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THE

AMERICAN

POPULAR LIBRARY

CONDUCTED
BY AN ASSOCIATION OF GENTLEMEN.

BOSTON:
JOHN ALLEN & CO.
1835.

ADVERTISEMENT

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ADVERTISEMENT.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
The Famee. — The ride. — The end of the road. — Nature's
laboratorv. — The garden in the wilderness. — Romance of
farming. — Sublime scene. — Fire in the mountains. — Life
at the west. — The farmer's daughter. — The genius of Sir
Walter Scott in the wilds of Maine. — The intelligence and
piety of the New England farmer.
CHAPTER n.
Ecclesiastical Okl-axtzatios. — Religious statistics of the
United Sutes. — Modeof organizing a church. — Confession
of faith. — Mode of ordination. — Labors of a minister. —
Salary. — Robbing a church. — IMode of union and govern
ment. — Letter from the west. — Union of church and state.
— Views of Christians upon its desirableness. — Laws for
Ae support of religion. — Societies of benevolence.
CHAPTER HI.
Tee Chttech. — Distinction between the church and society.
— Civil power of the churches. — Examination of candi
dates. — Mode of admission. — The pastor's morning wait.
— Church funds. — Preparation for the pulpit.
CHAPTER TV.
The Rettval. — Circumstances preceding it. — Means for its
promotion. — Its progress. — Its results.
CHAPTER V.
Slattkt. — Power of congress. — Independence of the states.
— What can be done ? — State of public opinion in New

X TABLE OF CONTENTS.
England upon the subject of slavery. — The Colonization
society.— The arguments it offers.— Anti-slavery society.
—Reply to the arguments of the Colonizationists. — Pros
pect for the future.— Influence of England's example.—
Increasing interest. CHAPTER VI.
The Insuekeotion. — Nat Turner. — Horrors of the insur
rection. — Letter from a gentleman in Charleston. — The
tidings reach the springs. — The alarmed village. — Fears
magnified. — Conversation with a mother. — The night of
terror. — Unfounded alarm. — Conversation with a slave.
CHAPTER VII.
Thanksgiving. — Origin of the custom. — Preparation. — Gifts
to the poor. — Mode of observance. — Its perversion. —
Fast day. — Fourth of July. — Ushering in of the morning.
— Congregating troops. — Accidents. — The oration. — The
dinner. — The applause. — Scenes in the evening. — Moral
effects of the celebration. CHAPTER Vin.
College Life. — Letter from a freshman. — The examina
tion. — The rooms of the student. — Daily duties.  The
roast. — The alarm. — The catastrophe. — Literary socie
ties. — Pleasures of a college scrape. — The barrel won't
burn. — Detection. — Protracted fear. — Course of study. 
Commencement. — Its joys and honors. — Theological edu
cation.— Theological seminary at Andover.— Qualifica
tions for admission. — Freedom of inquiry.  Views of the
ology and church government.— State patronage.
CHAPTER IX.
Travelling. — A ride in an omnibus. — A ride upon a rail
road. — A New England fireside scene. — Worcester. 

TABLE OF CONTENTS. XI
The mail coach. — Interior of a country tavern. — Scene in
Hartford. — A snow storm. — Ride to New Haven. — East
and West rock. — Description of a steam-boat. — Passage
through Long Island sound. — Arrival at New York.
CHAPTER X.
The Traveller's Home. — Inns at the south. — Service of
slaves.— Their incitements to fidelity. — Southern hospi
tality. — The city hotel. — The country tavern. — The bar
room. — The drunkard's family. — Individual and national
woe, produced by the sale of ardent spirits. — Wild scenes
of nature. — A tavern in the wilderness. — The tea table. —
Good nature. — A pleasant mistake.
CHAPTER XI.
The Irishman in New England. — Conversation with Pat
rick. — His reasons for coming to America. — His desire
to return. — Reason for sending for his relatives. — "Misery
loves company." — Increase of Irish emigrants. — Their
national characteristics. — Love of fun. — Interference with
elections. — Influence of the Catholic priest. — Irish Catho
lic inaccessible to argument. — Conversation with Michael,
an Irish emigrant. — Danger to American liberty. — The
Irish emigrants form a peculiar caste.
CHAPTER XIIV
Conclusion. — Origin of the New England character. — Two
striking peculiarities. — The religious spirit of the pilgrims.
— Its consequences. — Support of the institutions of the
gospel. — Religious awakenings. — Tendency to religious
controversy. — Hypocritical pretensions. — Influence of re
ligion upon the morals of New England. — Industry and
enterprise of New England. — Provision for elementary
education.

NEW ENGLAND.

CHAPTER I.
THE FARMER.
A few years since I was travelling in the
western part of one of the New England states.
Our party, consisting of two gentlemen and three
ladies, had undertaken an excursion for pleasure
among the distant hills and forests of our youthful
country. As we rode on day after day, from the
flourishing villages and well-cultivated fields which
border the sea-coast, the country continually as
sumed more and more of wildness and sublimity.
Occasionally we would cross a stream upon which
were erected a saw-mill and grist-mill, and neai
which were clustered a few houses. Then we
would ride for many miles, and not see a dwelling
or even a fence. The whole face of nature was as
uncultivated as when none but the Indian ranged
through its wilds. At one time our road was.
skirted for miles with a forest of dead trees. The
fire, which is almost every autumn kindled in the
woods by the gun of the hunter, or the burnings of
2

14 THE FARMER.
the settler, had swept through it, and killed every
living thing. The bare and barkless branches
of the trees rose to the height of ninety or a
hundred feet from the ground, and presented an
aspect of inconceivable desolation. Till we have
become familiar with the scene, an irresistible
gloom spreads itself over the soul, as we find
ourselves in the midst of this appalling death of
nature. Emerging once more from this dreary
desolation, a forest of majestic pines rose upon
the view, lifting their evergreen heads to the
skies, and whispering in a voice whose solemn
expression none can fully understand, but those
who have passed a pensive hour on a summer's
day, reclining under their cool shade. Again the
oak, the beech, the maple, luxuriant and ver
dant, cheered the eye, and rejoiced the heart. At
intervals of a few miles, the log house of some en
terprising settler would attract the eye. Delighted
with the novelty of the scenes before us, we pro
ceeded till we came to the borders of a small and
beautiful lake. It was literally encircled with moun
tains, from whose distant and rocky summits the
land gradually sloped to the margin of the water.
As we ascended the hill from whose summit We
looked down upon the beautiful valley in which
this lake was embosomed, comfortable houses and
well-cultivated fields and flourishing orchards rose
as if by magic upon the eye. Far away, upon a
gentle eminence on the opposite side of the wa
ter, we discerned the neatly painted church, with

A BEAUTIFUL LAKE. 15
the cheerful dwelling of the loved pastor of this
people by its side. From the position we then
were in, the eye embraced the whole valley, which
was many miles in extent. I had never seen a
spot which was so perfectly secluded from the
rest of the world. It was, almost literally, the end
of the road. The boundless forest covered all be
yond," and yet there was here comfort, intelli
gence, refinement. Neatly painted houses, with
Venetian blinds, led us to anticipate a degree of
hospitality and of domestic comfort, which we
found more than realized. Here we passed several
&scys, rambling about the margin of the lake, and
over the neighboring hills, and occasionally fol
lowing the course of the beautiful rivulets which
trickled down from the mountain, and meandered
through the valley.
One afternoon, our party was invited to take
tea with a neighboring farmer. Having dined at
an early hour, we entered our carriage, and set
off upon a ride of five miles, to spend the after
noon with our friend. We had not proceeded
far, before we observed the vapors gathering in
the form of a thick and black cloud upon the side
of the mountain. Soon the cloud broke away from
the attraction by which it had been held, and was
borne, as by an invisible hand, across the valley,
emptying its treasures of moisture upon the ten
thousand blades of grass, and flowers of the field,
which were looking to God for sustenance. We
could not resist the impression that it was a

16 THE FARMER.
mighty engine, with which God was refreshing
the fields. The cloud might perhaps have covered
a circle of a mile in diameter. Over all the rest
of the valley the sun was brightly shining. This
cloud passed over the fields, did its appointed
work, and disappeared. The same invisible hand
fashioned another, and bore it along to give ad
ditional freshness to the verdure of this beau
tiful scene. We stopped to gaze in admiration
upon this interesting process, so distinctly visible
in nearly all its steps. Soon a current of air bore
a heavily loaded cloud towards us, and we were
under the necessity of trying our speed in the
race. The cloud, however, overtook us, and gave
us a sprinkling of its treasures as it sailed along
majestically, in obedience to that will which gave
it birth. We soon arrived at the place of our des
tination. At the foot of one of the loftiest moun-
tains of New England was situated the comforta
ble farm-house to which we were invited. Nu
merous bains and sheds surrounded the house,
arranged for convenience, without the least re
ference to beauty and order. The farmer was
a man of piety and intelligence. Every thing
about the house and farm showed that he knew
not the. pressure of want.
About twenty years before, he and his brother,
then young men, entered the wilderness. A ma
jestic growth of trees overshadowed the whole
region. The axe of the settler had not made a
single opening for the rays of the sun to reach

COMMENCEMENT OF A SETTLEMENT. 17
the earth. About eight miles from the camp*
which they erected, a few settlers had com
menced operations, and a foot-path had been
opened through the forest from the partially culti
vated regions, fifteen or twenty miles to the east.
These enterprising young men had thus advanced
to the extreme border of civilized life, and had
then plunged into the unbroken forest, to seek a
home in its untamed wilds.
No one who has not been a spectator of such a
scene can form a conception of the grandeur of
the silent forest, as it at first presented itself to
these adventurers. No underwood obstructed
their progress or their view. The majestic trunks
of the trees near their summits shot out thick
branches, whose luxuriant foliage invested the
scene with a gloom which was even awful. The
settlers, each with a pack upon his back, con
taining provisions for a week, and with an axe in
his hand, travelled through the woods for several
hours, till they arrived at the spot where they
were to lay the foundations of their future homes.
Week after week they swung the axe, while the
forest resounded with their blows, and with the
crash of falling trees. A little camp made of the
boughs of trees afforded them a shelter by night,
and during all the hours of the day they were
busy at their work. At the close of the week, they

* This name is given to a rude hut erected for some temporary pur
pose in the forest. 2*

18

THE FARMER.

would shoulder their axes, and emerge from the
woods, to pass the Sabbath with their neighbors.
Monday morning, having sharpened their tools,
and obtained a fresh supply of provisions, they
again returned to their toil. Thus passed the sum
mer. By the middle of autumn, a spacious open
ing had been made in the forest, and the ground
was covered with the huge trunks and branches
of the prostrate trees. The young men then re
turned to the distant home of their parents, in one
of the well-cultivated farming towns on the frontier.
When the returning sun of spring had melted
the snow and dried the ground, the young men ,
were again seen directing their steps to the scene
of their summer's labor. The leaves still clung to
the branches of the prostrate trees, but they were
dry and withered, and needed but a spark of fire
to envelop the fields in flames. This burning
being effected, the blackened trunks and branches
of the trees which remained were placed in piles
to be set on fire. But few spectacles are witnessed
more truly magnificent than some of these fires in
the woods. At times, the forest to an immense
extent is wrapt in flames. The fire sweeps along
through the dry leaves and rubbish, with a rapi
dity that is fearful. Now encircling a tree of a
nature peculiarly combustible, it mounts, rushing
and crackling, to its utmost branches, a majestic
pyramid of flame. Occasionally, these fires are
seen sweeping over a mountain with a brilliance
that would almost eclipse the glory of Vesuvius.

