tomitudes. 
 
 101 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 been spoken of by critics as deficient in 
 artistic ability, but it is to its masterly 
 construction, or artistic quality, that it is 
 indebted for its popularity. The over- 
 plus of popularity given to the work by 
 its anti-slavery sentiment is not much 
 greater than the loss of readers from the 
 same source; but the evangelical senti- 
 ment of the book, the conversions to holi- 
 ness through the influence of Uncle 
 Tom’s preaching, which the London 
 Times cavilled at, is a greater cause of its 
 popularity with the religious classes, we 
 imagine, than the anti-slavery sentiment 
 which it contains. For the religious sen- 
 timent of Uncle Tom is in strict accord- 
 ance with the theology of nine-tenths of 
 the Christian world. In all the great re- 
 quisites of a romance it is decidedly supe- 
 rior to any other production of an Ameri- 
 can pen. 
 
 There are not, in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, any 
 of the delicacies of language which impart 
 so great a charm to the writings of Irving 
 and Hawthorne, nor any descriptions of 
 scenery such as abound in the romances 
 of Cooper, nor any thing like the bewil- 
 dering sensuousness of Typee Melville ; 
 but there are broader, deeper, higher and 
 holier sympathies than can be found in 
 our other romances ; finer delineations of 
 character, a wider scope of observation, a 
 more purely American spirit, and a more 
 vigorous narrative faculty. We can name 
 no novel, after Tom Jones, that is superi- 
 or to Uncle Tom in constructive ability. 
 The interest of the narrative begins in the 
 first page and is continued with consum- 
 mate skill to the last. In this respect 
 Thackeray is the first of cotemporary 
 English novelists, and Bulwer deserves 
 the next mention. But the commence- 
 ment of all of Thackeray’s stories is dull 
 and uninviting, while Bulwer, who opens 
 briskly, and excites the attention of the 
 reader in the beginning, flags and grows 
 dull at the close. Mrs. Stowe, like Field- 
 ing, seizes upon the attention at the out- 
 set. and never lets it go for a moment 
 until the end. It matters not by what 
 means this is done, it is the chief object 
 aimed at by the romancer, and the great- 
 est artist is he who does it in the most 
 effectual manner ; if the writer of fiction 
 fails in this point, he fails altogether. And 
 the same may be said of every other wri- 
 ter ; the mind must first be amused before 
 it can be instructed. 
 
 In no other American book that we have 
 read, are there so many well-delineated 
 American characters; the greater part of 
 them are wholly new in fiction. The mis- 
 chievous little imp Topsy, is a sort of in- 
 fantine Caliban, and all the other darkies 
 are delineated with wonderful skill and 
 
 freedom ; and each page of the book is like 
 a cartoon of charcoal sketches. It has 
 been objected to Uncle Tom, that all the 
 whites are impossibly wicked, and all the 
 blacks are impossibly good. But nothing 
 could be further from the truth than such 
 an assertion ; the most amiable of the 
 characters are some of the slave owners, 
 while the most degraded and vile are, of 
 course, the slaves. There is no partisan- 
 ship apparent in the narrative proper, and 
 if the author did not, occasionally, address 
 the reader in her own person, greatly to 
 her own prejudice, we should hardly sus- 
 pect her of anti-slavery leanings. 
 
 An ingenious writer in the Literary 
 World has done Mrs. Stowe the favor to 
 point out an instance of undeniable, but, 
 we presume, unconscious plagiarism, on 
 her part, for which she should feel her- 
 self under great obligations to him. He 
 proves pretty clearly, that the weakest 
 part of Uncle Tom has been borrowed 
 from Mrs. Sherwood. Little Eva is, un- 
 questionably, nothing more than an adap- 
 tation of the Little Henry of the English 
 lady ; and, for our own part, we think it 
 very creditable to Mrs. Stowe that such 
 is the case. The little Nells, little Pauls, 
 little Ilenrys, and little Evas, are a class of 
 people for which we care but little. Dick- 
 ens has much to answer for in popularizing 
 the brood of little impossibilities, who are 
 as destitute of the true qualities of child- 
 hood as the crying babies which are hung 
 up in the windows of toy-shops. One 
 Topsy is worth a dozen little Evas. But 
 it is a proof of the genius of the author, 
 that every character she introduces into 
 her story is invested with such a distinct 
 individuality that we remember it as a 
 new acquaintance, and feel a strong in- 
 terest in its fate. 
 
 We have heard of almost innumerable 
 instances of the power of Uncle Tom, but 
 one of the finest compliments that has 
 been ever paid to its fascinations was from 
 a Southern Senator and a slave-holder. 
 Somebody had persuaded him to read the 
 book, and, on being asked what he thought 
 of it, he merely replied that he should be 
 very sorry for his wife to read it. A friend 
 of ours was sleeping one night in a strange 
 house, and being annoyed by hearing 
 somebody in the adjoining chamber alter- 
 nately groaning and laughing, he knocked 
 upon the wall and said, “ Hallo, there 1 
 What’s the matter ? Are you sick, oi 
 reading Uncle Tom’s Cabin?” The stran- 
 ger replied that he was reading Uncle 
 Tom. 
 
 Apart from all considerations of the 
 subject, or motive, of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, 
 the great success of the book shows what 
 may be accomplished by American au- 
 
102 
 
 Ericsson's Caloric Ship. 
 
 thors who exercise their genius upon 
 American subjects. Imitations of foreign 
 and classical literature, though equal to 
 the originals, will not command success. 
 The American author or artist who is am- 
 bitious of success must confine himself to 
 the illustration of American subjects. 
 Cooper made his first essay upon foreign 
 ground and failed. lie then came back 
 to America, with no better talent than he 
 carried abroad, and succeeded, having first 
 secured a reputation by the use of a home 
 subject, and then succeeded with foreign 
 materials. But Irving always wrote as an 
 American even when his theme was foreign. 
 There is jmt remaining an uncultivated but 
 rich field for American genius. Our first 
 novel of society has yet to be written. We 
 arc daily looking for the appearance of our 
 native novelist who shall take his place 
 by the side of Irving, of Cooper, of Mel- 
 ville, and Hawthorne, and Mrs. Stowe. 
 Like the sister of Fatima, we can see a 
 cloud in the distance, but we cannot make 
 out the form of the approaching genius. 
 There are steam-presses and paper-mills 
 now erecting to welcome him. Our abo- 
 rigines, and sailors, and transcendentalists, 
 and heroes, and slaves, have all had their 
 Iliad, but our men and women of society 
 are yet looking for their Fielding, their 
 Bulwer, or their Thackeray. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 Some of the foreign correspondents of 
 our daily papers, in commenting on the 
 popularity of Uncle Tom in Europe, ac- 
 count for it by saying that the English are 
 glad of an opportunity to circulate a book 
 which shows up our country to disadvan- 
 tage. But we do not perceive the force 
 of this argument. We do not think that 
 any degree of hatred to our institutions 
 could induce the people of Great Britain 
 to read a dull book. Besides, there have 
 been dozens of books published about 
 slavery, which throw Uncle Tom’s Cabin 
 completely in the shade in their pictures of 
 our domestic institutions. In fact, Mrs. 
 Stowe’s book gives a much more agreeable 
 picture of Southern slavery than any of 
 the works we have seen which profess to 
 give the right side of the tapestry. A 
 desire to degrade America surely cannot 
 be the reason why the representation of 
 dramatic scenes in Uncle Tom have proved 
 so attractive in our own theatres. For 
 our part, we think that the actual ef- 
 fect of Airs. Stowe’s romance will be to 
 create a much more indulgent and forgiv- 
 ing spirit towards the people of the South 
 than has prevailed in England heretofore. 
 Our last presidential election certainly did 
 not afford any reason to believe that the 
 minds of our countrymen had been at all 
 influenced by Airs. Stowe’s enchantments. 
 
 ERICSSON’S CALORIC SHIP. 
 
 1 ’IIE invention of new motors has always 
 ■ been a source of fruitful inquiry. Alany 
 ingenious and useful applications of me- 
 chanical force have been contrived for the 
 one great object — the propulsion of vessels 
 upon the ocean, and of carriages on the land, 
 by meansof a power, which, possessed of the 
 force of Steam, should be at once more eco- 
 nomical, less dangerous, and of more easy 
 and general application. To effect this ob- 
 ject. skilful mechanists have directed their 
 attention to the development of those pow- 
 ers of nature by means of which man con- 
 quers the world to his will. There is much 
 that is curious in the thought, that so sim- 
 ple an agent as water, when subjected to the 
 action of heat, should create an instrument 
 capable of revolutionizing commerce, and 
 of bringing the ends of the earth together. 
 There is something much more remarkable, 
 if the idea can be carried to perfection, of 
 which there seems now little doubt, in the 
 employment of the air we breathe, and 
 without which we cannot live, to feed the 
 lungs of the non monster, which con veys us 
 rapidly from port to port, and serves to 
 
 spread abroad and strengthen the ties of 
 civilization. 
 
 The Caloric Ship of Captain Ericsson 
 marks a new era in the history of naviga- 
 tion. An experiment it can scarcely be 
 termed, for it is the result of twenty-five 
 years of research and experience. Its tri- 
 umph or its defeat will settle a question 
 which has attracted the attention of the 
 world, and its final issue is to determine 
 the future of ocean navigation. 
 
 In its outward appearance, the caloric 
 ship does not so greatly differ from an or- 
 dinary steamship, as might be imagined, 
 in consequence of the total change in its 
 propelling power. The most perceptible 
 alteration upon her decks is the presence 
 of four handsome, symmetrical funnels, 
 placed at nearly equal distances from each 
 other, and occupying the place of the un- 
 sightly and smoke-begrimed pipe of our 
 large steamers. Two of these chimneys are 
 attached to the upper cylinders of the 
 engines, and the remaining two serve at 
 once for ornament and the escape of heated 
 and impure air from the engine-room. 
 
Ericsson's Caloric Ship. 
 
 103 
 
 1853.] 
 
 Each funnel is a perfect cylinder, thirty 
 inches in diameter, rising only five feet 
 above the paddle-boxes, and resting 
 upon an octagonal pedestal, tastefully 
 carved and ornamented. The whole is 
 painted white, with the exception of a 
 cast-iron ring; near the top of each of the 
 pipes, which is carefully gilded. The 
 general effect of the four white, plain 
 and cleanly pillars upon the deck is very 
 pleasant. Near each pair, the pipes stand- 
 ing two and two, is an air-shaft. This is 
 intended to supply a constant current of 
 cold air to the engine-room, and descends 
 to the very bottom of the vessel, carrying 
 down a vast volume of fresh air to supply 
 the waste engendered by the consumption 
 of the furnaces. In consequence of this 
 happy arrangement, the fire-room is kept 
 at nearly the same temperature as the 
 upper or hurricane-deck. The difference 
 between this and the similar apartment 
 of the ordinary steamships is very striking. 
 There is a manifest improvement in the 
 application of this ventilating-shaft, in the 
 simple fact, that all danger of fire is obvi- 
 ated through the coolness of the spot 
 where the flame is generated. But the 
 shaft is not alone useful in this way. Being 
 so constructed as to form a continuous 
 “ well ” from the top to the bottom of the 
 vessel, the open space thereby afforded 
 is made available as a location for the 
 pumping apparatus. The brakes of the 
 powerful force-pumps with which the ship 
 is supplied project from the side of the shaft 
 upon the deck, and may be there worked 
 by the crew with the utmost possible con- 
 venience. A large amount, of pipe is, of 
 course, required to draw the water that 
 the ship may make, to so great a height, 
 but the pumps are sufficiently powerful 
 to complete the work. The mouth of 
 each of these shafts is carefully covered 
 with oiled canvas, though light is admitted 
 by means of a*nettmg surrounding the 
 edge of the pit. The uses to which the 
 shafts are put are remarkably appropriate 
 and simple. They are indispensable auxi- 
 liaries of the system of ventilation, which 
 this ship possesses in an eminent degree. 
 The deck is perfectly free, fore and aft, 
 and affords a pleasant place of promenade, 
 if the passenger possesses the requisite 
 strength of nerve. 
 
 In her build, the Ericsson is a fine 
 specimen of naval architecture. No ves- 
 sel has gone out of the port of New- 
 York her superior in beauty, strength, 
 and, we may perhaps soon add, in speed. 
 The engines being situated in the centre 
 of the ship, the midship section of the 
 vessel is formed quite unlike the steam- 
 ships. The floor has a gradual rise, 
 greater than is usual in vessels of this 
 
 description ; the wave-line is applied judi- 
 ciously ; the bow cuts the water smoothly 
 and rapidly ; and the run is marked by a 
 peculiarity of construction which gives the 
 ship an easy rest upon the water. The 
 flooring is entirely solid from stem to 
 stern. To give additional strength to the 
 timbers, the entire frame is firmly braced 
 by bars of iron placed diagonally, and se- 
 curely bolted to each other and to the 
 ship. With these advantages, and the 
 tidy masts and rigging, unsoiled in the 
 longest voyages by smoke or gases, the 
 ship always presents a clean and fresh 
 appearance, which places her in striking 
 contrast with her rivals. The peculiari- 
 ties of build and finish we may not here 
 particularize more closely. They are 
 best judged by observation, and their ad- 
 vantages will be determined by experi- 
 ence. 
 
 The dimensions of the Ericsson arc as 
 follows : 
 
 Length between perpendiculars, .... 250 feet 
 
 Breadth of beam, 40 feet 
 
 Depth of ltoid, 26 ft. 6 in. 
 
 Tonnage (Register measure), 1903 tons 
 
 Working cylinders, (diameter of each) . . 108 in. 
 
 “ Length of stroke, ... 6 feet 
 
 Supply cylinders, (diameter of each) ... 137 in. 
 
 “ “ Length of stroke, ... 6 feet 
 
 Chimneys, two in number, (diameter) . . 30 in. 
 
 Ventilating tubes, two in number, correspond- 
 ing to the chimneys, (diameter) . . . . 30 in. 
 
 Paddle-wheels, (diameter) 32 feet 
 
 “ “ buckets 10 ft. 6 in. 
 
 The owners of the vessel are a company 
 of gentlemen of wealth and influence, 
 among whom is John B. Iv itching, Esq., 
 a prominent merchant of this city. Her 
 builders were Messrs. Perrine, Patter- 
 son and Stack, of Williamsburgh ; the 
 engines were constructed by Messrs. 
 Hogg and Delamater of New-York. 
 
 The principle involved in the construc- 
 tion of the Caloric Engine, it is already 
 well known, is the application of air in a 
 state of expansion to the uses for which 
 steam has long been employed. To ex- 
 plain the mode in which Gapt. Ericsson 
 accomplishes this undertaking is a com- 
 paratively easy matter, but to make it 
 thoroughly intelligible to all, is more diffi- 
 cult. The account, however, may be 
 given in the simplest manner. 
 
 The engine-room is paved with corru- 
 gated cast-iron bed-plates, extending over 
 its whole area. The apprehensions of 
 leakage from bolt-holes through the bot- 
 tom of the ship, as in steam-ships, are 
 not entertained here, in consequence of 
 this improved method. The plates are 
 cast with a corrugated surface, so that the 
 footing of the firemen and attendants may 
 be secure, even when the ship careens. 
 The danger of fire from casual falls of 
 coals from the furnaces, or from a too 
 
104 
 
 Ericsson's Caloric Ship. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 great temperature, is also obviated by 
 this arrangement, for two reasons : 1. 
 
 That there is not a crevice in the iron 
 flooring through which fire may obtain 
 access to the wood-work. 2. That there 
 is no fire sufficiently furious to heat even 
 the iron that surrounds it to any dangerous 
 degree. 
 
 The improvement of the new motor thus 
 begins at the very foundation. The cylin- 
 ders composing the Caloric Engine are four 
 in number, placed in pairs, one above the 
 other. Their position is not side by side, 
 but lengthwise of the vessel. The largest 
 cylinder of each pair is termed the working 
 cylinder; and the upper, or smaller, the 
 supply cylinder. The dimensions of these 
 cylinders are immense. As already stated, 
 each of the working cylinders is 168 inches, 
 or fourteen feet, in diameter ; and the sup- 
 ply cylinders have each a diameter of 137 
 inches, or eleven feet five inches. It was at 
 first doubted whether cylinders of such a 
 magnitude could be properly made, those of 
 the Collins steamships being only 90 inches 
 in diameter ; but the experiment has suc- 
 ceeded admirably. Persons are not want- 
 ing who will now undertake to manufac- 
 ture twenty feet cylinders, if need be. The 
 weight of this entire mass of iron is about 
 four hundred tons. The workmanship is 
 beautiful, and reflects credit upon Ameri- 
 can skill and enterprise. The capacity 
 of the cylinders is such that 34,272 cubic 
 feet of atmospheric air per minute, are 
 drawn into the engine when only fourteen 
 strokes per hour are made ; so that in the 
 space of sixty minutes the aggregate 
 volume of air which passes through the 
 engine is not less than 2,056,320 cubic 
 feet. The weight of air is in the ratio of 
 134 cubic feet to the pound; so that, 
 according to this calciflatioh, the vast 
 volume of sixty-eight tons of atmospheric 
 air goes through the cylinders every hour, 
 effecting a wonderful ventilation. The fur- 
 naces through which the requisite amount 
 of heat is applied to set the machinery 
 in motion, are located at the base of the 
 working cylinders. A comparatively small 
 amount of fuel is required for consumption 
 during long voyages, and it is confidently 
 asserted that the ship will be able to take 
 on board a sufficient quantity of coal, — 
 anthracite only being used, on account of 
 its greater cleanliness, — to take the vessel 
 to and return her from any European 
 port, and even to Canton. This is another 
 advantage, of which we shall come to 
 speak by and by. The engine, then, 
 works simply as follows: The furnaces 
 having been lighted, the air contained in 
 the woVking or lower cylinder presently 
 becomes heated, forces up the piston 
 within, and escapes through a series of 
 
 valves provided for this purpose. Each 
 cylinder has a piston, fitting closely to it, 
 but so contrived that both always work 
 together. As the air escapes from tho 
 lower cylinder, the piston contained 
 within the cylinder descends by its own 
 gravity, drawing the upper one down 
 with it. The upper piston, in its descent, 
 pulls open a series of valves, each some 
 two feet in diameter, placed in the top of 
 each of the supply-cylinders. The open- 
 ing of these valves causes the instantane- 
 ous admission of a volume of cold air. 
 As the piston ascends, these valves close, 
 and the confined air, now unable to escape 
 in the way it entered, finds vent in another 
 set of valves, through which it passes 
 into a receiver. From this receiver, it is 
 to pass into the working or lower cylinder, 
 to force up the working piston within it. 
 In order to perform this duty, it is com- 
 pelled to pass through an apparatus 
 called the regenerator, which is nothing 
 more than a series of wire-nettings placed 
 close together to the thickness of twelve 
 inches. The meshes of this network of 
 iron being fine, and the distance through 
 the mass very considerable, the air, in its 
 passage from one side to the other, is dis- 
 tributed in an infinitude of small cells, 
 and is thus placed in intimate contact 
 with a metal surface which is peculiarly 
 sensible of appreciation or depreciation in 
 the amount of caloric that may exist in 
 its vicinity. Upon this part of the appa- 
 ratus is based the grand feature of the 
 Caloric Engine. The idea of the reiterated 
 employment of heated air was long the 
 subject of experiment by Capt. Ericsson. 
 It was ascertained, by himself and others, 
 that atmospheric air and the permanent 
 gases acquire or part with a given degree 
 of heat, in passing through a given 
 extent of space ; or, in other words, that 
 a volume of air, in passing through a 
 space of, say, six inches in the fiftieth 
 part of a second, is capable of acquiring or 
 evolving about 40 O'* of heat. The sim- 
 plest philosophical principles are therefore 
 combined in the production of the caloric 
 engine, namely, the radiating properties 
 of heat, and the affinity of metals for 
 caloric. The result of Captain Ericsson’s 
 observations leads him to adopt the “re- 
 generator,” as the truest and simplest ex- 
 ponent of these powers. In its manner of 
 operation, the regenerator is speedy and 
 certain. Its warmer surface is of course 
 nearest the fire below ; its cooler side is 
 fanned by the current of air which enters 
 from above. As the heated air leaves the 
 working-cylinder of the engine, it neces- 
 sarily enters the regenerator, by which it 
 is deprived of its caloric, and is expelled 
 with but thirty degrees of heat ; whereas. 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Anecdote of James Smithson. 
 
 105 
 
 upon its entrance through the same chan- 
 nel, it received about four hundred and 
 fifty degrees. The remaining thirty de- 
 grees necessary to produce the minimum 
 of expansive force (480°) are derived 
 from the heat of the furnaces ; and the 
 volume of air is then doubled, the ma- 
 chinery set in motion, and the action of 
 the pistons is commenced. As the lower 
 piston rises, it pushes up the crank of the 
 connecting-rod which rests upon it — pro- 
 duces, thereby, a revolution of the shaft, 
 by which the paddle-wheels are turned, 
 and the ship is at once in motion. 
 
 The action of the cylinders, the regenera- 
 tor, the crank and rod. and the shaft and 
 wheels, continues without alteration so 
 long as it may be desirable. The fur- 
 naces require the attendance of very few 
 men, in comparison with the host of engi- 
 neers, firemen, feeders, and supernumera- 
 ries that peoples the hold of our common 
 steamships. Allusion has already been 
 made to the fact, that the vessel is enabled 
 to carry a sufficient supply of coal to ac- 
 complish both the outward and return 
 voyages. The shaft lies concealed be- 
 tween-decks. In this respect, the appli- 
 cation of the new power possesses a de- 
 cided advantage ; as, in vessels propelled 
 by steam, the passages fore-and-aft are 
 interrupted by the elevation of the shaft 
 into inconvenient proximity with the head 
 of the passer-by. On the Ericsson , the 
 decks are entirely clear from stem to 
 stern. 
 
 The state-rooms and saloons of the ship 
 are fitted up in superb style. The furni- 
 ture is of the newest pattern, the mirrors 
 of the richest, and the ornamental work 
 of the best. No expense has been spared 
 to render the vessel a worthy compeer of 
 the noble ships which have gone forth to 
 testify to the taste and enterprise of New- 
 York. 
 
 As regards the conveyance of heavy 
 cargoes, the vessel is exceeded by none of 
 the best steamers. Her capacity for stow- 
 age is about fourteen hundred tons. Her 
 freight-deck is clear from fore to aft, se- 
 cure, and easy of access. In consequence 
 of the peculiarities of her build, there are 
 no interruptions in the passages, and no 
 difficult}' is experienced in the assortment, 
 arrangement, or the prompt delivery of 
 her cargo. Beneath the freight-deck is 
 the coal-hold, which remains distinct from 
 any other portion of the ship, and does 
 not interfere with the residue of its ap- 
 pointments. 
 
 The minor details of the structure of 
 the vessel are not important, differing but 
 slightly from the ordinary steamships. 
 
 In this brief description of the peculiar 
 characteristics which mark the Caloric 
 Ship, we have aimed merely at a general 
 and popular exposition of a great idea, of 
 which the full development must be a 
 work of time. The efforts of the ingeni- 
 ous inventor, with whose name the enter- 
 prise is so closely allied, have been direct- 
 ed to the accomplishment of a mighty 
 undertaking. Whether the use of steam 
 is soon to be superseded by an invention 
 so much more simple and easy of access 
 as common air, is a problem of vast mo- 
 ment. The probabilities in favor of its 
 ultimate success are certainly most flat- 
 tering. Confidence, energy and perseve- 
 rance have been assiduously brought into 
 combination to effect an end at once so de- 
 sirable and important. The new ship is 
 receiving the finishing touches as this ar- 
 ticle is penned, and, by the advent of the 
 new year, will probably have made her 
 debut before the public. Nothing is haz- 
 arded in the remark that she will attract 
 attention and regard, as a most perfect 
 specimen of mechanical skill and enter- 
 prise. 
 
 ANECDOTE OF JAMES SMITHSON. 
 
 D R. B. A. GOULD, jr., in a lecture on 
 “ The Theory of Probabilities,” de- 
 livered, on the 24th of November, before 
 the American Academy of Arts and 
 Sciences, in Boston, illustrated a proposi- 
 tion by narrating an occurrence in the 
 life of James Smithson. 
 
 1 1 is related of him that, when in Paris, 
 being addicted to indulgence in ll Rouge 
 et Noirf he at one time experienced al- 
 most constant reverses, and narrated the 
 circumstance to his friend M. Arago, the 
 eminent Sa van. 
 
 M. Arago interrogated him as to the 
 number and the time of his losses, and 
 their proportion to the times of playing, 
 
 and then, rapidly calculating, surprised 
 him by declaring the exact amount. 
 
 Some time after, Smithson brought to 
 M. Arago a table, in which he had ap- 
 plied the principles of this previous calcu- 
 lation, saying that the excitement of the 
 game was necessary to him, and that, by 
 the use of this table, he now obtained the 
 greatest possible entertainment by the 
 expenditure of a definite amount. 
 
 To this fact of the existence of cer- 
 tainty in uncertainty, as the lecturer re- 
 marked, are we indebted for the benefits 
 subsequently conferred on the interests 
 of science by the establishment of the 
 Smithsonian Institution. 
 
106 
 
 [Jan, 
 
 EDITORIAL NOTES. 
 
 LITERATURE. 
 
 American. — Dr. Kraitsir’s Gloss- 
 ology, a Treatise on the Nature of Lan- 
 guage, and the Language of Nature , 
 amid its abundant merits, has the defect of 
 being too learned. The author has crow- 
 ded so much into a brief compass that his 
 remarks become obscure, or rather they 
 make such a demand upon the attention 
 that the effort to understand him becomes 
 almost painful. If the same rich materials 
 were treated in a more familiar and ex- 
 planatory way. they might/lo a great ser- 
 vice in reforming the abiises of the noble 
 English tongue. As it is, and in spite of 
 the petulance which occasionally escapes 
 from the too-earnest writer, we commend 
 his instructions to all those who take an 
 interest in purifying our speech, or who 
 care to acquire foreign languages by a 
 thoroughly scientific method. We are 
 told by those who have penetrated the 
 depths of the Doctor’s principles, that they 
 throw a wonderful light upon the whole 
 subject of linguistic. 
 
 — Miss Oiieesboro’s new novel, The 
 Children of Light, is a worthy succes- 
 sor to the t- Isa, a Pilgrimage,” which at- 
 tracted no small share of admiration 
 last year. It has much of the same vig- 
 or and freshness, but, like that, it shows 
 a mind which had not yet worked itself 
 into perfect clearness of conception. Most 
 of the books written by women are said 
 to be deficient in that indescribable qual- 
 ity called Art, but Miss Cheesboro’ is 
 rapidly attaining the highest walks in 
 the department to which her talents are 
 devoted. 
 
 — What a taking title is that of Mr. 
 Kimball, the Romance of Student Life 
 Abroad, and how gracefully the author 
 has told his adventures ! But. on the 
 whole, his book is not equal to the “ St. 
 Lcgcr,” in which there is so much ro- 
 mance and so much passion. 
 
 — Knick-Knacks is the happy name 
 wherewith our venerable contemporaiy of 
 Tiie Knickerbocker has christened his 
 bantling of a book. It is enough to say 
 of it that it contains all those funny 
 things which have made the “ Editor’s Ta- 
 ble” of that Magazine the part to which 
 every reader of it first turns, and from 
 which he gets up with a broad grin. We 
 know of no collection of American humor 
 similar to it, certainly none that contains 
 such a variety of original and racy matter. 
 
 — An admirable compilation is that of 
 The British Orators , made by Dr. 
 Goodrich. It presents, in a portable 
 form, the best speeches of the most illustri- 
 
 ous orators of Great Britain, with brief 
 sketches of their lives, and excellent ex- 
 planatory notes. We have made time to 
 go over the greater part of the volume, 
 and have derived no little refreshment 
 and pleasure from the perusal. A collec- 
 tion of American orators, made with equal 
 fidelity and care, would be a valuable con- 
 tribution to literature. 
 
 — If we Americans have only a scanty 
 literature of our own. we have the me- 
 rit at least of first publishing a great deal 
 of the best literature of England. The 
 collected writings of Bolingbroke. of Mac- 
 aulay, of Carlyle, of Wilson, of Talfourd, 
 of Sydney Smith, of Jeffrey, of De Quin- 
 cey, of Thackeray, were first issued on 
 this side of the water, and now we have, 
 added thereto, an excellent edition of the 
 prose works of Procter, better known as 
 Barry Cornwall. They consist of a series 
 of pleasantly conceived and gracefully 
 written tales and essays. 
 
 — Mrs. F ollen has done a good thing for 
 the juveniles in printing some of * the 
 best stories and poems of her Child’s 
 Friend into a neat book form. Few 
 persons know so well as she how to 
 cater for the tastes of the young. 
 
 — An edition of the Speeches of Ma- 
 caulay is announced in this city. His 
 spoken rhetoric is quite equal to his writ- 
 ten, and we wonder, in the universal admi- 
 ration which his brilliant style merits, that 
 this task of compilation has not been before 
 undertaken. 
 
 —Mr. Hildreth, the historian, is about 
 to publish A Theory of Politics, a work 
 which he has had for some years in 
 preparation. It will be a statement of 
 the reasons why different governments 
 have prevailed in different nations, with 
 historical parallels and illustrations. 
 
 — The Appletons will publish, in the 
 month of February, a volume, entitled 
 Prismatics, by Richard Haywarde, un- 
 der which disguise the modest author 
 lies concealed. In the matter of ty- 
 pography, the publishers promise that 
 it will be something of which the Ameri- 
 can press will be proud, and to say that 
 the embellishments will be from the pen- 
 cils of Elliot, Darley, Kensett, Hicks, and 
 Rossiter, will commend it to the lovers of 
 art. 
 
 — Mr. Bancroft’s continuation of his 
 History of the Revolution, has appeared 
 in England, and is favorably noticed by 
 the reviews. The American edition is re- 
 ceived as we go to press. It will have at- 
 tention in our next. 
 
 — The papers contributed to the Horli - 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Editorial Notes — Literature. 
 
 101 
 
 culturist, by the late A. -J. Downing, we 
 are glad to learn, will soon be collected and 
 published. The editorial supervision is in 
 the hands of his friend, G. W. Curtis, who 
 will write a memoir of his life, and Miss 
 Bremer, who knew him well, having pass- 
 ed many days with him on her arrival in 
 this country, will furnish a sketch of his 
 character. This, we have no doubt, will 
 be a most agreeable book. 
 
 — Meagher's Speeches arc not out at 
 the time of our going to press, but we an- 
 ticipate from the reading of them, some 
 rare pleasure. Those who were among 
 the four thousand of delighted listeners to 
 the lecture on Australia, delivered by the 
 eloquent young Irish orator, at Metropo- 
 litan Hall, will be eager to see his ut- 
 terances in print. 
 
 — Lectures have come to be one of the 
 established winter institutions; not in the 
 cities only, but in many of the country 
 towns, both large and small. Nearly all 
 the literary societies of the land, in addi- 
 tion to their usual exercises, have regular 
 courses of lectures, in which men more or 
 less eminent participate. In this city, 
 Mr. Thackeray’s course before the Mer- 
 cantile Library Association, has been the 
 most successful ; his audiences have uni- 
 formly included the most intellectual and 
 fashionable people, -who have received them 
 with delight. The Popular Course, too, 
 at the Tabernacle, with Mr. Whipple, Mr. 
 Thompson, Mr. Osgood, Prof. Olmsted, as 
 the lecturers, has been well attended, and 
 the Course of the Historical Society, intro- 
 duced by Mr. Bancroft, promises much 
 pleasure to come. Such an uprising of 
 listeners has never before been known. 
 
 — The Cooper Monument , what has 
 become of it? We are glad to say that it 
 is not forgotten. Besides the live hundred 
 dollars collected at the meeting last winter, 
 Mr. Irving and Mr. Prescott have since 
 contributed one hundred dollars each, all 
 which sums are in the hands of the Trea- 
 surer of the Memorial Committee. Will 
 not some of our rich men add several 
 thousands thereto, that New-York may 
 boast of at least one enduring remem- 
 brance of an illustrious citizen? Let 
 but one in a hundred of the readers and 
 admirers of Cooper send a single dol- 
 lar to John A. Stevens, Esq., Treasurer 
 of the Cooper Monument Committee, 
 Bank of Commerce, New-York, and a mo- 
 nument will be raised, worthy of the 
 country. Shall it still be a reproach to 
 this great leading community, that it 
 possesses no public memorial to a lite- 
 rary man ? Surely, all that is needed in 
 th is case, is the intimation that a respon- 
 sible treasurer is ready to receive the 
 funds, and that our greatest sculptor is 
 
 ready to proceed with the work. Now 
 that this is announced, we are sure that 
 hundreds and thousands will respond to the 
 prompt and liberal example of two of the 
 great novelist’s brother authors, above 
 mentioned. 
 
 — Frank Freeman’s Barber Shop is 
 one of a spawn of romances that has follow- 
 ed Mrs. Stowe’s book. Some of them have 
 taken the ground that Slavery was the 
 greatest social curse under the heavens, 
 and others, that it was the most Arcadian 
 and blissful of institutions, exhibiting as 
 much variety in their color as the human 
 race itself, from the deeply black, to the 
 pale white ; but “Frank Freeman” takes a 
 mulatto course, and is alternately of both 
 sides. Yet as this is- the day of compro- 
 mises, we see no reason why a novel-writer 
 should be excluded from an adoption of 
 the fashion, especially when he belabors, 
 with hearty ill-will, the extremes of both 
 sides. The Kev. Mr. Hall, the author, is 
 a humorist, a little rude at times, but with 
 the genuine comic vis. 
 
 — Mrs. Hale pats the “friends of Wo- 
 men’s Rights,” on the head, perhaps with- 
 out meaning it, by publishing an account 
 of all the illustrious female mankind that 
 have enlightened, if not beautified the 
 world. Her roll-call musters a larger Am- 
 azonian army than was ever gathered by 
 any of the Caliphs. She shows that wo- 
 men have attained eminence in every walk 
 of life, in science, art, war, religion, au- 
 thorship, philanthropy, etc., etc., but a 
 crabbed friend of ours suggests the ques- 
 tion, whether, among the, whole number, 
 there was a single genius? We shall, 
 perhaps, undertake to answer his question 
 in our next number. 
 
 — A life of W alter Scott was not 
 needed by scholars, who possess that most 
 entertaining work of Lockhart, next to Bos- 
 well’s the most readable of biographies ; 
 but how few scholars can afford so volu- 
 minous a work ! It was. therefore, a hap- 
 py thought of Donald McLeod to write 
 a new history of the first of novelists, one 
 of those broad fruitful natures that can- 
 not easily be exhausted. How he has ex- 
 ecuted it, we have not found time to read : 
 yet we think, from an occasional sip at his 
 fountain, in a hearty appreciating way. 
 
 English. — The English work likely to 
 make the most stir in the coming months, 
 is “ Ilippolitus and his Age ,” by the 
 Chevalier Bunsen, Prussian Minister to 
 England. Both on accounl of the writer 
 and the subject, the work excites attention. 
 It is not often that we get a diplomat 
 among the Doctors of Divinity. But the 
 friend of Niebuhr, of Dr. Arnold, and of 
 Archdeacon Hare, is quite an exception 
 
108 
 
 Editorial Notes — English Literature. 
 
 among diplomats, and is better known for 
 i his scholarship, than his statesmanship. 
 The object of the work is to explain the 
 state of Christian opinion and practice at 
 Rome, a whole -century before the Nicene 
 theology, it is suggested by a MS. dis- 
 co cored at Mount Athos, in Greece, and 
 purporting to be a work of Hippolitus, 
 b shop of the Harbor of Rome, and dating 
 about a. n. 225. This Manuscript was 
 formerly ascribed to Origen, but Bunsen 
 tries to show that Origen did not write it, 
 and that Hippolitus did. The authenticity 
 is important, because, if written by Hip- 
 politus, it throws light upon an obscure 
 period in the history of the Church. It 
 would go to show that, in that age, no- 
 thing was yet known of the ecclesiastical 
 supremacy of the Roman Pontiff, nothing 
 of the celibacy of the clergy, nothing of 
 bishops as a supreme order, and nothing 
 of a great many other dogmas now incor- 
 porated into the general faith. Whether 
 Bunsen be right, or the Church, we will 
 not saj r ; but we will add, that he has 
 given the Churchmen considerable of a 
 nut to crack. 
 
 — Henry Esmond , by Thackeray, is 
 variously received, by the critics both at 
 home and abroad ; some say that it is an 
 advance on his previous -writings, and 
 seine, that it is not so good. Our opinion 
 is, that it is any thing but a failure ; on 
 the contrary, that it has all the nice power 
 of observation and picturesqueness of the 
 author, out that as the scene is laid in 
 past times, it cannot have the freshness 
 and truth of a novel relating to the pre- 
 sent day. Characters and events passing 
 before us, we see with our eyes, but the 
 characters and events of a hundred years 
 ago, exist only to the imagination. Now, 
 as Thackeray is a man noted for seeing 
 with his eyes, it was to be expected that 
 a novel by him, about Queen Anne’s folks, 
 would not be so excellent as a novel 
 about Queen Victoria’s. Yet his learning 
 is wonderfully accurate and comprehen- 
 sive. his insight clear and penetrating, 
 his suggestions always wise and signifi- 
 cant. and his studies of costumes and at- 
 titude worthy of a painter, but his story 
 is a little too intricate, and not over inter- 
 esting. 
 
 — Tennyson’s Ode on the Death of 
 Wellington, is published by Moxon; but 
 the almost unvarying opinion of the critics 
 is, that it is not equal to the occasion. 
 But who ever wrote an occasional ode or 
 an occasional oration that took the palm ? 
 Occasions are only golden moments to 
 mediocrities. Your man of genius must 
 take his own time and way ot doing 
 things. Yet, there are passages in Tenny- 
 son’s Ode, that relish of the butt of Ca- 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 nary, which is his laureate salary. Here 
 is one, for instance : 
 
 O civic muse, to such a name, 
 
 To such a name for ages long, 
 
 To such a name 
 
 Preserve a broad approach of fame. 
 
 And ever-ringing avenues of song." 
 
 And here is another : 
 
 Not once or twice in onr rough island story 
 The path of duty was the way to glory. 
 
 He tli at walks it only thirsting 
 For the right, and learns to deaden 
 Love of self before his journey closes, . 
 lie shall find the stubborn thistle bursting 
 Into glossy purples, which outredden 
 All voluptuous garden-roses. 
 
 Not once or twice in our fair island-story, 
 
 The path of duty was the way to glory. 
 
 He that ever following her commands. 
 
 Or with toil of heart and knees and hands. 
 
 Thro’ the long gorge to the far light lias won 
 His path upward, and prevail’d, 
 
 Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scal’d 
 Are close upon the shining table-lands 
 To which our God Himself is moon and sun. 
 
 — Siberia is one of the unknown re- 
 gions, to which a certain romantic interest 
 attaches, as to the .Man in the Iron mask, 
 or to the author of, Junius. Madame 
 Eve Felinski’s Bevelations of Siberia. 
 therefore, though they contain no fine de- 
 scriptions of scenery, and few dramatic 
 incidents, will be read for the fidelity of 
 the story they tell. She had the misfor- 
 tune to he the sister of one of the most 
 eminent Polish poets, and for that offence, 
 or some other, incurred the ill-will of the 
 Czar, who gave her a three years’ oppor- 
 tunity of repentance among his favorite 
 colonists in Siberia. This was from 1839 
 to 1841 ; and the lady has made a valua- 
 ble book out of her experiences. It is 
 readable, but not pronounceable in parts, 
 for such names, we take it, as Iasycenko, 
 Krzyzancwski, and Kzonczewska, were 
 never meant to be uttered out of Russia. 
 
 — A book called the Wanderings of a 
 Pilgrim in search of the Picturesque , is 
 advertised as follows in one of the Eng- 
 lish papers : “ Its circulation has been al- 
 most ubiquitous. It lies on our Queen’s 
 drawing-room table at Windsor Castle ; it 
 is an ornament in the library of the Czar 
 at Petersburgh. It is read in the hills at 
 Simla and Landour, at the foot of the glo- 
 rious Himalaya; it is treasured by her 
 Highness the ex-Queen of Gwalior, and it 
 adorns the court of Nepaul. In North 
 America, at the court of the Brazils, it is 
 in high repute. Our ambassadors read it 
 in Madrid and in Stockholm ; our milita- 
 ry book clubs have long since ordered it 
 at the Cape, in New Zealand (our anti- 
 podes), and at Hobart Town ; and the 
 1002 imperial octavo pages, with their 50 
 beautiful illustrations sketched on the 
 spot, and several of them lithographed by 
 herself, constitute at this moment the 
 most perfect delineation of East Indian 
 
Editorial Notes — French and German Literature. 109 
 
 1853.] 
 
 life, British and native, with which the 
 literature of Europe has yet been enrich- 
 ed.” Very strange that no one in the 
 United States should have heard of it be- 
 fore ! 
 
 — Alison announces a continuation of 
 his History, bringing the events up from 
 the battle of Waterloo, to the declara- 
 tion of the Empire by Louis Napoleon. 
 As the war of the continent ceased du- 
 ring this period, as those great movements 
 of peaceful civilization which are the glory 
 of the modei'n era began to develop 
 themselves then with unexampled rapidi- 
 ty, there is no portion of time more im- 
 portant or exciting ; and the subject well 
 treated, will make an admirable book. 
 We scarcely think Alison, with his retro- 
 grade sympathies, the man for the task, 
 yet we shall attempt to estimate his la- 
 bors with fairness. 
 
 — Longfellow’s poems, and the Hy- 
 perion, have been issued in England, in 
 the most beautiful illustrated forms. The 
 “ Evangeline” of two years ago, lias been 
 the model. 
 
 — The Second Volume of Mrs. Halls 
 Pilgrimages to English Shrines , with 
 Notes and illustrations, by F. W. Fairholt, 
 has just been issued, in a handsome octavo, 
 profusely illustrated with engravings on 
 wood. This elegant volume is dedicated 
 to Madame Otto Goldschmidt (Jenny 
 Lind). The following names are memor- 
 ialized : lzaac Walton, W illiam Penn, Sir 
 C. Wren, Edgeworth, Lady Rachael Rus- 
 sel, Jane Porter, Sir Richard Lovelace, 
 Grace Aguilar, Edmund Burke, Flaxman, 
 Edward Bird, Mrs. Holland, Dr. Maginn, 
 Cowley, etc. 
 
 — Vestiges of Old London , a series 
 of etchings from original drawings, illus- 
 trative of the monuments and architecture 
 of London, in the first, fourth, twelfth, 
 and six succeeding centuries, with de- 
 scriptions and historical notices, by John 
 Wykeham Richer, is a choice folio vol- 
 ume of curious antiquarian sketches of 
 the British Metropolis. 
 
 — Two brilliant volumes have just ap- 
 peared, richly embellished with colored 
 drawings of Flowers ; one on Flowe?'- 
 Painting, in twelve progressive lessons, 
 and the other Gems for the Drawing- 
 Room, , containing groups of fruit and 
 flowers; by Paul Jeiirard, with accom- 
 panying verses, by F. W. N. Bayley. 
 
 — Wilkie Collins’s novel of Basil , is 
 a regular English novel, of the modern 
 school, containing one desperate villain, 
 one young lady, (not innocent, by way of 
 variety,) one good man, and the usual su- 
 pernumeraries. But the scenes arc de- 
 scribed with much power, and the story, 
 though not strikingly original, is well told. 
 
 There is some humor mingled with the 
 prevailing sadness of the tone, wliiSh is 
 further relieved by the assurance given us 
 towards the close, that the suffering par- 
 ties generally are at last happy. 
 
 —Another example of what may be done 
 in the art of color-printing, is shown in a 
 volume which appears this month in Lon- 
 don, called The Tenants of the Woods. 
 The specimen plates are remarkably beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 — Sir Francis Bond Head’s Fortnight 
 in Ireland is one of the most entertain- 
 ing and instructive essays on Ireland, that 
 has been published in a long while. The 
 author is remarkable for making large 
 books from the smallest possible amount 
 of travel. He was but three weeks in 
 Paris, and during that time gathered suffi- 
 cient material to make one of the most 
 entertaining books on the French capital 
 that any Englishman has written, and 
 his fourteen days in Ireland were so well 
 employed in seeing and noting the causes 
 of Irish misery, that he leaves nothing 
 for any other traveller to tell on that sub- 
 ject. Sir Francis is a magnificent penny- 
 a-liner, and would make the fortune of a 
 daily newspaper. 
 
 French and German. — A ponderous 
 book of reference for publicists and states- 
 men, is the Annuaire des deux Mondes 
 (Annual of the Two Worlds), published 
 by the proprietors of the well-known re- 
 view of that name. In a thousand close 
 octavo pages, we have here a summary of 
 the political, industrial, social, and literary 
 history of the entire world for the year 
 1851. Each country is treated by itself, 
 from public documents, and other sources 
 of information. The part relative to the 
 United States is written by M. Emile 
 Montegut ; and if the others are as little 
 trustworthy, the big volume is not good for 
 much. For instance, this learned littera- 
 teur puts down M. Theodore Parker as 
 the chief of the Universalists in this coun- 
 try, and associates “the Doctor George 
 Ripley, M. Channing, the younger, M. 
 Horace Greeley, and the poet Dana,” as 
 leaders in the sect of “the crazy and (he 
 illuminated,” with which sect we are in- 
 formed that “ M. Henri Longfellow, a soft 
 and timid poet,” and M. Nathaniel Haw- 
 thorne. are intimately related. W e learn 
 also that there is a sect of “ Episcopalian 
 Methodists,” who have three hundred 
 churches in Massachusetts, and another 
 of “ Congregational Methodists,” who have 
 six hundred and twenty-five in the same 
 state. The Shakers, he tells us, live on 
 vegetable diet, and have a special medical 
 doctrine known as the Thompsonian sys- 
 tem. His account of American politics is 
 
110 
 
 Editorial Notes— French and German Books. 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 also peculiar ; but on all matters where 
 he had access to public documents, his 
 statements are correct. The Annuaire is, 
 on the whole, a better book than would 
 appea r from these amusing specimens. 
 
 — Since the Abbe Gaujne’s Ver Bon- 
 g-ear, the French press has produced no 
 book more provocative of controversy 
 than that of M. Montalembert, entitled 
 Des Interets Catholiques au XIX e Sie- 
 rle (Catholic Interests in the Nineteenth 
 Century), which in a few weeks has 
 passed through two editions at Paris. 
 It is an able defense of constitutional, 
 parliamentary government, against the 
 assaults now made upon it by the crowd 
 of Catholic writers in France, eager to 
 cast themselves at the feet of Louis Na- 
 poleon and absolutism. It contends — 
 as its author for years has contended — 
 that liberty is not only more consist- 
 ent with the doctrine and the discipline 
 of the Church, but more favorable to 
 its growth and glory than any absolute 
 s} r stem of government. In support of this 
 position, the history of the last fifty years 
 is made to contribute a series of striking 
 facts; the contrast which the result* of 
 this period of parliamentary rule and 
 free discussion exhibits to that of the pre- 
 vious period of absolute political authori- 
 ty is set forth with great power and effect, 
 while the Napoleonic Catholics, who have 
 forsaken their former belief in freedom to 
 adulate the despot of the day, are cauter- 
 ized with concentrated bitterness of sar- 
 casm which great moderation of language 
 only heightens. M. Montalembert, how- 
 ever, holds that liberty and democracy are 
 as antagonistic as liberty and absolutism. 
 He has no faith in what is called new 
 ideas. The rule of the masses is in his 
 eyes but the tyranny of the mob ; univer- 
 sal suffrage a folty ; and the Constitution 
 of England the highest form of political 
 wisdom. Catholics in this country will 
 read his book with satisfaction, not only 
 on account of its exultant statements of 
 the progress of their church, but from its 
 vigorous protest against the ill-judged and 
 erroneous attempts of certain writers to 
 identify Catholicism with absolutism in 
 politics, and the suppression of the liberty 
 of the press, of parliamentary discussion, 
 and of other forms of human rights. 
 
 — Two histories of the Restoration are 
 now appearing in successive volumes at 
 Paris. The one, by M. Yaulabelle, is the 
 work of years, is written in the most con- 
 scientious spirit, and with infinite re- 
 search ; the other, by M. Lamartine, is 
 the work of a few months, and is written 
 with all that dramatic haste, and that in- 
 flation of style which characterize this 
 most illustrious of hack writers, and which 
 
 he relieves by radiant flashes of genius, 
 and a certain elevation of sentiment. Both 
 are republicans in doctrine, but M. Vaula- 
 belle is never led away from his principles 
 by erratic flights of fancy, nor is he guilty 
 of' the frequent glaring errors of fact which 
 blot the brilliant pages of the poet, Vau- 
 labelle has just published his sixth vol- 
 ume, and Lamartine his seventh, to be 
 presently followed by the eighth and last. 
 
 — Protestant controversialists will find 
 an arsenal in the Oiigines de VEglise 
 Bomaine, by M. Andre Achinard, of Ge- 
 neva. Lie undertakes to give the history 
 of the dogmas, and of the hierarchical de- 
 velopment of the Roman Catholic Church, 
 and we can testify that his book is writ- 
 ten in a commendable style of moderation 
 and dignity. He concludes with an elab- 
 orate argument in favor of both the doc- 
 trines and the practical results of Protest- 
 antism. 
 
 — One of the most interesting pheno- 
 mena of that age of confusion and de- 
 struction, the 18th century, was the ap- 
 pearance, amid the skepticism and the rail- 
 lery of France, of that mystical sect whose 
 chief representative was the famous St. 
 Martin. The doctrines of these mysties. 
 and especiallj- of their leader, are the sub- 
 ject of a book by M. Caro, of Rennes, 
 which we cordially commend to all stu- 
 dents of philosophical literature. It is 
 entitled, Essai sur la vie el la Doctrine 
 de Saint-Martin , and forms a volume of 
 some three hundred pages. 
 
 — Readers of the more recent litera- 
 ture of France would do well to look 
 into the book of M. Menche de Loisne, 
 on the Influence of French Literature 
 from 1830 to 1850, on the Public Mind 
 and Morals (Influence de la Littera- 
 teur Frangaise). M. Loisne is a rigid 
 moralist, a pious religionist, and a sturdy 
 conservative, and mercilessly condemns 
 the extravagances and errors of his cele- * 
 brated countrymen. Without agreeing in 
 all his criticisms, we have read him -with 
 interest and attention. But it is a melan- 
 choly book which thus places the brand 
 of corruption and evil upon the entire 
 literature of a nation, and upon writers 
 whose genius the world unites in celebrat- 
 ing. Alas, that there is so much truth in 
 his condemnation ! 
 
 — The third volume of Haxthau- 
 sen’s Studien iiber Russland (Studies 
 on Russia) has appeared. It is writ- 
 ten like the preceding volumes, in a laud- 
 able tone of calmness and moderation, 
 but like most works on Russia, can- 
 not be altogether relied on. Baron Raxt- 
 hausen does not speak Russian, and dur- 
 ing his life in that country was constant- 
 ly in intimate relations with courtiers and 
 
Editorial Notes — French and German Books. 
 
 Ill 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 government agents. Accordingly he sees 
 every thing in rose color, and often ar- 
 rives at conclusions which a better know- 
 ledge of the facts would have saved him 
 from. A much more useful work is M. 
 de Tegoborski’s Etudes stir les Forces 
 Productives de Russie (Studies on the 
 Productive Capacities of Russia). The 
 author is a man of great ability, has been 
 employed in the administration of the em- 
 pire, and knows whereof he writes. No 
 other statistics of Russia yet given to the 
 world are so trustworthy as his. The 
 second volume, recently published, treats 
 of the culture of llax, hemp, silk, the vine, 
 of horticulture- and sylviculture, and of 
 manufacturing industry in various branch- 
 es, as they are carried on in the empire. 
 A third volume is yet to appear. Ilis 
 book is worthy the attention of political 
 economists, and of industrialists in every 
 country* for its value is by no means con- 
 fined to that of which he treats. 
 
 — A curious chapter of Russian history 
 may be found in the Memoires Secretes of 
 Villebois, published from manuscripts left 
 by that adventurer, who was an aid-de- 
 camp to Peter the Great, and served also 
 under Catharine I. The book is written 
 with all the naivete of the time, in delightful 
 old French. We have read nothing with 
 more gusto among all the pile of litera- 
 ture that has recently passed through our 
 hands. 
 
 — The past five years have been espe- 
 cially rich in books and dissertations 
 upon Mirabeau, and now we have anoth- 
 er to add to the list, by Dr. Lewitz, a Ger- 
 man professor, who makes it his busi- 
 ness to defend Mirabeau against all his 
 foes. Only the first volume has yet been 
 published, bringing the biography down 
 to the conclusion of the famous trial at 
 Aix, which was the beginning of his pop- 
 ularity, and laid the foundation for his 
 subsequent political career. The account 
 of Mirabeau’s prolonged struggle with his 
 father — one of the most striking passages 
 in his whole history — is given with graphic 
 power. The author undertakes also to de- 
 pict the social condition of France, but 
 does not succeed in it. He is also guilty 
 of exaggerating what was good in Mira- 
 beau, and of keeping what was bad too 
 much in the background, to afford a just 
 idea of his character. 
 
 — Countless are the additions which 
 time and German fecundity never cease 
 to make to the already infinite Goethe- 
 literature, as they call it. One that 
 we could not afford to spare, is the 
 Frauenbilder aus Goethe's Jugendzeit 
 (Women of Goethe’s Youth), by II. 
 Duntzf.r. It presents to us some of the 
 many graces and goddesses who surround- 
 
 ed the youth of the great poet, and in va- 
 rious ways influenced his career. We here 
 again make the acquaintance of Frederica 
 of Sesenheim, of Cornelia, the poet’s sis- 
 ter, of Anna Sybilla Munch, of Anna 
 Elizabeth Schdnemann (immortalized as 
 Lili), of Auguste Stolberg, and of Goethe’s 
 mother. Perhaps the best of the sketch- 
 es is the last. We hope Mr. Di.ntzer will 
 pursue his inquiries farther, and paint foi 
 us other ladies from the same famous gal- 
 lery, in their actual colors, and with all 
 those interesting details which the poet 
 himself has naturally withheld. The 
 same author has published an essay on 
 Goethe’s Prometheus and Pandora , in 
 which he argues that those works bcai 
 the same relation to the problem of art 
 that the two parts of F aust have to the prob- 
 lem of knowledge. It has an interest only 
 for a narrow circle of readers. Briefu:e- 
 chsel laid mundlicher Verkehr zwischen 
 Goethe und dem Rathe Gr liner (Corre- 
 spondence and Oral Intercourse between 
 Goethe and Councillor Griiner), relates 
 to scientific matters, and especially geolo- 
 gy and mineralogy. Councillor Griiner 
 resided in Bohemia, a favorite region with 
 Goethe, not merely for its picturesque 
 charms, but for its scientific phenomena. 
 Hence this correspondence, which has no 
 value or interest aside from the name of the 
 poet, and the light it casts upon his scien- 
 tific history. Weimar und Jena (Wei- 
 mar and Jena), by Adolph Stahr, main- 
 ly discusses Goethe, though a number of 
 other persons and subjects are introduced. 
 Mr. Stahr, one of the most fluent and 
 agreeable of light newspaper writers, here 
 attempts to defend Mdlle. Yulpius, the 
 wife of Goethe, at the expense of Madame 
 von Stem, who was his most intimate 
 friend, and according to his own admis- 
 sion, exercised a greater influence upon 
 him than any other woman except his sis- 
 ter. So far the book is a failure. A 
 splendidly illustrated edition of Faust is 
 now being published in parts by Cotta, of 
 Stuttgart. The plates are engraved on 
 wood and steel, after designs by Engel- 
 bert Seibert. Two parts have been is- 
 sued. We have examined them with 
 pleasure. We cannot say that the artist 
 equals the genius of the poet who wrote 
 that wonderful drama, though no less 
 praise is claimed tor him by the critics in 
 some of the best journals of Germany. 
 But if what has now appeared be an index 
 of what is to follow, he has produced an 
 original and striking work. The designs 
 are bold, profoundly thought out in their 
 details, and true to the poem in their 
 character. The engraving is admirable, 
 as are the paper and printing. There will 
 be eight parts, with thirteen large steel 
 
112 
 
 Editorial Notes — German Literature,, 
 
 engravings, and seventeen large, and some 
 sixty small wood ones. The cost of the 
 hook in this country will he some ten dol- 
 lars. 
 
 — Carl Ritter, the Geographer, has 
 published Ein Blick auf Palaestina 
 and seine christliche Bev like rung (A 
 Glance at Palestine and its Christian Pop- 
 ulation). It is valuable for biblical stu- 
 dents especially, though interesting to oth- 
 ers. It contains the most recent investi- 
 gations on the geography and physical 
 structure of the country, and a thorough 
 history of the various Christian sects that 
 inhabit it, showing that of them all, the 
 Armenians have alone maintained them- 
 selves. 
 
 — A book which we cannot too highly 
 commend, is Grimm’s Deutsches fViir- 
 terbuch (German Dictionary), of which 
 the first parts have made their appear- 
 ance, and which is continued with lau- 
 dable regularity and promptitude. No 
 dictionary was ever the fruit of profound- 
 er study or more comprehensive learning. 
 It is almost as valuable to the student of 
 the English as of the German language ; for 
 in revealing the occult sources of the one, it 
 casts the truest light upon the other. 
 
 — Die Wissenschaft des Staates, oder 
 die Lehre vom Lebensorganismus (The 
 Science of the State, or the Doctrine of 
 Living Organization), by P. C. Planta, a 
 Swiss gentleman, is an attempt to deduce 
 the true laws of society from those of exter- 
 nal nature, not to show that they are identi- 
 cal. but rather that they are harmonious, 
 and that from one the other may be in- 
 ferred. The first part treats of Man and 
 the Cosmos, the second of Society and the 
 State. Polarity is the fundamental prin- 
 ciple of all material and spiritual life. The 
 difference between human and annual life 
 consists in the fact, that man represents 
 every form of animal organization, and is 
 devoid of instinct, and must learn to am 
 for himself. The family is a product of 
 the polarity of male and female ; the state 
 of the same principle expressed psychologi- 
 cally in the idea of right, and physiologi- 
 cally in that of economy. The author op- 
 poses the Hegelian metaphysics. His book 
 is full of talent, and will be found inter- 
 esting by those who have time and taste 
 for such exceedingly abstract speculations. 
 
 — Interesting and valuable in every 
 point of view, to the antiquary, the stu- 
 dent of Biblical history, the geographer, 
 and the reader of travels, are the Briefe 
 aus Aegypten, Aethiopicn, unci der Hal- 
 binsel des Sinai (Letters from Egypt, 
 Ethiopia, and the Peninsula of Sinai), 
 by Richard Lepsius. The whole is con- 
 tained in a single volume, dedicated to 
 Alexander von Humboldt. The more 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 important resuxts .if the expedition sent 
 out in 1«42 by the Prussian Govern- 
 ment, with Lepsius at its head, are given 
 in the great work called Monuments from 
 Egypt and Ethiopia. That book is de- 
 voted, however, mainly to the hieroglyph- 
 ics, architecture, and topography of the 
 countries ; the present ope gives the per- 
 sonal history and adventures of the expe- 
 dition, narrates the circumstances under 
 which the various studies and observations 
 were made, and describes the' treasures of 
 art which it brought home ; and at the 
 same time abounds in suggestions and ex- 
 planations of high value to whoever de- 
 sires thoroughly to study -the antiquities, 
 the history, and even the present condi- 
 tion of these remarkable countries. The 
 volume contains thirty-nine letters, and an 
 appendix of annotations and explanatory 
 remarks. It will be followed by a sec- 
 ond, containing a variety of treatises on 
 points of Egyptian art and history, either 
 written during the expedition, or from 
 studies made by the author on the spot. 
 
 — Dr. Albrecht Weber has published 
 a volume of academical lectures on the 
 History of Indian Literature, of interest 
 to students of the Vedas and of Sanscrit, 
 but not to the general scholar, for whose 
 use mere translations are all that is re- 
 quired. Such a translation has been pub- 
 lished at Paris by M. Theodore Pavie. It 
 is of the tenth book of the Bhagavat Poura- 
 na, relating the history of Krichna, and 
 the substance of his doctrine. 
 
 — A book replete with German erudi- 
 tion. patience, and scholastic enthusiasm, is 
 Dr. K. B. Stark’s Gazaunddi Philistd- 
 ische Kuste (Gaza and the Philistine 
 Coast). We confess that we have turned 
 over its learned pages with new astonish- 
 ment at the devotion with which the human 
 mind can pursue the most difficult topic, 
 and the most remote from all immediate in- 
 terests. through the labyrinths of obscure 
 antiquity, and the misrepresentations of 
 centuries of ignorance, in order to estab- 
 lish some fact apparent^ of little import- 
 ance to the world at large. But scholars 
 know how to appreciate such achieve- 
 ments, and to such we cordially commend 
 this work. To students who seek to un- 
 derstand the inmost penetralia of classi- 
 cal and Biblical history it has a great 
 value. 
 
 — General Vox Radowitz has pub- 
 lished, under the title of Gesammelten 
 Schriftcn (Collected Writings), two vol- 
 umes, containing his speeches in the Par- 
 liament of Frankfort, with a disquisition 
 entitled Iconography of the Saints, and 
 another upon the Devices of Chivalry. 
 We always read Mr. Radowitz with a sort 
 of unpleasant suspicion that he is a char- 
 
1853.] 
 
 Editorial Notes — German Literature. 
 
 113 
 
 latan, which his undeniable ability, and 
 the affluence of learning whicli he mani- 
 fests. cannot entirely remove. In this 
 book the best part is the speeches, for they 
 are clear and plausible at least. The Ico- 
 nography of the Saints shows the mysti- 
 cal and queer side of the General’s mind, 
 the misfortune of which is, that if the au- 
 thor understands it himself, his readers 
 must often be doubtful what he is driv- 
 ing at. 
 
 — Since 1830, Frederic von Rau— 
 mer has published an annual of histori- 
 cal and political essays, by various au- 
 thors, under the title of Iiistorisches 
 Taschenbuch (Historical Pocket-Book). 
 The issue for 1853 contains five articles, 
 none of them by the editor. The first is 
 an account of Count Christopher von 
 Dohna ; the second, by Dr. Barthold, con- 
 tinues a curious history, begun last year, 
 of the religious movement of the Erweck- 
 ten (the Awaked), or pietists in Germany, 
 during the close of the 17th and the be- 
 ginning of the 18th century. These re- 
 ligionists taught that learning was com- 
 paratively useless, that regeneration was 
 an active process of repentance, despair, 
 and final hope in the divine grace, and 
 otherwise rebelled against the usages and 
 organization of the dogmatic, scholastic, 
 formal Protestantism which had grown up 
 after the death of Luther. Dr. Barthold’s 
 essay is written with great detail, and is 
 valuable rather for the professional stu- 
 dent than the general reader. Dr. Weber, 
 of Heidelberg, also continues the discus- 
 sion of Milton’s prose writings. Justice 
 is done to the manly heart and the noble 
 head of that glorious old champion of hu- 
 man rights. A curious chapter of Ger- 
 man aristocratic history is the biography 
 of Caroline, the great Landgravine of 
 Hesse, by Bopp, of Darmstadt. Moriz 
 Carriere contributes an article on the 
 History of Christian Art, which none but 
 a German could have written, and few 
 but Germans will read ; it is one of those 
 vast applications of philosophic formulas 
 which the Teutonic mind delights in, 
 but which require a translation into 
 language less abstract and general, in or- 
 der to be useful to the more practical stu- 
 dents of other nations. Mr. Carriere dis- 
 tinguishes the history of Christian art into 
 three periods, viz. : that of Myth, or Ec- 
 clesiasticality, that of World-actuality, and 
 that of Divine ( gottinnig ) Humanity ; and 
 then proceeds to demonstrate the truth of 
 this classification in a very rapid and com- 
 prehensive review of architecture, paint- 
 ing, music, sculpture, and poetry. 
 
 — Die Volks vertrelungen in Deutsch- 
 land’s Zukunft (Popular Representation 
 in Future Germany), is the title of a very 
 
 VOL. i. — 8. 
 
 stupid book by Mr. August Winter. It is 
 an attempt to construct a State on pretty 
 much the same method that the German 
 artist painted his famous camel, that is, 
 from his own moral consciousness and 
 original ideas. The various trades and 
 professions are to be organized in separate 
 guilds, and their head men are to form 
 legislative assemblies, rising from those of 
 the simple parish, through various hier- 
 archical degrees, up to an imperial parlia- 
 ment, while counts and princes fill the 
 aristocratic scale, and the king stands at 
 the summit of the whole. Democracy Mr. 
 Winter regards as proper in a very primi- 
 tive and savage state of society. 
 
 — A book akin to the Episodes of In- 
 sect Life, which last year gained such pop- 
 ularity in this country and England, is the 
 Skizzen aus der Pfianzen- und Thier- 
 welt , by Dr. Hermann Masius. With ex- 
 act scientific knowledge, as the foundation, 
 Dr. Masius has built up a structure in 
 which persons of every' age and class can 
 take delight as well as find instruction. 
 He is at once a savan, a lover of healthy, 
 happy nature, and an artist. The chapters 
 on Birds are especially attractive. A book 
 in English should be made not exactly of 
 it — for the parts which apply to German 
 birds and trees are not well adapted to 
 translation — but after it. 
 
 — Historical and ethnographic scholars 
 will find Dr. Wuttke’s Geschichte des 
 Ileidenthums (History of Heathendom) 
 worthy' their attention. The first volume, 
 which has alone been published, opens with 
 a survey of the first beginnings of history, 
 and of the development of savage nations, 
 and treats of the LIuns, the Mongols of 
 the middle-ages, the Mexicans, and Peruvi- 
 ans. With a great deal of learning and 
 of excellent sense, Dr. Wuttke fails not 
 to combine a due proportion of fleshless 
 and fantastic German speculation, quite 
 remote from the severity of true science. 
 His style is, however, a model of clearness 
 and elegance. 
 
 — The attempt has often been made to 
 reproduce antique life in modern romances, 
 and thus to give us an immediate concep- 
 tion of Greek or Roman society. No ef- 
 fort of this sort has ever been more suc- 
 cessful than Frederic Jacob’s Horaz und 
 seine Freunde (Horace and his Friends). 
 We heartily commend it to all who like to 
 take the results of almost boundless learn- 
 ing in the most agreeable way. It is at 
 once an interesting story, and a genuine 
 representation of the time it undertakes to 
 revive. 
 
 — Karl Gutzkow, one of the most con- 
 siderable romance writers now living in 
 Germany, has just published a volume of 
 autobiography, called Aus der Knaben- 
 
114 
 
 Editorial Notes — Scientific News. 
 
 zeit (From my Boyhood), which has some 
 charming passages, but generally has no 
 interest for American readers. 
 
 — Willibald Alexis, the writer of 
 sundry readable romances in the German 
 tongue, has lately completed a historical 
 novel, which he has for some time had 
 upon the anvil, by the publication of the 
 third, fourth, and fifth volumes. Its title 
 is Rake die erste B urgerpflicht (Tran- 
 quillity the Citizen’s First Duty). A just 
 critic says of it, that it is too historical 
 for a romance, and too romantic for a his- 
 tory. It is very good in parts, but poor 
 as a whole. 
 
 — A book full of life and spirit, and wor- 
 thy of a translation, is Julius Von Wick- 
 ede’s Aus deni Leben eines Tourislen 
 (From the Life of a Tourist). The writer, 
 a soldier by profession, has been pitched 
 about in France, Algiers, Schleswig-Hol- 
 stein, every where meets with adventures, 
 that he recounts in a lively, witty, dare- 
 devil strain, and with a turn for picturesque 
 description that render him a most agree- 
 able companion. 
 
 — Die B ruder aus Ungarn (The Hun- 
 garian Brothers), by A. Widmann, is a 
 historical novel, ostensibly of the time of 
 the Reformation and the Peasants’ War, 
 but really intended to expound the events 
 of the j'ears 1848 and ’49 in Germany, 
 and to enforce certain political doctrines 
 in that connection. Of course, the book 
 is a failure, though there are some charm- 
 ing little episodes woven into the story. 
 
 — A book which translators might find 
 their advantage in looking up, is Edmund 
 Hofer’s Geschichten (Tales), a volume 
 containing eight stories of popular life in 
 Germany, done with great truth to nature, 
 tblicity of invention, and poetic interest. 
 
 — A volume of Scenes Americaines 
 has just been issued for the benefit of the 
 French nation, by M. Charles Oliffe, 
 a traveller, who last year honored the 
 United States by his explorations. He 
 does not go very much into the great phi- 
 losophical, political, and economical ques- 
 tions which MM. Tocqueville and Cheva- 
 lier so elaborately discuss in connection 
 with the western republic, but devotes 
 himself rather to observations upon the 
 daily life and ordinary affairs of the Yan- 
 kees. .M. Oliffe is not a very great man, 
 to judge by his book, and we advise no 
 one to give way to sorrow if by chance 
 he is unable to get a sight at the Scenes 
 Americaines. 
 
 — A novel of Mexican life has lately 
 appeared at Paris, in one volume under 
 the title of Costal VIndien (Costal the 
 Indian), by M. G. Ferry. The author 
 perished in the conflagration of the steam- 
 er Amazon, which caused so melancholy a 
 
 [Jan, 
 
 loss to English letters in the death of 
 Eliot Warburton. The scene is laid in 
 the Mexican war of independence, and 
 Morelos, the famous patriot chieftain in 
 that war, plays a prominent part. The 
 hero of the book is an Indian of the Sierra 
 Madre, and the life of the time and coun- 
 try is depicted with a vigorous air of fidel- 
 ity, which we confide in the more readily 
 that M. Ferry is known as the author of 
 other trustworthy sketches of Spanish 
 American society and manners. 
 
 — Under the title of he Pays Latin 
 (The Latin Region), M. Henri Murger 
 has published at Paris a touching story, 
 which first appeared some year ago in 
 the Revue des Deux Mondes. It is an 
 episode in the life of a student at Paris, 
 wrought out by the author with a great 
 deal of feeling and artistic skill. Told of 
 any other persons than a Parisian student 
 and his mistress, the incidents would be 
 impossible , but here we have no doubt 
 of their truth to nature. Amid the 
 dreary desert of recent French novels 
 this one is worth reading. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 Elegant organisms in the Animal and 
 Vegetable kingdoms are constantly deve- 
 loped under the careful research of scien- 
 tific inquirers. A new genus of the family 
 of Volvocineas is described by Dr. Fred- 
 erick Cohn of Breslau. It was observed 
 by Dr. Von Frantzius, during his journey 
 to the Tyrol in 1850, that a green mucila- 
 ginous coloring of rain-water collected in 
 the hollow of a grave-stone at Salzburg : 
 the color being caused by the presence of 
 innumerable vesicles moving about like 
 Infusoria, each containing eight small 
 green globules arranged around the peri- 
 phery at regular distances, in other words, 
 the rare wheel-animalcule in a living state. 
 Acting upon this hint, Dr. Cohn instituted 
 a series of examinations in the highlands 
 of Silesia, with the view of ascertaining 
 the true nature of the organism. He ar- 
 rives at the conclusion, that all analogy of 
 structure and indications of natural rela- 
 tionship point to the fact that the Volvo- 
 cineae belong, not to the Animal kingdom, 
 but to the Vegetable, and that they should 
 be placed in the class of the Algae. The 
 formation of this genus is stated to be 
 very beautiful. 
 
 — A new Hemipterous insect, forming 
 the type of a new genus, is described by 
 Mr. Dallas. It is from Sylhet, forming 
 part of the collection made in that country 
 by Messrs. Colton and Turner. 
 
 — A report from Dr. Gray and Mr. 
 Waterhouse makes complaint of the 
 restricted accommodations of the Zoolo- 
 
1853.] 
 
 Editorial Notes — Scientific News. 
 
 115 
 
 gical department of the British Museum. 
 The Ostcological collection is large and 
 important, and contains valuable speci- 
 mens which have not yet been described. 
 
 — The British Museum of Practical 
 Geology has commenced its second session, 
 under very favorable auspices. The inau- 
 gural lecture was delivered by Dr. Lyon 
 Playfair, who made some striking com- 
 ments upon the state of industrial instruc- 
 tion on the Continent. The British Gov- 
 ernment has established, in this Museum, 
 a School of Mining and of education in 
 the application of Science to the Arts, 
 which cannot fail to exercise a beneficial 
 influence in popularizing scientific prob- 
 lems, and elevating the standard of public 
 sentiment in regard to the pursuit of sci- 
 entific investigations. The Course of 
 Lectures for the present season will com- 
 prise forty-eight discourses on Chemistry, 
 by Dr. Playfair ; forty-eight on Metal- 
 lurgy, by Dr. Percy ; thirty-six on Me- 
 chanical Science, by Mr. R. Hunt ; forty 
 on Geology, by Mr. A. C. Ramsay ; forty- 
 eight on Natural History, by Mr. E. 
 Forbf.s ; and seventy-six on Mineralogy 
 and Mining, by Mr. W. W. Smyth. 
 
 — An interesting paper on the mode of 
 vegetation of European and North Ameri- 
 can trees transported to Madeira, has ap- 
 peared from the pen of Prof. Oswald Heer 
 of Zurich. Prof. Heer is distinguished for 
 his valuable observations on the Botanical 
 Geography of the Swiss mountains. Com- 
 pelled by ill health to reside for a time at 
 Madeira, he employed his leisure in inves- 
 tigations of the growth of plants in that 
 equable climate. It was found that the 
 Platanus occidentalism a native of the 
 United States, loses its leaves very slowly 
 after the middle of October, and that the 
 Apple and Pear begin to be leafless in 
 December. Both these latter come into 
 flower at Funchal by the 7th of April, 
 and their fruit is collected in August. 
 There are, however, varieties of apple and 
 pear trees which flower and produce fruit 
 twice during the year ; and one variety of 
 apple is perpetually in flower and fruit. 
 Peach trees continue blooming in abun- 
 dance during December and January. 
 
 — Mr. Macadam communicates some ob- 
 servations regarding the General Distri- 
 bution of Iodine, resulting from statements 
 made by M. Chatin before the French 
 Academy of Sciences. M. Chatin is of 
 opinion that there is an appreciable quan- 
 tity of Iodine in rain water, in the atmos- 
 phere, and in soils ; and that the relative 
 amount present in any one locality deter- 
 mines to a great extent the presence or 
 absence of certain diseases. In what he 
 styles the Paris zone, the quantity of 
 iodine present in the water, the atmos- 
 
 phere and the soil, is comparatively great 
 and hence there is an absence of goitre 
 and cretinism. In the zone corresponding 
 to that of the Valleys of the Alps, the 
 amount of iodine has diminished to one- 
 tenth of that found in the Paris zone ; 
 and accordingly, — according to this hypo- 
 thesis, — the diseases named are there 
 found to be endemic. Mr. Macadam, in 
 order to test the truth of these specula- 
 tions, has recently undertaken a series of 
 analyses in reference to the general distri- 
 bution of iodine. His investigations were 
 prosecuted in Edinburgh, and, though not 
 determinate as to the results indicated by 
 Chatin, pointed out these important 
 facts : — 1. That the quantity of Iodine in 
 the atmosphere is frequently too minute 
 for detection by the ordinary methods of 
 testing. 2. That Iodine is more generally 
 distributed in the Vegetable Kingdom 
 than has formerly been supposed ; as is 
 proved by its presence in potashes and by 
 the discovery of distinct traces in the 
 lixivium of charcoal. 3. That traces of 
 bromine are to be found in crude potashes. 
 
 — The relation between the Height of 
 Waves and their Distance from the Wind- 
 ward Shore, has been made the subject of 
 inquiry by Mr. Thos. Stevenson, C. E. 
 Mr. Stevenson, in designing a sea-work, 
 experienced the usual difficulty of engi- 
 neers in discovering the lino of maximum 
 exposure to the force of the waves, and 
 was led to make a course of observations, 
 extending through two years, upon the 
 Frith of Forth and the Moray Frith. His 
 results are not yet satisfactorily establish- 
 ed, but he directs attention to the prose- 
 cution of inquiries which can be perfected 
 only by multiplied trials. So far as the 
 observations have extended, the plain re- 
 sult is indicated, that the waves seem to 
 increase in height most nearly in the ratio 
 of the square root of their distance from 
 the windward shore. The subject is an 
 important one. 
 
 — The coloring of the Green Teas of com- 
 merce is a topic which has been very gene- 
 rally discussed, but with little good. A 
 new series of microscopical and chemical 
 investigations has lately been instituted by 
 Mr. Robert Warrington. Specimens 
 submitted to examination were found to be 
 colored with indigo mixed wntli porcelain- 
 clay, the indigo being of very inferior quali- 
 ty and leaving a large proportion of inorga- 
 nic matter by calcination. A method for 
 removing the coloring matter from the 
 surface of green teas, for the purpose of 
 microscopical investigation, attended with 
 little trouble, is to take a piece of cream- 
 colored woven paper, free from blue 
 coloring material, rendering the surface 
 slightly damp, and to place a small quan- 
 
116 
 
 Editorial Notes — Scientific Neios. 
 
 tity of the tea upon it. The coloring 
 substance will adhere to the paper in small 
 quantities, and may then be placed under 
 the microscope, or submitted to the action 
 of chemical tests. 
 
 — The return of two of the Arctic Ex- 
 peditions to England has given rise to 
 renewed speculations regarding the fate 
 of Sir John Franklin. At the last 
 meeting of the Royal Geographical So- 
 ciety, Capt. Kennedy and Capt. Penny 
 were present, the former of whom gave a 
 succinct and interesting description of the 
 route he pursued and the results he had 
 obtained. The Prince Albert , under the 
 command of Capt. Kennedy, sailed from 
 Aberdeen on the 22d of May, 1851, and 
 penetrated to Leopold Island, on the 
 northeast extremity of North Somerset 
 on the 4th of September. From Leopold 
 Island to the northern shore, a continuous 
 line of densely-packed ice was seen bar- 
 ring Barrows’ Straits from side to side. 
 The original intention of exploring to 
 Cape Riley and the entrance of Lancaster 
 Sound was frustrated by the continuance 
 of the ice in compact fields; but Capt. 
 Kennedy, with a few men, finally suc- 
 ceeded in reaching Whaler Point, on 
 which were placed the stores deposited at 
 Port Leopold by Sir James Ross. The 
 party were detained at this point until 
 the 27th of May. Their absence from 
 the ship continued for ninety-six consecu- 
 tive days, during which time they travelled 
 a distance of 1100 miles. The results of 
 this exploration, though not satisfactory 
 as regards indications of the route of the 
 missing navigator, are important as proof 
 that he could not have visited the locali- 
 ties described by Capt. Kennedy. Capt. 
 Inglefield, commander of the Isabel, 
 the vessel fitted out mainly from the re- 
 sources of Lady Franklin, has had no 
 better fortune. The labors of Capt. 
 Kennedy have served one useful purpose, 
 in the discovery of a passage from Regent 
 Inlet into the Victoria Channel of Rae, 
 proving the existence of a northwest 
 passage along the coast of North America, 
 actually effected by modern navigators. 
 It is noticeable that the British public re- 
 gard with evident satisfaction the efforts 
 which have been put forth in the same 
 direction by American enterprise. The 
 Geographical Society recommends a Gov- 
 ernment Expedition to the Arctic Seas in 
 conjunction with vessels belonging to the 
 United States. 
 
 — M. Elie de Beaumont, in his first 
 Memoir on the Mountain Systems of 
 Europe, read before the Paris Acade- 
 my in June, 1829, indicated the exist- 
 ence of four systems. Soon after, he 
 increased the number to nine ; then to 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 twelve; and, latterly, to twenty-one. In 
 a recent communication, he considers the 
 probabilities of a still further extension, 
 and expresses the belief that if the study 
 of this department of Geology is continued, 
 the number of systems will exceed one 
 hundred. The subject has been investigat- 
 ed with much care by Agassiz, Guyot. 
 and others beside M. De Beaumont, so that 
 new developments will be likely to bring 
 out important considerations. 
 
 — A Meteorological Society has been 
 formed at the Mauritius, under the aus- 
 pices of the Government. It proposes to 
 collect all possible information in regard 
 to that colony and its surrounding waters. 
 
 — Sir Charles Lyell has completed 
 his visit to this country, and returned 
 home. The object of this second visit 
 from the distinguished geologist is under 
 stood to be, beside the delivery of lectures 
 on his favorite science, the examination 
 of the Geology of some extensile tracts 
 in the United States and Canada, of which 
 we may expect soon to see accounts from 
 his popular pen. 
 
 — The preparation of the American Nau- 
 tical Almanac, to be issued under the sanc- 
 tion of the Navy Department, has been so 
 far advanced as to warrant the speedy pub- 
 lication of the first number of that work. 
 The calculations are made for the year 
 1855. The Almanac is prepared under 
 the superintendence of Lieut. C. Id. Davis, 
 U. S. N., who is assisted by Lieut. Maury 
 of the National Observatory, and other 
 gentlemen of scientific knowledge and 
 high reputation. A number of improve- 
 ments over the English publication of the 
 same character are introduced. 
 
 — The Sixth Annual Report of the 
 Smithsonian Institution, just issued from 
 the press, shows a liberal encouragement 
 of scientific explorations and researches 
 by the Government. The Institution has 
 recently established a very complete sys- 
 tem of Meteorological observations, the re- 
 sults of which will be valuable additions 
 to the stock of our knowledge on that im- 
 portant subject. 
 
 — M. Brown Lequard, a Member of 
 the French Academy, and at present lec- 
 turing in Boston, has succeeded in re- 
 exciting the irritability, or restoring life 
 to the muscles of the human subject, 
 by injections of blood. The circum- 
 stances which favor the transfusion are, 
 that the blood be freshly drawn (al- 
 though it is capable of producing the 
 effect when an hour old), and that the 
 injections be repeated every two or three 
 hours. The effect is produced even when 
 the blood used has been deprived of its 
 fibrine. When the substance of a muscle 
 is removed from the body and injected 
 
Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 1853.] 
 
 with chloroform, it assumes great rigidity, 
 and, after the interval of several days, so 
 far retains its irritability as to respond to 
 the stimulus of blood. Most of the ex- 
 periments were made after the process of 
 decomposition had commenced, and in one 
 case, ten days had elapsed from the period 
 of the natural death. A much larger 
 quantity of blood was required than 
 when the interval was less. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 In domestic musical matters the present 
 excitement is Madame Sontag’s promised 
 appearance in opera. It must be confessed 
 that her career in this country has been 
 conducted with great skill. Men like 
 Barnum do not live in vain. The manager 
 of the Sontag Concerts has benefited by 
 the experience of the Jenny Lind, and, 
 with admirable tact, having less available 
 power to compel attention, he has so va- 
 ried his appeal as always to attract it. 
 Nothing more happily illustrates the va- 
 lue of management than the different suc- 
 cess of Alboni and Sontag in this country. 
 The first has all the prestige of a fresh, rich, 
 aDd unequalled voice, and of a peculiar 
 and acknowledged European fame.' She 
 is also a rarely accomplished artist, with 
 a languid heroism that does not shrink 
 from coping with the most intricate diffi- 
 culties of her art. and mastering them 
 with regal ease. She lias, moreover, a 
 quality of voice that is always captivating, 
 smooth, luscious and sympathetic, and 
 the charms of youth, and of a frank and 
 unaffected demeanor, range themselves 
 upon her side. The voice of the other is 
 long past its prime ; it is hard, and wiry, 
 and weak. The bloom and richness are 
 gone, and the fame of Sontag is historical. 
 She, also, is a rare artist; but it is the 
 trick of study. Whatever the impression 
 of her singing maj r once have been, it is 
 now that of an elaborate and artificial 
 elegance. It is the Countess Rossi, sing- 
 ing as countesses should sing. It is un- 
 exceptionably lady-like, and the remark 
 of a friend was a characteristic and appro- 
 priate criticism. How delightful it is,” 
 said she, as she looked around her at 
 Sontag’s Second Concert, “ to be in the 
 midst of stylish toilettes again !” That 
 is the fair feeling. To hear Sontag sing 
 is to be in good society. White kids are 
 de rigeur. She must be heard en grand, 
 tenue , in full dress, nothing less satisfies 
 the sense of propriety. But time is against 
 the lady, cunningly as she parries him ; 
 and the prestige of youth, which was al- 
 ways so persuasive an appeal to public 
 favor, inclines to the contralto rather than 
 to the soprano. 
 
 Yet there is no comparison of success. 
 
 117 
 
 Sontag has carried the town. Alboni, 
 after the first gush of curiosity, failed to 
 fill the hall. And the reason of the dif- 
 ference lies, as we said, solely in the man- 
 agement. The genius of advertising, and 
 of various other means of catching the 
 public eye — not unknown to the initiated 
 — has been lavished upon one, but it has 
 been only carelessly and lightly employed 
 by the other. Sontag, too, has deserved 
 success, by the admirable array of other 
 musical talent than her own, which she 
 lias constantly presented. A large and 
 effective orchestra, led by a master, — a 
 colossal and carefully drilled chorus, as 
 occasion required, — an exquisite tenor, for 
 such we have found Pozzolini to be, — 
 Badiali, our best of baritones, and Rocco, 
 a bisso, who is not a mere buffoon, — 
 Paul Julien, a boy whose age and genius 
 recall the youth of Mozart,— and, with 
 these artists, a selection of music indicating 
 the utmost care to consult the best, and 
 the most popular, and most various tastes. 
 These have combined to give Madame 
 Sontag’s concerts a just eminence in our 
 musical annals, and all these have been 
 wanting in the concerts of Madame Al- 
 boni. If, as we hear, the latter artist feels 
 a little aggrieved, as if the American pub- 
 lic did not appreciate her, she should re- 
 member that the concerts which preceded 
 her own in Metropolitan Hall were those 
 of Jenny Lind, in which Salvi, Badiali, 
 Goldschmidt, Burke, and a noble orchestra, 
 took part. No weak hand can hope to 
 raise the sword of Achilles, and exquisite 
 as is Alboni’s singing, and beautiful and 
 rare as her voice, yet Alboni only, clogged 
 by Rovere and Arditi, had no right to 
 expect the success she had not challenged. 
 Her last concerts, we are sorry to say. 
 were not very fully attended. The great 
 singer herself was always delightedly 
 greeted and heard, and there is a sweet 
 and pensive elegance in San Giovanni’s 
 tenor, that, in a parlor, would be admi- 
 rable, but is lost in a hall. But how was 
 the audience to dispose of the dreary 
 tracts upon the programme devoted to 
 M. Arditi and his “works,” and to the 
 musical ranting of M. Rovere ? It was 
 hoped that Alboni might be included in 
 the opera arrangement. Then, with Son- 
 tag, Alboni, Salvi, Badiali, Pozzolini, and 
 Rocco, we could have snapped our fingers 
 at “ Her Majesty’s,” and the “ Salle Ven- 
 tadour.” But it is not to be, we learn. 
 Yet we reserve the right of not being sur- 
 prised if it should so happen, for we have 
 learned that if there be any thing in our 
 uncertain life especially uncertain, it is the 
 vows of singers , and if there be any thing 
 especially certain, it is immortal discord 
 among musicians. 
 
118 
 
 Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 We have already had the pleasure of 
 hearing Sontag in opera. It was during 
 the second season of her renaissance in 
 London. She sang in the Tempest a , 
 a musical travesty of Shakspeare by Ha- 
 levy, — a composer even more destitute of 
 melody than Meyerbeer, — and which ran 
 a brief and spasmodic career, and then 
 died away from human consideration en- 
 tirely, as it deserved. Her debut in La 
 Figlia del Reggimento. we also saw. It 
 was very careful, and scholarly, and lady- 
 like. The singer deployed all the con- 
 ventional grace of high society in render- 
 ing the character. The rude, wild charm 
 of the part was not in her delineation. 
 It was a stfldy in a certain style, not an 
 individual appreciation and treatment. 
 It was like private theatricals, not the 
 dramatic art. Yet with what consum- 
 mate skill she sang! How carefully, 
 how well ! All was as finished as a Parian 
 vase. It was like a rose-wood musicai- 
 box perfectly in tune. Every thing was 
 precise and true. The force of cultivation 
 could go no farther. Our despair was 
 that of Pygmalion before his statue. 
 You can easily infer from the character- 
 istics of Sontag in the concert-room what 
 she will be upon the stage. In respect 
 of high lyrical dramatic genius, it will 
 be what the charming Countess in perfect 
 toilette is to the noble ideal of woman. 
 We shall all be pleased, delighted. There 
 will be graceful propriety of action, a 
 certain dainty archness m Rosina, irre- 
 proachable tournure and coiffure — a dex- 
 terous evasion of difficulties, the best 
 possible presentation of voice, and a de- 
 ferential assumption of success, to which 
 we shall be only too happy to accede. 
 We shall all be elegantly dressed in the 
 boxes ; our flowers and jewels will flash 
 and thrill responsive to hers. We shall 
 be a brilliant circle, and as clever in the 
 entr' 1 actes as we' can manage. We shall 
 indulge freely in our foreign musical re- 
 miniscences, and allow generously that, 
 on the whole, this is not so bad. Silk, 
 satin, lace, kid, mille-jleurs, and moelle de 
 bosuf. will have it all their own way on 
 the stage and in the boxes. It will be 
 an epoch. We shall date from the Sontag 
 opera ; and if an exquisite singer, and an 
 estimable lady retains golden remem- 
 brances of the time, we shall all be glad 
 of it. Yet, meanwhile, as we put on our 
 rose-colored opera-cloaks in the wardrobe, 
 let us whisper timidly to each other, that 
 the great genius which makes an immor- 
 tal name by touching our deepest feelings 
 and holiest admirations, is not described 
 by the terms that truly criticise Sontag. 
 
 Both she and Alboni have delighted 
 Boston. Alboni. indeed, “ inaugurated ” 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 the new Music Hall in that city, of which 
 the Bostonians are justly proud, and she 
 is now making her Southern progress. 
 Sontag’s " festival concerts ” succeeded 
 well, but not so pointedly as to justify 
 the extra expense, and her two last even- 
 ings in the city were of the usual character 
 and without the chorus. The attendance 
 and the satisfaction continued unabated to 
 the last. Madame Sontag is now at the 
 South. In our next we shall chronicle her 
 operatic success, which we hold to be be- 
 yond question. 
 
 Madame Bishop has tried the experi- 
 ment of English opera at Niblo’s during 
 the autumn. It cannot be called success- 
 fill. English versions of familiar Italian 
 operas rarely succeed with a public 
 slightly cloyed with them in the original. 
 In the present instance they were brought 
 forward without sufficient care and study. 
 The best part of the experiment was 
 Flotow’s Martha , a recent German 
 opera, founded upon a characteristic inci- 
 dent of English life, and worked up with 
 popular effect in much agreeable, if not 
 very original, music. Martha was first 
 produced at Vienna in the winter of 
 1847-8, and had a marked success. It 
 was instantly mounted upon every stage 
 in Germany, and, finally, after much re- 
 sistance from the serious and jealous 
 Prussians, it was brought out at the 
 Royal Opera in Berlin. We had the 
 fortune of “ assisting” at the first repre- 
 sentation. The composer was in the 
 stage-box, and, so bitter is the difference 
 of taste in art between the Viennese and 
 the Berliners, that it was by no means a 
 success assured in advance. But the 
 lively^ and simple interest of the plot, and 
 the really genial and sympathetic music 
 soon found their way to the popular heart, 
 and the curtain fell amidst very hearty ap- 
 plause and a unanimous call for the 
 composer, who bowed his acknowledg- 
 ments from his box. Some of those as- 
 tute censors, the musical critics, charged 
 savagely upon the opera in the feuilletons 
 of the next morning’s papers, calling it 
 “ dance-music,” and fit for the superficial 
 Vienna taste, but by no means satisfac- 
 tory 7 to the severe purity of the Berlin 
 standard. Martha, however, held its own, 
 and became one of the standard operas of 
 the house. The overture has been played 
 at Sontag’s concerts, and upon other oc- 
 casions, and is a pleasing compromise 
 between the flashing French and grave 
 German schools. The movement has the 
 vivacity of the former, and the forms of 
 the melodies belong to the latter. The 
 successful representation of the opera, 
 however, requires a geniality which nei- 
 ther Madame Bishop nor her troupe 
 
Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 119 
 
 1853.] 
 
 possess. It must go with unanimous 
 spirit, or, like all cheerful intentions of 
 the kind, it becomes a little dreary. 
 
 Mr. William II. Fry’s musical lectures 
 are the most remarkable event of the 
 season. Their scope is so generous and 
 catholic, and their intention so good, that 
 we are happy to record an unequivocal 
 success. The conception of the under- 
 taking implies a kind of genius. To pre- 
 sent a historical, aesthetical, scientific, and 
 critical review of music in the compass of 
 ten lectures, and so to distribute this huge 
 material, as to leave some marked and 
 permanent impression upon the public 
 mind, is certainly an imperial prospectus. 
 We speak the truth in saying that the 
 promise has been kept. Mr. Fry’s course 
 is now in course of weekly delivery. 
 Metropolitan Hall is thronged every Tues- 
 day evening, to hear his descriptions and 
 exegesis of various styles of music in all 
 times and countries. The song Blondel 
 sang to captive Richard in the Austrian 
 tower, Chinese lullabies, Hindoo lyrics 
 and Egyptian chants, whatever is old 
 and characteristic, quaint and interest- 
 ing, down to the colossal times of the 
 oratorio, and the softer days of opera — 
 even to that blending of the two, Rossini’s 
 Stabat Mater , which was performed en- 
 tire, all these are presented.under Sir. Fry’s 
 auspices, with good solo-singers, and a 
 chorus of two hundred voices, and with a 
 success commensurate to the design. Of 
 course in such an undertaking there 
 will be a great difference of interest in the 
 parts. Some may be apparently too 
 elementary, others too abstruse. Many 
 of the illustrations may seein tedious, 
 many commonplace. But these are things 
 incident to the character of Mr. Fry’s 
 work. It is not a concert intended solely 
 to please, nor a dry explanation aiming 
 only to instruct, but it is, on the whole, 
 the most skilful, and by far the most 
 successful union of the various kinds com- 
 prised in the scope of his intention, that 
 we now recall. Mr. Fry has shown him- 
 self in these lectures, thoroughly compe- 
 tent to write such a history of Music as 
 has not yet been attempted. How gladly 
 would we rank among the many imposing 
 proofs that America is not callous to the 
 deepest persuasions of art, a comprehen- 
 sive history of Music written by one of 
 the most American of Americans. 
 
 The concerts of the two great singers 
 have not interfered with the steadily 
 growing and constantly deserved success 
 of the Philharmonic Society, whose first 
 concert this season at Niblo’s Saloon, in- 
 troduced us to Gade’s “ Ossian,” and was 
 among the best of their many memorable 
 evenings. Eisfeld’s Quartette Soirees of 
 
 Chamber music — a Cliapel-of-ease to the 
 great Cathedral of the Philharmonic — 
 have commenced their third season auspi- 
 ciously. They are altogether worthy the 
 attention of lovers of genuine German 
 music, presented in the most careful and 
 effective manner. 
 
 The recent musical careers in this 
 country have suggested the inquiry 
 whether the concert will not take the 
 place of the opera among us. It is cer- 
 tainly evident that there is no opera- 
 enthusiasm sufficient to erect a suitable 
 house, although we have Sontag with us 
 ready to sing in it, and although letters 
 have been received from Grisi, Mario, and 
 the other greatest European celebrities, 
 inquiring about the prospects and chances 
 of an opera. We have no doubt of the 
 success of a cheap opera, if it comprised 
 the best vocal and instrumental talent in 
 the world. But it must be managed by 
 some Barnum, who thoroughly compre- 
 hends the genius of our public, and not by 
 disappointed and incompetent managers 
 from Europe, stiff-necked with stale opera- 
 tic traditions of management which, even 
 in Europe, cannot keep the opera alive. 
 The opera to succeed in America, must be, 
 like every thing else, Americanized. 
 
 In Europe there is little interest in the 
 musical reports. There are no signs of 
 any new great singers, nor of any new 
 great opera. The huge shadow of some 
 of Meyerbeer’s coining events is, of 
 course, cast upon musical rumor. The 
 mountain is laboring ; but its gestation 
 is so prolonged. In England the3 r have 
 been singing Mendelssohn’s Christus , 
 and Spohr’s Last Judgment , upon 
 occasion of the Duke’s death. But no 
 new singers of note took part. Madame 
 Anna Zerr continues to sing the music of 
 Mozart’s Magic Flute at Julien’s Con- 
 certs, and earns great praise there- 
 by. The range is so peculiar that no 
 one else can sing it, and Madame Anna 
 will therefore probably continue its per- 
 formance. M. Julien, who gives monster 
 promenade concerts in London, and gilds 
 for the cockneys the prodigious pill of 
 Beethoven by the most irresistible pol- 
 kas and “ Grand-Exhibition-of-all-Na- 
 tions” waltzes, mazurkas and redo was, 
 in which the Chinese gong struggles in 
 deadly warfare with the Dorian flutes and 
 voice of soft recorders, and over which — 
 serene in flamboyant waistcoat — presides 
 imperial Julien fiddling music out of the 
 chaos, is coming to New-York to fiddle 
 money out of our pockets. He will do 
 it. We can no more avoid it than the 
 “gents” of Drury-lane can resist his 
 waistcoats. Let us ''come down ” in ad- 
 vance and lay the keys at the feet of the 
 
120 
 
 Editorial Notes — Fine Arts. 
 
 conquering Jtilien. He will give us — and 
 all honor to him for it — Beethoven, Haydn 
 and Mozart, with a colossal orchestra, 
 and no clap-trap performance, but a 
 genuine matter. He will interweave a 
 lighter music so daintily, that our feet will 
 insensibly glide from the solemn march- 
 es of the great masters to the airy pul- 
 sations of Strauss, and Lanner, and Ju- 
 lien himself. He will do all this at a 
 cheap rate, and the cavillers at the two 
 and three dollar reserved seats, will fall 
 into charmed silence as Julien reveals his 
 unutterable waistcoat, and proffers them 
 Paradise for a shilling. We record our 
 fealty in advance. 
 
 The French papers mourn over the 
 small prospect at the Italian Opera. 
 The engagements for the season are 
 Cruvelli, Vera, and Bertrandi, for so- 
 prani, and Borghi-Mamo for contralto. 
 The tenors “ threatened ” are Bellini and 
 Negrini, and for basso, our old friend 
 Belletti, Marini (who used to dress Ber- 
 tram at Astor Place, like Mumbo J umbo ) 
 and Valli. Of the names upon this list, 
 Belletti is always sure and good, and 
 Cruvelli, judging from foreign report, had 
 a chance of the greatest success, which 
 she seems to be squandering by careless- 
 ness and laziness. The Emperor Louis, 
 to keep matters along, paj^s £4000 for 
 his box for the season. 
 
 In Italy there is a new opera at Genoa, 
 Fiorina , which is well mentioned. Barbi- 
 ere-Nini is singing acceptably in Rome ; 
 and we learn from that city, that our 
 countryman, Crawford, has received from 
 Boston an order for a bronze statue of 
 Beethoven, for the Music Hall there. 
 
 THE FINE ARTS. 
 
 The utter extinction of the American 
 Art-Union, by a decision of our courts, has 
 had a temporarily depressing effect upon 
 the cause of Art in this country. But so 
 vital a principle as the love of art is not 
 to be extinguished by the demolition of 
 any institution. The love of art remains, 
 and those who minister to it are not weak- 
 ened in their energies. Pictures will con- 
 tinue to be painted, and statues chiselled, 
 now that the Art-Union has ceased to ex- 
 ist, as they were before that institution 
 was organized. We were never well satis- 
 fied that Art-Unionism was a healthy and 
 sound principle ; it was too direct an in- 
 terference with the principle of laissez 
 faire. which is as essential to a vigorous 
 and healthy development of genius in art 
 as in every thing else. So that we have 
 no tears to shed over the destruction of the 
 
 [Jan. 
 
 Art-Union, while we are very far from ap- 
 proving of the means by which the ruin of 
 that, our only institution for the encourage- 
 ment of art in the United States, was ac- 
 complished. Our artists will now be 
 compelled to depend upon chance visitors 
 to their studios, and the Annual Exhibi- 
 tion, for purchasers of their pictures ; and 
 we do not much doubt but they will be 
 better off in consequence. They will work 
 better, and, generally, find more discrimi- 
 nating customers than they have done the 
 past five years. 
 
 The pictures of the Art-Union, which were 
 to have been distributed last year to the 
 members, were sold, on the 15th and 16th, 
 at auction, for the benefit of all concerned. 
 We believe it has not yet been determined 
 what use shall be made of the Art-Union 
 Galleries in Broadway ; but it would be a 
 very great pity for such admirable exhibi- 
 tion rooms not to be employed in some 
 way for the promotion of art. We be- 
 lieve that the managers of the Art-Union 
 have entertained an idea of keeping the 
 galleries open as an exhibition and sales- 
 room for works of art of various kinds. 
 This would be an excellent plan, no doubt ; 
 something of the kind is needed — an art- 
 ist’s exchange, or market-house, where 
 their productions might be seen by the 
 public, and purchased. It is a rather dif- 
 ficult matter for our Medici, who would 
 be glad enough to act the part of patron, 
 to discover all the “ studios” and “ateliers” 
 of our rising artists; and the National 
 Academy opens its galleries but once 
 a year. But a better use to which the 
 Art-Union rooms can be put, is to make 
 them a school of design for artists. There 
 is nothing that we so much need as prac- 
 tical artists, to create designs for our fine- 
 art manufactures. Millions of dollars are 
 annually sent to France, to pay for little 
 artistic knick-knacks, which might easily 
 be produced here. The English have 
 opened them eyes to the importance of en- 
 couraging their fine-art manufactures, and. 
 by the establishment of national schools 
 of design, have already done much for the 
 cause in all parts of the kingdom. The 
 appropriation of one hundred thousand 
 pounds, by Parliament, fifteen years ago, 
 for the establishment of schools of design, 
 has been ten times repaid by the benefit 
 conferred upon their fine-art manufactures. 
 Our Free Academy has made a small 
 effort in this matter ; but it requires the 
 aid of the Government, either of the State 
 or nation, to do any tiring on a sufficiently 
 liberal scale to be of any permanent 
 benefit. 
 

 
 
 
 
PUTNAM’S MONTHLY. 
 
 % Utaijajme of fteatm, Science, att^lr %xt 
 
 VOL. I.— FEBRUARY 1853.— NO. II. 
 
 NEW- YORK D AGUERREOTYPED. * 
 
 GROUP first: 
 
 BUSINESS-STREETS, MERCANTILE BLOCKS, STORES, AND BANKS 
 “Rose like an exhalation.” — Milton. 
 
 O NE of the most charming stories in 
 “ the Arabian Night’s Entertain- 
 ments ” tells us how Aladdin, rising from 
 his bed in the morning and looking out 
 of the window, sees the stately and gorge- 
 ous palace which the Genii had erected 
 for him during the preceding night, glit- 
 tering in the sunlight with its jewelled 
 walls and pinnacles, on a spot which the 
 day before had been a barren plain. 
 
 To us, who in more modern times and 
 in a more practical age, look at the City 
 of New-York through our editorial win- 
 dows, and recall by the aid of History 
 the barren plain, the marshy hollows, and 
 the stony slopes which but yesterday, as 
 it were, offended the eyes that are now 
 delighted by her growing magnificence, 
 the story of Aladdin seems hardly a 
 fable. And indeed, what has romance 
 to offer us which does not fade before 
 the reality ? At the call of the For- 
 tunate Child, the Genius of the Lamp 
 brought the treasures of the earth and 
 laid them at his feet. No wish of his 
 heart, however wild, remained unfulfill- 
 ed ; at his command space dwindled to a 
 footstep, time became an inappreciable 
 point, the rough earth sparkled with gems 
 like solid dew-drops, the walls of his ca- 
 bin, coarser than the shell of the chrysalis, 
 were folded in Indian shawls and embroi- 
 dered muslins, more gorgeous than the 
 rarest moth, and all common vessels and 
 
 utensils, turned to gold and silver, like the 
 gray twilight clouds beneath the shafts of 
 the setting sun. By night also, a magic 
 realm was created for him, and though 
 there were neither moon nor star, yet a 
 myriad lamps sparkled from unseen 
 sources, filling the enchanted groves and 
 gardens, which had risen unseen, unplant- 
 ed, at his word, “ as with the quintessence 
 of flame,” while he himself, but yesterday 
 the poorest boy in Bagdad, now walks un- 
 abashed before princes, and bestows fa- 
 vors, passing the wealth of kings, upon 
 the great and noble. 
 
 Yet this story which dazzled our child- 
 hood’s eyes with unimaginable splendors, 
 grows daily tamer and tamer, before the 
 passing wonders of the days in which we 
 live. We also are Aladdins, and for us 
 the Genii of the lamp are working. For 
 us too the farthest Indian shores and the 
 Eastern isles yield their treasures gladly, 
 gold, frankincense and myrrh, diamonds 
 and pearls, rubies, chrysopras and car- 
 buncle ; shawls whose threads are pre- 
 cious, and whose colors feast the eye with 
 woven sunsets, carpets in which the foot 
 sinks as in moss, perfumes that load the 
 winter air with summer, vases in whose 
 lucid clay the furnace-heat seems to have 
 developed the seeds of unearthly flowers, 
 and dainties which make our democratic 
 tables, groan with the profusion of Lucul- 
 lus and the splendor of A1 Raschid. 
 
 * This paper is the first of a series in which we propose to give a rapid glance, at the progress of New- 
 York and its architecture. The present article, in addition to a general outline of the subject, commences a 
 notice of the business district of the city. The succeeding papers will revert to this topic, and discuss the Ho- 
 tels and Restaurants; the Churches; the Colleges and Schools; the Benevolent Institutions; the places of 
 Amusement, and the Public Buildings generally; and also the private houses, and the domestic life of the 
 commercial metropolis. These will be followed by similar papors on Boston, Philadelphia, and other places. 
 Theso papers are illustrated with engravings from Daguerreotypes, and drawings with one or two exceptions 
 made expressly for this purpose. 
 
 VOL. I. — 9 
 
122 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 The home reader does not need to be 
 informed that New- York city is not 
 wholly ideally magnificent. The foreign- 
 er, whose eye may happen to glance over 
 these pages, will perhaps smile at the 
 dazzling nature of the comparison which 
 the introductory paragraphs would seem 
 to institute. That comparison, however, 
 holds good more with regard to the ra- 
 pidity with which New-York has grown, 
 than to her actual attainments in splen- 
 dor, great as they unmistakably are. 
 The energy of her sons, aided by their 
 immense and increasing wealth, has suc- 
 cessfully commenced the work of lining 
 her streets with structures of stone and 
 marble worthy of her pretensions as 
 the metropolis of the Union ; while 
 her magnificent and unique geographical 
 position secures the steady and rapid pro- 
 gress of the already enormous commerce 
 which is daily drawing the wealth of the 
 Indies to her warehouses. All this, too, 
 in spite of the mean and unsuitable docks 
 and markets, the filthy streets, the farce 
 of a half-fledged and inefficient police, 
 and the miserably bad government, 
 generally, of an unprincipled common- 
 council, in the composition of which ignor- 
 ance, selfishness, impudence, and greedi- 
 ness seem to have an equal share t That a 
 great city like this should still grow and 
 prosper under such rulers, is a fact which 
 goes to show that even bad government 
 may be only relatively mischievous. When 
 New-York rouses herself — shakes olf this 
 incubus, chooses honest and capable men 
 for her servants and comptrollers, and imi- 
 tates the order and cleanliness of London, 
 or of Boston, what may not be expected 
 from her future career ? 
 
 A certain preacher commenced all his 
 sermons with the history of the creation ; 
 and our illustrious predecessor, Mr. Knick- 
 erbocker, has learnedly and lucidly traced 
 the early annals of our city*, back to the 
 times of Shem, Ham, and Japhet, com- 
 pletely exhausting that portion of the 
 subject. We will therefore only give a 
 passing glance at some of the landmarks 
 in the growth of the town, by way of in- 
 troduction to the “swelling theme” before 
 us, viz., the present state and prospects of 
 New-York, architecturally considered. 
 Such a retrospect which would hardly be 
 necessary in writing about most European 
 cities, slow-growing oaks, whose yearly 
 rings are only to be counted by the micro- 
 scope, becomes absolutely essential to the 
 proper appreciation of the Night-blooming 
 Cereus of our metropolis, which can only be 
 truh' enjoyed by those who saw the bare 
 and naked stalk from which it grew, and 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 watched the dry husk of a bud as it 
 swelled and swelled, putting out leaf after 
 leaf, until at length it reached its present 
 state of half-developed beauty. Some of 
 our citizens can remember when Canal- 
 street was really traversed by a canal, and 
 when what is now Franklin-street was 
 the site of the gallows, being at a retir- 
 ed distance from town. One old lady 
 of our acquaintance remembers when the 
 maids washed their clothes in a stream 
 which ran through Maiden Lane ; and 
 when also it was their favorite place for 
 milking the cows, which had browsed all 
 day in the meadow, a part of which we 
 now call “ the Park.” In the youth of 
 men still living, the Hospital, whose little 
 inclosure of turf now cheers our dusty 
 Broadway in summer, was an out of town 
 resort — a public garden, to which the 
 denizens of the city resorted. This was 
 about the year 1768. In 1767, the in- 
 habitants kept their cows in town ; in the 
 mornings they were driven to their daily 
 ruminations, in the pastures about Grand- 
 street. Fancy indulges herself with sup- 
 posing them employed in bovine prophe- 
 cies, as to whether their descendants would 
 hear “ the milkmaid singing blythe.” in 
 that same region ; or, perhaps, as they 
 were honest, long-horned Dutch cattle, 
 and therefore little used to speculation of 
 any kind, we ought rather to suppose 
 them chewing the cud of sweet compla- 
 cency, in the assured belief that their milk 
 and that of their descendants, drawn from 
 them year after year, in that same mead- 
 ow, would feed generation after genera- 
 tion, of stereotyped little Dutch men and 
 women, till Time itself should be no more. 
 At the same period, the city proper, with 
 its business streets and stores, and hand- 
 some town residences, lay below Trinity 
 Church. Higher up, the houses were poor, 
 and occupied by poor people ; until at 
 length, above the present Park, the true 
 country began, sprinkled with taverns, 
 gardens, wooded land, and much marshy 
 ground. “ On the west side of the mid- 
 dle road, now Broadway, above what is 
 now Bleecker-street, John Jacob Astor 
 had a country residence, and beyond him 
 again William Nielson. These were yet 
 country residences, till after the close of 
 the war of 1812. At the earlier period 
 of 1801, a pale fence stretched across 
 Broadway, at about Astor Place, there 
 beginning the farm of Randall, which 
 constitutes, by a most noble bequest, the 
 endowment of the Sailors’ Snug Harbor.”* 
 From Longworth’s Almanack, published 
 in 1800, 1 gather the following statistics, 
 with which to conclude the present ne- 
 
 President King's Lecture before the Mechanics’ Society. 
 
. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
w from Union Square 
 

1853.] 
 
 New- York Daguerr cotyped. 
 
 123 
 
 cessarily sketchy view of the old times of 
 the city. “ In 1712, the population of New- 
 York was 5.840. In 1731, the city ex- 
 tended to Wall-street, and there were 
 whites 7,055, blacks 1,507, total 8.622. On 
 the east side of Broadway were bushes or 
 woods, where a gentleman assured me he 
 had caught quails. In 1742, from the 
 fort to the country, Broadway was a mere 
 road, with a few straggling houses, only 
 one of three stories ! In 1756, there were 
 two houses of three stories. The principal 
 house, where all distinguished and wealthy 
 strangers were entertained, rented for £40 
 per annum. In 1800, houses in that 
 street rented for from £200 to £600 per 
 annum. In 1742, there were only two 
 ships in the regular English trade. In 
 1745, a stockade ran across from North 
 to East River, where is now the front of 
 bridewell, jail, &c. In 1789, a lot of six 
 acres, one and a half miles from Federal 
 Hall, situated on the northwest corner of 
 Wall and Nassau streets, was purchased 
 for $7,500. In 1796, three acres of said 
 lot were sold for $15,000. There were 
 in 1756, one bookseller, one Latin school, 
 and no college. In 1800, [and here we 
 picture Mr. Longworth’s heart swelling 
 with pride, in view of the magnificent 
 contrast], there are upwards of thirty 
 booksellers, a vast many excellent Latin 
 schools, and a well organized college.” 
 Fifty-three years have passed since these 
 words were written, and what changes 
 have passed over the scene ! Imagine the 
 emotions of some venerable Dutch burgh- 
 er, in whose dull brain no visions of future 
 change ever quickened the pulse to a 
 more than ordinary beat ; imagine his 
 emotions, on lifting the lid of his coffin, 
 and gazing around him at the wealth and 
 splendor of the whilome village of New 
 Amsterdam. What is left the poor as- 
 tounded ghost but to sink back bewildered 
 and dejected, from the stunning bustle 
 and confusion, and the inextricable whirl, 
 to the welcome silence and inanition of 
 the grave. 
 
 The large wood engraving which serves 
 as frontispiece to this paper, gives but a 
 faint idea of the size of New-York city. 
 By referring to it, you will see that three 
 broad avenues start from the southern side 
 of U nion Square, which, with its pretty, cir- 
 cular park, forms the centre of the pic- 
 ture. The middle one of these avenues 
 is Broadway ; the one at your left hand, 
 having a railroad running through it, is 
 the Bowery, and the short one at the 
 right is IT niversity Place, which terminates 
 at the Washington Parade Ground. Still 
 
 further to the right, and stopped at its 
 southern end by the same Parade Ground, 
 is the Fifth Avenue, taken as a whole, per- 
 haps the finest street in the New World, 
 but not, by any means, more desirable than 
 many others as a residence. If you allow 
 your eye to run down Broadway till it 
 meets a street running to the right, you 
 will have paid an imaginary visit to 
 Canal-street, through whose broad ave- 
 nue there formerly flowed the canal from 
 which the name is derived. The Bowery 
 at its southern end merges into Chatham- 
 street ; } r ou may trace it by a lighter line 
 running diagonally northeast and south- 
 west. The only buildings to which the 
 engraving before us gives any prominence 
 are the churches, to which we shall de- 
 vote a separate article. The buildings 
 which surround Union Square are, with 
 few exceptions, spacious and well-con- 
 structed private dwellings, and when first 
 erected were among the finest in the city. 
 We have said that this view gives no 
 idea of the city’s size.* It has the appear- 
 ance of some large trading town, like 
 Poughkeepsie, or Troy, on the Hudson, 
 rather than of such a great metropolis 
 as it really is. Broadway, whose actual 
 length from the Battery to Union Square 
 is two miles and two-thirds, is shrunken 
 in this view to an avenue about half as 
 long ; on the other hand, its true width is 
 exaggerated ; it is by no means as wide 
 in proportion as it is here represented. 
 The engraving, it is true, is small, and 
 wood is a poor medium for the effects 
 which it was desirable should be produc- 
 ed in such a view ; but one may get from 
 it a tolerable idea of the situation and 
 general effect of the portion of New-York 
 which lies below Union Square. The 
 foreign reader is requested not to accuse 
 us of a desire to indulge in the national 
 recreation of bragging , if we modestly 
 hint that the shipping of New-York could 
 hardly be counted in reality, with pre- 
 cisely the ease with which our engraver 
 has rendered it possible ; nor is the main 
 thoroughfare, Broadway, nor indeed its 
 nearly equally busy sister, Bowery, so 
 thinly peopled that one can distinguish 
 the gentlemen in black, who, in the print, 
 perambulate at leisure through the mid- 
 dle of the street from one end to the 
 other. 
 
 The Italian Peninsula has been com- 
 pared to a cavalier’s leg, attired in an un- 
 exceptionable high-heeled boot. We can 
 hardly claim for Manhattan Island so il- 
 lustrious a resemblance. It rather seems 
 like the leg of some well-to-do Dutch 
 
 * '1 liis was engraved two or three years since lor another purpose; the blanks in the foreground are 
 already filled up. The cut is imperfect, but is given merely as a sketch-map of the position of the city 
 below Union Square. New-Yorkers know that this point is rapidly becoming the centre of the city, and will 
 in a few years be “down town.” 
 
124 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 baby — that is the part above Fourteenth- 
 street, while all below that noble avenue 
 may be compared to the round fat foot of 
 no particular shape, the principal features 
 being the toe and the heel. Morse’s map 
 of “New-York City and the Vicinity,” 
 contained in his North American Atlas, 
 gives a clear and complete view of the 
 whole island ; you may there see that the 
 aforesaid leg is by far the finest part of 
 the city. It was laid out in 1807 by three 
 commissioners, appointed by the State to 
 lay out the city into streets and squares. 
 “These commissioners were De Witt 
 Clinton, Gouverneur Morris, and John 
 Rutherford. Josiah Randall, Jr., was 
 their engineer and surveyor. Their re- 
 port was made in 1811, and accepted by 
 the Corporation. That report, accom- 
 panied with a map, laid out the whole 
 city in noble avenues and spacious streets, 
 numbered up to 176th street, and de- 
 signated, as to their corners, by marble 
 monuments firmly fixed in the ground. 
 These commissioners had no authority to 
 alter or regulate the level of the future 
 avenues or streets, but simply to run and 
 mark the level by permanent monuments ; 
 and to that magnificent plan we owe it 
 that there are no lanes nor alleys in the 
 new city, but that twelve noble avenues, 
 each 100 feet wide, running parallel, and 
 in the direction of the island, give access to 
 the city, and that these are cut at right 
 angles by numerous streets, every tenth 
 one of which, is also a hundred feet wide, 
 and the narrow streets sixty feet in width, 
 or ten yards wider than the boast of 
 Philadelphia — Chestnut-street.” * 
 
 Below Fourteenth-street the city is 
 quite irregular. This irregularity, how- 
 ever, is in the position of the streets, rath- 
 er than in their direction. We had an 
 excellent comparison ready on the tip of 
 our pen, by which to illustrate this, but 
 having a strong faith in the unities of 
 composition, we shall adhere to the one ori- 
 ginally presented. Continue, then, if you 
 please, oh admiring reader ! to regard the 
 island of Manhattan as the beau ideal 
 representative of a Dutch baby’s foot. If 
 you ask what we have to say in excuse for 
 the lines which score this unhappy mem- 
 ber up and down, and in every direction, 
 and which never appeared, and we hope 
 never will appear upon the leg of any 
 baby whatever, we answer, that the leg 
 and foot are encased in an excellent brick 
 and mortar stocking , covering neatly the 
 whole member, from toe to knee, and taste- 
 fully confined at the latter point by the 
 Harlem River, by way of garter. Now, 
 every one who has ever examined a stock- 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 ing, that is, a good old-fashioned worsted 
 manufacture, must have observed that the 
 lines of the leg are regular and symmetri- 
 cal, and easily comprehended, while those 
 of the foot are hopelessly inexplicable, 
 except to the eye of the practised knitter. 
 Here they run round the heel, there they 
 are parallel to the sole ; again they diverge 
 at the toes, and slide by ingenious strata- 
 gems into the ascending leg. And so it 
 is with our good city. For in the upper 
 part, as we have seen, the streets are re- 
 gular, straight, and easily seen to be beau- 
 tiful ; but on the lower part, though you 
 may with some assurance navigate the 
 instep, and are not wholly beyond hope 
 in the heel, yet none but an old-fashioned 
 New-York pig or policeman can ever be 
 perfectly at home in the sole of the me- 
 tropolitan foot. The triangle, whose two 
 inland sides are formed by Grand-street 
 and Broadway, contains the most irregular 
 and confused part of the city. Within 
 this boundary, the unhappy stitches of 
 streets cross and recross one another, as 
 if they were playing a game of “ Puss 
 in the corner.” Pearl-street runs cir- 
 cuitously from Broadway- to White- 
 hall, like a dropped thread, but it is 
 the most flagrant example, only because 
 it happens to persevere longest in its ir- 
 regularity. It is a haunting nightmare 
 to a stranger in town, this long narrow 
 alley, meeting him at every turn and lead- 
 ing him into inextricable confusion, but 
 there are other streets quite as bad in their 
 way ; the difference is, as we have said, 
 that they are smaller, and have not the 
 intrepidity to keep up the game quite as 
 long. William-street would do it if it 
 dared, and so would Beaver-street. Ful- 
 ton-street has a leaning that way, and 
 Maiden Lane is quite disposed to join 
 John-street and Gold-street, in the com- 
 mission of nearly equal improprieties. 
 Indeed, if the baby’s foot aforesaid would 
 by any fortunate accident be set upon a 
 large hot coal, and the crooked stitches 
 and patched portions of the sole of the 
 stocking above mentioned be wholly burn- 
 ed away — in other words, if a great but 
 discriminating fire could clear up and de- 
 stroy the badly built and crooked streets 
 of that part of the city, we have no doubt, 
 although the present loss of property 
 would be terrible, and the evil severely 
 felt, yet the city and business would be 
 materially benefited thereby. No calam- 
 ity is ever wholly a calamity. Always 
 some good springs out of the worst seem- 
 ing evil : the thunder clears the air, the 
 volcano’s eruption defers the final confla- 
 gration, the destroying floods of Nile and 
 
 * President King. 
 
1853.] 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 125 
 
 Mississippi fertilize Egypt and the Great 
 Western Valley; wars and plagues, say 
 the wise and cruel, make it easier for the 
 lives they spare to live ; and the city of New- 
 York has never had a more beneficial 
 manure than the ashes with which her great 
 conflagrations have covered her streets. 
 We make no question that the crop of pro- 
 fits has been increased on that soil to five 
 hundred times the number of bushels to the 
 acre, which our merchants formerly stored 
 away into their barns. 
 
 It is owing to this irregularity in great 
 measure, that the old haunts of business 
 are being slowly transformed in character, 
 and that the western side of the town, 
 for many years neglected, is becoming the 
 promised land to which the heavy business 
 of the city is slowly migrating, from the 
 land of bondage in the southeastern part 
 of the island. In the part of the city 
 west of Broadway the streets are arranged 
 with nearly all the regularity of which the 
 land admits. We have there three great 
 avenues, running parallel to the North 
 River side of the town, two of them long- 
 er than Broadway, and the other a great 
 deal wider than that central street. The 
 streets which intersect these avenues are 
 laid out with much regularity and judg- 
 ment. Half way up Broadway we have 
 Canal-street, a magnificent avenue, broad, 
 sunny, and straight, and which must, at 
 no very distant time, become one of New 
 York’s proudest business streets. The 
 urchin who has just been kept in all the 
 afternoon, to study his Natural Philos- 
 ophy lesson, which he failed to recite in 
 the morning, will understand me when I 
 speak of capillary attraction. He will 
 also understand me when I say that a 
 sponge absorbs water by the aid of this 
 principle. Very well, my little fellow, 
 New- York city is just like a sponge ; and 
 the water, that is, the business, is creeping 
 gradually up into all the hitherto dry and 
 contracted pores. To be sure it had a ter- 
 rible squeeze in the great fire of 1845, and 
 was left rather shrunken by the operation, 
 but capillary attraction, like the good 
 faithful principle that it is, rushed to its 
 aid, and filled it fuller than ever with the 
 enlarging fluid. The dried and contracted 
 pores above alluded to were situated in the 
 northern and western parts of the city. 
 For many years no drop of a dry goods 
 jobbing house, or other sign of large busi- 
 ness-life, crept up in that direction. At last 
 it slowly began to move. Gradually the 
 overflowing abundance of wealth and busi- 
 ness left the dark corners of Pearl-street, 
 Hanover Square, and Exchange Place, and 
 showed itself in Cedar-street, Pine-street, 
 Maiden Lane, and John-street. These 
 were the first notes of preparation. The 
 
 old order of things once disturbed, the 
 revolution once begun, young New-York 
 armed itself with bricks and mortar, found 
 out quarries of freestone with which to 
 astonish old fogyism, and went energeti- 
 cally to work, tearing down and building 
 up. Still, though there was a movement, 
 it was a slow one, and the energy display- 
 ed was not at first manifested in beautiful 
 buildings. It was necessary, first of all, 
 to prove the value of the change. Thus 
 the pioneers who pitched their tents in the 
 then new streets which we have mention- 
 ed, built plain, substantial, unhandsome 
 stores of brick, or accepted those which 
 they found ready for them, and went to 
 work to establish their position. It seems 
 almost absurd to talk now of enterprise, 
 in connection with such a movement ; but 
 let not our shopkeepers, who exult in 
 their marble palaces, and behind their 
 freestone posts, despise the work of their 
 predecessors. From all present appearan- 
 ces we do not hesitate to predict, that in ten 
 years the finest buildings now in New- 
 York will be far surpassed, by the grow- 
 ing taste and wealth of builders. We 
 have seen the last of the plodding business 
 life, which, even within our recollec- 
 tion, bought and sold contentedlj- in the 
 primitive regions of Pearl-street and Coen- 
 ties Slip. No magnetic attraction, which 
 draws the iron particles to itself from 
 every adjacent quarter, and makes itself 
 felt by those which it cannot move, is surer 
 than the spell which has drawn the business 
 of New-York within the last few years, 
 away from the old channels and time-hal- 
 lowed abodes. Gladly would we rescue 
 from oblivion the name of the first ad- 
 venturer, who launched his frail shallop 
 of a jobbing store on the yet untried 
 waters of Broadway or Dey-street. Gladly 
 would we register the jeers with which 
 his determination was received by the 
 merry old merchants, with their port- 
 ly figures, working in blind security by 
 candle light, on the terra firma of the old 
 established haunts. What an addition to 
 our histories of business science would be 
 the names of those first green shoots 
 which, after being confined for years 
 within the cellars of business conserva- 
 tism crept, thin, pale and meagre, through 
 the first crack they could discover, into 
 the warm cheerful sunlight, and have now 
 grown into a flourishing verdure, putting 
 out new branches of beauty day after 
 day. 
 
 Many of our readers will remember 
 when the whole of Broadway was con- 
 secrated to the dwellings of the wealthy, 
 and when the Battery, or rather State- 
 street, was the selectest part of the city 
 proper. We shall have occasion in a 
 
126 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 future paper, to speak of some of the old 
 mansions, and stately dwellings which 
 adorned that aristocratic quarter ; for the 
 present we merely hint at their existence, 
 in order to show how rapidly since the 
 first inroads were made, the whole char- 
 acter of that part of the city has changed. 
 Aristocracy, startled and disgusted with 
 the near approach of plebeian trade which 
 already threatened to lay its insolent 
 hands upon her mantle, and to come 
 tramping into her silken parlors with its 
 heavy boots and rough attire, fled by dig- 
 nified degrees up Broadway, lingered for 
 a time in Greenwich-street, Park Place, 
 and Barcl ay-street, until at length find- 
 ing the enemy still persistent, she took a 
 great leap into the wilderness above 
 Bleecker-street. Alas for the poor lady, 
 every day drives her higher and higher; 
 Twenty-eighth-street is now familiar with 
 her presence, and she is already casting 
 her longing eyes still further on. 
 
 Old New- York was built entirely of 
 brick. The first Dutchmen imported 
 bricks from Holland, with something of 
 the same sagacity with which we import 
 iron from Wales. None of these bricks 
 adorn the present city, nor have any ex- 
 isted on the island within our memory.* 
 
 The City Hall was commenced in Sept. 
 1803 and built on three sides of white mar- 
 ble, the fourth was of brown freestone. 
 It is stated, and we have never seen the 
 story contradicted, that freestone was 
 used on the north side, because the sage 
 builders were firmly persuaded that no 
 one would ever see it, since it was so far 
 up town, that the city could never extend 
 above it; but such stupidity and blindness 
 is too serious a matter to be laughed at ; 
 it is therefore a very poor piece of wit, if 
 it is intended as such, and a very out- 
 rageous slander on the intelligence of our 
 most w r orthy ancestors, if it be not true. 
 We therefore hope that some persevering 
 historian will set this matter right as 
 soon as possible. However, be the reason 
 what it may, this must have been nearly 
 the first instance of an extensive use of 
 the brown freestone in the city. It has 
 now, as all our town readers know, come 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 to be the favorite building material for 
 shops, churches, and residences ; we shall 
 see hereafter that in some parts of the 
 city, and in a few instances, other materi- 
 als are preferred, but they are exceptions, 
 and the prevailing tint of New-York is 
 fixed, whether for better or worse, there 
 may be conflicting opinions, as a warm 
 brown winch takes the sunshine with a 
 quiet elegance, and would take the sha- 
 dow, if our architects would give it the 
 chance by a bolder treatment, with all 
 desirable clearness and nobility of effect. 
 Moreover, the freestone, admirably suited 
 as it is for large and massive buildings, 
 such as stores and churches, is of so fine 
 a quality and so delicate a tone, that no 
 fine work is thrown away upon it, and 
 we rejoice to see that in many of the new 
 stores recently erected, the work which 
 has been bestowed upon them is of very 
 fine quality, and shows a daily advance 
 in our architectural ability, if not to origi- 
 nate, at least to copy well. 
 
 The freestone used in building New- 
 York city is not all the product of one 
 quarry. That of the best quality is 
 brought from Little Falls, in New Jersey, 
 on the Passaic River, a short distance from 
 Patterson. It is light in color, and deli- 
 cately shaded, and takes shadow with 
 greater distinctness than the darker varie- 
 ties. There is no finer specimen of this 
 freestone than that, used in Trinity Church, 
 in Broadway, to which we shall allude at 
 some length in our article on the Churches 
 of New York. Much of the brown stone 
 used in the city comes from quarries in Con- 
 necticut, but the color of this variety is 
 much darker than that from Little Falls, 
 and we think less desirable. It has al- 
 ways been a maxim with good architects, 
 that stones used in building should be 
 laid upon their natural beds ; that is, that 
 the stone should always be placed with 
 its grain in the same position in which it 
 lays in the quarry. Yet we find in almost 
 every building which is in the course of 
 erection, where the rough brick walls are 
 being faced or veneered with plates of 
 ashlar freestone, four or five inches thick, 
 that this principle is almost entirely neg- 
 
 * We have seen them however in our younger days, when at school in Tarrytown, where still stands the 
 ancient Reformed Dutch Meeting-House, like an old man whose trunk is all that remains to him of his body, 
 but whose hair, teeth, color, aud perhaps a leg and arm or two, are either borrowed from his dead neighbors, 
 or aflded by the skill of some cunning workman, for all that remains of this building, rendered sacred and im- 
 mortal as it is by being embalmed in the amber of Irving, is the foundation and some of the principal timbers. 
 All the rest is new. The Holland bricks, of a warm yellow tint, and rather friable texture, are replaced by 
 walls of rough granite, and some Vandal has abused the good old grandmotherly building, by putting out her 
 reputable ami becoming eyes or windows, albeit they were square and small-paned, and replacing them with 
 others which the farmers and their daughters thereabouts have agreed to call gothic. The same mischief- 
 maker who did the old dame this harm, has robbed her of her ancient pinafore or porch, which perhaps was be- 
 coming a little faded and seedy, and rigged her up instead with an abominable, ill-fangled affair, which is posi- 
 tively disreputable ; but not content with this, he has stuck on her venerable head a little pert cam or beliVy, 
 which gives the old lady a truly ludicrous appearance, that makes us laugh in spite of ourselves. We have no 
 time nor place to say more on "this unhappy topic ; but may we not ask of the historian of Sleepy Hollow, that 
 in some future edition of his works he will devote at least one- chapter to holding up the abuser of this most 
 respectable mother in Israel to public detestation. 
 
New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 127 
 
 1853.] 
 
 lected, and that the slabs, instead of being 
 cut thicker, and laid with the grain run- 
 ning parallel to the horizon, which is 
 nearly the natural position, are, as we 
 have said, cut very thin, and set up with 
 the grain perpendicular to the horizon. 
 Now this fact, which seems to the careless 
 reader a merely whimsical objection, is in 
 truth a very important matter, as any 
 
 upright and well-informed builder will 
 confess. And more especially with regard 
 to freestone, which is very soft and friable, 
 in the direction of its grain, but suffi- 
 ciently tough and durable in the other 
 direction ; so that, when laid in the wrong- 
 way, not only is it more exposed to the 
 corroding influences of the atmosphere, 
 allowing the dampness of our rains and 
 
 Liberty-street, in process of re-building, 1S52. 
 
 snows more easily to penetrate its exposed 
 pores, but it is liable to crack and fall off 
 in scales, under the ordinary work of 
 time, thus rendering the building an un- 
 sightly and discreditable object. Much 
 ridicule has been expended upon the man- 
 ner of employing freestone in thin slabs 
 
 of veneering, which is so much in vogue 
 in our good city ; but in truth the objec- 
 tion has never been fairly stated, since 
 there is no objection to the greater part 
 of a wall being faced in this manner, if 
 two points are carefully and conscientious- 
 ly attended to. The first is, that all such 
 
128 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 slabs shall be firmly and 
 faithfully secured to the 
 wall which they hide, and 
 that this wall shall be a 
 structure whose workman- 
 ship shall be solid and 
 scientific ; and the second 
 is, that in every course of 
 slabs there shall be either 
 solid blocks of stone, form- 
 ing a part of the wall, and 
 extending from front to 
 back, placed in sufficient 
 numbers to serve as bind- 
 ers, or that iron shall be 
 substituted for such 
 blocks; these precautions, 
 however, will be of little 
 avail, if the stone is not 
 properly laid, a fact which 
 should be carefully consid- 
 ered on the part of the architect, the builder, 
 and the employer, but which we fear will 
 continue to suffer neglect, so long as it is 
 a method which demands a greater outlay 
 of money in the commencement. 
 
 White marble is also coming into ex- 
 tensive use in the city, especially in some 
 of the new streets. This marble comes 
 from quarries in Tuckahoe, Westchester 
 County ; but we are told that a new and 
 a very fine one has just been opened near 
 Sing Sing, which is of a superior quality 
 to any hitherto offered to the public. We 
 rejoice to see these new materials employ- 
 ed in building ; the aspect of the city is 
 greatly beautified by their judicious adop- 
 tion, and especially when as seems now to 
 be the tendency, uniformity of building pre- 
 vails in certain quarters. Thus Broadway 
 is evidently making up its mind to assume 
 the rich brown garb of Quakerism, al- 
 though even on Sundays, it rejects the quiet 
 simplicity of the manners of that amiable 
 sect. Dey-street, also, of which we shall 
 speak more at length hereafter, has adopt- 
 ed the same garb, and Liberty-street, 
 having been wooed and won by the ad- 
 vancing spirit of progress and reform, has 
 arrayed herself in white marble, as the 
 most becoming material in which to con- 
 secrate her nuptials. This street, moreover, 
 is an excellent example of the benefits of 
 matrimony, even when the parties are 
 merely bricks and mortar ; for the citizen 
 who remembers this thoroughfare before 
 its alterations — and we, with our first 
 beard, find no difficulty in recalling that 
 
 Broad-street in Dutch times. 
 
 time — would hardly recognize in the hand- 
 some, fresh, and almost palatial Liberty- 
 street of 1853, the dusky, tumble-down, 
 and seedy lane, which bore that title in the 
 spring of 1852. We appeal to the oldest 
 Dutch resident, and even to the surliest 
 resistant to the rebuilding of the street 
 itself, in defence of our comparison of the 
 city’s growth with that of Aladdin’s Pa- 
 lace. Which of them was most like a 
 mushroom ? * 
 
 Our artist, Dopier, has admirably repre- 
 sented the confusion into which the whole- 
 sale repairs and alterations going on in 
 this street have plunged it. One after 
 another the old tenements have disappear- 
 ed, the bricks painted and unpainted have 
 gone the way of all clay, the narrow win- 
 dows have been looked out of for the last 
 time, and the small doors have followed 
 the high steps to oblivion, and that “ un- 
 discovered bourne ” to which all the rub- 
 bish of this great city is carried. Hardly, 
 however, had they disappeared, before the 
 foundations of new buildings were laid, 
 until at length the whole street, from 
 Broadway to Greenwich, is completely 
 metamorphosed. Contrast this view of 
 Liberty-street, unfinished as it is repre- 
 sented, with the engraving of Broad-street, 
 which is here shown, and who that com- 
 pares the rapid growth of our city, with 
 the slower development of London and 
 Paris, but will admit that the American 
 has some reason for indulging in his na- 
 tional pastime of bragging? Broad-street, 
 which in our cut presents a quantity of 
 
 * Let ns do justice even to the city fathers. The improvements completed or now in progress, in .Tolin-street, 
 Liberty-street anil Dey-street. could never have been effected nor even contemplated, without widening these 
 thoroughfares, and we are indebted to the venerable Corporation for allowing these schemes to be carried out 
 We commenced this note with sobriety, and with the magnanimous determination to give the devil his due,” 
 but our gravity is disturbed by the reflection, that we can find only this modicum of good, to balance the 
 abundance of evil ; and we are tempted to exclaim, with Prince Henry, on reading the bill forFalstaffs 
 supper, “ Oh, monstrous 1 but one halfpenny worth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack 1 ” 
 
 What would he have said if he had seen' the bill for an Aldermanic series of Tea Room Entertainments? 
 
1853 .] 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 129 
 
 little Dutch stores, with their crow-step 
 gables, and inharmonious irregularities, is 
 now a fine, wide, business street, — one of 
 the finest indeed which the city boasts — 
 and lined with large but plain brick 
 blocks. Plain as they are, and poorly as 
 their architecture compares with that of 
 many stores in Broadway, and some of 
 the river streets, yet either one of them 
 would have taken away the appetite of 
 the honest Dutchman who built this mon- 
 strosity* in 1089, and sold the delicacies 
 of the period to the sleep}' vrows and their 
 oleaginous lords. 
 
 One peculiarity of the New-York stores 
 which distinguishes them from their Lon- 
 don and Paris rivals, is the fact that they 
 generally occupy the whole of the building 
 for purposes connected with their business, 
 and are not confined to the first stories. 
 Thus in London the most splendid stores, 
 or those which make the finest show, 
 merely occupy, as far as the customer is 
 concerned, the first floor, and in most cases 
 they are wholly confined to that portion 
 of the building. In some cases, like that 
 of Howell and J ames, the “ Stewarts ” 
 of London, the shop is merely three ordi- 
 nary dwelling-houses, given up to the sale 
 of goods, and having no architectural pre- 
 tensions whatever. In most other in- 
 stances the first floor of the building is de- 
 corated with what is technically styled a 
 “ shop front ” which is merely a highly 
 ornamented framework for the large 
 
 plate glass windows, in some examples 
 gaudy and ill-proportioned, in others as 
 in the case of the famous “Swan and 
 Edgar’s,” in Regent-street (which excels 
 any of our shop windows in the size of 
 its plate glass panes), elegant and charac- 
 teristic. But these shop fronts are mere- 
 ly appendages to the buildings to which 
 they belong, and have no architectural 
 relation to them. Moreover they are in 
 no case built of expensive materials, but 
 are either constructed of papier mach . 
 stucco, terra-cotta, or plaster decorated 
 with color, and serving merely a tempo- 
 rary purpose. There is no warehouse in 
 London, nor in any other European 
 city, approaching some of the large and 
 splendid establishments in Broadway, 
 nor is there any shop in the world to 
 rival the palatial magnificence of that 
 on the corner of Broadway and Cham- 
 bers-street, a building of white marble, 
 extending from street to street, and of 
 which we shall render a more particu- 
 lar account hereafter. Nor can the his- 
 tory of merchandise produce a finer ex- 
 ample of outward elegance and interior 
 completeness, than will be found in the 
 silk warehouse in Broadway near Pine- 
 street. 
 
 This building is constructed of white 
 marble, and is thirty-seven and a half feet 
 wide, one hundred and forty-seven feet 
 deep, and four stories high, while next 
 spring will probably see it carried up to 
 six stories, to accommodate the increasing 
 business of the establishment, and to make 
 it equal in height to its new neighbor, 
 the Metropolitan Bank, which adorns with 
 its elegance the corner of Broadway and 
 Pine-street, and to which we shall refer 
 hereafter. The admirable feature of this 
 silk warehouse is the solidity with which 
 it is constructed. The floor of each story 
 is supported by the side walls alone, and 
 is without pillars or partition throughout 
 its whole extent, yet there is not the 
 slightest jar or tremble perceptible. Every 
 department of the business is managed 
 with a beautiful thoroughness, which is 
 becoming more and more a part of our 
 national character. There is another ex- 
 cellence in the outward architecture of 
 this store, and that consists in the shadow 
 which the architect has obtained by the 
 elaborate cornice and deeply recessed win- 
 dows, an effect which is wholly wanting 
 in most of our new buildings, and the en- 
 tire absence of which is almost the only 
 
 * Tin's old store, one of the earliest specimens of Dutch architecture, erected in Nerv-York, and almost the 
 last link which connected us with the sleepy days of old Peter Stuyvesant, lingered till within twenty years, 
 like a bedridden great-grandmother among her stirring and bustling descendants, who at last, weary of her 
 presence, and rendered desperate by hei unflinching determination “never to say die, 1 ’ tore her limb from limb 
 and scattered her bones far and wide. We never waste a tear over the death of an old Fogy, especially a 
 Dutch one, which when a perfect specimen of its kind, and unalloyed by any admixture of progressive grace, 
 as it not seldom is, must be admitted to surpass in desolation all the other varieties of conservatism extant. 
 
130 
 
 New-York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 drawback to the enjoyment of the great 
 marble palace of Stewart. The fault 
 most prominent in the store which we 
 are noticing is its disproportionate height, 
 a fault which will be still further increas- 
 ed if the alterations contemplated are car- 
 ried out. This might have been remedied 
 by making the horizontal lines of the 
 building more prominent than the perpen- 
 dicular. This effect could have been pro- 
 duced by carrying heavy balconies across 
 the front, and in this way the quantity of 
 shadow on the face of the building would 
 have been increased ; as it is, the princi- 
 pal lines of the building, the piers which 
 separate the windows, the mullions which 
 divide them, and the perpendicular divi- 
 sions of the cornice, all tend by their di- 
 rection to add to the effect of height, and 
 to decrease the apparent breadth of the 
 building. Mr. Joseph 0. Wells was the 
 architect of this complete and admirably 
 constructed store, and the proprietors in- 
 trusted to his care the designing of every 
 detail of ornament and furniture. 
 
 Another fine structure is the building 
 numbered 200 and 202 Broadway, built 
 of brown freestone in a style of quiet 
 elegance. We find the same fault with 
 the appearance of too great height given 
 to the store by the prominence of the 
 perpendicular lines which we have done 
 with the one last under consideration. 
 The importance given to the mouldings 
 and bracketed cornice over the third story 
 somewhat relieves this defect, but the 
 member is put in the wrong place. It 
 should have crowned a lower story, 
 since the stories of a building should in- 
 crease in lightness as they rise, and of 
 two members the heaviest and richest in 
 effect should be the lower. Thus in this 
 building, the first story should have been 
 crowned with an elaborate and effective 
 cornice, supported by solid and important 
 piers. Tins would have given a character 
 of stability and strength to the structure, 
 which in common with many of the re- 
 cent erections in Broadway, it very much 
 needs. The second story should have 
 been less important than the first, but 
 more important than the third — on the 
 contrary the third story is more import- 
 ant than either the first or second, and of 
 equal value with the fifth. The conse- 
 quence of this oversight is that the build- 
 ing, though well built and costly, is en- 
 tirely without beauty, and without even 
 the pictorial effect often attained by well 
 arranged ugliness. This want of picto- 
 rial effect , resulting from monotony of 
 detail and almost entire absence of bold. 
 
 [Fob. 
 
 shadow-giving projections , is one which 
 we have constantly to regret in the ar- 
 chitecture of New-York. It is so easily 
 remedied, and the means of producing 
 the desired effect lie so directly in the 
 way of the skilful architect, that we are 
 astonished at the few instances in which 
 
 they are adopted especially as expense 
 seems rather to be sought than shunned, 
 and as in reality the effect produced is 
 out of all proportion to the cost requisite 
 to obtain it. It requires knowledge and 
 it requires taste ; but the beauty of our 
 city depends in great measure upon at- 
 tention to this point, and knowledge and 
 taste ought to be procured at all cost. 
 Knowledge can be bought, taste cannot 
 but it can be fostered, and free scope can 
 be given to it when found. Too many 
 buildings in New-York show immense 
 wealth to have been expended in their 
 construction, with a lavish hand unguided 
 by correct taste. In one you see the 
 same heavy, inelegant window cornice, 
 repeated throughout the front and sides 
 of a monster six stories high.* In ano- 
 ther you will find a noble and enormous 
 building, over whose white surface, front- 
 
 * In the particular instance to which wo allude, these window cornices are of cast iron, painted and sanded 
 in imitation of brown freestone, an abomination to which we shall devote some space in another place but 
 which we are happy to see is not very greatly on the increase. 
 
1853.] 
 
 New- York Daguerr cotyped. 
 
 131 
 
 mg on two streets, neither early dawn, 
 nor high noon, nor evening gray, flings a 
 relieving shadow to vary the costly mo- 
 notony ; while, as if to mock the admirer, 
 and cause him to ask with a groan whe- 
 ther there is any hope for American taste, 
 one side of the structure, fronting to be 
 sure on an obscure and little frequented 
 street, but nevertheless plainly visible to 
 every passer down Broadway, flaunts its 
 pale marble brothers with its staring 
 bricks, like a red-faced awkward country 
 lassie who perseveringly hooks herself to 
 her queenly and haughty city cousin’s 
 arm, and refuses to be kept in the back- 
 ground. We recommend as appropriate 
 
 mottoes for the respective sides of this 
 “ palace of trade,” the rhymes which the 
 knight of the Held of the cloth of gold 
 had embroidered on his horse’s housings, 
 one half of which was of a mean and the 
 other of a costly material. On the first 
 he wrote, 
 
 “ Cloth of gold, do not despise, 
 
 Though thou’rt matched with cloth of frize.” 
 
 And on the other, 
 
 “ Cloth of frize, be not too bold. 
 
 Though thou’rt matched with cloth of gold.” 
 
 But the architectural blunders of New- 
 York city will occupy too much of our 
 room if we attempt to refer to all of them 
 in the same article. 
 
 Trinity Buildings, Broadway. 
 
 The engraving given above is a view 
 of Trinity Buildings,” a structure not 
 quite completed as yet, but sufficiently so 
 to render it already an important feature 
 in the lower part of the city. The ma- 
 terial of which this pile is constructed, 
 is unpressed Buffalo brick, of a yellowish 
 tinge, with dressings of cut brown free- 
 stone. The building was designed by 
 Mr. Upjohn, and is the first example 
 in the city of the use of the yellow 
 brick. It is to be regretted that the im- 
 pressed brick should have been employed, 
 since the rough and unfinished surface 
 which they present, makes a most unfa- 
 vorable impression. W e believe in bricks, 
 even in red bricks ; we are also prepared 
 to add yellow brick to our “ Credo ; ” but 
 whether yellow or red, they must be the 
 best of their kind. New-York is too 
 
 handsome, and promises to be too well 
 built, to admit of any mediocre specimens 
 of architecture in her principal thorough- 
 fare. There may have been difficulties in 
 the way of procuring the best brick at 
 the time when this range of stores was 
 planned — of this we are not informed — 
 but we can hardly believe it possible, and 
 unless this were the case, there is no 
 reason why the present quality should 
 have been used. The color, as far as we 
 can judge at present, is very agreeable, and 
 harmonizes well with the brown stone of 
 the dressing and ornaments. Our artist 
 has done no sort of justice to. any thing 
 but the size of the building, which, when 
 we consider the purpose for which it is 
 designed, is truly huge. The sculptured 
 key stones of the lowest range of window 
 arches is merely hinted at upon the end. 
 
132 
 
 New- Y ork Daguerreo typed. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 and wholly omitted on the side of the 
 building, and the value of the relieved 
 piers between the windows, and the re- 
 cessed windows themselves in supplying 
 shadow to the facade, is entirely neglect- 
 ed. We are especially disappointed with 
 this result, since the architects, as far as 
 our drawing goes, get credit for nothing 
 but the erection of a plain rectangular 
 building, without shadow, without orna- 
 ment, and quite unworthy, except for its 
 size, of any particular notice. In truth, 
 the building is very large, and very hand- 
 some, with tasteful ornaments in stone, 
 subdued to the character of the material 
 which they accompany; and, moreover, 
 very interesting in itself, as the first ex- 
 ample of the employment of a material 
 entirely new in this city, and which we 
 hope to see extensively adopted. We 
 were shown, some two years ago, at the 
 same time when we first saw this yellow 
 brick, another specimen of a pale rose 
 color, very delicate and beautiful. We 
 thought at the time that this might be 
 used in connection with the yellow brick, 
 the two tints being diffused in irregular 
 masses over the surface of the building, 
 and producing, what seemed to the mind’s 
 eye, a charming combination of hue, and 
 a very desirable relief to the monotony 
 of brown and white which threatens us 
 
 at the present time. 
 Since that time, how- 
 ever, we have never 
 seen or heard of this 
 rose - colored brick, 
 and suppose that the 
 material was either 
 not warranted to 
 wash, or that the sup- 
 pty failed. If there 
 were no such draw- 
 backs, will some en- 
 million- 
 naire be obliging 
 enough to put up an 
 acre or two of jobbing 
 houses, in the style 
 suggested above, in 
 time for our second 
 article on this sub- 
 ject? 
 
 The banks of New- 
 York are • becoming 
 every day more im- 
 portant in an archi- 
 tectural point of 
 view. The accom- 
 panying cut, repre- 
 senting Wall-street, 
 looking W est. groups 
 together eight banks 
 of the ancien regime 
 in their classical cos- 
 tumes after the most approved Yankee- 
 Greek mode. Doubtless, in then day, these 
 tough, granite dowagers, bloomed with 
 grace in the eyes of the jmung men who 
 now look down regretfully upon their 
 beards, gray as the structures they once 
 admired. Yet to our eyes these grim 
 temples, consecrated to Plutus, are matter 
 only for lamentation ; and the cold world, 
 incredulous of their former beauty, sees 
 without regret that the ej-es of builders, 
 greedy for prey, are upon them. In ar- 
 chitecture, as in history, Greece has fallen 
 a victim to Italy, and while millionnaires 
 are busy with their brown-stone and mar- 
 ble palaces, these forsaken specimens of 
 the pseudo-Greek remain with their bulky 
 and ungraceful leg-like columns, out of 
 place, out of proportion like a crowd of 
 briefly-petticoated ballet dancers, who 
 stand shivering and unregarded after 
 the play and its applauses are over, for 
 their carriages to carry them home. 
 
 At the corner of Wall-street and Broad- 
 way, stands the handsome freestone struc- 
 ture, called the Bank of the Republic, 
 dimly represented in the accompanying cut. 
 It is in an important situation, and one in 
 which an excellent view can be obtained 
 of both sides. The upper story, having, 
 as it does, the appearance of an after 
 thought, and rising above the legitimate 
 
1853.] 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 133 
 
 cornice of the building, is a 
 very serious defect, and de- 
 prives the upper portion of 
 all beauty. Any cornice, 
 however fine or effective, 
 would be utterly lost be- 
 neath such an addition, 
 which is an imposition in 
 more senses than one. The 
 bad effect of windows placed 
 in a rounded cornice of a 
 building, is to some extent 
 obviated in this Bank by 
 deeply recessing the win- 
 dows ; but it is a danger- 
 ous experiment, and must 
 always be, to a certain ex- 
 tent, bad and ungraceful in 
 itseftect. In this case, we 
 suppose, the corner was 
 rounded to save space in 
 the street, but we ought to 
 have done with such ar- 
 rangements; they are illi- 
 beral and petty, and un- 
 worthy of our city, but un- 
 fortunately we have to re- 
 member too many of them. 
 The doorways in this struc- 
 ture are too heavy, and the 
 one on the corner, owing 
 partly to its position, and 
 partly to its size, is a posi- 
 tive deformity. 
 
 Further down W all-street 
 is the new Insurance Build- 
 ing, an elegant structure 
 of brown freestone, with 
 the basement and angles 
 richly rusticated. We de- 
 test this vermiculated rus- 
 tic work, seeing no beauty 
 nor meaning in it ; but 
 this sample is good of its 
 kind, and created an era in 
 the history of architecture 
 in the city. The string 
 course, which runs below 
 the fourth story, is neat and 
 elegant, but out of place; 
 it belongs more properly 
 below the third story, since, 
 in its present place, it gives 
 too much weight to the upper 
 portion of the building. It 
 is due to this really hand- 
 some structure, to say that 
 the artist has done no sort 
 of justice to it, and to make 
 what may be called a con- 
 centrated apology, it may 
 be generally stated that, 
 with one or two exceptions, 
 artists and engravers have 
 been too much hurried with 
 
 Bank of the Kepublic. 
 
 Insurance Building, Wall Street. 
 
134 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 the preparations for this number’s illus- 
 trations to do themselves or the subjects 
 credit ; a fact which we regret as much 
 for their sakes as ours. We hope to 
 have no occasion for apologies hereafter. 
 
 The new Bank, corner of John-street 
 and Broadway, of which the above en- 
 graving is a very indifferent view, is less 
 deficient in shadow than most of its con- 
 temporaries. The window-hoods on Broad- 
 way are bold and handsome, and the side 
 on John-street is worthy of a broader 
 thoroughfare than the one it faces. Its 
 windows are very handsome and effective, 
 but was it worth while, — oh doubtless 
 most worthy occupants ! to put up so 
 fine a building, and then deface it with a 
 fantastic display of signs of all shapes and 
 
 sizes, rendering it almost im- 
 possible to form any idea of 
 the architecture ? 
 
 The building of which a 
 view is given on p. 135, is not 
 yet completed. Its architec- 
 tural front is on Park Place, 
 but its entrance is in the 
 narrow end on Broadway.* 
 We regret for many reasons 
 that the cut should be so far 
 an inadequate representation 
 of a building, which occupies 
 an important position among 
 the new structures of the 
 day, and moreover is so con- 
 spicuous^ placed, particularly 
 as the detail, which is entire- 
 ly slurred over in the draw- 
 ing, is very good and in many 
 points of view quite worthy 
 of notice. The Broadway 
 Bank, which is the name of 
 this new candidate for our 
 admiration, is built of brown 
 freestone, with highly deco- 
 rated windows and entrance 
 porch, rusticated basement 
 and chamfered rustic quoins 
 at the angles. The cornice is 
 massive and handsome, and 
 its length on Park Place front 
 is relieved by a circular pedi- 
 ment crowning a projection 
 in the centre of the facade. 
 It is however as melancholy as it is absurd 
 to see so fine a building, and one evidently 
 erected at great expense, attempting to 
 deceive the spectator with an elaborate 
 cornice and pediment made of wood , 
 painted and sanded in imitation of 
 stone, a stratagem which, if it is discredit- 
 able in smaller buildings or temporary 
 structures, is miserably mean and petty in 
 an erection like the one under considera- 
 tion, which owing to its size and position 
 is the most important Bank yet put up in 
 New-York. We have no sympathy with 
 the architect who will suggest, or the 
 capitalist who will adopt, such a wretched 
 expedient. 
 
 We close our present paper with the 
 Merchants’ Exchange, a huge pile of gra- 
 
 * The mutations of this rather prominent corner are noteworthy, as exemplifying New-York progress. 
 In the boyish (lavs of a revered author, still hale and hearty, this spot, and the Park opposite, were open 
 fields, where Geoffrey Crayon saw balloon ascensions, and battled with his schoolmates; and much younger 
 men remember pettv grocery shops and stable-yards in the same vicinity. In 1S53, the geographical centre 
 of fashion has not only passed this point, but now stretches about two miles further up town 1 Ilalleck, in his 
 “ Fanny,” refers to a later occupant of this corner, when he says, 
 
 “In architecture our unrivalled skill, 
 
 Cullen’s magnesia shop has loudly spoken 
 To an admiring world.” 
 
 Later still, the dwelling house of the late Philip Ilone worthily adorned this spot. This was ruthlessly 
 displaced by a very substantial and well-built structure of brick and granite; which, after being permitted a 
 brief existence of only five or six years, was, in turn, not destroyed, but removed, in 1S52, to give place to the 
 present structure. The materials of the old (?) building were sold; they were taken away, brick by brick, 
 and stone by stone, and the building was reproduced in another street, just as it had looked in Broadway. 
 
New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 135 
 
 1853.] 
 
 The Broadway Bank. 
 
 nite, admirably built and handsome in its 
 design. Its centre is occupied by a large 
 circular hall, whose multitudinous echoes 
 laugh the science of acoustics to scorn, 
 and make whispers impossible. This cen- 
 tral hall, which runs up to the top of the 
 building and is crowned by a dome, is 
 surrounded by offices which, in point of 
 cheerfulness, eclipse any thing which 
 Egyptian catacombs have yet been able 
 to offer us. We enter them whenever 
 we have occasion, with a gloomy appre- 
 hension that our friends will be found 
 in a mournful state of mummy, and the 
 disappointment is too contrary to what 
 seems natural, to be as pleasing as it 
 ought. The building is enormous, and 
 built with a praiseworthy solidity, which 
 will defy the ravages of time ; yet solid 
 as it is, and ridiculously extravagant as 
 was its cost, there is probably no building 
 in the world so absurdly inconvenient. 
 The great pyramid of Gizeh is almost 
 as well lighted; and, owing to its im- 
 mense size, which enables it to main- 
 tain a uniform temperature, it is better 
 suited to the uses of daily life. The 
 Exchange was built by the merchants 
 of New-York ; and cost one million eight 
 hundred thousand dollars; the original 
 stockholders lost every penny of their 
 
 investment, and it was recently sold 
 for a sum hardly sufficient to pay the 
 mortgage held by the Barings in Lon- 
 don. The new Royal Exchange, in 
 London, cost £112 000, and is even- 
 way superior to our New-York build- 
 ing, in architectural beauty, conveni- 
 ence, and comfort. The best front of 
 our Exchange is on Wall-street; yet, 
 even in the offices on this side, gas- 
 lights are required almost constantly, and 
 there is no room in the building which 
 is decently lighted. The basement story, 
 compared to which the Catacombs of Pa- 
 ris are gay, has no means by which it can 
 be warmed ; being without fire-places, 
 furnace-registers, or access to chimney- 
 flues. We have spoken of the great Ro- 
 tunda ; a hall, eighty feet in diameter, paved 
 with marble, and whose walls are decorated 
 with columns and pilasters, of finely polish- 
 ed white marble, having plaster capitals 
 — the marble ones which were carved for 
 this hall in Italy, being found too small, 
 were replaced by those which at present 
 disgrace the building. Altogether, wheth- 
 er we look at the unimposing character 
 of the structure itself, the immense amount 
 of money actually thrown away, the ab- 
 surd arrangements of the interior, and the 
 utter want of design, resulting from an 
 
136 
 
 New- York Dnguerreotyped. 
 
 entire lack of knowledge and taste in the 
 architect, which are the chief characteris- 
 tics of the building, and which make it 
 the dreariest, least inviting, and most ex- 
 pensive place of business in the city ; we 
 are at a loss for a comparison, which shall 
 place its mingled absurdities in the strong- 
 est light. We wish the unfortunate ar- 
 chitect, Isaiah Rogers, no more punish- 
 ment than to have his name carved in 
 granite letters on the pediment ; there to 
 survive the blows of Fate and shocks of 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 Time, with his offspring, which we pro- 
 phesy with the sadness becoming such a 
 vaticination, will outlast the pyramids, 
 and remain as food for inextinguishable 
 laughter to generations whose grandfathers 
 and great-grandfathers are yet unborn. 
 But we wish that some of our city’s 
 best architecture were as sure of resist- 
 ing the ravages of time as this solid 
 block of granite, and its sister of marble, 
 the Custom House, whose character we 
 shall analyze in a future paper. 
 
 The Merchant’s Exchange. 
 
1853.] 
 
 m 
 
 THE SCULPTOR’S FUNERAL. 
 
 THROUGH the darkened streets of Florence. 
 1 Moving toward thy church, Saint Lorenz, 
 Marched the Bearers masked and singing 
 With their ghostly flambeaux flinging, 
 Ghostlier shadows that were swinging 
 Round the portals and the porches, 
 
 As its spirits which had hovered 
 In the darkness undiscovered, 
 
 Danced about the hissing torches, 
 
 Like the moths that whirl and caper, 
 
 Drunken round an evening taper. 
 
 Unconsoled and unconsoling 
 Rolled the Arno, louder rolling 
 As the rain poured — and the tolling 
 Through the thick shower fell demurely, 
 
 Fell from out one turret only 
 Where the bell swung sad and lonely, 
 
 Prisoned in the cloud securely. 
 
 Masked in black with voices solemn, 
 
 Strode the melancholy column, 
 
 With a stiff and soulless burden, 
 
 Bearing to the grave its guerdon. 
 
 While the torch flames, vexed and taunted 
 By the night winds, leapt and flaunted, 
 
 ’Mid the funeral rains that slanted, 
 
 Those brave bearers marched and chanted, 
 Through the darkness thick and dreary, 
 
 With a woful voice and weary, 
 
 Miserere. 
 
 Light to light and dark to dark, 
 
 Kindred natures thus agree ; 
 
 Where the soul soars none can mark ; 
 
 But the world below may hark, 
 
 Miserere Domine. 
 
 Dew to dew and rain to rain 
 
 Swell the streams and reach the sea — 
 When the drouth shall bum the plain, 
 
 Then the sands shall but remain, 
 
 Miserere Domine. 
 
 Flame to flame — let ashes fall 
 Where the fireless ashes be, 
 
 Embers black and funeral 
 Unto dying cinders call 
 Miserere Domine. 
 
 Life to life and dust to dust ! 
 
 Christ who died upon the tree, 
 
 Thine the promise, ours the trust, 
 
 We are weak, but thou art just ! 
 
 Miserere Domine ! 
 
 Isf Bystander. 
 
 There, stand aside — the very eaves are weeping, 
 
 As are the heavens in sympathy with us : — 
 Italia’s air hath not within its keeping 
 A nobler heart than that which lies there sleeping, 
 For whom the elements are wailing thus. 
 
 2 d Bystander. 
 
 I reverenced him — he was a marvellous schemer ; 
 
 Hath built more airy structures in his day 
 Than ever wild and opiate-breathing dreamer 
 Hath drugged his dreams with even in Cathay 
 
 VOL. i. — 10 
 
138 
 
 The Sculptor's Funeral. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 His fancy went in marble round the earth, 
 
 And whitened it with statues — where he trod 
 The silent people leapt to sudden birth, 
 
 And all the sky exulting high and broad 
 Became a mighty Pantheon for God ! 
 
 Bystander. 
 
 You reverenced him 1 I loved him with a scope 
 Of feeling I may never know again, 
 
 And love him still, even though beyond all hope 
 The Priest, the Bishop, Cardinal and Pope 
 Should banish him to wear a burning chain 
 In those great dungeons of the unforgiven, 
 
 Under the space-deep castle walls of Heaven. 
 
 I know the Church considered it a sin, 
 
 I know the Duke considered it a shame, 
 
 That our Alzoni would not stoop to win 
 What any blunderer now-a-days may claim, 
 
 A niche in Sante Croce — which hath been 
 And is, to them, the very shrine of Fame ! 
 
 Why, look you, why should one carve out his soul 
 In bits to meet the world’s unthankful stare, 
 
 For Ignorance to hold in his control, 
 
 And sly-eyed Jealousy’s detracting glare 1 
 To see the golden glories of his brain 
 Out-glittered by a brazen counterfeit 1 
 The starriest spirit only shines in vain 
 When every rocket can out-dazzle it ! 
 
 Chorus of Students following. 
 
 They bear the great Alzoni — he is dead : 
 
 Our hope is dead and lies on yonder bier — 
 
 There is no comfort left for any here, 
 
 Since he is dead. 
 
 Oh, mother Florence, droop your queenly head, 
 
 And mingle ashes with your wreath of flowers — 
 Build funeral altars in your ducal bowers. 
 
 For he is dead. 
 
 Oh, sacred Arno, be your ripples shed 
 
 No more in music o’er your silver sands, — 
 
 But mourn to death, and wring your watery hands. 
 For he is dead. 
 
 Ye dusky palaces, whose gloom is wed 
 To princely names that never may depart, 
 
 Drown all your lights in tears — the prince of Art, 
 Your hope, is dead. 
 
 Ye spirits who to glory have been led 
 In years agone, departed souls of might, 
 
 Make joyful space in Heaven — for our delight 
 On earth is dead ! 
 
 And thus with melancholy songs they bore him, 
 
 Into the chapel — ’twixt the columns vast 
 They set the bier and lit great tapers o’er him, 
 
 And looked their last. 
 
 They looked and pondered on his dreamy history 
 Whose sudden close had left them broken-hearted. 
 Till cloudy censers veiled the light in mystery, 
 
 And they departed. 
 
1853.] 
 
 VIRGINIA; 
 
 IN A NOVEL FORM. 
 
 139 
 
 (Continued from page 93.) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE AUTHORESS PROVES TO BE A DAGUERREOTVPIST, 
 AND BEGS TO LAY BEFORE THE REAPER SOME 
 CHOICE SPECIMENS OF HER ART. 
 
 E were pleased to see that our guests 
 enjoyed themselves. Every thing was 
 done that could be done to promote their 
 pleasure. Mrs. Blanton was delighted 
 with her visit, and a favorite with every 
 member of the family, except grandma. 
 In a few days, Therese was completely 
 domesticated. With mamma she was a 
 particular favorite; and the two, happy 
 with each other, would go off upon house- 
 keeping excursions, and to see the sick, 
 and take the longest walks, while Adolphe 
 would be skipping around them, forming 
 a group most pleasant to the eye, and 
 perfectly charming to Robert. My bro- 
 ther would watch the evolutions of this 
 little fairy who had enslaved him, with 
 mingled expressions of pride, tenderness, 
 and ecstacy. She was so natural and 
 good-humored, so arch and coquettish, so 
 filled with all we are wont to love in 
 woman, that nobody need blame Robert 
 for his happiness, or Mr. Blanton for his 
 misery. Therese proposed to make some 
 cakes for us, with her own little hands. 
 She told the housekeeper that she knew 
 how to make the best cakes any body ever 
 tasted in the world. Of course, such a 
 proposition placed my brother Robert in 
 the seventh heaven. To think that Therese 
 could make cakes ! Gracious, what a 
 thought ! Real, round, plump little cakes, 
 light and melting in the mouth ! And 
 that he should eat them ! 
 
 Of course, these cakes were honored 
 above all the cakes that ever appeared 
 upon our table. Therese, funny little 
 woman, doing the honors, while her little 
 tongue ran on the while in its pleasant 
 social way. Miss Blanton frowned, and 
 asked her if those cakes hadn’t soda in 
 them? 
 
 “ They are seasoned with nectar, gen- 
 uine nectarine cakes, upon my word,” re- 
 torted Robert. 
 
 “ 1 put a little piece of soda, sister, 
 just so much,” said Therese, checking off 
 a little tip of rosy finger nail, to show how 
 much. 
 
 “ Ah, ha ! I detected it.” cried Miss 
 Blanton ; whereupon Robert turned around 
 gravely, and looked at Miss Blanton, 
 evidently regarding that lady as a com- 
 plex chemical apparatus from that moment. 
 
 Dashwood cried out from his seat for a 
 few more of the nectarine cakes, and papa 
 reached forth demurely, and apologized 
 for taking “ Captain Manners,” which was 
 the last of them. Little Therese was so 
 delighted with her performance. Her 
 oval eyes were glistening, and her soft 
 cheek glowing ; really, all this was most 
 charming. Robert became so magnani- 
 mous, after eating of these cakes, that he 
 allowed Mr. Blanton a tete-d-ttte with 
 Therese in the grotto. 
 
 Dashwood was the life of our party. 
 He planned fishing excursions and riding 
 parties. He played at graces with Miss 
 Blanton, and at backgammon with Mr. 
 Blanton. He read for our amusement in 
 the early hours, and repeated poetry in 
 sylvan haunts, at times when all hearts 
 were filled with poetry. He sang bass 
 with all the ladies, and got up serenades 
 in the wee small hours. He aided and 
 comforted mamma during the weighty 
 ceremonies of dinner, and was never too 
 late for breakfast. He sat in tableaux 
 with rigid propriety, and in a rash moment 
 undertook a waltz with the dangerous 
 Willianna. lie captivated every heart but 
 papa’s — and even papa was charmed with 
 him as a guest, only begging to be excus- 
 ed when he was proposed as a son-in-law. 
 
 Airs. Blanton was in transports about 
 Dashwood. What a man he was ! Never 
 had she seen such an intellectual face, 
 faultless contour, and superb address — 
 except — except — and here Therese broke 
 down, and looked sideways at Robert, 
 and blushed. 
 
 “ She alludes to the departed Blanton,” 
 whispered grandma in confidence to me — 
 tapping her snuff-box, getting her pocket 
 handkerchief ready, and sighing with great 
 force. 
 
 “ Very likely,” said I, pretending not 
 to notice Robert’s eye catching the light 
 of hers, and the half whispered “ charm- 
 ing Therese,” which followed. 
 
 I have already said that Robert was 
 so overcome by generosity and magna- 
 nimity, after partaking of Mrs. Blanton’s 
 cakes, that he went off to the river with 
 Alphonse, and allowed Mr. Blanton a 
 tete-a-tete with his adorable, in his own 
 consecrated grotto. It seems that Air. 
 Blanton was consumed by jealousy, and 
 that he really became restive and unruly, 
 and that Therese almost broke her heart 
 in this grotto, begging her brother to give 
 
140 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 her up like a man, and let her love Mr. 
 Rushton. I learned it was a terrific scene. 
 The tender woman fearing to wound, and 
 yet obliged to cut him to the very heart. 
 She throwing herself upon his mercy, and 
 he mad with love. “And has it come to 
 this ?” said Mr. Blanton, sternly, to his 
 sister. “ Am / to be trifled with in this 
 way ? Is my love of five years to be 
 measured with the mushroom passion of 
 this flippant stripling? Have you no 
 gratitude — no common sense — nothing, 
 absolutely nothing, but dimples, and tears, 
 and nonsense? ” 
 
 “ Dearest brother,” begun Therese — 
 
 “ I am not your brother, madam.” 
 
 “Dear Henry, I only tell you how I 
 love Robert,” said Therese, naively. 
 
 “ Pshaw ! ” 
 
 “ And implore your forgiveness.” 
 
 “ My forgiveness ; pray, madam, w'hat 
 have 1 to forgive ? ” 
 
 “ Me — your little Therese — your sis- 
 ter.” 
 
 “ My little pest and torment,” he said, 
 toying with her pretty fingers. She 
 laughed and drew nearer to him. in her 
 winning artless way, and he folded her in 
 his arms, not exactly like a brother, I 
 fear. 
 
 “ My own dear good brother,” mur- 
 mured Therese. He suffered her to call 
 him so. She might have called him fiend, 
 and he would have held her to his breast, 
 with her soft wreathing arms and pearly 
 cheek. 
 
 Poor Blanton ! To find himself so 
 proud, stiff, and unyielding ; being turned 
 around a little woman’s finger, in spite of 
 his teeth. And to be dying and sighing 
 at his age, for a pair of wreathing arms 
 and pearly cheeks. 
 
 We were all very sad when our gay 
 guests took their departure. Robert 
 watched the carriages until they turned 
 down the hill, and were out of sight ; and 
 then he came into the back parlor, and 
 declared that Mrs. Blanton was the sweet- 
 est woman in the world. Grandma im- 
 mediately remarked that her dresses were 
 too low, for which illusion scarfs could 
 offer no apology at all ; and gave it as her 
 deliberate opinion, that she had better 
 marry Mr. Blanton, or he would petrify ; 
 indeed, she considered that stiff specimen 
 as already far advanced into petrifaction. 
 
 Dashwood said she had about as much 
 soul as a mermaid. And that the whole 
 secret of her success with Bob could be dis- 
 tinctly traced to three dimples (they being, 
 he was sorry to say, very weak points with 
 Bob), a well turned bust, two rows of 
 teeth, several smiles, and a pair of baby 
 feet — not to mention a way she had of 
 looking up at a man, and down at a man, 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 and aside at a man — and thereby putting 
 a man to great bewilderment and confu- 
 sion. 
 
 “ Pray, what do you call soul ? She 
 has delicacy, refinement, quickness of ap- 
 prehension, relish for wit ; she is never 
 ruffled ; she is always tender and gentle ; 
 she is careful of every body’s feelings, and 
 good to the poor. Now if that isn’t soul, 
 old fellow,” cried Robert, slapping him on 
 the shoulder, “ tell me what it is ? ” 
 
 “ Art,” said Dashwood. 
 
 “ Art ! By heaven, she is as unsophis- 
 ticated as a child ! Her own son is not 
 more guileless.” 
 
 “ By the way, that little son. how will 
 you dispose of him in the matrimonial 
 contract? ” asked Dashwood. 
 
 “Why,” said Robert, “I will take 
 that little boy by the hand, and show him 
 the way to go. I will tell him where to 
 look for breakers, and where he may ex- 
 pect treachery beneath the dimpling waves 
 — and, perhaps — perhaps,” said Robert 
 laughing, “ I will point to one eccentric 
 Dashwood; and bid him look and take 
 warning.” 
 
 “ No, you will not ! ” cried Dashwood, 
 with a bright face ; “ no, you will not, 
 sir ! But you may be able to say by that 
 time, 1 See Dashwood, how he has strug- 
 gled, and how he has conquered, and what 
 a brave figure he cuts upon his pedestal ! ’ 
 You may say, ‘ Go and do likewise,’ to 
 3 r our little son — who knows ? ” 
 
 I saw Louise look up, and smile glo- 
 riously upon him. I saw mamma turn 
 with a proud bright look towards him, 
 and I saw Robert reach forward and grasp 
 his hand, and hold it, that he might read 
 Iris sparkling, glowing countenance. 
 
 Surely Dashwood, if aught under the 
 sun can fix thee in thy purpose, it is this. 
 If aught can settle the rover in thee, it is 
 this. Unstable as water, restless as the 
 wind, unsatisfied as the sea, brilliant as 
 the sun, magnanimous as Jove ; if aught 
 can gather thy great powers into one pur- 
 pose, surely it is this ! 
 
 “ I intend,” said Dashwood, “ to shake 
 off the sin which doth so easily beset me, 
 and turn over a new leaf. You see, I have 
 been all this time running mj' - fingers over 
 the keys.” 
 
 “And uncertain music making,” said 
 Robert. 
 
 “ Merely to find the tune ; and I intend 
 to find the tune.” 
 
 “ God grant it,” said my brother. 
 
 “ I intend to run up and down the 
 gamut, until I find out the tune of my 
 life,” remarked Dashwood. 
 
 “It is to be a brilliant introduction to 
 an overture, I suspect.” said Robert. 
 
 “ Or a romance a la Reeve” said I. 
 
1853.J 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 141 
 
 “ Or a fantasia,” said Louise. 
 
 “ I do not know yet ; but I suspect, 
 I strongly suspect, that 1 am now upon 
 the verge of a discovery. I think after 
 having rambled on, and trying this key 
 and that, 1 am now about to find out in 
 what key I can best perform.” 
 
 “ You have been scampering about 
 among sharps, flats, and naturals,” said 
 Robert jocosely. 
 
 “ Indeed have I.” 
 
 “ And dreamily running the scales, 
 and trying your chords, as young ladies 
 are wont to do, before entering into the 
 body of an astonishing piece.” 
 
 “ Exactly. I expect to launch out into 
 brilliant execution, now, the first oppor- 
 tunity,” said Dashwood, shaking off all 
 gravity, and treating this subject, as he 
 did all others, with intrepid recklessness. 
 The glorious tinting on Louise’s cheek 
 faded, and Dashwood’s momentary en- 
 thusiasm was gone. He and Robert lived 
 for jokes and fun. They had no more 
 idea of the great ends of life than a couple 
 of butterflies. They were a well-matched 
 pair. Loving each other first, and then 
 loving their respective sweethearts. But 
 these young fellows were only twenty and 
 twenty-two. 
 
 Dashwood, who was the elder, was an 
 orphan, allowed by his guardian to grow 
 up and run wild, under the supervision of 
 dame Nature, to whom he was more in- 
 debted than to family or friends. Conse- 
 quently, nobody could expect much from 
 him, until twenty-five or thereabouts. 
 Robert was too rich, I believe, to follow a 
 profession. He had a plantation, which 
 his overseer managed, while he sported 
 upon the proceeds. He had studied law 
 somewhere, and had a law library, but he 
 considered it entirely too dry for a gentle- 
 man of his tastes. Dashwood was pushed 
 up the hill by poverty, which ranks high 
 among stimuli and propellers, and gene- 
 rally accomplishes something for young 
 men. Robert having no such enemy, or 
 rather friend in the rear, lingered in plea- 
 sant places, and sported in luxuriant vales, 
 and turned from the great hill of life with 
 contempt. 
 
 After the departure of our pleasant 
 guests, Louise was sent by our wary papa 
 into Siberian banishment. In other words, 
 she was sent under the care of two maid 
 servants, and papa’s own man Jerry, to 
 Mrs. Phoebe Braxley, to be kept out of 
 sight and hearing of Dashwood. Papa 
 was very much in hopes that something 
 of a Providential nature would occur to 
 get Dashwood out of our neighborhood, 
 so that diffident young Farren might have 
 a fair field for the contemplated matrimo- 
 nial adjustment between these two staunch 
 
 Whig and moneyed families. Louise was, 
 therefore, sent beyond the orbit of this 
 brilliant comet, before whom all other 
 luminaries paled, to Mrs. Braxley, before 
 whom no luminary of any intelligence 
 dare show itself. Mrs. Braxley, like all 
 the immediate descendants of Airs. Bar- 
 bara (whose vein of eccentricity, by the 
 mere accident of a theatrical conflagration, 
 had been turned into our family), was a 
 character. 
 
 Mrs. Phoebe Jane Braxley was a wo- 
 man out of a hundred. She was a shrewd, 
 managing, business woman; viewing all 
 nature with a keen eye, and carrying every 
 thing before her. She was blunt and 
 plain spoken ; telling people flatly, and 
 without circumlocution, what she thought : 
 full of spunk ; indeed people have been 
 heard to remark, that she was “ spunk to 
 the back bone.” 
 
 She was the greatest domestic mana- 
 ger in the whole country, and celebrated, 
 far and near, for the neatness of her house- 
 hold, and the regularity and economy of 
 her establishment. Mamma, who was a 
 weak woman in this respect, regarded 
 Mrs. Braxley with profound awe, and con- 
 sulted her in her management, as she 
 would consult a highly gifted oracle. 
 
 She kept whole rows of sleek, tidy 
 negro girls at work, under her vigilant 
 eye. She had also half-a-dozen negro 
 lads, about twelve years old or therea- 
 bouts, whose uniform w r as a blue jacket 
 and white trowsers, and who could be seen 
 on fine days going through their evolutions 
 in the yard and garden, like a well-drilled 
 company. She had, as privy council, 
 several staid, prim, high-capped, low-curt- 
 sying old negro women, who, report said, 
 knew every thing. They wove and dyed 
 the most enormous quantities of home- 
 spun ; striped and checked carpets of bright 
 colors, and beautifully shaded ; blankets 
 of rose patterns, and curious workman- 
 ship ; counterpanes, knotted, dotted, cross- 
 barred, raised, flowered, and bordered. 
 These learned high-capped women (the 
 pride and stay of all well-regulated Vir- 
 ginia homes, and very tyrants in their 
 sphere), could be seen early of mornings, 
 hanging out long chains of blue cotton 
 warp upon the palings ; festooning whole 
 pieces of cloth out to dry ; spreading out 
 long white strips on the dewy grass, to 
 bleach ; making starch ; peeling apples ; 
 mustering, like Macbeth’s witches, around 
 tremendous cauldrons ; and going about 
 at all times with rigid faces and important 
 looks, as though the destinies of all man- 
 kind were in their hands. Mrs. Braxley 
 herself was frequently with these old 
 women, consulting over bits of board, 
 wrapped with bright colors, or what they 
 
142 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 called drafts, or abstruse and many cor- 
 nered patterns. Mrs. Braxley, who had 
 as much energy as Bonaparte, always 
 made large tobacco crops, engaged her 
 own overseer, and turned him off midway 
 between January and Christmas, if he did 
 not walk exactly to suit her ; grew her 
 own corn and wheat ; raised her own pork, 
 beeves, and fowls; and was always in 
 advance of her neighbors, in green peas 
 and fried chicken. She was a tall, fine 
 woman of fortjr ■ standing erect and inde- 
 pendent, with a sun-burnt face and clear 
 gray eye ; speaking quickly, and to the 
 point ; dressing neatly and compactly, not 
 even bending to that female tyrant, fash- 
 ion, but choosing, year after year, after a 
 pattern of her own invention. Her sleeves 
 were large enough to roll up over the el- 
 bows ; her skirts short enough not to 
 sweep the yard, or to interfere with Mrs. 
 Braxley in going up any flight of steps, 
 however formidable. Iler caps were made 
 with an eye to a weekly washing; her 
 shoes ample and double-soled. Mrs. 
 Braxley often boasted that fashion came 
 to her once in seven years, and that she 
 never had a corn ; and, though her family 
 was a gouty family, and she might add a 
 corny family, yet she defied both. This 
 lady, as the reader already perceives, was 
 a worthy daughter of Mrs. Barbara, though 
 she had none of Mrs. Barbara’s weak- 
 nesses, viz., love of family, style, big names, 
 fortunes, and Paris fashions. Mrs. Brax- 
 ley despised pretension and display, and 
 entertained a sovereign contempt, to use 
 her own expression, for the “ fag end of a 
 big family.” But one defect had this 
 model female ; I cannot call it a weakness, 
 for Mrs. Braxley had no weaknesses. One 
 defect had she, which I cannot conscien- 
 tiously pass over in silence. My beloved 
 reader, will you believe it 7 — this neat, 
 orderly, sin-exterminating woman, rubbed 
 snuff ! She kept a snuff-box in her right 
 pocket, filled with the strongest and most 
 pungent Scotch snuff ; and she went about 
 all day, brandishing a dangerous-looking 
 hickory stick, with a mop end, which she 
 was constantly dipping into this huge 
 black horn snuff-box, and loading with 
 snuff, which I am sorry to say was duly 
 deposited in Mrs. Braxley’s mouth. This 
 horrible practice, called in lower Virginia 
 and North Carolina, dipping, is of respect- 
 able standing. I have known many dip- 
 pers in my life, who, like my aunt Brax- 
 ley, had but that one fault ; and I must 
 halt just here, in my description of my 
 aunt, to pay my respects to “ dipping.” 
 Ladies who confess to ‘-taking a dip,” are, 
 I am sorry to say, exceedingly ferocious 
 on the subject. They repel indignantly 
 any attack upon this favorite and genial 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 pursuit. Beautiful creatures, with rosy, 
 perfumed mouths, will grow restless at 
 “dipping time,” and will cautiously desert 
 lover, husband, father, or friend, at the 
 established dipping hour ; to draw out, in 
 some snug retreat, these formidable and 
 nauseous-looking hickory sticks, with mop 
 ends, and fill their delicate mouths with 
 load after load, of horrid Scotch snuff! 
 That estimable lady, who, after kissing 
 her own cow, turned around and proclaim- 
 ed to astonished mankind, “ de gustibus 
 non est disputandum ,” surely had the 
 gift of second sight, and must have had her 
 prophetic eye upon troops of dippers, 
 away down in the vista of time, gliding 
 off with nimble step to this remarkable 
 pursuit. 
 
 Forgive me, dippers, if I have played 
 the spy in your midst. Forgive me if I 
 have approached your sancla with a po- 
 tent hickory wand, and been injudiciously 
 admitted. Forgive me for having, with 
 grave visage, followed your example, and 
 walloped my mop-stick deep in your black 
 horn boxes, that I might get the “ hang ” 
 of this delightful recreation. Forgive me 
 for saying, that I have seen you giving 
 each other the wink at dipping-time, and 
 stealing off one by one, with innocent 
 faces and compressed smiles, to range 
 yourselves d les regies in compact circles, 
 around brisk winter fires, or in back sum- 
 mer piazzas, and then luxuriously dipping 
 — dipping — dipping. 
 
 By simply arming herself with a 
 hickory stick, and boldly penetrating the 
 charmed circle of these dippers, the curious 
 reader can see human nature in a new 
 light. She (for no gentleman is ever ad- 
 mitted, under any circumstances) will hear 
 ladies inviting ladies to “ come over and 
 take a dip.” She will see them grouped to- 
 gether, with handkerchiefs spread over their 
 laps, snuff-boxes open, and mops at work, 
 dipping, the sly happy creatures ! at the 
 maddest rate. Unfortunately, my curious 
 reader will find that they do not confine 
 their dippings to their black horn boxes ; 
 they sometimes dip into their friends ! 
 The stimulative weed excites these ladies, 
 and they unbosom themselves, spin the 
 longest yarns, open the darkest pages, and 
 dip — and dip — and dip. 
 
 “Dippers” are of gregarious habits, 
 going in herds, communicating by signs, 
 and bound together in long unbroken 
 chains. They will face any danger to 
 meet an appointment, and would go 
 through a brush fire to rub their teeth, 
 and wag their heads and chat. Woe be to 
 the absent dipper in such dangerous times. 
 Woe be to her if the community cannot 
 furnish a murder, or a run-away match, 
 or a jealous husband, or a monster of 
 
1853.] 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 143 
 
 some kind, for the entertainment — these 
 dippers will most assuredly dip into her ! 
 
 Sometimes we find a small band of 
 dippers cast into a highly dangerous and 
 anti-dipping community. Public opinion 
 is against dipping ; husbands and fathers 
 are against dipping ; young men are against 
 dipping. Under these unfavorable cir- 
 cumstances they unite into secret societies, 
 concealing their boxes and mops, abusing 
 the weed publicly and vehemently, resort- 
 ing to private signs, appointing rendezvous, 
 meeting, mid hairbreadth escapes and 
 thrilling adventures — and then, oh ! such 
 royal dips ! Dipping into every thing. 
 Dipping into the so-and-so’s, and the 
 everybody’s, with a vengeance ! Dipping 
 into families and friends, probing the sorest 
 wounds with these mopped sticks ; bran- 
 dishing their weapons more and more 
 fiercely, until, from the stimulating effects 
 of the weed, they turn against their own 
 husbands, and relate such matrimonial 
 trials as would still every mop for reflection ! 
 
 Mrs. Braxley was a leading dipper; 
 an independent go-ahead dipper ; from 
 whom many timid dippers plucked a little 
 courage. 
 
 Mrs. Braxley would brandish her 
 tooth-brush in the President’s face, if 
 provoked to it ; and a brave commander- 
 in-chief was she. 
 
 Poor Louise would have been very 
 comfortably located, had it not been for 
 uncle Joe, the meek husband of the above- 
 mentioned. 
 
 It seems that uncle Joe had been a 
 gay rollicking blade in his youth, and that 
 Mrs. Barbara had considered him rather 
 beneath her daughter, and had opposed 
 the match, “ solely upon aristocratic 
 grounds,” to use her own expression ; but 
 finally, in consideration of Phoebe’s low 
 forehead and freckles, she graciously con- 
 sented. Thereupon, uncle Joe, in his 
 usual rash and inconsiderate manner, 
 rushed young, high-spirited, and unbroken, 
 into the matrimonial yoke, and found him- 
 self secured for life ! I need not say that 
 he was completely broken in a fleeting 
 twelvemonth. 
 
 The daughter of Mrs. Barbara assert- 
 ed and maintained her rights with a high 
 hand. Year after year found her still 
 gaining upon the enemy (Uncle Joe), who 
 retreated and retreated, and being also 
 seized with a furious rheumatism, he 
 seized his pipe and took his corner, and 
 was no more like the dashing Joe Braxley 
 of the olden time, than he was like a 
 gaudy war elephant of Siam. His wants 
 were few and his pleasures were fewer. 
 Half his time was spent in acute rheu- 
 matic pain, by which he was shockingly 
 drawn : and the other half was divided in 
 
 sharp lookings-out for east winds, friendly 
 chattings with friends, and vigorous rub- 
 bings with pungent liniments and bear- 
 like gloves, to keep the rheumatism at 
 bay. Ah, could that young lady, who in 
 bygone romantic daj r s had so loved uncle 
 Joe, and who had taken out to Alabama 
 a broken heart, to be healed by gentle 
 southern breezes ; could she but see the 
 gay young heart-breaker now ! Her 
 youthful dream would, alas, be broken, 
 quite as effectually as was her heart. She 
 would see, instead of her crisp-locked 
 ideal, a bald-headed, plethoric, mild man- 
 nered man, sitting in his corner with his 
 pipe, or with his bristly gloves and lini- 
 ments, intently rubbing his knee joints ! 
 What a picture for a broken heart ! What 
 a finale for greedy romance to digest ! 
 
 Still, there was an old twinkle in the 
 corner of the eye, and a keen relish for a 
 joke, and the echo of a once boisterous 
 and hearty laugh, which pertinaciously 
 clung to uncle Joe, and a few sparks of 
 the old fire, which had resisted all the 
 dampers of matrimony, which shone forth 
 now and then, and made this hymeneal 
 and rheumatic captive appear a jocund 
 man at times. 
 
 Time’s gorgeous panorama moved 
 slowly on. The spring had budded and 
 blossomed. The summer had blushed 
 and deepened and passed away, and the 
 Haunting crimson cloud-land, with its 
 burnished splendors, had sobered and 
 grown gray, and faded, and old Time was 
 in the sere and yellow leaf. Young hearts 
 were subdued, and old affections mellowed. 
 Louise’s exile was not yet over. She was, 
 by papa’s order, still pining in Mrs. 
 Braxley’s dominions. I hope my reader 
 knows something of love. How he mocks 
 at frowns and barriers. How young lov- 
 ers, though separated, can wait, and hope, 
 and bear up stoutly against all cruelty, 
 and endure a variety of hardships and 
 crosses, in a manner which must seem 
 somewhat surprising to them after they 
 have attained the object of their wishes. 
 We all know how danger only stimulates 
 young lovers ; and how opposition will 
 often change quite a commonplace and 
 lukewarm passion into an heroic and 
 sublime affair. How absence and parental 
 tyranny have done more for the wily god 
 than all the arrows in his quiver. IIow 
 the beloved in absence can be easily deck- 
 ed with many imaginary beauties and 
 graces, which his constant presence would 
 too wofully dissipate. How one stolen 
 interview is of more value to a lover than 
 fifty unrebuked and prolonged sittings. 
 In short, how Cupid only enlists obstinate 
 parents in his service, and makes them 
 light blindly against themselves. 
 
144 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 Louise was pining in Siberia. The Si- 
 berian monarch, Mrs. Braxley, was gone 
 with her sceptre of hickory to a neighbor’s, 
 to dip. Uncle Joe and Louise were drawn 
 up around a three-legged table, on which 
 mildly and lambently shone Mrs. Braxley’s 
 parlor lamp. Uncle Joe sat with bits of 
 soft wood lying on the table, which he 
 was fashioning with his pen-knife into all 
 sorts of shapes ; his bald head shining 
 amid his iron-gray locks, like a soft shroud- 
 ed moon. Louise sat indolently rocking 
 in a large blue chair, absorbed in thought. 
 
 “ What is the matter, Louise ? You are 
 terribly moped about something,” said 
 uncle Joe, scooping out the rim of a wood- 
 en punch bowl. 
 
 “ Nothing,” said Louise, listlessly. 
 
 “ Nothing but Dashwood. That fellow 
 is always uppermost in your thoughts. 
 You had better dismiss him, and take 
 F arren ; at least so Mrs. Barbara and all 
 these clever women think. They say 
 Dashwood is incorrigible.” 
 
 “ Do you think so? ” Louise asked. 
 
 “ My dear, do not ask me ; I do not 
 know. They say he is wasting the finest 
 talents in the State, and that he hasn’t 
 the stability even to make a start in life.” 
 
 “ Ah, but he has,” said my sister. 
 
 “ I have my doubts. I should dislike 
 to see you throwing yourself away upon 
 a fellow, who, it seems, can be any thing, 
 and will be nothing.” 
 
 “I tell you,” said Louise, turning to the 
 light, and raising a pair of lustrous eyes, 
 “ I tell you he has the strength to be any 
 thing. He has the noblest heart in the 
 world ; and I — I have sounded its lowest 
 depths. I cannot believe such glorious 
 gifts can perish, any more than a sunbeam 
 can be drowned in the sea. You have 
 only to look upon his countenance and 
 believe. You have only to look and see 
 the great light shining on his brow. Ab, 
 the light gilds up the highest peaks, does 
 it not ? Well, uncle Joe, it is there ! ” 
 
 “Youth, youth,” said uncle Joe, in a 
 sad funereal note. 
 
 “ But let me say it now, uncle Joe. 
 Let me say it only once, that I may not 
 break my word. If he fail, if he perish, 
 if he fall — then I fail, and I perish, and 
 I fall, too ! ” 
 
 “ Stop, girl ! Pray don’t ! ” cried uncle 
 Joe, casting an alarmed look around; for 
 that good man had been taught, and firm- 
 ly believed, that walls had ears, particu- 
 larly Mrs. Braxley’s walls. 
 
 “Don’t be rash; I beg you don’t be 
 rash. You’ll repent it as sure as you 
 live,” said uncle Joe, really alarmed at 
 her remarks. 
 
 “ They are going to oppose me, ’’continued 
 Louise steadily, while uncle Joe cut away 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 furiously upon his punch bowl. “ I see 
 them banding together — papa, grandma, 
 all but mamma and dear Robert — but I— 
 I cannot give him up.” 
 
 As Louise expressed herself thus, her 
 face glowing and her eye glittering be- 
 neath the serene globe of the lamp, and 
 her countenance radiant with that divine 
 fortitude possessed by some women in 
 such heavenly perfection, Dashwood, who 
 held the door ajar, bounded in. He caught 
 her to his breast, and then paid his re- 
 spects to uncle Joe, by squeezing him in 
 his arms until he cried out, and then he 
 danced several times around the table, and 
 finally he drew up beneath the lamp, and 
 informed his hearers that he was the hap- 
 piest man alive. He begged leave to re- 
 peat it, and most forcibly to impress it 
 upon them, that, “ recent events, together 
 with the absence of a respectable lady, 
 whose image often filled their hearts,” 
 said Dashwood, his eye gleaming with its 
 comic fire, “ have conspired to render me 
 the most supremely happy man in the 
 world.” 
 
 Uncle Joe slapped his rheumatic knees, 
 and laughed at the bare idea of a certain 
 person’s absence contributing to any body’s 
 happiness. He regarded it as a capital 
 idea, a facetious and mirth-provoking con- 
 ceit, that allusion to the timely absence 
 of the lady who so often filled their hearts. 
 He hadn’t “ shook the cobwebs ” at such 
 a rate since the last time, one snug even- 
 ing, after tea, it was, when Dashwood 
 boldly walked in at one door as she walk- 
 ed out at the other, and after making his 
 bow to the retiring figure, he demurely 
 stretched himself out upon her vacant 
 chair, and proceeded to lament her ab- 
 sence, in low pathetic modulations. 
 
 Poor Dashwood had such twinkling 
 comic eyes, and could put on such grave, 
 queer faces, that uncle Joe could never 
 resist his sallies. Indeed, uncle Joe en- 
 joyed these stolen visits, and though he 
 cried out fudge and fiddlesticks, he wick- 
 edly delighted in the perils which this 
 courageous fellow encountered, with such 
 admirable ease and assurance. The greats 
 est and most bitter enemy the persecuted 
 lover could boast, was Mrs. Braxley, and 
 his greatest admirer the timid, but once 
 rash, uncle Joe. Therefore, uncle Joe 
 always shook the reckless dashing fellow 
 warmly by the hand, and invariably in- 
 vited him to look in upon them on snug 
 evenings, with the emphasis as I have 
 marked ; though uncle Joe knew it was 
 as much as his head was worth to give 
 that invitation. 
 
 The reader sees how these Phoebean 
 territories were invaded by love, and how 
 this Cassanova-like Dashwood, was ever 
 
1853.] 
 
 Virginia. 
 
 145 
 
 ready, with his masterly ingenuity and 
 address, to take advantage of the most 
 untoward event. 1 dare say, had Mrs. 
 Braxley accidentally returned to find him 
 in possession of her favorite chair, he 
 would have met her as coolly, and with 
 quite as much assurance as the admirable 
 Cassanova displayed when he encountered 
 the terrible Inquisitor. 
 
 “ You cannot guess what I have to tell 
 you ! ” cried Dashwood. 
 
 ‘‘Don’t talk so loud, are you the town 
 crier, young man ? ” hoarsely whispered 
 uncle Joe in alarm. 
 
 “ Nevertheless, you cannot guess what 
 I have to tell jmu ! ” exclaimed the anima- 
 ted lover, nothing daunted. 
 
 “ Fudge ! ” muttered uncle Joe, hobbling 
 across the room for his pipe. 
 
 “ Do you give it up ? ” 
 
 “Yes—” 
 
 “Well, I am appointed attach^ to an 
 embassy at the Court of St. Cloud ! ! ” 
 cried Dashwood, jumping up. 
 
 “And a precious attache you will be,” 
 said uncle Joe, filling the bowl of his pipe. 
 
 “ What do you think of that ? ” asked 
 Dashwood, his face beaming with delight. 
 
 “I think our Goverment has gone mad, 
 if it dreams of attaching you to any thing,” 
 said uncle Joe, from his fog in the corner. 
 
 “ Ha ! ha ! ha ! I am very much attached 
 to some things. But I am going to cross 
 the waters, bless your soul, uncle Joe ! 
 To Rome ! think of that — to Paris — does 
 not that startle you ? To London ! How 
 often have you taken me to London by 
 the ears, until I squealed, uncle Joe'? Am 
 I to behold the skies of Italy, the Colise- 
 um, the Sistine Chapel, the Venus, the 
 Campagna, and the Carnival ? Am I to 
 hear the Miserere — and stand upon the 
 Rialto ! oh ! Louise, darling girl, am I re- 
 served for this ! ” 
 
 “Am I,” continued Dashwood, after a 
 pause, “ to be kindly snatched by Provi- 
 dence, from pleasures and temptations, 
 which I am too weak to resist ? Am I to 
 be taken from my old companions, who 
 are reckless, extravagant and rich, while 
 I am reckless, extravagant and poor, be- 
 cause my struggles have been seen by a 
 pitying eye, while I was too proud to ad- 
 mit that I had struggled, and had been 
 conquered ? Are efforts which have been 
 made with an earnest, but hopeless heart, 
 to be at length rewarded ? Are old asso- 
 ciations, which would cling to me, to be 
 broken by a stronger hand than mine ? ” 
 And the lover’s eye was moist, and there 
 was a mellow glow upon his face, which 
 was of heaven. “Heigho!” he said, paus- 
 ing again, “Bob dislikes to give me up, 
 and all the fellows dislike to give me up, 
 and some of the girls, eh Louise? declare 
 
 the)' cannot give me up, but this will be 
 the making of me. This will break up 
 old habits and old associations, but not 
 old loves, remember, and it is to be the 
 making of me. We have been trying for 
 months to secure this appointment. Bob, 
 poor fellow, has toiled like a capitalist, and 
 corresponded like a Home Secretary, about 
 this attache-ship for me. And now we’ve 
 got it, and I rushed in to tell you. I 
 brushed Mrs. Braxley’s respectable sleeve 
 on the road, to tell you this ; I invaded her 
 jail, and scared my dear- uncle Joe, to tell 
 him this!” 
 
 Again there was silence, and uncle Joe, 
 as the wreathing smoke coiled itself fan- 
 tastically above his head, was heard to 
 murmur “ too rash, too rash,” and puff- 
 ed on. 
 
 “Now,” continued Dashwood, “Mrs. 
 Braxley, estimable lady, can dip on, if she 
 will only refrain from dipping into me. 
 Uncle Joe, I shall leave my girl with you. 
 If Tom Farreii come near her, do you 
 chunk him with your crutch with my 
 compliments. If Mrs. Braxley attempt to 
 entice her away from me, speak up for me 
 uncle Joe. Speak up, and say how I have 
 ever esteemed Mrs. Braxley, you know 
 how I have never failed to bemoan her ab- 
 sence in mournful numbers, on all accident- 
 al occasions like the present. How I have 
 secured this appointment by Herculean 
 feats, of which she did not deem me ca- 
 pable. How, in my heart, I cannot blame 
 her for her jealous watching of my Louise. 
 How' I wish I could only engage her ser- 
 vices on my side until I return. How I 
 honor and respect her, and lament my 
 own unworthiness. How I shall leave my 
 native land with the determination never 
 to return until I can come worthy of her 
 good opinion. Will you tell her this for 
 me, uncle Joe?” 
 
 “ Lord bless your soul, man, — no ! It 
 would be the rashest thing I ever did ! ” 
 returned uncle Joe, puffing away vehe- 
 mently. “No,” continued that good man, 
 gently relenting, “ but I have had my eyes 
 upon you, Frank, ever since you were so 
 high;” and uncle Joe laid his hand, in a pa- 
 rental manner, upon the back of a chair, 
 “ever since, with an arm no bigger than 
 the round of this chair, you fetched the 
 d— d schoolmaster that famous lick, plump 
 in the black of his eye, for whipping Bob, 
 you know. ’Twas well done for a young- 
 ster, and properly done, and I said the 
 good metal was there. I knew the good 
 old ring when I heard it, 1 said that was 
 the genuine article. I did not think it was 
 rash then, ah no, hang me ; I wanted a 
 pull at the Yankee bully myself, and while 
 your mamma — rest her soul — apologized 
 to the Yankee, and scolded you, and cried 
 
146 
 
 A Review of Reviews. 
 
 about your disgraceful and ill-mannered 
 behavior to your preceptor, and all that, 
 I — I believe upon my word, I was the man 
 who gave you half a dollar, and a dozen 
 striped marbles, and told you when he 
 needed it, to give it to him again ! ” 
 
 “ The very man ! ” cried Dash wood, 
 grasping his hand. 
 
 “And,” returned the once rash man, 
 gently knocking the ashes from his pipe, 
 “and I am as confident of your success, 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 Frank, as I am of — of— Mrs. Braxley’s 
 return as soon as the clock is done 
 striking.” 
 
 “ Verbum sap,” said Dash wood, kissing 
 Louise’s hand, and retiring with his ac- 
 customed grace and ease. I may as well 
 say that Mrs. Braxley returned true to the 
 minute, rang for family prayers, and gave 
 her hearers an impromptu prayer, of great 
 power and length. 
 
 (To be continued.) 
 
 A REVIEW OF REVIEWS. 
 
 I’vo bribed my grandmother’s Eeview — the British.” 
 
 1 >UT why bribe a Review 1 — Who cares 
 J for a Review ? ” Exactly, newly fledged 
 author ! A pertinent query — “ Who cares 
 for a Review ? ” And what did Walpole 
 care for Lord Chatham’s strictures on the 
 “ Spanish Convention ? ” What did Lord 
 North care for Burke’s impaling him in the 
 House of Commons, on the “ American 
 Taxation ” question ? It was easy for 
 such practised statesmen to feign indiffer- 
 ence, but whom did they deceive ? “ "Who 
 
 cares for a Review 1 ” Dryden “ cared 
 for a Review : ” for Jeremy Collier may 
 be called, in a particular line, the Jeffrey 
 of his day. Byron “cared for a Review;” 
 and a good friend the Review proved to 
 him. Keats “ cared for a Review.” Ra- 
 cine “ cared for a Review : ” for he de- 
 clares to his son, that, although the praise 
 which had been lavished upon him, had 
 been exceedingly grateful to his feelings, 
 yet that, “the least adverse criticism, 
 even miserable as it might be, had always 
 occasioned him more vexation, than all 
 the praise he had received could give him 
 pleasure.” In truth, your Reviewer is a 
 very formidable personage ; and that our 
 contemptuous querist very well knows, 
 and feels, too : for whilst asking with so 
 much nonchalance , “ Who cares for a 
 Review 1 ” — there is not a Review within 
 his reach, issued since he grasped the first 
 copy of his precious volume, fresh and 
 damp from the publishers, that he has 
 not peered into, with a fluttering heart 
 and anxious countenance. 
 
 It seems very proper that, in an early 
 number of this Magazine, which “is in- 
 tended to combine the higher and graver 
 qualities of a Quarterly Review,” with 
 matter of a “ popular character,” that we 
 should present to our readers, a brief his- 
 tory of English Reviews. It is necessary 
 to remember the distinction between Crit- 
 icism and Reviewing. Whilst the birth 
 of modern Reviewing may be dated in 
 
 1655, fathered by Denis De Sallo, a mem- 
 ber of the Parliament of Paris, Criticism 
 claims a much earlier date ; and was rife 
 in the days of “ Good Queen Bess.” 
 Whilst the proper object of these two 
 doughty champions is the same, the mode 
 of attack is very different. It is the busi- 
 ness of each, to refine the taste, to elevate 
 the style, to improve the morals. Both 
 carry the “ sword ” which is to be a “ ter- 
 ror to evil doers ” in the republic of let- 
 ters ; both, as Courts of Equity, record 
 those favorable decisions which are a 
 “ praise to them that do well.” But — to 
 change the figure — the Critic demolishes 
 the army of culprits, en masse ; whilst 
 the Reviewer leads them to execution, by 
 detail. Criticism is the heavy artillery 
 which sweeps a regiment from the field. — 
 Reviewing is the glittering spear, which 
 inflicts the pangs of death upon each rebel 
 against the laws of good taste, and sound 
 morals. 
 
 Sometimes, of course, we have both 
 combined : and, frequently, private pique, 
 or personal malignity, will steal from the 
 public armory, the weapons which should 
 be wielded only for the general benefit. 
 The Criticism of the times of Elizabeth, 
 and James, is disgraced by much of this 
 intemperate rancor. Poor Heywood feel- 
 ingly complains of his prospective critics, 
 in his Troia Britannica. “I am not so 
 unexperienced in the envy of this age, but 
 that I knowe I shall encounter most 
 sharpe and severe censurers ; such as con- 
 tinually carpe at other men’s labours ; 
 and superficially perusing them, with a 
 kind of negligence and skorne, quote them 
 by the way, Thus : Tins is an error ; that 
 was too much streacht ; this too slightly 
 neglected ; heere many things might have 
 been added; there it might have been 
 better followed : this superfluous ; that 
 ridiculous. These indeed knowing no 
 other means to have themselves opinioned 
 
1853.] 
 
 A Review of Reviews. 
 
 14 1 
 
 in the ranke of understanders, but by 
 calumniating other men’s industries.” 
 
 Marlow, Greene, Decker, and Nash, 
 might either, perhaps, have sat for the 
 above flattering portrait ; and poor Ga- 
 briel Harvey would testify to its likeness 
 to. at least, two of the snarling quartette. 
 
 Among the early English critics, we 
 find no less a person than the “ British 
 Solomon,” James I. ; who, realizing that 
 there was no “ royal road ” to the favor 
 of the Muses, modestly entitles his first 
 work, “ The Essayes of a Prentise in the 
 Divine Art of Poesie.” ("Edinburgh. 1585.] 
 He assigns “ twa caussis ” for appearing 
 as an author ; and informs us that “ al- 
 beit sindrie hes written of poesie in Eng- 
 lish, quhilk is lykest to our language, zit 
 we differ from thame in sindrie reulis of 
 poesie, as ze will find be experience.” We 
 have only space to barely refer to the 
 works of Webbe, Fraunce, Hake, Putten- 
 ham, Harrington, and the illustrious Syd- 
 ney, as the chief exponents of the critical 
 opinions of the time. This was the age 
 of versifying; and, therefore, the reader 
 will not be surprised to find “ poesie ” 
 the great topic of consideration. Those 
 who desire to pursue a most interesting 
 subject, will find ample materials in the 
 pages of Drake, Bryclges and Collier. 
 
 We have referred to Denis De Sallo, as 
 the father of the modern school of Re- 
 viewing. Whether his magisterial labors 
 as a member of the Parisian Parliament, 
 excited a taste for bringing another de- 
 scription of culprits to a bar, from which 
 there should be no appeal, we have no 
 means of ascertaining. He certainly as- 
 sumed (1665) his self deputed office of a 
 public censor, not without misgivings ; for 
 he took out his privilege to publish, in the 
 name of the Sieur cle Hedouville. his 
 footman ! It was not long before the 
 well-directed fire of the “ Journal des 
 S javans,” created a fluttering among the 
 “ crowd of authors,” who had heretofore, 
 parrot-like, poured forth their alternate 
 notes of inane repetition, or splenetic 
 scolding, in the tired ears of a suffering, 
 yet, defenceless, public. The story is well 
 told by the biographer of De Sallo. 
 “ L’entreprise eut d’abord un grand suc- 
 ses ; mais la critique, bien que decente et, 
 raisonnie, souleva la foule des auters. La 
 nonce du pape pres de la cour de France 
 shtant plaint d’un article sur l’inquisition. 
 Sallo perdit son privilege,” for he was a 
 critic of mettle, “ et refusa de reprendre 
 son journal avec un censeur.” He was 
 succeeded by a reviewer of a very different 
 stamp; for the Abbe Gallois confined 
 himself, pretty much, to an enumeration 
 
 of the titles of books, with some extracts. 
 But the public were as little satisfied with 
 “ King Log,” as the authors had been 
 with “ King Stork.” In the words of 
 D’Israeli : “ The public who had been so 
 much amused by the raillery and severity 
 of the founder of this dynasty of new 
 critics, now murmured at the want of that 
 salt and acidity by which they had relish- 
 ed the fugitive collation. They were not 
 satisfied in having the most beautiful, or 
 the most curious, parts of a new work 
 brought together ; they wished for the 
 unreasonable entertainment of railing and 
 raillery. At length, another objection was 
 conjured up against the review : mathe- 
 maticians complained they were neglected, 
 to make room for experiments in natural 
 history : the historian sickened over the 
 works of natural history : the antiquarian 
 would have nothing but discoveries of 
 MSS., or fragments of antiquity. Medi- 
 cal works were called for by one party, 
 and reprobated by another. In a word, 
 each reader wished to have only accounts 
 of books which were interesting to his 
 profession or his taste. 
 
 Twenty-three years after the publication 
 of the first number of the “ Journal des 
 Scavans,” that is in 1688, appeared the 
 first British Review : viz., “ An Historical 
 Account of Books and Transactions of the 
 Learned World, Edinburgh.” From this 
 date, until the establishment of the 
 “ Monthly Review,” in 1749, a period of 
 about sixty j'ears, were born and died a 
 number of publications of like character; 
 of more, or less, merit, and of greater, or 
 shorter, duration. We shall give a list of 
 those which may, perhaps, be considered 
 as of the most importance. The reader 
 will bear in mind that, we take no notice 
 in this essay, of mere Magazines.* They 
 may form the subject of a future paper. 
 We have now to do with Reviews, prop- 
 erly so called. 
 
 1688-9. “ Weekly Memorials, or an 
 Account of Books lately set forth, with 
 other Accounts relating to Learning ; by 
 Authority.” 
 
 This is the first specimen of an English 
 Review. 
 
 1691. “The Works of the Learned,” 
 4 do. Superintended by J. La Crose, a 
 late writer in the “ Universal Biblio- 
 theque.” The U. B. was an English trans- 
 lation, published for a short time, of La 
 Clerc’s “ Bibliotheque Universelle,” begun 
 at Amsterdam, in 1686. The Works of 
 the Learned was soon discontinued. 
 
 1691. “The History of Learning, or an 
 Abstract of several Books lately pub- 
 lished, as well Abroad, as at Home.” 
 
 * For lists, in extenso , of Magazines and Reviews, in promiscuous assemblage, see “ Nichols’ Literary 
 Anecdotes,” and “ Timperley’s Encyclopedia of Literature.” 
 
148 
 
 A Review of Reviews. 
 
 Ifi99. “The History of the Works of 
 the Learned ; or an impartial account of 
 Books lately printed in all parts of 
 Europe ; with a particular relation of the 
 State of Learning in each country ; done 
 by several Hands.” The prospectus of 
 this Review is very sensible. “ The au- 
 thors of The History of the Works of the 
 Learned, have settled a correspondence 
 beyond sea, to have all the foreign jour- 
 nals of learning, transmitted to them as 
 they are published ; and all other curious 
 pieces that can be conveyed by post ; and 
 for larger volumes, they shall give such 
 account of them as is transmitted by 
 foreign journals. As to books printed in 
 London, or in either of the universities, 
 unless trifling, shall, as speedily as they 
 can, give an impartial account of them ; 
 and, as far as may be, in the author’s 
 own terms ; and that not as critics, but 
 historians ; unless in matters relating to 
 an innovation in our established religion, 
 and civil constitution. They shall ob- 
 serve a medium betwixt tedious extracts, 
 and superficial catalogues ; at the end in- 
 sert an account of books in the press, 
 here, and beyond sea ; and if any gentle- 
 man will communicate to the booksellers 
 concerned, an extract of his own work, 
 &c., it shall be faithfully published.” 
 
 Here are generous Reviewers, indeed ! 
 Such a privilege would hardly answer, in 
 the present hydra-headed condition of the 
 authorial body ! 
 
 1701. “ The New State of Europe, both 
 as to public Transactions and Learning, 
 with impartial observations thereon.” 
 
 1709. “ Memorials of Literature ;” con- 
 tinued to 1714 ; and then was pub- 
 lished, in 
 
 1722. “Memorials of Literature,” 8 
 vols., second edition. 
 
 1722. “The St. James Journal, with 
 Memoirs of Literature, to be continued 
 monthly.” 
 
 172L-5. “New Memorials of Litera- 
 ture.” Continued to Dec. 1727 ; in 6 
 vols., 8vo. 
 
 1724—5. “The Monthly Catalogue ; be- 
 ing a general Register of Books, Sermons, 
 Plays, and Pamphlets ; printed and pub- 
 lished in London, or the Universities.” 
 
 1727-8. “ Present State of the Repub- 
 lic of Letters.” Continued till Dec., 1736, 
 18 vols., 8vo. 
 
 1728. “ The Monthly Chronicle.” Pub- 
 lished until March, 1732 ; and succeeded 
 
 by, 
 
 1732. “ The London Magazine ;” which 
 was conducted with great reputation, 
 until 1783, when it was discontinued. 
 
 1729. “The Grub St. Journal.” This 
 work comes more properly under the 
 head of Criticism; but we introduce it 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 here, principally, because to it we are 
 partially indebted for that invaluable 
 periodical of Sylvanus Urban’s, “ The 
 Gentleman’s Magazine.” 
 
 1730. “ Historia Literaria ; or an Exact 
 and Early Account of the most Valuable 
 Books published in the several Parts of 
 Europe.” 4 vols., 8vo. 
 
 1737. “The History of the Works of 
 the Learned.” This appears to have 
 been a favourite title. The present work, 
 first appeared in 1735, under the name of 
 the “Literary Magazine, or Select British 
 Librarian.” It was continued under its 
 new title, until 1743. 
 
 1747. “ Bibliotheque Britannique .” — 
 This can hardly be called an English Re- 
 view ; although it was a Review of Eng- 
 lish Books, by some literary Frenchmen, 
 &c. ; continued to the above year. Hague, 
 23 vols. 
 
 1749. “The Monthly Review. * * 
 Giving An Account with proper abstracts 
 of, and Extracts from, the New Books, 
 Pamphlets, &c., as the}’ come out.” This 
 valuable Review was projected by Ralph 
 Griffiths, a bookseller in London, and 
 edited by him for the long term of fifty- 
 four years. At one time, the proprie- 
 torship fell into the hands of Collins, of 
 Salisbury, by the misfortunes of Grif- 
 fiths ; but the latter regained possession 
 in 1780. He was, latterly, very suc- 
 cessful in business; was made a Doctor 
 of Law, by a New England University, 
 and died, at the advanced age of 86, in 
 good circumstances. Dr. Johnson, in his 
 celebrated conversation with Geo. III., 
 let us know his opinion of the Review 
 under notice. “The King then asked 
 him if there were any other literary 
 journals published in tliis kingdom, ex- 
 cept the ‘ Month]_y and Critical Re- 
 views ?” and on being answered there 
 was no other, his Majesty asked, which 
 of them was the best? Johnson an- 
 swered that, the Monthly Review was 
 done with most care, the Critical upon 
 the best principles ; adding that, the au- 
 thors of the Monthly Review were ene- 
 mies to the Church. This the King said 
 he was sorry to hear.” Boswell enter- 
 tains us with another anecdote on this 
 subject. “ Talking of the Reviews, John- 
 son said : I think them very impartial ; I 
 do not know an instance of partiality. 
 He mentioned what had passed upon the 
 subject of the Monthly and Critical Re- 
 views, in the conversation with which his 
 Majesty had honored him. He expa- 
 tiated a little more on them, this evening. 
 The Monthly Reviewers, said he, are not 
 Deists ; but they are Christians, with as 
 little Christianity as may be ; and are for 
 putting down all establishments. The 
 
Newport in Winter. 
 
 149 
 
 1853.] 
 
 Critical Reviewers are for supporting the 
 Constitution, both in Church and State. 
 The Critical Reviewers, I believe, often 
 review without reading the works through, 
 but lay hold of a topic, and write chiefly 
 from their own minds. The Monthly Re- 
 viewers are duller men. and are glad to 
 read the books through.” 
 
 But we have now carried our chrono- 
 logical “ Review of Reviews” down to the 
 time proposed : — the establishment of the 
 “ Monthly Review ;” and must cut the 
 subject short. In a future paper, we 
 may resume the topic ; which is certainly 
 one of the most interesting in literary 
 history. 
 
 NEWPORT IN WINTER. 
 
 T WAS lately bold enough to visit New- 
 jl port in winter. 
 
 It does not require much heroism to go 
 there in summer. If you can patiently 
 endure an Italian climate, gorgeous sun- 
 sets, and the sweet stillness of the sea, 
 you will find Newport tolerable in August. 
 If you do not chafe at pleasant society, 
 and the most various afforded by the 
 country ; if you can resign yourself to 
 the sparkling northern, and languid tropi- 
 cal manners ; if you like to dance with 
 belles fairer than Bayaderes, and to the 
 most siren music ; or if you prefer soli- 
 tary rambling upon ocean cliffs, hearing 
 the music far away over bare fields ; if 
 you are a fisher, or a poet, or a preux- 
 chevalier, you will submit to Newport in 
 summer. 
 
 But when, in the most dogged of the 
 dog-days, some friend, generously hospit- 
 able, cries “ Come in the winter ; ” you 
 smile incredulous assent. Is there any 
 Newport in winter 7 Do roses blow in 
 January ; or is St. Valentine honored like 
 May-day 7 No, I will go see Miss Cush- 
 man playing Romeo at fifty. I will suck 
 my thumb at thirty, and con the primer. 
 I will believe in Santa Claus. I will re- 
 new the eager vows of my youth to Je- 
 mima, who is now an elderly widow, with 
 seven pledges of connubial affection. I 
 will laugh at Fred’s jokes. I will keep 
 awake under Dr. Drowsy. Yes, I will 
 listen to my aunt’s gossip of bonnets and 
 ladies. I will do all impossible things ; 
 but I won’t go to Newport out of season. 
 
 If “ the season ” fell in winter, I could 
 understand going when it was past : when 
 it would be pleasant to loiter away long 
 days in sweet summer idleness. Then 
 the air would whisper with ghostly robes, 
 and eyes, brighter than the season saw, 
 would look kindly upon the pilgrim, out 
 of season ; then, through the pensive 
 silence, great thoughts would arise out of 
 the sea, full of light and heat, like impe- 
 rial summer days, or haply, fair images, 
 and fleeting — like Venus, brighter than 
 the foam. Then the musing pilgrim 
 
 might sit without fear of freezing, upon 
 the steps of the hotels, and extort their 
 secrets from the long piazzas. Hark ! 
 how they echo ; for it is winter now, and 
 the winds blow sharp and sadly, and wail 
 turbulently about the building. If sum- 
 mer were out of season, he might recline 
 upon the wooden bench over the beach, 
 and watch the curving sweep of the surf. 
 Then, gliding over the sea, his imagination 
 would receive once more, like a conqueror, 
 the freedom of foreign cities. He would 
 be again a Roman, a Venetian, a Parisian. 
 The roar of invisible towns would hush 
 the sea, bellowing at his feet ; memory 
 would lay her chastening finger upon 
 him ; thought would be purified ; vows 
 renewed. Or pacing the solitary marge, 
 something of the grandeur of the sea 
 would pass into his mind, and mould his 
 life in more majestic proportions. 
 
 But winter blots out this influence ; it 
 is an enemy. It stands ready at the 
 door to buffet you as you step out. It 
 springs upon you with a rush from behind 
 corners. It is a stealthy savage, and stings 
 you as you vainly hurry. It makes un- 
 pleasantly evident the processes of life, 
 and the imperious wants of the body. It 
 exalts that gross portion of us inordinately. 
 I wish, for instance, to breathe invisibly and 
 unconsciously ; but winter taunts me, and 
 beclouds me with my own breath. It 
 says impertinently, “ Foolish child, that is 
 what keeps you going.” I wish to exchange 
 thoughts with my friend, but as I walk 
 home with him in the polar moonlight, 
 winter strikes me with palsy, and I shake, 
 or I chatter like an idiot. He is the only 
 foe I cannot fight. Buried in blankets, 
 he creeps in close to me, or he tweaks my 
 poor exposed nose relentlessly. Encased 
 in coats and furs he scoffs at me, and 
 comes in at the button-holes and the 
 sleeves. In the house, he catches me as 
 I fly shrinking from parlor to chamber, 
 or he forces me to seek the horrid help of 
 a furnace — an inverted misery. He beats 
 me and insults me, and judicious thin 
 friends call it bracing. He pinches my 
 
150 
 
 Newport in Winter. 
 
 cheeks blue and red, and hot-blooded 
 satirists call it the rosy hue of health. 
 He clogs me with snow, or trips me up 
 with ice, and men who never swerve from 
 rectitude (my only consolation for aber- 
 ration being the escape from their society), 
 chuckle, that it makes one spry. Why 
 should one be spry 1 ? Why not have 
 an arrangement of things, that dispensed 
 with spryncss 7 I was lately hurrying 
 along, wrapped in my cloak, to meet 
 Agrippina, to whom I am tenderly attach- 
 ed. Already the dawn of smiles had broken 
 out upon my face, when I fearfully col- 
 lapsed ; I fell, heels upward, before my 
 adored Agrippina. I lay ignominiously 
 sprawling upon the pavement, and Agrip- 
 pina, to whom I am tenderly attached, 
 gave way to immoderate laughter. I par- 
 doned her, and limped away without a 
 single word. I pardoned her, but I have 
 discontinued my visits to the adored Agrip- 
 pina. This immortal foe, this mocking 
 winter, has made me ridiculous to her; 
 and, is it Bruydre or Confucius who 
 says that love is extinguished by laugh- 
 ter 7 
 
 Yet I will not den}' the genius of my 
 enemy, nor forget the Alps, upon whose 
 peaks he sits. I know that he has done 
 what Xerxes and Canute could never do. 
 I know that the kings of Central Africa 
 hear of his exploits, as we read fairy tales. 
 I have seen the cunning with which, under 
 cover of a dreary storm of sleet or bitter 
 rain, he cases the great trees to their most 
 delicate twigs in crystal, and holds them 
 until the sun comes, and is dazzled by 
 his own reflection. I know into what in- 
 tense silence he hushes the various mur- 
 mur of the landscape, which you knew 
 not you heard, until you heard it no lon- 
 ger. He “freezes sound,’’ as a poet told 
 me. I know how quaintly he wreathes 
 devices upon the window, so that the open- 
 ing eye, as it falls upon them, dreams 
 that it beholds its dreams. Then, more 
 awakening, I lie awaiting the sun, who 
 will melt that diamond filagree, and I 
 needs must think it will drop away in 
 music. Do I not know what an architect 
 he is 7 Have I not seen the edifices of 
 his rearing : so squarely quarried, so softly 
 laid 7 Is Aladdin’s palace any longer a 
 mystery 7 Is not that romance of torrid 
 deserts made real to me here, in bleak 
 New England 7 Yes, I melt ; I cherish 
 a warmer feeling toward mine enemy. 
 Is it not he, who, in midsummer, makes 
 my glass to overflow, as with a melting 
 glacier of champagne 7 
 
 It was, therefore, not strange, that, after 
 the first shock of surprise had passed, I 
 was willing to contemplate his work in 
 Newport. I will go see winter sitting in 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 the very throne of summer, I said: I 
 will see those green trees, rifled and sere ; 
 those cliffs over-clipped with ice; those 
 stones upon the beach, like debris of the 
 Arctic zone ; I will see those wide sum- 
 mer fields sowed with snow ; I will be- 
 hold that which was Sorrento in August, 
 a strip of Greenland in December; I will 
 dream that I follow Sir John Franklin; as 
 I turn from the inhospitable doors of “ the 
 Ocean,” and the “ Bellevue,” I will fancy 
 that our provisions are failing; as the 
 Maine Law annoys me, I will imagine our 
 spirits have long since given out; as I 
 watch the sea between snow-sheeted cliffs, 
 they shall be icebergs, and the blue water, 
 Baffin’s Bay. If far away upon the ocean 
 horizon I descry the single mast of a fish- 
 ing smack, it shall be the North Pole ; as 
 I creep toward my cell in the town- 
 tavern, it shall settle the question of 
 Symmes’ hole. 
 
 Seriously, I was sure of grandeur in 
 the winter coast of New England. De- 
 spite its barrenness, despite the rough 
 shores and the abortive foliage, I said 
 again to myself, those shores were south- 
 ern in July, why not boreal in December 7 
 
 It was in October that I finally resolved. 
 One golden day nothing seemed impos- 
 sible. Its persuading warmth melted me 
 as Solomon was melted by the Queen of 
 Sheba. The benign hand of grave old 
 Autumn laid upon me, like the hands of a 
 King upon a subject, and I rose a Knight, 
 confirmed in heroism. 
 
 I met young Arthur, and told him I 
 was going to Newport. His eyes blazed 
 with enthusiasm. “ Air ! ” he said, “ if 
 only I could go ! I have just been reading 
 Parry’s Voyages. Who makes your snow- 
 shoes 7 ” 
 
 I met elderly Adoniram, father of 
 young Arthur, and told him of my inten- 
 tion. The severity of his glance relaxed 
 into paternal concern. “ Well, my son,” 
 he said, “youth is the time for adventure. 
 I have read of those regions ; keep up a 
 stout heart. What remedy do you take 
 for the scurvy 7 ” 
 
 It became known ; I was pointed out as 
 the man who was going to Newport in 
 winter. In August hundreds of people 
 went daily, and whoever could not go 
 envied those who did. In December, 
 Newport was a myth ; to go thither was 
 to be pitied, or derided as eccentric. Yet 
 it was known that Newport has its winter 
 denizens. Panting in August noons, one 
 hears with delight from his friend, that he 
 will “pass the winter in Newport;” of 
 course he will, who wouldn’t 7 It sounds, 
 as I said, like a fable, but the mere men- 
 tion of the intention is refreshing ; it so 
 ices the sherbet of the summer! But 
 
Newport in Winter. 
 
 151 
 
 1853.] 
 
 when there is no sherbet to your ice, the 
 case is so different ! 
 
 I made iny preparations, and the day of 
 departure was finally appointed. I fan- 
 cied a greater kindliness in the manner of 
 my friends as the day drew nigh, as gentle 
 Lady Jane Grey must have been more 
 than ever gentle to her young Lord Dud- 
 ley on the fatal morning. They pressed 
 my hand with silent sympathy ; in the 
 evening, at the club, they urged me to 
 •‘one more punch,” and after the fourth 
 glass, little Lagrima threw his arms 
 around my neck and burst into a quite 
 uncontrollable weeping. Recovering, he 
 fixed his eyes at intervals with a languid 
 sorrow upon mine. He fitfully em- 
 braced me, and called all the room to wit- 
 ness his protestations of eternal fidelity. 
 He declared in the most solemn manner, 
 that he always had been my friend and had 
 liked me from the first, “ yes, Isaac, loved 
 you,” and then fell off into another violent 
 fit of weeping. “ By Heavens ! ” cried I, 
 to go to Newport in winter, is a serious 
 business,” and Lagrima responded with 
 fresh tears and interjaculatory observa- 
 tions, somewhat thick and incoherent from 
 grief. Carissimo had been silent with 
 sympathy and a cigar, in the corner of the 
 room ; “ Well, Isaac,” he commenced, and 
 I adjusted my attention for a brief fare- 
 well — “ let’s have one more.” We had 
 it ; we joined hands around the table, and 
 sang Aidd Lang Syne, Lagrima burst in 
 during the chorus with two or three pro- 
 fuse gushes of tears ; ho went through a 
 rapid pantomime of affection and despair, 
 threw up his arms, and, — fell under the 
 table. 
 
 It was upon a quiet December afternoon 
 that two wheels might have been seen 
 paddling the waters of Narragansett bay. 
 Upon the deck of the steamer stood two 
 youths gazing at the shore. “By my 
 halidome,” quoth the younger of the 
 twain, “ it is a town of a goodly aspect.” 
 “Yes, truly,” returned the elder, “I 
 would fain tarry there a while, and test 
 the brew of mine host of the Bellevue.” 
 
 Even so, upon a still winter day, the 
 steamer Perry glided gently into the har- 
 bor of Newport. The world was appa- 
 rently emptied of atmosphere, so distinctly 
 drawn upon the air were the remotest 
 objects, and the horizon line of the sea was 
 as sharply cut as if it had been a rim of 
 lapis-lazuli. The bold breakwater, whose 
 nervous young arm holds the sea at bay 
 from the dozing old town ; the long low 
 lines of the embankments at the fort, the 
 slim flag -taff, with the swelled top, sug- 
 gesting that a flag was clinging around the 
 pole, altho ugh too far to be distinctly vi- 
 sible ; the brown shore of Oonanicut feebly 
 
 undulating against the cold rosy green of 
 the horizon ; the few old vessels, mostly 
 schooners, in the harbor, all facing the 
 same way, and all as regularly placed, as 
 if they had been toys arranged by a child ; 
 one or two comfortable old hulks, whose 
 masts ending at the cross-trees leaned, like 
 stumps, against some ancient store on the 
 very edge of the dock, as if in the forlorn 
 extremity of age, the two denizens of sea 
 and shore had clubbed their neglect, and 
 gossiped as they quietly decayed, of the 
 stately days departed ; the unnaturally 
 white buildings of the town, with an oc- 
 casional estray from vanished centuries, 
 in the shape of a tumble-down old gable- 
 roofed house, trying to see its withered 
 image in the water ; the pediment of the 
 “ Atlantic ” — the towers of the “ Bellevue,” 
 just seen above the boughs of trees, the 
 flaunting front of the “ Ocean.” impending 
 over the town like the huge palace of a Ger- 
 man Duke over his poor, little, frightened 
 residenz, or capital ; the modest spire of 
 Bishop Berkeley’s Trinity church, that 
 points to heaven, whither he has led the 
 way ; and on the outskirts, the frequent 
 houses of those who love summer, silence, 
 and the sea. These were what I saw that 
 December day, and had so often seen 
 when the dog-star raged. 
 
 The sky was cloudless. It seemed 
 burnished by the clear, colorless cold of 
 the day. I suppose Newport was no sti 1 1 or 
 than it always is, but a preternatural 
 tranquillity embosomed the town. It 
 was because I knew that the guests were 
 all out of those houses, on shore, and the 
 cushions out of those sail-boats in the har- 
 bor, that my feelings were changed. I 
 had arrived in some distant land. I should 
 meet Peter Wilkins, perhaps, or better 
 than he, Youwarkee, skimming along 
 Thames street, or poising for a flight upon 
 Long Wharf. Or would it be General 
 Washington who came to Newport, and 
 danced a minuet — fair precedent for the 
 polka — or the gay group of Frenchmen, 
 Rochambeau, and L’Estaing, who taught 
 these island maidens Parisian measures, 
 and wrote with diamond rings upon the 
 windows the names of the fairest belles ? 
 Would the good Bishop come to greet us, 
 from his favorite seat upon the hanging 
 rocks, proffer us tar-water for our better 
 health, and insist that we were not mate- 
 rial existences, but apparitions merely ? 
 If I had remembered, good Bishop, that I 
 retreated to the cabin, upon the way down 
 the bay, perceiving that if a ghost, the 
 wind did not blow through me without a 
 chill, I would have made you confess that, 
 apparitions as we might be, heat was a 
 very material element of comfort. But, 
 looking at dear old Newport, evidently as 
 
152 
 
 Newport in Winter. 
 
 much surprised to see me, as I was to see 
 it, I was willing to give into any ghostly 
 theory and believe in dreams. 
 
 There was no bustle at the wharf. It 
 was absurdly easy to get a carriage. 
 There was no outlay of oaths — not even 
 an expletive was necessary. There was 
 no frenzied darting up the plank, pulling 
 an appalled woman after you, and dashing 
 through crowds of vociferous hackmen — 
 no insane telegraphing men whose ap- 
 pearance you could not recall a moment 
 afterward, and who answered by scores, 
 •• yes” to your inquiry, “ are you my man ? ” 
 — there was no hot pursuit of erring um- 
 brellas, and self-willed trunks, during 
 which you dropped bags and crushed 
 babies ; none of the prodigious excitement 
 of a Summer arrival ; but the event was 
 as eventless as the sunrise of a cloudy 
 day. I stepped into the street, with- 
 out fear of a belated coach from the 
 "Ocean” thundering around the corners, 
 and betook myself to visions of the snowy 
 fields and icy cliffs, I anticipated in win- 
 ter-bound Newport. 
 
 I passed the ruin, the old mill, among 
 whose arches the sunset was fading. 
 The “ Atlantic ” stood opposite, wrecked 
 upon the winter. There were no window 
 blinds, and many panes were broken, 
 slats were torn from the railings, fences 
 half overthrown — windows and doors 
 sternly closed, and a gloomy dreariness 
 reigned over all. The paint was dirty, 
 the glass and the grounds were the same. 
 I looked at the lofty columns and whis- 
 pered to myself for comfort, “ Gyeece.” 
 The lofty columns answered, “Foul, ugly, 
 old, humbugging wooden shanty.” I 
 whispered, “ Summer palace of pleasure,” 
 and a bitter gust rattled the loose case- 
 ments and died away. I sighed, “ Ah ! 
 gay beat of happy feet, high holiday of 
 youth, and love, and beauty ! ” and in the 
 windless sunset of the winter day, I heard 
 the muffled moan of the ocean. 
 
 The last time I had stood upon that 
 piazza there was a ball within. The 
 great white pile was bursting with light 
 and music. Every window and door was 
 open. There were incessant flights of 
 ladies across the hall. Carriages drove 
 to the door, and dainty dames stepped 
 out, rolled cloud-like up the broad steps, 
 and disappeared in the house. Couples 
 stepped through the windows upon the 
 piazza. Dancers too tired to dance, and 
 ladies whose mourning inhibited their 
 feet, and not their eyes from pleasure, sat 
 in large arm-chairs, and looked in upon 
 the merry-making ; knots of elderly men, 
 arrived by the evening boat from Boston, 
 stood talking idly of State street, and 
 stocks — wasting precious time in such 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 aimless dreaming. Enormous dowagers 
 lined the great entry, a wonderful living 
 tapestry, and before them fluttered the 
 brilliant groups, idly chatting, idly listen- 
 ing, idly drifting down the summer. Even 
 as poor Yorick’s skull in the hand of 
 Hamlet, was that huge, blank, hopeless 
 pile in my eye, as we passed it. 
 
 But winter had torn aside other tapes- 
 tries than those wonderful living ones of 
 the entry. The leaves were stripped 
 from the trees. You remember that 
 dense grove opposite the “ Atlantic,” 
 fenced off from the main road. You have 
 often speculated whether there were a 
 house there, and if a house, whether any 
 one lived in it, and if any one lived in it, 
 
 why then Any summer morning you 
 
 have murmured as } t ou sauntered by ; 
 
 “ But who hath seen her wave her hand ? 
 
 Or at the casement seen her stand? 
 
 Or is she known in all the land. 
 
 The Lady of Shalott ? " 
 
 Winter has solved the mystery. Now 
 that there is no one to look, every thing 
 can be seen. Between the trees standing 
 close to each other, the pilgrim out of 
 season can distinguish the outline of a 
 spacious house. The windows are closed, 
 the dead leaves drift along the piazza — the 
 family has left Newport. 
 
 Proceeding down the road, which, in 
 summer, is so crowded at this time of 
 day, with countless carriages and eques- 
 trians, nothing disputes the way. The 
 rows of low wooden shops are silent and 
 deserted. The merchants of a day have 
 packed up the red flannel bathing-dresses, 
 the fancy canes, the cravats, gloves and 
 thin coats, and have flown away with the 
 swallows. The “ Daguerreian artist” had 
 he remained, would have been obliged to 
 content himself with catching the features 
 of the landscape. Shutters are up at all 
 the windows. But presently, I see that 
 the doors and windows of one of the shops 
 are open. I hurry across to scan the 
 contents, to deplore, with the shopman, 
 the total stagnation of business. I reach 
 the door, and look in. The stock in trade 
 is a broken counter, and a few empty 
 drawers irregularly open. There is a pain- 
 ful neatness in the aspect of the spot. No 
 scrap of wrapping-paper, no comfortable 
 coil of cheese-paring, no broken crockery, 
 not a single apple past its prime, remains 
 as memorials of the busy summer days. 
 All shows the melancholy precision of 
 acknowledged death, and I find myself 
 involuntarily whistling the Dead March in 
 Saul. 
 
 At the corner where new books were 
 sold, I could not find a single old one, 
 but barred doors and blank shutters 
 made it dismal. I turned across the 
 
Newport in Winter. 
 
 153 
 
 1853.] 
 
 street to the corner opposite for consola- 
 tion. Here, erewhile, was Soda-water 
 dispensed, at sixpence the glass. “ I will 
 seek comfort in comfits ” said I faintly. 
 Alas ! the demon of desolation was there 
 before me. The fount had run dry, in 
 Rider and Sisson’s “ confectionery and 
 refreshment saloon.” “ Where be your 
 tarts now ? your cheese-cakes 7 your 
 pies 7 your pounds of assorted candies, 
 wont to set children by the ears 7 Not a 
 glass of soda now, to foam at your own 
 mouth 7 quite done up 7 ” cried I bitterly, 
 as I turned disappointed away. 
 
 But mark one figure, one solitary figure 
 upon the walk over which momently flit- 
 ted knots of laughing girls, when last I 
 saw it. It is an old man, slowly prome- 
 nading, with one hand under his coat flaps 
 and the other buried in his bosom. There 
 is an air of preternatural respectability in 
 his dress. It is past seed time with that 
 black coat as with the fields upon the island. 
 It has a burnished complexion, as if with 
 remorseless brushing. It is closely but- 
 toned, and hangs broad, in generous flaps, 
 behind. The ample black trowsers fall 
 over boots unnaturally polished. Such 
 blackened boots accord with morning, but 
 at sunset they perplex the mind. That 
 hat, like all things earthly, was once new. 
 There was once, possibly, that fashion in 
 hats. Now it is a bell-crowned mystery. 
 Did it once have nap 7 
 
 The old gentleman walked slowly up 
 and down, and glanced at me vaguely as 
 I passed. I returned Ins gaze with reve- 
 rence, for I could not suppose him walking 
 there for his private pleasure, but as a 
 kind of official mourner for the pleasant 
 and beautiful things passed away. Na- 
 ture had furnished him for that place and 
 moment, as London undertakers furnish 
 mutes for state funerals. He wore that 
 coat and those trowsers and boots — yes, 
 and — possibly — that hat, ex officio. I 
 was struck anew by the wisdom of na- 
 ture, which — is it Paley or Father Prout 
 who says it 7 — always puts the right 
 thing in the right place. Yet I was sur- 
 prised as I walked away, for I thought 
 Old Grimes was dead. 
 
 There were the bowling-alleys that 
 thundered all summer long, now as still 
 as Rip Van Winkle’s. Two or three 
 boys played listlessly about the doors. 
 There was no report from the pistol-gal- 
 leries. The piping times of peace had 
 come, and in the field under the Ocean 
 Hall a few children were pulling turnips. 
 
 The Ocean Hall ! There’s your text 
 for Newport in winter ; “ whose lights 
 are fled, whose garlands dead,” &c. 
 
 There w'as Edwards’ Archery Ground, 
 where one happy day of midsummer, we 
 VOL. i. — 11 
 
 shot dull care straight through the heart, 
 and savagely assaulted ennui , — poor Ed- 
 wards’ archery ground ! 
 
 Farther down, upon Narraganset ave- 
 nue, we met wagon-loads of laborers re- 
 turning from the houses, which were 
 rising rapidly upon the cliffs. The wagons 
 were crowded and rolled rapidly by us, 
 while the men sang, and their dinner-ket- 
 tles rattled. Except these, there were 
 only occasional solitary wayfarers. Some 
 few families remain through the winter in 
 Newport, and even in the height of the 
 summer solstice they anticipate with 
 pleasure their snowy seclusion from the 
 world. They may well do so, for sum- 
 mer does not leave them with the swarms 
 of visitors it brings, but abides in those 
 homes throughout the year. 
 
 I had come to Newport for its wintry 
 grandeurs. The air was very sharp, the 
 sky was clear, — it was December, — all 
 the material of winter was apparently 
 ready. But I awoke to a fresh May 
 morning. Never have I seen Newport 
 more beautiful than on that day. The 
 neighboring sea softens the air. Snow 
 rarely lingers long. The land which, with 
 us, seems always to recoil in horror as 
 it approaches the sea, finds, upon touch- 
 ing it as in Newport, that the shock is 
 not so dreadful after all, and that the sea- 
 side is more kindly than the inland. The 
 little frost upon my window pane trickled 
 away before I was fairly up, — and my 
 large expectations of unspeakable wintry 
 desolation melted likewise, and ran off, at-’ 
 the touch of the same sun. My hostess 
 was already out in her grounds,— Med- 
 dowes arrived from the South, as if the 
 season had come round again, and Magnus 
 stepped over to ask us to. a stroll. We 
 sauntered about upon the rocks, heedless 
 of “the inverted year-” The ground was 
 oozy and plashy under our feet as in 
 spring. Cows strolled idly by, snatching 
 contemplative mouthfuls from the grassy 
 sides of the road. The factories in the 
 town shat their white columns of vapor 
 high into the blue air, A distant bell 
 rang over the fields between us and the 
 town, and choice glimpses of the sea, each 
 framed in picturesque rocks,— a cabinet 
 picture — pleased the eye, that swept the 
 whole horizon. White sails illumina- 
 ted the harbor, and flashed in the sun- 
 shine far out at sea. Was this my dream 
 of Newport in winter 7 
 
 I looked earnestly up the road to descry 
 Mot’s old hat,— that brave old hat which 
 had clearly been out in all storms that 
 ever blew, and had returned limp with 
 chronic palsy and yellow with hopeless 
 jaundice. What an abominable hat it 
 was! How it flapped like the ragged, 
 
154 
 
 Newport in Winter. 
 
 dusky ears of an elephant, or the helpless 
 leaf of a diseased tropical plant ! How 
 it seemed to belong to no age nor nation, 
 but would have been as surprising at 
 Timbuctoo as Nova Zembla ! 1 have no 
 idea what it was made of, nor where. I 
 suppose nobody knows. Mot preserves 
 with reverence a tradition of having 
 bought it somewhere, at some time. But 
 there is a wandering in his eye when he 
 tells you so, that but feebly images the 
 wandering of his mind after any precise 
 hat-statistics. That hat put the Newport 
 ruin to shame. After Mot appeared with 
 it upon his head, the old mill was hushed 
 up, and sold off at auction. He kept it 
 in a huge solitary white house upon the 
 cliff' as powder and other dangerous mat- 
 ters are preserved in lonely places. But 
 he was perfectly generous in showing it. 
 Mot wasn’t proud of it, but wore it in 
 the most open manner upon the public 
 highways, and sometimes took it in to re- 
 ceive private audiences from beautiful 
 ladies ! If you ask me its shape, I must 
 refer you to clouds. If you demand the 
 material, I must refer you to substances 
 of every kind and color. It was an eclectic 
 hat, catholic, cosmopolitan. It was sur- 
 rounded with what was familiarly called 
 a ribbon. I should have said rainbow, 
 had I not detected many more than the 
 seven primal colors. It might have been 
 a large straw village in Lilliput, in Brob- 
 dignag it could have been Glumdalclitch’s 
 bonnet. 
 
 I knew it had been removed from New- 
 port. I knew that I might as well look 
 to see J une coming over the fields ; but I 
 would rather have seen that amorphous 
 old hat flapping along the road, than a 
 bird of Paradise. 
 
 But I did see the chaise ! 
 
 Do you ask whether among the multi- 
 tude of fine equipages that ornament the 
 Newport you know, there can be any one 
 specified as “ the chaise,” as Wellington 
 among scores of Dukes was “the Duke?” 
 Yes. You kfiow how fiercely the fever 
 of land-speculation rages in Newport : 
 how fathers dreaded to be drawn thither 
 by their families lest they should be 
 forced to buy a place, — how bleak rocks 
 suddenly became precious stones — how 
 every body had a secret about the land 
 he was going to buy, and a romance about 
 that every body else had bought. You 
 know what engineering there was, what 
 staking, what surveying, what loads of 
 bricks, and stone, and lumber passing in 
 endless procession. Well, among all this, 
 suddenly appeared a chaise. It was not 
 peculiar in any way. It had none of the 
 fascinating inscrutability of Mot’s hat. 
 It was a simple chaise, driven by Jones. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 Once your eye fell upon it, you never saw 
 any other carriage. In all the by-ways 
 upon the island, at all times of day, — at 
 the point by the Spouting Horn beach — 
 over toward the fort — in Narraganset 
 avenue — in Bellevue-st. — toward the 
 beaches — upon every possible spot of land 
 above water was the chaise seen. It 
 was of highly polished leather, with open 
 framework at the sides, and green cur- 
 tains, — altogether an attractive carriage. 
 Its two wheels turned very nimbly 
 around corners. It was perpetually 
 driving in at gates, and through bars, 
 and mysterious Jones always carried a 
 roll, like a field-marshal’s baton in his 
 hand. 
 
 Perhaps, thought I. Wellington’s ho- 
 nors have fallen upon Jones. 
 
 He wore a short cloak pendent from 
 his shoulders to his waist. The face of 
 F. M. Mr. Jones was cheerful ; it had a 
 steady composure, as of a man uninter- 
 ruptedly satisfied. People bowed to him 
 gravely. He had evidently an extensive 
 acquaintance. General Ricetierce, from 
 Georgia, and the Hon. Pyne Knott, from 
 Maine, knew him equally well. 
 
 “Some diplomat,” I said, “whom they 
 knew at Washington.” 
 
 I observed one remarkable fact. F. M. 
 Mr. Jones was never alone in the chaise. I 
 observed another fact. The face of his com- 
 panion, whoever he might be, had not his 
 own uninterruptedly satisfied expression. 
 Conversation took a verj r serious turn in 
 respect of this carriage. Later in the 
 season, I heard mefi defy that chaise. I 
 even beard one exasperated man swear 
 at the F. M. and his chaise. The next 
 day I saw him in it. cutting round cor- 
 ners, driving in at gates, returned punctu- 
 ally to dinner by his companion, who 
 flourished, at intervals, his official baton. 
 I began to suspect it to be a magic wand. 
 
 Every morning that chaise drew up 
 before the Bellevue. F. M. calmly 
 scanned the groups upon the piazza, and 
 singled out his man. Vainly General 
 Ricetierce pretended not to see, and 
 puffed his cigar more industriously, or 
 more obstreperously laughed. He felt 
 that eye upon him, as a snowflake a sun- 
 beam, and he melted into most docile 
 obedience. 
 
 “ Ah ! Jones, is that you ; glad to see 
 you ; I’m quite ready.” said the poor vic- 
 tim. with great rapidity. 
 
 “ I shall be gone only a short time.” 
 said the General to his companions, as 
 he left them. They smiled mournfully, 
 and looked wistfully after him. 
 
 Jones stepped out of the chaise, handed 
 Ricetierce in, and closely followed him. 
 They started. 
 
Our Young Authors — Melville. 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 “ By the bye !” cried the General, in a 
 loud voice, and leaning forward to his 
 friends upon the piazza. 
 
 It was too late. The chaise was cut- 
 ting round the corner. 
 
 Or it was Pyne Knott, who was in in- 
 different health, and would as soon buy a 
 lot in Newfoundland as Newport — who 
 wondered at the wild prices men paid for 
 land, and especially how they could con- 
 sent to pay an immense percentage to an 
 agent. It was Pyne Knott who pshawed 
 and pished, and wished people wouldn’t 
 make fools of themselves. The next day 
 I saw him whisking along in the chaise, 
 while P. M. waved his baton over him, in 
 sign of subjugation. 
 
 You could as easily resist a fog as that 
 chaise. It would surely encompass you. 
 If you staid at the Bellevue, you were no 
 better than a miserable prisoner of the 
 Conciergerie, before whose door, with 
 fatal regularity, the charette daily ap- 
 peared, and the headsman cried, “ the 
 next batch.” 
 
 The chaise was like the guillotine. 
 Men tremblingly ate their breakfasts, 
 momently expecting the summons ; and 
 after breakfast, it was always waiting — 
 that horrible mockery of polished leather 
 and green curtains ! 
 
 Presently the mystery was explained. 
 No one teas ever let out of the chaise 
 until he had bought land ! F. M. Mr. 
 Jones was an L. A. lie was a land agent, 
 and his baton was a map of the island. 
 Mot sickened at the thought. He was 
 sure that his name was written against 
 some lot, in which case, Chaise, Jones, 
 and map, would be brought to bear upon 
 him, until he succumbed and purchased. 
 
 “ Blast the chaise !” cried Mot, ener- 
 getically. 
 
 Within a week I saw Jones putting 
 him into it, hat and all. He waved his 
 hand at me, feebly. The old hat had 
 evidently suffered from a fresh jaundice, 
 and hung heavily, like weepers, around 
 his head. They drove rapidly away. 
 Sad stories were told of Mot, that day. 
 
 1 55 
 
 He had been seen eating sponge-cake an 
 hour before dinner — he had been posing 
 to the “ Daguerrean artist,” half-nude, as 
 the Dying Gladiator — he had professed 
 willingness to buy a new hat ! 
 
 “ It’s very strange,” said I. 
 
 “ Not at all,” said J. ; “ he’s had an 
 attack of the chaise.” 
 
 When, therefore, I saw the chaise, all 
 the summer came driving back to me 
 in it. 
 
 Why spin out my story ? I went to 
 Newport to find the winter, and sur- 
 prised May lingering upon the island. 
 
 The afternoon I left, I wandered along 
 the cliffs, and met an old fisherman, a 
 friend of the past summer, sitting solitary 
 upon the bass-rocks, and looking idly 
 over the sea. After a surprised greeting 
 upon his part, I told him that he was look- 
 ing as if he expected to see the opposite 
 shore of the ocean. 
 
 “ No,” said the old fisher ; “ I was only 
 thinking of a story I read long ago — for I, 
 too, have read books, though I’ve given it 
 up for many years — of an island lying 
 far to the north, and inhabited only by 
 seals and white bears. Once every year, 
 said the tradition, swarms of peacocks, 
 buzzards, and birds of Paradise, find their 
 way thither, and monopolize the island, 
 so that for a month no seal nor bear is 
 visible — nothing but a great fluttering 
 and buzzing of these winged strangers. 
 Suddenly they fly as mysteriously as 
 they came, and totally disappear, leaving 
 the quiet island to the contemplative 
 bears and seals, who inhabit it through- 
 out the year, who are adapted to its life 
 by their organization, and whose history 
 is the history of the island. 
 
 “ It is a very remarkable fact in natural 
 history, concludes the tradition, that the 
 peacocks, buzzards, and birds of Paradise, 
 conceive that their fluttering month gives 
 the chief interest to the island.” 
 
 “ It is very singular.” said I. to the old 
 fisher. 
 
 “ It is very true,” said the old fisher to 
 me, as I walked away. 
 
 OUR YOUNG AUTHORS— MELVILLE. 
 
 HEN Typce first appeared, great 
 was the enthusiasm. The oddity of 
 the name set critics a wondering. Re- 
 viewers who were in the habit of writing 
 an elaborate review of a work, from mere- 
 ly glancing over the heads of the chapters, 
 
 and thinking a little over the title-page, 
 were completely at fault. Typee told 
 nothing. It had no antecedents. It might 
 have been an animal, or it might have 
 been a new game, or it might have been a 
 treatise on magic. Did they open the 
 
156 
 
 Our Young Authors — Melville. 
 
 book, and look over the chapters, they 
 were not much wiser. Barbarous congre- 
 gations of syllables, such as Kory-Kory, 
 Nukuheva, Moa Artua, met their eyes. 
 The end of it was, that the whole tribe of 
 London and American critics had to sit 
 down and read it all, before they dared 
 speak of a book filled with such mysteri- 
 ous syllables. From reading they began 
 to like it. There was a great deal of rich, 
 rough talent about it. The scenes were 
 fresh, and highly colored ; the habits and 
 manners described had the charm of nov- 
 elty ; and the style, though not the purest 
 or most elegant, had a fine narrative 
 facility about it, that rendered it very 
 pleasurable reading, after the maudlin 
 journeys in Greece — travels in the Holy 
 Land, full of Biblical raptures, and yacht- 
 tours in the Mediterranean, where mono- 
 tonous sea-dinners and vulgar shore-plea- 
 sures were faithfully chronicled, with such 
 like trash that had been inundating the 
 literary market for years previous. Typee 
 was successful. It could scarcely be other- 
 wise. Prosy to the last degree, in some 
 portions, there yet were scenes in it full of 
 exquisite description, and novel characters, 
 who, like Fayaway, were in themselves so 
 graceful, that we could not help loving 
 them. Mr. Melville found that he had 
 opened a fertile field, which he was not 
 slow to work. Sea novels had, as it were, 
 been run into the ground by Marryatt, 
 Chamier, and Cooper. People were grow- 
 ing weary of shipwrecks and fires at sea. 
 Every possible incident that could occur, 
 on board men-of-war, privateers, and 
 prizes, had been described over and over 
 again, with an ability that left nothing to 
 be desired. The whole of a sailor’s life 
 was laid bare to us. We knew exactly 
 what they ate, what they drank, and at 
 what hours they ate and drank it. Their 
 language, their loves, their grievances, and 
 their mutinies, were as familiar as the 
 death of Cock Robin. Even staid, sober, 
 land-lubbering people, who got sea-sick 
 crossing in a Brooklyn ferry-boat, began 
 to know the names of ropes and spars, 
 and imagined no longer that a “ scupper ” 
 was one of the sails. Mr. Melville came 
 forward with his books, to relieve this state 
 of well informed dulness. By a happy mix- 
 ture of fresh land scenery, with some clever 
 ship-life, he produced a brilliant amalgam, 
 that was loudly welcomed by the public. 
 Who does not relish Dr. Long-ghost all 
 the better, for leaving the Julia, albeit 
 prisoner-wise, and going ashore to that 
 funny Calabooza Beretanee where he 
 has epileptic fits, in order to get a good 
 dinner, and makes a fan out of a paddle, 
 to keep off the mosquitoes. Does not the 
 wild voluptuous dance of the K back-slid- 
 
 [Feb 
 
 ing girls,” in the Valley of Martair, con- 
 trast magnificently with that terrible 
 night off Papeetee, when the Mowree 
 tried to run “ Little Jule ” ashore upon 
 the coral breakers. In this contrast, which 
 abounds in Sir. Melville’s books, lies one 
 of his greatest charms. Sea and shore 
 mingling harmoniously together, like 
 music-chords. Now floating on the wide 
 blue southern seas — the sport of calms 
 and hurricanes — the companion of the 
 sullen Bent, the Doctor and Captain Guy. 
 Anon clasping to our bosoms those jaunty, 
 impassioned creatures, yclept Day-born, 
 Night-born, and the Wakefhl ; or watch- 
 ing Fayaway laving her perfect, shiniug 
 form in the cool lake, by whose green 
 bank the cocoa sheds its fruit, and the 
 bread-fruit tree towers. All this is deli- 
 cious, to those who have been playing 
 vulgar midshipman’s tricks with Chamier 
 and Marryatt, and comes to us pleasantly 
 even after Cooper’s powerful and tender 
 sea-tales. 
 
 It is no easy matter to pronounce which 
 of Mr. Melville’s books is the best. All 
 of them (and he has published a goodly 
 number, for so young an author) have 
 had their own share of success, and their 
 own peculiar merits, always saving and 
 excepting Pierre — wild, inflated, repulsive 
 that it is. 
 
 For us there is something very charm- 
 ing about Mardi, all the time fully aware of 
 its sad defects in taste and style. Of course, 
 we give Mr. Melville even credit for his 
 deliberate plagiarisms of old Sir Thomas 
 Browne’s gorgeous and metaphorical man- 
 ner. Affectation upon affectation is scat- 
 tered recklessly through its pages. Wild 
 similes, cloudy philosophy, all things 
 turned topsy-turvy, until we seem to feel 
 all earth melting away from beneath our 
 feet, and nothing but Mardi remaining. 
 Reading this wild book, we can imagine 
 ourselves mounted upon some Tartar steed, 
 golden caparisons clank around our person, 
 ostrich plumes of driven whiteness hang 
 over our brow, and cloud our vision with 
 dancing snow. Lance in hand, from 
 which the horse-tail quivers in the wind, 
 we stand beneath the shadow of our 
 desert-tent, dreaming of golden caravans. 
 Suddenly a thirst for motion fills us with 
 uncontrollable desire. Our steed paws 
 the sand, and our lance trembles to its 
 very steel point, in grasp of nervous ea- 
 gerness. Away, away, along the sandy 
 plain ! Clouds of sand, that shine in the 
 sun like gold, are flung up around us. 
 The swift ostrich stares to see us pass it 
 in our headlong flight. Pilgrims, wend- 
 ing Mecca-ward, tremble when they be- 
 hold the advancing pillar of dust in which 
 we and our steed are shrouded, and fall 
 
Our Young Authors — Melville. 
 
 157 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 on their faces prostrate before what 
 they believe to be the terrible Simoom. 
 Still onward, onward ! We have outrun 
 our very breath, and left it miles 
 behind, and, no longer panting, we race 
 onward, unearthly calm. Every now and 
 then we come to an oasis. Ho ! pull up, 
 good steed, and drink. We stop. Soft 
 steals the moist fountain-wind through 
 the tall, still palm-trees ; tenderly the rich 
 green grass sinks and rises as we tread. 
 Coolly, freshly, diamondly, the desert- 
 spring wells out and cools our parching 
 lips. But waste not time. Again in sad- 
 dle ; again speeding along the desert we 
 know not whither. A wide black gulf, 
 deep and edgeless, bars our path. What ! 
 coward steed ! Dost thou think to stop 
 and tremble? No, not even if it were the 
 gulf of Death, shored with dismal banks 
 of night. On, on ! Strike the stirrup- 
 spurs deep into the flanks 1 lift the heavy 
 golden bridle ! Smite, smite heavily with 
 the elastic lance-shaft! The quivering, 
 frightened steed paws, and rears, and 
 bounds. Down, down we sink through 
 yielding air. Clouds, shapeless, formless 
 clouds, fly up as we fly down. And the 
 ocean that sounds below lifts up its bil- 
 lowy arms to receive us. Moonbeams 
 cover the sea with a silver shroud. Caves 
 murmur. Spirits float midway between 
 the waves and heaven. We, steed and 
 all, sail grandly onwards like an ocean 
 centaur. But it is not always calm. 
 Hoarse syllables of storm mutter in the 
 North, and waves rise angrily to answer 
 them. 
 
 What shall we do, with weary desert 
 steed against the legion of winds ? 
 
 Scatter them with our lance ? 
 
 Out-blow them with a breath, and 
 burst their lungs ? 
 
 All vain ! They are too strong. They 
 pour upon us from every side. The star 
 Arcturus frowns red disaster from the 
 sky. If we seek not harbor we are lost. 
 A golden hope looms upon us from the 
 distance ! Let us fly. Now desert-steed, 
 paw the waves as once thou didst the 
 sand. O’erleap the fencing billows, and 
 make for that white spot that looms dis- 
 tantly. The winds gallop fast behind, and 
 will smite us unseen. The sea-gulls ride 
 before, like stewards of the airy course, to 
 clear the way. The desert-steed strains 
 every nerve, wave after wave clears he, 
 and paws onward to the white island that 
 is to be our Salvator. We near it just as 
 the tempest scents us, and bays upon our 
 track. 
 
 But what is this we see ? 
 
 No island, no sheltering harbor, no 
 white fortress to defend the fugitive: 
 
 But a great, white, world-wide placard, 
 
 with these words traced upon its sur- 
 face : 
 
 M A E D I 
 
 AND 
 
 A VOYAGE THITHER. 
 
 BY KERMAN MELVILLE. 
 
 A greater difference could hardly exist 
 between two men than between Mr. 
 Mitchell and Air. Melville, albeit we have 
 chosen to link them together in our chain. 
 Mitchell writes essentially from the heart. 
 He is continually gazing inward, picking 
 up what he finds there, and displaying it 
 with a childlike, innocent pleasure to the 
 world. From forms, and forms alone does 
 Melville take his text. He looks out of 
 himself, and takes a rich outline view of 
 what he sees. He is essentially exoter- 
 ical in feeling. Matter is his god. His 
 dreams are material. His philosophy is 
 sensual. Beautiful women, shadowy lakes, 
 nodding, plumy trees, and succulent ban- 
 quets, make Melville’s scenery, unless his 
 theme utterly preclude all such. His 
 language is rich and heavy, with a plating 
 of imagery. He has a barbaric love of or- 
 nament, and does not mind much how it 
 is put on. Swept away by this sensual 
 longing, he frequently writes at random. 
 One can see that he uses certain words 
 only because they roll off the pen lus- 
 ciously and roundly, just as a child, who 
 is entirely the sport of sense, grasps at 
 the largest apple. In Mardi is this pecu- 
 liarly obvious. A long experience of the 
 South sea islanders has no doubt induced 
 this. The languages of these groups are 
 singularly mellifluous and resonant, vow- 
 els enter largely into the composition of 
 every word, and dissyllabled words are 
 rare. Mr. Melville has been attracted by 
 this. Whenever he can use a word of 
 four syllables where a monosyllable would 
 answer just as well, he chooses the for- 
 mer. A certain fulness of style is very 
 attractive. Sir Thomas Browne, from 
 whom Mr. Melville copies much that is 
 good, is a great friend of magnificent dic- 
 tion. And his tract on urn burial is as 
 lofty and poetical as if Memnon’s statue 
 chanted it, when the setting sun fell aslant 
 across the Pyramids. But we find no 
 nonsense in Sir Thomas. In every thing 
 he says there is a deep meaning, although 
 sometimes an erroneous one. We cannot 
 always say as much for Mr. Melville. In 
 his latest work he transcended even the 
 jargon of Paracelsus and his followers. 
 The Rosetta stone gave up its secret, but 
 we believe that to the end of time Pierre 
 will remain an ambiguity. 
 
 March, we believe, is intended to embody 
 all the philosophy of which Mr. Melville 
 is capable, and we have no hesitation in 
 
158 
 
 Our Young Authors — Melville. 
 
 saying that the philosophical parts are 
 the worst. We do not for a moment pre- 
 tend to say that we understand the sys- 
 tem laid down by the author. Whether 
 there be a system in it at all, is at least 
 somewhat problematical, but when Mr. 
 Melville does condescend to be intelligible, 
 what he has to say for himself in the way 
 of philosophy, is so exceedingly stale and 
 trite, that it would be more in place in a 
 school-boy’s copy-book, than in a romance 
 otherwise distinguished for splendor of 
 imagery, and richness of diction. The 
 descriptive painting in this wild book is 
 gorgeous and fantastic in the extreme. 
 It is a tapestry of dreams, worked with 
 silken threads, dyed in the ocean of an 
 Eastern sunset! Nothing however strange 
 startles us as we float onwards through 
 this misty panorama. King Media looms 
 out from the canvas, an antique gentle- 
 man full of drowsy courtesy. Babbalanja 
 philosophizes over his calabash, or relates 
 the shadowy adventures of shadows in the 
 land of shades. From out the woods, 
 canopied with flowers, that let the day- 
 light in only through courtesy, comes 
 Donjalolo, the Southern Sardanapalus. 
 Women droop over his pale enervate 
 figure, and strive to light its exhausted 
 fires with their burning eyes. He looks 
 up lazily, and opens his small, red mouth 
 to catch a drop of honey that is trembling 
 in the core of some over-hanging flower. 
 Fatigued with this exertion, he sinks back 
 with a sigh into the soft arms interlaced 
 behind. Then comes Hautia, Queen of 
 spells that lie in lilies, and mistress of 
 the music of feet. Around her float flush- 
 ing nymphs, who love through endless 
 dances, and die in the ecstasy of mingled 
 motion. While far behind, throned in 
 mist, and with one foot dabbling in the 
 great ocean of the Future, stands the lost 
 Yillah ; problem of beauty to which there 
 is no solution save through death. 
 
 All these characters flit before us in 
 Mardi, and bring wiih them no conscious- 
 ness of their unreality and deception. As 
 shadows they come to us, but they are 
 sensual shades. Their joys thrill through 
 us. When they banquet in drowsy splen- 
 dor — when they wander upon beaches of 
 pearls and rubies — when they wreath 
 their brows with blossoms more fragrant 
 and luscious than the buds that grow in 
 Paradise, our senses twine with theirs, 
 and we forget every tiling, save the vision 
 of their gorgeous pleasures. It is this 
 sensual power that holds the secret of 
 Sir. Melville’s first successes. No matter 
 how unreal the scenery, if the pleasure be 
 but truly painted, the world will cry 
 “ bravo ! ” We draw pictures of Gods 
 and Goddesses, and hang them on our 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 walls, but we take good care to let their 
 divinity be but nominal. Diana, Juno, 
 Venus, are they known, but they loom 
 out from the canvas, substantial, un- 
 adulterated women. Seldom does there 
 five, an Ixion who loves to embrace clouds. 
 Call it a cloud if you will, and if it have* 
 the appearance of flesh and blood, the 
 adorer will be satisfied. But we doubt 
 if there is to be found any man enthusiast 
 enough to clasp a vapor to his heart, be 
 it schirri-shaped or cumulous, and bap- 
 tized with the sweetest name ever breathed 
 from the Attic tongue. Sir. Melville there- 
 fore deals in vapors, but he twines around 
 them so cunningly all human attributes, 
 and pranks them out so lusciously with 
 all the witcheries of sense, that we forget 
 their shadowy nomenclatures, and wor- 
 ship the substantial incarnation. 
 
 It must not be imagined from this, that 
 Mr. Melville is incapable of dealing with 
 the events of more matter-of-fact life. He 
 is averse to it, no doubt, and if we may 
 judge by Pierre, is becoming more averse 
 to it as he grows older. But he some- 
 times takes the vulgar monster by the 
 shoulders and -wields it finely. In Omoo, 
 which by the way contains some exceed- 
 ingly fine passages, occurs the following 
 account of the attempt of a South sea 
 savage named Bembo to run the ship 
 ashore on a coral reef, because he had been 
 insulted by one of the ship’s crew is very 
 graphic. 
 
 “ Having remained upon deck with the 
 doctor some time after the rest had gone 
 below, I was just on the point of following 
 him dowD, when I saw the Mowree (Bembo) 
 rise, draw a bucket of water, and holding it 
 high above his head pour it right over him. 
 This he repeated several times. There was 
 nothing very peculiar in the act, but some- 
 thing else about him struck me. However 
 I thought no more of it, but descended the 
 scuttle. After a restless nap, I found the 
 atmosphere of the forecastle so close, from 
 nearly all the men being down at the same 
 time, that I hunted up an old pea-jacket and 
 went on deck, intending to sleep it out there 
 till morning. Here I found the cook and 
 steward, Wymontoo, Rope Yarn, and the 
 Dane ; who, being all quiet, manageable 
 fellows, and holding aloof from the rest 
 since the captain’s departure, had been or- 
 dered by the mate not to go below until 
 sunrise. They were lying under the lee of 
 the bulwarks; two or three fast asleep, and 
 the others smoking their pipes, and con- 
 versing. 
 
 “ To my surprise, Bembo was at the helm ; 
 but there being so few to stand there now, 
 they told me, he had offered to take his turn 
 with the rest, at the same time heading the 
 watch; and to this, of course, they male nc 
 objection. 
 
Our Young Authors — Melville. 
 
 159 
 
 1853.] 
 
 “ It was a fine, bright night ; all moon, and 
 stars, and white crests of waves. The breeze 
 was light, but freshening; and close-hauled, 
 poor little Jule, as if nothing had happened, 
 was heading in for the land, which rose high 
 and hazy in the distance. 
 
 “After the day’s uproar, the tranquillity 
 of the scene was soothing, and 1 leaned 
 over the side to enjoy it. 
 
 “More than ever did I now lament my 
 situation — but it was useless to repine, and 
 I could not upbraid myself. So at last, be- 
 coming drowsy, I made a bed with my jacket 
 under the windlass, and tried to forget my- 
 self. 
 
 “ IIow long I laid there, I cannot tell ; 
 but as I rose, the first object that met my 
 eye, was Bembo at the helm, his dark figure 
 slowly rising and falling with the ship’s mo- 
 tion against the spangled heavens behind. 
 He seemed all impatience and expectation ; 
 standing at arm’s length from the spokes, 
 with one foot advanced, and his bare head 
 thrust forward. Where i was, the watch 
 were out of sight ; and no one else was stir- 
 ring ; the deserted decks and broad white 
 sails were gleaming in the moonlight. 
 
 “ Presently, a swelling, dashing sound 
 came upon my ear, and I had a sort of 
 vague consciousness that I had been hearing 
 it before. The next instant I was broad 
 awake and on my feet. Right ahead, and so 
 near that my heart stood still, was a long 
 line of breakers, heaving and frothing. It 
 was the coral reef, girdling the island. Be- 
 hind it, and almost casting their shadows 
 upon the deck, were the sleeping mountains, 
 about whose hazy peaks the gray dawn was 
 just breaking. The breeze had freshened, 
 and with a steady, gliding motion, we were 
 running straight for the reef. 
 
 “All was taken in at a glance; the fell 
 purpose of Bembo was obvious, and with a 
 frenzied shout to wake the watch, I rushed 
 aft. They sprang to their feet bewildered ; 
 and after a short, but desperate scuffle, we 
 tore him from the helm. In wrestling with 
 him, the wheel — left for a moment unguarded 
 — flew to leeward, thus, fortunately, bringing 
 the ship’s head to the wind, and so retarding 
 her progress. Previous to this, she had been 
 kept three or four points free, so as to close 
 with the breakers. Her headway now short- 
 ened, I steadied the helm, keeping the sails 
 just lifting, while we glided obliquely toward 
 the land. To have run off before the wind 
 — an easy thing — would have been almost 
 certain destruction, owing to a curve of the 
 reef in that direction. At this time, the 
 Dane and the steward were still struggling 
 with the furious Mowree, and the others 
 were running about irresolute and shouting. 
 
 “But darting forward the instant I had 
 the helm, the old cook thundered on the 
 forecastle with a handspike, ‘Breakers! 
 breakers close aboard ! — ’bout ship ! ’bout 
 ship!’ 
 
 “ Up came the sailors, staring about them 
 in stupid horror. ‘Haul back the head- 
 yards!’ ‘ Let go the lee fore-brace ?’ ‘Ready 
 
 about! about!’ were now shouted on all 
 sides ; while distracted by a thousand or- 
 ders, they ran hither and thither, fairly 
 panic-stricken. 
 
 “It seemed all over with us; and I was 
 just upon the point of throwing the ship full 
 into the wind (a step, which saving us for 
 the instant, would have sealed our fate in 
 the end), when a sharp cry shot, by my ear 
 like the flight of an arrow. 
 
 “ It was Salem : ‘ All ready for’ard ; hard 
 down I’ 
 
 Round and round went the spokes — the 
 Julia, with her short keel, spinning to wind- 
 ward like a top. Soon the jib-sheets lashed 
 the stays, and the men, more self-possessed, 
 flew to the braces. 
 
 “ ‘ Main-sail haul !’ was now heard, as the 
 fresh breeze streamed fore and aft the deck ; 
 and directly the after-yards were whirled 
 round. 
 
 “In half a minute more, we were sailing 
 away from the land on the other tack, with 
 every sail distended. 
 
 “Turning on our heel within little more 
 than a biscuit’s toss of the reef, no earthly 
 power could have saved us, were it not that, 
 up to the very brink of the coral rampart, 
 there are no soundings. 
 
 “The purpose of Bembo had been made 
 known to the men generally by the watch ; 
 and now that our salvation was certain, by 
 an instinctive impulse they raised a cry, and 
 rushed toward him. 
 
 “Just before liberated by Dunk and the 
 steward, he was standing doggedly by the 
 mizen-mast; and, as the infuriated sailors 
 came on, his bloodshot eye rolled and his 
 sheath-knife glittered over his head. ‘ Down 
 with him !’ ‘ Strike him down !’ ‘ Hang 
 
 him at the mainyard!’ such were the 
 shouts now raised. But he stood unmoved, 
 and, for a single instant, they absolutely 
 faltered. 
 
 “ ‘ Cowards !’ cried Salem, and he flung 
 himself upon him. The steel descended like 
 a ray of light ; but did no harm ; for the 
 sailor’s heart was beating against the Mow- 
 ree’s before he was aware. 
 
 “They both fell to the deck, when the 
 knife was instantly seized, and Bembo se- 
 cured. ‘For’ard! for’ard with him!’ was 
 again the cry; ‘give him a sea-toss!’ ‘over- 
 board with him !’ and he was dragged along 
 the deck, struggling and fighting with tooth 
 and nail. 
 
 “All this uproar immediately over the 
 mate’s head at last roused him from his 
 drunken nap, and he came staggering on 
 deck. 
 
 “ ‘ What’s this?’ he shouted, running right 
 in among them. 
 
 “ ‘It’s the Mowree, zur; they are going to 
 murder him, zur;’ here sobbed poor Rope 
 Yarn, crawling close up to him. 
 
 “‘Ayast! avast!’ roared Jermin, making 
 a spring toward Bembo, and dashing two or 
 three of the sailors aside. At this moment 
 the wretch was partly flung over the bul- 
 warks, which shook with his frantic strug- 
 
160 
 
 Our Young Authors — Melville. 
 
 glea. In vain the doctor and others tided to 
 save him ; the men listened to nothing. 
 
 “ ‘ Murder and mutiny, by the salt sea !’ 
 shouted the mate ; and dashing his arms 
 right and left, he planted his iron hand upon 
 the Movvree’s shoulder. 
 
 “ ‘ There are two of us now ; and as you 
 serve him, you serve me,’ he cried, turning 
 fiercely round. 
 
 “ ‘ Over with them together, then,” ex- 
 claimed the carpenter, springing forward ; 
 but the rest fell back before the courageous 
 front of Jermin, and, with the speed of 
 thought, Bembo, unharmed, stood upon deck. 
 
 ‘ Aft with ye !’ cried his deliverer ; and he 
 pushed him right among the men, taking care 
 to follow him up close. Giving the sailors 
 no time to recover, he pushed the Mowree 
 before him, they came to the cabin scuttle, 
 when he drew the slide over him and stood 
 still. Throughout* Bembo never spoke one 
 word. 
 
 “ ‘ Now for’ard where ye belong !’ cried 
 the mate, addressing the seamen, who by 
 this time rallying again, had no idea of losing 
 their victim. 
 
 “ ‘ The Mowree ! the Mowree !’ they 
 shouted. Here the doctor, in answer to the 
 mate’s repeated questions, stepped forward, 
 and related what Bembo had been doing; a 
 matter which the mate but dimly understood 
 from the violent threatenings he had been 
 hearing. 
 
 “ For a moment he seemed to waver ; but, 
 at last, turning the key in the padlock of the 
 slide, he breathed through his set teeth — ‘Ye 
 can’t have him ; I’ll hand him over to the 
 consul ; so for’ard with ye, I say ; when 
 there's any drowning to be done, I’ll pass 
 the word ; so away with ye, ye bloodthirsty 
 pirates !’ 
 
 “ It was to no purpose that they begged 
 or threatened; Jermin, although by no 
 means sober, stood his ground manfully, and 
 before long they dispersed, soon to forget 
 every thing that had happened. 
 
 “ Though we had no opportunity to hear 
 him confess it, Bembo’s intention to destroy 
 us was beyond all question. His only mo- 
 tive couldliave been a desire to revenge the 
 contumely heaped upon him the night pre- 
 vious, operating upon a heart irreclaimably 
 savage, and at no time fraternally disposed 
 toward the crew. 
 
 “During the whole of this scene the 
 doctor did his best to save him. But well 
 knowing that all I could do, would have 
 been equally useless, I maintained my place 
 at the wheel. Indeed, no one but Jermin 
 could have prevented this murder.” 
 
 Typee, the first and most successful of 
 Hr. Melvi lie’s books, commands atten- 
 tion for the clearness of its narrative, the 
 novelty of its scenery, and the simplicity 
 of its style, in which latter feature it is a 
 wondrous contrast to Mardi, Moby Dick, 
 and Pierre. The story of Typee is plain 
 enough. The hero becomes discontented 
 
 [Feb, 
 
 with his ship, while among the Marquesas 
 islands, and comes to the determination of 
 effecting his escape. This he does in com- 
 pany with Toby, a fellow-sailor, a rough, 
 jolly mortal, who grumbles and enjoys 
 himself all the time, as most grumblers 
 do. The island on which the}- effect their 
 escape is divided into two great clans, 
 who each occupy a valley, and between 
 whom a deadly enmity exists. These are 
 the Typees and the Ilappars. Like our 
 own Christian sects they are not given to 
 speaking well of each other. The Iiap- 
 pars call the Typees cannibals, and the 
 Typees vow that the amount of babies 
 consumed annually in Happar is quite in- 
 credible. Tom and Toby fall into the 
 hands of the Typees, where their position 
 is very precarious, until Tom discovers 
 that tbe way to their affections is to abuse 
 the Happars. He accordingly launches out 
 against this unfortunate race, of whom he 
 knows nothing, and is in consequence 
 treated with the utmost courtesy and af- 
 fection by their foes. In this valley of 
 savages, where the flowers and the women 
 are beautiful beyond conception, Tom and 
 Toby pass their days pleasantly. Swim- 
 ming in the clear lakes with Typee girls, 
 who cleave the water like dolphins ; feast- 
 ing in sacred temples off of sucking pig, 
 lolling beneath the bread-fruit trees with 
 Fayaway, or making “Tappa” with the 
 housekeepers and matrons, they spend as 
 agreeable a life as ever town-imprisoned 
 merchant’s clerk sighed for. In Typee there 
 were no debts, consequently no duns. 
 The charming inhabitants dispensed with 
 all clothing, and tailors were unknown. 
 No detestable bills to mar one’s new 
 year’s pleasures with items of “ seven 
 fancy vests, §85 ; three coats, §120 ; gloves, 
 ties. &c., &c., ifcc., &c., &c., §200.” Tom 
 had no hotel bill to pay. A piece of 
 Tappa, or a quid of tobacco was current 
 coin, and if the girls of the valley got up 
 a ball, there was no subscription list, no 
 lady patronesses, and no enmities gather- 
 ing out of rejected applications for tickets. 
 
 It does not appear either that there werq 
 any “ sets,” or cliques in Typee. Mr. 
 Melville does not mention that they had 
 their Fifth Avenue, or their Bleccker Ru- 
 bicon. Society was not divided into petty 
 circles, each revolving round some insignifi- 
 cant centre, and fancying themselves the 
 central sun of the universe of fashion. 
 Typee ladies did not receive their visitors 
 in drawing-rooms resplendent with gilt 
 vulgarity, and if they had ever been so 
 fortunate as to travel, we doubt if they 
 would have talked one down with the 
 Grand Duke of Fiddeldedeestein “ whom 
 they met at Baden-Baden,” and who — let 
 it be whispered sub-rosa — cheated the 
 
Our Young Authors — Melville. 
 
 101 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 pater -familias at 6carte. Would that 
 the world could be Typee-ized. Would 
 that we could strip every vain pretender of 
 the plumage that chance has given him, and 
 turn him out upon the world with nothing 
 to clothe him save his own merits. How 
 your vulgar Argus, with a million of dol- 
 lars on his tail, would find his level in 
 Typee. The friends of the Grand Duke 
 of Fiddeldedeestein, would not rise an 
 inch higher in Mehevi’s estimation for hav- 
 ing known the ducal swindler, and then — 
 then what do you say to the inexpressible, 
 almost unimaginable, never-to-be-realized 
 delight of paying off your tailor’s bill 
 for the last time, in cowrie-shells and 
 Tappa ! 
 
 In this primitive valley of Typee we 
 meet with Fayaway. Charming, smooth- 
 skinned siren, around whose sun-browned 
 form the waves lap and dimple, like the 
 longing touches of a lover’s fingers. What 
 luxury untold it must have been to live 
 with thee beneath the shady places of Ty- 
 pee. To dance with thee in the moon- 
 light in front of the deep-eaved hut ; to 
 hunt with thee for strange iiowers in the 
 deep, silent woods, or sail with thee on 
 the lake when the sunset painted our tap- 
 pa sail with finer hues than the work of 
 G-obelins. How Tom could ever have 
 left thee, surpasseth human understanding. 
 Left thee, graceful, artless child of the 
 forest and the stream, to dwell among 
 civilized women — dancing machines ; flirt- 
 ing machines, built of whalebone and 
 painted red. 
 
 And sadly we leave Fayaway lamenting 
 her white lover. 
 
 White Jacket is a pure sea-book, but 
 very clever. It is a clear, quiet picture 
 of life on board of a man-of-war. It has 
 less of Mr. Melville’s faults than almost 
 any of his works, and is distinguished for 
 clear, wholesome satire, and a manly style. 
 There is a scene describing the amputa- 
 tion of a sailor’s leg by a brutal, cold- 
 blooded surgeon, Patella, that Smollett 
 might have painted. We would gladly 
 quote it, but that it rather exceeds the 
 limits usually afforded in an article so 
 short as ours. 
 
 There is one chapter in which the hero 
 details the loss of the White Jacket, from 
 wearing which, he and the book take their 
 name, that strikes us as a very fine piece 
 of descriptive writing. We give it entire. 
 
 “Already has White Jacket chronicled 
 the mishaps and inconveniences, troubles 
 and tribulations of all sorts brought upon 
 him by that unfortunate but indispensable 
 garment of his. But now it befalls him to 
 record how his jacket, for the second and 
 last time, came near proving his shroud. 
 
 “ Of a pleasant midnight, our good frigate, 
 now somewhere off the Capes of Virginia, 
 was running on bravely, when the breeze, 
 gradually dying, left us slowly gliding to- 
 wards our still invisible port. 
 
 “ Headed by Jack Chase, the quarter- 
 watch was reclining in the tops, talking 
 about the shore delights into which they in- 
 tended to plunge, while our captain often 
 broke in with allusions to similar conversa- 
 tions when he was on board the English 
 line-of-battle-ship, the ‘Asia,’ drawing nigh 
 to Portsmouth, in England, after the battle 
 of Navarino. 
 
 “ Suddenly an order was given to set the 
 main-topgallant-stun’-sail, and the halyards 
 not being rove, Jack Chase assigned to me 
 that duty. Now this reeving of the halyards 
 of a main-topgallant-stun’-sail is a business 
 that eminently demands sharp-sightedness, 
 skill and celerity. 
 
 “ Consider that the end of a line, some 
 two hundred feet long, is to be carried aloft, 
 in your teeth if you please, and dropped far 
 out on the giddiest of yards, and after being 
 wormed and twisted about through all sorts 
 of intricacies — turning abrupt corners at the 
 abruptest of angles — is to be dropped, clear 
 of all obstructions, in a straight plumb line, 
 right down to the deck. In the course of 
 this business, there is a multitude of sheeve- 
 holes and kocks through which you must 
 pass it ; often the rope is a very tight fit, so 
 as to make it like threading a fine cambric 
 needle with rather coarse thread. Indeed, 
 it is a thing only to be deftly done even by 
 day. Judge then what it must be to be 
 threading cambric needles upward of a hun- 
 dred feet aloft in air. 
 
 “ With the end of the line in one hand, I 
 was mounting the top-mast shrouds, when 
 our Captain of the Top told me that I had 
 better off jacket ; but though it was not a 
 very cold night, I had been reclining so long 
 in the tops that I had become somewhat 
 chilly, so I thought it best not to comply 
 with the hint 
 
 “ Having reeved the line through all the 
 inferior blocks, I went out with it to the 
 end of the weather-topgallant-yard-arm, and 
 was in the act of leaning over and passing it 
 through the suspended jewel-block there, 
 when the ship gave a plunge in the sudden 
 swells of the calm sea, and, pitching me still 
 further over the yard, threw the heavy skirts 
 of my jacket right over my head, completely 
 muffling me. Somehow I thought it was 
 the sail that had flapped, and, under that 
 impression, threw up my hands to drag it 
 from my head, relying upon the sail itself 
 to support me meanwhile Just then the 
 ship gave another sudden jerk, and, head- 
 foremost, I pitched from the yard. I knew 
 where I was from the rush of the air by my 
 ears, but all else was a nightmare. 
 
 “ A bloody film was before my eye, through 
 which, ghost-like, passed and repassed my 
 father, mother, sisters. An unutterable nau 
 sea oppressed me ; I was conscious of gasp- 
 ing ; there seemed no breath in my body. 
 
162 
 
 Our Young Authors — Melville. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 It was over one hundred feet that I fell, — 
 down, down, — with lungs collapsed as in 
 death. Ten thousand pounds of shot seemed 
 tied to my head, as the irresistible law of 
 gravitation dragged me head -foremost and 
 straight as a die toward the infallible centre 
 of this terraqueous globe. All I had seen, 
 and read, and heard, and all I had thought 
 or felt in my life, seemed intensified in one 
 fixed idea in my soul. But dense as this 
 idea was, it was made up of atoms. Having 
 fallen from the projecting yard-arm end, I 
 was conscious of a collected satisfaction in 
 feeling that I should not be dashed on the 
 deck, but would sink into the speechless 
 profound of the sea. 
 
 “With the bloody, blind film before my 
 eyes, there was still a strange hum in my 
 head, as if a hornet were there ; and I thought 
 to myself, Great God! this is Death! yet 
 these thoughts were unmixed with alarm. 
 Like frost-work, that flashes and shifts its 
 scared hues in the sun, all my braided, 
 blended emotions were in themselves icy, 
 cold and calm. 
 
 “ So protracted did my fall seem, that I 
 can even now recall the feeling of wonder- 
 ing how much longer it would be ere all 
 was over and it struck. Time seemed to 
 stand still, and all the world seemed poised 
 on their poles, as I fell, soul-becalmed, through 
 the eddying whirl and swirl of the Maelstrom 
 air. 
 
 “ At first, as I have said, I must have 
 been precipitated head-foremost ; but I was 
 conscious, at length, of a swift, flinging mo- 
 tion of my limbs, which involuntarily threw 
 themselves out, so that at least I must have 
 fallen in a heap. 
 
 “ This is more likely, from the circum- 
 stance that when I struck the sea, I felt as 
 if some one had smote me slantingly across 
 the shoulder, and along part of my right 
 side. 
 
 “As I gushed into the sea, a thunder- 
 boom sounded in my ear ; my soul seemed 
 flying from my mouth. The feeling of death 
 flooded over me with the billows. The blow 
 from the sea must have turned me, so that I 
 sank almost feet foremost through a soft, 
 seething, foamy lull. Some current seemed 
 hurrying me away ; in a trance I yielded, 
 and sank deeper down with a glide. Purple 
 and pathless was the deep calm now around 
 me, flecked by summer lightnings in an azure 
 afar. The horrible nausea was gone; the 
 bloody, blind film turned a pale green ; I 
 wondered whether I was dead, or still dying. 
 But of a sudden some fashionless form brushed 
 my side — some inert, coiled fish of the sea ; 
 the thrill of being alive again tingled in my 
 nerves, and the strong stunning of death 
 shocked me through. 
 
 “For one instant an agonizing revulsion 
 came over me as I found myself utterly sink- 
 ing. Next moment the force of my fall was 
 expended; and there I hung, vibrating in 
 the mid deep. What wild sounds then rang 
 in my ear ! one was a soft moaning, as of 
 low waves on the beach ; the other wild and 
 
 heartlessly jubilant, as of a sea in the height 
 of a tempest Oh, soul! thou then heardest 
 life and death; as he who stands upon the 
 Corinthian shore hears both the Ionian and 
 theHUgean waves, the life and-death poise soon 
 passed, and then I found myself slowly as- 
 cending, and caught a dim glimmering of 
 light. 
 
 “ Quicker and quicker I mounted: till at 
 last I bounded up like a buoy, and my whole 
 head was bathed in the blessed air. 
 
 “ I had fallen in a line with the mainmast ; 
 
 I now found myself nearly abreast of the 
 mizzen-mast, the frigate slowly gliding by 
 like a black world in the water. Her vast 
 hull loomed out of the night, showing hun 
 dreds of seamen in the hammock nettings ; 
 some tossing over ropes, others madly fling- 
 ing overboard the hammocks; but I was too 
 far out from them immediately to reach what 
 they threw. I essayed to swim toward the 
 ship, but I was instantly conscious of a feel- 
 ing like being pinioned in a feather-bed, 
 and, moving my hands, felt my jacket puffed 
 out above my tight girdle with water. I 
 strove to tear it off, but it was looped toge- 
 ther here and there, and the strings were 
 not to be sundered by hand. I whipped out 
 my knife, that was tucked at my belt, and 
 ripped my jacket straight up and down, as 
 if I were ripping open myself With a vio- 
 lent struggle I then burst out of it and was 
 free. Heavily soaked, it slowly sank before 
 my eyes. 
 
 “ Sink ! sink ! thought I ; sink for ever! 
 accursed jacket that thou art ! 
 
 “ ‘See that white shark ! ’ cried a horrified 
 voice from the taffrail, ‘ he’ll have that man 
 down his hatchway ! quick ! the grains ! the 
 grains 1 ’ 
 
 “ The next instant that barbed bunch of 
 harpoons pierced through and through the 
 unfortunate jacket, and swiftly sped down 
 with it out of sight. 
 
 “Being now astern of the frigate, I struck 
 out boldly toward the elevated pole of one 
 of the life-buoys which had been cut away. 
 Soon after one of the cutters picked me up. 
 As they dragged me out of the water into 
 the air, the sudden transition of elements 
 made my every limb feel like lead, and I 
 helplessly sunk into the bottom of the boat 
 
 “Ten minutes after I was safe on board, 
 and springing aloft, was ordered to reeve 
 anew the stun’-sail-halyards, which, slipping 
 through the blocks when I had let go the 
 end, had unrove and fallen to the deck. 
 
 “The sail was soon set; and, as if pur- 
 posely to salute it, a gentle breeze soon came, 
 and the ‘Never Sink’ once more glided over 
 the water, a soft ripple at her bows, and 
 leaving a tranquil wake behind.” 
 
 This is fine. We have often met with 
 descriptions, some well painted enough, 
 of dizzy aerial adventures, but never one 
 like this. Our ears tingle as we read it. 
 The air surges around us as we fall from 
 that fearful height. The sea divides, the 
 green mist flashes into a thousand hues, 
 
Our Young Authors — Melville. 
 
 163 
 
 1853. | 
 
 and we sit for an instant a stride of Death’s 
 balance. Weight, unutterable weight 
 presses upon our shoulders, and we seem 
 as if about to be crushed into nothing- 
 ness. Then a sudden change. A revul- 
 sion which is accompanied with soft, low 
 music; and we float upwards. We seem 
 gliding through an oiled ocean, so smoothly 
 do we pass. It breaks, it parts above 
 our head. The next moment we shoot out 
 from a cloud of feathers, and are battling 
 with the waves. 
 
 In Redburn, we find an account of 
 the death of a sailor, by spontaneous 
 combustion. Well described, poetical- 
 ly described, fraught with none of the 
 revolting scenery which it is so easy to 
 gather round such an end. In the last 
 number of Bleak House, Mr. Dickens has 
 attempted the same thing. lie has also 
 performed what he attempted. But, if 
 ever man deserved public prosecution for 
 his writing, he does, for this single pas- 
 sage. A hospital student could not read 
 it withont sickening. A ghoul, who had 
 lived all his days upon the festering cor- 
 ruption of the grave-yard, could have 
 written nothing more hideously revolting 
 than the death of Ivrook. It is as loath- 
 some to read it as to enter one of the 
 charnels in London city. We do not be- 
 lieve that a woman of sensitive nerves 
 could take it up without fainting over the 
 details. For ourselves, we fling- the book 
 away, with an anathema on the author 
 that we should be sorry for him to hear. 
 
 Mr. Melville does not improve with time. 
 His later books are a decided falling off, 
 and his last scarcely deserves naming ; this 
 however we scarce believe to be an indi- 
 cation of exhaustion. Keats says beauti- 
 fully in his preface to Endymion, that 
 “ The imagination of a . boy is healthy, 
 and the mature imagination of a man is 
 healthy, but there is a space of life be- 
 tween, in which the soul is in a ferment, 
 the character undecided, the way of life 
 uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted.” 
 
 Just at present we believe the author of 
 Pierre to be iu this state of ferment. Typee, 
 his first book, was healthy ; Omoo nearly 
 so ; after that came Mardi, with its ex- 
 cusable wildness ; then came Moby Dick, 
 and Pierre with its inexcusable insanity. 
 We trust that these rhapsodies will end the 
 interregnum of nonsense to which Keats 
 refers, as forming a portion of every man’s 
 life ; and that Mr. Melville will write less 
 at random and more at leisure, than of 
 late. Of his last book we would fain 
 not speak, did we not feel that he is 
 just now at that stage of author-life 
 when a little wholesome advice may save 
 him a hundred future follies. When first 
 we read Pierre, we felt a strong inclina- 
 
 tion to believe the whole thing to be a 
 well-got-up hoax. We remembered hav- 
 ing read a novel in six volumes once of 
 the same order, called “ The Abbess,” in 
 which the stilted style of writing is ex- 
 posed very funnily ; and, as a specimen 
 of unparalleled bombast, we believed it 
 to be unequalled until we met with 
 Pierre. In Mardi there is a strong vein 
 of vague, morphinized poetry, running 
 through the whole book. We do not 
 know what it means from the beginning 
 to the end, but we do not want to know, 
 and accept it as a rhapsody. Babbalanja 
 philosophizing drowsily, or the luxurious 
 sybaritical King Media, lazily listening to 
 the hum of waters, are all shrouded dim- 
 ly in opiate-fumes, and dream-clouds, and 
 we love them only as sensual shadows. 
 Whatever they say or do ; whether they sail 
 in a golden boat, or eat silver fruits, or make 
 pies of emeralds and rubies, or any thing 
 else equally ridiculous, we feel perfectly 
 satisfied that it is all right, because there 
 is no claim made upon our practical belief. 
 But if Mr. Melville had placed Babbalanja 
 and Media and Yoomy in the Fifth Avenue, 
 instead of a longitude and latitude less 
 inland ; if we met them in theatres in- 
 stead of palm groves, and heard Babba- 
 lanja lecturing before the Historical So- 
 ciety instead of his dreamy islanders, we 
 should feel naturally rather indignant at 
 such a tax upon our credulity. W e would 
 feel inclined to say with the Orientals, that 
 Mr. Melville had been laughing at our 
 beards, and Pacha-like condemn on the 
 instant to a literary bastinado. Now 
 Pierre has all the madness of Mardi, 
 without its vague, dreamy, poetic charm. 
 All Mr. Melville’s many affectations of style 
 and thought are here crowded together 
 in a mad mosaic. Talk of Rabelais’s 
 word-nonsense ! there was always some- 
 thing queer, and odd, and funny, gleaming 
 through his unintelligibility. But Pierre 
 transcends all the nonsense-writing that 
 the world ever beheld. 
 
 Thought staggers through each page 
 like one poisoned. Language is drunken 
 and reeling. Style is antipodical, and 
 marches on its head. Then the moral 
 is bad. Conceal it how you will, a re- 
 volting picture presents itself. A wretch- 
 ed, cowardly boy for a hero, who from 
 some feeling of mad romance, together 
 with a mass of inexplicable reasons which, 
 probably, the author alone fathoms, 
 chooses to live in poverty with his illegit- 
 imate sister, whom he passes oil' to the 
 world as his wife, instead of being re- 
 spectably married to a legitimate cousin. 
 Everbody is vicious in some way or other. 
 The mother is vicious with pride. Isabel 
 has a cancer of morbid, vicious, minerva- 
 
164 
 
 From Venice to Vienna. 
 
 press-romance, eating into her heart. 
 Lucy Tartan is viciously humble, and 
 licks the dust beneath Pierre’s feet vi- 
 ciously. Delly Ulver is humanly vicious, 
 and in the rest of the book, whatever of 
 vice is wanting in the remaining charac- 
 ters, is made up by superabundant vici- 
 osities of style. 
 
 Let Mr. Melville stay his step in time. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 He totters on the edge of a precipice, 
 over which all his hard-earned fame may 
 tumble with such another weight as Pierre 
 attached to it. He has peculiar talents, 
 which may be turned to rare advantage. 
 Let him diet himself for a year or two on 
 Addison, and avoid Sir Thomas Brownie, 
 and there is little doubt but that he will 
 make a notch on the American Pine. 
 
 FROM VENICE TO VIENNA 
 
 “ TT is time to get up,” shouted Bison, my 
 1 western friend, shaking me vigorously 
 by the shoulders, as I snored under the 
 sheets of the Albergo lleale at Venice. 
 “ But why get up? ” muttered I, rubbing 
 my eyes which had only an hour or two 
 before closed upon the brilliant prome- 
 nades of the piazza of St. Mark. But I 
 sprang out of bed and made the matutinal 
 ablutions by lamp-light, without waiting 
 for his reply. 
 
 Bison was in full rig, with a mackintosh 
 and Kossuth hat, and an immense pair of 
 boots, " The Archie duco Frederico,” said 
 he, “ sails at four o’clock, and it now wants 
 five minutes.” 
 
 We were soon in the gondola pushing 
 towards the steamer, which stood champ- 
 ing its bits and pawing the water, half- 
 way over towards the Lido. 
 
 It was a raw drizzly morning, — though 
 there had been nothing but sunshine in 
 Venice for more than a month. As the 
 passengers came on board, they looked 
 blue and dismal, and a steam of unsavory 
 vapors curled out of their overcoats. 
 
 “ Ugh ! what shocking nasty weather ! ” 
 exclaimed an Englishman, addressing no 
 one in particular, and shaking his bear- 
 skin like a poodle who had just emerged 
 from a duck-pond. 
 
 Very,” remarked Bison, disposed to 
 scrape an acquaintance, at the same time 
 taking out a segar, nine inches long, and 
 black as a stick of liquorice, which he had 
 purchased in the Estates of the Church, 
 •with no probable prospect of smoking it, 
 but as a kind of distant memento of the 
 native American weed. 
 
 As for myself. I spread my paletot in 
 the cabin, and slept profoundly — one, two, 
 three hours, when the waiters removed 
 me for breakfast. 
 
 In the meantime the clouds had cleared 
 away, and a day like the first dawn in 
 Paradise, shimmered far and wide over the 
 blue waters of the Adriatic. Venice, with 
 its islands and palaces, was still in sight. 
 It rose dreamily out of the waters, in 
 
 green, and golden, and red, like a waver- 
 ing many-colored exhalation of the 
 morning. 
 
 “ Heavens ! ” I ejaculated, emerging from 
 the cabin, and joining Bison and the Eng- 
 lishman, who seemed to be in conversa- 
 tion — “ how beautiful is this !” 
 
 “A fairy scene, sir,” remarked John, 
 with a positive emphasis, as if somebody 
 was going to dispute his opinion, and he 
 was ready to defend it, — “ a fairy scene, 
 the nicest in the world.” 
 
 “ Then you have seen theBay of Naples,” 
 I modestly interposed. 
 
 Or, continued Bison, “ the Bay of New- 
 York, which I hold to be the most glorious 
 ever invented.” 
 
 “ The towering cone of Vesuvius may 
 lend a single superiority to Naples,” the 
 Englishman replied in a milder tone, 
 perhaps discovering that we, too, had 
 travelled ; “ but for my part, these broad 
 lagunes, with their thousand islands, 
 bristling with forts, or laughing in the 
 midst of rich luxuriant gardens — impos- 
 ing structures rising on every side, and 
 the bright blue skies bending down to 
 the embrace of waters as blue and bright 
 as themselves, have an indescribable en- 
 chantment.” 
 
 “ Yes,” rejoined I, chiming in, much to 
 the discomfort of Bison, who looked at me 
 with an ill-concealed sneer, as though I 
 were turning traitor to the first duties of 
 patriotism, “New-York or Naples may 
 be grander or fairer than this, but here 
 surely is the very home and cradle of ro- 
 mance. Does it not seem, now, as the 
 slant sun comes up out of the waves, and 
 we wind about among these sparkling 
 islands, each a gem on the bosom of the 
 sea, as if we were leaving some ideal 
 world, and hurrying back to stern and cold 
 realities ? ” 
 
 Bison turned away disgusted ; and yet, 
 I had a deeper reason than he saw for 
 that last remark. I was leaving Italy, 
 never perhaps to look upon it again, and 
 my soul, not unmoved by the immediate 
 
From, Venice to Vienna. 
 
 165 
 
 1853.] 
 
 scene, was yet more completely possessed 
 by the sadly glorious memories of that 
 sweet land. The fresh day was falling in 
 floods across the waves, gay villas and 
 massive fortifications crowned the islands, 
 stately war-ships, with the pennants of all 
 navies streaming from their mast heads, 
 rode at anchor — innumerable gondolas, 
 filled with contadini, hastened inward 
 with their morning supplies of country 
 cheer, and far off shone the majestic tur- 
 rets and domes of the still sleeping city ; 
 ah, no ! I could not be insensible, but as 
 these faded away, one after the other, a 
 feeling of melancholy, like some deep 
 undertone of sorrowful music, crept into 
 my heart. 
 
 It was then that I appreciated in their 
 full force the mournful lines of Filicaja: 
 
 Italia, oh Italia, hapless thou, 
 
 Who didst the fatal gift of beauty gain, 
 
 A dowry fraught with never-ending pain, — 
 
 A seal of sorrow stamped upon thy brow ; 
 
 Oh, were thy bravery more, or less thy charms, 
 Then should thy foes, they whom thy loveliness 
 Now lures afar to conquer and possess, 
 
 Adore thy beauty less, or dread thy arms. 
 
 No longer then should hostile torrents pour, 
 
 Adown the Alps : and Gallic troops be laved 
 In the red waters of the Po no more ; 
 
 Nor longer then, by foreign courage saved, 
 Barbarian succor should thy sons implore. — 
 Vanquished or victors, still by Goths enslaved. 
 
 “ Well, while you have been dreaming,” 
 interrupted Bison, his face quite black 
 with coal smoke — “ Bote ! ” I screamed, 
 not allowing him to proceed, “ don’t you see 
 that we are leaving Italy for ever ? Italy, 
 dear alike to our imaginations, our intel- 
 lects and our hearts ; the land of Dante, 
 Michael Angelo, and Mazzini, the cradle 
 and the grave of religion and art, the pil- 
 grim-shine to which the earth’s weary 
 wanderers turn for consolation and balm, 
 and strength, and peace ! — how can we quit 
 her beautiful shores, without dropping a 
 tear at the recollection of her glories, her 
 vices and her woes ?” 
 
 “ But, as I was saj-ing,” pursued the 
 imperturbable Bison, “while you were 
 in your dreams, I have been examining 
 this steamship. It is a tolerably fair 
 specimen, well-built, well-appointed, and 
 well-managed, made of iron, and belongs 
 to Mr. Austrian Lloyd. But do you 
 know why it does so well ? ” 
 
 “ No,” said I, “ nor do I care.” 
 
 “I’ll tell you, then: it was built in 
 England, and is managed by a Scotch- 
 man ! ” 
 
 Seeing that I made no note of his ob- 
 servation, the indefatigable tormentor con- 
 tinued, “ It is one of the blasting effects of 
 these despotic governments, that they not 
 only prevent the development of enter- 
 prise, but that they absolutely wither the 
 talents of the people. All over the Con- 
 tinent, the management of the great in- 
 
 dustrial undertakings is committed to the 
 hands of foreigners. The Mediterranean 
 steamboats, you will remember, had Eng- 
 lish or Yankee engineers, and the Russian 
 and Austrian locomotives, I am told, are 
 mostly American, or at any rate, were 
 made by American mechanics.” 
 
 “ It would seem, then, Bison,” said I 
 submissively, “ that men unaccustomed to 
 the exercise of their political rights, have 
 few or no motives to the exertion of their 
 skill and enterprise.” 
 
 “ J ust so ; the infernal knaves who usurp 
 the rule here, take every thing to them- 
 selves, and will no more allow a man to 
 build a steamboat or a railroad, than 
 they will allow him to vote. Isn’t it a 
 shame ? ” 
 
 We had a delightful sail, and at about 
 two o’clock in the afternoon were landed 
 at Trieste. 
 
 A capital dinner awaited our hunger at 
 one of the principal hotels on the wharf ; 
 but we had scarcely entered the saloon, 
 before we knew that we were approaching 
 Germany, for the smell of decayed tobac- 
 co smoke was horrible. Nor was the 
 soup more than off the table when halt 
 the company had their stinking ineer- 
 chaums in full whiff. Clouds of smoke 
 soon rose above the popping of corks, 
 while the piles of exhausted bottles and 
 platters put hors du combat, conveyed 
 an image of some miniature battle-field. 
 
 I deserted the ground early, to get a 
 passing peep at the town. 
 
 Trieste, like many other European 
 places, has an old part and a new, — 
 the former dating back to the time of the 
 Romans, and the latter having come in 
 with the railroads. It crouches in the 
 lap of lofty hills, with the great moles 
 stretching out like paws into the harbor, 
 which is well filled with shipping, and 
 well defended by forts on the heights. 
 Austria has no other outlet for its trade, 
 so that it drives a thriving business. 
 
 The language spoken by the people is a 
 cheerful miscellany of Italian, German, 
 English, French, and the Oriental dialects, 
 while the costumes worn are equally va- 
 rious in their origin, with a copious em- 
 broidery, as in all sea-ports, of the native 
 dirt. But, though promiscuous, they are 
 not picturesque, if we except some of the 
 Sclavic countrymen who loiter about the 
 market in faded Hungarian dresses, and 
 the Dalmatian sailors. 
 
 Leaving Bison to count the linen rags, 
 and pitch-barrelSf and to gauge the Maras- 
 chino and Rosoglio bottles, — in other 
 words, to gather the statistics of the'eom- 
 merce, I wandered towards the slope of 
 the hills, where there is a dishevelled 
 castle, older than Julius Cesar, and near 
 
166 
 
 From Venice to Vienna. 
 
 by, a still older cathedral, in the round 
 Byzantine style. Its walls are black with 
 age, heavy and incrusted with mud, and 
 here and there a Roman inscription is leer- 
 ing out at the puzzled antiquaries. Worn 
 mosaics and damaged frescoes about the 
 altar, once told the history of St. Justus, 
 its patron, doubtless an excellent man in 
 his day. 
 
 Poor Wincklemann, whose fine studies of 
 ancient art I remember to have strain- 
 ed my eyes over, before that handsome 
 translation of them was published in Bos- 
 ton, lies buried in the neighboring ceme- 
 tery. You know his story : how he was 
 the son of a poor shoemaker of Steadel in 
 Altmach ; how the schoolmaster of the 
 place became attached to him, and took 
 him into his family, and drilled him in 
 Greek and Latin ; how he begged Iris way 
 on foot to Hamburg, and there begged 
 money to buy some worm-eaten classics ; 
 how he passed through the University of 
 Halle, on a wretched stipend contributed 
 by some friends ; how he went to Rome 
 on a pension of one hundred dollars for 
 ten years, from good Father Rauch, King’s 
 confessor in Poland ; how his learned stu- 
 dies got him many friends ; how beauti- 
 fully he wrote on the Beautiful, and the 
 History of Ancient Art, and how he be- 
 came at last one of the foremost literary 
 men of literary Germany. Goethe, who 
 never wearied of doing good and great 
 things, has spoken worthily of him in a 
 treatise named Wincklemann und Sein 
 Jahrhundert. 
 
 But you will ask how he came to get 
 buried in Trieste ? Once, in the year 1768, 
 after visiting Vienna, where he was re- 
 ceived with distinction by the Empress 
 Maria Teresa, known for other less com- 
 mendable deeds, she bestowed valuable 
 treasures upon him, which he took with 
 him on a journey to Rome. At Trieste 
 he fell in with an Italian named Frances- 
 co Archaugelo, a fallen archangel, indeed, 
 for he had been condemned to death at 
 Vienna, but spared on condition that he 
 quitted the country. The villain wormed 
 himself into the unsuspecting 'Winckle- 
 mann’s confidence, and one day asked to 
 see his gold medals. Wincklemann bent 
 over from the table where he was, to open 
 the box which contained them, when the 
 Italian inflicted five mortal stabs on his 
 body. It is some satisfaction to be told 
 by the Cicerone that his ancient country- 
 man was broken for it on the wheel. 
 
 “ Thej- have tied the horses to the dili- 
 gence, .with several bits of rope,” said 
 Bison as we met at the inn, “ and all is 
 ready for Adelsberg.” 
 
 “ But we have not seen the Palazza di 
 Ricardo, where Richard Coeur de Lion 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 was imprisoned, nor the Casino, nor the 
 three theatres, and many wonders be- 
 sides ! ” 
 
 “ Never mind that,” replied he, “ I have 
 got some genuine Havana segars, which 
 I rowed off to an American man-of-war to 
 borrow. They are prime, — the first I 
 have had since leaving London. Try 
 one.” 
 
 We sprang into the diligence, Bison, 
 the Englishman and I, and in a few 
 minutes were winding up a broad, smooth, 
 well-constructed road, that twines like a 
 great white snake around the hill of Opt- 
 schina. This is a spur of the Illyrian 
 Alps, rude, stony, and uncultivated, with all 
 the houses by the wayside completely 
 covered with the limestone dust, that 
 looks like ashes. Two hours of toilsome 
 ascent brought us to the top, and then we 
 were just over the town still. An expert 
 Sam Patch might have jumped into any of 
 the neighbors’ chimneys. 
 
 A squad of rosy-cheeked, squalid little 
 beggars, followed the coach all the way up, 
 asking alms in a kind of chant, which was 
 not half so distressing as the whine of the 
 Italian beggars. The surly postilion gave 
 them a lash with his whip now and then 
 which excited Bison’s ire, and at every 
 cut, he threw out a kreutzer, which Bull 
 thought a mistaken benevolence. “ No,” 
 said Bison triumphantly, “ there is some- 
 thing sacred in childhood, though in a 
 beggar’s garb ; ” flinging out a whole 
 handful of pieces. 
 
 Bison had an object in his philanthropy ; 
 for when, shortly afterwards, the postilion 
 was to leave us, and he came for his 
 customary drink money, the good Ameri- 
 can drily observed, “Alas, my dear fellow, 
 I gave all my spare change to the beg- 
 gars — a kreutzer a cut. The next time 
 don’t use your whip so freely.” 
 
 “ Cospetto ,” muttered the retreating 
 figure of the postilion. 
 
 “ Precisely,” shouted the exemplary 
 Bison. 
 
 From the top of the hill, the outlook 
 over the Adriatic is grand. The eye 
 sweeps from the plains of Italy, with 
 Aquilia and Grado on the west, to the 
 long tongues of headland, projected one 
 beyond another, as far back as Capo D’ls- 
 tria on the east, where the purple Friou- 
 lian Alps form the horizon. The moun- 
 tains are bold and bare, but the valleys 
 are filled with thick southern vegetation, 
 with olives, and chestnuts, and figs. 
 
 It is a pity the custom-house, perched 
 two or tinge miles further on, — on the 
 borders of Illyria, where they detain you 
 at least an hour to inspect your baggage 
 and passports, was not nearer the hill; 
 for in that case the landscape would com- 
 
From Venice to Vienna. 
 
 107 
 
 1853.] 
 
 pcnsate one for the delay. But where it 
 is, there is nothing to he seen but a clus- 
 ter of huts and three hundred heavily 
 laden team-wagons on their way to Lay- 
 bach, where the Vienna railroad begins. 
 I say three hundred wagons, because 
 Bison counted them, as they were all 
 gathered in a heap waiting the sign manual 
 of the officials. They are the carriers of 
 all the external commerce of Austria. 
 
 Just beyond the Karst or Carso com- 
 mences a wild desolate tract of calcare- 
 ous geology, in which no tree or house 
 cares to grow. It is eaten away, on all 
 sides, into huge clefts, holes, basins, and 
 pitfalls, over and along which the road 
 runs, like a great white tapeworm. At 
 certain seasons, the famous Bora, or north 
 wind, rages here with fearful violence, 
 overturning and carrying with it vehicles 
 and pedestrians, and digging up the very 
 crust of the earth. The soil seems as 
 sterile and dry as a chip, and we were 
 glad to get rid of it before nightfall. 
 
 It was nine o’clock when we reached 
 Adelsberg, and I proposed to go to bed ; 
 but Bison would hear of nothing of the 
 sort, insisting that we should visit the 
 caves. “ What, at midnight? ” said I. 
 
 “Certainly,” he replied, “for they are 
 as dark as a dungeon at any hour, and 
 may be seen as well now as in the day 
 time.” 
 
 Guides were drummed up ; two dozen 
 extra kerzen or torches procured ; and 
 then we stumbled for a mile or more over 
 broken rocks and stumps. At the base 
 of a tall cliff, which Ritter Schnapps told 
 us, in detestable German, while he waved 
 his light on high in a vain attempt to 
 prove his words, had a ruined castle on 
 the top,— we crawled into a hole in the 
 rock. A sound of rushing waters saluted 
 us, as we passed into the long narrow gal- 
 lery. “It is the river Poik,” said the 
 Ritter, “ which dives down under the 
 mountain outside, like a duck, and comes 
 up on the inside.” 
 
 “ Arethusa ! ” I exclaimed. 
 
 “ No,” rejoined Bison, “ we are not 
 through, sir, by a long shot.” 
 
 But he was mistaken, for suddenly we 
 entered an immense hall, apparently some 
 three hundred feet long, and one hundred 
 feet high, and broken into irregular 
 chambers and corridors. The guides, who 
 preceded us, had stationed themselves 
 along the sides, by means of rude steps 
 cut in the wall, and threw the light of 
 their blazing torches through the whole 
 cavern. As the flames flashed against 
 enormous stalactites, casting heavy sha- 
 dows beyond, and the smoke rolled in 
 billowy masses against the ceilings, it 
 seemed like the mouth of some Devildom 
 
 while the uncouth figures of the men, 
 gliding through the lurid twilight, with 
 their brigand faces, resembled the black 
 dwarfs and gnomes and cobalds who forge 
 mischief in the bowels of the mountains. 
 All my old readings of the Scandinavian 
 Diablerie , came back to the mind ; every 
 moment 1 expected to see the wicked 
 elves start from the crevices ; I shuddered 
 at my own imaginations ; and at last I 
 shouted, “ For heaven’s sake, Ritter. Gas- 
 senbuben. Bison, let us return ! ” 
 
 But Bison was busily chipping off 
 fragments of an enormous stalagmite in 
 the midst of a shower of expostulations 
 from his transparency Herr Rath Gassen- 
 buben, chief of the guild of the guides, 
 who called a thousand devils to witness 
 that it would be the death of him if the Herr 
 Hoch-ober-hOlle - virmOgens-ampt- maim , 
 or some other unpronounceable authority 
 should hear of the pillage. My excellent 
 friend, cherishing a free and independent 
 disdain of all languages but his own, work- 
 ed quietly on, in spite of the devils and 
 hard names, filling his pockets with stone. 
 
 Not caring to wait for the others, I set 
 off in the direction of a narrow passage 
 with a strong light beyond, which I sup- 
 posed the exit from the dismal den, but 
 when I had reached it, I found that it 
 only penetrated deeper into the cave. A 
 rude wooden bridge passed me over a 
 black sullen river that might have been 
 the Styx. Flitting white forms, like the 
 ghosts of the departed, rushed in and out, 
 and up and down among the irregular 
 and tortured columns. Chamber opened 
 into chamber ; corridor followed corridor, 
 in vast interminable mazes. “ Hold there,” 
 exclaimed the Ritter, flinging the glare of 
 his torch forward. I stopped on the verge 
 of a cliff, and looked down into what 
 seemed a bottomless abyss. In a moment 
 more my imaginations of the Stygian lake 
 and the palaces of the gloomy Dis, might 
 have been a ghastly reality. 
 
 Bison and the rest of the party soon 
 came up, and cautiously looked over into 
 the pit. Far down a roar and hissing of 
 waters, like the suppressed murmurs and 
 sighs of giant spirits in pain, made the 
 boldest of us tremble with awe. “ What 
 an inferno !” said the former, only in 
 honest bad Saxon, and turned away. 
 
 The lights were collected, and we again 
 moved on, stopping at intervals to gaze at 
 halls, 
 
 “ Where crystal columns sent forth slender shafts, 
 
 And curving arches; and fantastic aisles 
 
 Frown’d from the s.ght in darkness and were lost.” 
 
 Their sides wreathed and ruffled in 
 beautiful traceries, and broken into al- 
 coves; their high fretted roofs hung with 
 
168 
 
 From Venice to Vienna. 
 
 branching chandeliers ; and the great pil- 
 lars, cut and incrusted into a thousand 
 fanciful reliefs, gave them the appearance 
 of vast Gothic cathedrals. A mass of 
 stone, heaped in one place, took the form 
 of a pulpit, from which Herr Nimmersatt 
 improvised a four minutes’ sermon, which 
 had all the discursiveness, but none of 
 the wit, of good Abraham a Sancta 
 Clara. In another place, a long white cur- 
 tain, drooping in transparent folds, seemed 
 to bar the way to a mysterious recess. 
 Over against a butcher’s stall stood the 
 throne of a subterranean monarch, and 
 near by a solid bell-like cone, when struck, 
 sent its sharp metallic sounds down the 
 void distances. If troops of witches had 
 come out at the signal, to dance their wild 
 Walpurgis dance, it would all have been 
 m character. 
 
 At last, after ascending towards a region 
 of warmer and balmier air, the most 
 magnificent saloon opened lithe, glittering, 
 and graceful, with a floor like the purest 
 marble, or a broad overarching canopy of 
 satin. “ It is the ball-room,” shouted the 
 Ritter, “where on Whit Monday the 
 young men and maidens dance.” All 
 night they dance, it is said, gathering to 
 the festival from the remotest districts, — 
 from the far Dalmatian shore. — from the 
 plains of Hungary, — from Carniola and 
 Styria, or the mountains of Salsburg. 
 All the peasantry come, hunters, vine- 
 dressers, woodmen, sailors, with their 
 sweethearts, and sisters ; the Oriental in 
 his turban or capote ; the Tyrolese in his 
 lofty hat ; the Croatian with embroidered 
 coat ; all the wild roses of the mountains, 
 and all the sweet lilies of the valleys, — 
 all are there, and beneath the red illumi- 
 nation of a thousand torches, grow frenized 
 in a delicious whirl of merriment and 
 love. 
 
 “ Our cold northern races,” I remarked 
 philosophicall y to the Great Western, 
 “ know nothing of the real intoxication of 
 life. They get mad on brandy, or fuddle 
 themselves with beer and -wine, and reel 
 and shout in bacchanal abandonment, but 
 of genuine pleasure,— spontaneous ; free- 
 hearted. delirious joy, — the gay holiday 
 of the senses. — they are as ignorant as 
 cabbages ! But that reminds me, where 
 is the Englishman ? ” 
 
 “Sure enough !” rejoined Bison, with a 
 look of gathering amazement. “Where 
 is he?” “ 
 
 “Bull!” I shouted at the top of my 
 lungs, but the only reply was an infinity 
 of long-drawn “ Bu-uh-uh-ul-s,” that went 
 echoing round the aisles of the cavern. 
 
 “ Heaven ! can he be lost ? ” 
 
 “Strayed away, perhaps,” suggested 
 Bison. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 “Or been precipitated from a cliff,” 
 choked out Gassenbuben. 
 
 “ Or is now gurgling and rolling in the 
 dark waters below!” blubbered Nimmer- 
 satt. 
 
 Instantly our little company was in a 
 panic of motion. Some ran behind the 
 columns ; others hastily ascended the steps 
 in the rocks; others cast their torches into 
 holes and clefts ; and all cried, “Bull. Bull,” 
 till the roars of Bashan were renewed. 
 But no Bull came ; we pursued the search 
 for an hour, — and still the unhappy Bull 
 was missing. Finally, with sad and heavy 
 hearts, we made our way out into the star- 
 light, and thence to the Ungariscken 
 Krone. 
 
 “ Oh Bull ! ” said I. as I encountered 
 that comfortable gentleman, sitting in the 
 eating-room with a meerschaum in his 
 mouth, and a tall flask of Bavarian ale by 
 his side, “ what a fright you have given 
 us ! ” 
 
 “ The fact is,” he replied, lifting up his 
 coat tails and turning his back to the fire, 
 “ I saw that it was going to be a naasty 
 job; and so I quitted you at the gate. 
 But I have read Murray’s account of the 
 Cave, in this book, which I dare say is 
 better than any you will ever write of 
 it !” Envious Bull. 
 
 Bison refused to speak to the fellow af- 
 ter that, and insisted on going directly on to 
 Layback, which we did, giving Bull’s spare 
 seat to a young German woman who was 
 exceedingly anxious to reach the railroad. 
 I had the satisfaction of riding all night 
 with her head on my shoulder, and re- 
 ceived the next morning a Danke for my 
 services, which Bison, mistaking the word 
 for Donkey, said was ungrateful. 
 
 A new country opened upon us with 
 the sun. For some time f could scarcely 
 rid myself of the impression that I had 
 awaked in the northern part of New Jer- 
 sey, the appearance of every thing was so 
 like. A “ rich champaign,” as the novel- 
 ists always say, stretched away towards 
 green hills in the distance; comfortable 
 one-storied farm-houses with bams attach- 
 ed, and snug little gardens around, stood 
 by the road-side ; and what I had not seen 
 before in Europe, picket fences made en- 
 closures for cattle. It would be a curious 
 research to discover whether any of the 
 ancestors of our honest old Jersey 
 Dutchmen had come from these parts. 
 
 But a band of straggling soldiers whom 
 we met, dressed in dusty gray frocks, and 
 each with a hunk of bread at his mouth, 
 soon gave me a “realizing sense” that 
 we were still among the despotisms. 
 They were recruits ont heir way from Lay- 
 bach to some other point, whither their 
 kind masters had ordered them, to help 
 
From Venice to Vienna. 
 
 169 
 
 1853.] 
 
 bastinado some Hungarian woman, per- 
 haps, or get stuck under the short ribs 
 themselves by a loving Italian compatriot. 
 These paternal governments do take such 
 fatherly care of all their poor suffering 
 children ! 
 
 Laibach we reached in time for a late 
 but edifying breakfast. I should like to 
 have gone to the Lake of Zirknitz, not far 
 away, a sheet of water some four miles 
 wide and long, which takes a notion to 
 vanish entirely once in a while ; but Bison 
 argued that if the lake should chance to 
 have disappeared there would be nothing 
 to see, except a heap of dead fish, which are 
 no curiosity ; while on the other hand, if it 
 remained, it was not much of a lake to 
 see ; and I was convinced by his logic. 
 “If we could only catch it in the act of 
 disappearing,” he added, “that might be 
 something.” 
 
 We accordingly repaired to the Station 
 of the imperial railroad, passing on the 
 way a pillar erected in the market-place 
 to Mademoiselle the “ Monclbezwinge- 
 rinn ,” or Crescent Conqueress, a famous 
 statue of a Virgin, who when the infidel 
 Turks were besieging the town, walked 
 from her pedestal, like the Commandatore 
 in Don Juan, put herself at the head of 
 the native troops, and led them to glorious 
 victory. Bison, the coarse, unimaginative 
 creature, no better than an infidel Turk 
 himself, said boldly that he didn’t believe 
 a word of the story. 
 
 While we were loitering in the first- 
 class saloon (Americans always travel in 
 the first-class cars, though it is just as 
 comfortable and much cheaper to take the 
 second), two ladies entered, with a little 
 girl about four years of age. The latter 
 was attracted by the great gold chain and 
 pendent jewelry that Bison always wears, 
 and went towards him ; thereupon he 
 took her on his lap and caressed her. 
 The mother, as I supposed one of the wo- 
 men to be, simled graciously : and I began 
 to envy the easy way in which the man 
 was insinuating himself into the good gra- 
 ces of both parent and child. All at once a 
 huge Croat of a fellow, in a frowsy gray 
 moustache, and impenetrable whiskers, his 
 coat befrogged and begilt like that of a 
 Circus-Master, and a long sword dangling 
 at his heels, came into the room, accosted, 
 the ladies with a bow like a Mandarin’s 
 and then seeing Bison with the child, 
 rushed across the room, caught her off his 
 lap, and strode away with a look as fero- 
 cious as Bluebeard’s. 
 
 “ What the devil !” said Bison, puffing 
 into a small undischarged thunder-gust, 
 “ what does that overgrown baboon 
 mean ? ” 
 
 The baboon, meantime, had solemnly 
 
 VOL. i. — 12 
 
 deposited the child with its mother, and 
 then sent back a series of annihilating 
 frowns at poor Bison. It would have been 
 all day with him, if a man could be killed 
 now, as in the times of the basilisk, by 
 shots from the eye-batteries. 
 
 But just then the horn blew, and the 
 locomotive snorted, and I hurried my 
 valorous Yankee into the cars. Every 
 body, I noticed as we entered, was looking 
 out of the windows at one side. “ What 
 is going forward ? ” asked I of a broad-bot- 
 tomed old Austrian that in his eagerness 
 had thrust precisely one half of his person 
 outside, but he gave me no answer. Pre- 
 sently the two ladies and the child, accom- 
 panied by the whiskers and frogged coat, 
 appeared on the platform. All the peo- 
 ple raised their hats and bowed, and our 
 broad-bottomed Austrian friend exclaim- 
 ed, quite overcome, “Ach mein Gott! 
 see, see her serene-transparent-high-well- 
 born, illustrious and never-to-be equalled 
 Highness, the Princess ! ” 
 
 “ The Princess who ? ” I asked timidly. 
 
 The Austrian, with great contempt 
 grunted out, “ What Princess 7 why, the 
 Princess Louise D’Este ! ! ! ” 
 
 I was not overwhelmed nor was Bison, 
 though I thought that model democrat 
 looked a little self-complacent when he 
 was told that he had been hugging the 
 daughter of a Princess, and the near re- 
 lation of I don’t know how many Emper- 
 ors. 
 
 “ Who knows,” he remarked inquiring- 
 ly, “ but the chap in the huge whiskers, 
 was the Emperor of Russia himself? I’ve 
 heard that he is on a visit to these 
 parts ! ” 
 
 “ More likely the chief-cook and bottle- 
 washer of Her Highness’s suite,” I sug- 
 gested, but Bison did not relish a sugges- 
 tion which deprived him of the glory of 
 having had an encounter with the Great 
 Bear. It would have been such a story 
 to tell amid the night-watches on Red 
 River. 
 
 All the way along the imperial car, with 
 the Crown on the top, attracted great at- 
 tention, and wherever the Princess got 
 out, for any purpose, she was received by 
 a file of soldiers under a present arms, 
 and long lines of admiring people. We 
 were ourselves, indeed, so taken up with 
 these movements and the talk excited by 
 the noble party, that we saw nothing of 
 the country through which we rode. But 
 we fortunately left them at Gratz, and 
 then recovered our self-possession. Bison 
 was anxious to stop, but when I told him 
 that there was nothing to see in this chief- 
 town of Styria, but a Mausoleum of that 
 famous hunter of Protestants, Ferdinand 
 II., who burned ten thousand heretical 
 
170 
 
 Oar Best Society.' 
 
 books in the square, and aided in the mur- 
 der of his successful champion Wallen- 
 stein, he consented to give up all hope of 
 further acquaintance with the Princess, 
 and go on. 
 
 This railroad we found one of the best 
 in the world. It was constructed mainly 
 by the Austrian Government, is substan- 
 tially built, and owing to the mountainous 
 nature of the region through which it 
 runs, has had to overcome difficulties that 
 are almost incredible. It is also well- 
 managed, and the cars of the first-class 
 are as sumptuous as the saloons of the 
 Sultan. All the way along the scenery is 
 magnificent ; sometimes we were coursing 
 the banks of the rapid Mur, sometimes 
 whirling around the base of precipitous 
 crags, castle-crowned, or covered with dark 
 firs that shot clean up into the skies: 
 again, beaming valleys stretched away into 
 the blue distance where cities slumbered, or 
 the mountains rose into the snows : here, 
 the Styrian damsels, in their bright cos- 
 tumes, came out of the station-houses, to 
 serve us with the creamy Styrian ale, of 
 which Bison always took two glasses, not 
 for the love of it, but to get a longer look 
 at the mountain Ganymedes ; there, a stu- 
 pendous viaduct, with noble galleries, sculp- 
 tured from the primitive rock, divided the 
 hills, or passed under giant fortresses 
 on the brows ; — in short, every where, at 
 every turn, grand and picturesque objects 
 caught the eye, — ruined abbeys, rock- 
 built castles, gloomy defiles, impending 
 cliffs, vast fir-woods, grotesque villages in 
 the plains or on the mountain sides, grace- 
 ful cascades, rushing streams. 
 
 The road is not completed, however, — 
 we found herds of women as well as men 
 working upon it, as we approached Murz- 
 ziisclilag, whence the Eilwagen carries 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 passengers over the Soemmering to Glock- 
 nitz. It was afready dark when we got 
 there, and I was separated from Bison ; 
 but jumping into the rotonde of the only 
 coach unoccupied, I left him to take care 
 of himself. There was only one passen- 
 ger, whose face in the darkness I did not 
 see. After a wliile, as he was smoking 
 and I did not care to sleep, I ventured a 
 little conversation. 
 
 “ I Vann Denkie Sie, Mynheer , das 
 Wir ankommen uerden? (When shall 
 we get there?”) I asked in tolerable Ger- 
 man. 
 
 “ No-chaw pees-co ,” he replied in intol- 
 erable Italian. 
 
 “ Eh bien ! Monsieur ! Done vous 
 parlez le Frangais ; ” I continued cour- 
 ageously, determined to address him in 
 his vernacular; “ Ung pugh ; ” he replied ; 
 and so we contrived to keep up a costive 
 and exhausting talk in execrable French 
 for an hour or more. 
 
 What countryman he took me for, I 
 did not know ; but I had made up my mind 
 that he was a Hindoo, or some other 
 Oriental not familiar with the European 
 tongues. 
 
 Just as we reached Glocknitz, my com- 
 panion lost his cigar, and uttered an un- 
 mistakable d n. 
 
 “ Sir,” exclaimed I, “ do you speak Eng- 
 lish ? ” 
 
 “ I don’t speak any thing else ! ” said 
 he. 
 
 We both roared with laughter; and, 
 when we found Bison at the hotel, he 
 laughed too, especially as he had discover- 
 ed that my mate was the servant of an 
 English officer, returning from India by 
 way of Constantinople. 
 
 Resuming the cars, I slept soundly till 
 we reached Vienna. 
 
 “OUR BEST SOCIETY.” 
 
 I F gilt were only gold, or sugar-candy 
 common sense, what a fine thing our 
 societv would be! If to lavish money 
 upon objets de vertu, to wear the most 
 costly dresses, and always to have them 
 cut in the height of the fashion ; to build 
 houses thirty feet broad, as if they were 
 palaces ; to furnish them with all the lux- 
 urious devices of Parisian genius ; to give 
 superb banquets, at which your guests 
 laugh, and which make you miserable ; to 
 drive a fine carriage and ape European 
 liveries, and crests, and coats-of-arms ; to 
 resent the friendly advances of your ba- 
 ker’s wife, and the lady of your butcher 
 
 (you being yourself a cobbler’s daughter) ; 
 to talk much of the “ old families ” and of 
 your aristocratic foreign friends; to de- 
 spise labor ; to prate of “ good society ; ” to 
 travesty and parody, in every conceivable 
 way, a society which we know only in 
 books and by the superficial observation 
 of foreign travel, which arises out of a 
 social organization entirely unknown to 
 us, and which is opposed to our funda- 
 mental and essential principles ; if all this 
 were fine, what a prodigiously fine society 
 would ours be ! 
 
 This occurred to us upon lately receiving 
 a card of invitation to a brilliant ball. We 
 
1853.] 
 
 Our Best Society ' 
 
 171 
 
 were quietly ruminating over our evening 
 fire, with D’lsraeli’s Wellington speech, 
 “all tears,” in our hand, with the account 
 of a great man’s burial, and a little man’s 
 triumph across the channel. So many 
 great men gone, we mused, and such great 
 crises impending ! This democratic move- 
 ment in Europe ; Kossuth and Mazzini 
 waiting for the moment to give the word ; 
 the Russian bear watchfully sucking his 
 paws; the Napoleonic empire redivivus; 
 Cuba, and annexation, and slavery ; Califor- 
 nia and Australia, and the consequent con- 
 siderations of political economy ; dear me ! 
 exclaimed we, putting on a fresh hodful 
 of coal, we must look a little into the state 
 of parties. 
 
 As we put down the coal-scuttle there 
 was a knock at the door. We said, “come 
 in,” and in came a neat Alhambra-watered 
 envelope, containing the announcement 
 that the queen of fashion was “ at home” 
 that evening week. Later in the evening, 
 came a friend to smoke a cigar. The card 
 was lying upon the table, and he read it 
 with eagerness. “You’ll go, of course,” 
 said he, “ for you will meet all the ‘ best 
 society.’ ” 
 
 Shall we, truly 7 shall we really see the 
 “best society of the city,” the picked 
 flower of its genius, character, and beauty 7 
 What makes the “ best society ” of men 
 and women 7 The noblest specimens of 
 each, of course. The men who mould the 
 time, who refresh our faith in heroism 
 and virtue, who make Plato, and Zeno, 
 and Shakspeare, and all Shakspeare’s 
 gentlemen, possible again. The women, 
 whose beauty and sweetness, and dignity, 
 and high accomplishment and grace, make 
 us understand the Greek Mythology, and 
 weaken our desire to have some glimpse 
 of the most famous women of history. 
 The “best society” is that in which the 
 virtues are most shining, which is the 
 most charitable, forgiving, long-suffering, 
 modest, and innocent. The “ best society ” 
 is, in its very name, that in which there is 
 the least hypocrisy and insincerity of all 
 kinds, which recoils from, and blasts, arti- 
 ficiality, which is anxious to be all that 
 human nature can be, and which sternly 
 reprobates all shallow pretence, all cox- 
 combry and foppery, and insists upon sim- 
 plicity, as the infallible characteristic of 
 true worth. That is the “best society,” 
 which comprises the best men and wo- 
 men. 
 
 Had we recently arrived from the 
 moon, we might, upon hearing that we 
 were to meet the “ best society,” have 
 fancied that we were about to enjoy an 
 opportunity not to be overvalued. But 
 unfortunately we were not so freshly ar- 
 rived. We had received other cards, and 
 
 had perfected our toilette many times, to 
 meet this same society, so magnificently 
 described, and had found it the least “ best ” 
 of all. Who compose it 7 Whom shall 
 we meet if we go to this ball 7 We shall 
 meet three classes of persons : 1st, those 
 who are rich, and who have all that mo- 
 ney can buy ; 2d, those who belong to 
 what are technically called “ the good old 
 families,” because some ancestor was a 
 man of mark in the state or country, or 
 was very rich, and has kept the for- 
 tune in the family ; and 3dly, a swarm 
 of youths who can dance dexterously, and 
 who are invited for that purpose. Now 
 these are all arbitrary and factitious dis- 
 tinctions upon which to found so profound 
 a social difference as that which exists in 
 American, or, at least, in New-York so- 
 ciety. 1st, as a general rule, the rich men 
 of every community who make their own 
 money are not the most generally intel- 
 ligent and cultivated. They have a shrewd 
 talent which secures a fortune, and which 
 keeps them closely at the work of amass- 
 ing from their youngest years until they 
 are old. They are sturdy men, of simple 
 tastes often. Sometimes, though rarely, 
 very generous, but necessarily with an al- 
 together false and exaggerated idea of the 
 importance of money. They are a rather 
 rough, unsympathetic, and, perhaps, selfish 
 class, who, themselves, despise purple and 
 fine linen, and still prefer a cot-bed and a 
 bare room, although they may be worth 
 millions. But they are married to schem- 
 ing or ambitious or disappointed women, 
 whose life is a prolonged pageant, and they 
 are dragged hither and thither in it, are 
 bled of their golden blood, and forced into 
 a position they do not covet and which 
 they despise. Then there are the inherit- 
 ors of wealth. How many of them in- 
 herit the valiant genius and hard frugality 
 which built up their fortunes ; how many 
 acknowledge the stern and heavy respon- 
 sibility of their opportunities ; how many 
 refuse to dream their lives away in a Sy- 
 barite luxury ; how many are smitten 
 with the lofty ambition of achieving an 
 enduring name by works of a permanent 
 value ; how many do not dwindle into 
 dainty dilettanti, and dilute their man- 
 hood with factitious sentimentality instead 
 of a hearty, human sympathy ; how many 
 are not satisfied with having the fastest 
 horses and the “crackest” carriages, and 
 an unlimited wardrobe, and a weak affec- 
 tation and puerile imitation of foreign 
 life 7 
 
 And who are these of our 2dly, these 
 “ old families ” 7 The spirit of our time 
 and of our country knows no such thing, 
 but the habituti of “ society.” hears con- 
 stantly of “a good family.” It means 
 
172 
 
 Our Best Society' 
 
 simply, the collective mass of children, 
 grandchildren, nephews, nieces and de- 
 scendants of some man who deserved well 
 of his country, and whom his country 
 honors. But sad is the heritage of a 
 great name ! The son of Burke will ine- 
 vitably be measured by Burke. The niece 
 of Pope must show some superiority to 
 other women (so to speak), or her equality 
 is inferiority. The feeling of men attri- 
 butes some magical charm to blood, and 
 we look to see the daughter of Helen as 
 fair as her mother, and the son of Shak- 
 speare, musical as his sire. If they are 
 not so, if they are merely names, and 
 common persons — if there is no Burke, nor 
 Shakspeare, nor Washington, nor Bacon 
 in their words, or actions, or lives, then 
 we must pity them, and pass gently on, 
 not upbraiding them, but regretting that 
 it is one of the laws of greatness that it 
 dwindles all things in its vicinity, which 
 would otherwise show large enough. 
 Nay, in our regard for the great man, we 
 may even admit to a compassionate 
 honor, as pensioners upon our charity, 
 those who bear and transmit his name. 
 But if these heirs should presume upon 
 that fame, and claim any precedence of 
 living men and women because their dead 
 grandfather was a hero, — they must be 
 shown the door directly. We should 
 dread to be born a Percy, or a Colonna, or 
 a Bonaparte. We should not like to be 
 the second Duke of Wellington, nor 
 Charles Dickens, jr. It is a terrible thing, 
 one would say, to a mind of honorable 
 feeling, to be pointed out as somebody’s 
 son or uncle, or granddaughter, as if the 
 excellence were all derived. It must be a 
 little humiliating to reflect that if your 
 great uncle had not been somebody, you 
 would be nobody, — that, in fact, you are 
 onlv r a name, and that, if you should con- 
 sent to change it for the sake of a fortune, 
 as is sometimes done, you would cease to 
 be any thing but a rich man. “ My father 
 was President, or Governor of the State,” 
 some pompous man may say. But, by Ju- 
 piter. king of gods and men, what are you ? 
 is the instinctive response. Do you not 
 see, our pompous Mend, that you are 
 only pointing your own unimportance? 
 If your father was Governor of the State, 
 what right have you to use that fact only 
 to fatten your self-conceit ? Take care, 
 good care; for whether you say it by 
 your lips or by your life, that withering 
 response awaits you. — "then what are 
 you?" If your ancestor was great, you 
 are under bonds to greatness. If you are 
 small, make haste to learn it betimes, and, 
 thanking Heaven that your name has been 
 made illustrious, retire into a corner and 
 keep it. at least, untarnished. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 Our 8dly, is a class made by sundry 
 French tailors, bootmakers, dancing-mas- 
 ters, and Mr. Brown. They are a corps-de- 
 ballet, for the use of private entertain- 
 ments. They are fostered by society for 
 the use of young debutantes, and hardier 
 damsels, who have dared two or three 
 years of the “tight” polka. They are 
 cultivated for their heels, not them heads. 
 Their life begins at ten o’clock in the 
 evening, and lasts until four in the 
 morning. They go home and sleep until 
 nine ; then they reel, sleepy, to count- 
 ing-houses and offices, and doze on desks 
 until dinner-time. Or, unable to do 
 that, they are actively at work all day, 
 and their cheeks grow pale, and their lips 
 thin, and their eyes bloodshot and hollow, 
 and they drag themselves home at evening 
 to catch a nap until the ball begins, or to 
 dine and smoke at their club, and be very 
 manly with punches and coarse stories ; 
 and then to rush into hot and glittering 
 rooms, and seize very decollete girls 
 closely around the waist, and dash with 
 them around an area of stretched linen, 
 saying in the panting pauses, “ How very 
 hot it is ! ” “ IIow very pretty Miss Podge 
 looks!” “What a good redowa!” “Are 
 you going to Mrs. Potipliar’s ? ” 
 
 Is this the assembled flower of man- 
 hood and womanhood, called “best so- 
 ciety,” and to see which is so envied a 
 privilege ? If such are the elements, can 
 we be long in arriving at the present 
 state, and necessary future condition of 
 parties ? 
 
 “ Tanity Fair ” is peculiarly a picture of 
 modern society. It aims at English fol- 
 lies, but its mark is universal, as the mad- 
 ness is. It is called a satire, but after 
 much diligent reading, we cannot discover 
 the satire. A state of society not at all 
 superior to that of “ Vanity Fair” is not 
 unknown to our experience ; and, unless 
 trutli-telling be satire ; unless the most 
 tragically real portraiture be satire ;*unless 
 scalding tears of sorrow, and the bitter 
 regret of a manly mind over the misera- 
 ble spectacle of artificiality, wasted powers, 
 misdirected energies, and lost opportuni- 
 ties, be satirical ; we do not find satire in 
 that sad story. The reader closes it with 
 a grief beyond tears. It leaves a vague 
 apprehension in the mind, as if we should 
 suspect the air to be poisoned. It sug- 
 gests the terrible thought of the enfeebling 
 of moral power, and the deterioration of 
 noble character, as a necessary consequence 
 of contact with “ society.” Every man 
 looks suddenly and sharply around him, 
 and accosts himself and his neighbors, to 
 ascertain if they are all parties to this 
 corruption. Sentimental youths and 
 maidens, upon velvet sofas, or in calf 
 
Our Best Society: 
 
 m 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 bound libraries, resolve that it is an in- 
 sult to human nature — are sure that their 
 velvet and calf-bound friends are not like 
 the dramatis personae of “ Vanity Fair,” 
 and that the drama is therefore hideous 
 and unreal. They should remember, 
 what they uniformly and universally for- 
 get, that we are not invited, upon the 
 rising of the curtain, to behold a cosmo- 
 rama, or picture of the world, but a rep- 
 resentation of that part of it called 
 Vanity Fair. What its just limits are — 
 how far its poisonous purlieus reach — how 
 much of the world’s air is tainted by it, 
 is a question which every thoughtful man 
 will ask himself, with a shudder, and look 
 sadly around, to answer. If the senti- 
 mental objectors rally again to the charge, 
 and declare that, if we wish to improve 
 the world, its virtuous ambition must be 
 piqued and stimulated by making the 
 shining heights of “the ideal” more radi- 
 ant ; we reply, that none shall surpass us 
 in honoring the men whose creations of 
 beauty inspire and instruct mankind. But 
 if they benefit the world, it is no less 
 true that a vivid apprehension of the 
 depths into which we are sunken or may 
 sink, nerves the soul’s courage quite as 
 much as the alluring mirage of the happy 
 heights we may attain. “ To hold the 
 mirror up to Nature,” is still the most 
 potent method of shaming sin and strength- 
 ening virtue. 
 
 If “ Vanity Fair ” is a satire, what novel 
 of society is not ? Are “ Vivian Grey,” 
 and “ Pelham,” and the long catalogue of 
 books illustrating English, or the host of 
 Balzacs, Sands, Sues, and Dumas, that 
 paint French, society, any less satires ? 
 Nay, if you should catch any dandy in 
 Broadway, or in Pall-Mall, or upon the 
 Boulevards, this very morning, and write 
 a coldly true history of his life and actions, 
 his doings and undoings, would it not be 
 the most scathing and tremendous satire? 
 — if by satire you mean the consuming 
 melancholy of the conviction, that the life 
 of that pendant to a moustache, is an in- 
 sult to the possible life of a man ? 
 
 We have read of a hypocrisy so 
 thorough, that it was surprised you 
 should think it hypocritical; and we 
 have bitterly thought of the saying, when 
 hearing one mother say of another mo- 
 ther’s child, that she had “ made a good 
 match,” because the girl was betrothed to 
 a stupid boy whose father was rich. The 
 remark was the key of our social feeling. 
 
 Let us look at it a little, and, first of all, 
 let the reader consider the criticism, and 
 not the critic. We may like very well, in 
 our individual capacity, to partake of the 
 delicacies prepared by our hostess’s clief, 
 we may not be .averse to pate and a my- 
 
 riad objets de gout , and if you caught us 
 in a corner at the next ball, putting away 
 a fair share of dinde aux triiffes , wc 
 know you would have at us in a tone 
 of great moral indignation, and wish to 
 know why we sneaked into great houses, 
 eating good suppers and drinking choice 
 wines, and then went away with an indi- 
 gestion, to write dyspeptic disgusts at so- 
 ciety. 
 
 We might reply that it is necessary to 
 know something of a subject before writ- 
 ing about it, and that if a man wished to 
 describe the habits of South Sea Islanders, 
 it is useless to go to Greenland ; we might 
 also confess a partiality for pate , and a 
 tenderness for truffes , and acknowledge 
 that, considering our single absence would 
 not put down extravagant pompous par- 
 ties, we were not strong enough to let the 
 morsels drop into unappreciating mouths ; 
 or we might say, that if a man invited us 
 to see his new house, it would not be un- 
 gracious nor insulting to his hospitality, to 
 point out whatever weak parts we might 
 detect in it, nor to declare our candid con- 
 viction, that it was built upon wrong prin- , 
 ciples and could not stand. He might 
 believe us if we had been in the house, but 
 he certainly would not, if we had never 
 seen it. Nor would it be a very wise re- 
 ply upon his part, that we might build a 
 better if we didn’t like that. We are not 
 fond of David’s pictures, but we certainly 
 could never paint half so well ; nor of 
 Pope’s poetry, but posterity will never 
 hear of our verses. Criticism is not con- 
 struction, it is observation. If we could 
 surpass in its own way every thing which 
 displeased us, we should make short work 
 of it, and instead of showing what fatal 
 blemishes deform our present society, we 
 should present a specimen of perfection, 
 directly. 
 
 We went to the brilliant ball. There 
 was too much of every thing. Too much 
 light, and eating, and drinking, and dan- 
 cing, and flirting, and dressing, and feign- 
 ing, and smirking, and much too many 
 people. Good taste insists first upon fit- 
 ness. But why had Mrs. Potiphar given 
 this ball ? We inquired industriously, and 
 learned it was because she did not give 
 one last year. Is it then essential to 
 do this thing biennially ? inquired we 
 with some trepidation. “ Certainly,” was 
 the bland reply, “ or society will forget 
 you.” Every body was unhappy at Airs. 
 Potiphar’s, save a few girls and boys, who 
 danced violently all the evening. Those 
 who did not dance walked up and down 
 the rooms as well as they could, squeezing 
 by non-dancing ladies, causing them to 
 swear in their hearts as the brusque 
 broadcloth carried away the light out- 
 
m 
 
 Our Best Society'. 
 
 works of gauze and gossamer. The 
 dowagers, ranged in solid phalanx, occu- 
 pied all the chairs and sofas against the 
 wall, and fanned themselves until supper- 
 time. looking at each other’s diamonds, 
 and criticizing the toilettes of the younger 
 ladies, each narrowly watching her pecu- 
 liar Polly Jane, that she did not betray 
 too much interest for any man who was 
 not of a certain fortune. It is the cold, 
 vulgar truth, madam, nor are we in the 
 slightest degree exaggerating. Elderly 
 gentlemen, twisting single gloves in a very 
 wretched manner, came up and bowed to 
 the dowagers, and smirked, and said it was 
 a pleasant party, and a handsome house, 
 and then clutched their hands behind them, 
 and walked miserably away, looking as 
 affable as possible. And the dowagers 
 made a little fun of the elderly gentlemen, 
 among themselves, as they walked away. 
 
 Then came the younger non-dancing 
 men. — a class of the community who wear 
 black cravats and waistcoats, and thrust 
 their thumbs and forefingers in their 
 waistcoat pockets, and are called “ talking 
 men.” Some of them are literary, and af- 
 fect the philosopher; have, perhaps, written 
 a book or two, and are a small species of 
 lion to very young ladies. Some are of 
 the blase kind ; men who affect the ex- 
 tremest elegance, and are reputed " so 
 aristocratic,” and who care for nothing in 
 particular, but wish the}' had not been 
 born gentlemen, in which case they might 
 have escaped ennui. These gentlemen 
 stand with hat in hand, and coats and 
 trowsers most unexceptionable. They are 
 the “ so gentlemanly ” persons, of whom 
 one hears a great deal, but which seems 
 to mean nothing but cleanliness. Vivian 
 Grey and Pelham are the models of their 
 ambition, and they succeed in being Pen- 
 demnis. They enjoy the reputation of 
 being “ very clever,” and “ very talented 
 fellows,” “ smart chaps,’’ &c., but they re- 
 frain from proving what is so generously 
 conceded. They are often men of a cer- 
 tain cultivation. They have travelled, 
 many of them, — spending a year or two 
 in Paris, and a month or two in the rest 
 of Europe. Consequently they endure 
 society at home, with a smile, and a shrug, 
 and a graceful superciliousness, which is 
 very engaging. They are perfectly at 
 home, and they rather despise Young 
 America, which, in the next room, is dili- 
 gently earning its invitation. They pre- 
 fer to hover about the ladies who did not 
 come out this season. but are a little used 
 to the world, with whom they are upon 
 most friendly terms, and who criticize 
 together very freely all the great events 
 in the great world of fashion. 
 
 These elegant Pendennises we saw at 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 Mrs. Potiphar’s, but not without a sadness 
 which can hardly be explained. They had 
 been boys once, all of them, fresh and 
 frank-hearted, and full of a noble ambition. 
 They had read and pondered the histories 
 of great men ; how they resolved, and 
 struggled, and achieved. In the pure por- 
 traiture of genius, they had loved and 
 honored noble women, and each young 
 heart was sworn to truth and the service 
 of beauty. Those feelings were chivalric 
 and fair. Those boyish instincts clung to 
 whatever was lovely, and rejected the 
 specious snare, however graceful and ele 
 gant. They sailed new knights upon that 
 old and endless crusade against hypocrisy 
 and the devil, and they were lost in the 
 luxury of Corinth, nor longer seek the 
 difficult shores beyond. A present smile 
 was worth a future laurel. The ease of 
 the moment was worth immortal tran- 
 quillity. They renounced the stern wor- 
 ship of the unknown God, and acknow- 
 ledged the deities of Athens. But the 
 seal of their shame is their own smile at 
 their early dreams, and the high hopes of 
 their boyhood, their sneering infidelity 
 of simplicity, their skepticism of motives 
 and of men. Youths, whose younger years 
 were fervid with the resolution to strike 
 and win, to deserve, at least, a gentle re- 
 membrance, if not a dazzling fame, are 
 content to eat, and drink, and sleep well ; 
 to go to the opera and all the balls ; to be 
 known as “ gentlemanly,” and “ aristo- 
 cratic,” and “dangerous,” and “elegant;” 
 to cherish a luxurious and enervating in- 
 dolence. and to “ succeed,” upon the cheap 
 reputation of having been “ fast ” in Paris. 
 The end of such men is evident enough 
 from the beginning. They are snuffed 
 out by a “ great match.” and become an 
 appendage to a rich woman ; or they 
 dwindle off into old roues, men of the 
 world in sad earnest, and not with elegant 
 affectation, blase; and as they began Ar- 
 thur Pendennises, so they end in the Ma- 
 jor. But, believe it, that old fossil heart 
 is wrung sometimes by a mortal pang, as 
 it remembers those squandered opportu- 
 nities and that lost life. 
 
 From these groups we passed into the 
 dancing-room. "\Ye have seen dancing in 
 other countries, and dressing. We have 
 certainly never seen gentlemen dance so 
 easily, gracefully and well as the Ameri- 
 can. But the style of dancing, in its whirl, 
 its rush, its fury, is only equalled by that 
 of the masked balls at the French opera, 
 and the balls at the Salle Valentino , the 
 Jarclin Mabille , the Chateau Rouge , 
 and other favorite resorts of Parisian Gri- 
 settes and Lorettes. We saw a few young 
 men looking upon the dance very soberly, 
 and, upon inquiry, learned that they were 
 
Oar Best Society : 
 
 175 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 engaged to certain ladies of the corps-do- 
 ballet. Nor did we wonder that the spec- 
 tacle of a young woman whirling in a de- 
 collete state, and in the embrace of a warm 
 youth, around a heated room, induced a 
 little sobriety upon her lover’s face, if not 
 a sadness in his heart. Amusement, re- 
 creation, enjoyment ! There are no more 
 beautiful things. But this proceeding 
 falls under another head. We watched 
 the various toilettes of these bounding 
 belles. They were rich and tasteful. But 
 a man at our elbow, of experience and 
 shrewd observation, said, with a sneer, 
 for which we called him to account, “ I 
 observe that American ladies are so rich 
 in charms that they are not at all chary 
 of them. It is certainly generous to us 
 miserable black coats. But, do you know, 
 it strikes me as a generosity of display 
 that must necessarily leave the donor 
 poorer in maidenly feeling.” We thought 
 ourselves cynical, but this was intolerable ; 
 and in a very crisp manner we demanded 
 an apology. 
 
 “ Why,” responded our friend with more 
 of sadness than of satire in his tone, “ why 
 are you so exasperated? Look at this 
 scene ! Consider that this is, really, the 
 life of these girls. This is what they 
 ‘ come out ’ fox - . This is the end of their 
 ambition. They think of it, dream of it, 
 long for it. Is it amusement ? Yes, to a 
 few, possibly. But listen, and gather, if 
 you can, from their remarks (wlien they 
 make any) that they have any thought 
 beyond this, and going to church vei-y ri- 
 gidly on Sunday. The vigor of polking 
 and church-going are proportioned ; as is 
 the one so is the other. My young friend, 
 I am no ascetic, and do not suppose a man 
 is damned because he dances. But Life 
 is not a ball (more’s the pity, truly, 
 for these butterflies), nor is its sole du- 
 ty and delight, dancing. When I con- 
 sider this spectacle, — when I remember 
 what a noble and beautiful woman is, what 
 a manly man, — when I reel, dazzled by 
 this glai-e, drunken with these perfumes, 
 confused by this alluring music, and re- 
 flect upon the enormous Sums wasted in a 
 pompous profusion that delights no one, — 
 when I look around upon all this rampant 
 vulgarity in tinsel and Brussels lace, and 
 think how fortunes go, how men struggle 
 and lose the bloom of their honesty, how 
 women hide in a smiling pretence, and eye 
 with caustic glances their neighbor’s newer 
 house, diamonds, or porcelain, and ob- 
 serve their daughters, such as these, — 
 why, I tremble and tremble, and this 
 scene to-night, every ‘ crack’ ball this win- 
 ter will be, not the pleasant society of 
 men and women, but — even in this young 
 country — an orgie such as rotting Corinth 
 
 saw, a frenzied festival of Home in its 
 decadence.” 
 
 There was a sober truth in this bitter- 
 ness, and we tunxed away to escape the 
 sombre thought of the moment. Address- 
 ing one of the panting Houris who stood 
 melting in a window, we spoke (and con- 
 fess how absux-dly) of the Dixsseldorf 
 Gallery. ' It was merely to avoid saying 
 how warm the room was, and how pleas- 
 ant the party was ; facts upon which we 
 had already sufficiently enlax-ged. “ Yes, 
 they are pretty pictures : but la ! how 
 long it must have taken Mr. Dixsseldorf 
 to paint them all;” was the reply. 
 
 By the Farnesian Hercules ! no Roman 
 sylph in her city’s decline would ever 
 have called the sun-god, Mr. Apollo. 
 We hope that Houri melted entirely away 
 in the window, but we certainly did not 
 stay to see. 
 
 Passing out toward the supper-room 
 we encountered two young men. “ What, 
 Hal,” said one “ you at Mrs. Potiphar’s ? ” 
 It seems that Hal was a sprig of one 
 of the “old families.” “Well, Joe,” said 
 Hal, a little confused, “ it is a little 
 strange. The fact is I didn’t mean to be 
 hex-e, but I concluded to compromise by 
 coming, and not being introduced to the 
 host.” Hal could come, eat Potiphar’s 
 supper, drink his wines, spoil his carpets, 
 laugh at his fashionable struggles, and af- 
 fect the puppyism of a foreign Lord, be- 
 cause he disgraced the name of a man 
 who had done some service somewhere, 
 while Potiphar was only an honest man 
 who made a fortune. 
 
 The supper-room was a pleasant place. 
 The table was covered with a chaos of sup- 
 per. Every thing sweet and rare, and hot 
 and cold, solid and liquid was there. It was 
 the very apotheosis of gilt gingerbread. 
 There was a universal rush and struggle. 
 The charge of the guards at Waterloo was 
 nothing to it. Jellies, custard, oyster- 
 soup, ice-cream, wine and water, gushed 
 in profuse cascades over transparent pre- 
 cipices of tulle, muslin, gauze, silk and 
 satin. Clumsy boys tumbled against 
 costly dresses and smeared them with 
 preserves, — when clean plates failed, the 
 contexxts of plates ah-eady used were qui- 
 etly “chucked” under the table — heel- 
 taps of chaixxpagne were poured into the 
 oyster tureens or overflowed upon plates 
 to clear the glasses — wine of all kinds 
 flowed in torrents, particularly down the 
 throats of very young men, who evinced 
 their manhood by becoming noisy, 
 troublesome and disgusting, and were fi- 
 nally either led, sick, into the hat room, 
 or carried out of the way, drunk. The 
 supper over, the young people attended 
 by their matroixs descended to the dan- 
 
17b 
 
 Our Best Society ' 
 
 cing-room for the “German.” This is a 
 dance commencing usually at midnight or 
 a little after, and continuing indefinitely 
 toward daybreak. The young people 
 were attended by their matrons, who were 
 there to supervise the morals and man- 
 ners of their charges. To secure the per- 
 formance of this duty, the young people 
 took good care to sit where the matrons 
 could not see them, nor did they, by any 
 chance, look toward the quarter in which 
 the matrons sat. In that quarter, through 
 all the varying mazes of the prolonged 
 dance, to two o’clock, to three, to four, sat 
 the bediamonded dowagers, the mothers, 
 the matrons, — against nature, against 
 common sense. They babbled with each 
 other, they drowsed, they dozed. Their 
 fans fell listless into their laps. In the 
 adjoining room, out of the waking sight, 
 even, of the then sleeping mammas, the 
 daughters whirled in the close embrace 
 of partners who had brought down bot- 
 tles of champagne from the supper-room, 
 and put them by the side of their chairs 
 for occasional refreshment during the 
 dance. The dizzy hours staggered by — 
 “ Azalia, you must come now,” had been 
 already said a dozen times, but only as 
 by the scribes. Finally it was declared 
 with authority. Azalia went, — Amelia — 
 Arabella. The rest followed. There was 
 prolonged cloaking, and lingering fare- 
 wells. A few papas were in the supper- 
 room, sitting among the cleb7'is of game. 
 A few young non-dancing husbands sat 
 beneath gas unnaturally bright, read- 
 ing whatever chance book was at hand, 
 and thinking of the young child at home 
 waiting for mamma who was dancing the 
 “ German” below. A few exhausted ma- 
 trons sat in the robing-room, tired, sad, 
 wishing -J ane would come up ; assailed at 
 intervals by a vague suspicion that it was 
 not quite worth while ; wondering how it 
 was they used to have such good times at 
 balls ; yawning, and looking at their 
 watches ; while the regular beat of the 
 music below, with sardonic sadness, con- 
 tinued. At last Jane came up, had had 
 the most glorious time, and went down 
 with mamma to the carriage, and so drove 
 ■home. Even the last Jane went — the 
 last noisy youth was expelled, and Mr. 
 and Mrs. Potiphar having duly performed 
 then - biennial social duty, dismissed the 
 music, ordered the servants to count the 
 spoons, and an hour or two after daylight 
 went to bed. Enviable Mr. and Mrs. 
 Potiphar 1 
 
 We are now prepared for the great 
 moral indignation of the friend who saw 
 us eating .our dinde aux truffes in that 
 remarkable supper room. We are wait- 
 ing to hear him say in the most moderate 
 
 [Feb, 
 
 and “gentlemanly” manner, that it is all 
 very well to select flaws and present them 
 as specimens, and to learn from him, pos- 
 sibly with indignant publicity, that the 
 present condition of parties is not what 
 we have intimated. Or, in his quiet and 
 pointed way, he may smile at our fiery 
 assault upon edged flounces and nuga 
 pyramids, and the kingdom of Lilliput in 
 general. 
 
 Yet, after all, and despite the youths 
 who are led out, and carried home, or who 
 stumble through the “ German,” this is a 
 sober matter. My friend told us we 
 should see the “ best society.” But he is 
 a prodigious wag. Who make this coun- 
 try ? From whom is its character of un- 
 paralleled enterprise, heroism, and success 
 derived ? Who have given it its place in 
 the respect and the fear of the world ? 
 Who, annually, recruit its energies, con- 
 firm its progress, and secure its triumph ? 
 Who are its characteristic children, the 
 pith, the sinew, the bone of its prosperity ? 
 Who found, and direct, and continue its 
 manifold institutions of mercy and educa- 
 tion ? Who are, essentially, Americans ? 
 Indignant friend, these classes, whoever 
 they may be, are the “best society,” be- 
 cause they alone are the representatives of 
 its character and cultivation. They are 
 the “ best society ” of New-York, of Bos- 
 ton, of Baltimore, of St. Louis, of New 
 Orleans, whether they live upon six hun- 
 dred or sixty thousand dollars a year — 
 whether they inhabit princely houses in 
 fashionable streets (which they often do), 
 or not — whether their sons have gradu- 
 ated at Celarius’ and the Jardin Mabille , 
 or have never been out of their fathers’ 
 shops — whether they have “air” and 
 “style,” and are “so gentlemanly” and 
 “so aristocratic” or not. Your shoe- 
 maker. your lawyer, your butcher, your 
 clergyman — if they are simple and steady, 
 and, whether rich or poor, are unseduced 
 by the sirens of extravagance and ruinous 
 display, help make up the “ best society.” 
 For that mystic communion is not com- 
 posed of the rich, but of the worthy ; and 
 is “ best ” by its virtues, and not by its 
 vices. When Johnson, Burke, Gold- 
 smith, Garrick, Reynolds, and their 
 friends, met at supper in Goldsmith’s 
 rooms, where was the “ best society ” in 
 England ? When George the Fourth out- 
 raged humanity and decency in his treat- 
 ment of Queen Caroline, who was the first 
 scoundrel in Europe ? 
 
 Pause yet a moment, indignant friend. 
 Whose habits and principles would ruin 
 this country as rapidly as it has been 
 made 7 Who are enamored of a puerile 
 imitation of foreign splendors 7 Who 
 strenuously endeavor to graft the ques- 
 
Our Best Society.' 
 
 177 
 
 1853.] 
 
 tionable points of Parisian society upon 
 our own ? Who pass a few years in Eu- 
 rope and return sceptical of republicanism 
 and human improvement, longing and 
 sighing for more sharply emphasized so- 
 cial distinctions? Who squander with 
 profuse lecklesness the hard-earned for- 
 tunes of their sires ? Who diligently de- 
 vote their time to nothing, foolishly and 
 wrongly supposing that a young English 
 nobleman has nothing to do ? Who, in 
 fine, evince by their collective conduct, 
 that they regard their Americanism as a 
 misfortune, and are so the most deadly 
 enemies of their country ? None but what 
 our wag facetiously termed “ the best so- 
 ciety.” 
 
 If the reader doubts, let him consider 
 its practical results in any great emporium 
 of “ best society.” Marriage is there re- 
 garded as a luxury, too expensive for any 
 but the sons of rich men, or fortunate 
 young men. We once heard an eminent 
 divine assert, and only half in sport, that 
 the rate of living was advancing so incre- 
 dibly, that weddings in his experience 
 were perceptibly diminishing. The rea- 
 sons might have been many and various. 
 But we all acknowledged the fact. On 
 the other hand, and about the same time, 
 a lovely damsel (ah ! Clorinda !) whose 
 father was not wealthy, who had no pro- 
 spective means of support, who could do 
 nothing but polka to perfection, who lite- 
 rally knew almost nothing, and who con- 
 stantly shocked every fairly intelligent 
 person by the glaring ignorance betrayed 
 by her remarks, informed a friend at one of 
 the Saratoga balls, whither he had made 
 haste to meet “the best society,” that 
 there were “not more than three good 
 matches in society ! ” La Dame aux Ca- 
 melias. Marie Duplessis, was, to our 
 fancy, a much more feminine, and admira- 
 ble, and moral, and human person, than 
 the adored Clorinda. And yet what she 
 said was the legitimate result of the state 
 of our fashionable society. It worships 
 wealth, and the pomp which wealth can 
 purchase, mere than virtue, genius or 
 beauty. We may be told that it has 
 always been so in every country, and that 
 tire fine society of all lands is as profuse 
 and flashy as our own. We deny it, 
 flatly. Neither English, nor French, nor 
 Italian, nor German society, is so un- 
 speakably barren as that which is techni- 
 cally called “ society ” here. In London, 
 and Paris, and Vienna, and Rome, all the 
 really eminent men and women help make 
 up the mass of society. A party is not a 
 mere ball, but it is a congress of the wit, 
 beauty, and fame of the capital. It is 
 worth while to dress, if you shall meet 
 Macaulay, or Hallam, or Guizot, or Thiers, 
 
 or Landseer, or Delaroche, — Mrs. Norton, 
 the Misses Berry, Madame Recamier, 
 and all the brilliant women and famous 
 foreigners. But why should we desert 
 the pleasant pages of those men, and the 
 recorded gossip of those women, to be 
 squeezed flat against a wall, while young 
 Doughface pours oyster-gravy down our 
 shirt-front, and Caroline Pettitoes won- 
 ders at “ Mr. Diisseldorf’s ” industry? 
 
