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 POETR V OF REASON AND CONSCIENCE. 
 
 IMMORTALITY 
 
 AND ^A^ORTH OF THE SOUL; 
 
 TEN SCENES IN THE 
 
 LIFE OF A LADY OF FASHION; 
 
 AND 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES B. WALKER, 
 
 Author of " Philosophy of the Plan of Salvation," " Doctrine of the Holy 
 Spirit," "Living Questions," etc., etc. 
 
 CHICAGO : 
 HENRY A. SUMNER, tig DEARBORN STREET. 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., PHILADELPHIA, PA. 
 GOULD & LINCOLN, BOSTON. 
 SII£LDON & CO., NEW YORK, 
 
 IS7I. 
 

 fintered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S71, 
 
 BY JAMES B. WALKER, 
 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 IoSAND 110 DEAKBORN ST., 
 CHICAGO. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Charles P. McIlvaine, 
 
 Bishop in Ohio. 
 
 Dear Sir : — There are some readers into whose hand this vol- 
 ume may fall whose good opinion I greatly desire to retain — 
 yourself among the first in that number. To such I wish to say a 
 word or two apologetically. 
 
 There is an aspect of auto-biography and self-presentation in 
 some of the minor pieces that is unseemly ; but the pieces were 
 first written in letters to friends, or in incidental sketches, and they 
 could not be printed at all without presenting them as they were 
 written. 
 
 There are likewise some minor pieces, the omission of which 
 the proprieties of age would seem to indicate. One of these, at 
 least, has been inserted by the request of a friend. And after all, 
 is it not due to truth, in some sense, that the varying phases which 
 the same mind may take on, under different influences, should be 
 exhibited, rather than inhibited? 
 
 As we have met incidentally during life's duties in the West, I 
 have had occasion to be grateful for appreciative recognition on 
 your part of some portions of my literary labors that had fallen 
 under your notice. This was more especially a favor, by introduc- 
 ing an American author to persons and places in England to which 
 your position in the Church, and your reputation as a scholar, gave 
 influential access. 
 
 I am sure you will like the argument on the Immortality and 
 Worth OP' THE Soul. With some passages in the second poem 
 (if read) you will not be so well pleased. The radical expressions 
 in regard to FRATERNITY, EQUALITY, and simplicity in religious 
 life, aris.e from a conscientious conviction that the views of the 
 Quakers on these subjects — as on that of the Doctrine of the 
 Holy Spirit — are in harmony with the teachings of Jesus. 
 
 I trust God will prolong your useful life yet many years. And 
 now, having myself ere long to put off the harness, I may say, to 
 the praise of God's guiding providence, that if He were to grant 
 me another probation on earth, I should desire to be permitted to 
 live over again the same life which He has directed thus far — r- 
 penitent for imperfections, but changing no important item of life's 
 work. 
 
 Very respectfully. 
 
 Your fellow servant, 
 
 James B. Walker. 
 
 Benzonia, Mich., 1871. 
 
DEDICATORY LETTER. 
 
 London, July 4, 1862. 
 To Mrs. Bessie Englis : 
 
 My Good Friend: Allow me to dedicate, with the kind- 
 est regards, this volume of MS. Poetry to you. It is a 
 Home Book of Poetry. The longest pieces were written 
 in hours of leisure to produce moral impression on sub- 
 jects deemed of importance. Some of the shorter ones 
 are memorials of affection or bereavement — others express 
 the thought awakened by the incidents to which they refer. 
 I have retained the prose introductions. Written at the 
 time for the eye of friends only, they ask from the reader a 
 friendly recognition. They will not have the interest for 
 others that they have for us ; but if I should omit them, 
 it would not be our Home Book of Poetry. I am glad you 
 think favorably of my request to edit and publish such 
 parts of the MSS. as your judgment may approve. It has 
 been very pleasant for me to find a lady in London who 
 has studied American Poetry, — not even overlooking the 
 "Poets and Poetry of the West." And now — hastened 
 home by the unhappy state of my country — (a state of 
 things deplorable in the present, but which, in the issue, 
 will extend the area of civilization, and promote moral 
 progress in America) it is pleasant for me to leave the 
 product of my leisure hours in the hands of one who can 
 
6 DEDICATORY LETTER. 
 
 introduce them to the pubhc more acceptably than I could 
 myself have done. 
 
 Allow me to say a word in regard to the impulse which 
 occasioned some of the pieces, and the peculiarities which 
 characterize others : 
 
 The poem on the "Immortality and Worth of the Soul" 
 I designed to publish some years ago. Not so much 
 because I thought it valuable for its poetical qualities, but 
 because we have nothing in our language, nor in any lan- 
 guage, that exhausts the product of the human reason on 
 this subject ; and because the worth of the soul is neither 
 rightly apprehended nor sufficiently considered, by many 
 who professedly beheve in Immortality. 
 
 I was surprised to find how little the Moderns have 
 added to the thought of the Ancients on the subject of 
 Immortality ; and in regard to the Worth of the Soul, 
 although much has been written from the Scriptural view 
 of the subject, yet, as deduced from its capabilities and 
 capacities, the Ancients have written scarcely anything, 
 and the Moderns nothing of much value. 
 
 The Poem is an Argument. All that I deemed valuable 
 in my studies of ancient and modern thought on this sub- 
 ject, I have combined with additional views of my own, 
 and accumulated the strength of the whole to sustain the 
 desired conclusion. 
 
 One of the ablest arguments against the Immortality of 
 the Soul was written in Latin verse by Lucrecius. Pope's 
 Essay is Reason in Rhyme. These may be apologies for 
 the present endeavor. 
 
 One of the last treatises which the eminent statesman 
 and patriot, John Ouincy Adams read, was this poem on 
 the Immortality and Worth of the Soul. A friend of the 
 author, Hon. J. Brinkerhoff, loaned it to him in MS., and 
 asked his attention to it as a subject upon which he had 
 bestowed much thought. He returned it with an accom- 
 panying verse, which was, in all probability, his last written 
 expression upon any sacred subject. I have appended it 
 at the close of the Canto on Immortality. It is a strong 
 
DEDICATORY LETTER. *J 
 
 testimony from one of the best minds of the age, that the 
 concluding passages of the first book express the result to 
 which the most profound thought on this subject must lead 
 the inquirer, viz. : Faith in Christ gives the only satisfactory 
 evidence of immortality, and that evidence is possessed 
 only by the believer in Christ. 
 
 The qualities of reason and conscience do not predomi- 
 nate in the Poetry of our time. A book without a conscience 
 is a malignant power, as much as a man without a con- 
 science. No tnind is noble but the conscience crowned* Yet 
 I would not, as you know, have all Poetry religious, or 
 even serious. Mirth is as valuable in its place as morals. 
 
 But while Poetry that does not recognize the moral senti- 
 ments may not be the offspring of a corrupt imagination, 
 still it gives no impulse to the nobler and better propensions 
 of the soul. There is poetry of mere fancy, which, like 
 Longfellow's Hiawatha, and Tennyson's Idyl, have value, 
 as mental entertainment and recreation, for a majority of 
 readers. But the first criticisms of Hiawatha evinced that 
 there are minds of the highest order that demand the true 
 and the good as well as the beautiful in poetry. This class 
 may be the smaller one, but in the estimate of God and the 
 holy angels, it is the better one. To this class your name 
 will commend this little volume, and the readers will, I 
 trust, receive impressions that will strengthen their convic- 
 tions of immortality and duty, and thus confer upon them 
 a blessing in the Present and in the Time to Come. 
 
 In association with the Friend Quakers of England, I 
 spent the most profitable hours that I spent in Europe. I 
 could sympathize and co-operate with the reform efforts of 
 your people more fully than with any class that I met while 
 abroad. If there be any people to which the poetry of 
 Reason and Conscience will be acceptable, it will be the 
 Friends, and others who, like them, believe that the ex- 
 hilaration of the imagination, by exaggerated or venal crea- 
 tions of the Fancy, is as injurious to the moral nature as 
 the stimulus of opium or alcohol is to the intellect. 
 
 * See Chalmers' Bridgewater Treatise. 
 
8 DEDICATORY LETTER. 
 
 If this little volume shall do anything, even in a limited 
 circle, to counteract the effect of dissipating and corrupting 
 literature, with which the press is flooding the Old World 
 and the New, it will not have been written in vain. 
 
 Very truly, J. B. W. 
 
 117 Fortius Road, Paduington. 
 
 P.S. — The MSS. of the succeeding poems were left in 
 the hands of a friend to be published in London, as the 
 preceding prose works of the author had been. The first 
 years of our civil war entirely suspended the issue of Ameri- 
 can books ; and the publishers deemed it best for all parties 
 to return the MSS. A part of the manuscript is now offered 
 doubtingly to American readers. It would certainly have 
 found at least a limited circle of appreciative readers over 
 the sea. What the result of the venture will be at home, 
 remains to be seen. 
 
 The sketches of incidents connected with the poems are 
 retained, for the sake of the few rather than the many. 
 They are photographs of heart and home that will be ap- 
 preciated by those for whom they were written. 
 
THE SOUL. 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 OF IMMORTALITY. 
 
 Mysterious being, where and what art thou 
 Matter or motion? ' How dost thou exist? 
 Dost thou exist at all, save as a quality, 
 Or a result of nature's operations? 
 May mortals know aught of thy nature, 
 Or thine attributes? Can reason's power, 
 By an analysis, reaching the deep profound 
 Of nature's heart, learn ought of thee? 
 
 With brow uplifted and with thought-lit eye, 
 Thus queried Plato,^ when he sought to solve 
 The mystery of his being. A voice canie up 
 From the recesses of his inner life — 
 Go search; — To the sincere and yearning heart, 
 I* 
 
lO THE SOUL. 
 
 That seeks to know, with holy purposes, 
 A light springs up in darkness; Nature feels 
 The yearnings of her child, and oft reveals 
 Her jewel secrets — holy things, conceal'd 
 In the arcana of her heart of hearts. 
 
 Then kindled in his eye a brighter light; 
 A mark of urgent thought came over his face ; 
 With emphasis of deep resolve, he said: 
 Vital intelligence, I will seek for thee; 
 He said, — then, with far-reaching intellect, 
 He sought through nature for analogies ; 
 He asked from science facts ; and searching deep 
 For a self-moving ego in the mind, 
 He carried on the anxious inquiry, 
 Where is the spirit? What the human soul? 
 
 He found in matter various elements,^ 
 Essential, simple, uncompound; 
 Which held in various combinations form 
 Tlie masses of creation. That these resolved. 
 May change their form, but not their nature change, 
 Npr can they lose their being. He learn'd the truth, 
 Whate'er is simple is immutable; 
 And what immutable, eternal is — 
 That every thing's eternal, save the forms 
 Of physical creation, and of life. 
 
OF IMMORTALITY. II 
 
 Then rose the vital inquiry, which erst 
 Was hallowed by the wisdom of the Greeks : 
 Has spirit immortality ? or, is thought 
 And consciousness an effluence conjoined 
 With modes of matter ; as the melody 
 Of the soft wind harp, when y^olus comes, 
 And with his "airy fingers " strikes the chords? 
 Or as some subtle influence, produced 
 By operations of material things, 
 Such as engenders the magnetic spark, 
 Or turns the quivering needle to the pole ? 
 
 Call, if you please, " the brain a battery " 
 Producing thought as the voltaic pile 
 Does the magnetic spark. Then answer me: 
 What stands behind the battery, and directs 
 The spark to ends selected and designed ? 
 Dost thou say this, " As the electric fire 
 Leaps by a law of nature to the point 
 Of negative affinity — or as the beast 
 Pressed by the claims of hunger, or induced 
 By sight of vegetation, seeks his food, 
 So thought in man exists by things within 
 Or things without, that act upon the brain : 
 'Tis thus impelling motive, not design, 
 Directs the thought." Then answer me, what is 't 
 That, standing o'er the battery in the brain, 
 
12 THE SOUL. 
 
 Controls the action — contravenes the laws 
 That govern matter — turns the spark of thought 
 To other ends than nature's law would gain? 
 What agent can arrest the fire-winged bolt 
 From Heaven's battery in the thunder cloud ; 
 And by tuition, discipline, or power 
 Controls the " instinct-battery " in the brute. 
 And thus appropriate by sovereign power 
 Brute faculties and instincts to its use? 
 Nature obeys affinities and lavt^s. 
 But if by these the human spirit thinks. 
 What is it abrogates, avoids, directs 
 Instincts and laws, which nature has ordained, 
 And thus controls the cause — averts the effect 
 Which natural law and life would consummate? 
 Is this the soul? 
 
 Does matter think? Is thought a quality 
 Sublim'd in the alembic of the brain ? 
 Then answer me philosophy. Thou sayest 
 That matter changes its identity. 
 Throughout the whole economy of man, 
 Often in a short life. Why is it, then, 
 That personal identity — the I 
 Of consciousness — remains and lives? 
 If personality inheres, as said. 
 In matter as a quality — why, then. 
 
OF IMMORTALITY. 1 3 
 
 With matter not removed. The subject gone, 
 
 The quality should cease. But 'tis not so: 
 
 The brain may often change, with all that makes 
 
 Material conformation in the man ; ^ 
 
 Yet something lives, that stretches over all, 
 
 Above these changes — claims identity. 
 
 And feels responsible for actions wrought 
 
 Through its oft-changing instrument, the brain. 
 
 Is this the soul? 
 
 Say'st thou that thought, as a resultant, springs 
 From man's organization ? Tell me, then, 
 What is the agent when the suicide 
 At his own organism aims the blow?* 
 Did nature murder nature then? or thus: 
 Th' effect destroy its own efficient cause — 
 The body kill the body. Say'st thou so? 
 Not by some law or agent intervened. 
 But by an act prepense, with end in view, 
 Matter is shivered by designing mind — 
 What is it, then, which thus delib'rately 
 Destroys the instrument through which it acts? 
 Is it the soul? 
 
 Philosophy has not revealed the truth, '' 
 When mere conception or the goings on 
 Of the perceptive or reflective powers 
 
H 
 
 THE SOUL. 
 
 Are deemed the highest elements of mind; 
 'Tis so in brutes, but 'tis not so in men : — 
 There is a conscious agent, which surveys 
 Thoughts as they rise, and marks their character — 
 'Tis not, as men say, "consciousness of thought"; 
 But 'tis a conscious agent, which perceives, 
 Judges, discriminates, approves, condemns 
 The character and qualities of thought; 
 Something that looks at thought. 
 Yet 'tis not thought itself. Thought is its object; 
 Judging is its act. Itself the conscious Ego, 
 Recognizing thought, as emanations 
 From itself drawn forth by various causes; 
 But yet reproved, approved, or modified 
 By th' moral conscious agent in the mind. 
 Is this the soul? 
 
 Say'st thou external things, as motive powers. 
 Control the will and move the sense in man.'' * 
 'Tis true in part. Man's nature is allied 
 To earthly objects ; these affect the will. 
 And wake the sensibility to life; 
 
 And were there naught but consciousness of thought, 
 Man, as the brutes, were bound in iron chains, 
 Instinct and motive governing his life — 
 But 'tis not so. Self-consciousness declares, 
 Not only that these motives influence 
 
OF IMMORTALITY. I5 
 
 Man's sensuous nature, and invite his will, 
 
 But testifies that back of will there stands 
 
 An agent which reflects, appreciates, 
 
 Inquires for the ulterior influence 
 
 On ME and mine. Or, if benevolence 
 
 Has modified the nature of the I 
 
 Of consciousness, that agent asks itself 
 
 What influence will willing thus produce 
 
 Upon the moral interests of men. 
 
 In every human soul a voice affirms 
 
 The solemn truth that something in the mind 
 
 Perceives the influence impress'd on will, 
 
 And in abeyance holds the motive power, 
 
 Until it scans the cause and consequence; 
 
 Or marshals other reasons, and thus weighs 
 
 Interest and influence, probabilities; 
 
 And then, in view of self-conviction, acts 
 
 For self or God — as self-reflection prompts. 
 
 This truth, affirmed by all men's consciousness, 
 
 And seen in all men's actions, testifies 
 
 To a self-7noving^ self -determining cause, 
 
 Producing will by its own energy, 
 
 In view of its relations to the world — 
 
 To self — to God — time, and eternity — 
 
 Is this the soul? 
 
1 6 THE SOUL. 
 
 Say'st thou, as human organism fails, 
 The mental powers decay. * So men have said 
 With those consenting who have sought to prove 
 The spirit's immortality. Suppose it true, 
 That age enfeebles human intellect, 
 Still the high moral powers that link 
 The mortal to the immortal life fail not — 
 (At least fail not where faith in Christ exists) 
 As age comes on, and Time with chilly touch 
 Blanches the cheek and cools the ardent pulse ; 
 As body, intellect, and memory fail, 
 Conscience grows strong, the power of love augments ; 
 When mind and matter, palsied by old age. 
 Crumble to ruins round his moral life, 
 The Christian's conscience and affections live. 
 
 Hast thou not heaixl of those, who, as they stood 
 With trembling frame and waning intellect, 
 Upon the confines of their mortal life. 
 Have there exhibited, with angel's strength, 
 The power of conscience and of charity — 
 As tho' the mind had waned to consciousness. 
 And consciousness all heart and conscience grew. 
 Is this the soul? 
 
 But then, 'tis said, all claimed as soul in man 
 The animals possess. " 'Tis not all true. 
 
OF IMMORTALITY. I^ 
 
 Admit it true, some creatures are endowed 
 With minor intellect. Then all is said 
 That truth or true philosophy can claim : — 
 Yet over these the human spirit stands 
 Towering in majesty — the free-born soul 
 Endowed with reason's higher, holier powers — 
 These stand apart, perceive the influence 
 Of sense upon the sensuous mind — 
 Consent, dissent, and feel responsible, 
 As powers above to guide the powers below ; — 
 A wheel within a wheel — the center point 
 The I of consciousness. — Is this the soul? 
 
 Dost thou claim more than this — say, if thou wilt. 
 The creature has a conscience — that it can 
 Perceive and feel the duties due to man; 
 What does it argue — this, that man's its God ; 
 Its highest end to do his earthl}' will ; 
 Its highest knowledge — knowledge of his mind : 
 But man has powers that reach the Infinite; 
 His conscience feels the obligation due 
 To his Creator. His higher reason scans 
 The moral law. His free soul bows to God ; 
 And his affections, kindled by the love 
 Outflowing from God manifest in Christ, 
 Are during as the cause which gives them birth — 
 Thus creature souls were made for man, their lord — 
 
iS THE SOUL. 
 
 He being earthly, these are earthly too — 
 But man 's for God who, living evcrmofe. 
 With everlasting life endows the soul. 
 
 Mark further the developments induced 
 By man in creature natures. He may raise 
 One beast above his unsubdued mate, 
 And elevate its faculties beyond 
 The highest point they possibly could gain 
 By all the instincts common to its kind: 
 So God and man. The human soul may grow 
 To a development of moral power. 
 By the tuition of the mind of Christ, 
 Wliich far transcends the attainments possible 
 For man to gain by merely human means. 
 What does this argue .f* May we not infer 
 The end of creature minds is found in man. 
 But Human souls were formed to live for Him 
 Who disciplines and sanctifies their powers.? 
 See yonder mastiff, as with eye dilate 
 He scans his master's featui-es — thus to catch 
 The impression of his spirit on his face — 
 Now he bounds — but doubtful — he looks back 
 To settle the conviction in his mind, 
 That he has rightly caught his master's will — 
 That creature has sagacity and strength 
 Of intellect, which far exceeds the range 
 
OF IMMORTALITY. 1 9 
 
 His nature could attain in primal state; 
 And when thus fitted to his master's will, 
 Does it not follow that brave RoUa finds 
 A home within the mansion, and exerts 
 His active limbs and cultivated powers 
 In duties which his ti-aining indicates? 
 Then, is not the probation which we feel 
 Trying and forming human character; 
 (If discipline has qualified for heaven;) 
 Substantial evidence the good shall stand 
 Before the glorious Saviour, and employ 
 Their cultivated and ennobled powers 
 In holy worship and high ministry 
 In the bright spirit world of God our King? 
 Rejoice ?ny soul! 
 
 Tlie Maker has so framed the animal 
 That all their wants and ends are met on earth; 
 There's not a want or instinct creatures know. 
 But may be satisfied by earthly good. — 
 Not so with man — his sensuous appetites 
 Seek earthly good, and things of earth may fill 
 These to satiety: — yet in his inner life 
 Desires arise that seek a higher end — 
 The heart and conscience ask for joy, and peace. 
 And living love, which earth can never give : 
 And when fools think, by earthly means or ends, 
 
20 THE SOUL. 
 
 To satisfy the cravings of the soul, 
 They find it vain. — 'Tis as a poison'd spring, 
 Where thirsty ti'avelers may stop to drink, 
 And drinking more, the more they are athirst • 
 Or as the mirage of the desert sands, 
 Flattering the hope — eluding the pursuit: 
 Thus efforts to allay the spirit's wants 
 By earthly good, increase the appetite; 
 Attempts to satisfy increase the thirst: 
 The spirit spurns the earth, as her chief end, 
 As the king eagle spurns the food for worms. 
 Now, if there be no future life for man, 
 Then has the Maker satisfied the brute. 
 By filling his capacities — While man. 
 The monarch. He has placed on earth, 
 To yearn unsatisfied, and die unblest! 
 We dare not reason thus, for God is just 
 To meet the aptitudes which He creates. 
 What is it then that yearns for greater good. 
 And higher life, than earthly things bestow ? 
 Is it the soul? 
 
 That which belongs to nature, as a pai't 
 Of her constituents, is from the Lord ; *^ 
 The animal has instincts which belong 
 To all his class — God-given instincts 
 Which direct its nature to its end. 
 
OF IMMORTALITY. 21 
 
 Go mark the insect destined to arise 
 
 From the low earth- w^orm to the butterfly; 
 
 God gave that insect instinct to prepare, 
 
 And God vouchsafes the end wliich instinct seeks. 
 
 'Tis so witli man — deep in his inner life, 
 
 A witness stands in presence of the soul, 
 
 And says, in contemplation's solemn hour, 
 
 You can not die ! 'Tis well to be prepared 
 
 To live the ages of eternal years ; 
 
 And wheresoever man is found, as man, 
 
 He hears that inward voice, which bids him seek 
 
 Fitness for life ensuing after death ; 
 
 — 'Tis true his erring intellect has planned 
 
 Myriads of methods to attain tlie end: 
 
 This only argues, method is from man ; 
 
 While that instinctive principle, inwrought 
 
 Into the texture of the human soul 
 
 Which moves all races to anticipate. 
 
 And seek, by various methods, to secure 
 
 A better life hereafter, is from God. 
 
 And oft, when men heed not the instinctive call. 
 
 Until the solemn hour, when death draws near, 
 
 With arm uprais'd, in attitude to dip 
 
 His shaft into their bosom — then it is 
 
 This voice shrieks out within the soul, 
 
 Upbraiding the neglect, which during life. 
 
 Was paid to its monitions — when it said, 
 
22 THE SOUL. 
 
 " Toil can not die! 'Tis well to be prepared! 
 
 To live the ages of eternal years! " 
 
 — Now, who shall say that God, the just and good, 
 
 Who gave true instincts to the insect tribes, 
 
 Has placed a lying witness in man's soul ! 
 
 'Twere blasphemy, because you thus impeach 
 
 The probity of the Eternal Mind : 
 
 Then answer me — what hears that inward voice ? 
 
 What sees that monitor along its path, 
 
 Stand with a shadowy finger, pointing on 
 
 To great eternity? Is this the soul? 
 
 Another step. In insects may be seen 
 Germs of another life.'* The skilful hand 
 In anatomic science can lay bare, 
 Within the earthborn caterpillar's breast, 
 The lineaments which indicate and mai k 
 The form and features of the butterfly : 
 'Tis so in all regenerated minds; 
 A spiritual analysis will find 
 Germs of a life to come. The lineaments 
 Of life developing within our life. 
 Thus in the soul is formed an appetite 
 Which lives on truth, as spiritual food ; 
 A love of things above — an ear to hear 
 The voice of God. A nature all alive 
 To motives above earth, and time, and sense — 
 
OF IMMORTALITY. 23 
 
 New aims, new hopes, new fears. The soul's trans- 
 formed, 
 As in a chrysalis. Its love, supreme, 
 Detached from earth, seeks its chief good above. 
 Now, who shall say these germs shall ne'er expand — 
 That the angel thus in embryo shall not drop 
 Its earthborn vestments, and on wings of light, 
 Cleave the cerulean of eternal day — 
 A ransomed soul! 
 
 The nature of the spirit, in Itself, 
 Claims an allegiance with the angel world : '* 
 It finds its being's end — its highest good, 
 In spiritual action, which depends 
 Not on its corporeity. Peace, love, and joy 
 Are its essential life — the aim and end 
 Which the Eternal One, who made the soul, 
 Impressed upon its nature. Mere earthly good, 
 Sought as an end, prevents development 
 Of the angelic life within the heart ; 
 Joyful obedience — contrite love of God, 
 And childlike trust, are heaven to the soul. 
 Now mark the thought, and weigh the argument — 
 The soul's best good consists In holiness, 
 An end induced by objects not of earth, 
 But glorious objects of the life to come ; 
 The same which actuate an angel's mind, 
 
24 THE SOUL. 
 
 And fills their nature with eternal love : 
 Then shall the being, to whom God has given 
 The constitution of angelic life, 
 Perish upon the threshold of that state 
 To which its heaven-born adaptations lead ? 
 Reason and righteousness forbid the thought, 
 And join their voice f announce the glorious truth, 
 Death's shaft kills not the spirit — but sets free 
 The deathless soul! 
 
 The human spirit has a power to know, 
 Arising from the basis of the known, 
 And stretching on forever.'* Each new truth 
 The spirit aggregates, increases strengdi 
 To gather other truths. And as the soul 
 Rises the mount of knowledge, its survey 
 Farther extends into the limitless. 
 Each truth has its affinities; and as 
 The store increases in the human mind, 
 The power increases, by which mind is drawn 
 Upward and onward to the Infinite. 
 This is the soul's prerogative ; — a gift 
 Which separates it from inferior things: 
 Capacity to know, and to increase 
 Its knowledge endlessly from what is known, 
 Is an endowment of eternal mind ; — 
 It is an angel's nature, and allies 
 
OF IMMORTALITY. 25 
 
 The human spirit to the glorious God. — 
 
 — How blest 'twill be to climb the heavenly hills 
 
 Of spiritual knowledge, and survey 
 
 The glories of God's character and works! 
 
 And as the spirit stands on those high mounts 
 
 Of vision, and perceives the goings on 
 
 Of varied systems, each dem6nstrating 
 
 The power and wisdom of the Good Supreme — 
 
 And as it ever rises and looks on 
 
 The evolution of the mighty plans 
 
 Which God In infinite benevolence form'd 
 
 To manifest His glory, and to lead 
 
 Created spirits to the fount of life: 
 
 As such impressions of Its Father's power, 
 
 Its Father's wisdom, and its Father's love, 
 
 Come to the spirit's reason, how it will 
 
 Exult in knowledge high and Infinite — 
 
 Gather Its starry wings about Its face. 
 
 And worship in the deepest reverence 
 
 A reasoning soul. 
 
 Most men are fools enough to believe in dreams, " 
 But wise enough to keep their Inward faith 
 A secret from each other. Wise men have thought 
 That indications of events to come 
 Their shadowy impress make upon the mind 
 In hours of sleep. So thought the dying Cyrus — 
 2 - 
 
26 THE SOUL. 
 
 So have thought men of all ages, climes, and creeds - 
 
 But if, when sleep has partially set free 
 
 The soul from its material tenement, 
 
 It catches glimpses of the unborn things 
 
 Which lie within the future — or, if spirits then 
 
 Can reach the mind, revealing things unknown : * 
 
 Does it not argue, when our time shall come 
 
 To drop this corporeity, the soul, 
 
 That erst by hidden cord of life was tied 
 
 To its dull prison, shall expatiate, 
 
 A free-winged spirit; — one whose mind shall know 
 
 Present and future; and commune with those 
 
 Who, hov'ring round its pillow on the earth, 
 
 Suggested shadows of events to come 
 
 Unto the soul. 
 
 Seme men maintain a double life on earth ; 
 The outward seeming, and the inward truth " — 
 Their public life enacted for the world. 
 Their hidden life known but to self and God : 
 And Satan, in the vestments of a saint. 
 Does not belie his nature more than does 
 The assumed complexion of men's life ofttimes 
 
 * " As the ^ood angels in some brisjhter dreams 
 Call to the soul when man doth sleep, 
 So some straiii^e thouifhts transcend our wonted themes, 
 And unto gloi-y peep." — Vaughan. 
 