FIRES IN THE WOODS. 19
It was late in autumn, a few years since, when
a season of unusual drought had almost converted
to tinder every combustible substance upon the
surface of the ground. The fire from a farmer's
clearing had penetrated the woods, and for weeks
had been moving onward in its unresisted and deso
lating progress. The flames, in their wide reach, had
passed over the opening of many a lonely settler,
and in an hour had consumed the labor of years.
Borne by the winds, it arrived at the foot of a
mountain, whose sides were covered with de
cayed trunks and branches, the growth of cen
turies. The mountain stood in lonely grandeur,
elevating its head twelve hundred feet above the
surface of the surrounding forest. The night
was dark. The wind, dry and suffocating, had
increased almost to a gale, and whistling in circling
eddies around the mountain, it scattered far and
wide the blazing branches, till the whole mountain
assumed the aspect of a raging, roaring furnace.
Heaving up its immense columns of smoke and
flame, it gleamed upon the eye, and sent dismay
to the heart of the few adventurers who in that
distant and solitary wilderness had found their
home. I heard it described by an eye-witness,
who stood at the door of his dwelling, gazing upon
the sublimities of this midnight scene.
The fires are often exceedingly destructive to
property, and not a few instances have occurred
in which life also has been lost. The whole coun
try appears in flames, and then there is no place

20 THE FARMER. t
of refuge. In one instance, when all the mem
bers of a family, with the exception of an aged
grandmother, were absent from home, endeavoring
to arrest the progress of the approaching flames,
the fire and smoke drove down upon them in such
furious volumes, that they were compelled to flee
for their lives. It rushed in its impetuous and un
restrained fury over the newly-formed farm. The
barns, the house, and even the fields, were enve
loped in flames. There was but one place of es- *
cape, — the well. The poor woman succeeded, by
means of the bucket and the rope, in letting her
self down into this retreat. The burning rafters
of the house fell upon the orifice of the well, and
shut her in. After the flames had expended the
materials of their fury, and had rolled onward in
their dreadful progress, her friends returned, ex
pecting to rake her bones from the embers of their
smouldering dwelling. While they were searching
fpr this purpose, they heard her voice, calling for
help, and drew her out from her fearful prison,
half dead with fright and fatigue.
Late in the autumn, in the new settlements in
New England, and in the more distant regions of
the. west and south, the smoke of these fires may
be seen ascending from all parts of the horizon.
Cinders are borne for miles upon the winds, and
sometimes a region of hundreds of miles in extent
is enveloped m a cloud of suffocating smoke No
precautions can prevent these occurrences for the
new settler in clearing his land must burn tl

REMARKABLE PRESERVATION FROM FIRE. 21
limbs and trunks of the trees, and the rising of
the wind at once sweeps the fire beyond human
control. In the more thickly settled parts of the
country, the cultivation of the fields removes the
fuel which feeds these fires, and they are con
sequently rare. And yet I have known the inha
bitants of a populous village to be called out by a
general alarm, to contend with the flames, which,
like an invading army, were inarching trium
phantly through the woods, threatening to con
sume their dwellings. For days and nights to
gether, all the physical force of the village has
been arrayed in u fighting the fire." There are,
however, other parts of New England, where such
scenes are not only unwitnessed, but unheard of.
But I must return from this digression. The
young adventurers, having burned up as much of
the wood as possible, in the little opening which
their axes had made in the almost impenetrable
forest, brought upon their backs a few bushels of
wheat, which they sowed among the stumps and
wide-spreading roots of the trees which still re
mained in the ground. The hardships of the new
settler, and the obstacles against which he has to
contend, are but little understood by those who
are surrounded by all the artificial comforts and
conveniences of an advanced state of society. It
is almost impossible for us to imagine how many
difficulties they are compelled to meet. If our
young adventurers broke a hoe, they had to walk
eight or ten miles through the pathless woods to

22

THE FARMER.

get it mended. If an axe glanced against a rock,
the grindstone which was to restore its edge was
ten miles distant. If any accident occurred, if
even a finger was bruised, or sickness invaded, it
required a journey of two or three days to obtain
a physician. Such were the obstacles they were
compelled to meet and surmount, in literally hew
ing out for themselves a home in these distant
wilds. Having, at length, thus placed the seed in the
ground, they commenced with their axes building
a house. Boards were, of course, out of the
question. The earth spread out her bosom for
the floor. Unhewn logs, inclosing an area of
thirty feet square, and dove-tailed at the ends,
formed the walls of the house; a hole sawed
through a couple of the logs being the windows,
and another orifice at one corner of the house af
fording a door. Long poles are then laid across
the top, and these are covered with the bark of
trees, affording a very comfortable protection from
the weather. A settler who has advanced thus
far is well established in the world. He then be
gins to reap the reward of his toil. He feels that
he has a good farm and a comfortable home and
immediately goes in search of some one to be the
envied lady of the newly erected mansion tho
mistress of the. youthful farm. That spirit of ro
mance which animates the bosom of the untutored
as well as the cultivated, converts these hardships
into pleasure, these toils into enjoyment. Think

PROGRESS OF NEW SETTLEMENTS. 23
not the hardy settler claims your pity. No ! you
must go to the halls of state, to the aching
hearts surrounded by the trappings of fashion,
to find those to whom the world is a weariness,
and for whom home has no charms. The distri
bution of enjoyment in this world is far more im
partial than is generally imagined. If there be
peace with God. every situation will have its pe
culiar enjoyment. The young man, with bold
heart and firm sinew, who grapples with the
hardships of the wilderness, finds that there is an
enjoyment in the very spirit of enterprise, which
repays him for his toil. Actuated by this spirit,
there are thousands who are pushing back deeper
and deeper into the vast forests which frown over
the interior of this mighty continent. Even at
the base of the Rocky mountains, already is to be
found the cabin of the white settler. And those
mountains will present but a momentary barrier.
The multitude of emigrants will soon be witnessed
rushing down their western declivity, and filling
up the plain, till the waves of the Pacific will be
burdened with the fleets of the cities which will
adorn her shores.
The brief history we have given of an indivi
dual case, is the history of tens of thousands.
Gradually the trunks of the trees decay, and are
removed. The whole forest becomes prostrated
by the axe of the settlers. Fences inclose the farms.
Saw and grist mills are erected upon almost every
stream. The log house is deserted, and con-

24

THE FARMER.

verted into a piggery or a barn. Substantial dwell
ings, neatly painted, and furnished with glazed
windows, not unfrequently adorned with Venetian
blinds, cheer the landscape with the evidence
they present of thrift and comfort. And by the
time the children of the first settler become of age,
they imitate their father's example, shoulder the
axe, and seek for themselves a home in the un
broken solitudes of the forest.
It is thus that the wilderness of America is
bowing before the hand of civilization. It is thus
that villages, and even cities, are rising as if by
magic throughout this new world.
In the individual case to which we have above
alluded, it is now about twenty-five years since
the young men first made the forest resound with
the crash of falling trees. Already there is opened
to the eye of the traveller a town of well-culti
vated and highly productive farms. Immense
flocks of sheep graze in the pastures. Large, fields
of grass are seen, spreading out their smooth sur
faces, undeformed by rocks or stumps. Several
mills are erected upon the streams which flow
down from the adjacent mountains. There are
houses of handsome exterior and genteel interior.
The neatly painted church is every Sabbath filled
with an intelligent and attentive audience. A
skilful physician has taken up his residence there
and they have also a settled minister, whose
education, piety and talents render him a most
acceptable preacher. The town is divided into

RAPID PROGRESS OF IMPROVEMENT. 25
several school districts, in each of which there is
a public school during the winter months. There
is also during the summer months a private high
school, in which the higher branches of useful
education are taught. Here, none need suffer but
the lazy. Public and private charity will protect
the few who may be infirm. Those who are wil
ling to labor will be rewarded for their industry
by a competent support.
No one will expect to find, in regions so distant,
and in society so new, the artificial courtesies and
ceremonies which regulate intercourse in fashiona
ble circles. In the dwelling of the farmer, you
will generally find plain, frank, manly sense, with
a good degree of intelligence respecting the gene
ral state of the world, and the political condition
of his own country. You can hardly find a
dwelling in New England, be it a framed house
or a log cabin, in which some periodical print is
not taken. The newspapers of the day are scat
tered far beyond the route of the mails, and the
region of passable roads. The lonely settler will
weekly emerge from his distant home in the
woods, to get his newspaper. The writer of this
chapter once passed a night in a log house, many
miles beyond the region traversed by passable
roads. It was in the midst of the romantic, the
silent, the almost unbroken wilderness. Far as
the eye could reach, from this humble dwelling
nothing could be seen but the wildness of unsub
dued nature. Water-fowl of various kinds were
3

26 THE FARMER.
sporting upon the wide sheet of water, that glitter-
ed like a mirror embosomed in the forest. Lofty
mountains encircled the horizon, their sides cover
ed with a thick growth of trees, and their rocky
battlements towering to the skies. One would think
that in an abode so lonely, apparently so entirely
secluded from intercourse with man, there must be
found the ignorance of an almost semi-barbarous
state. But there we found the Bible and the fa
mily altar, and heard the voice of morning and
of evening prayer. There we found the regular
files of the newspaper, and in conversation with
the tenant of that lowly abode, we found him well
acquainted with the various subjects which were
then agitating the political and the religious world.
The missionary operations of the day, the hostile
manifestations of Europe, the public men and im
portant measures of his own country, were subjects
with which his mind was familiar, and upon
which he had formed opinions.
I had with me one of the novels of Sir Walter
Scott. As I threw myself upon the bed at night,
the book was left upon the coarse pine table before
the fire. The light of the blazing pitch pine knot,
stuck into the crevice of the chimney, threw its
bright flashes over the room, while the black
smoke it emitted rolled in circling wreaths up the
chimney. Lamps and candles were unthought of
in this humble dwelling. The farmer took up the
book, and soon became so interested in its pages
that the feeling of drowsiness and the thought of

INCIDENT IN A LOG HOUSE. 27
sleep were driven from him. I awoke about mid
night, and there he was bending before the pitch
pine knot, enchained by the creations of Sir Wal
ter's genius. Again I awoke before morning, and
there he still was, apparently insensible to the
lapse of hours, poring over the fascinating volume.
In fact, the morning dawned before he laid aside
the book, to go, unrefreshed by sleep, to engage in
the toils of the day.
Perhaps some of our readers, had they entered
into this humble cabin in its solitary situation,
and looked around upon the apparent discomfort
of its unfurnished interior, would have called the
occupants poor. But the reply to such a remark
would probably have been, " How is it possible
that you can call a man poor who owns a hundred
acres of land, with a good log house, and has his
farm fairly under way 7"
The settler who has advanced so far in con
verting the wilderness into a habitable abode, feels
rich, and is so regarded by the new emigrant, who
looks upon the majestic trees which he is to pros
trate with his axe before he can sow a single seed,
or aspire to a more comfortable dwelling than the
camp erected from the boughs of trees, with the
branches of the hemlock for his bed.
The farmers in the older settlements of the
country have generally good houses, and enjoy a
degree of substantial comfort hardly surpassed
by that of any other class of the community.
Their children in New England are almost with-

28 THE FARMER.
out exception well educated. They generally
form matrimonial connections in early life, and
either settle down on a farm near home, or emi
grate to the uncultivated lands of the West.
Hence originates a great difficulty in obtaimng
female servants, or, as they are now usually called,
domestics. The farmer's daughter has no induce
ment to go out to service. Her father is in com
fortable circumstances; she is surrounded by
friends, and is useful and happy at home. She is
perhaps more independent than the daughter of
the city merchant, and feels no more inducement
than she to go out to service. Why then should she
leave these comforts and enjoyments ? The scarcity
of servants is one of the most signal proofs of the
wide-spread prosperity of this land. If they wish
to engage in profitable employment, they can ge
nerally do far better than to go into the kitchens
of the wealthy. The factories hold out a most
powerful inducement. The pecuniary compensa
tion is far greater than most families can afford to
give. The factory girl of America is a very diffe
rent person from the factory girl of some other
countries. She is respected by her employers, and
respects herself. Her wages not only enable her
to meet every necessary expense, but to accumu
late a very handsome sum for time of need. In
one town in Massachusetts, Lowell, there are be
tween five and six thousand young females em
ployed in the factories. Large numbers of them
are professing Christians, and adorn their profes-

SCARCITY OF FEMALE DOMESTICS. 29
sion by orderly lives. They are liberal contribu
tors to those objects of Christian charity which, at
the present day, appeal so forcibly to the heart of
every friend of the Savior. After remaining in
these abodes of industry a few months or years,
they are found scattered over the land, the wives
and mothers of our most useful citizens.
In addition to this, braiding straw, and other
domestic manufactures, afford profitable employ
ment for thousands. The farmer's daughter sits
down by her father's fireside during the long win
ter evenings, and while conversing with friends and
neighbors, is employing her fingers in business
more lucrative than she could find in the more
severe and far less pleasant duties of service. I
was a short time since riding in the stage-coach
with a merchant, who was employing a number
of females in braiding straw. He informed me
that some of the girls who were skilful would
earn five dollars a week, and none less than two
or three.
The consequence of all this is, that there are
few American females who go out to service. It
is a source of continual complaint in this country.
But who has a right to complain? They can do
better. In the cities, emigrants from Scotland,
Wales, and Ireland, are servants in most of the
families. The negroes are also very generally
employed in this way. And there are also some
American girls, who prefer the seclusion of domes-

30 THE FARMER.
tic life, and the information in domestic duties
which is thus obtained, to tlie noise of the factory.
Much has been written by travellers upon this
subject, which to most Americans is entirely new.
lit fact, to describe the manners and customs of
the Americans, is like describing the manners and
customs of the Europeans. The Russian, the
Turk, the Greek, the Frenchman, the Spaniard,
the Englishman, are alike Europeans. But how
very different are the customs of the different
inhabitants of Europe. And yet the wilds of
Northern Russia are hardly more remote from the
capital of Franco than arc some parts of the Uni
ted States from others. Occasionally, a tourist
ascends the Mississippi, and penetrates the new
states which are watered by that magnificent
river and its majestic tributaries. He finds the"
savage still paddling his canoe upon those distant
waters. He witnesses the tremendous rush of
emigrants from almost every nation under heaven,
to take possession of these new and fertile vales.
The highlands of Scotland, the manufactories of
England, the mud cabins of Ireland, the marshes
of Holland, have sent out their thousands to tame
this wilderness. They come together with their
diverse customs, with their national prejudices- 
many, unreasonably disaffected at home • some
refugees from the prison or the gallows ; and
others, with hardly property sufficient to purchase
an axe or a spade, and yet bringing with them
the ignorance, the vices, and the prejudices of older