 If intelligent people decline to go, you 
 justly remark, it is their own fault. Yes, 
 but if they stay away it is very certainly 
 their great gain. The elderly people are 
 always neglected with us, and nothing 
 surprises intelligent strangers more, than 
 the tyrannical supremacy of Young Ame- 
 rica. But we are not surprised at this 
 neglect. How can we be if we have our 
 eyes open ? When Caroline Pettitoes re- 
 treats from the floor to the sofa, and 
 instead of a “ polker ” figures at parties 
 as a matron, do you suppose that “ tough 
 old Joes ” like ourselves, are going to de- 
 sert the young Caroline upon the floor, for 
 Madame Pettitoes upon the sofa ? If the 
 pretty young Caroline with youth, health, 
 freshness, a fine, budding form, and 
 wreathed in a semi-transparent haze of 
 flounced and flowered gauze, is so vapid 
 that we prefer to accost her with our 
 eyes alone, and not with our tongues, is 
 the same Caroline married into a Madame 
 Pettitoes, and fanning herself upon a sofa, 
 — no longer particularly fresh, nor young, 
 nor pretty, and no longer budding but very 
 fully blown, — likely to be fascinating in 
 conversation? We cannot wonder that 
 the whole connection of Pettitoes, when 
 advanced to the matron state, is entirely 
 neglected. Proper homage to age we can 
 all pay at home, to our parents and grand- 
 parents. Proper respect for some persons 
 is best preserved by avoiding their neigh- 
 borhood. 
 
 And what, think you, is the influence 
 of this extravagant expense and senseless 
 show upon these same young men and 
 women ? We can easily discover. It saps 
 their noble ambition, assails their health, 
 lowers their estimate of men and their 
 reverence for women, cherishes an eager 
 and aimless rivalry, weakens true feeling, 
 wipes away the bloom of true modesty, 
 and induces an ennui, a satiety, and a kind 
 of dilettante misanthropy, which is only 
 the more monstrous because it is undoubt- 
 edly real. You shall hear young men of 
 intelligence and cultivation, to whom the 
 unprecedented circumstances of this coun- 
 try offer opportunities of a great and be- 
 neficent career, complaining that they 
 were born within this blighted circle — re- 
 gretting that they were not bakers and 
 tallow-chandlers, and under no obligation 
 
178 
 
 Our Best Society: 
 
 to keep up appearances — deliberately sur- 
 rendering all the golden possibilities of 
 that Future which this country, beyond 
 all others, holds before them — sighing 
 that they are not rich enough to marry 
 the girls they love, and bitterly upbraiding 
 fortune that they are not millionnaires — 
 suffering the vigor of their years to ex- 
 hale in idle wishes and pointless regrets — 
 disgracing their manhood by lying in wait 
 behind their “ so gentlemanly ” and “ aris- 
 tocratic” manners, until they can pounce 
 upon " a fortune ” and ensnare an heiress 
 into matrimony : and so, having dragged 
 their gifts, their horses of the sun, into a 
 service which shames out of them all 
 their native pride and power, they sink in 
 the mire, and their peers and emulators 
 exclaim that they have “ made a good 
 thing of it.” 
 
 Are these the processes by which a 
 noble race is made and perpetuated 7 At 
 Mrs. Potiphar’s we heard several Pen- 
 dennises longing for a similar luxury, 
 and announcing then - firm purpose, never 
 to have wives nor houses, until the}' could 
 have them as splendid as jewelled Mrs. 
 Potiphar, and her palace, thirty feet front. 
 Where were their heads, and their hearts, 
 and their arms 7 How looks this craven 
 despondency, before the stern virtues of 
 the ages we call dark 7 When a man is 
 so voluntarily, imbecile as to regret he is 
 not rich, if that is what he wants, before 
 he has struck a blow for wealth ; or so 
 dastardly as to renounce the prospect of 
 love, because, sitting sighing, in velvet 
 dressing-gown and slippers, he does not 
 see his way clear to ten thousand a year ; 
 when young women coiffed d merveille , 
 of unexceptionable “ style,” who, with or 
 without a prospective penny, secretly look 
 down upon honest women who struggle 
 for a livelihood, like noble and Christian 
 beings, and, as such, are rewarded ; in 
 whose society a man must forget that he 
 has ever read, thought, or felt ; who 
 destroy in the mind, the fair ideal of 
 woman, which the genius of art and 
 poetry, and love, their inspirer, has crea- 
 ted ; then it seems to us, it is high time 
 that the subject should be regarded not 
 as a matter of breaking butterflies upon 
 the wheel, but as a sad and sober question, 
 in whose solution, all fathers and mothers, 
 and the state itself, are interested. When 
 keen observers, and men of the world, 
 from Europe, are amazed and appalled at 
 the giddy whirl and frenzied rush of our 
 society — a society singular in history, 
 for the exaggerated prominence it assigns 
 to wealth, irrespective of the talents that 
 amassed it, they and their possessor be- 
 ing usually hustled out of sight— is it not 
 quite time to ponder a little upon the 
 
 [Feb, 
 
 Court of Louis XIV., and the “merrie 
 days ” of King Charles II. 7 Is it not 
 clear that, if what our good wag, with 
 caustic irony, called “the best society,” 
 were really such, ever} 7 thoughtful man 
 would read upon ills. Potiphar’s softly- 
 tinted walls, the terrible “ mene, mene” 
 of an imminent destruction? 
 
 Venice, in her purple prime of luxury, 
 when the famous law was passed, making 
 all gondolas black, that the nobles should 
 not squander fortunes upon them, was not 
 more luxurious than New-York to-day. 
 Our hotels have a superficial splendor, 
 derived from a profusion of gilt and paint, 
 wood and damask. Yet. in not one of 
 them can the traveller be so quietly com- 
 fortable as in an English Inn, and no- 
 where in New- York can the stranger pro- 
 cure a dinner, at once so neat and ele- 
 gant, and economical, as at scores of Cafes 
 in Paris. The fever of display has con- 
 sumed comfort. A gondola plated with 
 gold was no easier than a black wooden one. 
 We could well spare a little gilt upon the 
 walls, for more cleanliness upon the public 
 table ; nor is it worth while to cover the 
 walls with mirrors to reflect a want of 
 comfort. One prefers a wooden bench to 
 a greasy velvet cushion, and a sanded 
 floor to a soiled and threadbare carpet. 
 An insipid uniformity is the Procustes-bed, 
 upon which “ society ” is stretched. Every 
 new house is the counterpart of every 
 other, with the exception of more gilt, if 
 the owner can afford it. The interior 
 arrangement, instead of being character- 
 istic, instead of revealing something of the 
 tastes and feelings of the owner, is rigor- 
 ously conformed to every other interior. 
 The same hollow and tame complaisance 
 rules in the intercourse of society. Who 
 dares say precisely what he thinks 
 upon a great topic? What youth ven- 
 tures to say sharp things, of slavery, for 
 instance, at a polite dinner-table 7 What 
 girl dares wear curls, when Martelle pre- 
 scribes puffs or bandeaux 7 What speci- 
 men of Young America dares have his 
 trowsers loose or wear straps to them 7 
 We want individuality, heroism, and if ne- 
 cessary, an uncompromising persistence 
 in difference. 
 
 This is the present state of parties. 
 They are wildly extravagant, full of sense- 
 less display; they are avoided by the 
 pleasant and intelligent, and swarm with 
 reckless regiments of “ Brown’s men.” 
 The ends of the earth contribute their 
 choicest products to the supper, and there 
 is every thing that wealth can purchase, 
 and all the spacious splendor that thirty 
 feet front can afford. They are hot, and 
 crowded, and glaring. There is a little 
 weak scandal, venomous, not witty, and a 
 
1853,] 
 
 An Excursion to Canada . 
 
 179 
 
 stream of weary platitude, mortifying to 
 every sensible person. Will any of our 
 Pendennis friends intermit their indigna- 
 tion for a moment, and consider how many 
 good things they have said or heard du- 
 ring the season ? If Mr. Potiphar’s eyes 
 should chance to fall here, will he reckon 
 the amount of satisfaction and enjoyment 
 he derived from Mrs. Potiphar’s ball, and 
 will that lady candidly confess what she 
 gained from it beside weariness and dis- 
 gust 7 What eloquent sermons we re- 
 member to have heard in which the sins 
 and the sinners of Babylon, Jericho and 
 Gomorrah were scathed with holy indig- 
 nation. The cloth is very hard upon Cain, 
 and completely routs the erring kings of 
 Judah. The Spanish Inquisition, too, gets 
 frightful knocks, and there is much elo- 
 quent exhortation to preach the gospel in 
 the interior of Siam. Let it be preached 
 there, and God speed the word. But 
 also let us have a text or two in Broad- 
 way and the Avenue. 
 
 The best sermon ever preached upon 
 society, within our knowledge, is “ Vanity 
 Fair.” Is the spirit of that story less true 
 of New-York than of London ? Probably 
 we never see Amelia at our parties, nor 
 Lieutenant George Osborne, nor good 
 gawky Dobbin, nor Mrs. Rebecca Sharp 
 Crawley, nor old Steyne. We are very 
 much pained, of course, that any author 
 should take such dreary views of human 
 nature. We, for our parts, all go to Mrs. 
 Potiphar’s to refresh our faith in men and 
 women. Generosity, amiability, a catholic 
 charity, simplicity, taste, sense, high cul- 
 tivation, and intelligence, distinguish our 
 parties. The statesman seeks their stimu- 
 lating influence ; the literary man, after 
 the day’s labor, desires the repose of their 
 elegant conversation ; the professional man 
 and the merchant hurry up from down 
 town to shuffle off the coil of heavy duty, 
 and forget the drudgery of life in the 
 agreeable picture of its amenities and 
 graces presented by Mrs. Potiphar’s ball. 
 Is this account of the matter, or “ Vanity 
 Fair” the satire? What are the pros- 
 
 pects of any society of which that tale is 
 the true history ? 
 
 There is a picture in the Luxembourg 
 gallery at Paris, “ the Decadence of the 
 Romans,” which made the fame and for- 
 tune of Couture the painter. It repre- 
 sents an orgie in the court of a temple, 
 during the last days of Rome. A swarm 
 of revellers occupy the middle of the pic- 
 ture, wreathed in elaborate intricacy of 
 luxurious posture, men and women inter- 
 mingled ; their faces, in which the old Ro- 
 man fire scarcely flickers, brutalized with 
 excess of every kind ; their heads of 
 dishevelled hair bound with coronals of 
 leaves, while from goblets of an antique 
 grace, they drain the fier) r torrent which 
 is destroying them. Around the baccha- 
 nalian feast stand, lofty upon pedestals, 
 the statues of old Rome, looking with 
 marble calmness and the severity of a re- 
 buke beyond words upon the revellers. A 
 youth of boyish grace — a wreath woven 
 in his tangled hair, and with red and 
 drowsy eyes, sits listless upon one pedes- 
 tal, while upon another, stands a boy, in- 
 sane with drunkenness, and proffering a 
 dripping goblet to the marble mouth of 
 the statue. In the corner of the picture, 
 as if just quitting the court — Rome finally 
 departing — is a group of Romans with 
 care-worn brows, and hands raised to 
 their faces in melancholy meditation. In 
 the very foreground of the picture, which 
 is painted with all the sumptuous splendor 
 of Venetian art, is a stately vase, around 
 which hangs a festoon of gorgeous flowers, 
 its end dragging upon the pavement. In 
 the background, between the columns, 
 smiles the blue sky of Italy — the only 
 thing Italian not deteriorated by time. 
 The careful student of this picture, if he 
 has been long in Paris, is some day star- 
 tled by detecting, especiall}' in the faces of 
 the women represented, a surprising like- 
 ness to the women of Paris, and perceives, 
 with a thrill of dismay, that the models 
 for this picture of decadent human nature, 
 are furnished by the very city in which he 
 lives. 
 
 AN EXCURSION TO CANADA 
 (Continued from page 59.) 
 
 II. 
 
 QUEBEC AND MONTMORENCI. 
 
 A BOUT six o’clock we started for Que- 
 bec, one hundred and eighty miles 
 distant by the river ; gliding past Longueil 
 and Boucherville on the right, and Pointe 
 aux Trembles , “so called from having 
 
 been originally covered with aspens,” and 
 Bout de I’Jsle, or the end of the island, on 
 the left. I repeat these names not merely 
 for want of more substantial facts to re- 
 cord, but because they sounded singularly 
 poetic to my ears. There certainly was 
 no lie in them. They suggested that 
 some simple, and, perchance, heroic hu- 
 
180 
 
 An Excursion to Canada, 
 
 man life might have transpired there. 
 There is all the poetry in the world in a 
 name. It is a poem which the mass of 
 men hear and read. What is poetry in the 
 common sense, but a string of such jing- 
 ling names ? I want nothing better than a 
 good word. The name of a thing may 
 easily be more than the thing itself to 
 me. Inexpressibly beautiful appears the 
 recognition by man of the least natural 
 fact, and the allying his life to it. All 
 the world reiterating this slender truth, 
 that aspens once grew there; and the 
 swift inference is, that men were there to 
 see them. And so it would be with the 
 names of our native and neighboring vil- 
 lages, if we had not profaned them. 
 
 The daylight now failed us, and we 
 went below ; but I endeavored to console 
 myself for being obliged to make this 
 voyage by night, by thinking that I did 
 not lose a great deal, the shores being 
 low and rather unattractive, and that the 
 river itself was much the more interesting 
 object. I heard something in the night 
 about the boat being at William Henry, 
 Three Rivers, and in the Richelieu Rapids, 
 but I was still where I had been when I 
 lost sight of Pointe aux Trembles. To 
 hear a man who has been waked up at 
 midnight in the cabin of a steamboat, 
 inquiring, “ Waiter, where are we now? ” 
 is, as if at any moment of the earth’s re- 
 volution round the sun, or of the system 
 round its centre, one were to raise himself 
 up and inquire of one of the deck hands, 
 “ Where are we now ? ” 
 
 I went on deck at daybreak, when we 
 were thirty or forty miles above Quebec. 
 The banks were now higher and more in- 
 teresting. There was an uninterrupted 
 succession of white-washed cottages ” on 
 each side of the river. This is what 
 every traveller tells. But it is not to be 
 taken as an evidence of the populousness 
 of the country in general, hardly even of 
 the river banks. They have presented a 
 similar appearance for a hundred years. 
 The Swedish traveller and naturalist, 
 Kalm, who descended this river in 1749, 
 says, “ It could really be called a village, 
 beginning at Montreal and ending at Que- 
 bec, which is a distance of more than one 
 hundred and eighty miles ; for the farm- 
 houses. are never above five arpens. and 
 sometimes but three asunder, a few places 
 excepted.” Even in 1684 Hontan said 
 that the houses were not more than a 
 gunshot apart at most. Ere long we 
 passed Cape Rouge, eight miles above 
 Quebec, the mouth of the Chaudiere 
 on the opposite or south side, New 
 Liverpool Cove with its lumber rafts 
 and some shipping ; then Sillery and 
 Wolfe’s Cove and the Heights of Abraham 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 on the north, with now a view of Cape 
 Diamond, and the citadel in front. The 
 approach to Quebec was very imposing. 
 It was about six o’clock in the morning 
 when we arrived. There is but a single 
 street under the cliff on the south side of 
 the cape, which was made by blasting the 
 rocks and filling up the river. Three- 
 story houses did not rise more than 
 one-fifth or one-sixth the way up the 
 nearly perpendicular rock, whose summit 
 is three hundred and forty-five feet above 
 the water. We saw, as we glided past, 
 the sign on the side of the precipice, part 
 way up, pointing to the spot where Mont- 
 gomery was killed in 1775. Formerly it 
 was the custom for those who went to 
 Quebec for the first time, to be ducked, or 
 else pay a fine. Not even the Governor 
 General escaped. But we were too many 
 to be ducked, even if the custom had not 
 been abolished. 
 
 Here we were, in the harbor of Quebec, 
 still three hundred and sixty miles from 
 the mouth of the St. Lawrence, in a basin 
 two miles across, where the greatest depth 
 is twenty-eight fathoms, and though the 
 water is fresh, the tide rises seventeen to 
 twenty-four feet, a harbor “large and 
 deep enough,” says a British traveller, 
 “ to hold the English navy.” I may as 
 well state that in 1844 the county of Que- 
 bec contained about forty-five thousand 
 inhabitants, (the city and suburbs hav- 
 ing about forty-three thousand) ; about 
 twenty-eight thousand being Canadians 
 of French origin; eight thousand British; 
 over seven thousand natives of Ireland ; 
 one thousand five hundred natives of Eng- 
 land ; the rest Scotch and others. Thirty- 
 six thousand belong to the Church of 
 Rome. 
 
 Separating ourselves from the crowd, 
 we walked up a narrow street, thence as- 
 cended by some wooden steps, called the 
 Break-neck Stairs, into another steep, nar- 
 row, and zig-zag street, blasted through 
 the rock, which last led through a low 
 massive stone portal, called Prescott Gate, 
 the principal thoroughfare into the Upper 
 Town. This passage was defended by 
 cannon, with a guard-house over it, a 
 sentinel at his post, and other soldiers at 
 hand ready to relieve him. I rubbed my 
 eyes to be sure that I was in the nine- 
 teenth century, and was not entering one 
 of those portals which sometimes adorn the 
 frontispieces of new editions of old black- 
 letter volumes. I thought it would be a 
 good place to read Froissart’s Chronicles. It 
 was such a reminiscence of the middle ages 
 as Scott’s novels. Men apparently dwelt 
 there for security. Peace be unto them ! 
 As if the inhabitants of New-York were 
 to go over to Castle William to live! 
 
An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 181 
 
 1853.] 
 
 What a place it must be to bring up 
 children ! Being safe through the gate 
 we naturally took the street which was 
 steepest, and after a few turns found our- 
 selves on the Durham Terrace, a wooden 
 platform on the site of the old castle of 
 St. Louis, still one hundred and fifteen 
 feet below the summit of the citadel, over- 
 looking the Lower Town, the wharf where 
 we had landed, the harbor, the Isle of 
 Orleans, and the river and surrounding 
 country to a great distance. It was lit- 
 erally a splendid view. We could see 
 six or seven miles distant, in the north- 
 east, an indentation in the lofty shore of 
 the northern channel, apparently on one 
 side of the harbor, which marked the 
 mouth of the Montmorenci, whose cele- 
 brated fall was only a few rods in the 
 rear. 
 
 At a shoe-shop, whither we were directed 
 for this purpose we got some of our Ameri- 
 can money changed into English. I found 
 that American hard money would have 
 answered as well, excepting cents, which 
 fell very fast before their pennies, it tak- 
 ing two of the former to make one of the 
 latter, and often the penny, which had 
 cost us two cents did us the service of one 
 cent only. Moreover, our robust cents 
 were compelled to meet on even terms a 
 crew of vile half-penny tokens, and bung- 
 town coppers, which had more brass in 
 their composition, and so perchance made 
 their way in the world. Wishing to get 
 into the citadel, we were directed to the 
 Jesuits’ Barracks, — a good part of the 
 public buildings here are barracks. — to 
 get a pass of the Town Major. We did 
 not" heed the sentries at the gate, nor did 
 they us, and what under the sun they 
 were placed there for, unless to hinder a 
 free circulation of the air, was not appar- 
 ent. There we saw soldiers eating their 
 breakfasts in their mess room, from bare 
 wooden tables in camp fashion. We were 
 continually meeting with soldiers in the 
 streets, carrying funny little tin pails of 
 all shapes, even semicircular, as if made 
 to pack conveniently. I supposed that 
 they contained their dinners, so many 
 slices of bread and butter to each, per- 
 chance. Sometimes they were carrying 
 some kind of military chest on a sort of 
 bier or hand-barrow, with a springy, un- 
 dulating, military step, all passengers giv- 
 ing way to them, even the charette drivers 
 stopping for them to pass — as if the bat- 
 tle were being lost from an inadequate 
 supply of powder. There was a regiment 
 of Highlanders, and, as I understood, of 
 Royal Irish, in the city ; and by this time 
 there was a regiment of Yankees also. I 
 had already observed, looking up even 
 from the water, the head and shoulders 
 
 of some General Poniatowsky, with an 
 enormous cocked hat and gun, peering over 
 the roof of a house, away up where the 
 chimney caps commonly are with us, as 
 it were a caricature of war and military 
 awfulness ; but I had not gone far up St. 
 Louis street before my riddle was solved, 
 by the apparition of a real live Highlander 
 under a cocked hat, and with his knees 
 out, standing and marching sentinel on 
 the ramparts, between St. Louis and St. 
 John’s Gate. (It must be a holy war 
 that is waged there.) We stood close by 
 without fear and looked at him. His legs 
 were somewhat tanned, and the hair had 
 begun to grow on them, as some of our 
 wise men predict that it will in such cases, 
 but I did not think they were remarkable 
 in any respect. Notwithstanding all his 
 warlike gear, when I inquired of him the 
 way to the Plains of Abraham, he could 
 not answer me without betraying some 
 bashfulness through his broad Scotch. 
 Soon after, we passed another of these 
 creatures standing sentry at the St. Louis 
 Gate, who let us go by without shooting 
 us, or even demanding the countersign. 
 We then began to go through the gate, 
 which was so thick and tunnel-like, as to 
 remind me of those lines in Claudian’s 
 Old Man of Verona, about the getting out 
 of the gate being the greater part of a 
 journey ; — as you might imagine yourself 
 crawling through an architectural vig- 
 nette at the end of a black-letter volume. 
 We were then reminded that we had been 
 in a fortress, from which we emerged by 
 numerous zig-zags in a ditch-like road, 
 going a considerable distance to advance a 
 few rods, where they could have shot us 
 two or three times over, if their minds 
 had been disposed as their guns were. 
 The greatest, or rather the most promi- 
 nent, part of this city was constructed 
 with the design to offer the deadliest resist- 
 ance to leaden and iron missiles, that 
 might be cast against it. But it is a re- 
 markable meteorological and psychologi- 
 cal fact, that it is rarely known to rain 
 lead with much violence, except on places 
 so constructed. Keeping on about a mile 
 we came to the Plains of Abraham, — for 
 having got through with the Saints, we 
 come next to the Patriarchs. Here the 
 Highland regiment was being reviewed, 
 while the band stood on one side and 
 played, — mcthinks it was “ La Claire Fon- 
 taine,” the national air of the Canadian 
 French. This is the site where a real 
 battle once took place, to commemorate 
 which they have had a sham fight here 
 almost every day since. The Highlanders 
 manoeuvred very well, and if the preci- 
 sion of their movements was less remark- 
 able, they did not appear so stiffly erect 
 
182 
 
 An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 as the English or Royal Irish, but had a 
 more elastic and graceful gait, like a herd 
 of their own red deer, or as if accustomed 
 to stepping down the sides of mountains. 
 But they made a sad impression on the 
 whole, for it was obvious that all true 
 manhood was in the process of being drill- 
 ed out of them. I have no doubt that 
 soldiers well drilled are, as a class, pecu- 
 liarly destitute of originality and indepen- 
 dence. The officers appeared like men 
 dressed above their condition. It is im- 
 possible to give the soldier a good educa- 
 tion, without making him a deserter. His 
 natural foe is the government that drills 
 him. What would any philanthropist, 
 who felt an interest in these men’s wel- 
 fare, naturally do, but first of all teach 
 them so to respect themselves, that they 
 could not be hired for this work, whatever 
 might be the consequences to this govern- 
 ment or that ; — not drill a few, but edu- 
 cate all. I observed one older man among 
 them, gray as a wharf-rat, and supple as 
 an eel, marching lock-step with the rest 
 who would have to pay for that elastic 
 gait. 
 
 We returned to the citadel along the 
 heights, plucking such flowers as grew 
 there. There was an abundance of suc- 
 cory still in blossom, broad-leaved golden- 
 rod, butter-cups, thorn-bushes, Canada 
 thistles, and ivy, on the very summit of 
 Cape Diamond. I also found the bladder- 
 campion in the neighborhood. We there 
 enjoyed an extensive view, which I will 
 describe in another place. Our pass, 
 which stated that all the rules were “ to 
 be strictly enforced,” as if they were de- 
 termined to keep up the resemblance of 
 reality to the last gasp, opened to us the 
 Dalhousie Gate, and we were conducted 
 over the citadel by a bare-legged High- 
 lander in cocked hat and full regimentals. 
 He told us that he had been here about 
 three years, and had former!}'- been sta- 
 tioned at Gibraltar. As if his regiment, 
 having perchance been nestled amid the 
 rocks of Edinburgh Castle, must flit from 
 rock to rock thenceforth over the earth’s 
 surface, like a bald eagle, or other bird of 
 prev, from eyrie to eyrie. As we were 
 going out. we met the Yankees coming in, 
 in a body, headed by a red-coated officer 
 called the commandant, and escorted by 
 many citizens, both English and French 
 Canadian. I therefore immediately fell 
 into the procession, and went round the 
 citadel again with more intelligent, guides, 
 carrying, as before, all my effects with me. 
 Seeing that nobody walked with the red- 
 coated commandant, I attached myself to 
 him. and though I was not what is called 
 well-dressed, he did not know whether to 
 repel me or not. for I talked like one who 
 
 [Feb 
 
 was not aware of any deficiency in that 
 respect. Probably there was not one 
 among all the Yankees who went to 
 Canada this time, who was not more 
 splendidly dressed than I was. It would 
 have been a poor story if I had not en- 
 joyed some distinction. I had on my 
 “ bad-weather clothes.” like Olaf Try- 
 gresson the Northman, when he went to 
 the Thing in England, where, by the way, 
 he won his bride. As we stood by the 
 thirty-two-pounder on the summit of Cape 
 Diamond, which is fired three times a day, 
 the commandant told me that it would 
 carry to the Isle of Orleans, four miles 
 distant, and that no hostile vessel could 
 come round the island. I now saw the 
 subterranean or, rather, “casemated bar- 
 racks” of the soldiers, which I had not 
 noticed before, though I might have 
 walked over tfiem. They had very nar- 
 row windows, serving as loop-holes for 
 musketry, and small iron chimneys rising 
 above the ground. There we saw the 
 soldiers at home and in an undress, split- 
 ting wood — I looked to see whether with 
 swords or axes — and in various ways en- 
 deavoring to realize that their nation was 
 now at peace with this part of the world. 
 A part of each regiment, chiefly officers, 
 are allowed to marry. A grandfatherly, 
 would-be-witty Englishman, could give a 
 Yankee whom he was patronizing, no 
 reason for the bare knees of the High- 
 landers, other than oddity. The rock 
 within the citadel is a little convex, so 
 that shells falling on it would roll toward 
 the circumference, where the barracks of 
 the soldiers and officers are ; it has been 
 proposed, therefore, to make it slightly 
 concave, so that they may roll into the 
 centre, where they would be comparatively 
 harmless ; and it is estimated that to do 
 this would cost twenty thousand pounds 
 sterling. It may be well to remember 
 this when I build my next house, and 
 have the roof “all correct” for bomb- 
 shells. 
 
 At mid-afternoon we made haste down 
 Sault au Matelol-street, towards the Falls 
 of Montmorenci, about eight miles down 
 the St. Lawrence, on the north side, leav- 
 ing the further examination of Quebec till 
 our return. On our way, we saw men in 
 the streets sawing logs pit-fashion, and 
 afterward, with a common wood-saw and 
 horse, cutting the planks into squares for 
 paving the streets. This looked very 
 shiftless, especially in a country abound- 
 ing in water-power, and reminded me 
 that I was no longer in Yankee land. I 
 found, on inquiry, that the excuse for this 
 was. that labor was so cheap ; and I 
 thought, with some pain, how cheap men 
 are here ! I have since learned that the 
 
1853.] 
 
 An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 183 
 
 English traveller, Warburton, remarked, 
 soon after landing at Quebec, that every 
 thing was cheap there but men. That 
 must be the difference between going 
 thither from New and from Old England. 
 I had already observed the dogs har- 
 nessed to their little milk-carts, which 
 contain a single large can, lying asleep in 
 the gutters, regardless of the houses, 
 while they rested from their labors, at dif- 
 ferent stages of the ascent in the Upper 
 Town. I was surprised at the regular 
 and extensive use made of these animals 
 for drawing, not only milk, but groceries, 
 wood, &c. It reminded me that the dog 
 commonly is not put to any use. Cats 
 catch mice; but dogs only worry the 
 cats. Kalm, a hundred years ago, saw 
 sledges here for ladies to ride in, drawn 
 by a pair of dogs. He says, “ A middle- 
 sized dog is sufficient to draw a single 
 person, when the roads are good and he 
 was told by old people, that horses were 
 very scarce in their youths, and almost all 
 the land-carriage was then effected by 
 dogs. They made me think of the Esqui- 
 maux, who, in fact, are the next people on 
 the north. Charlevoix says, that the first 
 horses were introduced in 1665. 
 
 We crossed Dorchester Bridge, over the 
 St. Charles, the little river in which Car- 
 tier, the discoverer of the St. Lawrence, 
 put his ships, and spent the winter of 
 1535, and found ourselves on an excellent 
 macadamized road, called Le Chemin de 
 Beau-port. We had left Concord Wednes- 
 day morning, and we endeavored to re- 
 alize that now, Friday morning, we were 
 taking a walk in Canada, in the Seigniory 
 of Beauport, a foreign country, which a 
 few days before had seemed almost as 
 far off as England and France. Instead 
 of rambling to Flint’s Pond or the Sud- 
 bury Meadows, we found ourselves, after 
 being a little detained in cars and steam- 
 boats — after spending half a night at Bur- 
 lington, and half a day at Montreal — 
 taking a walk down the bank of the St. 
 Lawrence to the Falls of M 9 ntmorenci 
 and elsewhere. Well, I thought to my- 
 self, here I am in a foreign coimtry ; let 
 me have my eyes about me, and take it 
 all in. It already looked and felt a good 
 deal colder than it had in New England, 
 as we might have expected it would. I 
 realized fully that I was four degrees 
 nearer the pole, and shuddered at the 
 thought ; and I wondered if it were pos- 
 sible that the peaches might not be all 
 gone when I returned. It was an atmos- 
 phere that made me think of the fur-trade, 
 which is so interesting a department in 
 Canada, for I had for all head covering a 
 thin palm-leaf hat without fining, that 
 cost twenty-five cents, and over my coat 
 
 one of those unspeakably cheap, as well as 
 thin, brown linen sacks of the Oak Hall 
 pattern, which every summer appear all 
 over New England, thick as the leaves 
 upon the trees. It was a thoroughly Yan- 
 kee costume, which some of my fellow- 
 travellers wore in the cars to save their 
 coats a dusting. I wore mine, at first, be- 
 cause it looked better than the coat it 
 covered, and last, because two coats were 
 warmer than one, though one was thin 
 and dirty. I never wear my best coat on 
 a journey, though perchance I could show 
 a certificate to prove that I have a more 
 costly one, at least, at home, if that were 
 all that a gentleman required. It is not 
 wise for a traveller to go dressed. I 
 should no more think of it than of putting 
 on a clean dicky and blacking my shoes 
 to go a fishing ; as if you were going out 
 to dine, when, in fact, the genuine travel- 
 ler is going out to work hard, and fare 
 harder — to eat a crust by the way-side 
 whenever he can get it. Honest travel- 
 ling is about as dirty work as you can do, 
 and a man needs a pair of overalls for 
 it. As for blacking my shoes in such a 
 case, I should as soon think of blacking 
 my face. I carry a piece of tallow to 
 preserve the leather, and keep out the 
 water ; that’s all ; and many an officious 
 shoe-black, who carried off my shoes 
 when I was slumbering, mistaking me 
 for a gentleman, has had occasion to re- 
 pent it before he produced a gloss on 
 them. 
 
 My pack, in fact, was home-made, for 
 I keep a short fist of those articles which, 
 from frequent experience, I have found 
 indispensable to the foot traveller ; and 
 when I am about to start, I have only to 
 consult that, to he sure that nothing is 
 omitted, and, what is more important, 
 nothing superfluous inserted. Most of 
 my fellow-travellers carried carpet-bags, 
 or valises. Sometimes one had two or 
 three ponderous yellow valises in his clutch, 
 at each pitch of the cars, as if we were 
 going to have another rush for seats ; and 
 when there was a rush in earnest, and 
 there were not a few, I would see my man 
 in the crowd, with two or three affection- 
 ate lusty fellows along each side of his 
 arm, between his shoulder and his valises, 
 which last held them tight to his back, 
 like the nut on the end of a screw. I 
 could not help asking in my mind — what 
 so great cause for showing Canada to 
 those valises, when perhaps your very 
 nieces had to stay at home for want of an 
 escort 7 I should have liked to be present 
 when the custom-house officer came aboard 
 of him, and asked him to declare upon 
 his honor if he had any thing but wearing 
 apparel in them. Even the elephant car- 
 
184 . 
 
 An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 ries but a small trunk on his journeys. 
 The perfection of travelling is to travel 
 without baggage. After considerable re- 
 flection and experience, I have concluded, 
 that the best bag for the foot traveller 
 is made with a handkerchief, or. if he 
 study appearances, a piece of stiff brown 
 paper, well tied up. with a fresh piece 
 within to put outside when the first is 
 torn. That is good for both town and 
 country, and none will know but you are 
 carrying home the silk for a new gown 
 for your wife, when it may be a dirty 
 shirt. A bundle which you can carry 
 literally under your arm, and which will 
 Shrink and swell with its contents. I 
 never found the carpet-bag of equal capa- 
 city, which was not a bundle of itself. 
 We styled ourselves the knights of the 
 umbrella and the bundle ; for wherever 
 we went, whether to Notre Dame or Mount 
 lloyal. or the Champ-de-Mars, to the 
 Town Major’s or the Bishop’s Palace, to 
 the Citadel, with a bare-legged Highland- 
 er for our escort, or to the Plains of Abra- 
 ham, to dinner or to bed, the umbrella 
 and the bundle went with us ; for we wish- 
 ed to be ready to digress at any moment. 
 We made it our home nowhere in particu- 
 lar. but everywhere where our umbrella 
 and bundle were. It would have been an 
 amusing circumstance, if the Mayor of 
 one of those cities had politely inquired 
 where we were staying. We could only 
 have answered, that we were staying with 
 his honor for the time being. I was 
 amused when, after our return, some green 
 ones inquired if we found it easy to get 
 accommodated ; as if we went abroad to 
 get accommodated, when we can get that 
 at home. 
 
 We met with many charettes, bringing 
 wood and stone to the city. The most ordi- 
 nary-looking horses travelled faster than 
 ours, or, perhaps they were ordinary-look- 
 ing. because, as I am told, the Canadians do 
 not use the curry-comb. Moreover, it is 
 said, that on the approach of winter, their 
 horses acquire an increased quantity of 
 hair, to protect them from the cold. If 
 this be true, some of our horses would 
 make you think winter were approaching, 
 even in mid-summer. We soon began to 
 see women and girls at work in the fields, 
 digging potatoes alone, or bundling up the 
 grain which the men cut. They appeared 
 in rude health, with a great deal of color 
 in their cheeks, and, if their occupation 
 had made them coarse, it impressed me 
 as better in its effects than making shirts 
 at fourpence a piece, or doing nothing at 
 all; unless it be chewing slate pencils, 
 with still smaller results. They were 
 much more agreeable objects, with their 
 
 (To be 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 great broad-brimmed hats and flowing 
 dresses, than the men and boys. We 
 afterward saw them doing various other 
 kinds of work ; indeed, I thought that we 
 saw more women at work out of doors 
 than men. On our return, we observed in 
 this town a girl with Indian boots, nearly 
 two feet high, taking the harness off a 
 dog. The purity and transparency of the 
 atmosphere were wonderful. When we 
 had been walking an hour, we were sur- 
 prised. on turning round, to see how near 
 the city, with its glittering tin roofs, still 
 looked. A village ten miles off' did not 
 appear to be more than three or four. I 
 was convinced that you could see objects 
 distinctly there much farther than here. 
 It is true, the villages are of a dazzling 
 white, but the dazzle is to be referred, 
 perhaps, to the transparency of the at- 
 mosphere. as much as to the whitewash. 
 
 We were now fairly in the village of 
 Beauport, though there was still but one 
 road, the houses stood close upon this, 
 without any front-yards, and at any angle 
 with it, as if they had dropped down, 
 being set with more reference to the road 
 which the sun travels. It being about sun- 
 down, and the Falls not far off, we began 
 to look round for a lodging, for we prefer- 
 red to put up at a private house, that we 
 might see more of the inhabitants. We 
 inquired first at the most promising look- 
 ing houses, if indeed any were promising. 
 "When we knocked, they shouted some 
 French word for come in, perhaps entrez, 
 and we asked for a lodging in English ; 
 but we found, unexpectedly, that they 
 spoke French only. Then we went along 
 and tried another house, being gene- 
 rally saluted by a rush of two or three 
 little curs, which readily distinguished a 
 foreigner, and which we were prepared 
 now to hear bark in French. Our first 
 question would be. Parle z-vous Anglais ? 
 but the invariable answer was, Non. mon- 
 sieur ; and we soon found that the inha- 
 bitants were exclusively French Cana- 
 dians, and nobody spoke English at all, 
 any more than in France ; that, in fact, we 
 were in a foreign country, where the inha- 
 bitants uttered not one familiar sound to 
 us. Then we tried by turns to talk French 
 with them, in which we succeeded some- 
 times pretty well, but for the most part, 
 pretty ill. Pouvez-vous nous donner un 
 lit cette nuit? we would ask, and then 
 they would answer with French volubi- 
 lity, so that we could catch only a word 
 here and there. We could understand 
 the women and children generally better 
 than the men, and they us ; and thus, 
 after a while, we would learn that they 
 had no more beds than they used- 
 
1853.] 
 
 185 
 
 A GLANCE AT HAVANA.’ 
 
 T HE day is breaking, and we 
 are in the Gulf of Mexico, 
 with the Moro Castle and Light- 
 house looming through the rud- 
 dy dimness of the dawn, and 
 casting its heavy, irregular sha- 
 dow upon the deep blue waters 
 which lie between us and it. 
 
 There is not a breath of air. 
 
 Not a ray of sunlight has gild- 
 ed even the tops of those low, 
 heavily undulating hills which 
 bound the horizon landward, 
 and which are all that we see 
 of Cuba, and yet the dewy 
 chillness with which the north- 
 ern Aurora shivers across the 
 sky is not here. Already the 
 air is dry and warm, and sul- 
 triness sinks heavily upon us. 
 
 In nautical phrase, we made 
 the Moro light last evening 
 about nine o’clock; but since 
 then we have been “ laying off 
 and on ” with j ust enough steam 
 up to keep the paddles lazily 
 plashing through the placid 
 water, and steerage way upon 
 the steamer ; for the port is 
 closed between sundown and sunrise ; and 
 any vessel, Spanish or foreign, which 
 should attempt the passage of that nar- 
 row inlet which runs up between the 
 Moro and that little low fort with the 
 round towers, would be fired upon by 
 the sentinel who did not wish to occupy 
 a very small apartment on the lowest 
 floor of one of those buildings. 
 
 We approach the ramparts; and while 
 we are yet within their shadow there is a 
 sudden lightening behind them ; and all at 
 once, the sun, in full glory, blazes upon 
 us. The Spanish flag appears as if by 
 magic upon one staff on the castle walls, 
 and immediately afterward, from one of 
 three others grouped together at a little 
 distance, float signals which tell the 
 Habaneros that an American steamer is 
 off the harbor. The revolution of our 
 paddles is quickened, our bows are turned 
 towards the little inlet, and as we come 
 abreast of the light-house we see that a 
 small boat issues from its shadow to meet 
 us. It contains our pilot. We stop to 
 take him on board, for he is not so quick 
 and so wide awake as the last man who 
 left our deck when we were in sight of 
 
 Samly Hook, and does not care to board 
 us while we are under way. He ascends 
 the side with gravity, and as he passes 
 deliberately up to the wheel-house gives 
 us time to remark that he is a solemn 
 looking Spaniard, with close cut gray 
 hair, and face shaved as clean as if he had 
 just come from the hands of the factotum 
 of Seville. He wears a low-crowned 
 jipijapa hat, which we call a Panama, 
 the rim of which is so narrow and so 
 much curled, that it presents to our North- 
 ern eyes a ludicrous contrast to his so- 
 lemn visage and ponderous manner. He 
 stands with serious aspect in the wheel- 
 house, not deigning to touch the wheel, 
 and directs the steersman with a grave 
 and peremptory motion of the hand, 
 sometimes accompanied by a sonorous 
 word. He may truly be at his ease, for 
 his task is a sinecure. The entrance to 
 the harbor of Havana is the plainest pos- 
 sible sailing ; and were it an American or 
 an English port, the offer to pilot a vessel 
 into it would be regarded as a patent 
 swindle. But a corps of pilots has been 
 established by the Spanish government, 
 and a neglect to employ one is sure to be 
 
 * We yield to custom, and use the corrupt form Havana, instead of the correct, “Habana.” The substitu- 
 tion of v for b is common with the uneducated Spaniards themselves, and is one of those degradations of language 
 which are the tombstones of the vigor which has died out of a nation. Thus the modern Greeks say veta for 
 the beta , and thelta (th as in this) for the delta of their ancestors of Marathon and Thermopylae. 
 
 VOL. I. — 13 
 
186 
 
 4 Glance at Havana. 
 
 resented as a slight offered to the autho- 
 rities. The Captain of the Port, an offi- 
 cer of dignity and influence, has absolute 
 power over every vessel which enters it ; 
 which he exerts even to the assigning of a 
 place where she shall lie at anchor. The ves- 
 sel, therefore, which should enter the har- 
 bor unpiloted would be pretty sure to find 
 herself ordered into the most inconven- 
 ient position which his ingneuity could 
 possibly discover. If a steamer, for 
 instance, she would be placed a mile away 
 from the coal yards, which are all in 
 one spot, and would be put to great ex- 
 pense in procuring the necessary fuel. 
 Hence the superfluous services of a pilot 
 are always accepted from motives of in- 
 terest and economy. 
 
 The Moro, of which we have heard so 
 much, towers above us upon a bluff, rocky 
 promontory. It is a large work, of 
 which we can but see two sides ; one fa- 
 cing the Gulf, and one the narrow en- 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 trance to the harbor ; and at the angle of 
 these stands the light-house. The castle 
 is built of the straw-colored, calcareous 
 stone, which abounds upon the island, and 
 its sunny color somewhat softens the frown 
 with which it looks down from its pre- 
 cipitous post. The light-house, which 
 shoots up fifty or sixty feet above the 
 ramparts, is built of the same material, and 
 much after the model of the Eddystone. 
 The light, which told us last night that 
 we were near our haven, is one of the 
 best in the world. It is a revolver, and 
 in a clear night can he seen from the 
 maintopmast head of a vessel thirty miles 
 at sea. It was built not many years ago 
 by a Frenchman, and is served by French- 
 men; for, as we shall have occasion to 
 notice hereafter, Spaniards have not the 
 mechanical skill to master such a mystery 
 as the working, much more the contri- 
 vance and erection of even so simple a 
 machine as a revolving light. 
 
 ENTRANCE TO THE HARBOR OF HAVANA WITH THE MORO AND PUNTA CASTLES. 
 
 The position of the castle gives it ab- 
 solute control of the passage to the har- 
 bor, which we now discover is but a few 
 hundred yards wide, while, from the 
 walls which look towards the Gulf, a 
 strong arm could throw a stone into water 
 too deep for anchorage. A gale of wind 
 dashes huge ocean waves against the 
 rocky base of the fort, flinging the spray 
 up to the lantern of the light-house ; yet 
 so completely is the harbor locked within 
 the land, that even at such times but a 
 gentle rolling swell is felt within a cable’s 
 length of the entrance. Directly op- 
 
 posite the Moro is the small fort which 
 attracted our eye when we first looked 
 landward. It is the Punta ( Castillo Pun- 
 ta , or Castle on the Point), which is only 
 less famous in Cuban annals than the 
 Moro. Indeed in antiquity and the as- 
 sociation of Spam’s better days, it pos- 
 sesses much greater interest than its more 
 powerful neighbor. It is the second for- 
 tress built by the Spaniards at Havana ; and 
 at the time of its construction controlled 
 the harbor, as the Moro does now. It is, 
 of course, built upon principles which 
 were long ago exploded as completely as 
 
1853.] 
 
 A Glance a l Havana. 
 
 187 
 
 FORT CABA$OS SEEN FROM THE CITY. 
 
 any bombshell ever sent from or against 
 its gray, time-worn walls. Now, it is 
 used only as a garrison or state prison. 
 Its pepper-box turrets, antiquated form, 
 and crumbling walls, are the first intima- 
 tion which the visitor of Havana receives 
 that he is approaching a city whose build- 
 ings are not of yesterday and have a his- 
 tory. 
 
 ¥e pass the Punta and the Moro, and 
 on our left, just behind the latter, is the 
 Cab a nos, an enormous work, to garrison 
 which properly requires a small army. 
 General Concha, when Viceroy, said to 
 an American, that to take it, was the work 
 of forty thousand men. The American 
 was courteous and prudent enough not to 
 reply, that that depended on who were 
 the besiegers, and who the besieged. 
 Like the Moro, the Cabafios is built of 
 the pale yellow stone of the place ; and 
 so precipitous is its site, and so identical 
 is its material with that of the spot upon 
 which it stands, that it is almost impossi- 
 ble to discover where the rock ends, and 
 the masonry begins. The huge fort 
 seems to have been a natural formation ; 
 an inevitable and fitting termination of 
 rock, which, from its inherent tendencies, 
 has shot up into walls, bastions and 
 escarpments. This work commands the 
 Moro and the city ; and it must be re- 
 duced before any force, however great, 
 could hold either of those places for half 
 an hour. The best view of the Cabafios 
 is to be obtained on the city side of the 
 harbor, from an unfinished building in 
 course of erection behind the Intendencia, 
 
 near the Palace. This building, quite a 
 small one, has been unfinished for nearly 
 twenty years ; the work never having 
 been abandoned. Two or three men 
 have, during that time, daily cut a while, 
 not with chisels, but with broad, thin 
 bladed axes, at the stone which has crept 
 into its walls. It is not uncommon in 
 Havana to see men at work at small 
 buildings commenced so long ago that the 
 stones yet to be built up have lain upon 
 the ground until they have become green 
 and mossy by exposure to the weather. 
 There can be no doubt that there are now, 
 and, should the tripartite treaty be made, 
 will be twenty years hence, two sallow in- 
 dividuals in greasy jipijapa bats chipping 
 away at two pieces of yellow stone for the 
 unfinished building behind the Intenden- 
 cia. Opposite to the Cabafios, upon our 
 right, is the cancel , or principal prison of 
 the place. It is a white building, between 
 four and five hundred feet in length. From 
 it Lopez was led into the wide square, of 
 which it forms one side, to suffer death 
 by the garote ml. We catch a glimp'fee 
 of the Paseo Isabel II., and some large 
 factories as we pass on, and in a few 
 minutes are in the open harbor of Ha- 
 vana. It is of irregular shape ; widening 
 suddenly after its narrow entrance is 
 passed, and being about two miles and 
 a quarter in length, and a mile and 
 three quarters across at its widest part. 
 Into it the city curves in a semicircle of 
 wharves, and public walks and buildings. 
 It has no other communication with 
 the Gulf than its entrance; and as the 
 
188 
 
 A Glance at Havana. 
 
 tides will hardly turn a cock-boat, its 
 waters are almost stagnant. Into them 
 the drainage with the refuse of the city, 
 and the alluvial wash of the surrounding 
 country, constantly pour ; and there they 
 remain, decomposing in the sluggish reser- 
 voir. Even the surface is so undisturbed 
 that the rain which falls upon it does 
 not mingle thoroughly with the salt 
 water below ; so that in the wet season 
 there is a stratum over the harbor, which 
 is little more than brackish. Countless 
 numbers of those slow-moving jellies, 
 known to boys as stinging-galls, float 
 lazily about it; and so filled is it with 
 vegetable and animal matter, decomposed 
 to a phosphorescent state, that at night 
 the boatmen seem to be propelling their 
 clumsy barks by flaming swords ; so 
 bright and continuous is the gleam of the 
 oar as it passes through the water. And 
 this is more than the phosphorescence of 
 tropical climes ; for a few minutes’ vigor- 
 ous pulling will take us into the Gulf, 
 where a fitful flash breaks hut now and then, 
 like a smile upon the solemn azure of its 
 surface. All through the glowing sum- 
 mer, pestilence broods upon the surface 
 of this huge cesspool. Its vapor en- 
 shrouds the form of Death to those who 
 were not horn to breathe it, or who have 
 not once fought and conquered the grim 
 monarch in this guise. It is forbidden on 
 all the national vessels stationed here, 
 except those of Spain, to use the water of 
 the harbor to wash the decks. Save in 
 extreme necessity, no boat leaves them 
 for the shore, or returns, after sundown ; 
 and when debilitating sickness makes 
 its appearance among officers and crew, 
 the first remedy sought, and the most 
 effectual, is a cruise of two or three days 
 in the open Gulf. So it must ever be, 
 until another communication is opened 
 with the Gulf, winch might be easily 
 done ; and feeble as is the tide, its flow 
 would then do much to purify the waters 
 of what is now, unde*’ the summer’s sun, 
 but a foul and seething caldron, from 
 which mortality steams up. 
 
 W e at length come to anchor. A boat 
 with the Spanish flag comes alongside, 
 and our captain descends, and asks the 
 privilege of landing his mails and passen- 
 gers ; giving to the deputy of the Captain 
 of the Port, the passports of all whose 
 destiny is Havana, or who wish to go on 
 shore. A Spanish officer makes his ap- 
 pearance upon the deck, a pair of puny 
 sentinels is placed at each companion way, 
 and no communication is allowed with 
 the shore, until the permission of the Cap- 
 tain of the Port is received. Our captain 
 and certain privileged persons can then 
 leave the boat ; but the passengers must 
 
 [keb 
 
 wait until their passports have been ex- 
 amined, and a special permit is made out 
 for each one like the following : 
 
 Warrant of Disembarkation in favor of 
 Don William Smith, a native of New-York,by 
 profession a purser, who has arrived at this 
 port this day, in the American steamer Che- 
 rokee , from New-York.” 
 
 On the back of this are the following 
 “ Regulations ” : — 
 
 “ It is necessary to present this warrant at 
 the Custom House to take out baggage or ef- 
 fects, and to the landlord of the house or es- 
 tablishment to which the bearer may go to 
 dwell, that notice may be taken of it. To 
 leave the city, a pass or travelling license is 
 necessary. The pass may be obtained during 
 the first month by mere exhibition of this 
 warrant The license, which is good for 
 twelve months may be obtained by applying 
 to the Commissary of Barriers, and the Cap- 
 tain of the District, and afterward to the 
 Government office. These licenses will be 
 iven gratis to declared paupers, to lads un- 
 er 16 who may come from Spain in search 
 of work, to the shipwrecked, and to military 
 men, or other functionaries sent by govern- 
 ment upon some transient mission. 
 
 “Any person who arrives without a pass- 
 port, or who neglects to comply with the 
 above instructions, will be liable to a fine of 
 at least ten dollars. 
 
 “ No stranger can reside in the island 
 more than three months without obtaining a 
 letter of domicil, which he will apply for by 
 memorial through the Consul of his nation. 
 
 “No position excuses any person, what- 
 ever may be his rank or nation, from the ob- 
 servance of the laws of the government or 
 the existing police regulations.” 
 
 This document bears the signatures of 
 three officials, or it may be of none ; for 
 either may attach to it merely his rubrica , 
 which an American school boy would 
 call a flourish, and which is so important 
 a matter among the Spaniards that it is a 
 legal signature without a name, while a 
 name without a rubrica would he looked 
 at with suspicion, to say the least. For 
 this permit the Spaniard pays one dollar ; 
 the foreigner two. We gladly pay the 
 fee, and in our thankfulness to get on 
 shore press a double gratuity upon our 
 chamber-man, who with alacrity leans 
 over the side and shouts “ bolero ! ” 
 
 Ere the permit had reached us, the sun 
 was high in the heavens, and as we look 
 down upon the boats which now swarm 
 around the steamer, the water seems to 
 glow and sear the eyeballs like molten 
 iron. Every object looks yellow, and is 
 surrounded by a quivering halo of heat. 
 The stunted verdure upon the hills which 
 shut in the harbor, has a jaundiced hue. 
 It is not parched ; for it is of the vegetable 
 salamander species, and would not wilt 
 were it transplanted to the well-known 
 
A Glance at Havana. 
 
 189 
 
 1853.] 
 
 hothouse of D. E. Yil, Esqr. ; but it 
 wears its unhealthy look with a natural 
 air, which seems to say that even vegeta- 
 ble life in this country is in some myste- 
 rious way dependent upon the action of 
 torpid livers. 
 
 Among the motley fleet of boats, we 
 notice some which are evidently not oc- 
 cupied by Spaniards. What country can 
 have produced those very queer, uncom- 
 fortable looking “customers” who fill half- 
 a-dozen small boats, and who throng that 
 huge barge which slowly approaches us, 
 to that degree that it looks like a huge 
 human hive upon the waters. Restless 
 and eager, they evidently undergo the te- 
 dium of their slow passage with ill-re- 
 strained impatience. Most of them are 
 tall and spare; but save a few who have 
 evidently caught the yellow hue of every 
 thing around them, not one seems want- 
 ing in energy or strength. Lean and 
 haggard as they are, they could evidently 
 sweep all the Spaniards around them 
 from the face of the earth, and find it but 
 a moment’s pastime. Look at their faces, 
 and you will see that they are thinking 
 so now. Yet what scarecrows they are! 
 With long beards and longer hair ; un- 
 kempt, unwashed; with shirts Isabella- 
 color (Isabella was the name of a Span- 
 ish queen who vowed to the Virgin that 
 she would not change her linen for a 
 whole year, and kept her vow) ; their 
 boots of the same color; their trowsers 
 sustained by the attraction of adhesion or 
 by one very conspicuous suspender, and 
 thrust knee deep into their boots ; a dingy 
 red sash about each waist; their upper 
 garment of any shape or no shape, sup- 
 posing it to exist at all ; and hats in speak- 
 ing of which no one could by any possi- 
 bility irritate Moliere’s Dr. Pancrace by 
 saying that they had “ form ; ” every other 
 right hand garnished with a long rifle, 
 each one of them looks like the genius of 
 famine bound upon a desperate expedi- 
 tion for the procurement of needful sup- 
 plies. Whence come they? They came 
 last from yonder steamer which brought 
 them from Chagres whither they came 
 from California. These are the real 
 “ Californians” that you read about. The 
 others that you meet sometimes in Broad- 
 way, or see at Christy’s or the Opera 
 House, are a spurious article : these are 
 the “only original, and all others are 
 counterfeit” Californians. They are the 
 men who go to the new el dorado from 
 the banks of the Mississippi. Mighty 
 hunters they are; but unlike Nimrod, it 
 may reasonably be feared, not always “be- 
 fore the Lord.” They have made what 
 they call “ their pile,” and are returning, 
 most of them to scatter or to double it at 
 
 brag ; others to see the more reputable and 
 more fatal excitement of stock operations ; 
 some have visions of a seat in the Legis- 
 lature, mayhap even in Congress ; some 
 think that they will enter fashionable 
 life ; but hardly one of the haggard, ragged 
 throng has computed carefully the com- 
 fort which a judicious employment of 
 his little gold heap would insure him. 
 But here they come pell-mell. They have 
 worked their way through the compact 
 crowd of little boats to the side of our 
 steamer, which is to take them to New 
 Orleans, — that in which they came being 
 bound for New-York, — and now, with the 
 restless eagerness of Americans, they are 
 beginning to throng up the already over- 
 loaded passage way, which leads in a 
 gently inclined plain up the vessel’s side. 
 To the elaborate and circumlocutory Cas- 
 tilian imprecations of the boatmen, they 
 reply with a directness and intensity 
 which unmistakably declares their Anglo- 
 Saxon lineage, and push as directly and 
 intently forward. The struggling throng 
 upon the passage-way impedes their 
 progress, and straightway, impatient 
 of the delay, which is not of the least 
 real consequence to them, they begin to 
 clamber up the side of the steamer, 
 rifles and all, as if they were boarding 
 her in earnest ; and having reached the 
 upper deck, and gained five minutes 
 which they cannot use, they lean then' 
 rusty beards over the side, and take 
 comfort in seeing their companions thrust 
 aside “the damned Spaniards,” as they 
 themselves have done. But let them 
 pass : we shall meet others just like them 
 in Havana; and just such negroes, too, 
 as, covered only about the loins, their 
 brawny figures reeking with sweat, and 
 glistening in the sun, are toiling down the 
 passage-way under the weight of enor- 
 mous trunks and boxes, which are borne 
 upon their heads, and which would crush 
 the arch which protects any but an Afri- 
 can brain. 
 
 Into this tumultuous, heterogeneous 
 throng we plunge, and gradually descend 
 to the boats. After a confused five min- 
 utes, during which the only idea which 
 attains a distinct form in the mind is, that 
 Spanish boatmen and Californians were 
 the chief cause of the dispersion at 
 Babel, we discover, among a score of 
 claimants, the boatman who first answered 
 the hail of our bed-making friend on 
 board the steamer, and are soon seated in 
 a most unromantic seeming bark, quite 
 like the jolly boat of a Communipaw 
 sloop, with the green extinguisher of an 
 Italian Opera prompter over the stern. 
 This last contrivance is as needful an ap- 
 pendage of an Havana boat as its oars. 
 
190 
 
 A Glance at Havana. 
 
 Without its shelter your boatman might 
 merely row you to the ferry of a famous 
 old fellow-craftsman of his, whose offices 
 few willingly solicit. Our luggage is 
 heaped up around us, and the swarthy 
 oarsman pulls away for the Custom- 
 House. No Revenue officers boarded us 
 to examine our trunks ; and had they done 
 so we would have gained nothing, for 
 boats are allowed to leave or to start from 
 but two places in Havana. One is the 
 Custom-House wharf, the other is much 
 farther up the harbor. Arrived at the for- 
 mer, our luggage is borne past two or three 
 other little sentinels, like those set over 
 us on shipboard, into a large stone-floored 
 hall, open to the air through arches on 
 one side. A solemn and sallow looking 
 gentleman with a pen in his hand, attend- 
 ed by two solemn and sallow gentlemen 
 with pens in their hands, appears and 
 looks solemnly but very courteously into 
 our trunks, and seeing that we are not 
 smugglers and have no revolvers or bowie 
 knives, — for no one is permitted to possess 
 aims in Cuba, without a license to do so, 
 — he says “ bueno /” and having also taken 
 our permits to land from the clerk of the 
 hotel who has secured us, he retires, and 
 we are free of Havana. In the court- 
 yard are huge trucks, drawn by small 
 asses or puny horses; the truck being 
 formed by one or two long heavy beams 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 upon low, cumbrous wheels, quite in the 
 style of those used in Boston. Upon one 
 of these our trunks are placed ; and, re- 
 jecting the offers of half-a-dozen volantes, 
 we choose to walk to our hotel, eager to 
 see somewhat of this strange, quaint look- 
 ing place ; for the view from the water 
 showed us a city so unlike our notions of 
 what we were to see, so oriental in its 
 aspect, that the most torpid curiosity 
 could not fail to be stimulated. 
 
 Before we have well got into the street, 
 however, our attention is forcibly attract- 
 ed to a matter which in fact obtruded it- 
 self upon us before we had set foot on 
 shore. We are led by the nose to con- 
 sider it ; our olfactories compel us to re- 
 mark it. In truth, it may be well questioned 
 by which sense Havana is first perceived. 
 I am rather in favor of the prior claim of 
 the smell. The place is smelt before it is 
 seen. The odor is peculiar, unlike any 
 other ; penetrating and yet not pungent, 
 unpleasant and yet not very offensive at 
 first. Nostrils of naturally acute percep- 
 tions which have been cultivated into ex- 
 quisite powers of discrimination, declare 
 that it is composite in its character ; and 
 pretend to discern in it the odors of gar- 
 lic, of cigar smoke, and of offal. In sup- 
 port of this analysis, it must be admitted 
 that three-fourths of the Habaneros eat 
 garlic three times a day, and cook it in 
 
 PALACE OF TEE CAPTAIN GENERAL. 
 
A Glance at Havana. 
 
 191 
 
 1853.] 
 
 tho open air, — that every body in Havana 
 smokes all the time, save only when they 
 eat and sleep, and that many go to bed 
 with a cigar in their mouths, and put in 
 another before they rise, — and that the 
 only scavengers about the place are the 
 ill-looking turkey-buzzards, half-a-dozen 
 of which may be seen at any time wheel- 
 ing sluggishly through the air. But are 
 not these sensitive, analytical people 
 more nice than wise? Is it not better 
 to consider the odor of the place homo- 
 geneous, and simply say that it smells of 
 Havana ? 
 
 In a minute or two, after walking 
 through what seems to us two narrow, 
 neglected lanes shut in by massive houses 
 on each side, we emerge upon the street 
 which forms one side of the grand plaza, 
 upon which fronts the Palace of the Cap- 
 tain General. It Ls “ grand ” only on suffer- 
 ance ; for but another minute’s walk brings 
 us to the chapel built upon the spot 
 where, according to tradition, Columbus 
 first heard Mass upon the island, and 
 which is opposite one corner of the plaza. 
 This is a very small Grecian building, 
 standing at the end of a court-yard about 
 one hundred feet in depth, the entrance to 
 
 which is through a lofty gate-way sur- 
 mounted with the royal arms of Spain, 
 surrounded with the ever present inscrip- 
 tion, “ Siempre feal isla de Cuba.” The 
 tree under which the temporary altar was 
 said to have been raised by the discoverer, 
 was standing not many years since, but 
 fell in one of the terrible hurricanes which 
 sometimes enliven the torpor of tropical 
 life. The chapel is opened to the public 
 but once a year, and then with great 
 solemnity. 
 
 Not far from it, and partly hidden by 
 the Intendencia or Treasury, which is 
 also upon one side of the plaza standing at 
 right angles with the Palace and the Chapel, 
 is De Soto’s Fort, the first militar3 r work 
 erected upon the island. It was built by 
 the discoverer of the Mississippi to protect 
 the few inhabitants of the place against the 
 buccaneers, when it was little more than 
 a stopping place for the Spanish on their 
 homeward voyages from Mexico ; the 
 shelving shores on one side of its shel- 
 tered harbor affording them much need- 
 ed facilities to careen their slow sail- 
 ing and richly laden barks for the 
 purpose of cleaning their bottoms, cover- 
 ed with weeds and barnacles during their 
 
 chapel of Columbus' first mass. 
 
 tedious cruises. The fort is a small, an- 
 tiquated structure. Its once yellow stones 
 are turned green and gray by age, and are 
 now surmounted with an additional story, 
 itself of no recent date, which is roofed in 
 to be used as barracks. It is approached 
 
 through a Moorish gateway, opposite the 
 middle of the plaza. 
 
 This plaza is laid out with some for- 
 mality ; and is divided with walks diago- 
 nally and at right angles. It is filled with 
 gas lamps, which we see line all the streets. 
 
192 
 
 A Glance at Havana. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 111 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 . m 
 
 '1 
 
 ill 
 
 i 1* 
 
 m 
 
 ' nun 
 
 TWriTT 
 
 mill. 
 
 INTENDENCIA AND DE SOTO’S FOBT. 
 
 and but a short distance off is a fanciful 
 grotto. 
 
 Its embellishments are a little shrub- 
 bery, a few palm and cocoa trees, and 
 a statue of one of those innumerable 
 Ferdinands, with big noses and little 
 brains, who have ridden Spain down 
 the hill, the bottom of which she has 
 nearly reached. The Vice-Royal Pa- 
 lace extends all along one side of this 
 square. It is a building of no claims to 
 architectural beauty. The upper story, 
 which alone is occupied by the Captain- 
 General, projects far over the lower, and 
 is sustained by pillars, making a broad, 
 colonnaded covered way in front. The 
 ground floor is occupied by shops and 
 offices of various kinds. On each side of 
 the principal entrance is a guard-room, 
 in which a dozen little soldiers may be 
 found at any time ; and across the covered 
 way, from two pillars to the two side 
 posts of the door-way, two little sentinels 
 are pacing day and night. 
 
 The Intendcncia is a large building 
 of two stories, with a dark, heavy stone 
 arcade in front, and having upon one 
 corner the square, balustraded, tower- 
 like addition which, when in the harbor, 
 we saw projecting above so many of the 
 larger houses of the city. 
 
 Nothing strikes a stranger in the ap- 
 pearance of Havana more than the color 
 of the buildings. They are universally 
 massive in structure, and very oriental in 
 
 style ; but before these qualities impinge 
 themselves upon the attention, the fact 
 that they are of all the lighter colors of 
 the rainbow, brings a smile upon new- 
 ly arrived Anglo-Saxon lips. The pre- 
 vailing color is light yellow ; but many are 
 light green, some a bright blue, some 
 orange color, some of two, and some of 
 all four of these tints. The first story 
 of a house directly opposite the palace 
 was, in the summer of 1851, a bright 
 salmon color, while the second was of a 
 delicate Marie Louise blue ; now, the first 
 may be apple green, and the second, deep 
 orange. These bright colors, reflecting 
 the beams of a tropical sun, dazzle the 
 eye accustomed to the sober tones of 
 Northern architecture, and add another 
 quiver to the glowing air. W e pass slow- 
 ly along the narrow ways, hugging the 
 wall for the sake of its shade, and won- 
 dering when we shall get through the 
 lanes and into the streets ; and never get 
 farther than the wonder. Havana has no 
 street worthy of the name ; save one, the 
 Calle della Reina, which stretches from 
 the Campo Marte , or Military Square, 
 without the walls, to the noble Paseo 
 Tacon. The houses are separated by a 
 narrow, unpaved alley, which is sometimes 
 garnished with an elevated stone cause- 
 way or “ side-walk,” upon which two 
 persons cannot, by the closest contrivance, 
 stand abreast. Through these narrow 
 ways the volantes and long trucks dash 
 
1853.] 
 
 A Glance at Havana. 
 
 193 
 
 at a reckless pace, and turn the short 
 comers in an unexpected and uncomfort- 
 ably astonishing manner. In one of these, 
 which differs from most of the others 
 through which we have passed, only in 
 being somewhat less dirty, we stop before 
 a huge portal, which is the entrance to 
 our hotel. 
 
 All the houses are built round a court ; 
 but many of the finest are of but a sin- 
 gle story and of enormous height. The 
 drawing-room being always on the street, 
 and in these houses separated from the 
 entrance only by a grating, the volante , 
 which stands always by the door, seems 
 to be in the room ; and in some cases, 
 where the grating is wanting, is actually 
 so. The windows of these houses being 
 so directly on, and almost in the street, 
 that a passenger could thrust his arm 
 through them to its full length, — it must 
 be remembered that they have no sashes — 
 they are protected by enormous gratings 
 of thick iron bars, which bow outward. 
 Were it not for this, so narrow are the 
 ways, and so cumbrous the vehicles, that 
 trucks and volantes would be coming in 
 at window as well as at door. 
 
 The street, if it can be called a street, 
 most occupied with these strange dwell- 
 ings, is the Paseo Isabella II., of which 
 we caught a glimpse when entering the 
 harbor. The Havanese Paseo is some- 
 thing between a pleasure ground and a 
 street. That of Isabella II. is about four 
 hundred feet wide, and nearly a mile 
 
 long. Five or six rows of trees run 
 through its entire length ; between these, 
 are carriage ways. Near one end of the 
 Paseo is a fountain; about the middle 
 stands a small bronze statue of the baby- 
 faced little queen whose name it bears. 
 These are all its monuments ; in which it 
 differs much from the Paseo Tacon, which 
 is filled with sculptured fountains, statues 
 and pillars. The Tacon theatre, a large 
 building of unpretending exterior, is upon 
 this Paseo , which also bounds the Campo 
 Marte on one side. The large prison 
 which we have al ready seen is at one end 
 of it. The Ilabanero’s drive or walk 
 upon the Paseo , answers to the English- 
 man’s in Hyde Park, the Frenchman’s in 
 the Bois de Boulogne , the Berliner’s 
 Unter den Linden , the Viennois upon 
 the Prader , — and the American’s ? — 
 Where is the pleasure ground, the breath- 
 ing space for rich and poor, to which the 
 American goes for an hour’s relaxation 
 and refreshment ? We laugh at the 
 Spaniard, and think him slow ; so slow 
 as to have fallen very far behind the 
 age, because he cannot make railroads, 
 and does not launch clipper-ships, has 
 Frenchmen to build his light-houses and 
 manage them, cliips with axes at bits of 
 yellow stone for twenty years, and turns 
 his drawing-room into a carriage house. 
 But might not the haughty sadness of his 
 face break into its grave and courteous 
 smile with equal reason, as he vainly asks 
 us for our substitute for his Paseo ? 
 
 PASEO ISABELLA II. WITU THE TACON THEATRE. 
 
194 
 
 Feb. 
 
 HAVE WE A BOURBON AMONG US? 
 
 INTRODUCTORY FROM REV. DR. II A HV/S. 
 
 New-Yoek, Jan. 1, 1853. 
 
 My dear Sir, — The narrative which accompanies this note was prepared by the Rev. 
 John H. Hanson, a clergyman of worth and ability, and with his permission is forwarded to 
 you for the pages of your magazine. 
 
 Of the accuracy of Mr. Hanson’s statements it is unnecessary to speak to those who know 
 him ; but for the sake of others, it may be well to say that his character and standing are 
 such as to justify entire confidence in any thing he relates as coming within his personal 
 knowledge. 
 
 To tliis I may add that I have seen the documents which he states to be in his possession, 
 and know that he has correctly related what he heard from Mr. Williams ; for much of it 
 was repeated in my presence ; beside which, Mr. Williams has heard read all that is in the 
 narrative, and has told me that, so far as his statements are given, they are correctly related 
 by Mr. Hanson. 
 
 As to Mr. Williams himself, I know him very well. He is a clergyman of the Protestant 
 Episcopal Church whose labors have been, almost entirely, those of a missionary among the 
 Indians. He is in good standing as a clergyman, and is deemed a man of truth among liis 
 acquaintance and those with whom he has longest lived. As his character for veracity be- 
 comes an all-important question, in considering the very remarkable facts contained in the 
 narrative, Mr. Hanson took great pains in his inquiries on that point ; and to that end made 
 a A sit to the spot where Mr. Williams had spent many years of his life, and was best known ; 
 the result was abundant and satisfactory testimonials, now in Mr. Hanson’s possession, that 
 Mr. Williams has always been deemed a worthy and truthful man. I can add to this merely 
 my statement that in all my intercourse with him, I have never found reason to doubt the 
 correctness of his neighbor and acquaintance in their testimony to his character as stated 
 above. * 
 
 From persona] knowledge, I am able to say that there is a remarkable simplicity both of 
 manner and character about Mr. Williams. He possesses an ordinary share of intellectual 
 power ; with but little quickness, however, of combination, in grouping facts that bear on 
 a common central point, and without much readiness in deducing conclusions from them ; 
 and is incapable of framing a mass of circumstantial testimony, made up of a combination 
 of many isolated facts. To do this, requires genius, and a high inventive faculty. 
 
 Indeed, nothing has struck me more forcibly in my frequent conversations with him on 
 the facts embodied in Mr. Hanson’s narrative, than his seemingly entire non-perception of 
 the bearing of many of the facts as testimony, and their coincidence with other events known 
 to him, until these were pointed out to him. And sometimes he could not at first be made 
 even then, to comprehend readily the indicated relations. When, however, he did com- 
 prehend the relations, his countenance would light up with a smile, and he would say, “I see 
 it now, but I never saw it before.” 
 
 I have found him uniformly amiable, and gentle in manner, and to all appearance a truly 
 pious man. 
 
 In short, a knowledge of the man has seemed to me to be an important part of the story 
 he tells ; his temperament, disposition, mental operations, &c., all go to establishing one of 
 the facts explanatory of some particulars in the narrative. 
 
 Whether the historical problem presented by Mr. Hanson be here solved, is a matter 
 ■which I will not undertake to decide. The only points of which I would speak with cer- 
 tainty are two: — first, Mr. Williams is not an Indian ; and secondly, he is not able to invent 
 a complicated mass of circumstantial evidence to sustain a fabricated story. 
 
 No matter, however, what may be the conclusions of your readers, there is interest 
 enough in the narrative to repay the trouble of a perusal. 
 
 Tours very truly, Francis L. Hawks 
 
 George P. Putnam, Esq. 
 
Have ice a Bourbon among us ? 
 
 195 
 
 1853.] 
 
 A T the moment that the star of the 
 Bonapartes is culminating, there is a 
 sad and solemn interest in looking back at 
 the dynasty which preceded in the gov- 
 ernment of France. The House of Bour- 
 bon ascended the throne in the person of 
 the great but unfortunate Henry IV., in 
 the year 1588, but with such undeviating 
 accuracy were the warp and woof of des- 
 tiny woven, that although the last reign- 
 ing prince of that line came to the crown 
 in virtue of five applications of the Salique 
 law, he yet combined in his person all 
 claims legal and natural of the Capetine 
 race, and was the true lineal heir of Hugh 
 Capet, whose reign began a. d. 987, and 
 thus brought the imperial drama of 800 
 years, rounded and perfect to its tragical 
 close. 
 
 Louis XVI. espoused Marie Antoinette 
 Josephe Jeane of Austria, a sister of 
 Joseph II., of the Queen of Naples, and of 
 the Duchess of Parma ; daughter of the 
 Emperor Francis I., by Maria Theresa, 
 Queen of Hungary and Bohemia. This 
 event occurred in 1770. On the 10th 
 May, 1774, Louis ascended the throne. 
 Marie Therese Charlotte, the first child 
 of the royal but ill-fated pair, was born 
 Dec. 1778 ; a second child who died early, 
 was born 1781, and Charles Louis, the 
 Dauphin of revolutionary history, came 
 into the world March 25th, 1785. 
 
 The sad history of this child, his beauty, 
 his virtues and his sufferings, are familiar 
 to all. After his separation from his fe- 
 male relatives, and the death of his mother 
 in 1793, he was consigned to the care of 
 Simon the cobbler. By him, he was treated 
 in a manner which disgraced humanity ; 
 cold, hunger, filth, sleeplessness, beating, 
 abuse, terror, reduced him to a condition 
 of idiocy. After the fall of Robespierre, 
 and the execution of Simon, his sufferings 
 were alleviated. Under the Convention, 
 a course of timid treachery succeeded to 
 the open brutalities of Robespierre and St. 
 Just. The existence of Louis XVII. was 
 a sore trial for the republicans, who at 
 the same time could frame no excuse, even 
 to themselves, for putting him to death. 
 In Dec. 1794, a decree was passed in the 
 Convention, “ that the committee of gov- 
 ernment should devise the means of send- 
 ing the son of Louis out of the territories 
 of the republic.” On the 9th June, 1795, 
 it was reported to the Convention that he 
 was dead. Three surgeons testified to his 
 death, which was attributed to scrofula. 
 The Duchess D’Angouleme, his sister, 
 gives, from report, in her memoirs, the 
 particulars attending his decease. 
 
 Now, did Louis XVII. really die in 
 1795 as was reported at the time, and 
 generally believed since, or is he still alive 
 
 and in the State of New-York? If the 
 following statements, which I am author- 
 ized by the individual chiefly concerned 
 to make, seem marvellous, let me remind 
 the reader that the remote and individual 
 consequences of such an event as the 
 French Revolution, can scarcely fail to be 
 so, and should no more surprise us than 
 the brilliancy of meteors torn from shat- 
 tered worlds. 
 
 I observed, about two years ago, a 
 paragraph in the papers, stating that facts 
 had recently come to light, which rendered 
 it probable that the Rev. Mr. Williams, 
 of Green Bay, Wisconsin, was no other 
 than Louis XVII. ; but as the circumstan- 
 ces on which the statement was based 
 were not mentioned, except that he bore a 
 strong resemblance to the Bourbon fami- 
 ly, my curiosity was excited, and I made 
 fruitless inquiries in many quarters, find- 
 ing no one who could give me the slightest 
 clue to the mystery. In the summer of 
 1851, being then a resident at Waddington. 
 on the banks of the St. Lawrence, in the 
 State of New-York, 1 heard that the Rev. 
 Eleazer Williams had returned from the 
 West to St. Regis, a well-known Indian 
 village, a few miles distant, but my in- 
 formant was unacquainted with his his- 
 tory. I then purposed to pay Mr. Williams 
 a visit at St. Regis, but was prevented by 
 circumstances from doing so, and as I 
 was about to remove, regretted that I 
 should leave northern New-York without 
 obtaining an interview. Accident, how- 
 ever, threw him in my way. Upon en- 
 tering the cars, on the Ogdensburg rail- 
 road, on my way to New-York, in the au- 
 tumn of 1851, I observed a somewhat 
 stout old gentleman, talking to two In- 
 dians in their own language, in a very 
 animated manner, and was much interest- 
 ed in watching the varied play of their 
 countenances while listening to him. He 
 appeared to be very eloquent, used much 
 gesticulation, and worked his hearers into 
 a state of excitement more remarkable, 
 when compared with the usual stolid ex- 
 pression of the Indian face. A gentleman 
 on the seat before me, who was also watch- 
 ing the singular group, said, “ He must be 
 a half-breed,” for we were all surprised at 
 the freedom with which one of evidently 
 European figure and face, spoke the Indian 
 tongue. It then occurred to me that it 
 was Williams, and on my saying so, and 
 mentioning the mystery connected with 
 his name, the gentleman who had first 
 spoken rose, and asked the conductor, who 
 confirmed my supposition. On hearing 
 this, I introduced myself to Mr. Williams 
 as a brother clergyman, apologizing for 
 not having paid him a visit. I found him 
 friendly and easy of access. lie said that 
 
196 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us ? 
 
 he had been trying to convince his Indian 
 friends, who were members of the Roman 
 communion, of their errors, and that the 
 poor fellows were much interested in 
 what he had advanced. He was going to 
 Burlington, Vermont, and from thence to 
 Boston, and as our route lay down Lake 
 Champlain, wg took the steamer together 
 at Rouse’s Point. When we were seated 
 on the deck, I told him that I had seen a 
 statement in the newspapers, which had 
 excited my curiosity, and should feel 
 obliged, if it was not intrusive, by being- 
 informed if he believed the story of his 
 royal origin, and upon what evidence the 
 extraordinary claim was based. He re- 
 plied that the subject was painful to him, 
 nor could he speak of it unmoved, but that 
 he would with pleasure, give me the re- 
 quired information. “ There seems to me,” 
 I then said, “one simple and decisive test 
 of the truth of your claim, 1 mean, your 
 memory of your childhood. If you have al- 
 ways lived among the Indians, you cannot 
 forget it, and if you are the lost Dauphin, 
 it seems scarcely credible that, being at 
 the time of your mother’s death more than 
 eight years of age, you could have passed 
 through the fearful scenes of the revolu- 
 tion, without a strong impression of the 
 horrors attendant on your early years. 
 Have you any memory of what happen- 
 ed in Paris, or of your voyage to this 
 country ? ” 
 
 “ Therein,” he replied, “ lies the mys- 
 tery of my life. I know nothing about 
 my infancy. Every thing that occurred 
 to me is blotted out, entirely erased, irre- 
 coverably gone. My mind is a blank until 
 thirteen or fourteen years of age. You 
 must imagine a child who, as far as he 
 knows any thing, was an idiot, destitute 
 even of consciousness that can be remem- 
 bered until that period. He was bathing 
 on Lake George, among a group of Indian 
 boys. He clambered with the fearlessness 
 of idiocy to the top of a high rock. He 
 plunged down head foremost into the 
 water. He was taken up insensible, and 
 laid in an Indian hut. Lie was brought to 
 life. There was the blue sky, there were 
 the mountains, there were the waters. 
 That was the first I knew of life.” 
 
 As it is important to compare the state- 
 ments of personal feelings, given to dif- 
 ferent persons by Mr. Williams, I may 
 mention here, that a gentleman of the 
 bar, of high standing, whose opinions I 
 shall frequently refer to, recently said to 
 me — “ I must do him the justice of say- 
 ing. that he never pretended to know any 
 thing personally of what occurred in his 
 childhood ; but he said, however, that 
 after the plunge in Lake George, his mind 
 seemed to recover its tone and soundness. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 and a good many images of things came 
 back, but without any possibility of giving 
 them name and place.” He then told me 
 an incident of startling and dramatic in- 
 terest. A gentleman of distinction, on 
 his recent return from Europe, in an in- 
 terview with Mr. Williams, threw some 
 lithographs and engravings upon the table, 
 at the sight of one of which, and without 
 seeing the name, Williams was greatly 
 excited, and cried out : Good God ! I 
 know that face. It has haunted me 
 through life,’ or words to that effect. On 
 examination, it proved to be the portrait 
 of Simon, the jailer of the Dauphin. 
 
 SIMON. 
 
 But to proceed with the conversation 
 on the steamboat. “ When then and how,” 
 I continued, “did you come to entertain 
 the idea which 3-011 now do, concerning 
 your birth? What is there to confirm 
 it ?” 
 
 “ I was always under the impression,” he 
 replied, “ that I was at least parti}' of Indian 
 extraction, until the time that the Prince 
 de Joinville came to this country. One of 
 the first questions that he asked on his 
 arrival in New-York was, whether there 
 was such a person known as Eleazer Wil- 
 liams, among the Indians in the northern 
 part of the State ; and after some inqui- 
 ries, in different quarters, he was told that 
 there was such a person, who was at 
 that time a Missionary of the Protestant 
 Episcopal Church, at Green Bay, Wiscon- 
 sin, and he was advised to apply for further 
 information to some prominent members of 
 the church, in the city. He accordingly 
 applied to Mr. Thomas Ludlow Ogden, 
 who, at the Prince’s request, wrote to me. 
 stating that the Prince was then in the 
 country, and before his return to France, 
 would be happy to have an interview with 
 me. I replied to Mr. Ogden, that I should 
 be exceedingly happy to see the Prince at 
 an} r time. I was much surprised with 
 his communication ; but supposed howev- 
 er, that as I had resided a long time in 
 the West, and had been chaplain to Gen. 
 
1853.] 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us ? 
 
 197 
 
 Taylor, he might desire some local infor- 
 mation, which I could give him as readily 
 as most men. Some time elapsed, and I 
 heard nothing more on the subject, which 
 was beginning to fade from my mind, 
 when one day, while on board a steamer 
 on Lake Michigan, I had an interview with 
 the Prince, who shortly after, at Green 
 Bay, revealed the secret of my birth.” 
 
 Mr. Williams then proceeded to give 
 me many of the incidents connected with 
 this memorable interview ; but, as I have 
 within a few days past, drawn from him an 
 account, in every way more circumstantial, 
 of all that occurred, I will postpone fur- 
 ther particulars until the subject recurs 
 in the order of events. 
 
 To return again to our conversation. 
 “ Is your reputed mother,” I inquired, 
 “ living, — the Indian woman who brought 
 you up ? Is it not easy to ascertain from 
 her, whether or not you are her child ? 
 What does she say upon the subject ? ” 
 
 “ My reputed mother,” he said, “ is still 
 living at a very advanced age. She is 
 now at Caughnawaga. I ought, as soon as 
 the Prince told me the secret of my birth, 
 to have returned to the East and seen her. 
 But I unfortunately neglected to do so for 
 some time, and when I did come, I found 
 that the Romish Priests had been tamper- 
 ing with her, and that her mouth was 
 hermetically sealed. Since I have been 
 at St. Regis, I have learned from the In- 
 dians, that the priests said to her ‘ Sup- 
 pose that this man should prove to be heir 
 to a throne on the other side of the Great 
 Salt Lake, what injury may he not do to 
 the church. He has been brought up a 
 Protestant, and if he obtained sovereign 
 power it would be the ruin of many souls. 
 You must therefore say nothing one way 
 or the other, but keep entirely silent.’ 
 And so all my efforts to extract any thing 
 from her were unavailing. Her immov- 
 able Indian obstinacy has hitherto been 
 proof against every effort I could make. 
 But I have not given up hope yet, and 
 will try her again. When asked the direct 
 question, Is Eleazer Williams your son ? 
 she will neither answer yes nor no — but 
 keeps her mouth shut, and seems indif- 
 ferent to what is said. When hard 
 pressed indeed on one occasion, she has 
 been known to say, ! Do you think that 
 Eleazer is a bastard?’ but that was all. 
 If however the question is put to her in 
 an indirect form, she will begin in the 
 monotonous manner in which ignorant 
 people repeat a story in which they have 
 been drilled by others, and have told for 
 years in one way, to give a list of her 
 children, and the dates of their birth, 
 bringing in my name at a particular place. 
 But we have had the Baptismal register 
 
 at Caughnawaga examined, and the priest 
 was made to certify to it, and though the 
 names of all the rest of her children are 
 recorded there, together with the dates of 
 their birth and baptism, mine does not 
 occur there; and the births of the children 
 follow so closely upon each other at regu- 
 lar intervals, of two years between each, 
 that it does not seem naturally possible I 
 could have been her child, unless I was 
 twin to some other child whose birth and 
 baptism are recorded while mine are not — 
 a thing which, when we take into conside- 
 ration the exactness and fidelity with 
 which such things are transacted in the 
 church of Rome, does not seem probable, 
 and scarcely possible. The silence of the 
 Baptismal register may therefore be 
 deemed conclusive proof that this Indian 
 woman is not my mother. 
 
 “ And then comes in,” continued Wil- 
 liams, “evidence of a different description. 
 A French gentleman died at New Orleans, 
 in 1848, named Belanger, who confessed 
 on his death-bed that he was the person 
 who brought the Dauphin to this country, 
 and placed him among the Indians, in the 
 northern part of the State of New-York. 
 It seems that Belanger had taken a 
 solemn oath of secresy, alike for the pre- 
 servation of the Dauphin, and the safety 
 of those who were instrumental in effect- 
 ing his escape, but the near approach of 
 death, and the altered circumstances of 
 the times, induced him to break silence 
 before his departure from the world. He 
 died in January 1848. Now the person 
 who had charge of the Dauphin after the 
 death of Simon, stabbed a man in a politi- 
 cal quarrel in Fi ance, and fled for safety. 
 He it was I suppose who, with the assist- 
 ance and connivance of others, carried 
 the youth with him to the Low Countries, 
 and thence to England. He must have 
 changed his own name for greater security, 
 crossed the Atlantic, and after depositing 
 him with the Indians, gone to Louisiana 
 and there lived and died. 
 
 “ The next link in the evidence is yet 
 more singular. A French gentleman 
 hearing my story, brought a printed ac- 
 count of the captivity of the Dauphin, 
 and read me a note in which it was stated, 
 that Simon the jailer having become in- 
 censed with the Prince for some childish 
 offence, took a towel which was hanging 
 on a nail, and in snatching it hastily drew 
 out the nail with it, and inflicted two 
 blows upon his face, one over the left eye, 
 and the other on the right side of the nose. 
 And now, said lie, let me look at your 
 face. When he did so, and saw the scars 
 on the spots indicated in the memoirs he 
 exclaimed, ; Mon Dieu — what proof do 
 I want more ?’ 
 
198 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us ? 
 
 But that is not all,” he continued. 
 “ In the same memoirs it is said, that the 
 Dauphin died of scrofula, and that the 
 disease was on his knees. My knees are 
 eaten up with scrofula, and there are no 
 other scrofulous marks on my body. 
 Such are the main points of evidence on 
 which my claim rests, and you may judge 
 of their strength — and further I can only 
 refer you to the alleged resemblance be- 
 tween me and Louis XVIII. and the 
 Bourbon family in general. I remember 
 a gentleman put his hand over the name 
 attached to a picture of Louis XVIII., and 
 asked a friend whose portrait it was, 
 1 That of Mr. Williams,’ was the reply. 
 I have somewhat of a curiosity in my va- 
 lise, and will show it you if you would 
 like to see it. It is a dress of Marie An- 
 toinette. It was given me by a person 
 who bought it in France, and who hearing 
 my story, and considering me the rightful 
 owner, made me a present of it.” 
 
 He then went forward, opened his va- 
 lise and returned with a small bundle 
 under his arm, which he carried into the 
 upper saloon for the sake of privacy. It 
 is of course impossible to say whether 
 the dress which he showed me is what it 
 is asserted to be, but from its appearance 
 it certainly may be so. It was a magni- 
 ficent but somewhat faded brocade silk. 
 It had been taken to pieces, and consisted 
 of a skirt, back piece, stomacher, and train 
 ten or twelve feet in length. The waist 
 was very slender. There is pleasure in 
 believing in the truth of memorials of the 
 past, and I cannot envy the critical cold- 
 ness of one who would ridicule me for 
 surrendering myself, under the influence 
 of the scene, to the belief, that the strange 
 old gentleman before me, whose very 
 aspect is a problem, was son to the fair 
 being whose queenly form that faded 
 dress had once contained, as she moved 
 noblest and loveliest in the Halls of Ver- 
 sailles ; and that in childish beauty and 
 innocence, the heir of crowns, and the 
 hope of kingdoms, the observed of all ob- 
 servers, he had rested fondly against its 
 silken folds when the living loveliness of 
 Marie Antoinette was within it. Howev- 
 er I am not writing Romance, but a mat- 
 ter-of-fact account of an adventure on a 
 steamboat. 
 
 I now proceeded to scrutinize more 
 closely the form, features and general 
 appearance of Mr. Williams, and to re- 
 examine the scars on his face. He is an 
 intelligent, noble-looking old man, with no 
 trace , however slight, of the Indian about 
 him except what may be fairly accounted 
 for by his long residence among Indians. 
 Being far more familiar with their lan- 
 guage than -with English, which latter he 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 speaks correctly and even eloquently as 
 far as style is concerned, but pronounces 
 imperfectly; his manner of talking reminds 
 you of an Indian, and he has the habit of 
 shrugging his shoulders and gesticulating 
 like one ; but he has the port and pres- 
 ence of an European gentleman of high 
 rank ; a nameless something which I never 
 saw but in persons accustomed to com- 
 mand ; a countenance bronzed by expo- 
 sure below the eyebrows ; a fair, high, 
 ample, intellectual but receding forehead ; 
 a slightly aquiline but rather small nose ; 
 a long Austrian lip, the expression of 
 which is of exceeding sweetness when in 
 repose ; full fleshy cheeks but not high 
 cheek bones ; dark, bright, merry eyes 
 of hazel hue ; graceful, well-formed neck ; 
 strong muscular limbs, indicating health 
 and great activity ; small hands and feet, 
 and dark hair, sprinkled with gray, as 
 fine in texture as silk. I should never 
 have taken him for an Indian. Some 
 persons who saw him several years ago 
 tell me that their impression is that be 
 looked partially like one. but admit that 
 their opinion may have been influenced 
 by their having been previously told that 
 he was of Indian extraction. I will here 
 insert a description of him by another 
 hand, furnished me by Mr. Williams. 
 “ His complexion is rather dark, like that 
 of one who had become bronzed by living 
 much in the open air, and he passes for a 
 half-breed. But his features are decidedly 
 European, rather heavily moulded, and 
 strongly characterized by the full, protu- 
 berant Austrian lips. This the experi- 
 enced observer is well aware is never 
 found in the aboriginal, and very rarely 
 among the Americans themselves. His 
 head is well formed, and sits proudly on 
 his shoulders. His eyes are dark but not 
 black. His hair may be called black, is 
 rich and glossy and interspersed with 
 gray. His eyebrows are full, and of the 
 same color — upon the left is a scar. His 
 beard is heavy and nose aquiline. The 
 nostril is large and finely cut. His tem- 
 perament is genial with a dash of vivacity 
 in his manners, he is fond of good living, 
 and inclines to embonpoint, which is the 
 characteristic of his (the Bourbon) family.” 
 While refolding the dress of the poor 
 queen, I asked him if he could account 
 for the conduct of the Prince de Joinville 
 in disclosing so important a secret as that 
 of his royal birth, and requesting him to 
 give up rights previously unknown to 
 him, and which without information de- 
 rived from the Prince he would have had 
 no means of ascertaining. He replied in 
 substance that it might indeed seem 
 strange. The only satisfactory explana- 
 tion which he would suggest was that al- 
 
1353.] 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us ? 
 
 190 
 
 though lie was personally ignorant of his 
 origin, yet there were those both in Eu- 
 rope and this country who were acquaint- 
 ed with it, and that Louis Philippe being 
 at that time anxious to fortify his family 
 in power by every possible means, con- 
 tracting alliances with other royal lines of 
 Europe, yet knew that in him existed an 
 obstacle which might possibly prevent the 
 accomplishment of all his designs, and 
 had therefore perhaps delegated his son 
 to reveal the fact to him so as to escape 
 the consequences of its coming to light 
 some other way. However I may add 
 that at this interview Mr. Williams posi- 
 tively declined stating all that passed be- 
 tween him and the Prince de Joinville. 
 “ I do not trouble my mind,” he contin- 
 
 ued, “ much about the matter, otherwise 
 I might easily render myself unhappy by 
 repining at the will of God. But 1 sub- 
 mit myself entirely to His will. My 
 story is on the winds of Heaven, and will 
 work its way without me. They have 
 got it in France. Copies of my daguer- 
 reotype have been sent to eminent men 
 there. God in His providence must have 
 some mysterious ends to answer, or He 
 never would have brought me so low 
 from such a height. He has cast my lot 
 among this poor Indian people, and I have 
 ministered and will minister to them, if it 
 please Him until death. I don’t want a 
 crown. I am convinced of my royal de- 
 scent; so are my family. The idea of 
 royalty is in our minds, and we will never 
 
 REV. ELEAZER WILLIAMS. 
 From a Daguerreotype. 
 
 relinquish it. You have been talking,” 
 he concluded, smiling between jest and 
 earnest, “with a king to-night. Come, 
 let us go down stairs, and I will show 
 you something else.” He then went 
 again to his valise and took out some mi- 
 niatures and a daguerreotype. “ There is 
 the picture of Madame,” he said, putting 
 into my hands the miniature of a very 
 
 beautiful young lady. “ That was how 
 my wife looked when I married her. And 
 there,” giving me another, “ is my like- 
 ness at the same time. I suppose you 
 know who that is,” he continued, taking- 
 back the miniatures and giving me a da- 
 guerreotype. It was his likeness such as 
 he now is, but having a broad band fas- 
 tened by an ornamented cross* passed over 
 
 * The cross represented in the engraving was among the coins and other articles referred to hereafter as 
 1 laving been left with the child. The engraving scarcely does justice to Mr. Williams, or brings out the re- 
 semblance to the Bourbons. It is from a daguerreotype taken from life by Brady, in December, 1852. 
 
200 
 
 Have ive a Bourbon among us? 
 
 the shoulder as worn by European princes. 
 In the daguerreotype the lights and 
 shadows of his marked and expressive 
 face are brought fully out, and the sun’s 
 pencil makes him look every inch a king. 
 Strange indeed, if a St. Regis Indian could 
 be the original of such a portrait drawn 
 by so unfailing an artist. The steamboat 
 by this time was drawing near to Bur- 
 lington, and Williams employed the few 
 moments that remained, in describing his 
 situation at St. Regis. He said that hav- 
 ing left his wife in the West he was living 
 alone in a little hut, almost destitute of 
 the necessaries of life, without books, 
 without companions, except the Indians, 
 and that he occupied his time in teaching 
 a few children. 
 
 The boat stopped — he hurried down, 
 and I parted with him. 
 
 On arriving in New-York I made in- 
 quiries concerning the ecclesiastical stand- 
 ing of Mr. Williams, and found that there 
 was a difficulty of determining to what ju- 
 risdiction he belonged, resulting from his 
 having been sent out as missionary to 
 Green Bay previous to the formation of the 
 Diocese of Wisconsin, and the consecration 
 of Bishop Kemper, who found him on the 
 field, but without dimissory letters from 
 the Bishop of New-York. Distance and 
 the lapse of time made the authorities of 
 New-York unwilling to recognise him as 
 one of the clergy of this Diocese, and thus 
 one who perhaps has flowing in his veins 
 the blood of Capet and St. Louis, Henri 
 Quatre and Louis le Grand, Maria The- 
 resa and Marie Antoinette, though a mi- 
 nister of Christ was a rejected wanderer. 
 Bishop Kemper has, however, determined 
 that he does not belong to his jurisdic- 
 tion, and the standing committee of New- 
 York conceiving that he must have some 
 belongings have acknowledged him as a 
 clergyman of this diocese. 
 
 My interview with Mr. Williams soon 
 had the effect of bringing unexpected evi- 
 dence to light. I repeated to many per- 
 sons our conversation, and among others 
 to the Rev. Dr. Hawks, at whose request 
 I embodied in a letter to him the substance 
 of what Williams had said. On reading 
 this, in the presence of some friends, 
 among whom was Dr. J. W. Francis, this 
 gentleman related the following circum- 
 stances known to himself. 
 
 In the year 1794, 5 or 6, a French gen- 
 tleman, named Le Ray de Chaumont, came 
 to this country from France, and settled 
 at Rosse, in St. Lawrence county, where 
 he bought lands, and lived in great opu- 
 lence until about twenty years ago, when, 
 in the year 1832, at the accession of Louis 
 Philippe, he returned to France, and, as I 
 have lately learned, went to his father’s 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 chateau, at Chaumont. It is not known 
 whether or not he be still living. His son 
 married an American lady, but it is be- 
 lieved they have all removed. From in- 
 quiries recently made I find that Le Ray, 
 as he was familiarly called in St. Lawrence 
 county, had much to do with the Indians 
 both at Ogdensburg and St. Regis; mixed 
 himself up a great deal with politics, and 
 was accused, justly or not I do not know, 
 of plotting with the Indians against the 
 government of the United States. He 
 lived in the vicinity of the spot in which 
 Williams was reared, from the time in 
 which it is supposed that the Dauphin 
 was brought to this country until his own 
 return to France. 
 
 Now, in the year 1818, there was a 
 social party at the house of Dr. Hosack, 
 in New-York. There were present, Dr. 
 Macneven. Counsellor Sampson, Thomas 
 Cooper, of Carlisle, Count Jean D’Angeley, 
 Dr. John W. Francis, and the French Mi- 
 nister, Genet. Of these Dr. Francis alone 
 survives. In the course of conversation, 
 the subject of the Dauphin was intro- 
 duced, and the inquiry was started as to 
 his fate. At length Genet distinctly said, 
 “ Gentlemen, the Dauphin of France is 
 not dead, but was brought to America .” 
 The conversation on this interesting sub- 
 ject was continued for some time, and 
 Genet informed the company, among other 
 things, that he believed the Dauphin was 
 in Western New-York, and that Le Ray 
 de Chaumont knew all about it. 
 
 From every thing which I can ascer- 
 tain of Le Ray, he was the very man to 
 be mixed up in an affair of this kind, and 
 there is every probability that on his re- 
 turn to France he communicated with 
 Louis Philippe, and this may have led to 
 the mission of the Prince de Joinville. 
 But even before this time, it seems likely 
 that communication was had with France 
 on the subject. Dr. Francis states that 
 in the year 1817, Count Real, Prefect of 
 Paris, and Count Jean D’Angeley, were in 
 this country together, and in conference 
 with Le Ray de Chaumont, and there is 
 reason to suspect, from the peculiarities of 
 the case, that their visit to this country 
 had some reference to the Dauphin. 
 
 By those who have hitherto paid atten- 
 tion to this mysterious subject, it has 
 been supposed that the young Prince was 
 smuggled into this country by his friends, 
 and hidden away among the Indians to con- 
 ceal him from the Jacobins. But the cir- 
 cumstances just stated throw great fight on 
 the whole affair, and render the story, to 
 my mind, more probable. It does not seem 
 likely that the friends of the Prince would 
 be able to rescue him without the con- 
 nivance of his enemies, and when we bear 
 
Have we a Bourbon among us ? 
 
 201 
 
 1853.] 
 
 in mind the decree of the Convention in 
 1794, and the desire of those then in 
 power in France to get rid of him without 
 bloodshed, it seems every way likely that 
 individuals in both parties would have 
 a hand in the transaction, and keep an 
 eye upon the movements of the Dauphin. 
 In after years other motives would come 
 into operation, and the various claimants 
 to the throne would use eveiy effort to 
 suppress the knowledge of the fact, or 
 provide against the consequences of it 
 when divulged. 
 
 Such was nearly the amount of my in- 
 formation on this subject until a few 
 weeks ago, when I opened a correspond- 
 ence with Mr. Williams, and received se- 
 veral letters from him. I afterwards went 
 to St. Lawrence county, in order to see him 
 — complete my knowledge of details, and 
 make inquiries, which can only be success- 
 fully made on the spot. His temporary 
 absence on missionary service deprived 
 me of the pleasure of seeing him, but I 
 obtained full insight into his position, es- 
 timation in the neighborhood, and other 
 things necessary to the formation of a 
 correct judgment. He is missionary at 
 St. Regis and Hogansburg, both miserable 
 lonely places, receiving no payment from 
 the Indians among whom he labors, and 
 but a small stipend from the Missionary 
 Committee. The rigors of the climate 
 are excessive ; the thermometer being fre- 
 quently 30° below zero, and one can 
 scarcely conceive a situation for an intelli- 
 gent mind more lonely, more unfriended, 
 more destitute. He lives on the Indian 
 reservation, a wild tract of woodland, 
 partially cleared, here and there, at the 
 edges. Dead evergreen swamps, decayed 
 vegetation, rude fences, half prostrate, 
 surround the rickety shed, admitting the 
 cold at a thousand crevices, in which re- 
 side poor Williams and the old Indian 
 woman, his reputed mother, whom he 
 heroically treats as if she were his pa- 
 rent, though believing himself to be the son 
 of the peerless Marie Antoinette.* I found 
 him well spoken of without exception, by 
 all whom I conversed with in the vicin- 
 ity, — a good neighbor, an active mission- 
 ary, a brave, cheerful old man, having a kind 
 word for all, and breasting fate with no-- 
 thing outward to encourage him. He has 
 no church building. He is trying to build 
 a school-house on the Indian reservation, 
 
 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 but it stands roofless in the piercing cold, 
 the picture of desolation. 
 
 The impression among all who know 
 him, whether white persons or Indians, 
 is, that he is not an Indian ; and I con- 
 ceive no fact in the world to be more cer- 
 tain than this. A respectable neighbor 
 gave me a certificate, from which the fol- 
 lowing is an extract : “ I was brought 
 
 up at Iloga'nsburg, and have served in the 
 army, as a private, in Florida, under 
 General Worth. I have known Indians 
 of various tribes, especially the Seminoles 
 and the Iroquois. I have known Indians as 
 long as I have known white men. I am 
 personally acquainted with the Rev. Elea- 
 zer Williams, and have known him since 
 my childhood. I do not believe him to 
 be an Indian. He is entirely unlike the 
 rest of his family. I knew his supposed 
 brothers. They bore no resemblance to 
 Eleazer. He looks like a German or a 
 Frenchman. They were evident^ In- 
 dians. I know an Indian as well as a 
 cow or a horse.” An intelligent Indian, 
 who spoke English, said, “ He speaks 
 very good Indian ; but he is not like any 
 Indian I ever saw. When I first met 
 him, I took him for an American. He is 
 as much like a Frenchman as any thing.” 
 Ilis former landlady, at Hogansburg, said, 
 “I don’t know whether he is Indian or 
 
 * The above sketch of Marie Antoinette is made from a daguerreotype of an original picture, now in the 
 possession of the Rev. M. II. Henderson, of Newark, N. J., painted by Aug. Wertmuller, chief painter to the 
 King of Sweden, and afterwards to the Court of France. The picture was unfinished when the revolution 
 broke out, and Wertmuller fled to this country, where he resided during the years '93 and '94. lie returned 
 to Sweden, and figain came to America in ‘98, and was married to Miss Henderson in a. d. 1S00. He resided 
 at Naaman’s Creek, in Delaware, and was buried in the Swedish Church, Philadelphia. Mr. Henderson has 
 another picture, by Westinuller, of a lady with marked Austrian features, whose eyes and upper lip bear a 
 close resemblance to those of Mr. Williams, and also a portfblio of Wertmuller, covered with old state papers, 
 to one of which is appended the signature of Louis XV I. 
 
 VOL. I. — 14 
 
202 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us ? 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 not. He does not look like one. If I 
 had not heard that he was one, I should 
 not suppose that he was any more than 
 you. He is not like any of his family. 
 All the other children are dead.” And I 
 may add, they all died of consumption. 
 I found that the fact of the absence of his 
 name from the baptismal register, at 
 Caughnawaga, is undoubted. Mr. Wil- 
 liams has a certified copy from the record 
 at Green Bay, and the ltev. Francis Mar- 
 cou, Romish priest at St. Regis, lately 
 acknowledged the omission to the Hon. 
 Phineas Atwater, formerly Indian agent, 
 but endeavored to account for it by say- 
 ing that he was privately baptized on ac- 
 count of sickness, which certainly is no 
 reason why his baptism should not have 
 been registered. 
 
 The history of the Indian family by 
 whom he was adopted is as follows: 
 The Rev. John Williams, of Deerfield, 
 Mass., and his family, were captured bj r 
 the Indians about 1704, and carried by 
 the French and Indians to Canada, near 
 Montreal. They all returned, probably 
 ransomed, to Deerfield, except one daugh- 
 ter, Eunice, who remained and married an 
 Indian chief named Turroges ; to him she 
 bore two daughters and a son. The 
 daughters were named Mary and Cathe- 
 rine, and the son, John. Mary married 
 an English surgeon, named Ezekiel Wil- 
 liams. They had one son, Thomas, their 
 only child. His father died when Thomas 
 was six months old. He was taken care of 
 by his mother’s sister, Catherine. Thomas 
 was considered an Indian of the Iroquois 
 tribe, by virtue of his descent from his 
 grandfather, and attached himself to them, 
 entirely renouncing civilized life. He 
 married a full-blooded Indian woman, 
 and had eleven children besides Eleazer, 
 who was reputed to be, and brought up as 
 his son. All the undoubted children of 
 Thomas Williams were strongly-marked 
 Indians, notwithstanding the white blood 
 in their veins. They bore not the slightest 
 resemblance to Eleazer. He was sent to a 
 school at Long Meadows, Mass., and put 
 under the care of Mr. Ely. The books 
 of this gentleman have been carefully ex- 
 amined, and it has been found that the 
 board and tuition of Eleazer were regu- 
 larly paid every six months, and with 
 great promptness, showing a mercantile 
 attention, and proving that a man of exact 
 business habits must have been the agent 
 through whom the payments were made. 
 But I am assured by a gentleman who 
 knew him well, that Thomas Williams 
 had not the means himself to pay the 
 schooling of the boy ; and if he had, 
 would have been the last man in the 
 world to remit the money with any punc- 
 
 tuality. It is not known who was the 
 agent employed ; but it is probable that 
 proper examination would develope the 
 fact, and bring to light the source from 
 whence he obtained the money. It is 
 probable that Mr. John Bleeclcer, of Al- 
 bany, who had much dealing with the 
 Indians, was the agent, and his papers 
 are in existence, but in great confusion, 
 and his relatives are unwilling that they 
 should be examined. If Belanger was 
 the person who sent the funds to this 
 agent, his name or some clue to the trans- 
 action, will probably be discovered. That 
 Belanger visited Albany, is almost cer- 
 tain, from the remarkable fact, that while 
 a youth, Mr. Williams remembers that a 
 Frenchman came to him, showed him 
 great affection, and wept over. him. How 
 strange must have been the feeling of 
 Belanger (if it were he) at the sight of the 
 low estate to which his sovereign was re- 
 duced, and what an inexpressible burden 
 must he have borne in his breast through 
 life ! Young Eleazer having begun his ed- 
 ucation late in consequence of idiocy, con- 
 tinued at his studies until the breaking 
 out of the war, in 1812, between Great 
 Britain and the United States, at which 
 time he was under the tuition of the Rev. 
 Mr. Ilale, of West Hampton, Mass. He was 
 then 27 years of age. At the request of 
 both the national and state government, 
 he took tip arms, was considered as a con- 
 fidential agent and superintendent-general 
 of the Northern Indian Department. 
 “ Much will depend upon your zeal and 
 activity as an Indian chief in that section 
 of the country, which is the principal 
 theatre of the war,” said the Secretary of 
 War, in a communication addressed to 
 him at this time. He accordingly con- 
 tinued actively employed, and fought, 
 among other places, at the battle at 
 Plattsburg, where he was wounded in 
 1814. 
 
 General Cass, writing from Detroit, 
 under date of December 5, 1830, to the 
 Hon. John H. Eaton, then Secretar}' of 
 War, respecting Indian affairs, says : 
 
 “ Col. Strambaugh is determined to revive 
 the affairs of the agency, and leave no 
 means in his power untried to place them in 
 a situation commensurate with their impor- 
 tance. He should have a Winnebago, a 
 Menomene and an Oneida interpreter, to- 
 gether with one sub-agent at the Bay and 
 one up the Fox river. The latter is already 
 filled, but should any event render the ap- 
 pointment vacant, I beg leave to recommend 
 the Rev. Eleazer Williams as a proper person 
 to fill the vacancy. This gentleman is an Epis- 
 copal clergyman of very respectable stand- 
 ing. and partly descended from the Iroquois 
 Indians. He rendered essential services to 
 
1853.] 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us ? 
 
 203 
 
 the United States during the late war, in 
 which lie was actively engaged and badly 
 wounded, the effects of which will probably 
 continue during life. I understand that he 
 enjoyed the confidence of our highest and 
 most distinguished officers,* and bravely led 
 a heavy column at the battle of Plattsburg. 
 He is a gentleman of education and talents, 
 and from his position and associations can 
 render important services to the Government 
 and the Indians.” 
 
 During the war, having occasion fre- 
 quently to visit Albany, he became ac- 
 quainted with Lieut. Governor Taylor, 
 and his rector, the Rev. Dr. Clowes, and 
 also with the Rev. Dr. Butler, of Troy, 
 by whom his attention was drawn to the 
 Protestant Episcopal church, and on the 
 cessation of hostilities he obtained an in- 
 troduction to Bishop Hobart, who took 
 the earliest opportunity of recommending 
 him to the Society for the Advancement 
 of Christianity in the Diocese of New- 
 York. Governor Taylor was then acting 
 as principal Indian agent, and in his fre- 
 quent interviews with the Oneidas he ad- 
 vised them to invite Mr. Williams to offi- 
 ciate as lay reader, which they accordingly 
 did with Bishop Hobart’s sanction. This 
 was in March, 1816, and he remained at 
 Oneida until 1822. For a time every 
 thing went on pleasantly between him 
 and the Indians, but as it was the policy 
 of the General and State Government to 
 remove the portion of the tribe resident 
 at Oneida to Green Bay, and Mr. Wil- 
 liams, after resisting for some time the 
 course proposed, felt himself impelled by 
 duty to coincide in it, chiefly in view of 
 the Indian lands being so diminished by 
 repeated sales to the State, as to render 
 residence at Oneida no longer practicable, 
 in which opinion Bishop Hobart also con- 
 curred ; he was unjustly accused of am- 
 bition, and disregard for the true inter- 
 ests of the tribe, by a portion of the 
 Indians who were hostile to removal. 
 About half the Oneidas accompanied him 
 to Green Bay, where he remained until 
 his ordination by Bishop Hobart in 1826, 
 which took place at Oneida. A particular 
 account remains of the solemnities on the 
 occasion. The only surviving clergy then 
 present, are the Rev. Dr. Anthon of St. 
 Marks, and the Rev. Mr. Treadway, of Ma- 
 lone. In the year 1823, he had mar- 
 ried Miss Mary Hobart Jourdan, of Green 
 Bay. a relative of Marsha) Jourdan, one 
 of Bonaparte’s officers, by whom he had 
 two daughters and a son, of whom only 
 the latter, whose name is John, survives. 
 His present age is 29. The Rev. Mr. 
 Williams enjoyed the full confidence of 
 
 Bishop Hobart, who rarely mistook his 
 man, to the last, and was still residing 
 near Green Bay when De Joinville visit- 
 ed him in 1841. and embittered the re- 
 maining years of his life by the revela- 
 tion of his proud and princely origin. 
 After the Prince de Joinville left the 
 West he wrote several letters to Mr. 
 Williams. And after his return to France 
 Louis Philippe condescended to snatch a 
 leisure moment from the cares of govern- 
 ment and the intrigues of state, to write 
 an autograph letter to the humble mis- 
 sionary of the Prot. Epis. Church among 
 the Indians in Wisconsin, thanking him 
 for his attention to the Prince de Joinville. 
 
 And now to come back to the State of 
 New-York. When the child was brought 
 over from Europe, and left with Thomas 
 Williams in the neighborhood of Albany 
 in Nov. 1795, by the agent, whoever he 
 was — for so far I regard from the infor- 
 mation I have recently obtained, to be 
 exceedingly probable — two boxes of 
 clothing and other things by which he 
 could be hereafter identified, were left 
 with him. All this, and what follows, 
 the old Indian woman has confessed. One 
 of these boxes has been carried off by 
 a daughter of Thomas Williams, and 
 cannot now be recovered. The other 
 there is every reason to suppose is still in 
 Montreal, but efforts are made in certain 
 quarters to conceal it. In this box were 
 three coins or medals, one of gold, one of 
 silver, and one of copper — fac-similes of 
 each other — being the medals struck at 
 the coronation of Louis XVI. and Marie 
 Antoinette. The gold and silver medals 
 being of value, were sold by the Indians 
 in Montreal. The copper one was retained 
 and is now in my possession. The gold 
 medal has also been seen in the pos- 
 session of a Romish Bishop at Montreal 
 or Quebec. The probability that these 
 traces of the Dauphin are to be found in 
 Montreal is increased by the proximity of 
 Caughnawaga to that city. Caughnawaga 
 is a straggling Indian village on the St. 
 Lawrence opposite Lachine, and within 
 sight of Montreal. It consists, besides a 
 number of scattered huts, of two long- 
 narrow streets varying considerably in 
 width. The houses are low and shabby, 
 most of them of wood, but some of dark 
 stone. The masonry is of the rudest kind. 
 A Roman Catholic church, a solid stone 
 building of some slight pretensions to ar- 
 chitecture, stands in the middle of one of 
 the streets. In looking at the dingy houses, 
 the narrow streets, the crowd of little Indian 
 children, and considering the loneliness of 
 the spot in former years before railroads 
 
 * Generals Dearborn, Bloomfield, Pike, WilkinsoD Hampton, Macomb, Mooers, and Governor Tompkins. 
 
204 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us ? 
 
 and steamboats had brought it into connec- 
 tion with the busy world, one cannot help 
 feeling' how secure a hiding-place for the 
 poor scion of royalty this village presented. 
 And the same remarks apply more strong- 
 ly still to St. Regis, which lies on the pre- 
 sent boundary between Canada and the 
 U. S. But from these secluded spots the 
 Indians, who partake much of the charac- 
 ter and roving habits of the Gipsy, wander 
 forth over the surrounding country, selling 
 baskets, and bartering whatever of value 
 comes into their possession. Those who 
 placed the Dauphin among the Indians, 
 might be sure that the tomb could scarcely 
 be a more secret shelter ; but at the same 
 time if they desired to identify him, as the 
 leaving of these relics would intimate, they 
 could have had little hope that the habits 
 of the Indians would permit the retention 
 of any traces of royalty. 
 
 Having obtained all the information I 
 could without seeing Mr. Williams, I re- 
 turned to New-York. On the 7th of Decem- 
 ber, I received a note from him, stating that 
 he was in the city. Upon calling at his ho- 
 tel, I found that having heard ofmy journey 
 to the north, he had come to New-York to 
 see me. lie accompanied me to the stud}' 
 of Dr. Hawks, in whose presence he con- 
 firmed the statements which he had pre- 
 viously made to me. In the course of 
 the conversation which took place between 
 us at my house, I drew from him a de- 
 tailed account of the interview between 
 him and the Prince de Joinville, alluded 
 to in the early part of this narrative, to 
 which I will now proceed, merely premis- 
 ing that although given in an uninter- 
 rupted form, it was in a great measure 
 elicited by dint of questioning and cross- 
 questioning, so as to obtain all the parti- 
 culars concerning the value of which Mr. 
 Williams did not seem to be sufficiently 
 aware ; but there is no thought or fact 
 which he did not express, and the lan- 
 guage as near as a retentive memory can 
 give it, is in his own words, though some- 
 what condensed. After describing the 
 correspondence between him and Mr. 
 Thomas L. Ogden, whose letter on the 
 occasion he has among his papers, and re- 
 affirming strongly the fact that the Prince 
 had made inquiries concerning him imme- 
 diately on his arrival in the country, he 
 said in substance as follows : 
 
 “ In Oct., 184-1, I was on my way from 
 Buffalo to Green Bay, and took a steamer 
 from the former place bound to Chicago, 
 which touched at Mackinac, and left me 
 there, to await the arrival of the steamer 
 from Buffalo to Green Bay. Vessels which 
 had recently come in announced the speedy 
 arrival of the Prince de Joinville : public ex- 
 pectation was on tiptoe, and crowds were on 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 the wharves. The steamer at length came 
 in sight, salutes were fired and answered, 
 the colors run up, and she came into port in 
 fine style. Immediately she touched, the 
 Prince and his retinue came on shore and 
 went out some little distance from the town, 
 perhaps half a mile, to visit some natural 
 curiosities in the neighborhood — the Sugar- 
 Loaf Rock and the Arch Rock. The 
 steamer awaited their return. During their 
 absence I was standing on the wharf among 
 the crowd, when Capt. John Shook, now at 
 Huron, Ohio, who will confirm my state- 
 ment, came up to me and asked whether I 
 was going on to Green Bay, adding that the 
 Prince de Joinville had made inquiries of 
 him concerning a Rev. Mr. Williams, and 
 that he had told the Prince he knew such a 
 person, referring to me, whom he supposed 
 was the man he meant, though he could not 
 imagine what the Prince could want with 
 or know of me. I replied to the Captain in 
 a laughing way, without having any idea 
 what a deep meaning was attached to my 
 words, ‘ 0, I am a great man, and great 
 men will of course seek me out.’ Soon 
 after the Prince and his suite arrived and 
 went on board. I did the same, and the 
 steamer put to sea. It vkas, I think, about 
 2 o’clock when we left Mackinac. When 
 we were fairly out on the water, the Captain 
 came to me and said, ‘The Prince, Mr. Wil- 
 liams, requests me to say to you that he 
 desires to have an interview with you, and 
 will be happy either to have you come to 
 him, or allow me to introduce him to you.’ 
 ‘Present my compliments to the Prince,’ I 
 said, ‘ and say that I put myself entirely at 
 his disposal, and will be proud to accede to 
 whatever may be his wishes in the matter.’ 
 The Captain again retired, and soon returned 
 bringing the Prince de Joinville with him. 
 I was sitting at the time on a barrel. The 
 Prince not only started with evident and in- 
 voluntary surprise when he saw me, but 
 there was great agitation in his face and 
 manner — a slight paleness and a quivering 
 of the lip — which I could not help remarking 
 at the time, but which struck me more forci- 
 bly afterwards in connection with the whole 
 train of circumstances, and by contrast with 
 his usual self-possessed manner. He then 
 shook me earnestly and respectfully by the 
 hand, and drew me immediately into con- 
 versation. The attention which he paid me 
 seemed to astonish not only myself and the 
 passengers, but also the Prince’s retinue. 
 At dinner time there was a separate table 
 laid for the Prince and his companions, and 
 he invited me to sit with them and offered 
 me the seat of honor by his side. But I was 
 a little abashed by the attentions of the 
 Prince, and there was an American officer 
 who had attached himself to the party and 
 behaved in an obtrusive and unbecoming 
 manner, which seemed to annoy them, and 
 indeed one of the Prince’s companions had 
 expressed to me his disgust at his behavior. 
 So I thought I would keep out of the 1 circle, 
 and begged the Prince to excuse me, and 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us? 
 
 205 
 
 permit me to dine at the ordinary table with 
 the passengers, which accordingly I did. 
 After dinner the conversation turned be- 
 tween us on the first French settlements in 
 America, the valor and enterprise of the 
 early adventurers, and the loss of Canada to 
 France, at which the Prince expressed deep 
 regret. In the course of his remarks, though 
 in what connection I cannot now say, he told 
 me that he left his suite at Albany, took a pri- 
 vate conveyance and went to the head of Lake 
 George. He was very copious and fluent in 
 speech, and I was surprised at the good 
 English which he spoke — a little broken in- 
 deed, like mine, but still very intelligible. 
 We continued talking late into the night, re- 
 clining in the cabin, on the cushions in the 
 stern of the boat. When we retired to rest, 
 the Prince lay on the locker and I in the 
 first berth next to it. The next day the 
 steamer did not arrive at Green Bay until 
 about 3 o’clock, and during most of the 
 time we were in conversation. Looking 
 back thoughtfully upon what was said, I can 
 now perceive that the Prince was gradually 
 preparing my mind for what was to come at 
 last, although then the different subjects 
 seemed to arise naturally enough. At first 
 he spoke of the condition of affairs in the 
 U. S„ and on the American Revolution. 
 He expressed admiration for our institutions, 
 and spoke at large of the assistance which 
 had been rendered to the Colonies in the 
 struggle with the mother country, by Louis 
 XVI. He said that he did not think sufficient 
 gratitude was evinced by Americans to that 
 monarch, and that whenever his intervention 
 was alluded to, it was attributed to selfish 
 motives, and to a desire to humble the power 
 of England on this continent by depriving 
 her of her fairest colonial possessions, but 
 that in his opinion Louis XVI. felt a true re- 
 gard for America, and that on every return 
 of the Fourth of July, when throughout the 
 U. S. the nation was celebrating its in- 
 dependence, there should be an especial 
 salute fired to the memory of the King who 
 had contributed so much to the result. 
 Such was the substance of what was said by 
 the Prince on that subject. He then turned 
 to the French Revolution, and said that 
 Louis XVI. was innocent of any tyrannical 
 designs toward the people of France, and 
 that nothing which he did personally could 
 justify or excuse the excesses of the Revolu- 
 tion, that the last foundations of that event 
 were laid in the preceding reign, and that 
 the misconduct and misgovernment of Louis 
 
 XV. were chargeable with the sad events 
 which occurred to a very great extent, al- 
 though the storm had been slowly brewing 
 for centuries. The people of France, though 
 they had no just cause to complain of Louis 
 
 XVI. , yet had a right to do so, of the op- 
 pressive institutions then existing, of the 
 tyranny of the aristocracy, and the burdens 
 laid on them by the Church. He then re- 
 ferred to the changes which had since taken 
 place in the form of government, and to the 
 present amelioration of the condition of the 
 
 French people under an elective monarchy. 
 On our arrival at Green Bay, the Prince 
 said that I would oblige him by accompany- 
 ing him to his hotel, and taking up my 
 quarters at the Astor House. I begged to 
 be excused, as I wished to go to the house 
 of my father-in-law. He replied that he 
 had some matters of great importance to 
 speak to me about, and as he could not stay 
 long at Green Bay, but would take his de- 
 parture the next day, or the day after, he 
 wished I would comply with his request. 
 As there was some excitement consequent 
 on the Prince’s arrival, and a great number 
 of persons were at the Astor House waiting 
 to see him, I thought I would take advan- 
 tage of the confusion to go to my father-in- 
 law’s, and promised to return in the evening, 
 when he would be more private. I did so, 
 and on my return found the Prince alone 
 with the exception of one attendant, whom 
 he dismissed. The gentlemen of his party 
 were in an adjoining room laughing and ca- 
 rousing, and I could distinctly hear them 
 during my interview with the Prince. He 
 opened the conversation by saying that he 
 had a communication to make to me of a 
 very serious nafure as concerned himself, 
 and of the last importance to me, — that it 
 was one in which no others were interested, 
 and therefore before proceeding further, he 
 wished to obtain some pledge of secresy, 
 some promise that I would not reveal to any 
 one what he was going to say. I demurred 
 to any such conditions being imposed previ- 
 ous to my being made acquainted with the 
 nature of the subject, as there might be 
 something in it after all prejudicial and inju- 
 rious to others, and it was at length after 
 some altercation agreed that I should pledge 
 my honor not to reveal what the Prince was 
 going to say, provided there was nothing in 
 it prejudicial to any one, and I signed a pro- 
 mise to this effect on a sheet of paper. It 
 was vague and general, for I would not tie 
 myself down to absolute secresy, but left 
 the matter conditional. When this was 
 done, the Prince spoke to this effect : 
 
 “You have been accustomed, sir, to con- 
 sider yourself a native of this country ; but 
 you are not. You are of foreign descent ; 
 you were born in Europe, sir, and however 
 incredible it may at first seem to you, I have 
 to tell you that you are the son of a king. 
 There ought to be much consolation to you 
 to know this fact. You have suffered a 
 great deal, and have been brought very 
 low, but you have not suffered more, or 
 been more degraded than my father, who 
 was long in exile and poverty in this 
 country ; but there is this difference between 
 him and you, that he was all along aware 
 of his high birth, whereas you have been 
 spared the knowledge of your origin.” 
 
 When the Prince had said this I was 
 much overcome, and thrown into a state of 
 mind which you can easily imagine. In fact 
 I hardly knew what to do or say, and my 
 feelings were so much excited that I was 
 like one in a dream, and much was said be- 
 
206 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us? 
 
 tween us of which I can give hut an indis- 
 tinct account However, I remember that I 
 told him that his communication was so 
 startling and unexpected that he must for- 
 give me for being incredulous, and that 
 really I was “ between two.” 
 
 “ What do you mean,” he said, “ by being 
 ‘between two? ’ ” 
 
 I replied that on the one hand, it scarcely 
 seemed to me that he could believe what he 
 said, and on the other I feared he might be 
 under some mistake as to the person. He 
 assured me, however, that he would not 
 trifle with my feelings on such a subject, 
 but that he spoke the simple truth, and that 
 in regard to the identity of the person, he 
 had ample means in his possession to satisfy 
 me that there was no mistake in that respect. 
 I then requested him to proceed with the dis- 
 closure already partly made, and to inform 
 me in full of the secret of my birth. He 
 replied that in doing so, it was necessary 
 that a certain process should be gone through 
 in order to guard the interest of all parties 
 concerned. I inquired what kind of pro- 
 cess he meant Upon this the Prince rose 
 and went to his trunk, which was in the 
 room, and took from it a parchment which 
 he laid on the table, and set before me that I 
 might read and give him my determination 
 in regard to it There was also on the table 
 pen and ink and wax, and he placed there 
 governmental seals of France, the one, if I 
 mistake not, used under the old monarchy. 
 It was of precious metal, but whether of 
 gold or silver, or a compound of both, I can- 
 not say. I think, on reflection, the latter; but 
 I may be mistaken, for my mind was so be- 
 wildered, and agitated, and engrossed with 
 one absorbing question, that things which 
 at another time would have made a strong 
 impression on me were scarcely noticed, al- 
 though I must confess that when I knew the 
 whole, the sight of the seal put before me by 
 a member of the family of Orleans, stirred 
 my indignation. The document which the 
 Prince placed before me was very hand- 
 somely written, in double parallel columns 
 of French and English. I continued in- 
 tently reading and considering it for a space 
 of four or five hours. During this time the 
 Prince left me undisturbed, remaining for 
 the most part in the room, but he went out 
 three or four times. The purport of the 
 document, which I read repeatedly word by 
 word, comparing the French with the Eng- 
 lish, was this : It was a solemn abdication 
 of the crown of France in favor of Louis 
 Philippe, by Charles Louis, the son of Louis 
 XVI., who was styled Louis XVII., King of 
 France and Navarre, with all accompanying 
 names and titles of honor according to the cus- 
 tom of the old French monarchy, together with 
 a minute specification in legal phraseology of 
 the conditions, and considerations, and pro- 
 visos, upon which the abdication was made. 
 These conditions were in brief that a princely 
 establishment should be secured to me either 
 in this country or in France, at my option, 
 and that Louis Philippe would pledge him- 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 self on his part to secure the restoration, or 
 an equivalent for it, of all the private pro- 
 perty of the royal family rightfully belong- 
 ing to me, which had been confiscated in 
 France during the Revolution, or in any 
 way got into other hands. Now you may 
 ask me why I did not retain, at all hazards, 
 this document, or, at any rate, take a copy 
 of it ; but it is very easy for you, sitting 
 quietly there, to prescribe the course which 
 prudence and self-interest would dictate. 
 A day or two afterwards all these points, 
 and the different lights in which the thing 
 might be viewed, came to my mind, but at 
 the moment I thought of nothing except the 
 question of acceptance or rejection. And 
 then remember the sudden manner in which 
 the whole affair came upon me, and the na- 
 tural timidity and .bashfulness of one who 
 had always considered himself of such ob- 
 scure rank, when called without preparation 
 to discuss such topics with a man of high 
 position like the Prince. Besides which, 
 my word of honor had been so recently and 
 solemnly pledged, and a sense of personal 
 dignity excited by the disclosures of the 
 Prince, that I never so much as thought of 
 taking any advantage of the circumstances, 
 but simply and solely whether or not I 
 should sign my name, and set my seal to a 
 deliberate surrender of my rights and those 
 of my family. It was a deeply painful and 
 harrowing time, and I cannot tell you, and 
 you cannot imagine, how I felt when trying 
 to decide this question. At length I made 
 my decision, and rose, and told the Prince that 
 I had considered the matter fully in all its 
 aspects, and was prepared to give him my 
 definite answer upon the subject ; and then 
 went on to say, that whatever might be the 
 personal consequences to myself, I felt that I 
 could not be the instrument of bartering away 
 with my own hand the rights pertaining to 
 me by my birth, and sacrificing the interests 
 of my family, and that I could only give 
 to him the answer which de Provence gave 
 to the ambassador of Napoleon at Warsaw, 
 “ Though I am in poverty and exile I will not 
 sacrifice my honor.” 
 
 The Prince upon this assumed a loud tone, 
 and accused me of ingratitude in trampling 
 on the overtures of the King, his father, who 
 he said was actuated in making the proposi- 
 tion more by feelings of kindness and pity 
 towards me than by any other consideration, 
 since his claim to the French throne rested 
 on an entirely different basis to mine, viz., 
 not that of hereditary descent, but of popular 
 election. When he spoke in this strain I 
 spoke loud also, and said that as he, by his 
 disclosure, had put me in the position of a 
 superior, I must assume that position, and 
 frankly say that my indignation was stirred 
 by the memory that one of the family of Or- 
 leans had imbrued his hands in my father’s 
 blood, and that another now wished to ob- 
 tain from me an abdication of the throne. 
 When I spoke of superiority, the Prince 
 immediately assumed a respectful attitude, 
 and remained silent for several minutes. 
 
Have we a Bourbon among us? 
 
 1853.] 
 
 It had now grown very late, and we parted, 
 with a request from him that I would 
 reconsider the proposal of his father, and 
 not be too hasty in my decision. I re- 
 turned to my father-in-law’s, and the next 
 day saw the Prince again, and on his re- 
 newal of the subject gave him a similar 
 answer. Before he went away he said, 
 ‘Though we part, I hope we part friends.’ 
 For years I said little on the subject, until I 
 received a letter from Mr. Kimball dated at 
 Baton Rouge, informing me of the dying 
 statements of Belanger, and then when this 
 report came from the South confirming what 
 the Prince had said, the thing assumed a dif- 
 ferent aspect. This letter is, I think, among 
 my papers at Green Bay, but for years I 
 have kept a minute journal of every thing 
 which has occurred to me, and have no 
 doubt an abstract of it at Hogansburg. Our 
 conversation to-night will go down.” 
 
 I was much struck with the little value, 
 in point of evidence, which Mr. Williams 
 seems to have attached to the Prince’s 
 asserted disclosures. After giving me the 
 above account, however, he added — “I see 
 more and more, that the matter rests be- 
 tween the Prince and myself, and I am 
 quite willing that it should. I have been 
 in hopes that some movement would be 
 made in Europe in my favor ; but, as you 
 say, the affair must be begun here, and I will 
 let the world know all. The Prince can- 
 not deny what I say, and my impression 
 is that he will keep entirely silent.” 
 
 “ But silence will be equivalent to con- 
 fession.” 
 
 “ It will be so.” 
 
 I then asked Mr. Williams if he had 
 been acquainted with Le Ray de Chau- 
 mont. during his residence in St. Lawrence 
 County, and if any thing had ever occur- 
 red between them, which would tend to 
 prove that he had a knowledge of the 
 Dauphin being in this country. He 
 replied, that he had only, to the best 
 of his recollection, seen Le Ray once, 
 in the month of January or February, 
 1819 or 1820, when a conversation to 
 this effect occurred between them. 
 Williams was at that time a resident 
 at Oneida, among the Indians. In 
 this place there also lived a Colonel de 
 Ferrier, formerly an officer of the body 
 guard of Louis XVI., who had fled from 
 France during the Revolution, and mar- 
 ried an Indian woman, who is still living. 
 Le Ray inquired of Williams concerning 
 the health and welfare of De Ferrier, add- 
 ing that he had been a great sufferer in 
 the royal cause : that the King’s family 
 had been widely scattered ; but that, not- 
 withstanding all the misfortunes of De 
 Ferrier, he was no greater sufferer than a 
 member of the royal family, whom both 
 Colonel de Ferrier and he believed to 
 
 207 
 
 be in this country. Now this remark 
 of Le Ray’s affords the strongest confir- 
 mation to the statement of Dr. Francis ; 
 for it is scarcely in human nature, that if 
 he were acquainted with the secret of 
 Williams’ birth, he should have omitted 
 all reference to it ; while at the same time, 
 the remoteness of the allusion is perfectly 
 in keeping with the character of the man 
 and the nature , of his position. And then, 
 too, it is certainly a remarkable fact, that 
 one of the body guard of Louis XVI. 
 should live, not only among the Indians, 
 but at Oneida ; to which place, by those 
 shapings of fortune which are often the 
 work of those about us, even when our 
 acts seem most voluntary, the steps of 
 Williams had been directed. There can 
 be little doubt that De Ferrier was ex- 
 pressly put among the Oneidas to keep 
 watch over him. 
 
 About the same time, another remark- 
 able incident occurred. Williams having 
 been idiotic at thirteen years of age, had, 
 when he recovered his reason, no predilec- 
 tion in favor of Romanism, and being sent 
 to Massachusetts for education, became a 
 Protestant while residing with Mr. Ely. 
 In August, 1818, the Rev. Joseph Marcoux, 
 the present Romish priest at Caughnawaga, 
 gave Williams a letter of introduction to a 
 Monsieur Dufresne, then living in the vil- 
 lage, and afterwards both of them gave 
 him letters to a Mr. Richards, of Montreal, 
 formerljr a Methodist minister, who had 
 become a convert to the Romish Church, 
 and who was probably chosen on account 
 of his speaking both French and English 
 fluently. These introductions were not 
 solicited by Williams, but came voluntar- 
 ily from Marcoux and Dufresne. Richards 
 spoke to him on religious subjects, and 
 said that, provided he would return to the 
 bosom of the Romish Church, enter the 
 ministry, and take some station, either at 
 Quebec or Montreal, Monsieur Duplesses, 
 then Bishop of Quebec, would, after a 
 few months, qualify him for orders, and 
 give him the best parish in his diocese, in 
 city or country, at his option. The offer 
 was of course refused. But during their 
 interviews, Mr. Richards said to him, in a 
 manner which at the time did not excite 
 his suspicions, that although Joseph Mar- 
 coux believed him to be an Indian, he did 
 not, and also told him that the Abbe "de 
 Colonne, brother to Colonne the French 
 Minister, believed the Dauphin to be liv- 
 ing, and that Bishop Chevreuse of Boston, 
 in the year 1807, had made attempts to 
 discover the Prince. Now, concerning 
 Bishop Chevreuse, the following curious 
 incident occurred : about 1806, Williams 
 went to Boston with Mr. Ely, to whose 
 care he had been committed at Long Mea- 
 
208 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us? 
 
 dows, and who was at that time a member 
 of the Legislature. They boarded with an 
 Irish Roman Catholic gentleman. As Ely 
 was a great admirer of the music in the 
 Romish Church, they all went there. A few 
 days after, the Irishman introduced Wil- 
 liams to Chevreuse, then only a priest, and 
 rector of the church, as an Indian youth 
 who was receiving an education, mention- 
 ing his supposed descent from Williams, 
 the captive ; whereupon, Chevreuse in- 
 quired whether there were many descend- 
 ants of European captives still among the 
 Indians, and children of French Canadians 
 adopted into Indian families. He replied, 
 there were. Chevreuse then asked if he 
 had ever heard of a French boy. who had 
 been brought from France, having been 
 adopted by the Indians. The reply was 
 “ no.” “ Now it was curious,” said Wil- 
 liams, “that he was making these in- 
 quiries of the very person of whom he was 
 in search.” • 
 
 On questioning him concerning the 
 Frenchman, who is said to have visited 
 him in childhood, Mr. Williams said, in 
 effect as follows : 
 
 That after the restoration of his reason, 
 about the year 1799, his reputed father went 
 from Caughnawaga, as usual, with his family, 
 in the month of September, to hunt in the 
 vicinity of Lake George. While encamping 
 on the shores of the lake, with other Indian 
 families, two strange gentlemen came to visit 
 Thomas Williams, one of whom had every 
 indication of being a Frenchman, from his 
 dress, manners, and language; for he re- 
 members understanding a few, words, suffi- 
 cient to know that he spoke in French. He 
 had on a ruffled shirt, and his hair was pow- 
 dered, and bore to him a very splendid ap- 
 pearance. When the gentlemen first came 
 in sight, Williams and the other boys of the 
 family were sporting on the lake, in a little 
 wooden canoe, and saw them, in company 
 with Thomas Williams, take their seats on 
 a log, at a little distance from the wigwam. 
 As their curiosity w T as excited, to know who 
 these strangers were, they left their canoe 
 and strolled slowly to the encampment, when 
 Thomas Williams called out, “Eleazer, this 
 friend of yours wishes to speak with you.” 
 As he approached, one of the gentlemen rose 
 and went off to another Indian encampment, 
 and the other one, who appeared to be a 
 Frenchman, advanced several steps to meet 
 him, embraced him most tenderly, and when 
 he again sat down on the log made the boy 
 stand between his legs. In the mean time 
 he shed abundance of tears, said “Pauvre 
 gar§on,” and continued to embrace him. 
 Thomas Williams was soon after called to the 
 wigwam, and Eleazer and the Frenchman 
 were left alone. The latter continued to 
 kiss him and weep, and spoke a great deal, 
 seeming very anxious that he should under- 
 stand what was said, which he was unable 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 to do. When Thomas Williams returned to 
 them, he asked Eleazer whether he under- 
 stood what the gentleman said to him, and 
 he replied “No.” They then both left him, 
 and walked off in the direction in which the 
 other gentleman had gone ; who, though he 
 cannot speak certainly, yet on comparing his 
 other recollections with those of this time, 
 he is of opinion was Thomas Bleeker, the 
 Indian interpreter. The gentlemen came the 
 next day to the wigwam, and the Frenchman 
 remained several hours. Thomas Williams 
 took him out in a canoe on the lake, and the 
 last which Mr. Williams remembers was their 
 all sitting together on the log, when the 
 Frenchman took hold of his bare feet and dusty 
 legs, and examined his knees and ankles close- 
 ly. Again the Frenchman shed tears, but 
 young Eleazer was quite indifferent, not 
 knowing what to make of it. Before the 
 gentleman left, he gave him a piece of gold. 
 After a few days, Thomas Williams, contrary 
 to bis usual custom, returned to Caughna- 
 waga, instead of remaining for his winter 
 hunt at Lake George. The cause of this visit 
 he can only conjecture, but thinks it proba- 
 ble, that after the restoration of his mind, 
 Thomas Williams had informed Belanger of 
 the fact, and that he came to make arrange- 
 ments respecting his education. Shortly 
 after this incident, while the family of Tho- 
 mas Williams were at Caughnawaga, Na- 
 thaniel Ely, of Long Meadows, at the request 
 of some of the members of the European 
 branches of the Williams family, asked 
 Thomas to let him have some of his,boys for 
 education ; Eleazer was lying in bed in the 
 same room with his supposed parents, and as 
 they imagined, asleep. Thomas strongly 
 urged a compliance with the request, but 
 his wife objected to let any of the children 
 go for education among heretics, lest they 
 should peril their souls. But when he per- 
 sisted in the demand, she said, “If you will 
 do it, you may send away this strange boy ; 
 means have been put into your hands for 
 his education, but John I cannot part with.” 
 Her willingness to sacrifice him, and the gen- 
 eral tenor of the conversation, excited suspi- 
 cions in his mind as to belonging to their 
 family, but they passed soon away. It was 
 decided that both he and John should go; 
 but while Mr. Ely’s books show that the 
 board and tuition of Eleazer was paid for, 
 John appears to have been supported at the 
 expense of the Williams family in Massa- 
 chusetts. 
 
 In 1814, after the battle of Plattsburg, 
 Mr. Williams and his reputed father went 
 to Albany, at the request of Governor 
 Tompkins, and while in the city, Thomas 
 Williams said, that he had been invited 
 by his old friend, Jacob Vanderheyden, a 
 well-known Indian trader, to spend the 
 evening, and to bring his son with him. 
 In the midst of good cheer over their 
 bottle of brandy, a conversation took 
 place in Eleazer’s hearing to this effect. 
 
Have we a Bourbon among us? 
 
 209 
 
 1855.] 
 
 They spoke of Vanderheyden having en- 
 camped at Caldwell’s, on Lake George, in 
 October 1795, and remained there for 
 several days, waiting for the Indians to 
 come down from the north to purchase 
 furs, and supply them with goods during 
 their winter hunts, and that while he was 
 there, a French gentleman came among 
 them, having a French boy with him 
 about ten years old, and after staying for 
 some time he departed, leaving the boy 
 behind him. The boy was deranged at 
 the time, spoke French and German, and 
 was well dressed. The first time that 
 Yanderheyden saw him was in the compa- 
 ny of Thomas Williams, who brought him 
 to his encampment, when the boy ran 
 boisterously about the store, and upset 
 his goods. After speaking of these 
 circumstances, Yanderheyden said, “Tho- 
 mas, did I not tell you then he was 
 not your boy?” The repty was, “You 
 have said so many times — if you will 
 have it so let it be so.” lie also asked 
 “ Thomas, what has become of that 
 Frenchman ? ” But Williams does not re- 
 member what answer was given. 
 
 Mr. Williams confirmed the account 
 which I had heard, from another source, of 
 the recognition of the portrait of Simon, 
 which he said was shown to him by Pro- 
 fessor Day, of Cincinnati, and added that 
 the morning after, he also recognized that 
 of Madame Elizabeth, sister to Louis XVI., 
 but had no knowledge either of the King 
 or Queen. Professor Hitchcock, of Am- 
 herst, gave him the portrait of Louis 
 XVIII. on account of its close resemblance 
 to him. The dress of Marie Antoinette 
 was the gift of Mrs. Clarke of Northamp- 
 ton. General Taylor also had felt much 
 interest in his affairs, and but for his sud- 
 den decease, would have opened a corres- 
 pondence with France on the subject. 
 Being in Washington a few days before 
 the late President’s death, he gave him 
 the military cloak which he wore during 
 the Mexican war, a relic which he highly 
 prizes. 
 
 With regard to documents, Mr. Wil- 
 liams has been unaccountably careless. 
 A short time since he received a letter 
 purporting to be from the private Secre- 
 tary of Louis Napoleon, making inquiries 
 in a respectful manner concerning the 
 events of his life, and also similar commu- 
 nications from several French Bishops 
 and a Cardinal, but for reasons best 
 known to himself, returned no answer. 
 These letters, together with one from 
 Louis Philippe, were accidentally burned 
 a few weeks since whilst lying on his 
 table, but I have now lying before me a 
 
 note from the Consul General of France, 
 dated New-York, April 10, 1844, which 
 accompanied the letter from the King of 
 the French, some pencil memoranda of 
 the Prince de Joinville, and two letters, 
 one from his Aid-de-camp, dated Frigate 
 la Belle Poule, a New-York, 21 Oct’re, 1841, 
 and the other from his private Secretary, 
 dated Tuileries, October 14, 1843. These 
 are on indifferent subjects, such as historic 
 inquiries, and gifts of books for the In- 
 dians — but the conclusion of the first let- 
 ter, which was written shortly after the 
 interview at Green Bay is somewhat re- 
 markable, both on account of its diploma- 
 tic style, natural if Mr. Williams’ story 
 be true, but otherwise out of character, 
 and also for its invitation, for it amounts 
 to that, of Mr. Williams to visit France. 
 
 Si jamais vous venez visiter notre France, 
 voulez vous souvenir que S. A. R. vous re- 
 cevrai avec plaisir. 
 
 Recevez, Monsieur, toutes les assurances de 
 ma consideration la plus distingude. 
 
 Lieut, de Yaisseau Y. Touchaiz.* 
 
 My purpose in the present article is not 
 to answer objections, but to state asserted 
 facts ; there is, however, one point on which 
 I will briefly speak. If Mr. Williams lie 
 the Dauphin, how are we to account for 
 the particular detail given by the Duchess 
 D’Angouleme of his death? Now the 
 narrative of the Duchess as far as it rests 
 upon her personal knowledge, or concerns 
 facts, which under the circumstances she 
 would certainly know, does not conflict at 
 all with the theory of his history here set 
 forth, but confirms it. “ He was in a 
 bed,” she says, “ which had not once been 
 made for more than six months, and 
 which he had not himself sufficient 
 strength to turn: this bed was covered 
 with fleas and bugs, of which his linen 
 and his person were also full. He was 
 obliged to wear the same shirt and stock- 
 ings for upwards of a year ; and during 
 the whole of that time, every filth was 
 left to accumulate in his room. His win- 
 dow being secured with a padlock, was 
 not once opened.” “ He naturally pos- 
 sessed an excellent understanding, but his 
 long imprisonment, and the horrible treat- 
 ment of which he was the victim, gradu- 
 ally affected Ms mind; and even had he 
 lived, it is probable he would never have 
 recovered the effects of it.’’’’ Thus much 
 she undoubtedly knew, but is it probable 
 that while allowed for months to remain in 
 ignorance of the deaths of her mother and 
 aunt, she would have been informed of 
 the exile of her brother, which was a state 
 secret of the utmost importance, both to 
 
 * This name is written so indistinctly that I am not certain whether my version of it is correct 
 
210 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us? 
 
 Louis XYIIT. and to the Jacobins? The 
 only information which would reach her 
 would be that of his death. Alison states 
 that “ the barbarous treatment he had re- 
 ceived alienated his reason.” Hue writes, 
 that the common talk among the Dau- 
 phin’s enemies was, “ If it happen that in 
 some popular movement the Parisians 
 should go to the temple to proclaim Louis 
 XVII. king, we will show them a little 
 fool, whose stupidity and imbecility will 
 force them to renounce the project of 
 placing him upon the throne.” Thiers 
 says, he “ died of a tumor at the knee, 
 arising from a scrofulous taint.” I have 
 examined in the presence of two physicians 
 the right knee of Mr. Williams. It has 
 on it the deep indented scars of a scrofu- 
 lous tumor, and the disease must have 
 been severe, as the leg down to the instep 
 is blackened with it ; but this affection is 
 anterior to Mr. Williams’ remembrance. 
 His leg in boyhood was what it now is. 
 I may here remark, that his skin where 
 not exposed is fair and soft, and his joints 
 remarkably small. Now it is of the ut- 
 most importance to show that Louis 
 XVTII. did not regard the Dauphin as 
 dead. This, I think, is conclusively done 
 by the fact, that when, during his reign, 
 masses were offered for the repose of the 
 souls of those members of the Bourbon 
 family who had perished during the revo- 
 lution, the name of the Dauphin was 
 omitted. If dead, why not have remem- 
 bered him, together with Louis, Marie 
 Antoinette, and Elizabeth ? De Provence 
 was anxious to obtain sovereignty. The 
 Dauphin was both young and incapable 
 in mind and body, to assert his claim to 
 the . throne. The only chance for the 
 royalists in 1795, seemed the possession 
 of the right of succession by a strong man. 
 Regencies are always feeble. A regency 
 for an unreigning King would have been 
 incalculably so. Duty as well as interest 
 would seem to combine in recommending 
 junction with the republican party in the 
 exile of the Dauphin. His sister would 
 be kept ignorant of the fact — and once out 
 of the way, it is not in human nature to 
 recall a rival. The faithful Belanger 
 might weep over him, but Louis XVIII. 
 would only omit his name from the masses 
 for the dead. And it seems wonderful 
 that he did that. 
 
 Not only the physical hut the mental 
 characteristics of Mr. Williams, curiously 
 correspond with what the Dauphin would 
 probably be if alive, and in such a position 
 after such a complicated career. He pos- 
 sesses a great amount of native talent ; an 
 easy grace and dignity of manner when in 
 polite society, which seems innate; a win- 
 ning sweetness of disposition, and much 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 simplicity apparently warm religious feel- 
 ings ; but his judgment in matters of 
 self-interest is not of the strongest ; fluent 
 and eloquent in diction, his ideas are not 
 always well assorted — a mystery to him- 
 self as well as to others, subject to per- 
 petual questionings, he is sometimes ab- 
 rupt — accustomed to Indian life, there 
 is semi-barbarism mingled with courtly 
 grace, and roving habits with warm 
 affections ; — in a word, he seems like one 
 jumbled out of place by destiny, a par- 
 tial wreck, shattered, but not broken. 
 And the peculiarity of his character must 
 be taken into account, in forming an esti- 
 mate of his conduct, the singularity of 
 which will create in many minds a preju- 
 dice against his veracity, since they will 
 be unable to understand how a poor man 
 could reject offers so splendid, or a man 
 of the world neglect the opportunity of 
 establishing his regal birth, which the 
 communication of De Joinville afforded. 
 In his situation thejr would have acted 
 differently. True, but he and they are 
 very different persons. It is but justice 
 to say that whatever may prove the ulti- 
 mate truth of his claims, the origination 
 of them does not rest with him ; unsought 
 evidence has found him out, and new 
 proofs are rising from unexpected quarters. 
 He has never tried to make capital of 
 his story. The present publication 
 does not proceed in any way from his 
 suggestion, though he has given his con- 
 sent to it. 
 
 But I have not yet gone through all the 
 circumstantial evidence. In May, 1795, 
 Rochefoucauld Liancourt, having fled 
 from France towards the end of the pre- 
 ceding year, set out from Philadelphia, 
 after a residence of a few months in that 
 city, for the ostensible purpose of travel- 
 ling over the United States. On his re- 
 turn to France, he published a narrative 
 of his travels in eight volumes, from which 
 I have gathered the following particulars. 
 Liancourt’s companions were Monsieur 
 Guillemard and a servant. Passing north- 
 ward through Wilkesbarre, they went into 
 Western New-York, and spent some time 
 among the Indians, especially the Oneidas, 
 of which the St. Regis Indians, as Lian- 
 court mentions, are a portion. They then 
 passed into Canada, still holding much 
 intercourse with the Indians, and travelled 
 from Niagara to Kingston. At this place, 
 Liancourt stopped, hut Guillemard pro- 
 ceeded to Montreal and Quebec. Return- 
 ing to Western New-York, via Oswego, 
 they again went to Oneida, where Col. 
 de Ferrier married and resided. Leaving 
 Oneida, Liancourt and his companions, 
 towards the end of the year 1795, went to 
 Albany, Troy and Saratoga, within a short 
 
211 
 
 Have ice a Bourbon amove/ us? 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 distance of Lake George, where he must 
 have been about the time at which, from 
 other sources of information, it seems pro- 
 bable that Williams was committed to the 
 charge of Thomas Williams, then living 
 with his family on the borders of the lake. 
 From Saratoga they went into Massachu- 
 setts, and passing through Worcester, spent 
 nearly a week with what Liancourt calls 
 “la famille Williams;” at Marlborough, 
 near Boston. Mr. Williams was descended, 
 he says, from a respectable English stock, 
 Mid kept a tavern at Marlborough. The 
 eause of the delay was an opportune head- 
 ache with which Liancourt was attacked. 
 To this incident he devotes a chapter, con- 
 cluding his remarks by saying : “ Puisse 
 cette respectable famille jouir de tout le 
 bonheur qu’elle mi rite, ce souhait sincere 
 et ardent sera celui de toute ma vie.” 
 After visiting Boston, they went south 
 as far as Charleston. Returning to the 
 north, they again visited Boston, and once 
 more took up their quarters with “ la fa- 
 mille Williams ” at Marlborough. They 
 must have made some stay, as Liancourt 
 gives a particular description of the farm 
 of Mr. Williams, which he stumped over 
 with the old man. From Marlborough, 
 he went to Stockbridge, Mass., where 
 many Indians resided, and here we find 
 him in communication with another Mr. 
 Williams,* who was a man of considerable 
 political influence. Now, those coinci- 
 dences are certainly very singular. But 
 further, on the 24th September, 1796, 
 Louis Philippe sailed from the Elbe in 
 company with his brothers, the Due de 
 Montpensier and Count Beaujalois, and ar- 
 rived at Philadelphia after a passage of 27 
 daj'S. With all convenient speed they made 
 their way to Western New-York, and in 
 a short time we find them in the vicinity 
 of De Ferrier’s residence. Geo. Catlin, 
 writing from Paris, under date of Sept. 29, 
 1847, to J. Romeyn Brodhead, at London, 
 says : 
 
 I have had several interviews with his 
 majesty, in all of which he has spoken fa- 
 miliarly of his several years of rambles in 
 exile in America, and related to me many of 
 the most extraordinary and pleasing inci- 
 dents of his life. These scenes occurred 
 during their travels from Erie to Buffalo, to 
 the villages of the Seneca Indians, from 
 thence to Canandaigua, paddling their canoe 
 through the whole length of the Seneca lake 
 to Ithaca, from thence on foot with their 
 knapsacks on their backs, to the Tioga 
 River, where having purchased a canoe 
 from the Indians, they descended that valley 
 to the Susquehanna, and the latter river to 
 the valley of Wyoming; thence on foot they 
 
 crossed the Wilkesbarre and the Pokona 
 mountains to Easton, and thence to Phila- 
 delphia. They afterwards traversed the 
 Alleghany mountains to Pittsburg, and hav- 
 ing there purchased a small boat, descended 
 the Ohio and the Mississippi to New Or- 
 leans. 
 
 At this place, be it remembered, was 
 Belanger, and it is quite within the range of 
 possibility, that Louis Philippe may have 
 conversed with him, so that all the un- 
 deniable historic incidents harmonize frith 
 those which I have collected, and show 
 how probable it is that the citizen-king 
 was fully acquainted with the where- 
 abouts of his kinsman. 
 
 Let me now, at the risk of wearying the 
 reader, collect and group together the 
 scattered points of evidence which I have 
 recited nearly in the order that they have 
 come to my knowledge, and endeavor to 
 determine what is their exact bearing. 
 
 We have here before us the following 
 asserted facts : 
 
 1st. That the Prince de Joinville, on 
 his arrival in the country, inquired for 
 Mr. Williams, and sought and obtained an 
 interview with him at Green Bay, in which, 
 after demanding a conditional pledge of 
 secrecy, he required of him a resignation 
 of the crown of France, as its legitimate 
 heir, in favor of Louis Philippe, and after- 
 wards corresponded with him through his 
 secretaries. 
 
 2d. That after the Prince’s return, Louis 
 Philippe wrote with his own hand to Mr. 
 Williams. 
 
 3d. That Belanger, in 1848, confessed 
 when dying, that he brought the Dauphin 
 to this country. 
 
 4th. That the French ambassador, Genet, 
 in the presence of Dr. Francis and others, 
 acknowledged that the Dauphin was both 
 alive and in this country, and in the State 
 of New-York in 1817. 
 
 5th. That Le Ray de Chaumont who, ac- 
 cording to Genet’s statement, was ac- 
 quainted with the affair, had much dealing 
 with the Indians in the neigborhood where 
 Mr. Williams was brought up, once in 
 conversation with him, made a remote 
 allusion to the Dauphin. 
 
 6th. That Col. de Ferrier one of the 
 body guard of Louis XYI. married, and re- 
 sided among the Indians at Oneida, where 
 a considerable part of Mr. Williams’ life 
 was spent, and that he and Le Ray be- 
 lieved a member of Louis XVIth’s family, 
 to be in an indigent condition in America. 
 
 7th. That the Abb6 de Colonne, resi- 
 dent at Trois Rivieres near Caughnawaga, 
 believed the Dauphin to be alive, and in 
 
 * This was Col. Ephraim Williams, founder of Williams’ College, Mass., and a member of the English branch 
 of the Williams family, from which Thos. W illiams was descended. 
 
212 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us? 
 
 America, and that Bishop Chevreuse did 
 the same. 
 
 8 th. That efforts were made to induce 
 Mr. Williams to return to the Komish 
 Communion, of a nature only explicable 
 on the supposition of his being a more 
 than ordinary person. 
 
 9th. That the name of Eleazer Wil- 
 liams is not on the baptismal register at 
 Caughnawaga. 
 
 10th. That he has none of the charac- 
 teristics of an Indian. 
 
 11th. That he closely resembles Louis 
 XVIII. 
 
 12th. That various marks on his body, 
 correspond exactly with those known to 
 have been on the body of the Dauphin. 
 
 13th. That the name of the Dauphin 
 was omitted from the solemnities for the 
 departed Bourbons, in the reign of Louis 
 XVIII. 
 
 14th. That the Indian woman, his re- 
 puted mother, does not acknowledge him 
 to be her child. 
 
 15th. That boxes of clothing and me- 
 dals of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, 
 were left with the child, one of which is 
 still in Mr. Williams’ possession. 
 
 16th. That an unknown Frenchman 
 came to see Mr. Williams in youth, and 
 wept over him. 
 
 17 th. That his board and tuition were 
 regularly paid at Dr. Ely’s, when it is 
 known that his reputed father had neither 
 means nor inclination to do so. 
 
 18th. That Williams remembers a con- 
 versation. on the subject of his education, 
 between Thomas Williams and his wife, in 
 which it was stated that means were pro- 
 vided for the purpose, and another be- 
 tween Thomas Williams and Vanderhev- 
 den, in which the fact of a French boy 
 being committed to the care of the former 
 in 1795, was mentioned. 
 
 19tli. That he recognized the portraits 
 of Simon the jailer, and of Madame Eliz- 
 abeth, when unexpectedly placed before 
 him by Prof. Day. 
 
 20th. That Williams was idiotic at the 
 age of 13 or 14. 
 
 21st. That the Dauphin at the age of 
 ten. was reduced to the same condition by 
 ill-treatment. 
 
 22d. That since the recovery of his 
 reason, faint dreamy remembrances of the 
 past have returned to the mind of Mr. W. 
 corresponding to known scenes in the Dau- 
 phin’s history. 
 
 23d. That a decree for the banishment 
 of the son of Louis XVI., passed the 
 French Convention in 1794. 
 
 24th. That the President and Ecclesias- 
 tical dignitaries of France, have written 
 to Mr. Williams, making inquiries con- 
 cerning his history. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 25th. That there have been various at- 
 tempts to personate the Dauphin. 
 
 26th. That Rochefoucauld Liancourt 
 was at Oneida, Albany and Saratoga, 
 in 1795, under circumstances which cre- 
 ate suspicion of his having some agency 
 in the transaction, — and also in close 
 communication with various persons of 
 the name of Williams, — and that shortly 
 after, Louis Philippe and his brothers 
 were among the Indians in Western New- 
 York, and also in New Orleans, in the 
 vicinity of Belanger. 
 
 27th. That the Rev. Eleazer Williams, 
 has been for 26 years a laborious Mission- 
 ary, in the Protestant Episcopal Church, 
 and is at present a Clergyman in good 
 standing. 
 
 Now there can be no question, that if 
 all these points could be proved, the irre- 
 sistible conclusion would be that Louis 
 XVII. and the Rev. Eleazer Williams are 
 identical. Even in the imperfect degree 
 in which I know and have stated them, 
 they would carry conviction with them ; 
 much more if brought out in detail with all 
 attendant circumstances. 
 
 Questions of identity are among the 
 most difficult, and interesting with which 
 law is conversant. The settlement of 
 them requires varied and peculiar evidence. 
 The negative and the affirmative have 
 both to be clearly shown. Two apparent- 
 ly different things must be demonstrated 
 to be one. Resemblances must be proved 
 to be not accidental, but inherent to the 
 degree of sameness. 
 
 Where the utmost stretch of hmnan in- 
 genuity has been used for concealment; 
 where more than half a century has pass- 
 ed since the supposed divergence of a life 
 from its natural line ; where evidence, 
 scanty at the best, has been destroyed, 
 both purposely and negligently, absolute 
 demonstration perhaps cannot be attained; 
 but we may reach, even under such cir- 
 cumstances, a degree of moral certainty 
 second only to demonstration, and amply 
 sufficient to enable a sound mind to ren- 
 der a decisive verdict, satisfactory to the 
 intellect and the conscience. 
 
 Now prove to me the truth of all that 
 I have alleged as asserted and probable, 
 and no course would be left but to pro- 
 nounce such a judgment in favor of iden- 
 tity ; for the evidence before us goes to 
 show, I apprehend, exactly what it is re- 
 quisite to have shown. 
 
 1st. That Louis XVII. did not die in 
 1795. 
 
 2d. That he was carried to the region 
 in which Mr. Williams spent his youth. 
 
 3d. That Mr. Williams is not an In- 
 dian; and, 
 
 4th. That Mr. Williams is Louis X V 11. 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us? 
 
 213 
 
 These are the four propositions which 
 the case presents for proof. — a negative 
 and an affirmative one with reference to 
 each character under which one and the 
 same individual has at different times and 
 places appeared. 
 
 The testimony is multiform, direct, in- 
 direct, documentary, circumstantial ; but 
 notwithstanding its exceedingly varied na- 
 ture, it is wonderfully consistent. It would 
 require extreme ability to fabricate it out 
 of nothing — the utmost mendacity and 
 hardihood, to build it up on a baseless 
 foundation. 
 
 The history involves many most curi- 
 ous inquiries into human motive among 
 persons in the most widely different posi- 
 tions in life. It would be impossible with- 
 out writing a volume to do justice to these. 
 I will just indicate one or two. 
 
 Mr. Williams asserts that the Prince 
 de Joinville told him in the manner I have 
 described, that he is the son of Louis 
 XVI. Now here is the direct testimony 
 of a responsible person to a simple fact. 
 The assertion is either true or false. If 
 false, it involves the degradation of Mr. 
 Williams from the ministry. If true, it 
 settles the whole question of identity, un- 
 less we can imagine it possible that the 
 Prince de Joinville took the trouble of 
 travelling from Paris to Green Bay to 
 speak at random, or to tell a falsehood on 
 a subject of paramount importance to 
 himself and to France. It is not suppos- 
 able that such a person would say and do 
 what he is asserted by Mr. Williams to 
 have said and done, without having pre- 
 viously attained to the last degree of con- 
 viction pertaining to the possibility of 
 human convictions, and moreover without 
 being vested with authority from Louis 
 Philippe himself to make the disclosure ; 
 and thus his words issued from the inner- 
 most arcana of F ranee, proving that not 
 a day elapsed from June, 1795, in which 
 some watchful eye did not keep know- 
 ledge of the exiled Prince. On the other 
 hand, what possible inducement can there 
 be for Mr. Williams to say what is un- 
 true on this subject'? The clergy of the 
 Protestant Episcopal Church value their 
 commission too highly to throw it away 
 by telling unmeaning falsehoods tending 
 to nothing but disgrace and ruin. Mr. 
 Williams is, I know, a sane, sober-minded 
 practical man, who has had all his life to 
 deal with the sternest realities, and I believe 
 he speaks words of truth and soberness. 
 He has not the capacity to invent such a 
 dramatic scene as that between him and 
 the Prince, and if he has, he might long 
 ago have turned it to account. What 
 conceivable motive can such a man have 
 to fabricate au airy and vain fiction, that 
 
 he, the poor Indian missionary, is the 
 descendant of long lines of European 
 kings, and that a prince royal of France, 
 now living, and who can be brought face 
 to face with him, told him so. Again, if 
 Mr. Williams’ statement be correct, the 
 motives of Louis Philippe in making the 
 disclosure are a problem. I am inclined to 
 believe that pity and commiseration enter- 
 ed largely into them. At the same time 
 Belanger was living, and De Ferrier, and 
 Le Bay. The secret was known in Cana- 
 da, and the citizen-king may, as Air. 
 Williams writes me, have t: seen an object 
 in that quarter, who might sooner or later 
 be an obstacle to his ambitious views, and 
 defeat the permanency of his throne, and 
 the securing of the same to his family.” As 
 to the improbability that a poor man like 
 Williams would reject, on a point of honor, 
 offers so splendid and liberal, I own. it is 
 great ; but his own explanation of his 
 feelings is before the reader, and nothing 
 but the regally proud and romantic hero- 
 ism it displays, so rare in this age, renders 
 it incredible. 
 
 Nearly equal in importance with any 
 point in the evidence, is the early idiocy 
 of Air. Williams corresponding with the 
 condition in which the Dauphin is known 
 to have been. It goes far to substantiate 
 the truth of the story, for since Williams 
 could not have been born an idiot, there 
 must have been some fearful facts lying 
 at the basis of his history to reduce 
 him to such a condition. In all recorded 
 cases in which the memory has been de- 
 stroyed by sudden injury to the brain, the 
 whole chain of lost knowledge has been 
 brought back as by an electric shock. 
 But in this case the destruction of memory 
 was not sudden, but owing to the benumb- 
 ing process of a long series of sufferings, 
 mental and bodily, which took away the 
 power of perception, and weakened that 
 of retention. The soul fell into a merci- 
 ful sleep, and when it again awakened, 
 there was nothing to recall except a few 
 vague ideas and one terrible image of the 
 past, which was burnt into his soul. A 
 draught of Lethe gave to one man two 
 lives. Born the second time without 
 birth, he who died a prince was regenerat- 
 ed a beggar, and the heir of kings sur- 
 viving his own death, and the overthrow 
 of his race, is metamorphosed into a red 
 man, and having been baptized by a Ro- 
 mish bishop amid the pageantries of a 
 European Court, lives to preach the Gospel 
 in America fifty-seven years after his exile. 
 Republics, constitutions, kingdoms, and an 
 empire, have, during that space, been over- 
 thrown. They who moved and. ruled them 
 have passed away, and the present oc- 
 cupant of Versailles and the Tuil cries 
 
214 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us ? 
 
 may follow them, while the veteran mis- 
 sionary is still in possession of his wig- 
 wam on the St. Lawrence. 
 
 Complicated and mysterious as this 
 matter is, it has a fearful simplicity when 
 brought to a direct issue between Mr. 
 Williams and the Prince de Joinville. The 
 latter has the reputation of being a high- 
 minded and honorable gentleman, and I 
 trust will act openly and candidly on a 
 question of so much importance. 
 
 Since writing the above, I have again 
 seen the Rev. Eleazer Williams. He 
 went to St. Lawrence county after our 
 last interview, in order to procure some 
 engravings and other things, which might 
 throw light upon the affair, and I request- 
 ed him to search his journal, to discover 
 what record he had made at the time of 
 his conversations with the Prince. On 
 his return to New-York, he arrived at my 
 house on the 24th December ; assisted me 
 in the communion, on Christmas day, and 
 preached for me on the following Sunday. 
 Ilis sermon, as an intelligent auditor re- 
 marked, was characterized by sound com- 
 mon sense. The more I have seen of him, 
 I have been more deeply impressed with 
 his piety, his sincerity, truthfulness, and 
 simplicity of character ; and I beg here to 
 say, I can now see no reasonable ground 
 to question the entire accuracy of his 
 statements ; and, while I can scarcely 
 imagine that the Prince de Joinville, as a 
 gentleman, and a man of honor, will deny 
 the facts asserted, I should not, under the 
 circumstances, deem such denial as a refu- 
 tation of the story of my reverend friend. 
 I subjoin a copy, made by me, from the 
 original of the journal kept by Mr. Wil- 
 liams, of liis interview with the Prince de 
 Joinville; and, to feel its weight as evi- 
 dence, I must inform the reader that since 
 the year 1808, he has kept a diary of 
 every thing which happened to him, 
 amounting to many volumes. From a 
 close examination of the MS., it is evident 
 that the portion relating to his first con- 
 versations with the Prince was written 
 anterior to the allusions made to the reve- 
 lation of his birth ; and that at first he 
 had no other idea than that he was merely 
 recording an interesting meeting with an 
 eminent individual. 
 
 JOURNAL 1841. 
 
 “Mackinac, October 16, Saturday. 
 
 The steamer arrived here at two o’clock, 
 p. m. My son is somewhat indisposed, and 
 on that account I am more willing to remain 
 here, until the Green Bay boat comes. 
 
 I have had a pleasant interview with the 
 Rev. Mr. Coit, of the Congregationalist 
 Church. Mr. C. has spent his time much 
 among the CHppeway Indians. In his la- 
 bors of love he has been successful. I trust 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 many souls have been converted under his 
 ministry. Evening. It is proposed to have 
 the Divine Service to-morrow at the Pres- 
 byterian Meeting-house. In the morning I 
 am to officiate. 
 
 Mackinac, October 17, Sunday Evening. 
 
 I performed the service this morning — all 
 the gentlemen of the garrison, the soldiers 
 and the citizens of the place were in attend- 
 ance. My subject was upon Apostasy, 
 
 which gave great offence to Mr. . I find 
 
 he has been excommunicated for bis apos- 
 tasy. Truth will have ite own weight upon 
 the guilty conscience. Rev. Sir. Coit 
 preached this afternoon to the same congre- 
 gation ; his discourse was well adapted to the 
 occasion, and was heard with much atten- 
 tion. Several gentlemen of the place called 
 upon me this evening, and I had a pleasant 
 interview with them. I am invited to ad- 
 minister holy Baptism to-morrow morning. 
 
 Two soldiers called and asked for Prayer- 
 books. I was only able to give them one, 
 which was accompanied with some tracts. 
 
 My son is much better — still complains of 
 pain in the head. May God give him grace 
 to be submissive to his Divine will. 
 
 On Lake Michigan, October IS. 
 
 Monday . — The regular steamer for Green 
 Bay (for which we have been waiting) ar- 
 rived in the port of Mackinac to-day, at 
 twelve o’clock. His royal highness, Prinee 
 de Joinville, and his suite, were among the 
 passengers. On landing, the Prince and his 
 party went immediately to visit the Arch 
 Rock. In the mean time I had an interview 
 with Captain Shook, of the steamer, who 
 stated that the Prince had made inquiries of 
 him, two or three times since leaving Buffalo, 
 about Mr. Williams, the missionary to the 
 Indians at Green Bay, and that as he knew 
 no other gentleman in that capacity except- 
 ing myself, I must be the person, the object 
 of his inquiry. I replied, That cannot be. 
 Captain. He must mean another person, 
 as I have no acquaintance with the Prince. 
 
 I shall now inform the Prince, said the 
 Captain, that there is a gentleman on board, 
 of the same name as that of his inquiry, who 
 is a missionary to the Indians at Green Bay. 
 Upon this, the Captain left me, and in about 
 half an hour he returned, and was followed 
 by a gentleman, to whom I was introduced 
 as the Prince de Joinville. I was struck at 
 the manner of his salutation. He appeared 
 to be surprised and amazed, as he grasped 
 both of his hands with mine, which was ac- 
 companied with strong and cheering gratula- 
 tions of his having had an opportunity to 
 meet me, and that upon the surface of one 
 of the inland seas in the Western world. 
 “ Amazing sight ! ” he continued, “ it is what 
 I have wished to see for this long time. I 
 trust I shall not be intruding too much on 
 your feelings and patience, were I to ask 
 some questions in relation to your past and 
 present life among the Indians. We, the 
 Europeans, to satisfy curiosity are sometimes 
 too inquisitive. But I presume, Rev. sir. 
 
Have we a Bourbon among us? 
 
 215 
 
 1853.] 
 
 it will be a pleasure to you to satisfy the cu- 
 riosity of the stranger now before you, who 
 is travelling over the country and lakes 
 which were first discovered by our fore- 
 fathers.” His eyes were intently fixed 
 upon me — eyeing my person from the crown 
 of my head to the sole of my feet 
 
 The Prince in his cursory remarks upon 
 the first adventures of the French in these 
 western wilds was interesting. He spoke 
 of La Salles, Fathers Hennepin, and Mar- 
 quette (the latter, the first discoverer of the 
 river Mississippi), in strains of commenda- 
 tion, as men of great courage, and possessing 
 the spirit of enterprise in an unparalleled 
 degree. 
 
 He spoke also with regret of the loss of 
 Canada to France. He would attribute this 
 to the want of energy and foresight in the 
 ministry, that France would have easily, at 
 that period sent twenty thousand men into 
 Canada, to maintain her possessions in that 
 quarter, as her naval force was then nearly 
 equal to that of England. 
 
 October 19 , Thursday. — This morning the 
 Prince resumed his observations upon the 
 French Revolution — its rise, its progress, and 
 its effects upon France, and more particularly 
 to the United States, which were affecting 
 and touching in the extreme. The awful 
 catastrophe that fell upon France, the disso- 
 lution of the royal family, and the destruc- 
 tion of the king, he strongly asserted origi- 
 nated from the American revolution, and that 
 the people in the United States can never be 
 too grateful to the unfortunate Louis XVI., 
 for his powerful interposition in their behalf. 
 “It is very evident,” said he, “they do not 
 duly appreciate the aid he afforded them in 
 the day of distress. It is very evident also, 
 that, from the very day when the Court of 
 Versailles formed an alliance with America, 
 the operations of the British against them 
 were paralyzed ; the naval force of France 
 rendered more essential service to their 
 cause than her land force. The Atlantic sea 
 was soon covered with sliips-of-war and 
 privateers; these were a formidable barrier 
 against England in sending her troops and 
 munitions of war to America. In this war 
 France lost thirty-five thousand men and 
 twenty-five ships of the line. But for these 
 powerful aids no monuments are raised to 
 perpetuate their memory. Louis XVI. ought 
 to be placed next to General Washington as 
 a liberator of the American people. His 
 interference in their behalf is attributed al- 
 together to his political finesse and his hatred 
 to England ; hence he is not entitled to their 
 praise or thanks. But, Rev. sir, were the 
 American people duly to consider the im- 
 portant aid he gave them in their struggle 
 with the mother country, its happy result, 
 and the dreadful catastrophe that fell upon 
 his government, his family, and himself; he 
 would truly and justly be considered as a 
 martyr to Auxyican independence. The 
 king encountered an opposition from the 
 Count de Vergennes and the Court, when 
 he took the suffering cause of the Americans 
 
 in hand. He was moved by the representa 
 tions of the American commissioners, and 
 the Queen was no less urgent to save the 
 sinking cause of the American people. My 
 grandfather and father were present when 
 the last struggle took place between the 
 King and the ministry upon the article of 
 alliance with the United Colonies of America. 
 That day — it was a happy day for Ameri- 
 cans — but for the King, it was the day of 
 his death! Yes, Rev. sir, on that day, 
 when the King pjut his name to the instru- 
 ment, he sealed his death-warrant. The in 
 gratitude of the American people towards 
 the King’s memory, is one of the darkest 
 stains upon the stars and stripes of the Ame- 
 rican flag and independence.” 
 
 This afternoon the Prince expressed his 
 wish to take my son with him to France for 
 an education. In connection with this he 
 was informed that we had an infant who 
 had not yet received baptism. He readily 
 consented to stand as a godfather, and would 
 give the name of his mother to the child. 
 But, alas! on my first landing I received 
 the melancholy intelligence that the lovely 
 babe was in her grave — buried on the pre- 
 ceding Sunday, service performed by the 
 Rev. Mr. Porter, of the Congregationalist 
 Church. When the news was communi- 
 cated to the Prince he appeared to sympa- 
 thize with me, and remarked, taking me 
 by the hand, “ Descendant of a suffering 
 race, may you be supported in this afflic- 
 tion.” 
 
 About ten o’clock, the Prince was pleased 
 to enter into his remarks more particularly, 
 upon the family of the unfortunate king, 
 which were, at first, with me, somewhat 
 curious and interesting; but as he proceeded 
 in his narration, my feelings were greatly 
 excited, as it filled my inward soul with 
 poignant grief and sorrow, which were inex- 
 pressible. The intelligence was not only new 
 but awful in its nature. To learn, for the 
 first time, that I am connected by consan- 
 guinity with those whose history I had read 
 with so much interest ; and for whose suffer- 
 ings in prison, and the manner of their 
 deaths, I had moistened my cheeks with 
 sympathetic tears. Is it so ? Is it true, that 
 1 am among the number, who are thus des- 
 tined to such degradation — from a mighty 
 power to a helpless prisoner of the state — 
 from a palace to a prison and dungeon — to 
 be exiled from one of the finest empires in 
 Europe, and to be a wanderer in the wilds 
 of America — from the society of the most 
 polite and accomplished courtiers, to be as- 
 sociated with the ignorant and degi’aded In- 
 dians? Degraded as they are, as to civiliza- 
 tion and polite arts, yet I am consoled at the 
 idea, that I am among the lords of the soil 
 of this western continent, who are as precious 
 in the sight of Heaven as the usurpers of 
 their territories! 0 my God, am I thus des- 
 tined ! “ Thy will be done.” To be inform- 
 ed that I hail rights in Europe, and one of 
 these was to be the first over a mighty king- 
 dom ; and this right is now demanded of me, 
 
216 
 
 Have we a Bourbon among us ? 
 
 to surrender, for an ample and splendid es- 
 tablishment. The intelligence was so unex- 
 pected, my mind was paralyzed for a mo- 
 ment ; it was overwhelming to my feelings. 
 There was a tremor in my whole system, ac- 
 companied with a cold perspiration. The 
 Prince saw my agitation, and left the room, 
 with an excuse, for ten or fifteen minutes. 
 
 A splendid parchment was spread before 
 me for signature, to be affixed with the stamp 
 and seal of Louis XVI. After consideration 
 of several hours, weighing the subject with 
 much and cool deliberation, it was respect- 
 fully refused. In those awful and momen- 
 tous moments, it was happy that my mind 
 was carried to the similar proposition and 
 offers made to Louis XVIIL, by Napoleon, 
 in 1802. B^ing impelled from a sense of 
 duty to sustain the honor of kings for cen- 
 turies, the same answer was given, “ Though 
 I am in poverty, sorrow and exile, I shall 
 not sacrifice my honor.” 
 
 Gracious God ! What scene am I passing 
 through this night 1 Is it in reality, or a 
 dream ? My refusal to the demand made of 
 me, 1 am sure can be no earthly good to me, 
 but I save my honor, and it may be for the 
 benefit of the generations yet unborn. It is 
 the will of Heaven. I am in a state of ob- 
 scurity. So shall I remain while in this pil- 
 grimage state. I will endeavor, with all 
 humility, to serve the King of Heaven, and 
 to advance his holy cause among the igno- 
 rant and benighted people, which has been 
 my delight. 
 
 Although the unexpected intelligence is a 
 new source of trouble, which is already work- 
 ing in my inward soul with inexpressible 
 sorrow, which will accompany me to my 
 grave ; yet I trust, that Almighty arm, which 
 has hitherto’ “ preserved me, will now sus- 
 tain me. To the God of my salvation I fly 
 for comfort and consolation, in this hour of 
 distress. Let Christ be all and in all. Sa- 
 viour of the world, have mercy upon thy 
 unworthy servant,” and for the glory of thy 
 name, turn from him all those evils that he 
 most justly has deserved ; and grant, that in 
 all his troubles, he may put his whole trust 
 and confidence in thy mercy, and ever more 
 serve thee in holiness and pureness of living, 
 to thy honor and glory. “For with God 
 nothing is impossible.” All that I have heard 
 I will lay up in my heart, with the greatest 
 secrecy. 
 
 October 20, Wednesday . — The Prince and 
 suite left Green Bay yesterday, at twelve 
 o’clock, and lodged last night at Capt. John 
 McCarty's, on the opposite side of the river 
 to my residence. It rained all the afternoon. 
 
 The adieus between the Prince and myself 
 were affectionate ; he promised to write me, 
 on his arrival at Xew-York. The gentlemen 
 officers presented me with their cards ; were 
 urgent to give them a call, should I ever 
 visit France. May the best blessing of 
 Heaven rest upon the whole party. 
 
 Upon this journal I will make no com- 
 ment. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 Before I conclude this article, which has 
 already far exceeded the limits designed, 
 I must briefly allude to the various en- 
 deavors which have been made to per- 
 sonate the Dauphin. An interesting 
 account is given of these in the Home 
 Journal of December 25, 1852, to which 
 I would refer the reader for fuller infor- 
 mation. Scarcely had Louis XVII. dis- 
 appeared from the Temple than an impos- 
 tor presented himself at Chalons, and 
 claimed the honors due to the unfortunate 
 prince. His name was Hervagault, the 
 son of a tailor in the village of St. Lo, 
 and the department of La Manche. A 
 runaway, a vagrant, a convicted cheat and 
 swindler, his baseless tale, plausible man- 
 ners and assurance, gained him numerous 
 adherents ; and though repeatedly impris- 
 oned for his crimes and imposture, con- 
 tinued until death, which soon occurred, 
 his course of debauchery and falsehood ; 
 maintaining, with his last breath, the truth 
 of his story, which was not sustained by 
 a particle of evidence. 
 
 Between the first and second pretenders 
 there was one curious coincidence. Her- 
 vagault. previous to assuming the name 
 of the Dauphin, had represented himself 
 as the son of a French noble, and his suc- 
 cessor in falsehood, Maturin Bruneau, 
 appeared first on the stage as the child of 
 the Baron de Vezin ; convicted of decep- 
 tion, he entered the army, served in 
 America, deserted, and after various wan- 
 derings found his way back to France, in 
 1815, where he also set up as king, and 
 met noth unprecedented success. . 
 
 But money and luxuries and homage 
 soon led to a prison, and being convicted 
 on trial of imposition, he disappeared from 
 public sight, and history does not record 
 his end. 
 
 Herr Neundorf. the Duke of Normandy, 
 as he styled himself, whose career of decep- 
 tion is within the memory of most persons, 
 came forward during the reign of Louis 
 Philippe, as a new claimant for the head- 
 ship of the Bourbons. Like his prede- 
 cessors, he had no evidence to support his 
 pretensions, for clairvoyance and mesmer- 
 ism can scarcely be termed such. Foolish 
 attempts to assassinate him gave him an 
 importance which he would not otherwise 
 have had. Banished to England, he lived 
 there from 1838 to 1844, when, having 
 withdrawn to Delft, he ended together his 
 life and his deception. 
 
 Now. all these attempts to personate the 
 Dauphin, and the success which for a time 
 attended them, show one thing, viz., the un- 
 certainty which hangs about the fate of the 
 unfortunate Prince, and the general public 
 impression in France that he was still 
 alive. Had Iris death been an ascertained 
 
What is the Use? 
 
 21Y 
 
 1853.] 
 
 fact, there would have been no room and 
 no encouragement for imposture. There 
 may be persons who will attempt to con- 
 found the case of the Rev. Eleazer Wil- 
 liams with these, but I think that no can- 
 did and discerning mind will do so. The 
 sacred profession, the life, and the peculiar 
 history of Mr. Williams, all place his 
 claims for public consideration upon an 
 entirely different basis. And let me again 
 exonerate him from any share in the ori- 
 gination of the present publication. He 
 has kindly afforded me facilities in collect- 
 ing information on this interesting topic, 
 but not without much reluctance, at the 
 publicity to which it will subject him, and 
 the incredulity with which, in many quar- 
 ters, bis statements may be met. For 
 years, he did not even mention to his wife 
 the disclosures of the Prince de J oinville, 
 and I believe that I am the first person 
 
 who has seen his journal. But a feeling 
 of duty to the world at large'induces him 
 to communicate, as fully as possible, all 
 that he himself knows upon the subject, 
 leaving the result, for good or for evil, to 
 the all-wise disposal of Providence. M any 
 motives of a private nature combine to 
 render it desirable that nothing should 
 have been said at present on the subject ; 
 but these are overruled by other consid- 
 erations, foremost among which is the 
 importance, that no further time should 
 be lost in the plain and bold statement — 
 challenging inquiry and refutation — 
 of all that may throw light upon this most 
 curious and interesting historical problem. 
 The disclosures are made frankly, fearless- 
 ly, and in good faith ; and I trust they 
 will be met in the same spirit. To all that 
 I have written I say, in the name of God, 
 Amen. 
 
 WHAT IS THE USE? 
 
 I SAW a man, by some accounted wise, 
 
 For some things said and done before their eyes, 
 
 Quite overcast, and, in a restless muse, 
 
 Pacing a path about, 
 
 And often giving out : 
 
 “ What is the use?” 
 
 Then I, with true respect : What meanest thou 
 By those strange words, and that unsettled brow ; 
 
 Health, wealth, the fair esteem of ample views? 
 
 To these things thou art born. 
 
 But he, as one forlorn, 
 
 “ What is the use ? 
 
 “ I have surveyed the sages and their books, 
 
 Man, and the natural world of woods and brooks, 
 
 Seeking that perfect good that I would choose ; 
 
 But find no perfect good, 
 
 Settled, and understood. 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ Life, in a poise, hangs trembling on the beam, 
 
 Even in a breath bounding to each extreme 
 Of joy and sorrow ; therefore I refuse 
 All beaten ways of bliss, 
 
 And only answer this : 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ The hoodwinked world is seeking happiness, 
 
 ‘ Which way ? ’ they cry. ‘Here?’ ‘No!’ ‘There?’ ‘Who can guess? 
 And so they grope, and grope, and grope, and cruise 
 On, on, till life is lost — 
 
 At blindman’s, with a ghost. 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ Love first, with most, then wealth, distinction, fame, 
 
 Quicken the blood, and spirit on the game ; 
 
 VOL. i. — 15 
 
218 
 
 What is the Use ? 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 Some try them all, and all, alike, accuse. 
 
 ‘ I have been all,’ said one, 
 
 ‘ And find that all is none.’ 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ In woman’s love we sweetly are undone, 
 
 Willing to attract, but harder to he won ; 
 
 Harder to keep, is she whose love we choose. 
 Loves are like flowers that grow 
 In soils on fire below. 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ Some pray for wealth, and seem to pray aright ; 
 They heap until themselves are out of sight, 
 
 Yet stand, in charities, not over shoes; 
 
 And ask of their old age, 
 
 As an old ledger page, 
 
 ‘ What is the use? ’ 
 
 “ Some covet honors, and they have their choice ; 
 Are dogged with dinners, and the popular voice. 
 They ride a wind, it drops them, and they bruise ; 
 Or, if sustained, they sigh : 
 
 ‘ That other is more high ; 
 
 What is the use ? ’ 
 
 “ Some try for fame — the merest chance of things 
 That mortal hope can wreak towards the wings 
 Of soaring Time ; They win — perhaps — or lose — 
 Who knows? Not he, who, dead, 
 
 Laurels a marble head. 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ The strife for fame and the high praise of power, 
 Is as a man, who, panting up a tower, 
 
 Bears a great stone, then, straining all his thews, 
 Heaves it, and sees it make 
 A splashing in a lake. 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ 1 Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 
 To scorn delights and live laborious days ! ’ 
 
 Thus the great lords of spiritual fame amuse 
 Their souls, and think it good 
 To eat of angels’ food. 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 <! They eat their fill, and they are filled with wind. 
 They do the noble works of noble mind. 
 
 Repute, and often bread, the world refuse. 
 
 They go unto their place 
 The greatest of the race. 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ Should some new star, in the fair evening sky, 
 Kindle a blaze, startling so keen an eye 
 Of flamings eminent, athwart the dews, 
 
 Our thoughts would say: No doubt 
 That star will soon burn out 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ Who’ll care for me when I am dead and gone ? 
 Not many now — and, surely, soon, not one ; 
 
 And should I sing like an immortal Muse, 
 
 Men, if they read the line, 
 
 Read for their good, not mine ; 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
1853.] 
 
 What is the Use? 
 
 219 
 
 “ And song, if passable, is doomed to pass — 
 
 Common, though sweet as the new-scythed grass. 
 
 Of hnman deeds and thoughts, Time bears no news, 
 
 That, flying, he can lack, 
 
 Else they would break his back. 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ Spirit of Beauty — breath of golden lyres — 
 
 Perpetual tremble of immortal wires — 
 
 Divinely torturing rapture of the Muse — 
 
 Conspicuous wretchedness — 
 
 Thou starry, sole success — 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ Doth not all struggle tell, upon its brow, 
 
 That he who makes it is not easy now, 
 
 But hopes to be 1 Vain Hope, that dost abuse ! 
 Coquetting with thine eyes, 
 
 And fooling him who sighs. 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ Go, pry the lintels of the pyramids, 
 
 Lift the old kings’ mysterious coffin lids : 
 
 This dust was theirs, whose names these stones confuse — 
 These mighty monuments 
 Of mighty discontents. 
 
 What is the use? 
 
 “ Did not he sum it all. whose gate of pearls 
 Blazed royal Ophir, Tyre, and Syrian girls — 
 
 The great, wise, famous monarch of the Jews ? 
 
 Though rolled in grandeur vast, 
 
 He said of all, at last, 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ Oh, but to take, of life, the natural good, 
 
 Even as a hermit caverned in a wood. 
 
 More sweetly fills my sober-suited views, 
 
 Than sweating to attain 
 Any luxurious pain. 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “ Give me a hermit’s life, without his beads, 
 
 His lantern-jawed, and moral-mouthing creeds ; 
 
 Systems and creeds the natural heart abuse. 
 
 What need of any Book, 
 
 Or spiritual crook — 
 
 What is the use ? 
 
 “I love, and God is love. And I behold 
 Man, nature, God, one triple chain of gold, 
 
 Nature in all, sole Oracle and Muse. 
 
 What should I seek at all, 
 
 More than is natural ? 
 
 What is the use ? ” 
 
 Seeing this man so heathenly inclined — 
 
 So wilted in the mood of a good mind, 
 
 I felt a kind of heat of earnest thought, 
 
 And studying in reply, 
 
 Answered him, eye to eye : 
 
 Thou dost amaze me that thou dost mistake 
 The wandering rivers for the fountain lake : 
 
220 
 
 What is the Use ? 
 
 [Feb 
 
 What is the end of living 7 — happiness 7 — 
 
 An end that none attain 
 Argues a purpose vain. 
 
 Plainly, this world is not a scope for bliss, 
 
 But duty. Yet we see not all that is, 
 
 Nor may be, some day, if we love the light: 
 
 What man is, in desires, 
 
 Whispers where man aspires. 
 
 But what and where are we 7 — what now — to-day 7 
 Souls on a globe that spins our lives away, 
 
 A multitudinous world, where heaven and hell, 
 Strangely in battle met, 
 
 Their gonfalons have set. 
 
 Dust though we are, and shall return to dust; 
 
 Yet, being born to battles, fight we fnust; 
 
 Under which ensign is our only choice. 
 
 W e know to wage our best ; 
 
 God only knows the rest. 
 
 Then, since we see about us sin and dole, 
 
 And some things good, why not, with hand and soul, 
 Wrestle and succor out of wrpng and sorrow ; 
 Grasping the swords of strife ; 
 
 Making the most of life 7 
 
 Yea, all that we can wield is worth the end, 
 
 If sought as God’s and man’s most loyal friend ; 
 Naked we come into the world, and take 
 
 Weapons of various skill 
 
 Let us not use them ill. 
 
 As for the creeds, Nature is dark at best, 
 
 And darker still is the deep human breast ; 
 
 Therefore consider well of creeds and books, 
 
 Lest thou may’st somewhat fail 
 Of things beyond the veil. 
 
 Nature was dark to the dim starry age 
 Of wistful Job, and that Athenian sage, 
 
 Pensive in piteous thought of Faith’s distress ; 
 
 For still she cried, with tears : 
 
 ‘ More light, ye crystal spheres.’ 
 
 But rouse thee, man ! Shake off this hideous death, 
 Be man ! Stand up ! Draw in a mighty breath, 
 
 This world has quite enough emasculate hands, 
 Dallying with doubt and sin, 
 
 Come — here is work — begin ! 
 
 Come, here is work — and a rank field — begin, 
 Put thou thine edge to the great weeds of sin, 
 So shalt thou find the use of life, and see 
 Thy Lord at set of sun, 
 
 Approach and say : Well done ! 
 
 This at the last : They clutch the sapless fruit, 
 Ashes and dust of the Dead Sea, who suit 
 Their course of life to compass happiness ; 
 
 But be it understood, 
 
 That, to be greatly good, 
 
 All is the use. 
 
1853 .] 
 
 221 
 
 A LETTER TO JOIIN BULL. 
 
 M Y dear Codsin, — I have elected myself 
 a representative of twenty-three mil- 
 lions of constituents, black and white in- 
 cluded, and design, in that capacity, to 
 open a brief correspondence with you. 
 Our entrance upon a new year of exist- 
 ence — an occasion which always suggests 
 a candid review of the past, and a consid- 
 erate forecast of the future — is the only ~ 
 apology I shall offer for this frankness. 
 
 It is nearly seventy years, you know, 
 since my countrymen undertook a bold 
 and somewhat hazardous experiment in 
 this new world. They did so, in the face 
 of many prevailing convictions, and against 
 the confident prophecies of civilized man- 
 kind. It was quite generally expected 
 that the career which they then marked 
 out for themselves, would prove a disas- 
 trous failure ; and loud, and long-contin- 
 ued was the merriment, or the obloquy, 
 as parties chose to take it, with which the 
 mistakes and awkwardnesses of their rude 
 beginnings were received. 
 
 Now 1 wish to show you that their at- 
 tempt has not failed ; that their experi- 
 ment is no longer an experiment ; that 
 time has sanctioned and fulfilled their 
 most swelling hopes ; that what was once 
 a timid and shrinking conjecture — vague 
 aspiration rather than firm faith — has be- 
 come a victorious fact; and that doubt 
 and dismay no more beset our path, 
 which, on the contrary, we tread with the 
 buoyancy of assured success. The omi- 
 nous cloud is passed, and across its receding 
 folds we see the many-colored iris of suf- 
 fused and tranquil sunshine. 
 
 I am aware that you will exclaim, at 
 this slightly elated outset of mine, “ Oh ! 
 that boastful and vainglorious people ! 
 will it never have done 1 Are we doomed 
 to hear for ever its reverberating flatulencies 
 about the “model republic” and the 
 “ greatest nation of all creation ? ” Let 
 me answer you frankly, that I hope not ! 
 The bombast into which our irritable van- 
 ity has been too often betrayed, is as dis- 
 tasteful to most of us as it can be to you : 
 but at the same time, bear in mind, that I 
 for one shall not allow myself to be 
 frightened into any tameness of statement, 
 in what I may have to say, by the mena- 
 ces of your wit. Ridicule is terrible to 
 me — as terrible perhaps as an army with 
 banners — and yet there is a thing still 
 more terrible. It is this — want of fidelity 
 to my most cherished convictions ; untruth 
 in the assertion of my character and aims. 
 We Americans are devoted to democracy 
 from our mothers’ breasts, and are therefore 
 
 forward and proud to proclaim whatever 
 we suppose will further its claims to re- 
 gard. 
 
 What I wish to present to you is, the 
 influence of that democracy on the physic- 
 al, political, social, and moral condition of 
 the people. Looking upon it as the cen- 
 tral and organic principle of our nation- 
 ality, working itself out freely, through all 
 the ramified forms and interests of so- 
 ciety, it is the very heart and fountain of 
 our life ; nor are its effects as such, specu- 
 lations or theories with us, but facts. We 
 study it in its actual phenomena ; we see 
 its practical operations ; and whether 
 these be for good or ill, we know that 
 they are at least well-authenticated, tan- 
 gible, and permanent. "A recent census 
 of the United States, moreover, places it 
 in our power to show just what they are, 
 what attainments they have made in every 
 sphere of national progress, and to demon- 
 strate triumphantly, as I am sure, the so- 
 lidity and the beneficence of popular gov- 
 ernment. 
 
 Such a demonstration is needed all over 
 Europe, and scarcely less in England than 
 elsewhere. This country has never been 
 adequately represented by travellers and 
 statisticians, who have taken its case into 
 their hands. We find ourselves aspersed ra 
 ther in many quarters, needless to be men- 
 tioned here, by the most unfounded state- 
 ments, the most illogical inferences, the 
 most damaging insinuations, and the most 
 outrageous caricatures. Our prosperity 
 is often ascribed to any but its true causes ; 
 our errors of a day are set down as perma- 
 nent characteristics ; the eccentricities of 
 a part of us are imputed to the whole of 
 us, as cherished principles of conduct ; oc- 
 casional rudenesses of manner are treated 
 as innate vulgarity ; and that devotion to 
 practical ends, which is inevitable in a 
 state of youthful and ruddy prosperity, 
 degraded into a mean, prostrate, and 
 abandoned worship of money. Indeed, 
 could we believe some accounts that are 
 given of us, we should be forced to con- 
 fess that slavery was our only “ institu- 
 tion,” and a sharp practice with the bowie- 
 knife, our most delectable amusement. 
 Meanwhile, these wilful or bigoted tour- 
 ists, do not see the deeper pulses of life 
 beating beneath the surface, and they say 
 nothing of the nobleness and generosity 
 that may be in our heart, nor of the ex- 
 alted and blissful destiny that we are, 
 consciously and unconsciously, working 
 out for humanity. 
 
 Let all this pass, however, and let us 
 
222 
 
 A Letter to John Bull. 
 
 try, under better information or motives, 
 to come at a truer picture of the condition 
 and prospects of the American people. 
 
 The United States, to begin at the be- 
 ginning, John, are a league or confedera- 
 tion, of thirty-one separate and indepen- 
 dent republics. They cover a territory 
 which extends from the 26th degree of lati- 
 tude south, to the 47th degree north, and, 
 in the other direction, from the Atlantic to 
 the Pacific Oceans. Consequently, they 
 enjoy every variety of climate, from the 
 freezing to the torrid zones, though the 
 greater part of them lie in the temperate 
 regions ; they possess every kind of valua- 
 ble soil, capable of the diversified produc- 
 tions of every kind ; and they are ex- 
 posed, on hill-sides and valleys, to all the 
 genial heats of the sun, and to all the fer- 
 tilizing influences of the gentle summer 
 rains. The public lands, belonging to the 
 central government alone, amount to more 
 than (12,000,000,000) twelve thousand 
 millions of acres, which, according to the 
 present estimates of the population of the 
 world, is more than an acre a piece for 
 every man, woman, and child on the globe. 
 Adding to this the land belonging to the 
 separate States, and that in the possession 
 of private individuals, and you have an 
 area of three millions, two hundred and 
 twenty-one thousand, five hundred and 
 ninety-five square miles (3,221,595) in ex- 
 tent. Now Great Britain, exclusive of Ire- 
 land, contains 34,000 square miles. The 
 extent of the United States is therefore 95 
 times as great as that of the Island of 
 Great Britain. France contains an area of 
 197,400 square miles — a territory less than 
 one fifteenth the size of that of the United 
 States. Austria, including Hungary and 
 the Italian dependencies, contains but 
 300,000 square miles. Russia is the only 
 nation which exceeds the United States in 
 extent of territory. She has, including 
 her immense Asiatic possessions, a terri- 
 tory of about 4,000,000 square miles. The 
 whole of Europe contains only 3,807,195 
 square miles, which exceeds by less than 
 one-fifth, or 545,600 square miles, the ter- 
 ritory of the United States. The greater 
 part of these immense tracts is almost 
 spontaneously fertile ; wherever you strike 
 in the spade or the plough, the corn springs 
 and waves ; mines of iron, more extensive 
 than those of Sweden, and of coal, as in- 
 exhaustible as those of England, to say 
 nothing of the gold of California, are de- 
 posited in its bowels ; rivers,, which, with 
 one exception, are the largest in the world, 
 and inland lakes like seas, connect and lace 
 its fields ; its immeasurable forests stand 
 thick with oak, hickory, locust, fir, and 
 woods of the finest fibre ; while the great 
 watery highways of the nations, stand 
 
 [Feb, 
 
 ready to roll its products to Europe on 
 the one side, and on the other to India, 
 and the farthest East. 
 
 Such is the theatre on which the Ame- 
 ricans are called to play their parts, and 
 you see that Providence has placed no 
 physical obstacle, at least, in the way cd 
 the freest action. Never, indeed, was a 
 more rich, varied, or magnificent residence 
 prepared for any portioh of our race. 
 Europe is ten thousand fold more splendid 
 in the accumulations of art; in grand his- 
 torical monuments ; in the treasures of 
 libraries ; in the means and appliances of 
 luxurious living; in the numbers of its 
 people ; but in all that nature can do to 
 make a dwelling-place for men, the New 
 World is beautiful and blessed beyond 
 measure. 
 
 But who are the actors who are placed 
 on this new theatre ? Are they worthy of 
 the great drama in which their parts are 
 cast % and will they conduct it to a catas- 
 trophe or a triumph ? 
 
 The American people are almost as 
 varied in character as the origins from 
 which they sprung, or the climates under 
 which they live. That stereotyped Yankee, 
 in a long-tailed blue coat, and short strip- 
 ed pantaloons, with a nasal twang to his 
 voice, and a prodigious fondness for exag- 
 gerated stories ; who appears periodically 
 upon your stage, and who furnishes the 
 staple of stale wit to Nova Scotia book- 
 makers, is an amusing fellow enough, and 
 he would be nowhere more amusing and 
 wonderful than in nearly every part of 
 the United States. He is the type of a 
 class unknown to all, save diligent anti- 
 quarians, or those who sedulously explore 
 the curiosities of natural history. Some 
 remote and scarcely decipherable anti- 
 type of him, might be found in the nooks 
 of New England, but at the West and the 
 South, he would seem to every body about 
 as much like an American, as a dodo re- 
 sembles an eagle, or the hippopotamus a 
 cart-horse. • 
 
 The American, John, with some odd 
 variations here and there — don’t start ! — 
 is an Englishman, without his caution, his 
 reserve, his fixed habits, his cant, and his 
 stolidity. He has all the independence of 
 the original stock, all the pluck and de- 
 termination, with more of quick and restless 
 enterprise. At the East, he displays some 
 of the canniness or cunning of the Scot ; 
 at the South, the vivacity and light, 
 graceful aii- of the Frank, aDd at the 
 West, the humor of the Irish crossed with 
 German enthusiasm. But every where 
 practical energy predominates in his com- 
 position. He is facile, changeable, ever 
 open to adventure, taking up a business 
 in the morning which he discards at night, 
 
A Letter to John Bull. 
 
 223 
 
 1853.] 
 
 and sleeping in his boots, that he may be 
 ready for a fresh start the next day. Yet 
 if success beckons him to the end of any 
 race, he will persist in it for years, will 
 pursue doggedly for a lifetime what others 
 despise, and if he fails at last, unbroken by 
 care or old age, he will “pick up his 
 traps,” and move onward with his chil- 
 dren to a new settlement. His weary bones 
 are never laid until he is quite dead, when 
 some successor, indefatigable and elastic 
 as himself, resumes and continues his pro- 
 jects. The house of his prosperity and 
 comfort is always a building, and never 
 built. It is no part of his life plan to re- 
 tire on a plum ; he eats his plum as he 
 makes it ; then makes and eats it again. 
 In short, then, the American is an invent- 
 ive, intelligent, driving, and invincible 
 man, with an unexampled adaptability to 
 circumstances, and a sense of personal 
 freedom, so strong, that if I wished to over- 
 turn the firmest empire, I would rather 
 turn into it a score of uneasy inquisitive 
 Yankees, than a considerable army of 
 others. 
 
 Every year adds more than a quarter 
 of a million of the population of the old 
 world to the new. The sedate and pru- 
 dent Englishman, the impulsive Irishman, 
 the volatile Frenchman, and the plodding 
 German, all rush to our “ fresh fields and 
 pastures new ; ” but they are soon caught 
 up and absorbed by the influences around 
 them, and long before the second genera- 
 tion, they are dashed forward with the 
 prevailing activity. They forget the stale 
 habits of thought, and of manner, which 
 they left behind them, and they soon ex- 
 hibit as much eagerness, courage, and en- 
 terprise, as the “oldest inhabitant.” 
 Thus, an incessant bustle and tumult 
 comes to characterize our society ; a noise 
 of awakening life and busy preparation ; 
 of vast industrial hosts going forth to bat- 
 tle the stormy elements, and stubborn 
 glebe ; of a young, hardy, glowing nation, 
 putting in order and embellishing the 
 homes of uncounted millions yet to come. 
 In comparison with this universal mobility, 
 the slow advances of Europe seem like 
 the decrepit and tottering steps of an old 
 man, whose life, rich though it be, is hid- 
 den in the cbm past ; while we are the su- 
 ple and smart youth, radiant with 
 the flushes of undisciplined vigor, and 
 rushing impulsively on to a future filled 
 with images of increasing splendor and 
 power. The most favored portions of 
 Europe grow only at the rate of 14- per 
 cent, per annum, while we grow at the 
 rate of 3| — say the figures. 
 
 Figures are unhandsome things to in- 
 troduce into polite writing — and very dull 
 too — but they are unfortunately often ne- 
 
 cessary in this arithmetical world. Par- 
 don me, therefore, if I subjoin a few for 
 your enlightenment — they relate only to 
 the past, present, and future population of 
 the United States. Skip them, if they are 
 disagreeable. 
 
 Year. 
 
 Population. 
 
 1850, 
 
 23,13S,004 
 
 1875, 
 
 46.277,008 
 
 1900, 
 
 . 92,552,016 
 
 Supposing population to double every 
 twenty-five years, which is less than 
 the actual rate of increase. Thus, you 
 find, that the child is living who will see 
 one hundred millions of brother freemen 
 on this side of the Atlantic ! 
 
 Well, having before you the scene and 
 the actor— an open broad theatre, and a 
 free energetic people in the possession of 
 it — the next point that interests us, is 
 how the play is going forward. We are 
 democrats, operating unobstructedly under 
 mere democratic impulses, with an almost 
 unlimited space to operate in — what, thus 
 far, are the results ? 
 
 I will begin the answer, where every 
 thing human begins, with our physical 
 and external relations to the earth and 
 man. Our gross annual product in 1851, 
 was $2,445,300,000 ; that of Great Britain, 
 as given by Spachman in 1846, was 
 $1,182,221,236. Other statisticians have 
 made the amount much larger than this, 
 but, as I think, without sufficient grounds. 
 
 Here also is a table, corrected from the 
 Belfast Mercantile Journal , which shows 
 the amount of the shipping and tonnage, 
 entered and cleared by the leading nations 
 of the world. 
 
 Countries. 
 
 Great Britain, 
 
 United States 
 
 Franco, 
 
 Russia, 
 
 Netherlands, 
 
 Norway, 
 
 Entered. 
 
 Tons. Vessels. 
 
 6,113,696 31,249 
 4,993,440 19,710 
 1,887,291 15,264 
 1,323,080 6,401 
 
 1,099,771 6,959 
 
 772,885 7,969 
 
 Cleared. 
 
 Tons. Vessels. 
 
 5,906,978 29,011 
 5,130,054 19,936 
 1,430,085 13,868 
 1,177,994 6,197 
 
 1,136,S64 7,017 
 
 SO 6,766 8,160 
 
 But of the vessels and tonnage which 
 belong exclusively to each of these nations, 
 the following statement will give a clearer 
 account : — 
 
 Countries. 
 
 Great Britain, 
 
 Tons. 
 
 4,144,115 
 
 Vessels. 
 
 34.090 
 
 United States, 
 
 3,772,439 
 
 18,225 
 
 France, 
 
 595,344 
 
 13,679 
 
 Russia, 
 
 100,000 
 
 750 
 
 Netherlands, 
 
 396,924 
 
 1,793 
 
 Norway, 
 
 837,058 
 
 3,064 
 
 It will thus be seen that the United 
 States are (Jose under the lee of Great 
 Britain, and far in advance of all other 
 nations ; but at the comparative rates of 
 increase of these tiro leaders, it will only 
 take us five years to get the start of Great 
 Britain ! 
 
 Of the rate at which our import and 
 
224 
 
 A Letter to John Bull. 
 
 export trade, with our tonnage, increases, 
 the subjoined comparison, of two separate 
 dates, will convey some instructing hints : 
 
 Years. Imports. Exports. Tonnage. 
 
 1842, 100,162,087 104,691,534 2,092,391 
 
 1851, 223,405,272 217,523,201 3,772,439 
 
 Or, in other words, our exports and im- 
 ports have more than doubled in value in 
 ten years, and our tonnage nearly doubled. 
 
 The steam marine of Great Britain was 
 reckoned in I860, at 1200 vessels, includ- 
 ing ferry boats and coal barges ; that of 
 the United States, in 1851, was 1489, 
 which were divided as follows : — Ocean 
 steamers 95, tonnage 91,475; propellers 
 119, tonnage 27,974; ferry boats 130, 
 tonnage 22,744; first-class river steamers 
 1,145, tonnage, 275,000. Other computa- 
 tions make the number of steamers 1800, 
 but I prefer the lowest statement. At 
 the same time, I forbear an)' comparison 
 of the respective merits, as to speed and 
 beauty, between the different descriptions 
 of vessels in the two nations. 
 
 But the growth of our internal commu- 
 nications, in other respects, are quite as 
 worthy of note. On the first of January, 
 1853, there were, in the United States, 
 13,219 miles of completed railroad, 12,928 
 miles of railroad in various stages of pro- 
 gress, and about 7,000 miles in the hands 
 of the engineers, which will be built within 
 the next three or four years, — making a 
 total of 33,155 miles of railroad which 
 will soon traverse the country, and 
 which, at an average cost of §30.000 (a 
 well ascertained average) for each mile 
 of road, including equipments, &c., will 
 have consumed a capital amounting to 
 §994,650,000, as follows : 
 
 13,227 miles completed . . . $396,810,000 
 
 12,929 miles in progress .... 837,S40,000 
 7,000 miles under "survey . . . 210,000,000 
 
 83,155 Total $994,650,000 
 
 or in round numbers — §1,000,000,000 — 
 one billion of dollars : a sum which, at 
 six per cent, would yield §G0.000,000 an- 
 nually, or more than sufficient to cover all 
 the expenses of the United States govern- 
 ment and of the governments of every 
 State composing the United States — if ad- 
 ministered with republican economy. 
 
 Now compare with the foregoing, what 
 has been done in the railroad line abroad. 
 Here is a statement from late received 
 authorities : 
 
 Miles 
 
 Great Britain and I conn 
 Ireland | 
 German States, in- ) 
 eluding Prussia V 5,332 
 and Austria ) 
 France 2,51S 
 
 Belgium 532 
 
 Russia 700 
 
 Italy 170 
 
 16,142 
 
 Aggregate. Cost [ter Mile. 
 
 $1,218,000,000 $177,000 
 
 825.575.000 61,000 
 
 838.905.000 254000 
 
 46.2S8.000 39.000 
 
 85.000. 000 75,000 
 
 15.000. 000 88,000 
 
 $2,159,068,00 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 The canals of the United States are 
 5,000 miles in length ; the electric telegraph 
 wires, 16,000 ; and the rivers actually 
 navigated, 47,355 miles by the shore line. 
 
 It is worth while to remark, that these 
 successes refer only to the developments 
 of the past, and insufficiently indicate the 
 more accelerated and prodigious strides 
 we shall make in the future. They have 
 been achieved in the midst of difficulties 
 of every kind — difficulties incident to the 
 want of wealth, of machinery, of skill, 
 and of a knowledge of the best industrial 
 methods. But in the future these defects 
 will be repaired ; every new discovery in 
 practical art will quicken the passage to 
 others, and the attainment of accumulated 
 capital will put within our command re- 
 sources that are now utterly beyond our 
 reach. Our people have already spread 
 themselves over the long extent of the 
 Pacific coast, and are opening new springs 
 and channels of trade in those vast and 
 fertile regions. They will soon enter into 
 the competition for the opulent trade of 
 the East. A ship canal across the Isthmus 
 of Panama, or a railroad to California 
 from the Mississippi Valley — projects now 
 vehemently agitated — will bring us nearly 
 two thousand miles nearer to China and 
 the East Indies, than any of the nations 
 which have heretofore possessed the lucra- 
 tive trade of Asia. What the result must 
 be, as well upon the reduction of the com- 
 merce of other nations as upon the growth 
 of our own. no one who comprehends the 
 increasing and indomitable enterprise of 
 the Americans need be told. 
 
 It behooves England especially to take 
 this suggestion into profound considera- 
 tion. With an ambition on the part of 
 Russia, to extend her possessions down to 
 the Mediterranean, so as to form a com- 
 plete barrier to European trade in Asia, 
 she has a vital interest in this movement. 
 Should the despotic powers of the continent 
 cut off or interrupt the possibility of her 
 overland communication with the prolific 
 magazines of Southern and Eastern Asia, 
 England will have none but the old routes 
 of travel left her, in which event, the 
 route across America would soon absorb 
 the entire trade of the East. As the Argo- 
 sies of the East once passed from Venice and 
 the Italian Republics into her own hands, 
 so they may hereafter pass from hers into 
 those of the western world. But this is 
 anticipating ! 
 
 You are a sensible man, John ; no man 
 more so ; and will appreciate these facts, 
 which I italicize, to impress them on your 
 mind. Our annual product surpasses 
 that of Great Britain; our domestic com- 
 merce also surpasses yours; our foreign 
 tonnage is almost equal to yours , and 
 
A Letter to John Lull. 
 
 225 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 in Jive years will be greater than yours; 
 our means of internal communication 
 by railroad equal yours, with the Con- 
 tinent thrown in ; our telegraphic lines 
 exceed you, by nearly the same measure; 
 and in every other physical element of 
 national superiority we cannot well con- 
 sent to hold the candle to you. 
 
 Let your neighbors the despots know 
 this, will you ? and tell them, too, not to 
 be so shallow as to try to account for this 
 vast and increasing prosperity, as they 
 have hitherto done, by ascribing it to the ex- 
 tent of our landed possessions. Russia has 
 land enough in all conscience ; is a young 
 nation, moreover ; yet Russia cannot 
 compare with us, in solid and swift de- 
 velopment. Your Colony of Lower Can- 
 ada has plenty of land ; but how far it 
 lags behind the States, which are only 
 separated by a riveT ! There is a whole 
 continent of fertile land in South America, 
 but where is the population, the trade, the 
 thrift, the peace ? No ! this land theory 
 will not suffice ; it cannot hold water ; and 
 it were better for your aforesaid neighbors 
 to concede at once, that we are what we 
 are, because of those free institutions, 
 which give the reins without a curb, to 
 the native enterprise of the people. W e 
 are prosperous because we are free, as 
 every nation is prosperous just to the ex- 
 tent of its freedom, which is so abundant- 
 ly evinced by your own history. 
 
 It must be confessed, however, that a 
 nation’s, like a man’s life, ; ‘consisteth not 
 in the abundance of the things that it 
 possesses.” All the wealth of the world 
 would do us no good, if it were unaccom- 
 panied by the richer treasures of intelli- 
 gence, virtue, and religion. It is a part 
 of my task, therefore, to show the effects 
 which democracy has had upon these; 
 and, I think, in pursuance of it, I shall be 
 able to make it clear that we are about as 
 well-educated, moral and orderly a people 
 as you can find ; or in other words, that 
 our intellectual, social, and religious pro- 
 gress has kept pace with our physical de- 
 velopment. 
 
 Reading and writing is a fair test of 
 popular intelligence, or, which amounts to 
 the same thing, the number of children 
 who go to school, and the number of 
 adults who take newspapers, periodicals, 
 and books. Now, the people of this re- 
 public esteem it one of their first duties 
 to make ample provision for the gratuitous 
 instruction of youth. Their public schools 
 are open every day, except Sundays, to 
 every class of citizens, are furnished with 
 competent teachers and libraries, and have 
 an immense average attendance of pupils. 
 Adding to these the private and grammar 
 schools, the young ladies’ seminaries and 
 
 colleges, and the theological and medical 
 institutes, in all just 100,000, and the 
 number of pupils will reach 4,000,000 • 
 which you will see, according to the usual 
 proportion of persons under twenty years 
 of age, comprises nine-tenths of our ado- 
 lescence, or one out of every five per- 
 sons. I have seen it stated that less than 
 2,000,000 of your youths go to any 
 school, and that the amount of your 
 government grants in aid of primary in- 
 struction falls short of £100,000, while 
 only half your men and one-third of your 
 women can read ! Why, the State of 
 New-York alone, with only 3,000,000 of 
 inhabitants has a school-fund of 6,641,930 
 dollars, and spends $2,249,814 annually, 
 on 11,537 different free schools, in which 
 862,507 children are recipients of their 
 bounties, besides 36,183 at the private 
 academies. Thus, more than one quarter 
 of the whole population of the State re- 
 ceives education in the district schools. It 
 is true, that Mr. Combe says that much 
 of the instruction in these common 
 schools is exceedingly defective ; and 
 certainly it is not equal to that of the 
 colleges ; but it is better than none ; it 
 begets the habit of learning, and lays the 
 foundation for future superior attainments. 
 
 That it is not ■wholly inefficient is evi- 
 dent, in that so many of our children 
 grow up to be readers. Here is a little 
 statement, for instance, of the issues of 
 our periodical and newspaper press, w'hich 
 speaks much : 
 
 
 No. 
 
 Circulation. 
 
 No. of Copies 
 
 
 
 
 printed annually. 
 
 Dailies . . . , 
 
 . 350 
 
 750,000 
 
 235,000,000 
 
 Tri -weeklies . , 
 
 . 150 
 
 75,000 
 
 11.700,000 
 
 Semi-weeklies . 
 
 . 125 
 
 80,000 
 
 8,320,000 
 
 Weeklies . . 
 
 . 2,000 
 
 2,875,000 
 
 140,500,000 
 
 Semi-monthlies 
 
 . 50 
 
 300,000 
 
 7,300,000 
 
 Monthlies . . 
 
 . 100 
 
 900,000 
 
 10,S00,000 
 
 Quarterlies . , 
 
 . 25 
 
 20,000 
 
 80,000 
 
 
 2,SOO 
 
 5,000,000 
 
 422,600,000 
 
 That is, nearly seventeen copies a year, 
 of some publication or other, to every 
 man, woman, and child in the nation ; or, 
 excluding infants, aged and diseased per- 
 sons, and those who can’t read, at least a 
 newspaper each week to every family. 
 Accordingly I do not believe that there is 
 an American family in the land wdiich 
 does not take in some newspaper or maga- 
 zine. I am not now arguing as to the 
 character of these publications, which, by 
 the way, are as good generally as those 
 of other nations, but only as to the fact 
 of their almost universal circulation. In 
 the United Kingdom there is not a daily 
 paper printed out of London : of those 
 that are printed in London, all are too 
 costly to be taken by the poorer classes ; 
 which is true also of the quarterlies and 
 monthlies; and of the weekly or local 
 
226 
 
 A Letter to John Bull. 
 
 prints, only a few obtain any considerable 
 circulation. 
 
 The statistics of the book-trade unfor- 
 tunately are not at hand, but I have no 
 doubt that the circulation of books is on 
 a level with that of periodicals. No 
 really valuable work is published in 
 England which is not reprinted here : the 
 works of our own authors are widely 
 read ; the trade of book-making is lucra- 
 tive, and that of b'ook publishing more so. 
 One publishing house, the Harpers’, issue 
 on the average a book a day, the sales of 
 which vary from five to fifty thousand 
 copies. It is also a happy sign which I 
 get from the publishers, that the best 
 books generally sell best, — by which I 
 mean, solid, well-written, instructive 
 books, — not your Reynolds’ and Ains- 
 worth’s romances, but the works of 
 Macaulay, Carlyle, De Quincey, Alison, 
 Bulwer, Dickens, Thackeray, Bancroft, 
 Prescott, Irving. &c. Mind. I say not 
 that we are a learned, but only an intelli- 
 gent people ; we read variously, and 
 much ; for as every man is thrown by 
 the peculiar structure of our society on 
 his own energies, one of the first wants 
 that he perceives and supplies is that of a 
 respectable degree of knowledge. Pro- 
 fundity and learning will come by and by, 
 to such as have need of them, when we 
 have more leisure. 
 
 Then, as to our moral and religious ac- 
 quirements, — ah ! what visions of lynch- 
 law, bowie-knives, filibustered, and the 
 "half-horse, half-alli gator” species, must 
 float before your after-dinner sleep ! 
 What shrieks of poor tortured Africans, 
 with chains on their wrists, supplicating 
 piteously “Am I not a man and a bro- 
 ther,” startle you into indignant wake- 
 fulness ? What streams of tobacco-juice 
 roll like another muddy Mississippi across 
 your cleanly sensibilities, while you stand 
 aghast to survey us as a nation of black- 
 legs, sharpers and bullies ? It is a strong 
 case against us ; one you think scarcely 
 admitting a defence; and yet look at 
 some curious facts on the other side. 
 
 Nearly every man among us is occupied 
 in some useful pursuit : the statisticians say 
 335 out of a thousand, which, rejecting in- 
 fants, minors and women, is nearly all — 
 the consequence is, that there is little 
 pauperism, the prolific source of vice, and 
 not much crime. The whole number of 
 poor in the several States was, at the 
 time of taking the last census, 134,972, of 
 whom 68,538, or more than half, were of 
 foreign birth — (friends mostly that you 
 have sent us, honest cousin) : and the entire 
 cost of their support, during the year, was 
 $2,954,806. 
 
 The number of paupers in England 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 and Wales, from 1840 to 1848, was 
 1,649,178 per annum, and the total expen- 
 diture for the poor in England and Ireland, 
 during the year 1848, amounted to 
 $42,750,000. The whole number of per- 
 sons convicted of crime in the United 
 States for the year ending June 1, 1850, 
 was about 27,000. Of these, 13,000 were 
 native and 14,000 foreign bom. The whole 
 number in prison on the first day of June 
 was about 6,700, of whom 4,300 were 
 native, and 2,460 foreign. These are as- 
 tonishingly small figures ! Minor of- 
 fences, of which we have no returns, are 
 undoubtedly more numerous, especially 
 personal assaults, — seeing that an Ameri- 
 can does not allow himself to be smitten 
 more than a dozen times before he smites 
 back ; and yet Lord Carlisle says, that in 
 all his travels in America he never saw an 
 affront given, and Mr. Fidler, Mr. Stuart, 
 Mr. Buckingham, Mr. Power, and Miss 
 Martineau, in the midst of much that dis- 
 pleases them, declare that our laboring 
 people are the most orderly, peaceable, in- 
 dustrious, good-natured fellows that could 
 be conceived. Certainly ! For why 
 should they kick up a row, or fall to, 
 upon society or their neighbors. They 
 have enough to eat and drink, and where- 
 withal to be clothed ; they have no 
 unjust taxes to despoil them of their 
 earnings ; no insolent officials to goad them 
 into insurrection ; in a word, they are 
 satisfied with themselves and their govern- 
 ment, and have no occasion for tumult. 
 It is therefore only in the larger cities, 
 receptacles of outcasts, and among the 
 foreigners on the canals, that we know of 
 Astor-Place riots, or Corkonian shindies. 
 
 Consider, too, the amount of religious 
 teaching vouchsafed in every year. Hea- 
 ven knows there is enough of it ; no nation 
 in the world gets so much, and if we do 
 not profit by it, we must be hard sinners 
 indeed ! There are, according to the last 
 census returns, in the United States, 8,791 
 Baptist churches, 812 Christian, 1,674 Con- 
 gregational, 324 Dutch Reformed, 1,422 
 Episcopal, 361 Free, 714 Friends, 327 Ger- 
 man Reformed, 31 Jewish, 1,208 Luthe- 
 ran, 110 Mennonist, 12,467 Methodist, 
 331 Moravian, 4,584 Presbyterian, 1,112 
 Roman Catholic, 15 Swedenborgian. 52 
 Tunker, 619 Union. 243 Unitarian, 490 
 Universalist, and 325 of minor sects ; 
 making a total of 49,011, furnishing ac- 
 commodation for 13,849,896 persons, or 
 one church for every 600 inhabitants, and 
 covering church property to the amount 
 of $86,416,636. 
 
 Now, these are not State establish- 
 ments, — churches forced upon us by the 
 government whether we will or no, and 
 which we attend only because the law 
 
A Letter to John Bull. 
 
 227 
 
 1853.] 
 
 compels us. They are the voluntary out- 
 growths of the piety that is in the commu- 
 nity; and the number of them, and their 
 prosperity, are both significant, because 
 they measure our willing homage to re- 
 ligious principle. With inconsiderable 
 exceptions they hold to the vital tenets of 
 Christianity, are every where largely at- 
 tended, and exert a prodigious influence 
 on conduct and social life. In fact, your 
 looser foreigners say that we are altogether 
 too religious, that the power of the clergy 
 is almost tyrannical, and that the univer- 
 sal observance of religious duties inter- 
 feres with the freedom and sprightliness 
 of our manners. 
 
 Be this as it may, it is certain, that 
 there is more public order in the United 
 States, than any where else ; I mean by 
 this, more willing obedience to the funda- 
 mental laws of the State. In your des- 
 potisms abroad, there is an enforced sub- 
 jection to law, a sullen, surly, discontented 
 submission, effected by rigid police sys- 
 tems, and at the point of the bayonet. But 
 with us men acquiesce, because, having 
 made their laws for themselves, they take 
 pleasure in submitting to them, and so 
 doing homage to the supremacy of the 
 people. The securities of the public peace 
 are their own embodied will ; every indi- 
 vidual feels interested in maintaining them, 
 and when they are threatened, would 
 gladly lay down his life in their defence, 
 because they are the shield and panoply 
 of what is dearer to him than his life— his 
 liberty. Oh, John, if there was ever a 
 humbug more enormous than all its tribe, , 
 it is that doctrine which teaches that li- 
 berty is akin to anarchy. No ! no ! liberty 
 is the only order ; the single source of so- 
 cial tranquillity and stable government. 
 Look how the European nations have been 
 rocking and tossing, since this century 
 began, in the throes of almost incessant 
 revolutions ! Scarcely a year has passed 
 without a violent outbreak in some one or 
 other of the monarchies. At three several 
 times, the whole continent has been enve- 
 loped in the flames of civil war. Have 
 not you, even, had infinite trouble with 
 Ireland ; with the working people ; with 
 the chartists ? while we, in the midst of 
 intense political discussions, with vast in- 
 terests depending on every Presidential 
 election ; with States widely separated in 
 position and feeling ; with large annual 
 accessions of unacclimated foreigners, but 
 without a standing arinjq and with scarce- 
 ly any need of a police, have not so much 
 as dreamed of civil combustion and blood- 
 shed. The politicians have sometimes 
 croaked loudly of the dangers of disunion, 
 but all their lowering looks, and all their 
 muttering thunders, have never yet dis- 
 
 turbed the mercury of society sufficiently 
 to produce a fall in the stock barometer! 
 There have been changes of administration 
 with us, but not the beginning of an at- 
 tempt to overturn or even resist the gov- 
 ernment. The doctrine of nullification, or 
 the right of a State to withdraw from the 
 confederacy, though it has managed to 
 make a great noise, is, thus far at least, 
 an exceedingly harmless affair, and my as- 
 surance is, that the good sense, the justice, 
 the spirit of concession which reigns in 
 our councils, will render it unnecessary or 
 impotent in the future. 
 
 It is fortunately a characteristic of de-. 
 mocratic legislation, that it is perpetually 
 removing from the shoulders of the people, 
 the burden of bad laws, and of unjust and 
 oppressive institutions. All that wretched 
 trumpery of absurd forms and iniquitous 
 precedents, for instance, which we inherit-’ 
 ed from you as a part of the common law, 
 we have long since sent to the dogs, and 
 we rejoice now ip simple codes, which we 
 are glad to see, that your wiser statesmen 
 are beginning to. commend and adopt. In 
 the same way, whatever evil may lurk in 
 our political relations ; whatever practical 
 inequality or injustice may be developed 
 in tho working of our system, will be gra- 
 dually eliminated and destroyed. Thus 
 our civil dangers decrease with the years,, 
 and our prospects of peace and union, al- 
 ready bright, grow brighter with the ad- 
 vancing day. 
 
 What, then, do you make of slavery ? I 
 hear you exclaim : Why have not your 
 democratic influences extinguished that ? 
 How is a despotism of one race over 
 another allowed to expand in the very 
 shelter of your boasted progress ? These 
 are consistent questions, John, and when 
 I have more space, I shall give them a full, 
 and explicit answer. But let me ask, 
 whether it never occurred to you that 
 this inheritance of some of our States — -a, 
 thing not of their own seeking, which lias 
 grown about them as the Old Man clasped 
 Sinbad,— which is inwrought into the fibre 
 of their sooiety, and involves tremendous 
 commercial and social interests,— whether 
 it was so much a matter for the moral 
 wrath of exquisite fine ladies at Stafford 
 House, as for the cautious, wise, anxious, 
 prayerful consideration of the best heads 
 and noblest hearts of their own people. 
 Do you not think that they who have to 
 struggle with the evil, who live in the 
 midst of it, and know it, must find the 
 remedy? And not those far away who 
 have evils enough of their own to satisfy 
 any moderate philanthropic ambition? 
 More especially should it not be left to 
 the persons, who alone are now responsible 
 for it, when, as I sincerely believe, the 
 
228 
 
 A Letter to John Bull. 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 agencies are at work, which will gradually 
 remove it from their care ? Here is what 
 I mean : Once slavery existed in all these 
 States, it is now confined to only half of 
 them ; in five of the latter, it is not re- 
 tained by the strongest tenure — in the 
 States bordering on the free States I mean 
 — and as the black race grows less rapidly 
 than the white race here, while the com- 
 mercial interests involved in slavery, are 
 becoming comparatively less strong than 
 other interests, there is a hope opened up 
 that slavery will pass away. It will pass, 
 however, not by dint of moral objurgation, 
 which never yet drove out any evil, much 
 less one so rooted — not by any single sub- 
 lime and impossible act of national self- 
 sacrifice, but it will be driven off by ad- 
 vancing civilization — nowhere more rapid 
 than here, — it will be crushed by that 
 physical progress which is so expansive and 
 irresistible. Agriculture is the only form 
 of labor compatible with a thriving condi- 
 tion of slavery ; introduce commerce and 
 the manufacturing arts where slavery ex- 
 ists, and it retires ; it is forced inevitably to 
 abandon its old fields for fresher ones, or 
 to allow itself to be converted into 
 the apprenticeship and wages state. 
 Slaves as such, have no capacity for com- 
 plicated kinds of business; they cannot 
 navigate ships or railroads, which run 
 away with them ; they cannot keep store, 
 for they are dishonest ; while in manufac- 
 tories, being less skilful, they are on the 
 average less profitable than free laborers. 
 The only chance for their lucrative employ- 
 ment. is in mining and the simpler sorts . 
 of husbandry. Considering, therefore, 
 with what velocity commerce and the 
 mechanic arts are spreading over those 
 regions here in which the institution re- 
 mains, we have a ground for hope that we 
 shall see it withdrawing more and more 
 to the South, where it will finally be con- 
 centrated in a few localities, and then 
 lose its power. The process may be a 
 slow one, but the end will come. It will 
 come, too, as I believe — if benevolence, 
 and not fanaticism has the management of 
 affairs — without violence, and with the con- 
 sent of all. But your handsome luscious 
 daughters, John, — bless their dear souls, 
 and your obese, fat-lieaded, oleaginous 
 Exeter-IIall-men, help the movement best 
 by letting it alone. Meanwhile, if you 
 must have a stuffed Paddy for your pugi- 
 listic charities, let me recommend you to 
 pommel your atrocious aristrocratic sys- 
 tem, or your treatment of Ireland, or the 
 tourniquet company, which squeezes the 
 blood out of India, or the slavery of the 
 
 Danish and Spanish Colonies, and of Rus- 
 sia, where it exists in a thousandfold more 
 aggravated form than in the Southern 
 States. Try it, beloved cousin ! 
 
 As for our filibusterism, and alleged 
 rapacity for land, there is somewhat to be 
 said. First, however, what a droll hypo- 
 crite you are, John, standing there so 
 meekly, and rolling up your pious eyes ! Is 
 it that there is such a magnificence in 
 your style of roguery, that, like Robert 
 Macaire, you feel a right to cuff and snub 
 the meaner spirit of our poor Jaques 
 Strops ? It appears, that since the year 
 1800 , you have made, in addition to your 
 already enormous possessions, the follow- 
 ing territorial acquisitions: 
 
 Area, eq. miles. Population. 
 
 In Europe (10 islands) . 1,192 350,000 
 
 In West Indies . . 100,000 130,000 
 
 In Africa . . . 201,000 300,000 
 
 In Australia . . 8,000,000 300,000 
 
 In India, besides the Pun- 
 jaub and Seinde . . 228,700 100,000,000 
 
 Hong-Kong, in China, has been annexed 
 to the British dominions by the sword ; a 
 new Gibraltar has been formed and forti- 
 fied in Aden ; Rajah Brook has displayed 
 his adventurous spirit at Sarawak ; you 
 are fast retrieving any concessions you 
 might have inadvertently made in the 
 splendid gem of the South Pacific New 
 Zealand ; you are striving to retain your 
 foothold in Central America, and Heaven 
 only knows, where you have not looked, 
 or are not looking, for a few inches more. 
 There is really an impressive and awful 
 grandeur in your spirit of appropriation. 
 
 Now, if we, in humble and distant imi- 
 tation of this stupendous ancestral exam- 
 ple, have taken the lands of Uncas and his 
 copper-colored brethren, we have paid 
 handsomely for them — some say, twice as 
 much as they were worth, besides exer- 
 cising a better care of their owners, than 
 such incorrigible savages deserved; we 
 have acquired Florida, but paid honorably 
 for it, and the same is true of Louisiana ; 
 and, though we bullied Mexico in the out- 
 set, we settled the account finally with a 
 good round sum. The independence of 
 Texas was recognized by nearty all civi- 
 lized nations, before it was incorporated in- 
 to the Union. Not one rood of ground then 
 have we stolen or forced from its unwil- 
 ling inhabitants by the sword.* Yet, we 
 do confess, that we are not unwilling that 
 our people, and their institutions, should 
 spread over neighboring lands. We are 
 not, because we are convinced that demo- 
 cratic government is the best government ; 
 the wisest, the justest, the most humane. 
 Moreover, the system of constitutional fe- 
 
 * I should perhaps except the cases of a few wild tribes whose expulsion was a matter of absolute state neces- 
 sity, and who were amply compensated for their removal. 
 
A Letter to John Bull. 
 
 229 
 
 1853.] 
 
 deral union, which binds our States to- 
 gether. assuring to each of them complete 
 republican independence, free trade, equal 
 rights of citizenship, reciprocal good will, 
 and a united defence against foreign aggres- 
 sion, is a better system of international re- 
 lations, than the old system of treaties and 
 a vague “ law of nations,” which means only 
 the will of the strongest. It is the system 
 which combines Christian fraternity with 
 individual independence, and which unites 
 the strength of perfect central unity, with 
 the pliancy of municipal and local free- 
 dom. It is fixed and powerful, yet fluent 
 and susceptible ; not petrifying like des- 
 potism, nor licentious like anarchy, but 
 free, expansive, harmonious, firm ; like 
 the law which guides stars, where each 
 pursues its own rejoicing course, and yet 
 bends in genial homage to the imperial 
 sun. We cannot, therefore, regard the 
 disposition of the people, even of those 
 more wild and turbulent spirits, who yield 
 too unreservedly to the intoxication of a 
 pervading influence, as a mere marauding 
 and piratical rage. We see, beneath the 
 superficial propensity, a deep feeling of 
 inspiration ; its excesses we are quick and 
 anxious to restrain, but the profounder 
 impulses on which they are borne, we re- 
 cognize, and shall strive wisely to direct. 
 The stagnant and leaden conservatism of 
 the world, may croak and denounce as it 
 pleases, but as we have a faith that our 
 movement is a Providential one, designed 
 for the salvation and benefit of poor, 
 ignorant, debased and stationary races ; 
 we shall continue to push forward till ar- 
 rested by some mightier obstacle than vi- 
 tuperation. For, wherever we go, we carry 
 with us the elements of peace, prosperity, 
 progress, and wise government. There is, 
 
 therefore, something beneficent, as well as 
 sublime, in the spectacle of our diffusion. 
 It is not like the march of victorious Ro- 
 man legions to the conquest and subjec- 
 tion of trembling provinces ; not like the 
 sudden rush of a Tartar tribe, over popu- 
 lous and blooming plains, leaving desola- 
 tion in its track ; but the steady, onward, 
 fertilizing flow of a mighty river, which 
 bears upon its waves the richest seeds of 
 future harvests. All that is valuable in 
 the achievements of time, is ours ; freedom 
 of speech and action ; a cheap press ; sim- 
 ple and just laws ; rapid physical progress ; 
 religious equality ; stable government ; the 
 happiness of the multitude ; and these, 
 we deposit wherever we stop, giving them 
 as a free boon to mankind. Other na- 
 tions have planted dependent colonies, but 
 we raise up and establish states. They 
 govern slaves at a distance, hut we train 
 the semi-civilized into freedom, teaching 
 them to govern themselves. Mexico, Cuba, 
 Canada, the Sandwich Islands, under Eu- 
 ropean rule, would remain what they are ; 
 under our tutelage, they would grow into 
 powerful communities. Away, then, with 
 the cant about freebooting and rapacity ! 
 
 Recalling to your mind, my excellent 
 cousin, that the effects of democratic gov- 
 ernment, as I have briefly shown, are 
 great prosperity , the abolition of unjust 
 and complicated laws , the reduction of 
 poverty and crime , the elevation of the 
 masses, benign government, and, the 
 spread of humanitary principles oves' 
 the globe; let me urge you to a more 
 careful study of democracy, and so I close 
 this epistle. 
 
 Accept the assurance of my most dis- 
 tinguished consideration. Yours, 
 
 Brother Jonathan. 
 
230 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 EDITORIAL NOTES. 
 
 LITERATURE. 
 
 American. — We have never known a 
 less prolific holiday season, than that 
 which has just past. Have our publishers 
 been indolent, or is the taste of the public 
 changing ? It used to be the custom to 
 issue, when Christmas approached, an 
 almost endless variety of “ Gifts,” 
 “Remembrances,” “Gems,” “Tokens,” 
 “Wreaths,” “Irises,” “Albums.” &c., 
 &c., &c., with very bad mezzotint engrav- 
 ings, and worse letter-press, — ephemeral 
 works, destined to perish in a few weeks ; 
 but that custom appears to be rapidly 
 passing away. But do men and ■women 
 prefer beautiful standard editions of books 
 in then- place ? Has the perennial super- 
 seded the annual? We certainly hope 
 so ; for those gift-books were sad things 
 at best, while no mind has yet been able 
 to compute the value of a Shakspeare, a 
 Milton, a Thomson, a Gray, an Irving, 
 a Bryant, a Longfellow. A general de- 
 sire for the possession of these immortal 
 writers augurs the happiest improvement. 
 Let our publishers be preparing for it the 
 present year ! 
 
 — Poems are universally pronounced a 
 “drug in the market,” and yet they who 
 ought to know best about it — the pub- 
 lishers — continue to send them forth with 
 almost unexampled rapidity. Henry 
 Alford, and Charles Mackay, are not 
 names well known on this side of the 
 Atlantic ; but Messrs. Ticknor, Reid and 
 Fields, have just published two handsome 
 volumes of their respective works, with 
 prefaces by the authors, and, doubtless, 
 with an assurance that they will sell. 
 Mr. Alford is a churchman, and writes 
 gracefully and genially, in the spirit of 
 Herbert and Keble, while Mr. Mackay 
 is a modern reformer, who celebrates the 
 doctrines of Progress, and urges his fel- 
 lows to a stern and relentless warfare 
 against social injustice and wrong. There 
 is an amiable, tender feeling, in both of 
 them — a fine poetic sense, and an excel- 
 lent command of language. Some of Mr. 
 Mackay’s lyrics have a fiery pathos and 
 energy in them, like the sound of a trum- 
 pet. Alford is gentler and quieter in his 
 tone, with a rare sweetness of sentiment. 
 Both will find readers in this countiy of 
 various tastes. 
 
 — Mr. Hale’s excellent little weekly, 
 which he called “ To-day ,” has ceased, 
 because the editor has found other occu- 
 pation. We regret that it was not 
 thought advisable to continue it, as it was 
 one of the best-managed and most agree- 
 
 able of our periodicals. The series of 
 essays on some well-known authors, 
 which appeared in it, were admirable criti- 
 cisms — unsparing, yet kind and judicious. 
 We hope to be able to offer our own read- 
 ers some contributions from the pens of 
 their authors. 
 
 — How the critics differ ! There was 
 the poem, which appeared in our first 
 number, the “ Warden of the Cinque 
 Ports,” — a writer, in the Literary World, 
 alludes to it, as a “break-down,” mean- 
 ing a failure ; while another, in the Boston 
 Post, lauds it, as a genuine and excellent 
 poem, the best that has been written on 
 the death of the Duke of Wellington. He 
 is so much enamored of it, that he says, — 
 “ Putnam’s Monthly ” would be worth a 
 year’s subscription if all the other pages 
 had been blank ! The Evening Post, of 
 this city, we perceive, takes the side of 
 its Boston contemporary ; but, on the other 
 hand, a New Bedford writer thinks that it 
 was not sufficiently original in its manner, 
 being a “ a manifest imitation of Longfel- 
 low.” English opinion has not yet reach- 
 ed us. 
 
 — Here is a swelling title, “ The Land 
 of the Cesar and Doge ; historical and 
 artistic, incidental, personal , and liter- 
 ary,” and means travels in Italy. The 
 writer is Mr. William Furniss, of this 
 city, who has made two other adven- 
 tures in the wilderness of literature. 
 We cannot congratulate him on any great 
 success. His style is inflated and incor- 
 rect, and his sentiments common. Take 
 the opening sentence : “ On a bright moon- 
 light, in the month of March, two travel- 
 lers stood upon the deck of the steamer 
 ‘Rameses,’ shortly after she had passed 
 out of the port of Alexandria. Long and 
 listlessly they watched the receding out- 
 lines of the low coast of Egypt, and mused 
 in thoughtful observance until the land was 
 mingled with the ocean, as the two tall 
 towers of the Faro and Diocletian’s pillar 
 waved their lone forms, like spectres, 
 against the sky ; wdiilst the last faint 
 twinkling of the beacon-light fled with 
 quivering flashes into extinction, and the 
 last glimmer of its meteoric train fell 
 upon the sea, to token the departure of 
 the receding continent of Africa.” With 
 such a load of “ epitaphs,” as Mrs. Mala- 
 prop would say, on board, we wonder how 
 the Rameses got out of the harbor at all. 
 
 The writer then proceeds — “ They were 
 two friends, who had wandered far from 
 their early western home into the hoary 
 orient, and now met like Eothen. to dream 
 
Editorial Notes — American Literature. 
 
 231 
 
 1853.] 
 
 on the broad bright bosom of the Medi- 
 terranean. Travers had journeyed into 
 the Holy Land, and Clarence on the Nile, 
 and they now viewed together the glories 
 of that scene, with the transport of united 
 hearts, and the communion of unbroken 
 sympathies.” Were they the Siamese 
 twins'? 
 
 Immediately the two friends get moon- 
 struck, and philosophize in this wise : 
 
 “ Clarence, who was the first to break the 
 stillness of that hour, observed the gushing 
 sheen of that bright vision on the gleaming 
 waters, and thus addressed his friend : — 
 
 “Travers, did you ever notice that the 
 moon, when viewed upon water, casts her 
 full shield at the foot of the beholder, and 
 that her rays diverge from the eye of the 
 spectator, enlarging the masses of broad, sil- 
 very waves, with increasing beauty in the 
 distance? Whence then this contrast with 
 the sun, whose rays converge in contrariwise, 
 as you observe at sunrise, when his full orb 
 rushes with molten glory from the sea, and 
 that his image is mirrored on the horizon, 
 and old ocean is awakehed by the expanding 
 beams of his light?” 
 
 “This philosophy of yours is passing 
 strange, and new to me,” said Travers, “al- 
 though, doubtless, true. Is it because she 
 shines by soft and coy-reflected light — and, 
 maiden-like, would lie at the foot of man — 
 that we must view the sun afar, and her soft 
 sheen much nearer, to our sight? — So strange, 
 indeed, is it, that the most familiar pheno- 
 mena of nature are overlooked by the casual 
 and heedless traveller; and we, who are 
 wont to look upon ourselves as only admir- 
 able , are by ourselves so much obscured, that 
 our own shadows dim the philosophy of 
 earth, and leave us little but ourselves to 
 study. Well saith the poet Hastings: — 
 
 1 What exite from his native land 
 E’er left himself behind ? ’ 
 
 “Ever thus presumptuous man, relying 
 on his own strength and glorying in boast- 
 ful ignorance, is often tripped in his ambi- 
 tious schemes by some accident of thought.” 
 
 On the next page we have “softer 
 sheen” and “broad sheen,” with more 
 about the moon’s “ opening her moist eye 
 with tremulous pulsations,” and “ laving 
 with showery pearls the expanse of sea, 
 washing the welkin with waves of argent 
 beauty.” There is a storm shortly after, 
 which is thus described. “Now again, 
 — now still stronger the storm rages, — 
 and our free ship tosses and pitches like a 
 tormented giant, taunted by the wanton 
 and lascivious waves. Each jolting shock 
 batters the citadel of a heart, and the 
 pallid lip and quivering eye show that 
 confidence is gone — and we are sick !” 
 Not more so than your readers ! Mr. 
 Furniss finds it impossible to say that he 
 arrived in due time at Malta, but writes : 
 “ The beacon is now passed. Straightway 
 
 and onward the steamer plunges in her 
 course. Now she enters the narrow 
 portals of the harbor. The paddle-wheel 
 lags, plashes, backs, dashes, — the crank 
 truckles, falls, and lazily halts, and she 
 stops ! The light-house is behind !” (dead 
 beat, we suppose). The order for drop- 
 ping anchor is given. “ Give way — down 
 anchor,” — and away the clattering chain 
 rattles to the sea, and the iron flukes 
 plunge into the sea. The sea riles at its 
 mordant bite.” And so on to the end, 
 dreary and platitudinous. 
 
 — “ The Hector of St. Bardolph ,” by 
 the Rev. F. W. Shelton, — one of our 
 most amusing writers, who loves fun 
 for its own sake, and does not think it ne- 
 cessary that every joke should involve a 
 moral, is a record of the life of a country 
 clergyman, told in a simple but lively 
 way, and abounds in amusing as well 
 as touching incidents. The choir, the 
 tea-table chat, the sexton, the rector, are 
 hit off with unusual drollery, while the 
 sly allusions to religious controversies will 
 have their effect. Mr. Shelton, the 
 author, has long been one of the most 
 valuable contributors to the pages of 
 the Knickerbocker. 
 
 — Barring certain literary inelegancies 
 in Lossing’s “j F ield Book of the Revolu- 
 tionf it is a most creditable performance, 
 and, now that it is completed, will take 
 rank among the foremost authorities, on 
 the events and characters of our revolu- 
 tionary struggle. The labor which must 
 have been expended in collecting the ma- 
 terial, is wonderful, while the fidelity and 
 general accuracy is no less surprising. 
 Sir. Lossing has not only prepared the 
 text, but made the wood-cut designs, 
 which are numerous and well done. 
 
 — Any citizen who drinks milk, or al- 
 lows his children to drink it, will find in 
 a little work called the “ Milk Trade of 
 New- York and its Vicinity ,” some as- 
 tounding facts. It was prepared by Mr. 
 John Mullaly, a reporter for one of our 
 daily papers, and he has exhibited unusual 
 diligence in the collection, as well as 
 judgment in the arrangement of his ma- 
 terials. 
 
 — “ The War of Orm.uzd and Aliri- 
 man in the 19 th Century ,” is the rather 
 high-sounding title of a Baltimore book, 
 by Henry Winter Davis. It designates 
 the battle between the Republican and 
 Despotic principles, which the author 
 thinks is approaching, and for which he 
 desires to see the nations prepared. Russia 
 is regarded as the embodiment of this and 
 the United States of that, while the other 
 nations must revolve around one or the 
 other, as mere satellites or allies. The 
 rapid rise of Russia is sketched in the 
 
232 
 
 Editorial Notes — American Literature. 
 
 outset, — and its ambitious schemes of 
 universal dominion exposed. Next, the 
 distribution of Europe made under the 
 Holy Alliance is discussed, and the suc- 
 cessive attempts of the Poles, Hungarians 
 and French to achieve national freedom, 
 narrated. Finally, the policy which the 
 American government ought to pursue in 
 reference to European struggles, is treated 
 at length. The author’s ideas, though 
 not identical with Kossuth’s, have been 
 evidently inspired by hi m, though it is a part 
 of his argument that the foreign policy of 
 the United States has always looked to a 
 wise intervention in European affairs. 
 He writes intelligently, and sometimes 
 with eloquence, but his suggestions would 
 have produced more effect if they had 
 been written in a more quiet and subdued 
 style. As to the questions raised in this 
 book, they are too important to be dis- 
 missed in a hasty paragraph; and we 
 therefore hope to be able to make them 
 the subject, sooner or later, of an elaborate 
 article. 
 
 — In a late number of the London 
 Athenceum we find forty-nine American 
 books advertised, one extensively review- 
 ed, and four favorably “noticed.” It is 
 also said, by an English authority, that a 
 far greater number of volumes of Ameri- 
 can literature have been sold in England 
 during the year 1852, than of English 
 literature in America. In 1834, the pub- 
 lications of English and American works 
 here bore the relation : 198 English to 
 260 American. In 1852, the relation 
 stood as follows : English, 247, American, 
 690. Thus the American originals have 
 nearly trebled, while the reprints remain 
 very much the same in number as they 
 were 19 years since. 
 
 —A beautiful cabinet edition, revised, of 
 the Diary of Samuel Pepys, will speedily 
 be issued, in 4 Vols. small 8vo. And is 
 to appear simultaneously in London and 
 New-York. 
 
 — M. Chasle’s “ Notabilities in 
 
 France and England ,” is also speedily 
 to be published here in an English dress. 
 
 — A New Universal Gazetteer , contain- 
 ing much valuable new information, inclu- 
 ding the recent census of the United States, 
 also those of Great Britain and France, 
 &c., by T. C. Callicott, A. M., one of the 
 editors of the Commercial Advertiser, is a 
 much needed work, which has been long 
 in preparation, and is now advertised for 
 next month. 
 
 — The “ Illustrated Catalogue of the 
 Great Exhibition of Industry of all 
 Nations in New- York,” is to be got out 
 somewhat on .the plan and style of the 
 London Illustrated Catalogue. G. P. 
 Putnam & Co. are appointed by the Asso- 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 ciation, the publishers. They will also 
 issue the official Illustrated Weekly 
 Record, to be printed at the Crystal 
 Palace. 
 
 English. — The London Times has a 
 “ crushing ” review of Thackeray’s “ Es- 
 mond. ,” probably provoked by the Preface 
 to the “ Kickleburys on the Rhine.” in 
 which the critic of ' that learned journal, 
 if we remember rightly, came off second 
 best. It professes to be a fair critique, 
 and speaks patronizingly of the author’s 
 talents, but the malicious purpose is ill- 
 concealed. The writer complains that 
 Mr. Thackeray is an utter unbeliever in 
 human virtue, that his good people are all 
 stupid, and his wicked people very amus- 
 ing, while he makes the most atrocious 
 and exceptional characters the “abiding 
 rule ” of life. He next condemns the at- 
 tempt to imitate the style of the Reign 
 of Queen Anne, because, admitting the 
 cleverness of it, the author has been be- 
 trayed by it into numerous discrepancies 
 and anomalies. 
 
 He says : 
 
 “That Steele should be described as a pri- 
 vate in the Guards in the year 1690, when 
 he was only 15 years old and a school-boy 
 at the Charter-house, is, perhaps, no great 
 offence in a work of fiction ; but a fatal 
 smile involuntarily crosses the reader’s cheek, 
 when he learns, in an early part of the story, 
 that a nobleman is ‘made to play at ball and 
 billiards by sharpers, who take his money;’ 
 and is informed some time afterwards that 
 the same lord has ‘ gotten a new game from 
 London, a French game, called a billiard.’ 
 It is not surprising that for a moment Mr. 
 Thackeray should forget that he is Mr. Es- 
 mond, and speak of ‘rapid new coaches’ 
 that ‘ performed the journey between London 
 and the University in a single day,’ when he 
 means to say 'perform ;’ neither is it aston- 
 ishing that the writer of 1852 should an- 
 nounce it as a memorable fact, that in the 
 days of Queen Anne young fellows would 
 ‘make merry at their taverns and call toasts,’ 
 although it is quite out of place for the writer 
 of 1742 to marvel at the same custom, seeing 
 that Colonel Esmond must have known the 
 fashion to be in vogue in the times of George 
 the Second. A less pardonable oversight 
 certainly occurs in the second volume, when 
 (at page 40) the reign of William III. and 
 that of Queen Anne seem unaccountably 
 jumbled together in the same paragraph; 
 but were such faults as we have indicated to 
 present themselves with tenfold frequency, it 
 would be idle and unfair to insist upon im- 
 perfections inseparable from such an effort 
 as that to which Mr. Thackeray has doomed 
 himself, for no better reason that we can dis- 
 cern than that of demonstrating how much 
 more amusing, lively, and companionable he 
 is in his own easy attire than when tricked 
 
Editorial Notes — English Literature. 
 
 233 
 
 1853.] 
 
 out with the wig, buckles, and other accou- 
 trements of our deceased and venerated ances- 
 tors.” 
 
 In closing this criticism, the writer ac- 
 cuses Thackeray of repeating himself in 
 all his works ; saying that though it is 
 well to have a natural affection for your 
 offspring, to obtrude them upon your vis- 
 itors shows a want of tact, good-breeding, 
 and good sense. 
 
 — Layard’s long-expected work, com- 
 prising the account of his new explora- 
 tions at Babylon and further discoveries 
 at Nineveh, is to be issued simultaneously, 
 about the first of March, by Murray of 
 London, and Putnam & Co. of New-York. 
 The work will be fully illustrated, and 
 uniform with his former work. 
 
 — An additional volume on the “ Life 
 and Letters of Niebuhr ,” has been edited 
 by Susannah W irkworth, in continua- 
 tion of Chevalier Bunsen’s memoir. It 
 renders the former work more complete, 
 and supplies many interesting letters, 
 which were omitted by the former editor. 
 We do not see, however, that it gives us 
 any higher opinion of the character of the 
 great historian. 
 
 —The gentleman who is to replace Mr. 
 Empson, lately deceased, in the editorship 
 of the Edinburgh Review , is Mr. 
 George Cornwall Lewis, — favorably 
 known as an author. He is distinguished, 
 says the Atheneum , for his knowledge of 
 political enonomy, — and though not him- 
 self a contributor to the higher classes of 
 literature, is said to appreciate literature 
 in all its branches with a hearty and dis- 
 criminating relish. 
 
 — The speeches in Parliament of the 
 late Duke of Wellington, are about to 
 be collected and published uniformly 
 with the far-famed Wellington Dis- 
 patches. The collection was commenced 
 by the late Colonel Gurwood, — continued 
 by the Colonel’s widow, — and corrected 
 in many places by the Duke himself. 
 
 — The Westminster Review for Jan- 
 uary, has an article on “ Slavery in the 
 United States ,” also an elaborate essay 
 on the late Daniel Webster ,” and a his- 
 tory of the '■'■Mormons ” — three American 
 subjects, out of the eight which it con- 
 tains. This periodical, under Mr. Chap- 
 man’s management, is rapidly improving 
 in character and circulation. 
 
 — The “ Children of Light , by Caro- 
 line Chester,” is advertised in the Eng- 
 lish prints, — also the “ Portrait Gallery 
 of Distinguished Americans , by C. Ed- 
 wards Leicester.” What’s in a name ? 
 
 — Who does not remember the eloquent 
 “ Stones of Venice,” by John Ruskin, and 
 who that remembers, will not be glad to 
 hear, that a second part of that work 
 vol. i. — 16 
 
 is completed, and will soon be put to 
 press ? 
 
 — That portion of the earth, which, a 
 short time since, was the sink of British 
 felony, has become a chief subject of in- 
 terest in England ; and Australia has 
 now more books written about it, than any 
 other division of the globe. The latest of 
 these publications is called “ The Three 
 Colonies of Australia ,” and was written 
 bir Samuel Sidney. - It is historical, de- 
 scriptive and practical, and gives us as much 
 information about the new El Dorado as 
 any one would care to get. On the whole, 
 it is one of the most reliable works called 
 forth by the gold discoverers. 
 
 — Egypt is a sort of patrimony of the 
 St. Johns. In our last number we refer- 
 red to the “ Village Life in Egypt,” of 
 Bayle St. John, and now we have “ Isis, 
 an Egyptian Pilgrimage ,” by John 
 Augustus St. John, the father of the for- 
 mer. This time, however, we have not a 
 book of travels, but a series of stories, de- 
 signed to illustrate the “ inner life ” of 
 Egypt. Fable and philosophy are judi- 
 ciously mingled with pleasant personal 
 incidents. 
 
 — A new work by the author of “ Jane 
 Eyre ” is announced, — a novel of course, — 
 but whether of the Jane Eyre, or the 
 Wildfel Hall School, is not told. How 
 many readers who were thrilled by that 
 thrilling series of romances put forth by 
 the “ Bells,” will look forward with eager- 
 ness to this forthcoming volume. A new 
 “ Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” could not produce 
 more sensation in the literary world. 
 
 — A new novel, too, by the writer of 
 “ Alary Barton ,” one of those exciting 
 fictions which depict the struggles and 
 sorrows of the poorer classes of England, 
 is in press. 
 
 — Mrs. Moodie’s forthcoming work is 
 entitled, “ Mark Hundlestone.” It will 
 be published in a few days. 
 
 France. — Our notes on French and 
 German literature are necessarily brief, 
 the delays of the Havre and Bremen 
 steamers, having left us without the usual 
 supply of new publications from the two 
 countries. 
 
 — A new Edition of Calvin’s Commen- 
 taries on the Neiv Testament, is about 
 to appear in France, under the care of 
 competent editors. The first volume will 
 be published at an early day, and will be 
 followed by the others at intervals of six 
 months. Four volumes will complete the 
 work ; the subscription price is 25 francs, 
 or $5. Of all the works of the great 
 reformer, this is perhaps the most gen- 
 erally useful at the present day. Ilis 
 exegesis of the Sacred Books is impartial, 
 
234 
 
 Editorial Notes — French Literature. 
 
 and not mocked by the polemic glow 
 which so much animates his dogmatic 
 writings, and which is here replaced by 
 an ardent and profoundly devout religious 
 feeling. It may be studied with interest 
 and instruction, by Christians whose doc j 
 trinal views differ from those of Calvin ; 
 which cannot be said of all of his books, 
 transcendent as is the intellect, and 
 trenchant as is the merciless logic that 
 pervades them. 
 
 — Under the title of Phedtre de St. de 
 Balzac (Dramatic works of St. de Bal- 
 zac), a handsome volume containing the 
 four plays of Vautrin, Les Ressources 
 de Quinola, Pamela- GBaud, and La 
 Mardlre, has just made its appearance at 
 Paris. In these dramas may be found all 
 the genius and all the perversity of Balzac ; 
 and we know no better book for those 
 who desire to read him for themselves, 
 and do not wish to go into the rest of 
 his works. Beyond doubt the most con- 
 siderable figure in French literature for 
 the last thirty years, he does not seem 
 to us destined to outlive the epoch of 
 feverish, and opium-eating passion, from 
 which and for which he wrote. A lurid 
 atmosphere overhangs all his creations. 
 The moral-impossible is his delight. A 
 monster of vice, who amid all the orgies of 
 crime, still retains the idea and the secret 
 worship of virtue, is the most frequent 
 character among his heroes. Thus 
 Vautrin is a man who has violated every 
 law, an escaped galley-slave, the chief of 
 a band of robbers, making no bones of 
 murder or any other crime ; at the same 
 time from mere love of goodness, he brings 
 up in virginal purity a boy, whom he 
 finds barefoot on the high road, and who 
 turns out to be the son of a Duke carried 
 off in infancy. The drama winds up with 
 the arrest of Vautrin, to be carried back 
 to the galleys, and the restoration of the 
 young man, adorned with every accom- 
 plishment and unsullied as an angel, to 
 the arms of his parents, whom his re- 
 covery reconciles to each other, after a 
 long and envenomed hostility. But this 
 is only a feeble specimen of the night- 
 mares' with which that fertile brain has 
 endowed the literature of his country. 
 We do not deny a single merit which the 
 admirers of so rare a man can attribute to 
 him. We know the wondrous skill with 
 which he analyzes the fibres of the human 
 heart. W e know the daguerreotypic fidel- 
 ity with which he paints the traits of 
 human character. We know the profound 
 wisdom with which this Mephistopheles 
 can discuss the problems of practical life. 
 We know, above all, the matchless charms 
 of his vigorous and original diction, in 
 which every word is a thought. But after 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 all, we find more in him to pity than to 
 like ; he is a victim to the social depravity 
 of Paris, and not a great poet. His cre- 
 ations make you shiver and sicken with 
 their gloom, and their unnatural, sickish 
 intensity. He belongs to the night ; he 
 is inhuman, and unwholesome. Better 
 one touch of honest, sunny nature, one 
 tear that drops, straight and pure from the 
 genuine heart, than all this affluent flow 
 of genius so sadly poisoned at its spring. 
 But Balzac is not alone ; the same sen- 
 tence falls more or less seriously on the 
 disgusting and vampyre literature of 
 nearly all his epoch. 
 
 — A few months since Blackwood 
 called the attention of English and Ame- 
 rican readers to M. Emile Souvestre, 
 as the founder of a new school of romance 
 in French literature. We have just read 
 a volume of his called Dans la Prairie 
 In the Meadow), with sincere pleasure, 
 t consists of some half dozen simple 
 tales, that are utterly free from the 
 artistic and other faults for which French 
 story writers have been remarkable. 
 They remind us more of Miss Edgeworth 
 than of any other author. A transparent 
 plot, without mystery or clap-trap, a clear 
 and beautiful style, genuine feeling, and 
 hearty good sense are their characteristics. 
 Without too much prominence the moral 
 is always apparent at the end, and is none 
 the less agreeable because it comes as the' 
 dew of sincere emotion is gathering in the 
 eyes of the reader. 
 
 — John LEMoiNNEis one of the leading 
 editors of the Journal des Dehats, and 
 his name frequently appears in its stately 
 columns at the end of articles upon ques- 
 tions of foreign or domestic policy, and quite 
 as often it is the signature of the excellent 
 literary dissertations which grace the Feu- 
 ilkton. M. Lemoinne has collected into a 
 neat volume some score of reviews and 
 sketches of character, published at va- 
 rious times within two years past. These 
 Etudes Critiques et Biographiquts are 
 exceedingly pleasant and not uninstructive 
 reading ; not profound, yet at the same 
 time free from the blunders of fact to 
 which inferior French writers are so much 
 addicted, especially in relating foreign 
 topics. M. Lemoinne exhibits a fine, 
 catholic appreciation of what is excellent 
 in English and German literature, and as 
 a companion for an afternoon’s ride by 
 rail or steamboat, a more agreeable com- 
 panion could not be desired. 
 
 — A work which seems destined to 
 mark an epoch in the science of the animal 
 organization, is the Trade de Chimie 
 Anatomique et Phisiologique (Treatise 
 on Anatomical and Physiological Chemis- 
 try"), of which the third and last volume 
 
Editorial Notes — German Literature. 
 
 235 
 
 1853.] 
 
 has recently appeared at Paris. It is the 
 fruit of profound and thorough study, set 
 forth with the admirable clearness which 
 is the glory of the French language and 
 of French savans. It aims to show what 
 are the primary and immediate principles 
 that compose the mammalian body, both 
 in their normal and their morbid state, 
 and was written as preliminary to a trea- 
 tise on General Anatomy which is to 
 follow. The elements of the body are 
 found to be ef three classes, viz., crystal- 
 lizable principles of mineral origin, which 
 leave the organization, in part at least, 
 just the same as they entered it ; crystal- 
 lizable principles, formed in the organiza- 
 tion itself, and leaving it just as they were 
 at their formation ; and coagulable princi- 
 ples, which do not crystallize, formed in 
 the organism by the help of materials for 
 which the first class of principles serve as 
 a vehicle, and decomposing where they 
 are formed, whereby they are themselves 
 the materials for the formation of princi- 
 ples of the second class. The first volume 
 is occupied with general statements and 
 discussions. The two last treat the “ im- 
 mediate principles ” in detail. Each class 
 is examined with reference to its general 
 mathematical, physical, chemical and or- 
 ganic features, and then a special chapter 
 is devoted to each gas, acid, salt, alkali, 
 &c., which comes under that class. The 
 work is one which no physiologist can do 
 without, and the names of its authors, M. 
 M. Charles Rolin and F. Verdeil, will 
 be memorable .in the history of physiolo- 
 gical science. 
 
 — A recent number of the Revue 
 Archceologique gives an account of the 
 discovery of no less a curiosity than an 
 Egyptian novel of the time of Moses. 
 Strange to say, the tale opens with an 
 event that strongly recalls the history of 
 Potiphar’s wife. The writer makes the 
 miraculous element play a large part in 
 the progress of his plot, and affords many 
 singular intimations, not only as to the 
 domestic life of the Egyptians, of 1500 b. c. 
 but also as to their religious motives. The 
 manuscript appears to have originally be- 
 longed to the collection of the 19th dy- 
 nasty, now preserved in the British Mu- 
 seum, published a few years since. 
 
 — T hat Briareus of authors, Alexander 
 Dumas, announces the speedy commence- 
 ment of a novel, in eighteen volumes, 
 whose story is to begin with the Christian 
 era, and come down “through six. civiliza- 
 tions” to the present day. He pretends 
 that he has been engaged upon it above 
 twenty years, during which time it has 
 gradually matured in his mind, being con- 
 stantly enriched by the new learning and 
 the deeper knowledge of men that he has 
 
 acquired. The name of the story is Isaac 
 Loguedem, and the idea of it is palpably 
 borrowed from Eugene Sue’s History of 
 a Proletarian Family , through centu- 
 ries. Dumas is a great reprobate, and it is 
 safe to say that the book will be entirely 
 the composition of the days employed in 
 writing it. 
 
 Germany. — Nothing of very great mo- 
 ment seems to have appeared in Germany 
 within the month. Auerbach has pub- 
 lished the third volume of his Schwazo- 
 raldler Dorfgeschichten. (Village Sto- 
 ries of the Black Forest). It contains 
 two tales ; the first is called the Life of 
 Diethelm of Buchenburg , and narrates 
 the criminal career and tragic termination 
 of a wealthy peasant, who, in order to 
 keep up the show of riches, becomes a 
 swindler, an assassin, an incendiary. The 
 interest is intense, and the reader who be- 
 gins is sure to finish. Auerbach is no 
 less an artist in the darker passions than 
 in the frolic and genial life of village fes- 
 tivals, the happy loves and simple bless- 
 ings of German rustic life. Of the latter 
 character is the second story of the volume, 
 Brosi and Aloni, which paints the inno- 
 cent joys of honesty and virtue, animated 
 and genialized, by the mutual affections 
 of unsophisticated souls. 
 
 — The literary remains of Gutzlaff, 
 the late eminent Chinese Missionary, are 
 about to be published, under the editorial 
 care of Prof. Newman of Munich, to whom 
 they have been intrusted by the widow 
 of the deceased. 
 
 — Frederic the Great is one of the he- 
 roes and standing themes of German book- 
 making ; to whom, as to Goethe, it is al- 
 ways safe for a would-be author to resort. 
 On the old soldier and his court, Herr 
 Muhlbach has published three mortal 
 volumes, which those may peruse who 
 are desirous of further instruction on those 
 branches of human history. 
 
 — Baron Von Sternberg has had as 
 many hard knocks from German critics as 
 any other man not in the line of theologi- 
 cal or medical polemics ; and now his 
 newly issued Carnival in Berlin has 
 brought the magnates of that capital about 
 his ears. We have always had a liking 
 for the Baron’s books, and for his dry and 
 rather supercillious humor. Last year he 
 let himself loose on Vienna, and now he 
 stings the vanity of the Berliners with 
 equal boldness. He tells them that the 
 drama is run down to a low state of feeble- 
 ness and folly ; and that art in general is 
 in a bad way. Kiss’s Amazon, which was 
 exhibited with such applause, at the Lon- 
 don World’s Fair, and is to be shown at 
 that of New York, is unmercifully laughed 
 
236 
 
 Editorial Notes — Scientific News. 
 
 at for its absurdities, which is always dire 
 heresy in the eyes of good Berlin. In the 
 course of the book, the Baron renounces 
 some of his former political sins ; hints a 
 regret for some rather ultra-conservative 
 things that he has written, and intimates 
 that he shall hereafter be found fighting 
 against the retrograde tendencies now 
 dominant in his country. On the whole, 
 we may pronounce this production supe- 
 rior to his last books, Der Mene Gilblas, 
 and Ein Fashing in Wien. 
 
 — The Deutsche Balladenbuch (Ger- 
 man Ballad Book), published at Leipsic, 
 is worthy the attention of the curious, in 
 that fascinating sort of Literature. It 
 - contains old and modern ballads, those 
 whose origin is lost in obscure antiquity, 
 along with Goethe’s King of Thule, or 
 Uhland’s Eberhard, the Greybeard. There 
 are also translations from old English and 
 Scotch ballads, which are done with re- 
 markable spirit and fidelity. The illus- 
 trations (wood-cuts) are admirable, for 
 sentiment and beauty of execution. Some 
 of them are irrepressibly comic. The 
 work is published in ten parts, of which 
 two are already issued. 
 
 — A translation of Ticknor’s History 
 of Spanish Literature has appeared at 
 Leipsic, from the pen of Dr. N. H. Julius. 
 The original has enjoyed the encomiums 
 of the German critics, ever since its first 
 publication in this country, and the ver- 
 sion is praised by the same authorities, as 
 in every way faithful and worthy. It is 
 increased by additions and emendations, 
 furnished by Mr. Ticknor to the trans- 
 lator, as well as by original notes and ad- 
 ditions, derived from other more recent 
 works on the subject, and by two supple- 
 mental essays, by Dr. F. Wolf — the one 
 upon Romance Poetry, and the other on 
 the Song-books of the Spaniards. In this 
 form it is pronounced to contain the results 
 of the latest investigations, and to be in- 
 comparably the best work on Spanish 
 literary history. 
 
 — Szemere, once the minister, and af- 
 terwards the assailant of Kossuth, has 
 published, at Hamburg, a sketch of the 
 character and acts of Gtirgey, the Hun- 
 garian general, in which he is represent- 
 ed as a taciturn, capricious, energetic, am- 
 bitious man ; without principles, quick and 
 vigorous in action, but without clear and 
 distinct aims or policy, who intrigued for the 
 sake of intriguing, and hated Austria with- 
 out loving his own country. Some interest- 
 ing public documents, of historic value, ac- 
 company'the work. It will be of great 
 use to the future historian of the Hun- 
 garian war of independence. 
 
 — The Diisseldorfer Kunstler Album 
 (Dusseldorf Artists’ Album), for 1853, 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 puts to shame all the American and Eng- 
 lish annuals we have yet seen. The illus- 
 trations, some twenty-five in each number, 
 are by such artists as the two Achenbachs, 
 Camphausen, Geselschap, Jordan, Lessing, 
 Leutze, Tidemand, and Schadow ; and 
 among the literary contributors are F. 
 Bodenstedt, Emanuel Giebel, Hoffmann of 
 Fallersleben, Otto Yon Redwitz, Karl 
 Simrock, and others of the most cherish- 
 ed names of the recent German literature. 
 The letter-press consists entirely of popms, 
 and charming ones some of them are. A 
 more beautiful book has not accompanied 
 the entrance of the new year. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 The trial-trip of the Caloric Ship 
 Ericsson took place on Tuesday, Jan. 
 11, in presence of a numerous deputation 
 from the Press of this city, and scientific 
 gentlemen whose interest in the new en- 
 terprise has remained unabated since its 
 first inception. The company were invi- 
 ted by Captain Ericsson, to witness this 
 first public performance of Iris splendid 
 ship, not because the vessel was altogether 
 in preparation for minute inspection, but 
 in consequence of the general anxiety re- 
 specting the feasibility of his new plan. 
 The success of the trip established the 
 principle of the new motive power to 
 the entire satisfaction of all whose privi- 
 lege it was to witness the experiment. 
 The ship left her moorings off the Battery 
 at an early hour in the morning, proceed- 
 ed down the Bay to a distance of nine 
 and a half miles, and returned to her an- 
 chorage at noon, having accomplished the 
 trip of nearly twenty miles, in about two 
 and a half hours. The average rate of 
 speed was ten knots per hour, against 
 wind and tide ; a circumstance which 
 speaks loudly in favor of the new prin- 
 ciple and the utility of its application to 
 sea-going vessels. The augmentation of 
 power, when necessary, is to be obtained 
 by increasing the diameter of the cjdin 
 ders of the engines. The largest size 
 of those now employed is but fourteen 
 feet, though the original intention of Capt. 
 Ericsson, was the employment of cylin- 
 ders of sixteen feet at the least. The prac- 
 ticability of casting such immense masses, 
 and warranting them, is now so well es- 
 tablished, that the builders cf the Erics- 
 son's machinery profess themselves ready 
 to manufacture at their own risk cylinders 
 of twenty feet diameter, — a feat which 
 lias never yet been accomplished. It is 
 unnecessary for us to enter into the details 
 of the trip, or of the explanations, lucid 
 and concise, with which the inventor was 
 kind enough to favor the company; a 
 former article in this journal has met the 
 
Literary Notes — Scientific News. 
 
 237 
 
 1853.] 
 
 main points of the subject. It is suffi- 
 cient to add, that the performance of the 
 vessel exceeded the most ardent anticipa- 
 tions of the gentlemen who have been 
 concerned in her construction, and that the 
 happy commencement of the new enter- 
 prise inspires reasonable anticipations of 
 the ultimate triumph of Caloric over 
 Steam, as a motive power. The destina- 
 tion of the Ericsson, we believe, is still 
 uncertain. She is still incomplete and 
 will have to undergo various manipula- 
 tions before she can be prepared for a sea- 
 voyage ; her commander is Capt. A. B. 
 Lowber, an experienced and able naviga- 
 tor, whose name is well known in connec- 
 tion with the mercantile marine of this 
 port. 
 
 — M. Niepce de St. Victor has lately 
 presented to the French Academy certain 
 specimens of Photography, obtained in co- 
 lors by a new process of his own discov- 
 ery. The principle upon which he operates 
 is similar to that propounded by the Rev. 
 L. L. Hill, in this country, — the fixing 
 of the natural colors of objects, by means 
 of a plate and camera, in the manner of the 
 daguerreotype. Mr. Hill has not yet pro- 
 duced his specimens, and M. St. Victor 
 finds a radical difficulty in the evanescent 
 character of his works. The colors have 
 all been obtained, and, what is more ex- 
 traordinary, metallic surfaces are taken 
 with their own distinguishing characteris- 
 tics. A great difficulty in the method of 
 taking the pictures, is that of obtaining 
 many colors at once, — bright tints being 
 produced more readily than the darker 
 ones. The worst is the deep green of 
 leaves, while white is quite easy. M. St. 
 Victor further states, that the colors are 
 rendered much more vivid by the use of 
 ammonia. 
 
 — Microscopists are earnestly debating 
 the practicability of photographic delinea- 
 tions of minute objects. Mr. Hodgson late- 
 ly read a paper before the London Micros- 
 copic Society, in condemnation of the em- 
 ployment of the Daguerreotype and Talbo- 
 type, until such time as we shall be able to 
 engrave from daguerreotype plates, — a plan 
 which is in a fair way to be accomplished in 
 our own country, by the recent invention of 
 the Crystalotype by Mr. Whipple, of 
 Boston, a skilful daguerreotypist, who 
 claims to have discovered a system of sim- 
 ultaneous picturing and engraving, the 
 image being sunk into a plate of glass as 
 soon as received into the camera, and there 
 remaining in such form that the plate 
 may be placed in the ordinary copperplate 
 press. This invention, like many other 
 important results among us, is still in 
 embryo. 
 
 — At a late meeting of the British Numis- 
 
 matic Society, Mr. Evans read a paper, on a 
 gold coin, a new Noble of Edward IV., 
 which is considered to be quite unique. The 
 die seems to have been intended for the No- 
 bles of Henry, the II in the centre being 
 only partially obliterated by the E struck 
 over it. The coin is in fine preservation ; 
 weight, 107 ] grains. 
 
 — The investigations which have been 
 prosecuted during the past year by Lieut. 
 Maury, in regard to the winds and cur- 
 rents of the ocean, have produced grati- 
 fying results. The sailing-charts pre- 
 pared at the National Observatory, at 
 Washington, under the eye of Mr. Maury, 
 are coming into very general use, and 
 some thirty thousand copies have been 
 called for in the course of the year. 
 
 — The Annual Report of Lieut. Chas. 
 H. Davis, Superintendent of the American 
 Nautical Almanac, as presented to Con- 
 gress, shows an average yearly expenditure 
 of l{pl9,400 on that work. The first vo- 
 lume of the Almanac, already issued from 
 the press, will be followed bjr the second, 
 very speedily, and the printing of the new 
 time-tables has progressed with all the 
 rapidity that is desirable, in so important 
 an undertaking. 
 
 — Specimens of gold have been disco- 
 vered on the Quechee river, near Bridge- 
 water, Vermont, which seem to corrobo- 
 rate the reports of the existence of gold 
 veins in that State which have attracted 
 considerable attention during the past 
 four years. Prof. Hubbard has obtained 
 valuable specimens of Vermont ochre 
 from the vicinity of Strafford. The mines 
 of this material are deemed inexhausti- 
 ble. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 The old story says that while John was 
 getting ready to do it, James did it. So 
 we stated in our last monthly account 
 of the domestic musical world, that the 
 great interest was the approaching appear- 
 ance of Sontag in opera ; and while the 
 town was eagerly awaiting the announce- 
 ment of place and piece, Alboni suddenly 
 opened at the “ Broadway ” in Cenerentola, 
 and at once, easily took that position in 
 public estimation which she has always 
 occupied in Europe, and which she had 
 not yet attained in America. We are glad 
 for her and for ourselves that she did so ; 
 that she did not yield the field to the daz- 
 zling prestige of her worthy rival, and with- 
 draw to more facile southern fields to 
 win her deserved laurels. Both the art- 
 ists and ourselves are the gainers in this 
 tournament of music. The famous com- 
 bat of Troubadours at the Wartburg has 
 been renewed, during the past month, in 
 New-York, and according to the modern 
 
238 
 
 Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 fashion, by the two great singers, who 
 have so shared the honors, and who, we are 
 happy to say, have never before done so 
 well. It was a bold movement upon Al- 
 boni’s part, and showed the true spirit of 
 a true artist, to appeal to the public from 
 the stage of the “ Broadway,” and with 
 no other vocal assistance than that which 
 had been already sharply criticized at her 
 concerts. But the result, as usual in 
 such cases, has triumphantly justified the 
 hazard. Her success has been great and 
 unequivocal. Not only has she charmed 
 with her wonderful organ, her large manner 
 and exquisite method, as she did in the con- 
 cert room, but she has developed a dramatic 
 talent hitherto entirely latent, and the ab- 
 sence of which was freely forgiven by the 
 rapturous Parisians and Londoners in their 
 intoxication with the voice. This want of 
 dramatic power was always observed by 
 the shrewdest European critics, and with 
 regret. Hector Berlioz in one of his feuille- 
 tons exclaimed, “ Oh, that I were young and 
 handsome, I would make Alboni fall desper- 
 ately in love with me ; I would maltreat her 
 unmercifully, and at the end of six months 
 she would be a great actress.” The remark 
 showed the keen perception of the critic, 
 for it not only revealed his observation of 
 the want, but his consciousness that it was 
 not irremediable. Let Hector Berlioz 
 come to New-York (if he can leave, for a mo- 
 ment, the enthusiastic ovation of which he 
 and his opera are the objects at Weimar), 
 let him sit in the best seat at the “Broad- 
 way,” and behold, with the astonish- 
 ment we can well imagine, the petted Con- 
 tralto singing and acting to a Yankee 
 audience, as (we can speak from much 
 experience) she never sang and acted to 
 the most exigeant Parisian parterre ; no, 
 not oven on the eventful night at the 
 Grand Opera, when she made her debut 
 as Fides, in the Prophite. The house is not 
 suit< d for opera, the orchestra is not very 
 good; San Giovanni is not a primo tenore, 
 with his sweet parlor voice ; there is no 
 Seconda Donna, only prima and ultima ; 
 yet, with the sole assistance of Rovere, 
 who shows a good buffo feeling, and well 
 preserves the traditions of his role, Alboni 
 has triumphed to that degree that, not 
 only are the critics confessed not to have 
 overrated her, but they are reproved for 
 declaring that she was not an actress. 
 We trust the benign singer is herself 
 conscious that she owes something to her 
 American career, and that she would not 
 have visited us in vain, had she only 
 learned that she could be “a great ac- 
 tress” without six months of M. Ber- 
 lioz’s youth, beauty, and beating. Mean- 
 while we are not at all sure that she 
 did not fancy American laurels had only 
 
 [Feb 
 
 to be plucked. We should not be at 
 all surprised if she had supposed, not 
 quite fully understanding Jenny Lind’s 
 career, and Barnum’s management, that 
 we were so easily humbugged, that her 
 European fame and a few songs would im- 
 mediately fill her purse. She forgot, pro- 
 bably, what so few natives consider, that 
 Barnum’s humbug consisted in enabling 
 us, for the first time in our history, to 
 hear the greatest singer in her prime, and 
 under every advantageous accessory of 
 orchestra, fellow-artists, and concert- 
 arrangements. May an indulgent Fate 
 grant us such humbugs without end! 
 To be cured of such a melancholy delu- 
 sion was worth the visit. No man will 
 pay more lavishly than the Yankee for 
 the best thing. It would be hard to say 
 in what opera Alboni has been most 
 charming. Perhaps, from the greater 
 tenderness of the music, the Sonnambu- 
 la has been the favorite ; while no single 
 scene has been more loudly applauded 
 than the drum scene in the Figlia. 
 That might, however, be partly ex- 
 plained by the quaintness of the spec- 
 tacle of so luxuriant a Vivandiere. The 
 brisk, pert little daughter of the re- 
 giment, could not fail to be amusingly 
 personated by the tropical amplitude of 
 our languid contralto. The applause 
 with which the success was greeted was, 
 doubtless, not quite legitimate, but partly 
 owing to the drollery of the accidents. 
 Notwithstanding the marked failure of 
 Pellegrini as Elvino, which must have 
 seriously interfered with Alboni’s playing, 
 she gave all the rich melancholy to the 
 delicious melodies of Amina, and in the 
 exuberant fioriture of the finale, her mag- 
 nificent voice revelled, and rose and fell, “a 
 steam of rich distilled perfumes,” penetrat- 
 ing every corner of the house with music, 
 and every corner of everyheart with delight. 
 
 It would be no wonder if Sontag, the 
 dowager Queen of Song, were a little ap- 
 prehensive of the result of her attempt in 
 view of this sudden and unquestioned 
 triumph. But Alboni at the “ Broad- 
 way,” only piqued curiosity for Sontag at 
 Niblo’s, and the more that she was to 
 make her debut in la Figlia. The 
 evening came and the crowd. The house 
 was entirely filled. Even the upper galleries 
 under the eaves had their throng. Even 
 that gloomy, but otherwise agreeable 
 theatre, looked almost gay with the ranks 
 of brilliant toilettes. It was strange to 
 read the heading of the bill. Many years 
 ago, we remember to have read Gardner’s 
 “Music of Nature,” an odd melange of 
 musical science and gossip ; and in that 
 book, among other historical notabilities, 
 occurred a brief biography of Sontag. 
 
Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 239 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 To our youngest imagination she was 
 thus enshrined far away as a Saint of 
 Song: and we wondered, in a youthful 
 way, about her appearance and her career, 
 and mainly about her voice and her lyri- 
 cal triumphs. Remembering these old 
 readings and wonderings, it was with a 
 kind of bewilderment that we read on 
 the bill in our hand. “ Madame Ilenriette 
 Sontag’s first appearance in opera.” But 
 before we had time to experience many 
 emotions, M. Eckart was in his seat, and 
 the overture was playing. We do not 
 often notice such perfect discipline in an 
 orchestra. The pleasant prelude of the 
 opera was rendered with a vigor and spirit 
 which were of the happiest auspices for 
 the opera itself. The same care which 
 distinguished the concerts was evident 
 throughout the mounting and the per- 
 formance of the opera. The orchestra 
 was never better drilled, the choruses 
 were exact, and only a little tame by rea- 
 son of their apprehension,— the costumes 
 and stage-appointments generally, admi- 
 rable, — except that we were sorry that 
 the Priina Donna, obliged as she naturally 
 is to consult every means of assisting the 
 sound of her voice, dispensed with the 
 carpet in the second act. It was unpleas- 
 ant to see so unquestioned a lady literally 
 treading the boards. 
 
 To leave our postulates, however. Son- 
 tag’s success was also unequivocal. The 
 first act, comprising the military part, was 
 not brilliant. The effort was too obvious; 
 the drum scene was omitted, and the 
 music lay, generally, out of the available 
 range of the singer’s voice. The second 
 act, with the music lesson, was as fine a 
 piece of lyrical acting as we remember, 
 and received the genuine and enthusiastic 
 approbation of an appreciating as well as 
 an immense audience. Unfortunately, as 
 we think, Alary’s singing polka was intro- 
 duced as a finale : a pretty piece, but lack- 
 ing all the breadth and brilliancy proper in 
 such a finale. With the whole range of 
 bravura open to her, Madame Sontag 
 should have selected something more effec- 
 tive. It was exquisitely sung, of course, 
 and the curtain fell amid universal ap- 
 plause. The fine finish of all the details 
 of presenting the opera had their type in 
 that of the Prima Donna’s acting and 
 singing. It is a somewhat difficult role, 
 for the intrinsic lady must never be lost 
 in the saucy minx ; in which case, the first 
 act would be coarse and unpleasing. Son- 
 tag fully comprehends this, and gives the 
 character its arch coquetry, in such a man- 
 ner, that we are not surprised when the 
 butterfly emerges from the chrysalis, and 
 the rich watered silk of the lady replaces 
 the red stuff of the Vivandiere ; nor, 
 
 which is the test of the artist’s success, 
 do we yearn for the days of the red stuff 
 and the rat-a-plan, which would destroy the 
 proper unity and development of the plot. 
 
 Without doubt, Sontag has never acted 
 so well as here. We saw her debut in 
 the same part in London, and she was 
 then cold and unimpressive. Her rendering 
 smacked altogether too much of the lady, 
 and very little of the artist. She has felt 
 here that nothing was to be lost nor risk- 
 ed. Her first opera night in New-York 
 was, in some degree, the crisis of her 
 American career. Had she failed, the 
 torrent of enthusiasm for her rival would 
 have swept away her chance of recovering 
 favor. Sontag has reached the point 
 at which no step lost can be regained. We 
 congratulate her sincerely that she has 
 not lost it. Her polished, we might say, 
 burnished method, so highly and rigorous- 
 ly is it cultivated, makes the most of her 
 voice, and her elaborate manner only the 
 more ornaments it ; but — we have now 
 reached that terrible but; We may as 
 well say it at once, and abide by our opin- 
 ion. It is better to hear Alboni sing one 
 good song, than Sontag through an opera. 
 In singing, after all, and in opera, of which 
 the pith is song, the first absolute requi- 
 site is voice. Then, a fine delivery of it ; 
 that is, proper cultivation. Then, drama- 
 tic power ; although that is the least es- 
 sential of the three in an opera ; of these 
 Alboni has alwaj r s confessedly had both 
 the first in ample measure, and she has 
 now proved that she has the last. Sontag 
 has always confessedly had both the last 
 in a remarkable degree, but can never 
 again have the first. 
 
 Our limits forbid us to devote more 
 space to self-gratulation upon the favor of 
 the presence of these two singers. They 
 have quite monopolized the musical inter- 
 est of the month. Gottschalk, the Creole, 
 a pianist of peculiar talent, who has made 
 a name in Paris, is now among us. It 
 is so long since we have had a remarkable 
 virtuoso upon that instrument, that, if he 
 be really something new, as well as good, 
 he will be welcomed. 
 
 The interest in Mr. Fry’s admirable lec- 
 tures hardly continues. There is a decline 
 in the attendance which ought not to sur- 
 prise us. We had hoped that the great 
 intrinsic value of the course would have 
 interested the public even through ten 
 weeks ; but we had not thought of Son- 
 tag and Alboni, in their present tournay. 
 Yet we must repeat what we said last 
 month, that these lectures are full of in- 
 struction and interest, and that any one 
 who will do so good a work for us, on so 
 generous a scale, richly deserves the ut- 
 most success. In Boston, among much 
 
240 
 
 Editorial Notes — Abbott's Museum. 
 
 good orchestral music, from the Germania 
 and the Musical Fund Society, we notice 
 a series of Chamber-concerts by Otto 
 Dresel, one of the most genuine artists 
 and accomplished pianists in the country. 
 In a certain passionate fervor, his playing 
 surpases any we have ever heard: and 
 we are glad for him, that he has an oppor- 
 tunity to show what he is to so apprecia- 
 tive a public as that of Boston. 
 
 In Foreign Music we find the great in- 
 terest to be the triumphant success of 
 Berlioz’s Benvenuto Cellini at the Wei- 
 mar Theatre, under the management of 
 the Composer’s friend, Liszt, the pianist. 
 There were banquets, and silver batons, 
 and torch-light processions on the occa- 
 sion. Why will not our Philharmonic 
 (whose concert came unfortunately too 
 late for notice) let us hear something of 
 Berlioz, about whose music the foreign 
 critics quarrel so prettily. Auber, who is 
 writing an opera to Scribe’s Libretto, for 
 the Opera Comique , La Fiancie Du 
 Brigand , is reputed to be on the verge 
 of honors. The Emperor, it is understood, 
 has signified his august pleasure that the 
 composer shall be made a senator, in which 
 case, Halevy, an elaborately uninteresting 
 composer, or Adam, a gay, light opera- 
 maker, will be appointed his successor as 
 Director of the Conservatoire. :! They 
 say ” that Meyerbeer is writing an opera 
 founded upon Lessing’s Emilia Galeotti ; 
 but what do “ they ” not say that Meyer- 
 beer is composing 7 Kreutzer, a German 
 composer of the second rank, has had 
 success at Frankfort with his Aureble. 
 
 . The Princess Maria Piccolomini, of whose 
 family there have been two Popes, and 
 one of whose uncles is now a Cardinal, 
 has succeeded in Rome, as a Prima Don- 
 na. In London some daring Mis? Laura 
 Barker has set Tennyson’s CEnone to 
 music. 
 
 The Egyptian Museum of Dr. Henry 
 Abbott, now on exhibition at the Stuy- 
 vesant Institute, is one of the most valua- 
 ble collections of the kind in the world. 
 It is the result of twenty years’ residence 
 in Cairo, and familiarity with all the best 
 Egyptian scholars and explorers, all of 
 whom unite in bearing testimony to the 
 undoubted authenticity of each relic. Sir 
 Gardner Wilkinson, who is probably the 
 most accomplished of Egyptian archaeolo- 
 gists, was very anxious that the collection 
 should be carried to England, and large 
 sums have frequently been offered for 
 single objects. But the value of such a 
 collection depends too much upon the ag- 
 gregate to allow single articles to be 
 detached, and the Dr. has preferred to 
 keep the completeness of his Museum 
 
 [Feb. 
 
 unimpaired. Its interest to the Christian, 
 the antiquarian, the historian, and to the 
 universal curiosity about the details of a 
 life so far removed from us that it seems 
 fabulous, is not to be estimated. To see 
 bricks made without straw, by the chil- 
 dren of Israel — the stone head of the 
 Pharaoh of Exodus (Thothmes III. of 
 Egyptian history), — the iron helmet and 
 part of the scale armor of Shishak, who 
 reduced Jerusalem under Rehoboam. as 
 mentioned in 2 Chronicles Chap. XII., 
 the iron being the only authentic specimen 
 in any museum — a hawk-head vase with 
 the name of Zerah, the Ethiopian King, 
 from the plain of Zoam, 2 Chronicles 
 Chap. XIV., — is to be brought very near 
 the old Jewish times. But to see the 
 necklace and ear-rings of Menes, the first 
 Pharaoh of Egypt, and the first king of 
 whom we have historical accounts, who 
 flourished, according to the best com- 
 mentators, 2771 years before Christ, and 
 the gold signet-ring of Suphis, or Cheops, 
 who built the great pyramid, 2352 years 
 before Christ — this is the letting in of 
 daylight upon Egyptian darkness, and 
 clasping the hands of men who lived four 
 and five thousand years ago, as acquaint- 
 ances of yesterday. Beside these articles 
 of signal and peculiar interest, there are 
 beautiful specimens of papyrus preserved 
 so well that the writing is perfectly legi- 
 ble, every kind of household and domestic 
 implement, fruits, seeds &c.. glass of the 
 finest texture, the stylus with which the 
 Greeks wrote, and the tablets upon which 
 they used them — mummied hands and feet 
 — mummied birds, and three huge bulls, 
 the Egyptian Apis, mummied — every va- 
 riety of charm and image, cloth woven 
 thirty centuries ago, beautiful jewelry, and 
 a little bronze group of two lizards fight- 
 ing, the remarkable workmanship of which 
 could not be surpassed at this day. This 
 admirable collection, weighing not less 
 than thirty tons, was careful!}' packed by 
 Dr. Abbott himself and shipped at Alex- 
 andria for Boston, where it safely arrived, 
 and was there reshipped for New-York. 
 It is, in a historical view, one of the most 
 valuable importations ever made into 
 this country, and we trust it will be so 
 appreciated. For, in that case, we may 
 hope to have it remain here permanently, 
 either as a national Museum, or as an or- 
 nament of New-York or some of our 
 large cities. England has its Egypt in 
 the British Museum at London. France in 
 the Louvre at Paris, Germany in its mu- 
 seum at Berlin, Italy in the famous Turin 
 collection. Shall not the United States 
 preserve in some fitting way, — itself the 
 youngest of nations, — these wonderful 
 memorials of the oldest ? 
 
PUTNAM’S MONTHLY. 
 
 % Uterine of yiteraturtN $tum, unfr 
 
 VOL. I.— MARCH 1853.— NO. III. 
 
 JAPAN. 
 
 O FF the Eastern shore of the continent 
 of Asia, and bounding the Pacific 
 Ocean on the West, between the parallels 
 of 31° and 45° North latitude, and in lon- 
 gitude between 130° and 150 c East from 
 Greenwich ; stretching a North-East and 
 South-West course, the navigator betwixt 
 San Francisco and China must pass by 
 the islands of the empire of Japan. He 
 looks wistfully upon the lofty mountains, 
 verdant and cultivated to their very top ; 
 thinks upon the pleasant valleys, growing 
 fruits and corn, “ so thick that they laugh 
 and sing,” longs to be released from being 
 tossed to and fro on the waves, and to see 
 the gallant ship resting on her shadow in 
 the placid bays ; or, if embarked on the 
 ocean steamers that are cleaving the wa- 
 ters of the Pacific, he turns to the les- 
 sened pile of coals, almost exhausted by 
 his voyage of five thousand miles, and 
 calls to mind the beds of coal which are 
 (in the language of Mr. Webster) “a 
 gift of Providence, deposited by the Crea- 
 tor of all things in the depths of the Ja- 
 panese Islands for the benefit of the hu- 
 man family,” and yet knows that fuel, 
 and food, and repose, and refreshment are 
 all denied him; the ports shut against 
 him ; commerce interdicted, even to the 
 purchase of bread and water ; while, in 
 case of his shipwreck on these inhospita- 
 ble shores, he would be caught and caged, 
 treated as a malefactor, and doomed to 
 hopeless imprisonment by a people, not 
 barbarous, but intelligent and refined, far 
 above the inhabitants of other provinces 
 in Asia ; whose laws and customs, fixed 
 as “ the laws of the Medes and Persians,” 
 put constraint on the humanity of the 
 J apanese, compelling their barbarous treat- 
 ment of all stranger ; — she would invoke 
 the mercy of the God of nations, he 
 would demand the lawful exercise of the 
 power of his native country, to interpose 
 vol. I. — 1G 
 
 the majesty of their might, both to shield 
 the shipwrecked and to prosper the ad- 
 venturous sailors. That prayer is gone 
 up on high. An armament, under the 
 flag of these United States, is already on 
 the waters, to plead with arguments of 
 reason and of gunpowder, for the accom- 
 plishment of these grand objects. The 
 eyes of Europe are attentive to the opera- 
 tions of the American fleet. The Expe- 
 dition to Japan has elicited remarks from 
 diplomatic agents, from writers in re- 
 views, from men in the ranks of com- 
 merce, from all who desire the extension 
 of civilization and Christianity. 
 
 It is becoming to the intelligence of the 
 American community that they be in- 
 formed on the subject of Japan. What- 
 ever method be chosen to diffuse informa- 
 tion — whether by the press, in books ; or 
 by reviews in quarterly and monthly pe- 
 riodicals, and by leaders in daily newspa- 
 pers ; or by oral teaching in lectures be- 
 fore lyc?ums and scientific societies — we 
 hail the contributor with a cordial wel- 
 come, and we will do our part to spread 
 the knowledge among the inquiring public 
 of this free land. 
 
 But books on Japan are scarce; or 
 were so a few months ago. Locked in the 
 archives of the Jesuit mission rooms ; hid- 
 den under the unfamiliar language of 
 Holland or of Russia; buried beneath 
 the dust of the library of the East India 
 Company ; and burrowing deep on the 
 shelves of the largest libraries, might be 
 found the only extant annals of the Japar 
 nese. Translations of these documents 
 had been made, but where to find them 
 was a knotty question. But our cunning 
 booksellers, scenting the public curiosity 
 afar off, have set on foot a search, success- 
 fully ; exhuming old “ Kampfer,” the 
 Dutch chronicler; rubbing up the faded 
 covers of “ Golownin,” the Russian cap- 
 
242 
 
 Japan. 
 
 tive ; calling to life the letters of “ Wil- 
 liam Adams,” the stout old English pilot, 
 made prime minister of Japan ; producing 
 the volumes of the Jesuit missionaries; 
 offering for sale “ Best Accounts of the 
 Japanese Language with, now and then, 
 a “Bibliotheca Japonica;” with “ Gram- 
 mars” and “ Y°cabularies interspersed, 
 prettily, with “Papers on Japanese dia- 
 lects, grammar and poetry with, finally, 
 •The first part of a great Japanese dic- 
 tionary, by Dr. Pfitzmaier,” published at 
 Vienna, by order and at the expense of 
 the Austrian government. These books, 
 in Latin, Portuguese, Spanish, Italian, 
 French, Dutch, German and English, va- 
 rying in date from 1560 to 1838, are suc- 
 ceeded by the very best of them all for 
 popular and present use, in the volume of 
 Charles McFarlane, Esq., entitled “Ja- 
 pan : an Account, Geographical and His- 
 torical, from the earliest period down to 
 the present time and the Expedition fit- 
 ted out in the United States,” A. D. 
 1852: republished by Putnam & Co.. 
 New- York. The old mercantile maxim 
 holds good in literature. “ Demand cre- 
 ates supply.” Our booksellers ought to 
 thank President Fillmore for opening a 
 new channel of trade in hooks, as well as 
 for the attempt to open Japan. 
 
 We have no doubt that the map of 
 Asia, of late, has attracted the eyes of 
 very many American boys and girls. 
 These little freemen and little freewomen 
 have indulged themselves in an “explo- 
 ring expedition” after Japan on the atlas. 
 The terrestrial globe (provided there be so 
 useful a piece of household furniture), 
 has been fetched from the corner, placed 
 on the centre-table, and turned round and 
 round, to trace the course of the fleet of 
 steamers and sailing ships, under the 
 command of Com. Perry, bound for Ja- 
 pan, about which papa has just been read- 
 ing from the evening newspaper. All 
 that these urchins had known of Japan, 
 is as an adjective to varnish ; or as the ti- 
 tle of some pretty furniture, black and 
 shining, embellished, perchance, with men 
 in leggings, with handsome women sitting 
 “ tailor fashion,” and the never-absent 
 stork. But now “Young America” is 
 becoming familiar with Japan as an Em- 
 pire. 
 
 On the map, these islands look like so 
 many stepping-stones from the peninsula 
 of Corea to the peninsula of Kamtschat- 
 ka. They are links of a vast volcanic 
 chain, joining these two peninsulas ; con- 
 stituting the Western border of the Pa- 
 cific Ocean, and forming inland seas of 
 the waters that wash the Eastern shores 
 of the continent of Asia. The Southern- 
 most of these closed seas is called the 
 
 [March 
 
 Sea of J apan. At its Southern extremi- 
 ty the Strait of Corea unites it with the 
 Tong-LIai, or Eastern Sea of the Chinese. 
 
 Starting from Kamtschatka, we step on 
 the range of the Kurile Islands. They 
 are very numerous, but only nineteen are 
 large enough to be noted. The Northern 
 are occupied and governed by Russian 
 authority ; the Southern, the principal 
 one of which is Jesso, by the Japanese. 
 Japan proper consists of the three large 
 islands South-West of Jesso, to wit, Ni- 
 phon, Sitkokf, and Kiusu or Kewsew. 
 The Japanese empire includes Japan pro- 
 per and the Kurilian islands. The Strait 
 of Sangar divides the islands Jesso and 
 Niphon. It is the largest strait between 
 the Sea of Japan and the Pacific Ocean. 
 Niphon, on the South-East, is separated' 
 from Sitkokf by the Strait of Simonosi- 
 ki ; on the South, the Suwo Sound inter- 
 venes between Niphon and Kewsew ; the 
 Bungo channel divides Kewsew and Sit- 
 kokf. Kewsew, the most Southern and 
 Western of the group, is said to be the 
 first portion of this earth, that one of the 
 Kami (the Japanese Celestial Divinities), 
 a descendant of the Sun-goddess, created 
 and made. This one of the Celestials 
 had a wife. In their domestic conference 
 they determined to enlarge their territory. 
 The Divinity plunged his spear into the 
 chaos below ; withdrawing it, drops trick- 
 led down its length, and, congealing, 
 formed the Island of Kewsew. But this 
 is running away from our atlas into the 
 religious traditions of Japan. Kewsew 
 is about two hundred miles long, with an 
 average breadth of eighty miles, or a sur- 
 face of sixteen thousand square miles. 
 The chief harbor on this island is Nan- 
 gasaki, in 32° 45 / North latitude, on the 
 parallel of Charleston, South Carolina. 
 To this port all foreign trade is now con- 
 fined. It is restricted to the Dutch, un- 
 der very stringent regulations. 
 
 Sitkokf is one hundred and fifty miles 
 long, and seventjr miles wide, containing 
 about ten thousand square miles. This 
 island is the least interesting of all the 
 group. 
 
 Niphon. the chief island, is nine hun- 
 dred miles long, and one hundred miles 
 in average width. It contains about one 
 hundred thousand square miles of fertile 
 and well cultivated soil. 
 
 Niphon is the seat of empire. The ec- 
 clesiastical or spiritual emperor has the 
 personal title of Mihado. lie is also 
 called the Dairi, from the “ Gates” of the 
 palace ; as we say, “ the Sublime Porte,” 
 the title of the Turkish court. The 
 Mihado resides at Miaco. 
 
 The secular emperor is styled Ziogun 
 (commander-in-chief), or Koboe (sover- 
 
Japan. 
 
 •243 
 
 1853.] 
 
 eign). He has his court at Jeddo. The 
 harbors of Niphon towards the Pacific 
 are Osacca, on tire South, corresponding to 
 Norfolk. Virginia, in latitude 35° ; Jeddo, 
 on the East and middle of the island, cor- 
 responding to Baltimore, Maryland, in 
 latitude 36°. Jesso, North of Niphon, 
 the largest of the Kurilian islands, is 
 two hundred and fifty miles long and 
 one hundred miles wide, containing twen- 
 ty-five thousand square miles. The 
 chief harbor is Matsmai, in latitude 42°, 
 corresponding to Boston, Massachusetts. 
 This island resembles Ireland, both in 
 geographical and political relationship. 
 The climate of Japan is much like that 
 of Great Britain. Indeed, there springs 
 a thought of likeness between the Japa- 
 nese and British empires. The mind 
 leaps to a coming age, when Japan shall 
 be, under the sanctifying processes of pure 
 Christianity, the Britain of the Pacific 
 Ocean. The three islands of Japan pro- 
 per, with the dependencies among the 
 Kurile group, are estimated to contain 
 one hundred and sixty thousand square 
 miles. The sea, besides numerous rocks, 
 embosoms dangerous whirlpools. No 
 part of the ocean is subject to heavier 
 gales. None is so enveloped in fogs as 
 the seas surrounding J apan. Hence it is 
 that navigation is peculiarly dangerous. 
 Our whalers and merchantmen are immi- 
 nently liable to shipwreck on the coasts 
 of Japan. Like most volcanic islands, 
 the face of the country is mountainous, 
 and the hills run down close to the shore. 
 Recent Dutch writers estimate the height 
 of one mountain to be twelve thousand 
 French feet ; as high almost as the peak 
 of Teneriffe. 
 
 From the peculiar form of these islands, 
 they have no large rivers. Such as they 
 have are exceedingly rapid. The most 
 considerable and important is the Yedo- 
 gawa in Niphon, rising in the beautiful 
 lake Oity, and thence running South-East 
 to the city of Miaco, passing an extensive 
 plain to the Bay of Osacca. This river 
 is navigable by river barges. Boating is 
 there a favorite amusement. We cannot 
 refrain from inserting here the account 
 of life and manners, given us by the sus- 
 ceptible Mr. Fischer, the Dutch Secre- 
 tary: 
 
 “ In the great world of Japan the young 
 ladies find delight in winter at their so- 
 cial meetings, in every description of fine 
 work, the fabrication of pretty boxes, ar- 
 tificial flowers, painting of fans, birds, 
 and animals, pocket-books, purses, plait- 
 ing thread for the head-dress, all for the 
 favorite use of giving as presents. Such 
 
 employments serve to while away the 
 long winter evenings. 
 
 “ In the spring, on the other hand, they 
 participate, with eagerness in all kinds of 
 out-door and rural amusements. Of 
 these the choicest are afforded by the 
 pleasure-boats, which, adorned with the 
 utmost cost and beauty, cover their lakes 
 and rivers. In the enjoyment of society 
 and music, they glide in these vessels 
 from noon till late in the night, realizing 
 the rapturous strains of the author of 
 Lalla Rookh : — 
 
 4 O best of delights, as it every where is, 
 
 To be near the loved one ! What a rapture is his, 
 Who by moonlight and music, thus idly may glide 
 O’er the Lake of Cashmere with that one by his side. 1 
 
 “ This is an enjoyment,” he continues, 
 “ which can be shared only under the ad- 
 vantages of such a climate and scenery ; 
 viz., the climate of Nice and the scenery 
 of Lugano. Their lakes and rivers, after 
 sunset, are one blaze or illumination, as 
 it were, with the brightly-colored paper 
 lanterns displayed in their vessels.” “ A 
 floating figure is also placed in a vase of 
 water : as the water is stirred by the mo- 
 tion of the boat, the figure moves. The 
 guests sing to the guitar the strain ‘ Ana- 
 taya modamada’ — ‘He floats, he is not 
 still ’ — till at last the puppet rests oppo- 
 site some one of the party, whom it sen- 
 tences to drain the sackee bowl, as the 
 pleasing forfeit of the game. All this 
 stands out in cheerful contrast to the dull 
 debaucheries of the men and the childish 
 diversions of the women among other 
 Oriental nations. The female sex in Ja- 
 pan at least, have greatly the advantage 
 over the scandal of the Turkish bath; 
 and the man has, equally with the Turk, 
 the resource of his pipe, in the intervals 
 of those' better enjoyments which the ad- 
 mission of the female sex into society af- 
 fords him, and which are prohibited to 
 the Mussulman.”* 
 
 McFarlane speaks rapturously of 
 “ these captivating and delicious pictures 
 of life and manners.” He confesses that 
 the encomiums of his old friend James 
 Drummond, Esq., on the elegance and 
 fascinations of the ladies “first excited 
 him to a deep and lively interest in the 
 subject of Japan.” They may serve also 
 to give us a tenderer sentiment towards 
 that country. In manners not only, but 
 in taste and character, it is woman that 
 makes the man. “ Where the gentler 
 sex are graceful, elegant and refined, the 
 other sex are never found to be coarse, 
 ungainly and vulgar.” 
 
 The Japanese gentleman is described 
 as enjoying social and convivial pleasure, 
 
 * Fischer's “ i »pan," quoted by McFarlane, p. 279. 
 
244 
 
 Japan. 
 
 never apart from the ladies, but in their 
 society. And hence he has a pleasing 
 address, and most polished manners. The 
 same is true among the lower orders. 
 Every where a civil question brings a ci- 
 vil answer. 
 
 It is one of the problems of our subject 
 that in private life there should be such 
 courtesy, while the official functionaries 
 are so regardless of feeling and so re- 
 morseless in desolating the comities and 
 charities of intercourse. The problem is 
 resolved, in some measure, by considering 
 the laws and government of Japan, to 
 which we will presently devote our 
 thoughts. 
 
 All travellers speak of the populous- 
 ness of the country. In some fertile dis- 
 tricts the villages are so close as to form 
 a continuous street. This is most re- 
 markable on the plain watered by the 
 Yedogawa, for twenty miles between the 
 port of Osacca and the capital, Miaco. 
 After a careful comparison of authorities, 
 McFarlane estimates the entire population 
 of Japan at twenty-five millions of inhabit- 
 ants.* McCulloch, in his Geographical 
 Dictionary, says that the population has 
 been fixed by some writers at more than 
 fifty millions. Japanese writers affirm 
 that an army of eighty thousand men 
 may be raised from among the inhabitants 
 of Osacca alone. Jeddo, the secular capi- 
 tal of the empire, contains (according to 
 Portuguese writers) two millions ; or 
 (according to Dutch writers), one million 
 five hundred thousand inhabitants. Mi- 
 aco, the residence of the Spiritual Empe- 
 ror, contains five hundred thousand souls. 
 It has six himdred temples within its 
 walls. The three other imperial towns 
 of Osacca, Nangasaki, and Matsmai, are 
 likewise densely populated. 
 
 By the religion of the Japanese, meat 
 (excepting venison) is, for the most part, 
 prohibited. They yoke their cows ; they 
 have no knowledge of butter or cheese ; 
 hardly of milk. The food of the people 
 is vegetables and fish. Consequently the 
 coasts of Japan are densely inhabited — a 
 vast proportion of the people being ichthy- 
 ophagous — while the agricultural popula- 
 tion is spread all over the land, subsisting 
 chiefly on rice, and drinking sackee (a li- 
 quor distilled from rice). The mountains 
 are cultivated even to their summits. 
 
 The immense population of the Empire 
 of Japan is divided into eight classes. 
 
 Next to the two emperors come, 1st, 
 the hereditary vassal princes ; 2d, the he- 
 reditary nobility, holding serfs, as under 
 the feudal system of Europe; 3d, the 
 
 [March 
 
 priests ; 4th, the military. These are 
 the “upper classes,” who may wear a 
 sword-belt, two sabres, and loose petti- 
 coat trowsers, or leggings. 
 
 It is the greatest degradation for a Ja- 
 panese to lose his caste. Therefore (un- 
 less he be disguised to do spy-work) you 
 must look at his trowsers to tell whether 
 a man belongs to “ the upper four .” 
 
 The 5 th class is composed of medical 
 and other professional men. The 6th 
 class are merchants and wholesale trades- 
 men. These possess the chief wealth of 
 the community. They rival one another 
 in the number of their retainers ; hired 
 (as in Charles II. ’s times) to swell the 
 consequence of their patrons. “ But no 
 money,” says a Japanese annalist, “can 
 procure the privilege, or rather the inesti- 
 mable honor, of wearing petticoat trow- 
 sers.” This would be to rise above one’s 
 caste , which is not permissible. The 7th 
 class are small shopkeepers, peddlers, me- 
 chanics, artisans, and includes painters 
 and other artists. 
 
 The 8th class are the peasantry, and 
 all agricultural and day laborers. These 
 are little better than serfs attached to the 
 soil, and the property of the landholders. 
 There are still lower classes, not enume- 
 rated, because esteemed vile by the laws 
 and customs of Japan. Such are public 
 executioners, butchers, jailers, underta- 
 kers, tallow-chandlers, and every man 
 connected in any way with hides and 
 leather, as tanners and curriers. They 
 live, like the leprous, apart. They are not 
 admitted into any house, nor can they eat 
 or drink by the wayside, except out of 
 their own vessels. Writers on Japanf 
 have sought for reasons of this ban and 
 interdict on so large a class of the people. 
 The conjecture, most probable, is that of 
 McFarlane, who suggests the cause in the 
 religious doctrine of the Sintoo faith, 
 “ That whosoever comes in contact in any 
 way with a dead body is thereby defiled.” 
 
 The religion of the Japanese is a diffi- 
 cult subject to investigate. It is supposed 
 that, being of a Mongol origin, the origi- 
 nal religion was Syn-sin, a kind of mysti- 
 cism, which derives its name from the 
 word syn, faith, and sin, gods. The be- 
 lievers of this system are called Sintoos. 
 The religious devotees, recluses and fa- 
 natics are professors of this form of doc- 
 trine, of which the characteristic is the 
 very early Eastern notion of the impurity 
 of matter, and the necessity of discon- 
 necting the soul from the contagion of the 
 flesh. 
 
 But the conquering influence of the 
 
 * P. 913. t As Wny lan, Subold, and Kampfer. 
 
1853.] 
 
 Japan. 
 
 245 
 
 doctrines of Buddhism invaded Japan and 
 introduced its idolatries there, to impair 
 the spiritualism of the Sintoo religion. 
 Besides Buddhism, there are counted 
 thirty-four different sects, all of whom 
 are tolerated in Japan. Buddhism has 
 an outer and an inner teaching, like the 
 exoteric and esoteric doctrines of the an- 
 cient Platonists. The inner doctrines are 
 for the initiated, the outer for the common 
 people. The leading article is a belief in 
 the metempsychosis or transmigration of 
 souls. There are also traditions of an in- 
 carnation and of a resurrection, with ideas 
 of a final judgment day. From these 
 dogmas, writers have inferred that Bud- 
 dhism was a corruption of Christianity. 
 But, if so, it is of a Christianity without 
 the Cross. Others have argued that it 
 was an offspring of Satan, mocking Chris- 
 tianity by its semblance to some of its 
 cardinal truths. It appears certain that 
 Buddhism thoroughly permeates the Sin- 
 too worship. For the Sintoo temples, 
 anciently, contained only a mirror , the 
 emblem of the soul’s purity, and were 
 decorated with a gohei , which is formed 
 of many strips of spotless white paper, 
 another emblem of purity. But the tem- 
 ples now possess images of the Kami 
 (which are born-gods and deified mortals, 
 regarded as mediatory spirits), whose 
 idols are set up and worshipped. 
 
 The doctrines of Con-futz-zee or Confu- 
 cius, obtained currency in Japan at an ear- 
 ly day, when commerce was not restrict- 
 ed with China. These doctrines inculcate 
 an exemplary morality. They are called 
 “ the Suto ,” or the way of philosophers. 
 Sutoism proclaims five points of duty, viz., 
 D’sin, Gi, Re, Isi, and Sin. (1.) The max- 
 im of the first is, “ Live virtuously.” (2.) 
 The second is to “Do right.” (3.) The 
 third, “Be civil.” (4.) The fourth, “Be 
 prudent.” (5.) The fifth, “ Preserve a 
 good conscience.” • 
 
 Suicide is not only permitted but com- 
 mended by Sutoism. Sutoism is a sys- 
 tem which prescribes no worship and en- 
 courages none. Though an excellent 
 counterfeit of Christian morality, its mo- 
 tives are purely selfish ; and while refin- 
 ing the sense of honor to a keen sus- 
 ceptibility, it nurtures pride of heart, ar- 
 rogance and self-complacency to an extra- 
 ordinary growth. 
 
 The upper classes in Japan are said to 
 be imbued with Sutoism. It is the boast 
 of their scholars, writers and literati. It 
 accounts for the conduct of their magis- 
 trates in their supercilious regard of for- 
 eigners, as well as for some of the pecu- 
 liar manners and customs that obtain 
 
 among themselves in high society ; partic- 
 ularly their vanity, mortification under 
 blame or insult, and recourse to self-mur- 
 der. One of the travellers in Japan re- 
 lates an instance, which occurred within 
 his own knowledge, that we may take as 
 an illustration. “ Two high officers of 
 the court met on the palace stairs and 
 jostled each other. One was an irascible 
 man and immediately demanded satisfac- 
 tion. The other, of a mild disposition, 
 represented that the circumstance was ac- 
 cidental, and tendered an ample apology, 
 representing that satisfaction could not be 
 reasonably demanded. The irascible man, 
 however, would not be appeased, and 
 finding he could not provoke the other to 
 a conflict, suddenly drew up his robes, 
 unsheathed his cattan, and cut himself in 
 the prescribed mode. As a point of ho- 
 nor, his adversary was under the necessi- 
 ty of following the example ; and the 
 irascible man, before he breathed his last, 
 had the gratification of seeing the unfor- 
 tunate person, who, innocently, had irri- 
 tated him, dying by his side.”* This is 
 an improvement, it must be confessed, on 
 the heathen custom of duelling, which 
 prevails in some parts of Christendom. 
 Having thus a morbid sensitiveness to the 
 least insult, which only blood can wash 
 away, the Japanese gentlemen are assidu- 
 ous in treating one another with profound 
 respect. 
 
 If the “law of honor” among us re- 
 quired both gentlemen to sacrifice them- 
 selves, insults and duels, we imagine, 
 would become rare. We can learn some- 
 thing from the heathen yet. 
 
 The cosmogony of the Japanese deter- 
 mines the nature of their government. 
 This is the case with all countries in the 
 East. The princes delight to claim a di- 
 vine genealogy. As the Chinese Emperor 
 is the Son of Heaven, so the Mihado of 
 Japan is the Child of the Sun. We have 
 alluded to the Japanese cosmogony, in stat- 
 ing the origin of the Island of Kewsew 
 to be the work of one of the Kami, or 
 Celestial Divinities, descended from the 
 Sun-goddess. The Emperor assumes a 
 legitimate descent from that member of 
 her family. And the theory of the Ja- 
 panese constitution regards him as media- 
 tor with that deity. Every day it re- 
 quires of him to be placed upon the throne 
 at Miaco, to receive the homage of his 
 adoring subjects. It is a law that he 
 must not move a muscle ; only he is not 
 permitted to fix his eyes, lest that part 
 of the empire upon which he looked 
 should be visited with some dire calamity. 
 Consequently he must keep his eyes in- 
 
 * M. Cason in Randall’s “ Memorial,” quoted by McFarlane, p. 299. 
 
246 
 
 Japan. 
 
 [March 
 
 cessantly rolling hither and thither over 
 the kingdom. In late years, it is said, 
 this usage is superseded, and instead of 
 the Mihado, they place on the throne his 
 crown, which can't look and can keep 
 still. That will do as well, while- it does 
 not inconvenience his majesty so much. 
 On great occasions only is he enthroned. 
 The Emperor at Miaco accordingly is a 
 sort of deity, and rules by divine right. 
 But though worshipped, he is confined to 
 his palace, and is treated as a puppet. 
 He has one wife and a harem. 
 
 But although the Spiritual Emperor is 
 the sovereign de jure , the Secular Em- 
 peror wields the sceptre by might. The 
 rise of the Secular Empire is a curious 
 piece of history. In former days there 
 was a rebellion. The Spiritual Emperor 
 found it hard to suppress the insurrection. 
 Soldier after soldier was beaten in battle. 
 At length one was found, who, rising from 
 the ranks, manifested military genius that 
 quelled the insurgency. But he did not lay 
 down his authority as easily as he took it 
 up. In the East the “ mayor of the palace,” 
 as in the "W est, became lord of his master. 
 And on the easy condition of a pilgrimage, 
 periodically, to the holy city of Miaco, to 
 pay homage to the Mihado, his authority 
 was confirmed. The Secular Emperor’s 
 court is at Jeddo. He is, in theory , again, 
 all-powerful in secular matters. Yet he 
 is ruled by a Council of State. And the 
 council is ruled, in turn, by ancient cus- 
 tom. The Council of State consists of 
 eight Princes of the Empire, and seven of 
 the hereditary nobles. Every matter is 
 referred to the Council, and from them 
 goes to the emperor for his confirmation 
 and decree. If the Council and Emperor 
 chance to differ, the question is left to 
 three Princes of the Empire for arbitra- 
 tion. If the arbitrators decide in favor 
 of the Council, the Emperor is bound to 
 abdicate the tbrone. If the Emperor be 
 in the right, then the Council must die the 
 death, by ripping open their bowels. 
 On these terms, there is not much likeli- 
 hood of a difference of opinion ; and inno- 
 vation upon ancient laws is the rarest 
 possible contingency. 
 
 The vassal Princes are the governors 
 of the provinces and cities of the Em- 
 pire. As there is a dual throne, so there 
 are dual viceroys. The families of the 
 two governors must reside at J eddo ; 
 while they, alternately, live at the place 
 of their viceroyalty. In this way, their 
 allegiance is secured ; their families be- 
 ing hostages. Each vassal-prince-gover- 
 nor has two secretaries, whose families, 
 in like manner, reside at Jeddo. And 
 besides the pledge of fidelity, resulting 
 from this arrangement, each prince and 
 
 each secretary is a spy upon the other. 
 Indeed the government of Japan is a gov- 
 ernment of espionage. Eouche himself 
 might have taken lessons of the Japanese 
 in this foul art. One spy watches ano- 
 ther. Each man is surrounded by a hun- 
 dred eyes. Every five families in a town, 
 are responsible for the good behavior of 
 each member, cash servant, and the 
 stranger within their gates. When the 
 Governor of Matsmai was once complained 
 of, the people were surprised to find, in 
 his successor, a journeyman tobacco-cutter, 
 who had been working in a shop opposite 
 the governor’s palace. This tobacco-cut- 
 ter was a nobleman, sent frem Jeddo to 
 watch the governor of Matsmai. Thus, 
 every rank in life furnishes its spies. If 
 a man be nominated as a spy, he must 
 serve ; or else (if belonging to the higher 
 classes) he must commit suicide in the 
 usual manner; or (if not of the higher 
 classes) he must consent to be decapitated. 
 
 Hence, it comes to pass that people in 
 office in Japan are cruel, severe, unrelent- 
 ing, changed in nature ; while the private 
 gentleman is frank in manners, open in 
 speech, and most sensitive in honorable 
 dealing. And hence also, it comes to pass, 
 that people in Japan do not covet office, 
 as they are said to do in some other coun- 
 tries. 
 
 Indeed, it is quite common for the 
 Ziogun himself to abdicate the crown in 
 favor of his eldest son (for the rights of 
 primogeniture obtain in the Japanese Em- 
 pire), rather than endure the slavery of 
 the throne. The Secular Emperors are 
 said to be for this reason young men ; 
 none being willing to forego freedom until 
 too late to enjoy it. Death is the common 
 punishment for all crimes without dis- 
 tinction. Yet the magistrate, though he 
 may pronounce sentence of death, is not 
 obliged to do so, except in homicides. 
 House arrests, which are utter seclusion ; 
 imprisonment in a cage, and confinement 
 in dungeons are permitted. The laws 
 are published by edicts of the Emperor. 
 These are read in town-meeting over the 
 Empire, printed and placarded. Travel- 
 lers say they are always curt and to the 
 point. A law once published is never re- 
 voked. No money can compound a trans- 
 gression of law, it being derogatory to J a- 
 panese dignity to allow impunity to be 
 purchased with money. The laws are 
 sacred. But above the law, overruling 
 with a tyranny which is despotic, and 
 with a sway which is irresistible, are 
 hoary customs. These customs of the 
 Empire overrule the legislature and direct 
 it. Enthroned in a dark antiquity ; enve- 
 loped in mystery impenetrable ; clothed 
 with awful majesty ; sits the true sovereign 
 
1853.] 
 
 Japan. 
 
 24t 
 
 of Japan, in the idea of fixed immemorial 
 usage. Conservatism need not look fur- 
 ther for its paradise than Japan. Pro- 
 gress has no name in that language. The 
 “manifest destiny” principle, probably 
 was never heard of there. The Emperor 
 has never yet been persuaded to accept 
 a labor-saving machine. An oil-mill 
 was once shown him. lie said it was 
 very ingenious, but it would injure ma- 
 nual labor, and disturb the Empire. 
 We shall see what the American ex- 
 pedition will effect. It has carried out 
 a steam engine, a locomotive, with a few 
 miles of railroad, and a magnetic tele- 
 graph. It has, likewise, taken specimens 
 of our manufactures. Cotton and woollen 
 goods, from the mills of America, are on 
 their way to Japan. Perhaps the Yankees 
 will introduce a new idea, and ingraft a 
 new word on the vocabulary of a Japa- 
 nese dictionary. And perhaps not. For 
 we are assured, that it would be woe to 
 the Japanese who even proposes such an 
 enormity. He must disembowel himself 
 if he does, and die the death. Anterior to 
 the year of our Lord 1G15, the Japanese 
 drove a brisk commerce with China and 
 the Islands, and with Asia. Japanese 
 soldiers served as soldiers of fortune in 
 foreign countries. 
 
 But now, the stern of a Japanese junk 
 is open to the waves, and the prow, like- 
 wise, in some instances is open. This is 
 an order of Government, to prevent, it is 
 said, the possibility of long voyages. The 
 extent of the foreign commerce of Japan 
 is the Loo-Choo islands : no J apanese 
 going further than these islands is permit- 
 ted to return, no, though he were driven 
 by stress of weather. Let us inquire into 
 the origin and cause of the present seclu- 
 sion of this singular country, and learn 
 why the Japan Government is so hostile 
 and inveterate against foreign influence. 
 
 When Japan was first discovered (as 
 some say, by the old Venetian, Marco 
 Polo ; others say by a Portuguese bound 
 for Macao in 1542), the inhabitants were 
 hospitable and friendly. In 1549, a Japan- 
 ese fled to Goa, a Portuguese settlement 
 on the coast of Malabar. He was there 
 converted to the Roman Catholic faith, 
 and sent back to his native country with 
 
 f oods and merchandise. The celebrated 
 'rancis Xavier (joint founder of the order 
 of Jesuits, with Ignatius Loyola) went to 
 Japan in the same vessel. The voyage 
 was 1300 leagues from Goa. In vain were 
 all the dissuasions of the friends of Xavier. 
 He nobly said, that, where merchants 
 ventured life for perishable riches, he 
 might go to gain immortal souls. Xavier 
 found the religion of the Japanese to be 
 the Sintoo, Buddhist, and Suto supersti- 
 
 tions, more or less mixed ; supported by 
 large detachments of heathen priests. To- 
 leration, however, was conceded in the 
 widest liberality to all. Xavier was re- 
 ceived most kindly. The people were in- 
 telligent, courteous and grateful. The art 
 of printing (on blocks of wood) had fur- 
 nished books for ages in Japan. The peo- 
 ple were educated in free schools, nobility 
 and commons together, until the time 
 came for the boys to separate for their 
 distinct professional studies. Colleges 
 was flourishing at Miaco, Jeddo, and 
 other parts of the Empire. Mathematics 
 was studied ; astronomy was understood. 
 There were almanacs in which eclipses 
 were duly calculated, barometers, ther- 
 mometers, the mariner’s compass ; in 
 short, a high degree of intelligence and re- 
 finement, in science, the arts, in literature 
 and in manners. Xavier quitted Japan 
 after a residence of three years, and sailed 
 for China, where he died, in the Canton 
 River, a. d. 1551. He made many con- 
 verts and established several churches. 
 In a letter, he speaks of the Japanese thus: 
 “ I know not when to have done when 1 
 speak of the Japanese. They are truly 
 the delight of my heart.” In 1566, the 
 Portuguese advised the opening of the 
 excellent harbor of Nangasaki, and trade 
 flourished. The successor of Xavier bap- 
 tized thirty thousand Japanese and 
 founded fifty churches. And in 1591-92, 
 the missionaries baptized twelve thou- 
 sand converts. This large accession to 
 the Roman Catholic faith, excited the 
 jealousy of the heathen priests. This was 
 the first symptom of uneasiness. The 
 priests besought the Emperor to banish 
 the Christians. To whom the Emperor 
 replied : “ How many sects are there, 
 in Japan?” They rejoined, Thirty-five. 
 “Then,” said he, “one more will do no 
 harm.” 
 
 Affairs remained in this posture with 
 foreigners until 1597. In the year 1600, 
 William Adams, an Englishman (a me- 
 morable name in the Japanese annals), 
 arrived in a Dutch ship as pilot. This 
 was in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, when 
 the English and Dutch were beginning 
 their enterprises after the commerce of 
 India. The Portuguese vilified Adams and 
 the Dutch to the Emperor, as Protestant 
 heretics, infidels, pirates, and many other 
 hard names. They advised that they be 
 crucified forthwith. But the good Em- 
 peror, Minna Motono , was more merci- 
 ful. He commanded Adams to be brought 
 before him, and sent his own galley to 
 fetch him. Adams became a favorite ; 
 lived at court ; made the king two ships ; 
 advised him prudently ; and in four or 
 five years, became influential as the Grand 
 
248 
 
 Japan. 
 
 Vizier. Under his auspices commerce 
 was opened to the Dutch and English. 
 A treaty signed by the Emperor Minna 
 Motono (now extant in the archives of 
 the East India Company), was also pro- 
 cured by Adams in behalf of the English. 
 It was most liberal and complete. But 
 after a short trial with losses, the Eng- 
 lish Company gave up in despair, and 
 forsook Japan. Meanwhile, the Romish 
 sects poured into Japan in a flood. 
 Jesuits, Dominicans, Franciscans, Augus- 
 tinians perambulated the Empire. Bitter 
 jealousies, feuds, hatreds, ensued between 
 them ; till at length the Emperor ordered 
 that no more should come to Japan. 
 Neverthless, more were smuggled in, giv- 
 ing great offence to the court. This was 
 in 1597. At length the fires, burning 
 secretly, burst forth in a blaze of perse- 
 cution. A Portuguese bishop meeting a 
 Japanese grandee on the road, refused to 
 alight from Ins palanquin and tender the 
 usual civilities. The grandee was incensed 
 at the indignity, as only a Japanese knows 
 how to be. He became a bitter foe. In 
 1612 the persecution began. In 1614 
 many Christians were crucified. In 
 1622 there was a general massacre of the 
 native converts, who displayed heroic con- 
 stancy in the profession of their faith. 
 At this juncture a Portuguese ship from 
 Japan was captured by the Dutch, having 
 treasonable letters to the King of Portu- 
 gal and the Pope, written by a native 
 convert and zealot, inviting their invasion 
 of Japan, and offering to assist the arma- 
 ment to overturn the throne. The Dutch 
 at once revealed the plot and the names 
 of the conspirators. In 1637 proclamation 
 was issued banishing the Portuguese, and 
 forbidding for ever any further intercourse 
 with that nation. That native Christians 
 rebelled, were pursued and slain ; churches 
 were razed to their foundations ; crosses 
 and crucifixes were trampled upon ; every 
 vestige of the Christian faith, which the 
 Roman Catholics had introduced, was ob- 
 literated. The Dutch helped in this ex- 
 terminating persecution. A last remnant 
 of the Christians retreated to a stronghold, 
 which the guns of the Japanese could not 
 hurt. The Dutch bombarded the fort from 
 their ships. When the breach was made, 
 the Japanese rushed in and put to death 
 forty thousand native Christians, who died 
 like their brethren, “ not accepting deliver- 
 ance.” Over the vast grave of those 
 heroic victims, the Emperor of Japan set 
 up this blasphemous inscription, “ So long 
 as the sun shall warm the earth, let no 
 Christian be so bold as to come to Japan ; 
 and let all know that the King of Spain 
 
 [March 
 
 himself ; or the Christians’ God ; or the 
 great God of the universe, if he violate 
 this command shall pay for it with his 
 head.” * 
 
 The Dutch were, henceforth, required to 
 abjure Christianity. All who serve them 
 or have dealings with them, are bound to 
 take an oath of renunciation and hatred of 
 the Christian religion, twice, and even 
 thrice a year. They are required to 
 trample under foot the cross and other 
 emblems of the faith. A Japanese joke is 
 told by writers ; that a Dutchman being 
 surprised by the police and challenged, 
 “ Are you a Christian ? ” replied, “No! I 
 am a Dutchman ! ” Truly it was so. Re- 
 ligion was extinct with them. 
 
 Ever since the edict of 1637, the Dutch 
 have been confined to the harbor of Nan- 
 gasaki, on a little island or peninsula, 
 six hundred feet long by two hundred 
 and forty feet broad, called Desima, ad- 
 joining the town, and put under the 
 strict surveillance of the Japanese autho- 
 rities. The Emperor judged that they 
 who had so willingly assisted him in 
 exterminating a Christian community, 
 would be equally faithless to a heathen 
 monarch, if their interest should chance 
 to urge them. On the arrival of a Dutch 
 ship at Nangasaki, an embassy, with pre- 
 sents, is required to present itself at court. 
 We have derived much of our knowledge 
 of Japan from the annalists of these 
 journeys. They met with great cordiality 
 and politeness from the people, while the 
 officials treated them with contumely, and 
 perplexed them with endless annoyances. 
 On approaching the Emperor, they crawled 
 on their hands and knees, leaving their 
 gifts at the foot of the throne ; and then 
 backed out, like a crab, without lifting 
 their eyes from the floor. On their re- 
 turn to Nangasaki they are compelled to 
 thank the governor for his protection, and 
 then to slink back into their dismal isl- 
 and. Under such degrading circum- 
 stances has foreign commerce been carried 
 on with Japan, for more than two cen- 
 turies. In such a contemptible aspect has 
 the Christian character appeared in the 
 eyes of those haughty heathen ! And 
 what is the prize for which commerce has 
 consented to all this debasement and this 
 shame ? 
 
 The productions of Japan are gold, 
 which is so plentiful that the roofs of 
 palaces and the ceilings of rooms are 
 of pure gold. “ Niphon,” in the language 
 of a writer, “ is a great gold mine.” Gold 
 sands abound in many parts of the Ja- 
 panese Archipelago. Pearls are large 
 and abundant. Mother-of-pearl ; beautiful 
 
 * McFarlane, p. 50. 
 
Japan. 
 
 249 
 
 1853.] 
 
 marbles ; agates and cornelians, are plen- 
 tiful. Silver mines are rich in ore. Cop- 
 per, lead, quicksilver, and tin, of remark- 
 able quality , are among the mineral pro- 
 ductions. Their steel is so fine, that the 
 temper and keenness of their cattans rival 
 the famous Damascus blades. Besides 
 these gifts of Providence, are many beautiful 
 manufactures, celebrated throughout the 
 world. All articles of Japanese work- 
 manship, are covered with the famous 
 varnish procured from the “Urusi” or 
 varnish tree, which yields a rich, milky 
 glutinous juice. Other trees, as cam- 
 phor, bamboo, mulberry, are indigenous. 
 Flowers are beautiful, and universally cul- 
 tivated. The cherry is grown for its 
 blossom, which is exquisite. The Camellia 
 J aponica is familiar to all who cherish ex- 
 otics among us. 
 
 But doubtless it was not so much the 
 productions of Japan as the vast market 
 of twenty-five millions of people, for the 
 sale and consumption of woollen and cot- 
 ton goods, and other commodities of Europe, 
 that the Dutch coveted. For the mo- 
 nopoly of this trade, they have submitted 
 to insult, and dishonored the Christian 
 name. 
 
 But a new era has dawned on the world, 
 and the youngest of the nations of the 
 earth is sent on a mission to Japan, to 
 bring that self-banished Empire into the 
 fellowship of sister kingdoms. In this 
 age of steam power, commerce will be 
 driven by a motive which the ancients 
 never . knew ; the very source of which 
 lies buried in the coal mines of Japan. 
 From America to England, thence through 
 the Mediterranean ; across the desert ; 
 down the Ited Sea, to the Indian ocean, 
 the chain is now completing, which shall 
 encompass the round world. Westward 
 the chain is forging that connects the 
 Atlantic with the Pacific ocean, across the 
 Isthmus of Panama. There is but one 
 single link wanting to complete the circuit 
 between California and Japan. When this 
 last link shall be supplied, the power of 
 steam will move the traveller from ocean to 
 ocean, and from land to land ; creating 
 intercourse between nations that differ in 
 government, religion, customs and modes 
 of thought ; causing trade in the exchange 
 of manufactures and productions of the 
 soil ; producing a feeling of fellowship 
 among mankind ; and opening a highway 
 for the chariot of the Lord Jesus Christ 
 to pass through all the nations of the 
 earth; diffusing the knowledge of the 
 pure gospel for the civilization, the hap- 
 piness, the salvation of the poor heathen. 
 
 We cannot doubt, for a moment, that 
 such is the mission of the American ex- 
 pedition to Japan. God has not wrought 
 
 the wonders of our age and generation, 
 that they be foiled in their grandest end, 
 and be brought to nought by the haughti- 
 ness and conceit of a secluded potentate. 
 The Joshua for this duty of conquer- 
 ing the tribes of the East for Emanuel, is 
 plainly pointed out in that country whose 
 shores are washed by the two great 
 oceans. It is pointed out in that banner 
 of freedom on which the eagle spreads 
 his wings ; on which confederation and 
 union is inscribed ; whose stars and 
 stripes, as the symbols of hope and of 
 protection to the friendless, panting for 
 liberty and guardianship, float over the 
 heads of all men who flee, from want or 
 from tyranny, beneath its ample folds. 
 But not by war ; not by conquest ; not 
 by blood is the victory to be gained. The 
 expedition to Japan is peaceful. It car- 
 ries the olive branch on the prow of its 
 men-of-war. The arrogant sea-king 
 must be shown both the emblem of peace 
 and the cannon’s mouth. As our friend 
 Mr. Punch has said, “ The ports must be 
 opened in Japan, even if the Americans 
 have to open their ports.” At any rate, 
 all past experience shows that the Japan- 
 ese Court will not feel the arguments of 
 humanity unless stirred up by the whole- 
 some spur of arguments, plunged into 
 them from the heel of dreaded war. To 
 prove this assertion, it is necessary to 
 review only the attempts of our own gov- 
 ernment with Japan. 
 
 In 1837 the American ship Morrison 
 arrived at Japan from Macao, having 
 on board Japanese sailors who had 
 drifted in a storm, and had been cast 
 away near the mouth of the Colum- 
 bia River, in Oregon, and had been taken 
 thence to Macao. The Morrison had 
 taken out her armament to indicate her 
 peaceful and benevolent mission. But all 
 this was of no avail. The Japanese drag- 
 ged their cannon (which are said to be 
 very good) and placed them in battery on 
 the shores ; the striped calico or canvas 
 was stretched in front in token of war 
 (which the sailors call “ putting the bat- 
 tery in petticoats , ' > ), and the Morrison 
 was fired at and driven off the Japanese 
 coast. This happened in the bay of Jed- 
 do. The edict of 1637 was put in force, 
 which runs thus : “ All Japanese who re- 
 turn from abroad shall be put to death.” 
 That protection which every government 
 owes to its faithful subjects was refused 
 by Japan to its own. Calamity was ac- 
 counted crime ; and the kindness of bene- 
 volent Christians was punished as con- 
 spiracy ! In 1845 three Japanese were 
 carried to Ningpo, in China, by the 
 United States frigate St. Louis. These 
 men had been blown across the ocean five 
 
250 Japan. [March 
 
 thousand miles, all the way to Mexico. 
 The poor fellows dared not go home to 
 their wives and children for fear of the in- 
 human edict of 1G37 ! In 1846 the 
 government of the United States sent 
 the Columbus, of ninety guns, and the 
 sloop-of-war Vincennes, to attempt to 
 open navigation and to secure protec- 
 tion to our merchantmen and whalers. 
 The ships were immediately surrounded 
 by a triple cordon of guard-boats ; no one 
 went on board ; water and food could not 
 be bought. And after waiting a tedious 
 interval the reply was brought from Jed- 
 do, “No trade can be allowed with foreign 
 nations except Holland ! ” 
 
 In 1849 American seamen were wreck- 
 ed on the stormy coast of Japan, from the 
 American whaler Lagoda. The United 
 States ship Preble was dispatched for 
 their rescue. After many pretexts and 
 delays, the American Captain (Geisenger) 
 limited a day when the seamen must be 
 brought on board. The Japanese autho- 
 rities understood the threat, and the ship- 
 wrecked mariners were promptly restored 
 to their country’s flag. McFarlane states 
 that since 1849, it is reported that some 
 other American whalers have been wreck- 
 ed on that coast, and are confined in 
 bamboo cages, suffering captivity like the 
 Russian captain of the imperial navy, 
 Golownin, a few years ago. Some Eng- 
 lish and American sailors have been put 
 to death for simply landing on the coast. 
 It is but just to say, that those sailors are 
 accused of crime. We know that lawless 
 men may violate the laws and deserve a 
 doom. But while humanity has a tear 
 to shed, or a voice to articulate, or an arm 
 to wield, she will protest against a nation 
 claiming neutrality for her harbors, and 
 yet refusing all intercourse with other na- 
 tions ; cutting herself off from the chari- 
 ties of national fellowship, and yet insist- 
 ing on rights founded in the laws of na- 
 tions ; shutting her ports against ship- 
 wrecked sailors, whether her own people 
 or foreigners ; refusing ships supplies, for 
 money, after long voyages of danger and 
 privation ; and driving from her shores, 
 with gunpowder and ball, the weary na- 
 vigators of God’s seas who would seek 
 repose and shelter from the storms and 
 waves. Japan demands distinguished 
 consideration and civilized dealing from 
 the nations whom, by her barbarity, she 
 insults! This “dog in the manger” 
 policy, which Japan practises, the world 
 will not now submit to. Japan lies on 
 the high road of nations. She must not 
 make herself a barrier there. She must 
 sell her coal ; she must evince towards us, 
 at least, the old Suto morality of Confu- 
 cius, and live virtuously : do right: be 
 
 civil : be prudent : preserve a good con- 
 science. And may we practise the same, 
 and better virtues, under the benign 
 Christian maxim that comprehends all 
 virtues, “ Do you as you would be done 
 by.” 
 
 The fleet, under Commodore Perry, 
 consists of nine ships, of which seven are 
 ships and steamers of war, from the 
 largest size to a sloop. The excellent 
 letter of the President of the United 
 States has won the admiration of Europe. 
 The expedition is commended by Europeans 
 as worthy of the American name. 
 
 From California to China is become a 
 voyage of twenty days. Commerce which 
 forsook the Mediterranean on the dis- 
 covery of the Cape of Good Hope, is pre- 
 paring to desert the stormy Cape for a 
 better route to India. ' Fleets will soon 
 steam through the Pacific ocean. And 
 as Venice and Alexandria decayed after 
 the Indian commerce left their ports, a) 
 must St. Helena and Madagascar cease to 
 be of value ; Cape Town will not be 
 worth an occupying, much less a Kaffir 
 war. The Marquesas Islands will be 
 reckoned among the most important mari- 
 time ports in the world. The Sandwich 
 Islands and the Society Islands will en- 
 hance in their value to all nations. Lon- 
 don and Liverpool, Brest and Havre, must 
 yield the prize of Indian trade to New 
 Orleans and New-York. India is now 
 opened to American enterprise, to Ameri- 
 can commerce, to American religion. God 
 grant that our country may not fail to 
 make good use of her high endownments, 
 and scatter blessings, broadcast, on the 
 earth. We doubt not such beneficent 
 issues will come to pass. And as classic 
 story has immortalized the fable of the 
 expedition of Jason and his Argonaut®, in 
 search of the Golden Fleece, so shall there 
 be Christian poets and historians, more 
 eloquent than Homer and Hesiod, to sing 
 of the exploits and to narrate the achieve- 
 ments of Protestant missionaries, and 
 godly seamen, seeking the worthier object 
 of saving the dying souls of living men ; 
 winning, for themselves and them, a no- 
 bler, a truer immortality, in the approving 
 smile of God and the perpetual blessed- 
 ness of heaven. 
 
 The coarse senses of the unbelieving 
 citizen may see, in the march of our 
 American republic, onty the fortuitous 
 course of Empire. But the spiritual senses 
 of the Christian believer, perceives the 
 presiding presence of Him wffio “ is the 
 Head over all things to the church ; ” whose 
 wisdom designed that the “ gospel shall be 
 preached as a witness unto all nations ; ” 
 whoseWord both prophesies and proclaims 
 His will ; and whose power procures the 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Japan. 
 
 251 
 
 fulfilment of His wise, Ilis gracious pur- 
 poses. 
 
 Commerce and Christianity may, by 
 man’s avarice and sin. be separated, and 
 unnaturally opposed to one another. Those 
 things that God has joined together in 
 holy matrimony, man, wickedly, can put 
 asunder. That divorce has been decreed 
 for more than two centuries in Japan. 
 That divorce has been countenanced and 
 encouraged by other nations since early 
 times. Commerce has not gone forth in 
 alliance with religion. Religion has been 
 left behind to journey alone from her 
 birth-place in Bethlehem of Judea; not 
 as a conqueror, but as a pilgrim ; not with 
 a paid army of retainers, but with a few 
 loving followers ; not in pomp and pride, 
 but in lowliness and humility. The cross 
 was laid upon her by the Divine hand, 
 first at Jerusalem, and afterwards every 
 where. Nevertheless, she has borne the 
 cross, lovingly and willingly, and she has 
 conquered by bearing it. She endured it 
 in Asia Minor in her infancy. And thence 
 travelling westward into Africa and into 
 Europe, she has knocked at the heart’s 
 door of peasants and of fishermen ; of 
 merchants and of scholars ; of nobles and 
 of kings ; of low and high ; of rich and 
 poor ; and has summoned “ Caesar’s house- 
 hold ” to open unto her the imperial gates. 
 They who have entertained her as a guest, 
 “ have entertained angels unawares.” 
 They who have admitted her into their 
 bosoms have felt her as “ a life.” 
 
 She has gone, untiring, with the sun 
 westward ; lighting up the dreaiy and 
 dark souls of barbarous heathen ; warm- 
 ing them with a diviner sunshine that was 
 spreading over luxuriant nature, and 
 causing to spring forth, and bud, and bear, 
 seeds of better fruit than ever earth had 
 seen. Pagan Britain was transformed 
 into Christian England. The druid altars 
 of human sacrifices were forsaken for the 
 altar of The Crucified who sacrificed 
 Himself for human sin. The cross on 
 the flag of that Christian country has 
 floated across the waters of every ocoan. 
 It is unfurling itself continually, as the 
 successive drum beats reveille at dawn of 
 day, on each great circle of longitude on 
 the globe. It is waving perpetually, from 
 some high staff, in every land. And 
 wherever the British cross has opened the 
 way, there the Church of England is 
 helping forward Religion. From England 
 the heaven-born Pilgrim crossed the At- 
 lantic to the fourth quarter of the globe, 
 
 and found in this, our land, a home. 
 And now, unwearied, she is travelling 
 after the pioneers of civilization, and voy- 
 aging in the wake of ships ; sanctifying 
 commercial intercourse and claiming com- 
 merce as her partner. She has taken re- 
 fuge under the flag of these United States 
 to pass over the Pacific to the East again, 
 persevering in her circuit round the world, 
 until she shall reach her birth-place in 
 Asia, and shall welcome back her Lord 
 from heaven at his second coming, “ con- 
 quering and to conquer.” The one vast 
 Empire of Japan, wherein the Protestant 
 English in Queen Elizabeth’s reign, two 
 centuries ago, had gained a foothold, 
 Englishmen deserted ; and have endea- 
 vored since, repeatedly, in vain, to occupy 
 and recover. 
 
 Who can tell whether (had England 
 been patient and faithful to herself and 
 God) there might not now have been 
 Christianity in Japan, shining with a pure 
 flame out of a holy lamp : not emitting 
 smoke from the foul oil of Romish super- 
 stition ; not clouding the souls of men 
 with dogmas as corrupting as the Bud- 
 dhist and Sintoo doctrines ; but irradiating 
 the Eastern Archipelago with the sancti- 
 fied light of the pure Gospel from a Pro- 
 testant Japanese church of Christ! 
 
 But religion was banished from that 
 Empire. Yet let man do what he will to 
 defeat or to retard the pilgrimage of pri- 
 mitive Christianity, he cannot vanquish 
 the will of God. God makes the wrath 
 of man to praise Him, and the remainder 
 of wrath He will restrain. The witness 
 of the church shall resound throughout the 
 nations of the earth ; “ then cometh the 
 end.” The earth shall begirt about with 
 prayer. From the earth, praises to God 
 and to his Christ shall ascend on high in 
 every tongue. Man’s heart shall beat 
 against the heart of his brother man, in 
 the sympathy of mutual love ; in the com- 
 munion of a common worship ; in all the 
 fellowship of Christianized nations, em- 
 braced in the ample and expanding charity 
 of the one Catholic Church of Jesus 
 Christ. 
 
 For it is written and it shall come to 
 pass, “From the rising of the sun even 
 unto the going down of the same, my namf. 
 shall be great among the Gentiles ; and in 
 every place incense shall be ottered unto 
 my name, and a pure offering ; ibr my 
 name shall be great among the heathen, 
 saith the Lord of Hosts.” 
 
252 
 
 [March 
 
 CHORIC HYMN. 
 
 FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM. 
 
 I. 
 
 T HE little birds awake at peep of day, 
 
 When soft winds shake their nests, and leaves are stirred ; 
 The buds unseal their lids beneath the spray, 
 
 Called by the dews, to mortal ears unheard ; 
 
 But thou — though we have called thee, over-loud, 
 
 Thrice with our shrillest voices, thou art mute : 
 
 — But we will touch the lute, 
 
 And melt the dream, that wraps thee like a cloud. 
 
 We passed along the borders of the vale, 
 
 And peeped into it from the misty hill ; 
 
 Far in its depths we heard the nightingale 
 Muffled in song : we hear him singing still. 
 
 We sat together, all in thoughtful rest, 
 
 Last eve, and watched the golden chaff of light, 
 
 From sheaves of sunset, bounden in the West, 
 
 Stored in the closing garners of the Night : 
 
 And when pale Hesperos with silver crook, 
 
 Led forth his starry flock from out their fold, 
 
 We wept together in the bosky nopk, 
 
 And linked our hearts with kisses, each thrice told. 
 
 Hast thou forgot our kisses, and thine own ? — 
 
 (We dreamed of only those, the live-long night !) 
 
 Forgot thy loving maidens, chaste and white ? 
 
 Forgot the vale, whose depths are yet unknown % — 
 
 It cannot be ! Awake, and answer — “ No ! ” 
 
 0, say us “ No ! ” or we must wake, and weep : 
 
 Give us a little sign, before we go, 
 
 That we are not forgotten in thy sleep ; 
 
 Think of us, one and all, as we of thee, 
 
 Both now, and evermore, Persephone ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 Hearken ! our lutes are strung with silver wires, 
 All nicely suited, vibrant with the strain ; 
 
 Our voices melt therein, like soft desires, 
 
 Or South winds dying in a vernal rain ! 
 
 The sky-lark listens in the woods apart, 
 
 Since twilight sleeping on the falling dew, 
 
 And hoards our music in his brimming heart. 
 Meaning a sweet repayment from the blue : 
 
 But thou art bound in slumber, deaf to all, 
 
 Mute as a little maid beneath her pall, 
 
 Heedless of dear ones coming there to weep, 
 Locked in a cold and everlasting sleep ! 
 
 If such should be thy sleep, 0 what should we 
 Say to Demeter in her woe divine ? — 
 
 And to our hearts, and all that ask and pine, 
 
 For Earth would then demand her lost Persephone ? 
 
 hi. 
 
 Not so, not so ! bright ILestia would arise, 
 
 And light anew thy scarce-extinguished torch ; 
 Zeus would rain his lightenings from the skies, 
 And pierce the shadow Mors against his porch, 
 
 No more to launch the unseen dart at thee ; — 
 
 For Demo-Gorgon has compelled the Three, 
 
 For great Demeter’s sake, 
 
 To twist thy shining thread of Life without a break ! 
 
1853.] 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 253 
 
 Both Lachesis and Clotho spin to-day 
 Thy fleece, from off the distaff of the Years, 
 
 Nor dare dark Atropos with fatal shears 
 Clip even a shred away ! 
 
 For Heaven delights in thee. 
 
 Thou art so like to Heaven, divine Persephone ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hark ! hear ye not a stirring in her bower, 
 
 A rustling in the dimness of the leaves 1 
 Ah yes ! — and see — the Morning in its eaves, 
 
 Braids through the twinkled green a golden shower ! 
 Strike all your lutes again, and break the bands 
 That Sleep has woven round her in the night ; 
 
 Let melting Music with her loving hands 
 Slowly unwind his tangled skeins of light ! 
 Up-gather all thy poppies, drowsy-sweet, 
 
 And all thy syrop-urns of mandragore ; 
 
 Fly, Morpheus, fly, ere Morning’s winged feet, 
 Fire-sandalled, bear him to thy palace-door, 
 
 Where, waiting thee, thy Visions shrink away, 
 Blinded by coming Day ! 
 
 Fly, Morpheus, fly, w r ith heavy-lidded eyes — 
 
 The night is done, the maiden would arise. 
 
 Awake Persephone ! — the finches round 
 Chirp to the swallows, twittering overhead, 
 
 And little crickets answer from the ground, 
 
 Hidden in tufted mosses, white and red. 
 
 Awake ! awake ! let sluggards weak and gray 
 Before their time, drowse out the morning hours ; 
 Health-loving maids are up before the day, 
 
 To wet their feet in dew, and gather flowers. 
 Flowers grow around in myriads, even here, 
 
 In this dark forest, beaded o’er with dew ; 
 
 They call for thee, within thy spirit’s ear, 
 
 And all the little birds are calling too ; 
 
 And we thy loving maids, so dear to thee — 
 
 Then wake and rise, 0 rise, divine Persephone ! 
 
 VIRGINIA IN A NOVEL FORM. 
 Continued from page 146. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THIS CHAPTER, WITH TIIE READER’S PERMISSION, IS 
 DEDICATED TO CUPID. 
 
 M R. Robert Rushton’s time was devoted 
 exclusively to his friend Dashwood. 
 He must be with Frank, morning, noon, and 
 night. He vtas seldom at home. He had 
 always some business or an engagement 
 with Frank. They found time amid 
 their multifarious duties, to take a mys- 
 terious trip together to see Mrs. Blanton. 
 Dashwood came back enraptured with 
 her. He told mamma — who had doubtless 
 in her anxiety for her son, commissioned 
 him to keep an eye upon Therese — that he 
 was proud of Robert’s choice — for it was 
 not art, he said, which made Therese so 
 enchanting, but nature. Nature so per- 
 fectly beautiful, that he had mistaken it 
 
 for the perfection of art, for which he beg- 
 ged the dear dimpled creature’s pardon. 
 
 Having made the amende to Airs. Blan- 
 ton, Dashwood, who was getting his af- 
 fairs in order, previous to his departure to 
 foreign parts, drew me to the window, 
 and begged me with moist eye, and ner- 
 vous lip, to take good care of Louise for 
 him. 
 
 “ If she cries for me, when I am gone — 
 ah, if she hangs about your neck, and sobs 
 for me in the long, still hours — comfort 
 her, Jenny, and keep her hopeful, and cheer- 
 ful for me, will you ? Do not let her go 
 off by herself to weep ; cheer her up for 
 me, my good Jenny, I must not think of 
 her, all drooping and tearful — and yet — 
 and yet,” said he, half musing, “ I would 
 not have her careless and gay.” I smiled. 
 
254 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 “I tell you, dear Jenny” he said, “I 
 would like her to be resigned and hope- 
 ful, but not remarkably lively, — you un- 
 derstand ? ” 
 
 “Very well,” said I, “I shall exhort 
 my sister to endeavor to poise herself mid- 
 way between joy and sorrow. I shall 
 tell her that, while I am to try very much 
 to amuse her, she is not to be at all amus- 
 ed.” 
 
 “Heigho ! ” began poor Dash wood, with 
 a rueful face, “ what a time I shall have 
 with my attacheship ! What long, long 
 hours I must endure before I can be with 
 you all again ! ” 
 
 “But you two are determined?” I 
 asked. 
 
 “ Determined ! I tell you no word in 
 the English language can express the 
 firmness of our purpose. Determined ! 
 death cannot part us. Mr. Rushton. your 
 estimable father, is, I am happy to say, 
 only a feather in our estimation, Mrs. Bar- 
 bara a mere puff of wind, Mrs. Braxley 
 a mop to be jumped over on our way to 
 church.” 
 
 “ And uncle Joe ? ” 
 
 “Pooh — small potatoes,” said Dash- 
 wood with an air. I was not then aware 
 that uncle Joe had deserted the family 
 party, and gone over to the enemy. Such 
 knowledge being considered, by his friends, 
 as highly dangerous to circulate, and as 
 calculated to embitter the domestic peace 
 of that most worthy man. 
 
 Papa was highly pleased at Dashwood’s 
 appointment ; and Tom Farren delivered 
 quite a speech upon the occasion. Poor 
 Robert declared that he had rather part 
 with his right hand than with Frank, but 
 he added, “If I thought it necessary to 
 amputate my right hand, it should be cut 
 off, and I would try and do with the left.” 
 Mrs. Barbara inquired where St. Cloud 
 was, and if Mr. Dash wood was likely to 
 meet with a very dear friend of hers, who 
 had gone with her husband to Rio. If so, 
 would he be kind enough to take charge 
 of a steel bag, and a pair of button-hole 
 scissors, which it seems, that friend had 
 left at Mrs. Barbara’s on her last visit. 
 
 Mamma hoped he would not be ship- 
 wrecked, or robbed, or caught by the In- 
 quisition, or, above all, go over to the 
 Pope. 
 
 Robert hoped he would write some tell- 
 ing letters to the Star, and let people 
 know what he was about. 
 
 During this visit, which was about a 
 fortnight before Dashwood’s departure, 
 papa took him kindly by the hand, and 
 led him into the library. 
 
 “ My dear young friend,” he said hand- 
 ing him a seat, and then settling down in 
 his large leather chair,' “ I am extremely 
 
 [March: 
 
 gratified at tills appointment ; I am your 
 friend, though I have never flattered you 
 — perhaps your best friends do not flatter 
 you. Well, Mr. Dashwood, the last con- 
 versation we had in this room was not a 
 very pleasant one, but I must beg that 
 you will continue to bear it in mind.” 
 
 “ There is no danger of my forgetting it, 
 sir,” said Dashwood quickly. 
 
 “ What I said then I repeat to-day ; my 
 daughter must not be troubled by your 
 proposals.” 
 
 “ I have no proposals to make to the 
 young lady, sir.” 
 
 “ I hope not. I have other views for 
 my daughter, Mr Dashwood.” 
 
 “ So you have taken the trouble to in- 
 form me very many times, sir.” 
 
 “ And I wish it distinctly understood.” 
 
 “ I am quick at apprehension, sir.” 
 
 “ That I oppose the affair in toto. The 
 long engagement, the promise to wait un- 
 til you make a fortune, the idle notion 
 about congeniality, and all the foolish vi- 
 sions which have flitted across the brains 
 of all the foolish lovers in the world. I 
 tell you, fortunes and great names are 
 not so easily made. I tell you, every 
 young man of talent is not bound to 
 succeed. I tell you the most strenuous 
 actions are not always crowned with 
 success — that our most ardent wish- 
 es had better not be realized sometimes. 
 Bless my soul, suppose all my wild vi- 
 sions had been realized ! where would I 
 have been now, in the name of common 
 sense ? Suppose I had married my sis- 
 ter’s pretty governess for whom I was ac- 
 tually run mad a whole year ! Bless my 
 soul — we had better leave these things to 
 Providence, Mr. Dashwood. Young la- 
 dies of eighteen, and high-spirited fellows 
 of twenty-two, had better not take their 
 destinies into their own hands. I tell 
 you it is wrong — morally wrong; and 
 you will thank me for all this, some da}’, 
 if you live — indeed you will.” 
 
 “ My dear sir, I do not blame you for 
 refusing me your daughter’s hand ; I es- 
 teem you for it. I esteem all her friends 
 who have her interests so much at heart. 
 Time can only prove what we are. If I 
 were to say to you now, that ten years 
 hence, I shall be this or that, you would 
 laugh at me. Very well, I say no such 
 thing. But I say nous verrons?'' 
 
 “ Exactly — nous verrons. You go off 
 to a foreign court, young, and unfettered 
 by promises, you will come back with a 
 little more knowledge of men and things. 
 Exactly sir, nous verrons .” 
 
 “ Thank you, sir. I shall return to bid 
 your family farewell, with your permis- 
 sion,” said Dashwood rising. 
 
 “ Certainly — come by all means. I 
 
Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 255 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 shall be happy to see you. Good morn- 
 ing,” and papa opened the door, and shook 
 the hand of his guest, with much cor- 
 diality. 
 
 “Mrs. Braxley brought Louise home, 
 and in a few days Dash wood came to pay 
 his last formal visit to our family. 
 
 Now, poor fellow, his “jests and gibes” 
 were gone. He could no longer rally and 
 be gay. The laughing lip quivered, and 
 the lustrous eye, with its comic fire, was 
 filled to the brim. Once or twice he 
 made an effort to be himself, but it would 
 not do. The light spirit was trailing in 
 the dust, the quick retort and happy re- 
 partee were stifled, and the merry laugh 
 no longer rang around the family circle 
 as in the bright days which were flown. 
 Louise was never alone with him during 
 this visit. Papa was all attention to his 
 guest, and Mrs. Barbara and suite mus- 
 tered about him. My sister went on care- 
 less, indolent, and calm. Papa marked 
 with pride the same lofty air and graceful 
 ease — and he thought the dreamer dream- 
 ed no more. Dashwood strove to emu- 
 late her in her perfect show of insensibil- 
 ity ; but he hadn’t the self-command of 
 the imperious Louise. And from the 
 filmed eye, flushed cheek, and nervous, 
 restless manner, one saw the anguish of 
 his manly, loving heart, and pitied him for 
 the struggles he so bravely made. 
 
 The hour was coming — coming with 
 pulsating step, when these two, so dif- 
 ferent, and yet so united, were to part. 
 Louise stood calm and clear, under papa’s 
 eye, waiting to say farewell. Mrs. Bar- 
 bara stood looking on, as Dashwood, after 
 shaking every body by the hand, turned 
 firmly and steadily to Louise. He took 
 her hand, and not a tear, or faltering word 
 betrayed the mighty strength of that 
 love which so many had tried in vain to 
 sever. 
 
 Louise bade him “ God speed ” in a 
 dear, unshaken voice, and he made his bow, 
 and left us standing in the hall. I saw 
 him brush away a tear as he gathered the 
 reins in his hand — and I saw him wring 
 Robert’s hand as though his heart was 
 breaking, — but this was all I saw. 
 
 My sister, as though to test to the ut- 
 most limit the great strength of her poor 
 woman’s heart, remained standing some 
 fifteen minutes with papa and mamma in 
 the hall. And though she felt that all 
 eyes were upon her, she never faltered or 
 quailed, but stood conversing with them 
 carelessly, as though nothing had hap- 
 pened. Papa took his hat and stick, 
 and walked out. Mrs. Barbara returned 
 to her knitting, and Mrs. Braxley to 
 her snuff, and Louise walked carelessly 
 away. 
 
 But in her quiet room her woman’s na- 
 ture triumphed. Here, the pent-up tears 
 flooded the lustrous eyes, and she fell 
 upon my neck, and yielded to the luxury 
 of unrestrained emotion. Here, the wo- 
 man’s nature shone forth in all its strength. 
 Here, the calm and placid girl shivered 
 with emotion. Here, poor Louise threw 
 off the outer garment of proud insensibil- 
 ity, and sobbed convulsively, and prayed, 
 and refused all comfort and all hope. 
 She drew from her bosom his miniature, 
 and a bit of poetry which the guarded 
 lover had scribbled off’ for her eye alone, 
 on his last visit. As some evidence of the 
 talents with which poor Dashwood was 
 gifted, I transcribe it for the reader. 
 
 FOE MY LOUISE. 
 
 Well, we have met — nor have our eyes 
 Revealed the secret they could tell, 
 
 Nor blushing cheek, nor faintest sighs 
 Betrayed the truth we knew so well. 
 
 A mystic chain between us lay. 
 
 In airy links, unseen and still ; 
 
 From heart to heart its fairy way, 
 
 Electric in its mighty thrill. 
 
 A breath, a tone, a careless note, 
 
 Would vibrate on each magic round, 
 
 In airy circles surely float, 
 
 Reaching the heart with lightest bound. 
 
 Oh Love! how subtle is thy power, 
 
 How wonderful thy changing ways, 
 
 Compressing years in one short hour, 
 
 And making dreary, summer days. 
 
 Louise — ah ! should I never come 
 
 To claim each promise, and each vow; 
 
 Keep them, my darling, for our home, 
 
 All star-lighted above us now. 
 
 Keep them, Louise, all pure and true, 
 
 Keep them — ah, I’ll wait them there ; 
 
 Keep them — nor utter them anew, 
 
 Nor breathe them, save to Heaven in prayer. 
 
 Keep them — nor tell them save to Heaven, 
 
 In stilly hours, where none are near ; 
 
 The jealous spirit floats at even, 
 
 Perhaps such precious vows to hear. 
 
 Once more adieu ! — my heavy heart 
 Goes on its weary way alone : 
 
 Since loving, trusting, we must part, 
 
 ’Twere better quickly, coldly done. 
 
 And parted ! oh ! the bitter tears, 
 
 And fears, which loving heart ne’er flees, 
 
 And midnight vigils long as years, 
 
 And days — all wanting my Louise 1 
 
 “ Oh, he is gone, Jenny — gone — and all 
 is blank !” cried my sister, her heart rea- 
 lizing anew the full extent of her sorrow. 
 Somebody tapped gently at our door, and 
 Robert came in, and threw himself upon 
 the bed and wept like a child. He drew 
 Louise to him, and whispered to her, and 
 laid her stricken head upon his bosom, 
 and these two children of prosperity sob- 
 bed together over their first sorrow. 
 
 “Jenny, you must help me to take 
 care of this poor little thing. We must 
 stand by her, sister Jenny, through thick 
 and thin. We must console her, and min- 
 ister to her in her grief, for she is a ten- 
 
256 
 
 Virginia in a Navel Form. 
 
 der creature, Jenny, and we must shield 
 her for his sake and then our gentle 
 Robert wiped his eyes, and kissed her, 
 and tried to be cheerful and stout of heart. 
 “ There’s a better time coming, little sis — 
 a happy time coming. The sun does not 
 always shine, little sis, and clouds and 
 darkness are quite as useful as the sun. 
 Come, Louise — cheer up, my pretty pet. 
 You can be brave, I know. Come, little 
 sis, remember all is for the best.” And 
 Robert took her in his lap, and with tears 
 in his eyes, talked of being strong and 
 brave. 
 