OF IMMORTALITY. 2/ 
 
 Belie the inward life of consciousness; 
 
 Without they seem the friend of God and men, 
 
 And gain on earth rewards as tho' they were ; 
 
 While heaven knows that their whole life's a fraud; 
 
 That self, and lust, and pride control the will : — 
 
 Can God exist, and be a righteous Judge, 
 
 If such a wretch who lives a lying life, 
 
 And gains, from men deceived, the high award 
 
 Of truth and virtue, does not live again 
 
 To reap his just demerits ? — and to be 
 
 A danijied soul? 
 
 * * Behold, he comes. 
 The conquering hero, and the loud huzzas 
 Of servile natures make the welkm ring 
 In praise of his achievements. See the smile 
 Of gi'atified ambition, and of pride. 
 Flits o'er his features, as from balconies 
 And open windows, smiling women wave 
 The snowy 'kerchief, honoring his deeds — 
 All eyes seek for his form — all tongues 
 Speak of his merits in the ears of all : 
 Power, reward, and human praise are his — * * 
 * * Now change the scene. — Notice yon soldier lie 
 Qiiivering with pain. The fractured limb — the scar 
 Upon his torn and bleeding flesh, dart agony. — 
 See now! — he drags himself along the ground, 
 
28 THE SOUL. 
 
 And begs for water — begs the boon of death, 
 
 From tortur'd wretches, mangled Hke himself. 
 
 That youth was brave — he sought his country's good. 
 
 And put his life in peril to defend 
 
 That country's rights. For these he bled and died : — 
 
 No glory his, nor honor, — nay, his name 
 
 Marked not the records of the victory 
 
 He died to win. His chief has triumph'd 
 
 In whose inmost soul ranked ambition foul; 
 
 Aggrandizement of self, cost what it might 
 
 Of abject misery, tears, or human blood — 
 
 But victory gained, — the popular acclaim 
 
 Reward and honor him. While heaven sees 
 
 The motives which controlled the chieftain's life 
 
 Were motives which a demon could approve. 
 
 Compar'd with him, that soldier was a saint; 
 
 Compar'd with his, his patriotism pure ; 
 
 Yet yonder chief has quaffed the meed of praise, 
 
 Retired in ease, to live in luxury. 
 
 While the praiseworthy drank oblivion ! 
 
 Will God reverse this judgment, or shall guilt 
 Reap the reward of virtue? Unless the soul 
 Lives in a future life, where the awards 
 Of time are rectified, that wretch has gain'd 
 Tiic meed of virtue due the virtuous, brave. 
 If earth - life is our aU., God is not just ^ 
 
OF IMMORTALITY. 29 
 
 Mark yonder demagogue — his speech sets forth 
 The dangers of the people. He's the friend 
 Of the hard-handed yeoman of tlie land — 
 Sees all the interests of the country lie 
 In measures of his party ; and would die 
 To serve his dear constituents. That man has gain'd 
 A place of honor and emolument ; 
 Men call him patriot, and he is hailed 
 As a true champion of his country's rights: 
 And yet his heart is foul with selfishness — 
 He 'd sell the vital interests of the State 
 To advance a selfish or a party end. 
 The measures he denounces as the bane 
 Of the Republic, he would glorify 
 As the Republic's hope, were they proposed 
 By his coadjutors. Party and self 
 Are motive, aim, and object of his life — 
 The just, the right, God and his country's good 
 Ai-e secondary motives in his mind; 
 And yet he gets all good that earth can give 
 For aims and motives which he never knew; 
 While those who truly seek their country's good 
 Meet base hostility or cold neglect. 
 If earth is all of life — then life's a lie; 
 If earth 's unjust and impious awards 
 Meet no reversal from the Judge Supreme, 
 Alas my soul I 
 
30 
 
 THE SOUL. 
 
 If earth is all of life — if God is just, 
 Why is it that all consequence of guilt 
 Falls not upon the guilty ; but ofttimes 
 Falls heavily on those whose souls are free 
 From the iniquity which brings the curse? 
 Mark that impersonation of all sin, 
 Nero, of Rome, and see his virtuous wife 
 Driven to exile by the wretch's lust ; 
 And after years of suffering, she falls 
 Bearing the consequence of Nero's sin — 
 The guileless victim of a demon's crimes. 
 
 Rome is in ashes; and the tyrant brings 
 His guilt upon the Christians. And, O God! 
 What fearful tortures do the guiltless bear 
 For that fell tyrant's wrong. Meanwhile the wretch 
 Exults in torture, feeds upon the groans 
 Of mui"dered martyrs, doomed to die for crimes 
 Conceived in the deep hell of his own heart: 
 Now, if there be no other life but this. 
 The consequence of one man's guilt should not 
 Fall on another. If Justice rules the world, 
 Then sin should only curse the sinning soul. 
 But men grow old in sin, and guiltless hearts 
 Are crucified on earth for guilty acts 
 Which others perpetrate. Can God be just, 
 If there's no judgment in another life 
 
OF IMMORTALITY. 3 1 
 
 To damn the guilty, vindicate tlie good, 
 And grant award, as love and truth require, 
 To every soul? 
 
 The blind can see, the consequence of guilt 
 Falls often on the guiltless ; and that vice 
 Oft reaps rewards of virtue in the earth. 
 If there be no hereafter, who dare call 
 Justice and power attributes of God! 
 But reason vindicates the Eternal Name 
 From allegations that affright the just, 
 And calls the drama of the present life 
 But the brief prelude of a future state. 
 Where God is justified, and spirits judged, 
 And life or death awarded to the soul. 
 
 The sense of immortality itself 
 Is life and power in believing minds: 
 It is an instinct in the spirit's heart 
 That leads it upward to its highest end. 
 
 Behold yon abject wretch whose soul has lost 
 The sense of life to come! Behold him sink 
 Down from the dignity of human life 
 To mingle with the brutes that lift no thought 
 Above the earth; and having lost the sense 
 Of immortality his manhood 's lost. 
 
32 THE SOUL. 
 
 But see his fellow-man, who lives in view 
 
 Of life beyond tlie grave. This hope has power 
 
 To elevate the soul from low pursuits, 
 
 And lead men upward on the scale of life, 
 
 Into a culture that approximates 
 
 The sphere of higher minds and holier hearts. 
 
 Would God advance our nature by a lie ? 
 Would He implant convictions that can lead 
 Man to his highest dignity by thoughts 
 That guide — that elevate the aim, while yet 
 That guiding thought is false? No; God is true, 
 And those immortal hopes which bless the soul 
 By the prevision of a life to come 
 Are given by heaven to elevate its aim 
 And fit it for the skies. 
 
 Thus reason wandered down the " Course of 
 Time," 
 And sought the sources of the elder thought, 
 And weighed the tiaith which nature since reveal'd 
 Unto the moderns — adding yet to these 
 An agonising effort to espy 
 Yet something more in matter or in mind 
 To give an evidence on which to rest 
 The hope of immortality. But still, 
 Reason unsatisfied, with faltering wing, 
 
OF IMMORTALITY. 33 
 
 Droops down again to earth, and feels 
 
 Her yearning efforts have not gained a full — 
 
 A conscious sense of immortality. 
 
 O Son of God, 
 Author of Hope, of Love, of Life Divine 
 In human hearts: Thou art the Way — 
 The Truth — the Life. — Divine, Eternal Life 
 Is draw^n from Thee. The bond of faith 
 That binds my life to thine assui"es the soul 
 That it can never die ; For Thou dost live. 
 
 But wanting faith, may not the second death, 
 Deep and profound, as of nonentity, 
 A death to Life — a death to Love — to God ; 
 A death of natural immortality 
 Await the earth-boiTi mind.'" O blessed Christ, 
 From whom faith draws Eternal Life — my soul 
 Doth cling to Thee. Thy Spirit in my heart 
 Sayeth that Thou hast love and power divine, 
 And wilt not let me die! Thou wilt not leave 
 My soul in Hades, nor my sleeping dust 
 A nonent in the grave. This is my hope. 
 
 Amen.' 
 
34 THE SOUL. 
 
 The following heart-utterance of one of the most eminent 
 statesmen of the past age, should be thoughtfully considered 
 by thosa unhappy minds who are involved in the doubt so 
 ably wrought out by the liberal Mr. Alger. Alger " brings 
 life and immortality to " dafkness. Adams had felt a sim- 
 ilar doubt — but his last thought is of the Gospel and of 
 Christ. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN BY JOHN OUINCY ADAMS, 
 
 On reading in MS. the Canto on Immortality — the hist thouglit ever writ* 
 ten by tlie sage on a sacred subject. 
 
 Matter and mind ! mysterious One, 
 
 Is man through three-score years and ten : 
 
 Where ? when the thread of life was spun ; 
 Where ? when reduced to dust again. 
 
 All seeing God, the doubt suppress, 
 The doubt Thou only canst relieve ; 
 
 Let me, to solace my distress. 
 Fly to thy Gospel and believe. 
 
ARGUMENT TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 The Immortality of the soul being assumed, as argued in 
 the First Book — in the Second Book its worth is derived 
 from an examination of its moral constitution. Theological 
 opinions upon the subject are not discussed. The only- 
 philosophical method by which to ascertain the value of 
 any being (using this word in the largest sense) is to inquire 
 what are its qualities, powers, capacities. We inquire, then, 
 in the book before us — What may the soul suffer, or 
 
 enjoy, from the exercise of its own faculties ? 
 
 What may it accomplish, of good or evil? — What 
 MAY IT become ? By this investigation the conclusion is 
 reached that unless God annihilate the Soul of Man, hap- 
 piness or misery — spiritual life or death, must be the result 
 of its own exercises. What the intensity of future joy, or 
 woe will be, must depend on the moral history and moral 
 character of each individual spirit. But allowing conscious- 
 ness and constitution to continue, the final issue wrought 
 out by the soul's activity will be a character fixed either in 
 spiritual good or evil. 
 
WORTH OF THE SOUL. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 Sph'it thou art immortal! Who can tell 
 The import of the words, undyitig life? 
 And what that import leani'd by good or ill 
 Experienced thro' ages without end ? 
 
 To know the spirit's value, is to learn 
 Its moral powers and capacities. — 
 For these interrogate its inner life, 
 And learn what it may sufl:cr, be or do; 
 And thus from its own nature learn its worth. * 
 
 What language can approximate the truth? 
 Not the faint emblem of the passing bird 
 Bearing the grain of earth, once in an age, 
 To distant planet, 'till the whole were gone, — 
 Such emblems weary reason. Egypt's priests, 
 
38 THE SOUL. 
 
 In th' morning of earth's history, had learn'd 
 Eternity's true symbol. ^ The Great I AM 
 Has built the universe upon the plan 
 Of an eternity. The shining globes 
 That nightly roll their circles in the sky, 
 Are emblems of a movement without end — 
 Hail to thee! sj-mbols of eternal life — 
 Ye circling orbs that track, the fields of space. 
 Whose end and whose beginning is the same — 
 Circles enlink'd with circles endlessly! 
 'Far-swinging pendulums, hung in the sky 
 To strike the ages of eternity! 
 Thy music and thy movement usher'd in 
 The morning of the Great Eternal day ; 
 And when high noon shall come upon thy disk, 
 Time's finger only circleth to the place 
 Of the beginning! 
 
 Within the soul itself, and separate 
 From sense and its material tenement, 
 Deep in its spiritual nature, lie 
 The gei-ms of destiny. To live — to act — 
 Is to develope fruit of life or death — 
 The life to God, is heaven — to self, is hell. ^ 
 
 Mark the capacity to suffer woe, 
 In the soul's nature, from the exercise 
 
WORTH OF THE SOUL. 39 
 
 Of the malignant passions. — Envy, strife, 
 
 Ambition, hatred, cherish'd in the heart. 
 
 Turn th' milk of human kindness into gall, 
 
 And kindle in the soul the flames of hell. — 
 
 The very good w^hich God bestows on some. 
 
 Is food for misery in malignant minds — 
 
 Thus sood becomes their evil!* and the soul 
 
 Is damn'd unless redeem'd from its own consciousness. 
 
 — To hate an enemy e'en brings unrest ; 
 
 But when dire enmity and selfish will 
 
 Rule in the mind, to live is to be curs'd. 
 
 But in the converse, — purest blessedness, 
 The soul may know from the sweet exercise 
 Of faith that works by love, and casts out fear, 
 Inducing peace, benevolence, and joy. 
 When reason and the conscience acquiesce. 
 To love is to be blest. For " God is love, 
 "And he that loveth dwells in God, and God in him" — 
 And every mercy which kind heaven bestows 
 Upon himself, or others, is a source 
 Of grateful joy. T/nis good becomes his life!' 
 And good to others, is new joy to him : — 
 God ever doeth good ; so holy minds 
 Will find the source of everduring life 
 Rise from the nature and the love of God : — ■ 
 So shall the sanctified from God's own heart 
 Draw life and love and peace forever more. 
 
40 THE SOUL. 
 
 Hope is the life-spring in the human soul 
 Imparting' ease to action, giving strengtii 
 To bear all present ills, in view of good 
 Seen as the rainbow, through affliction's tears.* 
 But hope destroyed, and then the spirit lies 
 Stricken and withered, agonised and lost: 
 As when a vessel, beaten by the storm, 
 Lies wrecked, and lab' ring on the surging sea* 
 While hope of safety or of succor lives. 
 Landsmen and seamen act with energy; 
 And e'en frail women have a power to do. 
 Sustained by hope. But hark! she founders! 
 And the captain's voice, firm until now, 
 Proclaims the words of doom " Great God ! we 're lost! ' 
 With that word, Hope expired, and effort ceas'd ; 
 And a loud cry of anguish — piercing — wild. 
 Rose from the ship, and mingling with the wail 
 Of the storm furies, drifted o'er the sea! 
 
 — So God has made the sj^irit — Hope may die ; 
 And if we pass the bound where man can make 
 A sure friend of the Future — Hope must die. 
 And from her ashes will spring up despair — 
 The worm that never dies. To ev^er}^ soul 
 Despair comes in when hope goes out, as sure 
 As putrefaction follows loss of life : 
 
 — When hope is lost, who shall deliver us 
 From the dread body of this mental death. 
 
WORTH OF THE SOUL. 4I 
 
 Within the soul itself, and consequent 
 On the free action of the moral powers, 
 The conscience lives, and, armed with a whip 
 Of scorpions, it assmls unpardoned souls/ 
 'Tis consciousness of an All-Seeing Eye 
 That gives dire power to conscience : 
 Man may exclude the God-sense from his mind 
 By sin or atheism, or unbelief, 
 
 And thus escape remorse for wrong. But God and sin 
 Can not be present in the soul at once 
 And conscience sleep. And souls can not escape 
 Forever from God's eye. Infinite space 
 Is the sensorium of the Deity, — 
 And eveiy movement which a spirit makes 
 Begets perception in the Eternal Mind, 
 And an Omniscient Deity begets 
 Perception of Himself, in every soul 
 When disembodied, in his vast domain. 
 And who can tell that secret of lost souls, 
 The deep remorse the guilty must endure, 
 By cognizance of God, in sinful minds. 
 To the pure mind a sense of the present God 
 Will be as sun-rays to the healthful eye, 
 Filling the soul with light and holiness. 
 But that same sun-ray, to th' impure in heart, 
 Is like the light upon an eye diseased. 
 That stings and burns as with a point of flame. 
 
42 THE SOUL. 
 
 In the resources of God's universe 
 There is one only sovereign remedy 
 That saves a free-will sinner from remorse : 
 A SENSE OF PARDON, wrought by faith in Christ, 
 Speaks peace to conscience, and extracts its sting. 
 The soul may then see God ; but w^anting this, 
 It must from its own nature, be self-stung 
 By fell remorse — the " worm that never dies ! " 
 
 Pardon or penalty all souls must know ; 
 For if the " second death " does not annihilate, 
 When the death-angel looks upon the soul. 
 Repentance is per force, and works by death 
 Repentance toward God, while man enjoys 
 A free probation works reform of life, 
 But a repentance forced upon the will, 
 In view of evil consequence to self. 
 Must work by death in self-condemned minds. 
 
 Another source of spiritual death 
 Is the soul's powers, discordant in themselves, 
 And warring with each other.® The mind is curs'd 
 With bosom furies, when eternal strife 
 Between the moral powers of the mind, 
 Is fierce and dissonant. Mark yonder wretch. 
 Whose breast is filled with an adulterous love 
 For one as fallen and guilty as himself ; — 
 
WORTH OF THE SOUL. 43 
 
 Reason condemns the action of his heart, 
 
 While passion rages against reason's rule — ■ 
 
 Thus tortured by dissention in his soul, 
 
 His trusting wife is spurned ; her kindly acts 
 
 Conjure up furies in his tortured mind : 
 
 Thus love of guilty objects creates hate 
 
 For objects which the heart should cherish most; 
 
 And when reflection comes, as come it must, 
 
 Then reason wages an eternal war 
 
 With vile affections cherished in the mind : 
 
 But when the heart loves the Supremely Good, 
 
 Reason and conscience will their sanction give ; 
 
 And thus, harmonious, the soul's faculties 
 
 Acting accordant — are in action blest. 
 
 Concealment is the only piece of sin.® 
 So long as the clay tabernacle veils 
 The guilty spirit from all holy eyes. 
 Self-condemnation may not sting the soul ; 
 But when the mind shall know, as it is known 
 By all the universe, then it will feel 
 That every holy eye that turns a glance 
 Upon its evil nature causes pain. 
 Where guilt is known, and guilt abhor'd 
 By holy beings, the guilty can not live. 
 In outer darkness they would rather hide 
 Than be reveal'd, and dwell with holy minds: 
 
44 THE SOUL. 
 
 Then what deep anguish must the guilty feel 
 
 When in the presence of the universe, 
 
 Their nature is revealed. O God of Hosts ! 
 
 In mercy infinite Thy hand hath rear'd 
 
 The prison of the damn'd, where wicked minds 
 
 May hide themselves in darkness, and escape 
 
 The immediate presence of all holy eyes. 
 
 Thus saints shall judge the world. Their views of sin 
 
 Will be a judgment felt by guilty minds, 
 
 When conscious of their notice. 
 
 The priceless worth of human souls is seen 
 In the endowment of free agency — 
 High as heaven, profound as hell, the power 
 Of good and evil. Every mind creates 
 Itself a destiny. Each act of wrong 
 Produced by a free will, augments the source 
 From which the wrong doth flow, and ev'ry act 
 Of good forms a benev'lent character : 
 Thus good and evil action still reacts 
 Each spirit working out its future doom. 
 
 Evil begets its kind, and so doth good ; " 
 And souls benignant, in whose inner life 
 The flame of love burns vigorous and pure, 
 Diffuse around a blessing on all things 
 That move within the limits of their sphere. 
 
WORTH OF THE SOUL. 45 
 
 The power of love is stronger than the might 
 Of all things earthly. The dumb creature feels 
 Its holy influence ; and God himself regards 
 Contrite affection, the best sacrifice 
 The human soul can offer to its Lord. 
 He that can walk abroad, with bosom warm 
 With interest and love for living things, 
 Possesses heaven's secret. His heart is blest, 
 While its outflowing goodness blesses all 
 The various forms of life along his path : — 
 In all the creatures form'd for human use 
 There is a sense which wakens gratitude, 
 For acts that human kindness may bestow. 
 The sum of happiness in sentient life, 
 Is increas'd by kind offices of love, 
 Confer'd on sentient beings. When the bird 
 Flies to our window, or the neighing steed 
 Approaches in the pasture — or the dog. 
 With eye dilated, licks the open hand 
 Of his lov'd master — 'tis the heart's response 
 In answer for the kindnesses bestowed. 
 — O were it gi'anted that the animal 
 Might but articulate what things are known 
 And felt by it, how would its words surprise 
 The mind that always cares for creature wants; 
 And how surprise with words of deep reproach, 
 The unthinking ruler of the tliinkino; brute! 
 
46 THE SOUL. 
 
 So may the soul create in sentient life, 
 By its own action, love and gratitude; 
 And thus increase the sum of happiness 
 Within the universe; or it may mar 
 The natures it might bless; and thus confer 
 Tortures on beings that have no redress. 
 
 But in a higher circle and among 
 Immortals like itself, the human soul 
 Fulfils a destiny, fraught with i-esults. 
 Direful or glorious. — If the spirit be 
 Filled with the peace of faith, and moved by love 
 That seeks all human good, then is its life 
 A blessing; and it sheds on other minds 
 A precious influence. Within such souls 
 Love's incense, burn'd in light, has power to shed 
 A heavenly fragrance o'er the path of life. — 
 Such minds bestow a blessing far beyond 
 What learning, wealth, or influence can give: 
 At their approach vice is abashed, and flies 
 To his dark haunts; and virtue feels the charm 
 Of power and love. — The wav'ring are confirm'd; 
 And angel spirits, hov'ring near, rejoice 
 In deeds of mercy done by kindred minds. 
 
 But if a settled selfishness possess 
 And rule the will, it spreads a taint abroad 
 
WORTH OF THE SOUL. 47 
 
 Of fear, oppugnance, or of discontent, 
 
 Felt both by reasoning and uni'easoning things — 
 
 That soul is as a curse, enrob'd in flesh. 
 
 Which breathes the blight within its bosom out 
 
 On sentient beings which surround its path. 
 
 Evil begetteth evil — Selfishness 
 
 Begetteth selfishness in other minds — 
 
 Wrath engenders wrath ; and hatred hate ; 
 
 The vicious create vice, and vicious minds 
 
 When aggregated in communities, 
 
 Corrupt the mass; and send an influence forth 
 
 Which overshadov^^s mankind, like a curse 
 
 That clouds the sun of heaven, and sheddeth down 
 
 Blighting and mildew on the minds of men. 
 
 Like to the slimy worms, which leave their blight 
 
 On every grass blade, and the opening flowers 
 
 O'er which they pass. — So evil natures may, 
 
 Beginning at the hearth-stone, mar the heart 
 
 Of infant years — seduce the youth to sin. 
 
 And dye the stain of selfishness more deep 
 
 In every nature where their shadows fall — 
 
 And like the fabled vampyre fiend, which lives 
 
 Upon the life-blood of its best belov'd. 
 
 So souls malignant in their influence. 
 
 Blight all they reach, — the best belov'd first! 
 
 Who can compute the strength of man's free will 
 
48 THE SOUL. 
 
 To work death evils in the souls of men! 
 A devil could no more than injure all 
 Within the compass of his influence! 
 So does the soul on whom the curse has fall'n, 
 Of selfishness and hatred unto God. 
 
 Such souls transmit their sin — 
 They impress themselves as with a signature, 
 On after generations; and 'tis thus 
 That races are infected with the taint 
 Of sin's deep leprosy, till nations lie 
 " Festering in the infection of their guilt." 
 And God, in wrath, breaks up the might}^ deep 
 To whelm the guilty race; or sends the plague 
 To pour infection o'er the cities doomed — 
 Or human conqueror, with fire and sword, 
 To smite unworthy races for their crimes. 
 And rebaptise the earth in blood and flames. 
 
 Thus is the soul endowed with power to bless 
 Or curse the world of sentient life, and bring 
 The blessing or the wrath of God on men. 
 
 And more, the evil which the soul creates 
 Outlives the mortal life : '^ and oft when men 
 Are slumb'ring in their graves augments its power. 
 And multiplies itself till close of time. 
 
WORTH OF THE SOUL. 49 
 
 As pebble cast into a quiet lake 
 
 Sinks in its waters, but its impress lives, 
 
 And spreading on tbe surfoce, still expands, 
 
 Until it ripples to the farthest shore. 
 
 So human life, in the vast teeming sea 
 
 Of sentient being cast, creates an eddy 
 
 Which expands and rolls, through all the course of 
 
 Time, 
 On to the precincts of Eternity ! 
 
 Hear yonder spirit lost, — it shrieks a prayer 
 In vain endeavor to be heard on earth! 
 Caught ye its import? Stop the press! it cries; 
 Issue no other leaf of the profane 
 And lustful cogitations of my mind: 
 I honored vice — bepraised the selfish great. 
 And worshiped intellect, though foul wnth guilt. 
 And ev'ry heart that wretch's works pollute, 
 And ev'ry virtue which they mar in time. 
 Stings the lost spirit in eternity, — 
 And as the influence rolls the pangs increase, 
 And, agonized, the self-condemned soul 
 Shrieks, stop the press! but still the press works on. 
 And flings the evil to the end of time! 
 " His works do follow him," and mighty God, 
 What free-wiird being can hereafter feel 
 More just damnation than the wretch defunct, 
 3 
 
50 THE SOUL. 
 
 Who left an influence on eartlily thought 
 That kills the germs of virtue in the soul. 
 
 But hark! the angel of th' Apocalypse 
 Makes affirmation of the righteous dead; 
 The Holy Spirit beai-eth witness loo — 
 " Blest are the dead who, dying in the Lord, 
 Rest from their labors, for their works on earth 
 Do follow them." And as the influence 
 Of their example and their thought moves on, 
 Blessing the minds of others that remain 
 Upon the earth, the righteous dead rejoice, 
 And glorify the God who gave them strength 
 To do His will in time, and ever joyous 
 They exult and sing, O holy, holy, holy is the Lord. 
 
 The law of God will execute itself 
 Within the soul forever. While memory lives 
 Man's earthly history will constitute 
 Eternal condemnation or reward." 
 — Thought is imperishable, and every act 
 Of which the soul was ever cognizant 
 Is graven on the tablets of the mind,* 
 Until the books are opened and all things 
 Are brought forth at the great assize of God. 
 
 * * * -yy-g j-iave not done with sin 
 
 *See this psychological fact illustrated in Abercrombie's In. Phil. 
 
WORTH OF THE SOUL. 5 1 
 
 When 'tis cominitted, or when 'tis forgot; 
 Like unto seeds deep buried in the earth, 
 Which germinate when thrown up to the sun, 
 So sin may He long hidden 'neath the weight 
 Of life's events, till, in the sunlight of eternity, 
 Memory again unites the tie that binds 
 Action and actor in eternal bonds. 
 
 — God has united cause and consequence, 
 Both in the mental and material world — 
 The effect suggests the cause by mental law, 
 Fix'd and efficient as the rule of fote : 
 
 — As when the effect of some past sin in life 
 O'ertakes a culprit in his after years. 
 
 The pain awakens memory — the guilty act 
 Is reproduced, and self-condemning pangs 
 Accompany the memory of the deed. — 
 
 This is God's law, and every soul that leaves 
 The mortal for the spiritual sphere 
 Leaves its chief good, or goes to it in heaven. 
 If left, 'tis loss — if found, eternal gain. 
 " Tis home where'er the heart is," — if on earth, 
 We leave the objects that we cherish most; 
 The heart, dissevered from its chosen good, 
 Will ache and bleed, all anguish'd and bereft. 
 Thus selfish minds when disembodied feel 
 The anguish of bereavement; the effect 
 
52 
 
 THE SOUL. 
 
 Suggests the cause — the cause was sin and self, 
 And Memory comes and binds upon the soul 
 The body of this death. 
 
 But if, in the hereafter, we approach 
 Our object of chief love, joy will spring forth, 
 And bliss suggests its cause, — that cause is not 
 Works done on earth, but Christ, the blessed Lord, 
 And the heart, satisfied, exults and sings 
 " To Him that loved us, and wash'd us from 
 Our sins in His own blood, be honor, praise, 
 Dominion, glory, ever more." Amen. 
 
 O living man, while it is called to-day, 
 Ponder the question of the Son of God : 
 " What will it profit, if a man, to gain 
 The whole of earth, should lose the priceless soul; 
 Or what for his redemption can he give 
 Whose soul is doom'd to die the second death?" 
 
 Think, selfish mortal — let your reason grasp 
 The import of the question, and then go 
 With contrite sj^irit and believe in Christ — 
 So faith that works by love may cast out death 
 And give thee life divine, — a life that crowns 
 The soul with glory — honor — immortality ! 
 
LUCILLA: 
 
 TEN SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A LADY OF 
 FASHION. 
 
 A SOCIAL DRAMA. 
 
 The following drama of fashionable life originated in a 
 singular incident. There came to the quiet city in which I 
 was residing, an Eastern gentleman [J. G. S.] of character 
 and culture, to deliver a poem at the opening of a new in- 
 stitution for the education of young ladies. It so happened 
 that the president of a neighboring college and the poet of 
 the occasion took tea at my house. We talked of the 
 methods and the matter of a lecture best adapted to interest 
 Western audiences. It was suggested that audiences at the 
 West did not fully appreciate the excellence of many lec- 
 tures with which they were honored. I was a Western 
 man by experience and predilection ; and this may have 
 prompted me to suggest, that what were called excellencies 
 in some lectures might really be defects. Such lectures 
 possessed excellencies of a certain kind, but they were not 
 such as could be designated by the terms practical or nar 
 tural. A lecture that magnifies some subject out of its 
 relative importance ; — that makes a great matter in words 
 
56 LUCILLA. 
 
 and phrases out of a common idea, would be more likely 
 to succeed at the East than at the West. It was said that 
 those who emigrated from an older country were generally 
 men of strong purpose and active minds, rather than those 
 who remained behind. Hence, if there were any difference, 
 a lecture embracing the practical — the real — the useful, 
 in experience and in progress, presented in fitting and ex- 
 hilarating phrase and form, would be as likely to be appre- 
 ciated by the mass-audiences of the West as the East. 
 