WANT OF NATIONAL CHARACTER. 31
countries. Mingled with these will be found re
spectable settlers, with intelligence and integrity
and property.. In such a heterogeneous mass as
this, there is no national character. But the spirit
of enterprise is so vigorous, that empires are rising
as if by enchantment, upon the borders of these
mighty streams. The tourist who describes the
scenes witnessed in these distant wilds, is read in
New England with as much avidity as in Old
England. The Indian warrior whose light canoe
skims upon the waters of the lakes, or who chases
his game in the forests of Arkansas, would attract
as thronging crowds in the streets of Boston or
New York, as in those of London or Paris. Not
withstanding the great facilities for intercourse in
this country, a distance of two or three thousand
miles is not a trifle. And it must be confessed,
that the log cabins of these new and distant set
tlers do not always afford the most pleasing spe
cimens of intelligence and refinement.
A gentleman who visited Illinois a few years
since, informed me, that he saw many white per
sons who lived like the Indians, by hunting, and
who were dressed in the shaggy skins of wild
beasts. The fact is, that in the United States
there may be found, and even on an extensive
scale, almost every variety of society and of cus
toms. There is here the roving savage, the semi-
barbarous white man, who is the rival of the In
dian in the chase, and the smoke of whose wig
wam ascends in the same wilderness ; there is the

32 THE FARMER.
heterogeneous mass of foreign emigrants, the labo
rious and thrifty settler, the substantial and
wealthy farmer, the enterprising merchant, and
the circles of gayety and thoughtlessness and
fashion. The more reflecting part of the community con
template with deep solicitude the state of society
which is forming in the vast territories of the West.
They know full well, that the votes which shall
be cast in the valley of the Mississippi, must soon
control the destinies of their nation. The Atlantic
states must soon be eclipsed by the rising glories
of the West. There are our rulers to be elected,
and by them our laws are to be framed. Upon
this subject, however, I may enlarge more fully
hereafter. It is doubtful whether there is in any part of the
world a class of men more comfortable and con
tented than the farmers of New England. They
are an intelligent, virtuous, and most influential
part of the community- Many of them are the
pride of the country, and the ornaments of that
religion which has made New England what it
is. Go to their dwellings, and you will hear the
morning and the evening prayer. Go to the
church, and you will see them with their families
respected and devout worshippers. Present to
them the claims of suffering humanity, and you
will find that neither the plains of Asia nor the
isles of the Pacific, arc too remote for the reach of
their sympathies and their beneficence. Already

CHARACTER OF NEW ENGLAND FARMERS. 33
have the arms of their benevolence embraced the
world. Many of the benighted sons of India have
been blessed by their influence. Many a fierce
wanderer on the heights of Hawaii has been led
by their prayers and their efforts to embrace that
religion which takes from death its sting, and from
the grave its victory. Take the farmers of New
England as a body, and they are a set of noble men.
They are nature's noblemen. There are individuals
among them who are ignorant and irreligious and
degraded ; with hearts which can neither be moved
with gratitude to God, nor with sympathy for
human woes. They will rally under any banner
which waves in defiance of a religion which claims
a pure heart and a holy life. They are the foes
of temperance and all its kindred virtues. But
through the kindness of God they are few in
numbers, and powerless in influence. The farm
houses of New England are generally the abodes
of intelligence and happiness. It is in these
abodes of honest independence and enlightened
piety, that most of the missionaries who have gone
from this country to heathen lands have found
their birth. May the farmers of New England
rise higher and still higher in the scale of moral
and intellectual excellence, and show to the world
that intelligence and virtue and independence may
be united with a life of honest toil.

CHAPTER II.
ECCLESIASTICAL ORGANIZATION.
A stranger when passing through New Eng
land has his attention arrested by the multiplicity
of churches, or meeting-houses, as they are here
called, which every- where abound. Almost every
little village has its two or three. Not unfre-
quently, as a small cluster of houses appear in
sight, you see rising side by side the two spires
which mark the houses of God ; each of which
appears large enough to contain double the popu
lation of the whole village. This is perhaps more
invariably the case in the eastern part of Massa
chusetts than in any other section of the country.
" To what Christian denomination do those
houses belong?" he asks some passer-by.
" The Unitarians, sir," it is answered, " wor
ship in the old house there, and this new one be
longs to the Orthodox."
" Are there any other sects here '?"
" Yes, sir ; the Baptists meet in the house there
without any steeple, and the Methodists hold their
meeting in the school-house, only, once a month
the Universalists take their turn,"

vakiotjs denominations. 35
Such, substantially, is the information which he
would receive in many of the villages of New
England. This, however, is by no means univer
sally the case. Occasionally, you will enter a
town in which nearly all the inhabitants are
united under one pastor ; and throughout the New
England states, the Orthodox Congregationalists
generally compose the principal society. They
embrace the mass of the cornmunity as to num
bers, and its strength as to wealth and intelligence.
When the naked fact is stated, that a town con
tains but a few hundred inhabitants, and is yet
divided into three or four religious societies, an
erroneous impression is generally conveyed to the
mind, for in most such cases there is one substan
tial society, and the others hardly deserve the
name. In one town there will perhaps be a Con
gregational and a Baptist church, both of which
are respectable for numbers and abundantly able
to support the institutions of the gospel. There
is also a Methodist society, consisting of a small
number of individuals, upon whom a Methodist
preacher occasionally calls as he goes the rounds
of his circuit. When it is notified that a Method
ist will preach in the school-house, a respectable
number, either from curiosity or from better mo
tives, flock to hear him. There is also perhaps an
Universalist society : some two or three individu
als having associated themselves for this purpose,
and these too occasionally have preaching. In
some places in New England, there are large and

36 ECCLESIASTICAL ORGANIZATION.
highly respectable Methodist societies. There are
also some Universalist societies, strong in num
bers. In the eastern parts of Massachusetts, and
especially in the principal towns, the Unitarians
possess most of the wealth, and of the literary and
political influence. But their influence is hardly
felt, except in a few counties around Boston. In
most of the principal towns there are highly re
spectable and influential Episcopal societies; but
you find none in the country, unless here and there
some single individual by his own personal influ
ence retains one in struggling existence. The Or
thodox Congregationalists and the Baptists com
pose the two principal sects of the New England
states. Taking the whole of the United Sates,
the Baptist denomination is the most numerous ;
but in New England the Orthodox Congregation
alists embrace the great mass of the community.
The following is a summary of the religious
statistics of the United States, as ascertained in
1834. RELIGIOUS STATISTICS OF THE UNITED STATES.
The American Quarterly Register for February,
1834, is principally occupied with an ecclesiastical
register of the various denominations of Christians
in the United States. The following is the gene
ral summary.
1. Orthodox Congregationalists. — Including in
New England the ministers and churches con
nected with state associations, as well as those
which are not thus connected, and adding to these

CENSUS OF DIFFERENT DENOMINATIONS. 37
the churches and ministers of the same denomina
tion out of New England, we may place the total
as follows: 1,100 ministers; 1,250 churches; 155,-
000 communicants.*
Estimating the communicants as one-ninth of
the population, the whole number of Orthodox
Congregationalists will be 1,395,000.
2. Unitarians. — 170 societies; 150 ministers;
170,000 population.
3. Presbyterians. — 2,070 ministers, of which
229 are licentiates ;f 2,500 churches ; 233,280 com
municants; 22 synods; 111 presbyteries; additions
to the number of communicants in 1832, 30,798 ;
net gain in communicants, 16,242. Population,
(9 for a communicant,) 2,102,220.
4. Dutch Reformed Church. — f 67 ministers ;
197 churches; 21,115 communicants; about 30,-
000 families, and 150,000 souls.
5. Protestant Episcopal Church. — 18 dioceses ;
17 bishops ; 648 clergymen ; between 700 and 800
parishes. 6. Calvmistic Baptists. — 4,100 ministers ; 5,800
churches ; 450,000 communicants.
We have added an amount to the numbers re
ported in 1833, equal to the increase of the pre
ceding year.

* Members of the churches who unite in the celebration of the
Lord's supper.
i Licentiates are such clergymen as have been regularly licensed to
preach, but are not settled in any stated charge.
4

38 ECCLESIASTICAL ORGANIZATION.
7. Methodist Episcopal Church. — 6 bishops ; 22
conferences; 2,232 travelling preachers; 168 super
annuated; 619,771 members, of which 78,475 are
colored persons; increase of members last year,
66,685. 8. Evangelical Lutheran Church. — 216 minis
ters, including 25 licentiates ; 800 congregations ;
89,487 communicants; annual average number
added to the church, between 13 and 14,000.
9. German Reformed Church. — In the following
estimates are included the synod of the German
Reformed church, the Reformed synod of Ohio,
and the Independent Free Reformed synod in
Pennsylvania. 180 ministers ; 600 churches ; 30,-
000 communicants; 300,000 population.
10. Associate Presbyterians. — 10 presbyteries;
79 ministers; 169 congregations; 5,129 families;
12,8S6 communicants.
11. Free Will Baptists. — 18 yearly meetings;
46 quarterly meetings ; 661 churches ; 410 elders ;
155 licentiates ; 30,440 communicants ; — 2,099 in
crease last year.
12. Six Principle Baptists. — 9 ministers; 25
churches; 1,672 communicants.
13. Free Communion Baptists. — 2 conferences
in New York, and 3,000 or 4,000 population.
14. General Baptists in Kentucky. — 8 churches ;
214 members.
15. Seventh Day Baptists. — 42 ministers; 32
churches ; 4,258 communicants.
16. Church of the United Brethren. — 33 minis-

CENSUS OF DIFFERENT DENOMINATIONS. 39
ters ; 24 congregations ; 5,745 members, including
children. 17. New Jerusalem Church. — 8 ordaining minis
ters ; 8 priests and teaching ministers ; 15 licen
tiates ; 25 societies ; 122 places where there are
known to be receivers of the doctrines.
18. Cumberland Presbyterians. — 70 ministers ;
110 congregations; 15,000 communicants.
19. Associate and other Methodists. — 400 minis
ters ; 50,000 communicants ; 200,000 population.
20. Friends. — Probably 450 congregations, and
220,000 population.
21. Universalists. — 300 or 400 ministers ; 500 or
600 congregations.
22. Shakers. — 45 ministers ; 15 churches or con
gregations, 23. Roman Catholics. — 550,000 population.
24. Jews. — 15,000 population.
25. Other Sects. — Several smaller sects, and
persons of no denomination, would probably
amount in population to 800,000 or 1,000,000.
I shall now proceed to explain the ecclesiastical
order of the Congregational churches of New Eng
land. Let us suppose the case of a new town,
with a sparse population of a few hundred inhabi
tants. There are perhaps fifteen or twenty indi
viduals who are members of churches in other
places, from which they have removed. Occa
sionally a minister sent by the Home Missionary
society visits and preaches to them ; but generally

40 ECCLESIASTICAL ORGANIZATION.
they meet on the Sabbath in the school-house, or
in some private dwelling, and one offers a prayer,
another reads a chapter in the Bible, a third reads
a sermon from some printed volume, and perhaps
a fourth ventures to offer a few remarks by way
of encouragement to his brethren and of exhorta
tion to his neighbors. As the population of the
town increases they begin to think of forming
themselves into a church, and settling a minister.
Perhaps the plan is to unite with an adjoining
town in the support of a minister, who is to preach
alternately in each town. Not unfrequently three
or four small towns thus unite.
But the first thing to be done, is to organize a
church. They look to some neighboring minister
for advice as to the mode of procedure. He per
haps engages to draw up for them a creed and
covenant, which is to be the basis of tlieir union.
A meeting of all the church members in town who
wish to unite in the organization of the church is
then called, and the creed and covenant presented.
These are thoroughly discussed, and probably not
a few alterations made in the mode of expression,
to suit the peculiarities of the various individuals.
Several evenings are probably occupied in this
important transaction. At length, the creed is as
sented to. One or two are then chosen a commit
tee in behalf of the rest, to call a council of a few
of the neighboring ministers to organize the church.
At the appointed time and place, the council con
vene. The individual church members then pre-

CONFESSION OF FAITH. 41
sent their creed and covenant to the council. The
council, after having examined these, and being
satisfied of the scriptural basis upon which they
wish to be united, vote to adjourn to some suitable
place to attend to the solemnities of the occasion,
and assign to each individual the part he is to per
form. The solemnity is perfectly simple. A ser
mon is preached, an appropriate prayer is offered ;
the creed and covenant are read, while the mem
bers of the church assent to it by standing together
in the aisle. If any are to be received to the
church who have never made a public profession
of religion, having been previously examined as to
their religious views and feelings, they are then
received by assenting to the creed with the rest,
and by receiving the ordinance of baptism, if it
has not been administered to them in their in
fancy. The following is perhaps a fair specimen of the
creeds and covenants of the New England church
es. As every church is however independent of
every other, there is an almost infinite variety
in the modes of expression.
CONFESSION OF FAITH.
1. We believe there is one God, the Creator and
rightful Disposer of all things, existing as Father,
Son, and Holy Ghost, and that to these three per
sons as the one God all divine perfections are to
be equally ascribed. 4*

42 ECCLESIASTICAL ORGANIZATION.
2. Wo believe that the Bible was given by in
spiration of God as the only unerring rule of faith
and practice.
3. We believe that mankind are fallen from
their original rectitude, and arc, while in a state of
nature, wholly destitute of that holiness which is
required by the divmc law.
¦1. We believe that Jesus Christ, the rtcrnal Word,
became man, and by his obedience, sufferings, and
death, made an atonement for the sins of the
world. 5. We believe that they, and they only, will be
saved, in consequence of the merits of Christ, who
repent of sin and btheve in him.
6. We believe that although the invitations of
the gospel are such that all who will may come
and take of the water of life freely, yet the wick
edness of the human heart is such that none will
come unless drawn by the special influences of the
Holy Spirit.
7. We believe that the sacraments of the New
Testament arc baptism and the Lord's supper;
baptism to be administered only to believers and
their households, and the supper only to believers
in regular church standing.
8. Wo believe that Cod has appointed a day in
wliich ho will judge tho world; when there will
be a resurrection of the dead, and when the right
eous will enter on eternal happiness, and tho
wicked will be sentenced to eternal misery.