 Dear mamma, with her mother’s in- 
 stinct, came gently in and sat down by 
 her suffering child, and spoke like one 
 who had suffered and had endured. After 
 these little outbursts of uncontrollable 
 emotion, Louise recovered her usual calm 
 self-possession, and we sat in our little 
 room — the indulgent mother, and her 
 children, talking in the twilight until tea 
 time. Robert was chief spokesman of 
 course. Under all dispensations, he was 
 voluble and wise. He was always kind 
 to those in trouble, and was never more 
 happy than when in sad, chastened hours, 
 he could hang about mamma, and caress 
 her, and fondle about her, like a child. I 
 need not say that this handsome, tender 
 son, was the pride of my mother’s heart. 
 Robert declared to mamma, upon his 
 honor, that Frank Dashwood was the 
 noblest fellow in the world. And he 
 took that opportunity to favor Louise and 
 me with such lectures on matrimony, as 
 few debutantes are privileged to hear. 
 My brother said if a handsome woman 
 married a rich fool, who would lavish 
 every dollar he had upon her, she might 
 be happy, provided she possessed none of 
 that exquisite delicacy which was the first 
 charm of her sex. Provided, also, that 
 she had no conscience — not a bit — no gen- 
 erosity — no pride — and had been pinched 
 by poverty all her life. To such women 
 money was happiness. He said his sister 
 Louise, with her reserve, her modesty, 
 her delicate nature, her extreme sensibili- 
 ties, could not be happy with Tom Far- 
 ren. Because Tom Farren was such a 
 machine of a man. So severe, so stiff, so 
 formal, so built up in his own rectitude, 
 so hard and common-sensible, “that he 
 would break this regal flower of ours, 
 mamma, in less than two years,” said my 
 brother earnestly. “ Her beautiful eccen- 
 tricities would be harshly put down — her 
 tears would be childish — her whims un- 
 becoming, and all that. I know Tom 
 Farren — every body must bend to him. 
 He is a walking model in his own estima- 
 tion, and every body must walk exactly 
 by his rules. And I know Dashwood. I 
 
 [March 
 
 have tested his heart and soul. He is 
 chivalrous, magnanimous, glorious. Let 
 him succeed. Let him — God bless him — 
 come back renewed and re-established, 
 and I will be responsible for this dear 
 girl’s happiness.” 
 
 “ But, my son, your papa knows best.” 
 
 “ We will not discuss the subject,” said 
 my sister with dignity, and the supper 
 bell rang merrily, and we obeyed the 
 summons. 
 
 Poor Robert had a difficult task before 
 him, viz., to storm the library and sound 
 papa concerning Mrs. Blanton. Papa was 
 remarkably cautious and reserved. He 
 had treated Mrs. Blanton not only with 
 marked respect, but sometimes playfully, 
 and almost affectionately. But this was 
 no proof that he thought her worthy of 
 his son. There were not many who could 
 aspire to that honor. Papa thought Ro- 
 bert destined for great things, and Robert 
 thought Mrs. Blanton was on the very 
 pinnacle of greatness. 
 
 Mrs. Braxley, who was staying with 
 us, expressed herself as being glad that 
 Dashwood was gone, and wished Mrs. 
 Blanton could receive an appointment of 
 the kind immediately. Mrs. Barbara re- 
 peated for our edification, that she had no 
 opinion of widows with little boys, turn- 
 ing out their shoulders, and stripping 
 their arms, and coquetting with every 
 green-horn in the whole country ; and 
 went on with string after string of anec- 
 dote, illustrative, and forcibly bearing 
 upon the subject in hand, with divers ca- 
 tastrophes and horrible denouements, of a 
 startling and extraordinary nature. Mrs. 
 Braxley had collected a budget concern- 
 ing the widow in her dippings. She had 
 learned from some of the mop sisterhood 
 that she had made the deceased Blanton 
 see sights. 
 
 “ Didn’t I tell you all so ?” inquired 
 Mrs. Barbara, looking around. But none 
 of us remembered her ever having inti- 
 mated to us that Therese had made her 
 husband see sights. 
 
 Mrs. Braxley went on to say that the 
 late Johnston Blanton had died of yellow 
 fever in Mobile, it was true, but she un- 
 derstood that his system had been pre- 
 viously undermined by a train of nervous 
 disorders, brought on by jealousy, for 
 which, it seemed, Mrs. B. had given him 
 sufficient cause. 
 
 “ I’ll be bound she did ! ” broke in Mrs. 
 Barbara. “ I’ll be bound she aggravated 
 that man to death. Why I have known 
 more people aggravated to death,” said 
 grandma, with open eyes. “ Gracious ! ” 
 
 Of course nobody disputed this alarm- 
 ing fact. 
 
 Mrs. Braxley still running on, undis 
 
1853.] 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 25 1 
 
 turbed by grandma’s shrill remarks, con- 
 tinued. She represented the artless, ex- 
 uberant Therese with her overflowing, 
 boundless heart, and good will towards 
 all mankind, as a wicked, vexatious little 
 imp — destroying the peace of every fami- 
 ly into which she entered — and as being 
 leagued with the yellow fever, and the 
 green-eyed monster, to carry destruction 
 into all quarters. She was notoriously 
 fond of waltzing, and polking with beard- 
 less youths, easily overcome by her wiles. 
 She was, furthermore, excessively fond of 
 Mr. Blanton, and made nothing of treat- 
 ing him in a most sisterly manner. 
 
 The family convocation about this de- 
 lightful Therese was held in mamma’s 
 room. Aunt Braxley had related her 
 dippings, flourishing her tooth-brush with 
 great effect. Grandma had made several 
 blunders, but on the whole her remarks 
 were caustic and telling. Poor Bob had 
 battled for his sweetheart manfully, tell- 
 ing of her simplicity, her gentle charities, 
 her meekness, and forgiving heart. Mam- 
 ma had related how Therese, during her 
 memorable visit to Fairy Hill, would 
 leave the gay company to come and sit in 
 her room and have a quiet chat with her, 
 and how tender and charming she was. 
 Louise had said how she loved her, and 
 how she had rather Robert would marry 
 her than the queen of all the Brazils. 
 And I had told how she had stolen her 
 soft arm around my waist, and asked me 
 so innocently if I loved her 1 
 
 “ As though any body could help lov- 
 ing her ! ” cried Robert. 
 
 Just then papa came in, and inquired 
 what we were all talking about. 
 
 “ Why, about this widow who has come 
 here and turned Robert’s head,” said the 
 ever ready Mrs. Barbara. 
 
 “ Turned Robert’s head ! His head is 
 not so easily turned, depend upon it.” 
 
 “ Don’t you believe the harf (half) of 
 that,” returned the sapient dame. “ I 
 have had beaux, a few of them, report 
 says Mrs. Barbara had been a famous 
 belle. “ At all events, I know enough of 
 courting and love-scrapes generally, to 
 know when a young gudgeon nibbles at 
 a bait (which has been passed and re- 
 passed, and seen through by wiser fish, I 
 fancy), and then, like a certain young man 
 not a hundred miles from here, gulps 
 down the hook and the line, to the infi- 
 nite wonder and amusement of connois- 
 seurs in that sort of thing.” 
 
 “ Tut, tut — I hope I shall hear no more 
 of this,” said papa. “Mrs. Blanton in- 
 deed ! ” 
 
 “My dear Mr. Rushton,” interposed 
 mamma, her eyes filling with tears at 
 Robert’s discomfiture. 
 
 VOL. i. — 17 
 
 “ Be quiet, my dear, Mr. Robert Rush- 
 ton should know better.” 
 
 “Exactly,” said the dowager; “he 
 should really know better. Why, Sap- 
 pingwood is a Solomon to her.” 
 
 “ I beg that you will not speak of her in 
 that way,” said Robert, knitting his brow. 
 
 “ And I beg some consideration for one 
 who has been our guest,” remarked the 
 elegant and impassive Louise, from the 
 lounge. 
 
 “Hoity, toity!” cried grandma. “It 
 seems that I have aroused a hornet’s nest. 
 I am constrained to remark, at the peril 
 of my ears, that young Mr. Hornet’s 
 moustache will have to exert itself consid- 
 erably before the uncommon glibness of 
 his tongue can annihilate me exactly.” 
 
 “ Pshaw !” said papa. “ I wonder, Robert, 
 that you are so silly. I expected a flirta- 
 tion between Mrs. Blanton and yourself, 
 but, upon my word, I was not prepared 
 for any further exhibition of folly.” 
 
 “ I do not like to reply to you now, sir,” 
 said Robert, handing papa, who was stand- 
 ing, a chair. “ I might be tempted to say 
 something which I should regret. We will 
 dismiss the subject, if you please.” 
 
 The reader can form no idea of the in- 
 imitable grace of these words, or of my 
 handsome brother’s beautiful and respect- 
 ful manner. He softened all hearts, and 
 dispelled all acrimony. 
 
 Mrs. Braxley, who had not been figuring 
 at all during the latter part of the con- 
 versation, now thought it time for prayers. 
 She was a professed expounder and ex- 
 horter. She did not mind rising in a 
 crowded church and giving out an appoint- 
 ment for her neighborhood. Indeed she 
 did not mind doing any thing she chose to 
 do. She always rang in the servants, 
 during her visitations and gave us prayers. 
 And such prayers ! None of your lack-a- 
 daisical, lukewarm affairs, but fervent, 
 strong, knock-down-and-drag-out impro- 
 visations. 
 
 She prayed for rain if she wanted rain. 
 She called sinners by their names, and 
 prayed for their speedy disenthralment 
 from the bondage of sin. 
 
 But, as I was saying, after much ring- 
 ing, and scolding, and “ blessings over the 
 left shoulder,” as Sap called them, she suc- 
 ceeded in gathering in our straggling undis- 
 ciplined troops. She then read the sermon 
 on the mount, and sang the Old Hundred, 
 after which she favored us with one of her 
 strongest impromptus. She had a clear, 
 ringing voice, and the ready words came 
 trippingly on her tongue, and Mrs. Braxley 
 would have made no ordinary preacher. 
 After a soul-searching and Satan-extermi- 
 nating prayer, of nearly a half an hour 
 in length, we all received her benediction 
 
258 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 and arose from our recumbent position, 
 save my brother’s devout man Sapping- 
 wood, who thought proper to remain on 
 his knees in an attitude of profound de- 
 votion. 
 
 “ I am glad to see Sappingwood so re- 
 ligious,” remarked grandma, in a loud 
 whisper to the company, while Sapping- 
 wood still remained upon his bended knees. 
 
 “ Sappingwood, you will please finish 
 your devotions elsewhere,” said papa, as 
 the servants retired. Grandma then ap- 
 proached him gently, and tapping him on 
 the back with her spectacle case, said, 
 11 Sappingwood, you will please finish your 
 devotions elsewhere.” 
 
 At which Sap started up, rubbed his 
 eyes, scratched his head, and seeing grand- 
 ma, cried out “ the devil !” and took to 
 his heels, running over “ eight foot eleven,” 
 as he called Epsey, and finally made but 
 one step from the head of the stairs to 
 the landing. 
 
 Poor Sap had fallen asleep under Mrs. 
 Braxley’s soporific prayer, being the most 
 sleepy-headed nigger, grandma informed 
 us, between this and a brother of his she 
 had sold somewhere, wherever that was. 
 
 Not very long after this, Robert stormed 
 the library, and informed papa in a pa- 
 thetic manner, that he was dying for Mrs. 
 Blanton, actually dwindling away, and 
 losing his appetite (in the height of the 
 strawberry season too, said my romantic 
 brother), because Therese would cruelly 
 persist in being so enchanting. 
 
 “ And what have you done with your 
 old flame, Mary Jennings?” asked papa, 
 turning round in his chair, that he might 
 get a better view of his hopeful. 
 
 “ Mary Jennings ! ” said Robert, slightly 
 ■coloring. “ why, when have I thought of 
 Mary Jennings ? ” 
 
 “ Exactly, and yet that girl alarmed me 
 for twelve months.” 
 
 “But she is not like Therese, nobody 
 is — ” 
 
 “ Oh no, I suspect not, and the next one 
 will doubtless eciipse Therese.” 
 
 “Well,” said Robert, laughing, “will 
 you try me a year, sir? ” 
 
 “ Yes, two of them, if you like. Come 
 to me in a year, if we all live, and tell 
 me that you are still true to Therese, and 
 that Therese is still true to you. mind that, 
 and my blessing will be upon you both.” 
 
 “ Thank you, sir. If— if— by that time 
 we are changed, I will go right off and 
 propose to Col. Fletcher’s daughter, upon 
 my word.” 
 
 “ As a personal favor to your indulgent 
 father,” said papa. 
 
 “ And,” said Robert, “ any other cross- 
 eyed lady of your acquaintance can be 
 favorably noticed about that time.” 
 
 [March, 
 
 I must explain to the reader that Maria 
 Fletcher was what is called cock-eyed, 
 though immensely rich, and of distin- 
 guished family, and that she was an old 
 bone of contention between papa and 
 Robert. 
 
 “ You will at least have learned, I sin- 
 cerely hope,” remarked papa, “ that hap- 
 piness in this life does not exactly depend 
 upon the turn of a lady’s eye.” 
 
 “ Nevertheless,” replied Robert, “ I ex- 
 pect to find it sadly inconvenient to repeat 
 the story of my love to a lady with one 
 eye full upon me and the other out of the 
 window.” 
 
 “ A trifle,” said papa, and the conver- 
 sation ended rather differently from what 
 Mr. Rush ton, junior, expected. 
 
 I am sorry to say that difficulties in an- 
 other quarter beset my brother. Therese 
 wrote him a little odorous letter, contain- 
 ing rather a startling and unique propo- 
 sition. She proposed, with her usual 
 naivete, that they should endeavor to for- 
 get each other, and that she really thought 
 Mr. Blanton would die if she rejected him 
 again. 
 
 He had taken his bed when she told 
 him all about “ an affair,” the dear little 
 woman said, and had never gotten up un- 
 til she promised to be off with Robert. 
 Therese went on to say, that she and Ro- 
 bert were young and could forget perhaps, 
 and form new ties, while poor Mr. Blanton 
 was getting old — indeed was bald under 
 his scratch (!) — and turning gray — and 
 had proved so — oh terribly constant, that 
 she was really afraid he might die, if sire 
 persisted in being so cruel as dear Mr. 
 Rushton had advised. 
 
 Such a note my brother returned to 
 this confiding, pliant creature, as would 
 make one’s hair stand on end. He wrote, 
 that of course Mrs. Blanton could consult 
 her own wishes about the matter — he had 
 nothing to say — and would respectfully 
 withdraw his proposals, rather than sub- 
 mit the lady to any such heart-rending 
 trials as she had described. 
 
 After this, my handsome brother wore 
 a sneer upon his lip, and read Byron with 
 wonderful relish. 
 
 CHAPTEK VL 
 
 CONTAINS ALL I SAW AT THE FAMOH8 BLACK MOCK- 
 TAIN SPRINGS, AND MORE BESIDES. 
 
 In due time the season arrived for every 
 bird of passage to take flight. Dress- 
 makers were sewing night and day, and 
 spry clerks excessively active. Robert 
 graciously offered to take Louise and 
 myself to the famous Black Mountain 
 Springs (which, by some mysterious a- 
 gency, were to be the fashion that sea- 
 
Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 259 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 son), provided we religiously promised to 
 obey him in all things. He said we must, 
 by all means, take our own maids, buy 
 more dresses than we ever had in all our 
 lives, and exert ourselves during the whole 
 season to do honor to the family. He did 
 not want to feel ashamed of his sisters. 
 They must go in style, and hold high 
 heads if they were going with him. 
 Having agreed to abide by his instruc- 
 tions in all things, to hold high heads, and 
 to take our own maids, active preparations 
 commenced. Grandma and aunt Brax- 
 ley were at loggerheads about Louise’s 
 outfit. The dowager was bent upon send- 
 ing her to the Springs dressed out as the 
 belles of her day. She wanted to lay in 
 a large stock of spangles, wax beads, paste 
 buckles, and bugles. She had known se- 
 veral persons, in her day, married solely 
 by the skilful use of beads, spangles, and 
 paste buckles. Nay, she instanced one Ju- 
 lianna Buggies, whose ringlets had made 
 her a belle. And having been made a 
 belle by these ringlets, she was courted 
 by James Maclin, who courted all the 
 belles ; indeed, ladies were not establish- 
 ed belles in those days, until they had 
 been courted by James Maclin. Well, he 
 courted her, and she, contrary to all pre- 
 cedent, took him. Knowing what she did, 
 she accepted him. 
 
 “ For,” said grandma, “ I am coming 
 to a horrible denouement. Kobert, yours 
 is nothing to it. She knew, the fiendish 
 woman knew, they were false — the ring- 
 lets ! and that her head was as bald as 
 the palm of my hand ! There she had 
 the advantage of heau Maclin, and she 
 clamped him, to the delight of every 
 body — and he was a belle-hating and a 
 ringlet-distrusting man, from that day 
 forth.” 
 
 By such reminiscences as these, our es- 
 timable grandma prepared us for the 
 Black Mountain Springs, which she evi- 
 dently regarded as a battle-field. She 
 said that girls who could do nothing for 
 themselves at the Black Mountain Springs, 
 might as well give up. There had been 
 more matches made, and mischief done, 
 at those Springs, than at any watering- 
 place of her acquaintance. While we 
 were making our preparations for our 
 summer tour, this dear old lady was go- 
 ing mysteriously about, with old rusty 
 bunches of keys, and bringing out from 
 secret repositories the pride of her youth, 
 in the shape of trinkets, and silks, and 
 satins. She presented Louise with seve- 
 ral large oval brooches, with tombstones 
 and weeping-willows upon them, which 
 she said were wrought with her great, 
 great grandmother’s remarkable hair. 
 She gave us a large box of Spa beads, 
 
 as large as partridge-eggs, which she said 
 would produce quite a sensation at the 
 Black Mountain, as doubtless they would. 
 She strung my sister’s fingers with nu- 
 merous gold rings, with little odd-looking, 
 bug-shapod stones upon them, to each of 
 which there was a tremendous history 
 attached. Finally, she lugged out, tri- 
 umphantly, the identical crimson brocade 
 which she had sported on the night of 
 the calamitous conflagration. 
 
 In the mean time, mamma and Mrs. 
 Braxley were coming home every eve- 
 ning laden with purchases. 
 
 Louise was happy and pleased. Papa 
 opened his eyes at the bills which were 
 handed to him by these industrious la- 
 dies, and seemed to think that one more 
 trip to the Black Mountain would put 
 him up to the highest bidder. 
 
 Robert had Sappingwood and the hor- 
 ses in training, and they were driving and 
 dashing about every day, preparatory to 
 a series of flourishes to be cut on the 
 scene of action. The Black Mountain 
 Springs, from their out-of-the-way loca- 
 tion, were about to find themselves fa- 
 mous. The fashionables w r ere growing 
 semi-barbarous, and were pining to get 
 beyond the great thoroughfare, to an 
 Elysium where democratic steam could 
 not penetrate. My brother, rather than 
 endure uncomfortable inns, and a circui- 
 tous route, concluded to go by public con- 
 veyance. Sap was therefore sent on with 
 the carriage and horses, and we took the 
 cars. At the railroad station we met the 
 Blantons, bound, also, for the Black Moun- 
 tain. 
 
 Robert met Therese very coldly, which 
 evidently pained the little woman very 
 much. The coaches on the up train were 
 very much crowded, and our party was 
 separated. Robert found himself seated 
 with a knot of college mates, I, with an 
 unprotected female, Louise with Miss 
 Willianna, and Mr. Blanton, Therese, 
 and Adolphe at the lower end of the 
 car. 
 
 In travelling, Mrs. Blanton was the 
 most interesting and accommodating lit- 
 tle creature in the world. She would not 
 take the best seat she could find, neither 
 would she deprive polite gentlemen of 
 comfortable quarters on any considera- 
 tion. She held Adolphe on her lap, and 
 sent his “bonne” into another car, in or- 
 der to accommodate an elderly lady with 
 a lounge. Finally, after doing all she 
 could, to make the ladies, and invalids, 
 and children, around her, comfortable, 
 this dear little woman and her cherub 
 boy both fell asleep, and my brother’s 
 eyes rested upon them in spite of him- 
 self. He watched the charming tableau 
 
260 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 with a countenance of vivid pleasure. 
 Therese sat with her head thrown back, 
 her veil half fallen off her soft lids 
 closed, and Adolphe’s curly head rest- 
 ing on her arm, while Blanton sat stark 
 and stiff on the outside, guarding these 
 treasures with a grim smile. 
 
 But on stopping, Mrs. Blanton was the 
 busiest and most earnest little body — 
 gathering up Adolphe, and all the books, 
 shawls, and carpet-bags, belonging to our 
 party, that she could lay her little hands 
 upon. All this time my brother scarcely 
 interchanged a syllable with her. When 
 we came to the staging he could stand it 
 no longer. She was entirely too natu- 
 ral, too busy, too earnest, too irresistible. 
 Taking the most out-of-the-way little naps, 
 saying the most charming things — and all 
 the while pulling and lugging Adolphe 
 about, like a great doll. Tourists were 
 inquiring who the darling little woman 
 was, and Adolphe was a pet with every 
 body. 
 
 My brother tried to keep his eyes away 
 from her, tried not to hear her, or to ob- 
 serve any thing she did ; but this provok- 
 ing little woman was too enticing for his 
 philosophy. lie found himself ever near 
 her, being drawn more and more to her, 
 and once when she looked up at him and 
 smiled, my brother could have taken her 
 to his heart for very thankfulness. 
 
 These horrible stages going to the Black 
 Mountain Springs, were, of course, crowd- 
 ed. The weather was intensely warm, and 
 people’s equanimity put to the test. Few 
 could preserve their amiability under all 
 provocations. Ladies often looked sour, 
 and gentlemen looked daggers while per- 
 forming civilities. Early one morning we 
 were seated in a pleasant coach, and a 
 stirring breeze came down from the 
 mountains, and we were expecting every 
 minute to be dashing along the beautiful 
 turnpike — when — horror of horrors ! — a 
 large, fat, hot-looking man, presented 
 himself at the door, and looked around 
 keenly for a seat. Passengers were civil- 
 ly requested to make room for this very 
 warm-looking man, of only three hundred 
 pounds. 
 
 Now Mrs. Blanton, Adolphe, and Robert 
 were cosily seated on the back seat ; and 
 ere Robert could enter a protest, Tberese 
 had taken Adolphe on her lap, and drawn 
 herself up in a corner, leaving an alarm- 
 ingly wide space between herself and her 
 almost reconciled lover, to be filled up by 
 this monster man. Seeing this, Robert 
 sprang to her side, determined that no 
 such formidable barrier should come be- 
 tween them, and told her so. She laugh- 
 ed, and the fat man came down with an 
 “ah” and wedged himself in. I may say 
 
 [March 
 
 that Therese and my brother had now a 
 very close conversation, and, that never 
 had this charming woman felt nearer to 
 him than during the twelve miles he thus 
 travelled. Perhaps I had better request 
 the reader to see a moral in this, as I am 
 not likely to have a moral ready for him 
 at the close of the volume. “ It is an 
 ill wind that blows nobody any good.” 
 Who would have thought that that large, 
 overheated man, could have contributed 
 to any body’s happiness, by jamming him- 
 self in a crowded stage-coach ? And yet, 
 my brother Robert found himself su- 
 premely happy. Thus we see the most 
 untoward events are fraught with good 
 for somebody — and therefore we should 
 never complain of untoward events, be- 
 cause they may ultimately develope them- 
 selves for our good. 
 
 A lady fainted in this crowded coach, 
 and though she was old and common look- 
 ing, Therese hung over her, and finally 
 restored her with something she found 
 away down in her carpet bag. Such evi- 
 dences of this dear woman’s overflowing 
 goodness of heart and perfect unselfish- 
 ness, were constantly occurring. Amid 
 disorder she was calm. When others 
 were complaining and railing against con- 
 tractors. agents, and other discomforts, she 
 was quiet, cool, and pleasant, and Dot un- 
 frequently rebuked without a word, and 
 restored good humor by her example. My 
 brother, over head and ears in love, final- 
 ly reached the Black Mountain Springs. 
 We arrived on a clear, tingling morning, 
 and found our rooms awaiting us. 
 
 We found all the fashionables assembled 
 at this retired and rustic looking watering- 
 place. Happy groups were dotting the 
 green-sward. Invalids were creeping 
 painfully about. Children and nurses 
 were wandering in all directions, anima- 
 ting the groves and waking up the soli- 
 tudes. Ladies were talking in knots of 
 twos and threes. Beautifhl girls were 
 sitting in piazzas surrounded by beaux. 
 Romantic lovers were threading the dis- 
 tant groves. Dandies were attitudinizing 
 and turning their glasses upon the belles. 
 Carriages were dashing in every direction. 
 Gentlemen in elegant turn-outs, were wav- 
 ing their hands to gay groups as they 
 passed. Little French boys were talking 
 to their French mammas, to the amuse- 
 ment of little Virginia boys, who made 
 faces at them. Hunting parties were go- 
 ing merrily off, and pleasure was being 
 sought in every available form by the hun- 
 dreds congregated here. 
 
 I am sorry to say that our party was 
 very exclusive at these Springs. I regret- 
 ted this very much, as I desired, of all 
 things, the piquant pleasure of amusing 
 
Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 261 
 
 1853.] 
 
 myself in my own way, and of studying 
 human nature in all its curious phases, as 
 developed by mineral waters. But my 
 brother would not allow it. 
 
 There was an old, fussy lady parading 
 about with her daughters in all directions, 
 and talking promiscuously to every body, 
 who I was sure was a character, and I 
 was very anxious to accept her invitation 
 to drop into her cabin at odd hours ; but 
 Mr. Robert Rushton never heard of such 
 a thing in his life ! Then, there was the 
 singing young lady, and the polking com- 
 pany, and an old beau, who, I am convin- 
 ced, desired to make my acquaintance, but 
 Mr. Robert Rushton said no, decidedly no. 
 And down at the Spring I encountered a 
 most pleasant lady and courtier-like gen- 
 tleman, who were most elegantly and ex- 
 quisitely dressed, had travelled every 
 where and seen every thing in the world 
 worth seeing, and who were really so 
 charming and delightful, and withal so 
 refined, that I promised to call on them, 
 and, indeed, had arranged an excursion to 
 a remarkable cave with them, when I was 
 informed by my brother that I should 
 have cut them ; that they were not of our 
 set. And so, by my contract, I was bound 
 to cut them the next morning at breakfast. 
 The reader will perceive that I know noth- 
 ing about etiquette and exclusiveness, and 
 that my exquisite brother and fastidious 
 sister had all the care of the family hon- 
 ors, inasmuch as I really could not find 
 out, for the life of me, “ who was who.” 
 I was a bewildered and benighted wo- 
 man, during the whole of this memor- 
 able season ; no information was vouched 
 me by any body whom I questioned ; 
 frowns, shrugs, and contemptuous “ bahs ” 
 were all the answers I ever received to 
 my benighted interrogatories. In vain I 
 sought for rules to guide me at these 
 Springs. I saw Mr. Robert Rushton, to 
 whom I was emphatically sold, riding and 
 dining with creatures whose whole souls 
 were absorbed in horses, livery, and style, 
 and I saw him cut, ruthlessly, people 
 whose whole souls were also absorbed in 
 horses, livery, and style ! Then I saw 
 Louise petting ladies, and smiling on gen- 
 tlemen, who were badly dressed, and dis- 
 agreeable, and yet this young lady would 
 have nothing to do with the so-and-sos, 
 because they were badly dressed and dis- 
 agreeable ! 
 
 It seems that Therese was somewhat 
 unmanageable too. She only appeared in 
 the ball-room twice a week, which was a 
 rule with our party, but then, oh then ! 
 Mr. Robert Rushton was horrified to see 
 her polking «nd waltzing with all sorts of 
 partners. Mrs. Blanton gathered beaux 
 from all quarters. Every body was doing 
 
 her homage. Robert, who had never been 
 accustomed to this southern freedom of 
 manner, was shocked and annoyed to 
 see her polking about with people she 
 never saw before. He remonstrated with 
 her, and she would hang her head and be 
 extremely penitent, and then — away she 
 would go in some fierce fellow’s arms. 
 
 My sister Louise was called very beau- 
 tiful, but very haughty. Her admirers 
 were among the most distinguished men 
 at the Springs, and no fops of doubtful 
 genus were admitted into her circle. In 
 truth, my sister, according to her contract, 
 held a very high head. She polk ! She 
 slide about zig-zag, with Tom, Dick, and 
 Harry, while the rabble were forming a 
 ring and looking on ! Horrors ! Gentle- 
 men repented ever offering to take her out 
 upon any such exhilarating excursions. 
 She preferred standing aloof, protected 
 by a cordon of elegantes , from contact 
 with the herd; looking ever high-born, 
 and superior, disdaining any air, or grace, 
 or angular movement, which might mar 
 the effect of her elegant repose. 
 
 Mrs. Blanton, who was an Alabamian, 
 and who conversed delightfully in French 
 and Spanish, secured all foreigners, all 
 those new-fangled, over-done outre speci- 
 mens who annually invade our staid Vir- 
 ginia, making her sons and daughters 
 stare. I need not say that this was not 
 altogether pleasant to Mr. Blanton or to 
 Robert. I hope the reader and the rest 
 of mankind are already aware of what 1 
 am going to tell, viz., that there is no per- 
 suading an elegant, thorough-bred Vir- 
 ginian to seek for effect, or to strive to 
 gain the lion’s share of public attention. 
 They are invincible in their propriety. 
 They are completely incrusted in a kind 
 of hereditary superiority, and have no 
 idea that all the world is not perfectly ac- 
 quainted with their claims. Consequent- 
 ly, they will not make themselves ridicu- 
 lous, though all the world should strive 
 to be ridiculous, and though Fashion, who 
 is most potent in Virginia, should proclaim 
 it to be her supreme will that all her sub- 
 jects should be as ridiculous as possible. 
 They are, under all circumstances and all 
 provocations, the most perfect ladies and 
 gentlemen in the world. The swell mob 
 can swell, and parvenus can dash about 
 without being rivalled by a single son or 
 daughter of the genuine aristocracy of the 
 Old Dominion. Their regal repose of man- 
 ner and high dignity of character is in- 
 vulnerable. If other people will be outre 
 and will angle for notoriety, what have 
 these ladies and gentlemen to do with it 1 
 If a man will wear a remarkable hat, why, 
 let him wear it. If a lady chooses to haul 
 her hair back and invade society like a 
 
 
262 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 Chinese, why these ladies and gentlemen 
 are not responsible. If French people, 
 itching for notoriety, clear a ring and get 
 up dancing matches in the dog-days, why 
 these ladies and gentlemen have no earth- 
 ly objection. If ladies, by hard dancing, 
 and elaborate dressing, and conspicuous 
 airs, strive to earn a questionable para- 
 graph in a questionable newspaper, these 
 ladies and gentlemen are only surprised 
 at their taste. 
 
 I am happy to say that Miss Blanton 
 left all her jewelry at home. It seems 
 that she had it all packed and ready for 
 transportation with the rest of her artil- 
 lery, for this famous battle-field, and that 
 Therese, by a delightful ruse , defrauded 
 her of it. Miss Blanton was bemoaning 
 the emerald-eyed serpents, and other rare 
 and curious specimens, at intervals during 
 her sojourn at the Springs. Our party 
 were spared some terrible be-jewelings by 
 this adroit manoeuvre of Mrs. Blanton’s, 
 and nobody knows how thankful Robert 
 was for this happy deliverance. 
 
 Mr. Blanton walked the gay assemblies 
 like some unhappy, unknelled ghost. The 
 water was of no earthly benefit to this 
 unhappy man ; neither were the famous 
 baths conducive of any good. Still stark 
 and still stiff, he gulped his morning 
 draught, and still desperate, he plunged 
 with frisky fellows up to his very chin in 
 medicinal waters. Jaundiced man, he 
 knew not what pleasure, or what comfort 
 was ! Victim of the green-eyed monster, 
 butt of Cupid, dispeller of all sociability 
 and ease, Stork in human apparel, terror 
 and scatterer of Juveniles, wonder and in- 
 exhaustible source of inquiry and solici- 
 tude to all who saw him ; silent, speech- 
 less, and stiff he came, and silent, speech- 
 less, and stiff he was likely to go away. 
 
 In the course of time Miss Willianna 
 caught a beau. This was the greatest 
 feat of the season, and the most remark- 
 able event I have to chronicle. I say she 
 caught him, because the man was sudden- 
 ly caught up, unsuspicious and uncon- 
 scious of danger, much to his own surprise 
 and much to the surprise of his friends, 
 and all those who had his interests at 
 heart. It happened in this wise. That 
 dissatisfied ghost, Mr. Blanton, while go- 
 ing his mighty rounds, encountered a 
 large man, closely resembling a frog, sit- 
 ting in a very warm, badly ventilated, 
 spinster-phalanxed corner. We under- 
 stand that when the man in the badly 
 ventilated, spinster-phalanxed corner saw 
 Mr. Blanton, who, void of all purpose, and 
 innocent of all damage, was bearing down 
 in that direction, he suddenly exclaimed, 
 
 “Why, Blanton ! ” 
 
 And that Mr. Blanton, though gene- 
 
 [March 
 
 rally speechless found utterance in the 
 words, 
 
 “Surely it isn’t Dandy ! ” 
 
 “ The very man,” exclaimed the man in 
 the corner, sincerely hoping that supernat- 
 ural aid had been sent to his relief. After 
 this, Mr. Blanton shook him warmly by 
 the hand, rescued him from the phalanx 
 of spinsters and badly ventilated corner ; 
 and, seeing that the man, thankful for his 
 deliverance, was likely to follow him on 
 his nightly rounds, he brought him 
 straight to me, presented him and walked 
 off, thinking that he had done a first-rate 
 thing, and conferred a lasting favor upon 
 me. Now I, who am, particularly in gay 
 assemblies, the most taciturn of mortals, 
 had nothing very cheering to say to Mr. 
 George Dandy. He, however, seemed 
 anxious to undertake a conversation, and 
 turning to me in a conciliatory manner, 
 remarked that it was 
 
 “ A very close evening.” 
 
 “Very,” I responded laconically, and 
 the conversation seemed about to give up 
 the ghost. Just at this highly interesting 
 crisis, Miss Blanton, who was perfectly 
 disengaged, tapped me with her fan, and 
 smiled so sweetly, that I immediately 
 presented Mr. George Dandy to her, and 
 was really happy to see that Miss Blan- 
 ton appreciated that interesting conver- 
 sationist. Mr. Dandjq supremely happy 
 to find himself so warmly welcomed, lin- 
 gered near Miss Willianna the whole eve- 
 ning. All I know after this, is, that 
 Dandy was caught, and very soon found 
 himself engaged, and was further informed 
 that he must look forward to matrimony 
 at no distant day. During all this time, 
 Mrs. Blanton so worried my brother, and 
 so tantalized and harassed him, that he 
 pronounced the Black Mountain Springs a 
 bore. 
 
 Therese was very celebrated at the 
 South ; and Robert, who flattered himself 
 that he alone had discovered and admired 
 this jewel of a woman, was pained to 
 learn that she had been toasted and idol- 
 ized at many Southern watering-places, 
 and what was worse, that Therese revel- 
 led in this admiration. There was no 
 coquetry ever so beautiful as hers. And 
 she certainly excelled in the art of re- 
 taining the affections of those fond hearts 
 which she lacerated at every turn. No 
 lover could think her wilfully cruel, and 
 no man of any susceptibility could fail tc 
 be enticed by such an array of charms. 
 Grave and reverend seigneurs would clus- 
 ter around this beautiful, naive, sincere- 
 hearted woman ; men, blase and woman 
 hating, would be attracted by her purity, 
 freshness, and amiability. Many a sad 
 heart has she cheered by her woman’s 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 263 
 
 tact and instinctive knowledge, of what 
 the sad heart required. People over- 
 looked her coquetry, and were lenient to 
 her pretty faults, which all leaned so 
 beautifully to virtue’s side. And there 
 was never a frown upon her open brow, 
 never a sarcasm on her untiring little 
 tongue, never a cut for friend or foe, never 
 a severe retort, never a word of malice or 
 ill-will ; all was harmony and good nature 
 in her charmed presence, and this fairy 
 creature floated in an atmosphere of love 
 and admiration. 
 
 Mr. Blanton, who had turned his 
 back upon all mankind, seemed deter- 
 mined to let Therese run her course, and 
 surfeit on flattery and adulation, while he 
 prowled about a perfect wreck. Ho 
 hadn’t a word to throw at a dog, as the 
 saying is. He walked to the spring three 
 times a day — he went to his meals when 
 the bell rang — he invaded the ball-room 
 twice a week — and thus he passed his 
 time. Robert lost his fine airs and equa- 
 nimity. He grew almost morose, and 
 could have stabbed a certain fairy-limbed 
 Frenchman with great pleasure. Not a 
 flirtation had he to amuse himself with ; 
 Therese absorbing his eyes and ears and 
 innermost thoughts. 
 
 In the midst of heart-burnings, and 
 fancy dances, that enemy to crowds at 
 watering-places, Jack Frost, appeared. 
 Every night he nipped belated buds, and 
 spread himself out upon the green-sward, 
 and gave people to understand in his way, 
 that it was time to be off. We bade 
 farewell to the Black Mountain, and its 
 health-giving fountain, about the latter 
 part of September ; Miss Blanton having 
 captured Dandy, Mrs. Blanton having 
 done great damage, and Mr. Blanton look- 
 ing forward to a quiet winter at home, 
 with some faint feeling of comfort. Robert 
 and Therese were evidently at logger- 
 heads. Nothing that little woman could 
 say at table, or elsewhere, was received 
 with the least show of interest by my 
 brother. The yellow bonne , and Adolphe, 
 failed to entice his rigid eye, and Therese 
 returned to Mr. Blanton’s guardianship, 
 and was borne home, without a kind look, 
 or a flattering word from her whilome 
 adorer. 
 
 We returned to dear Fairy Hill, re- 
 newed in health and spirits. Robert was 
 rather quiet and subdued, and somewhat 
 given to heavy sighing, solitary rambles, 
 and reverie. We missed Dash wood more 
 and more, as the seasons rolled around. 
 He had been the life of our home circle 
 so long, that even Grandma declared she 
 missed Mr. Chatterbox. His place was 
 ill supplied by Tom Farren, who came in 
 regularly to tea, and sat erect for hours, 
 talking about the crops, horizontal ditches, 
 politics, guano, subsoiling, the convention, 
 Mr. Webster's speech, the rise in cotton, 
 the fall in breadstuff's, the prospects for 
 tobacco, the crevasse, non-intervention, the 
 new candidate, and the missing steamer. 
 It was enough to put us all asleep, to 
 hear Fapa and our exemplary neighbor 
 talking over these profound matters. 
 Robert, whenever he wrote to Dashwood, 
 dated from the land of Nod. Alas — Tom 
 Farren had none of the easy variableness, 
 the brilliant flashes of poetry and pathos, 
 and the inexhaustible humor of his gifted 
 rivals. He had no songs, no hearty out- 
 burts of laughter, no high-toned chivalry, 
 no glorious lights and sombre shadows, 
 no merry twinkle of the eye, no moments 
 of sadness, no softened melancholy, no- 
 thing, actually nothing, which made our 
 Dashwood eminent among men, and 
 charming among women. Did he. correct 
 Ton? Farren. think to woo my delicate 
 sister with horizontal ditches ? Did he 
 think to soften her by sub-soiling, or to 
 make her more genial with his eternal 
 guano ? Had Dashwood seen all this, he 
 would have laughed. He would have out- 
 talked Tom Farren on horizontal ditches, 
 and had a sly blink of the eye for Louise 
 into the bargain. 
 
 Louise, to the horror of Grandma, was 
 deaf and dumb in Mr. Farren’s company. 
 Occasionally, he would make a deferential 
 remark to her, to which she would deign 
 a cool monosyllable if she felt inclined. 
 Sometimes she would see him when he 
 called, and sometimes she would not. 
 Sometimes she chose to be a statue, and 
 sometimes a woman. In all her moods 
 and tenses though, she was ever respect- 
 fully regarded, and deferentially approach- 
 ed, by that model man, Mr. Farren. 
 
 To be continued. 
 
264 [March 
 
 A REVIEW OF REVIEWS. 
 
 II. 
 
 T HERE are fashions in the “ Republic 
 of Letters,” as well as in the despot- 
 ism of social life ; and a rage for inflated, 
 wordy, and florid title-pages, distinguished 
 the era of the establishment of the “ Month- 
 ly Review,” (1749.) Swift tried to scold, 
 and Arbuthnot to laugh them out of 
 countenance; but in vain. Johnny Bar- 
 ber had taken strong grounds in the 
 premises ; and woe to that unlucky scribe 
 who brought to his shop, for sale, a man- 
 uscript prefaced by a title-page of “ learned 
 length, and thundering sound ! ” 
 
 Cicero was contented to let the text 
 speak for itself ; and gratified his friend- 
 ship, by prefixing the name of “ Brutus” 
 to his treatise on Orators, “ Lelius” to 
 that on Friendship, and “ Cato” to the 
 discourse on Old Age. To be sure, he 
 confesses to Atticus, that he had a volume 
 of prefaces, or introductions, always ready 
 by him, to be used as occasion required. 
 Herodotus and iEscliines, the one in his 
 nine books, the other in his epistles, 
 gracefully prefixed' the name of a Muse to 
 each of these divisions; and the latter 
 calls his three orations, respectively, by 
 the names of the Graces. 
 
 How then would these modest worthies 
 have opened their eyes at such titles as, 
 “ Matches Lighted by the Divine Fire ;” 
 “ The Ocean macro-micro-cosmick of one 
 Sachs ;” “ Some fine Baskets, baked in the 
 Oven of Charity, carefully conserved for 
 the Chickens of the Church, the Sparrows 
 of the Spirit, and the sweet Swallows of 
 Salvation ! ” Griffiths had observed this 
 extravagance with no little concern ; and 
 it has been supposed that a desire to cor- 
 rect it, first gave him the idea of the 
 “ Monthly Review ! ” He thus adverts 
 to the evil, in his first advertisement : 
 “ The abuse of title-pages, is obviously 
 come to such a pass, that few readers care 
 to take in a book, any more than a ser- 
 vant, without a character.” Ilis example 
 conforms to his precept ; for his own pre- 
 face to so important a work, hardly con- 
 tains twenty lines ; the first two of which 
 take the ground, that “ undertakings 
 which, in their execution, carry the de- 
 signation of their use, need very little 
 preface.” 
 
 The projector met with but little suc- 
 cess, at first ; and, indeed, several times 
 declared to his friends, that he would 
 abandon the undertaking, but he perse- 
 vered ; and his energy and patience se- 
 cured their usual reward, and established 
 his journal in a profitable circulation, if 
 not in general favor. 
 
 The able criticisms of Dr. Rose, were the 
 foundation of this prosperity. The Dr. 
 has the credit of having written the first 
 article in the Review, viz. : “ An Account 
 and Abstract of the first Volume of Mr. 
 Grove’s Posthumous Work, entitled, A 
 system of Moral Philosophy.” Dr. Rose 
 kept an Academy at Chiswick ; he was 
 author of a translation of Sallust, and ed- 
 itor of several compilations, in Latin, 
 French, and English. He died in 1786; 
 and Arthur Murphy has recorded his vir- 
 tues in some of the most touching lines 
 which ever constituted the “ storied urn” 
 a witness of the dead, and a teacher of 
 the living — 
 
 “Whoe’er thou art, with silent footsteps tread 
 The hallow’d mound where Rose reclines his head. 
 Ah ! let not folly one kind tear deny, 
 
 But pensive pause where truth and honor lie. 
 
 His, the gay wit that fond affection drew; 
 
 Oft heard, and oft admired, yet ever new ; 
 
 The heart that melted at another’s grief; 
 
 The hand in secret that bestowed relief; 
 
 Science untinctur’d with the pride of schools, 
 And native goodness free from formal rules; 
 
 With zeal through life he toiled in Learning’s cause, 
 But more, fair Virtue, to promote thy laws : 
 
 His every action sought the noblest end ; 
 
 Tko tender husband, father, brother, friend. 
 Perhaps e’en now- from yonder realms of day, 
 
 To his lov’d relatives he sends a ray; 
 
 Pleas’d to behold affections like his own 
 With filial duty raise the votive stone.’’ 
 
 To suppose that a “ Review,” under the 
 most favorable circumstances, can ever 
 secure general popularity among literary 
 men, is as unreasonable as to anticipate a 
 Newgate enthusiasm for an executioner, 
 ot for a judge, during criminal sessions. 
 Many must be sentenced, some decapita- 
 ted ; all must be tried, and he who escapes 
 to-day, may be turned off to-morrow. 
 All who are condemned, rebel at their 
 sentence ; and those who are honorably 
 cleared, consider that they have received 
 nothing but justice ; and are apt to grum- 
 ble that unreserved praise, and florid 
 commendation, are so scarce, where they 
 are so richly deserved. It is very much 
 with authors and Reviews, as with law- 
 yers and their clients. We were congrat- 
 ulating an able advocate upon the grat- 
 itude which must reward successful pro- 
 fessional zeal. “Nay, sir,” replied he — 
 “ if we fail to gain a cause, we are blamed 
 for our stupidity ; if we succeed, the cli- 
 ent considers his case so plain a one, that 
 we could not help succeeding.” 
 
 We decline reviewing the fifty-four 
 years of editorial labor which Dr. Grif- 
 fiths bestowed upon the child of his youth, 
 the companion of his meridian, and the 
 solace of his old age, “ The Monthly Re- 
 view.” He who supposes that the purity 
 
1853.] 
 
 265 
 
 A Review of Reviews. 
 
 of the ermine was preserved without spot 
 or blemish, — that the sceptre was always 
 wielded for the punishment of error, and 
 establishment of truth, — for this long 
 reign of half a century, must have derived 
 his theory of human nature from the pre- 
 cepts of revelation, rather than from the 
 practice of men ; he estimates frail man, 
 as he ought to be, not as he is. Indeed, 
 Griffiths may be blamed for more than 
 ordinary literary turpitude, in one memo- 
 rable case at least, which we do not care 
 to enlarge upon ; and for which sore pun- 
 ishment visited the delinquent in his life- 
 time, and his memory, since his death. 
 We have seen in the first number of this 
 review, that Dr. Johnson had but little 
 respect for the moral and religious opin- 
 ions of the “ Monthly Reviewers.” We 
 cannot give our readers a better idea of 
 the style of these “ Reviewers,” than by 
 some extracts from a few of their two 
 hundred and odd volumes, which are now 
 peaceably arranged upon our shelves, sur- 
 rounded by the works of those who once 
 courted their smile, and trembled at their 
 frown. Is it not an instructive theme — 
 this solemn calm, which succeeds the 
 storm of passion and the war of words ? 
 Around us arc arrajmd the depositories of 
 those minds which were busy in their 
 generations, in striving for the applause 
 of their own age, and the esteem of pos- 
 terity. Combatants, rivals, once, they are 
 at peace now 1 The Reviewer and the 
 Reviewed, the Satirist and his victim, 
 know no more the voice of strife, and the 
 jarring of angry dispute! Theobald 
 dreads not the lash of War burton ; and 
 Cibber has forgotten the unenviable dis- 
 tinction assigned him by Pope 1 Were it 
 not that Cicero has called the library, 
 u the Soul of the house,” surely we should 
 denominate it the city of the dead; or 
 rather, the battle field, where the victor 
 and the vanquished, together, have “ bit 
 the dust!” Rut we digress. We were 
 about to submit some specimens of the 
 manner in which the “ Monthly Review ” 
 led the unhappy culprits, who received an 
 adverse sentence, to execution. 
 
 “ The Adventures of William B — ds — w, com- 
 monly called Devil Dick.” 
 
 “ The public are really more obliged to 
 us Reviewers than they imagine. We 
 are necessitated to read every thing that 
 comes out, and must, consequently, sub- 
 mit to the vile drudgery of going through 
 those loads of trash, which are thrown in 
 upon us under the denomination of Lives 
 Adventures, Memoirs , Histories, dj-c. 
 How reasonable our complaint is may 
 easily be judged of by the readers of Wil- 
 liam B ds — w. The author must cer- 
 
 tainly be deeply read in the Newgate me- 
 moirs or Tyburn history : a collection of 
 these he has jumbled together, and pub- 
 lished to plague us, in the form of Devil 
 Dick.” 
 
 “ The Adventures o/Dick Hazard.” 
 
 “We have here the history of the gam- 
 ing table, and its consequence — a prison. 
 The chief merit of this performance is, 
 that it exceeds not one volume.” (Month- 
 ly Review, Vol. XI., page 470 ; 1754.) 
 
 “An Enquiry into the Occasional and Stand- 
 ing Similitudes, d'c.” 
 
 “ This mild Hutchinsonian is very angry 
 with his humble servants, the Reviewers, 
 whom he calls Infidels and Scorpions ; but 
 as he treats the worthy Archdeacon of 
 Northumberland as a mere jesuit, page 
 76, we could not expect better words from 
 him. 
 
 “ To such as read his book, it may not be 
 improper to offer this advice, viz., that 
 they pay not too much regard to his rep- 
 resentation of things ; but that they rather 
 have recourse to the Holy Scriptures ; and 
 for assistance herein, to the writings of 
 the above-mentioned Archdeacon, for our 
 Hutchinsonian Enquirer hath as little can- 
 dor as good manners.” (Vol. XV., page 
 516; 1756.) 
 
 What an unkind cut ! Verily, the 
 “ Reviewer ” handles a two-edged sword ! 
 As if it were not enough to immolate the 
 unlucky Hutchinsonian, he builds over 
 his grave, a triumphal arch in honor of 
 the libelled Archdeacon ! In the follow- 
 ing introduction to a critique upon “ The 
 Life and Opinions of Tristam Shandy” 
 (since so celebrated), the Reviewers give 
 the public a piece of their mind ; and 
 plainly tell all authors what they may 
 look for at their hands : 
 
 “ The Authors of the Monthly Review 
 being determined never to lose sight of 
 truth and candor, are neither to be misled 
 by favor nor irritated by reproach ; neither 
 perverted by prejudice, nor borne down 
 with the current of popular opinion. The 
 books that come under their cognizance 
 will be considered with the same impar- 
 tiality, whether the Authors be their 
 friends or their foes, in plain clothes or 
 prunella, in power or in prison. They 
 would willingly indeed have their censure 
 fall upon books only, without any regard 
 to their authors ; but it is certain that a 
 man may be immoral in his writings as 
 well as in his actions, and in that respect 
 he will always be liable to the censure of 
 those who consider themselves not only 
 as judges in the Republic of Letters, but 
 as members of society, and the servants 
 of their country.” Then follows a very 
 
206 
 
 A Review of Reviews. 
 
 proper reprimand to a very guilty author. 
 (Vol. XXY r I., page 31 ; 1762.) Anon, the 
 “ Reviewer ” bewails the hardships of his 
 lot: 
 
 “The office of a literary Reviewer is 
 perhaps one of the most ungrateful upon 
 earth ; for, whether he find occasion for 
 approbation or blame ; or whether he 
 thinks it incumbent on him, in case of 
 mediocrity, and in justice to the public, 
 to bestow neither ; he is himself morally 
 certain of becoming the object of the se- 
 verest censure. It were indeed a stale 
 subject of complaint to mention the van- 
 ity of Authors, the partiality of their 
 friends or the malice of their enemies: 
 we shall not take up our Reader’s time, 
 therefore, with remarks on either of these 
 topics. There is a very serious and plau- 
 sible objection, however, that hath been 
 of late repeatedly made to the conduct of 
 literary journalists; and particularly to 
 the English Reviewers. They are said 
 to be much too severe and sarcastical in 
 their treatment of those Authors, whose 
 Writings are submitted to their consider- 
 ation : as a proof of which are brought 
 the more candid and favourable examples 
 of those ingenious and learned foreigners 
 who first engaged in works of this kind. 
 Le Olerc and S. Gravesande, we are told, 
 pointed out the errors of mistaken writers 
 with candour, reprehended even the petu- 
 lant with tenderness, and spoke of all with 
 politeness and urbanity. We shall not en- 
 ter into a strict examination of the truth of 
 this assertion ; there were doubtless among 
 the primitive Reviewers many gentlemen 
 of the most candid and amiable dispo- 
 sitions : but we cannot help thinking that 
 their tenderness for individuals much too 
 often clashed with that justice and impar- 
 tiality they owed to the public.” (Vol. 
 XXXIII., page 447 ; 1765.) 
 
 The “Reviewer” proceeds to prove that 
 a great revolution has occurred in the 
 world of letters since the first institution 
 of “Reviews;” and that this castiga- 
 tion of which the smarting authors com- 
 plained, was very wholesome, and most 
 beneficial in its tendency. Whether the 
 sufferers were as easily satisfied with 
 these arguments, as school-boys -are re- 
 conciled to the application of the “ birch f 
 by the assurance that it is for their own 
 good. — we are not informed. The “ Re- 
 viewers ” complain that, some are so un- 
 reasonable, as always to expect reasons 
 for the opinions given of the works re- 
 viewed. “Our brethren on the continent, 
 do not admit all publications into their 
 Reviews ; they have, therefore, more room 
 to expatiate ; and their attention is chiefly 
 bestowed on works of some importance, 
 whose merits they may try and determine, 
 
 [March 
 
 by the established laws of criticism. We, 
 on the other hand, are obliged by our 
 plan, to take notice of every new book and 
 pamphlet that appears in the British do- 
 minions ; and to separate the corn from 
 the tares, and the sheep from the goats : 
 but, in doing this, were we always to give 
 1 our reasons ’ for pronouncing a tare a 
 tare, or a goat a goat, we should find our 
 work swell most enormously under our 
 hands, and far exceed the bounds of a lit- 
 erary journal.” So far, very well ; but 
 the poor authors must not expect to es- 
 cape thus lightly : the Reviewers proceed. 
 “ Besides, * * we often meet with pub- 
 lications which are so much beneath all 
 criticism (and which, yet, must be no- 
 ticed) that it would be the vilest prosti- 
 tution of the noble art we profess, were 
 we formally to apply its rules to the in- 
 vestigation of such rubbish.” (Vol. LV.. p. 
 300,301; 1776.) 
 
 Our “Reviewers” were good-natured 
 fellows, notwithstanding these savage on- 
 slaughts upon stupidity, or mediocrity, as 
 they deemed them. Witness their lenient 
 handling of the author of “ The Final 
 Farewell , a Poem, written onretiring from 
 London.” The Poet thus addresses the 
 critics : 
 
 “Ye sage Reviewers I ye, whose monthly toll 
 Spreads twilight knowledge over all the isle ; 
 
 Who, Luna-like, your borrowed beams bestow 
 On those that seldom to the fountain go : 
 
 Ye sage Reviewers ! who with skill condense 
 In narrow limits every author's sense, 
 
 Who bring all Europe's learning in a page : 
 
 And all the wit of all this witty age : 
 
 Who bind huge quartos in a little cell, 
 
 Like Homer’s Iliad in a walnut-shell ; 
 
 Who strip the goose-quill hero of renown, 
 
 By puffing purchased of a tasteless town ; 
 
 Ye who as literary monarchs sit, 
 
 Waving your Bceptres o’er the realms of wit; 
 
 Who show each obvious and each latent fault, 
 
 Each venial error, and each brilliant thought, 
 Forbear I forbear 1 nor your dread wrath dispense, 
 On this my first, and this my last offence 1 
 ******** 
 
 Nor let me find myself for this Adieu, 
 
 Hung, drawn and quarter’d in the nest Review.’* 
 
 To this rather satirical invocation, the 
 “Reviewers” thus pleasantly respond: 
 “ Yes, gentle bard, thou shalt be spared ! 
 not for thy prayer, but for thy worth ; and 
 in the hope that thou hast not bade the 
 world a ‘ Final Farewell.’ ” (Vol. LXXVII. 
 page 375, 1787.) With that apparent in- 
 consistency which sometimes surprises us 
 in despots, the “ Reviewers” extended 
 more clemency to a bold claimant, than to 
 a cringing suppliant ; as a proof of which, 
 see the unfeeling manner in which they 
 despatch the unlucky, though doubtless 
 truly amiable, Miss Eliza Thompson. 
 
 “ Poems on Various Subjects. By Miss 
 
 Eliza Thompson.” 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE REVIEWERS. 
 
 To wait her doom as fixed by your decree, 
 
 Lo ! at your bar, a trembling maiden see ; 
 
Mary Spears. 
 
 267 
 
 1853.] 
 
 Who, self-con vinc’d enough you’ll find to blame, 
 Implores your mercy only, seeks not fame. 
 
 In generous pity, then, for once excuse 
 The feeble efforts of an unfledg’d Muse. 
 
 She asks no praises where no merit’s due, 
 
 But O, for once, forbear your censure too.” 
 
 Now is not this moving appeal sufficient 
 to melt the heart of a Nero, or a Helioga- 
 balus 7 Perhaps so, but not the heart of 
 a “ Monthly Reviewer,” for hear tho un- 
 gallant knave : — 
 
 “0 ’tis so moving, we can read no 
 more ! ” That is, no more of the “ Ad- 
 dress to the Reviewers.” 
 
 “ The poems, indeed, we are under the 
 necessity of perusing. But as Miss Eliza 
 Thompson will not allow us to criticize 
 them, our readers must be content with 
 an extract from one of the best in the 
 collection : 
 
 A young Divine a Lady's guest 
 Last Christmas chanced to prove, 
 
 Who boastingly his heart protest 
 A stranger was to love. 
 
 “Cupid,” he said, “might shoot in vain, 
 
 He ne’er could wound liis breast ; 
 
 No maid on earth could give him pain, 
 
 Or break his nightly rest.” 
 
 Two Ladies, much enrag’d to find 
 Affairs in such a posture, 
 
 Each had resolved within her mind 
 To punish this vain boaster. 
 
 From a hair broom they found at hand, 
 
 Some bristles they cut small. 
 
 Mix’d with some pepper, salt , and sand, 
 
 And strew’d his bed withal. 
 
 “ Alas the poor parson ! He must have 
 passed the night in almost as uneasy a 
 manner as the boaster described in the 
 Spectator : * * 
 
 “ To be serious — If the fair author puts 
 no more pepper and salt in her pies than 
 she does in her poems, poor though we are 
 we desire not to be admitted as her guests.” 
 (Vol. XXVII., page 493; 1787.) 
 
 Heartless Reviewer ! Unfortunate Miss 
 Thompson ! The difficulty of pleasing 
 every body, does not seem to be peculiar 
 to our times ; for in Vol. IV. N. S. for 1791, 
 a malcontent is thus noticed. “ D. G. is 
 
 dissatisfied with our account of Mr. 
 Burke’s Reflections. He thinks that we 
 discover 1 a determined spirit of opposition 
 to the whole of that work.’ We have 
 read and heard of others who are of a 
 very opposite opinion ; and who have ac- 
 cused us of an undue partiality in the 
 Right Hon. Gentleman’s favor. This is 
 but one more, added to the numerous in- 
 stances that daily occur (and to nobody, 
 perhaps, oftener than to Reviewers,) of 
 the impossibility of pleasing everybody.” 
 We have not space in the present num- 
 ber, for any comments upon the establish- 
 ment, progress, &c., of the “Criti- 
 cal Review,” commenced in 1756. It 
 comes, however, within the history of the 
 “ Monthly Review,” to mention that the 
 establishment of the former journal sti- 
 mulated Griffiths to endeavor to enlist 
 some new talent in the “ Monthly.” He 
 was pleased with Goldsmith’s conversa- 
 tion upon literary topics — for the Doctor 
 did not always “ talk like poor Poll,” and 
 an arrangement was made (1757) for 
 board, lodging, and a small stipend on the 
 one side, and such literary labor as might 
 be required, on the other. And now here 
 was a strange household indeed ! And we 
 might amuse our readers, by telling them 
 how Goldsmith, who never attended to 
 his own business, was censured by Grif- 
 fiths for neglecting his. How Goldsmith 
 got tired at an early hour of the day, of 
 the drudgery of reviewing prosy volumes, 
 and left his desk for a stroll in Hyde 
 Park, or somewhere else.* How Mrs. 
 Griffiths wanted to have her share in the 
 “ Review,” and how Goldsmith thought 
 she would be better employed in “ review- 
 ing ” the larder, and furnishing him with 
 a more plentiful breakfast, and a better 
 dressed dinner. But part of this belongs 
 to the history of the “ Critical Re- 
 view,” and the balance wili, perhaps, be 
 gladly spared by the gentle, or savage, 
 reader, as the case may be. 
 
 MARY SPEARS. 
 
 T HE following incidents of border ex- 
 perience, are written out from mate- 
 rials furnished by an accomplished lady 
 residing at Paddock’s Grove, in Illinois. 
 They were communicated to her by the 
 heroine herself, and by her children and 
 friends ; and are related as they were first 
 
 told, without tho least attempt at embel- 
 lishment. 
 
 Mary Nealy was born on the 20th Au- 
 gust, 1761. not far from Charleston. South 
 Carolina, but when she was very young, 
 her father removed his family to Tennessee ; 
 the emigrants passing through Georgia to 
 
 * It is only fair to state that Goldsmith protested that he faithfully labored for tho stipulated time, — nine to 
 two o’clock. This harassing arrangement — which seems to have been galling to all concerned — lasted only a 
 few months. 
 
268 
 
 Mary Spears. 
 
 [March 
 
 the place where now stands Chatanooga. 
 The family were sent down the Tennes- 
 see River in canoes, taking with them 
 their household stuff, clothes and provi- 
 sions, while the father drove his horses 
 and cattle along the banks ; the two par- 
 ties joining each other at the Muscle 
 Shoals, where they proceeded by land to 
 the locality afterwards called Nealy’s 
 Bend, on the Cumberland river, near the 
 site of Nashville. This must have been 
 about the time of the first discovery of 
 that spot — named “ the French Lick” — 
 which was made, according to Haywood, 
 by a party of adventurers descending the 
 Cumberland on their way to Natchez.* 
 Our adventurous pioneer lived here sev- 
 eral years, among the buffaloes, elks, 
 wolves, etc., which crowded the adjoining 
 hills and forests, probably familiar with 
 the sight of few human faces, and seeing 
 but at intervals the French hunters and 
 trappers from the north, who ventured 
 so far into the wilderness. Mrs. Nealy 
 took upon herself the task of teaching her 
 daughters, hearing their spelling and 
 reading lessons, while she was busily 
 spinning on her little wheel, material for 
 their garments. This simple instruction 
 was all the girls received: when other 
 settlers came, and a primitive school was 
 established, the sons were sent three 
 miles to attend it every day, the path 
 through the woods being so infested with 
 wolves that they were usually obliged to 
 go on horseback. 
 
 After the commencement of the Revo- 
 lutionary struggle, when hostilities threat- 
 ened the inhabitants of that remote fron- 
 tier, the family, with others in the neigh- 
 borhood, sought refuge in a fort ; the men 
 venturing out as opportunity permitted, 
 to attend to the cattle and cultivate their 
 fields. Nealy was engaged in making 
 salt, and was sometimes assisted by his 
 daughter Mary, or Polly, as she was 
 called. On a Sabbath morning in the 
 fall of 1770, the young girl, wearing her 
 Sunday dress, left the station in company 
 with her father, and walked with him to 
 the bank of the river, where for the week 
 past his manufacture of salt had been 
 going on. Mary happened to be standing 
 at some little distance from her father, 
 when she suddenly heard the report of a 
 gun, and saw him fall to the ground. 
 She had only time to see an Indian leap 
 from his covert, when she lost her con- 
 sciousness in a swoon. On her recovery, 
 she found herself in the grasp of two of the 
 savages, who were dragging her off with 
 all possible haste, evidently apprehensive 
 of pursuit from the station, which was at 
 
 no great distance. No aid came, however, 
 and the helpless girl was compelled to go 
 on with her captors. They were three 
 days without food ; at length a bear was 
 killed, and a piece of flesh given to the 
 starving captive, which she ate raw. This 
 imprudence produced severe illness, which 
 was relieved by drinking a quantity of 
 the bear’s oil, according to Indian pre- 
 scription. 
 
 The prisoner was offered her choice be- 
 tween becoming the wife of the chiefs 
 son, or the slave of his oldest wife ; she 
 chose the latter, and soon made herself so 
 useful that the savages determined to 
 spare her life. The party continued some 
 time in Tennessee and Kentucky, and 
 often encamped in canebrakes. One night 
 in attempting to escape — for the hope of 
 finding her way back to home and friends 
 was still cherished by the unfortunate 
 girl — after leaving the encampment, she 
 chanced to step on a sharp fragment of 
 cane, which ran entirely through her foot 
 She was of course recaptured, and suffer- 
 ed the extremest agony from the wound, 
 which was not entirely healed for months 
 afterwards. During this time, having 
 learned something of the Indian language, 
 she frequently heard the advice given to 
 kill and scalp her, rather than be troubled 
 with carrying about such a poor cripple ; 
 and it is probable that nothing saved her 
 but her knowledge of sewing and other 
 kinds of work, which made her a valua- 
 ble servant to her mistress. 
 
 Notwithstanding the failure of this at- 
 tempt, the hope of being able to avail her- 
 self of an opportunity to escape still had 
 possession of her mind. One night when 
 the Indians had encamped on the bank 
 of a small stream, a heavy storm came 
 on. To obtain shelter, Mary climbed into 
 a tree completely canopied by a luxuriant 
 grape-vine. In a short time after she had 
 thus secured herself, a fierce gust of 
 wind uprooted a large tree near by, and 
 it fell with a tremendous crash, immedi- 
 ately over the place she had quitted. She 
 heard the savages calling to her amidst 
 the darkness and the driving storm, and 
 when they received no answer, ascer- 
 tained by their exclamations that they sup- 
 posed she had been killed. A flash of 
 joy penetrated her heart; here was an 
 opportunity of escape ! She remained 
 still, while the Indians called and shouted 
 repeatedly; but when they were silent, 
 fear began to shake her new-born hopes. 
 She had been severely punished for the 
 previous attempt, and threatened with the 
 tomahawk if it were ever repeated. 
 Should she leave the tree, the dogs would 
 
 See “ Pioneer Women of the West *’ — Memoir of Mary Bledsoe. 
 
Mary Spears. 
 
 269 
 
 1853.] 
 
 in all probability discover her, and give 
 the alarm. On the other hand, might 
 she not regard her having been impelled 
 to seek this shelter, and the fall of the 
 tree, as a special interposition of Provi- 
 dence in her favor, and could she not 
 throw herself upon this manifest protec- 
 tion ? Uncertain what to do, she re- 
 mained in the tree all night, not answer- 
 ing the calls which were repeated at in- 
 tervals. in hope the Indians would break 
 np camp and depart before day, as they 
 always did when apprehensive of pursuit. 
 She was found, however, and compelled to 
 accompany them in their northward 
 course, and having crossed the Ohio, gave 
 up in despair the faint hope that had re- 
 mained in her breast, of being restored to 
 her kindred. With the loss of this hope 
 her trust even in the merciful Father who 
 had preserved her through so many dan- 
 gers, seemed also to fail. But her extreme 
 sufferings from hunger, cold, and fatigue, 
 were sufficient to overcome greater 
 strength than she possessed. 
 
 Fortune seemed to delight in mocking 
 her with opportunities of escape, by which 
 she could not profit. One night when 
 they had encamped, a snow-storm came on, 
 and she was completely covered by a 
 snowdrift. In the morning, as the In- 
 dians were preparing to continue their 
 journey, she could be found nowhere, and 
 they concluded she had gone off during 
 the night. Their anger was loudly ex- 
 pressed, and the most terrible tortures 
 threatened, if she should again fall into 
 their power. Hearing all this imperfectly, 
 and only understanding that she was 
 wanted, Mary rose from under her 
 white coverlet in the very midst of the 
 infuriated savages, whose shouts of aston- 
 ishment and merriment, when they dis- 
 covered the truth, were absolutely deaf- 
 ening. It was a bitter thought to her, 
 that had she known how securely she 
 was concealed, she might have remained in 
 safety. The morning meal of the Indians 
 was a large black snake, which was 
 roasted and divided. A few inches only 
 fell to the poor girl’s share, but the pi- 
 quant sauce of hunger made it seem deli- 
 cious food. She was always permitted 
 to share in every thing with her captors. 
 
 At one time, when the men were all 
 absent from the camp, a large deer was 
 seen making directly towards it. The 
 old chiefs wife ordered Mary to take a 
 gun and shoot the animal, as she was 
 known to be the best shot among all the 
 women. The chief had expressly forbid- 
 den firing, on pain of death, in the ab- 
 sence of his men, the discharge of a gun 
 being the appointed signal of the near ap- 
 proach of an enemy, and Mary hesitated 
 
 to obey ; but being urged, she fired, and 
 shot the deer. In a few moments the In- 
 dians came rushing in, expecting to en- 
 counter the foe ; and, when informed that 
 it was a false alarm, the chief raised his 
 tomahawk to kill the white girl who had 
 dared to disobey his commands. His wife 
 threw herself between him and the in- 
 tended victim, exclaiming that she herself 
 was the offender ; but for a moment, as 
 the uplifted weapon was whirled several 
 times round the Indian’s head, Mary ex- 
 pected he would bury it in her own. Per- 
 haps the prospect of plenty of savory 
 venison for supper did something to pacify 
 the angry warrior. 
 
 At another time, when, by some means 
 or other, the small-pox was introduced 
 among the party, the captive became des- 
 perately ill with that terrible disease. For 
 ten days she was entirely blind, being left 
 alone in a lodge built for her at some 
 distance from the camp, near a spring. 
 Her food was brought and left at the 
 spring, to which she would grope her way 
 once in the twenty-four hours. Her suf- 
 ferings were somewhat alleviated by an 
 ointment made by simmering prickly 
 pear in bear’s grease, which a compas- 
 sionate squaw prepared for her. During 
 this season of distress, she often wished 
 for death, and sometimes the temptation 
 was strong to rend the ulcers that covered 
 her face ; but the thought of home, and 
 the hope of being at some future day de- 
 livered from her cruel bondage, would 
 support her to a patient endurance of her 
 protracted trials. 
 
 Some of the articles in our heroine’s 
 possession, had been taken from her. A 
 knife was left her, which she preserved 
 with the greatest care, and took every op- 
 portunity, when she could be unobserved, 
 of cutting her name on the bark of trees, 
 in the hope that the marks might lead to 
 her rescue. She also retained a pair of 
 silver shoe-buckles, of which no one of- 
 fered to deprive her. 
 
 It is supposed that this party of Indians 
 remained about a year in the northwestern 
 part of Tennessee, at the forks of Cumber- 
 land and Tennessee rivers, and near the 
 junction of the Ohio with the Mississippi. 
 Passing into what is now Indiana, they 
 spent some time at a place called “French 
 Lick.” Several white prisoners were 
 brought in, meanwhile, from Tennessee and 
 Kentucky : amongst them, a. man named 
 Riddle and his two daughters, who were 
 occasionally in Miss Nealy’s company. At 
 all times, when her health permitted, 
 Mary was engaged in some useful occupa- 
 tion, never caring how laborious it might 
 be, as her mental disquietude was thus 
 relieved. The only employment she ob- 
 
270 
 
 Mary Spears. 
 
 jected to, was the moulding of bullets, to 
 which she was often compelled. 
 
 As the journey was continued, she be- 
 came acquainted with a French fur-trader, 
 whom she besought to aid her in effecting 
 her escape. He would not listen to her 
 entreaties, and she left him indignant at 
 his want of humane feeling. A little con- 
 science-stricken, perhaps, for his refusal, 
 he brought a blanket the next day, and 
 offered it to her; but she rejected the 
 gift, saying that she scorned to receive any 
 thing from a heartless wretch, who was 
 too cowardly to give her the aid she re- 
 quired. 
 
 After they had passed into Michigan, 
 where their numbers were increased by 
 other captives, one of the females, weak 
 from exhaustion and carrying an infant a 
 few months old, failed to keep up with the 
 rest, though assisted occasionally by the 
 kind-hearted squaws. When they en- 
 camped at night, a consultation was held 
 among the men, and it was resolved to 
 kill the child. They had built a large 
 fhe, and when the wood had been con- 
 sumed to a bed of glowing coals, one of 
 the warriors snatched the babe from its 
 mother’s breast and threw it into the 
 midst. It was instantly drawn out and 
 thrown back into the arms of its distract- 
 ed mother ; again snatched from her 
 and thrown into the fire, to be again 
 drawn out ; and this fiendish pastime was 
 repeated amidst the screams of the ago- 
 nized parent, and hideous yells from the 
 savages, leaping and dancing the while 
 with frantic gestures, till life was ex- 
 tinct in the little victim ; when it was 
 torn to pieces by the murderers. Scenes 
 like this, which were not of uncommon 
 occurrence, inspired Miss Nealy with a 
 feeling of detestation towards the per- 
 petrators of such outrages, which became 
 habitual, and amounted to a vindictive 
 hate, of which she could never wholly 
 divest herself. She would never speak 
 their language unless compelled by cir- 
 cumstances to use it, and used to say, that 
 the only favor she ever asked of them was, 
 that she might he put to death. When, 
 in after life, a favorite granddaughter, who 
 had been born and reared in her house, 
 expressed a desire to wear ear-rings, and 
 was about to purchase a pair, she per- 
 suaded her not to do so, speaking with 
 melancholy earnestness on the subject, and 
 saying she should never be able to look at 
 her beloved child without pain, if decora- 
 ted with ornaments which would so 
 strongly remind her of her savage en- 
 emies. 
 
 It was Miss Nealy’s lot to witness, at 
 one time, the punishment of a young In- 
 dian and his paramour, for a crime rarely 
 
 [March 
 
 committed among the savage tribes. The 
 criminals were bound to separate trees and 
 stoned to death, the white prisoners being 
 compelled to see the execution. 
 
 Many more incidents of adventure, pe- 
 rils and sufferings, are remembered by the 
 family and descendants of our heroine, of 
 her forest travel and sojourn with her wild 
 companions. But the limits of a brief 
 sketch permit only the record of those ne- 
 cessary to illustrate the experience com- 
 mon to too many in those fearful days of 
 our republic. After a captivity of two 
 years, the prisoners were taken to Detroit, 
 where the Indians expected to receive 
 from the British Government, payment 
 for the scalps they had brought. The 
 savages received much attention from the 
 English, as important allies, while en- 
 camped in the neighborhood of the city. 
 Mary was sent every day to the house of 
 a French resident, to procure milk for a 
 sick child of the chief. She saw the mis- 
 tress of the house frequently, who became 
 interested in her when she had learned her 
 history. One morning, she told her to 
 come on the following day ; to drop her 
 milk can outside the gate, enter the house 
 without rapping, and proceed directly to a 
 certain room. The poor girl had been 
 suffering from chills and fever for several 
 weeks. The next morning, when she was 
 ordered to go for milk, it happened that 
 her paroxysm of fever was upon her. In 
 the half delirious state of her brain, she 
 had been forming a plan of escape, and 
 resolving that she would take with her 
 the shoe-buckles which constituted all her 
 wealth ; and she was looking for them in 
 a box when the order was repeated. She 
 persisted in her search, being able to find 
 but one, when her angry master struck 
 her, and threatened to kill her at once, if 
 she hesitated to obey. Turning suddenly 
 round, she begged him to do so, and put 
 an end to her sufferings, for the pain and 
 bewilderment of fever had caused her to 
 forget that she might soon be free. How- 
 ever, she set out, but soon returned and 
 dropped the odd buckle into the box, to be 
 again beaten and sent on her errand. By 
 the time she had reached the Frenchman’s 
 gate, her senses were sufficiently restored 
 to remember the directions of the day 
 previous. When the Indians came in search 
 of her, the woman of the house informed 
 them that the girl had come to the gate, 
 apparently in anger, had thrown down the 
 vessel and departed, she did not know 
 whither — up the street. On the following 
 day, men were sent by the city authorities 
 to whom complaint had been made by 
 the Indians, to search the house ; but no 
 trace of the fugitive could be found. All 
 this time, Mary lay quietly concealed in a 
 
Mary Spears. 
 
 271 
 
 1853.] 
 
 small dark closet, the door of which, open- 
 ing into a larger one, could not be easily 
 discovered. It was a place constructed ex- 
 pressly for stowing away plate, money, 
 or other valuables, when a ransacking was 
 threatened. 
 
 Miss Nealy occupied that room for a 
 month, hidden from all eyes, and sus- 
 tained by the kind care of her benefac- 
 tress. An accident had nearly betrayed 
 and remanded her to captivity. One day 
 when looking carelessly from the window, 
 she was startled by seeing the face of an 
 Indian, whom she knew too well, and by 
 the gleam of his eyes, she saw that he 
 had also recognized her. She hastened to 
 inform her protectress, and implore her 
 aid. There was no time to be lost, for 
 the savages would not be slow in reclaim- 
 ing their prisoner. She was supplied im- 
 mediately with boy’s apparel, which she 
 put on ; her hair was cut off, and she was 
 sent, accompanied by the son of her hos- 
 tess, half a mile into the city to the house 
 of another kind-hearted Frenchwoman, 
 who gave her shelter, and kept her con- 
 cealed through several weeks. Work was 
 also procured for her from a tailor, and she 
 was enabled to earn sufficient to clothe 
 herself comfortably. When the fear of 
 pursuit was over, she was removed by 
 night to an island in the river, where she 
 found seventeen other captives whom 
 she had met before, in her travels through 
 Indiana, Ohio, or Michigan ; some of them 
 having been purchased by the British 
 authorities, some having escaped through 
 the assistance of the French inhabitants 
 of the city. 
 
 Our heroine remained hut three weeks 
 in this new asylum. Upon leaving the 
 island, the captives were conveyed down 
 the lakes, stopping some time at Ni- 
 agara, and down the St. Lawrence riv- 
 er, and were landed upon the shore of 
 Lake Champlain, where they were ex- 
 changed as prisoners of war. Before they 
 quitted the vessel, one of the British offi- 
 cers endeavored to exact a promise from 
 the company, which consisted of women, 
 old men and boys, that they would not 
 aid or abet the continentals against the 
 royal government during the continuance 
 of the war. This heroic woman was accus- 
 -tomed to relate, with much dignity and spi- 
 rit, how she refused to give the pledge, and 
 challenged the officer to go on shore with 
 her into the thicket of bushes, where she 
 u would cut a switch and brush him till 
 he would be glad to promise, on his own 
 part, that he would never again be caught 
 upon provincial ground.” She would 
 describe the scene with as much pride at 
 ninety, as she could have acted in it three- 
 score and ten years before. The others 
 
 caught a portion of her spirit, and in very 
 truth cut them switches as soon as they 
 were on shore, daring the officer to come 
 on, and giving three cheers for the brave 
 young woman. 
 
 Her companions told her also that they 
 were in expectation of seeing one of the 
 American generals in a few days, and 
 that when he came he would provide her 
 with a horse and saddle. She continued 
 her journey with this company for several 
 days ; and when the others faltered from 
 fatigue, and were unable to proceed, she 
 went on in the hope of finding employ- 
 ment among the Dutch settlers, her only 
 companions being an old man and two 
 boys. After a day or two of weary 
 travel in the snow, these also gave up, 
 and one morning left her to proceed alone. 
 It was a sad day for her — tramping on 
 through the snow and water in which her 
 feet plunged at every step, and towards 
 evening a heavy rain drenched her gar- 
 ments. Yet her courage did not fail, for 
 she had now before her the hope of 
 eventually reaching her beloved home, and 
 felt that her success depended on herself 
 alone. She could not persuade herself to 
 stop for rest till after dark, when she 
 came up to the door of a small cabin 
 where a cheerful light was glimmering. 
 Yery cheering was the aspect of the huge 
 blazing logs in the ample chimney, but 
 other comforts there were none ; scarce 
 even a morsel of bread ; and not a bed 
 could be furnished on which to lay her 
 wearied limbs. She was, however, accus- 
 tomed to hardships, and lying down on 
 the floor with her feet to the fire, without 
 stopping to dry her clothes, soon fell into 
 a profound slumber. In the morning she 
 awoke in great distress from oppression at 
 the lungs, and unable to speak except in 
 a whisper. The woman in the cabin, 
 though wretchedly poor, had a kind heart, 
 and made the suffering stranger as com- 
 fortable as she could. Miss Nealy, from 
 her acquaintance with Indian life, had 
 acquired a knowledge of diseases and of 
 medicine, which now proved useful in her 
 own case. She happened to have some 
 medicines about her, which she directed 
 the good woman how to prepare and ad- 
 minister. A severe attack of illness 
 finally yielded to the youthful vigor of her 
 constitution, strengthened by endurance 
 of all kinds of hardship, but it was some 
 weeks before she was able to travel. 
 
 In the fear of a recurrence of scurvy, 
 from which she had previously suffered, 
 she procured at a little settlement a few 
 days’ journey from this cabin, a small 
 quantity of snuff and other simple reme- 
 dies prescribed by a traveller, spending 
 almost the last penny she possessed for 
 
272 
 
 Mary Spears. 
 
 these and a little japanned snuff-box, which 
 she presented a few days ago to the 
 narrator of these incidents of her history. 
 In this settlement she also learned that a 
 farmer who lived in the vicinity intended 
 to remove with liis family in the spring 
 to the southwestern part of Virginia ; and 
 that his wife was in want of a help ” to 
 spin, weave, and make up mens’ and 
 boys’ clothing. This was good news in- 
 deed, and she lost no time in making ap- 
 plication to be received in that capacity. 
 
 During the winter our heroine labored 
 very assiduously, doing the washing of the 
 family and milking the cows, in addition 
 to the other employments for which her 
 services had been engaged ; thus leaving 
 herself not a moment of relief from toil 
 till late bedtime, and receiving in return 
 only fifty cents a week, and but a small 
 part of her wages in money. 
 
 When the family set out in the spring 
 on their southward journey, she assisted in 
 driving the stock, as well as in cooking 
 and doing all kinds of work necessary in 
 “ camping out ; ” making almost the entire 
 journey on foot, and being compensated 
 for- her laborious services with only food 
 and lodging, and such protection as the 
 company of those she attended, afforded 
 her. Yet, throughout her life, she seemed 
 to remember that family with warm 
 affection, and spoke of them with grat- 
 itude ; it was her first experience, since 
 her doleful captivity, of human sym- 
 pathy and home-feeling ; and her generous 
 heart overflowed towards those who gave 
 it : her labors to serve them being es- 
 teemed as nothing in the balance. 
 
 When they reached the Susquehanna 
 river — where she was to pay her own 
 ferriage — such having been the agreement 
 — she asked permission of the ferryman 
 to paddle herself across in a small and 
 leaky canoe lying on the shore near by. 
 He consented, warning her, however, that 
 it was unsafe ; but she was an excellent 
 swimmer and intent on saving her money, 
 which she did. and crossed in safety. The 
 people in the ferry-boat were less fortunate ; 
 when half way across, one of the cows, 
 affrighted, jumped overboard and swam 
 hack to shore. The Dutch farmer re- 
 quested Mary to return with him and 
 bring the animal over; and she did so, 
 getting her on board, holding her by the 
 horn with the left hand, and having the 
 thumb and finger of her right thrust 
 into her nostrils ; thus keeping the cow 
 quiet for a distance of nearly a mile. A 
 modern belle would laugh at such an in- 
 stance of usefulness ; but our grandmo- 
 thers were more practical and would not 
 have felt ashamed of it. Its happy con- 
 quences will soon be seen. 
 
 [March 
 
 When the travellers arrived at their 
 place of destination, Mary obtained em- 
 ployment for a few days in a family. It 
 happened that a farmer by the name of 
 Spears, who lived in the neighborhood, 
 called in, and heard the girl’s romantic 
 history. His wife wanted some one to 
 assist her in household duties, and Miss 
 Nealy was recommended to the place ; she 
 accepted the proposal to go at once, and 
 mounted behind her future father-in-law, 
 rode to his house, where she remained 
 some time waiting to find some party that 
 might be going to Tennessee, for her fears 
 of being recaptured by the Indians had 
 grown stronger the farther she travelled 
 westward. 
 
 We will now turn to another scene in 
 this “ower true tale.” When her family 
 had ascertained beyond doubt that she 
 had been captured by the Indians, they 
 gave up all hope of ever seeing her again. 
 They grieved as for one dead ; but there 
 was one whose sorrow was all too quickly 
 banished ; the betrothed lover of Mary, 
 who, judging that the smiles of a new love 
 was the best consolation for his loss, 
 speedily transferred his vows to another 
 comely maiden, and was by this time on 
 the eve of marriage. It happened about 
 this period that Mary’s brother went on 
 business into the interior of Kentucky. 
 On the very night of his arrival, at a rustic 
 tavern, he fell in ■with several travellers, 
 who were relating their different adven- 
 tures after an excellent supper. One of 
 them had come all the way from Penn- 
 sylvania, and described with graphic glee, 
 the scene of the crossing of the Susque- 
 hanna by the Dutch emigrant family, the 
 escape of the cow, and her recapture and 
 bringing over by the heroic young woman. 
 That girl, he added, had been a captive 
 among the Indians, and had escaped from 
 them. To this account young Nealy lis- 
 tened with aroused attention. “Did you 
 hear the young woman’s name!” he 
 eagerly asked. “ They called her Polly ” 
 — answered the stranger, but I heard no 
 other. “Did you observe that she was 
 left-handed ? ” again the brother asked, 
 “ She certainly was” — was the reply; “I 
 noticed it both in pulling her canoe, and 
 in holding the cow.” No farther infor- 
 mation could be given ; but this was 
 enough. The brother had no doubt that 
 this was indeed his long-lost sister, and 
 that her course had been directed home- 
 ward. And now, what was to be done? 
 He was convinced that no family would 
 he likely to emigrate in a southwest di- 
 rection in that time of peril ; she had no 
 chance of an escort to return home ; and 
 through the vast wilderness that inter- 
 vened, how could an unprotected girl 
 
1853.] 
 
 Mary Spears. 
 
 273 
 
 travel alone ? He determined, therefore, 
 himself to set out; go to the ferry on the 
 Susquehanna, where the scene described 
 was said to have taken place, and to trace 
 his sister thence, if possible. 
 
 He set off accordingly, taking the pre- 
 caution to make inquiry at every cabin, 
 and of every person whom he met, lest he 
 should pass her on the way. When in 
 Virginia, he stopped one day to feed his 
 horse, and make the usual inquiries at a 
 farm-house, and was told that a young 
 woman who had been in captivity among 
 the Indians, and had recently come into 
 the country, was living in a family some 
 six miles distant. Nealy lost not a mo- 
 ment ; but flinging the saddle on his horse 
 before he had tasted his corn, rode off' in 
 the direction pointed out. Before he had 
 reached the house, he met his sister. What 
 pen can describe that meeting!* We 
 shall not attempt it. 
 
 Mary made immediate preparations to 
 return home, but suffered many hardships, 
 and was exposed to many dangers on their 
 way through the almost trackless wild. 
 The howling of wolves, the screams of 
 panthers, and the low growl of bears were 
 familiar sounds in her ears ; but nothing 
 daunted her save the fearful thought of 
 again falling into the hands of merciless 
 savages. Even after her reunion with her 
 family, this terror so preyed on her mind 
 that she had no peace, and her widowed 
 mother yielded to her entreaties, and re- 
 moved to a more secure home in Ken- 
 tucky. 
 
 The story of Miss Nealy’s return to 
 Tennessee, and her strange adventures, 
 was soon noised abroad, and her former 
 lover, repenting his infidelity, came once 
 more to prefer his claim to her favor. It 
 may be conceived with what scorn she 
 spurned the addresses of a man who had 
 not only lacked the energy to attempt her 
 rescue from the Indians, and had soon 
 forgotten her, but who was now crowning 
 his perfidy by the basest falsehood to- 
 wards the other fair one to whom his 
 faith was pledged. 
 
 Mary Nealy was united in marriage to 
 George Spears, on the 27th of February, 
 1785, at her new home in Lincoln County, 
 Kentucky.f After her marriage, her mo- 
 ther returned with the rest of her family 
 to Tennessee. Mrs. Spears and her hus- 
 band continued to reside for two years 
 near Carpenter’s Station, in Lincoln Coun- 
 ty ; and during the three succeeding years 
 at or near Grey’s Station, in Greene 
 County, Kentucky. While living here, 
 it was her custom to accompany her hus- 
 
 band to the field, sometimes in the capa- 
 city of guard, sometimes to help him hoe 
 the corn ; and always carrying her chil- 
 dren with her. On one occasion, while 
 thus occupied, they heard a whistle like 
 the note of a wild turkey. One of their 
 neighbors, an old hunter, cautioned them 
 against following the sound, which he 
 knew to be made by an Indian, whom he 
 resolved to ferret out. He accordingly 
 crept noiselessly along the ground, like 
 one hunting the bird, till close to the spot 
 whence the whistle came, when he fired, 
 and an Indian fell. 
 
 On one occasion strange sounds were 
 heard close to the dwelling at night, and 
 Mrs. Spears, looking through a “chink” 
 in the cabin, saw the shadow of a man 
 stealthily moving around the house. She 
 awoke her husband ; he climbed the lad- 
 der to the loft, and putting his gun through 
 an aperture in the roof, fired upon the 
 savage. Five Indians started up and ran 
 off; but he continued firing till the alarm 
 was given at the fort, and aid was sent. 
 A company of soldiers followed the trail 
 for several miles, and judged the number 
 of the savages to have been about fifty. 
 While residing here, Mrs. Spears received 
 intelligence of the murder of one of her 
 brothers by the Indians. 
 
 Mr. Spears, who had no fear of them, 
 was in the habit of going to the fort to 
 try his skill in shooting at a target ; and 
 when he did not return by dusk, his wife 
 would leave the cabin and betake herself 
 with the child to the woods for safety, for 
 her terror of the lurking enemies, whose 
 cruelty she had so bitterly experienced, 
 was very great. One night, having thus 
 left her home, she was standing with her 
 infant in her arms, under a wide spread- 
 ing tree, awaiting the return of her hus- 
 band, when she heard the shrill note of a 
 screech-owl, directly over her head, and 
 fell to the ground as if shot. She often 
 described, in after life, the mortification 
 she felt, on recovering from her fright ; 
 but excused herself by pleading that the 
 fears which so overcame her, were for the 
 little helpless child. In times of peculiar 
 danger, she was accustomed to do sewing 
 and washing for two young men at the 
 fort, in return for their coming home every 
 night with her husband, and lodging in 
 the cabin. 
 
 On another occasion, when they had 
 reason to believe a large body of Indians 
 were in the neighborhood, and were warn- 
 ed to leave the cabin without loss of time, 
 Mrs. Spears hastily buried her dishes, and 
 emptying out part of the feathers from her 
 
 * This noble brother died about five years ago, at his residence near Nashville, Tennessee, 
 t Bate copied from Mrs. Spears’ family Bible. 
 
 VOL. I. — 18 
 
274 
 
 Mary Spears. 
 
 bed. put it on her horse, with such other 
 articles of household service as she could 
 carry, mounted, taking her child in her 
 lap — though within two weeks of her se- 
 cond confinement — and assisted in driv- 
 ing away the stock. The alarm was given 
 that the Indians were near and they must 
 ride for their lives, and she urged her horse 
 at full speed a mile and a half, with all 
 her incumbrances. A party of soldiers 
 was sent out from the fort to reconnoitre 
 the enemy, and struck the trail of some 
 forty savages, but did not venture to fol- 
 low them more than a few miles. 
 
 One day, a man named Fisher came 
 from the fort to Mr. Spears’s field, to 
 bring a message to him. On his return he 
 was pursued by Indians, and shot down and 
 scalped in the sight of Mrs. Spears, before 
 a gun could be brought to bear on the 
 fierce assailants. Such incidents kept our 
 pioneers in a continual state of suspense 
 and dread, and during the time they were 
 living in the fort for greater safety, their 
 condition was but little more comfortable. 
 Their cattle were continually driven off, 
 and their hunters, as well as those who 
 ventured out to till the ground, murdered 
 by stealthy foes; so that they suffered 
 terribly for want of provisions. While in 
 the fort, Mrs. Spears heard of two more 
 of her relations being killed by the In- 
 dians ; five of her family in all, fell vic- 
 tims to savage fury. 
 
 The three oldest children of Mrs. Spears 
 were born during those j'ears of terror, 
 when the border settlers suffered so severe- 
 ly. Mr. Spears was a man of intelligence 
 and sincere piety ; he was a kind husband, 
 and as they were blest with health and 
 competence, their home was a' happy one. 
 Mrs. Spears was gentle and amiable in her 
 manners, and affectionate in her nature, 
 with a warm and generous heart ; always 
 modest and yielding, except when sterner 
 qualities were in requisition, when the 
 strength and firmness of her nature were 
 apparent. She made no attempt at any 
 time to divest herself of early habits, in 
 conformity to the improvements of the 
 time, or changing fashions. A carriage 
 was always at her disposal, yet she pre- 
 ferred riding on horseback when the jour- 
 ney was not too long ; and in such cases 
 she used a large covered farm wagon. 
 Always charitable to the poor, and liberal 
 to all with whom she had dealings, her 
 industry and systematic housewifery 
 were admirable, and not a moment of her 
 time was ever wasted. Besides being en- 
 gaged in weaving, sewing, and other do- 
 mestic employments, she made salves, 
 ointments, and decoctions continually, for 
 all the afflicted of her acquaintance. Her 
 knowledge of medicine was made available 
 
 [March 
 
 to her friends and neighbors, and to the 
 poor generally, gratuitously; while she 
 accepted compensation from such as came 
 from a distance and were able to offer it. 
 It was a desire to do good which first 
 induced her to undertake the most labo- 
 rious duties of a physician among her own 
 sex, medical practitioners being very scarce 
 in that region ; and her success soon made 
 her so celebrated, that her aid was sought 
 from every direction. She became fond 
 of the practice, and continued to ride 
 her circuit till a few months before her 
 death. 
 
 There were some incidents in her ex- 
 perience, even after the cessation of Indian 
 hostilities, which are highly illustrative. 
 One morning, her husband went out a 
 short distance, taking his gun, and bid- 
 ding her to follow him with his knife, if 
 she heard firing. Hearing a report soon 
 after, she ran with the knife in the direc- 
 tion of the sound, and heard soon after a 
 second shot. Mr. Spears snatched the 
 knife from her hands, and plunged it to 
 
 the handle into a monstrous bear, 
 
 l; which ” Mrs. Spears used to say, “ had in 
 its embrace our biggest and best sow. It 
 was some time before the sow recovered 
 her breath, as each shot caused the bear 
 to hug the tighter ; though not a bone 
 was broken.” 
 
 Mrs. Spears was fond of high-mettled 
 horses, and was accustomed to ride a 
 very spirited one. Her husband warned 
 her that the animal was apt to run away ; 
 but our heroine declared she would cure 
 the propensity, which she did one day, 
 when the mare had run about a mile with 
 her, by suddenly checking, so as to cause 
 the animal to dash its head against the 
 trunk of a beech-tree by the roadside, 
 while the fearless rider sjrrang off in time 
 to save herself. 
 
 At one time Mrs. Spears was sent for 
 in great haste to attend a woman living 
 on the opposite side of Green river, sev- 
 eral miles distant. Her own babe was 
 too young to leave, and she set off’ on 
 horseback carrying it in her arms. Ar- 
 riving at the river, she found that the 
 ferry boat had just pushed from shore. 
 She called to the man to return, urging 
 the necessity of the case, but the man re- 
 plied that his load was too heavy. On 
 this the spirited matron urged her mare 
 into the river, swam her past the ferry- 
 boat, reached the opposite bank first, and 
 was in time to thank the ferryman for his 
 humanity before his boat touched the 
 landing. The child she carried on this 
 occasion was accustomed to relate this 
 anecdote, and its truth was confirmed by 
 the old neighbors in Kentucky, among 
 whom the lady to whom we are indebted 
 
Robinson Crusoe's Island. 
 
 275 
 
 1853.] 
 
 for this memoir, travelled a little more 
 than a year ago. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Spears removed with 
 their servants — a negro boy and girl — to 
 Illinois in 1824. Their three surviving 
 children, all of whom had families, accom- 
 panied them. All had prospered and were 
 comfortable in their worldly circumstan- 
 ces. They settled at Claray’s Grove, in 
 Merard county. The parents were blessed 
 in their children, and had “ godliness with 
 contentment.” Mrs. Spears’ solicitous 
 care for her servants, in regard not only 
 to bodily comfort, but moral and religious 
 culture, equalled that she had bestowed 
 on her own children, and it was returned 
 by the most devoted affection and willing 
 obedience. When the boy — Jem — be- 
 came of age, his mistress gave him a lib- 
 eral outfit, with liberty to depart if he 
 chose to do so ; but he preferred remain- 
 ing with her. By thrifty increase of his 
 store, Jem was enabled afterwards to pur- 
 chase both his parents, who belonged to 
 a relative of Mrs. Spears, then residing in 
 Missouri. They were redeemed by the 
 dutiful son, and brought to Claray’s 
 Grove but a very short time since. The 
 sympathy and aid given by Jem’s mis- 
 tress to this cherished project, may throw 
 additional light on her most lovely and 
 Christian character. 
 
 At a very advanced age — between 
 eighty and ninety — Mrs. Spears visited 
 her brother in Tennessee. This brother 
 in the time of the Indian war was riding in 
 company with her mother when she was 
 wounded by a shot from an Indian. He 
 killed the assailant, but while attempting 
 to place his mother again in the saddle, 
 received a shot from another lurking sav- 
 age. A man who accompanied them 
 helped him to mount his horse, and the 
 party made good their escape. On her 
 way to visit this brother, Mrs. Spears 
 travelled in a large covered wagon, and 
 was accompanied by her grandson, a boy 
 about fourteen years of age. They camp- 
 ed out every night. During one day 
 Mrs. Spears had noticed a horseman pass 
 them several times, and attentively mark, 
 as she thought, one of her best horses. 
 
 Apprehensive of thievish intent, she had 
 her bed laid that night upon the ground, 
 that her quick ear might catch the sound 
 of approaching footsteps. In the dead 
 silence of the night she heard the sound, 
 and raising herself with a loud voice, de- 
 manded who was there? The intruder 
 retired without making any answer ; but 
 in the space of an hour or two returned, 
 with the same stealthy step, which was 
 again detected by the watchful matron. 
 Starting up, she repeated her question, 
 and when no reply came, charged the 
 man with his nefarious design, and threat- 
 ened punishment if he dared to come again. 
 The thief did not seem inclined to give up 
 his prey, but came the third time on 
 horseback. The matron, aware of his 
 approach, prepared herself for him, and 
 as he came near, suddenly sprang towards 
 him, holding a large article of dress, 
 which she flapped in his horse’s face with 
 such a report that the animal wheeled 
 round in affright, and bounded swiftly out 
 of her sight. Then the thought struck 
 her, perhaps the rider had been thrown 
 and killed ; and she was uneasy, till by 
 laying her ear to the ground she could 
 hear the regular receding tramp of the 
 horse, showing that the man had escaped 
 without injury. 
 
 Mrs. Spears died at her residence at 
 Claray’s Grove, on the 26th January, 
 1852, surrounded by affectionate children 
 and grandchildren, who still reverently 
 cherish the memory of her virtues, and 
 look to the example of her well-spent and 
 useful life. The times of trial which nur- 
 tured such noble natures, by developing 
 their strength and power of endurance, 
 maj never return in our powerful and 
 prosperous country ; yet have we all 
 work to do in the great battle of life, and 
 not without lasting benefit may we con- 
 template the character of those heroic 
 matrons who bore so much of the burden 
 in our struggle for independence, and 
 whose influence was so controlling and 
 extensive, though unacknowledged in the 
 history, which deals only with the actions 
 of men. 
 
 ROBINSON CRUSOE’S ISLAND. 
 
 I T is a remarkable fact in literary histo- 
 ry, or, perhaps, we should rather say, 
 in literary criticism, that for more than a 
 hundred years an unquestioned connection 
 has been maintained in popular opinion 
 between Robinson Crusoe and Juan Fer- 
 
 nandez; so that in school geographies, 
 books of voyages, and the like, wherever 
 it becomes necessary to mention the island, 
 an allusion to the hero of Defoe’s romance 
 is sure to follow, while yet the slightest 
 examination of an unabridged copy of 
 
2*76 
 
 Robinson Crusoe's Island. 
 
 Robinson Crusoe will show that it con- 
 tains no reference whatever to Juan Fer- 
 nandez, but that, on the contrary, a very 
 well-defined locality in another part of 
 the Western Hemisphere, is assigned to 
 the imaginary island. Undoubtedly this 
 delusion originated in the charge against 
 Defoe that he had derived the idea, and 
 many of the details of his fiction, from the 
 well-known story of Alexander Selkirk’s 
 residence on Juan Fernandez, though it 
 can be easily proved that Defoe was under 
 little or no obligation to the Scotchman’s 
 narrative. 
 
 The story of Selkirk is briefly this : 
 He was the sailing-master of an English 
 privateer, commanded by Captain Strad- 
 ling, which was cruising in the South 
 Seas, and which stopped at Juan Fernan- 
 dez in 1704, for supplies and repairs, that 
 island being then as well known, and al- 
 most as frequently visited by French, 
 Spanish and English vessels, as it is now. 
 In consequence of a violent quarrel with 
 liis commander, Selkirk resolved to leave 
 the vessel, and accordingly, in September, 
 1704, he was set ashore at his own re- 
 quest, being supplied with a sea-chest, his 
 wearing clothes, and bedding, a firelock, 
 a pound of gunpowder, a large quantity 
 of bullets, a flint and steel, a few pounds 
 of tobacco, a hatchet, a knife, a kettle, a 
 Bible, and other books of devotion, to- 
 gether with books of navigation and his 
 mathematical instruments. He remained 
 upon the island four years and four 
 months, until he was taken off in Februa- 
 ry, 1709, by Captain Woodes Rogers, 
 commander of the Duke, a British priva- 
 teer, in which vessel Selkirk shipped him- 
 self as a mate, and after a long cruise re- 
 turned to England in October, 1711, eight 
 years before the publication of Robinson 
 Crusoe. 
 
 Selkirk, it will be observed, volunta- 
 rily went ashore, well supplied with arms, 
 tools, clothes, and books, upon an island 
 that for two eenturies had been the resort 
 of ships of various nations. Robinson 
 Crusoe, on the contrary, as every boy 
 knows, was shipwrecked, and escaped by 
 swimming to a desolate island, not laid 
 down upon the maps. Juan Fernandez 
 is in the Pacific Ocean, about 34 degrees, 
 or more than 2000 miles, south of the 
 Equator, and 400 miles from the south- 
 west coast of South America. Let us now 
 see where Robinson Crusoe’s island is 
 situated, according to his own veracious 
 and explicit narrative. 
 
 He relates that he had been living for 
 some years as a planter in Brazil, and 
 being “ straitened” for want of slaves, was 
 induced to go on an expedition to the op- 
 posite coast of Africa tor the purpose of 
 
 [March 
 
 procuring negroes. From St. Salvador or 
 Bahia, on the east coast of Brazil, 
 
 “We set sail,” he says; “standing away 
 to the northward upon our own coast, with 
 design to stretch over for the African coast” 
 
 When they came to about ten or 
 twelve degrees of northern latitude, 
 which, it seems, was the manner of their 
 course in those days : 
 
 “ We had very good weather, only excessive 
 hot all the way upon our own coast, till we 
 came to the height of Cape St. Augustino, 
 from whence, keeping farther off at sea, we 
 lost sight of land, and steered as if we were 
 bound for the isle Fernando de Brouha, hold- 
 ing our course northeast by north, and leav- 
 ing those isles on the east. In this course, 
 we passed the line in about twelve days’ 
 time, and were, by our last observation, in 
 seven degrees twenty-two minutes northern 
 latitude, when a violent tornado, or hurri- 
 cane, took us quite out of our knowledge, 
 It began from the southeast, came about tc 
 the northwest, and then settled in the north- 
 east ; from whence it blew in such a terrible 
 manner, that for twelve days together, we 
 could do nothing but drive, and scudding 
 away before it, let it carry us whither ever 
 fate and the fury of the winds directed. 
 
 “About the twelfth day, the weather 
 abating a little, the master made an obser- 
 vation as -well as he could, and found that 
 he was in eleven degrees north latitude, but 
 that he was twenty-two degrees of longitude 
 difference west, from Cape St. Augustino ; so 
 that he found he was got upon the coast of 
 Guiana, or the north part of Brazil, beyond 
 the River Amazon, towards that of the River 
 Oroonoque, commonly called the Great Ri- 
 ver. * * * * Looking over the charts of the 
 sea coast of America, -we concluded there 
 was no inhabited country for us to have re- 
 course to, till we came within the circle of 
 the Carribbee islands, and therefore resolved 
 to stand away for Barbadoes, which, by keep- 
 ing off to sea, to avoid the in-draft of the 
 Gulf of Mexico, we might easily perform, as 
 we hoped, in about fifteen days’ sail. With 
 this design, we changed our course, and 
 steered away northwest by west, in order to 
 reach some of our English islands, where I 
 hoped for relief ; but our voyage was other- 
 wise determined ; for being in the latitude of 
 twelve degrees, eighteen minutes, a second 
 storm came upon us, which carried us away 
 with the same impetuosity westward, and 
 drove us so out of the very way of all human 
 commerce, that, had all our lives been saved, 
 as to the sea, we were rather in danger of 
 being devoured by savages than ever return- 
 ing to our own country. In this distress, 
 the wind still blowing very hard, one of our 
 men, early in the morning, cried out, Land ! 
 and we had no sooner run out of the cabin to 
 look cut, in hopes of seeing whereabouts in 
 the world we were, but the ship struck upon 
 a sand, and in a moment, her motion being 
 so stopped, the sea broke over her in such 
 
Robinson Crusoes Island. 
 
 1853.] 
 
 a manner, that we expected we should all 
 have perished immediately.” 
 
 The ship being thus stuck fast, the crew 
 took to the boat, which soon swamped, 
 and all perished, except Robinson Crusoe, 
 who swam to shore, and found himself on 
 an island, from the highest part of which, 
 the main-land was distinctly visible on a 
 fair day. In his first conversation with 
 his “man Friday,” Crusoe states that they 
 talked of a current which swept by the 
 island, which, he says, “I understood to 
 be no more than the sets of the tide, as 
 going out or coming in ; but I afterwards 
 understood it was occasioned by the great 
 draft and reflux of the mighty river Oroo- 
 noko, in the mouth or gulf of which 
 river, as I found afterwards , our island 
 lay ; and this land which I perceived to 
 the west and northwest, was the great 
 island Trinidad, on the north point of 
 the mouth of the river.” This is certainly 
 sufficient to prove that Juan Fernandez 
 was not Robinson Crusoe’s island, and has 
 in fact no more claims to be so considered, 
 than Martha’s Vineyard, or Staten Isl- 
 and. But, if any more evidence be need- 
 ed, it will settle the question to quote the 
 title of the original edition of Robinson 
 Crusoe, which is generally abridged, or 
 modified, by modern publishers. It reads : 
 “ The Life and Strange Surprising Ad- 
 ventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, 
 Mariner ; who lived eight and twenty 
 years, all alone, in an uninhabited Island, 
 on the Coast of America, near the mouth 
 of the Great River Oroonoque ; having 
 been cast on shore by Shipwreck, wherein 
 all the men perished but himself. With 
 an Account how he was at last strangely 
 delivered by Pirates. Written by him- 
 self. London : printed for Mr. Taylor, at 
 the Ship, in Paternoster Row.” 
 
 It is possible that Defoe may have been 
 indebted to Selkirk’s brief and bold nar- 
 rative, for a few hints and suggestions ; 
 but considering the locality which he has 
 assigned to Robinson Crusoe’s island, the 
 manner in which Crusoe gets there, and 
 some other circumstances of the story, it 
 seems to us highly probable that, in plan- 
 ning his work, Defoe was thinking less of 
 Selkirk, than of Peter Serrano, a Spanish 
 sailor, whose story is told in a book, with 
 which Defoe could not have failed to be- 
 come acquainted with, namely : “ The 
 
 Royal Commentaries of Peru, written ori- 
 ginally in Spanish, by the J uca Garcillasso 
 de la Vega, and rendered into English by 
 Sir Paul Rycaut, Kt.” This is a large 
 folio volume, published in the best style 
 of the day, at London, in 1C88, when 
 Defoe was twenty-seven years old. The 
 translator, Sir Paul Rycaut, was a notable 
 personage in his time, and his book at- 
 
 217 
 
 tracted general attention. The story of 
 Peter Serrano is at the very beginning of 
 the volume, on the third page, and it is 
 altogether unlikely that it should have 
 escaped Defoe’s attention. It is interest- 
 ing in itself, and alfords, so far as it goes, 
 a tolerably close parallel to the Adven- 
 tures of Robinson Crusoe. The island on 
 which Serrano was cast, is one of a small 
 cluster now called the Serrano Keys, lying 
 in the Caribbean Sea, in latitude fourteen 
 degrees north, and longitude eighty de- 
 grees west from Greenwich, about mid- 
 way between Cuba and the Isthmus of 
 Panama. The locality given by Defoe to 
 Robinson Crusoe’s island, is two degrees 
 further south, and eighteen degrees fur- 
 ther east. 
 
 The following, with the omission of a 
 few unimportant sentences, is Rycaut’s 
 translation of the account of Serrano. 
 
 “Peter Serrano escaped from shipwreck 
 by swimming to that desert island, which 
 from him received its name, being, as he 
 reported, about two leagues in compass. 
 * * * It was Peter Serrano’s misfortune to 
 be lost upon these places, and to save his 
 life on this disconsolate island, where was 
 neither water, nor wood, nor grass, nor any- 
 thing for support of human life, at least not 
 for maintenance of him for so long a time as 
 until some ship passing by might redeem him 
 from perishing by hunger and thirst, which 
 languishing manner of death is much more 
 miserable than by a speedy suffocation in 
 the waters. With the sad thoughts hereof 
 he passed the first night, lamenting his af- 
 fliction with as many melancholy reflections 
 as we may imagine capable to enter into the 
 mind of a wretch in like extremities. So 
 soon as it grew day, he began to traverse his 
 island, and found on the shore some cockles, 
 shrimps, and other creatures of like nature, 
 which the sea had thrown up, and which he 
 was forced to eat raw, because he wanted 
 fire wherewith to roast them : and with this 
 small entertainment he passed his time, till 
 observing some turtles not far from the shore, 
 he watched a convenience until they came 
 within his reach, and then throwing them 
 on their backs (which is the manner of ta- 
 king that sort of fish) he cut the throat, 
 drinking the blood instead of water : and 
 slicing out the flesh with a knife which was 
 fastened to his girdle, he laid the pieces to 
 be dried and roasted by the sun : the shell 
 he made use of to rake up rain-water, which 
 lay in little puddles, for that is a country 
 often subject to great and sudden rains. In 
 this manner he passed the first of his days 
 by killing all the turtles he was able, some 
 of which were so large that their shells were 
 as big as targets or bucklers ; others were so 
 great that he was not able to stop them in 
 their way to the sea, so that in a short time 
 experience taught him which sort he was able 
 to deal with and which were too unwieldy 
 for his force. With his lesser shells he poured 
 
278 
 
 Robinson Crusoe’s Island. 
 
 water into the greater, some of which con- 
 tained twelve gallons: so that having made 
 sufficient provision of meat and drink, he 
 began to contrive some way to strike fire, 
 that so he might not only dress his meat 
 with it, but also make a smoke to give a sign 
 to any ship which was passing in those seas. 
 Considering of this invention (for seamen 
 are much more ingenious in all times of ex- 
 tremity than men bred at land), he searched 
 every where to find out a couple of hard 
 pebbles instead of flint, his knife serving in 
 the place of a steel: hut the island being all 
 covered with a dead sand, and no stone ap- 
 pearing, he swam into the sea, and diving 
 often to the bottom, he at length found a 
 couple of stones fit for his purpose, which 
 he rubbed together until he got them to an 
 edge, with which being able to strike fire, he 
 drew some thread out of his shirt which he 
 worked so small that it was like cotton and 
 served for tinder; so that having contrived 
 a means to kindle fire, he then gathered a 
 great quantity of sea-weeds thrown up by 
 the waves, which, with the shells of fish and 
 planks of ships which, had been wrecked on 
 those shoals, afforded nourishment for his 
 fuel: and lest sudden showers should extin- 
 guish his fire, he made a little covering like 
 a small hut with the shells of the largest 
 turtles or tortoises that he had killed, taking 
 great care that his fire should not go out. 
 In the space of two months and sooner, he 
 was as unprovided of all things as he was at 
 first, for with the great rains, heat and mois- 
 ture of that climate, his provisions were cor- 
 rupted ; and the great heat of the sun was 
 so violent on him, having neither clothes to 
 cover him nor shadow for a shelter, that 
 when he was, as it were, broiled in the sun, 
 he had no remedy but to run into the sea. 
 In this misery and care he passed three years, 
 during which time he saw several ships at 
 sea and as often made his smoke ; but none 
 turned out of their way to see what it 
 meant, for fear of those shelves and sands, 
 which wary pilots avoid with all imaginable 
 circumspection ; so that the poor wretch, 
 despairing of all manner of relief, esteemed 
 it a mercy for him to die, and arrive at that 
 period which could only put an end to his 
 miseries : and being exposed in this manner 
 to all weathers, the hair of his body grew in 
 that manner that he was covered all over 
 with bristles, the hair of his head and beard 
 reaching to his waist, that he appeared like 
 some wild and savage creature. At the end 
 of three years, Serrano was strangely sur- 
 prised with the appearance of a man in his 
 island, whose ship had the night before been 
 cast away upon those sands, and had saved 
 himself on a plank of the vessel So soon as 
 it was day, he espied the smoke, and imagin- 
 ing whence it was, he made towards it. So 
 soon as they saw each other, it is hard to 
 say which was the most amazed. Serrano 
 imagined that it was the Devil who came in 
 the shape of a man to tempt him to despair : 
 the new-comer believed Serrano to be the 
 Devil in his own proper shape and figure, 
 
 [March 
 
 being covered over with hair and beard: in 
 fine, they were both afraid, flying one from 
 the other ; Peter Serrano cried out as he ran, 
 “Jesus, Jesus, deliver me from the Devil.” 
 The other hearing this, took courage, and 
 returning again to him, called out, “Brother, 
 Brother, don’t fly from me, for I am a Chris- 
 tian as thou art : ” and because he 6aw that 
 Serrano still ran from him, he repeated the 
 Credo, or Apostle’s creed, in words aloud, 
 which, when Serrano heard, he knew it was 
 no Devil that would recite those words, and 
 thereupon gave a stop to his flight, and re- 
 turning to him with great kindness, they 
 embraced each other, with sighs and tears, 
 lamen ting their sad estate without any hopes 
 of deliverance. Serrano supposing that his 
 guest wanted refreshment, entertained him 
 with such provisions as his miserable life 
 afforded ; and having a little comforted each 
 other, they began to recount the manner 
 and occasion of their sad disasters. Then for 
 the better government in their way of living, 
 they designed their hours of day and night 
 to certain services. Such a time was ap- 
 pointed to kill fish for eating, such hours for 
 gathering weeds, fish-bones and other matr 
 ters which the sea threw up to maintain 
 their constant fire : and especial care they 
 had to observe their watches and relieve 
 each other at certain hours that so they might 
 be sure their fire went not out. In this 
 manner they lived amicably together for 
 certain days, for many did not pass before a 
 quarrel arose between them, so high, that 
 they were ready to fight. The occasion pro- 
 ceeded from some words that one gave the 
 other, that he took not that care and labor 
 as the extremity of their condition required ; 
 and this difference so increased (for to such 
 misery do our passions often betray us) that 
 at length they separated and lived apart one 
 from the other. However, in a short time, 
 having experienced the want of that comfort 
 which mutual society procures, their choler 
 was appeased, and so they returned to enjoy 
 converse and the assistance which friendship 
 and company afforded, in which condition 
 they passed four years; during all which 
 time they saw many ships sail near them, 
 yet none would be so charitable or curious 
 as to be invited by their smoke and flame : 
 so that now being almost desperate, they 
 expected no other remedy besides death to 
 put an end to their miseries. 
 
 However, at length a ship adventuring 
 to pass nearer than ordinary, espied the 
 smoke, and rightly judging that it must be 
 made by some shipwrecked persons escaped 
 to those sands, hoisted out their boat to taka 
 them in. Serrano and his companion readily 
 ran to the place where they saw the boat 
 coming; but so soon as the mariners were 
 approached so near as to distinguish the 
 strange figures and looks of these two men, 
 they were so affrighted, that they began to row 
 back : but the poor men cried out, and that 
 they might believe them not to be devils or 
 evil spirits, they rehearsed the creed, and 
 called aloud upon the name of Jesus: with 
 
Woman and the “ Woman's Movement.' 
 
 279 
 
 1853.] 
 
 ■which words the mariners returned, took 
 them into the boat and carried them to the 
 ship, to the great wonder of all there pres- 
 ent, who, with admiration, beheld their 
 hairy shapes, not like men, but beasts, and 
 with singular pleasure heard them relate the 
 story of their past misfortunes. The com- 
 panion died in his voyage to Spain, but 
 Serrano lived to come thither, from whence 
 he travelled into Germany, where the Em- 
 peror then resided; all which time he nou- 
 rished his hair and beard to serve as an 
 evidence and proof of his past life. Where- 
 soever he came, the people pressed as a 
 sight to see him for money; persons of 
 quality, having also the same curiosity, gave 
 him sufficient to defray his charges, and his 
 
 Imperial Majesty having seen and heard his 
 discourses, bestowed a rent upon him of four 
 thousand pieces of eight a year, which make 
 4800 ducats in Peru ; and going to the pos- 
 session of this income, he died at Panama 
 without further enjoyment. All this story 
 was related to me by a gentleman called 
 Garci Sanchez de Figueroa, one who was ac- 
 quainted with Serrano and heard it from his 
 own mouth ; and that after he had seen the 
 Emperor, he then cut his hair and beard to 
 some convenient length, because that it was 
 so long before, that when he turned himself 
 on his bed, he often lay upon it, which in- 
 commoded him so much as to disturb his 
 sleep.” 
 
 WOMAN AND THE “WOMAN’S MOVEMENT. 
 
 a THE Woman’s Movement,” as it is 
 J- called, does not, in our opinion, pre- 
 sage any directly valuable results. We 
 have an abundant respect for it, considered 
 as a feature of that healthful discontent 
 which is pervading all minds and condi- 
 tions, and which surely foretokens the 
 eventual permanent enlargement of socie- 
 ty. But we think the immediate aims of 
 the ladies who manage the movement and 
 give it character, are ludicrously unwor- 
 thy. It furnishes another and a striking 
 commentary upon woman’s incapacity as 
 a legislator or leader in human affairs. 
 Had any mere man undertaken to shape 
 the remedy for woman’s grievances, and 
 had he discovered that it was probably to 
 be sought in some enlargement of her 
 sphere of action, he would never have 
 dreamt of claiming the existing profes- 
 sions as her rightful arena. For your 
 mere man has an habitual reverence for 
 precedent, and is not easily persuaded 
 that an insufficient wisdom regulates the 
 course of history. He would see in the 
 circumstance that woman had always 
 been excluded from the civil and political 
 arena, an augury of her being reserved 
 to a superior theatre of action. In the cir- 
 cumstance of her exclusion from the learn- 
 ed professions, he would see only a proof 
 of their contrariety to her essential nature 
 and habits. We are told by the soberest 
 of our judges, that if woman be admitted 
 to forensic practice, it will soon be next 
 to impossible to get a righteous decision 
 from the bench, so inevitable a bias must 
 her advocacy of any cause produce upon 
 the judicial mind. And if you suppose 
 her once admitted to practise medicine, 
 have you the slightest idea that the ortho- 
 dox practice which has so long sufficed 
 “ to speed the parting guest,” would have 
 
 friends enough left even to bury it five de- 
 cades hence ? And then imagine her fairly 
 deposited in the episcopal chair ! What 
 dread havoc would soon be made with 
 those ancient and admirable dogmas which 
 have done such stout constable’s service 
 for society in times that are past ! The 
 very virtue of woman, her practical sense, 
 which leaves her indifferent to past and 
 future alike, and keeps her the busy 
 blessing of the present hour, disqualifies 
 her for all didactic dignity. Learning and 
 wisdom do not become her. Even the ten 
 commandments seem unamiable and su- 
 perfluous on her lips, so much should she 
 herself be the fragrant blossom of all 
 morality, so much should her own pure 
 pleasure form the best outward law for 
 man. We say to her, “Do not tell me, 
 beautiful doctor, I pray you, what one 
 ought or ought not to do : any musty old 
 professor in the next college is quite com- 
 petent to that : tell me only what I shall 
 do to please you, and it shall be done, 
 though the heavens fall ! ” 
 
 Besides all this, and if it were otherwise 
 advisable to think of retrieving woman’s 
 dignity by a recourse to the learned pro- 
 fessions, it would be entirely too late to 
 do so. Democracy has so shattered the 
 dignity of the professions, it has so broken 
 down the fences whereby their ancient 
 respect was hedged in, and laid them 
 open to every undisciplined vagabond who 
 fancies that they may afford him a com- 
 fortable pasturage, that it is idle any longer 
 to regard a man as respectable simply be- 
 cause he is a lawyer, physician, or clergy- 
 man. Any one who pleases, and who 
 pleases moreover his particular coterie 
 and sect, may be either of these things as 
 suits his fancy. There is no public hin- 
 drance to the step, nor is there any public 
 
280 
 
 W oman and the “ Woman's Movement.' 
 
 
 concurrence in it. In the old world these 
 men wear big wigs, and gold-headed canes, 
 and shovel hats, which are so many badges 
 of public recognition, and which you in- 
 tinctively defer to, therefore, as the tokens 
 of a superior presence, as signs of the su- 
 preme power. There is something very 
 grateful to the imagination in these marks 
 of a close alliance between the public and 
 private life, something very admirable in 
 seeing the general unity thus impressing 
 itself by means of each particular diversity. 
 It is quite an “ experience ” to an Ameri- 
 can to confide his affairs to one of these 
 big-wigs,, to have his pulse counted by 
 one of these gold-headed canes, or receive 
 the gospel from under the eaves of one of 
 these egregious brims. Both soul and 
 body feel agreeably soothed and flattered 
 by this ceremonial. They seem for the 
 first time to have found their due respect 
 and observance. It is hard to believe that 
 you shall not get sounder law, more virtu- 
 ous medicine, and humaner divinity from 
 these stately and authentic gentlemen, so 
 enforced by the public good-will and mo- 
 mentum. You say to yourself that you 
 have scarcely before looked upon the State 
 and the Church as credible or vital facts, 
 so much do these foolish paraphernalia 
 set them off ; and you are tempted to feel 
 a momentary compassion for your some- 
 what nude and pagan brethren, sitting 
 away off at home there, unconscious of 
 your advantages. 
 
 Democracy, therefore, in thus destroy- 
 ing the wall of partition between the pro- 
 fessions and the laity, destroys also the 
 peculiar dignity of these professions, and 
 so renders the female aspiration in that 
 direction absurd. And the leaders of “ the 
 woman’s movement,” as it is somewhat 
 ambitiously called, have acted therefore 
 very unwisely, we think, in making profes- 
 sional distinctions so prominent an element 
 of the remedial treatment they propose 
 for woman’s grievances. Altogether it 
 appears to us that these amiable and pre- 
 cipitate ladies have exhibited a complete 
 misapprehension of the genius of their 
 own sex, which by the way is not a fact 
 to be wondered at. For each sex finds in 
 the other its own best appreciation. 
 Woman, no doubt, has a much wiser 
 sense of what is manly than man himself 
 has, because she surveys him from with- 
 out, and gathers up the scattered rays of 
 his character in one full and symmetric 
 impression. She has no private biases 
 to deflect her vision. So it is with man 
 in respect to woman. His spontaneous 
 appreciation of woman is much truer than 
 her own. Intellectually, no doubt, they 
 are very equally qualified to judge of each 
 other and themselves; but as to the 
 
 [March 
 
 judgment which precedes deliberation, 
 which anticipates induction — in short the 
 spontaneous judgment of either sex with 
 respect to the other — it is much more re- 
 liable than its own. Both man and 
 woman instinctively acknowledge the 
 truth of this position, by the entire frank- 
 ness with which each discovers to the 
 other depths of romantic emotion, depths 
 of poetic sensibility in themselves, which 
 they would never think of disclosing to 
 their own sex. We have heard when 
 favorably situated for the purpose, our 
 friend Fairshake the broker say things 
 to women which Sir Philip Sidney would 
 have envied, but which all Wall-street 
 would be sure to laugh at as totally incon- 
 gruous with Fairshake’s character. And 
 what is worse, foolish Fairshake himself 
 would join in the laugh, so much are we 
 all in the habit of accepting the estimate 
 which the stupid people about us put 
 upon our character. Poor Fairshake 
 passes so much of his time in Wall-street, 
 and is so faultless in deference to the deci- 
 sions of the Board, that if it should de- 
 cree the human heart essentially devoid 
 of sentiment, he would dupe himself into 
 acquiescence. Yet nature makes very 
 light of conventions, and will go on to 
 surprise Fairshake with revelations of a 
 mild divinity in his own soul, which must 
 finally teach him self-respect, respect for 
 humanity. As things are now, neither 
 man nor woman disclose themselves truly, 
 that is poetically, save to each other, be- 
 cause neither has a perfect faith in them- 
 selves, but only in the other. Hence as 
 a general rule, we may conclude that the 
 appreciation of either sex by itself is 
 quite untrustworthy, when compared with 
 that offered by its opposite. 
 
 But settle this as you may, it is an unde- 
 niable misconception of woman to suppose 
 her at all capable of entering into rivalry 
 •noth man, capable of competing with him 
 for ecclesiastical and political distinction. 
 It is nothing short of a scandalous mis- 
 conception of womanhood. We shall be 
 pointed to Elizabeth of England, Catha- 
 rine of Russia, Mary de Medicis, and the 
 other illustrious women who have ex- 
 hibited a great genius for affairs. But 
 we do not say that there are not very 
 unwomanly women to be met with along 
 the course of history. We see them in 
 the street, in the market, in domestic life, 
 every where, women who fairly compete 
 with men in the pursuits of learning, 
 traffic, and so forth. All we say is, that 
 these women are exceptions to the rule of 
 their sex, that they are extreme or un- 
 womanly women. We have long been 
 persuaded that man and woman hare not 
 yet been so sharply discriminated as they 
 
Wot nan and the '■'•Woman's Movement .’ 
 
 281 
 
 1853.] 
 
 shall one day be ; that a great actual con- 
 fusion indeed exists in the sexes, so that 
 there are many technical women who 
 are really or inwardly men, and many 
 technical men who are really women. 
 Man is not man, nor woman woman, pri- 
 marily by virtue of their formal differ- 
 ences from each other, hut by virtue of 
 their spiritual or interior differences, the 
 difference of their genius or temper of 
 mind. And where this fundamental dif- 
 ference does not exist the outward differ- 
 ence is only transient. The natural body 
 in that case has only to be laid aside by 
 its decease, for the spiritual one to assert 
 its latent sexuality ; so that probably 
 many a woman who has unmisgivingly 
 laid down on this side Jordan in short- 
 gown and petticoat, will wake up by 
 sheer spiritual gravitation on the other 
 side in corduroys and top-boots, and many 
 a man who has laid down in coat and 
 pantaloons, will similarly come to true 
 self-consciousness in petticoat and curl- 
 papers. 
 
 It is idle, therefore, to argue to woman 
 from certain exceptional women. We 
 must learn to discriminate between 
 women and woman, between the infirm 
 actual and the stainless ideal. Mrs. A. 
 B. and 0. are doubtless capital women, 
 and properly estimable to all their ac- 
 quaintance. But they have not the least 
 title to call themselves woman, nor to 
 charge any possible perturbation of their 
 private orbits to the influence of that 
 sweet sanctity. Woman is a grand and 
 divine reality, who is not so foolish as to 
 commit herself to any special guardian- 
 ship, nor so vulgar as to whisper secrets 
 in any private ear. She appoints no at- 
 torneys. No one speaks by her autho- 
 rity. They who know her best and are 
 most transfigured by her intimate loveli- 
 ness, suspect their great fortune the least, 
 and are still the lowliest in all feminine 
 modesty. It is doubtless excellent to 
 hear Mrs. A. B. or C. discourse of woman, 
 and belabor our sex and hers very de- 
 servedly on that behalf. But we cannot 
 help feeling the thing to be sheer comedy 
 all the while. If they will read lectures, 
 or write paragraphs and pamphlets upon 
 the sufferings of the poor maidens who 
 lack suitable and healthy employment, 
 and upon the temptations to vice which 
 such lack engenders; and if they will 
 scornfully stigmatize our heartless public 
 morality which permits all this tempta- 
 tion, and then visits the shrinking victim 
 with its Pharisaic scorn ; then every 
 manly breast in the community will se- 
 cond their eloquent zeal and indignation. 
 Here is a manifest case of suffering, call- 
 ing upon every passer-by, man and woman 
 
 equally, to cry aloud for its relief. The 
 extremity of the case sanctions any mode 
 of action which promises to be effectual, 
 and if there were no other means of draw- 
 ing attention to it, one would excuse a 
 single-minded woman for dressing herself 
 in military costume, or climbing a church- 
 steeple, or riding Godiva-like through the 
 public streets. It is an exceptional exi- 
 gency, and any sincere mode of advertising 
 it on the part of those whose sympathies 
 are so powerfully assailed, will not only 
 be tolerated but applauded. 
 
 But no one believes in this didactic at- 
 titude as the normal or permanent atti- 
 tude of woman. One excuses it only 
 when a certain necessity calls for it, and 
 does not willingly think of woman coming 
 before the public, without such invincible 
 necessity. No man believes, nor ever will 
 believe, in woman, as a teacher or preach- 
 er, until he has grown indifferent to her 
 as woman. His instinctive loyalty for- 
 bids him to believe her capable of any se- 
 rious didactic intention. He will believe 
 any good thing you have to say of her, 
 any wonders you have to tell of her de- 
 votion to her lover, to her husband, to her 
 child, to her friend, or to the needy at her 
 door. Ho will believe you when you 
 speak of her disinterested affection, her 
 cheerful self-denial, her blithe and genial 
 activity, and the power which these things 
 give her to redeem the longest day from 
 tedium, and people the darkest night with 
 eminent stars of hope and consolation. 
 But he will not believe you when you tell 
 him of her seriously taking the great un- 
 washed condition of humanity at large 
 to heart, and drawing on the seven-league 
 boots of philanthropy, to go forth upon a 
 mission of reform. For woman, in her 
 true and unperverted estate, is incapable 
 of philanthropy, which is the love of all 
 mankind. She loves only man, and can- 
 not be taught to bestow her affection upon 
 the race. The conception is too vague 
 for her affection, the motive too vast for 
 her strictly practical genius. She be- 
 lieves only in the concrete, the tangible, 
 the visible, and her mission, as they call 
 it, is strictly proportionate. Of course, 
 she is so blissfully sympathetic a crea- 
 ture, that if her lover or husband or 
 friend, conceive a concern for the Patago- 
 nians, and give up his substance to pro- 
 selyte the Choctaws, she will very meekly 
 toil up to that cheerless height of vir- 
 tue, purely by way of keeping him com- 
 pany. But she will not stay there a sin- 
 gle moment of her own accord. She would 
 see all Patagonia hanged, and every Choc- 
 taw in Halifax, before she would get up 
 any original trepidation on their behalf. 
 For the only credible Patagonian to her 
 
282 
 
 Woman and the “ Woman’s Movement. 
 
 imagination, is the lover or husband of 
 her choice, and the only irresistible Choc- 
 taws to her affection, are the dimpled 
 little daguerreotypes, whose sunny faces 
 look up to her from her own floor. The 
 only mission God saw fit to endow her 
 with, was that of civilizing this private 
 Patagonian of hers, and evangelizing these 
 little Choctaws of her own invention ; and 
 no wider ambition would ever enter her 
 beautiful head, had not her native instincts 
 been grossly sophisticated by a morbid 
 sentimentality. By natural and divine 
 right, she fully believes in her capacity 
 to make the individual man happy and 
 blessed, and precisely in so far as she in- 
 dulges this perfectly womanly aspiration, 
 she must of course remain blind to the 
 forlorn estate of the huge rest of the 
 world. 
 
 So much in our opinion is indubitably 
 true of woman’s genius. Therefore we will 
 let women invade the pulpit, the rostrum, 
 the quarter-deck, and every other unwo- 
 manly place, to their heart’s content ; but 
 we will do woman the justice to acknow- 
 ledge, that she firmly disclaims all com- 
 plicity with these vagaries, and rigidly 
 exacts a totally distinct theatre of action. 
 
 The genius of woman differs from man’s 
 most obviously in this respect perhaps, 
 that it is less reflective, less apt to weigh 
 consequences ; in short, more impulsive. 
 It is easy for man to obey an external 
 law, to shape his conduct by a wholly 
 outward prudence or expediency. It is 
 not easy for woman to do so. She does 
 not cordially obey any thing but her own 
 affections, and where these have been in- 
 terested, is much too prone to renounce 
 prudence altogether. Woman’s activity 
 dates from her affection, man’s from his 
 intellect rather. In reference to any thing 
 to be done, man inquires whether it be true 
 or agreeable to his intelligence; woman 
 inquires whether it be good or agreeable 
 to her heart. Man hears a profound voice 
 of warning, saying, Thou shalt not eat of 
 the fruit of this tree, for in the day thou 
 eatest thou shalt surely die ; and he conse- 
 quently refrains. But woman heeds no 
 warning voice, and merely considers 
 whether or not the fruit be agreeable to 
 the sight, the taste, and so forth, in order 
 to put forth her hand and eat. 
 
 This characteristic lack of reflection in 
 woman is the secret, no doubt, of her su- 
 perior energy, of her superior practical 
 efficiency. She is for ever busy. An idle 
 woman, except where great wealth and 
 grossly artificial manners have overlaid 
 her native freshness and elasticity — is one 
 of the rarest of sights. An idle man is 
 one of the commonest. To lounge, to 
 snooze, and in that snooze perchance to 
 
 [March 
 
 snore, is a prerogative of man. You will 
 scarcely enter five houses out of ten in an 
 afterndon, without finding some great 
 heap of a husband or a brother gathered 
 up upon the sofa, recruiting his overtasked 
 forces by a comfortable sleep. How hard 
 to rouse him from his recumbency at your 
 entrance. First one leg shows signs of 
 life, then an arm wakes, then the other 
 leg, then the whole body stirs, finally the 
 huge head moves, and the entire drowsy 
 mass erects itself, dimly acknowledges 
 the gas-light, yawns once or twice, and 
 after all this preliminary flourish very 
 probably sinks back again to repose. 
 Clearly man is not handsome in himself, 
 or when uninspired by woman. Who 
 could imagine that this had been once the 
 sleepless lover that talked the moon down 
 the western steeps, and swore an eternal 
 alacrity in the divine art of pleasing? 
 Where now is his alacrity ? Alas ! he 
 has left it behind him in Pine-street and 
 Pearl-street, to be put on to-morrow morn- 
 ing to entertain those occasional western 
 merchants, and has brought home only 
 his relentless tedium to bestow upon his 
 habitual wife and little ones. Who can 
 wonder that the dullest round of lectures 
 or the least vivacious of theatricals prove 
 so attractive when compared with this te- 
 dious domestic paralysis ? 
 
 It is not so with the other sex. I mean 
 that it is a very much less common thing 
 to see an indolent, self-indulgent woman, 
 than it is to see a man of that sort. 
 Every one knows individual women, pos- 
 sibly, who are untrue to the characteris- 
 tics of their sex. victims of absurd fashion, 
 distorted by a fatal luxury out of feminine 
 health and grace. But the rule with wo- 
 man is unceasing activity. The plain rea- 
 son is, that her action dates so exclusively 
 from herself, is motived so much more 
 from her affections than from her intel- 
 lect. It is always the sunlight of affec- 
 tion which kindles her energy, while the 
 poor moonlight of the intellect enlivens 
 man’s. Man feels impelled to seek sub- 
 sistence, physical and social. He has 
 great powers to overcome and clothe with 
 his livery, the powers of earth and air. 
 and the forces of the human mind itself. 
 These are his destined ministers, but 
 their reduction to his service is slow and 
 wearisome. He has perpetually to re- 
 member, and invent, and contrive a thou- 
 sand modes of progress. He has slowly 
 to sift the teachings of a wide experience, 
 and garner them up in laws and statutes. 
 He has to appoint bounds for this thing 
 and that, to encourage industry, to dis- 
 courage vice and idleness, to punish crime. 
 He has to defend himself from aggression, 
 to enlarge his territory when population 
 
Woman and the “ Woman's Movement 
 
 283 
 
 1853.] 
 
 presses on the means of subsistence, to 
 foster education, to establish commerce, 
 to promote religion, to sustain' interna- 
 tional justice. All this indicates the bent 
 of his genius. It is an outward bent. 
 He does battle with the aboriginal forces 
 of nature, and makes them finally docile to 
 his will. He is engaged in preparing a 
 theatre of life, rather than in actually liv- 
 ing. Thus his action is imposed by his 
 outward necessities, instead of his inward 
 taste or inspiration. It accordingly con- 
 sumes instead of refreshes him. He wa- 
 ters the accursed sod with his tears, and 
 earns his bread in the sweat of his brow. 
 Undoubtedly it is for his good that the 
 ground is accursed, as the good book tells 
 us. Because if nature brought forth spon- 
 taneously to man, if it required no culture, 
 but supplied all his wants at sight or on 
 demand, why then, manifestly, the resour- 
 ces of his genius would have remained for 
 ever unknown. In that case his faculties, 
 for lack of something to call them forth, 
 would have remained for ever hidden from 
 his consciousness, and he would accord- 
 ingly have gone down to the grave a mere 
 pampered menial of nature, unconscious 
 of God, and indifferent to any life but the 
 sensual one. All this is sublimely true. 
 But it is none the less true at the same 
 time, that the progress of human develop- 
 ment is a slow and painful one, and that 
 poor man, meanwhile, being ignorant of 
 the glory that is in store for him, and 
 knowing only the toilsome experience by 
 which it comes about, often sinks down 
 in utter weariness, or renounces life itself 
 in hasty and untaught despair. 
 
 But woman’s activity leaves her re- 
 freshed, because she really lives instead 
 of only prepares to live. For it is very 
 curious and beautiful to observe, that just 
 in so far as man by his stalwart might 
 subdues the domain of nature to himself, 
 woman steps in to glorify it by her en- 
 chantments. The aim of all man’s exer- 
 tion since the beginning of history, has 
 been to conquer himself a home upon the 
 earth, nor will he ever flag in that career, 
 until he has secured one proportionate to 
 his powers ; that is to say, a home which 
 shall be coextensive with the uttermost 
 bounds of space, and to which every realm 
 of nature will bring its glad and lavish 
 tribute. But wherever he halts for a 
 night in this career, wherever he estab- 
 lishes a temporary home to inspirit him 
 against the fatigues of the still beckoning 
 to-morrow, there woman comes to pitch 
 the white tent of her innocence beside 
 him, and make his otherwise inevitable 
 wilderness blossom like the rose. His 
 work has ever been that of the hardy 
 pioneer, stretching forth into the savagery 
 
 of nature, and rescuing it from the grasp 
 of her own incompetent offspring, the 
 bear, the fox, and the serpent. Her work 
 has ever been that of turning the rude 
 domain thus snatched from nature, into a 
 smiling and blooming home. For man, 
 with the immense love of dominion which 
 characterizes him, would pause nowhere, 
 but go on to oversweep and consume the 
 whole earth, were it not for these angel 
 arms of woman binding him to stay and 
 cultivate his present possessions, that so 
 his future conquests might be the more 
 secure. The rude conqueror he ! She, 
 the builder up and fashioner of his con- 
 quests ! For this is the vital difference 
 of the pair, that man for ever asks more, 
 while woman is always intent upon mak- 
 ing the most of what she has. Man is a 
 perpetual seeker, woman turns whatsoever 
 she finds into a present use and profit. 
 Man’s eye is fixed upon the future, wo- 
 man’s upon the present. He sweeps the 
 heavens with his gaze, to see what fairer 
 worlds invite his adventure ; she quietly 
 unpacks the trunk of his observation, 
 and appropriates whatever available re- 
 sults it contains, to the improvement of 
 his present abode. 
 
 We are in the habit of saying that 
 home is the true sphere of woman. And 
 the saying is just, provided we truly in- 
 terpret the idea of home. If home be 
 a place of bondage for woman, if it be 
 the mere skulking place of avarice, de- 
 bauchery, or other uncleanness ; if it be 
 the throne whence some base menial, ele- 
 vated into the prerogatives of a husband, 
 fulminates his sovereign pleasure ; then 
 it is no place for woman. Then woman 
 is bound by fidelity to her sex, or 
 what is the same thing, by her own self- 
 respect, to abhor and flee such a home. 
 The laws, perhaps, may not this year 
 justify the step, but the private sentiment 
 of the community is every day getting so 
 clear, so pronounced on this subject; is 
 getting in fact so 'public , that the mere 
 laws must soon reflect it, and no flagrant 
 husband, knowing his own dislo3 r alty, will 
 venture meanwhile to encounter the odium 
 of compelling his wife’s return under such 
 circumstances. 
 
 But with this proviso, the observation is 
 just. Home is the true sphere of woman. 
 What is home? It is the shrine of man’s 
 freedom ; it is the seal which society sets to 
 the private or individual sacredness of its 
 members. Society reckons all her mem- 
 bers sacred, in proportion to the universal- 
 ity of their function. In an incipient stage 
 of society, the priestly and the warrior 
 functions are the most universal, as the 
 one class educates the nation, and the 
 other defends it from foreign oppression. 
 
284 
 
 Woman and the “ Woman’s Movement' 
 
 And in a transition stage of society like 
 ours, the commercial class exercises the 
 most universal function, because now the 
 problem of humanity is to destroy exist- 
 ing nationalities, or those things which 
 divide the brotherhood of man, and fuse 
 mankind into one grand unitary family. 
 And commerce is effectually promoting 
 this end. Hence the commercial class is 
 now chiefly in honor. No matter how 
 soulless a clod the individual merchant 
 maybe, and however impracticable a sub- 
 ject he may prove to your mere pedantic 
 and dilletante uses, still his function is 
 superb, and both state and church, ac- 
 cordingly, by an infallible instinct, lavish 
 upon him their tenderest caresses. They 
 give the merchant the best home of any 
 man in the community, and celebrate his 
 births, marriages and deaths with a gusto 
 that somewhat affronts the uninstructed 
 understanding. 
 
 Now the meaning of this home is free- 
 dom, is independence of foreign constraint, 
 is the ability to obey one’s own inspirar 
 tions exclusively, or fulfil one’s own plea- 
 sure. At home one can wear the old coat, 
 or no coat at all ; can lie on the floor and 
 play with the children all day ; can dance, 
 and whistle and sing out of tune, can ride 
 on the ballusters, can talk bad grammar, 
 or indulge the most revolutionary ex- 
 pressions, without any one having the 
 right to complain, which every one would 
 have if he did these things in public or on 
 the street. Home is thus the sanctuary 
 of the private man, the sphere of one’s 
 true or characteristic development, the 
 place in which he acts for himself, and not 
 from the inspiration of society. But, no- 
 toriously, man very sparingly enjoys this 
 refuge of home. He is out in the tent, in 
 the field, in the workshop, the factory, the 
 study, the office, the desk, wholly intent 
 upon extending the dominion of society 
 over nature. Society claims all his ener- 
 gies to enlarge her own borders, and he 
 has no time, comparatively, to build up 
 this immortal sanctuary of home. Now 
 it is woman who has here stood him in- 
 stead. She has been the divine menstruum, 
 or solvent, to turn all the crude ore of his 
 enterprise into most fine gold. Man has 
 been so much the creature of society, so 
 much the slave of necessity and duty, so 
 much the mere statesman, lawyer, clergy- 
 man, shopkeeper, tradesman, ploughman, 
 soldier, sailor, that he would have utterly 
 forgotten his original manhood, his true 
 spontaneous life, had not woman bliss- 
 fully enshrined it for him. She has ever 
 been the casket of his privacy, the shield 
 of his true individuality, the guardian of 
 his essential humanity, keeping it bright 
 and unsullied for him until such time as 
 
 [March 
 
 he leaves off serving society, or the finite, 
 and is ready to serve only God, or the in- 
 finite. While man has been sunk in deep 
 sleep, or a profound unconsciousness of 
 his essential nature and attributes, woman 
 has been steadfastly garnering it up, and 
 illustrating it under all the forms of her 
 characteristic activity. 
 
 The theory of all our distinctively mas- 
 culine activity is, that it obeys a purely 
 outward stimulus, and hence is converti- 
 ble with mere toil. Man always works 
 under some constraint of necessity or du- 
 ty ; works with a view to achieve or main- 
 tain some purely outward end, such as 
 wealth, or an eminent social position for 
 himself and family, or distinguished pro- 
 fessional success. Society bounds his as- 
 piration. The demands of society are 
 primarily imperative upon him, and hence, 
 even at his best estate, he has not the se- 
 rene and disengaged air of a son of the 
 house, but rather the abject and tired and 
 spiritless demeanor of a hired servant, 
 lie is not working from life, but to it. 
 He is not bringing forth, as yet, from the 
 depths of divinity within him, the mira- 
 cles of art and of beautiful fellowship, 
 which shall one day make life an en- 
 chantment ; he is serving the needs of his 
 purely natural and social life, protecting 
 his body against the inclemency of na- 
 ture, and winning his upward way to the 
 recognition of his fellow-men. Of course 
 we speak here of the rule and not the ex- 
 ception. The privileged members of so- 
 ciety, they who are already secure of her 
 favor, have time undoubtedly to prosecute 
 all the arts by which life is refined of its 
 primal grossness. And occasionally, 
 moreover, divinity, as if tired of waiting 
 for the slow obedience of nature and so- 
 ciety, flings forth some brilliant specimen, 
 whom we name genius or inspired person, 
 because he anticipates the general desti- 
 ny, and is seen to work and act from an 
 ideal force, from an inward life, which 
 uses nature simply as a ministering ser- 
 vant. But these are the exceptions. The 
 rule runs as we have read it, that man’s 
 activity in the general has always obeyed 
 the spurs of necessity and duty. 
 
 Now we all know that woman’s activi- 
 ty has not been of this sort. Her tem- 
 per has never been one of progress, but 
 of enjoyment. What she aspires to has 
 never been the conquest of new territo- 
 ries, but rather the improvement of those 
 already possessed. She ha not found 
 her happiness in the pursuits of wealth, 
 learning, or political power, but only in 
 developing the household humanities, or 
 brightening the best bliss hitherto known 
 to the human heart, that namely, which 
 is sheltered within the four walls of home. 
 
Woman and the “ Woman's Movement .’ 
 
 285 
 
 1853.] 
 
 In a word, she has found both her truest 
 happiness and her truest dignity in ful- 
 filling the part of wife, or ministering an- 
 gel to man. For woman is woman only 
 in order that she may be wife, only in or- 
 der that she may be the true helper and 
 inspirer of man: and this is the theme 
 to which we have hitherto been simply 
 preluding. 
 
 Woman is by nature inferior to man. 
 She is his inferior in passion, his inferior 
 in intellect, and his inferior in physical 
 strength. It is easy to quarrel with the 
 fact, but it is quite impossible to dispute 
 it. It is easy to pronounce it a very 
 scandalous and flagitious fact if you please, 
 but there the fact stands nevertheless, 
 full of a quiet contempt of your petulance. 
 For the fact is wholly unborn of human 
 legislation. No man’s wit ever fashioned 
 it. It took place by no votes, but by the 
 absolute decree of nature. Gravitation 
 is not a whit more undeniable. Electri- 
 city is not a whit more respectable. And 
 facts of this natural pith and reality must 
 necessarily smile at quarrelsome persons. 
 They are facts utterly above the sphere 
 of will, denying the power of will even to 
 modify them, and like all such facts, are 
 inwardly replete with a goodness and 
 wisdom which always mean laughter and 
 ridicule to unreasonable or fussy people. 
 
 This foolish quarrel with woman’s na- 
 tural inferiority to man, proceeds upon an 
 exaggerated notion of nature, or what is 
 the same thing, a defective estimate of 
 spiritual existence. Our modern ama- 
 zons suppose, when you speak of woman’s 
 natural inferiority to man ; when you say 
 that she has less passion, less intellect, 
 and less physical force, that you depress 
 her in the scale of being, that you rob 
 her of so much absolute life. But this 
 is the gravest of mistakes. The truth is 
 exactly otherwise. Our passions, our in- 
 tellect, and our physical force are precise- 
 ly the things which finite us, and in pro- 
 portion as we are identified with them, in 
 proportion as we feel ourselves included 
 in them, is this Uniting influence felt. In 
 this fact we find the reason of the instinc- 
 tive shame a man feels when he is praised 
 for his natural endowments, and of the 
 universal contempt he encounters when- 
 ever he sets himself to boast of these 
 things. When you praise a man for his 
 great goodness of heart, or the power of 
 his intellect, or for any merely physical 
 perfection, you fill him with an inward 
 discomfort proportionate to his true man- 
 liness ; you drive all his good angels away 
 from him, and leave him stripped of the 
 sheltering garments of modesty. And if 
 a man himself come to you glorying in 
 his emotional, or intellectual, or physical 
 
 differences from other men, it is of no 
 consequence to you whether the literal 
 facts be as he alleges or not ; the man 
 himself strikes you as an unparalleled 
 donkey, whom it were good instantly to 
 cudgel out of that conceit. We repeat 
 it : no matter whether a man’s superiori- 
 ties be actually true or not to our convic- 
 tion, we instinctively revolt at his being 
 aware of them in any such sense as to 
 take credit to himself on account of them. 
 And the only reason of this instinctive 
 revolt is, that our natural endowments, 
 however comparatively great they are, 
 are not the just sources of our pride, be- 
 cause they are not the true sources of our 
 life. Nature furnishes an admirable plat- 
 form for the revelation of our life, but it 
 by no means constitutes the life. God 
 alone, or infinite goodness, truth and 
 beauty, is our life, and this surprising 
 pomp and affluence of Nature furnish on- 
 ly the mould or matrix of its perfect de- 
 velopment. Hence our natural endow- 
 ments, if we identify ourselves with them, 
 only obscure our essential infinitude. 
 And only in proportion as we disclaim 
 their subjection, or what is the same 
 thing, reduce them to our subjection, and 
 become ourselves obedient to divine ideas, 
 the ideas of a supersensuous goodness 
 and truth, do we put on an immortal con- 
 sciousness, and ally ourselves with Life. 
 
 Hence in ascribing to woman a natural 
 inferiority to man, we by no means seek 
 to depress her in the scale of being, but on 
 the contrary to exalt her. It is this na- 
 tural inequality of the sexes besides, 
 which constitutes the true ground of their 
 union, and enables woman to be the foun- 
 tain of unmixed blessing she is to man. 
 If she had been equal to man in passion, 
 in intellect, and physical strength, her 
 own distinctive attributes would have 
 been overlaid. She must inevitably have 
 lacked in that case, all those delicious 
 weaknesses and softnesses which are the 
 outward badge of her inward sweetness, 
 and which constitute the arms of her om- 
 nipotence to the imagination of man. In 
 short she must have ceased to attract 
 man, have ceased to open the fountains 
 of the ideal within him, and consequently 
 all that divine poetry of the heart which 
 now blossoms in the beautiful relation of 
 husband and wife, and bears such exqui- 
 site fruit in that of parent and child, and 
 the other social relations contingent upon 
 that one, would have been for ever un- 
 known. 
 
 Suppose for a moment that woman had 
 been naturally equal to man. Suppose 
 that she exhibited his devouring passions, 
 his grasping intellect, his rude physical 
 might, which is competent to rend the 
 
286 
 
 Woman and the “ Woman’s Movement ' 
 
 » 
 
 oak, and bring the wild bull to his knee. 
 Suppose in fact that she were another 
 man in temper and genius, another man 
 in all the voluntary attributes of man. 
 What sort of a courtship must she have 
 provoked from him? He would have at- 
 tacked her as he now attacks a rival pow- 
 er, with sword and pistol by his side, 
 amidst the blowing of trumpets, and all 
 the other fanfaronade of righteous war. 
 He would have besieged her like a for- 
 tress, mining her foundations, sapping her 
 outworks, leaping her trenches, scaling 
 her ramparts, slaying her garrison, and 
 subjugating her to his compulsory servi- 
 tude, not as now exalting her to his social 
 equality. And then imagine the children 
 of such a courtship, Alack ! alack ! what 
 litany would be long enough to recite 
 their abominations ! A sprinkling of 
 girls — what could be called girls, perhaps, 
 great muscular jades as agile as wild-cats, 
 and yet more mischievous and fierce — 
 might slip into the first generation, but 
 every successive one, as an Irishman 
 might say, would be boys alone, boys of 
 both sexes. 
 
 What is it that man likes in woman ? 
 It is the exact opposite of himself. Con- 
 trast or opposition is the secret of their 
 union. She is adorable to him precisely 
 in the degree that she is unlike him. 
 Thus you often observe that where the 
 man is a huge powerful creature, with a 
 great shaggy head and mane, and limbs 
 like leviathan, suggesting only thoughts 
 of violence and war, he is sure to aspire 
 only after the daintiest and delicatest of 
 women, as feeling that so rude a soil 
 needed the ornament and apology of such 
 a flower. Or if on the other hand, he 
 himself approach the borders of woman- 
 hood in his physical structure, being a 
 small, delicate, subtle orgauization, sug- 
 gesting thoughts of pure and refined de- 
 lights, then he will aspire only to his na- 
 tural parallel in the other sex, and will 
 blissfully woo and win and wear the stur- 
 diest and most sinewy of dames. It is 
 simply an illustration of the law of the 
 contact of extremes, which binds a mas- 
 culine minus to seek Iris complement in a 
 feminine plus: and vice versa. 
 
 This precisely then is what man finds 
 in woman, the satisfaction of his own 
 want, the supply of his own lack. And 
 in order to be thus much to him, she 
 must first of all be intrinsically distinct 
 from him. Man does not want what 
 he already is. Excessive supply in any 
 sphere produces a deficient demand. Ac- 
 cordingly man being already full of pas- 
 sion, intellect, and physical strength, 
 does not covet those things in woman. 
 She has all these things to be sure in 
 
 [March 
 
 her degree, but they do not make up her 
 womanhood. They are what she has in 
 common with man. But she is some- 
 thing vastly beyond these things, some- 
 thing which he is not, and which, there- 
 fore, claims his boundless homage. She 
 is above all things else, a form of per- 
 sonal affection. Man aspires to the in- 
 finite, woman loves the infinite in the 
 finite. Her genius is not passional, is not 
 intellectual, is not mechanical ; it is purely 
 personal. Her aim in life is not to gra- 
 tify her passions, is not to enlarge her in- 
 tellect, is not to perform great actions, 
 though, of course, all these issues take 
 place incidentally ; but simply to love 
 aud bless man. Her mission, as it is 
 called, is not to promote the spread of 
 science and art, is not to do battle with 
 ignorance ^.nd superstition, is not to wrest 
 the great field of nature from the dominion 
 of savage beasts ; it is all simply to re- 
 fine and elevate man. Her passions, her 
 intellect, and her activity, unlike man’s, 
 do not carry her abroad over all the 
 earth, to devour, and consume, and lay 
 waste ; they are all concentrated in this 
 one most definite pursuit, the culture 
 of man himself. This it is which makes 
 her so eminently practical, which keeps 
 her from ennui and dyspepsia, and every 
 form of spiritual fidget. This it is which 
 makes her so complete and self-contained 
 a person, so serene and beautiful a power ; 
 this is the true secret of her charm, the 
 sure argument of man’s deathless wor- 
 ship. How she penetrates his inmost 
 being with the subtle aroma of her pre- 
 sence, and awakens long echoes of delight 
 which seem to stretch onward to in- 
 finity! A' something quite infinite at- 
 taches to her. Enchantment waits upon 
 all her steps. She adds splendor even to 
 the day, she lends color and fragrance 
 even to flowers, and turns the innumer- 
 able stars of heaven into similitudes of 
 her matchless perfection. Her looks are 
 nectar, and all her words ambrosia upon 
 which the gods are nourished. She is 
 so self-centred, her aim is so single and 
 definite, that all her action and motion 
 are instinct with faultless grace. How 
 dear to the heart of man is this exquisite 
 self-contentment, in which he himself is 
 so deficient ! How can he help worship- 
 ping the charming creature at his side ! 
 See how sweetly unperturbed, how calmly 
 self-possessed she is ! How modest and 
 unconscious of observation, as if her busi- 
 ness was not to be blessed, but only to 
 bless, or rather to be blessed only in bless- 
 ing ! “ I lack,” he says, “ this serene 
 
 force, this spontaneous life that wells up so 
 miraculously in this fair neighbor, and I 
 would forsake all things, would gladly 
 
Woman and the 
 
 Woman's Movement.' 
 
 287 
 
 1853.] 
 
 forswear both passion and intellect to call 
 it henceforth mine. What a contrast we 
 exhibit, to be sure ! I wander up and 
 down the earth incessantly, beseeching 
 every god to take compassion on me, or 
 soliciting the votes of my fellow-men, or 
 laying up treasures against some possible 
 season of calamity. But she, delicious 
 vision ! is already radiant with the divine 
 smile, is quite indifferent to the votes of 
 all mankind, and finds an exhaustless oc- 
 cupation in the sweet womanly tastes and 
 activities which have their home in her 
 own bosom.” 
 
 Hence and hence only it is that woman 
 becomes the wife, becomes raised to the 
 fellowship or equality of man, and entitled 
 to his tenderest homage. Not because of 
 any claim based upon her natural equality 
 with him, but purely because of a claim 
 based upon her natural inequality with 
 him. Her natural equality would have 
 formed no claim to his spiritual regard ; 
 on the contrary it would have disclaimed 
 it. Every man knows this experimentally. 
 Every man knows that any great develop- 
 ment of passion or intellect in woman is 
 sure to prejudice his devotion. Daniel 
 Webster was a man of great passions and 
 great intellect. Would any man fancy a 
 woman after the pattern of Daniel Web- 
 ster? Madame de Stael was a woman 
 exactly after that pattern, with equal 
 force of passion, and even greater variety 
 of intellectual endowment. But Madame 
 de Stael attracted the love of no man of 
 woman born, except M. Koeca her second 
 husband, who was a woman. She in- 
 variably repelled it. Schiller, after one 
 or two interviews with her, was so im- 
 pressed with her essential masculinity, so 
 outraged by her unwomanly intrusion into 
 his mind and conscience, that he express- 
 ed a dread of having committed the un- 
 pardonable sin, even in talking with her. 
 No, the charm of woman is personal and 
 infinite : it does not reside in her having 
 the same passions, or the same intellect 
 with man, but rather in her having such 
 an inequality with him, in these respects, 
 as enables her to exhibit her own dis- 
 tinctive endowments, and so fascinate his 
 regard. And these distinctive endow- 
 ments are all summed up, as we have said 
 before, in her being primarily a form of 
 personal affection, in the fact that she 
 finds her life only in ministering to man. 
 Thus her life is always a present one. Sho 
 does not wait for better circumstances, for 
 a heaven beyond the grave, in order to be- 
 gin to live. She lives now, and brings 
 forth the proper fruits of life. Hence the 
 first woman was named Eve, that is, 
 living. And thus in early ages, and 
 even now in barbarous countries where 
 
 we have our own early ages stereotyped 
 to sight, children were reckoned an honor 
 to woman, and barrenness a discredit. 
 The power of producing offspring — of 
 bringing forth life — that is the ineffaceable 
 badge of woman, that has been in all ages 
 her crown of honor. Such was the first 
 and rudest recognition of the true poetry 
 of her nature, such the first grand charm 
 she exhibited to the imagination of man. 
 But this original and coarse appreciation 
 has been refining all along the stream of 
 history, until we now reverence in wo- 
 man not merely the mother of our chil- 
 dren, but the fountain of the purest and 
 best life known to society ; the fountain of 
 joy, of sweet contentment, of all that is 
 refined in thought, of all that is generous 
 and disinterested in affection, of all that is 
 graceful and spontaneous and irresistible 
 in manners. She is Eve, or living still, but 
 with how much diviner a life than she ever 
 knew before ! She daily puts on a more 
 expressive grace, and man’s love and wor- 
 ship grow ever more tender and true, 
 nis heart fully confesses the truth which 
 his intellect is all too slow to discover. 
 For woman is only the outward presenta- 
 tion of whatsoever is profoundest and 
 divinest in himself, and of whatsoever 
 therefore is most unsuspected by his own 
 lumbering intelligence ; and his passionate 
 adoration is only the instinctual or blind 
 acknowledgment of the fact. She is the 
 embodiment of his own ideal selfhood. 
 She is his own better nature visibly in- 
 carnated. She is the expressive type or 
 symbol of that lustrous life which shall 
 one day redeem him from earth, and ally 
 him with divinity. Because man himself 
 is destined for union with God, because 
 man himself is bound one day to love and 
 serve God alone, and to exhibit a self- 
 hood accordingly instinct with divine 
 power and beauty, therefore it is that 
 woman symbolically unites herself with 
 him, loves and serves him as he will one 
 day love and serve God, and exhibits a 
 person instinct to his eyes with grace and 
 enchantment. She is not passion, she is 
 not intellect, she is not strength. He is 
 all these things, and they do not satisfy 
 him. On the contrary they consume and 
 fatigue him. The more he has of them, 
 unless he himself still be above them, the 
 more restless and unhappy they make 
 him. Unless I be superior to my passion, 
 superior to my intellect, and superior to 
 my brute strength, I must be their tool, 
 and he that is the tool of these things, has 
 not begun as yet to be man. To be the 
 slave of passion, of knowledge, or of mere 
 physical activity, what is it but an endless 
 toil, what is it but an endless headache and 
 heartbreak ? Accordingly, from his pro- 
 
288 
 
 How they Live in Havana. 
 
 foundest soul man aspires to be something 
 more than these tilings, aspires after a self- 
 hood which is not bounded by these cate- 
 gories, and which cannot be exhausted 
 by their demands. He aspires, in short, 
 after union with God, aspires to realize 
 a selfhood which shall be divine. Now 
 this selfhood stands naturally imaged to 
 his sight in the sweet alluring form of 
 woman. Woman is nature’s revelation 
 to man of his own God-given and inde- 
 feasible self. In that shrine of dazzling 
 innocence, God has transfigured all that 
 is inmost and ineffable in human destiny. 
 Therefore it is that man naturally wor- 
 ships woman with deathless devotion, 
 because she reveals him, as he will one 
 day be, to himself. And therefore it is 
 that when he aspires to her favor, it is 
 not with a view to transient enjoyment, 
 but permanent possession rather. He 
 does not ask her to become his mistress, 
 or the companion of his pleasures merely, 
 but his wife, or the partner of his cares as 
 well ; and hence the inseparable bone of 
 his bone and flesh of his flesh. 
 
 For this reason, says the grand old book, 
 man shall leave father and mother, and 
 cleave only to his wife. That is the law 
 of the union. The husband cleaves to 
 the wife, not the wife to the husband. 
 He was not created a help to her, but she 
 to him. And what a help has she prov- 
 ed ! How she has softened this rugged 
 world to him by turning it into a deli- 
 cious home, by peopling it in the first 
 place, and so connecting him in sympathy 
 with the remotest regions of space, and 
 
 [March 
 
 then by garlanding it with every grace of 
 her own melodious nature. What a 
 worker she is, to be sure ! How every 
 stroke tells from that fairy hand ! How 
 every thing she touches suddenly buds 
 and blossoms with beauty ! The common 
 air grows tonic with her presence, and 
 the music of her cheerful feet is like the 
 tinkling of bells which the traveller hears 
 upon the necks of the kine descending into 
 secluded Alpine valleys. 
 
 God makes man out of the dust of the 
 ground, and his highest virtue therefore 
 is humility. But he makes woman out 
 of man, and the virtue of humility in him, 
 accordingly, becomes in her refined into 
 the peerless grace of modesty. Humility 
 is the true badge of the manly nature, 
 modesty of the feminine. Woman is a 
 refinement of God’s original handiwork. 
 Man stands between her and the bare 
 earth. She is a plant that springs exclu- 
 sively out of a human soil, and she will 
 therefore he precisely what that soil , by 
 its own richness , permits her to he. If 
 the soil be unimproved and wild, as in 
 savage humanity or in early periods of 
 history, she will be visibly degraded, the 
 mere abject vassal and drudge of man. 
 If the soil be enriched by culture, as in 
 civilized humanity, she will flower more 
 and more resplendently in all the attri- 
 butes of wife, until finally, when man 
 himself shall have become fully developed 
 by the beneficent advance of science and 
 art, she will put on the panoply of her 
 accomplishments, and bring forth a fruit 
 that is divine. 
 
 HOW THEY LIVE IN HAVANA. 
 
 A LMOST every one in Havana imitates 
 St. Paul so far as to live in his “ own 
 hired house still, there are houses there 
 which are called hotels. In these, how- 
 ever, the stranger must not expect to find 
 even the faintest likeness to Mivart’s, or 
 the Hotel Meurice, or the Astor House. 
 The hotel of Havana has not the slight- 
 est trait in common with the French hotel, 
 either as it exists upon its native soil, or 
 as modified by English frigidity and re- 
 serve, or American gregariousness ; or with 
 the English inn, or the American tavern, 
 or the Eastern caravansera. It is nothing 
 more or less than an ordinary boarding- 
 house, though differing widely in its ha- 
 bits and aspect from its counterparts in 
 New-York. The number of hotels is ve- 
 ry small. There are three only which 
 are kept by Americans: there may be 
 four or five kept by Spaniards. Those 
 
 Americans who wish to talk Spanish and 
 eat Spanish, may go to one of the last, 
 La Noblesa Vascagonda, for instance; 
 but the probabilities are, that after a day’s 
 experience of garlic and oil, they will 
 complete their Castilian accomplishments 
 by ‘ walking Spanish ’ into new quarters. 
 In any house in Havana, public or pri- 
 vate, Spanish, French, German, or Ame- 
 rican, enough vernacular conversation and 
 cookery to satisfy any reasonable taste, 
 may be had for the asking ; and as the 
 habits and character of the people can be 
 closely observed without sharing thar 
 bed and board — the bed being in fact a 
 board — the traveller will find the equi- 
 librium of his mind and body preserved, 
 and no advantage lost by committing him- 
 self to the care of an American host. 
 
 When in our last number the reader 
 and the writer stopped in their walk 
 
How they Live in Havana. 
 
 289 
 
 1853.] 
 
 through the narrow, dirty alleys which 
 the Habaneros call calles, and which 
 take the place of our broad and dirty 
 streets, it was before the huge door of our 
 hotel. As this building is a fair specimen 
 of the better class of houses in Havana, 
 being in fact the former residence of a 
 wealthy Spaniard, let us look at it some- 
 what in detail. The gateway is vast 
 enough for that of a fortress, and is sur- 
 rounded with ornamental tracery, in 
 which the influence of Moorish taste up- 
 on the builder is very evident. This 
 gateway is, save a small window at its 
 side, the only external aperture in the 
 lower story, which is nearly twenty-five 
 feet in height. It is closed by a huge bi- 
 valve door of treble mahogany, thickly 
 studded with brass knobs, which are the 
 heads of the bolts which bind it together. 
 One leaf stands open ; we enter, and find 
 ourselves at one end of an oblong court- 
 yard, paved with flat stones. On our left 
 stands the high-wheeled volante. which 
 is sure to be found in this part of the 
 house of any person even ‘ well to do.’ and 
 behind it is the pallet on which the porter 
 sleeps ; for the ponderous gate admits of 
 no latch key, and whoever comes in after 
 ten o’clock at night must rouse the por- 
 ter, who is general^ a soldier upon half 
 pay, well-used to disturbed slumbers. 
 As we stand in the gateway, we see that 
 the walls are between two and three feet 
 thick, and are built not in layers, but 
 with an irregular mixture of stones and 
 mortar. At the end of the court-yard, 
 half hidden behind an arch, are two 
 horses, which have their stable, as we 
 shall see, directly under the dining-room. 
 Around the court-yard are the apartments 
 of the negroes, and the store-rooms. From 
 the middle springs a tall, slender catalpa 
 tree, branchless, except near its top, which 
 almost reaches that of the house, where 
 its broad, thin leaves, cast their delicate 
 shade upon the gallery which we see run- 
 ning round the court above our heads. 
 Close by the tree is the mouth of a large 
 cistern, long unused. W e turn to the left, 
 and ascend a broad stone staircase, with 
 a heavy balustrade. On the first landing- 
 stands a puzzling piece of mahogany fur- 
 niture ; for it is too high for a refrigerator, 
 and too low for a shower-bath. It is a filter. 
 Opened, it discloses a large hemispherical 
 stone basin, from the lower surface of which 
 the water drips rapidly in great pellucid 
 drops into an earthen vessel below. This 
 natural filter far surpasses, in efficacy, 
 any artificial contrivance for the same pur- 
 pose ; even those to which the “ American 
 Institute has awarded a gold medal.” 
 And the water, which is thus filtered, and 
 which is brought into the city by an aque- 
 vol. i. — 19 
 
 duct, is, to confess the truth, purer and 
 more palatable than the Croton. Ano- 
 ther flight of the staircase leads us to 
 the floor of the balcony, upon which open 
 all the principal apartments of the house. 
 A broad platform before us has a floor of 
 cement, hard enough to be polished like 
 marble. On one side is a cane settee ; on 
 the other a huge Spanish arm-chair, with 
 bottom, sides and back of unyielding lea- 
 ther ; such a chair as the fortunate pos- 
 sessor of Pellicier’s Don Quixote, pub- 
 lished in Madrid in 1798, will find in the 
 admirably characteristic illustrations of 
 that edition. Here is the entrance to the 
 drawing-room, a large apartment fronting- 
 on the street, and the full width of the 
 house, about fifty feet, in length. Its 
 floor is of tesselated marble. Its furniture 
 seems penuriously meagre and mean to 
 those who are accustomed to the over- 
 loaded rooms of the North. A piano- 
 forte, a book-table, upon which no books 
 are, a cane-bottomed sofa, a few ordi- 
 nary chairs, and half a dozen or more, 
 huge cane Boston-rockers, are the sum 
 of its contents. Its lofty roof is uncoiled, 
 and shows beams rather fantasticallv 
 carved. The windows, reaching from the 
 floor nearly to the roof, open upon a bal- 
 cony, which seems to overhang the middle 
 of the narrow street. They are all open 
 now ; but we notice that they do not close 
 with sashes, but with heavy shutters ; in 
 each of which, about six feet from the 
 floor, is a glazed aperture about nine 
 inches square. Such a thing as a glazed 
 window sash does not exist in Cuba. 
 Sleeping chambers open upon the gallery 
 around the court, which we noticed from 
 below ; and on the side of the quadrangle, 
 opposite to the drawing-room, is the din- 
 ing-room, which is nothing more than a 
 wide platform thrown across the court, 
 and open to the air through arches. Be- 
 yond this, the gallery again leads to other 
 sleeping rooms, to offices, and to the 
 kitchen, where all the cooking is done 
 with charcoal in small furnaces. Some 
 houses have a lower gallery opening on the 
 first landing of the staircase, and leading 
 to other sleeping apartments. From the 
 upper gallery, a steep flight of steps leads 
 to the heavily-tiled roof, whence we as- 
 scend to the top of one of the square ele- 
 vations we have already noticed. The 
 furnishing of the bed-chambers is of the 
 same meagreness as that of the drawing- 
 room. A cot, or a simple four-post bed- 
 stead, upon the sack-bottom of which no 
 bed is laid, but only a quilt or two, a 
 wardrobe, a washstand, and the inevitable 
 rocking-chair, all of rather homely mate- 
 rials, are what we find. This paucity and 
 poverty of furniture is a Cuban trait, and’ 
 
290 
 
 How they Live in Havana. 
 
 is indicative of no frugality. The man 
 whose volante and harness have a thou- 
 sand dollars’ worth of silver worked into 
 their decorations, and whose calesero 
 (coachman) carries enough of bullion 
 about him to purchase his freedom, will 
 not have so much, or so expensive furni- 
 ture in his house as the New-Yorker who 
 considers himself in very moderate circum- 
 stances. The very palace itself is no ex- 
 ception to this remark. And the reason 
 is simply one of climate. A common 
 cane-bottomed chair or sofa is more com- 
 fortable here than one with a stuffed da- 
 mask, plush or hair seat. A bed or a 
 mattress would be a nuisance ; curtains, 
 an abomination. Even the indispensable 
 mosquito bar is oppressive. A carpet 
 would soon be alive, and walk off the 
 floor of itself. Everj r shelter for an in- 
 sect is avoided. And yet, in spite of this 
 care, a bit of cake left upon a table will, 
 in a few minutes, swarm with ants; cock- 
 roaches, half a span long, trot through your 
 bed-chamber ; you cannot bathe without 
 finding spiders upon your clothes when 
 you require them again ; and scorpions 
 will wander up stairs, down stairs, and 
 in my lady’s chamber. They have ants 
 here which eat down houses ; others 
 so large that they kill chickens by attack- 
 ing them in the throat ; indeed, this little 
 insect, so much the favorite of moralists, 
 swarms here to that degree, that one who 
 had not the fear of Dr. Johnson before 
 his eyes, might find in the fact a reason 
 for calling Cuba the queen of the Ant- 
 hilles. Here we have the small taran- 
 tula, and another spider almost equally 
 venomous, whose huge and hideous body 
 is about two inches in diameter ; and al- 
 though the body of the scoi’pion is hardly 
 larger than a pigeon’s egg, and its bite very 
 rarely fatal, still they have an unpleasant 
 way of seeking shelter in boots and shoes, 
 and resenting with spirit any interference 
 with their domiciliary arrangements. As 
 to other insects of a more domestic charac- 
 ter — household Macbeths, who murder 
 sleep — I can say nothing. It was my 
 good fortune to rest with undisturbed 
 slumbers. One room escaped our atten- 
 tion as we passed from the staircase to 
 the drawing-room, for our backs were to- 
 ward it. It is a small oratory, which 
 opens upon the platform at the head of 
 the stairs. The door is richly carved and 
 gilt, as is the little altar ; over which is a 
 well-colored virgin and child by some 
 imitator of Murillo. But the house is in 
 the hands of heretics now, and the ora- 
 tory is made a place for the safe-keeping 
 of valuable articles ; among which, lies a 
 set of harness loaded down with silver. 
 
 The houses in Havana are never more 
 
 [March 
 
 than two stories high, and, as we before 
 remarked, some of the finest are but one. 
 The internal arrangements of these cor- 
 respond very nearly to those of their lof- 
 tier companions ; the single floor in these 
 being divided as the second is in those. 
 As the drawing-room is always upon the 
 street, and as that is always so narrow, 
 the ponderous gratings which in these 
 single-storied houses are necessary for the 
 protection, — not of the window sashes, 
 for there are none, but of the inmates, — 
 seem to be made for their safe-keeping, 
 rather than their comfort. The effect of 
 these huge bars of iron bowed before win- 
 dows which pierce massive walls, is very 
 strange and somewhat unpleasant. They 
 seem very inconsistent with the fight 
 color and otherwise gay appearance of 
 the buildings they protect. In passing 
 through one narrow street, the houses in 
 which are chiefly of this structure, it 
 seemed to me as if I were walking in a 
 city of pea-green prisons. But the peni- 
 tentiary look of these houses is not the 
 most remarkable aspect which they pre- 
 sent to the European or American visitor. 
 Their inhabitants, when occupying the 
 front rooms, seem to be living in the very 
 street ; and as far as privacy is concerned, 
 they might as well do so. It must be 
 remembered that the causeway is not 
 wide enough for two persons to stand up- 
 on it abreast, that the wall of the house 
 is invariably flush with the street, and 
 that two, or three, or four huge windows 
 open to the ground from the drawing- 
 room. Fancy yourself, then, taking an 
 evening stroll through the city. You 
 come at every step upon an open window, 
 through which it is impossible that you 
 should not see the innermost recesses of 
 the lighted room. There is the little slip- 
 per, which the dark-eyed daughter of the 
 house let lazily drop from her pretty foot 
 as she lay upon the cane-bottomed sofa, 
 eating dulces after dinner. Upon the ta- 
 ble in yonder corner, is a small package 
 of paper cigaritos in most annoying prox- 
 imity to a fan and a black mantilla. The 
 senoriia who dropped the slipper, sits 
 now in one of the double rows of rocking- 
 chairs which stretch away from the win- 
 dow, her little foot, bare of stocking as 
 well as shoe ; and the senora who will 
 take up the cigaritos sits opposite. Both 
 are rocking as if they were paid at so 
 much the vibration, while they gaze list- 
 lessly but steadily into the street. If 
 you are fresh from the North, and reason- 
 ably modest about intruding upon other 
 people’s privacy, you Mill be somewhat 
 startled at thus finding yourself made one 
 of the family, M'hether you will or no. 
 But if you show r your surprise, j r ou will 
 
How they Live in Havana. 
 
 291 
 
 1853.] 
 
 be looked upon as ignorant or low bred ; 
 and should you turn away your head, the 
 ladies will think you mean to slight them. 
 If you wish to appear but civil, you should 
 look respectfully but admiringly upon the 
 senorita, as long as your pace leaves her 
 within your sight. If you would be gal- 
 lant, you may stop, lift your hat, and tell 
 her in your very best Castilian that you 
 cast yourself at her adorable little feet ; 
 and she will look pleased, and the sehora 
 will thank you and forgive the omission 
 of listed in your speech. The least you 
 can do is to go on about your business, as 
 if your walk were by the side of a dead 
 wall. It seems, indeed, very droll, to pass 
 house after house, and looking into all as 
 if you stood in the very room, see the 
 family, more or less numerously repre- 
 sented, sitting in the eternal cane-bot- 
 tomed Boston-rockers, in two rows which 
 stretch at right angles with the street, 
 from each side of the window far into 
 the apartment, and all rocking as if a 
 vibratory motion were a penance en- 
 joined for original sin. This is the way 
 in which the Habaneros pass their eve- 
 nings. But, if you venture on compli- 
 ment, although the lady should have no 
 watchful duena near, do not presume 
 upon the gracious manner in which your 
 gallantry is received, or even acknow- 
 ledged ; else, some fine evening as you pass 
 the Campo Marts, you may feel the 
 point of a stiletto between your ribs. If 
 the lady wait for you to address her, be 
 circumspect, let her manner be as gracious 
 as it may ; but if she begin the conversa- 
 tion, you may step in and finish it, and 
 the manner of your reception will depend 
 entirely upon your tact, the reasonable- 
 ness of your expectations, and the kind- 
 ness of her disposition. 
 
 You live at Havana, thus : You rise 
 at six o'clock ; to remain longer in bed 
 would be to sacrifice the pleasantest part 
 of the day. While you are dressing, a 
 slave brings you coffee, which is drunk 
 here three times a day. Drink it, even if 
 you never drank it at home. Here, it is 
 in fact not the beverage it is there, for 
 you are not the same man. It is always 
 safe, and generally agreeable, to assume 
 the habits of life of the country in which 
 you find yourself. Your coffee will be 
 delicious, with but one drawback : its de- 
 licate aromatic flavor is deteriorated, vul- 
 garized, by the sugar. Refined sugar is 
 unknown in Cuba, where the best that is 
 used has a coarse, impure taste, which 
 you would gladly exchange for the flavor 
 of the syrup in which, at home, you dip 
 your double slice of buttered buckwheat 
 cake. You wonder that the Habaneros 
 do not refine their sugar. If you begin 
 
 the day thus wondering, you will go 
 through it in a state of amazement. The 
 Habaneros do nothing that they can do 
 without doing. Your coffee and your 
 toilet finished, you have your time till 
 nine o’clock before you. All Havana 
 breakfasts at nine o’clock. Before that 
 hour, a good portion of the day’s business 
 is done, and the Habanero, who was pro- 
 bably in his office by six o’clock, goes 
 home to breakfast, as we go home to din- 
 ner. The ladies go to Mass about half-past 
 seven o’clock. At any of the numerous 
 churches, you may always, at this hour, 
 find a score of them upon their knees near 
 the altar. As you walk around and look 
 at the vile daubs of pictures, and the bones 
 and teeth of saints preserved in alcohol, 
 like two-headed snakes in an apothecary’s 
 shop, these devout ladies will gaze modest- 
 ly, but calmly at you, with great black 
 eyes, and give their little hands such a 
 piquant flirt, as they tell their beads, that 
 you cannot avoid admiring their dimpled 
 prettiness, and the contrast between them 
 and the black dress which every Havanese 
 lady of position wears at church. On or- 
 dinary and saints’ days, which occur once 
 or twice a week, the attendance is much 
 more numerous; and on these occasions, 
 the young gallants of the city go, — not to 
 church ; for in Havana, no gentleman, un- 
 less he is a priest, goes to church, — but to 
 the church doors, round which, as Mass is 
 about finished, they cluster, and as the la- 
 dies come out, they hand them to their 
 volantes. This is a courtsey which, in 
 Havana, any gentleman may offer any 
 lady. You encounter a lady whom you 
 have never seen before, coming from her 
 own house, from a church, or a shop, and 
 about to step into her volante; you doff 
 your hat, present your hand, conduct her 
 to her seat, she thanks you graciously, 
 and both of you go your ways, feeling the 
 happier for the service rendered and the ac- 
 knowledgment made. A lady in Havana 
 takes every proffered courtesy kindly, and 
 thanks you for it. She does not stalk up 
 to your seat in public places, and, with 
 sulky doggedness, silently demand that 
 }' ou should give up to her what you have 
 paid for and secured, and after } r ou have 
 given it, take no more notice of you than 
 if you were a cur which had been driven 
 from her path. She does not, if you offer 
 your hand or your arm to assist her. 
 shrink within herself, and look at you as 
 if you were a leper or a branded felon, 
 because you have never been ‘introduced.’ 
 If she be pretty and you tell her so, she 
 thanks you for admiring her ; and I have 
 yet to learn that this disposition on her part 
 lessens her pleasure in receiving attention 
 and admiration, or yours, in giving it. 
 
292 
 
 How they Live in Havana. 
 
 Breakfast is almost as important a meal 
 with the Habanero, as dinner. It is hearty : 
 decidedly d la fourchette, almost d la 
 fourche with some of the merchants who 
 have, for three hours before it, been on 
 the wharf: — of which, more anon. In- 
 deed, invitations to breakfast are quite as 
 common as invitations to dinner ; and the 
 ordinary breakfast table, save in the ab- 
 sence of preliminary soup, and supple- 
 mental dessert, differs little from the or- 
 dinary dinner table. Before breakfast, is 
 the proper time to eat oranges, which is 
 done thus. The skin is pared off with a 
 sharp, rough-edged knife, leaving a thin 
 layer of the white leathery underskin still 
 around the fruit. A small slice is then 
 cut from one end, and the pulp is sucked 
 from the incision ; successive slices being 
 removed as the process advances. It is 
 well to remember this. Those who have 
 eaten an orange in this way, will never 
 eat one in any other. Only the thick- 
 skinned Havana fuit, however, can support 
 the operation. An orange or two, rather 
 gives zest to the appetite for breakfast, 
 and, although by nine o’clock it is oppres- 
 sively hot, in spite of the land breeze 
 which has sprung up, you look at the well 
 loaded table with desiring eyes. On it 
 you will find fish, poultry, fried eggs, 
 ragouts, chops, plaintains deliciously 
 stewed in wine and jelly, as well as roast- 
 ed whole and fried in slices, yams, rice 
 and rolls. The native rice has a rich, 
 sweet flavor, which is far superior to that 
 of the product of our Southern States. It 
 is darker and smaller grained. Rolls are 
 the only form in which bread appears ; 
 and this staff of life with us, is one of the 
 luxuries of a Havanese table. Almost 
 every barrel of flour used on the island is 
 brought from Spain, as the import duty 
 on American flour is nine dollars a barrel. 
 With the poorer classes, rice takes the 
 place of wheaten flour, and plantains an- 
 swer the purpose of all other vegetables. 
 There is yet another occupant of the break- 
 fast table which finds great favor with all 
 natives and many foreigners : it is the 
 aguacate. or alligator pear. It is some- 
 what of the shape, and generally, three or 
 four times the size of an ordinary pear. 
 Its outer skin is tough, and of a bright 
 green color; in the centre is a smooth 
 stone, about as large in proportion as that 
 of a peach ; between the two is a soft 
 oleaginous substance which is made into 
 a salad, or eaten ‘neat,’ with expressions 
 of ecstatic pleasure by those who were 
 born to the taste or have acquired it. As 
 for me, my attempts to eat it only pro- 
 duced disgust. Its taste, to the uninitiated, 
 can be likened to nothing else than that 
 of tallow faintly sweetened, about to that 
 
 [March 
 
 vague indefinite degree to which the par- 
 simonious hand of the ordinary genteel 
 boarding-house keeper sugars the pale, 
 watery custards which grace the end of her 
 Sunday dinner. Fasting and prayer might 
 beget a relish for this greasy fruit ; but I 
 can conceive no other mode of attaining 
 that gastronomic virtue. 
 
 At breakfast, no coffee or tea is offered ; 
 but at every other plate stands a bottle 
 of red Bordeaux or Catalonian wine, of 
 which all partake as freely as if it were 
 water. Do you shrink from drinking it 
 so early in the day, or from drinking it at 
 all? You are unwise. Take it, asking 
 no questions, as you did with the coffee 
 three hours ago. Though at the North, 
 such potations at such an hour would 
 make your eyes ache and your head swim, 
 here you will feel from them only benefi- 
 cial effects ; or, more correctly, will know 
 nothing of them, save to feel their want if 
 you should omit them. After breakfast, 
 coffee comes again ; over which, it is the 
 fashion to sit and chat awhile, as we do 
 over our after-dinner wine. Drink that 
 too “ for the stomach’s sake.” 
 
 The stranger is told that he should 
 house himself in Havana, between ten 
 o’clock in the morning, and four in the af- 
 ternoon ; and in the summer it will be well 
 for him to avoid the sun for about two 
 hours before and after midday. The heat, 
 though seeming at first not so scorching 
 as that of many a July day in the northern 
 cities of the Union, has a latent, penetrat- 
 ing power, which seems to wilt your brain 
 and dry up the marrow in your bones. 
 But in the autumn, winter, and spring, a 
 quiet walk may be safely enjoyed in the 
 shadow of the houses, whose close proxim- 
 ity to the street always gives grateful 
 shelter to some portion of it, save at mid- 
 day. The Habaneros themselves walk 
 their streets at all times. But do not 
 imagine that they locomote after the fash- 
 ion of an American in Broadway. A man 
 who should walk in Havana as most men 
 do in New-York, would be thought stark 
 mad. The shopkeepers would actually 
 get up from the boxes and bales upon 
 which they stretch themselves, waiting for 
 customers, and stare at him in silent 
 wonder. The Spaniards are decidedly not 
 ‘fast.’ They have a proverb which runs 
 in this wise, “ el que se apresura se muere, 
 y el que no. tanibien /” (he who hurries 
 dies, and he who does not, dies too.) This 
 is their rule of action — or inaction. In 
 this spirit they live and move, and have 
 their being : — that is, they live and have 
 their being without moving. As we leave 
 our hotel for a stroll, we see a score or so 
 of men, who seem also strolling. Not a 
 bit of it; they are going to business. 
 
1853.] 
 
 How they Live in Havana. 
 
 293 
 
 There is a strapping negress with fruit 
 for sale, which she carries on a board 
 upon her head. She strolls too ; her 
 laggard step beating the rhythm of her 
 drawling, nasal cry. She is hatless, shoe- 
 less, stockingless; less every thing, but 
 the one garment, which hangs half off 
 her bosom, all open at her back, and 
 reaches but little below the calf of her leg. 
 Do not pity her on this account. She has 
 all she feels the need of; more would be 
 superfluity. She is earning something 
 towards purchasing a lottery ticket which 
 may give her freedom ; and it is more than 
 likely that at home she has the means of 
 appearing on saints’ days in all the brave- 
 ry of clouds of cotton lace, glass beads, pink 
 shoes, and a fan. Look at her full, round 
 arms, polished shoulders and dimpled back. 
 Those are not the traits of physical wretch- 
 edness. See, she stops to speak to that 
 porter, who is carrying a box upon his 
 head, which seems as if it would press him 
 into the earth. His only garment is a 
 pair of trowsers, which reach from the 
 waist to the knee ; the sweat pours in 
 streams from off his broad, muscular back, 
 making it glisten in the sun like that of 
 a Hercules in bronze. But see his 
 merry grin of recognition. Pass slowly 
 by the pair, and you will see that their in- 
 terview is graced by a “ million of man- 
 ners.” He is dignified and deferential, 
 she pleased and gracious. Seilor and 
 Senorita, pass freely between these poor 
 burden bearers, and the slave assures the 
 slave that he is her devoted servant. They 
 part with compliment ; and, as they cannot 
 bow and curtsey, a wave of the hand, 
 which most actors might envy for its un- 
 affected grace ; and each toils on, the hap- 
 pier for the interview. Surely there are 
 lessons of content and courtesy to be 
 learned from a Cuban slave. But hardly 
 have they parted, when one of them is 
 made to feel the bitterness of bondage un- 
 der tyrants. A little officer of the civil 
 guard turns a corner suddenly upon the 
 porter : — little officers of the civil guard 
 are always turning corners suddenly in 
 Havana, so are little officers and little 
 privates of infantry, cavalry, and artillery ; 
 the place swarms with them ; — this one 
 comes suddenly upon the poor porter, 
 who, toiling along upon the narrow cause- 
 way, cannot give place so quickly as his 
 officership thinks is due to his dignity, and 
 he therefore whips out his sword and 
 strikes the poor slave two or three blows 
 with the flat of it, curses him, and sending 
 the weapon home in the sheath with a 
 valorous clang, passes on with the air of a 
 man who has nobly sustained his position. 
 It makes one’s fingers tingle and produces 
 an itching sensation in the toe of one’s 
 
 boot, to see outrages like this perpetrated, 
 as they hourly are in Havana ; and it is 
 but justice to the Spaniards to say, that 
 they do not confine such demonstrations 
 to the slaves, but treat any one of their 
 own countrymen, particularly any creole, 
 who chances to be in custody, for a real 
 or fancied offence, in exactly the same way. 
 
 Yonder comes a body of men of wretch- 
 ed exterior. They walk in pairs ; and the 
 clank of iron as they step, the soldiers 
 who lead and follow the column, tell us 
 that they are galley slaves ; men condemn- 
 ed for civil or political offences to the pre- 
 sidio. They eat just enough to keep 
 them alive ; they sleep upon the stones ; 
 they work as hard as Spaniards can be 
 made to work ; he is happy among them 
 who possesses an old cotton handker- 
 chief with which he can wind his gyves 
 so that they may not gall him ; it makes 
 one heart-sick to look upon them; and 
 yet they have one comfort, yes, a luxury. 
 In one way or another, past conjecture, 
 they manage to get money enough to buy 
 cigars, and the enjoyment is not denied 
 them. A Spaniard knows no crime so 
 black that it should be visited by the de- 
 privation of tobacco. The convict who is 
 deprived of the ordinary comforts or even 
 the necessities of life, may enjoy his cigar, 
 if he can beg or borrow it : if he stole it, 
 the offence would be regarded as venial. 
 At the doorway of most of the shops hang 
 little sheet-iron boxes filled with lighted 
 coals, at which the passers by may light 
 cigars ; and on the newel post of the balus- 
 trade of the staircase of every house 
 stands a small chafing-dish for the same 
 purpose. Fire for his cigar is the only 
 thing for which a Spaniard does not think 
 it necessary to ask and thank with cere- 
 monious courtesy. If he have permitted 
 his cigar to go out, he steps up to the 
 first man he meets, nobleman or galley 
 slave as the case may be, and the latter 
 silently hands his smoking weed — for it 
 is impossible that two Spaniards should 
 meet and not have one lighted cigar be- 
 tween them — the light obtained, the 
 lightee returns the cigar to the lightor in 
 silence. A short and suddenly checked 
 motion of the hand as the cigar is extend- 
 ed is the only acknowledgment of the 
 courtesy ; this is never omitted, how- 
 ever, even when the person obliged has 
 turned away his head to resume an ab- 
 sorbing conversation. Women smoke as 
 well as men ; but it is becoming bad ton 
 for the younger ladies of position to use 
 tobacco ; and though in a full railroad car 
 I have seen every person, man, woman 
 and child, including the American conduc- 
 tor, smoking, except myself ; it was evident 
 that none of the women were of the higher 
 
294 
 
 How they Live in Havana. 
 
 [March 
 
 classes. To placard ‘‘No smoking al- 
 lowed,” and enforce it, would ruin the road. 
 
 During the day. ladies are rarely or 
 never seen in the streets of Havana ; and 
 never walking, unless perchance you catch 
 a glimpse of one with a mantilla thrown 
 over her head and using her fan as a pa- 
 rasol, while she trips along to have a bit 
 of gossip with her next neighbor. The 
 men are not noteworthy in appearance, 
 save for their swarthiness and their sloth- 
 ful movements. The consequence is a 
 striking incongruity in appearance between 
 the strange, fantastic, Eastern air of the 
 city, and the very proper and Parisian 
 looking people who inhabit it. The vo- 
 lantes and the caleseros alone have an 
 air which would be out of place in any 
 other city. The volante or quitrin is ex- 
 actly like a large gig, with the body in 
 front of the huge wheels, and resting upon 
 the shafts between the wheels and the 
 saddle. It is drawn by one horse, or two, 
 or three, always harnessed abreast. It is 
 built for two persons ; but it is common 
 to see three fat Spanish women seated in 
 one, especially round the Grand Plaza, 
 and upon the Paseo. The calesero 
 mounts postilion-wise upon the horse. 
 His dress consists of a bright cloth or vel- 
 vet jacket, richly trimmed with lace, in 
 which the arms of his master are often 
 worked, a laced hat with a cockade, and 
 white linen trowsers, over which enormous 
 boot-legs rise almost to his hips. His 
 lace is gold, he wears massive silver spurs 
 of formidable dimensions, and his boot- 
 legs are covered with buckles and etceteras 
 of the same material. He delights in a 
 gayly-embroidered cambric handkerchief, 
 which he is always sure to display to the 
 best advantage from the side pocket of his 
 jacket. But amid all this magnificence, 
 this carrying about of bullion, this war- 
 like encasement of cucumber shins in boot- 
 legs, the poor blackey’s feet are bare, at 
 least on the top. His boot-legs have no 
 feet. They are magnificent shams, strap- 
 ped over his trowsers. He wears low-cut 
 shoes perhaps, but no stockings, and be- 
 tween the edge of the shoe and the termi- 
 nation of his boot, is six inches by four 
 of unmitigated ebony foot. Often enough 
 he is without shoes as well as stockings ; 
 and yet, unless he is a public calesero , 
 and a very unsuccessful one at that, he 
 wears his stupendous boot-legs. The 
 horses are small and have very little ac- 
 tion ; and as their long tails are plaited 
 tightly and looped up to the saddle, to 
 prevent them from swashing about the 
 liquid mud which floods the streets when 
 there is rain, they have a very mean and 
 rat-like appearance. They are, however, 
 not without spirit and a power of endur- 
 
 ance. American horses are a luxury in- 
 dulged in onl)- by the wealthiest. At the 
 livery-stables the hire of a volante with 
 an American horse is nearly twice as much 
 as that of one with a horse of the country. 
 The jockeys give them a name which 
 means ‘ horses which hold up their heads.’ 
 It is not strange that an upright carriage 
 of the head in man or beast should strike 
 a Cuban Spaniard as a peculiarity. 
 
 It is just the time now to eat a pine ; and 
 luckily here is the Dominica , the cafe 
 which figured so largely in the exagger- 
 ated accounts of indignities ottered to 
 the remains of the misguided fifty who 
 were shot under the walls of Fort A tares. 
 It is a large building, of a single story, 
 opening on three sides through wide and 
 lofty arches upon an inner court, in the 
 midst of which is a fountain. Its single 
 floor is of tesselated marble. The pine 
 which the waiter placed before us so 
 courteously, and which it is almost need- 
 less to say we eat by tearing it in pieces 
 with a silver fork, is truly excellent, but not 
 so much more luscious than some which we 
 remember to have eaten at the North, as 
 we expected to find it. The truth is, that 
 occasionally as fine a pine can be procured 
 in New-York as the market of Havana will 
 ordinarily afford ; but there such a pine 
 costs six shillings, and is rarely seen ; here 
 it may be had at any time for six cents. 
 
 There are few visitants to this famous 
 cafe at this time of day, and it is not sur- 
 prising that ev- 
 ery head should 
 be raised as yon- 
 der tall, slov- 
 enly figure en- 
 ters. l ’Los Cal- 
 if omianos /” is 
 passed around. 
 
 True enough, 
 he is one of the 
 same tribe by 
 which we were 
 encountered ere 
 we had reached 
 the shore. A 
 steamer arrived 
 this morning 
 from Chagres, 
 and as that from 
 New-York is 
 not expected 
 until to-mor- 
 row, a hundred 
 and fifty or two 
 hundred of 
 
 these Jasons are ^ ^ 
 
 turned loose up- r- 
 
 on the city. 
 
 Singly, in pairs, and in companies they 
 rove about the place, utterly indifferent 
 
1853.] 
 
 How they Live in Havana. 
 
 295 
 
 as to their forlorn appearance, and with 
 an ill-disguised contempt for the peo- 
 ple around them, which increases every 
 hour. This one, as he stands for a mo- 
 ment alone on the threshold of the door, 
 his hands thrust deeply into the pock- 
 ets of his baggy sack-coat ; his trow- 
 sers threatening to tumble in a heap 
 about his heels ; his boots virgin of black- 
 ing, but not of Chagres mud, and turned 
 up at the toes like the front of a wood- 
 sled ; his matted beard hiding his mouth, 
 but not its sneer; his hat so shapeless 
 and so greasy that it is fit only for the 
 use of the soap-boiler, — as he stands thus, 
 he looks with the quiet unconcern of na- 
 tive independence and conscious wealth,— 
 for ten thousand dollars is wealth to him, 
 — upon the people who regard him as lit- 
 tle better than a pirate and an ogre. 
 Catch him eating pines and ices ! He 
 comes in to ‘ liquor and regretting that 
 none of his companions were with him 
 when he stumbled unexpectedly upon this 
 ‘bar-room,’ he whets his thirst, while 
 awaiting their arrival, by a slight preli- 
 minary potation, consisting of a quarter 
 of a pint of brandy and two tablcspoon- 
 fuls of water. The excellent quality of 
 the spirit tends somewhat to elevate the 
 country in his estimation ; and wiping his 
 mouth with the back of his hand, he turns 
 around with a complacent smile, and re- 
 sumes his bold scrutiny of the other visit- 
 ants of the place ; not seeking to sup- 
 press a broad grin as he notices many of 
 them eating thin slices of crisp cake, which 
 they dip daintily into 
 the huge tumblers of 
 lemonade from which 
 they occasionally sip a 
 little of the refreshing 
 liquid with a spoon, or 
 suck it through a sil- 
 ver tube. Though in ap- 
 pearance he is a fair type 
 of the Californian, as he 
 is known in the south 
 and west, there are occa- 
 sional varieties of the ge- 
 nus which differ from 
 him materially. Look 
 through one of the doors 
 into the street, and see 
 that pair, one of whom, 
 not unlike our first ac- 
 quaintance, stands star- 
 ing at some object new 
 to him. His companion 
 differs from him equally 
 in manner and in dress. 
 
 He wears a cutaway coat, 
 a waistcoat, a cravat ; he 
 has blacked his boots ; 
 and his trowsers, which 
 
 once were black, are thrust into them only 
 because the bottom rims are ragged. More 
 wonderful than all, he wears a tolerably 
 clean shirt, kept doubtless to provide against 
 a contingency, and put on in honor of the 
 ladies he vainly expected to meet in Ha- 
 vana. He is evidently a city man. His 
 beard is reduced to a moustache and a 
 peaked tuft upon his chin. He wears 
 a cap which mayhap was bought at Ge- 
 nin’s, and carries a well preserved um- 
 brella under his arm. He thinks it ‘ un- 
 genteel ’ to stare ; and with folded arms 
 he stalks on in dignified propriety, while 
 the other satisfies his curiosity. He is 
 evidently some young lawyer or mer- 
 chant’s clerk, who was more devoted to 
 his moustache and the opera than to 
 clients or customers, and who foolishly' 
 thought he could make that fortune in 
 California which did not ‘ turn up ’ ready 
 made at home. He has failed ; but had 
 he succeeded in his wishes, his success 
 would have been of little service to him. 
 Ready-made fortunes, like ready-made 
 clothes, rarely fit those who get them. 
 
 By this time the place seems to swarm 
 with Californians. The Spaniards begin 
 to entertain fears that they may hold a 
 mass meeting on the Grand Plaza, and 
 organize a revolution. They pervade the 
 city, and as they are bent on pleasure and 
 have very little coined money, you may 
 see them in the silver-plate shops and the 
 exchange offices selling gold dust. They' 
 drive a sharp bargain, and sell only as 
 much as they must part with to supply 
 
[March 
 
 296 
 
 How they Live in Havana. 
 
 their present need ; for 
 the government prevents 
 the exportation of gold 
 by giving the ounce (dou- 
 bloon), which is actually 
 worth but sixteen dollars, 
 the legal value of seven- 
 teen. I remember one 
 of them, thin-faced, with 
 straight yellow beard and 
 hair ; a fellow like Fal- 
 staff’s friend J ustice 
 Shallow, t; so forlorn that 
 his dimensions to any 
 thick sight were invinci- 
 ble.” He stood listlessly 
 behind two others who 
 were selling dust to an 
 old Spaniard, who took 
 no notice of him until he 
 found that his compan- 
 ions turned continually 
 around to consult him, 
 for he was the sharpest 
 and the richest of the 
 party. In spite of the 
 miscellaneous condition 
 of their wardrobes, these 
 men have a certain manliness of man- 
 ner, which contrasts favorably with the air 
 of those around them, and which, aided 
 not a little by the full growth of that 
 manly ornament, the beard, makes them 
 not unpleasing objects of contemplation, — 
 at a distance. 
 
 Having put money in their purses, their 
 first desire after “ a drink all round,” is 
 for a drive. They have a contempt for 
 the volante, which they call “ a damned 
 parson’s gig with the wheels behind.” 
 Some of them are obliged to take up with 
 the despised vehicle ; but as many as can, 
 get into ail old barouche, which for years 
 has been getting mouldy in some out-of- 
 the-way stable. There are but three oth- 
 er four-wheeled vehicles in the city, to 
 wit, the state carriages of the Captain 
 General and of a foreign dignitary ; and 
 after being reluctantly convinced that nei- 
 ther of those gentlemen would “ hire out ” 
 their carriages, half a dozen of our Cali- 
 fornian friends take this, and sitting in it 
 and out of it in all possible and impossi- 
 ble attitudes of nonchalance, they drive 
 about the town and the suburbs, through 
 the pascos, to the Bishop’s Garden ; ev- 
 erywhere but to the baths ; not neglecting 
 to stop and drink at every other posada, 
 and make themselves fit subjects for the 
 cholera as they go up the Mississippi. 
 
 Every body dines in Havana at three 
 o’clock. There is nothing remarkable at 
 dinner, except that the fish, though firm, 
 is insipid, and the beef dark-colored, and 
 of a strong flavor. Fish in great variety 
 
 and abundance are to be found in the fish 
 market of Havana, of which, till lately, 
 Sefior Marty, the manager of the opera, 
 had the entire possession, by monopoly. 
 But all the varieties are almost equally 
 tasteless. This is accounted for by some, 
 from the fact that all the fish for Havana 
 are taken upon the coral reefs, the lime in 
 which has this effect upon them. How 
 much of a reason this may be, I will not 
 pretend to say ; but I have remarked that 
 trout, the highest flavored of all fish, are 
 never found in a brook which flows over 
 lime-stone rocks. Beef always must re- 
 main bad in Havana, until the Cubans 
 are taught how to raise it and how to 
 butcher it. It is ill-fed, over-driven, im- 
 properly killed, and instead of being 
 divided into proper joints, is cut into strips, 
 with the grain. There are one or two 
 butchers, however, who cut joints for the 
 few American and English tables in the 
 city. Coffee concludes dinner ; after which 
 no Habanero does any thing but go to the 
 paseo, the grand plaza, the theatre, the 
 cafe or a cock-fight. 
 
 On Sundays and saints’ days, the ladies 
 drive upon the paseo Isabella II., for an 
 hour and a half before sundown. They 
 go in full dress, and without hats: — no 
 lady in Havana ever wears a hat, except 
 some person of high fashion and fortune 
 who may wear a veiy costly one in a 
 ball-room. Two always, and sometimes 
 three, occupy one volante ; but it is not the 
 custom for a gentleman to share the seat 
 with a lady. The volantes thus filled, 
 
1853 .] 
 
 How they Live in Havana. 
 
 297 
 
 and with their tops thrown down, pass 
 slowly up one, and down another, of the 
 long avenues of the paseo, which are some- 
 times so full, that the checking of one 
 horse stops the whole line. The gentle- 
 men walk at the sides, or crowd together 
 at the ends of the avenues, where they 
 scrutinize the ladies as they pass, without 
 reserve. Should one admire matron or 
 maid, he tells his admiration, and his 
 avowal is graciously received. This ge- 
 neral custom of driving in full dress, af- 
 fords continual opportunities to judge of 
 the pretensions of the fair Habaneros to 
 beauty. I became reluctantly convinced 
 that personal charms are rare among 
 them, especially in the higher classes. I 
 saw but one of gentle blood, and but three 
 or four among the middle class, who would 
 be made the marks for opera glasses in 
 New-York. The ladies, Creoles and Span- 
 iards, generally have bright black eyes, 
 and dark glossy hair, but the mouth is apt 
 to be large and heavy, and the eyes are 
 rarely expressive or finely formed. Their 
 figures incline too often to excessive ful- 
 ness or its opposite. Their hands and 
 feet are small ; but they spoil the appear- 
 ance of the latter by wearing shoes which 
 are too short, by which they are made to 
 look clubbed and ungraceful. They dress 
 more hideously than it is possible to con- 
 ceive. Their fashions are, of course, Pa- 
 risian ; but their combinations of colors 
 would drive a French modiste mad. An 
 orange-colored robe with maroon flounces, 
 or the same flounces upon a green robe, 
 or a French gray robe, with rose-colored 
 flounces, are not uncommon. Their fans 
 are magnificent, and it is needless to say 
 what an important part of the female pa- 
 
 raphernalia they are here, as in Spain. 
 Some ladies have a hundred, and more. 
 
 On two or three evenings a week, one of 
 the regimental bands plays in the Grand 
 Plaza, before the Palace. At this time 
 the square is surrounded with a double 
 row of volantes filled with ladies in full 
 dress. Gentlemen walk in the square and 
 pay their respects to such of their fair 
 friends as they may recognize. This an- 
 swers the purpose of our evening visits. 
 Society, as we understand it, does not 
 exist in Havana. Set balls and fetes, the 
 paseo , the Grand Pldza, and the theatre, 
 take its place. The music over, the ladies 
 drive home, and soon the streets are al- 
 most deserted. At half-past eight o’clock 
 the watchmen make their appearance. 
 Each one is armed with a lance, a long 
 knife, and a pair of pistols, and carries a 
 lantern ; and thus they bristle through 
 the city, blowing a whistle, and calling the 
 time and the weather at every half hour. 
 Their orders are “ to comprehend all va- 
 grom men,” and they are not slow to obey 
 them. The police of the city, especially 
 at night, is very rigid, and any man in the 
 street after ten o’clock, is liable to be called 
 to an account. This, among other things 
 about the place, smacks of antiquity; 
 and as you are dozing off into your first 
 sleep and beginning to think uncertain 
 thoughts, the long drawn nasal cry of the 
 watchmen will mingle with your fancies, 
 and take you back perchance, in dreams, 
 to Messina, and Dogberry , who had “two 
 coats and every thing handsome,” and 
 Verges, who was “ as honest as any man 
 who was no honester than he ; ” and to 
 that soldierly bachelor Benedick , and the 
 lady Beatrice , who loved him from the 
 
298 
 
 How they Live in Havana. 
 
 beginning, even while she jeered and 
 flouted him; and to gentle Hero , “done to 
 death by slanderous tongues : ” and if it 
 should be so, you will never patiently see 
 
 [March 
 
 the play played out again, even though 
 Ellen Tree were Beatrice, Wallack Bene- 
 dick, and Burton Dogberry. One such 
 ideal vision kills stage effect for ever. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 We have received from an esteemed correspondent, the following communication of interesting facts, 
 relating to the building known in Havana as ‘ The Chapel of Columbus’ first Mass,’ which was alluded to in 
 our last number. We were fully aware of the objections which he urges against the supposition that Columbus 
 heard Mass upon the site of this chapel ; and we stated explicitly, as our correspondent quotes, that that event took 
 place “ according to tradition,” only. To speak of the Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem, as standing, accord- 
 ing to tradition, upon the spot where Christ was born, even when we know that such is not the case, is not to 
 claim credit for the tradition. The seiba tree “became sterile ” long ago ; but its trunk is said, doubtless erro- 
 neously, to have been standing within the memory of living inhabitants of Havana, The monument described 
 by our correspondent, stands a little more than half-way between the gate and the entrance to the building. 
 G. P. has our thanks for the interesting inscriptions, copies of which we did not possess. 
 
 To the Editor of Putnam's Monthly, 
 
 Sir : — I have been much gratified by a perusal of 11 A Glance at Havana,” in the February number of your 
 “ Monthly,” — a very correct idea being given of both the place and people. There is one statement, however, 
 which, although the traditions of the city may afford some foundation for it, is not historically correct ; and as 
 I do not think your contributor would desire to have it remain uncontradicted on the pages of a magazine, 
 which, hereafter, I trust, will be recognized as authority upon many subjects, I would beg leave to notico it. 
 
 The statement referred to is contained in the following passage : 
 
 “* * * * Another minute’s walk brings us to the chapel built upon the spot, where, according to tradi- 
 tion, Columbus first heard mass upon the island. This is a very small Grecian building, standing at the 
 end of a court-yard, about one hundred feet in depth, the entrance to which is through a lofty gateway, sur- 
 mounted with the royal arms of Spain, surrounded with the ever-present inscription. “ Siempre feal isla de 
 Cuba." The tree, under which the temporary altar was said to have been raised by the discoverer, was 
 standing not 7nany years since, but fell in one of the terrible hurricanes which sometimes enliven the torpor 
 of tropical life. The chapel is opened to the public but once a year, and then with great solemnity.” 
 
 Now, as Columbus died in 1506, and Havana was not founded until 1519, his performance of Mass upon the 
 spot would be rather questionable, independent of proof that he did not visit that part of the coast, and that 
 the structures referred to were not intended to commemorate such an event. 
 
 The chapel, to which allusion is made, was erected about the year 1827, and within it are two pictures, of 
 large size, by some modern artist; one of them representing the celebration of the first Mass, and the other, the 
 meeting of the first Cabildo (congress or local council), held on the site of the present city. As stated in the 
 magazine, the court and chapel are rarely open to visitors, except by special permission, but more frequently 
 than once a year. Had access been obtained by your contributor, he would have found the following inscrip- 
 tion in Spanish, upon its front : — 
 
 “In the reign of Ferdinand VII. — Don Francisco Dionisio Vives being President and Governor — loyal 
 Havana, religious and civil, erected this simple monument, decorating the spot where, in the year 1519, tho 
 first Mass and Cabildo were celebrated. The Bishop, Don John Joseph Dias de Espada, solemnized that 
 grand sacrifice.” 
 
 In front of the chapel stands (I use the present tense, presuming it to be still there, although it is not men- 
 tioned by your contributor), a white monumental column (brick stuccoed I think), standing on a base of the 
 island stone, of which you have here a representation, of older date, but repaired and improved when the 
 chapel was erected, which bears an inscription on each of its three faces. The first is in Spanish, which may 
 be thus translated : — 
 
 “The town or city of Havana was founded in the year 1515, and when removed from its first site to the 
 banks of this harbor in 1519, it is related that there was on this spot a frondiferons ( frondosa ) Seiba, under 
 which were celebrated the first Mass and the first Cabildo.' It remained until 1753, when it became sterile, 
 and to perpetuate its memory, our Catholic Monarch Ferdinand VI., then governing Spain, ordered this 
 stone to be erected. Field Marshal Don Francisco Cajigal de la Vega of the order of Santiago, Governor and 
 Captain General of this island. The Attorney General being Doctor Don Manuel Philip de Arango, LL. D., 
 A. D., 1754” 
 
 The second inscription is in Latin, and is of similar import The third is also in Latin, and refers to Colum- 
 bus, which accounts for the connection of his name with the place ; the following is a free translation : — 
 
 D. 0. M. 
 
 « The illustrious august hero, Christopher Columbus, renowned for skill in nautical affairs, having discov- 
 ered a new world, and subjected it to the crown of Castile, died at Valladolid on the 20th May, 1506. His 
 body, delivered to the care of the Carthusians of Spain, was transferred, at his own desire, to the Church of the 
 Metropolis of Hispaniola. Thence, when peace was concluded with the French Republic, his remains were 
 removed to the Cathedral of the Virgin Mary, of Conception : the chief religious orders being present at the 
 solemnities on the 19th January, 1795. The city of Havana, not unmindful of so great a benefactor, preserves 
 his precious remains until the great day. 
 
 “ The most illustrious Sehor Don Philip Joseph Tres-palacios being Bishop, and his Excellency, Don Lewis 
 de las Casas, Governor and Captain General.” 
 
 Very respectfully, yours. 
 
 G. P. 
 
SIMPKINS ON HIS BALDNESS. 
 
 Come listen, friends, the while I spin 
 A ditty of my cares ; 
 
 How years, like greyhounds, swift and thin, 
 Are hunting all my hairs. 
 
 I could uncover once, ’tis known, 
 
 With quite an easy air ; 
 
 But now my head has somehow grown 
 A harder thing to bare. 
 
 Like Alexander’s is my fate 
 Nay worse, for, ere I’m down, 
 
 My hairs, not wise enough to wait, 
 
 Fall out about my crown. 
 
 I strive my stormy soul to calm 
 With all the oils I see ; 
 
 Alas, not all Columbia’s Balm 
 Brings any balm to me ! 
 
 Galvanic remedies in vain 
 I’ve used to ease my care ; 
 
 They give me dreadful shocks of pain 
 But ne’er a shock of hair. 
 
 Tricopherous and Macassar fail ; 
 
 Each nostrum only tends 
 To point anew that ancient tale 
 The hair with many friends. 
 
 Though orthodoxy I’ve professed 
 Since I could bend a knee, 
 
 Yet now I wish myself possessed 
 Of every hair I see. 
 
 Nay, I have stranger things than that 
 To make your eyes grow big, — 
 
 Though a place-hunting Democrat 
 I’m turning to a wig. 
 
 On science once I used to spout 
 With zeal and satisfaction; 
 
 But now my top-piece makes me doubt 
 Capillary attraction. 
 
 Why, why resist, since time the foe 
 At all precautions mocks, 
 
 And, were I Hobbs himself, would go 
 And pick my strongest locks ? 
 
 Yea, what avails it to retire, 
 
 And shrink from sight appalled, 
 
 When, like a lost child by the crier, 
 Where’er I go I’m bald ? 
 
 Besides, although my head look odd, 
 
 The songs of many a skald are 
 About a Scandinavian god 
 Who certainly was Balldur. 
 
300 
 
 [March 
 
 BANCROFT. 
 
 History of the United States from the Discovery of the American Continent. By 
 George Bancroft. Voj.. V. pp. 459. Boston. 1852. 
 
 MORE congenial task was never given 
 to an artist, than the composition of 
 American history has been to Mr. Ban- 
 croft. If genius is subject to the law of 
 predestination, we should say that he was 
 born expressly for the fulfilment of this 
 work. At all events, he has made it his 
 peculiar mission ; he has engaged in it as 
 a chosen and favorite labor ; he has ga- 
 thered constant inspiration from his 
 theme ; and melted all that was harsh and 
 prosaic in its details into fluent and har- 
 monious beauty, by the warm glow of his 
 enthusiasm. Seldom has a work of liter- 
 ary art borne such an impress of the sen- 
 timent, in which it was conceived. Its 
 profound sincerity of thought, its faithful- 
 ness to the convictions from which it pro- 
 ceeds, its loyalty to the ideas with which 
 it identifies the action of Providence in the 
 progress of the ages, give a freshness and 
 vitality to its narrative, which we rarely 
 tind in philosophical histories. We venture 
 to believe that no other subject could pre- 
 sent such a powerful appeal to the sym- 
 pathies of the author ; and we are certain 
 that it is precisely the intellectual charac- 
 teristics which he possesses, that are best 
 adapted to develope the great theme in 
 all its grandeur and comprehensiveness. 
 
 The condition of American history, pre- 
 vious to the cultivation of the field by 
 Mr. Bancroft, afforded little promise of 
 brilliant success in its elaboration. Its 
 leading facts had been succinctly related. 
 Its annals had been recorded with di- 
 ligent minuteness. The principal dates 
 and incidents were familiar to every 
 schoolboy. The simple narratives of con- 
 temporary documents had been wrought 
 up into popular displays of festive elo- 
 quence. Poetry had thrown its enchant- 
 ments around the romantic features of 
 our colonial and revolutionary epochs. 
 But still ever}' thing was in a chaotic 
 state. No plastic spirit had shaped the 
 crude materials into the epic symmetry, 
 which forms the appropriate dress of 
 truth, as well as of fiction. No previous 
 writer had dreamed of the singular capa- 
 bilities of the subject. It had been regard- 
 ed only with the most superficial views. 
 The general principles involved in the de- 
 velopment of American civilization, had 
 never been investigated ; scarcely had 
 they occupied the attention of thinking 
 men. The time for that had not yet come. 
 Thus far. our history had been written 
 only by piecemeal ; and the sublime 
 
 unity, which pervaded its different ele- 
 ments, and connected it with the politics 
 and culture of Europe, was hardly sus- 
 pected ; much less was it unfolded in its 
 profound relations with the past and the 
 future. When Mr. Bancroft first an- 
 nounced his intention of writing the his- 
 tory of the United States, the plan was 
 received, as we have been told, with utter 
 indifference by eminent literary men whom 
 he consulted. They perceived that there 
 was already a plenty of isolated narra- 
 tives ; but they had no comprehension of 
 the philosophic unity which might be 
 given to the subject by the hand of a 
 master. It remained for the youthful and 
 ambitious scholar, fresh from historical 
 and philosophical studies under the influ- 
 ence of the best European culture, to 
 falsify their predictions, and enlarge the 
 sphere of their ideas, by the production 
 of a work combining originality, depth, 
 and picturesque beauty, to such a degree, 
 as at once to elevate it to the highest rank 
 in American literature. He has redeemed 
 the subject from the repulsive barrenness 
 of the mere annalist, connected its events 
 with the principles on which they depend, 
 evolved the universal laws which underlie 
 the special developments of history, 
 thrown around the fortunes of a few 
 struggling victims of oppression, the fasci- 
 nations of eloquence, seized upon the 
 imaginative elements in their story with 
 the alert fancy of a poet, and illustrated 
 their progress from dependence to free- 
 dom by the lights of a noble and sugges- 
 tive philosophy. 
 
 The adaptation of the subject to the 
 author, and of the author to the subject, 
 has been a singularly happy circumstance 
 in Mr. Bancroft’s literary career. Not 
 that he would have failed of distinction 
 in any department of intellectual effort, 
 to which he might have devoted his en- 
 ergies. lie possesses too choice and bril- 
 liant gifts of nature, not to have attained 
 an enviable eminence. Uniting a remark- 
 able versatility of thought with great ac- 
 tivity of temperament, he has exhibited 
 the qualities which insure the success of 
 the poet, the orator, the elegant essayist, 
 and the founder of philosophical systems. 
 But in no other sphere than that with 
 which his name has become identified, 
 could he have found such scope for the 
 exercise of his peculiar endowments. He 
 was the first writer to conceive of the 
 history of his country, as an integral 
 
Bancroft. 
 
 301 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 unit)’ ; and in this conception he has 
 opened “fresh fields and pastures new,” 
 converting the arid wastes of solitary 
 and unrelated events into scenes of living 
 and beautiful harmony. In this respect, 
 he enjoys the same felicity with our most 
 universally admired prose writer, Wash- 
 ington Irving. What Irving has done for 
 the local scenery of his native land, Ban- 
 croft has done for its history. Under the 
 magic touch of Irving, the picturesque 
 glories of the American streams and for- 
 ests have been revealed in lovelier en- 
 chantment, wedded to a thousand quaint 
 traditions, and crowned with a natural 
 home-like charm that appeals to the heart 
 no less than to the eye. In like manner, 
 Bancroft has invested familiar themes with 
 a new significance, combined the imagina- 
 tion with the memory in the retrospect of 
 the Past, adorned the deeds of our ances- 
 tors with the chaste coloring of historical 
 portraiture, and revived the fading me- 
 morials of our heroic age in a form of 
 permanent reality. We may say of both 
 these great writers, that they have been 
 equally fortunate in the moment of their 
 appearance on the scene of American let- 
 ters. Each had his destined work ; the 
 world into which they were born was 
 unoccupied ; a crowd of materials lay 
 open to their hand ; with the true instinct 
 of genius they recognized their advantage ; 
 and the signal success which they have 
 reaped, is no less due to the fortunate 
 accident of their position, than to the ac- 
 knowledged splendor of their endowments. 
 Such is often the apparently precarious 
 tenure of literary fame. We think it may 
 partly be explained by chronology — that 
 a few years earlier or a few years later, 
 would have changed the fate of the great- 
 est “ heirs of renown ” — forgetting that it 
 is the glorious privilege of genius to de- 
 tect the latent qualities of the time, to 
 discover the unshaped materials of poetry 
 and creative thought amidst the rubbish 
 of daily life, and, like the healing descent 
 of the angel, to call forth potent elements 
 of vitality from the stagnant pool of cus- 
 tom. No doubt the genius, both of Irv- 
 ing and Bancroft, is indebted to oppor- 
 tunity ; but how often has the same 
 opportunity been presented, with no an- 
 swering inspiration to turn it to account ! 
 
 The peculiar merit of Mr. Bancroft as a 
 historian, consists not in any one pre- 
 dominant characteristic, which designates 
 his mode of composition, but in the com- 
 pleteness and artistic proportion with 
 which he has constructed an organic whole 
 from a vast collection of materials. Re- 
 garded merely as a narrator, we cannot 
 assign him the highest rank. His style 
 is too elaborate for the graceful flow of 
 
 narrative writing. Each sentence is 
 fraught with a weighty meaning. In a 
 few lines, are often condensed the results 
 of extensive research. Chapters are 
 crowded into a paragraph. The connect- 
 ing links on which the charming play of 
 style so much depends, are wanting. The 
 well-rounded transitions, by which the 
 reader is gently transported from one 
 topic to another, without a sense of mental 
 fatigue, are seldom supplied, so that the 
 journey, instead of leading over a smooth 
 and facile road, takes us up a mountain 
 ascent, where a watchful eye and strong- 
 nerve are essential to progress. In the 
 pages of Bancroft we rarely find the sweet 
 and limpid flow of expression, which gives 
 such a seductive enchantment to the style 
 of Washington Irving; nor do they ever 
 exhibit the well-mannered diffuseness, the 
 soft, velvety evenness of surface, which 
 make the reading of Prescott an almost 
 voluptuous delight. But this defect in 
 narrative, is inherent in the plan of his 
 history. He aims at integral represen- 
 tation, rather than at a lucid but super- 
 ficial sketching of events. The attempt 
 to unfold the seminal idea of American 
 history, to portray the course of affairs 
 in their relations with the great world- 
 drama of the age, and to combine the 
 veracity of facts with the proportions of 
 epic unity, could hardly be carried into 
 effect within the limits of a smoothly 
 flowing narrative. 
 
 The first condition of good narrative, 
 however, Mr. Bancroft possesses in a most 
 eminent degree. His statements are 
 founded on thorough investigation. With a 
 strong disposition to generalize in theory — 
 the leading attribute of all philosophical 
 minds — he never indulges it, in the sphere 
 of facts. He never loses sight of minute 
 events and circumstances in a cloud of 
 generalizations. Practised in the exam- 
 ination of historical evidence, he brings a 
 singular sagacity to the decision of those 
 delicate points, where the balance often 
 trembles in suspense, but on which the 
 most pregnant issues depend. No one can 
 detect any marks of haste or impatience, 
 any neglect in the search for latent evi- 
 dence, any reluctance to unravel vast and 
 repulsive masses of testimony in the con- 
 struction of his narrative. Cherishing de- 
 cided predilections in matters of opinion 
 and taste, he has preserved such remark- 
 able impartiality of statement, that the 
 very breadth and candor of his views has 
 led censorious and cavilling judges to ac- 
 cuse him of time-serving. But no such 
 charge is warranted by facts. He never 
 conceals his own convictions ; never pro- 
 fesses sympathy with an opinion which he 
 does not respect; and above all, never 
 
302 
 
 Bancroft. 
 
 [March 
 
 colors the truths of history to serve a fa- 
 vorite purpose. With the strict fidelity 
 of his narrative, which is, no doubt, the 
 primary demand in a genuine historian, 
 but which is perhaps the least frequently 
 fully realized, Mr. Bancroft exhibits other 
 qualities, which greatly distinguish him 
 from previous writers. 
 
 His subject naturally suggests the pic- 
 torial sketches which form the appropriate 
 embellishment of historical description. 
 The admirable skill in word-painting, 
 which would have given Mr. Bancroft 
 distinction as a poet, if he had not selected 
 a different career, finds ample sphere for 
 its exercise in the delineation of the for- 
 tunes of the colonists. The fragrant 
 riches of the primeval forest in contrast 
 with the elegancies of advancing civiliza- 
 tion ; the teeming abundance of animal 
 life which rejoiced the eyes of the hardy 
 settlers in quest of food ; the bounteous 
 luxuriance of vegetation revealing the vir- 
 ginal resources of the unexhausted soil ; 
 the quaint simplicity of rural life among 
 the primitive families in the wilderness, 
 and on the banks of delicious streams ; 
 the aboriginal poetry of Indian manners 
 while yet uncontaminated by the vices of 
 artificial society, present an irresistible 
 temptation to the pencil of the artist, 
 which Mr. Bancroft has genially followed 
 in the numerous gorgeous episodes that 
 afford such a grateful relief to the pre- 
 vailing severity of tone in the representa- 
 tion of events. 
 
 But it is not merely with the eye of a 
 poet that Mr. Bancroft has contemplated 
 the vast panorama of American history. 
 Trained in the schools of a profound trans- 
 cendental philosophy, which looks on ex- 
 ternal events as the exponents of some 
 vital principle, he seeks the pervading, 
 energizing idea, which underlies and in- 
 spires the progress of American institu- 
 tions. This be detects in the inborn as- 
 piration of the human soul for freedom, 
 its consciousness of a spiritual destiny, 
 and its desire for the realization of univer- 
 sal unity. Hence, to Mr. Bancroft, the 
 progress of history is the shadowing forth 
 in time and space of the inherent tenden- 
 cies of the soul. American history sur- 
 passes in dignity and grandeur the deve- 
 lopments of former ages, inasmuch as it 
 is the outbirth of a sublimer and more sig- 
 nificant idea. In his view, “ the diurnal 
 flow of existence never rests, bearing the 
 human race onward, through continuous 
 change. Principles grow into life by in- 
 forming the public mind, and in their ma- 
 turity, gain the mastery over events : fol- 
 lowing each other as they are bidden, and 
 ruling without a pause.” The American 
 revolution was designed to organize social 
 
 union through the establishment of per- 
 sonal freedom, and emancipate the nations 
 from all authority not flowing from them- 
 selves. The battle was fought for the 
 advancement of the principles of everlast- 
 ing peace and universal brotherhood. Its 
 fruits were to be the substitution of the 
 natural equality of man for hereditary 
 privilege, — of a government founded on 
 the concord of opinion for the irrespon- 
 sible authority of an autocrat, and of the 
 inauguration of a plebeian democracy by 
 the side of empires rejoicing in a long line 
 of haughty sovereigns. 
 
 Such is the groundwork on which the 
 stirring events that form the subject of 
 the present volume are traced. Con- 
 tinuing the description of the antecedents 
 of the revolution, it shows how Great 
 Britain estranged America by the series 
 of Parliamentary assumptions which reach- 
 ed their climax in the passage of the 
 Stamp Act, Feb. 27th, 1765. The narra- 
 tive, though singularly condensed, is suffi- 
 ciently copious for a lucid exposition of 
 facts ; the progress of British legislation is 
 followed, step by step, and described with 
 patient minuteness ; the characters of the 
 most eminent English statesmen then on 
 the stage, are placed in a clear light by 
 brief graphic sketches, as well as by the 
 vivid portraiture of their deeds ; while the 
 connection of American independence, with 
 the grand historical drama of continental 
 Europe, is unfolded with that remark- 
 able breadth and keenness of vision, — that 
 extraordinary alertness of mental asso- 
 ciation, which detects the bearing of dis- 
 tant and apparently insignificant events on 
 the question under discussion, for which, 
 in our opinion, Mr. Bancroft is without a 
 rival among living historians. 
 
 The first four chapters of this volume 
 present a masterly view of the condition 
 of Europe, including England and her 
 dependencies, prior to the American re- 
 volution, and during the debates in Par- 
 liament on the taxation of the colonies. 
 Not only is the political character of the 
 age portrayed with a peculiar brilliancy 
 of coloring, but a profound analysis is 
 given of the development of ideas which 
 prepared for the assertion of freedom by 
 the colonists of America. According to 
 Mr. Bancroft, the cause of the Protestant 
 Reformation had gained such signal 
 triumphs in the Seven Years’ War, that 
 the great Catholic powers were compelled 
 to band together, in order to check the 
 progress of change. The religious, poli- 
 tical, military, and industrial forms of the 
 Middle Age were undermined ; the dy- 
 nasties that had been consecrated by the 
 Roman Church had yielded to the off- 
 spring of the Reformers, and Protestant- 
 
1853.] 
 
 Bancroft. 
 
 303 
 
 ism had so far fulfilled its political ends, 
 as no longer to threaten the world with 
 convulsions. But Protestantism contained 
 within itself the seeds of a more expanded 
 growth. It was the harbinger of new 
 changes in the state, for the common be- 
 nefit of civilized man. The dominant idea 
 of the Reformation, was the right of pri- 
 vate j udgment. The liberty of the indi- 
 vidual in affairs of opinion had been pro- 
 claimed by Descartes, and under the more 
 comprehensive form of philosophical free- 
 dom, had taken deep root even among the 
 nations which adhered to the old faith. 
 New theories in politics, ethics and indus- 
 try, sprung up on the basis of individual 
 supremacy. The first fruit of this intel- 
 lectual movement was skepticism, groping 
 its way through the clouds of tradition ; the 
 educated mind of Europe turned its inqui- 
 sitive activity in the direction of doubt. 
 As in the days of Luther and Calvin, it 
 pleaded the Bible against popes and pre- 
 lates, it now invoked the authority of 
 reason on every object of human thought. 
 Proceeding in the way of skepticism, the 
 new reform led to revolution. 
 
 Prussia, which had been the favorite 
 disciple of Luther, and the child of the 
 Reformation, now under the absolute rule 
 of Frederic the Great, still extended pro- 
 tection to the activity of reason, as ex- 
 pounded in every variety of creed. It gave 
 a shelter to Rousseau; invited D’Alembert 
 and Voltaire as its guests; encouraged 
 Semler in his boldness of criticism on 
 the records of the Bible ; inspired Lessing 
 with lofty hopes for the education of the 
 race to a universal brotherhood ; and intro- 
 duced the pregnant analyses of Immanuel 
 Kant, as profound and free a spirit as any 
 since Socrates, into the teachings of its 
 youth. 
 
 In France, the spirit of the Middle Age 
 was struck with death. The nobility, 
 which numbered not much more than a 
 hundred thousand souls, was overbalanced 
 by the many millions of an industrious 
 people. Its young men, trained by the 
 study of antiquity, imbibed republican 
 principles from the patriot writings of 
 Greece and Rome. Authority in conflict 
 with free opinion, only called forth licen- 
 tiousness, and was laughed out of counte- 
 nance by the potent audacity of ridicule. 
 Skepticism spread its taint over the social 
 circles of the capital ; it was infused into 
 every department of literature and science, 
 and blended with the intellectual life of 
 the nation. Using the weapons of polished 
 wit and brilliant vivacity, Voltaire main- 
 tained the cause of free inquiry with a pe- 
 tulant contempt of restraint. With the 
 spirit of a partisan, he searched the ar- 
 chives of history, and drew materials for 
 
 sarcasm against the Roman hierarchy 
 from the annals of the race. Addressing 
 free thinkers throughout the cultivated 
 world, the influence of his writings per- 
 vaded Europe. In an age of skepticism, 
 he was the prince of scoffers, reflecting the 
 licentious brilliancy of the aristocracy, 
 when almost every considerable house in 
 Paris had pretensions as a school of philo- 
 sophy. With no conception of the rege- 
 nerating power of truth, he cherished the 
 humanizing influence of letters. Wel- 
 coming whatever tended to soften bar- 
 barism, to refine society, and to stay 
 the cruelties of superstition, he had no 
 hopeful visions of the coming of popular 
 power ; he heard not the footsteps of Pro- 
 vidence along the line of centuries, and 
 regarded the vital changes in government, 
 as among the accidents of a day. Nor did 
 he comprehend the tendency of his own 
 labors. In mocking the follies and vices of 
 French society, he had no wish to destroy 
 its institutions, and would have hated the 
 thought of hastening a democratic revolu- 
 tion. “ Thus,” says Mr. Bancroft, “ skep- 
 ticism proceeded unconsciously in the 
 work of destruction, invalidating the past, 
 yet unable to construct the future. For 
 good government is not the creation of 
 skepticism. Her garments are red with 
 blood, and ruins are her delight ; her 
 despair may stimulate to voluptuousness 
 and revenge ; she never kindles with the 
 disinterested love of man.” 
 
 Montesquieu possessed a mind of a dif- 
 ferent and more organic tendency. He dis- 
 covered the title-deeds of humanity be- 
 neath the rubbish of privileges, conven- 
 tional charters, and statutes. Disdaining 
 the impotence of epicureanism, his gene- 
 rous nature found no resting-place in 
 doubt. He saw that society must repose 
 on principles which do not change even in 
 the midst of revolutions ; that Christianity, 
 which seems to aim only at the felicity of 
 heaven, is also the foundation of human 
 blessedness on earth. In the laws of 
 every nation, he sought for the truth 
 which had inspired them ; and recognized 
 the priority of justice behind the con- 
 fused mass of positive rules. Full of the 
 inquiring spirit of his time, he demanded 
 tolerance for all opinions ; and though he 
 failed to discover the true basis of govern- 
 ment, he gave a powerful impulse to the 
 principles of political liberty. 
 
 The new ideas fell with quickening in- 
 fluence on the fruitful genius of Turgot, 
 who came forward in the virgin purity of 
 philosophy to the duties of active life. To 
 him, the human race was one great whole, 
 composed of members of one family, un- 
 der a common Father, and always march- 
 ing, though with slow steps, towards a 
 
304 
 
 Bancroft. 
 
 greater perfection. His personal charac- 
 ter exhibited the finest qualities of a man. 
 His integrity of purpose was equalled only 
 by the extent of his information. With a 
 peculiar loveliness of disposition, he car- 
 ried a delicate and unerring taste into the 
 pursuit of letters ; a singular disinterest- 
 edness admirably tempered whatever of 
 austerity was mingled in his make ; devo- 
 ting himself to the solace of human 
 wretchedness, he preferred the perform- 
 ance of good to the glory of its accom- 
 plishment. 
 
 Thus while the skeptical philosopher, 
 the erudite magistrate, the benevolent 
 founder of the science of political econo- 
 my were laboring, as they could, for hu- 
 man progress, a new writer sprang up 
 from the discipleship of Calvin, from the 
 republic of Geneva, and the abodes of 
 poverty, through whom the ignorant poor 
 gained a voice in the world of discussion 
 by the press. With a discriminating crit- 
 icism on the character of Rousseau. Mr. 
 Bancroft attaches great importance to the 
 effect of his writings on the development 
 t>f popular thought. With him, truth 
 was no more to be conveyed by the pru- 
 dent reserve of academicians ; nor to at- 
 tract by the felicities of wit ; nor to court 
 the favor of the great by the interchange 
 of flatteries ; nor to consult the interests 
 of special classes. Personally weak and 
 suspicious, betrayed by poverty into 
 shameful deeds, he possessed a deep and 
 real feeling for humanity. In an age of 
 skepticism, and in the agony of want — 
 tossed from faith to faith as from coun- 
 try to country — he read the signs of death 
 on the features of European civilization, 
 but with faith in man’s spiritual nature, 
 he breathed the spirit of revolution into 
 words of flame. Boldly interrogating all 
 the grandeurs of the world, he aroused 
 Europe to inquiry concerning the rights of 
 the people. While France drove him 
 from her soil, while the men of letters 
 hooted at his wildness, calling him a 
 “ savage charlatan, who sought fraternal 
 union among men by setting the poor to 
 plunder the rich,” without learning or 
 deep philosophy, from the wars of the 
 world in which he had suffered, from the 
 wrongs of the down-trodden which he had 
 shared, Rousseau derived a burning inspi- 
 ration which kindled the heart of Europe. 
 He lit up the darkness of his times with 
 flashes of instinctive genius — proclaimed 
 the truth, to which men had been so long 
 blind, that the old social world was smit- 
 ten with inevitable decay — and that if 
 there is life still on earth, “it is the 
 masses which live.” “His fiery eloquence 
 and the concerted efforts of men of letters, 
 who fashioned anew the whole circle of 
 
 [March 
 
 human knowledge, overwhelmed the priest- 
 hood and the throne. The ancient forms' 
 of the state and the church were still 
 standing ; bnt monarchy and the hierar- 
 chy were as insulated columns, from 
 which the building they had once belong- 
 ed to, had crumbled away ; where statues, 
 formerly worshipped, lay mutilated and 
 overthrown, among ruins that now shel- 
 tered the viper and the destroyer. ” 
 
 Crossing the channel on the north of 
 France, we come to a wise and happy 
 people, whose domestic character is 
 marked by moderation, whose opinions 
 have no tendency to extremes, and who, 
 at the period under consideration, suggest- 
 ed to the speculative men on the conti- 
 nent, the principles of religion and gov- 
 ernment, which they rashly developed 
 without qualification or reserve. In Eng- 
 land, free opinion had been boldly applied 
 to every question of faith as well as of 
 science. The reaction of Protestant Eu- 
 rope against the blind adoration of the 
 letter of the Bible, was preceded by the 
 writings of the English free-thinkers, 
 who, tracing Christianity to reason, and 
 teaching that it was as old as creation, 
 prepared the way for the German Ration- 
 alists. The materialism of F ranee was de- 
 rived from English treatises, like that of 
 Locke on the Human Understanding. The 
 speculative views of Voltaire were ripen- 
 ed in the atmosphere of England ; there 
 Montesquieu sketched his plan of a free 
 government ; and from English writings 
 and examples Rousseau derived his idea of 
 a social compact. Yet such was the sta- 
 bility of the institutions of England, that 
 “ the ideas which were preparing radical 
 changes in the social system of other 
 monarchies, held their course harmlessly 
 within her borders, as winds playing ca- 
 priciously round some ancient structure, 
 whose massive buttresses tranquilly bear 
 up its roofs and towers and pinnacles and 
 spires.” 
 
 England was an aristocratic republic, 
 with the king as the emblem of a perma- 
 nent executive. The church had no in- 
 dependent power. It was subordinate to 
 the state, and in its civil capacity, merely 
 a creature of Parliament. The articles of 
 its creed, as well as its liturgy, were en- 
 acted by statute. The predominance of 
 temporal power, impaired the spiritual 
 influence of the clergy. They slumbered 
 over the traditions of the church. “ The 
 dean and chapter, at their cathedral 
 stalls, seemed like strangers encamped 
 among the shrines, or lost in the groined 
 aisles which the fervid genius of men of 
 a different age, and a heartier faith, had 
 fashioned ; filling the choir with religious 
 light from the blended colors of storied 
 
Bancroft. 
 
 305 
 
 1853.] 
 
 windows, imitating the graceful curving 
 of the lambent flame in the adornment of 
 the tracery, and carving in stone every 
 flower and leaf of the garden, to embellish 
 the light column, whose shafts soared up- 
 wards as if to reach the sky.” 
 
 The Parliament, though in form, an 
 unmixed aristocracy, w'as tempered with 
 popular franchises, that served to miti- 
 gate the intrinsic evils of the system. 
 Strong checks were placed upon the aris- 
 tocratic spirit. Every Englishman claim- 
 ed a right to pass judgment on the meas- 
 ures of the administration. The power 
 of public opinion, embodied in a free press, 
 was an active and controlling element in 
 the British government. 
 
 The literature of the country was im- 
 printed with the prevailing character of 
 the English mind. Neither its earlier nor 
 its later productions were at war with the 
 spirit of the national institutions. The 
 philosophy of Bacon was marked by mod- 
 eration as well as grandeur, following 
 precedents and facts, rather than theories, 
 and promoting the advancement of sci- 
 ence by the method of observation. New- 
 ton, content in the serene retirement of a 
 university, calmly submitted to the limits 
 of nature in the pursuit of truth. The 
 spirit of the age, in the various epochs of 
 English history, was manifested in its 
 poetry. With the dewy freshness of the 
 morning, Chaucer described the mingled 
 heroism and joyousness that beguiled the 
 pious pilgrimages, or lent a charm to the 
 hospitality of Catholic England. Spenser 
 celebrated the glories of departing chival- 
 ry in the brilliant pictures of allegory. 
 Shakspeare, mastering every chord that 
 vibrates in the human soul, unfolded the 
 panoramas of English history, and em- 
 bodied in his easy numbers the fair- 
 est aspects of English manners and social 
 life. Milton, representing the stern dig- 
 nity of English republicanism in his he- 
 roic greatness of mind, was a no less de- 
 termined foe to libertinism and disorder, 
 than to the encroachments of arbitrary 
 power. Dryden, reproduced in his verse 
 the wayward wavering of the English 
 court between Protestantism and the 
 Church of Rome. Pope was the poet of 
 aristocratic life, flattering the great with 
 sarcasms against kings, and vindicating 
 the order of Heaven amidst the apparent 
 ills of the world. But none of these poets 
 called forth a sentiment of hostility to the 
 institutions of England. 
 
 The skepticism of modern philosophy 
 was confined to the aristocratic classes. 
 It had not penetrated the mass of the na- 
 tion. The spirit of the people rebelled 
 against materialism. English metaphysics 
 was stamped with the peculiar moderation 
 vol. x. — 20 
 
 of the national mind. While Locke laid 
 the foundation for the gross materialism 
 of Hartley and Priestley, the more genial 
 Berkeley indulged in the construction of 
 a purely ideal system, and Butler, pressing 
 the analogies of the material creation into 
 the service of spiritual life, established 
 the supremacy of conscience on the autho- 
 rity of reason. While Hume pushed the 
 principles of the sensuous philosophy to 
 their ultimate consequences in a barren 
 skepticism, Reid illustrated the reality of 
 right by the moral powers of man ; Adam 
 Smith found a criterion of virtue in uni- 
 versal sympathy ; and Price, following the 
 suggestions of the Platonic Cudworth, 
 defended the immutability of moral dis- 
 tinctions. Thus, the freedom of English 
 speculation corrected its own excesses, and 
 never sought to overthrow the fabric, 
 which had stood before Europe for cen- 
 turies as the citadel of liberty. 
 
 The blended respect for aristocracy and 
 for popular rights was impressed upon the 
 courts of law, pervaded the systems of 
 education, and was interwoven with the 
 prosperity of the large towns. Still more 
 did it penetrate the rural life of England. 
 “ The climate not only enjoyed the softer 
 atmosphere that belongs to the western 
 side of masses of land, but was further 
 modified by the proximity of every part 
 of it to the sea. It knew neither long 
 continuing heat nor cold ; and was more 
 friendly to daily enjoyments throughout 
 the whole year, within door or without, 
 than any in Europe. The island was ‘a 
 little world ’ of its own ; with a ‘ happy 
 band of men ’ for its inhabitants, in 
 whom the hardihood of the Norman was 
 intermixed with the gentler qualities of 
 the Celt and the Saxon— just as nails are 
 rubbed into steel to temper and harden 
 the Damascus blade. They loved country 
 life, of which the mildness of the clime 
 increased the attractions ; since every 
 grass, and flower, and tree that had its 
 home between the remote north and the 
 neighborhood of the tropics would live 
 abroad, and such only excepted as needed 
 a hot sun to unfold their bloom, or concen- 
 trate their aroma, or ripen their fruit, 
 would thrive in perfection; so that no 
 region could show such a varied wood. 
 The moisture of the sky favored a soil 
 not naturally very rich ; and so fructified 
 the earth that it was clad in perpetual 
 verdure. Nature had its attractions even 
 in winter. The ancient trees were strip- 
 ped indeed of their foliage ; but showed 
 more clearly their fine proportions, and 
 the undisturbed nests of the noisy rooks 
 among their boughs ; the air was so mild 
 that the flocks and herds still grazed on 
 the freshly springing herbage; and the 
 
306 
 
 Bancroft. 
 
 deer found shelter enough by crouching 
 amongst the fern ; the smoothly-shaven 
 grassy walk was soft and yielding under 
 foot ; nor was there a month in the year 
 in which the plough was idle. The large 
 landed proprietors dwelt often in houses 
 which had descended to them from the 
 times when England was gemmed all over 
 with the most delicate and most solid 
 structures of Gothic art. The very lanes 
 were memorials of early days, and ran as 
 they had been laid out before the conquest ; 
 and in mills for grinding corn, water- 
 wheels revolved at their work just where 
 they had been doing so for at least eight 
 hundred years. Hospitality also had its tra- 
 ditions; and for untold centuries, Christ- 
 mas had been the most joyous of the sea- 
 sons.” The system formed such a large 
 element in English history and English 
 life, that it was even endeared to the peo- 
 ple, and seemed the most natural organi- 
 zation of society. The manners of the 
 aristocracy implied rather than expressed 
 the consciousness of undisputed rank. The 
 tenantry clung to the lord of the manor 
 as their natural protector. They loved 
 to live in his light, and to win his sym- 
 pathy by their faithful attachment. They 
 caught refinement of their superiors, so 
 that them cottages were carefully neat, 
 with roses and honey-suckles clambering 
 to their roofs. They cultivated the soil in 
 sight of the towers of the church, near 
 which reposed the ashes of their ancestors 
 for almost a thousand years. Thus the 
 local institutions of England, sharing the 
 common character, were at once the evi- 
 dence of aristocracy and the badge of lib- 
 erty. The whole social and political life 
 of England bore the stamp of a general 
 unity. 
 
 Such was the internal condition of the 
 mother country at the peace of 1763. 
 Abroad, the fame of England was exalted 
 above that of every other European nation. 
 Triumphing over her hereditary enemies, 
 she retained half a continent as the monu- 
 ment of her victories. In America, her do- 
 minions stretched from the Atlantic to the 
 Mississippi, and from the Gulf of Mexico 
 to Hudson’s Bay. For several years, the 
 Board of Trade had looked forward to 
 peace as the moment for making the col- 
 onies feel their power. The appointed 
 time had come. Charles Townsend was 
 placed in the office of First Lord of Trade 
 by the Earl of Bute, and intrusted with 
 the administration of the colonies. In the 
 council of which Townsend now became 
 a member, was Bute, prepared to give his 
 support to the highest system of authority 
 of Great Britain over America, — Mans- 
 field, the illustrious jurist and determined 
 whig, maintaining that an act of Par- 
 
 [March 
 
 liament could alone prescribe rules for the 
 reduction of refractory colonial assemblies, 
 — George Grenville, who made the plenary 
 authority of the British Legislature, the 
 first article of his political creed, — the 
 Duke of Bedford, a convert to the new 
 colonial system, — Halifax, thirsting for an 
 occasion to carry into effect his opinions of 
 British omnipotence, — Egremont, hot- 
 headed and self-willed, using the patron- 
 age of his office for enriching his family, 
 — to whom was now added Charles Town- 
 send, a man bold, impetuous and eloquent, 
 with a daring purpose of carrying difficult 
 measures with unscrupulous speed. His 
 primary object was a revenue from the 
 colonies, subject to the disposal of the 
 British ministry, under the sign manual 
 of the king. The right of deliberation in 
 the colonies on their votes of supply' was 
 to be no longer tolerated by the ministry. 
 The accustomed requisitions of the King 
 were to be superseded by an immediate 
 taxation of the colonies by the British 
 legislature. After various changes in the 
 ministry, the Stamp Act at length passed 
 both houses of Parliament in the spring 
 of 1765. 
 
 This is the epoch, when the power of 
 the British oligarchy, under the revolution 
 of 1688, had reached its greatest ascend- 
 ency. The ministry had succeeded in 
 imposing a system of taxes on America 
 for the benefit of the British exchequer. 
 The colonists could not export the cheap 
 products of their industry to any r place 
 but Great Britain, not even to Ireland. 
 No foreign ship could enter a colonial 
 harbor. Great Britain was not only' the 
 sole market for the products of America, 
 but with some exceptions, the only store- 
 house for its supplies. The colonists 
 abounded in land, adapted to the feeding 
 of sheep, but lest they should multiply 
 flocks, and wear their own cloth, the 
 passage of wool, and all manufactures of 
 wool, from one province into another, was 
 forbidden under severe restrictions. A 
 British sailor, in want of clothes in their 
 harbors, could not buy a new suit of a 
 greater value than forty shillings. The 
 printing of the Bible in British America 
 was prohibited as a piracy'. The country 
 which was the home of the beaver might 
 not manufacture its own hats. It abound- 
 ed in iron ores of the best quality, as well 
 as in wood and coal ; but all iron mills 
 and steel furnaces were forbidden as nuis- 
 ances. To these restrictions, taxation 
 both direct and indirect was now added. 
 
 Upon this gloomy night of oppression, 
 the day-star of the American Union was 
 about to arise. The colonists saw that if 
 the British system of taxation should 
 prevail, it would extinguish the flame of 
 
Bancroft. 
 
 307 
 
 1853.] 
 
 liberty all over the world. The whole 
 continent was awakened, alarmed, dis- 
 affected, restless. From North to South, 
 through the press, in private letters, as 
 they met for counsel, or in groups in the 
 street, the lovers of liberty unfolded their 
 common griefs, and planned retaliation or 
 redress. The right of taxation was in- 
 dignantly denied. Opinion was echoed 
 from mind to mind, “ as the sun’s rays 
 beam from many clouds, all differing in 
 tints, but every hue an emanation from 
 the same fires.” Amidst the prevailing 
 darkness, light broke from the excitement 
 of a whole people. In Virginia and in 
 New England, associations were formed 
 for the resistance of the Stamp Act by 
 all lawful means. The watchfulness of a 
 united continent was believed to he the 
 best protection of American rights and 
 liberties. While the seeds of discontent 
 were everywhere scattered, there was no 
 hope of relief, but in the prospect of 
 union. In the daring language of Otis, 
 there must be such a union as “ should 
 knit and work into the very blood and 
 bones of the original system, every region, 
 as fast as settled.” The summons for a 
 Congress was sent forth by Massachu- 
 setts. The first response was uttered by 
 South Carolina. “ She was all alive, and 
 felt at every pore.” Following the coun- 
 sels of Christopher Gadsden — a man of 
 earnest convictions, of transparent sin- 
 cerity, with an adamantine will and strenu- 
 ous integrity, with a courage that defied 
 danger, and a persistence which nothing 
 could shake, and cherishing a profound 
 sense of religion, combined with an inquisi- 
 tive and tolerant spirit — South Carolina 
 pronounced for union. “ Massachusetts,” 
 says Gadsden in an autograph letter in 
 possession of Mr. Bancroft, “ Massachu- 
 setts sounded the trumpet, but to Caro- 
 lina is it owing that it was attended to ; 
 and had it not been for South Carolina 
 no Congress would then have happened.” 
 Otis might now refresh his enthusiastic 
 vision that “ the State of longest duration, 
 greatest glory, and domestic happiness, 
 would be established on the American 
 continent.” He already heard the prophe- 
 tic song of the “Sibyls” chanting the 
 spring-time of a new empire. 
 
 The Congress, around which clustered 
 so many hopes newly warmed into life, 
 assembled in New-York. Oct., 7. 1765. 
 The spirit that pervaded this body, pre- 
 sents a striking practical illustration of 
 Mr. Bancroft’s historical theory. Its 
 deliberations were not founded on empiri- 
 cal suggestions. The wisdom which cir- 
 culated throughout its actions, received its 
 impulse, not from prudential calculations, 
 but from a universal sentiment. “ Out 
 
 of the heart, arose the bright ideal of their 
 dream.” The first question presented, 
 was in regard to the groundwork on 
 which to rest the collective American lib- 
 erties. Should they build on charters or 
 natural justice — on precedents or abstract 
 truth — on special privileges, or eternal 
 reason? While Otis and Johnson were 
 in favor of resting the rights of the colo- 
 nies on charters from the crown, Robert 
 R. Livingston, of New-York — a man whose 
 goodness of heart set him above prejudi- 
 ces, and equally comprehended all man- 
 kind, refused to place the hope of Ameri- 
 ca on such a foundation, and the brave 
 and noble Gadsden spoke against it with 
 vehement impetuosity. It was his deter- 
 mination and advice to the delegates, not 
 merely to stand on their essential and com- 
 mon rights as Englishmen, but on the broad 
 ground of their natural rights as men. 
 The difference of charters should make no 
 difference in the claims of the respective 
 colonies. There should be no New-Eng- 
 land man, no Carolinian, no New-Yorker 
 known on the continent, All should be 
 Americans. These views prevailed in the 
 Congress. The appeal for liberty was 
 not founded on royal grants, but on hu- 
 man rights that were prior to charters, 
 and would survive their ruin. The peo- 
 ple caught the same spirit. From mouth 
 to mouth flew the words of John Adams, 
 “ j’ou have rights antecedent to all earthly 
 government : rights that cannot be repealed 
 or restrained by human laws ; rights de- 
 rived from the great Legislator of the 
 universe.” 
 
 We have no space to follow Mr. Ban- 
 croft through his luminous exposition of 
 the effect of the Stamp Act on the public 
 sentiment of the colonies, and the discus- 
 sions in Parliament, which terminated in 
 its repeal. The volume closes with an 
 account of the rejoicing in America, on the 
 announcement of this measure. At first 
 this was universal, and unmixed with 
 apprehension. South Carolina voted Pitt 
 a statue. Virginia expressed its gratitude 
 by a statue to the king, and an obelisk, 
 inscribed with the names of the defenders 
 of American freedom in the British Par- 
 liament. Washington gave his cordial 
 thanks to the opposers of tyranny. In 
 Boston, a bright day in May was set 
 apart for the celebration of the glad event. 
 Expressive emblems of the general joy 
 filled the town. The clergy joined in the 
 universal acclamation, and the pulpit rung 
 with patriotic eloquence. 
 
 Here we must take our leave of the 
 historian for the present, trusting that the 
 speedy appearance of another volume will 
 again bring us into his company. His 
 labors thus far, afford the richest promise 
 
308 
 
 Are we a Good-Looking People ? 
 
 of instruction and delight in his future 
 productions. In this portion of his work, 
 he has given vitality even to the arid de- 
 tails of Parliamentary discussion ; a store 
 of fresh information is imparted from 
 original documents, new facts are fre- 
 quently stated, and old facts placed in a 
 new light ; while a spirit of rigid histori- 
 cal justice is preserved in the delineation 
 
 [March 
 
 of events that are in the highest degree 
 remote from the sympathies of the author. 
 The complete work, for w hich every intel- 
 ligent reader must eagerly look, cannot 
 fail to be one of the noblest achievements 
 of American literature. We may well be 
 proud both of the history and the his- 
 torian. 
 
 ARE WE A GOOD-LOOKING PEOPLE? 
 
 U T1THEN our visitors would say, ! Well, 
 
 ' ' upon my word, Mrs. Primrose, you 
 have the finest children in the whole 
 country ; ’ ‘Ay, neighbor,’ she would an- 
 swer, ‘they are as Heaven made them, 
 handsome enough, if they be good enough ; 
 for handsome is that handsome does.’ 
 And then she would bid the girls hold up 
 their heads ; who, to conceal nothing, 
 were certainly very handsome.” 
 
 America, too, like the wife of the im- 
 mortal Vicar, while she holds to the 
 good old proverb, handsome is that hand- 
 some does, has her allowable share of 
 pride in the good looks of her children, and 
 vain of their beauty, would bid her sons 
 and daughters, hold up their heads. And 
 a fine show they make, the American fa- 
 mily of twenty millions, more or less, of 
 blooming children, vigorous men, and 
 good-looking women, all for the most part 
 at work, in the school-house, the field, 
 and the factory, the nursery and the kitch- 
 en ; a nation, truly, of workers, living 
 upon their dollar a day, and earning it ; 
 eating, not the bread of idleness and de- 
 pendence, which is apt to be but short 
 commons at best, but feasting upon the 
 wholesome abundance, that skill and la- 
 bor alone know how to create, and enjoy. 
 Man has never had so fair a chance as 
 in America, and it would be contrary to 
 all the laws of development and progress, 
 if with freedom of life and action, free to 
 think, free to breathe, free to go, free to 
 stay, he did not grow up in all goodly 
 proportions. 
 
 Modesty is no more an American than 
 an Irish virtue, and we have not been 
 backward in putting what we thought our 
 best foot foremost; though it has been for 
 the most part the worst, the one in the 
 silk, and not that other in the home-knit 
 stocking. Our talk generally keeps up 
 pari passu with our walk ; our speech is 
 quite commensurate with our greatness ; 
 we talk big as we grow big ; our style, 
 with our smart doings for our theme, is 
 like young America’s trowsers, generally 
 
 of the criard, loud order, showy in color, 
 and large in pattern. 
 
 Great things should be allowed to speak 
 for themselves ; it is useless to attempt to 
 outroar the sea, or out-thunder Niagara. 
 Any effort to assume the lion’s part, must 
 inevitably result in a Nick Bottom roar, as 
 gentle as any sucking dove ; and the eagle 
 as well, had better be left to its own 
 powers of voice, whatever they may be. 
 The lion and eagle will both be heard all 
 the better, without the squeak of diminu- 
 tive animals, and the twittering of small 
 birds. The “ greatest nation in all crea- 
 tion ” is not a tune to be set to Pandean 
 pipes, to inspire the jig of a people’s revels, 
 on the occasion of America reaching her 
 majority, and coming to her property. 
 Jonathan, true to his business habits, had 
 better take Iris share among other great 
 nations, in the partnership of the world, 
 as a silent partner ; and with his real 
 estate, expanding into a continent, and 
 his balance account showing, in the census, 
 twenty-five millions of people to his credit, 
 should content himself with such facts ac- 
 cumulating in his favor, and go on. honest- 
 ly and virtuously, as he has commenced, 
 and leave the result to speak for itself ; as 
 such results surely will. 
 
 It is true, we are not going to leave the 
 Americans to speak for themselves on the 
 score of their good looks ; it is so natural 
 for beauty to turn away its head, and 
 blush on such occasions, that a spokes- 
 man is necessary. Besides, we are not 
 about to grow grandiloquent about grand 
 things, to split the ears of the world with 
 such loud-sounding themes, as greatness 
 and glory, freedom and independence. 
 Our part, just now, is nothing more than 
 a little innocent gossip about the forms 
 and faces of our countrymen and country- 
 women ; the color of an eye, the cut of a 
 whisker, the turn of a nose or an ancle. 
 
 Are we a good-looking people ? At 
 the very proposal of this question, what a 
 flutter among the gossamer beaux and 
 belles ; what oft-repeated and anxious con- 
 
Are we a Good-Looking People? 
 
 309 
 
 1853.] 
 
 sultations of the mirror ; what varied ex- 
 pressions ; what smiles, what coquettish 
 airs; what graceful swanlike arching of 
 necks ; what curveting and yielding, and 
 voluptuous movements of form ; what 
 tightening of waists and expanding of 
 busts ; what anxious sidelong glances ; 
 what sly sprinkling of pearl powder and 
 cunning touches of rouge ; what deceptive 
 lures; what positive orders to mantua- 
 malcers, and such overwhelming bills at 
 Stuart’s and Beck’s ! Compose yourself. 
 Miss Belinda, it is not art, but nature ; it 
 is not fashion, but humanity ; it is not the 
 paint pot, but health ; it is not you, but 
 your maid, that has any concern in this 
 matter. 
 
 By what theory of beauty are we to be 
 guided in discussing this momentous ques- 
 tion? Enough good and bad has been 
 written about it, from Plato to Lord Jef- 
 frey. Plato says that there is nothing- 
 beautiful but mind, and would have us 
 set our cap at an abstract idea, embrace it, 
 and remain childless in the cold comfort 
 of Platonic love. St. Augustine is said to 
 have written an elaborate treatise on 
 beauty, but it has never come to hand, 
 and posterity has reason to congratulate 
 itself ; for it was, probably, as was proper 
 in a reverend divine, only a heavy sermon 
 upon the lightness of vanity, or a long 
 homily upon the short-comings of this 
 world ; or possibly a commentary, too slow 
 for this fast generation, upon the seventh 
 commandment. Leibnitz held that beauty 
 consists in perfection ; so do we. My 
 Lord Shaftesbury, who did not believe in 
 a Supreme Being, had an undying faith in 
 a supreme beauty ; and contended that 
 man was endowed with a specific sense 
 to recognize it, and fall down and worship 
 it. The great Burke, in his essay on the 
 Sublime and Beautiful, holds that all ob- 
 jects that have the power of relaxing the 
 nerves and fibres are beautiful ; ergo , 
 says Lord Jeffrey, a waim bath would be 
 the handsomest thing in all creation. The 
 nerves of Burke were evidently relaxed 
 by the beauty of Marie Antoinette, and 
 he gave the world an immortal illustra- 
 tion of his theory, in his panic-struck 
 book on the French Revolution. Diderot 
 says, beauty consists in exciting the idea 
 of relation. The idea of relations has a 
 great deal to do, undoubtedly, with the 
 modern conception of beauty ; it is an 
 axiom in fashionable life, that a woman, 
 with rich relations, is a beauty ; and that 
 a woman, with poor ones, is decidedly the 
 reverse. How would Diderot solve this 
 proposition of -Jeffrey in illustration of 
 his theory ? Given : three old women, 
 fat, fatter, and fattest: find their beauty. 
 Would he answer, they are beautiful, and 
 
 their beauty consists in their relation to 
 each other, of comparative degrees of fat? 
 We are inclined to think that Diderot, 
 who v r as a Frenchman, and had a prac- 
 tical eye for beauty, would, in spite of his 
 theory, go elsewhere for his Graces. Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds was of opinion that 
 mediocrity was the secret of beauty ; that 
 average form, color and expression, was 
 the lex suprema, by which handsome 
 men and women were to be judged. Then 
 an ordinary woman must be a handsome 
 woman. We leave Sir Joshua in the lurch 
 of this reductio ad, absurd, um and his fol- 
 lowers, without any rivalry on our part, 
 to make love to all the ordinary women, 
 in accordance with their theory. Hogarth 
 held that beauty consisted in a crooked 
 line, and would, of course, prefer a bow- 
 leg to a straight one, or the turned-up nose 
 of a shrew, to the regular one of the 
 beauteous Helen. Alison and Jeffrey 
 contend that beauty consists in its associa- 
 tion with the emotions of the mind; hence, 
 all women must be beautiful, when in the 
 calf-sucking era of youth, any thing with 
 the show of a petticoat excites the emotion 
 of juvenile love. Others again, hold that 
 beauty consists in utility ; we need not 
 say that tins not only would make the 
 maid necessarily handsomer than the mis- 
 tress ; but we would be bound, in obedience 
 to this law, to admire our Irish cook in 
 the kitchen, in preference to our young 
 wife in the parlor ; the former being equal 
 to all the responsibilities of the cuisine , 
 while the skill of the latter would be 
 puzzled, as much as George the Third, 
 with the perplexity of an apple dumpling, 
 and wonder with that sapient monarch, 
 “ how the devil the apple got in.” 
 
 We can get no aid from the philoso- 
 phers. Let us question the practical ex- 
 perience of nations. Does beauty consist 
 in the forty stone of John Bull, or the 
 feather weight of Jonathan? Is Angli- 
 can Daniel Lambert, the fat man, or 
 Yankee Calvin Edson, the living (dead 
 now r , by the by) skeleton, the type of 
 beauty ? Was the Hottentot Venus, who 
 suckled her 3 -oung over her shoulders and 
 carried the rest of her family upon her 
 natural bussle, or Madame de Pompadour, 
 a beauty ? Is the King of the Brobdig- 
 nags or the King of Lilliput the genuine 
 Apollo ? Is the tall Patagonian or the 
 short Esquimaux, the handsome man ? 
 Is white, black, red, tawny or copper the 
 color of beauty ? Is the chalk and brick- 
 dust of a New York fashionable who dan- 
 ces every night from 11 p. m. to 4 o’clock 
 a. m., or “the black, sticky varnish, a 
 good deal like conserve of grapes,” with 
 which the Thibetan women of fashion, as 
 M. Hue tells us, daub their faces, the veri- 
 
310 
 
 Are we a Good-Looking People? 
 
 table complexion ? "Will the club feet of 
 the Chinese or the splay feet of the negroes, 
 Walk the course for the prize of beauty? 
 Will the bhick nails of the oriental beau- 
 ty, filthy with henna , or the rosy-tipped 
 fingers of morn, bear away the palm ? 
 Shall we whisper our love in the small 
 ear of England’s aristocratic dame, or in 
 the monstrous speaking-trumpets of the 
 Peruvian squaw ? * Shall we look for 
 the beauty of wisdom in the flat heads 
 and squat faces of an Indian council, or in 
 the long heads and long faces of the His- 
 torical Society? 
 
 W e are completely at a loss for a stand- 
 ard of beanty ; both theory and experi- 
 ence are at fault, and we must fain judge 
 according to our liking. We confess to a 
 preference for Americans, for the royal 
 family of the sovereign people, for our 
 sons of enterprise, and our daughters of 
 the household. 
 
 Almost all English travellers say flatter- 
 ing things of the good looks of the American 
 people. Mrs. Trollope fell in love with 
 the seemly appearance of the men, how- 
 ever she may have turned up her nose at 
 their manners, and would have been 
 pleased to have seen more of their hand- 
 some faces and less of the soles of their 
 boots. It is true, Dickens’s portraits are 
 not flattering; but his Americans are mere 
 scarecrows of the imagination to fright- 
 en away his countrymen who settle like 
 crows in never-ceasing flocks upon our 
 land. Thackeray, in his Kickleburys on 
 the Rhine, paints a young American, as 
 the perfection of a dandy Apollo, ele- 
 gant by nature and faultless by art, with 
 a good form in a perfect coat, with small 
 hands in the smallest and smoothest of 
 Paris gloves, and diminutive feet in the 
 neatest of French boots. As for the mor- 
 als of the young gentleman, the less that 
 is said about that the better; of course 
 Thackeray would not be Thackeray if he 
 did not spoil the confection, by his usual 
 sprinkle of a grain of salt or rather pep- 
 per, by way of reservation. Miss Marti- 
 neau too fell in love with all Congress 
 assembled, and if she did not indite verses 
 to their eyebrows, wrote whole pages of 
 prose about their eyes. She quite lost 
 herself in the profound depths of the cav- 
 ernous eyes of Webster, went astray 
 among the wrinkles of Calhoun, and did 
 not get fairly into plain sailing, until she 
 launched out upon the broad forehead of 
 some ordinary Congressman or other. 
 
 Mrs. Maury, in her book of travels, dis- 
 plays quite a gallery of miniatures of our 
 
 [March 
 
 distinguished men. The pictures are all 
 warmed with the intensest of rose-color, 
 and done upon the smoothest of ivory. 
 “ Martin Van Buren has beautiful red 
 hair, and bewitchingly frank and easy 
 manners, and a voice that conjures men’s 
 hearts out of their bosoms.” “ The Hon. 
 Mr. Benton has much senatorial dignity, 
 a robust and muscular frame, inclined to 
 corpulency, a massive forehead, and a 
 broader nose, fuller lip and less wide 
 mouth than is usual in the American 
 contour; and with a neck and chest of 
 very large proportions ; has a gentle self- 
 possession.” “ Mr. Winthrop is fair, and 
 his color comes and goes when he is 
 speaking; his bearing is highly aristo- 
 cratic. I shall never forget,” says our 
 lady, “ the sweet faces of himself and his 
 family.” “Bishop Hughes is a glorious 
 prelate ; his violet robes, and his fiery 
 character, his garments of delicate lace, 
 and his manners so gentle, are charming 
 to observe ; his mystic signet ring of con- 
 trite amethyst, and his dignified address, 
 unusual and peculiar,” and Mrs. Maury un 
 derstands that “ the Bishop has a peculiar 
 and inherent love of fine linen, which often 
 distinguishes men of exalted character.” 
 “I could occasionally,” says the lady, “de- 
 tect a dash of the soft dialect of his coun 
 try in his flexible and varied tones.” And 
 there are Olay, Webster, and Quincy 
 Adams, and others to complete the gallery 
 with all the beauty of the Greeks, the 
 nobleness of the Romans, the grace of the 
 French, the dignity of the English, and 
 the bright colors of Mrs. Maury. 
 
 Whether the stock of English aristoc- 
 racy is depreciating or not, we cannot tell. 
 We should think, however, that it was. 
 A young friend of ours, Tom Snip, a gen- 
 tleman by profession, who inherited a 
 handsome fortune from his father, of the 
 late firm of “Snip & Cut,” Merchant Tai- 
 lors, Broadway, has been abroad lately, 
 and haring got in payment in full for a 
 handsome loan to a distinguished Senator, 
 a letter of introduction to the American 
 Minister in London, of course shook hands 
 with all the court and the best society. 
 Well, Tom Snip, who was well up, and a 
 believer in Sir Bulwer Lytton and the 
 Hon. Mrs. Gore, had not the least doubt 
 that every English nobleman looked the 
 lord and the Apollo Belvidere at the same 
 time, and every woman of rank looked 
 the noblewoman and the Yenus de Medicis 
 besides. That was certainly Snip’s delib- 
 erate opinion ; but Tom has returned 
 home, a wiser man, ever since a hump- 
 
 * Montaigne say?, " In Peru, the greatest, ears are the most beautiful, which they stretch out as far as they 
 can by art. 'And a man now living, says that he has seen in an eastern nation this care of enlarging them in 
 so great repute, and the ear loaded with so ponderous jewels, that he did with gTeat ease put his tnn, sleeve 
 and ail, through the hole of an ear.” 
 
Are we a Good-Looking People? 
 
 311 
 
 1853.] 
 
 backed fellow was pointed out to him as 
 a lord of the realm, and a red-haired 
 virago as a peeress in her own right. 
 
 However the fact may be, as to the de- 
 preciation of the race of English nobles, 
 there is no doubt that the barons of Eng- 
 land have carried off some of our beauties, 
 as the Romans did the Sabine women, and 
 probably for the same purpose, though 
 doubtless with less urging. There are the 
 noted Court Beauties ; the Duchess of 
 Leeds, and her two sisters. Lady Stafford 
 and the Marchioness of Wellesley, all Bal- 
 timore women ; and Mrs. Bonaparte too, 
 who, if she had her own right, would 
 reign supreme in the court of her nephew 
 Emperor Louis ; and there is the New 
 England girl, Mrs. Van do Weyer, the 
 Belgian minister’s wife ; a galaxy of beau- 
 tiful women, rare, and highly appreciated 
 abroad ; jewels that have been taken from 
 the regalia of the sovereign people ; but as 
 bright and plenty of them still adorn our 
 diadem, and though they may be set 
 less richly, shine with no diminished lus- 
 tre. Whenever we hear of distinguished 
 foreigners being among us, we begin to 
 tremble for our belles, for fear that some 
 marauding English baron may be on the 
 look-out for beauty, or some French count 
 on a foray for booty. The women had 
 better be on their guard, and fortify their 
 citadels with outworks of triple whale- 
 bone ; intrench themselves within the 
 strong fortifications of home, and take in 
 a stock of the domestic virtues to sustain 
 a siege from the enemy. 
 
 Look at our notabilities ; are they not 
 good-looking 7 better looking than most 
 notabilities elsewhere? Take for exam- 
 ple our new President Pierce, and com- 
 pare hirn with Prince Albert ; the former 
 was certainly not chosen for his good 
 looks — the latter was. The artists have 
 done their best for Victoria’s consort, and 
 in spite of all their art, their cunning arti- 
 fices. their flattering touches, their inge- 
 nious disposition of light and shade, and 
 their courtly concessions of the true to 
 the ideal, there is not a picture of Prince 
 Albert in which he himself is not essen- 
 tially the most insignificant object; the 
 feathers and boots, the drapery and the 
 background are infinitely more dignified 
 and impressive ; Albert’s great pasty roll- 
 led out face without a line or an emotion, 
 looks always like a blank spot in the pic- 
 ture. President Pierce, no thanks to art, 
 has a face with a conoentrated expression 
 of energy, with lines of thought, and with 
 eyes full of fire. President Fillmore, too, 
 would take the precedence of any crowned 
 head, in the court of beauty. How Na- 
 poleon le petit, the Emperor of all the 
 French, dwarfs and shrinks by the side 
 
 of him ! Mr. Fillmore is tall, portly, and 
 has a frank, expansive face. Louis Na- 
 poleon is short, meagre, cold, and reserved ; 
 his face hidden for the most part in a thick- 
 set beard, where an expression of lust and 
 violence lies in ambush. Louis, though 
 no beauty himself, has, however, a taste 
 for beauty in others, especially for the 
 golden hair, the dark eyes, the blooming 
 face, and the seductive graces of the Span- 
 ish Senorita Montijo. Having a caprice , 
 as the French say, for la belle Espagnole, 
 and unable to corrupt, he has sworn, with 
 his blood}' hand upon his heart, a Napoleon 
 oath, to love and cherish her in the holy 
 bonds of matrimony. Looking at General 
 Scott, with the eye. of an artist, where can 
 you find a better model of a military hero 7 
 Lofty in stature ; lifting his head high 
 above the crowd of ordinary men ; well 
 proportioned ; with broad shoulders and 
 swelling chest ; a firmly placed foot and 
 erect posture ; a brow of command ; an eye 
 of concentration ; and a mouth of firm re- 
 solve ; he has the look and bearing of a 
 gallant soldier, and no wonder he scatter- 
 ed the Mexicans, and stalked into their 
 capital a conqueror. The shade of Daniel 
 Webster rises high among us in our Se- 
 nate and tribunals, and hi the assemblages 
 of the people ; solemn and portentous ; with 
 the serious aspect of the anxious patriot ; 
 the brow brooding with thought ; the eye 
 looking steadily into the darkness of fu- 
 turity ; the lips closing, upon their last 
 words of eloquent utterance, in fixed re- 
 solve ; a dark cloud gathering upon the 
 manly face and presaging fate ; and he pass- 
 es away in the gloom of death. There 
 never was a more noble-looking man than 
 Daniel Webster, and it has been truly 
 said that in appearance he was the ideal 
 of a great statesman. Our poets and au- 
 thors, Cooper and Irving and Longfellow, 
 Melville and Lovell, are handsome and su- 
 perior-looking men. Our artists too. for 
 the most part, can find no better life studies 
 than in their own looking-glasses. 
 
 Our crowds and public gatherings, our 
 thronged streets show the best-looking ag- 
 gregate of humanity, male and female, in 
 the world. Walk up and down Broad- 
 way. Are there such becoming crowds 
 on the Parisian Boulevards, or in the Lon- 
 don parks 7 Such streams of life, glowing 
 with beauty and glistening with bright 
 eyes, and flowing on like a glad river 
 sparkling in the sun. Was there ever 
 such a holiday people 7 They are work- 
 ing men all, it is true, as most Americans 
 are, with their wives and daughters, but 
 there is none of the Pariah look about 
 them, nor are they to be stared out of 
 countenance by the impertinence of the 
 old world’s bloated importance. The men 
 
312 
 
 Are we a Good-Looking People ? 
 
 have certainly an unquiet look, but it is 
 the eager intelligence of enterprise, full of 
 hope ; not the sodden, worn, careful face 
 born of discontent with the present, and 
 uncertainty about the future. 
 
 Did a handsomer set of fellows ever 
 march to the beat of drum, than our holi- 
 da}^ soldiers. Though their service — and 
 may they grow veterans in that and no 
 other — be confined to the corporation pro- 
 gramme of a Fourth of July glorification, 
 and their longest march be from the Bat- 
 tery to Union Square, we would pit them 
 against any army in the world in an at- 
 tack upon — -a woman’s heart. 
 
 Our fire-boys and train-bands, recruit- 
 ed in the Bowery, nursed on the blood 
 of the shambles, fired with the spirit of 
 independent youth and the pot-house, and 
 exercised in the rough-and-tumble of row- 
 dyism. could unstrip and show muscle 
 with any Farnese Hercules extant. And 
 has not our county the honor of giving 
 birth to Tom Heyer, the champion of pu- 
 gilists ? 
 
 Nature diffuses, art combines ; the for- 
 mer has no ready-made Apollos or perfect 
 Venuses on hand ; the latter is obliged to 
 get them up to order. The artist, in looking 
 up his material for the manufacture of his 
 ideal, must gouge out an eye here, pull a 
 nose there ; pluck a beard in one place, 
 cut off an ear in another ; pocket one man’s 
 hand, walk off with another man’s leg ; 
 steal the locks of one pretty girl, embrace 
 the form of another ; take his pick out of 
 the beautjr of one family, and run away 
 with the female bead of another. Well, 
 with all due admiration for beauty, 
 wherever it may be diffused, we believe 
 that the artist would have less of a steeple- 
 chase in his hunt after the ideal, in Ame- 
 rica, than in any other country under the 
 sun. A short walk in Broadway, would 
 supply him with material for a whole 
 Louvre of artistic beauty, for any number 
 of gods, goddesses, and cherubs. — men. 
 women and children. Americans being a 
 race made up of every variety of people, 
 their style is necessarily of the composite 
 order. But whatever their origin, they 
 all have specific American characterestics. 
 The very foreigners are hardly landed, be- 
 fore they are melted up and turned out of 
 the American mould, very passable speci- 
 mens of Yankees. The fat Englishman 
 is melted down and reduced into working 
 shape ; the light Frenchman acquires sub- 
 stance ; the heavy German is lightened up ; 
 the wild Irishman is made tractable ; the 
 slumbering Spaniard opens his eyes and 
 stirs his stumps. 
 
 Jonathan may be described as the finish- 
 ed model of the Anglo-Saxon, of which 
 John Bull is the rough-cast. The former is 
 
 [March 
 
 more cleanly cut ; his proportions more re- 
 gular ; his features more sharply chiselled ; 
 and his action more free. The latter is 
 altogether too superfluous and clumsy ; 
 his proportions want regulating ; his belly 
 is too protuberant ; his neck too thick ; 
 his feet too spreading ; his hands too large 
 and podgy ; his lips too spongy and evert- 
 ed ; his cheeks too pendulous ; his nose too 
 lobular, blunt and bottle-like ; his expres- 
 sion altogether too beef-eating; in a word, 
 according to our taste, John Bull won’t 
 do, and must be done over again ; but 
 tastes, of course, differ, and our taste is 
 only an American taste, after all. 
 
 The doctors tell us there is less deform- 
 ity in the United States, than elsewhere. 
 It is easier, say the midwives, to come into 
 this world of America, as it has been 
 easier, before the Ericsson, to go out of it, 
 than in any other world extant. The 
 mothers of America are so rarely deform- 
 ed, and their u as well as may be expect- 
 ed” means so very well indeed, that the 
 medical ushers of the bed-post, like most 
 other dignitaries on great occasions, have 
 really quite a sinecure of it. 
 
 It is true, Tom Thumb is a native, and 
 although we think him no beauty, they 
 evidently thought so abroad; and Vic- 
 toria kissed and fondled him very much 
 as Gulliver was kissed and fondled by his 
 Brobdingnag nurse, Glumdalclitch. The 
 climate, however, is not favorable to the 
 undergrowth of dwarfs, for we have the 
 word of Barnum’s agent for the fact, that 
 ho succeeded once in finding an English 
 dwarf, to whom Tom Thumb was a giant, 
 and on bringing him to New- York, he 
 had hardly been here a week, when he 
 grew as tall as a bean-pole ; and his early 
 death alone prevented Barnum from ex- 
 hibiting the former English dwarf, as the 
 great Kentucky giant. 
 
 The Americans are undoubtedly a thin 
 people; thin-skinned at any rate, some 
 will exclaim, but that is not the question 
 just now. If quantity is to carry the day, 
 and not quality, Jonathan must yield to 
 the forty stone of John Bull. But there 
 is not one of the philosophers who holds, 
 that beauty is to be measured by the ex- 
 panded size of the girth, and the enlarged 
 circumference of the belly. Africa alone, of 
 all nations, though Turkey has a leaning 
 that way, sets up fatness as a standard of 
 beauty. Cuffey, it is true, expands female 
 loveliness beyond the limits of the em- 
 brace of any ordinary mortal ; lards it with 
 layers of fat, like a plump partridge pre- 
 pared for the spit ; and feasts his dainty 
 imagination upon the oleaginous charms of 
 female blubber. But Cuffey is not ac- 
 knowledged by the rest of the world as the 
 arbiter elegantiarum. Americans are 
 
Are we a Good-LooJcing People? 
 
 313 
 
 1853.] 
 
 thin ; they have too much to do, and too 
 anxious to do it well, to allow of the necessa- 
 ry repose for the quiet accumulation of fat. 
 But they have muscles, strong and active, 
 that spring to their work, quick messen- 
 gers of an energetic will. Our women 
 have not the embonpoint of the English, 
 hut they don’t imbibe London stout by 
 the imperial measure, nor retire to their 
 nuptial couches, torpid with strong brewed 
 ale and old Stilton. Fashionable ladies 
 dance themselves down below the average 
 size, dissolve themselves by their dissipa- 
 tion into impalpable shadows, and pass 
 away as ghosts in a decline. We have no 
 excuse for such, but thank heaven, there 
 are American women who are not fashion- 
 able ladies. “A true female figure, ” whis- 
 pers Leigh Hunt, “ is falling, and not too 
 broad in the shoulders ; moderate, yet in- 
 clining to fulness rather than deficiency, 
 in the bosom ; gently tapering, and with- 
 out violence of any sort, in the waist ; na- 
 turally curving again in those never-to-be- 
 without-apology-alluded-to hips ; and final- 
 ly, her buoyant lightness should be sup- 
 ported upon natural legs, not at all like a 
 man’s ; and upon feetywhich, though little, 
 are able to support all the rest.” Was it 
 Mrs. Bull, who stood as a model for that 
 picture "? No ! she would make a dozen 
 of such ; it must have been, with all due 
 reverence for our grandmother, be it said, 
 her lightsome daughter, America. 
 
 The average height of our men, is about 
 five feet ten, oftener above than below. 
 The Americans are very evenly measured, 
 and would range without picking or 
 choosing, in a level platoon, that would 
 delight the eye of a military martinet. 
 Kentucky is supposed to supply Barnum 
 with his giants, and the supply seems to 
 keep up wondrously. Among other mar- 
 vels of that State, where the inhabitants 
 are said to be half-horse, half-alligator, 
 and are capable of going the whole hog, 
 which means, we suppose, taking in a full 
 sized animal in a single swallow, there is 
 no doubt the men are tall, and, as they 
 talk, very large. Frederick of Prussia 
 would not have wanted for recruits for 
 his tall grenadier guards, if he had had 
 the run of the West. Kentucky, Ohio, 
 and Tennessee, would have supplied him 
 with an army of them. Put Lord John 
 Russell and Daniel Webster, the Duke of 
 Wellington and General Scott, back to 
 back, and mark how the Americans over- 
 top their English relatives. 
 
 Let us analyze the American, not as 
 the chemist, who tells us that man is 45 
 lbs. of carbon and nitrogen, diffused through 
 five and a half pailsful of water (the Amer- 
 ican, we are inclined to believe, has con- 
 sideraby less water in his composition), 
 
 but as the anatomist, into head and neck, 
 body and extremities. 
 
 The American head is generally large, 
 which the phrenologists may attribute as 
 they please, to increased development of 
 brain. There are all varieties of face, 
 though the oval predominates ; all kinds 
 of eyes, though the black prevail ; noses 
 of every shape and size, Grecian, Roman, 
 and the English turn-up, though the bot- 
 tie and snub are rare ; mouths of many 
 kinds, voluptuous and ascetic, firm and 
 relaxed ; and diverse chins, double and 
 single, square and pointed. These fea- 
 tures are, however, for the most part, 
 more sharply chiselled with us, than in 
 any other people. Our foreheads are 
 higher and wider and we seem to be proud 
 of them, and not content with the gener- 
 osity of nature in this respect, try to ex- 
 tort from her more than is our due. A 
 high, expanded, arched forehead, may be 
 excellent in man, as indicative of intellec- 
 tual force, the power of knowledge ; but it 
 is a positive blemish in a female, whose 
 most attractive characteristics are delicacy 
 and tenderness. The ancients admired a 
 low forehead in a woman, and their sculp- 
 tors, always true to beauty, gave their 
 female statues such. Horace saj^s, insig- 
 nem tenui fronte Lycorida. Lycoris re- 
 markable for her low forehead; which 
 he evidently puts down to the credit of 
 her beauty ; and Martial speaks admiring- 
 ly of thefrons brevis , the short forehead. 
 Leigh Hunt says a large, bare forehead, 
 gives a woman a masculine and defiant 
 look. The word effrontery comes from 
 it. Now ever since phrenology began to 
 finger our craniums, our vanity has been 
 very busy in smoothing the way for its 
 titillating advances. Men and women, 
 too, have been so much engaged, with the 
 aid of brushes and depilatories, in brush- 
 ing up and putting in order the outworks, 
 that they have neglected to fortify the 
 citadel within. As an untrod path may 
 lead to a deserted house, a smooth fore- 
 head may point to an empty brain. The 
 prevailing practice of combing back the 
 hair of young girls, and keeping it there 
 with a force that draws the blood from 
 its roots, and skins the eyeballs, is the 
 ugliest possible of practices ; when these 
 young girls grow up wiser than their 
 mothers, as they surely will, it is hoped 
 they will not have the effrontery to scold 
 at their mammas for having spoiled their 
 beauty. A good word has, it is true, been 
 spoken in favor of the large forehead ; it 
 has been likened, in its relation to the 
 face, to the broad sky in a landscape, 
 lightening up the whole expanse. The 
 Italian women used to pluck out their 
 hair to increase the height of their fore- 
 
314 
 
 Are we a Good-Looking People? 
 
 heads ; and Montaigne reports that the 
 women are reputed more beautiful, not only 
 in Biscay, but elsewhere, for having their 
 heads shaved. We recommend, however, 
 our beauties to cultivate the low forehead, 
 and advise our mannish women of the 
 Woman’s Rights Convention, to transplant 
 the hair from their heads to their chins, 
 and with bold fronts and strong beards, 
 make good their claims to man’s privile- 
 ges and his wardrobe, to his boots and 
 his walks in life. 
 
 The prevailing fashion of wearing the 
 hair is not at all to our taste. Our wo- 
 men have naturally a very luxuriant 
 growth, but they do not make good use 
 of it. The hair should be flowing, and 
 not too much restrained. The ladies 
 should eschew the bandoline of the hair- 
 dresser, and overturn their macassar oil 
 and kalydors into the fire, as the Vicar 
 of Wakefield did his daughters’ washes 
 and cosmetics. There is no greater beau- 
 ty than the natural waving hair, but such 
 is the power of fashion, that we know a 
 pretty girl who spends the better part of 
 the morning in trying to turn nature’s 
 curved lines of beauty into the straight 
 ones of art. She plasters and presses, 
 and glues, and posts, like a bill-sticker, 
 her front hair on either side of her fore- 
 head, until it looks like two great daubs 
 of black paint, or pieces of black plaster, 
 or blinkers on the eyes of a shying horse, 
 or like any thing that is ugly or unbecom- 
 ing. Fashion is a cunning, short-tailed 
 fox, and pretty women should beware of 
 its arts. Fashion is a device of ugliness 
 to entrap beauty. Fanny ! we beseech you, 
 in spite of that ugly Frenchwoman, Mad- 
 ame La Mode, let your dark waving hair 
 How on in its natural course of beauty, 
 free and graceful as your own girl’s life ; 
 let it shade with its tendrils the sunny 
 light of your eyes, and the youthful bloom 
 of your sweet face, and let it fall in clus- 
 ters and full foliage about that rising but 
 fast ripening into the fulness of woman- 
 hood. Our men are magnificent on the 
 score of whiskers. We prefer the Ameri- 
 can to the English mode of wearing the 
 beard ; the former, in its free growth, 
 gives length to the face, in character with 
 its natural oval form ; the latter, which 
 has been styled the cotellette de mouton 
 style of whisker, which shows the chin 
 and lower lip, and leaves the hair upon 
 the cheek to grow in a triangular form, 
 gives an unnatural breadth to the counte- 
 nance, and a blank, spread-out look. 
 
 In spite of the supposed largeness of 
 grasp, and the length of stride of the 
 Americans, they have extremely small 
 hands and feet. Glove-sellers and shoe- 
 makers who have come hither from the 
 
 [March 
 
 Rue de la Paix or Bond-street, will tell 
 you that the size and fit of Young America 
 are a smaller pair of kids, and a shorter pair 
 of varnished leathers or satin slippers, 
 than those of either Young France or Eng- 
 land. 
 
 Our walk and attitudes are not by any 
 means the most graceful and becoming in 
 the world. An American has ease enough 
 certainly, a little too much, we think ; it 
 is the ease which makes him lie down when 
 he should stand up ; it is the ease which ele- 
 vates his heels in the air when he should 
 plant his feet upon the ground ; it is the ease 
 which sprawls on four chairs when it 
 should sit upon one ; it is the ease which 
 rests its elbow upon a neighbor’s knees, in- 
 stead of its own ; in fine, it is the ease of 
 republican gregariousness, which would 
 merge the reserve of the individual in- 
 to the free and easy whole. Our men 
 would be better looking; they would not 
 stoop in the shoulders, as many do, or 
 bend in the legs ; and they would be infi- 
 nitely more agreeable, if they would im- 
 prove their ways and manners in this re- 
 pect. 
 
 Our women are too stiff in their walk 
 and attitude. In walking, an American 
 woman only bends her knees, and hardly 
 that ; she should yield a little in the up- 
 per joints. Her gait gives a movement to 
 her body, like the squirming motion Of a 
 wounded insect, with a naturalist’s pin 
 through its midriff. American women 
 hold their arms badly in walking ; they 
 almost universally bring them forward, 
 crossing their hands in front ; they have, 
 in consequence, the look of a trussed fowl, 
 and have about as much freedom of mo- 
 tion. If the arms were allowed to fall 
 freely by the side, our women would move 
 more gracefully, 4 walk better, and look 
 better. The prevailing mode of carrying 
 the arms hoops the shoulders, contracts 
 the breast, prevents all proper develop- 
 ment of the bust, ruins health, and what 
 our ladies will be more likely to attend to, 
 destroys beauty of form and all grace 
 of movement. In complexion we must 
 yield to the English ; their moist climate 
 is favorable to the fresh, clear, wholesome 
 and pellucid rose tint, that distinguishes the 
 faces of the young and beautiful in Eng- 
 land. An English beauty has, however, 
 to watch her complexion closely ; an addi- 
 tional degree to the thermometer, a glass of 
 beer more than the daily allowance, or an 
 unusual emotion, is apt to spoil all, and 
 flush, in a moment, the delicately shaded 
 rose tint, into the full-blown peon)’. There 
 is, however, a style of complexion in 
 America which is never seen in England, 
 and which we admire highly ; it is a mix- 
 ture of the brune and blonde , a compro- 
 
Are we a Good-Looking People? 
 
 315 
 
 1853.] 
 
 mise between the oriental olive and the 
 English red ; it may be compared to a 
 rose blooming through the misty vapor 
 of early morn ; it is like a ripe peach, 
 with its golden tint spread over the rose- 
 ate hue beneath ; it is the dark Spanish 
 beauty, brightened up by the wholesome 
 blood of England. The pale, olive com- 
 plexion of America is supposed by the 
 English to be evidence of ill health. 
 English travellers used to affect to be- 
 lieve, that every second American was 
 a dyspeptic, and the rest far gone into 
 a decline. But this peculiarly American 
 complexion not seldom lasts from child- 
 hood to threescore and ten. and shows 
 itself everywhere where enterprise and la- 
 bor are busy in doing their manful part. 
 
 There is a want of abandon, of course 
 we are speaking of manners, not of mor- 
 als, about the American women ; they 
 are too formal and statuesque ; they carry 
 themselves with a hauteur, as if they 
 were entitled to homage without owing 
 any thing in exchange. They will turn 
 out a full omnibus of men. or a score of 
 male worshippers from their church seats 
 without designing to give in return the 
 cheap courtesy of a smile or a bow, or 
 the small change of a “ thank you.” 
 Like the images and painted saints in a 
 church, they receive the worship of their 
 adorers without even the consciousness of a 
 wink, as if they were quite insensible to 
 the piety of the faithful. Our fashionable 
 women are said to be good dancers ; if 
 so, their skill is confined to the turning 
 of a pretty ankle or the tripping of a fan- 
 tastic toe. 
 
 Our voice is not so soft as that of the 
 English, for example, although there is a 
 difference in favor of the Southern women ; 
 but our deficiency in this respect may be 
 attributed, like our pale complexions, to 
 the effects of the atmosphere. Voice de- 
 pends upon hearing, and as sound is dis- 
 tinct and shrill in our clear air, so the 
 voice naturally assumes a high, sharp key. 
 
 In expression, that illuminated book of 
 the soul and the intellect, where every 
 thought and emotion may be read by him 
 who runs, the Americans surpass every 
 other people. In most countries, you 
 may observe the doltishness of insensi- 
 bility, the stupidity of ignorance, the ob- 
 sequiousness of servility, or the supercil- 
 iousness of command. In America, you 
 find expanded over the whole face of the 
 people, an expression of lively intelligence 
 and common respect. This is the natural 
 result of equality before the law. It is 
 true we are an anxious people, too anx- 
 ious. It would appear at times as if our 
 destiny was not to enjoy life, but to pre- 
 pare it for the enjoyment of those who 
 
 are to come after us. We are always 
 pioneers, not only in new lands, but in 
 fresh fields of new enterprise ; we are 
 ever pushing on to the unknown regions 
 of undiscovered thought. We work on 
 ceaselessly, stirred by the spirit that is 
 within us of our own intelligence and en- 
 ergy, and not because forced to fly from 
 the sling and arrows of outrageous for- 
 tune. The Americans may possibly have 
 a worn look, and may not laugh as 
 heartily as they might, and as they are 
 fully entitled to, according to the proverb, 
 “ let him laugh who wins.” However 
 this may be ; as far as the question of 
 beauty is concerned, the expression of the 
 common face of America, is, without doubt, 
 the finest in the world. 
 
 We have been talking of beauty for the 
 most part ; but we would not despise 
 homeliness. Ugliness has a claim to our 
 sympathy. Lord Bacon says, “ virtue is 
 like a rich stone, best plain set : ” and 
 moreover, that “beauty is as summer 
 fruits, which are easy toeorrupt and can- 
 not last.” Madam de Pompadour, it is 
 true, used to say that a handsome woman 
 was the noblest work of God ; but she 
 was an interested party. Mere regularity 
 of feature, and what is termed good looks, 
 are often deceptive. Coleridge tells us of 
 the impression, full of respect and admira- 
 tion, a calm, grave, silent, intellectual, and 
 handsome-looking man once made upon him 
 at a dinner-table, and how he watched his 
 lips till they might open to a sentiment or 
 thought worth y of Bacon, until some apple- 
 dumplings came in, when the Magnus 
 Apollo exclaimed, “Them’s the jockeys 
 for me ! ” 
 
 Coleridge also reports that once upon a 
 time a lady was descanting admiringly 
 upon the personal charms of John Wilkes, 
 when he put in, “ but he squints, mad- 
 am.” “ Squints ? sir,” replied the lady, 
 “-he only squints as such a man should 
 squint.” Mirabeau was by no means 
 handsome; Wilkes was positively ugly; 
 and Burr no Apollo ; and yet these three 
 men were all famous for their gallantries, 
 and must necessarily have been greatly 
 admired by the gentle sex. Wilkes used 
 to say he only wanted a half hour’s talk 
 with a woman to get the better of the 
 handsomest man in the company. And 
 Burr confessed that touch was the se- 
 cret of his success ; and asserted that he 
 never failed by that simple means to feel 
 his way into the good graces of the hand- 
 somest woman living. These acts we 
 commend to the consideration of the ugly 
 men, and if they are not satisfied let them 
 join the ugly club in the Spectator. 
 
 As for women that are not beautiful, 
 and none need be positively ugly, let them 
 
316 
 
 My First French Teacher. 
 
 console themselves with the fact that the 
 fascination of a woman does not depend 
 upon the color of her eyes, or the shape 
 of her nose, or upon her mere personal 
 form at all. Merely beautiful women are 
 apt to put up their charms at too high 
 a price, and consequently iind no bidders. 
 
 [March 
 
 A natural desire and power of pleasing, 
 that come from good nature, are more 
 fascinating and more lasting than all sur- 
 face charms. With such attractions, a 
 woman may reasonably hope, like Ninon 
 De 1’ Enclos, to inspire an affection at 
 fourscore. 
 
 MY FIRST FRENCH TEACHER. 
 Dans ce Paris plain, d'or et de misere. Berangee. 
 
 U A ND a teacher, madame,” said I, to the 
 a*- English-speaking Frenchwoman with 
 whom I had just concluded an arrange- 
 ment for a room and breakfast. 
 
 “ I will speak to an old friend on the 
 subject, can I be of further service ? ” 
 
 “ Many thanks, no.” 
 
 I sent for my baggage from the Hotel des 
 Etr angers. and wandered about Paris, 
 extremely amused and charmed with no- 
 velty, but bitterly and continually con- 
 scious of the inferiority of ignorance. On 
 that day, for the,only time in my life, I 
 envied, not magnificence, nor genius, but 
 the volubility of two ragged urchins. 
 
 At nine, next morning, I heard a tap 
 at the door, and upon my “ Come in,” fol- 
 lowed a man of seventjr. 
 
 “ Madame G. informs me that you need 
 lessons in my language. I can devote to 
 you two hours in the morning. Do you 
 think three francs too much ? ” 
 
 “ By no means ; shall we begin ? ” 
 
 We did, and in the eagerness of acquisi- 
 tion, at first, I scarcely looked at my 
 teacher ; but it is impossible to consort long 
 with a fellow-being, without some curio- 
 sity ; and I soon remarked his thin long 
 white hair, his threadbare dress of faded 
 brown, and his expression, not of satiety, 
 disappointment, or bitterness, but of utter 
 weariness ; that of a slave staggering under 
 a burden of which he dare not complain. 
 I frequently pressed to finish my task, in 
 order to converse with him ; but, though 
 he always answered intelligently, he never 
 passed the limits of a mere answer. Se- 
 veral times I was late at our appointment, 
 but even to my excuses he merely bowed. 
 A month had thus passed. One morning he 
 did not come, nor the second ; on the third 
 he entered. His usual look of fatigue was 
 deepened into that of utter exhaustion. I 
 noticed that a black cravat had taken the 
 place of the usual check. 
 
 Contrary to his habit, he spoke in 
 French, and rapidly, regretting his una- 
 voidable absence. 
 
 “ Let us make up for lost time.” said 
 I, gayly. He was sorry he could no 
 longer be of service to me. This was 
 strange ; but his age and poverty forbade 
 me to ask a reason, and I repaired to my 
 landlady for the explanation. 
 
 He had been a professor in a college, 
 easy in his circumstances, and happy in a 
 family ; had been deprived of his place, 
 had lost his fortune, and had seen his 
 family drop one by one, dwindled to a 
 single grandson. That boy he educated 
 and supported by the precarious chance 
 of English lessons, and two days ago, his 
 grandson died. 
 
 “ Did you observe a black cravat ? 
 Client son mieux : he probably has only 
 the sum you paid him to bury his boy.” 
 
 A thousand times since I have reproach- 
 ed myself for not relieving, by some little 
 ingenuity, that worst of human woes, the 
 destitution of pride ; but, in the thought- 
 lessness of youth, the story of the poor 
 gentleman was soon stamped out of my 
 mind by some other impression. Two 
 weeks after I was strolling in the Tuile- 
 ries on a sunny noon. The gardens at 
 that hour are merely tenanted by nurses, 
 children, and stragglers. Upon one of the 
 benches (chairs are a sou ) I saw an old 
 man with an open book. He had not 
 turned a leaf for five minutes. I drew 
 near from some feeling of curiosity, and 
 recognized my teacher. I addressed him 
 in English ; he neither replied nor looked 
 up ; his mind was too far away to be re- 
 called by a sound unconnected with his 
 recollections. I then ventured upon a 
 “ Bonjour, monsieur ; ” he rose, bowed, 
 and sank again into his seat. I wanted 
 to speak but could not ; my heart sickened 
 and my throat swelled at the sight of 
 grief, impatient of sympathy, and, like 
 Rachel, refusing to be comforted. The 
 hopes of existence were not merely dead 
 in the old man, but buried, and a stone 
 rolled over the mouth of the sepulchre. 
 In presence of such a grief who could 
 babble condolence ? Not 1. 
 
 Day after day, during a week, I re- 
 turned at the same hour to the Tuileries. 
 with the vague hope of doing something — 
 I knew not what — for the old man ; but 
 I never saw him again. 
 
 I mentioned the subject to my hostess. 
 
 “Fortune has at last been kind,” said 
 she. 
 
 “ How ? ” said I eagerly. 
 
 “ He died three days ago.” 
 
1853.] 
 
 317 
 
 GREENOUGH, THE SCULPTOR. 
 
 ORATIO GREENOUGH was born 
 in Boston, Massachusetts, on the 6th 
 September, 1805. lie was put early to 
 the best schools that were to be found in or 
 around Boston. A strong, healthy, active 
 boy, he excelled in athletic games, in run- 
 ning, jumping, swimming. He was also 
 distinguished by fondness for literature, 
 and a facility in committing English po- 
 etry to memory. Already in boyhood 
 came out in marked prominence the rul- 
 ing talent of his richly endowed nature. 
 With such skill, and such taste in form 
 and ornament, did he carve toys, cimeters, 
 pistols of wood, that when detected at 
 this employment in school hours, the in- 
 genuity and beauty of his work so sur- 
 prised his teachers, as to draw from them 
 praise instead of the accustomed repri- 
 mand. 
 
 In his father’s garden stood a marble 
 statue of Phocion, a copy from the an- 
 tique. This being constantly before his 
 eyes, first bred in him a desire to attempt 
 something in sculpture. His first efforts 
 were in chalk. When he was yet only 
 twelve years of age, a gentleman of Bos- 
 ton discerned so much merit in a copy he 
 was making in chalk of a bust of John 
 Adams, by Binon, that he took him to the 
 Athenaeum, and obtained for him, from 
 Mr. Shaw, the director, free access to its 
 valuable collection of engravings. 
 
 He was fortunate, as beginners seldom 
 are, in the connections and influences of 
 his boyhood and youth. His nascent ge- 
 nius for art was not thwarted, it was fos- 
 tered. One gentleman, Mr. Solomon Wil- 
 lard, taught him to model in clay ; ano- 
 ther, Mr. Alpheus Cary, to cut marble. 
 And best of all, his father, perceiving 
 how strong was his bent, consented that 
 he should make art and sculpture his 
 chief study; only stipulating, with an en- 
 lightened judgment, that he should at the 
 same time receive the best general in- 
 struction that could be obtained, and that 
 therefore he should graduate at Cam- 
 bridge. Accordingly he entered Harvard 
 University in 1821. at the age of sixteen. 
 
 Drawing, modelling, anatomy, books on 
 art, these now absorbed most of his time. 
 But what was of greatest value to him 
 while at Cambridge, was the friendship 
 of Allston. In a letter to Mr. Dunlap, 
 inserted in the “ History of the Rise and 
 Progress of the Arts of Design in the 
 United States,” and dated Florence, De- 
 cember 1st, 1833, Mr. Greenough speaks 
 as follows of Mr. Allston, and another 
 friend whom he made during his college 
 course: — “Mr. Cogswell,” who was at 
 
 that time librarian of Harvard, and is 
 now librarian of the Astor Library, “ con- 
 tributed perhaps more than any one to 
 fix my purpose, and supplied me with 
 casts, &c., to nurse my fondness for statu- 
 ary. Allston, in the sequel, was to me a 
 father, in what concerned my progress of 
 every kind.” 
 
 Towards the close of his senior year, 
 he was permitted by the government of 
 Harvard to leave college before the con- 
 clusion of the last term, without forfeit- 
 ing his diploma, that he might avail him- 
 self of the opportunity of a vessel about 
 to sail to Marseilles, to proceed to Italy. 
 He reached Rome in the autumn of 1825. 
 Surrounded by the unique incitements 
 and facilities of that vast treasure-house 
 of Art, he entered zealously on the course 
 of study and labor that he had planned 
 under the advice of Allston. But he had 
 scarcely been in Rome a year, when his 
 studies were suspended by a severe at- 
 tack of illness, caused by the malaria. 
 This obliged him to return home, and he 
 arrived in Boston restored to health by 
 the sea voyage. 
 
 After remaining a year in America, 
 during which time he made busts of se- 
 veral distinguished public men in Wash- 
 ington, he returned to Italy, and took up 
 his abode in Florence. 
 
 Now began the tug of life. He was 
 ready and eager for work, but no work 
 came. Taste for art had hardly yet be- 
 gun to be diffused in the United States. 
 The names of a few native painters were 
 occasionally heard, Allston at the head of 
 them ; but even he was not yet apprecia- 
 ted. Sculptors there were none. Green- 
 ough first broke ground in this rich field. 
 He had to brave the perils of a discoverer, 
 to bear the hardships of a pioneer. All 
 the hardships that beset the artist may 
 be included in one — the hardship of not 
 getting work. Boccaccio says : “Fortune 
 has a hundred eyes ; only fools call her 
 blind.” As she had done in his boyhood, 
 she fixed her eyes again on Greenough. 
 Another friend was about to rise up at 
 the moment of greatest need. James 
 Fenimore Cooper arrived in Florence. 
 He became acquainted with, and interest- 
 ed in the young American sculptor. 
 Cooper had a large American heart. Per- 
 ceiving the merit of Greenough, he held 
 out to him a helping hand in the most 
 helpful way. He ordered a group of him 
 the Chanting Cherubs. When finished, 
 he sent it to America to be exhibited. 
 The effect he designed and expected was 
 produced. The name of Horatio Green- 
 
318 
 
 Greenough, the Sculptor. 
 
 ough became widely and honorably known 
 in America. Mr. Cooper, following up 
 his first noble discriminating act with a 
 second, quickly took advantage of the 
 fame gathered for his young friend by the 
 Chanting Cherubs, to influence the Fe- 
 deral Government to order a statue of 
 Washington. In the letter above quoted, 
 Mr. Greenough thus speaks of Mr. Coo- 
 per: — " Fenimore Cooper saved me from 
 despair after my return to Italy. He em- 
 ployed me as I wished to be employed ; 
 and up to this moment has been a father 
 to me in kindness.” 
 
 Greenough now threw his whole 
 thought and soul into the Washington. 
 With studious deliberation he matured 
 the conception and composition. It was 
 a bold originality in the young sculptor 
 to present Washington naked to the Ame- 
 rican people. In doing so, he surrendered 
 himself to his genial emotions and artistic 
 convictions, which lifted him above pro- 
 saic demands. A high function of art is, 
 to elevate without falsifying, to idealize 
 without denaturalizing. This Greenough 
 has done in his Washington of the Capi- 
 tol. This noble colossal statue will grow 
 on public esteem as time removes the 
 original further from association with sin- 
 gle events, and men shall more and more 
 contemplate Washington in the majesty 
 of his moral greatness ; the which, while 
 it was the source of his civil wisdom and 
 supremacy, gave effect, too, to his military 
 genius and leadership. The real Wash- 
 ington will then appear to be what he in 
 truth is, identical with the grand ideal of 
 Greenough. And when, a century hence, 
 our cities and public edifices shall be 
 beautified by hundreds of sculptured 
 masterpieces, and the general taste shall 
 have been cultivated by multiplication of 
 the works of affluent native genius, the 
 gaze of the mighty populous Republic 
 will still be turned with admiration towards 
 this simple, majestic figure ; and the 
 crowned masters of sculpture will look 
 back with gratitude to him who had the 
 genius and power to inaugurate their 
 great art in America, by embodying in 
 adequate grandeur the sublime 'Washing- 
 ton. 
 
 Greenough was now prosperously and 
 securely launched in his career. He, yet 
 a young man, had high responsible work. 
 An artist can ask no more. Hope took 
 the place of despondency, an elevating self- 
 confidence of depressing misgivings. The 
 artist had cause to be thankful. ‘ In 1837 
 occurred an event, which gave the man, too 
 cause to be thankful, and for all the rest of 
 his life. He was married in Florence, to 
 Miss Louisa Gore, of Boston. Life was 
 now to him full of joy. He was recog- 
 
 [March 
 
 nized at home and in Italy, as a sculptor 
 of high and rising merit ; blest as few are 
 in his married life ; relaxing days of con- 
 genial labor with evenings among selected 
 companions, or cultivated and distinguish- 
 ed visitors to the Tuscan Capital ; sought 
 by his countrymen, many of whom have 
 a cherished recollection of the easy, elegant 
 hospitality of the Palazzo Baciocchi. A 
 gentleman who, with his family, at a time 
 of deep affliction, was indebted in Florence 
 to Mr. and Mrs. Greenough for tender 
 fraternal kindness, in a recent letter to the 
 writer of this, alludes to Mr. Greenough’s 
 decease in these expressive and touching 
 words : — “ He was a true, high-spirited 
 and independent man, and I feel in losing 
 him, that something is permanently de- 
 ducted from my life.” 
 
 Mr. Greenough was simple in his wants, 
 temperate in his indulgences. With a 
 full appreciation of all healthful things, he 
 would at any time have cheerfully given 
 up a good dinner for a “ good talk.” And 
 in a good talk he was sure to play one of 
 the best parts. His conversation was 
 brilliant. He had been a searching ob- 
 server in several lands; had consorted 
 with differing classes; had personally 
 known many of the eminent men of Eu- 
 rope and America ; and, with these ad- 
 vantages, he was bold in thought, and 
 always aimed at the centre of men and 
 things. He was an artist in the telling of 
 a story. He was hospitable and sociable, 
 and made and kept many friends. He 
 was generous, and delicate in his gene- 
 rosity. 
 
 His intellectual capacity was large and 
 various ; his temperament nervous and 
 excitable. Hence, he could not be content 
 with one field. The genuine artist, being 
 rich in sympathies, easily draws into him- 
 self the electric currents that are forever 
 playing around him. The varied apti- 
 tudes, bodify and mental, that manifested 
 themselves so decisively in youth, had all 
 ripened together in manhood. The poetic 
 organization does not let natural gifts rust 
 from disuse. Self-culture is one of its needs. 
 It delights in a multiplex activity. The 
 strong, lively boy grew into the robust, 
 energetic man, whose noble height was 
 graced by the sinews and muscles of an 
 athlete ; whose lungs and heart swelled 
 a chest ample enough for a Hercules ; and 
 who delighted to buffet the waves on a 
 rough beach, and to busy the arm that 
 modelled a Venus, in an eager game at 
 quoits. The boy’s fondness for reading 
 unfolded itself into the judgment of the 
 critic, and the productiveness of the spirited 
 original writer. The hand that sculptur- 
 ed grand and beautiful forms, could lay 
 aside the chisel to take up the pen, and, 
 
Greenough , the Sculptor. 
 
 319 
 
 1853.] 
 
 concentrating the genial conclusions of a 
 thoughtful life, write therewith in a few 
 hours a triumphant refutation of Burke’s 
 Theory of the Sublime and Beautiful. 
 
 That Mr. Greenough should give his 
 mind to painting and architecture, and 
 the fundamental principles of all Art, was, 
 with his eager nature, a necessity. But 
 he also found time for literary study. He 
 was not only a thorough master of Italian, 
 which he spoke like a native, but of 
 French, which he likewise spoke correctly 
 and fluently ; and latterly, during a re- 
 sidence at Grafenberg, he taught himself 
 German. Moreover, he took a deep in- 
 terest in politics, and sympathized strong- 
 ly with the recent great popular move- 
 ment in Europe. He was a cordial De- 
 mocrat. His sojourn abroad, during his 
 whole manhood, strengthened him in re- 
 publicanism, converting youthful inherit- 
 ed impressions into virile convictions. 
 After living so long in Italy, under the 
 yoked tyrannies of Prince and Priest, he 
 seemed here on American soil to revel in 
 liberty. To his friends it was an enjoy- 
 ment and also a profit, to see him, on his 
 return home eighteen months since, throw 
 himself with such ardor into the great 
 questions and interests of the day. He 
 discussed them with the vivacity and di- 
 rectness of one whose appetite had been 
 sharpened by long abstinence. 
 
 It was however to topics and things 
 whereon the light of Art shines or ought 
 to shine, that he most often recurred. A 
 walk with him in Broadway or the Fifth 
 Avenue, was a lively dissertation on archi- 
 tecture. He sought to have every where the 
 beauty of fitness. He wished all products 
 of man, like those of Nature, to be children 
 of the marriage between Beauty and Uti- 
 lity. He liked to go into foundries ; and 
 then on coming out he would make draw- 
 ings of iron fences, or bedsteads, or stoves. 
 He had an earnest purpose to spread 
 throughout the land a knowledge of how 
 practical beauty is. He wished to give 
 his country the benefit of his poetic per- 
 ception, and of his life of study on the 
 general applicability of principles of 
 beauty. 
 
 But these his lofty aims were not to be 
 fulfilled. He was only permitted to point 
 public attention to this high matter. He 
 had just made a brilliant beginning by 
 two lectures in Boston, when he was sud- 
 denly cut off. The nervous fibre of ge- 
 nius often snaps from the very fineness of 
 its texture and its hypervitality. So it 
 was with Horatio Greenough. By his 
 death, his country has lost one of her 
 most gifted sons. An accomplished, as- 
 piring, noble-minded man has passed from 
 our midst. The gap he has left will be 
 
 slow to close. They who had the privilege 
 of his friendship, have, in their memory of 
 him, a dear image that will live with them 
 undimmed through their remaining years ; 
 and long after all the friends who will 
 carry his memory to their graves, shall 
 have joined him in that spirit land where 
 there are no struggles and no tears, will 
 be visible the impress his genius has made 
 upon his country. 
 
 As the appropriate conclusion to this 
 insufficient record of his life and character, 
 we append a catalogue of his works. 
 
 CATALOGUE OF HORATIO GREENOUGh’s 
 WORKS. 
 
 1. Mr. Greenough’s first ideal work 
 was a statue of Abel, modelled in Rome, 
 in 1826, but never executed in marble. 
 
 2. Statue of Byron’s Medora. For R. 
 Gilmor, of Baltimore. 
 
 3. Group. The Chanting Cherubs. 
 For J. Fenimore Cooper. 
 
 4. The Ascension of the Infant Spirit. 
 A group of an Infant and Cherub. 
 
 5. Group. Portraits of two Children 
 of David Sears, playing with a squirrel. 
 
 6. Statuette. The Genius of America. 
 For J. Hoyt, of New-York. 
 
 7. Portrait Statue of Miss Grinnell, of 
 New Bedford, (now Mrs. N. P. Willis.) 
 
 8. Portrait Statues of two Youths, sons 
 of -J. Thompson, of New-York. 
 
 9. Monument to Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs. 
 For Miss Gibbs of Newport. 
 
 10. Statue of Washington, by order of 
 Congress, for the Capitol. 
 
 The sum, twenty thousand dollars, vo- 
 ted by Congress, was intended to be an 
 honest compensation for this work. The 
 amount was the same as that paid by 
 Massachusetts to Chantry for his statue 
 of Washington, the size of life. Green- 
 ough, determined to spare neither time 
 nor expense to make his work worthy of 
 the country and himself, made it colossal 
 (twice the size of life), involving an ex- 
 pense threefold beyond what it would 
 have cost of the natural size. 
 
 The embellishments of the chair have 
 a significance which often escape observa- 
 tion. The statuettes of Columbus, and 
 an Indian Chief, supporting the arms of 
 the chair, and the trident, have found 
 l'avor as being so obviously illustrative of 
 our country’s history. But the bas-reliefs 
 of the Rising Sun on Apollo’s chariot on 
 the one side, and the infant Hercules 
 strangling the serpent on the other, are, 
 by many, looked upon as mere “classical” 
 embellishments, independent of the sub- 
 ject. Were they no more than this, they 
 would be disfigurements instead of adorn- 
 ments. The artist originally designed to 
 have inscribed two lines from an ode of 
 
320 
 
 Greenough , the Sculptor. 
 
 Virgil ; — under the Apollo, Nunc nascitur 
 lucidus ordo ; and under the Hercules, 
 Incipc , parve'puer, cut non riser e pa- 
 rentes. These verses would have inter- 
 preted the bas-reliefs. Greenough finally 
 omitted them, because sculpture should 
 speak its own language so distinctly as to 
 need no aid from letters. 
 
 11. Child seated on a bank, intently 
 gazing at a butterfly that has just lighted 
 on the back of its hand. For a Hunga- 
 rian nobleman. 
 
 12. Statuette of Venus Victrix. For 
 John Lowell, and presented by him to the 
 Boston Athenmum. 
 
 13. Colossal Group, for the Capitol, by 
 order of Congress. 
 
 This work, which was finished in July, 
 1851, occupied the artist eight years, be- 
 sides a delay of four years occasioned by 
 His not being able in all that time to 
 obtain a block of Serravezza marble suit- 
 able to his purpose. It consists of four 
 figures, a mother and child, an American 
 Indian and the father. This group illus- 
 trates a phasis in the progress of Ameri- 
 can civilization, viz., the unavoidable con- 
 flict between the Anglo-Saxon and abo- 
 riginal savage races. The composition 
 may be thus briefly described: — The 
 mother has sunk in terror to the ground, 
 clasping to her bosom the infant. Over 
 her stands the savage, his tomahawk up- 
 lifted. Behind, the father, a stalwart 
 pioneer, has just seized the Indian by 
 both arms, with one knee planted on the 
 hollow of his back. The firm grasp of the 
 father satisfies the beholder that the 
 savage is now powerless for harm. But 
 words cannot adequately translate a sculp- 
 tured composition. The huge mass of 
 marble seems to writhe, awakening in the 
 beholder conflicting emotions. 
 
 The figures of the mother and child 
 were entirely remodelled in the years 
 1846 and ’47. 
 
 14. Statue of the Angel Abdiel retiring 
 from the assemblage of rebellious Angels ; 
 from Milton’s Paradise Lost 
 
 15. Monument to his friend Giustl, the 
 Italian poet ; erected at Pescia, Tuscany. 
 
 16. Bas-relief, representing an artist 
 whose labors are suspended by the failure 
 of the light by which he is working. He 
 is seated in an attitude of pensive dejec- 
 tion, while a hand from a cloud supplies 
 oil to the lamp. 
 
 This work, Mr. Greenough has been 
 heard to say, was Intended to record a 
 fact in his personal history. At a time 
 when he almost despaired of being able to 
 pursue his studies in Italy, for want of 
 funds, he received the loan of a large sum, 
 without knowing whence it came. This 
 bas-relief is a monument, as noble as it 
 
 [March 
 
 is beautiful, at once to the generosity of 
 his friends and to his own manly gratitude. 
 It is now in the possession of George 
 Ticknor, of Boston, to whom it was pre- 
 sented by Greenough, in recognition of 
 the part which that gentleman had taken 
 in the transaction. 
 
 17. Bas-relief of Castor and Pollux. 
 
 18. Greenough’s last ideal work was a 
 Venus, contending for the golden apple. 
 It is of heroic size, that of the V enus of 
 Milo. This statue was much admired in 
 Florence, and Browning, the English poet, 
 urged Mr. Greenough to send it to the 
 World’s Fair, in London. 
 
 It was modelled entirely in plaster of 
 Paris (as was also the second group of 
 the mother and child) by a new process. 
 “ The merit of this invention seems to be 
 shared between Greenough and Powers. 
 They commenced about the same time to 
 make trials in this material, and b} 7 inter- 
 change of experiences and views the 
 method was perfected. The gain to art- 
 ists by this invention is two-fold ; plaster 
 of Paris does not expand like clay, and 
 there is no need of the precarious and ex- 
 pensive process of casting.” 
 
 Besides the above enumerated statues 
 and bas-relief, he executed a large num- 
 ber of busts ; among these were portraits 
 of John Adams and of John Q. Adams, 
 Llenry Clay, Mrs. R. Gilmor, Josiah 
 Quincy, Sen., S. Appleton, Jonathan 
 Mason, Thos. Cole, the late celebrated 
 landscape-painter, N. P. "Willis, the Mar- 
 quess Gino Capponi, for many years a 
 personal friend of Greenough, and latterly 
 Prime Minister of Tuscan} 7 . His last 
 bust was one of his friend, J. Fenimore 
 Cooper. This he executed last summer 
 in Brooklyn. 
 
 In giving a list of Greenough’s works, 
 it should be recorded here, that he is vir- 
 tually the architect of the Bunker Hill 
 Monument. While he was a student in 
 Cambridge, a prize was offered by the 
 Bunker Hill Association for the best de- 
 sign of a monument. The judges were 
 Washington Allston, Gilbert Stewart, and 
 W arren Dutten. There were many com- 
 petitors, and they awarded the prize to 
 Horatio Greenough. The project of erect- 
 ing a monument was not carried into ef- 
 fect at that time ; hut when some years 
 later it was resumed, his plan was in the 
 essentials adopted. 
 
 Mr. Greenough was wont to speak of 
 himself as a sculptor of few works ; but 
 the above list proves with what zeal and 
 industry he devoted himself to his Art 
 that he could effect so much in the term 
 of twenty-seven years. 
 
 Most of his works were executed at 
 extremely low prices. For many years 
 
An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 321 
 
 1853.] 
 
 his charge for busts was only from one to 
 two hundred dollars, which is about half 
 of what is charged by Sculptors of the 
 present day, and of what he himself re- 
 ceived for his late busts. 
 
 The two large works for the Capitol at 
 Washington, cost the Government, the 
 one $20,000, the other $21,000. On 
 
 these, to which he gave his best energies 
 during many years, he expended more 
 money than he received. When his friends 
 complained of this, he would say, that a 
 money-making artist could never be a 
 great one ; and that having been honored 
 by his countrymen with national works, 
 he would do his best for them. 
 
 AN EXCURSION TO CANADA 
 Continued from page 1S4. 
 
 S O we were compelled to inquire : Y a-fil 
 une maison publique id? ( auberge we 
 should have said perhaps, for they seemed 
 never to have heard of the other,) and 
 they answered at length that there was 
 no tavern, unless we could get lodgings at 
 the mill, le moulin , which we had pass- 
 ed ; or they would direct us to a grocery, 
 and almost every house had a small gro- 
 cery at one end of it. We called on the 
 public notary or village lawyer, but he 
 had no more beds nor English than the rest. 
 At one house, there was so good a misun- 
 derstanding at once established through 
 the politeness of all parties, that we were 
 encouraged to walk in and sit down, and 
 ask for a glass of water; and having 
 drank their water, we thought it was as 
 good as to have tasted their salt. When 
 our host and his wife spoke of their poor 
 accommodations, meaning for themselves, 
 we assured them that they were good 
 enough, for we thought that they were 
 only apologizing for the poorness of the 
 accommodations they were about to offer 
 us, and we did not discover our mistake 
 till they took us up a ladder into a loft, 
 and showed to our eyes what they had 
 been laboring in vain to communicate to 
 our brains through our ears, that they had 
 but that one apartment with its few 
 beds for the whole family. We made 
 our a-dieus forthwith, and with gravity, 
 perceiving the literal signification of that 
 word. We were finally taken in at a sort 
 of public-house, whose master worked for 
 Patterson, the proprietor of the extensive 
 saw-mills driven by a portion of the Mont- 
 morenci stolen from the fall, whose roar 
 we now heard. We here talked, or mur- 
 dered French all the evening, with the 
 master of the house and his family, and 
 probably had a more amusing time than 
 if we had completely understood one 
 another. At length they showed us to a 
 bed in their best chamber, very high to 
 get into, with a low wooden rail to it. It 
 had no cotton sheets, but coarse home- 
 vol. i. — 21 
 
 made, dark colored linen ones. After- 
 ward, we had to do with sheets still coar- 
 ser than these, and nearly the color of 
 our blankets. There was a large open 
 buffet loaded with crockery, in one corner 
 of the room, as if to display their wealth 
 to travellers, and pictures of scripture 
 scenes, French, Italian, and Spanish, hung 
 around. Our hostess came back directly 
 to inquire if we would have brandy for 
 breakfast. The next morning, when I 
 asked their names, she took down the 
 temperance pledges of herself and hus- 
 band, and children, which were hanging 
 against the wall. They were Jean Bap- 
 tiste Binet, and his wife, Genevieve Binet. 
 Jean Baptiste is the sobriquet of the 
 French Canadians. 
 
 After breakfast we proceeded to the 
 fall, which was within half a mile, and at 
 this distance its rustling sound, like the 
 wind among the leaves, filled all the air. 
 We were disappointed to find that we 
 were in some measure shut out from the 
 west side of the fall by the private grounds 
 and fences of Patterson, who appropriates 
 not only a part of the water for his mill, 
 but a still larger part of the prospect, so 
 that we were obliged to trespass. This 
 gentleman’s mansion-house and grounds 
 were formerly occupied by the Duke of 
 Kent, father to Queen Victoria. It ap- 
 peared to me in bad taste for an indivi- 
 dual, though he were the father of Queen 
 Victoria, to obtrude himself with his land 
 titles, or at least his fences, on so remark- 
 able a natural phenomenon, which should, 
 in every sense, belong to mankind. Some 
 falls should even be kept sacred from the 
 intrusion of mills and factories, as water- 
 privileges in another than the millwright’s 
 sense. This small river falls perpendicu- 
 larly nearly two hundred and fifty feet at 
 one pitch. The St. Lawrence falls only 
 164 feet at Niagara. It is a very simple 
 and noble fall, and leaves nothing to be 
 desired ; but the most that I could say of 
 it would only have the force of one other. 
 
322 
 
 An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 testimony to assure the reader that it is 
 there. We looked directly down on it 
 from the point of a projecting rock, and 
 saw far below us, on a low promontory, 
 the grass kept fresh and green by the per- 
 petual drizzle, looking like moss. The 
 rock is a kind of slate, in the crevices of 
 which grew ferns .and golden-rods. The 
 prevailing trees on the shores were spruce 
 and arbor-vitas, the latter very large and 
 now full of fruit, also aspens, alders, and the 
 mountain ash with its berries. Every em- 
 igrant who arrives in this country by way 
 of the St. Lawrence, as he opens a point 
 of the Isle of Orleans, sees the Montmo- 
 renci tumbling into the Great River thus 
 magnificently in a vast white sheet, making 
 its contribution with emphasis. Rober- 
 val’s pilot, Jean Alphonse, saw this fall 
 thus, and described it in 1542. It is a 
 splendid introduction to the scenery of 
 Quebec. Instead of an artificial fountain 
 in its square, Quebec has this magnificent 
 natural waterfall to adorn one side of its 
 harbor. Within the mouth of the chasm 
 below, which can be entered only at ebb 
 tide, we had a grand view at once of Que- 
 bec and of the fall. Kahn says that the 
 noise of the fall is sometimes heard at 
 Quebec, about eight miles distant, and is 
 a sign of a north-east wind. The side of 
 this chasm of soft and crumbling slate too 
 steep to climb, was among the memorable 
 features of the scene. In the winter of 
 1829 the frozen spray of the fall descend- 
 ing on the ice of the St. Lawrence, made 
 a hill one hundred and twenty-six feet 
 high. It is an annual phenomenon which 
 some think may help explain the forma- 
 tion of glaciers. 
 
 In the vicinity of the fall we began to 
 notice what looked like our red-fruited 
 thorn bushes, grown to the size of or- 
 dinary apple-trees, very common, and 
 full of large red or yellow fruit, which 
 the inhabitants called pommettes, but I 
 did not learn that they were put to any 
 use. 
 
 hi. 
 
 ST. ANNE. 
 
 By the middle of the forenoon, though 
 it was a rainy day, we were once more on 
 our way down the north bank of the St. 
 Lawrence, in a north-easterly direction, 
 toward the Falls of St Anne, which are 
 about thirty miles from Quebec. The set- 
 tled, more level, and fertile portion of 
 Canada East, may be described rudely as 
 a triangle, with its apex slanting toward 
 the north-east, about one hundred miles 
 wide at its base, and from two to three, or 
 ■ even four hundred miles long, if you reckon 
 tits narrow north-eastern extremity; it 
 
 [March 
 
 being the immediate valley of the St. Law- 
 rence and its tributaries, rising by a single 
 or by successive terraces toward the moun- 
 tains on either hand. Though the words 
 Canada East on the map. stretch over 
 many rivers and lakes and unexplored 
 wildernesses, the actual Canada, which 
 might be the colored portion of the map, 
 is but a little clearing on the banks of the 
 river, which one of those syllables would 
 more than cover. The banks of the St. 
 Lawrence are rather low from Montreal 
 to the Richelieu Rapids, about forty miles 
 above Quebec. Thence they rise gradu- 
 ally to Cape Diamond, or Quebec. Where 
 we now were, eight miles north-east of 
 Quebec, the mountains which form the 
 northern side of this triangle were only 
 five or six miles distant from the river, 
 gradually departing further and further 
 from it, on the west, till they reach the 
 Ottawa, and making haste to meet it on 
 the east, at Cape Tourmente, now in 
 plain sight about twenty miles distant. 
 So that we were travelling in a very nar- 
 row and sharp triangle between the moun- 
 tains and the river, tilted up toward the 
 mountains on the north, never losing 
 sight of our great fellow-traveller on our 
 right. According to Bouchette’s Topo- 
 graphical Description of the Canadas, we 
 were in the Seigniory of the Cote de 
 Beaupre, in the County of Montmorenci, 
 and the District of Quebec ; in that part 
 of Canada which was the first to be set- 
 tled, and where the face of the country 
 and the population have undergone the 
 least change from the beginning, where 
 the influence of the States and of Europe 
 is least felt, and the inhabitants see little 
 or nothing of the world over the walls of 
 Quebec. This Seigniory was granted in 
 1636, and is now the property of the Se- 
 minary of Quebec. It is the most moun- 
 tainous one in the province. There are 
 some half-a-dozen parishes in it, each con- 
 taining a church, parsonage-house, grist- 
 mill, and several saw-mills. We were 
 now in the most westerly parish called 
 Ange Gardien, or the Guardian Angel, 
 which is bounded on the west by the 
 Montmorenci. The north bank of the 
 St. Lawrence here is formed on a grand 
 scale. It slopes gently, either directly 
 from the shore, or from the edge of an in- 
 terval, till at the distance of about a mile, 
 it attains the height of four or five hun- 
 dred feet. The single road runs along 
 the side of the slope two or three hun- 
 dred feet above the river at first, and from 
 a quarter of a mile to a mile distant from 
 it, and affords fine views of the north 
 channel, which is about a mile wide, and 
 of the beautiful Isle of Orleans, about 
 twenty miles long by five wide, where 
 
1853.] 
 
 An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 323 
 
 grow the best apples and plums in the 
 Quebec District. 
 
 Though there was but this single road, 
 it was a continuous village for as far as 
 we walked this day and the next, or about 
 thirty miles down the river, the houses 
 being as near together all the way as in 
 the middle of one of our smallest straggling 
 country villages, and we could never tell 
 by their number when we were on 
 the skirts of a parish, for the road never 
 ran through the fields or woods. We 
 were told that it was just six miles from 
 one parish church to another. I thought 
 that we saw every house in Ange Gar- 
 dien. Therefore, as it was a muddy day, 
 we never got out of the mud, nor out of 
 the village, unless we got over the fence ; 
 then indeed, if it was on the north side, 
 we were out of the civilized world. There 
 were sometimes a few more houses near 
 the church, it is true, but we had onty to 
 go a quarter of a mile from the road to 
 the top of the bank to find ourselves on 
 the verge of the uninhabited, and, for the 
 most part, unexplored wilderness stretch- 
 ing toward Hudson’s Bay. The farms 
 accordingly were extremely long and nar- 
 row, each having a frontage on the river. 
 Bouchette accounts for this peculiar man- 
 ner of laying out a village by referring to 
 “ the social character of the Canadian 
 peasant, who is singularly fond of neigh- 
 borhood,” also to the advantage arising 
 from a concentration of strength in Indian 
 times. Each farm, called terre. he says, 
 is, in nine cases out of ten, three arpents 
 wide by thirty deep, that is, very nearly 
 thirty-five by three hundred and forty- 
 nine of our rods ; sometimes one-half 
 arpent by thirty, or one to sixty ; some- 
 times in fact a few yards by half a mile. 
 Of course it costs more for fences. A re- 
 markable difference between the Canadian 
 and the New England character appears 
 from the fact that in 1745, the French 
 government were obliged to pass a law 
 forbidding the farmers or censitaires 
 building on land less than one and a half 
 arpents front by thirty or forty deep, 
 under a certain penalty, in order to com- 
 pel emigration, and bring the seigneurs’ 
 estates all under cultivation ; and it is 
 thought that they have now less reluc- 
 tance to leave the paternal roof than for- 
 merly, “ removing beyond the sight of the 
 parish spire, or the sound of the parish 
 bell.” But I find that in the previous or 
 17th century, the complaint, often re- 
 newed, was of a totally opposite character, 
 namely, that the inhabitants dispersed 
 and exposed themselves to the Iroquois. 
 Accordingly, about 1GG4, the king was 
 obliged to order that “ they should make 
 no more clearings except one next to 
 
 another, and that they should reduce their 
 parishes to the form of the parishes in 
 France as much as possible. The Cana- 
 dians of those days at least, possessed a 
 roving spirit of adventure which carried 
 them further, in exposure to hardship and 
 danger, than ever the New England colo- 
 nist went, and led them, though not to 
 clear and colonize the wilderness, yet to 
 range over it as coureurs de bois, or 
 runners of the woods, or as Houtan pre- 
 fers to call them, coureurs de risques, 
 runners of risks ; to say nothing of then- 
 enterprising priesthood ; and Charlevoix 
 thinks that if the authorities had taken 
 the right steps to prevent the youth from 
 ranging the woods (de courir les bois) 
 they would have had an excellent mili- 
 tia to fight the Indians and English. 
 
 The road, in this clayey looking soil, 
 was exceedingly muddy in consequence of 
 the night’s rain. We met an old woman 
 directing her dog, which was harnessed to 
 a little cart, to the least muddy part of 
 the road. It was a beggarly sight. But 
 harnessed to the cart as he was, we heard 
 him barking after we had passed, though 
 we looked any where but to the cart to 
 see where the dog was that barked. The 
 houses commonly fronted the south, what- 
 ever angle they might make with the road ; 
 and frequently they had no door nor 
 cheerful window on the roadside. Half 
 the time, they stood fifteen to forty rods 
 from the road, and there was no very ob- 
 vious passage to them, so that you would 
 suppose that there must be another road 
 running by them ; they were of stone, 
 rather coarsely mortared, but neatly white- 
 washed, almost invariably one story high, 
 and long in proportion to their height, with 
 a shingled roof, the shingles being pointed, 
 for ornament, at the eaves, like the pickets 
 of a fence, and also, one row half way up 
 the roof. The gables sometimes project- 
 ed a foot oi' two at the ridge-pole only. 
 Yet they were very humble and unpre- 
 tending dwellings. They commonly had 
 the date of their erection on them. The 
 windows opened in the middle, like blinds, 
 and were frequently provided with solid 
 shutters. Sometimes, when we walked 
 along the back side of a house, which 
 stood near the road, we observed stout 
 stakes leaning against it, by which the 
 shutters, now pushed half open, were 
 fastened at night ; within, the houses were 
 neatly ceiled with wood not painted. The 
 oven was commonly out of doors, built of 
 stone and mortar, frequently on a raised 
 platform of planks. The cellar was often 
 on the opposite side of the road, in front of 
 or behind the houses, looking like an ice- 
 house with us, with a lattice door for sum- 
 mer. The very few mechanics whom we 
 
324 
 
 An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 met had an old-Bettyish look, in their 
 aprons and bonnets rouges , like fools’ 
 caps. The men wore commonly the same 
 bonnet rouge , or red woollen, or worsted 
 cap, or sometimes blue or gray, looking to 
 us as if they had got up with their night- 
 caps on, and in fact, I afterwards found 
 that they had. Their clothes were of the 
 cloth of the country, etoffe du pays, gray 
 or some other plain color. The women 
 looked stout, with gowns that stood out 
 stiffly, also, for the most part, apparently 
 of some home-made stuff We also saw 
 some specimens of the more characteristic 
 winter dress of the Canadian, and I have 
 since frequently detected him in New 
 England by his coarse gray home-spun 
 capote and picturesque red sash, and his 
 well furred cap, made to protect his ears 
 against the severity of his climate. 
 
 It drizzled all day, so that the roads did 
 not improve. We began now to meet 
 with wooden crosses frequently, by the 
 road-side, about a dozen feet high, often 
 old and toppling down, sometimes stand- 
 ing in a square wooden platform, some- 
 times in a pile of stones, with a little niche 
 containing a picture of the virgin and child, 
 or of Christ alone, sometimes with a string 
 of beads, and covered with a piece of glass 
 to keep out the rain, with the words, pour 
 La vierge, or Inri, on them. Frequently, 
 on the cross-bar, there would be quite a 
 collection of knick-knacks, looking like an 
 Italian’s board ; the representation in wood 
 of a hand, a hammer, spikes, pincers, a 
 flask of vinegar, a ladder, &c., the whole 
 perchance surmounted by a weathercock; 
 but I could not look at an honest weather- 
 cock in this walk, without mistrusting 
 that there was some covert reference in it 
 to St. Peter. From time to time we passed 
 a little one story chapel-like building, with 
 a tin-roofed spire, a shrine, perhaps it would 
 be called, close to the path-side, with a 
 lattice door, through which we could see 
 an altar, and pictures about the walls; 
 equally open, through rain and shine, 
 though there was no getting into it. At 
 these places the inhabitants kneeled and 
 perhaps breathed a short prayer. W e saw 
 one school-house in our walk, and listened 
 to the sounds which issued from it ; but it 
 appeared like a place where the process, 
 not of enlightening, but of obfuscating the 
 mind was going on. and the pupils receiv- 
 ed only so much light as could penetrate 
 the shadow of the Catholic church. The 
 churches were very picturesque, and their 
 interior much more showy than the dwell- 
 ing houses promised. They were of stone, 
 for it was ordered in 1699, that that 
 should be their material. They had tinned 
 spires, and quaint ornaments. That of 
 l’Ange Gardien had a dial on it, with the 
 
 [March 
 
 middle age Roman numerals on its face, 
 and some images in niches on the outside. 
 Probably its counterpart has existed in 
 Normandy for a thousand years. At the 
 church of Chateau Richer, which is the 
 next parish to l’Ange Gardien, we read, 
 looking over the wall, the inscriptions in 
 the adjacent church-yard, which began 
 with, “ Id git ” or “ repose ,” and one over 
 a boy contained, " Priez pour luiP This 
 answered as well as Pere la Chaise. We 
 knocked at the door of the cure’s house 
 here, when a sleek friar-like personage, in 
 his sacerdotal robe appeared to our Parlez- 
 vous Anglais? Even he answered, '■'■Non, 
 Monsieur ; ” but at last we made him un- 
 derstand what we wanted. It was to find 
 the ruins of the old chateau. “Ah! oui! 
 oui! ” he exclaimed, and donning his coat, 
 hastened forth, and conducted us to a 
 small heap of rubbish which we had al- 
 ready examined. He said that fifteen 
 years before, it was plus considerable. 
 Seeing at that moment three little red 
 birds fly out of a crevice in the ruins, up 
 into an arbor-vitae tree, which grew out 
 of them, I asked him their names, in such 
 French as I could muster, but he neither 
 understood me, nor ornithology ; lie only 
 inquired where we had appris d parler 
 Frangais ; we told him, dans les Etats- 
 Unis ; and so we bowed him into his 
 house again. I was surprised to find a 
 man wearing a black coat, and with ap- 
 parently no work to do, even in that part 
 of the world. 
 
 The universal salutation from the in- 
 habitants whom we met was bon jour, 
 at the same time touching the hat ; with 
 bon jour, and touching your hat, you 
 may go smooth^ through all Canada 
 East. A little boy, meeting us would re- 
 mark, Bon jour, Monsieur; le chemin 
 est mauvais : ” Good morning, sir ; it is 
 bad walking. Sir Francis Head says 
 that the immigrant is forward to “ appre- 
 ciate the happiness of living in a land in 
 which the old country’s servile custom of 
 touching the hat does not exist,” but he 
 was thinking of Canada West, of course. 
 It would, indeed, be a serious bore to be 
 obliged to touch your hat several times a 
 day. A Yankee has not leisure for it. 
 
 We saw peas, and even beans, collected 
 into heaps in the fields. The former are 
 an important crop here, and, I suppose, 
 are not so much infested by the weevil as 
 with us. There were plenty of apples, 
 very fair and sound, by the road-side, but 
 they were so small as to suggest the origin 
 of the apple in the crab. There was also 
 a small red fruit which they called snells, 
 and another, also red and very acid, whose 
 name a little boy wrote for me “ pinbena.” 
 It is probably the same with, or similar 
 
1853.] 
 
 An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 325 
 
 to the pembina of the voyageurs, a species 
 of viburnum, which, according to Richard- 
 son, has given its name to many of the 
 rivers of Rupert’s Land. The forest trees 
 were spruce, arbor- vitae, firs, birches, 
 beeches, two or three kinds of maple, 
 bass-wood, wild-cherry, aspens, &c., but 
 no pitch pines (pinus rigida). I saw very 
 few, if any, trees which had been set out 
 for shade or ornament. The water was 
 commonly running streams or springs in 
 the bank by the road-side, and was ex- 
 cellent. The parishes are commonly sepa- 
 rated by a stream, and frequently the 
 farms. I noticed that the fields were fur- 
 rowed or thrown into beds seven or eight 
 feet wide to dry the soil. 
 
 At the Riviere du Sault a la Puce , 
 which, I suppose, means the River of the 
 Fall of the Flea, was advertised in English, 
 as the sportsmen are English, “ the best 
 snipe-shooting grounds,” over the door of 
 a small public-house. These words be- 
 ing English affected me as if I had been 
 absent now ten years from my country, 
 and for so long had not heard the sound 
 of my native language, and every one of 
 them was as interesting to me as if I had 
 been a snipe-shooter, and they had been 
 snipes. The prunella or self-heal, in the 
 grass here, was an old acquaintance. We 
 frequently saw the inhabitants washing, 
 or cooking for their pigs, and in one place 
 hackling flax by the road-side. It was 
 pleasant to see these usually domestic 
 operations carried on out of doors, even 
 in that cold country. 
 
 At twilight we reached a bridge over a 
 little river, the boundary between Chateau 
 Richer and St. Anne, le premier pont de 
 St. Anne, and at dark the church of La 
 Bonne St. Anne. Formerly vessels from 
 France, when they came in sight of this 
 church, gave “ a general discharge of their 
 artillery,” as a sign of joy that they had 
 escaped all the dangers of the river. 
 Though all the while we had grand views 
 of the adjacent country far up and down 
 the river, and, for the most part, when 
 we turned about, of Quebec in the hori- 
 zon behind us, and we never beheld it 
 without new surprise and admiration ; yet, 
 throughout our walk, the Great River of 
 Canada on our right hand was the main 
 feature in the landscape, and this ex- 
 pands so rapidly below the Isle of Or- 
 leans, and creates such a breadth of level 
 horizon above its waters in that direction, 
 that, looking down the river as we ap- 
 proached the extremity of that island, 
 the St. Lawrence seemed to be opening 
 into the ocean, though we were still about 
 three hundred and twenty-five miles from 
 what can be called its mouth. 
 
 When we inquired here for a maison 
 
 publique we were directed apparently tc 
 that private house where we were most 
 likely to find entertainment. There were 
 no guide-boards where we walked, be- 
 cause there was but one road ; there were 
 no shops nor signs, because there were 
 no artisans to speak of, and the people 
 raised their own provisions; and there 
 were no taverns because there were no 
 travellers. We here bespoke lodging 
 and breakfast. They had, as usual, a 
 large old-fashioned, two-storied box stove 
 in the middle of the room, out of 
 which, in due time, there was sure to 
 be forthcoming a supper, breakfast, or 
 dinner. The lower half held the fire, the 
 upper the hot air, and as it was a cool 
 Canadian evening, this was a comforting 
 sight to us. Being four or five feet high 
 it warmed the whole person as you stood 
 by it. The stove was plainly a very im- 
 portant article of furniture in Canada, and 
 was not set aside during the summer. 
 Its size, and the respect which was paid 
 to it, told of the severe winters which it 
 had seen and prevailed over. The master 
 of the house, in his long-pointed, red 
 woollen cap, had a thoroughly antique 
 physiognomy of the old Norman stamp. 
 He might have come over with Jacques 
 Cartier. Ilis was the hardest French to 
 understand of any we had heard yet, for 
 there was a great difference between one 
 speaker and another, and this man talked 
 with a pipe in his mouth beside, a kind 
 of tobacco French. I asked him what he 
 called his dog. He said Brock ! At 
 Binet’s they called the cat min — min! 
 min ! min ! I inquired if we could cross 
 the river here to the Isle of Orleans, think- 
 ing to return that way when we had been 
 to the Falls. He answered, “ S’il ne fait 
 pas un trop grand vent A If there is not 
 too much wind, they use small boats or 
 pirogues, and the waves are often too high 
 for them. He wore, as usual, something 
 between a moccasin and a boot, which he 
 called bottes Indiennes , Indian boots, and 
 had made himself. The tops were of 
 calf or sheep-skin, and the soles of cow- 
 hide turned up like a moccasin. They 
 were yellow or reddish, the leather never 
 having been tanned nor colored. The wo- 
 men wore the same. He told us that he 
 had travelled ten leagues due north into 
 the bush. He had been to the Falls of 
 St. Anne, and said that they were more 
 beautiful, but not greater, than Mont- 
 morenci, plus bel mais non plus grand 
 que Montmorcnci. As soon as we had re- 
 tired the family commenced their devo- 
 tions. A little boy officiated, and for a 
 long time we heard him muttering over 
 his prayers. 
 
 In the morning, after a breakfast of tea, 
 
326 
 
 An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 maple sugar, bread and butter, and what 
 I suppose is called a potage (potatoes and 
 meat boiled with flour), the universal dish 
 as we found, perhaps the national one, I 
 ran over to the Church of La Bonne St. 
 Anne, whose matin bell we had heard, 
 it being Sunday morning. Our books 
 said that this church had “ long been an 
 object of interest, from the miraculous 
 cures said to have been wrought on visit- 
 ors to the shrine.” There was a profu- 
 sion of gilding, and I counted more than 
 twenty-five crutches suspended on the 
 walls, some for grown persons, some for 
 children, which it was to be inferred so 
 many sick had been able to dispense with ; 
 but they looked as if they had been made 
 to order by the carpenter who made the 
 church. There were one or two villagers 
 at their devotions at that early hour, who 
 did not look up, but when they had sat a 
 long time with their little book before the 
 picture of one saint, went to another. Our 
 whole walk was through a thoroughly 
 Catholic country, and there was no trace 
 of any other religion. I doubt if there are 
 any more simple and unsophisticated 
 Catholics any where. Emery de Caen, 
 Champlain’s contemporary, told the Hu- 
 guenot sailors that “Monseigneur, the 
 Duke de Ventadour (Viceroy), did not 
 wish that they should sing psalms in the 
 Great River.” 
 
 On our way to the falls, we met the 
 habitans coming to the Church of La 
 Bonne St. Anne, walking or riding in 
 charettes by families. I remarked that 
 they were universally of small stature. 
 The toll-man at the bridge, over the St. 
 Anne, was the first man we had chanced 
 to meet since we left Quebec, who could 
 speak a word of English. How good 
 French the inhabitants of this part of 
 Canada speak, I am not competent to 
 say ; I only know that it is not made im- 
 pure by being mixed with English. I do 
 not know why it should not be as good as 
 is spoken in Normandy. Charlevoix, who 
 was here a hundred years ago, observes, 
 “ the French language is nowhere spoken 
 with greater purity, there being no accent 
 perceptible ;” and Potherie said “ they had 
 no dialect, which, indeed, is generally lost 
 in a colony.” 
 
 The falls, which we were in search of, 
 are three miles up the St. Anne. We fol- 
 lowed for a short distance a foot-path up 
 the east bank of this river, through hand- 
 some sugar-maple and arbor-vitas groves. 
 Having lost the path which led to a house 
 where we were to get further directions, 
 we dashed at once into the woods, steer- 
 ing by guess and by compass, climbing 
 directly through woods, a steep hill, or 
 mountain, five or six hundred feet high. 
 
 [March 
 
 which was, in fact, only the bank of the 
 St. Lawrence. Beyond this we by good 
 luck fell into another path, and following 
 this or a branch of it, at our discretion, 
 through a forest consisting of large white 
 pines, — the first we had seen in our walk, — 
 we at length heard the roar of falling wa- 
 ter, and came out at the head of the Falls 
 of St. Anne. We had descended into a 
 ravine or cleft in the mountain, whose 
 walls rose still a hundred feet above us, 
 though we were near its top, and we now 
 stood on a very rocky shore, where the 
 water had lately flowed a dozen feet high- 
 er, as appeared by the stones and drift- 
 wood. and large birches twisted and splin- 
 tered as a farmer twists a withe. Here 
 the river, one or two hundred feet wide, 
 came flowing rapidly over a rocky bed 
 out of that interesting wilderness which 
 stretches toward Hudson’s Bay and Da- 
 vis’s Straits. Ha-ha Bay, on the Sague- 
 nay, was about one hundred miles north 
 of where we stood. Looking on the map, 
 I find that the first country on the north 
 which bears a name, is that part of Ru- 
 pert’s Land called East Main. This riv- 
 er, called after the holy Anne, flowing 
 from such a direction, here tumbled over 
 a precipice, at present by three channels, 
 how far down I do not know, but far 
 enough for all our purposes, and to as good 
 a distance as if twice as far. It matters 
 little whether you call it one, or two, or 
 three hundred feet ; at any rate, it was a 
 sufficient water-privilege for us. I cross- 
 ed the principal channel directly over the 
 verge of the fall, where it was contracted 
 to about fifteen feet in width, by a dead 
 tree which had been dropped across and 
 secured in a cleft of the opposite rock, and 
 a smaller one a few feet higher, which 
 served for a hand-rail. This bridge was 
 rotten as well as small and slippery, being 
 stripped of bark, and I was obliged to 
 seize a moment to pass when the falling 
 water did not surge over it, and mid-waj", 
 though at the expense of wet feet, I look- 
 ed down probably more than a hundred 
 feet, into the mist and foam below. This 
 gave me the freedom of an island of pre- 
 cipitous rock, by which I descended as by 
 giant steps, the rock being composed of 
 large cubical masses, clothed with delicate, 
 close-hugging lichens of various colors, 
 kept fresh and bright by the moisture, 
 till I viewed the first fall from the front, 
 and looked down still deeper to where the 
 second and third channels fell into a re- 
 markably large circular basin worn in the 
 stone. The falling water seemed to jar 
 the very rocks, and the noise to be ever 
 increasing. The vista down stream was 
 through a narrow and deep cleft in the 
 mountain, all white suds at the bottom; 
 
An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 321 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 but a sudden angle in this gorge prevent- 
 ed my seeing through to the bottom of 
 the fall. Returning to the shore, I made 
 my way down stream through the forest 
 to see how far the fall extended, and how 
 the river came out of that adventure. It 
 was to clamber along the side of a precip- 
 itous mountain of loose mossy rocks, cov- 
 ered with a damp primitive forest, and 
 terminating at the bottom in an abrupt 
 precipice over the stream. This was the 
 east side of the fall. At length, after a 
 quarter of a mile, I got down to still wa- 
 ter, and on looking up through the wind- 
 ing gorge, I could just see to the foot of 
 the fall which I had before examined; 
 while from the opposite side of the stream, 
 here much contracted, rose a perpen- 
 dicular wall, I will not venture to say 
 how many hundred feet, but only that 
 it was the highest perpendicular wall 
 of bare rock that I ever saw. In front 
 of me tumbles in from the summit of 
 the cliff a tributary stream, making a 
 beautiful cascade, which was a remarka- 
 ble fall in itself, and there was a cleft in 
 this precipice, apparently four or five feet 
 wide, perfectly straight up and down from 
 top to bottom, which from its cavernous 
 depth and darkness, appeared merely as 
 a black streak. This precipice is not 
 sloped, nor is the material soft and crumb- 
 ling slate as at Montmorenci, but it rises 
 perfectly perpendicular, like the side of a 
 mountain fortress, and is cracked into 
 vast cubical masses of gray and black 
 rock shining with moisture, as if it were 
 the ruin of an ancient wall built by Ti- 
 tans. Birches, spruces, mountain-ashes 
 with their bright red berries, arbor-vitses, 
 white pines, alders, &c., overhung this 
 chasm on the very verge of the cliff and 
 in the crevices, and here and there were 
 buttresses of rock supporting trees part 
 way down, yet so as to enhance, not in- 
 jure, the effect of the bare rock. Take it 
 altogether, it was a most wild and rugged 
 and stupendous chasm, so deep and nar- 
 row where a river had worn itself a pas- 
 sage through a mountain of rock, and all 
 around was the comparatively untrodden 
 wilderness. 
 
 This was the limit of our walk down 
 the St. Lawrence. Early in the afternoon 
 we began to retrace our steps, not being 
 able to cross the north channel and return 
 by the Isle of Orleans, on account of the 
 trop grand vent , or too great wind. 
 Though the waves did run pretty high, it 
 was evident that the inhabitants of Mont- 
 morenci County were no sailors, and made 
 but little use of the river. When we 
 reached the bridge, between St. Anne 
 and Chateau Richer, I ran back a little 
 way to ask a man in the field the name 
 
 of the river which we were crossing, but 
 for a long time I could not make out what 
 he said, for he was one of the more unin- 
 telligible Jacques Cartier men. At last it 
 flashed upon me that it was La Riviere 
 au Chien, or the Dog River, which my 
 eyes beheld, which brought to my mind 
 the life of the Canadian voyageur and 
 coureur de bois, a more western and 
 wilder Arcadia, methinks, than the world 
 has ever seen ; for the Greeks, with all 
 their wood and river gods, were not so 
 qualified to name the natural features of 
 a country, as the ancestors of these French 
 Canadians ; and if any people had a right 
 to substitute their own for the Indian 
 names, it was they. They have preceded 
 the pioneer on our own frontiers, and 
 named the prairie for us. La Riviere au 
 Chien cannot, by any license of language, 
 be translated into Dog River, for that is 
 not such a giving it to the dogs, and re- 
 cognizing their place in creation as the 
 French implies. One of the tributaries of 
 the St. Anne is named, La Riviere de la 
 Rose ; and further east are, La Riviere 
 de la Blondelle , and La Riviere de la 
 Friponne. Their very riviere meanders 
 more than our river. 
 
 Yet the impression which this country 
 made on me, was commonly different 
 from this. To a traveller from the Old 
 World, Canada East may appear like a 
 new country, and its inhabitants like co- 
 lonists, but to me, coming from New 
 England, and being a very green traveller 
 withal — notwithstanding what I have said 
 about Hudson’s Bay, — it appeared as old 
 as Normandy itself, and realized much 
 that I had heard of Europe and the Mid- 
 dle Ages. Even the names of humble 
 Canadian villages, affected me as if they 
 had been those of the renowned cities of 
 antiquity. To be told by a habitan, 
 when I asked the name of a village in 
 sight, that it is St. Fercole or St. Anne, the 
 Guardian Angel or the Holy Joseph's, or 
 of a mountain, that it was Belange, or 
 St. Hyacinthe ! As soon as you leave the 
 States, these saintly names begin. St. 
 John is the first town you stop at (for- 
 tunately we did not see it), and thence- 
 forward, the names of the mountains and 
 streams, and villages, reel, if I may so 
 speak, with the intoxication of poetry ; — 
 Chambly, Longueil, Pointe aux Trem- 
 bles, Bartholomy, &c., &c. ; as if it needed 
 only a little foreign accent, a few more li- 
 quids and vowels perchance in the lan- 
 guage, to make us locate our ideals at 
 once. I began to dream of Provence and 
 the Troubadours, and of places and things 
 which have no existence on the earth. 
 They veiled the Indian and the primitive 
 forest, and the woods toward Hudson’s 
 
328 
 
 An Excursion to Canada. 
 
 Bay, were only as the forests of France 
 and Germany. I could not at once bring 
 myself to believe that the inhabitants who 
 pronounced daily those beautiful, and to 
 me, significant names, lead as prosaic 
 lives as we of New England. In short, 
 the Canada which I saw, was not merely 
 a place for railroads to terminate in, and 
 for criminals to run to. 
 
 When I asked the man to whom I have 
 referred, if there were any falls on the Ri- 
 viere au Chien, for I saw that it came over 
 the same high bank with the Montmorenci 
 and St. Anne ; he answered that there 
 were. How far ? I inquired ; Trois quatres 
 lieue. How high? Je pense, quatre- 
 cingt-dix pieds ; that is, ninety feet. We 
 turned aside to look at the falls of the Ri- 
 viere du Sault a, la Puce , half a mile 
 from the road, which before we had passed 
 in our haste and ignorance, and we pro- 
 nounced them as beautiful as any that we 
 saw ; yet they seemed to make no account 
 of them there, and when first we inquired 
 the way to the Falls, directed us to Mont- 
 morenci, seven miles distant. It was 
 evident that this was the country for 
 waterfalls ; that every stream that empties 
 into the St. Lawrence, for some hundreds 
 of miles, must have a great fall or cascade 
 on it, and in its passage through the moun- 
 tains, was, for a short distance, a small 
 Saguenay, with its upright walls. This 
 fall of La Puce, the least remarkable of 
 the four which we visited in this vicinity, 
 we had never heard of till we came to 
 Canada, and yet, so far as I know, there 
 is nothing of the kind in New England to 
 be compared with it. 
 
 At a house near the western boundary 
 of Chateau Richer, whose master was 
 said to speak a very little English, having 
 recently lived at Quebec, we got lodging 
 for the night. As usual, we had to go 
 down a lane to get round to the south 
 side of the house where the door was, 
 away from the road. For these Canadian 
 houses have no front door, properly speak- 
 ing. Every part is for the use of the oc- 
 cupant exclusively, and no part has re- 
 ference to the traveller or to travel. Every 
 New England house, on the contrary, has 
 a front and principal door opening to the 
 great world, though it may be on the cold 
 side, for it stands on the highway of na- 
 tions, and the road which runs by it, 
 comes from the Old World and goes to 
 the Far W est ; but the Canadian’s door 
 opens into his back yard and farm alone, 
 and the road which runs behind his house 
 leads only from the church of one saint to 
 that of another. We found a large fa- 
 mily, hired men, wife, and children, just 
 eating their supper. They prepared some 
 for us afterwards. The hired men were 
 
 [March 
 
 a merry crew of short black-eyed fellows, 
 and the wife a thin-faced, sharp-featured 
 French Canadian woman. Our host’s 
 English staggered us rather more than 
 any French we had heard yet ; indeed, we 
 found that even we spoke better French 
 than he did English, and we concluded 
 that a less crime would be committed on 
 the whole, if we spoke French with him, 
 and in no respect aided or abetted his at- 
 tempts to speak English. We had a long 
 and merry chat with the family this Sun- 
 day evening in their spacious kitchen. 
 While my companion smoked a pipe and 
 parlez-vous’d with one party, I parleyed 
 and gesticulated to another. The whole 
 family was enlisted, and I kept a little 
 girl writing what was otherwise unintel- 
 ligible. The geography getting obscure, 
 we called for chalk, and the greasy oiled 
 table-cloth having been wiped, — for it 
 needed no French, but only a sentence 
 from the universal language of looks on 
 my part, to indicate that it needed it, — 
 we drew the St. Lawrence with its parishes 
 thereon, and thenceforward went on 
 swimmingly, by turns handling the chalk 
 and committing to the table-cloth what 
 would otherwise have been left in a limbo 
 of unintelligibility. This was greatly to 
 the entertainment of all parties. I was 
 amused to hear how much use they made 
 of the word oui in conversation with one 
 another. After repeated single insertions 
 of it one would suddenly throw back his 
 head at the same time with his chair, and 
 exclaim rapidly, oui ! oui ! oui ! oui ! 
 like a Yankee driving pigs. Our host told 
 us that the farms thereabouts were ge- 
 nerally two acres, or three hundred and 
 sixty French feet wide, by one and a half 
 leagues (?) or a little more than four and 
 a half of our miles deep. This use of the 
 word acre as long measure, arises from 
 the fact that the French acre or arpent, 
 the arpent of Paris, makes a square of ten 
 perches of eighteen feet each on a side, a 
 Paris foot being equal to 1.06575 English 
 feet. He said that the wood was cut off 
 about one mile from the river. The rest 
 was “ bush,” and beyond that the Queen’s 
 bush.” Old as the country is, each land- 
 holder bounds on the primitive forest, and 
 fuel bears no price. As I had forgotten 
 the French for sickle, they went out in 
 the evening to the bam and got one, 
 and so clenched the certainty of our un- 
 derstanding one another. Then, wishing 
 to learn if they used the cradle, and not 
 knowing any French word for this instru- 
 ment, I set up the knives and forks on 
 the blade of the sickle to represent one ; 
 at which they all exclaimed that they 
 knew and had used it. When snells were 
 mentioned they went out in the dark and 
 
Family Portraits. 
 
 329 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 plucked some. They were pretty good. 
 They said that they had three kinds of 
 plums growing wild, blue, white, and red, 
 the two former much alike, and the best. 
 Also they asked me if 1 would have des 
 pommes, some apples, and got me some. 
 They were exceedingly fair and glossy, 
 and it was evident that there was no 
 worm in them, but they were as hard al- 
 most as a stone, as if the season was too 
 short to mellow them. We had seen no 
 soft and yellow apples by the road-side. 
 I declined eating one, much as I admired 
 it, observing that it would be good dans 
 le pr intemps, in the spring. In the morn- 
 
 FAMILY PO 
 
 W HOEVER has been in Genoa will re- 
 member the Strada nuova , the street 
 of palaces. It is one of the narrow, high 
 Italian streets in which the sunshine seems 
 to lie more softly, as if grateful for the 
 picturesque and imposing buildings that 
 men have reared for it to adorn. And 
 perhaps in no street of any city in the 
 world are the buildings more beautiful 
 and striking. They are all palaces. Each 
 of a different character of massiveness 
 from the others, they yet, together, line 
 the way with so regal a grandeur, that 
 the eye of the stranger, when first it 
 penetrates the vista, looks to see nothing 
 less than a crowned emperor advancing. 
 
 He believes it to be a city of kings. He ex- 
 pects to see queens standing stately between 
 the huge, yellow urns overflowing with 
 aloes that adorn the balconies, and some 
 “long-haired page in crimson clad” lean- 
 ing from the lofty windows. The impres- 
 sion of this street is among the marked 
 memories of travel. If one comes to it, 
 fresh from the sea, as I did, with nothing 
 but a brief glimpse of Marseilles between 
 that range of palaces and Broadway, it is 
 like the sudden rising of the curtain upon 
 the great spectacle of Europe, of which 
 at home he has so long and longingly 
 dreamed. And if, pausing and entering 
 at one of the magnificent portals he as- 
 cends the spacious staircase, circling a 
 court paved with marble, and passes on 
 through an endless suite of apartments 
 named from the seasons and the virtues, 
 and tapestried with the fluted silk of 
 Genoa, he comes at length to a corner 
 room, upon whose walls hang two master- 
 pieces of Vandyck, full-length portraits 
 of the Marquis and Marchioness Brig- 
 nole ; then he blends with the memories 
 
 ing when the mistress had set the eggs a 
 frying, she nodded to a thick-set jolly- 
 looking fellow, who rolled up his sleeves, 
 seized the long-handled griddle, and com- 
 menced a series of revolutions and evolu- 
 tions with it, ever and anon tossing its 
 contents into the air, where they turned 
 completely topsy-turvey and came down 
 t’other side up ; and this he repeated till 
 they were done. That appeared to be his 
 duty when eggs were concerned. I did 
 not chance to witness this performance, 
 but my companion did, and he pronounced 
 it a master-piece in its way. 
 
 RTRAITS 
 
 of that marvellous day, his first sight of 
 really fine and famous pictures. 
 
 If he were himself a son of the house, 
 and in that Marquis proudly sitting 
 upon his horse recognized an ancestor, 
 how would his emotion differ from that 
 of the admiring stranger? Would he 
 feel only a vague pride, and resolve never 
 to bestride a less aristocratic horse? 
 Would he regard the nobility of mien 
 represented as an incentive to nobility of 
 action peculiarly incumbent upon himself ? 
 Would he own a secret spring and start 
 in his blood as it sprang to his cheek in 
 filial recognition? Or would he only 
 stare and wonder, and, in the degree of 
 his perception and sensibility, enjoy the 
 great work of the master ? 
 
 If a man says in any society, “my 
 ancestor fell at Cressy,” he is instantly 
 invested with a certain consideration. 
 Yet he may be, individually, a very worth- 
 less fellow ; and, undeniably, if Eden was 
 the beginning of sublunary things, Adam, 
 the arch-grandfather of the race, takes 
 ancestral precedence of all medieval war- 
 riors ; in which case Jones, the cobbler at the 
 corner, has as proud a pedigree as all the 
 Howards. That is, after all, the reductio 
 ad absurdum. It is legitimate and fair. 
 When our friend .Jehosaphat asks us to 
 step round and see the family portraits, 
 we always fortify ourselves before going, 
 with a glance at the Family Bible, in 
 which Adam, Eve, and the patriarchs, 
 are — indifferently well — represented. 
 
 “ This,” he says with unction, “ is Sir 
 Solomon Sculpin, the founder of the fa- 
 mily.” 
 
 “ Famous for what ? ” we ask respect- 
 fully. 
 
 “For founding the family.” 
 
330 
 
 Family Portraits. 
 
 “ This,” he says, pointing to a dame in 
 hoops and diamond stomacher, “this is 
 Lady Sheba Sculpin.” 
 
 “Ah! yes. Famous for what?” we 
 inquire. 
 
 “ For being the wife of Sir Solomon.” 
 
 Then, in order, comes a gentleman in a 
 huge, curling wig, looking indifferently 
 like James the Second or Louis the Four- 
 teenth, and holding a scroll in ltis hand. 
 
 “ The Right Honorable Haddock Scul- 
 pin, Lord Privy Seal, &c., &c.” 
 
 A delicate beauty hangs between, a face 
 fair, and loved, and lost, centuries ago — 
 a song to the eye — a poem to the heart, 
 as youth and innocence and beauty always 
 are. 
 
 “ Lady Dorothea Sculpin, who married 
 young Lord Pop and Cock, and died pre- 
 maturely in Italy.” 
 
 Poor Lady Dorothea ! whose great 
 grandchild in the tenth remove died last 
 week, an old man of eighty ! 
 
 Next the gentle lady hangs a fierce 
 figure flourishing a sword, with an anchor 
 embroidered on his coat-collar, and thun- 
 der and lightning, sinking ships, flames 
 and tornadoes, in the background. 
 
 “ Rear Admiral Sir Shark Sculpin, who 
 fell in the great action off Madagascar.” 
 
 So Jehosaphat goes on through the se- 
 ries, brandishing his ancestors about your 
 head and incontinently knocking you into 
 admiration. And when we reach the last 
 portrait and our own times, what is the 
 natural emotion? Is it not to put Jeho- 
 saphat against the wall, draw off at him 
 with your eyes and mind, scan him and 
 consider his life; and determine how 
 much of the Right Honorable Haddock’s 
 integrity, and the Lady Dorothy’s love- 
 liness, and the Admiral Shark’s valor, re- 
 appears in the modern man ? After all 
 this proving and refining, ought not the 
 last child of a famous race to be its flower 
 and epitome ? Or. in the case that he 
 does not chance to be so, is silence dis- 
 creet, or is it not ? 
 