 Very unexpectedly I noticed that my unthoughtful re- 
 marks were taken as indicating a challenge of the merit of 
 lecturers invited from older States. I endeavored to mend 
 the matter by saying that Western taste might prefer the 
 common and practical rather than the elevated and refined ; 
 and proposed to test the jnatter by giving notice that even- 
 ing that I would myself deliver a lecture in poetry to the 
 same audience in a fortnight from that time, and ask Presi- 
 dent T. to be present to witness the result. The remark 
 itself perhaps was improper, and its effect indicated that 
 the subject should be dropped. The manner, however, in 
 which it was received stimulated my will to make the effort ; 
 and in less than a month the following poem was delivered 
 to an audience composed mostly of the same persons who 
 were present on the evening in question. And, perhaps, 
 for other reasons than its intrinsic value, it was better re- 
 ceived than its predecessor. 
 
 The Poem is of the composite order, being limited to a 
 few days and to the spare hours which other duties did not 
 demand. I wrought into the thread of the narrative some 
 unpublished pieces which I found among my papers. As 
 from time to time I turned from other duties to rest my 
 mind by a change of thought, I changed the mood and 
 measure of the rhyme, sometimes to suit my own mood, 
 but generally to suit the character of the life-picture I de- 
 sired to delineate. This rendered the writing easy and 
 pleasant for me ; and if I do not misjudge, it will relieve 
 the tedium somewhat for the reader. 
 
 The lady of whose life the drama is a chronotype, was a 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 57 
 
 highly-gifted woman, — the eldest daughter in a wealthy 
 family. The sketches are a true experience. Some pas- 
 sages may seem" intense, some puerile ; but truth is inexor- 
 able. I have described the incidents as occurring in a city 
 which is to be the largest interior commercial city of the 
 world, and one in whose past history and present prosperity 
 I have both a moral and a pecuniary interest. 
 
 I speak of scenes in the life of a lady of fashion. I do 
 not mean by this, that persons of wealth and culture are all 
 devoted to the follies of a heartless life. I am glad to know 
 that this is not always true, especially in the quiet interior 
 cities of the country. Comfort and good taste are not to be 
 condemned as attributes of fashion. The highest culture 
 may be adorned and sweetened by piety ; and large pos- 
 sessions often prompt and aid a life of active goodness. 
 
 But fashion often reigns as a tyrant both in large cities 
 and little ones, deforming " the human form divine," and 
 paganizing the person with tawdry stuffs and jewels. How 
 far the Lady of the Drama belonged to one or the other of 
 these classes, it is for the reader to judge. I fear, like too 
 many others, having made a mistake in early life, she was 
 unable to extricate herself in later years, when she awoke 
 gradually to a sense of the evil in which she and her 
 family were involved. Let others profit by her experience, 
 and then, although written hastily, her heart-history will 
 not have been written in vain. 
 
 The poem was written for an audience of young ladies, 
 pursuing the higher branches of study, and looking forward 
 to the active world, where each one was soon to have a per- 
 sonal experience -^ and each to act a part in the Drama of 
 Life. The object was to admonish those who were soon to 
 assume such responsibilities, by delineating the misery and 
 mischief which unfailingly attend a heartless and hypocriti- 
 cal life. It is now given to the public with like hope. May 
 the Good Spirit give it impression, 
 
 3* 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 LuciLLA — A lady in fashionable life. 
 
 Ann — Her younger and less thoughtful sister. 
 
 Misses Leslie — Daughters in a family that had grown 
 suddenly rich. 
 
 Alfred — A young man between whom and Lucilla 
 there had existed an early and true attachment. 
 
 Lucilla's Husband, Son, two Daughters, and 
 Other Friends. 
 
LUCILLA — A SOCIAL DRAMA. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 The City^ and the Introduction of the Lady. 
 
 In the fair West, — upon a bright lake's strand, 
 Where cities, reared by magic progress, stand, — 
 Where enterprise, the genius of the place, 
 Developes energy and adds a grace — 
 Uprose the Garden City! Earth and air, 
 And the dull waters seem excited there — 
 There Wealth is wed to Progress and gives birth 
 To marts for commerce and saloons for mirth — 
 Retreats where Vice that shuns the eye of day 
 Spreads her allurements, and beguiles her prey; 
 And holy charity her altar rears. 
 And holds the urn where drop the orphan's tears. 
 
 Here dwell'd the fair Lucilla; and to-night 
 A speculator's mansion is a-light, 
 
6o LUCILLA, 
 
 And joyous courtesies are passing free 
 
 Among a gay assembling company; 
 
 Friends meeting friends salute, trained voices sing, 
 
 And others join the conversation ring; 
 
 Some promenade, while others try their skill 
 
 And trip it lightly in the gay quadrille: 
 
 But one seems mistress of the festive scene, 
 
 Fair and self-conscious as a reigning queen. 
 
 There w^as grace in her movement and light in 
 her eye; 
 And the air caught perfume as the maiden pass'd by. 
 She had braided a rose in her dark auburn hair, 
 And pearls link'd with gold lay on shoulders so fair — 
 Her form seems to swim in the maze of the dance. 
 While the ardor of motion her graces enhance. — 
 There were few who beheld her in loveliness then 
 But that maid would come back to tiieir mem'ry again. 
 
 Past noon of night in those parlors gay 
 There's a murmur of voices passing away; 
 The threshold is cross'd by footsteps light, 
 And the last "fair" lingerer says "good night!" 
 
 When the gay ones were gone Lucilla stood 
 With a w^earied mien and an altered mood. 
 The light still stream'd with a glint and a glow 
 From the chandel-a-bras and the drops below : 
 A thoughtful pause marked the maiden's look. 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 6l 
 
 As in silence one thinks of the sense of a book, 
 And a dccp-di-awn sigh gently swell'd her breast, 
 As she sank on the sofa to think and to rest. 
 
 Her mind now traced with an eager flight 
 The varied scenes of that festive night, 
 And mingled emotions of pride or scorn — 
 Of triumph or envy succeed by turn: — 
 With a wearied frame and an anxious breast 
 The Lady of Fashion retired to rest, 
 And while angels of mercy await and weep, 
 She sinks in a fitful and troubled sleep. 
 
 She dream'd of one from the summer land. 
 Where the wild orange blooms and the breezes are bland, 
 His bearing was graceful — his deep, dark eye 
 Follow'd her movements inquiringly ; 
 His words were few — but spoken with soul 
 That went to her heart with magic control, 
 That thro' all her being so subtly wrought. 
 That words she gave others, while he had her thought. 
 
 But he came and went; and she could not tell 
 If he e'er should return to renew the spell. 
 
SCENE II. 
 
 The NoveU the Drama, and the Poor. 
 
 It was a fearful night in the mid-winter, 
 But th' parlor air was soft as summer eve: 
 The wine geranium and the fragrant shrub 
 Sprang from their painted vases. Rich curtains hung, 
 Massive and warm, upon the window frames; 
 And mellow beams, through soften'd glass diffused, 
 Lay still and slumb'rous on the parlor scene. 
 
 Lucilla sat with mind intent upon 
 The last new story of a novelist ; — 
 The tale was false to nature, and gave views 
 Of love and duty all untrue to life: — 
 The lady's heart was melted with the woe 
 Of the ideal hero: — Absorb'd she sat; 
 Her mind entranced; her interest intense; 
 Forgetful of the world in which she lived; — 
 Awake to nothing but the writer's thousrht. 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 63 
 
 Without the winds hlcw fierce and fitfully, 
 Drifting- in chilling- eddies thro' the street 
 — But hark, the bell — Lucilla look'd and spoke — 
 " Who rung? " — " Who 's out, a horrid night like this? " 
 The servant tells — 
 
 Sei'vant. A woman 's in the hall, 
 And begs to see the lady : — 
 
 Lucilla. Let her in : — 
 A shiv'ring widow thus her tale relates : — 
 
 Oh lady, turn me not away 
 
 Till you have heard my tale of soitow, 
 My little boy has died to-day — 
 
 Poor child, they bury him to-morrow. 
 
 When he was sick, how sad and slow 
 I went to work, and left him crying, 
 
 But some days past I could not go. 
 For ev'ry day I thought him dying. 
 
 Lady ! I have another child, 
 
 I came away and left her sleeping — 
 
 Poor Ellen Jane! — she looked so wild 
 When Willie died, and I was weeping. 
 
 Indeed I never beg'd before, 
 
 For I can work, and I am willing; 
 
 Nor would I now stand at your door 
 But for the sake of little Ellen. 
 
64 
 
 LUCILLA. 
 
 Poor child, — she cried herself to sleep, 
 And when she felt the pangs of hunger, 
 
 It griev'd her so to see me weep. 
 
 She said she still could hear them longer. 
 
 Dear lady, give the smallest sum, — 
 A loaf of bread costs but a shilling; 
 
 And if you doubt, your maid may come 
 And see it 's truth that I am telling. 
 
 A sigh, — an earnest look, sad and sincere, 
 Accompanied the widow's tale of woe. 
 
 Lucilla heard in silence — not a look, 
 Nor indication that she had a heart, 
 Was visible in feature or in voice. 
 Her face was beautiful; but statue like, 
 'Twas cold in beauty, as the chisel' d stone. 
 Her sister woman's sorrow mov'd her not — 
 Absorb'd in the false tale she coldly said, 
 " The servant will go back with you, and get 
 Some cold provision for your starving child." 
 
 — What palsied thus Lucilla's heart, and chill'd 
 The milk of human kindness in her breast? 
 — The novel and the drama : — they had kill'd 
 And clos'd the soul to Mercy's sweet behest — 
 Exaggeration and factitious woe 
 Had wrung and wrought and overwrought her heart, 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 65 
 
 'Till scenes of real life which fell below 
 The tale of Fancy, could no power impart 
 To move her sympathies, or make her feel 
 A sister's interest in a sister's weal. 
 
 Refrain — 
 
 But is all fiction evil ? — may not thought, 
 Portraying true heart history, be given 
 In fitting phrase, with Virtue's praise inwrought. 
 While Vice and Sham to their low haunts are driven ? 
 — Perhaps 'tis true, — but few select the pure 
 From pools of poison and remain secure 
 From evil taint: — and all hearts take their hue 
 From thoughts with which they convei"se — false or true. 
 
SCENE III, 
 
 A Prologue, and the Fashmtable Call. 
 
 How sweet the social courtesies of life, 
 When imconstrain'd b}^ forms and fallacies. 
 When friendship finds its true affinity 
 In other minds, then social ties are blest — 
 To feel that we have friends who know our hearts 
 As we know theirs. Thus freed from false constraint, 
 Friendship is blest by liberty and love. 
 
 But Fashion's vot'ries live a double life — 
 The outward semblance and the inward truth. 
 All souls are conscious what they ought to be. 
 And oftentimes assume the garb of truth, 
 While hollow phrase of love and courtesy 
 Cover the real motions of the mind. 
 — Here foUoweth a scene, an ev'ry-day 
 Exhibit of the life of the false world 
 Of Fashion : 
 
a social drama.. 67 
 
 The Fashionable Calls. 
 
 LuciLLA and her Cousin in the parlor. Enter the 
 Misses Leslie. 
 
 Miss L. Good morning, Lucilla — why how do 
 you do? 
 I am really glad you are looking so well; 
 And how is your cousin ? — Why Jane, is it true 
 That you're to be married? — Now Jenny, do tell? 
 Jen7iy. What nonsense — (he, he!) can you think 
 so of me ; 
 Why Charley has called — I hardly know when; 
 'Tis easier to marry than (he, he,) to get free 
 When married. 
 
 Lu. Have you call'd on the Penys again? 
 Aliss L. Why, la ! I've neglected them. — Well, I 
 must go 
 Day after to-morrow. — Oh, no, let me see — 
 I'm engaged on that night. — Do the Wickershams 
 
 know 
 Of the concert next Friday? 
 Ln. Indeed, I can't say. 
 
 Miss L. The Claytons have gone to the Springs. 
 Did you hear that Delia has join'd St. Paul's church ? 
 yenny. He, he! No! 
 
 Miss L. Well, it's true — for Tim Jackson was 
 there, and he see 'er. — 
 
68 LUCILLA. 
 
 Oh dear, how we're staying! Come, Sue, let us go. 
 — Now, Cillie, do call, just as soon as you can. 
 And bring in your cousin. — I am sure it's so nigh 
 That you might call often. — And Jennie do come 
 And sit a whole evening ; he, he, he ! Good bye. 
 
 [Exeunt the Misses Leslie. 
 
 Said Lucilla — How low these Miss Leslies appear ; 
 They have nothing on earth but their wealth to 
 commend them; 
 I am really glad sister Ann was not here, 
 
 For she hates them intensely and means to offend 
 them. 
 
 Said the Leslies — Lucilla looks really old ; 
 
 I wonder why people pay her such attention ; — 
 And I know the reason why Ann acts so cold. 
 
 And so does our Richai-d — Let's call on Miss 
 Empshin. 
 
 zd Leslie. No, let us wait, for I have heard 
 
 That Empshin's going to fail ; 
 Old Peterkin's gone by the board, 
 
 And Empshin was his bail — 
 Oh no, we must not call to-day — 
 
 Their character's in doubt; 
 We may be caught — let's stay away, 
 
 And see how it turns out. 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 69 
 
 But let us call on Anne Bright, 
 
 For Richard says, when last he met her, 
 She had her colors on just right — 
 
 An angel could not look no better. 
 15/ Leslie. Wonder where Anne buys her white, 
 
 They say she's never seen without it. 
 I've heard she is a perfect fright 
 
 When she's not painted : * * 
 2d Leslie. Who can doubt it. 
 
 Thus, the poor devotees of Fashion live 
 
 A heartless, aimless and deceitful life ; 
 Go, upright man, implore kind heaven to give 
 
 A WOMAN — not an angel — for a wife. 
 
 Refrain — 
 In this commonplace world — if the truth must be told. 
 
 Angel wives we will gladly forego; 
 Flesh and blood is far better, — and over the river 
 
 Our wives will be angels, you know. 
 
SCENE IV. 
 
 The Fashionable Sabbath and Fashionable Church. 
 
 'Tis Sabbath morning in the month of June; 
 The sun has risen in splendor. The Hght wind 
 Breathing among the treUis'd vines, has kissed 
 Their fragi-ant buds, and so its breath is bahn. 
 But in yon home of affluence and ease 
 The sash is closed, that the fresh morning air, 
 Perfum'd by Hygiene's breath, may not inti'ude. 
 
 Within her chamber, splendidly attired. 
 Sat fair Lucilla. Her white slender hand 
 Was pressed upon her side, and a slight sigh 
 Betoken'd pain. Misguided care in youth 
 Had wrapped her person in so many folds 
 Of warm, luxurious garments, the fresh air 
 Which gives life-vigor to the form divine, 
 And the free exercise, which God ordain'd 
 To waken perspiration and give health, 
 Were all unknown to her. Her form constrained 
 By Fashion's cruel and controlling power 
 Into proportions so unnatural, 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 7 1 
 
 And SO adverse to action, the poor girl 
 
 Had but the semblance, not the joy of health. 
 
 — Nervous she sat. Before her lay the rouge, 
 And those appliances which Fashion gives 
 Instead of beauty. She arose, and stood 
 Before the mirror — changed her posture oft, 
 Surveyed herself in various attitudes. 
 * * But hark! — a voice — her sister comes in 
 
 haste, 
 Anxious what Sabbath costume she shall wear. 
 
 Enter Anx. 
 Ann. Cille, suppose I wear, to-day. 
 My dove silk dress and plain French collar? 
 Would my light slippers look too gay .'' 
 — I'll never give another dollar 
 To Madame Fran9ais. — My new hat 
 Is a mere botch — I hate to wear it — 
 She's done with me! — I'll tell her that! — 
 I'll let her know that I'll not bear it. 
 
 Lucilla. What nonsense, Ann — 'tis well enough; 
 The hat she made for Frances Fuller 
 Is just like yours, — of just such stuff, 
 Except the difference in the color. 
 
 Ann. I hate to wear it, — if I do, 
 'T will set those silly Leslies gazing ; 
 
72 LUCILLA. 
 
 When one comes out with something new 
 The people stare so — 'tis amazing, 
 
 — But there's the bell — well, we must go — 
 
 Do you think George Day '11 be out this morning? 
 
 — I really wish that I could know. 
 
 — The Petershams are in deep mourning. * 
 
 — Wonder who's dead? 
 
 Lucllla. Why, make haste, Ann; 
 The bells have been some time a-rinsfinof: 
 We ought to be there, if we can, 
 Before they're through with the first singing. 
 
 Mark those young ladies: they are beautiful; 
 The elder one is stately, and her mien 
 Betrays the consciousness that she has felt 
 The prestige of position. They have pass'd 
 Into an edifice whose towering spire, 
 Rich painted windows, and well-furnished pews 
 Tell us that men of dignity and wealth 
 Profess to love the lowly Nazarene. 
 
 The minister is eloquent. He bears 
 Himself with ease and dignity, and speaks 
 With a becoming reverence of Christ, 
 The glorious Saviour. But his truth is tame, 
 And his fine voice devoid of earnestness. 
 He lacks heart-power to give his preaching soul. 
 And speak with prophet's courage against sin. 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 73 
 
 He has not learned the faithfuhiess of Christ, 
 Who spoke the truth in love, and yet denounced 
 Pride, privilege and vice in church and state — 
 Ambition, lust and subtle selfishness. 
 In all their myriad forms, Jesus i^eproved — 
 Reprov'd dogmatic hypocrites and scribes, 
 And doctors of divinity * — all who seek 
 For lucre's bribe, or to be seen of men. 
 
 But one, unlike the Master, stood to teach 
 The Master's precepts. Skillful to o'erlook 
 Sin in high places, — wise to dogmatize 
 On texts and doctrines, — zealous for a sect; 
 And in most polished phrase to generalize 
 On sin's great evils, and the love of God. 
 
 Widi an inviting clause the sermon closed. 
 The doctor prayed, the purchased quartette sung — 
 The soulless organ piped its melody 
 Unto the congregation — not to God, — 
 Pealing its master harmonies in ears 
 Which heard the sound without the sense of truth. 
 
 Lucilla thought the singing exquisite, — 
 The alto executed admirably. 
 
 * Matt, xxiii : S, "Be ye not called Rabbi." — ^Jesus Christ. This word has 
 precisely the import of Doctor of Divinity. "Jesus forbade his disciples to 
 seek [receive] such titles of distinction. The reason Me gave was that He 
 was Himself their Master and Teacher." — Albert Barnes, an authority 
 accepted by those who willingly disobey this positive command of Jesus. 
 
 4 
 
74 LUCILLA. 
 
 But Ann wasvex'd. — The Leslies gazed about, 
 And spoke her name too loud as they came out. 
 — She said that the fools meant to let people know 
 That they knew her^ by hollering in company so. 
 
 Sunday evening. Lucilla's soliloquy. 
 
 In quiet hours Lucilla had her thoughts 
 Of sacred subjects, much above the range 
 Of common minds. Kind nature had bestow'd 
 On her the boon of gifted intellect, — 
 The heartless world had her affections chill'd, 
 And had perverted, but yet could not kill 
 Her better reason. In meditation oft 
 She spoke in language of deep, searching thought — 
 It seem'd as tho' a light were in her soul 
 That might have led her to the gate of heaven : 
 This Sabbath night — the Bible in her hand. 
 She talked and mus'd in bitter words like these : 
 
 If I were sure Christianity were true^ 
 I should be ?niserahlel If this strange book 
 Be light from heaven, 'tis light that blinds the eyes! 
 Yet 'tmay be so! A gospel to the soul 
 That seeks for peace in purity and love, 
 And teaches men to find their happiness 
 In labors for their kind, — cares for the poor, — 
 Calls God our Father — men a brotherhood — 
 If this be falsehood^ then, what would be truth? 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 75 
 
 The text to-day was clear, — " Christ came to 
 preach 
 The gospel to the poor — to heal the sick — 
 To open the blind eyes, and liberate 
 The captive." 
 
 The doctor made it plain, — 
 But still the fact — the staring fact remains, 
 The poor are shut as truly from our pews 
 As though church officers stood at the door 
 To drive them from its threshold ! — 
 
 And then the text — 
 " To open the blind eyes." Pray, who are they 
 Whose eyes are opened now to see the world 
 As those apostles saw it? — " Therds the rubV* 
 — If this New Testament be true, I fear 
 Our views of it are fixlse. But still, 'tis not 
 For me to judge. The world is different now 
 From what it was : — Perhaps the church is right. 
 
 Tlie preacher said our nature must be chang'd 
 Ere we find happiness in Christian life. — 
 What is that change.? Is Mrs. Selfhood chang'd.? 
 Yes — changT'd as much as Ann and I are chan<r'd. 
 
 [Ann (^interjecting) — Why, Cille, jou fool, we were 
 clianged by the chrism 
 The minister used in the rite of baptism.] — 
 
76 LUCILLA. 
 
 Does Mr. Mundane live a Christian life ? — 
 Then what is Christian life? Is it fulfiU'd 
 By a profession, while our daily walk 
 Follows the forms and fashions of the world? 
 Is this to bear the cross? — My soul is sick! 
 Such mockery is baseness and a crime. 
 — The lewd, the base, the shallow and the vain 
 Wear on their persons and their books a cross — 
 The badge of self-denial unto death. 
 What arrant hypocrites! This volume says 
 " Friends of the world are enemies of God." 
 But that makes me His enemy, — yes, me I 
 It can't be true, — I'm not His enemy! 
 But would a friend refuse t' obey His will ? 
 
 * * Perhaps God has no will ! — that can't be so, 
 For I have will; and if God has a will, 
 
 And my will differs from the will divine, 
 God must submit to me, or I to God. 
 
 * * Is that the issue? Is there no escape? 
 
 And then there's Mr. Manfold and his wife, 
 Possessing wealth and all the means to live 
 As others do. Sure, they are not like me. 
 Is it the Christian faith that gives them peace? 
 I doubt it. Yet how earnest and how sweet 
 That Mrs. Manfold is. — She told me once 
 That love of Jesus was the Christian's life, 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 77 
 
 And that 't was pleasant to deny herself, 
 
 For Jesus' sake, by labors to do good : — 
 
 She said " faith works by love." — Perhaps it does. 
 
 In her. In some it works by hate — 
 
 That much I know. Can faith work contraries .'' 
 
 'Tis in the nature — not the creed — thaVs it I — 
 
 I have it now ! — His nature and Jiot faith. 
 
 — But Mrs. Manfold says that once she sought 
 Her happiness in pleasure and found pain, 
 
 As I do now — As all self-seekers do. 
 
 Alas! Alas! I'm weary of my thought. 
 
 'Tis hard to find the truth. I sometimes think 
 
 There is no truth. — And yet there must be truth. — 
 
 Pilate, you question'd well : Ask'd Jesus, " What is 
 
 truth?" 
 
 And why, O Christ, didst Thou not answer him.? 
 
 O God, if God there be, — where ? what is truth ? 
 ****** 
 
 Well, Cille, said Ann, 
 If you're done with your preaching — look here ; 
 This fringe is all soil'd — I must have a new fan 
 And such things are confoundedly dear. 
 — George Day wasn't there. — Did you notice Miss Jones 
 Try to show folks her dear little feet.'' 
 
 — What an awkward young man sat with old daddy 
 
 Holmes ! — 
 Oh dear ! I want something to eat. \Exit Ann. 
 
SCENE V. 
 
 Wedlock and the Weddhtg. 
 
 Hail wedded love — a benison that brings 
 Peace to the truly good and virtuous breast ; 
 The earth has not among her precious things 
 An influence so priceless and so blest 
 As that affection which in wedlock binds 
 In harmony of will two mated minds. 
 
 Lucilla lov'd, but not with sincere 
 And consecrate affection which is felt 
 By the true-hearted. Ambition, worldly aims, 
 And love of lucre mingled their alloy, 
 Tainting the sweetest fount that flows on earth - 
 A bride's affection. 
 
 In early years 
 Lucilla had a secret of the heart, 
 Known now but to herself and the All-wise: — 
 A manly youth had met her oftentimes 
 In a i-etir'd circle. She knew well 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 79 
 
 The worth of his true heart. Her maiden instinct saw 
 
 Something in Alfred's manner and his eye 
 
 Tiiat told a secret women love to learn — 
 
 She felt the charm, and yet she gave no sign : 
 
 But oft she thought : — It may not be, and yet, 
 
 He could award me tenderness and trust 
 
 Of which low natures are incapable. 
 
 Alfred was poor — Lucilla felt the ban ; 
 She had a strength of purpose and a will 
 That could have burst it. But the laugh 
 Of the gay world — estranged associates. 
 The anticipated pang? of wounded pride — 
 Even the Leslies' sneer, whom she despised — 
 Forbade her heart congenial fellowship. 
 
 That secret will not die but in her grave. 
 
 Refi-ai7i — 
 
 — And yet, 'tis well — a man of sense may wed 
 A maiden of sweet heart, and raise her head 
 Into the social circle where he moves — 
 But 'tis not so with woman — if she loves 
 Without her sphere — she drinks love's bitter cup ; 
 She can't go down and bring her lover up. 
 
 Lucilla gave her hand to one who was 
 Her equal in the world's false estimate. 
 She did not hate him — nay, perhaps she lov'd ; 
 She thought she did, when she could keep her mind 
 
8o LUCILLA. 
 
 From certain thoughts which sometimes troubled her. 
 
 Her suitor could not love — he had no heart; 
 
 His miud was not inferior, and his name 
 
 Was common in high circles; but his heart 
 
 Had been exhausted, and his conscience kill'd 
 
 By meretricious amours. 'Tis sad but true, 
 
 His marriage was no secret to the frail 
 
 And fallen creature whose embrace he left, 
 
 To vow eternal constancy to one 
 
 Of whom he was unworthy. But 'tis thus 
 
 In the gay world I 
 
 The marriage pomp was o'er, * * 
 The journey finished, and the settlement — 
 Lucilla still seem'd happy : — Perhaps she was ! — 
 She hoped she should be happy : — Hoped she was ! 
 
 Another had his thoughts, Alfred knew well 
 That vice confirmed, like the dread vampyre's tooth 
 Extracts the love-life from the victim's heart. 
 He could forecast the future, and he fear'd 
 That hope, and peace, and all were lost to one 
 Who had the heart-thought of his early years. 
 But for himself he now could feel no loss, 
 A_truer heart sat in his pleasant home; 
 Success was his, and a good name ; but still 
 He pitied his old friend, and thus express'd 
 In modest verse his sense of the event : — 
 
a social drama. 8 1 
 
 Alfred's Stanzas on Lucilla's Marriage. 
 
 I saw a maiden freshly fair 
 
 As summer day in spring, 
 With lips as ripening roses are 
 That shed their fragrance on the air 
 
 T' embalm the zephyr's wing. 
 
 I saw her thread the wildering maze 
 
 Of Fashion's flow'ry way, 
 Elicit light from starry eyes, 
 And court the smile, and win the gaze 
 
 Of th' opulent and gay. 
 
 I saw her in her maiden prime 
 
 For sordid lucre sold ; 
 She wreath'd with gloom the brow of Time, 
 And gave her heart at Hymen's shrine, 
 
 A sacrifice to gold. 
 
 I ask'd a youth of pleasing mien. 
 
 Who once admired the maid. 
 How she could waste love's gen'rous glow 
 On sullied lips and sordid brow — 
 
 * * He turnd away and slgKd. 
 
SCENE VI. 
 
 Alaternity. 
 
 Maternity, thy fond solicitudes 
 Evince the wisdom of the Blessed One, 
 Who bindeth to the mother's heart the babe 
 By holy ties. 
 
 And thus, as time pass'd on, 
 Upon the arm of a fair lady la}'^ 
 A sprightly child — sprightly, but oftentimes 
 Unlovely and perverse. 'Tvvas Fashion's child, 
 And had imbibed its parents' nervousness. 
 Its vital powers were much impair'd by ills. 
 Which enervation and luxurious ease 
 Had wrought upon its parents. A fair child 
 And yet prepense to bad development. 
 
 Lucilla hum'd a cradle-song, and sought 
 To soothe it into rest, but sought in vain ; 
 The mother's effoi'ts seem'd to kindle rage 
 In its infantile bosom : — still she seeks 
 To win it to repose by ev'ry art 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 83 
 
 Which mothers know, but seeks, alas! in vain. 
 And now, her patience wearied by the task, 
 Has yielded, and with violence she shakes 
 The startled infant. It looks wild and screams, 
 Red'ning with tiny rage. The mother sighs, 
 And calls the maid to take the child away, 
 And soothe its perverse will as best she may. 
 
 Sub-scene — Seven Years Later. 
 