43
THE COVENANT,
Von do now in tho presence of God and men
choose the Lord Jehovah to bo your God and
Father, tho Lord Jesus Christ to bo your only
Savior, (ho Holy Spirit to bo your sanctitier.
Von dodioato yourself to Cod, unreservedly sur
rendering all that yon have and are to his sove
reign disposal, engaging by his assistance to live
henceforth to him and not to yourself, and to aim,
whatever you do, to do all to his glory. You cor
dially join yourself to this church, and engage to
bo subject to its discipline so tar as it is conforma
ble to tho gospel; and to walk with the members
thereof in love, watchfulness, and purity.
1 thou, in tho presence of God and those wit
nesses, and in tho name of our Lord Jesus Christ,
pronounce yon a member o( this branch of his
visible church, and we engage to treat yon as
such: to watch over you in hue; praying that we
all may become more and more conformed to the
example ol our divine Master, till we como to tlie
perfection of holiness iutho kingdom of his glory.
The next thing is t<> obtain a pastor. After
hearing several individuals preach as candidates,
they find one who, they hope, is willing to stay
wilh them, and with whom they are pleased. A
mooting of tlic church is called, and they vote to
give tlic candidate an invitation to remain with
tliem. The members of the parish then have a
meeting and unite with the church in the invita-

44 ECCLESU.STICAL ORGANIZATION.
tion, and they mutually agree as to the salary
which they will offer the candidate. In these
feeble new parishes the salary is from three to
four hundred dollars a year. In good farming
towns it is generally from five to six hundred dol
lars. There are not ten clergymen in New Eng
land whose salaries exceed two thousand dollars
a year. In the course of a week or two the pastor elect
returns his answer. If in the affirmative, a coun
cil of the neighboring clergymen is again convened
by invitation from the church. The candidate is
then publicly examined by the council, as to his
qualifications for the sacred office. The following
extracts from the minutes of such a council will
most accurately describe the mode of procedure.
" At an ecclesiastical council convened at  ,
January 28, 1S30, for the purpose of ordaining
Mr.  as pastor of the Evangelical church
and society in said place, were present by their
pastors and delegates the following churches."
Then follows a list of eight or ten churches,
each sending one lay delegate with its pastor.
" The council attended to the call of the cliurch
and society to Mr.  to become their pastor
and minister, and to his acceptance of the same.
Mr.  was also examined relatively to his
church standing, his license to preach the gospel,
his religious experience, his motives in entering
the ministry, his doctrinal views, his theological
attainments, and his qualifications generally for

SETTLEMENT OF A MINISTER. 45
the great and important work to which he is
called. "Whereupon, voted unanimously, that the coun
cil has obtained satisfaction in relation to all these
particulars, and are prepared to proceed to the ser
vices of ordination."
" The several parts in the public services were
then assigned as follows :
Rev. Mr.  to make the introductory prayer.
Rev. Mr.  to preach the sermon.
Rev. Mr.  • to make the ordaining prayer.
Rev. Mr.  to give the right hand of fellow
ship. Rev. Mr.  to give the charge to the pastor.
Rev. Mr.  to make the concluding prayer.
"Voted, that this council do now adjourn to the
meeting-house to attend the public services, and
that subsequently to these services the council be
dissolved. Signed,  , Moderator,
 ¦  -, Scribe."
The solemnity of ordination is very simple.
The pastor elect enters the pulpit, in which there
are usually three other clergymen, to unite in the
imposition of hands. The three place their right
hand on the pastor's head while one leads in the
prayer, which ceremony consecrates him to his
most solemn charge.
The duties of the Christian minister, though
pleasant, are arduous. The people who have taken
so deep an interest, and made such pecuniary sa-

46 ECCLESIASTICAL ORGANIZATION.
crifices to obtain his services, are ready at once to
give him their affections, and they desire to treat
him as a family friend. Consequently they feel
disappointed if his visits to them are not frequent.
Hence the duty of parochial visiting becomes one
of the most arduous and exhausting of the labors
in which he is called to engage. The privileges
of the ministry in this country are not sufficiently
inviting to induce many to incur its responsibili
ties, who are not actuated by truly Christian mo
tives ; and the standard of duty is so high, that
those who will not consecrate all their energies
to their work, cannot ordinarily obtain a support.
They preach two written sermons every Sab
bath. Sabbath evening they frequently preach an
extemporaneous sermon in the meeting-house, in
the vestry, or in the district school-house. During
the week they hold two or three evening lectures.
They are expected to visit not unfrequently
every family in the parish, and these visits are
generally made strictly religious visits, and closed
with prayer. In addition to this, in all the coun
try places, the general superintendence of the
school, devolves upon them. They examine the
instructers and visit the schools.
Should a New England clergyman venture to
preach a sermon which he had not himself com
posed, he would entirely forfeit his reputation. It
may well be supposed that with all these duties,
and receiving but a small salary, few of the worldly
and the ambitious would be enticed to enter the

DUTIES OF A PASTOR. 47
desk. There is no such thing here as working'by
proxy. Every pastor puts his hand to the effort,
and engages personally in the laborious performance
of parochial duties. There is no distinction of rank,
other than that conferred by talent and successful
labor. The most eminent divines engage in the
same duties of Sabbath labor, and evening lectures
and parochial visiting, as their less distinguished
brethren. It is in fact their zeal and success in
their efforts which, in a great degree, constitute
their eminence. And were they to neglect these,
their reputation and their support would fail to
gether. The colleges occasionally confer the de
gree of doctor of divinity upon those clergymen who
have acquired extensive influence, but even this
trifling distinction is but little regarded, and many
have declined accepting the proffered honor.
The salary of the pastor is raised by voluntary
association. The individuals wishing to belong to
the parish place in the clerk's book their names,
and the sums they are willing to pay. Sometimes
they vote to assess a tax upon property ; some
times upon pews. Those and those only pay who
are willing, and they pay just what they choose.
The minister can by law recover the salary
voted at the regular parish meeting. But the pa
rish can at any time refuse to vote the salary for
another year. This course is sometimes adopted
as a means of removing an unacceptable pastor.
Sometimes they meet and vote his dismission.
Sometimes the church, i. e. the body of communi-

48 ECCLESIASTICAL ORGANIZATION.
cants who are organized distinctly, and are called
the church, are exceedingly attached to their pastor,
while the parish are dissatisfied in consequence of
his spirituality and Christian ardor. Hence arises
a contest between the church and the parish.
Of late years these contests have been very fre
quent in Massachusetts. They have generally
resulted in a separation — the parish by virtue of
their numbers retaining the meeting-house, while
the church with a few associated individuals re
tain and support the pastor. Under these circum
stances the church erect a new meeting-house, and
the parish obtain a new minister. This has been
the nature and the result of the Unitarian contest
in the vicinity of Boston. The old house is re
tained by the Unitarian parish, with their new
minister, and the new house is occupied by the
church with their Orthodox pastor.
Ministers are generally settled ostensibly for life,
but the connection in fact exists only so long as is
mutually agreeable to the parties. Not unfre
quently a church, important in its influence, will
invite an able pastor from a parish where his
influence must be less extensive. Thus there
are frequeut removals. Many, however, deem
it robbery thus to call from another church a
highly valued pastor. This subject is at the
present time exciting considerable interest in the
churches. A young man enters the ministry in
a retired parish. By diligent application to study
and active efforts he becomes in a few years

REMOVAL OF PASTORS. 49
eminent for pulpit eloquence and pastoral skill.
He is the friend and the confidant of all his peo
ple. They love his virtues and are proud of his
abilities. The pastor of a church in the metropolis of the
state dies. A young man has not the experience
requisite for so important a situation. The eyes
of the church are directed to this faithful pastor in
some distant and peaceful valley. A committee
are sent to invite him to remove. If he^ is an
honest, conscientious man, he feels it to be his
duty to exert as wide an influence in the world as
possible, and if otherwise, ambition calls him
away, so that after a painful struggle in tearing
away from the affections of his people, he is trans
planted from the vale where he has obtained his
strength, to the more conspicuous and arduous
duties of a city pastor. Almost every clergyman
in the city has been previously settled over some
coimtry parish, and in retirement has been disci
plined for his more extended field of influence.
Common as these removals are, they are a continued
source of excitement to the public mind. And
though there are many and powerful reasons in
favor of such occasional transfers, it may be
doubted whether, on the whole, more is not lost
than gained. It not unfrequently happens that a
minister who in one sphere is eminently successful
and exerts a very salutary influence, by his re
moval finds himself among a people with whose
feelings and customs he is not familiar. A few
5

50 ECCLESIASTICAL ORGANIZATION.
months are sufficient to satisfy both himself and
the people of his new charge that they are not
adapted to one another, and that it would have
been far wiser for him to have remained in the
situation he previously occupied. But in the mean
time the people with whom he was first settled
have engaged the services of another pastor, or, if
they have not, they have withdrawn from him
their confidence and affection in consequence of his
leaving them. His failure in the new enterprise
has injured his reputation with the public. He is
soon again dismissed, and never regains the stand
ing which he once held. Such cases are not rare.
And yet there are other cases in which the talent
which had been buried in some secluded parish
has been called out and excited by intercourse
with the busy world, and has startled the slum
bers of thousands. The eloquence which had in
structed and charmed the few humble listeners of
the village church, has drawn to the spacious tem
ple of the metropolis thronging crowds, and has
vibrated in thrilling tones through the nation.
I have spoken of the independence of the Con
gregational churches of New England; and yet
they are in many respects far from independent
The moral influence of the churches upon each
other is very strong. If a church invite a clergy
man to settle over them who is unsound in doc
trine, or of doubtful piety, a council of evangelical
clergymen will refuse to ordain him. And if a
church have not the sympathy and the fellowship

PASTORAL ASSOCIATIONS. 51
of the neighboring churches, in ordinary cases, it
must have but a feeble and struggling existence.
The clergymen of New England have generally
formed themselves into voluntary associations.
From ten to twenty individuals, who are situated
near to each other, thus unite in a ministerial
association. They generally meet once in three
months for intellectual and spiritual improvement,
and for mutual advice in forwarding the interests
of Christ's kingdom. These fraternal interviews
are generally very interesting and profitable.
After a meeting of twenty-four hours, the pastors
return to their respective churches with new zeal
to press forward in their delightful labors. The,
influence of these associations in promoting bro
therly love, animating zeal, and exciting simul
taneous effort, is very great. The association
within whose limits we happen to reside consists
of twelve ministers. They all live within a few
miles of each other, and meet once in three months
at ten o'clock in the morning, and adjourn at ten
o'clock the next morning. The time is passed in
listening to the performances which were assigned
¦ at the previous meeting. One preaches a sermon ;
another presents an explanation of some difficult
passage of Scripture ; another reads a dissertation ;
plans of sermons are presented, and all the exer
cises are made the subject of free and friendly
criticism. Questions are also frequently presented
for the advice of the association.
Besides these numerous minor associations,

62 ECCLESIASTICAL ORGANIZATION.
there is in each of the New England states a ge
neral association, composed of two delegates from
each of these smaller bodies. This association
meets once a year, and hears from its members a
report of the state of religion within their respec
tive limits. Suggestions which are deemed of gene
ral importance are here presented and recommend
ed to the churches. This body, composed of cler
gymen from every part of the state, has deservedly
great influence over the public mind. The mea
sures which are proposed to the churches, sanc
tioned by their recommendation, are very gene
rally adopted.
This is in general the ecclesiastical organization
of the New England states. There are several
other convocations of the clergy to consult respect
ing the general interests of the cause of religion,
but it is unnecessary to be more particular.
As these churches are all sustained upon the
principle of voluntary contribution, it is to such
aid alone that application can be made to plant
and sustain the new churches which are so ra
pidly springing up throughout the whole length
and breadth of our land. The following is an
extract from a letter which the writer of this
chapter received a short time since. It will give
a more vivid idea than I can communicate in any
other way, of the condition of these new churches,
and of the manner in which they are sustained.
It describes scenes not in New England, but in the
" far West."