 The question of the claims of ancestry 
 is interesting to us Americans only as a 
 speculation. In a society which recog- 
 nizes family rank, and assigns to certain 
 of its members legislative and diplomatic 
 functions because they are born Smith and 
 not Jones, it is the natural desire of every 
 man enlightened as to the easy advance- 
 ment of his interest, to proceed from the 
 Smith and not from the Jones stock. But 
 in societies where a man’s position is not 
 hereditary, but self-derived, and who is 
 honored because he fights his own and 
 his country’s battles at home, in the Se- 
 nate, at the bar, in the ware-room, in the 
 shop, or in any other place to which men 
 are called to work, — and not because his 
 
 [March 
 
 ancestor Sir Shark fell in the great action 
 off' Madagascar, — in those societies it mat- 
 ters little whether he is born Smith or 
 Jones — provided he be born white. He 
 makes his own mark. He wears his own 
 crown. If his hands are not handsome, 
 they are strong. If his house is gaudy 
 and his manner coarse, it is because in 
 curing the meat he has had no time to 
 look after the spices ; and the curious eye 
 discovers that it was always the meat- 
 curing genius that founded the family, 
 while the family itself, taking the meat for 
 granted, has quite uniformly devoted itself 
 to the elaboration of sauce. 
 
 The last century has shown us upon a 
 colossal scale, this spectacle of family— its 
 foundation and fortunes — in the career of 
 the Bonapartes. Napoleon was a man of 
 consummate genius and decidedly no 
 saint, who rose to the highest social po- 
 sition, crowned himself upon one of the 
 oldest and most aristocratic thrones of 
 Europe ; married a daughter of one of the 
 famous families of the earth — which was 
 founded by a rough medieval Baron — 
 reigned the only genuine king of modern 
 history, and died dethroned and exiled. 
 He was no gentleman, say the philoso- 
 phers and critics, he listened at key-holes 
 — he treacherously murdered the Due 
 d’Enghien — the old nobles scorned him, 
 and when he wanted to learn the secrets 
 of foreign courts, he was compelled to 
 send a scion of the old regime to do the 
 business. But the family whose secrets 
 he wished to learn, and to learn which he 
 was obliged to have recourse to a man of 
 pedigree, who was a free-mason of nobi- 
 lity in full standing, was descended from 
 precisely the same kind of man as Napo- 
 leon himself — a man of stern, uncompro- 
 mising will, who was of the wild-boar class 
 of gentlemen, and would have listened 
 under the bed, as well as at the key-hole, 
 to advance his ambitious aims. People 
 wax romantic over WiUiam the Conqueror 
 — who was a Norman robber — and think 
 the curfew very poetic, which was a su- 
 preme act of tyranny — and loudly con- 
 demn Napoleon as an upstart and a trai- 
 tor, and revile him for the murder of the 
 young Duke, which we certainly do not 
 defend, but which belonged to a class of 
 actions to which every despot has more 
 or less resorted. Most great men are up- 
 starts; and Washington was a traitor. 
 Whenever a government becomes imbecile, 
 it is then most foolishly tenacious, and 
 whoever steps forward, in the interests of 
 society and the race, to overthrow it, is. 
 by virtue of his rebellion against the es- 
 tablished powers, a criminal and traitor. 
 History shows that genius, in every de- 
 partment, proceeds more from the poor 
 
Family Portraits. 
 
 331 
 
 1853.] 
 
 man’s house than the noble’s palace. If 
 genius were hereditary, the divine right 
 would be no fiction. In the present ar- 
 rangement of society, and according to 
 human nature, the divine right is merely 
 a police regulation to secure order, it being 
 held in other countries than America, that 
 the welfare of the state is better secured 
 by lodging the executive power in a single 
 person, and holding it hereditary in his 
 family. £i Your Majesty is but aceremony.” 
 
 The slightest departure from this fic- 
 tion is fatal. Therefore, the common sense 
 of England retains the appearance, al- 
 though it annihilates the fact. Victoria is 
 Queen, wears a crown, and holds a sceptre ; 
 appoints and dismisses, is/ lodged in a 
 palace and sumptuously supported, — as 
 was Elizabeth. But the fact of actual 
 power in the two Queens, while the ap- 
 pearance is the same, is as different as 
 their genius. The popular feeling governs 
 England, but the Prince of Wales will be 
 king, though he were twenty times a 
 Nero. The popular feeling has taken care 
 to draw his teeth, before he is permitted to 
 open his mouth. It is from his sharp per- 
 ception of this fact of the necessity of the 
 fiction of divine right in a Monarch, that 
 Nicholas declines to call Louis Napoleon, 
 moil frere. How can he do it ? A citizen- 
 king, as Louis Philippe was called, is an 
 absurdity. What the citizens make by 
 their votes, their votes can unmake. 
 Royalty rests upon loyalty, and loyalty 
 is given to nothing but original power, or 
 to the hereditary and absolute — not con- 
 ditional — descent of original power. A 
 nation loves a son for his father’s sake ; 
 his son, in turn, from the same gracious 
 and tender consideration, until the indivi- 
 dual is lost, and the sense of immediate 
 independence upon the great man is refin- 
 ed into the sentiment of loyalty for his 
 family. In that loyalty, which, like all 
 love, is unreasoning, lies the strength of 
 royalty. And it endures until it is out- 
 raged beyond hope, and the state falls 
 into a ruin whence a new man, and a 
 fresh power, rescues it. The true loyalty 
 of France, since the commencement of the 
 century, has been, and is at this moment, 
 for Napoleon. No man who has known 
 Paris for the last six years, but under- 
 stands Louis Bonaparte’s success. The old 
 regime is a theory in France, not a fact. 
 The one thought that strikes the universal 
 French heart into enthusiasm, is the glory 
 of Napoleon and his empire. 
 
 Here we have touched the mystery of 
 the charm that consecrates the family 
 portraits. Sir Solomon was a respectable 
 man, and Sir Shark a brave one, and the 
 Right Honorable Haddock, a learned one ; 
 the Lady Sheba was grave and gracious 
 
 in her day, and the fair Dorothea lights 
 for us, with pensive sunlight, those long- 
 vanished summers. The filial blood gushes 
 more gladly from our hearts as we gaze, 
 and admiration for the virtues of our 
 kindred sweetly mingles with resolutions 
 of our own. Time has its share, too, in 
 the ministry and the influence. The hills 
 beyond the river, lay yesterday, at sunset, 
 lost in purple gloom ; they receded into 
 airy distances of dreams and faery ; they 
 sank softly into night, the peaks of the 
 delectable mountains. But I knew, as I 
 gazed enchanted, that the hills so purple- 
 soft of seeming, were hard, and gray, and 
 barren in the wintry twilight, and that in 
 the distance was the magic that made 
 them fair. So, beyond the river of time, 
 that flows between, walk the brave men 
 and the beautiful women of our ancestry, 
 grouped in twilight upon the shore. Dis- 
 tance smooths defects, and, in gentle dark- 
 ness, rounds every form into grace. It 
 steals the harshness from their speech, 
 and every word becomes a song. Far 
 across the gulf that ever widens, they 
 look upon us with eyes whose glance is 
 tender, and which light us to success. W e 
 acknowledge our inheritance ; we accept 
 our birthright : we own that their careers 
 have pledged us to action. Every old 
 Knight, before receiving his sword, passed 
 a night of vigil, in a ehapel. There he re- 
 nounced and resolved ; there he dethroned 
 pleasure and crowned duty, and came out 
 with the morning to receive the weapon and 
 the symbol of his endless struggle. So pa- 
 ces the heir of old renowns, the child of fa- 
 mous ancestors, along the gallery of por- 
 traits. They have an intimate and pe- 
 culiar interest for him. Every great life 
 is an incentive to all other lives, but when 
 the brave heart that beats for the world, 
 overflows in private tenderness for us, 
 the example of heroism is more command- 
 ing because more personal. 
 
 This is the true pride of ancestry. It 
 is sometimes crushing ; it is often abused 
 — yet, by a singular providence, few very 
 great men have left direct heirs. The re- 
 cent death of Ada Byron, Lady Lovelace, 
 called forth a catalogue of eminent names, 
 now, in the direct branch, extinct. It is 
 a sort of rough tenderness of Nature that 
 has thwarted Sir Walter Scott’s darling 
 dream, that has, even now, ended his 
 family, and leaves him the sole fame of 
 his house. It was sweeter to him to think 
 that, centuries hence, some Lord of Ab- 
 botsford would gaze wistfully upon his 
 portrait, as the founder of the house, than 
 that the world would cherish his name as 
 a general benefactor. It is in the tender- 
 ness with which the child regards the 
 father, and in the romance that Time 
 
332 
 
 Family Portraits. 
 
 sheds upon history, that the pride of an- 
 cestry is founded. “Where be all the 
 bad people buried'?” asks every man, 
 with Charles Lamb, as he strolls among 
 the rank graveyard grass, and brushes it 
 aside to read of the faithful husband, and 
 the loving wife, and the dutiful child. It 
 is because the human heart is kind : be- 
 cause it yearns with wistful tenderness 
 after all its brethren who have passed into 
 the cloud, and will only speak well of the 
 departed. No offence is longer an offence 
 when the grass is green over the offender. 
 Even faults then seem characteristic and 
 individual. Even Justice is appeased 
 when the drop falls. How the old stories 
 and plays teem with the incident of the 
 duel in which one gentleman falls, and, in 
 dying, forgives and is forgiven. We turn 
 the page with a tear. How much better 
 had there been no offence, but how well 
 that Death wipes it out. 
 
 Republican rage against this feeling of 
 ancestry is natural ; becauso, while we 
 have been considering what the secret of 
 this fact really is that constantly appears 
 in history — where it is enough to admit 
 Sir Bludgeon to honorable notice in every 
 circle, that he is son of Sir Gudgeon — it 
 is the abuse of the feeling that is most 
 generally presented to observation. No 
 derived or implied excellence can stand 
 for a moment against original power. If 
 Sole the cobbler meets young Gudgeon 
 Bludgeon, and discovers that the youth is 
 inferior to him in size, strength, sense, and 
 ability to grapple with the sharp points 
 of life ; that he is in fact only a well- 
 dressed, small -footed, delicate -featured 
 man, somewhat cultivated, and with the 
 refined air of elegant social habits, Sole is 
 to Gudgeon Bludgeon as a lion to a roe. 
 Now if the young man, with all his fine- 
 ness, evinces force of any kind ; if he can 
 give Sole genuine information, or assist 
 him in any way, then Sole respects the 
 man, and likes him the more for his ele- 
 gance, which seems to him a mysterious 
 grace, charming from its mystery. But 
 if Gudgeon Bludgeon is only a better- 
 dressed and softer-mannered man than the 
 cobbler, then Sole despises him the more 
 for his elegance, which seems puerile 
 weakness. Of course in coimtries where 
 society is organized upon a recognition of 
 rank, and high descent is a positive social 
 advantage, there is a subservience to mere 
 position, and a profound study of “ The 
 Peerage,” which is repulsive and disgust- 
 ing. A Howard or a Russell is honored, 
 not on account of his ancestor’s virtues, 
 but for his own patronage. What do 
 Check and Corduroy, the eminent tailors, 
 know of the real characters of the Duke 
 of Dice, or the Yery Reverend the Ace 
 
 [March 
 
 of Trumps, for whom they make knee- 
 breeches and body-coats, — or of their an- 
 cestors ? They know simply that the 
 families of those gentlemen have been, and 
 are, great and influential in the state. 
 The homage of the tailors is not an ac- 
 knowledgment of any thing but position. 
 It is place they delight to honor, and not 
 persons. But the place must possess or 
 imply power. And as the mass of men 
 are not very thoughtful, it is natural that 
 the good Corduroy and his partner should 
 transfer to each individual of a class, that 
 which is true of the class in general. Sir 
 Bludgeon is a Field Marshal, and has 
 whole Californias at command. Sir Gud- 
 geon is a swell and has not a penny. But 
 they are both Sirs, and how is Check, 
 busily cutting out trowsers, to reason 
 further 1 
 
 In America an illustrious ancestry se- 
 cures no privilege from the state, but, ex- 
 cept that, and really, it is worth to the 
 individual all that it is in England. The 
 Atlantic and the Revolution do not alien- 
 ate blood. The son of Algernon Sidney, 
 in the last American remove, is heir to the 
 honors of his ancestry. The sentiment 
 of ancestral pride is an integral part of 
 human nature. Its organization in in- 
 stitutions is the real object of enmity to 
 all sensible men, because it is a direct pre- 
 ference of derived to original power, im- 
 plying a doubt that the world at every 
 period is able to take care of itself Oliver 
 Cromwell is a good governor ; but rather 
 than submit to Richard Cromwell, who 
 is a bad one, it is much better to find 
 Oliver again, by appealing to the average 
 sense of the world. Because, it is clear 
 that if Richard falls so far short of Oliver, 
 his son may fall quite below endurance ; 
 and then, when affairs were much more 
 complicated, we should be compelled, at 
 great disadvantage, to try to find Oliver 
 once more, or a talent which would fill 
 his place. 
 
 It is not observed in history that fami- 
 lies improve with time. It is rather dis- 
 covered that the whole matter is like a 
 comet, of which the brightest part is the 
 head, and the tail, although long and lumin- 
 ous, is gradually shaded into obscurity. 
 Yet, by a singular compensation, the pride 
 of ancestry increases in the ratio of distance. 
 Adam was valiant, and did so well at 
 Poictiers that he was knighted. — a heartjy 
 homely country gentleman, who lived 
 humbly to the end. But young Lord 
 Lucifer, his representative in the twentieth 
 remove, has a tinder-like conceit because 
 old Sir Adam was so brave and humble. 
 Sir Adam’s sword is hung up at home, 
 and Lord Lucifer has a box at the opera, 
 in which he receives no one whose ancestor 
 
1853.] 
 
 Family Portraits. 
 
 333 
 
 is not known to have flourished with Sir 
 Adam. On a thin finger he has a ring, 
 cut with a match fizzling, the crest of 
 the Lucifers, and he is an amiable, gentle- 
 manly, superficial youth, well known and 
 welcomed in our best society. Lucifer 
 abuses the pride of ancestry. 
 
 With us, happily, there is no organiza- 
 tion of this natural pride. Those among 
 us who bear illustrious names, do not sit 
 any more softly for that fact. They must 
 descend into the street, and jostle and 
 push with the rest of us. If they stand 
 apart, and announce that they are sons of 
 thunder, they are hustled until they prove 
 it. If they take airs in the omnibus, and 
 will not allow the driver to go on, pleading 
 that their ancestor fell at Yorktown, the 
 terrible nineteenth century roars to them 
 through the roof from the mouth of the 
 driver, that if their ancestor fell in Eden, 
 he would not stop. It is only under cer- 
 tain artificial conditions of society that 
 “ family” has any weight with us Ameri- 
 cans. Fortunately we cannot emancipate 
 ourselves from the sweet pride, and we 
 love our honorable ancestors, as parents 
 the children that do them honor. But it 
 is equally fortunate that it is confined to 
 sentiment, and that in a country whose 
 existence, as well as welfare, constantly 
 depends upon the action of the best genius, 
 no precedence is allowed to any thing but 
 power. The most striking modern hom- 
 age to the democratic theory is to be found, 
 after our success, in the permanence of 
 the British aristocracy. In no other coun- 
 try does the nobility maintain its place by 
 real worth and capacity. And why is it 
 so in England, but because the traditions 
 of nobility are deserted, and the higher 
 class is constantly recruited in vigor and 
 genius by intermarriage with the middle 
 class ? The grandsons of commoners sit 
 in the peers. It is the part of wisdom, 
 for history shows that exclusive aristoc- 
 racies fall at last from internal decay. 
 Napoleon laid his firm finger upon the 
 effete aristocracy of Venice, and it crum- 
 bled like a mummy in a modern hand. 
 With us, the grandson of a President has 
 no finer start in life, from that fact, than 
 the grandson of the President’s baker. A 
 man will not sooner succeed to the col- 
 lectorship of a large port because his great 
 uncle was Governor, than because his 
 uncle was never heard of. 
 
 There is, as we have said, a certain 
 purely social consideration with us based 
 upon family. It is easy to trace its rea- 
 son. It is because the great name has 
 been a stimulus leading to good results in 
 the descendants, for which men are always 
 honored ; or because of the instinct 
 which seeks to honor a father by honoring 
 
 the son ; or because of the ease and ele- 
 gance and general social amenity produced 
 by the training which hereditary wealth 
 secures. For, it is to be noticed, that our 
 social respect for family depends much 
 upon this fact, that wealth has enabled it 
 to maintain a certain education and pro- 
 cess of refinement. The theory of good 
 descent is fine blood. It is true of other 
 animals, why not of man? The condi- 
 tion of fine blood is, however, the poses- 
 sion of every means of refinement. Ii 
 they fail and there is no original power in 
 the individual, he ceases to be honored for 
 the social grace and cultivation which he 
 has achieved, but simply for the genius of 
 the founder of the family. Minim Sculpin 
 belongs to “ a good old family.” But if 
 Minim is a bad young man, he not only 
 shames himself, but that illustrious line 
 of ancestors whose names are known. 
 Jones has no pedigree, and therefore stands 
 and falls to himself. When he reels from 
 the ball-room to the gambling-house, we 
 do not suffer the sorrow of any fair Lady 
 Dorothy in such a descendant, but we 
 pity him for himself alone. But genius 
 and power are so imperial and universal 
 that when Minim Sculpin falls, w r e are 
 grieved, not only for him, but for that 
 eternal truth and beauty which appeared 
 in the valor of Sir Sharp and the loveli- 
 ness of Lady Dorothy. Now Jones’s 
 grandfathers in every remove may have 
 been quite as valorous and virtuous as 
 Sculpin’s,but we know of the one, and we do 
 not know of the other. So with the furious 
 democrat, who asserts that the race of 
 Smiths has been quite as good as that 
 of the Percys, we have no quarrel. Cer- 
 tainly it may be so. Certainly, the Lau- 
 reate of Timbuctoo may surpass him of 
 England, but, except by that poetic fervor 
 which asserts that melodies unheard are 
 sweeter, we should say of Tennyson, 
 that he is a noble poet, and be unable, 
 from sheer ignorance, to say a word of 
 the bard of Timbuctoo. Let no Smith, 
 therefore, feel injured because we gaze 
 so long and earnestly upon the fair Lady 
 Sculpin, and, lost in dreams, mingle in a 
 society, w r hich distance and poetry im- 
 mortalize. Nor should he flout us be- 
 cause we are conscious that, could we feel 
 our kindred to that lady, our lives would 
 gain by it, through the touch of imagina- 
 tion. The Colonnas are credentials for 
 every new born Roman bearing that 
 name. By his family fame the child is 
 peculiarly related to the Past, and there- 
 fore peculiarly pledged to the Future. 
 
 It is a dangerous doctrine, however, 
 nor much to be pressed. The Family 
 Portraits have a poetic significance, and 
 he is a brave child of the family who 
 
334 
 
 Necklaces. 
 
 dares to show them. Let him not do it 
 until he has looked in the glass of his 
 own thought and scanned his own propor- 
 tions. Like a woman’s diamonds, they 
 may flash finely enough before the world, 
 hut she herself trembles lest their lustre 
 eclipse her eyes. And difficult to resist 
 is the tendency to depend upon those por- 
 traits, and to enjoy vicariously through 
 them a high consideration. What girl is 
 complimented when you curiously regard 
 her because her mother was beautiful? 
 What attenuated consumptive, in whom 
 self-respect is yet unconsumed, delights 
 in your respect for him, founded in honor 
 for his stalwart ancestor ? No true man 
 rejoices in any homage which his own ef- 
 fort and character have not deserved. 
 You intrinsically insult him when you 
 make him the scapegoat of your admira- 
 tion for his ancestor. When his ancestor 
 is his accessory, then your homage would 
 flatter Jupiter. All that Minim Sculpin 
 does by his own talent is the more ra- 
 diantly set and ornamented by the fami- 
 ly fame. The imagination is pleased 
 when Lord Jolin Russell is Premier of 
 England and a whig, because the great 
 Lord William Russell, his ancestor, died 
 in England for liberty. In the same way 
 Minim’s sister Sara adds to her own 
 grace the loveliness of the Lady Dorothy. 
 
 [March 
 
 When she glides a sunbeam through that 
 quiet house, and in winter makes summer 
 by her presence; when she sits at the 
 piano singing in the twilight, or stands 
 leaning against the Venus in the corner 
 of the room, herself more graceful, — then 
 in glancing from her to the portrait of the 
 gentle Dorothy, you feel that the long 
 years between them have been lighted by 
 the same sparkling grace, and shadowed 
 by the same pensive smile. You own 
 that Noblesse oblige, in a sense sweeter 
 than you knew, and — explain it how you 
 will — despite all English snobbery and 
 dust-licking before titles, and of all the 
 coarse American contempt for what it 
 associates with an exploded society, you 
 will yet own a secret pleasure when Sculpin 
 invites you to see the Family Portraits. 
 And this you may do, although you re- 
 member the original Adam, before start- 
 ing, and although upon the way you may 
 chant Tennyson’s poem to yourself. For, 
 however fair are the Family Portraits, 
 the truth of the poem is the aboriginal 
 and eternal truth. 
 
 “ Trust me, Clara Yere cle Yere, 
 
 From yon blue heavens above us bent, 
 
 The gardener Adam and bis wife 
 Smile at the claims of long descent 
 Ilowe'er it be, it seems to me, 
 
 ’Tis only noble to be good, 
 
 Kind hearts are more than coronets, 
 
 And simple faitla than Norman blood.” 
 
 NECKLACES* 
 
 That was a fair one, which a Queen 
 Pulled the great pearl from in her spleen, 
 
 And drank its rich corroded sheen ; 
 
 And flashing bright was that which met, 
 
 And clasped its fatal diamond net, 
 
 About Maria Antoinette ; 
 
 And cool and fresh the dewy band, 
 
 Which poor Undine, with trembling hand 
 Snatch’d from the wave, for Hildebrand ; 
 
 But better mine, a little thread 
 Of jasmine blossoms, tip’t with red 
 As if in breaking they had bled. 
 
 It was all sweetness, and to one 
 Whose life on shore had just begun, 
 
 The very best beneath the sun. 
 
 Malta, August 23d, 1851. 
 
 * The boys in the streets of Malta string the Jasamine blossoms, and give or sell them to the passers-by. 
 
1853.] 
 
 335 
 
 EDITORIAL NOTES. 
 
 International Copyright. — We are 
 happy to learn there is a probability that 
 before the present number will reach 
 its remote readers, the terms of a Conven- 
 tion between the United States and Great 
 Britain, relating to International Copy- 
 right, will be made known. One of the 
 last, — we may add also, one of the best, — 
 acts of Mr. Webster’s political life, was 
 the opening of a negotiation with Mr. 
 Crampton, the British Minister, to protect 
 the literary interests of their respective 
 countries. He was, unfortunately, cut off 
 too soon for the completion of his purpose, 
 but Mr. Everett, his worthy successor, in 
 the Department of State, has hastened to 
 pursue the noble example of W ebster, and 
 the prospect now is, that something will at 
 last be achieved. The precise nature of the 
 projected agreement has not yet trans- 
 pired, but the disclosures are, that the re- 
 cognition of the rights of authors, on both 
 sides of the Atlantic, will be as full and 
 definite as they need desire. We confess, 
 that in the approach of so glorious a con- 
 summation, we feel disposed to elect our- 
 selves the representatives of universal au- 
 thordom, and throw up our hats, with a 
 three times three, that will make the Al- 
 leghanies and the Rocky Mountains vocal 
 with echoes ! As any treaty on the sub- 
 ject, however, will have to pass the ordeal 
 of the Senate, we shall wait to see whether 
 our enthusiasm will be obliged to explode 
 in vehement plaudits or not. 
 
 Although we shall be grateful for any 
 kind of an international copyright which 
 will procure to the foreign author any 
 kind of control over his literary property 
 on this side of the Atlantic, yet, we must 
 confess, that we have precious little ex- 
 pectation that any law will be passed by 
 treaty, or otherwise, which will give that 
 full measure of justice, that the highest 
 interests of our nation loudly demand. 
 We hear a good deal of talk about the 
 rights of our own people in this matter, 
 but we should like to know what right our 
 own people have to other people’s pro- 
 perty. Our rights can never be the 
 wrongs of others. If the works of Brit- 
 ish authors are necessary for our enlight- 
 enment, let us, in God’s name, pay for 
 them, or let them alone. If we are in- 
 capable of producing such books as our 
 necessities call for, let us have the small 
 honesty to pay those who can produce 
 them for us. 
 
 This question of international copyright 
 is notone that involves alone the interests 
 of book manufacturers, authors, or stu- 
 dents ; it involves the national character 
 
 too, and while we refuse to allow compen- 
 sation to the foreign author for his books, 
 on the plea that we cannot afford to pay 
 for them, and are unable to produce simi- 
 lar ones ourselves, we acknowledge our- 
 selves paupers and vassals to foreign in- 
 tellect, and give the lie to all our boast- 
 ings of equality with England. We be- 
 lieve that nothing more is necessary than 
 to give the English author an unqualified 
 right of property in his literary produc- 
 tions, and to subject books to the - same 
 tariff that we impose upon similar kinds 
 of manufactured merchandise, to make 
 an entire revolution in the literary rela- 
 tions of this country, and to make us the 
 literary creditor instead of the debtor. 
 It lias unfortunately happened that 
 whenever the subject of International 
 Copyright has been introduced into Con- 
 gress, there has been some other topic of 
 more immediate interest to engross the at 
 tention of the members, and therefore it 
 has never been broadly or freely discussed, 
 either in the House or the Senate. But we 
 trust that, if the treaty in question shall 
 not be consummated, that some action will 
 be had in reference to it, which will give 
 the representatives of the people an op- 
 portunity to discuss it freely, and on 
 broad national grounds. Those who claim 
 that the rights of the people demand the 
 continuance of our system of literary plun- 
 der and piracy, should commence their 
 argument by denying the validity of the 
 eighth commandment, and by proving 
 that, in national affairs, the old proverb 
 does not hold good, that “honesty is the 
 best policy.” For our own part, we will 
 never believe that the majority of our 
 countrymen are so lacking in the first 
 principles of morality, as to wish to thrive 
 by plundering another people of their pro- 
 perty, even though they were so defective 
 in their reasoning powers, as to imagine 
 that any permanent good could result from 
 a dishonest practice. In brief, our obser- 
 vations have led us to believe that, if the 
 question of international copyright were 
 submitted to the vote of the people of 
 this country, they would decide in favor 
 of the measure by a vote of two to one. 
 
 LITERATURE. 
 
 American. — A dearth of books general- 
 ly follows the holidays, as Lent follows the 
 Carnival. Our publishers, for a month 
 after, repose upon the profits of the Holiday 
 Week; or rather, they are getting ready 
 in silence for the bold demonstrations of 
 the spring. But “ travels ” have no season, 
 and the month brings us in that line 
 
336 
 
 Editorial Notes — American Literature. 
 
 The Footpath and Highway , the title 
 of a volume of sketches in England and 
 Ireland, written with some vivacity, but 
 scarcely novel enough to produce much 
 of a sensation. The author should try 
 his hand on a less hackneyed subject. 
 
 — Anderson's American Villa Archi- 
 tecture, No. 1. Since Downing’s first work 
 on villa architecture appeared, there have 
 been several successful works published on 
 the same subject, the last, and most pre- 
 tending of them being the one before us, 
 the first number of which has but just been 
 issued by Putnam & Go. The completed 
 work will contain plans and elevations of 
 eighteen villas, and three country church- 
 es, with descriptions, and “an Essay on 
 Architecture.” The descriptions are cer- 
 tainly very necessary, but the essay strikes 
 us as a superfluity in such an undertaking. 
 It will be published in seven numbers, 
 with a supplement containing specifica- 
 tions, working drawings, &c. In a country 
 like ours, where building houses, churches, 
 and manufactories, is the great business 
 of the people, and where, with all their 
 industry, they are unable to multiply 
 their dwellings to keep pace with the in- 
 crease of population, works on practical 
 architecture must, of course, be always 
 welcome. We therefore greet this new 
 comer among our architectural books with 
 great satisfaction. Mr. Anderson is an 
 enthusiast in his art, and, if he is not a 
 Palladio, or a Wren, it is not from indif- 
 ference to his business. He informs “ the 
 reader” that he has spent thirty r years in 
 the study of architecture, and in examin- 
 ing all the styles of every enlightened na- 
 tion, and has come to the sensible con- 
 clusion that “ every nation patronizes some 
 peculiar style that will best suit its climate 
 and habits.” He must, to be truthful, 
 except the nation of the United States, 
 which patronizes all the styles that have 
 ever been known to mankind, in all ages 
 of the world, and all parts of the earth. 
 Egyptian, Greek, Roman, Saracenic, Cy- 
 clopeian, Chinese, Norman. Lombard, and 
 all the varieties of Gothic may be found 
 domesticated among us. The American 
 style of architecture has yet to be created. 
 But Mr. Anderson says : “ I have let no 
 opportunity pass of acquiring such inform- 
 ation as enables me to produce a style of 
 architecture altogether new, and suited, not 
 only to this climate’s wants, but to the 
 customs and habits of the age.” 
 
 This may be all true, but we have some 
 doubts of it, and certainly the three de- 
 signs given in the first number of Mr. 
 Amderson’s work, do not verify his claims. 
 The villas are pretty, picturesque, and 
 comfortable-looking houses enough, but 
 there is nothing new in them, nor anything 
 
 [March 
 
 about them peculiarly American. We are 
 not sure, however, that we have seen any- 
 thing better of the same class, and should 
 be disposed to trust Mr. Anderson, if we 
 were about to erect a villa, to furnish the 
 design. It is greatly to his credit that 
 he rejects the high roofs which are only 
 required in high northern latitudes, and 
 adopts an elevation exactly suited to our 
 meridian. But stjde, in architecture, is a 
 thing that is more likely- to spring from 
 the instincts of the people, who build 
 better than they know, than from a study 
 of other styles, and we think that more 
 valuable ideas and hints may be obtained 
 by an examination of our indigenous 
 country houses than by inspecting the 
 architecture of France, England, Ger- 
 many and Italy. In all three of the de- 
 signs furnished in this first number of the 
 “ American Villa Architecture,” there is 
 a mingling of arched and fiat-headed win- 
 dows that produces an unpleasantly in- 
 congruous effect. This is particularly in- 
 congruous and unseemly in design No. 3. 
 where on one side the windows are single 
 with flat heads, surmounted by pedi- 
 ments, which do not appear to be needed, 
 and. on the other are triple-arched, while 
 the upper windows, which are directly 
 under the wide projecting roof, are need- 
 lessly deformed by umbrages, which look 
 like a parasol carried beneath an umbrella. 
 Neither the “ climate’s wants,” nor the 
 “ customs and habits of the age,” exact- 
 ing and luxurious as they may be, could 
 call for such an useless expenditure of 
 materials. The work is extremely well 
 printed, and the lithographed designs 
 make very pretty pictures, and, if they 
 will not bear the test of rigid criticism, 
 they are entitled to the praise of being 
 as good, if not better, than any other 
 villa designs that we have seen from an 
 American Architect. 
 
 —A snarling, ill-natured, caustic book 
 about England and Englishmen, written 
 by an American, may be excused on the 
 ground of retaliation. We have been so 
 often roundly abused by our cousins of 
 the other side, that when one of us is 
 provoked into a little wholesale denunci- 
 ation of them, we can easily account for 
 his spleen. More than that, we confess 
 to a little gratified malice when we see 
 John Bull pummelled in his own sturdy 
 way, on the same principle that every- 
 body likes to see a bully flogged, without 
 regard to the justice of the particular oc- 
 casion. Mr. Matt. Ward’s book, there- 
 fore, which he calls English Items , 
 and in which he lays about him unmer- 
 cifully, castigating the islanders for their 
 brutality, their flunkeyism, their atrocious 
 love of beer and beefj and their more atro- 
 
Editorial Notes — American Literature. 
 
 337 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 cious love of money, — fattens our grudges, 
 in spite of its excessive bad taste. No 
 doubt it would be wiser and more Chris- 
 tian-like for him and for us to overlook the 
 faults of our adversaries, but we fear that 
 the degree of exalted humanity needful to 
 such lenience is not readily found. But in 
 one respect, it seems to us, he greatly 
 misrepresents his own country, in refer- 
 ence to the feelings of subservience which 
 Americans cherish towards the opinions 
 and example of England. There may be 
 such a feeling among the persons with 
 whom Mr. Ward associates, but we do 
 not believe that it exists elsewhere, cer- 
 tain^ not to the extent which he de- 
 scribes. Matt’s is one of the most virulent 
 cases of Anglo-phobia that we remember 
 to have seen ; and he makes a very com- 
 mon mistake in imagining, that to be 
 American he must, of necessity, be un- 
 English. His facts are generally re- 
 liable, but his inferences are as often wrong 
 as right ; he is vehement in his abuse, gross 
 in his descriptions, often too much so to 
 be read aloud in tolerably decent company, 
 partial, prejudiced, ungenerous, and some- 
 times ungrammatical. But he is always 
 lively and readable, and, if not instructive, 
 he is, at least, amusing. In his chapter 
 on English dining all that he says against 
 John Bull’s feeding might, with just as 
 much truth, if not more, be urged against 
 us Americans. But the most terrible 
 phial of Matt’s wrath is emptied upon 
 the Church of England, and we should 
 infer from the nature of his remarks on 
 the hierarchy that he is not a “ professor.” 
 His anxiety to give the worst aspect pos- 
 sible of the Anglican church, leads him 
 into the error of stating that there are but 
 half a million of Protestants in Ireland, 
 which is very wide of the truth, accord- 
 ing to the latest reliable publications on 
 that subject. The best way of showing 
 up John Bull is not to abuse him, but to 
 excel him in the arts which have given 
 him his status among the people of the 
 earth. If Mr. Ward had written a 
 better book than any of the Englishmen 
 he runs his head against, he would have 
 done more to damage their reputations 
 than he could possibly do by fifty such 
 books as his English Items, even though 
 they were fifty times as abusive. 
 
 It is an absurd thing for us Yankees, 
 to rail at England, while we make our- 
 selves dependent upon her for the greater 
 part of our intellectual enjoyment. If 
 John Bull be the great bloated, dull, 
 grasping, beef-fed, church-ridden, guzzling 
 old dotard, that Matt Ward, and others of 
 our writers, tell us, in the name of consist- 
 ency, why not let go his skirts, and try to 
 get along without his assistance? We use 
 vol. i. — 22 
 
 all his literary performances, refuse to 
 offer him any recompense for them, on tho 
 avowed ground that we cannot get along 
 without them, and then turn round and 
 call him dunce, dotard, and flunkey, while 
 our actions confess him our superior. 
 Frenchmen may call John Bull perfidious 
 with some reason, for they do not rob him 
 of his works, but, for us to do so, while we 
 voluntarily submit to his mental govern- 
 ment, is in the last degree, absurd and non- 
 sensical. 
 
 — Fun and Earnest is the title of a new 
 volume of essays by the Author of Mus- 
 ings of an Invalid , which has just been 
 published by John S. Taylor. It might 
 have been called, with as much propriety, 
 Fun in Earnest, as there is a good deal of 
 earnestness in the author’s fun. The 
 essays are neither brilliantly written nor 
 profoundly original in thought and senti- 
 ment, but they are well-intentioned, and 
 possess a certain quiantness of humor 
 that make them readable, even to those 
 literary epicures who are accustomed to 
 feed only on the daintiest productions of 
 the daintiest writers. The fun of tho 
 book is contained in a humorous attempt 
 to anticipate the contents of a newspapei 
 a hundred years hence, wherein the author 
 displays considerable imaginative power, 
 and a vein of sarcastic wit. 
 
 — The Deck of the Crescent City , just 
 issued by G. P. Putnam & Co., is the in- 
 appropriate title of a rather worthless book, 
 with an absurd dedication to Mr. Richard 
 H. Dana, who will be astonished to find 
 how obscure he is. It has nothing to re- 
 commend it, that we have been able to 
 discover. 
 
 — A new work by Hawthorne ! How 
 could we say that the month was sterile 
 of literary materials, when we have such 
 an announcement under our pen? We 
 are tempted to recall the expr ession ; for 
 a new book by such a writer, if the only 
 one of the season, would redeem the want 
 of any other. The Tanglewood Papers 
 is the name of the expected pleasure, an 
 admirably suggestive name, and we feel 
 ourselves already under the weird spell 
 of our oriental magician. 
 
 — Adventures in Fairy Land by 
 Stoddard, are also among the promises 
 that excite an agreeable anticipatory 
 smack. 
 
 — A tale by Miss McIntosh, which de- 
 picts the difference of manner and opinion, 
 at the North and South, with some feli- 
 city, has just been published under the 
 title of the Lofty and the Lowly , or, 
 Good in All , and none All Good. It 
 might seem from the title and the subject, 
 to have been suggested by the everlasting 
 Uncle Tom ; but we find on reading it. 
 
338 
 
 Editorial Notes — American Literature. 
 
 that it deals with the white classes main- 
 ly, leaving the blacks to come in, only now 
 and then, as proper to complete the pic- 
 ture. The purpose of the amiable au- 
 thor, is a commendable one, by faithful 
 representations of the merits and defects 
 of society, both at the North and South, 
 to remove unworthy prejudices, and pro- 
 mote a good understanding. The reader 
 is made to travel briskly, therefore, from 
 Georgia to Massachusetts, and back again 
 to the Virginia Springs, perhaps too brisk- 
 ly to get a perfect knowledge of the people 
 he meets. The scenes, however, are all 
 the livelier for the rapid change. 
 
 — It is curious that the only one of our 
 poets, belonging to the most peaceful of 
 sects, the Quakers or Friends, should be our 
 only modern Tyrteus. Mr. Halleck, who 
 has so much of the old-world chivalry in his 
 veins, laughs away his quarrels with man- 
 kind, in travesty and wit; Mr. Br3’ant, 
 the stern uncompromising democrat, whose 
 editorial pen is tipped with the sharpest 
 steel, softens down, as the poet, into tender 
 and tranquil aspirations ; Mr. Longfellow, 
 who might hold his own in the very rough- 
 and-tumble of life, is saint-like, and hopeful, 
 amid the bayonets of Springfield ; but 
 Whittier, the Quaker, and non-resistant : 
 who reads his poetry without feeling that 
 he should like to step out and fight some- 
 body or something ? Not that he, too, is 
 not gentle, loving, full of tears, as a man 
 of genius must ever be ; but that under his 
 sweet, sad smiles, there is such a volcano 
 of fire, of the old genuine ire, wrath, in- 
 dignation, ever singing and bursting into 
 flame. Like Carlyle’s friend, Rumday, he 
 has heat enough in his stomach to con- 
 sume the world. Yet, his last little 
 volume, just issued, The Chapel of the 
 Hermits, and other Poems , there is less 
 of the defiant martial ardor which swelled 
 through his earlier works. In the place 
 of it, there is more of their serene, sympa- 
 thetic. humanitary, and devout feeling. It 
 would seem as if the blaze of his meridian, 
 were mellowed and tempered into genial 
 warmth, as he drew nearer to the natural 
 term of life. We wish that we had space 
 to quote here, his “ Questions of Life, or a 
 Prisoner of Naples,” but we cannot. 
 
 — We can speak more warmly of a se- 
 cond work on Spain , by Mr. Wallis, 
 than we did of his Glimpses a few years 
 since. The volume now issued is the 
 fruit of a second visit to that beautiful and 
 romantic land. It is written with great 
 sprightliness, and generally in admirable 
 taste, giving a faithful view of the man- 
 ners and customs of the Spaniards, and 
 complete as well as accurate descriptions 
 of their political condition, and the ad- 
 ministration of the government. Mr. 
 
 [March 
 
 Wallis has a pleasant-way of telling his 
 story, and he who begins at the first 
 chapter, 11011 scarcely desist from reading, 
 until he has reached the last. 
 
 — A prospectus of a work on the Types 
 of Mankind , which will embrace ethno- 
 logical researches, founded upon ancient 
 monuments, sculptures, paintings, skulls 
 of races, as well as upon their geographi- 
 cal, philosophical, and biblical history, 
 has been put forth by Dr. Nott, of Mobile, 
 and George Gliddon, of Egyptian memory. 
 It will contain the results of Mr. Glid- 
 don’s Eastern explorations, besides the 
 fruits of the labors of Dr. Morton and 
 Nott, in the field of Cranial observation, 
 &c. We have no doubt that it will be a 
 book of great utility. 
 
 — The Curse of Clifton , by Mrs. Em- 
 ma D. E. N. Southworth, is a ponderous 
 American novel, just published by Hart, 
 of Philadelphia. The opening of the first 
 chapter is an ingenious variation of the 
 well-known method of Mr. G. P. R. James, 
 in commencing his romances. Instead of 
 the two horsemen who might have been 
 seen, &c.. Mrs. Southworth says : “ Upon a 
 glorious morning, in the midsummer of 
 18 — , two equestrian travellers spurred 
 their horses up the ascent of the Eagle’s 
 Flight, the loftiest and most perilous pass 
 of the Alleghanies,” &c. 
 
 — The Miseries of Human Life form 
 a strange theme for fun, but they are the 
 staple of a small volume just published by 
 Putnam & Co., intended rather to make 
 readers laugh than weep. But, they are 
 the small miseries of human life, which 
 are held up for mirth, and not the larger 
 ones. Misery, however, is misery, whether 
 little or great, and though we may laugh 
 at other people’s, we never laugh at our 
 own ; if we could, they would cease to be 
 miseries. The author, or editor, in his 
 humorous preface, has given no indication, 
 as should have been done, of the origin of 
 the book ; and, beyond the subtitle, An 
 old Friend in a New Dress , it appears as 
 an original publication, which it is not. 
 But the reader will soon make this dis- 
 covery for himself, from the antiquity of 
 the jokes, and the general costume of the 
 dialogue. Sensitive and Testy are two 
 friends who carry on a dialogue, in which 
 they strive to entertain each other by 
 their distresses, or distress each other by 
 their puns ; and in this manner they go 
 through the one hundred and eighty-two 
 pages, occasionally relieving the reader, 
 who is supposed to be a listener, by the 
 exhibition of pictorial pun. The jokes 
 are so long drawn out, that we imagine 
 the book must have been projected before 
 the great discovery was made, that brevity 
 is the soul of wit. But we will not dis- 
 
1853 . 
 
 Editorial Notes — American Literature. 
 
 339 
 
 miss the Miseries of Human Life with- 
 out permitting our reader to see, for him- 
 self, what it is like. Here is an average 
 specimen of the humor. 
 
 Ned 1'es. “Libitur et labetur!” — Slipping 
 and slopping. 
 
 0. Feeling your foot slidder over the back of a 
 toad, which you took for a stepping-stone, in your 
 dark evening walk. 
 
 10. Making an involuntary acquisition, in the shape 
 of a snowball in winter, or a bit of something sticky 
 in summer, which sticks to your solo as the devil 
 might if he got hold of it 
 
 Sen. I don’t mind that, if it relieves me 
 of itself all at once. It is so satisfactory to 
 set your foot down free on the ground again, 
 after the incumbrance is gone. But what a 
 trial it is to a nervous man to go scraping 
 along over the stones, and making his blood 
 run cold, so long that he can scarcely tell 
 when the last bit departs ! His imagination 
 feels as if it were there, when the eye can 
 detect nothing on the boot, painfully up- 
 turned for inspection while the owner bal- 
 ances himself on the other leg — tottering 
 like a ninepin. 
 
 Tes. After your “something sticky” has 
 seemingly disappeared — 
 
 11. To enter a drawing-room and find out, when 
 too late, that your boot has changed its manner of 
 annoyance from sticking , to — smelling unpleasant - 
 ly! 
 
 12. Or, on the other hand, to step on a bit of fresh 
 orange or melon peel, upon which your foot flies oil' 
 incontinently in a lateral direction, much to the per- 
 turbation of your centre of gravity. 
 
 Ned Tes. And the gravity of the passers- 
 by as well. 
 
 13. To have these misfortunes happen when yon 
 are in a great hurry and going along with all your 
 might. 
 
 Tes. Bad enough, sir, bad enough; but 
 this, and all the specimens of bad footing we 
 have yet mentioned, are carpeting compared 
 with what follows, as you’ll soon confess: 
 
 14 While yon are out with a walking party, after 
 heavy rains— one shoe suddenly sucked off by the 
 boggy clay ; and then, in making a long and desper- 
 ate stretch, which fails, with the hope of recovering 
 it, leaving the other in the same predicament 1 The 
 second stage of ruin is that of standing — or rather tot- 
 tering — in blank despair, with both feet planted, 
 ankle-deep, in the quagmire 1 The last (I had almost 
 said the dying) scene of the tragedy — that of de- 
 liberately cramming first one, and then the other 
 clogged, polluted foot into its choked-up shoe, after 
 having scavenger ed your hands and gloves in slaving 
 to drag up each separately out of its deep bed, and in 
 this state proceeding on your walk — is too dreadful 
 for representation. 
 
 There are worse books than this for a 
 pocket companion in a rail-road car, but 
 we have no doubt that the author of it 
 discovered, if the reader of it should not, 
 that one of the greatest miseries of hu- 
 man life is the labor of making a book of 
 small jokes. 
 
 — The Obligation of the Sabbath is 
 the title of a volume in which the two 
 sides of the Sabbatarian question are 
 thoroughly discussed by Rev. J. Newton 
 Brown, and W. B. Taylor, of Philadelphia; 
 but the publication being by Mr. Brown, 
 
 the force of the argument naturally enough 
 remains on his side. If we were disposed 
 to make ourselves a party to the discus- 
 sion, this would not be the place to enter 
 upon it. The hook is published by Ilart 
 of Philadelphia. 
 
 — Our literature has lost one of its 
 ornaments during the last month, in the 
 death of Rev. Samuel Judd, the author 
 of Margaret , Richard Edney , and 
 Philo. As a novel of New England life, 
 Margaret was remarkable for its truth, 
 nature, and grace. There were passages, 
 descriptive of character and scenery, 
 which have never been surpassed by any of 
 our writers of fiction, for their fidelity and 
 picturesqueness. But the fault of Mr. 
 Judd, especially in Richard Edney, was a 
 wearisome minuteness of detail. He 
 strove to describe men and things so ac- 
 curately, that he became tedious ; he sa- 
 crificed effect to exactness ; and when he 
 ought to have been impulsive and elo- 
 quent, he was precise and dry. His Philo , 
 we believe, was generally considered a 
 failure. 
 
 — The Works of Sir William Hamil- 
 ton, in tire press of the Harpers, will be 
 the most valuable addition made to our 
 philosophical literature in many years. 
 They contain the ablest papers on the va- 
 rious questions of mental philosophy, that 
 have appeared since the death of Dugald 
 Stewart ; and many of them, indeed, are 
 superior to the best writings, not only of 
 that speculator, but of all the rest of the 
 Scottish School. But the “Works” are 
 not confined to metaphysical criticism, 
 containing besides, elaborate essays on 
 important questions of education and 
 University discipline. 
 
 — The same publishers announce a com- 
 plete edition, in seven volumes, of the writ- 
 ings of Coleridge, with an introductory 
 essay on his Philosophical and Theo- 
 logical Opinions , by Professor Shedd, 
 who is to be the editor. There are so 
 many readers of Coleridge, in this coun- 
 try, that this publication will be very ac- 
 ceptable. His “Aids to Reflection,” his 
 “ Poetry,” and his “ Table-Talk,” have been 
 separately issued here, but no complete 
 and uniform edition of all his works. Cole- 
 ridge was, perhaps, the most unequal 
 writer that ever lived, and yet there is not 
 one of his essays, scarcely a scrap of his 
 conversations, which does not contain sug- 
 gestive and interesting thought. For 
 young minds, they are the most fasci- 
 nating literature that can be taken up, 
 partly because of the genuine impulse and 
 life in them, but mainly, on account of the 
 magnificent promises which constantly 
 lead you on, from one step to another, 
 through a bewildering but seductive maze 
 
340 
 
 Editorial Notes — English Literature . 
 
 of fine conceits. It is true, that you sel- 
 dom come to any end, but the journey it- 
 self is so delightful. 
 
 — Speeches by the Right Honorable 
 Thomas Babington Macaulay, is the 
 title of an American book, though of Eng- 
 lish parentage. It is the only advantage 
 of our piratical no-foreign copy-right sys- 
 tem, that the publishers will do for great 
 authors, what their engagements or lazi- 
 ness will not suffer them to do for them- 
 selves, gather up their fragments and pub- 
 lish them in a collected form. It is doubt- 
 ful, now that Macaulay is in Parliament 
 once more, and with the more interesting 
 researches and labors of his history on 
 hand, whether he would ever take the 
 trouble to edit the speeches scattered 
 through the Standard and the Times. Mr. 
 Redfield, therefore, has done a good thing 
 in commissioning somebody to discharge 
 the duty for him, — we presume, with his 
 approbation. A rich magazine of elo- 
 quence is the result, — for Macaulay dis- 
 plays the same splendid rhetorical powers, 
 the same miraculous fertility, and the same 
 liberal tone of thought in his essays, his his- 
 tories, and his orations. He is equally 
 brilliant in all. 
 
 — We have read with great satisfaction 
 the fine compliment which De Quincey 
 pays to the first publishers of his collected 
 writings, Messrs. Ticknor, Reid and Fields, 
 of Boston. In a letter to Mr. Fields — who 
 having a blazon of the author as well as 
 of the publisher, in his quarterings, knows 
 how to do justice to both, — the opium- 
 eater speaks gratefully of the liberal al- 
 lowance they make him on the sale of his 
 works. We are sure that such thanks 
 will be a sweeter solace to the publishers 
 than any amount of iniquitable profit that 
 they might have made out of all the wri- 
 ters in the world. 
 
 The twelve volumes which Mr. Field 
 has gathered out of the miscellaneous 
 writings of De Quincey, will exhibit him in 
 a new light to a large number of readers 
 — and yet again, not in a new light. Every 
 tolerably well informed man knew of him 
 as the author of the Opium Eater, but few 
 as the author of so much varied and ex- 
 cellent criticism ; but we doubt whether 
 this large knowledge will increase the es- 
 timation in which he was held. We 
 doubt it, not because the writings thus 
 revealed are unequal to the Confessions, 
 — for they are on the same high level 
 both of thought and execution, — but 
 because the characteristics of the Con- 
 fessions were so clear, so positively brought 
 out, so decisive of the powers of the 
 author, that nothing that he might 
 afterwards do could alter or raise our 
 opinion of his ability. The nice criticism, 
 
 [March 
 
 verbal and rhetorical, the masterly use of 
 nervous idiomatic and robust English — the 
 discursive yet always manageable and 
 compact style — the intense passion — the 
 profound imagination — in short, the po- 
 etry and the philosophy linked hand in 
 hand with a fine intellectual (not always 
 genial) humor, which appear in these 
 subsequent Reminiscences, Narrative Pa- 
 pers, Historical Essays, and Sketches of 
 Life and Manners, were all suggested by 
 the brief hundred pages of the Opium- 
 atic disclosures, and do not surprise us. 
 We say to ourselves, as we read, They are 
 precisely what we expected from that re- 
 served power so strongly indicated all 
 through the subject book. A strong man, 
 who is master of himself, is always strong, 
 and in what direction soever he shows 
 his strength, we have no fear of the result. 
 In this respect De Quince}’ differs especial- 
 ly from Coleridge, whose prose writings 
 were an endless series of digressions, — • 
 “ five thousand chapters, as Lamb said, 
 on the Transcendental Philosophy, all in 
 an unfinished state,” — and who, if he 
 proposed to carry you from London to 
 Liverpool, would carry you by the way of 
 Athens, Calcutta, Japan, California, New- 
 York, and Paris, — and after all never 
 reach his destination. De Quincey listens 
 and digresses, too, whenever some rich 
 prospect allures, or some difficulty is to 
 be surmounted, but you have a pleasant 
 jaunt of it, and reach the inn in time for 
 supper. 
 
 English. — The Shakspearean circles in 
 England have been greatly excited by a 
 new discovery of Mr. J. Payne Collier, the 
 famous annotator of the great bard. He 
 had the luck, in the year 1849, to stum- 
 ble upon a dirty and tattered copy of the 
 second folio edition of Shakspeare printed 
 in 1623 ; but it proved to be so worn that 
 he threw it aside in disgust. But, on tak- 
 ing it up three years afterwards, he was in- 
 duced to believe, from certain emendations 
 of the text, noted in the margin, that it 
 was some old actor’s copy, which had 
 been used, probably, near the time of its 
 publication. It was scribbled all over 
 with prompter’s marks, stage directions, 
 erasures of passages omitted in the repre- 
 sentation, &c., many of which, of them- 
 selves, throw light upon portions hereto- 
 fore obscure ; but, what was of far more 
 importance, it was found that, from be- 
 ginning to end, the text also had been 
 corrected in every conceivable way — the 
 sense disclosed by proper punctuation, 
 wrong words substituted by right ones, 
 dropped phrases replaced, and even, in some 
 instances, whole lines restored — most es- 
 sential ones — which were never dreamed 
 
1853.] 
 
 Editorial Notes — English Literature. 
 
 341 
 
 of by commentators, because never seen 
 before in any printed copy of the works 
 of Shakspearc. “ I discovered,” says 
 Mr. Collier, “ that there was hardly a page 
 which did not present, in a handwriting 
 of the time, some emendations in the 
 pointing, or in the text ; while on most 
 of them they were frequent, and on many 
 numerous.” The total number of these 
 corrections he found to be not less than 
 twenty thousand. They were obviously 
 made by some one (Thomas Perkins is 
 the written name of the owner of the 
 book, probably a brother of Richard Per- 
 kins, a distinguished actor of the day), 
 who had access to sources of information 
 never given to the public, — we may sup- 
 pose the authentic manuscript copies pre- 
 served in the theatre, which Shakspeare 
 had himself once directed. Some speci- 
 mens of these corrections Mr. Collier laid 
 before the world, about a year ago, in the 
 London Athenceum. We find, from a no- 
 tice in a recent number of the same jour- 
 nal, that he has just issued a supplemental 
 volume to his well-known edition of the 
 poet’s works, entitled “ Notes and Emen- 
 dations to the Text of Shakspeare’s 
 Plays, from Early Manuscript Corrections 
 in a copy of the Folio, 1632,” &c. &c., in 
 which these corrections, or such of them 
 as had not been anticipated by the inge- 
 nuity of annotators, make their final ap- 
 pearance. Their number and value may 
 be inferred from the account given by the 
 Athenceum , which states that “ we have 
 here, in all probability, a genuine restora- 
 tion of Shakspeare’s language, in at least 
 a thousand places in which he has been 
 hitherto misunderstood.” 
 
 This is one of the strangest and most 
 curious events in literary history. Many 
 of the acutest intellects of the world have 
 been busy, for nearly a century, in trying 
 to correct the obvious errors of Shak- 
 speare’s text, with only an indifferent suc- 
 cess, and now an old actor’s copy turns 
 up to cast light upon the obscurity, and 
 make that consistently beautiful, which 
 was before blemished and deformed. It 
 gives us pleasure to see that Redfield 
 & Co. announce a republication of Mr. 
 Collier’s volume. 
 
 — A History of the Colonial Policy 
 of the British Empire , from 1717 to 
 1851, by Lord Gray, is among the forth- 
 coming works, and also the Life and 
 Correspondence of Charles James Fox, 
 by Lord John Russell. The latter ought 
 to be a book of great general interest, 
 for Fox was so intimately connected with 
 the most important events of one of the 
 most important eras in British history, 
 while his private character was so general 
 and his relations to men so numerous, 
 
 that his letters must be unusually agree- 
 able. 
 
 —A novel by the author of Mary Bar- 
 ton, called Ruth , may be chronicled as 
 among the successes of the day. It is 
 the history of a young female, who was 
 betrayed into a misadventure in early 
 life, and subsequently taken into the fa- 
 mily of a benevolent clergyman, with a 
 view to restoring her to her lost position 
 in society. The incidents are well de- 
 cribed, and the characters discriminated 
 with great nicety. The work has been 
 republished in Boston. 
 
 — It has been very much the fashion 
 in England for some years, to rake up 
 the literary remains of distinguished men, 
 and give them to the public. We should 
 think, from the announcements, that the 
 tendency is spreading. We have already 
 referred to the proposed edition of Fox. 
 The fifth volume of Chesterfield’s letters 
 are just out ; and we see besides, that 
 two volumes of the letters of the Poet 
 Gray, the papers of Sir Hudson Lowe, 
 and the papers of Castlereagh, relating 
 to the Congress of Vienna, the Battle of 
 Waterloo, and the occupation of Paris, 
 are in press. 
 
 — The Athenaeum , alluding to the nu- 
 merous works, by titled authors, which 
 are in preparation, and the lectures de- 
 livered by noble lords to the Mechanics’ 
 Institute, remarks pithily: “All this is 
 an expression of the immediate age in 
 which we are living even more remarkable 
 and important perhaps than — though by 
 no means unconnected with— its scientific 
 triumphs. The ‘ good old English gen- 
 tleman’ looks like a ghost in the morning 
 lights of the time. Contrary to long 
 cherished and highly respectable theories, 
 too, maintained by traditional saws and 
 watered by elderly gentlemen’s tears, no 
 dangerous symptoms have yet ensued. 
 A perception of the community of the 
 intellectual faculties is the new birth of 
 the present century, and society is doing 
 as well as can be expected under the cir- 
 cumstances.” 
 
 — The article in the last North British 
 Review on Uncle Tom, is ascribed to 
 Archbishop Whately, and the series of 
 papers, relating to the same book, which 
 appeared in the London Standard , have 
 been collected by the writer, Chief Jus- 
 tice Denman, and published in a pam- 
 phlet, with a dedication to Mrs. Stowe. 
 
 —Mr. G. S. Faber, is a writer who has 
 long had the prophecies of the Bible under 
 his particular charge, and now a new 
 work of his, called The revival of the 
 French Emperorship anticipated from 
 the necessity of Prophecy , undertakes 
 to show that Napoleon the First was the 
 
 
342 
 
 Editorial Notes — French Literature. 
 
 “ seventh head ” of the Beast mentioned 
 in the Kevelations, while Napoleon III., 
 is the “ eighth head.” The subsequent 
 parts of the same prophecy, according to 
 his interpretation, indicate clearly a very 
 terrible state of war and confusion soon to 
 come, “ a time of trouble such as never 
 was since there was a nation.” This war 
 will end in the extermination of all Anti- 
 Christian power in the year 1864, when 
 comes the millennium. 
 
 — “ (lid is tan” a translation of a work 
 of mingled prose and poetry, written as 
 far back as the middle of the thirteenth 
 century, by Sadi, an accomplished orien- 
 tal traveller and poet, is a curious revela- 
 tion of the tone of thought and manners 
 in that period. It possessed in the origi- 
 nal a vast popularity at the East, but the 
 literary merits, as they appear in the 
 translation, scarcely justify its fame. 
 
 — A new novel by Mrs. Gore, nam- 
 ed the Dean's Daughter , or The days 
 we live in, in the vein which she has 
 worked successfully for many years, is 
 well spoken of by the English critics. As 
 the leading event, on which the interest 
 turns, is an attempt to allure a faithful 
 wife from her family, we can easily ac- 
 count for its reception in certain circles, 
 It requires piquant incident to excite the 
 jaded taste of the devotees of Fashion. 
 
 — “ A Tour of Inquiry through France 
 and Italy,” by a gentleman already well 
 known as a traveller through his works on 
 Turkey and Circassia, Mr. Edmund Spen- 
 cer, contains more description and more 
 speculation, than the title-page justifies, 
 but furnishes, nevertheless, a great deal 
 of new and instructive matter. What he 
 says of the condition and aspirations of 
 the people, both in France and Italy, 
 strengthens the opinion generally enter- 
 tained on this side of the water, of the 
 utter uncertainty that society in Europe 
 can remain as it is. But Mr. Spencer 
 argues that the great cause of discontent 
 is the Romish Church, which, wherever 
 it works in connection with the State, is 
 the most fiercely despotic of all known 
 institutions. Hence, throughout Europe, 
 but in Italy especially, he observes the 
 most bitter hatred towards the ecclesias- 
 tics, and the people, he says further, are 
 driven to such desperation that they would 
 gladly accept Louis Napoleon, or any 
 other power that would be likely to root 
 out their present oppressors. He inti- 
 mates also that the aforesaid Louis Na- 
 poleon may yet betray the Jesuits or the 
 Church, as he has already betrayed 
 France. 
 
 France. — Quite apropos to the discus- 
 sion excited by the romantic history and 
 
 [March 
 
 pretensions of the Rev. Eleazer Williams, 
 come two thick octavos from Paris, enti 
 tied Louis X f II., Sa Vie, son Agonie, sa 
 Mart, (Louis XVII., his Life, Last Illness 
 and Death), by M. A. D. Beauchesne, a 
 pious legitimist, who has devoted twenty 
 years to collecting all the incidents in the 
 imprisonment of Louis XVI., and his 
 family, and especially whatever relates to 
 his unfortunate son. In fact, as the title 
 of the book indicates, the story of the 
 boy is its focus, to which every thing else 
 in the tragedy is but subordinate and 
 illustrative. The author seems to be ani- 
 mated by the most sincere desire to estab- 
 lish the exact truth noth regard to him. 
 As he says in his Introduction, he has 
 spared neither care nor researches, nor 
 study, to arrive at this truth, and his dili- 
 gence has been well rewarded. We 
 translate a passage from the Introduction. 
 
 “ I have gone to the source of all the facts 
 already known ; I have put myself in rela- 
 tion with all the living persons whom chance 
 or special duty admitted into the Temple 
 during the revolution ; I have gathered a 
 great deal of information and have correct- 
 ed many errors. I have intimately known 
 Lasne and Gomin, the two last keepers of the 
 Tower, in whose arms Louis XVIL expired. 
 I have not consulted traditions gathered by 
 children from the lips of their fathers, 
 but the recollections of eye-witnesses — re- 
 collections that in spite of years have been 
 religiously preserved in their memories and 
 hearts.” * * * * “I am then able to af- 
 firm upon personal investigation, and with 
 certainty, the least circumstance of the events 
 that I recount.” 
 
 Judging from the internal evidence, 
 this is a perfectly honest book. We have 
 carefully read it through, and are im- 
 pressed with the spirit of truth and fideli- 
 ty which appears to breathe in all its pa- 
 ges. Beginning with the birth of the 
 Dauphin, it narrates each event of his fife 
 with the affection of a devotee and the 
 accuracy of a mathematician. The first 
 volume ends with the execution of his 
 father, and the second is almost exclu- 
 sively occupied with the incidents of his 
 separation from his mother, his subse- 
 quent imprisonment, and death. Many 
 of the facts related are new, and all of 
 them are marked with the most tragic 
 and touching interest. 
 
 On the third of July, 1793, the Dau- 
 phin was committed to the cruel care of 
 Simon the cobbler, and his wife, who con- 
 tinued in charge of him, either one or the 
 other being constantly in his presence, 
 until the 19th of January, 1794. With 
 regard to this period, Mr. Beauchesne 
 gives the testimony of those women who 
 were intimate with the wife of Simon, and 
 
Editorial Notes — French Literature. 
 
 343 
 
 1853.] 
 
 frequently saw her during her residence 
 at the Temple, as well as before and after. 
 Thus they gathered day by day from her 
 own lips the narrative of the brutal treat- 
 ment of the young prince. Their recol- 
 lections, added to the facts already noto- 
 rious, render this chapter the most inter- 
 esting in the book. After Simon left, the 
 Dauphin was immersed in a dungeon, the 
 door of which was nailed up, all light be- 
 ing excluded, and his only communication 
 with the world was through an iron lat- 
 tice, which was opened from time to time 
 to admit his food. 
 
 In this cell he remained until the 27th 
 of July following, a little more than six 
 months, when the downfall of Robes- 
 pierre and the advent of the Directory 
 brought a change in his treatment. A 
 man named Laurent, a native of St. Do- 
 mingo, was appointed by B arras, keeper 
 of the children of the ex-King. A hu- 
 mane and well educated person, although 
 an ardent believer in the revolutionary 
 ideas of the time, he was filled with hor- 
 ror on discovering the state of the Dau- 
 phin. He brought him out of the pesti- 
 lential dungeon, washed him, dressed his 
 sores, and caused him to be provided with 
 clothes. When they entered the dun- 
 geon, the child, who was not ten years 
 old, was lying in a mass of rags, filth and 
 vermin, and so reduced and broken that 
 he did not move, and paid no attention to 
 the many questions that were put to him. 
 Finally, one of the deputies who was pre- 
 sent, and who asked him several times 
 why he had not eaten his dinner, which 
 stood untouched on the shelf of the lat- 
 tice, drew from him the reply, “No, I 
 want to die.” From this time until his 
 reported death his keepers were compa- 
 ratively kind, and did all that they dared 
 to render his life tolerable. On the 8th 
 of November Laurent received as col- 
 league, Gomin, and on the 29th of March, 
 1795, the former resigned his charge. 
 During this period the boy used often to 
 play draughts with Gomin, and to walk 
 on the terrace of the Tower until the 
 25th of January, when his disease made 
 it necessary that he should be removed. 
 He had tumors at all his joints, refused 
 to move, and could hardly be made to 
 speak. Still he understood every thing 
 that was said to him, and on several occa- 
 sions when alone with Gomin, whom he 
 learned to love, showed by gestures and 
 expressions that he knew who he was, 
 and remembered the father, mother, and 
 sister whom he was never to see more. 
 Once, by his looks and movements, he 
 asked Gomin to take him into his sister’s 
 prison, which was in the same building, 
 and when told that it was impossible, he 
 
 said, “ I want to see her once, oh ! let me 
 see her again before I die, I pray you,” 
 Gomin took him by the hand and led 
 him to a chair. The child fell upon his 
 bed in a fainting fit, and, when he came 
 to himself, burst into loud weeping. 
 
 When Laurent resigned he was suc- 
 ceeded by a house-painter named Lasne. 
 who, with Gomin, remained until the 
 end. The new-comer took particular 
 charge of the Dauphin, while Gomin be- 
 came the jailer of his sister. 
 
 Lasne had often seen the young prince 
 before his imprisonment, and in his con- 
 versation with Mr. Beauchesne says : “ I 
 recognized him perfectly ; his head had 
 not changed, it was still as beautiful as I 
 had seen it in better times ; but his com- 
 plexion was dead and colorless, his shoul- 
 ders were high, his breast hollow, his legs 
 and arms thin and frail, and large tumors 
 covered his right knee and left wrist.” 
 Lasne treated him with the greatest kind- 
 ness, and was not absent from him a sin- 
 gle day. On the Gth of May, on the de- 
 mand of his keepers, who represented that 
 his life was in danger, M. Dessault, a phy- 
 sician, visited him, and recognized him as 
 the Dauphin. The boy refused to take 
 the medicine ordered until the second day, 
 when Lasne, telling him that he should 
 take it himself, and that he ought to save 
 his friend such a necessity, the child said, 
 “ You have determined then that I shall 
 take it ; well, give it to me, I will drink 
 it.” On the 31st of May M. Bellanger, 
 a painter, happened to be the commissary 
 on service for the day, and brought some 
 drawings to show the little invalid. The 
 latter looked at them, finally replied to 
 the questions of the artist, and sat for his 
 own portrait. At this interview with 
 Bellanger the child gave signs of intelli- 
 gence by word and look, and indeed there 
 seems to have been no good reason for 
 supposing that he was ever idiotic, an idea 
 originating in his usual obstinate silence 
 alone. But the very day before he died 
 he said to Gomin, who told him of the ar- 
 rest of a commissary who had often been 
 on duty at the Temple, “ I am very sorry, 
 for jmu see he is more unhappy than we ; 
 he deserves his misfortune.” He died on 
 the 9th of June, at about two o’clock in 
 the afternoon. On the night previous he 
 said to Gomin, who expressed pity for his 
 sufferings, “Be consoled, I shall not al- 
 ways suffer.” Some time afterward Gomin 
 said to him, “ I hope you do not suf- 
 fer any pain now.” “ Oh yes,” was the 
 answer, “ I suffer, but much less ; the 
 music is so beautiful.” As no music was 
 audible, Gomin asked, “ From what direc- 
 tion do you hear music ? ” “ From up yon- 
 der.” Presently the child exclaimed, in 
 
344 
 
 Editorial Notes — French Literature. 
 
 ecstasy, “ Among all the voices I hear that 
 of my mother.” ( Au milieu de toutes les 
 voix, j’ai reconnu celle de ma mere !) 
 Next day Lasne relieved Gomin from his 
 attendance at the bed-side. After a time 
 the child moved, and Lasne asked him 
 how he was. To this he answered, “ Do 
 you think my sister could have heard the 
 music ? How much good it would have 
 done her.” Presently he said, “I have 
 one thing to tell you.” Lasne bent down 
 to listen, but the boy was dead. 
 
 The second day after the decease, the 
 corpse was visited, and its identity recog- 
 nized by above twenty persons, of whom, 
 live were officers, and four commissaries, 
 on duty at the post; the majority of those 
 persons certified that they had seen the 
 Dauphin before at the Tuileries or the 
 Temple, and knew the dead body to be 
 his. The physicians who made the post- 
 mortem examination, certify to a tumor 
 on the inside of the right knee, and an- 
 other on the left wrist. These tumors had 
 not changed the external skin but existed 
 under it. After the examination, the body 
 was buried, but it does not appear certain 
 in what place. There are persons who 
 contend for several different localities ; M. 
 Beauchesne is convinced that the true place 
 is the Cemetery of St. Margaret, in Paris. 
 But it is a curious circumstance that the 
 government of Louis XYin, after having 
 ordered an investigation into the case, 
 suddenly stopped it before it had produced 
 any decided results. 
 
 Such is an outline of part of the book. 
 It is to be remembered that the facts de- 
 rived from Gomin and Lasne, have never 
 before been published. M. Beauchesne 
 accompanies them with a fac-simile certifi- 
 cate from each, to the effect that the state- 
 ments of their testimony made by him, are 
 exact, and nothing more nor less than the 
 truth. W e give them without expressing 
 any further opinion on the question, than 
 that M. Beauchesne is perfectly honest in 
 his conclusions, and that his witnesses 
 will probably be received as trustworthy 
 by the great majority of the world. 
 
 — A warm controversy is now going on 
 among the Catholic clergy of France upon 
 the question whether the decisions of the 
 Congregation of the Index are authorita- 
 tive in that country. This congregation is 
 the body at Rome, which pronounces upon 
 the orthodoxy of books ; in a decree issued 
 on the 27th of September last, the ban 
 was laid on a work on Canon Law by the 
 Abbe Lequeux, the head of a seminary 
 at Soissons, which had been published 
 and in common use as a school manual, 
 for above ten years, without the discovery 
 on the part of the heads of the church, 
 that it contained dangerous ideas. As it 
 
 [March 
 
 had become not only a valuable property 
 to its author, but a familiar guide to 
 students, great astonishment was felt at 
 the sudden interdict thus put upon its 
 use. The ultramontane party at once 
 called upon the author to submit patient- 
 ly to the blow, and withdraw the book 
 from circulation, although he has no idea 
 on what point it is condemned. On the 
 other hand, the old Gallican spirit so long 
 asleep, has risen again to deny the bind- 
 ing force of the decrees of Rome, and to 
 assert the independence of the French 
 church. Most prominent on this side of 
 the controversy, is the Abbe Delacouture 
 of Paris, who has written a very sharp 
 and able pamphlet, showing that the In- 
 dex has never been respected in France, 
 that it has often made blunders, and that 
 there is no reason for admitting its au- 
 thority at present. The Abbe takes oc- 
 casion in the course of his disquisition, to 
 bestow many hard blows upon the ultra- 
 montane school, and especially upon its 
 great writer, Demaistre. 
 
 — A charming and useful little book 
 on the Theory of Painting on Glass, has 
 been published at Paris by M. Ferdi- 
 nand de Lastevrie, the grandson of 
 Lafayette, who was in this country two 
 or three years since. 
 
 — An edition of the works of Napo- 
 leon I., is to be produced under the edi- 
 torial supervision of Messrs. Lagueron- 
 niere, Lefebvre, Deuvrier and Paul Lacroix 
 who have been appointed to that function 
 by the government. It is to occupy thirty 
 splendid octavos, and will contain a varie- 
 ty of hitherto unpublished documents. 
 
 — M. Tchihatcheff, the Russian Ge- 
 ographer, has published at Paris the first 
 part of a great work on Asia Minor, which 
 will furnish a complete physical, statisti- 
 cal and archaeological description of that 
 interesting country. The part now pub- 
 lished is devoted to its comparative physi- 
 cal geography ; the second part will con- 
 tain its meteorology and botanical and 
 zoological geography ; the third part its 
 geology ; and the fourth its statistical 
 and archaeological description. The vol- 
 ume now published is a large octavo of 
 600 pages, with engravings and an admira- 
 ble map. 
 
 — A controversy has been excited in 
 France by the publication of a Histoire 
 du Pontificat de Clement XIV., by 
 Father Theiner, a priest of the Order of 
 the Oratory. This history gives to the 
 world many highly interesting new doc- 
 uments relative to the abolition of the 
 Society of Jesus by that Pope, and takes 
 the side of the Pontiff against the order. 
 This brought out M. Cretiveau Jolly, 
 the author of a previous work on the same 
 
Editorial Notes — French Literature. 
 
 345 
 
 1853.] 
 
 subject, in which the -Jesuits are defended, 
 and the act of the Pope condemned. This 
 writer, now feeling himself bound to con- 
 tinue the quarrel with Father Thciner, 
 pitches into that respectable ecclesiastic 
 with considerable acrimony, and overhauls 
 Pope Clement and glorifies the Jesuits as 
 before. At this crisis, Father Roothan, 
 the present General of the Society, comes 
 in to decline in its behalf the services of its 
 indiscreet defender, and to say that the 
 Jesuits will not be held responsible for 
 any thing in his writings which goes to de- 
 rogate from the honor and reverence due 
 to the Holy See, and that no solidarity 
 whatever subsists between him and them. 
 
 — We learn from Paris that a large 
 number of the distinguished Polish emi- 
 grants there are devoting themselves to 
 literary labors. Gen. Dembinski has 
 nearly finished his memoirs ; Gen. Chrza- 
 zowski is now finishing a large map of 
 Poland ; Wysocki is engaged on his me- 
 moirs ; Anton Szymonski is writing a 
 history of the Polish Administration ; 
 Gaszynski is publishing his Travels in 
 Italy ; Kosimirski is at work on a Polish 
 grammar, for the use of French students ; 
 Wrobnowski on an Atlas of Europe ; W ron- 
 ski has published Historisophie, or The 
 Science of History , in connection with Po- 
 land and the Sclavonic race ; Trentowski 
 is engaged on a History of Religion. 
 
 — M. Sayous, who last year enriched 
 French literature with one of its most 
 valuable recent productions, the Memoirs 
 and Correspondence of Mallet du Pan, has 
 just produced the first two volumes of 
 another curious and interesting work, 
 called Histoire de la Literature fran- 
 gaise a Vetranger depuis le commence- 
 ment du clix-septieme siecle. It compre- 
 hends both those French authors who 
 have written in foreign countries, and 
 foreign authors who have written in 
 France in the French tongue. 
 
 — There appeared in France in 1852 of 
 original works 8,261, of which 474 were 
 school books and prizes for schools. The 
 imperial printing office and the other 
 printing offices of Paris turned out 4,321 
 books and pamphlets, the provinces 3,925, 
 and Algeria 15. This includes 164 jour- 
 nals, of which 40 belong to the provinces, 
 besides maps, musical publications, &c. 
 
 — We have had the honor to read one 
 number of M. Alexander Dumas’s 
 Isaac Laquedem, and find it neither 
 worse nor better than the common run of 
 his early novels. Isaac is the Wandering 
 Jew under a new form, or, at least, one 
 of his near relatives or heirs. M. Dumas 
 has been in trouble with the police of 
 Paris about this book. He introduced 
 the Saviour as one of its characters, and 
 
 put into his mouth some language which 
 the police justly thought improper. Ac- 
 cordingly the publication was stopped till 
 the author appeared, promised to take 
 out the offensive passages, and not to 
 repeat the offence again. 
 
 — Victor Cousin having been turned 
 out of his professorship, has left meta- 
 physics and successfully resorted to his- 
 tory, and that of the most fascinating sort. 
 His debut on this new stage is in a me- 
 moir of Madame de Longueville, which 
 for some months he has been publishing 
 in the Revue des Deux Maudes, and has 
 now put into a book. He narrates the 
 life of that famous beauty and politician 
 with all the clearness and splendor of 
 style for which he is justly famous. If 
 he casts no very important light on the 
 eventful history of the Fronde,, its in- 
 trigues, and its warfare, he narrates in 
 the most delightful manner, the varied 
 life of a lovely, restless and gifted woman, 
 who played a large part in the events of 
 the time. We confess that we like Cou- 
 sin in this department of literature better 
 than in philosophy. 
 
 Germany. — The event of the month 
 is the publication, by the eminent Pro- 
 fessor Gervinus, of Heidelberg, of an In- 
 troduction to the History of the Nine- 
 teenth Century. All the governments 
 have been frightened by it; the police have 
 every where confiscated it ; and the au- 
 thor has been threatened with prosecution 
 for treason. In fact, whether he shall un- 
 dergo that infliction, is yet to be decided 
 by the jurists of Mannheim, to whom the 
 Government of Baden has referred the 
 question of his guilt. Gervinus has hither- 
 to belonged to the moderate party in po- 
 litics. In this book, he declares himself a 
 democrat. He argues that the English 
 system of constitutional monarchy with 
 aristocracy, is not only a logical inconsist- 
 ency, but is impossible for Germany, and 
 the only permanent and peaceful Consti- 
 tution for that country, must be that of a 
 democratic federal republic like the United 
 States. The historical end of absolute 
 monarchy is to break down aristocracies, 
 and clear the way for democratic institu- 
 tions. That end it has subserved and is 
 subserving in German} 7 , but the attempt 
 to transform it upon the English plan will 
 prove futile. In England, the existing 
 system comes from the special and irre- 
 gular history, and the isolated, insular po- 
 sition of the country ; while the system of 
 the United States is founded upon universal 
 reason, and may be adopted every where, 
 by any free people. Germany, he holds, 
 will surely come to it. The book is writ- 
 ten in an abstract German style, but it 
 
346 
 
 Editorial Notes — German Literature. 
 
 has a great effect on the thinking classes, 
 and is very extensively circulated, not- 
 withstanding its prohibition. 
 
 • — Die Konige (The Kings), by Pro- 
 fessor Heinrichs of Halle, is a history 
 of monarchy as an institution, and is 
 written entirely in the interest of mon- 
 archical ideas, and against republicanism. 
 The theme is treated, according to the 
 German method, with a great deal of phi- 
 losophy, and if any body desires to know 
 more of it, let him procure and read it if 
 he can. 
 
 — Marriage as it existed among the 
 Greeks, is the subject of a book lately 
 published at Munich by Mr. Von Lafaulx, 
 called Zur Geschichte und Philosophie 
 der Ehe bei den Griechen. It demon- 
 strates that purity of morals and conjugal 
 fidelity, prevailed among the early Greeks, 
 and that the corruption of later times was 
 introduced and perfected gradually. Some 
 of the jokes and sneers about women 
 which were current during the transition, 
 are amusing enough as given by our au- 
 thor. Socrates, who notoriously had a 
 hard time of it in his domestic relations, 
 said that to remain single was bad, but to 
 marry was no better. Hipponax knew 
 of but two happy days in marriage, the 
 wedding-day and the day of the wife’s 
 death. Simonides held that the nature 
 of women was a conglomerate of the na- 
 ture of animals. But without going into 
 these profane details, we can commend 
 this essay to the attention of the students 
 of conjugal institutions. 
 
 — MiLsikalische Charakterkopfe (Mu- 
 sical Portraits), is worthy the attention 
 of the critics of the daily or other jour- 
 nals, who desire to write learnedly upon 
 the features of concert programmes, and 
 the works of the obscure as well as the 
 famous composers. The author, Mr. W. 
 H. Riehl, comes to his task with thor- 
 ough study and genuine affection for his 
 heroes. His sketches are the more inter- 
 esting from being presented in parallels. 
 Thus Cherubini and Spontini serve to 
 bring each other’s characteristics and ge- 
 nius into distinct relief. Hasse is follow- 
 ed by Meyerbeer ; Bach is contrasted with 
 Mendelssohn, and the modern tribe of 
 piano virtuosos and composers are served 
 up in the same manner. The sketches 
 are historical as well as critical, and enli- 
 vened by a vein of spicy satire. 
 
 — Prof. Rosenkranz, who last year 
 published a System of Science, wherein he 
 aimed at a reform of the Hegelian philoso- 
 phy, has felt himself constrained to is- 
 sue a further exposition of his views in a 
 pamphlet addressed to Dr. J. A. Wirth, 
 one of the critics of the former work. The 
 great point in controversy is whether the 
 
 [March 
 
 Hegelian philosophy, as held and taught 
 by its author, attributes personality to 
 the absolute. Rosenkranz contends that 
 it does ; that those who. like Ruge, Feuer- 
 bach, and Bruno Bauer, have made it a 
 doctrine of atheism, have been guilty at 
 once of logical inconsequence and of injus- 
 tice to their master ; and that the idea of 
 a personal God is not inconsistent with 
 either the fundamental principles or the 
 method of that philosophy. That idea 
 Rosenkranz attempts to put in its proper 
 place as a part of the system, and herein 
 mainly consists the proposed reform. 
 
 — Die Maikonigin (The May Queen), 
 by Wolfgang Muller, is a charming 
 tale of rustic love, with German peasants 
 for its heroes. It is told in graceful 
 rhymes, and is not unworthy to be read 
 even after the master-piece of Goethe, 
 Hermann and Dorothea. 
 
 — Adolf Hifter has published, at 
 Perth, another volume of his delicate and 
 beautiful stories. This one is called Ein 
 Fest Geschenk (A Festal Gift). 
 
 — Henry Heine, whose health had 
 somewhat improved, is now worse than 
 ever, but without any prospect either of 
 recovery or of speedy release by death. 
 His sufferings are said to be intense and 
 constant, but his mind is as clear and 
 brilliant as ever. His work on Paris, 
 which, it has been reported, would soon 
 be published, will be held back till after 
 his death. 
 
 — Quickborn is the title of a collection 
 of poems of peasant life in Schleswig Hol- 
 stein and Denmark, by Klaus Groth, a 
 new but genuine poet, who writes in the 
 Low German dialect. We commend his 
 book to every student of the poetic litera- 
 ture of that country. 
 
 — Dr. Ungewitter, who published in 
 this country some two years since an ex- 
 cellent compendium of European History 
 and Statistics, has just brought out at 
 Erlangen, a work on Australia, which is 
 well spoken of by the German critics. 
 
 — Christian Lammfell is a five vol- 
 ume novel by Karl von Holtei, whose 
 poems are well known to students of Ger- 
 man literature. The present work has 
 rather more talent and less artistic finish. 
 It is agreeable reading in parts, but tedious 
 as a whole. 
 
 — The Poems of Luis Ponce de Leon, 
 of which we have some memorable speci- 
 mens among Longfellow’s translations, 
 have all been rendered into German, and 
 published at Munster. The translators 
 are : E. B. Schluter and W. Ilorck. The 
 original Spanish is given with the trans- 
 lations, which are generally true, but far 
 inferior to Longfellow’s in felicity, flow 
 and beauty. 
 
Editorial Notes — Scientific News. 
 
 347 
 
 1853.] 
 
 — Seibold, the German savan, who 
 lived long in J apan, and whose work on 
 that country is the most complete and 
 authentic ever published concerning it, is 
 about to leave Boppart, where he has been 
 residing for some years, to go to St. 
 Petersburgh, where he has been offered 
 an advantageous position. 
 
 — Her Gertreue Ritter (The True 
 Knight), is a posthumous romance, by 
 Meinhold, the author of the Amber 
 Witch , which the son of the author has 
 lately published in Germany. The scene 
 is laid in the time of the Reformation. 
 The book, which is written in the antique 
 style, is incomplete, and the part which is 
 finished is not equal to the former pro- 
 ductions of the same pen. 
 
 Italy. — The members of the Society 
 of Jesus publish at Rome a very able 
 periodical, called the Civilta Catholica, 
 in which political and economical, as well 
 as religious, questions are treated with 
 skill and intelligence, though always, of 
 course, with a view to the interests of the 
 Order and the Church. The Reformation 
 and the states which favor Protestantism, 
 especially England and Prussia, are the 
 subjects of its constant attacks, and even 
 Russia is not omitted from the list of 
 powers that hold revolutionary and he- 
 retical principles, and must be converted or 
 overthrown. Among the more notewor- 
 thy articles that have already appeared, 
 is one “ On the Reproduction of old 
 Utopian Dreams in Italy;” one “ On 
 Political Economy, and the influence of 
 constitutionalism upon it and one “ On 
 Secret Societies.” Most remarkable, per- 
 haps, is a historical romance called the 
 Hebrew of Verona , from the pen of the 
 Jesuit Father Bresciani, which first ap- 
 peared in the Civilta Catholica , where 
 its sequel is now being completed under 
 the title of Lionello. The Ebreo has had 
 a great success in Italy, several editions 
 having been published in different cities 
 of the peninsula. The scene is laid in Ita- 
 ly amid the period of agitation and revolu- 
 tion from 1846 to 1849, and it is written 
 in an admirable style, whatever may be 
 thought of its doctrines. 
 
 Denmark. — Among the noticeable nov- 
 elties in Danish literature, says a corres- 
 pondent of the Morning Chronicle , is a 
 translation of Dr. King’s Aushar ; a 
 brilliant new poem by Pai.udan Mui.ler, 
 called The Aix Saila and the Atheist , 
 full of satiric strokes and deep religious 
 feeling ; Dante , a tragedy by 0. K. Fil- 
 lolbech ; Nature and Human Life , an 
 admirable historical and statistical de- 
 scription of the three Scandinavian King- 
 doms and of England, by A. C. Mf.ineiit ; 
 Count Bothwell in Norway, a series of 
 
 tales upon the adventures of Bothwell in 
 that country, after his flight from Scot- 
 land in 1567 ; a new volume of poems by 
 Christian Winter, and some new stories 
 by Andersen. The list of productions in 
 religious literature is also said to be very 
 rich at present. 
 
 The Department of Practical Art, 
 at Marlborough House, presents a rich 
 collection of casts, amounting in num- 
 ber to upward of 1500. Among them, 
 according to the report lately issued, are 
 490 Greek and Roman specimens, 220 
 Mediaeval, Saracenic and Gothic, and 270 
 figures, busts and masks. The earliest 
 specimens of Renaissanic ornament are 
 from the bronze gates of Lorenzo Ghi- 
 berti, made for the baptistery of St. John 
 at Florence, between the years 1403 and 
 1425 ; and specimens from the Roman 
 Cancelleria Apostolica, or the Campo 
 Fiori, built for the Cardinal Riario, by 
 Bramante, in 1495. Other specimens are 
 from the Cb&teau de Gaillon in Normandy 
 which was restored in the revived Italian 
 style by Cardinal d’Amboise, Minister of 
 Louis XII. Beside these, there are many 
 very valuable specimens, alike interesting 
 to the lover of the arts and the antiquary. 
 
 — The Queen having graciously recom- 
 mended the prayer of the Engravers to 
 be made eligible to the grade of Academi- 
 cian, the Royal Academy has determined 
 upon the admission of a certain number 
 of these artists to the full honors of the 
 Institution. The event is hailed with joy 
 by the class whom it most largely inter- 
 ests, for the exception has been deemed in- 
 vidious and disparaging. 
 
 — The Society of Arts, entering with 
 the present year upon its Centenary, 
 offers a variety of premiums for useful 
 inventions. Among the desired objects 
 is an unguent suitable for the lubrication 
 of machinery. Though seemingly a mat- 
 ter of minor importance, this subject is 
 one of high interest to mechanics, and 
 there will be a brisk competition by rival 
 claimants. There is no material now 
 employed which is free from considera- 
 ble expense and greater grossness. 
 
 — A pension of £200 per annum has 
 been bestowed upon Mr. J. R. Hind, 
 tho indefatigable astronomer, a famous 
 man for discovering planets. This tri- 
 bute is thought to be owing to the in- 
 fluence exerted by the Earl of Rosse. 
 The labors of Mr. Hind have contributed 
 many valuable results to the cause of as- 
 tronomical research. It is noticeable, by the 
 way, that a number of the planets which 
 have lately been discovered by Mr. Hind, 
 were simultaneously observed in this 
 
348 
 
 Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 country by Mr. W. C. Bond, the veteran 
 Director of the Observatory at Cam- 
 bridge, Mass. — Mr. Hind has just issued a 
 calculation upon the expected Great Comet, 
 which, he concludes, should again reach 
 its perihelion on the 2d of August, 1858 ; 
 the revolution belonging to the major axis 
 at that epoch being 308,784 years. Per- 
 turbing causes, however, may occasion an 
 uncertainty in time of two years, so that 
 this calculation holds good from 1858 to 
 the early part of I860. 
 
 — The expedition to Central Africa, un- 
 der Drs. Barth and Overweg, is pro- 
 gressing. Dr. Barth has explored a por- 
 tion of the Kingdom of Baghirnic, be- 
 tween Lake Tsad and the Upper Nile, 
 never before visited by a European ; and 
 succeeded in reaching Masena, the capital, 
 a town situated on the river Shary or 
 Asu, which has a direction due north and 
 south, and subsequently runs into Lake 
 Tsad. A large amount of valuable in- 
 formation respecting the history, geogra- 
 phy, and ethnography of this interesting 
 region is said to have been obtained. The 
 two travellers propose to make another 
 attempt to explore the countries on the 
 eastern side of Lake Tsad, direct from 
 Korka, and will proceed thence to the In- 
 dian Ocean. 
 
 — At Alexandria, some ruins have 
 lately been discovered, which are be- 
 lieved by some to be relics of the Alexan- 
 drian Library. The specimens consist of 
 ordinary bricks, calcined earth, and other 
 indications of a large structure, with evi- 
 dences of the presence of lire at a remote 
 period. Lieut. Newenham, Admiralty 
 Agent, has taken to England some draw- 
 ings from sculptured blue-granite stones 
 found among the rubbish, representing a 
 winged sphere surmounting a baboon-like 
 figure in a sitting posture. Below, are 
 figures supposed to represent the kings, 
 and accompanied by hieroglyphics. 
 
 — The last Indian mail steamer, noticed 
 in the English journals, conveys some 
 highly interesting intelligence of the dis- 
 covery of a long-buried city, named Sacck- 
 areh, near the first cataract of the Nile, 
 and five hours’ ride from Cairo. The 
 discovery was entirely accidental, and ac- 
 cording to the brief accounts received, 
 came about as follows : An Arab observ- 
 ing the appearance of an object above the 
 ground, resembling the head of a sphinx, 
 brought the news to a French gentleman, 
 by whom excavations were commenced 
 with a view to further investigations. A long 
 street has been laid open, containing thirty- 
 eight granite sarcophagi, each weighing 
 about sixty-eight tons, and all evidently in- 
 tended to receive the ashes of the sacred 
 animals. A grant of the locality has been 
 
 [March, 
 
 obtained from the Pacha, and great quan- 
 tities of curiosities have been exhumed. 
 Some of the ancient earthenware vessels 
 are of very diminutive size. The street 
 is upward of sixteen hundred yards in 
 length — nearly one mile. It is straight, 
 and when lighted at night is said to pre- 
 sent a magnificent spectacle. The speci- 
 mens recovered have been in part buried 
 in the sand to insure their preservation. 
 The narrative of this discovery is quite 
 remarkable, and we shall look with inter- 
 est for additional particulars. If another 
 Nineveh shall be exhumed in the heart of 
 Egypt, have we a Layard who will follow 
 its mysteries to their full solution 1 
 
 — Among the deaths which have oc- 
 curred during the month is that of Prof. 
 Sears G. Walker, a distinguished Amer- 
 ican Astronomer. Prof. Walker some time 
 since became insane, in consequence of 
 too long-continued mathematical applica- 
 tion, and had but just recovered when he 
 was seized by the illness which proved 
 fatal. He died on the 30th January, at 
 the residence of his brother, Judge Walk- 
 er, near Cincinnati. His contributions 
 to American Science are exceedingly valu- 
 able, and no labors will be more highly 
 regarded than the results of those remark- 
 able powers of calculation which he was 
 able to bestow upon scientific problems. 
 
 — We notice among the list of new 
 inventions, a medical instrument called 
 the Thermascope, which promises to be 
 useful. It is the contrivance of Dr. 
 Spurgin, of London, and is intended to 
 indicate the variations of temperature in 
 the human body. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 The two musical events of the past 
 month have been the fashionable charity 
 concert of Madame Son tag, and the first ap- 
 pearance of Gottschalk, the young Creole 
 pianist. The first, which took place at 
 Niblo’s Saloon on the 19th of January, 
 was all that a handsome room crowded 
 with the fashion of the city in evening- 
 dress, a lady-like and charming singer, 
 and due homage of flowers, smiles and 
 applause, with the sweet satisfaction of 
 eating your cake, and having your cake 
 (for such is the philosophy of charity 
 balls, dinners, &c.), could make it. It 
 was precisely the place and the occasion 
 for the accomplished singer, and whoever 
 heard Sontag that evening heard her un- 
 der the best possible auspices. After each 
 of her songs a little girl presented her a 
 basket full of flowers, and certainly full, 
 also, of the warm admiration of all who 
 listened. After each presentation the 
 young Hebe who, with such pretty pro- 
 priety, poured out such libations of praise* 
 
Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 349 
 
 1853.] 
 
 was rewarded by a kiss from the Countess 
 — happy little Iiebe ! Madame Sontag’s 
 companions in the performance were not 
 forgotten by the flowers. Mesdames Bou- 
 chelle, Pico, and Vincent Wallace ; Messrs. 
 Wallace, Rocco, Frazer, and Eben, “lent 
 their powerful aid;” and out of all the 
 music, flowers, kissing, and brilliant fash- 
 ~ ion, was distilled the very agreeable sum 
 of $2400, a result equally honorable and 
 satisfactory to all the high contracting 
 parties. Let us note here, also, that 
 while Madame Sontag was generously de- 
 voting her talent to a charity — partly in 
 recognition, doubtless, of her success in 
 this country — Mr. Thackeray, moved, per- 
 haps, by something of the same feeling, 
 was working in his way for another char- 
 ity, and to the most satisfactory pecuniary 
 result. The lecture of the wit hardly 
 falls within the rubric of music, but the 
 humanity of the object and of the treatment 
 causes very musical feelings in the heart. 
 Since the concert Madame Sontag has sung 
 in Don Pasquale and La Somnambula 
 and Lucia. In the former she is, of course, 
 good. It is put upon the stage in modern 
 costume. Norina is a role of artificial 
 archness, requiring only that exquisite 
 stage savoir faire, in which the lady so ex- 
 cels. It was most delicately and pleasantly 
 done. In La Somnambula there is, per- 
 haps, too much of a genuine pastoral sim- 
 plicity necessary, to allow even the best 
 tine-lady counterfeit to pass. Not to 
 speak it profanely, it yet seems to us that 
 Sontag’s Amina is very much like the 
 part of the dairy-maid which Marie An- 
 toinette used to assume, when the court 
 of Louis 16th, cloyed with royal splendors, 
 repaired to hold pastoral revels in the 
 little village, built expressly for the sport, 
 in the private garden of the ■petit Tri- 
 anon at Versailles. It was done doubt- 
 less with all the grace and affability of a 
 lady. Think how charming the lovely 
 young Queen of France must have been 
 in the picturesque Norman peasant cos- 
 tume ! She would infallibly have been 
 queen of hearts as well, and the good 
 Louis would have been forced to look 
 to his trumps. But, after all, we should 
 have returned to the palace, and sat 
 around our petit souper more at home 
 than with our curds and cream in the 
 garden. It is so with Sontag’s Amina. 
 She is just such a peasant girl as a genuine 
 princess royal would be, at a masquerade ; 
 which is to say, that her own individuality 
 betrays itself too distinctly through all the 
 disguises of character, to permit her to 
 claim high dramatic power. She is best 
 in parts which most resemble herself. 
 She is, therefore, a capital Lucia. But 
 a really great actor is as good a fool as 
 
 a Lear. So in Lucrezia Borgia which 
 Sontag has also undertaken. There was 
 a kind of dainty diabolism in it — like a 
 devil in lemon kids — that was altogether 
 too amusing. The image of Lucrezia is 
 very still, if you choose, but appallingly 
 sardonic. The truth is, that only very 
 sinewy feet can fill and properly propel 
 the seven-league boots of high lyrical 
 tragedy ; and a singer may have a beauti- 
 ful voice, exquisitely cultivated, without 
 being able to impersonate Lucrezia or 
 Norma. 
 
 The latter part was assumed by Alboni 
 at the Broadway, and with success. En- 
 thusiastic critics declared that Grisi could 
 not have surpassed it — which, at least, is 
 an unnecessary ecstasy. Grisi is very 
 great in Norma, and so is Jenny Lind, 
 and so undoubtedly was Pasta. Great as 
 Alboni may be in it, it is safe to say that 
 she is not greater than the others. Much 
 as we admire Alboni, in common with the 
 world, it is yet clear enough that she will 
 hardly occupy the same position as Mali- 
 bran, Jenny Lind, or Pasta in the regard 
 of the future. Fascinating and quite 
 overpowering as is the delight of hearing 
 her, we cannot but feel how much of that 
 delight is due to her marvellous voice. 
 Indeed it is a disproportioned part which 
 is so due. 
 
 Whoever closely examines his feelings 
 upon hearing Alboni, will not fail to dis- 
 cover tnat it is not the conviction of great 
 genius in the person, but the sense of sat- 
 isfaction in the accident of her voice which 
 moves him. Now genuine and perma- 
 nent success is based solely upon genius, 
 and its test may be considered to be this : 
 that the effect shall impress you more 
 with a sense of the power that caused it, 
 than with a simple delight in the effect 
 itself ; as, for instance, the song of a bird 
 and the singing of J enny Lind. I n the first 
 case there is a pure and simple pleasure in 
 the song itself, with no mental reference to 
 any talent in the bird, while in the latter, 
 however great may be the delight in the 
 performance, the permanent pleasure is 
 the sense of power in the singer, so that 
 you feel if the voice were gone there would 
 yet be a woman left, whose genius would 
 develope in some other way. We have no 
 intention of putting “ too fine a point upon 
 it.” These aesthetics of art are seductive 
 speculations, but they shall not seduce us 
 from recording our hearty enjoyment of 
 Alboni in all her roles. A man may in- 
 sist upon the ideal difference between 
 champagne and nectar, but over his gob- 
 let of Mfim frappe he will not be very 
 vehement in asserting it. Let us all re- 
 joice that the great contralto found her 
 dramatic skill among us ; and let us all 
 
350 
 
 Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 envy our Boston brethren for whom she 
 is now singing. 
 
 Gottschalk, whose first concert took 
 place at Ni bio’s saloon on Friday evening, 
 February 11th, has fully confirmed the 
 great anticipation which Hector Berlioz 
 had excited in our minds. We find trans- 
 lated in Dwight's Musical Journal, the 
 following extract from the Critique of 
 Berlioz, upon Gottschalk : — 
 
 “ Gottschalk is one of the very small num- 
 ber who possess all the diffei’ent elements 
 of a consummate pianist — ail the faculties 
 which surround him with an irresistible 
 prestige, and give him a sovereign power, 
 lie is an accomplished musician — he knows 
 just how far fancy may be indulged in ex- 
 pression. He knows the limits beyond 
 which any liberties taken with the rhythm 
 produce only confusion and disorder, and 
 upon these limits he never encroaches. There 
 is an exquisite grace in his manner of phras- 
 ing sweet melodies and throwing off light 
 touches from the higher keys. The bold- 
 ness, and brilliancy, and originality of his 
 play at once dazzles and astonishes, and the 
 infantile naivete of his smiling caprices, the 
 charming simplicity with which he renders 
 simple things, seem to belong to another in- 
 dividuality distinct from that which marks 
 his thundering energy — thus the success of 
 M. Gottschalk before an audience of musical 
 cultivation is immense.” 
 
 Ilis concert here was fully attended, 
 and his position, although peculiar, is very 
 well assured. He belongs clearly to the 
 most modern school, but he is essentially 
 an artist — howbeit the poor word is sadly 
 abused. We mean that he is not merely 
 a player, who glides skilfully, and with 
 the utmost facility, through all the dif- 
 ficulties of every style, and can play 
 Beethoven, Strauss and Chopin, equally 
 well, but that he has a marked individual- 
 ity in composition and in the interpreta- 
 tion of his composition. We can illustrate 
 what we mean by Chopin. He was an 
 adept upon the piano. There was no mu- 
 sic written for that instrument which he 
 could not play with more or less skill and 
 effect. But, in playing Beethoven, or 
 Mozart, or Haydn. Chopin might have 
 been no better than any other accomplish- 
 ed performer. But in playing Chopin he 
 was unapproachable. This is not to be 
 explained by the common assertion that 
 a man plays his own compositions better 
 than any one else — which is manifestly 
 untrue. We have never heard Mr. Vin- 
 cent Wallace’s popular Polka de Concert 
 so poorly executed as by the composer, 
 and pi'obablv no one played Beethoven so 
 unsatisfactorily as Beethoven. This in- 
 dividuality, this something which Cho- 
 pin has, or Liszt has, or Gottschalk has, 
 is the secret which, combined with mecha- 
 
 [March 
 
 nical skill, makes the artist. Mr. Jaell, a 
 very clever and delightful pianist, must be 
 summoned, also, to illustrate our remarks. 
 Jaell is one of the most facile and accom- 
 plished performers we have ever heard. 
 Certainly no fingers ever threaded musi- 
 cal mazes with such sparkling and fluent 
 alertness as the chubby ones of that gen- 
 tleman. It is a marvellous gymnastic, 
 and so graceful withal, that only churls 
 would refuse applause. But it is all grist 
 that comes to Jaell’s mill. Put in the old 
 Italians, and Beethoven, Haydn, Mozart, 
 Weber. Mendelssohn, Rossini, Thalberg, 
 Liszt, Chopin, Wagner, Schuman, Doni- 
 zetti, and all men who have ever written 
 music, and out it comes, always the same 
 meal, nothing better, nothing worse. He 
 sits down with his winning complaisance, 
 — the most amiable of good fellows — you 
 fancy it is Puck himself, so gayly smiling, 
 so nimbly moving, and presto ! away he 
 sweeps, and puts a girdle quite around the 
 realm of music, in forty minutes. Yet 
 it is still the same thing. A waltz of 
 Strauss — an adagio of Mendelsssohn — a 
 “ Bohemian Polka ” of Jaell, — a funeral 
 march of Chopin — they are only played 
 with the most incredible and intoxicating 
 ease ; it is a clear case of beautiful mecha- 
 nism, and nothing more. Jaell has only 
 half of the artist’s whole. Facility is the 
 word that describes and exhausts him, if 
 you give it its most gracious meaning. 
 We do not mean to compare him with 
 Gottschalk, for it is no more possible than 
 to compare different things. But the il- 
 lustration serves to show that an artist, 
 even a piano-artist, is more than a good 
 player. Gottschalk has a colossal style 
 that surprised us. Best of all, however, 
 was the profound sense of a musical en- 
 thusiasm and devotion which pervaded 
 all the performance, and removed it from 
 the merely “astonishing,” and “ sublime,” 
 and all the other proper terms of star- 
 playing, into a realm of pure music and 
 the highest art. Mr. Gottschalk is an 
 American by birth, but he is still very 
 young and has lived many years in Paris. 
 We learn that he is not compelled to play 
 in public by anything but his genuine re- 
 verence for music, and by the irresistible 
 force of undoubted genius. We shall 
 have more to say of him. 
 
 Mr. Fry’s course of Musical Lectures is 
 concluded. On account of certain engage- 
 ments which prevented the attendance of 
 some of his assistants, upon occasion 
 of the tenth and last lecture, he added an- 
 other, upon the qualities and characters 
 of instruments, and among the illustra- 
 tions of the evening, were included a de- 
 scriptive symphony, selections from Leo- 
 nora, and an occasional march, all of Ins 
 
Editorial Notes — Fine Arts. 
 
 351 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 own composition. These, with parts of a 
 symphony by Mr. Bristow, were analyzed 
 by the lecturer ; who also, just before the 
 close of the performance, addressed the 
 audience upon the subject of Art and So- 
 ciety, in a humorous, pointed, brilliant, ve- 
 hement, sensible, and enthusiastic man- 
 ner, which excited close attention, and led 
 to some amusing demonstrations of a dif- 
 ference of opinion, all of which Mr. Fry 
 met in the most manly and generous way. 
 W e are not surprised to learn that he has 
 sustained pecuniary loss by the enterprise, 
 and we fear he may regard it as cold com- 
 fort to be told that he has. notwithstand- 
 ing. achieved a succes d’estime , which 
 must be invaluable to him in his future 
 career. His course has not only made its 
 mark upon the musical season in New- 
 York, but upon the musical history of the 
 country. Were it only for the advantage 
 of so broad a display of the radiant ener- 
 gy and ability which characterizes the 
 American, we hope he will not consider 
 the undertaking altogether a loss. Not 
 every man can afford to fail so finely. For 
 he must see, what we all see, that the ill- 
 success is in name and not in fact. This 
 is so genuinely recognized, that we are 
 glad to announce a complimentary concert 
 offered to Mr. Fry, by a large number of 
 gentlemen, which will take place upon the 
 evening of Tuesday, March 1st, at Metro- 
 olitan Flail, the use of which, for that 
 evening, is presented by Mr. Harding, the 
 proprietor. Why will not every reader, 
 whose eye fills here, and who cares for 
 music, go and buy a ticket, even if he can- 
 not attend 1 
 
 Boston is more than sharing our musi- 
 cal enthusiasm. It has fairly beaten us 
 this winter. At a recent rehearsal in 
 that city there were 3,235 tickets taken 
 at the door. They have been inaugurating 
 a Music Hall, and having chamber-con- 
 certs and oratorios (for which Boston is 
 famous), and symphonies, and operas with 
 Alboni, and all kinds of debutantes, and 
 morning rehearsals, and Germania soirees 
 of mingled Strauss and Mendelssohn. 
 In fact we quite lose our breath in the 
 effort to keep up with the rush of Boston 
 musical enthusiasm. But this we know, 
 not only from the quality of the music, 
 but from our faith in the critic upon whom 
 we most rely (Dwight's Musical Jour- 
 nal). that Boston has been enjoying much 
 of the best of every kind of music, and 
 knows how to appreciate it. 
 
 Philadelphia has been listening to Mo- 
 zart’s Requiem performed by the young 
 Mannerchor, which was well done and 
 well attended. Signor Perelli, whilom 
 tenor at Astor Place, now musical director 
 of the most aristocratic voices in Phila- 
 
 delphia, has been giving a soiree or two, 
 where the singers, as well as the audience, 
 were of the very yellowest kid. The 
 performance, we are told, evinced the ut- 
 most care and skill in the teacher, and 
 good general talent among the select 
 singers. 
 
 Europe offers nothing new. Aubcr 
 has been appointed imperial chapel-master, 
 and was to compose the nuptial mass for the 
 imperial Spanish bride, Montijo. In Lon- 
 don the musical season has not fairly com- 
 menced, but we record with pleasure, the 
 unquestioned success, as a pianist, of Mr. 
 William Mason, son of the well-known 
 musical professor, Lowell Mason, of Bos- 
 ton. It seems to be determined that 
 Grisi and Mario are to come in the Spring. 
 
 FINE ARTS. 
 
 Ouit artists suffer a total eclipse nearly 
 three quarters of the year, for the lack of 
 a suitable place to exhibit their perform- 
 ances in, and, in this respect, they labor 
 to much greater disadvantage than their 
 brethren of the steel pen, who may pub- 
 lish their works at any season of the 
 year. The opening of the National Aca- 
 demy of Design is the flowering of our 
 painters, who then display themselves to 
 all the world, or at least to all that part 
 of it which happens to be in New-York 
 between the first of April and the Fourth 
 of July. During the rest of the year the 
 painters are working like moles, in the 
 dark, so far as the world is concerned ; 
 but, in reality, each one like a St. Simon 
 Stylites, at the top of a tall flight of stairs 
 in a roof-lighted studio, where they toil 
 diming nine months of the year, with oc- 
 casional visits from their chance acquaint- 
 ances. The Academy should keep its 
 galleries open all the year, not only for 
 the sake of its members, but for the pub- 
 lic ; for, unless one happens to be in New- 
 York during the three months that its 
 exhibition lasts, there is no opportunity 
 of knowing any thing of the progress of 
 art among us. There is no show-place 
 for pictures and statues except in the gal- 
 lery of the Academy. When a fine work 
 is produced, it is immediately purchased 
 by some wealthy patron, or connoisseur, 
 who hangs it in his parlor where it is only 
 seen by his intimate friends. Our artists 
 do not, therefore, work for the public, but 
 their patrons ; and, instead of being 
 teachers of the people, like authors, they 
 become, like upholsterers, mere decorators 
 of private apartments. It is vain to hope 
 for the appearance of a Michael Angelo 
 or a Raphael among us under such cir- 
 cumstances. There is a gentleman living 
 in the Fifth Avenue, whose drawing-room 
 is enriched by some of the finest produc- 
 
352 
 
 Editorial Notes — Fine Arts. 
 
 tions of the modern painters of Europe, 
 but who will permit no one out of his 
 own household to look at his treasures 
 of art. Connoisseurs, amateurs and ar- 
 tists, have vainly endeavored to obtain 
 permission to look at the Landseers, East- 
 lakes and Turners, that rumor says hang 
 upon his walls, giving no pleasure nor in- 
 struction to any eyes but these of their 
 wealthy owner, who, probably, derives 
 little pleasure from them himself. They 
 are his own property, and he has a 
 right to keep them to himself; as much 
 right to veil them from the public eye 
 as to put linen jackets on his arm- 
 chairs, or blinds to his windows. We 
 would not invade the sanctity of a private 
 dwelling, though it contained a chef 
 d'cenvre by every artist whose name is 
 known to fame. But art can never flour- 
 ish in a country where the works of ar- 
 tists are hidden from the public eye. Ar- 
 tists will not strive to excel each other 
 when their works cannot be seen, or waste 
 their energies in adorning the walls of a 
 darkened parlor. Pictures and statues 
 are excluded from our churches ; and, 
 were they not, they could only be seen 
 by sectarian worshippers. It has not yet 
 been thought necessary to cover the walls 
 of any of our public buildings with paint- 
 ings ; with the exception of the suite of 
 apartments called the Governor’s Room 
 in our City Hall, there is no building in 
 the city belonging to the people, and open 
 to their inspection, which has any artistic 
 works to boast of. The Governor’s room 
 contains some fine portraits of all the Gov- 
 ernors of the State, the Mayors of the 
 City, and some of our military and naval 
 heroes. The Art-Union, by its free exhi- 
 bition, was doing a good work for the cause 
 of Art, but, by some legal quibble, the 
 operations of that excellent institution have 
 been stopped, and nothing now remains 
 for art but the hope that the proprietors 
 of our great hotels, in their strife to outdo 
 each other in magnificent expenditures, 
 
 [March 
 
 will, after exhausting the resources of the 
 upholsterer, call in the aid of the artist to 
 create attractions for their palatial taverns. 
 The proprietors of the Astor House have 
 already exhibited a most commendable 
 spirit in this respect, and have decorated 
 their various rooms with some very fine 
 paintings, which have cost more than 
 twenty-five thousand dollars. It suits 
 the taste of English noblemen, to hang 
 upon the walls of their drawing-rooms, and 
 banqueting halls old pictures that have 
 been tom from convents and churches, 
 which represent expiring martyrs and 
 other subjects little calculated to inspire 
 feelings of gayety or cheerfulness. Such 
 subjects as these we should advise our 
 hotel-keepers, if they ever emulate the 
 refined example of the hosts of the Astor 
 House, to avoid, and to let their pictures 
 be such as will charm while they elevate 
 the feelings of their guests, or visitors. 
 The popular sentiment may demand 
 Scripture paintings, but they are hardly 
 adapted to dining-rooms and parlors, 
 where the tone of conversation and feel- 
 ing is widely at variance with the looks 
 of expiring saints and repentant Magda- 
 lens. 
 
 Mr. Rossiter has painted a very large 
 picture representing the Prophet Jere- 
 miah “rehearsing a lamentation,” in which 
 he has grouped together all the persona- 
 ges who might be imagined present by 
 the river of Babylon, when the children 
 of Israel sat down and wept over their 
 captivity. The artist has grappled with 
 the immensity of his subject with great 
 boldness, and thrown over the multitude 
 of personages he has introduced, an atmos- 
 phere of warmth and beauty that admi- 
 rably harmonizes with the ideal scene. 
 The painting is on too large a scale for 
 exhibition in an ordinary room, and the 
 artist has sent it to the southwest, to be 
 shown to those who have but few oppor- 
 tunities of seeing a work of any artistic 
 pretension. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 The Bourbon Question. — We learn from the Rev. Mr. Hanson, the writer 
 of the article in our last number, “ Have we a Bourbon among us ? ” that several new 
 and important facts have come to his knowledge, bearing upon this romantic subject, 
 which he will embody in an article for our April number, wherein he will examine, 
 in detail, the new work by Beauchesne on the (supposed) death of the Dauphin, which 
 we have noticed in our Editorial Notes. 
 
PUTNAM’S MONTHLY, 
 
 j igplp ... ' 
 
 % Iftegajnw of yteatm, ftcime, aui) 
 
 VOL. I— APRIL 1853.— NO. IV. 
 
 NEW-YORK DAGUERREOTYPED. 
 BUSINESS-STREETS, MERCANTILE BLOCKS, STORES, AND BANKS. 
 Continued from page 136. 
 
 O UR Custom-House in New-York, like 
 that in Philadelphia, is a plain, 
 large, solidly-constructed, and costly 
 building, of white marble, which some 
 people of delicate, aesthetic morals make 
 complaints about, because it resembles a 
 Greek temple. But the resemblance is 
 not so exact that any body need be dis- 
 tressed by it. The Parthenon was only 
 the expanded idea of a log cabin, and we 
 have quite as good a right to an expanded 
 log cabin in New-York as ever they had 
 in Athens, for we have had a good many 
 more of the primitive types of the Greek 
 temple in our country than there ever 
 were in Greece. Our meridian is very 
 nearly the same as that of Athens, and 
 the climatic requirements of both cities 
 are similar. We think it is quite pro- 
 bable that our architects would have 
 planned just such buildings as our so- 
 called Greek Custom-House, if a copy of 
 Stuart and Revett had never crossed the 
 Atlantic, or Athens never existed. Our 
 Custom-House is not so objectionable for 
 being like the Parthenon, as for being 
 unlike it. We do not imagine that 
 Ictinus, the architect of that temple, 
 would complain of his New World de- 
 scendant for imitating his work, but, for 
 not doing it more accurately. Our Custom- 
 House displays the Greek triglyphs in all 
 their stiffness ; but, in place of the orna- 
 mental metopes it should have, it has utili- 
 tarian panes of plate glass, to let in light 
 upon the “attic cells,” where custom- 
 house clerks sit at their mahogany desks. 
 There is a pediment with heavy cornices, 
 guttae and all, at either end. supported 
 on ponderous fluted pillars ; but the tym- 
 panums are destitute of sculptures, so 
 vol. i. — 23 
 
 that they look like picture frames hung 
 up without pictures. Perhaps, some of 
 these days, when custom-houses shall 
 be abolished, and this marble building 
 shall be appropriated to a better pur- 
 pose, the statuary, the metopes, and the 
 polychromatic tints which once beautified 
 the Parthenon, will be supplied. There 
 is room for improvement all round us ; 
 and, when the “good time” comes, we 
 dare say our Custom-House will receive 
 its share of attention. In the mean 
 time, we would advise all discontented 
 amateurs of architecture to be tolerant 
 towards our Greek temples, and remem- 
 ber that, if they are not very becoming to 
 the uses for which they were designed, 
 that they are very solid, have cost a good 
 deal of the public money, and are likely 
 to last a long time ; and that, if they 
 might have been better, they might also 
 have been worse. Our Custom-House 
 was built under the presidency of General 
 Jackson, who was certainly no Pericles, 
 and could hardly have been expected to 
 build public edifices like him. Besides, 
 Pericles had a Phidias and an Ictinus, 
 as General Jackson had not, to embody 
 and improve his magnificent projects. But 
 the site occupied by our Custom-House 
 has been sanctified by a presence great- 
 er than that of Pericles, or any other 
 Greek ; it was in the balcony of the old 
 Federal Hall, which stood on this spot, 
 where Washington took his inaugural 
 oath, as first President of the United 
 States, and the pediment of the Custom- 
 House, which now looks like a blank 
 canvas, with a splendid frame, should be 
 filled with sculptures representing this 
 great event in our national history, and 
 
354 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 [April 
 
 Custom-House. 
 
 commemorating the spot which was con- 
 secrated by its enactment. The Custom- 
 House stands in a splendid position for 
 the display of a sculptured picture ; its 
 portico rears itself boldly up in its snowy 
 magnificence, in front of Broad-street, and 
 is elevated from the surface of Wall-street, 
 on a platform to which you ascend by 
 eighteen marble steps. The two ends on 
 Wall and Pine streets are precisely alike, 
 but the difference of position gives a look 
 of grandeur to the Wall-street end, which 
 the other hardly suggests. The build- 
 ing is entirety isolated, fronting on Wall, 
 Nassau and Pine streets, and having an 
 alley of ten feet on the south side, which 
 separates it from the neighboring build- 
 ings. Asa piece of masonry, it is doubt- 
 less equal to any structure in the world ; 
 and. if let alone, will probably endure 
 as long as the Pyramids. It is built 
 entirety of white marble, which was 
 brought from the Berkshire quarries in 
 Massachusetts ; and the only wood-work 
 employed in the whole structure is in 
 
 the doors. The form of the building is 
 a parallelogram, two hundred feet long, 
 and ninety feet wide ; its height is about 
 eighty feet. The pediment at each end is 
 supported by eight fluted columns of 
 white marble, five feet eight inches in 
 diameter, and thirty-two feet high. On 
 each side there are thirteen square pilas- 
 ters, with windows in the embayed inter- 
 vals. The interior is divided into a grand 
 rotunda, and numerous offices for the 
 different departments of the Custom- 
 House. The rotunda is sixty feet in 
 diameter ; the dome is supported by six- 
 teen Corinthian columns, thirty feet high, 
 with capitals of white Italian marble. 
 Under the dome are the desks of the four 
 deputy collectors, and around the sides of 
 the hall are the desks of the entrance 
 and clearance clerks. All the business 
 transacted with the Custom-House must 
 first be begun here, and, in the little 
 room adjoining, where the cashier keeps 
 his desk, nearly two-thirds of the entire 
 revenue of the country is received, and 
 
New- York Daguerreotjpcd. 
 
 355 
 
 1853.] 
 
 paid over to the Sub-treas- 
 urer, whose vaults are in 
 the north-eastern corner 
 of the building. In the 
 crypt are the offices of some 
 of the important subordi- 
 nate officers ; and it is only 
 by a visit to this part of 
 the structure that its solid- 
 ity and massiveness can be 
 felt. Some of the marble 
 blocks weigh over thirty 
 tons. The roof is of mar- 
 ble : the slabs weigh three 
 hundred pounds each, and 
 overlap each other eight 
 inches. The building was 
 commenced in May, 1834, 
 and completed in the same 
 month in 1841. The cost, 
 including the lot, was 
 $1,195,000 ; the building 
 alone cost $950,000. 
 
 Emerson says in one of 
 his poems — 
 
 “ Earth proudly wears the Par- 
 thenon, 
 
 As the best gem upon her zone.” 
 
 But we Yankees have too 
 many other good things to 
 boast of. to feel any pride 
 in the Parthenons which 
 we rear for all sorts of purposes, and 
 the Custom-House in Wall-street, solid, 
 beautiful, and costly as it is, we are by 
 no means proud of. Perhaps our pos- 
 
 Metropolitan Bank. 
 
 terity may be ; but our High Bridge is 
 a much finer architectural object than 
 could be found in all Athens, and we 
 are not proud of even that. The late 
 
 
 Stores corner of Broadway and Hector Street. 
 
35 6 
 
 New- Y ork Daguerreo typed. 
 
 [April 
 
 View of Dey st from Greenwich st, looking towards Broadway. 
 
 John Frazee. the 
 sculptor, had the su- 
 perintendence of the 
 building of the Cus- 
 tom House, but can- 
 not be called its archi- 
 tect, as he has some- 
 times had the credit 
 of being. 
 
 Wall-street con- 
 tains many tipe build- 
 ings besides those 
 that we have given 
 views of, and among 
 them is the new 
 banking house of the 
 Seamen’s Saving’s 
 Bank, on the corner 
 of Wall and Pearl 
 streets. One of the 
 oldest commercial 
 buildings in the city 
 is the old Tontine 
 Coffee House, between 
 Water and Pearl 
 streets, the large 
 room of which was 
 used as a Merchants’ 
 
 Exchange for a great 
 number of years, 
 until about the year 
 1828, when the first 
 Exchange, which was 
 destroyed in the 
 great fire of 1835, was 
 finished. One of the peculiarities of our 
 new banking institutions is to settle down 
 upon the corners of streets. The very 
 finest of all the new banking houses 
 is that of the Metropolitan Bank, on 
 the comer of Pine-street and Broadway. 
 This superb building is but just finished ; 
 it is faced with brown free-stone, and 
 displays a greater quantity of orna- 
 mental sculpture upon its two fronts than 
 the whole of Broadway could have exhibit- 
 ed ten years ago. It is, in fact, to our bank- 
 ing institutions and the drygoods busi- 
 ness, that we are chiefly indebted for 
 whatever of architectural excellence or 
 beauty our city can boast of. The Metro- 
 politan Bank is, too, a drygoods bank, 
 which was established chiefly by drygoods 
 merchants, for the special convenience of 
 their own department of trade. 
 
 The great leading business of New- 
 York, that which gives employment to 
 the vast fleets of sailing ships and steam 
 vessels that continually crowd its magni- 
 ficent harbor; which builds the superb 
 hotels that ornament its streets; that 
 creates banks, erects warehouses, extends 
 its docks, attracts thousands of traders 
 from all corners of the continent, and 
 makes it the great, wealthy, elegant and 
 
 busy metropolis it is — is Drygoods. 
 Under this comprehensive head is included 
 every thing that is used for covering the 
 human body, excepting shoes. New- 
 York is, in truth, what some of our am- 
 bitious tailors call their establishments, 
 the great clothing emporium of the world. 
 A very considerable part of all the various 
 articles used in clothing the limbs and 
 backs of this entire continent, the calicoes 
 of Manchester, the cloths of Yorkshire, 
 the laces and hosiery of Germany, the 
 millinery of France, the silks of India, 
 and the cottons of Lowell, pass through 
 the warehouses of New-York, and pay 
 their percentage to our merchants, who 
 constitute a calico aristocracy. During 
 the last year there was imported into the 
 port of New-York, foreign merchandise to 
 the amount of one hundred and eighteen 
 millions, seven hundred and seventy-five 
 thousand, seven hundred and sixty-three 
 dollars; and of this amount, sixty-two 
 millions, six hundred and eighteen thou- 
 sand, four hundred and twenty-one dollar.' 
 came under the head of drygoods. More 
 than one half of the commerce of New- 
 York is in drygoods. We get a better 
 idea of the immensity of this great branch 
 of trade, by looking at that part of the city 
 
1853 .] 
 
 New- York I) a rj u erreo typed. 
 
 35 7 
 
 Stewart's Storo, Broadway Front. 
 
 the drygoods men occupy almost entirely 
 Broad-street, Beaver-street, Exchange 
 Place, Pine-street, William-street, Liberty- 
 street, Cedar-street, Courtlandt-street, 
 Dey-street, Maiden Lane, and about a 
 mile of Broadway. These are the streets 
 that are almost wholly monopolized by 
 importers and jobbers of drygoods ; while, 
 in addition to them, are numerous large 
 drygoods stores in Nassau-street, Fulton- 
 street. Park Place, Park Row, and even 
 Murray and Warren 
 streets. These are all 
 wholesale streets. The 
 retailers of drygoods are 
 nearly as numerous, and 
 are found principally in 
 Canal-street, Grand-street, 
 Broadway, the Bowery, 
 Green wich-street, and 
 the Avenues. It is start- 
 ling to enumerate the 
 number of churches 
 which have been pulled 
 down and displaced to 
 make room for the great 
 business which spreads 
 with such astounding ra- 
 pidity over the whole lower 
 part of the city, prostrat- 
 ing and utterly obliterat- 
 ing every thing that is old 
 and venerable, and leaving 
 
 which the business almost entirely monopo- 
 lizes. The U. S. Bonded Warehouse, front- 
 ing on Broadway, is used mainly for storing 
 drygoods ; and there were recently stored 
 in this one building, goods to the amount 
 of three millions of dollars. The dry- 
 goods dealers were once confined almost 
 exclusively to Pearl-street ; the business 
 extending from Coenties Slip to Franklin 
 Square. But now Pearl-street has been 
 nearly abandoned by the business, and 
 
 Stewart's Stoic, Cliambcrs-street front 
 
358 
 
 [April 
 
 New- Y ork Daguerreotyped. 
 
 not a single land-mark, in token of the for- 
 mer position of the dwelling-places of 
 our ancestors. These demolished tem- 
 ples are the Dutch Reformed Church in 
 Garden-street, now Exchange Place, the 
 Presbyterian Church in Wall-street, the 
 French Protestant Episcopal Church du 
 St. Esprit in Pine-street, Grace Church 
 on Broadway, the Presbyterian Church 
 in Cedar-street, and the Quaker Meeting 
 House in Liberty-street. Within the past 
 twenty years all these stately houses of wor- 
 ship and their parsonages have been torn 
 down, the contents of their grave-yards and 
 family vaults ruthlessly scattered, and the 
 sacred ground covered with long blocks 
 of brick and free-stone warehouses for the 
 storage of drygoods. Hotels, theatres, 
 and private mansions have shared the 
 same fate. 
 
 Calico is omnipotent, and whole streets 
 melt away at her approach. On the sites of 
 the time- honored and venerated Mansion 
 House and the City Hotel, on Broadway, 
 are now blocks of brown-stone drygoods 
 warehouses. Where the National Hotel 
 once stood is a white marble building, of 
 Elizabethan architecture, devoted exclu- 
 sively to the sale of silks and ribbons ; 
 Stewart’s ;; Marble Palace ” is on the site 
 of the Washington Hotel, and where the 
 old Park Theatre once stood, there are now 
 spacious brown-stone stores, occupied by 
 drygoods jobbers and clothiers. Dey- 
 street, which, but a short time since, was 
 exclusively occupied by private dwellings 
 and boarding-houses, has been entirety 
 torn down and rebuilt for the accommo- 
 dation of drygoods dealers. The first of 
 the great brown-stone warehouses erected 
 on Broadway, is the block on the corner 
 of Rector-street and Broadway, which 
 covers the entire site of Grace Church 
 and its rectory. This superb store is fifty 
 feet front on Broadway, and two hundred 
 and twenty feet on Rector-street. It is 
 built of brick, and faced with brown free 
 stone. The finest of the Broadway dry- 
 goods stores, and, we believe, the most ex- 
 tensive and elegant building occupied by 
 one firm, in the world, is Stewart’s store 
 on Broadway. This immense drygoods- 
 ery occupies the entire block between 
 Reade and Chambers streets, with a front- 
 age on Broadway of one hundred and 
 fifty-two feet ; the front on Chambers- 
 street is one hundred feet, and about the 
 same on Reade-street ; it is eighty-three 
 feet high, from the sidewalk, and is di- 
 vided into five stories. The Broadway and 
 Chambers-street fronts are of a delicate 
 light cream-colored marble of remarkable 
 uniformity of tint. It was brought from 
 the Westchester Quarries, which are 
 part of a vein nearly as delicate in tint 
 
 and texture as the best Italian, which 
 strikes in a northerly direction through 
 Massachusetts and Vermont, and termi- 
 nates in Canada. The architectural de- 
 tails of Stewart’s store are open to techni- 
 cal objections, but, as a whole, it is an im- 
 posing structure, and an ornament to the 
 city. A warehouse built for the sale of 
 merchandise is not the kind of building 
 to which we should look for architectural 
 perfection, but the only public building 
 we can boast of that is superior to Stew- 
 art’s store is our City Hall. The interior 
 of this great establishment is divided into 
 departments for the sale of distinct varie- 
 ties of goods ; in the centre of the build- 
 ing there is a superb hall, one hundred 
 feet long, forty feet wide, and eighty high, 
 lighted from an elegant lantern in the 
 dome. The walls and ceiling of this 
 splendid apartment are very elegantly and 
 chastely decorated with paintings, and 
 the merchandise, to the sale of which it is 
 appropriated, is of the most costly descrip- 
 tion of silk stuffs and brocades. The first 
 floor is appropriated to retail customers, 
 while the basement, with spacious sub- 
 terranean galleries beneath the side walk, 
 is set apart for all kinds of carpetings 
 and floor-cloths. The upper lofts are ap- 
 propriated to the wholesale departments. 
 There are three hundred salesmen and 
 clerks constantly employed. When lighted 
 up at night, there are upwards of four 
 hundred gas burners in use. The num- 
 ber of panes of French plate glass, used 
 in the building, is about two thousand. 
 The sheets of plate glass in the windows 
 on each side of the principal doors are 
 one hundred and thirty -four by eight-four 
 inches — the doors have but one plate 
 each, one hundred and thirty by forty- 
 one. The other windows are divided into 
 four lights, sixty-seven by forty-two ; 
 there are sixty of these. All the sashes 
 are made of metal. The windows and 
 doors have revolving iron shutters. The 
 business of Stewart’s store, we are in- 
 formed, amounts to over seven millions 
 a year. Stewart’s is the only retail dry- 
 goods store on the east side of Broadway ; 
 the tide of fashion sets on the sunny 
 side of our great thoroughfare, but the 
 scarcity of stores will compel some of the 
 great establishments further up to cross 
 over, before long, and we hope to see more 
 white marble fronts on the shady side of 
 the street, where they are more needed 
 than on the other side. 
 
 Murra3 r -street, which, but a short time 
 ago, was wholly occupied by private 
 dwellings of most intense respectability, 
 has felt the influence of the great change 
 that has overcome the lower part of 
 our city ; the following view is from the 
 
1853 .] 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 359 
 
 corner of Church- 
 street, looking to- 
 wards the City Hall, 
 which is seen in the 
 distance. The square 
 building on the cor- 
 ner is a church edi- 
 fice which has un- 
 dergone very great 
 changes within a 
 very short time. It 
 was erected by a 
 Dutch Reformed 
 Congregation, now 
 worshipping in a 
 Gothic brown-stone 
 church in the Fifth 
 Avenue. It was sold 
 by the original pro- 
 prietors to the Uni- 
 versalists, under the 
 pastoral charge of 
 Rev. E. H. Chapin, 
 who, in turn, pur- 
 chased the Church of 
 the Divine Unity, in 
 Broadway, and sold 
 their own church to 
 be converted into the 
 inevitable drygoods 
 stores. There are 
 already several large, and well-built stores 
 in Murray-street, which, before long, will 
 become wholly a business street. Just 
 below the church, of which we have a 
 view in the engraving, stood the venera- 
 ble Presbyterian Church, which was ta- 
 
 Yiew in Murray-street looking towards Broadway. 
 
 ken to pieces and reconstructed in Eighth- 
 street, opposite the Opera House, pre- 
 cisely as it looked on its original site. 
 Since its transportation it has been occu- 
 pied by a great variety of sects, but is now 
 in the possession of the Roman Catholics. 
 
 HOTELS AND RESTA UR ANTS. 
 
 A bare enumeration of the hotels of 
 New-York would tell the whole story of 
 her commercial greatness, and the pros- 
 perity of the country of which she is the 
 metropolis. Our hotel-keepers bear as little 
 resemblance to the Will Bonifaces of the 
 past century, whom we read of in Eng- 
 lish novels, as Baron Rothschild bears to 
 Isaac of York. Hotel-keeping- has become 
 a great business, requiring a large capital, 
 a knowledge of the world, intelligence, 
 liberality, and an enterprising spirit. — 
 There are, in Broadw r ay alone, fifteen large 
 first-class hotels, and innumerable re- 
 staurants, cafes, and boarding-houses, 
 some of them large enough, and splendid 
 enough, to be included in the list of ho- 
 tels. The oldest hotel in the city is the 
 United States, formerly Holt’s, an im- 
 mense, and well-constructed marble build- 
 ing, fronting on Pearl, Fulton, and Water- 
 streets. It has more than four hundred 
 windows, and, though a perfectly plain 
 building, without the slightest pretension 
 
 to architectural beauty, it makes a very 
 imposing appearance from its magnitude. 
 It has never been ranked among our first- 
 class hotels. The next in age, and the first 
 in reputation, is the Astor House, which is 
 probably more widely known than any 
 other hotel in the world. The position 
 of this great hotel is one of the finest in 
 the city, and it will probably retain its at- 
 tractiveness during the next half century , 
 let the city change as it may. The Astor 
 House was first opened in May, 1836, by 
 the Boydens of Boston ; the next year it 
 passed into the hands of Boyden, Cole- 
 man and Stetson ; and, in the year follow- 
 ing, it came under the sole administra- 
 tion of its present proprietors, Coleman 
 and Stetson, who have given it a reputa- 
 tion such as no other hotel has ever en- 
 joyed. It is a massive structure of Quin- 
 cey granite, spacious and well arranged, 
 having a frontage on three streets, with 
 the Park fountain in front, and the south 
 end overlooking the green inclosure of 
 
360 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 [April 
 
 St. Paul’s churchyard, a position that 
 secures a free circulation of pure air. 
 It contains three hundred and forty 
 rooms, and has often entertained six hun- 
 dred guests. It is built round a quadran- 
 gular court, which, until lately, had a 
 fountain in the centre ; but the proprietors 
 have recently erected a spacious saloon, 
 framed of iron, and richly decorated, in 
 this open space, to be used as a kind of 
 exchange and bar-room, on the plan of 
 the New-Orleans hotels. The proprie- 
 tors are wide awake to the changes go- 
 ing on around them, and contrive to 
 keep their hotel always supplied with 
 the latest inventions and discoveries in 
 the great art of living well. Until 
 
 within the last year or two all great 
 dinners, of a public character, were giv- 
 en in the Astor House, and its dining 
 rooms have witnessed more sumptuous 
 feasts than any other house on the con- 
 tinent. 
 
 The first house in Broadway, and the 
 only ante-revolutionary building left in 
 this great artery of our city is the Wash- 
 ington, a hotel and restaurant ; a few 
 doors above on the same side of the street, 
 on the corner of Morris-street, and oppo- 
 site that little oval spot of verdure, with 
 its white marble fountain in the centre, call- 
 ed the Bowling Green, and which was once 
 decorated with a leaden statue of George 
 the Third, is Delmonico’s Hotel and re- 
 
 Astor House. 
 
 staurant, kept on what is called the “ Euro- 
 pean plan.” The other restaurant of 
 the Delmonicos is on the corner of South 
 William-street and Beaver-street ; it has 
 been the most renowned “ eating house ” 
 in New-York during the past twenty 
 years, and the principal resort of the 
 French and German merchants who do 
 business in the lower part of the city. The 
 first Delmonico’s was in William-street, 
 and was destroyed in the great fire of 1835, 
 after which the two brothers opened their 
 restaurant in Broad-street, while their 
 present house was building. The busi- 
 
 ness was established by the father and 
 uncle of the present proprietor, who emi- 
 grated to this country from Switzerland 
 some thirty years ago. Delmonico’s in 
 Broadway includes but two of the build- 
 ings given in the engraving. It is a 
 favorite hotel with foreigners, and keeps 
 up its reputation for excellent cookery. 
 Above Delmonico’s, and just below Wall- 
 street, is Judson’s Hotel, which is also 
 kept on the European plan, and has a 
 public restaurant, which is a favorite dining 
 place for “ down town” merchants. There 
 is no hotel in Broadway between Jud- 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Ne w - York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 361 
 
 Delmonico’s Hotel. 
 
 son’s and the large hotel known as How- 
 ard’s, on the corner of Maiden Lane, but 
 there are great numbers of respectable 
 restaurants, both in Broadway and the 
 neighboring streets, for almost the entire 
 male population of New-York dine 
 “ down town,” and they require a great 
 many feeding places. In Maiden Lane, 
 near Pearl-street, is the Franklin Coffee 
 House kept by Clark and Brown, which 
 deserves a passing notice, as a remarkable 
 instance of stability in this constantly 
 changing metropolis. It was one of the 
 first dining houses established in New- 
 York, and it has been kept by the same 
 proprietors in the same spot thirty years. 
 It has always been a favorite resort of 
 English merchants, and is the only place 
 of the kind in the city where the tradi- 
 tions of the English kitchen are preserv- 
 ed in all their old-fashioned purity. It is 
 one of the few respectable restaurants in 
 New-York where they ignore napkins and 
 eat with steel forks. The atmosphere of 
 Clark and Brown’s is thoroughly English, 
 and when you enter its dining-room, with 
 its John Bullish little exclusive mahogany 
 boxes, that resemble church pews, you 
 might fancy yourself in an eating house 
 in the neighborhood of Threadneedle- 
 street, without any great effort of the ima- 
 gination ; and the bluff-looking landlord 
 in his white apron and long carving-knife 
 standing behind a sirloin of beef, with his 
 back to a plum-pudding, will not destroy 
 
 the illusion. It is frightful to think of 
 the rounds of beef and legs of mutton 
 that Mr. Brown must have cut up during 
 the thirty years he has been head carver 
 at the Franklin Coffee House. The city 
 East of Broadway has never been favor- 
 able to hotels, but, on the West side there 
 are a good many large and flourishing 
 ones ; there are three in Courtlandt-street, 
 one in Dey-street, three in Murray-street, 
 two in Park Place, and three in Chambers- 
 street ; on the East side of the Park there 
 are the Clinton, Lovejoy’s, Earl’s, French’s 
 and Tammany Hall, all large and well-con- 
 ducted houses, but not ranking with the 
 great hotels in Broadway. The next hotel on 
 Broadway after the Astor is the American, 
 on the corner of Barclay-street ; then comes 
 the “Irving,” which is a congeries of houses, 
 rather than one house, and includes the 
 entire block between Chambers and Reade 
 streets. These houses were not originally 
 intended for hotel purposes, but were con- 
 verted to their present use, and amalga- 
 mated under the name of the Irving 
 House, by their original proprietor, about 
 five years ago. 
 
 The Irving, which is named in honor of 
 the author of the Sketch Book, is an im- 
 mense pile of dark granite, irregular in 
 outline, and entirely free from architectural 
 embellishment. It is one of the largest 
 hotels in the city. 
 
 The external aspect of a hotel should 
 be light and cheerful, and even a bizarre 
 
362 
 
 New-York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 [April 
 
 and fantastical character would be much 
 preferable to a coldly correct, and classi- 
 cal style. Formality and heaviness should 
 be avoided beyond all other things, and 
 therefore granite should never be used in 
 the facade of a hotel, as its dark color 
 renders it a most unsuitable material for 
 a building intended for festive purposes. 
 The external appearance of the Irving 
 House is as gloomy as a fortress, and the 
 Astor House looks more like a peniten- 
 tiary than a hotel. In the new ho- 
 tels which have been built on Broad- 
 way, and, in other parts of the city, 
 a much better taste has been display- 
 ed than in the two great houses in ques- 
 tion. White marble is becoming a very 
 common building material, and when it 
 is tastefully employed, as in the front 
 of the St. Nicholas and the Lafarge Hotels, 
 the effect is in the highest degree cheerful 
 and pleasing. We cannot but think that 
 a lively and cheerful aspect to a hotel 
 must impart a flavor to the dinner, and 
 be an essential aid to digestion. Brown 
 free-stone is preferable to granite, hut 
 there is no material for a hotel to be com- 
 pared with marble. And, for the same 
 reason that white is desirable for the ex- 
 terior of a hotel, it should be avoided in 
 the interior. For white is only cheerful 
 when it presents a broken surface, and is 
 
 subject to the play of light and shade. 
 The interior of a house being always in 
 shadow, the walls and ceilings should be 
 vari-colored. Cold white walls and ceil- 
 ing, in a dining-room, are enough to destroy 
 a keen appetite and impair digestion. 
 Pictures, unless of fruits and flowers, are 
 very objectionable in a dining-room, if 
 they are of a sufficiently positive charac- 
 ter to call off the attention of the convives 
 from the table, which should be the most 
 attractive object in it. The aesthetics of the 
 table are now more cultivated by our hotel- 
 keepers than was the case a few years 
 ago. The dining-room of the St. Nicho- 
 las is an exquisitely beautiful example of a 
 banqueting room, and shows to what a, high 
 condition the fine art of dining well has al- 
 ready been carried in this city. The la- 
 dies dining room of the Astor House is 
 also a fine example of the same kind ; the 
 proportions of the room are perfect, and 
 on the walls are hung some paintings of a 
 pleasing character, and of a high order of art. 
 
 A short distance above the Irving, on 
 the opposite side of Broadway, on the 
 corner of Leonard-street, is the Carlton 
 House, and not far above that, a small- 
 er hotel, at the depot of the New Haven 
 Rail Road, called the New Haven House. 
 On the corner of Franklin-street and 
 Broadway is “Taylor’s Saloon,” the 
 
 The 8t. Nicholas. 
 
1853.] 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 363 
 
 largest and most elegant 
 restaurant in the world. 
 
 The building is a stately 
 edifice seven stories high, 
 fifty feet front on Broad- 
 way, and one hundred 
 and fifty feet on Frank- 
 lin-street. The Broad- 
 way front is brown free- 
 stone, richly and pro- 
 fusely ornamented with 
 sculptures. The Frank- 
 lin-street front is of 
 pressed brick, with 
 brown - stone window 
 dressings. Taylor’s is 
 both a restaurant and 
 a hotel. The saloon on 
 the first floor contains 
 an area of seven thou- 
 sand five hundred 
 square feet ; the ceiling 
 is eighteen feet high. 
 
 There are two grand 
 entrances ; the floor is 
 laid with marble tiles 
 of a novel and beauti- 
 ful design ; the coun- 
 ters are of pure statuary 
 marble, and ornament- 
 ed with bronze and 
 gilt figures, and sup- 
 ported at the corners 
 by kneeling figures of marble. The sa- 
 loon includes two floors, and the walls 
 are covered with mirrors in rich gilt 
 frames ; the chairs and sofas are cover- 
 ed with rich cloth of crimson and gold ; 
 and the ceilings are ornamented with gild- 
 ings and scroll work of great beauty. This 
 extensive restaurant is intended for la- 
 dies, and, like Thompson’s, the other great 
 dining-room for ladies in Broadway, has 
 gradually grown up with the population 
 of the city from an humble ice-creamery 
 and confectionary to its present magni- 
 ficent dimensions. Among the novelties 
 of Taylor’s saloon are two conservatories 
 of great beaut}-, and a cut glass fountain 
 seventeen feet high. 
 
 Further up on the opposite side is the 
 Collamore House, a plain building, with 
 a brown-stone front, on the corner of 
 Spring-street. On the opposite side of 
 Broadway, between Broome and Spring 
 streets is the St. Nicholas Hotel, one of 
 the last finished, and most splendid of all 
 our public houses. The engraving of the 
 St. Nicholas presents its front as it will 
 appear when it is finished according to the 
 original plan, but it should include the 
 new brown-stone edifice which has been 
 built since it was completed, and which 
 extends to the corner of Spring-street, as 
 it has been leased by the proprietor, and 
 
 Taylor's Restaurant 
 
 [The new building, to be opened in May.] 
 
 will form part of this magnificent establish- 
 ment. The actual extent of the house now 
 occupied, is but 100 feet front and 200 feet 
 deep, but, when completed, it will have a 
 frontage on Broadway of 200 feet. The 
 front of the St. Nicholas is the finest 
 architectural feature of the noble thorough- 
 fare on which it stands ; it is constructed 
 of a very fine marble, and is richly orna- 
 mented with bold sculptures of beautiful 
 designs. The main entrance is in the 
 centre of the building, through a portico 
 supported by four Corinthian columns. 
 The interior of this superb hotel is a bril- 
 liant surprise even after gazing on its ele- 
 gant faqade. The resources of the Uphol- 
 sterer have been exhausted in furnishing 
 its apartments, and all that carving and 
 gilding can do to give gorgeousness to its 
 appointments has been done. The finest 
 of porcelain, the richest of cut glass, and the 
 most brilliant of Sheffield ware decorate its 
 tables. Its “ bridal chamber,” one of the 
 newly invented institutions of hotel life, is 
 scandalously splendid, and timid brides 
 are said to shrink aghast at its marvels of 
 white satin and silver brocade. It was 
 supposed when the St. Nicholas was first 
 thrown open to the wondering admiration 
 of the select multitude of ladies and gen- 
 tlemen who were invited to inspect its 
 sparkling apartments, that luxury could 
 
364 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyp/ed. 
 
 [April 
 
 Prescott House. 
 
 no farther go. that there was no beyond, 
 in the progress of refinement, to this 
 latest offspring of the arts. But the next 
 hotel will, doubtless, go a step beyond, 
 and dazzle us noth splendors of furniture 
 before unheard of. 
 
 On the corner of Spring-street above 
 the St. Nicholas, is the new hotel called, 
 in compliment to our great historian, the 
 Prescott House. The Prescott House is 
 built of brick, with cast-iron ornamental 
 heads to the windows. It is not so exten- 
 sive as some of its neighbors, being but 
 100 feet on Spring-street, by fifty feet on 
 Broadway. On the opposite side, on the 
 corner of Prince-street, is the Metropoli- 
 tan Hotel, which presents a frontage on 
 Broadway of 300 feet and six stories; 
 this front is of brown free-stone, while 
 that on Prince-street is of brick with stone 
 dressings. The dining-room of the Met- 
 ropolitan is on the Prince-st. side, and is 
 one hundred and fifty feet long by forty 
 feet in breadth. It is said there are more 
 than twelve miles of water and gas pipe 
 
 in this immense hotel, and two hundred 
 and fifty servants. It has accommoda- 
 tions for one thousand guests. In the 
 quadrangular court of the hotel is Niblo’s 
 theatre, the entrance to which is through 
 a passage way in the centre of the Broad- 
 way front. The whole interior arrange- 
 ments of the hotel are on a scale of mag- 
 nificence corresponding with its grandeur 
 of proportions. 
 
 Above the Metropolitan, on the oppo- 
 site side of Broadway, and opposite Bond- 
 street, is the Bond-street House, a small 
 family hotel, with a plain white marble 
 front ; and, above that, is the New York 
 Hotel, an immense brick structure, which 
 occupies nearly the entire block, bounded 
 by Washington and Waverley Places, and 
 Broadway and Mercer-street. It is a 
 hotel of the first class, both in extent and 
 character, and has been built about ten 
 years. 
 
 The Lafarge Hotel is now in course of 
 erection, in front of Metropolitan, late 
 Triplers Hall ; it has a facade of white 
 
1853.] 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 365 
 
 marble, of a highly ornamental charac- 
 ter, designed by James Ren wick, 125 feet 
 in extent. This hotel will contain two 
 hundred and twenty-eight separate apart- 
 ments, and will cost about two hundred 
 thousand dollars. 
 
 The Astor Place Hotel, directly oppo- 
 site Astor Place, in Broadway, has been 
 formed by the union of two granite houses. 
 
 The St. Denis is a rather outre and drea- 
 my-looking building, six stories high, on 
 the corner of 11-th street and Broadway, 
 directly opposite Grace Church. Its ex- 
 ternal character, though bizarre and fan- 
 tastical in the extreme, is very far from 
 being unpleasing. The profuse ornamen- 
 tations are not of a costly character, being 
 castings of cement. The defect of the 
 building, architecturally speaking, is the 
 want of a door, there being nothing to 
 distinguish the main entrance from the 
 windows on the same floor. 
 
 On the corner of Broadway and Union 
 Place, and fronting Union Square, is the 
 Union Place Hotel, another first-class 
 house. Further up Broadway, on the 
 corner of 20th-street, is the Gramercy Ho- 
 tel, the terminus of Broadway Hoteldom 
 at the present time ; but it is not likely 
 to remain so much longer, for our god 
 Terminus does not stay long in one place, 
 in these progressive times, but keeps jog- 
 ging on with his carpet-bag in hand. 
 
 The Clarendon is a fine large brick 
 building in the Elizabethan style, on the 
 corner of 17th-street and Fourth Avenue, 
 just above Union Square, and, though 
 
 neither the largest nor most pretending 
 of our new hotels, it is probably one of 
 the most comfortable and elegant of the 
 whole brood. 
 
 Hotel life in New-York is as varied as 
 the character of the population; visitors 
 from any part of Europe may here 
 find a home where they will hear their 
 own language spoken, imbibe the pota- 
 tions of their father-land and inhale the 
 flavor of their native dishes. But French 
 is the predominant style of our public cui- 
 sine, and the language of diplomacy is also 
 that of the bills of fare on all our hotel 
 tables, except the Astor House, where 
 they give English names to all dishes that 
 are capable of translation. There is a 
 Spanish hotel in Fulton-street, a Cafe de 
 Paris , a 7 'ortoni, and a Rocher de Can- 
 cale in Broadway, an Italian restaurant, 
 strongly flavored with Bologna sausages, 
 in William-street ; a Pension Frangaise 
 in almost every street, while all the differ- 
 ent tribes of Scandinavia and Germany 
 have their distinct houses of refreshment 
 kept by their own countrymen. The ho- 
 tel population of New-York would alone 
 form a city of no mean size ; it probably 
 does not fall much short of ten thousand. 
 
 Hotels garni are very numerous, and 
 some of them are on a large and splendid 
 scale, like Julien’s hotel in W ashington 
 Place ; but these do not properly come 
 under the head of hotels and restau- 
 rants. 
 
 Much fault has been found, by a certain 
 class of people who regard every deviation 
 
 The Metropolitan. 
 
3G6 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 [April 
 
 from old customs with alarm, with the 
 splendors of our new hotels, and the habits 
 of luxury and extravagance which they 
 indicate. But it may be some consolation 
 to the,se timid people, who are more ter- 
 rified at sunshine than they would be by 
 darkness, to know that all the splendor of 
 which they complain is only the evidence 
 of our prosperous condition, and that gas- 
 lights and brocatelle are much cheaper 
 than the tallow candles and chintz to 
 which they have been accustomed. The 
 
 marble fronts, painted ceilings, satin coun- 
 terpanes, and unlimited baths, which are 
 now matters of course in our hotels, have 
 not in the least advanced the price of hotel 
 board, while the proprietors make more 
 rapid fortunes than they ever did in the 
 days of the old Bonifaces, when “ mine 
 inn ” was as cheerless and uncomfortable 
 as it is now brilliant and enjoyable. But 
 the bridal chambers ? Well, bridal cham- 
 bers being very commendable things in 
 themselves, which no right-minded man 
 
 The St Denis. 
 
 or woman can make any objections to, we 
 do not think they should be cried down, 
 or put down, on the score of their splendor. 
 
 One of the most marked characteristics 
 of New-York are the eating-houses, or 
 dining-saloons. N o other city in the world, 
 it is probable, has half so many of these 
 establishments, in proportion to its popu- 
 lation, as New-York. They are terribly 
 destructive to social enjoyment, beyond a 
 question, but they are, unquestionably, 
 a very great convenience, are economical, 
 and the inevitable result of our geographi- 
 cal position. The natural concentration 
 of business in the lower part of the city 
 
 has driven all the families miles up town, 
 and across the East and North Rivers, 
 and down the bay to Staten Island. As the 
 fathers, brothers, and sons do not go home 
 to dinner, the mothers, wives, and daugh- 
 ters, have no inducements to eat their 
 meals in solitude ; so, while the male 
 members of the family are eating their 
 little dinners at Delmonico’s, Frederick’s 
 or Sweeney’s, as the case may be; the 
 female members are solacing themselves 
 with fricandeaus, meringues and ices at 
 Thompson’s, Taylor’s, or Weller’s ; so 
 that it may be said that nearly half the 
 people of New-York dine out every day 
 
1853.] 
 
 New- York Daguerreotyped. 
 
 3G7 
 
 The Clarendon. 
 
 in the week blit Sunday. The lares and 
 penates of many a household must be 
 neglected, in consequence of this custom. 
 The worst effects of the eating-house 
 system are upon the rising generation. 
 The little people are taken out, to save 
 trouble, and fed on dainties at the bril- 
 liant restaurants, where their appetites are 
 awfully vitiated, and they eat most alarm- 
 ing quantities of ice-creams and oysters. 
 Eating in public may beget a certain free- 
 dom of manner and nonchalance in little 
 ladies and gentlemen, but we fear the 
 practice is not calculated to promote the 
 health either of the mind or the body. 
 Home must seem cheerless and unattrac- 
 tive in comparison with the gilding, and 
 bustle, and gorgeous luxuries of our great 
 restaurants. The family dinner must be 
 a tame and insipid meal to too many of 
 those who form the great body of the 
 patrons of these fashionable resorts. 
 The company at these places is often of a 
 questionable character, and children are 
 too apt to witness practices which are not 
 likely to benefit their morals. 
 
 The ladies’ saloons of Broadway are 
 establishments of very recent growth, but 
 they have already attained to a most 
 astounding degree of magnitude and splen- 
 dor. It is only within a very few years 
 that an} r thing more could be obtained at 
 these luxurious places than ice-creams, 
 pastry and oysters. But now they serve 
 up dinners at the briefest notice that 
 would do credit to any cafe in Paris. On 
 the counters of these temples of confec- 
 tionery, may alwaj r s be seen the choicest 
 and earliest fruits of the season, the rarest 
 productions of the hot-house, and the most 
 delicate bouquets that the conservatory 
 can offer ; while the Titians and Raffaelles 
 of candy, daily produce some novelty of 
 sweetness, to tempt the youthful lover of 
 bonbons. 
 
 Society is rapidly tending towards hotel 
 life, and the advantages of a cluster of 
 families living together under one roof, 
 are every day becoming more and more 
 apparent. The dearness of rents, the 
 scarcity of servants, and the thousand 
 nameless inconveniences and expenses of 
 
368 
 
 New-York Daguerreotgped. 
 
 single households, which every house- 
 keeper can enumerate, are strong induce- 
 ments to take rooms at a hotel, where all 
 the cares of house-keeping are avoided, 
 and a thousand luxuries may be enjoyed 
 that families of moderate incomes must 
 deny themselves, in what the Fourierites 
 call, the “ isolated household.” But, fam- 
 ilies can be just as isolated in a hotel 
 as in a separate house, and generally be 
 not half so exposed to impertinent obser- 
 vation. We ride in public carriages, 
 travel in public steamboats, ships, and 
 railroad cars, and there is no reason why 
 we should not live in public houses. The 
 chief difficulty now is, that our hotels are 
 all of one grade, and there is no choice 
 but to live in luxury and splendor, if you 
 live in them at all, whether it be agreeable 
 to your tastes and income, or not. We 
 hope that the next move in hotel-keeping 
 will not be an ambitious attempt to out- 
 shine the splendors of all other hotels, 
 but to open a house with all their conve- 
 niences and comfort, but without the 
 splendor, for the accommodation of those 
 who have simple tastes and limited means. 
 Let there be a few such houses opened on 
 the same scale, as regards size and conve- 
 nience, as the Astor, the St. Nicholas, and 
 
 [April 
 
 the Metropolitan, and public houses would 
 soon bear the same proportion to private 
 ones, that omnibuses now do to private 
 carriages. None but the very wealthy 
 would ever think of living in their sepa- 
 rate houses, if the same principle of ac- 
 commodations for the masses were ap- 
 plied to hotels, that is done in the case 
 of travelling equipages. 
 
 The first hotel that was built in New- 
 York, was in the year 1642, and is thus 
 alluded to in Brodhead’s history : 
 
 “ The constant intercourse at this time be- 
 tween New-England and Virginia brought 
 many transient visiters to Manhattan. 
 On their way to and from Long Island 
 Sound and Sandy Hook, the coasting ves- 
 sels always stopped at Fort Amsterdam ; 
 and the increasing number of his guests 
 occasioned great inconvenience to the di- 
 rector, who frequently could afford them 
 but “slender entertainment.” Kieft, there- 
 fore, built “ a fine hotel of stone ” at the 
 Company’s expense, where travellers 
 “ might now go and lodge.” This hotel, 
 or. “ Harberg ” was conveniently situated 
 on the river side, a little East of Fort 
 Amsterdam, near what is at present 
 known as ‘ Coenties Slip.’ ” 
 
 To be Continued. 
 
 Laying the Euss Pavement in Broadway, comer of Eeade-street 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Mill Pond. 
 
 369 
 
 THE MILL POND. 
 
 i. 
 
 T HE linden, maple, and birch-tree bless, 
 With cooling shades, the banks I press 
 In the midsummer sultriness ; 
 
 And under the thickest shade of all 
 Singeth a musical waterfall. 
 
 The burnished breast of a silver pond 
 In the sunlight lieth beyond, — 
 
 Clear, and calm, and still as death, 
 
 Save where the south wind’s blurring breath, 
 Like an angel’s pinion, fluttereth. 
 
 hi. 
 
 The south wind moveth, but maketh no noise, 
 Nor ever disturbeth the delicate poise 
 Of the little fishing floats, the boys 
 Sit idly watching on log and ledge : 
 
 It toucheth but softly the languid sedge. 
 Drooping all day o’er the water’s edge. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In the thickets, shady and cool, 
 
 The white sheep tear their tender wool ; 
 Pensive and calm, one snowy lamb 
 Stands sighing beside the grassy dam ; 
 Shaking and breaking the heavj r boughs, 
 
 The limber colts and the sober cows 
 Down from the woody hillside come, 
 
 To lave in the wave, and hark to the hum 
 Of the waterfall, beating its airy drum. 
 
 v. 
 
 Deep in the shadowy dell at noon 
 I lie, and list to the drowsy tune, 
 
 Fanned by the sweet south wind ; 
 
 And I think how like to the poet’s mind 
 Are the skyey depths of the silver pond, 
 
 That in the sunlight lieth beyond 
 These lindens tall, and the slimy wall 
 Over which poureth the waterfall. 
 
 vi. 
 
 When the angry March winds blow, 
 
 And rains descend, and freshets flow 
 In torrent and rill from mountain and hill, 
 
 And the ponderous wheels of the sunken mill 
 Go round and round, with a sullen sound, 
 Rumbling, mumbling, half under ground, — 
 Hoarsely the waterfall singeth all day. 
 
 And the waters are streaked with marl and clay. 
 Obscure, impure, black, greenish, and gray. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But when these shaded banks I press 
 In the midsummer sultriness, 
 
 Standeth all still the mumbling mill ; 
 
 The quiet pond doth seem to thrill 
 With joys which all its windings fill ; 
 
 vol. I. — 24 
 
370 
 
 Mary L. Ware. 
 
 [April 
 
 And in its depths the eye may view 
 A world of soft and dreamy hue ; — 
 Banks, and trees, and a sky of blue. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Willow and sedge, by the water’s edge. 
 And children fishing from log and ledge ; 
 Lilies, cresses, and wild swamp grasses, 
 And every butterfly that passes, 
 
 The lakelet’s placid bosom glasses. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Thus when the luminous waters of life 
 Are vexed no more by storms of strife 
 And turbulent passion’s sweeping wind, 
 The mirror of the Poet’s mind 
 All Nature’s images receives : 
 
 The kingly oak with its myriad leaves — 
 Even the web the spider weaves ! 
 
 The cloud at even, the sun at noon, 
 
 By night the stars and the charmed moon ; 
 And the feet of Aurora, in golden shoon. 
 
 x. 
 
 And the tree of Pride, and the web of Art, 
 Hope’s radiant Stars, and clouds that start 
 Across the heaven of the heart 1 
 Love’s glorious sun, in its burning noon ; 
 Pale Sorrow, rapt by the magic moon ; 
 Sweet, glowing Pleasure, in golden shoon, 
 Treading like Fire Youth’s dewy grasses ; 
 And each bright-winged thought that passes 
 The sky-deep soul of the Poet glasses. 
 
 MARY L. WARE. 
 
 Memoir of Mary L. Ware, wife of Henry Ware, Jr. By Edward B. Hall. One 
 Vol., pp. 434. Boston : 1853. 
 
 THE rapid accumulation of wealth in 
 our country is the amazing tale of 
 every day — “ an o'er true tale.” Science 
 is creating new modes of production, in- 
 genuity is devising new means of acquisi- 
 tion ; commerce is pouring in its riches 
 through a thousand gates, and the earth 
 and waters of California are glittering 
 with gold ready for the hand of the 
 coiner. 
 
 The inventions of oriental imaginations 
 seem to have been but partial prophecies of 
 the actual luxuries of our days. It would 
 have cost Aladdin many a rubbing of his 
 lamp to have produced the palaces of the 
 Fifth Avenue. The beautiful forms of 
 art that embellish them were beyond the 
 sphere of his wildest fancies. The ring of 
 the magician conjured up gardens whose 
 fruits were precious stones, but the science 
 and labor which produce luscious fruits 
 and delicate flowers in our cold North, 
 
 were far beyond its magic. No dream of 
 philanthropy shadowed forth the comforts 
 and adornments that are now found in 
 the habitations of our humbler citizens 
 and secluded rustics. The citizen and 
 rustic of our times, were the thrall and 
 serf of former days. Those who then 
 toiled for masters and wore collars, now 
 have baths in their houses, and prints 
 from Raphael and Corregio on their 
 walls ! 
 
 But why is this an “ o’er true tale ? ” 
 Because that in our civilization, moral 
 progress does not keep pace with material 
 development. Because that luxury having 
 first stimulated, then intoxicates, and 
 then enfeebles. We need now and then 
 to pause — to detach ourselves from the 
 train — to get out of the noise and excite- 
 ment of this onward movement, and look 
 at objects that are steadfast, at colors 
 that neither dazzle nor fade ; in short to 
 
1853.] 
 
 Mary L. Ware. 
 
 31 1 
 
 consider what are our true riches — what 
 the treasures that do not pass away. Of 
 these treasures there is nothing more 
 precious than the finished lives of the 
 good, recorded with fidelity and simplicity 
 — the true story well told. 
 
 Biography, next to fiction, is the most 
 popular literature. If we read the history 
 of a real individual with an interest less 
 keen than that with which we peruse the 
 entangled incidents of a heroine of ro- 
 mance, we bring to it the same universal 
 appetite, curiosity ; not the vulgar curio- 
 sity that leads one to pry into one’s neigh- 
 bor’s private history, but a curiosity 
 sanctified by a desire to know how the 
 traveller that has gone before us has 
 sped over the road that we must travel ; 
 how its advantages have been attained ; 
 how its temptations have been resisted ; 
 how its evils and dangers have been met, 
 or avoided ; how its weariness has been 
 endured ; how its pleasures have been en- 
 joyed, and how its goal has been reached. 
 In the life of Mary Lovell W are we have 
 the most profitable example. Her expe- 
 rience was strictly limited to domestic 
 life. She was neither poetess nor author- 
 ess, nor missionary, nor prodigy of genius, 
 nor phenomenon of eccentricity. She 
 might, if the exigence had called her to 
 it, like the Maid of Saragossa, or like the 
 nobler Maid of Orleans, have led armed 
 men to battle and to victory. In France 
 and in the French revolution, she would 
 have gone to the scaffold with as free and 
 as steady a step as Madame Roland, for 
 the only question with her was practicable 
 duty, and for that her courage and forti- 
 tude were indomitable. Her niche is not 
 in the Temple, but at the shrine of our 
 homes. She was no demi-goddess, but, 
 what is fitter to our purpose, she was the 
 heroine of domestic life ; and thou- 
 sands and tens of thousands of daughters, 
 wives, mothers and benefactors, may Learn 
 from her how to sow, and how to reap 
 the harvest-fields of life ; and the better 
 learn from her, because her field was on 
 the plane of our common experience. There 
 were vicissitudes in her life — sharp trials, 
 great joys, and keen sorrows ; everyday 
 opportunities of doing, suffering, and en- 
 joying; but they were trials and oppor- 
 tunities similar to those of every woman 
 who lives fifty years. To her the young 
 girl may go to see how youth may be 
 consecrated and vitalized by a spiritual 
 and practical religion ; how reverence be- 
 comes the highest ; how girlish friendships 
 may be dignified, sustained and enjoyed ; 
 how innocent and profitable social life 
 may be made ; how perplexing duties may 
 be adjusted. The daughter may learn 
 how filial duty and filial love work to- 
 
 gether, doing that spontaneously and joy- 
 ously which, as task-work, is but dull 
 and cheerless. 
 
 She has exemplified the state of feeling 
 upon which the most sacred relation of 
 life must be entered so as to secure it 
 from the wreck that, known or unknown, 
 so often attends it ; that relation which is 
 still the unexpounded riddle, making one 
 of two, and yet leaving the one for ever 
 two ; the most complicated, the most 
 perilous relation — the oftcnest desecrated 
 — and yet, “the loveliest flower in all the 
 field of life ! ” 
 
 We might go on through all natural 
 and assumed domestic ties, but we prefer 
 to enforce opinion by testimony from the 
 memoir — as, perchance, some may first 
 learn from this widely-diffused magazine, 
 the existence of a book which (though it 
 has already, within two months of its first 
 publication, arrived at a third edition) 
 naturally has a more local circulation. 
 
 It is quite satisfactory that the life of 
 Mary Ware should be given to the public 
 at this time ; that such an actual existence 
 should be opposed to the creations of a 
 writer of some of the most popular novels 
 of this day of popular novels, and to the 
 views of women, which their author has 
 widely exhibited in his (otherwise) de- 
 lightful lectures. 
 
 Mr. Thackeray, with infinite fertility of 
 invention, and with the acutest perception 
 of the varieties of mankind, and a power 
 and unity in their demonstration which 
 an anatomical entomologist might envy, 
 gives us but two varieties — two phases of 
 womankind — his Becky, Blanche, and 
 Beatrix ; women with all the weaknesses, 
 and without a particle of the affection, of 
 their sex ; ambitious, but without the 
 greatness that attends it ; unrelenting in 
 selfishness; unscrupulous as fiends, and 
 alluring as she who was the Fate of Nel- 
 son. His other genus is composed of his 
 Amelia, Mrs. Pendennis, and that in- 
 sipid, homoeopathic dilution of woman- 
 hood, Lady Esmond, who, at first, seems 
 rather pleasing and refreshing like a glass 
 of eau sucre but toujours eau sucre , is 
 more tiresome than ‘toujours perdrix.' 
 
 We have heard (but we can scarcely 
 believe it of one who calls the noble wo- 
 men of England his country-women), 
 that Mr. Thackeray alleges in his de- 
 fence, that he has “ described women as 
 good as he has found them.” God help him, 
 then ! If he has been so singularly un- 
 fortunate, we pity him. If, in the infinite 
 variety of one half of the race of God’s 
 creation, an adverse fate has limited Mr. 
 Thackeray’s observation to two species, 
 why not enlarge his horizon from that 
 other world which is the true mirror of 
 
372 
 
 Mary L. Ware. 
 
 nature. Isabella and Imogen, Constance 
 and Queen Catharine, Desdemona and 
 Viola, Rosalind and Beatrice, the intel- 
 lectual Portia, and even the Merry 
 Wives, all beautiful varieties of the same 
 race, each differing from the other as one 
 star differeth from another — all living 
 and immortal — should have taught Mr. 
 Thackeray to look upward to the firma- 
 ment of women above him, and not always 
 to select for our observation those who are 
 earth-bound, beneath his searching and 
 scornful glance. Mr. Thackeray cannot 
 be a stranger to Rebecca, and Flora 
 Mclvor, and Jeanie Deans, and surely he 
 will not deny that Scott held his mirror 
 up to Nature. 
 
 We are far from questioning the merit 
 of Becky Sharp. She is the true type of 
 her hateful class. Even in our ‘ demi-civili- 
 zation ’ — in our pure republic — there are 
 specimens of female adventurers, specula- 
 tors, traders , that verify this exquisite 
 delineation. Mr. Thackeray has a keen- 
 ness of perception, a thoroughness in 
 searching out the vices, frailties, and infir- 
 mities of his race; that resembles the 
 trained sagacity of the cleverest and most 
 accomplished detective policeman. No 
 rent, no soil on poor humanity escapes 
 him. But was it not enough to preserve 
 one such specimen as Becky Sharp, in his 
 glowing amber ? Why multiply them ? 
 
 Shakspeare’s and Scott’s museums are 
 like the halls of the Vatican, filled with 
 the divinest creations of Heaven, with now 
 and then a drunken Faun to typify the 
 sensual degradation of man’s nature. 
 Will Mr. Thackeray force us to compare 
 his collections to the museums of morbid 
 anatomy — instructive, it may be, to the 
 student of diseases, but most repulsive 
 and disheartening to the lover of his 
 kind 7 
 
 In his “Snobs of England,” Mr. Thack- 
 eray exercises his genius legitimately 
 and curatively. This is confessedly 
 “morbid anatomy,” and we hail the 
 masterly skill of the exhibition. The 
 whole civilized world should study it, 
 learn from it, and give Mr. Thackeray 
 thanks for it. There are “ Snobs ” every 
 where. Civilization breeds such vermin. 
 The richest fruits are most beset with 
 every species of crawling thing, and he 
 who can produce a satire, pungent and 
 penetrating enough to extirpate them, is 
 a benefactor to his race. We admire the 
 health that ventures fearlessly amidst 
 contagion — the boldness that penetrates 
 to the most infected districts of the aris- 
 tocracy, and man full_v carries its besom 
 into the palace and the church. 
 
 But when the world is Mr. Thackeray’s 
 oyster, and he opens it, we expect to find 
 
 [April 
 
 good food, and — sometimes, a pearl. We 
 see in him so thorough a contempt for 
 pretension and assumption, for the phari- 
 saicalness and hypocrisies that pervade 
 the civilized world, from the puritanical 
 rustic to the London Crawleys ; we per- 
 ceive such an uncompromising love of 
 integrity, from its coarsest manifestation 
 in the keeping of a verbal contract, down 
 to its saving influence in the deepest 
 depths of man’s heart ; we see so much 
 frankness and geniality, so kindly a spirit, 
 a man so loyal, good and true, that we 
 feel something like mortification at his 
 using his great gifts to depreciate his 
 race, and to disparage and — degrade wo- 
 man. 
 
 Before proceeding in expressions of dis- 
 satisfaction, it is fitting we should acknow- 
 ledge the immense debt that young men 
 and young women, and the world of Mr. 
 Thackeray’s readers, owe him for the 
 freedom of his books from grossness and 
 coarseness, in their technical sense; for 
 his manly scorn of that whole class of 
 vice, with all its shallow compromises, and 
 insulting hypocrisies. 
 
 In his last novel, “ Henry Esmond,” 
 Mr. Thackeray manifests some relentings. 
 There is, it is true, an immense upward 
 progress from Dobbin to Warrington, 
 the only men in either Vanity Fair or 
 Pendennis that an honest gentleman could 
 cordially grasp by the hand ; and there is 
 still an ascension from Warrington to 
 the generous, refined, courteous, brave, 
 and gentle Henry Esmond. But even in 
 this last book, we have the old pattern 
 repeated in the two women newly bap- 
 tized as “Lady Esmond” and “Beatrix.” 
 True, Lady Esmond is higher bred than 
 Amelia, or poor Helen Pendennis; but, 
 Mr. Thackeray, “ fine feathers don’t 
 make fine birds.” She is the same in- 
 sipid, colorless character from one end 
 of this charming book to the other, 
 in spite of the elaborate laudation that 
 always attends her; and the brilliantly 
 beautiful, and spirited Queen’s-maid-of- 
 honor, Beatrix, though, at the first glance, 
 she seem to differ utterly from the low- 
 born Becky Sharp, with her green eyes 
 and parti-colored hair, and infinitely ver- 
 satile genius ; yet they have both the same 
 basis, the same unbridled ambition, the 
 same unmitigated selfishness, the same 
 hopeless corruption. We do not so much 
 object to Becky, Blanche, and Beatrix. 
 (Is the alliteration accidental?) They 
 show for what they are worth ; they are 
 beacons on the great highway of life, buoys 
 to warn the mariner from hidden rocks ; 
 but it is Mr. Thackeray’s pattern woman 
 that we disclaim — his ideal — a wornaB 
 doomed and content “ to dwell in decern 
 
Mary L. Ware. 
 
 373 
 
 1853.] 
 
 cies for ever,” a woman with the instincts 
 of maternity (common to her sex), “jeal- 
 ous as a Barbary cock-sparrow,” gentle 
 without calmness, generous without 
 discernment, self-sacrificing, not from 
 strength, but weakness ; loving, but never 
 wisely, and spoiling all she* loves. We 
 freely confess that these are not portraits 
 from lay figures. They are lifelike, 
 painted from originals — there are plenty 
 of them ; but there are also exceptions. 
 You may find them in every household, 
 and every where, where women most do 
 congregate. 
 
 The mischievous tendency of this pre- 
 sentment of woman is already apparent in 
 unfledged college boys, who respect no- 
 thing in the shape of woman, though they 
 may yet preserve some nursery love for 
 the doting mother at home. They mount 
 on Mr. Thackeray’s nobly tall and broad 
 shoulders, and when he but archly smiles 
 at the sex, they laugh derisively, and ex- 
 ult in his authority to throw overboard the 
 slight remains of the traditionary reverence 
 which inconveniently bridles their pas- 
 sions, and restrains their egotisms. 
 
 We remember a striking point in one 
 of Mr. Thackeray’s lectures when, pausing 
 amidst its general current, he impressively 
 advised young men to keep good company 
 and read good books. Excellent advice! 
 But an improvement on it was given by a 
 wise mother to her son, when he was 
 about to put the Atlantic between them. 
 “ Read good books, my dear boy,” she 
 said, “ and drink water ! ” Now, we im- 
 agine the tendency of Mr. Thackeray’s 
 books, and lectures, is to inspire young 
 men with a thorough contempt for this 
 elemental drink, to make them feel that 
 a sparkling glass and a sparkling life are 
 inseparable, and that a jovial, rollicking 
 “ good-fellow tavern and club-life, when 
 morning shall dawn on the empty bowls ” 
 (Mr. Thackeray’s phrase was felicitous, 
 we cannot quite recall it), away from the 
 cold regularities, and galling restraints, 
 and teasing pettinesses of a woman-in- 
 fected home, is the life of lives. Alas 
 for the multitude of Saxon gentlemen 
 that have been tempted by its geniality, 
 and ruined by the miseries that under- 
 laid it ! 
 
 That young men may “ reck his own 
 reed,” we hope Mr. Thackeray will never 
 repeat such a book as his Vanity Fair ; that 
 he will not compel them, by the attraction 
 of irresistible wit to follow lnm through 
 his volumes, with no other company than 
 such as he counsels them against ; that 
 he will create his heroines after some bet- 
 ter model than the prototypes of Amelia, 
 and the Viscountess ; that he will not 
 waste respect, and love, and praise, and 
 
 the choral lamentation of wife, children, 
 and friend (that friend Henry Esmond !) 
 upon a poor wretch who, having no virtue 
 but the originally kind nature God had 
 given him, died in mid-life a gambler, and 
 a drunkard ; and we further pray Mr. 
 Thackeray never again to permit a pure, 
 high-minded, and clear-sighted man (that 
 man Henry Esmond too !) to entertain a 
 ten years’ impossible love for such a minx 
 as Beatrix. Mr. Thackeray will make us 
 read his books, and he is therefore bound 
 by his own showing to make them good 
 books. He “ is bound over to good be- 
 havior ” by the fearful responsibility of 
 writing books for the young, whose minds 
 are in a fusible state, ready to be cast in the 
 mould a superior genius makes for them. 
 
 We seem to have wandered far from 
 our purpose, but we have not. We wish 
 to confront the character of Mary Ware 
 with Mr. Thackeray’s heroines, those pale 
 effigies of humanity ; to show how a wo- 
 man can be a heroine in domestic life, 
 without ever overstepping its modest 
 boundary ; how she may combine strength 
 and wisdom with love, gentleness with 
 courage, delicacy with intrepidity, cheer- 
 fulness and tolerance with an all-pervad- 
 ing, all-informing piety, and the greatest 
 good to others with self-renunciation. 
 “ To the word, and the testimony.” 
 
 Mary Lovell Piccard was an only child, 
 born in Boston, on the 2d of Oct., 1798. 
 Her father was a respectable English mer- 
 chant, her mother, a Massachusetts wo- 
 man, granddaughter of “ Master Lovell, 
 a classical teacher in Boston,” one of 
 the corps whom the New England people 
 delight to honor, and in his person did 
 honor by making him a member of the 
 Continental Congress. Mary’s mother 
 “ was a woman of self-culture, who loved 
 books, and chose the best ; ’’ thus, by her 
 own instincts, practising the wisdom 
 which Mr. Thackeray has concentrated 
 into an apothegm. She is described as of 
 “a commanding person, benignant coun- 
 tenance, and dignified demeanor.” 
 
 In these attributes, the daughter was 
 the copy of the mother, but with char- 
 acteristics more peculiar and much more 
 striking. She had a large, full, dark eye, so 
 powerful, penetrating, and sagacious, that 
 it seemed to open a direct communication 
 from soul to soul. Its glance might awe, 
 might rebuke you, but never repel, nor 
 mortify you. There was so much love in its 
 scrutiny, so much tenderness, and pity, if 
 need there were for pity, that you felt your- 
 self in the presence of one whose compas- 
 sions failed not. The strength of her mind 
 and will are intimated in the imperfect en- 
 graving of her prefixed to her memoir. But 
 we miss altogether the light of cheerful- 
 
374 
 
 Mary L. Ware. 
 
 ness that played over her face, like sun- 
 shine on a rock, giving a bright and mu- 
 table grace to that which is in its nature 
 steadfast and immovable. This cheerful- 
 ness might have been temperament in the 
 beginning, but it was courage, and trust, 
 and faith, as she went into the conflicts 
 of life, and victory at the last. Nothing 
 ever abated, or disturbed it. not the teasing 
 cares of life, nor its hardest work, nor 
 the sorest bereavement, nor her own 
 terrible illness, nor the sure and evident 
 approach of death. Through it all, there 
 was the same cheerful gleam from her 
 eye, the same sincere smile on her lips. 
 Her spirit dwelt in light, and there was 
 no darkness possible to it. We have 
 missed this irradiation, this silver lining 
 to the clouds of her life from her biogra- 
 phy. The writer has experienced the 
 common difficulty of speaking of the loved 
 and lost but with solemnity. Life is a 
 serious business, very serious to those 
 who come, like Mary Piccard, to minister, 
 and not to be ministered to ; and her bio- 
 grapher, sympathizing, it would seem, 
 most with sadness, has omitted those play- 
 ful touches and varied lights that gave 
 completeness and attraction to her charac- 
 ter. And thus we miss from his present- 
 ment the sparkle of her eye, and the smile 
 betokening the strength that made the 
 burden light, and the playfulness that 
 made it seem no burden at all. 
 
 This blessed cheerfulness of her tem- 
 perament was very early manifested. Her 
 mother, writing to her friends in America, 
 from England, whither she had taken 
 Mary, when she was four years old, says: 
 “She has been an inexhaustible source of 
 
 comfort to me since I left you.” “ She 
 
 has a sad cold, but says she is always 
 
 happy.” “ She is very tall and lively*.” 
 
 “Mr. P. is even more anxious than I to 
 go home ; Mary is the only* contented one, 
 
 She is always happy.” “She has a 
 
 sweet disposition, and I hope will one day* 
 be as great a comfort to you as she is to 
 me. She is telling me a thousand little 
 
 affectionate things to say* to y*ou.” 
 
 Truly* the fruit is enfolded in the bud. 
 These may appear very insignificant quo- 
 tations to those who are in the common 
 hallucination respecting the joy*s of child- 
 hood. Poor little things ! if their clouds 
 do not hang as heavy* and last as long as 
 their elders, like those of an April day, 
 they come oftener; and pour out more 
 freely. 
 
 In the foil of 1803, Mrs. Piccard return- 
 ed with her child to her home, in Pearl- 
 street ; there, “ with parents and grand- 
 parents,” passed Mary’s youth. In those 
 days there were gardens attached to the 
 Pearl-street houses, with trees, and shrub- 
 
 [April 
 
 bery, and trailing vines, and borders of 
 flowers, intimations and memorials of 
 man’s true home in the country ; objects 
 that fill life with home-memories and as- 
 sociations. Who that has ever enjoyed 
 the “ old home,” has not felt an old tree, or 
 perchance ah old rose-bush to have a 
 similar power to that ascribed to the witch- 
 hazel vibrating to the deep and hidden 
 treasures of the heart. There are few 
 city -homes in these days of ambitious im- 
 provement, and vexing removes. Mary 
 Piccard’s was one, in its happiest meaning. 
 In after days, she said she “was carried 
 back, not only in her waking but her 
 sleeping hours, to the old Pearl-street 
 house and garden, assembling the different 
 friends of the different periods of her life, 
 in dreamlike incongruity, in the little 
 parlor with its black oak wainscoting.” 
 In this home, and in her early childhood, 
 she had the felicity* of forming friend- 
 ships that were worthy* to endure, and 
 did last her through her lifetime. Col. 
 T. H. Perkins’ house adjoined her father’s, 
 and communicated with it by* doors closed, 
 except by* the key-holes. Through them, 
 Mary and her favorite companion ex- 
 changed childish talk, and notes, and sang, 
 she say*s, “ all the songs we could muster.” 
 Does music favor the planting of a friend- 
 ship, as the Italians fancy it does the plant- 
 ing of a tree ? This favorite companion 
 was, we believe, the Emma of the corres- 
 pondence, and certainly there were all the 
 harmonies of the soul in their lasting love. 
 Emma stood firmly on her friend’s eleva- 
 tion. and this equality* gave dignity*, &c., the 
 calmness of security to their friendship. 
 Their intercourse shows what the friend- 
 ship of two Christian women should be. 
 For the last years of Emma’s life, they 
 were neighbors, on beautiful Milton Hill, 
 and it is thus, after her friend’s death, 
 that Mrs. Ware writes of her : “ This is 
 not the same place without her. We 
 constantly miss her wisdom and disinter- 
 ested kindness. Do y*ou know that she 
 made this cottage mine, and more ? I 
 never received any* gift which was so un- 
 expected, and so touching. It has made 
 this place more beautiful than ever, for 
 the very* walls have now a sacred asso- 
 ciation.” 
 
 We are not believers in the omnipotence 
 of the elaborate discipline, and direct in- 
 struction to which the term education is 
 sometimes limited. We believe more in 
 the long processes of experience and self- 
 teaching, and, still more in what is some- 
 times carelessly called accidental influen- 
 ces. The soil and the atmosphere have 
 more to do with the growth, than the 
 pruning and the training. So far as 
 Mary*’s training went, it was of the best. 
 
375 
 
 Mary L. Ware. 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 “ It has been said,” a friend writes of her 
 mother, -‘that she (Mary) was much in- 
 dulged; and I believe it may be so said 
 with truth. But she was not indulged 
 in idleness, selfishness, and rudeness ; she 
 was indulged in healthful sports, in 
 abundance of playthings ; in' pleasant ex- 
 cursions, and in companionship with other 
 children as much as might be convenient. 
 I never knew her to be teasing and im- 
 portunate, or obstinate and contradictory.” 
 
 She spoke of herself (and she was not 
 one of those who fancy there is a merit 
 in self-depreciation) as having had great 
 trials of temper in early life. But it is 
 thus a friend from her childhood writes 
 of her, “ When I first remember her it is 
 as a gentle, loving, active child, always 
 doing some useful thing, and the darling 
 of her parents’ hearts. When her char- 
 acter first shone on me in its higher 
 attributes I do not know ; but I seem to 
 myself, to remember that there never was 
 a time when I had not perfect confidence 
 in her tact and judgment to discern a 
 duty, and the prompt and unhesitating 
 determination to do it as the only thing 
 to be done.” Mary Piccard was sent at 
 the age of thirteen to the school of the 
 Misses Cushing, of Hingham, a renowned 
 school in those days. One of these ladies 
 thus sums up her recollections of this 
 period of her pupil’s life : “ She was with 
 us little more than a year. With the love 
 which we could not but feel for her, was 
 mingled a respect and admiration for 
 her high principles, and the piety which 
 shone through all her conduct in a degree 
 very uncommon for a girl of her age. As a 
 scholar, she was exceedingly bright, and 
 quick to comprehend. She never under- 
 took any thing that she thought worth 
 her attention, that she did not go through 
 to the satisfaction of others, if not of her- 
 self. Her chief object seemed to be to do 
 good in some way or other to her fellow- 
 beings, and she considered nothing too 
 difficult to undertake, if it could benefit 
 another person in a temporal or spiritual 
 point of view.” She was then thirteen ! 
 “Yet,” continues the writer, “with all 
 this devotedness to the highest objects 
 and purposes of our existence, she was 
 one of the most lively and playful girls 
 among her companions, and a favorite 
 with them all.” 
 
 Prom these happy school-days she was 
 called home to watch over her mother, 
 who was ill through the winter, and 
 died the following spring. These are 
 common phrases, but this was to Mary 
 more, even, than the common loss of a 
 mother. Her mother had been her teacher 
 and companion, and the whole mother’s 
 heart had been given to this only child. 
 
 This was her first experience of wo- 
 man’s appointed ministry in a sick room, 
 to be so soon, so often, and so bitterly 
 repeated, and so performed that with her 
 it was an angel’s task. 
 
 Mary was now the stay of the Pearl- 
 street home. Her grandparents leaned 
 on her, and her father depended on her 
 judgment and prudence to help him 
 through pecuniary difficulties into which 
 he had fallen. For the next two years 
 she went to Dr. Park’s school, accounted 
 the best in New England. “ She was 
 never a prodigy,” says her biographer (so 
 much the better), “ but she was always 
 distinguished for her faithful preparation, 
 and uniform accuracy. She was the friend 
 and favorite of all. If petty difficulties 
 occurred, Mary Piccard was the peace- 
 maker.” 
 
 The following short extracts from her 
 letters mark the characteristics of her 
 mind; decision, force, and reverence. — “I 
 am reading ‘Temper,’ and like it much 
 better than 1 expected to, having heard 
 nothing in its favor, and besides being 
 much prejudiced against it. I have con- 
 demned prejudice in others, but never felt 
 the effects of it before ; I dislike it now 
 more than ever.” It is very easy, and 
 rather agreeable to condemn a fault that 
 others manifest, but there is an unusual 
 candor in a girl’s confessing she has learn- 
 ed to dislike it from her own experience ! 
 She goes on to say, that novels, provided 
 their moral is good, are a healthy recreation 
 for the mind, and then adds, with a modesty 
 which we commend to “ young America 
 “ I know we are too young to hold up 
 a judgment of our own, independent of 
 the superior judgment of those older, and 
 this I would not do. I have collected 
 mine from observation, and if it is not 
 right, would thank any one to correct it ; 
 nor would I offer it at all to any one but 
 you, or those of my own age.” 
 
 She writes to her father, “ I am no 
 advocate for destroying that delicacy 
 which forms, or ought to form, so great 
 a part of the female character. But such 
 a degree of it as is not compatible with 
 sufficient firmness to command one’s self 
 in danger, appears to me to be false mo- 
 desty, or a sickly sensibility of soul, beneath 
 the dignity of being endowed with power 
 for higher feelings.” 
 
 The following remarkable letter was 
 written to the friend to whom some of 
 her first and her last letters are address- 
 ed, and to whom she wrote “ a New-Year’s 
 epistle ” every year to the last of her life. 
 This self-denying letter was written at fif- 
 teen, the age of self-exaggeration, and of in- 
 tense craving for sympathy. It takes with 
 most a lifetime to learn that we must go 
 
376 
 
 Mary L. Ware. 
 
 through some of the most trying passa- 
 ges of life without sympathy — and that 
 we ough t. 
 
 “ I expose to you my weaknesses, my 
 faults, my passions. There is but one 
 thing of which I have the slightest apprehen- 
 sion. You may sometimes hear me blamed 
 for deeds which you know are right. 
 You will hear my lot in life envied, as ap- 
 parently all that the reasonable wishes 
 of any being could desire. And sometimes, 
 too, busy scandal, which honors the most 
 insignificant with her notice, will glance 
 at me. Your generous, affectionate heart 
 will prompt, I well know, on these occa- 
 sions some defence of your friend. But 
 never give way to it. Never whisper to 
 the winds that she has any trials. It 
 will necessarily involve the question , 
 what are they ? You are the only per- 
 son to whom I ever communicated, them, 
 and my conscience almost reproaches 
 me for it. I try to think my peculiar 
 loneliness sanctions it, but my very unea- 
 siness proves it was not strictly right, and 
 I would not for worlds sin farther.” We 
 would fain impress on young readers the 
 passage we have marked with italics. 
 
 The following extract from a letter 
 written when she was about joining the 
 church of the Rev. Mr. Coleman, after 
 much deliberation and solemn self-exami- 
 nation, shows how wide was the horizon 
 of this girl of fifteen years. 
 
 11 1 have considered the Church of Christ 
 to be one body diffused through the whole 
 world, and that sects, form and opinion, 
 made in truth no essential difference ; 
 that all the various denominations of 
 Christians on the earth were united in 
 one spirit and one mind in all the im- 
 portant doctrines of religion.” 
 
 About this time Mary Piccard removed 
 from town to the country, and there she 
 complains of “ vacuity of mind ” and list- 
 lessness. For the large class of her fel- 
 low-sufferers we suggest her remedy. 
 “ Accustomed,” she says, “ to find objects 
 to occupy my powers wherever I turned, 
 I mistook the simple love of being em- 
 ployed for energy of mind, and therefore 
 did not even apprehend the want of power 
 to direct these energies to whatever I 
 pleased,” etc.. &c. “ I must set about 
 
 some study or dry book, if I cannot find 
 some animate subject to interest and fix 
 my mind. There is a little deaf and 
 dumb girl just opposite us; if I knew the 
 process I would teach her to read.” 
 
 Is there not a painful admonition in the 
 want she states in her arguments with a 
 skeptic whom she was eager to aid. “ To 
 be able to point out one example of the 
 power of religion in producing that urn- 
 form loveliness of character and happiness 
 
 [April 
 
 of life, of which it is capable, would do 
 more than volumes of argument, to such 
 a mind and heart. It has made me shrink 
 at my own unworthiness of the name I 
 bear.” Perhaps the living argument was 
 more potent than she dreamed, for not 
 only did she bring round this skeptic, but 
 one who was in the profound darkness of 
 avowed atheism, was led by her into the 
 marvellous light of Christianity. 
 
 The whole long letter of April 25, 1823. 
 will be read with great interest by the 
 lovers of Channing. We can afford only 
 a short extract from it — it revivifies the 
 past. 
 
 It was written on the first Sunday after 
 Channing’s return from Europe. “ With 
 what sensations I saw the church filling, 
 and every one looking round in anxious ex- 
 pectation. you may perhaps imagine; it 
 was a feeling more of dread than pleasure, 
 lest the first glance at his face should de- 
 stroy all our hopes. He wisely waited 
 until all had entered, and when his quick 
 step was heard (for you might have heard 
 a leaf fall), the whole body of people rose, 
 as it were with one impulse, to welcome 
 him. He was much affected by this, and 
 it was some seconds before he could raise 
 his head, but when he did, it made the 
 eyes that gazed on him rejoice to see him 
 seated, in his accustomed corner, looking 
 round on his people with the most ani- 
 mated expression of joy glowing on his 
 face, and with the evidences of improved 
 health stamped on every feature.” 
 
 The last tenant of the u dear old Pearl- 
 street home ” was now departing. Mary 
 had lost both her grandparents and their 
 love, and was now supporting her father 
 in her filial arms through the dark valley. 
 She writes, “ at three he breathed his last, 
 I held his hand, and gazed at him until I 
 was taken from him senseless.” 
 
 Those who live long must expect the 
 sad fate of surviving their relatives, but it 
 is rare to be left at the age of twenty-four 
 without kindred. Mary Piccard had an 
 aunt and cousins living obscurely in Eng- 
 land whom she had never seen ; but here 
 she stood alone, and stood firmly, with 
 trust in God and courage to go forward 
 at His bidding. She says herself of this 
 hour of separation, “ All that I could call 
 my own was departing from me, and I 
 was standing, as it were, alone in the uni- 
 verse ; but I felt that I was the object of 
 His care who is all-sufficient, and I found 
 in that consciousness a calmness which 
 nothing could move.” 
 
 The following year she went to England 
 with an invalid friend, gladly seizing the 
 opportunity of doing good to another, and 
 gratifying her wish to see her transatlan- 
 tic relations. We are warned to con- 
 
Mary L. Ware. 
 
 377 
 
 1853.] 
 
 ciseness, but we must be indulged with 
 the citation of a notice of a visit to Mrs. 
 Barbauld, whose writings are in the first 
 class of English essays, if not the very first 
 of that class. i; She (Mrs. B.) spoke with 
 great feeling of those of our ministers whom 
 she had seen, Buckminster, Thacher, and 
 
 Channing.” “ I was afterwards asked 
 
 to dine with her. She is remarkably 
 bright for her age, speaks of death with 
 the firmest hope, and I really felt as if I 
 were communing with a spiritual body. 
 Though now eighty-two she possesses her 
 faculties in full perfection ; her manner is 
 peculiarly gentle, her voice low, and very 
 sweet.” 
 
 After leaving London, Miss Piccard 
 went to an aunt at “ Burcombe-house,” 
 Penrith, a charming English country 
 home, abounding in luxuries, and rural 
 contentments. Thence she made a tour 
 through the North of England and Scot- 
 land, with her friend Emma. The en- 
 chantments of that region are so familiar 
 to travellers and readers, that we shall 
 not quote her notices of them, but rather 
 follow her to her own mission-ground, whi- 
 ther she seems to have been sent by Him 
 “ who makes His angels messengers. ” 
 
 It was in Osmotherly, a secluded vil- 
 lage, that an old aunt of Miss Piccard’s 
 lived, who had been mainly sustained by 
 a stipend from her father, which she con- 
 tinued often at great inconvenience through 
 her aunt’s life. We are tempted to quote a 
 few passages from the Osmotherly letters, 
 partly because her biographer pronounces 
 “ this one of the most interesting chapters 
 of her life,” and partly that the letters 
 seem to us a singular variety in all the 
 letters of travellers abroad. Let it be 
 remembered that at the time Mary Piccard 
 was doing her grievous tasks at Osmo- 
 therly, she might have been luxuriating 
 with the loving family at “ Burcombe- 
 house,” whose visitors were lords and 
 ladies. But Mary had not one drop of 
 “ snob ” blood in her veins, or — for she 
 had the means, and was her own mistress, 
 and who could have blamed her— she might 
 have been making the passes of the Alps, 
 and seeing the Pitti Palace and old Rome. 
 But she made Osmotherly her Poste rest- 
 ante, and her foreign tour is written, we 
 believe — in the Book of Life. 
 
 In her first letter from Osmotherly, to 
 ‘ Emma,’ Miss Piccard writes : “ This vil- 
 lage is the most primitive place I ever was 
 in, and a very obscure, out-of-the-way 
 place ; the inhabitants almost entirely of 
 one class, and that of the poorer kind of 
 laboring people, ignorant as possible, but 
 simple and social. You may conceive of 
 their simple manners when I tell you they 
 never saw such a lady as ‘ Miss Piccard ! ’ 
 
 among them before. And of course ‘ Miss 
 Piccard ’ is an object of as much curiosity 
 and speculation as if she were Empress of 
 all the Russias ; but they are kind-heart- 
 ed and civil. The peculiar state of things 
 has taken me more among them than I 
 should have been in twice the time under 
 common circumstances, and it has been a 
 good exercise of my faculty of adaptation. 
 I have succeeded, I believe, in pleasing 
 them ; for it seems as if they only vied 
 with each other in trying to do the most 
 for me ; and I really think if they had a 
 parson to write the ‘Annals of their 
 Parish,’ the arrival of the ‘ American 
 lady ’ would stand as the most remarka- 
 ble event of the year 1825.” — “ I am en- 
 tirely destitute of every thing like com- 
 panionship, — there is not even a clergy- 
 man’s family for me to associate with, for 
 the curate of the place is of the very worst 
 class of that set whose existence is a 
 standing disgrace to the church — an igno- 
 rant, drinking man, &c., &c.” This must 
 have been a change from companionship 
 with Channing, and the charming circle 
 of home friends ; and a contrast in out- 
 ward things from the “ old Pearl-street 
 home,” stored with the comforts by which 
 the English-blooded Bostonians demon- 
 strate their pure descent, to the “ sand 
 and clay-floored cottages ” of Yorkshire ! 
 
 “ The peculiar state of things ” alluded 
 to by Miss Piccard, was “ a typhus fever, 
 devastating the village, attended by the 
 terror that ,so aggravates its horrors.” “ I 
 could not,” she writes, “ have come at a 
 better time for doing good, or a worse for 
 gaining spirits.” Her aunt, a widow, was 
 living quite alone — but in a few days, a 
 son returned to her in “ a moaning melan- 
 choly.” — One of her daughters had three 
 children and lived near her. Her hus- 
 band was at the point of death with the 
 fever — two of the children were dreadfully 
 ill, and Mary became at once nurse gen- 
 eral. 
 
 “ The poor sick man, of whom I told 
 you, has been growing worse daily, and 
 it was almost with feelings of joy that I 
 last night closed his eyes, knowing that 
 his sufferings are at an end ; and yet he is 
 so great a loss to his family, that I seldom 
 knew a case in which it was so difficult to 
 say ‘ it is right.’ ” 
 
 “ Could you look in upon me,” she says, 
 “ you would think it impossible I should 
 be even tolerably comfortable ; and yet I 
 get on as easily as possible, and am in 
 truth happy.” 
 
 “ Our poor man was buried yesterday, 
 and as clergymen rarely come here, my 
 cousin thought she would have her infant 
 christened the same day. I stood as its 
 godmother at her request.” “ It (the 
 
378 
 
 Mary L. Ware. 
 
 baby) appeared to be recovering, but all 
 at once it sunk away and died in my arms, 
 so peacefully and sweetly, that I could 
 scarcely be persuaded it had not fallen 
 
 into a still slumber.” “ Its poor mother 
 
 is ill, and between comforting her, and 
 coming home to my aunt, who is very 
 feeble, I scarcely know how to find time 
 for either. I have been up three nights 
 since Wednesday last, and with two chil- 
 dren to manage I am almost crazed. 1 
 
 shall do very well when I get a little 
 sleep. Do not feel uneasy about me ; I 
 am not in danger of being sick, unless the 
 prophecies of the old women here will 
 kill me ; for they think, I believe, that I 
 am too kind to live, and shake their heads 
 most knowingly — one proof, among a 
 thousand, how much more frequently our 
 characters are estimated by the circum- 
 stances in which we are placed, than by 
 
 any other criterion. 1 cannot write or 
 
 think, I seem to feel that ‘bonnie little 
 bairn ’ in my arms still, and my nerves 
 are something shaken. The worst of the 
 whole is that poor unhappy young man, 
 whose low moans are continually sound- 
 ing in my ears. — I send him away to-mor- 
 row for his own sake as well as ours, and 
 
 all will go well.” “ Don’t fear for me. 
 
 I do not think I am going to be sick, and 
 it will be for some good purpose if I am. 
 I could almost say as Mr. Thacher once 
 said, 1 1 had better live a shorter life and 
 a useful one.’ But I am not inclined to 
 throw away life either — I enjoy it much.” 
 Then follow touching notices of the 
 quiet suffering of the bereft wife and 
 mother, who tried in vain to baffle her 
 griefs alone. “ She had had but little 
 instruction upon religious subjects, and 
 would listen to my reading of the Scrip- 
 tures and detail of my own experience of 
 the power of religious consolations, as if a 
 
 new light were opened to her soul.” 
 
 “ A week from the day upon which her 
 baby died she was taken ill. I soon felt 
 that her disease was the worst form of 
 
 typhus fever.” ‘One by one fell off 
 
 from coming near the house, till I at last 
 scarcely saw a person, except the Doctor, 
 during the day. This I did not mind, for 
 I preferred being constantly with my 
 cousin.” — “ She died eleven days after she 
 was taken, and during that time I had 
 never left her night or day, except occa- 
 sionally, to change my clothes at my 
 aunt’s. I had watched with her seven 
 nights, and been up a part of every other. 
 My cousin’s little cottage was so small, 
 that I felt unwilling that any one should 
 sleep in it, lest they should suffer from 
 infection, and often did I sit up with her 
 alone in the house.”— — -“ Every thing is 
 still without, and so strongly is my poor 
 
 [April 
 
 cousin’s voice associated with every thing 
 I see around me, that it would not require 
 ary' strong effort of imagination to fancy 
 I still heard her blessing me from what 
 is now, I trust, her abode of peace and 
 joy ; but I must not indulge myself in 
 writing about feelings, for I have much 
 else to say. I really think since that last 
 evening I spent alone in the old oak-par- 
 lor in Pearl-street, I have never felt so 
 forcibly the mutability of all earthly 
 
 things.” The people are good and 
 
 honest hearted, and treat me as if I be- 
 longed to a higher order of animals, and 
 
 this is a novel situation ! ” '‘If I am 
 
 superstitious in feeling that Providence 
 directed me hither at this time, it is a use- 
 ful superstition, inasmuch as it gives me 
 a feeling of security that I shall be 
 strengthened to accomplish the work ap- 
 pointed for me.” 
 
 One of the surviving children was now 
 very ill with the disease that had orphan- 
 ed him. Her aunt and cousin came in 
 their carriage from their elegant home at 
 " Burcombe-house ” to take Mary from this 
 scene of infection and distress. — “ It was 
 most kind of them,” she says, but it 
 would have been worse than inhuman to 
 have left the poor little sufferer ; besides 
 that much of the business which I have 
 undertaken is unfinished, and I should 
 not think I had done my duty until I 
 had settled these orphans permanently.” 
 
 “ You would pity me now if you 
 
 could look in upon me, for I have this 
 night closed the eyes of the dear child I 
 was watching when I wrote the above.” 
 
 “ To have seen four human beings 
 
 die in the short space of eight weeks, is 
 enough of itself to solemnize one’s mind, 
 but with all the additional circumstances 
 which have attended me, no wonder that 
 my heart is full to overflowing.” This 
 was on October 30th. On November 2d, 
 she adds : “ There are very many cases 
 of the fever in the village, and as I am 
 almost the only person in it who is not 
 afraid of infection, I still have full employ- 
 ment in assisting' the poor sufferers.” 
 The next scene, like the changes of a 
 drama, opens at “ Burcombe-house ” at 
 Penrith. Her cousin had come again in 
 her grandfather’s carriage, as far as 
 Greta Bridge, to meet her, and she was 
 again under the wing of potent relatives. 
 
 “ It was not till the 26th of November.” 
 she says, “ that I could give up my charge 
 conscientiously.” — “ I left it (her cousin’s 
 business) in a fair way of completion, 
 clothed the dear little orphan for the win- 
 ter, and placed him with his aunt, making 
 all the arrangements which my limited 
 means allowed for his future support.” 
 This boy was the sole survivor of the 
 
Mary L. Ware. 
 
 379 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 Family she had attended — the same who 
 had said beseechingly to her, “ Cousin 
 Mary, you will let me live with you, wont 
 you ? ” “ My dear little Jamie,” she con- 
 
 tinued, “had become an object of affection 
 to me, heightened to an extreme degree, 
 since he was, like myself, without parents, 
 brother, or sister. I think I never shall 
 forget his screams of agony when he saw 
 me drive away. But childish sorrow is 
 soon over, and he will forget me long 
 before I cease to love him.” — “ I am 
 almost bewildered at the change from 
 constant anxiety and labor to a state of 
 perfect idleness and indulgence ; but I 
 will try and make a good, use of it.” 
 Are we not right in italicizing the last 
 clause of the last sentence? Again the 
 scene shifts to Osmotherly ! In a letter 
 dated there, after a month’s interval, she 
 says, “ I received a letter from the physi- 
 cian of this place, written at the request 
 of my aunt, who was apparently dying of 
 typhus fever, begging me, if possible, to 
 let her see me once more.” Her friends 
 represented to her, and she felt the in- 
 creased danger from returning to the in- 
 fected region. “ Imagine me,” she says, 
 “ at this distance from all to whom I have 
 been accustomed to look for dependence, 
 a being alone in creation almost, literally 
 alone in this strange land, making an 
 excursion of eighty miles across the coun- 
 try (her route layover ’the dreary hill 
 Stanmoor’), partly in coaches, partly in 
 postchaises, without a being to protect 
 me or appeal to, and upon such an errand, 
 and yet as safe as if a host were escorting 
 me, and perfectly easy as if I were 
 taking a ride to Hingham ; and then tell 
 me if the confiding spirit which our sacred 
 religion creates in our souls, is not worth 
 all that we could possess besides. 
 
 “ I at once installed myself as sole nurse 
 in the very room in which I had watched 
 the progress of disease and death, and 
 here I am now writing to you by the light 
 of a rush candle, with my little work-box 
 for a desk, almost afraid to breathe lest I 
 should disturb my aunt’s slumbers. We 
 two are the only beings in this little cot- 
 tage, for I have sent her sons out to sleep, 
 as a precaution against the fever, and put 
 a bed into the corner of the room for my- 
 self. Could you see me acting in the 
 fourfold capacity which I adopt in this 
 humble cottage, you would hardly be- 
 lieve me to be the same being who, a week 
 ago, was installed in all the honors of a 
 privileged writer. It amazes me to see 
 how easily it all sits upon me, and how 
 easily we may adapt ourselves to varieties 
 of situations, and find something to enjoy 
 in all. 
 
 “Indeed, I certainly have cause for 
 
 thankfulness, for that only dark passage 
 in my progress since I left home, trying 
 as it was, was full of admonition. It 
 showed me a part of the great plan of 
 creation, of which I knew little or nothing 
 before ; a class of beings whose characters, 
 duties, motives and views I had never be- 
 fore understood ; and above all, it showed 
 me how perfectly the various links in the 
 great chain of existences are adapted to 
 aid, and strengthen, and apply to each 
 other, adding another to the many proofs 
 of the Supreme Wisdom which formed, 
 and governs all.” 
 
 Take the admonition, ye who pride 
 yourselves on your aristocratic associa- 
 tions, who intrench yourselves in a single 
 class of society (albeit that the “ best 
 society and learn how you have tether- 
 ed yourselves to the lowest forms in the 
 school of life, and how presumptuous and 
 ignorant you are left at its close ! 
 
 We cannot but share in poor little bereft 
 Jamie’s joy at the return of his cousin. 
 She writes : — “ I thought he would have 
 broken his heart when I drove away ; 
 and when I came back his ecstasy was 
 really affecting ; he ran round me, jumped 
 up in my lap, stroked and wiped my face, 
 as if he could not trust to the evidence of 
 one sense, and at last burst out crying : 
 ‘ Uncle Mady wont go away again ! TJncle 
 Mady live with Jamie every day ! — wont 
 you, Uncle Mady ? ’ He had a trick of 
 calling me ‘ uncle.’ Do not think I am 
 made melancholy by all this ; I have no 
 recollection of having the same degree of 
 good spirits that I have been blessed with 
 for the last six months.” 
 
 “But with all her cheerfulness and 
 self-forgetting courage,” says her biogra- 
 pher, “ Mary was not proof against danger 
 and disease. It is well for us to learn 
 that the laws of nature are not suspended, 
 nor diverted from their course, even by 
 the strongest faith, or for the sake of the 
 most noble and useful laborer.” Mary Pic- 
 card’s health at length gave way, but not 
 her stout heart ; for thus, after again re- 
 turning to Penrith, she writes of her 
 illness to Emma. 
 
 “ But do not imagine me to have been 
 in a very forlorn or disconsolate predica- 
 ment, for I had many blessings to rejoice 
 in. all the while. The sun shone brightly 
 all the day, full upon the windows of our 
 comfortable, neat apartment; Aunty sit- 
 ting by the fire in her easy-chair, her bright 
 eyes glistening with the exhilaration of 
 returning health, and my ladyship lying 
 on the bed, thin and pale enough I grant, 
 but in as high glee as strength would per- 
 mit, and not for onp minute depressed.” 
 
 No wonder that, at the close of this 
 fearful experience her friend Emma ad- 
 
.380 
 
 Mary L. Ware. 
 
 dressed her as “ My dear live Mary ! ” 
 She was truly a living woman — all alive 
 with the vitality that cannot die. 
 
 11 No one knew.” says her biographer, 
 
 • no one will ever know the amount of 
 her direct gifts at Osmotherly: but we 
 know, from various sources, that they 
 were free and large, and by no means re- 
 stricted to her own kindred — a large por- 
 tion of the inhabitants either perished or 
 became helpless, and a burden. When 
 the sufferings of her own connections 
 eeased, Mary went out to do what she 
 could among the diseased and destitute, 
 and particularly directed the efforts of her 
 enlightened philanthropy against their 
 superstition and uncleanliness. 
 
 “ It was,” her biographer continues, “ a 
 beautiful termination of her whole expe- 
 rience among that people — whose very 
 dialect differed so much from hers that 
 they could scarcely understand her words, 
 but easily read her actions — that when 
 she recovered her own strength sufficiently 
 to take a final leave of them, the whole 
 village came out in a body, young and old, 
 and escorted her on her way.” 
 
 We have been tempted to copious ex- 
 tracts from the Osmotherly letters, and 
 must henceforth be more sparing, though 
 the biography increases in interest up to 
 its close. We trust our readers will 
 study it as one of the best manuals for 
 the Life-School. 
 
 In 1815, when Mary Piccard was still 
 a school-girl, and Henry Ware a young 
 teacher of the Exeter Academy, they 
 met at Hingham, and she writes in school- 
 girl fashion : “ I have seen, heard, and 
 consequently admired your Exeter friend, 
 //. If are.” After twelve years of entire 
 suspension of their acquaintance, they 
 again met to be united with reciprocal con- 
 fidence, and the congratulations of all 
 their friends, who, with well grounded faith, 
 hailed this as a true marriage. In the 
 twelve years interim, Mr. Ware had been 
 most happily married, and grievously 
 bereft by the death of his wife. With 
 what feelings he entered into this second 
 conjugal relation we best learn from his 
 own letters, and however repugnant the 
 feelings of some persons may be to a 
 second marriage, Henry M are may con- 
 vince them that it can be contracted 
 without a violation of the sacred love of 
 the first. In a letter to his sister he 
 says : “ Every thing is connected with 
 the past and with my former happiness in 
 such a way as not to sadden the present, 
 but to give it a singular spirituality, if I 
 may so say ; and I feel that, if the de- 
 parted knew what is transacting here, my 
 own Elizabeth would congratulate me as 
 sincerely as any of my friends. I have 
 
 [April 
 
 sought for the best mother to her children, 
 and the best I have found. I have desired 
 a pattern and blessing for my parish, and 
 I have found one. I have wished some 
 one to bear my load with me, and to help, 
 confirm, and strengthen by her own high 
 and experienced piety, and such I have 
 found.” Mr. Thackeray says “ all women 
 are jealous,” — not quite all. One of Mary 
 Ware’s own children has said of her: 
 “ Perhaps no one thing in her character 
 and conduct has oftener struck common 
 minds with surprise, and superior ones 
 with admiration, than her entire freedom 
 and frankness in regard to the first wife. 
 ‘ She was nearest and dearest to him? she 
 would say, ‘ how then can I do otherwise 
 than love her. and cherish her memory.’ 
 And she received her children as a pre- 
 cious legacy ; they were to her, from the 
 first moment, like her own ; neither she 
 nor they knew any distinction ! ” The 
 relation of step-mother and step-children 
 is held to be the most disagreeable, and 
 jarring, and thankless in life. Some 
 maintain that it is cursed of Heaven, and 
 certainly it is thick-sown with thorns by 
 officiousness, mistrust, and prejudice, but 
 these thorns took no root in Mary Ware’s 
 path. With love and duty in her heart, 
 she trod them all under foot. There was 
 a son and daughter of the first marriage. 
 “ She took possession of their hearts for 
 life,” says her biographer, “ and her death 
 called forth in the simple words of one, 
 the unutterable sentiments of both. — 
 ‘ Surely God never gave a boy such a 
 mother, or a man such a friend ! ’” Did 
 the Heaven-inspired instincts of an own 
 child ever speak a stronger word ? 
 
 Mary Ware had now experienced ano- 
 ther striking domestic vicissitude. From 
 standing alone in this country, without 
 one tie of blood, she was transplanted into 
 one of the most numerous families in the 
 land. Troops of loving relatives were on 
 every side of her. The eminent Professor 
 Ware, the father, was still living. William 
 Ware, the author of Letters from Pales- 
 tine, and Probus, was her brother, — “a 
 bright immortal name,” deep-set in many 
 hearts. And others well, and widely 
 known (and thank God still living among 
 us) called her sister. Some matches are 
 made in Heaven. In the fulness of her 
 heart, at this crisis of her fate, she ex- 
 pressed the genuine emotions of a nature 
 of heavenward tendencies. “And,” she 
 says, writing to her confidential friend, “ it 
 (i. e. ‘this satisfying interest’) has done 
 much towards exalting and enlightening 
 my mind upon the point which has been 
 a greater trial to me than any thing I ever 
 met with. I mean, it has made me more 
 willing to leave the world, and enjoy the 
 
1853.] 
 
 Mary L. Ware. 
 
 381 
 
 happiness of Heaven, than I ever thought 
 I should be.” The greatest poet verities 
 this sentiment. At the culminating point 
 of his happiness, Othello says : 
 
 “ If it were now to die, 
 
 'Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear, 
 
 My soul hath her content so absolute, 
 
 That not another comfort like to this 
 Succeeds in unknown fate.” 
 
 Henceforward Mary Piccard’s life is 
 combined with Henry Ware’s, and has 
 been partly told in the memoir of that 
 inestimable man. Their joint parochial 
 life lasted but one year ; one year of pat- 
 tern and admonition for those who follow 
 them in a like mission. 
 
 We have seen elicited in philanthropic 
 and charitable societies so much of the 
 infirmity of human nature, so many of 
 those little meannesses of vanity which 
 Air. Thackeray classes under the conveni- 
 ent designation of “ snobbishness,” that we 
 quote a pithy remark of Mary W are’s to 
 the point. “ A motion being made in a 
 charitable society for a vote of thanks for 
 the minister’s prayer, Mrs. Ware said to 
 a lady near her, ‘ While I was Secretary to 
 the Society for the employment of the 
 Female Poor, I never recorded votes of 
 thanks. I thought members should do 
 all they^ could and when that was done, 
 thev might make their courtesy to each 
 other.’ ” 
 
 In Mrs. Ware’s case, the moment her 
 sun reached its zenith, its decline began, 
 and the shadows formed. Mr. Ware’s 
 health failed, and they' went to Europe for 
 its amendment. For pleasant notices of 
 her tour through England, Scotland and 
 on the Continent ; of their visits to 
 Southey, Wordsworth — to xibbotsford and 
 to Miss Edgeworth (by whom they were 
 treated with a marked kindness which 
 Mrs. Ware was too modest to record), we 
 refer to the memoir. For the sweet pa- 
 tience and unwavering faith with which 
 she bore the trials of that which she 
 calls the most trying period of her life, we 
 also refer to the memoir. 
 
 “ I find,” she writes in another connec- 
 tion, “ I almost lose sight of some of my 
 best pleasures when I have been for any 
 length of time free from great trial. In 
 truth this nomenclature is all wrong. 
 Ease and prosperity make our greatest 
 trial.” It is the preceding day of east 
 wind, and beating rain, that makes us glad 
 and grateful in the sunshine that follows. 
 
 There are some letters in her “ Life in 
 Cambridge ” after her return, to which 
 we would particularly call the reader’s 
 attention : — that on self-formation, page 
 272 ; on dress, 277 ; charities, 282 ; gossip, 
 284. 
 
 As what are strictly called the do- 
 
 mestic duties of a woman, make so large a 
 part of her life, and one so difficult where 
 the hospitalities are inevitably extensive, 
 and the income very limited, we quote 
 the following testimony on this point to 
 this pattern-woman. 
 
 “She never satisfied herself, but she 
 never llagged. She never worried. Sud- 
 den interruptions, culinary disappoint- 
 ments, ‘ shoals of visitors,’ were not 
 allowed to chill her welcome or cloud 
 their enjoyment. There were no apologies 
 at that table ; if the unexpected guests were 
 not always filled, they were never annoy- 
 ed, nor suffered to think much about it. 
 A clergyman who visited the house often, 
 as a student, say^s of Mrs. Ware — ‘ I re- 
 member the wonder I felt at her humility 
 and dignity in welcoming to her table, on 
 some occasion, a troop of accidental 
 guests, when she had almost nothing to 
 offer them but her hospitality. The 
 absence of all apologies, and of all morti- 
 fications. the ease and cheerfulness of the 
 conversation, which became the only feast, 
 gave me a lesson never forgotten, although 
 never learned.’ ‘ Are these little things ? ’ ” 
 fitly asks the biographer ; “ ‘ they fill a 
 large place in life.’ Another frequent 
 guest of Mrs. Ware said of her — ‘I have 
 often quoted her example to those who 
 make housekeeping an excuse for the neg- 
 lect of all public offices. She seemed to 
 keep house better than any body else ; 
 to exercise a larger and freer hospitality, 
 to make her tea-table a pleasant resort, 
 to provide more simply, and at the same 
 time more attractively ; while, after all, 
 her domestic cares were only an incident 
 in her daily duties. She seemed to have 
 time for every out-of-door or general in- 
 terest, and to be full of schemes of benev- 
 olence and kindness. And it was the 
 easy, natural way in which she performed 
 these double functions that gave me such 
 a sense of her power.’ ” 
 
 We feel how feeble is our impress of 
 this admirable woman. It is but the 
 faintest pencilled outline ; but if it stimu- 
 late curiosity to study the book, we have 
 accomplished our purpose. We have left 
 untouched by far the most affecting por- 
 tion of her life and letters. We have not 
 gone into the sanctuary of the wife and 
 mother — those most interesting chapters 
 of woman’s life. 
 
 It is a poor and dangerous theory, that 
 circumstances form and control character ; 
 they may. when it is of mean and soft 
 material. Weak and unskilful navigation 
 leaves the ship at the mercy of wind and 
 tide. But a character of powerful ele- 
 ments, like Mary Ware’s, controls cir- 
 cumstances. From the beginning to the 
 end of life she laid her course, and moved 
 
382 
 
 Our New Livery , and Other Things. 
 
 straight forward to her celestial haven, 
 even if the winds were adverse, and 
 the tides set strong against her. Twice 
 her husband was cut off from an honor- 
 able career, of which she partook the 
 labor, the dignity, and the success, but 
 she went to the next nearest duty un- 
 daunted and unwavering. She lived at a 
 period of hot religious controversy, and 
 in the midst of it, and deepty interested in 
 it, and not one word of bigotry or sec- 
 tarianism escapes her. Mr. Ware’s pro- 
 fessional income is cut off, and with her sick 
 husband and her cluster of little children, 
 reduced to very small means — we hear no 
 complaint, no breath of anxiety, and when 
 she barely alludes to it, it is to say — “ I 
 rejoice that it is given to us both to feel, 
 in the uncertainty that lies before us, 
 such a tranquil trust that all will be well, 
 that we have no fear, no wish.” 
 
 And when it came to the last strain, 
 and her husband was about to pass the 
 dread boundary, she writes to an absent 
 child — “ God bless you ! Be submissive, 
 be patient, be grateful.'" And to her 
 friend ‘Emma.’ — “I feel at times as if I 
 should be overpowered by the tumult of 
 my feelings, to which I dare not give 
 utterance here, where the composure of 
 all around me depends so much on my 
 calmness.” 
 
 “It was a holy season,” says one of her 
 daughters, “those days after dear father 
 left us ; no bustle, no preparation of dress, 
 no work done but what was absolutely 
 necessary ; it was like a continued sab- 
 bath.” 
 
 She spared no efforts to sustain this 
 holy calm, “ that the children,” she 
 writes, “ might have their first associations 
 with the fact of death without any horror ; 
 and their recollection of their father unin- 
 terrupted by any repulsive details.” In 
 another letter of particulars to her absent 
 child, she says — “Then John and I 
 brought dear father’s body to Cambridge 
 in our own carriage. We could not feel 
 
 [April 
 
 willing to let strangers do any thing in 
 connection with him which we could do 
 ourselves.” 
 
 A few weeks after her husband’s death, 
 “ Mrs. Ware,” says her biographer, “ ex- 
 erted herself to collect in her own desolate 
 home, a little circle of children and youth, 
 for their social enjoyment, in which she 
 freely mingled, and doubtless seemed 
 cheerful and happy.” Yet, writing at 
 this time, she says — “Every word was an 
 Herculean labor. I could not excite in 
 my mind any of that zest in the pursuit 
 of an object which alone could satisfy the 
 heart. I felt home-sick when I waked in 
 the morning, and would fain shut my 
 eyes and forget that there was any thing 
 to do.” And how much had she yet to 
 do, and how well she did it ! 
 
 The Framingham letters have an in- 
 terest to a thoughtful mind, far beyond 
 fiction, and infinitely more instructive. 
 Indeed, her letters abound in wise sugges- 
 tions on the highest duties of life, as well 
 as on the wide range of its commonest 
 offices. And these suggestions have the 
 merit of family recipes, that have been 
 tried and proved ; they were the result of 
 conscientious reflection upon a wide ex- 
 perience of life. 
 
 Addison’s pious wish, that one might 
 learn from him how a Christian may die, 
 has been often quoted. Mary Ware’s life 
 teaches a far more difficult lesson — how a 
 Christian should live! From beginning 
 to end, it is emphatically a Christian’s life ; 
 and that end, tried by the severest disease 
 that flesh is heir to, is marked by the 
 strength and serenity of her faith. We 
 seem to see the halo forming around her 
 head, as the spirit of the Woman passes 
 into the Saint, and to hear the voice — 
 “Well done, good and faithful servant; 
 enter thou into my rest.” 
 
 AVe are bound, in conclusion, to offer 
 our heartfelt thanks to the biographer, 
 who has well done his happy task. 
 
 OUR NEW LIA r ERA r , AND OTHER THINGS. 
 
 A LETTER FP.OM MRS. POTIPHAR TO MISS CAROLINE PETTITOES. 
 
 New- York. 
 
 M Y dear Caroline. — Lent came so 
 frightfully early this year, that I was 
 very much afraid my new bonnet a Vlm- 
 peratrice would not be out from Paris soon 
 enough. But fortunately it arrived just in 
 time, and I had the satisfaction of taking 
 down the pride of Mrs. Croesus, who fancied 
 
 hers would be the only stylish hat in church 
 the first Sunday. She could not keep her 
 eyes away from me, and I sat so unmoved 
 and so calmly looking at the Doctor, that 
 she was quite vexed. But, whenever she 
 turned away, I ran my eyes over the 
 whole congregation, and would you be- 
 lieve that, almost without an exception, 
 
Our New Livery, and Other Things. 
 
 383 
 
 1853.] 
 
 people had their old things ? However, I 
 suppose they forgot how soon Lent was 
 coming. As I was passing out of church, 
 Mrs. Croesus brushed by me : 
 
 “Ah!” said she, “good morning. Why, 
 bless inc ! you’ve got that pretty hat I 
 saw at Lawson’s. Well, now, it’s really 
 quite pretty ; Lawson has some taste left 
 yet ; — what a lovely sermon the Doctor 
 gave us. By the by, did you know that Mrs. 
 Gnu has actually bought the blue velvet? 
 It’s too bad, because I wanted to cover my 
 prayer-book with blue, and she sits so 
 near, the effect of my book will tie quite 
 spoiled. Dear me ! there she is beckon- 
 ing to me : good-bye, do come and see us ; 
 Tuesdays, you know. Well, Lawson really 
 does very well.” 
 
 I was so mad with the old thing, that I 
 could not help catching her by her mantle 
 and holding on while I whispered, loud 
 enough for every body to hear : 
 
 “Mrs. Croesus, you see I have just got 
 my bonnet from Paris. It’s made after the 
 Empress’s. If you would like to have yours 
 made over in the fashion, dear Mrs. Croe- 
 sus, I shall be so glad to lend you mine.” 
 
 “ No, thank you, dear,” said she, “Law- 
 son won’t do for me. Bye-bye.” 
 
 And so she slipped out, and, I've no 
 doubt, told Mrs. Gnu, that she had seen 
 my bonnet at Lawson’s. Isn’t it too bad ? 
 Then she is so abominably cool. Some- 
 how, when I’m talking with Mrs. Croesus, 
 who has all her own things made at home, 
 I don’t feel as if mine came from Paris at 
 all. She has such a way of looking at you, 
 that it’s quite dreadful. She seems to be 
 saying in her mind, “ La ! now, well done, 
 little dear.” And I think that kind of 
 mental reservation (I think that’s what 
 they call it) is an insupportable imper- 
 tinence. However, I don’t care, do you ? 
 
 I’ve so many things to tell you that I 
 hardly know where to begin. The great 
 thing is the livery, but I want to come re- 
 gularly up to that, and forget nothing by 
 the way. I was uncertain for a long time 
 how to have my prayer-book bound. 
 Finally, after thinking about it a great 
 deal. I concluded to have it done in pale 
 blue velvet, with gold clasps, and a gold 
 cross upon the side. To be sure, it’s no- 
 thing very new. But what is new now- 
 adays? Sally Shrimp has had hers done 
 in emerald, and I know Mrs. Croesus will 
 have crimson for hers, and those people 
 who sit next us in church (I wonder who 
 they are ; it’s very unpleasant to sit next 
 to people you don’t know: and, positively, 
 that girl, the dark-haired one with large 
 eyes, carries the same muff she did last 
 year ; it’s big enough for a family), have 
 a kind of brown morocco binding. I must 
 tell you one reason why I fixed upon the 
 
 pale blue. You know that aristocratic- 
 looking young man, in white cravat and 
 black pantaloons and waistcoat, whom we 
 saw at Saratoga a year ago, and who al- 
 ways had such a beautiful sanctimonious 
 look, and such small white hands ; well, 
 he is a minister, as we supposed, “ an un- 
 worthy candidate, an unprofitable hus- 
 bandman,” as he calls himself in that deli- 
 cious voice of his. He has been quite taken 
 up among us. He has been asked a good 
 deal to dinner, and there was hope of his 
 being settled as colleague to the Doctor, 
 only Mr. Potiphar (who can be stubborn, 
 you know) insisted that the Rev. Cream 
 Cheese, though a very good young man, he 
 didn’t doubt, was addicted to candlesticks. 
 I suppose that’s something awful. But, 
 could you believe any thing awful of him? 
 I asked Mr. Potiphar what he meant by 
 saying such things. 
 
 “ I mean,” said he, “ that he’s a Pusey- 
 ite, and I’ve no idea of being tied to the 
 apron-strings of the Scarlet Woman.” 
 
 Dear Caroline, who is the Scarlet Wo- 
 man ? Dearest, tell me upon your honor, 
 if you have ever heard any scandal of Mr. 
 Potiphar. 
 
 “ What is it about candlesticks ? ” said I 
 to Mr. Potiphar. “Perhaps Mr. Cheese 
 finds gas too bright for his eyes ; and that’s 
 his misfortun5, not his fault.” 
 
 “ Polly,” said Mr. Potiphar, who will 
 call me Polly, although it sounds so very 
 vulgar, “ please not to meddle with things 
 you don’t understand. You may have 
 Cream Cheese to dinner as much as you 
 choose, but I will not have him in the 
 pulpit of my church.” 
 
 The same day, Mr. Cheese happened in 
 about lunch-time, and I asked him if his 
 eyes were really weak. 
 
 “Not at all,” said he, “why do you 
 ask ? ” 
 
 Then I told him that I had heard he 
 was so fond of candlesticks. 
 
 Ah ! Caroline, you should have seen 
 him then. He stopped in the midst of 
 pouring out a glass of Mr. Ps’. best old 
 port, and holding the decanter in one hand, 
 and the glass in the other, he looked so 
 beautifully sad, and said in that sweet low 
 voice : 
 
 “ Dear Mrs. Potiphar, the blood of the 
 martyrs is the seed of the church.” 
 Then he filled up his glass, and drank the 
 wane off with such a mournful, resigned 
 air, and wiped his lips so gently with his 
 cambric handkerchief (I saw that it was 
 a hem-stitch), that I had no voice to ask 
 him to take a bit of the cold chicken, 
 which he did, however, without my asking 
 him. But when he said in the same low 
 voice, “ A little more breast, dear Mrs. 
 Potiphar,” I was obliged to run into the 
 
384 
 
 Our New Liver y, and Other Things. 
 
 drawing-room for a moment, to recover 
 myself. 
 
 Well, after he had lunched, I told him 
 that I wished to take his advice upon some- 
 thing connected with the church (for a 
 prayer-book is, you know, dear), and he 
 looked so sweetly at me, that, would you 
 believe it, I almost wished to be a Catholic, 
 and to confess three or four times a 
 week, and to have him for my confessor. 
 But it’s very wicked to wish to be a 
 Catholic, and it wasn’t real much, you 
 know : but somehow I thought so. When 
 I asked him in what velvet he would ad- 
 vise me to have my prayer-book bound, 
 he talked beautifully for about twenty 
 minutes. I wish you could have heard 
 him. I’m not sure that I understood 
 much of what he said — how should I? 
 — but it was very beautiful. Don’t laugh, 
 Carrie, but there was one thing I did un- 
 derstand, and which, as it came pretty 
 often, quite helped me through: it was. 
 “ Dear Mrs. Potiphar ; ” you can’t tell 
 how nicely he says it. He began by tell- 
 ing me that it was very important to con- 
 sider all the details and little things about 
 the church. He said they were all Tim- 
 bales or Cymbals — or something of that 
 kind ; and then he talked very prettily 
 about the stole, and the violet and scarlet 
 capes of the cardinals, and* purple chasu- 
 bles. and the lace edge of the Pope’s little 
 short gown ; and — do you know it was 
 very funny — but it seemed to me, some- 
 how, as if I was talking with Portier or 
 Florine Lefevre, except that he used such 
 beautiful words. Well, by and by, he 
 said : — 
 
 “ Therefore, dear Mrs. Potiphar, as your 
 faith is so pure and childlike, and as I 
 observe that the light from the yellow 
 panes usually falls across your pew, I 
 would advise that you cymbalize your 
 faith (wouldn’t that be noisy in church?) 
 by binding your prayer-book in pale blue ; 
 the color of skim-milk, dear Mrs. Poti- 
 phar, which is so full of pastoral associ- 
 ations.” 
 
 Why did he emphasize the word “pas- 
 toral ? ” Do you wonder that I like 
 Cream Cheese, dear Caroline, when he is 
 so gentle and religious — and such a pretty 
 religion too! For he is not only well- 
 dressed, and has such aristocratic hands 
 and feet, m the parlor, but he is so per- 
 fectly gentlemanly in the pulpit. He 
 never raises his voice too loud, and he has 
 such wavy gestures. Mr. Potiphar says 
 that may be all very true, but he knows 
 perfectly well that he has a hankering 
 for artificial flowers, and that, for Ins 
 part, he prefers the Doctor to any preacher 
 he ever heard; “because,” he says, “I 
 can go quietly to sleep, confident that he 
 
 [April 
 
 will say nothing that might not be 
 preached from every well-regulated pulpit ; 
 whereas, if we should let Cream Cheese 
 into the desk, I should have to keep awake 
 to be on the look-out for some of these 
 new-fangled idolatries: and, Polly Poti- 
 phar, I, for one, am determined to have 
 nothing to do with the Scarlet Woman.” 
 
 Darling Caroline — I don’t care much — 
 but did he ever have any thing to do noth 
 a Scarlet Woman? 
 
 After he said that about artificial 
 flowers, I ordered from Martel le the sweet- 
 est sprig of immortelle he had in his shop, 
 and sent it anonymously on St. Valentine’s 
 day. Of course I didn’t wish to do any 
 thing secret from my husband, that might 
 make people talk, so I wrote — “ Reverend 
 Cream Cheese ; from Iris grateful Skirrv- 
 Milk .” I marked the last words, and 
 hope he understood that I meant to ex- 
 press my thanks for his advice about the 
 pale-blue cover. You don’t think it was 
 too romantic, do you, dear ? 
 
 You can imagine how pleasantly Lent 
 is passing since I see so much of him: 
 and then it is so appropriate to Lent to be 
 intimate with a minister. He goes with 
 me to church a great deal, for Mr. Poti- 
 phar, of course, has no time for that, ex- 
 cept on Sundays ; and it is really delight- 
 ful to see such piety. He makes the 
 responses in the most musical manner; 
 and when he kneels upon entering the 
 pew, he is the admiration of the whole 
 church. He buries his face entirely in a 
 cloud of cambric pocket-handkerchief, 
 with his initial embroidered at the corner ; 
 and his hair is beautifully parted down 
 behind, which is very fortunate, as other- 
 wise it would look so badly when only 
 half his head showed. I feel so good when 
 I sit by his side ; and when the Doctor 
 (as Mr. P. says) “ blows up ” those ter- 
 rible sinners in Babylon and the other 
 Bible towns, I always find the Rev. 
 Cream’s eyes fixed upon me, with so 
 much sweet sadness, that I am very, very 
 sorry for the naughty people the Doctor 
 talks about. Why did they do so, do 
 you suppose, dear Caroline? How thank- 
 ful we ought to be that we live now with 
 so many churches, and such fine ones, and 
 with such gentlemanly ministers as Mr. 
 Cheese. And how nicely it’s arranged 
 that, after dancing and dining for tw© 
 or three months constantly, during 
 which, of course, we can only go to church 
 Sundays, there comes a time for stopping, 
 when we’re tired out, and for going to 
 church every day, and (as Mr. P. says) 
 “ striking a balance ; ” and thinking about 
 being good, and all those things. We 
 don’t lose a great deal, you know. It 
 makes a variety, and we all see each 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Our New Livery , and Other Things. 
 
 385 
 
 other, just the same, only we don’t dance. 
 I do think it would be better if we took 
 our lorgnettes with us, however, for it 
 was only last Wednesday, at nine o’clock 
 prayers, that I saw Sheena Silke across 
 the church, in their little pew at the cor- 
 ner, and I am sure that she had a new 
 bonnet on ; and yet, though 1 looked at it 
 all the time, trying to find out, prayers 
 were fairly over before I discovered whe- 
 ther it was really new, or only that old 
 white one made over with a few new flow- 
 ers. Now, if I had had my glass, I could 
 have told in a moment, and shouldn’t 
 have been obliged to lose all the prayers. 
 
 But, as I was saying, those poor old peo- 
 ple in Babylon and Nineveh! only think, 
 if they had had the privilege of prayers for 
 six or seven weeks in Lent, and regular 
 preaching the rest of the year, except, of 
 course, in the summer : (by the by, I won- 
 der if they all had some kind of Saratoga 
 or Newport to go to ? — I mean to ask Mr. 
 Cheese)— they might have been good, and 
 all have been happy. It’s quite awful to 
 hear how eloquent and earnest the Doctor 
 is when he preaches against Babylon. 
 Mr. P. says he likes to have him “ pitch 
 into those old sinners ; it does ’em so much 
 good ; ” and then he looks quite fierce. 
 Mr. Cheese is going to read me a sermon 
 he has written upon the maidenhood of 
 Lot’s wife. He says that he quotes a 
 great deal of poetry in it, and that I must 
 dam up the fount of my tears when he 
 reads it. It was an odd expression for a 
 minister, wasn’t it? and I was obliged to 
 say, “ Mr. Cheese, you forget yourself.” 
 He replied, “ Dear Mrs. Potiphar, I will 
 explain ; ’ ’ and he did so ; so that I ad- 
 mired him more than ever. 
 
 Dearest Caroline, — if you should only 
 like him ! He asked one day about you ; 
 and when I told him what a dear, good 
 girl you are, he said : “ And her father 
 has worldly possessions, has he not ? ” 
 
 I answered, yes ; that your father was 
 very rich. Then he sighed, and said that 
 he could never marry an heiress unless 
 he clearly saw it to be his duty. Isn’t it 
 a beautiful resignation ? 
 
 I had no idea of saying so much about 
 him, but you know it’s proper, when 
 writing a letter in Lent, to talk about re- 
 ligious matters. And, I must confess, 
 there is something comfortable in having 
 to do with such things. Don’t you feel 
 better, when you’ve been dancing all the 
 week, and dining, and going to the opera, 
 and flirting and ftying round, to go to 
 church on Sundays? I do. It seems, 
 somehow, as if we ought to go. But I do 
 wish Mrs. Croesus would sit somewhere 
 else than just in front of us, for her new 
 bonnets and her splendid collars and capes 
 VOL. i. — 25 
 
 make me quite miserable : and then she 
 puts me out of conceit of my things by 
 talking about Lawson, or somebody, as 1 
 told you in the beginning. 
 
 Mr. Potiphar has sent out for the new 
 carpets. I had only two spoiled at my 
 ball, you know, and that was very little. 
 One always expects to sacrifice at least 
 two carpets upon occasion of seeing one’s 
 friends. That handsome one in the sup- 
 per-room was entirely ruined. Would 
 you believe that Mr. P., when he went 
 down stairs the next mornine:, found our 
 Fred and his cousin hoeing it with their 
 little hoes ? It was entirely matted with 
 preserves and things, and the boys said 
 they were scraping it clean for breakfast. 
 The other spoiled carpet was in the gentle- 
 men’s dressing-room where the punch- 
 bowl was. Young Gauche Boosey, a very 
 gentlemanly fellow, you know, ran up 
 after polking, and was so confused with 
 the light and heat. that he went quite un- 
 steadily, and as he was trying to fill a 
 glass with the silver ladle (which is rather 
 heavy), he somehow leaned too hard upon 
 the table, and down went the whole thing, 
 table, bowl, punch, and Boosey, and end- 
 ed my poor carpet. I was sorry for that, 
 and also for the bowl, which was a very 
 handsome one, imported from China by 
 my father’s partner — a wedding-gift to 
 me — and for the table, a delicate rose- 
 wood stand, which was a work-table of 
 my sister Lucy’s — whom you never knew, 
 and who died long and long ago. How- 
 ever, I was amply repaid by Boosey’s 
 drollery afterward. He is a very witty 
 young man, and when he got up from the 
 floor, saturated with punch (his clothes 
 I mean), he looked down at the carpet and 
 said : 
 
 “Well, I’ve given that such a punch it 
 will want some lemon-aid to recover.” 
 
 I suppose he had some idea about lemon 
 acid taking out spots. 
 
 But, the best thing was what he said to 
 me. lie is so droll that he insisted upon 
 coming down, and finishing the dance just 
 as he was. The funny fellow brushed 
 against all the dresses in his way, and, 
 finally, said to me, as he pointed to a 
 lemon-seed upon his coat : 
 
 “ I feel so very lemon-choly for what I 
 have done.” 
 
 I laughed very much (you were in the 
 other room), but Mr. P. stepped up and 
 ordered him to leave the house. Boosey 
 said he would do no such thing ; and I 
 have no doubt we should have had a scene, 
 if Mr. P. had not marched him straight 
 to the door, and put him into a carriage, 
 and told the driver where to take him. 
 Mr. P. was red enough when he came 
 back. 
 
 1 
 
386 
 
 Our New Livery , and Other Things. 
 
 / 
 
 “No man shall insult me or my guests, by 
 getting drunk in my house,” said he; and 
 he has since asked me not to invite Boosey 
 nor “ any of his kind,” as he calls them, to 
 our house. However, I think it will pass 
 over. 1 tell him that all young men of 
 spirit get a little excited with wine some- 
 times, and he must n’t be too hard upon 
 them. 
 
 “Madame,” said he to me, the first 
 time I ventured to say that, “ no man with 
 genuine self-respect ever gets drunk twice ; 
 and, if you had the faintest idea of the 
 misery which a little elegant intoxication 
 has produced in scores of families that 
 you know, you would never insinuate 
 again that a little excitement from wine is 
 an agreeable thing. There’s your friend 
 Mrs. Croesus (he thinks she’s my friend, 
 because we call each other 1 dear’ !) ; she 
 is delighted to be a fashionable woman, 
 and to be described as the ■ peerless and 
 accomplished Mrs. C— oe— s,’ in letters from 
 the Watering-places to the Herald ; but I 
 tell you. if any thing of the woman or the 
 mother is left in the fashionable Mrs. 
 Croesus, I could wring her heart as it 
 never was wrung — and never shall be by 
 me — by showing her the places that 
 young Timon Croesus haunts, the people 
 with whom he associates, and the drunken- 
 ness, gambling, and worse dissipations of 
 which he is guilty. 
 
 “ Timon Croesus is eighteen or nineteen, 
 or, perhaps, twenty years old ; and, Poll}-, 
 I tell you. he is actually blase, worn out 
 with dissipation, the companion of black- 
 legs, the chevalier of Cyprians, tipsy every 
 night, and haggard every morning. Timon 
 Croesus is the puny caricature of a man, 
 mentally, morally, and physically. He 
 gets ‘elegantly intoxicated’ at your 
 parties ; he goes off to sup with Gauche 
 Boosey ; you and Mrs. Croesus think 
 them young men of spirit, — it is an ex- 
 hilarating case of sowing wild-oats, you 
 fancy, — and when, at twenty-five, Timon 
 Croesus stands ruined in the world, with- 
 out aims or capacities, without the esteem 
 of a single man or his own self-respect — 
 youth, health, hope and energy, all gone 
 for ever — then you and your dear Mrs. 
 Croesus will probably wonder at the hor- 
 rible harvest. Mrs. Potiphar, ask the 
 Rev. Cream Cheese to omit his sermon 
 upon the maidenhood of Lot’s wife, and 
 preach from this text: ‘they that sow 
 the wind shall reap the whirlwind.’ 
 Good heavens ! Polly, fancy our Fred 
 growing up to such a life 1 I’d rather 
 bury him to-morrow !” 
 
 I never saw Mr. P. so much excited. 
 He fairly put his handkerchief to his 
 eyes, and I really believe he cried ! But 
 I think he exaggerates these things : and 
 
 [April 
 
 as he had a very dear friend who went 
 worse and worse, until he died frightfully, 
 a drunkard, it is not strange he should 
 speak so warmly about it. But as Mrs. 
 Croesus says : 
 
 “ What can you do ? You can’t curb 
 these boj^s, you don’t want to break their 
 spirits, you don’t want to make them 
 milk-sops.” 
 
 When I repeated the speech to Mr. P., 
 he said to me with a kind of solemnity : 
 
 “ Tell Mrs. Croesus that I am not here 
 to judge nor dictate : but she may be well 
 assured, that every parent is responsible 
 for every child of his to the utmost of 
 the influence he can exert,' whether he 
 chooses to consider himself so or not ; 
 and if not now, in this world, yet some- 
 where and somehow, he must hear and 
 heed the voice that called to Cain in the 
 garden, ‘ Where is Abel, thy brother ? ’ ” 
 
 I can’t bear to hear Mr. P. talk in that 
 way; it sounds so like preaching. Not 
 precisely like what I hear at church, but 
 like what we mean when we saj', ‘ preach- 
 ing,’ without referring to any particular 
 sermon. However, he grants that young 
 Timon is an extreme case : but, he says, 
 it is the result that proves the principle, 
 and a state of feeling which not only 
 allows, but indirectly fosters, that result, 
 is frightful to think of. 
 
 “ Don’t think of it, then, Mr. P.,” said 
 I. He looked at me for a moment with 
 the sternest scowl I ever saw upon a 
 man’s face, then he suddenly ran up to 
 me, and kissed me on the forehead (al- 
 though my hair was all dressed for 
 Mrs. Gnu’s dinner), and went out of the 
 house. He hasn’t said much to me since, 
 but he speaks very gently when he does 
 speak, and sometimes I catch him looking 
 at me in such a singular way, so half 
 mournful, that Mr. Cheese’s eyes don’t 
 seem so very sad, after all. 
 
 However, to return to the party, I be- 
 lieve nothing else was injured except the 
 curtains in the front drawing-room, which 
 were so smeared with ice-cream and 03' s- 
 ter gravy, that we must get new ones; 
 and the cover of my porcelain tureen 
 was broken by the servant, though the 
 man said he really didn’t mean to do it, 
 and I could say nothing ; and a part3 T of 
 young men. after the German Cotillon, 
 did let fall that superb cut-glass Claret, 
 and shivered it. with a dozen of the deli- 
 cately' engraved straw-stems that stood 
 upon the waiter. That was all, 1 believe — 
 oh ! except that fine “Dresden Gallery,” 
 the most splendid book I ever saw, full of 
 engravings of the great pictures in Dres- 
 den, Vienna, and the other Italian towns, 
 and which was sent to .Mr. P. b3 r an old 
 friend, an artist, whom he had helped 
 
1853.] 
 
 Our New Livery , and Other Things. 
 
 38 7 
 
 along when he was very poor. Some- 
 body unfortunately tipped over a bottle 
 of claret that stood upon the table, 
 (I am sure, I don’t know how it got there, 
 tho’ Mr. P. says Gauche Boosey knows.) 
 and it lay soaking into the book, so that 
 almost every picture has a claret stain, 
 which looks so funny. I am very soriy, 
 I am sure, but, as I tell Mr. 1\, it’s no 
 use crying; for spilt milk. I was telling 
 Mr. Boosey of it at the Gnus’ dinner. 
 He laughed very much, and when 1 said 
 that a good many of the faces were sadly 
 stained, he said in his droll way, “ You 
 ought to call it LJ opera di Bordeaux ; 
 Le Domino rouge.’'' 1 I supposed it was 
 something funny, so I laughed a good 
 deal. He said to me later, 
 
 “ Shall I pour a little claret into your 
 book — 1 mean into your glass?” 
 
 Wasn't it a pretty bon-mot ? 
 
 Don’t you think we are getting very 
 spiritael in this country ? 
 
 I believe there was nothing else injured 
 except the bed-hangings in the back 
 room, which were somehow badly burnt 
 and very much torn in pulling down, and 
 a few of our handsomest shades that 
 were cracked by the heat, and a few 
 plates, which it was hardly fair to expect 
 wouldn’t be broken, and the colored glass 
 door in my escritoire , against which 
 Flattie Podge fell as she was dancing 
 with G auche Boosey ; but he may have 
 been a little excited you know, and she, 
 poor girl, couldn’t help tumbling, and as 
 her head hit the glass, of course it broke, 
 and cut her head badly, so that the blood 
 ran down and naturally spoiled her dress ; 
 and what little escritoire could stand 
 against Flattie Podge? So that went, 
 and was a good deal smashed in falling. 
 That’s all, I think, except that the next 
 day Mrs. Croesus sent a note, saying that 
 she had lost her largest diamond from 
 her necklace, and she was sure that it 
 was not in the carriage, nor in her own 
 house, nor upon the sidewalk, for she had 
 carefully looked every where, and she 
 would be very glad if I would return 
 it by the bearer. 
 
 Think of that ! 
 
 Well, we hunted every where, and found 
 no diamond. I took particular pains to 
 ask the servants if they had found it, for 
 if they had, they might as well give it up 
 at once, without expecting any reward 
 from Mrs. Croesus, who wasn’t very gen- 
 erous. But they all said they hadn’t 
 found any diamond : and our man John, 
 who you know is so guileless, — although it 
 'was a little mysterious about that eme- 
 rald pin of mine, — brought me a bit of 
 glass that had been nicked out of my 
 large custard dish, and asked me if that 
 
 was not Mrs. Croesus’s diamond. I told 
 him no, and gave him a gold dollar for his 
 honesty. John is an invaluable servant; 
 he is so guileless. 
 
 Do you know I am not so sure about 
 Mrs. Croesus's diamond ! 
 
 Mr. P. made a great growling about 
 the ball. But it was very foolish, for he 
 got safely to bed by six o’clock, and he 
 need have no trouble about replacing the 
 curtains, and glass, &c. I shall do all 
 that, and the sum total will be sent to 
 him in a lump, so that he can pay it. 
 
 Men are so unreasonable. Fancy us at 
 seven o’clock that morning, when I re- 
 tired. He wasn’t asleep. But whose fault 
 was that ? 
 
 “ P oily,” said he, “ that’s the last.” 
 
 “ Last what ? ” said I. 
 
 “ Last ball at my house,” said he. 
 
 “ Fiddle-dee-dee,” said I. 
 
 “ I tell you, Mrs. Potiphar, I am not 
 going to open my house for a crowd of 
 people who don’t go away till daylight ; 
 who spoil my books and furniture ; who 
 involve me in a foolish expense ; for a gang 
 of rowdy boys, who drink my Margaux, 
 and Latitte, and Marcobrunner, (what 
 kind of drinks are those, dear Caroline? ) 
 and who don’t know Chambertin from 
 liquorice-water, — for a swarm of persons 
 few of whom know me, fewer still care 
 for me, and to whom I am only ‘ Old 
 Potiphar,’ the husband of you, a fashion- 
 able woman. I am simply resolved to 
 have no more such tomfoolery in my 
 house.” 
 
 “ Dear Mr. P.” said I, “ you’ll feel 
 much better when you have slept. Be- 
 sides, why do you say such things ? 
 Mustn’t we see our friends, I should like 
 to know ; and if we do, are you going to 
 let your wife receive them in a manner 
 inferior to old Mrs. Podge or Mrs. Croesus? 
 People will accuse you of meanness, and 
 of treating me ill: and if some persons 
 hear that you have reduced your style of 
 living, they will begin to suspect the 
 state of your affairs. Don’t make any 
 rash vows, Mr. P.,” said I, “but go to 
 sleep.” 
 
 (Do you know that speech was just 
 what Mrs. Croesus told me she had said 
 to her husband under similar circum- 
 stances ?) 
 
 Mr. P. fairly groaned, and I heard that 
 short, strong, little word that sometimes 
 inadvertently drops out of the best regu- 
 lated mouths, as young Goosebeny Downe 
 says when he swears before his mother. 
 Do you know Mrs. Settum Downe ? 
 Charming woman, but satirical. 
 
 Mr. P. groaned, and said somdmorc ill- 
 natured things, until the clock struck nine, 
 and he was obliged to get up. I should 
 
388 
 
 Our New Livery , and Other Things. 
 
 be sorry to say to any body but you, 
 dearest, that I was rather glad of it ; for 
 I could then fall asleep at my ease ; and 
 these little connubial felicities (I think 
 they call them) are so tiresome. But 
 every body agreed it was a beautiful ball ; 
 and 1 had the great gratification of hearing 
 3 r oung Lord Mount Ague (you know you 
 danced with him, love) say that it was 
 quite the same thing as a ball at Buck- 
 ingham Palace, except, of course, in size, 
 and the number of persons, and dresses, 
 and jewels, and the plate, and glass, and 
 supper, and wines, and furnishing of the 
 rooms, and lights, and some of those 
 things, which are naturally upon a larger 
 scale at a palace than in a private house. 
 But, he said, excepting such things, it 
 was quite as fine. I am afraid Lord 
 Mount Ague flatters ; just a little bit, you 
 know. 
 
 Yes ; and there was young Major Stag- 
 gers, who said that “Decidedly it was the 
 party of the season.” 
 
 “ How odd,” said Mrs. Croesus, to 
 whom I told it, and, I confess, with a 
 little pride. “ What a sympathetic man : 
 that is, for a military man, I mean. 
 Would you believe, dear Mrs. Potiphar, 
 that he said precisely the same thing to 
 me two days after my ball 7 ” 
 
 Now, Caroline, dearest, perhaps he 
 did ! 
 
 With all these pleasant things said 
 about one’s party, I cannot see that it is 
 such a dismal thing as Mr. P. tries to 
 make out. After one of his solemn talks, 
 I asked Mr. Cheese what he thought of 
 balls, whether it was so very wicked to 
 dance, and go to parties, if one only went 
 to Church twice a day on Sundays. He 
 patted his lips a moment with his hand- 
 kerchief, and then he said, — and Caroline 
 you can always quote the Rev. Cream 
 Cheese as authority, — 
 
 “Dear Mrs. Potiphar, it is recorded 
 in Holy Scripture that the King danced 
 before the Lord.” 
 
 Darling, if any thing should happen , 
 I don’t believe he would object much to 
 your dancing. 
 
 What gossips we women are, to be 
 sure! I meant to write you about our 
 new livery, and I am afraid I have tired 
 you out already. You remember when 
 you were here, I said that I meant to 
 have a livery, for my sister Margaret told 
 me that when they used to drive in Hyde 
 Park, with the old Marquis of Mammon, 
 it was always so delightful to hear him 
 say, 
 
 “ Ah ! there is Lady Lobster’s livery.” 
 
 It was so aristocratic. And in coun- 
 tries where certain colors distinguish cer- 
 tain families, and are hereditary, so to 
 
 [April 
 
 say, it is convenient and pleasant to re- 
 cognize a coat-of-arms, or a livery, and to 
 know that the representative of a great 
 and famous family is passing by. 
 
 “ That’s a Howard, that’s a Russell, 
 that’s a Dorset, that’s de Colique, that’s 
 Mount Ague,” old Lord Mammon used to 
 say as the carriages whirled by. He knew 
 none of them personally, I believe, except 
 de Colique and Mount Ague, but then it 
 was so agreeable to be able to know them. 
 
 Now why shouldn’t we have the same 
 arrangement l Why not have the Smith 
 colors, and the Brown colors, and the 
 Black colors, and the Potiphar colors, &c.. 
 so that people might say, “Ah ! there go 
 the Potiphar arms.” 
 
 There is one difficulty, Mr. P. says, and 
 that is, that he found five hundred and 
 sixty-seven Smiths in the Directory, which 
 might lead to some confusion. But that 
 was absurd, as I told him, because every 
 body would know which of the Smiths 
 was able to keep a carriage, so that the 
 livery would be recognized directly the 
 moment that any of the family were seen 
 in the carriage. Upon which he said, in 
 his provoking way, “ Why have any livery 
 at all, then 7 ” and he persisted in saying 
 that no Smith was ever the Smith for 
 three generations, and that he knew at 
 least twenty, each of whom was able to 
 set up his carriage and stand by his 
 colors. 
 
 “ But then a livery is so elegant and 
 aristocratic,” said I, “ and it shows that a 
 servant is a servant.” 
 
 That last was a strong argument, and 
 I thought Mr. P. would have nothing to 
 say against it ; but he rattled on for some 
 time, asking me what right I had to be 
 aristocratic, or, in fact, any body else ; — 
 went over his eternal old talk about aping 
 foreign habits, as if we hadn’t a right to 
 adopt the good usages of all nations, and 
 finally said that the use of liveries among 
 us was not only “ a pure peacock absurd- 
 ity,” as be called it, but that no genuine 
 American would ever ask another to as- 
 sume a menial badge. 
 
 “ Why I” said I, “is not an American 
 servant a servant still 7 ” 
 
 “ Most undoubtedly,” he said ; “ and 
 when a man is a servant, let him serve 
 faithfully ; and in this country especially, 
 where to-morrow he may be the served, 
 and not the servant, let him not be ashamed 
 of serviug. But, Mrs. Potiphar, I beg 
 you to observe that a servant’s livery is 
 not, like a General’s uniform, the badge 
 of honorable service, but of menial ser- 
 vice. Of course, a servant may be as 
 honorable as a General, and his work 
 quite as necessary and well done. But, 
 for all that, it is not so respected nor cov- 
 
Our New Livery, and Other Things. 
 
 389 
 
 1853.] 
 
 eted a situation, I believe ; and, in social 
 estimation, a man suffers by wearing a 
 livery, as he never would if he wore none. 
 And while in countries in which a man is 
 proud of being a servant (as every man 
 may well be of being a good one), and 
 never looks to any thing else, nor de- 
 sires any change, a livery may be very 
 proper to the state of society, and very 
 agreeable to his own feelings, it is quite 
 another thing in a society constituted upon 
 altogether different principles, where the 
 servant of to-day is the senator of to-mor- 
 row. Besides that, which I suppose is too 
 fine-spun for you, livery is a remnant of a 
 feudal state, of which we abolish every 
 trace as fast as we can. That which is 
 represented by livery is not consonant 
 with our principles.” 
 
 How the man runs on, when he gets 
 going this wav’ ! I said, in answer to all 
 this flourish, that I considered a livery 
 very much the thing ; that European fam- 
 ilies had liveries, and American families 
 might have liveries ; — that there was an 
 end of it, and I meant to have one. Be- 
 sides, if it is a matter of familjq I should 
 like to know who has a better right ? 
 There was Mr. Potiphar’s grandfather, to 
 be sure, was only a skilful blacksmith 
 and a good citizen, as Mr. P. says, who 
 brought up a family in the fear of the 
 Lord. 
 
 How oddly he puts those things 1 
 
 But my ancestors, as you know, are a 
 different matter. Starr Mole, who in- 
 terests himself in genealogies, and knows 
 the family name and crest of all the Eng- 
 lish nobility, has “ climbed our family 
 tree,” as Staggers says, and finds that I 
 am lineally descended from one of those 
 two brothers who came over in some of 
 those old times, in some of those old 
 ships, and settled in some of those old 
 places somewhere. So you see, dear Car- 
 oline, if birth gives any one a right to 
 coats of arms and liveries, and all those 
 things, I feel myself sufficiently entitled 
 to have them. 
 
 But I don’t care any thing about that. 
 The Gnus, and Croesuses, and Silkes, 
 and the Settum Downes, have their 
 coats of arms, and crests, and liveries, 
 and I am not going to bo behind, I tell 
 you. Mr. P. ought to remember that a 
 great many of these families were famous 
 before they came to this country ; and 
 there is a kind of interest in having on 
 your ring, for instance, the same crest 
 that your ancestor two or three centuries 
 ago had upon her ring. One day 1 was 
 quite wrought up about the matter, and I 
 said as much to him. 
 
 •‘Certainly,” said he, “certainly; you 
 are quite right. If I had Sir Philip Sid- 
 
 ney to my ancestor, I should wear his 
 crest upon my ring, and glory in my re- 
 lationship, and I hope I should be a bet- 
 ter man for it. I wouldn’t put his arms 
 upon my carriage, however, because that 
 would mean nothing but ostentation. It 
 would be merely a flourish of trumpets 
 to say that I was his descendant, and no- 
 body would know that, either, if my name 
 chanced to be Boggs. In my library I 
 might hang a copy of the family escutcheon 
 as a matter of interest and curiosity to 
 myself, for I’m sure I shouldn’t under- 
 stand it. Do you suppose Mrs. Gnu 
 kno ws what gules argent are ? A man 
 may be as proud of his family as he 
 chooses, and, if he has noble ancestors, 
 with good reason. But there is no sense 
 in parading that pride. It is an affecta- 
 tion, the more foolish that it achieves 
 nothing— no more credit at Stewart’s — no 
 more real respect in society. Besides, 
 Polly, who were Mrs. Gnu’s ancestors, or 
 Mrs. Croesus’s, or Mrs. Settum Downe’s ? 
 Good, quiet, honest, and humble people, 
 who did their work, and rest from their 
 labors. Centuries ago in England, some 
 drops of blood from “noble” veins may 
 have mingled with the blood of their fore- 
 fathers ; or even, the founder of the family 
 name may be historically famous. What 
 then ? Is Mrs. Gnu’s family ostentation 
 less absurd ? Do you understand the 
 meaning of her crest, and coats of arms, 
 and liveries ? Do yOu suppose she does 
 herself? But in forty-nine cases out of 
 fifty, there is nothing but a similarity of 
 name upon which to found all this flourish 
 of aristocracy.” 
 
 My dear old Pot is getting rather pro- 
 sy, Carrie. So when he had finished that 
 long speech, during which I was looking 
 at the lovely fashion-plates in Harper, 
 I said : 
 
 “ What colors do you think I’d better 
 have ? ” 
 
 He looked at me with that singular ex- 
 pression, and went out suddenly, as if he 
 were afraid he might say something. 
 
 He had scarcely gone before I heard : 
 
 “ My dear Mrs. Potiphar, the sight of 
 you is refreshing as Hermon’s dew.” 
 
 I colored a little ; Mr. Cheese says such 
 things so softly. But I said good morn- 
 ing, and then asked him about liveries, &c. 
 
 He raised his hand to his cravat, (it 
 was the most snowy lawn, Carrie, and 
 tied in a splendid bow.) 
 
 “ Is not this a livery, dear Mrs. Poti- 
 phar ? ” 
 
 And then he went off into one of those 
 pretty talks, in what Mr. P. calls “ the 
 language of artificial flowers,” and wound 
 up by quoting Scripture, — “ Servants, obey 
 your masters.” 
 
390 
 
 Our New Livery , and Other Things. 
 
 That was enough for me. So I told 
 Mr. Cheese that as he had already assist- 
 ed me in colors once, I should be most 
 glad to have him do so again. What a 
 time we had, to be sure, talking of colors, 
 and cloths, and gaiters, and buttons, and 
 knee-breeches, and waistcoats, and plush, 
 and coats, and lace, and hatbands, and 
 gloves, and cravats, and cords, and tassels, 
 and hats. Oh ! it was delightful. You 
 can’t fancy how heartily the Rev. Cream 
 entered into the matter. He was quite 
 enthusiastic, and at last he said, with so 
 much expression, “ Dear Mrs. Potiphar, 
 why not have a chasseur ? ” 
 
 I thought it was some kind of French 
 dish for lunch, so I said : 
 
 “ I am so sorry, but we haven’t any 
 in the house.” 
 
 “ Oh,” said he, "but you could hire one, 
 you know.” 
 
 Then I thought it must be a musical 
 instrument — a Panharmonicon, or some- 
 thing of that kind, so I said in a general 
 way — 
 
 I’m not very, very fond of it.” 
 
 ” Rut it would be so fine to have him 
 standing on the back of the carriage, his 
 plumes waving in the wind, and his lace 
 and polished belts flashing in the sun, as 
 you whirled down Broadway.” 
 
 Of course I knew that he was speaking 
 of those military gentlemen who ride be- 
 hind carriages, especially upon the Conti- 
 nent. as Margaret tells me, and who in 
 Paris are very useful to keep the savages 
 and wild-beasts at bay in the Champs 
 Elysees. for you know they are intended 
 as a guard. 
 
 But I knew Mr. P. would be firm about 
 that, so I asked Mr. Cheese not to kindle 
 my imagination with the Chasseur. 
 
 We concluded finally to have only one 
 full-sized footman, and a fat driver. 
 
 “ The corpulence is essential, dear Mrs. 
 Potiphar,” said Mr. Cheese. ‘‘I have been 
 much abroad ; I have mingled, I trust, in 
 good, which is to say, Christian Society : 
 and I must say, that few things struck me 
 more upon my return than that laches who 
 drive very handsome carriages, with foot- 
 men, &c., in livery, should permit such 
 thin coachmen upon the box. I really be- 
 lieve that Mrs. Settum Downe’s coach- 
 man doesn’t weigh more than a hundred 
 and thirty pounds, which is ridiculous. 
 A lady might as well hire a footman with 
 insufficient calves, as a coachman who 
 weighs less than two hundred and ten. 
 That is the minimum. Besides, I don’t 
 observe any wigs upon the coachmen. 
 Now if a lady sets up her carriage with 
 the family crest and tine liveries, why, I 
 should like to know, is the wig of the 
 coachman omitted, and his cocked hat also ? 
 
 [April 
 
 It is a kind of shabby, half-ashamed 
 way of doing things, a garbled glory. 
 The cocked-ha tted, knee-breeched, paste- 
 buckled, horse-hair-wigged coachman, is 
 one of the institutions of the aristocracy. 
 If we don’t have him complete, we some- 
 how make ourselves ridiculous. If we do 
 have him complete, why, then — ” 
 
 Here Mr. Cheese coughed a little, and 
 patted his mouth with his cambric. But 
 what he said was very true. I should 
 like to come out with the wig. I mean 
 upon the coachman ; it would so put down 
 the Settum Downes. But I’m sure old 
 Pot wouldn’t have it. He lets me do a 
 great deal. But there is a line which I 
 feel he won’t let me pass. I mentioned 
 my fears to Mr. Cheese : 
 
 Well,” he said “ Mr. Potiphar may be 
 right. I remember an expression of mj r 
 carnal days about ‘coming it too strong,’ 
 which seems to me to be applicable just 
 here.” 
 
 After a little more talk, I determined to 
 have red plush breeches, with a black 
 cord at the side — white stockings — low 
 shoes with large buckles — a yellow waist- 
 coat, with large buttons — lappels to 
 the pockets — and a purple coat, very full 
 and fine, bound with gold lace — and the 
 hat banded with a full gold rosette. Don’t 
 you think that would look well in 
 Hyde Park ? And, darling Carrie, why 
 shouldn’t we have in Broadway, what 
 they have in Hyde Park ? 
 
 When Mr. P. came in, I told him all 
 about it. He laughed a good deal, and said, 
 “What next?” So I am not sure he 
 would be so very hard upon the wig. 
 The next morning I had appointed to see 
 the new footman, and as Mr. P. went out 
 he turned and said to me, “ Is your foot- 
 man coming to-day ? ” 
 
 “ Yes,” I answered. 
 
 “ Well,” said he, “ don’t forget the 
 calves. You know that every thing in the 
 matter of livery depends upon the calves.” 
 
 And he went out laughing silently to 
 himself, with — actually, Carrie — a tear in 
 his eye. 
 
 But it was true, wasn’t it ? I remem- 
 ber in all the books and pictures how 
 much is said about the calves. In adver- 
 tisements, &c., it is stated that none but 
 well-developed calves need apply, at least 
 it is so in England, and, if I have a livery, 
 I am not going to stop half-way. My 
 duty was very clear. When Mr. Cheese 
 came in, I said I felt awkward in asking 
 a servant about Iris calves, — it sounded so 
 queerly. But I confessed that it was ne- 
 cessary. 
 
 “ Yes, the path of duty is not always 
 smooth, dear Mrs. Potiphar. It is often 
 thickly strewn with thorns,” said he, as 
 
Our New Livery , and Other Things. 
 
 391 
 
 1853.] 
 
 he sank back in the fauteuil, and put 
 down his petit verre of Marasquin. 
 
 Just after he had gone the new footman 
 was announced. I assure you, although 
 it is ridiculous, I felt quite nervous. But 
 when he came in, I said calmly— 
 
 “ Well. James, I am glad you have 
 come.” 
 
 Please ma’am, my name is Henry,” 
 said he. 
 
 I was astonished at his taking me up so. 
 and said, decidedly — 
 
 “Janies, the name of my footman is al- 
 ways James. You may call yourself 
 what you please, I shall always call you 
 James.” 
 
 The idea of the man’s undertaking to 
 arrange my servants’ names for me ! 
 
 Well, he showed me his references, 
 which were very good, and I was quite 
 satisfied. But there was the terrible calf 
 business that must be attended to. 1 put 
 it off a great while, but I had to begin. 
 
 “ Well, James ! ” — and there I stopped. 
 
 “ Yes, ma’am,” said he. 
 
 “ I wish — yes — ah ! ’’—and I stopped 
 again. 
 
 " Yes, ma’am,” said he. 
 
 “ James, I wish you had come in knee- 
 breeches.” 
 
 “ Ma’am ? ” said he, in great surprise. 
 
 “ In knee-breeches, James,” repeated I. 
 
 What be they, ma’am ? what for, 
 ma’am ? ” said he, a little frightened, as I 
 thought. 
 
 “ Oh ! nothing, nothing ; but — but — ” 
 
 “Yes, ma’am,” said James. 
 
 “ But — but, I want to see — to see — ” 
 
 “ What, ma’am ? ” said James. 
 
 “ Your legs,” gasped I ; and the path 
 was thorny enough, Carrie, I can tell you. 
 I had a terrible time explaining to him 
 what I meant, and all about the liveries, 
 &c. Dear me ! what a pity these things 
 are not understood : and then we should 
 never have this trouble about explana- 
 tions. However, I couldn’t make him 
 agree to wear the livery. He said : 
 
 “ I’ll try to be a good servant, ma’am, 
 but I cannot put on those things and 
 make a fool of myself. I hope you won’t 
 insist, for I am very anxious to get a 
 place.” 
 
 Think of his dictating to me ! I told 
 him that I did not permit my servants to 
 impose conditions upon me (that’s one of 
 Mrs. Croesus’s sayings), that I was wil- 
 ling to pay him good wages and treat him 
 well, but that my James must wear my 
 livery. He looked very sorry, said that 
 he should like the place very much, — that 
 he was satisfied with the wages, and was 
 sure he should please me, but he could 
 not put on those things. We were both 
 determined, and so parted. I think we 
 
 were both sorry ; for I should have to go 
 all through the calf-business again, and he 
 lost a good place. 
 
 However, Caroline, dear, I have my 
 livery and my footman, and am as good 
 as any body. It’s very splendid when I 
 go to Stewart’s to have the red plush, and 
 the purple, and the white calves springing 
 down to open the door, and to see people 
 look, and say, “ I wonder who that is ? ” 
 And every body bows so nicely, and the 
 clerks arc so polite, and Mrs. Gnu is 
 melting with envy on the other side, and 
 Mrs. Croesus goes about, saying, “Dear 
 little woman, that Mrs. Potiphar, but so 
 weak ! Pity, pity ! ” And Mrs. Settum 
 Downe says, “Is that the Potiphar livery ? 
 Ah ! yes. Mr. Potiphar’s grandfather 
 used to shoe my grandfather’s horses ! ” — 
 (as if to be useful in the world, were a 
 disgrace, — as Mr. P. says.) and young 
 Downe, and Boosey, and Timon Croesus 
 come up and stand about so gentlemanly, 
 and say, “ Well, Mrs. Potiphar, are we to 
 have no more charming parties this sea- 
 son ? ” — and Boosey says, in his droll way, 
 “Let’s keep the ball a-rolling!” That 
 young man is always ready with a witti- 
 cism. Then I step out and James throws 
 open the door, and the young men raise 
 their hats, and the new crowd says, “ I 
 wonder who that is ? ” and the plush, and 
 purple, and calves spring up behind, and 1 
 drive home to dinner. 
 
 Now, Carrie dear, isn’t that nice ? 
 
 Well, I don’t know how it is — but 
 things are so queer. Sometimes when I 
 wake up in the morning, in my room, 
 which 1 have had tapestried with fluted rose 
 silk, and lie thinking, under the lace cur- 
 tains ; although I may have been at one of 
 Mrs. Gnu’s splendid parties the night be- 
 fore, and am going to Mrs. Silke’s to dinner, 
 and to the opera and Mrs. Settum 
 Downe’s in the evening, and have nothing 
 to do all day but go to Stewart’s, or Mar- 
 telle’s, or Lefevre’s, and shop, and pay 
 morning calls; — do you know, as I say, 
 that sometimes I hear an old familiar tune 
 played upon a hand-organ tar away in 
 some street, and it seems to me in that 
 half-drowsy state under the laces, that I 
 hear the girls and boys singing it in the 
 fields where we used to play. It is a kind 
 of dream, I suppose, but often, as I listen, 
 I am sure that I hear Henry’s voice again 
 that used to ring so gayly among the old 
 trees, and I walk with him in the sunlight 
 to the bank by the river, and he throws 
 in the flower — as he really did — and saj r s, 
 with a laugh, “If it goes this side of the 
 stump I am saved ; if the other, I am 
 lost ; ” and then he looks at me as if I had 
 any thing to do with it, and the flower 
 drifts slowly off and off, and goes the 
 
392 
 
 Life in a Canadian College. 
 
 other side of the old stump, and we walk 
 homeward silently, until Henry laughs 
 out, and says, “ Thank heaven, my fate is 
 not a flower ; ” and I swear to love him 
 for ever and ever, and marry him, and live 
 in a dingy little old room in some of the 
 dark and dirty streets in the city. 
 
 Then I doze again : but presently the 
 music steals into my sleep, and I see him 
 as I saw him last, standing in his pulpit, 
 so calm and noble, and drawing the 
 strong men as well as the weak women, 
 by his earnest persuasion ; and after ser- 
 vice he smiles upon me kindly'-, and says, 
 “ This is my wife,” and the wife, who looks 
 like the Madonna in that picture of An- 
 drea Del Sarto’s, which you liked so at 
 the gallery, leads us to a little house bu- 
 ried in roses, looking upon a broad and 
 lovely landscape, and Henry whispers to 
 me as a beautiful boy bounds into the 
 room, “ Mrs. Potiphar, I am very happy.” 
 
 I doze again until Adele comes in and 
 opens the shutters. I do not hear the 
 music any more; but those days I do 
 somehow seem to hear it all the time. 
 Of course Mr. P. is gone long before I 
 wake, so he knows nothing about all this. 
 I generally come in at night after he is 
 asleep, and he is up and has his breakfast, 
 and goes down town before I wake in the 
 morning. He comes home to dinner, but 
 he is apt to be silent ; and after dinner he 
 takes his nap in the parlor over his news- 
 paper, while I go up and let Adele dress 
 my hair for the evening. Sometimes Mr. 
 P. groans into a clean shirt and goes with 
 me to the ball ; but not often. When I 
 come home, as I said, he is asleep, so I 
 don’t see a great deal of him, except in the 
 summer, when I am at Saratoga or New- 
 port ; and then, not so much, after all, for 
 he only comes to pass Sunday, and I 
 must be a good Christian, you know, and 
 go to church. On the whole, we have 
 not a very intimate acquaintance ; but I 
 
 [April 
 
 have a great respect for him. He told 
 me the other day that he should make at 
 least thirty thousand dollars this year. 
 
 My darling Carrie — I am very sorry I 
 can’t write you a longer letter. I want to 
 consult you about wearing gold powder, 
 like the new Empress. It would kill 
 Mrs. Croesus if you and I should be the 
 first to come out in it; and don’t you 
 think the effect would be fine, when we 
 were dancing, to shower this gold mist 
 around us! How it would sparkle upon 
 the gentlemen’s black coats! (“Yes,” 
 says Mr. P., “ and how finely Gauche Boo- 
 sey, and Timon Croesus, and young 
 Downe will look in silk tights and small- 
 clothes!”) They say it is genuine gold 
 ground up. I have already sent for a 
 white velvet and lace — the Empress’s 
 bridal dress, you know. That foolish old 
 P. asked me if I had sent for the Em- 
 peror and the bank of France too. 
 
 “Men ask such absurd questions,” 
 said I. 
 
 “ Mrs. Potiphar, I never asked but one 
 utterty absurd question in my life,” said 
 he, and marched out of the house. 
 
 Au revoir, chere Caroline. I have a 
 thousand things to say, but I know you 
 must be tired to death. 
 
 Fondly 3 'ours. 
 
 Polly Potiphar. 
 
 P. S. — Our little Fred is quite down 
 with the scarlet fever. Potiphar says I 
 mustn’t expose myself, so I don’t go into 
 the room ; but Mrs. Jollup, the nurse, 
 tells me through the keyhole how he is. 
 Mr. P. sleeps in the room next the nur- 
 sery, so as not to carry the infection to 
 me. He looks very solemnly as he walks 
 down town. I hope it won’t spoil Fred’s 
 complexion. I should be so sorry to hare 
 him a little fright ! Poor little thing ! 
 
 P. S. 2d. — Isn’t it funny about the 
 music ? 
 
 LIFE IN A CANADIAN COLLEGE. 
 
 “ Dedisuit animus sero quod didicit diii — Sen. 
 
 “ As there is a worldliness, or the too-much of this life, so there is anothe-r-worldliness, or rather other- world- 
 liness, equally hateful and selfish with this-worldlinessA — Oolemdge. 
 
 WAS four years at a college in Canada. 
 
 It was at St. H. ; and I might have 
 been there longer, and probably filled its 
 septennary term, had my juvenile fortunes 
 escaped the influence of what is known in 
 British colonial history as the “ Canadian 
 Troubles.” These broke out in the Fall 
 of 1837 ; and in the Spring of 1839, 1 was 
 
 following the family to an exile’s home — 
 by no means a dreary one — in the United 
 States. 
 
 I will not assert that the “ Canada 
 Bubbles” — so called by Judge Ilaliburton 
 of “ Sam Slick” repute — effervesced for 
 the especial purpose of interfering with 
 my private concerns ; but I can safely say 
 
393 
 
 Life in a Canadian College. 
 
 1853.] 
 
 that, had they resulted in as much good 
 to his country as they resulted in good to 
 me, Mr. Papineau would not have talked 
 quite in vain, nor agitated himself into the 
 sorry part which, more important people 
 than I think, he played at that time. 
 
 If, indeed, the Canadians, in consequence 
 of those events, could have sprung entirely 
 free from their thraldom as easily as I 
 sprang from mine, and suddenly found 
 themselves as happy as I was when I 
 first breathed the Yankee’s bracing at- 
 mosphere ; then might we forget how the 
 Orator-Leader, who blessed his followers 
 with no less than “Ninety-two Resolu- 
 tions,” could manifest so little resolution 
 himself, on the day that he should have 
 exchanged exordium and peroration for 
 powder and ball.* 
 
 But, I was telling you of having been 
 at St. H. College. I entered it in my 
 ninth year only ; and yet I do not con- 
 ceive myself chargeable with any alarm- 
 ing degree of precociousness. Scores of 
 little lads flock to this and its sister insti- 
 tutions at an equally tender age ; and the 
 Faculty will engage that they shall be 
 soundly thrashed into the rudiments of 
 the studies which they go there ostensibly 
 to pursue during a term of seven years. 
 The annual fee of fifty dollars is all that 
 is required for services so rendered ; yet, 
 petty as that amount is, besides securing 
 an inexhaustible fund of prayers in Latin 
 and some classic erudition, it will secure 
 very capacious apartments always occupied 
 in common, but alas ! very “ short com- 
 mons,” too. For there, by the adoption 
 of something like State-Prison economics, 
 a student is taught and “found,” and even 
 medicated (principally with Castor-oil and 
 Tereb. Canad.) for the small sum I have 
 just mentioned. 
 
 The Faculty have such faith in their 
 dietary, that, if an indulgent mamma slips 
 a bottle of cordial or some other dainty 
 among her son’s “ traps,” the inexorable 
 “ Prex.” is sure to confiscate them upon 
 discovery. This functionary, who, under 
 the title of Direeteur, is the terror of 
 every one within his jurisdiction, is an in- 
 satiable cormorant in the matter of sweet- 
 meats. Perhaps he conceives that boys 
 had better be “ crammed ” with conjuga- 
 tions and declensions, than with cake and 
 liqueurs ; or, aware that “comparisons 
 are odious,” he may be anxious that they 
 shall not turn from their coarse and scanty 
 college fare, to console their appetites with 
 the nice things in their trunks. But, 
 whatever may be the motive of his some- 
 what predatory visits on the first night of 
 
 each term, it is certain that few Revenue 
 Officers evince equal zeal in their search 
 for contraband goods. Like those officers, 
 however, he is now and then subjected to 
 trials which might deter less persevering 
 people from pursuing the occupation of a 
 “ Detective.” For instance, I wot of a 
 legend which says that, once upon a time, 
 he made an apparently precious prize — 
 nothing less, as he thought, than a bottle 
 of crusty port. The seal looked antique 
 with the dust of many years in the cel- 
 lars ; there was even a vestige of venerable 
 cobwebs clinging affectionately to the neck. 
 The “ Prex.” — a dignitary that loved such 
 tilings a little better than fasting — applied 
 the cork-screw, and eagerly took a gen- 
 erous draught of the beverage. But tra- 
 dition informs 11s also that, dashing the 
 bottle from him, he terminated his search 
 that time by violently expectorating a 
 potion of what is, by some vulgar people, 
 esteemed as a cheap, but capital, stomachic. 
 We are likewise told that the student in 
 whose possession this article in domestic 
 pharmacopoeia was found, went unpunish- 
 ed — no doubt because the Lirecteur , like 
 a sensible man, appreciated the moral he 
 had been taught so unexpectedly of “ look- 
 ing before he leaped.” 
 
 In my ninth year, then, I donned the 
 uniform of what the envious plebs were 
 pleased to designate as a niouton bleu, or 
 something particularly “ sheepish” and 
 looking very “ blue.” The sobriquet 
 was not without its point, for the costume 
 was certainly ridiculous enough to be 
 matter of sarcasm with the best mannered 
 critic in the world. It consisted of a 
 cumbersome, blue frock-coat, called a 
 capot, streaked with white cord in the 
 seams, and worn at all times (save in 
 bed !) tightly buttoned up to within a few 
 inches of the throat. In addition to this 
 the body had to be girted with either a 
 ribbon, a patent-leather belt, or a bulky 
 woollen sash, red, black, or blue, or of 
 flashy colors so interwoven as to represent 
 an interminable dovetailing of arrow-heads, 
 in consequence of which it is popularly 
 known as the ceinture Jiechee. 
 
 The other colleges or “seminaries” — 
 which number about half-a-dozen in the 
 country — have each some uniform coat for 
 their respective students. The military 
 cut and German braid were affected at 
 Chambly, where a large number of young 
 Americans used to attend for the purpose 
 of acquiring a knowledge of the French 
 language. A plain, blue “fiock,” with 
 velvet collar, and a dark sash, were in 
 vogue at Montreal. The Quebec students 
 
 * The “Ninety-two Resolutions,” embracing the political grievances of Lower Canada, were passed by the 
 House of Assembly, over which the Hon. Louis Joseph Papineau presided for a lung time as Speaker. 
 
394 
 
 Life in a Canadian College. 
 
 disported heavy white seams and green 
 sashes ; and those of the other institutions 
 wore something in the style that prevailed 
 at St. H. 
 
 Every where these coats are kept closely 
 buttoned, and must not be thrown off, even 
 for play during the hottest of weather. 
 Exercise is, therefore, seriously impeded, 
 and proves often injur ious where it is vio- 
 lent, especially in games at ball or wicket. 
 Apart from this important consideration, 
 there are reasons of economy that urge an 
 abandonment of this foolish custom. The 
 expense of those garments, unless they 
 are of coarse homespun, is great; and 
 little fellows — looking ridiculously i: all 
 buttoned down before ” like so many pre- 
 mature Grimeses — will ruin one coat at 
 least in the course of a year ; and it is no 
 rare occurrence to see a whole skirt severed 
 in a very peremptory manner during a 
 rude encounter at “ tag.” 
 
 But the absurdity — nay, the cruelty of 
 thrusting a lot of lads into those stiff-laced, 
 draggling affairs, is aggravated by the 
 reason assigned for the practice. The 
 Faculty say that it is followed from mo- 
 tives of decency ! They seem to think that 
 a smart roundabout, or the sight of a pair 
 of shirt sleeves in broad noon-day, must 
 suggest improper reflections in the youth- 
 ful mind ; and. in their prudish opinion, 
 they hope to obviate the evil by causing 
 the outlines of the person to be rendered 
 indistinct by the folds of an awkward 
 skirt ! Indeed, they carry this horror of 
 any thing like “ dishabille ” to such an ex- 
 treme as to compel the students, on re- 
 tiring for the night in the common sleeping 
 apartments, or dortoirs, to pull their 
 pantaloons oft' and on in bed, out of which, 
 as you can easily imagine, broadcloth 
 issued in no very presentable plight ! 
 
 I felt rather proud at first of the aca- 
 demic livery which I have been describing 
 to you ; and as on or about the 3d of Sep- 
 tember, A. D. 1835 (in the afternoon), I 
 stood in the hall or parlor of St. II. Col- 
 lege, I deemed myself remote but a few 
 steps only from huge manhood. There 
 was my large wooden trunk, inscribed 
 with the initials of my name; the key was 
 in my pocket ; and those were titles quite 
 sufficient, I thought, to establish my in- 
 dependence of apron-strings. I had my 
 bedding too, with the cross-legged baudet 
 that every student must bring from home ; 
 and over those personal effects I consider- 
 ed myself sole master and lord supreme. 
 
 My mother was at my side, confiding 
 me to the tender mercies of the Directeur ; 
 and I, — prodigal lad that I was, — I in- 
 wardly rejoiced that I was escaping the 
 rule at home, little dreaming of the ferula 
 awaiting me among strangers. But when 
 
 [April 
 
 she had accompanied me from the dortoir 
 in which my pillow was not to be smooth- 
 ened by her gentle hand again for at least 
 six long months ; and when she had left 
 me alone with the President, after having 
 kissed me, with a whispered injunction, 
 nearly choked with emotion, to be “a good 
 boy ;” then I was no longer a “ little man” 
 — I was still in my ninth year — nay, I 
 was younger, for I have heard persons 
 called “ babies” when tears had been 
 caught rolling down their cheeks slowly, 
 as if big with a great weight of grief. I 
 shall not say that I wept — grown-up peo- 
 ple alone may weep — little boys cry — 
 and so I cried ! 
 
 It afforded me little consolation to think 
 that the “ Directeur” was now my guard- 
 ian. He was a smooth-shaven, portly 
 priest, answering Young’s portraiture of a 
 parson : 
 
 “ Fresh color'd, and well thriving on his trade.” 
 
 His outer dress consisted of the long black 
 gown worn by the clergy in Roman Catho- 
 lic countries, and by the tutors in all col- 
 legiate institutions over which the priest- 
 hood preside. It is in those establish- 
 ments that the church recruits the ranks 
 of her ministers ; and it seems that the 
 discipline which is there observed, as well 
 as the course of studies prescribed, have 
 been designed almost purposely to fit a 
 young man for scarcely nothing else but 
 ecclesiastical life. When he has com- 
 pleted these studies, if he be poor, or if 
 his parents be bigoted, or if he really have 
 a desire to enter the clergy, il prend la 
 soutane — as the saying is in Canada — 
 and assumes the title of Ecclesiastique. 
 This is his first step towards taking Holy 
 Orders. He is then employed as a tutor 
 or superintendent over the students in 
 some College or Seminary,” but pro- 
 nounces no vows, and — unless I have for- 
 gotten how it is — does not bear the ton- 
 sural mark. The first of those vows is 
 made when he has firmly resolved upon 
 renouncing the pomps of the world, and 
 becomes a Sous-Diacre. or under-Deacon. 
 His crown is then shaved, and that en- 
 titles him to the respect of the Roman 
 Catholic community. The second ecclesi- 
 astical stage occurs when he professes 
 other and more austere vows, and takes 
 the degree of Diacre or Deacon. The 
 third and last stage is that in which the 
 black chrysalis expands into the full- 
 blown Pretre. 
 
 As he ascends this ladder, the candi- 
 date for priestly honors becomes quali- 
 fied for the performance of certain sacred 
 rites in the church, and cannot return to 
 worldly life after his initiation as a Sous- 
 Diacre. It is only while he is an Eccle- 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Life in a Canadian College. 
 
 395 
 
 siaslique that he may, if so prompted, 
 cast off his black robe to embrace mous- 
 seline-de-laine , or “calico.” He may like- 
 wise continue as a simple ecclesiastic all 
 the days of his life ; thus have I known a 
 very fine old gentleman, renowned all over 
 Canada as an excellent astronomer, and 
 for many years the compiler of the shoet 
 almanacs in use in that country, who 
 never would take “ orders.” lie remained 
 attached to the soutane , and was every 
 where called an Abbe. 
 
 But that was an isolated instance of 
 ecclesiastical eccentrici ty. Few tarry very 
 long at the threshold. Their salaries at 
 college are nominal sums only, and they 
 hasten, either to plunge into the busy 
 round of worldly pursuits, or to graduate 
 into the ministry, where they are usually 
 provided for as vicars to parish priests, 
 whom they succeed in due course of time. 
 Others, chosen for that arduous task, for 
 reasons of policy personal to themselves 
 or the church, — are sent into the Indian 
 missions ; while a few are retained in the 
 colleges as professors of the higher branch- 
 es of learning, or to fill equally important 
 posts in those institutions. The Direc- 
 teur is always a priest in the meridian of 
 life, and an able man. He who held that 
 position, while I was at St. II., is now the 
 Bishop of a rural Diocese, recently organ- 
 ized in the province. The Procureur, or 
 agent of the college, is likewise a priest ; 
 and though not a man suspected of inti- 
 nlacy with the financial concerns of this 
 mercenary world, he draws and loosens 
 the purse-strings of the “corporation” 
 with all the tact of a Wall-street broker. 
 The Professors of moral and natural philo- 
 sophy, and of rhetoric, are priests also. 
 Thus, at least, half-a-dozen of these gen- 
 tlemen are to be found in each establish- 
 ment. 
 
 Their presence is a great auxiliary to 
 the maintenance of rigorous discipline. 
 The students — I mean those who are 
 Catholics — must “ go to confess ” to them, 
 once at least in every four weeks ; for the 
 purpose, no doubt, of obtaining the remis- 
 sion of those wickednesses for which they 
 may not have atoned in due course of 
 mortification in the flesh ; and with this 
 rule they are made to conform, whether 
 they are as immaculate as lambs, or more 
 iniquitous than scape-goats. The conse- 
 quence of this is obvious. If those institu- 
 tions be the recruiting depots of the priest- 
 hood, they are, from an inverse reason, the 
 liot-beds of the infidelity which exists 
 among the educated French Canadians. 
 For, if, in one case, a strict performance 
 of the religious exercises that there 
 abound, converts a properly disposed 
 individual into a minister of the gospel, 
 
 it will, in other instances, cast the stu- 
 dent into an opposite and very lament- 
 able extreme. The compulsory* nature 
 of this discipline will throw him into 
 open rebellion ; or it will so destroy his 
 sense of accountability, that he will sooner 
 confess a mortal sin which he never was 
 guilty of, rather than accuse himself of a 
 midnight visit actually paid to the “ cor- 
 poration’s” melon-patch. From this in- 
 difference to really solemn rites, he there- 
 fore soon proceeds to deride them and the 
 Divinity in whose service they are claimed 
 to be enforced. 
 
 That the clergy shoot thus wide of the 
 mark which the}'' seem to have constantly 
 in view, is not a little surprising, especially 
 when we look at the monastic complex- 
 ion of life in their colleges. If the morning 
 bell does not wake the student, the loud 
 Deo gratias of the superintending eccle- 
 siastic is sure to rouse him. He dresses 
 in a hurry, and hastens to prayers in the 
 etude or common study room. These, 
 which last some twenty minutes, are said 
 kneeling. They consist of paters, aves, a 
 confteor, and litany, that are read by an 
 elder collegian, while the Communaute 
 utter the responses more or less attentive- 
 ly. and sometimes with ridiculous cadences 
 of the voice. Before the breakfast, all re- 
 pair to the chapel, where the basse messe. 
 or low mass is solemnized by the Direc- 
 teur. It occupies half an hour, during 
 which the students rise from their knees 
 at the reading of the Gospel only. No 
 sermons are delivered, and no singing al- 
 lowed, except on holidays, or when a 
 stranger of distinction officiates. On those 
 occasions, the best vocalist present leads 
 off in some French hymn or cantique, and 
 is followed by the congregation in full 
 chorus. 
 
 Two of the students have to assist in the 
 ceremonies at the altar, and must commit 
 to memory a copious series of Latin re- 
 sponses, in order to well fill their parts. 
 They serve according to a roll-call pre- 
 pared by a sacristain or clerk of the 
 chapel, and are excused from the perform- 
 ance of that duty in time of sickness only. 
 Besides this messe , every priest in the 
 establishment “says” his own at a side 
 altar, where he is attended by a member 
 of his class, or some favorite lad. He has 
 no audience, but officiates privately, and 
 with less deliberation than the Directeur. 
 
 Kneeling time recurs at about half-past 
 eleven, a. m., when the Faculty meets 
 the collegians in the “ study.” There the 
 President reads a passage from a religious 
 book, over which they are expected to re- 
 flect during several minutes of silence that 
 follows ; but whether they busy them- 
 selves with “inwardly digesting” what 
 
39G 
 
 Life in a Canadian College. 
 
 they have been listening to. or with specu- 
 lations as to the proximate chances of a 
 poor (Tinner. I feel incompetent to state ; 
 from personal experience, however, I am 
 inclined to think that the latter considera- 
 tion engrosses their minds more deeply 
 than the former. 
 
 The dinner, which follows this exercise, 
 is eaten in silence, except on holidays and 
 Sundays, or whenever a stranger is the 
 guest of the Faculty, or a student is an- 
 nounced as having been for three weeks 
 at the head of his class. He then has the 
 honor of giving a Deo gratias. which, on 
 being proclaimed, sets every tongue in 
 motion.. But on all other days, some 
 young man occupies a pulpit, where his 
 lungs wield a desperate conflict against the 
 clatter of knives and forks, in the effort to 
 make himself heard, out of a ponderous 
 volume of history. Thanks to the stento- 
 rian voice of one of those readers, I once 
 learned at the close of a year, that the 
 book in his hands was the identical work 
 which, in the same seat, I had enjoyed the 
 privilege of announcing the title six 
 months previously ; and I verily believe 
 that a large proportion of the students 
 could not have said whether it was a book 
 begun in the year of the college’s founda- 
 tion, or only the day before. 
 
 That incident proves the advantage 
 there is in stuffing simultaneously the 
 stomach and mind. As to its disadvan- 
 tages much might be said ; last, but not 
 least, is dyspepsia, for all who are not 
 blessed with the digestive powers of an 
 ostrich. The American practice of calling 
 “ Waiter 1 ” and bolting the food he brings, 
 is a rational act compared with this dumb- 
 feeding in Canadian colleges. 
 
 The close of the dinner is always an- 
 nounced by the appearance of a younger 
 student who comes in front of the Facul- 
 ty’s table, and reads a chapter from the 
 book “ De Imitatione Jesu Christi .” On 
 this and whatever else has been read, the 
 “ Prex ” may question the audience ; but 
 he seldom gets correct answers to his 
 vexatious queries. I never thought, nor 
 do I think to this day, that he is entitled 
 to any, good, bad, or indifferent. 
 
 A lunch at four o’clock is followed by 
 an opportunity for prayer at the chapel ; 
 but as it is optional with the students to 
 improve it or pass the time at play, none 
 go save the piously inclined, or those who 
 have a penance to fulfil by order of their 
 confessors, or who are sent up by their 
 tutors for some mischievous act, which, I 
 fear, is far from being atoned by their 
 presence near the altar. 
 
 Before supper the Faculty meet the 
 collegians again in the study, where, on 
 their marrow - bones, all “ count their 
 
 [April 
 
 beads,” the Directeur taking the lead 
 and the Communaute roaring out the 
 responses. This exercise lasts about 
 thirty minutes, and the students are often 
 detected in the act of mitigating its sever- 
 ity, by kneeling upon the green cloths 
 which they use on their desks. 
 
 The last long prayer is read in the 
 Salle de Recreation , or play-room, in the 
 same manner as the morning’s, which it 
 equals in length. Finally, while the stu- 
 dents are undressing in the dortoirs. one 
 of their number reads a short biography, 
 in French, of the saint whose name an- 
 swers to that particular day in the calen- 
 dar ; and when this has been done, and 
 every bodjr has gone through the eontor- 
 tional feat of pulling off his pantaloons 
 within sheets, the superintending ecclesi- 
 astic raps on the table, whereupon all 
 must doff their night-caps and sit in bed, 
 while he rehearses a few brief prayers, 
 known as Actes, or professions of Charity, 
 Faith, Hope and Contrition. 
 
 This is a long catalogue, but it does not 
 comprise two short Latin prayers, one of 
 which opens, and the other closes, the 
 hours of study and recitation. The first, 
 an invocation to the Holy Ghost, runs as 
 follows: — 
 
 “Yeni, Sancte Spiritus, reple tuorum 
 corda fidelium, et tui amoris in eis dignem 
 ascende. Emitte spiritum tuum, et crea- 
 buntur. et renovabis faciem terras.” 
 
 The other, which is addressed to the 
 Virgin Mary, reads thus : — 
 
 “ Sub tuum praesidium confugimus, 
 sancta Dei Genitrix ; nostras deprecationes 
 ne despicias in necessitatibus ; sed a peri- 
 culis cunctis libera nos semper, Virgo glo- 
 riosa et benedicta.” 
 
 This “ Yeni, Sancte,” and “ Sub tuum,” 
 are each repeated about fourteen times 
 every day, the students kneeling on their 
 seats, and turning their faces to the wall. 
 
 If now we compute the moments thus 
 passed, we will have an average of three 
 hours daily which the students ®f those 
 institutions spend on their knees ; and the 
 curiously inclined can easily ascertain, if 
 they wish, what proportion of a seven 
 years’ attendance there is passed on a 
 poor fellow’s marrow-bones. I have not 
 the patience to do it. Indeed, we must 
 lose all patience with this state of con- 
 tinual genuflexion. It is capable of pro- 
 ducing but one suye result, and that is a 
 big callus on each "knee ! It may be 
 maintained that this is the best mode of 
 remedying a calloused heart, as certain 
 scrofulous affections are sometimes drawn 
 from a vital part of the system to another 
 part where the} r may create less mischief ; 
 but experience teaches that many young 
 men look upon the innumerable hours 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Life in a Canadian College. 
 
 397 
 
 they have knelt at college as sufficient to 
 answer the purposes of an ordinary life- 
 time ; and hence are thej r seldom found 
 again at their “ beads ” or prayers. 
 
 I should not omit to state here, that the 
 clergy expect none but Roman Catholics 
 to conform with the requirements of col- 
 lege discipline in this particular. They 
 do not compel Protestant students to 
 kneel with them, but simply direct them 
 to meet on Sundays in some room where 
 they may read their Bibles together. I 
 will even go farther, and say that no ef- 
 forts are made to gain proselytes among 
 that class of students ; nothing of the 
 kind, to my recollection at least, ever oc- 
 curred during my residence at St. H. 
 
 What I have stated of the religious 
 exercises, as a proof of the essentially ec- 
 clesiastical character of discipline in the 
 Canadian college, is amply borne out by 
 the censorial care with which the Faculty 
 permit the reading of authors by the stu- 
 dents. The class-books must always re- 
 ceive the approbation of the Church au- 
 thorities before they can be used, and 
 have general I3’ been prepared under the 
 editorial eharge of a Jesuit. The libra- 
 ries furnish none but orthodox works. 
 All the philosophers of antiquity, those of 
 the French Revolution, and our later day, 
 are withheld from the young men. The 
 histories are conservative and Jesuitical. 
 None are permitted to read a book which 
 does not excommunicate every partici- 
 pator in the overthrow of the Bourbon 
 dynasty, or which says any good of the 
 French empire and its master. The dram- 
 atists and poets are dealt out in morsels 
 or badly garbled shapes. Nothing is 
 known of Shakspeare, except through 
 the miserable imitations of Ducis. Milton 
 is too much of a heretic to be on familiar 
 terms with the Faculty, and Byron too 
 great a rake — he is never mentioned, while 
 the former is only spoken of in connec- 
 tion with (I believe) Deli lie’s translation 
 of his poem. But very learned disquisi- 
 tions are read upon the German Ivlop- 
 stock’s “ Messiade,” if the work itself be 
 not inflicted upon the students from one 
 fly-leaf to the other. It is nearly the 
 same thing with Le Cid’s Portuguese 
 Epic, and the Swiss Gessner’s “ Abel.” 
 Tasso gets a little attention, but in snatches 
 oniy. Burns and Tom Moore are as un- 
 known as unborn New - Zealanders. 
 Frenchmen themselves are treated only a 
 little better. All that is furnished of the 
 brothers Corneille, the Rousseaus, Racine, 
 Boileau, Voltaire, Chateaubriand, Lamen- 
 nais and Lamartine, is a specimen of the 
 style of each, embodied in a manuscript 
 class-book, known as Livre de Belles- 
 Lettres. 
 
 The Latin poets are also disposed of in 
 a very superficial manner. Ovid, Horace, 
 and Virgil, are given out in detached pas- 
 sages. The student is not required to 
 become intimately acquainted with those 
 authors themselves ; indeed, good care is 
 taken that he shall not ; he is expected 
 to grow familiar only with the language 
 in which they wrote, so that he may be 
 duly qualified to read a Latin Breviary 
 and Jlubrique, should he ever embrace 
 the ministry. Thus the fourth book of 
 the iEneid is particularly forbidden 
 ground; but often a student devotes more 
 attention to its right comprehension than 
 he bestows on all the other books put 
 together. 
 
 The Faculty are likewise the censors of 
 every book in the possession of the col- 
 legians, and confiscate or burn up all 
 works that they condemn as obnoxious. 
 I shall never forget how sincerely I 
 mourned “the loss by fire” of a new 
 collection of French anecdotes, some of 
 which, unfortunately for the Parisian 
 “ Joe Miller ” and his proprietor, made 
 light of certain gallant Abbes, tin ano- 
 ther occasion I was warned that a My- 
 thological Dictionary which I had would 
 be forfeited should I ever consult it again. 
 A neat little edition of the “Proverbs,” 
 which an uncle had given me, was seized 
 upon ; and that was the last I ever saw of 
 them — in that shape, at least. The prud- 
 ish Directeur pounced upon a splendid 
 Atlas, belonging to my neighbor in study, 
 because the frontispiece revealed good old 
 Mother Earth, with her plurality of 
 breasts, in “ a low-necked dress.” The 
 owner had reconciled himself to the loss 
 of a very valuable work, when, shortly 
 after, it was returned to him, with a gar- 
 ment of wafers plastered over the poor 
 deity’s bosom ! 
 
 Once in a while, however, we evaded 
 the vigilance of our censors ; and thus I 
 managed to devour “ Orlando F urioso,” 
 the “Arabian Nights,” “Gil Bias,” “Don 
 Quixote,” and other proscribed works. 
 On one occasion I was all absorbed with 
 Cheataubriand’s American novel of “Ata- 
 la,” when I was “caught in the act.” I had 
 reached a very affecting passage in the 
 book, and, as I could shed tears more 
 easily then than I can now, my eyes were 
 brimful. I begged — I entreated to lie 
 allowed to finish it. But the “Prof.” 
 was inexorable, and had no more compas- 
 sion for me than he could have had for 
 the poor Indian maid’s sorrows over which 
 1 was weeping. He snatched the precious 
 book from me, and prescribed the copying 
 of four pages of Noel’s French and Latin 
 Dictionary during play-hours, as an anti- 
 dote against the poison I might have im- 
 
398 
 
 Life in a Canadian College. 
 
 bibed from the author of ,l La Genie du 
 ChristianismeP 
 
 The secular newspapers of the day were 
 strictly prohibited, and no one could dis- 
 cuss politics or other matters of public 
 interest, lest he should hazard opinions 
 unpalatable to the casuists of the college. 
 A debating club was tolerated in 1836 ; 
 but, because the animating politics of that 
 period threw one of its sessions into a very 
 happy Congressional scene, the Prex.” 
 played Cromwell with us, and adjourned 
 our deliberations sine die. 
 
 Our correspondence was, of course, un- 
 der strict surveillance, and woe to the 
 billet-doux that was intercepted ! The 
 Faculty held that species of composition 
 in holy horror. Every thing they could 
 say or do was emploj’ed to guard us 
 against the blandishments of dear woman. 
 The Virgin Mary could be loved; but 
 every other member of the sex, excepting 
 those ladies who perished at the stake, 
 and are immortalized in martyrology, was 
 presented to us in no very prepossessing 
 light. Had we believed those sainted 
 woman-haters, it was quite as dangerous 
 to meet one’s grandmother at noon-day, 
 as to run against a pretty cousin of 
 " sweet sixteen ” behind the door. We 
 were, accordingly, very cautious how we 
 cast our eyes about when at the parish 
 church, or in walking out on holidays. 
 Flirtations were necessarily rare. The 
 most noted affair that I now have in mind 
 is a bold swain, who fell head over ears 
 in love with the daughter of the proud 
 Scigneuresse at the village manor. But, 
 — alas ! for “ the course of true love,” — 
 his passion went unrequited, and his son- 
 nets to the infuriated Prex.,” who thought 
 proper to expose the poor fellow’s secrets 
 in presence of the whole Communaute. 
 The young man was afterwards styled 
 Monsieur le Seigneur. 
 
 Solicitous as the Faculty were of our 
 Platonism, they could not very well do 
 without the presence of women in the 
 institution. But such as they had were 
 a great deal worse than none. A glance 
 at the most passable among them froze 
 tlie heart — a Gorgon’s head could not 
 have done it more effectually. Those fe- 
 males were old, blear -ej r ed, horribly 
 marked with the small-pox, and of the 
 most unamiable tempers in the world. 
 Such a collection of unapproachable Ves- 
 tals, Mr. Barnum ' himself, indefatigable 
 as he is in the pursuit of novelties, could 
 never have assembled in one room to- 
 gether. His achievement with the Ceylon 
 elephants is child’s play compared with 
 the success that crowned the Faculty in 
 seeking out the repulsive in petticoats. 
 
 V T e were not even permitted to choose 
 
 [April 
 
 our laundresses, although we were obli- 
 ged to pay our washing-bills. They lived 
 in the village, and came every Saturday 
 afternoon to the parloir, but made no 
 advances, in word or expression, to ro- 
 mantic young men. 
 
 But, perhaps, I should not be so severe 
 in my reflections upon all the women 
 connected with the college. I ought to 
 except a fine old lady who presided over 
 the hospital department. She had been 
 a good-looking person in her day, and 
 was a very tender nurse. I owe her a 
 debt of gratitude. She was sparing of 
 bad tisanes or herb -teas, whenever I 
 was taken suddenly ill with an indisposition 
 to perform any arduous task set before 
 me. I will even admit that I was never 
 an unwelcome patient; for she always 
 said I was “a good boy to take medicine.” 
 Once, however, we had a serious misun- 
 derstanding. It arose all about a miser- 
 able potion of salts, the efficiency of which 
 I took the liberty of doubting. She in- 
 sisted. I demurred, and expressed impli- 
 cit faith in the vis medicatrix Naturae. 
 The matron was determined ; and left me 
 to the alternative of swallowing the de- 
 testable stuff, or returning to copy two 
 hundred lines in Virgil, as punishment for 
 a naughtiness I need not mention here. 
 My choice was soon made, — the salts van- 
 ished, but only to return more precipi- 
 tately than they had disappeared. This 
 settled the point, and ever afterwards the 
 kind old lady administered to my extra- 
 ordinary ailments with a gentle and con- 
 siderate hand. 
 
 I said that the matron must have been 
 a rather fair looking woman in earlier 
 life ; her daughter, who came to visit her 
 for a few weeks, Was quite pretty. But, 
 what was a calamity for the peace and 
 quiet of the collegians, she was a young 
 widow. Regardless of “ Mr. Weller’s ” 
 admonitions to “ Sammy,” the Faculty 
 admitted her within their walls. Her 
 advent was the signal for an epidemic 
 among the elder students. The sanitary 
 condition of the institution was probably 
 never worse than at that epoch. Young 
 men were stricken down in all their vigor, 
 and the “ Infrmerie” was soon too small 
 to receive them. The cases, too, had never 
 been so inveterate before. Treatment of 
 the most violent nature was adopted in 
 many instances ; but dose after dose dis- 
 appeared. and the sufferers still continued 
 in agonies. 
 
 The matron’s skill was baffled. as well 
 as the village Galen’s. In vain did they 
 put their wise heads together, and devise 
 hot baths and cold, mustard on the soles 
 of the feet, ice around the head, and even 
 emetics ; every thing failed. The only 
 
1853.] 
 
 Life in a Canadian College. 
 
 399 
 
 improvement noticeable in the patients 
 occurred when the exhausted old lady 
 called in the assistance of her widowed 
 daughter. Sunken eyes would brighten 
 at her presence, and pale cheeks grow 
 ruddy. Heart-rending groans were si- 
 lenced, and the poor patients gained 
 strength enough to converse with her. 
 
 The Faculty were for once at fault. 
 They suspected every thing but the true 
 cause of this “general affection of the 
 heart,” which at length was accidentally 
 discovered. The widow, having singled 
 out a couple of good-looking fellows as 
 her favorite patients, made rivals who had 
 to be jealous. They quarelled. The feud 
 spread from bed to bed more wildly than 
 the epidemic which had prostrated them. 
 Now that there was a “ Helen ” among 
 them, their energies were aroused ; con- 
 tention grew rife, and, to the Directeur's 
 horror, he one day surprised the patients 
 he expected to find very nearly in ar- 
 ticulo, loudly abusing one another in a 
 strain that ill became death-bed scenes — 
 all about the little widow lady ! 
 
 The President opened his eyes in a 
 moment to the real state of affairs in the 
 infirmary, and drove every impostor out 
 of bed, with copious prescriptions of pin- 
 pons, or supernumerary tasks, to be per- 
 formed during hours of recreation. As 
 for the innocent cause of so much devotion, 
 strife, and anguish, the Faculty politely 
 requested her to abridge her stay with 
 her mother. 
 
 With this episode— which is not at all 
 hyperbolical — I might dismiss my subject, 
 were I not apprehensive that the vein in 
 which 1 have been writing might leave 
 an erroneous impression as to my design 
 upon the reader’s mind. Therefore, a few 
 reflections upon the educational system I 
 have described, will not be amiss, in order 
 to set it in the light where it ought to be 
 considered. 
 
 I have said already that the Canadian 
 clergy seek evidently to prepare a young 
 man, in their colleges, for nothing else but 
 a place in their ranks. Therefore, if that 
 young man choose a worldly avocation, 
 his eyes are dazzled by the multiplied 
 phases into which the life he has entered 
 revolves around him. Feelings and opin- 
 ions that he never dreamt of before, assail 
 the narrow conceptions which he has been 
 taught to nourish in his mind. He comes 
 forth like a man long withdrawn from 
 the light of the sun, to find himself amid 
 new and wonderful objects, which he can- 
 not grasp, because he is too busy with 
 their contemplation. He remains station- 
 ary, like a stone that sinks to the bottom 
 of a flowing river, and drags on his life 
 like an oyster — knowing little of others, 
 
 and quite unknown himself. Ilut, if not 
 carried beneath the surface at his debut , 
 the wave may float him slowly onward ; 
 and, after a while, like a drowning kitten, 
 he will strike out for himself to reach a 
 landing-place somewhere. If. on the other 
 hand, his be a buoyant temperament, 
 rushing wildly like a colt from the halter, 
 he plunges into the swiftest of the stream, 
 to wreck himself a little way below, like 
 a paltry bubble as he is. 
 
 Once “in the world,” — as they say, — 
 he has no practical notions of life to fall 
 back upon. Instead of having been taught 
 to earn his bread, he has been taught to 
 pray for it ; and by this I do not mean to 
 speak irreverently of sacred things, I 
 mean simply that the student finds his 
 hand fashioned to nothing but the altar 
 and pulpit. In those colleges, where in- 
 struction purports to be given in the ele- 
 ments as well as in the more advanced 
 branches of learning, it is remarkable how 
 deficient a scholar is in commercial qualifi- 
 cations or mechanics. The knowledge 
 which he has acquired may serve him in 
 professional pursuits ; but ' then, he will 
 have a great many things to unlearn, a 
 great many prejudices to cast off. before he 
 can form views of principles and men, at 
 all compatible with the position he assumes 
 in society. 
 
 A jealous conservatism presides over 
 Canadian collegiate education. The pro- 
 scription of newspapers, to which I have 
 alluded, proves my assertion to be correct. 
 Therefore, in view of the fact that, until 
 within a few years, the priesthood have 
 held all the French educational establish- 
 ments of the country under their imme- 
 diate control ; we can easily account for 
 the backward state of things in “ Lower 
 Canada,” and the tameness of the popu- 
 lation. 
 
 They rebelled in 1837 and 1838, and in 
 the face of their clergy’s denunciations and 
 threats of eternal punishment, if they bore 
 arms against their sovereign. Hut the 
 very brief struggle which they maintained, 
 when circumstances could not have been 
 more favorable, shows that, whatever their 
 disposition was, they had no capacity to 
 succeed in acting in accordance with its 
 dictates; — that was the fault of their na- 
 tional education. The less patient among 
 them — those young men who had left 
 college to detest every kind of authority, 
 and every thing that emanated from 
 sacerdotal lips — rushed into the con- 
 test without preconcerted arrangements. 
 The mass, long smarting under colonial 
 tyranny, flew blindly in their lead, to fight 
 like a mob, and be beaten into subjection 
 by a handful of soldiery. Moving spirits 
 and followers, all had been brought up in 
 
400 
 
 Life, in a Canadian College. 
 
 the schools of their childhood and youth, 
 to cringe and submit, like serfs, before the 
 prestige of authority. Suffering alone 
 could goad them into rebellion, as it can 
 an irrational being ; but like that being, 
 their struggle was short and disastrous to 
 themselves. Louis Joseph Papineau, the 
 master spir it of that epoch, and a relative 
 of the greatest tory that ever filled the 
 bishopric of Montreal, complained that the 
 young men had taken the bit between 
 their teeth and run wild ; but he, prcnant 
 V epouvante. in good earnest, ran unlike 
 the rest, to stop only when in snug quar- 
 ters in northern Vermont, and thus ended 
 the Lower Canadian insurrection, — some- 
 thing in the manner of a rebellion at col- 
 lege ! 
 
 The only men who evinced any deter- 
 mination, and gave the most alarm to the 
 government, were the Upper-Canadians, 
 and one or two Protestant gentlemen in 
 the Lower Province. Indeed, the only 
 victory won by the insurgents, was fought 
 under one of those patriots, against a su- 
 perior force of well-disciplined troops of 
 the line. 
 
 But when I draw this distinction, I 
 must not be understood as preaching the 
 merits of one religious denomination over 
 those of another. I lay stress upon a 
 point only, which must be obvious to 
 the most superficial historical reader. He 
 will agree with me that, wherever the 
 State and the Church rule the subject to- 
 gether, — be it in the name of Pope Pius 
 IX., or that of “Victoria, Queen Defender 
 of the Faith,” — the people there will be 
 the least qualified to assert and maintain 
 their rights. They may struggle like the 
 Irish or the Italians, but it is for a little 
 while only. They may succeed even in 
 casting off dynasties, like the French or 
 the Mexicans ; but they can no more af- 
 firm their movements into an enduring 
 existence, than the college-boys who rise 
 against the Faculty. A Louis XVI., or an 
 Iturbide, may be dethroned ; but inde- 
 pendence does not succeed one or the other 
 over the administration of public affairs. 
 Atrocious anarchy rules for a while, and 
 the people at last fall an easy prey to 
 speculators or demagogues. The day comes 
 for one or two Bonapartes, or a Santa 
 Anna, and that is the upshot of a nation’s 
 struggle for liberty and her blessings. 
 Selfgovernment — in the strictest accepta- 
 tion of the term — cannot go into success- 
 ful operation where a long period of clerical 
 or kingly despotism is suddenly brought 
 to an end. The people who have been serfs 
 for centuries together, cannot become 
 sovereigns in a month or a year Revolu- 
 tion with them is not regeneration. They 
 must undergo trials by fire and the sword ; 
 
 [April 
 
 and when the ordeal has purified them, 
 they may hope then for the possession of 
 a freedom, gentle, just, and good. 
 
 The exemplification of the truth of what 
 I assert lies in our own history. Nowhere 
 else, probably, the theory of self-govern- 
 ment could have been more successfully 
 carried into effect than on this continent. 
 The “Spirit of ’76” was identified in pur- 
 pose and determination with the spirit of 
 the “Pilgrim Fathers.” The sires left 
 their homes to flee religious intolerance, 
 and sought a wilderness where to worship 
 their Creator as best they thought. The 
 dangers and hardships which they met 
 and overcame, enhanced the value of those 
 immunities which had been denied them 
 in the lap of ease and luxury. They 
 struggled, and toiled, and laid the seed of 
 a race which alone could do the work of 
 our revolutionary times. The sons would 
 brook despotism no more than their fa- 
 thers. Like those, they took God to wit- 
 ness the righteousness of their cause ; 
 then pledging to each other “ their lives, 
 their fortunes, and their sacred honor,” 
 they fought well and patiently, and at 
 last remained masters of their own desti- 
 nies and persons. Thus was American 
 independence won, and rooted into the 
 very soil we tread, and that grows the 
 bread we feed upon. A barricade or a 
 pronunciamento could never have done 
 that. 
 
 But, to return to Canada. We now 
 have every reason to expect better things 
 for the future in that country. The in- 
 surrectionary movement of 1837 has not 
 been without its good. A large number 
 of the “ patriots ” came to this country, of 
 which the Canadians had never entertained 
 a very flattering opinion, because of their 
 limited intercourse with it. As the ma- 
 jority of the refugees were men of intelli- 
 gence, they soon corrected the erroneous 
 impressions they had imbibed of the Ame- 
 rican character. They likewise paid close 
 attention to our institutions, and the mar 
 chinery which their spirit animated as if 
 with the breath of life. They could com- 
 pare their unfortunate country with this 
 prosperous land, and their eyes saw, for 
 the first time, how republicanism could 
 administer itself to a nation of millions. 
 Wild theories which they had struggled 
 but for an hour to establish at home, 
 vanished before the evidences of a practical 
 way of becoming and remaining free men. 
 They learned a great lesson in political 
 ethics, and treasured it in their hearts, and 
 when they could return to their firesides, 
 they spoke of all they had seen, and the 
 people no longer looked upon their neigh- 
 bors with derision. Those whom they 
 were in the habit of stigmatizing as “sharp- 
 
Life in a Canadian College. 
 
 401 
 
 ’ 1853.] 
 
 ers,” and whom they sneered at as ‘-Bos- 
 tonais," became the objects of their ad- 
 miration. Soon the spirit that had quietly 
 but surely introduced itself under almost 
 every habitant's roof, reached the law- 
 giver. The American municipal system — 
 that first great wheel in the mechanism 
 of self-government — was enacted by the 
 House of Assembly. Then came the 
 establishment of common schools after an 
 admirable plan. And now that country, 
 endowed by Providence with capacities to 
 take rank in this Confederacy of Powers, 
 is steadily progressing in that schooling 
 which will soon qualify her to sit in the 
 great American National Council. 
 
 The subject of annexation is openly dis- 
 cussed, and has its French and English 
 press. The feudal tenure, which has lain 
 like an incubus upon the province, is in 
 danger of abrogation. The Governor- 
 General must choose his cabinet out of 
 the majorities in Parliament, and dismiss 
 them the moment they lose the confidence 
 of those majorities. The only irresponsi- 
 ble body which he appoints, and over 
 which the people can exercise no con- 
 trolling influence, is the “ Legislative Coun- 
 cil ; ” but here, also, there are symptoms 
 of a reform that cannot be long delayed. 
 These councillors who form the “ Upper 
 House,” and who hold the position of 
 ‘•Senate,” or “House of Lords,” will, at 
 no distant date, hold their authority di- 
 rectly from the people themselves, for an 
 “ Elective Council ” is being loudly called 
 for. And thus have reforms progressed 
 for the past ten years, and every day 
 some important modification is made in 
 Canadian public affairs, which does its 
 share in preparing them for future aggre- 
 gation with our own. 
 
 This spirit of cautious and healthy inno- 
 vation receives strength from the familiar 
 intercourse which has sprung up between 
 the two countries, and which is daily on the 
 increase. Our railroads place Montreal at 
 the doors almost of Boston or New-York. 
 Yankee enterprise is invading the province 
 with its dollars and cents, its labor-saving 
 machines and steam-engines. It finds no 
 stubborn prejudices to contend against, 
 but is every where received with open 
 arms, like a friend and deliverer, which it 
 certainly is. 
 
 Other results have followed rapidly in the 
 wake of the political disturbances of 1837— 
 ’38, and are manifesting themselves even 
 where the clergy hold their sway. I owe it 
 to them to say that they submit to the inno- 
 vating tendencies of the times, with more 
 of good grace than we had any reason to 
 expect at their hands. They are modify- 
 ing their educational system, so as to 
 make a young man more a citizen than 
 vol. i. — 26 
 
 a quasi- Jesuit. Their establishments, 
 convents as well as colleges, are conduct- 
 ed with a more liberal discipline than for- 
 merly, and the “ rising generation ” is 
 growing up with lofty inspirations in place 
 of cringing instincts. The cojlege at Que- 
 bec has recently been chartered into a 
 University, where the highest and most 
 thorough instruction will be given, instead 
 of the one-sided “ (h illing ” that had for 
 years marked the collegiate course in 
 Canada. The institution where I attend- 
 ed has become literally more of an alma 
 mater. The prison-like building which 
 we occupied, has been abandoned for a 
 more prepossessing edifice, over which the 
 gloom of a dungeon does not brood, as it 
 did over the former structure, where we 
 felt like galley-slaves, and thought more 
 intently of plans of escape or rebellion 
 than upon thesis or recitation. 
 
 Further, and in conclusion, I should 
 state, in all fairness to the Roman Catho- 
 lic priests of the Canadians, that they are 
 not alone to blame for having so long de- 
 layed the adoption of a liberal educational 
 system. That system, such as it was, was 
 far better than none ; and none at all we 
 should have had ever since the confisca- 
 tion by Government of the “ J esuits’ es- 
 tates,” had it not been for the priests. 
 And because they sought to inculcate 
 their doctrines in the minds of the young 
 whom they educated so cheaply, they are 
 not amenable to a rigorous bar. even in this 
 country, where every religious denomina- 
 tion has its favorite academies, institutes, 
 or universities, in which each teaches its 
 children in its respective way. I will 
 even exculpate the clergy so far as to say, 
 that they had a good reason to preserve 
 their peculiar notions, so long as parents 
 were to be found, some of them even 
 Protestants, who were willing to place 
 their sons under their tuition. The peo- 
 ple, in whom lies the faculty of ascertain- 
 ing what public reforms are needed, and, 
 circumstances permitting, the power to 
 obtain them, are very much to blame in 
 Canada if they remained satisfied with 
 that state of things, and must abide the 
 consequences of their indifference on this 
 all-important subject. A writer in the 
 “Edinburgh Review,” of 1832, while 
 speaking of the improvement of the 
 masses in the British Colonies by the 
 more favored among them, sets this mat- 
 ter in its correct light, so far as it weighs 
 upon the priests. Says he : — “ This (the 
 improvement) can only be done by the 
 people themselves ; and better, in the first 
 instance, by a people under many small 
 governments, than under one large one ; 
 better by men left to themselves to find out 
 and remedy their own wants, than if train- 
 
402 
 
 November. — Decern her 
 
 ed and directed by such as are far above 
 them in science and information, and who 
 have not the patience to wait for their 
 tardy progress ; who are in haste to teach 
 them the refinements, while they are as 
 yet in want of the necessaries of life.” 
 
 This applies directly to the relations 
 which exist between the French-Canadians 
 and their clergy ; and now that the latter 
 have discovered a disposition in the former 
 to seek a less monastic way of educating 
 their children, they are yielding to the 
 wants created in the public mind, no 
 doubt, by a comparison established with 
 the popular American systems. 
 
 Let us hope, then, that the Ecclesiasti- 
 
 [ April 
 
 cal Authorities of Canada will persevere 
 in their work of concession, as the masses, 
 growing more enlightened and better fitted 
 for self-government, will not fail to re- 
 quire it at their hands. Then shall a fu- 
 ture generation, on the borders of the 
 St. Lawrence, look back upon the la- 
 bors of these ecclesiastics with the rev- 
 erence and gratitude with which the 
 world now looks upon the men who pre- 
 served in their cloisters, for us and all 
 ages to come, the records of Antiquity’s 
 works, and the revealed religion which 
 almost went from earth amid the chaos of 
 the “ Dark Ages.” 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 T HE fitful flaws sail over the river 
 For ever away, for ever away ; 
 
 The scattering oak-leaves whirl and quiver, 
 Tossed by the wind awa) r . 
 
 The bare boughs wave to the bare wild sky, 
 Gray against solemn gray ; 
 
 The dim waves break on the dim shore nigh, 
 And the shore and the waves are gray. 
 
 Take my heart in your mighty arms, 
 
 Wrapt in a mantle gray ; 
 
 Bind it, 0 spirits, with angel charms, 
 
 And bear it away, away. 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 The evening sky unseals its quiet fountain, 
 Hushing the silence to a drowsy rain ; 
 
 It spread a web of dimness o’er the plain, 
 
 And round each meadow tree ; 
 
 Makes this steep river-bank a dizzy mountain, 
 
 And this wide stream a sea. 
 
 Stealing from upper headlands of deep mist, 
 
 The dark tide bears its icebergs, ocean bound, 
 White shapeless voyagers, by each other kissed, 
 With rustling, ghostly sound ; 
 
 The lingering oak-leaves sigh, the birches shiver, 
 Watching the wrecks of summer, far and near, 
 Where many a dewdrop, frozen on its bier, 
 
 Drifts down the dusky river. 
 
 I know thee not, thou giant elm, who towerest 
 Thy shadowy branches in unfathomed air ; 
 
 And this familiar grove, once light and fair, 
 Frowns, an Enchanted Forest. 
 
 Couldst thou not choose some other night to moan, 
 0 hollow-hooting owl ? 
 
 There needs no spell from thy bewildered soul ; 
 I’m ghost enough alone. 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Our Own. 
 
 403 
 
 OUR OWN, 
 
 HIS WANDERINGS AND PERSONAL ADVENTURES. 
 
 IToAA.wj/ 5’ au^pcoircou ffirjv afreet, Kal voov eyvu). 
 
 Quae regio in terns Nostri non plena laboris ? 
 
 Full many cities he hath seen and many great men known ; 
 
 What place on earth but testifies the labors of our own ? 
 
 Digression A. 
 
 Our Own in mounting Pegasus, 
 
 Takes such impetuous stride 
 That, with a downcome ominous, 
 lie falls o' the other side. 
 
 S IRS, Editors of Putnam’s (if it’s right to use the plural), 
 
 I wish to recommend myself to — tooral, looral. looral ! 
 
 This strikes you as an oddish way of winding up a distich ? 
 
 As something rather wild, incomprehensible, and mystic ? 
 
 Well, to confess the truth at once, I’m something new at verses, 
 
 No fairy gave me rhymes at birth in Fortunatus-purses; 
 
 Rhymes, I opine, like Plato’s souls, are born in incompleteness, 
 
 Pining, mere bachelors, till they meet their destined linked sweetness; 
 
 And some men, never finding halves sans those they should be pinned to, 
 Scrawl rhyme as easily as Jack Frost scrawls rime upon a window : 
 
 That’s not my luck ; — the prior verse, before I’ve time to think, ’s at hand, 
 While that which ought to marry it plays spinster in my inkstand, 
 Immovable as the proverb’s horse that can both nod and wink stand ; 
 
 So, having written my first line, and ended it with plural , 
 
 I could not light on any mate but Ural , mural , crural , 
 
 All very crooked sticks (just try yourselves, good Messieurs Editors, — 
 
 When you have turned it twenty ways, you’ll own I might have said it worse) ; 
 So baffled like poor Nap. the Third, for fear of worse miscarriage, 
 
 I sought some friendly assonance, a morganatic marriage ; 
 
 Failing in that, with Butler’s rule I can my weakness bolster, 
 
 And ’gainst a lock-less pistol match the flask in t’other holster, 
 
 Or, better yet, with Tennyson’s authority can cure all, — 
 
 If he says tirra-lirra, why mayn’t / say tooral-looral ? 
 
 Digression B. 
 
 With foot in stirrup, hand on mane, 
 
 Our Own makes prudent pause, 
 
 Swings o’er the careful leg again, 
 
 And tight the curb-rein draws. 
 
 There’s naught so hard, Lord Byron says, as getting under way ; 
 
 The wilted sails droop from the yard, oil-smooth the windless bay, 
 
 The tide slips wimpling by, the same that weeks ago, perhaps, 
 
 Round coral-reefs in Indian seas, shimmered with whispering lapse ; 
 
 The same that, sweeping northward still, to Arctic snows may bear 
 Great leaves, scarce disenchanted yet of drowsy tropic air, 
 
 Such as may vex stout Franklin’s dreams, where unrelenting lines 
 Of icepeaks whitening endlessly o’ertop his useless pines ; — 
 
 The tide slips by and there you lie, the anchor at the peak, 
 
 The captain swearing inwardly, the mate with quid in cheek ; 
 
 There’s not a hope of any breeze before, beside, behind, 
 
 And, though with ingots laden deep, you cannot raise the wind ; 
 
 Fair cousins, kissed and bid good-bye, gaze awkward from the pier. 
 
 Sorry they wiped their eyes so soon, because tbeir second tear 
 Declines to fill the other’s place ; the cambric from the bags 
 Is taken once again and waved ; the slow time drags and dra-a-ags ; 
 
 He (whom in childhood’s guileless prime, jrnu used to lick), your brother, 
 Spells this exhausted leg, or that, with the exhausted other ; 
 
 The children go too near the edge, and fuss, and screw, and wriggle ; 
 
 Tommy’s best cap falls overboard and no one dares to giggle ; 
 
 You strive to make the feeling stay that misted both your eyes, 
 
 But thoughts of luggage intervene, and the tired feeling dies ; 
 
404 
 
 Our Own. 
 
 [April 
 
 The farewell, mixed of smiles and tears, so painful-sweet before, 
 
 Drawn out into an hour, becomes impertinence and bore, 
 
 As if too literal. Jove should grant the lovers’ prayed-for bliss, 
 
 And glue them Siamese!}' tight in one eternal kiss ; 
 
 In such case what do captains, even of clippers swift as arrows ? 
 
 They take a prosy steam-tug till they get beyond the Narrows ; 
 
 That’s what I’ve done, and, being now safe in the open main, 
 
 Set stu’nsails (that is, mend my pen), and take my start again. 
 
 Progression A. — The Invocation. 
 
 He now, with wise spurs so inclined 
 That each the flank evades, 
 
 Nor gives a mettle undesigned, 
 
 Invokes two mighty blades. 
 
 Sirs, Editors of Putnam’s, then, if you indeed be plural, 
 
 Or if you the Howadji be, who, sitting crucicrural 
 (A habit learned in Egypt), through the anaconda coils, 
 
 Of his ejfendi sucks the rare ul email's fragrant spoils, 
 
 And on the best papyrus with a split reed splutters down 
 An article on Banking that will startle half the town, 
 
 (Proving our system all is due to Some old Coptic tile 
 Because before that Ramsay reigned, who helped at Babel’s pile, 
 
 Deposits constantly were made on both banks of the Nile) ; 
 
 Then claps hands languidly (hands lotus-soft) to bring A lad in, 
 
 Allah ed deen he calls him — ’tis a dyed Milesian clad in 
 A bloomer bought in Chatham-street and a bandanna turban, 
 
 Pure Saracenic in his style like certain cots suburban : — 
 
 Or if you Harry Franco be, who, though he e’er so far goes, 
 
 Remembers in his secret heart the dear, flat, dull sea’s Argos, 
 
 And, as a mild suggestion of the customs of Nantucket, 
 
 To any kind of elbow-chair prefers an o’erturned bucket; 
 
 Who (as the Persian Envoy to old Louis the Magnificent 
 A turf brought with him piously, that he might always sniff a scent 
 Of the natale solum) keeps an oilcask in the closet, 
 
 (One that has made a v’y’ge, too), lays a harpoon across it, 
 
 And with strange rites, left wisely to the fancy of my Reader, 
 
 Consults the bunghole’s Delphic deeps before he writes a leader 
 Or if you be that gentle youth, so tall and slim and pale, 
 
 Who fitted to his Pegasus a Scandinavian Tale. 
 
 Who the Pathfinder’s leaders made, yet could not find the way 
 With next-day-after-never to displace our poor to-day, 
 
 And nothing met but humbergs, where Charles Fourier (on his slate) 
 
 Had cleared the Northwest Passage to a better Social State ; — 
 
 Or if you be that Moses who, from Modern Egypt’s wrecks adust, 
 
 Unto their Canaan of Brook Farm the New Lights safely Exodused; 
 Where life’s clean page was never more to be defaced with fresh spots, 
 
 As soon as Theory could be made as fattening as the flesh-pots ; 
 
 Where the new manner, dropt from heaven, should so nerve hand and brain, 
 That he who nothing did before, should do’tas well again ; 
 
 Where with fresh water from the spring they warmed their stoic lunch, 
 Biding the time when Fourier said the sea would be milk-punch, 
 
 When gold into the public chest like water was to run 
 For phalansterian beets (that cost two shillings every one), 
 
 And Time should wander Ripleying along o’er golden sand, 
 
 When forty heads could dig as well as one experienced hand ; — 
 
 If you are one or all, or if you’re ne’er a one of those, 
 
 Hear, by what title suits you best, the plan I now propose ! 
 
 Progression B leading to Digression C. 
 
 Our Own then states his business, 
 
 Sets forth the why and how, 
 
 Begins in safety to progress 
 But brings up in a slough. 
 
 I am a man of forty, sirs, a native of East Haddam, 
 
 And have some reason to surmise that I descend from Adam ; 
 
Our Own. 
 
 405 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 But wnat s my pedigree to you ? That I will soon unravel ; 
 
 I’ve sucked my Haddam-Eden dry, therefore desire to travel, 
 
 And, as a natural consequence, presume I needn’t say, 
 
 I wish to write some letters home and have those letters * * * 
 
 [I spare the word suggestive of those grim Next thorns that mount, 
 
 Clump , clump , the stairways of the brain with — sir. my small account , 
 That, after every good we gain — Love, Fame, Wealth, Wisdom — still, 
 
 As punctual as a cuckoo clock, hold up their little bill, 
 
 The garqons in our Cafe of Life, by dreaming us forgot — 
 
 Sitting, like Homer’s heroes, full and musing God knows what, — 
 
 Till they say, bowing, .s’ (7 vous plait, voild. Messieurs, la note /] 
 
 I should not hint at this so soon, but in our callous day, 
 
 Tho tollman Debt, who drops the bar across the world’s highway, 
 
 Great Caasar in mid-march would stop if Crnsar could not pay ; 
 
 Pilgriming ’s dearer than it was : men cannot travel now 
 Scot-free from Dan to Beersheba upon a simple vow ; 
 
 Nay, as long back as Bess’s time, when Walsingham went over 
 Ambassador to Cousin France, at Canterbury and Dover 
 He was so fleeced by innkeepers that, ere he quitted land, 
 
 He wrote to the Prime Minister to take the knaves in hand :* 
 
 If I with staff and scallop-shell should try my way to win. 
 
 Would Bonifaces quarrel as to who should take me in ? 
 
 Or would my pilgrim’s progress end where Bunyan started his on, 
 
 And my grand tour be round and round the backyard of a prison ? 
 
 I give you here a saying deep and therefore, haply true ; 
 
 ’Tis out of Merlin’s prophecies, but quite as good as new : 
 qutstiDit boat!) for men anil nuatrs Iontjr bojages jfl bfgimtc 
 lots in a notsfjrll, ratljrr sajt Ijics in a rase of tinnt. 
 
 But, though men may not travel now, as in the middle ages, 
 
 With self-sustaining retinues of little gilt-edged pages, 
 
 Yet one may manage pleasantly, where’er he likes to roam, 
 
 By sending his small pages (at so much per small page) home; 
 
 And if a staff and scallop-shell won’t serve so well as then, 
 
 Our outlay is about as small — just paper, ink, and pen. 
 
 Be thankful ! Humbugs never die, more than the wandering Jew ; 
 Bankrupt, they publish their own deaths, slink for a while from view. 
 
 Then take an alias , change the sign, and the old trade renew ; 
 
 Indeed, ’tis wondrous how each Age, though laughing at the Past. 
 
 Insists on having its tight shoe made on the same old last ; 
 
 How itr is sure its system would break up at once without 
 The bunnian which it will believe hereditary gout ; 
 
 How it takes all its swans for geese, nay, stranger yet and sadder, 
 
 Sees in its treadmill’s fruitless, jog a heavenward Jacob’s-ladder, 
 
 Shouts — Lo, the Shining Heights are reached ! One moment more aspire ! 
 Trots into cramps its poor, dear legs, gets never an inch the higher, 
 
 And, like the others, ends with pipe and mug beside the fire. 
 
 There, ’tween each doze, it whiffs and sips and watches with a sneer 
 The green recruits that trudge and sweat where it had swinked whilere, 
 
 And sighs to think this soon spent zeal should be in simple truth 
 The only interval between old Fogy hood and Youth : 
 
 “ Well,” thus it muses, “ well, what odds ? ’Tis not for us to warn ; 
 
 “ ’Twill be the same when we are dead, and was ere we were born ; 
 
 “ Without the Treadmill, too, how grind our store of winter’s corn ? 
 
 “ Had we no stock, nor twelve per cent, received from Treadmill shares, 
 
 “We might „ . . . but these poor devils at last will get our easy -chairs ; 
 
 “ High aims and hopes have great rewards, they, too, serene and snug, 
 
 “Shall one day have their — soothing pipe and their enlivening mug; 
 
 “ From Adam, empty-handed Youth hath always heard the hum 
 “ Of Good Times Coming, and will hear until the last day come ; 
 
 “ Young ears hear forward, old ones back, and, while the earth rolls on, 
 
 “ Full-handed Eld shall hear recede the steps of Good Times Gone ; 
 
 “Ah what a cackle we set up whene’er an egg was laid ! 
 
 “ Cack-cack-cack-cackle ! rang around, the scratch for worms was stayed, 
 
 * See the Compleat Ambassador, 1665, p. 21 
 
400 
 
 Our Oim. 
 
 [April 
 
 “ Cut-cut-ca-dah-cut! from this egg the coming cock shall stalk! 
 
 “The great New Era dawns, the age of Deeds and not of Talk ! 
 
 “ And every stnpid lien of us hugged close his egg of chalk, 
 
 “ Thought, — sure, I feel life stir within, each day with greater strength, 
 
 “ 1 have not sat these years in vain, the world is saved at length ; — 
 
 •• When lo, the chick ! from former chicks he differed not a jot. 
 
 “ But grew and crew and scratched and went, like those before, to pot ! ” 
 So muse the dim Emeriti , and, mournful though it be, 
 
 1 must confess a kindred thought hath sometimes come to me, 
 
 Who, though but just of forty turned, have heard the rumorous fame 
 Of nine and ninety Coming Men, all — coming till they came. 
 
 Pure Mephistophiles all this? the vulgar nature jeers ; 
 
 Good friend, while 1 was writing it, my eyes were dim with tears ; 
 Thrice happy he who cannot see, or who his eyes can shut, 
 
 Life’s deepest sorrow is contained in that small word there — But ! 
 
 Digression D. 
 
 Caught in the mire, he argufies, 
 
 Shows how ’twas done by rules, 
 
 And proves outright that nonsense lies 
 Beyond the reach of fools. 
 
 That’s pure digression, then, you think ? Now, just to prove ’tis not, 
 
 I shall begin a bigger one upon this very spot : 
 
 At any rate, ’tis naught, you say ; precisely, I admit it, 
 
 For, in convicting it of that, you virtually acquit it ; 
 
 You have conjectured. I suppose, — (come, never look despondent !) 
 
 That I intend to offer as an our own correspondent, 
 
 And by what method more direct could I avouch my fitness 
 Than by exhibiting such art as the above may witness? 
 
 I had one Nothing ; and, bj r dint of turning and displaying it, 
 
 I’ve occupied the time thus far in seeming to be saying it, 
 
 And have it, good as new, till comes the moment for conveying it 
 Each creature must get forward in his own peculiar sort ; 
 
 The crab slants sideway to his end, and finds the way as short. 
 
 You’d make him go forth rightly, eh ? pray try your hand, Sir dab, — 
 Well, you have bettered Providence, but Nature wants her crab ; 
 
 Sir, in that awful Congress there, where sit th’ assembled Fates, 
 
 Of which the unconscious newspapers report the slow debates, 
 
 Thank God, you can’t be lobbying, log-rolling, and all that ; — 
 
 A world that suited you, 0 Smith, might be a trifle flat. 
 
 Fate, Idiosyncrasy, or what is just the same thing, custom, 
 
 Leads every mortal by the ear, though he be strong as Bustem, 
 
 Makes him do quite impossible things, — then, with a spear of grass 
 Marks the thin line none else can see, but which he cannot pass ; 
 
 That son of yours, so pale and slim, with whom the master fails, 
 
 What claps him in the fo’c’stle rude, and sends him after whales? 
 
 And Samson, there, your burly boy, what takes him by the nape 
 And sets him at the counter’s back to measure thread and tape ? 
 
 The servant-man you hired last year, who, for a paltry fee 
 Surrendered all his nature up, and would if he’d had three, 
 
 To suit your whimsies, and who seemed to find all drudgery sweet, 
 
 Left you in tears, — he could not take that bundle through the street ; 
 Centripetal, centrifugal, these the conditions two, 
 
 Some cling like moss, and other some fling off, their whole lives through ; 
 My style’s centrifugal ; mark plain the settled boundary-line, 
 
 And, till it gets on t’other side, ’twill fret and fume and pine : 
 
 Or call ’t the polypean style ; each verse contains, at any rate, 
 
 A polypus that in its turn new polypi can generate, 
 
 And if I the temptation strong that lurks in any verse shun, 
 
 ’Tis certain that the next will breed new centres of dispersion ; 
 
 A brief attempt would shortly prove that I should be much worse if 
 I tried to curb my natural bent of being too discursive, 
 
 But I forbear, I spare you this experimentum crucis, 
 
 And shall, instead, proceed to show that Nonsense hath its uses ; 
 
1853.] 
 
 Our Own. 
 
 407 
 
 I mean good nonsense, there are men enough who have a leaning to 
 Write nonsense in great solemn tomes, nor have the wit of meaning to — 
 Tomes, the hop-pillows of the mind, that vanquish readers stout, 
 
 And which no gentleman’s library can he complete without, 
 
 Pemoctent nobis , bedward turned, take one and feel no doubt ; 
 
 What a profound narcotic spell your fading senses greets, 
 
 ’Tis just like getting into bed to look between their sheets; 
 
 [I mean to make a list of them, some rainy day, to be a 
 Fasciculus first to my complete librorum Pharmacopoeia .] 
 
 And now, because so hard of faith, this omnibus and gas age, 
 
 From an old author I translate the following deep passage ; 
 
 (See preface to the Morice Encomium of Erasmus, 
 
 Recensuit et prafationem addidit Gelasmus : 
 
 ’Tis the easiest matter, in one sense,* 
 
 To write very passable nonsense ; 
 
 There are those who do naught but create your 
 Poor stuff from mere thinness of nature ; 
 
 But to do it with art and intention, 
 
 To never let fancy or pen shun 
 
 Any kind of odd lurches, twists, waggeries, 
 
 Absurdities, quibbles, and vagaries ; 
 
 To roll your Diogenes-puncheon 
 
 The vext reader’s toes with a crunch on, 
 
 Making one quip the mere cotyledon 
 For the seed of another to feed on, 
 
 Is a matter — why, just reckon how many 
 Have fared well enough with Melpomene, 
 
 And how very few have come by a 
 Mere prosperous look from Thalia ; 
 
 Who since has contrived to hit off an ease 
 
 That in hard work will match A s 1 f 
 
 Hath even great Swift in his shabby lays 
 
 Come near the hop-skip prose of R s ? 
 
 The deep-quibbling, sage-clown of S e, 
 
 From among all the wits can you rake his peer ? 
 
 Are they not, my dear sir, rari nantes 
 
 Who can jingle the bells with C s? 
 
 How many great clerks in one turn could 
 
 Be both zany and wise man as S e could ? 
 
 And who could with such a wise knack array 
 
 Great Jeames’s phonetics as T y ? 
 
 Your head is too small if it happen 
 That you can’t keep the noble fool’s-cap on. 
 
 So he goes maundering on and on, he’s almost worse than I am, 
 
 And every line he writes begets as many sons as Priam ; 
 
 All this, good Messieurs Editors, is simply introduction 
 To show how nothing could be said in endless reproduction ; 
 
 I also wished to smooth the way for scribbling off some jolly 
 Good, topsy-turvy, head-o’er-heels, unmeaning, wholesome folly ; 
 
 We’re pretty nearly crazy here with change and go-ahead, 
 
 With flinging our caught bird away for two ne’er caught instead, 
 
 With butting ’gainst the wall which we declare shall be a portal. 
 
 And questioning Deeps that never yet have said a word to mortal ; 
 
 We’re growing pale and hollow-eyed, and out of all condition. 
 
 With mediums and prophetic chairs, and crickets with a mission, 
 
 (The most astounding oracles since Balaam’s donkey spoke, 
 
 ’T would seem our furniture was all of Dodonean oak). 
 
 * “ Nullitates scribere tarn facile est qnam bibere ; seel scribere intelligenter quod sit inintelligibile ; insanire 
 perfrequenter, motu proprio, libenter ; vertere in risibile quod piano iinpossibile, sic ut titillat imurn pectus, — 
 hoc est summuin intellects, ” et cattera. Praelatio Gelasmi pp. XCIX. et seqq. 
 
 t To avoid all suspicion of personality, I have omitted the names here. Though dead for centuries, an en- 
 raged satirist might revenge himself on me, nowadays, through the columns of the Spiritual Telegraphy or 
 the legs of some dithyrambic centre-table. 
 
408 
 
 A Visit to Popocatepetl. 
 
 [April 
 
 Make but the public laugh, be sure, ’twill take you to be somebody; 
 
 ’Twill wrench its button from your clutch, my densely-earnest, glum body ; 
 ’Tis good, this noble earnestness, good in its place, but why 
 Make great Achilles"’ shield the pan to bake a penny pie ? 
 
 Why, when we have a kitchen-range, insist that we shall stop, 
 
 And bore clear down to central fires to broil our dailj r chop? 
 
 Excalibur and Durandart are swords of price, but then 
 
 Why draw them sternly when you wish to cut your nails or pen? 
 
 Small gulf between the ape and man; you bridge it with your staff; 
 
 But it will be impassable until the ape can laugh;— 
 
 No, no, be common now and then, be sensible, be funny, 
 
 And, as Siberians bait their traps for bears with pots of honey, 
 
 From which ere they’ll withdraw their snouts, they’ll suffer many a club-lick, 
 So bait your moral figure-of-fours to catch the Orson public. 
 
 Look how the dead leaves melt their way down through deep-drifted snow ; 
 
 They take the sun-warmth down with them — pearls could not conquer so ; 
 
 There is a moral here, you see ; if you would preach, jmu must 
 
 Steep all your truths in sun that they may melt down through the crust ; 
 
 Brave Jeremiah, you are grand and terrible, a sign 
 
 And wonder, but were never quite a popular divine ; 
 
 Fancy the figure you would cut among the nuts and wine ! 
 
 I, on occasion, too, could preach, but hold it wiser far 
 To give the public sermons it will take with its cigar, 
 
 And morals fugitive, and vague as are these smoke-wreaths light 
 
 In which .... I trace ... a let me see — bless me ! ’tis out of sight. 
 
 When I my commentators have (who serve dead authors brave 
 As Turks do bodies that are sworn to stir within the grave, — 
 
 Unbury, make minced-meat of them, and bury them again), 
 
 They’ll find deep meanings underneath each sputter of my pen, 
 
 Which I, a blissful shade (perhaps in teapoy pent, by process 
 Of these new moves in furniture, this wooden metempsj-chosis), 
 
 Accept for mine, unquestioning, as prudent Gothe choused 
 The critics out of all the thoughts they found for him in Faust. 
 
 To be Continued. 
 
 A VISIT TO POPOCATEPETL. 
 
 M ANY were the bright scenes which 
 burst upon the view of our little 
 army, as our wearied columns toiled up 
 the eastern slopes of the Cordilleras, and 
 passed from the sultry plains of the tierra 
 caliente to those regions of perennial 
 bloom which surround the lovely city of 
 Jalapa. There was a freshness and a 
 beauty in the landscape peculiarly sooth- 
 ing after the turmoil and excitement of 
 the previous action ; and our pleasurable 
 sensations were greatly heightened by the 
 view of those majestic mountains which 
 bounded the prospect to the west. The 
 white summit of Orizava, which had 
 greeted us far out at sea, now rose in 
 awful majesty before us, in striking con- 
 trast with the deep verdure which clothed 
 the country at its base. As we ascended 
 still higher and left the sea and the clouds 
 far below us, the fine scenery of the table- 
 lands presented to our view a succession 
 of constantly varying pictures. The 
 rugged summit of the Cofre, overlooking 
 
 j 
 
 the plains of Perote ; the sharp cone of 
 Pizarro, rising from their midst ; the 
 cactus-covered range which stretches 
 from it towards the west, and was seen 
 reflected in the fleeting lakes of the 
 mirage: the noble Malinche, at whose 
 base is seated La Puebla, the city of the 
 churches, and which 
 
 “ from out the plain 
 
 Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break, 
 
 And on the curl hangs pausing ; ” 
 
 were objects which served in their turn to 
 call forth our highest admiration. 
 
 But it was not until the lofty peak of 
 Popocatepetl, wreathed with a diadem of 
 eternal snows, appeared above its robe 
 of clouds, that we beheld the most re- 
 markable of that mountain-chain which 
 stretches, in a glittering belt, from the 
 Gulf to the Pacific Ocean. From the 
 earliest records of the Conquest we glean 
 a knowledge of the interest which this 
 mountain occasioned. The fires which 
 burst fiercely from its summit when the 
 
A Visit to Popocatepetl. 
 
 409 
 
 1853.] 
 
 Spanish adventurers were encamped at 
 TIascala, and cast a lurid glare over the 
 snows of Tztaccihuatl, excited equal terror 
 at Oholula and in the ancient Teuoclltitlau, 
 while they impressed even the hardy ca- 
 valier with a feeling of awe. This out- 
 burst of flames which for ages had been 
 feeding upon the very roots of the Cordil- 
 leras. occurring at a time of imminent 
 peril to the state, presaged to supersti- 
 tious minds the downfall of the Aztec 
 power. We can judge of the impressions 
 which the scene made upon the mind of 
 Cortes, which was ever alive to objects of 
 interest, when we refer to the letters 
 which he addressed to his sovereign, the 
 Emperor Charles V. In his first letter, 
 when speaking of Popocatepetl, “ The 
 mountain that smokes,” and its scarcely 
 less beautiful neighbor, Iztaccihuatl, 
 “The White Woman,” he employs the 
 following language : — 
 
 “Eight leagues from Cliolula are met two 
 chains of very lofty mountains, which are 
 the more remarkable, as their summits are 
 covered with snow in the month of Au- 
 gust, and as there issue from one of them, 
 many times during the day and night, very 
 considerable volumes of fire, the smoke of 
 which rises to the clouds with so great a 
 force that that of the winds, however great 
 it may be in that elevated region, cannot 
 change its vertical direction. In order to 
 give your Majesty the most particular ac- 
 count of the singular objects of this country, 
 I chose ten of my companions, such as were 
 fitted for a discovery of this nature; I caused 
 them to be accompanied by some Indians 
 of the country, who served them as guides ; 
 and I directed them to use all their efforts 
 to reach the summit of the mountain chain, 
 and ascertain whence the smoke proceeded : 
 but it was impossible for them to reach it, 
 on account of the abundance of the snows, 
 of the whirlwinds of ashes with which the 
 height is constantly surrounded, and of the 
 excessive cold that is felt there. They ap- 
 proached the summit as closely as was prac- 
 ticable for them ; and while at the most ele- 
 vated point to which they had been able to 
 ascend, the smoke issued with so much noise 
 and impetuosity that the mountain appeared 
 to be crumbling away. They brought back 
 from their journey only some snow and ice, 
 — objects sufficiently curious in a country 
 situated under the twentieth degree of lati- 
 tude, and where there is so considerable a 
 degree of heat.” — Corr. of Cortes, 1st Letter. 
 
 After this unsuccessful attempt to 
 reach the summit of the mountain, 
 Cortes pursued his march and entered 
 the city of Mexico. But even in the 
 midst of the wars in which he was sub- 
 sequently involved with the Aztecs, he 
 did not lose sight of the remarkable 
 mountain which had excited, in so high a 
 
 degree, his wonder and curiosity. He 
 accordingly writes to his Majesty, after 
 the fall of the Capital, as follows : — 
 
 “ I decided in our first moments of repose 
 to acquire a more particular knowledge of 
 the volcano of which I have spoken in my 
 first letter, and from which there continually 
 arose, in a vertical line, a thick smoke. The 
 vulgar regarded this mountain as very dan- 
 gerous ; tradition announced that all who 
 ascended it died from the effects. I sent a 
 few Spaniards there to examine the summit of 
 the mountain ; but as they were ascending it 
 there arose so thick a smoke that they could 
 not and dared not advance to the place from 
 which it ascended. I have caused others to 
 ascend it since, who have clambered up 
 twice, and advanced to the pit from which 
 the smoke issues. The diameter of the pit 
 appeared equal to double the range of a 
 cross-bow, and the circumference about three 
 quarters of a league ; its depth is incom- 
 mensurable to the sight, and they found 
 around the pit some sulphur, which the 
 smoke deposits there. At one time they 
 were very near it, when they heard so fright- 
 ful a noise accompanying the elevation of the 
 smoke, that they descended in all haste. 
 They were not half way down the moun- 
 tain when they found themselves in great 
 peril, on account of the quantity of stones 
 which were rolling down, and which the 
 volcano was ejecting. The Indians were 
 stupefied at the audacity of the Spaniards, 
 and with the surprising act of bravery 
 which induced them to approach so near the 
 volcano.” — Corr. of Cortes, : id, Letter. 
 
 From these extracts it would appear 
 that the Spaniards did not succeed in 
 reaching the summit of the mountain, 
 although they approached very near the 
 edge of the crater, which is a little below 
 the summit. Mr. Prescott has stated, in 
 his “ History of the Conquest of Mexico,” 
 that, by the order of Cortes, a quantity 
 of sulphur was procured from the crater, 
 at a depth of more than four hundred 
 feet. I do not know upon what authority 
 this statement is based ; but if upon that 
 of Cortes it is quite likely that Mr. Pres- 
 cott has misconceived his meaning. It is 
 the opinion of many, and amongst others, 
 I believe, of Baron Humboldt, that the 
 precipice whose “ horrors,” according to 
 Cortes, were faced by the “intrepid Mon- 
 tano, was no other than that of an ex- 
 tinct volcano northwest of Tacuba. The 
 meaning of Cortes is doubtful, and Old 
 Bernal Diaz, whose taste for the marvel- 
 lous ought to have led him to chronicle so 
 wonderful an achievement, is silent on the 
 subject. In this state of uncertainty we 
 might very reasonably be led to infer, 
 from the above descriptions of the crater, 
 that it was utterly impracticable to have 
 entered it at that time. 
 
410 
 
 A Visit to Popocatepetl. 
 
 There does not appear to be any record 
 to show that the summit was attained 
 until about the year 1821, and again a 
 few years subsequently. On those occa- 
 sions the ascent was accomplished by some 
 scientific gentlemen, amongst whom was 
 the Prussian Minister to Mexico ; and the 
 appearance which the crater then present- 
 ed was made known to the world. 
 
 National pride and a spirit of emu- 
 lation, more than individual curiosity, 
 prompted many officers of the American 
 army to undertake the difficult task of 
 encountering the ascent of what is usually 
 regarded as the highest point in North 
 America. The active duties of the cam- 
 paign in the Valley of Mexico prevented, 
 during their continuance, the accomplish- 
 ment of this cherished object. It was not 
 until the enemy was driven from his cap- 
 ital, and a period of comparative quiet had 
 resulted from the brilliant achievements of 
 the American arms that we were enabled 
 to organize an expedition to the snow-clad 
 peak, which continued to be the most con- 
 spicuous object in our view. 
 
 The party consisted originally of about 
 twenty-five officers and several citizens, 
 with an escort of about sixty men from 
 different corps of the army. We left the 
 city of Mexico on the 3d of April. 1848, 
 following the Puebla road until we ap- 
 proached the hacienda of Buena Vista, 
 when changing our direction more to the 
 south, we traversed the beautiful valley 
 which formerly constituted the province 
 of Chaleo ; and, passing in our course 
 near the base of the mountain chain which 
 forms the eastern boundary of the great 
 basin, we reached on the second day the 
 factory of Mira Flores. This place, the 
 residence of Mr. Robertson, a native of 
 Scotland, to whose warm heart we were 
 indebted for every hospitality, is situated 
 about thirty miles southeast of the city, 
 at the base of a low range of hills form- 
 ing the southern boundary of the Mexican 
 Valley, and which seems a spur of Iztac- 
 cihuatl, jutting out across the plain until 
 it connects with the mountains forming 
 the southwestern boundary of the valley. 
 This spur, or chain of heights, which is 
 elevated but a few hundred feet above the 
 plain, forms the ridge which divides the 
 waters of the Valley of Mexico from those 
 that flow into the Pacific Ocean. 
 
 Having passed the village of Tlamanal- 
 co, we began soon to descend into the un- 
 dulating valley bejmnd, watered by the 
 cold streams which fall from the moun- 
 tains, and gradually descending as it 
 sweeps around the base of Popocatepetl, 
 into a tierra caliente southwest of the 
 mountain. It was the portion of this fer- 
 tile plain which we were now crossing, 
 
 [April 
 
 in the vicinity of Amecameea, that had 
 greeted the sight of the Spaniards when 
 they beheld for the first time the broad 
 empire of Montezuma. In their elevated 
 position on the difficult path which led 
 them between the two snow-capped moun- 
 tains whose gigantic forms rose on either 
 hand like majestic columns, whose glitter- 
 ing tops were pinnacled in the clouds, the 
 view of this enchanted land, with its ver- 
 dant fields, and primeval forests, and 
 beautiful lakes, shut out from the world 
 by a lofty chain of mountains which en- 
 circled it, burst upon them in all its mag- 
 nificence. 
 
 Having reached the village of Ameca- 
 meca, situated in the midst of this beau- 
 tiful plain, it became necessary to make 
 some further preparations for the ascent 
 of the mountain. We accordingly left 
 our wagons in charge of the civil authori- 
 ties of the place, and having obtained a 
 number of pack-mules, proceeded on the 
 road towards the south until we reached 
 the village of Ozumba, about forty-five 
 miles southeast by south from the city of 
 Mexico. We had now proceeded so far 
 in a southerly direction that the summit 
 of the mountain, which is about southeast 
 of the city, was seen in a direction nearly 
 northeast by east. The plains around 
 us were elevated more than six thousand 
 feet above the ocean, yet this lofty peak 
 still rose more than two miles in vertical 
 height above our position, and presented 
 an appearance of grandeur seldom equalled 
 even in the widest forms of nature. The 
 body of the mountain, connected on the 
 north, at an elevation of about four thou- 
 sand feet, with Iztaccihuatl, declined in 
 the opposite direction, with a gently di- 
 minishing’ slope, a distance of fifteen or 
 twenty miles, into the plains of the table 
 lands. It was shaded by forests of wav- 
 ing pine trees, and cut into wild precipices 
 by the deep barrancas which intersected 
 it, and down which dashed the angry 
 mountain torrents. Above this dark mass 
 appeared the snow-white cone, rising 
 symmetrically in every direction at an 
 angle of nearly forty-five degrees, until 
 it seemed but a glittering point in the 
 sky. 
 
 On the morning of the 6th we left 
 Ozumba, and bearing directly towards 
 the summit, soon reached the hamlet of 
 Atloutla. where we procured two Mexican 
 guides to conduct us through the dense 
 forest which skirts the base of the moun- 
 tain to a vacaria, or pasturage for cattle, 
 which is found near the upper limit of the 
 timber. From that point it would be ne- 
 cessary to rely solely upon our own re- 
 sources, as nothing could induce these 
 timid people to tempt, by any further ad- 
 
1853.] 
 
 A Visit to Popocatepetl. 
 
 411 
 
 vance, the slumbering wrath of the moun- 
 tain. If we had credited the marvellous 
 stories of these superstitious country peo- 
 ple, our expedition would have progressed 
 no further. We were told that blindness, 
 and even death, would result from the 
 rashness of our attempt to pierce into the 
 forbidden regions before us. But a suffi- 
 cient plea is found for their timidity, in 
 their proximity to a scene so calculated to 
 alfect the fearful imaginations of the igno- 
 rant. Their terror is not unfrequently 
 excited by the subterranean sounds which 
 are heard beneath them, and which result 
 from the smouldering fires that find only 
 an occasional vent through the deep cra- 
 ter of the volcano. 
 
 Leaving Atloutla, our path conducted 
 us across the cultivated fields which skirt 
 the base of the mountain, through a coun- 
 try intersected by deep ravines which are 
 worn by the torrents of the rainy season, 
 and afford issues for the water that accu- 
 mulates from the constant melting of the 
 snows. In order to cross these barran- 
 cas , the path is worn in many places into 
 the earth, leaving on both sides, for con- 
 siderable distances, perpendicular banks 
 fifteen or twenty feet in height ; and, as 
 there is only room for a single mule to 
 pass with his pack, the vegetation which 
 grows upon the crests of the banks, and 
 overhangs the path, almost completely 
 shelters it from the rays even of a verti- 
 cal sun. Passing in this manner a dis- 
 tance of four or five miles, we reached a 
 small spur of the mountain which extends 
 a little distance into the plain, and follow- 
 ing along its crest, we began gradually to 
 ascend above the cultivated valley. We 
 had risen several hundred feet, and were 
 beginning to obtain a very extensive view, 
 when our path turned short to the right, 
 and, descending from the crest which it 
 had hitherto pursued, involved us at once 
 amidst deep barrancas , and almost im- 
 penetrable forests. In the mind of an 
 American who had visited no other coun- 
 try but his own, the view of a forest, 
 however magnificent, would excite little 
 surprise ; but those who have looked on 
 the wild scenery of Mexico, have found 
 cause to lament that Nature, in many re- 
 spects so bountiful in her gifts to this 
 country, has left her fertile plains and tall 
 mountains so naked and unsheltered. 
 They will therefore appreciate the new 
 feelings which we experienced on this 
 sudden transition from the unbroken glare 
 of a tropical sun, to the cool recesses of a 
 forest as dense as any which shadow our 
 own fair land. The scenery grew more 
 novel and romantic as we advanced, 
 threading our way along the narrow path, 
 which became every moment more diffi- 
 
 cult. At length, after having proceeded 
 four or five miles, climbing many a rug- 
 ged ascent almost unpassable by any thing 
 but a Mexican mule, and winding in the 
 dark shadow of the lofty pines along the 
 crests of frightful precipices, we emerged 
 from the dense forest into one of those 
 pasture grounds which cover some of the 
 crests of the mountain spurs, and form 
 extensive openings in the forest. Ascend- 
 ing to the upper end of this steep prairie, 
 we found a rude hut, about twelve feet 
 square, constructed by the cowherds as a 
 temporary shelter from the inclemencies 
 of the weather. In the bottom of a deep 
 ravine near by, we found a small stream 
 of water, and consequently’ pitched our 
 camp at this spot. 
 
 It was about three o’clock in the after- 
 noon when we reached this position. 
 The day had been a beautiful one, and 
 had served to melt much of the snow, 
 which several preceding inclement days 
 had collected to an unusual depth on the 
 mountain, and even in the forest which 
 yet extended more than a mile above our 
 camp. Ascending a little higher than 
 the camp, we reached a projection of a 
 spur which was almost entirely" isolated, 
 by deep barrancas , from the body of the 
 mountain, and perceived at a single glance 
 the tempestuous nature of our position ; 
 for every tree upon its summit was scathed 
 by lightning. From here we obtained a 
 view towards the northwest and south- 
 west, of almost unlimited extent ; for we 
 had already ascended about four thousand 
 feet above the beautiful plains below us, 
 and were about eleven thousand feet 
 above the ocean. Below our position we 
 saw the body of the mountain, begirt 
 with a dark forest of waving pine-trees, 
 and sloping far aivay into the distant 
 valleys. In front of us rose abruptly, to 
 an altitude of more than six thousand feet 
 above our position, the regular cone, which 
 we were y r et to ascend, partially concealed 
 by the clouds which were gathering 
 around it. As these were swept onward by r 
 the winds, we could obtain an occasional 
 glimpse ; — as if through the rents of a veil 
 — of the wild precipices and rugged ridges, 
 whose dark surfaces, viewed at this short 
 distance, contrasted strikingly with the 
 pure white snows which had been for 
 ages accumulating around them. But 
 it was impracticable to make a proper re- 
 connaisance, through these floating clouds, 
 of the difficult route which wc were to 
 attempt on the following day. 
 
 While thus admiring the bold outline 
 of the mountain, our attention was at- 
 tracted by the low murmurs of distant 
 thunder, to a scene of peculiar interest. 
 At the distance of twenty or thirty miles 
 
412 
 
 A Visit to Popocatepetl. 
 
 in the direction of the capital, we observed 
 a heavy cloud rolling along the valley, 
 and darkening the distant lakes with its 
 shadow. As it gradually approached and 
 deluged the plains below us, the clouds 
 continued to gather about the summit of 
 the mountain, until they finally burst in 
 a heavy snow-storm around it. We thus 
 enjoyed, for some time, the singular spec- 
 tacle of a thunder-storm raging below, and 
 a snow-storm above us, while we were 
 ourselves in the sunlight, and beheld the 
 broad valleys to the southwest shining in 
 all the brightness of a cloudless day. As 
 the shades of night closed around us, the 
 clouds gathered about our camp, and we 
 were soon in the midst of a heavy hail- 
 storm. The scene now derived a new 
 interest, as the vivid streams of light 
 flashed around and below us, and ex- 
 posed, in their momentary gleams, the 
 dark outlines of the forest, while the loud 
 crash of the thunder broke harshly on 
 the ear, and died away in distant echoes 
 amongst the wild mountain crags. 
 
 It was our intention to make a very 
 early start from our camp on the follow- 
 ing morning, but the night was so tem- 
 pestuous that we had to wait for day- 
 light. The morning was exceedingly un- 
 favorable to the accomplishment of our 
 purpose. The snow and hail had been 
 killing almost constantly during the night, 
 so that it now covered all the heights in 
 our vicinitj'’, as well as the ground upon 
 which we were encamped, and had greatly 
 increased the difficulties we were to en- 
 counter. The clouds still hung darkly 
 around the mountain, and promised any 
 thing but a favorable day, and the snow 
 extended more than six thousand feet 
 from the summit. 
 
 Under these unfavorable circumstances, 
 we left our camp about seven o’clock on 
 the morning of the 7 th of April, and con- 
 tinuing our course through the part of 
 the forest which still extended above us, 
 we reached, after an ascent of perhaps a 
 thousand feet, the limit of vegetation. 
 Here commenced the most arduous part 
 of our labors. The new-fallen snow, 
 which covered the soft sand to the depth 
 of nearly a foot, yielding constantly to our 
 steps, rendered the ascent toilsome in the 
 extreme, as we clambered up the steep- 
 ening acclivity. To add to our difficulties, 
 the clouds which had been hanging 
 threateningly over us all the morning, 
 finally burst around us in a terrific storm 
 of hail and snow, accompanied by so 
 fierce a wind that we were blinded by the 
 drifting eddies which were constantly 
 whirling in the air. We soon lost sight 
 of every landmark which could serve in 
 any way to guide us. So dense were the 
 
 [April 
 
 clouds in which we were enveloped, that 
 it was impossible to distinguish an object 
 at the distance of more than a few yards ; 
 yet for a long time we continued to 
 struggle against the opposing elements, 
 directing our course along what appeared 
 to be the steepest ascent, and trusting to 
 fortune to guide us to a practicable path 
 over the precipices of the mountain. On 
 we toiled until we reached, about three 
 thousand feet above our camp, a ridge of 
 rocks, which appeared to extend in a 
 rugged line towards the summit. At this 
 point we found our party reduced to four, 
 who alone, of the entire number, had thus 
 far overcome the difficulties which opposed 
 us. Unwilling to relinquish the attempt 
 when we supposed it so nearly accom- 
 plished, we continued our struggle to- 
 wards the top, scrambling as well as 
 possible along the northern declivity of 
 the ridge, sometimes half buried in the 
 snow which covered the loose stones, and 
 advancing at the imminent risk of being 
 precipitated into the deep valley on our left. 
 After toiling in this manner until past 
 twelve o’clock, the acclivity became so 
 steep that, in order to make any further 
 advance, we were obliged to climb to the 
 top of the ridge which had served hitherto 
 to direct our course. Proceeding a short 
 distance along the crest we had thus 
 attained, we were stopped by an impass- 
 able obstacle, which interposed itself in 
 our way. We had reached the point of a 
 rock which was the termination of a part 
 of the ridge, and in our front and on either 
 hand, looked down a precipice of forty or 
 fifty ifeet. The storm still raged around 
 us with unabated violence, so that it was 
 impossible for us to distinguish upon 
 what point of the mountain we stood. 
 Unable to advance, but unwilling to re- 
 trace our steps, when the ascent appeared 
 so nearly accomplished, we waited here 
 for a time, in the hope that the storm 
 would exhaust its fury, and enable us to 
 reconnoitre our pathway. Standing on 
 this isolated peak, half buried in the 
 drifting snows, and looking around upon 
 the dense masses of clouds which were 
 driving fiercely past us, and which seemed 
 as if they would bear us away in the 
 wild chaos which they presented, we 
 could appreciate most feelingly the sub- 
 limit}- of the thoughts expressed in these 
 lines of Childe Harold — 
 
 “ lie who ascends to mountain tops shall find 
 The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow. 
 