 [LuciLLA in the sitting-room rochijig a babe. Enter 
 a sprightly boy., seven years old, -whose will had 
 never been subdued.^ 
 
 Mother. Why, Edward Alwin! come to motlier, 
 dear — 
 Sweet little Allie is good boy to-day; 
 AUie may have some playthings and stay here. 
 For mother loves to see good children play. 
 
 Child. Ma, may I have my hobby-horse, and keep 
 My drum in here, and march about the room.? 
 
 Mother. Allie would wake his sister from her sleep ; 
 But Ma will find some things for Allie soon. 
 
 Child. No, Ma, I want them izow. — 1 want to play 
 With hobby and the whip; — now. Ma, I do. 
 
 Mother. But Allie was to be good boy to-day ; 
 And Ma will buy him sugar things, you know. 
 
84 LUCILLA. 
 
 Child. Ma, buy them now, — let Sally go down 
 town 
 And get them. Ma, and I'll be good all day, 
 
 Alfred, be still ! said his mother, with a frown. 
 Be still I or I will send 3'ou right away. 
 
 The boy is vex'd, and sulks against the wall; — 
 Mutters displeasure, — whines, and now he cries. 
 His mother sends him out into the hall, 
 To keep the babe from waking with the noise; — 
 Then calls the maid to take the boy away, 
 And soothe his perverse will as best she may. 
 
 Such, oft, are Fashion's children. In later years 
 If maids unfit for mothers — invalids, 
 Deceiving others with false forms, false colors 
 And false heart. If men, debased by vice. 
 And wanting manly strength and honesty, — 
 Wills unsubdued, and restless whene'er sense 
 And sensuous pleasures fliil to gratify. 
 Alas for man or woman who is doomed 
 By birth and fortune to this venal sphere. 
 Where fashion, without conscience, worships gold, 
 And marriage is a purchase and a fraud. 
 
 Refrain — 
 
 Thank God for sturdy workers, man and wife, 
 To srive a race of men to bear the trust 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 85 
 
 Our Others have transmitted; and thank God 
 For freedom, piety, and schools and law 
 That give a discipline of heart and mind 
 To men and women who transmit their strength 
 To after generations. This is the deep 
 Pivotal blessing which our land can boast; — 
 While wealth ofttimes breeds feebleness and vice, 
 Labor and virtue give us minds and men.'^ 
 
SCENE VII. 
 
 TJie Matron. 
 
 Years had passed o'er Lucilla, and her life 
 Was wearing to its evening. She had seen 
 Much secret sorrow — had heard bitter words — 
 Had known desertion and an aching heart; 
 But still her gay companions knew it not: — 
 The outwai'd seeming of her life ran on 
 Happy as other matrons of her class. 
 
 All the appliances that worldlings use 
 To kill the time, or ease the restless mind, 
 Or cheat each other by appearances 
 Of wealth or happiness, were known to her: — 
 
 The opera was visited, where art, 
 Devoid of natural melody and sense, 
 Transforms sweet music to artistic noise — 
 Where Fashion's fools are doom'd to sit and hear 
 What does not interest them ; then doom'd to lie, 
 And speak as tho' they much admir'd the skill 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 87 
 
 That tortures music to hysteric fits; * 
 And lov'd strange grimace and aft'ected tone, 
 Better by far than true and lofty thouglit, 
 When married to a pleasant melody. ^ 
 
 Niag'ra and the Springs were visited — 
 Where each perforce seems glad and gay, but most 
 Are sinister at heart, eager for notice. 
 Striving and anxious for acknowledgment 
 In leading circles, or to make display 
 That indicates their wealth to practical 63^65; 
 While in their private rooms are flippant words 
 Contemptuously or enviously express'd 
 In the cant phrase which Fashion's vot'ries use 
 In the home circle. * * 
 
 Lucilla saw it all. 
 And felt within her soul its hollowness — 
 To escape she could not — to reflect was pain — 
 Alone, at night, when all but she had gone 
 To smile upon a courtesan from France — 
 Rachel, — the lewd, — she thus soliloquised : 
 
 * "Music has for a long- time been avowedly mad, — divorced from 
 sense and fact, and associated with fiction and delirium only." — Thomas 
 Carlvle. 
 
 "There is not one in fifty of those fashionable people ■who attend the 
 opera that have any discriminating^ apprehension of the character of the 
 music." Yet there is not one in fifty of them that would not lie if you 
 asked them how they were pleased with the performance. — Alex. Knox. 
 
88 LUCILLA. 
 
 Lucilla's Soliloquy on the Theatre. 
 
 I can not kill the time — I still must think! 
 Think ! think ! — and less at ease the more I think ■ 
 That theatre I — would that fanatic priests 
 Could make the world admit what I have learn'd, 
 That play-houses breed social pestilence — 
 My erring son enticed within its haunts 
 By artful syrens, and their Circean cup, 
 Is making shipwreck of his mind and means! — 
 My daughter^ too I elated by the eclat, 
 Encore and clap a harlot from Paris ! — 
 — I too must seem to admire the gilded sin, 
 Or else be marked as stoical and strange. 
 Alas! where is our virtue, when the bounds 
 Of right and wrong are blended, and the young 
 Applaud the lech'rous and the profligate. 
 
 But then 'tis said amusements are a need — 
 Something to exhilarate and vary thought — 
 The plea is true for lab' ring, studious minds — 
 But 'tis the idle, vicious, and the gay 
 That join their voices in the box and pit : — 
 Do those at ease, and those of little thought. 
 Need plays to ease them of their mental toil ? — 
 The thoughtful worker with the mind or arm 
 Is seldom there. — The plea is misapplied ; 
 If it were true 'twould be irrelevant, 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 89 
 
 For sti"ong emotion does not rest the mind; 
 Exciting scenes deprave or overtax 
 The sensibility. Thus incidents 
 That form tlie common warp and w^oof of life 
 That make home liappy to the pure in heart, 
 Become insipid to tlie vapid minds 
 Depleted by the stage; and so they seek 
 Excitement, as the drunkard seeks his cup ! ° 
 
 And then how few the plays in which the sense 
 Of virtuous families — (if such there be 
 That frequent these debauch'ries of the soul ) — • 
 How few in which there is not introduced 
 Some one whose words apologize for sin, 
 Or make insidious assaults upon 
 The modesty and truth of wedded love? 
 And husbands, sons, yea, daughters laugh at scenes 
 Which taint heart purity, and thus induce 
 A heart defection from right principle — 
 Thus are we hypoci'ites, whose virtue stands 
 In custom or in caution. — Alas! alas! 
 I see the poison, but must swallow it. 
 
 — Just then her daughter enters and rejoins — 
 Mother, Camille was true as life to-night — 
 But brother was enraptured by the grace 
 Of the maid-servant in the minor piece. 
 Who kissed Sir George, and promis'd not to tell. 
 
90 LUCILLA. 
 
 Lu. Leave me, Augusta, — you will drive me mad. 
 
 Those baleful play-houses corrupt us all. 
 
 Aug. Why, mother, you alarm me! — are you ill.'' 
 Lti. Leave me, my child; I can not now disclose 
 
 The thoughts that trouble me. 
 
 Increasing care thus weighed upon the heart 
 Of our poor friend, Lucilla. Her only son, 
 And two fair daughters grown to womanhood, 
 Absorb'd by night and day the matron's thought 
 Their fother had grown old and taciturn. 
 As most men do of wealth and secret vice. 
 When age comes on and death is calling them. 
 — Her son was shallow and a libertine; 
 Her daughters fliir and false as she had been, 
 Only remov'd more nearly to the pit 
 Where, in three generations, fashion ends 
 In nervousness, disease or poverty. 
 The mother fear'd the end, and oft a voice 
 Said to her soul she'd lived in vain, and worse — 
 Had rear'd her children to live more in vain 
 Than she had done. 
 
 Sometimes, when a deep sense of her lost life — 
 Her disappointed heart, and the dark cloud 
 That hung upon the future, stirr'd her soul, 
 She spoke in measures of the plaintive muse, 
 Such words, as with true pathos often clothe 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 9I 
 
 The thought of gifted thinkers. — Those rare minds 
 
 Alone and separate, because their souls 
 
 Are singularly gifted. * * * 
 
 They sing apart, and listen to their own sad melodies, 
 
 As one that hears an echo in her heart 
 
 — Sing strains borne of an untold experience, 
 
 Mind-orphans, nursed in solitude and tears. 
 
 Such lonely thinker was our gifted friend. 
 
 When the remembrance of her early years 
 Came to her mind, Lucilla mused and mourn'd 
 In strains like these : 
 
 Lucilla's Dream of Youth. 
 
 I. 
 
 Methought I reposed on the banks of a stream, 
 That, purling o'er pebbles, flowed murmuring by ; 
 Its surface, ensilver'd by Cynthia's beam. 
 Reflected the star-jewel'd vault of the sky. 
 
 II. 
 
 And I thought that sweet melody, dulcet and wild, 
 As a hymn of the wood-nymphs, pass'd by on the 
 
 gale, 
 Or the melodied notes of Simplicity's child, 
 When his reed's gentle echo dies down in the vale. 
 
 III. 
 Enraptur'd by music, ineffable power, 
 I listen'd, — and lo ! the sweet euphony sprung 
 
92 LUCILLA. 
 
 From an island, where roses encircled a bower, 
 And LOVE, HOPE and fancy in unison sung. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The waves, circumambient, kissed as they flowed, 
 And dappled the turf on the verge of the stream ; 
 And flowers, and foliage all soften'd and glow'd 
 Like the cheek of an infant that smiles in a dream. 
 
 V. 
 
 Enti'anc'd by the vision I chided delay, 
 And long'd o'er the silvery waters to glide; 
 On the wave's yielding bosom I floated away. 
 And buoyant with hope, cleft the eddying tide. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But the voice of the singers, in rhapsody sweet. 
 So mingled itself with the life of my dream, 
 That my soul liv'd and mov'd in illusion complete: 
 For the island receded along with the strea??i ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet with song in the distance, the isle in my eye. 
 And hope in my heart, were my eftbrts increas'd; 
 Thus I floated, till clouds overshadow'd the sky. 
 The landscape receded ! the melody ceased ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oft an an angel-like voice with significance rife 
 Would whisper, O sleeper look up to the skies! 
 There hope is fruition, and love is a life — 
 The world is delusion — awake, and be wise! 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 
 
 93 
 
 IX. 
 
 Still I slept, till chill blasts swept the face of the 
 
 stream ; — 
 Dark clouds and rude billows encompass'd the way — 
 Then blight struck the island! — I woke! — 'twas a 
 
 dream — 
 A dream of youth's morning fuljiir d in life's day! 
 
 Sometimes, when hope of earthly good seem'd dead, 
 
 When Past and Future met in one condens'd 
 And gloomy shadow o'er Lucilla's soul. 
 She almost wish'd to die; and then she sang, 
 In a sad, sorrowing voice, this dirge to hope: 
 
 Dirge. 
 
 Sustaining, yet deceptive Hope, farewell ! — 
 Last earthly solace, must we ever part? 
 No more to cheer me with thy halcyon spell, — 
 No more to soothe my aching, aching heart. 
 
 My cup of life with misery is mix'd, — 
 My soul has felt the fest'ring, cureless sting, — 
 The canker-worm on my heart's strings is fix'd. 
 Blighting Hope's fragile blossoms as they spring. 
 
 And fell despair ! — his breath so cold and chill ! 
 And icy fingers freeze my spirits up; 
 My poor, poor heart — how sad it is, and still — 
 And gall and wormwood mingle in my cup. 
 
94 I>UCILLA. 
 
 I hate the things I thought would pleasure give — 
 They can not solace Sorrow's foster-child ; — 
 In deserts drear, where tlie gaunt monsters live, 
 My heart could echo back their howlings wild. 
 
 Oh ! my sad heart ! — and must I be resign'd, 
 Nor love, nor hope, to ever know again; — 
 Is there no dwelling-place a wretch may find, 
 Unmock'd by Fashion's hollow, honid reign? 
 
 Refrain — 
 
 Yes, sad and stricken spirit, there is balm 
 To cause thine anguish ever more to cease. 
 Would that thine eyes could see the Martyr-Lamb, 
 Thy Friend — Immanuel — Prince of Love and Peace: 
 Dead Hope — now buried, info life would spring, 
 And thy crush'd heart would worship, pray and sing. 
 
''H^p^^) 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 Wcddmg of LucillcCs Daughter. 
 
 This week there is a smile upon the face 
 Of the gay callers : — Whispers, knowing looks, 
 Are interchang'd in certain companies: — 
 A secret is pass'd round so privately, 
 And told with a strict charge, that each must keep 
 The trust from other ears; — a charge observ'd 
 Till the first opportunityjs given 
 To ease the buiden'd mind, and pass the tale 
 To other keepers — with th' injunction still 
 That no one knows, and no one must be told. 
 — The talkers whisper thus : — 
 
 JFirst Voice. For my part, says one, I never sup- 
 posed 
 That Augusta would marry Tom Bute ; 
 Did you hear that last winter the fellow proposed 
 And Miss Lovelace rejected his suit? 
 
 Second Voice. I've heard that he gambles — 
 
 First Voice. Then this is his plan — 
 And I think the whole thing's very wrong; 
 
96 JLUCILLA. 
 
 He's after her money, and thinks the old man 
 Will certainly die before long. 
 
 Third Voice. He may be mistaken. I really believe 
 The old fellow will live on for years ; 
 He knows that they 're longing to mourn o'er his grave, 
 And he '11 live, — just to spite his poor heirs. 
 
 Second Voice. Now, Julia, don't mention that my 
 Pa is rich, 
 Or Joe Orton will call here for tea ; 
 They say he '11 have money, or live an old bach, 
 — An old bach he may live, for all me. 
 
 Third Voice. Sue, that's all a sham — Orton told 
 me last week 
 That rich girls he should always despise; 
 He wanted a wife that could cook a beef-steak, 
 Wash dishes, and make pumpkin pies. 
 
 First Voice. How horridly vulgar ! — why what a 
 baboon ! — 
 Such impudence surely is shocking! — 
 I presume the first thing after the honeymoon 
 He would ask one to darn his old stocking! 
 
 Second Voice. La! how I'm disgusted, the poor, 
 silly fool, 
 He w^as just talking so to be funny — 
 Does his Ma know he's out; she should send him to 
 
 school 
 To learn that he 'd starve without money. 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 97 
 
 Third Voice. Well, I'm glad that she 's oft^ For 
 one, I can't see 
 But he's good as she is, after all; — 
 Come in when the wedding is over, and we 
 Will make the new bride a first call. 
 
 With a smile of assent the young lady withdrew, 
 But the scci"et, pent up in her mind, 
 Struggled hai'd to get out, — so she call'd on Miss Time 
 To help her to keep it confin'd. 
 
 Refrain — 
 
 But Lucilla is thoughtful, and has tried to pray 
 For the weal of her daughter, who marries to-day. 
 
 The Wedding. 
 
 Fair and bright, on the wedding night, 
 Appeai"'d Lucilla's daughter. 
 And a form in Fashion's dress and grace 
 Stood by her at the altar. 
 
 Her heart was glad — but her mother's sad — 
 
 Sad with apprehension. 
 That things may be in futurity, 
 
 That she never dar'd to mention. 
 
 With a smile and tear the daughter dear 
 
 Salutes her foithful mother; 
 While her hand and heart, till death may part, 
 Is promised to another. 
 5 
 
98 LUCILLA. 
 
 Her father laugh'd as the wine he quaff'd, — 
 'Twas more than mere pretenses, — 
 
 For he felt that he was now to be 
 Released from her expenses. 
 
 Refrain — 
 
 We may not tell, with a wizard, 
 
 The history of that daughter; 
 The earth has woes, and her husband knows 
 
 The reason why he sought her. 
 
SCENE IX. 
 
 Death and Burial of LucillcHs Husband. 
 
 How sad the hist'ry of a grov'ling life, — 
 The sensuous excitements, — selfish schemes 
 Of an immortal mind, that knows no thought, — 
 No motive, — no desire beyond the bounds 
 Of this gross earth. The dregs of life to such 
 Are bitterness and ashes in the Soul. 
 
 Lucilla's husband near'd the close of life: 
 Her woman's heart still true, but tried, 
 Alleviated as she could his pains, — 
 Forgave the past, and bore in quietness 
 Murmurs of discontent against herself. 
 The doctors, and the providence of God. 
 At length his spirit fled ; and the cold clay 
 Bore indications diat the soul was seized 
 And startled into teiTor, as it passed 
 The veil that opens to eternity.* 
 
 *See Dr. Nelson on impressions made on the features by the last thoughts 
 of the dying. 
 
lOO LUCILLA. 
 
 The funeral pomp was solemn and prolong'd, 
 — The carriages of wealthy families — 
 Some tenanted, some tenantless within, 
 Were joined by a long line of purchas'd pomp 
 And empty vehicles. 'Twas Fashion's show 
 Of worldly ostentation, even in death — 
 Yea, in the grip of death — O painful sight! 
 Fashion grins ghastly in funereal garb, 
 And mocks true sorrow by hypocrisy. 
 
 A monument was reared whose epitaph 
 Spoke of an upright man, — a husband kind, — 
 An unexampled parent, and a friend 
 To every good endeavor. Thus he sleeps, 
 His mould'ri ng ashes cover'd by a lie. 
 
 But the Recording Angel, in the book 
 Of doom, reversed the epitaph, and wrote 
 This final record for the sleeper's soul : 
 
 ^ sorbib, — proub, — rebellious minb, — confirm'b 
 |« selfishness, ^ealeb anb beliber'b xip 
 So bie l^e seconb )ient^. ^©Igii. 'A/jti^y. 
 
 The funeral o'er, the mourning family 
 Consid'ring whether all things have been done, 
 In due accordance with their dignity. 
 Thus spake, in accents sharp, Lucilla's son : 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. lOI 
 
 Edward. The Perrys were not here. — Our girls 
 went down, 
 On a wet clay, to 'tend their daughter's mairiage ; 
 They're wond'rous big since they have moved up town; 
 They should have come, or sent along their carriage. 
 
 Aug. I'm really glad that Col. G. was here; 
 It shows he is a fast and real friend. 
 
 Ed. They say he's now almost a millionaire. — 
 I wonder why the Pitkins didn't attend. — 
 We'll let them go ; — our father often said 
 A fi-iend in life and death is hard to find. 
 = — The funeral bills must all be promptly paid; — 
 And mother, you must try to be resigned. 
 
 But Lucilla was silent, — her thoughts seem'd to 
 seek 
 Bright spots in his life who was gone; 
 And a tear trick'led down o'er her pale faded cheek; 
 For she felt that she now was alone 1 
 
SCENE X. 
 
 Lucilla's Widowhood^ Illness afid Death, 
 
 Thoughtful, sedate and lone, 
 
 Our aged friend appears; 
 Yet, dignified, she walkest down 
 
 Into the vale of years. 
 
 She does not often dwell 
 
 Upon the past in life; 
 For there were scenes she may not tell 
 
 In her hist'r}' as a wife. 
 
 And when her mind surveys 
 
 The future, she has fears; 
 And often to herself she says, 
 
 " This world's a vale of tears." 
 
 But ere the worst was known 
 
 Of the evil yet to come, 
 Heaven call'd Lucilla to lie down 
 
 And rest in her narrow home. 
 
 The Fever spirit call'd away 
 
 The weary pilgrim, sad and gray. — 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. 
 
 Declining, slowly, clay by day. 
 
 She sank into the tomb. 
 
 But still, in sadness, sickness, death, — 
 When the breast heav'd with lab'ring breath, 
 She thought, but spake not of the path 
 
 That led her into gloom. 
 
 When i-eason was enthron'd she thought 
 Intensely of her future lot, — 
 '•'•Is there a second death or not?" 
 
 And oftentimes she said 
 
 She thought God would in mei'cy bear 
 With those who suft'er'd so much here; — 
 She wish'd to hope, and yet had fear 
 
 In ref'rence to the dead. 
 
 At times her soul look'd up to heaven 
 And uttered prayer to be forgiven; 
 Then, wand'ring, thought she saw a raven 
 Flitting across the room. 
 
 Then fever'd dreams bro't youthful days, — 
 In dreams she walk'd in pleasant ways. 
 And smiled and utter'd words of praise 
 
 About a name unknown. 
 
 One evening she, with lab'ring breath, 
 Seem'd conscious of the approach of death, 
 
 103 
 
I04 
 
 I.UCII.T.A. 
 
 And imuimu'cl, — " O, for living faith 
 
 To trust ill God's dear Son!" 
 
 'Twas Sabbath morn, when round her bed 
 
 The whisper passed, — " Dear mother's dead ! " 
 ***** 
 
 Beside her husband they have made 
 LuciUa's sepulchre. 
 
 Thus ends the tale, — and while we say 
 Anathema to Fashion's sway. 
 That led her steps from peace away. 
 
 We'll drop a tear for her. 
 
A SOCIAL DRAMA. I05 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 [A] 
 
 It is not true of every wealthy family that their offspring become ener- 
 vated in person and morals. Some parents perceive the tendency, and its 
 causes, and will not permit their children to be confined on school seats, 
 and crammed with school literature, such as mental arithmetic and a half 
 dozen geographies, most of the years that physical development should be 
 secured by actual exercise that requires muscular exertion. Some men 
 begin, also, tcTthink of posterity in their matrimonial arrangements. The 
 offspring of one of the sons of John Jacob Astor, who has just married a 
 young woman, fresh and strong in person and in heart, will be known as 
 men and women on the Hudson, when that of the other brother, should 
 he marry a debilitated fashionable of the second generation, will have gone 
 
 to . He may escape, likewise, the other evil of the false social life 
 
 and burdens of American fashion, which is more adverse to happiness than 
 the life of a coal miner. 
 
 [B] 
 
 Operatic Music — In the " Dumfries Album " Thomas Carlyle writes : 
 
 " Music is well said to be the speech of angels; in fact, nothing among 
 the utterances allowed to man is felt to be so divine. It brings us near to 
 the Infinite. We look for moments across the cloudy eleinents into the 
 eternal Sea of Light, when song leads and inspires us. But, good heavens I 
 from a psalm of Asaph to a seat in the London opera, in Haymarket — 
 what a road have men travelled I The waste tliat is made in music is prob- 
 abl)' the saddest of all our squanderings of God's gifts. Music has, for a 
 long time past, been avowedly mad, divorced from sense and fact, and 
 associated with fiction and delirium only. To sing the praise of God v/as 
 always, and will always be the business of the singer; he who forsakes 
 that gift, and sings the praise of chaos, what shall we say of him? 
 
 " When 1 think that music too is condemned to be mad, and to burn her- 
 self on such a funeral pile, your celestial opera-house grows dark and 
 infernal to me. Behind its glitter stalks the shadow of eternal death 
 through it. I look not up to the Divine eye as Richter has it, but down 
 into the bottomless eye-socket — not upward towards God, heaven and the 
 tlirone of truth ; but too truly, down toward falsity, vanity and tlie dwelling 
 place of everlasting despair." 
 
 [C] 
 Hannah More on the Theatre. 
 
 "That exquisite sense of feeling which God implanted in the heart as a 
 stimulus to quicken us in relieving the miseries of others is thus perverted, 
 and learns to consider self as not the agent but the object of compassion. 
 Tenderness is made an excuse for being hard-hearted, and instead of dry- 
 ing the weeping eyes of others, this false delicacy reserves its own selfish 
 teai-s for the more elegant and less cxjiensive sorrows of the melting novel 
 4iid the pathetic tragedy." 
 r* 
 
THE SWAN ON LAKE LEMAN. 
 
 Geneva, Switzerland, June i6, 1854. 
 Rev. J. C. HoLBROOK, Chicago : 
 
 My Dear Sir, — The following lines were written almost 
 inipi'otnphi, improved a little, of course, by subsequent re- 
 vision. Allow me to introduce them, by some references to 
 the occurrences by which they were occasioned, and by> 
 some exposition of the allusions which they contain. 
 
 Well, then, after passing a week in Paris, a city without 
 a Sabbath, and a people without principles — " I took the 
 rail," as they say in England, for Geneva. I wished to. 
 spend some time in the midst of the mountain and lake 
 scenery of this beautiful region — the birth-place of Con- 
 tinental Puritanism, and the life and death-place of John 
 Calvin, the vigilant and discriminating reviver of Augus- 
 tinian Theology. 
 
 At Chalons we took the diligence — and if I might bur- 
 lesque a phrase of Virgil's — I would say, that a diligence 
 \s a. " Jiwvt't ei cicrnam niovabity We got nothing to eat 
 from five o'clock P.M., at Dijon, until we crossed the Jura 
 Mountains, at two P.M. the next day. This, with the talk 
 of a voluble Swiss lady, who spoke about as miserable 
 English as I did wretched French, and the unmitigated 
 trundling of the heavy and awkward conveyance, disturbed 
 
lOS THE SWAN ON LAKE LEMAN. 
 
 the balance of health, so that I got to my hotel in Geneva 
 with a sick headache. I rose early the next morning, re- 
 covered but debilitated. 
 
 No one was moving upon Lake Leman, when I left my 
 hotel on the Grand (2i-iay. I hired a shallop for two and a 
 half francs, and rowed away out on the quiet bosom of 
 this most lovely lake of Geneva. The pure morning air 
 refreshed and strengthened me. Numerous swans live 
 upon the lake. The inhabitants care for them, and fix 
 floating baskets in the water where they may feed. It 
 seems, of all waters in the world, the most appropriate 
 place for them. The blessed Creator doeth all things well. 
 He arranges by harmonious adaptations the animated 
 species with the physical conditions of nature. 
 
 One of these swans left a group which were floating near 
 the shore, and followed my boat out upon the lake. .The 
 early morning ; the mountain and lake scenery; the fact 
 that some of the most eminent minds of the world, skepti- 
 cal and believing, have come to reside on the borders of 
 Lake Leman, under the shadow of these lofty mountains; 
 and the further fact that intellect rather than love is mani- 
 fested even in the works of the old reformers, suggested the 
 allusions which appear in the following — 
 
 LINES, 
 
 Suggested by the incident of a white swan following the shallop 
 
 in which I rowed out early one morning upon the 
 
 Lake of Geneva, in Switzerland. 
 
 I. 
 
 Gracefully, calmly, thou glidest on, 
 O'er the lake's blue bosom, thou lovely swan ; 
 There is no one abroad but you and I, 
 On this deep blue lake, 'neath this bright blue sky. — 
 
THE SWAN ON LAKE LEMAN. IO9 
 
 II. 
 
 Afar on the verge of the water I see 
 Thy companions are floatuig, but thou art with me; 
 With thine ermine breast, and thy cahii, clear eye, 
 Thou dost follow my shallop noiselessly. 
 
 HI. 
 
 'Tis fitting a bird so graceful should lave 
 Her snow-white plumes in this crystal wave: — 
 But why hast thou left thy companions to glide, 
 So early this morning, with me o'er the tide.-* 
 
 IV, 
 
 Perhaps, like me, thou hast come to dwell 
 On the grandeur and beauty of nature: — 'tis well: 
 The sublime sits enthron'd on yon mountain's brow, 
 And the lofty in nature impresses me now. 
 
 V. 
 The gifted minds of the earth have sought 
 These scenes, and hung over them garlands of thought; 
 And the names of the mighty are here enshrined. 
 Who have reigned like kings o'er the realms of mind. 
 
 VI. 
 
 This grandeur of nature can lift the mind 
 'Till the soul flows out to the unconfin'd; 
 But emotions that melt into Mercy's tear 
 Are not impressed on the spirit here : — 
 For even Calvin forgot to prove 
 That error is conquered alone by love. 
 
no THE SWAN ON LAKE LEMAN. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Here free and brilliant rang Byron's song, 
 But defiant and cold as the jDeaks of Blanc; 
 Here Gibbon could doubt — Voltaire could sneer, 
 Rousseau and DeStael were skeptics here. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But still serenely thou glidest on 
 In the wake of my shallop, thou white-plumed swan; 
 Well, come, fair swimmer, my symbol be 
 Of life, and of death, and of destiny : — 
 May my bosom the tint of thy plumage take. 
 And my life be as bright as thy course o'er the lake; 
 And in death may my faith be subdued and free 
 As the notes of thy dying melody. * * 
 
 So end the verses. Perhaps it may not be uninteresting 
 to add that upon the shores of this lake, Byron wrote the 
 Prisoner of Chillon. The old castle by this name, where 
 Bonnevard was confined, still stands in good repair. It is 
 built upon a rock in the lake ; the water on the lake side 
 being, it is said, forty fathoms deep. It is separated from 
 the mainland by a draw-bridge. The ring in the wall by 
 which the prisoner was confined, still exists ; and the im- 
 pressions of his feet on the stone floor, in the little circle 
 which he trod for weary years, are still visible. The library 
 which Calvin founded is still in Geneva ; the house where 
 he died is still standing ; and the place of his grave is 
 pointed out, although he forbade the Genevans to mark the 
 spot where he was buried. 
 