A LETTER FROM THE TAR WEST. 53
"  ,  , 1834.
u Dear Sir,
" The Lord has been pleased to make me the
pastor of a little obscure flock in one corner of this
'great valley.' We have had existence as a church
only about five years. Our number is not far from
eighty, but we have only about eighteen families
who can be depended upon to support the gospel, or
to do any thing of consequence in a pecuniary way
for the cause of Christ. These eighteen families
are obligated by the terms of their call to pay me
this year two hundred and forty dollars. Besides
this they have subscribed one hundred and twenty
dollars towards finishing their house of worship ;
thirty dollars for stoves to warm the house ;
about sixteen dollars to support the monthly
tract distribution ; ten dollars for the Home Mis
sionary society; and five dollars for the education of
poor and pious youth. Now all these sums added
make four hundred and thirty-one dollars, which
these eighteen families are bound to pay this year.
If this sum were equally divided among the eigh
teen it would make a dividend of twenty-three
dollars, which each family would be obliged to pay.
But it is far from being equally divided. Some
families will pay fifty dollars ; some forty, some
thirty, and so on down to five dollars. None of
them can properly be called wealthy. With
the exception of three or four families, they all
live iri their log cabins, because they have not
been able to build comfortable houses. They
5*

54 ECCLESIASTICAL ORGANIZATION.
have indeed good farms considerably improved,
which will in a few years, with a common blessing,
afford them a comfortable living. Most of them
are yet somewhat in debt for their farms, which
in a few years more they will have paid for, if they
have usual success. Now, sir, this people have
done their utmost, and have already paid upwards
of eight hundred dollars towards building their
house of worship, and they feel able to do no more
at present, on account of pecuniary embarrass
ment, from which they cannot expect to recover
even next year. Unless therefore we can obtain
foreign aid, our house must remain unfinished as
it is. But two hundred dollars would enable us
to finish it so as to make it neat and comfortable.
Now, sir, we make our request. Will you under
take for us, and endeavor to collect from your
congregation and the neighboring churches this
sum, or a part of it 7 lly so doing you will confer
a high favor upon us. and lay us under lasting
obligations of gratitude. We shall be thankful for
any sum you will be able to afford us. Two hun
dred dollars to us now would be worth more than
a thousand dollars to you in those old and wealthy
congregations. If you should be so kind as to
undertake for us, and should be successful in
making a collection, you may pay it to the Home
Missionary society, and request them to send me
an order on the treasurer of the society.
" We arc settled in the midst of a fertile country,
in which there is little or no waste land. The

OPPOSITION TO PRESBYTERIANS. 55
population upon it is already very dense for this
new country, and this population is rapidly in
creasing. The probability is, that there will not
be a single spot of ground eighteen years hence
which will not be occupied by some farmer. Infi
delity, Universalism, and every species of error
abound among us, and are increasing rapidly in
this region. We scarcely make an effort to im
prove the moral and religious condition of this
people, without meeting the most bitter opposition.
Presbyterians here have to bear the whole brunt
of this opposition, because they are the principal
denomination which are active in supporting Sab
bath schools, tract societies, &c. There is a very*'
convenient ¦school-house in the centre of our con
gregation, which we have till lately been permitted
to use for our religious meetings. But the ene
mies of Presbyterians have met and voted that we
shall meet there no more. This was done too at
a time when they knew that our meeting-house was
in such a state that wo could not occupy it.
Since that time we have been forced to occupy
our unfinished meeting-house, or to go into some
log cabin, too small for our congregation. Now,
sir, you will readily see that our want of a conve
nient and comfortable place of worship is a real
embarrassment to us, and a hinderance to our pros
perity as a church. If you can by any means ob
tain for us the sum of two hundred dollars, you
will enable us to make our house of worship con
venient and comfortable ; if not, it must remain in

56 ECCLESIASTICAL ORGANIZATION.
its unfinished condition for some years to come.
If any one should be disposed to ask why we do
not call for aid from our neighboring churches, we
answer, that with very few exceptions they are
all like us struggling for life.
" With unfeigned friendship and esteem,
"I subscribe myself, &c."
Such appeals as this are continually presented
to our churches, and they are not presented in
vain. The members of our churches are continu
ally disciplined in the Christian duty of contribut
ing of their property to advance the cause of Christ,
and if that cause cannot be sustained in this way,
we are convinced that it can be in no other. All
that we ask of the government is to let us alone.
The only protection we desire is that which every
honest man and good citizen deserves.
Appeals to the feelings and to the principles of
Christians have been so successful in our churches,
that the societies of Christian benevolence, nume
rous as they are in this country, are in a state of
high and increasing prosperity. The habit of con
tributing money — of making pecuniary sacrifices
to sustain the cause of Christ, exerts so beneficial
an influence upon the heart, that permanent funds
are in most cases considered rather as a curse than
as a blessing. There is hardly an intelligent Chris
tian of any denomination in the New England
states, who does not feel that the patronage of the
government would he one of the greatest calami
ties which could befall tho cliurch.

• CStJRCIt AND STATE. 57
Notwithstanding the entire unanimity of Chris
tians in deprecating the aid and support of go
vernment, a few ignorant or unprincipled men,
observing the unwearied activity of Christians,
and the triumphant success which is crowning
their cause, endeavor to excite odium against reli
gion by raising the cry of " church and state."
But the fact is that almost every intelligent Chris
tian in the land says to the government, "Protect
us in our rights as men and as citizens, but as
Christians leave us to ourselves." Whether in
these views they are correct or not, it is not for
me to decide. My object is to state facts, without
eulogy or censure.
The result of every year's experience con
firms Christians in these views. They are
more and more convinced, that there is no mode
of operation so energetic and effectual as that
of voluntary association. It is this which has
rolled back the tide of intemperance, which was
heaving its surges over our land. It is this which
is planting churches in every little village in our
western wilderness, and supplying them with
pastors. It is this which is placing a Bible in
every dwelling, and establishing Sabbath schools
within the reach of all the children of the land.
It is this which has converted Hawaii, dark and
dismal as she once was, to a Christian island, and
has gathered her roaming children to the school
and the church. It is this which is now instruct
ing the savages of our own western wilds, and

58 ECCLESIASTICAL ORGANIZATION.
which is spreading out an increasing influence to
all quarters of the globe.
No ! Christians ask not for the aid of govern
ment. They ask only for the heart and the ener
gies of Christ's devoted friends. With these they
believe that the triumphs of Christianity will he
carried to every shore and through every land.
Every man is here at perfect liberty either to
pay for the support of the institutions of the
gospel or not, as he pleases. If he is an infidel,
and does not wish to pay for the support of re
ligion in any shape, no one troubles him. Each
individual pays to what denomination he pleases,
and what sum he pleases, and no more. Office
and honor too are alike open to all. Each one,
without reference to religious belief, enjoys all the
privileges which our country affords, and none
would have it otherwise.
Truth is thus left to the defence of those who
love her cause. No prisons frown upon the here
tic, and no civil deprivations or privileges tempt
to insincere professions. As there can be no com
pulsory conversion, neither would we have the
cause of Christ sustained by compulsory support.
We believe that no greater calamity could befall
the American churches, than for the government
to erect a church in every village, and take those
churches under its fostering care. We feel an as
surance that the result would be to make religion
suspected and odious to the people, and to fill the
pulpits with worldly men, grasping only at the

SUPPORT OF RELIGIOUS INSTITUTIONS. 59
honors and the emoluments of the office. A few
years would show that the energies of the church
were, paralyzed, and the land would be consigned
to spiritual death. Whatever may be said of the
destitution of religious instruction in the new set
tlements of our western territory, Christians do not
believe that the influence of government will re
move that destitution. They believe that it can
be done by that energy alone which animated the
primitive Christians, and which now animates
many an American church ; and that men must
be sent to this work who, with the spirit and self-
denial of Paul, will be willing to spend their lives
in the incessant labors which those new countries
require. This work is not to be accomplished by
"The things that mount the rostrum with a skip,
And then skip down again ; pronounce a text ;
Cry — hem ; and reading what they never wrote,
. Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work,
And with a well-bred whisper close the scene."
The new settlements of America demand the la
bors of men who can endure hardship ; — men of
robust bodies and bold hearts. They must be ani
mated by fervent piety to be willing to forego the
comforts of a more refined home, and to spend
their days among the log houses of this scattered
and rude and uncultivated people.
Our benevolent societies are providing for the
wants of the new settlements as fast as it is pos
sible for them to do under existing circumstances.
Through all the dwellings of the land the Educa-

60 ECCLESIASTICAL ORGANIZATION.
tion society is searching out young men of piety
and of talents, for the purpose of training them by
means of a course of preparatory study to the re
sponsible duties of the Christian ministry. And
they do not lead them through a path strewed
with roses, but along a way so hedged by difficul
ties, that but few will be induced to enter it, ex
cept those who are willing to endure hardships
and trials, that they may serve their blessed Re
deemer by proclaiming his love to a dying world.
This society is now training up, under the most
salutary discipline, a thousand young men ; and
every year they are sending their little army of
fresh recruits into the field. Every year the num
ber is increasing, and their influence is more power
fully felt.
The Home Missionary society is taking from
six to eight hundred feeble churches by the hand,
sending to them pastors, and aiding them in their
support. Every year many of these churches ar
rive at such a degree of maturity, that they are
able to sustain themselves, and are paying back
into the treasury of the society the assistance
which they have received. Every year, therefore,
new churches are received under the fostering care
of this society ; and with its rapidly increasing re
sources, its influence is widely extending.
The Sabbath School Union is establishing in the
remotest parts of our country its nurseries of piety,
and is blessing countless families with libraries
of Christian knowledge.

SUCCESS OF BENEVOLENT SOCIETIES. .. 61
The Bible society resolves that no family in the
land, who will receive the Bible, shall be destitute
of the word of life ; and it finds in the principle of
voluntary association sufficient energy to carry its
resolutions into effect.
The Tract society also is not idle, and its silent
messengers of instruction are seen everywhere, in
private houses, in the hotel, in the stage-coach,
and in the steam-boat.
The churches are perfectly convinced that no
good would be accomplished by calling to their
assistance the aid of government. They fully be
lieve that God will accomplish the redemption of
the world, by rousing the church to more vigorous
efforts, and not by calling- in the assistance of
those who do not love his cause.
Those who are raising the outcry of '* church
and state," may be satisfied, that there is no mea
sure against which Christians in this country
would more strenuously contend, than against such
a union. We rejoice that we here can meet upon
an imobstructed arena, and that truth is left to
the protection of her own lawful weapons... With
those weapons she is now triumphing; she is car
rying her conquests through the land, and those
who hate her reign tremble as they see that that
reign is approaching. 6

CHAPTER III.
THE CHURCH.
One of the most striking peculiarities of New
England, in respect to her religious institutions, is
the great distinctness of the line of demarkation,
which separates those who profess to be under the
practical influence of piety, from the mass of the
community. Nearly all of the various denomina
tions of Christians here maintain, that piety does
not consist merely in those general feelings of awe
and reverence for the Supreme Being, and that
indefinite fear of his future displeasure, which
exist, in a greater or less degree, in all human
bosoms ; but that a radical change of heart and
character is necessary, and that in this change
originates the first feelings of genuine personal
affection for the Deity, and of true penitence for
sin. There are various views taken of the precise
nature of this change, and various measures taken
to produce it ; and a few religious teachers deny
its existence altogether. A large community, how
ever, is perhaps seldom more fully united in re
spect to any moral sentiment of such a nature,
than are the people of New England in the opinion

THE CHURCH DISTINGUISHED. 63
that a man " must be born again" or he " cannot
see the kingdom of God." This principle is
taught distinctly in almost all our pulpits, and it
is, besides, the basis of most of the religious
instructions which are given there ; and though
many shake off the conviction of it, by the influ
ence of worldiiness or sin, yet it still lurks se
cretly in the bosom, and comes up to life and
action in hours of sickness and solitude, and upon
a dying bed. At any rate, this conviction, existing
so generally in the public mind, has a very great
influence in respect to all our religious arrange
ments, and it lies at the foundation of very many
of our religious opinions.
The first of its effects is, as is remarked above,
the separation of those who profess practical god
liness from the rest of the community, into private
organizations called churches. These churches
enjoy no political or civil powers or immunities
whatever ; our courts have recently decided that
they are not corporations ; they cannot hold pro
perty; they have no power over tlieir members
except moral suasion, and simple exclusion in the
last resort. They are almost all entirely inde
pendent of one another, except so far as they may,
for various purposes, form, from time to time, vo
luntary unions. In a word, they are simply pri
vate associations of those who profess to be peni
tent for sin, and practical followers of Jesus Christ,
Their property consists of the communion plate ;
their money transactions are an occasional contri-

64 THE CHURCH.
bution among themselves for the poor and destitute
belonging to their own number; their discipline
consists of words of caution and advice to a wan
dering member, or, in an extreme case, a simple
vote of exclusion; and their ordinary weekly
business is a meeting for religious conversation
and prayer.
This is the theory, and this, in ordinary cases,
is the actual operation of the system. There are
exceptions. In some cases, numbers, who make
the profession without feeling the spirit of piety,
will gain admission to a church through the laxity
of a pastor, and the life and spirituality of the body
is diluted, until all spirit and power seem gone. In
others, political or semi-political questions will
get in, dividing a church into parties, by means of
whose struggles she is herself rent in twain. In a
very few instances some other difficulty or per
version may occur: — a minister will attempt to
destroy the distinction between his church and his
congregation, by giving a public invitation to all
to come to the communion ; or by proposing to
give up that ordinance altogether. The exceptions,
however, of all the various classes I have named,
are comparatively few. The great mass of our
churches go steadily on in the fulfilment of their
own peculiar and appropriate designs, the private
personal improvement of their own members in
piety, and the exertion of a gentle moral influence
over others, to lead them to feel and to profess
personal attachment to the Savior.