 * * * * * 
 Though high above the sun of glory glow, 
 
 And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, 
 
 Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow 
 Contending tempests on his naked head, 
 
 And thus reward the toils which to those summits 
 led." 
 
 After waiting in this position a con- 
 
1853. 
 
 A Visit to Popocatepetl. 
 
 413 
 
 siderable time, and finding the storm 
 rather to increase in its fury than to offer 
 any signs of abatement, we were com- 
 pelled by the lateness of the hour and the 
 inteftsity of the cold, reluctantly to relin- 
 quish our attempt to gain the summit. 
 But we did not make our retrograde 
 movement until we had determined, in 
 council, that the effort should be renewed 
 on the following day. In going down the 
 mountain we followed the path we had 
 ' pursued in the ascent, supporting our 
 steps with our Alpine poles until the de- 
 clivity became comparatively smooth and 
 gentle, when the soft snow, spread over 
 the surface of the smooth sand, enabled 
 us to descend with rapidity. We had not 
 reached the upper edge of the forest on 
 our return, when the clouds, having appa- 
 rently poured down their entire contents, 
 cleared away and exposed to our view 
 what we had so much desired during the 
 morning — a magnificent view of the 
 mountain, together with the direction of 
 the pathway we had pursued in the 
 ascent. We then discovered that the 
 highest point we had reached was not far 
 below the Pico del Fraile, and little more 
 than two thousand feet from the summit 
 of the mountain. Amidst the obscurity 
 in which we had been involved, we had 
 wandered from the true direction, and 
 followed, as far as was possible, an im- 
 practicable way. 
 
 Having returned to our camp, several 
 of the party made the necessary prepara- 
 tions to resume the ascent at an early 
 hour on the following morning ; but as 
 the night approached, we were painfully 
 reminded of the predictions of the super- 
 stitious peasants. Exposure, in so eleva- 
 ted a region, to the violent storm and the 
 intensity of the cold, had induced such a 
 degree of inflammation in our eyes, as to 
 occasion us .serious apprehensions. Never 
 did I pass a night in such agony ; and 
 when I made an effort in the morning 
 to open my eyes and look around me, it 
 seemed as if a thousand pointed arrows, 
 instead of rays of light, had pierced to the 
 retina of my ej r es. Under these circum- 
 stances, we were under the necessity of 
 abandoning our enterprise for the time, 
 and were forced to seek some alleviation 
 for our sufferings in the more equable 
 temperature of the plains. What ren- 
 dered this retreat more vexatious was the 
 fact, as stated by those of the party whose 
 exposure had not been so great as to 
 blind them, that the day was a most 
 beautiful one, and highly favorable to our 
 designs. My recollections of it, however, 
 are of a less pleasing kind, it having been 
 a perfect blank to me ; and I think the 
 experience of that and the subsequent 
 
 day, will ever excite in the hearts of seve- 
 ral of our party, a most lively interest in 
 the sufferings of the blind. 
 
 It was not without much difficulty that 
 we succeeded in reaching, on the evening 
 of the 8th, the villages of Ozumba and 
 Amecameca, and in concentrating at the 
 latter place, on the morning of the 9th. 
 the scattered members of our party. We 
 here found ourselves so much recovered 
 from the effects of our exposure on the 
 mountain, that several of the party con- 
 cluded to return, and. awaiting a more 
 favorable day, make another attempt to 
 reach the summit. Having, by the morn- 
 ing of the 10th. made the necessary pre- 
 parations, we retraced, with this view, 
 the path we had so reluctantly descended ; 
 and threading our way once more along 
 the deep barrancas, and through the 
 dark shadows of the mountain forest, 
 pitched our camp about a mile above its 
 former position, on the crest of a ravine, 
 which afforded us a supply of the coldest 
 water. During our absence in the val- 
 ley the weather had been remarkably 
 fine, and had served to dissolve much of 
 the snow which had fallen during our 
 first visit to the mountain ; but the air 
 was of a chilly coldness, and gave us a 
 keen relish for the cheering heat of the 
 blazing pine knots, out of which we 
 formed our evening’s camp fire. The 
 night was a beautiful one ; and the moon, 
 though not at her full, was sufficiently 
 old to cast her mild light, in magical tints, 
 over the valley and forest below, and 
 around the white summit which rose like 
 a spectre above us. 
 
 At fifteen minutes before three o’clock 
 on the morning of the 11th April, the 
 party was again in motion. After pro- 
 ceeding about half a mile we emerged 
 from the forest, which terminates abruptly 
 on account of the sandy soil which here 
 suddenly commences. Ascending, per- 
 haps, a thousand feet above our camp, 
 we found it necessary, because of the 
 steepness of the acclivity, to leave our 
 horses, which we had ridden thus far, in 
 order to diminish, as much as possible, 
 the fatigues of the ascent. Proceeding 
 then on foot, we reached, after a consider- 
 able ascent, the lower termination of the 
 ridge we had encountered on the day o f 
 the first attempt, and, leaving it on our 
 left, entered upon a very steep and sandy 
 plain, included between this ridge and 
 another, which meets it at an, angle of 
 about thirty-five degrees, just below the 
 Pico del Fraile. The ascent had now be- 
 come very difficult, and was not entirely 
 free from danger ; for the steep plain or 
 valley was partially covered with fields 
 of snow which, after having been softened 
 
414 
 
 A Visit to Popocatepetl. 
 
 by the heat of the previous day, was now 
 hard frozen, and afforded a very insecure 
 hold. Supporting ourselves on the snow 
 by means of our pointed poles, and as- 
 sisting our footing in other places by the 
 sharp stones, which were frozen in the 
 sand and protruded themselves above its 
 surface, we continued to ascend gradually, 
 but constantly, towards the vertex of the 
 two ridges which have been alluded to. 
 As the lines which bounded the irregular 
 inclined plain we were ascending con- 
 verged to a point, the inclination became 
 greater, and the increasing rarefaction of 
 the atmosphere added much to our diffi- 
 culty and fatigue. 
 
 Before reaching the upper termination 
 of this plain, the distant mountain-chains 
 and deep valleys were indistinctly visible 
 in the west, clothed in the illusive charms 
 of the early dawn. But it was when we 
 were clambering up the steep acclivity 
 which terminates this valley, a little be- 
 low the Pico del F raile, that the full glow 
 of morning burst upon our view in its 
 brightest effulgence. The sun, as it rose 
 unclouded in the east, lighted up in all 
 the splendor of a morning in spring, the 
 varying scenes which were spread around 
 us. Nothing could be more beautiful 
 or impressive than the changing tints 
 which came successively over the bright- 
 ening landscape, as the lofty mountain 
 cast its conical shadow across the valley, 
 and on the distant hills, and on the clouds 
 which curled around them, and, for a 
 long time, obscured the country and vil- 
 lages at its base in the uncertain gloom 
 of early morning, while all beyond the 
 clearly defined line of shadow was glis- 
 tening in the bright beams of the sun. 
 
 Passing over the rugged termination 
 of the valley along which we had as- 
 cended, the Pico del Fraile, a porphyritic 
 mass shooting up like a needle to the 
 height of perhaps eighty feet, was in 
 plain view and but a short distance above 
 us. We reached this singular rock about 
 twenty minutes past seven o’clock a. m. 
 It is situated about fifteen hundred feet, 
 in vertical height, from the peak of the 
 mountain, on a bold and rocky ridge, 
 once, apparently, a stream of lava, and 
 which extends in a southwestern direc- 
 tion from the summit, and divides into 
 the two ridges between which we had 
 ascended. On a clear morning this re- 
 markable feature may be distinctly seen 
 from the city of Mexico, on the western 
 profile of the mountain. My attention, 
 upon reaching this point, was directed by 
 one of the party to the appearance, at 
 short intervals, of light clouds of smoke 
 which were rising above the snow, con- 
 siderably to the right of the summit. 
 
 [April 
 
 This served to indicate the position of 
 the crater, and sufficiently explained the 
 cause of the strong sulphurous odor we 
 had encountered far down the mountain. 
 
 On the southeastern side of the ridge 
 on which the Pico del Fraile is situated, 
 extending from near the crater to the 
 forests about the waist of the mountain, 
 is a deep valley whose bottom is covered 
 with sand and ice. In order to reach the 
 point indicated by the smoke, it was first 
 necessary, on account of the many preci- 
 pices which break in upon the unity of 
 the ridge, to descend into this valley, 
 which forms a practicable way through 
 the rocky barriers. Having passed 
 around the southern side of the base of 
 the Pico del Fraile, we continued, for some 
 time, to move in a horizontal direction, 
 along the steep slope of the ridge which 
 forms the western limit of the valley in 
 question, until, having reached the bot- 
 tom, we resumed the painful ascent to- 
 wards the crater. The extreme rarefac- 
 tion of the atmosphere, added to the in- 
 creasing difficulties of the ascent, imposed 
 a heavy tax upon all our energies. The 
 effort was difficult and laborious in the 
 extreme to pass in safety over the smooth 
 fields of ice, and amongst the wild crags 
 which obstructed our path ; and it re- 
 quired much caution to avoid a false step, 
 which might have precipitated us far into 
 the valley below. About six hundred or 
 eight hundred feet above the Pico, we 
 clambered up a steep natural wall of 
 rocks which was at the head of the val- 
 ley, and entered at once upon an ex- 
 tensive glacier, which filled an indenta- 
 tion in the conical part of the mountain, 
 and extended almost to the summit. The 
 passage of this glacier was by far the 
 most fatiguing portion of the ascent. The 
 surface of the snow, which had now be- 
 come very deep, was so much softened 
 by the warmth of the sun as to be inca- 
 pable of sustaining our weight, as we 
 moved over the glacier to a solitary rock 
 which, with the occasional puffs of smoke, 
 directed us to the edge of the crater. 
 The air, too, had become so much rarefied 
 at this immense elevation, as scarcely to 
 afford enough oxygen to sustain life. 
 The slightest exertion was attended with 
 great fatigue. We found it necessary, as 
 we advanced, forcing our way through 
 the snow which covered the ice to the 
 depth of more than three feet, to pause, 
 for a few moments, after having taken 
 three or four steps, in order to recover 
 from our exhaustion. A sensation of 
 dizziness, attended with a great oppres- 
 sion about the head, gradually came over 
 us as we ascended ; and we were much 
 incommoded by inhaling the noxious 
 
A Visit to Popocatepetl. 
 
 415 
 
 1853.] 
 
 gases which were ejected from the crater 
 and dissipated in the surrounding atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 At ten o’clock a. m., the advance of 
 the party reached the edge of the crater. 
 The contrast presented by the bright glare 
 <of the snow which had so dazzled our 
 sight during the ascent, and the dark 
 abyss, which, upon climbing the last few 
 feet, yawned suddenly before us, was 
 striking in the highest degree. In the 
 clear atmosphere of these elevated regions, 
 it is difficult to form by the eye alone, an 
 accurate estimate of the distances and ap- 
 parent dimensions of objects which are 
 at all remote from us. It is not strange, 
 therefore, that the impressions made on 
 the minds of the different individuals com- 
 posing the party, should in some respects 
 differ. For this reason, I will give only 
 my own opinion of the dimensions of the 
 crater — remarking that my estimates are 
 as small as any which were made by the 
 rest of the party. 
 
 The crater seems to be formed of three 
 cylindrical surfaces, of about the same 
 height, but slightly unequal diameters, 
 having a common vertical axis. The lower 
 section of each cylinder is connected with 
 the upper section of the one below it by 
 an irregular conical surface; while the 
 debris of the broken masses of rocks, fall- 
 ing from the sides and top of the crater, 
 have formed a similar surface connecting 
 the lower cylinder with the bottom ; — so 
 that the general form of the crater is that 
 ■of an inverted frustum of a cone, whose 
 vertex is very distant from its base. The 
 right section of either of the cylinders 
 would not materially differ from a circle. 
 The lip of the crater, following the de- 
 clivity of the mountain, and being there- 
 fore an oblique section of the upper cylin- 
 der, is an irregular elliptical figure, whose 
 (longest diameter is in the direction of a 
 vertical section through the summit of 
 the mountain. This diameter. I think, 
 does not exceed the third of an English 
 mile in length. The depth cf the crater 
 varies from perhaps four or five hundred 
 to six or eight hundred feet ; — the differ- 
 ence of depth in different places being 
 caused by the slope of the mountain. 
 The centre of the crater is nearly south- 
 east of the summit, which is so slightly 
 removed from the highest part of the 
 circumference that it may be regarded as 
 forming one point of the lip. At the 
 time we reached the edge of the crater, 
 the smoke was issuing in a constant 
 stream from a crevice near the eastern 
 side of the bottom, nearly opposite the 
 point where we stood, as well as occasion- 
 ally from other parts of the interior. 
 •Considerable quantities of sublimated sul- 
 
 phur had been deposited on the bottom 
 and interior conical surfaces ; and the 
 quantity of sulphuretted hydrogen gas 
 evolved from the crater, was highly offen- 
 sive and injurious. Following along the 
 lip of the crater, the first of the party suc- 
 ceeded in attaining the summit of the vol- 
 cano, the highest point of land, with per- 
 haps a single exception, in North Ameri- 
 ca, at ten minutes past ten o’clock a. m. 
 At twenty minutes past ten o’clock, hav- 
 ing attached a small flag to one of the 
 poles which had been used in making the 
 ascent, we took formal possession of the 
 subjacent country and planted the “ stars 
 and stripes ” firmly on the highest peak 
 of the Popocatepetl, overlooking the dark 
 crater which was smoking below. 
 
 The view from this point is unsurpassed 
 in extent and magnificence. The eye 
 looked, in every direction, far as human 
 vision can extend, over almost boundless 
 tracts of diversified and enchanting pros- 
 pect. To the north, and below us, was 
 the white summitof Iztaccihuatl, partially 
 veiled by the clouds which were floating 
 around it. Beyond it, and to the left, re- 
 posed the magnificent capital of the Aztecs, 
 amidst the beautiful plains and placid 
 lakes of the valley, shut in, as if by en- 
 chantment, by a chain of lofty mountains 
 which concealed its beauties from the sur- 
 rounding world. To the south extended 
 the fertile valleys of Atlixco and Cuerna- 
 vaca, and the distant plains of Oaxaca, 
 inclosed between mountain chains, which 
 appeared one beyond another, until lost 
 in the rising mists of the tierra caliente. 
 In the west shone the snowy top of the 
 Nevado de Toluca; and farther to the 
 north were the more distant plains of 
 Morelia or Michoacan. To the east lay 
 the city and valley of Puebla, the famed 
 Pyramid of Cholula, amidst the ruins of 
 the ancient city, and, at the base of the 
 Malinche, the mountain country of the 
 warlike Tlascalans. So transparent was 
 the atmosphere, that we could distinctly 
 trace the national road, as it wound across 
 the plains, until it was lost in the garita 
 of Puebla. Farther off still, were the 
 more elevated table land of Perote, and’ 
 the remarkable “ Cofre ” above them ; 
 while, but a short distance from the sea- 
 shore rose the hoary head of Orizava, 
 glittering in the bright beams of the 
 morning light. 
 
 As the day advanced, the atmosphere, 
 which had at first been unclouded, was 
 oppressed with the mists which were 
 gathering far below us. It was, indeed, a 
 beautiful and a singular sight to look 
 upon the white clouds rising from the 
 valleys thousands of feet below us, and 
 rolling their vapory masses in fleecy folds 
 
416 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 around the base of the mountain, and 
 over the distant plains, and darkening 
 with their moving shadows vast tracts of 
 the surrounding country, while the blue 
 sky above us was yet unobscured by a 
 single cloud. 
 
 On account of the very rarefied state 
 of the atmosphere, and the sickening va- 
 pors which were constantly issuing from 
 the crater, we found it necessary to de- 
 scend much sooner than we desired. 
 Leaving the summit about eleven o’clock 
 a. m., we retraced our steps until we 
 reached the head of the sandy valley 
 which we had entered after passing the 
 Pico del Fraile ; and following down it, 
 leaving the Pico on our right, we easily 
 arrived, after descending several miles, at 
 its issue from the rocky ridges which in- 
 close it. Turning then to our right, and 
 moving nearly in a horizontal direction 
 around the base of the immense cone, we 
 passed the lower termination of the first 
 ridges we had encountered in the ascent, 
 and entering, near the upper edge of the 
 forest, the pathway we had made over 
 the sand and snow, returned to our camp 
 about one o’clock p. m. 
 
 As nearly as we can estimate, the dis- 
 tance along the slope of the mountain, 
 from the limit of vegetation to the top, is 
 about three or four miles. The snow ex- 
 tended, on this day, about four thousand 
 feet, in a vertical line from the summit. 
 The thermometer, at half past ten o’clock 
 a. m., stood at 26° Fahrenheit on the 
 summit. On the 7th April it was at 22° 
 Fahrenheit, three thousand feet below 
 that point. The altitude of the summit, 
 according to a partial geometrical meas- 
 
 [April 
 
 urement by Baron Humboldt, is 17,756 
 feet : — according to a barometrical meas- 
 urement by Mr. Glennie, 17,890 feet: — 
 from a similar measurement by Mr. Ains- 
 lie, 17,852 feet. Seventeen thousand eight 
 hundred feet is the usual estimate for its 
 height above the level of the ocean. 
 
 Our task being accomplished, we set 
 out from our camp on the morning of the 
 12th, and descending into the distant val- 
 ley, crossed again over the beautiful coun- 
 try at the base of Iztaccihuatl, and reached 
 the city of Mexico on the morning of the 
 14th, after an absence of twelve days. 
 
 The following are the names of the 
 officers who succeeded in reaching the 
 summit of the mountain : 
 
 Lieut. C. P. Stone, Ordnance Depart- 
 ment; Lieut. S. B. Buckner, 6th Infan- 
 try ; Lieut. B. II. Anderson, 2d Dra- 
 goons : Lieut. R. W. Kirkham, 6th Infan- 
 try ; Capt. J. V. Bomford, 8th Infantry ; 
 Capt. S. H. Fowler, 5th Infantry ; and 
 Mr. T. J. Baggaly, an English gentleman 
 residing in Mexico, and Professor in the 
 National Academy of Arts. Three sol- 
 diers of the escort also attained the 
 summit. 
 
 Wherever our future wanderings may 
 lead us, it will be no inconsiderable source 
 of gratification to know that we were the 
 first Americans who ever stood upon the 
 snowy peak of the “ Smoking Mountain,” 
 and planted our national color within the 
 tropics, in a clime of eternal winter, over 
 a region of perpetual fire ; where it is 
 greeted by the first beams of the sun as 
 he rises from the Atlantic, and receives 
 his last parting look as he sinks behind 
 the waves of the great Southern Ocean. 
 
 VIRGINIA IN A NOVEL FORM. 
 Continued from page 2G3. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 “ Constancy, thou art a jewel. - ’ 
 
 “Frailty, thy name is woman. - ' 
 
 D ASHWOOD had been absent about 
 eighteen months, and not one line 
 had been received from him. He had 
 said before he left that he would not 
 write until he had good news to tell us ; 
 and we. therefore, concluded our brilliant 
 luminary was waning beyond the sea. 
 Alas, there are so few that fulfil the pro- 
 mise of their youth ! Genius, though 
 divine, is easily turned astray. Who has 
 not seen it very low — sinking into a dis- 
 honored grave? 
 
 Poor Dasliwood. more gifted than 
 others, was therefore more tempted than 
 
 others. Men are not sought, who are 
 not worth seeking. He, unfortunately so 
 versatile, so pliant, so easily accommo- 
 dating himself to all characters, was at- 
 tractive to all. His company was ever 
 welcome. No assembly was complete 
 without him. His time was never his 
 own. Gay, idle fellows were constantly 
 seeking him, and seductive ladies ready 
 to flatter him. Too gifted, too fond of 
 pleasure, too enthusiastic, he was beset 
 on all sides by allurements which few 
 withstand. He had but to woo to win ; 
 but to smile, to please; but to exert him- 
 self in the least, and rounds of applause 
 saluted him. Spoilt by adulation, tired 
 of flattery, blase, and dissatisfied, he had 
 
Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 417 
 
 1853.] 
 
 forsaken quiet, quaint, easy-going Old 
 Virginia, to seek solitude and repose in 
 Paris. 
 
 To execute wise resolves in Paris ! 
 Flying from the temptations and pleasures 
 of the world to Paris ! 1 feared that ho 
 
 was lost. I feared that he who had 
 yielded in Virginia, could hardly escape 
 in Paris. I feared that he was ashamed 
 to write. Robert began to grow restless 
 at his long silence, Louise painfully si- 
 lent, uncle Joe fidgety, and Mrs. Bar- 
 bara exultant. The man at the post- 
 office saw no peace for uncle Joe, who was 
 distracted for a letter. On fair, unrheu- 
 matic days, he would ride over to our 
 house, ask for Louise, look earnestly at 
 her, kiss her, and then pace off upon his 
 easy-going animal, in a low, sad state. 
 
 Mamma’s eyes followed Louise, and 
 marked the shadow on her clear pale 
 brow. There were cares and troubles in 
 this world, from which no mother’s love 
 could shield her. And though fair, and 
 beautiful, and beloved, she was yet mortal 
 and must suffer. Papa, too, felt that his 
 regal, petted child was enduring silently 
 and uncomplainingly. His heart yearned 
 for her. Dashwood’s name was seldom 
 mentioned. Tom Farren came and w r ent 
 daily, and the imperious object of his ado- 
 ration never turned her eye upon him. 
 Cold and fair as ice, and unapproachable 
 in her grief, she brooked no compassion 
 from those whose hearts were bleeding 
 for her. Too proud to acknowledge her 
 weakness, too haughty to heed our sym- 
 pathy, she held aloof from us, impreg- 
 nable in the sanctity of her sorrow. Papa, 
 who had never harshly reproved her in 
 his life, longed to speak with her. Ho 
 felt it his duty, however painful it might 
 be to him, to remonstrate seriously with 
 her on her stern obstinacy and unswerving 
 constancy to one he deemed so unworthy. 
 
 “ My daughter,” said papa gently to 
 her, “ I have suffered for you more than 
 you are aware of. I have endeavored to 
 convince you that your happiness is all I 
 ask. I tremble for you, my dear, when 
 I see you rejecting all advice, and throwing 
 away all happiness, for a man whose 
 wonderful gifts only unfit him for useful- 
 ness in life.” 
 
 “ Papa,” said Louise, unmoved, “ we 
 will not talk about this, if you please.” 
 
 “But, Louise, I must; I am in duty 
 bound to advise and direct you. I must 
 show you the right, when I see you so 
 perverse, and so wilfully blind.” 
 
 “ Not so blind as you think, papa.” 
 
 “ Flow 7" 
 
 “Not so blind, that I cannot see faults 
 in the most gifted. Not so blind, that I 
 cannot see the dangers you would point 
 vol. i. — 27 
 
 out to me. Not so perverse, that I wil- 
 fully shut my eyes to the truth. Believe 
 me, I have suffered too ; and your daugh- 
 ter, sir, knows her duty to you, and also 
 to herself.” 
 
 “ Your duty to me is to heed my coun- 
 sels, and obey my voice.” 
 
 “ Both of which 1 shall ever proudly 
 do, sir, w r hen conscientiously I can.” 
 “Very well, my dear, go your way, 
 but when you bring trouble upon your- 
 self, and all w r ho love you, do not look to 
 me.” 
 
 “ I will never bring you trouble, sir, or 
 cause you one moment’s unhappiness, by 
 any folly or waywardness on my part.” 
 
 “ Louise ! ” 
 
 “ I shall never forget,” said Louise, 
 proudly, “ the high dignity which I in- 
 herit. I shall never forget my duty ; I 
 shall never forget that 1 am your daugh- 
 ter, sir.” 
 
 “ Then go, my child. Go, shielded by 
 your own pride and high sense of the 
 right. I place all faith and confidence in 
 you. Go, Louise, as free, my girl, as you 
 have ever been. No longer will I doubt 
 you, my own noble child. I am secure, 
 for I rely upon your own moral strength, 
 and your respect for yourself.” 
 
 “ And on my love for you, papa,” said 
 Louise, with moist eyes. 
 
 “ God bless you, child of my heart. 
 Remember — I say no more. But all 
 faith and all confidence I repose in you.” 
 “ Thank you, papa ; you have made 
 me proud and happy from this hour.” 
 Thus wisely papa dealt with his favor- 
 ed child. She was left to herself to do 
 that which seemed right unto her. This 
 was the only way to guide the spoiled, 
 imperious beauty. Feeling her own dig- 
 nity, proud of her strength and of the 
 confidence reposed in her, she would have 
 died before she would have compromised 
 the one or betrayed the other. But, un- 
 der all this, lay the woman’s faithful 
 heart — hoping, praying, trusting. 
 
 She believed him true ; she believed 
 him great and good. Had he been other 
 than this ; had he lost, by any mis- 
 conduct, the high place he had gained in 
 her estimation, or forfeited the apotheosis 
 with which she had endowed him, the 
 spell w r ould have been broken at once, 
 tier love, high, and pure, and spiritual as 
 it was, would have fallen with him. 
 Founded on respect, it would have tot- 
 tered with its base. Founded on respect, 
 it must be retained by respect. He must 
 be worthy of her love, and continue wor- 
 thy of her love, or he was lost, and the 
 beautiful creation of her heart shattered 
 for ever. I trembled for Daslnvood. I 
 trembled for Louise. I knew his easy, 
 
418 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 pliant disposition, and I knew her stern, 
 unyielding pride. I knew her heroic ca- 
 pability of endurance, her high sense of 
 propriety, and I feared the result. For 
 my own part, I had always been in favor 
 of Dashwood. but, like uncle Joe, I almost 
 feared to avow my predilection. That 
 good man almost betrayed himself daily. 
 When Mesdames Barbara and Phoebe 
 would be railing against his favorite, his 
 contortions of visage were ludicrous in 
 the extreme. Sometimes, he would limp 
 about the room, and whistle, to moderate 
 himself. Then, he would smoke furiously, 
 and thus let off an enormous amount of 
 steam. Again, he would handle his 
 crutch in a manner which convinced me 
 that he was almost tempted to do some- 
 thing very rash indeed. He lost no op- 
 portunity to pet and fondle Louise, and 
 to drop a sly word for her ear in praise 
 of his favorite. He resorted to various 
 expedients to amuse her in her trouble, 
 and wooden punch-bowls, ladles, baskets 
 neatly cut of cherry-stones, and hearts 
 fantastically fashioned from the same — 
 all the handiwork of that once rash man, 
 were presented to her. Tales of his youth 
 were conjured up and remodelled, and re- 
 varnished, to beguile her ear. All the 
 particulars of his love scrape with the 
 broken-hearted young lady, who sought 
 the southern breezes, were, for the first 
 time, confessed by uncle Joe, in order 
 triumphantly to prove that absence could 
 not conquer love. 
 
 My valiant brother was not idle during 
 Dashwood’s appalling and Inexplicable 
 silence. He was voluble and argumenta- 
 tive, and made a speech for his friend 
 every day at table. A rumor reached us 
 that some publishing house had, rather 
 pompously, announced a book of poems 
 as about to appear, which, some persons 
 hinted, were from Dashwood’s pen. Mr. 
 Farren mentioned the rumor at dinner one 
 day, and said he presumed it was true. 
 
 “ Not our Dashwood, surely,” said Mrs. 
 Barbara, rather pointedly. 
 
 “And why not our Dashwood?” ex- 
 claimed Robert, wheeling around as 
 though about to charge the most implaca- 
 ble enemy he had in the world. “ Show 
 me a man more capable of writing than 
 he. On whom has nature so lavished her 
 gifts ? Where is a better heart, or a more 
 godlike man ? ” 
 
 “ My son. you always run away with 
 that subject,” said mamma gently. 
 
 “ I acknowledge that I am not myself 
 when Dashwood is remotely slandered. 
 I acknowledge that I am incensed against 
 those persons who cannot excuse one fault 
 in a fellow-creature. Suppose I were em- 
 inently handsome, would I not be at times 
 
 [April 
 
 proud of my person ? Certainly I would, 
 and so would all of us. Suppose I ex- 
 celled in dancing, would I not delight to 
 dance ? Suppose all the world sought 
 me, and applauded me, would I not seek 
 the world ? Suppose I had a talent for 
 music, drawing, oratory, conversation, po- 
 etry, satire, polite learning, and were of 
 an enthusiastic, ambitious temperament, 
 would I not exult in exhibiting my gifts ? 
 Would I not turn from one to the other, 
 uncertain which to prefer ? Would I not 
 delight to astonish with my brilliancy 
 and versatility ? Sure]}- 1 would, and so 
 would every one of us. It is very easy 
 to say we would not do thus and so, un- 
 til we are tempted. It is easy for the poor 
 to rail against the rich ; but let the wheel 
 of fortune turn, and the question alters. 
 It is easy for a lady to say she will not 
 marry, until she has a beau ; then she 
 begs to change her mind. An ill-used 
 servant makes the worst master. No- 
 body knows how he would act until he is 
 tried, and then he is often astonished at 
 himself.” 
 
 “ You had better have a temporary pul- 
 pit erected,” said Mrs. Barbara, “ before 
 proceeding further with your sermon.” 
 
 “ I am obliged to you, madam,” said 
 Robert, sarcastically ; “ but I should think 
 such a piece of furniture a necessary per- 
 manency in any house you honored with 
 your presence.” 
 
 “ Robert ! ” said papa gravely, while a 
 smile went around the festive board. 
 
 “ You had better say champagne,” cried 
 Mrs. Barbara. 
 
 “No!” cried Robert, “better still to 
 remark calmly and dispassionately, that 
 evil communications will corrupt the best 
 manners.” 
 
 “And pray, do not forget, in summing 
 up your brilliant apothegms, that you can’t 
 squeeze blood out of a turnip; neither 
 does any reasonable person expect to make 
 a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,” retorted 
 the dowager. 
 
 “ Most remarkable and irrefragable 
 
 truths, madam. Allow me ” said 
 
 m} T brother, raising his glass respectfully, 
 and bowing gravely to the heroine of the 
 theatrical conflagration. The stately he- 
 roine tipped her glass at him, and during 
 this ludicrous ceremony we all laughed. 
 Even Mr. Farren’s risibles were excited. 
 
 The grandmamma and grandson were 
 remotely alike. They had hot heads and 
 nimble tongues, and were often sparring 
 at each other in this way ; indeed, they 
 had never been known to agree on any 
 subject. 
 
 It really seemed that my brother’s tem- 
 per was visibly changing. He. who had 
 always been so gay and facetious, so fond 
 
1853.] 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 419 
 
 of jokes and so careless of the morrow, 
 was now morose at times, and, like grand- 
 ma, seemed in a state of perpetual war- 
 fare with all mankind. Ilis favorite pur- 
 suits had lost their charms. His horses, 
 fat and sleek, were no longer exercised 
 and trained. His dogs, when they came 
 jumping and frisking around him, were 
 sternly rebuked. Even Byron’s harmo- 
 nious despair no longer diverted him, or 
 soothed his captious mind. His whole 
 soul was absorbed in Dashwood, Louise, 
 and Therese. The cruelty and coquetry 
 of the fair Alabamian had well-nigh 
 brought on a typhoid fever. Still time 
 passed on, and still Dashwood remained 
 silent, and Therese cruel. 
 
 Just about the time my brother’s 
 spirits were as low as they could be, and 
 just before uncle Joe had fully made up 
 his mind to be very rash indeed, Robert 
 returned from the post-office with a very 
 bright face, rushed into mamma’s room, 
 slammed the door, and then held up two 
 letters, and fairly danced around the room. 
 My brother was himself again, important, 
 mysterious, tantalizing, and somewhat in- 
 clined to talk. 
 
 “ Remember,” he cried, “ it never rains 
 but it pours. Bear that in mind, girls, 
 before I can give you the news.” 
 
 “ My son. what is the use of tantalizing 
 people so 1 ” said mamma. 
 
 “Well, prepare yourselves. Are you 
 ready ? No fainting now, no hysterics ; 
 and with your permission I will read let- 
 ter number one.” 
 
 “ Pray, take your time,” said Louise, 
 coolly ; “ you seem nearer hysterics than 
 any one else, I think.” 
 
 “ You are right ; perhaps to-morrow 
 will do as well.” 
 
 “ Provided Sir. Robert Rushton does 
 not explode,” said Louise, laughing. 
 
 “ Ha ! ha ! — no, upon my word, I must 
 out with it. To begin with Dashwood— 
 God bless him ; here is his veritable old 
 fist once more. First he writes that in 
 London he advertised for his great-aunt, 
 Miss Ellen McGregor Dashwood (which 
 was exactly what I advised him to do), 
 and that, sure enough, the old lady re- 
 sponded from away in Kent, and invited 
 the bold advertiser to hunt her up in that 
 direction. Accordingly, Dashwood start- 
 ed off to Kent, and found the old lady, 
 who, fortunately, notwithstanding tabby 
 cats, and pink-eyed dogs, had yet a warm, 
 snug place in her heart for him. Here he 
 remained, treated like a prince, for a 
 month, the old lady growing fonder of 
 him every day. Finally, she begged him 
 to resign his office, and live with her; 
 'but,’ says Dashwood, ‘though strongly 
 inclined to consent, yet remembering uncle 
 
 Joe’s predictions, viz., that, if our govern- 
 ment thought to attach me to any point 
 of the compass, our government was 
 vastly mistaken, I respectfully declined. 
 Still the old lady urged me daily, and still 
 I would not consent. She offered me a 
 thousand pounds per annum, and though 
 my pockets were as light as feathers, I 
 again, to my immortal honor, declined. 
 Still the old lady held on to me with 
 might and main, and I finally tore my- 
 self away, promising to see her again. 
 The next week found me in Paris, engaged 
 in my official duties — mem — tell uncle 
 Joe to cut a notch for me there. In the 
 midst of my avocations, and at the height 
 of the carnival, I was attacked with a 
 brain fever, which nearly finished me. I 
 was the sickest man in the world. To lie 
 all day long upon a small bed. with French 
 gabbling around you in every direction, 
 while your brain is whirling and reeling, 
 is enough to drive any reasonable person 
 mad. I had foreign nurses, foreign doc- 
 tors, the oddest potions to take, the green- 
 est attendants, was civilly requested to do 
 the strangest things, and politely harassed 
 within an inch of my life, until I conclud- 
 ed that I had rather die then and there, 
 and break off in the middle of my life, as 
 it were, without waiting for the sequel of 
 so perplexing a tragedy. Thus I lay for 
 six weeks, and finally arose from my sick 
 bed to find my purse in a very low state ; 
 indeed, I may say completely collapsed. 
 Fortunately, I had a package of letters 
 from my guardian angel in Kent, in which 
 she had inclosed a draft. This I kept by 
 me for some weeks in case of accidents, 
 but finally had the good fortune to re- 
 turn it to her untouched. Again the dear 
 old lady wrote me, advising me to go to 
 Italy for my health, and for her sake to 
 resign my office. She was particularly 
 anxious that I should go, she said ; she 
 would defray all expenses, and go I must. 
 In a very feeble and dilapidated condition, 
 I tendered my resignation, which was 
 graciously accepted by the department, 
 and behold me next en route for Italy. 
 
 ‘“You remember, my beloved Robert, 
 how I vowed to forget the muses ; how 
 1 railed against those inconstant ladies, 
 who have led so many lovers astray ; 
 how I determined to turn my back upon 
 them, and, indeed, had quite cut their ac- 
 quaintance before I left old Virginia’s 
 shore. And you know I left my native 
 land with a head brimful of common 
 sense. Every poetical avenue was jeal- 
 ously closed, every crack in my brain 
 rigidly guarded. I was determined that 
 nothing, however poetical, should mislead 
 me. No landscape, no water view, no 
 love of home (the most poetical feeling in 
 
420 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 the world) should woo me back to my 
 old habits. Right bravely I battled 
 against these nine ladies — God forgive 
 them — until I found myself convales- 
 cing, drinking in new life beneath the 
 glorious skies of Italy. Italy, steeped to 
 the very heaven in poetry ! Here the old 
 feelings were stirred up ; here the old 
 dreams came back ; here fairy land was 
 opened ; here I yielded, knowing that the 
 nine ladies had me upon their own ground, 
 and they seized me. Behold, I dreamed 
 again — I was intoxicated — I was expand- 
 ed — I was lifted up — I staggered beneath 
 the weight of so much poetry! Poesy 
 sailed on the deep blue air, and glided on 
 every stately panorama of this magnifi- 
 cent land. Still my MSS. remained un- 
 touched in the bottom of my box. Oh ! 
 I thirsted for these MSS. 1 felt like an 
 old toper deprived of his drink. I was 
 pining for my manuscripts. Sickness had 
 cleared me, had refined me, had purified 
 me for this. I paced my room. I was 
 full of thoughts. Something was heavy 
 upon me. It was my undigested poetry. 
 I seized the pen. I dashed, I scampered, 
 I revelled in the blissful regions of imagi- 
 nation. I was pressed on by thought, 
 rushing, coming, accumulating thought. 
 I wrote on all day and all night. Quick 
 my glad pen winged its way across the 
 snowy page. The wee small hours found 
 me drunk with poetry. During this par- 
 oxysm. which I have but feebly described, 
 I finished off that unfortunate manuscript 
 which has so long been my bete noire. 
 After this, when the reaction had taken 
 place, and the sober second thought came 
 upon me, I wrote a long letter to my dear 
 aunt Ellen, in which I made a full confes- 
 sion, and sent her the manuscript, re- 
 questing her to do with it as she chose. 
 She chose to submit it to the inspection 
 of the most high-minded and generous 
 litterateur in England, and to return me 
 ten thousand thanks for the gift. She 
 wrote me, further, that she had made in- 
 quiries concerning me of a friend in Vir- 
 ginia, and that this friend had advised her 
 of my poetical predilections, and had 
 given so flattering an account of me, (!) 
 my standing in society, (!!) my talents, 
 and all that (worse and worse), that she 
 was thereby induced to insist upon my 
 travelling at least twelve months, and 
 hoped some day to see me reaping the 
 honors I so richly deserved. My dear 
 Robert, excuse this egotism. Do you 
 know, that when I received that dear let- 
 ter from my aunt — when I thus became 
 convinced that I actually had a friend in 
 the world, who took a deep and abiding 
 interest in me, I knelt beside the open 
 window, and looking up to the rose- 
 
 [April 
 
 tinted sky above me, prayed fei vently and 
 long. I was thankful. I was humble, I 
 was a better man. Never had the deep 
 waters of my heart been so moved. Now, 
 Robert, who was this friend in Virginia, 
 who induced my aunt to act so generous- 
 ly towards me? To whom am I indebted 
 for all the benefits she has showered upon 
 me? ’ 
 
 “ Does any body know ? ” inquired 
 Robert. 
 
 “I suspect it was Jenny,” said Louise, 
 her face lighting up. 
 
 “ And why do you suspect me ? ” I 
 asked. 
 
 “ She looks guilty. Bravo ! sly-boots ! ” 
 cried Robert, catching me in his arms, and 
 caressing me violently. 
 
 I had to confess it all. I confessed that 
 Miss Dashwood had done me the honor 
 to write me a few months after Dash- 
 wood’s departure — while he was her guest, 
 in fact — and that she inquired strictly 
 and confidentially of me concerning him. 
 That I immediately returned her an an- 
 swer, so highly satisfactory, that the good 
 lady was charmed. That I had received 
 a second letter from her, in which she 
 spoke most affectionately of her nephew, 
 thanked me for the information I had 
 given her. and said she would act accord- 
 ingly. How nobly she had performed her 
 part, I had learned, for the first time, 
 from Dashwood’s letter. 
 
 “My dear, dear Jenny ! ” cried Louise, 
 with tears in her eyes. 
 
 “ Angel of mere}' ! ” cried Robert, 
 catching me again to his heart. And I 
 had to submit to some of the most un- 
 merciful hugs, and remorseless squeezes, 
 that ever fell to mortal lot ; Robert clear- 
 ly forgetting that I was flesh and blood, 
 and going on with me as one would ex- 
 pect an anaconda to proceed with a deli- 
 cious ox. 
 
 But my brother had yet something in 
 reserve for us. His looks were fraught 
 with meaning. He stepped into the hall, 
 and returned with rather a large package, 
 which he handed to me. They clustered 
 around me while I opened it. It was 
 Dashwood’s book of poems, with Miss 
 Ellen McGregor Dashwood’s compliments ! 
 She had had it published in London, and 
 edited by the distinguished litterateur to 
 whose inspection she submitted the man- 
 uscript. A magnificent volume it was, 
 most beautifully and elaborately illustrar 
 ted. The frontispiece was a superb speci- 
 men of the engraver’s art. A youth, re- 
 motely resembling Dashwood, sat leaning 
 against a rock in a sombre valley. On 
 the sun-tipped hills around him, tripped 
 the tuneful nine, weaving wreaths for 
 him. beckoning him up the airy peaks, 
 
1853.] 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 421 
 
 pointing to the burnished hill-tops, and to 
 the laurel crown on high, while one beam 
 from the glowing heavens pierced the val- 
 ley, and illuminated the rippling, careless 
 locks of the dreaming poet. 
 
 Gems of the mind lay enshrined in this 
 magnificent casket. Bursts of inspiration, 
 and mellow harmonies were linked in 
 musical rhyme. Light cadences, mingled 
 with gigantic thoughts, which loomed into 
 eternity. Echoes from the heart, rever- 
 berations from spirit-land, music of the 
 spheres, revealingsof wonder-land, liftings 
 of the spirit, longings of the soul, mur- 
 murs from the far-off shores, and light- 
 hearted songs of earth, floated on, in 
 sweetest melody, and mingled in one har- 
 monious whole. 
 
 “ Read, Jenny, read,” said Robert, lean- 
 ing back upon the cushions of his chair ; 
 “I want a tone from his grand, deep 
 heart.” I turned the leaves listlessly, 
 and read : 
 
 Sweeping, sweeping ever o’er me, 
 
 Like spirit-murmurs from afar, 
 
 Rising phantom-like before me, 
 
 Sprinkling light, as from a star ; 
 
 Buoying up on ocean billow, 
 
 Light bounding on the summer air, 
 Lulling oft on weary pillow, 
 
 Thy memory cometh, ever fair — 
 
 Cometh like a bubbling fountain 
 Up-springing in the desert sand. 
 
 Gurgling as from parent mountain, 
 
 And sparkling as in happier land 
 
 Falling like the tinkling water, 
 
 Enhaloed like the evening star, 
 
 Tripping, as though fairy taught her, 
 
 Sweet memory cometh from afar. 
 
 Tripping as to lightest numbers, 
 
 Stealing near in saddened hours, 
 
 Weaving through delicious slumbers 
 Dreams of home and summer bowers. 
 
 “ Ah, that is very sweet,” said mamma, 
 imprinting a kiss upon the softly glowing 
 cheek of the poet’s beloved. 
 
 “ There we have Dashwood ! he speaks 
 in every line you have read,” said Robert ; 
 “may God bless him, and prosper him, 
 and prove through him, that to love the 
 things He has made, is but to love Him.” 
 
 “ My son,” said mamma, “ you are going 
 too far, both Dashwood and yourself. 
 When you have learned the frailty and 
 insecurity of earth, you will turn from the 
 fleeting things He has made to Him.” 
 
 “ Still, mamma, it is not right to scowl 
 upon the earth. I detest those persons 
 who arc continually railing against all 
 earthly pleasures. Believe me, we are 
 made for the world, and the world for us. 
 It is folly for us to be fitting ourselves 
 for a place of which we know nothing, 
 and thereby unfitting ourselves for the 
 very pleasant and delightful abode He, 
 in His wisdom, has given us. Now 
 we are of the earth, earthy ; when we 
 shall have put on .immortality, we shall 
 
 be clad and fashioned for eternity. In the 
 mean time, it is religion, religion of the 
 highest order, to be contented and happy 
 here, and not to turn with contempt from 
 the beauties and pleasures by which He 
 has graciously surrounded us. For my 
 own part, my motto is, dura, vivivms 
 vivamus , and, I may say, it is also my 
 religion.” 
 
 “ But years gradually change us — sor- 
 rows cause us to turn away from earth. 
 The heart points elsewhere. Instinctively 
 we reach up until we find a better place,” 
 said mamma, sadly. 
 
 “ I know, I know,” said Robert, putting 
 his arm around her. “ There are some, 
 even here, who are more of heaven than 
 of earth. There are scattered, here and 
 there, gentle spirits to lead us on. There 
 are some, whom to follow, is but to go to 
 the home from which they have been sent 
 to guide us.” 
 
 “ May you follow one of these ! ” said 
 mamma. 
 
 “ I have two of them to follow ” said 
 Robert, “ two who go unconsciously to- 
 gether ; two whose hearts direct them 
 ever aright ; two angels with hidden 
 wings, who beck me beautifully on. They 
 are — my mother and Therese ! ” 
 
 “ Therese ! ” cried Louise and I. 
 
 “ Yes, Therese — gay, dashing, coquet- 
 tish, heart-breaking Therese. She is ever 
 coyly fluttering in the right path ! She, 
 with her giddy, chameleon-like nature, 
 is obeying her good, true heart, and coming 
 into measures at last ! ” and Robert drew 
 from his vest pocket a little perfumed 
 billet, which any physiognomist would 
 have said could only be written by Therese. 
 He said he would read a few choice ex- 
 tracts from this precious document, as a 
 particular favor to mamma, Louise, and 
 me. From these extracts, selected with 
 great care by Robert, we gathered that 
 Therese was in trouble. She wrote a 
 doleful, naive letter, in which she said 
 she wanted to take back every thing she 
 had ever said, or written, which could 
 possibly give dear Mr. Rushton any pain. 
 She said somebody (Mr. Blanton, Robert 
 informed us) had treated her very unkind- 
 ly — that she was almost as much afraid 
 of him as his own badly used dog — that 
 she wanted to go away from his house — 
 and here she appealed so beautifully and 
 artlessly to her lover, that Robert had 
 actually to seize us all. and kiss us, be- 
 fore he could proceed any further. 
 
 After this delightful ceremony, he re- 
 turned to the delicious little letter, wherein 
 Therese went on to say, that Mr. Blanton 
 had gotten angry with her about some- 
 thing. She could not tell, to save her life, 
 she said, what had happened to put him 
 
422 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 [April 
 
 so terribly out. At all events, he had 
 scolded her savagely, and then he whipped 
 Adolphe ; beat him, oh ! dreadfully, re- 
 gardless of his mother’s tears and entrea- 
 ties, because the dear little fellow had in- 
 nocently walked upon one of his angular, 
 ugly flower-beds. 
 
 Of course, my brother rushed chival- 
 rously to the rescue of his Dulcinea. 
 Mr. Robert Rush ton could neither eat nor 
 sleep, so impatient was he to go where 
 duty called him. Sappingwood had hard- 
 ly time to sleek up the ponies, varnish his 
 own immaculate boots, or trim his mous- 
 tache, before Robert was equipped for im- 
 mediate departure. 
 
 Grandma, with her head out of the 
 window, squeaked out in vain to know 
 where he was going. My brother kissed 
 his hand to her, and dashed along the 
 bending road, with glittering wheels, and 
 bounding heart. Papa stepped out upon 
 the balcony, and smiled, and waved his 
 adieu to this gallant knight of modern 
 times. 
 
 When my brother asked for Therese at 
 Mr. Blanton’s inhospitable door, he was 
 informed that she had denied herself to 
 all visitors for some days. Robert gave 
 his card to the man, and then a side-door 
 was opened, and Therese came running to 
 him with glowing cheeks, and moistened 
 eyes. My brother drew her proudly to 
 him ; she blushed, and clung to his arm ; 
 and then dropping her lids, she asked “if 
 light words could part them now and 
 showed him into her own fairy sitting- 
 room. Here Robert took her to his 
 bosom, and she burst into tears, with her 
 head upon his shoulder. Robert declared 
 to me, in confidence, that at that moment 
 he not only felt three feet taller, but he 
 felt like a giant — a very happy, illustrious, 
 all-conquering giant, intent upon the blood 
 of an Englishman (Blanton). Adolphe 
 came in. looking shy, but pleased, and 
 very soon began to cling to Robert too. 
 
 No dear little exuberant coquette was 
 ever more completely subdued than was 
 Therese by Blanton’s barbarity. All the 
 world had smiled upon this little woman, 
 for she had smiled upon all the world. 
 Nobody could have the cruelty to wound 
 her. for she was always so delicate and 
 kind. She was not only made for sum- 
 mer weather, but she carried summer 
 sunshine ever in her bosom. Her presence 
 was ever cheering, and her little failings 
 were so womanly, so clearly descending 
 from pure goodness of heart, that they 
 only made her more lovable. To see 
 her taking with her into a ball-room all 
 her natural purity and amiability, and 
 thereby gaining universal homage — to see 
 her with the great, as she was with the 
 
 small — to see her bestowing the same 
 beaming smile upon all mankind — was to 
 remind one of the goodness of Heaven, 
 sending its sunshine and its showers upon 
 the just and upon the unjust. 
 
 CHAPTER YIIL 
 
 “OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN.” 
 
 My brother found the Blantons full of 
 crooks and oddities. Mr. Blanton was as 
 particular as an old maid, and the queerest 
 creature imaginable. He delighted in 
 rare flower-beds, and pets of all kinds. 
 He had any number of remarkable dogs, 
 a raccoon for a bosom companion, and 
 quite a menagerie of uncouth animals in 
 subjection. 
 
 He was a stern disciplinarian in his 
 household — a hard master, and at all 
 times peevish and exacting. He was made 
 up of notions, his notions, to which every 
 body must bend. Therese, with her art- 
 less manner and perfect freedom, found 
 herself somewhat trammelled here. Even 
 her fascination could not overcome one of 
 Mr. Blanton’s established notions. Poor 
 Adolphe was a tender-hearted little fellow, 
 clinging to any body who was kind to 
 him. and was very much spoiled by his 
 mamma. 
 
 Mr. Blanton had often remonstrated 
 with Therese about what he considered 
 her over-indulgence of her son, and had 
 indeed undertaken to manage him him- 
 self. But the little fellow had walked 
 upon one of Mr. Blanton’s flower-beds, 
 and he had beaten him severely. This 
 was enough for Therese. She, upon the 
 strength of this beating, informed Mr. 
 Blanton that she wouldn’t marry him if 
 he were strung with diamonds from his 
 head to his heels. 
 
 Nobody should whip Adolphe; nobody 
 should take that liberty with her son, if 
 he trampled all the flower-beds in the 
 universe. 
 
 From all accounts, little Therese was 
 up in arms about the matter, but had be- 
 come somewhat subdued when Robert 
 reached the Grove, as Mr. Blanton’s resi- 
 dence was called. 
 
 “ And where is your enemy ? ” Robert 
 inquired, after listening for at least half 
 an hour to Therese’s lamentable story. 
 
 “Fortunately,” said Therese, gravely, 
 “ he is being paid by Providence for his 
 ungentlemanly conduct. No sooner had 
 he beat my son than a whole row of dis- 
 contented and enraged teeth commenced 
 aching, and they have been aching ever 
 since. The last I saw of him, he was 
 stalking about his grounds, with his face 
 bound up, grunting piteously.” 
 
Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 425 
 
 ] 853.J 
 
 “ Then I needn’t run him through with 
 my sword ? ” said Robert. 
 
 “ Oh, yes — I would have something done 
 to him to make him know better. The idea — 
 the bare idea of his whipping my little son ! 
 He to take my little fatherless boy, in his 
 own house, and beat him until his little 
 neck and arms were purple, and swollen 
 in great streaks, and the tears running 
 down his cheeks 1 If I had been a man — 
 oh ! if T had only been a man — I would 
 have killed him on the spot, the monster! 
 the brute ! ” 
 
 And my brother informed us that at 
 these words Therese doubled her dimpled 
 fists, and looked daggers at the window 
 overlooking Mr. Blanton’s flower-beds. 
 Nobody ever knew or heard of her being 
 as angry as she was on this occasion. 
 She blazed away, and talked like a hero. 
 Robert said she was fire and tow. She 
 declared she would not stay in Mr. Blan- 
 ton’s house. He might beat her. He 
 had assurance enough to beat her , she 
 really thought. During this happy inter- 
 view, Mr. Blanton entered, bringing a 
 rueful, peaked face, bound up in a red 
 bandanna. He drew a chair — and Therese 
 took Adolphe by the hand, and with a 
 scornful, indignant air, walked off to the 
 window, and stood thrumming away upon 
 the window-pane. 
 
 “ Mrs. Blanton, ” remarked the trainer of 
 youth to Robert, “ is highly offended with 
 me, Mr. Rushton — and in justice to myself 
 I must beg that you will listen to a few 
 words on my side of the question.” 
 
 “ Really I must decline the honor, sir,” 
 said Robert, stiffly. 
 
 “ But I insist — ” 
 
 “ No,” said Robert, “ I have neither the 
 right nor inclination to interfere in your 
 affairs, sir. I regret the unfortunate occur- 
 rence, and will bear your apologies to 
 the — Mrs. Blanton, sir, if you desire it.” 
 
 “ She should apologize to me, sir ! ” 
 
 “Oh!” said Robert. 
 
 “ I repeat it, sir — Mrs. Blanton owes me 
 an apology- for her behavior to me this 
 morning. She has insulted me, sir, in my 
 own house. She has been managing this 
 boy of hers, sir. until he has gotten beyond 
 all control. She insists upon indulging 
 him and spoiling him, until really I am 
 obliged to interfere. She is very young, 
 and very volatile, and very foolish, and 
 what can she know about managing a 
 son ? ” 
 
 “ She has had at least as much expe- 
 rience as either of us,” said Robert, 
 laughing. 
 
 “Still, sir, she knows nothing in the 
 world about it. One must have firmness 
 to manage children. One must be syste- 
 matic, and lay down rules for them which 
 
 they should not be permitted, on any ac- 
 count, to break. Adolphe knew it was 
 wrong to go on that flower-bed ; I had 
 told him so repeatedly. He knew very 
 well it was wrong, and yet, when he 
 thought I was out of sight he viciously' 
 galloped backwards and forwards on it, 
 kicking and neighing like a horse.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! ” said Robert, bowing gravely. 
 
 “ He is an obstinate, wilful boy, and will 
 give any person trouble who has the 
 management of him.” 
 
 Robert had civility enough to give an 
 “ ah ! ” at this clause. 
 
 “ I tell you, Mr. Rushton,” cried Adol- 
 phe, who had been deeply' interested in 
 Mr. Blanton’s account of his unruly pro- 
 ceedings, “ I galloped over those flowers 
 for fun ! ” 
 
 Blanton scowled, and the little fellow 
 drew near to my brother, laid his hand 
 upon his knee, and with an animated face, 
 continued ; “I saw them all growing upon 
 that bed so high, and John betted me I 
 couldn’t jump clear over the heads of the 
 flowers, and I betted him two allys I 
 could, and so I swung my arms just so, a 
 long time, till I thought I could jump over, 
 and when John said three, I jumped, and 
 fell right into the middle, and rolled over 
 and over upon them all, and when uncle 
 saw me I was galloping away, like a race- 
 horse.” 
 
 Robert said the little fellow’s counte- 
 nance was beautiful as he stood at his 
 knee, looking up to him, and telling him 
 exactly how it was. “And did he tell 
 you this, and you whipped him ? ” said 
 Robert, lifting Adolphe upon his knee. 
 
 “I would hear nothing he had to say. 
 He disobeyed my orders and that was 
 enough.” 
 
 “ Will you excuse me for say'ing that I 
 think you should have listened to his ex- 
 planation ? ” 
 
 Therese had now drawn near them, and 
 sat down close by Robert. The youthful 
 mother laid the little boy’s cheek upon her 
 own, and the tears filled her gentle eyes. 
 Blanton, harsh and rigid as he was, was 
 moved by these tears. He said — 
 
 “ Therese, I promised my brother on his 
 dying bed to guard this boy — to instruct 
 him, and correct him, as I would my own. 
 I promised that your over-indulgence and 
 clrildish fondness should not spoil him, 
 and I am trying, through all opposition 
 and misunderstanding, to keep my word.” 
 
 “ But, brother, you whipped him — you 
 beat my boy ! I heard his screams, and 
 his trembling voice pleading for mercy, 
 and I was not allowed to go near him ; my 
 boy — my fatherless hoj' — was cruelly 
 beaten ! Oh, Mr. Rushton, my heart 
 bleeds when I think of this ! I would 
 
424 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 have given the last dollar I had in the 
 world, to have spared him those stripes ! 
 Oh, brother, if this be your guarding, your 
 promised watching, spare me, oh spare me 
 the agony of such as this ! No. sir ! ” she 
 cried, raising her head defiantly, “ nobody 
 under heaven shall correct my son in that 
 way. My son has a heart, sir, a noble 
 generous heart, quick and sensitive, with 
 intelligence to understand any reasoning 
 ■you can employ ; and this boy, this pride 
 of my heart, shall never, no never, be 
 beaten with stripes ! ” 
 
 Thercse was beautiful with the fresh 
 tears on her cheeks, and her moist flash- 
 ing eye. There was actually a glory and 
 sublimity about her as she spoke. Robert 
 said that he had an almost uncontrollable 
 impulse to snatch these two treasures in 
 his arms, and fly off with them as bold as 
 an eagle. Therese had never shone out 
 so clearly and splendidly as through these 
 gem-like tears. 
 
 “ Very well, madam,” said Mr. Blanton, 
 '• I have my duty to perform, and I will 
 do what I think is right.” 
 
 “ You may do as you please, sir, with 
 your dogs, or your crow, or your Egyp- 
 tian hens, or your opossum, or your rac- 
 coon,” said Therese, running over Mr. 
 Blanton’s private tnenagerie, “ but my 
 son, sir, you can touch again if you 
 dare ! ” 
 
 Here Robert felt very awkward, and he 
 said — . 
 
 “ It seems that you both have the little 
 boy’s good at heart; I am sure he will not 
 require correcting again. I say, Adolphe, 
 will you ever run over your uncle’s flow- 
 ers again, exactly like a race-horse ? ” 
 
 “ No, sir ; but I am going with you and 
 Sap home.” 
 
 “ And leave your mamma ? ” said 
 Robert. 
 
 “Uncle does not whip mamma. He 
 loves mamma, and sometimes he tries to 
 hug and kiss her — don’t he, mamma ? ” 
 
 Adolphe was getting on forbidden ground 
 again, and Robert said that really there 
 seemed to be nothing but flower-beds for 
 that dear boy. This was all we learned 
 of the conversation. Robert came home 
 sad, and yet happy. He had patched up 
 matters as well as he could at the Grove ; 
 and had taken that favorable opportunity 
 to make quite a comfortable arrangement 
 for himself. My brother seemed to have 
 grown older after this. He was not so 
 frivolous, and light-hearted. He was more 
 tender and thoughtful. He was uneasy 
 about his darling Therese. He feared the 
 petted woman on whom the world had 
 delighted to smile, had rather an unpleas- 
 ant home. He feared Blanton’s harsh- 
 ness might tarnish the fair picture on 
 
 [April 
 
 which he so loved to dwell ; that his 
 stern discipline might cloud the serene 
 brow, and dispel the freshness and art- 
 lessness of this fairy-like creature. He 
 loved her for her faults, her very fickleness, 
 her lightness, and her simplicity of heart. 
 He would not have had that lion-lunged 
 man to meddle with these fragile beauties 
 and mar them, for worlds. Therefore, my 
 brother was thoughtful. In the long sum- 
 mer days, he dreamed, and revelled in cas- 
 tles shining bright, and crystal-like, in 
 the clear blue air. He was enveloped in 
 love and poesy, his kind heart was over- 
 flowing with tenderness and joy. Mam- 
 ma’s heart was with her boy. And there 
 was no more beautiful sight under heaven 
 than the patient mother, sitting with his 
 head upon her lap, in the long warm days, 
 running her slender fingers through the 
 chestnut curls she had loved and trained 
 from babyhood, and listening to his plans, 
 and his hopes, and his fears, as he told 
 them still to her. 
 
 In a few weeks Robert had another let- 
 ter from Therese, informing him that 
 Adolphe was sick, and that she was very 
 unhappy. My brother determined to go 
 again to Therese, and this time he took 
 me with him. 
 
 After a pleasant morning’s drive, we 
 reached the Grove, and were shown to a 
 quiet room, where we found Therese sit- 
 ting by a low bed. on which Adolphe, 
 with flushed cheek and glittering eye was 
 lying. 
 
 When she saw us, she covered her face 
 and wept. Miss Blanton spoke very kindly 
 to her, and Mr. Blanton looked sorrowful 
 and troubled. 
 
 “ My darling,” said Therese, bending 
 over the bed and caressing his little hand, 
 “here are Mr. Rushton, and dear Miss 
 Rushton, whom you love so much.” 
 
 But the bright glittering eye was un- 
 changed, and no intelligent glance re- 
 turned the fond mother’s appealing look. 
 Again Therese covered her face and sob- 
 bed. Mr. Blanton led her gently away 
 from the bedside, and placing her on a 
 lounge, whispered a few words, but they 
 could not comfort poor Therese. 
 
 I took the mother’s place beside the 
 little boy, and cooled his burning brow, 
 and rubbed his little hands. Poor Robert 
 was so overcome by Therese’s distress, 
 that he could neither say nor do any thing. 
 In silence we sat around the low bed, 
 while the irregular wheezing of the little 
 sufferer was painful to hear. He was in 
 great pain, and his little hands wandered 
 uneasily to his chest, as though there 
 was something oppressive there. The 
 physician, who had been in the adjoining 
 room asleep (for they had been up all 
 
Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 425 
 
 1853.] 
 
 night with Adolphe), came in and felt his 
 pulse. 
 
 “ Doctor, is he no better ? ” asked The- 
 rese, anxiously. 
 
 “He will be better when the blister 
 draws, madam.” 
 
 “ Oh, do tell me he is a little better ! ” 
 cried Therese. 
 
 For three hours we sat around the little 
 bed, watching for light in the dark, dilated 
 eye, while the mother, by every gentle 
 aid, sought to bring back the little spirit 
 to its home. In vain she called upon his 
 name, and pressed her lips upon his own. 
 The breath came painfully and quick, and 
 the intense, unnatural eye was fixed. At 
 last, I felt his hand grow moist within my 
 own, and his lips were moving. Therese 
 bent her ear and hung over him, to hear 
 him say “ mamma.” She raised her eyes 
 to heaven, and her illuminated face pro- 
 claimed the intense thankfulness of her 
 heart. 
 
 “ My son, our good God has heard my 
 prayer,” she said, kissing him over and 
 over again. At these words he clasped 
 his little hands, and instinctively com- 
 menced, in faint, low tones, “ Our Father 
 who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy 
 name, &c.” He finished his prayer, 
 taught him by the earnest-hearted little 
 mother, and then he placed his arm about 
 her neck, and there were moist eyes around 
 the little bed. Robert, who had been 
 sitting apart at the window, came and sat 
 down by the bed, and kissed the darling 
 boy, and Therese gave him her hand with 
 a grateful, tender look. 
 
 But though the fever was somewhat 
 abated, Adolphe was very weak. His 
 little hands, once so plump and dimpled, 
 were thin and transparent — his eyes were 
 large and hollow. He was patient and 
 uncomplaining. Like his mother, so gen- 
 tle and grateful, thanking us sweetly for 
 every thing, and talking in his simple, 
 childish way : “ Mamma, where is old 
 
 Punch ? ” 0 
 
 “Old Punch has been in very many 
 times, looking for his little master,” said 
 Therese, cheerfully. 
 
 “ He misses me, I know. I wonder if 
 he knows I’m sick, mamma ? ” 
 
 “ He feels that you are sick ; old Punch 
 feels that something is the matter with 
 our boy, for he goes whining about the 
 house, and is not happy and frisky like he 
 used to be,” said Therese, smoothing back 
 his hair. 
 
 Robert said old Punch was lying at the 
 door, looking inquiringly at all who pass- 
 ed. He opened the door, and the great 
 dog came in and went straight to the 
 bed. 
 
 “ Poor fellow ! ” said Adolphe. Punch 
 
 wagged his shaggy tail, and laid his nose 
 upon the pillow, looking earnestly at his 
 little playfellow. 
 
 “ Poor old Punch ! ” said Adolphe, pat- 
 ting his head, and the dog placed his 
 paws upon the bed, watching his little 
 master. 
 
 “ Why, old dog ! ” cried the boy, stretch- 
 ing his arms around his great white circled 
 neck. The sagacious creature was proud 
 of this. He stood with his white paws 
 upon the edge of the bed, and his nose 
 upon the pillow, and kept slowly opening 
 his eyes and shutting them in excess of 
 happiness, and getting closer and closer 
 to his little master, until in his joy he 
 licked the boy’s forehead, and put his 
 paws upon his neck, and seemed scarcely 
 to know how to show his delight and his 
 affection. 
 
 “ Mamma, he wants me to get up and 
 go with him.” 
 
 “ He must wait until you are strong 
 enough,” said Therese, placing her hand 
 on the dog’s head, who laid his nose back 
 upon the pillow, “ and then we’ll go with 
 dear old Punch, to play on the garden 
 falls.” 
 
 “ Not on the flower-beds, mamma.” 
 
 “ No, not on the flower-beds,” said 
 Therese, her face coloring, “ but on the 
 high green falls, where the cherry limbs 
 hang so low.” 
 
 “The black-heart cherries? I know 
 which tree that is.” 
 
 “ Yes, Punch knows the tree too.” 
 
 “ I can climb up that tree, mamma.” 
 
 “ You can ! When you get strong 
 enough, I will push you up that tree.” 
 
 “ There is-- a cat-bird-nest up there. 
 John held me up, and I peeped into it. 
 The old cat-bird stays there all day.” 
 
 “ I know — and mocking-birds, and jay 
 birds too. We will go there some of 
 these fine days, you, and I, and Punch. 
 But my little boy must sleep some now.” 
 “ Somebody must sing to me ; mamma, 
 you sing.” 
 
 And Therese, so earnest in her devotion, 
 sang a soft lullaby for her boy. He turned 
 over and nestled close to her, and she 
 sang the baby song she always sang to 
 him when he slept. Robert was too weak- 
 hearted for such tender scenes. He was 
 a very woman in his nature, and he stole 
 away, while the mother sang in liquid 
 tones, though her eyes were filled with 
 tears. 
 
 The next day we hoped the dear child 
 was better, and Robert and I concluded 
 to return home. Therese drew my bro- 
 ther to the window, and asked if he would 
 do her a favor. Of course Robert was 
 ready and anxious to do any thing he could 
 for her. 
 
426 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 “Send your good mother to me, will 
 you ? ” said Therese, sadly. “ I want 
 somebody who is older than I am. I 
 want your good mother with me now. 
 Beg her to come and stay with me until 
 my boy gets well. She is so kind and 
 gentle, and she lost a little boy once. 
 Perhaps I may have to suffer what she 
 has. She can feel for me, I know she 
 can.” 
 
 “ My dear Therese, we all sympathize 
 with you,” said Robert. 
 
 “I know, oh I know you do. You 
 have all been more than kind. But your 
 mother — she knows the sorrow of my 
 heart. She told me of her little hoy — her 
 first-born — and showed me his little grave. 
 I have thought of all this in the long, 
 still hours, when I’ve been watching him. 
 He is not like himself. He grows purer, 
 and more tender, and so thoughtful. 
 Heaven may be drawing him, gently draw- 
 ing my boy away !” 
 
 “ We must hope for the best, my dear 
 Therese,” said Robert, pressing her hand, 
 while the tears came to his eyes. She 
 turned to the bed, and took the limp hand 
 which was reaching to her. 
 
 We went home and sent mamma to poor 
 Therese. 
 
 In a week mamma wrote : 
 
 “ The little boy grows visibly worse. I 
 think, with poor Therese, that he is being 
 gradually drawn to heaven. He is very 
 feeble. His little frame is wasted to a 
 shadow, and his eyes are very bright — too 
 bright for earth. I have comforted the 
 mother all I could, but this is the Father’s 
 work : I cannot bid her be comforted, but 
 there is One greater than I, who will teach 
 her that all is for the best.” And in a 
 postscript, she said Adolphe was dead. 
 The little spirit had retured to its Home, 
 and the pride of the mother’s heart was in 
 Heaven. 
 
 Poor little Adolphe ! 
 
 Poor Therese was left with mamma. 
 And she glided about our house, carrying 
 her great sorrow in her gentle bosom, and 
 looking up to us through her tears. 
 Louise would take her hand at evening 
 and walk far away, and try to win her 
 
 [April 
 
 back to life. Mamma, with gentle 
 thought, would bid her take the keys, 
 and go on errands for her, that she might, 
 for a moment, forget her loss. And I 
 would try to do my part by talking, — not 
 cheerfully, but a shade more cheerfully 
 than any of us felt, that by degrees we 
 might call her away from her great and 
 constant grief. Papa, too, had a gentle 
 thought for her — and would come in 
 from squirrel hunting, and calling her to 
 him, would ask her to have the squirrels 
 served up in her capital way for his dinner. 
 Sometimes he would cry out from the Li- 
 brary, to Therese to mix his porter for 
 him, or to prepare his toddy, or to do any 
 thing, which he knew would please her. 
 
 Robert kept away. He felt more than 
 all, but he could not approach her. 
 
 After a while, Therese said she must 
 return to Mr. Blanton’s. She could not 
 desert them altogether. The}" were lonely 
 and felt her loss, and missed, at every 
 turn, the same little foot-fall which she 
 mourned. 
 
 It was twilight, and the pensive mourn- 
 ful figure stole away from the quiet family 
 circle to the grave of her darling boy. 
 She had been gone an hour, and the heavy 
 dew was falling on her bowed head. 
 Robert was restless. He wanted to go to 
 her, but how disturb her in the sanctity 
 of her grief 1 
 
 “Mamma, if I were to go to her, and 
 lead her gently back ? ” he said, inquiringly. 
 
 “ Go, my son, but be gentle with her.” 
 
 Robert went up the winding pathway, 
 looking for the mourner at the little 
 grave. He found her kneeling with her 
 white hands clasped and her eyes turned 
 to heaven. 
 
 “ My poor Therese ! ” said Robert, sit- 
 ting down and drawing her gently to him. 
 
 “ Poor, poor Therese,” she murmured, 
 bending her head upon her hand, “ this 
 blow is too much — too much ! ” 
 
 “And can I do nothing for my poor 
 Therese ? ” said Robert, tenderly. 
 
 Gradually Therese returned to life. 
 She seemed to think it selfish to sadden 
 gay hearts with her presence, and at last, 
 with many tears she left us. 
 
 To be Continued. 
 
1853.] 
 
 How they Manage in Europe. 
 
 427 
 
 HOW THEY MANAGE IN EUROPE. 
 
 A FRIEND of ours, who was named 
 Pepperage, had a dry statistical way 
 of saying things, and one day, addressed 
 us as follows : 
 
 “ There are fifty families, in Europe, 
 which call themselves Royal, assuming 
 that they alone have the right, — a right 
 derived from God, — to govern the rest of 
 Europeans. Nearly all of them found 
 their claims upon tradition, or the fact 
 that their ancestors, centuries ago, usurped 
 the supreme control, and by conquest or 
 fraud, established their pretensions against 
 those of all rival claimants. Thus, they 
 argue, by a curious form of logic, that the 
 Deity decided in their favor, whereby, 
 their first-born, thereafter, to the end of 
 time, was entitled to be, either as Emperor, 
 King, Queen or Grand Duke, the exclusive 
 source of power and the only fountain of 
 honor in their respective countries. 
 
 “ Around these principal or royal fami- 
 lies, circulate, like satellites about a sun, 
 some twenty or thirty thousand other 
 families, which are denominated noble, 
 and which, exempted from all the burdens 
 of society that fall upon other classes, or 
 sharing in the subordinate functions of 
 government, possess the land, fill the of- 
 fices of profit, absorb distinctions and 
 dignities, and distribute social positions. 
 
 “ The dependants of these families, are, 
 first, some 100,000 relatives and ser- 
 vants; secondly, 1,000,000 priests; third- 
 ly, 1,000,000 clerks and functionaries; 
 fourthly, 2,000,000 soldiers, and fifthly, a 
 miscellaneous mass of usurers and mer- 
 chants, whom they win over by patronage 
 and grants of profitable commercial mono- 
 polies. Altogether, we may compute the 
 governing minority at about five millions 
 of souls. 
 
 “ On the other side there are, simply, 
 the several classes of the people, — the 
 peasants who cultivate the land, either as 
 serfs or laborers, — the mechanics who 
 pursue various branches of handicraft, 
 small traders and carriers, and professional 
 and literary men, with the families of 
 each, — in all. nearly two hundred millions 
 of souls. 
 
 “The latter have considerable wealth, 
 inherited from their fathers or acquired by 
 their own labors ; they have also consid- 
 erable social freedom, in their ability to 
 talk and move about, to get married, and 
 to work at certain trades: but they have 
 few or no political rights, except such as 
 are supposed to be conceded to them, as 
 an act of grace, by their superiors. They 
 are subjects , and nothing more, — not a 
 
 people or nation, but the mere working 
 integers of a vast and complicated social 
 machine.” 
 
 “ Your way of stating this,” said we to 
 our friend Pepperage, “ recalls that remark- 
 able image wherein Paley, representing the 
 distributions of place in a monarchical 
 society, summons a flock of pigeons to his 
 aid. Do you remember the passage '? It 
 reads thus : 
 
 “If you should see a flock of pigeons in 
 a field of corn ; and if (instead of each 
 picking where and what it liked, taking just 
 as much as it wanted and no mare) you 
 should see ninety-nine of them gathering all 
 that they got into a heap, reserving nothing 
 to themselves but the chaff and the refuse ; 
 keeping this heap for one and that the 
 weakest perhaps and worst pigeon of the 
 flock ; sitting round and looking on all the 
 winter, whilst the one was devouring, 
 throwing about and wasting it; and if a pi- 
 geon, more hardy and hungry than the rest, 
 touched a grain of the hoard, all the others 
 instantly flying upon it and tearing it to 
 pieces; if you should see this you would see 
 nothing more than what is every day prac- 
 tised and established among men. Among 
 men, you see the ninety and nine toiling 
 and scraping together a heap of superfluities 
 for one ; getting nothing for themselves all 
 the while, but a little of the coarsest of the 
 provision which their labor produces (and 
 this one, too, oftentimes, the feeblest and 
 worst of the whole set, — a child, a woman, 
 a madman or a fool) ; looking quietly on, 
 while they see the fruits of all their labor 
 spent or spoiled; and if one of them take or 
 touch a particle of it, the others join against 
 him, and hang him for the theft,” 
 
 “ True, very true,” rejoined our philos- 
 opher, “but the interesting part of the 
 inquiry is, how this unequal and absurd 
 distribution can be maintained. Why 
 do the pigeons allow themselves to be 
 plucked ? Why does the immense nu- 
 merical majority submit to the extortions 
 and rapacity of the few, when the physi- 
 cal power is almost entirely in their own 
 hands, and they have but to will it, to 
 produce the most tremendous overturn ? 
 They certainly must have a general un- 
 derstanding of their rights ; they have 
 courage enough to assert them, as they 
 have proved at certain revolutionary pe- 
 riods ; they have skilful and competent 
 men among them for leaders, — such glori- 
 ous fellows as Kossuth and Mazzini, — and 
 they have every motive of justice and 
 gain to induce them to take matters into 
 their own hands. Yet they suffer out- 
 rageous oppressions and wrongs year after 
 
428 
 
 How they Manage in Europe. 
 
 year, with a silent or sullen acquiescence ! 
 Or, when they do attempt to reverse the 
 position of things, they only achieve petty 
 successes, and are then forced back into 
 their original nothingness.” 
 
 “ It is a strange case, certainly,” said we, 
 
 “ but not inexplicable ; for it illustrates 
 only the power of organization over divid- 
 ed effort, or the superiority of system to 
 incoherence. The governing classes of 
 Europe are organized, and act as one ; the 
 governed classes are individual in their 
 action and separated in space. These are 
 dispersed, without knowledge of each oth- 
 er, and without common aims ; while 
 those are united by selfish instincts, as 
 well as by treaties of mutual alliance and 
 defence ; and, being already in possession, 
 turn all their efforts towards the intrench- 
 ment of their power and the defeat of the 
 common enemy. The contest between 
 them, therefore, is like that of a well- 
 equipped man-of-war with a host of little 
 gun-boats, — multifarious, wild, petulant, 
 but ineffective on one side, and defiant 
 and crushing on the other.” 
 
 This conversation leading us to look a 
 little more closely into the peculiar politi- 
 cal organization of Europe, we tried to dis- 
 cern, with our poor republican eyes, the 
 secret methods by which it was operated. 
 There is such a stupendous solecism in the 
 fact that two hundred millions of people 
 should be controlled by five millions, that 
 the process becomes an object of intense 
 intellectual curiosity. We behold an im- 
 mense, complicated, powerful machine set 
 in motion by a few wheels, and we long 
 to know by what economy of means it is 
 that the effect is produced. 
 
 All the European governments pretend 
 to be conservators of order, giving out, too, 
 that they rule exclusively for the good of 
 the governed ; but it is very soon seen, on 
 inspection, that they are tremendous des- 
 potisms, more or less disguised, subsisting, 
 almost without exception, upon the two 
 elements of force and fraud. Artfully 
 contrived as they are to secure the ascen- 
 dency of certain classes, their constant 
 effort and aim is to preserve things as 
 they are ; to keep certain classes in their 
 superiority, and to exclude from it all 
 others, except the few who may be made 
 instrumental in furthering their main de- 
 sign. Every means within their reach 
 is summoned and used to this specific end. 
 
 No one doubts that a traditionary re- 
 spect for kings and nobles exists in many 
 parts of Europe. There are intelligent 
 men and women who are sincere in their 
 notions of royal right, who believe the 
 people utterly incapable of self-govern- 
 ment, and find in the distinctions of rank 
 a source of public refinement. There are 
 
 [April 
 
 many of the people themselves who have 
 been trained into a submissive reverence 
 for the upper classes. Old family associa- 
 tions, the ties of household and neighbor- 
 hood, the influence of education, the love 
 and esteem of personal qualities, remem- 
 brance of ancient splendors, are all causes 
 which have brought them to a willing and 
 even joyful acceptance of social hierarchies. 
 But it would be folly to contend that 
 these or any other motives are at this day 
 paramount in Europe. The number of 
 persons affected by them now is exceed- 
 ingly small, and is every day, through a 
 variety of causes, getting smaller. Those 
 violent disruptions of old ties, wrought by 
 the revolutions of the past century, the 
 social distresses brought about by unjust 
 laws, the more rapid intercommunication 
 of men with each other in modern times, 
 and the diffusion, in some way or other, of 
 new ideas of right, as well as the wants of 
 trade, have co-operated in destroying the 
 sentiments, along with the relationships of 
 the feudal system. Races assert them- 
 selves against nationalities, and individuals 
 against society, while the old leaven of 
 loyalty is dead. Burke, in his pathetic 
 lament over Marie Antoinette, was right, 
 when he said that “ the age of chivalry is 
 gone, and that the age of economists and 
 calculators had succeeded.” Never, never 
 more shall we behold the generous loyalty 
 to rank, the proud submission, the digni- 
 fied obedience, the subordination of the 
 heart, which he so eloquently mourned, 
 but society the while refuses to weep for 
 its loss. The greatest economists and 
 calculators are to be found now in the 
 high places themselves, and governments 
 have discovered that, to be sustained at 
 all, they must sustain themselves by ma- 
 nagement, and not upon the real affections 
 of their subjects. In full assurance of the 
 change, therefore, they put in operation a 
 system of means, most admirably con- 
 trived to blind the eyes of the masses and 
 perpetuate their own supremacy. 
 
 (1.) One of the first agencies in this pro- 
 cess is what Mr. Scotchman Laing, in his 
 “Notes of Travel,” calls Functionarism, 
 or that nianipulation of the menials of 
 government, by which hosts of active men 
 are scattered over every province or town 
 of a nation, ostensibly to execute the laws, 
 but in reality to carry out the secret pur- 
 poses of rulers. Of the number of them, 
 and of the opportunities cf influence they 
 possess, we may get some idea by con- 
 sidering the civil arrangements of France. 
 France, we are told, is divided into 86 de- 
 partments, containing some 38,000 sub- 
 divisions, called communes, which corre- 
 spond to our American townships, and have 
 each their distinct set of local functionaries 
 
How they Manage in Europe. 
 
 429 
 
 1853.] 
 
 A group of these communes forms a canton, 
 just as a group of townships here is a 
 county ; a group of cantons forms an arron- 
 dissement, a group of arrondissements a 
 department ; and each group lias its seve- 
 ral officers, charged with the execution of 
 administrative or judicial duties. There 
 are officers of the commune, officers of the 
 canton, officers of the arrondissement, and 
 officers of the departments, in the same 
 way that we have state, county, and town- 
 ship officers ; but the difference is, that 
 with us these officers are chosen by the 
 residents of each separate division, while 
 in France they are appointed mainly by 
 the central authority. De Tocqueville 
 estimated the whole number of them, in 
 1830, at no less than 130,000, but as they 
 were greatly increased under the reigns of 
 Louis Philippe and Louis Napoleon, it is 
 safe to mark them down at 150,000 at 
 least. Now, since the whole population 
 of France is 36,000,000, there is one of 
 these functionaries for every 240 souls, or 
 estimating by families, one official family 
 for every fifty other families. 
 
 Considering, then, that they are selected 
 with some reference to their ability to 
 act upon the opinions of their neighbor- 
 hood, to which their official distinction 
 contributes, so far as it goes, we may 
 judge what amount of flunky influence 
 they may and do control. Each one has 
 his little circle of dependent or admiring 
 flunkies, to whom he becomes a centre of 
 propagation. Whenever and wherever 
 the central government may wish to pro- 
 duce an impression, — to diffuse a preju- 
 dice, to defeat an adversary, to crush in- 
 cipient rebellion, or to prepare the way 
 for a coup cl'etat , — it has its instruments 
 ready, needing only to pull the string to 
 set them at work. 
 
 How efficient these train-bands of flun- 
 kyism can make themselves has been 
 shown under all administrations, repub- 
 lican as well as imperial, but under none 
 more so than under that of the present 
 usurper of the French throne. He was 
 scarcely seated in power, before he began 
 his operations, and by giving the nod at 
 the Elysee, had his will carried on flashes 
 of lightning to the remotest extremities of 
 the land. For these officials are always 
 the friends of the ins ; they have no per- 
 sonal preferences, no serious political con- 
 victions ; and when they receive their cue, 
 they have at once a perfect understanding 
 of the parts they are expected to act. 
 Whether the plot of the play be a pre- 
 tended popular election, or an august im- 
 perial reception, or the proclamation of a 
 new dynasty, they catch the word of the 
 prompter at once, and move on to the ca- 
 tastrophe. No satraps of an eastern mon- 
 
 arch could be more prompt or punctual in 
 obedience to the royal mandate than these 
 wretches are to the slightest dictation of 
 power. 
 
 By a similar method, in all the despotic 
 states of Europe, opinions and events are 
 manufactured, to suit the purposes of the 
 cunning knaves who sit like great spiders 
 at the centres of mischief, to reap the bene- 
 fit. They commend themselves to the re- 
 gard of the uneasy multitudes, and blast 
 the characters of oppugnant liberals, and 
 no one knows how the effect was brought 
 about. A prodigious mass of falsehood 
 is thus kept in constant circulation, now 
 in this place, and now in that, to meet 
 the varjung circumstances of time and 
 place, but the force that sets it going 
 the honest people do not so much as sus- 
 pect. They hear of changes, and reforms, 
 and improvements ; they are told of the 
 astonishing beneficence of their rulers ; 
 they are flattered with promises, and 
 when the time comes for their fulfilment, 
 are put off with specious pleas of uncon- 
 trollable state necessities ; and so, from 
 year’s end to year’s end, are deluged with 
 illusions ; and should they grow factious, 
 are at once haled to prison, and their 
 places know them no more for ever. It is 
 only when oppression reaches the extreme 
 of unendurable physical sulfering, that 
 they rise simultaneously and break the 
 fatal charm. 
 
 (2.) Again, the ecclesiastical patronage 
 of the Governments, — the preferments and 
 offices of the church, — is an effective right 
 arm of the civil administration. It is 
 almost universally wielded to purchase 
 the support of the clergy. Accordingly, 
 whenever you find a priest, you find a 
 friend of power. He is a friend, too, who 
 has more and better opportunities for de- 
 termining opinion than the civil function- 
 ary, because his functions seem more dis- 
 interested, because he addresses the su- 
 perstitious fears and religious faiths of his 
 victim, and because he works through the 
 most intimate, solemn, and tender feelings 
 of the heart. At the bedside of the sick 
 and feeble he is a privileged visitor, as he 
 is also a welcome sharer of the hospitali- 
 ties of the fireside. His objects, if sinis- 
 ter, are seldom suspected ; his political 
 insinuations are conveyed in the same 
 breath with sacred and cherished truths ; 
 while, in the catholic nations, the most 
 tremendous engine of influence ever put in 
 the hands of man, the secret confessional, 
 is his acknowledged right. 
 
 Many of the inferior clergy are doubt- 
 less sincere in their convictions of duty ; 
 are men of amiable and blameless lives, 
 and honestly believe, that in sustaining 
 the existing order and the policy of the 
 
430 
 
 How they Manage in Europe. 
 
 state, no matter how tyrannical and un- 
 just it is, they obey the commands of 
 God, as they certainly do the wishes of 
 their superiors. An unquestioning sub- 
 mission, is their ideal of duty. Thus they 
 are taught, and thus they teach. But 
 there are others, not so lowly but quite 
 as obedient, who have a more intelligent 
 appreciation of what they are at, — the 
 managing directors of the religious ar- 
 mies, — unprincipled, subtle, energetic plot- 
 ters, who pursue the advancement of their 
 confederates, unscrupulous of means, and 
 far-reaching as to ends. These look upon 
 the people literally as their flock, to be 
 guided, or impelled, or fleeced, as the 
 schemes of the governing class may dic- 
 tate. They have a personal interest in 
 maintaining popular ignorance, stability, 
 and subjection. When tyranny has an 
 atrocious design to effect, they are its 
 quick and willing tools. Michelet, in his 
 eloquent chapters on the Priest and the 
 Family, has scarcely exaggerated either 
 the malice or the fatality of their machi- 
 nations. 
 
 How many of these intelligent imple- 
 ments of despotism and wrong there may 
 be in Europe, neither statistics nor Mr. 
 Pepperage could tell. It seems a part of 
 their policy to evade any formal statement 
 of their strength. In Italy, they are esti- 
 mated by Balbi at half a million, or one 
 priest to every forty inhabitants ; and 
 though not so numerous in other nations, 
 they swarm every where, — as you are 
 convinced, in travelling, by unhappy en- 
 counters with whole flocks of shovel 
 hats — and every where they are actuated 
 by the same leading motives. As con- 
 sumers of industry, as promoters of igno- 
 rance, as teachers of a debasing morality, 
 we do not consider them now, but as the 
 supple and diligent agents of the bad gov- 
 ernments from which they receive their 
 privileges, and expect rewards, we must 
 regard them as among the most pernicious 
 members of European society. 
 
 (3.) What adds to their powers of mis- 
 chief is, that in most of the states, the func- 
 tions of education are intrusted to their care. 
 One might naturally suppose that educa- 
 tion was a means of influence which wise 
 despotisms would let alone, or suppress 
 altogether ; and so they would, if educa- 
 tion meant, what we understand by it, 
 the free unfolding and exercise of the fac- 
 ulties of men. But their education is a 
 different thing. Emperor Francis, in his 
 address to the Professors at Laybach, at 
 the time of the famous Congress there, 
 declared what kind of teaching suited his 
 order, when he enjoined them not to im- 
 part too much to the children. 11 The 
 leading principles of education,” said he, 
 
 [April 
 
 “ consist in guarding the mind against 
 the danger of entertaining political er- 
 ror s, instead of encouraging its full devel- 
 opment. by the free exercise of the faculties, 
 and well regulated self-dependence.” He 
 was perfectly aware that a free exercise 
 of the faculties could only lead to “ politi- 
 cal errors,” or, in other words, to an im- 
 patience of the execrable tyrannies of the 
 governments, and to a knowledge, more- 
 over, of the best methods of meeting them 
 with a stern and well-matured resistance. 
 
 It is a great mistake to assert that there 
 is no education allowed by the despotic ru- 
 lers. Not only is it allowed, but it is 
 sedulously encouraged. Ample pains are 
 taken by all, except, perhaps, those of 
 Russia and Spain, to force children into 
 public schools. The laws even require 
 parents to cause the attendance of their 
 children, and while penalties are denounc- 
 ed against their neglect, it is also provided 
 that children themselves, who do not at- 
 tend, shall, in their after life, suffer im- 
 portant civil and social disabilities. In 
 Austria, for instance, the uneducated are 
 debarred from public and private employ- 
 ments, and without a certificate from the 
 state schools, are forbidden to marry. There 
 is no want, therefore, of education. Rome 
 has more schools, in proportion to its peo- 
 ple, than any city of Scotland ; Berlin has 
 quite as many as any city of the United 
 States ; and Naples, too, where that impi- 
 ous Bourbon Ferdinand reigns, is famed 
 for its fine academies. 
 
 It is the kind of education given in these 
 places on which we ought to animadvert. 
 Its whole tendency is to debauch the pop- 
 ulace with false notions of their political 
 rights, and of their relations to their ru- 
 lers. Emperors and Kings, they are made 
 to believe, derive their power from God, 
 and are the substitutes of God upon earth. 
 The poor and miserable cheats who as- 
 sume human majesty, are blasphemously 
 associated with the Divine Majesty, as if 
 the two were one, and the sanctity of Heav- 
 en attached to their persons. Here is 
 a specimen of instruction, taken from an 
 elementary class-book, authorized by the 
 government, as it was found by Mr. Glad- 
 stone, in the schools of Milan : 
 
 Quest. How must subjects behave towards their 
 sovereign ? 
 
 Ans. Subjects must beliave towards their sovereign 
 like faithful slaves towards their master. 
 
 Quest. Why must subjects behave like slaves? 
 
 Ans. Because their sovereign is their master, and 
 has power over their property as well as over their 
 life. 
 
 Quest. Are subjects bound also to obey bad sover- 
 eigns? 
 
 Ans. Subjects are bound to obey, not only good, 
 but also bad sovereigns. 
 
 Now, imbue the tender minds of infancy 
 and youth with such stuff as this, — im- 
 press it upon them, with all the arts of 
 
How they Manage in Europe. 
 
 431 
 
 1853.] 
 
 accomplished teachers, and associate it 
 with whatever is lovely and venerable in 
 their early affections, and you may teach 
 along with it, all the reading, writing, and 
 arithmetic in the world, without effacing 
 its deleterious effects ! The jackals of the 
 despotisms are sure of their prey, and wil- 
 lingly incur the slight danger of awaken- 
 ing thought in their pupils, in the certainty 
 that they have already emasculated their 
 minds. 
 
 Many will suppose that we ought to 
 except from this category the educational 
 system of Prussia, which has been so 
 much extolled for the thoroughness of its 
 organization, and, being Protestant in its 
 spirit, for the comparative freedom of its 
 religious discipline. But we are afraid 
 that, in spite of its boasted liberality, the 
 Prussian scheme does not differ in its 
 animus from the rest, and is only more 
 adroitly managed. The most enlightened 
 observers remark that it is constructed 
 entirely on the drill-sergeant principle, 
 teaching every where absolutistic princi- 
 ples, and turning religion into a support 
 of tyranny, by inculcating invariably a 
 blind veneration for the autocratic head 
 of the state. “ If,” says Mr. Laing, that 
 knowing Scotchman whom we have be- 
 fore quoted, “to read, write, cipher and 
 sing, be education, the Prussian subject is 
 an educated man. If to reason, judge, 
 and act as an independent free agent, in 
 the religious, moral and social relations 
 of man to his Creator and to his fellow- 
 man, be that exercise of the mental 
 powers which alone deserves the name of 
 education, then is the Prussian subject a 
 mere drum-boy in education. — compared 
 even to the unlettered population of a free 
 country. The dormant state of the public 
 mind on all affairs of public interest, the 
 acquiescence in a total want of political 
 influence or existence, the intellectual de- 
 pendence upon the government or its 
 functionaries in all the affairs of the com- 
 munity, the abject submission to a want 
 of freedom in thought, words and acts, — 
 the religious thraldom of the people to 
 forms which they despise, the ineffective- 
 ness of religious and social principle in 
 society, justify the conclusion, that the 
 moral, social and religious condition of the 
 people, was never looked at or estimated 
 by those writers who arc so enthusiastic 
 in their praises of the Prussian educational 
 system. The French writers took up the 
 song from the band of pensioned literati 
 at Berlin, and the English from the French 
 writers; and so the song has gone round 
 Europe, without any one taking the trou- 
 ble to inquire what this education system 
 was producing.” Our own observations 
 during a brief visit to the Prussian states, 
 
 confirm those of honest Laing, for, though 
 we found much technical instruction in 
 the schools, much abstract and scientific 
 learning among the professors, the great 
 mass of the common people were ignorant, 
 debased, and discontented. The absence 
 of those motives to the continued cultiva- 
 tion of the mind furnished by an active 
 and free civic life, and the influence of the 
 obligatory military service which imme- 
 diately succeeds the period of school- 
 going, seems to have effaced entirely any 
 good effect that might have been wrought 
 by earlier instruction. Not a few forget 
 in a few years how to read at all. 
 
 (4.) But here is a touchstone of the 
 whole business ! If the rulers of Prussia, 
 as well as of the other states of Europe, are 
 sincere in the purpose of educating the 
 people, — if they do not regard the school 
 and the college, as an appendage of the 
 police office and the barrack-room, — as an 
 important part of the mechanism by 
 which subjects are either deluded or 
 drilled into order, why do they, in such 
 utter inconsistency with their avowed de- 
 signs, and by the most arbitrary and 
 oppressive measures, restrain and punish 
 the use of those faculties which it is the 
 aim of all good education to call forth ? 
 Why do they deny the means and opportu- 
 nities of continuing education when the 
 school-days are ended? Why do they 
 embarrass and fetter the minds of their 
 subjects by every imaginable variety of 
 injunction and threat? Why do they 
 institute censorships of the press, emas- 
 culate books, and give the lock-jaw to 
 editors ? The object of education, as we 
 take it, is the free development of all the 
 powers of the mind, and the unbiassed 
 exercise of judgment in the research and 
 discussion of truth. But under their rule 
 there is no such thing as unlicensed wri- 
 ting or printing, — any more than if the 
 goose quill and types were not yet in- 
 vented. Thought may be free, because 
 no process for discerning the thoughts has 
 yet been made known to the watchful 
 guardians of the police ; but to utter 
 thoughts against the thoughts of the 
 government, is one of the most flagrant 
 offences. It is a crime punishable with 
 imprisonment or death. Even in those 
 states which profess to be constitutional, 
 and are therefore a shade less dark in 
 their absolutism, there is no open and 
 manly expression of political opinions, no 
 frank exposure of public abuses, and no 
 just criticism of the intentions or deeds of 
 rulers. The theory is that governments 
 arc impeccable. Let a journal speak a 
 word to the contrary, let its editor at any 
 time or on any topic insinuate the truth 
 in regard to malfeasance in office, and his 
 
432 
 
 How they Manage in Europe. 
 
 presses are on that instant seized. Let 
 the writer of a book pretend to an 
 opinion of his own on political questions, 
 and his sheets are as good as burned by 
 the public hangman. He may say what 
 he pleases on indifferent matters, may be 
 violent in his Hegelianism or Anti-Hegel- 
 ianism, may write sentimental poetry, or 
 pleasant tales of no significance, may re- 
 count his travels in other lands, or fill the 
 world with learning about Greece and 
 Rome, or the antiquities of Egypt ; he 
 may, too, discuss some doctrines of reli- 
 gion, to the extent of Straussian infidelity, 
 but let him beware how he approaches 
 any political subject ! The excellent Ger- 
 vinus is, at this hour, under arrest, for 
 philosophizing democratically in his pro- 
 lusions on History. Politics are the 
 ark of the covenant, which no common 
 man can touch and live ; it is the holy of 
 holies, for ever tabooed to all but the 
 initiated priesthood ; it is the high, sacred, 
 indefeasible, inviolable prerogative of the 
 state ! 
 
 (5.) Yes : the state is all in all in educa- 
 tion ; and, what is worse, and another of the 
 means by which the people are degraded 
 into mere subjects, the state seeks to be- 
 come the all in all in nearly every other 
 interest of life. Its aim is to render them 
 wholly dependent upon itself, by keeping 
 them in a position of perpetual pupilage, 
 where they are discharged of every sense 
 of personal responsibility, and deprived 
 like slaves of nearly every motive to per- 
 sonal advancement. Said an official at 
 Vienna to us, when we spoke with some 
 severity of the detestable stringency of the 
 police regulations: “It is true, we deny 
 the people an}' political life ; but then, as 
 a compensation, we take such good care 
 of them in every other respect.” “Ah, 
 friend.” we replied, “ it is precisely in that 
 meddling and officious care that we free- 
 men detect one of your most subtle and 
 devilish devices.” He stared, and we pro- 
 ceeded : “ You are well aware that every 
 exercise of his rights as a man, by a man, 
 suggests the exercise of others, and there- 
 fore you sedulously separate him from 
 every act and business which trains his 
 free agency. You do all that you can for 
 him, in order that he may do as little as 
 he can for himself. Beyond that rudi- 
 mentary use of his powers, which is ne- 
 cessary to the carrying on of the humbler 
 trades and occupations, you discourage 
 every exertion of his natural and acquired 
 endowments, which might teach him self- 
 reliance, or elevate his consciousness as a 
 man. Beginning with him in his cradle, 
 you hardly let him alone for a moment, 
 never abandoning him to his own re- 
 sources or the invaluable discipline of cir- 
 
 [April 
 
 cumstances ; you fit him with his educa- 
 tion, religion, politics, business, amuse- 
 ments, and what not, as an idiot is fitted 
 with a strait-jacket. His individual ex- 
 istence is swamped and smothered in the 
 multitude of his appliances. The govern- 
 ment takes the conduct of life out of his 
 hands, leaving him few motives to the ex- 
 ercise of his sagacity, enterprise, self-de- 
 pendence, or social duty, so that to the 
 end of his days he remains a vassal. 
 There are, of course, exceptions to the 
 rule, — men of strong original natures, who 
 rise above the disadvantages of their 
 station, — but the pliable part of these are 
 immediately seduced over to the side of 
 power, by offers of official distinction and 
 employment, and the rest are branded 
 with the mark of Cain.” When we had 
 closed, our Vienna friend had nothing to 
 reply as to the benignant and paternal 
 character of his intermeddling government. 
 
 How could he reply, with the stupen- 
 dous usurpations of government, not in 
 Austria alone, but all over Europe, staring 
 him in the face? He knew very well 
 that he himself had no religion but what 
 the state allowed him, no education but 
 what the state had furnished, no business 
 but what the state had authorized, no 
 liberty to move hither and thither, except 
 as the state should give him a written per- 
 mit. He looked to the state for the initia- 
 tion of every measure and thought, and 
 for the means of getting on in every line 
 of life. All the avenues to success were 
 closed to him until they might be opened 
 by favor of the government. The army, 
 the navy, the church, the law, the profes- 
 sorships, even the humbler situations of 
 schoolmaster, bridge-contractor, courier or 
 postilion, were gifts in the possession of 
 his rulers, and neither he nor his sons 
 could lift a hand to break stones upon the 
 highway until the government had clapped 
 its livery upon his or their shoulders, to 
 show the world that they were the ser- 
 vants of the state. 
 
 The consequences of this policy are the 
 depression of enterprise, the discourage- 
 ment of social ambition, the aggrandize- 
 ment of the ruling classes, and the gener- 
 ation on the part of the people of a feeling 
 of utter dependence and subserviency, 
 which paralyzes their energies, destroys 
 their self-respect, enfeebles the springs of 
 virtue, and withers and blights the im- 
 pulses of hope. No one is surprised, there- 
 fore, in travelling over Europe, to find, in 
 passing from an absolute to a constitutional 
 country, that the aspect and condition of 
 the inhabitants changes at once. Where 
 the pursuits of commerce and manufac- 
 tures are comparatively open ; where places 
 and emoluments are not utterly removed 
 
1853.] 
 
 I low they Manage in Europe. 
 
 433 
 
 from reach ; where the means of rising to 
 wealth and distinction are not sedulously 
 set round with barriers ; where there are 
 other passports to official or social emi- 
 nence than the smiles of ministers ; where 
 industry, character, usefulness, talent have 
 a chance to reap their just rewards in 
 practical successes and the affections of 
 mankind, the whole tone of the community 
 is exalted, the intellect grows brighter 
 and sharper, the energies more vigorous, 
 the virtues manlier, and Nature herself, 
 casting off her sickly languor, shines with 
 new beauty and laughs with joy. 
 
 (G) Of course, it is necessary for the Eu- 
 ropean powers in maintaining this watchful 
 guardianship over every interest and mo- 
 tion of society, to keep in operation a most 
 comprehensive, rigid, and unrelenting sys- 
 tem of police, whose agents are to be found 
 in every city and village, and almost in 
 every house. They are more plentiful 
 than the frogs which came upon Egypt, as 
 one of the plagues, and like the frogs, too, 
 they hop and croak through the very 
 kneading-troughs. But they are unlike 
 in one respect, which gives them an im- 
 measurable superiority, as a means of ma- 
 lignant annoyance and abuse; in that they 
 are the most thoroughly organized body 
 in the world, — more compact than the 
 church, and more controllable than the 
 army. The police, with a single efficient 
 head in the capital of a nation, ramified 
 into innumerable subordinate centres, 
 from which lines of communication and 
 circumvallation are spread, like the threads 
 of a spider’s web, constitute a vast, con- 
 sistent, and irresistible machinery, which 
 is every where present with an intelligent 
 and conscious purpose, and yet which 
 works with the terrible precision of a fate. 
 As an open, recognized department of the 
 state, overseeing every thing, examining 
 every thing, minuting every thing, its 
 powers of control are tremendous ; a relay 
 of telegraphs, it reports from the most 
 distant parts of an empire the approaches 
 of danger, and then, again, a battalion of 
 cohorts, it rushes to the scene with im- 
 petuous velocity, to extinguish the least 
 symptom of trouble. But there is a 
 secret wing of the service, the dread bands 
 of the Espionage, unknown to the public 
 and unknown to themselves, which im- 
 parts a mysterious ubiquity and a tenfold 
 effectiveness to its power. There is a fine 
 passage in Gibbon, quoted by De Quincy, 
 in his Caesars, in which, describing the 
 reach as well as the intensity of the Ro- 
 man Imperial power, he speaks of the im- 
 possibility of an offending subject escaping 
 punishment. If he fled to the wilderness, 
 it pursued him there ; it tracked him over 
 the pathless waters of the sea, and in the 
 von. i. — 28 
 
 heart of populous cities, often the most 
 secure and lonely of hiding-places, its eye 
 penetrated his concealment, or its hand 
 snatched him from the throng. Thus all 
 parts of the earth became to him only so 
 many wards of an immense prison. 
 
 The secret police of Europe achieves a 
 similar abhorrent universality. Its forces, 
 composed of some of the highest digni- 
 taries, as well as the most wretched crea- 
 tures of every class and calling, — women 
 of rank and waiters in the cafes , the 
 clerks in shops, the domestics about your 
 table, and even the lowest frequenters of the 
 gambling-houses and brothels, lurk every 
 where, to eavesdrop, to waylay, to pervert, 
 and to accuse* Your property, your free- 
 dom, your life itself hangs on their reports, 
 and long years after the circumstances on 
 which some temporary suspicion may 
 have grown, the records of the secluded 
 consistory — this modern Vehm-Gericht — 
 will rise up against you, like a book of 
 judgment, and betray you to awful penal- 
 ties. Your trial will be secret as the ac- 
 cusation is, and your fate will only be 
 known to the sweet young family who 
 miss you from the fireside, and the cher- 
 ished friends that shall feel the warm 
 greetings of your hand no more. Scarcely 
 a prison-house in Europe, from the watery 
 dungeons of Naples to the cold solitudes 
 of Siberia, that does not hear the sighs of 
 victims who have flitted away, in this 
 silent manner, as if they had exhaled, or 
 been carried bodily “ from sunshine to the 
 sunless hind.” 
 
 As an example of how this espionage is 
 carried on, we were told last winter in 
 Paris, that a lady of fashionable society, 
 who proposed to give a ball, applied to 
 the police for the usual patrol which at- 
 tends on such occasions, to preserve order, 
 and regulate the arrival and departure of 
 carriages. The officer demanded six blank 
 invitations, as a condition preliminary, 
 which the lady of course refused. “ Will 
 you allow me, then, to look at the list of 
 your guests,” asked the man of the law, 
 and when the lady’s agent showed it to 
 him, he replied with a smile, “ Never mind 
 about the blanks, there are already ten of 
 our friends among the number of the 
 invited.” Thus, the creatures of the state 
 manage to be at all public assemblies, as 
 well as in almost every secret society. 
 Where they cannot go themselves, the 
 terror of them does, so that distrust and 
 suspicion is often insinuated into the most 
 friendly intercourse. “ Profound silence or 
 hypocritical subservice is the only safety,” 
 says Mr. Stiles, our former charge at 
 Vienna. “ The very name of police,” says 
 another American, who lived long abroad, 
 11 is a word of terror, and the apprehension 
 
434 
 
 How they Manage in Europe. 
 
 which it causes is equally felt by rich and 
 poor. It is in every one’s mouth ; and 
 the stranger is no less annoyed by its in- 
 quisitiveness regarding himself, than he 
 is surprised at the lamblike submissive- 
 ness and fear w T hich it universally in- 
 spires.” 
 
 In times of popular disturbance or 
 revolution, these agents are peculiarly 
 serviceable to the state, in denouncing 
 the leading men of the opposition for al- 
 leged crimes ; in discovering the secret 
 intentions of political clubs, or inventing 
 them where none exists ; in fomenting 
 discords among the insurgents, to whom 
 they profess to belong ; in getting up pre- 
 tences of plots for the massacre of certain 
 citizens ; and in creating disgust in the 
 minds of moderate men, by menacing vio- 
 lence, or exaggerating the designs of re- 
 publicans and socialists. More than half 
 the bloody conspiracies with which the 
 government papers teem, during heated 
 political dissensions, are the pure invention 
 of the police, who thereby frighten timid 
 and conservative souls into reaction. 
 
 It has been no unusual thing for these 
 mercenaries to irritate the working people 
 into actual outbreak, or to gather nume- 
 rous bands of felons, to commit violence 
 and crimes, in order that the government 
 might get the credit, in suppressing them, 
 of having saved society from disorder and 
 anarchy. Louis Napoleon has been a 
 large dealer in this kind of salvation. 
 
 (7.) But no branch of this hidden surveil- 
 lance is more execrable than that which 
 exists in the post-offices of some of the 
 despotic governments. Letters are sup- 
 posed, even in semi barbarous nations, to 
 possess somewhat of a sacred and inviola- 
 ble character, while among civilized men, 
 they are like the confidential whispers of 
 friend to frit'nd. or the profoundest do- 
 mestic communion of man and wife. There 
 is many a villain who would eagerly rob 
 a sanctuary, who would yet hesitate about 
 breaking a seal. But what barbarians 
 and rascals are loath to do, is a part of 
 the regular machinery of government in 
 despotic states. They force their sub- 
 jects to intrust correspondence to their 
 offices, and then pry into it to find motives 
 for some petty persecution against their 
 liberty and peace. What double atro- 
 city ! Mr. Stiles, in his work on Austria, 
 where this infamous system is more sys- 
 tematically pursued than elsewhere, has a 
 most interesting history of the practice. 
 He says : — 
 
 “ The first regular post established in Cen- 
 tral Europe, that of the ‘ Turn and Taxis,’ 
 was distinguished by such a system of espio- 
 nage. The knowledge of the affairs of other 
 governments, which the examination of the 
 
 [April 
 
 correspondence between princes and gene- 
 rals afforded, most naturally suggested the 
 importance of such an engine in matters of 
 internal police; and in the Flemish intrigues, 
 and the Milan conspiracies, in the time of 
 Joseph the Second, it already appeared in 
 full and successful operation. 
 
 “The ‘Turn and Taxis’ post, which had 
 its central bureau at Vienna, was presided 
 over at first by a ‘ plenipotentiary secret 
 counsellor,’ and, under the reign of Joseph 
 the Second, was connected with the police 
 of the city, and with the most secret cabinet 
 of the Emperor, and its operations brought 
 to great perfection by his prime minister, 
 Kaunitz. 
 
 “Later, it was called the ‘ Chiffre Cabi- 
 net,’ and had its bureau in the Imperial 
 Palace, in that portion of the building front- 
 ing the Joseph’s Place, known as the ‘ Stall- 
 burg.’ The principal post in Vienna closed 
 in the evening, most punctually, at seven 
 o’clock, and the letter-bags apparently started 
 off, but they were with great rapidity con- 
 veyed to the ‘Chiffre Cabinet,’ in the Stall- 
 burg. 
 
 “ Here, by the assistance of a large num- 
 ber of clerks (who, composed of two sets, 
 worked both night and day), the corres- 
 pondence of ambassadors, bankers, foreign 
 agents, and any letters calculated to excffe 
 suspicion, were quickly selected from the 
 mass, and with great circumspection opened, 
 examined, and copied, a proceeding which 
 lasted usually until midnight, but frequently 
 until daylight, when the mail at length 
 started in truth, upon its destination. 
 
 “ The lives of the officers and clerks in 
 this department must have been truly de- 
 plorable. Although well remunerated, they 
 were, indeed, but little better than state 
 prisoners. They were so strictly watched by 
 the police, that the minutest matters of pri- 
 vate conduct and character were familiarly 
 known. Plow they lived, what they ex- 
 pended, where they went, who visited them 
 and their families; in short, all that they 
 said or did were matters with which the 
 police was at all times perfectly cognizant. 
 
 “By the intense application necessary to 
 the unravelling of diplomatic ciphers, and 
 which was carried on with great success, 
 many of their principal adepts lost their 
 minds. But the most serious ills under 
 which they labored, says the historian, were 
 the injuries to conscience in the commission 
 of perjury and forgery, which in the course 
 of their duties they were not unfrequently 
 compelled to undergo. Hormeyer, the able 
 historian of Austria, and for a long time 
 keeper of the Imperial archives in Vienna, 
 after a quarrel with the Austrian officials, 
 entered, in the same capacity, the service of 
 Bavaria, and there, in his last works, writ- 
 ten but a few years since, he exposes all the 
 details of this iniquitous procedure, which, 
 but for that circumstance, might have re- 
 mained to this day undivulged. 
 
 “ A correspondence, he relates, was carried 
 on for the space of fourteen years, by the 
 
1853.] 
 
 How they Manage in Europe. 
 
 435 
 
 Chiffre Cabinet, with a person in Bohemia, 
 whose letters had afforded grounds for sus- 
 pecting his loyalty. Assuming the name, 
 and imitating the handwriting of his corre- 
 spondent in Vienna, they pretended to ap- 
 prove his designs, encouraged him to a full 
 disclosure of his plans, as well as accom- 
 plices, and when they were sufficiently di- 
 vulged, which it seems took fourteen years 
 to accomplish, the whole party were imme- 
 diately seized and committed for trial. 
 
 “ The letters were opened, and the seals 
 instantly imitated with a skill that defied 
 detection. The copies of all such corre- 
 spondence, whose importance warranted the 
 labor necessary in tramscribing them, were 
 by order of the Emperor Francis, laid upon 
 his table each day at 7 o’clock, by which 
 hour he returned from the morning mass, 
 and the perusal of these documents, together 
 with the reports of the secret police upon 
 the foreign ambassadors and ministers, their 
 indulgences, expenses, connections and trans- 
 actions in the city, and which were also pre- 
 sented at the same hour, constituted, it is 
 said, by far the most agreeable portion of his 
 matinal exercises. 
 
 “What at first gave great importance to 
 this proceeding — the examination of the 
 mails — was the extent of the system, that it 
 embraced the entire bounds of the German 
 Empire, and extended even to the Baltic 
 Sea and to Ostend, limits within which no 
 state or family secrets could possibly remain 
 sacred. By it all the intrigues carried on in 
 relation to the Spanish, Polish, and Swedish 
 crowns were fully disclosed ; but owing to 
 the very importance and extent of these dis- 
 coveries, they could not long remain con- 
 cealed, and the correspondence between 
 Russia and Prussia in regard to Poland in 
 1T72 coming to light in this manner, led to 
 the establishment of separate government 
 mails and private couriers. To this day no 
 foreign ambassador or minister to Vienna 
 thinks for a moment of committing his dis- 
 patches to an Austrian post, but private cou- 
 riers take charge of and convey their entire 
 correspondence. 
 
 “But even these, as Hormeyer discloses, 
 cannot be implicitly relied on. The Prus- 
 sian couriers, he relates, as early as the reign 
 of Joseph the Second were bribed for life. 
 At the first post station near Pirna, upon the 
 frontiers of Saxony and Austria, from its re- 
 tired position being a suitable location, a 
 small house was erected, and there a branch 
 of the Chiffre cabinet was located. Upon 
 the expected arrival of the Berlin couriers, 
 they, with their dispatches, were taken 
 charge of by the Austrian agents, conveyed 
 in their own postchaises, and during the 
 most rapid driving they always managed to 
 take full copies of all the important commu- 
 nications. In this way they continued their 
 journey together to the last post station be- 
 fore Vienna, where the dispatch-bag was 
 returned to the courier, and he and the Aus- 
 trian agents separated, the one directing his 
 way to the Russian embassy, the other to 
 
 the foreign office in the Ballhaus Platz ; 
 and, at the same moment that Count Keller, 
 the Prussian ambassador, was examining the 
 original dispatches, Prince Kaunitz, impe- 
 rial prime minister, would be occupied in 
 reading the copies.” 
 
 There is reason to believe that the 
 French government resorts to a similar 
 treachery to discover information ; and we 
 know that even in England, Sir James 
 Graham, to the utter disgrace of his 
 order and his country, avowed openly that 
 he had violated the letters of Mazzini. 
 
 (8.) But all these shifts and expedients 
 to maintain the ascendency of the ruling- 
 classes would be in vain, if they were not 
 backed up by Force. Force is after all 
 their main reliance, and that is concentra- 
 ted and embodied in standing armies. 
 Two millions of soldiers, well-trained, 
 well-furnished, and constantly on the 
 alert, are the watch-dogs of absolutism, 
 ready to pounce at any moment upon in- 
 tractable citizens. “ They are my extin- 
 guishers,” said a royal fellow once to a 
 foreigner ; to which the foreigner replied, 
 “ What if the extinguishers themselves 
 take fire 1 ” But they have provided 
 pretty well against that. Coming from 
 the people, it might be imagined that in 
 all times of excitement, they would sym- 
 pathize with the people ; sometimes they 
 do, when there is a terrible havoc among 
 the crowned heads ; but there are many 
 adroit arrangements to prevent such sym- 
 pathy. Apart from the esprit du corps, 
 which is always operative among troops, 
 and the difficulties of revolt, under the rigor 
 of army discipline, there is this special pre- 
 caution used. The troops are removed 
 from the localities where those sympathies 
 would natural^ lead them to side with the 
 people, are taken away from among their 
 friends and neighbors, and their own peo- 
 ple, and sent into distant parts, where the 
 hatreds of nationality, carefully kept up 
 and inflamed, make them indifferent at 
 least to the popular cause. Thus the 
 Hungarians are dispatched to Italy, and 
 the Italians into Hungary, the Croats to 
 Poland and the Poles to Germany. Feel- 
 ing themselves strangers among strangers, 
 with old animosities of race rankling in 
 their breasts, they are prepared for the 
 work of butchery. 
 
 When this cunning device fails, there is 
 yet another resort. It is in the mutual 
 alliance which the monarchs of the differ- 
 ent nations have pledged and sworn to 
 each other, — an alliance by which they 
 are bound in all desperate struggles with 
 their subjects, to come to each other’s aid. 
 It originated in that series of colossal 
 conspiracies against the rights and liber- 
 ties, which followed what was called the 
 
436 
 
 The Ambassador in Spite of Himself. 
 
 Congress of Vienna, in 1815, when the 
 sovereigns of Europe, disregarding the 
 nationalities of race, natural sentiments, 
 traditional remembrances, and popular 
 feeling, partitioned soils and souls, accord- 
 ing to their dynastic interests, and swore 
 to sustain each other in the infamous 
 wrong, for ever. A more execrable plot 
 was never conceived, and yet for thirty 
 years it has been executed with an un- 
 swerving, relentless, and deadly decision. 
 Italy, Poland, Spain, and Hungary have 
 been sacrificed in succession to its infernal 
 requirements. The rivers of Europe have 
 been made to run with blood for its sake, 
 the prisons of Europe are filled with its 
 victims, thousands of the noblest men in 
 exile curse it in the bitterness of their 
 hearts, and the sighs of orphans, and the 
 groans of widows, bear it to the throne of 
 God for his eternal vengeance. 
 
 [April 
 
 This, then, is the way they manage to 
 govern the people in Europe. By the skil- 
 ful use of patronage, of the church, and of 
 education ; by the denial of the press, of 
 free-locomotion, and of the rights of trade ; 
 by the organization of a ubiquitous police, 
 and by the distribution of standing armies^ 
 they bamboozle, delude, suppress, and 
 constrain, until the wretched people, im- 
 poverished, ignorant, separated, and set at 
 enmity with each other, are reduced to a 
 slavery from which it seems almost mad- 
 ness for them to hope to escape. Yet, as 
 it is the nature of wrong and malevolence 
 to dig its own grave, their case is not 
 utterly given over to despair, and, in some 
 future paper, therefore, we shall take oc- 
 casion to show how Thought is subtler 
 than the police, and Truth stronger than 
 the sword. 
 
 THE AMBASSADOR IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. 
 
 O UR country bids fair to be known as 
 the Limbo of lost notables. De- 
 throned monarchs and jail-breakers, 
 usurpers and pickpockets, conspirators 
 against dynasties and fugitives with their 
 friends’ wives, outlawed patriots and 
 fraudulent bankrupts, disappear from 
 Europe to find their way here by the 
 over-sea railroad ; and the most famous 
 among them sink, after a few days of 
 newspaper notoriety and gossip, to the 
 same forgetfulness as the meanest. The 
 home-keeping American, if he patiently 
 bide his time, may hope to see the actors 
 on the foreign stage, political as well as 
 dramatic, with greater probability than 
 Barnum would promise a succession of 
 shows. The Connecticut Yankee will point 
 you out the cave where the regicide puritan 
 hid himself from the avenger of blood ; 
 the New-Yorker, as the locomotive of the 
 Hudson River Railroad is gaining its top- 
 most speed, after leaving the depot at 
 31st-street. sees on a low rocky point the 
 tan vats, where (some say) Talleyrand 
 curried hides, as more recently Garibaldi 
 made candles in Staten Island ; on the 
 curving shore of the Delaware lies the 
 princely domain which a Bonaparte en- 
 riched with the spoils of Spain, and a 
 few miles above, on the opposite bank, 
 stand the stables of the country-house 
 from which Moreau went back to die on 
 the field in arms against his master and 
 France. Many of us remember Louis 
 Philippe as a “ schoolmaster abroad ” 
 among us, rejected by a Philadelphia lady, 
 and looking as like as two pears to Dr. 
 Hare ; Louis Napoleon, his now Imperial 
 
 supplanter, whose boots the representa- 
 tives of the oldest names of France 
 are eager to lick, was voted by the 
 few who knew him, a worthless, dirty, 
 debauched vagabond ; one Murat put 
 up his shingle as an attorney-at-law 
 in Florida, while his fat brother fought 
 cocks among blackguards at Bordentown. 
 The Hungarian demagogue, half-orator, 
 half-prophet, whose oriental eloquence 
 shook the Continent like an earthquake, 
 after showing, like his types of Greece 
 and Rome, a little white feather, strolls 
 and stars it among our staring democrats 
 for a dollar a head and expenses ; nor may 
 the time be far distant, when Pio Nono, 
 again abandoning the City of Martyrs, 
 will sing : 
 
 “ I've been Eome-ing, I've been rooming,” 
 within the classic cloisters of F ordham ; 
 and now reigning sovereigns and haughty 
 aristocrats find a safe hedge in our banks 
 and state-fimds should the cards be dealt 
 against them at home. Odd, isn’t it? 
 that the “ insecure and ephemeral repub- 
 lic, which has in its bosom the elements 
 of its own destruction,” should be used 
 as the ultimate asylum of life and for- 
 tune, when the arsenals and treasure- 
 houses gray with the moss of centuries, 
 crumble before revolutionary fires ! and 
 that those who can stir so furiously the 
 caldrons of popular passion, despite of 
 the police and bayonets of strong govern- 
 ments, fail to make on this side of the 
 Atlantic any more fuss than a nine days’ 
 wonder ! 
 
 “Nothing that is rich and strange, 
 
 But doth suffer a sea-change.” 
 
1853. 
 
 The Ambassador in Spite of Himself. 
 
 43 7 
 
 Foreigners laugh at our love of a furor ; 
 but we hard-working people must have 
 our fun, and we crowd it hard into our 
 few leisure hours, making it out of what 
 we please. Wellington himself, had he 
 come here, could not have been feted more 
 than Dickens, who, with all his genius, 
 proved himself a snob ; and Victoria 
 might fall behind Jenny Lind. Thackeray 
 is lionized as much as Morpeth, and Sir. 
 G. P. R. (are there any more initials?) 
 James, the Man voluminous, out-tales 
 among us the most Bashaw magnificent 
 of them all. We even meet them on their 
 own ground ; Jim Crow and his wife oust 
 Punch and Judy from the puppet-show- 
 box, where their “ flag has waved a thou- 
 sand years ; ” while Uncle Tom and Topsey 
 carry off the admiration of a Parisian 
 carnival, from “the nephew of my uncle” 
 and his imperial Eugenie. Nay, should 
 the privileged blood run out over there, it 
 will go hard but we can supply them. A 
 few years since (according to certain gene- 
 alogists), a legitimate Stuart domiciled on 
 Long Island ; a legitimate Bonaparte 
 lives a citizen of Maryland ; a legitimate 
 Bourbon (tu ipso teste, O Putnam!) 
 turns up in a swarthy, self-denying, 
 humble missionary among the Mohawks ; 
 you can see by the armorial bearings on 
 the long line of carriages in front of Grace 
 church every fine Sunday, that an heir to 
 every coronet in Britain may be found by 
 searching the cod-fish warehouses of New- 
 York ; or should his ex-democratic majesty 
 during his visit to Europe, find a queen 
 or heiress-apparent anxious for progeny, 
 he may negotiate a marriage on behalf 
 of Prince John, than whom she cannot 
 find a more vigorous or better husband 
 among her royal cousins. We cannot 
 spare him, however, until he has smashed 
 the aldermen, after which he will be up to 
 any amount of emancipation and reform. 
 
 — But I beg pardon. I sat down to 
 write a story, and have been wandering 
 in a fit of patriotic ardor. I meant to 
 say, in the beginning, that many a man, 
 who might have been notable elsewhere 
 from facts in his career, is allowed here to 
 remain in obscurity, of which I was going 
 to give an example. 
 
 The English, stimulated by their zeal 
 for illuminating the heathen and removing 
 oppression, are now pushing a disinterest- 
 ed crusade over the Burman empire ; hut 
 is it known to you, patient reader of Put- 
 nam, that so far back as the first French 
 Republic, an ambassador from that great 
 nation, and he an American, was received 
 with high honors at the Court of Ava ? 
 Nevertheless so it was, and that is the 
 story I have to tell — a true story — not a 
 romance but a veracious narrative of what 
 
 actually occurred. I give it as I had it 
 from the lips of a friend, who heard the 
 hero of the adventure relate it himself. 
 
 — There lived in a neighboring city a most 
 worthy man, who by a long and honora- 
 ble prosecution of an extensive trade, had 
 won both large fortune and high repu- 
 tation. Sometimes, by artful persuasion, 
 he could be induced to give, though reluc- 
 tantly, an account of a singular passage 
 in his early life. The recital would set 
 the table in a roar, which was no way 
 checked by the grave vexation which he 
 showed over his remembered troubles. 
 Others might laugh at them, but they 
 had no fun for him. 
 
 • — When I was quite young, he would 
 say, I was placed with the well-known 
 
 firm of & Co., and at the age of 
 
 eighteen had gained their confidence so 
 far, as often to be intrusted with impor- 
 tant business, which fired my ambition to 
 the highest pitch. About that time the 
 firm resolved to send one of their best 
 ships with a large cargo of piece goods 
 on a long trading voyage to the East, and 
 to my extreme gratification, I was ap- 
 pointed supercargo to act in concert witli 
 the captain in the management of the 
 venture. The captain was a most kind 
 and intelligent man, whose society was of 
 great use to me. Our voyage out was 
 speedy, and our operations for some time 
 very successful. I often congratulated 
 myself on my share of the profits, but 
 more on the credit I should have with my 
 principals for discharging so well the du- 
 ties they had assigned me. This was my 
 constant theme when conversing with the 
 captain, scarcely less delighted than my- 
 self. Not all the strange wonders of the 
 eastern world, the magnificent scenery 
 along the shores of continent and island, 
 the voluptuous fragrance of “ the spicy 
 breezes,” or the clear grandeur of the 
 sparkling heavens, could seduce me from 
 considering, night and day, how I should 
 sell the piece goods, and buy a return 
 cargo to the best advantage. Every 
 evening the invoices with my well worn 
 letter of instructions were spread out on 
 the cabin table, and I went to my berth 
 to dream of balance-sheets and future 
 copartnerships. 
 
 — But a sad disaster came over our 
 hopes. One of those frequent storms 
 which are experienced only in those lati- 
 tudes, suddenly fell upon us. For many 
 hours we drifted on in utter darkness 
 except when the lightning kindled the 
 foaming waves to flames. Every thing 
 that human skill and daring could do was 
 done by our noble captain and his hardy 
 crew ; but the elements were too much 
 for us. Spar after spar was shivered, the 
 
438 
 
 The Ambassador in 
 
 Spite of Himself. 
 
 tiller ropes parted and the rudder un- 
 shipped. When thus crippled and at the 
 mercy of winds and waves, a terrible cry 
 came aft of ‘‘Breakers ahead!” and be- 
 fore a word could be spoken, the. ship was 
 lifted high on a rolling sea, and flung 
 bodily on an outlying reef. The shock 
 threw some overboard, and for a few mo- 
 ments stupefied the rest. Death stared 
 us fiercely in the face — I was little more 
 than a boy, and life was dear to me — I 
 thought of home and those I loved — I 
 tried to think of eternity — but amidst all 
 I could not help thinking of the piece 
 goods — what would become of them 
 when the vessel broke up ? would they 
 sink among the astonished fishes, or be 
 strewed along the shores to be picked up 
 by the natives 1 What would our House 
 at home think of us ? Would they ever 
 find out how well we had managed, and 
 how much we had made for them before 
 the wreck? — All these and a thousand 
 more such thoughts passed through my 
 mind with incredible quickness, and not- 
 withstanding most vigorous efforts to 
 turn it on religious things, the piece goods 
 would struggle to be uppermost. I have 
 heard that Napoleon’s last words were, 
 “ Tete d’armee ! ” mine, had I perished 
 then, would have been, “ Piece goods ! ” 
 
 But we were saved. When at our utmost 
 extremity, there came a calm as sudden 
 as the storm. The breakers were still 
 dashing over us, but as the morning sun 
 broke through the clouds, they subsided 
 rapidly, and we were able to judge of our 
 situation. The ship was clearly lost to 
 us, though her hull, perched upon rocks 
 bare at low water, was as yet but little 
 broken, and I saw that the piece goods 
 were for the most part undamaged. Some 
 boats from the coast came off to us, and 
 we managed to learn that we were a few 
 leagues from the town of Rangoon, at the 
 principal mouth of the river Irrawaddy. 
 
 To our still greater satisfaction, two 
 English trading brigs, on hearing of a 
 vessel being cast away, ran down to us, 
 and as they were nearly empty, we were 
 able to transfer a large, and the best part 
 of the cargo (which, being piece goods, 
 could be more easily handled) from our 
 stranded vessel into theirs. More intent 
 upon saving the piece goods, we had taken 
 nothing from the cabin but the ship’s 
 papers and the captain’s instruments, be- 
 fore a change in the tide filled it with 
 water, leaving us only the clothes we 
 stood in. The chief men of the town per- 
 mitted us to land and store our piece 
 goods, and we intended, if possible, to pur- 
 chase some vessel in which to prosecute 
 our voyage. The captains of the English 
 brigs, and some other English who hap- 
 
 [April 
 
 pened to be there, treated us with great 
 kindness, but none more so than a Colonel 
 Symes, who sent us all the clothing we 
 stood in need of from his own wardrobe, 
 besides many other attentions. This Col. 
 Symes was an eminently sensible gentle- 
 man, who had been sent there by the 
 British East India Company to negotiate 
 preliminaries for a commercial treaty with 
 the king of the country ; but he told us 
 that although he had been several weeks 
 waiting for it, he had not yet received per- 
 mission to go up the river to Ava, where 
 the court was held. Although treated 
 in every other respect with great dis- 
 tinction and hospitable provision for his 
 comforts, he was quite chafed by the delay ; 
 yet the importance of his mission com- 
 pelled him to endure as a diplomat what 
 he fretted at as a soldier. He was fond 
 of talking his troubles over with me, 
 mainly, I suppose, because the modesty 
 of my youth made me a deferential lis- 
 tener. You will judge from this how 
 much we owed to our English friends, and 
 how loath we would have been willingly 
 to be of any hindrance to them, Colonel 
 Symes particularly. 
 
 Things went on in this way for several 
 weeks, the captain and n^self lodging 
 together, and listlessly waiting for some 
 vessel to come in, which we might pur- 
 chase or charter ; when one morning, as 
 we were over our breakfast, we heard a 
 great noise of music, or what the people 
 there mean for music — blowing of horns, 
 beating of tom-toms, and gongs, and other 
 horrid things. It came nearer and nearer, 
 and halted before the door of our humble 
 house. On going to the window we saw, to 
 our astonishment, the street for a conside- 
 rable distance crowded with military, horse 
 and foot. A superbly dressed officer, whom 
 they seemed to be escorting, dismounted 
 amidst another grand flourish of the mu- 
 sic, and, leaving his richly caparisoned 
 horse in the care of a servant, bowed his 
 head under the low portal, and entered 
 the house. That he came to visit us we 
 had not the slightest idea, until he flung 
 open the door and salaamed us to the 
 ground. Even so respectful a gesture 
 failed to allay the alarm the captain and 
 I felt for our lives, and the piece goods, 
 which were stowed in the rear of the 
 dwelling ; but, while we were alternately 
 exchanging looks with each other and 
 staring at our remarkable visitor, a meek- 
 looking native stole to his side and made 
 signs that he would act as interpreter, 
 which he afterwards did in very broken 
 English. 
 
 ‘‘ My lord,” said he, “ who is a very 
 great man and brave general, has been 
 sent by the most mighty king, at whose 
 
The Ambassador in Spite of Himself. 
 
 439 
 
 1853.] 
 
 power we tremble and in whose smile 
 we live, to assure your excellencies of the 
 great satisfaction he has had in hearing of 
 your safe arrival in his dominions.” 
 
 The captain answered, “ Tell the gentle- 
 man that we cannot understand why he 
 or the king should be so civil to us, as 
 my friend here is nothing more than a 
 supercargo, and I only captain of a ship, 
 with a cargo of piece goods. Our vessel 
 was wrecked a little way from here, and 
 we are only waiting to get another, and 
 be off, without troubling the king or any 
 body else.” 
 
 The interpreter appeared to translate 
 it ; the officer spoke to him again, and he 
 said to us : — 
 
 “ My lord, in the name of his Majesty 
 our most mighty king, desires to say that 
 he has heard of the vast and glorious re- 
 public of France, and prays that its pros- 
 perity may be increased for ever ; he also 
 hopes that the serene and magnificent 
 King of the Republic of France is in per- 
 fect health, and victorious over all his 
 enemies.” 
 
 “ The Republic of France ! The King of 
 the Republic of France ! What do you 
 mean, Mr. Interpreter ? We know no- 
 thing about France: neither of us were 
 ever there in our lives. We’re Yankees, 
 not Frenchmen, thank God ! However, 
 you must be a little green, mister, to talk 
 about Kings of a Republic. Our country 
 is a Republic, free and independent, and 
 we have none of your kings there, I guess. 
 But tell the gentleman he is mistaken in 
 thinking we are Frenchmen ; though if he 
 or his Majesty want to buy any piece 
 goods, we are ready for a dicker.” 
 
 The captain had taken a fresh quid, 
 shut his jack-knife with a valorous slap, 
 and was as much of a live Yankee as five 
 feet eight in height and four feet round 
 the chest could make him. 
 
 After another interchange of their gib- 
 berish, the little man said again : — 
 
 “ My lord begs that he may be informed 
 which of you most excellent gentlemen is 
 his great excellency the Ambassador of 
 the vast and glorious Republic of France, 
 that he may give him especially the salu- 
 tation of his sublime Majesty, our most 
 mighty king.” 
 
 “ Tell him, I tell you, you blundering 
 lubber, that we ain’t neither of us French- 
 men, nor ambassadors either. We don’t 
 represent nothing but our owners, and a 
 cargo of piece goods. Why don’t you 
 tell the gentlemen so, and be done with 
 your humbugging !” 
 
 “ My lord begs to say to your excellen- 
 cies, that he cannot be mistaken ; one of 
 you must be the ambassador of the vast 
 and glorious Republic of France, and he 
 
 entreats your amiable excellencies to tell 
 him which of you it is.” 
 
 “ I tell you again, neither of us. We 
 can’t speak a word of parleyvoo, and don’t 
 want to. We’re a couple of Yankees from 
 the States.” 
 
 “My lord says, your honorable excel- 
 lencies, that he has had his orders from 
 our mighty king to come here and find 
 his eminence the ambassador from the 
 vast and glorious Republic of France, and 
 escort him up the river to Ava, that he 
 may communicate with his ever-to-be- 
 worshipped majesty the wishes of his 
 government. A thousand troops are wait- 
 ing to guard him to the river, where the 
 boats are ready. My lord does not care 
 which of you is the ambassador ; that you 
 may settle between yourselves ; but one 
 of you must go with him as the high and 
 noble-born ambassador of the vast and 
 glorious Republic of France.” 
 
 Finding the thing becoming serious and 
 our military visitor determined to execute 
 his orders, right or wrong, we proposed 
 to send for Col. Symes, that he might ex- 
 plain the mistake ; but this the General 
 would not hear of, declaring that one of 
 us must set off with him at once. Far- 
 ther resistance w r as impossible, and the 
 captain and I consulted which should go. 
 Whether the one who went would ever 
 return, or if he did, how long he would 
 be kept, we could not tell. I could sell 
 the piece goods, but could not sail a ship 
 if one were got : the captain could do both 
 without me ; so we decided that, as it 
 would not be right to abandon the piece 
 goods, I should give myself up to our 
 captor, for he acted like one. I then told 
 him again that it was all a mistake, as he 
 would find out when we reached Ava ; 
 but if he insisted upon taking one of us, 
 I was his man. Whereupon he salaamed 
 me to the ground, and begged to set out 
 with me at once. The captain and I had 
 a brief conference about the piece goods, 
 which I reluctantly gave over to his sin- 
 gle control. I shook his hands with tears 
 in my eyes, for I was but a boy and 
 feared that I should never see him or 
 home again, and stood ready to go. The 
 General called in servants with rich 
 dresses, and preventing me from putting up 
 any of the clothes I had borrowed of Col. 
 Symes, enveloped me in several sumptu- 
 ous cloaks and shawls, putting a sort of 
 cap on my head, and preceded me down 
 stairs, with many tokens of respect. On 
 reaching the door, the band made a grand 
 crash of horns, and cymbals, and drums, 
 to salute me, a splendidly caparisoned 
 horse was led up, which I was told to 
 mount, and surrounded by the troops, we 
 went in triumph through the town. As 
 
440 
 
 The Ambassador in Spite of Himself. 
 
 [April 
 
 we passed Col. Symes’ quarters, I saw 
 him looking out of his door with great as- 
 tonishment, and tried to speak to him, but 
 the guard closed up around me, and I 
 could only wave a sad farewell as we 
 passed on. 
 
 Reaching the river side, I found the 
 array on the water even more imposing 
 than that on the land. There could not 
 have been less than fifty boats, each of 
 them forty feet long, broad and shallow, 
 and filled with oarsmen. First in one went 
 the General and his officers, then in another 
 the horrible band ; then I followed, the 
 only passenger, in the most highly decora- 
 ted of them all ; then another boat with 
 my cooks and their apparatus ; then boats 
 laden deep with provisions, boats with my 
 wardrobe, from which several times a day 
 changes of dress were brought me, and, 
 as far as I could see, boats filled with 
 soldiers and attendants. Every night 
 (and we were several days on the voyage) 
 we went ashore, and they built me a 
 house, which was pulled down the next 
 morning, according to their custom, which 
 does not allow an inferior person to live 
 in a house which had once been occupied 
 by one of my supposed rank. Every 
 luxury they could procure was spread 
 on my table. I had no reason to complain 
 of my living, though the dishes were 
 strange to me, and I had to eat them 
 without knife or fork. There was no 
 end to the distant honors they paid me, 
 but I was very lonely with none to talk 
 to, and no one to understand a word I 
 said when any one came near enough. 
 My thoughts were very sad, and my ap- 
 prehensions of danger constant. I felt 
 like a gayly dressed beast going to a 
 slaughter-house ; and not a little of my 
 trouble rose from anxiety about the piece 
 goods. 
 
 In this way we pulled up the river until 
 we arrived at the city, where thousands 
 of troops, with yet more dissonant and 
 louder music, awaited my landing. A 
 splendid horse was brought for me, which, 
 after putting on the finest of the dresses, 
 making me look more like a woman than 
 a man, I mounted. The whole population 
 were in the streets gazing on the splendid 
 procession, which conducted me to a house 
 as grand as a palace in the middle of the 
 town. There scores of servants anticipa- 
 ted all my wants, and a bed like one of 
 our own, only more showily decorated, 
 awaited my repose. That night, over- 
 come by fatigue of mind and body, I slept 
 soundly, forgetting my utter loneliness 
 among thousands who were as ignorant 
 of my language as I was of theirs. 
 
 The next morning, after my solitary 
 breakfast, an officer of the court present- 
 
 ed himself, with an interpreter, bearing a 
 message of welcome from the king to his 
 excellency the ambassador from the vast 
 and glorious Republic of France. I lost 
 no time in assuring the officer, through 
 the interpreter, that there must have been 
 an unaccountable blunder in taldng me 
 for an ambassador from France, as I was 
 not even a Frenchman, and begging him 
 to tell the king so, that I might go back 
 to the cargo of piece goods which had 
 been intrusted to my care. The only an- 
 swer I got was that the king hoped the 
 most honorable ambassador would find 
 himself satisfied with the arrangements 
 made for his comfort during his stay in 
 the city. Another weary day, and anoth- 
 er, and another, when the officer again 
 came to say that the king hoped in a short 
 time to have a conference with the ambas- 
 sador respecting a commercial treaty, 
 which his majesty was glad to hear the 
 Republic of France wished to make with 
 him. More earnestly than ever I entreat- 
 ed the interpreter, who spoke English 
 quite well, to let the king know how much 
 I was embarrassed by the mistaken no- 
 tion that I was any thing else than a su- 
 percargo of a large venture in piece goods, 
 and that the interests of my principals 
 might sillier severely from my involuntary 
 absence. A low salaam as the officer 
 left me was his only reply. Every morning 
 the same was repeated, I becoming each 
 time more urgent for an interview, that 
 the vexatious blunder might be put an 
 end to, but in vain. My quarters were 
 good, my table well supplied with their 
 curious dishes and a profusion of French 
 wines. If I intimated a wish to go out. 
 my horse came immediately to the door ; 
 but I could go nowhere without a close 
 guard of cavalry about me. On one of 
 those excursions I saw my friend Col. 
 Symes in a sort of balcony, who recog- 
 nized me, changed as mjr appearance was, 
 yet could not get near enough to speak to 
 him, for my escort hurried on, with loud 
 shouts of “ Honor to the illustrious am- 
 bassador of the vast and glorious Repub- 
 lic of France ! ” the language of which, by 
 this time, I had learned only too well. 
 
 Three months and more passed on in 
 this way, when at last the officer an- 
 nounced that his majesty had been pleased 
 to appoint the next day for the appear- 
 ance at Court of the ambassador of the 
 Republic of France. Now, thought I. my 
 troubles will be at an end, for the king 
 will certainly see that a smooth-chinned 
 lad of nineteen, who cannot speak any 
 language but English, could never be the 
 ambassador of the French republic. 
 
 Accordingly, at the hour, robed in the 
 ceremonial garments they brought me, I 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Ambassador in Spite of Himself. 
 
 441 
 
 set out with ten times my ordinary escort 
 to the palace, which was near the city 
 gate, the procession taking a wide detour 
 through the principal streets, while the sol- 
 diers and populace redoubled their accla- 
 mations in honor of the ambassador from 
 the Republic of France. On entering the 
 palace, I was ushered into a large hall, 
 tilled with a multitude of people squatting 
 on their legs, their heads bowed to the 
 ground in the direction of an opening at 
 the upper end, screened by a curtain. The 
 attendants led me to the front and then 
 with courteous but irresistible strength, 
 forced me down to the true posture of the 
 rest. After waiting some little time, the 
 curtain was drawn aside, and the king en- 
 throned on a sort of wagon was wheeled 
 into the apartment. The multitude beat 
 their heads on the floor in silence, when 
 he beckoned me to draw near to him. 
 
 “ I have the high felicity,” said he, by 
 an interpreter, “ of seeing the ambassador 
 of the Republic of France at my court.” 
 
 “ Your Majesty is very much mistaken,” 
 I replied, “ I am not a French ambassador, 
 
 but a young American sent out by 
 
 & Co. of , as supercargo of a vessel 
 
 laden with piece goods, which was unfor- 
 tunately wrecked near the mouth of the 
 river, and I entreat your Majesty to let me 
 go back to my duties.” 
 
 ‘ • I have unmeasured satisfaction in 
 hearing from you, most distinguished sir,” 
 the king answered, “the pleasing assu- 
 rances of friendship and good will from so 
 vast and glorious a republic as that of 
 France.” 
 
 “I brought no such message, please 
 your Majesty, and never told the inter- 
 preter any thing of the kind. He deceives 
 you, and will not tell you what I say.” 
 
 “ I know now,” the king rejoined, “ what 
 the wishes of the Republic of France are, 
 and will give my prime minister orders to 
 draw up a treaty on that basis, which to- 
 morrow will be submitted for your Ex- 
 cellency’s approval.” 
 
 “ Please your Majesty, I have stated no 
 such thing. I cannot negotiate with 
 your minister for France. I said that I 
 was only a supercargo of a speculation in 
 piece goods, and it is the fault of the in- 
 terpreters that your Majesty did not know 
 this long ago. I have been putting you 
 to expense and wasting several months 
 for nothing, and I earnestly entreat your 
 Majesty to let me go back to my captain 
 and the cargo.” 
 
 With a benign smile the king rose and 
 addressed me : 
 
 “ I cannot express my satisfaction with 
 your cordial assent to the proposed plan 
 
 of a treaty which we will now consider 
 definitely fixed, awaiting only your signa- 
 ture and that of my minister, when the 
 instrument shall have been prepared as it 
 will be to-morrow. I shall also cause your 
 government to be made acquainted with 
 the profound regard I entertain for your 
 skill in managing the negotiations. Wish- 
 ing you all personal happiness, I part from 
 you with the hope that your diplomatic 
 career will be always as successful, though 
 I must add that never before (and here 
 an arch expression betrayed itself at the 
 corner of his mouth) have I transacted 
 business with so young an ambassador.” 
 
 The audience was over, and under a 
 grand escort I returned to my lodgings. 
 That night a half dozen men carried me 
 in a closed palanquin to the river, put me 
 in a small boat, and without any other at- 
 tendants pulled me night and day down 
 the river to the coast, where I found the 
 captain just ready to sail in a barque he 
 had loaded with our piece goods. After a 
 few days we were off, and I had no desire 
 whatever to change again the Y ankee super- 
 cargo for a French ambassador. Our sub- 
 sequent trading was not unprofitable, and 
 though the wreck and delays occasioned 
 temporary losses, we made a good voyage 
 for our owners. I retained some relics of 
 my involuntary grandeur, and among the 
 rest a little ebony casket, on opening 
 which I found a permit from his Majesty 
 of Ava to bring two cargoes of piece goods 
 into his dominions duty free ; a privilege 
 I availed myself of, sending, however, 
 another supercargo, as I had no notion of 
 running the risk of being taken again 
 for a Frenchman or an ambassador. 
 
 You have looked and laughed incredu- 
 lously, gentlemen, during my story ; but 
 the secret of the mystery was simply this.: 
 Col. Symes* was eager to press upon Bur- 
 mah a commercial treaty, which the king 
 was disinclined to for many reasons, yet 
 fearing British anger, he temporized with 
 the cunning of a semi-barbarian, and to 
 put off the Colonel, he passed me off, as he 
 thought, for an ambassador from France, 
 excusing himself from an audience to 
 Symes on the ground that he was unwil- 
 ling at once to break with the French, 
 though unwilling to grant them terms. 
 Whether or not he succeeded in deceiving 
 Col. Symes, you can judge ; but the ruse 
 answered his purpose for the time. It 
 did not, however, console me to discover 
 that I had been made an unconscious 
 agent in baffling so long my kind English 
 friend, who subsequently, however, suc- 
 ceeded in making a treaty with the 
 king. 
 
 * We do not remember positively that the officer alluded to was Col. Symes; but the name rcsemblod 
 Symes; and as a Col. Symes (lid, about that time, visit Ava on an embassy, we think it so probable that he wa& 
 the man, as to risk inserting the name. 
 
442 
 
 [April 
 
 THE BOURBON QUESTION. 
 
 [We have received the following communication from the Eev. John H. Hanson, (author of the article in our 
 February number, entitled, “Have we a Bourbon among ns ?”) wherein he reviews thenewwork ofBeauchesne 
 on the reported death of the Dauphin in the Temple, and also gives the particulars of more testimony which 
 has come to his knowledge in relation to this interesting subject, since his first article was published, among 
 which is a letter from the Prince de Joinville in reference to the matter. The work of Beauchesne appeared 
 in Paris nearly simultaneously with the publication of the Bourbon article here. The character of Mr. Hanson 
 does not permit a question of his integrity in the statements he makes, or a suspicion that he has any other 
 motive than to throw light on a “ historic doubt, ’’ which has long been entertained by eminent writers on 
 both sides of the Atlantic. In publishing his communication, we do not in any manner make ourselves parties 
 to the controversy, except to vouch for the respectability and integrity of our correspondent The public must 
 draw their own Conclusions after hearing the arguments on either side. — Editors.'] 
 
 M BEAUCHESNE’S book* and the mag- 
 • azine artielef appear before the 
 world at nearly the same time, but in two 
 different hemispheres. They stand in irre- 
 concilable antagonism. The pressure of 
 circumstances compels the author of the one 
 to be the reviewer of the other. Shrinking 
 himself from no severity of criticism, he can 
 hesitate at none. 
 
 “ Louis of France, the seventeenth of that 
 name, lived only ten years, two months and 
 two days,” is the opening sentence, and the 
 fundamental proposition of the book, to 
 prove which, in the most complete man- 
 ner, all the evidence which literaiy re- 
 search can discover in France, is collected 
 and displayed with an imposing minute- 
 ness of detail. The article, on the contrary, 
 asserts the probable existence, at this mo- 
 ment, in New-York, of the individual whose 
 death Parisian officials have certified. If 
 M. Beauchesne has proved his point, no- 
 thing more can be said. 
 
 The task before me is a very simple one : 
 viz., 1. To state clearly the evidence pro- 
 duced by M. Beauchesne, and test its 
 strength ; and provided it shall prove inad- 
 equate to establish the point desired by him, 
 then, 2. To offer such confirmation as I can 
 of the proposition presented in my article. 
 M. Beauchesne has written, he says, to re- 
 move all future doubt, by setting the whole 
 truth so clearly and fully before the 
 world, that incredulity must stand for ever 
 silenced. 
 
 Beyond the work before me, I have no 
 means of ascertaining the social position, 
 or the political principles of M. Beau- 
 chesne. He assumes, invariably, the tone 
 of an adherent of monarchy — a legitimist 
 in heart and soul — who has written the 
 mournful biography of the Royal martyr, 
 as a sacred duty to the innocent memory 
 of one who inherited so many glories. He 
 would have us know all about him. Ijle 
 does not spare us a sigh or a suffering, an 
 indignity, a tear or a terror. We hear all, 
 and we see all, to the last flash of his expir- 
 ing eye, and the last half-finished sentence 
 which issued from his feeble lips ; and as if 
 to assure us of the unfailing certainty and 
 
 minuteness of his knowledge, and his ac- 
 cess to all conceivable authorities, he 
 copies the washing bills of the Prince in 
 prison, notes down every handkerchief and 
 shirt, and concludes by presenting us his 
 heart, with a medical certificate attached 
 to it. 
 
 His convictions of the Dauphin’s death 
 have, he says, for him, “the character of a 
 certainty authentically demonstrated,” and 
 he exclaims, “A curse upon me, if my mind 
 in possession of the truth, should suffer my 
 pen to lie.” I accord to him all the credit 
 for legitimist feeling which he claims, and 
 thank him for the aid which he has ren- 
 dered to the development of the truth, by 
 placing before the world, in detail and 
 without disguise, all that can be said in 
 proof of the Dauphin’s death. 
 
 The first volume begins by describing 
 the last days spent by the royal family at 
 Versailles, and closes with the first period 
 of their sojourn in the prison of the Temple, 
 which terminated with the decapitation of 
 Louis XVI. Tlie second volume carries on 
 the history until the asserted death and 
 burial of Louis XVII., embracing an ac- 
 count of the death of Marie Antoinette and 
 the princess Elizabeth, and of the treat- 
 ment and position of the Dauphin under 
 the successive keepers who had charge of 
 him until his disappearance. Simon was 
 appointed his preceptor on the 3d July, 
 1793, and occupied this post till January 
 19, 1794. During the next six months 
 ending July 27, 1794, he was left without 
 any especial guardian beside the keepers 
 of the prison, and spent his time in the 
 most frightful solitude and misery. This 
 state of things was put an end to by the 
 appointment of Laurent, to whom Gomin 
 was added, November 8, 1794, and on the 
 31st March, 1795, Laurent having resigned, 
 Lasne became his keeper in conjunction 
 with Gomin, and these two men remained 
 with him until May 31st, around the trans- 
 actions of which day, and the few follow- 
 ing ones, all the interest of this mysteri- 
 ous drama is centred. 
 
 The point of attraction must necessarily 
 be the closing scene, and the confirmation, 
 
 * Louis XVII. sa vie, son agonie, sa mort, captivity de la famille royale an Temple; ceuvre enricki d'au- 
 fcographes, de portraits et de plans, par M. A Beauchesne. Tom. II. Paris: 1853. 
 t Have we a Bourbon among us? 
 
The Bourbon Question. 
 
 443 
 
 1853.] 
 
 or the discredit, which it affords to the 
 statements recently made concerning an 
 interesting and respectable individual 
 among us. I shall therefore proceed to 
 lay before the reader, all which seems ne- 
 cessary to the formation of an impartial 
 opinion on the particular point under dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 Rising slowly, like a wave, in 1789, the 
 revolution attained its full sweep and 
 most terrific height in 1794. The throne, 
 the church, reason, humanity, had been 
 carried away in its progress. The very 
 framework of society itself was next to per- 
 ish. There was to be war to the knife, of 
 poor against rich, of all who had nothing, 
 against every one who had any thing. But 
 Robespierre fell from his dizzy elevation of 
 infernal power when the force which car- 
 ried him there had exhausted its utmost 
 capacities of rising higher. The wave bent 
 its bloody crest, broke, burst, and was no 
 more. Men breathed as with recovered life. 
 The times were still turbulent, but there 
 was a feeling that the crisis had passed, and 
 that peace and security were coming. There 
 was no man in Paris to take the place of 
 the tyrant who had fallen. The Convention 
 governed, but no individual was prominent, 
 and it was impossible to foresee who would 
 arise to grasp the reins of power, or from 
 what quarter lie would come. The mili- 
 tary chieftains who valiantly maintained 
 the renown of the republic in the field, 
 seemed animated, not by personal ambition, 
 but by patriotic ardor, and appeared content 
 to wear their laurels without dreaming of 
 converting them into crowns. Napoleon 
 Bonaparte was an undistinguished name. 
 Weak minds still imagined the possibility 
 of permanently establishing the republic 
 in France. The monarchical faction well 
 knew that such a system of centreless im- 
 becility could not long maintain itself, 
 and Paris was full of intriguers and agents 
 of the Count de Provence, afterwards Louis 
 XVIII. Between this person and the throne 
 there was only one impediment ; a weak, 
 sickly, imbecile boy, in the Temple. Upon 
 the execution of Louis XVI., de Provence 
 had proclaimed this boy King under the title 
 of Louis XVII., and made himself the 
 nominal regent, pledging himself solemnly 
 in the proclamation which he issued at the 
 time to attempt the liberation of the cap- 
 tive monarch from the Temple. The cor- 
 ruption of the nation was felt in the 
 highest ranks of society ; and not only 
 did Philip Egalite vote for the deatli 
 of his relative, but de Provence himself 
 was withheld by no scruples of conscience 
 or delicacy of feeling, from corresponding 
 with Robespierre. He is known to have 
 been most anxious to obtain royal power, 
 and was naturally impatient of the inter- 
 vening obstacle. The republicans, on the 
 other hand, were equally puzzled as to 
 what course they should pursue respect- 
 ing the child, whose restoration, if he 
 lived, seemed so probable. Unconscious of 
 
 the schemes and plots of which he was the 
 centre, the poor innocent was dozing away 
 his captive life with mind so prostrated 
 and enfeebled by suffering, that it could 
 with difficulty be roused to pay the slightest 
 attention to any thing. 
 
 The Temple was a massive square Tower, 
 built by the Templars, having circular tur- 
 rets at each angle, in one of which was the 
 staircase, which wound uninterruptedly to 
 the top of the building, and at each landing 
 there were two doors, one of oak, the other 
 of iron. The Tower was divided into four 
 stories, beside the basement. In the second 
 the Dauphin was confined, and Madame 
 Royale (his sister) in the third. The time 
 which I will choose for our visit is Feb. 27th, 
 1795. The young prince was then under 
 the care of Laurent and Gomin. The day 
 before, the civil commissioners had reported 
 to the committee of general safety that the 
 prisoner was in a very dangerous condition, 
 and they accordingly appointed Harmand 
 one of their number to visit him, and re- 
 port. Harmand went to the Tower with 
 two of his colleagues, MM. Matthieu and 
 Reverchon. Passing through the ante-cham- 
 ber, they entered the apartment and found 
 it agreeable and well lighted, notwithstand- 
 ing the cross bars of iron and the thickness 
 of the walls in which they were set. The 
 prince himself was seated at a little table 
 amusing himself with a pack of cards, 
 which lie placed in the form of boxes and 
 houses. Entirely unmindful of the presence 
 of the deputies, he continued his amuse- 
 ment. Harmand and his companions made 
 every effort in their power to draw his 
 attention, and extract from him a word or 
 look ; but amid all their promises of toys 
 and companions, and requests to know in 
 what manner his sufferings could be re- 
 lieved, he continued to gaze vacantly at 
 his cards or upon the wall, without the 
 most remote sign that lie saw or heard 
 them. As the civil commissioners, when 
 interrogated before the committee of gen- 
 eral safety respecting the ailments of the 
 Prince, had informed them that he had 
 swellings upon all his joints , “ tumeurs A 
 toutes les articulations ,” and particularly at 
 the knees, Harmand finding he could ex- 
 tract nothing from him said to him, as he 
 stood by his right side, “ Sir, have the 
 goodness to give me your hand.” lie gave 
 it, continues Harmand, in his account of 
 the interview, and I felt in extending my 
 movement up to the arm-pit, a tumor at 
 the wrist and another at the elbow, like knots. 
 They did not appear to be painful, for the 
 Prince showed no sign of their being so. 
 “ The other hand, sir.” He presented it ; 
 there were none. “ Permit me, sir, to feel 
 also your legs and your knees.” He rose. 
 I found the same swellings upon the two 
 knees, under the knuckle. Pray mark all 
 this for future reference. One single remark, 
 however, before we dismiss Harmand. He 
 did not write this account until 1814, after 
 the accession of Louis XVIII., who with 
 
444 
 
 The Bourbon Question. 
 
 pious care for the memory of his deceased 
 nephew, did every tiling in his power to col- 
 lect the particulars of his imprisonment, and 
 the proofs of his decease. From lapse of time 
 Harrnand’s memory was in some respects 
 treacherous, and hence he contradicts the 
 commissaries in one important particular. 
 They say the Prince had swellings on all 
 the joints. Harmand leaves us to infer 
 that one elbow and wrist were destitute of 
 them. This is an evident inaccuracy, 
 though it may be that Harmand did not, in 
 the case of the left side, extend his exami- 
 nation to the arm. 
 
 On the 29th March, 1795, Laurent left 
 the Temple. He appears to have been kind 
 to the young prince, who parted from him 
 with sadness. In his place came a man 
 named Etienne Lasne. 
 
 From the 31st March, 1795, until the mo- 
 ment of his asserted death, his two keepers 
 were Gomin and Lasne. 
 
 Citizen Gomin was a royalist, and ob- 
 tained his post at the Temple, November 
 8th, 1794, through the influence and in- 
 trigues of the Marquis de Fenouil, who, 
 says M. Beauchesne, on account of certaines 
 intrigues soi-disant patrioliques , “contri- 
 buted powerfully to a nomination which 
 was a guarantee for the Royalist party,” 
 or in other words, for the interests of the 
 Count de Provence. Etienne Lasne on the 
 other hand had formerly been a soldier in 
 the garde Franjaise, and later in the garde 
 Nationale, and in 1791, had been appointed 
 captain of grenadiers. And thus “ revolu- 
 tionary influences had nominated Lasne, 
 and royalist influences had nominated Go- 
 min.” 
 
 The portraits of these men, and innu- 
 merable sentimentalisms concerning their 
 honesty and truthfulness are given by our 
 author, but their outward appearance was 
 not prepossessing, and their integrity must 
 be estimated by the times in which they 
 lived, and the parties who placed them in 
 their position. They are the two pillars upon 
 whom rests the evidence for the death of the 
 Dauphin. Though sharing in common the 
 charge of the Dauphin, Lasne especially de- 
 voted himself to the care of the Prince, and 
 Gomin to that of Madame Royale. Officers 
 entitled acting commissaries (commissaires 
 de service), and who were changed every day , 
 had supreme control in the Temple, and it 
 was therefore impossible for either of the 
 prisoners to be secretly removed by Lasne 
 and Gomin, unless the acting commissary for 
 the time being was favorable to the project. 
 No sooner was Lasne installed in his office, 
 than he began to find fault with the noise 
 which the keys made when turned in the 
 locks, and caused them to be oiled that 
 they might move in silence. He also di- 
 rected the iron doors on the landings to be 
 left open. Taken in connection with the 
 event, this seems to intimate a design in 
 the month of April, the date of the occur- 
 rence, to effect an escape. The commissa- 
 ries, however, said the doors were put there 
 
 [April 
 
 to be shut, and Lasne was forced to submit. 
 Gomin and Lasne, however, continued, 
 though the representatives of opposite in- 
 terests, to act in perfect harmony, and made 
 such arrangements respecting the keeping 
 of the keys, that either of them could open 
 the doors at any time without the know- 
 ledge of the other. There was evidently 
 necessary only a particular conjunction of 
 circumstances, and the appointment of a 
 royalist commissary who would lend him- 
 self to the plot, to effect the removal of the 
 Prince. 
 
 And now we come to the confines of 
 the period in which is centered the main 
 interest of the mysterious and tragical 
 drama. In consequence of confinement 
 and want of exercise, the health of the 
 Dauphin languished, and knot-like swell- 
 ings at the articulations of the limbs in- 
 creased. His keepers wrote for three suc- 
 cessive days on the register the announce- 
 ment of his indisposition, adding, on the 
 last occasion, that his life was in danger, 
 and on the 6th May, M. Desault was sent 
 to see him. 
 
 This eminent physician was one whom 
 the convulsions of the revolution had never 
 tempted to swerve from the noble path of 
 simple rectitude and honor. He had been 
 the physician of the Royal family before 
 the revolutionary troubles. 
 
 In the first interview between the phy- 
 sician and the royal prisoner, the latter 
 -maintained the same blank silence and im- 
 movable listlessness which had charac- 
 terized his conduct in all visits made to 
 him. Desault, without expressing an opin- 
 ion, ordered him a simple decoction of hops, 
 but after leaving the Temple, said publicly 
 that he was afflicted “ with the germ of the 
 scrofulous affection of which his brother had 
 died, at Me'uden, but that this disease had 
 scarcely imprinted its seal on his constitu- 
 tion. , nor manifested itself with any violent 
 symptoms neither obstinate ophthalmia, nor 
 vast ulcers, nor chronic swelling of the joints.” 
 He considered that the danger of his con- 
 dition, confessedly great, was from a wast- 
 ing away caused by confinement, and that 
 immediate transportation to the country , 
 fresh air, and careful treatment, might revive 
 him. Unable to obtain the consent of the 
 authorities for his removal, Desault con- 
 tinued his attendance until May 30. By 
 kindness he had gained his affections, and at 
 last, when he rose to take leave, the young 
 captive, unable or afraid to speak, would 
 take him timidly by the skirt of the coat. 
 The 30th May at length arrived. Now let 
 it be borne in mind, that all the foregoing 
 facts are derived from Beauchesne himself. 
 
 “ On the 11th prairial (30th May), [says M. Beau- 
 chesne], le Sieur Breuillard, the acting commissary [for 
 the day] who knew Desault, said to him in going down 
 the staircase, 4 The child will die, will he not ? ’ ‘ Ifear 
 it : but there are, perhaps, those persons in the world 
 who hope it,’ replied Desault, the last words which 
 the doctor pronounced in the tower of the Temple. 
 
 “ Or. the 12th prairial (31st May), the acting com- 
 
The Bourbon Question. 
 
 445 
 
 1853.] 
 
 missary, on his arrival at nine o'clock, said that he 
 would wait for the doctor in the chamber itself of 
 the child, to which he caused himself to be introdu- 
 ced. This commissary was M. Bellanger, painter 
 and designer of the cabinet of Monsieur \i. <?., Count 
 de Provence, afterwards Louis XVIII.], who lived 
 No. 21 Faubourg Poissoniere. He was an honest 
 man ; the misfortune of his benefactor, — alas ! in 
 these sad times lie was almost an exception, — had not 
 dried up the devotion in his heart M. Desault did 
 not come. M. Bellanger, who had brought a portfolio 
 tilled with his drawings, asked the Prince if he liked 
 painting, and without waiting for an answer, which 
 did not come, the artist opened his portfolio, and put 
 it under the eyes of the child. Ho turned it over, at 
 first with indifference, afterward with interest, dwelt 
 a long time on each page, and when ho had finished 
 began again. This long examination seemed to give 
 some solace to his sufferings, and some relief to the 
 chagrin which was caused by the absence of his phy- 
 sician. The artist often gave him explanations of the 
 different subjects of his collection ; the child had at 
 first kept silence, but little by little ho listened to M 
 Bellanger with marked attention, and finished by an- 
 swering his questions. In taking the portfolio from 
 his hands, M. Bellanger said to him, 1 1 much desire, 
 sir, to take away one drawing more, but I will not do 
 it if you object 1 ‘ What drawing? 1 said the Dauphin. 
 ‘That of your countenance; it will' give me much 
 pleasure if it will not cause you pain. 1 ‘ Will it give 
 you pleasure ? 1 said the child, and the most gracious 
 smile completed his sentence, and the mute approba- 
 tion which he gave to the desire of the artist. 
 
 “ M. Bellanger traced in crayon the profile of the 
 young king, and it is from this profile that, some days 
 after, M. Beaumont the sculptor, and twenty years 
 after, the royal manufacturer of Sevres porcelain, ex- 
 ecuted the bust of Louis XVII. 
 
 “ The 13tli prairial (1 June), M. Desault did not come 
 again. The keepers were astonished at his absence, 
 and the little child regretted it The acting commis- 
 sary, M. Benoist, faubourg St Denis 4, was of opinion 
 that word should be sent to the house of the physi- 
 cian, to inquire the cause of so prolonged an absence. 
 Gomin and Lasne had not yet dared to act according 
 to this advice, when the next day M. Bedault (rue de 
 Bondi 17) who relieved M. Benoist, hearing him on 
 his arrival pronounce the name of M. Desault, said 
 immediately, ‘Don't wait for him any longer, he died 
 yesterday. 1 This sudden death, under such circum- 
 stances, opened a vast field of conjecture. There is 
 one which must astonish by its boldness, let us say 
 more justly, by its infamy ; they dare assert that M. 
 Desault after having administered a slow poison to his 
 patient, had been himself poisoned by those who had 
 commanded the crime. But the noble life of M. 
 Desault protects him without any doubt against such 
 a calumny. Other inventors have not feared to say, 
 that M. Desault did not recognize in the poor sickly 
 little one in the tower of the Temple, the child so full 
 of strength and grace, whom he had admired more 
 than once in happier times and in another dwelling; 
 and that it was because he showed an intention of re- 
 vealing to the government this substitution, that the 
 doctor had been poisoned. This supposition is equally 
 true with the first. M. Desault who had been physi- 
 cian to the royal children, never doubted that his 
 young patient was the Dauphin. 1 .... ‘No notes 
 have been found among the papers of M. Desault upon 
 the visits which he made to the young Prince. From 
 31 May, the night of his death, to 5th June, i. e., during 
 six days, no assistance from without was given to the 
 prisoner.” 
 
 And M. Beaucliesne, I may add, leaves 
 five of these days without the slightest re- 
 
 cord of any event whatever, so that here is 
 an interval too long to fill with fictitious 
 circumstances remaining entirely unac- 
 counted for. 
 
 “At last on the 17th prairial (5th June), 1795, M. 
 Pelletan, chief surgeon of the Grand Hospital of Hu- 
 manity, was charged by the committee of General 
 Safety to continue the treatment of the son of Capet. 
 M. Pelletan went to the tower at five in the after- 
 noon, 1 1 found,’ said he, ‘ the child in so sad a state, 
 that I asked instantly to have another professional 
 person joined with me, to relieve me from a burden 
 which I did not wish to hear alone.” 
 
 Dumangin was accordingly appointed. 
 
 I will not pause, however strong the 
 temptation, to examine this narrative, till 
 we have the whole of the facts before us. 
 Pray keep, however, the epoch which has 
 passed separate from that which follows. 
 
 Our author having the death of the Dau- 
 phin authentically demonstrated, to his 
 own mind, becomes very pathetic as the 
 event approaches, and seems half inclined 
 to set his whole circle of readers weeping 
 beforehand. “ I do not seek,” he says, “ to 
 cause tears to be shed at his end, which 
 approaches. I know too well that death is an 
 event common to every age, and that it is 
 not without reason that the world has made 
 the coffin and the cradle in the same form 
 and of the same materials.” 
 
 The Dauphin (as we gather from Beau- 
 chesne), from the 5th to the 8th of June, 
 inclusive, as death approached, became 
 very animated, imaginative and talka- 
 tive. His very looks spoke. As he lay- 
 in bed he often cast his eyes to heaven, as 
 if he wished to sayi, “Lord, thy will be 
 done.” He had no longer any fear of stran- 
 gers ; nay, addressed them first, without 
 waiting to be spoken to. M. Pelletan hav- 
 ing proposed to the commissary his removal 
 to another chamber, he signed to the physi- 
 cian to approach , and with his thoughts all 
 about him said, “ Speak lower, I fear they 
 will hear you above, and I should be very 
 sorry they should learn that I am sick, 
 for that would give them much pain.” He 
 was removed to another chamber, a sunny 
 cheerful room, on the side of the little 
 tower, “and the air and the sun brought 
 him life, and with life thought, thought 
 which should render his sufferings more 
 cruel and the truth more bitter, thought 
 which should come back with so many mem- 
 ories, and so many apprehensions.” His color 
 was clear, his eye bright, his voice strong. 
 These are remarkable changes ; that sunny 
 room worked wonders, but we shall find 
 stranger still before we have done with 
 M. Beaucliesne. But notwithstanding the 
 strength of his body, and the brightness 
 of his intellect, he was destined to die, and 
 in the mortal agony T it pleased — no— I can- 
 not blaspheme — it pleased therefore let me 
 say — Gomin and Lasne — who narrated to 
 M. Beaucliesne what he relates with “scru- 
 puleuse exactitude,” that sounds seraphic 
 should salute his ears, while still retaining 
 the self-possession of undimmed intelli- 
 
446 
 
 The Bourbon Question. 
 
 gence. The death scene is so rich a speci- 
 men of biographic fidelity, and what is 
 called “ fine writing,” that I translate it for 
 the benefit of those who wish to share the 
 authentically demonstrated certainty of M. 
 Beauehesne. 
 
 “ You will ask, without doubt, what were the last 
 words of the dying. You have heard those of his fa- 
 ther, who, from the height of the scaffold, which his 
 virtue had made a throne, sent pardon to his assassins. 
 You have heard those of his mother, that heroic 
 Queen, who, impatient to quit the earth, where she 
 had suffered so much, prayed the executioner to 
 make haste. You have known those of his aunt, of 
 that Christian virgin, who, with supplicating eye, 
 when they removed her dress to strike her better, 
 asked in the name of modesty, that they would cover 
 her bosom ; and now shall I dare to repeat the last 
 words of the orphan ? 
 
 “ Those who received his last sigh, have related 
 them to me, and I come faithfully to inscribe them 
 on the Royal Martyrology. 
 
 “ Gomin seeing the infant calm, immovable and 
 mute, said to him, ‘ I hope you do not suffer at this 
 moment; ‘Oh yes, I suffer still, but much less, the 
 music is so fine.’ Now there was no music in the 
 tower or its neighborhood ; no noise from without 
 came at this moment into the tower where the young 
 martyr lay. Gomin astonished said to him, ‘In 
 what quarter do you hear this music ? ’ ‘ F rom above,’ 
 ‘ Have you heard it a long time ? ’ ‘ Since you have 
 been on your knees. 1 And the child raised by a ner- 
 vous movement his failing hand, and opened his 
 great illuminated eyes in ecstasy. His poor guardian 
 not wishing to destroy this sweet and last illusion, set 
 himself to listen also, with the pious desire to hear 
 that which could not be heard. 
 
 “After some moments of attention the child was 
 again agitated, his eyes flashed, and he cried in inde- 
 scribable transport, ‘In the midst of all the voices, I 
 have heard that of my mother.’ This name falling from 
 the lips of the child seemed to take from him all pain. 
 His contracted eyebrows distended and his look was 
 illumined with that serene ray, which gives the cer- 
 tainty of deliverance or of victory. His eye fixed 
 on an invisible spectacle, his ear open to the far-off 
 sound of one of those concerts which the human ear 
 has never heard, his young soul seemed to blaze out 
 with a new existence.” 
 
 But I must curtail this edifying scene, 
 and come to tbe end. 
 
 “ ‘ Do you think that my sister could have heard the 
 music? What good it would have done her! ’ Lasne 
 could not reply, a look full of anguish from the dying 
 child darted earnest and piercing towards the window 
 — an exclamation of happiness escaped from his lips — 
 then looking at his guardian, ‘ I have something to 
 tell you ; ’ Lasne approached and took his hand — the 
 little head of the prisoner fell on the breast of his guar- 
 dian, who listened, but in vain— God had spared the 
 Young martyr the hour of the death rattle, God had 
 preserved for himself alone the confidence of his last 
 thought Lasne put his hand upon the heart of the 
 child! The heart of Louis XVII. had ceased to beat 
 It was two hours and a quarter after midnight” 
 
 Some glimpse of tbe dying scene is ne- 
 cessary to estimate the worth of the certifi- 
 cates. I should like to present the reader 
 Lasne’s soliloquy over the dead body. It 
 is a gem of its kind. One sentence I must 
 transcribe. 
 
 “ An hour passed during which, breathless, with 
 eyes fixed, without voice I continued near his remains. 
 
 [April 
 
 That solemn hour had a great influence upon my 
 whole life. A voice had spoken in my heart, to which 
 I had promised to be an honest man.” 
 
 Then you were not so before, M. Lasne ? 
 Honest M. Lasne ! 
 
 On the 9th June, four surgeons were 
 appointed to open the body, and visited the 
 Temple for this purpose. W e give the pro- 
 ces verbal, but it is worthy of remark, as 
 indicating the nervous haste with which 
 the affair was hurried through, that the 
 year is omitted from the date entirely, and 
 that although at the conclusion reference is 
 made to a day and year on which the in- 
 strument was written, there are none given. 
 
 Pboces verbal of the opening of the body of the 
 son of the deceased Louis Capet drawn up at the 
 Tower of the Temple, at eleven o’clock in the morn- 
 ing of this 21st prairial. 
 
 We, the undersigned Jean Baptiste Engine Du- 
 mangin, 1’hysician -in -Chief of tbe Hospital of the 
 Unity, and Philippe-Jean Pelletan, Surgeon-in-Chief 
 of the Grand Hospital of Humanity, accompanied by 
 the citizens Nicholas Jeanroy, Professor in the Schools 
 of Medicine at Paris, and Pierre Lassus, Professor of 
 Legal Medicine in the School of Health at Paris; 
 whom we have joined to ourselves in virtue of a de- 
 cree of the Committee of General Safety of the Na- 
 tional Convention, dated yesterday, and signed Ber- 
 going, president, Courtois Cauthier, Pierre Guyomard, 
 to the effect that we should proceed together to the 
 opening of the body of the son of the deceased Louis 
 Capet, to declare the condition in which we have found 
 it, have proceeded as follows : 
 
 “ All four of us having arrived at eleven o’clock in 
 the morning at the outer gate of the Temple, we 
 were received by the Commissaries, who introduced 
 us into the Tower. We proceeded to the second story 
 into an apartment, in the second division of which we 
 found upon a bed the body of a child, who appeared 
 to us about ten years of age, which the Commissaries 
 told us was that of the son of the deceased Louis 
 Capet, and which two among us recognized to be the 
 child of whom they had taken care for some days past 
 The said Commissaries declared to us that the child 
 died that night about 3 o’clock in the morning, upon 
 which we sought to verify the signs of death, which 
 we found characterized by an universal paleness, the 
 coldness of the whole habit of the body, the stiffness 
 of the limbs, the dulness of the eyes, the violet spots 
 common to the skin of a corpse, and above all, by an 
 incipient putrefaction at the stomach, the scrotum, 
 and between the thighs. 
 
 “We remarked before proceeding to the opening of 
 the body, a general leanness which was that of mar- 
 asmus. The stomach was extremely swollen and 
 puffed with air. On the innersideoftherightkneewe 
 remarked a tumor without change of color to the 
 skin ; and another tumor, less voluminous, upon the 
 os radius near the wrist of the left side. The tumor 
 of the knee contained about two ounces of a grayish 
 matter, pussy and lymphatic, situated between the 
 periosteum and the muscles, and that of the wrist con- 
 tained matter of the same kind, but thicker. 
 
 “ At the opening of the stomach, there flowed out 
 about a pint of purulent serum, yellow and very of- 
 fensive ; the intestines were swollen, pale, and adher- 
 ing one to another, and also to the sides of the 
 cavity; they were covered with a great quantity of 
 tubercles of different sizes, and which presented when 
 opened the same matter that was contained in the 
 exterior deposits of the knee and of the wrist 
 
 “ The intestines, open throughout their whole ex- 
 tent, v T ere very healthy inwardly, and contained but a 
 
The Bourbon Question. 
 
 447 
 
 1653.] 
 
 small quantity of bilious matter. The stomach pre- 
 sented to us the same condition — it adhered to all the 
 surrounding parts, was pale outside, covered with 
 small lymphatic tubercles, like those on the surface of 
 the intestines ; its inner membrane was sound, also, 
 tho pilorus and the omentum, the liver adhered by its 
 convexity to the diaphragm, and by its concavity to 
 the viscera which it covered, its substance was healthy, 
 its volume ordinary, the vessel of the gall bladder was 
 moderately filled with bile of a yellowish green color. 
 The spleen, the pancreas, the reins and the bladder 
 were sound, the epiploon and mesentery, covered with 
 fat, were filled with lymphatic tubercles, similar to 
 those of which we have spoken. Similar tumors 
 were scattered over the thickness of the peritoneum, 
 covering the inward face of the diaphragm. This 
 muscle was sound 
 
 “ The lungs adhered by their whole surface to the 
 pleura, to the diaphragm and to the pericardium ; their 
 substance was sound and without tubercles. There 
 were only some near the tracheal artery and the omen- 
 tum. The pericardium contained the ordinary quan- 
 tity of serosity — the heart was pale, but in its natural 
 state. The brain and its dependencies were in their 
 most perfect integrity. 
 
 “ All the disorders of which we have given the de- 
 tail, are evidently the effect of a scrofulous disease of 
 a long standing, and to which the death of the child 
 should be attributed. 
 
 “The present proecs verbal has been made, and 
 signed at Paris, at the said place, by the undersigned, 
 at four hours and a half, in the morning of the day, 
 and year below written. 
 
 “ J. B. E. Dumangin. 
 
 “ P. J. Pelletan. 
 
 “ Pierre Lassus. 
 
 “ N. J EANROY.” 
 
 “ This proems verbal was completed in 1817, by M. 
 Pelletan, who made the following declaration. 
 
 “ I the undersigned, chevalier of the order of the 
 legion of Honor, member of the Koyal Academy of 
 Science, professor of the faculty of medicine, certify 
 moreover, that after having cut the cranium trans- 
 versely, on a level with the orbits, to make the anato- 
 my of the brain in the opening of the body of the son 
 of Louis XVI., which had been assigned to me, I re- 
 placed the skull-cap of the cranium, and covered it 
 with four strips of skin which I had separated, and 
 which I sewed together, and that finally, 1 covered 
 the head with a linen handkerchief, or perhaps with a 
 cotton cap fastened below the chin or at the nape, as is 
 practised in similar cases. This dressing will be found, 
 if it be true that corruption has not destroyed it, but 
 certainly the skull-cap of the cranium still exists en- 
 veloped in the remains of those linens, or the cotton 
 cap. 
 
 “ Signed, Pelletan.” 
 
 Paris, 17 August, 1S17. 
 
 M. Pelletan declared still later, that he 
 had set apart the heart of the Dauphin in 
 the operation of the autopsy, and had car- 
 ried it away, so as to be able to offer to the 
 royal family this sad and mournful relic of 
 the infant king. 
 
 Beside the proefcs verbal, the documen- 
 tary proofs of the death of Louis XVII., 
 are the official declaration of Lasne and Go- 
 min, and of two other persons, and certifi- 
 cates written by the said Lasne and Go- 
 min for M. Beauchesne in 1837 and 1840; 
 that of Lasne being confided to the scented 
 pages of our author’s, album. Lasne asserts 
 “on his honor, and before God, that the 
 young prince died in his arms ” at the time 
 
 and place officially specified, and tells us 
 that, having all his life' told the truth, he 
 will not lie at its conclusion. Both of the 
 keepers unite in affirming the scrupulous 
 exactness of our author. That these au- 
 thentic testimonials of asserted facts may 
 make the deepest impression, they are 
 given in the form of fac-similes, after 
 which M. Beauchesne states that Provi- 
 dence preserved the life of the two old 
 men to give light to his researches and 
 present, hour by hour, the' bulletins of his 
 dying agony, tie then carries us to the 
 grave in the cemetery of l’Eglise St. Mar- 
 guerite, expresses “painful perplexity” as 
 to whether the body was interred by itself 
 or in a common sepulchre, indicates on a 
 map the exact spot of interment, relates all 
 the efforts which Louis XVIII. made to ob- 
 tain certainty as to the place of burial, and 
 of a certain monument which he intended 
 to erect to the memory of the royal mar- 
 tyr, but which “n’a point dte execute,” and 
 ends with the Latin epitaph which was to 
 have been inscribed on the said Mausoleum, 
 “Memoriae et cineribus Ludovici XVII.” 
 
 I would here call attention to one or two 
 singular and suspicious facts. The royal 
 ordinance, issued in 1816, for the disinter- 
 ment of the body of Louis XVII., was, 
 without any sufficient reason, revoked, as 
 if it were a matter the king was afraid to 
 meddle with. Again, orders were issued 
 for the removal of the heart, asserted to be 
 in the possession of Pelletan, to St. Denis ; 
 but, according to Beauchesne (see appendix), 
 Lasne, who was present at the autopsy, 
 declared that he never left the surgeons 
 for a minute, and that Pelletan did not 
 take the heart out ; consequently he was 
 left in possession of the sacred and pre- 
 cious relic, which the roj-al family did not 
 deign to receive. Now, it is obvious that 
 either Pelletan or Lasne must have lied, and 
 thus either the proces verbal is discred- 
 ited, or the testimony of Lasne ; and the 
 whole affair is left in uncertainty. For my- 
 self I believe the statement of Pelletan. And 
 here too, the reader is requested to mark 
 that the whole testimony as to identity resolves 
 itself into the truth, or falsehood of declara- 
 tions made by Lasne and Gomin. To this 
 we have only to add that, according to 
 Beauchesne, the testimony as to the place 
 of interment is equally contradictory ; and 
 that to say the least it is singular, that in 
 1817, after Louis XVIII. was on the throne, 
 he should have thought it necessary to call 
 in the aid of Pelletan to make a further 
 statement, had it not been felt that the 
 proees verbal was transparently defective. 
 In point of fact we know that it never sat- 
 isfied the great body of legitimists in 
 France ; for many of them to this day do 
 not believe the Dauphin died in the Temple. 
 
 We are now prepared to consider the au- 
 thentic demonstration of M. Beauchesne. 
 
 He lias proved, undoubtedly, that a child 
 died in the Temple 8th June, 1795, and was 
 buried somewhere in tho cemetery of l’E- 
 
448 
 
 The Bourbon Question. 
 
 glise St. Marguerite on the lOtli June, and 
 we will not dispute the assertion that at nine 
 o’clock that night “ the air was pure, and 
 the golden hues of the luminous vapor 
 which crowned that fine evening seemed to 
 retain and to prolong the adieu of the sun.” 
 But I give the following reasons for deny- 
 ing entirely that it was Louis XVII. who 
 then and there died, and was buried. 
 
 I. The surgeons do not testify that it was 
 the body of the Dauphin which they opened. 
 
 II. Louis XVII. had tumors at all the 
 joints, and particularly at the knees. This 
 is a fact, so positively stated by the French 
 officials as to stand beyond reach of contra- 
 diction. The tumors were not scrofulous, 
 but the result of confinement, and were in 
 the shape of knots. 
 
 The proces verbal speaks of only two 
 tumors, one on the inner side of the right 
 knee and the other near the left wrist. 
 
 III. M. Desault, on 6th May, testified that 
 scrofula had scarcely imprinted its seal on 
 the constitution of the Dauphin, and that 
 he had merely the germ of a scrofulous 
 affection. 
 
 MM. Dumangin, Pelletan, Lassus, and 
 Jeanroy certify that the death of the 
 child, whose body they examined, was the 
 effect of a scrofulous disease which had ex- 
 isted for a long time , and the internal con- 
 dition of the body, so minutely specified by 
 them, shows how deeply seated the disease 
 was in the constitution, so that the whole 
 stomach and intestines were covered with 
 a great quantity of tubercles, and all the 
 other organs where the disease could man- 
 ifest itself, were in the state which showed 
 the ripeness of the malady unto death. 
 
 IV. All testimony, except that of Lasne 
 and Gomin, proves that, mentally, the Dau- 
 phin was in a condition of imbecility, coinci- 
 dent with his physical prostration, lethargic, 
 timid, mute, difficult of access, shy of stran- 
 gers. 
 
 The boy who died, if the whole account 
 is not false, was exactly the contrary, for- 
 ward, talkative, animated, imaginative. 
 
 V. Again, let any physician say whether a 
 child in the mental condition in which De- 
 sault found the Dauphin, could have had 
 not only the brain, but all its dependencies, 
 perfectly healthy, or whether its vessels 
 would not have been in a state of tempo- 
 rary derangement. 
 
 The examining physicians say, “Le cer- 
 veau et ses dependences etaient dans leur 
 plus parfaite integrite. 
 
 Now, unless M. Beauchesne can demon- 
 state that a body having tumors at both 
 knees, both wrists, and both elbows, is the 
 same with a body having only two tumors 
 in all, and leaving one knee, two elbows, 
 and one wrist, without them ; that a child 
 who, on the 8th of May, had scarcely a 
 taint of scrofula, but whose diseases were 
 caused by confinement, could, on the 8th 
 of the next month, die of scrofulous disease 
 of long standing ; that mental characteris- 
 tics the most opposite, are the same, and 
 
 [April 
 
 all the dependencies of an enfeebled brain 
 can be in the most perfect integrity, his 
 certificates, and his witnesses, and his sen- 
 timentality, his tears, unbuilt cenotaph, and 
 Latin epitaph, and even “le eceur de l’en- 
 fant,” of which M. Pelletan says, “je l’en- 
 veloppai en linge et je la mit dans ma 
 poche,” and which he afterwards touched 
 and examined, “avec attention, plus de 
 mille fois,” will be of no avail, and he must 
 be forced to confess that a fact may be au- 
 thentically demonstrated, and yet physi- 
 cally and morally disproved. 
 
 The certificates of our author may be 
 correctly copied — his reports of conver- 
 sations as Lasne testifies, of the most 
 “ scrupuleuse exactitude” — but certificates 
 are pieces of paper with ink upon them, 
 and words spoken are sounding breath 
 and there their -worth begins and ends, 
 in times and cases on which great issues 
 hang, unless consistent with confessed facts, 
 and we have moral confidence in those 
 who spoke and wrote. 
 
 But some possible objections may be 
 made to this conclusion. It may be said 
 that the number of the swellings was de- 
 creased by the frictions and applications 
 made by order of Desault, and that he may 
 have been mistaken in his opinion as to the 
 nature of the Dauphin’s malady, or that it 
 increased with an unusual rapidity during 
 the last month of his life. Such objections 
 can never be made by medical men, but it 
 is necessary to guard against the possible 
 difficulties of others. If the disease were 
 scrofulous, all diminution of the tumors 
 w’ould imply diminution of the disease, un- 
 less, it manifested itself in some other place 
 of which there is no intimation, and thus 
 the first and the last supposition would be- 
 at entire variance. Again Desault was the 
 most celebrated surgeon of the time in 
 France, and it is not conceivable that he 
 could have erred in opinion in a case of 
 such importance, and if his opinion were 
 correct, that in the beginning of May, scro- 
 fula had scarcely imprinted its seal on the 
 constitution of the Dauphin ; then it is a 
 physical impossibility that it should attain 
 its most advanced stage in a month, for 
 scrofula, as I am professionally advised, is 
 a disease most slow in its progress, begin- 
 ning in the glands, progressing to the skin 
 and articulations, and gradually taking pos- 
 session of the intestines and vital organs, 
 nor does it destroy life until the mastery 
 over the last is complete. It would require 
 years to bring about the state of things 
 described in the proems verbal, as being 
 presented at the autopsy of the asserted 
 Dauphin, and the declaration of the physi- 
 cians that the disease was of long standing 
 concedes this. 
 
 Now, against evidence of this character, 
 proving by undeniable physical differences, 
 the non-identity of two bodies, no official 
 recognition of identity based on mere casual 
 observation, however positively declared, 
 and however formally certified, can be of any 
 
The Bourbon Question. 
 
 449 
 
 1853.] 
 
 avail. Bodies change so much after death, in 
 many cases, that nothing but the closest exa- 
 mination, with the desire to ascertain the 
 truth, can afford grounds for a certain or even 
 probable opinion. Four members of the com- 
 mittee of general safety, came to verify the 
 death of the Prince, but they showed the 
 greatest indifference and actually said the 
 event was of no consequence. The officers 
 and sub-officers of the guard of the Temple 
 were afterwards admitted, and we are told, 
 but no documentary evidence is afforded of the 
 fact, that a great number of them recognized 
 the body. But I am at once able to neutral- 
 ize such testimony, if any should be inclined 
 to attach importance to it, by proof ex- 
 actly similar to his own. Mr. B. H. Muller, 
 of Howard-st., New York, elsewhere allud- 
 ed to in this article, and who authorizes me 
 to refer to him, assured me in the pre- 
 sence of Mr. A. Fleming, that he was well 
 acquainted with a person named Auvray, 
 formerly an officer of the household of 
 Louis XVI., and who though afterwards a 
 republican, still retained his attachment to 
 the Royal Family, and frequently saw the 
 Prince at the Temple both in a civil and 
 military capacity, having previously known 
 him well at the Tuileries. Now Auvray 
 declared to Muller that he was present 
 when the body was exhibited to the officers 
 of the garde national, and that it was 
 not the body of the Dauphin .* I therefore 
 meet hearsay with hearsay ; neither being 
 legal testimony, and one just as good as the 
 other 
 
 It seems necessary to suppose that the 
 Dauphin was removed from the Temple 
 after his last interview with Desault, and 
 another boy of about the same age in the 
 most advanced stage of scrofula introduced 
 in his stead. In confirmation of this idea, 
 let us look at certain undoubted facts. 
 
 Between May 30th and June 1st, there 
 were only four persons who had any inter- 
 course with the Prince, Desault, Bellanger, 
 Lasne, and Gomin. The first who knew the 
 Dauphin intimately, and who, as a noble and 
 good man, could never have been brought 
 to testify that he was dead when he knew 
 him to be alive, died suddenly, as all Paris 
 suspected, of poison, on 1st June. Bellanger 
 was alone in the Dauphin’s room for hours 
 on the 31st May, under circumstances which 
 show that he was seeking to gain the affec- 
 tions of the child. The keepers — one of 
 whom was put in his place by an intriguer 
 of Louis XVIII., the acting head of the 
 royalist party, and the other who was a 
 representative of the republican interest — 
 present us with the very conjunction of 
 
 instruments necessary to carry out what 
 was most desirable for both parties at that 
 time, viz., to remove the child from the Tem- 
 ple to some place of distant and secure con- 
 cealment. To put him to death, provided 
 they could have summoned sufficient bold- 
 ness for the commission of the act, was a 
 thing which the two parties could hardly 
 have been brought to unite in, and which, 
 as they were mutually a check upon each 
 other, neither, by itself, could have dared 
 to perpetrate. It may, indeed, be said, 
 that in the weak state in which the Dau- 
 phin was, there was no necessity to remove 
 him, since death would soon have taken him 
 out of the way without the commission of 
 any positive crime beyond the prolonga- 
 tion of his confinement. But I reply that 
 in the absence of any notes of Desault con- 
 cerning the condition of the child, an omis- 
 sion which is remarkable, and can perhaps 
 be accounted for in another way than by 
 supposing that he left no memoranda ; 
 there is no evidence but that of Lasne and 
 Gomin, on which no dependence can be 
 placed, to show that his danger was so 
 extreme as is represented. Besides which 
 there was probably the commingling of 
 persons actuated by the most opposite 
 feelings, and the sincere desire to save his 
 life may have influenced some, as the de- 
 sire to get rid of him by exile, did others. 
 
 The precise mode by which the death of 
 Desault was accomplished, or the agents 
 employed, may never be known, but I 
 think there will be few to deny the ex- 
 treme probability that he was poisoned. 
 Certainly death never occurred more op- 
 portunely. Fie knew the Dauphin well, 
 and was convinced of the identity of the 
 patient whom he was attending, with the 
 son of Louis XVI. A personal attachment 
 had grown up between them. Had he vis- 
 ited the Temple after M. Bellanger was 
 there, he would have at once detected and 
 exposed the imposition that had been prac- 
 tised. It would have been impossible to 
 obtain from him a proces verbal, stating 
 that the Dauphin was dead when he knew 
 him to be alive ; or even an indefinite docu- 
 ment of the character furnished by Pelletan 
 and his colleagues, which would, in fact, 
 from him, have been worthless. They 
 might shelter themselves under the plea 
 of personal ignorance — he could not do so ; 
 and had he violated the principles of his 
 moral nature, and disgraced himself in the 
 eyes of the profession and the world, by 
 the lame non-committalism that the com- 
 missaries assured him the dead body was 
 that of the Dauphin, no one would have 
 
 * After the above was in type, we received the following paragraph, ent from the New Jersey State Gazette, 
 of February 11, 1800, published at Trenton, N. J. It is given for what it is worth “ It is stated in political 
 circles as a fact, that about two years ago, a Frenchman, who had left his country on account of his principles, 
 and resided at Philadelphia, affirmed that he was on the committee of surgeons who examined the body of the 
 child said to he the Dauphin, and to have died of scrofula in the Temple; that having known the Prince while 
 alive, on examining the face of the corpse (contrary to positive instructions ), he perceived no resemblance, and 
 was convinced that some artifice had been used to preserve the life of the young prince. The circumstance is 
 related by gentlemen of credit, who received it two years ago, from the surgeon who was present at the dissection, 
 and is therefore highly confirmative of the recent rumor that Louis XVII. was really saved from the prisons of 
 the National Convention by an artifice of Sieyes, and is still in existence on the Continent" 
 
 vol. i — 29 
 
450 
 
 The Bourbon Question. 
 
 believed him, and the deception would 
 have immediately recoiled on the heads 
 of its contrivers. Nor would it have an- 
 swered to have dismissed him and ap- 
 pointed other examining physicians in his 
 place, for the world would immediately 
 have asked, Why is this? Why keep 
 away from the body the man who knows 
 the I)aupkin, and substitute others who do 
 not know him ? A crisis had evidently 
 arrived in those unscrupulous and bloody 
 days, when either Desault must die, or the 
 combined treachery of two hostile factions 
 must be exposed, and all their plans and 
 contrivances, and hopes for the future, 
 come to nought. Can we think the mov- 
 ing agents in this dark drama would hesi- 
 tate a moment between murder and utter 
 discomfiture, or that they would lack the 
 instruments to accomplish their resolves. 
 
 With respect to Bellanger, a few words 
 are necessary, to which I would beg espe- 
 cially to call the attention of the reader. 
 At the time that my previous article was 
 written, Mr. Williams was not aware that 
 any person named Bellanger was known 
 historically to have been in communication 
 with the Dauphin during the last hours spent 
 in the Temple. He feared, and I believed, 
 that Bellanger was an assumed name. On 
 obtaining the work of M. Beauchesne, I dis- 
 covered that Bellanger alone could have 
 been the chief agent in the removal of the 
 Prince, and the surprise of Mr. Williams at 
 the discovery was as great as my own. Is 
 it possible to account, on the ground of ac- 
 cidental coincidence for the agreement be- 
 tween the historical fact and the rumor, 
 which, as I shall show, was undoubtedlypre- 
 valent in the South in 1848, that Bellanger, 
 when dying, made the confession that he 
 had brought the Dauphin to this country ? 
 It will, I trust, have the effect of stimu- 
 lating inquiry concerning Bellanger, of 
 whom many particulars must yet be disco- 
 verable. His portfolios and paintings may 
 be in existence, and the evidence to be de- 
 rived from them may be of the utmost im- 
 portance, since as cabinet painter to Mon- 
 sieur — i. e., to the Count de Provence, he 
 can scarcely fail to have been his agent, and 
 thus by the strongest probability we con- 
 nect the uncle with the removal of the 
 nephew. 
 
 As to Lasne and Gomin, if my reasoning 
 on the evidence be sustained, no other 
 sentence can be passed on them than that 
 they lied knowingly to the end, and the 
 solemnity of their falsehood is on a par 
 with the credulity of M. Beauchesne. Per- 
 haps they were taught to regard it as a re- 
 ligious duty thus to act, and superstition 
 was strengthened by habit, worldly inter- 
 est, and the too natural desire to preserve 
 consistency to the last. It might be worth 
 while to trace the future of these two men. 
 Of Lasne we know nothing ; but Gomin 
 long remained in a lucrative situation about 
 the person of Madame Royal e. 
 
 M. Beauchesne, I conceive, has failed en- 
 
 [April 
 
 tirely in establishing the proposition with 
 which his work begins, and this labored 
 production is a further instance of the 
 weakness which must ever attach to every 
 thing which is not founded in truth. His 
 book, as I shall shortly show, is appealed to 
 as authority by those who are interested 
 in maintaining that the Dauphin died in 
 the Temple in 1795, but what support they 
 can derive from his lucubrations, the pub- 
 lic must judge. “The literature of the 
 book,” says the London Athenaeum, “con- 
 stantly reminds us of the peculiar kind of 
 style employed by a certain school of French 
 writers in composing ‘ Lives of the Saints.’ 
 The same publishers have put forward a 
 good number of legendary tales 'on subjects 
 sacred and profane; and this work bears 
 all the marks of its particular class.” 
 
 And now before advancing further, it will 
 be necessary to “define my position.” There 
 is a distinction too obvious to be overlooked 
 between legal evidence, and evidence mor- 
 ally convincing, based upon a collection of 
 dovetailing circumstances and carrying with 
 it a very high degree of probability. To the 
 first, as a pioneer in an untrodden field of 
 mystery, I made no pretence. My object 
 was simply to arrest attention and to excite 
 inquiry. To enable the public to aid in 
 this, I threw before it all which seemed to 
 have a bearing on the subject, not as proof, 
 but as collateral issues to be examined. 
 Thus, the mode by which the education of 
 Mr. Williams was defrayed, and the know- 
 ledge of his personality by De Ferrier and 
 Le Ray, were not stated as proven facts, 
 but as hypothetical inferences. But there 
 were certain other statements which were 
 of a very different nature, and which could 
 only receive stronger confirmation as time 
 and investigation proceeded. These were 
 that Eleazer Williams is not an Indian, that 
 he bears the most decided resemblance to 
 the house of Bourbon, that members of 
 that family have held communication with 
 him under circumstances of the most sus- 
 picious character, that he is a sane man, 
 and a good, honest, simple-minded, Chris- 
 tian man, and that he, with the fullest 
 sense of responsibility to God and man, 
 declares certain things. — Such was my ori- 
 ginal position, and I have yet found nothing 
 to weaken, but much to confirm it. 
 
 I shall now proceed in a9 brief a manner 
 as possible, to give the public every means 
 of arriving at a correct judgment on this 
 question, as far as it may be predicated 
 from the existing condition of the evidence ; 
 and to this end I shall lay before it all 
 the principal documents in my possession, 
 correct all important errors of transcription 
 and typography in my previous narrative, 
 and intersperse the whole with such argu- 
 ment and explanation as may seem neces- 
 sary. For mere senseless ridicule, I have no 
 ear and no answer. To sound reasoning, 
 from whatever quarter, I am prepared to re- 
 spond, and when convinced to confess it 
 Having arranged the circumstantial evi- 
 
 
The Bourbon Question. 
 
 451 
 
 1853.] 
 
 <lence of all kinds under twenty-seven 
 heads, I will for convenience cite such of 
 them as are necessary, and accompany them 
 with the required documents, arguments, 
 and explanations. 
 
 1. The inquiry of the Prince de Joinville, 
 on his arrival in this country, for Mr. Wil- 
 liams, and the interview. 
 
 The following is the letter from M. Tou- 
 chard, of which a small portion has already 
 been given : 
 
 Aido de Camp de Service, ) 
 
 Auprisde Mar. le Prince de Joinville. ) 
 
 Frigate la Belle Poule d Few- York, 
 21 9t>re (Novembre), 1841.* * 
 
 Monsieur, — Je me suis empresse de mettre sous les 
 yeux de Monseigneur le Prince de Joinville, votre 
 lettre datee du 25 8bre, avec les notes qui Faccom- 
 pagnaient sur les premiers etablisseinents Franfais au 
 bord des grand lacs. 
 
 Son Altesse Roy ale me charge de vous remcreier en 
 eon nom de votre obligeant et de votre aimable em- 
 pressment II lira ces notes avec tout Finteret 
 qui s'attache a vos reclierches historiques faites sur le 
 theatre m£me oil nos Franfais, ont laisse tant et 
 d'honorable souvenirs. 
 
 Je suis heureux, Monsieur d'avoir & vous transmettre 
 les remercimens de 6on Altesse Royale. Si jamais 
 vous venez visiter notre France veuillez vous souvenir 
 que S. A. R. vous reverrait avec plaisir. 
 
 Recevez, Monsieur, toutes les assurances de ma 
 consideration la plus distinguee, 
 
 Lieut de Yaisseau Y. Touchard. 
 
 It seems necessary to make a few remarks 
 on the foregoing document. From the 
 journal of Mr. Williams it appears that the 
 Prince de Joinville and his party left Green 
 Bay, 20th Oct., 1841. Five days after this Mr. 
 Williams addressed to the Prince a letter on 
 some historical subjects connected with the 
 early French settlements on the border of 
 the great Lakes. This was doubtless at the 
 request of the Prince de Joinville. Now I 
 can imagine some one saying, “ Eureka. ’ 
 The Prince went to Green Bay to make 
 some historical inquiries of Mr. Williams 
 and this gentleman has fabricated out of 
 this harmless incident a demand to resign 
 the throne of France. It would seem, I 
 admit, that the Prince de Joinville desired 
 to cover up under some such pretext the 
 true nature of his abortive visit, and that Mr. 
 Williams in his unsuspecting simplicity per- 
 mitted himself to be caught in the snare. 
 The reader will perceive from the follow- 
 ing letter, addressed by M. Trognon, the 
 secretary of the Prince de Joinville, to the 
 London correspondent of Mr. Putnam after 
 the receipt of the February number of the 
 magazine, that this is the nature of the 
 ground upon which the Prince has deter- 
 mined to take his stand. As this document 
 is of the highest importance, and defines 
 the position of the Prince, I will give both 
 the original and a translation. 
 
 Claremont, Surrey, 9 Fevrier, 1853. 
 
 Monsieur, — Le Prince (le Joinville, a re$u le 
 
 num6ro du Monthly Magazine de New-Yoik, que 
 vous avez bien voulu lui transmettre, et a lu Farticle 
 sur lequel vous avez appele son attention. Sa pre- 
 miere pens6e 6tait de traiteravec 1'indifference qu'elle 
 merite, Fabsurde invention qui fait lc fond de cet arti- 
 cle : ma;s en refl6cbissant qu*un peu do vrai s'y 
 trouve mele a beaucoup de faux, le Prince a cru qu’il 
 6tait bon que je vous repondisse en son nom quelques 
 lignes destinees k faire, au milieu de cet amas de 
 fables la part exac.te de la v6rit6. Yousferez, monsieur, 
 de cette reponse l’usage qui vous paraitra le plus 
 convenable. 
 
 II est tr5s vrai que, dans un voyage qu’il fit aux 
 Etats Unis vers la fin de Fann6e 1841, le Prince se trouv- 
 ant a Mackinac, rencontra sur le bateau a vapeur un 
 passager dont ii croit reconnaitre la figure dans le por- 
 trait donne par le Monthly Magazine mais dont le 
 nom avait enti&rement fui de sa memoire. Ce passa- 
 ger semblait fort au courant des 6v6nements qui se 
 sont accomplis dans F Amerique du Nord pendant le 
 sicjcle dernier. 11 racontait une foule d'anecdotes et 
 de particularites int6ressantes sur les Frangais qui pri- 
 rent part & ces 6ven6ments et s'y distinguerent. Sa 
 mere etait, disait il, une Indienne appartenant & la 
 grande peuplado des Iroquois fiddle alliee de la 
 France il ajoutait que du cot6 patemel son origine 
 6tait Francaise et allait jusqu’ a citer un nom que lc 
 Prince s'abstient de rapporter.t C’dtait la ce qui Favait 
 mis en possession de tant de details curieux k entendre. 
 Un de ces r6cits les plus attachants 6tait celui qu’il 
 fasait des derniers moments du Marquis de Montcalm, 
 mort entre les bras d’ un Iroquois son parent, a qui le 
 vaillant capitaine avait laisse son £p6e. Les details ne 
 purent manquer d'interesser vivement le Prince dont 
 le voyage a Mackinac, a Green Bay et sur le Iiaut 
 Mississippi avait pour objet surtout de rechercher le 
 trace glorieuse des Franpais, qui les premiers ouvrirent 
 & la civilization ces belles con trees. 
 
 Le Prince pria M. Williams (puisque tel etait le 
 nom de son interlocuteur) de lui faire parvenir, sous 
 forme de notes, tous les rensiegnments qu'il serait en 
 mesure de se procurer, et qui pourraient jeter quelque 
 jour sur l'histoire des 6tablissements Franpais dans 
 l’Amerique du Nord. De son cote M. Williams qui 
 ne paraissait moins curieux de connaitre k fond cette 
 meme histoire, demanda au Prince de lui transmettre 
 tousles documents qui y etaient relatifset qui devaient 
 se trouver dans les archives du gouvemment Franpais. 
 
 Arrive & Green Bay le Prince y fut retenu pendant 
 une demi journ6e par le difficulte de se procurer le 
 nombre de chevaux necessaire au voyage qu’il allait 
 entreprendre, M. Williams le presser vivement de 
 Faccompagner dans un settlement d’ Indiens Iroquois 
 6tablis prtis de Green Bay, chez qui disait-il se con- 
 servait encore le souvenir de leurs Peres d’Orient et 
 qui accueilleraient avec bonlieur le fils du Grand 
 Chef de la France. Le Frince declina cette offre, et 
 poursuivit son voyage. 
 
 Depuis lors, quelques lettresont 6cliangees entre 
 M. W illiams et les personnes attacli6es au Prince, au 
 sujet des documents dont il vient d'etre question. 
 Ainsi la lettre de M. Touchard cit6e dans Farticle du 
 Monthly Magazine doitetre authentique M. Williams 
 aurait pu egalement en produire une que je me sou- 
 vienne de lui avoir 6crite pour le mOme objet. 
 
 Mais 1 k finit ce que Farticle contient de vrai sur les 
 relations du Prince avec M. Williams. Tout le restc, 
 tout ce que a trait a la revelation que le Prince aurait 
 faite k M. Williams, du mysttre de sa naissance, tout 
 ce qui concemele pretendu personage de Louis XVIL 
 estd’une bout k Fautre une oeuvre d 1 imagination, une 
 
 * Printed October in my first statement. 
 
 * There is no mystery in regard to this name, as the Prince’s words would seem to imply. Mr. Williams 
 spoke of Col. Bougainville, afterwards the French circumnavigator, as a supposed connection of his mother’s 
 family . 
 
452 
 
 The Bourbon Question, 
 
 
 fcble grossWrement tissue, une speculation sur la 
 credulito publique faite on ne sait k quel propos et 
 dans quel bflt. Si par hazard, quelques uns des leo- 
 teurs du Monthly Magazine etaient disposes & y 
 avouer creance il faudrait les engager a faire venir de 
 Paris un livre qui vient d' y etre tout recemment 
 publie par M. de Beaucliesne ils y trouveraient, sur 
 la vie et la mort de 1’ infortund Dauphin, du vrai 
 Louis XVII. les details les plus circonstanciSs et les 
 plus positifs. II me roste & yous offrir en mSme temps 
 1’assurance de ma consideration distingud. 
 
 Ano. Tkognox, 
 
 Ancien precepteur et secretaire des commande- 
 ments du Prince de Joinville. 
 
 Claremont , Surrey , Feb. 9, 1853. 
 
 Sir, — “The Prince de Joinville, has received the 
 number of the Monthly Magazine, of New-York, 
 which you have kindly thought fit to transmit to him, 
 and has read the article to which you have called his 
 attention. His first thought was, to treat with the in- 
 difference which it deserves, the absurd invention on 
 which this article is founded — but on reflecting that a 
 littlo truth is there mixed with much falsehood, the 
 Prince has deemed it right that I should in his name, 
 give a few lines in reply, to show the exact portion of 
 truth there is in this mass of fables. 
 
 “ Y ou can make, sir, of this reply, the use which 
 you think propel. 
 
 “ It is very true, that In a voyage which he made 
 to the United States, towards the en*. of the year 
 1841, the Prince finding himself at Mackinac, met 
 on board the steamboat, a passenger whose face he 
 thinks he recognizes, in the portrait given in the 
 Monthly Magazine, but whose name had entirely es- 
 caped his memory. 
 
 “ This passenger seemed w r ell informed concerning 
 the history of North America during the last century. 
 He related many anecdotes, and interesting particu- 
 lars concerning the French who took part, and distin- 
 guished themselves in these events. His mother he 
 said was an Indian woman, of the great tribe of the 
 Iroquois, faithful allies of France. He added, that on 
 his father's side, his origin was French, and went so 
 far as to cite a name which the Prince abstains from 
 repeating. It was by this means that he had come in 
 possession of so many details curious to hear. One of 
 the most interesting of these recitals was that which 
 he gave of the last moments of the Marquis of Mont- 
 calm, who died in the arms of an Iroquois, who was 
 his relative, and to whom the great captain had left 
 his sword. These details could not fail vividly to in- 
 terest the Prince, whose voyage to Mackinac, Green 
 Bay, and the Upper Mississippi, had for its object to 
 retrace the glorious path of the French, who had first 
 opened to civilization these fine countries. The 
 Prince asked Mr. Williams, since such was the name 
 of his interlocutor, to send to him in the form of notes, 
 all the information which he could procure, and 
 which could throw light upon the history of the 
 French establishments in North America. On his 
 side Mr. Williams, who did not appear less curious to 
 understand thoroughly this same history, asked the 
 Prince to transmit to him all the documents which 
 related to it, and which could be found in the ar- 
 chives of the French government 
 
 “ On his arrival at Green Bay, the Prince was de- 
 tained during half a day, by the difficulty of procur- 
 ing the number of horses necessary for the journey, 
 which he was about to undertake. Mr. Williams 
 pressed him earnestly to accompany him to a settle- 
 ment of Iroquois Indians, established near Green Bay, 
 among whom, he said, were still many who remem- 
 bered their Eastern fathers, and who would receive 
 with delight the son of the Great Chief of France. 
 The Prince declined this offer, and pursued his 
 journey. 
 
 [April 
 
 “Since then, some letters have been exchanged 
 between Mr. Williams and the persons attached to 
 the Prince, on the subject of the documents in ques- 
 tion. Thus the letter of M. Touchard, cited in the 
 article of the Monthly Magazine, must be authentic. 
 Mr. Williams could also equally have produced one 
 which I remember to have written to him upon the 
 same subject. 
 
 “ But there ends all which the article contains of 
 truth, concerning the relations of the Prince with Mr. 
 W illiams. All the rest, all which treats of the revelation 
 which the Prince made to Mr. Williams, of the mys- 
 tery of his birth, all which concerns the pretended per- 
 sonage of Louis XYIL, is from one end to the other 
 a work of the imagination, a fable woven wholesale, a 
 speculation upon the public credulity. If by chance, 
 any of the readers of the Monthly Magazine sho uld be 
 disposed to avow belief in it, they should procure from 
 Paris a book which has been very recently published 
 by M. Beauchesne. They will there find concerning 
 the life and death of the unfortunate Dauphin, the 
 most circumstantial and positive details. It remains 
 for me to repeat to you, sir, that you can make of this 
 letter such use as you may judge proper, and to offer 
 to you at the same time, the assurance of my distin- 
 guished consideration. 
 
 “ Signed, Aug. Tf.ogxon. 
 
 Former preceptor, and secretary for the commands 
 of the Prince de Joinville.” 
 
 This letter has arrived just as my article 
 was going to the press, and I have to stop 
 the printer while I briefly consider it. It 
 is a reply to the statement of Mr. Williams, 
 formal, definite, official. I am glad that 
 the necessity of making such a response was 
 immediately felt. My object in the former 
 article was to call it out. As the friend of 
 Mr. Williams, I cannot permit the imputa- 
 tions which are cast on him, in the letter of 
 M. Trognon, to pass unnoticed. For the 
 Prince I feel the respect to which he may 
 be entitled ; but when the question 
 conies to one of veracity between man and 
 man, statements must be weighed accord- 
 ing to their inherent worth, and not accord- 
 ing to the name of those who make them. 
 The word of a Prince, with political inter- 
 ests to sustain, is certainly no better than 
 that of a clergyman who has his all both in 
 this life and the next at stake. If the Prince 
 had read my article carefully, he would 
 have perceived the dangerous nature of the 
 ground on which he stands. Having une- 
 quivocally, through his secretary, charged 
 Mr. Williams with falsehood and the whole- 
 sale manufacture of fables, I must hold him 
 to the rigid letter of his own statements. 
 M. Trognon was at a loss to know for 
 what purpose my article was written, and 
 to what end. The purpose was, the disco- 
 very of truth; the end, the righting of 
 wrong. 
 
 Now the Prince de Joinville represents 
 himself, not only forgetful of the name of 
 Mr. Williams, but ascribes to chance his 
 meeting with him, “ Finding himself at 
 Mackinac, he met on a steamer a passenger.” 
 The suppressio veri is the suggestio falsi. 
 And from the ground which he has taken I 
 cannot permit him to move. The Prince de 
 Joinville, it can easily be proved, sought the 
 interview with Mr. Williams. There was 
 
The Bourbon Question. 
 
 453 
 
 1853.] 
 
 no accident in the meeting. He was 
 rather young at that time as a diplomatist, 
 and permitted the world to know too much 
 of his errand. The following testimony, 
 from respectable American gentlemen, is 
 decisive : 
 
 LETTER FROM CAPTAIN SHOOK. 
 
 TO THE RKV. J. 1L IIANSON. 
 
 Huron, February 9, 1858. 
 
 Rev. and Dear Sir, — Yours of the 4tli inst, toge- 
 ther with the February number of “ Putnam's Month- 
 ly,” came duly to hand. It gives me great pleasure 
 to communicate any thing, and all I know, of what 
 took place between the Prince do Joinville and the 
 Rev. Eleazer 'Williams, upon the steamer Columbus, 
 from Mackinac to Green Bay. I have carefully read 
 your article in the Monthly, and so far as matters re- 
 lating to me go, the Rev. gentleman has stated things 
 truly. I have a very vivid and distinct recollection of 
 the introduction of the Prince to the Rev. Mr. Wil- 
 liams, and of the apparent surprise manifested by the 
 Prince on the occasion, and furthermore, could not 
 but wonder myself why he should pay to the humble 
 and unpretending Indian missionary, 6uch pointed 
 and polite attention. I have long known the Rev. 
 Mr. Williams, and seen much of him in our voyages 
 up and down the Lakes, and have always found him 
 an amiable, upright, and gentlemanly man, and t® bo 
 relied upon in any statement he may make. I would 
 again repeat, that what he has stated in relation to me 
 is literally true. If I have not met your mind in this 
 reply, please to write again, and put the matter to mo 
 in the form of questions. You say, “ I believe that 
 the Prince gave to you a gold snuff-bos upon the oc- 
 casion.” He did, and I prize it highly. 
 
 If you need an affidavit on the subject, I am wil- 
 ling and ready to give it With sentiments of high 
 regard I am yours, 
 
 John Shook. 
 
 The following is an extract from a letter 
 of Mr. George S. Raymond — Editor of the 
 Northern Light, Hallowell, Maine — dated 
 March 1, 1853, and addressed to Mr. 
 Putnam. 
 
 “ I am acquainted with many of the circumstances 
 connected with the Prince de Joinville's visit to Green 
 Bay, his meeting with Mr. Williams, 4c., having been 
 myself a fellow-passenger with the Prince during the 
 whole of his Lake tour. At that time I was an officer 
 in the Brazilian service, and came home to the United 
 States to visit a brother, then a resident at Fort 
 Howard near Green Bay. I joined the Joinville party 
 in New-York, travelled with it to Green Bay, and, 
 during several conversations with the Prince, heard 
 him express a most particular anxiety to find out this 
 Mr. Williams and have an interview with him." 
 
 An Editorial having appeared in the Buf- 
 falo Courier, stating that the writer had 
 heard the Prince making inquiries respect- 
 ing Mr. Williams, I addressed a letter of in- 
 quiry to the Editors of that paper, from one 
 of whom, Mr. Jas. O. Brayman, I received a 
 reply, dated Buffalo, March 4, 1853, from 
 which I make the following extract : 
 
 “ In the fall of 1841, I took steamboat at Cleveland 
 for Detroit. The Prince do Joinville and company 
 were on board, having come up from Buffalo. There 
 were also several gentlemen of French descent from 
 Detroit, aboard. In the evening, while sitting in the 
 cabin, the Prince conversed freely' — part of the time in 
 French, and part in English, While conversing with 
 the late Col. Beaubien, he made the inquiries concern- 
 
 ing Mr. Williams, and spoke of his intention of visit- 
 ing him at Green Bay. Col. B., who had, I believe, 
 been an Indian trader, knew Mr. W. well, personally 
 or by reputation, and replied to the Prince as to his 
 whereabouts and his occupation. The Prince inquired 
 as to his personal bearing, and asked various general 
 questions concerning him, and had the appearance of 
 considerable earnestness in his inquiries. The con- 
 versation continued some minutes, and concluded by 
 the Prince remarking, ‘ I shall see him before I re- 
 turn.’ This matter has slept in my memory, and hav- 
 ing been called up by the late discussions, is not very 
 distinct as to particulars; the general features, how- 
 ever, are as fresh in my mind as an occurrence of 
 yesterday. I have a relative who was some years a 
 teacher in the Indian Mission School at Green Bay. 
 
 I have heard her relate the circumstance of the visit 
 of the Prince de Joinville to Mr. Williams as some- 
 thing involving much of mystery, and that it for a 
 while produced a marked and observable change in 
 Mr. W.’s conduct He appeared abstracted at times, 
 and excited as by some great emotion. She remarked 
 that the Prince treated him with more than ordinary 
 deference and consideration, for which she could not 
 account at the time.” 
 
 The editors of the Buffalo Courier and 
 of the Northern Light show that, long 
 before the Prince got into the neighbor- 
 hood of Mackinac, he was inquiring about 
 Mr. Williams. Capt. Shook confirms en- 
 tirely all the statements of Mr. Williams 
 in which he is concerned. It is then 
 a fact that not once, but several times, 
 during the journey from New-York to 
 Green Bay, he had inquired of a variety 
 of persons concerning Mr. Williams, and 
 that, when he saw him he showed surprise 
 and agitation, and paid him such unusual 
 attention that it is remembered vividly by 
 eye-witnesses after the lapse of twelve 
 ears. More testimony, of various kinds, can 
 e obtained to prove the fact, that the Prince 
 went to Green Bay to see Mr. Williams, and 
 not to make historical researches. And yet 
 the Prince, who knew his name so well before 
 he ever saw him, and whose memory is so 
 very faithful concerning every thing which 
 he thinks will make against him, now de- 
 clares that the meeting was accidental, and 
 that his name has escaped his memory. 
 But, in many respects, his statements are 
 important. The Prince says he acknow- 
 ledged himself the son of an Indian woman. 
 This shows how erroneous are the misre- 
 presentations in many circles which have 
 charged him with having had a monoma- 
 nia of twenty years’ standing, that he was 
 the Dauphin, and confirms by the authority 
 of the Prince, the statement of Mr. Williams 
 that up to this time he considered himself 
 of Indian parentage. As to his being of 
 French extraction on the father’s side, Mr. 
 Williams never could have said that, unless 
 he intended to accuse his supposed mother 
 of infidelity, which it is not likely he would 
 have done to a stranger. The Williams 
 fan. iky are of English origin. There was a 
 surmise that his mother had French blood in 
 hei veins, but it was some generations back. 
 Again : The nature of a great part of the 
 conversations between Mr. Williams and the 
 
454 
 
 The Bourbon Question. 
 
 Prince, on the steamer, are in substance con- 
 firmed ; and thus all which Mr. Williams has 
 stated is authenticated, on one hand or the 
 other, except what occurred in the private 
 interview. Here no one but themselves and 
 God are witnesses. But, inasmuch as the 
 letter from the Prince proves him not to be 
 trustworthy in matters open and evident, 
 there is no reason why we should give him 
 credence in those which are secret. The re- 
 ference to Beauchesne is unfortunate, and 
 proves to my mind that there was a special 
 necessity for the publication of such a work. 
 It is curious that the very copy which I 
 have reviewed was left by some person un- 
 known, in the room of Mr. Williams, at 
 Washington, with an anonymous note, beg- 
 ging his acceptance of it, “ though the peru- 
 sal might give him pain.” 
 
 Let any one trace on a map the route of 
 the Prince, and ask himself whether histo- 
 rical researches would be likely to take 
 any man to a place like Green Bay, lying 
 off the direct line of travel, leading no- 
 where, and having in its neighborhood no 
 important memorials of the French. His 
 natural course when at Mackinac, would 
 have been either to go through the Saut 
 Ste. Marie, to Lake Superior, the shores of 
 which are crowded with mementoes of his 
 countrymen, or to follow the track of La 
 Salle and Hennepin down Lake Michigan 
 to Chicago. Green Bay is a small town in 
 the wilderness, having a palisade fort, and 
 surrounded by a few Indian settlements. 
 There is no historical attraction about it, 
 and the Prince confesses as much by say- 
 ing that a delay in procuring horses was 
 the sole cause of his staying there even 
 half a day, and declining an opportunity 
 of meeting the neighboring Indians. It is 
 true that Marquette was at Green Bay, but 
 if the Prince had desired to follow his foot- 
 steps, he should have pursued the Fox 
 River westerly, and not gone directly south 
 to Galena. On the sixth of the next month, 
 he was at St. Louis, so that his historical 
 researches on the Upper Mississippi could 
 not have been very laborious or profound. 
 
 Again, the whole of his account is made 
 to tally with the fundamental misrepresen- 
 tation that the meeting with Mr. Williams 
 was accidental. Now we know that it was 
 not accidental ; that it is an established 
 fact that he went to Green Bay to see him ; 
 that he repeatedly and earnestly inquired 
 after him, and can have no reasonable 
 doubt that had Mr. Williams resided in any 
 other place than Green Bay, he would 
 equally have sought him out. But the 
 account of the Prince contains nothing to 
 meet the requirements of that fact. That 
 fact demands that de Joinville should have 
 had some object in seeking an interview 
 with Mr. Williams. It is impossibb to 
 evade this. Now no such object is apjar- 
 ent in the Prince’s statement, nay, is stu- 
 diously kept out of sight ; and though he 
 solemnly declares that he states the whole 
 truth, yet it is undeniable that Be omits 
 
 [April 
 
 the most important portion of the history 
 of the interview — and not only omits it, but 
 precludes himself by the. coloring whichlie 
 has put on the transaction, from framing 
 any substitute for the simple truth here- 
 after. But from Mr. Williams we learn 
 why the Prince so particularly inquired 
 after him, and so earnestly sought him out ; 
 and I assert and will maintain it, that here- 
 in he is entitled to the benefit of all the 
 probabilities, physical, historical, and cir- 
 cumstantial, which tend to confirm the 
 truth of his account. In other words, if 
 there were no such evidence to sustain him, 
 his cause would be by so much the weaker; 
 but every iota of testimony which makes 
 it probable that he is the Dauphin, increases 
 the probability that he tells the truth con- 
 cerning the facts of his interview with de 
 Joinville ; and yet some will say, the Prince 
 denies the revelation asserted, and there- 
 fore Mr. Williams spoke untruly. I say 
 there is no therefore about it, and defy any 
 one to prove that there is. Why should 
 there be ? Because de Joinville is a Prince 
 — the descendant of the Regent Orleans, 
 and of Philip Egalitfi ? The opinion of the 
 New- York Baity Times is far more sensible : 
 it predicted the course which the Prince 
 would take, and the reasons which would 
 actuate him. “ If the story be true,” it 
 says, “neither the Bourbon nor the Or- 
 leans family have any justification before 
 the world for the cruelty of suppressing 
 the truth, always well known to them, for 
 more than half a century, in order to enjoy 
 the inheritance of the legitimate but exiled 
 king. They will be considered as usurp- 
 ers, not of the property of a stranger, or 
 of an enemy, but of one of their own house- 
 hold; one whose misfortunes, if not his 
 rights, entitled him to consideration. It 
 will prove to have been a conspiracy of a 
 race against one of its members ; a royal 
 conspiracy to defraud. And it is scarcely 
 likely that de Joinville will readily corrob- 
 orate a tale which must sentence the Bour- 
 bons of either branch to infamy.” But I 
 have not yet adduced all the testimony to 
 disprove an accidental meeting ; Americans 
 have testified, let Frenchmen speak : — 
 
 A gentleman of my acquaintance, whose 
 name is at the service of any inquirer, 
 was, in the year 1846, informed at Brest, 
 by one of the officers who accompanied 
 the Prince de Joinville to Green Bay, 
 that there seemed something mysterious 
 in that trip, for that they had met in 
 the backwoods of America, an old man 
 among the Indians, who had very much 
 of the Bourbon aspect, and who was spoken 
 of as the son of Louis XVI. Now, Mr. Wil- 
 liams could not, before the Prince’s visit, 
 have spoken of himself as such, for he 
 thought, on the Prince’s own testimony, he 
 was the son of an Indian woman. There was 
 no such report current concerning him, 
 to the knowledge of his most intimate 
 friends, and the story must have originated 
 in the party of the Prince, and shows which 
 
The Bourbon Question. 
 
 455 
 
 1853.] 
 
 way their thoughts were tending. Mr. 
 Williams informs me that the officers of the 
 Prince’s retinue asked several of the towns- 
 people if they knew who he was, and on 
 the reply being given that he was an In- 
 dian preacher, they said, “ He is no Indi- 
 an — he is something more.” The letter of 
 the Prince shows the necessity of further, 
 deeper, and more systematic inquiry, and 
 I trust that the world will not permit in- 
 vestigation on a point of such historic im- 
 portance to be stifled, when all antecedents, 
 physical and evidential, are in favor of Mr. 
 Williams, and the mere inconsistent ipse 
 dixit of a Prince against him. 
 
 As to the letter of Mr. Thomas L. Ogden, 
 spoken of in my previous article, I may re- 
 mark that this gentleman was the legal ad- 
 viser of Mr. Williams, with respect to cer- 
 tain Indian claims, and the information re- 
 specting the Prince de Joinville was con- 
 tained in a simple clause in a business 
 letter, which has not yet been found. But 
 I am authorized by Dr. John Ogden, son of 
 Mr. T. L. Ogden, to say that he has known 
 Mr. Williams intimately many years, and 
 places the fullest confidence in his integrity 
 and simplicity of character, and has no 
 doubt, both on that account, and from the 
 close business relations which subsisted be- 
 tween him and his father, that his statement 
 is correct ; and Mr. Richard L. Ogden also 
 assures me that, provided Le Ray de Chau- 
 mont was in the secret, it would have been 
 entirely unnatural for the Prince de Join- 
 ville to have applied to any other man than 
 his father in America, for information con- 
 cerning Mr. Williams, as he was legal ad- 
 viser also of Le Ray, who was well ac- 
 quainted with the business relations which 
 existed between Mr. Ogden and Mr. Wil- 
 liams, and would necessarily refer the 
 Prince to the former. 
 
 “3. That Bellanger, in 1848, confessed, 
 when dying, that he brought the Dauphin 
 to this country.” 
 
 The reader will bear in mind the proof 
 already given that this was the name of the 
 person who, historically, is most likely to 
 liave been the agent of the Dauphin’s es- 
 cape, and that this fact was entirely un- 
 known to Mr. Williams until a few days 
 past. Mr. Williams, it has been stated, 
 heard of his dying confession through Mr. 
 Kimball, of Baton Rouge, in the spring of 
 1848. M. Arpin, editor of the Courrier 
 dcs Etats Unis , told me in the presence of 
 Mr. Williams, and of several other gentle- 
 men, that he was at New Orleans in the 
 early part of the year 1848, and that he 
 heard then a report that the Dauphin was 
 alive and among the Indians, and that since 
 he has been in New- York, he has 6een a 
 paragraph in a Louisiana or St. Louis pa- 
 
 er, containing the confession of Bellanger. 
 
 lr. A- Fleming, of this city, remembers also 
 to have seen a similar paragraph in a South- 
 ern paper. I shall now transcribe the jour- 
 nal of Mr. Williams, written on the reception 
 of Mr. Kimball’s letter, in which the reader 
 
 will observe Bellanger is not mentioned by 
 name. This is an instance of the loose way 
 in which Mr. Williams kept his journal, 
 which makes no pretence to minute accu- 
 racy, and was written without the remotest 
 idea of publication. In his letters, how- 
 ever, for years he has mentioned Bellan- 
 ger by name. 
 
 “ Green Bay, March 10. In the letter I have re- 
 ceived from Mr. Thos. Kimball, from Baton Rouge, 
 Louisiana, my curiosity is somewhat excited, and it 
 may be a novel news. 
 
 “ He states that the information he received from a 
 respectable gentleman was such a startling news with 
 him, as to induce him to communicate the intelli- 
 gence to the person who was the subject of it, and 
 with whom he was acquainted. lie states by the 
 death (in January last) of an aged and respectable 
 French gentleman, either in New Orleans or Helena, 
 that he made disclosures at the last hours of his life, 
 that he was the person who aided in the escape of the 
 Dauphin, or the son of Louis XVI., King of France, 
 from the Temple in 1795 ; his transportation to North 
 America ; and his adoption among the Indians ; 
 all this that he may live and be hidden, and live 
 beyond the reach of his enemies, who had been 
 murderers of his royal parents; and that the pei 
 son alluded to as the Dauphin is no other than the 
 Kev. Eleazer Williams, the Missionary to the Oneida 
 Indians; and that the gentleman who had the princi- 
 pal agency in the escape of the Dauphin, was strictly 
 and solemnly bound by the sacramental oath of the 
 Roman Catholic Church nover to disclose, particularly 
 in Europe, of the descent or family of the royal youth 
 whom he was about to convey to North America ; 
 and that it was not until he saw himself drawing near 
 to a close of his earthly career, that he would disclose 
 the secret which had been locked up in his bosom for 
 half a century ; and that he would do this the more 
 cheerfully now, without infringing his conscience, be- 
 cause he was in America, and that it may be a bene- 
 fit to his most dear, beloved, but unfortunate friend, 
 the Dauphin ; in uttering the last his whole frame 
 was agitated, and shed abundance of tears; and that 
 near one of his last exclamations was, O! the Dau- 
 phin ! may he be happy and be restored ! 
 
 “ The intelligence is so improbable it had no weight 
 nor consideration with me ; and thinking at the same 
 time there may be mistake as to the person, I shall 
 wait patiently the meaning of all this for a further in- 
 formation from Mr. Kimball upon this new and mys- 
 terious subject, 
 
 “ March 13. Went to Green Bay, and dined with 
 the Rev. Mr. Porter, and had a long conference with 
 Judge Aindt respecting the Oneidas, with whom he 
 is at war in -relation to some lumber which he had 
 purchased. 
 
 “March 15. Went to the Sugar camp with Mr. 
 Wartmen to make some inquiries. This is a beautiful 
 day, and it was delightful to be among the lofty pines. 
 
 “ March 16. Received some letters from my friends 
 in Oneida, in one of which I am informed that my 
 father is in a feeble 6tate of health. 
 
 “ March 18. I wrote to-day to the Rev. Joshua 
 Leavitt, of Boston, in which I recapitulated the intel- 
 ligence I had received from Mr. Kimball, in relation 
 to the Dauphin of France. On mature reflection upon 
 the subject, I must confess the news is becoming 
 more startling with me. It is true that I have no re- 
 collection of my existence in the world until at the 
 age of 13 or 14 : what passed with mo previous I am 
 unablo to decipher. Since my reoollection is perfect, 
 there are some incidents connected with my life, I 
 must confess, which are strange, and which lam un 
 able to reconcile with rach other. The suspicion ■ 
 
456 
 
 The Bourbon Question. 
 
 [April 
 
 the minds of some that I am not the son of Thomas 
 Williams may be mistaken, and the story of Van Der- 
 heyden of Albany, in 1814, has created in my mind an 
 idea that I may be an adopted child, as I find the 
 Iroquois have adopted more than 16 persons of both 
 sexes of the Canadian origin. 
 
 “ March 24. I have written to Mr. L. of Boston, 
 and sent the letters containing the mysterious news 
 in relation to my origin. Although this melancholy 
 subject was communicated to me in 1841, and now 
 again, it is renewed and brought before me from an- 
 other quarter, I may truly say, that as often as the 
 subject is brought to the mind the eyes of the afflicted 
 man are filled with tears. 
 
 “ Yes, in 1841, when the awful intelligence was 
 communicated to me, my blood seemed to chill and 
 my heart to rush into my throat, and I became 
 affected in a manner which I now find it difficult to 
 describe. May I humbly submit to the will of Heaven. 
 O for more grace and Christian resignation ! 
 
 “ March 27. Last evening there were several of 
 the Oneidas lodged at my house, who made great 
 inquiries after the history of the primitive church. 
 They were referred to the day of Pentecost, and dwelt 
 largely upon it They were very thankful for the 
 instruction. 
 
 “ March 28. Went to Grand Kakalin, called upon 
 Mr. Grignor, and dined with him, and soon Governor 
 Doty joined with us. 
 
 “ This evening I am invited to go to the Oneida 
 settlement, to attend the funeral of one of the warrior 
 chiefs. He was a communicant April 3. Wont to 
 Green Bay, and was at the Fort, and had a long con- 
 versation with . He is an infidel May the Lord 
 
 show him the error of his ways. 
 
 “ I have had many such people to deal with." 
 
 In the foregoing journal, Mr. Williams 
 alludes to having written twice to the Rev. 
 Joshua Leavitt, of Boston, in relation to the 
 communication from the South. Learning 
 that Mr. Leavitt is now a resident in New- 
 York, I called on him, and inquired what 
 he remembered on the subject. He kindly 
 gave me the required information, and 
 wrote me two letters, from which I extract 
 the following: 
 
 “During my residence in Boston, from 1842 to 
 1848 inclusive, I was in correspondence with Mr. 
 Eleazer Williams, and was visited by him several 
 times, partly for relationship and partly on a matter of 
 business, in which he wished my assistance. In the 
 spring of the year 1848, 1 received from Mr. Williams 
 one or two letters, in one of which was contained a 
 statement concerning the decease of an old French- 
 man, who declared that the Dauphin of France was 
 still living and in this country. This statement I 
 procured to be printed in a small daily paper in Bos- 
 ton, called the Chronotype, where it appeared on the 
 12th April, 1S48. In the autumn of the same year, 
 Mr. Williams called on me, and greatly astonished me 
 by saying that he himself was the supposed Dauphin. 
 He seemed much disturbed and distressed about the 
 matter, and even terrified at the possible conse- 
 quences of the disclosure, and I thought wished not 
 to have any further publication on the subject if it 
 could be avoided. He also expressed the regret ho 
 should feel in losing his cherished relationship to the 
 Williams family, and declared that he should always 
 feel towards them an unabated affection.” 
 
 In the other letter, Mr. Leavitt, speaking 
 of the disclosure made to him in the au- 
 tumn of 1848, says that Mr. Williams “ re- 
 marked, with sadness, on the disquiet the 
 
 affair had caused him, interfering with hi3 
 chosen work of the ministry, and even fill- 
 ing him with alarm for his personal safety.” 
 In his distress of mind, it was natural for 
 him to apply to Mr. Leavitt, as this gentle- 
 man is connected by marriage with the 
 Williams family, and had shown him much 
 kindness in his troubles. A slip from the 
 Chronotype, of April 12, 1848, is before me, 
 containing the statement referred to, which 
 is nearly literal in its agreement with the 
 journal of Mr. Williams, except that the 
 portion relating to himself is omitted, and 
 the Island of Cuba is referred to in connec- 
 tion with Bellanger, which may probably 
 have arisen from confounding the word 
 Helena with Havana. This journal throws 
 a curious light on the workings of Mr. 
 Williams’s mind. Deeply affected at first 
 by the revelation of the Prince, he seems, 
 in course of time, to have learned to treat 
 the subject with indifference. It appeared 
 to him entirely improbable. But the same 
 tale comes from another quarter ; and the 
 first impression having faded away, it is 
 looked upon as a novelty, and has no 
 weight with him. Slowly his mind gathers 
 itself up ; awakens its recollections ; re- 
 news its impressions ; combines things 
 widely separated, whose connection it did 
 not at first perceive ; and then anxiety be- 
 gins, and he has recourse to a friend for 
 advice ; timidly unfolds to him his griefs 
 and his apprehensions, and wishes to hush 
 the affair up lest it should injure him. 
 
 4. That the French ambassador Genet in 
 the presence of Dr. Francis and others, ac- 
 knowledged that the Dauphin was both 
 alive and in this country, and in the State 
 of New-York in 1817. 
 
 I am happy to be able to confirm in the 
 fullest manner, the statement of Dr. Fran- 
 cis by the authority of Dr. Hosack, and of 
 the family of the late ambassador, from 
 whom I learn that his decided opinion was 
 that the Dauphin was alive and in this 
 country, and an article in the Mirror relates 
 literally many particulars mentioned to mo 
 by Dr. Francis, as having been stated by 
 Genet in connection with the main fact. 
 
 6. As to Col. de Ferrier, during the reign 
 of Louis XVHI., he went to France, carry- 
 ing four Indians with him, and previous to 
 leaving this country, he obtained from Mr. 
 Williams, three separate signatures to cer- 
 tain documents, ostensibly by way of at- 
 testation, and one of these Indians told 
 Mr. Williams on his return, that he had 
 been introduced into the presence of some 
 person of distinction, whose name he did 
 not know, and asked many questions con- 
 cerning the condition of things at Oneida, 
 and among others who was the religious 
 teacher of the Indians, to which he replied, 
 Eleazer Williams, — he was further asked if 
 he was certain that he was there, and on 
 his answering in the affirmative, was dis- 
 missed. The journey of de Ferrier to 
 France, is a well-known fact, and also that 
 after this he was in frequent correspond- 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Bourbon Question. 
 
 45Y 
 
 once with the court. The rest I state on 
 the authority of Mr. Williams. 
 
 9. That the name of Eleazer Williams 
 is not in the baptismal register at Caughna- 
 waga, is proved by the following extract 
 from a private letter of Ron. Phineas Atwa- 
 ter, formerly Indian Agent, to me, dated 
 Dec. 1, 1859. 
 
 “ In a conversation between myself and Eev. Fran- 
 cis Marcou, priest at St Kegis, he told me the circum- 
 stances of Mr. Williams’ birth ; that when he was born 
 he was so weak that it was thought he would not sur- 
 vive many hours, and that ho was taken immediately 
 by an Indian man to tho priest for baptism ; and from 
 these circumstances his name was not recorded in tho 
 baptismal register. The fact that the name of Eleazer 
 is not in the register of births and baptisms Marcou 
 admitted, and gave this statement as the reason. His 
 lieputed mother was living at St Kegis at my last in- 
 formation, said to be more than 90 years old. She 
 oannot speak English, and of course is entirely under 
 the control and influence of the priest, who is preju- 
 diced and bitter against Williams, on account of his 
 being a Protestant minister, and also in relation to some 
 pecuniary matters in which he has been engaged with 
 tho nation. They fear him. The priest and chiefs 
 endeavor to prevent any intercourse between him and 
 the tribe. I have never heard any thing derogatory 
 to the character of Mr. Williams touching his integrity 
 or moral character and habits.” 
 
 10. That he lias none of the characteris- 
 tics of an Indian. 11. That he closely re- 
 sembles Louis XVTII. 
 
 The person of Mr. Williams has during 
 a few weeks past, been so closely and cu- 
 riously examined by gentlemen of the 
 highest intelligence in the community, that 
 it may seem needless to say another wold 
 upon either of the above heads. But for 
 the satisfaction of those at a distance, and 
 as important for future historic reference, 
 I give the following letter, which will ex- 
 plain itself, from M. Fagnani. 
 
 New- York , Feb. 14, 1S53. 
 
 Rev. John II. Hanson : 
 
 “My Dear Sir, — In complying with your request 
 to inform you of my impressions with regard to the 
 identity of the Eev. Mr. Williams and Louis XVII., 
 tho Dauphin of France, and what acquaintance I have 
 of the peculiar lineaments of the Bourbon race, I must 
 premise by informing you that of tho immediate fa- 
 mily of Louis XVI. I know nothing, beyond having 
 seen tho original portraits of them at Versailles; but 
 with the features of the Sicilian and Spanish Bourbons, 
 who are closely allied by intermarriage as well as 
 blood, with those r f France, and strongly resemble 
 them, I have been familiar from childhood. To 
 enumerate those whoso portraits I have painted, be- 
 sido having seen and known many others, I may 
 mention tho Dowager Queen of Naples, mother of 
 tiro present King Ferdinand II. ; the Princo of Capua, 
 and Count of Trapuna, brothers of the King, and 
 grandsons of Caroline, sister of Mario Antoinette; 
 Queen Christina of Spain, widow of Ferdinand VII. ; 
 Isabella II., the reigning Queen of Spain; and 
 her sister, the Duchess of Montpensier ; and two 
 daughters of the Infant Don Francis do Paul, uncle 
 to Queen Isabella. Of the House of Ilapsburg I 
 have painted the portraits of the Arch-Duke Charles, 
 brother of the Emperor Francis II. ; and tho Arch- 
 Duchess Augusta, daughter of Leopold, the present 
 Grand Duke of Tuscany. From tho particular exam- 
 ination an artist must necessarily inako of his sitters, 
 
 many points strike him which would escape a moro 
 superficial observer. In painting tho portrait of Mr. 
 Williams, I noticed many of the peculiar characteris- 
 tics which are developed in a greater or less degree in 
 mast of the princes of the House of Bourbon whoso 
 portraits I have taken. When I first saw Mr. Wil- 
 liams, I was more particularly impressed with his re- 
 semblance to tho portraits of Louis XVI. and X VIII. ; 
 and the general Bourbonic outline of his face and head. 
 As I conversed with him, I noticed several physiog- 
 nomical details which rendered the resemblance to 
 the family more striking. The upper part of the face 
 is decidedly of a Bourbon cast, while the mouth and 
 lower part resemble the House of Hapsburg. I also 
 observed, to my surprise, that many of his gestures 
 were similar to those peculiar to tho Bourbon race. 
 
 “ Had I met Mr. Williams, unconscious that he was 
 in any way other than his name would indicate, I 
 should immediately have spoken of his likeness to the 
 Bourbon family ; and although a resemblance of the 
 kind might possibly be an accidental freak of nature, 
 still taken in connectionwith the facts you have brought 
 before the public, and the quantity of corroborative 
 testimony adduced, it leaves no doubt in my mind of 
 the very great probability that Mr. Williams and the 
 Dauphin are the same person. Hoping that this in- 
 teresting historical problem may be speedily and satis- 
 factorily solved, I remain, my dear sir, very truly 
 yours, _ Giuseppe Fagnani.” 
 
 In addition to this I may add that M. B. FI. 
 Muller, a French artist in New- York, who 
 was a pupil of David and of Gros, and is in- 
 timately acquainted with the lineaments of 
 the Bourbons, having taken a crayon sketch 
 of Louis XVIII. after death, was at once 
 struck with the remarkable likeness to the 
 royal family of France, and identified the 
 color of Jlr. Williams’ eyes, bright hazel, 
 •with those of the Dauphin, having fre- 
 quently seen authentic portraits of him in 
 France. But it happens that there is an 
 excellent portrait of the Dauphin in the 
 Bryan Gallery in Broadway, for the au- 
 thenticity of which Mr. Bryan pledges him- 
 self, having purchased it at the sale of the 
 collection of M. Prousteau de Montlouis, in 
 Paris, in 1851. This gentleman was a Roy- 
 alist, and enjoyed a high reputation as a 
 connoisseur and collector, and his name is 
 sufficient guarantee that whatever came 
 from his collection is genuine. In this por- 
 trait the eyes arc precisely of the same co- 
 lor as those of Mr. Williams, and not blue, 
 as has sometimes been asserted of the Dau- 
 >hin ; the lower part of the face, jaw, and 
 ips, which are the least changeable por- 
 tions, might even now serve as a represen- 
 tation of Mr. Williams; and the nose is suf- 
 ficient evidence that the Dauphin would 
 have been an exception to his race, and 
 never have had a strongly marked aquiline 
 nose. 
 
 “ That the various marks upon his body 
 correspond exactly with those known to 
 have been on the body of the Dauphin.” 
 
 The correspondence is far closer than I 
 imagined when I wrote this. In tho article 
 I had stated, in agreement with Mr. Wil- 
 liams’ declaration, that there were scrofu- 
 lous marks on tho knees and on no other 
 
 { >art of the body. A hasty examination also 
 lad been made by two physicians, without 
 
458 
 
 The Bourbon Question , 
 
 [April 
 
 consultation, and it was supposed the marks 
 on the knees were scrofulous. On referring 
 to Boauc'hesne, I found it necessary for the 
 identity of the Dauphin, that there should 
 be the scars of tumors also on the wrists and 
 elbows, and asked permission of Mr. Wil- 
 liams to examine his arms, when I found 
 them in the spots indicated, though he him- 
 self had not observed them. I then ob- 
 tained a formal examination of his person 
 by Drs. Francis, Kissam, and Gerondelo, who, 
 after consultation, and without knowing 
 Desault’s opinion, that the Dauphin was not 
 affected with scrofula, came to a similar 
 conclusion with r.espect to the origin of the 
 scars on the body of Mr. Williams, as the 
 reader will perceive from their certificates 
 below. 
 
 New- York, February 12, 1858. 
 
 Rev. Mb. Hanson: Dear Sir, — We respectfully 
 tnclo.se to you the following statement as the result of 
 an examination made at your request The physical 
 development of Mr. Eleazer Williams, is that of a 
 robust European, accustomed to exercise, exposure to 
 the open air, and indicative of the benefit of generous 
 diet, and a healthy state of the digestive organs. He 
 might readily be pronounced of French blood. II is 
 general appearance and bearing are of a superior order : 
 bis countenance in repose is calm and benignant: his 
 eyes hazel, expressive and brilliant, and his whole 
 Contour when animated indicates a sensitive and im- 
 pressible organization. His cerebral development is 
 nowise noticeable, and his mental manifestations are 
 in harmony therewith. If any peculiarity is predomi- 
 nant, it is his apparent indifference to the pretensions 
 or claims of iris advocates. There are no traces of the 
 aboriginal or Indian in him. Ethnology gives no 
 countenance to such a conclusion. This fact is veri- 
 fied by anatomical examination, and no unsoundness 
 of mind or monomania lias been manifested, by any 
 circumstance evinced in communion with him. His 
 age might be estimated as approaching seventy year's. 
 After a careful examination of the several cicatrices 
 which are to be seen in various parts of the surface 
 of his body, more especially those discernible about 
 the articulations of the knees, we are fully convinced 
 tli at the joints themselves are in a perfectly normal 
 condition, and that they have never been affected by 
 scrofula or any deep-seated inflammation. The scars 
 which are more numerous on the right than on the 
 left leg, are colorless and superficial, indicating an 
 ulcerative process of the integuments at an early 
 period of life : these marks show no strumous diathe- 
 sis, but might equally be the result of early bodily 
 severities inflicted by, or consequent upon a protracted 
 confinement in impure or deteriorated air, restricted 
 or bad diet, and other deprivations, or by the habits 
 of a wandering and imbecile youth amidst the wilds 
 of nature. The remnants of diseased action found on 
 the arms, above the elbows and about the wrists, 
 though less conspicuous are of a like character. The 
 face in the vicinity of the brows both of the right 
 and left eye, exhibits proofs of wounds. These man- 
 ifestations of injury cannot so easily be traced to a 
 definite period of life, inasmuch as they are in some 
 measure masked by the eyebrows themselves: but 
 they partake of the character of incised or lacerated 
 wounds. The cicatrix on the superior part of the 
 right side of the forehead being somewhat more than 
 on inch hi extent, would appear to have originated 
 from a simple incised wound. 
 
 With all consideration, your most obedient friends, 
 
 John W. Fkanois, M.D. 
 
 Kioud. 8. Kissam, M.D. 
 
 Rev. J. H. Hanson. 
 
 New- York, February \2th, 1S53. 
 
 Rev. and Dear Sir, — You have requested me as the 
 medical adviser of tho Rev. Eleazer Williams, to ren- 
 der an account of his personal characteristics, and the 
 marks of former disease visible on his body. He has a 
 lofty aspect, strongly marked outline of figure, obvious- 
 ly European complexion and a slight tinge of scrofulous 
 diathesis. His age seems to border on seventy — his 
 share of native intellect is above mediocrity, and his 
 mind, sound in its integrity and pertinent in judg- 
 ment, is as unaspiring as his heart is cordial and af- 
 fectionate. The limit of his ambition appears to be 
 faithfully to fulfil his mission as a minister of Christ. 
 The scars I have examined are located on both knees, 
 particularly on ttie right — both elbows corresponding 
 in character with those on the lower articulations — 
 and both arms near the wrists, more obscure than tho 
 former. They must all have occurred in childhood — 
 and, particularly those about the knees and elbows, 
 are such as would be left by ulcers, produced by a 
 morbid condition of the system brought on by un- 
 wholesome diet, exposure to damp foul air, and great 
 depression of mini They are in no sense scrofulous, 
 but might have been accelerated, perhaps slightly 
 aggravated by a superficial taint of that particular 
 diathesis. With a sincere hope you may succeed in 
 settling the question which the most palpable facta 
 havo propounded, — I remain, very respectfully, yours 
 truly, 
 
 B. Gebondelo, M.D. 
 
 “ 20. Tli at Williams was idiotic at the 
 age of thirteen or fourteen.” 
 
 “ 21. That the Dauphin, at the age of ten, 
 was reduced to the same condition by ill 
 treatment.” 
 
 “ 22. That since the recovery of his rea- 
 son, faint, dreamy remembrances of the 
 past have returned to the mind of Mr. W., 
 corresponding to known scenes in the Dau- 
 phin’s history.” 
 
 In using the word “ idiot,” with refer- 
 ence to Mr. Williams, I failed in strictness 
 of speech ; but my meaning was sufficient- 
 ly evident. A cloud rests upon his early 
 life, which he has never been able to lift. 
 Memory goes back with distinctness no 
 further than to the plunge in Lake George. 
 Previous to that he has some vague notion 
 of the Indians roasting chestnuts at Christ- 
 mas time, of lying on a carpet with his 
 head leaning against the silk dress of a 
 lady, of being in a room where there were 
 persons magnificently dressed, and seeing 
 troops exercising in a garden ; but all these 
 recollections have a faint, dreamy, and in- 
 tangible character. A ingiuy respectable 
 lady, who was a school-mate of his, and 
 who has signed a certificate of the facts, 
 though too sensitive to permit her name to 
 appear without necessity in print, tells me 
 that, when a boy, Williams was fair and 
 sprightly, and her father used frequently 
 to say he looked more like a Frenchman 
 than an Indian.. One day he came in heat- 
 ed with exercise, and with the perspira- 
 tion standing on his face. Glancing in the 
 mirror, he started and turned round sud- 
 denly and asked her if she knew where he 
 got those sci rs. She replied, “ I suppose in 
 infancy.” He said her supposition was 
 true, and that they were connected in his 
 
1853 .] 
 
 The Bourbon Question. 
 
 459 
 
 mind with painful images, which he did not 
 like to dwell on. Though generally lively 
 and good-humored, he was subject to tits 
 of thoughtfulness and abstraction, very un- 
 usual in a boy, and weuld sink down occa- 
 sionally in a deep reverie, and when asked 
 the cause of it, would reply that there were 
 painful ideas about his childhood in his 
 mind, which he could neither get rid of nor 
 exactly understand. 
 
 In a communication, also from Mrs. Julia 
 H. Jenkins, containing much which may be 
 of future interest respecting the childhood 
 of Mr. AVilliams, I am informed that, though 
 naturally cheerful, still a tinge of thought- 
 ful sadness would steal over him when in- 
 terrogated with regard to his early history, 
 and he would say that he did not remem- 
 ber much about it, and it seemed to give 
 him much pain that he could not. The pre- 
 valent opinion in the vicinity seemed to be 
 that he was a French boy, who had been 
 stolen from his family by the Indians, and 
 brought away at so early an age as to ren- 
 der his recollections of any other than In- 
 dian life vague and unsatisfactory. These 
 two ladies are entirely unknown to each 
 other ; and the latter writes the recollec- 
 tions of her mother, who resided at Long 
 Meadows, when young AVilliams first came 
 to Mr. Ely’s. It appears that at this time 
 he was in very delicate health, subject to 
 fits of shivering in the warmest weather ; 
 and one day Miss Grosvenor finding him in 
 this state, wrapt him in a blanket and put 
 him on the sunny side of the house, for 
 which attention he gratefully said, “ Missie 
 Gomie very kind, poor Lezau.” In conver- 
 sation with Mr. AVilliams I also learn that 
 in 1836, an Indian woman, still living at 
 St. Regis, showed him an old hymn book, 
 which it is hoped may be preserved, in 
 which, before the recovery of his mind, he 
 had scribbled some letters, and got a flog- 
 ging for so doing from her husband, having, 
 in his absence, seized a pen, dipped in the 
 ink, and set himself to write. I find from 
 several persons, that he made very rapid 
 advance in his studies when put to school, 
 and was particularly fond of writing and 
 drawing. AVhen I read to Mr. AVilliams 
 the account given by Beauchesne, of Bel- 
 langer showing him pictures, he said, “Now 
 there is a thing which I seem to recollect. 
 I have some idea of being pleased with pic- 
 tures in a dark room.” 
 
 “ 23. That a decree for the banishment 
 of the son of Louis XVI. passed the French 
 Convention in 1794.” 
 
 My authority for this statement was 
 Adolphus, who wrote his Biographical Me- 
 moirs of the French Revolution, in 1799. 
 He says that in the month of December, 
 1795, Leguinio “moved that the Committee 
 of Government should devise the means of 
 sending the son of Louis out of the territo- 
 ries of the Republic. This was decreed, 
 but no steps were taken to put the decree 
 in execution.” According to M. Beauchesne, 
 who doubtless is correct, this motion of 
 
 Leguinio’s was referred to the committees, 
 who were divided in opinion, but finally 
 reported against it. It is quite sufficient 
 for my purpose to show that the project 
 was in agitation ; since, if the end could be 
 accomplished more safely by indirect means 
 than by direct, the former would necessa- 
 rily be chosen. 
 
 “ 25. That there have been various at- 
 tempts made to personate the Dauphin.” 
 
 Herr Naundorf is the only one among the 
 Dauphin pretenders who has made much 
 impression on the world, and he puzzled, 
 rather than convinced, his adherents. I 
 am of opinion that the curious history now 
 opening on the attention of the public, will 
 afford the best clue to the mysteries of Herr 
 Naundorf ’s life. The principal strength of 
 his cause lay in the impossibility of prov- 
 ing that the Dauphin was dead, and in the 
 knowledge which the pretender possessed 
 of the interior of the Temple. Now I give 
 the following, merely as theory, to account 
 for what is strange about him and his 
 claims. According to his own story, a boy 
 was introduced into the Temple and in- 
 structed to play the part of the Dauphin, 
 and after the removal of the latter, car- 
 riages, with boys, were sent in different 
 directions, so as to baffle pursuit and in- 
 quiry. It may be that so far he told the 
 truth, that he was one of the instruments 
 employed ; that as such he was put in pos- 
 session of many secrets of the Dauphin’s 
 career, and became familiar with the ar- 
 rangements of the Temple, and that all 
 this supplied him with the means of origi- 
 nating and carrying on the deception. The 
 more I consider Herr Naundorf 's history, 
 the more I am inclined to think that there 
 must be some such personal connection as 
 this with the main thread of events. Of 
 course a boy of the Bourbon type of coun- 
 tenance would be selected to personate a 
 Bourbon. It would be easy to find plenty 
 such in Paris, where royal blood must have 
 run by many a bye-path into the gutter, 
 and can therefore afford no just ground of 
 astonishment, however startling a pheno- 
 menon it may be to find among the St. 
 Regis Indians, a man combining in his per- 
 son the physical and mental characteristics, 
 and even the familiar gestures of the princes 
 of Bourbon and Hapsburg. Again, if the 
 Dauphin’s escape from the Temple was 
 contrived and connived at from political 
 motives by the two dominant parties, no- 
 thing could be more improbable than that 
 he would be left wandering about Europe 
 with credentials of identity in his pocket 
 AVe can accept no theory whatever which 
 violates entirely the fundamental proba- 
 bilities of human action. If the Dauphin 
 were taken out of the Temple alive, h s 
 would necessarily be sent out of Europe, 
 and not be permitted to remain at large in 
 the centre of political strife, to defeat the 
 very object of removing him. There could 
 be no more natural place to send him to 
 than America, and when tin re, no more 
 
460 
 
 The Bourbon Question. 
 
 likely hiding-place than among the Indians. 
 If Bellanger, a pious Roman Catholic, were 
 bound botli by religious vows and by re- 
 gard for the child’s safety, to carry out the 
 designs of those who employed his agency, 
 he would neither keep him with him where 
 he could be recognized, nor commit him to 
 the care of Europeans, who would be able 
 to show from whence he came, but would, 
 in all probability, do just what we sup- 
 pose him to have done. 
 
 Several minor items of intelligence have 
 come to my knowledge from various quar- 
 ters, which I will simply record without de- 
 ducing any definite conclusions from them, 
 since although they may have the most in- 
 timate connection with the main fact to be 
 established, our information concerning them 
 is too imperfect to employ them as evidence. 
 I am informed by the Rev. Mr. Van Rensse- 
 laer, of Mount Morris, that he was acquainted 
 with Mrs. Catherine Mancius, the daughter 
 of Jacob Vanderheyden, the Indian trader, 
 who, the reader of my previous article will 
 remember, was present at the time that 
 Mr. Williams was left among the Indians 
 at the head of Lake George, and who after- 
 wards, in conversation with Thos. Williams, 
 seemed anxious to pry into the subject. 
 Mrs. Mancius mentioned to Mr. Yan Rens- 
 selaer, that when Talleyrand was in this 
 country he made her father a visit. 
 Like the visit of the Due de Liancourt to 
 the vicinity of Lake George in 1795, and 
 his rambles among the Indians, this inci- 
 dent may be accidental in its nature, but it 
 affords another of the curious coincidences 
 with which this affair abounds. It is cer- 
 tainly singular to find Talleyrand in con- 
 tact with old Jacob Yanderheyden, Again, 
 Mr. Treadway, of Malone, informs me that 
 on mentioning this subject to Mr. Brock- 
 way, a gentleman whose statements are to 
 be relied on, he told him that in 1832 he 
 was at the Sault Ste. Marie, wlien two 
 Frenchmen, fresh from France, arrived 
 there, and made earnest and particular 
 inquiry for Mr. Williams, supposing that 
 he was there or in the neighborhood. 
 Both were unable to speak English, and 
 one was a Romish priest On being in- 
 formed where he lived, they immediately 
 employed some Indians to paddle them in 
 a canoe through the lake to Mackinac, with 
 a view to take a steamer for Green Bay. 
 Here my information ends. But Mr. 
 Williams has frequently told me that 
 strangers from abroad have inquired for 
 him, but seemed quite unsuspicious that 
 their visits were of any meaning or mo- 
 ment, and has no particular recollection of 
 the incident referred to. My own impression 
 is, that the secret of his birth has been in 
 the keeping of many, and this may aid to 
 account for its disclosure by Louis Philippe, 
 who certainly could not have been the sole 
 depositary of it; but if he saw a chance of its 
 coming to light some other way, he would 
 be apt to forestall the revelation and turn 
 the fact to his own advantage, by playing 
 
 [April 
 
 Williams as a card against the Due de 
 Bourdeaux. I learn also through Mr. Lee, of 
 Newport, that the Prince de Joinville was 
 there with a fleet in 1838, and the ships 
 staid there some time, while he went on a 
 Western tour. It has been stated with 
 seeming authority that the Prince, while in 
 America, either then or afterwards, went 
 to St. Regis, and had some communication 
 with the Indian chiefs. This can hardly 
 have been the ease, or we should have 
 heard of it before, unless the Prince 
 travelled incognito. He certainly went 
 at this time into the interior of the 
 State of New-York, and was at Lake 
 George. After the return of de Joinville 
 to France, there came letters from that 
 country to Mr. Ruggles, the French Vice 
 Consul, making inquiries for two old ladies 
 who had been servants of Marie Antoinette, 
 and search was made for them throughout 
 Rhode Island, but with what success is 
 unknown. 
 
 In my previous article there were some 
 typographical mistakes, and errors of tran- 
 scription. The letter of M. Touchard was 
 incorrectly dated 21 Oct., instead of 21 
 Nov., and in the Journal of Mr. Williams, 
 Thursday is printed instead of Tuesday. 
 Exception has been taken at Mr. Williams 
 telling Capt. Shook that there must be some 
 mistake, as he had no acquaintance with the 
 Prince, when he had previously been led 
 to expect an interview with him. The 
 meaning of Mr. Williams was, that there 
 must be an error as to the person on the 
 part of the Prince, an idea which he ex- 
 pressed to de Joinville himself when he in- 
 formed him of his birth, and which occurs 
 again in the Journal in 1848. The fact was, 
 Mr. Williams had no personal reminiscen- 
 ces to give probability to the statement 
 that he was the Dauphin ; he was not aware 
 of his likeness to the Bourbons, or of the 
 crowd of strange corroborative circumstan- 
 ces which now turn up; nay he did not 
 even know that there was any doubt about 
 the Dauphin’s death, and he was just as 
 slow to believe what he was told, dear 
 reader, as you may have been when you 
 first heard the story. The only true dis- 
 crepancy or difficulty in the article is 
 susceptible of easy explanation. It is 
 in the last entry in the Journal, and 
 resulted from the carelessness and ex- 
 citement under which it was written. The 
 steamer arrived at Green Bay about 8 
 o’clock, Tuesday, Oct. 19. The interview 
 occurred that night. We then read, “ Oct. 
 20, Wednesday. The Prince and suite left 
 Green Bay yesterday at 12 o’clock,” which 
 would make the party leave three hours 
 before their arrival. The explanation is, 
 that the events mentioned are those of 
 Oct. 20, but that they were not recorded 
 until the 21st, and then laboring under 
 excitement and writing in the careless way 
 common to him in his Journal, he spoke of 
 them as having happened yesterday. What 
 he meant to say was, “ The Prince and suite 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Bourbon Question. 
 
 461 
 
 left Green Bay yesterday, Wednesday, Oct. 
 20, at 12 o’clock,” which is a literal histori- 
 cal fact. 
 
 I will now briefly sum up the evidence 
 which I may consider historically proven, 
 and entirely external, to which all discus- 
 sion that is to the point should henceforth 
 proceed. 
 
 There are before us three classes of facts. 
 
 I. Those which relate to the Dauphin. 
 
 IL Those concerning the Rev. E. Wil- 
 liams, but which rest on evidence entirely 
 independent of his testimony. 
 
 III. Those which he himself asserts. 
 
 This classification will enable us to take 
 a clear aud comprehensive view of the 
 whole subject. For the present, I drop 
 out of view mere collateral issues, not 
 as being of no moment, but because I 
 have neither had the time nor the mean’s to 
 examine them, and while uncertain, they 
 detract from the compactness of my argu- 
 ment. It is sufficient to have thrown them 
 before the world for examination. 
 
 I. Let us look at the facts proved con- 
 cerning the Dauphin. 
 
 1. That there is no evidence of his death 
 in the Temple, in June 1795, but that it 
 would appear from a comparison of testi- 
 mony, that a dying boy was substituted for 
 him, whose body after death was opened 
 by four physicians, and that the tumors 
 upon it and the disease which occasioned 
 death, are utterly irreconcilable with the 
 allegation that it was the body of the Dau- 
 phin. 
 
 2. That the disease of which the Dauphin 
 was indisposed was not scrofulous, though 
 he had a slight scrofulous taint in his con- 
 stitution, but was the result of confinement 
 and severity, from which, in the opinion of 
 Desault, air, exercise, and careful treatment 
 might revive him, that his mental powers 
 were greatly enfeebled and impaired, and the 
 articulation of his limbs, viz., the knees, 
 particularly the right one, his elbows and 
 both arms in the neighborhood of the wrists, 
 were covered with tumors, like knots. 
 
 3. That M. Beauehesne shows that the 
 two keepers were agents of political in- 
 triguers, and that the name of the last per- 
 son besides them who it can be proved had 
 an interview with the Dauphin m the Tem- 
 ple, was Bellanger, a Royalist ; and cabinet 
 painter to the Count de Provence ; that this 
 interview took place at a crisis, and under 
 circumstances which are consistent with the 
 idea that he was the agent employed to re- 
 move him ; and further, since the keepers 
 themselves could not aid in his escape, 
 without the connivance of the acting com- 
 missary, and there is no evidence that any 
 other acting commissary visiting the Tem- 
 ple at the time was a Royalist, there is the 
 highest probability that the Dauphin, who 
 just then disappeared, was taken away by 
 Bellanger. 
 
 4. That the pictures of the Dauphin 
 rove that he had hazel eyes, and that, un- 
 ke his family in general, he never could 
 
 have had a strongly marked aquiline 
 nose. 
 
 II. And now turn to the facts proved 
 concerning the Rev. Eleazer Williams, in- 
 dependently of his own testimony. 
 
 1. That though he has lived among the 
 New-York Indians since the end of the last 
 century, he is of European parentage, and 
 that no proof physical or evidential can be 
 produced to the contrary. 
 
 2. That Mr. Williams has the physical 
 characteristics, features, gestures, and even 
 mental peculiarities of the Bourbon race, 
 and that to such a remarkable extent, as to 
 attract the attention of entire strangers to 
 him, who are acquainted with the family. 
 
 3. That there are on his person scars of 
 early disease, which in the opinion of emi- 
 nent medical men, may have been induced 
 by confined air and bodily suffering — and 
 that their location is on the two knees, par- 
 ticularly on the right, on the two elbows, 
 and in the neighborhood of both wrists. 
 
 4. That his eyes are hazel, and his nose 
 very slightly aquiline. 
 
 5. That those who knew him in early 
 life, can testify to the obscurity then exist- 
 ing in his mind concerning the events of his 
 childhood. 
 
 7. That in October 1841, the Prince de 
 Joinville, after repeatedly inquiring for Mr. 
 Williams in divers places and of divers per- 
 sons, sought and obtained an interview 
 with him near and at Green Bay in 1841, 
 all the particulars of which are capable of 
 verification from other sources, except what 
 occurred between them in private ; but that 
 the Prince, in the face of direct testimony 
 to the contrary, imputes their meeting to 
 chance. 
 
 8. That in the spring of 1848, the Rev. 
 Mr. Williams wrote to the Rev. Joshua 
 Leavitt, of Boston, informing him of a re- 
 port which he received from the South, 
 that the Dauphin was alive, and afterwards 
 communicated to him personally the fact 
 that he was said to be the person, express- 
 ing great concern and pain at the intelli- 
 gence ; and further, that a report to the same 
 effect concerning the Dauphin was current 
 in New Orleans in 1848, and that newspa- 
 per accounts of Bellanger’s confession were 
 seen by responsible persons ready to testify 
 to the fact. 
 
 9. That the Rev. Eleazer Williams is re- 
 garded by those who know him intimately, 
 as a gentleman of high moral character and 
 unimpeachable truthfulness and integrity, 
 that he is respected and beloved in private 
 life, affectionate in disposition, sound in 
 mind, unimaginative in temperament, hum- 
 ble, unaspiring, simple and devout, sensitive 
 in Ids feelings and shrinking from observa- 
 tion, and one who never would himself have 
 taken any steps to bring the question of his 
 regal parentage before the public. 
 
 III. It is unnecessary to recapitulate in de- 
 tail the facts which rest on the personal au- 
 thority of Mr. Williams ; they are before the 
 world in his reported conversations aud 
 
462 
 
 The Bourbon Question. . 
 
 journals. In brief they amount to this — 
 that he has no recollection of his childhood 
 beyond a few faint dreamy images, in which 
 horror and magnificence are blended, and 
 has always been troubled with painful 
 uncertainty as to the occurrences of his 
 early life ; but that from two separate 
 sources he has been informed that he is 
 Louis XVII. of France : first, by the Prince 
 de Joinville, at Green Bay, in 1811 ; and, 
 secondly, through the reported dying con- 
 fession of Bellauger, in 1848. 
 
 Such is the sum of the evidence which 
 has been proven before us, and we see for 
 just how much Mr. Williams is responsible, 
 and what there is to give credibility to his 
 statements. Nothing rests merely on his 
 evidence except what in the very nature of 
 things must do so. 
 
 All these separate classes of facts tend to 
 one common centre. They do not clash 
 with the history of the times or the proba- 
 bilities of human action, but coincide with 
 them. Startling as is the conclusion to 
 which they lead — its rejection would be 
 attended with greater difficulties than its 
 acceptance. Physical evidences and moral 
 probabilities are both in its favor. He 
 who denies it must confess the strangest 
 concurrence of coincidences. The Dauphin, 
 if alive, could not be more like himself 
 than Mr. Williams is, in native constitu- 
 tion and accidental disfigurement. Events 
 ranging through more than half a century, 
 and occurring in opposite quarters of the 
 world, blend harmoniously together, and 
 are capable of no satisfactory solution apart 
 from each other. The Dauphin disappeared 
 from the Temple. What became of him ? 
 Bellanger was with him. What became of 
 him? The counterpart of the Dauphin is 
 found among the Indians, sought out by the 
 royal family of France, indicated by report, 
 as having been brought to the country by 
 Bellanger, years before any thing is known 
 historically about Bellanger. Report says 
 that Bellanger on his death-bed declared 
 the Dauphin to be Eleazer Williams. 
 
 Supposing that nothing more could be 
 discovered on the subject, we have enough 
 to lift it far above the atmosphere of ridi- 
 cule, and invest it with the gravity of an 
 historical problem too important and roman- 
 tic ever to be forgotten. 
 
 Such is one aspect of the evidence. There 
 is another, to which I adverted in my pre- 
 vious article, but had then no means of 
 testing. De Joinville’s letter supplies the 
 deficiency. The whole subject narrows it- 
 self to a single, simple, but stern issue — that 
 of veracity between the only two witnesses 
 who can testify concerning a contested fact. 
 Dismiss from the mind the comparative 
 rank of these two individuals : look at them 
 merely as men. An interview has taken 
 place between them. One asserts that it 
 was purely accidental and unsought, and 
 gave rise to no secret communication of a 
 startling fact, and his account of the inter- 
 
 [April 
 
 view is made to correspond with the hypo- 
 thesis of a purely accidental meeting. The 
 other person affirms that the interview was 
 not accidental, but was sought by the first 
 individual, who communicated to him a 
 startling fact, up to that moment unknown 
 to him. Which shall we believe? The rule 
 of law is, falsum in uno, falsum in omnibus. 
 The first asserts an accidental meeting, and 
 an unimportant conversation, its necessary 
 consequence. The accidental meeting is po- 
 sitively disproved. The foundation goes and 
 the superstructure goes with it. A sought 
 interview requires a specific object. The se- 
 cond person, who has a fair character, and 
 in whose story no misrepresentation can be 
 proved, relates a fact communicated at the 
 interview, adequate to explain the proved 
 solicitude of the first person in seeking him, 
 but' which communication that person has 
 the highest earthly interest in denying. If 
 you believe the first, you must do so in the 
 face of a falsehood and an unexplained fact. 
 If you believe the second, the fact is ex- 
 plained, and no falsehood on his part can be 
 shown. I leave the world to decide on 
 which side probability inclines. 
 
 To those who have charitably attributed 
 to me the origination of a moon hoax to sell 
 a magazine, or the credulity of adopting the 
 baseless tale of a monomaniac, I reply with 
 all good nature, that I am content to leave 
 the case to speak for itself quite satisfied 
 with the approbation of those, neither few, 
 nor stupid, nor credulous, who entertain, 
 with me, the strongest conviction of the 
 high probability that beneath the romance 
 of incident there is here the rocky sub- 
 stratum of indestructible fact. 
 
 Shall the subject rest where it now does? 
 Will the public, satisfied with having been 
 amused and excited for a moment, allow 
 the matter to drop? or shall organized 
 means be taken to probe it to the bottom ? 
 I can do little by myself. What I can do I 
 have done, in so presenting it as to arrest 
 attention. It now passes out of the hand 
 of an individual, and becomes the property 
 of the civilized world. 
 
 In conclusion, let me say, that Mr. 
 Williams has no political pretensions, as- 
 sumes no name other than he has borne 
 during his recollection, continues, and de- 
 sires to continue, in the duties of the Chris- 
 tian ministry, and submits himself to the 
 will of God and the shapings of his Provi- 
 dence. He makes no claim. He simply 
 asserts facts. He remains what he has al- 
 ways been, passive; and come what may, 
 he will be resigned. 
 
 To all those who have aided me in the ac- 
 cumulation of evidence I return my sincere 
 thanks, and would beg also their continued 
 co-operation ; and I would further request 
 all persons, either on this continent or in 
 Europe, who may be able to throw light on 
 the transaction, to address me, to the care 
 of G. P. Putnam, Esq., New-York. 
 
 J. H. Hanson. 
 
1853.] 
 
 4 S3 
 
 EDITORIAL NOTES. 
 
 LITERATURE. 
 
 American. — We announced in our 
 last number the probable conclusion of a 
 treaty between the United States and 
 Great Britain, in which the rights of au- 
 thors to the labor of their brains would 
 be reciprocally recognized. But the hum 
 and confusion incident to a change of ad- 
 ministration have thrown the subject into 
 the shade for a while. Mr. Fillmore and 
 Mr. Everett have retired, without the 
 glory of having achieved this noble act of 
 justice, which is reserved for President 
 Pierce and Secretary Marcy. Both of 
 them, we believe, are men of literary tastes 
 and literary associations, the personal as 
 well as political friends of Hawthorne, 
 Bancroft, Bryant ; and it is, therefore, to 
 be hoped, that in the midst of their ab- 
 sorbing occupations, they will not allow 
 that gross and damaging denial of justice, 
 which has hitherto marked our legislation, 
 to disgrace our national character. It is 
 a piece of self-injuring baseness on the 
 part of the United States, that it suffers 
 so vast and important an interest as that 
 of literature to remain without the pro- 
 tection of law, exposed to almost universal 
 piracy. Some rumors allege that the 
 treaty is already before the Senate ; if so, 
 we shall look to that body for prompt and 
 decisive action. 
 
 — A sensitive author, of whose little 
 work we may have spoken in too curt 
 and harsh a way, sends us a long letter 
 to say that we have done him an injustice, 
 but that we are forgiven. We are sorry 
 to have hurt his feelings, but glad to find 
 in him so much Christian magnanimity. 
 Let us add, however, in self-defence, that 
 we really thought he had mistaken his 
 vocation, and expressed ourselves accord- 
 ingly ; but if he has not, his future works 
 will show none the worse for our brief 
 criticism, as the grass is greener where 
 the fire of past years has scorched it the 
 most. 
 
 — One of the hardest things in the world 
 to write well is a book for children ; but 
 Mr. Stoddard, in his Adventures in 
 Fairy Land has overcome the difficulty 
 with no little success. There is a re- 
 markable daintiness and delicacy in his 
 treatment of his several subjects, quite 
 uncommon ; while the stories themselves, 
 mostly allegories, are charming for their 
 purity and tender simplicity of style, 
 which would hardly be anticipated by 
 those familiar with the luxuriant and 
 highly - colored verse of the author. 
 
 — It gives us pleasure to remark that 
 
 the Works of the late John C. Cal- 
 houn, one of the most clear-sighted, pure, 
 and powerful of our statesmen, have come 
 into the hands of a New- York publisher, 
 who will give them a wide circulation. 
 The first volume contains his posthumous 
 treatise on Government, and on the Con- 
 stitution of the United States — both re- 
 markable productions — while the two vo- 
 lumes that are to follow will embrace his 
 State Papers and Speeches. Mr. Calhoun 
 was a man of genius, and all that he wrote 
 and spoke bore the impress of a penetrat- 
 ing and original mind. His pages carry 
 you away by the mere force of will that 
 is in them, by his sharp grasp of his sub- 
 ject, his keen, stern logic, his indomitable 
 earnestness of purpose, and by the rapi- 
 dity of his progress. Without humor, pa- 
 thos, rhetorical illustration, or any of the 
 ordinary marks of literary culture, his 
 stjde is still fascinating, on account of its 
 clearness, directness, and conscious energy. 
 But, as we mean to write an elaborate 
 criticism of late American statesmen very 
 soon, we reserve the many other thoughts 
 suggested by this publication. 
 
 — A uniform edition of the writings and 
 sermons of that Boanerges of the Congre- 
 gational pulpit, Dr. Lyman Beecher, is 
 in the course of publication. It is easy to 
 see, in reading the strong, terse, eloquent 
 sentences of this vigorous preacher, where 
 his son, the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, 
 and his daughter, Airs. Stowe, learned the 
 secrets of their success in the literary and 
 religious worlds. They are emphatically 
 “ chips of the old block,” with more ima- 
 gination, than the hither, but with the 
 same wiry power and tenacity of purpose. 
 
 — Amabel ; a Family History , is the 
 title of a novel, by Elizabeth Wormley, 
 which has just been published simultane- 
 ously by Putnam & Co., of New-York, 
 and Smith, Elder & Co., of London. Miss 
 Wormley is a daughter of the late Admi- 
 ral Wormley, of the Royal Navy, who 
 was a native of Virginia. She has been 
 some years a resident of this country, 
 which she intends making her future 
 home. Amabel is an interesting narra- 
 tive, and contains many scenes of highly- 
 wrought interest. The scene, in the ear- 
 lier part of the story, is laid in the island 
 of Malta. But the author has aimed at a 
 higher motive than merely to absorb the 
 attention of the leader : the moral which 
 she has attempted, and we think success- 
 fully, to teach, is, that love is not an im- 
 pulse nor an instinct merely, but a princi- 
 ple which may be cultivated. 
 
464 
 
 Editorial Notes — American Literature. 
 
 — An acceptable service has been ren- 
 dered to his profession by Dr. Skinner, 
 in his translation of the “ Pastoral The- 
 ology'” of Yinet, one of the most distin- 
 guished of the Protestant divines of Eu- 
 rope. It is a work of great thought, ad- 
 mirably methodized, and full of tender 
 religious sentiment, as well as practical 
 truth. 
 
 — One of the most important literary 
 acquisitions made by this country of late 
 is the library of Neander, the celebrated 
 German theologian and historian. It was 
 purchased for the Rochester University, 
 we believe, and consists of five thousand 
 volumes, many of them of the rarest 
 kind, not to be found elsewhere in this 
 country, and hardly in Europe. They 
 relate mostly to Neander’s own favorite 
 pursuit, church history, embracing a com- 
 plete collection of the Fathers, from Cle- 
 ment and Polycarp to the latest of them ; 
 of the scholars of the middle age, such as 
 Duns Scotus, Anselm, Albertus Magnus, 
 Roscellinus, &c. ; of the contemporary wri- 
 ters of the Reformation, in the original edi- 
 tions, besides the copious philosophies of 
 all ages. But we are sorry to learn that 
 this treasure-house of rare learning is kept 
 in a wooden building, which may at any 
 moment be destroyed by fire ! 
 
 — Layard’s account of his recent ori- 
 ental researches appears simultaneously 
 from the press of Murray in London, and 
 Putnam in New-York. They form no in- 
 considerable volume, and are even fuller 
 of new and strange matter than his first 
 work. We have found time, as yet, only 
 to glance over the proof-sheets, which pro- 
 mise the richest and rarest entertainment 
 for the reader. In our next number we 
 shall give a detailed review of this impor- 
 tant addition to our knowledge. 
 
 — The “London Quarterly” has a 
 labored review of the Life arid Letters of 
 Justice Story, in which that jurist is ex- 
 tensivety patronized, and the United States 
 in general kindly patted on the head. It 
 is not long since the “ Quarterly” charac- 
 terized the Yankees as a set of semi-bar- 
 barians ; and it gives us the more pleasure 
 therefore, to find its writers taking juster 
 views of the Republic and its people. 
 Who knows but that, some time or other, 
 Bull and Jonathan will be very great 
 cronies ? 
 
 — Mr. Kimball’s last work, called 
 Romance of Student Life, we observe, has 
 reached a third edition, and has been 
 translated into the German, and is now 
 in course of publication In the feuilleton 
 of the Atlantische Blatter 
 
 — Miss Abby Wheaton, youngest 
 daughter of the late Honorable Henry 
 Wheaton, has in preparation a Memoir 
 
 [April 
 
 of her distinguished father, for which 
 his long diplomatic residence in Europe, 
 and his peculiar opportunities of intimacy 
 with the most famous of his contem- 
 poraries, will also afford abundant and 
 various material of interest. The volume 
 will also include a notice of her brother 
 Robert, a youth of singular promise, who 
 died a few months after his father. 
 
 — Thalatta is the attractive title of a 
 volume of choice poetical selections for the 
 sea-side, to be published early in the 
 month, by Ticknor, Reed & Fields. The 
 taste, ability, and elegant culture of the 
 compilers, promise us in this book of 
 summer reading by the sea, a collection 
 of permanent value. 
 
 — Considerations upon some Recent 
 Social Theories, is the title of a volume in 
 the press of Little, Brown & Co. of Boston. 
 It is the work of a young and earnest 
 thinker upon the great humane interests 
 of the time, a gentleman of wide expe- 
 rience and observation of all social specu- 
 lations and experiments. We anticipate 
 in it a book which will command the 
 sympathetic attention of thoughtful men. 
 It will be issued, probably, about the first 
 of May. 
 
 France. — Some of the fair advocates of 
 the Woman’s Movement might appropri- 
 ately employ their time and genius in 
 translating Le Monde des Oiseaux (the 
 World of Birds), a Treatise on Passional 
 Ornithology which M. Toussenel has just 
 published at Paris. This writer alone, of 
 the once numerous, but now scattered 
 Fourierist School, who formerly had their 
 centre in that capital, still retains the pen 
 and commands the attention of the pub- 
 lic. Endowed with a vivacious and fer- 
 tile mind, a great reach and brilliancy of 
 fancy, a lively, dashing and readable style, 
 he makes of the analogies of the natural 
 world, a vehicle always bizarre and often 
 very charming, for the ideas and theories 
 of Fourier, heightened and varied by the 
 inventions of his own brain. One of his 
 earlier works, the Esprit des Betes , or 
 Passional Zoology, has had the luck of a 
 translation and extensive sale in this 
 country. In that, the genius and charac- 
 ter of the masculine division of Humanity 
 were congenially illlustrated from the 
 habits and characters of beasts. He now 
 takes a higher flight, and from the facts of 
 ornithology, by the help of fine-drawn 
 analogies and far-fetched fancies, demon- 
 strates that, physiologically, morally and 
 humanely, the women are altogether the 
 
 better part of creation not so hard an 
 
 undertaking, as every body will admit. 
 
 “ The real and secret aim of this book,” 
 
1853.] 
 
 Editorial Notes — French Literature. 
 
 4G5 
 
 says M. Toussenel, “ is to prove, by a tho- 
 rough examination of the manners and insti- 
 tutions of these privileged creatures [the 
 birds] the following revolutionary proposi- 
 tions : 1. The reign of Man, an inferior 
 creature, is the reign of brute force, of con- 
 straint, of imposture, and of old age, the 
 reign of Satan ; it fatally coincides in the 
 history of Humanity with the phase of In- 
 fancy, the age of silly terrors and supersti- 
 tions. 2. The reign of Woman, who is a 
 superior creature, is the reign of Right and 
 of Liberty, the reign of Truth and of 
 Youth, the reign of God, whose coming all 
 good hearts daily implore. It coincides 
 with the phase of apogee, or the full devel- 
 opment of the human species.” 
 
 This theme M. Toussenel expounds and 
 rings the changes on through the whole 
 of his octavo volume. Not a bird that 
 Hies in the celestial blue, or that haunts 
 the marshy waters of a pond, but fur- 
 nishes him with some new argument for 
 feminine superiority. The dove and the 
 falcon, the swallow and nightingale, all 
 lend their voices to swell the anthem of 
 love, beauty, and the divine right of wo- 
 man. 
 
 “ All lovely birds,” says our author, 
 “ have in their hearts a longing passion for 
 woman ; all ardently desire to be called to 
 adorn and inhabit her abode. The taming 
 of the pigeons of the Tuileries is more con- 
 •lusive on this point than the longest speech- 
 es would be. In the natural state, these 
 birds are the shyest and most untamable of 
 the woods ; but their wildness melted like 
 snow in the gentle influence of that focus of 
 attraction which is known in all languages 
 as the Parisian woman. I am perhaps the 
 first writer that has not feared to reveal to 
 the young beauties of my country this mar- 
 vellous proof of the omnipotence of their 
 charms. The pigeon is the cherished bird of 
 Venus Aphrodite, and is a noble and elegant 
 creature, that admits with the socialists of 
 the best school, that happiness is the desti- 
 ny of beings, and that it consists in loving. 
 One beautiful day of spring a century or two 
 ago, chance brought some of them to the 
 shades of the royal chateau of the Tuil- 
 eries ; they saw, and heard, and fixed 
 themselves for ever in a place so sympa- 
 thetic with their secret attractions. They 
 chose that garden for their residence, be- 
 cause the beauty which honors those alleys 
 with its steps, and whose words echo in the 
 boughs of those trees, was endowed with 
 the power of supreme fascination ; because 
 there lias always been the veritable court 
 of love for the European world. I know 
 that this is trite, and that all men of taste, 
 of every country, have long admitted the 
 supremacy of Parisian beauty ; but this 
 unanimous opinion of men required to be 
 sanctioned by the opinion of the pigeon, the 
 sovereign judge in matters of love.” 
 
 Thus through science, sentimentality 
 von. i. — 30 
 
 and fancy, M. Toussenel pursues his ob- 
 ject, enveloping birds and women in a 
 common glory. Among the feathered 
 race, feminine authority is universally re- 
 cognized, as it ought to be among all 
 other bipeds. The happiness of individ- 
 uals, the prosperity of communities, and 
 the duration of empires, are in proportion 
 to the degree in which woman exercises a 
 controlling power. 
 
 “ We admire the birds,” exclaims our au- 
 thor, “because among them, as in every 
 well-organized system, it is gallantry which 
 distributes ranks. We admire them for the 
 purity of their morals, and the wisdom of 
 their legislation, which invests the female, 
 the producer and worker par excellence, 
 with the supreme direction of the social 
 movement.” 
 
 In this philosophy M. Toussenel finds 
 the key which unlocks every intellectual 
 mystery. 
 
 “ It contains the immediate and radical 
 solution of all the knotty questions of re- 
 ligion, politics, fine arts, and literature, 
 with which for six thousand years poor hu- 
 manity has been torn.” 
 
 Every thing will be settled in the 
 reign of woman. She alone is the true 
 type of humanity ; her beautiful features 
 form the only genuine human countenance. 
 She is superior in volume of brain, in good 
 sense and lucidity of mind. The entrance 
 of a single woman of talent into a family 
 is sufficient to keep it clear of fools for 
 several generations. Those nations where 
 the men bring themselves most nearly to 
 resemble women are, according to our 
 author, the most powerful ; hence the 
 greatness of England and of Russia ; of 
 England, because the men shave them- 
 selves ; of Russia, because her sons pay 
 particular attention to the development 
 and rounded fulness of their chests. 
 
 Finally, in justice to M. Toussenel, let 
 us say that if we have not here reported 
 the most fantastic parts of his book, we 
 have also passed over those which are 
 most pleasing and most truly scientific. 
 And we will assure any incredulous reader, 
 that if he opens Le Monde des Oiseaux , 
 he will not be likely to lay it aside until 
 he has read it to the end. Whether it 
 will convince him of the truth of Passional 
 Ornithology and the divine right of wo- 
 men to all sorts of supremacy, mundane 
 and celestial, we do not venture to pre- 
 dict. 
 
 — Madame Emilf, be Girardin has had 
 the boldness to measure herself with the 
 most famous production of Moliere. She 
 has brought out a comedy with the title 
 of Lady Tartuffe. and what is more, it 
 has succeeded. The first performance 
 
466 
 
 Editorial Notes — French Literature. 
 
 took place before the most brilliant 
 audience possible in Paris. Jules Janin, 
 who gives a long analysis of the piece, 
 says that — 
 
 “It is both a comedy and a drama: it 
 shines at unequal intervals with the spirit, 
 the grace and the vivacity of .comedy, and 
 then it covers itself with crape — it laments, 
 it weeps, it blasphemes! We may find 
 fault with many things in the five acts, but 
 we cannot deny the interest, the curiosity, 
 the movement they excite. We cannot 
 deny the pity, the terror, the improbability, 
 and a thousand trifling points which are 
 almost all successful. The triumph is a 
 great one, and it will be durable.” 
 
 ■ — .Jules Janin, the redoubtable and 
 fantastic critic of the Journal des Debats , 
 has published a little volume on the Art 
 of Raising and Multiplying Canary 
 Birds , which he makes the subject of 
 a long and agreeable article in that 
 paper, affecting to treat its author as an 
 entirely different man from himself. He 
 concludes in the following fashion : — 
 
 “Well then! I will read again this fa- 
 mous treatise on the art of raising birds, 
 and I hope — yes, I hope — that in the course 
 of ages some readers, lovers of good things, 
 deceived by the similarity of the two 
 names, will attribute to the maker of 
 feuilletons the delightful book of the raiser 
 of canaries. After all, they will say, he was 
 a good man ; he loved the sweet melodies 
 of spring; he would have given all the 
 rusty poems of the world for the song of 
 a warbler ; he would gladly have swapped 
 all bloody melo-dramas for the cooing of a 
 turtle-dove. No doubt he made very bad 
 books — romances, histories, criticisms, fri- 
 volous things, spiced with pedantry; he 
 very improperly mixed the Latin with the 
 French ; he used a dialect of his own, made 
 up of tricks very tiresome to follow, of trifling 
 researches very fatiguing to read, of little 
 hits which had no great point, of little 
 malices which but few readers could under- 
 stand : in a word, he had a foolish dialect, 
 fitter for a linnet than a man ; and this 
 dialect, made with so much pain and re- 
 search, died with him, and now nobody 
 knows the first word of it. Luckily, and 
 this is what saves him, and what will make 
 him live in the future, this Marivaux of the 
 written word, this seeker of new worlds, 
 this Falstaff of the sylphs, this skimmer 
 over the corn-blossoms and foolish waving 
 grass of ribbon-flaunting rhetoric — wrote — 
 who would believe it ? — a charming book, 
 a useful book, a famous book, an immortal 
 book, on the Art of Raising and Multiply- 
 ing Canary Birds ! ” 
 
 - — In these days of Dauphins resurrected, 
 M. Prosper Merimee’s last book, Les 
 Faux Demetrius (The False Demetri- 
 uses), may have an even greater interest 
 than belongs to it intrinsically. In the 
 
 [April 
 
 latter part of the sixteenth century, De- 
 metrius, the seventh son of Ivan the Terri- 
 ble, Czar of Russia, and heir to the 
 crown, was either assassinated or ac- 
 cidentally killed himself with a knife, 
 probably the former, at the age of ten 
 years. At any rate, his death was a 
 fact that could not honestly be called in 
 question, whatever doubt there might be 
 as to the manner of it. The imperial au- 
 thority — then far from what it now is— 
 passed into the hands of Boris Godounof, 
 who had been prime minister, and was 
 accused of the murder, though unjustly. 
 He exercised the government greatly to 
 the dissatisfaction of the people, till twelve 
 years after the decease of the young prince, 
 when suddenly it was announced that the 
 latter had not been killed, but only car- 
 ried off, and had all the while been living 
 in Poland, and that having now reached 
 manhood, he was coming back to assert 
 his right to the throne. And so he did, 
 supported by Prince Adam Wiszniowecki, 
 a rich and powerful Polish grandee, who 
 furnished the funds for the expedition. 
 The face of the pretender was universally 
 recognized as that of the family of Ivan, 
 and his person bore all the marks ever 
 heard of as belonging to the defunct heir 
 of the crown. More than this, a man 
 was found who declared that he had been 
 a servant of the boy, and was perfectly 
 sure that this was the identical person. 
 It has been supposed by historians that 
 this Russian dauphin was a priest by pro- 
 fession, that he had been a sort of mission- 
 ary among the savage Cossacks, and that 
 his real name was Grichka Otreprief: but 
 M. Merimee rejects this hypothesis. It. 
 does not appear how our pretender came to 
 invent the rather plausible story by which 
 he imposed on so many persons. How- 
 ever, he entered Russia at the head of an 
 army ; after a prolonged struggle he de- 
 feated Boris, who then died suddenly, 
 probably by suicide ; and finally, he was 
 recognized by the nation as Czar. His gloiy 
 was, however, of short duration. After a 
 reign of eleven months, during which he 
 exhibited more talent and better qualities 
 as a ruler, along with a smaller proportion 
 of brutal vices than could have belonged 
 to any of the race of Ivan, he was assassi- 
 nated again, never to be restored to life. 
 But this was not generally believed ; it 
 was affirmed among the people that the 
 Czar Demetrius was still in existence; 
 and in fact some four or five other pre- 
 tenders successively came forward, claim- 
 ing to be the murdered monarch, and 
 made a vain but often blood}- war on 
 Basil Chouiski, who had got possession of 
 the throne. Of these new pretenders M. 
 Merimee narrates the adventures of three. 
 
1853.] 
 
 Editorial Notes — German Literature. 
 
 467 
 
 Whoever wishes to read one of the most 
 curious pages of history, will find it in his 
 book, which is written in that vivacious, 
 lucid, and elegant style, for which he is 
 justly distinguished. 
 
 — Vingl Annees aux Philippines 
 (Twenty years in the Philippines), is a lit- 
 tle volume containing the choicest adven- 
 tures of M. de La Gironiere, who 
 founded a colony at Jala- Jala in the isl- 
 and of Luzon. Lovers of travels, and of 
 strange, out-of-the way tribes and countries, 
 will find here something to their taste. 
 
 — Mignet, the historian, is publishing 
 in the Journal des Savants a series of ar- 
 ticles on that exhaustless subject Charles 
 V., son abdication , sa retraite, son 
 sejour et sa mort au Monastere de Just. 
 
 — Readers of French novels will, per- 
 haps, think they do not waste their time 
 if they undertake the Contes Roman- 
 esques of M. Paul Deltuf. The best 
 thing in the little volume is TJne Vendette 
 Parisienne (a Parisian Vengeance). 
 
 — Arsene Houssaye is an elegant, but 
 a shallow and frivolous writer. He has 
 just published a new volume of sketches 
 entitled Sous la Regenre et sous la Ter- 
 reur (Under the Regency and under the 
 Terror). They are worthless except to 
 those who find nothing better to amuse 
 themselves with. 
 
 — U Histoire Religieicse des Peuples 
 Slaves (The Religious History of the Sla- 
 vonic peoples), by V. Krasinski, long in 
 preparation, has at last appeared with a 
 preface by Merle D’Aubigne. 
 
 — A history of the discovery and con- 
 quest of Peru by the Spaniards, has been 
 published at Paris, with five maps. The 
 author is M. P. Chaix, who proposes to 
 bring out the entire history of Spanish 
 and Portuguese discovery in South Ame- 
 rica during the sixteenth century. This 
 is the first part of his work. 
 
 Germany. — An important contribution 
 to Roman history is Prof. Jacob Burk- 
 hardt’s Zeit Constantins des Grossen 
 (Time of Constantine the Great), just 
 published at Basle, Switzerland. It is a 
 profound, learned, and instructive work, 
 full, not only of erudition, but of the re- 
 sults of philosophic thought and compre- 
 hensive observation of men and nations. 
 
 — Das Hohelied Salomojiis (The Song 
 of Solomon), by Dr. E. W. Hengsten- 
 bf.rg, is a new exegesis of that portion of 
 the Bible upon allegorical principles, in 
 opposition to the more literal and critical 
 treatment it has been wont to receive 
 from the scholars of Germany. That 
 the work is done with spirit and entire 
 independence of other writers, the name 
 of the author sufficiently guarantees. 
 
 — The discourses of Rev. John Henry 
 Newman, since he became a Catholic 
 and the priest of St. Philip Neri. have 
 been translated into German by Mr. Dol- 
 linger, and published at Regensburg. 
 
 — Dr. Joseph Schwarz, a German 
 Jew, longresident in Jerusalem, published, 
 some years since, in Hebrew, at Jerusa- 
 lem, a book on the Holy Land in its For- 
 mer and Present Geographical Pecu- 
 liarities , which has now been translated 
 into German, and thus made more gene- 
 rally accessible. It is eminently worthy 
 the attention of all who are interested in 
 the geography of ancient or modern Pa- 
 lestine. An English translation has been 
 published in Philadelphia. 
 
 — Dev Teufel in Bade (The Devil at 
 the Bath), is a new romance about to be 
 published by Karl Spindler, with its 
 scene laid appropriately at Baden and 
 Homburg. 
 
 — A careful and impartial narrative of 
 the life of Louis Napoleon may be found 
 in Tiedefreud’s Napoleon III., just pub- 
 lished at Berlin. It contains also all the 
 public documents which have any particu- 
 lar relation to His Imperial Majesty. 
 
 — The Prussian Government have just 
 issued a list of the books which no circu- 
 lating library in the kingdom is allowed 
 to keep. Among them are Theresa 
 Pulszky’s Hungarian Tales , Heine’s 
 Romancero, Robert Blum's Life and In- 
 fluence, and several works upon Modern 
 History and Politics. 
 
 — The Romanticists must ever hold a 
 high place in the German literature of 
 the present century. The names of Tieck, 
 Fouque, Schlegel, Novalis, Arnim, 
 Hoffmann, and Iyinkel, may lose some- 
 thing of the brilliancy which their first 
 admirers attributed to them, but their 
 genius must always command the respect 
 of those whose respect is most valuable. 
 To the young American especially, we re- 
 commend the cultivation of these Teutonic 
 writers; and a judicious selection from 
 their works just published at Hanover, 
 will afford a convenient means for making 
 their acquaintance. It is called Phanta- 
 sus, and gives the best productions of the 
 school, — including in it indeed some 
 whom we should not have classed there, 
 — with excellent and impartial critical 
 and introductory notes. 
 
 Norway. — An interesting collection of 
 the old popular songs and ballads of 
 Norway, long since commenced by Pastor 
 Laudstad, of that country, has recently 
 been given to the public in part, one 
 volume having been published. Most of 
 the poems in this volume come from the 
 province of Oberthelemach, the home of 
 
468 
 
 Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 Norwegian popular song, where Mr. 
 Laudstad has resided for some thirty 
 years. They are given in the original 
 dialect, with notes explanatory of their 
 meaning, and of their connection with 
 Swedish, Danish and Faroish ballads, as 
 well as with the ancient Scandinavian 
 literature in general. They are accompa- 
 nied, in most cases at least, by the music 
 to which they are sung. 
 
 AIUSIC. 
 
 The last month has been quite rich in 
 musical interest, at least in New-York. 
 Paul .J ulien has taken his musical farewell; 
 Gottschalk has continued his success ; 
 Mad. Sontag’s success was undiminished, 
 at Niblo’s ; the complimentary concert to 
 Mr. Fry, Mr. Eisfeld’s Quartette Soiree, 
 the third concert for the season of the 
 Philharmonic Society, have all taken 
 place. 
 
 Paul Julien’s hire well drew the world 
 to Metropolitan Hall, and satisfied it. The 
 boy himself never played more exquisitely. 
 There is an ease of style, a sweetness of 
 tone, an atmosphere of rare musical feel- 
 ing over all his performances, which leave 
 nothing to ask. His violin has a natural 
 pathos, which is the more striking since 
 it is held by a boy, and the entire want 
 of apparent effort in the most rapid and 
 remarkable execution, makes it all seem 
 as natural as breathing. It may, per- 
 haps, be difficult to separate strict en- 
 joyment of his playing from the warm 
 feeling inspired by so young and so win- 
 ning a person, but we do not remember 
 ever to have been more contented with 
 the chief of instruments. It would be 
 like Vieuxtemps, except that Vieuxtemps 
 was too passionless and coldly elegant. 
 In finish it is like him ; but the fact that 
 a boy has already achieved a dexterity 
 which seems to be only the result of long 
 and elaborate practice in the man, shows 
 the fineness of natural organization, and 
 the heroism of earnest devotion. Paul 
 J ulien pleases us more than Vieuxtemps. 
 The effect of his plajdng is not so arti- 
 ficial. Vieuxtemps’ s was the perfection 
 of industry and talent. But talent and 
 industry cause no magnetic thrill. Paul 
 Julien pleases us more than Ole Bull, 
 whom we much prefer to all other vio- 
 linists we have ever heard. Ole Bull is 
 amorphous, erratic, vague in his composi- 
 tion and play. He delights and disap- 
 points. He is the weird magician, who 
 cannot quite command the spirits he 
 evokes, and they pass in a shimmering 
 splendor, rather than shine with fixed 
 light. He is full of power and pathos; 
 he is at once grotesque and gorgeous. 
 To hear him is to hear Ossianic bards 
 
 [April 
 
 singing in the mist songs in an unknown 
 tongue. But in our little Julien’s play- 
 ing there is the same human sympathy 
 and sweetness, the same early and health- 
 ful ripeness as in Mozart. The Mozart- 
 likeness of J ulien has been rather amply 
 
 exploited ” by the critics, but we mean 
 it now, not in an external nor accidental 
 sense, but something more. There is 
 nothing of the prodigy about Paul Julien; 
 there is nothing in him which is re- 
 markable. merely because he is young. 
 His power, his performance, that exquisite 
 tone, that facility of execution, would be 
 as noticeable in a man as in a boy. He 
 is not a prodigy, because he is a genius ; 
 and because he has genius, there is little 
 more to be said about his concerts than 
 to express various degrees of delight. 
 The moment a man is perceived to have 
 genius, that moment criticism is apt to be 
 quiet (or ought to be quiet), because 
 genius only can show its own path. 
 The man is, in virtue of his genius, the 
 pioneer of new waj 7 s. Criticism is made 
 up from ways already known. 
 
 We are getting on dangerous ground 
 again, as last month, in discussing Alboni. 
 Genius has had its own way long enough, 
 the wise men begin to think, and the doc- 
 trine encourages young men who are very 
 lazy and sentimental, to become more so, 
 and call it genius. The wise men ought 
 to remember that because the porter was 
 put into the king’s bed, he did not there- 
 fore become a king — nor did the circum- 
 stance destroy faith in monarchy. Mad. 
 Son tag sang two or three times at Julien’s 
 concert. Her singing and her toilette were 
 equally soignee. It was gracefully and 
 charmingly done, when she was led for- 
 ward by the young beneficiary, and by 
 assisting at his farewell, showed her recog- 
 nition of the artist and his services to her. 
 Badiali, too, was in unusually good voice, 
 and we were all the gainers, for he sang 
 with a commendable and effective hearti- 
 ness. Paul Julien does not leave the 
 country quite yet. but makes a farewell 
 tour. 
 
 The Philharmonic Society’s third con- 
 cert for the season, took place at Niblo’s 
 Saloon, on Saturday evening, March 5th. 
 Beethoven’s C Minor symphony was 
 performed, and Gade’s overture, The 
 Highlands. The symphony was never 
 more finely done. The andante was 
 unanimously encored, and the triumphal 
 march of the finale, inspired the audience 
 as no other music can, , at least as no 
 other music can inspire that audience. 
 For, after the brief reign of fashion at 
 these concerts, when they were held at 
 the Apollo Rooms, an audience has suc- 
 ceeded, of those who truly enjoy and ape 
 
Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 469 
 
 April J 
 
 predate the best German music. The au- 
 dience is perhaps two-thirds German ; the 
 orchestra, with a few exceptions, foreign. 
 The music usually selected from the high- 
 est range. Why, therefore, 0 why, was Mr. 
 Bochsa’s Dialogo Brillante for flute and 
 clarinet suffered to appear on the bill, and 
 why were we all obliged to suffer the 
 hearing'? The poor, amiable, imperfect 
 instruments, strained and quivered in 
 friendly rivalry, shrieking, whistling, and 
 rumbling, while the audience had but the 
 single feeling of hope that they would 
 come safely out of it, and a sigh of relief 
 when the last note expired; “like a star,” 
 said a foggy-brained German poet near 
 by, misapplying Shelley’s line, 
 
 “ Dim-pinnacled in the intense inane.” 
 
 The German poet was partly true. It 
 was truly dim, intense and inane. Gade’s 
 overture was less pleasing to us than the 
 Ossian , played at the first concert this 
 season. There were fine things in the 
 Highlands , but they were obscure. 
 There was a want of clear, sweet themes. 
 This business of reverie in music, seems 
 to be rather overdone. Painters and 
 sculptors are not allowed to have reveries 
 in marble and colors ; and composers 
 who love their fame and influence, will 
 beware of putting fog into form, and call- 
 ing it substance. Artists of all kinds ad- 
 dress the public. They write for the 
 man who runs to read. If they presup- 
 pose upon the part of their audience any es- 
 pecial sympathy with themselves or their 
 moods, they will discover their mistake 
 by being left upon the shelf. Mr. Joseph 
 Burke played a concert of Do Beriot’s for 
 the violin. It was a clear, polished, exact, 
 and effective performance, and drew out 
 the most unequivocal approbation of the 
 audience. There is a delicious freshness 
 and sparkle in Burke’s violin. Why 
 could we not hear it at Eisfeld’s Soirees ? 
 Mr. Root’s Quartette party sang very 
 simply and pleasantly, a hunting song of 
 Mendelssohn’s, a serenade of Mr. William 
 Mason’s, the young American pianist, of 
 whose success in London we spoke last 
 month. The first is one of the purest 
 and most characteristic of the composer’s 
 “ Songs with Words,” which are, how- 
 ever, not so fine as his “ Songs without 
 Words.” The last is a sweet strain of 
 summer moonlight, delicately conceived, 
 and admirably sung. It was a very 
 agreeable variety in the programme. 
 The audience was a crowd — scarcely a 
 spot for standing could be found. The 
 orchestra was never in better tune or 
 temper. 
 
 Mr. Eisfeld’s Quartette Soir6e at the 
 Apollo, on the 19th February, assem- 
 bled the usual circle of music-lovers — 
 
 those who admire upon principle and en- 
 joy by rule (among whom we rank our- 
 selves). But even they were a little 
 balked by that composition of Onslow’s, 
 for “ The Brothers Muller,” who clearly 
 lived upon difficulties, as Mithridates 
 upon poisons, and to whom, doubtless, 
 they were also nutriment. But not so to 
 us. We all applauded the energy and 
 sincerity of Mr. Eisfeld and his friends, 
 and the intricacy and elaboration of the 
 composition, and partly, we are sure, in 
 posthumous pity for the unfortunate “ Bro- 
 thers Muller,” for whom the thing was 
 originally gotten up, and who, by impli- 
 cation, are supposed to have played it per- 
 petually. Of what “ The Brothers Muller" 
 were guilty does not appear ; of what “ G. 
 Onslow” was guilty, only too plainly ap- 
 peared. Mr. Root’s party sang here also, 
 in the same pleasant way as afterward, at 
 the Philharmonic. There was a quartette 
 by Lachner for piano and stringed instru- 
 ments, which was not very interesting, 
 but ably performed. Mi-. Wollenhaupt, 
 the pianist, did his work very conscien- 
 tiously, bringing his head to bear upon the 
 performance in a very remarkable man- 
 ner. But the final quartette of Haydn’s 
 redeemed every thing. We could have 
 heard Onslow’s affair twice, for the plea- 
 sure of the exquisite G minor of the 
 sunny composer. It came gliding in at 
 the end of the concert, full of consolation 
 and joy. The “ buds and bird-voices ” of 
 Spring were in it ; it was the harbinger of 
 midsummer. The concerts of the Phil- 
 harmonic, and these rare evenings of Eis- 
 feld, we owe to the resident German mu- 
 sicians. Certainly, if we give them a 
 country, they scatter broad and deep in it 
 the pearl-seed of art. They give as well 
 as take. We shall doubtless owe to them 
 the direction of our musical genius. 
 
 The heavens were unkind to Mr. Fry, 
 for the evening of his complimentary con- 
 cert was one of the most inclement of the 
 winter. However, there were many valiant 
 friends of his in Metropolitan Hall, and 
 when he was called forward, he spoke with 
 fervor and force to the point, that there was 
 still a good time coming for American art, 
 and even the lyrical drama should here be 
 established. The benefit should have been 
 a bumper, and would have been, but for 
 the storm. His friends, however, every 
 where, will be sure to pledge him with 
 bumpers of hope in their hearts. 
 
 But neither storms nor diversity of at- 
 traction affect the brilliant throng that 
 awaits every Monday, Wednesday, and 
 Friday evenings, the rising of Niblo’s cur- 
 tain upon Sontag. Her series of operas 
 have been an unvarying success. She is 
 so charming and finished in all, that the 
 
4Y0 
 
 Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 last is always the favorite. Marie was 
 perfect until Amina came ; Rosina was 
 irresistible until Norina sang : Lucia was 
 love itself, but Linda was lovelier. Son- 
 tag has a fair field, and plenty of favor. 
 Never was an audience more kindly dis- 
 posed. Never were tears more profusely 
 bespoken. Never were delights and rap- 
 tures more rigorously predetermined. 
 Cambrics, and the curtain for the second 
 act rise together ; and agony for the woes 
 of Linda blends with admiration of her 
 delicious toilette. With one eye we cry 
 for the unhappy peasant girl, ill-suited in 
 a palace, and with the other smile upon 
 that superb brocade, that powdered wig, 
 that ravishing ensemble. It is the very 
 luxury of pathos. We all go moist-eyed 
 into embroidered handkerchiefs, while she 
 goes mad in flowered silk and diamonds. 
 She comes out of it as dexterously as she 
 went in,' and singing a brilliant rondo, 
 goes off happy. We come out of it with 
 eyes not very red, and hearts only gently 
 wrung, and go off home. It is the plea- 
 santest business in the world three times 
 a week. We have never had an opera so 
 uniformly thronged, and so successful. 
 Our enthusiasm is elegant rather than 
 boisterous. On the whole, we are rather 
 too well-bred to be very demonstrative ; 
 only once or twice during these twenty 
 odd nights have we all thundered irresist- 
 ible applause — which is a thing not to be 
 mistaken when it really comes. As we 
 write, Linda is the great success. We 
 confess our individual uncertainty as to 
 what merits the most praise in this per- 
 formance ; whether the music of the opera, 
 the singing, the acting, or the dressing is 
 the most approved. The music seems to 
 us about as poor as any tolerated music 
 could be. There are two melodies in the 
 three acts, and for the rest, that blind 
 groping after melody, that imitation of me- 
 lodic form, which is so frequent in Doni- 
 zetti’s sixty-nine operas, is very distress- 
 ing and exasperating. The singing is as 
 fine as it always is ; but fine singing squan- 
 dered upon poor music, is like the wander- 
 ing of a pianist’s hands over the key-board. 
 It" is skilful, but a very little suffices. 
 When one remembers how sparklingly 
 Sontag sings Rossini, it is lost time to en- 
 dure Donizetti. The acting is Sontag’s act- 
 ing — very proper and careful, with no ab- 
 straction, no apparent consciousness of an 
 audience, no sly strokes for applause, with 
 just the appropriate look and gesture, so 
 far as it is possible to determine : in fine, 
 just as near the thing you want as the 
 Venus de Medici to a woman. It is our 
 old feeling constantly confirmed. The 
 dressing is irreproachable. As a study of 
 characteristic costume, it is worth while 
 
 [April 
 
 to assist at these soirees. Such color, 
 such elegance, such tournure, such genu- 
 ineness are rare, indeed, upon the boards. 
 They only prove, what you feel every 
 moment, that you are watching a lady — 
 a lady to whom we all owe the most de- 
 lightful evenings. The Maria di Rohan 
 was equally successful with the rest. It 
 is an opera full of melo-dramatic action, 
 and not remarkably full of good music. 
 It afforded Badiali a fine chance, and Ma- 
 dame Sontag did all justice to her role. 
 which was the more interesting as being 
 the first time she had ever played it. 
 
 Madame Alboni, with Salvi and others, 
 known to the opera public, commences at 
 Niblo’s, under Maretzek’s management, 
 about the first of April. 
 
 Gottschalk gave only two concerts in 
 all. The more we heard him the firmer 
 was our faith that we have heard no pia- 
 nist so fine. He is ranked only with the 
 best; and if you consider that he has 
 more than De Meyer’s command of the in- 
 strument, which becomes an orchestra 
 under his hands, and a strain of genius in 
 addition, it is easy to infer his position. 
 He is very young and delicate. When he 
 has played some tremendous fantasia, 
 under which the whole house seems to 
 have rocked and reeled, he shivers and. is 
 as cold as marble, and then perhaps cir- 
 cles off in airy flights through dreamy 
 dances and tropical refrains; or playing, 
 as if in a whisper, some mournful song, 
 his fingers weep along the keys, and the 
 music dies in showery sound. These are 
 rather fine flights, and some “ Rusticus in 
 urbe” will be “ paraphrasing” our senten- 
 ces in Dwight's Journal. Yet, with defer- 
 ence to the rustics, and to the very accom- 
 plished critic of the Tribune , it seems as if 
 some latitude must be allowed to words in 
 describing the impression of music. The 
 written criticisms of Liszt and Berlioz, 
 and other musicians, upon music, are very 
 fanciful, but much more significant than 
 any others. The words dilate and de- 
 scribe in their mouths as they would not 
 elsewhere. “ Rusticus” is right about the 
 extravagances, only the extravagance is 
 the abuse of the necessary use. The sen- 
 tences must be a little insane that would 
 characteristically describe Weber, or Ber- 
 lioz himself, or the young Gottschalk. 
 He has such wild exuberance, such capri- 
 cious facility, such prodigious power and 
 rapidity ; he tumbles the whole piano into 
 such chaos to evoke his little world of 
 melody, which, when it comes, is so sim- 
 ple and round, that you could laugh like 
 a child at a rainbow bubble. His force 
 is so fervent and truly tropical — spending 
 itself in gusts and paroxysms, and floating 
 off and dissolving in delicate play — that it 
 
1853.] 
 
 Editorial Notes — Fine Arts. 
 
 471 
 
 seems to us quite impossible to deny him 
 an undoubted rank as a characteristic 
 pianist and a man of genius. He has gone 
 to the south, but will return in May, to 
 make a tour of the northern States. 
 
 Boston keeps up the game ; Alboni was 
 as successful there as here ; and we are 
 delighted to know of the success of Mr. 
 Otto Dresel’s series of chamber concerts, 
 in which he has been assisted by Jaell, 
 dear to the “ belles of Boston.” Mr. 
 Scharfenberg assisted at Mr. Dresel’s last 
 concert, and fully shared all the honors, 
 as he always does at home. We fancy 
 there is a larger national audience for 
 chamber music in Boston than in New- 
 York. The Mendelssohn Club, of which 
 those who know speak so highly, and 
 these frequent piano concerts, indicate a 
 favor upon which no man could count 
 here. The valiant little band who stand 
 by Mr. Eisfeld, even though he try. their 
 courage with Onslow’s quartette for the 
 unhappy “ Brothers Muller,” is the only 
 evidence in New-York of genuine taste for 
 quartette music. They have symphonies 
 and oratorios too, in Boston ; and occa- 
 sionally we read of some native star rising 
 in great glory, but somewhat doubtfully 
 shining, and finally dwindling off toward 
 Italy and forgetfulness. 
 
 In foreign musical bulletins we observe 
 that Mercadante’s fifty-second opera, Sta- 
 tira, has failed at Naples ; and if at Na- 
 ples, where the composer is royal director 
 of the music, then, certainly, every where 
 else. But another of his operas, called 
 Violetta , has succeeded. Yerdi, his rival, 
 is writing music to a libretto of La Dame 
 aux Cainelias for the Venice , at Venice, 
 and lias brought out II Trovatore in 
 Borne with great success. His Luisa 
 Miller has done well at last, in Paris, 
 with our old friend Bosio as heroine. 
 Lindpaintner is coming to London to di- 
 rect the new Philharmonic Concerts. He 
 is a second-rate German composer, and 
 succeeds to the baton of Hector Berlioz. 
 Auber is appointed, as we have already 
 intimated he would be. Kapell-meister to 
 the new Emperor. He is successor to 
 Paer, who held the post under the uncle. 
 We quote, “ M. Auber’s inaugural pro- 
 duction as head of the French Imperial 
 Chapel — the Cantata we mean, for the 
 Emperor’snwedding — seems to have been 
 oddly made up. Not having time to write 
 a new work, he put together a miscellany 
 partly from ‘ Lcstocq,’ which is a story of 
 a conspiracy — partly from ‘ La Corbeille 
 d’Oranges,’ which is a tale of a basket- 
 woman raised to high preferment — partly 
 from ‘ Marco Spada,’ which shows the tra- 
 gic end of an intriguing brigand, who, on 
 being shot down, perishes with a lie in his 
 
 mouth.” M’lle Wagner will not try Lon- 
 don again. She finds that Chancery dis- 
 agrees with her. But M’lle Klauss, the 
 beautiful pianiste, is announced to come 
 from Russia ; and Madame Pleyel has al- 
 ready arrived and “ opened the piano.” 
 We remark no new names of eminence in 
 any department, except perhaps, that of 
 Duprez, the retired tenor, who is compos- 
 ing an opera for his daughter. Our old 
 friend, Belletti, has been singing Don 
 Giovanni successful!)' in Paris to Cruvel- 
 li’s Donna Anna. 
 
 FINE AETS. 
 
 The public-spirited directors of the late 
 American Art-Union, have not been wholly 
 discouraged, in their laudable efforts to dif- 
 fuse a more general taste for art among 
 their countrymen, by the relentless hand 
 of the Law in crushing the admirable in- 
 stitution which they had managed so 
 prosperously. They have recently opened 
 at their galleries, an exhibition of paint- 
 ings which possess as much historic as 
 artistic value. It is most appropriately 
 called the Washington Exhibition, as it 
 contains no less than five portraits of the 
 Father of his Country, and a good many 
 of his revolutionary companions. Among 
 these pictures are the original portraits 
 by Stuart and Pine, and Leutze’s his- 
 torical paintings of Washington crossing 
 the Delaware, and Washington on Dor- 
 chester Heights. To these are added 
 Powers’ marble bust. There are several 
 portraits by Copley and Stuart, and ori- 
 ginals by Reynolds, Maclise, Leslie and 
 Mulready. The best productions of some 
 of our best artists are also in the collec- 
 tion. It is quite the finest exhibition of 
 pictures that has been opened in New- 
 York, and the inauguration evening, in- 
 tended at first to have been on the birth- 
 day of Washington, was one of the plea- 
 santest reunions of artists and amateurs 
 that has been afforded to the friends of 
 art in the city. 
 
 We simply do our distant readers a kind- 
 ness by informing them of the fine as well 
 as famous paintings that may be seen 
 in this collection ; for it is a rare occur- 
 rence, even here, for so choice a collection 
 of works of art to be offered to public in- 
 spection. The Copleys and Stuarts are 
 among the finest works of those masters 
 in American art ; there is an opportunity 
 afforded, too, of comparing the styles of 
 English and American painters, which' 
 does not often occur. The picture by 
 Reynolds is a portrait of a boy reading, 
 and is one of the finest examples of his 
 color. Near it is Stuart’s half-length of 
 General Gates, a portrait as remarkable 
 for its vigorous handling as for its rich- 
 
4*72 
 
 Editorial Notes — Fine Arts. 
 
 ness of color and characteristic expression. 
 The picture by Leslie is one of his great- 
 est successes ; it is the Anne Page and 
 Master Slender which was painted for the 
 late Philip Hone, and is well known to 
 the public from its having been repeatedly 
 engraved. There is a duplicate of it in 
 the possession of a Scotch nobleman, but 
 this was the original picture. The picture 
 by Maclise will not be likely to increase 
 his reputation on this side of the Atlantic; 
 it is an Italian scene, thoroughly melo- 
 dramatic in character, and possessing but 
 little merit in point of color or drawing. 
 It represents a lover serenading his mis- 
 tress by moonlight ; he is perched in a 
 most extraordinary manner on the top 
 of an arch, to which he has ascended by 
 a rope-ladder, while two ladies are listen- 
 ing at a corridor just above him. Our 
 artists do not suffer by being exhibited 
 in such company. Among the well-known 
 works of our own artists is the celebrated 
 series by Cole, called the Course of Em- 
 pire, which belongs to the New- York Gal- 
 lery. It is for the benefit of this institu- 
 tion. we believe, that the exhibition has 
 been opened, and the proceeds in part 
 are to be appropriated to the purchase 
 of Leutze’s Washington at Dorchester 
 Heights, to be placed among the perma- 
 nent possessions of the gallery. 
 
 Art was honored on the occasion of the 
 opening night of the Washington Exhibi- 
 tion by a brilliant assemblage of the fa- 
 shion of the city, in “ evening dress,” as 
 though these beautiful 'productions of 
 genius were not to be gazed at in week- 
 day costume. It was a becoming homage 
 on the part of Fashion to Art. But Art 
 will flourish better when she becomes 
 more familiar with the every-day affairs 
 of the world, and when her productions 
 are found in the homes of the laborer, as 
 well as of the rich and exclusive ; and it 
 was that all might enjoy the beneficial 
 effects of her presence that the Art-Union 
 was founded ; and it was for this noble 
 purpose that the directors of that noble 
 institution were laboring when they were 
 arrested in their benevolent designs. 
 
 [April 
 
 — A letter from Borne says, “ Page has 
 come to Borne, and is likely to have full 
 employment. He is now painting por- 
 traits of Mr. Crawford, the sculptor, and 
 of Mrs. Crawford, both very good subjects. 
 Mr. Story has finished his model for the 
 statue of his father, the late Justice Story. 
 It is very highly spoken of by those who 
 have seen it, and there is a rumor that a 
 duplicate will be ordered for one of the 
 Inns of Court in London.” 
 
 —The London Spectator, in a notice of 
 the Exhibition of the British Institute, 
 makes the following allusion to the pro- 
 duction of a New- York artist, now in 
 London : — 
 
 “ The best figure-pieee is ‘ The Night 
 March,’ by Mr. Glass, an artist who has de- 
 veloped rapidly within the last year. Well 
 conceived and thoroughly carried out, it 
 presents every requisite of the subject. 
 On a bright moonlight night, a troop of 
 horse defile down a rocky pass, their arms 
 and armor glinting coldly afar. The fore- 
 most soldiers have entered a stream which 
 lies in the line of march ; the horses bow 
 their necks to drink, but without pausing ; 
 and between the two leaders rides a pea- 
 sant who acts as guide. All is secresy and 
 anxious purpose. The leaders lean their 
 heads in silence, with watchful eyes and 
 ears, to catch the words which accompany 
 the guide’s indication of the route ; and they 
 hold their pistols ready for use on a mo- 
 ment’s suspicion of foul play. There is a 
 manifest capacity and unity in this work 
 amounting to power. The painting is bold, 
 broad, and effective, if somewhat coarse.” 
 
 The Athenceum, in a notice of a picture, 
 by another New-York artist, in the same 
 exhibition, does not speak of it so flatter- 
 ingly : “ ‘ The Sacred Lesson,’ by Mr. D. 
 Huntington, has ‘ story...none to tell, sir.” 
 It is chiefly to be commended for the 
 manner in which the old man’s head is 
 brought out ; but the hands of the young- 
 girl are large beyond all proportion. As 
 a composition the subject is quite ineffec- 
 tive.” 
 
PUTNAM’S MONTHLY. 
 
 % Utajajme of Mitotan, Srinttc, anir ^rt. 
 
 VOL. I.— MAY 1853.— NO. V. 
 
 OLD IRONSIDES. 
 
 BY JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. 
 
 [The following piece of naval biography is the last literary work upon which the pen of our great novelist was 
 engaged, and we understand it is the only posthumous publication of his writings which will be given to the 
 world. It is printed verbatim from his manuscript, except in a few instances where dates and names are filled 
 into the vacancies, according to his directions, and the narrative of the chase of the Constitution, which is 
 copied, according to direction, from his Naval History.] 
 
 I N the course of the events connected 
 with the naval history and the naval 
 glory of the country, this ship has become 
 so renowned by her services and her suc- 
 cess as to be entitled to have her biography 
 written, as well as those who have gained 
 distinction on her deck. Half a century 
 has endeared her to the nation, and her 
 career may be said to be coexistent, as 
 well as coequal in fame, with that of the 
 service to which she belongs. It is sel- 
 dom, indeed, that men have ever come to 
 love and respect a mere machine as this 
 vessel is loved and respected among the 
 Americans, and we hope the day may be 
 far distant when this noble frigate will 
 cease to occupy her place on the list of the 
 marine of the republic. It is getting to 
 be an honor, of itself, to have commanded 
 her, and a long catalogue of names belong- 
 ing to gallant and skilful seamen, has al- 
 ready been gathered into the records of 
 the past, that claim this enviable distinc- 
 tion. Among them we find those of Tal- 
 bot, Nicholson, Preble, Decatur, Rogers, 
 Hull, Bainbridge, and others, sea captains 
 renowned for their courage, enterprise, and 
 devotion to the flag. Neither disaster 
 nor disgrace ever befell any man who filled 
 this honorable station, though the keel of 
 this bold craft has ploughed nearly every 
 sea, and her pennant has been seen abroad 
 in its pride, in the hostile presence equally 
 of the Briton. the Frenchman, and the Turk. 
 
 The celebrated craft, of which we are 
 now about to furnish a historical sketch, 
 VOL. i. — 31 
 
 was built under a law that was approved 
 by Washington himself, as President, 
 March 27th, 1794. This law, which autho- 
 rized the construction of six frigates, the 
 commencement of an entirely new marine, 
 that of the Revolution having been alto- 
 gether laid aside, was a consequence of 
 the depredations of the Dey of Algiers 
 upon the commerce of the nation. The 
 keel of one of the four largest of these 
 frigates was laid down at Boston, and was 
 named The Constitution. Her rate was 
 that of a forty-four, though she was to be 
 what is called a single-decked ship, or to 
 possess but one gun deck, in addition to 
 her forecastle and quarter deck. In the 
 last century, it was not unusual to con- 
 struct vessels of this rate, which carried 
 batteries on two gun decks in addition to 
 those which were mounted on their quar- 
 ter decks and forecastles ; but, in this in- 
 stance, it was intended to introduce a new 
 style of frigate-built ship, that should be 
 more than equal to cope with the old- 
 fashioned ships of the same rate, besides 
 possessing the advantage of sailing faster 
 on a wind and of stowing much more 
 freely. The gun deck batteries of these 
 four ships were intended to be composed 
 of thirty long twenty-four pound guns, 
 while it was then very unusual for a 
 frigate to carry metal heavier than an 
 eighteen. This plan was carried out in 
 three of the six new vessels ; but, owing 
 to some mistake in getting out the frame, 
 that laid down at Norfolk, which was also 
 
474 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 intended for a forty-four, was, in the end, 
 the smallest of the thirty-sixes. This 
 was the ill-fated Chesapeake, a ship of 
 which the career in the navy was almost 
 as disastrous as that of the subject of our 
 present memoir has been glorious and suc- 
 cessful. The unfortunate Chesapeake 
 would seem to have been commenced in 
 error, and to have terminated her course 
 much as it was begun. 
 
 The credit of presenting the plans for 
 the three twenty-four pounder frigates 
 that were built under the law of 1794, 
 belongs of right to Mr. Joshua Hum- 
 phreys, ship-builder, of Philadelphia, and 
 the father of the gentleman of the same 
 name, who is now the chief naval con- 
 structor. We are not certain, however, 
 that the idea of placing such heavy metal 
 in frigate-built ships is due to him, for 
 the Indien , a ship built by order of Con- 
 gress, at Amsterdam, during the war of 
 the Revolution, had Swedish thirty-sixes 
 in her, though she was not so long a ves- 
 sel as either of those now built at home. 
 As Mr. Humphrc} r s was a builder of emi- 
 nence at that time, however, it is possible 
 his suggestions may have been attended 
 to, even in that early day. The English 
 certainly began to construct twenty-four 
 pounder frigates at the close of the last, 
 and near the commencement of the pre- 
 sent centuries, as is seen in the Cambrian, 
 Acasta, Endymion, &c. Let these facts 
 be as they may, there is no question that 
 the plans of Mr. Humphreys produced 
 three as fine single-decked ships as were 
 ever put into the water, and it would be 
 difficult to say which was the preferable 
 vessel of the whole number. Two of them, 
 after a lapse of half a century, still re- 
 main in service, and both are favorite 
 cruisers with those who like fast, comfort- 
 able, and efficient ships. The new frigates 
 are all heavier, but this is almost the only 
 superior quality of which they can proper- 
 ly boast. 
 
 The builder who had charge of the Con- 
 stitution, while on the stocks, was Mr. 
 Cleghorn ; but the foreman, and the per- 
 son who was supposed to be the efficient 
 mechanic, was Mr. Hartly, the father of 
 the present naval constructor, and the 
 builder of the Argus brig, one of the finest 
 vessels of her class that ever sailed under 
 the American ensign. 
 
 Captains were appointed to each of the 
 six frigates, as soon as their keels were 
 laid, as indeed were several other subor- 
 dinate officers. We may as well mention 
 here, that the following rule for regulating 
 the r ank of the inferior officers was adopt- 
 ed. The captains having ranks assigned 
 them by the dates or numbers of their 
 commissions, in the usual way, it was or- 
 
 [May 
 
 dered that the senior lieutenant of the ship 
 to which the senior captain was attached 
 should rank all the other first lieutenants, 
 and the others should follow in the same or- 
 der, down to the junior lieutenant of them 
 all. The officer to whom the original com- 
 mand of the Constitution was confided was 
 Capt. Samuel Nicholson, a gentleman who 
 had served with credit throughout the war 
 of the Revolution, and once had worn a 
 broad pennant. This gentleman, however, 
 is not to be confounded with his elder 
 brother, Capt. James Nicholson, who was 
 at the head of the list of captains in 
 the old navy, after Com. Hopkins was laid 
 aside. Capt. Samuel Nicholson was the 
 second in rank among the six captains ap- 
 pointed by the law of 1794, and all the 
 Constitution’s officers subsequently ob- 
 tained similar rank in consequence. Barry 
 alone ranked Nicholson, and the United 
 States may be said to have ranked the 
 Constitution. 
 
 The keel of the Constitution was laid 
 on Charlestown Neck, and some pro- 
 gress had been made in her construction, 
 when a treaty of peace was signed with 
 the Dey of Algiers without firing a shot. 
 Of course this reconciliation was purchased 
 by tribute. Congress now directed that 
 the work on three of the six new frigates 
 should be stopped, while the remainder 
 were to be slowly completed. The three 
 it was determined to complete were The 
 States, Old Ironsides, and The Constella- 
 tion. These three ships happened to be 
 the most advanced, and the loss would be 
 the heaviest by arresting the work on 
 them. 
 
 Owing to these circumstances, the Con- 
 stitution was more than two years on the 
 stocks, though commenced in haste — a 
 delay that probably had its influence in 
 making her a better ship than she might 
 otherwise have been. Nevertheless the 
 work on her was more advanced than on 
 either ship, and, but for an accident, she 
 would have added the distinction of being 
 the very first vessel of the new and per- 
 manent navy that was got into the water, 
 to her other claims for renown. She stuck 
 on the ways, and the States and Constel- 
 lation were both launched before her. 
 As it was, she was launched Sept. 20th, 
 1797. 
 
 In the course of the session of Congress 
 that succeeded, the relations of the country 
 with France became so seriously complicat- 
 ed. that it was determined to repel the ma- 
 ritime aggressions of the sister republic by 
 force. The sudden armament of 1795 
 was the consequence, and vessels of war 
 were equipped and sent to sea as fast as 
 circumstances would allow. Although 
 one law was passed July 1st, 1797, “to 
 
1853.] 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 475 
 
 man and employ the three frigates,” and 
 another was passed March 27th, 1798, ap- 
 propriating a considerable sum with a 
 similar object, neither was the first vessel 
 got to sea, though the Constellation was 
 one of the first, and the States was not 
 far behind her. This occurred in June 
 and July, 1798. In the latter month, and 
 on the 20th of the month, Old Ironsides 
 was first moved under her canvas. She 
 did not go to sea, however, until the suc- 
 ceeding month, the orders of Captain Ni- 
 cholson to that effect having been dated 
 Aug. 13tli. 
 
 On this, her first cruise, the officers at- 
 tached to the ship appear to have been as 
 follows, viz. : — The celebrated Preble, since 
 the proudest name in American naval an- 
 nals, was ordered to the ship as her ori- 
 ginal first lieutenant, but he got relieved 
 from the duty, in consequence of some 
 dislike of her commander, and never sailed 
 in her until he did so with his broad pen- 
 nant flying on board her. The comple- 
 ment of the frigate was composed of the 
 following persons, and classes of persons, 
 viz. : — 
 
 Captain, 
 
 l 
 
 Quarter Gunners, 
 
 ii 
 
 Lieutenants, . 
 
 4 
 
 Coxswain, 
 
 i 
 
 I)o. Marines, 
 
 2 
 
 Sail maker, . 
 
 1 
 
 Sailing Master, . 
 
 1 
 
 Cooper, 
 
 i 
 
 Master's Mates, . 
 
 2 
 
 Steward, 
 
 i 
 
 Midshipmen, . 
 
 8 
 
 Armorer, . 
 
 i 
 
 Purser, . 
 
 1 
 
 Master at Arms, . 
 
 i 
 
 Surgeon, . 
 
 1 
 
 Cook, 
 
 i 
 
 Do. Mates, . 
 
 2 
 
 Chaplain, 
 
 i 
 
 Clerk, 
 
 1 
 
 Able Seamen, . 
 
 120 
 
 Carpenter, , e 
 
 1 
 
 Do. Ordinary, 
 
 150 
 
 Do. Mates, 
 
 2 
 
 Boys, 
 
 30 
 
 Boatswain, . 
 
 i 
 
 Marines, 
 
 50 
 
 Do. Mates, 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 
 Gunner, . 
 
 At that time a 
 
 400 
 
 1 
 
 captain of such a ship as 
 
 the Constitution received but $100 per 
 month, pay. and eight rations, or $2. per 
 diem ; a lieutenant received $40 a month 
 and three rations ; midshipmen, $19 and 
 one ration ; able seamen, $17 a month and 
 ordinaries, $12.* 
 
 It may be well to state here, that in the 
 reports of government, the Constitution 
 was paid for as being 1576, carpenter’s 
 measurement, and her cost is stated at 
 $275,000. Considered in reference to or- 
 dinary measurement, the first is more 
 than a hundred tons too much ; and con- 
 sidered in reference to a complete equip- 
 ment, the last materially too small. The 
 first cost of such a ship as the Constitu- 
 tion must have exceeded $300,000. 
 
 Nicholson sailed in August, 1798, car- 
 rying Old Ironsides into blue water for 
 the first time. His cruising ground was 
 
 on the coast extending from Cape Henry 
 to Florida, with orders to look out for 
 Frenchmen. But the French, who were 
 then at war with England, sent no heavy 
 ships into the American waters, and it 
 was soon found useless to keep a vessel 
 of the Constitution’s weight so near home. 
 We find the ship, still under Nicholson, 
 on the West India station at the close of 
 the year, when she formed one of Barry’s 
 squadron. If her captain had originally 
 worn a broad pennant in her, which we 
 much doubt, although he appears to have 
 had several small craft under his orders, 
 it was now struck, Barry being the only 
 commodore of the windward squadron, 
 while Truxton, Nicholson’s junior by four, 
 having the leeward. Little connected with 
 the Constitution occurred during this 
 cruise, or indeed throughout that war. of 
 an importance to be noted. The luck of 
 the ship had not commenced, nor was 
 there much chance of any thing being 
 done of eclat by a vessel of her force, un- 
 der all the circumstances. The English 
 were every where, while the French 
 had lost so many ships already, that it 
 was of rare occurrence to fall in with one 
 of their frigates. By a singular fortune, the 
 only two frigate actions that took place in 
 the whole of the quasi war with France fell 
 to the share of one and the same ship, the 
 Constellation, which took the Insurgente 
 and beat off La Vengeance. The Const i 
 
 tution returned to Boston 
 
 . . . and her command was transferred 
 
 to Talbot, who hoisted a broad pennant 
 in her, as commodore of what was called 
 the St. Domingo station. On this cruise 
 Hull sailed as first lieutenant. 
 
 The second cruise of Old Ironsides com- 
 menced in August, 1799. Her orders 
 were to go off Cayenne, in the first place, 
 where she was to remain until near the 
 close of September, when she was to pro- 
 ceed via Guadaloupe to Cape Francois, at 
 which point, Talbot was to assume the 
 command of all the vessels he found on 
 the station. In the course of the season, 
 this squadron grew to be six sail, three 
 frigates and as many sloops, or brigs. 
 
 Two incidents occurred to Old Ironsides, 
 while on the St. Domingo station, that are 
 worthy of being noticed, the first being of 
 an amicable, and the second of a particu- 
 larly hostile character. 
 
 While cruising to windward the island, 
 a strange sail was made, which, on closing- 
 proved to be the English frigate, the . 
 
 The commander of this ship and Com. 
 
 * The writer of this sketch was once asked by a French admiral, “ how much America paid her seamen ?” 
 The answer was, “ $12, $10, and $8, according to class.” “You never can have a large marine, then, on ao- 
 count of the cost.” “That is not so clear. What does France pay for the support of the kingly office? 3 ’ 
 About $8,000,000,” said Lafayette, who was present, “and America pays $25,000 to her king, or $100 060, 
 if you will, including all expenses” “I think, Admiral, the difference would man a good many ships.” ’ 
 
476 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 Talbot were acquaintances, and the Eng- 
 lishman had the curiosity to take a full 
 survey of the new Yankee craft. He prais- 
 ed her, as no unprejudiced seaman could 
 fail to do, but insisted that his own ship 
 could beat her on a wind. After some 
 pleasantry on the subject, the English cap- 
 tain made the following proposition ; he 
 had touched at Madeira on his way out, 
 and taken on board a few casks of wine 
 for his own use. This wine stood him 
 in so much a cask — now, he was going 
 into port to refit, and clean his bottom, 
 which was a little foul ; but, if he could 
 depend on finding the Constitution on that 
 station, a few weeks later, he would join 
 her, when there should be a trial of speed 
 between the two ships, the loser to pay a 
 cask of the wine, or its price to the win- 
 ner. The bet was made, and the vessels 
 parted. 
 
 At the appointed time, the re- 
 
 appeared ; her rigging overhauled, new 
 sails bent, her sides painted, her bottom 
 cleaned, and. as Jack expressed it, looking 
 like a new fiddle. The two frigates clos- 
 ed, and their commanders dined together, 
 arranging the terms of the cartel for the 
 next day’s proceedings. That night, the 
 vessels kept near each other, on the same 
 line of sailing, and under short canvas. 
 
 The following morning, as the day dawn- 
 ed, the Constitution and the each 
 
 turned up their hands, in readiness for 
 what was to follow. Just as the lower 
 limb of the sun rose clear of the waves, 
 each fired a gun, and made sail on a bow- 
 line. Throughout the whole of that day, 
 did these two gallant ships continue turn- 
 mg to windward, on tacks of a few leagues 
 in length, and endeavoring to avail them- 
 selves of every advantage which skill 
 could confer on seamen. Hidl sailed 
 the Constitution on this interesting occa- 
 sion. and the admirable manner in which 
 he did it, was long the subject of eulogy. 
 All hands were kept on deck all day, and 
 there were tacks on which the people were 
 made to place themselves to windward, in 
 order to keep the vessel as near upright 
 as possible, so as to hold a better wind. 
 
 Just as the sun dipped, in the evening, 
 the Constitution fired a gun, as did her 
 competitor. At that moment the English 
 frigate was precisely hull down dead to 
 leeward ; so much having Old Iron- 
 sides. or young Ironsides, as she was then, 
 gained in the race, which lasted about 
 eleven hours ! The manner in which 
 the Constitution eat her competitor out of 
 the wind, was not the least striking feature 
 of this trial, and it must in a great degree 
 be ascribed to Hull, whose dexterity in 
 handling a craft under her canvas, was 
 ever remarkable. In this particular, he 
 
 [May 
 
 was perhaps one of the most skilful sea- 
 men of his time, as he was also for cool- 
 ness in moments of hazard. When the 
 evening gun was fired and acknowledged, 
 the Constitution put up her helm, and 
 squared away to join her friend. The 
 vessels joined a little after dark, the Eng- 
 lishman as the leeward ship, first rounding 
 to. The Constitution passed under her lee, 
 and threw her main-topsail to the mast. 
 
 There was a boat out from the , 
 
 which soon came alongside, and in it was 
 the English Captain and his cask of wine ; 
 the former being just as prompt to “ pay” 
 as to “play.” 
 
 The other occurrence was the cutting 
 out of the Sandwich, a French letter of 
 marque, which was lying in Port Platte, 
 a small harbor on the Spanish side of St. 
 Domingo. While cruising along the coast, 
 the Constitution had seized an American 
 sloop called the Sally, which had been 
 selling supplies to the enemy. Hearing 
 that the Sandwich, formerly an English 
 packet, but which had fallen into the 
 hands of the French, was filling up with 
 coffee, and was nearly full. Talbot deter- 
 mined to send Hull in, with the Sally, in or- 
 der to cut her out. The sloop had not long 
 before come out of that very haven, with 
 an avowed intention to return, and offered 
 every desirable facility to the success of 
 the enterprise. The great and insuperable 
 objection to its ultimate advantage, was 
 the material circumstance that the French- 
 man was lying in a neutral port, as re- 
 spects ourselves, though watchful of the 
 English who were swarming in those 
 seas. 
 
 The Constitution manned the Sally at 
 sea, near sunset, on the tenth of May, 
 1800, a considerable distance from Port 
 Platte, and the vessels separated, Hull so 
 timing his movements, as to reach his 
 point of destination about mid-day of a 
 Sunday, when it was rightly enough sup- 
 posed many of the French, officers as well 
 as men, would be ashore keeping holiday. 
 Short sail was carried that night on board 
 the Sally, and while she was quietly jog- 
 ging along, thinking no harm, a gun was 
 suddenly heard, and a shot came whistling 
 over the sloop. On looking around, a 
 large ship was seen in chase, and so near, 
 as to render escape impossible. The Sally 
 rounded to, and presently, an English 
 frigate ranged alongside. The boarding 
 officer was astonished when he found him- 
 self among ninety armed men, with offi- 
 cers in naval uniform at their head. On 
 demanding an explanation, Hull told him 
 his business, when the English lieutenant 
 expressed his disappointment, candidly 
 acknowledging that his own ship was 
 waiting on the coast to let the Sandwich 
 
Old Ironsides. 
 
 477 
 
 1853.] 
 
 fill up, and get her sails bent, in order to 
 send a party in, also, in order to cut her 
 out ! It was too late, however, as the 
 Sally could not be, and would not be de- 
 tained, and Hull proceeded. 
 
 There have been many more brilliant 
 exploits than this of the Constitution, in 
 sending in a party against the Sandwich, 
 but very few that were more neatly ex- 
 ecuted, or ingeniously planned. The Sally 
 arrived off the port, at the appointed hour, 
 and stood directly in, showing the custo- 
 mary number of hands on deck, until 
 coming near the letter of marque, she 
 ran her aboard forward, and the Constitu- 
 tion’s clambered in over the Sandwich’s 
 bows, led by Hull in person. Tn two mi- 
 nutes, the Americans had possession of 
 their prize, a smart brig, armed with four 
 sixes and two nines, with a pretty strong 
 crew, without the loss of a man. A party 
 of marines, led by Capt. Cormick, landed, 
 drove the Spaniards from a battery that 
 commanded the anchorage, and spiked the 
 guns. All this was against law and right, 
 but it was very ingeniously arranged, and 
 as gallantly executed. The most serious 
 part of the affair remained to be achieved. 
 The Sandwich was stripped to a girt line, 
 and the wind blew directly into the har- 
 bor. As it was unsafe for the marines to 
 remain in the battery any time, it was 
 necessarily abandoned, leaving to the peo- 
 ple of the place every opportunity of an- 
 noying their invaders by all the means 
 they possessed. The battery was reoccu- 
 pied, and the guns cleared of the spikes 
 as well and as fast as they could be, while 
 the Americans set about swaying up top- 
 masts and yards and bending sails. Af- 
 ter some smart exertion, the brig got 
 royal yards across, and, at sunset, after 
 remaining several hours in front of the 
 town, Hull scaled his guns, by way of 
 letting it be known they could be used, 
 weighed, and began to beat out of the har- 
 bor. The Spaniards fired a few shot after 
 him, but with no effect. 
 
 Although this was one of the best ex- 
 ecuted enterprises of the sort on record, 
 and did infinite credit to the coolness and 
 spirit of all concerned, it was not quite an 
 illustration of international law or of jus- 
 tice in general. This was the first victory 
 of Old Ironsides in a certain sense, but all 
 men must regret it was ever achieved, 
 since it was a wrong act, committed with 
 an exaggerated, if not an altogether mis- 
 taken notion of duty. America was not 
 even at war with France, in the more 
 formal meaning of the term, nor were all 
 the legal consequences of war connected 
 with the peculiar hostilities that certainly 
 did exist ; but with Spain she had no 
 quarrel whatever, and the Sandwich was 
 
 entitled to receive all the protection and 
 immunities that of right belonged to her, 
 anchored in the neutral harbor of Porfc- 
 au-Platte. In the end not only was the 
 condemnation of the Sandwich resisted 
 successfully, but all the other prize-money 
 made by Old Ironsides in the cruise went 
 to pay damages. The reason why the 
 exploit itself never received the public 
 commendation to which, as a mere military 
 achievement, it was so justly entitled, 
 was connected with the illegality and reck- 
 lessness of the enterprise in its inception. 
 It follows that this, which may be termed 
 the Constitution’s earliest victory, was 
 obtained in the face of law and right. 
 Fortunately the old craft has lived long 
 enough to atone for this error of her 
 youth by many a noble deed achieved in 
 defence of principles and rights that the 
 most fastidious will not hesitate to de- 
 fend. 
 
 The Constitution returned to Boston in 
 Aug. 1800, her cruise being up, not only on 
 account of her orders, but on account of 
 the short period for which men were then 
 enlisted in the navy, which was one year. 
 On the 18th Nov., however, she was or- 
 dered to sail again for the old station, 
 still wearing the broad pennant of Talbot. 
 Nothing occurred of interest in the course 
 of this cruise; and, early in the spring, 
 orders were sent to recall all the cruisers 
 from the West Indies, in consequence of 
 an arrangement of the difficulties with 
 France. 
 
 It is certain that the good fortune of 
 Old Ironsides did not appear in the course 
 of this, her original service. While Ni- 
 cholson had her, she does not seem to 
 have captured any thing ; and, in Golds- 
 borough’s list of armed French ves- 
 sels taken during the years 1798-9, and 
 1801, a period of near three years, during 
 quite two jmars of which the ship must 
 have been actively on her cruising grounds, 
 he gives but four to the Constitution. 
 These four vessels — La Tullie and L’Esther, 
 two small privateers, the Sandwich and 
 the Sally — the last of which, by the way, 
 was an American, seized for illegal inter- 
 course with the enemy. 
 
 By the peace establishment law, ap- 
 proved March 3d, 1801, all the frigates 
 regularly constructed for the service were 
 permanently retained in the navy. Old 
 Ironsides enjoyed an excellent character 
 among them, and was kept, of course, 
 there being no other use for such a craft, 
 indeed, in the country, than those con- 
 nected with a military marine. Our fri- 
 gate, however, was paid off and dismantled 
 at Boston, where she remained unem- 
 ployed from the spring of 1801 until the 
 summer of 1803, rather more than two 
 
478 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 years, when Preble was ordered to her, 
 with a broad pennant, in order to repair 
 to the Mediterranean. As this was the 
 commencement of the brilliant portion of 
 Old Ironsides’ career, it may be well to 
 give a list of the officers who were now 
 attached to, and who actually sailed in, 
 her. It was the following : — 
 
 Commodore. 
 
 Edward Preblo, 
 
 Lieutenants. 
 
 Thomas Robinson. Jos. TarbelL 
 
 W. C. Jenckes. Sam. Elbert 
 
 Master. 
 
 Nathaniel Haraden. 
 
 T his genllemnn was known in the service by the sobriquet of 
 “ Jumping Billy.” 
 
 Midshipmen. 
 
 D. S. Dexter. 
 
 J. M. Has well. 
 Ralph Izard. 
 Charles Morris. 
 John Roe. 
 
 A. Laws. 
 
 F. C. Ilall. 
 
 I. Davis. 
 
 W. Borrows. 
 
 D. Deacon. 
 
 Ileathcote Reed. 
 
 T. Baldwin. 
 
 Leonard HnnnewelL 
 Jos. Nicholson. 
 
 John Thompson, act'g. 
 
 Of all these gentlemen, the present Com- 
 modore Morris and Mr. Hall, who is at 
 present in the Marine corps, are now in 
 the navy, and very few of the others still 
 survive. They were not selected from 
 the part of the country where the ship 
 happened to lie, for by this time the navy 
 had assumed so much of a fixed character 
 that the officers were regarded as being 
 at home in any portion of the republic. 
 At Gibraltar, however, some important 
 changes were made. Lt. J enckes left the 
 ship, and Lts. Dent and Gordon joined 
 her, the former doing duty as acting cap- 
 tain. Midshipman Baldwin resigned, and 
 Midshipmen Wadsworth, Alexis, Gadsden, 
 Lewis, Israel, Ridgley, Care} r , Robert 
 Henly, and McDonough joined. With 
 these alterations and additions the ship 
 had five lieutenants and no less than 
 twenty-three midshipmen. But changes 
 soon occurred, which will be noticed in 
 their places, the results of promotions and 
 other causes.* 
 
 The Constitution sailed from Boston, on 
 this new service, August 14th, 1803, and 
 anchored at Gibraltar, Sept. 12th succeed- 
 
 [M ay 
 
 ing, making her passage in twenty-nine 
 days. This was the first time our craft 
 had ever shown herself in the European 
 waters, her previous cruisings being con- 
 fined to the West Indies and our own 
 coast. It may as well be said here, that 
 wherever she went, her mould and the 
 fine order in which she was kept attracted 
 general admiration. 
 
 The first service in which the gallant 
 ship was emploj'ed in the other hemi- 
 sphere. was to go off Tangiers. in a squad- 
 ron composed of the Constitution 44, 
 New- York 36. John Adams 28, and Nau- 
 tilus 12. in order to make a new treaty 
 with the Emperor of Morocco. This im- 
 portant service successfully effected, Pre- 
 ble remained in and about the Straits, 
 until the middle of November, employed 
 in duties connected with his command. 
 On the 23d October the ship sailed from 
 Gibraltar for Cadiz, the Enterprise in 
 company, and returned in a few days. 
 While on this service, and when near the 
 Straits, a large strange sail was made in 
 the night, when the Constitution cleared, 
 went to quarters and ran alongside of her. 
 Preble hailed, and got no answer, but a 
 hail in return. After some sharp hailing 
 on both sides, Preble took a trumpet him- 
 self and gave the name of his ship, asking 
 that of the stranger, with an intimation 
 that he would give him a shot unless he 
 replied. “If you give me a shot, I’ll give 
 you a broadside,” returned the stranger, 
 in English. Preble now jumped into the 
 mizzen-rigging, and called out distinctly, 
 “ This is the United States frigate Consti- 
 tution, a 44, Edward Preble, commodore; 
 I am now about to hail } r ou for the last 
 time — what ship is that ? — Blow your 
 matches, boys.” “ This is His Britannic 
 Majesty’s ship, Donnegal, a razee of 60 
 guns,” was the answer. Preble told the 
 stranger, in pretty plain terms, he doubt- 
 ed his statement, and that he should lie 
 by him, until daylight, in order to ascer- 
 tain his true character. Before things 
 could be carried any further, however, a 
 boat arrived from the stranger, who, as it 
 
 * Mr. Robinson is still living, having resigned a commander; Mr. Jenckes left the service; Tarbell died 
 a captain, and Elbert a commander: llaswell resigned a lieutenant, and is dead; Dexter died a commander ; 
 Morris is now a commodore ; Davis is out of service, and believed to he dead ; Izard resigned a lieutenant, 
 and is dead; Burrows was killed in battle, a lt. com. ; Deacon died a captain; Laws resigned; Iieed died a 
 lieutenant ; Rowe died, having been a lieutenant ; Hall is now in the marine corps ; Hunnewell out of service; 
 Nicholson died a lieutenant. Of those who joined at Gibraltar or shortly after, Dent died a captain; Gor on 
 died a captain ; Wadsworth was blown up, a lieutenant; Gadsden died "a lt com. ; Lewis was lost at sea a 
 commander; Israel was blown up a lieutenant; Ridgley is the present commodore ; Ilenly died a captain; 
 McDonough died at sea a commodore. The fortune of Alexis has been singular ; lie was born of a French 
 noble family, and was sent when quite young, to this country, to save his life, during the excesses of the French 
 revolution. His real name was Louis Alexisde Courmont. As Lewis Alexis he rose to be a commander in the 
 navy ; but at the restoration of the Bourbons, he was summoned to rejoin his family in France, lie conti- 
 nued in the service notwithstanding, until about the year 1827 or 1828, as Capt Alexis, when he was com- 
 pelled to quit his family or resign. He preferred the latter, and is believed to bo stid living, as Mons. de Cour- 
 mont He was amiable, and much liked in the navy, and served gallantly at the defence of New Orleans. 
 
 McDonough had been left, by Bainbridge, as a prize-master, at Gibraltar, and thus escaped capture in the 
 Philadelphia.’ He was early transferred to the Enterprise, I.t-Com. Decatur, and was with that officer in all 
 bis battles off Tripoli. Morris, Ridgley, Wadsworth, Israel, Reed, Dexter, Haswell, and Izard, were all pro- 
 moted in 1S04 
 
1853.] 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 479 
 
 now appeared, was the Maidstone 36, 
 Captain Burdett. The delay in answer- 
 ing arose from a wish to gain time to clear 
 for action, and get to quarters, Old Iron- 
 sides having got alongside so quietly that 
 she had been taken by surprise. 
 
 After passing the time mentioned, in 
 the vicinity of the Straits, the Constitu- 
 tion sailed in quest of declared enemies. 
 She left Gibraltar on the 13th November 
 1813, and proceeded first to Algiers, 
 where she landed Colonel Lear, who had 
 come out as Consul General. On the 
 20th she left Algiers, and on the 24th, 
 while standing up the Mediterranean, on 
 her way to Malta, she spoke an English 
 frigate, which communicated a rumor, that 
 the Philadelphia had run ashore, off Tri- 
 poli, and had fallen into the hands of the 
 enemy. On reaching Malta, the 27th, 
 while lying off the port, the unpleasant 
 rumor was confirmed. The ship stood on 
 without anchoring, and arrived at Syra- 
 cuse next day. 
 
 Here, then, was Old Ironsides, for the 
 first time, in the centre of the Mediterra- 
 nean, and with something serious to do; 
 more, indeed, than could easily be accom- 
 plished in a single ship. Her commander 
 was as active a seaman as ever undertook 
 an enterprise, and the career of the good 
 ship, for the next seven months, though 
 she did not tire a shot in anger during 
 the whole time, was probably as remark- 
 able as that of any vessel which ever 
 floated, and which encountered neither 
 enemies, shipwreck, nor accident of any 
 sort. 
 
 The Constitution lay until the 17th De- 
 cember at Syracuse, when she sailed for 
 Tripoli to look at her enemy, and to com- 
 municate with the unfortunate command- 
 er of the Philadelphia. On the 23d the 
 Enterprise, Lieutenant Decatur, which 
 was in company, captured a Tripolitan 
 ketch, called the Mastico, or Mistico, with 
 seventy Turks of one sort and another on 
 board her, the prize being sent in. While 
 lying off Tripoli, on the 26th, it came on 
 to flow fiercely, and the stout ship had 
 need of all her excellent qualities to claw 
 off shore. Her escape was somewhat nar- 
 row, but she went clear, and returned to 
 Syracuse. 
 
 February 3d, 1804, Preble sent the 
 Mastico, now named the Intrepid, to Tri- 
 poli, on the well-known expedition to cut 
 out the Philadelphia. All the connection 
 our ship had with this successful and bril- 
 liant exploit, arose from the fact that her 
 commander ordered it, and four of her 
 midshipmen were of the party. These 
 young gentlemen were Messrs. Izard, 
 Morris, Laws, and Davis, all of whom re- 
 turned safely, after their victory, to the 
 
 steerage of Old Ironsides. Mr. Morris 
 was shortly after promoted for being the 
 first man on the Philadelphia’s decks, as 
 was Mr. Izard, for other good and suffi- 
 cient claims. The last of these officers 
 resigned about six years later, when first 
 lieutenant of the old craft, and we shall 
 have occasion hereafter to speak of Mor- 
 ris’s service on board her, in the same 
 character. 
 
 Having effected this important prelimi- 
 nary step, Preble set the ship in motion, 
 in good earnest. On the 2d of March she 
 sailed for Malta, arrived on the 3d, and 
 returned on the 17th. On the 20th she 
 sailed again for Tripoli, where she arrived 
 in time to send in a flag on the 27th ; a 
 day or two later she sailed for Tunis, en- 
 countering a heavy gale on the passage, 
 and anchored in the bay on the 4th of 
 April. She left Tunis on the 7th, it blow- 
 ing a gale from the northwest at the time, 
 and reached Malta on the 12th ; sailed 
 for Syracuse on the 14th, and arrived on 
 the 15th. All these movements were 
 made necessary, in order to keep Tunis 
 quiet, ascertain the state of things at Tri- 
 poli and obtain supplies at Malta. Busi- 
 ness detained the ship at Syracuse until 
 the 20th, when she was again off. On 
 the 29th the busy craft again touched at 
 Malta, having scoured along the enemy’s 
 coast, and on the 2d of May, less than a 
 month from her appearance, the Bey of 
 Tunis had the equivocal gratification of 
 again seeing her in his harbor. War had 
 been menaced, but peace succeeded this 
 demonstration, and next day the ship was 
 off for Naples, where she arrived on the 
 9th. The slow movements of the Neapo- 
 litans kept the active vessel ten days in 
 that magnificent gulf, when away she 
 went for Messina, with an order to get 
 some of the king’s gun-boats on board her. 
 On the 25th she was at Messina, and on 
 the 30th she left that place, going round 
 to Syracuse, where she anchored next 
 day. On the 4th of June, the Constitu- 
 tion was away once more for Malta, where 
 she anchored on the 6th, and on the 9th 
 she went to take another look at Tripoli. 
 A flag was sent in on the 13th to know 
 the Bashaw’s ultimatum, but that digni- 
 tary refusing to accede to the terms offer- 
 ed, the Constitution got her anchor next 
 day. and went to Tunis the third and 
 last time, accompanied by two of the 
 small vessels, as a hint to the Bey to re- 
 main quiet. The demonstration succeed- 
 ed, and having reached Tunis on the 19th, 
 the ship left it on the 22d for Syracuse, 
 touched at Malta on the 24th, and reach- 
 ed her post on the 25th. On the 29th, 
 away the frigate went again for Messina, 
 arriving the 1st July, and sailing again' 
 
480 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 on the 9th for Syracuse and getting in the 
 same day. 
 
 Here was an activity almost without 
 a parallel. Nor did it end here. On the 
 14th the good old craft lifted her anchor 
 and went to sea ; was in Malta on the 
 16th ; left Malta on the 21st, and appear- 
 ed off Tripoli, in company with all the 
 force that had by this time been collected, 
 in readiness to commence the war in ear- 
 nest. We know very well that Preble’s 
 extraordinary energy was at the bottom 
 of all these ceaseless movements ; but the 
 good old ship must come in for all that 
 share of the credit, which properly be- 
 longs to a most admirably constructed 
 machine. If the reader will recur to our 
 dates he will find what was realty done. 
 Between the 2d March and the 25th 
 July, there are 145 days, or less than five 
 months. Between these dates, Old Iron- 
 sides left port eighteen times, without 
 counting visits to different places where 
 she did not anchor. The distances run 
 were necessarily short, in some instances 
 quite so, but the Mediterranean Sea was 
 actually crossed in its entire breadth 
 twice, and several of the passages were 
 hundreds of miles in length. The ship 
 that is in and out of port three times a 
 month — and four times would be nearer 
 the true proportion of the Constitution’s 
 movements — cannot be called idle ; and 
 our good craft, on all occasions, did her 
 part of the duty admirably well. 
 
 It was not favorable weather for an- 
 choring until the 28th, when Preble fetch- 
 ed up with all his squadron, which now 
 consisted of fifteen sail, of one sort and 
 another of fighting craft, with Old Iron- 
 sides at their head. The good frigate lay 
 about a league from Tripoli, and the par- 
 ties had now a good opportunity of looking 
 at each other. The same day, however, a 
 gale came on, and sent every thing- out into 
 the offing again ; and it was August 3d 
 before Preble brought his force in again. 
 
 The 3d August, 1804, will ever be me- 
 morable in American naval annals. It 
 was the day on which Preble first attack- 
 ed the batteries of Tripoli, and on which 
 Decatur made his celebrated hand-to-hand 
 assault on the gun-boats, that had ven- 
 tured to take up an anchorage outside the 
 rocks. It does not come within the scope 
 of our plan to give the particulars of the- 
 whole of this desperate engagement, and we 
 shall confine ourselves principally to the part 
 that was borne in it by the subject of our 
 sketch. The battle itself began at three- 
 quarters past two p. m., but it was a little 
 later before Old Ironsides took a part in 
 the fray. It ought to be mentioned here, 
 that this ship had taken on board six 
 long twenty-sixes at Syracuse, which had 
 
 [May 
 
 been mounted in her waist, and which 
 were now manned by the marines, under 
 Captain Hall ; musketry being of no ac- 
 count in the service she was on. These 
 six additional guns must have increased 
 her entire armament to — guns in broad- 
 side, and all long ; viz., twenty-four 
 
 twenty-fours below, twelves on 
 
 the quarter-deck and forecastle, and the 
 six twenty-sixes just mentioned. 
 
 The manner in which the Constitution 
 went into action that day has often been 
 the theme of praise. As she stood down 
 to range along the rocks and batteries, 
 and a harbor filled with armed craft, her 
 people were aloft rollingup the light canvas 
 as coolly as if about to come to in peaceable 
 times, nor was a gun fired until as near 
 the rocks as was deemed prudent, when 
 she let the Turks have her larboard 
 broadside, sending the shot home as far 
 as the Bashaw’s Castle. That was the first 
 shotted broadside that Old Ironsides ever 
 discharged at an enemy. As she was 
 launched Sept. 20th, 1797, it follows that 
 the good craft was just six years, ten 
 months, and fourteen days old, ere she 
 fired what may be called a shot in anger. 
 No occasion had occurred on her previous 
 service to bring the vessel herself along- 
 side of an enemy, and here she was now 
 commencing the brilliant part of her 
 career, on the coast of Barbary, the very 
 service for which she had been originally 
 designed, though against a different prince. 
 The ship kept ranging along the rocks, 
 mole and batteries, often as near as within 
 two cables’ length of the first, and three 
 of the last, silencing ever} 7 thing that she 
 could get fairly under her guns, so long as 
 she lay opposed to it. The flotilla with- 
 in the rocks, in particular, was the object 
 of her attentions, and she made great havoc 
 among its people by means of grape. It 
 was when tacking or wearing, that the 
 Constitution was most exposed, having no 
 vessel of any size to cover her. It will 
 be remembered that Tripoli mounted one 
 hundred and forty-five pieces of heavy 
 ordnance, behind stone walls, in addition 
 to a large number of guns she had afloat, 
 many of which were of as heavy calibre 
 as any possessed by the Americans. At 
 half-past four, the smaller vessels began 
 to retire, covered by a blazing fire from 
 the Constitution ; and a quarter of an horn- 
 later, the frigate herself hauled off the 
 land, and went out of action. In this, 
 which may be termed her debut in active 
 warfare, our favorite ship escaped singu- 
 larly well, considering the odds with which 
 she had to contend, and the circum- 
 stances under which she fought. In all 
 that service before Tripoli, she fought at 
 great disadvantage, being held at precisely 
 
1853.] 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 481 
 
 the distance that batteries wish to keep 
 ships, by the rocks, within which it would 
 have been madness for a single frigate to 
 enter. The nearer a vessel can get to bat- 
 teries the better ; not only on account of 
 the greater effect of their shot on walls, 
 but on account of the advantages it gives 
 by placing them within her range of fewer 
 guns. 
 
 Although Old Ironsides was two full 
 hours under fire, on the 3d August, time 
 enough to have cut her into splinters, at 
 the distance at which she was fought, and 
 the number of guns that were brought to 
 bear on her, had the Turkish gunnery 
 been better than it was, she suffered very 
 little, and not at all in her hull. One 
 twenty-four pound shot passed through 
 the centre of her mainmast, thirty feet 
 above the deck ; her main-royal-yard was 
 shot away altogether ; two lower shrouds 
 and two back-stays were also shot away ; 
 and the running rigging, and sails gene- 
 rally, were a good deal cut. One heavy 
 shot, supposed to have been a thirty-two, 
 entered a stern port as the ship was wear- 
 ing, and when she was most exposed, 
 passed quite near to Preble, some accounts 
 say actually beneath his leg, as he stood 
 with it raised on the port sill, struck the 
 breech of one of the quarter-deck twelves, 
 which it damaged materially, and broke 
 into fragments, that flew forward into the 
 waist, along a deck crowded with men, of 
 whom only one was injured. Here was 
 the old ship’s luck ! — a good fortune or a 
 providential care, as men may choose to 
 regard the spirit of providential interfer- 
 ences, that has more or less attended the 
 craft in all her subsequent battles and ad- 
 ventures. The man who was first wound- 
 ed in battle, on the deck of Old Ironsides, 
 deserves to have his name recorded. It 
 was Charles Young, a marine, who had 
 his elbow shattered by one of the frag- 
 ments of the shot just mentioned. On 
 this occasion, both Mr. Dent and Mr. 
 Robinson were out of the ship. The 
 former had been transferred to the 
 Scourge, but commanded one of the bomb- 
 ketches in the attacks ; while the other, 
 who had succeeded, as acting-captain of 
 the frigate, commanded the other. Charles 
 Gordon was now the first lieutenant, arid 
 did duty as such in the action, while 
 Jumping Billy handled Old Ironsides un- 
 der fire as he would have handled her in 
 an American port. 
 