 In the beautiful chateau and villages around the lake, are 
 the residences where lived and wrote many eminent men — 
 theologians, poets, historians., and naturalists. Among 
 
THE SWAN OX LAKE LEMAN. Ill 
 
 these may be named Calvin, Feral, Cassabon, Rousseau, 
 Necker, DeStael, Byron, Gibbon, Beranger, and last, though 
 not least, Agassiz, now a citizen of our own country. 
 
 I have spent a quiet Sabbath in Geneva, and worshiped 
 in the chapel of Dr. Mearle. The service was exceedingly 
 simple — the people evidently reverent and devout ; — and 
 although I could understand but little of what the preacher 
 said, yet there was unction in the manner of the service, 
 especially in the united singing of the whole congregation, 
 which was refreshing to one long separated from the simple 
 service of the Protestant sanctuary. 
 
 To-morrow we start for the mountains, to look dov/n 
 upon the world from the snow-clad peaks of Mount Blanc. 
 You know — 
 
 " Mount Blanc is the monarch of mountains — 
 They crowned him long ago, 
 On a throne of rock — in a robe of cloud, 
 And a diadem of snow." 
 
 Adieu ! . 
 

 
'r^^Xt*^ 
 
 A PASTORAL: 
 
 THE HONEYMOON IN A WESTERN COTTAGE, 
 
 In early days, when life was in its spring, 
 And scarce twelve summer suns had roll'd away, 
 When Time delay'd, but Hope, with joyous wing, 
 Led on the sage, and chided his delay. 
 
 My home was in the bosom of a vale — 
 A peaceful valley fir removed from strife ; 
 Where dwell'd the subjects of my humble tale — 
 A youthful farmer and his meek-c}ed wife. 
 
 Their cottage stood upon a rise of ground 
 That gently sloped down to a bubbling spring, 
 Near which, on willow branches hanging round, 
 The whip-poor-will at eve was wont to sing. 
 
 At noon the sun a balmy fragrance drew 
 From many a shrub in which the mock- bird sung; 
 
114 A PASTORAL. 
 
 And Morning-glories, bath'd in honey dew, 
 Their modest bells around their windows hung. 
 
 Across the field, behind the cottage, rose 
 A verdant hill, upon whose shady side 
 The wild grape cluster'd, and the flock would doze, — 
 Or browse upon the boughs, at eventide. 
 
 On quiet evenings, when the winds were still, 
 The spring brook wandei-'d with a murmuring sound, 
 And kiss'd the grass, and leap'd and dimpled till 
 It met the stream down in the meadow ground. 
 
 One afternoon, upon a Sabbath day 
 Of summer time, the cottagers array'd 
 In Sunday vestments, took tlie flow'ry way 
 Through garden walks, down to a cooling shade. 
 
 Kind conversation whil'd away the hours, 
 Till lengthen'd pauses bade the subject close; 
 The air redolent with the breath of flowers, 
 Beguiled sweet Mary into brief repose. 
 
 When Edward look'd to read in Mary's eyes 
 The meditations that absorb'd her mind — 
 No shade of thought upon her features lies — 
 Her eyes are veiled — her head in sleep reclin'd. 
 
 His thoaghts went back to scenes of early youth, — 
 How oft her smile — his sorrows had beguil'd; 
 
THE HONEYMOON IN A WESTERN COTTAGE. II5 
 
 He felt a joy — to think that of a truth 
 Has Maiy lov'd me, even from a child. 
 
 In retrospect his mental eye could see, 
 At noon of harvest time, the reapers meet, 
 Under the shadow of a spreading tree, 
 From the warm sun-rays a secure retreat. 
 
 Again his neighbors sat beneath the shade, 
 Round a white linen spread upon the ground ; 
 Rude mirth was banish'd, for a niodest maid 
 The harvest cake and coffee pass'd around. 
 
 He thought how oft would diffidence disclose 
 Emotions he to tenderness could trace; 
 And vievv'd his wife, to see if in repose 
 These sweet impressions linger'd in her face. 
 
 He thought of their young love, and all the wiles 
 Which first the tender passion had confess'd, 
 How oft he triumph'd in approving smiles. 
 How oft anxiety had fiU'd his breast. 
 
 When first the anxious question, "Will you bless! — • 
 Will you be mine ? — O Mary ! — dearest ! — best ! " — 
 The flurried answer, — " Oh ! — why ! — Edward ! — 
 
 yes!" 
 Blushing and weeping on his happy breast. 
 
Il6 A PASTORAL. 
 
 He press'd his lips with fervor, ere he spoke, 
 Upon lier brow of pure carnation white, 
 She look'tl upon him kindly as she woke. 
 And felt her heart alive with love's delight. 
 
 The sun was setting o'er the western hill ; 
 Nature the hush of Sabbath seem'd to keep; 
 The voice of ev'ry living thing was still, 
 Save those we love to wake us from a sleep. 
 
 Down in the distance of the verdant vale. 
 The coming bell betimes was heard to beat; 
 The robins warbled — the laconic quail 
 Was calling for his partner in the wheat. 
 
 The voice of doves — like the bewild'ring sighs 
 Of some lone heart, when others talk of bliss, 
 Was heard to fall — and Mary rais'd her eyes — 
 — " Oh what a blessed Sabbath eve is this! " 
 
 They rose and loiter'd In the garden ground, 
 A spot that had engag'd their mutual care; 
 Neat beds of vegetables fring'd around 
 By Violet and Marygold were there. 
 
 They rcach'd the cottage as the colors grew 
 Bright and more lambent in the glowing west. 
 And Four-o' clocks tlieir bosoms opcn'd to 
 Receive fresh dew drops in their downy breast. 
 
THE irONKYMOON IN A WESTKRNf COTTAGE. II7 
 
 An hour was pass'd in noticing the truth 
 Of many things their piLstor hud to say; 
 And, just en /)assanf, of c. stranger youth, 
 That sat in Capt. Ellsworth's pew that day. 
 
 They read a chapter in the holy book — 
 A prayer was said for guidance and for grace — 
 
 Asleep as pillow-mates — kind angels look 
 On their repose, aud smile zvhen they embrace. 
 
APOSTROPHE TO THE DIVINE HEART. 
 
 Infinite Life — Divine, Essential Love! 
 Self-vital power of the All-soul above! 
 
 With rev' rent heart, I would draw nigher, 
 
 And seek subduing, purifying fire 
 From off the altar, where the Sacred Heart 
 Throbb'd with life-giving energy. Impart 
 Througli thy self-sacrifice, love-life to my spirit, — 
 Life touch'd by Christ's humanity and merit; 
 That thus through soul and body, such as mine, 
 The Holy Ghost may breathe a life divine. 
 
 Oh! thou crush'd victim! Reason fain would see 
 Something of that amazing mystery, — 
 The Love-Power struggling for humanity, 
 Life of my life springing from death of Thee: 
 
 The cup that might not pass 
 
 Till Innocence should bear 
 
 The taunt ! — the thorn ! — the cross ! — 
 
APOSTROPHE TO THE DIVINE HEART. II 9 
 
 The piercing nails! — the spear! — 
 Forth from that agony — deep as eternity 
 Outflows the blood-chrism of power and purity! 
 
 Oh, Thou, All-Merciful ! — too deep for me, 
 That rent heart's wailing cry " lama sabacthani ! " 
 The cup of suffering drank at Calvary. — 
 •With filial spirit and with rev'rent mind. 
 
 Father, I would look up 
 And ask with meekness and with soul resigned, 
 What was that cup? 
 
 Faith kneels with reason, — all I can not see; 
 But I believe Christ tasted death for me. 
 This faith through all the heart sheds love abroad, 
 And surely one that loveth knoweth God ! 
 
OUR CHILDREN. 
 
 Mrs. Dr, R — -: 
 
 Dear Madam. — Although we have no offspring, as you 
 know, yet we have furnished a home for many children and 
 youth ; and have endeavored to rear our part of the great 
 human family. We had a company of printer boys with 
 us at Hudson, and again another company at Chicago. 
 These, with two young women, who grew from girlhood 
 to womanhood with us — making twelve in all — we en- 
 deavored to care for, as guardians should care for orphan 
 children. Wife and I were orphans ourselves; and in ad- 
 dition to these twelve, we adopted and gave our own name 
 to seven other orphan children. Of the twelve first named 
 all but one professed to be disciples of Christ, while they 
 were with us. One is now a minister of the Gospel. Two 
 are lawyers. One is a physician. One has been a mer- 
 chant, but has failed. One is an editor. Of the others we 
 have lost the track of their history. Of the young women 
 — both married in our home. One with her husband is 
 now in heaven — the other was married to the editor of a 
 Republican newspaper. He subsequently entered the 
 Union army in the war against slavery, and fell as captain 
 at the head of his company. His widow we have endeav- 
 ored to care for, and she still resides near us. We aimed 
 
OUR CHILDREN. 121 
 
 to fit them all for usefulness in life, and in a good measure 
 our efforts have hot been in vain. 
 
 Of our seven adopted children, two died in infancy. One, 
 after being reared from infancy to eleven years of age, was 
 returned, by request of a relative, to friends and fortune, as 
 we supposed. Of two others, the grandchildren of one of 
 the oldest Methodist ministers in the West — one of these, 
 dear little Rhoda, has gone to heaven ; the other lives near 
 us, and is an officer of the new County of Benzie, in the 
 State of Michigan. Two are still with us — a young woman 
 of eighteen, and a little boy of eight years. The following 
 memorials of some of these children, with the annexed lit- 
 tle poems, were occasioned by incidents in their life or 
 death. They are family memorials ; but there is nothing in 
 them which a friendly eye, as we know yours is, may not 
 see. 
 
 We are old now, and our endeavors to rear and educate 
 orphan children must close. May the Divine Father of 
 orphans bless our imperfect efforts. We feel deeply the 
 imperfections which have marked our efforts in this respect; 
 and we do not desire you, or any one, to suppose that it 
 was pure Gospel benevolence that produced the endeavors 
 we have made. Our object in retaining these brief family 
 memorials in a published volume is to invite othei^s to 
 labors of love, when we can labor no longer. 
 
 LITTLE JAMES AND NEW RICHMOND. 
 
 In the church where my ministry began, one of the dea- 
 cons was a pious and sensitive young man, whose wife 
 was pious, affectionate and diffident as himself. He had 
 expended his little means in the purchase of a business 
 house and lot in the new village of Akron, Ohio, which he 
 6 
 
122 OUR CHILDREN. 
 
 and others hoped would some day become a city of con- 
 siderable importance. Their hopes, like thousands of 
 others' in 1836-38, were, for the time, disappointed, and 
 consequently a measure of pecuniary embarrassment ensued 
 which was a great trial to the family. 
 
 When I left the village to remove to Cincinnati, they 
 had one child, some two or three years old. Subsequently 
 an infant was born to them. The mother lingered a few 
 weeks and died. Soon after, their eldest child was laid 
 beside its mother in the " noiseless neighborhood." The 
 father, ill in body and mind, was left alone with his feeble 
 babe. About this time we made a visit to some of our old 
 friends in Akron, and at the earnest solicitation of our 
 bereaved friend, my wife took the infant to rear and care 
 for as our own. We gave our little adopted charge the 
 new name of James Hickman Walker. 
 
 Our poor friend remained alone in his desolate house, 
 unwell in body and sad of heart. After a time he grew 
 more faint and ill, and was seldom seen out of his dwell- 
 ing. One day he had not been noticed by any one; and 
 the next morning, when friends knocked and received no 
 answer, they entered his room ; and he was dead. He 
 had, probably, after a day of illness, died alone. His 
 head reclined over the side of his bed, and he seemed to 
 have fallen, without much struggle, into that sleep that 
 knows no waking. 
 
 Poor brother Hickman ! I i-ejoice to think that in those 
 lonely days, and on that dying night, one ray of comfort 
 from earth, besides what descended from heaven, may 
 have mingled with thy gloom. I know that you had con- 
 fidence that your little boy would be cared for with parental 
 affection. 
 
 We were then living in the retired village of New Rich- 
 mond. The village was on the Ohio river, near Cincinnati. 
 Many years before prosperous churches had existed in the 
 place ; but they had for some time been afflicted, in all 
 their denominations, with a profitless ministry. Some 
 of them had been good preaching machines, educated in 
 
OUR CHILDREN. 1 23 
 
 theological seminaries until they had grown out of all sym- 
 pathy with the masses of the people. Others were sectarians, 
 or selfish eccentrics, who sought to attract personal notice 
 and laudation. So the influence of the churches was lost; 
 but faith still lived in the hearts of a few faithful ones, who 
 prayed over the desolation of Zion. Here, during our resi- 
 dence, regenerating power was given to the truth, which 
 changed the whole aspect of society in the place. 
 
 To this place we had retired in order to re-write the MSS. 
 of my first book, "The Philosophy of the Plan of Salva- 
 tion." Here we brought our adopted infant. He lived 
 with us about six months, — seemed to become a healthy 
 and a happy child, and then died. His disease was induced 
 by the poison of soothing syrups and other opiates, those 
 destructive poisons that had been given to him before we 
 accepted him as our charge.* I held him in my arms 
 when he fell into his long sleep. I did not know he was 
 dying. He seemed to sleep too profoundly, and I tried to 
 arouse him ; but he never waked again. 
 
 Our home was upon the banks of the Ohio. Two friends 
 came with a skiff. My wife and I took the little coffin 
 between us, and were rowed up the river to the village 
 cemetery. Beneath a tree, by the river-side, repose the 
 remains of our first adopted. We set a little marble stone 
 at the head of his grave, and left him sleeping where the 
 departed of the village lie. 
 
 In subsequent years, incidents suggested the following 
 lines : 
 
 ♦There are no soothing- sjTups that do not poison children. Physicians 
 may, perhaps, give Ihem in single prescriptions in certain cases of acute 
 disease; but no cliild can take bottles of these deleterious compounds (got- 
 ten up usually by unprincipled druggists in the name of some woman) 
 without injury to some of the vital functions of the child. Much of the 
 debility and nervousness of the adults of our time, esp^cially in the cities, 
 is produced by the narcotic poisons fed to them when they were babes. 
 Physicians are aware of tliese facts, and should forbid the use of narcotic 
 medicines in families where they practice. 
 
124 OUR CHILDREN. 
 
 FUNERAL OF LITTLE JAMES. 
 
 In our little boat there were but few — 
 
 Two friends, my wife and I. 
 The stream was calm and the sky was blue, 
 
 And the oars dipp'd silently; 
 So mournfully, and quietly 
 
 We glided o'er the stream : 
 'Twas long ago, and it seemeth now, 
 
 Like a remember'd dream. 
 
 A little coffin near us lay, 
 
 Between my wife and me, — 
 Her mournful eyes were resting there. 
 
 But dimly she could see; 
 For the dew of tears suflused her eyes. 
 
 And that affected me: — 
 The oars-men looked away from us 
 
 And rowed more silently. * * 
 
 But steadily our boat moved on 
 To the home of the village dead : 
 
 ('Tis a sylvan spot on the river brink 
 Where the villagers are laid,) 
 
 In a shady nook, by a locust tree, 
 Where Ohio's waters lave, 
 
 Our orphan sleeps his dreamless sleep — 
 . The people know his grave. 
 
OUR CHILDREN. 1 35 
 
 And we hear, they say, when they bear away 
 
 Some one to their silent bed — 
 " Let us go and see, by the locust tree, 
 
 Where the orphan child was laid, — 
 'Twas the foster child of a minister, 
 
 Cherish'd and lov'd full well ; — 
 They set that stone by his little grave, 
 
 And went for hence to dwell. 
 
 " Old people often speak of them, 
 
 My father often prays 
 To see again the Spirit's power 
 
 Experienced in those days. 
 He often wonders where they dwell. 
 
 And wishes he could know ; 
 I, too, remember much they said — 
 
 But it seems so long ago." 
 
 LINES BY MY WIFE, 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A FOSTER-CHILD IN CHICAGO. 
 
 We dwelled in Chicago, where I bought a lot and house 
 near the present center of the city, for eight hundred dol- 
 lars. At that early day (1847) empty wagons sometimes 
 sunk in the street before my office, and could not be extri- 
 
126 OUR CHILDREN. 
 
 cated without assistance. There were no orphan asylum^ 
 in the city in those days. 
 
 My wife was one of a society of ladies, of which the lat^ 
 Mrs. Wright was president, who loolced after and personally.. 
 cared for the poor in the winter. She was directed to a 
 Protestant German family where the inmates were poor and 
 sick. The mother in the family had become insane. There 
 was an infant in the family that was so ill that it was not 
 expected to live. We brought home the suffering child, in 
 order that we might care for it until its sufferings should be 
 over. My wife watched it with a mother's care and affec- 
 tion, and after many weeks of watching by day and night, 
 it grew better, and survived until about a year old, when it 
 died. 
 
 Its last illness was painful. It died in the arms of its 
 adopted mother. Just preceding its death, before the last 
 agony came on, I was called to look at the child. A pecu- 
 liar change was noticed in its features. Its face seemed to 
 glow with an expression of peace and sweetness which were 
 strange and affecting. It was a hallowed aspect, that can 
 not be described, unlike anything we had before noticed. 
 To this my wife alludes in her verses. But the hallowed 
 aspect subsided, and the death agony came on. The strug- 
 gle was severe, but probably more consciously painful to 
 the living than the dying. Its little teeth lacerated its 
 tongue. It clasped convulsively the hand of its foster- 
 mother, and the blood stained its white lips. It was a great 
 relief to see the agonized little one still in death. Who 
 will resolve the mysteries of such a death ! 
 
 A few friends came in the next day. The babe lay in its 
 coffin, and a few delicate flowers were in its tiny hands. 
 Prayer was said. A closed carriage drove to our door. 
 We took with us the little coffin, and accompanied by the 
 father and sister of the child, we laid its remains in the 
 Chicago cemetery. 
 
 Shall not my wife see again that spirit which looked out 
 on her with angelic expression before the death struggle ? I 
 believe she will. 
 
OUR CHILDREN. 
 
 127 
 
 The following lines were written by her in memory of the 
 death scene : 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Sweet babe, thy lips are rosy yet, 
 
 And thev are warm when press'd to mine, 
 Could death his seal of silence set, 
 
 And yet the soul beam foi;th like thine? 
 
128 OUR CHILDREN. 
 
 The dewy softness of thy cheek 
 
 Is so unhke death's chilly damp, 
 The Parian brow and look so meek, 
 
 So pure and calm, — 'tis heaven's own stamp. 
 
 Such mystic sweetness of thy brow, 
 
 As if a seraph's beaming eye 
 Had caught thine own, and ling'ring now, 
 
 Were beck'ning thee toward the sky. 
 
 Death's icy touch is stealing on, 
 
 His cold, unyielding grasp I know; 
 
 Thy tiny hand still clasps my own, 
 
 'Twould seem thou 'rt not in haste to go. 
 
 Fair one, they 've rob'd thee for the grave. 
 In thy small hands the pale flowers bloom, 
 
 One silken lock Is all we crave. 
 Ere thou art coffin'd for the tomb. 
 
 We press our lips once more to thine. 
 And now one last, fond look is given, 
 
 Thy coffin to the tomb consign'd. 
 
 And thy j^ure spirit dwells in heaven. 
 
OUR CHILDREN. 1 29 
 
 MAGGIE. 
 
 In the early days of my residence in Chicago, a gentle- 
 man sang in the choir of a church where I often preached 
 the gospel. He was a clerk in a government office, and 
 known to me as an active promoter of the temperance re- 
 form. He was descended from an old and respectable 
 family in Pennsylvania, my native State. His ancestors 
 had been distinguished in the Revolutionary struggle ; he 
 had himself been educated at the West Point Military 
 Academy, and his family name is associated with piety and 
 science in the West and Southwest. 
 
 He married a young woman of unusual personal attrac- 
 tions, but destitute both of intellectual and moral culture. 
 She did not suit his friends, hence he and his wife separated 
 themselves from old associations, and came, at an early 
 time, to seek their fortune in the new City of Chicago. 
 Here he died, leaving his wife with three children and little 
 or no pecuniary resources. The two eldest boys were taken 
 by relatives, the babe, a little girl, was left with its mother, 
 a woman without resources, who managed as one without 
 moral conviction, and without counsel, might be supposed 
 to do. The child, of about a year old, was often left in a 
 room, locked close, for a whole day, suffering by neglect 
 and hunger. Some who knew the father interposed, and 
 we pitied and adopted the child. 
 
 We knew our little charge had respectable friends, but 
 we knew not where they lived, and heard nothing from 
 them for nine years. During this time the little girl was 
 cared for as a daughter, and educated in literature, music, 
 and useful labor suitable to her age ; and she grew with us 
 to be a graceful and comely child, of about eleven years of 
 age. 
 
 About a year before we parted with her, we heard from 
 her friends. One of them now desired to adopt the child 
 as her charge. Meanwhile she had, by the decease of her 
 6* 
 
130 OUR CHILDREN, 
 
 grandfather, inherited, as we were informed, some prop- 
 erty, and there were expectations of a large fortune by the 
 favorable termination of a law suit then pending in the 
 State of Virginia. Under all the circumstances, trusting to 
 the known moral worth of her relatives, we concluded that 
 it might be best for her that we should take her to her 
 ncvvly-found friends and fortune. 
 
 She bade farewell to her adopted mother, and an affect- 
 ing adieu to Rhoda, her little foster-sister, and I took her 
 to her adopted friends in another State, with the under- 
 standing that she was frequently to visit us and perpetuate 
 the ties of affection that bound to us, and to each other, the 
 two sisters, Maggie and Rhoda. The promised visits were 
 not permitted. The two were beautiful in their childhood. 
 They resembled each other, and loved more than sisters 
 usually do. During the absence of my wife I had watched 
 Maggie in a long and severe illness, and had come to regard 
 her with more affection than any child we had adopted, ex- 
 cept Rhoda. We took her a suffering and friendless child; 
 we parted with her an heiress of some expectation and 
 many friends. We gave her in infancy the name of my 
 mother. I have visited her twice since she left us. The 
 aunt who adopted her is dead. She is now married to a 
 gentleman of character. We have often remembered and 
 prayed for Maggie, the orphaned and injured babe, who 
 found friends and fortune just when the days of her child- 
 hood were over. 
 
 On the day before she left our home, among other gifts, 
 we gave her a new album, in which were memorials from 
 the family, and the following 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Maggie, adopted daughter, — fare thee well, 
 Fair foster-chikl, — niay God be with thee now — 
 How long and earnestly we 've cared for thee — 
 
OUR CHir.DUEX. 131 
 
 How we have watch'd thy bed in anxious hours, 
 
 When fever flush'd thy brow — how we have pray'd 
 
 And labor'd to induce in thee a love 
 
 Of right and truth, and every winning grace, 
 
 No mortal knows. From infancy till now 
 
 Tliou hast been daughter in our hearts and home. 
 
 We baptized thee into the blessed name 
 Of the Most High —The triune Deity — 
 We gave to thee in the baptismal rite 
 The name of one in heaven — One who watch'd 
 Over our infancy with tend'rer care 
 Than we could watch o'er thine — 
 Oh Margaret — may thy life be true as hers 
 To truth — to friends — to \irtuc, and to God. 
 
 But fare thee well — thou goest forth from us 
 To a new home. — New int' rests and new hopes 
 Will soon possess thee; and early maidenhood, 
 With its fresh life — its impulse, and its meed 
 Of triumph and temptation, arc at hand — 
 God save thee in that hour! — If it bring 
 Peril to tempt thy virtue or thy faith, 
 Tliink then of Christ, of duty, and of prayer ; 
 Think of the lessons we have taught to thee. 
 And thou shalt conquer by the grace of Him 
 Who loves the orphan. 
 
132 OUK CHILDREN. 
 
 Farewell, Maggie dear : - 
 The race of life 's before thee — other friends 
 Will aid thee by the way, and seek thy good; 
 And oft in hours of silence God will hear 
 Our prayer at Mercy's altar, that thy life 
 May be a life of duty, which shall fit 
 Thee for a home in heaven. — Fare thee well. 
 
 RHODA. 
 
 This name recalls the memory of two of the sweetest 
 girls that we ever sheltered in our home. The first a sister 
 of my wife, who was with us from girlhood until she was 
 married. The other was the child of an intelligent man, 
 the son of a pioneer Methodist minister. He had removed, 
 as many others did, to Chicago, to improve his circum- 
 stances, but instead of prosperity, there came death and 
 adverse fortune. The mother having died, and the other 
 members of the family being sick and destitute, we found 
 the infant in the care of a family with whom the parents 
 had resided as boarders. There was no one to take charge 
 of the child. She had been tied in a little chair, which, by 
 some mishap, had been overturned against a hot stove, 
 and her face was severely burned. My wife was informed 
 of the circumstances, and went to see the suffering child. 
 She felt that she ought not to leave her where she could 
 have little care, and had her brought to our house, with 
 the intention of caring for her until her wounds were 
 healed, and then returning her to the care of her father, 
 who was still sick, and unable to care for her. 
 
 After she was restored, we returned her to her natural 
 -guardian, and sent her daily a supply of good milk. 
 
OUR CHILDREN. I33 
 
 Through a kind-heaited girl in the family, my wife learned 
 that the milk was not given, as we desired, but instead, a 
 bit of fat pork was placed in the infant's mouth, and from 
 this she drew about all the nourishment she received. We 
 had become attached to our little charge while her wound 
 was healing; and, although we had adopted another infant 
 nearly her own age, we concluded, with her father's per- 
 mission and relinquishment, to bring her back and adopt 
 her likewise as a member of our family. She was carried 
 to her new home in a blanket, and was fostered and cared 
 for during the whole of her brief but happy life. She grew 
 in our family to be a sweet, affectionate, and interesting 
 child of seventeen years. She sang very sweetly, accom- 
 panying her voice on the instrument, and had knowledge 
 of useful branches of labor and study. But the angel of 
 death came to our dwelling without any indication of his 
 approach. She had seemed unwell for a day or two; and 
 her thought seemed like one preparing to die, although she 
 certainly had no impression that the time of her departure 
 was at hand. She seemed more thoughtful than usual. 
 She read in her Testament, and turned down a leaf with 
 a mark at the first verses of the fifth chapter of 2nd 
 Corinthians. She likewise read the biography of Miiller 
 in the Life of Trust. Her heart seemed to sympathize 
 with the most spiritual thought, and with thought of the 
 life to come. She had a stanzas or two of verses which 
 spoke of the meeting of friends in a future life. These she 
 copied and put them into a book belonging to her brother, 
 which he would see when he returned from the war. She 
 likewise placed a black ribbon where a friend would see it. 
 She retired to her room ill but hoping soon to be in her 
 usual health. That night she slept with her mother, who 
 dreamed, or rather as she thought, while waking, she saw a 
 red flag held out over Rhoda, where she was sleeping. My 
 wife was startled ; but feared danger to myself, never think- 
 ing of Rhoda. Next morning she was quite ill, and left 
 her room no more until she was moved to be habited for 
 the grave. 
 
134 OUR CHILDREN. 
 
 She was ill but three days. I was absent in the city 
 of Sandusky, where we aided others in labor till we freed 
 from pecuniary embarrassment, and established in spiritual 
 prosperity an evangelical church of Christ. The telegraph 
 called me home ; but I had to tarry for the cars one 
 weary night, during which I dreamed that I attended a 
 wedding in a neighboring family, where there was an 
 adopted daughter about Khoda's one, and age, who had 
 been her companion. Before we bore her away from 
 her adopted liome, her school companions formed a circle 
 around her coffin, and sang the sweet hymn, the cadences 
 of which were broken by constant sobbing : 
 
 1. " Sister, thou wert mild and lovely. 
 
 Gentle as the summer breeze, 
 Pleasant as the air of evening 
 When it floats among the trees. 
 
 2. " Peaceful be thy silent slumber, 
 
 Peaceful in the grave so low ; 
 Thou no more will join our number. 
 Thou no more our songs shalt know." 
 
 We raised a little marble obelisk over her grave, on one 
 side of which we inscribed some memorial lines ; on the 
 other, on a raised oval were inscribed the words, 
 
 THE GRAVE OF RHODA WALKER. 
 
 There sleeps, in her white robes, our best beloved child. 
 After her departure — in the twilight one evening — sitting on 
 the portico of our dwelling — the pleasantest in its site and 
 surroundings in the city where we lived — the following 
 verses took form in my mind, suggested by surrounding 
 objects and incidents : 
 
OUR CHILDREX. I35 
 
 EVENING MUSING OF A MOURNER. 
 
 The stars to-night are burning bright 
 
 In deep immensity; 
 Creation's psahn to tiie great I AM 
 
 Rolls over earth and sea — 
 Do spirits hear, in the angel sphere, 
 
 That wond'rous minstrelsy? 
 
 The flowers she loved by the breeze are mov'd. 
 
 And familiar birds have come 
 To rest at ease on the shrubs and trees, 
 
 Around our pleasant home; 
 But the fair child that on them smiled, 
 
 Heeds not their song nor bloom. 
 