ADMISSION OF CHURCH-MEMBERS. 65
The mode of admitting members, though slightly
varying, is substantially the same in all the New
England churches. The candidate for admission
is examined, with much particularity, respecting
the evidences of his piety. Sometimes the exami
nation is conducted in the presence of the whole
church ; at other times a committee, consisting
perhaps of the pastor and deacons, is appointed for
that purpose. The individual to be examined
presents, either orally or in writing, an account of
his religious experience, and replies to questions
which any member of the church may propose.
The following is perhaps a fair specimen of such
communications. " I was early the subject of serious impressions.
When not more than five or six years of age, I
felt secret prayer to be a duty, and for a time used
frequently to go to a retired place, and sometimes
to take a younger sister with me, and kneel and
pray to God. I was not blessed with religious in
struction, and these impressions were ' as the
morning cloud and early dew.' I soon contented
myself with repeating a short form of prayer when
all things went well with me, but in all my child
ish troubles I used to go to God. As I grew older
I wandered farther from him, and my affections
were supremely fixed on the follies and vanities
of childhood and youth. I rarely had any oppor
tunity of hearing the truth preached, until my
6*

66 THE CHURCH.
feelings had become strongly enlisted on the side
of error.
" In the summer of 1822, I left home for the
purpose of attending school. The principal of the
school one day requested those who felt religion to
be an important subject, and who were willmg to
converse upon it, to meet him in his study. My
attention was arrested ; I felt that / was destitute
of piety, and that it was an important subject for
me. I attended, and became considerably inte
rested. My convictions of sin were not deep, and
I now feel that I then saw little indeed of the des
perate wickedness of my own heart When I left
school my impressions were effaced in a measure,
and yet not so entirely as to permit me to engage,
with much interest, in the vain amusements of
youth. " In the autumn of 1825, an intimate friend be
came hopefully pious. Much faithful conversa
tion was addressed to me. Former impressions
were renewed and deepened. I had clearer views
of the deep depravity of my heart, and of my need
of an interest in Christ. I remained in this state,
refusing, or at least neglecting to give myself up
to God, for two or three months, when I trust I
was enabled to embrace Christ as my Savior. It
was only a faint, trembling hope that I indulged ;
and though seasons of darkness have been frequent
since that period, yet I have never relinquished
that hope.
" Several reasons have prevented me from offer-

to
ADMISSION INTO THE CHURCH^
ing myself for admission into the church oT^sSkjIi!^
before the present time ; but the principal one has
been the low state of the evidence in my own
heart that I had really experienced a saving
change. I now feel it to be my duty -.publicly to
profess my faith in Christ, and having been ena
bled, as I humbly trust, through infinite, unmerited
grace, to choose Him for my Lord and Master, I
earnestly desire to obey his dying command, and
to join myself to his peculiar people ; and therefore
present myself as a candidate for admission into
this church."
If the examination is considered satisfactory, it
is voted that the candidate be publicly propounded
for admission, a week or fortnight before being re
ceived. If, during this interval, any thing appears
which induces doubts respecting the Christian cha
racter of the candidate, the admission is either
postponed for a season, or the candidate is rejected.
If received, the ceremony of admission is as fol
lows : the candidate, after the sermon upon the
Sabbath, enters the broad aisle and silently assents
to the creed of the church and adopts its covenant,
and if not previously baptized receives the rite of
baptism. The church, thus constituted, have nominally
in most cases the precedence in measures for the
settlement of a pastor ; but the legal act by which
the arrangement with a pastor is made is by the
congregation, which is usually organized and in-

68 THE CHURCH.
corpora ted as a "society." The "church" and
the " society" are thus the two bodies which act
in reference to the election and settlement of a
pastor, a council of the neighboring clergymen
being usually called in to instal the new incum
bent with proper solemnities. It is to this church
and society alone that the pastor is responsible for
the proper discharge of his duties ; a responsibility
which the republican principles on which the
whole arrangement is made render far from nomi
nal, for, as may well be supposed, the people look
with a vigilant eye upon all the operations of their
minister. The following dialogue we insert here,
both because it illustrates the subject on which we
are now speaking, and also because it embodies a
good many of the sentiments and notions of New
England people, in respect to the public instruc
tions of the Sabbath.
* Mr. Jones was the pastor of a church in a
small country village. In its seclusion, but little
of the bustle of business was known, and each in
dividual was consequently much interested in the
concerns of every other individual of the parish.
The pastor and his family were the prominent ob
jects of scrutiny, and all felt at liberty not only to
make his public exercises, but his domestic ar
rangements also, the subject of free remark. This
was done not from unfriendly feeling, for he was
* It has already been published in a religious periodical.

A PASTORAL VISIT. 69
much beloved by his people, but in the absence
of other engrossing topics bf common interest, the
movements of the pastor and his family became
of primary importance.
One pleasant morning in the month of April,
Mr. Jones took his cane and set off to visit, as was
his custom, the families of his charge. He first
entered the house of a humble family, the mother
of which was a member of his church ; but the
father was an irreligious man, and but seldom
seen at public worship on the Sabbath. He had
conversed but a few minutes with this pious mo
ther, before her husband entered, and with the
well-meaning, but blunt and careless air of a very
plain dealing man, addressed him thus :
" Good morning, good morning, sir ; happy to
see you. I had the pleasure of hearing you preach
yesterday afternoon, sir."
" Yes ! I observed that you were at church, and
was pleased to see it."
"Well, Mr. Jones, I am a plain man, and you
must excuse me if I am somewhat plain in my
way of talking. But if you always preached as
you did yesterday, I should go to meeting oftener.
You preached without notes yesterday, and that
is what I call preaching. When a man goes up
into his pulpit and reads off a sermon, why, I
may just as well stay at home and read a sermon
out of a book. If you would always preach with
out notes, I should almost always go to meeting."
" I think myself," said Mr. Jones, " that preach-

70 THE CHURCH.
ing extempore is on many accounts preferable to
reading written sermons, but still, extemporaneous
preaching will not suit all. I should be perfectly
willing to preach without notes all the time, if I
thought it would be equally profitable to all my
people." " Well," said the man, laughing, " if you will
let me know when you are going to preach with
out notes, I will always come and hear you. But
it is against my religion to go and hear men read
instead of preaching.'''
After a little further conversation Mr. Jones
bade them good morning, and continued his walk.
Though the man had addressed him in rude style,
he knew there was no intentional disrespect, and
he was too much accustomed to such rencounters, to
allow his feelings to be much disturbed. Yet he
could not help mourning over the strength and
unreasonableness of men's prejudices.
The next door he knocked at was that of a law
yer, whose manners and conduct were such as to
show very distinctly that he had a most profound
respect for himself. In self-respect he went to
church upon the Sabbath. In self-respect he atten
tively listened to the preacher, and from the same
motive he bowed in dignified courtesy to his more
humble neighbors. He did many things which
were honorable and of good report, not because he
feared God, but because he respected himself.
A little girl opened the door, and having usher
ed Mr. Jones into the parlor, went to the wing of

A PASTORAL VISIT. 71
the house, which contained the office of the law
yer, to inform him that the clergyman had called.
" Good morning, Mr. Jones," said this respectful
gentleman, in slow and courteous accents ; "I am
happy to see you this morning, and to have an
opportunity of telling you how much we were
gratified with your forenoon sermon yesterday,"
(placing special accent on the word forenoon.) " I
trust you will not think, Mr. Jones, that I intend
to flatter you, when I say that your forenoon ser
mon was an admirably written discourse. That
is the kind of preaching, Mr. Jones, which elevates
the people ; it improves their minds, it cultivates
their taste. A discourse well digested and carefully
written is substantial food to the mind. You will
pardon me, Mr. Jones, for making the remark, but
I think that clergymen generally, if they have not
time to write out two sermons a week, had better
exchange a little more frequently, so that they
never will be under the necessity of preaching ex
tempore." Mr. Jones was a man of acute sensibilities. He
felt such remarks, but under the tuition of his Sa
vior he had learned self-control. Natural feeling
recoiled from the insult of such a supercilious ad
dress. He however was sufficiently acquainted
with human nature to know the folly of arguing
with such a mind, and therefore quietly endea
vored to waive the subject, and after a little fur
ther conversation, he bade the family good morn-

72 THE CHURCH.
ing, (for the lady of the house had during the
conversation entered,) and escaped further pain.
" How do you do, Mr. Jones?" exclaimed a man
who was ploughing in the field by the road-side.
Mr. Jones raised his eyes from the ground, for he
had been walking along almost lost in thought,
and kindly responded to his salutation. The far
mer was a member of the cliurch, active and use
ful, but want of humility was his infirmity. Mr.
Jones inquired of him respecting the state of reli
gion, if there was any thing of particular interest
in his family, or among his neighbors.
" Why, yes, sir," said the farmer, " yes, sir, I
think things look more encouraging. . My neigh
bors are more ready to talk upon the subject of
religion than they have been for some time. It
appears to me that forcible appeals to the heart are
all that we want now. I know there are some per
sons who like doctrinal sermons, and 1 suppose
they are important in their place, but the trouble
with our people is, that they know their duty, but
they won't do it. It isn't enlightening that they
want; it isn't instruction, but melting appeals to
the heart, to make them feel. That is my view
of the matter, Mr. Jones."
" There certainly is some good sense in what
you say ; but a man cannot feel unless he believes.
We must convince a man of his danger, before he
can feel it. We must convince him of God's
goodness before he can/eeJ gratitude. All correct
feeling must be founded on correct belief."

A PASTOTAL VISIT. 73
" True, sir, true.'- said the farmer: "but if I may
be so bold, it appears to me you preach doctrinal
sermons a little too much, Mr. Jones. I have been .
reading some of Whitefield' s sermons lately, and I
am taken with them mightily : all heart, sir, all
heart. And only see how successful ho was. It
is really astonishing."
Mr. Jones continued tho conversation a little
while longer, to lead tho man to more correct
views of himself, and then went on his way. As
he was passing the door of his aged deacon, he
thought ho would stop in a moment and converse
with him. The deacon was eighty years of age,
a man of old fashions, and deeply versed in theo
logical lore. Tho good old man gave his pastor a
cordial greeting, for he loved him, but ho thought
the times woro sadly degenerate. He took down
from his shelf an old volume of sermons, preached
some fifty years ago. and placing it in tlie hands
of Mr. Jones, said: —
¦• There is a very interesting volume which I
have been reading lately. It is a real treat to me
to get hold of good old-fashioned doctrinal ser
mons. The fact is. Mr. Jones, you modern
preachers arc altogether out of the way. The
doctrines are the very marrow of the gospel. And
it is doctrinal preaching that wo want to enlighten
the public mind. Now I have lived eighty years.
Mr. Jones, and have seen the effect of all kinds of
preacliiug. and you may depend upon it. that the
great tiling needed is. to have men well ' indoctri-

74 THE CHURCH.
nated.'1 The public mind wants enlightening. It
needs instruction. Now I like your preaching as
well as any body's I hear in modern times ; but I
do think it would be a great improvement if you
would preach doctrinal sermons rather more.
Shall I not lend you this volume, sir? perhaps you
would like, to look it over."
Mr. Jones smiled at the delicate hint which his
good deacon supposed he was giving, and taking
the book, endeavored to lead the conversation to
subjects of practical godliness ; and after uniting
with the venerable deacon in prayer, continued
his parochial calls.
In the middle of this little village there was a
milliner's shop, where Mr. Jones occasionally
called, to converse with the females, whom he
could see nowhere else. The front shop was fur
nished with articles for sale ; and a little room be
hind it, connected by a door, was the sewing room
of the females who made the millinery of the vil
lage. As Mr. Jones entered the door of the outer
shop, he heard the voice of a female in the sewing
room exclaim : —
"Well, don't you think it is very improper for
a minister's wife to dress as Mrs. Jones does?
Last Sabbath she had two large bows upon her
bonnet. I do think it is inconsistent with the spirit
of the gospel for Christian people, and especially
for ministers' wives, to be given so much to dress.
It will do very well for the people of the world,
but it is scandalous for Christians to dress in such
a manner."'