 The Constitution herself had no particu- 
 lar agency in the affairs which occurred 
 between the 3d and the 28th August, 
 though many of her officers and people 
 were engaged. On the 7th, she lifted 
 her anchor and stood in with an intention 
 to mingle in the combat, but the wind 
 
 coming out from the northward, it was 
 thought imprudent to carry her as near 
 the rocks as would be necessary to render 
 her fire efficient, since the loss of a mast 
 might have thrown her ashore. The 7th 
 was the day on which Caldwell was blown 
 up. Although the ship herself did not 
 fire a shot that day, many of her people 
 were in the thickest of the fight. The 
 gun-boats and ketches received crews from 
 the other vessels whenever they went into 
 action, and that day, besides having her 
 boats out in numbers, the Constitution 
 put Mr. Wadsworth in No. 6, Trippe’s 
 boat, as her commander. The lateen yard 
 of this boat was shot away in the action. 
 Although the frigate did not engage, she 
 kept so close in, directly to windward, as 
 to overawe the Tripolitan flotilla, and keep 
 them within the rocks. On the evening 
 of the 7th, Chauncy joined from America, 
 in the John Adams, armed en flute. The 
 28th was intended to be a day of special 
 attack. All the boats of the squadron 
 were manned and armed and sent to re- 
 main by the small vessels, in ease the 
 flotilla, which had shown some signs of 
 a determination of coming to close quar- 
 ters again, should put the intention in 
 execution. To supply the places of those 
 who left the ship, Chauncy joined her 
 with several officers and about seventy 
 seamen of the John Adams, and did duty 
 as Preble’s captain. Lieut.-Com. Dent 
 also came on board — the ketches not en- 
 gaging— and took charge of the quarter- 
 deck. Izard, too, then a lieutenant on 
 board the Scourge, which was not engaged, 
 came on board his old ship. Wadsworth 
 continued in No. 6, and Gordon took 
 charge of No. 2, for the occasion. These 
 changes made, the vessel was ready to 
 engage. 
 
 The 28th was the day, when the attack 
 commenced early in the morning ; before 
 it was light, indeed. For this purpose the 
 American flotilla went quite close to the 
 rocks, and began their fire through the 
 openings. The brigs and schooners kept 
 under way, near at hand, to cover them 
 against any assaults from the enemy’s 
 boats, galleys, &c. All the Constitution’s 
 boats went in with the gun-boats, and 
 were under fire from the first. As the 
 day dawned, Old Ironsides weighed an- 
 chor, and stood in towards the town. Her 
 approach was in the most admirable style, 
 and Fort English, the Bashaw’s Castle, 
 the Crown, and Mole Batteries, all opened 
 upon her, as soon as she came within 
 range. The signal was now made for the 
 gun-boats to withdraw, and for the brigs 
 and schooners to take them in tow. Old 
 Ironsides then took the game into her own 
 hands, to cover the retreat, and may be 
 
482 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 said to have fought Tripoli single-handed. 
 She ranged along within two cables’ length 
 of the rocks, and opened with round and 
 grape on thirteen of the Turkish galleys 
 and gun-boats, which had just been pretty 
 closely engaged with the American. For 
 a few minutes the good old craft was a 
 perfect blaze of fire, and she soon sunk 
 one boat, drove two more ashore to keep 
 from sinking, and scattered all the rest. 
 Not satisfied with this, on went the fri- 
 gate, until she got off the Mole, and within 
 musket shot, when she hove to and sent 
 ten broadsides into the different works. 
 Three hundred round shot alone were 
 fired, to say nothing of large quantities of 
 grape and canister. After having been 
 warmly engaged for near an hour, the 
 flotilla being by this time out of danger, 
 the gallant frigate herself filled and haul- 
 ed proudly off the land, disdaining to fire 
 an}' longer than she chose to engage. 
 
 Such work as this ought not to have 
 been done by any single ship that ever 
 floated, without her being cut to pieces. 
 Nevertheless Old Ironsides was not really 
 hulled; or if hulled at all, it was in a way 
 so slight and peculiar as to induce Preble 
 to report her as not having been hulled. 
 Not a man on board her was injured, 
 though grape was sticking in her side, and 
 had passed through her sails in consider- 
 able quantities. Three lower shrouds, two 
 spring-stays, two topmast back-stays, 
 and the trusses, chains and lifts of the 
 main-yard were all shot away, the run- 
 ning rigging suffered materially, and seve- 
 ral round shot went through the canvas, 
 but not a man was hurt. An anchor 
 stock was shot away, and the larboard 
 bower cable was cut. We think it probable 
 that this last shot was the one which hit 
 her figure-head. As Preble reports she 
 was not hulled, meaning doubtless struck 
 fairly in her main body by a round shot, 
 and both an anchor stock and a cable were 
 hit, it follows that the shot or shots which 
 did this mischief must have passed ahead. 
 Owing to the manner in which the ship 
 lay exposed to guns at different points, 
 nothing was more likely to occur than 
 this. At all events it is known that Old 
 Ironsides then carried an image of Hercu- 
 les, with his club, as her figure-head, and 
 that the head of this figure was knocked 
 away, or materially injured before Tripoli. 
 A canvas covering was put on to conceal 
 the blemish, and continued there for some 
 months. Chauncy did good service that 
 day, and has thus left his name con- 
 nected with the history of the gallant 
 ship. At 11 in the forenoon, after such a 
 morning’s work, the Constitution anchor- 
 ed safely about five miles from the town, 
 with all the squadron around her, when 
 
 [May 
 
 all hands went to work to repair da- 
 mages. 
 
 On the 2d September, Preble got the 
 whole squadron under way at 4 p. m., 
 and kept it so all night. A little before 
 midnight, the Constitution made a general 
 signal to clear for action. At half past 
 two next day, another signal was made 
 to the gun-boats, then in tow of different 
 vessels, to cast off, advance upon the enemy 
 and commence an attack, which was done, 
 in the direction of Fort English, or well 
 to windward, while the ketches went 
 nearer the town, and further to the west- 
 ward, and opened with their mortars. 
 All the brigs and schooners were pressing 
 the enemy, at the harbor’s mouth, or 
 cannonading Fort English, while the 
 Bashaw’s Castle, the Crown, Mole and 
 other batteries kept up a heavy fire 
 on the ketches, which were in great 
 danger ; that commanded by Lieut.- 
 Com. Robinson, being with difficulty kept 
 from sinking. In order to cover these 
 vessels, Old Ironsides now ran down in- 
 side of them and brought to, within range 
 of grape as before, where she let fly eleven 
 broadsides into the works. The berth of 
 the good frigate was a warm one, as no 
 less than seventy guns, or more than dou- 
 ble her own number in broadside, bore on 
 her at the same time, and they, too, all 
 mounted behind stone walls. At half 
 past 4, the wind had commenced hauling 
 to the northward, when Preble made a 
 signal for every thing to get away the 
 land, and he hauled off into offing with 
 his own ship. On this occasion the Turks 
 threw a good many shells, besides round 
 and grape, at Old Ironsides. One of these 
 shells hit the back of the main-topsail, 
 and nearly tore the sail in two. It was 
 got into the top, however, and the sail- 
 makers went to work on it, in the midst 
 of the fray. Another shell went through 
 the fore-topsail, and a third through the 
 jib ; making big holes, but doing no more 
 harm. All the sails were much cut up, as 
 was the running rigging, by round shot. 
 The mainsheet, foretack, lifts, braces and 
 bowlines were all hit, but nothing larger 
 than grape touched the hull. As on the 
 7th, not a man was hurt ! 
 
 When grape shot nearly bury them- 
 selves in the bends of such a ship as the 
 Constitution, and she is fairly within the 
 range of batteries, it is almost marvellous 
 to think, that a vessel could be thus ex- 
 posed, on three several occasions, and have 
 but one man hurt. This was the last action 
 in which the frigate was engaged in that 
 war, however, and it is certain that in her 
 three engagements with the batteries, and 
 fighting not only against such odds, but 
 under such disadvantages, she had but the 
 
1853.] 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 483 
 
 single marine already named. Charles 
 Young, injured on her decks. 
 
 The attempt with the Infernal came 
 next, and in her went Wadsworth and 
 Israel, with six of the Constitution’s crew, 
 to man the cutter. Somers had the Nau- 
 tilus’ boat, and four of his own men. All 
 were lost of course, which made the total 
 loss of the frigate out of her proper crew, 
 while engaged before Tripoli, only two 
 lieutenants and six men killed, and one 
 marine wounded. The whole of the im- 
 portant service, indeed, effected by Preble, 
 in his memorable forty days of active ope- 
 rations before the town, cost the country 
 but thirty killed, and twenty-four wound- 
 ed. Among those who fell, were one com- 
 mander, four lieutenants, and one mid- 
 shipman ; and among the wounded, one 
 captain (Decatur), and one lieutenant. 
 
 On the 10th, Com. Barron arrived with 
 the President and Constellation, to relieve 
 Preble. On the 12th, the Constitution 
 captured two Greek ships, loaded with 
 wheat, that were trying to force the block- 
 ade, and Barron sent the frigate to Malta, 
 with her prizes, where she arrived De- 
 cember 17th. Soon after reaching Malta, 
 the command of Old Ironsides was trans- 
 ferred to Decatur, Preble returning home 
 in the John Adams. 
 
 The active service of the war, so far as 
 the larger vessels were concerned, had 
 now terminated, though the blockade was 
 maintained by different vessels. Deca- 
 tur’s command of the Constitution was of 
 short continuance, Rodgers claiming her, 
 on account of rank, and exchanging her 
 for his old ship, the Congress. The trans- 
 fer was made at Syracuse on the 6th 
 November. 
 
 By this time Old Ironsides had used up, 
 transferred, or lost, one way with another, 
 about eighty of her original crew, and 
 Barron ordered her to Lisbon, to pick up 
 others there, if possible, assigning impor- 
 tant duties to her near the Straits. The 
 ship left Syracuse, November 27th, and 
 having touched at Gibraltar and Tangiers, 
 anchored before the town of Lisbon, De- 
 cember 28th. It was February 5th, be- 
 fore the men were picked up, when the 
 ship sailed from Lisbon, and remaining off 
 Tangiers, and about the Straits, for a few 
 days, she proceeded aloft, again, and 
 joined the squadron at Malta, on the 25th 
 of the same month. Soon after she went 
 off Tripoli, her old scene of glory, but re- 
 turned by orders within the month. By 
 this time the health of Barron was so bad, 
 as to render Rodgers the efficient com- 
 mander of the squadron, and the ship 
 went off Tripoli, once more, coming in 
 sight of the place, April 5th, 1805. The 
 President, under Commander Cox, soon 
 
 afterwards joined her, and on the 24th, 
 Old Ironsides took an armed xebeck, and 
 two Neapolitans her prizes, that were en- 
 deavoring to enter the port. Not long 
 after, the ship went to Malta. 
 
 On the 22d May, Commodore Barron 
 formally transferred the command of the 
 squadron to Rodgers, who hoisted a pen- 
 nant once more on board Old Ironsides. 
 Commodore Rodgers had now the choice 
 between the sister vessels, the President 
 and Constitution, but he chose to keep the 
 one he was in. 
 
 As the active season was at hand, it be- 
 came necessary now to treat, or to pre- 
 pare for another series of offensive opera- 
 tions. Col. Lear had been sent for by the 
 Essex, and the Constitution going oft' Tri- 
 poli, the negotiations commenced which 
 terminated in the desired peace, the end 
 of all war. Nations go to war because 
 they are at peace, and they make peace 
 because they are at war ! The negoti- 
 ations that terminated the war with Tri- 
 poli, took place in the cabin of Old Iron- 
 sides. She had come late into the conflict, 
 but had done more to bring it to a conclu- 
 sion, than all the frigates that had pre- 
 ceded her, and was fated to see the end. 
 It is said that this was the first treaty 
 ever concluded with one of the States of 
 Barbary, on shipboard. It was cer- 
 tainly a striking event for a hostile vessel 
 to be thus employed, and proved the im- 
 pressions which recent occurrences had 
 made on the usually haughty Turk. The 
 treaty was signed on shore by the Bashaw, 
 however, and June 3d a copy was 
 brought by the Danish Consul, Nissen, 
 on board the Constitution, and delivered 
 to Col. Lear and Rodgers. Old Ironsides 
 now exchanged salutes with the town, 
 and thus ended the war with Tripoli, after 
 more than four years’ continuance. 
 
 The occupation of the good craft did 
 not cease, however, with the arrangement 
 with the Bashaw, nor was she destined to 
 return to this hemisphere for some time 
 longer. The Bey of Tunis had manifested 
 a warlike disposition for a long time, and 
 a strong force being now in the Mediter- 
 ranean, Rodgers saw that the present was 
 a good occasion to bring that difficulty to 
 a conclusion also. He had collected most 
 of his vessels at Syracuse, where the Con- 
 stitution arrived about the middle of June. 
 At a later day the squadron passed over 
 to Malta, and July 23d, 1805, Old Iron- 
 sides sailed from Malta, leading a squad- 
 ron, composed of three other frigates, a 
 brig, two schooners, a sloop, and several 
 large, American-built gun-boats, that had 
 actually crossed the ocean that summer. 
 The Congress and Vixen were already off 
 the port, making, when every thing was 
 
484 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 collected, a force of five frigates, two brigs, 
 two schooners, a sloop and four gun-boats. 
 The Constitution led this respectable ar- 
 mament into Tunis Bay, July 30th, 
 where it anchored on the 1st of August. 
 
 This demonstration had the desired re- 
 sult, and an arrangement of all the difficul- 
 ties was happily effected by the middle of 
 the month. The squadron lay in the bay 
 thirty-two days, in order to make all sure, 
 when it separated ; some going one way, 
 and some another, most returning home. 
 Old Ironsides, nevertheless, was too much 
 of a favorite to be easily given up. 
 Rodgers continued in her until the suc- 
 ceeding year, when he gave her up, with 
 the command of the squadron, to Campbell, 
 who remained out for a considerable pe- 
 riod longer, almost alone. It would be 
 of little interest to turn over log-books, in 
 order to record how often the ship went 
 in and out of the different ports of the 
 Mediterranean, but nothing of consequence 
 occurred until near the close of 1807, 
 when the ship had been from home quite 
 four years. 
 
 By this time the relations between this 
 country and England became much em- 
 broiled, and, in the midst of all the other 
 difficulties, occurred the attack on the 
 Chesapeake, by the Leopard. The Ches- 
 apeake had been intended for the relief 
 ship on the Mediterranean station, and 
 she sailed near the close of June, on that 
 duty. After the attack her cruise was 
 abandoned, and in expectation of hostili- 
 ties which threatened to be of early occur- 
 rence, this station itself was broken up. 
 There were but two ships on it, the Con- 
 stitution and the Wasp, and the times of 
 many of the people of the former had long 
 been up. There were a good many of the 
 original crew of Old Ironsides still on 
 board her, and these men had now been 
 out four years, when they had shipped for 
 only three. It is true, new engagements 
 had been made with many of the men, 
 but others had declined making any. In 
 this state of things, Campbell brought 
 the ship down to Gibraltar, and waited 
 anxiously for the appearance of his relief. 
 She did not come, but, in her stead arrived 
 the report of what had occurred to her. 
 It now became necessary for some one to 
 go aloft, and Campbell determined to 
 move the good ship, once more, in that 
 direction. All hands Were called to get 
 the anchors, when the men refused to 
 man the bars unless the ship sailed for 
 home. There was a moment when things 
 looked very serious, but Campbell was 
 nobly sustained by his officers, with Lud- 
 low at their head, and after a crisis, in 
 which force was used in seizing individ- 
 uals, and the marines were paraded, and 
 
 [May 
 
 found to be true, the insubordinate spirit 
 was quelled. No one was ever punished 
 for this attempt at mutiny, for it was felt 
 that, on principle, the men had a great 
 deal of right on their side. A law has 
 since been passed to prevent the possi- 
 bility of setting up a claim for discharges, 
 until a ship is properly relieved. 
 
 At length the station was abandoned, 
 and Old Ironsides sailed for her native 
 place, Boston. On her arrival in that 
 port, it was found necessary, however, to 
 send her to New -York, in order to be paid 
 off. She reached the last port in Novem- 
 ber 1807, and was dismantled for repairs. 
 
 Thus terminated the fourth of the Con- 
 stitution’s cruises, which had been twice 
 as long as the three others put together, 
 and a hundred times more momentous. 
 She had now seen enemies, had fought 
 them again and again, had witnessed the 
 signing of treaties under her pennant, be- 
 sides their dictation. In a word the good 
 craft had been magna pars in many an 
 important event. She was in some mea- 
 sure entitled to the character of a states- 
 man, as well as that of a warrior. 
 
 The Constitution was now more than 
 ten years old, and some serious repairs 
 had become necessary. America did not 
 then possess a single dry-dock, and prepa- 
 rations were made for heaving her out. 
 This was done, at Brooklyn Yard, in the 
 spring of 1808, when her copper was ex- 
 amined and repaired. All this time the 
 ship was not properly out of commission ; 
 rriaiyy officers were attached to her ; and as 
 soon as she was righted, and got her spars 
 aloft, Rodgers, who commanded on the 
 station afloat, as Chauncy did the yard, 
 showed his broad pennant in her again. 
 For a time, Lawrence acted as her first 
 lieutenant, as did Izard, his successor, 
 when Lawrence was transferred to the 
 command of a brig. Nevertheless, the 
 ship lay near, if not quite, a twelvemonth 
 at the yard, before she received a full 
 crew, and began to cruise. 
 
 This was a period when all the active 
 naval force of the country was kept on 
 the coast. The Mediterranean had been 
 the only foreign station, after the peace 
 with France, and that was broken up. 
 Two home squadrons were maintained — 
 one to the northward, under Rodgers, and 
 one to the southward, under a different 
 command;"- The broad pennant of the 
 commander-in-cnicf afloat, was flying on 
 board Old Ironsides. This gave the old 
 craft an opportunity of showing herself, 
 and making acquaintances, in various 
 of the home ports. Until Campbell 
 brought her round to New-Lork, in 
 1807, to be paid off, it is believed she had 
 never entered any American harbor but 
 
1853 . 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 485 
 
 that of Boston. Yankee born, and Yan- 
 kee bred, she had had Yankee command- 
 ers, until Decatur got her; and in that 
 day there was more of provincial feeling 
 among us than there is at present. This 
 was probably the reason that the Consti- 
 tution was so often taken to Boston; out 
 of which port she has sailed, owing to 
 peculiar circumstances, on every one of 
 her most successful cruises. 
 
 When Nicholson went on the southern 
 coast, there was no port, in that quarter, 
 into which he would be likely to go with 
 so heavy a ship; and unless he did, we 
 do not see when Old Ironsides could have 
 been in any haven of the country, except 
 Boston, until the close of the year 1807. 
 This visit to New-York, however, broke 
 the charm, and since that, nearly every 
 important point of the coast, that has suf- 
 ficient water to receive her, has had a 
 visit. Rodgers kept Old Ironsides, until 
 18 , when he shifted his pennant to the 
 
 President, under the impression that the 
 last was the faster ship. Some persons 
 fancied the good craft had lost her sailing. 
 ****** 
 
 Deaths and resignations had made 
 Rodgers the oldest officer afloat, and he 
 did very much as he chose in these mat- 
 ters. Oft' the wind, the President was 
 unquestionably one of the fastest ships 
 that ever floated, but on a wind, the Con- 
 stitution was her match, a 113 ' day, es- 
 pecially if the vessels were brought to 
 double-reefed topsails. The President 
 was a more roomy ship, perhaps, tum- 
 bling home the least, but Old Ironsides 
 was confessedly of the stoutest frame, and 
 the best ribbed. 
 
 The sailing of many of the vessels fell 
 off about this time, and we think an intel- 
 ligent inquiry would show that it was 
 owing to a cause common to them all. 
 The commanders were anxious to make 
 their vessels as efficient as possible, by 
 loading them with guns, and filling them 
 with men. The spars, too, were some- 
 what increased in weight, which produced 
 an increase in ballast. The guns and 
 spars were not of so much moment, but 
 the additional men required additional 
 provisions and water, and this sunk the 
 hull deeper in the water, and demanded a 
 greater moving power. When Barry first 
 took the States out to the West Indies, 
 she was one of the fastest frigates that 
 ever floated, though the Constitution was 
 thought to be her equal. About the 
 year 1810, nevertheless, the States had 
 got so bad a name for sailing, that she 
 went by the soubriquet of the Old Wag- 
 goner, and was held quite cheap by all 
 who were in a hurry. The Macedonian, 
 her prize, certainly beat her under a jury 
 
 mizzenmast ; but some one took the 
 trouble to overhaul the hold of the 
 States one day, and to lighten her, and 
 now she defies the world ! 
 
 Rodgers had a good and a deserved 
 reputation for fitting out a ship ; but he 
 was fond of men, and usually filled his 
 vessels too full of one thing and another. 
 Owing to this, or some other reason, he 
 lost his first love for Old Ironsides, and 
 deserted her for the President. 
 
 It is a great mistake to try to give a 
 puissant battery to a vessel that was never 
 meant to carry one. One cannot make a 
 frigate of a sloop-of-war, by any expedi- 
 ent ; and the uses of an active sloop may 
 be injured by an abortive attempt so to 
 do. This is particularly true of very 
 small, sharp vessels, which lose their trim 
 by slight variations, and which, at the 
 best, can be nothing but small , sharp ves- 
 sels, and if properly stowed, of great effi- 
 ciency, on account of their speed ; if not, 
 of very little, on account of an unavoidable 
 want of force. 
 
 Hull succeeded Rodgers in the com- 
 mand of the Constitution, and the good 
 ship was compelled to strike her broad 
 pennant. As for Hull, he knew his ship 
 well — having been a lieutenant in her, and 
 her first lieutenant besides. Morris, too, 
 who had sailed in her as a midshipman, 
 under Preble, and who had been pro- 
 moted out of her into the Argus, Hull’s 
 old brig, before Tripoli, now joined her, as 
 her new first lieutenant. The transfer 
 was made at Hampton Roads, in the sum- 
 mer of 1810. During the remainder of 
 the season, the ship cruised on the coast, 
 and she wintered at New London. 
 
 Nothing worthy of being recorded oc- 
 curred under this new state of things, 
 until the Constitution was ordered to 
 Europe, in the course of the 3 ' ear 1811, 
 with Mr. Barlow on board, and with 
 money to pay the interest on the Dutch 
 debt. In that day, it was a common 
 thing to send vessels of war across the 
 Atlantic, on the errands of the public, 
 though this was the first time, since 1800, 
 that a ship as heavy as the Constitution 
 was thus employed. Under Hull, while 
 thus employed, the Constitution’s lieuten- 
 ants appear to have been, Messrs. Morris, 
 Page, Wadsworth, Read, ****** and 
 Morgan. Of these officers, Messrs. Mor- 
 ris, Wadsworth, Read, and Morgan, are 
 still living, and have all carried broad 
 pennants. 
 
 The ship sailed for Cherbourg direct. 
 Off that port she found a strong British 
 squadron, under the late Sir Pultney Mal- 
 colm, who was in the Royal Oak seventy- 
 four. Old Ironsides, on this occasion, was 
 nearly surrounded by Englishmen, all of 
 
486 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 whom came up on her quarters, one, a 
 frigate, speaking her. first telling her own 
 name, as is usual between vessels of war, 
 and then asking hers. When the last 
 was given, permission was asked to send 
 a boat on board, which was readily grant- 
 ed. The English commodore now sent a 
 request to see Captain Hull, on board the 
 Royal Oak, if it were his intention to go 
 into Cherbourg. The answer was, it was 
 contrary to usage for an American captain 
 to leave his vessel at sea. unless to wait 
 on his own immediate superior. A second 
 request followed, that he would not go in 
 until a certain hour next morning. To 
 this Hull replied, that he was bound into 
 Cherbourg, with a minister on board, and 
 he felt it to be his duty to enter the 
 port the moment circumstances permitted. 
 These were ticklish times — the affair of 
 the Chesapeake, and the generally high 
 pretensions of the English marine, placing 
 every American commander strictly on 
 the alert. No further communications 
 passed, however, and the ship went into 
 her port, as soon as circumstances would 
 allow. 
 
 Having landed Mr. Barton, the Constitu- 
 tion sailed for the Downs, where she ob- 
 tained a pilot, and proceeded to the Texel. 
 Here she sent ashore about $200,000 
 in specie, and returned to the Downs, 
 whence she stood on to Portsmouth, 
 anchoring at Spithead, among a force of 
 between thirty and forty English cruisers. 
 Hull now went up to London, leaving 
 Morris in command. After lying at Spit- 
 head near a fortnight, an incident occurred 
 that is well worthy of being mentioned. 
 Nearly in a line with Old Ironsides, fol- 
 lowing the course of the tides, laj’’ the 
 Havannah, 36, one of the frigates then in 
 port. One night, near the close of the 
 first watch, Mr. Read having the deck, a 
 man of the name of Holland contrived to 
 get out of the ship, and to swim down to 
 the Havannah, where he caught hold of 
 something, and held on until he could 
 make himself heard, when he was picked 
 up greatly exhausted. The first lieute- 
 nant of the Havannah, knowing that Hol- 
 land was a deserter from the Constitu- 
 tion, under his first professional impulse, 
 sent the boat alongside of the American 
 ship to report the occurrence, adding that 
 the man was too much exhausted to be 
 moved then, but that he should be sent 
 back in the morning. Mr. Morris waited 
 until ten o’clock, when he sent a boat 
 alongside of the Havannah to procure the 
 deserter. The first lieutenant of that 
 ship, however, had seen the propriety of 
 reporting the whole affair to the admiral 
 (Sir Roger Curtis), who had ordered him 
 to send the man on board his flag ship, 
 
 [May 
 
 the Royal William. Thither, then, it was 
 necessary to proceed, and Mr. Read was 
 despatched to that vessel with a renewal 
 of the demand. This officer met with a 
 very polite reception from the captain of 
 the Royal William, who acquainted him 
 with the fact, that no British officer could 
 give up a man who claimed protection as 
 a British subject. Holland was an Irish- 
 man, and had put in his claim to the pro- 
 tection of the British flag. To this Mr. 
 Read replied, it might be true that the 
 man was born in Ireland, but he had en- 
 tered voluntarily into the American ser- 
 vice, and was bound to adhere to his bar- 
 gain, until the term of his enlistment had 
 expired. 'The English officer could only 
 regret that the respective duties of the 
 two services seemed to conflict and ad- 
 hered to his first decision. Mr. Read 
 then remarked that since the Constitution 
 had lain at Spithead several letters had 
 been received on board her from men pro- 
 fessing to be Americans, who stated that 
 they had been impressed into the English 
 service, and should any of these men run 
 and get on board the Constitution, that 
 her commanding officer might feel himself 
 bound to protect them. The captain of 
 the Ro}ral William hoped nothing of the 
 kind would occur, and here the conversa- 
 tion ended. 
 
 That night a man was heard in the 
 water alongside of the Constitution, and 
 a boat was immediately lowered to bring 
 him on board. It was a seaman of the 
 Havannah, who had fastened some shells 
 of blocks beneath his arms, lowered him- 
 self into the water, and floated with the 
 tide down to the American frigate, which 
 he hailed. A boat was lowered and he 
 was taken on board. A few minutes later 
 a boat came from the Havannah to claim 
 him. “ You cannot have the man,” said 
 Morris ; •• he says he is an American, and 
 claims our protection.” “ Can I see him ?” 
 asked the English lieutenant. “ No sir.” 
 “ We will have him, as you will find out,” 
 said the young man, as he descended the 
 ship’s side and got into his own boat. 
 
 There was a good deal of negotiation, 
 and some correspondence the next day. 
 Morris had visited the admiral himself, 
 and Hull arrived in the course of the day. 
 The last approved of all that had been 
 done. The deserter from the Havannah, 
 whose name was Byrne, or Burns, had 
 insisted that he was a native of New-York, 
 and had been impressed, and it is not un- 
 likely his story’ may have been true, as an 
 English subject would hardly have ven- 
 tured on the experiment he had tiled. 
 But true or not, the principle was the 
 same, and Hull was determined not to give 
 him up unless Holland was sent back. In 
 
Old Ironsides. 
 
 487 
 
 1853.] 
 
 each case the assertion of the man himself 
 was all the testimony as to nationality, 
 while Hull could show his deserter had 
 shipped voluntarily, whereas Burns had 
 been impressed. 
 
 The occurrence of such a transaction, 
 in the roads of Spithead, in the height of 
 a war, and among forty English cruisers, 
 could not but produce a great excitement 
 at Portsmouth. Every boat that came 
 off to the Constitution brought rumors of 
 a hostile character from the shore. “ It 
 was impossible,” these rumors said, “that 
 a foreign man-of-war could be permitted 
 to quit the roads under such circumstan- 
 ces, carrying off an English deserter in 
 her.” Hull meant to do it, nevertheless, 
 and Old Ironsides manifested every dis- 
 position to do her duty. A frigate an- 
 chored near her, and Hull took his ship 
 outside of the fleet, where he was followed 
 by the heaviest frigate in the roads. “ This 
 will do well enough.” said Hull, to one of 
 his lieutenants ; “ if they don’t send any 
 more I think I can manage that chap, and 
 ’twill be a pretty fair fight.” The Con- 
 stitution went to quarters and lighted up 
 her batteries, exercising guns for a quarter 
 of an hour. The frigate came close to 
 her, but no hostilities were offered, and 
 the Constitution carried off her man un- 
 molested. 
 
 Off Cherbourg the Constitution again 
 fell in with the English blockading force. 
 After communicating with one of the ves- 
 sels she began to beat in towards the har- 
 bor. It was raining a little, and the day 
 was clouded, though clear enough for all 
 the purposes of war. The English vessels 
 formed in a line ahead, and beat up a short 
 distance to leeward of the American fri- 
 gate. tacking as she tacked, while one of 
 their light cruisers kept close under her 
 lee. Hull, on quitting Cherbourg, had 
 agreed on a signal, by which his ship 
 might be known on her return ; but some 
 peculiar circumstances prevented the sig- 
 nal being shown just at that moment, and 
 the batteries mistaking her for an enemy, 
 began to fire. This was a most critical 
 situation for Old Ironsides, as she was 
 now near enough to be torn to pieces if 
 she bore up. and the French commenced 
 in earnest on her. As it was, every, or 
 nearly every shot fired, hit her. Hull was 
 standing in one of her gangways with 
 
 Read near him, just as a gun was fired. 
 Read was looking towards the battery 
 that was firing, and Hull was looking in- 
 board at that moment. As soon as the 
 shot was clear of the smoke Read saw it, 
 and he spoke to his captain requesting 
 him to move. Hull did not move, how- 
 ever, or even look round, and the shot 
 passed through the hammocks, within 
 two or three feet of the place where he 
 stood, knocked the stern of the launch 
 into pieces, and damaged another boat 
 that was stowed alongside her. Another 
 shot struck in the bend, just below the 
 gangway, but did not pass through. Not- 
 withstanding all this, Old Ironsides stood 
 steadily on, and the signal was soon after 
 shown, though not from the part of the 
 ship agreed on. It was the nerve mani- 
 fested on board that caused the French to 
 cease firing, and the ship shortly after 
 passed inside. This was the only occa- 
 sion on which our gallant frigate ever 
 received a French shot in her ribs, although 
 she had been used in a French war. 
 
 After lying some time at Cherbourg, 
 the Constitution sailed for home, reaching 
 Hampton Roads late in the winter of 
 1812, or early in the spring. The ship 
 was soon after carried up to Washington, 
 and most of her people were discharged. 
 Morris and Page left her, but some of 
 her lieutenants continued attached to her 
 — it being intended to fit her out again. 
 Hull also continued his command. He 
 told the Secretary of the bad sailing of 
 the ship, and advised that she should be 
 hove out that her copper might be exam- 
 ined. Harraden, her old master, under 
 Preble, was then master of the Washing- 
 ton Yard, and he offered to put the ship 
 in sailing trim, if Hull would give her up 
 to him for that purpose. The arrange- 
 ment was made, and Jumping Billy* went 
 to work, like a true seaman as lie was. 
 After repairing the ship’s copper, she was 
 restowed with about two-thirds of her 
 former ballast, and the effect was magical. 
 Her old officers, when they came to try 
 her, scarce knew the ship, she proved to 
 be so much lighter and livelier than before. 
 There is little question that Jumping 
 Billy’s precaution served Old Ironsides 
 in the arduous trial she was now so soon 
 to undergo. 
 
 [To be concluded in our next.] 
 
 * This soubriquet came from the name of a purchase that is called a “Jumping Billy,” and which was a 
 great favorite with this officer. Harraden passed with many persons as an Englishman ; but, in truth, he was 
 a native of Masachussetts, who had been impressed, and had served a longtime in the English Navy. 
 
488 
 
 [May 
 
 A RAILROAD LYRIC. 
 
 “The wonted roar was up amidst the woods, 
 
 And filled the air with barbarous dissonance.” 
 
 Corn ua. 
 
 “From those deep-throated engines belched, whose roar 
 Embowelled with outrageous noise the air.” 
 
 Paradise Lost, 
 
 O’er the cloudy station-house 
 Of the western mountains cold, 
 Where the sun withdraws his gold, 
 Stooping his attentive brows, 
 
 Stars of signal light are set, 
 
 Trains of waiting vapor met, 
 
 And the day is darkly done. 
 
 In the car of night reclining, 
 
 Life awaits the morrow’s shining — 
 Dreams until the morrow’s sun — 
 Deeply dreams, and dimly sees 
 Troops of travelling fantasies. 
 
 Life is more than half in seeming, 
 And the visions of its sleep 
 Are but shadows of the dreaming 
 That its waking moments keep. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Time, time, time. 
 
 And the night is past the prime ; 
 
 But here we stand, 
 
 And wait for the wave of the signal hand. 
 
 Water boil and fire bum 
 In the oily steaming urn. 
 
 Let the fire and water waste. 
 
 They that tarry wind and tide 
 Safely to the harbor ride ; 
 
 Ruin cracks the skull of Haste. 
 
 Best though life may be in action, 
 
 Action is not all in all, 
 
 Till the track is clear for traction, 
 
 Stand we, though the heavens fall ; 
 Stand we, still and steady, though 
 From the valve the vapor blow, 
 
 From the fire the fuel go. 
 
 Who shall dare to antedate, 
 
 By a step, the step of Fate 1 
 Fate must traverse, and be shunned 
 In the train of things beyond ; 
 
 And to wait may be to do — 
 
 W aiting won a W aterloo. 
 
 hi. 
 
 Even so ! 
 
 Now we go. 
 
 Slip the throttle, lock th’ eccentrics, 
 
 Heap the fire with tinder-sticks. 
 
 Try the water — all is w r ell ! 
 
 Beat the quick alarum bell. 
 
 Slowly, slowly, 
 
 Wheels rumbling lowly, 
 
 Off we struggle, gathering motion 
 Like a wave upon the ocean. 
 
1853 .] 
 
 A Railroad Lyric. 
 
 48 
 
 Now our rapid che, che, che, 
 
 Beats a quick tune merrily. 
 
 Nighted travellers beware 
 Of our engine have a care, 
 
 Smooth and swift the death behind thee 
 Will not spare if it shall find thee. 
 
 Past the shops, whose iron clangor 
 Through the daylight hours resounds. 
 With a hoarse and roaring anger. 
 
 Speed we from the city’s bounds ; 
 Onward, through the cave of night, 
 Boring with our signal light. 
 
 Though the sky is gloaming o’er us 
 We will trust the track before us — 
 
 We will trust the iron bands, 
 
 Laid and kept by other hands. 
 
 So within us and without us 
 Runs and opens life about us. 
 
 Reason shoots a slender light 
 Through an awful world of night. 
 
 Not a star in all the spheres 
 Shows us of our onward years — 
 
 Shows us of the gullied ditch, 
 
 Fallen rock, nor open switch. 
 
 But, by Faith, we trust the bands, 
 
 Laid and kept by other hands. 
 
 Faith, alone, in act, succeeds — 
 
 Faith in fixed and ordered parts, 
 Faith in other hands and hearts; 
 Faithful follows, faithful leads. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Crowd the fire, we’ll be belated 
 Ere our flight is consummated, 
 
 Tread about and toss the wood in, 
 
 Urge the water like a flood in, 
 
 Strain the gleaming flues and rivets, 
 Strain the tugging pins and pivots. 
 
 Life is short, and time uncertain ; 
 Work or idle as we may, 
 
 Death will rise and drop the curtain 
 On the windows of our day ; 
 
 Then our fire will be extinguished, 
 And our vaporing nostril cold, 
 
 And our breathless locomotive 
 To the engine-house be rolled. 
 
 v. 
 
 Now our tread is like the thunder, 
 
 And the earth rolls oft' from under. 
 Level and low 
 The sparkles fly 
 Behind and by, 
 
 Giving the lagging wind the lie. 
 
 To and fro 
 
 The shackle bars go. 
 
 Ha ! you sons of Nature founded — 
 
 Built and shored with fickle bones, 
 Know you how your feats are bounded 
 By the limits Nature owns? 
 
 All the turmoil you can keep 
 Soon must be allayed in sleep. 
 
 vol. i. — 32 
 
490 
 
 A Railroad Lyric. 
 
 [May 
 
 But approach this iron portal, 
 
 Look upon these prisoned tires, 
 Here behold a force immortal, 
 
 Here a strength that never tires — 
 Strength that shook its loins gigantic, 
 Ages past, before the prime, 
 
 Gored the globe in lusty antic, 
 
 Ere the coming in of time. 
 
 Shaping now our human race, 
 
 As it shaped their dwelling-place. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Touch the whistle quick and sharp, 
 Choke the fierce propelling steam, 
 Starting from the shadowy warp, 
 
 In the searching signal gleam, 
 
 See the midnight stalker’s back ! 
 
 Whirl the bell ! 
 
 Life’s in danger on the track. 
 
 All is well ! 
 
 Passed he is, and let our eyes, 
 
 Inward turning, moralize. 
 
 Brakes were hugged about the wheels, 
 All the cranks a stillness kept, 
 
 Shadows on the polish slept, 
 
 And the demon under seals. 
 
 Quiet lulled the murmuring ire 
 Of our iron heart of fire, 
 
 Till we chafed it into toil, 
 
 Gave it blast and gave it oil. 
 
 Now we nurse a mad delight, 
 
 Dash the iron leagues behind. 
 
 Horse a wrath, and drink a wind, 
 Bun, outrageous through the night. 
 What shall start before us now, 
 
 With defiance on its brow ? 
 
 Think you, on our thunder track, 
 
 Even a king could frown us back ? 
 Could he — were our train a State, 
 
 After ages of delay, 
 
 Plunged towards an onward fate 
 Leagues of progress in a day — 
 Onward plunged, in all its parts, 
 
 By a million earnest hearts — 
 
 Camp and council, court and press. 
 
 By the steam of strong distress ! 
 
 Kings have stood in such an hour. 
 
 In the full conceit of power ; 
 
 Stood and faced a coming wrath. 
 
 Till it brushed them from the path ; 
 
 Till their optics might behold 
 Wreck and redness manifold — 
 
 Fury, and a lust to kill ; 
 
 Stars and orders, robes and thrones, 
 Reverend and anointed bones 
 Crunched amid a roaring mill — 
 
 Till they saw, and cried to see, 
 
 Fatal is necessity. 
 
 Powers there are in governments, 
 Passions, principles, events, 
 
 Break whose checks and counter-checks, 
 An d you break a thousand necks. 
 
1853.] 
 
 A Railroad Lyric. 
 
 40 
 
 More the power, the deeper need 
 In the eyes that check and lead. 
 
 Powers without forerunning eyes — 
 
 Blind cyclopean energies — 
 
 Roar along an aimless track, 
 
 Tear the world and go to wrack. 
 
 Powers there are that, fed and fanned, 
 
 Burst the rein of all command. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Past the forest, past the grange, 
 
 Past the misty mountain range, 
 
 Past the ledges gleaming dank, 
 
 Past the hovel, past the tank, 
 
 Past the shaggy gorge profound, 
 
 Echoes over doubtful ground, 
 
 Kennelled in the far morass, 
 
 Baying at us as we pass, 
 
 O’er the bridge, and through the tunnel, 
 
 Shoots our comet-bearing funnel ; 
 
 Past the village dimly lighted, 
 
 Laid away in curtained rest, 
 
 Onward, howsoe’er benighted, 
 
 Burns our iron-hearted breast. 
 
 Ever thus, 0 noble heart, 
 
 Thou must do a noble part. 
 
 While the ways are wild and deep, 
 
 While the world is gone to sleep, 
 
 Run thy race and do thine own, 
 
 Even in darkness and alone. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Hark ! what means yon fearful humming, 
 Hurtling on the midnight air ? 
 
 ’Tis — it is a vengeance coming ! 
 
 Back ! Reverse ! Bind hard the breaks there. 
 Light, a light ! — 
 
 Hard and tight ! 
 
 Ruin and death ! 
 
 Clang the bell. 
 
 From our iron lungs 
 Give the whistle breath, 
 
 With an open throat, 
 
 And a wrath beneath — 
 
 Smite the air 
 With a huge despair. 
 
 Yain it is — give o’er endeavor — 
 
 Yonder see the sparkles flashing. 
 
 Quick ! Avaunt ! avoid the crashing. 
 
 Clutch your time, or sleep for ever. 
 
 Now or never ! 
 
492 
 
 [May 
 
 VIRGINIA IN A NOVEL FORM. 
 
 Concluded from page 426. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 In the course of time, Tom Farren be- 
 came unfortunate. He had proposed six 
 times to Louise, and exactly six times had 
 he been rejected. He was anxious to 
 marry, and to marry well. He thought 
 Louise a most estimable, well bred young 
 lady, who would show to decided advan- 
 tage as Mrs. Farren. He particularly 
 admired her hauteur, and reserve. She 
 could not have employed a more effectual 
 method of binding young Farren’s heart, 
 than by indulging in her natural imper- 
 turbable dignity and hauteur. He did 
 not think she was less kind to him than 
 she was to others. He was quite sure 
 Dashwood had never won more smiles 
 than he had. But Tom Farren could not 
 fathom such a heart. He knew not the 
 depth of the still waters. He knew not 
 of the fairy palace reared beneath the po- 
 lished surface, and of the gem-like hopes 
 all shining there. What could he know 
 of the gorgeous dream-land in which this 
 placid beauty revelled ? 
 
 Meantime Dashwood’s beautiful book 
 was insinuating its smoothly flowing sen- 
 timents into every heart. People were 
 speaking of him as of a genius. Young 
 ladies, of romantic temperaments, were 
 inditing odorous epistles to him. and some 
 leading men were determined to take him 
 by the hand. Our attache was on the 
 wing, and sustaining himself beautifully^ 
 like a young eagle born to fly in the very 
 eye of the sun. 
 
 Dashwood had written that he was 
 coming home. Miss Ellen McGregor had 
 written very many times, exulting in her 
 nephew’s success, thanking us for all our 
 kindness to him, and predicting still more 
 wonderful things, of this most gifted of 
 mortals. 
 
 Mrs. Braxley, highly offended at her 
 protegee's want of taste in refusing Tom 
 Farren six times, made a will out of spite, 
 and left me every dollar she had in the 
 world. This sudden change in her tem- 
 poral affairs alarmed me veiy much, inas- 
 much as Mr. Farren began to talk to me 
 one evening, after dinner, about a model 
 bee-hive. Grandma — when Mr. Farren 
 took a chair, strode across the room, and 
 planted himself upright in front of me — 
 was visibly^ affected. 
 
 I. who knew that Aunt Braxley made 
 half a dozen wills per annum, was very 
 much shocked at this rash proceeding. 
 Nobody enjoyed Mr. Farren’s demonstra- 
 tions more than Uncle Joe, whose vein of 
 
 fun was not yet exhausted. Grandma 
 would have had me — the fastidious au- 
 thoress — the destined historian of the 
 Feejees — the light of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury — fairly to jump at such a proposal. 
 She implored me not to be so foolishly 
 blind to my own interests. She promised 
 to keep Aunt Braxley to that last will 
 and testament, but I could not consent to 
 any such uncertainty. At last, Grandma 
 gave over her persuasions, and bade me go 
 and be an old maid, she did not care. 
 
 The subject now uppermost in our 
 thoughts was Dashwood’s return. My 
 brother was so impatient to see his friend, 
 that he must needs go a hundred miles to 
 meet him. Louise, with glittering eye 
 and high lifted head, went on in the even 
 tenor of her way — and on the very day 
 she expected her lover, the daring girl 
 managed to have an engagement to dine 
 out. Her heart was certainly pitched an 
 octave higher than other people’s. She 
 ordered the carriage and drove off about 
 an hour before the ardent lover was 
 expected. On her way, she met Tom 
 Farren, who was doubtless coming over 
 to see the meeting, and I need not say, 
 she left that orderly, systematic young 
 man, completely petrified on the highway. 
 
 Dashwood and Robert came, driven 
 home triumphantly by Sap, and drawn by 
 the ponies. As soon as Dashwood descend- 
 ed lightly from the open carriage, Grand- 
 ma squeaked out in a high treble, “ Oh. 
 gracious ! what a sweet, love of a fellow ! ” 
 
 Papa met him with a hearty welcome. 
 Mamma brushed away a tear, and the 
 noble fellow took both her hands in his 
 own, and kissed her. He greeted Grand- 
 ma with elaborate and chivalrous respect, 
 and Mrs. Braxley with profound obedience. 
 But Uncle Joe — kind-hearted, beaming 
 Uncle Joe — he took in his arms, whirled 
 him around, and such a meeting as they 
 had, somewhat opened Mrs. Braxley’s 
 eyes, and caused Grandma to guess there 
 was a spy in the camp. Dashwood’s eye 
 now sought Louise, and there was a slight 
 shade perceptible in his face. 
 
 Louise could not complain of demon- 
 strations now, or fear an expose. His 
 hardiesse Avas quite equal to her oavu. 
 He Avas as pleasant and entertaining as 
 though her royal eye had been upon him. 
 A malicious person would have said he 
 was not so much in love after all. That 
 he could, at least, exist without her. 
 
 Late in the evening, the young lady, 
 accompanied bv Mr. Farren . arrived. 
 
1853.] 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 493 
 
 Dashwood encountered her, purposely I 
 dare say, before she expected it ; and lie 
 had the satisfaction to see the pearly 
 cheek flush in a moment, and the eye, 
 with its jealous lash, glisten, as he took 
 her hand. He had scarcely time to mark 
 the tremor and the blush, ere Louise had 
 recovered, and welcomed him in her clear 
 silver tones. But mj 7 ’ sister looked more 
 beautiful that evening, than ever before. 
 There was a tinge upon her cheek which 
 was not always there, and a light in her 
 magnificent eyes which was seldom seen. 
 She smiled several times on Mr. Farren, 
 but not once on Dashwood. It was so 
 like her, Dashwood said, to go off when 
 she expected him. She did not wish to 
 meet him in the portico, when all were 
 clamoring a welcome. She was so exqui- 
 sitely refined, that she dreaded the shock, 
 and feared for her boasted self-possession. 
 
 “ Now when we met,” he said, after 
 Mr. Farren had left, and he could sum- 
 mon the boldness to draw very near to 
 Louise— “now, dear Jenny, when we 
 met, this youfig lady was almost tempted 
 to scream.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! ” said Louise, for the first 
 time raising her eyes to his. 
 
 “ She wanted very much to faint,” con- 
 tinued Dashwood, “ and, with all her pla- 
 cidity, she has yet to conquer some very 
 rebellious emotions.” 
 
 Louise smiled, and Dashwood seemed 
 to be never tired of looking at her. Robert 
 hung about this beautiful pair. He seemed 
 to exult in their happiness, and to watch 
 their countenances with vivid delight. 
 
 Papa saw the change in Louise. He 
 saw his. beautiful child, as if by magic, 
 looking her former self. He saw her 
 lovely and serene, in the fulness of her 
 happiness. He saw mamma too, as she 
 unconsciously betrayed, in every action, 
 her love for the poet. He saw us all 
 clustering around him, listening to him, 
 devouring him with our eyes, enjoying 
 his anecdotes, electrified by his happy 
 sallies, and forgetting every thing but the 
 bliss of our reunion ; and papa was almost 
 conquered. 
 
 Even grandma was drawn within this 
 magic circle, around which uncle Joe flut- 
 tered, like a man whose judgment could 
 not always control the limbs of his body, 
 even in a certain person's awful presence. 
 
 Finally, after a long conversation with 
 mamma, Robert, and myself, papa came 
 into measures. 
 
 “ To confess the truth,” said papa to us, 
 “ when a man has such dutiful and re- 
 spectful children, he can scarcely find it 
 in his heart to deny them any thing. He 
 must not allow his prejudices and prefer- 
 ences to interfere with their happiness. 
 
 There is something due from me to my 
 children, as well as from them to me. It 
 is my dutj r to be reasonable with so re- 
 spectful and gentlemanly a fellow as my 
 son Robert ; and it also beomes me to 
 yield a point to a young lady who has 
 proved herself so noble as my daughter 
 Louise. This I do proudly ; because it is 
 my duty and privilege thus to reward 
 such respect and such obedience.” 
 
 “ Ha ! ha ! ” cried Robert, “ I knew how 
 it would all end ! ” 
 
 “A very weak father, a vastly weak 
 father,” was Mrs. Barbara’s comment, on 
 learning the state of affairs. 
 
 “A man after my own heart, by Jove !” 
 cried uncle Joe. 
 
 “ My own dear papa ! ” cried Louise, 
 rushing to his arms. 
 
 “ Why, Dabney ! ” remarked Mrs. Brax- 
 ley, with elevated brows. 
 
 " God bless him ! ” interrupted uncle 
 Joe, snapping his fingers under the very 
 eyes of his sovereign mistress. 
 
 “ Why, Joseph ! ” ejaculated the aston- 
 ished lady. 
 
 Hearing that Miss Willianna was no 
 longer in the market, and that there was 
 no danger of his being caught by that 
 cunning angler, while Robert was devoting 
 himself to Therese, Dashwood consented 
 to accompany Mr. Rushton, junior, to see 
 his lady love. My brother was himself 
 again with Dashwood. He forgot all 
 trouble and care in his gay presence. 
 Never were two gallants so perfectly con- 
 genial ; Robert was always piquant and 
 original to Dashwood, and Dashwood was 
 always gloriously brilliant to Robert. 
 Louise became really merry in their so- 
 ciet)''. Fairy Hill acknowledged the pre- 
 sence of its master spirit in Dashwood. 
 Papa, too, yielded to the irresistible charm 
 of his manner, and grew excessively fond 
 of his society. Dashwood had many ad- 
 ventures to relate, and talked of every 
 thing but his book. His success, his few 
 laurels so recently won, his increasing 
 popularity, his high standing among men 
 of letters — all this was a sealed volume 
 with him. He was ever the unselfish and 
 elegant gentleman, pleasing all, but never 
 vaunting himself. Never boasting in word, 
 or look, "but wearing his new honors with 
 a modest grace. But what was new to us 
 was not so to him. It was nothing new 
 to him that he could write charmingly — 
 that he was master of all the intricacies 
 of the language — that poetry flowed spon- 
 taneously from his pen, and that he had 
 the material within him of which great 
 men are formed. He must have felt a 
 consciousness of this from boyhood. He 
 must have known this amid all his vaga- 
 ries. and therefore lie was not unduly 
 
494 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 exalted when the world acknowledged it. 
 He was a thorough artist, humbled at his 
 own success, and evading any allusion 
 which might lead to the subject of his 
 honors. 
 
 The two friends went off together to 
 see Therese. She ran out, and greeted 
 them before the)' reached the steps. Dash- 
 wood said some gentle words to her, and 
 pressed his lips upon her hand ; and she 
 bravely conquered all her emotion, and 
 put her arm in Robert’s, in her trusting, 
 childlike way, and looked up to her hand- 
 some lover with sweet and winning pride. 
 She showed them into a cosy morning 
 room, where the happy Willianna was 
 sitting sewing. Dashwood said the dear 
 little woman was so changed. All her 
 bewildering little coquetries were gone; 
 her pleasant wiles and pretty, artless fas- 
 cinations completely subdued. She was 
 tearful, but brave. She kept close to 
 Robert. She felt the need of some one 
 to cling to; and he was proud of the de- 
 licate, trusting creature at his side. 
 
 Dashwood said it was the most beauti- 
 ful tableau he ever saw — Therese and 
 Robert. And while he rattled away to 
 Miss Blanton, he had yet an eye for them. 
 Robert, so manly and tender, and The- 
 rese, so chastened and purified, turning 
 her soft eye upon him with coy confid- 
 ingness ; and then forgetting herself, and 
 betraying unconsciously her deep devo- 
 tion, and her woman’s pride in him she 
 had chosen. It was beautiful, most re- 
 freshingly beautiful, said Dashwood, with 
 an “ ah ! ” as he related all this to Louise, 
 in the vain hope of softening his obdurate 
 fair one. 
 
 “ I wonder,” he continued, half solilo- 
 quizing, “if Louise will ever lay her hand 
 upon my shoulder, and say, Frank, or. 
 indeed, any thing else ; I would give all I 
 have to hear.” 
 
 Uncle Joe accidentally overheard this 
 remark, and he immediately hobbled up 
 to the desponding lover, to inform him, 
 that he might depend upon it Louise could 
 say enough when she chose. 
 
 “ I have heard her dear me ! You 
 
 don’t know Louise. I think she’s rash at 
 times ; indeed I do.” 
 
 Dashwood turned to Louise, and she 
 was blushing beautifully. 
 
 My sister, with all her composure, was 
 excessively diffident — too diffident, in fact, 
 to let people know what she really was ; 
 and Dashwood would not have had her 
 otherwise. He was a most jealous lover, 
 and could not have borne what poor 
 Robert endured at the Black Mountain 
 Springs. 
 
 It was vevy well for the lives of all her 
 lovers that Louise was thus chary of her 
 
 [May 
 
 smiles. Had she been one shade less 
 prudish and disdainful; I should have had 
 some heartrending murders and bloody 
 duels to relate. These dull pages would 
 have been garnished with exploits on Mr. 
 Dashwood’s part almost exceeding belief. 
 Othello would have been an angel to my 
 hero. Happily for me — for I have no tal- 
 ent for such gloomy details — my sister 
 gave him no cause for jealousy. Her rigid 
 propriety and uncompromising fidelity 
 were the anchor of his life. Loving so 
 intensely, it was fortunate that she was 
 so firm. Had she rejected him once, or 
 wavered in the least, this intrepid fellow, 
 after doing serious damage, would have 
 cut his own throat. 
 
 The Dandy scheme was now about to be 
 consummated. Miss Blanton was soon to 
 be led to the Hymeneal altar by her Black 
 Mountain Captive. Weddings were rare 
 in the Blanton family ; and this was to be 
 a prodigious affair. The note of prepara- 
 tion was sounded months before the hap- 
 py day. Mrs. Braxley was invited over 
 to the Grove to matronize the fair Willi- 
 anna, and to act- as generalissimo of the 
 Blanton forces. Mrs. Braxley, proud of 
 her reputation, and delighting in power, 
 took possession of the Grove. She very 
 unceremoniously turned the house out of 
 the windows and the astonished Blanton 
 and menagerie out of doors, and com- 
 menced operations on an alarming and 
 Phoebean scale. Sappingwood, who was 
 occasionally sent over with messages and 
 injunctions from Mrs. Barbara to her 
 daughter, reported that Mrs. Braxley was 
 turning up Jack at the Grove, and mak- 
 ing the Blanton servants “ hop linky.” 
 
 The lovely Willianna, in “maiden me- 
 ditation fancy free,” while the house was 
 apparently being pulled down over her 
 ears, awaited the auspicious day. The 
 wedding day arrived ; and beaux and 
 belles, and old and young, were congregat- 
 ed together at the Grove to witness the 
 ceremony, and partake of the good cheer 
 so lavishly provided. The amount of 
 jewelry worn by Miss Blanton on this in- 
 teresting occasion had better not be spe- 
 cified. Sly readers would not believe me 
 if I were to tell them. Poor Dandy was 
 terribly scared, and shockingly dressed. I 
 should say he was happy the evening 
 Blanton encountered him in the badly- 
 ventilated corner, compared to what he 
 w r as on the evening of his marriage. He 
 took Willianna upon the wrong arm, and 
 could scarcely be made to understand that 
 the wedding ring was not intended for 
 that lovely creature’s thumb. Even after 
 the ceremony, when one would naturally 
 expect to see him somewhat composed, 
 this Black Mountain Captive seemed in 
 
1853.] 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 495 
 
 an awkward trance. In dancing he man- 
 aged to wind his feet in several yards of 
 thule belonging to his bride’s apparel, and 
 to get a dreadful fall. At supper, he got 
 choked with a chicken’s wing, and had 
 several stout fellows thumping him on 
 the back before he could recover his 
 breath. None of this escaped Dash- 
 wood’s eye. My brother had commis- 
 sioned him to use all his comic powers 
 upon Therese. Robert was pining to see 
 her revive, and Dashwood strove zealously 
 to bring back the coquettish smiles, and 
 their attendant dimples, which had first 
 ensnared his susceptible friend. Therese 
 £Ould not resist Dashwood’s drollery. She 
 laughed when he called her attention to 
 Dandy wound up in thule , and struggling 
 on the floor, while the band paused for 
 his release, and bid her behold the Dandy 
 of the day ! Robert was ever near her, 
 catching her smiles and watching the old 
 light of early summer days, as it broke 
 beautifully on her brow. 
 
 Grandma was at the wedding. A gay il- 
 lusion cap, and a new velvet, with many 
 new airs and graces, were brought out for 
 the occasion. No swan ever curved her 
 neck more complacently, than did this tri- 
 umphant belle of old, as she circled about 
 the illuminated rooms. These were the 
 weddings for her, she informed her friends. 
 None of your blue-nosed morning affairs 
 for her, she never attended them at all. 
 She loved the real old Virginia “ break 
 downs,” when the masters’ heads swam 
 in champagne, and the servants’ in apple 
 toddy. 
 
 “ The Blarntons are old Virginia aristo- 
 crats,” she remarked. “The family never 
 do things by halves. A relative of theirs, 
 Col. William Blarnton of Reedy Creek, 
 gave a party on one occasion which finally 
 drove him to prison.” 
 
 “ That costly and magnificent entertain- 
 ment,” said Mrs. Barbara, who was in one 
 of her happiest moods, “was given to me 
 when I was married, and I always larfed 
 and told Mr. Itushton that Col. Blarnton 
 had given me his estate.” In this delight- 
 ful manner that brilliant conversationist, 
 Mrs. Barbara, beguiled many a weary 
 wall flower on that memorable evening. 
 
 Sappingwood, illustrious valet, also dis- 
 tinguished himself here. It seemed that 
 since Dashwood’s return, that remarkable 
 servant had dropped his master, and tak- 
 en the poet for his model, in dress, manner, 
 carriage, and the small courtesies general- 
 ly. Knowing that our ex attache was 
 just returned from the seat of grace and 
 fashion, Sappingwood kept his eye upon 
 him, and was often seen practising the last 
 tip before a large mirror in my brother’s 
 dressing-room. Now there was at the 
 
 wedding a notorious exquisite, who imagin- 
 ed himself partially eclipsed by Dash- 
 wood, and who had not failed to observe 
 Sap’s fidelity in all his movements to his 
 illustrious original. In the gentlemen’s 
 dressing-room Sap figured largely, and 
 being an adept in matters of taste and 
 style, was, of course, in great demand. 
 The exquisite, wishing to throw some rid- 
 icule on Dashwood, gave his valet an or- 
 der in French. To his surprise, Sap ap- 
 proached him with a bow, and said : 
 
 “ Que voulez-vous, monsieur ? ” with the 
 very air and accent of Dashwood true to 
 the life. 
 
 Highly pleased at his success, the ex- 
 quisite, in order to stimulate him to fur- 
 ther displays, languidly extended a bank- 
 note, and asked Sap in drawling tones if 
 he would be kind enough to recognize 
 a V? 
 
 Sap, having exhausted his French, re- 
 plied in his vernacular, “ Certainly, sir,” 
 remarking with a very low bow, as he put 
 up the note in his red morocco pocket- 
 book, that he always made it a point to 
 recognize a friend in any compan}-, though 
 he would do the V’s the justice to say 
 that he had never heard of their being 
 seen with the gentleman before. 
 
 After the marriage ceremony, grand- 
 ma came majestically to me. and gave it 
 as her deliberate and unalterable opinion, 
 that Mrs. Dandy was still an old maid ! 
 
 “ Nothing under the sun,” said Mrs. Bar- 
 bara solemnly, “no ring — no priest — no 
 ceremony — can prevent that unfortunate 
 woman from being an old maid.” 
 
 “ If she were to marry forty times,” 
 continued the dowager in a chilling whis- 
 per, which made the blood run cold, “ she 
 would still be an old maid! And she 
 might remove from here, and settle with 
 that truly remarkable creature, Dandy, in 
 Texas if she chose, and every man, wo- 
 man and child would know her to be an 
 old maid. Old maid is written on her 
 forehead— -is heard in her voice — is legible 
 on the very finger on which she wears her 
 wedding ring. You might blindfold me, 
 and only let me hear her voice, and I 
 should immediately exclaim, ‘ There speaks 
 an old maid of forty!’ You might take 
 me to Jericho, and just by way of experi- 
 ment show me one single ringlet — the 
 smallest tip of one of her corkscrew curls, 
 and what would I say ? Why I would 
 immediately exclaim, ‘ This belonged to an 
 old maid of forty ! ’ I should, upon my 
 word. Therefore, I repeat it, what hope 
 is there for her ? Can she escape ? No — 
 emphatically no. She is, Dandy or no 
 Dandy — priest or no priest — an old maid 
 until doomsday ! ” 
 
 Uncle Joe forgot his rheumatism at this 
 
49G 
 
 Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 wedding. I am inclined to think that he 
 was even oblivious of his rash alliance 
 with Mrs. Barbara’s daughter. I was in- 
 formed that uncle Joe coaxed a company 
 of chosen spirits into a remote room, and 
 having carefully closed the door, sang to 
 them in dulcet tones two of his favorite 
 songs, 11 Oh no, I never mention her,” and 
 “Meet me by moonlight alone, in the 
 grove at the end of the vale.” They say 
 uncle Joe’s inimitable singing brought 
 tears into his own eyes, but failed simi- 
 larly to affect his jolly hearers. 
 
 The next event I have to record is the 
 double wedding — Dashwood and Louise — 
 Robert and Therese. I am sorry to say 
 that this was a blue-nosed morning affair, 
 and of course the reader knows Mrs. Bar- 
 bara kept her room. When she learned 
 that breakfast was to be eaten at one 
 o’clock, she slammed the door in the face 
 of her informer, and said she did not care 
 if they ate it at midnight. 
 
 Therese. in her half-mourning, looked 
 beautiful but sad. She could not forget, 
 even in her happiness, the darling boj' in 
 Heaven. She missed, even then, the prat- 
 tling tongue and childish caresses of the 
 little one she mourned, and she would 
 stealthily seek some quiet place to weep 
 alone. Robert, pained to see her thus, 
 was almost jealous of her sorrow. Once 
 he found her sitting alone in a backroom, 
 crying bitterly. In her hand she held a 
 little blue shoe, all crumpled and worn, 
 and a coral necklace. She threw her soft 
 arms around her tender husband’s neck, 
 and begged him to forgive her for crying 
 so much — and then she held up the little 
 wrinkled shoe, with its broken strings, 
 and wept again. 
 
 Now, if my readers would like to know 
 this dear Therese in her own fairy home, 
 they must come to Virginia; nay, they 
 must come to me. and I will show them 
 Robert and Therese, still young, and still 
 loving, and still happy. And I will take 
 great pleasure also in showing them a 
 little round-faced, bald-headed bov, who, 
 I regret to say, cries very much, and 
 makes very wry faces. My readers, par- 
 ticularly my sentimental ones, would be 
 astonished to see my careless, fastidious 
 brother, until this round-faced boy in his 
 arms, walking him backwards and for- 
 wards, tossing him, jumping him, until 
 my good brother is worn out with walk- 
 ing, tossing, and jumping. This boy of 
 Robert’s is considered a paragon of boys 
 in the family. He is certainly a most re- 
 markable boy. To convince my readers 
 of this, I have only to mention that he 
 cries for the candle — and yells terrifically 
 because prudent persons oppose his put- 
 ting his fingers in the blaze ! Then he 
 
 [May 
 
 has been known to cry himself hoarse for 
 the new moon ! He also cries to pull his 
 papa’s hair — and most wonderful to re- 
 late, cries for his uncle Blanton every 
 time he sees him ! Such a compliment 
 from such a source astonishes Mr. Blan- 
 ton — he having been all his life as a dread- 
 ful raw-head-and-bloody-bones to juve- 
 niles. But this wonderful baby of Rob- 
 ert’s invariably sets up a yell to get to his 
 uncle Blanton ; and Mr. Blanton, with a 
 grave face, takes the unaccountable infant 
 in his arms, handling him pretty much as 
 he would a rare and fragile specimen of 
 Bohemian ware; keeping him at arm’s 
 length, and in such a unique and unconir 
 fortable position that baby squalls and 
 Therese laughs. 
 
 This boy is a subject of profound inves- 
 tigation to Mr. Blanton. He has neglect- 
 ed his menagerie to study this human prob- 
 lem. He has examined him phrenologi- 
 cally, physiologically, and psychologically, 
 and says he has some extraordinary de- 
 velopments. He lectures Robert and 
 Therese on the manner in which so aston- 
 ishing a subject should be trained. He 
 lays down rules for his behavior, for 
 which baby has evidently no earthly re- 
 spect. 
 
 Uncle Joe comes twice a week to see 
 the boy, and seems to think with Mr. 
 Blanton, that it is a wonderful child. 
 
 The Dandys live in great splendor, and 
 entertain magnificently. Mrs. Dandy and 
 Mrs. Braxley are inseparable. They are 
 most congenial spirits, and I think poor 
 Dandy has a fellow-feeling for uncle Joe. 
 
 Dashwood and Louise went to Europe 
 immediately after their marriage. My 
 sister returned from her travels improved 
 in manner and person. Her diffidence 
 and hauteur had given place to a charm- 
 ing graciousness of manner, most fasci- 
 nating and delightful. Dashwood is now 
 bring in a large city, and his lady is one 
 of the leaders of the ton. She is the 
 centre of a circle unsurpassed for wit and 
 refinement, and Mrs. Barbara, who is a 
 judge in these matters, says the hospitali- 
 ties of her house are dispensed with a 
 grace and elegance she never saw equalled. 
 My sister is one of the married belles, 
 and Dashwood the leader of the literati. 
 She is chaperoned by Miss Ellen McGre- 
 gor Dashwood, who has left her home in 
 Kent to devote her days to these beloved 
 relatives. Mrs. Dashwood comes to Fairy 
 Hill every summer, on her way to the 
 Springs. Mrs. Barbara evidently looks 
 up to her with great deference, and always 
 speaks of her granddaughter, Mrs. Dash- 
 wood, when she wishes to impress people 
 with a proper sense of her dignity and im- 
 portance. 
 
Virginia in a Novel Form. 
 
 497 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 Dashwood is always busy. He comes 
 in great haste to Fairy Hill, calls a little 
 while at Robert’s, looks in upon the Dan- 
 dys, and devotes a few odd hours to un- 
 cle Joe. He is in such demand. People 
 want him every where. He has not even 
 time to accompany his own wife to the 
 sea-side. My sister, who is a lady of 
 fashion and independence, makes up her 
 own parties, and goes any where, leaving 
 her husband to pursue his business, or 
 his pleasure, as a fashionable lady should 
 do. 
 
 Therese, once so fond of admiration, is 
 completely domesticated, and devoted to 
 Robert and her boy. Louise, wh'o was a 
 type of indomitable constancy, is now a 
 lady of ton, somewhat inclined to dissipa- 
 tion, Dashwood saj r s, and exulting in the 
 quantity and quality of her admirers. 
 
 Our glorious poet is still brilliant and 
 handsome, and jocund, and delightful. 
 He has a pleasant word and a beaming 
 smile for all. He has the art of dispens- 
 ing a few words to great profit. He has 
 something to say to every old family ser- 
 vant, and a happy jest for dependants of 
 all grades. His way through the world 
 is but a triumphant march. And all this 
 is the effect of his most happy and irre- 
 sistible manner. His manner has made 
 him great among men — has won golden 
 opinions from the highest to the lowest — 
 has filled his once empty purse — has ga- 
 thered around his elegant wife the most 
 refined circle in Virginia — has riveted Ills 
 friends to "him under all circumstances — 
 has brought him honor upon honor, and 
 will, ultimately, give him any position he 
 may demand. All this has been accom- 
 plished by a happiness of address which 
 it is impossible to describe. Without it, 
 he might have been honorable and good, 
 and gifted, and sincere, hut he would ne- 
 ver have been what he is. I need not 
 here dilate on the importance of tact, and 
 manner. Plato, himself, never lost an 
 opportunity to impress his pupils with 
 the great importance of a conciliatory ad- 
 dress. It can achieve more than is dream- 
 ed of in the cynic’s philosophy. It has 
 raised many a man to the highest honors 
 in our great Democracy, while the want 
 of it has caused talents of the first order 
 to remain unnoticed and unpreferred. 
 
 But moralizing is not my forte , as the 
 sagacious reader has doubtless perceived. 
 
 I will not sift from these dull pages the 
 morals which lie therein embedded, as 
 the precious metal in California’s barren 
 sands. I will not repeat that patience 
 and perseverance overcometh all things — 
 nor the commandment with promise, 
 wherein we are told to honor our fathers 
 and mothers, etc. Time will teach all 
 this — for as he goes noiselessly on, he 
 leaves his footprints in his wake. 
 
 He leaves (the stern old teacher) a few 
 more shining locks — steals a little light- 
 ness froip the lightest foot — tinges the 
 gayest hearts — casts a shadow where the 
 sun has ever shone — throws a quaintness 
 over the old hill house — peers in upon the 
 auburn curls — lifts the little boy upon 
 his round, rolling feet — lays the faithful 
 servant in his grave — checks the jocund 
 laugh — lends a cane to the once fleet of 
 foot — and thus he goes, and sprinkles 
 lesson upon lesson in his path. 
 
 And may he deal gently with thee, oh 
 martyr reader mine ! may he not lag hea- 
 vily with thee over these pages. May 
 you close the book as the dinner-bell 
 rings, and say, “ Ha ! I did not think it 
 was so late ! ” And may you consult 
 your watch, and find old Time has stolen 
 a march upon you while you have been 
 with me. 
 
 And at dinner may you sip the choicest 
 wines, and astonish with your wit and 
 brilliancy, oh martyr reader mine ! 
 
 May 3' ou hold up the dainty glass and 
 say, Here’s to the writer of the book 
 with which I have beguiled the morn- 
 ing ! ” And may you in the overflowing 
 goodness of your heart, do violence to 
 your conscience, and say, “ She wields a 
 graceful pen (!) upon my word — so here’s 
 to her ! ” 
 
 Bless thee, reader mine ! One word 
 from thee were worth all the vintage in 
 the world ! One word from thee, would 
 give wings unto my pen and tranquillity 
 to my heart! One word from thee, 
 would lighten the family nose which I 
 am doomed to carry — would cause the 
 Feejees to be served up in a piquant style 
 — would set me to daguerreotyping Old 
 Virginia for life — would infuse new vigor 
 into the style and imagination of a lady 
 doomed to all the horrors of single-bless- 
 edness, unless, with thy approval, she be 
 wedded to Immortality. 
 
498 
 
 [May 
 
 NINEVEH AND BABYLON 
 
 Discoveries among the Ruins of Nineveh and Babylon ; with Travels in Armenia , 
 Kurdistan and the Desert : being the result of a second Expedition undertaken 
 for the Trustees of the British Museum. By Austen H. Layard, M. P., Author 
 of “ Nineveh and its Remains.” With Maps, Plans, and Illustrations. 8vo., pp. 686. 
 
 OUCH of our readers as have made 
 ^ themselves acquainted with the former 
 explorations of Mr. Layard (and the num- 
 ber we presume is not small), will scarce- 
 ly rifeed more than the title-page of the 
 book lying before us, to induce them 
 cheerfully to renew their acquaintance 
 with a traveller so truthful, instructive, 
 and entertaining as Mr. Layard. The 
 abundant success of our author in his first 
 efforts at Nineveh, induced the Trustees 
 of the British Museum to request of him 
 a renewal of his labors in the same field ; 
 and we have here the results of a compli- 
 ance with that request, together with an 
 account of further researches made at 
 Babylon. We have no hesitation in say- 
 ing that we think the intelligent reader 
 will pronounce this work more deeply in- 
 teresting- than Mr. Layard’s first publica- 
 tion ; and this alone we hold to be very 
 high commendation. The former book 
 betrayed, at times, the timidity of an un- 
 practised author, though very clever man, 
 who, in the uncertainty of the reception 
 he might meet with, modestly made his 
 bow to the public, and quietly awaited 
 its judgment : that judgment was, as it 
 should have been, decidedly favorable, 
 and inspired a confidence, the effect of 
 which, we think, is visible in the publica- 
 tion before us. While it is quite free from 
 dogmatism, it yet exhibits more freedom 
 both of thought and expression ; and ir- 
 respective of the valuable discoveries it 
 records, is an exceedingly lively and in- 
 teresting narrative of travels, agreeabty 
 diversified with glowing descriptions of 
 natural scenery, and pleasant incidents 
 of an Eastern traveller’s personal adven- 
 tures. 
 
 We observe that to his name Mr. Lay- 
 ard now appends the letters M. P. ; and 
 we have such respect for his understand- 
 ing as leads us readily to believe that he 
 will prove neither an unwise nor unsafe 
 legislator for his country : but whatever 
 may be his parliamentary career ; as men 
 devoted to letters, we cannot help think- 
 ing that in his contributions already made 
 to the cause of religion and learning, he 
 has reared memorials as enduring and 
 honorable as any to be found in the ordi- 
 nary records of statesmanship. 
 
 Our limited space, however, admon- 
 ishes us that we must devote our notice 
 
 to the book rather than to its author; 
 and as we cannot give even an abridg- 
 ment of his detailed account of exploration 
 and travel, we must content ourselves 
 with such excerpts arranged under differ- 
 ent heads, as will convey to the reader a 
 general idea of the work. 
 
 And first, what does it bring to the no- 
 tice of the Biblical scholar ? How far do 
 recent discoveries afford confirmation of 
 historical facts recorded in the sacred 
 writings l To this we answer that the 
 discoveries made at Nineveh, in their il- 
 lustration and confirmation of the later 
 portions of Bible history, appear to be 
 performing a work similar to that which 
 the monuments of Egypt have done for 
 the earliest portions of the same vener- 
 able record. The Nile, the Euphrates, and 
 the Tigris, all seem to be yielding their 
 testimony to the truth of the Bible. We 
 saw it, indeed, stated in a newspaper, not 
 long since, that the recent explorations of 
 Mr. Layard had thrown discredit on the 
 prophet Daniel ; and our curiosity was 
 accordingly excited to a diligent search 
 for the statements on which rested an as- 
 sertion, that, to us at least, savored more 
 of confidence than of learning. W e have 
 sought in vain in Mr. Layard for one 
 word that discredits either Daniel or any 
 other book in the Scriptures. But in our 
 search, we have met with testimony of a 
 different kind, full of interest. W e found 
 that the king who built the palace of 
 Kouyunjik (opposite the present Mosul 
 on the Tigris) was, beyond all question, 
 the Sennacherib of Scripture. The Book 
 of Kings informs us that the King of As- 
 syria, in the fourteenth year of the reign 
 of Hezekiah, “came up against all the 
 fenced cities of Judah and took them.” 
 (2 Kings, xviii. 13.) 
 
 This King of Assyria was Sennacherib, 
 and in his disinterred palace, Mr. Layard 
 found sculptured representations with 
 inscriptions containing the annals of six 
 years of his reign. These afford remark- 
 able confirmation to history sacred and 
 profane. In the first year of his reign 
 he defeated, according to the inscriptions, 
 Merodach Baladan, a name familiar to us, 
 for he was the king, it will be remember- 
 ed, who is mentioned in the Old Testa- 
 ment, as sending letters and a present 
 to Hezekiah, (2 Kings, xx. 12. — Isaiah, 
 
1853.] 
 
 Nineveh and Babylon. 
 
 49 9 
 
 xxxix. 1.) when the latter ostentatiously 
 displayed all his treasures, and was re- 
 proved for it by Isaiah, who predicted 
 that all this treasure, together with the 
 descendants of its owner, should be car- 
 ried away as spoil to the very city whence 
 these ambassadors of Merodach Baladan 
 came. 
 
 But the third year of Sennacherib’s 
 reign, as recorded in the inscriptions, is 
 most interesting ; for in it he overran all 
 Syria. In the annals of that year, this is 
 a part of the inscription: 
 
 “Hezekiah, King of Judah, who had not 
 submitted to my authority, forty-six of his 
 principal cities, and fortresses and villages 
 depending upon them, of which I took no 
 account, I captured ; and carried away 
 their spoil. I shut up himself within Jeru- 
 salem, his capital city. The fortified towns, 
 and the rest of his towns, which I spoiled, 
 I severed from his country, and gave to the 
 Kings of Ascalon, Ekron, and Gaza, so as to 
 make his country small. In addition to the 
 former tribute imposed upon their coun- 
 tries, I added a tribute, the nature of which 
 I fixed.” — pp. 143, 144. 
 
 On this, Mr. Layard remarks : 
 
 “There can be little doubt that the cam- 
 paign against the cities of Palestine record- 
 ed in the inscriptions of Sennacherib at 
 Kouyunjik, is that described in the Old Tes- 
 tament. The events agree with consider- 
 able accuracy. We are told in the Book 
 of Kings, that the King of Assyria, in the 
 fourteenth year of the reign of Hezekiah, 
 
 ‘ came up against all the fenced cities of Ju- 
 dah and took them,’ as he declares himself 
 to have done in his annals. And, what is 
 most important, and perhaps one of the 
 most remarkable coincidences of historic 
 testimony on record, the amount of the 
 treasure in gold taken from Hezekiah, thirty 
 talents, agrees in the two perfectly inde- 
 endent accounts. Too much stress cannot 
 e laid on this singular fact, as it tends to 
 prove the general accuracy of the histori- 
 cal details contained in the Assyrian in- 
 scriptions. There is a difference of 500 
 talents, as it will be observed, in the amount 
 of silver. It is probable that Hezekiah 
 was much pressed by Sennacherib, and 
 compelled to give him all the wealth that 
 he could collect, as we find him actually 
 taking the silver from the house of the 
 Lord, as well as from his own treasury, and 
 cutting off the gold from the doors and 
 pillars of the temple, to satisfy the demands 
 of the Assyrian king. The Bible may 
 therefore only include the actual amount of 
 money in the 300 talents of silver, whilst 
 the Assyrian records comprise all the pre- 
 cious metal taken away. 
 
 “ It is natural to suppose that Sennacherib 
 would not perpetuate the memory of his 
 own overthrow ; and that, having been un- 
 successful in an attempt upon Jerusalem, 
 his army being visited by the plague de- 
 
 scribed in Scripture, he should gloss over 
 his defeat by describing the tribute he had 
 previously received from Hezekiah as the 
 general result of his campaign.” — pp. 144, 145. 
 
 But further still, sculptured on the 
 walls of one of the chambers, Mr. Layard 
 found a representation of a city besieged, 
 and vanquished, captives taken, etc., and 
 the conquering monarch sitting on his 
 throne, whde the vanquished chief, crouch- 
 ed and knelt before him. Over his head 
 was this inscription : “ Sennacherib, the 
 mighty king, king of the country of As- 
 syria, sitting on the throne of judgment, 
 before (or at the entrance of ) the city of 
 Lachish. I give permission for its slaugh- 
 ter.” 
 
 “Here, therefore (says our author), was the 
 actual picture of the taking of Lachish, the 
 city, as we know from the Bible, besieged by 
 Sennacherib, when he sent his generals to de- 
 mand tribute of Hezekiah, and which he had 
 captured before their return. 2 Kings, xviii. 
 14. Isaiah xxxvi. 2. Evidence of the most 
 remarkable character to confirm the inter- 
 pretation of the inscriptions, and to iden- 
 tify the king who caused them to be en- 
 graved with the Sennacherib of Scripture. 
 This highly interesting series of bass-reliefs 
 contained, moreover, an undoubted repre- 
 sentation of a king, a city, and a people, 
 with whose names we are acquainted, and 
 of an event described in Holy Writ. They 
 furnish us, therefore, with illustrations of 
 the Bible of very great importance. The 
 captives were undoubtedly Jews, their 
 physiognomy was strikingly indicated in 
 the sculptures, but they had been stripped 
 of their ornaments and their fine raiment, 
 and were left barefooted and half-clothed.” 
 — pp. 152, 153. 
 
 We might here, in further confirma- 
 tion of Bible history, advert to the disco- 
 very of a treaty, attested by the seals, re- 
 spectively, of the Egyptian king, Sabaco, 
 the Ethiopian, of the 25th dynasty, and 
 of the Assyrian monarch. Sabaco is pro- 
 bably the So, mentioned in 2 Kings, xvii. 
 4, as having received ambassadors from 
 Hoshea, King of Israel, who, by entering 
 into a league with the Egyptians, drew 
 down the vengeance of Shalmaneser, 
 whose tributary he was, and led to the 
 first great captivity of the people of Sa- 
 maria. Shalmaneser, we know, was the 
 immediate predecessor of Sennacherib, 
 and Sabaco, or So, was on the throne of 
 Egypt during the reign of both Shalma- 
 neser and Sennacherib. But we must 
 proceed. 
 
 In Ezekiel iii. 15, we read, “ Then I 
 came to them of the captivity at Tel-Abib , 
 that dwelt by the river of Chebar.” In 
 Kings, the river is called Khabour , and 
 such is the name used by the Arabs at 
 this day. To this river. Mr. Layard 
 
500 
 
 Nineveh and Babylon. 
 
 [May 
 
 went, and found certain sculptures in 
 mounds opened at Arban which he 
 supposed to be very ancient, and thus 
 speaks : 
 
 “To the Cliebar were transported by the 
 Assyrian king, after the destruction of Sa- 
 maria, the captive children of Israel, and 
 ini its banks ‘the heavens were opened’ to 
 Ezekiel, and ‘he saw visions of God,’ and 
 spake his prophecies to his brother exiles. 
 Around Arban may have been pitched the 
 tents of the sorrowing Jews, as those of the 
 Arabs were during my visit. To the same 
 pastures they led their sheep, and they 
 drank of the same waters. Then the banks 
 of the river were covered with towns and 
 villages, and a palace-temple still stood on 
 the mound, reflected in the transparent 
 stream. We have, however, but one name 
 connected with the Khabour recorded in 
 Scripture, that of Tel-Abib, the ‘mound of 
 Abib, or, of the heaps of ears of corn,’ but 
 whether it applied to a town, or to a simple 
 artificial elevation, such as still abound, and 
 are still called ‘tels,’ is a matter of doubt. 
 
 I sought in vain for some trace of the word 
 amongst the names now given by the wan- 
 dering Arab to the various ruins on the 
 Khabour and its confluents. 
 
 “We know that Jews still lingered in the 
 cities of the Khabour until long after the 
 Arab invasion ; and we may perhaps recog- 
 nize in the Jewish communities of Ras-al- 
 Ain, at the sources of the river, and of 
 Karkisia, or Carchemish, at its confiuen'ee 
 with the Euphrates, visited and described 
 by Benjamin of Tudela, in the latter end 
 of the twelfth century of the Christian era, 
 the descendants of the captive Israelites. 
 
 “But the hand of time has long since 
 swept even this remnant away, with the 
 busy crowds which thronged the banks of 
 the river. From its mouth to its source, 
 from Carchemish to Ras-al-Ain, there is 
 now no single permanent human habitation 
 on the Khabour. Its rich meadows and its 
 deserted ruins are alike become the en- 
 camping places of the wandering Arab.’ — 
 pp. 283, 284. 
 
 Again, in his researches at Babylon, 
 our author found certain bowls with in- 
 scriptions which, in the judgment of the 
 learned, connect themselves, by means of 
 the character used in the writing, with the 
 Jews of the Babylonish captivity. These 
 bowls, it would seem, were designed to 
 be used for healing purposes, and were 
 supposed to act by way of charm. They 
 were filled with water or some other 
 fluid, by which the writing became obli- 
 terated as the ink dissolved, and the pa- 
 tient then drank the contents of the bowl. 
 Mr. Thomas Ellis, of the manuscript de- 
 partment in the British Museum, thus 
 speaks of them : 
 
 “A discovery relating to the Jews of the 
 captivity in Babylon, and consequently of 
 
 great interest to Oriental scholars, and es- 
 pecially to biblical students, was made by 
 Mr. Layard during his second expedition to 
 Assyria. Amongst the various curious ob- 
 jects found on the banks of the Euphrates, 
 and in the ruins of ancient Babylonia, were 
 several bowls or cups of terracotta, round 
 the inner surface of which were inscrip- 
 tions in the ancient Chaldsean language, 
 written in characters wholly unknown, and, 
 
 I believe, never before seen in Europe. The 
 letters appear to be an admixture of the 
 Syriac and Palmyrine, and in some instan- 
 ces resemble the ancient Phoenician. The 
 subjects of these inscriptions are amulets 
 or charms against evil spirits, diseases, and 
 every kind of misfortune. They must have 
 been written long prior to any existing 
 manuscripts of the ancient Hebrew and 
 Chaldasan languages that we now know of, 
 there being no divisions between words 
 (except in one instance, No. 5, where the 
 forms of the letters would seem to indicate 
 a later date), nor are there any vowel 
 points. But the most remarkable circum- 
 stance connected with these inscriptions is, 
 that the characters used on the bowl marked 
 No. 1. answer precisely to the description 
 given of the most ancient Hebrew letters 
 in tlie Babylonian Talmud, which contains 
 an account of the nature and origin of the 
 letters used by the Jews. In the tract 
 Sanhedrin we are told that the Jews ealled 
 their characters Assyrian, mlEN, and that 
 they were brought with them from Assyria. 
 Abraham de Balmis in his Hebrew gram- 
 mar states, that the characters called As- 
 syrian were composed of straight lines : his 
 words are, iPTscn "x? nasi i-rnvnijp 
 nix-pa NTno; the Latin version of this in 
 the same grammar is, ‘ Quia est recta in 
 suis Uteris et ezivit nobiscum ex Assyria.’ 
 The orthography of these inscriptions is 
 very defective, and sometimes pure Hebrew 
 sentences are found mixed with the Chal- 
 dee, especially in No. 5. ; and the words 
 ‘Halleluiah’ and ‘Selah’ occur in nearly 
 every one of them. All this tends to confirm 
 the opinion that the writers were Jews; 
 for it is well known that the early Chris- 
 tians were utterly ignorant of Hebrew, nor 
 is there any proof that it was cultivated at 
 Babylon ; on the contrary, it was at Baby- 
 lon that the Hebrew ceased to be a spoken 
 language, the Jews being compelled, by 
 their lengthened captivity, to adopt the 
 Chaldsean, whilst at the same time they 
 were corrupted by the idolatry and super- 
 stitions of the Babylonians.” — pp. 509, 510. 
 
 To this, Mr. Layard adds — 
 
 “Little doubt can, I think, exist as to 
 their Jewish origin : and such being the case, 
 there is no reason to question their having 
 belonged to the descendants of those Jews 
 who were carried captive by Nebuchad- 
 nezzar to Babylon and the surrounding 
 cities. These strangers appear to have 
 clung with a tenacity peculiar to their race 
 to the land of their exile. We can trace 
 
Nineveh and, Babylon. 
 
 501 
 
 1853.] 
 
 them .about Babylon from almost the time 
 of their deportation down to the twelfth 
 century of the Christian era, when the He- 
 brew traveller, Benjamin of- Tudela, wan- 
 dered over the regions of the East and 
 among the cities of the captivity to seek 
 the remnant of his ancient nation. 
 
 * * -* 
 
 “As early as the third century Hebrew 
 travellers visited Babylon, and some of 
 them have left records of the state of their 
 countrymen. The Babylonian Talmud, 
 compiled in the beginning of the sixth cen- 
 tury, contains many valuable notices of the 
 condition of the Jewish colonies in Babylo- 
 nia, and enumerates more than two hun- 
 dred Babylonian towns then under the 
 Persian rule, inhabited by Jewish families. 
 In manuscripts of the eighth and ninth 
 centuries we have further mention of these 
 colonies. 
 
 “ In the twelfth century, Benjamin of Tu- 
 dela found no less than twenty thousand 
 Jews dwelling within twenty miles of Bab- 
 ylon, and worshipping in the synagogue, 
 built, according to tradition, by the prophet 
 Daniel himself. In Hillah alone were ten 
 thousand persons and four synagogues, and 
 he gives the number of families and of their 
 places of worship, in every town he visited, 
 keeping during his journey an exact daily 
 itinerary, which includes nearly all the sta- 
 tions on the modern caravan routes. Al- 
 lowing for some exaggeration on the part 
 of this traveller, it is still evident that a 
 very considerable Jewish population lived 
 in the cities of Babylonia. It has greatly 
 diminished, and in some places has entirely 
 disappeared. A few families still linger at 
 Hillah, and in Baghdad the principal native 
 trade and money transactions are carried 
 on by Jews, who are the bankers and bro- 
 kers of the governors of the city, as they 
 no doubt anciently were of the Abasside 
 Caliphs. 
 
 “ According to their own tradition these 
 Hebrew families wei’e descended from the 
 Jews of the captivity. They still preserved 
 their pedigrees, and traced their lineage to 
 the princes and prophets of Judah. Their 
 chief resided at Baghdad, and his title was 
 ‘ Lord Prince of the Captivity.’ He was 
 lineally descended, according to his people, 
 from king David himself. Even Mohamme- 
 dans acknowledged his claim to his noble 
 birth, and called him ‘ Our Lord, the son 
 of David.’ His authority extended over 
 the countries of the East as far as Thibet 
 and Ilindostan. He was treated on all oc- 
 casions with the greatest honor and respect, 
 and when he appeared in public he wore 
 robes of embroidered silk, and a white turban 
 encircled by a diadem of gold.”— pp. 523, 524. 
 
 And having thus hastily glanced at 
 matters of interest to the Oriental scholar 
 and biblical student, we must refer him 
 to the volume itself for much more that 
 our limits compel us to pass by unno- 
 ticed : and proceed to the consideration of 
 
 another topic, in which the Christian of 
 our day cannot but feel a lively concern. 
 What is the present state of Christianity 
 among the Nestorian and Armenian Chris- 
 tians ? Here is first Mr. Layard’s pic- 
 ture of the Nestorian patriarch, for the 
 full understanding of which, recent events 
 in the history of the Nestorians (familiar 
 enough, we presume, to Christians in 
 America) must be recalled. 
 
 “Following a precipitous pathway, and 
 mounted on a tall and sturdy mule, we 
 spied an aged man with long robes, black 
 turban, and a white beard which fell al- 
 most to his girdle. A few lusty mountain- 
 eers, in the striped dress and conical felt 
 cap of the Christian tribes, walked by his 
 side and supported him on the animal, 
 which with difficulty scrambled over the 
 loose stones. We at once recognized the 
 features of Mar Shamoun, the Patriarch of 
 the Nestorians, or, as he proudly terms 
 himself, “of the Chaldeans of the East.” 
 He had not known of our coming, and he 
 shed tears of joy as he embraced us. ' Koeh- 
 hannes, his residence, was not far distant, 
 and he turned back with us to the village. 
 Since I had seen him, misfortune and grief, 
 more than age, had worn deep furrows on 
 his brow, and had turned his hair and beard 
 to silvery grey. W e had last met at Mosul, 
 the day previous to his escape from, con- 
 finement into Persia. Since that time he had 
 been wandering on the confines of the two 
 border countries, but had now sought re- 
 pose once more in the old seat of the patri- 
 archs of the mountain tribes. 
 
 “ We soon reaehed his dwelling. It is sol- 
 idly built of hewn stone, and stands on the 
 very edge of a precipice overhanging a ra- 
 vine, through which winds a branch of the 
 Zab. A dark vaulted passage led us into 
 the room, scarcely better lighted by a 
 small window, closed by a greased sheet of 
 coarse paper. The tattered remains of a 
 felt carpet, spread in a corner, was the 
 whole of its furniture. The garments of 
 the Patriarch were hardly less worn and 
 ragged. Even the miserable allowance of 
 300 piastres (about 21 . 10s.), which the 
 Porte had promised to pay him monthly on 
 his return to the mountains was long in ar- 
 rears, and he was supported entirely by the 
 contributions of his faithful but poverty- 
 stricken flock. Kochhannes was, moreover, 
 still a heap of ruins. At the time of the 
 massacre Mar Shamoun scarcely saved him- 
 self by a precipitous flight before the fero- 
 cious Kurds of Beder Khan Bey entered 
 the village and slew those who still lin- 
 gered in it, and were from age or infirmi- 
 ties unable to escape. 
 
 “Mar Shamoun, at the time of my visit, 
 had no less cause to bewail the misfortunes 
 of his people than his personal sufferings. 
 The latter were perhaps partly to be attri- 
 buted to his own want of prudence and 
 foresight. Old influences, which I could 
 not but deeply deplore, and to which I do 
 
502 
 
 Nineveh and Babylon. 
 
 [May 
 
 not in Christian charity wish further to al- 
 lude, had been at work, and I found him 
 even more bitter in his speech against the 
 American missionaries than against his 
 Turkish or Kurdish oppressors. He had 
 been taught, and it is to be regretted that 
 his teachers were of the Church of Eng- 
 land, that those who were endeavoring to 
 civilize and instruct his flock were seceders 
 from the orthodox community of Chris- 
 tians, heretical in docti'ine, rejecting all the 
 sacraments and ordinances of the true faith, 
 and intent upon reducing the Nestorians to 
 their own hopeless condition of infidelity. 
 His fears were worked on by the assurance 
 that, ere long, through their means and 
 teaching, his spiritual as well as his tempo- 
 ral authority would be entirely destroyed. 
 
 I found him bent upon deeds of violence 
 and intolerant persecution, which might 
 have endangered, for the second time, the 
 safety of this people as well as his own. I 
 strove, and not without success, to calm his 
 unreasonable violence. I pointed out to 
 him his true position with regard to the 
 American missions, trying to remove the 
 calumnies which had been heaped upon 
 them, and to show in what respects they 
 could benefit and improve the condition of 
 the Nestorians. I could not disguise from 
 him that in education and the free circula- 
 tion of the Scriptures, there could alone be 
 found any hope for his people. I showed 
 him that, if he wished to foster an interest 
 which had been naturally felt amongst 
 Protestants for the remains of a primitive 
 Church, exposed to great oppression and 
 great sufferings, he must reform the abuses 
 which had unfortunately crept into it, and 
 endeavor to render his clei'gy equal to the 
 task of instructing and guiding their flocks. 
 He answei’ed, as might have been expected, 
 that he wished to be helped in that labor 
 by priests of the Episcopal Church of Eng- 
 land, whose docti’ines and discipline were 
 more in conformity with the Nestoi-ian, 
 than those of the Axnerican missionaries. 
 If such men would join him, he was ready, 
 he declared, to co-operate with them in re- 
 forming abuses, and educating the commu- 
 nity. It was almost in vain I observed to 
 him that, as the Church of England had 
 hitherto not listened to his appeals, and as 
 there was no immediate orospect of help 
 from her, it was his duty, as well as his 
 time interest, to assist in the good work so 
 zealously and disinterestedly begun by the 
 American missionai’ies, and which they 
 were desirous of carrying on with his 
 sanction and support.” — pp. 423, 425. 
 
 We next have the following sketch of a 
 Nestorian bishop. 
 
 “A ride of three quarters of an hour 
 brought us to the episcopal residence. Mar 
 Isho, the bishop, met me at some distance 
 from it. He was shabbily dressed, and not 
 of prepossessing appearance ; but he ap- 
 peared to be good-natured, and to have a 
 fair stock of common sense. After we had 
 
 exchanged the common salutations, seated 
 on a bank of wild thyme, he led the way 
 to the porch of the chux'ch. Ragged car- 
 pets and felts had been spread in the dark 
 vestibule, in the midst of sacks of coim, 
 boui'ghoul, and other provisions for the 
 bishop’s establishment. Various rude ag- 
 ricultural instruments, and spinning wheels, 
 almost filled up the rest of the room ; for 
 these primitive Chi’istians rely on the sanc- 
 tity of their places of worship for the pro- 
 tection of their temporal stores. 
 
 “The chui-ch itself was entei’ed by a low 
 doorway, through which a man of moderate 
 size could scarcely squeeze himself, and 
 was even darker than the ante-room. It is 
 an ancient building, and the bishop knew 
 nothing of the date of its foundation. Al- 
 though service is occasionally performed, 
 the communion is not administered in it. 
 One or two tattered parchment folios, 
 whose title-pages were unfortunately want- 
 ing, but which were evidently of an early 
 period, were heaped up in a corner with a 
 few modern manuscripts on paper, the prey 
 of mildew and insects. The title of the 
 bishop is “Metropolitan of Roustak,” a 
 name of which I could not learn the origin. 
 His jurisdiction extends over many Nesto- 
 rian villages, chiefly in the valley of She- 
 misden. Half of this district is within the 
 Persian territoi-ies, and from the convent 
 we could see the fi'ontier dominions of the 
 Shah. It is in the high road of the pei-iod- 
 ieal migrations of the great tribe of Herki, 
 who pass like a locust-cloud twice a year 
 over the settlements of the unfortunate 
 Christians, di’iving befoi’e them the flocks, 
 spoiling the gi'anaries, and eai'rying away 
 even the misei'able furniture of the hovels. 
 It is in vain that the sufferers carry their 
 complaints to their Kurdish master ; he 
 takes from them double the lawful taxes 
 and tithes. The Turkish government has 
 in this part of the mountains no powex 1 , if it 
 had the inclination, to protect its Christian 
 subjects.” — pp. 377, 378. 
 
 At the ancient city of A Van, founded, 
 according to Armenian history, by the 
 Assyrian Queen, Semiramis, Mr. Layard 
 encountered the Ai’menian bishop: here 
 things wore a more favorable aspect. 
 Under the mild rule of Mehemet Pacha, 
 Van was becoming prosperous: 
 
 “The protection he had given to the 
 Armenians had encouraged that enterpris- 
 ing and industx-ious people to enlarge their 
 commerce, and to build warehouses for 
 trade. Two handsome khans, with bazars 
 attached, were nearly finished. Shops for the 
 sale of European articles of clothing and of 
 luxury had been opened; and, what was of 
 still more importance, several native schools 
 had already been established. These im- 
 provements were chiefly due to one Shar&n, 
 an Armenian mei’chant, and a man of libe- 
 ral and enlightened views, who had second- 
 ed with energy and liberality the desire of 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Nineveh and Babylon. 
 
 503 
 
 the Pasha to ameliorate the social condition 
 of the Christian population. 
 
 “Shortly after my arrival, the Armenian 
 bishop called upon me. He was dressed in 
 the peculiar costume of his order, — long 
 black robes and a capacious black hood al- 
 most concealing his head, — and was accom- 
 panied by the priests and principal laymen 
 of his diocese. On his breast he wore the 
 rich diamond crescent and star of the Turk- 
 ish order of merit, of which he was justly 
 proud. It had been asked for him of the 
 Sultan by the Pasha, as an encouragement 
 to the Christians, and as a proof of the spirit 
 of tolerance which animated the govern- 
 ment. If such principles were fully carried 
 out in Turkey, there would be good hope 
 for the empire. Although he had been du- 
 ly elected several years before to his epis- 
 copal dignity, he still wanted the formal 
 consecration of the patriarch of his church. 
 This ceremony had hitherto been omitted 
 on account of differences which had es- 
 tranged the Armenian clergy residing iii 
 the Turkish dominions from the head of 
 their sect, whose seat is the convent of 
 Echmiadsin, made over to Russia at the 
 close of the last war. These differences, 
 arising from political interference in the 
 management of the affairs of the Church, 
 had for some time threatened a division in 
 the community, that portion of it which 
 acknowledges the authority of the Sultan 
 wishing to place itself under a patriarch 
 who resides at Cis, in Cilicia, and, conse- 
 quently, beyond foreign control. The quar- 
 rel had now, however, been settled, and 
 the bishop was on the eve of his departure 
 to receive that consecration which was es- 
 sential to his due admission into the Arme- 
 nian hierarchy.” — pp. 391, 392. 
 
 The picture of the Armenian clergy, 
 however, seems to hold out but little pros- 
 pect of usefulness in their ministrations, 
 
 “ The church, a substantial modern edi- 
 fice, stands within the court-yard. Its 
 walls are covered with pictures as primi- 
 tive in design as in execution. There is a 
 victorious St. George blowing out the 
 brains of a formidable dragon with a bright 
 brass blunderbuss, and saints, attired in the 
 traditionary garments of Europe, perform- 
 ing extravagant miracles. The intelligence 
 of the good priest at the head of the con- 
 vent was pretty well on a par with his il- 
 lustrated church history. He was a speci- 
 men of the Armenian clergy of Asia Minor. 
 As he described each subject to me, he 
 spoke of the Nestorians as heretics, because 
 they were allowed, by the canons of their 
 church, to marry their mothers and grand- 
 mothers ; of the Protestants as freemasons 
 or atheists ; and of the great nations of 
 Europe as the Portuguese, the Inglese, the 
 Muscovs, and the Abbash (Abyssinians).” — 
 pp. 409, 410. 
 
 But Mr. Layard anticipates better 
 things for the Armenian Christians ; and 
 
 though the extract be long, we must let 
 him speak his own words. We have been 
 so long accustomed to hear ourselves de- 
 nounced by the English press, as an all- 
 grasping, unprincipled, and “ annexing ” 
 race, wandering over the face of the earth 
 for no purpose but that of plunder or 
 traffic ; that it is quite refreshing to en- 
 counter a story told by an English gen- 
 tleman of what he has seen done by Ame- 
 ricans, who, in a holy cause, have enter- 
 ed upon, and successfully labored in, a field 
 to which English philanthropy in the 
 East has not even found its way. Let us 
 hear what Mr. Layard has to say of our 
 American missions in the East, fie thus 
 writes of occurrences at W an. 
 
 “I called in the evening on the bishop, 
 and next morning, at his invitation, visited 
 the principal schools. Five have been es- 
 tablished since the fall of the Kurdish Beys, 
 and the enjoyment of comparative protec- 
 tion by the Christian population. Only 
 one had been opened within the .vails ; the 
 rest were in the gardens, wliicl are thickly 
 inhabited by Armenians, and form exten- 
 sive suburbs to Wan. The school in the 
 town was held in a spacious building newly 
 erected, and at that time scarcely finished. 
 More than two hundred children of all ages 
 were assembled. They went through their 
 exercises and devotions at the sound of a 
 bell with great order and precision, alter- 
 nately' standing and squatting on their 
 hams on small cushions placed in re ws 
 across the hall. An outer room held basins 
 and towels for washing, and the cloaks and 
 shoes taken off on entering. Books were 
 scarce. There were not more than a score 
 in the whole school. The first class, which 
 had made some progress, had a few elemen- 
 tary works on astronomy and history, pub- 
 lished by the Armenian press at Constanti- 
 nople and Smyrna, but only one cojsy of 
 each. The boys, at my request, sang and 
 chanted their prayers, and repeated their 
 simple lessons. 
 
 “ Such schools, imperfect though they be, 
 are proofs of a great and increasing im- 
 provement in the Christian communities of 
 Turkey. A change of considerable impor- 
 tance, and which, it is to be hoped, may 
 lead to the most beneficial results, is now 
 taking place in the Armenian Church. It 
 is undoubtedly to be attributed to the judi- 
 cious, earnest, and zealous exertions of the 
 American missionaries ; their establish- 
 ments, scattered over nearly the whole 
 Turkish empire, have awakened amongst 
 the Christians, and principally amongst the 
 Armenians, a spirit of inquiry and u desire 
 for the reform of abuses, and for the culti- 
 vation of their minds, which must ulti- 
 mately tend to raise their political, as well 
 as their social, position in the human scale. 
 It is scarcely fifteen years since the first 
 institution for Christian instruction on Pro- 
 testant (independent) principles was opened 
 
504 
 
 Nineveh and Babylon. 
 
 by those excellent men in Constantinople. 
 By a wise selection of youths from different 
 parts of the empire, who from their char- 
 acter and abilities wei'e deemed worthy of 
 the choice, they were shortly enabled to 
 send into the provinces those who could 
 sow the seeds of truth and knowledge, 
 without incurring the suspicions attaching 
 to strangers, and without laboring under 
 that ignorance of the manners and lan- 
 guages of those amongst whom they mix, 
 which must always prove so serious an ob- 
 stacle to foreigners in their intercourse 
 with the natives. A movement of this na- 
 ture could scarcely escape persecution. The 
 Armenian clergy, not unfavorable to the 
 darkness and bigotry which had for centu- 
 ries disgraced their Church, and exercising 
 an uncontrolled power over an ignorant 
 and simple people, soon raised a cry against 
 the ‘Evangelists,’ as they were contempt- 
 uously called. By such misrepresentations 
 and calumnies as are always ready at hand 
 to the enemies of progress and reform, they 
 were able to enlist in their favor the Turk- 
 ish authorities at the capital and in the 
 provinces. Unfortunately, four sects alone, 
 the Roman Catholic, the Armenian, the 
 Greek, and the Copt, were recognized by 
 the Porte amongst their Christian subjects. 
 The reformed Armenian Church was con- 
 sequently without an acknowledged head, 
 and unabie to communicate directly or in- 
 directly with the government, to make 
 known its tenets, or to complain of the 
 acts of injustice and persecution to which 
 ii was exposed. Many persons fell victims 
 to their opinions. Some were cruelly 7 tor- 
 tured in the house of the Patriarch himself, 
 and others were imprisoned or utterly ru- 
 ined in Constantinople and the provinces. 
 Sir Stratford Canning at length exerted his 
 powerful influence to protect the injured 
 sect from these wanton cruelties. Through 
 his exertions and those of Lord Cowley, 
 when minister, a firman was obtained from 
 the Sultan, placing the new Protestant 
 community on the same footing as the 
 other Churches of the empire, assigning to 
 it a head, or agent, through whom it could 
 apply directly to the ministers, and extend- 
 ing to it other privileges enjoyed by the 
 Roman Catholics and Greeks. This act of 
 toleration and justice has given fresh vigor 
 to the spirit of inquiry bred by the Ameri- 
 can missionaries. There is now scarcely a 
 town of any importance in Turkey without 
 a Protestant community, and in most of the 
 principal cities, the American mission has 
 opened schools, and is educating youths for 
 the priesthood. Fortunately for the cause, 
 many men of irreproachable character and 
 of undoubted sincerity from the Armenian 
 nation have been associated with it, and its 
 success has not been endangered, like that 
 of so many other movements of the same 
 kind, by interested, or hasty conversions. 
 Those who have watched the effect that 
 this desire for improvement and for reli- 
 gious freedom is’ gradually producing upon 
 
 [May 
 
 a large and important section of the Chris- 
 tian population of Turkey, may reasonably 
 hope that the time is not far distant when 
 it may exercise a marked influence upon 
 other Christian sects, as well as upon those 
 who surround them ; preparing them for 
 the enjoyment of extended political privi- 
 leges, and for the restoration of a pure and 
 rational faith to the East. 
 
 “The influence of this spirit of inquiry, 
 fostered by the American missions, has not 
 been alone confined to those who have been 
 cut off from their own community. The 
 Armenian clergy, no longer able to coerce 
 their flocks, or to persecute those who left 
 them, have found that the only mode of 
 checking the schism is to reform the abuses 
 of their own Church, and to educate and 
 instruct their peojfle. Schools in opposition 
 to the American establishments have been 
 opened in the capital and in most of the 
 large towns of Asia Minor : and elementary 
 and theological works, of a far more liberal 
 character than any hitherto published in 
 Turkey, have been printed by Armenian 
 printing-presses in Constantinople and 
 Smyrna, or introduced into the country 
 from Venice. This is another, though an 
 indirect, result of their labors, which the 
 American missionaries may justly contem- 
 plate with satisfaction, unmingled with any 
 feelings of jealousy or ill-will. 
 
 “Whilst on this subject, and connected as 
 I have been with the Kestorians, I must 
 not omit a tribute of praise to the admirable 
 establishments of the American missions 
 amongst the Chaldseans of Ooroomiyah in 
 Persia, under the able direction of the Rev. 
 Mr. Perkins. It was with much regret 
 that I was compelled to give up the plan I 
 had formed of visiting that small colony 
 from the Hew World. The Rev. Mr. Bow- 
 en, who crossed the frontiers from Wan, 
 has in a true Christian spirit borne witness 
 in the English Cuurch to the enlightened 
 and liberal spirit in which their labors are 
 carried on. Forty or fifty schools have 
 been opened in the town of Ooroomiyah 
 and surrounding villages. The abuses that 
 have crept into this primitive and highly 
 interesting Church are being reformed, and 
 the ignorance of its simple clergy gradually 
 dispelled. A printing-press, for which type 
 has been purposely cut, now publishes for 
 general circulation the Scriptures and works 
 of education in the dialect and character 
 peculiar to the mountain tribes. The Eng- 
 lish language has been planted in the heart 
 of Asia, and the benefits of knowledge are 
 extended to a race which, a few year's ago, 
 was almost unknown even by name to Eu- 
 rope.” — pp. 404 — 407. 
 
 To this let us add the testimony he 
 hears to the personal character of the mis- 
 sionaries themselves. 
 
 “ I cannot refrain from recording the names 
 of the Rev. Messrs. Goodall, Dwight, Holmes, 
 Hamlin, and Sehautfler, of the Constanti- 
 nople missionary station ; the late excellent 
 
1853.] 
 
 Nineveh and Babylon. 
 
 505 
 
 and enterprising Dr. Smith, who, like the 
 estimable Dr. Grant, his fellow-laborer in 
 the same field, and many others of his 
 countrymen, has recently fallen a victim to 
 his zeal and devotion ; the liev. Eli Smith, 
 of Beyrout, and Perkins of Ooroomiyah ; 
 men who will ever be connected with the 
 first spread of knowledge and truth amongst 
 the Christians of the East, and of whom 
 their country may justly be proud. Per- 
 sonally I must express my gratitude to 
 them for many acts of kindness and friend- 
 ship. The American mission has now es- 
 tablishments in Smyrna, Brousa, Trebizond, 
 Erzeroom, Diarbekir, Mosul, Aintab, Alep- 
 po, and many other cities in Asia Minor, 
 together with native agents all over Tur- 
 key.” — p. 406, Note. 
 
 We turn now to personal incidents and 
 illustrations of the Arab character and 
 customs, of which, we assure our readers, 
 the book contains a most pleasant varie- 
 ty. And first let us introduce to their 
 acquaintance a Sheikh of the Boraij. 
 When Mr. Layard was about to make his 
 excursion from Mosul to Arban on the 
 river Khabour, as the Shammar Bedouins 
 were scouring the plains for plunder, he 
 found it necessary to seek the protection 
 and company of one of the influential 
 chiefs of the Shammar tribe ; and for this 
 purpose selected Suttum, who was well 
 known to him, and on whom he could 
 rely. 
 
 “The Sheikh had the general direction 
 and superintendence of our march. The 
 Mesopotamian desert had been his home 
 from his birth, and he knew every spring 
 and pasture. He was of the Saadi, one of 
 the most illustrious families of the Sham- 
 mar, and he possessed great personal influ- 
 ence in the tribe. His intelligence was of 
 a very high order, and he was as well known 
 for his skill in Bedouin intrigue, as for his 
 courage and daring in war. In person he 
 was of middle height, of spare habit, but 
 well made, and of noble and dignified car- 
 riage ; although a musket wound in the 
 thigh, from which the ball had not been 
 abstracted, gave him a slight Tameness in 
 his gait. His features were regular and 
 well-proportioned, and of that delicate 
 character so frequently found amongst the 
 nomades of the desert. A restless and 
 sparkling eye of the deepest black spoke 
 the inner man, and seemed to scan and pen- 
 etrate every thing within its ken. His 
 dark hair was platted into many long tails ; 
 his beard, like that of the Arabs in general, 
 was scanty. He wore the usual Arab shirt, « 
 and over it a cloak of blue cloth, trimmed 
 with red silk and lined with fur, a present 
 from some Pasha as he pretended, but more 
 probably a part of some great man’s ward- 
 robe that had been appropriated without 
 its owner’s consent. A colored kerchief, or 
 keffieh, was thrown loosely over his head, 
 and confined above the temples by a rope 
 vol. i. — 33 
 
 of twisted camel’s hair. At his side hung 
 a scimitar, an antique horse-pistol was held 
 by a rope tied as a girdle round his waist, 
 and a long spear, tufted with black ostrich 
 feathers, and ornamented with scarlet 
 streamers, rested on his shoulder. He was 
 the very picture of a true Bedouin Sheikh, 
 and his liveliness, his wit, and his singular 
 powers of conversation, which made him 
 the most agreeable companion, did not be- 
 lie his race.” — pp. 238 — 240. 
 
 Necessity has made the Bedouin, like 
 our American Indian, a most observant 
 animal ; and the sagacity with which 
 both reach correct results from data seem- 
 ingly insignificant to the civilized man, is 
 often matter of surprise even to those fa- 
 miliar with their acuteness. 
 
 “We again visited the remarkable volca- 
 nic cone of Koukab. As we drew near to 
 it, Mijwell detected, in the loose soil, the 
 footprints of two men, which he immedi- 
 ately recognized to be those of Shammar 
 thieves returning from the Kurdish encamp- 
 ments. The sagacity of the Bedouin in de- 
 termining from such marks, whether of 
 man or beast, and, from similar indications, 
 the tribe, time of passing, and business, of 
 those who may have left them, with many 
 other particulars, is well known. In this 
 respect he resembles the American Indian, 
 though the circumstances differ under 
 which the two are called upon to exercise 
 this peculiar faculty. The one seeks or 
 avoids his enemy in vast plains, which, for 
 three-fourths of the year, are without any 
 vegetation ; the other tracks his prey 
 through thick woods and high grass. This 
 quickness of perception is the result of con- 
 tinual observation and of caution encour- 
 aged from earliest youth. When the wax 1 - 
 x-iors of a tribe are engaged in distant forays 
 or in war, their tents and flocks are fre- 
 quently left to the care of a mere child, 
 fie must receive strangers, amongst whom 
 may be those having claims of blood upon 
 his family, and must guard against marau- 
 ders, who may be lurking about the en- 
 campment. Every unknown sign and mark 
 must be examined and accounted for. If 
 he should see the track of a horseman he 
 must ask himself why one so near the dwell- 
 ings did not stop to eat bi’ead or drink 
 water ? was he a spy ; one of a party med- 
 itating an attack ? or a traveller, who did 
 not know the site of the tents ? When did 
 he pass ? From whence did he come ? 
 Whilst the child in a civilized counti'y is 
 still under the care of its nux’se, the Bedouin 
 boy is compelled to exercise his highest 
 faculties, and on his prudence and sagacity 
 may sometimes depend the safety of his 
 tribe. 
 
 “The expert Bedouin can draw conclu- 
 sions from the footprints and dung of animals 
 that woidd excite the astonishment of an 
 European. He will tell whether the camel 
 was loaded or unloaded, whether recently 
 
 
506 
 
 Nineveh and Babylon. 
 
 fed or suffering from hunger, whether fa- 
 tigued or fresh, the time when it passed by, 
 whether the owner was a man of the desert 
 or of the town, whether a friend or foe, and 
 sometimes even the name of his tribe. I 
 have frequently been cautioned by my Be- 
 douin companions, not to dismount from 
 my dromedary, that my footsteps might not 
 be recognized as those of a stranger ; and 
 my deloul has even been led by my guide 
 to prevent those who might cross our path 
 detecting that it was ridden by one not 
 thoroughly accustomed to the management 
 of the animal. It would be easy to explain 
 the means, simple enough indeed, by which 
 the Arab of the desert arrives at these re- 
 sults. In each case there is a train of logical 
 deduction, merely requiring common acute- 
 ness and great experience.” — pp. 322, 323. 
 
 Long practice has given to them a keen- 
 ness and quickness of vision utterly un- 
 known in polished life : the distant speck, 
 indistinct or even invisible to the ordina- 
 ry observer, becomes to their naked eyes 
 a clearly defined object, when scarcely 
 distinguishable to the European with his 
 telescope. 
 
 “ Whilst I was examining the ruins, Sut- 
 tum, from the highest mound, had been 
 scanning the plain with his eagle eye. At 
 length it rested upon a distant moving ob- 
 ject. Although with a telescope I could 
 scarcely distinguish that to which he point- 
 ed, the Sheikh saw that it was a rider on a 
 dromedary. He now, therefore, began to 
 watch the stranger with that eager curios- 
 ity and suspicion always shown by a Be- 
 douin when the solitude of the desert is 
 broken by a human being of whose condi- 
 tion and business he is ignorant. Suttum 
 soon satisfied himself as to the character of 
 the solitary wanderer. He declared him to 
 be a messenger from his own tribe, who 
 had been sent to lead us to his father’s tents. 
 Mounting his horse, he galloped towards 
 him. The Arab soon perceived the ap- 
 proaching horseman, and then commenced 
 on both sides a series of manoeuvres prac- 
 tised by those who meet in the desert, and 
 are as yet distrustful of each other. I 
 mai'ked them from the ruin as they cau- 
 tiously approached, now halting, now draw- 
 ing nigh, and then pretending to ride away 
 in an opposite direction. At length, recog- 
 nizing one another, they met, and, having 
 first dismounted to embrace, came together 
 towards us. As Suttum had conjectured, a 
 messenger had been sent to him from his 
 father’s tribe. The Boraij were now mov- 
 ing towards the north in search of the 
 spring pastures, and their tents would be » 
 pitched in three or four days beneath the 
 Sinjar hill. Suttum at once understood the 
 order of their march, and made arrange- 
 ments to meet them accordingly.” — p. 244. 
 
 Of their fidelity and hospitality our 
 author recounts numerous instances, for 
 which we must refer to his book ; and 
 • 
 
 [May 
 
 there is a delicacy not unworthy of imi- 
 tation in their mode of communicating 
 sad tidings. Mr. Layard chanced to be 
 the guest of one of the Jebour tribe when 
 intelligence was brought to him of the 
 death of a favorite sister. 
 
 “ An Arab of the tribe, weary and way- 
 worn, entered the tent and seated himself 
 without giving the usual salutation; all 
 present knew that he had come from the 
 Khabour and from distant friends. His si- 
 lence argued evil tidings. By an indirect 
 remark, immediately understood, he told 
 his errand to one who sat next to him, and 
 who in turn whispered it to Sheikh Ibrahim, 
 the chiefs uncle. The old man said aloud, 
 with a sigh,' ‘It is the will and mercy of 
 God ; she is not dead but released ! ’ Abd- 
 rubbou at once understood of whom he 
 spake. He arose and went forth, and the 
 wailing of the mother and of the women 
 soon issued from the inner recesses of the 
 tent.” — p. 275. 
 
 But with all the evidences afforded us 
 of the possession of some of the nobler 
 and better qualities of our kind ; there is 
 also proof that some of the weaknesses of 
 our common humanity develope them- 
 selves pretty much in the same mode 
 among Arabs and Christians. The story 
 of Suttum’s domestic troubles affords an 
 apt illustration, and a pleasant episode in 
 Mr. Layard’s narrative. He was about 
 leaving Mosul for the river Khabour, un- 
 der the protection of Suttum, when the 
 Arab came to prefer a request. 
 
 “ As he was to be for some time absent 
 from his tents, he asked to take his wife 
 with him, and I willingly consented. Ra- 
 thaiyah was the sister of Suttam el Meekh, 
 chief of the powerful tribe of the Abde, one 
 of the principal divisions of the Shammar. 
 Although no longer young, she still retained 
 much of her early beauty. There was more 
 than the usual Bedouin fire in her large 
 black eyes, and her hair fell in many ring- 
 lets on her shoulders. Her temper was 
 haughty and imperious, and she evidently 
 held more sway over Suttum than he liked 
 to acknowledge, or was quite consistent 
 with his character as a warrior. He had 
 married her from motives of policy, as ca 
 menting an useful alliance with a powerful 
 tribe. She appears to have soon carried 
 matters with a high hand, for poor Suttum 
 had been compelled, ahnost immediately 
 after his marriage, to send back a young 
 and beautiful wife to her father’s tent. This 
 prior claimant upon his affections was now 
 on the Khabour with her tribe, and it was 
 probably on this account that Rathaiyah, 
 kntfwing the direction he was about to 
 take, was so anxious to accompany her hus- 
 band. She rode on the dromedary behind 
 her lord, a comfortable seat having been 
 made for her with a rug and'a coverlet.” — 
 p. 264. 
 
1853.] 
 
 Nineveh and Babylon. 
 
 507 
 
 We confess this little circumstance does 
 not make on us an impression very favor- 
 able to Mrs. Suttum ; more particularly 
 as we learn from Mijvvell, a brother of 
 Suttum. that she was the wooer and not 
 the wooed : 
 
 “ He entertained me, as we returned 
 home, with the domestic affairs of his fam- 
 ily. Rathaiyah had offered herself in mar- 
 riage to Suttum, and not he to her ; a com- 
 mon proceeding, it would appear, among 
 the Bedouins. Suttum had consented, be- 
 cause he thought it politic to be thus allied 
 with the Abde, one of the most powerful 
 branches of the Shammar, generally at war 
 with the rest of the tribe. But his new 
 wife, besides having sent away her rival, 
 had already offended his family by her 
 pride and haughtiness. Mijwell rather 
 looked upon his brother with pity, as a hen- 
 pecked husband.” — p. 316. 
 
 The cavalcade had not proceeded far on 
 its way to the Khabour, before another 
 interesting illustration of conjugal amia- 
 bility was furnished by this proud lady. 
 
 Mr. Layard, speaking of Suttum, says, 
 
 “ He came to me before nightfall, some- 
 what downcast in look, as if a heavy weight 
 were on his mind. At length, after various 
 circumlocutions, he said that his wife would 
 not sleep under the white tent which I had 
 lent her, such luxuries being, she declared, 
 only worthy of city ladies, and altogether 
 unbecoming the wife and daughter of a 
 Bedouin. ‘So determined is she,’ said Sut- 
 tum, “in the matter, that, Billah! she de- 
 serted my bed last night and slept on the 
 grass in the open air ; and now she swears 
 she will leave me and return on foot to her 
 kindred, unless I save her from the indig- 
 nity of sleeping under a white tent.” It 
 was inconvenient to humor the fancies of 
 the Arab lady, but as she was inexorable, I 
 gave her a black Arab tent, used by the 
 servants for a kitchen. Under this sheet 
 of goat-hair canvass, open on all sides to 
 the air, she said that she could breathe 
 freely, and feel again that she was a Be- 
 douin.” — pp. 267, 268. 
 
 Presently they reached Arban on the 
 Khabour, and then comes the interview 
 between the rival wives. 
 
 “ Soon after our arrival at the Khabour, 
 Adla, Suttum’s first wife, came to us with 
 her child. After the Sheikh’s marriage 
 with Rathaiyah, she had been driven from 
 her husband’s tent by the imperious temper 
 of his new bride, and had returned to Mog- 
 hamis her father. Her eldest sister was 
 the wife of Suttum’s eldest brother Sahi- 
 man, and her youngest, Maizi, was be- 
 trothed to Suttum’s youngest brother 
 Mijwell. The three were remarkable for 
 their beauty ; their dark eyes had the true 
 Bedouin fire, ajid their long black hair fell 
 in clusters on their shoulders. Their cous- 
 ins, the three brothers, had claimed them 
 
 as their brides according to Bedouin law. 
 Adla now sought to be reconciled through 
 me to her husband. Rathaiyah, the new 
 wife, whose beauty was already on the 
 wane, dreaded her young rival’s share in 
 the affections of her lord, over whom she 
 had established more influence than a lady 
 might be supposed to exercise over her 
 spouse amongst independent Arabs. The 
 Sheikh was afraid to meet Adla, until, after 
 much negotiation, Hormuzd acting as am- 
 bassador, the proud Rathaiyah consented to 
 receive her in her tent. Then the injured 
 lady refused to accept these terms, and the 
 matter was only finished by Hormuzd tak- 
 ing her by the arm and dragging her by 
 force over the grass to her rival. There 
 all the outward forms of perfect reconcilia- 
 tion were satisfactorily gone through, al- 
 though Suttum evidently saw that there 
 was a different reception in store for him- 
 self when there was no European eye-wit- 
 nesses. Such are the trials of married life 
 in the desert! ” — pp. 293, 294. 
 
 Alas! can it be that there are Mrs. 
 Caudles all over the world ? Is not even 
 the Desert exempt from them 7 Who 
 can blame poor Suttum for seeking, as he 
 did, to alleviate his cares and dissipate his 
 troubles in the exciting sport of falconry ? 
 And here we touch a topic which, for the 
 sake of our home sportsmen, we may not 
 pass unnoticed. There is probably-no part 
 of the globe where the hawk is better 
 trained than on the Tigris and Euphrates. 
 It is easy to see that Mr. Layard himself 
 entered into the sport with no little ardor 
 and he seems to write about it con amore. 
 He is on the lower Euphrates, and thus 
 speaks : 
 
 “ I spent the following day with Abde 
 Pasha, who was an ardent sportsman, and 
 entertained me with hawking. The Arab 
 and Kurdish chiefs, who were in his camp, 
 were summoned at dawn to accompany 
 him. Most of them had their own falcons 
 and huntsmen — an indispensable part of 
 the establishment of an eastern nobleman. 
 We formed altogether a very gay and good- 
 ly company. Bustards, hares, gazelles, 
 francolins, and several wild animals abound- 
 ed in the jungle and the plains, and before 
 we returned in the afternoon scarcely a 
 horseman was without some trophy of the 
 chase dangling from his saddle. 
 
 “ Two of the hereditary Pashas of Kurdis- 
 tan, claiming descent from the ancient Arab 
 tribe of Beni Khaled, were with us. De- 
 prived of their family possessions, and liv- 
 ing as exiles in Baghdad, no longer able to 
 wage war or to go on marauding expeditions, 
 their chief employment was hunting. They 
 were formerly renowned for their weli- 
 trained falcons. 
 
 “ The Bedouins, too, of whom there were 
 many in the camp, are, as I have already 
 remarked, much given to the chase, and es- 
 pecially to hawking. Unable to obtain a 
 
508 
 
 Nineveh and Babylon. 
 
 variety of falcons, they generally use the 
 species called Chark, a bird found in the 
 Sinjar, in the hills near Arbil, and in the 
 rocky ravines of northern Mesopotamia, 
 They educate them -with care ; but the 
 great trainers in the East are the Persians 
 and Kurds. The Turks are seldom suffi- 
 ciently active to engage in these manly 
 pursuits. 
 
 “ The hawk most valued by Eastern sports- 
 men is the Shaheen, a variety of the north- 
 ern peregrine falcon, and esteemed the most 
 noble of the race. Although the smallest 
 in size, it is celebrated for its courage and 
 daring, and is constantly the theme of Per- 
 sian verse. There are several kinds of 
 Shaheen, each distinguished by its size and 
 plumage; those from the Gebel Shammar, 
 in Nedjd, are the most prized, but being 
 only brought by occasional pilgrims from 
 Mecca, are very rare, The next best are 
 said to come from Tokat, in Asia Minor. 
 The Shaheen should be caught and trained 
 Avhen young. It strikes its quarry in the 
 air, and may be taught to attack even the 
 largest eagle, which it will boldly seize, 
 and, checking its flight, fall with it to the 
 ground. The sportsman should, however, 
 be at hand to release the falcon immediate- 
 ly, or it will soon fall a victim to its temer- 
 ity. It is usually flown at the crane, the 
 middle bustard (lioubara), geese, and fran- 
 colins. There is a variety called the Bahree, 
 found on the borders of the Persian Gulf, 
 which can be taught to catch geese, ducks, 
 and all manner of waterfowl ; but it is diffi- 
 cult to keep and train. 
 
 “ The next in value is the Balaban, which 
 can be trained to strike its quarry either in 
 the air or on the ground. It is found in 
 the neighborhood of Baghdad and in other 
 parts of Mesopotamia; is caught and trained 
 when full grown, and is flown at gazelles, 
 hares, cranes, bustards, partridges, and 
 francolins. 
 
 “ The Baz and Shah Baz (? Astur plumba- 
 rius, the goshawk, and the Falco lanarius) 
 is remarkable for the beauty of its speckled 
 plumage and for its size. It strikes in the 
 air and on the ground, and, if well trained, 
 may take cranes and other large game. The 
 Balaban and Baz, when used by the Persians 
 for hunting hares, are sometimes dressed 
 in a kind of leather breeches ; otherwise, as 
 they seize their prey with one talon, and 
 a shrub or some other object with the other, 
 they might have their limbs torn asunder. 
 
 “ The Chark (? Falco cervialis), the usual 
 falcon of the Bedouins, always strikes its 
 quarry to the ground, except the eagle, 
 which it may be trained to fly at in the air. 
 It is chiefly used for gazelles and bustards, 
 but will also take hares and other game. 
 
 “The bird usually hawked by the Arabs 
 is the middle-sized bustard, or houbara. It 
 is almost always captured on the ground, 
 and defends itself vigorously with wings 
 and beak against its assailant, which is 
 often disabled in the encounter. The fal- 
 con is generally trained to this quarry with 
 
 [May 
 
 a fowl. The method pursued is very simple. 
 It is first taught to take its raw meat from 
 a man, or from the ground, the distance 
 being daily increased by the falconer. 
 When the habit is acquired, the flesh is 
 tied to the back of a fowl; the falcon will 
 at once seize its usual food, and receives 
 also the liver of the fowl, which is imme- 
 diately killed. A bustard is then, if pos- 
 sible, captured alive, and used in the same 
 way. In a few days the training is com- 
 plete, and the hawk may be flown at any 
 large bird on the ground. 
 
 “Thefaleonrv, however, in which Easterns 
 take most delight, is that of the gazelle. 
 For this very noble and exciting sport, the 
 falcon and greyhound must be trained to 
 hunt together by a process unfortunately 
 somewhat cruel. In the first place, the 
 bird is taught to eat its daily ration of raw 
 meat fastened on the stuffed head of a ga- 
 zelle. The next step is to accustom it to 
 look for its food between the horns of a 
 tame gazelle. The distance between the 
 animal and the falconer is daily increased, 
 until the hawk will seek its meat when 
 about half a mile off. A greyhound is now 
 loosed upon the gazelle, the falcon being 
 flown at the same time. When the animal 
 is seized, which of course soon takes place, 
 its throat is cut, and the hawk is fed with 
 a part of its flesh. After thus sacrificing 
 three gazelles, the education of the falcon 
 and greyhound is declared to be complete. 
 The chief art in the training is to teach the 
 two to single out the same gazelle, and the 
 dog not to injure the falcon when struggling 
 on the ground with the quarry. The grey- 
 hound, however, soon learns to watch the 
 movements of its companion, without whose 
 assistance it could not capture its prey. 
 
 “Tire falcon, when loosed from its jesses, 
 flies steadily and near the ground towards 
 the retreating gazelles, and marking one, 
 soon separates it from the herd. It then 
 darts at the head of the affrighted animal, 
 throws it to the ground, or only checks it 
 in its rapid course. The greyhound rarely 
 comes up before the blow has been more 
 than once repeated. The falconer then 
 hastens to secure the quarry. Should the 
 dog not succeed in capturing the gazelle 
 after it has been struck for the third or 
 fourth time, the hawk will generally sulk 
 and refuse to hunt any longer. I once saw 
 a very powerful falcon belonging to the 
 Abde Pasha hold a gazelle until the horse- 
 men succeeded in spearing the animal. The 
 fleetness of the gazelle is so great, that, 
 without the aid of the hawk, very few dogs 
 can overtake it, unless the ground be heavy 
 after rain. 
 
 “The pursuit of the gazelle with the falcon 
 and hound over the boundless plains of As- 
 syria and Babylonia is one of the most ex- 
 hilarating and graceful of sports, displaying 
 equally the noble qualities of the horse, 
 the dog, and the bird. 
 
 “The time of day best suited for hawking 
 is very early in the morning, before the 
 
1853.] 
 
 The St. Nicholas and the Five Points. 
 
 509 
 
 eagles and kites are soaring in the sky. 
 The falcon should not be fed for several 
 hours before it is taken to the chase. When 
 not hunting, the Arabs give it meat only 
 once a day. Some hawks require to be 
 hooded, such as the Chark and the Shaheen ; 
 others need no covering for the eyes. The 
 hood is generally made of colored leather, 
 with eyes worked on it in beads, and gold 
 and variegated threads. Tassels and orna- 
 ments of various kinds are added, and the 
 great chiefs frequently adorn a favorite 
 bird with pearls and precious stones. To 
 the legs are sometimes fastened small bells. 
 Few hawks will return to the falconer 
 without the lure, which consists of the 
 wing of a bustard or fowl, or of a piece of 
 meat attached to a string, and swung round 
 in the air. The Eastern huntsman has a 
 different call for each variety of Falcon. A 
 good chark will sometimes take as many as 
 eight or ten bustards or five or six gazelles 
 in the course of a morning. 
 
 “I have introduced these remarks on fal- 
 conry, founded on personal experience, as 
 this noble science is probably of the great- 
 est antiquity, and is still the favorite pur- 
 suit of the Eastern warrior.” — pp. 480 — 483. 
 
 But even sport has its sorrows. Sut- 
 tum had a favorite hawk, Hattab, whose 
 unhappy fate is thus recorded. 
 
 “ The plain, like all the country watered 
 by the Khabour, was one vast meadow 
 teeming with flowers. Game abounded, 
 and the Falcon soon flew towards a bus- 
 tard, which his piercing eye had seen lurk- 
 ing in the long grass. The sun was high 
 in the heavens ; already soaring in the sky, 
 was the enemy of the trained hawk, the 
 ‘ agab ’ a kind of kite or eagle, whose 
 name, signifying ‘ butcher,’ denotes his 
 bloody propensities. Although far beyond 
 our ken, he soon saw Hattab, and darted 
 upon him in one swoop. The affrighted 
 falcon immediately turned from his quarry, 
 and with shrill cries of distress flew towards 
 us. After circling round, unable from fear 
 
 to alight, he turned towards the Desert, 
 still followed by his relentless enemy. In 
 vain his master, following as long as his 
 mare could carry him, waved the lure, and 
 called the hawk by his name ; he saw him 
 no more. Whether the noble bird escaped, or 
 fell a victim to the ‘ butcher,’ we never knew. 
 
 “Suttum was inconsolable at his loss. He 
 wept when he returned without his falcon 
 on his wrist, and for days he would sud- 
 denly exclaim, ‘ 0 Bej ! Billah ! Hattab 
 was not a bird, he was my brother.’ 
 He was one of the best trained hawks I 
 ever saw amongst the Bedouins, and was 
 of some substantial value to his owner, as 
 he would daily catch six or seven bustards, 
 except during the hottest part of the sum- 
 mer, when the falcon is unable to hunt.” — 
 pp. 298, 299. 
 
 Doubtless the poor fellow sighed to 
 think that Allah had not taken his wife 
 instead of his “ brother.” 
 
 But it is time to pause, though ample 
 material is before us wherewith to enter- 
 tain the reader on Arab weddings, and 
 snake charmings, and incidents of desert 
 travelling, with a voyage down the Tigris 
 so graphic in description, that one might 
 paint a panorama from it. Then, too, we 
 have a picture of summer heat at Nineveh 
 that almost makes one gasp for breath, 
 and cry out for iced water ; and old 
 Bagdad and older Babylon stand out be- 
 fore us ; and we travel with Mr. Layard 
 over the pathway of the memorable re- 
 treat of the Ten Thousand, and in short 
 become for a time quite orientalized. But 
 the extracts we have given will suffice to 
 indicate the general character of the 
 book, which will be found to contain much 
 that will interest alike the Christian and 
 the scholar, the archaeologist and the 
 architect, the man of letters who reads 
 for amusement, and the man of learning 
 who reads for more. 
 
 THE ST. NICHOLAS AND THE FIVE POINTS. 
 
 Y ESTERDAY I dined with a friend at 
 the St. Nicholas Hotel. I had never 
 seen it before, and, as we approached it, I 
 could not but admire its spacious white 
 marble front, heavy with carving, as it 
 rises over the street and contrasts with 
 the low, dark buildings on each side. It 
 is all freshness and polish and clearness 
 now ; so new, indeed, that it looks like the 
 palace of the genii on the morning of the 
 night in which it was built up. This 
 suits a hotel perhaps, but an over now look 
 does not properly become a palace. Mag- 
 nificence, to be complete, needs a glory 
 which comes only with antiquity and the 
 associations that belong to age. A block 
 
 of white marble glittering from the quarry 
 is not so beautiful, — for beauty lies much 
 in the imagination, — as the same block, 
 after the rain and the sun of centuries 
 have given to it the mellow tint that says, 
 “ Behold, I have stood here so long, and 
 borne so much, and have gained new worth 
 with all I have endured.” 
 
 Any one who has been at Pisa must re- 
 member an old marble palace on the sun- 
 ny side of the river bank, just opposite 
 the little river chapel of the Spina. It is 
 stained with time, and the mysterious 
 chain is rusted, that hangs over the en- 
 trance, from the block, bearing two words 
 which no one can explain Alla giornata, 
 
510 
 
 The St. Nicholas and the Five Points. 
 
 and which day by day grow more inex- 
 plicable as the time when they were cut 
 there becomes more and more hidden 
 in the mist of tradition. Now, who 
 would exchange that strange palace, 
 old and worn, and no longer brilliant, 
 for the same palace in all the pride of 
 its first completion ? And is it not 
 finer to wonder and guess at the hidden 
 meaning of those words and that chain, 
 than to have seen them at the time when 
 every little idle boy on the Lung’ Arno 
 would have looked up if you had asked 
 him what they meant, and said, Ala. Sig- 
 nore e cosa simplicissima ? Yes, Alla 
 giornata, day by day, all that is truly 
 lovely and beautiful grows more lovely and 
 beautiful. Even if it perishes to the sight 
 it lives in remembrance, and memory 
 gives to it its perfect and ideal charm. 
 
 In age, too, lies the best of art and of 
 books. Many a bright reputation has 
 sunk before a second generation has seen 
 its lustre. 
 
 But we are waiting at the door of the 
 St. Nicholas. The wide hall, with its 
 walls of white and gold, brings us to the 
 broad staircase with its oaken and Italian 
 balustrade, and going up, we tread on 
 crimson carpets where the foot makes no 
 noise. We enter the drawing-rooms, where 
 the light comes through invisible glass, 
 and breaks against satin curtains, where 
 couches covered with velvets, and tables 
 and chairs lavishly carved, leave little for 
 luxury to desire. As we pass the splen- 
 did mirror, we start with something of 
 surprise to find the familiar image of our- 
 selves thrown back, quite commonplace 
 and inelegant ; for it would have seemed 
 but natural that in such splendor we too 
 should be splendid, and we should have 
 thought it only consonant with what was 
 about us, to see ourselves robed in Tyrian 
 purple, with gold chains around our 
 necks, and rich caps upon our perfumed 
 heads. 
 
 We passed on, and looked in vain for 
 the Duchesses who ought to have received 
 us and bade us welcome. We ourselves 
 had something, I imagine, of the air of 
 strangers in the place, for every one else 
 looked like intruders ; there was no one 
 fit for it. Instead of imperial and stately 
 women, there were some elderly ladies 
 with spectacles and neat caps, who looked 
 in vain to find in us the princes to whom 
 this magnificence belonged. There were 
 young girls who ought to have been equal 
 to any surrounding, beautiful in any set- 
 ting, but who, alas, showed too plainly by 
 artificial manners and overlabored dress, 
 and by that fatal air of consciousness 
 which betrays the absence of maidenly 
 dignity and simplicity, that they were not 
 
 [May 
 
 the true Cinderellas of the place, and were 
 trying in vain to fit the glass slipper on a 
 clumsy foot. 
 
 But the dinner was worthy of the palace. 
 Lucullus would have rejoiced to come to 
 life for its sake, and Brillat-Savarin might 
 have been contented. The great hall 
 overflowing with light that poured from 
 golden chandeliers, the fine Coloring of the 
 glass and porcelain, the heavy plate, the 
 lavish meats, and game, and jellies, and 
 fruits, the iced and sparkling wines, the 
 troops of servants, the obsequious and 
 quiet attention, were all fitly correspond- 
 ent in sumptuous display. And after 
 coffee, carrying out its Oriental suggestion, 
 seated in luxurious chairs, a little aside in 
 the great hall, we smoked, and watched 
 the crowd of idlers and passers by, and 
 moralized a little on the show. We saw 
 men, who, not yet in the vigor of life, were 
 blase with its pleasures ; men with the 
 poisoned youth, Vathek-like to find them- 
 selves some day with fires, unquenchable 
 and agonizing, in the place of those hearts 
 they had silenced, perverted, and destroy- 
 ed. We saw men of disappointed hopes, 
 and, by their side, men whose hopes had 
 never failed. There were men with no 
 signs of care, and others, perhaps not less 
 happy, with cares written on their fore- 
 heads. At last it grew tiresome, and we 
 went away. 
 
 We neither of us wondered as we came 
 out on the street, and looked up at the 
 clear strip of night sky, that the same 
 cui bono query in regard to what we had 
 left came into our minds. As I walked 
 alone to my lodging, I thought whether 
 this was the finest exhibition of our 
 American civilization ; whether this was 
 our vaunted practical socialism ; whether 
 palaces for the people were any way bet- 
 ter than palaces for kings ; whether tasteless 
 display, and lavish, reckless wastefulness 
 were the same with real magnificence and 
 thorough taste, and great expense propor- 
 tioned to a great end. 
 
 To-day, with another companion, I went 
 down to the Five Points. Here too I had 
 never been before. We went at first to 
 one of its worst recesses, called by the 
 strange, humorous name of Cow Bay. A 
 filthy, arched passage-way leads into the 
 little bay, round which wretched houses 
 are crowded, as if afraid of the entrance 
 of sunshine and fresh air. A drunken 
 black woman, with a can in her hand, 
 came reeling into the place behind us. 
 From the dirty windows other women 
 were looking out, and at the dirty Cow 
 door stood three or four men, some with 
 the devil-may-care, and others with the 
 pale, exhausted look that equally belong 
 to such places. 
 
The St. Nicholas and the Five Points. 
 
 511 
 
 1853.] 
 
 I have no liking to detail such scenes 
 in words. I distrust descriptions where 
 horrors are heaped together, and as most 
 people turn away from them as exaggera- 
 tions, they often serve the bad end of 
 blunting the keen edge of sympathy. I 
 will not describe here. 
 
 In the open part of the Five Points, 
 there were men and women standing about 
 the door of the grocery where rum was sold ; 
 children were playing around, all dirty, 
 and some of them sickly in appearance, 
 and there were other figures amongst whom 
 were such as might have just stepped out 
 of Hogarth’s Gin Lane. Throughout 
 the place there was an indescribable air of 
 confusion, dirt and misery. But at the 
 base of the triangular space where the 
 Five Points meet, stood a large brick house, 
 on which was painted in great letters, 
 “ Five Points House of Industry.” I had 
 often of late heard of this house, and as 
 our visit to the place was chiefly for the 
 sake of seeing it, we went in. I heard its 
 history this afternoon for the first time. 
 It was a story worth hearing and repeating. 
 It began thus : 
 
 You know how full of despair this Five 
 Points seemed for years, how nobody had 
 the courage to attack it ; how vice increas- 
 ed here with the increasing misery ; how 
 the gulf between this place and Broadway, 
 grew wider eveiy year ; how in the centre 
 and very heart of this Christian city was 
 a shame worse than barbarism, and an 
 evil worse than adversity. There were 
 plenty of kindly and excellent people who 
 meant to do their duty, and gave away 
 much in charity, but who only thought 
 of this place as an evil not to be remedied 
 by any efforts of theirs, and indeed per- 
 haps a necessary part of the social system 
 of a great city. It was a dangerous and 
 detestable error ; dangerous in any coun- 
 try, but more than in any other, in our 
 own. Happily it was not universal. 
 
 Three years ago some good people de- 
 termined that something must be done to 
 better this state of things. A young 
 clergyman was engaged to go down and 
 work here. He had not been at work 
 long before he found that it was of little 
 avail to preach, and to give away Bibles 
 and tracts to those, who were so destitute 
 of the means of comfort, as to be reckless 
 of good or of evil. “ Why preach virtue to 
 us, who cannot be virtuous, unless we are 
 ready to starve ? ” said poor forlorn women 
 to him. “Why tell us to be good,” asked 
 the children, “ when we must steal or be 
 whipped ? it is better to be bad than to 
 be good.” Such questions were too pathe- 
 tic, too earnest, to be disregarded. These 
 women, driven by want to vice and mi- 
 sery, 
 
 “ Paint on their beautiless cheeks, 
 
 And hunger and shame in their bosoms; 1 ’ 
 
 the last light of loveliness quenched in 
 their wan hard eyes, were women even in 
 their ruin, and as such appealed with the 
 thoughts of what they might have been, 
 with the force of precious remembrances 
 and the present influence of all noble love, 
 to every worthy man. These children too, 
 with none of the grace, the beauty, or the 
 divine glory of childhood, still, by the un- 
 certainty of the future, by its double 
 prospect, claimed every effort for their aid. 
 Undisheartened, undismayed by the sight 
 of so much to be done by inadequate 
 means, the missionary determined that he 
 would get work and instruction for all 
 that came to him, and help them, that 
 they might learn to help themselves. In or- 
 der to do this more effectually, he procured 
 the indictment of one of the vilest houses of 
 the place, the keeper was turned out of it, 
 he had it cleaned and set in order, and 
 then went into it with his wife to live. 
 An heroic act this seems to me ; it was a 
 brave, faithful thing, for that husband and 
 wife to go down here to live among such 
 neighbors, surrounded by such sights, ex- 
 posed to all the unwholesome influences of 
 the place. It was a deed for New-York to 
 be proud of. 
 
 Reserving one or two rooms for them- 
 selves, the missionary and his wife turned 
 the others into school-rooms, work-rooms, 
 and bed-rooms for the vagrant and home- 
 less. Work was obtained from trades- 
 people. Old cast-off clothes were sought. 
 A bakery was opened in a lower room, 
 where the bread was sold cheap. A school 
 was opened, and the children who came in 
 were washed and made comfortable. 
 Those who had no care elsewhere, w r ere 
 kept and clothed. Young girls and wo- 
 men were sheltered and taught to labor. 
 Places in the country were sought for 
 where they could be safely established. 
 A Sunday school was held, and all the 
 means which earnest, benevolent ingenui- 
 ty could devise, were employed in this 
 work for the vagabond, the forsaken, the 
 outcast. And for these two years it has 
 been going on, struggling with difficulties, 
 with want of means and want of help, 
 fighting against the opposition of those 
 who were accustomed to make money out 
 of the sins and poverty of others, against 
 foolish prejudice, and against the thousand 
 depressing, often recurring, obstacles that 
 arise from the very characters of those 
 whom it was meant to serve. Still, it has 
 gone on steadily, and is daily spreading 
 its gracious influences. 
 
 Such in br ief was the story as I heard 
 it. It is not often that we hear nowa- 
 days of self-devotion thorough as this, of 
 
512 
 
 Galgano. 
 
 benevolence as practical or charity as 
 complete. 
 
 When, after going over the house, we 
 came again out upon the dirty street, it 
 was already twilight. I looked back at 
 it, before we turned, and it seemed to life 
 as if it stood apart, sanctified amid all 
 that was unholy around it. The loud, 
 coarse talk of the group clustered at the 
 door of Crown’s grog-shop near by, 
 was silenced to my ears in the sound 
 which still rang through them of the 
 hymn I had heard the children singing, 
 
 *■ The Lord is my shepherd : no want shall I know, 
 
 I feed in green pastures, safe folded I rest.” 
 
 It seemed to me as if that house, ill 
 built, ill arranged, narrow, crowded as it 
 was, might stand a worthy opposite to 
 the palace I had seen the night before. 
 The lustre and brilliancy which shone 
 from that, would serve to display the 
 depth of the contrast. 
 
 There is a story told on the pious pages 
 of the Legenda Aurea of St. Thomas, of 
 which these scenes reminded me. Here 
 is a translation of it. “ It is said that 
 when Thomas, the Apostle, was at Cesa- 
 rea, our Lord appeared to him and said, 
 
 • The king of the Indies, Gondoforus, hath 
 sent his provost. Arbanes, to seek for men 
 skilled in the art of architecture: arise, 
 for I will send thee to him.’ And Thomas 
 said, ‘Lord, send me any where except to 
 the Indies.’ And our Lord said to him, 
 
 • Go, for I watch over you.’ And, after 
 this, Thomas went with Arbanes, till they 
 came to the king of the Indies, and the 
 
 [May- 
 
 king gave to the Apostle the plan of a 
 magnificent palace, and placed in his hands 
 great treasures wherewith to build it : then 
 the king went to another province, and 
 the Apostle gave all these treasures to the 
 poor, and was constantly occupied with 
 preaching for the space of two years, while 
 the king remained absent, and he converted 
 to the faith an innumerable multitude. 
 And when the king came back and knew 
 what St. Thomas had done, he had him 
 cast into a terrible dungeon, and condemn- 
 ed him to be flayed and burned. Mean- 
 while Sud, the brother of the king, died. 
 And the king ordered for him a magnificent 
 sepulchre. But on the fourth day the dead 
 man rose, whereat all were astonished. 
 And the dead man said to the king, ‘ This 
 man whom you mean to torture and to 
 kill, is the friend of God, and the angels 
 of God serve him. And they have led 
 me in Paradise, and they have shown me 
 a marvellous palace of gold and silver, 
 and precious stones, and when I admired 
 its beauty, they said to me, ‘It is the 
 palace that Thomas built for thy brother, 
 but he is unworthy of it.’ 
 
 “ Then the Apostle was delivered from 
 prison, and the king fell at his feet, and 
 besought that he would pardon him. And 
 the Apostle said, 1 There are in heaven 
 palaces without number, which were pre- 
 pared from the beginning of the world, 
 and they are to be bought with faith and 
 charity. Your riches, 0 king, may go 
 before you to heaven, but they cannot 
 follow you there.’ ” 
 
 GALGANO. 
 
 A TALE OF GIOVANNI FIORENTINO. 
 
 Y OU will not see, in many lands, 
 
 A region that is so divine 
 As that which, from the Apennine, 
 Studded with hamlet, tower, and town, 
 Sweeps in long undulations, down 
 To the Maremma and the sea. 
 
 And in its midst Siena stands, 
 
 With all its busy hearts and hands, 
 
 The home of love and gallantry. 
 
 Within that city, rich and fair, 
 
 Once dwelt the lady of my story, 
 
 The wife of good Count Salvatore, 
 
 In their palazzo on the square. 
 
 But he was older than became 
 The husband of so young a dame ; 
 
 And she was known through all the land 
 For the rare beautjr of her hand, 
 
 And bore the name of Bella Mano. 
 
 This hand it was that almost crazed 
 A youth, whom all men loved and praised, 
 The noble, handsome, rich Galgano. 
 
1853.] 
 
 Galgano. 
 
 513 
 
 They both were young, they both were fair. 
 And love, whose presence, like the air, 
 Unseen by all, is everywhere, 
 
 Was mingled with the breath of May, 
 
 So mingled, it was hard to say 
 Which was the air, and which was love, 
 
 And he inhaled it day by day ! 
 
 At tourneys and at joustings gay, 
 
 Upon his helmet, as a crest, 
 
 He wore her delicate, small glove, 
 
 That filled his brain with subtile flame, 
 
 And fired him with the love of fame. 
 
 But when the noisy banquet came, 
 
 And he concealed it in his vest, 
 
 It seemed as if her hand were pressed 
 Upon his palpitating heart, 
 
 And, sitting silent and apart, 
 
 He drank unto himself her name ! 
 
 They both were fair, they both were young, 
 And every whisper, every word, 
 
 That from her lovely lips he heard, 
 
 Seemed to his ear less said than sung. 
 
 But she was distant, she was cold, 
 
 And he, not being over-bold, 
 
 Walked evermore in humble guise, 
 
 And hardly dared to lift his eyes 
 To her, who thus his life controlled ; 
 
 For she, Siena’s pride and glory, 
 
 Over each act kept watch and ward, 
 
 And, loyal to her wedded lord, 
 
 Smiled only on old Salvatore. 
 
 A league beyond the city’s gate 
 Lay the fair lands of his estate, 
 
 Embracing in their ample arms 
 Dark woods and pleasant Tuscan farms. 
 And yearly to those green retreats 
 The husband and the wife went down, 
 Leaving, with all the summer heats 
 Of blazing square and stifled streets, 
 Galgano in the empty town. 
 
 Once, when the day was nearly done, 
 
 And from the west the level sun 
 Struck the white towns of Tuscany, 
 
 And, slowly sinking down the sea, 
 
 Filled the whole atmosphere with gold, — 
 In his vast mansion, gray and old, 
 
 Once at this hour Count Salvatore 
 Stood with the lady of his love, 
 
 And gazed upon the golden glory 
 Of land below and sky above. 
 
 And by the window as they stood, 
 
 A youth came riding through the wood, 
 Bearing a falcon on his hand, 
 
 That hid beneath a crimson hood 
 Its eye of anger and command, 
 
 And as it pecked with crooked bill 
 In answer to its lord’s caresses. 
 
 The Milan bells upon its jesses 
 Tinkled a moment, and were still. 
 
 It was Galgano; and the Count 
 Went forth and greeted him, and pressed 
 That from his steed he would dismount, 
 
514 
 
 Galgano. 
 
 [May 
 
 And be that night, at least, their guest. 
 
 To this Galgano answered nay ; 
 
 He was in haste, he could not stay. 
 
 But Salvatore, with much grace, 
 
 Still urged, and would not be denied, 
 
 And still, like one preoccupied, 
 
 And wholly bent upon the chase, 
 
 Galgano, with a burning face, 
 
 And downcast, troubled, restless eye, 
 
 Put his entreaties softly by, 
 
 As in a grove one puts aside 
 The branches that impede his way. 
 
 So he rode on, and would not stay. 
 
 Musing awhile the old man stood, 
 
 Then left the shadow of the wood, 
 
 And crossed the sunshine on the lawn, 
 
 And climbed the gleaming marble stair, 
 
 And disappeared within the door, 
 
 Pacing along the oaken floor, 
 
 With thoughtful, meditative air, 
 
 To seek that lovely lady fair. 
 
 Who from the window had withdrawn. 
 
 Then he discoursed with liberal tongue 
 Of his dear friend, so brave and young, 
 
 And could not cease, but more and more 
 Counted his rare perfections o’er, 
 
 And seemed to seek a thousand ways 
 To magnify Galgano’s praise. 
 
 To this the lady scarce replied ; 
 
 Indeed, she did not care to speak ; 
 
 But once, half audibly she sighed, 
 
 And once she turned away to hide 
 The blush she felt upon her cheek. 
 
 And even as he spake, they heard 
 The screams of an affrighted bird, 
 
 And from the window they beheld 
 A falcon, with his jesses belled, 
 
 Out of a neighboring thicket soar. 
 
 Three circles in the air — no more — 
 
 He made, with such a sweeping wing, 
 
 It seemed a pleasure, not a toil ; 
 
 Then, like a serpent from his coil, 
 
 Or like a stone hurled from a sling, 
 
 Down on his prey he came, and tore 
 Its bosom, so that drops of gore 
 Fell heavy on the glossy leaves, 
 
 As rain-drops from the dripping eaves ; 
 
 And, with ensanguined beak and feather. 
 Through the great dome of foliage dark, 
 Upon the greensward of the park, 
 
 Victor and victim fell together ! 
 
 And all that Salvatore said, 
 
 When he perceived the bird was dead, 
 
 And saw the gallant falcon spurn 
 His lifeless quarry, and return, 
 
 Soaring above the garden wall, 
 
 Unto his master’s distant call, — 
 
 All that he said was simply this : 
 
 “ It is Galgano’s hawk, I wis, 
 
 And much each other they resemble ! ” 
 
 But Salvatore did not see 
 His gentle lady suddenly 
 Grow pale, and close her eyes, and tremble. 
 
1853.] 
 
 Galgano. 
 
 515 
 
 Ah, strange caprice of human will ! 
 
 We struggle blindly, but at length 
 A strength that’s greater than our strength, 
 Or in our weakness seeming so, 
 
 Impels us onward to fulfil 
 
 Our destiny of weal or woe 1 
 
 That falcon wounded more than one ! 
 
 And from the setting of that sun, 
 
 The luckless lady Bella Mano 
 
 With wayward passion loved Galgano ; — 
 
 Galgano, who, with hawk on wrist, 
 
 Rode onward through the rising mist 
 Along the great highway, that downward 
 Ran winding through the valley townward, 
 And led him, by its thread of white, 
 Through labyrinthine caves of night, 
 
 Until across the landscape brown 
 He saw the faint lights of the town, 
 
 Aud tower and belfry came in sight, 
 
 And through the gateway, dark and tall, 
 
 He entered the deserted street, 
 
 And heard the waters, soft and sweet, 
 
 Of Branda’s fountain in their fall. 
 
 And now, in that old country-seat, 
 
 Slow passed the days of drowsy heat, 
 
 And each one, as it came and went, 
 
 Still added something to the store 
 Of that fair lady’s discontent. 
 
 For though Galgano came no more, 
 
 Yet was he ever present there, 
 
 As he had bribed each gust of air 
 That flew across the flowery mead 
 To breathe his name, and urge his prayer, 
 And with the lady intercede. 
 
 At length — it was a luckless day — 
 
 It chanced, that on some state afiair 
 Old Salvatore went away, 
 
 And left her, restless and alone, 
 
 In that great, sombre house of stone. 
 
 But when the lonely day was spent, 
 
 And lonelier night was drawing near, 
 
 Her restlessness and discontent 
 Assumed the guise of love and fear ; 
 
 And to Galgano’s house she sent 
 A messenger of trust, to say 
 She had been waiting all that day, 
 
 And that her heart at last relented, 
 
 And that Galgano was her fate ! 
 
 But ere he reached the garden gate, 
 
 The lady’s fickle soul repented, 
 
 And she recalled him, but too late. 
 
 And then she said in vain ’t would be 
 Longer to thwart her destiny ! 
 
 So said Galgano, when he heard 
 The lady’s soft and gracious word, 
 
 And, scarce believing it, with speed 
 He mounted on his fleetest steed, 
 
 And forth into the country spurred, 
 
 And reached the dark arcade of limes 
 Just as the neighboring Convent-bells 
 Called the pale sisters from their cells, 
 
 With melancholy, midnight chimes. 
 
 The house was dark, and still, and lonely, 
 And at one chamber-window only 
 A light illumed the curtained panes ; 
 
516 
 
 Galgano. 
 
 [May 
 
 And, drawing back each bolt and bar, 
 
 An unseen hand undid the chains, 
 
 And set the portal valves ajar. 
 
 He entered the long corridor, 
 
 Darkness behind him and before ; 
 
 No sound he made, no word he spoke, 
 
 But, guided by the hand unseen, 
 
 Ascended the broad stairs of oak, 
 
 And passed alone, out of the night, 
 
 Into that chamber full of light, 
 
 Of light and loveliness serene ! 
 
 And as he entered, from her place, 
 
 In garments whiter than the snow, 
 
 And motion neither quick nor slow, 
 
 But full of dignity and grace, 
 
 The lady rose to his embrace, 
 
 And on his shoulder hid her face, 
 
 So that her eyes he could not see, 
 
 And murmured in a voice that seemed 
 Not what he heard, but what he dreamed. 
 “ Welcome, a thousand, thousand times ! ” 
 And from the neighboring nunnery 
 Lond rang the mournful midnight chimes. 
 
 Then sat they fondly side by side, 
 
 And much they questioned and replied, 
 And much Galgano wished to know 
 What had o’ercome the lady’s pride, 
 And changed her and subdued her so. 
 And she related the whole story ; 
 
 The story of that summer day, 
 
 When he rode down the woodland way, 
 And, though entreated, would not stay, 
 And of the falcon and its flight, 
 
 And how her husband, Salvatore, 
 
 Spoke of him with so much delight, 
 With so much love and tenderness, 
 
 And placed his name so far above 
 All others, that she could no less 
 Than listen, and, in listening, love ! 
 
 And then upon his hand she laid 
 Her own, that seemed a thing divine, 
 
 And in a gentle whisper said, 
 
 “ Galgano, I am wholly thine ! ” 
 
 But suddenly a sense of guilt 
 Pierced his sad bosom through and through, 
 Even as a sword, thrust to the hilt 
 By some athletic hand, might do. 
 
 And, moved by a sublime decision, 
 
 He said, in tones of deep contrition, 
 
 “ May God forbid that 1 defame 
 Old Salvatore’s honored name, 
 
 And pay his noble trust in me 
 By any act of infamy ! ” 
 
 Then with the instinct of despair 
 He rushed into the open air ! 
 
 And homeward riding, through the night, 
 
 He felt a wild, but sweet delight 
 Pervade his breast, with thoughts of peace, 
 And gratitude for his release, 
 
 And joy in triumph of the right ! 
 
 And from that hour his soul assumed 
 A nobler attitude and gesture, 
 
 An d walked with royal look and vesture, 
 And not as one outcast and doomed ! 
 
 
THE STUDENT LIFE OF DANIEL WEBSTER. 
 
 T HE history of the early life of Daniel 
 Webster is as instructive to the youth 
 of our land, as that of his mature life is to 
 American statesmen. The events of his stu- 
 dent life are imperfectly known. It is the 
 aim of this article to supply some deficien- 
 cies, and correct some mistakes, in the pub- 
 lished accounts of this period of his life. 
 I have visited the place of his nativity, and 
 conversed with the friends of his boyhood ; 
 I have corresponded with most of his sur- 
 viving classmates and college friends ; I 
 have examined some hundreds of his let- 
 ters ; and the facts which I now record, 
 are the result of my investigations. 
 
 Daniel Webster performed the ordinary 
 services of a boy upon his father’s farm, 
 till the age of fourteen. His taste for 
 agriculture, and his fondness for rural 
 life, grew directly out of the associations 
 of his childhood. 
 
 Imagine to yourself a slender, black- 
 eyed boy, with serious mien and raven 
 locks, leading the traveller’s horse to 
 water, when he alighted at his father’s 
 inn ; driving the cows to pasture, at early 
 dawn, and returning them at the gray of 
 evening ; riding the horse to harrow be- 
 tween the rows of corn, in weeding-time, 
 and following the mowers with a wooden 
 spreader, in haying-time ; and you have 
 the true idea of the lad, and of his duties. 
 In dress, in the means of social and intel- 
 lectual culture, his condition was far be- 
 low that of the sons of farmers and me- 
 chanics of the present day. Many anec- 
 dotes have been published of his incapacity 
 for manual labor, or of his aversion to it. 
 The testimony of his early companions 
 and neighbors contradicts, in general and 
 in particular, all stories of his idleness. 
 He was an industrious boy. He labored 
 to the extent of his strength. He was 
 the youngest son, and, perhaps, on that 
 account, received some indulgences. Men 
 are now living who labored with him, in 
 the field and in the mill— who shared his 
 toils and his sports. They affirm that 
 “he always worked well, and played 
 fair.” Boj^s, in those days, were early 
 trained to hard service. I have heard 
 Mr. Webster say, that he had the charge 
 of his father’s saw-mill, and was accus- 
 tomed to tread back the log-carriage, 
 “ when he was not heavier than a robin.” 
 An old schoolmate of his told me, that the 
 mill was owned, in shares, by several of 
 the neighbors, who used it in turn. Boys 
 were put into the mill to tend it, when 
 it required the weight of two of them to 
 turn back the 11 rag-wheel,” and bring the 
 log-carriage to its place, to commence a 
 
 new cut. He informed me, that he had 
 labored many a day with Daniel Webster, 
 in this old mill, and that his companion 
 was ever ready to do his part of the ser- 
 vice. The same boy, Daniel, was accus- 
 tomed to drive the team into the woods, 
 where his elder brother, Ezekiel, cut the 
 logs and assisted in loading them. Dan- 
 iel’s feeble health convinced his father 
 that he could not endure the severe labors 
 of a farmer. He therefore resolved to fit 
 him to teach. This fact gave occasion to 
 many facetious remarks from his brother 
 Joe, who, as Mr. Webster said, was “a 
 bit of a wag.” His- fame still lives, in all 
 that region, as a rustic wit, at raisings 
 and huskings ; uttering his jokes in dog- 
 gerels, which are still said or sung by his 
 admirers ; and some of them are found in 
 the literary department of old almanacs. 
 This same Joe loved to represent Dan as 
 weak in body and mind, unfit for labor, 
 and obliged to study that he might be- 
 come as wise as the rest of the family. 
 There was as much truth in the charge of 
 mental imbecility as in that of his habitual 
 indolence, and no more. Mr. Webster ad- 
 mitted that he could never learn to mow. 
 He was too young to engage in that 
 kind of labor when he left the farm 
 for the school. No reasonable father 
 would expect a slender, sickly boy to 
 swing the scythe with much efficiency or 
 skill before he was fourteen years of age. 
 It has also been reported, that his love of 
 hunting and fishing sometimes made him 
 play truant at school. This is pronounced 
 false by his surviving schoolmates. Their 
 testimony is, that “ he was always present 
 when the school kept, and that he was al- 
 ways in advance of his associates.” He 
 loved books more than sport. He was 
 not fond of the ordinary plays of boys of 
 his age, and mingled with them in their 
 diversions rather from a desire to please 
 than to be pleased. He often spent the 
 winter evenings in coasting down the 
 long hill near his father’s house. In this 
 exercise, he economized his strength ; 
 “ for,” says one of his companions, “ he 
 always had a knack of making us draw 
 the sled up the hill.” 
 
 His fondness for books was very early 
 developed. He could not himself remem- 
 ber the time when he could not read. The 
 travellers who stopped at his father’s 
 tavern, used to call on little Dan to read 
 a psalm, when he was too young to be of 
 any service to his parents ; and they lis- 
 tened, with delight, to the elocution of the 
 young orator. These psalms he loved to 
 repeat till the day of his death. He loved 
 
518 
 
 The Student Life of Daniel Webster. 
 
 to sing them, to the tune of Old Hundred, 
 as he wandered over his farm, and often 
 called John Taylor, at Franklin, to spend 
 an hour in singing Watts’s psalms and 
 hymns with him, before the fire “fair 
 blazing ” on the old hearth, after his guests 
 had retired. He once expressed his 
 readiness to attempt to repeat any stanza 
 of Watts if any one of the company 
 would repeat the first line. “ Wherever 
 you find Watts,” said he, “there you find 
 true devotion.” At twelve years of age, 
 he could repeat “ Pope’s Essay on Man ” 
 from memory. Being once asked why he 
 learned this philosophic poem by heart at 
 that age. he replied, “ I had nothing else 
 to learn.” A book was a “ rara avis in 
 terris;” even a new almanac was a trea- 
 sure to him. A dispute once arose be- 
 tween him and Ezekiel, after going to bed, 
 about some passage in the new Almanac 
 of the year. They rose and kindled a 
 light to decide the dispute ; in their eager- 
 ness to read the record they forgot their 
 lighted tinder, and thus set the house on 
 fire. The few books which his father 
 owned, were faithfully conned ; still his 
 attainments were very limited when he 
 entered the academy at Exeter. His man- 
 ners were unpolished, his dress unfashion- 
 able, and his whole appearance and de- 
 portment betokened rustic simplicity and 
 honesty. His mind was his only treasure ; 
 this did not, at first sight, appear to plead in 
 his behalf. His new associates had enjoyed 
 superior advantages ; they judged of the 
 standing of their classmates by their 
 dress, rather than by their intellect. 
 James Ii. Bingham, Esq., of Washington, 
 D. 0., in a recent letter to me, thus speaks 
 of Mr. Webster at that period : “ Our first 
 acquaintance was at the academy at Ex- 
 eter, in 1796. I went there in July of 
 that year, and found him there. He was 
 then about fourteen ; was attending to 
 English Grammar, Arithmetic, etc. ; al- 
 ways very prompt and correct in his 
 recitations. He had an independent man- 
 ner, rather careless in his dress and ap- 
 pearance, with an intelligent look ; did not 
 join much in the plays and amusements of 
 the boys of his age, but paid close atten- 
 tion to his studies.” Speaking of his 
 residence at Exeter. Mr. Webster said: 
 “ I believe that I made tolerable progress 
 in most branches that I attended to in this 
 school ; but there was one thing which I 
 could not do — I could not speak before 
 the school.” This fact, unexplained, is a 
 perfect enigma in his history. We know 
 that, within one year from this time, he 
 was ready and willing to engage in public 
 declamation in college ; that he very soon 
 manifested a fondness for extemporaneous 
 speaking, and often volunteered, in society 
 
 [May 
 
 debates and orations, to supply the place 
 of an absent member. More than fifty 
 years ago, he explained to his room-mate 
 the secret of Iris diffidence at Exeter. His 
 rustic manners and homespun dress called 
 forth the ridicule of some of his class- 
 mates, who happened to have full purses 
 and empty heads. The sensibilities of 
 young Daniel were wounded by their un- 
 kind criticism. He therefore withdrew 
 from their plays and shrunk from a public 
 exhibition of himself upon the stage. He 
 was precisely in the condition of the per- 
 son (supposed to be the poet Virgil) al- 
 luded to by the Roman satirist : — 
 
 u Yonr friend is testy and provokes 
 The humors of some waggish folks ; 
 
 And fops may laugh;— for why? 
 
 His shoes are loose, his coat awry. 
 
 Y et Maro has a generous soul, 
 
 No man a better on the whole ; 
 
 With wit how bright and heart how warm, 
 Beneath a rude unpolished form.” 
 
 His situation was unpleasant to him, and 
 he became discontented and resolved to 
 leave the school at the close • of the first 
 term. His usher noticed his depression of 
 spirits, and, by a private interview, restored 
 his self-confidence, and taught him to 
 despise the taunts of young men who 
 cared more for sport than for books. He 
 was assured of his ability not only to lead 
 his class, but to leave those railers so far 
 behind him, that they should never see 
 him again. “ These,” said Mr. Webster, 
 “ were the first truly encouraging words 
 I ever received with reference to my 
 studies.” 
 
 They, undoubtedly, influenced his whole 
 subsequent life. Judicious commendation 
 is always the best reward of successful 
 study. Daniel Webster remained nine 
 months at Exeter, devoting most of his 
 time to English branches. Latin was a 
 subordinate study. He had learned the 
 paradigms in the Latin grammar, before 
 entering the academy. This he did, by 
 way of occupation, while he sat in the 
 office of Thomas W. Thompson, Esq.,* to 
 inform his clients where he could be 
 found, when absent from his usual place 
 of business. The means of Judge Web- 
 ster were limited, and his expenditures for 
 the support of a large family compelled 
 him to practise the most rigid economy. 
 Those who knew him well say that his 
 whole estate was never valued above two 
 thousand dollars. To diminish the ex- 
 pense of his son’s education, he placed 
 him under the care of Rev. Samuel Wood, 
 of Boscawen, who received one dollar a 
 week for board and tuition. Here he re- 
 mained six months, giving Iris whole time 
 to the Latin and Greek languages. He 
 was exceedingly fond of Virgil, and read 
 the entire Hineid long before he was called 
 
1853 .] 
 
 The Student Life of Daniel Webster. 
 
 519 
 
 to recite it in the ordinary course of in- 
 struction. He also read Cicero with great 
 delight. These were his favorite authors. 
 Their beautiful thoughts he treasured in 
 his memory, and quoted them, with re- 
 markable facility, in after life. The eye 
 of the classical scholar will also detect the 
 influence of these ancient writers in the 
 style, imagery, and costume of his immor- 
 tal thoughts. He devoted less than two 
 months to the study of Greek. His im- 
 perfect preparation, in this language, he 
 always regretted. It made the study of 
 it a task rather than a pleasure in college. 
 As late as January, 1851, he said to a 
 classmate, “would that I had pursued 
 Greek, till I could read an<^ understand 
 Demosthenes, in his own language ! ” 
 Official duties and professional engage- 
 ments prevented his obtaining the object 
 he so earnestly desired ; and they have 
 also deprived the world of the commen- 
 tary of a critic, who was as competent to 
 appreciate the Greek orator as any man 
 that has lived since his day. Mr. Webster 
 entered college in August, 1797. The 
 usual mode of travel was on horseback. 
 Of course, his wardrobe and library were 
 very limited. His dress was entirely of 
 domestic manufacture. One of his class- 
 mates under date of November 12, 1852, 
 says : “ It is singular that I should re- 
 member any thing about his dress, re- 
 specting which you inquire. This, how- 
 ever, was a matter of conversation in the 
 class. For two years, he dressed like 
 other farmers’ sons. But after the com- 
 mencement of his junior year, he dressed 
 decidedly better than the average of his 
 class, but not foppishly.” With respect 
 to his habits of study, respect for law, and 
 devotion to the required exercises of col- 
 lege, Mr. Webster’s character has been 
 grossly misrepresented. I have learned 
 this from his own lips, as well as from 
 many of his college associates. Tradition 
 represents him as indifferent to the severer 
 studies of the collegiate course, devoting 
 much time to general reading, and to his 
 favorite amusements of hunting and fish- 
 ing. I have reason to know that his re- 
 putation, as a scholar, was very dear to 
 him ; that he felt as keenly the thought- 
 less misrepresentation propagated by in- 
 terested idlers, respecting his student life, 
 i as he did the malicious assaults of inter- 
 ested partisans, upon his official acts. It 
 has been so commonly reported, about our 
 colleges, that Webster was not a labori- 
 ous student, that many gentlemen who 
 have written eulogies upon the illustrious 
 statesman and orator, have felt bound to 
 apologize for him as a scholar. This is 
 j all wrong. His early life was as strongly 
 i characterized by those homely virtues, in- 
 
 dustry, perseverance, and punctuality, as 
 his subsequent career. It may safely be 
 questioned whether any undergraduate of 
 any of our American colleges ever left be- 
 hind him so many written and printed 
 proofs of his talents and application as 
 Mr. Webster. He always scorned the 
 imputation of idleness. When informed 
 that such a tradition prevailed among stu- 
 dents, he exclaimed : “ What fools they 
 must be, to suppose that a man could 
 make any thing of himself without hard 
 study.’’ He then gave an account of his 
 habits of study when in college, and, by it, 
 left the impression upon the minds of 
 those who listened, that he regarded 
 every hour of his student life as sacred to 
 study and reflection ; that his first object 
 was a thorough mastery of his daily tasks, 
 and his next purpose was to store his 
 mind with useful knowledge. His soli- 
 tary wanderings were devoted to reflec- 
 tion, and frequently to the composition of 
 his themes; his social intercourse was 
 rendered profitable by literary conversa- 
 tion. From gentlemen of the highest 
 respectability, who were classmates or 
 college acquaintances of Mr. Webster, I 
 have the most decisive testimony to his 
 high scholarship, his earnest devotion to 
 duty, and his unblemished morals. One 
 classmate writes : “ Mr. Webster’s habits, 
 at college, were good. He had the highest 
 sense of honor and integrity. He was 
 sure' to understand the subject of his reci- 
 tation ; sometimes, I used to think, in a 
 more extended and comprehensive sense 
 than his teacher. He never liked to be 
 confined to small technicalities or views ; 
 but seemed to possess an intuitive know- 
 ledge of whatever subject he was consid- 
 ering. He did not find it necessary, as 
 was the case with most of us, to sit down 
 to hard work three or four hours to make 
 himself master of his lesson, but seemed 
 to comprehend it in a larger view, and 
 would, sometimes, procure other books on 
 the same subject, for further examination, 
 and employ hours in close thought , either 
 in his room or in his walks, which would 
 enlarge his views and, at the same time, 
 might with some give him the character 
 of not being a close student. He was a 
 favorite with the class generally ; inter- 
 esting and instructive in conversation ; 
 social and very kind in his feelings ; not 
 intimate with many. His compositions 
 and college themes, exercises in the soci- 
 ety and occasional orations, all showed the 
 marks of great genius, and thorough study 
 of history and politics, for one of his 
 years.” This gentleman was an intimate 
 friend of Mr. Webster, and still retains 
 more than fifty letters of his, written 
 during his student life. He often wrote 
 
520 
 
 The Student Life erf Daniel Webster. 
 
 to his friends in poetry. Some of these 
 epistles are perfect gems of their kind, 
 written in his happiest moods, and with 
 the warm, gushing affections of his great 
 heaj't. Many of them are confidential, 
 and will never meet the public eye. 
 Others are playful and humorous ; and, 
 perhaps, on that account, will be excluded 
 from the biography of the great states- 
 man. Another classmate, under date of 
 November 12, 1852, writes as follows: 
 “In a class of about thirty, Webster, 
 from the beginning, was one of the best 
 scholars. But, for two years, I doubt 
 whether he was singled out as the best by 
 any authority. As the class gave more 
 attention to English branches, the latter 
 part of the sophomore year, and the junior 
 year, Webster’s character, particularly as 
 a writer and extemporaneous speaker, be- 
 came developed ; and he was unquestion- 
 ably the best belles-lettres scholar in the 
 class. The fact that when a junior, he 
 was appointed to deliver a Fourth of July 
 oration to the villagers, shows in what es- 
 timation he was held as a writer. He 
 also wrote a long dialogue or drama of an 
 hour or two in length, which the society 
 with which he was connected exhibited 
 on the evening of commencement at the 
 close of his junior year.” This gentleman 
 also knew him intimately, and corres- 
 ponded with him for many years. The 
 early letters of Mr. Webster which he has 
 preserved show the depth and sincerity 
 of his friendship, whose fires he never suf- 
 fered to expire, and even kindled them 
 anew but a short time before his decease. 
 The tone of these early letters is some- 
 times grave and sometimes gay ; but no 
 one of them is destitute of instruction. In 
 all his youthful correspondence are found 
 elevated sentiment and well-digested 
 opinions which would not dishonor his 
 riper years. An extract of two or three 
 sentences from letters written at widely 
 different periods, will show the character- 
 istic sincerity of Mr. Webster’s friend- 
 ship. 
 
 In 1803, he wrote to his young 
 friend : 
 
 “ I thank you for the expressions of 
 friendship your letter contained, and for 
 the assurance that a part of your time is 
 devoted to me. At this period of our ac- 
 quaintance, I need not tell you what plea- 
 sure I received from your letters ; nor 
 with what exultation my heart glows 
 under the impression, that our early con- 
 genial attachments will never be sunder- 
 ed.” To the same gentleman, in 1849, he 
 wrote : “ It gives me very true pleasure 
 
 to hear from you, and to learn that you 
 are well. Years have not abated my af- 
 , fectionate regard. We have been boys 
 
 [May 
 
 together, and men together ; and now we 
 are growing old together; but you always 
 occupy the same place in my remem- 
 brance and good wishes.” Mr. Webster 
 never forgot an early friend. The terms 
 of endearment employed by him, in ad- 
 dressing them, during the last years of 
 his life, are as cordial and affectionate as 
 those employed in his youth. Another 
 classmate of Mr. Webster, in a recent 
 letter to me says: “Mr. Webster’s ha- 
 
 bits of study were good. I never knew 
 him to waste the hours of study. He 
 was constant at the recitation, and always 
 well prepared. You ask, ‘how did he 
 recite i ’ To the best of my recollection, 
 always welt— no one before him. He was 
 peculiarly industrious. He read more 
 than any one of his classmates and re- 
 membered all. He would accomplish 
 more business in a given time than any 
 one of his associates. You ask, ‘how did 
 he rank ? ’ I say the first in his class, 
 and so would four-fifths of the class say. 
 He was good in every branch of stud}', 
 and as a writer and speaker he had no 
 equal. The truth, is, that, by his thorough 
 investigation of every subject and every 
 study, whilst in college, together with his 
 giant mind, he rose to the very pinnacle 
 of fame ; and since he left college, all he 
 had to do was to sustain his elevated posi- 
 tion and fame would roll in upon him 
 from all quarters ; and all his classmates 
 have been compelled to look up high to 
 see him, which I have always been proud 
 to do.” This language shows us that the 
 friendship formed, before their majority', 
 between the prospective clergyman and 
 lawyer, has not been broken by lapse of 
 years or diversity of pursuits, nor chilled 
 by the frosts of age. Another eminent 
 divine, who knew Mr. Webster well in 
 college, says : “Asa classical and belles- 
 
 lettres scholar, and as a speaker and de- 
 bater, he stood far above all the other 
 members in the college. Though young, 
 he gave such unequivocal evidence of a 
 powerful genius, that some, I remember, 
 predicted his future eminence.” Another 
 gentleman who has occupied the highest 
 official stations in his native State, and 
 held a seat in the Senate with Mr. Web- 
 ster, though an opponent in politics, writes 
 from his own knowledge as follows : 
 “ He was so decidedly beyond any one 
 else, that no other student in his class 
 was ever spoken of as second to him. The 
 students who knew him best, and judged 
 of his merit impartially, felt that no one 
 connected with the college, at the time of 
 his graduation, deserved to be compared 
 with him. His habits and moral char- 
 acter were entirely stainless. I never 
 heard them questioned, during our college 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Student Life of Daniel Webster. 
 
 521 
 
 acquaintance.” A gentleman who was 
 connected with the college as a teacher, 
 when Mr. Webster was graduated, says 
 that “ he was as regular as the sun ; al- 
 ways in his place, and with a decorum 
 suited to it. He had no collision with 
 any one, nor appeared to enter into the 
 concerns of others, but, emphatically, 
 minded his own business.” The testimo- 
 ny respecting his contempt of disorder, 
 his reverence for the Sabbath and its 
 solemn services, his respect for authority, 
 and his uniformly dignified deportment at 
 all times, is equally full and explicit. I 
 have not yet found the first witness (and 
 I have questioned many), who can point 
 out a single action, in the student life of 
 Daniel Webster, which would be deroga- 
 tory to the character of a Christian gen- 
 tleman. He is represented as being above 
 the suspicion of any the least violation of 
 the rules of decorum ; so much so, that 
 one of his classmates says, he should as 
 soon have suspected John Wheelock, the 
 President, of disorderly conduct as Daniel 
 Webster. With this character of the 
 young student, all his early compositions 
 correspond. During the last two years 
 of his college life, he made frequent con- 
 tributions to a newspaper published at 
 that time in Hanover. His earliest pub- 
 lished productions evince an elevation of 
 thought and a solemnity of style above 
 his years. His first printed composition 
 is on “ Hope.” It is written both in prose 
 and verse. This passage occurs in it: 
 “ Through the whole journey of man’s life, 
 however deplorable his condition, Hope still 
 irradiates his path and saves him from 
 sinking into wretchedness and despair. 
 Thanks to Heaven, that human nature is 
 endowed with such an animating princi- 
 ple ! When man is reduced to the lowest 
 spoke of fortune’s wheel ; when the hard 
 hand of pinching poverty binds him to the 
 dust ; when sickness and disease prey 
 upon his body ; yea, when meagre death 
 •approaches him, what then supports and 
 buoys him over the abyss of misery ? 
 ’Tis Hope.” The close is as follows: “ But 
 first of all, go ask the dying soul whose 
 all, whose only portion lies beyond the 
 narrow confines of this earthly realm, 
 how thus he can support affliction’s 
 weight, and grapple with the mighty foe 
 of man. He says ’tis faith, ’tis Hope. 
 
 1 By these he penetrates death’s dreary vale, 
 
 And lo 1 a blest eternity appears.’ ” 
 
 The next published article is on “ Char- 
 ity.” A short extract will show its 
 character. 
 
 “Let hate arul diicord vanish at thy sight, 
 
 And every flhre of the human breast 
 Be tuned to genuine sympathy and love. 
 
 When thou in smiles descendcst from the skies, 
 
 vol r. — 34 
 
 Celestial radiance shines around thy path, 
 
 And happiness, attendant on thy steps, 
 
 Proclaims, in cheerful accents, thine approach.’' 1 
 
 Ilis early poetic compositions are all 
 redolent of the truths of God’s word. 
 The religious instruction with which his 
 pious parents “ trained him up ” from in- 
 fancy, made an indelible impression upon 
 his intellect and heart. One poem of con- 
 siderable length, in blank verse, contains 
 the whole history of human redemption. 
 Two extracts, one from the opening, and 
 the other from the close, will reveal the 
 character of the entire composition. 
 
 “ When that grand period in the eternal mind. 
 
 Long predetermined, had arrived, behold 
 The universe, this most stupendous mass 
 Of things, to instant being rose. This globe. 
 
 For light and heat dependent on the sun, 
 
 By power supreme was then ordained to roll 
 And on its surface bear immortal man, 
 
 Complete in bliss, the image of his God. 
 
 His soul, to gentle harmonies attuned, 
 
 Th’ ungovern ’d rage of boisterous passions knew not. 
 Malice, revenge, and hate, were then unknown; 
 Love held its empire in the human heart — 
 
 The voice of love alone escaped the lip, 
 
 And gladdening nature echoed back the strain. 
 
 Oh, happy state 1 too happy to remain ; 
 
 Temptation comes, and man a victim falls! 
 Farewell to peace, farewell to human bliss, 
 Farewell, ye kindred virtues, all farewell 1 
 Ye flee the world, and seek sublimer realms. 
 Passions impetuous now possess the heart, 
 
 And hurry every gentler feeling thence. 
 ***** 
 
 Is it now asked why man for slaughter pants, 
 
 Eaves with revenge, and with detraction burns? 
 
 Go ask of ..Etna why her thunders roar, 
 
 Why her volcanoes smoke, and why she pours 
 In torrents down her side the igneous mass 
 That hurries men and cities to the tomb ! 
 
 These but the effects of bursting fires within. 
 Convulsions that are hidden from our sight, 
 
 And bellow under ground. Just so in man ; 
 
 The love of conquest and the lust of power 
 Are but flie effects of passion unsubdued. 
 
 T’ avert the effects, then deeply strike the cause. 
 O’ercome the rage of passion, and obtain 
 The empire over self. This once achieved, 
 
 Impress fair virtue’s precepts on the heart. 
 
 Teach t’ adore his God, and love his brother; 
 
 War then no more shall raise the rude alarm, 
 Widows and orphans then shall sigh no more, 
 
 Peace shall return, and man again be bless’d." 
 
 Near the commencement of his senior 
 year, Mr. Webster was called to mourn 
 the death of a classmate to whom he was 
 warmly attached. During his illness, he 
 alludes to him with great solicitude. To 
 a friend he said : “ My first object is to 
 inquire about Simonds. Oh that I could 
 be assured that he is recovering! But 
 perhaps that is a happiness never to be 
 allowed us. Let our prayers ascend to- 
 gether for his well-being.” 
 
 After the decease of his friend, he was 
 invited to pronounce his eulogy, which 
 was published. In that he takes occasion 
 to speak in the highest terms of the 
 Christian character of the deceased. “To 
 surviving friends,” he said, “gladdening 
 is the reflection, that he died, as he lived, 
 a firm believer in the sublime doctrines 
 of Christianity. * * * Whoever knew 
 him in life, or saw him in death, will cor- 
 
522 The Student Life of Daniel Webster 
 
 dially address this honorable testimony 
 to his memory, — 
 
 ‘ He taught us how to live, and oh, too high 
 The price of knowledge, taught us how to die/ ” 
 
 He then discourses, at length, upon the 
 power of religion to sustain and console 
 the believer, in scenes of sorrow, persecu- 
 tion, and death. The thoughts and style 
 of the whole eulogy are such as might 
 have been expected from the pen of Jer- 
 emy Taylor, rather than from a youth of 
 eighteen years. After listening to the 
 warm commendations of a classmate, he 
 remarked, “If the funeral oration be 
 thought decent, I am contented ; equal to 
 the subject it is not. The death of Si- 
 monds was a theme on which the first 
 writers ought to be proud to point their 
 pens. ‘ Hei mihi, qualis erat ! ’ ” 
 
 He loved his young friends with the 
 intensity and sincerity of woman’s affec- 
 tion. In his heart there was a native 
 gentleness, which shrunk instinctively 
 from all rudeness to others, or thought- 
 less trifling 'with their feelings. 
 
 A little incident in his college life hap- 
 pily illustrates this trait in his character. 
 A fellow-student had a fond conceit of his 
 own powers as a poet. He measured his 
 verses with a pair of dividers. The man- 
 ufacture of an acrostic was quite original, 
 and entirely mechanical. After marking 
 the termini of the lines, he placed at the 
 beginning of them those words whose 
 initial letters would make the required 
 name ; and at the end words in pairs, that 
 would rhyme with each other, and then 
 filled (or stuffed, as the phrase was) the 
 intermediate spaces. Of course, such a 
 poet had frequent calls for public recita- 
 tions. Mr. Webster pitied his simplicity, 
 and, in company with a friend, called on 
 the poet, and revealed to him the true 
 state of public sentiment. The deluded 
 youth very promptly informed them that 
 11 they were envious of his fame, and only 
 designed to injure him.” 
 
 “Nullum ultra ver’uum, aut operam insumebat 
 inanem, 
 
 Quin sine rivali seque, et sua solus amaret.” 
 
 Mr. Webster early manifested a deep- 
 seated aversion to cruelty, oppression, and 
 war. An extract from an essay published 
 by him, in his seventeenth year, shows 
 how early in life he entertained pacific 
 sentiments. 
 
 “ ‘ Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war ! ’ 
 
 “ For what was man created, but to cul- 
 tivate the arts of peace and friendship, to 
 beam charity and benevolence on all around 
 him, to improve his own mind by study 
 and reflection, to serve his God with all the 
 powers of his soul, and finally, when the 
 days of ids years are numbered, to bid 
 adieu to earthly objects with a smile, to 
 
 [May 
 
 close his eyes on the pillow of religious 
 hope, and sink to repose in the bosom of his 
 Maker? Why, then, is the object of our ex- 
 istence unattained? Why does man relent- 
 less draw the sword to spill the blood of 
 man? Why are the fairest countries on 
 earth desolated and depopulated with the 
 ravages of war? Why are the annals of 
 the world crowded with the details of mur- 
 der, treason, sacrilege, and crimes, that 
 strike the soul with horror but to name 
 them ? Oh, corrupted nature ! Oh, de- 
 praved man ! Those who are delighted 
 with tales of bloodshed and destruction 
 find a rich repast in the daily accounts 
 from Europe, where 
 
 ‘ Gigantic slaughter stalks with awful strides, 
 
 And vengeful fury pours her copious tides.’ 
 
 But to the child of humanity, to the man 
 of true benevolence, it is a sad and painful 
 reflection, that iniquity should usurp the 
 reign of justice, that the liberties and the 
 lives of millions should be sacrificed to sa- 
 tiate the ambition of individuals, and that 
 tyrants should wade through seas of blood 
 to empire and dominion. War, under cer- 
 tain circumstances is proper, is just. When 
 men take arms to burst those chains which 
 have bound them in slavery, to assert and 
 maintain those privileges, which they justly 
 claim as natural rights, their object is noble, 
 and we wish them success.” 
 
 The whole essay is of a like tenor ; 
 and in reading it, we are forced to exclaim, 
 for the thousandth time, “ How forcible 
 are right words ! ” 
 
 From all the statesmen and patriots of 
 the world. Mr. Webster selected Wash- 
 ington as his model to study and imitate. 
 In one of his earliest poetic compositions, 
 there is found a beautiful apostrophe to 
 “the Father of his Country.” 
 
 “Ah, "Washington! thon once didst guide the helm, 
 And point each danger to our infant realm ; 
 
 Didst show the gulf where Faction’s tempests sweep. 
 And the big thunders frolic o’er the deep ; 
 
 Through the red wave didst lead our bark, nor stood. 
 Like Moses, on the other side the flood. 
 
 But thou art gone — yes, gone — and we deplore 
 The man, the Washington, we knew before. 
 
 But when thy spirit mounted to the sky, 
 
 And scarce beneath thee left a tearless eye — 
 
 Tell ! what Elisha then thy mantle caught, 
 
 Warm’d with thy virtue — with thy wisdom fraught?” 
 
 The question that interested the youth- 
 ful poet has been once solved; and we 
 are now prepared to repeat it. with pen- 
 sive earnestness, over the tomb of Web- 
 ster. The recorded opinions of his early 
 life furnish abundant proof of his rooted 
 aversion to war, and his warm devotion 
 to peace. He often wrote upon political 
 topics. The young student discoursed 
 ably and eloquently upon those very sub- 
 jects which afterwards called forth the 
 mightiest energies of the peerless orator 
 and statesman. The Constitution and 
 the Union were as dear to him at seven- 
 teen as at seventy. At the age of eigh- 
 
The Student Life of Daniel Webster. 
 
 523 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 teen lie wrote a political letter to a friend, 
 which was published in the Dartmouth 
 Gazette, from which I will copy a para- 
 graph. 
 
 “ Internally secure, we have nothing to 
 fear. Let Europe pour her embattled 
 millions around us ; let her thronged co- 
 horts cover our shores from the St. Law- 
 rence to the St. Mary’s, yet United Co- 
 lumbia shall stand unmoved ; the manes 
 of her deceased Washington shall still 
 guard the liberties of his country and di- 
 rect the sword of freedom in the day of 
 battle. Heaven grant that the bonds of 
 our federal union may be strengthened ; 
 that Gallic emissaries and Gallic princi- 
 ples may be spurned from our land ; that 
 traitors may be abashed, and that the 
 stars and stripes of United Columbia may 
 wave triumphant ! ” Two years later he 
 wrote as follows : — “ Our constitution has 
 left, it is true, a wide field for the exer- 
 tions of popular intrigue , while it has 
 strongly fortified against executive en- 
 croachments. This is the general nature 
 and construction of governments perfectly 
 free. They are much better secured 
 against tyranny than against licentious- 
 ness. Yet it has been said, with as much 
 truth as eloquence, that ‘ the thunderbolt 
 of despotism is not more fatal to public 
 liberty than the earthquake of popular 
 commotion.’ It would be a phenomenon 
 in history ; it would be like a comet which 
 appears but once in a hundred centuries, 
 if there should be found a government ad- 
 vancing to despotism by regular and pro- 
 gressive encroachment. The path of des- 
 potism leads through the mire and dirt 
 of uncontrolled democracy. When this 
 government falls, it will owe its destruc- 
 tion to some administration that sets out 
 in its career with much adulation of the 
 sovereign people , much profession of eco- 
 nomy and reform, and it will then pro- 
 ceed to prostrate the fairest institutions 
 of government by the pretext of saving 
 expense, but really with the purpose of 
 destroying constitutional checks.” 
 
 Poetry was a favorite species of com- 
 position with Mr. Webster while in col- 
 lege. Besides his contributions to the 
 press and poetic epistles to his friends, he 
 often wrote in verse for public exhibitions. 
 Early in his college course, he wrote his 
 own declamations for the stage, while 
 others were permitted to speak selected 
 pieces. A classmate of his informs me that 
 he remembers one poetic composition 
 which he spoke, of which every line ended 
 in i-o-n. 
 
 Mr. Webster also took a prominent part 
 in the exercises of the literary society of 
 which he was a member. There existed 
 at that time an intense rivalry between 
 
 the “United Fraternity” and “Social 
 Friends.” They were then secret soci- 
 eties, and embraced a majority of the 
 members of college. The Fraternity was 
 somewhat depressed. Mr. Webster be- 
 came its champion, and gave it a more 
 elevated position in the college. The re- 
 cords of that society have been mutilated, 
 and the manuscript oration of Mr. Web- 
 ster, which was delivered by him at the 
 time of his graduation, before the society, 
 has been purloined by some literary thief, 
 who ought to be disfranchised from the re- 
 public of letters. 
 
 “ Is intestabilis et sacer esto.” 
 
 The records, so far as they exist, con- 
 tain the following entries respecting Mr. 
 Webster : — 
 
 “His initiation occurred Nov. *7, 1797. 
 
 “The society met, according to adjourn- 
 ment, at Brother Webster’s room, Nov. 21, 
 1797.” 
 
 “At the election of officers, Aug. 14, 1798, 
 Freshman Webster was chosen ‘Inspectoi 
 of Books.’ ” 
 
 “May 7, 1799, Sophomore Webster was 
 chosen ‘ Librarian.’ ” 
 
 “Aug. 20, 1799, Messrs. Webster & Brack- 
 ett were chosen to write ‘a Dialogue’ for 
 exhibition at the next commencement.” 
 
 “Oct. 15, 1799, Voted to deposit in the 
 archives of the United Fraternity an Ora- 
 tion delivered by Junior Webster.” 
 
 “ Nov. 25, 1799. A voluntary oration 
 from Brother Webster closed the exercises. ” 
 
 “Dec. 3, 1799. * An oration from Brother 
 Webster opened the meeting.’” 
 
 “May 27, 1800. At the choosing of offi- 
 cers, Junior Webster was ‘Vice-President.’” 
 
 “ May 19, 1800. Junior Webster was ap- 
 pointed ‘ Orator ’ for the ensuing com- 
 mencement.” 
 
 “Oct. 7, 1800. An oration on ‘ambition,’ 
 by Brother Webster, completed the exer- 
 cises.’ ” 
 
 “Nov. 25, 1800. Daniel Webster was 
 elected President of the Society.” 
 
 The entire record of Mr. Webster’s se- . 
 nior year is lost. His labors during that 
 year are said to have exceeded those of 
 the three preceding years. It should be 
 remembered also, that it was not the cus- 
 tom of the secretary to record the names 
 of the speakers who participated in the 
 extemporaneous debates, which at that 
 period were very frequent. Here Mr. 
 Webster was unanimously admitted to be 
 facile, princeps ; and, so far as the society 
 or college was concerned, it might with 
 truth be said : — 
 
 “ Unde nil inajus generntur ipso, 
 
 Nec viget quidquain simile, aut 6ecundum. r ’ 
 
 At a public exhibition of his class, in 
 the Sophomore year, “a poem” was as- 
 signed to Mr. Webster, which he wrote 
 and recited. My informant further to- 
 
524 
 
 The Student Life of Daniel Webster. 
 
 marked, that whenever the class or soci- 
 ety had a difficult task to be performed, 
 it was always laid upon Webster. His 
 ability as a writer and debater gave rise 
 to the opinion that he was a very exten- 
 sive reader. He selected his authors with 
 great care, and read with fixed attention. 
 He was, however, no literary gourmand. 
 He devoted very little time to works of 
 fiction. His taste inclined him to works 
 of history, literature, and philosophy. In 
 1802, he described to a friend, his own 
 method of reading. “ So much as I read,” 
 said he, “ I made my own. When a half 
 hour, or an hour at most, had expired, I 
 closed my book and thought it all over. 
 If there was any thing particularly inter- 
 esting to me, either in sentiment or lan- 
 guage, I endeavored to recall it and lay it 
 up in my memory, and commonly could 
 effect my object. Then, if in debate or 
 conversation afterward, any subject came 
 up on which I had read something, I could 
 talk very easily, so far as my knowledge 
 extended, and then was very careful to 
 stop.” In later years, when his know- 
 ledge and experience had become more 
 enlarged, he had no occasion to stop till 
 the subject was completely exhausted. 
 His memory, which was very retentive, 
 served as his commonplace book. A col- 
 lege acquaintance says of him : “ By read- 
 ing twenty, or even more pages of poetry 
 twice over, I have heard him repeat their 
 contents almost verbatim.” This power 
 of memory he turned to good account, 
 both in retaining the thoughts of others and 
 in fixing the results of his own reflections. 
 He was accustomed to arrange his thoughts 
 for debates and declamations in liis soli- 
 tary rambles upon the borders of neigh- 
 boring brooks, angling for trout, or while 
 scouring the surrounding forests in quest 
 of game. This practice he continued in 
 subsequent life. When his thoughts were 
 once arranged in his mind, the business 
 of writing was merely mechanical. Amuse- 
 ment and study were so strangely wed- 
 ded, that careless observers mistook the 
 profound thinker for a heedless trifler. 
 He composed his college themes at his 
 leisure, and wrote them just before they 
 were due. Accordingly, he was often 
 known to commence the writing of a pub- 
 lic declamation after dinner, which he was 
 expected to speak at two o’clock the same 
 day. In one instance, while writing, with 
 open windows, a sudden flaw of wind took 
 away his paper, and it was last seen fly- 
 ing over the meeting-house. He appeared 
 
 [May 
 
 upon the stage, notwithstanding his loss, 
 and spoke with his usual fluency and elo- 
 quence. 
 
 His recreations were all manly and in- 
 vigorating. He had little fondness for 
 games of chance, and far less for noisy, 
 convivial entertainments. He looked with 
 ineffable contempt upon that low pleasure 
 which mischievous idlers derive from the 
 annoying of others. In his eulogy upon 
 his deceased classmate, he bestows marked 
 commendation upon his lofty scorn of the 
 vile arts of college demagogues. Even 
 then the youthful student showed the 
 same self-respect and dignified deportment 
 which he afterwards exhibited at the bar 
 and in the senate. He also practised the 
 same untiring industry. In 1846, he 
 wrote to a friend : “ I have worked for 
 more than twelve hours a day for fifty 
 years, on an average. I do not know ex- 
 perimentally what wealth is, nor how the 
 bread of idleness tastes.” These fifty 
 years would cover his entire college life. 
 There can be little doubt that, while a stu- 
 dent. for months together, he devoted 
 more than twelve hours a day to study. 
 During his vacations, for two winters at 
 least, he taught school. Several of his 
 earliest pupils are still living. They affirm 
 that, during the winter of 1797, he taught 
 a school in the house of his uncle, William 
 Webster, in Salisbury, for four dollars a 
 month ; and that, after the erection of a 
 new school-house in the same district, l; at 
 Shaw’s Corner,” he taught, in 1798, for 
 six dollars a month. One of his scholars 
 still remembers that he was “ right smart 
 at figures .” We must not estimate the 
 ability of the teacher by the amount of wa- 
 ges he received. It must be remembered 
 that the country was then sparsely settled ; 
 the people were poor, the soil was unsub- 
 dued and rugged, personal labor was low, 
 and specie was exceedingly valuable. Mr. 
 Webster, after he was graduated, taught 
 the academy at Fryeburg, Me., for three 
 hundred and fifty dollars a year, and sub- 
 mitted to the drudgery of copying deeds 
 for the register of the county, during his 
 leisure hours, to eke out his scanty sup- 
 port and save something to aid his bro- 
 ther in securing an education. Such was 
 the student life of “ the foremost man of 
 all this world ” His example rebukes the 
 indolent and disorderly student, while it 
 is full of encouragement and hope to the 
 industrious and faithful. It is worth 
 more than hereditary wealth to the earn- 
 est and truthful scholar. 
 
ELEGANT TOM DILLAR. 
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 
 TO speak of Tom Dillar in any other 
 *- way than by his pseudonym of Ele- 
 gant, would be like speaking of Harold 
 Harefoot, Edwin the Fair, the Black Prince, 
 or Louis the Debonnaire, without their 
 distinguishing adjectives. Tom Dillar was 
 known to his acquaintances only as Ele- 
 gant Tom, and he was well entitled to the 
 epithet, for he was elegant in looks, man- 
 ners, and style. lie was one of those hap- 
 py persons who seem to have come into 
 the world for the sole purpose of eating the 
 sunny side of ripe peaches. There were 
 no deficiencies in Elegant Tom Dillar, and 
 if one could have the ordering of his own 
 antecedents, they could not be superior to 
 Tom’s. On the side of his father, he was 
 connected with the best English families 
 in the State ; and, by the mother’s side, 
 he could boast of the purest Dutch de- 
 scent. He inherited a large fortune from 
 his father, and, what was much better, a 
 healthy constitution and a handsome per- 
 son. Being independent in his circum- 
 stances, he was not educated for a profes- 
 sion; but, being apt to learn, he was 
 taught a good many accomplishments that 
 are not generally bestowed upon American 
 youths. He could dance much better than 
 most professors of that elegant art, and in 
 music he was something more than a pro- 
 ficient upon the guitar, the piano, and the 
 violin. Then he had a fine voice, a deli- 
 cious tenor, and those who had the good 
 fortune to hear him sing used to boast of 
 it, as though a piece of rare luck had be- 
 fallen them. Tom was good-natured too. 
 and as amiable as though it were neces- 
 sary for him to conciliate the world, that his 
 presence might not be considered an in- 
 trusion. But, of all men, he was least 
 likely to be considered cle trop in the world. 
 
 He went abroad, and came back as 
 amiable and unpretending as he went, 
 but with more accomplishments than 
 he carried away. He was invited every 
 where, and he might have married 
 any girl he chose to honor in that 
 manner; but, as often happens in such 
 cases, he seemed never to have been 
 touched in his heart by any of the beau- 
 tiful creatures who surrounded him. 
 There was Fanny Ormolu, the only daugh- 
 ter of the great auctioneer, who, they used 
 to say, was dying for him ; and it was 
 said that her father was so fearful of the 
 effects of Tom’s indifference on his daugh- 
 ter’s health, that he was guilty of the in- 
 delicacy of offering to settle a hundred 
 thousand dollars on hitn if he would marry 
 her But Tom had never known what it 
 
 was to want money, and, like an honor- 
 able, high-minded fellow as he was, re 
 fused to sell himself, even at so high a 
 figure, and to so beautiful a purchaser. 
 
 They say that old Ormolu was so ex- 
 asperated and indignant at Tom’s refusal, 
 that he swore he would have satisfaction 
 for the insult ; and he was as good as his 
 word. He did not challenge Tom, nor, 
 indeed, permit him to know that he enter- 
 tained any ill-will against him ; for, if he 
 had, he probably would not have been 
 able to accomplish his purpose. Ormolu 
 was a commercial gentleman, and his 
 manner of getting satisfaction was a purely 
 business transaction : in fact the old fel- 
 low did not understand any thing else. 
 He set himself deliberately to work to 
 ruin Tom by getting away all his money. 
 As this would have been the severest 
 punishment that could have been inflicted 
 upon himself, he naturally and very sen- 
 sibly, imagined that he could inflict no 
 greater wrong upon another than by mak- 
 ing him a bankrupt. 
 
 Now, Tom was not a spendthrift, nor a 
 gambler ; but then he was the merest 
 child in business matters, and had no 
 idea about money transactions beyond 
 drawing his dividends every six months, 
 and contriving to make his income just 
 meet his expenditure. Tom had often 
 wished that his income was larger, for he 
 had long been ambitious of owning a 
 yacht, but was unable to indulge in that 
 costly enjoyment; so, when his young 
 friend, Pete Van Slicer, of the firm of Van 
 Sheer, Son & Co., the great stockbrokers, 
 of Wall-street, one day said to him, as if 
 by accident, “ Tom, how would you like 
 to enter into a little speculation, by which 
 you might make a hundred thousand dol- 
 lars or so ? ” Tom opened his eyes, and ea- 
 gerly replied he would like nothing better. 
 
 Pete then carelessly remarked, that Bob 
 So-and-so had made nearly double that 
 sum a few days before, by a corner in 
 Harlem, and that he could put Tom in 
 the way of making at least that amount by 
 a speculation in Pottawattamy Coal Stock. 
 Tom, not being familiar with stock opera- 
 tions, asked how it could be done ; where- 
 upon Pete explained to him that certain 
 parties having sold long in the stock were 
 going to get up a corner, which would 
 compel the shorts to buy in, and that the 
 stock would then begin to rise, and there 
 was no knowing where it would stop. 
 What Pete proposed that Tom should do 
 was, to buy in while it was down, and 
 when the rise should reach its height to 
 sell out, and pocket the profits. 
 
526 
 
 Elegant Tom Dillar. 
 
 “Can I rely on the rise taking place?” 
 asked Tom, who had not a very clear no- 
 tion of the nature of the transaction. 
 
 “Trust to me,” replied Pete, with a 
 knowing wink, which seemed to Tom so 
 full of sagacity, that he concluded to trust 
 to him, and accordingly gave an order to 
 the firm of Yan Slicer, Son & Co., to pur- 
 chase, for his account, about ten times as 
 many shares of the Pottawattamy Coal 
 Stock as he had the means to pay for, 
 Pete undertaking to carry the stock, as 
 he called it, for thirty days, in which time 
 the rise was sure to occur. 
 
 Having made this little business ar- 
 rangement with his Wall-street friend, 
 Tom jumped into one of the Dry Dock 
 stages, to go up to the ship-yards and 
 make inquiries about the cost of a yacht ; 
 and that night he dreamed of winning the 
 Queen’s cup at the Cowes regatta, and of 
 lying at anchor in the harbor of Newport, 
 and other pleasant things connected with 
 ' the manly sport of yachting. 
 
 Tom did not know that his friend, Pete 
 Van Slicer, was paying attention to Fanny 
 Ormolu ; and, even if he had, he could 
 never have imagined that old Ormolu was 
 making use of the young stockbroker to 
 ruin his friend. But such was the fact. 
 
 The next day Elegant Tom Dillar cre- 
 ated a good deal of surprise among the 
 motley throng of Jews and “ lame ducks” 
 that hover round the doors of the Stock 
 Board in the third story of the Merchants’ 
 Exchange; and when a playful Hebrew 
 knocked Tom’s hat over his eyes, as he stood 
 anxiously waiting to hear what Pottawat- 
 tamy sold at, he was so engrossed in his 
 new speculation, that he never thought of 
 resenting the affront. Pottawattamy went 
 up one per cent , that day, but the next it 
 went down ter , and the next ten more, 
 and Tom recef ed a brief note from Van 
 Slicer, Son & Co., informing him that he 
 was their debtor for losses on Pottawat- 
 tamy Coal Stock, in a sum that consider- 
 ably exceeded his entire fortune. 
 
 A man who has never felt the actual 
 cautery of poverty, cannot have a very 
 clear idea of what that word really means, 
 and Tom did not, therefore, feel half so 
 badly as he ought to have done, when he 
 had to confess to himself that he was a 
 bankrupt. 
 
 There is nothing to be gained by going 
 into the distressing particulars of Tom’s 
 settlement with his brokers, and therefore 
 1 will merely remark, that on the very 
 day upon wliich all his available property 
 passed out of his own hands into those of 
 Van Slicer, Son & Co., the junior member 
 of that eminent firm was united in the 
 holy bonds of matrimony, as the papers 
 say, to Fanny Ormolu, only daughter and 
 
 [May 
 
 so forth, of Jefferson Ormolu, Esq., our 
 enterprising and esteemed fellow-citizen, 
 of the eminent firm of Ormolu, Bronze 
 & Co. 
 
 CHAPTER IE 
 
 The ruin of Thomas Dillar, Esq., was 
 complete. Wall-street never witnessed a 
 more decided cleaning out than in the 
 case of my elegant friend. It was so 
 smoothly and rapidly done, that he was 
 like the man who didn’t know he was 
 decapitated until he attempted to nod his 
 head — so sharply, so adroitly, and so quick- 
 ly, had the blow been dealt. But it does 
 not take long for a person to find out that 
 he is poor, and Elegant Tom Dillar imme- 
 diately began to have a “realizing sense” 
 of the true state of his case. He had 
 nothing in the world left but his watch, 
 and a few articles of jewelry, by which 
 he could raise money enough to discharge 
 the few debts he owed, and which were 
 demanded with a rude pertinacity that he 
 had never known before. He had to 
 abandon the hotel in Broadway at which 
 he had been living, and take cheap lodg- 
 ings in Beekman-street ; and, instead of 
 having more invitations to dine than he 
 could accept, he suddenly found himself 
 without any invitation at all ; as to eve- 
 ning parties, although he had made up his 
 mind not to go to any more, he had the mor- 
 tification of being cut by VI his old friends, 
 and soon ceased to expect any attentions 
 from them. Heretofore Tom had skimmed 
 the cream of human existence; he had 
 visited only in the best circles, eaten the 
 best dinners, drank the best wines, read 
 the most amusing books, worn the best 
 clothes, and had known nothing of the 
 infelicities of human existence, except 
 by hearsay. But now his turn had come 
 to feed on husks, and taste of hyssop. 
 
 What Tom had suffered, or how he had 
 struggled, none knew but himself, for he 
 was too proud to complain, and, to all 
 appearances, he was as light-hearted and 
 cheerful as ever he had been in his most 
 prosperous days. But, as the writer of 
 these lines was one evening hurrying 
 down Broadway, to escape from the 
 clouds of blinding dust which a cold, 
 northwest wind was driving along that 
 crowded avenue, he was suddenly ar- 
 rested, near the corner of Canal-street, 
 b3 r a tap on the shoulder. Turning 
 round, he saw Elegant Tom Dillar, with 
 his coat buttoned closely up to his throat, 
 and looking uncomfortably sharp, serious, 
 and, to make use of a vulgar figure of 
 speech, seedy. 
 
 “ How are ;*ou ? ” said Tom, in his 
 
1853.] 
 
 Elegant Tom Dillar. 
 
 527 
 
 usual elegant manner ; but, without wait- 
 ing for a reply, he continued, “you 
 needn’t ask me how I am, for I can dis- 
 cern by your looks that you see how I 
 am. I am hungry.” 
 
 Elegant Tom Dillar hungry ! 
 
 I was too much shocked by this humil- 
 iating confession from a man whom I had 
 known and envied in his happier days, 
 to disguise my feelings. But I put my 
 hand in my pocket to feel for my purse. 
 
 “ Thank you,” said Tom, “ it is very 
 generous in you to anticipate my request. 
 It is but a trifle that I need ; and I will 
 repay you soon.” 
 
 I offered him the contents of my purse ; 
 but he would not take more than half a 
 dollar. “ At least.” said I, “ allow me to 
 treat you to a supper, since you say you 
 are hungry.? ” 
 
 “ I will agree to that,” he replied, “ up- 
 on the condition that you favor me with 
 your company, and allow me to call for 
 what I want.” 
 
 Of course, I could not refuse his propo- 
 sition, and, knowing what his former 
 habits had been, I supposed he would go 
 into some of the splendid restaurants on 
 Broadway, and call for such a supper as 
 he had once been accustomed to indulge 
 in. But. on the contrary, he led me into 
 one of the cross streets, and I followed 
 him down into a very humble under- 
 ground “ Saloon,” where he ordered a 
 supper of cold meat and bread, and I 
 could not prevail upon him to indulge in 
 any thing more. 
 
 “You know something of my history,” 
 said Tom, “ how I once lived, and how I 
 lost my property ; but how 1 have lived 
 since, you do not know, and I shall not 
 distress you by telling. Look,” said he, 
 and he unbuttoned his threadbare coat, 
 when I saw that he had on neither vest 
 nor shirt. “ I am actually reduced to this 
 extreme,” said he, and his voice quivered 
 as he spoke, “ by trying to live honestly. 
 Up to this very hour, until I met you, I 
 have not stooped to beg ; but now I was 
 driven to it. I had nothing left by which 
 I could raise a shilling, and I had not 
 tasted food to-day.” 
 
 “ Good Heavens !” said I, “can this be 
 true ? What, Elegant Tom Dillar, with 
 all his accomplishments, his rich acquain- 
 tances, his knowledge of the world, and in 
 a city like this, where employment is so 
 readily obtained, reduced to starvation ! 
 It cannot be true.” 
 
 ' But it is true,” said Tom, “impossible 
 as it may seem to you, and all because. I 
 was not brought up to a regular profes- 
 sion. My accomplishments were not of a 
 kind to bring me money in an honorable 
 way, and I made up my mind that if I 
 
 could not live honorably, I would prefer 
 not to live at all. I could easily have 
 sold myself to unworthy or disreputable 
 employments, or my former friends would 
 probably have been glad to have had me 
 sing for them, and have rewarded me by 
 permitting me to live on their bounty, but 
 I could not submit to such a position as 
 that. I could never be a jack-pudding of 
 society ; and I would not disgrace my fa- 
 ther’s name by a dishonorable occupar 
 tion.” 
 
 As Tom spoke these words, he looked 
 more elegant in his shabby suit than ever 
 he had done in his happier days ; and, in 
 spite of his poverty, I could not but still 
 admire his manly spirit and self-reliance. 
 I actually felt poor beside him. 
 
 “ But,” said I, “ why will you riot al- 
 low me to lend you a larger sum than you 
 have taken ? You shall be heartily wel- 
 come to more.” 
 
 “ Because,” replied Tom, “ it is all I 
 need. I think I have found a placer, and 
 after this, I shall be rich again.” 
 
 I wished his expectations might be re- 
 alized, and, shaking his hand, I gave him 
 my card, and begged he would send to me. 
 if he should need any further assistance. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It was about three months after I parted 
 from Tom in the cheap restaurant, that, 
 as 1 entered the vestibule of the Astor 
 House, I met him coming out of that hotel. 
 I started back with amazement as I saw 
 him, for Tom was now dressed with greater 
 splendor than I had ever before seen him ; 
 not obtrusively made up, but with an air 
 of studied elegance that was new to him. 
 Certainly he never looked better, nor bet- 
 ter deserved to be called Elegant Tom 
 Dillar. He appeared a little embarrassed 
 when he first caught my eye, but his old 
 manner soon returned. “ I owe you a 
 trifle, I think, ” said he ; “ let me pay it.” 
 And he pulled out a silk purse which 
 seemed to be full of gold and silver, and 
 reached me a half-dollar. 
 
 “ That is the principal,” said he; “now 
 do me the favor to accept this for interest ; ” 
 and he took a handsome seal ring from 
 his finger, which he put upon mine. As 
 our initials were the same, I do not know 
 whether he had had it cut for me or not ; 
 but, seeing my cipher on the agate, I fan- 
 cied he had, and did not refuse it. I keep 
 it among my most precious mementoes of 
 past friendships, for Tom Dillar is one of 
 those persons whose acquaintance I regard 
 as a feather in my cap. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The reappearance of Elegant Tom Dillai 
 in what is called society, was a topic of 
 
528 
 
 Elegant Tom Dillar. 
 
 universal conversation in fashionable cir- 
 cles, and once more invitations began to 
 pour in upon him, so that he might, if he 
 had had the capacity, have eaten three 
 dinners daily at the very best houses in 
 town, and have danced in the most bril- 
 liant company that New-York could af- 
 ford, nearly every night. But a great 
 change was perceptible in Tom’s manner. 
 He was the same Elegant Tom Dillar 
 he had ever been ; faultless in his man- 
 ner, refined in his conversation, incredi- 
 ble in dress, and handsomer, if possible, 
 than before his retirement. “But he is 
 so subdued in his style,” was the remark 
 of every body. He never danced, and 
 when he was pressed to sing, he always 
 evaded the request by pleading a slight 
 hoarseness. There used to be a slight 
 dash of frivolity in Tom’s conversation 
 and conduct, and he would abandon him- 
 self to all kinds of merriment ; but now 
 he was rather grave, quiet, and dignified, 
 and several ambitious young men made 
 most melancholy attempts to form them- 
 selves upon his style. Another of his 
 changes was, that he wore his hair cut 
 very short, and his fine classical head was 
 improved by it. In fact, Tom’s new style 
 was infinitely more interesting, becoming, 
 and distingue than his old. Certain pious 
 ladies got their heads together, and, after 
 discussing the matter, came to the conclu- 
 sion that Tom Dillar was preparing him- 
 self for the ministry. This suspicion even 
 gave a new interest to him, and he be- 
 came more than ever an object of observa- 
 tion. But this theory was soon exploded ; 
 for, if Tom were engaged in so pious an 
 occupation, under whose auspices was he 
 studying? On hearing the report, Tom 
 smiled sarcastically, and raised his eye- 
 brows as people do when they are both 
 surprised and amused, but did not deny 
 it. But, if he was not studying for the 
 ministry, what was he doing, and how did 
 he live? Where did he get his money ? 
 for it was known that Tom paid as he 
 went, and not a soul of his acquaintance 
 could accuse him of borrowing. 
 
 These questions began to grow extremely 
 interesting and puzzling, for the manner 
 in which Tom had been cleaned out by his 
 speculation in Pottawattamy Coal Stock, 
 by his friend, Pete Yan Sheer, was as noto- 
 rious as his subsequent poverty, and retire- 
 ment from the world. All sorts of expedi- 
 ents were resorted to for the purpose of dis- 
 covering the secret of Tom’s income ; but 
 the mystery baffled the keenest investiga- 
 tion, and the consequence was, that the 
 wildest conceivable stories were told about 
 him, and he was regarded with looks of sus- 
 picion, and treated with cold disdain by cer- 
 tain ladies who had marriageable daugh- 
 
 [Mav 
 
 ters. The excitement at last reached 
 its calenture when it was discovered that 
 Julia Laurens, daughter of the celebrated 
 and wealthy physician of that name, and 
 granddaughter of old Ormolu the auc- 
 tioneer, one of the most beautiful and 
 fascinating girls in society, had actually 
 fallen in love with Tom, and that he had 
 been forbidden her father’s house because 
 he refused to tell how he gained his in- 
 come. 
 
 The report of this interesting circum- 
 stance invested the mystery of Tom’s pros- 
 perity with a romantic interest, and the 
 excitement became absolutely furious. It 
 was impossible to enter a house without 
 hearing the subject discussed, and even 
 merchants talked about it on ’Change. The 
 different theories which were broached 
 were highly instructive, inasmuch as they 
 revealed the many different methods by 
 ■which a man may contrive to five without 
 labor ; but it so happened, that not one of 
 them came within a thousand miles of the 
 truth. Tom had, in fact, discovered a 
 placer, as he termed it, which he alone 
 knew how to work ; and most discreetly 
 did he keep his secret, until, in a luckless 
 moment, the merest accident revealed it. 
 
 The women, poor simple-minded crea- 
 tures, knowing but little of the world, had 
 their own innocent surmises about Tom, 
 the most plausible of which was, that he 
 
 had entered into a league with the ; 
 
 some other ladies, who had a less practical 
 acquaintance with human possibilities, 
 believed that he got his money by writing 
 poems for the magazines; while others 
 said that he gambled. But Tom’s regular 
 habits and his placidity of temper were 
 adverse to the last supposition. The men, 
 of course, gave shrewder guesses ; and one 
 party maintained, with some plausibility, 
 that Tom Dillar was employed as a Rus- 
 sian spy. The difficulty in this case was. 
 that he never received any foreign letters, 
 was notoriously ignorant of political move- 
 ments, and never mingled in any society 
 where he would be likely to pick up any 
 information that would interest the Em- 
 peror of Russia. Another party main- 
 tained that he speculated in stocks ; but 
 that theory was easily knocked in the 
 head: Tom had not been in Wall-street 
 since his speculation in the Pottawattamy 
 Coal Stock. Some ill-natured people 
 hinted that he was employed in circulating 
 counterfeit money; but he was closely 
 watched, and was never known to pass off 
 a bad bill. He was accused of picking 
 pockets, of buying lottery tickets, and 
 other disreputable practices; but the strict 
 integrity of Tom’s conduct, and his perfect 
 frankness on all subjects concerning him- 
 self, except that impenetrable mystery of 
 
Elegant Tom Dillar. 
 
 529 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 the source of his income, put every ungen- 
 erous suspicion to rest. Ife was watched 
 when he went from a party, or the opera, 
 and was always found to go directly to 
 his lodgings, and there, too, would he be 
 sound in the morning. Julia Laurens’s 
 father had employed a police officer to 
 dodge Tom’s footsteps, and discover what 
 his haunts were ; but the man could learn 
 nothing more than was already known. 
 There was one rather striking peculiarity, 
 however, about Tom’s movements, which 
 might lead to the discovery of the mys- 
 tery. Nobody had seen him, except on 
 Sunday nights, between the hours of seven 
 and ten. Every place of amusement in 
 the city was ransacked in vain, during 
 these hours, but no sign of Tom Dillar 
 could any where be found, and he conti- 
 nued to be a subject of talk in society, 
 where he was still well received in spite 
 of all the evil things that were surmised 
 about him. 
 
 Julia Laurens was a spirited girl, and 
 she loved Tom the better, perhaps, be- 
 cause he was the object of so much unjust 
 suspicion ; and her father, the doctor, was 
 charmed by Tom’s intelligence, his gen- 
 tlemanly manners, his fine taste, and his 
 amiability ; and most happy would he have 
 been to acknowledge him as his son-in- 
 law. but for the mysterious silence which 
 he observed in respect to his income. But, 
 as Tom was resolute in his silence, the fa- 
 ther of Julia was inexorable, and there 
 was nothing left for them but a clandes- 
 tine marriage. The lady hinted at her wil- 
 lingness, but Tom told her, dearly as he 
 loved her, he would not be guilty of a dis- 
 honorable act to obtain her. He would 
 wait a little longer, and perhaps her father 
 would relent. 
 
 To fully appreciate Tom’s noble conduct, 
 it should be known that Julia, in addition 
 to her expectations from her father’s pro- 
 perty, which was already large, and rapid- 
 ly increasing, had property of her own, 
 valued at fifty thousand dollars, which had 
 been bequeathed her by an aunt. All this 
 Tom might have had, and the woman he 
 loved besides, but for his high-minded 
 sense of honor. 
 
 chapter y. 
 
 Doctor Laurens, Julia’s father, was a 
 most passionate lover of music, and you 
 were always sure of seeing him in his box 
 at the opera, in his bright-buttoned coat, 
 with lorgnette in hand, listening to the 
 prima donna as though she were a patient, 
 and he anticipated a fee at the close of the 
 performance. He was so catholic in his 
 tastes that he could enjoy one kind of 
 music as well as another, and, when there 
 
 was no opera, and his patients would 
 permit it, he would go to hear the Ethio- 
 pian Minstrels, and sit through the entire 
 performance. In fact, the banjo was one 
 of the Doctor’s weaknesses, and there 
 were some people, who were uncharitable 
 enough to say that negro minstrelsy was 
 much better adapted to his musical taste, 
 than the Italian opera. But that was 
 mere scandal, of course, for the Doctor 
 had been in Europe, and had brought 
 back with him, like many other gentle- 
 men who go abroad, a taste for music and 
 the fine arts, which he did not carry with 
 him. 
 
 There was one member of the Ethiopian 
 band, where the Doctor was in the habit of 
 going, who had completely fascinated him, 
 which was not much to be wondered at, for 
 he had fascinated every body else who 
 heard him; and when he appeared, there 
 was sure to be an overflowing house. The 
 name of this incomparable singer was Hig- 
 gins, and his talents, as a banjo player, as 
 a dancer, and a personator of the negro 
 character, particularly as the negro dandy, 
 were equal to his splendid abilities as a 
 singer. The Doctor never failed to drop 
 into the Ethiopian opera, as it was called, 
 whenever this public favorite appeared, 
 which was nearly every night, and seeing 
 his name up on the bills for a benefit, the 
 Doctor resolved to go. On reaching the 
 hall he found the house so crowded, that 
 he could not even get his nose inside, but 
 the door-keeper recognized him, and wish- 
 ing to gratify so distinguished a patron of 
 the establishment, offered to show him 
 round by a private entrance, so that he 
 would be near the stage, and might retire 
 at his leisure. 
 
 The Doctor was delighted, and put some- 
 thing handsome into the hand of the door- 
 keeper, as an acknowledgment for the 
 favor. He got a comfortable seat near the 
 stage, and waited with impatience for the 
 appearance of the incomparable Higgins. 
 The sham darkey was in splendid voice, and 
 filled the audience with ecstatic pleasure by 
 his happy imitations of Dandy Jim. But his 
 most brilliant performance was in the plan- 
 tation break-down, in which he ravished 
 the spectator by his unparalleled heeling 
 and toeing. In the midst of the perform- 
 ance, when the frenzy of the spectators 
 was at its height, a boy in the gallery 
 threw a piece of orange-peel on the stage, 
 and Higgins, by an unlucky step put his 
 foot upon it, and fell with a tremendous 
 crash. The audience at first thought it 
 a part of the dance, and applauded tremen- 
 dously, but it was soon discovered that the 
 poor man had met with a serious accident, 
 lie was taken up by his companions and 
 borne ofF the stage ; directly after the 
 
530 
 
 The Cat's Fugue. 
 
 leader of the band came on, and asked if 
 there was a surgeon in the house, as Mr. 
 Higgins was badly hurt by his fall. 
 Doctor Laurens was but too happy to 
 have an opportunity of rendering any 
 professional assistance to so distinguished 
 an artist as Higgins ; so he stepped 
 promptly forward and offered his services. 
 The artist had struck his head, but was 
 only stunned. The Doctor, however, did 
 as all doctors do on such occasions, 
 whipped out his lancet and bled the pa- 
 tient, while one of his companions, with a 
 bowl of water and a sponge wiped the 
 burnt cork from the face of the uncon- 
 scious minstrel. 
 
 Higgins presently opened his eyes, and 
 stared wildly about him, while the Doctor 
 shrieked out, 
 
 “ Good gracious, it is Elegant Tom 
 Dillar ! ” 
 
 Tom was bewildered by the sudden 
 change of the scene, and faint and sick 
 from the loss of the blood which Doctor 
 Laurens had been letting out of his veins; 
 but, bewildered and weak as he was, the 
 sound of the Doctor’s voice, and the sight 
 of his astonished countenance, brought 
 Tom to his senses. Lie knew at once 
 that his secret was discovered, and com- 
 prehended in a moment the consequences 
 that must follow its revelation to society. 
 
 “ Doctor,” said he, faintly, “ it is no 
 use to dissemble further. You know my 
 secret ; let me request you to keep it to 
 yourself.” 
 
 “ 0 ! my dear fellow, ” said the Doctor, 
 “you are perfectly safe in my hands; 
 don’t be uneasy. For the credit of my 
 own family, at least, I shall not be likely 
 to proclaim to society that a gentleman 
 who has visited at my house, is a member 
 of a troupe of Ethiopian minstrels. I wish 
 you a good evening, sir. ” 
 
 It very oddly happened that, before 
 midnight, all the members of the Manhat- 
 tan Club, to which the Doctor belonged, 
 knew that Elegant Tom Dillar had re- 
 trieved his fortunes by joining the Ethi- 
 opian minstrels, and the news was spread 
 
 [May 
 
 all through society before the next day at 
 noon. 
 
 Tom received a package early in the 
 morning from Julia, inclosing all the bil- 
 lets-doux and trinkets he had sent her, and 
 requesting a return of all she had ever 
 sent him. The note was as devoid of feel- 
 ing or sentiment as a lawyer’s dunning 
 letter ; and Tom wrote one in reply, which 
 was quite as cold and business-like. 
 
 “Well,” said I to Tom, on meeting 
 him a few days after his accident, which 
 would very likely have proved fatal 
 to him but for his woolly wig ; “ Do 
 you intend to give up society or the 
 minstrels ? ” 
 
 “ Society ! ” exclaimed Elegant Tom 
 Dillar, with a sarcastic curve of his finely 
 chiselled lip ; “ Society be . ” 
 
 I will not repeat the very coarse ex- 
 pression he used ; for, since his new asso- 
 ciations, he had grown rather rude and 
 low in his language. 
 
 “ What should an honest man care for 
 society ? ” said he. “ When I was an idler, 
 living on the property which my father’s 
 industry had procured me, society petted 
 me and cherished me. When I lost my 
 property, society turned a cold shoulder to 
 me, but petted the villain who had robbed 
 me of it. When by an honest exercise of 
 the only accomplishments I had been 
 taught, I was enabled to appear like a 
 gentleman, society again received me with 
 open arms, although it imagined I was a 
 gambler or a pickpocket; but, when it 
 was found that my money was honestly 
 obtained — that I wronged no one, nor 
 owed any one — society rejects me again, 
 and the girl who was willing to marry 
 me as a swindler, turns her back upon 
 me as an honest man. ” 
 
 I am afraid that Tom was misanthrop- 
 ical ; for, as he soon after became possessed 
 of a considerable fortune by the death of a - 
 relative, he quitted the minstrels and 
 went to Paris, where, I have heard, he 
 still lives in great splendor, and is famous 
 for his dinners, to which none of his coun- 
 trymen are ever invited. 
 
 THE CAT’S FUGUE. 
 (from the german.) 
 
 1 [ANCY a small house, half hidden in 
 ■ dark green myrtle bushes, fringed 
 with vines, surrounded and shaded by 
 wild roses and orange-trees — in the back- 
 ground, on its glorious site, Naples, the 
 queen of all cities, and overarching all, 
 
 the ever-laughing Italian sky. A scene so 
 rich in colors as this, is really an enchant- 
 ing one for eyes half blinded by winter 
 snows and ice, and our longing souls dream 
 over all this luxuriance of beauty, until 
 we at last get to speak of Italy’s clear, 
 
1853 J 
 
 The Cat's Fugue. 
 
 531 
 
 dark blue sky, as if we, too, had felt the 
 inspiriting, gladdening sun’s kiss, and had 
 gazed, with our own eyes, upon the strange, 
 bewitching splendor of the South. And 
 now that you have refreshed yourselves 
 for a moment by the contemplation of 
 this picture, turn your eyes towards an 
 old, negligently dressed man, who sits 
 before the door of the house, and gazes, 
 lost in thought, into the distance. An 
 orange-tree strews, now and then, a few 
 fragrant blossoms over him, but he doesn’t 
 notice it ; roses coqucttishly kiss his fore- 
 head ; gayly-colored butterflies flutter 
 sportively about him — to no purpose ; 
 the signs of life and stir make no im- 
 pression upon him ; — and still there was 
 passion and sensibility in his dark, nobly- 
 cut features, and the burning Italian eyes 
 contrasted strangely with the northern 
 snows on his head. 
 
 It was the Maestro, Alessandro Scar- 
 latti. A harp was leaning upon his chair, 
 in front of which, with an indescribably 
 earnest mien and inimitable dignity, was a 
 large black cat. He was occupying him- 
 self with flourishing the tip of his tail, 
 which, as well as his left ear, was of a 
 dazzling whiteness, gently over the chords, 
 which singular experiment, very naturally, 
 brought forth all manner of strange sounds. 
 It was his habit, in fact, since his lord 
 and master never took his musical studies 
 amiss, to abandon himself, every morning, 
 with utter recklessness, to his genius, ac- 
 companying the movement of his tail with 
 the most absurd gestures ; and sometimes, 
 in the overflow of his feelings, he sang 
 one of those ancient melancholy strains 
 of his forefathers, which, as has been as- 
 serted, have power to soften the hardest 
 stone, and drive the calmest of men to 
 madness. All this caused not the least 
 disturbance to Master Scarlatti ; on the 
 contrary, he laughed like a good-natured 
 devil, whenever the cat fell into his mu- 
 sical ecstasies. In the evening, however, 
 the cat always sat in a corner of his be- 
 loved master’s room, with an expression 
 like that of a sentimental privy counsellor, 
 and then it was the Master who played 
 the harp ; and that must have been glori- 
 ously worth listening to ; for all the lit- 
 tle birds who sang among the orange- 
 trees and myrtles came flying to the open 
 window, to hear it, and the roses crowded 
 in their little heads, one after the other, 
 in such haste and impatience, that many 
 a tender bud lost its young life. 
 
 The Master, on these occasions, look- 
 ed like that wonderful old bard Ossian, 
 only not so shattered by pain and grief. 
 What wonder if these magic tones caused 
 the sensitive soul of the cat, who was 
 still mourning, withal, for the death of 
 
 a beloved bride, to melt, and his green 
 eyes to overflow, like the King of Thule’s ! 
 Whenever Scarlatti perceived this, he took 
 up his faithful four-legged companion into 
 his lap, and stroked, caressed, and kissed 
 him. until he had recovered his mad, 
 romping humor. On the whole, the cat 
 led a perfectly charming life with his gentle 
 master, to whom he was all in all — 
 friend, wife, and child, whom he never 
 left by day or by night. When the old 
 Master was engaged in composing some- 
 thing, Ponto sat quietly upon his left 
 shoulder, and brushed his forehead softly 
 with his famous white-tipped tail. Some- 
 times Scarlatti would get impatient and 
 vexed, when an idea was not clear, when 
 his hand got wearied, or the malicious ink 
 spread out upon the paper in a shapeless 
 blotch ; at such times, upon a sudden 
 angry shrug of his master’s shoulders, 
 the cat would spring down from his lofty 
 seat, into the middle of the room. He 
 never took offence at this rough treat- 
 ment, but continued placidly affectionate, 
 like a sensible wife with a scolding hus- 
 band, and always stole quietly back, after 
 a few minutes of grievous banishment, 
 and mounted again, with a comfortable 
 purr, upon the forsaken throne. For 
 this, too, he got a thousand caressing 
 words, when his master, at length, thrust 
 pen and paper, and other things, aside, 
 which put him into a state of boundless 
 ecstasy. 
 
 All this was very nice and comforta- 
 ble, if it had not been for the Sunday, the 
 only dark day that Ponto experienced ; 
 for, every Sunday, a jovial, mad fellow, 
 was in the habit of beating up Master 
 Scarlatti’s quarters, and staying with him 
 until the still night had enveloped the 
 earth, exhausted by the day’s heat and 
 brightness, in her mantle of stars. The 
 young Sunday guest was a favorite scholar 
 of the Master’s, who had come a long dis- 
 tance, from Germany, and was named 
 Hasse ; this the cat had remarked, as 
 well as his red and white complexion, and 
 his brown locks. Now there could not 
 possibly be, in the whole wide world, a 
 bolder, jollier fellow, than this same 
 young German, who tormented and in- 
 sulted the venerable Ponto in every ima- 
 ginable way ; — now he would fasten a 
 little bell to his tail, now put baby-shoes 
 on his feet, now crown him with a wreath 
 of roses, or strew orange-blossoms over 
 him, whose strong scent the cat’s nasal 
 organs could by no means tolerate, and 
 against which he struggled with inces- 
 sant convulsive sneezing. To cap the cli- 
 max, the young German possessed a little 
 frolicking dog, of whom even Ponto. his 
 sworn enemy, had to confess, that he was 
 
632 
 
 The Cat's Fugue. 
 
 enchanting, dazzlingly white, nimble, and 
 graceful, with intelligent brown eyes. 
 This spoiled pet was, if possible, more 
 mad, wanton, and reckless than his 
 owner, and the cat grieved, even to ema- 
 ciation, over his impudence. 
 
 And it was Sunday, as the cat, spring- 
 ing up and down, was drawing forth wild, 
 fantastic strains from the harp, and his 
 master was gazing so full of thought into 
 the distance, as I have described him, 
 — and behold ! the dreaded visitor ap- 
 peared, in the middle of the first prelude. 
 A ith a light, joyous step, he drew near, 
 this youth, with the beautiful locks and 
 fresh cheeks, at whose side was spring- 
 ing and dancing his darling companion. 
 " Good morning, Master Scarlatti,” cried 
 the new comer, with a friendly tone and 
 look, “ how I rejoice to see you again ! ” 
 Scarlatti nodded and smiled, half in kind- 
 ly reciprocation of the affectionate greet- 
 ing, and half in mockery at the queer 
 German accent of the speaker, and re- 
 plied: — “I am but a sorry companion 
 and friend, to-day, Hasse. I have a great 
 deal in my head — all sorts of tones are 
 buzzing confusedly in my ears, and I can 
 form no melody out of them ; I am search- 
 ing for something very especially original, 
 and that I can’t find — it throws me into 
 despair. I beg of jmu leave me at peace, 
 with your nonsense, or I shall twist off 
 your little spoilt puppy’s head.” !i Hold, 
 hold, Master Scarlatti ! ” cried the guest, 
 “ not so fast. You are in a bad humor — 
 that I can well see — but you shall not lay 
 a finger on my little Truelove ; you know 
 he was the parting gift of my lovely, 
 blond, German sweetheart, and accompa- 
 nies me always, like her love and truth.” 
 The master turned toward the young 
 man, with a tender smile, and gazed at 
 his clear, and almost childlike counte- 
 nance. There stood the young enthusiast, 
 leaning against an orange-tree, shaded by 
 its luxuriant southern foliage, his eyes di- 
 rected to heaven ; he seemed to be dream- 
 ing of his distant, beloved home, of lovely 
 Germany, with her clear sky, green trees, 
 beautiful flowers, and snow-capped moun- 
 tains ; or, were his longing thoughts given 
 to his faithful, distant bride, the loveliest 
 of all flowers? But the clouds which 
 had gathered over his youthful brow soon 
 vanished ; Truelove jumped upon him and 
 kissed his hand. The Master lost himself 
 again in deep thought, and left it to his 
 pupil to take measures for the preserva- 
 tion of peace and order in his little com- 
 monwealth. This the young man did, 
 for a time, preaching a most excellent and 
 reasonable sermon to both animals — at 
 the close of which, however, he drew out 
 of his pocket a little wig and pair of spec- 
 
 [May 
 
 tacles, with which, in spite of all resist- 
 ance, to decorate the silently indignant 
 Ponto. This seemed to cause especial 
 delight to the little Truelove ; he barked 
 loudly, and sprang about the despairing 
 sufferer with the agility and elegance of a 
 ballet-dancer. Scarlatti cast a glance at 
 the group, and could not help, secretly, 
 smiling, though he took good care not to 
 betray this sign of weakness to his mad 
 pupil, but, on the contrary, he growled 
 out something in no very gentle tones, so 
 that Hasse, dreading a volcanic outbreak, 
 snatched up both animals, and carried 
 them hastily into the Master’s little room. 
 
 The old piano stood open, the young 
 man’s hands glided over the keys — he 
 played a furious Witches’ Dance. True- 
 love jumped about as if possessed, and at 
 last, in the excess of his excitement, threw 
 himself, with a yell of joy, upon the 
 wretched Ponto’s back, clinging tenderly 
 with his fore-paws to the cat’s neck. 
 Then, at last, the tough thread of patience 
 in the cat’s heroic soul was broken. With 
 the thought, “ to be or not to be,” he be- 
 gan, with the light burden on his back, 
 to race, nay, to fly around the room, try- 
 ing to run up all the walls, sprang, sput- 
 tering and squalling, over chairs and 
 tables, till the Master’s papers were scat- 
 tered about like chaff, and the room was 
 filled with clouds of dust. Hasse started 
 up, but his calls and scolding were to no 
 purpose. At length Ponto was exhausted. 
 Shame at the disgrace which had been in- 
 flicted upon him, anger at his own weak- 
 ness, inspired him with a sublime idea. 
 He wanted to summon his master to the 
 rescue. Without hesitation, he sprang 
 upon the keys of the piano, whirled about, 
 ran twice wildly up and down, at the 
 same time that he sounded his tribe’s 
 bone-and-marrow-piercing cry for help. 
 At the first strange tones, Truelove tum- 
 bled half senseless from the back of the 
 inspired cat. A hollow accord marked 
 his fall. The cat’s spectacles followed — 
 only the wig remained. The confused tones 
 grew into a melody. Hasse looked round 
 — the Master’s face appeared at the open 
 window, in the midst of the grape-leaves 
 and wild roses, illumined with the most 
 passionate joy, while he cried, “ Come to 
 my heart, Puss, thou hast found it!” 
 And Ponto threw himself, almost fainting, 
 into his master’s arms. Scarlatti sent off 
 his mad pupil, straightway, until the fol- 
 lowing morning. 
 
 When the young man appeared, the 
 next morning, before his master, Scarlatti 
 showed him, with a brilliant, triumphant 
 look, a sheet thickly covered with notes, 
 over which was printed, in large letters, 
 the title, “ Katzenfuge.” Master Scar- 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Our Own. 
 
 533 
 
 latti placed himself at the piano, and 
 played ; in the artistically woven and 
 constructed theme, the youth recognized 
 instantly, with a joyful astonishment, the 
 singular cries of distress, and the hellish 
 melodies of the wild hunt, which had 
 rushed over the keys of the piano, the day 
 
 before, in the form of a despairing cat. 
 When the performance was ended, master 
 and pupil laughed as if for a wager. The 
 cat sat upon Scarlatti’s left shoulder ; and 
 the latter maintained, to the day of his 
 death, that Ponto had laughed with them, 
 like any human being. 
 
 OUR OWN, 
 
 HIS WANDERINGS AND PERSONAL ADVENTUEE8. 
 
 noAAiir 8’ avStpuiraiv tSrjr aarea, Ka 1 vuov tyva). 
 
 Quae regio in terns Nostri non plena laboris ? 
 
 Full many cities he hath seen and many great men known: 
 
 What placo on earth but testifies the labors of odbows? 
 
 Continued from page 408. 
 
 Peogeession C. 
 
 Our Own displays him just the man 
 To do the thing proposed, 
 
 Though what that thing is, nor his plan, 
 
 He hath not yet disclosed. 
 
 T RAVEL (my theory is) suits least the race called Anglo-Saxon, 
 
 They come back loaded from each land they set their foolish tracks on 
 With every folly they can pile their mental and bodily backs on ; 
 
 So at the outset let me state I do not mean to budge 
 
 And see the persons, places, things, I shall describe and judge, 
 
 Because when men have cheated you, or when they’ve tea’d and fed you, ’tis 
 The hardest thing to feel unbribed and clear the mind of prejudice ; 
 
 Therefore, ’tis wasting honest time, this squandering round the earth, 
 
 And I, who once sold wooden clocks, should know what time is worth. 
 
 Next as to how I’m qualified, — but let us first agree 
 
 What things deserve a wise man’s eyes and ears across the sea ; 
 
 Persons : I’m forty, and have led, as you will see ere long, 
 
 A multifarious Yankee life, so there I’m rather strong; 
 
 I’ve tended bar, worked farms to halves, been twice to the South seas, 
 
 Sold clocks (I mentioned that before), done something in herb teas, 
 
 Hawked books, kept district school (and thus, inspired with thirst for knowledge, 
 Pegged shoes till I had saved enough to put me through Yale College), 
 Invented a cheap stove (the famed Antidotum Gehennce, 
 
 So fuel-saving that no skill could coax it to burn any — 
 
 If you have lectured in small towns, you’ve probably seen many), 
 
 Driven stage, sold patent strops, by dint of interest at the White House, 
 
 Got nominated keeper of the Finback Island Light-house, 
 
 Where, just before a Northeast blow, the clockwork got ungeared, 
 
 And I revolved the light myself nine nights until it cleared ; 
 
 (I took it as a quiet place to invent perpetual motion, — 
 
 This large dose of the real thing quite cured me of the notion ; 
 
 It was, perhaps, the bitterest drop e’er mingled in my cup, 
 
 I rowed ashore so thoroughly sick, I threw the light-house up;) 
 
 Then I went through the Bankrupt Act. merely from general caution — 
 
 For, if you’re prudent, you’ll take heed, and every chance’s claws shun, 
 
 Nor leave old blankets lying about for adverse fates to toss ye on ; 
 
 Then I stood round a spell, and then bought out an Indian Doctor, 
 
 Then — hut I have a faint surmise your credence may be shocked, or 
 I might go on, but I have said enough, no doubt, to show 
 That, to judge characters and men, I need not wait to grow ; — 
 
 Persons thus well provided for, the next thing is the strictures 
 On works of Art in general ; and first, we’ll take the pictures. 
 
 Even here you cannot turn my flank, — I began life a painter, 
 
 Worked ’prentice first, then journeyman, with Major-General Taintor, 
 
534 
 
 Our Own. 
 
 [May 
 
 And did, myself, the sausages and the great round of beef 
 On the new market-house’s sign, still prized for bold relief ; — 
 
 Sculpture : I think that more than half the Sculptors that have risen 
 Should hammer stone to some good end, sent all to Sing Sing prison ; 
 
 I’m sick of endless copyings of what were always bores, 
 
 Their dreary women on one toe, their Yenuses by scores ; 
 
 (That’s in the ignorant, slashing style, — if you prefer a judge 
 Mildly appreciative, deep, — just give my tap a nudge, 
 
 ’Twill run aesthetic folderol, and best high-German fudge ;) — 
 
 Music : when cousin Arad Cox at muster hurt his hand, 
 
 1 played the bass-drum twice or more in the East Haddam band ; — 
 Buildings : I saved them till the last, for there I feel at home — 
 
 Perhaps you never heard about the city of New Rome? 
 
 ’Twould not disgrace you deeply if you hadn’t, for, you see, 
 
 It stayed in the potential mood, and was but going to be ; 
 
 We merely staked a pasture out, christened the poor thing Forum, 
 
 And chose two natural architects- — Our Own was unus horum ; 
 
 ’Twas he who planned the Meeting-house, a structure pure and winning, 
 With specimens of every style ’twixt vane and underpinning ; 
 
 Unhappily it ne’er was built ; New Rome, with nine good hills, 
 
 Remains unsettled to this day, — so do, alas ! its bills, — 
 
 But the experience thus obtained entitles me to hope 
 My architectural criticism will be allowed full scope. 
 
 Progression D. 
 
 Our Own, his various qualities 
 And aptitudes defined. 
 
 Descends, and makes more close replies 
 To the inquiring mind. 
 
 But what, in these your voyagings, do you propose to do ? 
 
 I might retort, 0, highborn Smythe, with — what is that to you ? 
 
 These twenty times I’ve bit my nails, and my left ear-tip scratched, 
 Wondering why you should wish to count my chickens ere they’re hatched ; 
 But, if you further will insist, I’ll answer (if I can) ; 
 
 My plan is — let me see — my plan is just to have no plan ; 
 
 In laying out a pleasure-ground (the rule is not in Price), 
 
 Be tipsy when you mark the paths, or you’ll be too precise ; 
 
 And do it upon Burgundy, ’twill give a curvi-line 
 More sure of gentlemanly grace than any thinner wine ; 
 
 Precision is a right good thing, like olives, in its place, 
 
 But (still like olives) it comes in a long way after Grace. 
 
 Suppose I told you that I meant (as vines do, when they climb) 
 
 To wander where my clasp was wooed by any jutting rhyme? 
 
 Or said that, like a river deep, lost first in bogs and sedges, 
 
 I soon should march to meet the sea with cities on my edges ? 
 
 (This seemingly mixed simile, at which the Highborn frowns, 
 
 Refers to sketches I shall give of European towns ;) 
 
 However, you shall have a peep ; come, children, form a ring, 
 
 I’ll lift the crust, and let you see the birds are there to sing; 
 
 Now then — I shall appear to go from capital to capital, 
 
 Pick up what’s worth the picking up, and in my letters clap it all ; 
 
 When aught of interest shall occur, as certain as a star, 
 
 I, in our happy western phrase, shall be precisely thar ; 
 
 If Paris, for example, which is very likely, chooses 
 To have the periodic fit she’s subject to — the Blouses, 
 
 And there should be a general row, I, from the very thick of it, 
 
 Shall send home thrilling narratives till you are fairly sick of it ; 
 
 I shall have interviews with kings and men of lower stations, 
 
 (Authors — of course,) and send reports of all the conversations; 
 
 Shall visit the cathedrals, and, for fear of any blunder, 
 
 Call each the finest in the world, a mountain of carved wonder ; 
 
 Of every building, thing, and scene, that comes within my view, 
 
 I shall say something different, something so simply new, 
 
 The very Is upon my page shall with surprise grow round, — 
 
 And, by the way, lest any one should base enough be found 
 
Villette and Ruth. 
 
 535 
 
 1853.] 
 
 To steal the phrases got by me at cost of thought profuse, 
 
 I here put in a caveat , for some I mean to use, — 
 
 As — Architecture's music cooled to zero point of Reaumur ; 
 
 A statue is a song in stone ( the chisel was its Homer) ; 
 
 St. Peter's has an epic dome , beneath whose deeps profound 
 The papal choir , on Easter eve, build up a dome of sound ; 
 
 Art is the soid's horizon broad , and, as we onward go, 
 
 It moves with us and still recedes , until life's sun is low ; 
 
 You call those rather goodish thoughts? I have them by the score, 
 Ne’er yet by mortal man or maid put into words before ; 
 
 Life's sun I feel quite sure is new ; I got it by hard thinking 
 Only last night at half-past five, just as the sun was sinking ; 
 
 With these and other ornaments I shall enrich my text, 
 
 When, far across the Atlantic wave, I have to write my next. 
 
 To bo continued. 
 
 VILLETTE 
 
 r FHE whole force of English romance- 
 1 writing has been deployed during the 
 last six months. Dickens, Thackeray, 
 and Bulwer, the chiefs of that department 
 of literature, have been in full play, and 
 Miss Bronte ( Jane Eyre), Mrs. Gaskell 
 (Mary Barton), Mrs. Marsh, Mrs. Gore, 
 Miss Julia Kavanagh, and lesser ladies, 
 have advanced almost simultaneously, and 
 platoon-wise, discharged each a new novel. 
 They have all, at least, achieved what 
 Frenchmen, with their facile flattery, call 
 a succes d’estime. A succes , by the bye, 
 with which no man nor woman was ever 
 known to be content. We are not sure 
 that Thackeray’s “ Henry Esmond ” was 
 more ardently anticipated, than Miss 
 Bronte’s “Villette.” “Jane Eyre” — a 
 novel with a heroine neither beautiful nor 
 rich, an entirely abnormal creation among 
 the conventional heroines — came directly 
 upon “Vanity Fair, a Novel without a 
 hero,” and made friends as warm, and foes 
 as bitter, as that noted book. “Shirley” 
 disappointed. It is in fact entirely over- 
 shadowed by its predecessor. But now, 
 after six years, “ Villette ” appears, and 
 takes rank at once with “Jane Eyre,” 
 displaying the same vigor — the same exu- 
 berant power — the same bold outline — the 
 same dramatic conception — and the same 
 invincible mastery and fusion of elements 
 usually considered repugnant to romance. 
 The great success of “Jane Eyre” as a 
 work of art, and apart from the interest 
 of the story, which is very great, consists 
 in its rejection of all the stage-appoint- 
 ments of novels — all the Adonis-Dukes 
 and Lady Florimels in satin boudoirs, 
 which puerile phantoms still haunt the 
 
 AND KUTH. 
 
 pages of Bulwer (although he is rapidly 
 laying them) and the remorseless James, 
 and are, of course, the staple of the swarm 
 of “ the last new novels ” which monthly 
 inundate the circulating libraries in Eng- 
 land. The author takes the reader among 
 a crowd of ordinary human beings, and 
 declares proudly, “ Here you shall find as 
 much romance and thrilling interest, as in 
 the perfumed purlieus of palaces.” And 
 she keeps her word. It is as if we were 
 dragged to a lonely common, jagged with 
 sad trees, and confronted with the splen 
 dor of a sunset. Is it less gorgeous thar 
 when seen from your palace window 
 streaming through the green-house ? asks 
 the bold painter who has drawn us thi- 
 ther, because he knew that the unuttera- 
 ble glories of nature needed no architectu- 
 ral nor upholstering setting. 
 
 This actuality is the very genius and 
 spirit of modern English fiction, and this is 
 its humane and prodigious triumph. The 
 democratic principle has ordered romance 
 to descend from thrones and evac-ate the 
 palace. Romance is one of the indefeasi- 
 ble “ rights of man.” Disraeli’s “ Young 
 Duke,” and Bulwer’s “ Harley L’Es- 
 trange ” and “Pelham ” are tailor’s blocks 
 and fashion-plates. Give us men , scarred 
 and seamed as you please, that we may 
 feel the thrill of sympathy : and learn, if 
 we may, from their thought and action, 
 how we should think and act. Discrown 
 the “ Lady Arabella ” and the “ haughty 
 Countess ” sacred in satin from warm 
 emotion, give us no “ impossible she,” but, 
 
 “ A creature not too bright and good 
 For human nature's daily food.” 
 
 So cries the age, with stentorian lungs. 
 
536 
 
 Villette and Ruth. 
 
 And they come, thick-thronging poetry 
 and prose, the women around whose heads 
 glance the loveliest lights of human sym- 
 pathy, in whose pictured forms we recog- 
 nize the image of our sweetest hopes — 
 whose characters, fair and feminine, play 
 amid the press of life like flowers in the 
 wind. Or they come, as in Lucy Snowe 
 and J ane Eyre, more brave than beautiful, 
 but inspiring deeper reverence for integri- 
 ty, and strength, and devotion. We open 
 our novels, and there is our life mirrored, 
 — dimly sometimes, and insufficiently — 
 but not impossibly nor incredibly. 
 
 This actuality we conceive to be the 
 healthy principle of contemporary fiction. 
 We will not now stop to say that it may 
 very easily run, on the right hand, into a 
 want of that sufficient stimulus which 
 belongs to “ ideal ” portraitures, and which, 
 by the charm of an almost fabulous vir- 
 tue, allures us to excellence ; and on the 
 left, into that sermonizing and romance 
 of reform which is the quick destruction 
 of story-telling. No man bidden to a 
 feast of fiction expects to sit down to a 
 sermon. Vinegar is good — under restric- 
 tions — but when you are smilingly turn- 
 ing a glass of supposed Steinberger-Cabi- 
 net, suddenly to taste vinegar, is to be 
 angry with your host, to spoil your dinner, 
 and to run the risk of an indigestion. If 
 the novelist do really hold the mirror up 
 to nature, he need not fear that any de- 
 licate reader will too finely scent a moral. 
 But if he attempt to pin the moral to the 
 picture, — to say that Johnny being good 
 had a gooseberry tart and naughty Tom- 
 my was put into a dark closet, — he simply 
 assumes an accident as a consequent, and 
 treats resolution. What intelligent John- 
 ny wouldn’t be good for a nice tart, and 
 general approbation, and a front seat at 
 the theatre ? The true thing would be, 
 if you wanted to show character, to feed 
 naughty Tommy with illimitable tarts, 
 and then permit him to incarcerate John- 
 ny who had been longingly watching the 
 operation, in the dark closet. Then we 
 should see whether Johnny were really 
 good, and heroic, and enduring, or simply 
 greedy for gooseberry pie. The tart the- 
 ory is not true. If goodness were always 
 served with gooseberry sauce, who would 
 be bad ? 
 
 Thackeray is the most ponderous pro- 
 testant against this nursery and primer 
 view of human nature and human life, and 
 close upon him, comes Miss Bronte. Jane 
 Eyre was a governess, and a strong- 
 minded woman. She was by no means 
 the lady with whom Harley L’Estrange 
 in or out of “ My Novel ” would ever 
 fall in love. There were great doubts 
 whether she knew how to dress, and 
 
 [May 
 
 none at all that she had no “style.” 
 She moved up and down the novel totally 
 regardless of nerves and the “ tea-table 
 proprieties.” She was a woman bullied 
 by circumstances and coping bravely with 
 a hard lot, and finally proving her genuine 
 force of character by winning the respect 
 and love of a man who had exhausted 
 the world and been exhausted by it ; a 
 man in whom the noble instincts were so 
 deeply sunk, that they could only re- 
 spond to a ray so penetrant and pure that it 
 would not be dispersed in fogs — but which 
 instinctively, when they were touched, 
 would respond and rule the life. Of course 
 a novel of this kind, full of the truthful 
 and rapid play of character, and from 
 which rustling silks and satins are rigor- 
 ously excluded — except once, when they 
 sweep, cloud-like, down the stairs, in one 
 of the most picturesque passages of the 
 book — has no interest for those who are 
 snuffing in the air for perfumes. It wears 
 an almost repulsive sternness to those 
 who quiz it daintily through tortoise-shell 
 eye-glasses. 
 
 “Villette” has the same virtues. It is 
 a novel of absorbing interest as a story. 
 It is somewhat less severe than “ Jane 
 Eyre. ” Paulina is a strain of grace and 
 tenderness that does not occur in the other 
 book. Paul has many traits like Roches- 
 ter. Lucy Snowe is a governess like Jane 
 Ej're herself — neither very young, nor 
 lovely, nor fascinating, as we can easily 
 see from the impression she makes upon 
 Grahame Bretton. He is such a hero as 
 daily experience supplies. We have all 
 seen many Grahame Brettons, free, joyous 
 natures, bounding through life ; and there- 
 fore we are the better for meeting him in 
 “ Villette.” Harley L’Estrange, on the con- 
 trary, is a boarding-school girl’s “ Morti- 
 mer, ” and therefore of no use to us, though 
 we do meet him in “ My Novel. ” Grahame 
 Bretton loves Paulina, who loves him 
 from her childhood. The opening pages 
 of the book, depicting Paulina as a child, 
 are remarkable. She is the “ creation ” of 
 the book. We have not met her in 
 other stories, and her picture is like an 
 alto-relievo, it is so strongly carved. Lucy 
 Snowe fancies a little that she loves 
 Grahame ; but Lucy Snowe, in her situ- 
 ation, would have loved any chivalrous 
 man with whom she was intimately thrown. 
 Certain flowers require a southern expo- 
 sure ; and it is no fault of Bretton’s that 
 his nature demanded in a mistress some- 
 thing more tropical than Luc}' Snowe. 
 He was always noble to her. She had 
 doubted him sometimes; but unjustly, as 
 the event always proved. When Paulina 
 first saw Grahame, she loved him, al- 
 though she was but six years old. He 
 
1853.J 
 
 Villette and Ruth. 
 
 537 
 
 liked her as a child, but when he met the 
 woman, he loved her. This part of the 
 book is what is called “natural and it 
 is certainly very fascinating, for we all 
 love beauty, and grace, and excellence. 
 It is pleasanter to sit in the sun than in 
 the rain. A beautiful queen is more love- 
 ly than a dirty beggar-girl. This we 
 fully admit. But our quarrel with the 
 novelists — to which we have referred — is, 
 that by making all their days sunny, they 
 spoil the nature in their pictures ; and by 
 making all queens beautiful, they defy 
 experience. 
 
 When Paul first comes upon the stage, 
 the reader does not like him. He has, 
 however, like Rochester, the fascination 
 of power, and when, later in the book, 
 that power is developed, not grotesquely, 
 but nobly, the reader smiles, and willingly 
 puts Lucy’s hand in Paul’s, with the same 
 blessing he has invoked upon Grahame 
 and Paulina. The skill of the treatment 
 is shown in the gradual melting of the 
 dislike of Paul, until it is entirely replaced 
 by esteem ; and this, by no means which 
 seem forced, and which are not quite 
 naturally and easily evolved from charac- 
 ter and circumstance. The difficulty with 
 the book as a work of art is, that the in- 
 terest does not sufficiently concentrate 
 upon the two chief figures. Grahame and 
 Paulina are disproportionately interesting. 
 In fact, we are not sure that most readers 
 are not more anxious to marry Grahame 
 than to follow the destiny of Lucy Snowe. 
 There is a pause over his marriage, and a 
 glance into the future, which properly be- 
 long only to the close of the book, and 
 which materially affect the sequence of in- 
 terest. 
 
 Yet it is a legitimate novel, a story told 
 for the pleasure of telling it, with only 
 such moral as is necessarily contained in 
 tlie circumstances — a cheerful, inspiring 
 confidence in integrity and valor. The 
 book overflows with exuberant power. 
 Its scenery is vivid and grim, like the pic- 
 tures in “.Jane Eyre.” But it is also 
 more ambitious in style, and more evident- 
 ly so, which is a great fault. The per- 
 sonifications of passion are unnatural, and 
 clumsily patched upon the tale. They are 
 the disagreeable rents in the scenery, 
 making you aware that it is a drama, and 
 not a fact ; that it is an author writing a 
 very fine book, and not scenes of life de- 
 veloping themselves before you. To be 
 disillusione in this manner is disagree- 
 able. The finest passages in the book are 
 the descriptions of the dreary vacation. 
 The portrait of Rachel is sketched in the 
 lurid gloom of the French melo-dramatic 
 style. It partakes of the fault of the per- 
 sonification to which we alluded. “ Vil- 
 vol. i. — 35 
 
 lette” has less variety, but more grace 
 than “Jane Eyre. ” It is quite as bold, 
 original, and interesting, allowing always 
 for the fact that we have had the type in 
 the earlier book. 
 
 The sad and sweet story of “ Ruth, ” the 
 new novel by Mrs. Gaskell, the author of 
 “ Mary Barton, ” contrasts strangely with 
 the gusty tumult of “ Villette. ” As a 
 story it is tearfully interesting. It is 
 more simple, more concentrated, more in- 
 tense than “Villette.” It has a rare 
 unity, and the whole moves resistlessly 
 forward towards the end. There are no 
 superfluous characters, and each character 
 has a marked role to play. The profound 
 pathos of the story searches out the tears 
 that hide away from men’s eyes in their 
 hearts. And those tears moisten the 
 sympathy that generally dries up in the 
 whirl of events, and, pulverized into the 
 dust of sentimentality, blows blindingly 
 away. The book has an obvious aim ; 
 but it is a general and not a particular 
 aim. It does not tilt against a single in- 
 stitution, as “Bleak House” against Chan- 
 cery ; nor expose the iniquity of peculiar 
 social arrangements, like “ Alton Locke 
 nor extol the beauty of the present state of 
 things, like “My Novel;” nor is it, on 
 the other hand, a talc told for the telling, 
 like “ Villette ; ” nor a general display of 
 sins and wickednesses, like “Vanity Fair. ” 
 The story is the history of an orphan girl 
 exposed in the work-room of a dressmaker, 
 seduced by her lover when she is sixteen or 
 seventeen years old, and, for the next ten 
 years, doing weary penance for her uncon- 
 scious sin ; not excusing herself, not con- 
 demning her judges, nor growing bitter and 
 misanthropical, but more and more purified 
 and exalted by her suffering and endurance 
 — feeding the hungry, binding up the wound- 
 ed, nursing the sick, until she is transfigured 
 before our eyes ; and meekly and humbly 
 dying, after a brief life of unbroken sor- 
 row, leaves us more meek and humble as 
 we close the pages. 
 
 The story is managed with the utmost 
 delicacy and skill. Ruth does not over- 
 estimate nor under-estimate her sorrow. 
 The young girl knew no wrong, felt no 
 wrong ; but the woman and mother knows 
 and feels it. It is this balanced fineness of 
 perception which is so very winning in the 
 book. Itis not urged that society is too fast 
 in its condemnation, but that it is too slow 
 in its sympathy. The deep moral mean- 
 ing of “ Ruth ” is precisely that of the 
 story of Mary Magdalene. It is, that, sin- 
 ners as we are, we undertake to hunt down 
 the young who fall, careless whether there 
 was any explanation, alleviation, or igno- 
 rance, and that, in so doing, we only 
 harden our hearts and imbrute our souls ; 
 
538 
 
 Villette and Ruth. 
 
 that our hardness begets deceit in the 
 worthy but weak who, through our self- 
 righteousness, fall into error and sow in- 
 finite confusion — it is, that, instead of 
 seeking, like J esus Christ, to save, we are 
 only earnest, like the Jews, to crucify — 
 it is, that our stiffnecked, cold, and inhu- 
 man sanctity appears less beautiful than 
 the weakness which sins, and is therefore 
 treasonable to God, and truth, and beauty ; 
 in fine, the moral of ‘‘Ruth” is, that be- 
 ing miserable offenders, we should not 
 hurry to spit upon those who offend ; and 
 that, being impure, we should take heed 
 how we cry “ unclean, unclean ! ” 
 
 There is one argument which is always 
 brought to bear against such views, and 
 to which we do not wish to seem indiffer- 
 ent. Laws, it is urged, can only look at 
 results, and not at modifying circumstan- 
 ces. Laws must decree that murder shall 
 be punished with death ; but if you can 
 show that it was not murder, so much 
 the better. Society depends upon certain 
 regulations, and female chastity is, in 
 some sort, a legal necessity. Tolerance 
 toward the sinner breeds sin. The Lon- 
 don Times, thundering against “ Alton 
 Locke, ” sums up this view as follows : — 
 “ Because the whole family of man have 
 lost sight of the commandment and ex- 
 ample of God, we cannot permit a blind 
 and general onslaught to be made upon 
 legislative enactments which seek, as far 
 as they are able, to regulate the imperfect 
 mass, and to reconcile conflicting interests 
 and desires. ” It is well said. If a writer 
 attacks the laws, let him show better. 
 But — and here is the point, which the 
 thundering Times & Co. never see — if a 
 man conceives that certain laws are found- 
 ed in a wrong principle, then it is not only 
 legitimate for him, but it is his duty, to 
 endeavor in all ways to affect public opin- 
 ion by showing the falsity of the princi- 
 ple in the operation of the laws based 
 upon it. A man, for instance, may not 
 be justified in railing at a soup society 
 as a mode of charity, while he professes 
 faith in the principle involved, without 
 offering another method as a better. But if 
 he disbelieves in the whole system of al- 
 leviative charities, and considers that they 
 do no good, even if they are not founded 
 upon a false view of social duty and rela- 
 tions, then he may, evidently, in song, 
 novel, or sermon, attack the system over 
 the soup societies, or at any part which 
 he considers especially weak. 
 
 “ Ruth” is not liable to the objection 
 involved in the Times’s thunder. Its aim 
 is that of all Christian teaching, to incul- 
 cate a kindliness, a forbearance, a seventy 
 times seven forgiveness, and for the very 
 reason that was above alleged : “ because 
 
 [May 
 
 the whole family of man have lost sight 
 of the commandment and example of God.” 
 We are all in the same ship. If a man, 
 being in some way a sinner, has any feel- 
 ing but that of sympathy for his fellow- 
 sinners — then that feeling is pharisaical, 
 is of the “ holier than thou” kind, and is 
 of itself, another sin. If, for instance, a 
 man or woman, feels, in the presence of an 
 unfortunate woman, that he is entitled to 
 frown, and fly, and condemn, — his emotion 
 indicates a spiritual pride, as hateful as 
 the sin of wantonness. There is nothing so 
 anti-christian, so shocking and monstrous, 
 as the attitude assumed by what are called 
 “ professing Christians ’’ toward other 
 Christian men and women. The “ elect” 
 act, as if profession had absolved them 
 from sin, as if they considered themselves 
 cleaner than those who have not professed, 
 — and, regardless of character and facts, 
 the rest are pitied and denounced as if they 
 were wallowing in wrath and destruction. 
 A recent work, under the affected title of 
 “ Interviews, memorable and useful, from 
 Diary and Memory reproduced,” is the 
 most salient instance of this pharisaical 
 superciliousness on record. The author 
 assumes that all the front seats are taken 
 for himself and his friends, and condemns 
 the rest of the world to the pit. Yet, he 
 says, it is not necessary to curse them too 
 hard. We are safe, high and dry, of course, 
 and they are given over to Satan. Religion 
 and morality protest against this melancho- 
 ly and fatal delusion ; and “ Ruth” bears its 
 earnest, mournful testimony against it, in 
 the figure of Mr. Bradshaw — one of these 
 soi-disant saints. The calm self-gratula- 
 tion of the rigid, bloodless anatomy of 
 rectitude, which is called Mr. Bradshaw, 
 and the weeping, toiling, struggling, and 
 suffering Christian heart, called Ruth, of- 
 fer a contrast which reveals to the reader 
 the difference between truth, and the 
 mask of truth. 
 
 Now what is the moral of all this, but 
 that inflexible formality is not virtue nor 
 Christianity, however rigidly it may wash, 
 and fast, and pray ; and that an error, or 
 a sin, does not necessarily ruin a character, 
 but may be the very occasion of its de- 
 velopment into the greatest beauty ? and 
 by consequence, it teaches that whatever 
 “ Law,” or “Society.” or “Arrangements,” 
 or “ Order and Decency,” or whatever 
 other fine name, may require, yet the law 
 of Christ requires of every man and wo- 
 man professing his faith, that obedience to 
 the spirit of his faith, which is shown in 
 long suffering, in sympathy, in sorrow 
 and prayer for the tempted and fallen, — 
 in short, which is manifested by the mood 
 of Christian charity, in which “Ruth” 
 leaves the reader. There is no escape 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 539 
 
 from this. The reader is not invited nor 
 taught to resist human laws, nor to en- 
 courage frailty — but to save sinners. And 
 if any man turns away from the tale to 
 frown even upon the most abandoned of 
 offenders, that man seems to us as far from 
 heaven as Dives when his dogs shamed 
 him, and licked the sores of Lazarus. 
 
 We have grown serious in considering 
 the scope and influence of this book, be- 
 cause it is so very sad. Like an autumn 
 day, full of a low wailing wind, and a 
 nameless sorrow, the tale sweeps on with 
 its wan sunlights and long mournful shad- 
 ows to the end. We have not space to 
 indicate the exquisite handling, the skilful 
 discrimination, which shows Mr. Brad- 
 shaw hurrying over bribes and insinceri- 
 ties in elections, while branding Ruth ” 
 as a Jezebel ; and of the natural result of 
 such a character and training as his upon a 
 son who forges, and upon an amiable, de- 
 voted, and suffering pastor, who is fright- 
 ened into deceit, that Mr. Bradshaw’s suf- 
 focating sanctity may not overpower Ruth. 
 The treatment is thoughtful and tender. 
 There is no exaggeration, no impassioned 
 denunciation, which would destroy its own 
 effect by a wild enthusiasm. The book 
 is mellow, mature and sober. Its land- 
 scape painting is equally beautiful and 
 characteristic. Those who know the 
 woods, and waters, and country life, and 
 
 small town life, and the lonely sea-shore 
 life, will recognize in the descriptions of 
 this book the heart and hand of one who 
 has also felt them as they arc. 
 
 It must not be supposed that “ Ruth ” 
 is a mere sermon. It is only such a sermon 
 as ‘'Vanity Fair.” In both stories the moral 
 is insinuated, not obtruded. You receive it 
 as you do oxygen in breathing. It min- 
 gles warm and soft with the blood. The 
 heart beats, the cheeks tingle, the eyes 
 quiver and fill. “ Villette ” is written 
 from curious study of character ; “ Ruth ” 
 from profound sympathy with it. “ Vil- 
 lette ” is a joyful cry of conscious power 
 from the thick heart of the struggle ; 
 “ Ruth ” is a tear, washing the eyes clear, 
 so that they see the way out of it. They 
 are both admirable and remarkable books. 
 We do not wonder that old Caxton told 
 his son Pisistratus that he must write a 
 novel if he wanted the public to heed 
 him. It is the present highway to the 
 profoundest influence. We rush to see our 
 possible selves fighting the good fight. 
 We can test our sincerity by the tone of 
 our emotions, as we watch the spectacle. 
 We can privately determine whether our 
 hearts adhere unreservedly to the tart 
 theory, or whether we do really feel a se- 
 cret sympathy with goodness, unaccompa- 
 nied by gooseberries. 
 
 MISS PECK’S FRIEND. 
 
 A NOVEL IN TEN CHAPTERS. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 IN WHICH THIS ORCIIESTE A TAKE THEIR SEATS. 
 
 W E all know, as a general thing, that 
 we are to grow old ; that the day must 
 arrive, if we live long enough, when, if old 
 beaux, we will be supplanted by young- 
 sters whom we remember in frocks in the 
 Park ; if authors, laid on the shelf in every 
 sense, unread by the public, superseded 
 by fresher pens, forgotten by the publish- 
 ers, whose interest it no longer is to print 
 our half-century productions. To all who 
 outlive their prime, a season of blight 
 must come sooner or later, to belles as 
 well as to beaux, to readers not less than 
 to those who are read ; for each in his own 
 way, and in his proper turn, must look to 
 lie voted passe — and alas ! we all forget, 
 we set our hearts on forgetting, that so 
 dreadful a thing can ever be brought 
 about. 
 
 Even Mde Mere de Trubleu {nee Ba- 
 biole), who remembers the Bourbons and 
 
 the first Revolution, and has danced in 
 her time with tri-colored ribbons in her 
 hair, has come to this at last, and resigns 
 herself with the air of a martyr to rheu- 
 matic limbs and obesity, and such other 
 usual companions of gray hairs which 
 have once wagged over good cheer, 
 and rolled home to take to the pillow 
 when busier heads are meditating rising 
 from it. Madame lives in easy retire- 
 ment ; complains of her nerves as only a 
 Frenchwoman can, and takes snuff in ex- 
 traordinary quantities from a gold snuff- 
 box— the gift of Mde la comtesse sa 
 tante — lying on the little table at her el- 
 bow, where lies also an old toothbrush, 
 with which she introduces the dust from 
 time to time into her mouth ostensibly to 
 cleanse her teeth. " Ma foil ” Madame 
 is accustomed to say with a sigh, “ what 
 an amount of obligation les demoiselles 
 owe me, an old woman, as you observe 
 with this fright of a cap, and no energy 
 
54 0 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 left to devise another. Helas ! the days 
 were when I had but to wish and it was 
 done.” 
 
 But those were days when Madame de 
 Trubleu had prizes to distribute to her 
 flock, and kept a book from which, at 
 each vacation, a report was made in French 
 to the parents, to most of whom French 
 and low Dutch were the same ; there was 
 something to be gained by keeping in 
 Madame’s good graces then, and the in- 
 mates of a boarding-school are not the 
 least assiduous courtiers in the world. 
 Trubleu Priory, Goslington, during that 
 auspicious period, enjoyed a reputation for 
 being the abode not only of all the Muses 
 and Graces, but of the Virtues also, and 
 young ladies who had hummed over their 
 tasks under shelter of the fine old trees 
 whose tops show above the walls, were 
 looked upon by their mammas as so many 
 paragons of learning and discretion. 
 
 Madame had a little speech, very pretty 
 and complimentary, which she addressed 
 to most of the papas and mammas who 
 brought daughters to the Priory at the be- 
 ginning of a new term ; among these was 
 Peck, the wealthy ex-grocer, who had re- 
 cently purchased an estate, as he called 
 it, and wished his trading relatives lost 
 sight of as soon as possible. Miss Peck, 
 Miss Amelia Peck, accompanied him and 
 remained behind when the great capitalist 
 went away, expressing himself entirely sat- 
 isfied with Madame’s system of education. 
 “Look sharp, now, Mely,” was his part- 
 ing injunction to his daughter ; “ keep 
 ahead, get your money’s worth of learn- 
 ing, but spend your pocket-money too ; 
 there’s plenty more where this comes 
 from ; and be sure you keep good compa- 
 ny ; your mother was a Parrott, and you’re 
 entitled to the best.” After which valedic- 
 tory, at the lodge-gate of the Seminary, 
 he saw little of Miss Amelia except at va- 
 cations, until that young lady returned 
 home, thoroughly accomplished and pre- 
 pared to dazzle, as the final French letter 
 affirmed, which she was called upon to 
 translate aloud after dinner, the very day 
 of her arrival. Of course nothing that 
 could be said of a laudatory kind was 
 omitted by Madame, it being her policy 
 to part on such excellent terms with her 
 withdrawing patrons, as to secure their 
 services in a recommendatory way for ever 
 after. Miss Peck, however, recited her 
 manifold perfections with the air of sim- 
 plicity, distinguishing all she did, and 
 which was in character with the rather 
 milk-and-waterish appearance young la- 
 dies of fair hair and complexion and slen- 
 der proportions too often possess ; and 
 Peck listened, and smirked, and nodded 
 across the table to Mrs. P.. who. comfort- 
 
 [May 
 
 able soul, smiled and nodded back appro 
 val, to the best of her ability. 
 
 “ By Jingo ! she’ll do,” the proud father 
 cried at the end, rapping the table with 
 his wine glass, and no longer able to re- 
 strain his delight. “ She’ll turn the heads 
 of the young bucks, if they don’t keep 
 shy of a lady that talks French like a na- 
 tive. You mind, my dear, how near I 
 came to clawing off when I heard you 
 sing an Italian song, but you made it all 
 right by declaring you knew it by mem- 
 ory — not a word of the English of it. ha, 
 ha ! ” In which loud laugh the remon- 
 strances of both ladies were drowned. 
 
 “We must have Madum down here,” 
 the Major went on to say — they had ac- 
 tually made him a Major in the Fox-brush 
 Dragoons, though he could not ride — “ and 
 — and — what’s the name of the young 
 lady you’ve written two letters to since 
 yesterday, Mely 7 ” And Miss Amelia, 
 who was enthusiastic in her friendships, 
 though she had proved their bitterness 
 more than once, — but it was the last who 
 was always the best, and it was Mademoi- 
 selle Rosette Bonair, who was now in 
 highest favor — answered papa : “ You are 
 such a tease, sir. I haven’t written more 
 than once to dear Rosette since I came 
 home, and that was yesterday ; not a 
 word to-day, have I, now, ma ? And if 1 
 had, she is the truest, best friend that 
 ever breathed ! ” On which old Peck 
 cried, “whew!” knowingly, and walked 
 out with a chuckle, to smoke his after- 
 dinner cigar in the back porch, and con- 
 template from a safe distance his fox- 
 hounds, of whom he was secretly afraid, 
 leaving the pair of gossips, mamma to listen, 
 and Amelia to recite her friend’s various 
 recommendations and virtues in the most 
 glowing colors language could afford ; for 
 if ever there was a 'perfect being on earth. 
 Miss Peck was accustomed to asseverate, 
 in her enthusiastic way, whenever Mile. 
 Bonair happened to be the topic, it was 
 the sweet, dear, darling Rosette. And to, 
 her Rosette, somewhat later in the after- 
 noon, when the Major had rejoined them 
 in the drawing-room, and was snoring in 
 an easy chair, and Mrs. Peck was quietly 
 netting, as she almost always was, our 
 present heroine opened her new rosewood 
 desk in front of the fire, and penned a 
 letter of invitation, inclosing a note from 
 mamma to Madame herself. 
 
 It was in consequence of this invitation 
 something more than a week after the 
 date of Miss Amelia’s note, that the Pecks 
 were one afternoon what the Major called 
 on the quee weeve, looking for the arrival 
 of Madame Mere and her charming niece. 
 Mrs. P. had personally seen to the ar- 
 rangement of the guest’s chamber for the 
 
1853.] 
 
 Miss Peek's Friend. 
 
 541 
 
 former lady, whom she regarded as a very 
 sphinx of learning, and of great worth 
 and integrity, as one to whose care the 
 completion of Miss Amelia’s education 
 had been confided, must necessarily have 
 been ; and Mam’selle was to sleep with 
 her dearest friend, not that room was 
 wanting elsewhere, but because Miss Peck 
 would not hear of any proposal for sepa- 
 ration. She had spent the morning in 
 gathering flowers and arranging them in 
 numberless bouquets in their common 
 chamber, and made it quite a sweet little 
 Eden of a place before dinner, at which 
 meal cruel papa failed not to joke her un- 
 mercifully on the subject of her friend- 
 ship, and asked if they intended using one 
 nightcap for their pair of heads, or would 
 dine oft’ a single plate at table ; for the 
 old merchant was more jocular than witty 
 or refined, in familiar intercourse. 
 
 The Major was still taking his usual 
 after-dinner nap, when roused by the an- 
 nouncement of the anticipated arrival, and 
 bustled down the front piazza steps to 
 hand out Madame, who was in the act 
 of emerging from her carriage, with her 
 bandbox in one hand and the other hold- 
 ing close the skirt of her dress from con- 
 tact with the wheels. With which cares 
 she was so preoccupied conjointly with 
 the caution necessary in descending a nar- 
 row flight of steps, that it was not until 
 she stood on terra firma, the Major suc- 
 ceeded in attracting her attention. “ Ma 
 foi /” she then said, stretching out to him 
 the hand lately occupied with the skirt, 
 and looking down on her ruddy host, who 
 was a head at least shorter, “ah, and 
 yonder’s Madam, and — embrassez moi , ma 
 Jille — allons ! — An old woman like me 
 has old bones to move about, Monsieur, 
 and old eyes to see with.” 
 
 “ Old, Madum ! Mrs. P. would make 
 two of your looks ! ” — the merchant said, 
 with a polite bow and smirk, and handed 
 the tall lady up his marble steps by the 
 tips of his fingers, in by no means a grace- 
 ful fashion, however well meant. Mean- 
 while Amelia had flown from the formal 
 kiss of her late preceptress, to embrace 
 the other occupant of the carriage, who 
 was still within, tugging apparently at 
 something under the seat ; and what de- 
 monstrations of undying affection were in- 
 terchanged at that reunion of hearts, 
 Sambo, grinning furtively on the box, 
 knew more than any one, for Rosette’s 
 friend had thrown herself upon her knees 
 on the top step, and there they had it out. 
 And after having it out, what a smiling 
 pair walked towards the house together, 
 each with an arm about the other’s waist, 
 Amelia blushing up to the roots of her 
 hair with pleasure and boarding-school 
 
 mauvaise honte, and a like red spot in ei- 
 ther French cheek of Mam’selle, aud quite 
 a happy sparkle in those sloe black eyes 
 of hers ; Miss Peck looking taller and 
 slimmer than ever, by contrast, lent her 
 ear to the volatilities of her chum with 
 much honest delight apparent in her 
 countenance. “ And Madame would have 
 him brought, because he is sure to he 
 starved if left — so 1 pushed him under 
 the seat, where he wouldn’t stay until 1 
 had covered him over with my emptied 
 bandbox, and here I’ve been obliged to 
 ride with my bonnet in my lap all the 
 way. And just now I was afraid he’d 
 run away if any body else took him out, 
 hut when I tried to get at him he wouldn’t 
 come, but growled terribly, — as if he had 
 any teeth left him to bite — which prevented 
 my flying to the arms of my Amy — now 
 be quiet, sir ! ” was what Mam’selle rat- 
 tled off with abundance of Gallicisms, 
 ending with a tap on the nose of a shaggy 
 poodle, she hugged with some difficulty 
 under her arm. “ Let me carry him, the 
 pretty dear,” Amelia said, offering her 
 help, and there was a yelp and struggle, 
 and — “ you bad, ugly Bijou,” Mam’selle 
 exclaimed ; “ there, sir, you may walk 
 now ! ” “ Suppose we tie our handker- 
 
 chiefs to his collar,” Amelia suggested, 
 Bijou having seated himself on the gravel; 
 but Madame, with her finger up, cried 
 “ Me chant es /” from the top of the steps, 
 and the Major hastened to their assist- 
 ance, and presently ushered them into the 
 drawing-room, where Mrs. P. was doing 
 the honors of the mansion in her chatty 
 way. 
 
 “ Miss Rosette, Amelia’s dearest friend, 
 I’m very glad to see you, my dear, and 
 hope you will spend a very merry time 
 with us ; that’s your pet, I suppose 7 ” 
 was what she said on Mam’selle’s entrance. 
 “ Thank you, ma’am,” Miss Rosette re- 
 turned, receiving a kiss from the lady 
 with excellent grace. “ Bijou is Ma- 
 dame’s.” 
 
 “ And to Madum I restore what’s-his- 
 name,” the gallant Major cried ; he had 
 rescued the dog from “them madcaps,” 
 he said, and made his appearance with it 
 in his arms. 
 
 “ Ces miserables are always worrying 
 poor Bijou,” Madame returned, shaking 
 the pensionniere’s present, then on duty, 
 at the girls. “ They don’t like him be- 
 cause he’s cross and old ; they’ll take 
 to worrying old Madame for the same 
 reason before very long.” 
 
 “ Fi done ! ” the brunette cried, re- 
 proachfully, taking one hand, and the 
 blonde pupil clasped the other, with less 
 dramatic effect, perhaps, than sincerity, 
 for Madame complained that dust was 
 
542 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 troublesome in travelling, and wiped it 
 out of the corners of her eyes with her 
 handkerchief, after which she smoothed 
 either head, and remarked smilingly, they 
 were not bad girls on the whole. 
 
 “ Come into the piazza, where we can 
 talk over our secrets,” Amelia said aside 
 to Rosette, after this little tableau was 
 over, and the friends went forth in their 
 usual loving fashion, and commenced 
 promenading. “ And you’ve been here a 
 week,” Mademoiselle said, after they had 
 made a turn or two ; “ how strange he 
 hasn’t been here.” 
 
 “ Oh, he has been here twice, you 
 know,” Amelia returned. “ One fore- 
 noon when he stayed so short a time that 
 he was gone when I came down stairs, 
 though I don’t think I was half my usual 
 time before the glass. I was dressed in 
 the sprigged muslin you went with me to 
 buy in town, and with a neat little apron 
 on, and a watering pot in my hand. I 
 made believe I wasn’t aware of any body 
 being in the drawing-room, and was only 
 going to water my flowers, humming a 
 French air as I went ; but when I glanced 
 in, opposite the door, I saw nobody but 
 pa, who bawled out, ‘ Hey, Mely ! such a 
 handsome beau as was here minute ago ! ’ 
 as if I didn’t know it !” 
 
 “ But he came back 7 ” — asked Rosette. 
 
 “ No, that is, not to make a call. This 
 morning, indeed, I heard the horns blow- 
 ing in the yard, and all in curl-papers as 
 I was, I rushed to the window and peeped 
 between the curtains to catch a glimpse 
 of the sportsmen, who had come, by ap- 
 pointment, to borrow pa’s hounds ; but, 
 oh me ! I saw only the back of his hunt- 
 ing coat, as he pranced away, enveloped 
 in a cloud of dust. I’m so glad you’ve come, 
 for I have wanted some one to confide in 
 so much ; of course, I tell ma every thing 
 else I have on my mind, but it would 
 never do to confide that, for there’s no- 
 thing definite yet, you know, and besides, 
 ma would be as likely as not to think 1 
 place too much value on such a trifle as a 
 camellia, presented at the close of an eve- 
 ning party. As indeed she naturally 
 might, knowing nothing of the glance 
 which accompanied it, and of what trans- 
 pired afterwards, every syllable of which 
 I told you next day, my dear.” 
 
 “ Yes, and don’t you recollect how I re- 
 cognized Monsieur from your description, 
 even before he took off his hat, the day 
 we met him, when walking with Ma- 
 dame,” Mam’selle returned. “ What a 
 splendid figure he made on his love of a 
 white horse, that would go down the 
 street sideways, when he smiled, as much 
 as to say, there was no fear of his being 
 thrown you remember 7 And then how 
 
 [May 
 
 we stopped behind Madame a moment, as 
 if to see something in a shop window, but 
 really to whisper, ‘ Is he not handsome ? ’ 
 And Miss Amelia, clasping her friend’s 
 hand and blushing as usual — it required 
 very little to set her blushing, indeed — 
 cried, “I do believe I could talk about 
 him without stopping, for ever, the hand- 
 some fellow. Hush ! there’s pa calling.” 
 
 The Major, from a gable window com- 
 manding a view of the avenue, had spied 
 two young gentlemen approaching the 
 house at a canter, and summoned Miss 
 Amelia and her friend from the piazza, 
 “Here’s a pair of dashing blades — look 
 out, now, girls ! ” he said ; and Rosette at 
 the other window, where the friends had 
 flown to reconnoitre, whispered, “ It’s 
 Monsieur — I know those loves of whis- 
 kers,” and ran oft’ hand in hand with 
 Amelia, as the visitors drew rein at the 
 foot of the steps. The confidants were 
 quite breathless when they reached their 
 chamber in the second story, and stood 
 together peeping through the blinds. 
 
 “ Gracious ! ” Amelia said, “ I can 
 scarcely breathe. There’s pa shaking 
 hands with — with him ; and now he’s 
 introduced to the other ; what a stupe ! 
 why didn’t he look up and let us see his 
 face 7 ” “ Why, he is looking up,” Rosette 
 exclaimed, emphasizing in her little French 
 way, “ don’t you see he’s louche , and must 
 have been looking at us under the brim 
 of his hat.” 
 
 “ What a funny beau he’ll make for 
 you — you must fall in love with him, so 
 I mayn’t be jealous, Rosy, dear,” Amelia 
 returned. “Lor, how provoking, they 
 won’t talk loud enough to let us overhear 
 what they’re saying ; I do wonder what 
 they’re talking about. There, now, they’re 
 all coming up the steps together, clamp, 
 clamp. 1 would not have had him catch 
 me running away for the world — would 
 you 7 ” 
 
 “ No, indeed ! ” her chum of course 
 made answer, and applied herself to mak- 
 ing her toilette, during which the Ma- 
 jor’s oily voice was heard from below. 
 “ Hollo, Mely ! come down and let’s make 
 up a party for a frolic here,” it said, “ and 
 bring down your friend. Somebody 
 wants to be introduced to both of you.” 
 A speech which equally disconcerted 
 those in the drawing-room and chamber, 
 whom the unsuspecting host wished to 
 serve. “I declare I feel like having a 
 hearty cry. Pa is always doing some- 
 thing of the sort. I wonder what he 
 will think of us ! ” was what Amelia ut- 
 tered, with tears almost in her eyes. 
 
 “ Confound the old fellow ! ” the gen- 
 tleman, designated as he, was responding 
 at the same moment, in the depths of his 
 
1853.] 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 543 
 
 satin-vested breast. And his friend, with 
 the slightly oblique vision, stammered and 
 colored a great deal in the midst of a com- 
 monplace he was uttering to Madame, 
 now arrayed in all the splendors of a new 
 pearl silk, and much bebowed cap, one of 
 the best of the collection, without which, 
 in those halcyon days, she never stirred 
 from home. 
 
 It happened that Bijou had posted him- 
 self on a footstool in front of the ladies, 
 and Mr. Augustus Twitty (who was 
 louche) presently drew him into the con- 
 versation. “ Pretty dog, pretty dog ! 
 what curly hair he has ! ” he said, and 
 stooped forward to smooth the favorite’s 
 head, who responded to the attention by 
 disclosing his upper teeth. “ He’s snap- 
 pish, sir,” Madame remarked. “Bijou, 
 come here. I carry a capital sedative 
 with me, or his manners would exclude 
 him from good company;” and Bijou, af- 
 ter a futile attempt at escape, submitted 
 to a pinch of snuff from Madame’s fin- 
 gers, and fell to sneezing violently, after 
 which he retired under a chair with a 
 growl of satisfaction, and coiled himself 
 up. 
 
 “Ha, ha!— why, he takes snuff like 
 any little Frenchman,” Mr. Augustus 
 cried, inconsiderately; and Madame re- 
 garded the speaker with disfavor. “It 
 always serves the purpose — will you take 
 a pinch, sir 1 ” she asked grimly. “ Avec 
 plaisir ,” Twit returned — he prided him- 
 self on his accent ; and helped himself 
 with a flourish, without perceiving the 
 connection. 
 
 The jrnung ladies appeared in due sea- 
 son, ushered in by the Major, who had 
 been a second time to summon them down 
 from the foot of the stair, and were re- 
 ceived with a specially low bow by one 
 of the visitors. And Miss Amelia was in 
 such sweet confusion that she did not no- 
 tice what her little friend did, that the 
 reverence was not addressed to her. “ Ah, 
 Monsieur la barbe ! — he wants to mis- 
 lead us,” was Mademoiselle’s conclusion. 
 
 The Major had been conversing apart 
 with this young gentleman, previous to 
 the appearance of the young ladies, and 
 had expressed himself greatly delighted at 
 what he heard ; he had made an unreserv- 
 ed offer of his servants and horses, to 
 assist in certain preparations then in pro- 
 gress for a neighborhood fete, and exhibit- 
 ed some chagrin when told there was no 
 immediate call for his services. But not 
 to be baffled, he added, “ By George ! I’ve 
 a odd volume of Fros — Frossart though, 
 Mr. Rutridge, and you might get a wrinkle 
 from it, you know ;” at which Rutridge, 
 who had read Froissart twice over, I 
 believe, laughed and replied, “ Thank you, 
 
 Major, I’ll send for it some day when I 
 want it.” 
 
 Mr. Edward Rutridge was familiar 
 with other books, ancient and modern, not 
 found in the course prescribed in the col- 
 lege of which he was a graduate of three 
 or four months standing; he had indulged 
 a taste for rather miscellaneous reading, 
 at the expense of his class honors, and 
 lost the Valedictory, although twice as 
 well informed as the man who got it. 
 “And I wouldn’t accept the second honor, 
 sir, of course — indeed I am not sure I 
 deserved it,” he had said afterwards to 
 the pompous Colonel, his father ; who 
 told him, he liked his pride — “first or 
 none, should be the motto of every Rut- 
 ridge, Ned ; ” a sentiment the Colonel 
 had illustrated in his own life, by remain- 
 ing a cipher. 
 
 It is as human to be vain as to err, and 
 our hero returned home with a rather false 
 idea of the worth of a course of irregular 
 reading, and a general, and not over clear 
 perception of his attainments ; tut his 
 vanity was not greater, perhaps, than that 
 of some of his neighbors, and certainly 
 not as openly paraded, and was coupled 
 with, what is at the bottom of much good 
 as well as evil, in this life, although sup- 
 posed to have no part in heaven — name- 
 ly, ambition. He had eagerly accepted 
 an offer to run him for one of the repre- 
 sentatives of the parish in the next Legis- 
 lature, and had canvassed with flattering 
 success, the influence of the family name 
 being not yet worn threadbare. Young- 
 fellows of undoubted respectability them- 
 selves, liked to have a Rutridge among 
 their pals, and while papa, who professed 
 himself of as good stock as the best, “ lik- 
 ed to keep up good feeling between tht 
 two families,” mamma fondly imagined hei 
 Amanda or Felicia mistress of the fine 
 old house at C3'press-hall ; so it happened 
 wherever he went he was courted, and 
 could afford to despise the efforts of his 
 sole opponent, young Gossimer, son and 
 heir of no especial house. Canvassing 
 however, occupied no great part of our 
 friend’s time and thoughts ; he had plea- 
 santer food for reflection, and loved a 
 stroll through the woods with his cigar, 
 and the twilight hours consecrated to the 
 thought of a little brunette angel (a 
 brunette angel, oh ye Powers !) who pro- 
 nounced with the slightest possible French 
 accent, and had certainly the most beauti- 
 ful black eyes, any one had ever beheld. 
 He had encountered them not oftener 
 than twice or thrice, and on each occasion 
 had felt his breast transfixed afresh. No 
 doubt the opinionated Colonel would have 
 stormed and remained deaf to reason, and 
 the Misses Rutridge were not wanting 
 

 544 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 in pride either ; for which reasons he 
 chose to keep his own counsel for the 
 present, and winced whenever unequal 
 matches were made the topic of conver- 
 sation ; for all which, Mr. Edward made 
 himself amends, by unqualified private 
 devotion, and the visit to Cornhill was 
 not so accidental as the Major believed. 
 
 That dapper host had rubbed his hands 
 briskly, on the entrance of the young la- 
 dies, and cried, “ Here we are — now about 
 the toonament (so he pronounced it). I 
 ain’t too old to have a dance myself. I 
 think we must show the young folks what 
 we did in our day, ha, Mrs. Mere ? ” and 
 Madame, having rejoined with animation, 
 
 “ Vive la danse ! ” affably addressed our 
 hero. “ What an old thing Madame is 
 to break out in that style, eh Monsieur ? ” 
 
 “ I — I beg pardon,” Rutridge stammered, 
 he had been all ears to Rosette, who had 
 been saying, she doated on dancing — one, 
 two, three, tara-la ! “ Don't you remem- 
 ber, Amy dear, our funny little dancing 
 master, Monsieur Tipto ? we used to in- 
 furiate him by waltzing faster than his 
 time,” and Amelia had assented with a 
 blush ; “ If I could only talk like Rosette,” 
 was her secret aspiration. 
 
 “ Madame Mere asks if you think her 
 too old to dance,” that unlucky Twitty re- 
 peated to Rutridge, wishing to be obliging. 
 
 “ Ma foi ! what common sense and com- 
 mon politeness the young men of the pre- 
 sent day possess ! ” Madame exclaimed ; 
 and Twitty muttered indignantly, “ The 
 old — has a tongue like a tomahawk ; 
 deuce take me, if I make myself agreeable 
 to her any more,” at which by-play his 
 friend would have laughed if Madame had 
 not been concerned. 
 
 “ French ladies have the reputation of 
 appearing youthful to the last,” Rutridge 
 said ; and the old Frenchwoman took it as a 
 compliment, although it may have cover- 
 ed a sarcasm. “We will all dance after 
 the games,” he added, “ and that reminds 
 me, Mrs. Peck, we rode over expressly to 
 solicit Madame’s attendance, and yours, 
 next Wednesday ; my sisters will call first 
 of course.” “Was you waiting for them 
 at the gate ? ” the Major, who was listen- 
 ing, blurted out, — upon which our hero 
 laughed and colored a little, perhaps — 
 and protested Mr. Twitty and he had 
 seen the carriage turn into the avenue, 
 from a distance; "We. guessed who were 
 in it, and thought it best to canter after, 
 and give early notice at the risk of intrud- 
 ing a little, eh Major 1 ” “ No intrusion, 
 
 sir, — always glad to see my cust — my 
 friends, by George ! ” the ex-merchant 
 cried. “We are to have a Tournament 
 at the Oaks — that is Henrietta and Har- 
 riet started the ball, and like a shell 
 
 [May 
 
 (Major), it will end in a grand explosion 
 next Wednesday. Of course your names 
 were written on their list among the first. 
 
 I hope you got your invitation ? ” Rutridge 
 said, who would have cared very little 
 about it — but for a certain contingency. 
 
 The invitations had not yet been received, 
 but Mrs. P. thought there was some mis- 
 take, and that they would all enjoy them- 
 selves very much, if it was to be like a 
 pic-nic. She also gave the company pre- 
 sent a history of her first pic-nic, she was 
 in her teens then, and how the ice-cake 
 she had made for the occasion turned out. 
 “I’ll warrant it wont be so bad this time,” 
 the Major’s lady cried, delightedly, nod- 
 ding her head at the end. “ Bring only 
 Madame, and the young ladies with you, 
 ma’am,” Mr. Rutridge said, good-humored- 
 ly, “ and we will provide every thing else.” 
 Now although our hero spoke of young 
 ladies in the plural, it happened that when 
 his glance took the direction of his words, 
 it went no farther than Miss Rosette’s 
 face, and did not include Miss Amelia ; 
 and it likewise chanced that Rosette’s eyes 
 were at that moment taking note of our 
 hero’s face. What a handsome nose he 
 has, and waving black hair, and neat 
 whiskers — they quite become him, and 
 he could easily have a moustache! the 
 French girl thought, and wondered if he 
 were really in love with Amelia ; at which 
 juncture Mr. Edward chanced to look 
 down and their eyes met, and both colored 
 a great deal for so simple an event ; and 
 Madame saw the blush too, and clapping 
 to her snuff-box with more noise than 
 customary, thrust it into the depths of 
 her pocket, and cleared her throat in so 
 imperative a manner, that Mademoiselle 
 felt she was under surveillance, and colored 
 still deeper. “ Will you let me lead you 
 to the piano ? ” Mr. Edward asked, look- 
 ing on admiringly, and Rosette took his 
 arm after a little hesitation. 
 
 “ So Amelia has a beau already, eh ? ” 
 Madame asked carelessly, when the visitors 
 had consented to stay to tea, and Amelia, 
 after singing a duet with her dearest friend 
 at the piano, backed by the gentlemen, 
 had retired to a neighboring couch. “ No, 
 — who do you think ? I hope you haven’t 
 heard any thing in the city,” mamma said, 
 for the query took her by surprise ; but 
 Madame raising her eyebrows sententious- 
 ly, and taking snuff, merely supposed Mr. 
 Rutridge had known her before, by his 
 calling in advance of Mesdemoiselles, his 
 sisters. 
 
 “ Oh he’s been here before, he comes to 
 see the Major. He will have a very hand- 
 some property in time, and his family’s 
 very high and proud ; but he would never 
 think of marrying so young. If I thought 
 
 
 
1853.] 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend 
 
 545 
 
 he was courting Amelia. I’d be very un- 
 happy,” mamma replied ; “ My poor mother 
 was, when the first lover I had came to 
 see me four nights out of every week ; 
 which was all the time he was in town. 
 I recollect the very dress she wore — an 
 old-fashioned brocade with purple stripes, 
 — the evening she put her handkerchief 
 to her eyes and told me he had proposed 
 through her. Of course he should have 
 come to me first, and I never forgave him, 
 at least not for a long time. It was very 
 foolish in me, and so I’ve often told Ame- 
 lia since ; and I hope any gentleman who 
 may be attentive to her, will consult me 
 beforehand and ask my sanction, which 
 would of course be better than after her 
 affections are enlisted.” “ Eh bien ,” 
 Madame said with a shrug, glancing to- 
 wards the party mentioned, “Mademoi- 
 selle Amelia is enlisting nobody’s affections 
 at present.” 
 
 Indeed Mademoiselle Amelia was at 
 that moment, as she had been to Madame’s 
 secret disapproval for some minutes past, 
 seated on the sofa, toj'ing with the tassel 
 of the cushion, and looking shyly at Twit- 
 ty, who, never very conversable with la- 
 dies, took time to ponder any new subject 
 before bringing it fairly out, and received 
 only monosyllable answers — those stum- 
 bling-blocks to gossip — in return. But 
 what does it matter to a man enamored, 
 if the loved one be chary of words at the 
 first interview 1 “ So much modesty ! ” 
 
 Twitty said in his fluttered heart, and fell 
 deeper in love than ever. As has just 
 been hinted, this was Mr. Augustus Twit- 
 ty’s first opportunity for feeding that pas- 
 sion, which had held secret dominion over 
 him for upwards of a twelvemonth ; which 
 had induced him to parade Regent-street 
 daily at shopping hours, (on which occa- 
 sions the sight of a bonnet with blue 
 streamers seen afar off, had made his 
 heart leap into his mouth time and again !) 
 and which in addition to leading to the 
 composition of numberless verses to Miss 
 P. A., and to printing them too, in the 
 poetic column of the Transcript, had tempt- 
 ed him into flinging over the high wall, 
 bounding Madame Mere’s premises, border- 
 ing on Goslington, one fine summer evening 
 a manuscript poem of the most imposing 
 nature. It must not be supposed however, 
 a young gentleman, of the modest exterior 
 of Mr. Augustus, would have the courage 
 to walk straight down from his garret op- 
 posite, from which commanding post he 
 had taken note of the approach of Miss 
 Peck, lovingly encircled by the arm of 
 Mam’selle Rosette, to the portion of the 
 grounds adjacent, and fling his insidious 
 bouquet over tbe parapet. Before the 
 afternoon just referred to, he had sallied 
 
 out — the street being an old-fashioned quiet 
 one — an incredible number of times, but 
 his courage failing at the proper spot, had 
 brought home his flowers and verses again 
 in his hat, very miserable and self-re- 
 proachful. 
 
 Madame’s lynx eyes were every where, 
 and though she had failed to catch Twitty 
 in the act, she had seen enough of his 
 figure and face across the way — his habit 
 being to walk with the latter turned to 
 the convent-like windows when passing 
 on the other side — to suspect something, 
 and form no flattering opinion of our mis- 
 guided friend ; and in accordance with her 
 rule in such cases, had taken the earliest 
 opportunity of snubbing the love-sick poet 
 of the Transcript, and convincing him, if 
 he aimed at a conquest of any of her little 
 flock, to look for every hostility from her. 
 It was almost as bad. the old Frenchwo- 
 man thought, later in the evening, to make 
 such a brazen-faced avowal of his affections 
 as he was doing there on the sofa, looking 
 in her face, and simpering like a tame mon- 
 key — faugh ! But Amelia wasn’t in her 
 charge now, and if he were to carry her 
 bodily off, and be married without a sous 
 to live on, no discredit could result to the 
 Goslington Establishment. She would 
 just good-naturedly call Mrs. P.’s atten- 
 tion to what was going on. and leave the 
 matter, which was none of her business, 
 where she found it. But Amelia’s un- 
 suspicious mamma replied to her guest’s 
 hint by assuring her, her Mely would talk 
 well enough when she, came to know Mr. 
 Twitty longer, and would show him what 
 she was worth. “ He’s a nice young man,” 
 she added, “ and I must get Mr. Peck to 
 ask him to dinner. I shouldn’t wonder 
 too if he’d be glad to pay us a visit for a 
 while, as the Major has got hounds, and 
 never uses them himself a speech which 
 Madame listened to with much sangfroid, 
 considering her astonishment, and took 
 snuff prodigiously at the end, to cover a 
 pitying smile. But what cared Augustus 
 Twitty for all the eyes and tongues of all 
 the Madames Mere in the world ! Was 
 he not conversing with the object of his 
 worship, unchallenged ? by every look and 
 modulation of his voice imparting the 
 secret of his unutterable attachment, and 
 had he not already thrown out such broad 
 allusions, that any one, with half their 
 wits about them, must have perceived how 
 gifted with poetic talent the correspondent 
 of the Transcript was, and who had tossed 
 the bouquet and verses into the shrubbery ? 
 And alas ! for the window fault-finding 
 Momus would have placed in the breast 
 of all mankind— poor Twit was happy in 
 his ignorance of the aversion that last ad- 
 mission had stirred in the bosom of Miss 
 
546 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 [May 
 
 Amelia. “It wasn't Mr. Ilutridge then 
 that dropped them,” she said to herself, 
 ready to cry with vexation, “but this 
 stupid — stupid — ! ” and from that night 
 the favorite verses were no more repeated 
 on her pillow. 
 
 Other eyes than Madame’s took cogniz- 
 ance of the pair on the sofa ; not the Ma- 
 jor’s. for that doughty officer was taking 
 his usual nap in the opposite apartment, 
 politeness having compelled him to post- 
 pone it -until tea was served, when he left 
 Rutridge believing a press of business 
 awaited his host in the dining-room. It 
 was Rosette herself who called attention 
 to Miss Amelia’s sheepish looks. Rut- 
 ridge and the little brunette were on ex- 
 cellent terms by. this time, the disposition 
 of neither rendering them inaccessible to 
 a pleasant address, and it is not saying 
 too much, that Mr. Edward was ever}- bit 
 as deeply in love as his friend Augustus, 
 although he had never thrown a bouquet 
 over the wall in Goslingtou, nor written a 
 couplet in her praise, nor had he once 
 thought of doing either. In Madame’s 
 barouche, and at long intervals in the 
 streets, when he chanced to be in town, 
 were the sole opportunities enjoyed for 
 fostering his passion, which, like Twit’s, 
 was of a one-sided kind, and until the 
 present afternoon, unsanctioned by ac- 
 quaintance with its unconscious object. 
 
 A man loving less ardently, under the 
 difficulties of the case, might have abandon- 
 ed the pursuit ; or perhaps the argument 
 lies on the other side, and it may be pre- 
 dicated with moderate certaint} 7 , that if 
 the obstacles to be surmounted in the way 
 of merely obtaining an introduction, to 
 say nothing of communicating the state of 
 his affections, to a young lady immured 
 in a fold, which that dreadful wolf, man, 
 was never suffered to set foot in, had been 
 fewer, his fever might have materially 
 cooled. But let it be clearly understood, 
 this is not written to the prejudice of our 
 hero, nor advanced as any thing new ; every 
 coquette understands it, and how many of 
 us — innocents that we are — have been en- 
 slaved by its practice ! 
 
 Once only in the course of his attach- 
 ment, Rutridge had taken a decided step 
 
 forward, and so incalculable is all human 
 endeavor, that it resulted in doing him 
 more harm than good. Miss Amelia Peck, 
 having completed her course with Madame, 
 and only awaiting the day appointed for 
 her return home, had been graciously per- 
 mitted to attend an evening party, given 
 by a cousin, and our hero, recognizing the' 
 invariable companion of his inamorata, 
 said and did so many flattering things. — 
 partly out of involuntary esteem for the 
 friend of Miss Rosette, and partly, it must 
 be conceded, with the self-aggrandizing 
 purpose in view of securing a favorable 
 report of himself in a certain quarter ; 
 and, perhaps, of paving the way to a future 
 introduction, opportunity permitting, — 
 that Amelia’s inexperienced head was 
 quite turned, and she appropriated with 
 good enough reason, the efforts to please, 
 addressed at second hand to her dearest 
 Rosette at home. 
 
 Rutridge’s place — a small one portioned 
 off by his father from the ancient estate, 
 for that young gentleman’s maintenance 
 and profit, in an agricultural sense, until 
 the fit time should arrive for his taking 
 the entire estate in charge — was removed 
 by not many miles from the Major’s pur- 
 chase, and lay next door to Col. Watch, a 
 lively old bachelor, with whom our hero 
 consorted much. From the Colonel — who 
 had it from the Major, whose wife and he 
 had discussed the matter before Amelia’s 
 arrival — he learned that a F rench lady from 
 the city, a Madame somebody, was expect- 
 ed daily to pay the Pecks a visit, and to 
 bring a devilish nice little lady with her 
 — a fast friend of Miss Amelia’s. And from 
 that forenoon to the halcjmn one which 
 crowned his perseverance with success, 
 Edward Rutridge of Ponpon, was never 
 known to be at home between two and 
 six post-meridian on any account. He 
 went hunting, he said carelessly; and 
 when some one rejoined, “ The deuce you 
 did, Ned ! — why I met you cantering 
 along the road without a dog in sight,” 
 answered, “It was this side of Major 
 Peck’s, wasn’t it ? ” It was there he 
 usually picked up a pack, as he kept none 
 himself. 
 
 To be continued. 
 
1853.] 
 
 547 
 
 LOWELL, THE POET. 
 
 W E have often noticed the superiority, 
 in point of truthfulness, of those cri- 
 ticisms which escape from readers in con- 
 versation, over those intended by writers 
 for the public eye. The reader is honest, 
 he has no ulterior motive in the remarks 
 which he makes ; the writer, on the other 
 hand, is prevented from telling iiis mind 
 by various influences. In the first place, 
 there is his personal like or dislike ; and 
 though some ingenious friend may observe 
 that this bias is as likely to exist in the 
 one case as in the other, it should be re- 
 membered that the position of a critic is 
 an unusual and unnatural one, and prompts 
 the occupant of it to think over his chances 
 for gratifying his good will or his spite, 
 and to avail himself of them. So that 
 the same man who, in the humble position 
 of reader, would spontaneously do his 
 enemy some justice, when he reaches the 
 giddy elevation of critic, is disposed to be 
 fierce, and considers himself called on to 
 annihilate. He is further influenced in 
 his decisions according as his author is 
 associated with him in the same mutual 
 admiration society, or connected with its 
 rival ; or, it may even be, a base fear of a 
 publisher, which gives the tone to his 
 judgment. 
 
 But, after all, the principal cause of the 
 difference we have pointed out between 
 written, and spoken criticism is this : few 
 can have failed to notice how the reviewer, 
 disdaining to echo the sentiments of intel- 
 ligent people around him, even though he 
 shares in those sentiments, seems to run 
 about the subject in anxious search for new 
 and original views — for something never 
 discovered by any reader before, and seldom 
 recognized by any reader after. If we mis- 
 take not, we have here one secret of the 
 worthlessness of criticism in general : an 
 anxiety to appear profound ; to give the 
 reader the impression that he sees further 
 into the millstone than the rest of mankind. 
 With what special powers of divination, 
 we should like to ask, is the critic en- 
 dowed ? Why should he think that, be- 
 cause he writes upon a subject, he knows 
 more about it than the man of equal dis- 
 crimination who only reads ? The chan- 
 ces are decidedly against him. A critical 
 stool is not a cloud-capt Olympus ; and 
 a critic himself is only a man and a bro- 
 ther like the rest of us ; and, even if he 
 does hide himself in a fog, that does not 
 make him a J upiter Tonans. The cockney 
 critic may seat himself in the tripod, and 
 be as unintelligible in his Orphic sayings 
 as the divinity itself, without deceiving 
 any one as to his origin. 
 
 It seems to us that, instead of all this, 
 a criticism might be more valuable, and 
 more readable too, if it attempted less, and 
 came up more fully to its pretensions. 
 If a criticism were the unaffected and 
 plain-spoken judgment of a sensible and 
 well-informed man, the public would no 
 longer wonder at an incomprehensible 
 review of a familiar subject. The critic 
 who calls things by their right names, and 
 provokes from the understanding reader 
 the remark, “just what I thought,” show- 
 ing that his half-formed notions have been 
 expressed for him, and extorts such ap- 
 probation from those whose opinions he 
 may be making rather than expressing — 
 leading, in fact, while seeming to follow — 
 has reached the height of his art. With- 
 out expecting complete success, but hoping 
 to avoid, some of the faults which have 
 been pointed out, we desire to speak a few 
 plain words upon the author whose name 
 heads this article. 
 
 Mr. Lowell is a young man still. He 
 has not reached his prime; and we are 
 yet to have the ripe fruits of his genius. 
 He was born in Cambridge, and educated 
 at Harvard College in that town ; and we 
 rejoice to see that he shares in the affection 
 entertained by all whose privilege it is to 
 call themselves sons of that institution, as 
 we read in one of his best poems : — 
 
 u Though lightly prized the ribboned parchments three, 
 
 Yet, colleginse juvat, I am glad 
 
 That here what colleging was mine I had.” 
 
 Iiis only public performance during his 
 college life was, we believe, an elaborate 
 and exhausting parallel between the two 
 great epic poets of antiquity, Homer and 
 Virgil (delivered at that extraordinary 
 literary festival, a College Exhibition) — 
 the time allotted for its declamation being 
 exactly four minutes. We have not heard 
 that our author ever deemed this youth- 
 ful effort worthy of preservation. After 
 college came the law, though only for a 
 season; nor have our imperfect readings 
 in this department disclosed to us his 
 name in the printed reports of his native 
 State. From this we are led to suppose 
 that the burden of professional cares did not 
 wholly withdraw him from the amenities 
 of life, or from those studies for which he 
 has since shown a preference. In fact, the 
 life of a young lawyer does not usually 
 present many opportunities for startling- 
 demonstrations ; and, at all events, Mr. 
 Lowell did not follow his first profession 
 long enough to reach its highest honors. 
 He deserted law to devote himself to lite- 
 rature as a pursuit, and soon became in 
 terested in the antislavery movement, a 
 
548 
 
 Lowell , the Poet. 
 
 circumstance which has had a marked 
 effect upon his writings ; hut further than 
 this, we do not know that the incidents 
 of his life are material to our present pur- 
 pose. 
 
 A few years ago, an effort was made, 
 almost simultaneously, in England and in 
 this country, to revive the taste for Spen- 
 ser and the poets of Queen Elizabeth’s 
 time. Leigh Hunt, Mrs. Browning, R. H. 
 Horne, and others, were interested in it. 
 Editions of the poets of that time, and also 
 of Chaucer, appeared under the superin- 
 tendence of distinguished literary gentle- 
 men. The consequence was, that these 
 writers began to he much read and 
 more talked of in literary circles. This 
 “ well of English undefiled” was opened 
 again, and our poets began to drink deeply 
 of it. It had previously given a tone to 
 the verses of Keats and Tennyson, and 
 through them to those of their imitators. 
 It infused into poetry an unwonted fresh- 
 ness and vigor, but brought with it at the 
 same time an unpleasant mannerism. 
 This experiment served to illustrate the 
 danger of too exclusive a cultivation of 
 any one style of poetical composition, whe- 
 ther it he the unchecked luxuriance of 
 the Elizabethan age, the more polished 
 and artificial school of the time of Queen 
 Anne, or the metaphysico-natural style 
 of the Lake poets. Mr. Lowell shared this 
 newly awakened enthusiasm for Spenser, 
 and formed his style, consciously or un- 
 consciously, upon a careful study of this 
 early writer ; and the results of it were 
 apparent in the first volume which he 
 published, entitled, “ A Year’s Life,” only 
 a small part of which he has judged fit to 
 retain in the revised edition of his poems. 
 This volume attracted some attention at 
 the time of its appearance, as having fea- 
 tures which distinguished it from any 
 thing in the way of verse which had pre- 
 viously appeared in this country. We 
 must say of this hook, that it possessed a 
 certain robustness and freshness of thought 
 and an occasional grandeur and delicacy 
 of expression and imagery, which told of 
 the author’s commerce with his great 
 masters. There was in it something of 
 what Mrs. Barrett calls Chaucer’s 
 
 “ infantine, 
 
 Familiar clasp of things divine.” 
 
 But there was also a like long drawn and 
 tiresome prattling, only to he excused in 
 an infant ; a like undue expansion of com- 
 monplace and unpoetical ideas, admitting 
 of considerable compression without inju- 
 ry ; and a harshness of rhythm none the 
 less censurable because seemingly in- 
 tentional. There is always danger in 
 the conscious or unconscious imitation of 
 a great original. Every body has heard 
 
 [May 
 
 the old story of a luckless admirer of an 
 orator, distinguished for his eloquence and 
 his wry face, who caught the wry face, but 
 missed the eloquence. 
 
 We notice also in this volume Mr. 
 Lowell’s habit of taking the reader un- 
 necessarily into his confidence, and making 
 communications, which might be dispensed 
 with advantageously, to all parties. Love 
 letters are an excellent device, provided 
 they are kept in their proper place, and 
 not paraded before the public eye. We 
 understand, that they generally receive 
 the most indulgent criticism from their 
 recipients, and from the few which have 
 been submitted to our inspection, we judge 
 that their actual merits always stand in 
 need of such charitable regard. To be 
 sure, Shakspeare and Spenser did not dis- 
 dain to sonnetize their love affairs, but it 
 is well known, that this is the least read 
 and least readable part of their writings. 
 When the indiscreet lover, too much elated 
 by the “ soft applause ” of his mistress, 
 gives to these effusions the same publicity 
 as to his others, he must expect them to 
 be received by the critic with an equal 
 austerity. We, therefore, ask no one’s 
 pardon for alluding to what Mr. Lowell 
 lias printed. He is indeed very far from 
 perpetrating such stuff as the “Sonnets 
 from the Portuguese,” with which Mrs. 
 Barrett, lately, presented her husband and 
 the public, detailing the minutiae of her 
 courtship, and its consequences. The 
 plain-spoken Dean Swift in his “Letter to 
 a Young Lady, on her Marriage,” warning 
 against a similar display, says truly, “ This 
 proceeding is so exceeding odious and dis- 
 gustful to all who have either good breed- 
 ing or good sense, that they assign two 
 very unamiable reasons for it.” No mat- 
 ter what the reasons are. 
 
 In truth, Mr. Lowell’s Love Sonnets con- 
 tain some uncommonly good lines, though 
 this — 
 
 “ My love, I have no fear that thou shouldst die : 
 Albeit I ask no fairer life than this, 
 
 Whose numbering clock is still thy gentle kiss," &c., 
 
 is not an instance. Nor are the lines 
 
 “To on her Birthday.” Milton, 
 
 with a similar purpose, wrote verses “ To 
 a Virtuous Young Lad} 7 .” but they are bet- 
 ter. Lowell’s early sonnets are mostly 
 of love, and are pervaded by a Platonic 
 mysticism, which runs through the similar 
 productions of the old English poets, and 
 he uses the word “love” in the same in- 
 definite and universal sense, in which they 
 employ it. Of those, not of an amatory 
 character, one “ To the Spirit of Keats ” is 
 worthy of the author, as is also a slightly 
 misanthropic one entitled “ The Street.” 
 There are also six wearisome sonnets, 
 provoked by the reading of Wordsworth’s 
 
Lowell , the Poet. 
 
 549 
 
 1853.] 
 
 in defence of capital punishment, in one 
 of which the word “fadeless” occurs — 
 which, whatever may be its authority, 
 Mr. Lowell did not find in his readings of 
 Spenser. The sonnet to Mr. Giddings, 
 though it ends well, begins thus curiously, 
 
 “ Giddings, far rougher names than thine have grown 
 Smoother than honey on the lips of men.” 
 
 Though not particularly pleased with these 
 performances, we will do the author the 
 justice to say, that take them as a whole, 
 they are fully equal to Wordsworth’s. 
 
 We have observed in “A Year’s Life,” 
 and in truth in all our author’s poetry, 
 quite a Miltonic fondness for stately 
 imagery drawn from the sea, the sky, and 
 the great objects of nature — and a dis- 
 regard for those finical ornaments, which 
 become the poetry of the boudoir. It is 
 hardly fair to take single lines, but we 
 venture the following : 
 
 “Without thee I were naked, bleak and bare 
 As yon dead cedar, on the sea cliff’s brow.” 
 
 Here is a very happy line. 
 
 “ The twilight warmth of ruddy ember-gloom.” 
 
 He speaks finely of Keats’ 
 
 “ few words which, like great thunder drops, 
 
 Thy large heart down to earth shook doubtfully.” 
 
 Our author is not always so compact as 
 in these lines, in the sonnet to Mr. Gid- 
 dings — 
 
 “ Fear nothing and hope all things, as the Eight 
 Alone may do securely ; every hour 
 The thrones of Ignorance and ancient Night 
 Lose somewhat of their long-usurp6d power. 
 
 And Freedom's lightest word can make them shiver 
 With a base dread that clings to them forever.” 
 
 Mr. Lowell has written nothing more 
 beautifully tender than this : 
 
 “ O mother of our angel-child! twice dear ! 
 
 Death knits as well as parts, and still, I wis, 
 
 Her tender radiance shall enfold us here. 
 
 Even as the light, borne up by inward bliss, 
 Threads the void glooms of space without a fear, 
 To print on farthest stars her pitying kiss.” 
 
 The last few lines are uncommonly poeti- 
 cal in their conception and expression. 
 
 The form of the sonnet, though liable 
 to the objection of inducing obscurity, at 
 least insures conciseness (unless the im- 
 patient poet choose to launch out into more 
 than one on the same subject), a great de- 
 sideratum of modern poetry. The long 
 poems in “A Year’s Life,” are inordinately 
 spun out, and the reader sometimes wan- 
 ders over two or three pages to find as 
 many good lines. They seem to us like 
 some of the youthful attempts of Tennyson 
 and others — mere fancy work of words — 
 experiments upon the capabilities and 
 flexibility of the language — and not the 
 compact and well rounded poems of the 
 same men at a maturer age. 
 
 Three years after the publication of “A 
 Year’s Life” (in 1844), Mr. Lowell issued 
 another volume. We do not recall any 
 
 of his serious poems better than those 
 therein cohtained. In it we find “The 
 Legend of Brittany,” the longest of our 
 author’s poems, and in our opinion, the 
 best of its kind that has appeared in this 
 country. It is one of that “ sensuous ’ 
 class to which “The Eve of St. Agnes ’ 
 of Keats belongs — where the poet seems 
 to riot in the luxuriance of his imagery 
 and allows his fancy to wander on unre- 
 stricted, at her own sweet will. It is in 
 the genuine spirit of Spenser, and Spenser 
 himself need not have been ashamed of it. 
 The story is nothing, the old and ever 
 new one of love and desertion. But there 
 is a warmth and regal splendor of color- 
 ing and a delicate voluptuousness, remind- 
 ing us of what we have heard of Titian’s 
 paintings. The poem is so crowded with 
 beauties that we find it impossible to quote 
 what we intended, and chafe under the 
 self-imposed limitation of two passages 
 only. The first describes Margaret’s love 
 and its effect upon the dark, proud nature 
 of the ambitious Templar. 
 
 “ So, from her skylike spirit, gentleness 
 Dropped ever like a sunlit fall of rain, 
 
 And his beneath drank in the blight caress 
 As thirstily as would a parchdd plain, 
 
 That long hath watched the showers of sloping gray 
 For ever, ever, falling far away.” 
 
 The repetition-of the word “ever” in 
 the last line has a fine effect. This device 
 is adopted by the best poets, and when 
 successfully employed is one of the ulti- 
 mate niceties of the poetical art. The 
 next passage (rather a long one to quote) 
 is, in its way, the greatest achievement of 
 our author, and describes the effect of 
 the music of an organ and choir in a 
 cathedral. 
 
 “ Then swelled the organ : up through choir and nave 
 The music trembled with an inward thrill 
 Of bliss at its own grandeur ;***** * * 
 
 Deeper and deeper shudders shook the air, 
 
 As the huge bass kept gathering heavily, 
 
 Like thunder when it rouses in its lair, 
 
 And with its hoarse growl shakes the low-hung sky 
 It grew up like a darkness every where. 
 
 Filling the vast Cathedral ; — Suddenly, 
 
 From the dense mass a boy's clear treble broke 
 Like lightning, and the full toned choir awoke. 
 
 Through gorgeous windows shone the sun aslant, 
 Brimming the church with gold and purple mist, 
 Meet atmosphere to bosom that rich chant, 
 
 Where fifty voices in one strand did twist 
 Their varicolored tones, and left no want 
 To the delighted soul, which sank abyssed 
 In the warm music cloud, while far below, 
 
 The organ heaved its surges to and fro.” 
 
 And when the spirit of Margaret is 
 heard, the music stops, 
 
 “ As if a lark should suddenly drop dead 
 While the blue air yet trembled with its song." 
 
 Until we discovered this passage, wo 
 had not found in our readings any ade- 
 quate description of the effect of organ 
 music. We used to think the poem marred 
 by the too great length of the speech 
 
550 
 
 Lowell , the Poet. 
 
 of Margaret’s spirit — but, in the last edi- 
 tion, we observe that the author has judi- 
 ciously omitted four stanzas. We leave 
 the Legend of Brittany with the conviction 
 that it is the work which will do most 
 credit to its author as a poet, and which 
 he will not surpass unless he recall his 
 inuse from the direction which she has of 
 late years taken. He speaks now with 
 contempt of the empty rhymer 
 
 “ Who lies with idle elbow on the grass,** 
 
 but if, while in that easy attitude, he com- 
 poses such verses as those we have quoted, 
 we do not see how he can be better em- 
 ployed. Up to this time we detect -in Mr. 
 Lowell the influence of Spenser and the 
 early English poets; but henceforward 
 we shall have to notice a change. 
 
 There is a marked difference between 
 the poets of Cowper’s time and those who 
 have succeeded him. The French Re- 
 volution and the anarchy consequent upon 
 it seem to have revolutionized among other 
 tilings, the spirit of poetn^. It might 
 perhaps be more accurate to represent 
 Cowper as standing between the old 
 school and the new. The ideas then in- 
 troduced in regard to politics and social 
 life seem to have set the poets wild. How 
 could the truculent odes of Southey and 
 Coleridge have been written under the 
 state of things which existed a few years 
 before ? All the poets since, if we except 
 only Scott and perhaps Byron, have shar- 
 ed in the enthusiasm of the time. Let us 
 here advert to a curious fact. In this new- 
 born zeal for freedom and human rights, 
 the English poets were in advance of our 
 own. When Wordsworth and Coleridge 
 began to £; blow the harsh trumpet of re- 
 form,” our poets were tamely imitating 
 the masters of a hundred years before 
 in the shape of Columbiads, MacFingals 
 etc. This state of things continued longer 
 than would have been expected ; in fact, 
 until very recently. Communication be- 
 tween this country and England being 
 comparatively difficult and infrequent, 
 and the republication of late English 
 works being seldom attempted, the Ame- 
 rican reader was confined to the study of 
 those English authors whose works had 
 been stamped with the approval of several 
 generations. Now, when every pulsation 
 of the popular mind of England is felt 
 here at once, and the works of distinguish- 
 ed men are printed simultaneously in both 
 countries, we almost forget the isolation 
 from the mother country in which we 
 then were. At present, any prevailing 
 taste or fashion, in literature in England, 
 is sure to have its run here. The best 
 man in London speaks to a larger circle 
 here than he has at home, and the last 
 
 [May 
 
 prodigies of the opera or the stage come 
 here while they are in their prime. We 
 wonder if it ever occurred to Mr. Cunard 
 that the greatest influence he would ac- 
 quire by his ocean steamers would be an 
 influence on American Literature. 
 
 We think we may say that Mr. Lowell 
 was the first American litterateur who 
 fully caught this new inspiration that was 
 having such an effect in England. As for 
 Longfellow, his travels on the Continent 
 gave the tone to his early writings. With 
 Bryant, it did not have a controlling in- 
 fluence — and Whittier caught, it is true, 
 the spirit, but without that philosophical 
 form in which Lowell received it, and 
 without making it so entirely the end 
 and aim of his writings. It is this hu- 
 manitary philosophy winch first disturbed 
 and then nearly destroyed the Spenserian 
 harmony of Lowell’s verses. It pervades 
 and unites every thing which he has since 
 written. You cannot read any thing of 
 his without discovering it. Even his mis- 
 cellaneous poems are somewhat infected. 
 W e trace its beginnings in this volume of 
 1844 of which we are speaking, and the 
 symptoms have been becoming more ag- 
 gravated ever since. If any one wishes 
 to discover the key-note of Mr. Lowell’s 
 poetry at present, let him read the last 
 poem in his collection of 1844, entitled 
 " L’Envoi,” in which he professes a change 
 of opinion and expounds at length his 
 views of the nature and aim of poetry, 
 especially American, for he makes this 
 distinction, the justice and propriety of 
 which we are not prepared to admit. 
 Stripped of its poetical form, his train of 
 thought is something like this : Less of 
 love is now to be found in my verses — for 
 poetry is not to jingle words, or prate 
 about the surfaces of things, but to ex- 
 pound and popularize for each nation that 
 peculiar central thought of which I begin 
 by assuming that each nation is the Mes- 
 siah. The central thought of our nation 
 is the Freedom and Divinity of Man ; 
 therefore, for the future, I sing only of 
 these. Hudson and Niagara may occur to 
 some as proper themes of verse — but to 
 speak of these as man spake never yet, 
 would effect nothing for Freedom or the 
 Divinity of Alan. Some charitable person 
 may then suggest Indians — but their di- 
 vinity is doubtful, and their speedy exter- 
 mination nearly certain. The black man, 
 on the contrary, is firmly fixed here, and 
 the climate well adapted to his subsistence 
 — I shall sing then of him, not, however, 
 from any abstract preference for that color, 
 but because I may so best promote Free- 
 dom and the Divinity of Man. We sub- 
 mit to any one who has read, or will read 
 “ L’Envoi,” if this be not a tolerably fair 
 
1853.] 
 
 Lowell , the Poet. 
 
 551 
 
 statement of the argument therein con- 
 tained. Under a like delusion, our friend 
 Simpkins conceives it to be his mission to 
 expound to the very youthful mind the 
 central thought of geography, by devoting 
 himself exclusively to rendering into 
 liquid verse that noble science, and our 
 darling boy on his return from school 
 lisps in numbers to his doting parent, 
 names 
 
 “ That would have made Quinctilian stare and gasp.” 
 
 The argument in “ L’Envoi ” does not 
 convince us. We admit that much of 
 the life of modern English poetry is 
 owing to this reformatory spirit ; and that, 
 consequently, it for a time did great good. 
 It never can, and never ought to disappear 
 from our poetry. Certainly even its ex- 
 cess is far less to be dreaded than its op- 
 posite of Byronic misanthropy and ex- 
 clusiveness. Wc wish to be understood 
 as by no means foolishly taking up the 
 cudgels against human brotherhood and 
 the rights of man, but only as asserting 
 the lawful claims of poetry. We never 
 regarded these doctrines as chimeras. 
 We should be the last to reproach a poet 
 for embalming a noble and humane sen- 
 timent in immortal verse. But poetry is 
 not necessarily the handmaid of reform. 
 Poets are not necessarily Professors of 
 the Humanities, in the cant sense of the 
 word. Poetry suiters by it, and Reform 
 suffers. Poetry is overworked when 
 every word must be a blow. The de- 
 mands of these great moral causes are 
 too exacting. Antislavery, Temperance, 
 Peace have each their separate claim ; and 
 Poetry, subjected to such hard labor, be- 
 comes ungainly, and loses its attractive- 
 ness which is its life and the secret of its 
 power. Let him who has thoughts to 
 offer upon such subjects, offer them in 
 manly, sonorous prose, which is their ap- 
 propriate vehicle. A declamatory har- 
 angue, however smoothly put into rhyme, 
 is not poetry, and will not be listened to 
 as such. The authority of great poets 
 has generally been against any such prac- 
 tice. No one estimated the rights of man 
 higher than Milton, yet he did not bring 
 his republicanism into Paradise Lost, 
 but reserved that for a prose as durable 
 as his poetry. It is a striking characteristic 
 of the utilitarianism of our time, that it 
 seeks to turn this faculty divine, hitherto 
 consecrated to the delight and amusement 
 of mankind, to some practical use ; sen- 
 tences it, in fact, to hard labor for life. 
 This policy, however, defeats itself, for 
 poetry then is poetry no longer, but versi- 
 fied prose. 
 
 Take temperance verses for instance. 
 The best of them we have seen are weak 
 
 parodies on bacchanalian songs ; as, for 
 example, “ Sparkling and bright in its liquid 
 light is the water in our glasses.” We 
 temperance people have the best of the 
 argument, but in the matter of poetry we 
 had better give up. It is not long since 
 that we heard a temperance song adapted 
 to the music of a distressing love-ballad, 
 once popular ; and it began : 
 
 “ Rum ! Rum ! how I despise thee ! ” 
 
 Such lines as that will hardly serve as an 
 antidote to the seductive strains of Ana- 
 creon, Horace, and Moore. 
 
 It is astonishing what bad poetry a 
 man will write, when laboring under the 
 conviction that he has “ a great social evil 
 to discover and to remedy.” He acts as 
 if he thought that the character of the 
 poetry is elevated by the cause which it 
 supports, or, in other words, as if the end 
 justified the means. We by no means 
 affirm that all Mr. Lowell’s reform poetry 
 is bad. On the contrary, he has often 
 embodied there stirring thoughts in his 
 strong and compact Saxon, the excellence 
 of which is proved by the frequent quoting 
 of them by those interested in such mat- 
 ters ; though we should hardly do justice 
 to them here by quoting them in cold 
 blood. At the same time, those verses, 
 thought by many to be among his finest — 
 we mean “ Anti-Texas ” and “ The Present 
 Crisis ” — do not please us. The thoughts 
 contained in them are by no means new 
 to the readers of the weekly newspapers 
 of reform. Long before these poems were 
 written, they had passed, into the common 
 places of reform literature and oratory. 
 When vehemence ceases to be an out- 
 burst, and turns into a philosophical ana- 
 lysis of itself, it becomes flat and dull. 
 Genuine indignation should make better 
 verses than these : 
 
 “ Is water running in our veins ? Do we remember 
 still 
 
 Old Plymouth rock, and Lexington, and glorious 
 Bunker Hill?” 
 
 Take from “ The Present Crisis ” this piece 
 of Brobdingnagian imagery : 
 
 “ Slavery, the earth-bom Cyclops, fellest of the giant 
 brood, 
 
 Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have 
 drenched the earth with blood; 
 
 Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our 
 purer day, 
 
 Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his miserable 
 prey ; 
 
 Shall we guide his gory fingers where our helpless 
 children play ? 
 
 These are the contortions of the Sibyl 
 without the inspiration. It is foaming 
 without fits. “The Present Crisis” is 
 objectionable on account of its length, and, 
 in these comparatively calm times, we 
 cannot sublime ourselves to a pitch of 
 elevation high enough to recognize the pro- 
 priety or necessity of such a crying in the 
 
552 
 
 Lowell , the Poet. 
 
 wilderness. The time is not sufficient- 
 ly out of joint to need such wrenching. 
 A resolute and unostentatious persistence 
 in well-doing cures such evils as are cura- 
 ble ; and the occasion of these poems — 
 the annexation of Texas — being over, the 
 truths of universal application which they 
 contain are not so well expressed as to en- 
 title them to preservation. The metre, too, 
 is a dangerous one ; tempting the author to 
 draw out the images until they become 
 weak and attenuated ; and a fault to 
 which he is prone — prolixity, we mean — 
 is thereby increased. 
 
 Much superior to the above is the rude 
 and terse vigor of the poem entitled “Kos- 
 suth,” the last two stanzas of which fairly 
 reach the sublime. We believe brevity to 
 be the soul of sublimity as well as of wit. 
 Milton could not have added to the pas- 
 sage— 
 
 “ Far off fiis coming shone — M 
 one word, without injuring it. In “ The 
 Present Crisis,” the sublimit}" is protract- 
 ed until the reader actually yawns. The 
 lines “ On the death of Charles T. Torrey” 
 are “strong without rage.” There is in 
 them a quiet power and impressiveness, un- 
 usual in reformatory effusions. The poem, 
 entitled “ Above and Below.” is a good 
 one. The exhortation of the Reformer, 
 who stands above, calling on all men to 
 come up to his level, is satisfactorily an- 
 swered by the more practical crowd, who 
 stand below. The best excuse Reformers 
 have for the language they sometimes in- 
 dulge in, is thus expressed in “ A Glance 
 behind the Curtain,” 
 
 “ For men in earnest have no time to waste 
 
 In patching fig-leaves for the naked truth.” 
 
 Mr. Lowell, in one of his books, ridicules 
 and caricatures the notion of a great 
 soul “ever climbing hopefully toward the 
 peaceful summits of an Infinite Sorrow,” 
 but we regret to find in his poetry the 
 same cant seriously expressed, in different 
 places, with more or less felicity — as here 
 
 “ High natures must be thunder scarred 
 With many a searing wrong.'” 
 
 Mr. Lowell must have been misled here 
 by the analogy between a high object in 
 nature, and a high intellect, an analogy, 
 not necessarily perfect in every particular. 
 We are all to a certain extent “ thunder 
 scarred,” nor do we see how the relative 
 height of our natures, determines the 
 amount of searing wrong, by which we 
 may have been damaged. High natures 
 are not only not thunder scarred, according 
 to their height, but taking them together, 
 they are not more thunder scarred than 
 other people, in proportion to their numbers. 
 
 “Prometheus” and “ Columbus” are 
 the names of two long, and quite ambi- 
 
 [May 
 
 tious attempts. They are monologues by 
 the two “Representative Men,” whose 
 names they bear, and are made to 
 personify favorite abstractions of the au- 
 thor. Prometheus is not entirely Greek. 
 Both he and Columbus are in advance of 
 their time, and as might be expected teach 
 nearly the same lesson. Columbus feels 
 urged forward by some impulse outside of 
 himself, and perseveres alone despite the 
 world’s unsympathizing incredulity. Pro- 
 metheus endures patiently the worst that 
 tyranny can inflict, sustained by the con- 
 sciousness that he has done service to the 
 world. Both philosophize somewhat dif- 
 fusely upon their present condition and 
 coming fate. There are scattered through 
 their reflections noble lines : and there is 
 a simplicity and strength in parts of the 
 Prometheus, indicating a familiarity with 
 the Greek model. We hope we have ex- 
 pressed the author’s idea, but he has not 
 individualized the two characters with suf- 
 ficient distinctness, to make us feel al- 
 together sure. 
 
 We have now examined the reform ator}' 
 poetry of. Mr. Lowell, and shown how it 
 has been the result of his recent course 
 of life and study, and the interest he has 
 taken in the Antislavery Reform. In so 
 doing, we have traced his poetry down to 
 the present time. This we have done for 
 the purpose of presenting clearly what 
 we conceive to be his literary career, since 
 he deserted his old Masters. His other 
 publications now claim our attention. 
 
 Mr. Lowell’s prose we can praise hearti- 
 ly. He writes English with manly free- 
 dom and directness. From the unaffected 
 and beautiful dedication of his poems to 
 his friend, William Page, we extract this 
 passage, “ As the swiftly diverging channels 
 of life bear wider and wider apart from 
 us the friends who hoisted sail with us 
 as fellow-mariners, when we cast off for 
 the voyage, and as some, even, who are 
 yet side by side with us, no longer send 
 back to us an answering cheer, we are 
 drawn the more closely to those that re- 
 main.” The models upon which he has 
 formed his prose, so far as a man does form 
 his style upon models, are the old and 
 best writers of Saxon English. 
 
 In 1845 “ Conversations on some of the 
 Old Poets ” appeared. This was a tribute 
 to the subjects of his early studies, of 
 whom he speaks with discriminating ad- 
 miration. It contained many subtle 
 criticisms, and called attention to many 
 beauties not usually commented on, which 
 showed an intimate familiarity with them, 
 lie seems, however, to us to have hazard- 
 ed some very questionable assertions. The 
 consummate art of Pope’s Caesura, is 
 sneered at as if it were a blemish, and 
 
1853.] 
 
 Lowell , the PoeL 
 
 553 
 
 called an “ immitigable seesaw.” He re- 
 proaches Queen Anne’s reign for pro- 
 ducing no better writer of English, than 
 Swift — as if any age had produced a bet- 
 ter. We are informed that Pope mixes 
 water with the good old mother’s milk 
 of our tongue, rubs it down till there 
 is no muscular expression left, and that a 
 straightforward speech cannot be got out 
 of him. It seems to us there is enough 
 that is straightforward in “The Dunciad,” 
 and the “ Prologue to the Satires,” ad- 
 dressed to Arbuthnot, with its pungent 
 characterization of Addison. What poet 
 has more instances of the complete cor- 
 respondence of the sense with the sound ? 
 It was a surprise to us to hear Mr. Lowell 
 declaring Keats to be “ the rival, and, I 
 will dare to say, the sometimes superior 
 of Milton.” He no doubt speaks from an 
 intimate knowledge Of the two. But we 
 opine that Milton was all of Keats and 
 something more ; and that no comparison 
 ought to be instituted between them. The 
 more natural comparison would be be- 
 tween Keats and Spenser. 
 
 The “ Conversations ’’ purporting to be 
 on Old Poets, one would have thought, 
 that with Mr. Lowell’s old love for them, 
 he would have been able to keep among 
 them. But so strong a hold upon him 
 had his new love, Reform, taken, that he 
 insists upon introducing her into all sorts 
 of company. We are not at all thin-skinned 
 — yet we were a little shocked in a con- 
 versation on the Old Dramatists, after the 
 announcement that the poetical sentiment 
 and natural religion are identical, to be 
 told that “ Both of them are life members 
 of the New England Antislavery Socie- 
 ty ” — that “You are, at heart, as much an 
 Abolitionist as I ’’—that it is a capital merit 
 in a poem “ that the poor slave is not for- 
 gotten,” etc. Would it be imposing undue 
 restraint on the freedom of conversation 
 to rule such remarks, in such a connection, 
 out of order? We may say before leav- 
 ing this book, that we doubt if the author’s 
 mature judgment would no.w sanction all 
 the opinions embraced in it. And so far 
 as it is any excuse for a printed book that 
 it was hastily written, this book is entitled 
 to it, as the author remarks in his preface. 
 
 We are naturally led to take up after 
 the “ Conversations on the Old Poets,” a 
 work, which our author published anony- 
 mously, entitled “A Fable for Critics,” 
 because it contains some comments, in 
 rhyme, on the merits of American authors 
 of the present day. Much of this book 
 did not deserve to be published in a per- 
 manent form, but it contains many exceed- 
 ingly clever and palpable hits. It showed 
 a most sovereign command of rhyme, and 
 a reckless profusion of ingenious puns. 
 
 vol. i. — 3(5 
 
 just not good enough to be printed. The 
 first part of it bears the appearance of 
 being written for the diversion of private 
 friends, and handles personages with whom 
 the public are not particularly familiar. 
 That bore of a pedantic bookworm, “ fond 
 as an Arab of dates,” can be fully ap- 
 preciated only by the inhabitants of Cam 
 bridge and the vicinity. And those imi- 
 tators of Emerson, whose names are 
 
 charitably concealed under a “ ,” 
 
 have no very wide circle of acquaintance. 
 The tribute to Mr. Longfellow’s genius 
 and goodness of heart, by his townsman 
 and neighbor, is altogether just and gener- 
 ous. How beautiful are these lines upon 
 Mrs. Child! 
 
 “ If her heart at high floods swamps her brain now 
 and then, 
 
 ’Tis but richer for that when the tide ebbs agen. 
 
 As, after old Nile has subsided, his plain 
 
 Overflows with a second broad deluge of grain." 
 
 The book abounds with touches equally 
 felicitous. His recognition of the merits 
 of his contemporaries, among whom he 
 stands as a rival, not to be despised by 
 the best of them, is always hearty and 
 sincere, and, in our view, singularly dis- 
 criminating. The passage on Irving is. 
 perhaps, the best in the book. After 
 alluding to the “warm heart and fine 
 brain,” and the “gravest sweet humor," 
 he continues - 
 
 “ But allow me to speak what I honestly feel. 
 
 To a true poet heart add the fun of Dick Steele; 
 
 Throw in all of Addison, minus the chill, 
 
 With the whole of that partnership's stock and good 
 will ; 
 
 Mix well, and while stirring hum o’er, as a spell, 
 
 The fine Old English Gentleman ; simmer it well ; 
 
 Let it stand out of doors till a soul it receives 
 
 From the warm lazy sun, loitering down through 
 green leaves, 
 
 And you’ll find a choice nature not wholly deserving 
 
 A name either English or Yankee — -just Irving.” 
 
 A more thoroughly appreciative sum- 
 ming up of Irving’s excellencies never 
 was written. We wish we could say as 
 much of his notice of Bryant. To be sure 
 he enumerates his merits, but with too 
 many qualifications, so that the impres- 
 sion gained by no means does justice to 
 that great poet. When he calls him “ a 
 smooth, silent iceberg, that never is igni- 
 fied, ” he does not bear in mind the poem 
 entitled. “ The Battle Field, ” embracing 
 the sublime stanza — 
 
 M Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,” &c. ; 
 
 or the “ Lines in Memory of William Leg- 
 gett, ” and others which we need not 
 mention. 
 
 Fault has been found with Mr. Lowell 
 for the severity of his castigation of Mi- 
 randa. But we do not see why, if a 
 woman chooses to enter the arena, and 
 join in the athletic sports of men, she 
 should object to being roughly handled. 
 What right has she to claim the privileges 
 
554 
 
 Lowell , the Poet. 
 
 of both sexes and the liabilities of neither? 
 As the editor of a newspaper well re- 
 marked, in reference to the encroachments 
 of Bloomerism : “We are willing to grant 
 to these women all our distinctive immu- 
 nities; but, after that, if they insult us, 
 we will tweak their noses.” Acting to 
 some extent on this reasonable doctrine, 
 Mr. Lowell has said of Miranda what few 
 will deny to be true, and what we think 
 she richly deserved. So far, then, from 
 joining in the deprecatory outcry of “ Un- 
 protected Female ! ” we tender Mr. Lowell 
 our respectful sympathy. 
 
 The author’s notice of himself is not the 
 least ingenious : 
 
 “There is Lowell, who's striving Parnassus to climb, 
 Witli a whole bale of isms lied together with rhyme. 
 ******** 
 
 His lyre has some chords that would ring pretty well. 
 But he'd rather by half make a drum of the shell, 
 And rattle away till he’s old as Methusalem, 
 
 At the head of a march to the last New Jerusalem.'' 
 
 If our memory serves us, the old patri- 
 arch’s name was not Methusalem; but 
 the inexorable necessity of rhyme de- 
 manded the change. At all events, the 
 description is good ; and whether the au- 
 thor was ironical or not, his sentiments 
 on the subject accord pretty well with 
 our own. 
 
 We have objected to Mr. Lowell’s re- 
 formatory poetry, but only because what 
 was reformatory generally swamped what 
 was poetical. But this does not apply to 
 all his writings of this kind ; as, for in- 
 stance, his inimitable “Biglow Papers.” 
 This is an unmistakably American per- 
 formance. Whether the foreign reader 
 could fully enjoy it, we know not. But 
 whoever knows any thing of New Eng- 
 land rustic life will find in it food for 
 laughter on every page. The book is also 
 a valuable repository of the dialectic pecu- 
 liarities of New England, and worth resort- 
 ing to, to discover its tone of thought and 
 mode of viewing political affairs, such as 
 the Mexican war and slavery. Percy’s 
 Reliques of the early English Ballads, and 
 Jasmin’s Ballads in the Langue d' Oc, 
 are, probably, not more infused with the 
 spirit and characteristics of their times. 
 The personages introduced are few, and 
 perfectly sustained, and suggest to every 
 reader acquainted with New England vil- 
 lage life, their originals. The Rev. Homer 
 Wilbur. A. M., Pastor of the First Church 
 in Jaalam, is an “ elderly gentleman, with 
 infinite faculty of sermonizing, muscular- 
 ized by long practice ” — a modern Parson 
 Adams. The productions of his young 
 parishioner, Mr. Biglow, are edited by him 
 with a grave delight and an evident desire 
 to be in keeping with the requirements of 
 his own sober calling. In him is admira- 
 bly represented a state of mind very pre- 
 
 [May 
 
 valent in Massachusetts during the Mex- 
 ican war — half protesting against the ex- 
 isting state of things, and half conforming. 
 He takes a pastoral pride in following the 
 audacious and frolicsome flights of his 
 young parishioner’s muse, yet feels called 
 on to administer an occasional solemn re- 
 buke to his levity and ultraism, with 
 which he more than half sympathizes. 
 There is a grave, dry humor of his own 
 in his remarks upon passing affairs, which, 
 in its way, is as good as Mr. Biglow’s, 
 and seems all the more ludicrous from its 
 contrast with that, and with the more 
 elaborate formality of his own style. The 
 sturdy rectitude of his principles, and the 
 independence of his judgment, show him 
 to be of the stuff of which the old Puritan 
 divines werq made, and is so much added 
 to Parson Adams. We love and admire 
 the old man, and the admirable pedantry 
 he displays in his profusion of Latin and 
 recondite allusions to the Fathers does 
 not at all detract from the charm. His 
 valuable contributions to the papers con- 
 sist of an Introduction, containing some 
 account of Mr. Biglow and a Pedigree of 
 the Wilburs, tracing a possible “ connec- 
 tion with the Earls of Wilbraham {quasi 
 wild boar ham).” He evinces the genu- 
 ine Dryasdust enthusiasm of the anti- 
 quary, and mourns over the ancient muti- 
 lated tombstone of “ Mr. Ihon Willber ” 
 in this manner : “ How odious an animo- 
 sity which pauses not at the grave ! ” 
 We are treated to two choice extracts from 
 his sermons, and very good sermons they 
 are too. The old gentleman has a fine 
 image at command when he wishes it, as 
 here; “I have taught my flock (under 
 God) to esteem our human institutions as 
 but tents of a night, to be stricken when- 
 ever Truth puts the bugle to her lips and 
 sounds a march to the heights of wider- 
 viewed intelligence and more perfect or- 
 ganization.” The parson sits well upon 
 Sir. Lowell, and his exhuming of theologi- 
 cal lore is a wonder to us. 
 
 Hosea Biglow is the Rev. Mr. Wilbur’s 
 parishioner, properly called Meliboeus- 
 Hipponax, for the meaning of which the 
 reader is referred to the Classical Diction- 
 ary. He is a shrewd Yankee with a 
 touch of poetry in him, “ a cross between 
 Apollo and Sam Slick, ” with quite a pre- 
 ponderance of the latter element. But 
 the reader must not suppose that he is at 
 all on a par with Judge Haliburton’s Yan- 
 kee peddler. To him belong a poet’s in- 
 sight into human nature and a practical 
 shrewdness of observation, which place 
 him far above the ordinary level. His 
 tendency to ultraism is just what is na- 
 tural to an intelligent, reflecting man, who 
 thinks for himself in rustic seclusion from 
 
Lowell, the Poet. 
 
 555 
 
 1858 .] 
 
 the jostle of the world ; but his humor is 
 mixed with a sound sense that enables 
 him to see through a sophism and state it 
 so that its absurdity is manifest. Take 
 this for an example : 
 
 44 I’m willin' a man should go tollable strong 
 Agin wrong in the abstract, fer that kind o' wrong 
 Is oilers unpop’Iar and never gits pitied, 
 
 Because it's a crime no one never committed; 
 But he mus’n’t be hard on partickler sins, 
 
 Coz then he’ll be kickin’ the people’s own shins.” 
 
 When Mr. Biglow began to poetize, 
 Parson Wilbur says he “ was inclined to 
 discourage his attempts, as knowing that 
 the desire to poetize is one of the diseases 
 naturally incident to adolescence, which, 
 if the fitting remedies be not at once, and 
 with a bold hand, applied, may become 
 chronic, and render one who might else 
 have become in due time an ornament of 
 the social circle, a painful object even to 
 nearest friends and relatives.” Finding 
 this to be vain, he recommended him to 
 devote his evenings to Pope and Gold- 
 smith ; and Mr. Biglow attempted some 
 verses on these models, to which the Par- 
 son put the finishing touches. One spe- 
 cimen described his school days and the 
 boys’ pronunciation of Bible names. 
 
 44 The vibrant accent skipping hero and there, 
 
 Just as it pleased invention or despair.” 
 
 Mr. Biglow, during the Mexican war, 
 addressed a letter to a candidate for the 
 presidency, requesting him to define his 
 position, and versified his answer. We 
 are tempted to take a few lines from it, 
 descriptive of what is -usually termed by 
 politicians, “sitting on the fence.” We 
 needn’t ask how many politicians can see 
 their likeness here. He begins by assert- 
 ing that his only desire is to express his 
 mind fully and fairly, and he does it as 
 follows: — 
 
 44 Ez fer the war, I go agin it — 
 
 I mean to say I kind o’ du — 
 
 Thet is, I mean thet, bein’ in it, 
 
 The best way wuz to fight it thru.” 
 ****** 
 
 44 My love fer north an’ south is equii, 
 
 So I'll jest answer plump an’ frank., 
 
 "No matter wut may be the sequil — 
 
 Yes, sir, I am agin a bank.” 
 
 Then, in a private postscript, is added : — 
 
 “ Tell ’em thet on the slavery question 
 
 I'm kight, although to speak I’m lawth ; 
 
 This gives you a safe pint to rest on. 
 
 An’ leaves me frontin' south by north." 
 
 This will suffice to show the quality of 
 Mr. Biglow’s political verses. But he is 
 something more than a satirist. We have 
 a precious fragment of a pastoral of his, 
 entitled. “ The Courtin’, ” from which we 
 take two verses, hardly knowing which 
 two to take. Huldy is sitting in the 
 kitchen all alone, peeling apples : — 
 
 “Agin’ the chimbly crooknecks hung, 
 
 An’ in amongst ’em rusted 
 The ole queen's arm thet gran’ther Young 
 Fetched back from Concord busted, ” 
 
 Zekle, after peeking through the window, 
 comes to the door. 
 
 44 She heerd a foot, an 1 knowed it, tn, 
 
 A raspin’ on the 6craper. 
 
 All ways to once her feelins flew 
 Like sparks in burnt up paper. ” 
 
 The first stanza we have quoted is a per- 
 fect Dutch painting ; and the entire piece, 
 though perhaps carelessly thrown off by 
 its author, lias never been surpassed by 
 him. It is a confirmation of our assertion 
 that Mr. Lowell is disposed unduly to 
 elevate his reformatory strains over his 
 others, that he ironically remarks of this 
 fragment, that he laments to see Mr. Big- 
 low “ thus mingling in the heated con- 
 tests of party politics,” since he has talents 
 “which, if properly directed, might give 
 an innocent pleasure to many. ” The 
 reader will not fail to notice the sneer in 
 the expression “innocent pleasure.” 
 
 The only other prominent character is 
 Birdofredum Sawin, a rustic youth, whose 
 moral perceptions, never very clear, have 
 been obscured by a residence in Mexico. 
 He is not a parishioner of Mr. Wilbur’s ; on 
 the contrary, that worthy divine takes 
 pains to declare that “ Mr. Sawin, though 
 a native of Jaalam. has never been a stated 
 attendant on the religious exercises of 
 my congregation. ” He writes three let- 
 ters from Mexico, which Mr. Biglow, 
 though despising their sentiments, has 
 versified, and “ intusspussed with a few 
 refieckshuns hear and thair, though kind 
 o’ prest with Hayin’. ” His letters are a 
 dismal recapitulation of his sufferings 
 from the weather, the vermin (whose 
 names Mr. Wilbur has carefully rendered 
 into Latin, that the educated people in 
 Boston might not be shocked) and other 
 causes. He describes the variable wea- 
 ther, now a drought and now a deluge, 
 like a native: 
 
 “ The clyrnit seems to me jest like a teapot made o’ 
 pewter, 
 
 Our Prudence bed, that wouldn't ponr (all die 
 could du) to suit her, 
 
 Fust place the leaves ’ould choke the spout, bo’b not 
 a drop 'ould dreen out, 
 
 Then Prude ’ould tip, an’ tip, an’ tip, till tlie holl 
 kit bust clean out. 
 
 The kiver hinge pin bein’ lost, tea-leaves, an’ tea* 
 an’ kiver, 
 
 ’OuJd all come down kersioo&K / ez though the dam 
 broke in a river. ” 
 
 What a picture of female perplexity is 
 that of Prude managing her teapot. Poor 
 Sawin loses a leg and an eye in the ser- 
 vice of his country, and hopes, after his 
 arrival home, that his misfortunes, and 
 the popular names of “ Timbertoes, ” “One- 
 eyed Slaughterer, ” and Bloody Birdofre- 
 dum, ” may elevate him to the Presidency, 
 and so nominates himself, but his hopes 
 are wofully dashed by the following mis- 
 adventure : 
 
556 
 
 Lowell , the Poet. 
 
 [May 
 
 “ Wy, into Bellers’s wa notched the \otes down on 
 three sticks, 
 
 Twuz Budofredum one, Cass aught, an’ Taylor 
 twenty -six. 
 
 An’ bein’ the on’y canderdate thet wuz npon the 
 ground. 
 
 They said 'twas no more'n right thet I should pay 
 the drinks all round; 
 
 Ef I’d expected sech a trick, I wouldn't cut my 
 foot 
 
 By goin’ an’ votin’ fer myself like a consumed 
 coot; 
 
 It didn’t malts no difF renca though ; I wish I may 
 be cust, 
 
 Ef Bellers wasn’t slim enough to say he wouldn't 
 trust I " 
 
 Mr. Wilbur has contributed to the 
 papers, in his capacity as editor, an in- 
 genious and really valuable essay on the 
 Yankee dialect, which those to whom the 
 subject is new would do well to peruse. 
 The niceties of the pronunciation are mi- 
 nutely followed ; as, “ cal’late ” for calcu- 
 late, “ nimepunce ” for ninepence. He has 
 also furnished a Glossary and an Index, 
 which constitute not the least amusing 
 part of the work. His notes are furnish- 
 ed wherever there is a chance, and, in 
 fact, he has omitted nothing which the 
 most diligent editor could do. 
 
 The first edition of the book appeared 
 with copious burlesque “Notices of an 
 Independent Press, ” which are admirable 
 specimens of the comments to which new 
 books are subjected at the hands of the 
 newspapers. “ From the Bungtown Copper 
 — ‘ Altogether an admirable work. Full 
 of humor, boisterous but delicate, ’ ” etc. 
 “ From the Salt River Flag of Freedom — 
 
 ‘ A volume in bad grammar and worse 
 taste. The Reverend Homer Wilbur is 
 a disgrace to his cloth. ’ ” The best of 
 all is from “The World-Harmonic- .ZEolian- 
 Attachment but to quote from it would 
 lead us too far. 
 
 We have said nothing derogatory to 
 “ The Biglow Papers,” because we have 
 nothing to say. The design was a happy 
 * one, and it has been completely carried 
 out. There is nothing in it we could wish 
 to see omitted, which is more than we 
 have been able to say of any other one of 
 his volumes. As Parson Wilbur might 
 say, O, si sir. omnia ! 
 
 In this way we have noticed the several 
 styles of Mr. Lowell’s composition in the 
 volumes which he has from time to time 
 issued. This we have done with reference 
 to our notion of his course of life and study, 
 and the progress of his ideas. But we 
 should fail to satisfy ourselves without 
 going back to glean from his writings 
 some passages which could not be intro- 
 duced before consistently with our plan. 
 Otherwise the reader would not gather 
 from what has been said an adequate idea 
 of his merits. Foremost among those we 
 wish to notice, stands “ The Vision of Sir 
 Launfal. ” A knight in quest of the Holy 
 
 Grail furnishes the slight groundwork of 
 the story. From this is evolved a beau- 
 tiful moral, beautifully told. But it is 
 not for its moral only, but for the exqui- 
 site passages scattered through it, that it 
 is to be read. The imagery is taken di- 
 rectly from nature, and the summer and 
 winter scenes are not surpassed in their 
 way for minuteness and delicacy of de- 
 scription. The introduction, together with 
 the glorious description of organ music in 
 “ The Legend of Brittany ” which we have 
 quoted, shows a decided penchant in our 
 poet for that magnificent instrument — no 
 unfit accompaniment for some of his loftier 
 strains, and at least indicating the am- 
 bition of their author. 
 
 “ Over his keys the musing organist, 
 
 Beginning doubtfully and far away, 
 
 First lets his fingers wander as they list, 
 
 And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay: 
 Then, as the touch of his loved instrument 
 
 Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, 
 First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent 
 Along the wavering vista of his dream. ” 
 
 Mr. Lowell seems to have taken no images 
 from natural objects, except those which 
 he has seen and with which he is familiar. 
 As a proof that he goes to Nature herself, 
 we observe that no nightingale is intro- 
 duced, that stranger to New-England 
 which he probably never heard — and no 
 daisies, for which our white weed is so 
 poor a substitute — instead of them we 
 have bobolinks and dandelions 
 
 “ Fringing the dusty road 'with harmless gold. ” 
 This is a negative merit, to be sure ; but 
 an important one. Mr. Longfellow gives 
 us a slave in a rice field whose 
 
 “matted hair 
 
 Was buried in the sand. ” 
 
 Buried in the mud. would be nearer the 
 truth ; but it wouldn’t rhyme with “hand” 
 and “ land. ” Again, in “ Kavanagh,” he 
 gives us a dove pursued by a kingfisher. 
 But in Mr. Lowell’s poetry, we are satis- 
 fied of the genuineness of all the illustra- 
 tions from nature which he sees fit to in- 
 troduce. We might refer the reader of 
 Sir Launfal to the description of the day 
 in June, in the first part, or the delicate 
 ice work of the winter brook in the second, 
 or the Christmas fire 
 
 “ Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide 
 Wallows the Yule-log’s roaring tide.” 
 
 In illustration of the bare simplicity of 
 Mr. Lowell’s language, and its effective- 
 ness in the expression of a beautiful and 
 natural thought, we extract two verses 
 from the allegory of “ The Shepherd of 
 King Admetus,” vindicating the dignity 
 and usefulness of the poet ; 
 
 “They knew not how he learned at all. 
 
 For, long hour after hour, 
 
 He sat and watched the dead leaves fall. 
 
 Or mused upon a common flower. 
 
 * * * 
 
1853.] 
 
 Lowell, the Poet. 
 
 557 
 
 Yet after he was dead and gone, 
 
 And e’en his memory dim, 
 
 Earth seemed more sweet to live upon, 
 
 More full of love, because of him.” 
 
 Or these rugged lines in “ An Incident 
 in a Railroad Oar,” describing a reading 
 of Burns: 
 
 44 And when he read they forward leaned. 
 
 Drinking with thirsty hearts and ears, 
 
 His brook-like songs whom glory never weaned 
 From humble smiles and tears. ” 
 
 The poems entitled “ Rosaline,” “ The 
 Forlorn,” and “ She came and went,” 
 are especially worthy of notice, and 
 more highly finished than most of the 
 poems. Of his odes we may remark 
 that there is no style of poetical com- 
 position more uninviting than a long- 
 lined Ode. The freedom allowed in the 
 metre offers great opportunities for pro- 
 lixity and diffuseness, which are our au- 
 thor’s besetting sins. To our thinking the 
 best of them are the Odes, “To the Past” 
 and “ To the Future.” 
 
 The poem entitled “ Extreme Unction,” 
 is quite remarkable. It gives us a death- 
 bed attended with no unusual outward 
 circumstances of horror ; which is yet in- 
 vested with a fearful solemnity beyond 
 the reach of ordinary genius. 
 
 “Go! leave me, Priest; my soul would bo 
 Alone with the consoler, Death ; 
 
 Far sadder eyes than thine will see 
 This crumbling clay yield up its breath ; 
 
 These shrivelled hands have deeper stains 
 Than holy oil can cleanse away, — 
 
 Hands that have plucked the world’s coarse gains 
 As erst they plucked the flowers of May. 
 ***** 
 
 44 Men think it is an awful sight 
 To see a soul jnst set adrift 
 On that drear voyage from whose night 
 The ominous shadows never lift; 
 
 But ’t is more awful to behold 
 A helpless infant newly born, 
 
 Whose little hands unconscious hold 
 The keys of darkness and of morn ; — 
 
 44 Mine held them once ; I flung away 
 Those keys that might have open set 
 The golden sluices of the day, 
 
 But clutch the keys of darkness yet” 
 
 The last verse is equally impressive, but 
 we refrain from quoting it. 
 