 It is not late, and before our gate 
 
 Parent and child pass by, 
 And some look in, through the gloaming dim, 
 
 But no gentle face is nigh: — 
 Ah! children dear, — she is not here. 
 
 My heart says, with a sigh. 
 
 From a parlc<r near, sweet strains I hear — 
 
 The voice of girls is there; 
 And the tender lay of Nellie Gray 
 
 Floats out upon the air; 
 But alas for me! — that melody 
 
 Is one I lov'd to hear. 
 
Af/.WZ CMCASO., 
 
 GLEN RHODA. 
 
OUR CHILDREN. I37 
 
 And yet there seems, like a voice in dreams, 
 
 A ■u'hisper in my mind — 
 It says — /';;/ jzcar — your tJioughts I hear — 
 
 Dear mourners^ be resign d; 
 hi the spirit land^ xuith the angel band., 
 
 Your lost one you shall jind. 
 
 'Tis years ago since Rboda fell asleep. We desired some 
 memorial of her in our new home, and when we removed 
 to our place of retirement in the woods, a company of us 
 sailed across a beautiful sheet of water, to which we had 
 given the name of Crystal Lake. It lay adjacent to the 
 lands upon which we had located the site for our Christian 
 schools. On the opposite side, about three miles away, 
 there was a romantic glen, down which fell in cascades, for 
 one hundred feet, a beautiful stream of cool, clear water. 
 The company desired that I should give a name to the 
 place. I called it Glen Rhoda, and on an adjacent tree, 
 at the foot of the cascade, I had a label painted — Glen 
 Rhoda ; so that the passer-by might learn the name of the 
 glen. Evil-disposed persons took down the label ; but still 
 it retains its name, and in the future, when the well-dis- 
 posed and the evil-disposed of this generation are no more, 
 I hope the beautiful crystal stream may still be called 
 "Glen Rhoda." 
 
 Yesterday, a few friends took a boat and sailed over the 
 lake, in company with Miss Weltha Post, a friend from our 
 old home in Ohio, who loved Rhoda in her life, and who 
 still cherishes her memory. We climbed the hill side, and 
 brought away a rose bush and some forget-me-not grow'mg 
 in the glen. We all felt that the pure, retired stream was a 
 fitting memorial forever of our gentle and pure-hearted 
 child, now in heaven. 
 
I3S OUR CHILDREN. 
 
 LINES, 
 
 IN MEMORY OF MRS. RHODA HOWARD FENN, BY MRS. LEILA TRASK. 
 
 How strange sometimes is the life-history of the good 
 and the gifted. I have scarcely known a heart so pure as 
 that of my sister-in-law, who was in her youth a member 
 of our family. She was a sufferer for long years ; and her 
 young friend who wrote the following verses was singularly 
 gifted, yet her life was likewise a life of suffering, and both 
 died young, — and died soon after being married. So it 
 often is in this world. It is not only true that many whom 
 the Lord loves die young, but it is likewise true that many 
 such ones suffer long before they leave us. There is mys- 
 tery in the mercy of suffering. Christ, the purest human 
 being, was the greatest sufferer. 
 
 Of these young women no memorial remains, except 
 what is here written. The gifted and pure-hearted have 
 gone, and left no record in time. To the human family, 
 except the few who knew and loved them, and who will 
 soon sleep with them, they are as though they had never 
 been. But "the pure in heart shall see God." Their re- 
 cord is on high ; and when those who have prostituted their 
 gifts for the attainment of a mere earthly record, shall go 
 to their own place, these " shall shine as the stars for ever 
 and ever." 
 
 In a letter detailing the incidents of the last illness and 
 death of Mrs. Fenn, the following passage occurs, the im- 
 agery of which is in Mrs. Trask's verses. Her husband, in 
 speaking of her decease, wrote : — 
 
 "Just before her death she dreamed that there was a 
 snow-storm which drifted and lay in heaps about her, 
 although she did not seem to be much in it. She thought 
 that the sun was near setting in the west, veiled by a light 
 cloud, through which it could be seen ; the edges of the 
 cloud were tinged by the golden rays of the light." * * 
 The scene then suddenly changed, and the earth was clad 
 
OUR CHILDREN. 1 39 
 
 in green ; and she beheld the most lovely and odoriferous 
 flowers of every shade and hue which it is possible to con- 
 ceive, and fruits that were more delicious and luxurious 
 than she had ever seen. She said she had no language to 
 describe its loveliness. When she awoke she related her 
 dream, and thought that it meant she should be restored to 
 health and happiness on earth : but was it not an intima- 
 tion from the spirit land that she was soon to depart to that 
 region where — 
 
 " Everlasting spring abides and ever-blooming flowers." 
 LINES. 
 
 Visions of the spirit land 
 Steal o'er me now ; — 
 Tones from a music band, 
 Gentle and low — 
 Forms of die beautiful 
 Come to my sight, 
 Robed in pure vestments, — 
 Golden and white. 
 
 Bright visions are thronsrins: 
 My spirit around ; 
 Gleamings of beauty 
 My last sleep surroimd ; 
 Strange flowers are blooming, 
 Wond'rously bright. 
 Unfolding their blossoms 
 In prismatic light. 
 
140 OUR CHILDREN. 
 
 Life's fetters are breaking — 
 
 My soul is away : — 
 
 My sleep is but waking 
 
 To glorious clay; 
 
 My life's sun is setting, 
 
 To rise on that shore 
 
 Whose ecstatic visions 
 
 Are mine ever more. 
 ****** 
 
 And so she passed away, with that bright dream 
 Of heaven upon her soul — heaven was revealed 
 To her, and the immortal fruits and flowers 
 That grow in that bright clime. — And it is well 
 The spirit may outsoar even in chains 
 Its dwelling-place on earth, and mate with those 
 Who, in the unseen world, wing from their home to this 
 
 — I can not say farewell : — Thou didst but sleep 
 To wake in heaven. — And yet thy form — 
 Thy spirit's form — is with us now ; and thoughts 
 Of heaven that in our souls are waked 
 Are but thy spirit's sweet commune with ours. 
 Thou art the same to us, only the light 
 Of thy new glory veils thee from our eyes, 
 As stellar rays are hid by noon-day sun. 
 
 And can we weep who loved her well on earth.'* 
 No link is broken by her journey hence, 
 
OUR CHILDREN. I4I 
 
 But one is added to the chain that links 
 Our souls to hers. — And ye are nearer now 
 Than when she put her hand in thine on earth — 
 — Look up, and ye hy faith shall see that sphere 
 Where white-winged spirits from the tree of life 
 Pluck its fair fruits, and live forever more. 
 
 Leila Trask. 
 
 BLIND PHCEBE, 
 
 There came to our door one day a poor blind girl, led 
 by a younger sister. Blind Phoibe — for such was her 
 name — had been educated in the asylum of a neighboring 
 State. She had a good voice, and accompanied her songs 
 with tolerable skill on the piano or the melodeon. She 
 wished to give a concert, or obtain aid in some other way, 
 for her parents, whom she represented as being in need of 
 assistance, on account of ill health and an invalid family. 
 We inquired and learned the truth of Phoebe's story. We 
 found likewise an illustration of the kindly disposition which 
 the poor often manifest among themselves. 
 
 The parents of Phoebe were cousins. They had removed 
 from a slave state and were living on a piece of land rented 
 from a wealthy relative in Ohio. As often occurs when 
 cousins marry, or when those marry who are alike in their 
 physical and moral qualities and characteristics, most of the 
 children were defective either in body or mind. One other 
 sister of Phoebe was totally blind ; and two others of the 
 family were marked by some physical or mental deteriora- 
 tion. They were so poor when we first became acquainted 
 with their circumstances, that they had no cow ; and often 
 
142 OUK CHILDREN. 
 
 they sat down to very scanty meals. Yet living with this 
 poor family were two aged grandparents and an aunt, 
 with whom they shared whatever they procured of food or 
 raiment. The rich uncle had many broad acres, but yet 
 he did little for his destitute relatives. The poor did what 
 they could, and continued to do so till the grandparents 
 died. When their aged friends were removed from them 
 by death, the poor family exerted themselves to procure a 
 decent coffin and grave clothes for the departed, and fol- 
 lowed them to the grave with sincere sorrow. Perhaps when 
 the rich relative dies he will be mourned for, as- other rich 
 men often are : — the sorrow of the living will be mitigated 
 by the event, long looked forward to, that his money is to 
 be distributed. 
 
 Having learned the facts in relation to Phoebe's family, 
 we interested ourselves to advise and aid her. Hitherto 
 her eff'orts had gained no permanent relief. My wife ad- 
 vised her in regard to personal habits, and aided her by 
 furnishing apparel and other little things, by which she 
 could make herself more presentable than before. I wrote 
 letters to friends stating her case, and used means to inter- 
 est amateur singers to aid her in her little village concerts. 
 She was advised to save whatever money she could obtain 
 beyond what was necessary for present wants, and to de- 
 posit her little sums with me, upon interest, until she had 
 procured enough to buy herself and parents a humble 
 home in some new county at the West. During her efforts 
 we promised her and her sister a home for rest and refresh- 
 ment. 
 
 With this object in view, Phoebe began the effort, and in 
 less than three years she had money enough to secure forty 
 acres of land in the State of Indiana, upon which is a com- 
 fortable log cabin and about thirty acres of clearing. A 
 young orchard is growing; and there are cows, pigs, chick- 
 ens, and all the surroundings of a home in a new country. 
 Her father and brother were improving the litde plantation 
 when I last heard from them. The other blind sister was 
 getting an education. The grandparents and aunt are in 
 
OUR CHILDREN. I43 
 
 heaven. The family are respected by their neighbors. The 
 rich uncle and his family still live ; but I have not suc- 
 ceeded in leading Phoebe to love them as she should. 
 
 When blind Phoebe began her effort for a farm, I wrote, 
 and we taught her the following song, which she usually 
 sang at all her humble village concerts : 
 
 THE BLIND GIRL'S SONG. 
 
 Tune — " VV/jai Fairy-like Music." 
 I. 
 
 They tell me the sky is a deep azure blue, 
 All jevvel'd with stars that are nightly in view; 
 That the sun shines in glory, with life in his light. 
 And the moon walks in beauty — the queen of the 
 night: — 
 Refrain. But ah me! — the blind girl can not see! 
 
 II. 
 
 They tell me the flowers are varied in hue; 
 That the mother looks fondly — the lover looks true; 
 That in spring-time the landscape is blithesome and gay 
 With the plumage of birds, and the blossoms of May : — > 
 
 But ah me! — the blind girl can not see! 
 
 HI. 
 
 They tell me that storm-clouds oft cover the sky; 
 That the lightning leaps out from its covert on high ; 
 But when storms are departing, and soft breezes blow, 
 The heaven is spann'd with a beautiful bow: — 
 
 But ah me! — the blind girl can not see! 
 
144 OUR CHILDREN. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And they tell me of regions still brighter above, 
 Where beings of beauty are living in love; 
 Where flow^ers more fragrant, and landscapes more fair 
 Are springing and blooming eternally there: — 
 
 And ah me! — the blind girl there shall see! 
 
 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 Atlantic Ocean, May, 1S54. 
 
 At night, on the wide, wide sea, 
 
 When the winds and the waves are high, 
 
 My memory turns to thee. 
 With the tribute of a sigh. 
 
 Through many a chcquer'd scene, 
 
 We 've travel'd side by side ; 
 Eventful and busy our lives have been 
 
 Since you were first my bride. 
 
 In the weal and woe of life 
 
 More sorely you've been tried; 
 But I have stood by your side, my wife. 
 When our poor orphans died. 
 
 Our Father above is kind ; 
 
 The angels have guided our way; 
 
OUR CHILDREN. 
 
 145 
 
 With a trusting heart, and a hopeful mind 
 We '11 walk till the close of day. 
 
 In the battle with sin and wrong 
 We have acted well our part : — 
 
 By a thoughtless word we may have err'd, 
 But never have erred in heart. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 I DARE not write a eulogy of my mother. She had a 
 peculiarly meek and quiet spirit; so much so that she would 
 not be pleased with words that published her virtues. She 
 was twice married, and reared three families of children, 
 One of which were children of her second husband by a 
 former wife. I never knew a shade of difference in her 
 treatment of these children. 
 
 Like some others of whom I have read, she seemed to 
 have a premonition of her death. She visited all her 
 friends who were near and told them it was her last visit. 
 Near the time of her death she slept at the dwelling of a 
 sister. In the morning her sister approached her bed to in- 
 vite her to breakfast. She was awake and cheerful, and 
 uttered the following words, which undoubtedly had just 
 taken form in her mind : 
 
 "The time is approaching, and soon it will be, 
 When the door will fly open and the prisoner go free." 
 
 Soon after she was taken ill, and died as she had lived, 
 in peace. Her pastor, who stood by her bed-side, told her 
 she was about to die. She replied : " The holy and 
 BLESSED WILL OF GoD BE DONE." Soon after, she spoke 
 the name of her daughter and fell asleep. Her daughter 
 was then unmarried, and for many months afterwards a 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 147 
 
 feeling of sadness, approaching melancholy, weighed upon 
 her mind. The God to whom our mother each day com- 
 mitted her children has, by a kind and guiding Providence, 
 wonderfully provided for them all. We attribute much of 
 the good we have received to our mother's prayers. Would 
 it be wrong to say — to ministration and guidance she was 
 permitted to give ? 
 
 TRIBUTE TO A DEPARTED MOTHER. 
 
 Thou vvert mild, dearest mother — the world could not 
 know 
 
 A spirit SO pure and so meek, 
 But the cliildren who sat by thy heart's fountain flow 
 
 Of thy love and thy virtue may speak. 
 
 We '11 remember thee — mother — thy language so kind, 
 
 Thy voice and thy love-speaking eye, 
 When our thoughts are at rest thou wilt speak to our 
 mind, 
 
 And our hearts will respond with a sigh. 
 
 If the souls of the saints from their home in the sky 
 
 Any guidance on mortals bestow. 
 We are sure that our mother will often be nigh 
 
 To the lov'd ones who linger below. 
 
 Farewell, dearest mother — \vefecl thou art gone, 
 
 The cold earth on thy coffin is pi'ess'd, 
 "GocFs holy and righteous will has been done" — 
 
 We shall meet in the home of the blest. 
 

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 149 
 
 THE TRAVELER ON THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 A YOUTH left the city of Pittsburg when twenty years of 
 age to walk three hundred miles a-foot, over the Allegheny 
 Mountains, to Philadelphia. 
 
 In the early days of the West, before there were railroads 
 or canals, Philadelphia was considered a long distance from 
 the Ohio River. I was to have a companion in my journey, 
 but he was a stout young man, and it did not seem fitting 
 that a youth of pale features and slender form should en- 
 dure the fatigue of travel with so sturdy a companion. 
 
 The morning that I was to leave home, when I awoke, 
 my mother was praying near my bed. A little cortege of 
 friends accompanied us with a conveyance the first day's 
 journey. Then with a little bundle in my hand, I began 
 my journey a-foot from what was then called the West to the 
 East. We achieved the three hundred and twenty miles in 
 about ten days in the month of August. Every day I was 
 wearied with the heat and travel ; and when I could per- 
 suade my companion to tarry a few moments and sit down 
 under the blessed shade of some green tree by the way- 
 side, the rest was to me an Eden, and I almost invariably 
 sank into a sleep, until aroused to set out again on my 
 journey. 
 
 On one of the upper ranges of the Alleghenies, a little 
 path led down a few yards to a spring which gushed from 
 the rocks and ran in a sweet, fresh rivulet under the trees 
 and down the mountain side with a murmur which was 
 soothing to my soul as music over the sea. We turned 
 aside, as all way-worn travelers did in those days, to drink 
 of the pure water, and sit down to rest on the green sward 
 on the margin of the stream. To me the cool shade, the 
 brook, the green sward, the gentle breeze, were a refresh- 
 ment to body and mind, the sweetness of which I can not 
 describe. 
 
150 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 When we arose and walked on in our journey, the fol- 
 lowing stanza took form in my mind — a daguerreotype of 
 the actual impression received at tlie Mountain Spring : 
 
 , Know ye delight when the soul is sad 
 With the sorrows fatigue can brinsf — 
 If ye do — ye have sat on the mountain brow, 
 And drank of the mountain spring. 
 
 And you 've laid you down on the cool, green sward, 
 Where the brook ran murmuring by; 
 While the feather'd songsters overhead 
 Carol'd a lullaby. 
 
 And you thought the breeze that llnger'd nigh. 
 And whisper'd among the boughs, 
 Was kind as the breath of a husband's sigh 
 On the cheek of his new-wed spouse. 
 
 Subsequently the preceding verses were sent to a friend 
 with the following accompaniment. It was a friend who 
 Vvould pardon the egotism of a description which was 
 graphic and truthful, of one scarcely past the period of 
 boyhood. 
 
 A traveler on the mountain. 
 In a warm mid-summer day, 
 Sat down beside a fountain 
 That gush'd beside the way; 
 'Twas a cool, sequester'd fountain, 
 Wlicrc the birds and breezes play. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 151 
 
 He was a youthful traveler, 
 And delicately fair, 
 With eye as bright as diamond light, 
 And richly curling hair — 
 His hat lay by him on the sward, 
 Bosom and brow were bare. 
 
 'Twas a pleasant spot, and a pleasant thought, 
 Which Memory treasui'es still, 
 Flow'd through his mind, as he lay reclin'd 
 By the flowing mountain rill — 
 The rest seem'd sweet, and nature kind. 
 And numbers flowed at will — 
 
 The numbers flow'd at will, dear friend, 
 And I write them here for you; 
 That spring refreshed my weary mind 
 As drops of honey-dew, 
 Or cooling balm, when angels seem 
 To anoint the lips in a fever'd dream. 
 
 LINES, 
 
 Written in 1S30, in memory of a dumb girl, whom I saw when quite a 
 
 young muii, at an cxliibition of tlie Deaf and Dumb 
 
 Asylum in the City of Philadelphia. 
 
 She was a fair young girl, and all I've seen 
 Of woman has not left within my mind 
 
153 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 So pure a picture. Her beauty was not such 
 
 As I have seen in portraits. It seeni'd to hve 
 
 Upon her face. And when her mind had caught 
 
 Her teachei^'s thought, her soul would seem to come 
 
 In beams of intellect to her dark eyes, 
 
 And light her pleasing features with a glow 
 
 Of meaning I could read. I felt my heart 
 
 Was sympathizing with that silent girl; 
 
 She felt so too. Her soft, deep eyes had caught 
 
 My earnest gaze. Her glance grew fix'd a moment, 
 
 Soft'ning down into a tender inquiry. 
 
 Which ask'd if I had lov'd or pitied her: — 
 
 And then — she turn'd her eyes away and blush'd. — 
 
 Oh Nature, it was lovely thus to place 
 
 A sacred spring within the virgin breast, 
 
 Wliich in the bosom of this voiceless girl. 
 
 Who knew no reason why her check grew warm, 
 
 Would tb.us vibrate and tremble to be touch'd 
 
 By the slight impulse of an ardent look. 
 
 Unknown to that f;iir girl was art's device 
 And the dissimulation of the world. 
 Her heart was a hid fountain, and its springs 
 Of pure and fresh affection lay conceal'd 
 From the intrusion of the common herd: — 
 The flatt'rer'sbreath — the impiety of men; 
 The words of malice, pride, and guilt, which soil 
 And harden other hearts, came not to her. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 153 
 
 I then was very young-, and thoughts like these 
 Canie to my mind: — that if I could unseal 
 That maiden's ear, and pour into her mind 
 A living language, soften'd by tlie deep 
 And touching pathos of a kind regard — 
 And thus awake her sympathies, until 
 Tloe sweet affection of her virgin heart 
 Flow'd forth like rich refreshing upon mine — 
 I'd leave ambitious plans to selfish men 
 (Who toil and struggle anxiously to gain 
 An increase of anxiety) and live 
 In wedlock with that maiden. And I'd store 
 Her mind with a rich furniture, and by 
 The tendcrest, lo\ing kindnesses and care 
 Unite her heart-life with my own for aye. 
 
 — I'm older now, and Fancy more restrain'd, 
 Yet to my thought to-day, there came the form 
 Of that fair, voiceless girl ; and I have pray'd 
 She may have happiness that angels know — 
 That in the silent dwelling of her soul 
 Sweet peace and joy may bide continually. 
 
 7* 
 
154 MISCEM.ANKOUC PIECES. 
 
 ANCIENT EGYPT. 
 
 Suggested by reading a treatise on the History and Antiquities of Egypt. 
 
 I. 
 
 Egypt, thou wonder of the primal age, 
 In the Nilotic Valley, long ago, 
 The priests of Amun, the Memphitic sage. 
 Inscribed the preface to what men may know 
 Upon thy granite obelisks — in tombs 
 Where mummied relics of thy great ones lie. 
 In the stupendous pyramids, whose rooms 
 Abysmal — cavernous — Time's power defy. 
 
 II. 
 Whence were thy people, Egypt.'' — whence the 
 might 
 And wealth of Menes, — the first Theban king.? 
 Who taught thy sacerdotal class to write 
 In hieroglyphics.'' — Did their knowledge spring 
 From ancient Meroe.'' — Was the light that shone 
 Upon thine orient, in the morn of time 
 KintUed by Hermes, or a radiance thrown 
 Into thy valley from some western clime.'' 
 
 III. 
 Who shall resolve the riddle ? — Who collate 
 Thy fables, and translate them into truth? 
 Who place thy unplac'd kings — or give the date 
 Of those who reigned when Saturn was a youth.'' 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 155 
 
 IV. 
 
 That thou hi age wast hoary, the long range 
 Of temples, tombs, sarcophagi declare; 
 And thy vast superstitions, vile and strange, 
 Proclaim idolatry grown dotard there. 
 
 V. 
 
 Impressive lesson! — Time developes mind, 
 And nations by the lapse of years grow wise. 
 But God unknown, — the human mind is blind. 
 And reason si?iks in her attempts to rise. 
 
 VI. 
 
 God is unknown to reason : ye might gaze 
 On P/ira^ thy sun-god, till the eye would be 
 Confused and cloudy ; — but as thro' a haze, 
 Or darken'd glass, his texture we may see, 
 So, Lord of hosts, the soul may gaze on Thee: — 
 Jesus revealed, yet veil'd, the Deity. 
 
 THE SERENADE. 
 
 "There is in souls a sympathy with sounds"; — but it 
 is with sounds that have melody and sweet modulation in 
 them. The fantasias of the fashionable artistes ai-e to the 
 lovers of melody like a substitute of painted sugar-plumbs 
 for the refreshing flavor and richness of natural fruit. Car- 
 lyle's exclamation against the opera, in the Dumphries 
 Album, is merely the outbreak of a heart true to nature, 
 
156 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 against the desecration of chaste and beautiful music. " Oh 
 heavens ! " says he, " when I think that music too is con- 
 demned to be mad, and to burn herself on such a funeral 
 pile, your celestial opera house grows dark and infernal to 
 me." But when beautiful thought is connected with natu- 
 ral melody 
 
 " By many a winding 'bout 
 Of linked sweetness long drawn out," 
 
 the mind is soothed or elated, and the heart vibrates to the 
 sweet cadences of tlie singer — 
 
 " What sweet tears dim the eye unshed, 
 What wild vows falter on the tongue. 
 When ' Scots wha ha' wi' Wallace bled,' 
 Or ' Auld Lang Syne,' is sung." 
 
 The night after my first return from Europe, in 1854, was 
 beautiful with calm and moonlight. Just as I was dropping 
 into the Dreamland, I was attracted and charmed by a 
 sweet serenade under my window. The viol, flute, and 
 guitar accompanied sweet and familiar voices singing a 
 song of ivclconic home ! To me the music was as Ossian's 
 " Song of other days, sweet and pleasant to the soul." I 
 endeavored to perpetuate my sense of the incident in the 
 following verses: — 
 
 MY WELCOME HOME. 
 
 In realms remote, o'er land and main, 
 On Alpine heights — in cities old, 
 I've wandcr'd, — and now home again 
 Returns the shepherd to the fold. 
 
 'Tis the first rest for many days; 
 The c^uiet seems all sweet and deep; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. I57 
 
 And grateful thoughts, on whigs of praise, 
 Are mingling with the sense of sleep. 
 
 Around my home, on slirub and tree, 
 The moonlight sheen sleeps on the bough; 
 And gentle breezes, soothingly, 
 Come through the lattice o'er my brow. 
 
 But hark! sweet strains of minstrelsy — 
 Half seeming from the land of dreams — 
 A " welcome home," in melody, 
 Floats gently in with the moonbeams. 
 
 I've heard sweet music in the halls 
 Where sat the proud — where pageantry. 
 And master- hands and voices — all 
 Joined to gi\e soul to melody — 
 
 I've heard sweet music o'er the sea. 
 And music from the mountain height; 
 But music never spoke to me 
 In tones so heavenly as that night. 
 
 MUSICAL SURPRISE. 
 
 Another musical surprise occurred soon after my return, 
 in 1854. During a literary lecture which I delivered to the 
 people of our quiet little city of Mansfield, Ohio, recounting 
 
15S MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 incidents of travel, the sweet singers of the town had con^ 
 vened and unexpectedly they sang with accompaniments 
 the following verses. I insert them because they are beau- 
 tiful to me as a memorial of the friends of other days. 
 
 I'm with you once again, my friends, 
 
 No more my footsteps roam ; 
 Where it began my journey ends, 
 
 Amid the joys of home. 
 No other clime has skies so blue, 
 
 Or streams so broad and clear, 
 And where are hearts so warm and true 
 
 As those that meet me here ? 
 
 Since last with footstep firm and free 
 
 I pressed my native strand, 
 I've wander'd many miles by sea 
 
 And many miles by land ; 
 I've seen the nations of the earth, 
 
 Of many a hue and tongue, 
 Which taught me more to prize the worth 
 
 Of that from which I sprung. 
 
 My native land, I turn to you 
 
 With blessing and with prayer. 
 Where men are brave, and women true. 
 
 And free as mountain air. 
 Long may our flag in triumph wave 
 
 Against the world combin'd, 
 And friends a welcome, foes a grave, 
 
 Within our borders find. 
 
 Beneath these lines, in 1861, an English lady wrote the 
 words — Alas for the flag ! — Bessie Englis. 
 
 Following which I wrote, in 1866 — Hallelujah for the 
 flag! — J. B. W. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. I^g 
 
 CONRAD AND ELLEN. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE SUSQUEHANNA. 
 
 In a valley of the mountainous district of Pennsylvania, 
 about the year 1808, a young man, a descendant of the 
 German Lutherans, and a young woman, daughter of a 
 Scotch family, were schooled in the same village, and loved 
 each other from childhood. A villain from another State, 
 who taught a school in the settlement, contrived to have a 
 crime, of which he was himself guilty, alleged and sworn 
 against Conrad. The scheme succeeded. The villagers 
 deemed the youth guilty. His penalty would have been 
 shame and heavy expenditure, if he had remained in the 
 State. The young maiden could not marry him for very 
 shame, although she knew, or verily believed him to be 
 faultless. Her parents would have spurned her from them, 
 if she had done so. The young man fled from home and 
 friends. He went away to the old country from which his 
 parents came. The young woman remained to pine in 
 secret and to die. The rest of the legend is in the ballad. 
 
 CONRAD AND ELLEN. 
 
 A wand'rer o'er the world's wide ranges, 
 
 Up and down, 
 Returned to witness rueful changes 
 
 In our town. 
 
 He loved, how well no tongue can tell ; — 
 
 In early youth 
 A maiden fair, with auburn hair, 
 
 Pledgr'd him her truth. 
 
l6o MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 But ah! they parted, broken hearted, 
 He went forth, 
 
 A wand'rer weary, sad and dreary, 
 O'er the earth. 
 
 But change came down on our town 
 
 When he was gone, 
 
 A wretch oppress'd v/ith death, confess'd 
 What he had done. 
 
 The guilty man had form'd a plan, 
 
 By which his crimes 
 
 Were laid on one, now wand'ring lone, 
 In other climes. 
 
 The trusting maid had always said 
 
 The day would come 
 
 When time would prove her own true love 
 No ill had done. 
 
 When death reveal'd the guilt concealed, 
 The maiden wept, — 
 
 Her face was pale, but a sweet smile 
 
 O'er her cheek crept. 
 
 — The wand'rer dream'd — to him it seem'd 
 That Ellen came 
 
 All pale and white, at noon of night. 
 And call'd his name. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. l6l 
 
 The well-known tone, with power unknown, 
 Thrill'dlikeadart — 
 
 Some words she spoke — the wand'rer woke 
 With throbbing heart. 
 
 O'er land and sea he seem'd to flee, 
 
 To reach his home; 
 
 When years had sped, the people said 
 Poor Conrad's come. 
 
 He sought the cot, and heard her lot 
 
 With bated breath — 
 By parents old, the tale was told, 
 Of love in death. 
 