A PASTORAL VISIT. 75
" Why, Mary," said another, " I was working
last week at Mrs. Bentley' s, and she said that she
thought it was too bad for Mrs. Jones to dress so
meanly. She was finding fault with that very
bonnet, and said that Mrs. Jones acted as though
she thought there was sin in every pretty color.
And you know that Mrs. Bentley is not at all gay
in her dress. She says Mrs. Jones is a lady, and
it is proper she should dress as one, and she feels
provoked to see her assuming such a demure, ap
pearance." " Well," replied Mary, " I cannot help what
Mrs. Bentley thinks, but I think that a minister's
wife ought to avoid every ornament whatever, and
if I have a good opportunity I shall make bold to
tell Mrs. Jones my mind upon the subject."
'Mr. Jones was a very unwilling listener to this
conversation, and endeavored by walking about
the shop to make a noise and attract their atten
tion. But the inmates of the back shop were too
much interested in their discussion to hear him.
He therefore quietly left the shop, and went on his
way. He felt pained at heart to think that there
was no possibility of pursuing a course, which
some would not make the occasion of confirming
themselves in sin. He knew that his wife was
ready to do any thing which she thought would
promote the spiritual welfare of the people, and
he walked along sad and disheartened to see how
many obstacles were hedging up his way.
He walked home to his study, and felt discou-

76 THE CHURCH.
raged rather than animated by his morning walk.
He took up his pen to write, but it moved tardily
and heavily along the paper, as he thought, " there
are not a few of my people who will not be pro
fited by written sermons." He laid aside his pen
and endeavored to arrange his thoughts for extem
poraneous address. But the ardor and the energy
of his mind were paralyzed as he thought, there
were not a few who would look with cold disdain
upon such efforts, and who would exert an influ
ence upon the minds of others to prevent the pos
sibility of good.
He kneeled in prayer. " Oh God, it is my desire
while I live to glorify thee. Wilt thou give me
wisdom to pursue that course which is best adapt
ed to do good in this place. My mind is disturbed
and disquieted. Wilt thou in mercy soothe it. I
am undecided and perplexed. Oh make the path
of duty plain. I hope, oh God, that I am willing
to bear censure, and to take up the cross ; but oh
lead me, that I may know what duty is, and that
I may not spend my life in vain."
He was here interrupted by a tap at the door.
He rose from his knees, and opening the door, ad
mitted a parishioner who had been for some weeks
absent from town.
" How do you do. Mr. Jones?'' said the new
visiter, with a half smiling, half serious counte
nance. "I have come to tell you the good news
from Harlem. I have been there for some time,
and they have quite a revival of religion there."

A PASTORAL VISIT. 77
"I thank you," said Mr. Jones; "I understood
there was more than usual interest in religion in that
place, and have felt anxious to hear from them."
" Oh," said the visiter, " they have a most pre
cious minister there. He is the most faithful and
active man I ever saw. He is all the time among
his people; from morning to night visiting from
house to house. It appears to me that such acti
vity and zeal as he possesses must be successful
anywhere. People caimot be unconcerned when
the importance of religion is urged so incessantly
upon them in their homes."
Now the fact happened to be, that there, was no
particular interest in religion in Mr. Jones' parish
at that time, and he was not in the habit of spend
ing his whole time in parochial visiting. He how
ever paid no attention to these gentle hints, for he
did not consider it necessary to enter upon a de
fence of his views of duty. His good parishioner
supposed therefore that he had been rather too ob
scure in his hints, and was growing more and
more personal in his allusions, when he was inter
rupted by the entrance of another visiter.
Mr. Henry, who last entered, was a gentleman
of sincere piety, and of refined mind. He was
fond of close reasoning, and his sensitive feelings
shrunk from every departure from good taste.
After the usual salutations, he said, " Well, Mr.
Jones, I had the pleasure of hearing Dr. Simpkins
preach last Sabbath. He certainly is a most elo
quent man. I never heard so thrilling a sermon
7#

78 THE CHURCH.
in my life as he preached to us yesterday. He is
a most indefatigable student. You always find
him in his study. I understand he generally stu
dies twelve hours a day. And now he has risen
to be one of the most eminent men in the country.
How wretchedly those ministers mistake it, who
fritter away their time in running about from
house to house. There is the minister of Harlem,
for instance ; they say he is a very friendly man
indeed, and talks very pleasantly in the family,
but it is no matter what text he takes, he always
preaches the same sermon. Some of his people
tell me they are going to dismiss him next year,
for they must have a more eloquent preacher.
After all, the men who live in the study and give
all their energies to preparation for the pulpit, are
the men who do the most good."
Now the fact happened to be with Mr. Jones,
that though he loved his study, he did not feel it
to be proper for him to spend his u-hole time with
his books. He considered it important to give a
considerable portion of his time to parochial visit
ing. It may well be supposed that the sentiments ex
pressed by Mr. Henry did not accord with the
feelings of the first visiter. They were immedi
ately engaged in an eager dispute. Mr. Jones
smiled as he listened a few moments to their con
test, and then pleasantly suggested to them the
propriety of embracing some other time and place
for their discussion.

CHURCH FUNDS. 79
As they withdrew, Mr. Jones found his own
mind lightened of its transient load, and with a
cheerful heart he resolved, as he had done a thou
sand times before, that he would do that which
he thought right, and leave others to think and
say what they pleased.
A man of independent spirit and of commanding
influence, who is devoted to his Master's work,
will soon triumph over such difficulties as these,
and effectually shield himself from such unplea
sant intrusions. But still in almost every parish
the evil is to a greater or less degree apparent, and
it perhaps necessarily results from the fact that the
minister is so immediately dependent upon the
people for his support, or rather that the people
feel so deep an interest in the influence and the
usefulness of their pastor.
There are some churches possessed of funds
sufficient to support the minister, and consequently
no tax is imposed upon the society. These funds
generally originate in the bequest of some indivi
dual, who hopes by the establishment of a perma
nent fund to give permanency to the preaching
of the gospel. But in not a few instances, these
funds are already perverted to the support of a
system of religion directly at variance with that
which it was the intention of the donor to sustain.
In other cases the fund has been a constant and
most fruitful source of contention between the
church and society. In other cases the people, in
consequence of the sufficiency of the fund, not

80 THE CHURCH.
being called upon to make any sacrifices to sustain
the institutions of the gospel, have lost their inte
rest in those institutions. As they cost them no
thing, they regard them as of little worth. In
many cases a fund has thus proved a cancer, con
suming the vital energies of the church. These
societies, being unaccustomed to contribute for the
support of the gospel among themselves, instead
of manifesting greater liberality than others in the
benevolent operations of the day, are frequently in
this respect the most inoperative and inefficient
societies in the land.
The cases are so rare in which funds for reli
gious purposes are found to be a blessing, that the
sentiment has been gaining strength for many
years, and is now almost universal, that churches,
and even societies for purposes of benevolence, do
far better to rely upon the piety of each successive
generation for support, than to depend upon per
manent funds. If this reliance fail, permanent
funds are good for nothing. If it do not fail, it is
still better for the cliurch that the resources of the
past generation should have been expended in
meeting the wants of that generation, and that its
energies should not have been retarded by. entail
ment. The sentiment here is strong, and is daily grow
ing stronger, that the more entirely religion is
thrown for its support upon the friends of the Re
deemer, the bettor. We do not desire a church
establishment. We do not wish to see our clergy

CHARACTER OF A GOOD CLERGYMAN. 81
possessed of any peculiar privileges; to possess
rich endowments, or to glitter in the pomp of place
and power; for we believe that political power
and a princely income would present temptations,
almost too powerful for human nature to resist.
And though, if the Christian minister would use
this power and this wealth with singleness of
heart to promote the Savior's cause, much good
might be done, guided by the experience of past
ages, we fear to intrust him with them, lest he
should be seduced to indulge in a worldly spirit,
and to lay aside the self-denying toil of a servant
of Jesus Christ. We wish to see his ambassadors
men of faith and prayer, of self-denial and of
many labors ; we wish to see them men who love
their studies and who love their flocks ; men who
are willing to work hard and endure much, that
they may win souls. We wish to see men of vi
gorous minds and of varied learning, who will lay
all their treasures at the feet of Jesus, and in the
pulpit and in the dwellings of obscurity preach
Christ and him crucified. Such men do not often
come from dwellings adorned with the magnificence
of wealth or the insignia of power. They are men
who, having food and raiment, are therewith con
tent; who, "as good soldiers of Jesus Christ, are
ready to endure hardship." The number of such
clergymen is continually increasing. Truth being
left to the sole defence of argument, the clergy are
incited to most diligent study, and to most unwea
ried zeal They cannot throw out random asser.

82 THE CHURCH.
tions without being called upon for proof. They
are compelled by a constant influence from without
to look into the intricacies of the subjects they
discuss. The people are in the habit of demanding
reasons, not assertions, and the acceptable preacher
must be prepared with his strong reasons, and be
ready to meet objections.
Tliere is no class of students in our country
who study half so much as our theological stu
dents. While in the theological seminaries, they
are continually warned by their fathers who are
engaged in active service, that when they come
out into the world intellect will be taxed to the
utmost ; and that unless they come thoroughly fur
nished, they cannot meet the exigencies of the
times. The Christian minister is aware that he has no
advantage over the enemies of the gospel, except
as they are the advocates of error, while he is de
voted to the cause of truth, and he feels that he
must be prepared, by his attainments in science
and literature and philosophy, to defend the cause
of truth and piety from the attacks of every oppo
nent.

CHAPTER IV.
THE REVIVAL.
A more distinct conception of the cause, pro
gress, and effect of a revival of religion, may be
communicated by describing a particular case,
than by dwelling upon generalities. We shall
therefore proceed to give a minute description of a
revival, with which we were permitted to be con
nected from its commencement to its close.
In the summer of 1831, the churches throughout
the whole of the United States were under the in
fluence of very unusually deep religious feeling.
The spirit of prayer was general and fervent, and
imwearied efforts were made to awaken the com
munity to a sense of their obligations to their
Maker. Tliese efforts God most abundantly
blessed. Every religious newspaper was filled
with the most animating accounts of the numbers
that were here and there coming out from the
world and taking a decided stand as the friends
and the disciples of Jesus.
The means adopted for the promotion of these
revivals were a series of religious meetings, like
those which are customary upon the Sabbath, but

84 THE REVIVAL.
continued for three or four successive days. It
was argued that generally at the close of the Sab
bath there was a degree of solemnity upon many
minds, which the bustle and cares of the succeed
ing week immediately effaced ; but which would
be probably deepened by continuing the attention
for two or three successive days, so as to lead to
repentance and conversion.
It was observed, too, that as the Holy Spirit
operated through, or at least in connection with,
human instrumentality, it was the duty of the
Christian to use all the means in his power to lead
others to reflect deeply and continuously upon their
spiritual interest ; and that such a series of reli
gious services was peculiarly adapted to awaken
rational conviction.
It was said, also, that similar religious services
were common among the Jews, and that the pri
mitive and inspired preachers of the gospel
preached whenever and wherever they could get
people to hear.
These arguments, or more properly the trium
phant success which attended these meetings
wherever they were held, almost immediately
convinced the great mass of Christians in this
country of the expediency of these new measures.
The few who looked on with timidity and caution
were unwilling to utter a word in opposition to
measures which were filling tlie land with rejoicing
converts. This land of revivals of religion never
before witnessed such a scene of wide-spread and

THE CHURCHES BEFORE A REVIVAL. 85
deep religious feeling. The learned and the un
learned, the moral and the vicious, the poor and
the wealthy, were alike convinced of sin, and led
to penitence and reliance Upon a Savior's merits
for salvation.
In a populous town in the interior of one of the
New England states, containing about five thou
sand inhabitants, the state of religion at this time
was very unpromising. The two evangelical
churches in the town had for several years been
engaged in a contention the most disgraceful and
the most disastrous. The consequence of this dis
agreement had of course been to strengthen the
influence of irreligion. Christians professing ex
actly the same creed, and united in the same form
of worship, were arrayed in hostility against each
other. Brotherly love and united effort were un
known. Under these circumstances it was in vain
to hope for a blessing from God. Every day intel
ligence was reaching these churches of the won
derful interest in religion manifested in other
places, and of the union and affection which ex
isted among Christians of every name. These
tidings, which contrasted so strongly with the cold
ness and the desolation of their own religious pros
pects, led many to humble themselves before God,
and to implore his guidance, that something might
be done to remove these feelings of unkindness and
contention. A few members of the two Evange
lical Congregational churches and of the Baptist
church, met for consultation and prayer. They

86 THE REVIVAL.
enjoyed the interview and felt like brethren.
Theirhearts were united. Another meeting was
appointed on Sabbath evening, for all Christians
without distinction, who felt disposed to unite
in prayer. It was to be held in one of the
churches. Though the house was far from full,
many more attended than had been anticipated.
The pastors who were present stood side by side,
and plead with their people to unite in love and
good works. The Lord appeared to add his bles
sing upon the effort, for harmony was most mani
festly promoted, and the hearts of the few who
had there assembled were bound together.
Another meeting was appointed for the next
Sabbath evening. During the week the report of
this meeting, and of its happy result, was spread
ing through the town. It became the topic of com
mon conversation, and the enemies of religion be
gan to fear that it would eventuate in the over
throw of their cause. Sabbath evening came.
The sun was setting in the serene beauty of one
of the most lovely summer afternoons. Instead
of seeing here and there a solitary Christian wend
ing his way to the prayer meeting, the avenues to
the church were thronged with the multitude
pressing on to the house of God. Some were
coming with penitent hearts and tearful eyes and
fervent prayers, while others were moved by the
impulse of curiosity to ascertain what this strange
thing meant. The church was nearly filled, and
the silence and solemnity which pervaded the con-

HARMONY RESTORED TO THE CHURCHES. 87
gregation showed that deep feelings were called
into exercise in the bosoms of those who were
assembled. The meeting was opened by reading and sing
ing a hymn, in which every heart seemed to be
united. A member of one of the churches was
then called upon to lead in prayer. God had evi
dently prepared his heart to forget party spirit
and sectarian pride, and he thought of but one
object — the glory of the Redeemer in the salvation
of sinners. As he earnestly implored God's assis
tance in accomplishing this, by uniting the hearts
of Christians and combining their energies, almost
every one present seemed to unite in the prayer.
Intelligence was then read respecting the rapid
progress of religion in other parts of the country ;
the harmony which prevailed among professors of
every denomination, and the success with which
God was crowning their efforts. Another hymn
was then sung, followed by remarks from one of
the pastors, urging upon the hearts of all present
the motives of the gospel. The interest of the oc
casion communicated unwonted fervor to the feel
ings of the speaker, and by the mysterious influ
ence of mind upon mind, God transferred this fer
vor through the assembly. Another prayer was
offered by a lay brother, followed by additional
remarks, by another of the pastors. A hymn was
then sung, another prayer offered, and then the
whole assembly rose to unite in the closing
hymn.