 Lowell is a truly American poet. Those 
 patriotic sticklers for an ultra national 
 literature, who show their nationality by 
 constant allusions to the Alleghanies and 
 the Mississippi, may not find in him what 
 they desire. Here is a man who is wil- 
 ling to recognize the existence of other 
 natural objects, yet infuses into his writ- 
 ings the spirit of our times and our insti- 
 tutions, so unmistakably, that no one 
 could be deceived as to his birth-place. 
 An American must have written them. 
 He is distinguished among our poets for 
 his originality ( a somewhat indefinite 
 word by the way). It is true that the 
 extent and intimacy of his acquaintance 
 with the old poets is traceable in his poems 
 — but less now than formerly. Hence 
 
 his early fondness for the obsolete termi- 
 nations of the verbs in “ eth ” and “ ed ” 
 accented — hence his use of such words 
 as “ gossamere,” “ marinere.” But this 
 affectation he has happily got rid of. 
 Hence, also, his transferring in some 
 cases, we fear, both the words and the 
 ideas of his old favorites. We have de- 
 tected one good thing of Tennyson’s, an 
 old acquaintance, doing duty in his poem, 
 “ The Falconer : ” 
 
 44 No bee nestles deeper in the flower 
 Than he in the bursting rose of dawn ? 
 
 This is a fine picture of the exultant joy 
 of a falcon in his distant morning flight 
 — but in Tennyson’s “ Vision of Sin ” we 
 read the same striking image more than 
 once repeated : 
 
 “And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn 
 God made Himself an awful rose of dawn? 
 
 We have no idea of impeaching Mr. 
 Lowell’s originality however, and it is 
 certainly true that he has enlarged and 
 made more appropriate the image he has 
 taken. 
 
 Mr. Lowell is also distinguished among 
 American poets for his strength. This is 
 shown by the utterance of great thoughts 
 in language simple and majestic. It is 
 true that he sometimes mistakes rugged- 
 ness for strength, and has written some 
 rough lines which jolt the reader as he 
 goes over them. But he is straightfor- 
 ward, and does not fear to call things by 
 their right names. He does not avoid a 
 good, homely, Saxon word by a useless 
 circumlocution ; and he disdains those 
 finical elegancies which might secure to 
 any one the applause of the readers of 
 those “ Gems of Poesy ” which lie so 
 gracefully on the centre-table. 
 
 The variety of the works which we 
 have gone over shows the versatility of 
 Mr. Lowell’s genius. His Yankee humor 
 is genuine, and does not depend for its 
 success upon mere slang and misspelling, 
 which is all that there is to recommend 
 the works of some adventurers in this 
 department. It is at times broad, almost 
 farcical — and again delicate and penetrat- 
 ing, and in either case irresistible. It 
 indicates in its author unbounded frank- 
 ness, heartiness and geniality, and cannot 
 fail to win those who can appreciate such 
 qualities. It would bo worth while to 
 inquire whether the perfection of the 
 poetical faculty does not necessarily in- 
 clude wit and humor. One manifestation 
 of that faculty, is a bringing together of 
 ideas apparently unconnected ; and humor 
 is at least useful to the poet in restraining 
 him from falling from the sublime to the 
 ridiculous, and pushing his fancies to ex- 
 travagance. What we have found it ne- 
 cessary to say of Mr. Lowell’s reformatoiy 
 
558 
 
 Reminiscences of Honolulu. 
 
 poetry, applies to it only as poetry, and 
 we are not prevented from acknowledging 
 the generosity of the man as displayed in 
 his works, and his kindly feelings and 
 liberal sympathies. 
 
 When the meaning of the words “ im- 
 agination ” and “ fancy ” shall have been 
 distinctly settled, it will be easier for us 
 to determine the amount of each which 
 he possesses. As it is, we should say that 
 his imagination was vigorous and of great 
 compass, though somewhat untutored, 
 and his fancy fertile and lively to an un- 
 usual degree. He can sustain a lofty 
 flight without falling, and he has a won- 
 derful opulence of imagery. He lacks 
 only care and judgment in its direction 
 and disposal. The school to which he 
 belongs is so modem and in many respects 
 
 [May 
 
 so peculiar that it may be some time be- 
 fore he attains a general popularity. But 
 we think that, on the whole, his influence 
 will increase with time, and that he may 
 look forward to a permanent and entire 
 success. We feel sure that he is greater 
 than any of his books. 
 
 As it is nearly two years since Mr. 
 Lowell’s last publication appeared, it may 
 seem that, during his retirement, no notice 
 was called for even of a poet so prominent ; 
 if an apology be necessary, we have only 
 to say that, more than a year ago, the 
 “ Nooning ” was announced as “ nearly 
 ready.” Since then we have been hun- 
 grily waiting for the repast to be announc- 
 ed ; and being entirely ready ourselves 
 we have not deemed it necessary to wait 
 any longer. 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF HONOLULU. 
 
 THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. 
 
 A FEW years ago a visit to the Sand- 
 wich Islands was regarded as some- 
 thing so unusual, that the adventurous 
 traveller who could talk to you about 
 the bread-fruit, and describe the place 
 where Captain Cook was killed, was 
 looked up to and esteemed a person “ not 
 to be trifled with.” Now, alas, it has be- 
 come so ordinary, so commonplace an 
 affair, that a trip to Newport scarcely ex- 
 cites more attention. 
 
 Every body goes to California, and one 
 Californian in fifty visits “ the Islands ” 
 either for business or pleasure, or for 
 both. The run from San Francisco to 
 Oahu is but a pleasant sail of some thir- 
 teen or fourteen days, scarcely enough to 
 afford an actual taste of the sea to the 
 merchant seeking relaxation, the gentle 
 Pacific being more easily wooed than her 
 unruly sister. W e, however, sailed there 
 legitimately, in the good old way deemed 
 essential, from time immemorial, to the 
 gravity and decorum of a man of war. 
 No steaming it or “clipping” it, as if six 
 months more or less were of any mate- 
 rial consequence. We crept lazily round 
 to the Pacific, now being baked under the 
 Equator, then rolled and tumbled about 
 off bluff Cape Horn. We surfeited our- 
 selves with oranges at Rio J aneiro, stared 
 at the “ Sama-Crhca” in Valparaiso, flirt- 
 ed in Lima, and polka’d into a collapse 
 our well starched shirt-collars in Guaj r a- 
 quil. San Francisco had chilled us, and 
 Acapulco scorched us up (or rather 
 
 melted us down), when the welcome an- 
 nouncement was made, gladdening many 
 a heart aboard, that we were “ bound to 
 the Islands.” 
 
 Did I contemplate a sea story I would 
 of course say something of the “ gallant 
 ship,” &c. ; indeed, that term had been 
 applied to our corvette more than once by 
 fair South Americans, though I must ad- 
 mit that unnecessary emphasis was laid 
 upon the lasl syllable of the adjective. 
 
 We visited Hawaii with its waterfalls 
 and never-to-be-forgotten naiads ; we 
 paid our respects to Kirauea, the monster 
 crater, the mightiest volcano in the world, 
 and at last proceeded to our station for 
 the next six months, Honolulu, the capi- 
 tal of the Island Kingdom ; a spot be- 
 loved by adventurous “ down-Easters,” 
 where the rich harvests of bone and oil 
 are garnered from the Arctic Seas, and 
 carefully stowed in their huge floating 
 store-houses, for the long weary voyage 
 home. 
 
 Any one who imagines, from what he 
 remembers of the geography at school, 
 that he will here find some obscure In- 
 dian village, is most agreeably disappoint- 
 ed. Honolulu is a large, thriving, and 
 handsome American town, with wealthy 
 merchants, spacious streets, creditable 
 hotels, pleasant society, and any amount 
 of scandal. Whether or not the Islanders 
 proper have been benefited by the intro- 
 duction of civilization, is a question which 
 has been so warmly discussed by many 
 
Reminiscences of Honolulu. 
 
 559 
 
 J853.J 
 
 recent writers, that I am content to “ hear 
 each man’s judgment and reserve my cen- 
 sure.” 
 
 And now for “ the reminiscence : ” — 
 
 On the afternoon of a day only known 
 to a Hawaiian winter or an American au- 
 tumn, I found myself engaged in an anima- 
 ted discussion with “a friend I had and 
 his adoption tried” (whom I shall call 
 Lieut. B.), as to the origin of some of the 
 festivals and ceremonies of the Chinese; 
 the subject being suggested by the great 
 number of Celestials, who had recently 
 settled themselves in Honolulu. An en- 
 gagement to a “ cocked-hat ” dinner (i. e. 
 full dress), carried B. away in the heat 
 of the argument, leaving me to my quiet 
 chop at a restaurant, with the glorious 
 gallop afterwards to the cocoa-nut grove, 
 which becomes, as a matter of duty, the 
 evening exercise of all at Oahu. My 
 rooms had been, for some time past, a 
 rendezvous for shipmates as well as citi- 
 zen acquaintances of Honolulu ; but, 
 though expecting to find, upon my return, 
 some goodly company there, I was scarcely 
 prepared for the vast gathering that wel- 
 comed me. Having returned and passed 
 the usual how-d’ye-do’s, I discovered that 
 the choice spirits of the place had, with one 
 consent, selected that evening for a visit, 
 bringing with them a piquant sprinkling 
 of Californians, very nice but very “ fast” 
 young men. It appeared that all were 
 somewhat at a loss what to do, to get 
 through the evening agreeably to them- 
 selves and in keeping with their rapid 
 character. Cards had been tabooed ; par- 
 ties that night there were none ; the the- 
 atre was voted a bore, and mere carousing, 
 of course, too low to be thought of. 
 
 Many of the voices present being really 
 fine and skilfully managed, a serenade 
 was proposed, and as a Californian re- 
 marked, “ when the chorus came we’d all 
 be around ,” the idea was received with 
 favor ; but then the proposed affair lost 
 its spiciness to many, in the quiet and or- 
 der which it was insisted upon, must ac- 
 company such a performance. Oahu, 
 though in the tropics, possesses a climate 
 often so bracing and invigorating, that to 
 the young and healthy, it is difficult, at 
 times, to repress a feeling of almost boy- 
 ish exhilaration. This feeling seemed to 
 inspire the assembled multitude that night. 
 Riding, the usual resource of the Island- 
 ers, was, from the lateness of the hour, 
 out of the question : a dozen things were 
 proposed and rejected, when a happy 
 thought at last occurred to me. 
 
 Recollecting my controversy with lit. 
 B., and unwilling to abandon the idea 
 of the serenade (as it appeared the least 
 preposterous of the many pranks suggest- 
 
 ed), I modestly stated that a large invoice 
 of Chinese lanterns had that day been of- 
 fered for sale, and that by purchasing and 
 lighting them, I thought we could give a 
 very effective serenade, the illumination 
 investing it with all the whimsicality 
 which seemed to be needed. In five 
 words we ’d have l: a Feast of the Lan- 
 terns.” This brilliant idea was received 
 with universal acclamation : one party 
 was at once dispatched for the gaudily 
 painted paper globes, another was deputed 
 to purchase the proper stock of sperm 
 candles, whilst the remainder of the com- 
 pany proceeded to array themselves in 
 every kind of grotesque attire at hand, 
 from a Peruvian poncho to an Island cala- 
 bash. By eleven o’clock all the prepara- 
 tions were completed, and I shall never 
 forget the really beautiful effect of the 
 almost interminable line of lights, as this 
 procession started on its hopeful expedi- 
 tion. 
 
 Many private houses were visited by 
 us, and their sleeping inmates awakened 
 by very creditable music, the only diffi- 
 culty, at first, being in keeping silent the 
 host of chattering Kanakas, who, attracted 
 by the unusual glare, gathered from every 
 quarter of Honolulu. The hospitable but 
 injudicious custom of inviting the serena- 
 des in-doors at the conclusion of the vo- 
 cal offering, was, in almost every instance, 
 carefully observed, and as most of our 
 party accepted the too often proffered 
 “ cold without,” I was not a little amused 
 (being in this respect but a looker on), to 
 observe the occasional huskiness and dis- 
 cord which accompanied the seventh or 
 eighth performance. A stray lantern or 
 two began now to be seen in the distance, 
 dancing about in the unsteady hands of its 
 bearer like some Will-o’-the-wisp, which 
 had made up its mind not to go home till 
 morning. At two o’clock I quietly extin- 
 guished mine, so as to insure a retreat, 
 should the fun, as it threatened, eventu- 
 ally become too boisterous, and shortly 
 after went in search of my friend Lt. B., 
 leaving the party preparing to give the 
 serenade, which it was originally intended 
 should be the grand feature of the evening, 
 viz., at the residence of the American 
 Consul. I had urged that this might be 
 the first performance, but had been over- 
 ruled, whether with wisdom or not will 
 be seen. Many of the warblers here seem- 
 ed intent upon carefully “ holding up ” the 
 pillars of the Consul’s portico ; others, 
 mistaking their lanterns for garden seats, 
 attempted to sit down upon them, and 
 extinguished the lamps and themselves 
 together. One gentleman, with expres- 
 sions of the most intense misery, buried 
 his head in his lantern, became light 
 
560 
 
 Reminiscences of Honolulu. 
 
 headed for a moment, then put himself 
 out and was seen no more. As the tapers 
 began to glimmer in the Consul’s windows, 
 I departed on my errand, enjoying, as I 
 turned the corner, the full effect of the 
 first concerted piece : time and harmony 
 seemed entirely abandoned or forgotten, 
 and never before had I heard, from human 
 throats, such dismal howls, such melan- 
 choly and heart-rending wails, as now 
 broke the stillness of night. The air 
 selected (Rosa Lee), an Ethiopian melody, 
 was in itself any thing but cheerful and 
 enlivening, but now rendered an hundred 
 fold more dismal and unendurable by the 
 deep despondency and apparent wretched- 
 ness of some of the choristers. The “ cold 
 without ” had begun to react upon them, 
 and my very teeth were set on edge. I 
 did not succeed in finding my friend, being 
 told that he had shortly before left the 
 house of his entertainer to go aboard his 
 ship, and thinking it high time for pru- 
 dent men to be in bed, I started for my 
 domicil. I was compelled to pass the 
 main street to reach it, and as the glare 
 and laughter from an adjoining lane, an- 
 nounced the revellers near at hand, I could 
 not resist the temptation of taking a part- 
 ing glance at the mock Celestials. Never 
 shall I forget the absurd scene that pre- 
 sented itself to me. Further serenading 
 had apparently been abandoned as impos- 
 sible, and whilst a number of the party 
 were busily employed in illuminating an 
 old white horse which they had confiscat- 
 ed, the remainder were dancing a solemn 
 war dance round my poor friend B., 
 (taken captive by them, while on his way 
 to the boat), and who, bewildered by the 
 lights and no doubt confused by the last 
 bottle of peculiar old port, seemed utterly 
 at a loss to comprehend the strange pro- 
 ceeding. “Yes,” muttered he, gazing at 
 them with sleepy eyes, “ it is a dream ; ” 
 and now “ Ching,” shrieked a voice from 
 one end of the crowd ; “ Chang,” roared 
 another ; “ Chow,” chorussed tbe multi- 
 tude, as a sort of maniac ladies’ chain ter- 
 minated the dance. And now it was a 
 delicious sight to behold him unwillingly 
 mounted, with a lantern in each hand, 
 upon the milk-white charger, the animal 
 tastefully decorated with one light at his 
 head, another at the tail, and some six or 
 eight incidental lamps distributed all over 
 his body. Vain and useless were B.’s 
 protestations that “ he was no mandarin ; ” 
 that “ he had never before been in China, 
 and felt himself altogether unworthy of 
 the great honor proffered him.” The 
 crowd hearkened to him not, but leading 
 the horse, moved gravely along in solemn 
 procession, chanting a most unearthly 
 chorus, in which each gentleman wisely 
 
 [May 
 
 sang to please himself, without troubling 
 his mind about the key or even the air 
 selected by his neighbor. Arrived at 
 the wharf where B. was to embark, 
 another insane and frantic war dance was 
 performed as a parting offering, when he, 
 gravely raising himself to his feet, upon 
 the back of the noble steed, and holding 
 aloft his lanterns, gave vent to this beau- 
 tiful and touching address. 
 
 “Fellow cit I mean, Celestials! 
 
 brothers of the moon and sisters of the 
 sun, I know you can’t understand a word 
 I say, but if this is not the proudest mo- 
 ment of my existence, shave my crown ! ” 
 Here, thinking he had made use of a most 
 happy and appropriate form of Eastern 
 adjuration, he attempted a salaam, lost 
 his footing, and disappeared. Exhausted 
 with laughter, I sought my lodgings, pass- 
 ing on the way more than one lantern 
 carefully stuck upon a gate-post, or quaintly 
 ornamenting a barber’s pole. 
 
 Eight bells found me on my way aboard 
 to breakfast, the debris of the late festival 
 being visible on every side. Wrecks of 
 Chinese lanterns strewed the streets, more 
 than one clearly indicating, from its crush- 
 ed and flattened appearance, that it had 
 been made to serve the purpose of a pillow 
 to some wearied reveller. In rowing past 
 the ship to which my friend was attached, 
 I stopped on board for a moment to wish 
 him good morrow. I found him still 
 courting the drowsy god, but aroused by 
 my salutation, he cheerfully welcomed me. 
 Complaining of a slight headache (the 
 consequence, he said, of that interminable 
 dinner), he exclaimed, “ Do you remember 
 our argument of last evening ? ’Tis strange 
 how, even in sleep, the mind will some- 
 times dwell upon some recent trifling event, 
 even as unimportant as that conversation. 
 I had a dream last night, so vivid and 
 distinct, that did I not know that I am 
 now here and awake, I could swear that 
 all my fancies had been real.” “What 
 was the nature of it ? ” I gravely asked. 
 “ ’Twas most absurd,” he answered, “ for 
 I dreamed I was the Emperor of China.” 
 
 I heard next day of pranks innumerable 
 which had been perpetrated in the small 
 hours, and of the terror and dismay of 
 the good citizens, towards the winding up 
 of that impromptu affair. Honolulu was 
 all astonishment, and many were the 
 rumors abroad of a well-disguised attempt 
 at revolution by Californian filibusters, 
 and the resident Chinese, and which had 
 only been put down by the strong and 
 energetic measures of the government. I 
 wisely said nothing, except to agree with 
 the ladies, that whatever it meant, or by 
 ■whom suggested, it was certainly a most 
 extraordinary, unprecedented, and ridicu- 
 
Alison's Histories. 
 
 561 
 
 1853.] 
 
 lous proceeding. Gradually the excite- 
 ment died away, as, wonderful to relate, 
 no one could be found who had been in 
 any way connected with it ; yet long will 
 
 it be ere the people of Honolulu forget 
 that eventful night, or cease to talk to 
 strangers of that mysterious affair, The 
 Feast of the Lanterns. 
 
 ALISON’S HISTORIES. 
 
 The History of Europe, from the commencement of the French Revolution , in 1789, 
 to the Battle of Waterloo. By Sir Archibald Alison, Bart. : 8 vols., 1843. 
 
 The History of Europe , from the fall of Napoleon , in 1815, to the accession of 
 Louis Napoleon , in 1852. By Sir Archibald Alison, Bart.: Vol. 1, 1852. 
 
 D R. JOHNSON, in one of his ursine 
 growls, is reported to have expressed a 
 very contemptuous opinion of the writers 
 of History ; for, if they narrate what is 
 false, said he, they are not historians, but 
 liars ; and if they narrate what is true, they 
 have no field for the display of ability, 
 because, as truth is necessarily one, it 
 must be told by every body alike. 
 
 But this dilemma of the Leviathan is 
 a superficial one, or rather no dilemma at 
 all, for the reason that the historian does 
 not deal with absolute truth, with naked 
 or abstract propositions of logic, nor yet 
 with mere individual and disconnected 
 facts, but with phenomena that may be 
 variously interpreted, with living compli- 
 cated and warring movements, that spring 
 from violent passions in the actors con- 
 cerned with them, and that excite similar 
 passions in the beholders of them ; and 
 with institutions and usages which repre- 
 sent vast and irreconcilable differences of 
 political and social faith. His art, there- 
 fore, like that of any other artist, consists 
 in the selection of his topics, and in his 
 method of treatment. He must have his 
 principles and his processes, his color and 
 form, his foreground and background, his 
 light and shade, and his variety as well as 
 unity of composition. Thus there will be 
 an ample scope afforded him for the display 
 of any ability that he may possess, for 
 the nicest judgment, the most profound 
 and active imagination and consummate 
 skill ; and, so far from finding him either 
 a liar on one side, or the utterer of bald 
 truisms on the other, we shall see that his 
 function is allied in the powers of the 
 mind which it demands, no less than in the 
 dignity of its objects, to the loftiest forms 
 of intellectual expression. But the histo- 
 rian, besides his descriptions of the scenes 
 and characters of the drama of life, in 
 which, like the artist, he strives to pro- 
 duce the best general* effects — effects infi- 
 nitely more true than the most microscopic 
 minuteness of detail would be without 
 this artistic management — is required to 
 
 refer these scenes and characters to great 
 general principles, and to evolve com- 
 prehensive and permanent laws of de- 
 velopment, out of the kaleidoscope of 
 ever-shifting and variable appearances. 
 He is, therefore, the philosopher as well 
 as the artist, and needs the penetration 
 and insight of the clearest reason, in addi- 
 tion to the finest qualities of the rhetorician 
 and the poet. 
 
 We have thought it well to premise thus 
 much, m order to show that it is with no 
 low or narrow conceptions of the province 
 of history, and of the endowments of the 
 historian, that we approach a survey of the 
 labors of Mr. Alison. He holds a prom- 
 inent place among the historians of his 
 day ; is a leading writer in the leading 
 journals of the British Empire ; has put 
 forth voluminous books, very widely 
 accepted as authorities.; traverses periods 
 of time which are among the most impor- 
 tant in the annals of our race ; utters posi- 
 tive judgments on important men and im- 
 portant things ; in short, aspires to the 
 highest character in the department of lit- 
 erature to which he is devoted, and is, 
 therefore, entitled, both by his position 
 and pretensions, to be judged according to 
 the most elevated standards of criticism. 
 In an inferior walk of art, with a more 
 humble aim, or a less ambitious style of 
 execution, we might dismiss him in a few 
 passing strictures, to find his level as he 
 could among the multitude of authors. 
 
 The period which Mr. Alison has chosen 
 for the subject of his researches, extends 
 from the time of the first French Revolu- 
 tion to the accession of Napoleon the 
 Third, if we must call that desperate ad- 
 venturer by a dynastic name. It covers a 
 space of about sixty years — a little more 
 than a jubilee of the Jews — perhaps the 
 most busy, brilliant, and pregnant years 
 that the world has known — full of grand 
 events and crowded with great characters 
 — and, in many respects, an era decisive 
 of the destinies of mankind for a long time 
 to come. Indeed, we do not suppose that 
 
562 
 
 Alison's Histories. 
 
 any six decades that have fallen upon 
 man, scarcely excepting the most glorious 
 age of Greece, the epoch of the advent of 
 Christianity, or that of the Reformation 
 in the sixteenth century, have been more 
 prolific of great men, more agitated by 
 great thoughts, more splendid in great 
 discoveries, or more marked by signal and 
 tremendous changes in the condition of 
 society, than the sixty years embraced in 
 the design of Mr. Alison’s volumes. 
 
 Let us then take a rapid glance at some 
 of the principal occurrences and leading 
 characteristics of this era, before we pass 
 to a consideration of the method in which 
 he has treated it, or to such observations 
 as the nature of the subject may sug- 
 gest. 
 
 The period we refer to begins with the 
 first French Revolution, which, strictly 
 speaking, was the end of the previous, 
 rather than the beginning of the present 
 age ; or, more strictly still, the transition 
 between the two, the Phenix birth, and fire 
 consummation, as a German would say,— 
 in which an old economy passed away in 
 flames, and a new one sprang from its 
 ashes. But whatever it was, in this re- 
 spect, it was confessedly one of the most 
 stupendous events in the history of our 
 race. Huge, astounding, uproarious, it 
 was made memorable to all men, and to 
 the end of time, alike in the causes which 
 led to it, in the unparalleled scenes that 
 attended its progress, and in the far-reach- 
 ing consequences of which it sowed the 
 seeds. No event in the annals of man- 
 kind has been more fi'equently and more 
 voluminously written about, and yet there 
 is none more fresh or full of an absorbing 
 interest. Covering in its duration only a 
 few rapid years, confined for the most 
 part to a single city and its adjacent 
 provinces, costing, amid all its terrors, less 
 bloodshed than often marks a single 
 pitched battle — it still stands apart, from 
 all other occurrences, in certain wild and 
 portentous proportions, — as the grandest 
 and fearfullest product of any age. But 
 its mere external phenomena would be 
 insufficient to account for the peculiar 
 and lasting impression which it has made 
 and still makes on the human mind, 
 were it not for those great and novel ideas 
 out of which it arose. 
 
 Timid and unreflecting minds are ac- 
 customed to consider the French Revolu- 
 tion as a mere wanton explosion and whirl- 
 wind of frantic passions, and to stigmatize 
 the chief actors in it as reckless fiends ; a 
 holiday of malignant merriment to which 
 all the devils of the earth had rushed as the 
 witches rushed to the mad midnight revels 
 of the Blochsberg ; but other minds which 
 strive to pierce deeper into things, which 
 
 [May 
 
 believe that no effect exists without a cause, 
 and a justifying cause, which cannot sup- 
 pose that God ever abandons a whole people 
 to sheer imbecility and madness, or that 
 he has no deeper design in allowing the 
 errors and crimes of men, than that they 
 may serve as a bugaboo, or death’s-head 
 and cross-bones, for the use of conservative 
 moralists, — find in the excesses and riots 
 of this wonderful event a vital truth and 
 significance, however terrible. They dis- 
 cern a law of Providence amid its sa J 
 dislocations and irregularities, a rhythmic 
 order in its wild Bacchic dances, a spark 
 of genuine fire through its meteor lights, 
 a noble and great thought pervading even 
 its most monstrous throes. Now it is 
 this thought, and not alone the carnage, 
 which has been greatly exaggerated, nor 
 the ferocity which is more or less incident 
 to all civil wars, nor the sudden overthrow 
 of government, of which we before have 
 had many examples, that fastens our at- 
 tention to the external events as it was 
 never before fastened, as if we were bound 
 by some magic spell. We stand in the 
 presence of any one who proposes to 
 recite its story, like the wedding guest, 
 pierced by the glittering eye of the An- 
 cient Mariner, and “cannot choose but 
 hear.” 
 
 For the first time, in the history of 
 man. had the conviction of the divine 
 rights of men, as opposed to the preten 
 sions of governments, institutions, and 
 society itself, taken possession of the 
 hearts of a whole people, to be proclaimed 
 as a vital and inextinguishable fact. Re- 
 volutions there had been before, but none 
 so deep, thorough, and radical as this — 
 none which penetrated so directly into 
 the very core of the relations of the indi- 
 vidual to the State. The contests in 
 England, during the reign of James the 
 First, and the earlier years of that of his 
 successor, were parliamentary contests, 
 carried on mainly by learned lawyers, and 
 ending only in a change of dynasty. 
 The Revolution of 1688, conducted by 
 the appointed organs of the corporations, 
 the landed aristocracy, the town magis- 
 trates and borough proprietors, scarcely 
 touched the frame of the government, and 
 did nQt ask, as it had no need, of the po- 
 pular interference. Again, the American 
 Revolution was at first but a strife be- 
 tween revolted colonies and an imperious 
 mother country, and only in the minds of 
 its more exalted spirits, looked to that final 
 and broad assertion of the supremacy of 
 the people which it afterwards uttered. 
 It was, even in the end. a conflict of state 
 with state. But the French Revolution, 
 prepared from afar by the whole course 
 of European thought and experience, ani- 
 
1853.] 
 
 Alison's Histories. 
 
 563 
 
 mated and encouraged too, doubtless, by 
 the success of the American experiment, 
 was a solemn and unqualified proclama- 
 tion of the rights of man as man ; the 
 protest of the individual against every 
 form of domination, whether it pretended 
 to be human or divine. It was a matter 
 of course, therefore, that a position so ex- 
 treme, provoking every conservative re- 
 sentment, and arousing every aspiring 
 passion, should issue in actions equally 
 extreme. The mean and petty squabbles 
 of cabinets, the windy debates of political 
 factions, were no longer in place, because 
 the questions which had come to be deba- 
 ted, involving the very foundations of gov- 
 ernment, the basis of Society, were the 
 deepest and most searching inquiries that 
 the mind could entertain. Nor were they to 
 be debated with the cold and formal logic 
 of the schools, but with the fiery vehemence 
 of the forum, where the people, roused to an 
 intense sense of the oppression, the injus- 
 tice, and the licentiousness by which they 
 had been governed for ages, had rushed, 
 not to listen and deliberate, but to act. 
 Twenty four millions of them, courageously 
 casting off the trammels of centuries, dis- 
 lodging temporal and spiritual tyranny 
 from its strongholds, elevating the multi- 
 tudes from servile and superstitious sub- 
 mission, and assuming the control of their 
 own destiny, presented a spectacle, which, 
 in the midst of its bloodshed, terror, and 
 atrocity, was so original and magnificent, 
 that we admire it, while we tremble be- 
 fore it. Ah ! we may condemn and de- 
 nounce those millions as we please ; but it 
 cannot be denied that they struck a blow 
 with which humanity still vibrates, while 
 the echoes of their wild screams will go 
 down as jubilant harmonies to the end 
 of time. 
 
 Thus, the opening incident of the age 
 we are considering was a transcendently 
 great one, and yet only superior to the 
 national convulsions and movements by 
 which it was followed. The waves of the 
 tumult had scarcely subsided, when a 
 majestic figure appears, emerging from the 
 ooze and slime of the deluge, like Milton’s 
 postdiluvian lion, 
 
 11 pawing to get free 
 
 His hinder parts ; then springs as broke from bonds, 
 And rampant shakes his brinded mane. ” 
 
 The year 1799 — the last of the last century 
 — saw Napoleon Bonaparte First Consul 
 of France. A subaltern in the armies of the 
 republic, he had rapidly risen in rank ; he 
 had given a coup (le grace to the factious 
 debris of the revolution, had finished a 
 campaign in Italy, which recalled the most 
 brilliant exploits of Caesar, had baffled the 
 sagacity of veteran intriguers at home, 
 and now saw himself the chief man, as he 
 
 was consciously the greatest man, of his 
 nation. Europe, in league against the 
 encroachments of the aspiring democrats, 
 threatened France with annihilation ; but, 
 throwing himself into the conflict, with a 
 power of combination and a rapidity of 
 movement that in a less enlightened period 
 would have seemed miraculous, he set the 
 whole at defiance. Then followed those 
 shocks of war, in which the thrones of the 
 world trembled like the trees of the forest 
 when a tempest is passing. A multitude 
 of armed men, more numerous than the 
 hosts of Persia, more impetuous than the 
 fierce tribes of the Asiatic steppes, but 
 endowed with all the skill and energy of 
 the ancient Romans, and led by a master 
 mind, with a genius for war surpassing 
 Alexander’s, and not inferior to that of the 
 great Julius, were precipitated on the field 
 of battle, and in twelve short years, by a 
 series of unexampled victories, scattered 
 every enemy, and laid mankind under 
 tribute. At the same time, the imperial 
 intellect which had overcome the com- 
 bined forces of Russia, Prussia, Austria, 
 Italy, and Spain, and distributed sceptres 
 among his brothers, as a housewife dis- 
 tributes portions of bread to her depend- 
 ents, had organized order at home, had 
 remodelled the constitution and recon- 
 structed society, and given an impulse to 
 the trade, the literature and the science 
 of his people, with a comprehensiveness 
 of view and decision of purpose, which 
 raised him to the highest rank among 
 legislators, as he was already the acknow- 
 ledged first among warriors. 
 
 His unexampled successes, however, 
 were followed by unprecedented disas- 
 ters. While he bent the energies of his 
 mighty brain to the prosecution of those 
 progressive ideas which had been the im- 
 pulse of the Revolution, and which were 
 still effective after the Revolution was 
 closed, he was carried forward without a 
 break in the triumphs of his prodigious 
 career ; but when personal aggrandize- 
 ment usurped the place of his original in- 
 spiration, when the “ armed soldier of de- 
 mocracy ” dwindled into the usurper and 
 the tyrant, more eager to found a family 
 than to perpetuate the liberties of the 
 people, the divine hand which had seemed 
 to lead him was withdrawn, he floundered 
 into insanities of ambition, and fell, with 
 a more stupendous eclat, even, than he 
 had risen. The invasion of Russia, con- 
 ceived in the mad dream of universal do- 
 minion, when the flower of his veteran 
 armies, in numbers rivalling the bands 
 which the frantic Persian led across the 
 Libyan deserts, were wasted, like the 
 hosts of Sennacherib, by no repelling foe, 
 but, by “ the breath of the Lord ; ” the 
 
564 
 
 Alison's Histories. 
 
 tearful retreat, when the ground for thou- 
 sands of miles was covered with the victims 
 of fire, frost, and famine ; the decisive over- 
 throw at Waterloo, and the lonely im- 
 prisonment of St. Helena, were the suc- 
 cessive acts in a drama of gigantic gran- 
 deur of movement and equally gigantic 
 pathos of catastrophe. 
 
 Much has been said of the character 
 and career of Napoleon ; and much re- 
 mains to be said ; but whatever may be 
 the final verdict of the world, it will be 
 conceded that the immense adventures of 
 which he was the moving cause, unsettled 
 and deranged permanently the despotic 
 system of Europe, and prepared the way 
 for the ultimate emancipation of the peo- 
 ple. The conspiracies at Carlsbad. Vienna, 
 Verona, and Laybach, which took the name 
 of the Holy Alliance, and which appeared 
 to fasten the chains of absolutism more 
 firmly on the necks of the subject nations, 
 were, in fact, a short-sighted policy, and 
 by their unwise “distribution of souls 
 and soils, ” as a late writer names it, laid 
 the train of that series of incessant civil 
 explosions which has agitated, the last 
 thirty years, falsely called years of peace. 
 The disorders of Spain, the revolution of 
 Poland, the insurrections of Piedmont and 
 Naples, the revolt of Belgium, the de- 
 thronement of Charles X., and the uni- 
 versal uprising of 1848, from Paris to 
 Comorn, were as much the fruits of the 
 absurd arrangement of 1815, as they 
 were of democratic aspiration. It has 
 provoked an uneasiness and discontent 
 among the masses in which the orators of 
 progress find their readiest material, and 
 surest ground of appeal. 
 
 But while these grander movements 
 were going forward, two new and disturb- 
 ing influences were silently spreading in 
 Europe, until they came to be felt as among 
 the most powerful that were likely to 
 affect the destiny of mankind. We refer 
 to the growing importance of Russia and 
 the United States. What the Popes of 
 the Middle Age dreamed of in the over- 
 flowings of their rapacity, what Charle- 
 magne, Louis, and Napoleon, wasted the 
 treasures and blood of empires in the vain 
 endeavor to acquire — the dominion of Eu- 
 rope, and, through Europe, of the world — 
 the descendants of the Dukes of Muscovy 
 have prosecuted with a steady tread and 
 the most certain aim ; while, on the other 
 hand, the young Republic of the West, 
 master already of the new continent, is 
 not indifferent to the struggles of the old, 
 and may yet fling itself with all its un- 
 kempt strength and its invincible prowess, 
 into the arms of the people, with whom 
 alone it has a common sympathy. The 
 appearance of these two nations, conse- 
 
 [May 
 
 quently, on the theatre of politics, is a fact 
 to be noted in the history of the age. 
 
 Coeval also with these larger pertur- 
 bations and changes in the political 
 world, the most remarkable developments 
 in other spheres have taken place, any 
 one of which might have distinguished 
 the Nineteenth Century, but the whole of 
 which combined give to it a signal pro- 
 minence. Among these, we can only re- 
 fer to the great legislative and law re- 
 forms which have taken place in England ; 
 the sudden diffusion and almost universal 
 spread of every form of literature ; the pro- 
 digious acquisitions made in the fields of 
 natural science ; the rapid improvements 
 in mechanical skill and the practical arts ; 
 the expansion of benevolent enterprise; 
 the rise of socialism as an active theory ; 
 the extension of commerce, the discoveries 
 of gold in Australia and California, and the 
 vast movements of populations, compared 
 by Alison to the original dispersion of 
 mankind, and surpassing the changes that 
 followed the oceanic enterprises of the Fif- 
 teenth century. In literature, for instance, 
 how many and what brilliant names pass 
 before us, when we recall the history of 
 the last fifty years ! It seems as if we 
 were sweeping the heavens with a tele- 
 scope, when the night was glorious with 
 stars. Gothe. Scott, Wordsworth, Shelley, 
 Byron, Coleridge, Schiller, Tieck, Sismon- 
 di, Jean Paul, Lamartine, Hugo, Carlyle, 
 Thackeray, George Sand, Emerson, are 
 only a few among many illustrious names. 
 Or. in science again, what a thought it is 
 that, with the exception of Astronomy and 
 the Fixed Sciences, nearly all that is en- 
 titled to the name of Science has been the 
 product of the Era before us ; that Che- 
 mistry and Geology and Comparative and 
 Fossil Anatomy, and Palaeontology, and 
 Magnetism and Electricity, may be said 
 to have been created under our eyes, 
 while all that was before known has been 
 enlarged and certified by the wider and 
 more accurate observations of Humboldt, 
 Cuvier, Arago, Audubon, Faraday, Dumas, 
 and Henry ! Or, still more, what grand 
 facts are connected in our minds with the 
 words, steam, electricity, caloric, which to 
 our great-grandsires were either utterly 
 unknown, or which, had they been told 
 them, would have seemed nothing less than 
 miracles ! Railroads, steamships, electric 
 telegraphs, daguerreotypes, the cotton 
 trade, have been the contemporaries of the 
 youngest of us, endowing us with new 
 power, bringing us into closer relations 
 with the whole earth and with each other, 
 and yet, so far from absorbing us in ma- 
 terial pursuits, and dazzling us with mate- 
 rial splendors, have given a new impulse 
 to every form of intellectual activity and 
 
1853.] 
 
 Alison's Histories. 
 
 565 
 
 every kind of benevolent solicitude. How 
 wise and liberal now, compared with what 
 it was sixty years since, the guardianship 
 exercised, both by states and individuals, 
 over the unfortunate classes of our race, 
 those deprived by nature or circumstance 
 of the common blessings of life — the idiotic, 
 the blind, the mute, and the depraved? 
 How much more comprehensive our sym- 
 pathies, and gentle and benignant our 
 ministrations, and judicious and truthful 
 our treatment ? But above all, what 
 searching inquiries we send into the causes 
 of social malady, and how resolute we are 
 getting towards every effective application 
 of the remedy, though it costs us many 
 time-honored institutions, and perhaps the 
 very form and body of our existing social 
 state ? 
 
 These, then, are the characteristics of 
 the period of which Mr. Alison has made 
 himself the historian ; a period, as we see 
 even in the hasty sketch we have given 
 of it, of tremendous activity and expansive- 
 ness, marked by great events on every 
 side, not only in politics and war, but in 
 literature, science, social improvement, and 
 in practical as well as moral enterprise ; and 
 it now remains for us to look in what man- 
 ner he has treated the rich materials placed 
 in his hand. Hegel, one of the profound- 
 est and acutest, as well as most brilliant 
 of the Germans, has divided history — by 
 which he means history as an art, and not 
 the course of events — into the primitive, 
 the systematic, and the philosophical ; and 
 we shall borrow his method, without 
 limiting ourselves to his meaning, how- 
 ever, in our estimate of Mr. Alison. 
 
 By primitive history Hegel meant, we 
 suppose — for it is long since we read his 
 work — a simple narrative or chronicle 
 of events, as they might be described by 
 an actual witness of them, and of which 
 we have specimens in Herodotus, Thucy- 
 dides, Caesar, and at a later age and in a 
 more ambitious style, in Carlyle. Sys- 
 tematic history aspires to a slightly higher 
 character, and records the life of a nation, 
 04 ' of. nations, according to some general 
 scheme of thought in the author’s mind, 
 not founded, however, upon any profound 
 view of the logical order of events, so 
 much as upon external relations of time 
 and place, or the rhetorical requirements 
 of the subject, and is exemplified in his- 
 tory, as it is commonly written in Gibbon, 
 Hume, Robertson, Macaulay, and Pres- 
 cott. But philosophical history takes a 
 more connected and deeper, as well as 
 wider view ; looks upon human actions 
 and their developments as illustrations of a 
 foregone design, or as the manifestations 
 of some universal tendency, bringing out 
 in one place one aspect of itself, and in 
 
 another place, another aspect, because 
 the whole is the work of the Divine Pro- 
 vidence, or Supreme Reason realizing its 
 grand purposes towards humanity. In 
 this style Guizot, Thierry, Louis Blanc, 
 and, to some extent, our own Bancroft, 
 are capital examples. For a higher order 
 of historians still, the scientific order 
 which would blend perfect accuracy of 
 narrative with a deduction of absolute sci- 
 entific principles, the time has not come, 
 for the reason that the science of history 
 is not yet known, and cannot be known 
 except as the crown and summit of every 
 other science. 
 
 Now, Mr. Alison, who modulates vari- 
 ously through all the different styles, has 
 attained a brilliant success in none, and 
 only a mediocre success in either ; and, in 
 any large view of the historical function, 
 must be content to take a very humble 
 place. 
 
 As a narrator of events, he has the 
 two very important merits — of patient 
 and laborious industry, and of consider- 
 able animation and vigor of description. 
 He shrinks from no effort of research in 
 collecting his crude materials, and he puts 
 them together with a ponderous diligence. 
 His works, therefore as repositories of 
 certain selected facts, save the inquirer a 
 deal of pains that he would otherwise be 
 at, in reading newspapers, debates, bul- 
 letins, memoirs, and letters. He depicts 
 occasional scenes, too, especially the move- 
 ments of battle, in strong and vivid colors. 
 But, in the ordinary current of his narra- 
 tive, he betrays constantly the want of the 
 most simple and obvious qualities that 
 are necessary to either a skilful or an in- 
 teresting story-teller. His vocabulary, in 
 the first place, is remarkably deficient ; 
 he cannot handle words which are the 
 most elementary tools of his art, with any 
 masterly facility or power; for he perpet- 
 ually repeats the same turns of expres- 
 sion. His diction, in the second place, is 
 equally poverty-stricken ; his sentences 
 are often heavy, confused, straggling, and 
 ill-joined ; he commits blunders in gram- 
 mar that a child would be punished for at 
 school ; and, being utterly destitute alike 
 of fancy or imagination, his metaphors are 
 the stereotyped phrases of literary com- 
 merce or the commonplaces of the street. 
 We all remember the “Alexander and 
 Clytus” illustration of Coleridge’s school 
 friends, who lugged it in on all occasions ; 
 and we are reminded of it in almost every 
 page of Alison, by the constant recurrence, 
 usque ad nauseam , of his pet similes and 
 comparisons. But what is worse of his fig- 
 ures is, that they do not run on all -fours, 
 but are both halt and blind, and, like tho 
 monsters in Horace’s Art of Poetry, have 
 
566 
 
 Alison's Histories. 
 
 joined a horse’s neck to a human head, 
 or spread the plumage of birds over the 
 limbs of beasts. 
 
 As proofs of these defects we refer to 
 expressions such as these: “the vast 
 and varied inhabitants” of the French 
 empire, as if Frenchmen were vaster than 
 any other people ; “ an acquisition which 
 speedily recoiled upon the heads of those 
 who acquired them ; ” “ Murat, who made 
 1800 of their wearied columns prisoners, ” 
 which would have been more prisoners than 
 the whole Austrian army contained of men ; 
 a narrative “tinged with undue bias;” 
 and a historical work “ closing with a ray 
 of glory ; ” “ it could hardly have been 
 anticipated that it would have been at- 
 tended by effects, ” &c., with innumerable 
 other similar carelessnesses. In respect 
 to sentences, take this: “In 1789, Gothe, 
 profound and imaginative, was reflecting 
 on the destiny of man on earth, like a 
 cloud which turns up its silver lining 
 to the moon ; ” or this astronomical glori- 
 fication of the age of George III., “ Bright 
 as were the stars of its morning-light, 
 more brilliant still was the constellation 
 which shone forth at its meridian splendor, 
 or cast a glow over the twilight of its 
 evening shades, ” which is neither poetry 
 nor science. Again, he says, speaking of 
 modern enterprise and emigration, which 
 he capriciously calls the second dispersion 
 of mankind : “ No such powerful causes, 
 producing the dispersion of the species, 
 have come into operation since mankind 
 were originally separated on the Assyrian 
 plains ; and it took place ” — what took 
 place ? — “ from an attempt springing from 
 the pride and ambition of man, as vain as 
 the building of the tower of Babel. ” The 
 first three sentences of the Preface to his 
 New Series read thus : “ During a period 
 of peace, the eras of history cannot be so 
 clearly perceived, on a first and superficial 
 glance, as when they are marked by the 
 decisive events of war ; but they are not 
 on that account the less obvious when 
 their respective limits have been once as- 
 certained. The triumphs of parties in the 
 Senate-house or Forum are not, in general, 
 followed by the same immediate and deci- 
 sive results as those of armies in the field ; 
 * * * but they are equally real and 
 
 decisive. ” The triple duty imposed upon 
 decisive , in these three sentences, is a cha- 
 racteristic that we may pick out of almost 
 any page of Mr. Alison’s writings. 
 
 It is because these secondary defects 
 are so habitual with him, marring his 
 most studied and elaborate passages, that 
 we speak of them at length; but they 
 should not be allowed to detain us from 
 the consideration of those more grievous 
 faults which mark his works as a sys- 
 
 [May 
 
 tematic historian, or one who writes ac- 
 cording to an avowed scheme. Mr. Ali- 
 son’s arrangement comprehends the his- 
 tory of Europe from 1789 to 1852; the 
 first part, already published, closed in 
 1815; and the second part, of which the 
 first volume only is issued, is intended to 
 carry on the narrative to our own day. 
 Now, what will be the surprise of the 
 reader to learn that, in the proposed sys- 
 tematic view of Europe, there is scarcely 
 more than a reference to those great move- 
 ments of thought, to those grand discove- 
 ries in science, to those magnificent moral 
 enterprises, of which we have spoken in 
 the outset of this article, as so character- 
 istic of the period l The whole ten vo- 
 lumes of his first series are exclusively 
 occupied with the French revolution and 
 the wars that grew out of it, while “ the 
 literature, the manners, the arts, and the 
 social changes, ” which he admits are far 
 more permanently interesting and impor- 
 tant than the doings of statesmen in gene- 
 ral, are quite omitted ! A critic has well 
 objected to Niebuhr, in his History of Rome, 
 that he should have exhausted his efforts 
 in clearing up and rendering intelligible 
 the merely civic life of the Roman people, 
 while he told us little or nothing besides 
 of the people themselves, of their ideas 
 and feelings, cheir religious morality and 
 domestic relations, of their women as well 
 as their men, of their children and then- 
 education, and of their slaves and the 
 treatment of slaves. “ The central idea 
 of the Roman religion and polity,” he says, 
 “ the family, scarcely shows itself in his 
 voluminous works, except in connection 
 with the classification of the citizens ; nor 
 are we made to perceive in what the be- 
 liefs and modes of conduct of the Romans, 
 respecting things in general, agreed, and 
 in what disagreed, with those of the rest 
 of the ancient world. Yet the mysteries 
 of the Romans and their fortunes must be 
 there. ” But with how much more per- 
 tinency and force may we apply similar 
 objections to the oversights of Alison, who 
 speaks of wars, and battles, and intrigues, 
 as if Europe, for the last half century, had 
 done nothing but fight. Were all the 
 Europeans ministers, or generals, or diplo- 
 mats, or monarchs, that no other charac- 
 ters are permitted to figure on the scene 1 
 Were there no other movements but 
 those of armies, no words uttered but 
 those of protocols, no letters written 
 but the cipher of secret agents, or the 
 dispatches of commissaries'? Had not 
 those thirty millions of Frenchmen, and 
 those other millions of Germans, Spaniards, 
 Italians, Russians, English, &c., who make 
 up the noun of multitude Europe, like 
 Shylock, “ eyes, organs, senses, affect iona 
 
1853.] 
 
 Alison's Histories. 
 
 561 
 
 passions,” or had they only hands to 
 handle swords, and bodies that were tar- 
 gets for cannon 1 If we were left to Mr. 
 Alison’s accounts alone, for our sources of 
 information, we should be compelled to 
 give a most abhorrent answer to these 
 questions, and to suppose that Christen- 
 dom, for a quarter of a century, had been 
 surrendered to Milton’s apostate angels, 
 who “ only in destruction took delight.” 
 His pages remind us of the Salon des 
 Batailles, at Versailles, where every pic- 
 ture is some grand state ceremonial, or a 
 battle-piece, covered with charging troops, 
 and the carcasses of the slain, with noisy 
 trumpeters in the foreground, and vast 
 masses of lurid smoke blotting out the 
 green earth and the skies. We are not 
 unaware, as we trust we have shown, of 
 the surpassing greatness of the external 
 events of which his history is composed, 
 nor do we complain of the minute and la- 
 borious zeal with which he has gathered 
 every particular concerning them, ran- 
 sacking archives and measuring fields of 
 slaughter; but we do complain that he 
 has allowed the tumult and dust of these 
 vast contests to stop his ears and blind 
 his eyes to every object but themselves. 
 
 Mr. Alison acknowledges this serious 
 deficiency in the preface to his second se- 
 ries, and attempts to supply it by a prom- 
 ise to present “ subjects of study more 
 generally interesting than the weightier 
 matters of social and political change,” 
 giving a chapter of the literary history of 
 England in the body of the work, by way 
 of specimen ; but the reparation comes 
 too late ; for we cannot see with what 
 propriety he begins in 1815, an exposi- 
 tion that ought to have commenced in 
 1789, or how he can be so weak as to 
 suppose that desultory sketches of cer- 
 tain prominent writers and discoveries, is 
 a history of Arts, Manners, Literature 
 and Society. These have as much a con- 
 nected life, interdependent relations, and 
 an order of development, as the “ weigh- 
 tier matters of social and political change,” 
 and, in any consistent historical survey, 
 ought to be treated with the same abound- 
 ing completeness and accuracy. A few 
 scraps of commonplace criticism, such as 
 one reads in the book notices of Ladies’ 
 Magazines, or in the essays of young col- 
 legians, scraps loosely strung together by 
 mere contemporaneousness or sequence 
 of time, and as if their subjects had no re- 
 lation, either to the spirit of the age, or to 
 the condition and movements of society, 
 cannot be called history, even in the low- 
 est sense of the term ; much less can they 
 be called systematic history. Yet it is 
 precisely such scraps that he has set be- 
 fore us in the chapter entitled “ The Pro- 
 
 gress of Literature, Science, the Arts and 
 Manners in Great Britain after the Peace,” 
 a chapter designed to shadow forth his in- 
 tentions as to the future treatment of the 
 Literature, Art, &c., of the rest of Europe 
 Preluding with a brief reference to the 
 rapid growth of steam navigation and of 
 cotton manufactures, and to the impulse 
 given to intellectual activity by great wars, 
 he sketches the literary or artistic charac- 
 ters of Scott, Byron, Rogers, Southey, 
 Wordsworth, Coleridge, Paley, Mai thus, 
 Herschell, and others, down to Miss O’Neil, 
 and Helen Faucett. W e say, sketches, 
 though a meagre term like that even 
 can hardly be applied to the wretched ske- 
 letons he parades as life. Not to remark 
 upon the singular anachronism that many 
 of his personages, such as Paley, Sir 
 Thomas Lawrence Scott, Crabbe, Dugald 
 Stewart, Davy, Kemble, Herschell, &c., at- 
 tained their chief celebrity before, instead 
 of “ after the Peace ” ; nor upon the still 
 more singular oversight, of omitting utter- 
 ly Shelley and Keats from his list of poets, 
 and Faraday from that of philosophers, 
 and Godwin from the novelists, and De 
 Quincey and Leigh Hunt from the critics, 
 and Sheridan Knowles from the drama- 
 tists; we must say that his characteriza- 
 tions of the men he .names are the most 
 puerile, vague, and unsatisfactory that we 
 ever read in a book of any pretension. 
 As to any distinct, positive, or discrimi- 
 nating description of the distinguishing 
 peculiarities of these worthies, there is 
 none; “charming,” “delightful,” “fine,” 
 “ brilliant,” “ graphic,” . “ interesting,” are 
 the epithets that exhaust his thesaurus, 
 and which are applied equally to all, with 
 a slight change of posture, in each different 
 sentence. Take Tennyson, whose merits 
 and defects as a poet are alike salient, and 
 seizable, for an example of Mr. Alison’s 
 method of estimating literary character. 
 “ Tennyson,” he says, “has opened a new 
 vein in English poetry, and shown that 
 real genius, even in the most advanced 
 stages of society, can strike a fresh chord, 
 and, departing from the hackneyed ways of 
 imitation, charm the world by the concep- 
 tions of original thought. Ilis imagina- 
 tion, wide and discursive as the dreams 
 of fancy, wanders at will, not over the 
 real so much as the ideal world. The 
 grottoes of the sea, the caves of the mer- 
 maid, the realms of heaven, are alternately 
 the scenes of his song. His versification, 
 wild as the song of the elfin king, is 
 broken and irregular, but often inexpres- 
 sibly charming. Sometimes, however, 
 this tendency leads him into conceit ; in 
 the endeavor to be original, he becomes 
 fantastic ; there is a freshness and origi- 
 nality, however, about his conceptions, 
 
568 
 
 Alison's Histones. 
 
 which contrast strangely, with the practi- 
 cal and interested views, which influenced 
 the age in which he lived, and contributed 
 not a little to their deserved success. 
 They were felt to be the more charming, 
 because they were so much at variance 
 with the prevailing ideas around him, and 
 reopened those fountains of romance, 
 which nature had planted in every bosom, 
 but which are so often closed by the 
 cares, the anxieties, and the rivalry of the 
 world.” 
 
 Now this mass of verbiage, this feeble- 
 ness, nonsense, and mixed metaphor, 
 might have been written, if any one but 
 Mr. Alison could have written it, about 
 any poet that has flourished since Pope, 
 and would have given a reader ignorant 
 of him, just as clear an idea of his quali- 
 ties as it does of those of Mr. Tennyson. 
 That is, it would have given him just no 
 idea at all. Tennyson’s subtle insight, in- 
 tellectual intensity, deep mystical imagina- 
 tion, refined spiritual fancy, elaborate 
 sculptural art, and pervading melody, or 
 any other traits that separate him from 
 the rest of his tribe, are terra incognita to 
 the “great historian,” who seems, also, 
 quite as innocent of any real knowledge 
 of all the other two or three score per- 
 sonages whom he attempts to delineate. 
 
 We meet once more, too, in this litera- 
 ry patchwork, with Mr. Alison’s fondness 
 for repetition, and read, not without a- 
 musement, of Scott’s “widespread repu- 
 tation,” Byron’s “most widespread rep- 
 utation in the world,” the “widespread in- 
 terest of Moore’s lines,” Campbell’s “wide- 
 spread fame,” Dickens’s “ widespread 
 reputation,” — phrases that recur on every 
 second page — on the very pages, indeed, 
 in which we are informed truly enough, 
 that “ repetition and monotony are the 
 bane of literature and imagination.” We 
 are also told, on one page, that Moore is 
 “the greatest lyric poet in the English 
 language ; ” on the next, that Campbell is 
 “ the greatest lyric poet of England,” and 
 in a third, that Gray “ has made the most 
 popular poem in the English language.” 
 Again, Joanna Baillie’s dramas are said to 
 be written “ in sonorous Alexandrine ver- 
 ses,” which is a new measure for dramas, 
 and Mrs. Hemans is called “a rival to 
 Coleridge, if not in depth of thought, in 
 tenderness of feeling, and beauty of ex- 
 pression.” 
 
 “ Lalla Rookh ” is made to “ clothe ori- 
 ental images and adventures with the 
 genius and refinement of the Western 
 world ; ” and Alison, who wrote the most 
 jejune of books on Taste, is said to have 
 been “ inspired by a genuine taste for the 
 sublime and beautiful.” Mr. Macaulay is 
 spoken of as one whose “imagination often 
 
 [May 
 
 snatches the reins from his reason,” whose 
 “ ardor dims his equanimity,” whose 
 “views, always ingenious, are not uni- 
 formly just.” whose “powers as a rheto- 
 rician make him forget his duties as a 
 judge,” who is “splendid rather than im- 
 partial ; ” while in the same passage we are 
 told that “ his fascinating volumes ” cause 
 us “ to regret that the first pleader at the 
 bar of posterity has not yet been raised 
 to the bench.” Fine qualities these for a 
 judgo ! 
 
 Nor are we less amused in hearing that 
 Wilson, the truculent editor of Black- 
 wood , “wields his aerial flights through 
 the heavens, without alighting, or caring 
 for the concerns of the lower world,” i. e. 
 Wilson of the Nodes — and whose criti- 
 cisms, “ if they have any imperfections, it 
 is that they are too indulgent ; ” or that 
 Mitfbrd’s dull and bigoted history of 
 Greece, “ combines the interest of the ro- 
 mance of Quintus Curtius, with the au- 
 thenticity and accuracy of Arrian.” 
 Thackeray, the greatest satirist of Eng- 
 land, since the days of Swift, is dismissed 
 as a writer of Mr. Dickens’s school, i. e. 
 the school which “ aimed at the represen- 
 tation of the manners, customs, ideas and 
 habits of middle and low life,”— “ distin- 
 guished by great talents and graphic pow- 
 ers,” but not “destined to be durable,” 
 because “ imagination is a winged deity, 
 whose flight, to be commanding, must 
 ever be upward,” and because “ Ridicule 
 is valued only by those who know the 
 persons ridiculed.” We might fill a vol- 
 ume with such crude and preposterous 
 judgments, if we had space to waste in 
 copying them, — judgments formed with 
 out principles, and expressed in the loose 
 language of the newspapers. 
 
 Of criticism as an art — an art which 
 treats the great products of literature and 
 science, as the vital growth of genius, 
 having their deep inward laws of being, 
 and related to the age in which they 
 were produced, by the profoundest ties 
 and influences — Mr. Alison appears to 
 have no more conception than a common 
 house-painter has of the chemistry of the 
 colors he uses. When he has given us 
 the title of a writer’s principal works, 
 adduced a few facts of his external life, 
 told us that he was charming, widely cele- 
 brated, and enduringly known, and that he 
 was a man of some moral convictions, he 
 fancies that he has written a history of 
 that writer. But of his individuality, as 
 distinguished from other writers, from 
 what standpoint or under what circum- 
 stances, he looked on life and nature, and 
 interpreted their lessons, or of his rela- 
 tions to great contemporaneous develop- 
 ments in the same sphere, as well as in 
 
1853.J 
 
 Alison's Histories. 
 
 5 Of) 
 
 other spheres, we arc taught literally no- 
 thing. Sir Walter Scott, as a novelist, for 
 instance, was an altogether peculiar and 
 significant phenomenon, making its ap- 
 pearance in the midst of English litera- 
 ture, to revive the images of feudal life, 
 at a time when the whole current of the 
 world was agitated, and rushing on to an 
 unknown future. What then did he ex- 
 press, what were his uses, w T hat his value 
 to the age ? Can a thoughtful mind con- 
 sider him, without asking questions such 
 as these ? Has he any real interest to us, 
 as a fact of history, except in his re- 
 lations to the general course of literature, 
 and to the general life of society ? Yet Mr. 
 Alison is satisfied with a few personal de- 
 tails, and a very vague talk about his 
 “ brilliancy of fancy,” his “ poetic concep- 
 tions,” his “great and varied powers,” and 
 that poetic temperament which “ threw 
 over the pictures of memory, the radiance 
 of the imagination ;” adding, as a proof, 
 both of his morality and immortality, in 
 true Alisonian style, that “ nothing ever 
 permanently floated down the stream of 
 time but what was buoyant from its 
 elevating tendency ! ” 
 
 Coleridge was no less than Scott a no- 
 table man, not in himself merely, but in 
 the important influence which he exer- 
 cised upon the poetic taste of his genera- 
 tion, and the new era which he may be 
 said to have created in the speculative ten- 
 dencies of the English mind. More than 
 any man of his age, therefore, he deserves 
 at the hands of the historian, a rigid 
 analysis of his splendid powers, and a 
 careful estimate of his bearing upon con- 
 temporary thought. At the least, he 
 should have been described as something 
 more than a considerable poet, and an ex- 
 cellent translator, “ with a strongly meta- 
 physical turn of mind,” less “ abstract 
 and philosophical,” though “ more picto- 
 rial and dramatic ” than Wordsworth, 
 and not destined to “ lasting celebrity,” 
 because his “ideas and images are too ab- 
 stract.” 
 
 Our readers may, perhaps, object that 
 it is too much to expect of Alison any 
 philosophical view, either of men or 
 things ; and we should admit the force of 
 the objection if he were not constantly 
 thrusting his reflections, which are meant 
 to be philosophical, into the course of 
 i his narrative. For not content with his 
 I verbose details of incidents, and his at- 
 tempted portraitures of character, he deals 
 > sweeping judgments “round the land,” ut- 
 tering them with the most positive confi- 
 dence, and claiming for them at times the 
 authority of Heaven. We are bound, 
 consequently, to look a little into his 
 right to assume this lofty judicial attitude, 
 vol. i. — 37 
 
 and to ask ourselves on what principles 
 he proceeds in his elaborate philosophical 
 reflections. 
 
 It is difficult, we confess, to ascertain dis- 
 tinctly what his philosophical views are ; 
 but as near as we can gather them from the 
 maxims and theories he is fond of sport- 
 ing, they amount to this: that man is 
 universally corrupt, destitute alike of the 
 goodness which should prompt him into 
 the right path, and of the intellect always 
 to discern it ; and as an inevitable result, 
 running perpetually into lamentable er- 
 rors, from which he is alone saved by an 
 inscrutable Providence. Thus, when a 
 French Revolution comes, in a sudden 
 access of frenzy, to spread its wickedness 
 over the continent, a sober and constitution- 
 al England is raised up to stay the deluge 
 of Jacobinism; thus when a wicked Mr. 
 Peel contracts the currency or establishes 
 free trade, to the infinite damage of the 
 landed aristocracy, Providence opens the 
 way to California, to supply the precious 
 metals and give an impulse to emigration : 
 thus, on every occasion when the iniquity 
 and short-sightedness of mortals get them 
 into hopeless straits, Providence steps 
 in with its methods of relief! Now, we 
 have as much faith in Providence as Mr. 
 Alison, but we differ from him in believ- 
 ing that it works, through human agency 
 and according to a fixed and intelligible 
 order, which is no further inscrutable 
 than we are ignorant, and which shows 
 no favor either “ to the just or unjust,” 
 but proceeds in every respect rationally 
 because it is itself the Supreme Reason. 
 There was a class of talewrights and 
 dramatists in German literature, which 
 somebody called the Need-and-Help- 
 School, because it was their habit to allow 
 their characters to fall into all manner of 
 dangers and difficulties, in order at the cri- 
 tical moment to come to their aid, either by 
 providing some unexpected rescue, or kill- 
 ing them all off at once. They very well 
 illustrate the kind of Providence to which 
 Mr. Alison seems to commit the universe. 
 — a Providence which creates a certain 
 number of ninnies and villains, places 
 them in the midst of the scenery in which 
 they are to move, sets them at work until 
 they are all at loggerheads and begin to 
 throttle the life out of each other, and then 
 at last, interposes to make a display of its 
 own adroitness and compassion. 
 
 We say this seems to be his theory of 
 the course of providential guidance, inas 
 much as he is not always consistent in 
 his expositions, accounting Ibr the French 
 Revolution, in one place, for example, 
 by alleging that it was a part of “the 
 universal frenzy which at times seizes 
 mankind from causes inscrutable to hu- 
 
570 
 
 Alison's Histories. 
 
 man wisdom and yet, in another place, 
 assigning a dozen natural causes, in the 
 oppressions of the previous reigns, for all 
 its sanguinary violence ; or again, in- 
 sisting on the radical depravity of man, 
 and his inevitable tendency to all sorts of 
 self-destruction, while at the same time 
 he tries to make out that there is, after all, 
 a steady progress and general improve- 
 ment of the race. But, it is evident that 
 both these views cannot be true ; for if 
 there is progress, there must be a law of 
 progress, and consequently, no incessant 
 proclivity to evil ; or if there is that uni- 
 form proclivity to evil, then there can be no 
 general progress, only a capricious, occa- 
 sional, and useless fluctuation between 
 good and evil. We must do Mr. Alison 
 the justice, however, to confess that for 
 the most part he adopts the obscurant 
 theory, or that view of human affairs 
 which, when it cannot confirm its own 
 prejudices by the actual facts of the case, 
 refers the whole to inscrutable wisdom. 
 
 As a matter of course, then, he distrusts 
 all popular movements, even to the extent 
 of doubting whether popular education 
 does any good ; regards representative 
 government every where as a failure, de- 
 testing the United States especially, because 
 it is an illustrious example of its success ; 
 imagines England to be on the verge of 
 bankruptcy and dissolution, because free- 
 trade has been carried there, and the 
 popular element of the constitution is 
 coming into the ascendant ; is filled with 
 consternation by every proposal of change, 
 and vaticinates like another Jeremiah over 
 the entire future. In short, we do not 
 know a philosopher on the face of the 
 earth, who, if his own philosophic essays on 
 man and nature are correct, ought to feel 
 more uncomfortable than he, in the pre- 
 sent advancing condition and brightening 
 prospects of mankind. We shall not, 
 therefore, quarrel with him for his invete- 
 rate, silly, and miserable toryism ; nor 
 take him to task, as we might, for those 
 reiterated misrepresentations in which he 
 ehooses to indulge in respect to the char- 
 acter and progress of Democracy, partic- 
 ularly as it has developed itself in this 
 country (for he appears quite incorrigi- 
 ble in both respects, being either insensible 
 to the force of facts, or meanly unwilling 
 to admL them), but, on the contrary, we 
 shall proffer him our sincerest compassion 
 for the difficulties of his position. A man 
 who writes the history of the nineteenth 
 eentury, under a serious conviction that its 
 experiences are a solemn warning against 
 liberalism, is one of the saddest spectacles 
 that can be presented to our eyes. The 
 labor of Sisyphus was nothing to his : 
 the fruitless experiments of the Danaides 
 
 [Maj 
 
 were nothing . in short, nothing but that 
 swimming pig, by which Southey in the 
 Devil’s Walk, illustrates England’s com- 
 mercial prosperity, can be his parallel. 
 Every stroke that he makes only cuts 
 his own throat, — every fact that he records 
 upsets his theory. Or, rather, he is ob- 
 liged to read the riddle of things back- 
 wards. We ought not consequently to 
 have been surprised, as we were a little 
 way back, that Mr. Alison should give 
 such sterile and incomplete accounts of 
 the great movements in literature, science 
 and practical art, which have distinguished 
 the years of which he writes. If he had 
 done so, with any completeness, he would 
 have been compelled to abandon his ob- 
 scurantism, and to adopt a view of the 
 progress of human affairs quite damaging 
 to his pet notions of the extreme naughti- 
 ness and littleness of God’s last creation, 
 Man. He was prudent, if not wise, in 
 time ! 
 
 Gervinus, one of the most accomplished 
 and profound of German historians, lately 
 sentenced to prison at Baden for the pub- 
 lication of his opinions, taking up the doc- 
 trine of Aristotle, that the law of human 
 development was from the participation 
 of the few to .that of the many in govern- 
 ment, demonstrates and confirms it by 
 the subsequent experience of two thou- 
 sand 3'ears. It is not a fancy, he says, 
 nor an opinion, nor a declamatory phrase, 
 nor a hypothetical judgment, but the ab- 
 solute. scientific order, as certain as the 
 courses of the stars, or the process of 
 growth in the individual being. But what 
 Gervinus proves, mainly in the political 
 sphere, made still more manifest by the en- 
 tire course and consequence of the develop- 
 ment of literature and science, is particular- 
 ly striking in the wonderful achievements 
 of the last half century. In the death-blows 
 which it has given to the old feudal and aris- 
 tocratic maxims and practices, in the ame- 
 liorations it lias wrought in the spirit of the 
 laws, in the growing political power, moral 
 elevation, and intellectual enlightenment 
 of the masses of the people, in the almost 
 universal diffusion of letters, as well as in 
 their humanitarian tone, in the greater 
 cheapness of all the. appliances of every- 
 day life, whereby the luxuries of the past 
 age have become the daily comforts of this, 
 in the prodigious movements imparted 
 to trade, by the discovery of new outlets 
 for population, new fields for labor, new 
 rewards for enterprise ; in short, in the in- 
 describably numerous and inexhaustible 
 sources of enjojunent and wealth, be- 
 stowed upon all communities by the re- 
 velations of science and their practical ap- 
 plications, we find the condition of man- 
 kind advanced beyond even the dreams of 
 
Alison's Histories. 
 
 5 ?! 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 the most sanguine enthusiasts of former 
 generations, and we see in them, also, a 
 pledge of the more rapid and surprising 
 conquests of the future. But Mr. Alison 
 finds in them, and sees in them, no such 
 things ; finds in their past effects only a 
 disturbance of his cherished notions of 
 law and order, and sees in their future 
 promises only another -1 dispersion of man- 
 kind,” like that on the plains of Shinar, 
 produced, too, by the same unholy pride 
 and ambition which raised the vain tower 
 at Babel ! 
 
 Now it is because he does not find and 
 see these things, or, in other words, be- 
 cause he does not comprehend the spirit 
 of the age he undertakes to describe, but 
 stands in a relation of antagonism to it, 
 that we pronounce him quite incapable of 
 his task. We do not wish any actual 
 specimens of his unskilfulness to convince 
 us of his unfitness. He may string facts 
 together with never so much industry, 
 describe isolated scenes with the anima- 
 tion of a Napier, analyze individual charac- 
 ter with the eye of a Scott ; but so long as 
 the characters and events he portrays are no 
 more than so many shadows dancing upon 
 the wall, — as they must be to the mind 
 which has no clear and consistent clue 
 to their movements, in a knowledge of 
 their interior spirit, — he cannot become 
 their historian. A Sandwich islander, 
 suddenly placed before the footlights at 
 Niblo’s, when Sontag or Alboni is electri- 
 fying the intelligent spectators with splen- 
 did visions of beauty and enjoyment, 
 might as well hope to write a competent 
 criticism of the performance for the next 
 day’s Tribune , as a historian of Mr. Ali- 
 son’s sympathies to depict the Nineteenth 
 Century. Granting that he sees the in- 
 cidents and events with as comprehensive 
 and minute an eye as any other man, he 
 can yet see only the outside of them, like 
 the Otaheitan at the play; he does not 
 see the motives of the performer, nor 
 the scope of the drama. The principle 
 which explains all — the struggle for hu- 
 man freedom — that contest of man for the 
 mastery of nature, of society, of himself, 
 which is the open secret of all history, he 
 winks out of sight, and puts in its place 
 
 some marrowless, and conservative; high 
 church dogma. 
 
 Nor is it less true of history in general, 
 than it is of the history of the last half 
 century, that without this guiding principle 
 of freedom, it is a vast and innavigable 
 ocean, clouded with mists, and darkness. 
 The historian, who puts his little bark 
 forth into it, moves forward without com- 
 pass or chart. Innumerable counter-cur- 
 rents of tradition baffle him on all sides ; 
 huge sand-banks of authority arrest his 
 course ; the coral reefs of prejudice and 
 the wrecks of stranded systems scrape 
 his keel, the storms and winds of fierce 
 war harry the atmosphere, so that he is 
 driven he knows not whither, and makes 
 the shore, when he arrives at all, by the 
 merest chance. But had he carried with 
 him the chart and compass, supplied by 
 even a dim perception of that great law 
 of freedom, which is the principle of all the 
 evolutions of history, he might have defied 
 the tempests and mastered the stormy 
 seas, beholding beyond the chaos of the 
 elements, a beautiful sunshine and the 
 green world of peace. 
 
 But, without protracting this discus- 
 sion, which the amiable editors of Putnam 
 warn us already encroaches upon the 
 limits they usually assign to their heavier 
 articles, let us close by saying that this, 
 then, is our estimate of the great English 
 historian : that he is an exceedingly patient 
 collector of facts, and sometimes an ani- 
 mated, but generally a drowsy and bung- 
 ling narrator of them ; that his style is too 
 often slipshod, awkward and ungrammati- 
 cal ; that his statements may be relied upon 
 for the most part, except where the United 
 States and democratic institutions are con- 
 cerned, when his vehement prejudices be- 
 wray him into the grossest misrepresenta- 
 tions ; but that his alarming deficiency in 
 any general views, especially in broad and 
 consistent principles of historical philoso- 
 phy, which would enable him to detect the 
 real inward life of society, renders him 
 quite incompetent- to a worthy discharge 
 of the functions of an historian, especially 
 of the period -which he has undertaken 
 to describe. 
 
57 2 
 
 [May 
 
 ORNITHOMANES. 
 
 THE “bird-enamored” DISCOURSETH ANENT EAGLES. 
 
 F RIEND of my early days, true poet, 
 who, eagle-like, wouldst soar, in the 
 flushed promise of thy scarce-fledged 
 genius, sunward, u-ndazzled; who, stricken 
 down most sadly from thy pride of place 
 among the empyrean stars of song, like 
 that same eagle sore-imprisoned, now 
 mopest thine uncounted days, with — 
 
 “ that noble and most sovereign reason, 
 
 Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh, 
 
 That unmatched form and feature of blown youth 
 Blasted with ecstacy— ” 
 
 it was with thee — with thee. 
 
 Never, never, shall I now forget that 
 breathless, dewy morning of July, when 
 escaping, or ere the early sun had turned 
 the dusky fleece of summer cloudlets into 
 rose and amber, from the smoke and din 
 and concourse of the awakening city, we 
 sallied forth, well mounted, with hearts 
 as light as our fleet horses’ hoofs, with 
 innocent intent, like that Earl Percy, 
 whose rude legend was wont to stir the 
 gentle heart of Sydney more than a 
 trumpet — 
 
 *• Our pleasure in the Highland woods, 
 
 That summer day to take.* 
 
 How lovely was that sunrise, as we be- 
 held it from the grassy esplanade, which 
 lies along the brink of the storm-scarred 
 Palisades, five hundred feet above the 
 serene bosom of the brimful azure Hud- 
 son — an esplanade of smooth green mossy 
 sward, as soft and even as if it had been 
 pruned by the nibbling bidents of Eng- 
 land’s far-famed south-downs, stretching 
 out, mile after mile, a graceful perspective 
 of green undulations, like a velvet ribbon, 
 not wider than an artificial race-course, or 
 the wood-drive in some noble park, be- 
 tween the unshorn natural forest, and the 
 half basaltic columnar precipices. 
 
 Broad and red the great sun rose, 
 bloody-colored through the thin transpa- 
 rent sea-mist, over the rounded green hills 
 of Westchester, and lighted up the whole 
 glorious scene ; the great rejoicing river, 
 studded with snow-white sails of gliding 
 sloops and graceful schooners ; the broad 
 bay glancing like a sea of gold studded 
 with castled islands ; the mighty city half 
 veiled in the hazy smoke-wreaths, above 
 which shimmered in the light air the 
 flags and signals of her ten thousand 
 masts, and glanced in the mid azure the 
 slender spire of the elder Trinity. 
 
 Around us, the free, fresh underwood 
 sent up a thousand aromatic perfumes, as 
 our horses’ flanks dashed the diamond 
 dew-drops from their heavy sprays. The 
 ferns and grasses, crushed by the iron- 
 
 shod hoofs, had each its peculiar spicy 
 odor ; and if old England’s primroses and 
 violets were wanting on the thymy banks, 
 and no bush woodbines trailed their 
 honeyed trumpets from the crags, the 
 many-clustered blooms of the white and 
 rose-colored azaleas, and the fragrant 
 spikes of the delicate spiroeas, wooed 
 either sense as pleasurably ; and the five- 
 pinnated Virginian ivy, and the sweet- 
 scented clematis, festooned the gray rocks, 
 and draped the shadowy junipers with 
 equally luxuriant verdure. 
 
 The atmosphere was alive with the 
 hum of the wild bees and hundreds of 
 merry insects, children of summer and the 
 sun ; and the sadly-trickling woodnotes 
 of the hermit-thrush were mingled with 
 the livelier whistles of the migratory bird, 
 which, fraught with old time memories, 
 and the regretful longings after the rural 
 homes of the ancestral island, our fore- 
 fathers surnamed of the bird, dear to the 
 hospitable hearth, sweet robin-red-breast. 
 
 The golden orioles flashed to and fro 
 among the thickest verdure, like winged 
 fire-flakes, carrying the insect food to 
 thefi callow young, swinging safe in their 
 pensile nests from the gnarled branch of 
 the red cedar. The little American hares 
 bounced up from their forms, among the 
 winter-greens and brambles, and cocking 
 up their cottony scuts, dived into the 
 underwood and disappeared ; and, here 
 and there, if by chance some' rill of cool 
 spring-water, before tossing its silver 
 thread over the verge of the grim rocks, 
 expanded itself into a tiny swamp, and 
 nourished a scattered growth of willow- 
 tufts and alder-bushes, a mother wood- 
 cock would flush up on whistling pi- 
 nions, with her plump, ruddy breast and 
 full black eye, and lead her weakly-flut- 
 tering, half-grown young, into some safer 
 covert. 
 
 In itself, every thing was beautiful and 
 calm, and rural — more, even, than rural — 
 sylvan. Gazing around us, on this side 
 the river, without a sound or a sight to 
 remind us of man’s intrusion on “boon 
 nature’s ” wild demesne, we might, with 
 no vast stretch of fancy, have imagined 
 ourselves leagues aloof in the old un- 
 broken wilderness — 
 
 Where Indian footsteps rare intrude 
 
 To break the sylvan solitude. 
 
 Yet, casting one glance to the farther 
 bank, the trim suburban villas announced 
 the near vicinity of the great hive of men, 
 the voice of whose uproarious bells, and 
 
Omithomanes. 
 
 573 
 
 1853.] 
 
 the muffled roar of whose morning guns, 
 had but now spoken audibly to our fleshy 
 ears of the body, deafening the subtler 
 organs of the soul. 
 
 And this contiguity it is of contrasts 
 which lends such a charm to the land- 
 scape scenery of America. Despite the 
 newness, the raw, just finished look of 
 the towns, to which Dickens has so 
 humorously alluded in one of his spicy 
 caricatures, there is every where in the 
 country, so soon as the wanderer’s foot 
 has left the pavement, and before his 
 ears have lost the din of the city, an as- 
 pect of untutored and almost primeval 
 rusticity ; a moss-grown charm of sylvan 
 eld, that involuntarily recalls the mind, if 
 not to Arcadian fancies, at least to the 
 stranger realities of the stupendous change 
 which has occurred in these most familiar 
 scenes within the narrow compass of two 
 centuries. 
 
 No other country in the world can 
 point to scenes of almost primitive nature, 
 still haunted by some of the shyest and 
 wildest of the animal creation, in so near 
 contiguity to the abodes of a civilization 
 almost super-civilized, and more than 
 Sybarite luxuriousness. 
 
 All these things, or many of them — for 
 Boz had not yet spoken to his world-wide 
 audience, and the lucubrations of Martin 
 Chuzzlewit slept yet unformed in the 
 womb of futurity — we babbled of, as we 
 rode along, careless of time, and giving 
 ourselves up wholly to the enjoyment of 
 the pleasant season, and to the impulsive 
 thoughts which sprang from each new 
 object, that presented itself to our admira- 
 tion or our wonder. 
 
 Morning had melted before the fervors 
 of hot noon, as we pursued our way, heed- 
 less, if not unconscious, of distance ; and 
 at length, as we reached a loftier summit 
 of the Palisades, beyond which the con- 
 tinuous line of columnar ramparts, whence 
 their familiar name, is interrupted by a 
 deep wooded lap or basin, opening softly 
 to a cove of the great river, we paused, 
 drew bridle, and sat still. 
 
 At first, we halted, on impulse only, to 
 gaze with earnest eyes on the splendid 
 prospect which greeted us; for we had 
 advanced so far, that we might behold 
 the huge barriers of the Hudson High- 
 lands upheaving themselves in vast, 
 solemn, purple masses before our eyes, 
 while above them, and through the 
 breaks in their undulating outline, the 
 ;riple summit of the distant Kaatskills 
 slept in a soft, cerulean shadow against 
 the bright horizon. Anon, we might see 
 the fleecy masses of clouds gather, and 
 thicken and grow dark, over the distant 
 mountains, until their form, their dimen- 
 
 sions, their very presence, were swallowed 
 up in the great inky shroud, whence is- 
 sued at intervals a low, hoarse, grum- 
 bling moan, preceded by a momentary 
 livid streak veining the blackness ; by 
 which we knew that the thunder-spirits 
 had not deserted their old haunts in the 
 Highlands. 
 
 Perhaps it was the distant growlings 
 of the storm, perhaps the fidgetiness of 
 our horses — for that animal, as I have of- 
 ten observed, is singularly sensitive to the 
 presence of electricity in the atmosphere 
 — that recalled us from the contemplation 
 of the noble view to more sublunary 
 things. But when we were so awakened, 
 and found our good steeds bathed in dark 
 sweat, and that sweat chafed into white 
 creamy lather, wherever bridle rein or 
 stirrup leather had turned the hair — 
 though we had not in the last five miles 
 exceeded a foot’s pace — we resolved to 
 make a brief halt in that pleasant place, 
 both for the refreshment of our animals, 
 and the consolation of our inner selves, 
 with such slight provisions as our sand- 
 wich boxes and hunting-flasks might fur- 
 nish. Nigh twenty years have elapsed 
 since I saw that spot ; in all human pro- 
 bability I shall never see it again ; and, 
 were I to see it, I should most likely fail 
 to recognize a single feature ; but by some 
 strange freak of memory, which has 
 slurred over in oblivion a hundred nearer 
 and more important matters, I remember 
 every small particular of that scene, every 
 accident of light and shade, as clearly as 
 if I had looked upon it yesterday. Yet 
 it was nothing. Nothing but the like of 
 which we all look upon every day, with- 
 out notice enough, even, that we should 
 say we forget it. 
 
 A large white-oak tree shed a wide 
 shadow over the green sward, quite to the 
 edge of the precipice ; and above the oak, 
 above all the surrounding trees of the 
 somewhat stunted forest, towered the gi- 
 gantic skeleton of what had once been a 
 colossal white-pine, now barkless and 
 weather-beaten, but still erect and stately, 
 and pointing with its sapless arms to the 
 four winds of heaven. Above the sum- 
 mit of the pine, again, the work of man’s 
 busy hands, rose a tall spear, secured with 
 bolts and braces, and capped by avhat 
 closely resembled a huge extinguisher of 
 bright tin — the whole forming, strangely 
 out of place in that wild bit of unshorn 
 forest, one of the triangulation stations 
 of the coast survey, which was then la- 
 boring, with its unequalled industry and 
 science, on that portion of the Atlantic 
 sea-board. Immediately in front of us, 
 as we sat under the cool freshness of tho 
 oak, after picketing our horses duly wa- 
 
574 
 
 Oi'nithomanes. 
 
 tered at the neighboring brook, and care- 
 fully rubbed down ; at about thirty feet 
 distant lay the sheer brink of the preci- 
 pice, with its verge undulating and irreg- 
 ular, as the height of the columnar rocks 
 forming its face, varied and fringed by 
 a verdure of ferns, mullens, and other 
 coarse shrubby plants which love to cast 
 anchor in the crevices of any rocky soil. 
 A little way to the left, forming the high- 
 est point of the Palisades, just where the 
 verdant gap I have described began to 
 descend abruptly to the northward, one 
 splintered pinnacle of gray stone stood 
 up, some twenty feet ahove the green 
 sward on the land side, some twice three 
 hundred above its base on the river shore ; 
 close to the rock a stunted juniper shot 
 out of a crevice in the cliff’s face and 
 twisted itself upward toward the light, 
 mantled and draperied with the most lux- 
 uriant profusion of beautiful deciduous 
 ivy ; and between the two there protru- 
 ded, considerably beyond the precipice, 
 what resembled a gigantic spout of mas- 
 sive timber. It was, indeed, no less than 
 the hollowed trunk of a huge tree, pol- 
 ished as smooth as if it had been finished 
 in a lathe, fastened to the rocks by great 
 braces, and extending into the clear space 
 many feet over the sheer walls of basaltic 
 limestone. In a word, reader, it was what 
 I had never seen, at least in that shape, 
 before, a timber slide, prepared for launch- 
 ing the hewn trunks over the brink so 
 that they should fall into the trough fash- 
 ioned to receive them, two or three hun- 
 dred feet below, and so rush into the bosom 
 of the receiving river. To contemplate 
 this, which had waked my special wonder, 
 after the edge of our appetites had been 
 appeased by the modicum of ham sand- 
 wiches, and the more than modest sip of 
 brown sherry which our flasks afforded, I 
 crawled forth gingerly and cautiously, 
 and, leaning over the trunk, grappling 
 with both hands the tough roots and 
 knotty branches of the stunted shrubs on 
 the edge, gazed down into the abyss. 
 
 At about midway of the height, there 
 commenced a series of slopes, a sort of 
 natural glacis, formed by the accumula- 
 tion of the debris, which had crumbled 
 down, winter after winter, through un- 
 counted ages, from the crags, under the 
 combined action of frost and water ; and 
 these were covered, for the most part, by 
 a scattered growth of young wood. 
 
 At the water’s edge was a little dock, 
 with a small dwelling and storehouse, and 
 a couple of sloops lying at anchor, all 
 dwindled, by the perpendicular distance, 
 into the semblance of baby-houses, and 
 children’s cock-boats. The slide had evi- 
 dently fallen into disuse, owing, doubtless, 
 
 [May 
 
 to the consumption of the woods fitted for 
 its purpose in the vicinity ; for the trough 
 below was in a state of disrepair, little re- 
 moved from ruin, some young green sap- 
 lings having shot forth between its de- 
 cayed timbers; and no piles of logs or 
 lumber testified to its present activity. 
 
 After a little while, as my eye became 
 accustomed to distances, after the first 
 dizziness had passed over, and the princi 
 pal features of the spectacle had become 
 familiar, I began somewhat more curiously 
 to examine and pry into details. 
 
 The face of the precipice before me was 
 any thing rather than sterile or naked. 
 At every few feet of distance, great per- 
 pendicular fissures and crevices ran be- 
 tween the pillared rocks, which time and 
 the gradual decay of vegetable matter had 
 filled with rich, black, fertile soil ; and out 
 of this, chance sown, most probably, by 
 the thrush and the blue jay, shrubs and 
 trees had taken root years ago, and now 
 stretched their green garlands and tortuous 
 branches into mid air, the secure home of 
 unnumbered warblers. 
 
 As I leaned forward, more and more 
 taken with the view, a clod of earth or 
 block of stone, dislodged by my move- 
 ments was detached from the brink, drop- 
 ped plump down, crashing through the 
 branches of a white-oak growing some 
 fifty feet below, and spun away, dwindling 
 in size, and twinkling in the sunlight as it 
 fell. 
 
 Not long, however, did my eye dwell 
 on it ; for, as the first crash sounded from 
 the oak boughs, an enormous pair of 
 chestnut-colored pinions were unfurled, 
 just in the shadow under it, and, with a 
 shrill, fierce, barking scream, an eagle — a 
 superb, full-plumed, Golden Eagle — shot 
 out from its eyrie in the inaccessible rocks, 
 and soared calmly and fearlessly, as it 
 seemed, over the blue river, upon which 
 the now meridian sun drew a gigantic 
 picture of its wide, expanded vans. 
 
 I know not wherefore, or with what in- 
 tent — for those were the good old days of 
 antique Gotham, when something of the 
 slumberous style, derived from its Dutch 
 Patriarchs, so quaintly pictured by the 
 humorous pen of Irving, still characterized 
 its people, ere the word Rowdy was yet 
 invented, when the B’hoys were innocent 
 babies, and folk would as easily have 
 thought of riding about in complete suits 
 of steel, as of carrying weapons for de- 
 fence — I know not, I say, wherefore, or 
 to what intent, but we had a pair of pis- 
 tols with us ; I believe we had brought 
 them as a means of awakening the mock- 
 ing answers of those airy voices, which 
 men are fond to fancy echoes. 
 
 At all events, a pistol I had, and thought 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Ornithomanes. 
 
 575 
 
 less, on the impulse of the moment I dis- 
 charged it at the noble bird. The sound 
 attracted his attention ; I think, moreover, 
 that the bullet whistled near him, for ho 
 made a short cast upward, flapped his 
 wings angrily over his back, and rose in 
 short gyrations directly above my head. 
 
 But, even then, neither in his motions 
 nor his manner, was there the least show 
 of haste or perturbation, lie sailed slowly 
 round and round ; I could see him turn 
 his hooked beak from side to side, as he 
 brought his piercing eyes to bear on the 
 intruder, and I seemed to catch an intelli- 
 gent glance from those fierce, llame-colored 
 orbs, which can gaze undazzled on the 
 Sun at his meridian. 
 
 Round and round he floated, with no 
 visible movement of his mighty wings, 
 though one could see that he steered him- 
 self with his broad, fan-like tail, scaling 
 the air, ring above ring, in those small 
 concentric circles, as if he were mounting 
 some viewless, winding, Jacob’s ladder, 
 until at length lie literally vanished from 
 our sight, concealed from vision by no 
 jealous, intervening cloud, nor swallowed 
 up in any blaze of living light too effulgent 
 to be braved by mortal eyes of man, but 
 lost in immeasurable distance. 
 
 Once, after our weary eyes had ceased 
 straining themselves in vain, his resonant 
 defying cry came clanging down to us 
 from the depths of the, to him, not intren- 
 chant ether, as if challenging us to meet 
 the radiance of his clear eye, which proba- 
 bly distinguished us with ease, where him- 
 self to our utmost powers invisible. 
 
 That was the first time of my beholding, 
 on this side the Atlantic ocean, that noblest 
 of the feathered race, bird of poets and 
 emperors, the golden eagle ; and but twice, 
 since that day, has his form met my eyes, 
 which ever greet him with something 
 of half-chi valric and loyal devotion, some- 
 thing of half superstitious veneration. 
 
 Once, he was wheeling, like the incar- 
 nate spirit of the thunderstorm, while the 
 clouds were as mirk as midnight above 
 us, and the lightning was blazing as if at 
 white heat, and the thunder, tearing our 
 ears asunder, rebellowed from Bullhill 
 and Crownest, and the stern heights of 
 Thunderberg triumphant amid the tem- 
 pest. 
 
 The canvas of a superb topsail schooner 
 was split to ribbons in an instant, and a 
 tall sloop was dismasted by a gust that 
 came tearing down a gorge in the hills, 
 and drove a long streak of snowy foam 
 before it across the moaning river ; but 
 not a feather did it ruffle of the royal fowl, 
 lending only, as it seemed, new transport 
 to his warrior spirit, new power to his 
 exulting flight. 
 
 Once again I beheld him — I say him, 
 for it always seems to me the same eagle, 
 whom I first saw, long y ears ago, — sailing 
 through the dark mists over the purple 
 moors of Cumberland and Yorkshire, 
 where Pennigant and Ingleborough look 
 down from their misty peaks on the sources 
 of the silver Aire, or the bare crags of 
 Cader Idris afford his chosen eyrie to the 
 nursling of the storm. Once again I be- 
 held him, above a thousand miles aloof, 
 where the untrodden heights of the La 
 Cloche mountains show their almost per- 
 ennial snows to the voyager on the stormy 
 waters of Lake Huron, and the congenial 
 climate and sublime wilderness of the 
 Northwest acknowledge him for their ap- 
 propriate sovereign. 
 
 I knelt in the bow of a birch canoe, 
 propelled by the silent paddle of an Ojibwa 
 Indian, up the still waters of a winding 
 tributary of the Du Francois Itiver, the 
 outlet of Lake Nipissing, with a heavy 
 double-barrel in my hand, keeping a bright 
 look-out, as we doubled every headland 
 of the tortuous stream, for the ducks, 
 which kept rising in great flocks before us. 
 
 Suddenly there came a low tap against 
 the side of the canoe, and a guttural ex- 
 clamation — “ How ! mig-a-zee. An eagle.” 
 
 I looked up, and there he sat, erect, 
 majestic, looking supremely proud and 
 bold, on the very pinnacle of a dead pine 
 tree, not above a hundred yards distant 
 from us. He saw us clearly, for he turned 
 his head, and looked at us steadily with 
 both his great bright eyes ; I could see, or 
 fancied I could see, their tawny glare at 
 that distance. Then he lifted one large 
 yellow claw, and scratched his head, drop- 
 ped it again to his perch, drew himself up 
 and shook himself, till every plumelet 
 seemed in its place, even and sleek as the 
 coat of a high conditioned racer, arched 
 his proud neck, and gazed about him, 
 without a sign of alarm, as if he saw and 
 dared us to injure him. 
 
 For me, he might defy me with im- 
 punity ; for I felt in his presence, as Mar 
 cellus toward the Ghost of Hamlet, that 
 I should 
 
 “ do it wrong, being so niiyestical, 
 
 “ To offer it the show of violence ; ’’ 
 
 and, even had any shot-gun contained the 
 means of harming him at that distance, 
 which it did not, I should as soon have 
 thought of firing at a friend, as at that 
 dauntless creature. 
 
 Not so, however, my Ojibwa. There 
 are, to the Indian, few prizes more es- 
 teemed than the tail-feathers of the war- 
 eagle. It is said that, on the prairies, a 
 good horse has been bartered for that 
 precious ornament, worn only, as among 
 
576 
 
 Ornithornanes. 
 
 the Scottish Highlanders, by the great 
 chiefs of the people. 
 
 Such a temptation as this was to be 
 resisted, at no price ; and compensation, 
 such as mine, would to my copper-colored 
 friend have appeared the last descending 
 grade of imbecility. 
 
 Seeing, therefore, the long rifle slowly 
 coming up to the level, and knowing how 
 deadly was that aim when once assured, 
 I bided my time, and, just as his finger 
 pressed the trigger, sent forth, from all 
 my lungs, a tremendous whoop. The rifle 
 flashed, and splinters flew from the stem 
 of the tree, immediately behind the spot 
 where, a moment before, the imperial bird 
 was sitting. 
 
 But there he sat no longer. The very 
 second before the ball was sped he flapped 
 liis wings once, and launched himself into 
 the air with one indignant scream ; ano- 
 ther instant, and a cannon shot would not 
 have reached him. 
 
 Words cannot express the glare of in- 
 dignation which my Indian comrade 
 launched at me, in reward of that un- 
 timely whoop. I verily believe, if he had 
 suspected it to be premeditated with in- 
 tent to frustrate his shot, he would have 
 tried to take summary vengeance on me ; 
 but, as it was, I continued to look so 
 stupid, and pretended to be so much dis- 
 appointed, that he set it down to the score 
 of impatience and premature exultation, 
 and contented himself with rating me 
 soundly, and involving himself for the 
 remainder of the day in an impenetrable 
 veil of sulkiness, evinced by his not allow- 
 ing me to get a shot at duck, and by my 
 going in consequence supperless to bed. 
 
 And this brings me definitively to my 
 eagles. Of this mighty fowl of the rapa- 
 cious order, we possess, in the United 
 States, three distinct varieties ; perhaps, 
 including Texas and the newly acquired 
 Mexican dominions, w r e may lay claim to 
 a fourth, in the Brazilian Caracara Eagle, 
 Polyborus Vulgaris , which is stated to 
 inhabit regions, as far northward as 
 Florida. This is, however, but a poor 
 devil of a bird, to be dignified by the 
 name of Eagle, not equalling the osprey, 
 or common fish-hawk in size, and in his 
 habits of foul and promiscuous feeding lit- 
 tle superior to the squalid tribe of vultures. 
 
 Of him we will none. Sacer Eslo, he 
 and the foul Cathartes, the blackwinged 
 Scavenger of the fowls of air ! 
 
 Of our own three eagles, one is peculiar 
 to ourselves ; the largest and most power- 
 ful by far, though not the noblest either 
 in bearing or habit, the magnificent bird, 
 discovered by the immortal Audubon and 
 named of him after the father of his 
 country, Falco Washingtoni. 
 
 [May 
 
 The history of the great forest-natural- 
 ist’s discovery of this eagle, as related in 
 his own graphic words, is equal in interest 
 to the most exciting romance; while it 
 displays, in the boldest and most vivid 
 light, the extraordinary powers of vision, 
 of comparison, of judgment, of memory, 
 possessed by that eagle-eyed man, that 
 intuitive discerner of great Nature’s secret 
 mysteries. 
 
 Gliding along in his canoe at sunset, 
 over the placid bosom of one of our 
 mighty western rivers, the poet-painter 
 of the feathered race beholds an unknown 
 wing, of vaster extent than that of any 
 established eagle, gliding immeasurably 
 high above him, painted in dark relief 
 against the sun-illumined sky — the huge 
 crooked bill, the plumage uniform in hue. 
 dark chocolate, tinged with a coppery 
 lustre. 
 
 Thus much only, and scarcely thus 
 much. Yet from that one fleeting 
 glimpse, the native genius of the wil- 
 derness, with self-confidence equalled 
 only by the perfectness of his intuition, 
 pronounced this half-seen bird, not only 
 a nondescript Eagle, but a nondescript 
 Fishing- Eagle, but the greatest of all 
 Eagles, classified it, named it, “ the Bird 
 of Washington,” the largest and most 
 powerful of the true eagles, and such it 
 has proved to be — for the Condor of the 
 Andes, and the Lamergeyer of the Alps, 
 are obscene carrion-eating vultures, in no 
 sort birds of Jove. 
 
 School naturalists and in-door theorists 
 laughed at the woodman-poet, and for 
 many a day, the Bird of Washington was 
 held as much a myth as the roc of Sinbad, 
 or the winged hound of the Anmaspians. 
 
 Years passed, and still the indomitable 
 explorer wandered far, wandered near, 
 with his portfolio and his gun, braving 
 the hyperborean cold of Newfoundland 
 and Labrador, braving the ague-breed- 
 ing heat of Mississippian swamps and 
 bayous, in patient search, in exulting 
 fruition of the wonders of God’s creation. 
 
 Years passed, without his meeting any 
 more that once seen, never to be forgotten, 
 eagle ; still his faith was unshaken in the 
 Bird of Washington ; and his faith had 
 its reward. 
 
 Navigating, leagues and leagues away 
 from the region where he first beheld his 
 nondescript, another mighty river of the 
 West, thinking perhaps at the time of 
 nothing less than the unknown eagle, his 
 all-observant eye fell on the difficult rock- 
 eyrie of some great bird of prey, and the 
 crags spattered with white droppings, and 
 the shores strewn with the scales and 
 exuviae of half-eaten fishes. 
 
 It was not the haunt of our own white- 
 
Orni thomanes. 577 
 
 * 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 headed eagle ; for he nests in trees, mostly 
 in white pines, where he builds a huge 
 faggot-like pile of branches and dead sticks 
 seven or eight feet long, which he uses 
 not merely as his procreant cradle, but as 
 his usual home and habitation in all sea- 
 sons. 
 
 It was not the haunt of the noble 
 Golden Eagle, the sovereign of the fowls 
 of air; for he, though a rock-dweller, 
 eschews a fish-diet, and feeds, like a royal 
 hunter as he is, on the grouse, the ptar- 
 migan, the varying hare of the mountains, 
 or the fawn and antelope of the prairies. 
 
 Conviction flashed upon his mind, and 
 triumph. He had found the dwelling- 
 place of the Bird of Washington. He 
 made inquiries among the more intelligent 
 settlers, and learned — what confirmed his 
 views — the crags he had seen were the 
 haunt of two huge birds of prey, larger 
 than the men had known elsewhere. 
 
 He lay in wait ; he watched with In- 
 dian patience ; he got a shot at length ; 
 and his theory was verified, his greatest 
 triumph won — turn, reader mine, from 
 this simple record to his inspired pages, 
 for the artless, but, how graphic descrip- 
 tion, of his own rapture, when he held in 
 his hand at last, the term of so many 
 hopes delayed, the mighty Bird of Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 That noble collection, the Lyceum of 
 Natural History at Philadelphia, contains 
 a very fine specimen of this largest of the 
 F alconidae. 
 
 The male bird measures three feet seven 
 inches in length from the point of his bill 
 to his claws ; and no less than ten feet 
 two inches, from tip to tip of his expanded 
 pinions. In all birds of prey it is observ- 
 able that the female exceeds the male in 
 size and strength, so that even these vast 
 dimensions must not be esteemed the 
 greatest. 
 
 The bill of this eagle is very strong and 
 much uncated, of a dark, bluish-black htie, 
 with a dull yellow cere. Its plumage is 
 darker than that of any other eagle, vary- 
 ing from deep chocolate brown to nearly 
 pure black. Its feet are orange yellow. 
 This is a very rare species, and although 
 its habitation is laid down in the books 
 as extending throughout the Union, I 
 have heard of no instance in which it 
 has been taken or verified in the Eastern 
 States, or on the sea-board. Its eyrie 
 and nesting place are in cliffs inacces- 
 sible to the foot of man; the number of 
 its eggs is not ascertained ; and little is 
 known of its habits except that it is a 
 fish-eater of choice, though like all its race 
 it will take quadrupeds and water-fowl 
 when pressed by hunger ; whence it is 
 rightly classed in the sub-genus Halioetus, 
 
 or Sea Eagle of Savigny. All these large 
 birds of prey are for the most part widely 
 and thinly dispersed over great tracts of 
 territory, especially those which dwell in- 
 land and rely on the rivers and the wil- 
 derness for their support, since wide hunt- 
 ing grounds are to them, as to their fellow 
 forester, the red Indian, indispensable for 
 subsistence. 
 
 The White-headed Eagle is, in this re- 
 spect. more fortunate than his congeners, 
 that the whole length of the oceanic coasts, 
 of the lake and river shores, wherever 
 surges break and billows foam, is tribu- 
 tary to his wants ; and therefore he is 
 much the most frequent of his order, and 
 is in fact as familiar to the inhabitants of 
 our sea-boards as are the other varieties 
 strange and of rare occurrence, except in 
 peculiar districts. 
 
 The next species, which like the last is 
 by no means generally familiar to the in- 
 habitants of the United States, and of whose 
 habits little is known except to a few, is 
 the noblest in bearing, the most princely 
 in aspect, the bravest, the fiercest, and in 
 its general attributes — although it will be 
 found to fall for short of Buffon’s fanciful 
 imaginings — the most generous of the 
 order. 
 
 The Golden Eagle, Aquila Chrysaetos, 
 the fabulous minister of Olympian thunder- 
 bolts, to whom the sovereign of the gods 
 permitted sovereignty over all the fowls 
 of air ; the warrior bird, and kingly em- 
 blem, of all times and nations, from the 
 sensuous and poetic Greek, to the wild 
 Gael on the Scottish Highlands, or the 
 roving Camanche on the boundless plains 
 of the Southwest, has been perhaps the 
 theme of more noble poetry, and the sub- 
 ject of more extravagant fable than any 
 other of the denizens of ether. 
 
 This is he, and not any other, neither 
 Halioetus, nor foul Polyborus, who has 
 won for the race of eagles, in general, their 
 character of kingly, noble, brave, and 
 generous — this is he, who was elected, 
 elector himself of her first king, the puis- 
 sant bird of Borne, and was usurped, 
 thereafter, by a greater than the greatest 
 of the Caesars, the Imperial Corsican. This 
 is he, if we must take an eagle to be our 
 crest at all, who should have sat sublime 
 above the stars of our standard, — not the 
 thieving, rapacious, greedy, carrion-devour- 
 ing bald-pate, whom we have elevated to 
 undue distinction. 
 
 There are not many points in which we 
 cotton to Dr. Franklin, much less sympa- 
 thize with his unchivalric, unromantic, 
 hardfisted, money-making principles and 
 propensities — with all due deference be it 
 spoken. There was far too little venera- 
 tion in his nature, to comport with what 
 
5*78 
 
 Ornithomanes. 
 
 we deem the essence of true greatness : 
 but in this we do fully sympathize with 
 him, — that we have no touch of veneration 
 or respect for the white-headed eagle. 
 
 Had men known as much about his 
 ways and means in 1760, as they do now- 
 adays, he certainly never would have hail- 
 ed, tine-looking fellow as he is, as the re- 
 publican bird of America. 
 
 Figuratively, as well as literally, it must 
 out, — our eagle has a white feather in his 
 tail. I am sorry to admit it, but he is a 
 glutton, a foul feeder, lazy, a bully, a 
 coward, and a thief. 
 
 He has one good quality, common to all 
 the eagles ; he is a constant, faithful, honor- 
 able husband. He does not go about, like 
 the tomtits and wrens, and such small fry, 
 sending valentines, and picking up a new 
 mistress every fourteenth of February; 
 nor does he even, like some mortal mon- 
 archs whom we wot of, condescend to any 
 morganatic marriage, but takes to himself 
 one lawfully-wedded wife, and cleaves to 
 her, through weal and wo, for thrice the 
 length of ordinary human wedlocks, until 
 when above a hundred years have flown, 
 death, the inevitable, do them part. 
 
 But all this does the golden eagle like- 
 wise, and fights like a hero, and eats like 
 a gentleman into the bargain. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to state, that of 
 all birds so rare, so shy, dwelling so re- 
 mote from the abodes of man, seen only 
 at intervals by the narrowest observers, 
 making their nests and rearing their young 
 in places nearly inaccessible to the human 
 foot, living and dying in difficult and dis- 
 tant solitudes, it is no easy task to learn 
 the habits minutely, even to distinguish the 
 usual peculiarities of marking, and still 
 more, the differences of the young birds — 
 which, it is now ascertained, do not attain 
 their full plumage until the sixth or sev- 
 enth year — from the adults. 
 
 “ The truth is ” — says Wilson, the elo- 
 quent pioneer of American ornithology — 
 “ the solitary habits of the eagle now be- 
 fore us, the vast inaccessible cliffs to which 
 it usually retires, united with the scarcity 
 of the species in those regions inhabited 
 by man, all combine to render a peculiar 
 knowledge of its manners very difficult to 
 be ascertained. The author has once or 
 twice observed this bird sailing along the 
 Alpine declivities of the White Mountains 
 of New Hampshire early in October, and 
 again, over the Highlands of the Hudson 
 River, not far from West Point. Its flight 
 was easy, in high circuitous sweeps ; its 
 broad, white tail, tipped with brown, ex- 
 panded like a fan. Near the settlement 
 on Hudson’s Bay, it is more common, and 
 is said to prey upon hares, and the vari- 
 ous species of grouse which abound there. 
 
 [May 
 
 Buffon also observes that, though other 
 eagles also prey upon hares, this species 
 is a more fatal enemy to those timid ani- 
 mals, which are the constant object of 
 their search, and the prey which they 
 prefer.” 
 
 It is to be observed that the ingenious 
 and delightful author from whom the 
 above is quoted — like Buffon, and indeed 
 all authors, I believe, on natural history, 
 until Temminck, who established them to 
 be identical — has made two varieties, or 
 species, the Ring-tailed and the Golden 
 Eagle, out of one, the latter, bird ; of which 
 the former is the young which has not at- 
 tained its perfect dress. 
 
 It is the immature male which is de- 
 scribed as the Ring-tailed Eagle in the 
 above passage. The same confusion ex- 
 ists between the adults and young of the 
 White-headed Eagle, the latter of which 
 has been erected into a separate species, 
 under the name of the ossifrage or sea- 
 eagle. Into this error Wilson is likewise 
 betrayed by adherence to authorities, 
 though he evidently half suspects the 
 identity of the two alleged species. 
 
 In this connection, it may be observed 
 as peculiar, that of the Golden Eagle, 
 which when mature is uniformly brown, 
 the young is white-tailed, not losing this 
 mark in its wild state until the third, in 
 captivity till the sixth, or even seventh 
 year ; while of the White-headed the im- 
 mature bird is uniformly dark, irregular- 
 ly clouded with lighter spots, and does 
 not acquire its peculiar markings until 
 the fourth or fifth year. 
 
 These facts have been gained by care- 
 ful observation of the birds in a state of 
 confinement ; by which means also the 
 ideas of the ancients, who were much 
 better naturalists, and more minute inves- 
 tigators than is usually supposed, concern- 
 ing the longevity of eagles, have been 
 fully verified. It has been the fortune of 
 the writer to form a considerable acquain- 
 tance with birds of both these noble 
 species in a state of captivity, and to wit- 
 ness personally some solutions to the 
 questions in dispute. 
 
 The Golden Eagle, Aquila Chrysaetos. 
 when mature, measures from beak to claw 
 above three feet, and about seven and a 
 half from wing to wing. The bill is deep 
 blue, the cere yellow. The eyes are large, 
 deep sunk, with a strong projecting brow ; 
 the irides of a bright golden yellow, full 
 of clear lustre, which, when the owner is 
 angry or excited, flashes into intolerable 
 light. The feathers on the head and neck 
 are long, narrow and pointed, and erec- 
 tile into a sort of ruff when the bird is 
 enraged ; the general color of the plumage 
 above and below is a rich chesnut brown, 
 
1853.] 
 
 Omithomanes. 
 
 579 
 
 glossed with a golden lustre, the crown 
 of the head, nape, and back, darkening 
 to almost perfect black ; the quills are 
 chocolate, with white shafts, the tail black, 
 slightly barred with ash ; the legs are 
 feathered to the ankles ; the feet bright 
 yellow, with large, strong scales, and 
 powerful, blue claws. 
 
 The whole port and demeanor of this 
 bird is truly graceful and majestical ; his 
 ordinary position is erect, and his gaze 
 heavenward. He is full of daring courage, 
 entirely apart from his predatory rapacity, 
 and will attack a man, or any animal 
 which offers him an affront or injury 
 when in confinement. 
 
 Concerning his longevity, some remark- 
 able facts have come under my own ob- 
 servation ; a singularly fine specimen of 
 this bird having been kept, from a time 
 beyond the memory of persons now living, 
 by a more remote branch of my own 
 family, on an old hall on the frontiers of 
 Herefordshire ; and being regarded, espe- 
 cially by the servants, with something 
 nearly akin to superstitious awe. 
 
 This bird was more or less familiar to 
 me from my seventh to my twentieth year ; 
 and I well remember the mingled fear 
 and admiration with which I used to re- 
 gard his fierce glee, the superb clashing 
 of his great wings, the fire of his eyes, 
 and his exulting shrieks in times of wild, 
 tempestuous weather, in thunderstorms, 
 and hurricanes of wind, especially. At 
 such times, it appeared as if the long, light, 
 but strong, chain could not control his 
 awakened impulses ; nor the courtyard, 
 of which he had the undisputed range, 
 contain his mounting spirit. 
 
 The heads of the family to which I re- 
 fer had died young, and no distinct record 
 existed of the period of the eagle’s capture. 
 His attendant, however, was an old gar- 
 dener, who had been born, and lived to his 
 eightieth year, in the house. He remem- 
 bered no time when the eagle was not as 
 then, and he did remember that his father, 
 to whose office he succeeded, had spoken 
 of the bird as being sent, a scarce fledged 
 nestling, from North Wales, while he was 
 yet a stripling, to the hall. 
 
 I saw that eagle last in about the year 
 1828 ; and I am well satisfied that he had 
 then passed a century, although he show- 
 ed no signs of age ; and though I cannot 
 assert that he is yet living, I do not 
 doubt it, for I believe I should have heard 
 of his death, had it occurred. 
 
 This eagle was fed, for the most part, 
 on rabbits, which he slew himself — not 
 by the way as an especial act of execution, 
 but in process of devouring — and it is re- 
 markable, that though he would clutch 
 and eagerly swallow gobbets of raw meat, 
 
 if thrown to him, he would not touch 
 dead birds or quadrupeds. 
 
 I cannot say, however, that his appetite 
 was ever severely tempted by long fast- 
 ing. 
 
 At another period, I had an oppor- 
 tunity of studying two Golden Eagles, a 
 male and female, with a young year-old 
 bird having the ring-tail plumage, which 
 were kept in a large timber cage, embrac- 
 ing two considerable fir trees in its pre- 
 cincts. 
 
 The nest of these birds had been har- 
 ried, among the crags near Greta Bridge ; 
 the young one was taken ; and, by his 
 means, the parents had been trapped, by 
 the device well known to game preservers, 
 as the circle. 
 
 At the time of my seeing these eagles, 
 they had tasted nothing but water for 
 nearly a week, during the whole of which 
 time, a dead fox had lain untouched in 
 their den. That they were nearly fam- 
 ished was evident from the fury with 
 which they tore and devoured, almost 
 alive, some unhappy pigeons, which were 
 thrown to them. Whether in a free state 
 the Golden Eagle will never partake of 
 dead food cannot easily be proved ; that 
 he is most reluctant to do so, is certain ; 
 and I think it probable that, as most ani- 
 mals of prey are endowed with a power of 
 resistance to the pangs of hunger propor- 
 tionate to their avidity, this gallant bird 
 would submit to great extremity before 
 he would condescend to carrion. 
 
 An excellent sportsman and good natu- 
 ralist, not nearly so well known in this 
 country as he deserves to be, Colquhoun 
 of Luss, who from his abode in the wild- 
 est part of the Scottish Highlands has 
 had great opportunities of observing 
 eagles, confirms, from personal knowledge, 
 many of the facts stated above — especially 
 the cruel mode of killing, the hare-diet, 
 and the peculiarity of the young bird 
 being ring-tailed. 
 
 By the way, it is not here unworthy of 
 remark, that, in a country so distant as 
 Greece, an age so remote as that distin- 
 guished by the battles of Marathon and 
 Platsea, nearly 500 years b. c., the poet 
 Mischylus had noted the peculiar prey of 
 the warlike birds of Jupiter, and even 
 their distinctive coloring, while it is even 
 open to doubt whether he was not aware 
 of the immature condition of the white- 
 tailed bird, which he assimilates to the 
 younger and less warlike of the Atreid 
 princes. 
 
 As the passage is curious, in more ways 
 than one, I have quoted it entire from a 
 recent translation of the fine play which 
 contains it, published in the university 
 press at Harvard. 
 
580 
 
 Ornithomanes. 
 
 “ Wbat time the impetuous bird sent ont 
 The Achaians’ two-throned power, 
 
 And Hellas’ martial flower, 
 
 In league resolved and stout — 
 
 Sent them with puissant spear, and potent hand, 
 Against the Teucrian land, 
 
 The king of birds to the king of ships appearing 
 The royal palace noaring. 
 
 On the spear-band, conspicuous in place, 
 
 Ono black and white-tailed one — 
 
 A teeming hare devouring with her race, 
 
 Their last course briefly run.” 
 
 Letting this passage go merely for what 
 it is worth, as the illustration of another 
 and entirely foreign subject, it is at least 
 remarkable, as indicating the perfect iden- 
 tity of appearance, habit and association 
 of the fierce hare slaughterers, at a place 
 and time so remote. 
 
 The witness I shall now call to the bar 
 is no poet nor dreamer, but a stalwart 
 kilted Highlander, as apt with the rifle as 
 the pen, and duly qualified, as a Duinhe- 
 wassal, or Highland gentleman nigh of kin 
 to the chief of Luss, to stick the single 
 feather of the war-eagle in his own blue 
 bonnet. 
 
 Hear to the author of “ The Moor and 
 the Loch.” “ The Golden Eagle is not” — 
 he says — “ nearly so great a foe to the 
 farmer as to the sportsman ; for although 
 a pair having young will occasionally 
 pounce upon very young and unprotected 
 lambs, and continue then- depredations 
 until scared away, the more usual prey 
 consists of hares, rabbits, and grouse — a 
 fact sufficiently proved by the feathers 
 and bones found in their eyries. A pair 
 used to build every year in Balquidder, 
 another in Glen Oyle, and a third in 
 Glenartney. The shepherds seldom mo- 
 lested the old ones ; but by means of lad- 
 ders, at considerable risk, took the young 
 and sold them. One of these, brought to 
 Callander, not long ago, when scarcely 
 full fledged, would seize a live cat thrown 
 to it for food, and bearing it away with 
 the greatest ease tear it to pieces, the cat 
 unable to offer any resistance, and utter- 
 ing most horrid yells. 
 
 “ When two eagles are in pursuit of a 
 hare, they show great tact — it is exactly 
 as if two well-matched greyhounds were 
 turning a hare; as one rises, the other 
 descends, until poor puss is tired out; 
 when one of them succeeds in catching 
 her, it fixes a claw in her back, and holds 
 by the ground with the other, striking all 
 the time with the beak. I have several 
 times seen eagles coursed in the same way 
 by carrion crows and ravens, whose terri- 
 tory they had invaded ; the eagle gene- 
 rally seems to have enough to do in keep- 
 ing clear of his sable foes, and every now 
 and then gives a shrill whistle or scream. 
 
 “ If the eagle is at all alarmed when in 
 pursuit of his prey, he instantly bears it 
 off alive. Where Alpine hares are plenti- 
 
 [May 
 
 ful, it is no unfrequent occurrence, when 
 the sportsman starts one, for an eagle to 
 pounce down and carry it off, struggling, 
 with the greatest ease. In this case, he 
 always allows the hare to run a long way 
 out of shot before he strikes, and is apt to 
 miss altogether. When no enemy is 
 near, he generally adopts the more sure 
 way of tiring out his game. 
 
 “The color of the golden-eagle differs 
 much. Some are so dark as almost to 
 justify he name of the “black-eagle,’ 
 which tney are often called in the High- 
 lands : — in others, the golden tint is very 
 bright, and many are even of a muddy 
 brown. I do not think that the age of 
 the bird has any thing to do with this, as 
 I have seen young and old equally vari- 
 able. The sure mark of a young one is 
 the degree of white on the tail : the first 
 year the upper half is pure, which grad- 
 ually becomes less so, by streaks of 
 brown — about the third or fourth year 
 no white is to be seen.” 
 
 This I presume, with the facts I have 
 adduced concerning the young ring-tail 
 taken from the nest of golden parents, 
 would be in itself sufficient to establish 
 the identity of the species ; but I presume 
 this, among ornithologists, is sufficiently 
 done already. 
 
 There are a class of people who choose 
 to believe their eyes only, without using 
 what small modicum of brains they may 
 chance to possess, in the endeavor to com- 
 prehend what their eyes do actually see — 
 these people, who are of the same breed 
 with the sapient Jerseymen who are 
 ready to swear that the Sora rail become 
 frogs in winter ; and with that learned 
 Theban of the Massachusetts legislature, 
 who insisted that snipe and woodcock are 
 the same bird, and after careful examina- 
 tion of Wilson, Audubon, &c., still per- 
 sisted — these people, I say, will doubtless 
 insist that, inasmuch as one of these 
 birds has a white tail, and the other has 
 not, they are not one, but two. 
 
 For geniuses of this order, however, I 
 do not write; — to those, however, who 
 reason as they read, I have a word or two 
 of explanation, lest they attach a meaning, 
 other than that I intended, to one phrase 
 I have used, and which cannot well be 
 altered, although it is in some degree 
 liable to misapprehension. This word 
 said, I shall close a paper which has al- 
 ready come nigh to transcending limits, 
 premising only that if the readers of 
 Putnam wax not weary of Ornithomanes 
 and his, at least, harmless mania, he has 
 yet a few matters to discourse anent the 
 Bald-headed Eagle, and his most unwilling 
 purveyor, the fish-hawk or osprey, of 
 whom more anon. 
 
Hidden Light. 
 
 581 
 
 1853.] 
 
 In speaking of the Golden Eagle, above, 
 in relation to his devouring his prey with- 
 out previously slaughtering it, I adopted 
 the word cruel ; I wish it, however, to be 
 understood that I intended the applica- 
 tion to the sufferings of the unfortunate 
 victim, and by no means to the disposition 
 of the slaughterer, whose carnivorous in- 
 stincts and modes of satiating them are 
 alike from on high. 
 
 The quality of cruelty — that is to say, 
 of inflicting pain for the pleasure of inflict- 
 ing it — is unknown to the brute creation ; 
 to kill, is the necessity of the carnivora, to 
 torture, the peculiarity of man. 
 
 It is no mercy that leads the warbler 
 to kill the caterpillar or worm before 
 swallowing it, but merely a matter of 
 precaution, since, devouring its prey whole, 
 to devour it alive would be at least un- 
 toward. 
 
 It is no cruelty in the eagle that it dis- 
 
 members its prey living, instead of frac- 
 turing its skull or decapitating it with a 
 single blow, as some of the falcons do, 
 but a peculiarity arising from the fact 
 that the talons of the eagle, which are not 
 necessarily mortal weapons, and not his 
 beak, are his instruments of offence ; and, 
 secondly, that the inferior size and powei 
 of his victims do not oblige him to kill, in 
 order to conquer them. 
 
 No animal, however ferocious, kills 
 wantonly, or beyond the extent of his ap- 
 petites. If the tiger or the domestic cat 
 seem to torment, it is only that they de- 
 sire to detain their captive until their 
 hunger shall prompt them to destroy. 
 
 In the whole range of God’s creation, 
 from the eagle to the humming-bird, from 
 the lion to the lamb, there is neither 
 wickedness nor cruelty but that which 
 arises from perverted reason. 
 
 •» 
 
 HIDDEN LIGHT. 
 
 T HE rain is beating sullenly to-night, 
 
 The wild red flowers like flames are drenched away, 
 Down thro’ the gaps of the black woods, the light 
 Strikes cold and dismal. Only yesterday 
 It seems since Spring along the neighboring moor 
 W ashed up the daisies, and the barks of trees 
 Cracked with green buds, while at my cabin door 
 The brier hung heavy with the yellow bees. 
 
 Now all is blank — the wind climbs drearily 
 
 Against the hills, the pastures close are browsed ; 
 Snakes slip in gaps of earth — gray crickets cry, 
 Ants cease from running, and the bat is housed. 
 No planet throbbing thro’ the dark, one beam 
 Of comfort sends me from its home above ; 
 
 I only see the splendor of a dream, 
 
 Slowly and sadly fading out of love. 
 
 I only see the wild boughs as they blow 
 Against my window, see the purple slant 
 Of twilight shadows into darkness go ; — 
 
 And yet again the whistling March will plant 
 The April meadows — wheat fields will grow bright 
 In their own time — the king-cups in their day 
 Come thro’ the grass, and somewhere there is Light, 
 If my weak thoughts could strike upon the way. 
 
582 
 
 [Maj 
 
 EDITORIAL NOTES. 
 
 LITERATURE. 
 
 American. — Three portly volumes, con- 
 tainining “The Works of William H. 
 Seward,” have just been published by 
 Redfield. They contain nearly every 
 thing that has come from the prolific pen 
 of their author, from his messages as 
 Governor of the State of New-York, and 
 his speeches in the Senate of the United 
 States, down to his addresses to Whig 
 meetings, and his general correspondence. 
 Nor is there any want of variety in the 
 topics of which they treat — politics, inter- 
 nal improvements, farming, education, 
 prison discipline, Ireland and .Irishmen, 
 Webster, Olay, Lafayette, Kossuth, sla- 
 very, as well as law arguments and letters 
 to dinner committees, are among them ; 
 some treated with elaborate carefulness, 
 and others in a more brief and familiar 
 style. A memoir of the author, with an 
 engraving of his face and residence, is 
 prefixed to the whole. As it is our in- 
 tention to devote a special article to this 
 book, we satisfy ourselves here with a 
 simple announcement of its appearance. 
 
 — What a rare instance of almost equal 
 eminence in two brothers, is that of the 
 Brothers Humboldt, a sketch of whose 
 biography, translated from the German, 
 has recently been published by the Harp- 
 ers ! Alexander, the man of science, 
 unquestionably takes the precedence of 
 William, the statesman and diplomatist; 
 but both are men of the highest intellect- 
 ual range, and the noblest character. 
 The incidents of their travels and studies 
 given in the volume before us are full of 
 interest and instruction. 
 
 — “ The Captive in Patagonia ,” by 
 Benjamin Franklin Bourne — a gentle- 
 man who, going ashore at the Straits of 
 Magellan, fell into the hands of the Giants, 
 whose manners and customs, their cruelty, 
 cowardice and filthiness, he describes with 
 no little animation and apparent fidelity. 
 He was kept too close a prisoner to allow 
 him to add much to our geographical 
 knowledge of the country. 
 
 — A valuable work, the “ Correspond- 
 ence of the Revolution ,” to he edited by 
 Jared Sparks, is announced at Boston. 
 It will contain letters from more than a 
 hundred individuals, who acted a con- 
 spicuous part in our revolutionary drama, 
 and who were among the correspondents 
 of Washington. The editor selected and 
 copied them from the original manuscripts 
 while engaged in preparing the “ Writings 
 of Washington ,” and they may, there- 
 fore. he regarded as a continuation of that 
 work. Illustrative of the life of the 
 Great Chief, and at the same time of the 
 
 opinions and actions of his friends and 
 acquaintances, they cannot but prove an 
 important addition to our historical liter- 
 ature. Mr. Sparks is a laborious and 
 generally faithful editor, hut we hope that 
 in the forthcoming volumes he has con- 
 fined his editorial supervision to the work 
 of compilation, and not correction. We 
 fully agree with Lord Mahon, that the 
 writings of eminent historical personages 
 ought to he given to us with all their im- 
 perfections on their head. 
 
 —Rural Essays by A. J. Downing, 
 edited , with a memoir of the author , by 
 Geo. Wm. Curtis ; and a letter to his 
 friends by Frederika Bremer , is the 
 title of a large volume just issued by G. 
 P. Putnam & Co., uniform with Mr. Dow- 
 ning’s Landscape Gardening. The 
 hook comprises his contributions to the 
 Horticulturist, and contains a great num- 
 ber of essays upon all departments of 
 rural life, treated with that singular mas- 
 * tery of the subject, and the ability to pre- 
 sent the most accurate rural science in a 
 popular, graceful and elegant manner, 
 which so eminently distinguished the au- 
 thor. We have lost few men whom the 
 country could so ill spare as Downing. 
 His influence was universal^ acknow- 
 ledged and perceived, and his works will 
 long continue to be our standard author- 
 ities in American rural art. The present 
 volume completes his works. It is an en- 
 tirely original bo elk in its way ; a unique 
 collection of essays interesting and in- 
 structive not only to those who live in the 
 country, hut to all who have any sympa- 
 thies beyond the city. We remark espe- 
 cially his chivalric courtesy toward wo- 
 men, the graceful hints and cheerful ad- 
 vice he gives them concerning their gar- 
 dens and flowers, and his great interest in 
 the rural life of English women, to which 
 he alludes in his letters from England, — 
 which form part of the volume, — as well 
 as in several of the essays. The profound 
 regard which he inspired in man}- women, 
 whose friendship he was fortunate enough 
 to enjoy, is well indicated in the commu- 
 nication of Miss Bremer, which speaks of 
 him, as the Editor observes in the preface. 
 “ with the unreserved warmth of a private 
 letter.” It is a volume heartily to he com- 
 mended as a hook for summer reading ; 
 while its calm and shrewd insight, its va- 
 rious and regulated knowledge, its trans- 
 parent and simple style, will make it a 
 permanent companion of the thoughtful 
 and refined who believe, with Lord Bacon, 
 that “ God Almighty first planted a gar- 
 den,” and, indeed, it is the first of human 
 pleasures. 
 
 
1853.] 
 
 Editorial Notes — American Literature. 
 
 583 
 
 — We have not heard of Martin Farqu- 
 har Tupper’s being sent to an insane asy- 
 lum, or we should suspect him of writing 
 a little book entitled the New Bond of 
 Love , which has been politely sent to us, 
 but which is so strictly anonymous that 
 the title-page does not even bear the name 
 of a publisher. The book is extremely 
 Tupperish, but with a certain wildness 
 that the author of Proverbial Philosophy 
 has not displayed in any of his published 
 writings. The new bond of love which 
 the author has invented, consists of the 
 following modest proposal, which is almost 
 equal to Swift’s humane suggestion for 
 the alleviation of Irish suffering. 
 
 “ Let every human being under the broad 
 face of heaven, make up his mind, by his 
 own free will, to work during one month of 
 every year, according to the best of his 
 ability, for the benefit of those who are 
 only less competent, but not less good. ” 
 
 — Stuart’s work on the Naval and Mail 
 Steamers of the United States, recently 
 published by Norton, of this city, is one 
 of the very finest examples of book-mak- 
 ing that we can boast of. It is not often 
 that a purely scientific and practical work 
 is published as a show-book, like the bril- 
 liant works of fancy that are expressly 
 intended for the ornamentation of centre 
 tables in richly furnished drawing-rooms. 
 
 — A book published in nearly as hand- 
 some style as the above is Bartlett’s Com- 
 mercial and Banking Tables, which comes 
 to us from Cincinnati, and gives a most 
 satisfactory indication of the arts of print- 
 ing and binding west of the Alleghanies. 
 It is a most serviceable and excellent 
 work. 
 
 — “ The Autobiography of an English 
 Soldier in the United States Army,” 
 is the title of a rather readable volume 
 which has been recently republished from 
 the London edition by Stringer & Towns- 
 end. It is worthy of remark, that while 
 some of our most popular authors gradu- 
 ated in our national and mercantile ships, 
 the army has not furnished us a single 
 writer of eminence ; and the fact is the 
 more remarkable, as the officers of the 
 army have nearly all had an academical 
 education, while our navy is composed 
 chiefly of self-educated men. Our Eng- 
 lish soldier was a Scotch hand-loom 
 weaver, who came to this country to work 
 at his trade, and, not finding employment, 
 enlisted in the army, and served through 
 the Mexican war. It is very well to have 
 the observations of an intelligent soldier, 
 who was a participator in the Mexican 
 campaign, and who is sure of not erring- 
 on the favorable side in giving his account 
 of the conduct of our army. 
 
 — “ Virginalia ; or Songs of my Sum- 
 
 mer Nights — A Gift of Love for the 
 Beautiful ,” is the inexplicable title of a 
 small volume of verse by T. II. Chivers, 
 M. D., which has come to us from Phila- 
 delphia, although it is copyrighted in 
 Massachusetts. Dr. Chivers remarks 
 in his preface, that “ it is obvious that no 
 true poet ever yet wrote for the Aristarchi 
 of the world — only to show them how 
 little they know — but only for the divine 
 Areopagus of Heaven.” And we coincide 
 wholly in the Doctor’s opinion. We do 
 not think any true poet ever did any 
 thing of the kind. What possible motive 
 could have induced the author of the book 
 before us, after having written his verses 
 to publish them, we have no means of 
 knowing, although he says in concluding 
 his preface, “ Thus have 1 moulded on the 
 swift circling wheel of my soul some of 
 the manifold members of that Divine 
 Beauty which lives immortal in the shin- 
 ing House of Life.” And therein, we im- 
 agine, lies the whole mystery. 
 
 — An instructive book is the “Reason 
 and Faith and other Miscellaneous Es- 
 says of Henry Rodgers. They are ex- 
 tracted mostly from the Edinburgh Re- 
 view, where they attracted considerable 
 attention at the time by their learning, 
 vigor, and pervading thoughtfulness. Mr. 
 Rodgers can scarcely be regarded as a pro- 
 found thinker, though he certainly is an 
 acute and careful one, while his writings 
 exhibit unusual cultivation, and the most 
 decided religious principle. His articles 
 on Old Fuller, the church historian, and 
 on the Correspondence of Luther, are as 
 agreeable as they are instructive. 
 
 — A complete edition of “ Jefferson's 
 Works ” is said to be in preparation at 
 Washington, the editorship having been 
 committed to the hands of a distinguished 
 gentleman of Virginia. All the collections 
 of -Jefferson that we have had heretofore 
 have been incomplete, giving us merely 
 fragments of his voluminous productions. 
 Jefferson was the master-spirit of his day. 
 who left the impress of his genius on the 
 institutions and mind of his country ; and 
 every thing that he wrote ought to be in 
 the possession of the public. We should 
 like to see as perfect a record of his exist- 
 ence made, as Charles Francis Adams has 
 given us of his illustrious rival and friend 
 John Adams. But let there be no tamper- 
 ing with his manuscripts : what we have a 
 right to, in the case of all such men, is 
 their own sayings and doings, and not the 
 interpretations of editors, who may con- 
 ceive it necessary to suppress or alter their 
 writings, to suit the opinions of the day, 
 or of particular localities. If J efferson had 
 weaknesses, or was chargeable with incon- 
 sistencies, or entertained offensive opinions, 
 
584 
 
 Editorial Notes — English Literature. 
 
 let us know what they were, that we may 
 form an intelligent judgment of his cha- 
 racter. 
 
 — There must be a perennial freshness 
 in the works of Mr. N. P. Willis, for they 
 bloom year after year, and seem as fra- 
 grant now as when they were first blown. 
 They are, at any rate, a proof that “ a 
 rose by any other name would smell as 
 sweet.” We have before us, for instance, 
 a “ Cruise in the Mediterranean ,” 
 which we remember to have read a few 
 years since as part of a big book issued 
 by Redfield, and which we then remem- 
 bered to have read also, some twenty 
 years before, in the old “ Mirror ,” but 
 which we have reperused within the last 
 week, with as much eagerness and delight 
 as we expended on the earliest editions. 
 The rose of our Mirror days is still a rose ; 
 or, in other words, the travels of Mr. 
 Willis, twenty-five years since, are newer 
 and more agreeable than the travels of 
 many a man with the dust still in his 
 boots. He has such a sharply observant 
 eye for all that is picturesque in scenery, 
 or original and striking in manners, ma- 
 nages with such nice tact to convey his 
 own sensibilities into the mind of his read- 
 ers, tells a piquant story with so delicate 
 a smack, sentimentalizes with so knowing 
 an air, and yet enters into the real romance 
 of adventure with so rollicking a zest and 
 honest a faith, that it is quite impossible 
 to escape the fascination of his pages. We 
 have no doubt, therefore, that his books 
 will be read for twenty-five years to come, 
 with as much pleasure as they have been 
 during the past twenty-five — which is 
 giving them a half-century of immortality 
 — a large slice. 
 
 — The literary world has cracked its 
 jokes, the past month, and indulged in 
 many a hearty guffaw over the Interviews 
 Memorable and, Useful, from Diary and 
 Memory , by Rev. Samuel Hanson Cox, 
 D.D. But the doctor is as unconscious of 
 his amusing pedantry as parson Abraham 
 Adams, and he reminds us strongly of that 
 best of parsons by his sturdy, hearty, and 
 simple-minded boldness in saying what 
 he thinks, in his own way, let the world 
 laugh at him as it will. The Doctor’s 
 style is none of the best, and his memory 
 may sometimes play him false in relating 
 his interviews, but he is always self-poised 
 and original, and just as sure of being 
 exactly right in every thing he may 
 choose to do, or believe, as ever Davy 
 Crocket was, when he had determined to 
 go ahead. Let the Doctor appear to others 
 as he may, he always appears to himself 
 with as palpable a nimbus round his head 
 as ever encircled the crown of a saint. 
 To have so comfortable an opinion of one’s 
 
 [May 
 
 self is better than a fortune. The state 
 of mind which the author must enjoy who 
 could have written such dedications, and 
 published such poetry, any poor mortal 
 might envy. Those who laugh at the 
 Doctor have all their merriment to them- 
 selves; he would as soon suspect the 
 world of laughing at the ponderous tower 
 of his brown stone church, as at his 
 solemnly-intended utterances. Yet the 
 Doctor is by no means lacking in a percep- 
 tion of humor, as his most amusing descrip- 
 tion of the manner of Dr. Chalmers in the 
 pulpit can testify ; but no one who reads 
 the “ Interviews ” will suspect the author 
 of that strange volume of entertaining a 
 suspicion that there is any thing either 
 peculiar or humorous in his own manner. 
 
 English. — Some of the London critics 
 fancy that they have found a new poet in 
 the person of Mr. Alexander Smith, — 
 the name, by the way, under which the 
 great poet and orator of Hungary left the 
 United States. But Alexander Smith, 
 who purports to be the author of a “ Life 
 Drama,” is a real personage possessed of 
 genuine poetical genius, and destined to a 
 high position in the world of letters. That 
 our readers may judge of the style in 
 which he writes, the lady-love of Walter, 
 the chief character of the “ Life Drama, ” 
 charging him with being a book-worm, 
 he replies : 
 
 Books written when the soul is at spring-tide, 
 When it is laden like a groaning sky 
 Before a thunder-storm, are power and gladness, 
 And majesty and beauty. They seize the reader 
 As tempests seize a ship, and bear him on 
 With a wild joy. Some books are drenched sands, 
 On which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps. 
 Like a wrecked argosy. What power in books ! 
 They mingle gloom and splendor, as I’ve oft, 
 
 In thund'rous sunsets, seen the thunder-piles 
 Seamed with dull fire and fiercest glory-rents. 
 
 They awe me to my knees, as if I stood 
 In presence of a king. They give me tears ; 
 
 Such glorious tears as Eve’s fair daughters shed, 
 When first they clasped a Son of God all bright 
 With burning plumes and splendors of the sky, 
 
 In zoning heaven of their milky arms. 
 
 How few read books aright ! Most souls are shut 
 By sense from grandeur, as a man who snores, 
 Night-capped and wrapt in blankets to the nose, 
 
 Is shut out from the night, which, like a sea, 
 Breaketh for ever on a strand of stars. . 
 
 Here is another passage, in which inter 
 nal nature is penetrated with passion : 
 
 Sunset is burning like the seal of God 
 Upon the close of day.— This very hour 
 Night mounts her chariot in the eastern glooms 
 To chase the flying Sun, whose flight has left 
 Footprints of glory in the clouded west: 
 
 Swift is she haled "by winged swimming steeds, 
 Whose cloudy maues are wet with heavy dews, 
 And dews are drizzling from her chariot wheels 
 Soft in her lap lies drowsy -lidded Sleep, 
 
 Brainful of dreams, as summer hive with bees , 
 And rouud her in the pale and spectral light 
 Flock bats and erisly owls on noiseless wings. 
 
 The flying sun goes down the burning west, 
 
 Vast night comes noiseless up the eastern slope. 
 And so the eternal chase goes round the world. 
 Unrest! unrest! The passion-panting sea 
 Watches the unveiled beauty of the stars 
 
Editorial Notes --French Litera ture. 
 
 585 
 
 1853.] 
 
 Like a great hungry soul. The unquiet clouds 
 Break and dissolve, then gather in a mass, 
 
 And float like mighty icebergs through the blue. 
 Summers, like blushes, sweep the face of earth ; 
 Heaven yearns in stars. Down comes the frantic 
 rain ; 
 
 We hear the wail of the remorseful winds 
 In their strange penance. And this wretched orb 
 Knows not the taste of rest; a maniac world, 
 Homeless and sobbing through the deep she goes. 
 
 There is surely great originality and 
 affluence here, which augur a bright fu- 
 ture for Mr. Smith. 
 
 — Nelly Armstrong , a story of the 
 day.f is the pretty name of a novel, by the 
 author of Rose Douglass, which is well 
 received in England. It tells the old tale 
 of country virtue going to the city, to bo 
 seduced and wrecked, and then rescued 
 again by the kind-hearted interposition of 
 friends. Its pictures of life in the wynds 
 of Edinburgh are as dark and fearful as 
 any of the scenes in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, 
 and if true, exhibit a field for the bene- 
 volence of the excellent ladies of Stafford 
 House, quite as ready for the harvest as 
 any to be found on this side of the At- 
 lantic. 
 
 France. — Hawthorne’s Scarlet Let- 
 ter has been well translated into French, 
 and is duly admired by the Gallic public. 
 The Revue des Deux Mondes says that 
 it is an excellent selection to initiate 
 French readers in the style of the author, 
 as a thinker and romance writer, and that 
 he treats his subject with manly bold- 
 ness and touching dramatic power. 
 
 — M. Nestor Roqueplan, the manager 
 of the Grand Opera of Paris, has pub- 
 lished, under the title of La Vie Paris- 
 ienne, a collection of theatrical reminis- 
 cences, sketches of travel, literary frag- 
 ments, and such other intellectual bag- 
 gage as he has judged would interest the 
 universe. We are sorry to say that M. 
 Roqueplan’s book is not as piquant as it 
 ought to be, and that we would prefer an 
 evening in his magnificent theatre, with 
 one of Meyerbeer’s spectacles, and Garcia 
 upon the stage, to all the works he could 
 publish, if he were to keep writing and 
 publishing until France obtains a settled 
 government. 
 
 - — California and Australia have not 
 only flooded the world with gold, but 
 have also let loose a deluge of newspaper 
 articles, pamphlets, and other disquisitions 
 on the effect which the flood must have 
 on property, commerce and industry in 
 their various relations. In the fulfilment 
 of our duty we have dug through many 
 of these treatises, but none of them with 
 more real instruction than M. Tegobor- 
 ski’s Essai sur les consequences even- 
 tuelles de la decouvertc des gites auri- 
 feres en Californie et en Australie. The 
 vol. i. — 38 
 
 author is not only a very able statistician 
 and economist, but from his official posi- 
 tion in Russia has made the management 
 and yield of the Siberian gold mines a 
 matter of particular study. Fie does not 
 anticipate that the product of California 
 and Australia will produce any permanent 
 disturbance of the present relation in the 
 value of gold and silver, for the reason 
 that a largely increased production of the 
 latter may ere long be expected. The 
 silver-producing regions of the world now 
 yield nothing compared with what might 
 be derived from them. 
 
 — Apropos to controversies now on foot 
 comes M. de Breval’s Mazzini jugk 
 par lui-meme et par les siens (Mazzini 
 judged by himself and by his adherents), 
 a bitter assault upon the Italian leader 
 which goes back for material through the 
 history of the last twenty years. Those 
 who desire to know the worst that may 
 be said of Mazzini, may here find it uttered 
 with skill and hearty hatred. 
 
 — The approaching new edition of 
 the writings of the first Napoleon will 
 contain some things fit to shine in any 
 future collection of literary curiosities. 
 Among these are Giulio , a Conversation 
 on the Tender Passion, an Oriental Tale, 
 Notes on his Infancy and Youth, and a 
 Plan of Suicide, which on one occasion 
 when still young he actually came near 
 putting in execution. His correspondence 
 with Maria Louisa will also figure in the 
 collection. Rev. J. S. 0. Abbott will 
 perhaps find in it some new reason for 
 putting this man along with Washington 
 among the sacred heroes and benefactors 
 of humanity. 
 
 — Les Cesars (The Cesars), by M. F. 
 Champagny, is a series of careful studies, 
 on the different emperors of Rome. The 
 author narrates the life of each of these 
 individuals, and paints with spirit and 
 fidelity the varying phases of Roman 
 society under their successive reigns. An 
 appendix contains a solid mass of statis- 
 tics with regard to the revenues, re- 
 sources, and expenditures of the govern- 
 ment they administered. The work has 
 passed to a second edition. 
 
 —To novel-readers we commend the 
 Contes de Printemps (Tales of Spring), 
 by M. Champfleury, a book full of 
 youthful genius, and touching interest. 
 
 — La Lotus de la bonne Loi (The 
 Lotus of the Good Law), is the last work 
 of Eugene Burnouf, the deceased philo- 
 logian. It is a translation from the 
 Sanscrit, with a commentary and essays 
 on different points of the Buddhist 
 system. Philological science has no 
 other recent production to be compared 
 with this in magnitude or importance. 
 
586 
 
 Editorial Notes — German Literature. 
 
 — If Madame de Girardin’s new 
 comedy has not obtained the brilliant 
 success to which its title seemed to pre- 
 tend, she may hold herself compensated 
 by the praise bestowed on Marguerite , a 
 new novel from her vigorous and graceful 
 pen. It is a story of love and despair, 
 touching in itself, but doubly fascinating 
 from the delicate feminine good sense, the 
 facile wit, and agreeable, elegant style in 
 which it is narrated. 
 
 — Mont- Reveche , a new novel by 
 George Sand, has made its appearance, 
 to be sadly beset by some of the French 
 critics. They accuse it of defective ar- 
 tistic management, a meagre plot, impos- 
 sible characters, and absurd action. 
 Against its moral character not a word 
 have we seen. By some chance a copy 
 of it has not yet reached America, and so 
 we say nothing either to it or its assail- 
 ants. 
 
 Germany. — The publication in num- 
 bers of a new History of the German 
 People from the earliest times to the 
 present, has just been commenced at Ber- 
 lin, where two parts have appeared, bring- 
 ing the subject down to the invasion of 
 Attila in the west of Europe. The au- 
 thor is Mr. Jacob Yenedey, a member 
 of the famous Frankfort Parliament, and 
 a man in many respects competent to the 
 Herculean task he has undertaken. It is 
 curious that in the whole wilderness of 
 German books, there is no first-rate work 
 on the history of the German people, 
 though there are many good histories of 
 particular epochs and movements. We 
 mean that there is no history of the Ger- 
 mans which is at once erudite and popu- 
 lar, accurate in fact and eloquent in style 
 and spirit. We hope Mr. Yenedey may 
 supply the deficiency. 
 
 — Richard Wagner is the poet and 
 musician of the gigantic. His conceptions 
 are enormous. His works are laid out 
 on plans of almost boundless magnitude. 
 Some day he will make an opera, or, as he 
 would call it, a dramatic and musical epic, 
 embracing the 'entire history of the world. 
 At present he is at work on the Niebelun- 
 gen Lied. The poem is done, and only 
 the music remains to be composed for it. 
 The execution of this immense work will 
 occupy four successive performances. It 
 is called The Ring of the Niebelungen , 
 a Stage Play of a Preliminary Evening 
 and three Days. The drama of the pre- 
 liminary evening is entitled The Rhine- 
 Gold ; that of the first day, The Wal- 
 kyre; that of the second day, The Young 
 Sigfrid ; and that of the third, Sigfrid's 
 Death. This century — nor any other 
 for that matter — has not witnessed such 
 
 [May 
 
 a literary and artistic undertaking ; for it 
 must be understood, that W agner writes 
 not for the student, but for the public, 
 and for actual performance upon the 
 stage. It is a doubtful matter, however, 
 whether any man can possess a genius 
 grand and potent enough to take the 
 amusement-loving public for four succes- 
 sive days to the theatre, in order to see 
 the beginning, middle and end of a single 
 opera. 
 
 — A readable book is Dr. Klopp’s 
 Narratives and Trails of Character in 
 the time of the German Empire from 843 
 to 1125, just published at Leipzig. It is 
 written in a pleasant flowing style, and 
 with undoubted historical accuracy. For 
 young people especially, the annals of that 
 obscure period, lying as they seem to do 
 midway between history and romance, 
 have a great charm, and we should suppose 
 that a skilful translator might draw from 
 this work the materials of a very popular 
 and useful little volume. 
 
 — Hofmann von Fallersleben pur- 
 sues his literary studies with zeal none 
 the less fruitful, because he has been 
 obliged by circumstances to omit revolu- 
 tionary politics from their programme. 
 He has just added a very valuable contri- 
 bution to the means of appreciating the 
 literature of the middle ages in Germany. 
 We refer to Theophilus , a Low-German 
 play, which he has discovered in a manu- 
 script of the fifteenth century, and pub- 
 lished with an introduction, commentary 
 and glossary. Theophilus is but another 
 name for the mythical Faust of the Ger- 
 mans, and Dr. Hoffmann is of opinion that 
 this play is the first part of a trilogy the 
 remainder of which is lost. His intro- 
 duction and notes are of the highest value 
 to those whose tastes and investigations 
 run in that direction. 
 
 — One of the most attractive recent 
 productions of the German press is the 
 Symbolik der Menschlichen Gestalt 
 (Symbolism of the Human Form), 
 published at Leipzig, from the learned 
 and eloquent pen of Dr. Carus. As a 
 specimen of style, few works in German 
 are more admirable, while its combination 
 of profound learning with poetic vitali- 
 ty, its frequent eloquence and brilliant 
 glimpses of new ideas, commend it to the 
 study of all who would appreciate more 
 thoroughly the relations of soul and 
 body. In some respects it may be com- 
 pared with Wilkinson’s book on Man 
 and his Body. It is intended for popu- 
 lar rather than professional use. The 
 physiologists accuse it of being inexact 
 and imaginative. 
 
 — Dr. Beck of Reutlingen, has a new 
 work on a subject of interest to philoso- 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Editorial Notes — German Literature. 
 
 587 
 
 phical students. It is called Platon's 
 Philosophic im Abriss Hirer genetischen 
 Enwicklung. (Plato’s Philosophy in its 
 genetic Development.) It is a dry, pro- 
 saic, formal book, on a theme which, above 
 all others, merits a genial and glowing 
 treatment. 
 
 — Dr. John Uschold has published, 
 at Ainbery, a Compendium of Psycholo- 
 gy (Grundriss der Psychologie), in which 
 the evangelical theory of the soul, the 
 primitive purity and blessedness of man 
 and his fall from grace, are taught in a 
 very succinct and lucid manner for the use 
 of students. 
 
 — Betrachtungen uber den Physis- 
 chen Weltall (Considerations on the 
 Physical Structure of the Universe), is a 
 philosophical disquisition by Prof. Es- 
 chenmayer, a disciple of Schelling, in 
 which we are taught that the entire, 
 boundless complex of worlds, stars, 
 comets, &c., depends upon and is govern- 
 ed by a great universal body ( Allgestirn ), 
 the productive source of all forces and 
 laws, in the centre of the entire concern, 
 wherever that may be. It is fanciful and 
 vague, and will suit those who like to 
 take their science bathed in the mists of 
 imagination, rather than in the clear and 
 distinct light of exact knowledge. 
 
 — Liebig’s famous Chemical Letters 
 have received a reply in a book by Jacob 
 Moleschott, called Der Kreislauf des 
 Lebens (The Circle of Life). The author 
 is a physiologist, but no chemist. He 
 writes well and popularly, but Liebig’s 
 theories are not much injured by his dis- 
 quisitions. 
 
 — Land und See Bilder aus der 
 Gegenwart (Land and Sea Pictures of 
 the Present Time), is a volume of transla- 
 tions from the Household. Words , em- 
 bracing articles on America and Aus- 
 tralia. 
 
 — Otto Schmidt is the author of a 
 History of the Thirty Years' War, 
 written for the benefit of the universal 
 German nation, to warn the same against 
 the evils of dissension, and the necessity 
 of patience and tolerance. Mr. Schmidt 
 might have preached his sermon on a 
 shorter theme than one thirty years long. 
 
 — The readers of Goethe’s Autobiogra- 
 phy must preserve a sort of affection for 
 the old German province of Elsass , now 
 the French department of Alsace , whose 
 great glory is the Strasburg Cathedral, 
 and whose people are a happy mixture of 
 the Teutonic and Gallic elements of cha- 
 racter. Goethe loved to be among them, 
 and would have been delighted with Au- 
 gust Stober’s Sagen des Elsass (Tra- 
 ditions of Alsace), just published at St. 
 Gallon. These traditions are gathered 
 
 with infinite industry from the mouths 
 of the people, from old chronicles and 
 other reliable sources, and are very plea- 
 sant reading even to those who have no 
 local interest in the beautiful country to 
 which they belong. 
 
 — Those who wish to study the rise 
 and progress of Secret Societies, and es- 
 pecially of Masonry, will find a most 
 authentic and satisfactory work in the 
 Geschicte der Frei-Maurerei in Fran- 
 kolich (History of Free Masonry in 
 France), by Prof. Ivloss of Darmstadt. 
 It is based on authentic documents of 
 every kind, and casts great light upon the 
 formation and development of the order 
 in every country of Europe, as well as in 
 France. 
 
 — A volume which musicians ought to 
 read is F. Chry'sander’s Ueber die Moll- 
 tonart in der Volksgesdngen und uber 
 das Oratorium (On the minor mode in 
 music of popular origin, and on the Ora- 
 torio). It is a learned and instructive 
 work, though it does not demonstrate all 
 its propositions, as for instance, that the 
 minor mode in popular songs, is derived 
 from the music of the early Christian 
 church, while the fact is that barbarous 
 nations which never heard of Christianity, 
 delight in the use of the minor key. 
 
 — The booksellers’ advertisements an- 
 nounce the publication of Des Negers Ira 
 Aldridge Leben und Kunstler-Lauf- 
 bahn (Life and Artistic Career of the 
 Negro Ira Aldridge), with his portrait and 
 fac-simile. Mr. Aldridge is a tragic actor, 
 whose playing of Shakspeare’s characters, 
 such as Othello and Macbeth, has been as- 
 tonishing to the Germans. They hold him 
 to be one of the first tragedians of the 
 age. This book is designed to make the 
 public acquainted with the facts of his 
 personal professional history. 
 
 — A volume more charming and wel- 
 come to poetic readers could not be 
 named than the Lieder des Mirza 
 Schaffy (Songs of Mirza Schaffy); of 
 which a second edition has just made its 
 appearance at Berlin, with several poems 
 not given in the first. Mirza Schaffy is a 
 poet of the Caucasus, a man of very deli- 
 cate fancy and genial wisdom, whose 
 songs — fit to be named with those 
 of Hafiz — are rendered into elegant 
 German by Bodenstedt, the historian 
 and traveller, and printed in a neat and 
 convenient little volume. 
 
 — A characteristic publication is the 
 Deutsche Hauschronik (German House- 
 Chronicles), issued monthly at Munich, 
 and now in its second year. It is a sort 
 of historical and ethnographic popular 
 miscellany, consisting of memorable scenes 
 from history, descriptions of life in an- 
 
588 
 
 Editorial Notes — Belgian Literature. 
 
 cient times, among the Germans espe- 
 cially, sketches of eminent characters, 
 pictures of society in foreign countries, 
 and particularly in those which are remote 
 and strange, written often in the shape of 
 stories, and all illustrated with an abun- 
 dance of excellent wood-cuts. In fact it 
 would he difficult to find a publication, 
 which, in an artistic point of view, is supe- 
 rior to the Haus Chronik , and its literary 
 merits are scarcely less remarkable. 
 Some of the best writers of Southern 
 Germany contribute to its pages. 
 
 — In Frederic Gerstacker’s two vol- 
 umes of American travel, just published 
 at Stuttgart, a great deal of valuable in- 
 formation upon the political and natural 
 mysteries of South America, is given in 
 a very pleasant way. The traveller land- 
 ed at Rio Janeiro, and after having ex- 
 plored the vicinity of the Brazilian capital, 
 went to Buenos Ayres. His pictures of 
 life on the pampas, are as fresh and vivid 
 as pen could make them. Next he crossed 
 the continent to Chili, and from there 
 went to California. His adventures in 
 Brazil, the Argentine Confederation, and 
 Chili, are narrated with as much spirit as 
 he carried into the acting of them ; while 
 his observations on men and manners are 
 marked by shrewdness, tolerance, and 
 good sense. The second volume relates 
 to California exclusively, as it was two 
 years ago, and can, therefore, have hut 
 little present interest for American read- 
 ers. His further travels among the islands 
 of the South Sea, in Australia, and in 
 Java, will afford the material for several 
 future volumes, which we shall look for 
 with interest. 
 
 Belgium. — The novelty we have here to 
 notice is Belgian in origin only by accident, 
 and we are not aware that Belgium itself 
 ever produced any thing half so original. 
 But inasmuch as the pamphlet now before 
 us bears the imprint of Brussels on its title- 
 page, we will not refuse to the dominions 
 of King Leopold the honor of having pro- 
 duced it. It is written in French, and 
 entitled, Reply to certain Journals rela- 
 tive to the affairs of Turkey ; the au- 
 thors are Rustem Effendi, and Seid 
 Bey, two Turkish officers temporarily on 
 a Government mission at Liege ; and we 
 can truly say that if there are many as 
 clever writers in the Ottoman Empire, its 
 literature should at once be made an ob- 
 ject of general study. The present pam- 
 phlet is not unworthy to be placed with 
 Montesquieu’s Persian Letters , which in- 
 deed, it somewhat resembles in style and 
 spirit. Turkey could hardly have abler 
 or more earnest defenders against the im- 
 putations of religious intolerance and op- 
 
 [May 
 
 pression of her Christian subjects, lately 
 cast upon her with bitterness by Austrian 
 and other writers. The idea of intole- 
 rance as attributed to the Mussulmans is 
 shown to be a mere prejudice from the 
 beginning. Jerusalem and Constantino- 
 ple were conquered by them, without any 
 constraint being put on the faith or wor- 
 ship of the Christian inhabitants. “A 
 Belgian traveller told us,” say our Turk- 
 ish pamphleteers, “that he had seen in 
 Constantinople what he could not have 
 seen in Paris, a Catholic procession pass- 
 ing through the streets, and the crowd 
 reverently making place for it. So much 
 is every form of religion respected among 
 the Turks, and so universal is the tolerance 
 of the nation.” “As, on our journey 
 hither, we came through Smyrna, a great 
 festival was being celebrated there by the 
 Catholics, and the Turkish Pacha, on the 
 invitation of the Ladies of the Order of 
 Providence, was present at the examina- 
 tion of the young girls, pupils in their 
 seminary, and listened with interest, and 
 even crowned those who gained prizes. On 
 our ships of war we have often seen, at 
 one end the Greek sailors with their pope 
 going through with their prayers, while 
 at the other end, the Mussulman sailors 
 were worshipping God after the manner 
 of their faith. In contrast to this, the 
 poor Irish who die for England’s fame 
 and power on the burning sands of India, 
 are to this day denied the consolations of 
 their church. If you would see intole- 
 rance, go to the countries of Christian 
 Europe, or to the Greek Christians in 
 Turkey, especially to the robber-horde of 
 Montenegro. It is they who invented 
 for Catholic Christians the epithet of 
 ‘ Frank-dog.’ which, like every thing else 
 that is bad, has been attributed to the 
 Turks. But the worst of all intolerance 
 is at Jerusalem, where Greeks and Latins 
 fight and squabble about the Holy Sepul- 
 chre, and the Turkish authorities, with 
 the greatest impartiality and imperturb- 
 able patience, endeavor only to keep the 
 peace between them.” 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 When Ole Bull was at the height of 
 his success in this country, M. Vieux- 
 temps arrived. “Now,” said the wise 
 men, “ we shall see what good playing 
 is.” M. Vieuxtemps did pi a} 7 , with all 
 his well-earned European fame behind 
 him ; but unhappily, very few listeners 
 before him. At the Park Theatre he 
 played to half-empty benches, while Ole 
 Bull was nightly filling the Tabernacle 
 with an enthusiastic crowd. It was im- 
 possible to deny the excellence of M. 
 Vieuxtemps. If at dinner the conversation 
 
1853.] 
 
 Editorial Notes ■ — Music. 
 
 589 
 
 fell upon that gentleman, all the musical 
 connoisseurs said that it was fortunate we 
 had, at last, a really fine performer. His 
 position in Paris and among foreign critics 
 was ably discussed and justified. The 
 musical connoisseurs were enchanted with 
 his bowing, and with many other excellen- 
 cies for which they knew the proper 
 technical terms ; and after dinner they 
 repaired in a body to — Ole Bull’s concert. 
 M. Vieuxtemps never kindled any popular 
 enthusiasm. He was irreproachably good, 
 — true, delicate, classical, finished, and, as 
 a few asserted with acrimony, free from 
 clap-trap. Yet M. Vieuxtemps failed, 
 while Ole Bull’s first visit to the country 
 is an era in our musical annals. 
 
 We are strongly reminded of these facts 
 of nine years since, by the relative posi- 
 tions of Alboui and Sontag ; except that 
 every thing is reversed with them. This 
 time it is the Vieuxtemps style that bears 
 the palm ; — it is the elegant cultivation, 
 the classical purity, the elaborate finish 
 to which we are all paying homage, and 
 for which we thronged Niblo’s for the 
 thirty opera-nights of Lent. While we 
 write (very early in Alboni’s season), 
 Sontag is the success, and Alboni the 
 failure. With that rare voice, and culti- 
 vation none the less exquisite because it 
 does not challenge attention before the 
 voice itself ; with a fresh bonhommie of 
 manner quite as attractive as the elaborate 
 artificiality of Madame Sontag, and cer- 
 tainly with no less, if very different, dra- 
 matic power ; with Salvi, the best tenor 
 we have had, and Marini, on the whole 
 the best basso, and Rovere, a genuine, 
 extravagant Italian buffo , and the brave 
 Beneventano, with exuberant voice, and 
 exhaustless good-humor and accuracy ; — 
 with all this imperial front to conquer 
 success, Alboni has failed. “ ’Tis sad,” 
 cried Paul Pry. 
 
 W e have recently heard it stated that 
 she never “ drew.” The audience might 
 be delighted, and single songs produce 
 great enthusiasm, but it was spasmodic, not 
 continuous. Neither in London, nor 
 Paris, nor Madrid, did Alboni “draw,” 
 said “our intelligent informant.” It is 
 not quite true, as we remember in Paris. 
 There Alboni was a sure card. The 
 houses were always full, if not crowded: 
 but none of her impersonations made a 
 mark, — as personations. Alboni never 
 “ created ” parts. The engravers and de- 
 signers never issued prints of M’lle Alboni 
 as this or that ; or if they did so, it was 
 a ver} r limited circle that knew of those 
 pictures and felt any special propriety in 
 them. Grisi’s Norma was a subject uni- 
 versally recognized like Rachel’s Phedre , 
 or Mrs. Siddons’ Lady Macbeth. So 
 
 with Madame Garcia as Fides in Le 
 Prophete. These singers and actresses 
 were identified with those roles. But the 
 delicious contralto was equally at home 
 every where. She took all parts, and 
 sang the songs in them delightfully, 
 transposing the music if it lay out of her 
 range, and not caring to raise an eyelid in 
 the way of dramatic action. And the 
 voice was so satisfactory, that the acting 
 was suffered to pass. The general conclu- 
 sion was that if large masses of animate 
 matter could sing in this way, it was the 
 height of ingratitude to expect them to 
 move, also. As we said in a former arti- 
 cle, several of the best critics longed to 
 see Alboni break out of this apathy, and 
 assert her full power. Hector Berlioz, 
 especially, believed that she was an actress, 
 if only she would choose to discover the 
 fact. But she never did choose. She 
 went from London to Madrid, — indolent, 
 tropical, luxuriant, — refreshing England, 
 France and Spain with ample libations of 
 that cool, fresh, musical voice. 
 
 Alboni made a mistake in her first con- 
 certs in New-York, and it seems as if she 
 were not to recover from that unfortunate 
 prestige. When she sang at the Broad- 
 way Theatre, we certainly thought she had 
 done so ; but it was temporary only. It 
 was the novelty of hearing a great voice 
 in its prime at one of our theatres. There 
 had been no such opportunity since Mali- 
 bran, who sang at the Park Theatre be- 
 fore the days of this generation of theatre- 
 goers. The Broadway was thronged 
 every opera-night for a fortnight or more. 
 Then the Prima Donna went to Boston, 
 where she had good success — for the 
 same reason, perhaps ; then to Philadel- 
 phia, where, we are told, she failed, pos- 
 sibly on account of miserable support. 
 Meanwhile Sontag was serenely triumph- 
 ant at Niblo’s. It was fortunately Lent, 
 and society, as usual during that period 
 of mortification, was stagnant. The 
 opera, therefore, took the place of all 
 other dissipations. Every body went to the 
 opera, because they were sure of pleasant 
 companions, of pleasant singing, of Sontag, 
 Badiali, and Eckert’s orchestra. More- 
 over, the Prima Donna was a countess. 
 It was “ a nice thing ” to assist at an en- 
 tertainment where a “real lady” per- 
 formed. Had we not met her at dinner? 
 Was not her fate romantic? Was she 
 not the most perfect singer, actress, coun- 
 tess, that ever was known ? Beside, we 
 had had no opera all winter, and were 
 ready, during the husks of Lent, for any 
 kind of succulence. In fact the opera- 
 season of Madame Sontag was managed as 
 well as all the rest of her career (except- 
 ing the ridiculous quarrel with the Albion), 
 
590 
 
 Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 [May 
 
 and. as we heartily hope, was eminently 
 successful. Somehow the house was al- 
 ways full: excepting two or three very 
 stormy evenings, there were no seats to 
 spare. It is not our province to inquire 
 by what means this array of auditors was 
 uniformly secured ; whether it was anxiety 
 to pay two dollars, and one dollar, to hear 
 her, or willingness to accept tickets for 
 that purpose, that filled the house. The 
 house was nightly full. If some of the 
 tickets were given away, it was a good in- 
 vestment. The public is gregarious. If 
 the head sheep jumps over a stick, we all 
 piously follow on, and jump over in good 
 order and regular succession. Madaene 
 Sontag herself did not falter. Once only, 
 we believe, was the course of the opera 
 interrupted, although during much of the 
 time the Prima Donna was a serious suf- 
 ferer. We have in previous articles suffi- 
 ciently described the mitigated raptures 
 we all experienced. But she closed her 
 season with La Sonnambula, before 
 “ an overflowing house ; ” — and was lost 
 amid the shower of bouquets at the close. 
 After the second act she was recalled four 
 times, by the unmistakable unanimity 
 of the house. Sontag’s last night was an 
 ovation. 
 
 Upon all this brilliant success came the 
 “ Grand Combination Italian Opera.” — 
 uniting Alboni and her tenor and basso, 
 to Max Maretzek, with Steffanone, Salvi, 
 and Marini. It was a fine promise, and 
 the eyes of those who were skeptical of 
 Sontag’s success, until she succeeded, be- 
 gan to twinkle and enlarge again. Now, 
 said they — unconsciously repeating the 
 Vieuxtemps-iana of nine years since — 
 now we shall see what good singing is. 
 Our preferences have been already express- 
 ed. In the very glowing crisis of Son- 
 tag’s triumph, we had declared that one 
 rich song of Alboni’s would please us 
 more than a whole opera by the countess ; 
 and, in our weakness and eager assur- 
 ance, judging from Alboni’s success at 
 the Broadway, in January, with so mis- 
 erable a setting, we dreamed of a triumph 
 at Niblo’s, in April, with an unequalled 
 troupe, so resplendent, that even jaded 
 Parisian feuilletonists might lay down 
 their pens before it, crying, “ pyrami - 
 dale .” 
 
 Unhappily, we omitted several facts 
 from our programme of probabilities. 
 Lent was over. We had done eating fish, 
 and might fall upon the pates again. 
 That was an immense distraction to opera 
 going. Then we had enjoyed thirty nights 
 of opera, and were a little bit cloyed. 
 Then it was a Countess’s opera, — which 
 was much. Then we had all heard Alboni 
 in her rdles at the Broadway. Then Salvi 
 
 was very uncertain, and evidently passe. 
 Marini was no favorite, although a valu- 
 able basso ; Rovere was a true Buffo ; 
 but we were too serious to appreciate 
 the caricature, — Benjamin ventano was 
 not Badiali, — San Giovanni labored un- 
 der a want of voice, — Signor Arditi and 
 his orchestra were not so well drilled as 
 Herr Eckert and his, — all these facts were 
 recklessly left out of our consideration. 
 We abandoned ourselves to unbridled an- 
 ticipations. Tbe trumpets were blown, 
 the evening arrived, the curtain rose, and 
 Don Pasquale commenced. 
 
 Don Pasquale was mistake No. 1. It 
 was necessary to make a very great hit 
 the first evening. If the triumph did not 
 extinguish the prestige of Sontag’s career 
 upon the same boards, the battle was half 
 lost. To secure that triumph, an opera 
 should have been selected in which Alboni 
 had a great deal to do, — a great many 
 positive scenas to sing, arias in which she 
 could have displayed her voice and her 
 cultivation in the most brilliant manner, 
 — some opera whose melodies were fami- 
 liar to the audience, that they might have 
 hung upon the notes in happy comparison 
 with all who had sung them before, — an 
 opera of interest and action also, and ela- 
 borated in orchestra and chorus to the 
 last degree of care, — that first stroke was 
 infinitely more important than the man- 
 agement seems to have been aware. It is 
 sadly true that Alboni lost the trick. 
 The house was full, but not as crowded 
 as upon many of Sontag’s nights. Per- 
 haps it was a “paying” house. We trust 
 it was. But it should have been an im- 
 mense throng. The opera itself is one of 
 Donizetti’s buffo trifles. There is pretty 
 music in it, but as it is sung without cos- 
 tume or scenic effect, and as there is not 
 the slightest interest in the story, every 
 thing depends upon the singing and the 
 humorous acting. 
 
 At the best, when we have seen Grisi. 
 Lablache and Ronconi in Don Pasquale, 
 it was pleasant enough, and pretty enough, 
 but no more. On this occasion “ enough” 
 was much too little. Alboni sang as well 
 as ever she sang ; but the old languid 
 nonchalance had returned. The impres- 
 sion she gave of Norina is the true im- 
 pression of the character as we conceive 
 it, an impudent, simple baggage; not a 
 fine lady, for fine ladies never consent to 
 that kind of intrigue. But this was not 
 fully developed. It seemed, as usual, as 
 if she were too lazy to complete the per- 
 sonation. 
 
 Marini, upon whom, as Don Pasquale , 
 falls so much of the weight of the piece, 
 is the most serious buffo, the most solemn 
 basso, we remember to have seen. He is 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Editorial Notes— Music. 
 
 591 
 
 dry and hard. There is no geniality in 
 his expression, no humor in his action. 
 He seemed to be trying to he funny against 
 his will ; and the only laughable point in 
 his performance was his coming forward 
 with that rueful countenance, the head 
 slightly bent, and the thumb and fore- 
 finger of the right hand raised, to take 
 part in the trio. Don Pasquale , like 
 Don Bartolo in the Barber of Seville , is 
 the creation of the Italian opera buffo, 
 and exists nowhere else. lie is essen- 
 tially a caricature, an extravagance, a butt, 
 and, so it be done with fun, there is scarce- 
 ly any thing he does, which can be con- 
 demned as excessive. Lablache under- 
 stands this, because nature intended him 
 to play Don Pasquale. Lablache is “ a 
 tun of a man,” and he drowns all his au- 
 ditors in a tun of fun. It is indescribable. 
 It is broad, and long, if you choose. It 
 lies in movements, in expressions, in tones, 
 it is every where, and every where very 
 funny. Lablache always leaves his au- 
 dience in such excellent humor, that, what- 
 ever has been done, the evening seems 
 delightful. Marini has no idea of fun. It 
 flies before him. His Leporello is not 
 Mozart’s Leporello , as we discovered last 
 year, and his Don Pasquale is not Doni- 
 zetti’s. He was even badly stuffed. His 
 corpulence was all one way. Salvi did 
 admirably, as u$ual. He sang carefully 
 and exquisitely, and the serenade was a 
 beautiful performance. Beneventano has 
 too fine a voice, too great a willingness 
 to oblige, is always too accurate in his 
 music, to allow us to find fault with him. 
 In fact we never wish to do so. His mer- 
 its are so eminent, and his demerits so ob- 
 vious, that it would be useless. Beneven- 
 tano — and his opponents will not deny it 
 —always does all that one man can do to 
 prevent the opera from falling dead. In 
 the Barbiere how manfully he struggled, 
 with Rovere, to bear it up against a small 
 house, and the universal feeling of disap- 
 pointment and failure. 
 
 Don Pasquale was not a brilliant suc- 
 cess. Alboni sang superbly. That was 
 agreed before we went. But when every 
 man asked himself, is this, on the whole, 
 so superior to what we have just had ; the 
 instinctive reply, despite the unquestioned 
 superiority of Alboni to Sontag, was, no. 
 There was something wanting. We have, 
 perhaps, already indicated some of the 
 reasons of this want. The fact itself was 
 too evident. Immediately after the first 
 evening Signor Salvi fell ill. The operas 
 were changed, the evening also, in one in- 
 stance ; and one evening the house was 
 closed. 
 
 We are hoping, while we write, that it 
 may not be too late to repair the disas- 
 
 trous fortunes of the day. Our opinion 
 of the relative merits of the singers re- 
 mains unchanged. But other things than 
 a fine voice and exquisite singing are es- 
 sential to operatic success. 
 
 And will an opera-house secure that 
 success? We hope so, since, at last, de- 
 termined that Boston shall not monopo- 
 lize all the musical glory, New-York has 
 subscribed $150,000 to build an opera- 
 house. It is to be situated at the corner 
 of Fourteenth street and Irving Place. 
 Now it is comparatively easy to build a 
 good house ; but to have a good opera — 
 that gives us pause. We have always 
 believed that if Mr. Barnum should un- 
 dertake the management it would succeed. 
 Of course we all join in the chorus of 
 humbug ; but we shall never be tired of 
 repeating that Jenny Lind was a very 
 agreeable humbug, and that Mr. Barnum 
 probably found the humbug of two or 
 three hundred thousand dollars equally 
 agreeable ; nor have we found any per- 
 son who regrets the money expended 
 at those memorable concerts. Mr. Bar- 
 num is our candidate for manager of 
 the new opera-house. We boldly spread 
 that banner to the breeze. He under- 
 stands what our public wants, and how 
 to gratify that want. He has no foreign 
 antecedents. He is not bullied by the 
 remembrance that they manage so in Lon- 
 don, and so in Naples, and so in St. Pcters- 
 burgh. He comprehends that, with us, 
 the opera need not necessarily be the lux- 
 ury of the few, but the recreation of the 
 many. We shall watch the experiment, 
 and record its progress with great interest. 
 Mr. Lumley has evacuated “Her Ma- 
 jesty’s,” and stage appointments, ward- 
 robes, &c., have just been sold at auction. 
 The great operas in Paris, Berlin, Madrid, 
 and St. Petersburgh, feed upon the state 
 treasury. There is scarcely an independent, 
 money-making opera in the world. Per- 
 haps it is “ the mission ” of New York to 
 show that some things may be done at the 
 corner of Fourteenth-street and Irving 
 Place which are impossible in the Hay- 
 market, at the Acadernie Roy ale , and 
 Unter den Linden. We certainly hope 
 so. But it will require very cunning ma- 
 nagement. 
 
 The rehearsals of the Philharmonic So- 
 ciety and of Eisfeld’s Quartette Concerts, 
 are pleasant occasions for studying the 
 fine German works. The Philharmonic 
 have been hard at work upon the great 
 symphony of Sehuman’s, which they play- 
 ed at their last concert. It is a work more 
 skilful and elaborate, than interesting. It 
 has passages of great power and beauty, 
 which quite vindicate the claim of the 
 composer to a high rank ; but they alter- 
 
592 
 
 Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 nate with commonplace movements. The 
 mere fact of elaborately learned treatment 
 (however interesting and pleasing to the 
 amateur, who, himself versed in music, 
 traces the nimble mastery of difficulties in 
 a composition), is nothing to the public. 
 The very greatest works, in every kind, are 
 those that every man who runs can read. 
 VVe cannot, of course, require that the 
 work of every master should be the great- 
 est ; nor can he, on the other hand, require 
 us to like, or even appreciate, what we 
 cannot read. This we say, not so much 
 in reference to the particular symphony 
 in question, as to the critics who complain 
 that the public are continually crying out 
 for more. If you do not propose to feed 
 the public, you may justly complain of 
 their importunity ; but, if you do offer to 
 feed the public, they certainly are entitled 
 to a voice in the matter. Signor Doni- 
 zetti, if you please, thinks fit to devote 
 many years of patient study to music, anil 
 then to write sixty-nine operas, which it 
 is his unquestioned privilege to do. He 
 may score his operas carefully, he may 
 superintend rehearsals, and alter and 
 adapt ; may struggle with a thousand ma- 
 nagerial difficulties and conquer them, — 
 viva Donizetti ! — but what then ? All this 
 is no reason that we should like his operas, 
 or be silenced when we find his instru- 
 mentation thin, his melody scarce and 
 feeble, his dramatic conception false, by 
 the assertions of severe critics, that it takes 
 a great deal of talent, patience, and hard 
 study, to write and score a poor opera. 
 Tant pis. Mozart’s melodies came to him 
 in the night, and he jumped out of bed to 
 jot them down. And now a fascinated 
 public jumps out of bed to listen, when- 
 
 [May 
 
 ever its daughters are serenaded by the 
 same strains. It was not hard work for 
 Mozart to write Don Giovanni, nor for 
 Michael Angelo to design St. Peter’s. It 
 is never veiy hard to do a thing well, al- 
 though all the labor of all the years would 
 never enable a man to do it. 
 
 W e say this, because we observe in some 
 valuable musical criticisms in the Tribune , 
 an occasional disposition to quarrel with 
 the public for not supporting that which 
 costs a great outlay of time, talent, and 
 money. And if there be any dangerous 
 creed, it is, that true excellence in art can 
 possibly be achieved without original power 
 in the artist, although he took the prize 
 at all the academies. 
 
 Madame Son tag continues her triumphal 
 career at Philadelphia, wending south- 
 ward. In Boston, orchestral and chamber 
 concerts charm the town. We remark 
 nothing especially new there. But we 
 observe that Dwight'' s Journal of Music, 
 published in Boston, has commenced its 
 second year, and we commend it unreserv- 
 edly to our readers, as a record of all the 
 interesting events in the world of music, 
 and indeed of the other arts, with the 
 most valuable and just criticisms from its 
 accomplished editor upon local musical 
 matters, and translations from all the most 
 striking contemporary works concerning 
 music and musicians. Iu^he first volume 
 it published the Life of Chopin, by Liszt — 
 a work of singular and unique interest. 
 It keeps us informed, also, of W agner and 
 Schuman, and the other continental leaders 
 in the revolution of music, which now 
 interests Germany. It is a weekly mirror 
 of the musical world. 
 
 NOTE ON “ OLD IRONSIDES." 
 
 £3?“ Our introductory note to “ Old Ironsides,” by Cooper, is not strictly correct ; or at least does not give 
 the whole particulars in relation to its composition, w e learn since the article was in print that the narrative 
 was commenced by Mr. Cooper several years before his death, and the MS. appears to have been written at 
 considerable intervals since — how lately, we are not informed. Although it was solicited and expected for pub- 
 lication during his life, it was withheld for the purpose of adding dates and facts, and probably, also, of ascer- 
 taining the truth of several doubtful passages, among which are the mutinous conduct at Malaga, p. 484 — the 
 reasons for the slow sailing of the vessels, p. 485 — the passage between Hull and Malcolm, p. 4S6 — and the change 
 of stowage in the Constitution by Harraden, p. 487 ; most of which, on subsequent Information, it is believed, 
 would have been omitted. In the scene between Preble and the English captain, p. 478, and in the affair of 
 the deserters from the Constitution and the Havannah, p. 4S6, corrections and additional particulars of interest 
 will hereafter be published After Mr. Cooper's death, the MS. was found incomplete and without liis usual re- 
 vision. It was intended as a supplement to his volume of “ Lives of Naval Officers,” and except his additions 
 to the Naval History, now in press, is his only unpublished work of which we are informed 
 
 The portion of the article in our present number was prematurely printed from an uncorrected copy of the 
 original MS. which contained several errors. Some few mistakes of the press will be apparent to any reader: 
 other more important errors of fact are mentioned in the following errata : 
 
 Fage 474, 2d column, 25th line, for “ Charlestown Neck,” read “ Boston.” 
 
 “ 477, 2d column, 2d line, after “ her,” insert as a F rench vessel.” 
 
 “ 480. 2d column, 7th line, for “ twenty-four.” read “thirty.” 
 
 “ “ 2d column, 17th line, from bottom, for “ forty-five,” read “ fifteen.” 
 
 “ 481, 1st column, 4th line, omit the sentence “ The nearer a vessel,” Ac, 
 
 “ 483, 1st column, 23d line, for “ Constitution,” read “ squadron.” 
 
 “ 484, 1st column, 26th lihe from bottom, for “ Wasp. ” road “ Hornet.” 
 
 “ “ 1st column, 16th line from bottom, for “ Gibraltar,” read “ Malaga.” 
 
 “ 4S5, 1st column, 1st line, after “ Boston,” and 12th line after “port,’’ read “except Hampton Roads.” 
 
 u 1st column, 20th line, for “ point,” read “ port.” 
 
 “ “1st column, 4th line from bottom, for “ Old Waggoner,” read “ Old Waggon.” 
 
 “ “2d column, 10th and 11th lines, omit names of “ Morgan ” and “ Wadsworth ” 
 
% Pippe of '$ iterate, Science, imfr %xt 
 
 VOL. I.— JUNE 1853.— NO. VI. 
 
 OLD IRONSIDES. 
 
 BY JAMES FENIMORE COOPER. 
 Concluded from page 4S7. 
 
 I )UMORS of an approaching war began 
 ^ to circulate freely before the Constitu- 
 tion got fully equipped, and she soon 
 dropped down as low as Alexandria. This 
 was about the beginning of June, 1812. 
 At this time the ship had about two hun- 
 dred and fifty men on board her, that had 
 been collecting for a few weeks previously, 
 and some of her late officers rejoined her. 
 She was still off Alexandria when the news 
 came down that war was actually declared 
 against Great Britain. Bead was the old- 
 est lieutenant then on board, and he had 
 all hands called and made them a speech. 
 When he had ended, the men asked per- 
 mission to cheer ; a recpiest that was 
 granted of course, and nine hearty cheers 
 succeeded. This demonstration of feeling, 
 however, was scarcely over, when several 
 of the crew came forward, and stated that 
 they were English deserters, and they 
 were afraid to serve against their native 
 country. The case was stated to Hull, 
 who ordered them all discharged. This 
 done, the remainder of the people were 
 perfectly ready to engage. About this 
 time Beekman Verplanek Hoffman joined 
 as one of the lieutenants. 
 
 The frigate gradually dropped down 
 lower, receiving stores, and was joined 
 again by Morris and Wadsworth, the for- 
 mer as her first, and the latter as her sec- 
 ond lieutenant. Shortly after she went 
 up the bay to Annapolis, where the equip- 
 ment of the vessel was completed. Here 
 John Shubrick and Aylwin, a new mas- 
 ter. joined, and a draft of men came on also. 
 This nearly filled up the complement ; and 
 
 Hull, who had joined in the river, was or- 
 dered to carry the vessel round to New- 
 York. On the 5th of July the anchor was 
 weighed, and Old Ironsides proceeded 
 down the bay and to sea on the 13th to 
 cruise in the third and last of her wars. 
 
 At this time the principal officers of‘ 
 this well-known frigate were Isaac Hull. 
 Esq., captain ; Messrs. Charles Morris. 
 Alexander Wadsworth, George Campbell 
 Read, Beekman Verplanek Hoffman, John 
 Templer Shubrick, and Charles W. Mor- 
 gan,* (acting) lieutenants ; Messrs. Bush 
 and Contee, lieutenants of marines; Wm. 
 C. Aylwin, master ; T. J. Chew, purser ; 
 and Amos A. Evans, surgeon. Among 
 the midshipmen were Messrs. Gilliam, 
 Beatty, Madison, Salter (now a captain), 
 German, Gordon, Field, Baury (lost in 
 the Wasp), Cross, Belcher, W. Taylor. 
 Eskridge, Delany, Greenleaf, Griffin, and 
 Tayloe. Morris, Read, and Wadsworthf 
 are still living, as commodores ; but Shu- 
 brick and Hoffman are both dead. 
 
 The Constitution got under way, from 
 her moorings off Annapolis, July 5th, 1812, 
 or sixteen days after the declaration of war. 
 The intermediate time had passed in com- 
 pleting the crew and the equipments of 
 the ship. A draft of men having arrived 
 only the previous evening, Morris was 
 occupied in stationing them, as the ves- 
 sel was leaving the bay. Many of the 
 guns even had been taken on board low 
 down in the Potomac, and a vast deal of 
 necessary work had been done between 
 the time when the ship left the Potomac 
 and her day of going to sea. Much also 
 
 * Morgan (lied, a captain, Jan. 5th, 1853. 
 
 t W adsworth died, a captain, April 5th, 1851, since the above was written. 
 
 vol. i. — 38 
 
594 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 remained to be done. The berth of a first 
 lieutenant was no sinecure then. 
 
 Friday. July the 17th, the ship was 
 out of sight of land, though at no great 
 distance from the coast, with a light 
 breeze from the N. E., and under easy 
 canvas. At one, she sounded in twenty- 
 two fathoms; and about an hour after- 
 wards, four sail were made in the northern 
 board, heading to the westward. At three, 
 the Constitution made sail, and tacked in 
 eighteen and a half fathoms. At four, she 
 discovered a fifth sail to the northward 
 and eastward, which had the appearance 
 of a vessel of war. This ship subsequent- 
 ly proved to be the Guerriere, thirty-eight, 
 Capt. Dacres. By this time, the other four 
 sail were made out to be three ships and 
 a brig ; they bore N.N.W., and were all 
 on the starboard tack, apparently in com- 
 pany. The wind now became very light, 
 and the Constitution hauled up her main- 
 sail. The ship in the eastern board, how- 
 ever, had so far altered her position by she, 
 as to bear E.N.E., the wind having hitherto 
 been fan- for her to close. But at a quarter 
 past six, the wind came out light at the 
 southward, bringing the American ship to 
 windward. The Constitution now wore 
 round with her head to the eastward, set 
 her light studding-sails and staysails, and 
 at half-past seven beat to quarters, and 
 cleared for action, with the intention of 
 speaking the nearest vessel. 
 
 The wind continued very light at the 
 southward, and the two vessels were 
 slowly closing until eight. At ten, the 
 Constitution shortened sail, and immedi- 
 ately after she showed the private signal 
 of the day. After keeping the lights 
 aloft near an hour, and getting no answer 
 from the Guerriere, the Constitution, at a 
 quarter past eleven, lowered the signal, 
 and made sail again, hauling aboard her 
 starboard tacks. During the whole of the 
 middle watch the wind was very light, 
 from the southward 'and westward. Just 
 as the morning watch was called, the 
 Guerriere tacked, then wore entirely 
 round, threw a rocket, and fired two guns. 
 As the day opened, three sail were dis- 
 covered on the starboard quarter of the 
 Constitution, and three more astern. At 
 five a. jr., a fourth vessel was seen astern. 
 
 This was the squadron of Com. Broke, 
 which had been gradually closing with 
 the American frigate during the night, and 
 was now just out of gun-shot. As the 
 ships slowly varied their positions, when 
 the mists were entirely cleared away, the 
 Constitution had two frigates on her lee 
 quarter, and a ship of the line, two fri- 
 gates, a brig, and a schooner astern. The 
 names of the enemy’s ships have already 
 been given ; but the brig was the Nauti- 
 
 [June 
 
 lus, and the schooner another prize. All 
 the strangers had English colors flying. 
 
 It now fell quite calm, and the Consti- 
 tution hoisted out her boats, and -sent 
 them ahead to tow, with a view to keep 
 the ship out of the reach of the enemy’s 
 shot. At the same time she whipt up one 
 of the gun-deck guns to the spar-deck, and 
 rim it out aft as a stern chaser, getting a 
 long eighteen off the forecastle also, for a 
 similar purpose. Two more of the twenty- 
 fours below were run out at the cabin 
 windows, with the same object, though it 
 was found necessary to cut away some of 
 the wood-work of the stern frame, in 
 order to make room. 
 
 By six o’clock the wind, which con- 
 tinued ven' light and baffling, came out 
 from the northward of west, when the 
 ship’s head was got round to the south- 
 ward, and all the light canvas that would 
 draw was set. Soon after, the nearest 
 frigate, the Shannon, opened with her 
 bow guns, and continued firing for about 
 ten minutes ; but perceiving she could not 
 reach the Constitution, she ceased. At 
 half past six, Captain Hull sounded in 
 twenty-six fathoms, when, finding that 
 the enemy was likely to close, as he was 
 enabled to put the boats of two ships on 
 one, and was also favored by a little more 
 air than the Constitution, all the spare 
 rope that could be found, and which was 
 fit for the purpose, was payed down into 
 the cutters, hent on, and a kedge was run 
 out near half a mile ahead, and let go. 
 At a signal given, the crew clapped on, 
 and walked away with the ship, overrun- 
 ning and tripping the kedge as she came 
 up with the end of the line. While this 
 was doing, fresh lines and another kedge 
 was carried ahead, and, though out of 
 sight of land, the frigate had glided 
 away from her pursuers before they 
 discovered the manner in which it was 
 done. It was not long, however, before 
 the enemy resorted to the same expedient. 
 At half past seven, the Constitution had 
 a little air, when she set her ensign, and 
 fired a shot at the Shannon, the nearest 
 ship astern. At eight, it fell calm again, 
 and further recourse was had to the boats 
 and the hedges, the enemy’s vessels hav- 
 ing a light air and drawing ahead, tow- 
 ing, sweeping, and hedging. By nine, the 
 nearest frigate, the Shannon, on which the 
 English had put most of their boats, was 
 closing fast, and there was every prospect, 
 notwithstanding the steadiness and ac- 
 tivity of the Constitution’s people, that the 
 frigate just mentioned would get near 
 enough to cripple her, when her capture 
 by the rest of the squadron would be in- 
 evitable. At this trying moment the best 
 spirit prevailed in the ship. Every thing 
 
1853.] 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 595 
 
 was stoppered, and Capt. Hull was not 
 without hopes, even should he be forced 
 into action, of throwing the Shannon 
 astern by his fire, and of maintaining his 
 distance from the other vessels. It was 
 known that the enemy could not tow very 
 near, as it would have been easy to sink 
 his boats with the stern guns of the Con- 
 stitution, and not a man in the latter 
 vessel showed a disposition to desponden- 
 cy. Officers and men relieved each other 
 regularly at the duty, and while the for- 
 mer threw themselves down on deck to 
 catch short naps, the people slept at their 
 guns. 
 
 This was one of the most critical mo- 
 ments of the chase. The Shannon was 
 fast closing, as has beenjust stated, while 
 the Guerriere was almost as near on the 
 larboard quarter. An hour promised to 
 bring the struggle to an issue, when, sud- 
 denly, at nine minutes past nine, a light 
 air from the southward struck the ship, 
 bringing her to windward. The beautiful 
 manner in which this advantage was im- 
 proved, excited admiration even in the 
 enemy. As the breeze was seen coming, 
 the ship’s sails were trimmed, and as soon 
 as she was under command, she was 
 brought close up to the wind, on the lar- 
 board tack ; the boats were all dropped 
 in alongside ; those that belonged to the 
 davits were run up, while the others were 
 just lifted clear of the water, by purchases 
 on the spare outboard spars, where they 
 were in readiness to be used again at a 
 moment’s notice. As the ship came by 
 the wind, she brought the Guerriere 
 nearly on her lee beam, when that frigate 
 opened a fire from her broadside. While 
 the shot of this vessel was just falling 
 short of them, the people of the Constitu- 
 tion were hoisting up their boats with as 
 much steadiness as if the duty was per- 
 forming in a friendly port. In about an 
 hour, however, it fell nearly calm again, 
 when Capt. Hull ordered a quantity of 
 the water started to lighten the ship. More 
 than two thousand gallons were pumped 
 out, and the boats were sent ahead again 
 to tow. The enemy now put nearly all 
 his boats on the Shannon, the nearest ship 
 astern ; and a few hours of prodigious 
 exertion followed, the people of the Con- 
 stitution being compelled to supply the 
 place of numbers by their activity and 
 zeal. The ships were close by the wind, 
 and every thing that would draw was set, 
 and the Shannon was slowly, but steadily, 
 forging ahead. About noon of this day. 
 there was a little relaxation from labor, 
 owing to the occasional occurrence of cat’s- 
 paws, by watching which, closely, the 
 ship was urged through the water. But 
 at a quarter past twelve, the boats were 
 
 again sent ahead, and the toilsome work 
 of towing and kedging was renewed. 
 
 At one o’clock a strange sail was dis- 
 covered nearly to leeward. At this mo- 
 ment the four frigates of the enemy were 
 about one point on the lee quarter of the 
 Constitution, at long gun-shot, the Africa 
 and the two prizes being on the lee-beam. 
 As the wind was constantly baffling, any 
 moment might have brought a change, and 
 placed the enemy to windward. At seven 
 minutes before two, the Belvidera, then 
 the nearest ship, began to fire with her 
 bow-guns, and the Constitution opened 
 with her stern chasers. On board the 
 latter ship, however, it was soon found to 
 be dangerous to use the main-deck guns, 
 the transoms having so much rake, the 
 windows being so high, and the guns so, 
 short, that every explosion lifted the up- 
 per deck, and threatened to blow out the 
 stern frame. Perceiving, moreover, that 
 his shot did little or no execution, Capt. 
 Hull ordered the firing to cease at half 
 past two. 
 
 For several hours the enemy’s frigates 
 were now within gun-shot, sometimes 
 towing and kedging, and at others endea- 
 voring to close with the puffs of air that 
 occasionally passed. At seven in the 
 evening the boats of the Constitution 
 were again ahead, the ship steering 
 S.¥i¥., with an air so light as to be 
 almost imperceptible. At half past seven 
 she sounded in twenty-four fathoms. For 
 hours the same toilsome duty was go- 
 ing on, until a little before eleven, when 
 a light air from the southward struck the 
 ship. The boats instantly dropped along- 
 side, hooked on, and were all run up, with 
 the exception of the first cutter. The 
 topgallant studding-sails and staysails 
 were set as soon as possible, and for 
 about an hour the people caught a little 
 rest. 
 
 But at midnight it fell nearly calm 
 again, though neither the pursuers nor the 
 pursued had recourse to the boats, pro- 
 bably from an unwillingness to disturb 
 their crews. At two a. m., it was observ- 
 ed on board the Constitution, that the 
 Guerriere had forged ahead, and was 
 again off their lee beam. At this time, 
 the topgallant studding-sails were taken 
 in. 
 
 In this manner passed the night, and on 
 the morning of the next day, it was found 
 that three of the enemy’s frigates were 
 within long gun-shot, on the lee quarter, 
 and the other at about the same distance 
 on the lee beam. The Africa and the 
 prizes were much further to leeward. 
 
 A little after daylight, the Guerriere, 
 having drawn ahead sufficiently to be 
 forward of the Constitution’s beam, tack- 
 
590 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 ed, when the latter ship did the same, in 
 order to preserve her position to wind- 
 ward. An hour later the iEolus passed 
 on the contrary tack, so near that it was 
 thought by some who observed the move- 
 ment, that she ought to have opened her 
 fire; but, as that vessel was merely a 
 twelve-pounder frigate, and she was still 
 at a considerable distance, it is quite pro- 
 bable her commander acted judiciously. 
 By this time, there was sufficient wind to 
 cause Hull to hoist in his first cutter. 
 
 The scene on the morning of this day 
 was very beautiful, and of great interest 
 to the lovers of nautical exhibitions. The 
 weather was mild and lovely, the sea 
 smooth as a pond, and there was quite 
 wind enough to remove the necessity of 
 any of the extraordinary means of getting- 
 ahead, that had been so freely used dur- 
 ing the previous eight-and-forty hours. 
 All the English vessels had got on the 
 same tack with the Constitution again, 
 and the five frigates were clouds of can- 
 vas, from their trucks to the water. In- 
 cluding the American ship, eleven sail 
 were in sight, and shortly after a twelfth 
 appeared to windward, that was soon as- 
 certained to be an American merchant- 
 man. But the enemy were too intent on 
 the Constitution to regard am- thing else, 
 and though it would have been easy to 
 capture the ships to leeward, no attention 
 appears to have been paid to them. With 
 a view, however, to deceive the ship to 
 windward, they hoisted American colors, 
 when the Constitution set an English en- 
 sign, by way of warning the stranger to 
 keep aloof. 
 
 Until ten o’clock the Constitution was 
 making every preparation for carrying 
 sail hard, should it become necessary, and 
 she sounded in twenty-five fathoms. At 
 noon the wind fell again, though it was 
 found, that while the breeze lasted, she 
 had gained on all the enemy’s ships; 
 more, however, on some than on others. 
 The nearest vessel was the Belvidera, 
 which was exactly in the wake of the Con- 
 stitution, distant about two and a half 
 miles, bearing W.N.W. The nearest fri- 
 gate to leeward bore N. by W. 4 W. dis- 
 tant three or three and a "half miles ; the 
 two other frigates were on the lee quarter, 
 distant about five miles, and the Africa 
 was hull down to leeward, on the opposite 
 tack. 
 
 This was a vast improvement on the 
 state of things that had existed the day 
 previous, and it allowed the officers and 
 men to catch a little rest, though no one 
 left the decks. The latitude by observa- 
 tion this day, was 38°, 47 N., and the 
 longitude by dead reckoning 73°, 57 W. 
 
 At meridian the wind began to blow a 
 
 [June 
 
 pleasant breeze, and the sound of the 
 rippling under the bows of the vessel was 
 again heard. From this moment the noble 
 old ship slowly drew ahead of all her 
 pursuers, the sails being watched and 
 tended in the best manner that consum- 
 mate seamanship could dictate, until four 
 p. m., when the Belvidera was more than 
 four miles astern, and the other vessels 
 were thrown behind in the same propor- 
 tion, though the w^nd had again got to be 
 very light. 
 
 In this manner both parties kept press- 
 ing ahead, and to windward, as fast as 
 circumstances would allow, profiting by 
 every change, and resorting to all the 
 means of forcing vessels through the 
 water, that are known to seamen. At a 
 little before seven, however, there was 
 every appearance of a heavy squall, ac- 
 companied by rain ; when the Constitu- 
 tion prepared to meet it with the coolness 
 and discretion she had displayed through- 
 out the whole affair. The people were 
 stationed, and every thing was kept fast 
 to the last moment, when, just before the 
 squall struck the ship, the order was 
 given to clew up and clew down. All the 
 light canvas was furled, a second reef was 
 taken in the mizzen-topsail, and the ship 
 was brought under short sail, in an in- 
 credibly little time. The English vessels, 
 observing this, began to let go and haul 
 down without waiting for the wind, and 
 when they were shut in bj r the rain, they 
 were steering in different directions to 
 avoid the force of the expected squall. 
 The Constitution, on the other hand, no 
 sooner got its weight, than she sheeted 
 home and hoisted her fore and main-top- 
 gallant sails, and while the enemy most 
 probably believed her to be borne down 
 by the pressure of the wind, steering free. 
 . she was flying away from them , on an 
 easy bowline, at the rate of eleven knots. 
 
 In a little less than an hour after the 
 squall had struck the ship, it had entirely 
 passed to leeward, and a sight was again 
 obtained by the enemy. The Belvidera. 
 the nearest vessel, had altered her bear- 
 ings, in that short period, two points 
 more to leeward, and she was a long- 
 way astern. The next nearest vessel 
 was still further to leeward, and more 
 distant, while the two remaining frigates 
 were fairly hull down. The Africa was 
 barely visible in the horizon ! 
 
 All apprehensions of the enemy now 
 ceased, though sail was cax-ried to increase 
 the distance, and to pi-eserve the weather 
 gauge. At half-past ten, the wind backed 
 further to the southward, when the Con- 
 stitution. which had been steei'ing free fox- 
 some time, took in her lower studding- 
 sails. At 11, the enemy fh'ed two guns, and 
 
Old Ironsides. 
 
 597 
 
 1853.] 
 
 the nearest ship could just be discovered. 
 As the wind baffled and continued light, 
 the enemy still persevered in the chase, 
 but at daylight the nearest vessel was 
 hull down astern and to leeward. Under 
 the circumstances it wafe deemed prudent 
 to use every exertion to lose sight of the 
 English frigates ; and .the wind falling 
 light, the Constitution’s sails were wet 
 down from the skysails to the courses. 
 The good effects of this care were soon 
 visible, as at six a. m. the topsails of the 
 enemy’s nearest vessels were beginning to 
 dip. At a quarter past eight, the English 
 ships all hauled to the northward and 
 eastward, fully satisfied, by a trial that 
 had lasted nearly three days and as many 
 nights, under all the circumstances that 
 can attend naval manoeuvres, from reefed 
 topsails to hedging, that they had no 
 hope of overtaking their enemy. 
 
 The chase off New-York brought the 
 Constitution largely before the public 
 mind. It is true that this exploit was 
 not one of a character to excite the same 
 feeling as a successful combat ; but men 
 saw that the ships and crews that could 
 achieve such an escape from a British 
 squadron, must both of them have the 
 right stuff for a glorious marine. Among 
 the other amiable political misrepresenta- 
 tions of that day, it had been boldly assert- 
 ed in the opposition prints, that the ship 
 had gone to sea without the necessary sup- 
 ply of powder ; and the assertion had been 
 so audaciously and perseveringly made, 
 as is most apt to be the case, with this 
 class of moralists, who usually make up 
 the deficiencies in their facts by the vigor 
 of their assertions, that the public had 
 been more than half disposed to anticipate 
 some early disaster to this particular ves- 
 -sel, when the news arrived of her successful 
 struggle with the only collected force the 
 enemy then possessed in the American 
 seas. 
 
 It was the good fortune of Old Ironsides 
 to destroy two of the illusions of that 
 portion of the people of this country, which 
 had faith in English superiority in all 
 things, then a numerous and devout dass 
 of believers, by first demonstrating that 
 a Yankee man-of-war could get away 
 from her enemy when there was occasion 
 for the ■ attempt, and that she could deal 
 roughly with him, when the motive for 
 avoiding an action did not exist. 
 
 It is worthy of remark that the English 
 abandoned the chase of the Constitution, 
 at eight in the morning, and that at half 
 past eight the busy old craft seeing a 
 stranger on her starboard bow, made sail 
 in chase, to ascertain her character. The 
 
 vessel proved to be an American brig. 
 At ten, another vessel was chased and 
 brought to, which also proved to be an 
 American. At noon of the same day, 
 having no further use for it, the boarding 
 cutter was hoisted up, and the ship stood 
 to the eastward, going into Boston a few 
 days later, or near the close of the month. 
 
 Hull remained a very short time at Bos- 
 ton. It was the intention of the depart- 
 ment to remove him from his ship, in 
 order to give him the Constellation, in ex- 
 change with Bainbridge, the latter ranking 
 him ; and it has been sometimes imagined, 
 that he was resolved to get another cruise 
 out of his old craft, ere he was compelled 
 to give her up. It is now known that 
 Capt. Hull’s orders had gone to New-York. 
 to which place he had been ordered, and 
 that he did not get them before he sailed 
 a second time. The order to relinquish 
 the ship to Bainbridge must have be,en 
 issued at Washington, just after Hull 
 reached Boston, and the receipt of his re- 
 port of the chase was dated the very next, 
 day. This last letter was dated July 29th, 
 and closed with these words — “Remain 
 at Boston until further orders.” Luckily, 
 Hull did not get this letter until he re- 
 turned from his second cruise, sailing again 
 on the 2d August. 
 
 The Constitution now stood along the 
 coast to the eastward, as far as the Bay 
 of Fundy, and thence off Cape Sable and 
 Halifax, meeting with nothing. Passing- 
 near the Isle of Sables, she next went to 
 the mouth of the St. Lawrence, where she 
 made two captures of little value. On 
 the 15th she chased a sloop of war with 
 four merchant-men in company. The 
 chases separated, one of them, a prize, 
 being abandoned and set fire to. The 
 sloop of war being to windward, the Con- 
 stitution followed a ship, which proved to 
 be an Englishman, with an American 
 privateer prize-crew on board, that the 
 sloop of war had brought to but had not 
 taken possession of. in consequence of the 
 appearance of the frigate. Another of the 
 vessels was overhauled and recaptured, 
 being an American, with an English prize- 
 crew on board her. Mr. Madison* was 
 put in charge of this vessel. After this 
 little success, the Constitution stood to the 
 southward and eastward, seeing nothing of 
 any moment, until the 19th, when she made 
 a suspicious sail from the mast head, a long- 
 way to leeward. This was on the 19tli. 
 the frigate then being in N. Lat. 41°, 41 / , 
 and W. Long. 55°, 48L or less than 700 
 miles nearly east of Cape Cod. Having- 
 looked for his enemy in the vicinity of 
 Halifax, without success, Hull was now 
 
 * This gentleman was subsequently lost, in command of the Lynx. 
 
59S 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 [June 
 
 on his way to go off Bermuda, with a si- 
 milar purpose, when he fell in with this 
 vessel. The strange sail was first seen at 
 two i>. m., and at three she was made out 
 to be a ship, under short canvas, and close 
 hauled, apparently waiting for the Consti- 
 tution to come down to her. At half past 
 three, the stranger was distinctly made 
 out to be a frigate, and little doubt was 
 entertained of his being an enemy. 
 
 The Constitution continued to run down, 
 until near enough to take a good look at 
 the strange sail, when she came by the 
 wind, and began to clear for action. While 
 lying in this, situation, the enemy having 
 his main-topsail aback, gallantly waiting 
 for his adversary, Hull reconnoitered, and 
 made up his mind that he had a first-class 
 English frigate to deal with. The top- 
 gallant sails were furled, and her flying 
 jib and all of her light staysails stowed. 
 A second reef was taken in all the top- 
 sails, the courses were hauled up, and the 
 royal yards sent down. By this time the 
 ship was clear and the drum beat to quar- 
 ters, when the crew responded with three 
 hearty cheers. After this the helm was put 
 up, and the ship bore directly down upon 
 the enemy. The Constitution had about a 
 league to run, before she could get along- 
 side of the stranger. At five p. m., being 
 then at long gun-shot, the Englishman 
 showed three ensigns, in different parts 
 of his vessel, and commenced firing at 
 very long shot. After discharging the 
 guns of one side, he would wear and fire 
 those of the other. These manoeuvres in- 
 duced the Americans to yaw, to prevent 
 being raked, though they fired but three 
 or four guns in approaching. These evolu- 
 tions, and the short sail carried, retarded 
 the approach of the Constitution essential- 
 ly, and she was near an hour getting 
 within a short range of her enemy. At 
 six p. m. however, the Englishman bore up, 
 and ran off with the wind on his larboard 
 quarter, under his topsails and jib. The 
 Constitution then set her main-topgal- 
 lant-sail. to close. A few minutes later, 
 the forward guns of the American ship, 
 and the after gains of the English, bore, 
 when each party commenced his fire, the 
 two frigates being within a hundred yards 
 of each other. As the Constitution had 
 the most way on her, she drew gradually 
 ahead, until she came fairly abeam. Just 
 as the two ships were square with each 
 other, the mizzen-mastof the stranger came 
 down, over the starboard quarter. This, 
 of course, caused the American frigate to 
 draw ahead still faster, and in about fifteen 
 minutes after she had begun to fire, she was 
 so far forward, as to induce Hull to luff 
 short round his enemy’s bows, to rake him. 
 After having fired three raking broadsides, 
 
 the Constitution attempted to wear and 
 resume her former course, parallel to that 
 of the Guerriere, but owing to the loss of 
 braces and other running-rigging, the 
 Constitution wore so slowly that the bow- 
 sprit of the Guerriere passed diagonally 
 over the quarter-deck of the Constitution, 
 and finally dropped astern with her star- 
 board bow against the Constitution’s lar- 
 board or lee quarter gallery. This was an 
 awkward position, and might have led to 
 serious consequences, had not the enemy 
 been pretty effectually threshed before it 
 occurred. As it was, two or three of the 
 Englishman’s forward guns were dis- 
 charged with effect into the stern and quar- 
 ter of Old Ironsides, so close as to set fire 
 to the cabin. Hoffman, who was in com- 
 mand there, behaved admirably, extin- 
 guishing the fire and protecting Ins men 
 with great spirit and coolness. 
 
 While this scene was in the course of 
 being acted belong one still more serious 
 occurred on the quarter-deck. Both par- 
 ties called away boarders, as the ships 
 came foul. All the English boarders and 
 marines collected forward, while the 
 Americans rushed aft. Morris, Aylwin, 
 and Bush (lieutenant of marines), were 
 foremost among the Constitution’s peo- 
 ple. On the oilier hand, many of the 
 English exhibited equal gallantry, and for 
 a few moments the musketry did great 
 execution. Lieutenant Morris was in the 
 act of lashing some of the head-gear of 
 the English frigate to the Constitution, 
 when he was hit by a bullet in the body. 
 Mr. Bush fell dead by a ball received in 
 the forehead, and Mr. Aylwin was shot 
 through the shoulder. Missiles were 
 
 thrown by hand from ship to ship, but 
 boarding was out of the question, on ac- 
 count of the sea. the distance between 
 the bulwarks of the two frigates, and 
 the force collected on the deck of each to 
 repel such an attempt. However, sever- 
 al lives were lost and many brave men 
 wounded, by the close and murderous 
 fire of the musketry. The Constitu- 
 
 tion drew ahead and parted from her ad- 
 versary, moving off on the same tack. 
 As the two ships separated, the English- 
 man’s fore and main mast both came by 
 the board, leaving him wallowing in the 
 sea and encumbered with wreck. Of 
 course, this decided the affair, leaving Old 
 Ironsides effectually the victor, and afford- 
 ing her time to look to the security of her 
 own spars, which were of the last mo- 
 ment to her, in a sea that would certainly 
 be soon swarming with enemies. 
 
 Having hauled off a short distance, and 
 rove new rigging, besides looking to the 
 stoppers and other securities for the 
 masts. Hull was ready to run down on 
 
Old Ironsides. 
 
 599 
 
 1853.] 
 
 his enemy, who still kept a jack flying- 
 on the stump of his mizzen-mast. The 
 Constitution accordingly wore ship, and 
 coming close in on the enemy’s weather 
 bow, in a position to rake him, the jack 
 came down, and the first English frigate 
 that had done such a thing since the war 
 of the Revolution, struck to an American. 
 The prize proved to be the Guerriere, 38, 
 a French-built ship, that had been taken 
 
 by the English in the year , by the 
 
 , Captain , and now com- 
 manded by Captain Dacres. The Guer- 
 riere was a fine vessel of her class, mount- 
 ing on her gun-deck thirty eighteens, and 
 nineteen carronades and chase guns on 
 her quarter-deck and forecastle ; or twen- 
 ty-five guns in broadside. She is said, 
 however, to have been pierced for twenty- 
 seven guns in broadside, which was just 
 the number now carried by the Consti- 
 tution. Some explanation, nevertheless, 
 becomes necessary, in order not to convey 
 to the reader a false idea of the respective 
 forces of these two ships. The gun-deck 
 battery of the Constitution consisted then, 
 as now, of thirty guns of the bore of twenty- 
 four pounders. The shot, notwithstanding, 
 owing to defective casting, often weighed 
 less than twenty-two pounds. Now, a 
 shot of the size of a twenty-four pound 
 shot, that weighs less than ought to have 
 been its weight in solid metal, is less ef- 
 ficient than one, even, that has the accu- 
 rate proportions between its weight and its 
 diameter. The elements of the momen- 
 tum. the principle that controls the effi- 
 ciency of a shot, are the same in both cases, 
 though the momentum itself differs, on 
 account of the greater resistance of the 
 atmosphere to a large, than to a small 
 shot. In the case of the guns of the Con- 
 stitution, the influence of the diameter 
 may not have amounted to much, espe- 
 cially in an action fought at such close 
 quarters ; though two pounds in the 
 weight of a shot is a matter of some mo- 
 ment, in naval warfare. The carronades 
 of both ships were thirty-twos, alike. As 
 the defective castings pertained to nearly, 
 if not to quite all the American shot used 
 at that time, the difference applied to the 
 carronade shot, as well as t<f those of the 
 long guns, making the quarter-deck and 
 forecastle batteries of the Guerriere. gun 
 for gun, actually heavier than those of the 
 Constitution. 
 
 Nevertheless, the Constitution was a 
 vessel decidedly superior to her prize, in 
 all and each of the elements of force. She 
 was of more tonnage, had heavier spars, 
 carried heavier metal, and had a larger 
 crew. The inferiority of the Guerriere 
 was most apparent, indeed, in the num- 
 ber of her crew, she having less than 
 
 three hundred men at quarters, while our 
 own ship had considerably more than 
 four hundred. There is not much doubt, 
 however, that three hundred men in the 
 Constitution ought to have been able to 
 contend with four hundred in the Guer- 
 riere, though, in that case, the conflict 
 would have been nearer on an equality. 
 It is no more than fair to mention, also, 
 that while it would seem to be certain, 
 that the Guerriere actually carried thirty 
 guns on her gun-deck, her regular arma- 
 ment would have been only twenty-eight. 
 She was somewhat longer than was usual 
 for vessels of her class, and it has been 
 asserted that two guns were mounted in 
 her bridle-ports, to bring her by the head. 
 These two guns, it will be remembered, 
 on the other hand, were of particular ser- 
 vice to her, on account of the peculiar 
 manner in which the battle was fought, 
 the Constitution being so much on the 
 bows of her adversary. Here, then, had 
 Old Ironsides fairly beaten an English 
 frigate in a yard-arm fight, leaving her 
 opponent without an upright stick in her, 
 except the stumps of masts, while she still 
 carried every essential spar of her own in 
 its place ! 
 
 As Morris was wounded, Wadsworth 
 had to attend to the duty of the ship, and 
 George Campbell Read was sent to take 
 possession of the prize. Dacres was wound- 
 ed, but not so seriously that he could not 
 walk, and he was transferred to the ves- 
 sel of his captor, a boat having been sent 
 to apprise Hull of the name of his prize, 
 and the state of his prisoner. Hull was a 
 man of few words, and totally without 
 flourish, but kind-hearted and direct. As 
 Dacres went up the side of the Constitu- 
 tion, Hull appeared in the gangway, ex- 
 tended an arm, and said, as if addressing 
 an old friend — “Dacres, give me your 
 hand — I know you are hurt.” This was 
 not Decatur’s or Truxtun’s mode of re- 
 ceiving a captive. 
 
 Not long after the Guerriere was taken 
 possession of, a strange sail was seen, and 
 the Constitution cleared for another ac- 
 tion, precisely as she had begun to chase 
 on a former occasion, as soon as her ene- 
 mies ceased chasing her. On this occa- 
 sion, the stranger hauled off on perceiving 
 the Constitution, he being most probably 
 a merchantman. That night and next 
 day, the prisoners were removed from the 
 prize, and orders were given to set her on 
 fire. Hoffman was the officer employed 
 on this duty, and he left the Guerriere in 
 the last boat, about 3 o’clock in the suc- 
 ceeding afternoon. Shortly after, the 
 ship blew up. Captain Dacres reported 
 his loss in the action, at fifteen killed and 
 sixty-three wounded ; or a total of seven- 
 
GOO 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 ty -eight casualties. The Americans added 
 one to this account. Captain Hull re- 
 ported his loss at seven killed and seven 
 wounded; or a total of fourteen casual- 
 ties. Among the slain of the Guerriere, 
 was her second lieutenant, and among her 
 wounded, her captain, first lieutenant, 
 master, etc. The Constitution lost her 
 lieutenant of marines, the gallant Bush,- 
 and Morris was wounded, together with 
 one other officer. Encumbered with so 
 many prisoners, Hull now deemed it ne- 
 cessary to go into port. The ship had 
 not received any material damage, hut 
 it was every way desirable to return 
 home, for a short time at least. On reach- 
 ing Boston, Hull gave up the ship, Bain- 
 bridge having had some time in his pos- 
 session his orders to join her. It was 
 September 15th, however, before the lat- 
 ter officer hoisted his broad pennant on 
 board Old Ironsides. 
 
 The Constitution had been made a favor- 
 ite ship under Preble, but this brilliant 
 success added immensely to her favor with 
 the nation. From this moment she be- 
 came dear to every American, and it 
 would have caused great pain to the entire 
 Republic, had she fallen into the hands of 
 the enemy. Still, there was no intention 
 to keep her out of harm’s wav, in order to 
 nurse her up as a thing merely to boast 
 of. On the contraiy, to sea she was 
 immediately ordered again, and to sea 
 she went, as soon as she could he got 
 ready. 
 
 Bainbridge was to have a squadron, 
 consisting of his own ship, the Constitu- 
 tion 44, the Essex 32, Capt. Porter, and 
 the Hornet 18, Capt. Lawrence. The 
 first and last of these vessels were at Bos- 
 ton, while the Essex was in the Dela- 
 ware. Giving the last two places of 
 rendezvous at different ports, the Commo- 
 dore sailed, with the Hornet in company, 
 October 2Gth, 1812. On this cruise there 
 was necessarily some change of officers, in 
 addition to that of the commanders. Mor- 
 ris having been promoted, George Parker, 
 of Virginia, was ordered to the ship as her 
 first lieutenant. Aylwin had been pro- 
 moted to a lieutenant, and was junior of 
 the ship. G. Campbell Read was transfer- 
 red to the United States, and Wadsworth 
 to the Adams, as her first lieutenant. 
 This made the list of lieutenants read as 
 follows, viz. : Parker, Hoffman, Shubrick, 
 Morgan, and Aylwin. Of these, all but 
 the senior-lieutenant had been in the ship 
 since the commencement of the war. 
 
 The two ships were off St. Salvador, 
 December 13th. having looked in vain for 
 the Essex, at the appointed place of ren- 
 dezvous. An English ship of war was 
 lying in St. Salvador, and, in the expecta- 
 
 [June 
 
 tion that she might be induced to come 
 out, and engage the Hornet, Bainbridge 
 left the latter ship alone, off the harbor, 
 and stood along the coast to the south- 
 ward, on the 2Gth of the month. Three 
 days later, when in lat. 13° 6' S. and long. 
 31° W.. the Constitution saw two strange 
 sail, in shore, and to windward. The 
 smallest of these vessels continued to 
 stand in for the land, which was then dis- 
 tant from the Constitution rather more 
 than thirty miles ; while the other, much 
 the larger vessel of the two, edged away 
 to take a nearer look at Old Ironsides. 
 The wind was far from fresh, at E. N. E. 
 
 By 11 a. m., the Constitution’s officers 
 were satisfied that the ship to windward 
 was an enemy’s frigate, and being now 
 nearer to the land than was desirable, in 
 the event of a chase, the ship was taken 
 to the southward and eastward, to draw 
 the stranger off shore. At the same time, 
 the royals were set, and the main-tack 
 boarded, the stranger sailing the best, in 
 the light wind that prevailed. At meri- 
 dian each vessel showed her ensign ; sig- 
 nals were also made on board each ship, 
 but they proved to be mutually unintel- 
 ligible. Some time after 1 p. m., the 
 Constitution hauled up her mainsail, and 
 furled her royals. 
 
 The action commenced about two. The 
 English ship, which was afterwards as- 
 certained to be the Java, was about a mile 
 to windward of the Constitution, both 
 vessels now heading to the southward and 
 eastward, the Java being well on her an- 
 tagonist’s quarter. In this state of things, 
 the Englishman had hauled down his en- 
 sign. though he kept a jack flying, and 
 Old Ironsides threw a shot ahead of him, 
 to induce him to show his colors. By 
 some mistake, the order to fire this gun 
 brought on a discharge of the Constitu- 
 tion’s broadside, which was immediately 
 returned. The Java going much the 
 faster in the light wind which prevailed, 
 she was soon so far ahead as to be able to 
 attempt crossing the Constitution’s bow. 
 Tliis induced Bainbridge to keep off and to 
 wear, the Java coming round at the same 
 time. Both vessels now headed to the 
 westward. These changes brought the 
 two ships much closer together, and with- 
 in pistol-shot. The Java repeated the at- 
 tempt to cross the Constitution’s how, but 
 was again foiled by the latter ship’s wear- 
 ing. Both vessels came round at the 
 same time, with their heads again to the 
 eastward. The Java forercached as 
 usual, and with a view to keep her wea- 
 therly position, she attempted to tack, but 
 missed stays. At the same time, the Con- 
 stitution wore, having lost her wheel early 
 in the action. Old Ironsides coming round 
 
Old Ironsides. 
 
 G01 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 • 
 
 the soonest, got an effective raking fire 
 into her enemy. 
 
 Both ships now ran off free, wearing 
 again, the English still to windward, 
 though greatly injured. At fifty-five 
 minutes past two, finding his berth too 
 hot, the Englishman attempted to run Old 
 Ironsides aboard, actually getting his jib- 
 boom into her mizzen-rigging. In this situ- 
 ation the good old craft punished her bold 
 assailant very severely, nor did she let him 
 get clear until the head of his bowsprit 
 was shot away. Soon after, his foremast 
 came down, and, in passing ahead, the 
 two vessels ran so close together that the 
 stump of the Englishman’s bowsprit ac- 
 tually scraped over the Constitution’s 
 taffrail. In a moment the Constitution 
 wore, and passing her enemy to leeward, 
 wore again. The Java keeping off, the 
 two ships once more ranged fairly along- 
 side of each other, during which time the 
 Englishman’s mizzen-mast came down, 
 leaving nothing standing on board him 
 but his main-mast, and of that, the yard 
 was shot away in the slings. 
 
 By this time the Java’s fire had ceased, 
 and Bainbridge, supposing her to have 
 submitted, boarded his main-tack, and 
 passed out of the combat, luffing directly 
 athwart his adversary’s bows. Standing- 
 on, a short distance to windward, the 
 Constitution came to the wind, and passed 
 an hour in securing her masts, and reev- 
 ing new running-rigging. At the end of 
 that time, an ensign was seen flying on 
 board the Java, when Bainbridge wore 
 short round, and ran down directly across 
 his enemy’s forefoot. This evolution was 
 sufficient, and before a gun was fired the 
 English flag was lowered, for the second 
 time, to Old Ironsides ! 
 
 The prize was the Java, 38, Capt. Lam- 
 bert, with a large number of supernume- 
 raries in her, bound to the East Indies. 
 Her commander was mortally wounded, 
 but her first- lieutenant reported her loss 
 twenty-two killed, and one hundred and 
 two wounded. This was a very severe 
 loss, though Bainbridge thinks it was con- 
 siderably greater. He says her loss was 
 certainly sixty killed, and one hundred 
 and one wounded. It is probable that 
 more were killed, or died early of their 
 wounds, than were reported by the 
 English, and that fewer were 'killed, than 
 Bainbridge supposed. The English say 
 that the ship’s company and supernume- 
 raries amounted to three hundred and 
 seventy-seven souls, while the Americans 
 affirm that they found a muster-roll in 
 the ship, that was made out several days 
 after she had sailed, and which had on" it 
 considerably more than four hundred 
 names. All this is of little moment, as 
 
 three hundred and seventy-seven men were 
 quite enough for such a ship, no one who 
 understands vessels ever supposing that 
 the Java was equal in force to the Consti- 
 tution. 
 
 It was the manner in which Old Iron- 
 sides invariably did her work, that ex- 
 cited the admiration of the knowing. On 
 this occasion she had shot out of her ad- 
 versary every spar she had (the main- 
 mast coming down before she struck), 
 while she herself could carry royals ! 
 
 In her action with the Java, the good ship 
 suffered more than she did in her previous 
 engagements. She had nine killed and 
 twenty-five wounded. Among the latter 
 was Bainbridge himself, and Aylwin, the 
 junior lieutenant, the same officer who 
 was wounded in the combat with the 
 Guerriere, died of hurts received in this 
 battle. The ship, herself, was not much 
 injured. Some of her spars were wound- 
 ed, and a few shots struck her hull ; but 
 the great cause of surprise to the Ameri- 
 cans was to know where all the enemy’s 
 shot had gone. 
 
 In consequence of the water’s being so 
 smooth, the Javq, was not much injured be- 
 low the water-line. She might very well 
 have been taken into port, but the experi- 
 ment would have been hazardous on many 
 accounts. She was without spars, far from 
 America, the sea was covered with Eng- 
 lish cruisers, and the nearest countries 
 were much under the control of English 
 influence. Keeping all the circumstances 
 in view Bainbridge removed all his prison- 
 ers, and two or three days after the ac- 
 tion, he ordered Hoffman to blow up this 
 prize, too, and return to St. Salvador. 
 Here he landed his prisoners, among whom 
 were Lt. Gen. Ilyslop, with his staff, and 
 several supernumerary sea officers. 
 
 As Old Ironsides rejoined her con- 
 sort, the Hornet, the utmost anxiety pre- 
 vailed on board the latter vessel, on the 
 subject of the result of the action. The ves- 
 sel in company with the Java previously 
 to the battle, was an American prize, which 
 had stood on toward St. Salvador, and fallen 
 into the hands of the Hornet, off the port. 
 Her prize-crew, of course, related the 
 fact, that the Java had left her to engage 
 an American frigate, but could say no- 
 thing of the result. Lawrence had great 
 confideuce in Old Ironsides, but as Tie ap- 
 proached her, he kept every thing ready 
 for flight should it be necessary. It could 
 be seen that stoppers were on the stand- 
 ing rigging, and that the ship had been in 
 a warm combat ; but where was the 
 prize ? It was possible, that the English 
 had got hold of the good old craft, and 
 had sent her in, to decoy the Hornet un- 
 der her guns. The signals read well, but 
 
602 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 the prize-crew of the ship retaken, gave 
 marvellous accounts of the Java, and of 
 her all-powerful, double-jointed crew, and 
 so many men might have been thrown on 
 board our ship, as to have swept her out 
 of our grasp ! This feeling prevailed on 
 board the Hornet, until the vessels were 
 near enough to distinguish countenances, 
 when the number of well-known faces that 
 appeared above the Constitution’s ham- 
 mock-cloths settled the matter. Hearty 
 cheers soon proclaimed that it was a meet- 
 ing between friends. As soon as Law- 
 rence got on board the Constitution, he 
 told Bainbridge that the English sloop-of- 
 war, in the port, had hove short, and it was 
 thought, intended to come out that night. 
 If such had been the plan, the arrival of 
 Old Ironsides, with the crew of the Java 
 as prisoners, was argument enough to 
 cause it to be abandoned. "Willing, how- 
 ever, to give Lawrence a chance, Bainbridge 
 remained as short a time at St. Salvador as 
 possible, sailing for home, Jan. Gth, 1813, 
 and reaching Boston, Feb. 27th. 
 
 Old Ironsides carried the news of her 
 own success. Xo one believed that the 
 capture of an isolated ship, here and there, 
 could have any great inlluence on the re- 
 sult of the war, in a mere material sense ; 
 England had too many frigates, and Ame- 
 rica too few, for such occurrences to con- 
 duce essentially to direct conquests, but 
 indirectly they were of vast weight. The 
 moral effect of Hull’s victor}' cannot 
 readily be estimated. Great it was, be- 
 yond all doubt, and here was a second 
 success by the same ship, bringing the 
 vessel itself into the account as parti- 
 ceps gloria. Until the return of the 
 Constitution from this cruise, the Constel- 
 lation had been the champion of the navy. 
 Her two battles in the French war 
 eclipsed any thing else that had been done 
 by any other vessel of her size, then in 
 existence, but the Constellation’s exploits 
 would not compare with those of Old 
 Ironsides. The former ship had captured 
 one French frigate, and beaten off an- 
 other; but the Constitution had taken 
 two Englishmen ! The difference was 
 essential, and considering all things, even 
 the glorious little Enterprise, one of the 
 most successful cruisers to the very last, 
 that ever floated, could scarce be thought 
 to compete with Old Ironsides. Here 
 was the war only seven months old, and, 
 in that brief space, the eyes of the country 
 were drawn on that ship, by the chase, 
 worth a victory any day, and the com- 
 bats with the Guerriere and the Java! 
 Three such exploits in so short a time, 
 were sufficient to give any ship a name, 
 and the nation had not forgotten the 
 achievements of Preble before Tiipoli. 
 
 [June 
 
 It seemed to make no difference who* 
 commanded, the old barky was always 
 successful ; always in harm’s way. and 
 always getting out of the scrape with 
 credit. Preble, Hull, or Bainbridge ; 
 each, and all had been victorious on the 
 decks of this staunch old ship. Jack be- 
 gan to think that if he wanted a victory 
 and prize-money, he had only to ship on 
 board Old Ironsides. 
 
 There was one singular exception to the 
 rule, however, which it may be well to 
 mention. One of the Hornet’s lieutenants, 
 Mr. Ballard, was anxious to share in the 
 luck of Old Ironsides, after the capture of 
 the Java, while Lawrence was willing to 
 try the luck of John Shubrick, who had 
 now been in the chase and the two bat- 
 tles, and an exchange was made, off the 
 port of St. Salvador. Both parties may 
 be said to have succeeded, in a certain 
 sense; for John Shubrick was in the 
 Hornet, when she took the Peacock, and 
 Ballard, by sticking to his new ship, sub- 
 sequently shared in her honors. 
 
 A new commander was now given to 
 the Constitution, in the person of Charles 
 Stewart, Bainbridge being transferred to 
 a ship of the line then building. Some 
 other changes also took place among her 
 superior officers. Henry E. Ballard became 
 her first lieutenant. Parker having been 
 promoted and attached to the Siren. John 
 Shubrick had left the ship off St. Salva- 
 dor, and did not return to her ; but his 
 brother, "William Branford Shubrick, was 
 transferred from the Constellation, Stew- 
 art’s last ship, to Old Ironsides. Air. 
 Hunter also was attached to her. Hoff- 
 man stuck to the old craft, going through 
 the whole war in her, and sharing in all 
 her honors. Morgan quitted her also. 
 The crew was principally transferred, and 
 a new one was shipped. "When the ship 
 was ready to sail, which was not until the 
 ensuing winter, in consequence of the ex- 
 tensive repairs she required, her lieute- 
 nants were as follows, viz. : — H. Ballard. 
 1st; B. V. P. Hoffman. 2d; W. B. Shu- 
 brick, 3d ; Hunter, 4th ; Winter, 5th . 
 Taylor, Gth ; the two last, acting. Hick- 
 son was the sailing-master. The prcsenl 
 General Henderson commanded her ma- 
 rine guard. 
 
 "When Stewart had got a new crew, 
 and was ready to go out, it was already 
 winter. The ship shaped her course foi 
 the West Indies, old cruising ground foi 
 both vessel and commander, passing along 
 our own coast. In this cruise Old Iron- 
 sides had no action, though she came near 
 engaging a frigate off the Mona Passage, 
 which was afterwards ascertained to be La 
 Pique, 36. The English vessel got off in 
 the night, by running through the Mona 
 
1853.] 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 G03 
 
 passage. She captured a vessel of war, 
 however, in the Pictou, a schooner of 14 
 guns. Following the coast, Capt. Stewart 
 returned to Boston. As he reached the 
 capes, he fell in with the Juno, 38, and 
 Tenedos. 35, both under the orders of 
 Capt. Upton, which vessels pushed him 
 hard, chasing him into Marblehead. After 
 remaining a short time in this port, the 
 frigate went out and proceeded to Boston, 
 giving the blockading force the slip. 
 
 Dec. 17th, 1814, Ironsides went out 
 again with Stewart, and substantially the 
 same set of officers and men. She now 
 went off Bermuda, thence via Madeira into 
 the Bay of Biscay. England was now at 
 peace with all the world but America. 
 From the Bay of Biscay the old barky 
 went off Lisbon to look for Englishmen, 
 and came near chasing an English 74 up 
 to the rock. This ship, the Elizabeth, 
 hearing in Lisbon that the good craft was 
 off the coast, came out immediately in 
 quest of her, but the bird had flown. 
 While off Lisbon, a large ship was run 
 alongside of, in the night, and after some 
 hailing, two or three shot were fired into 
 her, to compel answers, when it was as- 
 certained she was a Portuguese. 
 
 Defeated in his hopes of finding any 
 thing where he was, and quite aware of 
 the imprudence of staying long in any one 
 place, Feb. 20th, Stewart up helm and 
 stood-off to the southward and westward, 
 for twenty or thirty leagues. At 1 p. m. 
 of that very day, a stranger was made on 
 the larboard bow, and to leeward. The 
 Constitution hauled up a little and made 
 sail in chase. It was not long before an- 
 other vessel was seen to leeward of the 
 first, which, at 2 p. m., was made out to 
 be a ship. All three vessels were now 
 standing on the same tack, on bowlines, 
 gradually nearing each other. At 4 p. m., 
 the nearest of the strangers up helm and 
 ran down to speak his consort, which was 
 the commanding vessel, as it appeared 
 in the end. Seeing this, Old Ironsides 
 squared away in chase, setting every 
 thing that would draw, alow and aloft. 
 For an hour or more the two weathermost 
 ships were thus running off, nearly dead 
 before the wind, while the most leewardly 
 vessel was luffing to close. 
 
 It may render the relation more clear 
 if we at once say, that the two strangers 
 proved to be the Cyane, 20, and Levant, 
 18, British vessels of war ; the former 
 mounting 34, and the latter 22 guns. 
 The Cyane was commanded by Capt. 
 Falcon, and the Levant by the Hon. Capt. 
 Douglas, a son of Lord Douglas, who was 
 the child that gave rise to the celebrated 
 “ Douglas cause,” at the close of the last 
 century. 
 
 Stewart could see that the nearest ves- 
 sel was frigate-built, and had reason to 
 suppose that both were enemy’s ships of 
 war. They had made signals to each 
 other, and the ship to leeward soon ran 
 off before the wind also, but under short 
 canvas, to allow her consort to close. It 
 is now understood that the ship to wind- 
 ward had signalled to the commanding 
 vessel, an American frigate which was 
 “ superior to one, but inferior to us both,” 
 and that Capt. Douglas kept away under 
 the impression that a night action might 
 enable him to get some advantage in 
 manoeuvering. Stewart, who could not 
 know this, supposed their object was to 
 escape, and he crowded on his old craft 
 until her main-royal mast came down. 
 The chase gained after this accident. 
 
 At half-past five the two English ships 
 were so near together that it was impossible 
 to prevent a junction, and Old Ironsides, 
 then rather more than a league distant 
 from them, began to strip and clear for 
 battle. A few minutes later, the English- 
 men passed within hail of each other ; 
 soon after which they both hauled by the 
 wind, with their heads to the northward, 
 and shortened sail. It was evident they 
 were clearing ship and intended to fight. 
 As Old Ironsides was travelling towards 
 them all this time, they soon fancied them- 
 selves in a state to weather on her, and 
 both, at the same instant, set their main 
 courses, and made all other skil in a taut- 
 bowline. But it would not do ; the good 
 old craft was too much in earnest to be 
 out-manoeuvered in this wise, but came 
 down so fast that in a few minutes they 
 hauled up their courses again, and formed 
 in line, the commanding ship, or the Le- 
 vant, leading. At 6 p. m., Stewart let 
 the enemy see the stars and strines for the 
 first time. On this hint the English set 
 their own ensigns, and, five minutes later, 
 Ironsides ranged up abeam of the Cyane, 
 distant about a cable’s length, passing- 
 ahead with her sails lifting, until the three 
 vessels lay about equi-distant from each 
 other. In this masterly position the Con- 
 stitution let fly her first broadside, receiv- 
 ing those of her enemies. 
 
 For about a quarter of an hour the 
 firing was very warm and unremitted, 
 but at the end of that time, the enemy 
 grew less active in his cannonading. 
 Stewart now ordered his people to stand 
 fast and let the smoke rise from the sur- 
 face of the water, in order to get a better 
 view of the state of things to the leeward. 
 In a very few minutes this was obtained, 
 and it was found that the Levant lay di- 
 rectly under the frigate’s lee, while the 
 Cyane was luffing to cross her wake, if 
 possible. Old Ironsides now let the ship 
 
(304 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 abeam have all her guns, and then backed 
 astern, as if plying in a tides-way, and 
 compelled the Cyane to keep off to avoid 
 being raked. As it was, she got it abeam. 
 The Levant was not idle, but. in her turn, 
 she now luffed and tried to tack, in order 
 to cross the frigate’s forefoot, but the 
 busy old craft was too nimble for her. 
 Filling every thing, Stewart shot ahead, 
 forced the sloop of war to wear, under a 
 raking broadside, in order to keep clear 
 of him, and to run off to leeward to get 
 out of the range of his shot. The Cyane, 
 perceiving the state of things, wore ship, 
 when the Constitution came round too, 
 and so quick as to rake this adversary, as 
 she came by the wind. The Englishman 
 came up as high as he could and fired his 
 broadside, but, finding Old Ironsides clos- 
 ing on his weather quarter, he hauled 
 down his ensign. Hoffman immediately 
 took possession of him. As soon as this 
 was done, Stewart went to look lor the 
 Levant. 
 
 In running to leeward, Capt. Douglas 
 had no intention of abandoning his con- 
 sort. He had found his berth too warm, 
 and very wisely got out of it, as fast as 
 he could; but having repaired his most 
 material damages, as well as he was able, 
 he had hauled up to look for her. 
 
 He met the Constitution about nine, 
 there having been an intermission in the 
 combat, of some duration, in consequence 
 of this separation. The Levant knew 
 nothing of the fate of the Cyane. and her 
 commander probably thought the Yankee 
 was running away from her, when he thus 
 met him. Each vessel brought the wind 
 abeam, and they crossed each other, on 
 opposite tacks, firing in passing. The Le- 
 vant was satisfied this would never do, 
 but up helm and tried to escape. Old 
 Ironsides followed, firing her chase guns 
 with great deliberation and effect. Cap- 
 tain Douglas soon saw that every shot 
 struck him and raked him, and he came 
 by the wind, and fired a gun to leeward, 
 in token that he gave it up. Shubrick 
 was sent to take possession. 
 
 This combat was remarkable for its 
 brilliant manoeuvering. It is seldom that 
 one vessel can fight two, at the same time, 
 without being raked. This Stewart did, 
 however, not only escaping from all the 
 attempts of the enemy to get this advan- 
 tage over him, but actually raking both of 
 his adversaries, each in his turn. Taking 
 the evolutions all together, it would not be 
 easy to find an action in which a ship was 
 better handled. Nor did the enemy neg- 
 lect his duty. Old Ironsides was several 
 times hulled, and her loss was three killed 
 and twelve wounded. The English loss 
 is uncertain, no English report of the ac- 
 
 [June 
 
 tion having been made, and there being 
 supernumeraries in each ship. Forty-two 
 wounded were found in the two ships, and 
 the slain have been variously computed 
 at, from thirty-five, down to ten or twelve. 
 No officer was hurt on board the Consti- 
 tution. This action, it will be remembered, 
 was fought in the night, though there was 
 a moon for a part of the time. The light 
 of the moon proved of great service to 
 one poor fellow. In the heat of the com- 
 bat, a man at one of the forecastle guns 
 fell, at the precise moment when a shot 
 entered near him. He was reported dead, 
 and an order was given to pass the body 
 across the deck, and to throw it overboard. 
 A midshipman and two men were thus 
 employed, but were baffled in endeavour- 
 ing to pass the shoulders through a port. 
 The midshipman sprang over into the 
 fore-chains to assist, when he saw some 
 muscles of the supposed dead man’s face 
 twitching, and. he ordered the body drawn 
 back, and passed below to the surgeons. 
 Before the Levant struck, the man was’ 
 back at his gun, fighting as well as the 
 rest of them. He was subject to fits and 
 had fallen in one, but recovered in time to 
 return to his quarters. The story should 
 be told, as a warning against haste in such 
 cases. Thousands are buried alive, on 
 shore, and living men are sometimes com- 
 mitted to the deep in the hurry of sea- 
 fights. 
 
 Stewart went to Port Praya, with his 
 prizes, arriving there on the 10th March. 
 In the mean time Ballard had been put in 
 the Levant as prize-master, as due to Ins 
 rank, and Shubrick went back to the frig- 
 ate, acting as her first lieutenant. This 
 change was not made, however, until the 
 last came near losing his life on board the 
 prize. It had been found necessary to get 
 a new mizzen-top-mast aloft, the night 
 possession was taken, and the spar came 
 down in consequence of the mast-ropes 
 parting. In descending, the head of the 
 top-mast struck Mr. Shubrick on the head, 
 and left him senseless for hours. Nothing 
 saved his life but the fact that he wore 
 the boarding cap, with which he had left 
 his quarters, to take charge of the prize. 
 
 A vessel was chartered at Port Praya, 
 for a cartel, and about a hundred of the 
 English prisoners were sent to fit her for 
 sea. In this state of things, and the very 
 day after the arrival of Old Ironsides at 
 Port Praya, occurred one of the narrowest 
 escapes from her enemies it was ever the 
 good fortune of this lucky ship to run. 
 
 The weather was thick, more particu- 
 larly near the water, where la}- a bank of 
 mist, that could not be penetrated by the 
 eye at any distance. A boat had just left 
 the ship, with orders to tow the cartel off, 
 
1853.] 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 605 
 
 and the duty of the vessel was in some 
 measure at a stand. Shubriclc, on whom 
 the discharge of the executive duties of the 
 vessel had fallen, in his new character of 
 first lieutenant, was walking the quarter- 
 deck, deeply ruminating on the business 
 before him, when he heard an exclamation 
 from one of the English midshipmen, who 
 was aft on the taffrail. The lad had 
 spoken to Capt. Falcon, late of the Cyane, 
 his words being, “ Oh ! Capt. Falcon, look 
 at the large ship in the offing ! ” So intent 
 was Shubrick on his own ruminations, 
 that these words might have passed un- 
 heeded for the moment but for the an- 
 swer. “ Hold your tongue, you little ras- 
 cal,” answered Capt. Falcon, in a low 
 voice. This completely aroused the lieu- 
 tenant, who, walking aft, saw, over the 
 bank. of mist, the upper sails of a large 
 ship, that was apparently beating up to 
 gain the harbor. After taking a good look 
 at the stranger, Shubrick rvent below and 
 ■reported the fact to the Captain. Stewart 
 was shaving at the time, and without dis- 
 continuing the operation, he answered 
 coolly, “Very well, sir. It is an India- 
 man, or it may be a frigate — call all hands 
 and heave short, and we’ll go out and see 
 what she is made of.” Shubrick ordered 
 “ all hands up anchor,” called, and then 
 went on deck to take another look at the 
 stranger, while the men were tumbling 
 up, and manning the bars. He now saw 
 the upper sails of two more large ships 
 in the mist, above the bank, all three 
 beating up for the roads. Capt. Stewart 
 was immediately informed of this, and 
 without a moment’s hesitation he gave the 
 order to “cut.” It is probable that this 
 prompt command saved the ship. A sig- 
 nal was made for the prizes to follow, and 
 the duty went on in the most beautiful 
 and cool manner. In fourteen minutes 
 after the first ship was seen, and in ten 
 after the order to cut was given, Old Iron- 
 sides was walking out of the roads under 
 her topsails. Preparations of all sorts 
 were made rapidly, and away all three of 
 the ships went together, just clearing the 
 shore, and passing at gun-shot to wind- 
 ward of the strangers ; now known to be 
 heavy vessels of war, though no one, as 
 yet, had seen their hulls. They were 
 thought to be two ships of the line and a 
 large frigate. As the Constitution cleared 
 the land, she crossed topgallant yard, 
 boarded her tacks, and set her staysails. 
 No sooner were the Americans abeam of 
 their enemies, than the latter tacked, and 
 all six of the ships stood to the southward 
 and eastward, carrying every thing that 
 would draw, with about ten knot-way on 
 them. 
 
 As Ironsides drew into the offing, she 
 
 cut adrift two boats that were towing 
 astern. As yet no one had seen the hulls 
 of the enemy, though there could be no 
 mistake as to their character. The mist 
 seemed to settle, however, in the offing, 
 lying nearer to the water, and the air be- 
 come a little clearer aloft. The vessel that 
 was taken for a frigate, weathered on every 
 thing, her own consorts, as well as on the 
 American vessels. The English officers, 
 prisoners in the Constitution, could not 
 conceal their delight, and confidently pre- 
 dicted the capture of Old Ironsides, and 
 the recapture of their own vessels. They 
 announced the chasing ships to be the Le- 
 ander 50, Sir George Collier ; Newcastle 
 50, Lord George Stuart, and Acasta 40, 
 Capt. Kerr. The first two vessels were 
 new ships on one deck, built expressly to 
 overmatch the American 44’s. The Eng- 
 lish prisoners were particularly confident 
 “ Kerr in the Acasta ” would overtake 
 the Constitution, which vessel they fan- 
 cied could not sail, from seeing her jog 
 along at an easy rate, in company with 
 her prizes. Stewart kept her travelling on 
 the present occasion, and it was not quite 
 so easy a thing to come up with her, as 
 hope had induced the prisoners to believe. 
 One of the English captains was so san- 
 guine as to get intct the quarter-gallery, 
 and make signs to the weatherly frigate, 
 inviting her to come on, and exclaiming in 
 the presence of American officers, “ Capt. 
 Kerr, I envy you your glory this day.” 
 With Stewart, himself, these gentlpmen 
 did not maintain much reserve, pretty 
 plainly intimating that Old Ironsides had 
 not the speed necessary to get clear of 
 the “ British Phoenix,” as they termed 
 “ Kerr, in the Acasta.” 
 
 Whatever may have been the fact, as re- 
 gards our own honest old craft, it is certain 
 the prizes were in a bad way. The Cyane 
 was a short ship, mounting twenty-two 
 guns on one deck and twelve above, and 
 of course was not very weatherly. Stewart 
 saw that the frigate, or supposed frigate — 
 for no one had yet seen the hull of an 
 Englishman — was weathering on her fast, 
 and he made a signal for her to tack. 
 Hoffman went round immediately, and 
 passed his most dangerous adversary a 
 short gun-shot to windward, on contrary 
 tacks. Not a ship of the enemy went 
 about. The “ British Phoenix” stood gal- 
 lantly on. endeavoring to get into the 
 wake of the Constitution, and the Cyane 
 was soon lost sight of in the haze. Hoff- 
 man was a practical, plain sailor, and 
 knew perfectly well what he was about. 
 Instead of running into port again, no 
 sooner had the mist shut in the enemy, 
 than he went about again, and continued 
 making short tacks to windward for 
 
60 G 
 
 Old Ironsides. 
 
 twenty-four hours, when, 'giving the islands 
 a good berth, he, squared away for Ame- 
 rica, bringing his ship successfully into 
 New-York. She was taken into the ser- 
 vice, and her namesake is now in the 
 navy. 
 
 At half-past two. one of the English 
 vessels was pretty well up, on the lee 
 quarter of Ironsides. By this time the 
 fog had packed on the water so low, that 
 her officers could be seen standing on the 
 hammock-cloths, though her ports were 
 not yet visible. She fired, by division, 
 and conjectures could be made concerning 
 the extent of her batteries, by the flashes 
 of her guns, as seen through the fog. The 
 shot fell within a hundred yards of the 
 Constitution, but did not rise again. Af- 
 ter trying this experiment unsuccessfully, 
 the firing ceased. 
 
 The Levant all this time was falling in 
 astern, nearer and nearer to the weatherly 
 frigate, or was getting into the very danger 
 from which the Cyane had been relieved an 
 hour or two before. Stewart made her 
 signal to-tack. Ballard went round im- 
 mediately, but could not work off to wind- 
 ward as Hoffman had just done ; for seven 
 minutes after he had got about, all three of 
 the Englishmen tacked, by' signal, and were 
 on his heels. This compelled him to run 
 back into the roads and anchor. The 
 enemy paid no attention to the neutrality 
 of the island, but stood in after the Le- 
 vant, and opened a heavy lire on that 
 ship. The prisoners ashore joined them, 
 and added the guns of the battery to the 
 attack. Of course Ballard submitted, but 
 he had some relief for his mortification in 
 losing his ship, in what passed with the 
 boarding officer. <! I presume I have the 
 honor to receive the sword of Captain 
 Biddle, of the U. S. ship Hornet,” said that 
 gentleman, when Ballard offered his 
 sword. “ You receive the sword of Lieut. 
 Ballard of the Constitution, prize master 
 of His Britannic Majesty’s late ship Le- 
 vant,” was the caustic reply. The enemy 
 supposed the three ships they had chased 
 to be the President, Com. Rodgers ; Con- 
 gress, Capt. Smith ; and Hornet, Capt. 
 Biddle, Had such been the case, they 
 would have been much too strong to 
 fight ; but the truth rendered their little 
 success bitter, rather than otherwise ! 
 
 As for Old Ironsides, she went steadily 
 on her way, and was soon out of sight of 
 her pursuers. Deep was the mortification 
 of the English officers on board her. when 
 they saw their three ships tack together, 
 abandoning such a frigate as the Constitu- 
 tion. and following a prize into a neutral , 
 port ! The “ British Phoenix” was now 
 changed into an Indiaman, and it never 
 could be the squadron they had supposed. 
 
 [June 
 
 It was, however, and Sir Geo. Collier was 
 much condemned for his course. In the 
 end that officer committed suicide, though 
 whether if? was the consequence of morbid 
 feelings in connection with this affair, or 
 from some other cause, we do not know. 
 He was in the Leander, the vessel farthest 
 astern, and to leeward, and was not in as 
 good a situation to make his observations, 
 as he would have been on board the New- 
 castle, which was the vessel on the Con- 
 stitution’s lee quarter, and which fired at 
 her. It is also said, that the Newcastle 
 made a signal, that she had sprung her 
 mainyard, a circumstance that may have 
 contributed to Sir Geo. Collier’s deci- 
 sion. Nevertheless, one cannot easily see 
 why the Acasta, or the Leander, might 
 not have been left to follow Old Ironsides 
 alone, a course which would have been 
 very apt to have brought on an engage- 
 ment. The Acasta was a twenty-four 
 pounder frigate, rating 40, besides being 
 the “ British Phoenix,” and both the 
 Leander and the Newcastle were thirty- 
 two pounder vessels. 
 
 Whatever we may think of the ma- 
 noeuvring of the enemy, off Port Praya, 
 we can have but one opinion of Old Iron- 
 sides, and her cool, judicious commander. 
 Stewart deserves a great deal for the or- 
 ders he gave, and the signals he made. 
 Had the “ British Phoenix” come up sin- 
 gly, it is highly probable she would have 
 met with such a reception, as would soon 
 have satisfied her that she was not en- 
 gaged in child’s play. 
 
 Stewart crossed the ocean to Maranham, 
 where he landed his prisoners, on parole, 
 and shaped his course for home, going in- 
 to Boston in the month of May. Peace 
 was actually made when he took the 
 Cyane and Levant, though the captures 
 were legal, in the latitude and longitude 
 in which they were made, under the pro- 
 vision of the treaty. 
 
 Thus terminated the services of Old 
 Ironsides, in the third of the wars she has 
 seen. In each she was a useful and im- 
 portant vessel, but, in this last, her ex- 
 ploits surpassed those of any other vessel 
 in the navy. In the short period of two 
 years and nine months, she had /ought 
 three battles successfully, had captured 
 five vessels of war, two of which were 
 frigates, and one was frigate-built, and had 
 been three times hard pressed in chases, 
 by squadrons of greatly superior force. 
 One of these chases was a naval incident 
 of remarkable features, and was worth a 
 victory any day, while another was of a 
 , character to reflect credit, in an almost 
 equal degree, on the good old barky her- 
 self, and on the officer who commanded 
 her. The names of Preble, Hull, Bain- 
 
1853.] 
 
 An Autumn Picture. 
 
 607 
 
 bridge and Stewart, were now inseparably 
 associated with that of the ship, as indeed 
 might it almost be said was that of Hoff- 
 man, who served in her throughout the 
 war of 1812, with the exception of the 
 short time he was in command of the Cy- 
 ane, one of her prizes. 
 
 The remainder of the career of the Con- 
 stitution, down to the present time, is not 
 without its interest, though necessarily 
 less brilliant than her services in a time 
 of war. As she arrived so late in the 
 season, she was not employed in the 
 squadron that went against the Algerines, 
 but was put out of commission. The 
 good old ship, indeed, was now in want of 
 a thorough repair. Her upper works had 
 proved so rotten of late, that it was re- 
 marked when a shot went through them, 
 it did not make splinters, an advantage in 
 one respect certainly, but a very serious 
 defect in all others. 
 
 From May 1815, until 1821, Old 
 
 Ironsides lay at her native place, Boston, 
 
 during which time she was thoroughly 
 overhauled, and prepared for sea. Jacob 
 Jones then hoisted a broad pennant in her, 
 and took her to her old cruising ground, 
 the Mediterranean. Nothing occurred 
 worth recording on this occasion, with the 
 exception of one somewhat painful event. 
 One dark night, while she was in or near 
 the Gut of Gibraltar, her officers below 
 heard something brushing against her 
 side, thumping along from gun to gun. as 
 if she touched something in the line of her 
 ports. Running on deck, it was ascertain- 
 ed that the old craft had rubbed somewhat 
 hard against a small brig, which had not 
 been seen until it was too late to avoid 
 her. The brig was English, and, as it 
 turned out, sunk almost immediately, her 
 crew being saved by a vessel astern. This 
 is almost the only serious accident that 
 ever happened to the honest old craft, and 
 this was serious to another, and not to 
 herself. 
 
 [Mr. Cooper’s MS. ends here. The subsequent history of the old ship, with notes and other additions to the 
 preceding narrative, will appear in the next edition of Cooper’s Naval Biographies.] 
 
 AN AUTUMN PICTURE. 
 
 B LITHE little Moll ! her cheeks are like new roses, 
 
 The sweet lips parted, bright eyes open wide : 
 
 So she comes tripping through the orchard closes, 
 
 And, bare feet, seeking out the brooklet’s side ; 
 
 And plashing, dashing through, the little maiden 
 Climbs up the summery slope of hazel hill, 
 
 Toward a friendly elm, with wild vines laden, 
 
 And clustering grapes, awaiting her sweet will. 
 
 And thus she swings, upon the branches bending, 
 
 And stands thus, mid the wreaths of frost-touched green, 
 One strong festoon, an airy foothold lending. 
 
 And raying sun-flecks crown the woodland queen. 
 
 On hair, and brow, and rounded nut-brown shoulder, 
 
 The sunshine seems to fall for pure love’s sake; 
 
 And as she glances upward, that grown bolder 
 Comes to her lip, its thirst for dew to slake. 
 
 The autumn breeze drifts back the cloud of ringlets, 
 
 And backward flutters the bright scarlet dress — 
 
 Like for a Gipsy Hebe ruddy winglets, 
 
 Than Hebe's own glad beauty — hers no less ! 
 
 So sweetheart, Moll ! blithe Moll ! like wild bird swinging 
 A tilt upon the swinging, clustering vine, 
 
 This picture of your youth, for ever clinging, 
 
 Shall bring youth back — this Hebe shall be mine ! 
 
608 
 
 [June 
 
 THE MIDNI 
 
 YT I G 0 R 0 U S L Y Ilerr Ostrom plied the 
 ' whip as we approached the town of 
 Haparanda, and a great clatter the little 
 Swedish horses made as they galloped 
 over the ill-paved streets. The rumbling 
 carriage rattled worse than ever, and the 
 worthy burgher produced the desired ef- 
 fect of bringing every body to door and 
 window, and causing open-mouthed won- 
 der in the simple peasants. The carriage 
 and its occupants excited so much atten- 
 tion that I followed almost unnoticed in 
 the jingling “ triller.” 
 
 Herr Ostrom was a burgher of Stock- 
 holm, who, for love of filth}' lucre, had 
 demeaned himself so far as to become our 
 courier and interpreter, with an express 
 stipulation, however, that he was “ not to 
 be treated as a servant.” Three days be- 
 fore, we had landed from the Stockholm 
 steamer at Umea, a village about half way 
 up the Gulf of Bothnia, where we had 
 taken post-horses and hurried, with all 
 attainable speed, northward. 
 
 Vi ell might we hasten, for we were chas- 
 ing the Sun. We had learned that on 
 the 21st of June, from Avesaxa, a moun- 
 tain forty miles north of Fornea, we might 
 behold the god of day taking unto him- 
 self supreme rule, and ousting night alto- 
 gether ; in other words, that the sun 
 would remain the whole twenty-four 
 hours above the horizon. We were three 
 days behind time, but hoped still to catch 
 a glimpse of the “ midnight sun.” 
 
 Our progress had necessarily been slow, 
 for posting in Sweden is conducted on de- 
 cidedly different principles from that in 
 central Europe. Certain farm-houses on 
 the road are designated as post-stations, 
 and the neighboring peasants take turns 
 in supplying travellers ■with horses. We 
 drive up to a post-house, and if it happens 
 to be a “ fast station,” that is. one where 
 the postmaster is bound to have horses 
 always in readiness, we may hope to get 
 off in an horn - , that being the time allowed 
 him to produce his animals. The readi- 
 ness consists in having the horses pas- 
 tured in some neighboring field, and on 
 our arrival three or four bareheaded boys 
 and girls set off with most encouraging 
 haste, in different directions, to catch 
 them. But be not too sanguine, my trav- 
 elling companions, perhaps we are doomed 
 to see the horses that, to do them justice, 
 however lazy in harness, always exhibit 
 amazing activity when at large, chased 
 from field to field, at last cornered, dodg- 
 ing their pursuers, and with contemptuous 
 elevation of heels, dashing off again at 
 full speed. Whilst impatiently watching 
 
 GHT SUN. 
 
 these manoeuvres, we are fortunate if the 
 approaching tinkling of bells (they hell 
 their horses as we do cows), announces 
 the successful capture of some other herd, 
 which, with much shouting, is triumph- 
 antly driven into the yard. The required 
 number is selected, harnessed with much 
 letting out and taking up of straps (for 
 travellers provide their own harness), the 
 postillion, a peasant boy, or girl, the rep- 
 resentative of the owner of one or more 
 of the animals, mounts on the box beside 
 Ostrom, and he sets off, while I drive the 
 triller, a rude buggy , and we strive to get 
 something more than the regulation speed, 
 four English miles an hour, out of the 
 clumsy brutes. They are all dun-colored 
 ponies, with a black stripe down the back, 
 and mane and tail enough to provide half 
 a score of civilized horses. 
 
 As we go northward the ponies are 
 smaller, shaggier and lighter colored ; the 
 cows, too, that we see browsing by the 
 way-side, are very small, hornless, and 
 pure white in color. The trees are stunt- 
 ed. and we traverse vast forests of dwarf 
 pines. There is no night now. The sun 
 pours down upon us for twenty-two hours 
 in the da}', scorching us with his oblique 
 rays during the many hours that he but 
 just hovers above the horizon. When he 
 sinks behind the hills, lingeringly, as if 
 dreading to lose sight of us, there is a 
 clear, bright twilight. The peasants are 
 stirring at all hours, for they take but lit- 
 tle rest in midsummer, literally “ making 
 hay while the sun shines,” and postponing 
 sleep till the long winter nights. 
 
 We go on, stopping but twice a day to 
 snatch a meal of “lax stake” (broiled 
 salmon) and black Swedish bread. The 
 worthy burgher gets wearied with sleep- 
 lessness, and the toil of urging forward 
 lagging horses. As soon as we reach a 
 post-house, he calls for a glass of brandy 
 and a cup of coffee, and throwing himself 
 on the floor, falls fast asleep. I pay for 
 the horses, hasten the harnessing of fresh 
 ones, nnd then wake him with difficulty. 
 
 Thus we hurry northward, now plunged 
 in dreary forests, then mounting hills 
 whence we behold the island-studded sea 
 and the lake-dotted valleys, or crossing 
 noble rivers, whose deep dark waters flow 
 so gently as hardly to swerve the rude 
 ferry-boats from their course, till we reach 
 Haparanda. We are on the northern 
 shore of the Gulf. We send on a “ forbud,” 
 or avant-courier, to order horses, and stop 
 to dine luxuriously on beef-steak. What 
 a God-send is meat ! We have been, per- 
 force, rigid Grahamites. since leaving the 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Midnight Sun. 
 
 609 
 
 steamer, always excepting the article of 
 fish, which is only too plenty ; and we 
 find the peasant’s diet of sour milk and 
 black biscuit, rather weakening than other- 
 wise. 
 
 We engage an interpreter here, for we 
 shall find only Finlanders north of this, 
 and our communications with the natives 
 must hereafter first be framed in French 
 for Ostrom, by him translated into Swed- 
 ish to Eric, and by Eric into the Finnish 
 tongue. 
 
 We proceed along the shores of the 
 Fornea river, all of us travel-wearied. 
 We get on slowly, and at last, giving up 
 all hopes of reaching Mount Avesaxa to- 
 night, fix our hopes, instead, on a nearer 
 mountain. Twelve o’clock approaches, 
 and we fear we shall not even reach this. 
 The lower edge of the sun touches the 
 horizon. Watching him anxiously, we 
 find he does not descend. “ He will not 
 set,” cries F. ; " we shall see the midnight 
 sun.” We stop the horses, and in pro- 
 found silence fix our eyes on the great 
 luminary. Now we perceive he moves, 
 but not downwards. A blood-red ball of 
 fire, he seems to roll along the horizon. 
 Majestically he rolls, till an intervening 
 mountain threatens to hide him from our 
 sight ; but no, a full third of his disc shines 
 bright upon us. He keeps on from West 
 to East. All nature is hushed as if in 
 awe. The heavens are cloudless, save a 
 few light cirri, that float a few degrees 
 above the sun. In the north the sky is 
 colored yellow, clear and brilliant, as in a 
 winter’s sunset. 
 
 It is twelve o’clock. The sun rests on 
 the North Pole. We hold our breaths. 
 Still he moves toward the east, rising al- 
 most imperceptibly. A bird in the pine- 
 wood bursts into a flood of song. The 
 sun detaches himself from the horizon, 
 and slowly rises into the open heaven. 
 We pluck a flower cherished by his mid- 
 night heat. We look around on the lonely 
 landscape. The trees are few, and so low 
 that they seem but shrubs. The frequent 
 hills are destitute of vegetation, and the 
 broad Fornea river winds his way among 
 them. We mark the prospect well, for this 
 is an era in our lives. 
 
 We drive on along the banks of the 
 noble river, till at two o’clock we reach 
 the little village of Matarengi. There is 
 no road north of this. If we wish to pur- 
 sue our journey, it must be in boats. But 
 we are too fatigued to moralize upon this, 
 the end of civilization, the “jumping-off 
 place,” and I gladly throw myself into 
 one of the little coffin-like boxes, which 
 the Fins use for beds, and close my eyes 
 in sleep. 0 wise Sancho Panza ! to invoke 
 a blessing on “ the man that invented 
 
 vol. i. — 39 
 
 sleep ! ” For seventy-two hours, sleepless, 
 with little and poor food, had I been urg- 
 ing forward lagging horsos under the burn- 
 ing midsummer sun. My face, blistered 
 with heat, felt on fire ; my lips were parch- 
 ed and bleeding; my inflamed and half- 
 closed e3 r elids could not protect my eyes 
 from the glare. How gladly I closed then) 
 in forgetfulness ! 
 
 At one o’clock the next day (Sunday), 
 I awoke. The yard was half full of Fins, 
 who loitered about the inn, after having 
 examined our carriages with the greatest 
 curiosity. They looked upon us as won- 
 ders. While I was dressing, a group col- 
 lected about my door, eagerly staring in 
 when it was opened by the “Jungfer,” 
 who was arranging breakfast, and fre- 
 quently pushing it ajar themselves for 
 greater convenience of observation. They 
 are large, athletic people, active and ener- 
 getic. The men wear queer leather caps, 
 coarse homespun clothes, and boots turned 
 up at the toes, and constantly smoke bad 
 tobacco in wooden pipes. 
 
 Late in the afternoon we set out up the 
 river in two boats, each propelled by three 
 men. Herr Bergstrom, the Swedish tax-col- 
 lector. and the only civilized man in the 
 neighborhood, kindly accompanied us. The 
 boats are built very light, low in the cen- 
 tre, and high in the bows, and are pushed 
 up the swift stream by “poling” along; 
 the shore. The Tornea is wide and rapid, 
 studded with large islands. The banks 
 are rather high, and covered with bright 
 green grass, for here, though the summer 
 is so short, vegetation is very luxuriant 
 while it lasts. 
 
 We passed many salmon fisheries. The 
 fences of poles, stretched across the stream, 
 pushed by the current, and recoiling by 
 their own elasticity, make a low murmur- 
 ing, as if complaining of being removed 
 from their element. 
 
 Our men stopped to rest at the dairy 
 belonging to the postmaster. They ga- 
 thered around a huge bowl of sour milk 
 each armed with a spoon, and soon dis- 
 patched their frugal meal. 
 
 Sour milk, hard rye cake, and fish, are. 
 in summer, the only food of these sturdy 
 peasants. The little white cows were as- 
 sembled in a stable, from which the gnats 
 were driven off by the smoke of a peat 
 fire before the door. They were tended 
 by two strapping, rosy-cheeked lasses, 
 * and every thing, from stable to dairy, was 
 neat and clean as possible. 
 
 Our next stoppage was at the falls in 
 the river, where we left one boat, and 
 while the men drew the other up along 
 the bank, we walked through the woods. 
 Swarms of musquitoes and gnats attacked 
 us, and, spite of handkerchiefs over our 
 
The Midnight Sun. 
 
 610 
 
 heads, and waving pine branches, bit us 
 furiously. We walked two miles through 
 marshy grounds, covered with a profusion 
 of the “ Linnea borealis,” and other beauti- 
 ful wild flowers, of kinds unknown to us, 
 and reached a log house, in a narrow clear- 
 ing. A pair of reindeer horns were nailed 
 over the door. A barrel was sunk in the 
 ground to collect the water from a spring. 
 Every thing looked like our own ‘‘back 
 woods.” “ This house was built, and this 
 clearing made, but five years since,” said 
 Hei r Bergstrom, “ they are pushing culti- 
 vation northward.” “ Northward ” it was 
 indeed ; north of 67° 30 / . We were with- 
 in the Arctic circle ! In no other country 
 in the world, except Norway, can cultiva- 
 tion be carried on even many degrees south 
 of this ; and here we were surrounded by 
 a forest of green trees, and treading on 
 green grass and lovely flowers. 
 
 Taking boats again, we ascended the 
 river till the sun sank very low, when we 
 landed, and scrambled up the high bank 
 to a fine point of view. We saw some 
 wondering peasants regarding us atten- 
 tively from the door of their hut. 
 
 It must have been a strange apparition 
 to these poor Fins, to see a party of civil- 
 ized beings start up on their premises at 
 midnight, without any apparent means of 
 getting there. 
 
 But our attention was soon fixed on the 
 Sun, whose lower limb grazed the horizon. 
 Now, again a huge fiery ball, he rolled on 
 the mountain tops this time not dipping 
 behind them. His edge touched a distant 
 solitary pine, then showed the bare bran- 
 ches in dark relief against his red disc, 
 then appeared severed by its scathed 
 trunk, kept onward and left it behind him 
 without rising or sinking a second. Thus 
 swift and far he passed in right ascension, 
 and not until some minutes past twelve 
 did he alter his declination, and shaking off 
 his contact with the Earth, seek again the 
 zenith. 
 
 “ Poling ” on to Sortola. which consists 
 of a few scattered huts on the Russian 
 side of the stream, we landed and roused 
 the inmates of a cottage. 
 
 The old woman made her appearance in 
 the economical female costume of the 
 country which saves all trouble with the 
 toilet, namely, the under garment in which 
 she had slept and a black skirt of the 
 thick heavy material which they them- 
 selves weave, secured by a cord about the 
 waist. 
 
 She conducted the boatmen to the kit- 
 chen, and us to a spare house (each room 
 is a separate house and the meanest dwell- 
 ings consist of several), and served them 
 with sour milk and us with coffee. Herr 
 Bergstrom drew off his wet boots and I ob- 
 
 [June 
 
 served that they, as well as his stockings, 
 were stuffed with hay. This is the uni- 
 versal practice here, and the Laplanders 
 even stuff all their clothes in this manner, 
 as it keeps them from touching the skin 
 and impairing the circulation in cold wea- 
 ther. 
 
 After an hour’s rest we took our leave 
 (the good people demanding but a “ rix 
 gelt dollar,” sixteen cents, for all their 
 trouble), and, re-embarking steered into 
 the centre of the stream and rowed swiftly 
 downwards. We had fishing tackle, long 
 lines with large hooks having on the shank 
 a piece of bright tin and a bit of red worst- 
 ed. This was so made that as it towed 
 far behind the boat it “ shimmered ” in 
 the water looking not unlike a minnow. 
 Three large fish were caught with this 
 bait during the descent. Our progress 
 was rapid and we soon reached the head 
 of the cataract. Herr B. asked if I would 
 descend the falls with him. I could 
 hardly believe he would attempt such a 
 thing, but, finding him serious and that it 
 was not unusual, I.assented. A man was 
 obtained who makes it his business to 
 steer boats down the falls (for it would be 
 certain destruction to attempt it without 
 an experienced pilot), and with two rowers 
 we set off. 
 
 The rowers pulled lustily to give steer- 
 age way to the boat ; the grizzly old steers- 
 man, his long, white hair streaming in the 
 wind seized firmly his broad paddle ; the 
 men talked and joked in the uncouth Fin- 
 nish tongue ; the rapid stream hurried us 
 along ; while I sat quietly wondering, like 
 the sailor when the ship was struck by 
 lightning, “what the devil is coming next.” 
 Soon the roar of the cataract drowned all 
 other sounds ; the water was here a surg- 
 ing mass of foam, there showed through 
 its yellow waves the rocks noth which it 
 warred. The boat shot down the first 
 steep descent like lightning, then rocked 
 and rose and felt like a ship in a stormy 
 sea, then was struck by a high wave and 
 trembled with the shock, then leaped 
 downwards as if to plunge beneath the 
 stream and dash the foam of the next 
 wave far and near from her high prow. 
 Still rushing down the torrent, the thun- 
 der of the billows in front directed our 
 attention to a huge rock, the waters hurl- 
 ing themselves against it, and mounting 
 over its very top. The pilot gave the 
 craft a sheer, and, before we knew how or 
 why, we had left it far behind. The 
 water was splashing into the skiff as we 
 took an oblique course. All was noise 
 and confusion around us ; the waters bel- 
 lowed and the shores seemed hurrying 
 away. Another roar warned us of another 
 rock. The boat reared like an impatient 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Midnight Sun. 
 
 611 
 
 charger, plunged downward and again shot 
 by, giving us hardly time to glance at it 
 as we passed. She leaped over the last 
 wave, sped through the swift rapid be- 
 low the fall and safely grounded on the 
 shore. 
 
 It was a most exciting passage, and I 
 had plenty of leisure to meditate upon it 
 while the men were bailing out the half- 
 filled boat, and the rest of the party were 
 accomplishing their slow overland pas- 
 sage. 
 
 We rowed down stream to a salmon 
 fishery and sent a boatman ashore to 
 waken the fishermen. 
 
 With a loud halloo six young men and 
 three girls rushed out helter-skelter from 
 the rude hut, donning their clothes as 
 they ran, and sprang, shouting and laugh- 
 ing, into their boats. The foremost girl, a 
 strapping, red-haired maiden, seized the 
 oars of the first boat, into which three 
 men had sprung, and pulled it into the 
 stream before the others had tumbled into 
 their boats. A fence of upright poles 
 driven into the bottom like stakes, stretches 
 entirely across the river with a square 
 inclosure fenced off at the centre. This 
 has openings at the sides, which the sal- 
 mon enter on finding their progress up the 
 river stopped at every other point, but dis- 
 cover too late that they are in a cut de 
 sac , and wander about seeking the exit. 
 
 The boats, propelled at such speed as to 
 throw jet at stem and leave foam astern, 
 entered the inclosure, and the rowers 
 dropping their oars and pulling the boats 
 along by the fence payed out the nets along 
 the four sides. Then, all three boat’s 
 crews seized the upper net, one at the 
 centre and one at each end, and pulled it 
 downwards, one person in each boat con- 
 stantly darting a pole into the water and 
 catching it again as it rose, to frighten the 
 fish and prevent their springing over the 
 top of the net. They soon brought the 
 upper net side by side with the lower one, 
 and then, still thrashing the water with 
 the pole to keep the poor fish frightened 
 and bewildered, haul up the two nets to- 
 gether with three huge salmon entangled 
 in the meshes. These were killed by 
 blows of a club on the head to prevent 
 their jumping out of the boat. Again 
 with great shouting the fishers dashed' 
 around the inclosure, the men pulling 
 while the half wild girls threw overboard 
 the nets as fast as their arms could move. 
 They drew them down, pulled them in, 
 took this time but one fish, laid on their 
 oars a moment to look at us. and then 
 calling to one another they darted off 
 again across the stream. Such powerful 
 energetic girls I never saw before, and 
 indeed the whole people, in activity and 
 
 alertness, contrast agreeably with the lazy, 
 stolid peasants of Germany. 
 
 We reached Matarengi at ten o’clock, 
 and retired to sleep during the noon-day 
 heat. 
 
 Toward six I rose and set off with the 
 Burgher to visit llerr Bergstrom. He 
 has a pleasant place on the river, and three 
 or four little red houses built in a quad- 
 rangle after the Swedish fashion. His 
 wife came in to welcome us and brought 
 a bottle of punch, which we drank with 
 many bows and flourishes, the host always 
 insisting on our emptying our cups at one 
 draught, then refilling and clinking glasses. 
 The room was plainly furnished, but, of 
 course, scrupulously neat. There was the 
 usual rack in the corner for pipes. Among 
 these was a pipe bowl of great size made 
 of a knot of a wood resembling maple. It 
 was a hundred years old, and had last be- 
 longed to the “ Papa ” or Parish clergy- 
 man. 
 
 With Mrs. B. and her son, “ Johann 
 Eric,” a little boy four years old, we set 
 off in boats for an excursion to Mount 
 Avesaxa. It was a calm, delightful even- 
 ing, the river smooth as glass, and that 
 light haze spread over the country which 
 improves the view as a veil of gauze 
 heightens the charms of beauty. It pro- 
 duced the same quiet, languid sense of 
 pleasure that I had often felt beneath an 
 Italian sky, and yet no land can be more 
 different from Italy than this. We wound 
 about among large thickly-wooded islands 
 and along hilly but not precipitous shores 
 to the foot of Avesaxa. 
 
 The moment we landed and commenced 
 the ascent all languidness was put to flight 
 by swarms of musquitoes who wage in- 
 cessant war on all invaders of their haunts, 
 and we were soon brushing away like mad- 
 caps with handkerchiefs and pine branches. 
 The ascent was in some places steep and 
 rocky, but the mountain was not high, and 
 even the gosso (Anglice “ small boy ”) got 
 up without much fatigue. 
 
 A barrel elevated on a pole marked the 
 summit. It was here that some scientific 
 measurements, having reference to the form 
 of the Earth, were made by Maupertuis 
 and other French astronomers in 1736. 
 
 The top of the mountain was destitute 
 of vegetation like every hilltop in that lat- 
 itude, and the surrounding elevations were 
 so low that Avesaxa, though by no means 
 • a high mountain, overtopped them all. 
 
 On one side flowed the broad Tornea 
 much resembling the Connecticut. Far 
 to the north, within the Arctic circle, rose 
 pyramidal mountains, behind which the 
 Sun, now low down, seemed about to sink. 
 On the eastern and precipitous side was 
 a pretty lake with an outlet encircling 
 
612 
 
 Inns. 
 
 Mount Avesaxa and joining the river. In 
 every direction rose low hills, their bases 
 covered with dwarf pines. 
 
 Our enjoyment of the view was so les- 
 sened by the increasing swarms of mus- 
 quitoes that we gladly took refuge in the 
 smoke of a huge fire kindled by our boat- 
 men. The smoke of pine wood, impreg- 
 nated strongly with the odor of tar, was 
 not disagreeable to us, but the musquitoes 
 were sore discomfited by it and soon van- 
 quished. Our Swedish friends, who had 
 brought a great store of provisions, now 
 gave us punch and cake, and continued of- 
 fering both, almost incessantly, the whole 
 night. 
 
 Between admiring the prospect, brush- 
 ing off musquitoes and taking asylum in 
 the smoke, eating and drinking and laugh- 
 ing at the little Eric, who got excited by 
 a glass of punch and went about turning 
 our glassfuls into his till he sipped enough 
 to turn his own little head, and making 
 absurd attempts at conversation in bad 
 
 [June 
 
 Swedish, we passed the time till near mid- 
 night. 
 
 And now the winged horses of the Sun. 
 that had long hovered over the mountains, 
 just grazed their summits and slowly drew 
 their chariot along the horizon. They 
 spumed with their heels the dark pine 
 woods till past twelve. Then the fiery 
 car was half buried, axle deep, behind an 
 intervening peak. They dashed forth; 
 poised themselves for a moment, and then 
 springing from this dark Earth began anew 
 to climb high Heaven. 
 
 The rising Sun was the signal for an- 
 other little supper, and then, reversing the 
 Sun’s course, we commenced our descent. 
 
 That same day we began our journey 
 southwards and were glad to welcome 
 night again in lower latitudes. 
 
 Sleep is a blessing and darkness begets 
 sleep, but still it is pleasant, around a 
 winter’s evening fireside, to recall to mind 
 our three days visit to the Arctic zone and 
 the thrice-seen Midnight Sun. 
 
 INKS. 
 
 Whoe'er has travell’d life’s dull round, 
 Whate’er his fortunes may have been, 
 Must sigh to think how oft he’s found 
 Life's wannest welcome at an inn. 
 
 Shenstnne. 
 
 THE old, legitimate, delightful idea of 
 I an Inn is becoming obsolete ; like so 
 manj r other traditional blessings, it has 
 been sacrificed to the genius of locomotion. 
 The rapidity with which distance is con- 
 sumed obviates the need that so long ex- 
 isted, of by-way retreats and halting-pla- 
 ces. A hearty meal or a few hours’ sleep 
 caught between the arrival of the trains, 
 is all the railway traveller requires ; and 
 the modern habit of moving in caravans, 
 has infinitely lessened the romantic pro- 
 babilities and comfortable realities of a 
 journey : the rural alehouse, and pictur- 
 esque hostel now exist chiefly in the do- 
 main of memory ; crowds, haste, and os- 
 tentation triumph here over privacy and 
 rational enjoyment, as in nearly all the 
 arrangements of modern society. Old 
 Walton would discover now but few of 
 the secluded inns that refreshed him on his 
 piscatorial excursions ; the ancient ballads 
 on the wall have given place to French pa- 
 per ; the scent of lavender no longer makes 
 the linen fragrant ; instead of the crackle 
 of the open wood fire, we have the dingy 
 coal-smoke, and exhalations of a stove ; 
 and green blinds usurp the place of the 
 snowy curtains. Not only these material 
 details, but the very social character of the 
 
 Inn. is sadly changed. Few hosts can 
 find time to gossip; the clubs have with- 
 drawn the wits ; the excitement of a stage 
 coach arrival is no more ; and a poet might 
 travel a thousand leagues without finding 
 a romantic “maid of the inn” such as 
 Southey has immortalized. Jollit}*, free- 
 dom. and comfort, are no longer inevitably 
 associated with the name ; the world has 
 become a vast procession that scorns to 
 linger on its route, and has almost forgot- 
 ten how to enjoy. Thanks, however, to 
 the conservative spell of literature, we can 
 yet appreciate, in imagination, at least, 
 the good old English Inn. Goldsmith’s 
 Village Alehouse has daguerreotyped its 
 humble species, while Dr. Johnson’s even- 
 ings at the Mitre keep vivid the charm of 
 its metropolitan fame. Indeed it is quite 
 impossible to imagine what British authors 
 would have done without the solace and 
 inspiration of the inn. Addison fled thi- 
 ther from domestic annoyance ; Dryden’s 
 chair at Will’s was an oracular throne ; 
 when hard pressed, Steele and Savage 
 sought refuge in a tavern and wrote pam- 
 phlets for a dinner ; Farquhar found there 
 his best comic material ; Sterne opens his 
 Sentimental Journey with his landlord, 
 Monsieur Dessein, Calais, and his inn- 
 
Inns. 
 
 613 
 
 1853.] 
 
 yard ; Shenstone confessed he found “ life’s 
 warmest welcome at an inn ; ” Sheridan’s 
 convivial brilliancy shone there with pe- 
 culiar lustre ; Hazlitt relished Congreve 
 anew reading him in the shady windows 
 of a village inn after a long walk ; even 
 an old Almanac, an Annual Register, will 
 acquire an interest under such circum- 
 stances ; and a dog-eared copy of the Sea- 
 sons found in such a place induced Cole- 
 ridge to exclaim, “ this is fame ! ” while 
 Byron exulted when informed that a well- 
 thumbed volume of the English Bards 
 had been seen soon after its publication 
 at a little hostel in Albany. Elia’s quaint 
 anecdote of the Quakers when they all eat 
 supper without paying for it, and Irving’s 
 “Stout Gentleman,” are incidents which 
 could only have been suggested by a coun- 
 try inn ; and as to the novelists, from Smol- 
 lett and Fielding to Scott and Dickens — the 
 most characteristic scenes occur on this 
 vantage ground, where the strict unities 
 of life are temporarily discarded, and its 
 zest miraculously quickened by fatigue, 
 hunger, a kind of infinite possibility of 
 events, a singular mood of adventure and 
 pastime, nowhere else in civilized lands so 
 readily induced. It is, therefore, from 
 instinct that these enchanting chroniclers 
 lead us thither. Gil Bias acquired his 
 first lesson in a knowledge of the world, 
 by his encounter with the parasite at the 
 inn of Panafleur ; and Don Quixote’s en- 
 thusiasm always reaches a climax at these 
 places of wayside sojourn. The “ Black 
 Bull,” at Islington, is said to have been Sir 
 Walter Raleigh’s mansion; “Dolly’s Chop 
 House ’’ is dear to authors for the sake of 
 Goldsmith and his friends, who used to go 
 there on their way to and from Paternoster 
 Row. At the “ Salutation and Cat,” 
 Smithfield — Coleridge and Lamb held 
 memorable converse ; and Steele often 
 dated his Tattlers from the “ Trumpet. ” 
 IIow appropriate for Voltaire to have 
 lodged, in London, at the “White Pe- 
 ruke ” ! Spenser died at an inn in King 
 St., Westminster, on his return from Ire- 
 land. At the “ Red Horse,” Stratford, is 
 the “ Irving room,” precious to the Ameri- 
 can traveller ; and how renowned have 
 sweet Anne Page and jolly Falstaff made 
 the very name of the “ Garter Inn ! ” In 
 the East a monastery, in the Desert a tent, 
 on the Nile a boat, but in England an 
 inn, 'is the pilgrim’s home — and one not 
 less characteristic. 
 
 In England and in towns of Anglo-Sax- 
 on origin, where the economies of life have 
 a natural sway, we find inns representa- 
 tive ; in London especially a glance at the 
 parlor wall reveals the class to whose 
 convenience the tavern is dedicated ; in 
 one the portraits of actors, in another 
 
 scenes in the ring and on the race-course ; 
 here the countenance of a leading mer- 
 chant, and there a military effigy — suggest 
 the vocation of those who chiefly frequent 
 the inn ; nor are local features less certain 
 to find recognition ; a view of the nearest 
 nobleman’s estate, or his portrait, orna- 
 ments the sitting-room ; and the observ- 
 ant eye can always discover an historical 
 hint at these public resorts. 
 
 The coffee-room of the best class of 
 English inns, carpeted and curtained, the 
 dark rich hue of the old mahogany, the 
 ancient plate, the four-post bed, the sirloin 
 or mutton joint, the tea, muffins, Cheshire 
 and Stilton, the ale, the coal fire and the 
 “ Times,” form an epitome of England ; 
 and it is only requisite to ponder well the 
 associations and history of each of these 
 items, to arrive at what is essential in 
 English history and character. The im- 
 passable divisions of society are shown in 
 the difference between the “ commercial ” 
 and the “ coffee-room ; ” the time-worn 
 aspect of the furniture is eloquent of con- 
 servatism ; the richness of the meats and 
 strength of the ale explain the bone and 
 sinew of the race ; the tea is fragrant with 
 Cowper’s memory and suggestive of East 
 India conquests ; the cheese proclaims a 
 thrifty agriculture ; the bed and draperies 
 comfort ; the coal fire manufactures, while 
 the “ Times ” is the chart of English en- 
 terprise, division of labor, wealth, self- 
 esteem, politics, trade, court life, and bully- 
 ism. 
 
 The national subserviency to rank is 
 as plainly evinced by the plates on cham- 
 ber doors, at the provincial inns, setting 
 forth that therein on a memorable night 
 slept a certain scion of nobility. As an 
 instance of the inappropriate, of that stolid 
 insensibility to taste and tact which be- 
 longs to the nation, the English waiter is 
 a striking proof. His costume is that of 
 a clergyman or a gentleman dressed for 
 company, and in ridiculous contrast with 
 his menial obeisance ; perhaps it is the 
 self-importance nourished by this costume, 
 which renders him such a machine, inca- 
 pable of an idea beyond the routine of 
 handing a dish and receiving a sixpence. 
 
 Clement’s Inn was the scene of that 
 memorable dialogue between Shallow and 
 Sir John ; at the “ Cock ” in Bond St. 
 Sir Charles Sedley got scandalously drunk. 
 Will’s Coffee House was formerly called 
 the “ Rose ; ” hence the line 
 
 “ Supper and friends expect me at the Kose.” 
 
 Button’s, so long frequented by the wits 
 of Queen Anne’s time, was kept by a for- 
 mer servant of Lady Warwick; and 
 there the author of Cato fraternized with 
 Garth, Armstrong, and other cotemporarj’ 
 
614 
 
 Inns. 
 
 writers. Ben Jonson held his club at the 
 Devil Tavern, and Shakspeare and Beau- 
 mont used to meet him at the Mermaid ; 
 the same inn is spoken of by Pope, and 
 Swift writes Stella of his dinner there. 
 The author of Peter Wilkins resided for 
 a time at Clifford’s Inn, and Dr. Johnson 
 frequented all the taverns in Fleet St. 
 Old Slaughter’s coffee-house in St. Mar- 
 tin’s lane was the favorite resort of Ho- 
 garth ; and Prior’s uncle kept an inn in 
 London, where the poet was seen, when a 
 boy, reading Horace. This incident is 
 made use of by Johnson in his Lives of 
 the Poets in a very caustic manner, for 
 after relating it, he observes of Prior, that 
 “ in his private relaxations he revived the 
 tavern, and in his amorous pedantry he 
 exhibited the college.” 
 
 There is no city in Europe where an 
 imaginative mood can be so indefinitely 
 prolonged as at Venice ; and, in the early 
 summer, the traveller, after gliding about 
 all day in a gondola, and thinking of 
 Barbarossa, Faliero, Titian, and the crea- 
 tions of Shakspeare, Otway, Byron, and 
 Cooper, at evening, from under the arches 
 of St. Mark’s square, watches the pictu- 
 resque, and sometimes mysterious, figures, 
 and then, between moss-grown palaces 
 and over lone canals, returns to his locanda 
 to find its aspect perfectly in accordance 
 with his reverie ; at least such was my 
 experience at the “ Golden Lion.” The 
 immense salle a manger was dimly light- 
 ed, and the table for two or three guests, 
 set in a corner and half-surrounded by a 
 screen ; when I raised my eyes from my 
 first dinner there, they fell on a large 
 painting of the Death of Seneca — a print 
 of which had been familiar to my child- 
 hood ; and thus memory was ever invoked 
 in Venice, and her dissolving views reflect- 
 ed in the mirror of the mind, unbroken by 
 the interruptions from passing life that 
 elsewhere render them so brief. The 
 mere fact of disembarking at the weedy 
 steps, the utter silence of the canal invad- 
 ed only by the plash of the gondolier’s 
 oar, or his warning cry at the angle, the 
 tesselated pavement and quaintly carved 
 furniture of the bedroom, and a certain 
 noiseless step and secretive gravity obser- 
 vable in the attendants, render the Ve- 
 netian inn memorable and distinct in rem- 
 iniscence, and in perfect harmony with the 
 place and its associations. 
 
 During the late revolutionary era in 
 Europe, the inn tables of Germany afford- 
 ed the most reliable index of political 
 opinion ; the free discussion which there 
 was indulged, brought out every variety 
 of sentiment and theory, as it included all 
 classes with a due sprinkling of foreigners. 
 From the old novel to the new farce, in- 
 
 -line 
 
 deed, the extremes of public opinion and 
 the average tone of manners, the laughable 
 contre-temps and the delightful adventure 
 are made to reveal themselves at inns, so 
 that political sects and all vocations are 
 identified with them. To Rip Van Win- 
 kle the most astonishing change he disco- 
 vered in his native village, after his long 
 nap, was the substitution of Washington’s 
 likeness for that of George the Third, on 
 the tavern sign. 
 
 The dark staircase, rising from the mule 
 stable of a posada, the bare chambers, 
 wool-knotted mattresses, odor of garlic, 
 and vegetables swimming in oil, are items 
 of the Spanish inn not likely to be forgot- 
 ten by the epicurean traveller. In high- 
 ly civilized lands, not only have inns a 
 national but a professional character ; the 
 sign, the pictures on the wall, and the 
 company, have a certain individuality — 
 marine in sailors’ inns, pugilistic in sport- 
 ing ones, and picturesque in those haunted 
 by artists ; the lines of demarcation are 
 as visible as those which separate news- 
 papers and shops ; in the grand division 
 of labor that signalizes modem life, the 
 inn also has thus become an organ and a 
 symbol. Even their mottoes and symbols 
 give traditional suggestions or emblazon 
 phases of opinion : natural history has 
 been exhausted in supplying effigies ; my- 
 thology has yielded up all her deities and 
 institutions, heroes and localities are kept 
 fresh in the traveller’s imagination by 
 their association with “creature comforts.” 
 Thus he dreams of Cromwell at the 
 “ Tumble-down Dick,” and of the Stuarts 
 at the “ King Charles in the Oak ; ” the 
 days of chivalry at the “ Star and Garter,’* 
 or the “ Croix de Malta;” of brilliant cam- 
 paigns at the “ Wagram” and “ Montmo- 
 rency ; ” of woman’s love at the “ Petraquc 
 et Laura,” and of man’s at the “Free- 
 mason’s tavern.” 
 
 My host at Ravenna had been Byron’s 
 purveyor during the poet’s residence there ; 
 and lie was never weary of descanting 
 upon his character and the incidents of 
 his sojourn ; in fact, upon discovering my 
 interest in the subject, he forgot the land- 
 lord in the cicerone, and gave no small 
 part of a day to accompanying me to the 
 haunts of the bard. Our first visit was 
 to the Guiccioli Palace, and here he de- 
 scribed his lordship’s dinners, with the 
 precision and enthusiasm of an antiquarian 
 certifying a document or medal ; then he 
 took 'me to the Pine Forest, and pointed 
 out the track where Byron used to wheel 
 his horse at full gallop, and discharge his 
 pistol at a bottle placed on a stump, — 
 exercises preparatory to his Grecian cam- 
 paign. At a particular flag-stone, in the 
 main street, my guide suddenly paused ; 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Inns. 
 
 615 
 
 “Signore,” said he, “just as mi-lord had 
 reached this spot one evening, he heard 
 the report of a musket, and saw an officer 
 fall a few rods in advance ; dismounting, 
 he rushed to his side, and found him to 
 be a familiar acquaintance, an agent of 
 the government, who had thus become the 
 victim to private vengeance. Byron had 
 him conveyed to his own apartment and 
 placed on a bed, where in half an hour he 
 expired. This event made a deep impres- 
 sion on his mind, he was dispirited for a 
 week, and wrote a description of death 
 from a shot, which you will find in his 
 poems, derived from this scene.” With 
 such local anecdotes my Byronic host 
 entertained me so well, that the depart- 
 ed bard ever since has seemed to live 
 in my remembrance rather than my fan- 
 cy- 
 
 The pedestrian in Wales sometimes en- 
 counters a snug and beautifully situated 
 hostel, where five minutes beside the parlor 
 fire, and a chat with the landlady or her 
 pretty daughter, gives him so complete a 
 home feeling, that it is with painful reluct- 
 ance he again straps on his knapsack ; at 
 liberty to muse by the ever-singing tea- 
 kettle, if the weather is unpropitious, stroll 
 out in view of a noble mountain or a fairy 
 lake in the warm sunset, or hear the news 
 from the last wayfarer in the travellers’ 
 room ; and here is thus mingled a sense 
 of personal independence, comfort and so- 
 litude, which is rarely experienced even in 
 the most favored domain of hospitality. 
 An equally winsome but more romantic 
 charm holds the roaming artist who 
 stops at Albano or Volterra, where the 
 dreamy campagna or Etruscan ruins al- 
 ternate with groups of sunburnt conta- 
 dini, lighted up by the charcoal’s glow in 
 a way to fascinate Salvator, before his con- 
 tented gaze ; his portfolio fills up with 
 miraculous rapidity ; and the still-life is 
 agreeably varied with the scenic costumes 
 and figures which gave the vintage or a 
 festa. Some humble Champolion could 
 easily add to the curiosities of literature, 
 by a volume gleaned among inn inscrip- 
 tions — from the marble tablet announcing 
 the sojourn of a royal personage, to the 
 rude caricature on the "whitewashed wall, 
 and the sentimental couplet on the win- 
 dow pane ; to say nothing of the albums 
 which enshrine so many tributes to Etna 
 and the White Mountains — the heir-looms 
 of Abbate, the famous padrone of Catania, 
 and Crawford of the Notch. 
 
 Sicily is famous for the absence of inns 
 and the intolerable discomfort of those 
 that do exist ; but mine host of Catania, 
 
 ■ — may his shadow never be less ! — is the 
 prince of landlords ; a fine specimen of 
 manly beauty, and with the manners of a 
 
 gentleman, lie seems to think his guests 
 entitled to all the courtesy which should 
 follow an invitation ; he makes formal 
 calls upon them, and gives sage advice as 
 to the best way to pass the time ; fits 
 them out with hospitable skill, and expe- 
 rienced counsels, for the ascent of Etna, 
 and brings home choice game from his 
 hunting excursions, as a present to the 
 “ stranger within his gates ; ” his discourse, 
 too, is of the most bland and entertain- 
 ing description ; he is “ a fellow of infi- 
 nite wit, of most excellent fancy ; ” and 
 these ministrations derive a memorable 
 charm from a certain gracefulness and 
 winsome cordiality ; no wonder his scrap- 
 book is filled with eulogiums, and that the 
 traveller in Sicily, by the mere force of 
 contrast, records in hyperboles the merits 
 of the Corona d'Oro. 
 
 The waxed floor, light curtains, and gay 
 paper of a Parisian bedroom, however 
 cheerful, are the reverse of snug ; but in 
 the provincial inns of the Continent, with 
 less of comfort there is often more histori- 
 cal interest than in those of England ; 
 the stone staircases and floors, and the 
 scanty furniture are forlorn ; and the ex- 
 uberance of the host’s civility is often in 
 ludicrous contrast with the poverty of his 
 larder. It is not uncommon to find our- 
 selves in a friar’s dormitory, the large ho- 
 tels in the minor towns having frequently 
 been erected as convents; and in Italy, 
 such an inn as that of Terracina, with its 
 legends of banditti and its romantic site, 
 the waves of the Mediterranean moaning 
 under its lofty windows, infallibly recall 
 Mrs. Radcliffe. In the cities many of the 
 hotels are palaces, where noble families 
 have dwelt for centuries, and about them 
 are perceptible the traces of decayed mag- 
 nificence and the spell of traditional glory 
 and crime. To an imaginatit e traveller, 
 these fanciful attractions often compensate 
 for the absence of substantial merit, and 
 there is something mysterious and win- 
 some in the obsolete architecture and fall- 
 en grandeur of these edifices ; — huge sha- 
 dows glide along the high cornices, the 
 mouldy frescoes look as if they had wit- 
 nessed strange vicissitudes, and the im- 
 agination readily wanders through a se- 
 ries of wonderful experience of which these 
 old palazzi have been the scene. Here as 
 elsewhere in the land, it is the romantic 
 element, the charm of antiquity, that is 
 the redeeming feature. For picturesque 
 beauty of situation, neatness and rural 
 comfort, some of the inns of Switzerland 
 are the most delightful on the Continent, 
 inviting the stranger to linger amid the 
 clear, fresh, and glorious landscape, and 
 relish the sweet butter, white bread, and 
 unri vailed honey and eggs, served so neatly 
 
616 
 
 Inns. 
 
 every morning by a fair mountaineer with 
 snowy cap and gay bodice. 
 
 I am a lover of the woods, and some- 
 times cross the bay, -with a friend, to Long 
 Island, and pass a few hours in the strip 
 of forest that protected our fugitive army 
 at the battle of Flatbush ; there are de- 
 vious and shadowy paths intersecting it, 
 and in spring and autumn the wild flowers, 
 radiant leaves, and balmy stillness, cheer 
 the mind and senses fresh from the dirt 
 and bustle of the city'. Often after one of 
 these woodland excursions we have emerg- 
 ed upon a quiet road, with farm-houses 
 at long intervals and orchards and grain 
 fields adjacent, and followed its course to 
 a village, whose gable-roofed domicile and 
 ancient grave-yard indicate an old settle- 
 ment ; and here is a little inn which re- 
 calls our idea of the primitive English ale- 
 house. It has a little Dutch porch, a 
 sunny garden ; the liquor is served from 
 the square bottles of Holland ; the back 
 parlor is retired and neat, and the landlady 
 sits all day in the window at her sewing, 
 and, when a little acquainted, will tell you 
 ;dl about the love-affairs of the village ; — 
 the cheese and sour-krout at dinner prove 
 a Flemish origin. 
 
 The old sign that hangs at the road- 
 side was brought to this country by 
 an English publican, when the fine arts 
 were supposed to be at so low a stage as 
 to furnish no Dick Tinto equal to such an 
 achievement. It represents the arms of 
 Great Britain, and doubtless beguiled 
 many a trooper of his majesty when Long 
 Island was occupied by the English; no 
 sooner however had they retreated, than 
 the republican villagers forced the land- 
 lord to have an American eagle painted 
 above the king’s escutcheon. Indeed, it is 
 characteristic of inns that they perpetuate 
 local associations ; put your head into an 
 Italian boarding-house in New-York, and 
 the garlic, maccaroni and red wine lead 
 you to think yourself at Naples ; the snuff, 
 dominoes and gazettes mark a French 
 cafe all the world over ; in Montreal you 
 wake up in a room like that you occu- 
 pied at Marseilles ; and at Halifax the 
 malt-liquor is as English as the cur- 
 rency. 
 
 On first entering an inn at Havre de 
 Grace, I found the landlady taking leave of 
 the captain of an American packet ship ; 
 he had paid his bill, not without some re- 
 monstrance. and his smiling hostess, with 
 true French tact, was now in the act of 
 bidding so pleasing a farewell as would 
 lure him to take up his quarters there on 
 the return voyage. She had purchased 
 at the market a handsome bouquet and 
 tied it up jauntily noth ribbons. The 
 ruddy sea-dog face of the captain was half 
 
 [June 
 
 turned aside with a look of impatience at 
 the idea of being inveigled into good na- 
 ture after her extortion, but she, not a 
 whit discouraged, held her flowers up to 
 him, and smiling, with her fair hand on 
 his rough dread-nought overcoat, turned 
 full to his eye a sprig of yellow blossom, 
 and with irresistible naivete whispered — 
 Mon cher Capitaine. e'est immortel 
 comme mon attachment pour vousP It 
 was a little scene worthy of Sterne, and 
 brought the agreeableness and the imposi- 
 tion of the innkeepers of the Continent at 
 once before me. One evening in Florence I 
 was sent for by a countryman who lodged 
 at the most famous hotel in the city, and 
 found him perambulating his apartment 
 under strong excitement of mind. He 
 told me, with much emotion, that the last 
 time he had visited Florence was twenty 
 years before with his young and beautiful 
 wife. The belle of the season that winter 
 was the Marchesa . She gave a mag- 
 
 nificent ball, and in the midst of the fes- 
 tivities took the young American couple 
 into her boudoir and sung to them with 
 her harp ; her vocal talent was celebrated, 
 but it was a rare favor to hear her, and this 
 attention was prized accordingly. “You 
 know.” added my friend, “ that I came 
 abroad to recover the health which grief 
 at my wife’s death so seriously impaired ; 
 and you know how unavailing has proved 
 the experiment. On my arrival here, I 
 inquired for the best inn, and was directed 
 hither ; upon entering this chamber which 
 was assigned me, something in the frescoes 
 and tiles struck me as familiar; they 
 awoke the most vivid associations, and at 
 last I remembered that this is the very 
 room to which the beautiful Marchesa 
 brought us to hear her sing on that mem- 
 orable evening ; the family are dispersed 
 and her palace is rented for a hotel ; hence 
 this coincidence.” 
 
 Not only the vicissitudes but the pres- 
 ent fortunes of European towns are indi- 
 cated by the inns. I arrived at the an- 
 cient Syracuse at sunset on a spring af- 
 ternoon, and dismounted at an inn that 
 looked like an episcopal residence or gov- 
 ernment house, so lofty and broad were 
 the dimensions of the edifice ; but not a 
 person was visible in the spacious court, 
 and as I wandered up the staircases and 
 along the corridors, no sound but the 
 echo of my steps was audible. At length 
 a meagre attendant emerged from an ob- 
 scure chamber and explained that this 
 grand pile was erected in anticipation of 
 the American squadron in the Mediter- 
 ranean making their winter quarters in 
 the harbor of Syracuse ; a project aban- 
 doned at the earnest request of the King 
 of Naples, who dreaded the example of a 
 
Inns. 
 
 1853.] 
 
 republican marine in his realm ; and now 
 so rarely does a visitor appear that the 
 poor lonely waiter was thrown into a fit 
 of surprise, from which he did not recover 
 during my stay. 
 
 To the stranger no more characteristic 
 evidence of our material prosperity and 
 gregarious habits can be imagined than 
 that afforded by the large, showy, and 
 thronged hotels of our principal cities. 
 They are epitomes of the whole country ; 
 at a glance they reveal the era of uphol- 
 stery, the love of ostentation, the tendency 
 to live in herds, and the absence of a sub- 
 dued and harmonious tone of life and 
 manners. The large mirrors and bright 
 carpets which decorate these resorts are 
 entirely incongruous— the brilliancy of the 
 sunshine and the stimulating nature of 
 the climate demands within doors a pre- 
 dominance of neutral tints to relieve and 
 freshen the eye and nerves. The extrav- 
 agant scale upon which these establish- 
 ments are conducted is another national 
 feature, at once indicating the comparative 
 ease with which money is acquired in the 
 New Wor'd, and the passion that exists 
 here for keeping up appearances It would 
 be useful to investigate the influence of 
 hotel life in this country upon manners ; 
 whatever may be the result as to the 
 coarser sex, its effect upon women and 
 children is lamentable, lowering the tone, 
 compromising the taste, and yielding in- 
 cessant and promiscuous excitement to the 
 love of admiration ; the change in the 
 very nature of young girls, thus exposed 
 to an indiscriminate crowd, is rapid and 
 complete ; modesty and refinement are 
 soon lost in over-consciousness and moral 
 hardihood. But perhaps the most singu- 
 lar trait in the American hotel, is the de- 
 ference paid to the landlord: instead of 
 being the servant of the public, he is ap- 
 parently the master ; and a traveller who 
 makes the now rapid transition from a 
 New- York to a Liverpool hotel, might 
 think himself among a different race ; the 
 courteous devotion — almost subserviency 
 in the one case being in total contrast 
 with the nonchalance and even despotism 
 of the other. The prosperous security of 
 the host with us, and the dependence of 
 his guest for any choice of accommodation, 
 is doubtless the most obvious reason for 
 this anomaly ; but it is also, in a degree 
 at least, to be referred to the familiarity 
 with which even gentlemen treat the inn- 
 keepers ; to use a vulgar phrase, they 
 descend to curry favor and minister to the 
 self-esteem of a class of men in whom 
 it is already pampered beyond endurable 
 bounds ; no formula of republican equality 
 justifies this behavior; and it usually 
 reacts unfavorably for the self-respect of 
 
 617 
 
 the individual. Some foreigner remarked 
 with as much truth as irony that our 
 aristocracy consisted of hotel keepers and 
 steamboat captains ; and appearances cer- 
 tainly warrant the sarcasm. It was not 
 always thus. When Washington lodged 
 at the old Walton Mansion House which 
 had been converted to an inn, the old ne- 
 gro who kept it was the ideal of a host ; 
 an air of dignity as well as comfort per- 
 vaded the house ; through the open upper 
 half of the broad door played the sunshine 
 upon the sanded threshold ; at the head of 
 the long easy staircase, ticked the old 
 fashioned clock ; full-length portraits, by 
 Copley, graced the parlor wall ; the old 
 Dutch stoop looked the emblem of hospi- 
 tality ; no angular figures were ranged to 
 squirt tobacco juice ; no pert clerks lorded 
 it from behind a mahogany barricade ; 
 but the glow of the windows at night, the 
 alacrity of the sedate waiter, the few but 
 respectable guests, and the prolonged 
 meals, of which but two or three partook, 
 gave to the inn the character of a home. 
 Lafayette wrote to his wife in 1777, while 
 descanting with enthusiasm upon the sim- 
 plicity of manners in this country : “ the 
 very inns are different from those in Eu- 
 rope ; the host and hostess sit at table 
 with you and do the honors of a comfort- 
 able meal ; and on going away, you pay 
 your fare without higgling.” It is a most 
 significant indication of our devotion to 
 the external, that ovations, at which the 
 legislators of the land discourse, and eulo- 
 gies that fill the columns of the best jour- 
 nals, celebrate the opening of a new 
 tavern or the retirement of a publican. 
 The confined and altitudinous cells into 
 which so many of the complacent victims 
 of these potentates are stowed, and their 
 habits of subserviency to the rules of the 
 house which are perked up on their cham- 
 ber walls, induced a Sicilian friend of mine 
 to complain that sojourners at inns in this 
 land of liberty were treated like friars. 
 The gorgeous luxury of the metropolitan 
 inns is reversed in the small towns, where 
 without the picturesque situation we often 
 find the discomfort of houses of the Conti- 
 nent. It is impossible to conceive any 
 house of entertainment more dreary than 
 some of the stage-houses, as they were 
 called in New England ; the bar-room 
 with an odor of stale rum, the parlor 
 with its everlasting sampler over the fire- 
 place, weeping willow, tombstone and in- 
 scription ; the peacock’s feathers or aspara- 
 gus boughs in the chimney as if in cheer- 
 ful mockery, the looking-glass that reflects 
 every feature awry, the cross lights of the 
 windows, inquisitive loungers, pie-crust 
 like leather, and cheese of mollified oak, 
 — all defied both the senses and digestion, 
 
G18 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 and made the crack of the coachman’s 
 whip a joyful alarum. 
 
 Falstaff absolutely requires the frame 
 of an inn to make his portrait intelligible, 
 with the buxom figure of Mrs. Quickly 
 in the background ; and it may safely be 
 asserted that no public house of entertain- 
 ment has afforded such world-wide mirth 
 as the Boar’s Head, Eastcheap. The 
 freaks of Tony Lumpkin have their natu- 
 ral scope at an ale-house ; and Goldoni’s 
 Locandiera is a fine colloquial piece of 
 real life. Montaigne, philosopher as he 
 is, notes the quality of the inns he visits 
 in his travels, with as much circumspec- 
 tion as that of scenery and tradition ; 
 and the most eloquent of England’s histo- 
 rians cites the superior inns that existed 
 in the range of travel there, during the 
 early part of the seventeenth century, as 
 a reliable evidence of the prosperity and 
 civil advancement of the nation. These 
 inns are in fact the original retreats for 
 “ freedom and comfort” whence our plea- 
 sant ideas on the subject are derived ; 
 they still exist in some of the rural dis- 
 tricts of the kingdom ; and the cleanliness, 
 good fare and retirement of the old-fash- 
 ioned English inn, as well as the freshness 
 and urbanity of the host, wholly justify 
 their renown. The exigencies of the cli- 
 mate and the domestic habits of the peo- 
 ple explain this superiority; where so 
 much enjoyment is sought within doors, 
 and the national character is reserved and 
 individual, better provision is naturally 
 made both for the physical well-being 
 and the privacy of the wayfarer than is 
 required under less inclement skies and 
 among a more vivacious and social race. 
 
 A most characteristic note of Boswell’s 
 
 [June 
 
 is that which records his idol’s hearty en- 
 comiums on a tavern, while dining at one 
 in London ; both the man and the place 
 then combined to realize the perfection of 
 the idea, for that dim and multitudinous 
 city invites to secluded conviviality, and 
 that irritable, dogmatic, yet epicurean sage 
 required the liberty of speech, an abso- 
 lute deference and the solid physical com- 
 forts so easily obtained at a London tav- 
 ern. There he could make “ inarticulate, 
 animal noises over his food ” without re- 
 straint ; there he could bring only such 
 companions as would bear to be contra- 
 dicted, and there he could refresh body 
 and mind without fear of intrusion from 
 a printer’s devil or needy author. Bores 
 and duns away, a good listener by, sur- 
 rounded with pleasant viands and a cheer- 
 ful blaze, a man so organized and situa- 
 ted might, without extravagance, call a 
 tavern chair the throne of human felicity, 
 and quote Shenstone’s praise of Inns with 
 rapture. Beneath this jovial appreciation, 
 however, there lurks a sad inference ; it 
 argues a homeless lot, for lonely or un- 
 genial must be the residence, contrast 
 ■with which renders an inn so attractive : 
 and we must bear in mind that the win- 
 some aspect they wear in English litera- 
 ture is based on their casual and tempo- 
 rary enjoyment ; it is as recreative, not 
 abiding places, that they are usually intro- 
 duced ; and, in an imaginative point of 
 view, our sense of the appropriate is grat- 
 ified by these landmarks of our preca- 
 rious destiny, for we are but “ pilgrims 
 and sojourners on the earth.” Jeremy 
 Taylor compared human fife to an inn, 
 and Archbishop Leighton used to say he 
 would prefer to die in one. 
 
 MISS PECK’S FRIEND. 
 
 A NOVEL IN TEN CHAPTERS. 
 Continued from page 546. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 rjf WHICH THERE IS SOME ACTING IN THE FRENCH VAU- 
 DEVILLE FASHION. 
 
 S has been said, it was Miss Rosette 
 herself who called her partner’s atten- 
 tion across the room to Miss Amelia, sit- 
 ting, demure and unentertained, on the 
 sofa. Mamselle had been very well pleased 
 to be made a confidante, in any degree, 
 and had not quarrelled with Amelia on 
 the suspicion of having known Kutridge 
 prior to the chance encounter at her (Miss 
 Peck’s) cousin’s, although she thought, 
 under the circumstances of the case (the 
 
 flowers, vases, and so on), nothing more 
 likely. “Perhaps it is a long ago chil- 
 dren’s love,” the amiable little brunette ar- 
 gued, “and poor Amelia is ashamed to ac- 
 knowledge it. And, of course, in such a case, 
 after a separation of years and years, she 
 may be said to have met him as a real lover, 
 for the first time.” So, in the guilelessness 
 of her heart, she never wearied talking over 
 her friend’s good qualities and accomplish- 
 ments. It was by Mademoiselle’s persua- 
 sions Amelia was brought to the piano, and 
 when her mauvaise honte caused her to 
 bungle in a piece, “ she knew par occur," as 
 
1853.] 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 619 
 
 Madame remarked to herself, with a shrug ; 
 her quick-witted friend relieved her em- 
 barrassment by declaring, they were too 
 much accustomed to playing together to 
 get along happily alone, and sat down 
 to a lively duet. Rutridge, so that he 
 might listen and put in a word or note of 
 admiration here and there, was content to 
 let her rattle on upon any subject what- 
 ever ; and, like Mr. Augustus Twitty. lit- 
 tle dreamed of what proportion of Mile. 
 Bonair’s sociability and good-nature was 
 traceable to the error of supposing him 
 who adored her, and her only, in the se- 
 cret depths of his heart, the accepted lover 
 of her precious Amelia. 
 
 “Look there,” Ma’mselle said, at one 
 stage of their conversation, “isn’t that 
 water-color drawing well done? Don’t 
 you know who did it ? ” 
 
 “ No, ” Rutridge answered, looking at 
 the framed and glazed prodigy of art with 
 interest drawn from a different source 
 from the one the pretty speaker intended, 
 “ but I think I recognize the house. ” 
 “ Think ! why it’s the very image of our 
 convent, as the girls call it — and Amelia 
 did it, ” Ma’mselle cried ; and “ Did she, ” 
 our hero said, quite unmoved. 
 
 “ What a cold-blooded man ! ” was Ro- 
 sette’s secret comment ; “ why. if I had 
 been in his place, I’d have taken it down 
 and kissed it. I’ve a great mind to do so 
 myself, just to shame him.” And she 
 looked at Mr. Edward, who added, with 
 a smile — “ At all events this window, the 
 second from the gable, I remember ; I saw 
 you, one day, looking from it as I passed, 
 and calling to somebody in the shrubbery 
 below. ” 
 
 “ Oh, I dare say it was Amy then you 
 saw ; you could not recognize any body 
 else so far from the street, ” cried Made- 
 moiselle. “ But I was not in the street, ” 
 our hero rejoined, coloring a little, “ but 
 at a friend’s house opposite, which com- 
 manded a better view. And, as for mis- 
 taking- (with a glance towards unhappy 
 Miss Peck), I ought to be served as Saint 
 Somebody was, and have my eyes put out, 
 if I did.” 
 
 “ You are not good enough to be served 
 as a saint — how often do you come to 
 watch us from your friend’s opposite ? ” 
 said Miss Rosette. 
 
 “ How often ? What a question ! I 
 do assure you, Ma’mselle, it was quite an 
 accidental visit; I would not have gone 
 there for the sake of playing spy. ” 
 
 “ Parole d'honneur? ” cried Mademoi- 
 selle, holding up a warning finger, and our 
 hero repeated, “ Parol de honneur, ” with 
 something more than doubtful pronuncia- 
 tion. “And,” he added candidly, with a 
 pleasant laugh, “ If I had been oftener in 
 
 hearing, I would have learned to speak 
 better French, perhaps.” at which bon 
 mot Miss Rosette laughed too, and confi- 
 dence was re-established. 
 
 It would have been better if it had not 
 been ; if Miss Rosette had shown less for- 
 giveness, and chatted, and laughed, and 
 flirted less, under the eyes of her too trust- 
 ful friend ; was what Miss Amelia Peck 
 thought and said, through tears, that 
 night, in their chamber, when the brunette 
 had frankly repeated much that passed. 
 Miss Amelia had sought her pillow in a 
 mood as savage as a young lady of her 
 complexion was capable of, and feeling 
 very miserable and headachy withal. 
 The evening— the first of her “dearest 
 duck’s” companionship, and moreover, by 
 an apparently delightful coincidence, the 
 very one Mr. Rutridge should choose for 
 his first visit — had dragged through its 
 dull length in the unentertaining society 
 of Mr. Augustus Twitty, and left nothing 
 but various jealous pangs and hitherto 
 unknown doubts of her friend and quasi 
 lover behind. For which sufficient rea- 
 sons it happened that Mademoiselle, being 
 detained on the way by Madame, to be 
 reminded of what, at the present stage of 
 this story, the reader has no business 
 knowing, and entering their chamber a 
 few moments later than her bedfellow, 
 found that susceptible young lady in the 
 lowest possible spirits, and fixedly regard- 
 ing the candle with very humid eyes. At 
 sight of which the Parisienne, going down 
 on her knees at her friend’s feet, and clasp- 
 ing one limp hand, asked, “Was she un- 
 well?” 
 
 “No, I’m not sick — I’m — I’m — very un- 
 h-appy, ” Miss Amelia returned, choking a 
 sob, and continuing to look at the calulle, 
 which became a prodigy of flame and scin- 
 tillations, while a tear-drop was gathering 
 bulk, preparatory to rolling slowly down 
 her cheek. 
 
 “ Mafoi , unhappy ! ” Rosette exclaimed 
 simply, “ and Ir. Rutridge in the room 
 all the evening! ’’ 
 
 “ He might Lave been on another con- 
 tinent, ” was the ungracious answer, “ for 
 any thing he said to me ; I didn’t hear 
 him speak six words the whole evening, 
 and a certain person knows why. ” 
 
 “ Why. I’m sure I did every thing I 
 could to induce him to talk to you instead 
 of me ; but he is so timid — no, not that ; 
 so — I don’t know precisely what — that he 
 wouldn’t take the hint, ” Mademoiselle 
 said with more truth than diplomacy. 
 
 “ Oh, of course ; you wanted him to leave 
 you ; you didn’t seem to enjoy flirting 
 with — with him at all!” our heroine re- 
 torted, addressing herself, as before, to the 
 candle, with cutting sarcasm. 
 
620 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 [June 
 
 “ Oh Amy ! ” said her guest reproach- 
 fully, and got up from her knees. 
 
 “ It wasn’t ” Miss Amy returned “ as if 
 you knew nothing about my state of feel- 
 ings, as if you were a stranger to what 
 has occurred and may occur in the future. 
 / never would have abused a friend’s con- 
 fidence, and for the sport of an hour, 
 lacerated the bosom that — still clings to — 
 to ” — 
 
 “ It’s a shame to abuse me so causeless- 
 ly ” poor Rosette cried, her own bright 
 eyes becoming misty: and straightway 
 recounted pretty nearly their whole con- 
 versation. 
 
 But Miss Peck whose disposition like 
 that of most weak people was not one 
 quick to forgive, expressed her views as 
 recorded above, touching the re-establish- 
 ment of confidence between her friend 
 and Mr. Edward ; and the pair retired to 
 rest with widely different emotions from 
 any they had anticipated a few hours 
 earlier. 
 
 Now it being an established rule in all 
 tales and novels, that the party doing an 
 injustice, if for the first time an offender, 
 cannot sleep peacefully, but must toss and 
 turn and be harassed into making restitu- 
 tion — Miss Amelia Peck after a night of 
 dismal dreaming no doubt, awoke long 
 before her chum, and being cooler and 
 more open to conviction, reviewed her last 
 night’s conduct and felt — as might well 
 be — both ashamed and penitent. After 
 all was not such modesty as Mr. R. had 
 shown, in shrinking from approaching her 
 in the highest degree touching and com- 
 mendable 1 poor fellow, no doubt he was 
 thinking of his throwing the verses over 
 the wall (for that stupid cross-eyed Twitty 
 should not persuade her he ever wrote 
 them — it was a fib, that it was. Although 
 she had believed his indirect assertion at 
 the moment) and tormenting himself with 
 the idea of her regarding it as a liberty ; 
 and certainly her manner to him at the 
 piano was rather cold — l ut not through 
 disapproval — no — no! was the sum of 
 Miss Amelia’s reflections. 
 
 Mademoiselle Rosette too had slept 
 lightly and woke early with the conscious- 
 ness of something unpleasant on her mind. 
 She had been hurt and repulsed the night 
 before by Miss Amy’s ungrateful suspi- 
 cions, more than offended by any lack of 
 hospitality on the part of her room-mate, 
 and with her first waking thoughts en- 
 deavored to lose that ill impression, in the 
 memory of their friendship so lately set 
 forth in glowing colors, in the very affec- 
 tionate and confidential epistle received 
 from Amelia the week before leaving 
 town. And there being in this letter a 
 passage which especially lived in her 
 
 memory at the moment, and haunted her 
 mind. Mademoiselle softly made her demi- 
 toilette, and getting it noiselessly from 
 her trunk tray, was seated on the edge of 
 the French bedstead reading of, “ those 
 sweet confidences while closeted together 
 in their own little duck of a chamber,” 
 when Miss Amelia, who had been reading 
 disconsolately over her shoulder, borne 
 down by the weight of remorse, put her 
 arms around her once more dearest friend 
 and besought forgiveness. And if the 
 Major had been able to form the least 
 conception of the tragic pathos of that 
 reconciliation, instead of being in utter 
 ignorance of its occurrence, or even of any 
 call for it — his conduct that morning in 
 place of seeming merely cruel, would have 
 partaken of incredible barbarity. 
 
 “ By George ! ” — was his ejaculation at 
 sight of the young ladies entering the 
 breakfast room, with their usual appear- 
 ance of indivisibility. “ Here we are, for 
 all the world like the Siamese twins. I 
 suppose you don’t know what to do with 
 3 ' our superfluous arm, when Miss Rosette 
 aint here to put it round, eh Mely ? ” 
 
 “ Young ladies always know what to 
 do with their hands, thank you Sir ” com- 
 monplace Miss Amelia returned with a 
 fashionable curtsey. 
 
 “ Oh do they ” — answered the Major, 
 “I wonder who pulled them tassels off 
 the sofa cushions last night.” 
 
 'A curious little conversation ensued 
 the following morning at Rutridge’s break- 
 fast table, which may be worth recording 
 here ; though the only excuse to be offer- 
 ed for the part taken in it by our hero, is 
 that he was as much in love himself, as 
 Twitty was. but not with the same young 
 lad}'. “It is time to ride over to Cypress- 
 hall.” Twitty’s host had said, “ the girls 
 will pay an early visit to the Major’s, they 
 told me to escape the sun. The fact is 
 they did’nt want to go, but I persuaded 
 them into it, and after putting off the fete 
 for the purpose of having Miss Peck — a 
 thing they protested against at the start 
 — they couldn’t well avoid calling. If 
 they are my own sisters I must say they 
 are a devilish deal too proud.” 
 
 “ Why Miss Peck’s family is connected 
 with the Parrotts and Gossimers and I 
 don’t know who all ” Twitty put in, as- 
 suming the championship as an enamored 
 knight-errant of this or any other century 
 should. 
 
 “ Oh, to be sure I believe they are — and 
 then the Major’s such a jovial good-tem- 
 pered old fellow, it’s hard to visit his 
 father’s sins (who was a tramping peddler 
 or some such thing I’ve heard) upon him. 
 And if he doesn’t talk drawing-room 
 English at all times, a scholar, and an 
 
1853.] 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 621 
 
 author like you Twit, must be lenient 
 you know,” cried Mr. Edward, perceiving 
 the rather inexcusable slip of the tongue, 
 he had made and adroitly pushing forward 
 a pawn — or in other words Mr. Augustus’ 
 self-love — to save the Queen. 
 
 IVus he a peddler — hm ! I never heard 
 that,” Tw'itty said discontentedly seizing 
 upon precisely the least prominent part 
 of what his friend had just uttered ; for 
 Rutridge had dropped his voice at the 
 parenthesis. 
 
 “ What if he were — pho man ! — Miss 
 Peck isn’t a shade less pretty or interest- 
 ing is she?” his host rejoined senten- 
 tiously. 
 
 “ N — o ” Mr Augustus made slow an- 
 swer. — But although he spoke in the 
 negative it was not until he came again 
 into the presence of his inamorata that 
 the trifling chill his passion had suffered 
 in hearing those unlucky words quite wore 
 away : for poor Twitty, newspaper poet 
 as he was belonged to that too numerous 
 class of petty hangers on to grand names, 
 who with nothing special in the way of 
 birth to boast of, brag unconscionably of 
 the society they are entitled to keep. 
 Although to be sure, if it ever be expe- 
 dient in a man of his or any other station, 
 to fall down and worship it is when about 
 to be introduced, as he and the reader now 
 are, to the very next society. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WHICH OUGHT TO BE VERY GENTEEL. 
 
 The Misses Rutridge were in no great 
 hurry to be off, nor even made their ap- 
 pearance for half an hour after then- 
 brother’s entering the house. Indeed, one 
 of them, Miss Harriet, was finishing a 
 novel in her own room, and chose to 
 wait until the final page was reached, and 
 the book closed with as wide a yawn as 
 a small mouth could accomplish, before 
 undoing her curlpapers preparatory to 
 making a toilette ; “ Ned can wait,” was 
 her comment on her own clilatoriness. 
 ” What the mischief has he brought that 
 man here so early for. I almost wish we 
 hadn’t promised to put off our fete for 
 those Peck people’s guests, it’s such a bore 
 to go and see people you don’t care for. 
 He’s a good fellow though, and deserves 
 to be spoiled sometimes, and I suppose he 
 wants to get the votes of Major P. and 
 his set for next legislature. Oh, well, if 
 I must dress, I suppose I must ; I wonder 
 what’s become of Hetty.” 
 
 Miss Hetty, or Miss Henrietta, was in 
 a position to be wondered about just then. 
 Her forte was gardening, a sort of mania 
 which seized her every spring, and lasted 
 about six weeks, impelling a daily descent 
 
 after breakfast, into the labyrinth of beds 
 behind the shrubbery, there to weed and 
 plant, with gauntlets on the hands, which 
 a little before had been gloved in snowy 
 Idd, at the St. Cecilia’s ; and it was while 
 returning to the house by the back piazza 
 and lingering to pull the dead leaves from 
 her geraniums, arranged on their tiers of 
 steps against the wall, that Mr. Edward 
 Rutridge and his guest made good their 
 entrance from the front. Of course, to be 
 seen in that old calico and slouched sun- 
 bonnet, and with such begrimed hands, 
 was a thing out of the question, even by 
 “ that goose,” as she denominated poor 
 Twitty. Yet here was she caught fairly 
 between the passage door, which was wide 
 open, and the back window of the double 
 drawing-room, which was also open. If 
 that stupid brother Edward, she thought, 
 would only seat his acquaintance rational- 
 ly and keep him company, or leave him 
 awhile to entertain himself, she would be 
 enabled to run up stairs to her room. 
 But no, there they must stand talking 
 and sauntering round, and it was ten to 
 one, would finish, by sallying out and find- 
 ing her where she was. If she could 
 only reach the end of the piazza, though, 
 she might motion one of the servants to 
 close the drawing-room door. So Miss 
 Henrietta, being a girl of spirit and de- 
 cision, glided noiselessly by, under cover 
 of the sill of the old fashioned window. 
 
 Now by the stress of a pervading ill 
 luck, which guides the fates of some men, 
 of whom Mr. Augustus Twitty was one, 
 that young gentleman had but an instant 
 before the commencement of Miss Hetty’s 
 secret progress, cast his oblique vision on 
 the flowering branch of geranium, which 
 grew in full view, and said something 
 about its beauty and possible valuation. 
 
 “ Oh no,” his friend answered laughing, 
 “they are Henrietta’s, but she does not 
 care so much for them as all that ; and 
 my dear fellow, if you want a bouquet for 
 somebody, we wont mention, just step out 
 here and help yourself.” And forthwith 
 led Mr. Augustus into the back piazza, 
 where, “ Why, Hetty ! ” our hero exclaim- 
 ed much surprised, and then began laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 Miss Hetty’s employment, at the mo- 
 ment, was certainly rather confidential, 
 than intended for the public eye ; she had 
 telegraphed a broad-faced wench, from 
 the kitchen steps, and was now endeavor- 
 ing by simple pantomime, over the balus- 
 ters to convey an idea of her need ; but 
 Juno only turned up her blank counten- 
 ance, and shook her turbaned head slowly 
 in reply, as totally incompetent to divine 
 the purport of the mysterious signs. It 
 has been said however, Miss Hetty was 
 
622 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 a girl of character, and had pride enough 
 in all conscience, to front a dozen Twittys. 
 
 “ Pooh ! who cares ! ” was her soliloquy ; 
 and the low how of Mr. Augustus was 
 received with as much repose, since it was 
 no longer to be avoided, as if she had been 
 in full ball attire. 
 
 “I — we thought of gathering a little 
 bouquet from your flower-stand here,” 
 Twit uttered with more confusion. “ Oh 
 certainly — let me choose some for you; 
 they call them mine, but I dont prize 
 them ; ” our queen answered with such an 
 air of delightful condescension, that when 
 she went up stairs a minute after, quite 
 lightly and gracefully too, all things con- 
 sidered that worshipper of native aristo- 
 cracy, C. Augustus Twitty would have 
 staked liis word upon it, Miss Rutridge 
 was suitably costumed, and no doubt mis- 
 took the dingy sun-bonnet, hung over 
 her arm, for a hood of the latest fashion. 
 He hinted as much not long after in one 
 of his letters from “ Our Country Cor- 
 respondent ” published in the Transcript, 
 recounting V iator’s visit to the St. J ude 
 Estates, whose proprietor’s names he al- 
 ways printed out in capitals, and spoke 
 of as “My friend so-and-so; ” a cheap way 
 of returning hospitality which made people 
 shy of entertaining him ever after. He 
 had the grace, however, when discoursing 
 of ladies, to write them with a dash thus : 
 
 Miss H a R ; and Miss II a 
 
 R , when that especial letter was pub- 
 
 lished, showed the allusion with some 
 words of depreciation to Miss H— — t 
 
 R , who indignantly pointed them out 
 
 to her father, who waxed wroth, and call- 
 ed “Viator” a “rascally penny-a-liner,” 
 and rode over to his son’s place with the 
 paper in his pocket, purposely to express 
 his opinion again. And our hero having 
 less pride and more good-nature, perhaps, 
 laughed, and called the author a “silly 
 fellow who did his best to please, though, 
 and ought not to he hardly used for mis- 
 taking his vocation.” “Mistake or not, 
 sir,” the old gentleman said with a big 
 oath; “ he’ll not have an invitation to dine 
 at my table again, sir ! ” and rode hack 
 home in a fume. 
 
 The Misses Rutridge were young ladies 
 of imposing figure when they at length 
 made their appearance together, and 
 Twitty felt he was in the presence of the 
 gods, and was proportionately reverent 
 and complimentary. “You must miss 
 those delightful excitements of the dance 
 and theatrical performances which give 
 zest to city life in February,” he said in 
 his elaborate way to Miss Harriet, when 
 they were all seated in the carriage. 
 
 “Yes, hut one cannot dance all the 
 while,” Miss Harriet returned, indifier- 
 
 [June 
 
 ently ; “ so it’s as well party-giving 
 doesn’t last all the year round.” 
 
 “ I had the honor to see you waltzing 
 once or twice,” Mr. Augustus resumed, 
 “ and if we were living in mythological 
 times, I would have taken you to he 
 Tepsichore herself.” 
 
 “ Twit flatters himself he’s said a neat 
 thing,” Rutridge commented, looking out 
 on his side to conceal a smile, and Miss 
 Harriet glanced at the poet with some- 
 thing between contempt and amusement. 
 “ I adore any thing classical,” she said, 
 presently; “hut isn’t Clio nearer your 
 mark, Mr. Twitty? We all know you 
 write charmingly sentimental verses — 
 now do tell us how it is done.” 
 
 “ Humph ! she’s going to quiz him ! ” 
 her brother conjectured, and was not far 
 wrong. And in truth our friend Augus- 
 tus gave himself up so easily to the in- 
 quisition, and disclosed with such slight 
 reservation the method of his rather small 
 aspirations after literary fame, that it was 
 not much wonder Miss Hatty indulged her 
 unamiable humor until the better disposed 
 Henrietta interfered. “He’s a foolish 
 fellow,” that young lady thought, “ hut 
 he would he less garrulous, perhaps, if 
 he knew what sport Harriet will make 
 of his conceit behind his back.” So she 
 said not unkindly — “Have you known 
 the family we are going to see, long, Mr. 
 Twitty?— the daughter, Miss Peck, is 
 tolerably good-looking.” And our literary 
 friend fell into the snare, and abandoned 
 his defence of his favorite theme of liter- 
 ature to take up the cudgels in mainten- 
 ance of his lady-love’s charms. 
 
 “ Miss Peck is thought quite hand- 
 some,” he rejoined ; “I saw her portrait 
 in a painter’s studio last winter, and took 
 it for St. Cecilia — or one of the Graces.” 
 
 “ And I daresay wrote some verses on 
 the subject and gave them to her,” Har- 
 riet cried, laughing; “confess you did, Mr. 
 Twitty.” “ No — that is — I did not give 
 them to her,” Twit said rather equivo- 
 cally, for the verses he had thrown over 
 the wall in Huguenot-street were the 
 identical ones. 
 
 “ Perhaps I saw her to disadvantage,” 
 Henrietta resumed. “It was at the 
 Joynses, where the windows are withotft 
 curtains at present, and it was quite a 
 glaring day.” 
 
 “ Oh, you should see her of an even- 
 ing ! ” Augustus uttered with a lively re- 
 collection of the tete-a-tete on the sofa. 
 “I think her much prettier than Rut- 
 ridge’s favorite — although, I suppose, he 
 won’t agree with me.” 
 
 “ My favorite ! ” — our hero cried, with 
 a sorry attempt at appearing surprised, 
 and coloring a little. 
 
1853.] 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 623 
 
 “ I didn’t know he had any,” Hetty 
 exclaimed with curiosity, and Harriet 
 drew up her snowy neck and looked at 
 her brother, who construed the glance 
 readily enough into a disavowal in his 
 name of any attachment being possible 
 1 between a Rutridge and any of that 
 Peck set.’ 
 
 “ Confound it, Twit,” he answered, 
 laughing, with some sense of annoyance 
 though. “ You poets make all the world 
 in love. I suppose I may regard Made- 
 moiselle Bonair with the admiration 
 every man of taste must feel for a pretty 
 girl — and (he added maliciously) by Jove 
 she is much prettier as a brunette, than 
 Miss Peck is as a blonde, and Hetty here 
 may judge between us.” 
 
 ‘‘May I?” Henrietta said from the 
 back seat, which of course commanded a 
 view ahead. “ Here are the young ladies 
 themselves I suppose, seated under an 
 oak in the avenue.” Upon which Made- 
 moiselle’s admirer put out his head to 
 see for himself, he murmured, although it 
 was possible he preferred Miss Harriet’s 
 observation should be directed elsewhere 
 than to his face, at the thrilling moment 
 of encountering those vivacious French 
 eyes. 
 
 Mademoiselle and Miss Amelia were 
 visible some yards in advance, in act of 
 rising from the turf bordering the car- 
 riage road, upon which they had been re- 
 clining like two shepherdesses in attitudes 
 of undoubted ease, if questionable grace. 
 The sudden entrance of the guests to the 
 avenue gate, had evidently startled them, 
 and after a moment’s consultation both 
 young ladies turned and took their way 
 slowly, book in hand, in the direction of 
 the house. 
 
 “ I think we had better get out when 
 we overtake them and walk to the house 
 in company,” Mr. Edward suggested to 
 the party in the carriage ; from a disin- 
 terested motive of courtesy to the party 
 outside, of course. 
 
 “We can’t well drive by without stop- 
 ping, I suppose,” Henrietta acquiesced : 
 but the elder sister opposed the measure. 
 “ There are two drives,” was her superci- 
 lious counsel, “ one on either side the 
 lawn in front of the house ; we have only 
 to take the left, since they have followed 
 the right. Poh ! I don’t see why you 
 should make such a fuss about such 
 people — they are not so easily offended.” 
 “ Such people ! ” our hero retorted man- 
 fully. “ You are a deuced deal too haughty 
 a girl, in my notion, Hatty. I’d like to 
 know what sort of people your great- 
 grandfathers were before the Revolution. 
 Why, the Governor himself was only a 
 ploughboy, as Cincinnatus was before 
 
 him ! I beg your pardon Twitty, for I 
 know you admire what is called our aris- 
 tocracy, but truth will out sometimes — 
 wont you get down with rpe 1 I’ll walk, 
 if the girls wont.” 
 
 But our friend Augustus although in a 
 sweet twitter of love and confusion at the 
 thought of his Amelia’s being so near, 
 was obliged to decline his host’s invita- 
 tion, having rather hastily assented to 
 the first part of Harriet’s speech, and 
 wanting courage to retract. He was on 
 the whole, too, rather inclined to stand by 
 the young ladies and take part against 
 Rutridge, whom he almost despised in his 
 heart for superlative honesty. “ It’s the 
 first I ever heard of their being less than 
 tip top,” he thought, “ and I would not 
 know it now but for Rut’s gabble. If I 
 had been free to choose, I have no doubt I 
 might have made Miss Hatty here, Mrs. 
 Twitty ; for my great-grandfather was 
 better than a ploughboy, I’ll be sworn.” 
 
 So Rutridge was set down at the junc- 
 tion of the two drives, and left, nothing 
 loth, to perform his devoirs alone. 
 
 The two Inseparables walking and con- 
 versing, affected unconsciousness of their 
 being pursued, up to the very moment our 
 hero doffed his hat, and expressed his 
 pleasure at the meeting. “ I suppose you 
 were in the carriage, sir, we saw just 
 now ; ” Miss Amelia managed to remark, 
 for she was blushing like a whole bed of 
 roses, and spoke very faintly. 
 
 “I beg pardon,” Rutridge replied across 
 Mademoiselle, at whose side he was walk- 
 ing, although the breadth of the road was 
 to the left of Miss Amelia, “ did you ask 
 who were in the carriage ? ” and Made- 
 moiselle explained, adding, “ But you may 
 tell who were in it, though.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said Edward, “ my two sisters 
 and Mr. Twitty, a devoted admirer, I be- 
 lieve, of Miss Peck.” On which Miss P. 
 cried, “ Not of me, I declare and Made- 
 moiselle said mischievously : 
 
 “ Why Amy, you know he didn’t utter 
 a word to any one else last evening ! Is 
 not that sufficient proof of devotion, Mr. 
 Rutridge '? ” 
 
 “ I think so — it was what I naturally 
 founded my opinion on. But, of course, 
 Miss Peck knows best.” 
 
 “ And Rosette knows it too. I wasn’t 
 in the least amused by what he said. I’m 
 sure I never read his verses in the news- 
 paper.” 
 
 “ No ! nor in MS. either, supposing he 
 played the knight-errant and performed a 
 venturous feat 1 ” 
 
 “ Mr. Twitty a knight-errant ! ” Amelia 
 cried with a forced laugh, but feeling very 
 miserable on a sudden. She knows some- 
 thing about those hateful verses,” she 
 
624 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 thought ; “ it wasn’t he that threw them 
 over, but that T witty, and he supposes 
 I’m in love with him.” 
 
 “ Ma foi — if Amy should go into hys- 
 terics in the open road it would be fright- 
 ful,” was the reflection of Mademoiselle 
 hearing the laugh ; and remembering her 
 friend’s predisposition to jealousy, held 
 up her finger to Mr. Edward. “ Oh for 
 shame ! ” Mademoiselle said as much with 
 her eyes as lips, and went over coquet- 
 ishly to the other side of her chum. But 
 our hero felt very happy, and chatted, and 
 inclined to be agreeable to everybody, and 
 made another attempt at conversation 
 with Miss Amy. “The country must 
 be rather dull to you Miss Peck,” he be- 
 gan, rather puzzled what to say to a young 
 lady so bashful as his neighbor, “ especi- 
 ally after going to dozens of parties, in 
 town. I bear a delightful remembrance 
 of one I attended, for there it was I made 
 your acquaintance” — and so paved the 
 way to an intimacy with this angel, was 
 the mental addition. 
 
 “ That was the only one sir, I attended,” 
 Miss Amelia said softly, with a some- 
 what quickened pulsation. “ He remem- 
 bers the meeting as well as I do, and I 
 dare say dreams of it over and over, the 
 dear handsome fellow ! ” she considered. 
 
 “ Yes, you were still under Madame’s 
 rule then. Madame Mere, I suppose, looks 
 upon you all as so many daughters, and 
 allows you to be gay only now and then. 
 I have the highest respect and admiration 
 for Madame personally, independent of 
 her reputation and high-bred suavity of 
 manner.” 
 
 “ Ala foi ! I wonder if he’s making sport 
 of mamma,” Mademoiselle conjectured 
 with a quick glance at the speaker ; but 
 his countenance expressed any thing rather 
 than insincerity. “Why, what can you 
 know of Madame 1 ?” she asked directly 
 with a pleasant laugh. 
 
 “ One may greatly admire, and be able 
 to lay claim to very recent acquaintance,” 
 our hero replied coloring, “ and a friend- 
 ship does not begin always with a formal 
 introduction ; dont you think with me ? ” 
 
 “ I — I — dont know. Are you speaking 
 of Madame ? ” Mademoiselle said, meeting 
 Rutridge’s eyes for a brief instant ; and then 
 a red spot burned in the brunette’s cheek, 
 and she turned away her face abruptly, 
 and bit her lip. ‘It cannot be, it cannot 
 be;” she thought vehemently; “where 
 could he ever have seen me to know!” 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ICC WHICH THE ACTORS COME DOWN' TO THE FOOTLIGHTS. 
 
 Our old friend Madame Mere had come 
 down in a rustling silk and wonderful cap, 
 
 [June 
 
 inclined to be grandly polite and friendly to 
 the Misses Rutridge (pensionnaires of the 
 establishment some years back), and found 
 Twitty amusing himself pulling the ears 
 of Bijou on the rug, who snarled and 
 snapped innocuously at his tormentor’s 
 fingers. This alone was enough to put 
 Madame out of humor — Mr. Augustus, 
 as is known, being no favorite of hers — 
 but when Miss Harriet, whose pride was 
 in nowise overawed by her brother’s re- 
 primand, but rather piqued, recognized 
 the old lady rather formally, and hoped 
 her school in the city was flourishing. 
 Bijou’s mistress took snuff, and ejaculated. 
 “ Ma foi ! yes — we have quite recovered 
 from that little scene with your uncle, 
 my dear.” 
 
 The uncle referred to, was the black 
 sheep of the Rutridge family, a gentleman, 
 to speak plainly, who frequented the 
 drinking saloons, and was to be seen at 
 most hours of the day and evening emerg- 
 ing from the door of one or other of them, 
 with a flushed countenance and shocking 
 bad hat. It chanced that having con- 
 ceived a maudlin attachment for Miss 
 Harriet and Henrietta above all the rest 
 of his relations, he one day persisted in 
 paying them a visit at Madame's, and on 
 a refusal to admit him, had proclaimed 
 his social standing and rights of relation- 
 ship and affection to a motley audience 
 collected about the wicket. “ I’m a Rut- 
 ridge,” he said, swaying about and speak- 
 ing thickly ; “I belong to the best family 
 in the States ; ” and much more to the 
 same purpose ; and his harangue being 
 delivered in a high key, and distinctly 
 audible to the Misses R. and other joung 
 ladies within, as was likewise the cheer 
 drawn from half a dozen dry throats by 
 the decayed gentleman’s offer to treat — 
 made the mention of their uncle’s name 
 in connection with that “ little scene,” a 
 sore subject for his aristocratic nieces 
 ever after. 
 
 It was for this reason a cause of con- 
 gratulation all around that Mrs. Peck, — 
 brisk, chatty, good-humored, unobser- 
 vant Mrs. Peck, — should enter the draw- 
 ing room at the precise moment when the 
 scornful glance of the elder sister, gave 
 token of no pleasant retort hanging poised, 
 like Jove’s thunder, on the curl of her 
 well chiselled lip. 
 
 “ Dear gracious,” the good lady cried, 
 after shakiDg hands, nolens volens, with 
 the visitors, “you haven’t been standing 
 all this time 7 Do sit down, Mr. Twitty. 
 here’s an arm chair for you. I just 
 stopped a minute in the pantry, to get 
 some of these cheese-cakes hot from the 
 oven, for I know what appetites a ride 
 gives young people. The Major’s so fond 
 
Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 625 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 of cheese-cakes, I see to making them 
 myself most always.” And so stopped 
 the mouth of pride with the best of all 
 arguments in like cases — an appeal to the 
 animal instincts. Miss Harriet’s haugh- 
 tiness subsided under the motherly solici- 
 tation of her hostess to taste for herself 
 if they were not good ; and having tasted 
 she was obliged to admit they were, and 
 did it in not an ungracious way. Madame 
 also found it inconvenient to keep her 
 chin in that majestic position and enjoy 
 her lunch, and in consequence became 
 every moment less Medusaish ; even Bijou 
 mumbled his morsel and forgot his ears. 
 
 While affairs were in this harmonious 
 condition Mr. Edward made his appear- 
 ance with the young ladies, all three in 
 capital spirits ; lie had been enlivening 
 the latter part of the way with college 
 anecdotes, and now took a seat by Ma- 
 dame and related to her the best of them, 
 at which indeed they were laughing as 
 they came in. His manner too was so 
 respectful and vivacious, that the old 
 Frenchwoman confirmed her opinion of 
 his being a very pleasant and proper 
 young fellow — un fiomme sans auclace 
 — and told him as much. 
 
 “ Has my sister Hetty been climbing 
 the genealogical tree ? ” he said laughing, 
 in an aside, rightly judging Madame’s re- 
 mark from its tone, to be comparative of 
 its kind. 
 
 “ Mafoi , mon cher ” — Madame made an- 
 swer, applying to her usual comforter the 
 gift of the Countess. “ Mademoiselle Rut- 
 ridge absolutely condescended to courtesy 
 to me and ask after my school.” 
 
 “ Did she ?” Rutridge returned. “ She is 
 much more reserved than Hetty, and 
 makes fewer friends. I think Hetty and 
 Mademoiselle Bonair will fall in love with 
 each other at first sight ; there they are 
 now, chatting away famously.” 
 
 “ Young ladies out of boarding schools 
 are not so apt to fall in love, as their bro- 
 thers, perhaps,” Mademoiselle’s guardian 
 answered sententiously : and our hero re- 
 peated “ As their brothers ! ” — with some- 
 thing very like a start, which did not es- 
 cape the veteran’s observation. 
 
 I mean, ” Madame continued with a 
 smile— “ there is an exchange made after 
 a certain gulden age of sentiment for so- 
 lid advantage, or what is esteemed such ; 
 and you won’t find many young ladies, 
 monsieur mon ami , who look upon the 
 engagement of a contemporary with some 
 whiskerando of a young fellow, in any 
 other light than as a covert slight to their 
 own charms, peu reconnus. Does my 
 meaning appear, Monsieur ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, I perceive ” — Mr. Edward said 
 rather dolorously. “ She can't mean 
 
 von. i. — 40 
 
 Rosette,” ho thought ; — with a bright 
 idea — “No, by Jove ! — she supposes Het- 
 ty is about to be married — there was 
 such a report last winter : I’ll sound the 
 old lady though.” So he said, “ There 
 was no truth in the rumor about Henri- 
 etta I assure you, Madame.” but Ma- 
 dame was not the person to be sounded 
 at pleasure. 
 
 “Wasn’t there — mafoi !" she cried with 
 a laugh. “ I did’nt think it ever rested 
 on good authority, and never knew whether 
 to believe it or not.” And our enamored 
 friend was left to make the most of his 
 resources, and torment himself with the 
 uncertainty of his pursuit. 
 
 It has been already hinted that Made- 
 moiselle Rosette and Miss Henrietta were 
 getting on very amicably ; indeed the 
 meeting between all the j-oung ladies 
 might have been termed even affectionate, 
 so many interesting “ how are yous” and 
 “ how well you are looking dears ” passed 
 between them. For it is not to be sup- 
 posed the descendants of Governor Rut- 
 ridge, of colonial and glorious memory, 
 chose to placard their pretensions where- 
 ever they went. They were very proud 
 decidedly, but too well bred at the same 
 time to make much display of the unlieav- 
 enly quality in common ; and the contre- 
 temps between Madame and the elder sis- 
 ter was a thing that might never occur 
 again, and only to be accounted for by the 
 secret irritation arising from Mr. Ed- 
 ward’s blunt speech in the carriage ; why 
 a chimney sweep would take it ill to be 
 publicly told his father had been hanged — 
 and what hanging would be to a progeni- 
 tor of the unwashed, following the plough 
 might rationally be supposed to be, to the 
 founder of that illustrious family whose 
 name has passed into history. To do 
 Miss Hatty justice however, she had very 
 soon repented the spirit she had shown, 
 and would have been pleased to recall the 
 interview with her former preceptress, but 
 Madame sat and looked so forbidding and 
 formal, whenever she glanced that way, 
 that her quondam pupil gave up the idea 
 of making any advance, with an inward 
 laugh at the expense of the vieux bonnet ! 
 Miss Hetty however — a young lady less 
 exacting and rather better disposed every 
 way than Harriet, was before long plea- 
 santly chatting in a group made up of 
 Madame and Mademoiselle, Mr. Edward, 
 (of course) and herself. Mademoiselle 
 had been rather shy at first ; indeed Miss 
 Amy, as much an admirer of aristorcacy 
 as Twitty himself, had caused her to be 
 well read up in the standing in society of 
 their various St. Jude neighbors — and she 
 regarded her new acquaintances with a 
 certain degree of timidity, not to say awe. 
 
626 
 
 Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 [June 
 
 This Hetty had observed and felt attracted 
 by somehow. “ Really a pretty little 
 thing, and not at all presuming,” she 
 commented, and good humoredly occupied 
 herself in drawing out the abundant vi- 
 vacity of the brunette, with none of the 
 vulgar condescension in her mode of doing 
 so, which the wife of Jenks the million- 
 naire would have paraded. 
 
 “And you have been to France — to 
 dear beautiful Paris ! ” Rosette exclaimed 
 in answer to a reminiscence of Miss R.’s. 
 “ I wish I was there this very min- 
 ute. I reccollect the house we lived in 
 last with the gloomy porte-cochere, where 
 Madame Bourru sat all day with her tor- 
 toise-shell spectacles on, and scolded us 
 whenever we went out.” 
 
 “Us? ” said Hetty, interrogatively. 
 
 “ Yes, I had a brother then, a year or 
 two younger than myself. When they 
 were piling up the barricades we went to 
 a window to look out, and some one cried 
 from the street below — ‘ I smell an aris- 
 tocrat — there’s the little Comte de ’ 
 
 never mind the name, and shot him 
 almost in my arms. He died in a quarter 
 of an hour,” Rosette added, biting her 
 lips and turning very pale ; “ I dont like 
 to think of it.” 
 
 “ Don’t,” Hetty answered kindly, with 
 her hand in the French girl’s, “ Im very 
 sorry I alluded to it ; let’s talk of pleas- 
 anter things. Don’t you like your new 
 home, the people I mean ? ” 
 
 “ I see but little of them, you know,” 
 the brunette replied, recovering herself 
 with a smile. “ I go seldom abroad and 
 never into society ; indeed I know scarce 
 any one out of Madame’s establish- 
 ment.” 
 
 “ You shall not say that another win- 
 ter if we all live,” Henrietta thought, “ if 
 it’s only to make amends for the pain my 
 careless question cost just now.” And as 
 w r e all like to hear of virtue and amiabili- 
 ty, let it be here recorded when the sea- 
 son came round she was as good as her 
 word, and A liss Rosette Bonair was the 
 happy recipient, over and above numer- 
 ous invitations growing out of the first, of 
 a St. Cecilia card. 
 
 “ You never met Edward, my brother, 
 then in the city ? ” Hetty asked with not 
 a little curiosity “ Oh no,” Rosette re- 
 turned simply — “ but I frequently saw 
 him in the streets. I knew him by his 
 lively horse,” she said smiling as if the 
 avowal called for explanation. “ Well she 
 is heart whole,” her questioner decided 
 with a sense of relief perhaps, “ there is 
 nothing like deception or coquetry in that 
 childlike face ; it is as sincere as pretty,” 
 which was a remarkable admission ac- 
 cording to Madame of one unmarried girl 
 
 touching another, and equally complimen- 
 tary to both. 
 
 But if Mademoiselle was heart whole, 
 our hero as we all know, was not. He 
 had been fidgety and solicitous of falling 
 upon some pretext for deserting Madame 
 in favor of her protegee, since the unsatis- 
 factory conversation between them above 
 reported ; and Madame had not failed to 
 notice his abstraction, and the cause of it 
 with the relish of an old habitude, and 
 with something perhaps like concern. 
 She therefore made no opposition when 
 our 3'oung gentleman announced his be- 
 lief “ that Hetty had forgotten the change 
 made in their place of rendezvous, and 
 was giving Ma’m’selle the wrong ad- 
 dress ; he must go and remind her ” but 
 merely tapped her snuff-box, and begged 
 to share in the correction. “ Mademoiselle 
 would forget all about it ” she said “ even 
 if she knew one road from another ; he 
 had better talk it over before Mrs. P. and 
 herself whose heads were not running on 
 dressmaking and the like.” 
 
 Mrs. P.’s head however was running 
 on other matters equally distracting ; she 
 thought what high and unselfish satisfac- 
 tion it would afford the Major to entertain 
 such aristocratical visitors at his board, 
 and slipped out to order some addition to 
 their usual dinner. So as has been shown, 
 Miss Henrietta, Madame, Mademoiselle, 
 and our hero, made a group, the latter 
 relapsing into silence when he had im- 
 parted his volunteered information, find- 
 ing in Madame’s presence sufficient res- 
 traint to oblige him — as half of mankind 
 are obliged to do from day to day — to 
 wait and hope. He hoped a number of 
 things positively and negatively ; he hoped 
 his construction of Madame’s words might 
 prove erroneous ; that she meant no 
 covert warning or repulse by it ; that Ma- 
 demoiselle might favor his suit, and his 
 own family not oppose it, which after all 
 would be a verj* useless proceeding on 
 their part. He preferred they should re- 
 main unadvised of the attachment until 
 he found occasion to speak to Ma’m’selle, 
 after which — he would dedicate his life to 
 her happiness ; he thought, and looked 
 up, caught a wistful expression in Ro- 
 sette’s eyes which were watching his 
 countenance — and had been, all the while 
 Madame and Miss Hetty, were in the heat 
 of that discussion touching the merits of 
 the new visette. 
 
 “ Why do you look so sad Ma’m’selle ? ” 
 he asked aside with the modulation of 
 tone, a man involuntarily employs in ad- 
 dressing his idol. 
 
 “ Why is she sad ? ” — that vigilant 
 Madame cried, abandoning the cause of 
 the visette at once. 
 
Miss Peck's Friend. 
 
 621 
 
 1853 .] 
 
 “ My little Rosette sad — ma foi ! It 
 must be because Bijou is in such good 
 health and, she’s jealous of him. Come 
 here Bijou, and stand on your hind legs 
 as a Christian dog should, where every 
 body can get a glimpse of your accom- 
 plishments. Mr. Rutridge, excuse the 
 bizarrerie of a foolish old woman, and set 
 a chair there for my watch dog — just here 
 before me, if you please, monsieur.” 
 Which chair interposing between those 
 occupied by our hero and Mademoiselle, 
 made the style of “ watch dog ” conferred 
 by Madame on that superannuated pigmy 
 of a spaniel in some degree significant. 
 Rutridge thought so at least, and wished 
 the cunning Frenchwoman safely back in 
 Goslington, — item : that Mademoiselle 
 
 should remain) — and the unconscious Bi- 
 jou at a place where, let us hope, no dog 
 is sufficiently accountable in a moral and 
 conscience-stricken sense, to be sent for 
 larcenies in the kitchen, or ill-temper in 
 the parlor. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 WHICH IS SIMPLY DEMOCRATICAL. 
 
 “We want to know something — something 
 of great importance to the success of the 
 fete,” the voice of Twitty said at this 
 juncture, addressing his friend, and Rut- 
 ridge regarded the speaker with amuse- 
 ment, for the countenance of her Augustus 
 was radiant with smiles, and Miss Amy 
 leaning on his arm, wore a face of equal 
 pleasure, and slightly blushed when Mr. 
 Edward’s eyes encountered hers. “ Twit 
 is a sly dog” — he thought, “why he’s im- 
 proved his opportunities in a way I should 
 not have believed but for the evidence of 
 my eyes, and has left me in the back- 
 ground, by Jove ! I shoukl’nt wonder 
 much if there’s an understanding between 
 them,” and felt a strong inclination to 
 laugh at the development of the affair. 
 
 But Rutridge was in error, and the ex- 
 planation less flattering to his friend than 
 he supposed. Twitty having talked of 
 himself and literature at large, the night 
 before, and so made an impression not to 
 be eradicated or despised by his auditress, 
 as he imagined — could afford to gossip 
 about trifles ; and among other matters, 
 alluded to the jest he had had at “his 
 friend Ned’s expense” regarding Miss 
 Rosette, and his own private conviction 
 that Ma’mselle must be on intimate terms 
 with some lovely being, in the city say, 
 whose good graces Mr. Edward hoped to 
 win, or at least pave the way to, through 
 the intervention of the little Brunette. 
 It might be quite a romantic love affair — 
 there was no knowing, his friend was so 
 deep and silent on the subject; and ten 
 
 to one it was, from the very fact of Miss 
 Rosette being concerned in it — your French 
 girls were such artful little intrigantes. 
 Amelia was secretly delighted at the sug- 
 gestion : the case made out by Augustus, 
 and substantiated by her own observation, 
 was certainly in the highest degree plau- 
 sible. For example, Rosette’s absolute 
 denial of interest in the young gentleman 
 under discussion, in the very face of the 
 mysterious confidence between them 
 which had, at the beginning (she ac- 
 knowledged it) excited her jealousy ; be- 
 sides which, there was the old theme of 
 his attention at the ball, and his respect- 
 ful and timid, even tender manner, on all 
 occasions when called upon to address her. 
 Could a feminine mind — I mean a mind 
 already made up, and in no special need 
 of reason — resist such an array of argu- 
 ment ? Miss Amelia’s did not, but yield- 
 ed unhesitatingly to the sweet illusion. 
 “ I was too cruel and unjust to that dear 
 duck, Rosy,” she mused ; “ I could throw 
 my arms round her neck this minute, and 
 say over and over again, how sorry 1 am 
 for being so unfeeling. And to think too 
 of my supposing for a moment, he was 
 capable of forming another attachment, 
 or of remaining aloof from any other rea- 
 son than too great modesty — poor fel- 
 low ! ” 
 
 Twitty was delighted with her flow of 
 spirits and conversation; she asked so 
 many amusing questions, too, about his 
 friend — clearly because he was his friend ; 
 as for instance, “whether he (Mr. R.) was 
 not something of a poet — really now on 
 his honor, didn’t he write sometimes; per- 
 haps secretly influenced, though he might 
 not admit it, by his friend Mr. Twitty ? ” 
 To which Mr. Augustus feeling compli- 
 mented, made answer — “ that he thought 
 Edward had acknowledged authorship so 
 far as the composition of a short poem to 
 some inamorata went, probably years ago 
 when a mere boy.” But of course Miss 
 Amelia knew better, although she kept 
 her own counsel. 
 
 Another question was, “whether Mr. R. 
 didn’t go fox-hunting often — and wasn’t 
 it a very dangerous sport ? She knew it 
 must be, for how the horses could run 
 through those pine woods without killing 
 themselves and their riders against the 
 trees, she never could imagine. She won- 
 dered Mr. Twitty did not use his influence 
 (which flattered Twit again), to induce 
 so esteemed a friend to ride only in the 
 open roads — many gentlemen did she be- 
 lieved — her papa for one. What a pang 
 would the announcement of any injury 
 to a friend of years’ standing, cause so 
 sensitive a heart as (she was sure) Mr. 
 Twitty possessed.” 
 
628 
 
 Mrs. Peck's Friend. 
 
 Thus in our most Christian and ortho- 
 dox times, does the demigod, whom we 
 no longer erect altars to, and know only 
 in the teachings of a dead tongue and on 
 the water-colored pages of Valentines — 
 reign and rule as imperiously as ever, 
 making a very serpent for guile o-f a 
 harmless dovelike Miss Peck, and blind- 
 ing the eyes of Messrs. Twitty and Rut- 
 ridge, and opening those of Mademoiselle 
 Bonair. 
 
 “ What is it you wish to know ? ” — 
 Rutridge said then in reply to his smirk- 
 ing friend. “ Suppose it rains ” — Twit 
 suggested, “ Miss Am — Miss Peck and I 
 have taken an observation of the heavens, 
 but the tact of nothing like clouds being 
 visible at present, is no surety for its re- 
 maining dry you know at this season. If 
 it should rain, will that be an end of the 
 fete ? ” “ By no means,” Rutridge an- 
 
 swered promptly — if it should rain — 
 which I see no signs of now — we must be 
 content with the ball part within doors. 
 Of course it is part of the programme, 
 that you are to drive to Cypress-hall in 
 the event of the ground being too wet 
 under the oaks. We can dance in the 
 dining-room and promenade in the piaz- 
 zas.” 
 
 Miss Hetty listened to this avowal of 
 the provident character of the programme 
 with scarcely concealed wonder and am- 
 usement: t; Was ever such a dreadful 
 
 story-teller ! ” she commented. Why we 
 made not the least provision for a rainy 
 day, and here he pretends every thing was 
 settled a week ago. The consequence will 
 be, if it does rain, which goodness forbid ! 
 we’ll have these people to entertain the 
 livelong day, with the help of his friend 
 Augustus the Wise.” 
 
 Miss Harriet viewed the matter in a 
 similar light, but rather more intolerantly, 
 when related to her on their way home : 
 Twitty remaining behind to dine with the 
 Major, not being very difficult to per- 
 suade into any thing, and Mrs. P. doing 
 her best to keep them all to dinner. 
 
 “Really brother,” Miss Rutridge the 
 well-descended, cried then indignantly, 
 ‘•you ought to be ashamed of running 
 after the people as you do. But it’s just 
 like the lovelling tendency of the age, for 
 a Rutridge to be inventing ways, even 
 telling untruths I may say, to have a rich 
 shopkeeper’s family in his house associat- 
 ing with his sisters, merely because they 
 are rich. I can remember when we 
 would not have regarded them more than 
 the dirt under our feet.” 
 
 “ It’s all nonsense to talk in that way 
 now, Hatty,” the less arrogant Hetty re- 
 plied ; “ our best families have intermar- 
 ried in all sorts of ways, and these Peck 
 
 [June 
 
 people are tolerably well connected through 
 their mother. And I really think the 
 protegee of Madame Mere and the friend 
 of Miss Peck, is a very sweet little crea- 
 ture, and I have no doubt of excellent 
 parentage. On the whole, I liked the 
 visit very much.” 
 
 “ Why Hetty ! ” Edward exclaimed, 
 equally surprised and gratified, “ you speak 
 like a sensible girl, and a warm-hearted 
 one to boot. Harriet is always mount- 
 ed too high to see, or even admit the pres- 
 ence of any thing to interest by the way- 
 side. You may say ‘ fudge ! ’ Hatty, but 
 by Jove ! education and talent lift too 
 many men now-a-days over the heads of 
 very aristocratical and exclusive people, 
 to allow any one mingling in society to 
 ignore the truth. Do you suppose, Har- 
 riet, every white gloved hand you touched 
 at the St. Cecilia’s last February claimed 
 kindred with our hidalgos? — Pshaw ! 
 — I recollect standing by and seeing you 
 led down to supper, one evening, by 
 young Anvile, who has since been appoint- 
 ed Secretary of Legation to Brazil, but 
 whose grandfather was a blacksmith, and 
 shod our horses not quite out of my mem- 
 ory. As for running after mere wealth or 
 paying the least court to it, there is noth- 
 ing I more heartily despise. I don’t even 
 reverence elective honors, bought as so 
 much merchandise with their equivalent 
 in dollars. And the amusing part of it 
 is, I am counted proud, and the deuce 
 knows what, I dare say, by a certain set, 
 while you, Hatty, imagine me a thorough 
 leveller and demagogue, because I don’t 
 turn my back on the gratuitous courtesies 
 of an amiable old gentleman, who made 
 his money by sugar and salt instead of 
 rice or cotton, and is not a Brummel in 
 his address certainly.” 
 
 In which speech it will be seen our hero, 
 like a dexterous diplomatist — as he was 
 in virtue of a seat elect in the legislature, 
 steered clear of Scylla without felling into 
 Charybdis ; or in other words, exculpat- 
 ed himself, and showed his appreciation of 
 Miss Hetty’s partisanship of Mademoiselle, 
 without alluding once to that young lady 
 whatever ; a rare stretch of policy r for a 
 man so desperately in love. 
 
 “ I suppose it is useless to argue against 
 fete, and such an array of social facts,” 
 Miss Harriet returned, not ill-humoredly, 
 somewhat mollified by the latter part ol 
 our legislator’s harangue. “But I hope, if 
 it should rain, and those people come, yon 
 won’t amuse yourself, sir. with the young 
 ladies, and leave us to exchange recipes 
 and jokes with the Major and ‘ his lady,' 
 as he calls her.” 
 
 “No, Hatty,” — Rutridge cried with a 
 laugh, — “and as I got you in the scrape I 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Polar Seas and Sir John Franklin. 
 
 629 
 
 will be at the pains of gathering you a 
 full house, at the worst.” 
 
 So Mr. Edward spent the remainder 
 of the day in penning and despatching 
 
 To be i 
 
 notes to heads of families in the neighbor- 
 hood, and in the immediate service of 
 the mythological tyrant referred to be- 
 fore. 
 
 THE POLAR SEAS AND SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. 
 
 Insuetum per iter gelidas enavit ad Arctos. 
 
 S INCE the zealous attempts to recover 
 the Holy Sepulchre, in the middle ages, 
 the Christian world has not been so unani- 
 mously agreed on any thing as in the de- 
 sire to recover Sir John Franklin, dead or 
 alive, from the dread solitudes of death 
 into which he has so fearlessly ventured. 
 Near a score of ships have been sent, at a 
 vast expense, from the two hemispheres, 
 to explore and follow his traces, and satisfy, 
 with whatever results, the universal in- 
 terest in his fate ; and the efforts of the 
 English and Americans are as yet un- 
 dissuaded by the failure of so many re- 
 searches. Hearts of oak are still beating 
 hopefully on that Northern quest, and 
 signal guns are still heard booming round 
 the gates of the indistinct and awful Po- 
 lynya. The history of progress in the di- 
 rection of the North-West or North-East 
 Passage leaves no doubt at all that, as a 
 sea-route across the world, it is not to be 
 thought of ; and that, even if a fortunately 
 daring expedition should succeed in thread- 
 ing its way through the treacherous and 
 hummocky labyrinths of the Polar Sea, 
 nothing but the geographical theory would 
 be the better for it. For all purposes of 
 commerce or intercourse, in fact, the Cro- 
 ker Mountains that Sir John Ross saw, 
 mirageously, one evening after dinner, in 
 1819, might in reality lie across the open- 
 ing of Lancaster Sound, tracing “ No 
 Thoroughfare ” along the formidable and 
 repulsive horizon. Much has been said 
 of the open sea round the Pole ; but sup- 
 posing it exists — and there is no reason to 
 doubt it does — it is a place guarded against 
 navigation by a circle of floes, hummocks, 
 icebergs and so forth, eternally shifting, 
 grinding, groaning and howling, and thus 
 making all exits and entrances matters of 
 desperate uncertainty. 
 
 From the first discovery of Northern 
 America by Cabot, the Arctic passage en- 
 gaged the attention of geographers and 
 pilots who dreamed evermore of a short 
 cut to India — 
 
 To Agra and Labor of Great Mogul, 
 
 Down to the Golden Chersonese — 
 
 an achievement which, first and last, drew 
 on the adventurous energies of Columbus 
 
 in another direction. The progress of 
 Arctic discovery has always been attend- 
 ed by fatalities. The Portuguese brothers, 
 Cortereal, in the beginning of the six- 
 teenth century, passed away from the 
 sight of men into the hyperborean lati- 
 tudes, whence they returned no more. 
 About half a century later, Sir Hugh Wil- 
 loughby, looking for China beyond the 
 coast of Labrador, perished with his crews; 
 and his frozen body was found, some years 
 after, by Russian or Eskimo fishermen, 
 with the journal of his voyage crumbling 
 by his side. Thirty years subsequently, 
 Sir Humphrey Gilbert, proceeding to enter 
 the Northern pass, went down off the 
 coast of Newfoundland. Hudson perish- 
 ed among the icebergs in 1610 ; and now 
 the world is leaning reluctantly to the 
 opinion that the names of Franklin, Fitz- 
 james, and Crozier must be added to this 
 dreary roll of Polar catastrophes. 
 
 For a long time after Baffin, Frobisher 
 and Hudson, the map of Arctic America 
 received no new names or delineations. 
 Tn 1741, Behring, the Russian, discovered 
 the straits that bear his name. In 1771, 
 Hearne, a servant of the Hudson’s Bay 
 Company, was the first who saw the Polar 
 Sea flowing round this continent. In 
 1773, Captain Phipps with the Seahorse 
 and Carcass, made some explorations in 
 the North. Then came the great wars, in 
 which a little lad who went with Phipps 
 among the icebergs — Horatio Nelson — 
 bore so famous a part, and, ‘for over forty 
 years, the scientific curiosity of man w r as 
 absorbed in the thunder of the captains 
 and the shouting that agitated the warmer 
 seas of the world. It was not till a few 
 years after the general peace, that Capt. 
 John Ross renewed those more recent ex- 
 plorations which, within living memory, 
 have been pretty continuously followed 
 ever since, and which may be briefly al- 
 luded to before speaking of Sir John 
 Franklin’s last expedition and those set 
 on foot for his rescue. 
 
 In 1818, Captain Ross proceeded to the 
 North, with the ships Isabella and the 
 Alexander, having under his command 
 James C. Iloss, his nephew, W. E. Perry, 
 
630 
 
 The Polar Seas and Sir John Franklin. 
 
 [June 
 
 and Edward Belcher — men who subse- 
 quently distinquished themselves in Polar 
 voyages of discovery. Boss proceeded 
 through Davis’ Straits into Baffin’s Bay, 
 and leached Lancaster Sound, from which 
 place he returned to England with the in- 
 formation that he saw a range of moun- 
 tains, which he had named the Oroker 
 Mountains, stretching across that inlet 
 and barring all progress to the West by 
 that way. The voyage was a failure. In 
 the same year, the ships Dorothea and 
 Trent, under the orders of Capt. Buchan, 
 with whom Lieut. Franklin acted as se- 
 cond iu command, were sent to Behring’s 
 Straits. But the perils and difficulties of 
 this expedition were more remarkable 
 than the results of it, and the ships re- 
 turned before the close of the year. 
 