 She kept the ring — a sacred thing, 
 
 Which Conrad gave ; 
 That it might rest upon her breast, 
 
 When in the grave. 
 
 One pledge she took — Give him my book; 
 
 And when I die, 
 Show him the mound in yonder ground 
 
 Where I shall lie. 
 
 — Then Conrad bow'd, and sobb'd aloud, 
 With bended head: 
 
 The angel's gone, and I'm alone, 
 Was all he said. 
 
l62 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 A changed man he walked again 
 
 His native town : 
 
 His words were few with those he knew, 
 His eyes cast down. 
 
 On the same night her vision briglit 
 Call'd him in love, 
 
 The heart that kept his troth and wept, 
 Had ceased to move. 
 
 Near to the mound which marks the ground 
 Where Ellen sleeps. 
 
 He built a cot, and on that spot 
 
 His dwelling keeps. 
 
 And people say, at close of day, 
 
 Pensive and slow. 
 
 Where Ellen lies with downcast eyes, 
 They see him go. 
 
 And some believe, on a quiet eve 
 Her spirit's seen 
 
 Softly to glide, near by his side, 
 
 In th' moonlisrht sheen. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 1 63 
 
 THE ANGEL WHISPER. 
 
 Sometimes, in the pause of busy life. 
 
 When my mind is very still, 
 There looks on me in memory's glass, 
 
 Without the call of will, 
 A kind young face, from the Land of Youth, 
 
 And when she comes I sigh; 
 And my mind is held, as by the spell, 
 
 Of an unseen spirit nigh. 
 
 Long, long ago — in boyhood's time, 
 
 She was my earliest love; 
 But ere the flush of maiden prime, 
 
 Slie join'd the choir above — 
 Her presence gives a sign of peace; 
 
 All selfish thought is gone; 
 I hear her silent words awhile, 
 
 And then, I am alone! 
 
 In the Land of the Hereafter, 
 
 I shall meet an angel friend, 
 Whose presence I shall know by thoughts 
 
 That with my thinking blend ; 
 She will tell me in life's jDilgrimage 
 
 She oftentimes was nigh, 
 And look'd on me in Memory's glass 
 
 Till I answer'd with a si^h. 
 
164 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 A TEAR FOR HUGH MILLER. 
 
 Impromptu, on hearing the character and labors of Hugh Miller 
 delineated in a commencement exercise at Oberlin College. 
 
 Young man, I thank thee, I have shed a tear, 
 A treasured tear which I had felt was due 
 To him who had decipher'd the stone book, 
 And traced the fossil hieroglyphs which tell 
 Of paleozoic life, in ages old — 
 In the gray morning of Creation's day. 
 
 Hugh Miller — man of Cromarty! — I shed 
 That tear for thee. It was not worship ; 
 It was not regret. The wand that struck the rock, 
 And brought the tear-drop from its hidden fount, 
 Was a daguerreotype of thy true life, 
 Struck in the light of earnest, truthful thought. 
 
 I saw thy manly forni — I saw the sign 
 Of high intent upon thine ample brow — 
 Mark'd thy fine eye dilate with gratitude, 
 When the foint trace of vertebrated life 
 In Old Red Sandstone first reveal'd itself: — 
 Then came a tear — a tribute to the worth 
 Of him who read the archytypal forms 
 Which God inscribed upon the pedestal 
 Of the great column of organic life. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 165 
 
 Thank God ! my mind is easier, better now — 
 For my emotion has an answer given 
 To my conviction, that I ought to shed 
 A tear for thee — Hugh Miller! 
 
 ON RELINQUISHING LEGAL STUDIES. 
 
 Good-bye old books of legal lore, 
 
 I leave you with a sigh; 
 Reason and right I lov'd f explore — 
 
 Their principles apply. 
 
 I turn to that supremest aim, 
 
 To live for others' good ; 
 Reason and right are still the same — 
 
 Love is by foith in God. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, 
 
 To the early members of the Western Reserve College, in memory of their 
 friend, Rev. Charles B. Storrs, first president of the Institution. 
 T he death of President Storrs was hastened by the hostility of a part of 
 the Trustees of the College to his anti-slavery principles. 
 
 Honor the good 1 — bow down and bless 
 The pure in heart, whose holiness 
 
1 65 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Reached and enriched your mind ; 
 The humbly wise are truly great — 
 Great in high thoughts which elevate 
 
 The aims of human kind. 
 
 Ho7ior the great I — the great of soul, 
 Who live above the mean control 
 
 Of low and selfish minds: 
 Who see and dare maintain the right, 
 When cowards flee they stand and fight, 
 
 In presence of the flames. 
 
 Honor the hcro^ who will stand 
 For truth and judgment in the land, 
 
 Nor yield to selfish fears — 
 Who in the dark sows seeds of light — 
 Germ truths, which spring to moral might, 
 In minds of after years 
 
 Honor the dcad^ whose life was given 
 A sacrifice for truth — the leaven 
 
 Of martyr blood has power — 
 If falt'ring in the fight with sin — 
 Storrs falter'd not. — Remember him — 
 
 'Twill heliD us in that hour. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 167 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 JOHN QJJ INCY ADAMS. 
 
 Heav'n bless you — Old man eloquent — Be firm 
 For God and truth, humanity and right: 
 Who speaks but for the present and for self 
 Denies Jehovah — Speak for man, and then 
 This mightiest nation of the future age 
 Will build for thee a lofty monument 
 And blazon under thy illustrious name 
 This tribute to thy memory : — 
 
 Friend of humanity and truth, we come 
 To rear this column to the great of soul; 
 That men may gather courage at the tomb 
 Of one who rose above the mean control 
 Of party trammels. — One who in the might 
 Of a great principle stood all alone — ■ 
 Arm'd in th' impervious panoply of right 
 Met base and braggait minds and struck them down. 
 
l68 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 Impromptu, to my friend, Hon. J. Brinkerhoff, on receiving intelligence 
 that the Liberty or " Wilmol Proviso " was written liy him, and passed 
 to Hon. J. Wihnot, who olYercd it in Congress, 1S46. 
 
 Stand, Brinkerhoft', for Truth and Liberty : 
 Stand on the great rock-principle, that right 
 Alone can give stability to States. 
 Be courteous to the South, she has a share 
 Of noble, patriot minds. Give such the mead 
 That honor pays to worth. But yet, be firm; 
 Firm for free land, free labor, and free men — 
 A better age will come: the Muse of History 
 Will crown with bays enduring as the soul, 
 Statesmen who dared do battle for the truth. 
 Fear not — As God lives, righteousness shall reign — 
 One with the Lord is a majority — 
 God's spirit is in providence — hencefoilh 
 JVo question '5 settled till 'tis settled right. 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 ON READING A NOTICE OF HIS DECEASE. 
 
 Irving, I long have lov'd thy classic thought- 
 Chaste, sprightly, spirited, and often quaint : 
 
MISCKLLANEOUS PIECES. 1 69 
 
 Sometimes pathetic — never low, nor aim'd 
 
 1 o catch eclat from vain or \'ulgar minds. 
 
 It was not labor but a sense of rest, 
 
 Nay, of exhilaration, for my mind 
 
 To travel on with thine. But yet my heart 
 
 Had felt a yearning, that e'er death should come, 
 
 Some mark of moral dignity might crown 
 
 The labors of thy life. Alas, thy bust 
 
 Wears but the chaplet of rare intellect — 
 
 — The true regalia of the kingly soul : — 
 
 The sympathy of intellect with right — 
 
 The courage to exalt the true and good — 
 
 To damn the wrong — Alas! where find v\^e these? 
 
 'Tis pitiful — thy diadem will fade. 
 
 No mind is noble but the conscience- crowd d. 
 
 [The following letter was marked and prolonged by the interest felt at the 
 time. But its principles are right, and as principles as well as poetry are 
 the burden of the book, we will not omit it.] 
 
 Grove Lawn Villa, ) 
 
 Betizonia, Mich., 1867. ) 
 Jabez Burns, D.D., Paddingion, London : 
 
 My Dear Sir — I can give you but a brief minute of edu- 
 cational matters in our State, and the passage of the con- 
 stitutional amendment. I remember some friends at your 
 house seemed almost incredulous when I told them that I 
 knew well an ex-govcrnor in the State of Ohio who sawed 
 his own wood, while his wife did her own baking. I pre- 
 8 
 
170 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 sume the facts that have fallen out since then, — Abraham 
 Lincoln, our President, having spent his youth as a laborer 
 on a farm, and Andrew Johnson, the Vice-President, as a 
 working tailor — have made your people somewhat less in- 
 credulous on the subject of the sovereignty of the people in 
 America, 
 
 One mistake, however, all Europeans fall into when the 
 rule of the common people in America is spoken of. Their 
 minds revert immediately to the ignorant and incompetent 
 working men that they see around them in their own coun- 
 try, and they conceive that such are the rulers of America. 
 This is a mischievous mistake. Our institutions educate all 
 the people, except the misguided Catholics, whom their 
 priests prevent from the common privileges of American 
 citizens ; and hence, they and their children are the ma- 
 terial which largely compose our mobs, our saloon popula- 
 tion, and our criminal calendar. The working people who 
 rise to places of influence and trust in America are those 
 naturally select minds who have acquired for themselves a 
 store of general knowledge, and have passed up from lower 
 to higher levels of citizenship. Lincoln was not only a 
 working farmer in his youth, but he became an eminent 
 lawyer before he was President. Johnson was in the begin- 
 ning a working tailor, but he raised himself through almost 
 every grade of citizenship to the Vice-Presidency. A re- 
 public of the people can stand only on New Testament 
 conscience and school culture. 
 
 An instance of the working of this principle on a large 
 scale was our Senate of Michigan, which managed the 
 affairs of the State during the most difficult period of the 
 slave-holders' rebellion. They were generally select men 
 of strong common sense, and mostly well educated, although 
 few of them had ever been to a school above those of 
 the common schools of our States. Their mental disci- 
 pline had been acquired by plan, study, and practice, in 
 devising ways and means to manage their own affairs, and 
 public affairs, in the new counties of a new State. Such 
 labors demand discriminating thought and energy, and 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. l>ji 
 
 give better discipline of a practical kind than collegiate 
 training can do without them. Indeed, your distinguished 
 townsman, Mr. Lowe, M.P., is probably right when he 
 doubts whether the study of the dead languages does not 
 train the mind to a blind and verbose expression of ideas, 
 rather than to logical and discriminative thinking. 
 
 I was chairman of the Committee on Public Instruction, 
 and had opportunities to know the views of these gentle- 
 men on educational subjects. They were all friends of 
 education, but had not scholastic experience enough to 
 know that studies advanced beyond the knowledge obtained 
 by general reading and the high school branches of com- 
 mon school study, are of little value either to the individual 
 or to the State, in the management of jDractical affairs. 
 
 Common schools are the highest and most fundamental 
 interest of a free State. Colleges scattered over the State 
 to prepare school teachers of the people and for the people 
 are a secondary need. State universities with large endow- 
 ments are generally corrupting powers to the morals of 
 students, and not so valuable as educators as the normal 
 schools and colleges of the State. There is a ring of 
 regents and teachers in our State University, who go for 
 that institution against the people — go for it because by 
 aggrandizing it they make themselves more conspicuous. 
 They are usually nominated because it is supposed they 
 will have influence with the Legislature. Some of those, 
 and usually the president of the University, make applica- 
 tion each session for money from the general fund. They 
 are already in possession of too large an endowment to be 
 safe conservators of the morals of the pupils ; yet they have 
 generally succeeded in filching money from the State 
 Treasury which should be devoted, if granted at all, to 
 common schools, or to normal instruction in the several 
 colleges, where the morals of the pupils would not be de- 
 teriorated by loose discipline and the bad example of reck- 
 less young men. 
 
 There is not one boy in one hundred thousand in our 
 •State that will ever be benefited by erudite and speculative 
 
172 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 studies. Other States are wiser than we in this respect, and 
 are not willing to tax the many for the benefit of the few. 
 No State should pay for what may be called amateur studies. 
 The Smithsonian, the Cornell, and the other institutions 
 and foundations, endowed by amateur students, are all 
 that are needed. The expenditure of the public money for 
 education that does not benefit the children of the State 
 generally, is a wrong proceeding. 
 
 Besides, our University acts for itself against the interests 
 of general education and contrary to the design of the 
 original foundation. The organic law requires that after a 
 certain advance in endowment shall be gained, branch 
 schools for normal instruction shall be established in the 
 judicial districts of the State, This beneficent provision is 
 avoided by the University ring of regents. This is done by 
 building new houses, adding new professorships, and de- 
 moralizing professors and students by increased salaries. 
 We say demoralizing students, because in our useful col- 
 leges, where professors get only a salary that affords a 
 comfortable living, they are more intimately and socially 
 one with the students, and thus the students have the bene- 
 fit of their social culture, piety and daily example. Large 
 salaries separate professors from students, and office-holders 
 from the people, and thus tend to create corruption and 
 aristocracy, which are the bane of Church and State. 
 
 During my service in the Senate, we did nothing to per- 
 vert the funds of the State to aristocratic uses. I got 
 through, v/ith but six dissenting votes, the revised school 
 law, v/hich I think is the best in the world. [It was laid 
 over that winter in the House, but was passed by the next 
 Legislature.] But our schools have no ring to operate in 
 their behalf, and in the future undoubtedly the University 
 will get money again from the general fund. Our common 
 school law, however, is a fixture. Including all the founda- 
 tion principles of the old law, it incorporates likewise the 
 best usages and provisions of the school laws of other 
 States. I am sure it will work well in practice, and in all 
 its essential features will remain so long as the State lasts. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 1 73 
 
 About all the honor your friend claims in this connection 
 was in engineering the bill through the Senate. The im- 
 portant superintendency clause was new, and had to be 
 maintained by protracted discussion. The provisions of 
 the bill were digested for the committee by our able Super- 
 intendent of Public Instruction. I will send you and Mr. 
 Ed. Bains, M.P., a copy. I have no doubt Mr. Bains will 
 yet succeed in accomplishing something for public educa- 
 tion in England. 
 
 Concerning the amendment to our national constitution 
 you will have heard of its passage before this reaches you. 
 There is no doubt but that the requisite number of States 
 will sanction the clause to make it part of our fundamental 
 law. I think I felt more like swinging my hat when I gave 
 my vote in its behalf than I have done since I was a boy. 
 No one in the chamber doubted but that I voted in the 
 affirmative. The following extempore lines are a true ex- 
 pression of both my emotion and thought on the occasion : 
 
 A THANKSGIVING. 
 
 " Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and 
 TO the Holy Ghost : as it was in the beginning, 
 IS now, and ever shall be : world without end." 
 
 Receive the worship — Lord of Hosts 
 Thine infinite and wond'rous providence 
 Has brought me to this hour, and to this place: 
 The high place of our good State-capitol ; 
 Where with a voice raised high o'er my compeers, 
 I've crown'd a life of labor, by an act 
 Omnific 
 
1 74 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 " The vote 
 Falls like a snow-flake on the sod, 
 But executes the fVeem-i:i's will 
 As lightning does the will of God." 
 
 — I've given the vote — the aye, 
 That gathering strength as it rolls thro' the States, 
 Shall form a diamond sentence that shall seal 
 The doom of the slave power, and forbid, 
 Till time shall be no more, the barb'rous rule 
 Of might o'er right. — The subjecting of will. 
 Of heart, and conscience to the power of man — 
 Subjection which alone is due to God. — 
 
 Hail, native land ! I now can lift my brow 
 And speak thy name as mine; — but hitherto 
 A sense of shame was in the soul of all 
 Who sympathized with Mercy and with Right, 
 Yet saw our Union's mighty power employ'd, 
 By petty despots, and by venal minds, 
 To crush the weak — the ignorant ! — the poor ! 
 But now 'tis done ! — Before the world we vote, 
 By the authority of this Commonwealth, 
 FREEDOM FOREVER IN AMERICA! 
 
 P.S. — I am sorry that I can't join you in the proposed 
 journey to California, the coming autumn. Tell our friends 
 that the proposed chimera is in process of realization. I 
 am actually living in a log cabin — in the woods — two 
 hundred miles from a railroad. Often shake the snow off 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 1^5 
 
 my bed in the winter morning. Have the nucleus of a 
 Christian colony in which we propose to develope in har- 
 mony the interests of Piety, Agriculture, and Education in 
 a new and destitute region of the State. The project is of 
 value that can not be estimated to the future of this new 
 region. It will cost self-denial and money, but D. v. it shall 
 be a success. It is an effort to furnish Christian education, 
 almost without cost, to the children of a poor but industrious 
 population, that without our effort could have no such ad- 
 vantages. J. B. W. 
 
 GNADENHUTTEN 
 
 Traveling upon business once in the interior of the 
 State of Ohio, I found myself on Saturday evening in the 
 vicinity of the Moravian settlements of Gnadenhiitten and 
 Shonbrunn, in the valley of the Tuscarawas. I proposed to 
 rest, according to the commandment, on the Sabbath day, 
 and accordingly took lodgings for man and horse at the 
 village inn. Upon inquiring, I learned that the inhabitants 
 of the place were still mostly Moravians. They had a 
 church in the village, and their pastor resided near by. 
 
 We had been deeply interested by the histories of the 
 faith and sacrifices of the Moravian people, and at an 
 early hour in the evening we found ourselves seated with 
 the pastor in his study. 
 
 Perceiving our interest in subjects connected with the 
 Moravians, he spoke of their mission at Gnadenhiitten 
 and Shonbrunn, and the massacre of the Indians at that 
 place. At a period soon after the establishment of the 
 colonies along our Eastern Seaboard, the Moravians com- 
 menced a mission among the North American Indians. 
 
176 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 When the first hostilities between the colonies and the 
 Indians caused the tribes to remove westward, the Morai 
 vian missionaries removed with them. Once they located 
 east of the Alleghenies, upon the waters of the Susque- 
 hanna. There the repose of the missionary and his little 
 flock was again disturbed by the war of the Revolution. 
 To escape the evils to which they would be exposed by 
 contiguity to the seat of war, they again removed, and 
 finally settled upon the banks of the Tuscarawas, in the 
 then unbroken forests of the State of Ohio. Here they 
 located their village, which they named Gnadenhiitten, or 
 the tents of Grace, in the center of which was a log struc- 
 ture for counsel and worship, and beneath this an excava- 
 tion to store provisions. The surrounding forests were then 
 filled with game. The river which ran by their villages, 
 and the soil which they cultivated, furnished them with 
 abundant supplies. Their minister instructed them both in 
 the art of agriculture and in the faith of Christ ; and habits 
 of industry and hopes of immortality were cherished by a 
 little band of native Christians in the bosom of the western 
 wilderness. 
 
 Here they lived undisturbed until the commencement of 
 the Indian war. When hostilities began along the north- 
 western frontier, the Christian Indians refused to join the 
 war party. Those, however, of their tribe who were un- 
 converted, had joined hostile tribes in their depredations 
 upon the frontier settlements; and a report was current, 
 which probably was to some extent correct, that the hos- 
 tile Indians were supplied with provisions, and permitted 
 to rest, at the Christian village of Gnadenhiitten. Acting 
 in view of this report an armed party left the mouth of 
 Wheeling Creek, in Virginia, to destroy the village. Among 
 them was a frontier settler whose wife and children had 
 been massacred by hostile Indians a few weeks before. It 
 was at the time of corn gatherirg. The Indians were at 
 their village collecting their harvest. The white party in 
 approaching killed the son of the missionary, whom they 
 met a short distance from the village. In the afternoon 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 1 77 
 
 they reached Gnadenhiitten, and captured and disarmed 
 the Indians. The captives were told when they gave up 
 their arms that they were to be removed to Pittsburg on 
 the following day. They were then all shut up in the log 
 building which had served as a store-house and a place of 
 worship. The white party, after their prisoners were 
 secured, held a counsel, and the recent massacre of the 
 white woman and her children caused the worst influences 
 to prevail. The announcement was made to the Indians 
 that their death was determined by the counsel of frontiers- 
 men, and that they were allowed only one hour to prepare 
 to die. They received the tidings with that calmness which 
 characterizes the Indian in such circumstances, and many 
 of thein employed their last hour in silence and prayer. 
 At the expiration of the hour, a party of the white men ap- 
 proached, and firing in through crevices made in the house, 
 slaughtered, as they supposed, the entire company. One 
 only escaped to tell the tale of horror. A youth had by 
 some means forced himself down into the cavity beneath 
 the floor, where he lay undiscovered until the shades of 
 evening gave him opportunity to escape to the woods, and 
 bear the fearful tidings of the massacre to the rest of his 
 tribe at Sandusky. 
 
 On Monday morning we visited with the Moravian pas- 
 tor the spot where the Indian village had stood. The area 
 is now overgrown by wild plum trees ; and in the center 
 there is a cavity which was once the cellar of the store- 
 house in which the Indians were slaughtered, and which is 
 the only vestige now remaining of their former village. 
 From this cavity, which was once flooded with the blood of 
 the Indians, there now rises (1833) a tall sycamore tree, 
 and around its trunk and branches a heavy vine climbs, 
 and spreads itself far above the surrounding woods. 
 
 We left the scene and the excellent man who had been 
 our companion, with strong impressions upon our minds. 
 As we rode away those impressions were embodied in the 
 following stanza : — 
 
 8* 
 
178 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 I. 
 
 Throw up thine arms, thou s}'cai'nore tree, 
 For rich is the soil that nourishes thee; 
 And the vine that chmbs round thy branches high, 
 Should yield its clusters of rubric dye; 
 For the earth which the fostering juice imparts 
 Is drench'd in the blood of the red men's hearts. 
 
 II. 
 'Tis a strange, wild tale that they tell of thee — 
 Thou clambering vine and sycamore tree; 
 They say that in time, long past and gone. 
 The red men rov'd in these wilds alone; — 
 That here, in the midst of this circling wood. 
 In the days of eld, a village stood 
 Where the warrior Indian, wild and free, 
 Rejoic'd in primeval jubilee. 
 
 III. 
 
 A man of God, from the rising sun, 
 Came to Gnadenhiitten and Shonbrunn ; 
 And he taught the Indians to love the name 
 Of Him who on errands of mercy came: — 
 They heard his talk with rev' rent fear. 
 And leaned on their bows around to hear; 
 Then buried the hatchet, and tilled the sod. 
 And bow'd to worship the white man's God. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 1 79 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thus fiar in the wilderness' solitude, 
 Midst the tall old trees, and tlie mountains rude, 
 In prayers and praises, the ancient race 
 Lifted their hearts to the God of grace. 
 
 V. 
 
 But cruel war seized his flaming brand, 
 And shook at heaven his bloody hand; 
 And the warrior Indian seized the bow 
 And lurk'd like the panther for his foe; 
 But the Christian Indians would not sing 
 The song of war in their council ring — 
 Yet Suspicion whisper'd the Christians prayed 
 And plann'd for their warrior brothers' aid. 
 
 VL 
 
 'Twas Autumn, when Ceres fills her horn 
 With the ripen'd ears of the golden corn. 
 When a band of pale-faced warriors came 
 With words of peace, in the Christian's name, 
 But their words of peace were spoke in guile. 
 With a " forked tongue " and a syren's smile. 
 
 vn. 
 
 At even, about the close of day, 
 They took the Indians' arms away; 
 And they gathered them in that sacred place 
 Which their hands had rear'd for prayer and praise. 
 
iSo MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Then told their doom, as History saitli, 
 Indians — an hour! — then meet your death! 
 
 VIIL 
 
 'Tvvas fearful tidings — the red men stood, 
 In the pride of their race, in solemn mood; 
 But their cheeks hlanch'd not, nor a quicken'd breath 
 Betray'd the fear of approaching death — 
 All kneel'd in silence and rais'd their eyes 
 To the God that heard their suppliant cries. 
 
 IX. 
 
 An hour elapsed — The white men came 
 And with deadly rifle took deadly aim, 
 And they rent the breasts of the Indians there. 
 As they kneeled and lifted their hearts in prayer. 
 
 X. 
 
 Now far in the West the Indian sire, 
 As he sits by his wigwam's flickering fire, 
 Oft tells the tale of what things were done 
 At Gnadenhutten and Shonbrunn. 
 
HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES. 
 
 LIFE OF THE SPIRIT. 
 
 Expressive of heart-exercises during a season of refrcsliing, while minis- 
 lering to tlie Tliird Presbyterian Cliurcli, Cincinnati, Ohio. 
 
 There is a joy, all joys above — 
 An inward life of peace and love, 
 
 The contrite only feel; 
 It is the power that makes us whole — 
 A holy unction in the soul ; 
 
 It is the Spirit's seal. 
 
 There is a ray of holy light, 
 
 A radiance from the Ever-Bright 
 
 And Ever-Blessed One — 
 It is the day-spring in the heart. 
 That lives and glows in ev'ry part, 
 
 It is the Spirit's sun. 
 
l82 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES. 
 
 There is an energy supplied 
 By faith in Christ the crucified, 
 
 Tln-ough all the being rife; 
 It is the power of saving grace 
 That holds the soul in its embrace, 
 
 It is the Sj^irit's life. 
 
 THE SPIRIT LAND. 
 
 [after van SiALIS.] 
 
 Into the silent spirit land, 
 
 Oh, who will guide us there — 
 
 The white-rob'd angels — hand in hand, 
 
 Float in the radiant air. 
 
 O land — the silent land — 
 
 Who, who will guide us there? 
 
 Into the solemn spirit land — 
 The dead have pass'd, and we 
 
 Approach each day the viewless strand 
 Of vast eternity — 
 
 Oh land — the solemn land. 
 We 're passing unto thee. 
 
 Into the peaceful spirit land 
 My soul prepare to go ; 
 
HYMNS AND SACRED PIFXES. I S3 
 
 The air by angel wings is fann'd — 
 
 Its glories who may know? — • 
 Oh land, — the peaceful land : — 
 
 My soul prepaie to go. 
 
 O land of love, the heav'nly land, 
 
 My Saviour dwells in thee: — 
 Around His throne redeem'd ones stand, 
 
 All clothed in purity — 
 Oh land ! — the heav'nly land — 
 
 Dear Saviour — think of me! 
 
 THE VALE OF HUMILITY. 
 
 Air — Lilly Dale, 
 
 In the gospel-day, on the Christian's way 
 
 To the land of the pure and the blest. 
 That his strength may not fail, he passeth a vale 
 Where travelers love to rest. 
 Chorus. Peaceful valley — lowly valley. 
 Vale of rich, free grace, 
 , The Sinner's Friend doth condescend 
 To walk in that lowly place. 
 
 There Sharon's rose in fragrance blows. 
 And the pure white lily springs; 
 
184 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES. 
 
 And the peaceful Dove, from the Land of Love, 
 Cometh down on snow-white wings. 
 
 Tranquil and slow a stream doth flow 
 Through that lowly — lovely vale, 
 
 And the pilgrims drink at the flow'ry brink 
 Of the fount that ne'er can fail. 
 
 In that calm retreat sojourners meet 
 With One whom their souls adore. 
 
 And He guides their way, till at close of day 
 They stand on the Shining Shore. 
 
 The white-wing'd Dove is the S2:>irit of Love; 
 
 Tlie stream is the Fountain of Grace; 
 And the Sinner's Friend doth condescend 
 
 To walk in that lowly j)lace. 
 
 AGGRESSIVE WAR. 
 
 The deeds of dire aggressive war, 
 Its lust, and blasphemy, and blood, 
 
 Hell's minions scent them from afar. 
 And rush to mar the works of God. 
 
 Famine and rapine, fire and sword, 
 And groans and strife are in the train 
 
HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES. 1S5 
 
 Of these apostates from the Lord, 
 Self-seeking chiefs and reckless men. 
 
 The widow's wail — the orphan's sigh — 
 
 The parent's agony and tears, 
 Will call down judgments from on high, 
 
 From Him who hears the widow's prayers. 
 
 And ye who laud the men of strife. 
 Who war for power, and not for right, 
 
 The God wlio gave His creatures life, 
 Will hold you guilty in His sight. 
 
 MINISTERING SPIRITS. 
 
 'Tis a beautiful thought, that by night and by day 
 
 The angels of mercy are near; 
 They allure us from sin and from danger away. 
 
 In joy and in sorrow they're here. 
 
 They stand in the presence of Infinite Love, 
 They descend through the fields of the air. 
 
 Where saints are departing they bear them above, 
 Where souls are I'epenting — they're there. 
 
 We will cherish the faith that pure beings on high 
 Kind thoughts upon mortals bestow, 
 
l86 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES. 
 
 And in hours of temptation are lingering nigh 
 To the lov'd ones that sojourn below. 
 
 They will watch o'er our way till life's struggles are past, 
 
 Till the heavenly city's in view; 
 We shall share in their joys and their worship at last, 
 
 And unite in their ministry too. 
 
 LOVE AND LABOR. 
 