 In 1819, Franklin, impressed by the 
 discoveries of Hearne, Mackenzie and 
 others, along the northern edge of this 
 continent, undertook to trace the looked 
 for passage, from the mouth of the Cop- 
 permine Biver, eastward, by the shore, to- 
 wards the waters of Hudson’s Bay. Pro- 
 ceeding from one of the forts of the Hud- 
 son’s Bay Company, attended by Mr. Back 
 and Dr. Bichardson, since distinguished 
 for their explorations, he traced the Cop- 
 permine to the ocean. Thence, his party, 
 with their boats and sledges, journeyed 
 along the coast, for 600 miles ; till at last, 
 having reached a point which they named 
 Turnagain, and finding their provisions 
 falling short, they quitted the sea and 
 took up their march, of fifty days, along 
 Hood’s Biver towards Fort Enterprise. 
 In September 1820, commenced the drear- 
 iest and most miserable of journeys. The 
 expedition consisted of Franklin, Dr. Bich- 
 ardson, Mr. Hood a young officer, Mr. 
 Back, Hepburn a sailor, ten Canadians 
 with French names, and two Indians. 
 The country was desolate, barren, and 
 covered with snow; In a few days their 
 pemmican failed and their chief resource 
 was a sort of moss called tripe de roche. 
 Though they succeeded in shooting a few 
 animals, their sufferings from hunger and 
 cold soon became dreadful, as they slowly 
 made their way through snow-drifts and 
 ravines, and over torrents, in the direction 
 of Point Lake. Franklin fainted from 
 exhaustion and want of food. Mr. Back, 
 and three men were hurried in advance 
 towai’dsFort Enterprise .to hasten relief, 
 while Franklin and the revt moved pain- 
 fully on, at the rate of five or six miles a 
 da} 7 . They were soon reduced to eat the 
 leather of their old shoes and two Canadi- 
 ans dropped down and perished in the snow. 
 Dr. Bichardson, Hepburn, and Michel the 
 Iroquois, remained with poor Mr. Hood 
 under a tent, while Franklin and the rest 
 
 pushed on towards the Fort. When the 
 latter reached it at last, after having left 
 three more Canadians to perish in the 
 track — they found it deserted and foodless, 
 and, looking into each other’s emaciated 
 faces, burst into tears. Sending part of 
 his men forward, Franklin was forced to 
 stay at the fort, with three others, also 
 unable to proceed — and he and they had 
 no food but the soup of old bones picked 
 up or dug from the ground. In a day or 
 two they were joined by Bichardson and 
 Hepburn who informed him that Michel 
 the Iroquois had assassinated Mr. Hood, and 
 that the Doctor had shot him in turn. On 
 the first of November, two Canadians died 
 at the fort, and the survivors could not re- 
 move them. On the 7th, Indians came bring- 
 ing provisions, and they were all saved, 
 when nearly at the last gasp. Certainly Sir 
 John Franklin did not proceed on his last 
 voyage to the Polar seas, uninured to the 
 dreariest and most perilous chances of 
 that terrible region. 
 
 While Franklin was suffering in this 
 overland expedition, Lieutenant Parry was 
 making his most successful voyage. In 
 May 1819, he proceeded with the Hecla 
 and Griper to Lancaster Sound, where he 
 proved the Croker Mountains to be as 
 visionary as those of Hy Brasil off the 
 north-west coast of Ireland, and, advan- 
 cing through the strait which he named 
 after Mr. Barrow, Secretary of the Admi- 
 ralty, made the most pronounced discover- 
 ies of modern research in that region. 
 He first saw and named Wellington Chan- 
 nel. Begent’s Inlet, Bathurst’s, Byam 
 Martin’s, Melville’s and other islands, now 
 called the Parry Islands. He also saw' 
 and defined Banks’ Land in the south- 
 western distance. These places have ever 
 since been the great landmarks of North- 
 ern research ; no navigator has gone be- 
 yond them, and all subsequent discoveries 
 have been made about them and with ref- 
 erence to them. Travelling over Byam 
 Martin’s Island, Parry’s officers discov- 
 ered remains of Eskimo huts, and traces 
 of oxen, hares, reindeer and other crea- 
 tures, proving that in the neighborhood of 
 the Polynya there is no want or difficulty 
 of animal existence. This voyage was a 
 fortunate one in every respect. Parry 
 ran rapidly in, made his discoveries, win- 
 tered, and came out again in the open 
 season. His next voyage, in 1821, with 
 the Fury and Hecla, was to the lower 
 waters — those of Hudson’s Bay ; aud he 
 spent the winter of that year in Fox’s 
 Channel. He passed two winters in the 
 North, and explored Melville’s Peninsula. 
 In 1823, Capt. Clavering conveyed Capt. 
 Sabine to Spitzbergen and Greenland, to 
 make experiments, determining the con- 
 
The Polar Seas and Sir John Franklin. 
 
 631 
 
 1853.] 
 
 figuration of the earth. Lyons proceeded 
 in 1824, with the intention of examining 
 Melville’s Peninsula and going thence, if 
 possible, to Franklin’s Point Turnagain, 
 on the American coast. But the expedi- 
 tion was so shaken about and distressed, 
 that it was forced to return. 
 
 In the spring of 1824 Parry with the 
 ships Hecla and Fury, made his third 
 Northern voyage. He went into Barrow’s 
 Straits and wintered at Port Bowen, on 
 Regent’s Inlet. Next year he proceeded 
 westward and examined the coast of 
 North Somerset. Here, on the eastern 
 shore of the Inlet, he was forced to leave 
 the Fury and return home. 
 
 In 1826 Capt. Franklin went down the 
 river Mackenzie and explored the coast 
 to the westward, 37 4 miles. His party 
 returned to England in October 1827. In 
 1826 Capt. Beechy sailed into the Pacific 
 and entered Behring’s Straits. But he 
 made no eastward progress. 
 
 Parry undertook his fourth vojmge in 
 827. He went to Spitzbergen and leav- 
 ing his ship proceeded with sledges, over- 
 land, towards the pole, which is about 
 600 miles from Hakluyt’s Headland. But 
 the attempt was fruitless. While he and 
 his men were creeping up on boats and 
 sledges, to between 82° and 83° beyond 
 which none have ventured, the ice they 
 were on was moving slowly to the South 
 and their severe labor was all thrown 
 away. 
 
 In I s 29, Captain John Ross, who had 
 suffered a good deal in reputation from the 
 treacherous Croker Mountains, resolved 
 to make another effort. As government 
 would not encourage him, he was indebted 
 for his outfit to Mr. Felix Booth, a Lon- 
 don distiller, and subsequently a knight 
 and lord mayor, who, in return for his li- 
 berality, has received an Arctic immor- 
 tality — an enduring monument in icebergs 
 — in those regions bearing the names 
 Boothia, Felix, Lord Mayor, as the reader 
 may see on glancing at the map. Indeed, 
 he should do more than glance at it ; for 
 without it, any disquisition on the North- 
 ern discoveries will make but a confused 
 impression on his memory. Captain Ross 
 went into Barrow’s Straits, and entered 
 Regent’s Inlet. He visited the land on 
 the west coast, and called it Boothia. He 
 wintered there, and, in 1831, his nephew, 
 James C. Ross, planted the English flag 
 on the magnetic pole, in latitude 70° 17 / 
 north, and 96° 46' 44 7/ west longitude, 
 where the dip of the needle was nearly 
 vertical. In April, 1832, finding his ship, 
 the Victory, could not be extricated from 
 the ice, Ross left it, and journeyed to the 
 Fury Beach for boats that were lying 
 there. With these, after vast labor, he 
 
 tried to get out of Regent’s Inlet ; but he 
 was obliged to give up the attempt, and 
 retrace his steps to the wreck of the Fury, 
 where he passed his fourth winter of 
 1832-3. In August. 1833, he made one 
 more vigorous effort to get out, and, hav- 
 ing passed in the boats through Barrow’s 
 Straits, he and his men were happily 
 picked up, in Lancaster Sound, by the 
 whaler, Isabella, the captain’s old ship of 
 discovery. The people of England be- 
 lieved Ross and his crew had perished, 
 and, in the midst of their doubts and re- 
 grets, the nation was surprised and rejoiced 
 by the news of his rescue. He has re- 
 trieved every thing, and the Croker Moun- 
 tains were no longer remembered to his 
 prejudice. 
 
 In 1833, Captain Back made a journey 
 from the Hudson’s Bay station to the 
 Polar Sea. He went eastward beyond 
 Franklin’s Point, Turnagain, and traced 
 the coast in the direction of Repulse Bay, 
 a point within Hudson’s waters. He re- 
 turned in 1835, and sailed in 1836 up 
 through Hudson’s Straits, to try the 
 chance of finding a way across the inter- 
 val lying between his late land exploration 
 on the west, and the bottom of Regent’s 
 Inlet. But The voyage was unsatisfactory. 
 In 1836, Dease and Simpson went from a 
 fort of the Hudson’s Baj r Company along 
 the Mackenzie to the Arctic coasts, and 
 examined the latter ; but with no remark- 
 able result. In 1845, other expeditions 
 were set on foot. One was that of Dr. 
 John Rae, who proceeded from Fort 
 Churchhill, on Hudson’s Bay, in July, 
 1846, and, travelling arduously north- 
 ward with boats and sledges, discovered 
 Boothia to be a peninsula. The other 
 expedition was that of Sir John Frank- 
 lin. 
 
 From the foregoing, it will be perceived 
 that, after the first voyage of Parry, all 
 other progress was, so to speak, carried on 
 within and below his extreme delineations. 
 No one had ventured beyond Cape Wal- 
 ker in the direction of Banks’ Land, to the 
 west and south of North Somerset, or 
 gone beyond Parry’s Islands to the north- 
 west, or to the north, through Wellington 
 Channel. Neither had any attempt been 
 made from Baffin’s Bay, above Lancaster 
 Sound, to enter those remote waters said 
 to flow round the pole. And, indeed, it 
 Was no wonder that the explorers prefer- 
 red the more known and southerly lati- 
 tudes of Repulse Bay. Boothia, Coronation 
 Gulf, and Victoria Land, to the remoter 
 solitudes of the more northern ways ; 
 while, at the same time, the narrowed 
 space between the extreme of continental 
 explorationjrom the west, and the coasts 
 of Regent’s Inlet and Hudson’s Bay, very 
 
632 
 
 The Polar Seas and Sir John Franklin. 
 
 naturally led men to look for the passage 
 in that direction. 
 
 Sir John Franklin was born at Spilsby 7- , 
 in Lincolnshire, in the year 1786. He 
 entered the English navy in 1800 as mid- 
 shipman. He served in the Polyphemus, 
 and, as a middy on board, witnessed the 
 battle of the Baltic before Copenhagen, 
 where Nelson paid back the old Corsair 
 compliments of Regnar Lodbrok. Young 
 Franklin went afterwards with Captain 
 Flinders on a voyage of discovery to the 
 coasts of New Holland, and was ship- 
 wrecked on a coral reef in August, 1803. 
 Sir John was early inured to those perils 
 and privations which attended his course 
 in life. He was signal-midshipman on 
 board the Bellerophon in the sea-fight of 
 Trafalgar in 1805, reading through the 
 smoke the signs of battle as thej r flew 
 from mast to mast. In 1808, Lieutenant 
 Franklin escorted the expatriated Bragan- 
 zas — flying before Junot and the other 
 French generals — from the Tagus to the 
 Rio Janeiro. Again, in 1814, he was with 
 Packenham at New Orleans, Lying to get 
 at Jackson behind the immortal mud- 
 parapets and sand-bags (no cotton packs 
 among them — we have Andrew’s word 
 for it), and was wounded in the boat ser- 
 vice while behaving spiritedly and well. 
 In 1818, he commanded the Trent, and 
 accompanied Buchan to the north. Next 
 year he made that terrible overland jour- 
 ney to which we have briefly alluded. In 
 1825, he made another overland expedition 
 towards the Polar Sea, leaving England 
 in great depression of mind in consequence 
 of his first wife’s illness. This lady, 
 daughter of Mr. Porden, architect, of Lon- 
 don, died in less than a week after he had 
 left England, carrying with him the flag 
 she had given him to hoist on reaching 
 the Polar Sea. He was obliged, by the 
 imperfect success of the expedition, to hoist 
 it on Garry’s Island, at the mouth of the 
 Mackenzie River. He has left narratives 
 of these two overland expeditions. In 
 1827. he was presented by the Geographi- 
 cal Society of Paris with a gold medal 
 worth !$250. In 1828, he married Jane, 
 daughter of John Griffin. Esq., of London, 
 and in 1829, Captain Franklin was knight- 
 ed by George IV. He was actively em- 
 ployed in the Mediterranean during the 
 war of Greek Independence, and received 
 for his services the order of the Redeemer 
 of Greece. Sir John, if now alive, is in 
 his 67 th year. 
 
 Franklin left England on the 26th May, 
 1845, with the Erebus and Terror — two 
 ominously-named ships, which had been 
 originally built for purposes of bombard- 
 ment, and had only just returned from the 
 Antarctic exploration under Sir James C. 
 
 [June 
 
 Ross. Sir J ohn was accompanied by Cap- 
 tain Fitzjames and Captain Crozier, and 
 the squadron had a complement of 138 
 men. He was spoken by the whaler En- 
 terprise, Captain Martin, in Baffin’s Bay, 
 on the 20th of July, and his ships were 
 last seen on the 26th (fastened to an ice- 
 berg in Melville Bay) by Captain Dannett, 
 of the whaler Prince of Wales. Franklin 
 had — he himself stated — five years’ provi- 
 sions on board, and told Martin he could 
 make them last seven years, if necessary, 
 with the help of the game which he was 
 sure of procuring. 
 
 When 1847 had passed away without 
 tidings from the absent voyagers, some 
 anxiety began to be felt. After a time 
 Sir John Ross expressed his belief the ex- 
 pedition was frozen up to the southwest 
 of Melville’s Island. Sir Francis Beaufort, 
 Sir W. E. Parry, Captain Beechy. Captain 
 Sir John Richardson, and Captain Sir 
 James C. Ross, were nearly of the same 
 opinion, and thought that Franklin, if 
 obliged to quit his ship, would try to make 
 his way, by an unknown interval, to the 
 Mackenzie or Coppermine, on the conti- 
 nent. Dr. McCormack and Captain Penny 
 spoke of W ellington Channel and Jones’s 
 Sound ; but the former authorities greatly 
 relied, in forming their conclusions, on the 
 orders of the Admiralty, which a British 
 officer is strictly bound to respect. These 
 orders were, that Sir John should endea- 
 vor, in the first instance, to proceed to- 
 wards Behring’s Straits, in a southwest- 
 erly direction from Cape Walker, and the 
 alternative, in case the way should be 
 closed, was an attempt through the open- 
 ing of Wellington Channel. In the spring 
 of 1848, Sir James C. Ross was sent with 
 the Enterprise and Investigator to Lancas- 
 ter Sound. He found a barrier across 
 Wellington Channel, and a vast quantity 
 of ice in Barrow’s Straits. He wintered 
 in the harbor of Port Leopold, where the 
 Straits, Regent’s Inlet, Wellington Chan- 
 nel, and the Western opening made across 
 or sort of northern Quatre Bras. The 
 winter was passed in southerly explorings. 
 With Lieutenant McClintock, Sir James 
 explored the west coast of North Somer- 
 set, and Lieutenant Robinson examined 
 the western shore of Regent’s Inlet beyond 
 F ury Beach. Before quitting his quarters. 
 Sir James built a house at Port Leopold, 
 leaving there fuel and provisions for 
 twelve months. He then made his way 
 into Lancaster Sound, and, on the 5th of 
 November, 1849, reported himself at the 
 Admiralty, having missed the North Star 
 which had been sent out to him with in- 
 structions to attempt the passage through 
 Wellington Channel. 
 
 In 1848. Sir John Richardson again pro- 
 
The Polar Seas and Sir John Franklin. 
 
 633 
 
 1853.] 
 
 ceeded from the Hudson Bay stations to 
 the Arctic Sea, and explored the coast be- 
 tween the mouths of the Mackenzie and 
 Coppermine, and also part of Wollaston’s 
 Land, in the hope of finding some trace of 
 the missing expedition ; hut in vain. In 
 the same year the Plover, Captain Moore, 
 and the Herald, Captain Kellett, went up 
 through Behring’s Straits with the pur- 
 pose of intercepting Franklin’s party should 
 it have passed through the archipelago 
 southwest of Cape Walker. On this sta- 
 tion the Plover has remained, co-operating 
 with other ships, and sending out explor- 
 ing partios occasionally. In 1850, Lieut. 
 Pullen of the Plover journeyed to the 
 mouth of the Mackenzie, and so eastward 
 to Point Bathurst, whence he attempted 
 to go to Banks’ Land — that unvisited land 
 seen from the coasts of Parry’s Islands. 
 But he failed; and in 1851 he returned to 
 the Mackenzie River. 
 
 The North Star, sent out in 1849 with 
 instructions for Sir James C. Ross, win- 
 tered in Wolstenholme Sound, in Baffin’s 
 Bay, and returned to Spithead in Septem- 
 ber, 1850, after having seen in Lancaster 
 Sound the large squadron sent in that 
 year to look for the lost expedition. The 
 movements of this squadron must be fresh 
 in the minds of most of our readers. Cap- 
 tain Austin’s ships, the Resolute and As- 
 sistance, with their tenders, went from 
 England in May, 1850. In the same 
 month, Mr. Grinnell’s ships, the Advance 
 and Rescue, under De Haven and Griffin, 
 proceeded to the north. Captain Penny 
 carried up his two ships, the Lady Frank- 
 lin and the Sophia; the veteran, Sir John 
 Ross, went in the Felix, and Captain For- 
 syth in the Prince Albei t. In August, all 
 these ships were in Lancaster Sound and 
 Barrow’s Straits, or the adjoining waters. 
 On the 13th of that month, Captain Om- 
 maney — Austin’s second in command — 
 and Sir John Ross heard from Eskimos 
 in Barrow’s Straits that two ships were 
 crushed off Cape Dudley Diggs, and the 
 crews afterwards killed — in the winter of 
 1846 — by the natives. But this report 
 was owing to a misconception of the Es- 
 kimo language. On the 23d of August, 
 Captain Ommaney, and, a few days later, 
 Captain Penny, found traces of the miss- 
 ing squadron on Point Riley and Beechy 
 Island, at the opening of Wellington Chan- 
 nel. These were a small guide-board at- 
 tached to a boarding-pike eight feet long, 
 and bearing an index pointing the way to 
 the ships, a wooden anvil block, some rem- 
 nants of rope and clothes, several hundred 
 empty meat-cannisters, and, above all, the 
 graves of three men of the squadron : John 
 Hartnell, and William Baine, of the Ere- 
 bus, and John Torrington, of the Terror. 
 
 Three headstones, with inscriptions, mark- 
 ed these graves, and the dates were from 
 January to April, 1846. Captain Austin’s 
 ships wintered southwest of Cornwallis 
 Island. Several officers on foot rounded 
 the west end of Melville Island, in longi- 
 tude 114° west, and saw land beyond the 
 116th meridian. The intermediate bays 
 and passages were also explored. On the 
 south of Barrow’s Straits Captain Omma- 
 ney, Lieutenant Osborne, Meecham, and 
 Browne — at a season when the cold was 
 70° below zero, and spirits froze in bottles 
 — traced Cape Walker and the adjoining 
 straits to within 180 miles of Victoria 
 Land. 
 
 Captain Penny’s ships explored part of 
 Wellington Channel. He saw three blue 
 openings to the west from that channel — 
 the north and east being closed with ice. 
 He perceived a strong current running from 
 the westward, and it was his opinion, and 
 that of all who accompanied him, that the 
 prevailing winds were from the northwest, 
 lie attempted to send a party in that di- 
 rection, under Mr. Stuart, but it was stop- 
 ped by the water, which could be seen 
 stretching on to the horizon. Penny as- 
 serts there is a great amount of animal 
 life in this region — four-footed, feathery, 
 and finny — walruses, seals, whales, bears, 
 hares, foxes, wolves, reindeer herds, flocks 
 of king and eider ducks, brent, geese, gulls, 
 and other water-fowl. It should be ob- 
 served that the walrus can exist but where 
 there is open water, in which it may rise 
 for air. 
 
 Captain Forsyth, in the Prince Albert, 
 made a rapid run to the Arctic circle and 
 back to England in the space of four 
 months. He went through Lancaster 
 Sound, and on to the Furjr Beach, in Re- 
 gent’s Inlet. Finding great obstructions 
 to any further progress westwardly, he 
 went up Wellington Channel, and, return- 
 ing quickly, brought home the news of the 
 relics on Beechy Island. By this time the 
 chief points in Lancaster Sound and Bar- 
 row’s Straits had been examined, and also 
 the farther end of Melville Island beyond 
 Cape Walker, without revealing any traces 
 of Sir John Franklin and his crews. 
 
 The American ships, so generously mis- 
 sioned by Mr. Grinnell on this fraternal 
 errand, were caught in the ice in Lancaster 
 Sound, borne up Wellington Channel, then 
 back again, and out through Lancaster 
 Sound into Baffin’s Bay — a drift of 1060 
 miles during 267 days! Having at last 
 extricated his ships, Dc Haven again pro- 
 ceeded to confront the deadly difficulties 
 of the search, but was checked by the ice, 
 and obliged reluctantly to return to New- 
 York in October, 1851. 
 
 While all these ships were exploring 
 
634 
 
 The Polar Seas and Sir John Franklin. 
 
 the Arctic labyrinth on the east, the En- 
 terprise and Investigator, commanded by 
 Captains Collinson and McClure, were 
 endeavoring to make their way from the 
 west. They reached Behring’s Straits in 
 1850, with the purpose of trying to ap- 
 proach Melville Island. They have not 
 yet been able to carry out that object. 
 Along with the Plover, they were still, 
 when last heard from, laboring and linger- 
 ing amidst these Arctic wildernesses they 
 have already spent so much time in ex- 
 ploring, in the still deferred hope of meet- 
 ing with the missing mariners. 
 
 After the return of the eastern squadron 
 of 1850, public opinion underwent a change 
 in respect of the unknown movements of 
 Sir John Franklin; and it was believed, 
 as it still is. that he must have gone up to 
 the northwest, through Wellington Chan- 
 nel. He spent the winter of 1845-6 — as 
 we now know — on Beechy Island, and 
 also the succeeding summer, as has been 
 concluded from the deep ruts left in the 
 ground by sledges, and from small patches 
 of garden ground, bordered with purple 
 saxifrages and planted with native plants. 
 Much astonishment has been expressed 
 that Franklin did not bury some record 
 of his movements and intentions, and indi- 
 cate where they may be looked for. Sir 
 John Richardson, to account for this, says 
 that, instead of burying one of those cop- 
 per cylinders with which he was provided, 
 Franklin, knowing there was no resort of 
 natives to that place, would hang it con- 
 spicuously on a tree or a post, the sooner 
 to meet the eyes of explorers. But Rich- 
 ardson says this would not preserve it, for 
 bears and wolverines climb trees and posts, 
 and tear down any packages that may be 
 attached to them. A depot, carefully 
 formed by Lieutenant Griffith, on Griffith 
 Island, was entirely eaten by the bears — 
 the tin cases proving a poor defence against 
 their tusks. They also overthrew a sign- 
 post, and bit off the end of the metal cylin- 
 der containing the record. Richardson, 
 therefore, thinks that Sir John Franklin 
 might have left a cylinder containing no- 
 tices attached to the sign-post which Pen- 
 ny found flat on the ground, or to some 
 other object, and that the bears or wol- 
 verines might have pulled down and de- 
 stroyed it. 
 
 Be this as it may, the search for Sir J olin 
 F ranklin has not ceased- In 1851, Dr. Rae 
 was again sent from the Great Bear Lake 
 towards the sea, for the exploration of the 
 coast and the shore of Wollaston Land. 
 In the same year, Lady Franklin — more 
 steadily hopeful than the Ithacan wife of 
 old — sent the Prince Albert, Captain Ken- 
 nedy again into the Arctic circle. Meeting 
 the returning American ships, Kennedy 
 
 [June 
 
 pushed on through Barrow’s Straits, de- 
 siring, like Forsyth in the preceding year, 
 to examine Regent’s Inlet. But the ice 
 was so thick he could not enter it. At 
 Port Leopold he was separated, along with 
 a small party, from his ship, and, drifting 
 away on the ice, was recovered with diffi- 
 culty. A floe of ice then bore the Prince 
 Albert down the inlet, where, on the west- 
 ern shore, the voyagers wintered at Batty 
 Bay. From this place Captain Kennedy 
 and Mr. Ballot proceeded, on the 1st of 
 April, with sledges round Melville Bay, and 
 following Brentford Bay to the west, dis- 
 covered that it was a new channel, which 
 they believed to be the looked-for passage. 
 Passing round, they proceeded to Cape 
 Walker, on North Somerset, and so east- 
 ward to Port Leopold, whence, after a 
 journey of 1200 miles in two months, they 
 reached the ship in Batty Bay. No trace 
 of Franklin was found ; but the Prince 
 Albert brought home last October some 
 interesting news nevertheless. Pass- 
 ing up into Barrow’s Straits, in August. 
 1852, Captain Kennedy reached Beechy 
 Island on the 19th of that month, and 
 there found Captain Pullen in the North 
 Star, at Erebus Bay, who told him Sir 
 Edward Belcher, in the Assistance, had 
 started up Wellington Channel on the 
 14th, and Captain Kellett, of the Resolute, 
 had gone westwardly to Melville Island 
 and the south of Parry’s Islands, to depo- 
 site there provisions and other necessaries 
 for Collinson and McClure’s expedition, 
 should it reach so far from Behring’s 
 Straits. Belcher’s squadron had been 
 sent from England in the spring of last 
 year, Sir Edward’s chief instructions be- 
 ing to attempt the passage by Wellington 
 Channel. In his absence, the North Star 
 remained at Beechy Island as a depot. 
 
 Research seems to have taken the right 
 track after all ; and the failures of the last 
 three years were necessary to indicate it. 
 The world is anxiously waiting to hear 
 the result of Sir Edward’s bold voyage, 
 favored as it has been by a season of great 
 openness. Captain Kennedy says that 
 the sea was open to the north of Welling- 
 ton Channel when the Assistance went 
 up. and thus restores the credit of Captain 
 Penny (whose announcement of open wa- 
 ter in that direction had been somewhat 
 doubted), while it inspires a strong hope 
 that something may now be effected. Cap- 
 tain Pullen, writing to the Admiralty on 
 the 23d of August, says the voyagers had 
 parted in high spirits, and with every hope 
 of success. He adds, that from the sum- 
 mit of Beechy Island he had looked up 
 W ellington Channel and to the westward, 
 and had seen water with very little ice. 
 Later accounts have been received from 
 
The Polar Seas and Sir John Franklin. 
 
 635 
 
 1853.] 
 
 Sir Edward’s ship in Wellington Channel, 
 to the effect that the expedition had seen, 
 floating down past them, the remains of 
 whales, bears, and other animal substan- 
 ces, which led them to the conclusion that 
 animal life was plenty in that region, and 
 'to the belief that the floating objects were 
 the remains of what had been used for 
 human food. When Captain Kennedy 
 spoke of these facts to Captain Penny, at 
 Aberdeen, the latter expressed an energetic 
 opinion that if Sir Edward Belcher’s ex- 
 pedition were properly pushed forward, it 
 would come out at Behring’s Straits. 
 
 Sir Edward does not think that Sir 
 John Franklin hurried away from Beechy 
 Island. In a letter to the Admiralty of 
 the 14tli of last August, he says, that, on 
 reaching Beechy Island, he proceeded with 
 service parties to examine the place and 
 the adjacent coasts for some record of the 
 missing expedition. After a laborious 
 search, including the lines of direction of 
 the head-boards of the graves, and at ten 
 feet distance, no trace, not even a scratch 
 on the paint, could be discerned. He 
 thinks Sir John had no intention of leav- 
 ing a record at that place. Among the 
 reasons occurring to him for such a belief 
 is, that Sir John would not think it a like- 
 ly place for inquiry ; that lie would place 
 his beacon on Cape Riley, or some more 
 prominent and accessible position. Lieu- 
 tenant Hamilton, belonging to the expedi- 
 tion, speaks of some other tokens of the 
 missing mariners, found at Caswell’s Tow- 
 er, on Beechy Island : “ On searching, we 
 discovered several of Goldner’s preservcd- 
 meat cases, seven or eight wine bottles, a 
 fireplace, and a small well, the bottom cf 
 which was lined with small stones. A 
 pathway of large flat stones led to the 
 well. No cairns or documents were found. 
 These articles evidently belonged to some 
 of Franklin’s parties — most probably a 
 shooting part}'-. 
 
 Last year the Isabel, screw steamer, 
 Captain Inglefield, partly fitted out by 
 Lady Franklin, went to the head of Baf- 
 fin’s Bay, and entered Whale Sound on 
 the eastern side. By this inlet the captain 
 believed he had entered the Great Polar 
 Basin, when the violence of the gales 
 checked his progress, and compelled him 
 to return. He then crossed over to the 
 western side of the bay, and entered 
 Jones’s Sound as far as the 84th degree 
 of longitude, and then returned. After 
 visiting Belcher’s squadron at Beechy Is- 
 land, he came to England towards the close 
 of the year. 
 
 We perceive that the Isabel has re- 
 sumed her search this year, under the 
 order’s of Captain Kennedy, who will pro- 
 ceed to Behring’s Straits to aid or look for 
 
 the expedition of Captains Collinson and 
 McClure. The latter have been near five 
 years in those dreary labyrinths waiting 
 on the shifting chances of that treacher- 
 ous region, and expecting those who never 
 come. Indeed, it is not impossible that, at 
 this moment, the Enterprise and Investi- 
 gator are in the predicament of the Erebus 
 and Terror — in want of the succor which 
 they went so far to convey ! 
 
 America, also, sends out one more ex- 
 pedition in search of the missing ships. 
 Dr. E. R. Kane, in the Advance, goes 
 up to the Arctic circle. He proposes to 
 make the starting-point of his search 
 Smith’s Sound, or some convenient station 
 in the head waters of Baffin’s Bay — over 
 two hundred miles further to the north 
 than Beechy Island. Thence, accompa- 
 nied by a small party with a couple of 
 sledges drawn by dogs, he will undertake 
 an overland pilgrimage westward, in the 
 direction of the Polar Basin. He expects 
 the co-operation of the Danish authorities 
 in removing any difficulties of the prepa- 
 ratory arrangements, and procuring the 
 assistance of such Eskimos as he may 
 need. Each sledge will carry an India- 
 rubber boat on a basket of wicker-work. 
 The doctor has carefully superintended the 
 pemmican, the biscuit, the condensed milk, 
 and dessicated vegetables, and all those 
 gastronomic resources on which the intre- 
 pid little party must mainly rely. Hop- 
 ing to reach the starting-place in the early 
 season of navigation, he intends to follow 
 his course of travel nearly upon a meridi- 
 onal line, which would, it is believed, lead 
 him to the Polynya — a mare liberum , or 
 such, comparatively speaking — within its 
 formidable borderings of the thick-ribbed 
 ice. Mr. Grinnell has again generously 
 given his good ship, the Advance, fully 
 equipped, for this chivalrous charity ; and 
 the doctor has had his enterprise encour- 
 aged by autograph letters from the vene- 
 rable Baron Humboldt, the Nestor of sci- 
 ence and philosophy, Sir Francis Beaufort, 
 Colonel Sabine, Captains Parry, Ross, and 
 other distinguished men. 
 
 Meantime the expedition under Sir 
 Edward Belcher, now following the track 
 which the world believes Franklin took, 
 gives, we repeat, good hope of arriving at 
 something more concerning the missing 
 ships. But the hope that Sir J ohn Frank- 
 lin is still alive is not so strongly enter- 
 tained as heretofore. Between seven and 
 eight years is a long time to spend within 
 the dreary Arctic circle. Sir John Ross 
 has given it as his opinion that even if 
 Franklin’s expedition had been able to 
 procure food enough, they could scarcely 
 survive six winters in the Arctic regions. 
 Capt. Ommaney thinks Sir John and liis 
 
636 
 
 The Polar Seas and Sir John Franklin. 
 
 crew have all perished, seeing that the 
 supply of birds and animals in the North 
 cannot be depended on for more than two 
 months in the year. He also supposes 
 that the meat in the tin cannisters may 
 have been found unfit to eat — a dreary 
 and a terrible idea ! But the opinions of 
 other good authorities give ground for 
 hope. Dr. Scoresby, with the arctic ex- 
 perience of half a century, thinks some 
 portion of the crews may still survive, in- 
 extricably beset in the ice. Captain Kel- 
 lett of the Resolute, now under Belcher 
 in the North, says it is not right or pro- 
 per to conclude the orews are dead, and 
 thinks they will be found farther west 
 than any explorers have yet reached. Sir 
 John Richardson also thinks that part of 
 the crew, at least, may still be alive to the 
 north or northwest of Melville Island 
 — seeing that life may be supported for 
 many years on the land and water ani- 
 mals that haunt the most northern re- 
 gions known. Captain Penny is of the 
 same opinion. Mr. Petermann also be- 
 lieves a portion of the crews may still be 
 safe, and so does Captain Inglefield. 
 Most of these authorities quoted, believe 
 Sir John went up through Wellington 
 Channel. Captains Austin, Ommaney, 
 and Osborne of the royal expedition of 
 1850 lean however, to the opinion that 
 Franklin did not go northward through 
 that channel. Austin still supposes he 
 would proceed beyond Cape Walker, ac- 
 cording to his instructions; Ommaney 
 does not think Sir John prosecuted his 
 research beyond Beechy Island ; and 
 Lieut. Osborne thinks he tried to enter 
 the Polynya from Baffin’s Bay, north of 
 Lancaster Sound, where animal life is 
 more plenty than elsewhere. But the 
 general belief is, that Franklin has gone 
 up to reach that Polar sea which he may 
 have seen from Beechy Island, and which 
 he must have strongly believed in, before 
 he began his voyage at all. About a year 
 before he started, his friend Col. Sabine, 
 published, in London, a translation, from 
 the German, of the Russian Admiral Yon 
 W rangell’s Journeys in 1820 over the ice 
 of the polar sea, from Nijnei Kolymsk. 
 In this Wrangell speaks of a great Pohjn- 
 ya (open space), lying from thirty to 
 fifty miles north of Kotelnoi and New 
 Siberia, and thence in a direct line, at 
 about the same distance from the conti- 
 nent, between Chelagskoiand Cape North. 
 He also alludes to the north and north- 
 east winds, and northwest winds that 
 damped the clothes of his party, proving, 
 he says, that an open watery space exists 
 to the north. Col. Sabine in his preface 
 to the translation says : (and these sen- 
 tences must have passed under the eyes 
 
 [June 
 
 of Franklin, and often influenced the cur- 
 rent of his thoughts), “ every attempt 
 which he (Von W.) made to proceed to the 
 North repeated as these were during three 
 years (1820-23), and from many points of 
 a line several hundred miles, in an eastern 
 and western direction terminated alike in 
 conducting them to an open and navigable 
 sea. After an ice-journey of more or less 
 continuance, they arrived where farther 
 progress in sledges was impossible, where, 
 to use the words of Yon Wrangell. they 
 beheld the wide immeasurable ocean 
 spread before their gaze, a fearful and 
 magnificent but to them, a melancholy 
 spectacle.” Wrangle was of opinion that 
 this Polynya extended, unless land inter- 
 vened, all the way round to Spitsbergen. 
 The repeated failures of the English ex- 
 plorers to go to the West, beyond the 
 last mark of Parry, by way of a lower 
 latitude, must have prepared the mind of 
 Franklin to receive these Russian opin- 
 ions and statements with something like 
 strong conviction ; and he doubtless took 
 with him to the North, the determination 
 to look for the Polynya. This was, in- 
 deed the alternative of his Admiralty in- 
 structions; and furthermore, it may be 
 observed that they who were most inti- 
 mate with Sir John and his friend, Fitz- 
 james, well knew that the thoughts of 
 both reverted to the Polar Basin more 
 strongly than in any other direction. 
 
 Franklin did not contemplate a hasty 
 return ; he seemed to look forward to a 
 longer stay in the North than people sup- 
 posed. In a letter written home, a fort- 
 night before he was last seen, he says, to 
 Col. Sabine : “ I hope my dear wife and 
 
 daughter will not be over anxious if we 
 should not return by the time they have 
 fixed upon ; for you know well that even 
 after the second winter, without success 
 in an object, we should wish to try some 
 other channel, if the state of our provi- 
 sions and the health of our crew justify 
 it.” There is still stronger evidence that 
 he did not intend to come down in a hur- 
 ry. Capt. Martin of the whaler Enter- 
 prise, the last to communicate with Sir 
 John, says (his letter appeared in the 
 London Times), that Franklin told him 
 he was fairly provisioned for five years, 
 but that, if necessary, he could make his 
 stores lastjor seven. Capt. Martin also 
 saw the crews of the two ships busily en- 
 gaged in salting down birds of which they 
 had several casks full, and he says that 
 twelve men were, at the same time, em- 
 ployed in shooting more. Capt. Penny 
 says, Martin is a man of fortune and of 
 strict integrity. That shooting and salting 
 game shows a very deliberate purpose 
 on the part of Franklin — and while it 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Polar Seas and Sir John Franklin. 
 
 637 
 
 proves that he would greatly depend on 
 such food, it inevitably leads us to the 
 conviction that he would be greatly dis- 
 posed to direct his movements with refe- 
 rence to those places where animals and 
 birds could be had in most abundance. 
 This leads our beliefs towards the Poly- 
 nya ; and it is a consolation to think of the 
 many authorities which give us the as- 
 surance of its capacity of furnishing food. 
 Capt. Penny mentioned before the Geo- 
 graphical Society of London, a few months 
 ago, as something encouraging, that 
 twelve American seamen, who wintered 
 last year in an inlet discovered by him in 
 Davis’ Straits, had killed twelve whales — 
 an amount of food he says 11 on which 
 Franklin and his crews might have sub- 
 sisted during the time they were absent ! ” 
 And Dr. Kane is equally hopeful of the 
 safety of Sir John with respect to the 
 supply of food. “The resources” — he 
 says in one of his lectures — “ which that 
 region evidently possesses for the support 
 of human life, are surprisingly greater 
 than the public are generally aware. 
 Narwhal, white whales, and seals — the 
 latter in extreme abundance — crowd the 
 waters of Wellington Channel ; indeed it 
 is a region teeming with animal life. The 
 migrations of the eider duck, the brent 
 goose, and the auk — a bird about the size 
 of our teal, were absolutely wonderful. 
 The fatty envelope of marine animals, 
 known as blubber, supplies light and 
 heat, their furs warm and well-adapted 
 clothing, their flesh wholesome and anti- 
 scorbutic food. The reindeer, the bear, 
 and the fox, also abound in great num- 
 bers even in the highest latitude at- 
 tained.” 
 
 Still, though every feeling of our na- 
 ture, independently of reasons advanced, 
 inclines us to hope Franklin is still alive 
 — no one can deny that the absence of 
 any memorial of his movements is most 
 astonishing and unaccountable. The 
 greater portion of the mystery is in this ! 
 Allowing there may be something in what 
 Sir John Richardson says of the cunning 
 voracity of bears and wolverines ; still, 
 that no direct notice should be found on 
 Beechy Island or Cape Riley, is most 
 extraordinary. Even if Franklin were to 
 proceed to the West, towards Cape Wal- 
 ker, it would be strange he should leave 
 no memorial in the place where he had 
 wintered. If he had gone towards Re- 
 gent’s Inlet or Banks’ Land, it would be 
 expected he would deposit some token of 
 his presence on some of the prominent 
 points, where the explorers of 1850 must 
 have found them. The result of their re- 
 
 searches, in fact, shows that, in all human 
 probability, Franklin never went west- 
 ward from Wellington Channel. With 
 respect to Beechy Island, Capt. Kennedy 
 and others believe that, after all, some 
 memorials of the intrepid navigator lie bu- 
 ried in the ground, though they cannot be 
 come at. But, then, it is scarcely probable 
 that Franklin would bury his intimations 
 in a manner to baffle those who may 
 come after him. Conjecture is bewil- 
 dered by the facts, arguments, and con- 
 clusions that may be gathered from this 
 mysterious question. All that can be 
 said, apparently, is that the balance of 
 probabilities points to the way, north- 
 west from Wellington Channel, as that 
 pursued in 1846, by the Erebus and Ter- 
 ror. 
 
 As we have said — the enterprise of Sir 
 Edward Belcher excites the strongest in- 
 terest, and the world is in daily expecta- 
 tion of hearing some news from North 
 Channel, Queen’s Channel, or other water- 
 ways into the Polynya. It will be a dreary 
 and disheartening thing if Belcher comes 
 down without tidings or token of the 
 lost mariners. He is more likely to 
 meet a memorial of the ships than the 
 ships themselves ; for, if they enter 
 that region, they should be far to the 
 westward by this time, and above that 
 outlying circle of ice which resisted the 
 efforts of the Plover, Enterprise and In- 
 vestigator to pierce it. Altogether, the 
 fate of Franklin is covered with uncer- 
 tainty as with a thick cloud. No doubt, 
 there are those who dream of the day 
 when he may come down from the cold 
 Polynya, to send a thrill of joy and con- 
 gratulation through the length and breadth 
 of the civilized world. But others, with 
 Ommaney and Stewart (Penny’s captain) 
 dread the worst, and think that Brit- 
 ish-born crews could not survive six 
 winters in the arctic circle. Still, hope 
 is not killed. Sir John Ross spent four 
 winters in the ice, and cqme out safe ; 
 though he was forced to quit his single 
 ship, the Victory. Sir John Franklin’s 
 expedition was well equipped and fur- 
 nished ; his ships were stout, and his de- 
 termination to make some decisive west- 
 ing was very strong. His case does not 
 yet seem desperate ; and we wait with 
 anxiety, the result of efforts at present 
 made in the Polar wilderness — efforts that 
 will still be repeated till the fate of the 
 lost navigator and his companions shall 
 be discovered, or all reasonable hope of 
 ever bringing it to light shall be extin- 
 guished. 
 
638 
 
 [June 
 
 THACKERAY IK AMERICA. 
 
 M R. THACKERAY’S visit at least 
 demonstrated, that if we are unwill- 
 ing to pay English authors for their books, 
 we are ready to reward them handsomely 
 for the opportunity of seeing and hear- 
 ing them. If Mr. Dickens, instead of 
 dining at other people’s expense, and 
 making speeches at his own, when he 
 came to see us, had devoted an evening or 
 two in the week to lecturing, his purse 
 would have been fuller, his feelings 
 sweeter, and his fame fairer. It was a 
 Quixotic crusade, that of the Copyright, 
 and the excellent Don has never forgiven 
 the windmill that broke his spear. 
 
 Undoubtedly, when it was ascertained 
 that Mr. Thackeray was coming, the pub- 
 lic feeling on our side of the sea was very 
 much divided as to his probable reception. 
 “He’ll come and humbug us, eat our 
 dinners, pocket our money, and go home 
 and abuse us, like that unmitigated snob 
 Dickens,” said Jonathan, chafing with 
 the remembrance of that grand ball at 
 the Park theatre, and the Boz tableaux, 
 and the universal wining and dining, to 
 which the distinguished Dickens was sub- 
 ject while he was our guest. 
 
 “Let him have his say,” said others, 
 “and we will have our look. "We will 
 pay a dollar to hear him, if we can see 
 him at the same time ; and as for the 
 abuse, why it takes even more than two 
 such cubs of the roaring British lion to 
 frighten the American eagle. Let him 
 come, and give him fair play.” 
 
 He did come, and has had his fair play, 
 and has returned to England with a com- 
 fortable pot of gold holding $12,000, and 
 with the hope and promise of seeing us 
 again in September, to discourse of some- 
 thing not less entertaining than the witty 
 men and sparkling times of Anne. We 
 think there was no disappointment with 
 his lectures. Those who knew his books 
 found the author in tne lecturer. Those 
 who did not know the books were charmed 
 in the lecturer by what is charming in 
 the author, the unaffected humanity, the 
 tenderness, the sweetness, the genial 
 play of fancy, and the sad touch of truth, 
 with that glancing stroke of satire, which, 
 lightning-like, illumines while it withers. 
 The lectures were even more delightful 
 than the books, because- the tones of the 
 voice, and the appearance of the man, the 
 general personal magnetism, explained 
 and alleviated so much that would other- 
 wise have seemed doubtful or unfair. 
 For those who had long felt in the writ- 
 ings of Thackeray a reality, quite inex- 
 pressible, there was a secret delight in 
 
 finding it justified by his speaking. For 
 he speaks as he writes, simply, directly, 
 without flourish, without any cant of ora- 
 tory, commending what he says by its 
 intrinsic sense, and the sympathetic, and 
 humane way in which it was spoken. 
 Thackeray is the kind of “ stump-orator ” 
 that would have pleased Carlyle. Ho 
 never thrusts himself between you and 
 his thought. If his conception of the 
 time and his estimate of the men differ 
 from your own, you have at least no 
 doubt what his view is, nor how sincere 
 and necessary it is to him. Mr. Thacke- 
 ray considers Swift a misanthrope. He 
 loves Goldsmith, and Steele, and Harry 
 Fielding. He has no love for Sterne, 
 great admiration for Pope, and alleviated 
 admiration for Addison. How could it 
 be otherwise? How could Thackeray 
 not think Swift a misanthrope, and Sterne 
 a factitious sentimentalist ? He is a man 
 of instincts, not of thoughts. He sees 
 and feels. He would be “ Shakspeare’s 
 call-boy ” rather than dine with the Dean 
 of St. Patrick’s. He would take a pot 
 of ale with Goldsmith rather than a glass 
 of Burgundy with the “Reverend Mr. 
 Sterne,” and that, simply, because he is 
 Thackeray. He would have done it as 
 Fielding would have done it, because he 
 values one genuine emotion above the 
 most dazzling thought, because he is, in 
 fine, a Bohemian, “a minion of the moon,” 
 a great, sweet, generous human heart. 
 
 W e say this with the more unction now, 
 that we have the personal proof of it in 
 his public and private intercourse while 
 he was here. 
 
 The popular Thackeray-theory, before 
 his arrival, was of a severe satirist, who 
 concealed scalpels in his sleeves and car- 
 ried probes in his waistcoat pockets ; a 
 wearer of masks; a scoffer and sneerer, 
 and general infidel of all high aim and 
 noble character. Certainly we are justi- 
 fied in saying that his presence among us 
 quite corrected this idea. We welcomed 
 a friendly, genial man; not at all con- 
 vinced that speech is heaven’s first law, 
 but willing to be silent when there was 
 nothing to say, — who decidedly refused to 
 be lionized, not by sulking, but by step- 
 ping off the pedestal and challenging the 
 common sympathies of all he met; a man 
 who, in view of the thirty odd editions of 
 Martin Farquhar Tupper, was willing to 
 confess that every author should “ think 
 small beer of himself.” Indeed he has this 
 rare quality, that his personal impression 
 deepens, in kind, that of his writings. The 
 quiet and comprehensive grasp of the fact, 
 
1853.] 
 
 Thackeray in America. 
 
 639 
 
 and the intellectual impossibility of hold- 
 ing fast anything but the fact, is as mani- 
 fest in the essayist upon the Wits, as in 
 the Author of Henry Esmond and Vanity 
 Fair. Shall we say that this is the sum 
 of his power, and the secret of his satire ? 
 It is not what might be, nor what we, 
 or other persons of well-regulated minds, 
 might wish, but it is the actual state of 
 things, that he sees and describes. How 
 then can he help what we call satire, if he 
 accepts Mrs. Rawdon Crawley’s invitation, 
 and describes her party ? There is no 
 more satire in it — so far as he is concerned 
 — than in painting lilies white. A full 
 length portrait of the fair Lady Beatrix, 
 too, must needs show a gay and brilliant 
 figure, superbly glittering across the vista 
 of those stately days. Why should Dab 
 and Tab, the eminent critics, step up and 
 demand that her eyes be of pale blue, and 
 her stomacher higher around the neck ? 
 Do Dab and Tab expect to gather pears 
 from peach-trees ? or, because their theory 
 of dendrology convinces them that an ideal 
 fruit-tree would supply any fruft desired 
 upon application, do they denounce the 
 non-pear-bearing peach-tree in the col- 
 umns of their valuable -Journal ? This is 
 the drift of the fault found with Thacke- 
 ray. He is not Fenelon. he is not Dickens, 
 he is not Scott ; he is not poetical, he is not 
 ideal, he is not humane, he is not tit, he is 
 not tat, complain the eminent Dabs and 
 Tabs. Of course he is not, because he is 
 Thackeray, — a man who describes what 
 he sees, motives as well as appearances, a 
 man who believes that character is better 
 than talent, — that there is a worldly weak- 
 ness superior to worldly wisdom, — that 
 Dick Steele may haunt the ale-house, and 
 be carried home muzzy, and yet be a more 
 commendable character than the Reverend 
 Dean of St. Patrick’s, who has genius 
 enough to illuminate a century, but not 
 sympathy enough to sweeten a drop of 
 beer. And he represents this in a way 
 that makes us see it as he does, and with- 
 out exaggeration, for surely nothing could 
 be more simple than his story of the life 
 of “honest Capt. Dick Steele.” If he al- 
 lotted to that gentleman a consideration 
 disproportioned to the space he occupies in 
 literary history, it only showed, the more 
 strikingly, how deeply the lecturer’s sym- 
 pathy was touched by Steele’s honest hu- 
 manity. 
 
 An article in our April number com- 
 plained that the tendency of his view of 
 Anne’s times was to a social laxity which 
 might be very exhilarating, but was very 
 dangerous ; that the lecturer’s warm com- 
 mendation of fermented drinks taken at a 
 very early hour of the morning in tavern- 
 rooms and club houses, was as deleteri- 
 
 ous to the moral health of enthusiastic 
 young readers, disposed to the literary 
 life, as the beverage itself to their physical 
 health. 
 
 But this is not a charge to be brought 
 against Thackeray. It is a quarrel with 
 history and with the nature of literary 
 life. Artists and authors have always 
 been the good fellows of the world. That 
 mental organization which predisposes a 
 man to the pursuit of literature and art, 
 is made up of talent combined with ardent 
 social sympathy, geniality, and passion, 
 and leads him to taste every cup and 
 try every experience. There is certainly 
 no essential necessity that this class 
 should be a dissipated and disreputable 
 class ; but, by their very susceptibility to 
 enjoyment, they will always be the plea- 
 sure-lovers and seekers. And here is 
 the social compensation to the literary 
 man for the surrender of those chances 
 of ft v tune which men of other pursuits 
 enjoy. If he makes less money, he gets 
 more juice out of what hedoesmake. If he 
 cannot drink Burgundy, he can quaff the 
 nut-brown ale, while the most brilliant 
 wit, the most salient fancy, the sweetest 
 sympathy, the most genial culture, shall 
 sparkle at his board more radiantly than 
 a silver service, and give him the spirit of 
 the tropics and the Rhine, whose fruits 
 are on other tables. The golden light 
 that transfigures talent and illuminates 
 the world, and which we call genius, is 
 erratic and erotic ; and while in Milton 
 it is austere, and in W ordsworth cool, and 
 in Southey methodical, in Shakspeare it 
 is fervent, with all the results of fervor, 
 in Raphael lovely, with all the excesses 
 of love, in Dante moody, with all the 
 whims of caprice. The old quarrel of 
 Lombard Street with Grub Street is as 
 profound as that of Osiris and Typho, — it 
 is the difference of sympathy. The Mar- 
 quis of Westminster will still take good 
 care that no superfluous shilling escapes. 
 Oliver Goldsmith will still spend his last 
 shilling upon a brave and unnecessary 
 banquet for his friends. 
 
 Whether this be a final fact of human or- 
 ganization or not, it is certainly a fact of his- 
 tory. Every man instinctively believes that 
 Shakspeare stole deer ; just as he disbe- 
 lieves that Lord Mayor Whittington ever 
 told a lie; and the secret of that instinct 
 is the consciousness of a difference in or- 
 ganization. “ Knave, I have power to 
 hang ye,” says somebody in one of Beau- 
 mont and Fletcher’s plays. “And I to 
 be hanged and scorn ye,” is the airy an- 
 swer. “ I had a pleasant hour the other 
 evening,” said a friend to us, “ over my 
 cigar and a book.” “ What book was 
 that ? ” “A treatise conclusively proving 
 
G40 
 
 Thackeray in America. 
 
 the awful consequences of smoking.” L>e 
 Quincey came up to London, and declared 
 war against opium. But during a little 
 amnesty, in which he lapsed into his old 
 elysium, he wrote his best book, depicting 
 its horrors. 
 
 Our readers will not imagine that we 
 are advocating the claims of drunkenness, 
 nor defending social excess. We are only 
 recognizing the fact, and stating an ob- 
 vious tendency. The most brilliant 
 illustrations of every virtue are to be 
 found in the literary guild, as well as the 
 saddest beacons of warning. Yet it will 
 often occur that the last in talent and the 
 first in excess of a picked company, will 
 be the man around whom sympathy most 
 kindly lingers. We love Goldsmith more 
 at the head of his ill-advised feast, than 
 Johnson and his friends leaving it, 
 thoughtful and generous as their conduct 
 was. The heart despises prudence. 
 
 In this single-hearted regard, we know 
 that pity has a larger share. Yet it is 
 not so much that pity which is commisera- 
 tion for misfortune and deficiency, as that 
 which is recognition of a necessary world- 
 ly ignorance. The literary class is the 
 most innocent of all. The contempt of 
 practical men for the Poets is based upon 
 a consciousness that they are not bad 
 enough for a bad world. To a practical 
 man nothing is so absurd as the lack of 
 worldly shrewdness. The very complaint 
 of the literary life, that it does not amass 
 wealth and live in palaces, is the scorn of 
 the practical man ; for he cannot under- 
 stand that intellectual opacity which pre- 
 vents the literary man from seeing the 
 necessity of the different pecuniary con- 
 dition. It is clear enough to the pub- 
 lisher who lays up fifty thousand a year, 
 why the author ends the year in debt. 
 But the author is amazed that he who 
 deals in ideas can only dine upon occa- 
 sional chops, while the man who merely 
 binds and sells ideas sits down to per- 
 petual sirloin. If they should change 
 places, fortune would change with them. 
 The publisher, turned author, would still 
 lay by his hundreds. The publishing 
 author would directly lose thousands. 
 It is simply because it is a matter of pru- 
 dence, economy, and knowledge of the 
 world. Thomas Hood made his ten thou- 
 sand dollars a year, but if he lived at the 
 rate of fifteen thousand, he would hardly 
 die rich. Mr. Jerdan. a gentleman who, 
 in his autobiography, advises energetic 
 youth to betake themselves to the high- 
 way rather than to literature, was, we 
 understand, in the receipt of an easy in- 
 come, and was a welcome guest in plea- 
 sant houses ; but living in a careless, shift- 
 less, extravagant way, he was presently 
 
 [Juno 
 
 poor, and, instead of giving his memoirs 
 the motto, peccavi , and inditing a warn 
 ing, he dashes off a truculent defiance 
 Publishers and practical men of all kinds 
 invest their earnings in Michigan Central, 
 or Cincinnati and Dayton ; in stead}' works 
 and devoted days, and reap a pleasant 
 harvest of dividends. Our friends, the 
 authors, invest in prime Havanas, Rhenish, 
 in oyster suppers, love, and leisure, and 
 divide a heavy percentage of headache, 
 dyspepsia, and debt. 
 
 This is as true a view, from another 
 point, as the one we have already taken. 
 If the literary life has the pleasures of 
 freedom, it has also its pains. It may 
 willingly resign the Queen’s drawing- 
 room with the illustrious galaxy of stars 
 and garters, for the chamber with a party 
 nobler than nobility. The author’s suo- 
 cess is of a wholly different kind from that 
 of the publisher, and he is thoughtless who 
 demands both. Mr. Roe, who sells sugar, 
 naturally complains that Mr. Doe, who 
 sells molasses, makes money more rapidly. 
 But Mr. Tennyson, who writes poems, 
 can hardly make the same complaint of 
 Mr. Moxon who publishes them , as was 
 very fairly shown in a late number of the 
 Westminster Review, when noticing Mr. 
 Jordan’s book. 
 
 What we have said is strictly related to 
 Mr. Thackeray’s lectures, which discussed 
 literary life. All the men he commemo- 
 rated, were illustrations and exponents of 
 the career of letters. They all, in various 
 ways, showed the various phenomena of 
 that temperament. And when, in treating 
 them, the critic came to Steele, he found 
 one who was the most striking illustra- 
 tion of one of the most universal aspects 
 of literary life — the simple-hearted, unsus- 
 picious, gay. gallant, and genial gentleman, 
 ready with his sword or his pen, with a 
 smile or a tear, the fair representative of 
 the social tendency of his life. It seems 
 to us that the Thackeray-theory, the con- 
 clusion that he is a man who loves to de- 
 pict badness and has no sensibilities to the 
 finer qualities of character, crumbled quite 
 away before that lecture upon Steele. We 
 know that it was not considered the best. 
 We know that many of the delighted au- 
 dience were not sufficiently familiar with 
 literary history, fully to understand the 
 position of the man in the lecturer’s re- 
 view ; but, as a key to Thackeray, it was. 
 perhaps, the most valuable of all. We 
 know, in literature, of no more gentle 
 treatment. We have not often encoun- 
 tered in men of the most rigorous and ac- 
 knowledged virtue such humane tender- 
 ness. "We have not often heard from the 
 most clerical lips words of such genuine 
 Christianity. Steele’s was a character 
 
Thackeray in America. 
 
 641 
 
 1 853 .] 
 
 which makes weakness amiable. It was 
 weakness, if you will, but it was as cer- 
 tainly amiability. And it was a combina- 
 tion more attractive than many full-pano- 
 plied excellencies. It was not presented 
 as a model. Captain Steele in the tap- 
 room was not painted as the ideal of 
 virtuous manhood. But it certainly was 
 intimated that many admirable things 
 were consonant with a free use of beer. 
 It was frankly stated that if, in that ca- 
 reer, virtue abounded, cakes and ale did 
 much more abound. Captain Richard 
 Steele might have behaved much better 
 than he did — but we should then have 
 never heard of him. A few fine essays 
 do not float a man into immortality. But 
 the generous character, the heart sweet in 
 all excesses and under all chances, is a 
 spectacle too beautiful and too rare to be 
 easily forgotten. A man is better than 
 many books. Even a man who is not 
 immaculate, may be a more virtuous in- 
 fluence than the discreetest saint. Let us 
 remember how fondly the old painters 
 lingered around the story of the Mag- 
 dalen, and thank Thackeray for his full- 
 length of Steele. 
 
 We conceive this to be the chief result 
 of Thackeray’s visit, that he convinced us 
 of his intellectual integrity ; he showed 
 us how impossible it is for him to see the 
 world, and describe it other than he does, 
 lie does not profess cynicism, nor satirize 
 society with malice. There is no man 
 more humble, none more simple. His 
 interests are human and concrete, not ab- 
 stract. We have already said that he 
 looks, through and through, at the fact. 
 It is easy enough, and at some future 
 time it will be done in these pages, to de- 
 duce the peculiarity of his writings from 
 the character of his mind. There is no 
 man who masks so little as he, in assum- 
 ing the author. His books are his obser- 
 vation reduced to writing. It seems to us 
 as singular to demand that Dante should 
 be like Shakspeare, as to quarrel with 
 Thackeray’s want of what is called ideal 
 portraiture. Even if you thought, from 
 reading his Vanity Fair , that he had 
 no conception of noble women, certainly 
 after the lecture upon Swift, after all the 
 lectures, in which every allusion to women 
 was so manly, and delicate, and sympa- 
 thetic, you thought so no longer. It is 
 clear that his sympathy is attracted to 
 women by that which is essentially femi- 
 nine. Qualities common to both sexes do 
 not necessarily charm him because he 
 finds them in women. A certain degree 
 of goodness must be always assumed. It 
 is only the rare flowering that inspires 
 especial praise. You call Amelia’s fond- 
 ness for George Osborne, foolish, fond 
 
 VOL. i. — 41 
 
 idolatry. Thackeray smiles, as if all love 
 were not, idolatry of the fondest foolish- 
 ness. What was Hero’s — what was Fran- 
 cesca di Rimini’s — what was Juliet’s ? 
 They might have been more brilliant wo- 
 men than Amelia, and their idols of a 
 larger mould than George, but the love 
 was the same old, foolish, fond idolatry. 
 The passion of love, and a profound and 
 sensible regard based upon prodigious 
 knowledge of character and appreciation 
 of talent, are different things. What is the 
 historical and poetic splendor of love, 
 but the very fact which constantly ap- 
 pears in Thackeray’s stories ; namely, that 
 it is a glory which dazzles and blinds. 
 Men rarely love the women they ought 
 to love, according to the ideal standards. 
 It is this that makes the plot and mystery 
 of life. Is it not the perpetual surprise 
 of all Jane’s friends, that she should love 
 Timothy instead of Thomas? And is not 
 the courtly and accomplished Thomas 
 sure to surrender to some accidental Lu- 
 cy, without position, wealth, style, wit, 
 culture,— without any thing but heart ? 
 This is the fact, and it reappears in Thack- 
 eray ; and it gives his books that air of 
 reality which they possess beyond all 
 modern story. 
 
 And it is this single perception of the 
 fact, which, simple as it is, is the rarest 
 intellectual quality that made his lec- 
 tures so interesting. The sun arose again 
 upon that vanished century, and lighted 
 those historic streets. The wits of Queen 
 Anne ruled the hour, and we were bidden 
 to their feast. Much reading of history 
 and memoirs had not so sent the blood 
 into those old English cheeks, and so 
 moved those limbs in proper measure, as 
 these swift glances through the eyes of 
 genius. It was because, true to himself, 
 Thackeray gave us his impressions of those 
 wits as men, rather than authors. For 
 he loves character more than thought. 
 He is a man of the world and not a schol- 
 ar. He interprets the author by the man. 
 When you are made intimate with young 
 Swift, Sir William Temple’s saturnine 
 secretary, you more intelligently appreci- 
 ate the Dean of St. Patrick’s. When the 
 surplice of Mr. Sterne is raised a little, 
 more is seen than the reverend gentleman 
 intends. Hogarth, the bluff Londoner, 
 necessarily depicts a bluff, coarse, obvious 
 morality. The hearty Fielding, the cool 
 Addison, the genial Goldsmith, — these are 
 the figures that remain in memory, and 
 their works are as valuable as they indi- 
 cate the man. 
 
 Mr. Thackeray’s success was very great. 
 He did not visit the West, nor Canada. 
 He went home without seeing Niagara 
 Falls. But wherever he did go, he found 
 
642 
 
 Works of American Statesmen. 
 
 a generous social welcome, and a respect- 
 ful and sympathetic hearing. He came 
 to fulfil no mission: but he certainly knit 
 more closely our sympathy with English- 
 men. Heralded by various romantic me- 
 moirs, he smiled at them, stoutly asserted 
 that he had been always able to command 
 a good dinner, and to pay for it ; nor did 
 he seek to disguise that he hoped his 
 American tour would help him to com- 
 mand and pay for more. He promised 
 not to write a book about us, but we hope 
 he will, for we can ill spare the criticism 
 of such an observer. At least, we may 
 
 [June 
 
 be sure that the material gathered here 
 will be worked up in some way. He 
 found that we were not savages nor boors. 
 He found that there were a hundred here 
 for every score in England, who knew 
 well, and loved, the men of whom he spoke. 
 He found that the same red blood colors 
 all the lips that speak the language he 
 so nobly praised. He found friends in- 
 stead of critics. He found those who, lov- 
 ing the author, love the man more. He 
 found a quiet welcome from those who are 
 waiting to welcome him again, and as sin- 
 cerely. 
 
 WORKS OF AMERICAN STATESMEN. 
 
 D E Tocqueville, who has written the 
 most appreciative book on the United 
 States that has been published, yet falls 
 into many errors, among which we are 
 disposed to class what he says of our 
 want of permanent national records. 
 His words are these : " The public admin- 
 istration (of the United States) is oral 
 and traditionary. But little is committed 
 to writing, and that little is wafted away 
 like the leaves of the Sibyl, by the small- 
 est breeze. The only historical remains 
 are the newspapers ; but, if a number be 
 wanting, the chain of time is broken, and 
 the Present is severed from the Past. I 
 am convinced, that in fifty years it will 
 be more difficult to collect authentic do- 
 cuments concerning the social condition 
 of the Americans, at the present day, than 
 it is to find the remains of the adminis- 
 tration of France during the middle ages ; 
 and, if the United States were ever in- 
 vaded by barbarians, it would be neces- 
 sary to have recourse to the history of 
 other nations, in order to learn any thing 
 of the people who now inhabit them.” 
 
 It is a curious comment on this specula- 
 tion of the distinguished Frenchman, that 
 we have, perhaps, more materials for the 
 minute and faithful history of our political 
 and social life, and for illustrating the 
 characters of our great men, than any 
 other nation ; and that the habit of pre- 
 serving memorials, even insignificant ones, 
 of public occurrences, as well as every 
 trace of men who have made any conspi- 
 cuous figure, is rather a vice than a defi- 
 ciency of our literature. The voluminous 
 correspondence of the revolutionary wor- 
 thies, from Washington and Franklin 
 down to the obscurer personages of their 
 time ; the private memoirs, that the 
 families, or friends, of the Adamses, 
 Morris, Livingston, Jay, Story. Randolph, 
 
 Jefferson, and Hamilton, have so care- 
 fully compiled : the labored collections of 
 the Historical Societies of the several 
 States, extending to tracts, pamphlets, 
 maps, state papers and books ; the records 
 of local celebrations and festivities pre- 
 served in the archives of towns and cities ; 
 and, finally, the newspapers, of which, in 
 their multiplicity, there is no fear, as De 
 Tocqueville somewhat ludicrously inti- 
 mates, that the issue of a single day will 
 be lost, to break the chain of events — are 
 so many hostages taken of Time to secure 
 us against his fatal inroads. 
 
 We are reminded also of another refu- 
 tation of the remark we have quoted, by 
 a series of the ‘'Works” of some of our 
 eminent later statesmen, put forth by 
 themselves or their admirers, to give ex- 
 tension and permanence to whatever they 
 may have said or done worthy of more 
 than transient notice. There is now lying 
 before us a score of volumes, issued with- 
 in the last few months, which contain the 
 speeches and writings of Levi Woodbury, 
 William H. Seward, Henry Clay, John 
 C. Calhoun, and Daniel Webster, together 
 with attempts, more or less elaborate, in 
 the form of biographies and notes, to con- 
 vey 11 to other nations and to future times ” 
 some knowledge of their deeds and char- 
 acters. Mr. Woodbury’s “Works” are 
 in three volumes, consisting mainly of his 
 speeches as Senator, his reports as Secre- 
 tary of the Treasury, and his occasional 
 addresses; Mr. Seward appears in three 
 large tomes, similarly filled ; Mr. Clay 
 in two, chiefly of speeches ; Mr. Calhoun 
 in one. containing his dissertation on the 
 Constitution, to be followed by two other 
 volumes of reports and speeches ; and 
 Mr. Webster in six, embracing his ora- 
 tions, diplomatic papers, forensic argu- 
 ments. and debates. There is, therefore, 
 
1853.] 
 
 Works of American Statesmen. 
 
 643 
 
 great similarity in the subject-matter of 
 these publications ; but that fact rather 
 heightens than impairs their utility, at 
 least in a historical sense, because it fur- 
 nishes us with the views of several dif- 
 ferent minds, in respect to the same great 
 questions and events. 
 
 Embracing as they do, moreover, dis- 
 cussions of nearty all the more important 
 issues that have arisen since the origin 
 of our democratic government and under 
 the peculiar structure of our mixed socie- 
 ties — questions of agriculture, industry, 
 education and religion, as well as of State 
 and Federal politics, — by men who moved 
 in the midst of the agitations they caused, 
 applying the best energies of mind and 
 heart to the peaceful solution of each as 
 it arose, they not only secure us, so far as 
 they go, from the reproach of De Tocque- 
 ville, but are valuable contributions to 
 letters, as well as to history. 
 
 For, it should be remembered, that the 
 literature of a nation is not confined to 
 magazines, books, journals and poems, or 
 to those forms in which the intellectual 
 life of a people is ordinarily expressed. 
 All sincere and vigorous utterances of na- 
 tional feeling and thought, become, when 
 recorded, a part of that literature. Po- 
 litical debates, especially in a nation where 
 the powers and attainments of men are 
 almost universally devoted to active pur- 
 suits, as they are with us, are likely to 
 be a most original and vital part of it, 
 and springing warm from the brains of 
 foremost men, under the impulse of great 
 exigencies, when their abilities are taxed 
 to the highest extent, to overcome opposi- 
 tion, and to bring about worthy and noble 
 ends, they will possess an earnestness, 
 freedom, and depth of purpose, which we 
 do not always find in the colder essays of 
 the professed man of letters. At least 
 they will be truer to the form and press- 
 ure of the time, though, perhaps, less 
 marked by scholastic perfections. 
 
 The editors of these books then have, 
 in our opinion, rightly called them 
 “ Works ; ” for the men from whom they 
 came were not only legislators, ora- 
 tors, magistrates, but authors as well. 
 They did not, it is true, aim at literary 
 reputation, yet their efforts have the 
 characteristics of literary performances ; 
 they are an expression of our national 
 peculiarities ; they abound in pleasant 
 narratives of facts, skilful dialectics, com- 
 prehensive and close argument, impas- 
 sioned eloquence, and sarcastic retort ; 
 and have a value beyond the occasion 
 or interest in which they originated. 
 
 Nor should we omit to mention the spe- 
 cial interest which is communicated to 
 these volumes by the fact, that the au- 
 
 thors of them were rivals and competi- 
 tors in the great Olympian contests of 
 our Senate. Accustomed to encounter 
 each other in those athletic grapplings of 
 mind with mind, which have illustrated the 
 history of parties for the last half cen 
 tury, their books may be said, now that 
 they have departed from the scene, to re- 
 new their struggles. Recalling the magni- 
 ficent picture of the great German painter, 
 Kaulbach, descriptive of the battle of 
 the Huns, the spirits of the combatants, 
 thus, when their bodies are laid in their 
 dust, arise once more and resume the 
 battle in the air. But we have this ad- 
 vantage in the books, that the ferocity 
 and bitterness of the original strife are 
 laid aside, and only the real life, the essen- 
 tial spirit of the conflict remains. 
 
 Mr. Woodbury, the first on our list, 
 was not a man who widely influenced his 
 day and generation, and we may dismiss 
 him in a few words. As a Senator of the 
 United States, in which capacity he ser ved 
 for some years ; as Secretary of the Trea- 
 sury during the administration of Mr. 
 Van Buren, and latterly as a District 
 Judge, he attained to a respectable posi- 
 tion ; he served his party with diligence, 
 and was evidently a man of solid judg- 
 ment and sincere faith in his opinions ; but 
 he was scarcely a leader out of the small 
 State of New Hampshire, in which he 
 lived, and he never rose to such emi- 
 nence as to become the representative of 
 any distinctive or vital policy. He wrote 
 with vigor, but yet without much grace 
 or facility : his sentences are cumbrous ; 
 what he saw clearly even, he did not al- 
 ways state clearly ; and when he seeks to 
 illustrate a position, he rather overloads 
 it with commonplace ornament, than 
 simplifies it by apt and lucid figures. A 
 politician and a jurist, the habit of his 
 mind was that of reserve and caution, so 
 that the propositions he utters come to 
 us with so many qualifying phrases, — 
 with so many ifs, buts and provided 
 that they are shorn of their strength, and 
 are often more of a puzzle than an im- 
 pulse to the intellect. At the same time 
 Justice Woodbury had strong popular 
 sympathies, cherished an enlightened and 
 liberal political philosophy, was an enthu- 
 siast, almost, in his hopes of human pro- 
 gress, and only needed to surrender 
 himself more entirely to the inspira- 
 tions of this side of his nature, to have 
 been an eloquent writer and a great man. 
 
 Mr. Seward, we think, a higher order 
 of mind, not because he is more compre- 
 hensive or profound, but because he 
 has a finer fibre of brain, and rises 
 more easily into the region of general 
 principles. He is a yet living statesman, 
 
Works of American Statesmen. 
 
 644 
 
 surrounded by preposessions and hostili- 
 ties, and we are therefore aware that our 
 estimate of him may be influenced by 
 current prejudices; but we have read his 
 writings attentively, and are prepared to 
 give an honest judgment as to his merits. 
 
 Most men, engaged in the actual contests 
 of politics, are liable to be overrated by 
 their friends, and underrated by their 
 enemies ; but the peculiarity of Mr. Sew- 
 ard’s case has been that he has reversed 
 the process, and, if not underrated by his 
 friends, is at least overrated by his ene- 
 mies. In other words, the nature and 
 kind of opposition that he has encounter- 
 ed, have given him a prestige beyond the 
 influence he is entitled to by his real 
 abilities. The masses of the people hear- 
 ing him decried so vehemently as a most 
 dangerous fellow, the contriver of every 
 nefarious plot, and the secret agent of 
 every disorganizing movement, are apt to 
 take his opponents at their word, and to 
 believe that one who is so fertile in ex- 
 pedients and so hard to baffle, must be a 
 prodigious worker, destined sooner or 
 later to the most commanding sway. 
 Men admire success, and even the reputa- 
 tion of it, and have a secret liking for 
 those who are roundly abused ; a fact which 
 was evidenced in another case lately, that 
 of Martin Van Buren, who was indebted 
 as much to the magical influence his foes 
 ascribed to him, as to the attachment of 
 his friends or his native sagacity, for any 
 elevation that he attained. Give a man a 
 name for miraculous shrewdness and 
 management, and you give him a host of 
 friends ; in fact, open his way, without 
 efforts of his own, to almost any advance- 
 ment. 
 
 The characteristics of Mr. Seward’s 
 mind are clearness, activity and cunning, 
 to use the term in its best sense. He 
 grasps his subjects sharply, with pene- 
 tration as well as power, manages them 
 with subtle and quick dexterity, and 
 being of a sanguine temperament, never 
 wearies of the labor of elucidation 
 and display. His logic is not of the close 
 and compact sort which may be compared 
 to mailed armor, impregnable to all as- 
 saults, for it is rather demonstrative than 
 convincing, and consists more in the 
 adroit linking together of facts, than the 
 rigid deduction of principles. But he has 
 great facility of expression, both as a 
 writer and speaker ; is always perspicuous, 
 generally pleasing, and sometimes elo- 
 quent; he has read considerably, and un- 
 derstandingly ; and his style, without being 
 idiomatic or classical, is not offensively in- 
 correct. He avoids, for the most part, 
 excessive ornament, that turgid floridity 
 so common to our orators ; yet there is a 
 
 [June 
 
 tendency to diffuseness, and a swelling, 
 and consequent^', languid wordiness in his 
 hastier efforts which greatly debilitate 
 their strength. He expatiates too much, 
 is too long in covering his. ground, arid 
 is apt to be tedious when he ought to be 
 concise. Had he compressed what he has 
 published into one-third the space, he might 
 have said every thing that he has now 
 said, and much better. Nor is it any 
 excuse for this carelessness of composi- 
 tion, to say that his addresses and letters 
 were prepared in the midst of active occu- 
 pations, on the spur of the moment, and 
 without time for that limae labor which 
 gives the last finish to language. This might 
 have been an excuse for them, as origi- 
 nally uttered, but not for them as delibe- 
 rately collected and edited. Besides, it is 
 not impossible to acquire a compact, precise 
 and simple style, even in extemporaneous 
 effusions— to make compression the habit 
 of the mind — and when we consider what 
 a lasting charm it lends to speech, the 
 neglect of it, especially by men who de- 
 sire to be read widely, and in after times, 
 seems a strange oversight. 
 
 There is another defect of his composi- 
 tions, arising partly in the same causes 
 winch produce diffuseness, and partly in 
 a limited range of cultivation, which is, 
 the use of worn and current metaphors, 
 or commonplace turns of expression. Not 
 remarkably original in his views, he is 
 less so in his language. We miss that 
 nice choice of words, those racy, idiomatic 
 phrases, those graceful or happy allusions, 
 those pregnant epithets, which condense a 
 whole argument into a word, and those 
 novel and picturesque suggestions, re- 
 lieving the weight of argument, which 
 proclaim a thorough master of his art. 
 Yet Mr. Seward goes far towards supply- 
 ing the place of these finer strokes of 
 genius by Iris amiable and conciliating 
 manner, a temper singularly free from 
 gall, his vivacious readiness, and his 
 elastic, almost exuberant, vitality, an- 
 swering the purpose of a genuine enthu- 
 siasm. If he does not produce deep and 
 vivid impressions, he carries his readers 
 with him by the lucidity of his state- 
 ment, the intrepid and manly spirit in 
 which he meets difficulties and announces 
 principles, and his obvious command of 
 his position. Never impassioned, even in 
 his most declamatory passages, he is yet 
 always animated and fresh, full of hope, 
 and thoroughly American. 
 
 It is no part of our duty, as reviewers, 
 to question the sincerity of Mr. Seward’s 
 convictions, as the politicians are prone to 
 do ; the less so, as we find his opinions 
 cohering in a very intelligent and consist- 
 ent system of political doctrine. Nor do 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Works of American Statesmen. 
 
 045 
 
 his volumes furnish us any occasion for 
 doubting the perfectly unaffected nature 
 of his popular tendencies, because he eve- 
 ry where expresses his opinions frankly, 
 even in the face of a known hostile senti- 
 ment. At the same time, we must say 
 that we often rise from reading him with 
 a stronger impression of his adroitness 
 than of his soundness. We do not detect 
 him in any of the meaner arts of the 
 demagogue, cannot lay our hands upon 
 any single act of political trimming, but, 
 on the contrary, note an unusual persist- 
 ence, or unity of purpose, and a manly 
 assertion often of generous though unac- 
 cepted doctrines ; and yet we fear the 
 while that his virtue is not of that incor- 
 rigible and losing sort, which would pre- 
 fer, with old Andrew Marvell, “ to scrape 
 a blade bone of cold mutton” in a garret, 
 to faring sumptuously in the palace of the 
 king. 
 
 Our utter disagreement with the school 
 of statesmen to which Mr. Seward belongs, 
 may doubtless account for this uneasy 
 feeling, as one is ever inclined to distrust 
 the men whose principles he rejects. The 
 school we allude to is that which tends to 
 aggrandize government at the expense of 
 the spontaneous action of the people, and 
 make the state a sort of omnipotent and 
 omnipresent, and consequently omnivor- 
 ous power in society — a Jack-of-all-trades, 
 a beneficent Providence, a Lady Bounti- 
 ful of the parish, a supreme moralist, a 
 universal pedagogue, and a high Justice 
 Rotulorum as well as a low catchpole. In 
 other words, it comprises within the sphere 
 of government, every function almost of 
 society and of individuals, causing it to 
 build railroads and canals, regulate com- 
 merce, encourage trade, equip steamships, 
 promote agriculture, educate children, and, 
 we suppose, support the poor, — and all in 
 addition to its ordinary and more legiti- 
 mate duties of protecting, on terms of per- 
 fect equality and right, the persons and 
 property of its citizens ! Now, is it not 
 obvious at a glance, that this theory of 
 the objects of legislation, whatever ad- 
 vantages it may have in other respects, 
 opens the way to enormous abuses, in- 
 viting the assaults of schemers and profli- 
 gates, and inflaming while it debases the 
 contests of parties ? Wherever it is 
 adopted, a state must come to be looked 
 upon, not as the arbiter of an absolute 
 justice between man and man, but as the 
 dispenser of corrupt and mercenary favors ; 
 and those statesmen, who make them- 
 selves conspicuous in bending legislation 
 from its lofty, important and true ends, 
 to the advancement of local and individual 
 privileges, must inevitably excite against 
 themselves the suspicion of a sinister and 
 
 unworthy motive. Of course that suspi- 
 cion is often misplaced, but the general 
 prevalence of it cannot be denied. Only 
 a man of Washington’s continence, or of 
 Hampden’s integrity, could escape the 
 taint of the imputation ; and Mr. Seward 
 therefore, who has long been active in 
 pushing projects of one-sided benefit, 
 should not complain if the public, in spite 
 of his nobler and liberal performances, 
 in the cause of universal human free- 
 dom, should confound his motives with 
 those of his sordid clients. The whole 
 system of special legislation and patron- 
 age, in our view, is deplorably wrong, and 
 those who dabble in it can hardly avoid 
 defilement. 
 
 We think this idea of the sphere of gov- 
 ernment is deplorably wrong, and yet we 
 are not prepared to state with any preci- 
 sion where the limit of its action properly 
 begins or ends. How much should be 
 left to the individual, and how much 
 the state may legitimately do, is the great 
 unadjusted question of political science. 
 If wo adopt the extreme democratic the- 
 ory, which confines the state to the sim- 
 ple protection of person and property, or 
 those objects which are common to 
 every member of society, we deprive our- 
 selves of an important means of advanc- 
 ing individual and social welfare, which 
 could not be so well advanced in any other 
 way ; whilst, on the other hand, if we as- 
 sume the unlimited authority of govern- 
 ment to interpose in every subject of public 
 concern, we cannot stop short either of 
 gross despotism or gross corruption. The 
 liberty of the citizen to achieve his own 
 fortune in his own wajq provided he does 
 not infringe on the same right in others, 
 ought to be sacred under a’l circumstan- 
 ces ; yet, who will deny that there are 
 objects of vast general utility, “enter- 
 prises of pith and moment,” which 
 cannot or will not be accomplished, if 
 abandoned to the voluntary efforts of in- 
 dividuals. Take a case in point, of immense 
 interest just now, — the railroad to the 
 Pacific ! Ought it to be undertaken by 
 the government, or by individuals ? If 
 you say by individuals, the reply is that 
 it would require an outlay of labor and 
 capital to which no private company could 
 be competent, even were such a prodigious 
 company itself not a dangerous thing to cre- 
 ate. Again, if you say by the government, 
 you must see that it would inevitably 
 lead to a most pernicious concentration of 
 patronage, to a wholesale jobbing in the 
 Legislature, and to acts of aggravated injus- 
 tice in respect to different localities. Who 
 will draw the line, therefore, between what 
 the state ought to do, and what it ought 
 not ? Who will tell us how far the indi- 
 
G46 
 
 Works of American Statesmen. 
 
 vidual ought to surrender to society, or 
 where its interference is an encroachment, 
 or where a right ? Every body admits that 
 society ought to punish crime, for without 
 such discipline, the continued existence of 
 society would be impossible — but ought 
 it not then for a stronger reason, to institute 
 means for the prevention of crime, — to 
 guarantee the poor against anxiety and de- 
 pendence, the most prolific causes of crime ; 
 to educate the ignorant; to remove the 
 means of temptation, and to encourage vir- 
 tue in every way 1 You answer yes! Then 
 why not establish a religion which experi- 
 ence has proved is a most efficient agent of 
 social regeneration 1 But by establishing 
 a religion you are a long way on towards 
 despotism. Or to reverse the process of 
 the argument, we may say, that if you 
 leave religion to the voluntary action of 
 the people, why not the whole subject of 
 education ; why not the support of the in- 
 sane and poor ; why not the organization of 
 the police ; why not the line of coast de- 
 fences ; in short, why have any government 
 at all, why not surrender the care of every 
 interest of society to voluntary action? 
 But this would be anarchy, and thus on 
 either hypothesis we fluctuate from one 
 extreme to the other, until our faith 
 in the existence of any stable political 
 science is quite lost. 
 
 In reality there is no fixed political 
 science, no absolute and unchangeable 
 principles, that have yet been discovered : 
 men and parties attach themselves to one 
 side or the other, according to their con- 
 stitutional tendencies, their education, or 
 their interests ; and the violent contests 
 which rage among them are more about 
 traditions and expedients than great ques- 
 tions of right. Yet in the absence of a 
 real and complete science, we think that 
 both reason and experience are bringing 
 us in the direction in which it lies. Every 
 American now doubts that the world is 
 governed too much ; every day proves that 
 the people are to be trusted with lar- 
 ger measures of power, and a broader 
 latitude of liberty, as they grow in intelli- 
 gence and virtue ; while the entire tenden- 
 cy of the age is towards the enfranchise- 
 ment of society from old restrictive laws 
 and fetters. The arrogant assumptions of 
 the Church have long since been toppled 
 down ; the pretensions of nobility and rank 
 are crumbling away ; and our faith as well as 
 aspiration is, that every other barrier, in 
 the way of complete individual freedom, 
 will soon perish for ever. 
 
 But this is a digression; and we return 
 to Mr. Seward, to say that the publication 
 of his book will materially advance his 
 reputation ; it will correct many false ideas 
 that have gone abroad, and increase the 
 
 [June 
 
 general respect for his abilities as well as 
 his character. 
 
 Henry Clay, whose works are the next 
 on our list, was by general consent, the 
 most finished and splendid orator of a na- 
 tion, prolific of orators. Versatile, adroit, 
 bold, profound, pathetic and imperious. — a 
 man of the noblest instincts, an able tac- 
 tician, a far-sighted statesman, a born 
 leader of men, — his eloquence was of that 
 masterly order, which “ wielded at will 
 the fierce democratic” and commanded 
 the selecter applause of listening senates. 
 But great as was its influence on his con- 
 temporaries, and intense and fervent the 
 admiration which it excited, it will be per- 
 petuated, we suspect, rather as a remem- 
 brance and a tradition, than as a still 
 living power. The volumes in which it is 
 recorded convey some idea of its com- 
 bined fervor, grace, and force, but a most 
 inadequate one. It is true, they are not 
 like those skeletons of Whitfield’s ser- 
 mons, which cause us to wonder how the 
 man could have left such a reputation — 
 mere simulacra of the departed reality ; 
 for they contain his arguments, his facts, 
 his illustrations, his appeals ; in short, 
 some indications of the large make and 
 movement of the man ; but the charm and 
 the spirit are gone. The flashing eye, 
 the rich melodious voice, the command- 
 ing form, “the .snow}' front, curled with 
 golden hair,” which gave them their origi- 
 nal life, are gone ; and as we read them, 
 we feel like those who walk through the 
 cavern of some mighty magician — the 
 tools and instruments of his spells arc 
 about us, his gems, his treasures, his 
 magic rings, his weird circles and dia- 
 grams ; in fine, all the evidences of his 
 art — but the fire has gone out in his fur- 
 nace, and he himself hath vanished into 
 thin air. 
 
 Both roof and floor, and walls, are all of gold, 
 
 But overgrown with dust and old decay. 
 
 This is the disadvantage of the orator, 
 compared with the writer, that the best 
 part of his performances escapes with the 
 occasion ; and if he be an active politician, 
 he has no time to compensate, by the la- 
 bors of the study, for the haste and im- 
 maturity of his extemporaneous efforts. 
 His words are given loosely to the wind, 
 and the wind carries them, on its swift 
 wings, to the distant interlunar caves, to be 
 returned to him no more for ever. But the 
 writer, ripened by nutritious culture, and 
 purified from taint by the refining pro- 
 cesses of his art, commits his treasures to 
 the imperishable amber of books. Thus, 
 being dead, he yet speaks, and, in addition 
 to the effects he wrought while living and 
 the honors he enjoyed, both diffusion and 
 
1353.] 
 
 Works of American Statesmen. 
 
 647 
 
 perpetuity are. given to his influence and 
 his fame. 
 
 Mr. Clay, perhaps, less than most 
 other orators, requires to be embalmed in 
 type, because his services as a statesman, 
 though not always successful, were so 
 largely beneficial, and actuated by such 
 broad and ennobling views, that they have 
 connected his name with the history of his 
 country, and left an enduring mark upon 
 its legislation. Yet, in spite of all this, we 
 cannot but think that the world has been 
 a loser by the liberal share of his time 
 and talents which he allowed the cares 
 of office, and the details of party manage- 
 ment, to absorb. His endowments were 
 so generous that he needed only to have 
 nurtured and husbanded them, to have 
 raised himself to the loftiest niche of cos- 
 mopolitan greatness. The love and ad- 
 miration, which are now confined to his 
 countrymen and his friends, would, in that 
 case, have been expanded into the love 
 and admiration of mankind ; and no po- 
 sition, in the universal respect, that it was 
 possible for penetration, sagacity, vigorous 
 powers of reason, affluent imagination, ex- 
 cellent sympathies and exalted aspirations 
 to attain, could have been too exalted or 
 permanent for his reach. Indeed, such 
 were the capabilities of his nature, that 
 with ample cultivation and a less careless 
 expenditure of his means, old Greece might 
 have been revived on this western conti- 
 nent, in the person of a second Pericles, 
 and Rome renewed her youth in the splen- 
 dors of a greater Cicero. We are rightly 
 proud then, in thinking of what Mr. Clay 
 was, but, as if no earthly excellence could 
 satisfy us, the heart swells and thrills 
 with an irrepressible emotion when it im- 
 agines what he might have been. 
 
 Mr. Clay was the greatest of our post- 
 revolutionary statesmen, and of those that 
 went before, only Washington and Jeffer- 
 son, are likely to have secured a more im- 
 perishable renown. But the great man of 
 our past whom he most nearly resembled 
 in genius and character, was Hamilton, 
 whose work he may be said to have taken 
 up where it was left, and to have carried 
 on with even more indomitable purpose, 
 and a more brilliant display of power. 
 Cherishing the same tendencies toward a 
 strong and splendid government, gifted 
 with the same courteous and seductive 
 personal qualities, dividing opposition by 
 the assiduity of their address, and rally- 
 ing support by their own exultant confi- 
 dence in success • alike bold, ambitious, 
 and patriotic, — they identified their names 
 with every great question, both of domes- 
 tic administration and of foreign policy, 
 each in his day ; infused their own spirit 
 into a vast and powerful party, while they 
 
 held its opponents in check ; and after the 
 glory of having founded our institutions, 
 they share the next honor of having modi- 
 fied and controlled our character and de- 
 velopment. It was the superior fortune of 
 Mr. Clay, however, to have lived to the 
 mellow fruitfulnes of his autumn: envi- 
 ous Death did not snatch him away un- 
 timely, while the glow of his young hopes 
 was still fresh on his cheeks ; but, full of 
 honors, full of years, the little enmities of 
 partisan warfare softened by his vener- 
 able age, as the fierce heats of the sun 
 are cooled by the coming night — 
 
 “ Life’s blessings ail enjoyed, life’s labor done, 
 Serenely to his final rest he passed.” 
 
 Mr. Calhoun, in respect to the prepara- 
 tion and finish of his works, enjoyed no 
 inconsiderable advantage over Mr. Clay. 
 Engaged, like him, for the greater part of 
 his life, in the arduous labors of leadership 
 and office, yet the peculiar habits of his 
 mind enabled him to preserve more pure 
 and compact, and consequently more last- 
 ing qualities of style. The dissipations 
 of debate never prevailed over his stern 
 intellectual integrity. He read little, but 
 reflected much, and when he spoke, which 
 was not often, considering his multiplied 
 opportunities, he spoke from a full mind, 
 with extreme precision and directness, 
 and always in view of some single and 
 important end. His speeches, therefore, 
 are models of chaste, severe, and cogent 
 reasoning, and are no less complete as com- 
 positions than they are crowded as store- 
 houses of thought. The intense will that 
 pervades them, carrying the reader along 
 with impetuous force, as if he were in the 
 hands of a giant, stamps them with an 
 individual and peculiar life. But Mr. 
 Calhoun was permitted also, in his latter 
 days, to embody in the permanent form 
 of a treatise on government, the maturest 
 results of his lifelong studies. Those 
 original views of politics, which are scat- 
 tered in incomplete expositions, through 
 his reports and addresses, were thus con- 
 densed into an elaborate system, perfect 
 in its parts, and finished as a whole. We 
 see in it the mother-thoughts of all his 
 political actions ; it explains whatever 
 may have been supposed to be inconsist- 
 ent in these ; and exhibits him to us as 
 an acute and profound metaphysical philo- 
 sopher as well as an orator and states- 
 man. 
 
 The characteristics uniformly conceded 
 to Mr. Calhoun, by men of all shades of 
 opinion, were, a powerful and subtle ana- 
 lytical intellect, a subdued and chastened 
 but intense enthusiasm, fearless reliance 
 upon the conclusions of his own mind, 
 chivalric honor, and an almost seraphic 
 purity of personal character. Another 
 
H48 
 
 Works of American Statesmen. 
 
 impression, however, was no less univer- 
 sal, that he carried his logical processes 
 to an impracticable degree of refinement, 
 allowing mere abstract speculations to 
 override his more practical conclusions, 
 while the earnestness of his convictions, 
 hurrying him into local prejudices, nar- 
 rowed his sympathies and blinded him to 
 the broader interests of humanity. His 
 Hook strongly confirms, while it slightly 
 relieves, this general estimate. It deepens 
 aur sense of his abilities, and also of the 
 dangers they' were exposed to from his me- 
 taphysics ; at the same time it raises his 
 extreme Southernism, from all suspicion 
 of a mere sectional bias, into a systematic 
 principle. It is seen that a singular unity 
 pervaded his opinions, which were legiti- 
 mate outgrowths of his fundamental 
 ideas, and in no sense transient or tempo- 
 rary feelings. He was the fanatic, — using 
 the word in no offensive sense, — of his 
 reason, and wherever that led him, he 
 pursued it, regardless of the consequence. 
 
 Two curious inconsistencies strike us 
 in the intellectual constitution of Mr. 
 Calhoun. Born in a region where the 
 tropical sun is apt to ripen human passion 
 into the rank luxuriance which it imparts 
 to physical nature, he was yet the severest 
 dialectician and the least ornamental writer 
 among all our distinguished men. His 
 style, though intense, was rigidly intel- 
 lectual, — plain, direct, cogent, sinew}', and 
 unyielding. No flowers of fancy ever 
 bloomed along its path ; it never wan- 
 dered into rich meads or leafy woods; 
 but, arid and hot, like a way across the 
 desert, it bore along its burdens of thought, 
 without one cooling oasis, or a single 
 refreshing shade. The voluptuous life, 
 the magnificence and pomp, the exuber- 
 ant fulness and deep-toned harmonies of 
 the Southern zones, seem not to have 
 moved the springs of his being, — never 
 made his brain delirious or kindled his 
 heart into poetry. As well might he have 
 been born in Nova Zembla, or any where 
 above the line of perpetual snow, as in 
 the South, for any effect that it produced 
 upon his imagination and fancy. On the 
 contrary, the sobriquet given to him, of 
 the cast-iron man,” would show rather 
 that he came out of the bowels of our rug- 
 ged northern mountains ; for like iron he 
 was capable of intense heat and a slight 
 glow, but of no brilliancy or sparkle. Stern, 
 dignified, and upright, he was at all times 
 neither more nor, less than the great Sen- 
 ator. A witticism, proceeding from his 
 mouth, would have seemed a moral suicide ; 
 and a capricious, fantastic, or grotesque 
 conceit, the beginning of mental aberration. 
 It is said that in the bosom of his family, 
 among his friends, neighbors, and servants, 
 
 [June 
 
 he relaxed into some lambent play of 
 the affections, but we who saw him only- 
 wrapped in his Senatorial robes, like a 
 stern old Homan, must regard the report 
 as a Straussian myth. 
 
 The second peculiarity of Mr. Calhoun 
 consisted in this; — that, he, the only one 
 of our statesmen who defended the social 
 anomaly of slavery, not as a political 
 expedient or a necessity of circumstance, 
 but as an intrinsic and actual good, yet 
 passed his life in the elaboration of a 
 scheme of government which should give 
 the amplest security to individual freedom. 
 A republican by conviction, as well as a 
 democrat by party classification, he was 
 so dissatisfied with that democracy which 
 allows the majority of the people to rule, 
 that he contrived an ingenious system of, 
 checks and negatives for protecting mi- 
 norities against its unlimited and oppres- 
 sive action. His posthumous treatise on 
 Government has for its principal object 
 a demonstration of the despotism of the 
 many, and the absolute need of a consti- 
 tution of society in which every interest, 
 and as near as possible every man, should 
 be represented. All the acumen of his 
 analysis, all the craft and vigor of his 
 logic, all his experience of affairs, and the 
 untaxed energy of his imperious will, were 
 turned to the elucidation and enforcement 
 of these views, in the hope of restraining 
 power and enlarging liberty. No man 
 ever inveighed more vehemently than he 
 against the encroachments of the State 
 upon the rights of the citizen, except that 
 when he depicted the blessings of slavery, 
 he was equally vehement. He thus 
 exhibited to the world the spectacle of 
 a democrat who resisted the organized 
 expression of the will of the majority, 
 and a republican who consecrated his days 
 to the support and extension of a state 
 of society founded on the subjugation of 
 one race by another. Nor was it less 
 worthy of note, that his countrymen, con- 
 vinced of his thorough simplicity and 
 truthfulness, forgot the inconsistency of 
 his opinions in their admiration of his 
 character. 
 
 Mr. Calhoun’s theory of government 
 was simply this : That as society is the 
 natural state of man, and man prefers 
 his own interests to the well-being of 
 others, government is necessary to pro- 
 tect the social from the selfish propensity. 
 But as its powers must be lodged in the 
 hands of individuals who are equally prone 
 to prefer their own interests to the general 
 good, a constitution is necessary to re- 
 strain the government. How, then, is that 
 constitution to be framed 1 We see that it 
 can only be administered by men ; and we 
 see too, that those men will be tempted by 
 
Works of American Statesmen. 
 
 649 
 
 1863.] 
 
 the universal tendency of their natures, to 
 be unfaithful to their trusts ; by what con- 
 trivance then shall the public be secured 
 against the abuse of their power, against 
 extortion, oppression, and wrong 1 Quis 
 custodies cwsiodiat ? If you say, by uni- 
 versal suffrage, you only substitute a domi- 
 nant majority for your former authority, 
 and which would have the same tendency 
 to the misuse of its powers as any other 
 irresponsible ruler. Nor would a free 
 press be any- restraint, because, firstly, it 
 cannot change that principle of human 
 nature in which the necessity of govern- 
 ments and constitutions originates ; and 
 secondly, because the press always leans 
 to the heavier side of the scale, to the 
 strongest interest or combination of inter- 
 ests, so that it exasperates rather than 
 cures or palliates the evil. 
 
 The only solution of the difficulty Mr. 
 Calhoun finds in his doctrine of “concur- 
 rent majorities,” as opposed to numerical 
 majorities, whereby he gives to separate 
 parts or interests of society, a negative 
 upon the oppressive action of the other 
 parts or interests. Thus, in the Roman 
 republic, the power of the patricians, which 
 would have been otherwise exorbitant, 
 was restrained by the unqualified veto of 
 the tribunes who represented the plebeian 
 orders ; thus, in the Polish diet, each 
 member had a liberum veto , an absolute 
 negative upon the passage of offensive 
 laws ; thus too, in the Iroquois confede- 
 racy or league of the Six Nations, in our 
 own history, each tribe possessed a power 
 to resist its decisions ; and thus, in the 
 United States, he would have given a 
 power of nullification to each of the sepa- 
 rate States, in all cases of grievance or 
 outrage. 
 
 This original and ingenious system, to 
 which we only allude, not pretending to 
 furnish even the meagrest outline of it, Mr. 
 Calhoun developes with amazing energy 
 of argument, while his incidental remarks 
 in explanation, especially on the tyranny 
 of majorities, the corruption of govern- 
 ments, and the odious practice known in this 
 country as “ the spoils,” are replete with 
 the profoundest wisdom. But his system, 
 as a whole, is in our opinion unsound in 
 its premises, and impracticable in its ap- 
 plications. In the first place, we do not 
 believe that government originates in this 
 supposed conflict between the selfish and 
 social propensities of mankind, but that 
 it is as much an original impulse of nature 
 as society itself. In other words, we 
 think, that the tendency of man to some 
 form of unitary organization is an instinct 
 of his being, prior to all reflection, and 
 as strong as his inmost soul ; for history 
 has given us no instance of society, even 
 
 in its most savage state, without govern- 
 ment, nor can we conceive of it as possible, 
 without some kind of central authority 
 and direction. Society, to be a society at 
 all, i. e., to act as a corporate existence in 
 any sense, must also be a government, 
 and that, too, whether we suppose its 
 members to be the devils in hell, or angels 
 in heaven. In the second place, admitting 
 Mr. Calhoun’s notion of the predominance 
 of the selfish propensity, it seems to us, 
 that he does not allow sufficiently for 
 those other, perhaps minor, tendencies, 
 which concur in mitigating and modifying 
 its practical action, such as the affections 
 which bind families and neighborhoods 
 together, and even the governors to the 
 governed, — the natural sense of justice 
 which restrains all men more or less — and 
 the common interest which all men have 
 in order, peace, and security. He takes 
 his single principle, of the all-pervading 
 force of individual selfishness, and pushes 
 it to its conclusion without regard to op- 
 posing principles, or moderating circum- 
 stances. 
 
 Again, in his provision of remedies for 
 the abuses of power, he runs into an im- 
 practicable conclusion, because his scheme, 
 if carried out, could onlj r result in anarchy. 
 If you give to every interest in society a 
 constitutional ability to arrest the action 
 of the government, whenever it might 
 please to withhold its concurrence from a 
 law, we do not see how there could be any 
 government at all. Some one or other of 
 the parts would be for ever in conflict with 
 the whole ; for though Mr. Calhoun alle- 
 ges that the effect of his arrangement 
 would only be to cause the different inter- 
 ests, portions or orders, to desist from at- 
 tempting to adopt any measure calculated 
 to promote the prosperity of one or more 
 by sacrificing that of the others, and then 
 to force them to unite in such measures 
 as would promote the prosperity of all, — 
 we are quite sure from the almost univer- 
 sal experience of our race in schemes of 
 concerted action, that the practical opera- 
 tion would be an equilibrium with a ven- 
 geance, — or no action at all. The case of 
 a jury which he cites, as to the practi- 
 cability of unanimous decisions, is not in 
 point, for the reason that a jury is chosen 
 expressly on the ground that it has no in- 
 terest in the verdict : but if we suppose 
 that each of the twelve men who compose 
 it had a separate personal interest to be 
 determined, what would become of. not 
 the unanimity only, but the concurrence ? 
 A compromise, founded on the majority 
 of their interests, is the nearest approach 
 that they would be likely to make to any 
 just decision. 
 
 But while we are disinclined to adopt 
 
650 
 
 W arks of American Statesmen. 
 
 the theory of Mr. Calhoun, we wish to re- 
 in ark that he seems to us to have been 
 aiming at a most important principle in 
 the sphere of political and social organiza- 
 tion. It is this : The necessity of restrict- 
 ing the powers of our general governments, 
 and of referring society back more and more 
 to its local and individual elements. The 
 leading peculiarity of our political system 
 has been said to be the recognition of the 
 township ; and we see no reason why the 
 township itself should not be organized, 
 with its separate industrial interests, so 
 as to give a larger scope to individual free- 
 dom, and at the same time provide for an 
 affiliated or combined action. This, how- 
 ever, is not the place nor time for advanc- 
 ing new theories, and we return to our 
 legitimate work. 
 
 What Mr. Calhoun is supposed by many 
 to have wanted, Mr. Webster had in per- 
 fection; robust, broad, practical understand- 
 ing. He was the personification of the 
 Understanding, as distinguished from the 
 intuitive Reason, and the creative Imagi- 
 nation. Our reading does not enable us 
 to recall many men, of any epoch, more 
 largely endowed with what is best ex- 
 pressed by the simple word, mind. There 
 have been many more brilliant men, men 
 of more native original insight, of finer in- 
 stincts, of more versatile and compre- 
 hensive genius, of quicker and bolder 
 and more susceptible imagination, of more 
 delicate and irritable fancy, of loftier mo- 
 ral aspirations, but few of more masculine 
 and reliable intellect. If we were requir- 
 ed to designate him by a single phrase, 
 we should say that he was a man of su- 
 perb, almost stupendous talent. He cannot, 
 of course, be compared to Plato or Bacon, 
 or any of that exalted order whose thought 
 creates epochs in the history of the race ; 
 nor yet to those commanding geniuses of 
 action, like Ca5sar or Napoleon, who handle 
 nations as an artist handles his materials ; 
 still less to the all-prevailing poets, the 
 Shakspeares, Miltons, and Goethes, on 
 whom the most exuberant measure of 
 the divine glory is poured : for his facul- 
 ties lay in a different line from all these; 
 his sphere was not that of creation, but of 
 advocacy ; and we must look for his par- 
 allel, therefore, among the Ciceros, the 
 Pitts, the Mirabeaus, the O’Connels, the 
 Peels and the Clays of the Senate House 
 and the Forum. Less than some of them 
 in certain respects, he is greater than either 
 in others ; but for the union of strength 
 with grace of intellect, — for calm, easy dig- 
 nity of manner, — for ponderous facility of 
 argumentation, — for lawyer-like clearness 
 of perception, and solid, broad, practical 
 diplomacy, he occupies a position almost 
 apart. 
 
 [June 
 
 “ deep on his front engraven, 
 
 Deliberation sat, and public care : 
 
 "With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear 
 
 The weight of mightiest monarchies.” 
 
 The late eulogists of Mr. Webster were 
 fond of comparing him with Edmund 
 Burke ; but, as we think, allowing for a 
 certain resemblance between them, with- 
 out a due and discriminating appreciation 
 of their respective natures. Webster could 
 never have spoken the speeches which 
 grew out of the Warren Hastings affair, 
 every sentence of which blazes with the 
 splendors of a gorgeous rhetoric, nor writ- 
 ten those burning and glowing reflections 
 on the French Revolution, any more than 
 Burke could have made that prodigious 
 extempore reply to Mr. Idayne, so versa- 
 tile, satiric, overwhelming and solemnly 
 eloquent ; because they were men essen- 
 tially different ; and the coupling of their 
 names is suggestive mainly in the way 
 of contrast. Webster possessed talent, but 
 Burke genius. Burke, therefore, was the 
 superior in imagination, in culture, in earn- 
 estness, and in moral sensibility; Web- 
 ster in dialectics, in simplicity and strength 
 of style, in decorum and grave manly de- 
 bate. The vocabulary of Burke was 
 more rich and gorgeous ; that of W ebster 
 more chaste, terse, and manageable. 
 Webster was pre-eminently an advocate, 
 always argumentative, always collected, 
 always addressing himself to the intellect, 
 or to the feelings only so far as the}’ might 
 move the intellect ; Burke was a poet as 
 well as an orator, irritable and impetuous, 
 and operating through the will and fancy 
 quite as much as the mind. Where W eb- 
 ster reasoned, Burke philosophized : where 
 W ebster was serene, equable, ponderous, 
 dealing his blows, almost unconsciously 
 like an ancient catapult ; Burke was cla- 
 morous, fiery, multitudinous, rushing for- 
 ward like Ms own “whirlwind of cavalry.” 
 The one was Doric in his grandeur and 
 elegance, the other Corinthian in his elab- 
 oration and ornament. W ebster was the 
 Roman temple, stately, solid and massive ; 
 Burke, the GotMc cathedral, fantastic, as- 
 piring, and many-colored. The sentences 
 of Webster roll along like the blasts of the 
 trumpet on the night air ; those of Burke 
 are more like the echoes of an organ in 
 some ancient minster. Webster advances, 
 in his heavy logical march, and his direct- 
 ness of purpose, like a Caesarean legion, 
 close, firm, serried, square,— Burke like 
 an oriental procession, with elephants and 
 tropMes, and the pomp of banners. 
 
 It is implied in this parallel that Web- 
 ster was deficient in imagination ; he was, 
 however, not destitute of it, seeing that no 
 man can be an orator at all without some 
 degree of it ; but we mean to say, that his 
 imagination fell short of the ample di- 
 
1853.] 
 
 Works of American Statesmen. 
 
 651 
 
 meusions of his other faculties. We use 
 the term to designate that power of which 
 the poets are “ all compact,” which melts 
 worlds of thought into a single phrase, 
 which evokes a new Universe out of the 
 commonest realities, which has an instant 
 touch and feeling for all the subtle analogies 
 of nature, which sees into the heart of 
 things, and which, whenever it speaks, 
 pours itself forth in language, full of in- 
 terfused passion, thought, melody, and 
 tears. Every line almost of Shakspeare 
 is pregnant with it, as for instance, when 
 he says, “ Our little life is rounded by 
 a sleep,”’ on which Jean Paul always 
 meditated when he heard it, for three 
 days : Homer exemplifies it, when the 
 descent of the wrathful Apollo at noon is 
 compared to the coming on of night : 
 Dante, too, in that sad story of Frances- 
 ca, which closes, “that day we read no 
 more :” Byron in his ■“ starry Galileo,” and 
 our own Bryant when he hears in the do- 
 mestic hum of the bee on the prairies 
 “ the tread of the advancing multitude 
 which soon shall fill the borders.” Among 
 orators, Burke, where he describes Hyder 
 Ali, in his retreats, meditating vengeance 
 on the Carnatic, as, “ hanging like a cloud 
 upon the declivities of the mountains,” 
 gives a rare instance of this power. Mr. 
 Webster in several places gives evidence 
 of it, as in this passage of the oration 
 on the Bunker Hill Monument : “ Let 
 it rise till it meet the sun in its coming : 
 let the earliest light of the morning 
 gild it, and parting day linger and 
 play on its summit.” Again, speak- 
 ing of the power of England, he says, 
 “ Her morning drum-beat, following the 
 sun and keeping company with the hours 
 circles the earth daily with one contin- 
 uous and unbroken strain of martial 
 airs.” There are also examples of fine 
 imaginative power in his allusion to the 
 slave-trade in the Plymouth oration, and in 
 his description of the murder of the vene- 
 rable Mr. White. But we think that it is 
 rarely, that be rises to such heights, on 
 occasions of intense excitement only, when 
 he transcends himself, and momently catch- 
 es the fine madness of the poet. For in 
 general we do not discover the play of 
 this faculty, even that lambent and gen- 
 tle flashing out of it, which resembles 
 its grander displays, as the aurora resem- 
 bles some terrific blaze of lightning. 
 
 Nor do we find the cultivation of Mr. 
 Webster so rich and various as we had 
 been led to suppose by the wondering 
 terms in which it has beeti often admired. 
 Out of his profession he does not appear 
 to have been an extensive reader. A few 
 well-known Latin books, the poetry of 
 Pope and his school, who were the fashion 
 
 in his youth, the historical plays of Shaks- 
 peare, and the Old Testament, — the last 
 two worlds in themselves we admit,— were 
 his principal resources. But it cannot be 
 said — at least it is not made manifest in 
 his published works — that he had any 
 profound or critical knowledge of English 
 literature, as a whole ; to the German, 
 Italian, Spanish, and French literatures, 
 he made no pretensions ; while his classi- 
 cal stores were obviously quite as limited. 
 We do not discover any evidences, at the 
 same time, that he was well instructed in 
 any of the sciences, or that he possessed 
 any controlling love for the fine arts. If 
 he had been a reaper in these fields, it was 
 inevitable that the rich and luscious juices 
 of the harvest would have exuded into 
 his speech. They who wander through 
 groves of bloom, catch the Sabean odors 
 in their dress, and afterwards exhale the 
 sweet perfume with every breath. 
 
 In respect to the degree, the thorough- 
 ness, and the variety of then- culture, wc 
 cannot but think that the statesmen of 
 foreign nations, especially of France and 
 England, greatly surpass those of our 
 own country. Furnished, in the outset, 
 by the superior discipline and more ex- 
 acting standards of their schools, with a 
 more solid education, they are also more 
 apt to carry with them into the duties of 
 active life the tastes of their scholastic 
 days. A literary performance of some 
 sort, a lecture, a poem, a memoir, or a 
 history, becomes their relaxation from 
 the fatigues of the forum or the bureau. 
 In France, indeed, it is remarkable that 
 the most eminent statesmen are better 
 known as literateurs, as we see in the 
 cases of Guizot, Thiers, Lamartine, De 
 Tocqueville, &c. ; and even in England, 
 where literature, as a profession, is not so 
 nobly requited, Lord John Russell writes 
 dramas and edits biographies ; Gladstone 
 discourses of Church and State, the Earl 
 of Carlisle lectures, and Brougham philo- 
 sophizes, experiments, and disserts on 
 Natural Theology and Athenian orators. 
 But which of our statesmen, saving 
 Everett, Sumner, and Legare, to whom 
 politics seem a stray visiting-place rather 
 than their native habitat, has the taste, 
 or is competent to borrow a grace from 
 such studies for his severer pursuits? 
 An annual, address before some literary 
 society or a mechanics’ institute, is gene- 
 rally the limit of their excursions in this 
 field, while the barrenness, tautology, and 
 sophomorical thought and ornament of 
 these occasional displays, are dreary evi- 
 dences that they are “ not to the manner 
 born.” This deficiency, it is true, is 
 partly incident to the incessant demands 
 of our active national life, but is owing 
 
652 
 
 Works of American Statesmen. 
 
 still more, we suspect, to the want of a 
 real appreciation of the value of litera- 
 ture, science, and art, among our public 
 men. 
 
 But if Mr. Webster had not largely 
 rifled the fertile plains, and flower-gar- 
 dens of literature, he compensated for 
 his deficiencies, in part, by the possession 
 of a fine natural taste. His modes of 
 expression are always neat, correct, and 
 forcible. Apt words aptly chosen, well 
 planned and well executed sentences, 
 an exquisite clearness of statement, a 
 sober chastity of ornament, a round, 
 melodic, stately rhythm, sometimes swell- 
 ing and grand, but never grandiloquent, 
 are the every-day beauties of his style. 
 He is even remarkably graceful at times, 
 and when excited, when deeply moved by 
 his subject, there is a sonorous charm in 
 the full, equable flow of his thoughts. 
 No painful efl'ort is apparent in him, no 
 turgid labor, no gymnastic contortions, 
 no nervous, spiteful, momentary flashes — 
 which are all symptoms of weakness. 
 On the contrary, we may apply to him 
 one of his own favorite quotations — 
 
 Strong without rage, without o'erflowing, full 
 
 In thus respect, indeed, he is a model for 
 our orators and writers, who, if they 
 would become really cogent and impres- 
 sive, must chasten their exaggeration 
 with somewhat of his moderation, and 
 temper their fervors with somewhat of 
 his dignity. It is a part of our national 
 life to be excessive in action and ambi- 
 tious in phrase; but the best judges 
 have yet to learn, that the suaviter in 
 modo is in any sense a dilution of the 
 for titer in re. 
 
 As an orator, however, his greatest 
 defect was the want of a thoroughly pro- 
 found and delicate moral sensibility ; of 
 that noble, yet lively susceptibility to 
 suffering and wrong, which makes the 
 world’s woes and hopes our own, and our 
 own those of the world, — which raises us 
 to the heights of heroism, while it softens 
 us into the sweet tenderness of woman, — 
 which inspires generous devotion and the 
 sternest spirit of self-sacrifice, at the 
 moment when the heart swells with emo- 
 tion, and the lips tremble, and the eye is 
 suffused with tears — and which, when 
 we come to the utterance of it, gushes 
 over into deep pathos, or a “cry that 
 shivers to the tingling stars.” It is true, 
 Mr. Webster shows a certain sort of re- 
 ligious sentiment, but it is not deep nor 
 acute, nor apparently so much an original 
 inspiration, as something learned from a 
 wide study of human nature. He uses 
 it as a material of his art, as one of the 
 graceful and effective appliances of rhe- 
 
 [June 
 
 toric, giving elevation to the tone of his 
 thought, but not bursting out as an irre- 
 pressible, overwhelming impulse, and car- 
 rying both speaker and listener along in 
 a whirl of agitation. His prevailing 
 tone is cold, subdued, almost impassive. 
 He had no fine lyric enthusiasms. No 
 man, we suspect, was ever made a mar- 
 tyr by his persuasion ; few have ever 
 wept over his pages or under the sound 
 of his voice ; though many, we have no 
 doubt, have been often lifted by him into 
 higher ranges of thought and a loftier 
 patriotism. He moved men by the com- 
 manding power of Iris intellect, but not 
 by the appealing, pathetic, melting utter- 
 ances of the heart, and still less by that 
 spirit which “touched Isaiah’s hallowed 
 lips with fire.” He never, consequently, 
 impresses us that he was a man terribly 
 in earnest, but always bears about with 
 him the conscious air of an advocate, of 
 one who pleads powerfully for his cause, 
 but for the reason that it is a cause, and 
 not that it is the truth of God. In read- 
 ing Mr. Calhoun, though you differ from 
 every word he utters, though you see 
 that he is imposing on his own mind, you 
 are still persuaded of his intense con- 
 viction of what he says, of his willingness 
 to stake life and honor on each sentence, 
 of his deep, ineradicable, personal interest 
 in the success of his case. But no one 
 feels that Mr. Webster would break his 
 heart qver a defeat, or swoon with joy at 
 an unexpected triumph. 
 
 It is probably because he carried this 
 advocate spirit into his public life, that he 
 achieved so little as a man of action. 
 His successes were those of the lawyer. 
 He expounded the Constitution well, and 
 he conducted diplomatic disputes with 
 ability ; but no great original measure will 
 signalize his name. The measures that 
 he supported, with the exception of the 
 Compromise, have been condemned by the 
 larger wisdom of the people, whilst those 
 he opposed have been incorporated into 
 the settled policy of the nation. He 
 was, therefoie, not too great to he popu- 
 lar, as some foolish people assert, hut not 
 great enough. — not sufficiently original, 
 unselfish and earnest. 
 
 But, in spite of every objection that a 
 uicer criticism may allege, the nation ma}'' 
 well be, as it is. and long will be, proud of 
 the fame of Daniel Webster. His eminent 
 qualities as an advocate would have dis- 
 tinguished him as primus inter Ulustres 
 in any age. Had he lived in the time of 
 Demosthenes, tils name would have come 
 down to us as no unworthy compeer of 
 that father of eloquence ; had he pleaded 
 in the Roman forum, he would have shared 
 the plaudits of the listeners with all-ac- 
 
1853 .] 
 
 653 
 
 A Meditation by Paul Potiphar, j E sq. 
 
 complished Tally hirnself; in the most 
 brilliant era of British oratory, he would 
 have added a fifth to the glorious four, 
 who thundered in the Commons ; and our 
 young country then may well cherish 
 whatever was good or great in the inherit- 
 ance of his fame. And, when the foreign- 
 er asks to behold her achievements, she 
 may confidently point to his capacious 
 brow, as, Jove-like, it protrudes from the 
 monumental stone, fancying that she hears 
 once more the silver echoes of his clarion 
 voice. 
 
 We must now, however, draw these de- 
 sultory thoughts to a close. In doing so, 
 let us express our pleasure in the prac- 
 tice which obtains more and more, of col- 
 lecting the works of our conspicuous men. 
 Let us also suggest to younger statesmen, 
 the new accountability to literature to 
 which they will be hereafter bound over. 
 With the vision of a book in the distance, 
 to transmit their folly or wisdom to larger 
 audiences, and severer judges, than they 
 are apt to find in the Senate, they should 
 be encouraged or warned to a more care- 
 ful husbandry of their powers. A more 
 glorious trust than is put into their hands 
 cannot well be conceived. Our old revo- 
 lutionary statesmen who laid the founda- 
 tions of empire, have long since passed 
 away ; their immediate successors who 
 conducted it through the stormy transi- 
 tions of its formative period, with the 
 single exception of Benton, are likewise 
 gone ; and a new race is advanced to the 
 vacant places. But they advance also, 
 to weightier responsibilities and broader 
 duties Our country swells with such 
 velocity in greatness of extent and great- 
 ness of power, that the very statistics of 
 its growth startle us, and the figure of her 
 future breaks, 
 
 “Like a comet, out 
 
 Far-splendoring the sleepy realms of night” 
 
 In a quarter of a century the young Re- 
 public will have attained a dominion great- 
 er than that of Rome at the zenith of her 
 strength, or of England, in the time of 
 Pitt, and will stand the first among the 
 nations. Every American is elated with 
 the consciousness of this, but is he equally 
 alive to the nobler ideals of action, 
 both for himself and his fellows, that it 
 imposes upon him? Do our statesmen 
 reflect that they legislate, not for the mea- 
 gre twenty millions of this age, but for 
 the hundred millions of an age just at 
 hand ? Oh ! what men they should be 
 to be equal to their destinies 1 What a 
 deep base of learning they should lay 
 for the superstructure of great deeds to 
 come, what inflexible integrity of charac- 
 ter they should cherish, what comprehen- 
 sive sympathies and exalted aspirations 
 they should ask of Heaven ! With what 
 moderation, what wisdom, what fearless 
 independence and justice, v\ hat utter ha- 
 tred of wrong, and aching love of right, 
 they should strive to comprehend their 
 position, to thrust aside with utter loath- 
 ing and disgust the petty ends of party, 
 and to rise with “ a clear foresight, not a 
 blindfold courage,” to the summits of their 
 great office! Would, therefore, to God, 
 that we might address to each young 
 statesman, as he rises in the councils of 
 his country, those simple but pregnant 
 words of Milton, 
 
 “I see thou knowest what’s of use to know, 
 
 What’s best to say canst say, to do canst do; 
 
 Thy actions to thy words ascend, thy words 
 To thy large heart give utterance due, thy heart 
 Contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape." 
 
 A MEDITATION BY PAUL POTIPHAR, ESQ. 
 
 W ELL, my new house is finished — and 
 so am I. I hope Mrs. Potiphar is 
 satisfied. Every body agrees that it is 
 “ palatial.” The daily papers have had 
 columns of description, and I am, evidently, 
 according to their authority, “ munificent,” 
 “tasteful,” “enterprising,” and “patri- 
 otic.” 
 
 Amen ! but what business have I with 
 palatial residences ? What more can I 
 possibly want, than a spacious, comfort- 
 able house ? Do / want buhl escri- 
 toires ? Do I want or molu things ? 
 Do I know any thing about pictures 
 and statues ? In the name of heaven do 
 
 I want rose-pink bed-curtains to give my 
 grizzly old phiz a delicate “ auroral hue,” 
 as Cream Cheese says of Mrs. P.’s com- 
 plexion? Because I have made fifty 
 thousand this last year in Timbuctoo 
 bonds, must I convert it ail into a house, 
 so large that it will not hold me comfort- 
 ably, — so splendid that I might as well 
 live in a porcelain vase, for the trouble of 
 taking care of it, — so prodigiously “ pala- 
 tial ” that I have to skulk into my private 
 room, put on my slippers, shut the door, 
 shut myself up with myself, and wonder 
 why I married Mrs. Potiphar ? 
 
 This house is her doing. Before I 
 
G54 
 
 A Meditation by Paul Potiphar, Esq. 
 
 married her, I would have worn yellow 
 silk breeches on ’Change if she had 
 commanded me — for love. Now I would 
 build her two houses twice as large as 
 this, if she required it — for peace. It’s 
 all over. When I came home from China 
 I was the desirable Mr. Potiphar, and 
 every evening was a field-day for me, in 
 which I reviewed all the matrimonial forces. 
 It is astonishing, now I come to think of 
 it, how skilfully Brigadier General Mrs. 
 Pettitoes deployed those daughters of 
 hers ; how vigorously Mrs. Tabby led on 
 her forlorn hope; and how unweariedly, 
 Murat-like. Mrs. De Famille charged at the 
 head of her cavalry. They deserve to be 
 made Marshals of France, all of them. 
 And I am sure, that if women ought ever 
 to receive honorary testimonials, it is for 
 having “married a daughter well.” 
 
 That’s a pretty phrase ! The mammas 
 marry, the misses are married. 
 
 And yet, I don’t see why I say so. I 
 fear I am getting sour. For certainly, 
 Polly’s mother didn’t marry Polly to me. 
 I fell in love with her : the rest followed. 
 Old Gnu says that it’s true Polly’s 
 mother didn’t marry her, but she did 
 marry herself, to me. 
 
 “ Do you really think, Paul Potiphar,” 
 said he, a few months ago when I was 
 troubled about Polly’s getting a livery, 
 “ that your wife was in love with you, a 
 dry old chip from China? Don’t you 
 hear her say whenever any of her friends 
 are engaged, that they ‘ have done very 
 well ! ’ and made a ‘ capital match ! ’ and 
 have you any doubt of her meaning? 
 Don’t you know that this is the only 
 country in which the word ‘ money ’ must 
 never be named in the young female ear ; 
 and in whose best society — not universally 
 nor without exception, of course not; 
 Paul, don’t be a fool — money makes mar- 
 riages ? When you were engaged, ‘ the 
 world ’ said that it was a ‘ capital thing ’ 
 for Polly. Did that mean that you were 
 a good, generous, intelligent, friendly, and 
 patient man, who would be the companion 
 for life she ought to have ? You know, 
 as well as I do, and as all people who said 
 it, know, that it meant you were worth a 
 few hundred thousands, that you could 
 build a splendid house, keep horses and 
 chariots, and live in style. You and I are 
 sensible men, Paul, and we take the world 
 as we find it ; and know that if a man 
 wants a good dinner he must pay for it. 
 We don’t quarrel with this state of things. 
 How can it be helped ? But we need not 
 virtuously pretend it’s something else. 
 When my wife, being then a gay girl, first 
 smiled at me, and looked at me, and smelt 
 at the flowers I sent her in an unutterable 
 manner, and proved to me that she didn’t 
 
 [June 
 
 love me by the efforts she made to show 
 that she did, why, I was foolishly smitten 
 with her, and married her. I knew that 
 she did not marry me, but sundry shares in 
 the Patagonia and Nova Zembla Consoli- 
 dation, and a few hundred house lots upon 
 the island. What then ? I wanted her, 
 she was willing to take me, — being sensible 
 enough to know that the stock and the 
 lots had an encumbrance. Voila tout, as 
 young Boosey says. Your wife wants you 
 to build a house. You’d better build it. 
 It’s the easiest way. Make up your mind 
 to Mrs. Potiphar, my dear Paul, and 
 thank Leaven you’ve no daughters to be 
 married off' by that estimable woman.” 
 
 Why does a man build a house ? To 
 live in, I suppose — to have a home. But 
 is a fine house a home ? I mean, is a 
 “ palatial residence,” with Mrs. Potiphar 
 at the head of it, the “ home ” of which 
 we all dream more or less, and for which 
 we ardently long as we grow older ? A 
 house, I take it, is a retreat to which a 
 man hurries from business, and in which 
 he is compensated by the tenderness and 
 thoughtful regard of a woman, and the 
 play of his children, for the rough rubs 
 with men. I know it is a silly view of 
 the case, but I’m getting old and can’t 
 help it. Mrs. Potiphar is perfectly right 
 when she says : 
 
 “ You men are intolerable. After at- 
 tending to your own affairs all day, and 
 being free from the fuss of housekeeping, 
 you expect to come home and shuffle into 
 your slippers, and snooze over the even- 
 ing paper — if it were possible to snooze 
 over the exciting and respectable evening 
 journal you take — while we are to sew, 
 and talk with you if you are talkative, 
 and darn the stockings, and make tea. 
 You come home tired, and likely enough, 
 surly, and gloom about like a thunder- 
 cloud if dinner isn’t ready for you the in- 
 stant you are ready for it, and then sit 
 mum and eat it ; and snap at the chil- 
 dren, and show yourselves the selfish, 
 ugly things you are. Am I to have no 
 fun, never go to the opera, never go to a 
 ball, never have a party at home ? Men 
 are tyrants, Mr. Potiphar. They are 
 ogres who entice us poor girls into their 
 castles, and then eat up our happiness, 
 and scold us while they eat.” 
 
 Well, I suppose it is so. I suppose I 
 am an ogre and enticed Polly into my 
 castle. But she didn’t find it large enough, 
 and teased me to build another. I su p- 
 pose she does sit with me in the even- 
 ing and sew, and make tea, and wait 
 upon me. I suppose she does, but 
 I’ve not a clear idea of it. I know it 
 is unkind of me, when I have been hard 
 at work all day, trying to make and se- 
 
1853.J 
 
 A Meditation by Paul Potiphar, Esq. 
 
 655 
 
 cure the money that gives her and her 
 family every thing they vvaut, and which 
 wearies me body and soul, to expect her 
 to let me stay at home, and be quiet. I 
 know I ought to dress and go into Gnu’s 
 house, and smirk at his wife, and stand 
 up in a black suit before him attired in 
 the same way, and talk about the same 
 stocks that we discussed down town in 
 the morning in colored trowsers. That’s 
 a social duty, I suppose. And I ought to 
 see various slight young gentlemen whirl 
 my wife around the room, and hear them 
 tell her when they stop, that it’s very 
 warm. That’s another social duty, I sup- 
 pose. And I must smile when the same 
 young gentlemen put their elbows into 
 my stomach, and hop on my feet in order 
 to extend the circle of the dance. I’m 
 sure Mrs. P. is right. She does very 
 right to ask, “ Have we no social duties, 
 I should like to know ? ” 
 
 And when we have performed these 
 social duties in Gnu’s house, how mean it 
 is, how “ it looks,” not to build a larger 
 house for him and Mrs. Gnu to come and 
 perform their social duties in. I give it 
 up. There’s no doubt of it. 
 
 One day Polly said to me : 
 
 “ Mr. Potiphar, we’re getting down 
 town.” 
 
 “ What do you mean, my dear ? ” 
 
 “ Why, every body is building above us, 
 and there are actually shops in the next 
 street. Singe, the pastry-cook, has hired 
 Mrs. Croesus’s old house.” 
 
 •• I know it. Old Croesus told me so 
 some time ago ; and he said how. sorry he 
 was to go. ‘ Why, Potiphar,’ said he, ‘ I 
 really hoped when I built there, that I 
 should stay, and not go out of the house 
 finally, until I went into no other. I have 
 lived there long enough to love the place, 
 and have some associations with it ; and 
 my family have grown up in it, and love 
 the old house too. It was our home. 
 When any of us said ‘ home* we meant 
 not the family only, but the house in 
 which the family lived, where the chil- 
 dren were all born, and where two have 
 died, and my old mother, too. I’m in a 
 new house now, and have lost my reckon- 
 ing entirely. I don’t know the house ; 
 I’ve no associations with it. The house 
 is new, the furniture is now, and my feel- 
 ings are new. It’s a farce for me to be- 
 gin again, in this way. But my wife 
 says it’s all right, that every body does it, 
 and wants to know how it can be helped; 
 and, as I don’t want to argue the matter, 
 I look amen.’ That’s the way Mr. 
 Croesus submits to his new house, Mrs. 
 Potiphar.” 
 
 She doesn’t understand it. Poor child! 
 how should she ? She, and Sirs. Croesus, 
 
 and Mrs. Gnu, and even Mrs. Settum 
 Downc, are all as nomadic as Bedouin 
 Arabs. The Rev. Cream Cheese says, 
 that he sees in this constant migration 
 from one house to another, a striking re- 
 semblance to the “ tents of a night,” 
 spoken of in Scripture. He imparts this 
 religious consolation to me when I grum- 
 ble. He says that it prevents a too-closely 
 clinging affection to temporary abodes. 
 One day at dinner, that audacious wag, 
 Boosey. asked him if the “ many man- 
 thuns” mentioned in the Bible, were not 
 as true of mortal as of immortal life. 
 Mrs. Potiphar grew purple, and Mr. 
 Cheese looked at Boosey in the most 
 serious manner over the top of his cham- 
 pagne-glass. I am glad to say that Polly 
 has properly rebuked Gauche Boosey for 
 his irreligion, by not asking h : m to 
 her Saturday evening mat ini es dan- 
 sant.es. 
 
 There was no escape from the house, 
 however. It must be built. It was not 
 only Mrs. Potiphar that persisted, but 
 the spirit of the age and of the country. 
 One can’t live among shops. When Pearl- 
 street comes to Park Place, Park Place 
 must run for its life up to Thirtieth-street. 
 I know it can’t be helped, but I protested, 
 and I will protest. If I’ve got to go, I’ll 
 ha^e my grumble. My wife says: 
 
 “ I’m ashamed of you, Potiphar. Do you 
 pretend to be an American, and not give 
 way willingly to the march of improve- 
 ment? You had better talk with Mr. 
 Cream Cheese upon the ‘ genius of the 
 country.’ You are really unpatriotic, you 
 show nothing of the enterprising spirit of 
 your time.” “ Yes,” I answer. li That’s 
 pretty from you ; you are patriotic, aren’t 
 you, with your liveries and illimitable ex- 
 penses, and your low bows to money, and 
 your immense intimacy with all lords 
 and ladies that honor the city by visiting 
 it. You are prodigiously patriotic with 
 your inane imitations of a splendor im- 
 possible to you in the nature of things. 
 You are the ideal American woman, aren’t 
 you, Mrs. Potiphar.” 
 
 Then I run, for I’m afraid of myself, as 
 much as of her. I am sick of this univer- 
 sal plea of patriotism. It is used to ex- 
 cuse all the follies that outrage it. I am 
 not patriotic if I don’t do this and that, 
 which if done, is a ludicrous caricature of 
 something foreign. I am not up to the 
 time if I persist in having m v own com- 
 fort in my own way. I try to resist the 
 irresistible march of improvement, if I 
 decline to build a great house, which, when 
 it is built, is a puny copy of a bad model. 
 I am very unpatriotic if I am not trying 
 to outspend foreign noblemen, and if I 
 don’t affect, without education, or taste, or 
 
A Meditation by Paul Potiphar , Esq. 
 
 65 6 
 
 habit, what is only beautiful, when it is 
 the result of the three. 
 
 However, this is merely my grumble. 
 I knew, the first morning Mrs. Potiphar 
 spoke of a new house, that I must build 
 it. What she said was perfectly true ; we 
 were getting' down town, there was no 
 doubt of the growing inconvenience of our 
 situation. It was becoming a dusty, noisy 
 region. The congregation of the Rev. Far 
 Niente had sold their church and moved 
 up town. Now doesn’t it really seem as 
 if we were a cross between the Arabs 
 who dwell in tents and those who live in 
 cities, for we are migratory in the city ? 
 A directory is a more imperative annual 
 necessity here than in any other civilized 
 region. My wife says it is a constant 
 pleasure to her to go round and see the 
 new houses, and the new furniture of her 
 new friends, every year. I saw that I 
 must submit. But I determined to make 
 little occasional stands against it. So one 
 day I said : 
 
 “ Polly, do you know that the wives of 
 all the noblemen who will be your very 
 dear and intimate friends and models when 
 you go abroad, always live in the same 
 houses in London, and Paris, and Rome, 
 and Vienna ? Do you know that North- 
 umberland House is so called because it 
 is the hereditary town mansion of the 
 Duke, and that the son and daughter-in- 
 law of Lord Londonderry will live after 
 him in the house where his father and 
 mother lived before him I Did that ever 
 occur to you. my dear ? ” 
 
 “ Mr. Potiphar,” she replied, “ do you 
 mean to go by the example of foreign 
 noblemen 1 I thought you al ways laugh- 
 ed at me for what you call 1 aping.’ ” 
 
 “ So I do, and so I will continue to do, 
 Mrs. Potiphar ; only I thought that, per- 
 haps, you would like to know the fact, 
 because it might make you more lenient 
 to me when 1 regretted leaving our old 
 house here. It has an aristocratic pre- 
 cedent.” 
 
 Poor, dear little Mrs. P. ! It didn’t 
 take as I meant it should, and I said no 
 more. Yet it does seem to me a pity that 
 we lose all the interest and advantage of a 
 homestead. The house and its furni- 
 ture become endeared by long residence, 
 and by their mute share in all the chances 
 of our life. The chair in which some dear 
 old friend so often sat — father and 
 mother, perhaps — and in which they shall 
 sit no more ; the old-fashioned table with 
 the cuts and scratches that generations 
 of children have made upon it ; the old 
 book-cases ; the hear}- sideboard ; the 
 glass, from which such bumpers sparkled 
 for those who are hopelessly scattered 
 now, or for ever gone ; the doors they 
 
 [June 
 
 opened ; the walls that echoed their long- 
 hushed laughter ! — are we wise when we 
 part with them all, or, when compelled to 
 do so, to leave them eagerly ? 
 
 I remember my brother James used to 
 say : 
 
 “ What ' is our envy for our country 
 friends, but that their homes are perma- 
 nent and characteristic? Their children’s 
 children may play in the same garden. 
 Each annual festival may summon them 
 to the old hearth. In the meeting-house 
 they sit in the wooden pews where long 
 ago they sat and dreamed of Jerusalem, 
 and now as they sit there, that long ago 
 is fairer than the holy city. Through the 
 open window they see the grass waving 
 softly in the summer air, over old graves 
 dearer to them than many new houses. 
 By a thousand tangible and visible asso- 
 ciations they are still, with a peculiar sense 
 of actuality, near to all they love.” 
 
 Polly would call it a sentimental whim 
 — if she could take Mrs. Croesus’s advice 
 before she spoke of it — but what then ? 
 When I was fifteen, I fell desperately in 
 love with Lucy Lamb. “Pooh, pooh,” 
 said my father, 11 you are romantic, it’s all 
 a whim of yours.” 
 
 And he succeeded in breaking it up. I 
 went to China, and Lucy married old Fir- 
 kin, and lived in a splendid house, and 
 now lies in a splendid tomb of Carrara 
 marble, exquisitely sculptured. 
 
 When I was forty, I came home from 
 China, and the old gentleman said, “ I want 
 you to marry Arabella Bobbs, the heiress. 
 It will be. a good match.” 
 
 I said to him : 
 
 “ Pooh, pooh, my dear father, you are 
 mercenary : it’s all a whim of yours.” 
 
 “My dear son. I know it,” said he, 
 " the whole thing is whim. You can live 
 on a hundred dollars a year, if you choose. 
 But you have the whim of a good dinner, 
 of a statue, of a book. Why not ? Only 
 be careful in following your whims, that 
 they really come to something. Have as 
 many whims as you please, but don’t fol- 
 low them all.” 
 
 “ Certainly not,” said I ; and fell in love 
 with the present Mrs. Potiphar, and mar- 
 ried her, ofl-hand, So, if she calls this 
 genuine influence of association a mere 
 whim — let it go at that. She is a whim, 
 too. My mistake simply was in not fol- 
 lowing out the romantic whim, and marry- 
 ing Lucy Lamb. At least it seems to me 
 so, this morning. In fact, sitting in my 
 very new “ palatial residence,” the whole 
 business of life seems to me rather whim- 
 sical. 
 
 For here I am. come into port at last. 
 No longer young. — but worth a good for- 
 tune, master of a great house, — respected 
 
1853.] 
 
 A Meditation by Paul Potiphar , Esq. 
 
 657 
 
 down town, — husband of Mrs. Potiphar, — 
 and father of Master Frederic ditto. Per 
 contra ; I shall never he in love again, — 
 in getting my fortune I have lost my real 
 life, — my house is dreary, — Mrs. Potiphar 
 is not Lucy Lamb, — and Master Frederic 
 — is a good boy. 
 
 The game is all up for me, and yet I 
 trust I have good feeling enough left to 
 sympathize with those who are still play- 
 ing. I see girls as lovely and dear as any 
 of which poets have sung, — as fresh as 
 dew-drops and beautiful as morning. I 
 watch their glances, and understand them 
 better than they know, — for they do not 
 dream that “ old Potiphar ” does any thing 
 more than pay Mrs. P.’s bills. I see the 
 youths nervous about neckcloths, and 
 anxious that their hair shall be parted 
 straight behind. I see them all wear the 
 same tie. the same trowsers, the same 
 boots. I hear them all say the same thing, 
 and dance with the same partners in the 
 same way. I see them go to Europe and 
 return, — I hear them talk slang to show 
 that they have exhausted human life in 
 foreign parts, and observe them demean 
 themselves according to their idea of the 
 English nobleman. I watch them go in 
 strongly for being manly.” and smashing 
 the spoonies,” — asserting intimacies with 
 certain uncertain women in Paris, and 
 proving it by their treatment of ladies at 
 home. I see them fuddle themselves on 
 fine wines and talk like cooks, play heavily 
 and lose, and win, and pay, and drink, and 
 maintain a conservative position in politics, 
 denouncing u Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” as a 
 false and fanatical tract ; and declaring 
 that our peculiar institutions are our own 
 affair, and that John Bull had better keep 
 his eyes at home to look into his coal 
 mines. I see this vigorous fermentation 
 subside, and much clear character depos- 
 ited, — and, also, much life and talent mud- 
 dled for ever. 
 
 It is whimsical, because this absurd 
 spectacle is presented by manikins who 
 are made of the same clay as Plutarch’s 
 heroes, — because, deliberately, they prefer 
 cabbages to roses. I am not at all angry 
 with them. On the contrary, when they 
 dance well I look on with pleasure. Man 
 ought to dance, but he ought to do some- 
 thing else, too. All genial gentlemen in 
 all ages have danced. Who quarrels with 
 dancing? Ask Mrs. Potiphar if I ever 
 objected to it. But then, people must 
 dance at their own risk. If Lucy Lamb, 
 by dancing with young Boosey when he 
 is tipsy, shows that she has no self-re- 
 spect, how can I, coolly talking with Mrs. 
 Lamb in the corner, and gravely looking- 
 on, respect the young lady ? Lucy tells 
 me that if she dances with James she 
 von. i. — 42 
 
 must with John. I cannot deny it, for 1 
 am not sufficiently familiar with the regu- 
 lations of the mystery. Only this; if 
 dancing with sober James makes it neces- 
 sary to dance with tipsy John, — it seem - 
 to me, upon a hasty glance at the subject, 
 that a self-respecting Lucy would refrain 
 from the dance with James. Why it 
 should be so. I cannot understand. Why 
 Lucy must dance with every man who 
 asks her, whether he is in his senses, or 
 knows how to dance, or is agreeable to 
 her or not, is a profound mystery to 
 Paul Potiphar. Here is a case of woman’s 
 wrongs, decidedly. Wc men cull the choic- 
 est partners, make the severest selections, 
 and the innocent Lucys gracefully submit. 
 Lucy loves James, and a waltz with him 
 (as P. P. knows very well from experi- 
 ence) is “a little heaven below” to both. 
 Now, dearest Lucy, why must you pay 
 the awful penance of immediately waltz- 
 ing with John, against whom your wo- 
 manly instinct rebels ? And yet the 
 laws of social life are so stern, that Lucy 
 must make the terrible decision, whether 
 it is better to waltz with James or worse 
 to waltz with John ! “ Whether,” to put it 
 strongly with Father Jerome, t; heaven is 
 pleasanter than hell is painful.” 
 
 I say that I watch these graceful game- 
 sters, without bitter feeling. Sometimes 
 it is sad to see James woo Lucy, win her, 
 marry her, and then both discover that 
 they have made a mistake. I don’t see 
 how they could have helped it ; and when 
 the world, that fi ves them both so ten- 
 derly, holds up its pure hands of horror, 
 why, Paul Potiphar goes quietly home to 
 Mrs. P., who is dressing for Lucy’s ball, 
 and says nothing. He prefers to retire 
 into his private room, and his slippers, and 
 read the last number of Bleak House, or 
 a chapter in Vanity Fair. If Mrs. Poti- 
 phar catches him at the latter, she is sure 
 to say : 
 
 “ There it is again ; always reading 
 those exaggerated sketches of society. 
 Odious man that he is. I am sure he 
 never knew a truly womanly woman.” 
 
 “ Polly, when he comes back in Septem- 
 ber I’ll introduce him to you,” is the only 
 answer I have time to make, for as it is 
 already half past ten, Mrs. P. must be off 
 to the ball. 
 
 I know that our set is not the world, 
 nor the country, nor the city. I know 
 that the amiable youths who are in league 
 to crush spooneyism are not many, and 
 well I know, that in our set (I mean Mrs. 
 P.’s) there are hearts as noble and char- 
 acters as lofty as in any time and in any 
 land. And yet, as the father of a family 
 (viz. Frederic, our son), I am constrained 
 to believe that our social tendency is to 
 
058 
 
 A Meditation by Paul Potiphar, Esq. 
 
 the wildest extravagance. Here, for in- 
 stance, is my house. It cost me fifty-five 
 thousand dollars. It is superbly fur- 
 nished. Mrs. P. and I don’t know much 
 about such things. She was only strin- 
 gent for buhl, and the last Parisian models, 
 .so we delivered our house into the hands 
 of certain eminent upholsterers to be fur- 
 nished, as we send Frederic to the tailor’s 
 to be clothed. To be sure, I asked what 
 proof we had that the upholsterer was 
 possessed of taste. But Mrs. P. silenced 
 me, by saying that it was his business to 
 have taste, and that a man who sold furni- 
 ture, naturally knew what was handsome 
 and proper for my house. 
 
 The furnishing was certainly performed 
 with great splendor and expense. My 
 drawing-rooms strongly resemble the 
 warehouse of an ideal cabinet-maker. 
 Every whim of table — every caprice of 
 chair and sofa, is satisfied in those rooms. 
 There are curtains like rainbows, and 
 carpets, as if the curtains had dripped all 
 over the floor. There are heavy cabinets 
 of carved walnut, such as belong in the 
 heavy wainscotted rooms of old palaces, 
 set against iny last French pattern of wall 
 paper. There are lofty chairs, like the 
 thrones of archbishops in Gothic cathe- 
 drals, standing by the side of the elabor- 
 ately gilded frames of mirrors. Marble 
 statues of Venus and the Apollo support 
 uiy mantels, upon which or vwlu Louis 
 ■Quatorze clocks ring the hours. In all 
 jwssjble places there are statues, sta- 
 tuettes, vases, plates, teacups, and liquor- 
 cases. The wood- wo) k, when white, is 
 elaborated in Moresco carving — when oak 
 and walnut, it is heavily moulded. The 
 contrasts are pretty, but rather sudden. 
 In truth, my house is a huge curiosity- 
 shop of valuable articles, — clustered with- 
 out taste, or feeling, or reason. They are 
 there, because my house was large and I 
 was able to buy them; and because, as 
 Mrs. P. says, one must have buhl and 
 or molu, and new forms of furniture, and 
 do as well as one’s neighbors, and show 
 that one is rich, if he is so. The}' are 
 there, in fact, because I couldn’t help it. 
 I didn’t want them, but then I don’t know 
 what I did want. Somehow I don’t feel 
 as if I had a home, merely because orders 
 were given to the best upholsterers and 
 fancy-men in town to send a sample of 
 all their wares to my house. To pay a 
 morning call at Mrs. Potiphar’s is, in 
 some ways, better than going shopping. 
 You see more new and costly things in a 
 shorter time. People say, “ What a love 
 of a chair!” “What a darling table!” 
 
 • What a heavenly sofa!” and they all go 
 and tease their husbands to get things 
 precisely like them. When Ivurz Pacha, 
 
 [June 
 
 the Sennaar minister, came to a dinner at 
 my house, he said : 
 
 “ Bless my soul ! Mr. Potiphar. youi 
 house is just like your neighbor’s.” 
 
 I know it. I am perfectly aware that 
 there is no more difference between my 
 house and Croesus’s, than there is in two 
 ten-dollar bills of the same bank. He 
 might live in my house and I in his, with- 
 out any confusion. He has the same 
 curtains, carpets, chairs, tables, Venuses. 
 Apollos, busts, vases, &c. And he goes 
 into his room, and thinks it ’s all a devilish 
 bore, just as I do. We have each got to 
 refurnish every few years, and, therefore, 
 have no possible opportunity for attach- 
 ing ourselves to the objects about us. 
 Unfortunately Kurz Pacha particularly de- 
 tested precisely what Mrs. P. most liked, 
 because it is the fashion to like them. I 
 mean the Louis Quatorze and the Louis 
 Quinze things. 
 
 “ Taste, dear Sirs. Potiphar,” said the 
 Pacha, “ was a thing not known in the days 
 of those kings. Grace was entirely sup- 
 planted by grotesqueness, and now, in- 
 stead of pure and beautiful Greek forms, 
 we must collect these hideous things. If 
 you are going backward to find models, 
 why not go as far as the good ones 1 My 
 dear madam, an or molu Louis Quatorze 
 clock would have given Pericles a fit. 
 Your drawing-rooms would have thrown 
 Aspasia into hysterics. Things are not 
 beautiful because they cost money ; nor is 
 any grouping handsome without harmony. 
 Your house is like a woman dressed in 
 Ninon de l’Enclos’s bodice, with Queen 
 Anne’s hooped skirt, who limps in Chinese 
 shoes, and wears an Elizabethan ruff round 
 her neck, and a Druse’s horn on her head. 
 My dear madam, this is the kind of thing 
 we go to see in museums. It is the old 
 stock joke of the world.” 
 
 By Jove ! how mad Mrs. Potiphar 
 was ! She rose from table, to the great 
 dismay of Kurz Pacha, and I could only 
 restrain her by reminding her that the 
 Sennaar Minister had but an imperfect 
 idea of our language, and that in Sennaar 
 people probably said what they thought 
 when they conversed. 
 
 “ You’d better go to Sennaar, then, your- 
 self, Mr. Potiphar,” said my wife, as she 
 smoothed her rumpled feathers. 
 
 “ ’Pon my word, madam, it’s my own 
 opinion,” replied I. 
 
 Kurz Pacha, who is a philosopher (of 
 the Sennaar school), asks me if people 
 have no ideas of their own in building 
 houses. I answer, none, that I know of. 
 except that of getting the house built. 
 The fact is. it is as much as Paul Potiphar 
 can do, to make the money to erect his 
 palatial residence, and then to keep it go- 
 
1853.] 
 
 A Meditation by Paul Potipliar , Esq. 
 
 655 
 
 ing. There are a great many fine statues 
 in my house, but I know nothing about 
 them ; I don’t see why we should have 
 such heathen images in reputable houses. 
 But Mrs. P. says : 
 
 “ Pooh ! have you no love for the fine 
 arts 7 ” 
 
 There it is ! It doesn’t do not to love 
 the fine arts ; so Polly is continually clut- 
 tering up the halls and staircases with 
 marble, and sending me heavy bills for 
 the same. 
 
 When the house was ready, and my wife 
 had purchased the furniture, she came and 
 said to me : 
 
 “ Now, my dear P., there is one thing 
 we haven’t thought of.” 
 
 “ What’s that 7 ” 
 
 “ Pictures, you know, dear.” 
 
 “ What do you want pictures for 7 ” 
 growled I. and rather surlily, I am 
 afraid. 
 
 " Why, to furnish the walls ; what do 
 you suppose we want pictures for 7 ” 
 
 "I tell you Polly,” said I, “that pic- 
 tures are the most extravagant kind of 
 furniture. Pshaw ! a man rubs and dab- 
 bles a little upon a canvas two feet 
 square, and then coolly asks three hun- 
 dred dollars for it.” 
 
 “ Dear me, Pot,” she answered, “ I don’t 
 want home-made pictures. What an 
 idea ! Do you think I’d have pictures on 
 my walls that were painted in this coun- 
 try '? — No, my dear husband, let us have 
 some choice specimens of the old masters. 
 A landscape by Rayfel, for instance ; or 
 one of Angel’s fruit pieces, or a cattle 
 scene by Yerynees, or a Madonna of Gid- 
 do’s, or a boar-hunt of Hannibal Crack- 
 key’s.” 
 
 What was the use of fighting against 
 this sort of thing 7 I told her to have it 
 her own way. Mrs. P. consulted Singe 
 the pastry cook, who told her his cousin 
 had just come out from Italy with a lot of 
 the very finest pictures in the world, which 
 he had bribed one of the Pope’s guard to 
 steal from the Vatican, and which he 
 would sell at a bargain. 
 
 They hang on my walls now. They 
 represent nothing in particular; but in 
 certain lights, if you look very closely, you 
 can easily recognize something in them 
 that looks like a lump of something 
 brown. There is one very ugly woman 
 with a convulsive child in her arms, to 
 which Mrs. P. directly takes all her visit- 
 ors, and asks them to admire the beauti- 
 ful Shay douver of Giddo’s. When I go 
 out to dinner with people that talk pictures 
 and books, and that kind of thing, I don’t 
 like to seem behind, so T say, in a critical 
 way, that Giddo was a good painter. 
 None of them contradict me, and one day 
 
 when somebody asked, “Which of his 
 pictures do you prefer 7 ” I answered 
 straight, “ His Shay douver,” and no more 
 questions were asked. 
 
 They hang all about the house now. 
 The Giddo is in the dining-room. I ask- 
 ed the Sennaar Minister if it wasn’t odd 
 to have a religious picture in the dining- 
 room. He smiled, and said that it was 
 perfectly proper if I liked it, and if the 
 picture of such an ugly woman didn’t take 
 away my appetite. 
 
 “ What difference does it make.” said 
 he, in the Sennaar manner, “ it would be 
 equally out of keeping with every other 
 room in your house. My dear Potiphar. 
 it is a perfectly unprincipled house, this 
 of yours. If your mind were in the con- 
 dition of your house, so ill-assorted, so 
 confused, so overloaded with things that 
 don’t belong together, you would never 
 make another cent. You have order, pro- 
 priety, harmony, in your dealings with 
 the Symmes’s Hole Bore Co., and they 
 are the secrets of your success. Why not 
 have the same elements in your house 7 
 Why pitch every century, country, and 
 fashion higgledy-piggledy into your par- 
 lors and dining-room 7 Have every thing 
 you can get, in heaven’s name, but have 
 every thing in its place. If you are a 
 plodding tradesman, knowing and caring 
 nothing about pictures, or books, or statu- 
 ary, or objets de vertu ; don’t have them. 
 Suppose your neighbor chooses to put 
 them in his house. If he has them merely 
 because he had the money to pay for 
 them, he is the butt of every picture and 
 book he owns. 
 
 “When I meet Mr. Croesus in Wall- 
 street, I respect him as I do a king in his 
 palace, or a scholar in his study. He is mas- 
 ter of the occasion. He commands like Nel- 
 son at the Nile. I, who am merely a 
 diplomatist, skulk and hurry along, and 
 if Mr. Croesus smiles, I inwardly thank him 
 for his charity. Wall-street is Croesus’s 
 sphere, and all his powers play there per- 
 fectly. But when I meet him in his 
 house, surrounded by objects of art, by 
 the triumphs of a skill which he does not 
 understand, and for which he cares no- 
 thing, — of which, in diet, he seems afraid, 
 because he knows any chance question 
 about them would trip him up, — my feel- 
 ing is very much changed. If I should 
 ask him what or molu is, 1 don’t believe 
 he could answer, though his indignant or 
 molu clock rang, indignant, from the man- 
 tel. But if I should say, “ Invest me this 
 thousand dollars,” he would secure me 
 eight per cent, ft certainly isn’t neces- 
 sary to know what or molu is, nor to 
 have any other objet de vertu but your 
 wife. Then, why should you barricade 
 
660 
 
 A Meditation by Paul Potiphar, Esq. 
 
 [June 
 
 yourself behind all these things that you 
 really cannot enjoy, because you don’t 
 understand ? If you could not read Ital- 
 ian, you would be a fool to buy Dante, 
 merely because you knew he was a great 
 poet. And, in the same way, if you 
 know nothing about matters of art, it is 
 equally foolish for you to buy statues 
 and pictures, although you hear on all 
 sides, that, as Mrs. P. says, one must love 
 art. 
 
 “ As for learning from your own pictures, 
 you know, perfectly well, that until you 
 have some taste in the matter, you will 
 be paying money for your pictures blindly', 
 so that the only persons upon whom jrnur 
 display of art would make any impres- 
 sion, will be the very ones to see that you 
 know nothing about it. 
 
 “ In Sennaar, a man is literally 1 the 
 master of the house.’ He isn’t surround- 
 ed by what he does not understand; he is 
 not obliged to talk book, and picture, when 
 he knows nothing about these matters. 
 He is not afraid of his parlor, and you feel 
 instantly upon entering the house, the char- 
 acter of the master. Please, my dear 
 Mr. Potiphar, survey your mansion and 
 tell me what kind of man it indicates. 
 If it does not proclaim (in your case) the 
 President of the Patagonia Junction, a 
 man shrewd, and hard, and solid, without 
 taste or liberal cultivation, it is a painted 
 deceiver. If it tries to insinuate by this 
 chaotic profusion of rich and rare objects, 
 that you are a cultivated, accomplished, 
 tasteful, and generous man, it is a bad lie, 
 because a transparent one. Why, my 
 dear old Pot., the moment your servant 
 opens the front door, a man of sense per- 
 ceives the Vhole thing. You and Mrs. 
 Potiphar are bullied by all the brilliancy 
 you have conjured up. It is the old story 
 of the fisherman and the genii. And 
 your guests all see it. They are too well- 
 bred to speak of it; but I come from 
 Sennaar, where we do not lay so much 
 stress upon that kind of good-breeding. 
 Ms. Paul Potiphar, it is one thing to have 
 plenty of money, and quite another, to 
 know how to spend it.” 
 
 Now, as I told him , this kind of talk 
 may do very well in Sennaar, but it is 
 absurd in a country like ours. How are 
 people to know that I’m rich unless I 
 show it ? I’m sorry for it, but how shall 
 I help it, having Mrs. P. at hand? 
 
 “ How about the library ? ” said she 
 one day. 
 
 “ What library ? ” inquired I. 
 
 “ Why, our library, of course.” 
 
 “ I haven’t any.” 
 
 “ Do you mean to have such a house as 
 this without a library 1 ” 
 
 “Why,” said I. plaintively, “I don’t 
 
 read books — I never did, and I never 
 shall ; and I don’t care any thing about 
 them. Why should I have a library ? ” 
 
 “ Why, because it’s par t of a house like 
 this.” 
 
 “ Mrs. P., are you fond of books ? ” 
 
 “ No, not particularly. But one must 
 have some regard to appearances. Sup- 
 pose we are Hottentots, you don’t want 
 us to look so, do you ? ” 
 
 I thought that it was quite as barba- 
 rous to imprison a lot of books that we 
 should never open, and that would stand 
 in gilt upon the shelves, silently laughing 
 us to scorn, as not to have them if we 
 didn’t want them. I proposed a compro- 
 mise. 
 
 “ Is it the looks of the thing, Mrs. P. ? ” 
 said I. 
 
 “ That’s all,” she answered. 
 
 “ Oh ! well, I’ll arrange it.” 
 
 So I had my shelves built, and my old 
 friends Matthews and Rider furnished 
 me with complete sets of handsome gilt 
 covers to all the books that no gentle- 
 man’s library should be without, which 
 I arranged, carefully, upon the shelves, 
 and had the best-looking library in 
 town. I locked ’em in, and the key is 
 always lost when any body wants to take 
 down a book. However, it was a good 
 investment in leather, for it brings me in 
 the reputation of a reading man and a 
 patron of literature. 
 
 Mrs. P. is a religious woman — the 
 Rev. Cream Cheese takes care of that — 
 but only yesterday she proposed some- 
 thing to me that smells very strongly of 
 candlesticks. 
 
 “ Pot., I want a prie-dieu." 
 
 “ Pray-do what 1 ” answered I. 
 
 “Stop, you wicked man. I say I want 
 a kneeling-chair.” 
 
 “ A kneeling-chair ! ” I gasped, utterly 
 befogged. 
 
 “A prie-dieu — a prie-dieu — to pray 
 in, you know.” 
 
 My Sennaar friend, who was at table, 
 choked. When he recovered, and we 
 were sipping the “ blue seal,” he told me 
 that he thought Mrs. Potiphar in a prie- 
 dieu was rather a more amusing idea 
 than Giddo’s Madonna in the dining- 
 room. 
 
 “ She will insist upon its being carved 
 handsomely in walnut. She will not pray 
 upon pine. It is a romantic, not a reli- 
 gious whim. She’ll want a missal next ; 
 vellum, or no prayers. This is piety of 
 the ‘ Lady Alice ’ school. It belongs to a 
 fine lady and a fine house precisely as your 
 library does, and it will be precisely as 
 genuine. Mrs. Potiphar in a prie-dieu 
 is like that blue morocco Comus in your 
 library. It is charming to look at, but 
 
1853.] 
 
 General Ogle — A Character. 
 
 661 
 
 there’s nothing in it. Let her have the 
 prie-dieu by all means, and then begin 
 to build a chapel. No gentleman’s house 
 should be without a chapel. You’ll have 
 to come to it, Potiphar. You’ll have to 
 hear Cream Cheese read morning prayers 
 in a purple chasuble, que sais-je. You’ll 
 see religion made a part of the newest 
 fashion in houses, as you already see 
 literature and art, and with just as much 
 reality and reason.” 
 
 Privately, 1 am glad the Sennaar 
 minister has been recalled. It’s bad 
 enough to be uncomfortable in your own 
 house without knowing why ; but to have 
 a philosopher of the Sennaar school show 
 you why you are so, is cutting it rather 
 too fat. I am gradually getting resign- 
 ed to my house. Pve got one more 
 struggle to go through next week in Mrs. 
 Potiphar’s musical party. The morning 
 soirees are over for the season, and 
 Mrs. P. begins to talk of the watering 
 places. I am getting gradually resigned ; 
 but only gradually. 
 
 Oh ! dear me, 1 wonder if this is the 
 
 “home, sweet home” business the girls 
 used to sing about ! Music does certainly 
 alter cases. I can’t quite get used to it. 
 Last week I was one morning in the base- 
 ment breakfast-room, and I heard an 
 extra cried. I ran out of the area door 
 — dear me ! — before I thought what I 
 was about, I emerged bareheaded from 
 under the steps, and ran a little way 
 after the boy. I know it wasn’t proper. 
 I am sorry, very sorry. I am afraid Mrs. 
 Croesus saw me ; I know Mrs. Gnu told 
 it all about that morning ; and Mrs. 
 Settum Downe called directly upon Mrs. 
 Potiphar, to know if it were really true 
 that I had lost my wits, as every body 
 was saying. I don’t know what Mrs. P. 
 answered. I am sorry to have compro- 
 mised her so. I went immediately and 
 ordered a pray-do of the blackest wal- 
 nut. My resignation is very gradual. 
 Kurz Pacha says they put on grave- 
 stones in Sennaar three Latin words — do 
 you know Latin 1 if you don’t, come and 
 borrow some of my books. The words 
 are : ora pro me ! 
 
 GENERAL OGLE— A CHARACTER. 
 
 W E ought to have a chemistry of men, 
 but instead, our ignorance keeps us 
 dependent upon such oracles as Shaks- 
 peare, Scott, Dickens, Hawthorne, and 
 the poets who are free of their guild. We 
 want an analysis of human nature for 
 common use, something to help common 
 judgment to the insight and knowledge of 
 high genius — something to be discovered 
 and revealed by the gifted, in such form 
 that it can be clearly comprehended, and 
 safely used, by the Million ; as the mys- 
 teries of the material world have been 
 put within the grasp and subjected to the 
 uses of the common mind. Men might 
 be divided, for instance, like electricity, 
 into positive and negative. The analogy 
 furnishes a helpful hint. Ix>gic, also, could 
 afford the aid of its correspondences — the 
 absolute and the conditional lets in some 
 light; and so, perhaps, by the time the 
 whole circle of the sciences had contribu- 
 ted to the undertaking, the elements of the 
 microcosmic human nature might be some- 
 what distinguished and defined. 
 
 Lacking technical terms sufficiently de- 
 finite and significant, we must endeavor 
 the delineation of the character in hand, 
 in the roundabout method of detailed de- 
 scription. 
 
 General Ogle, then, was all that is 
 
 meant and suggested by the words, cen- 
 tric, positive, and absolute. He was like 
 Emerson’s representative men for the 
 reason that, like them, he was not repre- 
 sentative ; he was an exceptional heroic 
 character, as Napoleon, Cromwell, and 
 Jackson were ; that is, he owed his dis- 
 tinction to the qualities which distinguish- 
 ed him from every body else, or we never 
 would have heard of either of them. In 
 the language of orator Philips, “ he was a 
 man without a model and without a sha- 
 dow.” Nature is liberal of her extem- 
 poraneous productions, but she took care 
 to copyright him, and it is well known 
 that she never issues more than one edition 
 of her standard works ; if for no other 
 reason, because the type is worn out by 
 the force of the first impression ; and, if 
 for any other reason, because copies mu- 
 tually destroy each other’s necessity, and. 
 because reproductions in changed circum- 
 stances are absurdities. 
 
 General Ogle was not one of a litter. 
 He was made on purpose, and his kind 
 was complete in him. He was of that 
 breed which leaves no heirs, and needs no 
 successors. Out of time and place he 
 would himself have been only an oddity, 
 or, perhaps, a monster ; but in his actual 
 surroimdings of men and things there 
 
(562 
 
 (general Ogle - 
 
 A Character. 
 
 was the happiest possible fitness of rela- 
 tions and every thing in him, accordingly, 
 had its full force and virtue. 
 
 The region of country which gave him 
 his theatre, and the people who cast the 
 company for the drama of his life, were 
 in such keeping with him as if they had 
 been made for him, and he for them. The 
 scene was laid in one of the mountain 
 counties of Pennsylvania which lies 
 spread over the junction of two ridges of 
 the Alleghany chain. It is not a valley 
 quite, nor basin, but is slightly curved, or 
 cupped, from crest to crest of the twin 
 highlands where they interlock and lift 
 the intervale almost to a level with their 
 summits. It has no navigable streams, 
 and its artificial roads are the portages 
 which interrupt the railroads and canals 
 from the Susquehanna to the Ohio river. 
 It is thus situated far inland, and in an 
 equal degree cut off from the advanced 
 civilization of the Atlantic coast, and the 
 sturdy enterprise of the Mississippi Val- 
 ley. The climate is severe, and the soil 
 something niggardly of its fruits, and 
 having few natural advantages to keep it 
 abreast of the progress around it, its in- 
 habitants fifty years ago, like its forest 
 trees, were nurtured up to a medium 
 growth, and generally stayed there. The 
 valleys on its east and west drained ofF 
 the overflow of men, as they received the 
 waters destined to mingle with the might- 
 ier tides of the world’s life. 
 
 Development requires conditions, and a 
 sterile soil, and dislocated position, are 
 unfriendly to great and rapid advance- 
 ment of a community. But, notwith- 
 standing the general limitation and re- 
 straint of life in such circumstances, there 
 are no places more remarkable for pro- 
 ducing men of mark — heroes, chieftains, 
 and distinguished leaders — than those 
 which lie in semi-barbarous conditions. 
 Indeed, in most directions the liberty and 
 occasions for individual eminence are lar- 
 ger and freer there than where men are 
 marshalled according to the forms of a 
 higher general cultivation, and its author- 
 itative order. The mass lies something 
 lower, but society is by no means so 
 smoothly flat as on the several platforms 
 of a more artificially regulated system. 
 Wealth and poverty are better balanced ; 
 they are less injurious to each other ; and 
 they do not determine rank and privilege 
 to the extent of repressing great natural 
 abilities, and fostering the arrogance of 
 birth and fortune. Personal character, 
 where men must mingle intimately, gives 
 every one his appropriate place, and de- 
 mocracy is the common law of sentiment 
 as well as of political relations. This 
 checks culture and discredits refinement, 
 
 [June 
 
 but it prevents the severance of Society 
 into circles, and leaves ambition free, and 
 eminence possible to all. 
 
 In the heathen mythology, the hillsare the 
 favorite habitations of the gods, and there 
 is something in physical elevation allied to 
 mental and moral greatness, of the kind 
 which men are accustomed to esteem heroic. 
 
 1 do not feel assured that strangers to 
 the style of life of which I am speaking, 
 will receive my story with the confidence 
 which it deserves, nor even that those 
 who are somewhat familiar with the ac- 
 tual history, will admit every feature of 
 the portrait which I draw to be the liv- 
 ing truth ; but my own assurance is so 
 clear and strong, that I can only judge 
 the critic by his judgment of it. I know 
 what I assert, and I am upon honor with 
 my readers. Now let me introduce to 
 their acquaintance the Patriarch Politician 
 of my native county. 
 
 The person and character of this man. 
 the most ordinary and the most extraor- 
 dinary actions of his life, were all of a 
 piece ; every thread of the web showed 
 the pattern, and to present him well should 
 all be woven together into his description. 
 Ilis very incoherencies stuck together and 
 suggested each other, they all belonged so 
 decidedly to him. A glimpse of him as 
 he turned a corner, his hat hung upon 
 a peg, his standing attitude, his walk, the 
 elevation of his nasal interjection note, 
 which he executed with as much effect as 
 Wellington could cry “attention!” to a 
 British army, or any other act or fact that 
 could happen, reminded owe of every thing 
 he ever did or said in his life. A very 
 singularly odd man, indeed, was he, but 
 not a whit made up or affected, and without 
 an iota of pretence in him. He was as 
 honest as steel, and as open as daylight ; 
 and if he made immense drafts upon the 
 admiration of every man he met, he really 
 believed as earnestly in himself as his 
 most ardent admirer could do, and so he 
 had a perfect integrity and all the corrob- 
 orating force of it. He was all alive ; 
 every moment had its purpose, and even 
 action a determinate drift. He knew 
 every thing, could do every thing, and 
 took the responsibility of every thing, 
 and so he “burnt his bigness through 
 the world.” He was just what his own 
 organization made him. If he had been 
 wound up at his birth, to go by his 
 own springs for Ins whole life-time, he 
 could not have been less affected by exter- 
 nal circumstances and accidental influen- 
 ces. He was so ascertained, so clearly 
 pronounced, so inevitable, that no one- 
 knowing him could imagine any change of 
 conditions capable of altering him ; that 
 transmigration itself could conceal or con- 
 
1853.J 
 
 General Ogtc — A Character. 
 
 663 
 
 fuse him ; that a pair of wings, a suit of 
 talons, a beak, or a mane, could have 
 smothered or masked the absolute Gen- 
 eral, or suppressed his individuality. A 
 positive and unconditional nature was his ; 
 it spoke out in every tone of voice, appear- 
 ed in every gesture, and formally an- 
 nounced itself every time he opened his 
 mouth. 
 
 Mahomet was somebody, certain. Gen- 
 eral Ogle was his translation into the idi- 
 om of the Alleghany mountains in the l°th 
 century. The Prophet’s iron earnestness, 
 his robust confidence, asserts itself in the 
 Koran every where. Sometimes it bursts 
 out in the midst of a narrative, suspend- 
 ing the sense, to clinch its verity by 
 planting the word !! assuredly ” as a but- 
 tress for the exacted faith ; sometimes the 
 word stands alone, a whole paragraph, 
 severed from all relations, personating the 
 absolute and proving it like a voice from 
 the abyss — Assuredly. General Ogle 
 
 never opened or closed an argument with- 
 out drawing up his tall person into an at- 
 titude of positiveness and power, starting 
 in with the word percizely , and pointing 
 out with an emphatic pine-blank — per- 
 cizely and pine-blank, that the action of 
 voice, teeth, and lips, might answer to 
 the authority and energy of the man. 
 
 Imagine a man six feet two inches high, 
 finely proportioned, with some depth of 
 chest and breadth of shoulders added to 
 make his courage and confidence the 
 surer ; take him at the age of fifty-five, 
 the acknowledged great man of the world 
 he lives in ; one who really never meets a 
 superior in any thing to which he makes a 
 claim ; full of the feeling, and marked by 
 the manner of a leader in right of emi- 
 nent fitness and efficiency ; his hair brush- 
 ed straight from brow and temples back- 
 ward towards the crown, and powdered ; 
 aifd, with an instinct that it was concern- 
 ed in expressing him, whenever he stood 
 in the open air, his hat was lifted or re- 
 moved often enough to give it all its pro- 
 per effect in the impression of his pre- 
 sence. His waistcoat was invariably a 
 dark crimson, and his standing coat-collar 
 lined with scarlet. His fine large face 
 was always cleanly shaved, and he wore a 
 bosom frill elegantly negligent, just as a 
 painter would set a superb head in a wreath 
 of clouds. 
 
 It was not his dress that he paraded ; it 
 was as much as dress could do to match 
 his mien and movement ; and crimson, 
 powder and ruffles, were tame enough to 
 seem modest and unobtrusive in his ser- 
 vice. His hat was large, with liberal 
 breadth of brim, turned up behind to ac- 
 commodate the erect collar, and deepen 
 the pitch of the point which sheltered the 
 
 brow, and repeated and impressed the 
 curve and dip of his fine aquiline nose. 
 His foot and hand varied the effect of his 
 personal beauty, by their more delicate 
 elegance ; and his boots, crimped and tas- 
 selled, relieved the length of limbs and 
 lightened his too imposing grandeur, as 
 rhyming syllables reduce and soften the 
 stride of verse. 
 
 He walked with his head a little for- 
 ward of the perpendicular, as is usual 
 with men whose frontal brain is active, 
 and always with the pleased engagedness 
 of expression in his countenance which 
 makes a man happy in speaking to others 
 who are as happy in hearing him. No 
 eye ever caught him weary, listless or 
 vacant ; he took no holidays, nor ever 
 knew those remissions of engagement 
 which ordinary people indulge in at the 
 beginnings and finishings of their under- 
 takings. He was always fully employed 
 and equally intent, and the spring in him 
 was not only strong enough for work but 
 it was easy enough for play ; while the 
 tide ran like a cataract, the surface rip- 
 pled and sparkled with humor — the sun- 
 shine in dalliance with the spray — the 
 storm tones rarefied into music. His 
 temper was sharp and high, but steady. 
 As it never fell into feebleness so it never 
 rose into rage ; the percizely and pine- 
 blank tone of feeling, ever present, kept 
 him too well balanced for that. Extrav- 
 agance, by other men’s measure of senti- 
 ment and action, was common enough 
 with him, but he was never hurried into 
 the trepidation of an angry paroxysm. 
 
 It is the temperament of such a man, 
 more than any thing else, that determines 
 his character. By temperament I mean a 
 condition of the physical organization, a 
 make of muscle, nerve, and bloodvessel, 
 and a manner and proportion in their com- 
 bination. The terms of art used to dis- 
 tinguish and describe these differences 
 and their effects, are not exact or ade- 
 quate, but I think the words tonic and 
 sanguine answer best to his strength and 
 fervor — the vigor with the glow, the tren- 
 chant diamond and its brilliancy ; for all 
 the Hash about him was the outleaping 
 of a steady fire. Every faculty within 
 him seemed hung upon coiled springs an- 
 swering with electric quickness to its 
 proper excitant. 
 
 This man was uneducated as we phrase 
 it. He owed nothing but reading and 
 writing in his mother tongue, and simple 
 arithmetic, to the schools. He was not 
 deeply read in history, civil policy, law, or 
 general literature ; he knew no art or 
 science as a system ; but he was none the 
 less equal to any emergency in affairs, or 
 any demand for speculative thinking in 
 
664 
 
 General Ogle — A Character. 
 
 matters of life and business. His instincts 
 were so large and true, his feelings so 
 sound and earnest, and all his aims so 
 just and generous, that he always found 
 the truth and right by sympathy with 
 their sentiment, and was ever sure of the 
 required inspiration at the moment of his 
 need. Such, indeed, were his native 
 strength and readiness, at all points, that 
 it is safe to say, that, in a representative 
 career of forty years, in the State and 
 National legislatures, and the incident con- 
 tact with the pivot men of politics, the 
 General was never nonplussed by his de- 
 fects of education. The nice taste of fash- 
 ionable people was often shocked by his 
 uncultured strength and rugged style of 
 utterance. Nothing was more common in 
 the village than clusters of boy-men in 
 high merriment over his irregularities, 
 like so many flies after a rich feast, busy 
 with the broken victuals ; but it was only 
 in his absence that the buzzing and blow- 
 ing happened ; his presence, somehow, al- 
 ways held so large a balance of force 
 against the sharpness of the witlings, that 
 the hunting never began till the lion had 
 left the field. 
 
 Probably not one man in a hundred 
 can learn to write his own name, spell 
 February, or to hit the cases of the per- 
 sonal pronouns, after forty years of age. 
 The General suffered something by his 
 lack of formal training in his youth, which 
 ear-marked his style of speech and com- 
 position while he lived. An amusing in- 
 stance will illustrate a slight defect of this 
 sort, and his masterly skill, in extricating 
 himself, which never deserted him in any 
 such exigency. 
 
 Immediately after Madison’s second 
 election, the General called upon Gover- 
 nor Findlay, then holding the office of 
 State Treasurer, with the manuscript of a 
 long letter which he had written to the 
 President, covering the whole ground of 
 our foreign and domestic policy, and es- 
 pecially, the principles and measures of 
 the democratic party. Mr. Findlay heard 
 it with not a little admiration of its mer- 
 its, both as to matter and manner ; but, 
 glancing at the paper, he observed that 
 the General had, in some hundred instan- 
 ces, written the pronoun I in little with a 
 pop over it ; and sincerely desiring to re- 
 form it for the writer’s sake, and for the 
 effect that it ought to have, but impress- 
 ed, also, with his sensitiveness to criticism 
 which in any way impeached his capabili- 
 ties, he coaxingly suggested the much- 
 desired correction after this fashion : 
 
 “ An excellent letter, General. A sound 
 letter, sir ; full of most capital advice, 
 which Mr. Madison will be glad and 
 proud to receive, and thoroughly demo- 
 
 [Junt 
 
 cratic in every sentiment. A letter, Gen- 
 eral, that any man might be proud te 
 write. Views, sir, that will make the ad- 
 ministration equal to Jefferson’s, if they 
 are fully adopted. But, General, they 
 have a court custom at Washington, a 
 small matter, such as you and I are not 
 apt to treat with much consideration — an 
 indifferent little piece of etiquette — a — ” 
 Here Mr. Findlay began to stammer. The 
 General’s keen eye was on him, and he 
 felt it. 
 
 “ Percizely ! what is it ? ” 
 
 •• Oh, nothing,” looking over the paper 
 as if it were hard to find. “ Nothing at 
 all, and yet, it would be easily altered. 
 A stroke of the pen here and there, 
 merely.” 
 
 “ Pine-blank,” said the General, “ what 
 is it, Mr. Findlay?” 
 
 “ Why, General, it has become the cus- 
 tom lately, at Washington, to write the 
 pronoun I with a capital letter.” 
 
 The General was caught, and he knew 
 how he was caught, too, and he must re- 
 cover himself. 
 
 “ Percizely, Mr. Findlay ; all right. 
 Most assuredly — I knew — pine-blank — 
 you’re right. No question of it.” By this 
 time he was ready. “ Look here, my dear 
 sir,” laying his hand on Mr. Findlay’s 
 shoulder, as if to reassure him, for the 
 embarrassment was all on the one side 
 now. “You see, my dear fellow, I had a 
 design in it. When I write to a small 
 pattern of a man, J make my capital l’s 
 two inches long; ivhen I write to my 
 equal fellow-citizens, such as yourself, for 
 instance, I make them the usual length ; 
 but, sir, when I address myself to as 
 great a man as Mr. Madison or Mr. Jef- 
 ferson, I always make them as small as 
 possible with a pop over them, percizely.” 
 
 I need hardly say that the General 
 walked straight to his room, and raised 
 every letter of them to the dignity re- 
 quired by the rules of grammar, and the 
 etiquette of Washington city, before he 
 despatched the epistle. 
 
 And there was matter in him as well 
 as manner. He had both the insight 
 and foresight of a ruling mind. There 
 were none earlier or more efficient in the 
 support of advance movements in State 
 policy, though, from his inland and isolat- 
 ed locality, his connection with their exe- 
 cution was less conspicuous than that of 
 his principal contemporaries. He repre- 
 sented a good fiftieth part of the Key- 
 stone State during that stage of its his- 
 tory which gave it its present high posi- 
 tion ; and his “Aye,” “Aye,” upon the 
 journals, mark his support of the measures 
 which anticipated and insured its prosper- 
 ity. percizely ; as his “ No,” “ No ” bears 
 
1853.] 
 
 General Ogle — A Character. 
 
 665 
 
 pino-blank against the projects which 
 principle and prudence interdicted. 
 
 Of course, the General was a democrat, 
 — a democrat in the best significance of 
 the term ; for there was breadth and va- 
 riety enough of man in him to fit him for 
 both the service and sovereignty of the 
 civil state, and to conciliate the duties 
 which he owed to his constituents, with 
 the claims he held due from them to him- 
 self. A true man in himself, he was false 
 in none of his relations. lie purchased 
 nothing by sacrifice of his manliness, and 
 he secured nothing by usurpation. If 
 he did not surrender the head to the 
 members, nor lag and linger in constrained 
 equality with the slow-goers, he never- 
 theless carried the will and conscience of 
 the country with him, and represented the 
 people with the strictest democratic fideli- 
 ty in the public councils. 
 
 The religious sentiment of this man was 
 strong and active, under modification of 
 his peculiar mental constitution. lie was, 
 indeed, incapable of meekness, and suicide 
 would have been as easy to him as repent- 
 ance, and very like it. It was at a later 
 day, when the hardest features of his 
 character had quite outgrown the little 
 plasticity which tempered them, that he 
 sent his compliments to St. Paul, by a 
 dying friend, with the assurance that he 
 " approved his writings, generally, and 
 entertained for himself, as a man, the 
 highest regard, affection, and esteem.” 
 This, however, was only an exaggeration 
 of his customary mood, for in his best 
 days, he would have offered his arm to an 
 archangel in the style of a democratic 
 President doing the honors of the planet 
 to a distinguished visitor. In a word, he 
 was just himself, percizely — a man that 
 would have stuck to his intercession for 
 the cities of the plain, if he had been in 
 Abraham’s place, till he had nothing left 
 but Lot’s wife to offer in mitigation of 
 their doom. Moses, though the meekest 
 of men, was bold enough to reply to the 
 threat of destruction to the Israelites, 
 “ Forgive them, or blot my name out of 
 thy book.” General Ogle wouldn’t stop 
 at that ; he would offer an apology for the 
 unfortunate multitude at the general 
 judgment, in the confidence that every 
 thing could be satisfactorily arranged 
 afterwards by his own kind offices. 
 
 Of his moral conscience I am safe in 
 saying, it was just the balance of his own 
 impulses and opinions. His feelings 
 settled the right and wrong of things 
 among themselves, without any reference 
 to received standards. No prophet could 
 be more confident of his inspiration than 
 the General was of the oracle within him ; 
 and he was, moreover, not the man to de- 
 
 sire a favor out of rule, to pray, or wish, 
 in thought or word for a personal benefit 
 to soul or body, or to fear or evade any 
 legitimate consequence of his own large 
 liberty of soul. 
 
 As an example of the General’s mode 
 of reasoning, and the morale of his logic, 
 he shall answer in his own style. Sup- 
 pose an Indian war to be the subject ; its 
 providential results, rather than its justice, 
 being its warranty. 
 
 " Percizely,” he would say, “ yon 
 mustn’t look at a great national movement 
 the way a magpie squints into a marrow- 
 bone. History isn’t written with the 
 point of a pin. The Canaanites were the 
 Indians of the Holy Land, and when the 
 cup of their iniquities was full, and the 
 Cavaliers and Puritans of that day wanted 
 room, and had the better right of better 
 men to fill it, Jehovah told them, pine- 
 blank, to oust the lounging varlets. Ye 
 see, the Lord of the Vineyard cannot 
 tolerate mere cumberers of the ground. 
 The copper-heads take up more room than 
 the rest of the world can afford them ! 
 They are, in fact, the greatest land-mono- 
 polists in the universe, and the most 
 worthless squabs at that ; so, the fine fel- 
 lows must either go to work, when the 
 time comes, or else pull up stakes, and 
 put out for the Rocky Mountains, or for 
 kingdom-come. The earth must be farm- 
 ed, not foraged, by man ; and the vaga- 
 bonds that have neither forts nor fences, 
 must give it up — their case is past praying 
 for — burnt brandy wouldn’t save them. 
 Besides, a new world was wanted for the 
 new system. Democracy required a fresh 
 soil, a wide field, and a clean sweep, to 
 set up with, and this was just the Conti- 
 nent fit for the use, percizely ! ” 
 
 Responsibility for poor men’s debts, and 
 the actual payment of them in the last 
 extremity, and the general care and direc- 
 tion of the improvident and incapable 
 people in his large acquaintance, rested on 
 him constantly, and was cheerfully borne 
 and ungrudgingly discharged, and, of 
 course, not a little ostentatiously at the 
 same time. The manners of his constitu- 
 ency were robust and blunt, and great 
 delicacy in his conduct towards them would 
 have here missed its aim, and he had no 
 idea of reserve toward those who would 
 bear the open utterance of every thing 
 that concerned them. It was, accordingly, 
 not at all unusual, nor very outrageous, 
 either, to find him enacting his benevo- 
 lences in the public streets ; nor, indeed, 
 was it quite out of the way for him to 
 rehearse them to the ungrateful and pre- 
 sumptuous, for their benefit and his own 
 honor. In the centre square of the county 
 town, on a public day, with a crowd of 
 
660 
 
 General Ogle — A Character. 
 
 [June 
 
 the country people around him, he has 
 been heard to say, more than once, in his 
 loudest tones, * £ I’m the father of the 
 county. For forty years I have done all 
 its thinking, and managed all its business. 
 I projected your public roads, and every 
 great improvement in the policy of the 
 community. I have made you happy at 
 home and respected abroad. I know 
 every man of you, from the acorn up to 
 the scrubs that ye are. I know more 
 law than your lawyers, and more divinity 
 than your preachers. I can teach your 
 merchants in their own business; and 
 there isn’t one in a dozen of you that 
 doesn’t owe your good luck to my advice, 
 and your misfortunes to neglecting it. I 
 am the oldest major-general in the United 
 States, except General Jackson. I want 
 nothing from you — I belong to myself, 
 but I want 3 r ou to know what is for your 
 own good, percizely.” 
 
 In public debate and conversation, he 
 was remarkable for tact, blunt wit, and 
 effective eloquence ; besides, he had a voice 
 and manner of declamation which insured 
 the reception of any thing that he uttered. 
 Not a man in a million has equal posses- 
 sion and command of the nerves of his 
 auditors. Think towards him as they 
 might, they were obliged to think with 
 him. He never knew the embarrassment 
 of a doubt, and he never showed its hesita- 
 tion. He wasn’t loaded squib fashion, 
 with alternate wads of wet and dry pow- 
 der. When he exploded an opinion, it 
 had the clear, compact, metallic ring of a 
 straight-cut-rifle crack, and, hit or miss, it 
 was not safe to stand within his range. 
 
 He had learned all the best and most 
 available law maxims ; he knew the Scrip- 
 tures, as he said, like a book ; and, he 
 was richly supplied with those sententious 
 oracles of wisdom and prudence which 
 have crystallized themselves into happy, 
 self- proving maxims, in form for ready and 
 effective use. 
 
 I am not attempting a biography, but 
 presenting a character, by the method of 
 description, rather than by instances, 
 events, and actions. The actual outward 
 life, in any case, does but little more than 
 hint the constitution of the man. Espe- 
 cially where conditions restrain the play 
 of extraordinary powers, narrative must 
 fail to effect a fair presentment. Every 
 incident of the General’s life was full of 
 him ; but the historical detail would in- 
 volve that of the times, his contemporaries, 
 and surroundings ; besides, his report 
 rests in oral tradition mainly. He died 
 before the daguerreotype and daily papers 
 undertook the hole-and-corner gossip of 
 the country, and no phonographer ever 
 caught the living likeness of his thoughts. 
 
 His contemporaries are nearly all gone, and 
 very few of them fully apprehend him. 
 He published nothing. His life got utter- 
 ance only in voice and action. It was ex- 
 temporized on the instant, and the data 
 which remain to the chronicler are as 
 meagre, confused, and inadequate as the 
 incidents of a battle, a storm, or a dance. 
 I would gladly compromise for a fair re- 
 port of one of his Fourth of J uly orations. 
 It would relieve the awkwardness that 
 there is in playing showman to the Lion, 
 and go far to supply the defects in my 
 performance, if such an auto-exhibition 
 could be secured. I must even attempt 
 to reconstruct one of these fossil curiosi- 
 ties from the fragmentary remains which 
 lie scattered in my memory. 
 
 The date is about twenty-five years 
 ago ; the scene was laid at the “ Coffee 
 Spring,” a mile from our village ; the 
 company made up of the population of the 
 town and neighborhood, mustered en 
 masse. The dinner, spread upon the 
 table, cast into a horseshoe shape, in an 
 arbor made with forks and poles, covered 
 with bushes, fresh cut, and close piled to ex- 
 clude the sun, was discussed ; the military, 
 the citizens, and the boys, refreshed by 
 the repast, and enlivened a little (more or 
 less) with rye whiskey, whiskey and 
 water, whiskey sweetened with sap sugar, 
 and small beer, graduated to the tastes 
 and ages of the company, are all brought 
 up standing by an order for “ attention ” 
 from the Captain of the -‘Independent 
 Blues,” and the General mounts the 
 table. 
 
 “ Percizely, my fellow-citizens (wav- 
 ing a red silk handkerchief at arm’s 
 length), percizely — as Brutus, fresh from 
 the execution of the tyrant Caesar, cried 
 to his countrymen. ‘ hear me for my cause 
 and be silent that ye may hear,’ so I come 
 before you to speak the truth in the love 
 of it. I stand here as Abraham, when he 
 was returning from the slaughter of the 
 kings, stood at the feast which Melchize- 
 dek. prepared for the grand old hero, to 
 bless the name of the Most High, who 
 hath delivered all mine enemies into my 
 hand. 
 
 “ Chedorlaomer, and Julius Caesar, and 
 that apostate democrat Napoleon, all died 
 in their sins, for their evil works went be- 
 fore them to judgment. Pontius Pilate cut 
 his own throat, because he had condemned 
 that Just One ; Judas Iscariot hanged him- 
 self in remorse for betraying him ; and 
 George the Third wilted away in his wick- 
 edness like that old pine-tree there ; struck 
 by the lightning of heaven — -dead at the 
 top, while the miserable old trunk still 
 sticks in the earth by its roots. Honor to 
 the race of regicides ; destruction to the 
 
1853 .] 
 
 General Ogle — A Character. 
 
 667 
 
 oppressors of the people every where, and a 
 stout arm to match the bold heart of 
 sound democracy all over the universe ! 
 
 “ My dear fellows, you don’t under- 
 stand it, but it is as clear as light to the 
 children of light, that the Lord reigneth, 
 and the Devil’s a fool. I know it; in 
 threescore years and ten, I never saw the 
 righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging 
 bread. Stretch yourselves up into the 
 light ; swell your breasts into the upper 
 air. If you go nosing about in the dirt 
 for a living, and dozing in the mud for en- 
 joyment, the shadow of a leaf will hide 
 the whole heaven from your sight. Pigs 
 have no prospects. They grunt when 
 they are comfortable, and squeal when 
 they are hurt, but they don’t understand 
 the course of things. And, if any fine 
 fellow here feels his bristles rising, he 
 knows who I mean by the parable, per- 
 cizely. 
 
 “ My hairs are white, like the fields of 
 •Judea, ready for the harvest of the great 
 reaper ; and these shambling shanks are 
 beginning to shrink from their duty ; but 
 my soul laughs at the lengthening shadow 
 of my years. Let this crazy frame de- 
 cay ; I shall break out of it one of these 
 days, like a sun-burst upon a mountain 
 top, when he comes out of his chamber in 
 the east, to run his glorious race around 
 the arch of heaven. I am not old, and, 
 when you bury my bones, remember that 
 1 am not dead. Peter was bewildered 
 when he proposed to build tabernacles for 
 Moses and Elias on the Mount of Trans- 
 figuration. When we have done our duty 
 here we go up higher ! When this frame 
 has lost all its strength and beauty, the 
 kindly mother earth will sweeten and 
 freshen it into youth again ; and the limits 
 of its life will widen into glorious liberty. 
 Hallelujah ! The light of these eyes is 
 growing dim in the light of paradise ! 
 
 “ Idiots and drivellers, from seventeen to 
 seventy, think the world is coming to an 
 end when worn-out frames and worn-out 
 things are blown up, but such dotards are 
 but first cousins to the beast that perishes 
 — all but the beauty. Such cattle have 
 about the same right to scratch their 
 heads, for any thing there is in them, as 
 so many ring-tailed monkeys, and, very 
 l-ikely, will make as much by the opera- 
 tion. (Here Bill, turn up a clean tumbler 
 and give me a drink of water — ) 
 
 “I was among these grand old hills, 
 my sweet follow-citizens, before the oldest 
 of you was born, and, snipes and night- 
 owls ! did you ever detect any humbug in 
 me? If you did, out with it. Pm so 
 tired of barking that I would like a bite. 
 Try your teeth in this tough old hide, ye 
 whipper-snappers ! There’s blood in me 
 
 that would make you as drunk as blazes 
 for the rest of your lives, and give you 
 the first peep of glory that ever opened 
 upon your benighted souls. 
 
 11 The follies of the dead are buried with 
 
 them. They were not worth minding. 
 
 then, nor remembering now ; but didn’t 
 I tell your respectable daddies that they 
 were making fools of themselves in the 
 whiskey insurrection ? Blackguardism 
 isn’t democracy ! When Washington 
 came to Bedford with the army, the Al- 
 legheny mountain rocked under his foot- 
 steps. and the diminutive little manikins 
 that danced like drunk monkeys around 
 their pig-nut liberty pole in the diamond 
 over there, trembled in their shoes till 
 you could hear their toe-nails jingle. I 
 was a democrat, a Jeffersonian democrat, 
 then, as I am now ; but I wasn’t a dema- 
 gogue, a coward, or a broad-mouthed 
 brawler against my country, its laws, and 
 constitution. 
 
 “ Your grandmothers can tell you what 
 a rumpus the same ninnies raised around 
 me for the first wagon-road made over 
 the mountains to Pittsburgh. It would 
 break up the pack-horse men, forsooth, 
 and the tavern-keepers and horse-breeders 
 would be ruined, when one wagon could 
 carry as much salt, bar-iron and brandy 
 from Baltimore, as a whole caravan of 
 half- starved mountain ponies ! But I told 
 them then, that of all people in the world, 
 fools have the least sense ; and that they 
 would live to learn that the best way is 
 as good as any : for, when I was but a 
 boy, I discovered that nothing less than 
 too much is plenty, in the American 
 meaning of the word. That’s the differ- 
 ence between a man of faith and the snobs 
 that do all their travelling in a tread- 
 mill. 
 
 1; But with such snipes, nothing can be 
 done. Cure them of witchcraft, and they 
 slide into fortune-telling, or some other 
 stupid kind of .wonder-working ; for they 
 understand nothing, either by insight or 
 experience. After a while, when the 
 prosperity, which they at first resisted, 
 poured down upon them from a spout, 
 they went crazy; and I was mobbed 
 again for standing by Simon Snyder’s veto 
 of that batch of shin-plaster banks which 
 the legislature chartered by a two-thirds 
 vote, and gave you your keepsakes of 
 Owl-creek and Mutton-town bills. And 
 now, wheeling gee, as much too far as ye 
 went haw, before, you are bellowing at 
 the top of your voice, and the end of your 
 wits, against all bank paper ! 
 
 “ Is it any wonder that I keep up my 
 old grudge at the Devil for making such 
 people ! Jack (to a darkie carter, occu- 
 pied at the other end of the table upon 
 
668 
 
 General Ogle — A Character. 
 
 the breast-bone of a turkey, which he 
 was polishing), you may as well quit 
 beating and bothering your mules ; make 
 their breech-bands of sheet-iron and the 
 traces of cobweb, for the more you wal- 
 lop them the more they won’t go. My 
 donkeys are of the same breed percizely, 
 they are all on a spree, just now, kicking 
 out their hoofs at free-masonry ! That’s 
 the secret of all the villany and blunder- 
 ing in legislation, is it? Butter your 
 brains and give them to the dogs for a 
 new-year’s gift, and let somebody else do 
 your thinking. Oh. it’s enough to sicken 
 a snipe, to hear a twopenny pettifogger 
 railing at the great men who have given us 
 our free institutions, and built up this 
 model republic into a world’s wonder; 
 and to see a herd of drivelling noodles 
 drinking in his profanity like the words 
 of life ! But Providence always had his 
 hands full of such forlornities. If He can 
 bear with them, I may. He will find the 
 men, somehow, when the time comes to 
 do up the world’s work upon the princi- 
 ples of everlasting truth. The universal 
 laws keep the earth in its orbit, and all 
 the crawlers on its surface can’t shake it 
 out of shape, or turn it from its track. I 
 believe and five. Behold, ye despisers, 
 and wonder, and perish. 
 
 “ And there is the common-school sys- 
 tem that I have been laboring for, until it 
 is at last fairly on foot. See that you keep it 
 alive, and make it answer the glorious pur- 
 pose of its establishment. Don’t clip it 
 down to nothing by your beggarly econo- 
 my. I wish to the Lord that you under- 
 stood thinking as well as you do eating, and 
 could feel an empty head as painfully as 
 an empty stomach. Can’t jmu under- 
 stand that keeping money in your pocket 
 is not saving it? A dollar in a buckskin 
 purse won’t breed a sixpence in a hun- 
 dred years ; but employed wisely in the 
 service of soul or body, it will bless the 
 one and glorify the other. If you can’t 
 see the policy of education, make a re- 
 ligion of it. The world of ideas is the 
 world of spirits. Introduce your children 
 there, for every good thought is a guar- 
 dian angel to the dear little lambs. And 
 don’t stop just where reading, writing, 
 and arithmetic, can be worked into dollars 
 and dimes. Carry them through and 
 over this sordid world into God’s world — 
 up to the circle of the heavens, where he 
 sits governing the universe by his laws. 
 Every discovery in the truths of Nature 
 is so far into the counsel and confidence 
 of the Supreme Ruler. Only the man 
 that has the mind of God is godlike. 
 Now, for Heaven’s sweet sake, educate 
 your children. You may talk stupidities 
 about the salaries of public officers, as 
 
 [June 
 
 you did against me for voting a gentle- 
 manly per diem to the members of Con- 
 gress; but don’t cheapen your school- 
 masters till nobody but bankrupt cob- 
 blers, habitual drunkards, cripples, con- 
 sumptives, and such other ugly incapables 
 can be got to serve you, for very shabbi- 
 ness of the salary. Buy cheap store 
 goods, if you like, for when they wear 
 out you will know it, and can replace 
 them ; buy cheap provisions, and eat the 
 less of them ; buy any tiling cheap but 
 cheap talents. Don’t venture upon that 
 speculation, for you are no judges of the 
 article, and the only way for you to in- 
 sure the excellence of the quality is by 
 the liberality of the premium which you 
 will offer for it ; that will bring the genu- 
 ine into the market, and the bogus will 
 be clearly exposed by the difference of the 
 ring, weight, and shine. 
 
 “ I go in, ye see, for the arts of peace, 
 the prosperity of the people, and all that 
 blesses and embellishes the life of man ; 
 but I would not forget, on this great Sab- 
 bath-day of the nation, the glory our 
 country has won in the field and on the 
 wave. It isn’t the pluck of the bull-dog 
 or the game-cock in a soldier which I ad- 
 mire, but the high-souled heroism that 
 chooses liberty above fife, and knows how 
 to make victory a blessing to the world. 
 
 “ In the Revolution, and in the late war 
 against Great Britain, we fought against 
 foes who were, only a generation or two 
 back, bone of our bone and flesh of our 
 flesh ; born brothers, they were, of course, 
 our equals in all qualities of manhood. 
 They had the advantage in numbers, 
 arms, and all the appointments of war ; 
 but the strength of the cause was ours ; 
 we had the right, and the Lord of Hosts 
 was with us. But, if we had been un- 
 worthy and incapable, — if we had been 
 poor in faith or feeling, poor in heart or 
 hope, we would not have been elected to 
 the office of banner-bearer in the army 
 of universal freedom. The covenants of 
 Heaven are made with faithful men ; and 
 a people that falls away from its worthi- 
 ness is rejected at last, though still be- 
 loved for the fathers’ sakes. While ye 
 think ye stand, take heed lest ye fall. 
 
 “ This is a great country, and it isn’t all 
 fenced in yet. Very little of it, in fact, is 
 so far finished as to be ready for the first 
 coat of paint. All the wilderness of the 
 New World is ours, for we alone can oc- 
 cupy it. The dwarfed provincialism north 
 and south of us have no expansive growth 
 in them. French and Spanish haven’t the 
 right kick in their gallop to match us in 
 the race of empire. I have no contempt for 
 any of God’s creatures ; they’ll all weave 
 into the web of existence somewhere, or 
 
General Ogle — A Character. 
 
 669 
 
 1863.] 
 
 they will do for selvedge and fringes ; but 
 showy and shabby is a bad mixture to 
 make up by themselves. They are not of 
 the right stripe for democrats ; they don’t 
 come up to the full measure of the Ameri- 
 can pattern. 
 
 t: I tell ye, my dear fellows, we have 
 the wool pulled over our eyes by the Eu- 
 ropean writers which we are all the time 
 reading. Of course they know no better 
 than to call Buonaparte a hero, and Wel- 
 lington another for conquering him. That 
 will do for t’other side of the water, for 
 every thing is great or small by com- 
 parison. But comparing themselves with 
 themselves they are not wise, and they 
 don’t know enough to discern the true 
 standard. Heaven help them to better 
 doctrine and diet. They will have such 
 generals as Washington and Jackson when 
 they have the same occasion for them ; 
 and when they go to fighting for progress 
 instead of power, and organize their civil 
 institutions in the faith of the people’s 
 honesty and capacity for self-government, 
 fully, fairly, and faithfully, they may put 
 their achievements down upon the page of 
 history in parallel columns with us. 
 
 “ Now, I have a few words to say that 
 1 don’t want you to forget. Turnpikes, 
 canals, and railroads must be made, whe- 
 ther they run in front of your cabin doors 
 or not. These mountains must be tun- 
 neled, those valleys must be paved : must 
 be, and will be. So, don’t let any of those 
 miserables who sometimes get themselves 
 into your legislature, set you against the 
 necessity which is upon you ; making fools 
 of you and scoundrels of themselves, by 
 pretending that they will lighten your 
 taxes and reduce the State debt. 
 
 “ Finally — until every man is as wise 
 as his neighbor, and as good as he ought 
 to be, you must be governed by the ma- 
 jority, and that necessity will divide you 
 into parties — two parties, mind ye, or one 
 and a parcel of fragments. Now, the 
 greatest of these will have the power in 
 its hands, of course. How will you mend 
 it when it goes wrong? By drawing off 
 into as many little squads as there may 
 happen to be differences of opinion among 
 you ? This will only strengthen the party 
 that you are trying to control. The moun- 
 tain-springs refresh the lakes by flowing 
 into them, not by running off into a mul- 
 titude of puddles to stagnate in the sun 1 
 Parties must be built upon general views 
 and broad policies. Organize as you may 
 upon transient and trivial contingencies, 
 it is all fuss and foolery. A party with 
 any thing positive in it will outlive its own 
 abuses and your grumbling ; or, if the 
 real majority of the nation is too corrupt 
 to purify itself, it will not be improved 
 
 by changing its channel. The judgment 
 day divides the world into two classes 
 only, one right and one wrong. Do you 
 think you can make a better or more ac- 
 curate division ? My dear fellow-citizens, 
 don’t be caught starting aside after every 
 vagabond fancy that inspired idiots can 
 scare up. Within the proper party of 
 truth and progress will be found all the 
 available means of reform that political 
 agencies can ever effect. Jonah withdrew 
 in a fit of disgust because the Lord would 
 not destroy Nineveh for its corruption, 
 and sheltered his indignant head under a 
 gourd that grew up in a single night, and 
 of course perished in a night ; whereupon 
 he wished himself dead, and fainted out- 
 right. Better bear your small percentage 
 of your neighbors’ sins and blunders till 
 they are cured, than curse the world and 
 quit it in a passion. It is good enough 
 for you to do your duty in, and too good 
 to be condemned as long as it is getting 
 better. 
 
 “ I’m done, for I don’t jump off the 
 stage or stump, like the pony in a travel- 
 ling menagerie, through a blazing hoop ; 
 and I wouldn’t whine a dying doxology 
 to my speech, if I knew that it was the 
 last I should ever make to you in the 
 flesh. I will speak to you from my grave. 
 My voice will echo from these hills, as 
 long as the truth of my life is of any use 
 to you, and you are worthy of it. Wher- 
 ever I am — here among you, or there 
 above jmu — I’ll be doing my duty and 
 minding my own business — go home and 
 mind yours.” 
 
 At seventy-five years of age, the coarse 
 excitement and wild illusions of inebriety 
 replaced the healthy activities which had 
 been the very wine of life in his better 
 days. The busiest occupation, the most 
 perilous risks, the heaviest responsibilities 
 of his eventful experience, had never 
 quite satisfied his great necessities, and 
 now that the aching vacancy of leisure 
 and enforced inaction had come before 
 “ the silver cord was loosed, or the golden 
 bowl was broken, or the pitcher had 
 broken at the fountain, or the wheel 
 broken at the cistern,” he turned, by a 
 sad necessity of such natures, to the de- 
 lights of those passions whose indulgence 
 remained possible, after his nobler facul- 
 ties had lost their occasions, and the power 
 of exclusive occupation. 
 
 The change was as rapid as it was ter- 
 rible. I had seen him in the glory of his 
 strength. I was a boy, indeed, and could 
 not fully comprehend or estimate him ; 
 but a whole man is never wholly misun- 
 derstood, even by the least capable ob- 
 server ; and if the impression was some- 
 what confused and indefinite, it was, 
 
G70 
 
 Uncle Bernard's Story. 
 
 nevertheless, grand and inspiring. He 
 was a gentleman of the olden time, one 
 of those demigods of the pioneer period 
 of society that seem compounded of the 
 savage and civilized epochs which they 
 unite. He had outlived the fabulous era 
 to which he appropriately belonged, and 
 was as ill-assorted to the new times, as 
 the whole hero race of our idolatry would 
 be, if we had their personal presence now 
 instead of their consecrated memories. 
 
 When I met this man again, after some 
 years of absence from my mountain home, 
 with my earliest apprehensions of him 
 sharpened and heightened by the distance 
 and difference of the commonplace plati- 
 tudes of fashionable life, and graced by 
 those teachings of the imagination which 
 adorn our ideals, and accommodate the 
 object to the homage which we must give 
 somewhere, to keep our faith alive, and 
 our souls in tone — when I met him again, 
 bowed with years, in a sadly disordered 
 dress, with a dimmed eye, unsteady 
 limbs, untoned features, and nothing of 
 himself left but his noble form of head, 
 and that erect hair, standing like a monu- 
 ment of the dilapidated man, I felt the 
 contact like a blow. My habitual reve- 
 rence groped for its object in that chaos, 
 like a child in a darkened chamber seek- 
 ing for his father. Standing over his 
 grave, I could have recognized him. I 
 could have found him all alive again in 
 every street ; and on my play-grounds, 
 his presence would have answered to my 
 apprehension wherever I turned, if only 
 he had not been there — there as he was. 
 T could, I think, have borne the shock of 
 all natural change. The even rush of 
 years would have left some noble traces 
 
 [Jiir><- 
 
 to adorn the ruin ; a second childhood 
 would have preserved some symmetry in 
 decay ; but — he remembered me and had 
 forgotten himself ! Like the chieftain of 
 a clan, he was naturally a foster-father to 
 the children of his early friends. He 
 had lost the habit of that respect, the 
 consciousness of its mutual claims, and the 
 sympathies and demeanor of the relation. 
 
 Why does the church pray for deliver- 
 ance from sudden death ! The battle-field 
 is the fittest death-bed of the soldier. 
 When “it is finished,” let the strong 
 straggler give up the ghost, that the body 
 may not become the grave of the soul, nor 
 the holy ones see their own corruption. 
 
 Before this strong man became incapa- 
 ble of active, useful life, his relations to 
 it were divorced, and his great energies 
 were left to prey upon themselves. He 
 was not born to rust, but to wear out ; 
 and when society refused his services and 
 repelled his participation, the appetites, 
 which had been suspended and controlled 
 by a half century of intense engagement 
 in worthy offices, resumed their importu- 
 nities; the vices of youth displaced the 
 proper dignities of age, and the offended 
 witnesses of his fall, lost tteir confidence 
 in human virtue by the shocking exhibi- 
 tion of its weakness. 
 
 I did not reproach him for his infirmity. 
 It was not his fault, but the fault of a 
 wretched meagreness and meanness of 
 conditions which could not hold such a 
 mind and heart to their highest uses, and 
 noblest capabilities, to the end. I date 
 his death at the period of his discharge’ 
 from public duty ; there J ustice sets up 
 his monument, and its broad shadow 
 covers all that lies behind it. 
 
 UNCLE BERNARD’S STORY. 
 
 us a storv.” 
 
 Uncle Bernard, a white-haired old man, 
 whose easy chair had been drawn to a 
 warm corner, for the winter was howling 
 against the windows, looked up from his 
 large-print Bible and smiled fondly on their 
 rosy faces : “A story ! let me read you 
 rae out of this good book.” 
 
 " Oh ! no,” says bold little Bob, as he 
 caught the old man round the neck, “ we 
 know all the Bible stories ; tell us a fairy 
 tale!” 
 
 “ Yes ! yes ! Uncle Bernard,” chomped 
 the rest, “a fairy tale, a fairy tale, a fairy 
 tale ; you have never told us a fairy tale.” 
 “ No, deary, I have never told you a 
 fairy tale. Fatty tales are lies, and young 
 
 folks, like you, should not love to heat- 
 lies. nor old folks like me should not tell 
 lies.” 
 
 “ Oh ! but uncle Bernard, we know that 
 fairy tales ain’t true, but it is such fun to 
 hear them.” 
 
 “ Well, my pets, I’ll try to tell you a 
 story that sounds like a fairy tale, and yet 
 is all true. Sit down and listen: 
 
 Once upon a time, and a great while 
 ago, there lived in a wide wood a wild 
 man. whose name was Sthenos. His fa- 
 ther and mother had been keepers of a 
 lovely garden, where they dwelt in peace 
 with our good God; but he, very early 
 in his childhood, had wandered far off and 
 lost himself among the shadows of the 
 forest, where he soon forgot all the little 
 that he knew. Not only his head and 
 
1853.] 
 
 Uncle Bernard’s Story. 
 
 67 J 
 
 face, but also his whole body was covered 
 with long shaggy hair ; his nails were like 
 daws, and he could climb the trees or 
 swim in the water as easily as walk on 
 the ground. Gigantic in height, his shoul- 
 ders were broad and his limbs sturdy. 
 He could outrun the swiftest deer, hit 
 with a stone the living bird, and kill with 
 his knotty club the fiercest beasts. lie 
 ate only what he won in the chase, with 
 some pleasant herbs or fruits, or honey 
 which he found in hollow trunks, and 
 among the rocks ; and he drank only wa- 
 ter from springs, or the deep river which 
 flowed through the valley. He slept in 
 caves or in the crotches of trees, lest the 
 prowling beasts should catch him una- 
 wares. Yet, savage as he was, he had a 
 certain nobleness and rough grace of mien 
 which distinguished him as superior to 
 the brutes around him, and made them 
 acknowledge him as their lord. Thus he 
 lived, lonely and unhappy, and, notwith- 
 standing his strength, full of fears. 
 
 11 One day as he was pushing through 
 a thicket to reach the river, he heard sing- 
 ing sweeter than any he had ever heard. He 
 thought at first that it was a bird, but 
 he knew the songs of all birds, and that 
 this was not like any one of them. lie 
 dashed on, and saw reclining on the bank 
 of the river a creature so lovely that he 
 stood still in wonder, trembling with a new 
 feeling that shot like fire through his 
 heart and joints. Her form (his wood- 
 man’s eye saw at once that the delicate 
 proportions were those of a female) was 
 something like his own, but fair and ele- 
 gant where his was brown and shaggy. 
 Around her was cast a loose white robe, 
 and about her shoulders floated a scarf, 
 blue as the sky. While she sung she 
 looked upward as if some one was hearing 
 her. whom Sthenos could not see, and then 
 she listened as if to a voice he could not 
 hear. Soon turning her eyes upon him, 
 she smiled with ravishing sweetness, and 
 beckoned him nearer. Awe-struck, but 
 drawn irresistibly on, he fell at her feet, 
 gazing on her beautiful face. She spoke 
 in accents of his early speech, which now 
 name back to his understanding, and said : 
 1 Sthenos, our good God whom you have 
 so long forgotten has not forgotten you ; 
 but pitying your loneliness and misery, 
 has sent me to live with you and be your 
 friend. Already I love you, and you 
 must take me to your heart and give me 
 your love.’ 
 
 “ As she spoke she bent down and wiped 
 his forehead, from which she had parted 
 his matted locks, looking with her clear 
 blue eyes into his, until his, whole being 
 seemed drawn out to her, and he laid her 
 head with its bright golden curls on his 
 
 broad breast, and felt an ecstacy of inex- 
 pressible happiness. 
 
 “ 1 And now that I am to dwell with you, 
 dear Sthenos, lead me to your home ! ’ 
 
 “‘Home!’ replied he, ‘I know not 
 what you mean !’ 
 
 a ‘ Where do you rest after the chase, or 
 amidst the darkness '? Where do you eat 
 your food, and where do you most delight 
 to be ? That is home.’ 
 
 “ ‘ I have no home. All places in the 
 forest are alike to me. Where weariness 
 or night come upon me, there I lie down ; 
 when I have killed the deer then I eat. 
 I have never thought of a home.’ 
 
 “ ‘ Come, then,’ said she, sweetly, ‘ lei 
 us seek a spot where we will make a home 
 for ourselves ; ’ and putting her slender 
 hand in his, she led him on until they 
 came to a fountain gushing out from un- 
 der a high rock, before which a sunny 
 meadow spread itself toward the south- 
 west, blooming with harebells and daisy 
 cups, and pansies, and many more wild 
 flowers. ‘ Is it not charming 1 ’ said she ; 
 1 the spring shall give us water, and the 
 rock guard us from the fierce north wind, 
 and we can look out upon the sunlight 
 and the shadows as they float mingled 
 together over the green grass and the flow- 
 ers that spring up through the verdure.’ 
 
 “ Sthenos smiled, and though he could 
 not understand all her meaning, he felt a 
 charm of nature he had never before 
 known. 
 
 “ ‘ Now,’ she said, £ the sun, though its 
 light be pleasant, looks down too hotly 
 upon us, and when the night comes the 
 dews will fall and the winds chill us. 
 Go, break off boughs from the trees, and 
 strip the broad bark from the decayed 
 birches.’ This was an easy task for the 
 vigorous man ; and in the mean time she 
 had gathered heaps of dry mosses, and 
 the spicy shoots from the hemlocks, and 
 spread them deeply over the leaf-covered 
 ground. Then leaning the thick boughs 
 against each other, and laying, by her di- 
 rections, the curved bark, overlapping in 
 successive and continuous layers upon 
 them. Sthenos saw as his work a rude, 
 but safe hut. and said: 1 This shall be our 
 home. I go for our evening meal ; ’ and, 
 dashing info the forest, he soon returned 
 with wood pigeons and a young fawn, 
 which he had killed, casting them bleed- 
 ing at the feet of his gentle wife, who had 
 already arranged in leafy cups the berries 
 which she had gathered from the meadow ; 
 and Sthenos beheld wild flowers, mingled 
 with long, trailing, delicate vines, adorning 
 the entrance of their home. 
 
 “ The simple meal soon prepared by her 
 skilful hands, he thought more savory 
 than he had ever had ; but before she 
 
(372 
 
 Uncle Bernard's Story. 
 
 suffered him to partake, she pointed up- 
 wards and with clasped hands sang praise 
 to our good God the giver. An hour of 
 delicious friendship stole away, as hand 
 in hand they looked into each other’s eyes 
 — thoughts he knew not how to speak, and 
 she needed no words to utter. Then an- 
 other hymn to our good God, the sleep- 
 less Preserver, she warbled from her lips 
 of gurgling melody, and the pair sank to 
 rest. 
 
 “ Thus sped on day after day, and night 
 after night. Gradually Sthenos lost his 
 fierceness, save in the struggles of the 
 chase. She had fashioned for him soft 
 garments out of fawn-skins and feathers, 
 which now he wore less for need than 
 pride, and to please his skilful friend. 
 His shaggy hair was smoothed into 
 curling grace ; the hut constantly re- 
 ceived new conveniences and ornaments 
 from his strong or her cunning hand ; and 
 happy was he after his toils in the forest, 
 to return bearing a rich honeycomb, or 
 leading a goat with full udders to his 
 home, dear because hers. 
 
 “ On walking one dewy morning, he look- 
 ed fondly in her loving face beaming with 
 tender, holy thoughts, and said: ‘You 
 called me Sthenos, but have never told 
 me the name by which I am to call you, 
 my dearest.’ 
 
 •• • You have just pronounced the name 
 1 love best, except when you call me your 
 wife and your friend. I have had several 
 names in the land whence I came to be 
 near you ; but that by which our good 
 God wished you to know me is Enthymia. 
 And, dear Sthenos, whenever you are in 
 trouble, in need, or in doubt, call Enthj r - 
 mia to your side, and whatever love can 
 do, I will gladly perform. With your 
 strength and my affectionate zeal, and the 
 blessing of our good God, we shall be 
 happy as we may in this wild wood ; but 
 the good God has promised me that when 
 you shall have learned to sing and pray 
 with me, that our two beings shall be 
 blended into one. and we shall leave 
 the forest to go and dwell in a garden 
 with our good God, far more beautiful 
 than the one from which you strayed a 
 long while ago.’ 
 
 “ ' 0 happy hope,’ replied Sthenos, ‘ I 
 can think of no higher bliss than that 
 vour loveliness should be mingled with 
 ray strength, except that my strength 
 shall be for ever united to your dear 
 thoughts.’ 
 
 “ ‘ Say not so, Sthenos,’ answered she, 
 looking up with a holy smile, like morn- 
 ing light sparkling in the dew; 'our 
 highest joy will be to dwell with our 
 good God.’ 
 
 “ From that moment Sthenos earnestly 
 
 [June 
 
 endeavored to learn the hymns and pray- 
 ers of Enthymia. They lived long in the 
 forest, and children were born to them, 
 three sons like their father, vigorous, — 
 three daughters like their mother, graceful. 
 But one fair morning the father and the 
 mother came not from their chamber 
 (for the little hut had given place to a 
 wide dwelling) ; their children went anx- 
 iously in to seek them, but they found 
 them not. Sthenos and Enthymia were 
 gone to the garden of our good God. 
 
 “ The children were mute in wonder and 
 sadness, when suddenly the chamber was 
 filled with ravishing light and delicious 
 odors, and three radiant angels hovered 
 over the bed; and the roof opened, and 
 the children could see far up into the sky, 
 and saw a glorious being standing under 
 the Tree of Life, before the throne of God ; 
 and in the smiling countenance of the 
 glorious being they recognized strangely, 
 but sweetly mingled, the love of both 
 father and mother. And one of the angels 
 said (he was the tallest of the three) : 
 
 • I pointed out the way to them and en- 
 couraged them to strive to reach the gar- 
 den.’ 
 
 “ 1 And I,’ said the second, on whose 
 bosom shone a gem like a golden anchor, 
 
 • bore them up on my wings.’ 
 
 “ • And I,’ joyfully exclaimed the third, 
 who had eyes like the first spring violets 
 washed with rain, 1 have made them both 
 one forever.’ 
 
 “ Then turning to her sister angels, she 
 said: ‘Your tasks for them are over; 
 but I go to fill their united being with 
 immortal happiness.’ ” 
 
 “ Ah ! uncle Bernard,” cried Gertrude. 
 “ that is better than a fairy tale ; but 
 what queer names, Sthenos and Enthy- 
 mia ; what do they mean ? ” 
 
 “ I made them out of the Greek,” an- 
 swered the old man; “and by Sthenos, I 
 mean man left to himself, when he would 
 be a mere savage ; and by Enthymia, I 
 mean wisdom sent to him by our good 
 God, to teach him how to live on earth 
 and prepare for heaven. When man is 
 transformed to holy wisdom and uses his 
 strength for wise ends, he becomes all 
 good, and God takes him up to the second 
 Paradise.” 
 
 “ Yes,” says little Charley, “ and tin* 
 angel with the anchor, is Hope.” 
 
 “ And the tallest angel is Faith,” adds 
 Robert, for faith gives pious people cour- 
 age.” 
 
 “ And the gentle blue-eyed one must be 
 Love, for love lives for ever,” whispers 
 Gertrude in uncle Bernard’s ear. 
 
 “ Bless you, dear child, you look like 
 her,” whispers back uncle Bernard. 
 
1853.] 
 
 673 
 
 THE BENEVOLENT INSTITUTIONS OF NEW-YORK. 
 
 O UR great city has the name of loving 
 the dollar well ; she ought equally to 
 have the glory of spending it kindly and 
 freely. Our charities appear on the same 
 grand scale as our business. It is a re- 
 freshing thing — and in the whirl and 
 struggle of New-York life, it does one 
 good — to turn aside a moment to our 
 great institutions of mercy and world-wide 
 charity — to find that wealth, and talents, 
 and enterprise have at length been employ- 
 ed to make men less selfish, and to bring 
 them nearer to one another, in kindness. 
 Will the reader accompany us to one of 
 these — perhaps the greatest in influence 
 and strength. We walk up the Bowery 
 iii a broad and busy part, until it separates 
 into two Avenues, the Third and Fourth. 
 On the point, where they diverge, you see 
 some little old buildings ; — these are all 
 to come down, and a park is to be laid out 
 there, with a fountain. Beyond, where 
 the men are excavating, will rise the 
 Cooper Institute, the splendid gift of a 
 mechanic, for the instruction and amuse- 
 ment of the people ; and still beyond, and 
 above that, forming with the others one 
 of the finest architectural objects ap- 
 pears the grand building we are to visit, 
 VOL. i. — 13 
 
 the new Depository and Printing-House 
 of the American Bible Society. We have 
 no other building like it in the city. It is 
 six stories high, with a frontage on four 
 streets of seven hundred feet. It seems as 
 we approach, square, yet you will find it an 
 irregular, four-sided figure in shape ; the • 
 longest side (232 ft. 6 in.) being on Ninth 
 st., and the shortest (76 ft. 11 in.) on Third 
 av. We enter at the principal entrance on 
 Fourth avenue ; — a rather handsome portal 
 with columns and arches, and a heavy 
 curved pediment. Above, in a niche on 
 the outside, is a figure of Religion, of 
 brown freestone, pointing with one hand 
 to heaven, and the other to the open page 
 of a Bible. There are three other en- 
 trances ; we ascend the broad stairway, 
 and enter first the manager’s room on the 
 second story, a large room — fifty feet by 
 thirty — fireproof and lighted by a dome : 
 under it is the library, also fireproof. 
 
 If we go up to the fifth and sixth sto- 
 ries on the north side, we shall see the 
 great press-room — one hundred and nine- 
 teen feet long by forty-one feet wide. 
 Near it are the bindery, the gilding and 
 the finishing rooms, all on a similar grand 
 scale. There are huge hydraulic presses ; 
 
074 
 
 The Benevolent Institutions of JTc w- York. 
 
 and one great gangway, through which 
 the paper is hoisted up, and another, 
 through which the Bibles, when finished, 
 are let down. 
 
 On the sixth story, are most of the 
 three hundred women, employed by the 
 establishment, in well-lighted, pleasant 
 work-rooms, binding, stitching, or busy at 
 some other work on the Bibles. These 
 rooms, and the whole building, are well 
 aired, by contrivances for ventilation, and 
 by the large court within, around which 
 the sides are built. It is heated by the 
 steam-pipes, which connect with the boil- 
 ers, well-placed in the area, beyond the 
 power of doing injury by explosion. 
 
 Here will go on this next year the im- 
 mense operations of the society. Think 
 of it! over seven hundred thousand copies 
 of Bibles and Testaments were printed by 
 this Society last year, and since its founda- 
 tion some eight millions ! It began in 181G 
 with printing 6.410 ; in its twelfth year, 
 it printed 134,607 ; in the twenty-fourth, 
 157,261 ; and in the thirty-sixth, 666.015. 
 
 In the year 1273, it cost a laboring man 
 the wages of 14 years, to buy a Bible. 
 In 1816 the cheapest Bible was worth a 
 dollar. Now a good plain Bible can be 
 bought for twenty-five cents, and a Testa- 
 ment for 6 cents. The only Bible Society 
 in the world, on a scale like this, is the 
 British and Foreign Bible Society. 
 
 All these seven hundred thousand and 
 odd books were sent out last year, be it re- 
 membered, to the poor man’s bare home, 
 to make it beautiful with patience and con- 
 tentment. This is the work, to which this 
 great building, and all this wealth and 
 labor are given. Who will not wish it 
 God’s blessing ? 
 
 Another institution, corresponding in 
 character, and equally grand in its opera- 
 tions, is the American Tract Society , 
 whose extensive “ house ” is on the cor- 
 ner of Nassau and Spruce streets, near 
 the site of the old Bible House. During 
 the last year, this body has sent out more 
 than two hundred and eighty millions 
 of pages. In the same time it has print- 
 ed over one million of volumes, and more 
 than ten millions of tracts, of which last 
 920.000 are in foreign languages. Since 
 its formation, it has printed about one 
 hundred and thirty-one millions of tracts, 
 and over eight millions seven hundred 
 thousand volumes. Of those printed last 
 year, about five millions of pages have 
 been distributed gratuitously ; more than 
 two and a half millions over the sea, and 
 millions through foreign countries, in one 
 hundred and fifty different languages and 
 dialects. Of the bound volumes, printed 
 last year, we observe that such works as 
 D’Aubigne’s History, number 8,000 sets ; 
 
 [June 
 
 Edwards’ Temperance Manual, 12,000 ; 
 Pilgrim’s Progress, 27,000. In German, 
 there are 70,00u volumes ; in Spanish 
 140,000; in French, 11,000; in Danish, 
 2,500, and in Italian, 1,000. The total 
 receipts for the year are $342,858 ; the 
 expenditures, $342,199. 
 
 Naturally, in operations on such a gigan- 
 tic scale, many a publication will be cir- 
 culated, not worthy a place among the 
 works of the Society. There should be 
 more tracts issued on practical, every- 
 day subjects. Tracts for the poor, on the 
 preservation of health ; tracts on the great 
 principles of business and social inter- 
 course ; tracts on economy, and punc- 
 tuality, and cleanliness, as well as on 
 higher matters. 
 
 The American Home Missionary So- 
 ciety has for its objects, as substantially 
 stated in its Constitution, the support of 
 poor Churches, and the preaching to the 
 destitute within the United States. It 
 proposes, also, at times, to help Home 
 Missions in foreign countries. 
 
 The office of the Society is in the 
 American Tract Society building. The 
 number of missionaries in the employ 
 of the Society, during the last year, was 
 1,065, scattered through 28 different 
 States and Territories. Of these, Illinois 
 has the most — 117 ; and Maryland, Geor- 
 gia, and Arkansas, the least; each, one. 
 The New England States have 305 ; the 
 Middle States, 213 ; the Southern, 14 ; 
 and the Western States and Territories, 
 533. Their operations combine the 
 itinerant system , as it is called, and 
 the regular system. That is, some of 
 the pastors employed go from district to 
 district, as they are needed; and others 
 remain in fixed localities, like set- 
 tled clergymen. In number, 619 are 
 given as regular pastors ; 260 as preach- 
 ing to two or three congregations, 
 each; and 186 as moving through wide 
 districts, within definite limits. Nine 
 missionaries are employed by the Society 
 in churches of colored people ; and sixty 
 preach in foreign languages ; 13 to W elsh 
 and 39 to German congregations, and 
 others to the various foreign immi- 
 grants. 
 
 The number of Sabbath School scholars 
 connected with the Churches of the So- 
 ciety, is about 66,500. During the past 
 year, forty-five Churches have been or- 
 ganized by their missionaries. The re- 
 ceipts of the year, with the balance in 
 the treasury, amount to $172,738; the 
 expenditures, to $162,831. 
 
 The Society has been in operation 
 twenty-six years ; during this time, its 
 receipts amount to $2,365,420. 
 
 The average expense of a missionary 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Benevolent Institutions of New Yortc. 
 
 675 
 
 was reckoned in 1826-27 at $83 ; in 
 1851-52 at $153. 
 
 This Society, as all who are familiar 
 with our back-country districts know, has 
 done a good work through the country. 
 Their agents, not always men of broad 
 views or refined culture, have yet gone 
 where few others would have the courage 
 or the self-denial to go. In the remote 
 backwoodsman’s log cabin, on the prai- 
 rie, among the Indians, in the new, sickly 
 Western village, on the dirty flat-boat and 
 the canal, you will find the Home Missiona- 
 ry, sharing the sickness, and the labor, and 
 the suffering, with those to whom he 
 would bear the old words of Truth and 
 Love. Who, of us, comfortable and at 
 ease here in our pleasant homes, shall 
 criticize too freely, if the self-denying la- 
 borer is not always as broad in his opi- 
 nions as he is in his charity? We will 
 forget the narrowness, and the dogmatism, 
 and be thankful that there are, in an age 
 of selfishness, men ready to forego all 
 which the heart most values, for the sake 
 of the unhappy and the needy. 
 
 The most powerful of all benevolent 
 organizations in this country, the “ Amer- 
 ican Board of Commissioners for For- 
 eign Missions ,” has only an Agency in 
 this city, and cannot be considered a New- 
 York Institution. 
 
 Allied with this in its great objects, but 
 separated by its distinctive Anti-Slavery 
 character, is the “ American Missionary 
 Association.' 1 '’ This Society has for its 
 especial principles, that no Mission-Church 
 should ever admit a slaveholder as a 
 member ; that slaveholding should every 
 where be preached against as a sin ; and 
 that no countenance or support should in 
 any way be given to associations, reli- 
 gious or political, whose principles or con- 
 duct are opposed to those avowed by 
 the Society, with reference to slavery. 
 The whole number of missionary laborers 
 employed by the Society is given at 140, 
 being an increase of 45 over the number 
 last year. Their stations are in Africa, 
 Siam, Sandwich Islands, and in vari- 
 ous parts of our own continent. The 
 receipts of the Society for the last 
 year, were $30,826; the expenditures, 
 $30,233. 
 
 The American Seamen's Friend So- 
 ciety. — It is estimated that over 110,000 
 sailors arrived in this port in the year 
 1851, and that an average of 6,000 are 
 continually in port. This Society is de- 
 signed to bring good influences to bear 
 upon this large class in various modes — 
 by preaching and by opening boarding- 
 houses, savings-banks, reading-rooms, 
 schools, and the like, for them. 
 
 It has had, during the years 1851— 
 
 52, seventeen chaplains and missionaries, 
 regularly employed in this port and vari- 
 ous foreign ports, preaching every year to 
 some fifty thousand sailors. In the “ Sail- 
 ors' Home , ” founded by this Society, 
 there have been, within the year, 3,027 
 boarders, and not far from $11,000 have 
 been deposited by the boarders in the sav- 
 ings-bank. During the same time, 218 
 shipwrecked and destitute men have been 
 relieved in it. In the ten years since its 
 opening, 33,527 seamen have boarded in it. 
 
 The “ Colored Sailors' Home," in 
 Franklin-square, has had 247 boarders 
 this last year, and three of the larger tem- 
 perance houses have received 4,233 per- 
 sons. The Seamen’s Savings Bank has 
 over $3,000,000 on deposit, a considerable 
 part of which belongs to seamen. 
 
 The Society, besides all these labors, 
 has issued the " Sailors’ Magazine,” with a 
 monthly circulation of 6,000 copies. It is 
 also engaged in furnishing ships with libra- 
 ries of useful and religious books. The 
 expenditures, the past year, have been 
 $22.591 ; the receipts, $23,660. 
 
 Among the other Institutions for the 
 benefit of the sailors, may be mentioned 
 the Marine Society of the City of New- 
 York , founded in April 1770. 
 
 Its object is the improvement of maritime 
 knowledge, and the relief of the wives and 
 orphan children of deceased sailors. The 
 list of widows, receiving regular relief, 
 members 56, one of whom has been aided 
 by the Society since 1788. The perma- 
 nent fund constantly employed in charity 
 is $44,000 : the amount of disbursements 
 since its origin, to the poor widows and 
 orphan children of deceased shipmasters, 
 and to the members, is $159,000. The 
 permanent fund is loaned in bond and 
 mortgages upon real estate, worth double 
 the amount in New-York and Brooklyn ; 
 and the whole has been so well managed, 
 that little or no loss has been sustained. 
 
 The widows on the pension list of the 
 Society, receive relief in the following 
 grades : the first grade, thirty one widows, 
 $60 each ; the second grade, thirteen wid- 
 ows, $50 each; the third grade, twelve wid- 
 ows, $40 each. About $3000 are thus 
 spent annually. Thirty dollars constitute 
 a shipmaster a life-member, and two dol- 
 lars per annum afterwards secures a share 
 to his wife, of the relief fund. This Soci- 
 ety has been in operation 82 years, and 
 has formerly found the names of our oldest 
 and most substantial merchants in its list 
 of supporters. It is doing a careful and 
 thorough charity to a class, who, of neces- 
 sity, in their business expose themselves 
 and their families to the most sudden risks. 
 May it find no lack of public support. 
 
 A similar society to the above is the 
 
676 
 
 The Benevolent Institutions of New-York. 
 
 New- York Nautical Institution and 
 Shipmasters' 1 Society ; devoting itself 
 especially, however, to the spread of nau- 
 tical knowledge. It was organized in 
 1820, and incorporated March 23d, 1848. 
 
 For sick seamen, the institution most 
 widely known is the Seamen’s lie- 
 treat, on Staten Island, near the Quaran- 
 tine-ground. The trustees of this institu- 
 tion have the right to collect from the 
 master of every vessel arriving from a 
 foreign port, one dollar and fifty cents ; for 
 each mate, one dollar ; and for each sailor, 
 fifty cents ; and from the master of every 
 coasting vessel, twenty-five cents for each 
 member of the crew. Every person who 
 has paid these “ hospital-moneys ” can 
 claim reception into the Retreat. There 
 have been, during the past year, 2,956 
 patients in the institution, of whom 167 
 have died. In connection with the Re- 
 treat, a large brick building has just been 
 erected near by for the destitute or sick 
 female relatives of sailors, and such sail- 
 ors in particular as have paid hospital 
 dues. 
 
 The Marine Hospital, also situated on 
 Staten Island, is devoted to the sick pas- 
 sengers or seamen from the ships just ar- 
 rived. It is supported by an emigrant 
 tax of two dollars on every cabin-passen- 
 ger, native of a foreign country, and of 
 fifty cents on every steerage-passenger. 
 The fund from these sources, employed 
 for various objects, amounts now to nearly 
 ,■$100,000 per annum. The two institu- 
 tions last mentioned are controlled by the 
 State Legislature. 
 
 The Sailors' Snug Harbor — This 
 Asylum for aged or infirm seamen stands 
 on the north side of Staten Island, in a 
 charming situation, opposite the Jersey 
 shore, and commanding a full view of the 
 harbor and distant City of New-York. with 
 their ships and spires. It was founded 
 in 1801, by a bequest of Captain Robert 
 Richard Randall, and incorporated in 1806. 
 The property appointed for the object con- 
 sisted of a piece of land, then an open field 
 near the city, worth about $50,000. Now 
 this field is covered by the New-York 
 Hotel, and the substantial blocks of ele- 
 gant houses in its neighborhood ; and it 
 yields a rental of nearly $100,000 per 
 annum — one of the richest endowments in 
 the country. For many years the Snug 
 Harbor itself was a plain wooden building, 
 isolated on a slight eminence, near what 
 is now the corner of Broadway and Ninth- 
 street. The present commodious and ele- 
 gant edifice on Staten Island, has a front 
 of white marble, and, with its wings, is 
 225 feet in length. The grounds belong- 
 ing to it cover about 160 acres. The 
 number of aged and disabled seamen sup- 
 
 [June 
 
 ported within its walls during the past 
 year was 295. Near by this Asylum is 
 the Home for Sailors' Children. 
 
 The Mariners ' Family Industrial So- 
 ciety has for its object to supply work to 
 the female relatives of seamen, and to re- 
 lieve any pressing want among them. 
 Their clothing store is at No. 322 Pearl- 
 street. The t- Seamen’s Retreat ” disburses 
 a portion of its charitable fund through the 
 medium of this Society. 
 
 77;e American and Foreign Christian 
 Union. — This Society originated in 1849, 
 and grew out of three others, “ The Ame- 
 rican Protestant Society,” the “ Foreign 
 Evangelical Alliance,” and the “ Christian 
 Alliance.” Its object is especially to spread 
 Protestant doctrines and practice through 
 Roman Catholic countries. It publishes 
 a monthly Magazine, “ The American and 
 Foreign Christian Union,” a monthly tract, 
 “ The Missionary Intelligencer,” and a 
 semi-monthly, “ Der Freie Deutsche Ka - 
 tholik (The Free German Catholic). One 
 of the Secretaries is the well-known and 
 respected Rev. Robert Baird, D. D. 
 
 “ The New - York Association for 
 improving the Condition of the Poor," 
 is the name of a Society, operating veiy 
 widely in its charities over the city. Ac- 
 cording to its charter, the city shall be 
 divided into as many districts as there are 
 wards ; and these again into sections of 
 about 25 families each. For each section a 
 suitable visitor shall be obtained, whose 
 duty it is to find out the wants of every 
 family, and if needy and not the fit sub- 
 ject for other societies, to give them 
 tickets for food, or fuel, or medicine. 
 Money is in, no case allowed to be given by 
 the visitor, without especial permission. 
 
 Of those assisted, not more than one- 
 eighth are American-born, usually one- 
 half Irish, and about three-eighths Ger- 
 man or foreign in birth. In religion, three- 
 fourths are Roman Catholics, and most 
 of the remainder unconnected with any 
 Protestant Church. During the last year, 
 6559 families, with 29,515 persons were 
 relieved. 
 
 W e extract some rather striking facts 
 from the report of this Association for 
 1852. 
 
 Relieved during 1851 by the Alms 
 House department : 
 
 In the Alms House 2.7S3 of whom 78 p. ct foreigners. 
 
 Bellevue Hospital 5,342 “ 82 “ 
 
 Penitentiary 8,450 w 75 “ 
 
 City Prison 21,279 “ 71 “ 
 
 Lunatic Asylum 441 “ 72 u 
 
 Randall's Island 2,0S7 “ 75 “ 
 
 Out-door poor 42,872 “ 73 “ 
 
 Work House 965 “ 75 “ 
 
 Total Relief 79,732 of whom 75 p. ct. or 59,799 
 were foreigners. 
 
 During the same year, relieved by this 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Benevolent Institutions of New-York. 
 
 677 
 
 Association 27.022, of whom three-quar- 
 ters were of foreign birth. Allowing that 
 one-half of this number was aided from 
 other sources, and that the other poor of 
 the city would amount tq 20,000 (which 
 is a low estimate), and we have the follow- 
 ing result : 
 
 Alms House Relief 79,732 
 
 City Association 13,511 
 
 Other Charities 20,000 
 
 — J — Total 113,243 
 
 Of whom 75 per ct., or 84,925 are for- 
 eigners, who have been here more than five 
 years ; bringing a direct tax upon us in this 
 assistance of about $500,000. During the 
 same time, $480,000 have been expended 
 by the Commissioners of Emigration for 
 those, who have been here less than five 
 years. 
 
 We get from all this some slight idea 
 of the expense of pauper immigration to 
 us. 
 
 Among the Institutions, which have 
 originated from this Association, are “The 
 Demilt Dispensary,” “ The Northwestern 
 Dispensary,” and “The Juvenile Asylum.” 
 
 The American Female Guardian So- 
 ciety. — -This Society originally started 
 with reference to throwing good influences 
 around poor young women, has tinned 
 more and more to efforts for relieving de- 
 serted children. They have been enabled to 
 erect a building in 30th-st. (between Fourth 
 avenue and Madison avenue), as a house 
 of reception for poor women and children, 
 called, “ The House of Industry and 
 Home for the Friendless.” Their object 
 is to find homes in the country for its in- 
 mates. Since its opening in 1847, there 
 have been received into it 1489 adults and 
 961 children. In the year 1852 — 415 
 adults and 217 children. Of the former, 
 243 were provided with places ; and of 
 the latter, 134 were sent to their friends 
 or to families in the country. 
 
 The Society publishes a semi-monthly 
 paper, “ The Advocate and Guardian,” 
 with an issue of 14,000. They have also 
 published 10,000 tracts, 3000 copies of 
 “ Friendly Advice to Domestics,” and 1000 
 petitions for street children. 
 
 The Asylum fur the Relief of Respect- 
 able, Aged , Indigent Females — or, as it 
 is more familiarly known, the Old, Ladies' 
 Home , is in 20th-street, near Second ave- 
 nue. The Association was established in 
 February, 1814; and the Asylum founded, 
 November, 1838. It has been uniformly 
 prosperous, and acknowledges in various 
 receipts for the last year, $22,108. 
 
 The House and School of Industry , 
 has its rooms in 100 West 16th street. 
 It was established in 1850. 
 
 The Society for the Relief of Poor 
 Widows with Small Children , was found- 
 
 ed in 1797, by the efforts of the late Mrs. 
 Isabella Graham. 
 
 This Society has been a very efficient, 
 successful Association. During the years 
 1847 and 1848, the number of persons re- 
 lieved were 385 widows, and 1023 chil- 
 dren ; and the sum of $5,413 was expend- 
 ed in their behalf. 
 
 Out of this Society, sprang the New- 
 York Orphan Asylum. The managers 
 found often young children on their hands, 
 for whom they had no home, except the 
 Alms House. By the constant exertions 
 of the ladies of the Association, an Asy- 
 lum was at length opened for these 
 orphans, in a hired house, at Greenwich 
 Village, May 1st. 1806. They were in- 
 corporated in 1807 ; and, by collections 
 in various Churches, were enabled to 
 build a suitable edifice in Bank-street. 
 At length, in the increase of the City, 
 Greenwich ceased to be a village, and 
 they determined to obtain a situation 
 farther removed in the country. The old 
 property was sold, and nine and a half 
 acres were bought in Bloomingdale at a 
 cost of $17,500. 
 
 The present Asylum buildings were 
 commenced in June 1836, and finished in 
 1840. They are on Ninth avenue, near 
 23d-street. 
 
 There have been as inmates of the Insti- 
 tution this last year, 184 children; — 112 
 boj r s, and 72 girls. Of these, 1 has 
 died, and 12 have been returned to their 
 friends, or have been indentured. The 
 Board acknowledge during the past year 
 legacies, to the amount of $15,199, and 
 the gift of a library of 750 volumes, with 
 a valuable Philosophical Apparatus. 
 
 Another Orphan Asylum, equally suc- 
 cessful with the former Institution, is the 
 Leake and Watts Orphan House, found- 
 ed by a legacy of John George Leake, 
 deceased June 2d, 1827. 
 
 The House was first opened for children 
 November 1st, 1843. It is situated amid 
 pleasant scenery, between 111th and 
 112th streets, and between Ninth and 
 Tenth avenues. The whole front of the 
 building and its wings, facing on the 
 South, extends 206 feet. The Institution 
 has a fine landed property of 26 acres, 
 unencumbered, and an inco’ re sufficient to 
 support 250 children. There were at the 
 last Report 194 children within it. 
 
 A similar Institution, now very widely 
 known, was commenced under more un- 
 favorable circumstances, than either of 
 the above — the Colored Orphan Asylum. 
 
 In 1836, the colored pauper children 
 were kept in the cellars of the Alms 
 House, or in places entirely unsuited to 
 health or improvement. The prejudice 
 against their color was so great, that those 
 
078 
 
 The Benevolent Institutions of New-Yorlc. 
 
 [June 
 
 
 who attempted to relieve them, could find 
 no house which could be rented for their 
 shelter. They were obliged at length to 
 purchase a house and two lots in 12th- 
 street, at the heavy rates then prevailing 
 — for $9,000. 
 
 They had received in 1840, $13,000 for 
 a building fund ; and in 1842 they acknow- 
 ledge as a gift from the City, 20 lots of 
 land on Fifth avenue, between 43d and 
 44th streets. There the present building 
 was erected, and in 1843, opened for the 
 cliildren. In 1849, a Hospital was added, 
 the money for its erection being obtained 
 by legacy. 
 
 Since the opening of the Asylum, 631 
 children have been admitted. The num- 
 ber of inmates during the last year was 
 258, of whom twenty-one have been in- 
 dentured, and fifteen have died. The 
 number of children under eight years of 
 age, is 79. 
 
 The Protestant Half Orphan Asylum 
 is conducted on a different principle from 
 any of the above. The parents, where 
 
 not incapacitated from labor, are required 
 to pay fifty cents a week for each child 
 received into the Institution. The income 
 from this source alone, the last year, 
 amounted to $2,245, or about one-third 
 of the receipts of the Society. An ex- 
 cellent provision it is found to be for all 
 parties ; and the worst evil from a chari- 
 table Institution is somewhat escaped, the 
 weakening of independence in the recipi- 
 ents. 
 
 There are now within the Asylum 176 
 children. The whole number in attend- 
 ance during this last year is 246, and what 
 is most remarkable in a medical point of 
 view, there has not been a single death 
 among the children for about three years. 
 During the last ten years, says the Medi- 
 cal Report, there have been 676 cases of 
 distinctly infantile diseases, and only one 
 death — this from scarlet fever. The deaths 
 during the cholera season amounted to 
 ten. The average annual number of chil- 
 dren in the Asylum since 1842, is 161 and 
 a fraction. 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Benevolent Institutions of New-York. 
 
 679 
 
 This success in that most difficult mat- 
 ter — the preserving the health of a large 
 number of children, shut up in one build- 
 ing — is well worthy of close attention from 
 medical men. 
 
 The Asylum buildings are on Sixth 
 Avenue, between Tenth and Eleventh 
 streets. 
 
 The Roman Catholic Orphan Asylum 
 is situated in Prince-street. The president 
 is the Archbishop Hughes. As we have 
 received no report, we can give no facts 
 with regard to this Institution. It is be- 
 lieved however to be well supported, and 
 successful in its operations. 
 
 The [R. C.] House of Protection , under 
 the charge of the Sisters of Mercy, is in 
 Houston-street, corner of Mulberry. 
 
 In speaking of the Benevolent Institu- 
 tions of New-York, we should not omit 
 one, peculiar in its organization, and with 
 many objectionable features, still wide- 
 reaching in charities — the Odd-Fellows 
 Association. — The Annual Report to 
 the Grand Lodge of the U. S. for 1852, 
 speaks of “ their Brotherhood, as affiliated 
 for no unlawful purpose, but on the con- 
 trary, ever standing firmly in defence of 
 their country and its laws ; excluding 
 from their halls all sectarian and political 
 discussions ; discouraging every species 
 of vice and immorality ; disseminating no 
 other doctrines than those of peace and 
 good-will to man,” * * * “an Order, 
 built upon the very homestead of hu- 
 manity, a gentle brotherhood.” 
 
 The Order numbered in 1842, 24,160 
 members ; it contains now 193,298, with 
 2,729 lodges. The revenue from the sub- 
 ordinate lodges amounts to $1,164,331 
 per annum. The total amount of relief 
 to $614,721. 
 
 The Association which owns the fine 
 building, called the “ Odd-Fellows’ Hall,” 
 at the corner of Grand and Centre streets, 
 reports the present indebtedness at 
 $82,601, which includes $60,000 mort- 
 gage on the building. $15,560 of stock, and 
 $2,175 due to stock holders. Receipts 
 are stated at $75,583. 
 
 One of the most practically useful of 
 our benevolent institutions of New-York. 
 is the “ People's Bathing and Washing 
 Establishment , No. 141 Mott-st. We 
 say benevolent , for although it is founded 
 by joint-stock subscription, nominally re- 
 turning interest, yet it is in effect a charity 
 of the most effective character. The first 
 idea of such an establishment originated 
 in London, about eight years ago, and 
 there are now several of these associations 
 in the great metropolis, all supported, we 
 believe, by voluntary contributions. 
 
 The New-York enterprise originated in 
 1850. A few active philanthropists sub- 
 
 scribed the funds, and erected the building 
 at a cost of about $40,000. Robert B. 
 Minturn is the president ; Richard W arren. 
 Horace Greeley, and Marcus Spring, are 
 among the active directors. In the “ wash- 
 ing” department of this building sixty- 
 eight women can work at the same time ; 
 and the washing, drying and ironing of 
 an ordinary family, can be done easily in 
 one hour, at the cost of three cents , in- 
 cluding fuel, an immense saving for the 
 poor, in time, in money, and in comfort. 
 The male and female swimming and single 
 baths can accommodate a large number at 
 the same time, and cost from 5 to 10 cents. 
 The object is to promote cleanliness and 
 comfort among the poor, at the smallest 
 possible cost — the prices barely paying 
 the actual expense. 
 
 For the first three months of its exist- 
 ence, ending last August, the number of 
 bathers was 38,600, and the whole reve- 
 nue $2,136. 
 
 The greatest number of bathers during 
 any one week, was from June 12th to the 
 19th — 4.670; income, $237 68; from 
 washing, the same week, $253 27. The 
 next greatest number is from July 17th 
 to the 24th — 4,214 ; income $207 18. The 
 highest number per one day, is 1,147. 
 
 This year has opened very favorably, 
 the bathers for a single day in spring hav- 
 ing already amounted to 753. 
 
 Within a few years the attention of our 
 citizens has been aroused to a wide-spread 
 evil in the city, for which no remedies had 
 yet been found — the condition of vagrant 
 children. 
 
 It was suddenly discovered that there 
 were, hidden in cellars, swarming in foul 
 alleys, infesting docks, and markets, and 
 factories, a vast multitude of almost hea- 
 then children. They were not usually of 
 American origin, or the fruits of our insti- 
 tutions ; still they were, it was evident, 
 poisoning the whole range of society around 
 them. The law did not touch them, as 
 very many were not legally vagrant. The 
 first measures to reach them, were the 
 formation, in 1848. by some earnest Chris- 
 tian men. of a “ Boys’ Meeting,” on the 
 corner of Hudson and Christopher streets. 
 This was a Sunday meeting for street 
 boys, where the poorest and most ragged 
 might hear something of Christian truth. 
 From this sprung various similar meetings, 
 and at length, in 1851, the '"Asylum for 
 Friendless Boys.” situated in Bank-street. 
 This Asylum was designed to provide a 
 home for the street boys, where they could 
 be instructed in the common school 
 branches, and also in some industrial pur- 
 suit. until they were sent away to the 
 country. There have been up to January 
 21, 1852, in the Institution, 127 boys, 
 
680 
 
 The Benevolent Institutions of New- York. 
 
 mostly of the poorest and most miserable 
 class. Of these, 100 are foreigners. Out 
 of school-hours in the morning, they have 
 been employed in sewing, knitting, and 
 shoemaking. 
 
 Since the establishment of that Asv- 
 lum, the city has taken up the matter of 
 providing a home for these street chil- 
 dren. 
 
 An Institution has been incorporated, 
 with a grant of $50,000 from the city, 
 provided $50,000 were raised by private 
 subscription. This sum has been col- 
 lected almost by the individual exertions 
 of one active and benevolent merchant ; 
 and in the present year, the Juvenile Asy- 
 lum of New- York will begin its operations, 
 i'he Bank-street Asylum is merged into 
 it ; it has a large fund, and an especial 
 Act under which it can collect children, 
 and the whole power of the city to sustain 
 it, so that success seems almost certain. 
 
 Lt is a great experiment to collect four 
 or five hundred of outcast vicious boys 
 and girls from our great city, and try to 
 bring them up to take an honorable place 
 in American life. If successful, hardly 
 any expense can be considered too great. 
 Nothing costs a State more than such a 
 class of young vagrants and criminals 
 growing up in its midst. The plan of the 
 Institution, though on a much larger scale, 
 is similar to that of the Bank-street Asy- 
 lum. It will teach the boys some honest 
 trade or business, give them the basis of a 
 mental education, and then send them out 
 to be apprenticed with mechanics or farmers 
 in the country. According to an especial 
 Act. the Courts have the right to commit 
 to this Institution not only the vagrant 
 children, but also children who are neg- 
 lected or abused by their parents. The 
 Institution has a House of Reception in 
 Grand-street, where all the children found 
 in circumstances of vagrancy or abandon- 
 ment are kept for ten days, after which, 
 if not reclaimed, they are committed to the 
 Asylum. The Asylum buildings them- 
 selves are to be on the northeast side of 
 the island, beyond the city. 
 
 In connection with these Institutions 
 for a truly neglected class, may be men- 
 tioned a new Society, originated by active, 
 earnest men from various denominations, 
 designed to act exclusively on the poor 
 children of the city— the Cliildren's Aid 
 Society. It proposes in its circular, to 
 devote itself to the multitude of children 
 who cannot in any way be shut up in 
 asylums, and who are now out of reli- 
 gious influences. It begins with the open- 
 ing of “ Boys’ Meetings” in needy quar- 
 ters, through which a knowledge is gain- 
 ed of this class, and in which the only 
 words of religious instruction that ever 
 
 [June 
 
 reach the street boy, can be spoken. 
 With these it intends “to connect ‘In- 
 dustrial Schools,’ where the great temp- 
 tation to this class, arising from want of 
 work, may be removed ; and where they 
 can learn an honest trade.” It hopes to 
 be “the means of draining the city of 
 these children, by communicating with 
 farmers, mechanics, or families in the city 
 who may have need of such for employ- 
 ment.” Lodging-houses for boys, lectures, 
 reading-rooms, all come within its ulti- 
 mate plan. 
 
 More momentous objects could not be 
 before any Society. If successful, it wall 
 do the very work of all others most needed 
 in this city ; for it is the individual labor 
 in the homes and dens of the poor, the 
 inducing them into the country, where la- 
 bor is in demand, and where no man can 
 starve, which will help them more than 
 all the asylums that the whole Corpo- 
 ration estate can support. The opening 
 work-shops for the street children, which 
 shall be self-sustaining, is also a grand ex- 
 periment ; and one which, if satisfactory, 
 is calculated to change the whole surface 
 of poverty in the city. 
 
 It remains yet to be seen whether this 
 immense youthful vagrancy and crime is 
 an incurable disease, consequent on the 
 overcrowding of a great city, or wheth- 
 er there are remedies which can strike 
 at the very seat and core of it. 
 
 The New- York Hospital. — In 1770 
 several wealthy citizens of the city of 
 New-York subscribed a large sum of mo- 
 ney, for the purpose of establishing a 
 hospital, and applied to Lieutenant-Gover- 
 nor Colden for a charter of incorporation. 
 Their prayer was granted the next year 
 by the Earl of Dunmore, Governor and 
 Commander-in-chief of the province, and 
 a charter given to the applicants, to whom 
 were joined the officers of the city govern- 
 ment, the Rector of Trinity Church, and 
 the President of King’s (now Columbia) 
 College, under the incorporate name of 
 the “ Society of the Hospital in the city 
 of New-York in America.” 
 
 The Society at once organized and com- 
 menced building a hospital within two 
 years, but the breaking out of the Revolu- 
 tion, and the confusion accompanying it, 
 prevented further operations ; and it was 
 not till 1795, that the hospital was in condi- 
 tion to receive patients, when 18 were ad- 
 mitted. 
 
 The expenses of the establishment 
 were defrayed through an annuity of 
 £800, granted by the Legislature of the 
 State, March 1, 1 788. 
 
 This sum was increased two years after- 
 wards to £2,000, and again in 1805 to 
 $12,500, which by an act, passed in 1806, 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Benevolent Institutions of New- York. 
 
 681 
 
 New- York Hospital. 
 
 was ordered to be paid annually, until 
 1857. 
 
 The ground, on which the Hospital 
 stands, is bounded in front by Broadway, 
 in the rear by Church-st., on the north 
 by Anthony-st., and on the south by 
 Duane-st. The approach to the Hospital 
 from Broadway, is by an avenue, 90 ft. 
 wide, planted with a double row of trees. 
 
 The principal building, called “The 
 Hospital,” is on a high ground, in one of 
 the most open situations in the city. It 
 is built of gray stone, is 124 ft. long, in- 
 cluding its two wings, by 50 ft. deep. The 
 basement-story, which is about 10 ft. high, 
 contains the kitchens and store-rooms, 
 with two wards for the accommodation 
 of patients, infected with contagious dis- 
 eases. The principal story is about 14 ft. 
 high. In the centre is a hall and staircase, 
 the library, a parlor and bed-room for the 
 Superintendent, and an apothecary’s shop. 
 In each story of each wing, are two 
 wards, 31 ft. by 24, opposite each other, 
 and opening into passages which extend 
 
 from one end of the house to the other. 
 On the second and third floors of the centre 
 are rooms, for the accommodation of the 
 officers and servants, besides the theatre 
 for surgical operations in the third story, 
 which can accommodate about 200 persons. 
 The building contains also 20 other rooms, 
 15 wards for the sick, most of them 30 
 ft. by 24, and capable of holding 150 pa- 
 tients. The edifice is crowned with a 
 cupola. There is an excellent kitchen- 
 garden, and the grounds are laid out in 
 walks, planted with fruit and shade trees, 
 for the benefit of convalescent patients. 
 
 South of the Hospital is the Marine 
 Hospital , which is also built of gray stone. 
 It is 90 ft. long, by 40 ft. deep in the 
 centre, and 65 ft. deep in the wings. It has 
 three stories, including the basement, and 
 contains 29 rooms, in which 150 patients 
 can be accommodated. 
 
 This Hospital is intended for the recep- 
 tion of seamen of the port of New-York, 
 who have paid Hospital money to the 
 United States. By an arrangement, enter- 
 
C82 
 
 The Benevolent Institutions of New-York. 
 
 ed into between the Treasury Department 
 of the United States, and the Hospital in 
 1799, three dollars a week are paid for each 
 seaman received, provided the number ad- 
 mitted does not exceed at any time a hun- 
 dred. By a recent application to the 
 Secretary of the Treasury, an allowance 
 has been obtained for the care and support 
 of 200 sick seamen ; this, it is hoped, will 
 meet the demands of seamen for the com- 
 ing year. 
 
 From the last Report of the Governor 
 of the New-York Hospital, to the Legis- 
 lature of the State, we gather that 3,877 
 persons have been under the medical 
 treatment in the Institution during 1852, 
 of whom 2,862 were cured, 353 have died, 
 and the remainder were dismissed or re- 
 lieved, with the exception of 291 patients, 
 yet in the buildings. Among the deaths 
 are included 110 cases of sudden death 
 "rom accidents upon which Coroner’s in- 
 quests were held; deducting these, we 
 have but 243 deaths for the whole num- 
 ber of patients — or about 7 per cent. 
 
 The receipts of the Hospital during 
 1852 have been $42,459 ; the expendi- 
 tures, $51,997. 
 
 This excess has been paid for, by the 
 excess of receipts over expenses in the 
 Bloomingdale Lunatic Asylum, so that 
 the Society has only the debt of $40,000 
 incurred in 1851, for the valuable improve- 
 ments made in the Hospital, during that 
 and the previous year. 
 
 From 1792, when the Hospital was 
 opened, until 1853, 96,434 patients have 
 been received, of whom, 70,235 have been 
 discharged cured, and 59,000 as relieved! 
 9,824 have died, among which are includ- 
 ed more than 100 a year brought to the 
 Hospital in a dying condition. The num- 
 ber of patients admitted, has kept pace 
 with the growth of the City ; increasing 
 from 566 in 1794, to 1,670 in 1831, and 
 3,576 in 1852. 
 
 Bloomingdale Lunatic Asylum . — This 
 Asylum is a branch of the New-York 
 Hospital, and is under the management 
 of the same Board of Governors. It is 
 situated near 118th-st. between Tenth and 
 Eleventh avenues, at about a quarter of a 
 mile from the Hudson. Previous to 1821, 
 insane persons were admitted as patients 
 into the New-York Hospital in what is 
 now the Marine Hospital. But when 
 the progress of medical science had open- 
 ed the eyes of the Governors, to the ne- 
 cessity of moral treatment for Lunatics, 
 and after many efforts from a philanthro- 
 pic man, Thomas Eddy, they determined 
 to purchase a farm in the neighborhood 
 of New-York, and build there an edifice, 
 suitable to the wants of the insane. 
 
 Accordingly the piece of ground, now 
 
 [June 
 
 occupied by the Asylum — containing 
 about 55 acres — was bought by the 
 Governors for $500 an acre, and on the 
 17th of May, 1818, the corner stone of 
 the principal edifice was laid. This build- 
 ing is of freestone smoothly-hewn, and 
 consists of a centre and two wings, 211 
 feet long. The centre contains the offices : 
 the wings are occupied by the patients ; 
 the eastern wing by women, and the 
 western by men. On each floor of either 
 wing, a hall 10 feet wide extends the 
 whole length through the centre. One 
 large room on every story is used as a 
 sitting-room ; the rest as bed-rooms. The 
 house is well supplied with baths and 
 water-closets. 
 
 Parallel with the extremities of the 
 building and nearly 150 feet in its rear, 
 there are two other buildings, built of 
 brick, and of about one-third the size. 
 One is occupied by male, and the other by 
 female patients. 
 
 Attached to the three buildings, is a 
 farm of 55 acres. Half of it is under 
 high cultivation ; the remainder was laid 
 out 25 years ago, with great taste after 
 the fashion of English gardening, and is 
 now a spot of rare beauty. 
 
 The plan adopted by the Governors of 
 the Asylum in their treatment of the 
 patients, is, to regard them, so far as their 
 condition will possibly admit, as if sound 
 and unimpaired in mental faculties. The 
 Asylum is made as nearly like a Home to 
 them as can be, with no more restraint 
 than is absolutely necessary ; and within 
 certain limits, they are permitted to play, 
 walk or ride, pretty much as they choose. 
 The patients perform some manual labor ; 
 but a large proportion either unaccustom- 
 ed to work, or used to only one kind of 
 work, refuse to do any thing. No com- 
 pulsory means are attempted, so that 
 naturally but little labor is done. 
 
 The women however accomplish much 
 more than the men, partly because better 
 trained to industrious habits, and partly 
 because their chief work (sewing) can 
 be done in their own rooms. 
 
 In connection with the Hospital, may 
 be mentioned the “ New- York Dispen- 
 sary! an association for giving medicine 
 and medical advice to the poor. It origi- 
 nated in 1790, and was incorporated in 
 1795. In 1847 it relieved 28,227 patients, 
 at an expense of $3,47 6. 
 
 It has two branches, the ‘‘Northern 
 Dispensary,” at the comer of Waverley 
 Place and Christopher-st., founded in 
 1829 ; and the “ Eastern Dispensary.” 
 corner of Ludlow-st. and Essex Market 
 Place, founded in 1834. 
 
 In the “ Northern Dispensary,” there 
 have been treated, since its origin in 1827. 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Benevolent Institutions of New-York. 
 
 G83 
 
 240,976 patients. During 1852, 17,831 
 have been treated, of whom 15,864 have 
 been cured or relieved. Of these, 11,914 
 were foreigners. The receipts for the last 
 year are $3,788. Expenditures, $3,644. 
 
 The Demilt Dispensary is a fine build- 
 ing at the corner of Second avenue and 
 23d-st, which with the lot has cost $30,000. 
 Up to this time, $20,389 have been re- 
 ceived towards defraying the debt. 
 
 The number of persons treated for the 
 year up to March 27, 1853, is 2,197, of 
 whom 1,376 are foreigners. 
 
 The New-York Institution for the 
 Blind owes its origin especially to the 
 efforts of Dr. Samuel Akerly and Samuel 
 
 Wood, in company afterwards with Dr. 
 John D. Russ. It was incorporated in 
 1831. The school was opened on March 
 15, 1832, with three blind children who 
 had lost their sight by ophthalmia, which 
 prevailed to an alarming extent in the 
 New-York Alms House in 1831-32. On 
 the 19th of May, 1832, three other blind 
 children were added to the number from 
 the same place, and, with these six, the 
 school was opened at No. 47 Mercer- 
 street, under the direction of Dr. John 
 D. Russ. In 1834, the Legislature passed 
 an act providing for the support of 32 in- 
 digent blind pupils. The institution suc- 
 ceeded; and, in Dec., 1837, the corner- 
 
 The New-York Institution for the Blind. 
 
 stone was laid to its beautiful building in 
 Ninth avenue. The grounds of the build- 
 ing reach from the Eighth to the Ninth 
 avenue on one side, and between Thirty- 
 third and Thirty-fourth streets on the 
 other. It is of three stories, built of lime- 
 stone, in the castellated Gothic, and is 
 175 feet in length. 
 
 It contains a chapel, library, dormito- 
 ries, and the usual school and work rooms, 
 and kitchens. 
 
 We have before us an unpublished Re- 
 port of the Superintendent of this Insti- 
 tution, a gentleman favorably known to 
 many in the city for his talents, and one 
 wel I adapted to inspire energy into a set- 
 tled institution. 
 
 It appears from this report that the 
 number of blind in the different depart 
 ments is 153 ; of whom 42 are operatives, 
 and 103 pupils. Of these last, 95 are 
 from New-York, 4 from New Jersey, 1 
 from Connecticut, 1 from Michigan, 1 
 
 from Alabama, and 1 from Tennessee. 
 The operatives are engaged — the male on 
 mattress and mat making and willow- work; 
 the female on bandbox-making, fancy- 
 knitting, and sewing. But few of these 
 live with their families, out of the build- 
 ings ; the most are boarders of the Insti- 
 tution. 
 
 Besides these regular paid workmen 
 the pupils are trained in the workshop 
 each, three hours a day. 
 
 As the Report sensibly remarks, the 
 great object of such an Institution is not 
 a charity. It is not to take in the help- 
 less members of society, and provide for 
 them. It is to enable them to help them- 
 selves. And, we say, that any institu- 
 tion which houses suffering men and wo- 
 men, only to weaken their capacity of 
 taking care of themselves, is a curse 
 rather than a blessing to society. It is 
 not the first thing for a man to be com- 
 fortable. The blind had better drift 
 
684 
 
 The Benevolent Institutions of New- York. 
 
 around in society, exposed to every abuse 
 and hardship, at once, than be made drones. 
 It is very evident, from the Report, and 
 from the facts, that this system with the 
 operatives does not work well. The plan 
 professed is, if the blind laborer does not 
 support himself, to turn him away. But, 
 in practice, when once a blind man is liv- 
 ing in the buildings, it is very difficult for 
 any kindly-disposed officer to send him 
 out in the world. The consequence is, 
 that each one is sure of his support, and 
 has no especial stimulus to exertion. The 
 greatest wrong which can be done to a man 
 is inflicted — independence is weakened. 
 It is found in this Asylum, that the most 
 industrious are those who are able to lay 
 by something from their earnings, and 
 the idle are invariably those who do not 
 quite pay for their board. Assured of 
 their support, they have neither the fear 
 of want, nor the hope of gain before them. 
 The only remedy, evidently, is to put the 
 manufacturing branch on the same footing 
 with ordinary establishments of the kind, 
 to pay tbe laborer for what he does, and 
 to make his comforts depend on his exer- 
 tions. This can be done, with every al- 
 lowance to the defect of the blind, by 
 making the wages a certain fixed rate 
 higher than is paid other workmen, and 
 by compelling them to seek homes else- 
 where. 
 
 The same difficulty occurred to the cele- 
 brated philanthropist, Dr. Howe, of Bos- 
 ton, as mentioned in his Report of 1850 
 to the Trustees of the “ Massachusetts 
 Asylum for the Blind.” If we have 
 heard correctly, he has since made a 
 change similar to the one suggested here. 
 
 For the proper training of the blind, it 
 is plain that three hours a day of manual 
 labor cannot be sufficient. No man can 
 be a hard-working man on such slender 
 preparation. Labor will always be a bur- 
 den, and will not be persevered in, except 
 by those of great force of character. The 
 habit of continuous muscular toil is the 
 hardest possible to acquire by people of 
 sedentary habits, and needs great previous 
 practice. 
 
 In the teaching of the blind, it is pro- 
 bable that the oral mode must always be 
 the most generally used. It is a slow 
 work with the quickest — gaining ideas by 
 the touch of the fingers. There are so 
 many crude conceptions to remove in the 
 darkened intellect — so much, familiar to 
 the youngest seeing child, which, with the 
 blind, must be laid first as a foundation, 
 before a step can be taken ; that “ word 
 of mouth” must be the great and efficient 
 method of reaching their minds. It is 
 much to be desired, however, judging 
 from the meagre list of books for the 
 
 [June 
 
 blind, that more were prepared for this 
 cla^. 
 
 A singular fact developed in the treat- 
 ment of the blind, is, that the purblind, 
 that is, those seeing dimly, are always in- 
 ferior in the classes and school-learning 
 to the blind, though with vastly more 
 knowledge of the external world. Dr. 
 Howe, if we are informed correctly, ex- 
 plains this, by supposing the disease which 
 injured their sight, has likewise softened 
 the brain. Mr. Cooper, more philosophi- 
 cally, as it seems to us, supposes that they 
 have just sight enough to weaken the 
 power of concentration, which so remark- 
 ably distinguishes the blind, and not 
 enough to give them the usual perceptions, 
 which form the basis of the thoughts of 
 the seeing. 
 
 The system of study in the Institution 
 includes the higher philosophical studies, 
 along with the common English branches. 
 Music is especially made much of. The 
 Library, though the variety is small, con- 
 tains 700 volumes in raised type. 
 
 The New- York Institution for the Deaf 
 and Dumb was incorporated by the Le- 
 gislature of the State in April, 1817, and 
 went into operation during the spring of 
 the next year. For eight or nine years, 
 the School of the Institution was kept in 
 the Alms House, better known now as 
 the new City Hall, and the pupils lived 
 with their teachers in different parts of 
 the city. In 1828, several lots of ground, 
 bounded by the Fourth and Fifth avenues, 
 and 48th and 50th streets, were leased of 
 the city Corporation for a trifling rent by 
 the Society, and the edifice which now 
 constitutes the main building of the Asy- 
 lum, was erected thereon at the cost of 
 §31,000. 
 
 As it stood originally, it was 110 feet 
 long and 60 feet deep, and four stories 
 high. It became necessary, however, in 
 1824, to add a fifth story, and in 1838 
 two wings were built on the northern 
 side of the Asylum, at right angles to it. 
 In 1846 two wings more were added, 
 each 85 feet long and 35 feet deep. These 
 were provided with spacious sitting-rooms 
 and dormitories, which had long been 
 needed. 
 
 The Asylum has now a front of 210 
 feet on 50th-street — the extreme depth of 
 the wings being 90 feet. The arrange- 
 ment within is ver}' convenient : the build- 
 ing, also, being thoroughly ventilated and 
 neatly kept. It is lighted with gas, man- 
 ufactured on the premises, and is warmed 
 in winter by means of hot-air furnaces. 
 A handsome lawn surrounds the Asylum, 
 in which the pupils take their exercise. 
 There is a vegetable garden besides, where 
 the table is supplied. 
 
1853.] 
 
 The Benevolent Institutions of New-York. 
 
 685 
 
 During the last year, there were 260 
 pupils within the Institution. Most of 
 these are supported by the City and 
 State of New-York and the State of New 
 Jersey. The income of the Society for 
 the same period, was little more than 
 Si 42.000. Its expenditures were $5,200 
 more than its receipts. In addition to this 
 deficiency, it is in debt about $40,000. 
 
 Five hours a day are devoted to school 
 exercises. The pupils are taught to read 
 and write, and the higher branches of 
 history, geography and grammar. Three 
 or four hours are spent in some mechani- 
 cal employment. The males are taught 
 cabinet-making, book-binding, tailoring, 
 shoemaking or gardening. The females, 
 dress-making, and the folding or stitch- 
 ing of books. The school-division is in 
 13 classes, each having its own school- 
 room and teacher. Religious exercises are 
 carefully observed. In the morning, a 
 passage of Scripture, written upon slates, 
 is explained in signs by the President or 
 one of the PrQfessors ; and then prayer 
 is offered in the same language. In the 
 evening, they are questioned on the expla- 
 nation of the morning. 
 
 The course of instruction is carried out 
 as thoroughly as the means of teaching 
 yet discovered will allow. Most of the 
 peculiar excellences of this Institution may 
 be ascribed, without doubt, to the con- 
 stant and laborious efforts of its President, 
 the Rev. Mr. Peet. 
 
 The Prison Association of New- York 
 was established December 6th, 1844 ; and 
 incorporated May 9th, 1846. Its general 
 office is at No. 15 Centre-street. The ob- 
 jects of this Society are the melioration 
 of the condition of prisoners, the improve- 
 ment of prison discipline, and the encour- 
 agement of released convicts, by supply- 
 ing them with honest work. Since its 
 organization, it has relieved 977 prisoners, 
 of whom 225 are reckoned as “ doing 
 well 470 as hopeful ; 126 as donbtful ; 
 19 as returned to prison ; and 137 as un- 
 known. 
 
 The class of Charitable Institutions 
 with which we shall close our article, is 
 one of which little is known by the pub- 
 lic, and yet one which is as generous and 
 pitiful in its purpose, and as solidly suc- 
 cessful in its results, as any other of the 
 city. We speak of the various Institu- 
 tions to raise up the fallen and degraded 
 woman ; to give her hope and character 
 again before the world. A difficult task, 
 from which the refined shrink, the other- 
 wise benevolent turn away in skepticism, 
 and which the world in general regard as 
 a romantic effort of philanthropy. The 
 Asylums devoted to this object are the 
 “Home” for female convicts, in Tenth 
 
 avenue ; the Female Magdalen Asylum , 
 in Yorkville, between 88th and 89th 
 streets, and the House of Industry , in 
 the Five Points, conducted by the Rev. 
 Mr. Pease. 
 
 The Home was formed in 1845, by 
 private subscription, by the Female De- 
 partment of the Prison Association, as a 
 place of refuge to the female prisoner, 
 when her time at Blackwell’s Island was 
 expired. Hitherto the released woman, 
 whatever her better resolutions might be, 
 was at once, on leaving the prison-boat, 
 dragged away to her old haunts. She 
 had no home, no friends who would shel- 
 ter the convict, no money, — and, with the 
 harpies always on the watch, the end was 
 inevitable. 
 
 It was hoped, in this Asylum, to pro- 
 vide for a short time a home, where the 
 woman could be busied in steady labor, 
 and be brought under calm religious in- 
 fluences, until a place was found for her 
 at a distance. 
 
 There have been, on an average, about 
 100 members of this Institution, annually ; 
 during 1852, 166 were received. The in- 
 mates, at any one time, average about 30. 
 The only condition of admission is a sor- 
 row for what has been, and a desire to do 
 better hereafter. From the statements of 
 the Report, it would appear that about 
 fifty per cent, of all inmates received, 
 have started on a better course of life. 
 
 The Magdalen Female Asylum has a 
 similar object with the above Institution. 
 Among its seventy inmates, during the 
 last year, it reports six dismissed at their 
 own request, and only six expelled. 
 Eight have been sent to the hospital, and 
 all the others, so far as is known, are do- 
 ing well. In the labor performed by the 
 women, it acknowledges $100, as accru- 
 ing from needle-work alone. 
 
 Mr. Pease's Institution, at the Five 
 Points, dates only from 1848 ; but, thus 
 far, is incomparably the most successful 
 of any of these. It was opened by his 
 discovering, in mission-labors through 
 that district, that preaching and tracts 
 were of little use to these women, unless 
 some home, and some chance for honest 
 work could be given them. He accord- 
 ingly hired and cleaned a notorious broth- 
 el, and received a few women as regular 
 inmates, giving them shirt-making as an 
 employment. The Missionary Society, 
 which had engaged him, considered this 
 as unsuitable occupation for a minister of 
 the Gospel, and abandoned him. The 
 work done, though in no case ever stolen 
 or designedly injured, was too poorly done 
 to be sold. Mr. Pease was not discour- 
 aged, but through these and a thousand 
 obstacles, worked patiently and good- 
 
686 
 
 The Benevolent Institutions of New-YorTc. 
 
 P 
 
 une 
 
 naturedly on. He has now over a hun- 
 dred inmates constantly in his “ House of 
 Industry.” Since its foundation, some 
 800 women have been sent out to places 
 in the country, of whom a large propor- 
 tion are doing well. Within the house, 
 tailoring, straw-braiding, stock-making, 
 glass-cutting, and baking for the public, 
 are going on ; and, if last year’s Report 
 be correct, out of the expenses of $15,000 
 for the year, some $12,000 have been 
 paid by the well-directed labor of these 
 women. 
 
 Among all the varied efforts of benevo- 
 lence in our metropolis, is there any more 
 generous or more successful than this ? 
 
 We have thus given a passing glance 
 at some of the most prominent organiza- 
 tions in New-York which may be strictly 
 termed philanthropic. For the rest a 
 mere list of names must suffice. 
 
 Asylums : 
 
 Jews’ Asylum for Widows and Orphans, W. 27th 
 street, between 7th and Sth avs. 
 
 Lying-in Asylum for Destitute Females, 85 Marion. 
 
 Societies : 
 
 American Anti-Slavery Society, 142 Nassau. 
 
 American and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, 48 
 Beckman. 
 
 American Baptist Home Missionary Society. 
 
 American Bible Union, 350 Broome 
 
 American and Foreign Bible Society, 115 Nassau. 
 
 American I’r .matic Fund Association. 
 
 American Missionary Association, 48 Beekman. 
 
 American Society for Ameliorating the Condition 
 of the Jews, *4th av., cor. Astor-place. 
 
 American Sunday School Union. (Branch.) 
 
 American Temperance Union, 149 Nassau. 
 
 Association for the Suppression of Gambling. 
 
 Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian 
 Church. 
 
 British Protective Emigrant Society, 86 Greenwich. 
 
 Central American Education Society, 78 Wall. 
 
 City Bible Society, 16 Park-place. 
 
 Emmet Mutual Benefit Association, 76 Prince. 
 
 Female Missionary Society. 
 
 Franklin Widow and Orphan. Society. 
 
 French Benevolent Society. 
 
 Friendly Sons of St Patrick. 
 
 German Hebrew Benevolent Society. 
 
 German Mutual Assistance Society. 
 
 German Society of the City of New-York. 
 
 Hebrew Society for Widows and Orphans, 56 Or- 
 chard. 
 
 Hibernian Benevolent Society, 42 Prince. 
 
 Irish Emigrant Society, 51 Chambers. 
 
 Italian Benevolent Society, 307 Broadway. 
 
 Ladies' Union Aid Society. 200 Mulberry. 
 
 Mariners’ Family Industrial Society ,^322 Pearl. 
 
 Mechanics’ &, Tradesmen's Society, 472$ Broadway. 
 
 Missionary Society, Methodist Episcopal Church, 
 200 Mulberry. 
 
 Montefiore Widows’ and Orphans’ Society, 40 
 Beaver. 
 
 New-York and Brooklyn Foreign Mission Society. 
 
 New-York Bible Society. 
 
 New-York Bible and Common Prayer Book Soci- 
 ety, 20 John. 
 
 New-York Bible Union, 350 Broome. 
 
 New-York City Temperance Alliance, 461 B’way. 
 
 New-York City Tract Society, SI- Yesey. 
 
 New-York Ladies' Home Missionary, Old Brewery. 
 
 New-York Marine Bible Society. 
 
 New-York Printers' Union. 
 
 New-York Society for Educating Colored Children. 
 
 New-York City Society for Relief of Widows and 
 Orphans of Medical Men. 
 
 New-York State Colonization Society. 
 
 New-York Sunday School Union. 
 
 New- York Typographical Society. 
 
 New-York Young Men’s Christian Association, 659 
 Broadway. 
 
 Presbyterian Board of Domestic Missions, 23 Centre. 
 
 Presbyterian Board of Education, 23 Centre. 
 
 Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions, 23 Centra. 
 
 Protestant Episcopal Mission Domestic Commit- 
 tee, 49 Chambers. 
 
 Protestant Episcopal Mission Foreign Committee. 
 
 Protestant Episcopal Sunday School Union, lO 
 John. 
 
 Protestant Episcopal Tract Society, 20 John. 
 
 Public School Society of New-York, Grand, cor. 
 Elm. 
 
 Rej>orter's Guild. 
 
 Society for Education at the West, 80 Wall. 
 
 Society lor Promoting the Gospel among Seamen 
 in New-York. 
 
 Sunday School Union, Methodist Episcopal Church, 
 200 Mulberry. 
 
 Working Girls' Home, 383 Broome. 
 
 Hibernian Society. 
 
 New England Society. 
 
 St. Andrew'6 Society. 
 
 St David’s Benevolent Society. 
 
 St George’s Society. 
 
 St Nicholas Society. 
 
 Secret and Benefit Societies 
 Ancient and Honorable Society of Free Masons, 75 
 “ Lodges.” 
 
 Independent Order of Odd-Fellows, 100 “ Lodges’’ 
 and “ Encampments.” 
 
 Order of United Americans, 36 “ Chapters.” 
 
 Sons of America, 2 “ Camps.” 
 
 United Daughters of America, 9 “Chapters.” 
 
 Order of United American Mechanics. 3 “ Councils.” 
 Aucient Order of Good Fellow^, 22 “ Lodges.” 
 Christian Mutual Benefit Society, 4 “Societies.” 
 American Protestant Association, 7 “Lodges.” 
 United Ancient Order of Druids, 18 “ Groves.” 
 Benevolent Order of Bereans, 3 “ Assemblies.” 
 Mechanics’ Mutual Protection Association, 3 “As- 
 sociations.” 
 
 Sons of Temperance, 23 “ Divisions.” 
 
 Independent Order of Rechabites, 11 “Tents.” 
 Encampment Order of Independent Rechabites, 2 
 “Encampments.” 
 
 Cadets of Temperance, 4 “Sections.” 
 
 Temple of Honor and Templars of Temperance, 8 
 Temples.” 
 
 Daughters of Temperance, 6 “Unions.” 
 
 Ancient Order of Good Samaritans, 2 “Lodges.” 
 Daughters of Samsria, 2 “Lodges.” 
 
 Society of the Iron Man. 
 
 Order of the Circle. 
 
 Musical Mutual Protective Association. 
 
 Encient Order of Hibernians. 
 
 Father Mathew Temperance Benevolent Society. 
 Hibernian B. B. Society. 
 
 Hibernian Universal B. Society. 
 
 Irish-American Benevolent Society. 
 
 Meagher Benevolent Society. 
 
 Roman Catholic Total Abstinence Society. 
 Cartmen's U. P. Society. 
 
 Hudson River Boatmen's Benevolent Association. 
 Laborer's Union Benevolent Society. 
 ’Longshoremen’s U. B. Society. 
 
 Hospitals : 
 
 Bellevue Hospital, 1st av., near 23d-street 
 Jews’ Hospital, West 28th street, bet. 7th <fc Sth avs. 
 New-York Ophthalmic Hospital, 7 Stuyvesant 
 St Luke's. 
 
 St Vincent’s, 102 & 104 E. 13th street, under the 
 charge of the “ Sisters of Charity.” 
 
 Ward's Island. 
 
 Dispensaries : 
 
 Eastern, 74 Ludlow. 
 
 Homoeopathic, 488 Broome. 
 
 New-York Eye aud Ear Infirmary, 97 Mercer. 
 Summary , inclusive of those described : 
 
 Asylums . . . • .22 
 
 Benevolent Societies ... 90 
 
 Secret and Benefit Societies, (including 349 
 separate “ Lodges,” “ Chapters,” “ Divi- 
 sions,” etc.) . . • • 
 
 Hospitals . . ... 8 
 
 Dispensaries . . . ’ 7 
 
 Other Societies and Institutions, Litera- 
 ry, Scientific, Educational, and Mercan- 
 tile, will be referred to in future articles. 
 
1853.] 
 
 687 
 
 OUR OWN, 
 
 HIS WANDERINGS AND PERSONAL ADVENTURES. 
 
 TloWoou 5* av&puiirow X^7]v aarea, teal voov eyi/u\ 
 
 Quae regio in terris Nostri non plena laboris ? 
 
 Full many cities he hath seen and many great men known: 
 
 What place on earth but testifies the labors of our own ? 
 
 Continued from page 635. 
 
 Progression E. 
 
 Our own unfolds another coil 
 Of his portentous tale, 
 
 And shows the tortnre and the toil 
 Of riding on a rail. 
 
 I LEFT East Haddam by the train — a mode of torture worse 
 Than any Dante conjured up — the case I will rehearse : 
 
 I found the car, then, occupied (I got in rather late, 
 
 And ’twas hermetically closed) by victims fifty-eight, 
 
 Each one of whom looked headachy and parboiledy and pale, 
 
 Having less air a-piece, perhaps, than Jonah in his whale ; 
 
 They seemed a troop of convict souls let out in search of bail 
 And, lest they might a mouthful get of unbedevilled air, 
 
 A Stygian sheriff’s officer went with them every where, 
 
 Whose duty was to see that they no atmosphere should know 
 Cooler than that which Minos’ tail had doomed them to below : 
 
 In shape he seemed a kind of stove, but by degrees my head 
 
 W as squeezed into an iron cap and screwed till I was dead 
 
 (Or thought I was), and then there came strange lights into my brain, 
 
 And ’neath his thin sheet-iron mask the tipstaff imp was plain. 
 
 At intervals another fiend — by mortals Brakeman hight — 
 
 Would rouse his fellow-torturer into a fierce delight, 
 
 Punching his ribs, and feeding him with lumps of anthracite ; 
 
 The demon’s single eye grew red, and with unholy glee 
 Exulted as it shrivel, ed up the very soul in me. 
 
 I would have shrieked a maniac shriek, but that I did not dare ; 
 
 I thought of turning madly round, and seizing by the hair 
 A soul unblest that sat by me, only somehow I got 
 A notion that his treacherous scalp would prove to be red-hot. 
 
 I sprang to raise the window, but a female spirit Gf ill 
 
 Who all the space around her soured, sharp-nosed, close-lipped, and still, 
 
 (A vinegar-cruet incarnate) said, “ No gentleman would place 
 A lady in a thorough-draught that had a swollen face ! ” 
 
 I f you have ever chanced to bite a nice unripe persimmon, 
 
 You’ll have some notion of her tone, but still a faint and dim one 
 
 No patent stove can radiate a chill more like the pole 
 
 Than such a lady, whose each act true views of grace control, 
 
 In doubt about her bonnet-box, secure about her soul. 
 
 Theneeforward all is phantasm dire ; I dimly recollect 
 
 A something ’twixt a nose and voice that said “ ’most there, I ’xpect,” 
 
 Heavens ! almost where? a pang, a flash of fire through either eye shoots, 
 And I looked momently to see the last scene of Der Friesehutz ; 
 
 The bland conductor will become that flame-clad individual 
 Who stamping, Earth will gape, and “ Gentlemen, I bid you all,” 
 
 He’ll shriek, “ to lava tea at six,” then crashing through the floor 
 With a strong smell of brimstone, — but all swam, I saw no more, 
 
 Only I vaguely seem to have seen the attendant fiend excite 
 His principal with further pokes and lumps of anthracite, 
 
 While faces featureless as dough, looked on serene and placid, 
 
 And nine and fifty pair of lungs evolved carbonic acid. 
 
 There was a scream, but whether ’twas the engine, or the last 
 Wild prayer for mercy of those eight and fifty as they passed 
 Down to their several torturings in deepest Malebolge, 
 
 As I myself am still in doubt, can’t certainly be told ye ; 
 
 I only know they vanished all, the silent ghastly crew, 
 
 But whither, how, why, when. — these things I never fully knew ; 
 
 I stood with carpet-bag in hand, when the strange spell unbound me. 
 
 And five score yelling cabmen danced their frenzied war-dance round me. 
 
css 
 
 Our Own. 
 
 [June 
 
 Progression F. 
 
 Our own, howe’er with Byron’s verse 
 He may enchanted be, 
 
 Finds that he likes the ocean worse, 
 
 When trying it per se. 
 
 When I was a beggarly boy, 
 
 And lived in a cellar damp, 
 
 I had not a friend nor a toy, 
 
 But I had Aladdin’s lamp ; 
 
 When I could not sleep for cold, 
 
 I had fire enough in my brain, 
 
 And built, with a roof of gold, 
 
 My beautiful castles in Spain ! 
 
 Since then I have toiled day and night, 
 
 I have money and power good store, 
 
 But I’d give all my lamps of silver bright 
 For the one that is mine no more ; 
 
 Take, Fortune, whatever you choose, 
 
 You gave, and may snatch again ; 
 
 I have nothing ’twould pain me to lose, 
 
 For I own no more castles in Spain ! 
 
 So mused a poet, quite as wise as either you or I, 
 
 Coughing with dust, as Crassus’ coach rolled smoothly-swinging by ; 
 
 And, if I understand his thought, which may be something trite, 
 
 He was ( which for a poet’s much) within two-thirds of right ; 
 
 Fond youth, be abstinent, pull not that Hesperidean fruit, 
 
 One bite, and you repent too late, and lame our jaw to boot : 
 
 Thank God for the Unattainable, it leaves you still a boy. 
 
 The wishing for the wishing-cap is that which makes the joy ; 
 
 Privation gives their charm to things, the glory and the grace, 
 
 Beckon and flee — ah, fool, that would’st their frozen zones embrace ! 
 
 In winter, summer seems most fair, and what enchantment glows 
 In August o’er those mountain-peaks, ermined with rounding snows ! 
 
 The frozen Samoiede makes his heaven a place of endless fire, 
 
 And, when kind fortune heaps the board, to glut the soul’s desire, 
 
 Apicius Bufo starves and sighs, and wonders what it means, — 
 
 Nectar? Ambrosia 1— hum, so-so, but no pig’s head and greens ? 
 
 And thou, oh hero, who hast climbed to scarce-dreamed fame and power, 
 Think’st only of a little mound which dusky yews embower, 
 
 And, sighing, musest what are all these idle sands to me 
 
 Since those blue eyes are closed with dust that should be here to see ? 
 
 Ah, happy eyes that shut so soon, ye only have the might 
 To keep undimmed the olden spell, for ever warm and bright ! 
 
 Had village Alice lived, poor fool, thou would’st without remorse 
 Be sighing for a bride of State, and planning a divorce. 
 
 This train of thought I’ve fallen on, far out here on the sea, 
 
 Coiled up, half-frozen underneath the weather-bulwark’s lee. 
 
 And (faith that last wave soused me through) — and writing on my knee ; 
 
 The application of it is, that when you’re on the land 
 
 The sea is every thing that’s bright, and broad, and blue, and grand, 
 
 And that you’d change what W ordsworth calls your glorious second berth 
 (Now that you’ve tried it) for a grave, because ’twould be firm earth ; 
 Perhaps in some October night, when the roused south o’erwhelms, 
 
 With surge on surge rolled gathering down the night, the shuddering elms, 
 You have lain fancj'ing what wild joy there must be in the motion 
 Of a brave vessel plunging through the broken coils of ocean ; 
 
 Your mind ran forth and back again, like a fly-watching spider, 
 
 Upon that line in Byron of the steed that knows its rider , 
 
 And, in your bath next morning, you splash with double glee, 
 
 Humming, dear Barry Cornwall’s song — the sea ! the o-pen sea ! 
 
 I wish that Barry and Byron both were only here with me ! 
 
 All well enough this sentiment and stuff upon the shore, 
 
 But, when the sea is smoothest, ’tis an Erymanthian bore, 
 
 And when ’tis rough, my brace of bards, you’d neither of you sing 
 Of hands on manes, or blue and fresh, but quite another thing, — 
 
1853.] 
 
 Our Own. 
 
 689 
 
 Flat on your backs in jerkbg berths you scarce could keep your place in, 
 You’d moan an Amboean sad — quick, steward! quick! a basin! 
 (Queen’s counsel most delectable, I still seem hearing thee 
 Sing Cameriere through the rain along the Bieler sea.) 
 
 How easy ’tis to tyrannize oyer Taste’s hapless lieges ! 
 
 The poor Achivi still are plucked quidquid delirant reges ; 
 
 If Hamlet says he sees a whale, Polonius must follow, 
 
 And what A swears is beautiful, all down to Z will swallow ; 
 
 None dares confess he cannot see what great Flapdoddle spies, 
 
 And, like potatoes, fools are bred from one another’s eyes ; 
 
 Dear Nyncombe, what sharp agonies I’ve seen you going through with 
 Before a statue which your soul had naught on earth to do with, 
 
 And what could e’er be finer than your awed, assenting “ Oh ! ” 
 
 When I suggested that deep thought in the Apollo’s toe 7 
 Don’t come to Rome for nothing, man, with some likeminded crony, 
 
 Go valiantly and eat a steak down at the Gabione ; 
 
 ’Tis in this way that men are made to say they like the sea, 
 
 Flam says he does, and all the rest will be as good as he. 
 
 I heard a great man once declare that he had never found 
 A sailor, yet, who loved the fate to which his life was bound, 
 
 And when I asked our brown first-mate, a seaman good and brave, 
 
 On shore as helpless as a fish, a viking on the wave, 
 
 What life would please him most 7 he sighed, looked at his tattooed arm, 
 Studied its hieroglyphs awhile, and said — an inland farm. 
 
 And he was right ; I cannot, for example, see the least 
 Pleasure in walking on a deck that’s drunk as any beast, 
 
 A wet plank, scarcely larger than a white bear’s sloppy pen, 
 
 That tips you here and slips you there, and trips you back again ; 
 
 That cheats you with a moment’s lull, and, when you think you feel 
 Quite sure of the companionway, half breaks you on the wheel, 
 
 Then slants until you need both hands to keep your hold on that, 
 
 And pins you helpless while the wind blows off your second hat. 
 
 The steed that throws his rider would be nearer to the fact : 
 
 To me it gives no pleasure to be swashed and washed and racked ; 
 
 To have a three weeks’ tipsiness on cold saltwater merely, 
 
 With legs that seem like some one’s else, they bother you so queerly 
 Taking you here when you mean there. — no, no, it has no charm, 
 Although the loveliest cousin may be hanging on your arm. 
 
 Of course, I am not seasick, for although that epidemic 
 
 (Hie) prostrates all my friends, yet (hie) I only pity them (hie). 
 
 Indeed, in this life’§ pilgrimage, I found this maxim true : 
 
 There are four common weaknesses no mortal ever knew, 
 
 A headache that was caused by wine, drowsiness late at night, 
 Seasickness, and a corn that came from wearing boots too tight. 
 
 A seasick man I never saw ; Our Own leans o’er the rail, 
 
 Muses awhile, and then comes back with features doughy pale ; 
 
 But he had only wandered aft, a Parthian glance to take 
 At those strange coils of moony fire that mark the writhing wake. 
 
 With ghastly calm he takes a pipe ; in minutes five (or less) hence, 
 
 He’ll feel again that ecstasy produced by phosphorescence. 
 
 Conceive of an existence in which the great events 
 Are breakfast, luncheon, dinner, tea, in which, when Fate relents, 
 
 She sends a string of porpoises, perhaps a grampus, too, 
 
 Who blunders up beneath the stern, and gives a poo-oo-ooh ! 
 
 While we immortal souls crowd aft and crush each other’s toes 
 To see this stupid creature blow what he esteems a nose ; 
 
 Why, I blew thrice my moral and accountable proboscis, 
 
 But found no fish so blase that it ever came across his 
 Waterlogged brain that it was worth his while to turn and come anon, 
 Lest he should miss the witnessing of that sublime phenomenon ; 
 
 Nor would it, though your nose were like fray John’s, or even had you a 
 Verissimo fazzoletlo of Saint Antony of Padua, 
 
 The Apostle who in Finland had a cure of souls, and sent 
 Conviction to his hearers that ’twas good to fry in Lent. 
 vol i. — 44 
 
690 
 
 Our Own. 
 
 [June 
 
 There are some goodish things at sea ; for instance, one can feel 
 A grandeur in the silent man for ever at the wheel, 
 
 That bit of two-legged intellect, that particle of drill, 
 
 Who the huge floundering hulk inspires with reason, brain and will, 
 
 And makes the ship, though skies are black and headwinds whistle loud. 
 Obey her conscience there which feels the loadstar through the cloud ; 
 And when by lusty western gales the full-sailed barque is hurled 
 Toward the great moon which, sitting on the silent underworld, 
 
 Rounds luildly up to look on ours, and shoots a broadening line, 
 
 Of palpitant light from crest to crest across the ridgy brine, 
 
 Then from the bows look back and feel a thrill that never stales 
 In that full-bosomed, swan-white pomp of onward-yearning sails ; 
 
 Ah, when dear cousin Bull laments that you can’t make a poem, 
 
 Take him aboard a clipper-ship, young Jonathan, and show him 
 A work of art that in its grace and grandeur may compare 
 With any thing that any race has fashioned any where ; 
 
 ’Tis not a statue, grumbles John ; nay, if you come to that, 
 
 We think of Hyde Park corner, and concede you beat us flat 
 With your equestrian statue to a Nose and a Cocked-hat ; 
 
 But ’tis not a cathedral ; well, e’en that we will allow, 
 
 Both statues and cathedrals are anachronistic now ; 
 
 Your minsters, coz, the monuments of men who conquered you, 
 
 You’d sell a bargain, if we’d take the deans and chapters too ; 
 
 No ; mortal men build now-a-days, as always heretofore, 
 
 Good temples to the gods which they in very truth adore ; 
 
 The shepherds of this Broker Age, with all their willing flocks, 
 
 Although they bow to stones no more, do bend the knee to stocks, 
 
 And churches can’t be beautiful though crowded, floor and gallery, 
 
 If people worship preacher, and if preacher worship salary ; 
 
 Tis well to look things in the face, the god o’ the modern universe, 
 Hermes, cares naught for halls of art and libraries of puny verse, 
 
 If they don’t sell, he notes them thus upon his ledger — say, per 
 Contra to loss of so much stone, best Russia duck and paper ; 
 
 And, after all, about this Art men talk a deal of fudge, 
 
 Each nation has its path marked out, from which it must not budge ; 
 
 The Romans had as little art as Noah in his ark, 
 
 Yet somehow on this globe contrived to make an epic mark ; 
 
 Religion, painting, sculpture, song — for these they ran up jolly ticks 
 With Greece and Egypt, but they were great artists in their politics, 
 
 And if we make no minsters, John, nor epics, yet the Fates 
 Are not entirely deaf to men who can build ships and states ; 
 
 (I waive the literary point, contented with observing 
 
 That / like Hawthorne, Longfellow, Emerson, Bryant, Irving,) 
 
 The arts are never pioneers, but men have strength and health 
 Who, called on suddenly, can improvise a commonwealth. 
 
 Nay, can more easily go on and frame them by the dozen, 
 
 Than you can make a dinner-speech, dear sympathizing cousin : 
 
 And, though our restless Jonathan have not your graver bent, sure he 
 Does represent this hand-to-mouth, pert, rapid, nineteenth century ; 
 
 This is the Age of Scramble ; men move faster than they did 
 When they pried up the imperial Past’s deep-dusted coffin-lid, 
 
 Searching for scrolls of precedent ; the wire-tamed lightning now 
 Replaces Delphos — men don’t leave the steamer for the scow ; 
 
 What hero, were they new to-day, would ever stop to read 
 The Iliad, the Shanameh, or the Nibelungenlied ? 
 
 Their public’s gone, the artist Greek, the lettered Shah, the hairy Graf — 
 Folio and plesiosaur sleep well ; we weary o’er a paragraph ; 
 
 The mind moves planet-like no more, it fizzes, cracks, and bustles ; 
 
 From end to end with journals dry the land o’ershadowed rustles, 
 
 As with dead leaves a winter-beech, and, with their breath-roused jars 
 Amused, we care not if they hide the eternal skies and stars ; 
 
 Down to the general level of the Board of Brokers sinking, 
 
 The Age takes in the newspapers, or, to say sooth unshrinking, 
 
 The newspapers take in the Age, and Stocks do all the thinking. 
 
 To be Continued. 
 
1853.] 
 
 691 
 
 EDITORIAL NOTES. 
 
 LITERATURE. 
 
 American. — Prismatics , by Richard 
 Haywarde, is a unique and delightful 
 book, delicately illustrated by Hicks, 
 Barley, Kensett, Rossiter and Elliott, and 
 handsomely published by the Appletons. 
 It is a collection of desultory sketches 
 and poems, full of genial humor and ten- 
 der pathos, revealing in Mr. Haywarde a 
 rare and quaint taste for old English 
 literature, and the most sensitive appre- 
 ciation of its finest characteristics. Es- 
 say, tale, ballad and elegy, are clustered 
 together ; they follow in graceful se- 
 quence, each betraying the cunning touch 
 of an artist, and the inspiration of a 
 dainty taste, which is evinced also in the 
 “ getting up ” of the work. Prismatics 
 strikes us as a series of studies — not imi- 
 tations — in various admirable styles. It is 
 not only an indication of the artist’s na- 
 tive power, but an exquisite remembrance 
 of the great galleries of literature in 
 which he has wandered and mused. 
 
 — We had thought the Captain Kidd 
 mystery long since laid, but J udge Camp- 
 bell has revived it in a small volume, 
 which he calls, “ An Historical Sketch 
 of Robin Hood and Captain Kiddf 
 romantic themes, both of them. It is 
 wonderful with what an interest you in- 
 vest a man when you proclaim him the 
 biggest scoundrel in the world. Here is 
 Hood, for instance, a notorious outlaw 
 and highwayman, and Kidd, the rabidest 
 mad pirate that was ever hung, — and yet 
 they keep possession of literature with a 
 sort of permanent bloom 1 Wordsworth 
 has sung — 
 
 “ A famous man was Robin Hood,” 
 
 and every body remembers “ ye lament- 
 able ballad and ye true historie,” which 
 begins, “My name was Captain Kidd, 
 when I sailed, when I sailed,” and con- 
 tinues — 
 
 “ I murdered William Moore, as I sailed, as I sailed, 
 
 I murdered William Moore, as I sailed ; 
 
 I murdered William Moore, and left him in his 
 gore, 
 
 Not many leagues from shore, as I sailed,” 
 
 and so on, through several hundred 
 verses, more or less. But it was reserved 
 for a dignified functionary of a Court of 
 Law to do them final justice. 
 
 “ The Translators Revived ' 1 ' 1 is a 
 work by A. W. McClure, which gives 
 an historical account of the forty-seven 
 learned clerks who translated the Bible 
 into English, at the order of King James. 
 All the facts known of them are diligent- 
 ly collated, with the object of showing 
 how learned they were, and consequently 
 fitted for their important task. Even a 
 
 modern German professor, who reads all 
 night with his legs in cold water, to keep 
 him from going to sleep, would look with 
 admiration upon some of these old wor- 
 thies of Cambridge, Oxford and West- 
 minster, — Bishop Andrews, for instance, 
 or Reynolds, or Sir Henry Saville. The 
 truth is, of some of them, we suspect, as 
 Robert Hall said of Dr. Kippis, that they 
 had so many books on their heads, that 
 their brains couldn’t move. We are very 
 glad, therefore, that our more superficial 
 age, and far more useful one, does not re- 
 quire such a mass of learning from 
 its scholars. With “ little Latin and less 
 Greek ” now, one may contrive to make 
 a highly respectable appearance even at 
 a College commencement. Indeed, we 
 know an eminent Professor of the Hu- 
 manities, at a learned institution, some- 
 where this side of the Mississippi, who 
 cannot read Longinus in the original, and 
 prefers Quinctilian in a good translation. 
 
 — Mrs. Ellett’s “ Summer Rambles 
 in the West ” have mostly appeared in 
 print, as letters to a popular newspaper, 
 and are therefore pretty well known to 
 the reading public. The writer travelled 
 over the Lake Superior region, and the 
 country about the upper waters of the 
 Mississippi, and has carefully collected 
 and described the experiences of her wil- 
 derness life. Her book will be a pleasant 
 companion to many a reader, we doubt 
 not, in the summer rambles that he or 
 she may have in the immediate prospect : 
 Mrs. Ellet is a keen observer, and writes 
 with unusual vigor and spirit. 
 
 — All the excitements of the day, fail- 
 ing to attract the attention which the act- 
 ors in them may fancy they deserve, are 
 revenged upon the innocent public in 
 books. How different the case now from 
 what it was formerly, when a book was 
 the result of a ten years’ gestation, and 
 an author was a man who really had 
 something to say. But in these times 
 every transient spasm produces its spawn 
 of books. The Jenny Lind rage, the Kos- 
 suth fever, and now the Spirit rappings — 
 all have a literature of their own, — histo- 
 ries, polemics, essays and poems. As to 
 the last flurry, the Rappers, our table is 
 covered with publications about them, some 
 going to show that it is a new revela- 
 tion, others that it is a simple natural fact, 
 others, again, that it is an outrageous 
 humbug, and others, still further, that it 
 is a touch of each or a combination of all. 
 Mr. Ballou and Mr. Charles Hammond 
 treat these manifestations as entirely spirit- 
 ual : Dr. Rogers, of Boston, as natural phe- 
 nomena ; the Rev. Dr. Mattison, as an ar- 
 
692 
 
 Editorial Notes — American Literature. 
 
 rant imposture, and the Rev. Charles W. 
 Beecher as partly natural and partly spir- 
 itual, but most decidedly unchristian. It is 
 our intention, if the interest in the subject 
 holds long enough, to give our own views 
 of the entire discussion, with considerable 
 study and care. 
 
 — We think that an acceptable service 
 has been rendered the religious commu- 
 nity by Professor Moffitt, in his t! Life 
 of Dr. Chalmers .” It is abridged from 
 Hanna’s larger memoir, but gives all the 
 essential and leading facts, and is most 
 judiciously edited. Dr. Chalmers was 
 one of those large minded, enthusiastic, and 
 aggressive men, whose influence both in 
 Church and State is widely useful, if not 
 by contributing new truths to the world, 
 at least by keeping it from growing stag- 
 nant. Their restless impulses set many 
 circles of activities in motion, which keep 
 the world in the path of progress. Dr. 
 Chalmers cannot be commended as a mo- 
 del of style, nor do we accept his Opinions 
 especially those he puts forth on the sub- 
 ject of political economy ; but his was a 
 sincere, noble and resolute nature, so that 
 it is impossible to come in contact with 
 him without feeling that your mind has 
 been quickened and improved. Our Re- 
 verend Morphine Velvets and Dr. Doves 
 ought to take a daily course of reading in 
 his manly, robust, healthful pages, not for 
 the doctrines they contain so much as for 
 the fearless spirit in w r hich they were ut- 
 tered. 
 
 — Some capital reading has been lately 
 published by the e min ent publishing house 
 of Uncle Sam & Co., — we mean, the 
 elaborate reports issued by several of the 
 departments. That of Dr. Bache, for 
 instance, on the Coast Survey, giving the 
 present position of his scientific under- 
 taking, is valuable to the commercial 
 world, as well as to scientific men. Mr. 
 Andrew’s t! Report on the Colonial and 
 Lake Trade ” is also full of important 
 and readable statistics, out of which a 
 man might select a demonstration of the 
 rapid growth of this country that would 
 startle even our own excited expectations. 
 Nor is the “ Report on the Fisheries ,” by 
 Mr. Sabine, without great interest at the 
 present juncture. We wish, however, 
 that the gentlemen who compile these 
 documents would take the time to fur- 
 nish them with complete indexes and 
 tables of contents, which would greatly 
 facilitate their uses to practical men. The 
 English and French governments are 
 greatly in advance of us in these respects, 
 in the preparation of their public papers. 
 
 — “A theory of Legislation,” by Rich- 
 ard Hildreth, the historian, will be is- 
 sued by the time this number reaches our 
 
 [June 
 
 readers. It is an elaborate attempt to 
 treat the whole subject of government, in 
 a novel and original point of view, as a part, 
 however, of a series of dissertations, on 
 Morals, Taste, Politics, &c. Mr. Hildreth 
 is known as a man who thinks for him- 
 self, of penetrating and acute mind, great 
 independence of judgment, and of inflex- 
 ible reliance upon his principles. His 
 speculations, therefore, are always worthy 
 of study, although it is clear to us that 
 his rigid utilitarianism is a bad basis for 
 a comprehensive scheme of philosophy of 
 any kind. No great superstructure can 
 be built upon it, as Mr. Hildreth will find 
 in time. 
 
 — Heavens ! what names, we exclaim- 
 ed, as we took up the “New Rome, or 
 The United States of the World.” by 
 T. Prosche and C. Goepp, two gentlemen 
 of unmistakable teutonic derivation. But 
 their book paid for the perusal of it, in its 
 earnest defence of American republican- 
 ism, not as a local or transient doctrine, 
 but as a universal principle. Those readers 
 who may recall our “ Letter to John Bull ” 
 in the February number, will get an idea 
 of the stand-point from which our friends 
 survey the questions they discuss. Their 
 argument is an enlargement of Brother 
 Jonathan’s, an appeal to the facts and the 
 testimony for the practical effects of lib- 
 eral government — no return of railing for 
 railing to our assailants, but a broadside 
 of statistics and the inferences they con- 
 tain. Their expectations of the Future of 
 the republic are truly magnificent and an- 
 imating; but not greater than the pro- 
 mises of the present warrant. 
 
 — A most charming collection of poems 
 is “Thalatta, a Book for the Sea-side,” 
 made by the Revs. S. W. Longfellow, and 
 T. W. Higginson, somewhat in the style 
 of poet Longfellow’s Waif. It gathers to- 
 gether many beautiful things — but not all 
 — that have been written about the Sea, and 
 its associations, from Homer to Epes Sar- 
 gent, but chiefly those by modern Eng- 
 lish and American poets. The compilers 
 may have been partial to their own coun- 
 trymen so that the comparison is not a 
 fair one, but their collection makes it very 
 clear that the Americans, with Bryant’s 
 fine hymn to the Sea, and Whittier’s Hamp- 
 ton Beach, and Longfellow’s Sea Weed 
 and Drift Wood, Dana’s Little Beach 
 Bird, and many other poems, may hold up 
 their heads as poets, in the presence even 
 of Shelley, Byron, and Tennyson. 
 
 — A little work called “ Considerations 
 on some recent social theories f is well in- 
 tended. and well written. — clear in its 
 statements and arguments, and elevated 
 in tone ; but the author has not pondered 
 his subject as deeply as he ought to have 
 
1853.] 
 
 Editorial Notes — American Literature. 
 
 693 
 
 done, and by .taking for granted often 
 what it was incumbent on him to prove, 
 lays himself open to the most damaging 
 replies. 
 
 — “ Coral Reefs and Islands ” have 
 furnished James D. Dana materials for 
 a brief but instructive scientific work, ad- 
 mirable for its arrangement, and of great 
 worth as a contribution to knowledge, 
 especially the part which relates to the 
 Changes of Level in the Pacific Ocean. 
 Mr. Dana was the geologist to the Wilkes 
 exploring expedition. 
 
 — Now that every body goes to Europe, 
 the little “Handbook for American Tra- 
 vellers,” by Dr. Roswell Park, will be 
 found a most faithful, judicious, and, we 
 should think, indispensable guide. It is 
 succinct and methodical, touching on al- 
 most every point of interest to the voya- 
 ger. 
 
 — The “ Standard Speaker ,” of Mr. 
 Epes Sargent appears to have achieved a 
 notable success among the school-books 
 of the day. Although it has not been a 
 year before the public, it has reached a 
 seventh edition, and the cry is still for 
 more. It has been widely introduced into 
 our colleges and schools. The editor ap- 
 pears to have bestowed great pains to ren- 
 der the work the most thorough of its 
 class. In the number, variety, and ap- 
 propriateness of its exercises, it is proba- 
 bly unexcelled. 
 
 — An unusual number of new publica- 
 tions are in press, and will be out, proba- 
 bly, before this notice reaches the reader, 
 among the rest, splendid standard editions 
 of the old English writers, Chaucer, 
 Spenser, Ben Jonson, Dryden, Addison, 
 Gibbon, Junius, and Pope, — all from the 
 press of the Appletons. Two important 
 geological works by Sir Charles Lyell, 
 are also forthcoming, with the long prom- 
 ised “ Thirty Years in the Senate of the 
 United States ,” by the Nestor of that 
 body, Colonel Benton. 
 
 — An excellent translation is Mr. M. 
 B. Field’s, from the French of the Com- 
 tesse D’Arbouville, consisting of “ Three 
 Tales,” beautifully conceived and exe- 
 cuted. 
 
 — Mr. Carey’s new work on the “ Slave 
 Trade, Domestic and Foreign ” is a most 
 elaborate and able discussion of the whole 
 subject of slavery, in the light of his pe- 
 culiar notions of Political Economy. 
 
 — A great deal of pleasant reading is to 
 be had in Mr. Charles L. Brace’s new 
 book about “ r The Home Life of the Ger- 
 mans” which is not made up from the 
 guide book, but his own personal adven- 
 ture. It is a kind of companion book to 
 his interesting sketches of Hungary. 
 
 — “ One Year of Wedlock ” by a cele- 
 
 brated Swedish writer, Emily Carlen, is 
 a touching story, well told. The title 
 alone, we should think, will attract every 
 female novel reader in the nation, but we 
 cannot say that they will be equally 
 pleased with the ascetic “ one year ” which 
 the hero and heroine passed. 
 
 — The collected writings of Prof. B. B. 
 Edwards, are the records of the life and 
 activity of an accomplished scholar and 
 Christian. He was an acute critic as well 
 as a man of cultivated thought, deeply in- 
 terested in all those pursuits which enrich 
 and embellish life, with poetic sensibility 
 no less than practical energy. His Essays 
 on Hebrew Poetry, on Female Education, 
 on Slavery in Ancient Greece and Rome, 
 and on the Poetry of Wordsworth, are 
 vigorous in their tone and polished in 
 style. The Memoir prefixed to the vol- 
 umes, which Professor Park makes t'.ie 
 memorial of long years of affectionate in- 
 tercourse and study, is a touching tribute 
 to the virtues of his friend. 
 
 — Professor Boyd’s annotated edition 
 of Cowper’s principal poems, similar to 
 his edition of Milton and Young, though 
 not of a kind to endure a severe critical 
 examination, is yet a service rendered the 
 popular reader. 
 
 — The reader may remember the lec- 
 tures on the Hebrew Commonwealth, de- 
 livered in our principal cities, a few win- 
 ters since, by E. C. Wines, and will be 
 pleased to hear that they are now gather- 
 ed into a book with the name of “ Com- 
 mentaries on the Laws of the Ancient 
 Hebrews .” This is a faithful attempt to 
 develop systematically the civil polity of 
 the Hebrew lawgiver, preceded by a chapter 
 on civil society and government, explan- 
 atory of the general principles of political 
 philosophy. Mr. Wines finds that Moses 
 was the true originator of the doctrine of 
 self-government, and that the common- 
 wealth he established was a genuine Re- 
 public, and the first on record. This 
 point is made out with much research and 
 argument, and a great many striking in- 
 cidental illustrations of the spirit of the 
 Hebrew leader. What struck us as espe- 
 cially worthy of note were the remarks 
 on the agrarian legislation of Moses, which 
 we commend to our more conservative 
 thinkers. The jurisprudence of the He- 
 brews is reserved for a second volume by 
 the author. 
 
 — A bulky volume is Mr. Spooner’s 
 “ Biographical and Cr itical Dictionary 
 of Painters, Engravers, Sculptors, and 
 Architects ,” but it is none the less valu- 
 able. Its title explains its object, and we 
 need only say of the execution of it, that 
 it does credit to the intelligence and in- 
 dustry of the editor. It is a matter, of 
 
694 
 
 Editorial Notes — English Literature. 
 
 course, that in a work of so great a com- 
 pass, embracing so many details, and more 
 liable than usual, because of the number 
 of' strange names used, to typographical 
 errors, that errors should occur ; we ac- 
 cordingly remark that Mr. Inman is not 
 among the American painters, and that 
 the birthplace of Allston is wrongly given, 
 with several other smaller oversights ; 
 but on the whole, the book is accurate 
 and useful. Mr. Spooner utters an idea 
 which is new to us, in his introduction, 
 where he contends that there are a large 
 number of the original pictures of cele- 
 brated masters, in this country, alleging 
 as the ground of his opinion, that before 
 the taste for art became general among 
 the wealthier classes of Europe, which 
 has been within the last ten or fifteen 
 years, the United States was the only 
 safe and profitable market for old pictures. 
 High duties kept them out of England, 
 and there was no demand for them on 
 the continent. We very much doubt the 
 historical accuracy of this statement. 
 
 English. — The third and fourth volumes 
 of the “Memoirs of Thomas Moore f tak- 
 en mostly from his private journal, are 
 full of vivacious matter, anecdotes, sketches 
 of character, accounts of dinner parties, 
 conversations with distinguished and per- 
 sonal incidents. They cover a period 
 which may be called the heyday of the 
 jolly little genius’s life, when he had a 
 dozen invitations to dinner — happy fel- 
 low — every day, and was the pet of 
 the ladies, as well as the admiration of 
 men. The remarkable frankness with 
 which he speaks of his contemporaries, 
 lends a rare charm to the details. Our 
 English friends complain of the liberties 
 which Americans are said to take with 
 domestic privacies ; but, we think they 
 will find in their own memoirs, specimens 
 in that kind to which our literature fur- 
 nishes no parallel. It is true that in the 
 case before us, most of the persons alluded 
 to are dead, yet their families survive, and 
 doubtless many of their friends are living. 
 John, however, is famous for assuming 
 dignity when he talks with strangers. 
 
 Our remaining English notes are ex- 
 cluded by the press of other matter. 
 
 France. — Le Regne Social du Chris- 
 tianisme. (The Social Reign of Chris- 
 tianity). by M. F. Huet, is an elaborate 
 and eloquent attempt to reconcile Social- 
 ism and Christianity, and to show that 
 the Kingdom of God must prevail on 
 earth as well as in Heaven. Starting 
 from religion and from the regeneration 
 of the soul by divine grace, the author 
 goes on to demonstrate the logical neces- 
 
 [June 
 
 sity of a harmonious, just, benignant and 
 fraternal state of Society. In his view 
 the purification of the spirit must result in 
 the health of the body ; and the Christian 
 church is the antecedent of universal co- 
 operation, abundance, intelligence, health, 
 liberty and happiness. Such is the theme 
 of the book, and so calm and religious is 
 its spirit, and so genial its style, that even 
 those who most dislike the doctrine it 
 teaches, must conceive something like an 
 affectionate esteem for the author. 
 
 — A curious little volume is M. Wal- 
 lon’s Presse de 1848 ; it gives an account 
 of the brood of newspapers which sprang up 
 at Paris, like mushrooms, after the revolu- 
 tion of February, and disappeared, most 
 of them, within a few months. Extracts 
 from the most singular and bitter, give an 
 idea of the passions fermenting at the 
 time. 
 
 — Perhaps the most valuable contribu- 
 tions to our knowledge of Indian and Chi- 
 nese literature have been made by recent 
 French philologians, among whom M. 
 Stanislas Julien holds an enviable 
 place. He has just published at Paris a 
 volume, full of curious interest to the 
 general reader, as well as the scholar. It 
 is the history of the life and travels of 
 a famous Chinese lama, or monk, who in 
 the seventh century of the Christian era 
 went to India, to study the doctrines of 
 Buddhism at their source, with a view to 
 reform and purify the religion of his na- 
 tive country. He was absent seventeen 
 years, and his adventures, his religious ex- 
 periences, the occasional desolation and 
 occasional ecstasy pervading his soul, his 
 visions, his public disputations, and so 
 forth, are all narrated in this book. As 
 a psychological study, nothing could be 
 more attractive. Changing the names 
 and the doctrines, one might suppose he 
 were reading the life of some eminent 
 Christian theologian, or missionary of 
 modern times. It also affords incidentally 
 a great deal of information as to the geo- 
 graphy and ethnography of the period and 
 the regions to which it relates. 
 
 — Most worthy of notice, perhaps, 
 among the month’s literature in France, is 
 Augustine Thierry’s Essai sur VHis- 
 toire de la Formation et des Progres 
 du Tiers-Etat (History of the Forma- 
 tion and Development of the Tiers-Etat), 
 which has appeared in two editions simul- 
 taneously, one an expensive octavo, and 
 the other a cheap and convenient duode- 
 cimo. The learned and brilliant author, 
 who is a constitutional monarchist in his 
 political theory, exhibits the growth of 
 the communes, the middle class, and the 
 people, along with the system of repre- 
 sentative government, in a manner more 
 
1853.] 
 
 Editorial Notes — French Literature. 
 
 695 
 
 striking and satisfactory, though not al- 
 ways more profound, than any one who 
 has before treated that interesting sub- 
 ject. He brings down the history, how- 
 ever. only to the end of the reign of Louis 
 XIV., having been prevented from carry- 
 ing it farther by the revolution of 1848. 
 If his life is spared, he will doubtless con- 
 tinue it. 
 
 — More romantic than a novel is M. 
 
 , Pierre Clement’s Jacques Cceur et 
 Charles VII., or France in the XVth 
 Century. It not only treats of one of the 
 most stirring and singular episodes of 
 French history, but the characters brought 
 upon the stage are among the most re- 
 markable of the epoch. Jacques Cceur 
 was the executor of Agnes Sorel, the mas- 
 ter of the mint, an ambassador, a banker, 
 and finally a fugitive, who saved his fife 
 by fleeing from France only to lose it in 
 the island of Chio, as leader of an expe- 
 dition sent by the Pope against the Turks. 
 The book is founded on documents hith- 
 erto unpublished, and abounds in new 
 and interesting details as to the prominent 
 persons and events of the period. 
 
 — Jules Lecomte, the witty corre- 
 spondent of the Independance Beige, has 
 collected into a volume his letters written 
 during the Great Exhibition at London. 
 Its ominous and amusing title is Vn Voy- 
 age des Desagremens d Londres. 
 
 — A solid book for the library of the 
 historian and economist is that of M. 
 Henri Baudrillart on Bodin and his 
 Times. Bodin was a political philosopher 
 of the XVIth century, who wrote a once 
 famous treatise De Repuhlica, from which 
 Montesquieu is said to have drawn large- 
 ly. Of that treatise M. Baudrillart re- 
 prints considerable portions, along with 
 erudite and clear accounts of the doctrines 
 of other eminent writers of the epoch, 
 such as Machiavel, Calvin, Thomas More, 
 and Commynes. The volume affords an 
 excellent view of the state of political sci- 
 ence in the period. 
 
 — If any lady needs instruction on the 
 use and abuse of corsets, we commend her 
 to the study of Dr. Bouvet’s treatise on 
 that subject, just published at Paris. 
 
 — U Architecture Monastique, by M. 
 Albert Lenoir, architect of the Imperial 
 Government, is spoken of as a more com- 
 plete treatise on Christian architecture 
 than we have before possessed. It is in 
 two quarto volumes, with numerous plans 
 and pictures of edifices. 
 
 — Printers enthusiastic for their art, 
 will find a treasure in Bernard’s Origin 
 and Progress of Printing in Europe , 
 just published at Paris in two large vol- 
 umes. 
 
 — In 1848 M. Evariste Bavoux was a 
 
 famous republican ; in 1853 he is a furi- 
 ous Bonapartist. He has written Qitatre 
 Annees de Presidence de la Republique , 
 all in glorification of Louis Napoleon, and 
 hopes to be made a senator in return. 
 We share in his hope. 
 
 — L ’ Orient , by Eugene Flandin, has 
 reached the fourth of the thirty parts of 
 which it is to be composed, and thus far 
 both the engravings and the letter-press 
 are of a high order of merit. The views 
 of natural scenery and domestic and popu- 
 lar life were taken during a journey from 
 the Bosphorus to the head of the Persian 
 Gulf. The author is skilful with the pen 
 as well as with the pencil. The parts are 
 sold in Paris at 10 francs, each containing 
 five plates. Another illustrated serial is 
 Le Caucase Pittoresque, by Prince Ga- 
 garine, of which some dozen parts have 
 made their appearance. The Cemeteries 
 of France belongs in the same category, 
 and is most characteristic and curious. 
 A Journey around the Dead Sea, by M. 
 de Saulcy, is announced, to consist of 
 eighty engravings and a large map. The 
 Works of Rembrandt , copied by photo- 
 graphy, with a commentary and life of 
 Rembrandt, by Charles Blanc, are to be 
 published by subscription. There are to 
 be forty plates in the series, containing 
 the finest pictures of the great artist. 
 The price of the whole is fixed at 200 
 francs. Photography is also applied to 
 the representation of nature in M. di 
 Camp’s Egypte, Nubie, Palestine, et Sy- 
 rie. Here the relics of the most ancient 
 art are reproduced with a mechanical 
 fidelity which no draughtsman could at- 
 tain. The price of this work, with its 
 125 views, is 500 francs. 
 
 — Among the books with attractive 
 titles announced at Paris, which we have 
 not had an opportunity to examine, are : 
 History of Constantinople, by M. Pujou- 
 lat ; and Studies in Russia and the 
 North of Europe, by M. Leduc ; Count 
 Garden’s History of Treaties of Peace, 
 Vol. XIII. ; this volume of Garden’s work 
 is devoted to Napoleon’s Russian cam- 
 paign. 
 
 — A new edition of Heine’s Reisebilder 
 is published at Paris, — one of the wittiest 
 and wickedest books of the age. The au- 
 thor has also an article in the April issue 
 of the Revue des Deux Mondes, called 
 the Gods in Exile, full of the old salt 
 and spirit. Though his body is paralyzed, 
 and only his head remains alive, Heine’s 
 mind bids defiance to nature, and refuses 
 to quit the world or to spare it from the 
 shafts of his satire. 
 
 — The best work that has yet appeared 
 on the Revolution of 1848, is beyond 
 doubt that of Daniel Stern ( the Comtesse 
 
606 
 
 Editorial Notes — German Literature. 
 
 d’Argoult). It makes too great a man of 
 Lamartine, but the narrative is faithful 
 and spirited, though occasionally, from 
 political prejudices perhaps, it is not alto- 
 gether exact. 
 
 — -Jules Janin has published two vol- 
 umes of Histoire de l’ Art Dramatique, 
 the chief part of which is devoted to the 
 history of the French stage. It is made 
 out of the feuilletons he has been writing 
 for twenty years in the Journal des De- 
 hdts, revised and pruned, and forms an 
 entertaining book, not without a founda- 
 tion of learning and good sense. 
 
 — The Imperial Guard is the subject of 
 a showy book just published, with illus- 
 trations by Chari.et. 
 
 — Bozuuet's History of the French 
 Clergy, from the Gauls down to the pre- 
 sent day, the fourth and concluding vol- 
 ume is now published. 
 
 Germany. — Two new periodicals have 
 just been commenced, with the design of 
 making the German people better ac- 
 quainted with England and America. The 
 first, called the Atlantis, is devoted to both 
 countries, and contains original articles, 
 written in a kindly though not partial 
 spirit, with translations and criticisms 
 upon what is important in the current 
 literature of the United States and Great 
 Britain. The second, the Atlantische Stu- 
 dien, is confined exclusively to America, 
 and contains only articles written by Ger- 
 mans residing in this country, with ex- 
 tracts from the American journals. Its 
 object is chiefly to destroy, as far as possi- 
 ble, any admiration which may have been 
 entertained in Germany for this republic 
 and its citizens. It is written with spirit 
 and ability, and often hits the nail on the 
 head in its fault-finding. At the same 
 time it is one-sided, and prejudiced in the 
 extreme. Its extracts from American 
 papers are made up chiefly of accounts of 
 murders, outrages, railroad accidents, and 
 whatever might tend to give the country 
 a bad name. It is published at Gottingen, 
 and the Atlantis at Dessau. 
 
 — Thackeray’s Pendennis has appear- 
 ed in German at Leipzig in ten volumes. 
 
 — The poetical vein is just now some- 
 what fecund. Worthy of special praise is 
 Waldmiiller’s Dichter's Nachtquartiere 
 (A Poet’s Night-Quarters), a series of 
 tales in blank verse, marked by vigorous 
 sentiment, imagination, and descriptive 
 talent. Victor Precht’s Patriotisclie 
 Gedichte (Patriotic Poems), are not de- 
 ficient in patriotism, though their poetry 
 has not so much impressed us. Then 
 there are two volumes of Gedichte by 
 one Mr. Nisch, who is a rather meagre 
 imitator of Heine. Alfred Meissner 
 
 [June 
 
 has published his five-act tragedy Regi- 
 nald Armstrong , or the World of Money : 
 it is a failure poetically and dramatically. 
 Another tragic failure is Florien Mul- 
 lers, Bankruptcy , a social tragedy in 
 five acts. It has all the qualities requisite 
 for damnation ; a poor plot, poor charac- 
 ters, and poor treatment. Damnation it 
 accordingly receives. 
 
 — Brockhaus announces a reduced 
 edition of his great Conversations-Lex- 
 ikon ; it is to be complete in four 
 volumes, and will cost in this country 
 some .$7 00 bound. We have examined 
 some of the parts already issued, and find 
 the abridgment well and carefully done. 
 It is having a great sale in Germany. 
 
 — Gervinus has commenced the publica- 
 tion of a fourth edition of his Geschichte 
 der Deutschen Dichtiong. (History of 
 German Poetic and Imaginative Litera- 
 ture), which will be completed in five 
 volumes in the course of the present year. 
 The first three volumes are almost entirely 
 new, access to better sources of informa- 
 tion having afforded occasion to rewrite 
 them. The work is dedicated to Jacob 
 and William Grimm, and F. C. Dahlmann. 
 The illustrious author accompanies the 
 dedication with some felicitous and feeling 
 observations upon the political persecu- 
 tion he has recently endured, which, out- 
 rageous as it is, he declares bas not been 
 allowed to disturb his equanimity or in- 
 terrupt his studies, and shall not be. To 
 those who are not acquainted with a for- 
 mer edition of this Geschichte, we com- 
 mend it as a model of literary history, 
 and as affording by far the best compre- 
 hensive view of German belles-letters 
 that can be obtained from any source. 
 
 — “ Have we a Bourbon among us?” 
 from the February number of our Monthly, 
 enjoys the honor of a translation in Ger- 
 many, having been printed in pamphlet 
 form at Dessau, with the portrait of its 
 reverend subject. All parties admit the 
 striking resemblance which Mr. Williams 
 bears to the Bourbon family, but we are 
 sorry to say, that the other evidences 
 which prove him to be the Dauphin, do 
 not receive very respectful treatment. 
 The Augsburg Universal Gazette pro- 
 fanely pronounces the whole “ a humbug 
 imported from America,” and says that 
 “ this Indian pseudo-Bourbon serves only 
 to raise the number of false pretenders 
 to half a dozen.” 
 
 — Stadtgeschichlen (City Stories), bj r 
 Max Ring, is the title of four small 
 volumes of small romances, which are 
 neither as good nor as bad as they might 
 be. Recent German novels are, however, 
 very apt to be of that kind ; and it is no 
 special discredit to Mr. Ring, that he fol- 
 
1853.] 
 
 Editorial Notes — German Literature. 
 
 697 
 
 lows the general tendency of his country’s 
 literature. 
 
 — The present year’s issue of the Al- 
 manack fur Freunde der Schauspiel- 
 kunst, (Almanac for Friends of the 
 Dramatic Art), has a variety of interest- 
 ing facts with regard to the drama in 
 Germany. It gives a complete list of the 
 various theatres, with a catalogue of the 
 personnel in each, the name of every in- 
 dividual of any importance, from the ma- 
 nager down, being printed at length, with 
 the function he discharges. It appears 
 that including several establishments in 
 Switzerland, there are 159 theatres where 
 the German drama is performed, and that 
 they employ 5,400 managers, actors, and 
 prompters; and that adding musicians, 
 supernumeraries, choristers, dancers, and 
 machinists, the whole force is swollen to 
 some 20,000 persons. The largest estab- 
 lishment is the Vienna Burg Theatre ; the 
 Court Theatre of Berlin is next in im- 
 portance, and after these the capitals of 
 Saxony, Bavaria, and Wirtcmberg boast 
 the pre-eminence. In all, there are about 
 ten leading houses, where new plays must 
 pass an independent ordeal before their 
 success is complete. The pay of the first 
 actors in Germany does not exceed 1,000 
 thalers , or about $725 a month. The 
 pay of authors varies considerably : at 
 Vienna, Berlin, and Munich, when a single 
 play fills the whole evening’s performance, 
 the author receives 10 per cent, of the 
 gross receipts, and shorter pieces are paid 
 in proportion ; this continues during the 
 author’s life, and sometimes, by special 
 understanding, his heirs receive it after 
 his death. The other chief theatres pay 
 fixed sums, varying from $15 to $75 for 
 each performance of a play, and the smaller 
 establishments still less. Special agencies 
 facilitate the relations between authors 
 and managers. In the large cities there 
 are establishments which take charge of 
 new plays, procure their performance 
 throughout Germany, and receive and 
 pay over the author’s income, deducting 
 from 10 to 16 per cent, by way of com- 
 mission. 
 
 — Beitrdge zu einer Aesthetik der 
 Pflanzenwelt (Contributions to the Aes- 
 thetics of the Vegetable Kingdom), by F. 
 T. Bratranek, is an attempt to exhibit 
 the influence of that department of nature 
 upon man, as evinced in religion, art, 
 literature, and national peculiarities. Its 
 plan is derived from the beautiful and sug- 
 gestive discussion in Humboldt’s Cosmos, 
 upon the influence of nature in general, 
 and its method is similar to that. The 
 author writes from enthusiastic affection 
 for his subject, and has at his command 
 rich stores of knowledge, literary as well 
 
 as scientific. Sometimes an affluence of 
 quotations from the poets, wears the ap- 
 pearance oP pedantry, and sometimes there 
 seems to be a want of accuracy and com- 
 pleteness ; but on the whole the book is 
 delightful and instructive reading. 
 
 — Ritter Bunsen is the Prussian Am- 
 bassador at London, and holds a respect- 
 able rank as a diplomatist and man of 
 letters, his particular forte being anti- 
 quarian subjects. He has now gained a 
 new distinction, however : the University 
 of Gottingen has conferred on him the 
 diploma of D. D. 
 
 — Josef Rank, a clever enough novelist, 
 has two new books, Florian und Ges- 
 chichten armer Leicte (Tales of Poor 
 Folks). The latter consists of exactly 
 eleven stories, all of them pleasant though 
 not astonishing reading. 
 
 — A work indispensable in every com- 
 plete library, is Dr. Nagler’s Neaes All- 
 gemeines Kunst-Lexikon (New Univer- 
 sal Dictionary of Art). Its publication 
 was completed last year, having been be- 
 gun in 1835. It is in 22 volumes, and 
 costs, in Germany, $36 00. 
 
 — Those who seek to understand the 
 bearings of European politics may find 
 their profit in reading a pamphlet on the 
 French Army, and its Relation to the 
 Emperor Louis Napoleon, published at 
 Leipzic, from the pen of a German officer. 
 The writer shows that the French army 
 is one of the most, powerful and effective 
 in Europe, and that the late reductions in 
 its numbers, about which so much has 
 been said, really do not diminish its power 
 as compared with any force that the Ger- 
 man States could bring against it. The 
 pamphlet is particularly intended for Ger- 
 many, but it is interesting even on this 
 side of the Atlantic. 
 
 — The present condition of Greece is 
 not exhibited in a very flattering light by 
 Hermann Hettmer, in his Griechische 
 Reiseskizzen (Sketches of Greek Travel). 
 The agriculture of the country is the 
 poorest and most primitive possible, being 
 confined almost exclusively to the pastur- 
 ing of sheep and goats. Commerce and 
 manufactures are unknown, and all the 
 attempts to establish colonies from Ger- 
 many have proved futile. There are but 
 three roads in the whole country : namely, 
 that from the Piraeus to Athens, that 
 from Athens to Thebes, and that from 
 Nauplia to Argo, and these were made 
 mostly by Capo d’Istria. The population 
 is less than one million, and for the past 
 twelve years at least, has been decreasing. 
 The wages of a good workman at Athens 
 are about 621, cents a day. There is a 
 powerful party, which constantly gains in 
 number and influence, who desire annexa- 
 
t»98 
 
 Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 tion to Russia. ^Whatever may be the ex- 
 actness of Mr. Hettmer’s conclusions, his 
 hook is a lively and readable one, at the 
 same time that it may be consulted with 
 profit by artists and antiquaries. 
 
 — A new series of illustrations to Shaks- 
 peare are announced as in preparation, 
 from the pencil of the illustrious Kaul- 
 bach. They are to be in crayon. 
 
 — Reise and Lebensbilder (Pictures of 
 Travel and Life), narrates the adventures 
 and observations of a young German in 
 Xew-IIolland. New-Zealand. and Cali- 
 fornia. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 A month ago we expressed the hope 
 that the disastrous fortunes of the com- 
 mencement of Alboni’s opera might be 
 retrieved. But it was doomed. Despite the 
 "combined” attraction, and the “unpre- 
 cedented ” something that always figures 
 in operatic promises, and despite, also, 
 the very genuine and hearty success of 
 many evenings, the opera languished and 
 closed. Lucrezia Borgia was produced 
 in fine style. Maffeo Orsini was Al- 
 boni, and Salvi Gennavro. Madame De 
 Vries, a singer of the French school, with 
 a hard, sharp voice, but with striking 
 dramatic action, sang the superb Lu- 
 crezia. It was fairly done. Madame 
 De Vries pleased us quite as much as 
 Parodi ever did. The audience was large : 
 we hope it was remunerative. But it is 
 no longer possible to know whether a full 
 house implies a full purse or not. Alboni’s 
 Maffeo was easy to forecast. It was 
 simply folly. Even when she rushes for 
 the knife in the banquet scene, and throws 
 herself upon the spy, it was done so archly 
 and with such a magnetic smile, that even 
 censorious critics, like ourselves, would 
 have gladly been so assaulted. It is an 
 unmeaning role, but its pleasant music 
 was delightfully sung. After a week of 
 suspense, Don Giovanni was presented 
 for the manager’s benefit. A full house 
 greeted it. As it is the best of operas, so 
 it requires the very best presentation. It 
 was fairly done (again) ; but Italian 
 singers are always too unjust to German 
 music to allow us to enjoy a complete 
 satisfaction- Signor Salvi evidently cared 
 little for the music, and little for his own 
 reputation as an artist. For he was very 
 slovenly in all the music, except il mio 
 tesoro. and that he sang with the interpo- 
 lation of Italian cadences and phrases, so 
 totally inharmonious with the character 
 of the melody, that the effect was entirely 
 lost. He was loudly applauded; and 
 Mrs. Grundy declared that it was “per- 
 fect.” We, therefore, say no more. 
 
 Don Giovanni is ar opera written by 
 
 [June 
 
 the greatest of melodists in the interests 
 of art, and not of any “ world-renowned ” 
 artist. The music of the opera requires 
 as true a feeling for art upon the part of 
 the singers, as was upon that of the com- 
 poser. But it is hard for a petted favor- 
 ite to sing for any thing but personal 
 applause. Consequently, the greatest of 
 operas is not a favorite with the artists ; 
 and despite the great admiration it must 
 always extort from an audience, it is 
 quite sure to drag a little and seem 
 tedious. 
 
 Alboni’s Zerlina was exquisite. It 
 was by far the best we have ever seen. 
 Bosio, who is the only Zerlina we have 
 had since Malibran, was too much the fine 
 lady. She was the same in this role as 
 Sontag in Amina. It was a pretty pas- 
 toral — a saintly masque. But Alboni, 
 whose highest tragical expression is look- 
 ing sorry, and who has not th eje ne sais 
 quoi of the genuine Duchess, is incom- 
 parable in pure rustic parts. Nothing 
 could be more archly naive than her 
 actions while she sings Bali, bati. It 
 was maidenly and peasant-like, and beau- 
 tiful as a rustic vase, which is still per- 
 fect in its way, although it is not Greek. 
 She had unabated freshness and sweet- 
 ness, and we could not speculate upon the 
 reason of the very different operatic suc- 
 cess in the two seasons of Sontag and Al- 
 boni. Undoubtedly Dicight’s Journal 
 of Music hits the truth, in saying that 
 there is more unity in Sontag’s. She has 
 a greater regard for the success of the 
 work as a whole. We are far from think- 
 ing that Alboni prefers her individual 
 triumph to the effect of the opera, but she 
 is careless about that effect. She sings 
 away with her great, rich, rollicking voice, 
 and smiles in the thunders of applause 
 that, follow. If Salvi, and Beneventano, 
 and Marini, and Rovere, can draw down 
 similar thunders, it is all very agreeable 
 to the Prima Donna. That is their own 
 affair ; and as for the general effect of the 
 opera, the blithe Bacchus in ample skirts 
 knows nothing about it. 
 
 The new Opera House will be built, it 
 appears, and thirteen energetic men have 
 been made Directors. The universal fail- 
 ure of operatic experiments in this coun- 
 try, and the plain proof that in other coun- 
 tries music is a pure luxury, which must be 
 paid for, and does not pay, does not deter 
 an unusual effort. It is, at least, refresh- 
 ing to behold this unwearied determina- 
 tion. To sew up gold in a bag, and drop 
 it off the Battery, would seem to be as 
 promising an investment as opera-house 
 stock. But here are two hundred shares 
 readily taken at a thousand dollars each ; 
 the lot is secured ; the President of the 
 
Editorial Notes — Music. 
 
 699 
 
 1853.J 
 
 Board of Directors, James Phalen, Esq. 
 (whose efforts in this matter deserve espe- 
 cial praise), has measurements and draw- 
 ings from all the great European opera- 
 houses; nothing remains for the stock- 
 holders but to have the house built, and 
 to take care that it pays six per cent, at 
 the very least, and nothing remains for us 
 critics but to insist upon all kinds of im- 
 possibilities, and skilfully find fault with 
 all the arrangements; proffer the most 
 ample advice, and accept the most eligible 
 seats, gratis. 
 
 First of all, it is our business to instruct 
 the committee what kind of house must 
 be built, and then, what kind of perform- 
 ance will insure the six per cent, afore- 
 said. 
 
 Remember then, 0 Committee ! that 
 New-York is an American, and not an 
 English, nor a French, nor a Russian, nor 
 an Italian city. Let the building be large 
 and convenient. Have doors and windows 
 without end. Achieve the impossibility 
 of perfect ventilation, and a sense of per- 
 sonal security in the breasts of the audi- 
 ence. Have some boxes in the rear of a 
 balcony as at Astor Place and at the Roy- 
 al Opera in Berlin, if you choose ; but, in 
 any case, have some boxes. Let the 
 acoustic arrangements be more successful 
 than we understand they are in the prov- 
 ince of Massachusetts Bay, at the new 
 Music Hall in Boston. The prices should 
 be moderate, ranging from two shillings 
 to eight. The leap beyond into the un- 
 certain realm of “two and three dollar 
 seats” is dangerous. Let the exterior of 
 the building be comely, and an ornament 
 to the broad and beautiful street upon 
 which it stands. May the Muses avert a 
 Grecian temple, or a Gothic Cathedral, or 
 a renaissance palace, from the corner of 
 Irving Place and Fourteenth-street ! A 
 covered entrance is de rigueur. Remem- 
 ber the San Carlo at Naples, and the 
 London Haymarket and Covent Garden. 
 And a foyer , for our gregarious Ameri- 
 can race — for the single gentlemen who 
 visit the opera not only to see the queens 
 upon the stage, but the princesses off — 
 will be not only a most attractive novelty, 
 but, of itself, an attraction. Unparalleled 
 splendor of scenery, that, in assisting at 
 the spectacle of Le Prophele and Robert 
 le Didble. we may not regret Paris, — and 
 a corps-de-ballet indispensable to the 
 great Meyerbeer (’tis true, ’tis pity), — 
 cannot well be omitted. 0 Committee ! 
 there must be munificent regardlessness 
 of expense, and always constellations, nev- 
 er single stars, and roomy seats, each sep- 
 arated by arms from its neighbor, and 
 brilliant lights, not in chandeliers, which 
 spoil the view from the best half of tbi 
 
 second tier, and not around the balconies 
 blinding the eyes, — but somehow disposed 
 that every thing may be seen, except 
 lights. 
 
 The performance must be the best pos- 
 sible, not the best attainable, in the world. 
 Why should it not be made the interest 
 of all great singers to sing in New-York, 
 as it is now in St. Petersburgh ? Dis- 
 criminating editors in elbow chairs com- 
 plain that the great singers demand im- 
 possible prices. But the complaint lies 
 against the giver, not the taker. We all 
 ask the highest possible sum for our silks 
 and sugars. We should vend gloves at 
 twenty dollars a pair, if there were pur- 
 chasers at that rate. Why should we 
 suppose that the “ celebrated cantatrice ” 
 Giulia Grisi, or the great tenor Mario, or 
 the eminent and aspiring soprano Cruvelli, 
 will ask ten thousand dollars a month 
 when they can get twenty thousand 1 If, 
 however, Paris, or London, or St. Peters- 
 burgh will pay ten thousand, New-York 
 will not secure the prize for less than 
 twelve thousand. If New-York cannot 
 pay the twelve thousand, then the corner 
 lot had better be used for a hotel or a 
 hospital. 
 
 If the stockholding mind is infested 
 with the idea of founding a national school 
 of music, and the undertaking is to be 
 affected by that idea, it might, in that 
 case also, be as well to consider the pro- 
 priety of leaving the lot vacant. To teach 
 the science of music is not the province of 
 an opera-house. But, by the best per- 
 formance of the best works to cultivate a 
 taste for the art, is a laudable aim, and 
 essential to success. If we truly under- 
 stand the present effort, it is not to form 
 an institution to educate singers and com- 
 posers, but to secure a place in which, 
 with a fair profit to those who have risked 
 money, the public may hear the finest 
 operas sung in the finest style. The rest 
 may follow. If there be the germs of an 
 original musical taste in our people, acade- 
 mies will necessarily follow. But it is 
 unnecessary to exaggerate the scope of 
 the present intention, and, surely, very 
 foolish not to eat good cake because it is 
 not frosted. There are but two schools of 
 music, properly speaking ; the Italian and 
 the German. The French is but a modi- 
 fication of the Italian. The Royal operas 
 in Berlin, St. Petersburgh, Madrid, and 
 Vienna are Italian. Sometimes, as is de 
 rigueur in Berlin, and occasional at the 
 French Opera in Paris, there is a transla- 
 tion of the Libretto into the vernacular. 
 It is the praise of Viardot Garcia that she 
 sings the music of many operas in the ver- 
 nacular of four countries. Our New-York 
 opera at the corner must be, like every thing 
 
700 
 
 Editorial Notes — Fine Arts. 
 
 else, American, eclectic. Good German, 
 and Italian, and French works must all be 
 produced ; only there must not he a Sig- 
 nor Salvi for primo tenore, who will re- 
 spect only one kind of music. Der Frei- 
 schutz must not be committed to Italian 
 minds and mouths, except under very 
 rigid training. There is no doubt that 
 the Italian method of singing is much su- 
 perior to the German ; but there is equally 
 no doubt that the Italian method of con- 
 ceiving German music is to despise it. In 
 which case Mozart, Beethoven, and Weber, 
 the three composers who have written the 
 three finest of all operas, will be mangled 
 in their music, and their lovers with them. 
 The language in which a work is sung is 
 of small importance; at least until Herr 
 Wagner, the musical revolutionist in Ger- 
 many, shall have made manifest that the 
 words are as essential to an opera as the 
 music. When his ideas have been more 
 developed, and begin to affect musical 
 composition, it will be time for us critics 
 to take the field in favor, or against. 
 But meanwhile, in our present Cimmerian 
 state, we hope to be spared Still so gen- 
 tlys, and Ah ! don't mingles ! 
 
 Grisi and Mario are announced (not. 
 however, by their impresario, Mr. Hack- 
 ett), as the probable inaugurators of the 
 new house. Twenty-five years ago excited 
 Poets wrote sonnets to Grisi, and she has 
 now, superb that she is ! — reached the 
 period at which critics say she is “ still ” 
 great. Ah ! treacherous “ still ! ” Grisi is 
 past her prime. Sontag is a G — dm — th- 
 — r! We fear that public expectation 
 feeding upon the fame of Grisi will be dis- 
 appointed. If it wavered a moment, in 
 the beginning about .Jenny Lind, now in 
 the dazzling zenith of her genius, and (if 
 Malibran was as great ; then, the other) 
 greatest singer that has ever lived, it may 
 more than waver, if it forgets that Grisi 
 is a mortal woman, — that her instrument 
 is only the human voice, and that woman 
 and voice obey the eternal laws that reg- 
 ulate the summer and its flowers. Mario, 
 too, yet a young man, is an uncertain 
 singer. Undoubtedly he is the first of 
 living and singing tenors, but Bubini and 
 Duprez, sing no more. We must have 
 Cruvelli and Tamberlik. and Bonconi, and 
 Formes, and Staudigl. We must have 
 every body and every thing at the corner. 
 
 Apropos of musical teaching, a Normal 
 Musical Institute has just been established 
 by several of the most thoroughly trained 
 musicians, and Bichard Storrs Willis, the 
 Editor of the Musical World, has deliver- 
 ed an introductory lecture upon Harmony. 
 It is simple and learned, full of true taste 
 and good feeling, and if the lectures are 
 all to be as earnest and intelligent, there 
 
 [June 
 
 will be no lack of the best musical instruc- 
 tion. 
 
 We look for Jullien, and his colossal or- 
 chestra, which, it seems to us, in Crystal 
 Palace and no opera times (unless Sontag 
 sing at Castle Garden), must have a great 
 success. 
 
 FINE ARTS. 
 
 The Twenty-eighth Annual Exhibition 
 of the National Academy of Design was 
 opened last month, with its customary 
 number of works of art. It oddly hap- 
 pens that there are always just about 450 
 “ works ” of one kind and another to ex- 
 hibit ; rarely less, and never more. But 
 the number of pictures and sculptures 
 which ought to have been exhibited among 
 those to be found in the rooms of the Aca- 
 demy, is smaller this j r ear than it has 
 been in several years past. An inspection 
 of the catalogue and a walk through the 
 galleries of the Academy do not excite the 
 highest state of enthusiasm in the lover 
 of “high art,” but produce quite a con- 
 trary effect. It is a sad truth, but it can- 
 not be helped. Every thing in the New 
 World appears to be progressive ; but the 
 art which, by common consent, is called 
 “ fine.” That, it cannot be denied, is anti- 
 progressive. If it takes no rapid strides 
 backwards, it at least stands still. It is 
 an instructive fact that, on this Twenty- 
 eighth Anniversary of the National Aca- 
 demy of Design, there are no greater pro- 
 mises of progress than there were on the 
 first opening of the Academy in Chambers- 
 street, in the small chamber above the 
 bath-house, which is now a theatre. The 
 city has more than quadrupled in popula- 
 tion, wealth, and refinement, since then ; 
 millions of dollars have been expended on 
 artistic productions ; a revolution has been 
 effected in our social habits ; innumerable 
 11 first rate notices ” of our artists have 
 been written in the daily papers ; hun- 
 dreds of young painters have been sent to 
 Europe ; Art Unionism has grown up and 
 declined; merchants’ houses have ex- 
 panded into brown-stone palaces; ocean 
 steam - navigation has been perfected, 
 clipper ships invented, Gothic architecture 
 has been revived, the Croton aqueduct 
 constructed, the railroad system intro- 
 duced, fresco painting, and painted win- 
 dows have come into fashion once more, 
 the Italian opera has become a permanent 
 institution, penny papers have sprung 
 into existence, “ pictorials ” have become 
 common, the electric telegraph has been 
 discovered, and all the arts that embellish 
 life and add to the pleasures of Christians 
 have been marvellously expanded among 
 us, but the National Academy of Design 
 has stood still while the rest of the world 
 
Editorial Notes — Fine Arts. 
 
 701 
 
 1853.] 
 
 has been rushing forward with breakneck 
 rapidity. It exhibits hardly more, or 
 better “ works ” now than it did twenty 
 years ago. 
 
 It has designed nothing. It has given 
 us no architects; the splendid mansions 
 which have grown up all around us, with 
 their richly sculptured fronts and deco- 
 rated walls, were not designed by acade- 
 micians,” nor were our Gothic churches 
 with their painted windows hatched in 
 this eccaleobion. It was the first presi- 
 dent of the Academy, to be sure, that in- 
 vented the electric telegraph, but that was 
 not a design which the institution had in 
 view when it was founded. Looking up- 
 on the progress of the country in true art, 
 upon its splendid achievements and rapid 
 growth, we cannot detect the influence of 
 our National Academy upon the brilliant 
 period in which it has existed. Among 
 its members are some very clever painters 
 of landscapes and portraits, but the works 
 it has produced have been mere toys in pri- 
 vate houses — family portraits and pleas- 
 ing little landscapes, which are hung up 
 as ornaments in darkened parlors, and 
 with which the nation has no more to do 
 than Patagonia or New Zealand. The 
 Academy, we cannot avoid thinking, is an 
 injury rather than an aid to art ; it de- 
 ludes amiable young men of talent with 
 false theories of “high art,” and leads 
 them away from profitable and honest 
 employments, to a sad and wearisome 
 waste of life in the vain attempt to do 
 things which the age does not require, 
 and they have not the ability to accom- 
 plish. The days of the pre-Raphaelites 
 may return, but the days of Raphael 
 never. If Raphael and Michael Angelo 
 were now alive — and, for that matter, 
 there is never a lack of Raphaels and 
 Michael Angelos — they would not devote 
 their lives to painting pictures and hew- 
 ing statues. They would compose operas, 
 write books, edit newspapers, or build 
 ships and houses. They would not give 
 themselves up to a work which nobody 
 would reward, and then go about whin- 
 ing because they were neglected. Raph- 
 aels and Michael Angelos never are neg- 
 lected. 
 
 But there are good fellows among our 
 academicians, and their supper on their 
 opening night was a much better one than 
 ever Rome saw in the days of Leo X. 
 The old masters never served up such an 
 entertainment to their patrons and the 
 £i gentlemen of the press,” in the palmy 
 days of high art. 
 
 We had no idea, when we .begun, of 
 discussing the prospects of Art, or the 
 influences of the Academy ; all that we 
 intended was to notice the pictures. But 
 
 on casting our eye over the catalogue, 
 the strange fact suggested itself that this 
 exhibition was like all the other exhi- 
 bitions of the Academy ; there are the 
 same names, the same subjects, the same 
 number of works, and the same sameness 
 of style. We only miss the “ portrait of 
 a lady— Ingham.” Why has not Ingham 
 a portrait of a lady in the Exhibition ? 
 “ Does he think it time to quit, after Ex- 
 hibiting twenty-seven years.” But why? 
 there is still the “ Landscape — Durand.” 
 The same birch tree, the same yellow sky, 
 the same amiable cattle, the same mild 
 trees and quiet water. What a mild, 
 quiet, and amiable world is tins to Du- 
 rand ! It would be a curious study to 
 examine all the catalogues of the Acade- 
 my, and see how nearly the whole of the 
 twenty-eight pamphlets are alike. The 
 only change we notice is in the list of 
 honorary members. The progressive 
 movement of the Academy in adding to 
 this ornamental part of our National In- 
 stitution of Design, is in very marked 
 contrast to the other parts of their annual 
 pamphlet. There are now four full pages 
 of honorary names. Among the 442 
 works exhibited 48 are portraits of “a 
 lady ; ” 66 are portraits of “ a gentleman ; ” 
 17 are portraits of “ a child ; ” 3 are por- 
 traits of “ a boy ; ” 3 of “ a girl ; ” 3 are 
 portraits of “ children ; ” 2 are portraits 
 of “ a horse ; ” and 1 of “ a terrier and 
 rat ; ” “a celebrated racer ; ” and a “ dog 
 and game ; ” besides some “ families,” 
 from which it will be seen that the de- 
 partment of portraiture is well filled; and, 
 in truth, it is in this practical department 
 that our artists, much to their credit, ex- 
 hibit their strength. Portrait painting 
 and bust making are better rewarded than 
 any other kind of art, and consequently 
 it is in these branches that we excel. 
 There are some as good portraits in this 
 present Exhibition, as England, France, 
 or Germany could produce, and a marble 
 bust of a lady, by Palmer of Albany, that 
 might be placed by the side of any piece 
 of antique sculpture that Time has pre- 
 served for us. Our landscape artists, too, 
 give us views of our scenery on their 
 canvas, that are like reflections in a mir- 
 ror. They knew nothing of such land- 
 scapes as those of Church. Kensett, and 
 Durand in the days of Michael Angelo, 
 for then Art worked in a higher province 
 than that of the mere ornamentalist. 
 Pictures were then painted for the masses, 
 and the artist was the instructor of the 
 people. He embodied upon his canvas, 
 and in his marble, great religious ideas, 
 and made popular the legends of the 
 Church. Our artists cannot do such 
 things. We have no legends, and, what 
 
702 
 
 Editorial Notes — Fine Arts. 
 
 is worse, we have fifty different reli- 
 gions. The people are taught in a dif- 
 ferent manner, and we do not quarrel 
 with the Academy for not filling its walls 
 with broiling Saints and flayed Martyrs, 
 but because they wili persist in a hanker- 
 ing after such things when they are no 
 longer needed. 
 
 The Madonna now is de trop , in our 
 houses and public places, yet our artists 
 will persist in painting her, when nei- 
 ther they nor their patrons have any 
 longer faith in her. Before Guido went 
 to his easel, he first fell upon his knees 
 before the Madonna della Guardia, and 
 put upon his canvas the image which the 
 little black figure left upon his devout 
 imagination. Our artists cannot do that, 
 but they can go into the dark woods, among 
 the breezy hills, and by the sea side, and 
 reproduce for us the pleasant effects of 
 sunlight and shadow which they see 
 there. It is a good thing to do, and the 
 pictures are good things to have; but 
 they are, after all, mere ornaments of 
 our parlors, and the artist becomes merely 
 a decorator, and not a teacher. If, there- 
 fore, the Academy would but tell its aco- 
 lytes that to be useful men and good citi- 
 zens, to be good providers for their fami- 
 lies, and to give themselves comfortable 
 positions in society, they must abandon 
 all the fol-de-rol which they have been 
 accustomed to hear and read about “ high 
 art,” and be content to fulfil their true 
 mission, without looking for any other 
 commissions than such as upholsterers, 
 silversmiths, and pastry-cooks receive 
 from the opulent and liberal, they will 
 have a much better time of it than they 
 now have, or are likely to have. An 
 excellent artist, intelligent, skilful, indus- 
 trious, and amiable, told us, and seemed 
 rather to think he was telling something 
 of which a man of his abilities ought to 
 be proud that, if it were not for the 
 assistance of a land friend he should 
 starve. They won’t buy my pictures, said 
 he ; then why not paint such pictures as 
 they will buy, or go into some other busi- 
 ness that will give you bread and butter. 
 He only shrugged his shoulders in reply, 
 and felt, we have no doubt, great con- 
 tempt for our opinions. Yet there we 
 were admiring one of his large pictures 
 in the “ high art ” style, and he had re- 
 cently returned from Italy, 
 
 What a confession was this from a man 
 of his abilities and acquirements, while 
 waiters in hotels and private coachmen 
 were striking for higher wages ! Here is 
 a man who cannot obtain the wages of a 
 flunkey in executing works of high art, 
 while pastry-cooks get the wages of Am- 
 bassadors, and Barnum and Beach are 
 
 [June 
 
 advertising for artists to make woodcut 
 drawings for their illustrated paper. It 
 was no wonder that George the Second 
 said, “ If heebies will be boets and baind- 
 ers, let ’em sdarve.” Let our artists re- 
 member that this is the age of Clippers, 
 and turn their talents into a channel that 
 will pay. It is really one of the saddest 
 spectacles to see so much good honest 
 effort, so much genius, perseverance, and 
 intelligence thrown away, as the Annual 
 exhibition of our National Academy ex- 
 poses to public gaze. Let the Academy 
 institute a wood-engraving department, 
 a glass-staining department, an architec- 
 tural department, and a calico-design- 
 ing department, and Art will flourish 
 here as it did in Borne in the days of 
 Leo X., and as it now does in France in 
 the days of Napoleon III. ; for art, litera- 
 ture, and science are nought unless they 
 minister to the public needs and conform 
 with the popular taste. It is now some 
 six years since a most strenuous and 
 encouraging effort was made by an asso- 
 ciation of our mighty men of wealth, to 
 establish a New-York Gallery of Art ; 
 meetings were held, oysters eaten, and 
 champagne drunk according to the most ap- 
 proved methods.; resolutions were passed, 
 and committees formed, and one wealthy 
 enthusiast swore the oath of Uncle Toby 
 that the project should succeed. But it 
 has not succeeded, and the pictures which 
 were to form the nucleus of the great 
 gallery, which was to be the Louvre or 
 Vatican of the New World, are now lying 
 in a very nucleus condition in some dusty 
 chamber of which the world knows no- 
 thing and cares less. What of it ? were 
 not the mighty men of wealth in earnest ? 
 Of course they were, or thought they 
 were ; but they lacked the co-operation 
 of the very public, for whose benefit they 
 were laboring, and, therefore, all their 
 oaths, oysters, and efforts came to no- 
 thing. 
 
 But, since then these very men have 
 built the Erie Railroad at a cost of thirty 
 millions of dollars, and engaged in other 
 great undertakings for the public good, 
 besides increasing their private fortunes, 
 so that they may well be forgiven for not 
 giving us a gallery of paintings. They 
 might as well have attempted to build a 
 pyramid in the style of King Cheops. Pic- 
 ture galleries, pyramids, and railroads, 
 were never intended for the same people 
 and the same century. If we have one we 
 must forego the other, and we are sensible 
 of our good fortune in living in an age 
 which gives the preference to railroads. 
 There is abundant scope for the artistic 
 genius of our people, and rich rewards in 
 store for all who have the good sense to 
 
1853 .] 
 
 Editorial Notes — Fine Arts. 
 
 703 
 
 employ their talents in meeting the de- 
 mands of our countrymen. We send hun- 
 dreds of millions of value to Europe to pay 
 for works of art which had better be ex- 
 pended at home ; and it only needs that 
 the Academy, or some other well-meaning 
 institution, should clear away from the 
 atmosphere of Art in this country the 
 mists of old fogyism, to make us as pre- 
 eminent in decorative art as we are in the 
 arts of government and ship-building. 
 It is a disgrace to us that all our public 
 buildings which are worthy of notice have 
 been planned and decorated by foreigners. 
 Our National Academy of Design should 
 retrieve itself by designing a calico pat- 
 tern, the steeple of a church, or the facade 
 of a dwelling-house. 
 
 It would surprise a foreigner, we ima- 
 gine, who should come to New-York and 
 see the prodigal expenditure of our men 
 of wealth in building houses and churches, 
 on going into the Exhibition of the Na- 
 tional Academy of Design, not to find a sin- 
 gle architectural drawing, nor any indica- 
 tions that we make use of more ornamenta- 
 tion in our dwellings than any other peo- 
 ple in the world. It strikes us that the 
 Academy either ought to do something to 
 justify its name, or else abandon it, and 
 call itself a society of portrait and land- 
 scape painters. 
 
 Among the paintings in the Exhibition 
 there are a few of great excellence, which 
 we have not the space to particularly 
 notice ; and, being by artists who are al- 
 ready well known, they do not require a 
 reintroduction to the public. One of the 
 most attractive pictures is a very sweet 
 and delicious oil painting, thoroughly Eng- 
 lish in character and treatment, by Peele, 
 representing three young children and 
 dead game. It is exquisitely tender, and 
 imbued with the purest feeling. But Mr. 
 Peele is an Englishman by birth, and the 
 picture was painted in London. He is, 
 however, an American artist, inasmuch 
 as he has lived here from an early age, 
 and received here his education. 
 
 Our landscape painters appear to be as 
 
 much afraid of water as though they be- 
 longed to the feline species, and never dip 
 in that lively element without appearing 
 to decided disadvantage. It is very re- 
 markable that in a land of lakes, rivers, 
 and cataracts, and with one of the finest 
 bays in the world of such ready access, 
 our artists have such a dread of the sea 
 and all marine effects. There is but 
 one tolerably well-executed marine paint- 
 ing in the Exhibition ; and that one, we 
 are sorry to confess, is a water-color 
 drawing by an artist of London, named 
 Bobbins. 
 
 Thomas Hicks has three remarkably 
 fine heads in the Exhibition, unlike in 
 manner, but alike in sober dignity of 
 treatment and characteristic expression. 
 Elliott’s eleven portraits show that he 
 has lost nothing of his adroitness, and 
 that he has still the same felicitous touch 
 in giving a graceful and striking resem- 
 blance of his sitter. 
 
 There is a portrait of Sir Charles East- 
 lake, President of the Royal Academy, by 
 Huntington, which is highly creditable 
 to both artist and sitter. It is the best 
 portrait of Huntington’s that we have 
 , seen, and, though less marked by his 
 mannerisms than usual, it is still recog 
 nizable as his production. Kensett and 
 Church come out in their full strength in 
 landscape, and Durand, Cropsey and 
 Gignoux will not suffer in reputation by 
 their present pictures. There are some 
 pictures by Innes which show a marked 
 improvement ; and, among the rising ar- 
 tists whose works in the present Exhibition 
 give indications of ripening powers, are 
 the portraits by Baker, Cafferty, Pratt, 
 and Louis Lang. The Exhibition is a per- 
 fectly satisfactory one. as an indication of 
 the amount and degree of artistic ability 
 possessed by our artists ; but it would be 
 much more so if there were any indications 
 that they were all well employed, and re- 
 ceiving the reward to which their talents 
 justly entitle them, and which they could 
 not fail to receive if they would but give 
 the right direction to their efforts. 
 
 *** We have received a communication from Mr. Le Eay de Cbaumont, of Paris, in reference to an allu- 
 sion to his father, in Eev. Mr. Hanson’s first article on the Bourbon question, which would have been published 
 in the present number of the Monthly, but for an accident. It will appear in our next number. 
 
CLOSE OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 ^LTHOUGH we stated boldly and frankly in our first number, that we were 
 not entering upon what we deemed an experiment, in projecting a new Maga- 
 zine, yet we must now, at the close of the first volume, as frankly declare that our 
 success has been much greater than we anticipated — that we have had more aid from 
 both writers and readers than our previous knowledge of the literary resources of the 
 country led us to hope for. We make this statement, and give the plain facts which 
 will follow, because we know that our success will be alike gratifying to those who 
 questioned the discretion of the undertaking, as to those who encouraged us by their 
 counsel and promised assistance. Although, before publishing our prospectus, we 
 made sure of abundant literary help, and gave the names of many of the distinguished 
 writers who had assured us of their hearty sympathy, and promised us contributions, 
 yet our conviction was, that our best aid would come from Young America, whose 
 name had not yet been announced on Magazine covers. And so we determined not 
 to give the names of the contributors to our Monthly, that each article might stand 
 on its own merits, and the young unknown be presented to the public on a perfect 
 equality with the illustrious contributor whose name, alone, would give him an au- 
 dience ; for, in literature, the new-comer is always treated as an intruder. By this 
 course we missed the clapping of hands and bravos which we might have commanded 
 by announcing the names of some of our contributors, but we are so well satisfied 
 with the result of the experiment that we shall adhere to the rule hereafter. 
 
 Perhaps it is worth while to exhibit some of the mysteries of Magazine-making, 
 and let our countrymen know how much intellectual activity there is among us. 
 During the past six months we have received from voluntary contributors, four hun- 
 dred and eighty-nine articles, the greater part from writers wholly unknown before. 
 They came from every state and territory in the Union, with the single exception of 
 Deseret, whose “ Saints,” probably, do not regard our Monthly as a fitting receptacle 
 for their literary efforts. All of these articles we have read, and from them have been 
 selected some of the most valuable papers that we have published ; many of them 
 we have been compelled, reluctantly, to return; some on account of their length, and 
 many more, not so much from their lack of merit, as from the nature of their themes. 
 Some articles have been curtailed of superfluous sentences, but the style and senti- 
 ment have, in all cases, been given in tbeir integrity. Every article that we have 
 published has been paid for at a rate which their writers have thought “ liberal,” all 
 have been original, the product of American pens. and. with one exception, we believe 
 that all were written for our columns. 
 
 We publish these facts, with a feeling of pride, not only because they justify our 
 undertaking, but because they afford abundant evidence of future success to our own 
 and all kindred publications. 
 

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GETTY CENTER LIBRARY MAIN 
 
 NA 735 N53 N53 1853 BKS 
 
 c. 1 
 
 Ne* York daguerreotyped : group first, b 
 
 3 3125 00183 0716