 " Go labor " — is the sovereign word 
 To all disciples of the Lord ; 
 And he that loveth will fulfill 
 With zeal and joy the Master's will. 
 
 We only honor Jesus when 
 We labor for the good of men; 
 Truth works by love and purifies 
 The heart that human want supplies. 
 
 Follow the Saviour — oh my soul, 
 Let light and love thy life control; 
 That love which sees the Saviour's face 
 In all the needy of our race. 
 
HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES. iSji 
 
 THE PIONEER CHURCH. 
 
 During our residence in Chicago — 1848-9 — in addition 
 to the labor of estabhshing the first religious newspaper in 
 the Northwest, and a depository for Sabbath-school books 
 and tracts, I was one of a company of Christians who 
 established the Third Presbyterian Church on the west side 
 of the city. The frame building which we erected, still 
 stands on Union street. In this pioneer church I preached 
 the gospel to increasing numbers until I left the city. Soon 
 after, the congregation divided into the Third Presbyterian 
 and First Congregational churches. These, in their great 
 prosperity — with the exception of a very few old members 
 still surviving — probably know nothing of the origin of 
 the Presbyterian and Congregational churches on the West- 
 side. This little nucleus has now, we are told by an old 
 member, expanded into seven churches, five of them 
 chapels or colonies of the Third Presbyterian and First Con- 
 gregational churches. 
 
 The following hymn was written for the opening service, 
 and sung by the new choir. It was not among my papers, 
 but strange to tell, after twenty-two years it is recollected 
 by Mrs. Dr. Griswold, of Chicago, who was then a young 
 lady in the audience. We fear tunes rather than hymns 
 would be recollected by persons attending service in our 
 churches at the present time. • 
 
 Mrs. G. has reproduced the hymn, adding what she 
 could not remember distinctly. 
 
 HYMN 
 
 Sung at the dedication of the Third Prefebyterian Church, Chicago. 
 [Tune — The Chayici. J 
 
 Rejoice ye! Rejoice ye! His goodness record; 
 In the beauty of holiness worbhip the Lord; 
 
lS8 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES. 
 
 To the God of Sabaoth this temple we rear; 
 We bow at His altar — we worship Him here. 
 
 Hallelujah! Hallelujah! our Saviour and King! 
 The sweet incense of gratitude hither we bring; 
 We trust in Thy merits — we rest on Thy word; 
 Through Thy high intercession Thy servants are heard. 
 
 Descend Thou — descend Thou — O heavenly Dove! 
 From Thy high place of rest in the bosom of Love; 
 Here descend on Thy servants, beget in the mind 
 Devotion to God, and true love to mankind. 
 
 Awaken, awaken, oh Zion, and sing 
 His praises forever — thine Infinite King; 
 Rejoice in His mercy, and trust in His word. 
 In the beauty of holiness worship the Lord. 
 
 •KEEP THYSELF PURE." 
 
 Christian, keep thy heart with care, 
 Pure from each coi'rupting thought, 
 Christ lias placed a life-spring there, 
 Watch the fountain — taint it not. 
 
 Erring Fancy often strays, 
 Tarries with forbidden things, 
 
HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES. 189 
 
 Lured by sense and sin away, 
 Soils the wliiteness of lier wings. 
 
 Keep thyself by tiuth and love, 
 Soul nor body e'er deface; 
 Sinful habits ever prove 
 Hindrances to growth in grace. 
 
 Christ was pure, and thou should ne'er 
 Breath, nor taste, nor lip defile; 
 Shall the tongue that utters prayer 
 Nauseous be with taint the while. 
 
 Of His body form a part, 
 Join the blood-washed company, 
 Strive in person, lip, and heart, 
 Pure, as He is pure, to be. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. 
 
 A Psalm sung in connection with a funeral service, in memory of Rev. 
 Edward Smith, candidate of tlic Liberty Party for Governor of Ohio, 
 and one of the first and most heroic of the anti-slavery ministers of the 
 West. 
 
 A PSALM. 
 
 Armed as a soldier of the Cross, 
 In the hottest of the fight, 
 
190 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES. 
 
 Our brother stood the champion 
 Of humanity and right. 
 
 The banner of the bleeding Lamb 
 
 Still waving o'er his head, 
 The sacramental host of Christ 
 
 Into the fight he led. 
 
 His voice was heard along our lines, 
 When others fought and fell, 
 
 " Courage!" he cried, and led the charge 
 Right through the hosts of hell. 
 
 Vice felt his power; and slavery rag'd 
 And gnashed her teeth in spite, 
 
 As strong of soul, he flashed the truth 
 Into her realm of night. 
 
 Fainting, yet pressing on the foe. 
 And marked with many a wound, 
 
 Unconquered, and unconq'rable, 
 He sank upon the ground. 
 
 Our tears were shed, but not for him, 
 The faith of Christ he kept; 
 
 Our cause had lost a leader tried, 
 And for ourselves we wept. 
 
HYMNS AND SACRED I'lECES. 191 
 
 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF LINCOLN. 
 
 Sung at tlie conclusion of a discourse at Bcnzonia, Midi., conimcniora» 
 live of the sad event. 
 
 [Old Tune of " Norway," Minor. '\ 
 I. 
 
 Mourn, oh my country, mourn in deepest anguish, 
 The joy of tliy triumph is sanctified by sorrow, 
 On Liberty's altar a martyr heart is ofter'd, 
 
 Lincohi has fallen! 
 II 
 Let all the people mourn in deep submission, 
 Abraham the honest — chosen of the nation — 
 Fell when our country — triumphing o'er treason, 
 
 Mourns his departure. 
 III. 
 But the assassin — red with cruel murder. 
 What will his doom be? — what his guilty terror, 
 When God commands him, cover'd with transgression 
 
 Up to the judgment. 
 
 IV. 
 
 God of our fathers, hear our supplication, 
 Guide the Republic in this solemn crisis. 
 Until foul treason — banished from the nation. 
 
 Sinks into darkness — deep and eternal! 
 
193 
 
 HYMNS AND SACRED PIECES. 
 
 God save the nation! Father, Son, and Spirit 
 Send forth the gospel of Freedom and Sah'ation, 
 For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory 
 For ever and ever — and ever and ever. 
 
HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 Before the Richland County Agricultural Society, published in Ohio State 
 
 Report, 1S56. 
 
 Mr. President, Farmers, and Fellow-Citizens : 
 
 Three years ago this society gave me credentials, as one 
 of their number, to visit the agriculturar fair of Great 
 Britain, and to report to them such facts as I might think 
 of vaUie. While abro.ad I spent time and money to make 
 myself conversant with the state of agriculture in Europe ; 
 and with the moral and temporal condition of the laborers 
 of the Old World. In England I spent some time in the 
 best agricultural regions of Sussex, mostly with the Robin- 
 sons, a family of Friends, who are large farmers in that 
 part of the kingdom. The Orthodox Quakers, or Friends, 
 according to their number, are the best population of Great 
 Britain, and if they had rational means of disseminating 
 their tenents, and were willing to abate some of their pecu- 
 liarities, they would be the best exponents of the religion 
 of Christ. 
 
 I will only add a few words, of a general character, as 
 introductory to the agricultural poem which you have in- 
 
194 HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 
 
 vited me to deliver on the present occasion. I have seen no 
 reason to modify any of the opinions presented in my pre- 
 vious address to this society. 
 
 There are some things in England better than we have 
 them here — there are others in this country better than 
 they are there. The advantages there are mainly in favor 
 of those who have means. Here they are in favor of the 
 laborer. 
 
 Men of means, who seek merely the pleasure and com- 
 forts of life, can live more at their ease in the old countries 
 than in the new ; but here, any industrious laborer, who 
 has good health, may rise to independence, and he may 
 hope that his children may rise to opulence and influence 
 in the State. Look, for instance, at the history of the pres- 
 ent candidates for the Chief Magistracy of the Union. 
 James Buchanan, late Minister to England, is the son of a 
 farmer. John C. Fremont is the son of a poor widow. He 
 has procured his own education, and achieved his own for- 
 tune and fame. Millard Fillmore is a cloth-dresser by 
 trade, and has by labor and study filled some of the chief 
 places in the country. This is the distinguishing advantage 
 of American institutions. Our system of government, in 
 the free States, educates all the people, and gives all an 
 equal chance to rise to places of influence and trust. Take 
 an example in humble life. I mention it only to awaken 
 interest and enterprise in the minds of many youth I see 
 about me. I was the son of a widow, and began life with- 
 out a dollar. I have labored on a farm — spent four years 
 in a printing office — studied law one year — studied four 
 years in college, and one and a half in a Theological Semi- 
 nary — I have paid every dollar which my education cost 
 me, by my own hard labor of mind and body ; and in ad- 
 dition, I had obtained, before I began my ministry, and 
 when I was not forty years of age, means which will, with 
 the Divine blessing, enable me to be useful to others in life 
 and after death. I have likewise established two book 
 stores, and three religious newspapers, besides preaching 
 the Gospel fifteen years, sometimes at my own expense. 
 
HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. I95 
 
 Now, this is a humble example, but it shows what boys 
 that begin with nothing in tliis country can do for them- 
 selves and for the moral interests of the world. Don't be 
 afraid or ashamed to work. Every youth that is before me, 
 if he will be industrious, enterprising, and energetic, can do 
 well for himself and good for his fellow-men. This is the 
 great benefit and blessing of American institutions com- 
 pared with those of the parent country. Here every man 
 may achieve for himself all that his natural endowments 
 will allow. Look into your own county and into your own 
 county town. Your leading farmers, your judges, your 
 merchants, are all self-made men. In this country there 
 can be no envy between classes in society — between the 
 rich and the poor. Those who are poor one year may be 
 rich the next, and those who lived without office, yet their 
 children may rule the State, and will be more likely to do 
 so than the children of our more favored families. When 
 our institutions give all an equal chance, those who, by 
 honest effort, pursue honest labors, whether they succeed 
 as others do or not, should be equally honored. 
 
 There are some things in the old countries against which 
 we should guard at home. In Great Britain the salaries of 
 public officers are excessively high. This adds to the in- 
 fluence of office, and is liable to beget corruption in the 
 officer, and subserviency in the people. Let the farmers 
 look to this. They are now, and I hope always will be, 
 the conservative masses. Each political party accuses the 
 other of endeavoring to raise salaries, and to some extent 
 all are guilty. Although some are honest and patriotic in 
 all parties : all parties have men of a different character. 
 As it is in Great Britain, so it may be here : — unawares, 
 and by various manoeuvres, power will steal from the many 
 to the few, and salaries will be raised, until power and cor- 
 ruption will become too strong for the moral sense and 
 prosperity of the people. 
 
 Every increase in the salary of a public servant, usually 
 separates him more and more from the masses of the 
 people — adds the means of dissipation, and subtracts from 
 his moral principle. 
 
196 HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 
 
 In another respect the farmers must be the conservators 
 of our national prosperity. Removed from the excitements 
 and temptations of town Hfe, they are in better circum- 
 stances for moral reflection and improvement. In the 
 moral character and the intelligence of the masses is our 
 hope. Ignorant and wicked men can be, and will be, 
 deceived by their leaders. They will adhere to party, right 
 or wrong ! and if our happy institutions are ever damaged, 
 this will be the point of danger. 
 
 The young men of the country are corrupted, if cor- 
 rupted at all, in the cities and villages, where dealers in 
 pohtics and ardent spirits make a prey of them. If it were 
 not for the conservative influence of the farming popula- 
 tion, and religious men generally, this country would go 
 backward and downward. As you value, then, the benefi- 
 cent institutions under which you live — as you value the 
 peace and prosperity of your posterity hereafter — labor to 
 promote general education, and piety that produces con- 
 science among all classes of our people. 
 
 I will now recite the poem, and as you will hear, " there 
 is more truth than poetry in it." It is designed not only 
 for the edification, but for the exhilaration of those present. 
 
 Farmers' Wives — Sons — Daughters: 
 
 They 've appointed me to talk to you in poetry to-day, 
 Now, Farmers, step up to the stand and hear what I've 
 
 to say, 
 To hear a speech in poetry at least is something new; 
 I'll make the speech, and you may judge if what I say 
 
 be true. 
 And now I beg you not to think that I don't understand 
 How Farmers ought to manage stock, and cultivate 
 their land — 
 
HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. IC)*J 
 
 Because I do — In early years I "fiirmed it" — as they 
 
 say,— 
 Droi^jo'd corn, and pick'd potatoes, and helped to make 
 
 the hay; 
 And from my old grandfather, I learned a thing or two, 
 And now, if you'll attend to me, I'll " tell that same " 
 
 to you. 
 
 And friends, remember, Farmers are sometimes a little 
 
 mulish, 
 They think they know it all tliemselves, and that book 
 
 learning's foolish. 
 'Tis true, I own, experience is still the best of teachers; 
 But then the most experienced are those who pay the 
 
 preachers. 
 And if I preach to you to-day, some facts that are of 
 
 value, 
 Of course you '11 inwai"dly digest the things I have to 
 
 tell you; 
 And Jirst — be sure yqu have a plan, and have a place 
 
 for all things; 
 And calculate your ways and means, for Uirge things 
 
 and for small things; 
 For those who work but have no plan, and little calcu- 
 lation. 
 Will neither work their fortune out, nor work out their 
 
 salvation. 
 
1^8 HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 
 
 Some people work, and fuss, and strive, and then can 
 
 scarcely live, 
 And wonder why their neighbors have enough to spend 
 
 and give. 
 The reason is they calculate, and make ends meet, and 
 
 more, 
 While folks witli larger farms, still owe a " leetlc " at 
 
 the store. 
 Then have a plan about your farm — your crops — 
 
 your hogs — your cattle, 
 Work isn't all — to calculate is fully half the battle. 
 
 Speaking of cattle — get good breeds, they'll pay you 
 
 for their keeping. 
 Bad breeds will eat their heads off twice, and then not 
 
 be done eating. 
 Some Farmers' hogs are head and ears ; — for feed the 
 
 corn is taken, 
 They turn it into skin and bones, and thus they lose 
 
 their bacon. 
 
 Some folks keep sheep — the more they 're fed the less 
 
 their wool increases. 
 Then scold about the price they get for coarse and 
 
 scanty fleeces : — 
 Don't buy sorrel horses with white feet, nor cows with 
 
 a bull's head, 
 
HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 199 
 
 Nor think that extra bi-eeds will keep unless they 're 
 
 extra fed. 
 Some starve their cows in winter time, in spring they 
 
 starve the calf, 
 Then wonder that their stock 's so poor — 'twould make 
 
 a donkey laugh. 
 Give your stock shelter and a bed — keep young calves 
 
 with their dam, 
 And if you do not change your flock, be sure you 
 
 change your " Sam." 
 Some folk believe in signs, and some believe that cheat 
 Is something else besides the cross of certain weeds 
 
 with wheat. 
 Plant when the sprouts, from sun and moon, will have 
 
 the greatest light. 
 Then, if the ground be well prepared, your crops will 
 
 come out right. 
 
 Manure is gold — the man who wastes what will 
 
 enrich the soil. 
 Is wise as she who saves the salt and lets the butter spoil. 
 Plow deep, if you would see good corn and heavy root 
 
 crops growing, . 
 A loose sub soil will stand a stretch, but hard soils need 
 
 deep plowing; 
 Manure your fields — around your trees put ashes, suds, 
 
 and lye. 
 
200 HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 
 
 And when the fly 's about, plant corn — sow clover, 
 
 oats, and rye. 
 Learn to make cheese — to graft fruit trees; and don't 
 
 be such a fool 
 As to suppose that a good sire gets always a good foal. 
 Plant pear trees in a good clay soil — peaches on loamy 
 
 hills; 
 Don't get in debt, and then complain of the store- 
 keeper's bills; 
 Don't starve yourselves — a good beef-steak or turkey 
 
 will go down 
 With country people just as well as with the folks in 
 
 town ; 
 Use good fresh milk, and good brown flour, the coarse 
 
 bran sifted out ; 
 Pickles and soothing syrups give to hogs, if diey 're 
 
 about. 
 Don't drink your coffee strong — eat pork but little in 
 
 your lives; 
 All pork is scrofulous — strong tea gives nerve tremors 
 
 to your wives. 
 
 Speaking of xvives — good farmers' dames, a word or 
 
 two to you. 
 To each one in particular, of whom my words are true; 
 Some women churn, and churn, and churn, and make 
 
 an awful flutter, 
 
HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 20I 
 
 And then they spoil the whole affair, and leave milk in 
 
 the butter. 
 Some people on a washing day are surly as a bear; 
 But some forget to wash their hands, and some to comb 
 
 their han". 
 Some folks can see their neighbors' faults, but nothing 
 
 in the heads 
 Of their own children — and forget annoyances in beds. 
 Some women scold because they ought — their hus- 
 bands are so dull, 
 The idle drones will saunter round, till children go to 
 
 school ; 
 Such women have a right to scold — such men are lazy 
 
 coots, 
 Their wives should make them take the broom, and 
 
 they should take the boots. 
 
 Toung men who want to get a wife — I'll just give you 
 
 a hint. 
 For a good wife is the pure gold — and often a gold 
 
 mint: 
 Don't let the damsel know when you expect to go a 
 
 courtin'. 
 For then, if she 's a mind for you, she '11 be fixed up for 
 
 certain ; 
 Just happen in, as 'twere by chance, then if she makes 
 
 a bother, 
 9* 
 
202 HUMOIiOUS AND JUVENILE, 
 
 Has dirty hands, and dirty dress, and is unkind to 
 mother : 
 
 Flee for your life — don't look behind — run like a 
 frightened mortal. 
 
 Who fished for trout, and got a bite by a huge snap- 
 ping turtle. 
 
 Don't choose a wife in the ball-room, such women 
 dance with skill, 
 
 And dress, and smile to please the crowd — while hus- 
 bands pay the bill. 
 
 If one looks tidy at her work — smiles while she makes 
 good butter. 
 
 Just intimate you'll call again: — the sooner it's done 
 the better. 
 
 Don't look for one with flashing dress, and pinched up 
 in the middle. 
 
 Both soul and body — ere she's old — will be like a 
 cracked fiddle. 
 
 Don't marry girls with baby hands and little Chinese 
 feet. 
 
 Their hearts are little as their hands, cosmetics make 
 them sweet. 
 
 Leave such fair maids to the town boys, who have more 
 time and skill 
 
 To play with pictures, and foot up the shop and doctor's 
 bill. 
 
HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 203 
 
 Avoid the girl who slights her work and grumbles :it 
 
 her labors, 
 Who 's sour and dull when she 's at home, and smart 
 
 when at the neighbors. 
 
 Mr. President — I pity him who getteth such a wife, 
 
 sir, 
 For, like a jackass, he 's hitched up to a hard load for 
 
 life, sir. 
 But virtue and good temper shine, like sunlight in dull 
 
 weather, 
 Find such a one — and I know who can tie you fast 
 
 together. 
 
 And farmers^ girls^ a word to you : — a word you ought 
 
 to hear, 
 I would not let all sorts of fools put soft soap in my ear; 
 There are some scamps that dress, and talk, and seem 
 
 genteel and civil. 
 But for a husband they would make the next thing to 
 
 the devil. 
 Never despise a man of sense, though home-spun is 
 
 his way; 
 If he's embarrassed, help him out with what he's got 
 
 to say; 
 And if the question he would ask — but fears — and 
 
 you " diskiver ! " 
 
204 HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 
 
 That the hard word sticks in his throat, and makes his 
 
 chin to quiver, 
 Then help him out, for mercy's sake, and when the 
 
 thing is over, 
 You '11 find there 's grit in many a man that was a bash- 
 ful lover. 
 But swearing, drinking, idle fools, who lie and chew 
 
 the weed, 
 Who spend whole hours in low saloons, are of satanic 
 
 breed. 
 Avoid them as you would the , don't have the 
 
 scamps about, 
 If they step in — leave mother there, and you can just 
 
 step out. 
 
 JVotv, in co7zclusion, let me add a word by way of morals. 
 Keep up your fences, and keep out of other people's 
 
 quarrels. 
 Never decieve a child ; to fret and scold will do no good. 
 To strike their heads, and call low names, will make a 
 
 grov'ling brood. 
 Govern by reason if you can ; — if you must take the 
 
 rod. 
 Be kind and firm, or else your child is lost to you and 
 
 God. 
 Make youngsters work, but don't forget to let them 
 
 learn to sing; 
 
HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 205 
 
 Amusements they should often have, and music 's just 
 
 the thing. 
 Don't covet to be rich, but seek for comfort and good 
 
 taste ; 
 Some folks can live and thrive upon what other people 
 
 waste. 
 Don't go to sleep on Sabbath days, nor saunter round 
 
 the farm, 
 But go to church, as Christians should, and keep your 
 
 souls from harm. 
 
 Keep regular hours — the wise and good live mostly in 
 
 the light. 
 While vice, and crime, and fashion hold their orgies in 
 
 the night. 
 Avoid the man who always pleads for party, right or 
 
 wrong, 
 Whether a lawyer, or a priest, he '11 make your fetters 
 
 strong. 
 Be kind to horses — noise and blows will only make 
 
 them worse; 
 The man 's a brute who swears, and beats, and over- 
 loads his horse. 
 Don't beat your steers — keep wood on hand — be 
 
 early home for dinner; 
 Be free from debt, and party-hacks — repent if you're 
 
 a sinner. 
 
206 HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 
 
 Be true to conscience, stand for right, and keep your 
 wife good natur'd 
 
 And then posterity will be bright-eyed, and pleasant- 
 featured. 
 
 ON RECEIVING A FAVOR FROM A 
 FAVORITE. 
 
 My love, the gift yon gave me, 
 
 Has bound me with a spell. 
 As pleasing as the witcheries 
 
 Of which old fables tell. 
 
 Thy loveliness subdues me — 
 
 Thy tender sighs I hear — 
 And the whispers of thy gentle voice 
 
 Are murmuring in my ear. 
 
 There is a charm about thee 
 
 Of modesty and youth ; 
 There is a meaning in thine eyes 
 
 Of constancy and truth; 
 
 And I'd sooner trust thy single vow 
 Than all the pi^ayers that's said 
 
 At Brahma's shrine, or Mecca's tomb — 
 My own delicious maid. 
 
HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 207 
 
 [For tlie Philadelphia " Evening Post," 1824. J 
 
 From the Country. 
 Having a good deal of work to do about the farm lately, 
 clearing up some new land, and grubbing out a piece for. a 
 potato patch, I hung my fiddle on the branch of a beech 
 tree. Being out hunting the steers last week, I came across 
 the instrument and brought it home with me. Looking 
 over the " Post" this morning, and seeing some verses to 
 Lorenzo from Isadore, I immediately was delivered of the 
 following response : 
 
 TO ISADORE. 
 
 O Isadore, lo\eliest, come to me, 
 And we'll sit in the shade of our great elm tree, 
 And we'll list to the mocking bird's varied song, 
 At the hour of noontide. — Come, Is' — come along! 
 
 Or come when the sinking god of day 
 Has dappled the clouds with a lambent ray, 
 And we'll sit till the shadows of night pervade 
 And spreads o'er the woodlands a mantle of shade. 
 
 Or come when Luna, pale queen of the night, 
 And the crystallized dew shall give thee light; 
 'Tis elysian pastime to spend an hour 
 By moonlight, and dewlight, alone, in our bower, 
 
 Or come when your cheek is all in a glow, 
 Like fervid wine bedropp'd in th' snow, 
 
308 HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 
 
 And hold your breath, lest Zephyrus should sip 
 The honeyed dew from your balmy lip. 
 
 Come — no matter when — by day or by night, 
 With a throbbing pulse and an eye of light, 
 You may rest your head on Lorenzo's breast, 
 And I'll smooth your hair till your heart's at rest. 
 
 QUARRELS INJURE BOTH PARTIES. 
 
 THE KILKENNY CATS EXPANDED. 
 
 Written on demand of our little adopted son, Bennic, who required some- 
 thing amusing to be recited at the close of his term in school. 
 
 There were two Thomas Cats in Kilkenny, 
 And each thought there was one cat too many; 
 So they fix'd on a day when they'd have an aflray. 
 And decide which should rule in Kilkenny. 
 
 'Twas a horrible sight to see those cats fight : — 
 With a spring and a cry they made the fur fly; 
 And they scratched and they bit, and they squall'd and 
 
 they fit — 
 And they ripp'd and they tore, both behind and before, 
 Till instead of two cats there wasn't any ! 
 
HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 209 
 
 — They each eat the other because they were males, 
 
 And nothing was left but the tips of two tails, 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 Boys — This is the moral |^^ Keep out of a quarrel. 
 
 BALLAD AND CATCH. 
 
 Sung byEmma L. Walker at the Monthly Literary Evening, Benzonia, 
 April, 1S6S. 
 
 " IT DEPENDS ON THE PERSON." 
 
 [Tune — Annie Laurie i\ 
 
 Young people of Benzonia, 
 
 I'll sing a song for you ; 
 A song of home and duty, 
 
 Which will be something new — 
 I'll sing of life and hope. 
 
 Of hearts all kind and true; 
 And tell you how by kindness 
 
 To draw such hearts to you. 
 
 The maidens of Benzonia 
 
 Will promise to be true; 
 They '11 live and love and labor 
 
 In good and ill for you : 
 
2IO HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 
 
 — But then, will you be true? — 
 Can we trust all to you? — 
 
 Young people of Benzonia, 
 Will ye be kind and true? 
 
 'Tis said that some are faithless, 
 
 They vow and then forsake; 
 And wickedly and falsely, 
 
 Leave trusting hearts to break — 
 Oh friends, be kind and true, 
 
 And heaven will smile on you — 
 Young folks of dear Benzonia, 
 
 Be always kind and true. 
 
 CATCH. 
 
 Two Toimg Men. 
 
 Yes; we'll be kind and true, 
 In weal and woe, to you. 
 
 Emma — sharply. 
 
 But I did not mean you — 
 No, neither of you two. 
 
 Toung Men — sharply. 
 
 Neither did we mean you — 
 You awful buir-a-boo! 
 
HUMOROUS AND JUVENILE. 
 
 Emma. 
 You Yankee-doodle-doo. 
 
 211 
 
 £oth at once. 
 
 Men. You awful bug-a-boo. 
 Emma. You Yankee-doodle-doo. 
 
 Altogether., facing the Audience. 
 
 Young friends of dear Benzonia, 
 Be always kind and true. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Immortality and Worth of the Soul, 
 Ten Scenes in the Life of a Lady of Fashion, 
 The Swan on Lake Leman, . . - - 
 
 The Honey-Moon in a Western Cottage. A Pastoral, 
 Apostrophe to the Divine Heart, ... 
 
 PAGE. 
 9 
 
 54 
 
 • 107 
 
 112 
 
 - iiS 
 
 Our Children: 
 Liltle James — New Richmond, 
 Lines by Mrs. Walker, 
 Maggie, . . - . 
 
 Rhoda, 
 Blind Phoebe, ... 
 
 131 
 
 1 25 
 129 
 133 
 141 
 
 Miscellaneous Pieces: 
 
 
 To My Wife, ...... 
 
 - 144 
 
 Tribute to a Departed Mother, .... 
 
 147 
 
 Traveler on the Mountain, .... 
 
 - 149 
 
 Lines — in Memory of a Deaf Girl, . . . 
 
 151 
 
 Ancient Egypt, ..... 
 
 ■ "54 
 
 The Serenade, ...... 
 
 . 156 
 
 Musical Surprise, ..... 
 
 .- 157 
 
 Conrad and Ellen, ..... 
 
 159 
 
 The Angel Whisper, .... 
 
 ■ 163 
 
 A Tear for Hugh Miller, .... 
 
 164 
 
 On Relinquishing Legal Studies, ... 
 
 - 165 
 
 Charles B. Storrs, ..... 
 
 .165 
 
 John Q_ Adams, ..... 
 
 - .67 
 
214 INDEX. 
 
 A Sonnet — Brinkcrhoff, - - . . . . i6S 
 
 Washington Irving, • - -„- . - - i6S 
 
 Jabcz Burns, D.D., London --.... 1O9 
 
 Gnadenhiitten - --..... ly^ 
 
 Hymns and Sacred Pieces: 
 
 Life of the Spirit, • ...... iSi 
 
 The Spirit Land, ... ..... 1S2 
 
 The Vale of Humility, .-..-.. 183 
 
 Aggressive War, ........ 1S4 
 
 Ministering Spirits, ....... 1S5 
 
 Love and Labor, ........ jS6 
 
 The Pioneer Church, - - . . ... -187, 
 
 Keep Thyself Pure, - iSS 
 
 Rtv. Edward Smith, ....... 189 
 
 Elegy — The Death of Lincoln, . • . - • - 191 
 
 Humorous and Juvenile : 
 
 Agricultural Address, ....... 195 
 
 On Receiving a Favor from a Favorite - • • • 206 
 
 To Isadore, ......... 207 
 
 The Kilkenny Cats, 208 
 
 Ballad and Catch, - 209 
 
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