OO THE REVIVAL.
Lord, dismiss us with thy blessing;
Fill our hearts with joy and peace;
Let us each, thy lore possessing,
Triumph in redeeming grace ;
Oh, refresh us !
Travelling through this wilderness.
Thanks we give, and adoration,
For thy gospel's joyful sound ;
May the fruits of thy salvation
In our hearts and lives abound:
May thy presence
With us evermore be found.
So, whene'er the signal's given,
Us from earth to call away ;
Borne on angels' wings to heaven,
Glad to leave our cumbrous clay,
May we, ready,
Rise and reign iu endless day !
From the commencement to the close of the
meeting the tide of feeling was swelling higher and
higher, or I should rather say, emotions of humi
lity and of penitence and prayer were penetrating
deeper and deeper. As we rose to sing the parting
hymn, solemnity pervaded the whole congregation,
and many an eye was moistened with tears. Ano
ther meeting was appointed for the ensuing Sab
bath, and the congregation retired with a sense of
the reality and the importance of religion not
often felt by them before.
Still there were many professors of religion
who had not countenanced these meetings by
their presence. But during the week the subject
was much talked of, and they heard from their
brethren of the o:ij lymcnt and the blessedness of

PREPARATIONS FOR A PROTRACTED MEETING. 89
the interview. The careless and the irreligious in
the town began to predict from these appearances
that there would be a revival of religion, and some
rejoiced, hoping to become its subjects, while
others were displeased, fearing that a check
would be thrown upon their sinful pleasures.
Another Sabbath came, and the house was filled
to overflowing. Every seat was occupied, and not
a few were standing at the doors, unable to find
accommodations in the house. What a change in
three short weeks ! Before these meetings com
menced, coldness and jealousy existed among
Christians; carelessness as to religious subjects
reigned throughout the town, and religion was too
inoperative to excite hostility or even apprehen
sion from those who loved to live undisturbed in
sin. Now the great majority of Christians were
united in heart, and combining in effort and in
prayer. They could sincerely sing —
" We share each other's joys,
Our mutual burdens bearj
And often for each other flows
The sympathizing tear."
It was not a mere external union, but a real coa
lescence of feeling, and a unity of purpose. And
no one who heard the prayers that were there
uttered, and who witnessed the solemnity which
there prevailed, could doubt the sincerity which
animated the hearts of Christians, and the inten
sity of their desire that their fellow-men might be
saved. 8*

90 THE REVIVAL.
Several who had hitherto lived thoughtless and
unconcerned began to reflect and to be alarmed.
And as the ministers went, during the week, from
house to house, in the performance of their paro
chial duties, they found in not a few dwellmgs
anxious inquirers for salvation. Christians felt
a solicitude for others, and an interest in the cause
of Christ, to which they had long been strangers,
and they were encouraged to make exertions.
They felt that God had elevated the valley and
depressed the mountain, and prepared a highway
for his triumphant approach. They thought that
now was the time to commence a series of religious
meetings to perpetuate, extend, and deepen the
impressions already awakened. It was resolved
that such a series of meetings should be held, for
four successive days, by a union of the three
churches. A day was appointed for the com
mencement of these meetings, about four weeks
distant. During the interval the Sabbath evening
meetings were continued, with constantly in
creasing interest and deepening emotion. There
were still perhaps a few professors of religion who
stood aloof from all these movements, but whoever
they were, they had wisdom enough to perceive
that opposition would be hopeless. The current
of feeling was flowing too deep and too strong to
be rolled back.
At one of these Sabbath evening meetings, all
of the professors of religion present publicly
pledged themselves, hy rising from their seats in

COMMENCEMENT OF THE MEETING. 91
the view of the whole congregation, to kneel every
night at the bed-side, at the hour of retiring to
rest, to pray for a blessing upon the contemplated
protracted meeting. Thus the chamber of every
Christian, as well as the consecrated house of God,
witnessed the fervor of united prayer. That
Christian heart must have been cold indeed, which
would not melt in such affecting scenes. And
many a hardened sinner, while witnessing the in
terest which others felt for his salvation, and hear
ing the earnest supplications which they were
offering in his behalf to God, was constrained to
feel and pray for himself. But there was yet no
general anxiety. Many were much interested,
and wondering where these things would end. A
few were inquiring what they must do to be
saved, and occasional cases were found of those
who entertained the hope that they had renounced
their sins, and given themselves to the Savior.
Such was the state of feeling when the protract
ed meetings commenced. Several distinguished
clergymen in other towns had been invited to aid
in the exercises of the occasion. The services
commenced with a prayer meeting at five o'clock
on Tuesday morning. There was nothing very spe
cially interesting in the meeting. As many were
present as could have been expected ; prayers were
offered by clergymen and laymen, with, occasion
ally, very brief remarks to Christians upon their
responsibilities and duties during the season ap
proaching. The hour passed pleasantly, and all

92 THE REVIVAL.
retired. Public services were appointed at half*
past ten in the morning, in the largest church in
the town, and the church-members were requested
to assemble half an hour before the public meet
ing in an adjoining church, for conference and
prayer. The prayer meeting was well attended, and
much solemnity prevailed. Christians were urged
to examine their own hearts with diligence, that
they might not be cherishing any feelings, or in
dulging in any sins, which would stand in the way
of a blessing from God. At the appointed hour
for public services the church was about two-
thirds filled. The exercises were conducted as
usual upon the Sabbath : first a short prayer, or
rather invocation, then a chapter was read in the
Bible, then a hymn sung, then another prayer,
which was followed by a sermon ; and the bene
diction, succeeding a short prayer, dismissed the
assembly. The services were solemn and impres
sive, and the congregation dispersed with increased
interest to attend in the afternoon. At two o'clock,
the church-members had again assembled by
themselves for conference and prayer. They were
urged to be faithful in secret prayer ; to embrace
every opportunity to converse with their neigh
bors, and to induce all whom they could to attend
the meetings. At half-past two the public servi
ces again commenced. The number of hearers
was increased, and the house was nearly filled.
At half-past seven in the evening the bell again

PROGRESS OF THE MEETING. 93
rung to assemble the people, and the house was
filled. I do not recollect upon what subject the
preacher discoursed, but there was a manifest in
tensity of attention and solemnity of aspect, which
taught those who were accustomed to witness re
vivals of religion to anticipate a favorable issue
from the meetings. Thus passed the first day.
At its close Christians felt encouraged, but some
of the more sanguine were disappointed in not
seeing such manifest tokens of the divine presence
as they had anticipated.
Wednesday morning dawned. The five o'clock
prayer meeting was attended by a large number,
and prayers were offered under the influence of
deep feeling. The exercises were in the same
order as on the preceding day, and continued the
same during all the meetings. The following was
the order of exercises : —
At five o'clock in the morning, a prayer meeting,
one hour.
At ten o'clock, prayer meeting, half an hour.
At half-past ten, public services, two hours.
At two, prayer meeting, half an hour.
At half-past two, public services, two hours.
At half-past seven, in the evening, public ser
vices, an hour and a half.
Such was the general arrangement from the
commencement to the close. The public service
at half-past ten on Wednesday was not so fully
attended as was expected, and Christians felt
much alarmed for fear the interest was abating,

94 THE REVIVAL.
and that curiosity alone had caused the full meet
ing of the preceding evening. There was a sense
of despondency in almost every heart. The
preacher apparently felt dispirited, and did not
obtain that hold upon the attention of the audi
ence wliich had previously been witnessed. It
was rather a mournful meeting. As the congre
gation dispersed, Christians retired to tlieir homes
depressed and disconsolate. With saddened hearts
they assembled at the afternoon prayer meeting,
and the question was urged in addressing Chris
tians and in prayer to Cod. " why hast thou for
saken us'.'" Mvcry heart seemed humbled before
God, and glowing with intensity of desire that he
would come and grant a blessing upon the efforts
which his children were making to advance the
interests of his kingdom. The peculiar circum
stances in which they were placed caused them to
sink beneath the burden of responsibility which
they felt was placed upon them. It was one of
the mosi solemn and affecting scenes which are
witnessed on earth. They believed that the eter
nal welfare of many was depending upon the re
sult of these meetings. They had been most fer
vently praying for a blessing upon the whole com
munity. They had been rejoicing in the hope
that tlieir own families and beloved friends would
be brought to the kingdom of the Redeemer; and
now they lea red that all tlieir hopes would be
blighted; that the meetings would languish to a

APPREHENSIONS ENTERTAINED. 95
feeble and ineffectual close, and that irreligion
would be emboldened by the signal failure.
Almost every eye was suffused with tears.
Every heart appeared to unite in the most earnest
supplication for aid from above. It is not extra
vagant to say that there was almost an agony of
anxious feeling. As the bell tolled which invited
the multitude to the house of God, it became ne
cessary to leave the prayer meeting. But Chris
tians went with prayerful spirits, and resolved to
continue to implore God's blessing during all the
services of the afternoon. The house was crowd
ed. The preacher spoke under the influence of
the feelings which were manifested at the meeting
for prayer. Silent prayers were ascending to God
from all parts of the house for a blessing, and sen
tence after sentence seemed to come from the
speaker's heart, and to take hold of the hearts of
the hearers. Every eye seemed fixed upon the
speaker; many were filled -with tears; and not
a few Christians who entered the house weeping
with sorrow left it shedding tears of joy.
The evening meeting was crowded. Even the
aisles were filled and the doors thronged. And
that vast congregation appeared to bow in silence
and solemnity to the majesty of truth. Every one
perceived that there was a general impression
throughout tlie whole congregation, that the claims
of religion were of too much importance to be
longer postponed. There is something peculiar,
something most indescribably solemn in the ap-

96 THE REVIVAL.
pearance of a vast assembly, all yielding them
selves up to the influence of truth. To read the
workings of the mind in the countenance ; to see
the bosom heaving with emotion ; the eye swim
ming in tears, — to see this spread over a whole
assembly of those who were, but a few hours be7
fore, thoughtless and unconcerned, makes an im
pression which cannot soon be forgotten. Such
was the scene this evening. None seemed pre
pared for it ; and yet the mind was so borne away
from the ordinary concerns of life, and the reali
ties of eternity were so vividly presented, that
Christians were almost prepared to believe that
not an individual in the town could resist the
force of truth, the claims of God, so reasonable,
and so distinctly made known.
Every domestic altar, that evening, doubtless
witnessed unwonted fervor of prayer. And thus
in the various domestic circles where prayer was
offered was the impression deepened.
When the church-members assembled at the
five o'clock prayer meeting on Thursday morning,
tidings were communicated from different families
and different neighborhoods, of many who were
anxiously inquiring what they must do to be
saved. Trembling was united with rejoicing, as
thanks were given to God for the blessing already
conferred, and as, with deep solicitude, he was im
plored still more abundantly to bless us.
The forenoon service was well attended. And
the conviction of the importance of immediately

A MEETING FOR INQUIRY. 97
attending to the concerns of religion, seemed to
penetrate still deeper into the feelings of the as
sembly. The interests of the soul, the realities of
eternity, were pressed upon every mind, and al
most every mind surrendered itself to the guidance
of these feelings. At the close of the exercises,
all those who felt anxious for their souls' salva
tion, and who were resolved immediately to enter
upon the duties of a Christian life, were requested
to repair to a neighboring hall for private conver
sation and prayer.
Notwithstanding the evidence which had been
afforded of deep interest, the clergymen present
were surprised and affected to tears at seeing
nearly three hundred persons, of all ages and both
sexes, crowding into" the room for inquiry. The
clergymen, after going into different parts of the
room, to converse, for ten or fifteen minutes, with
as many as possible, met together again and re
ported respecting the general state of feeling. One
then addressed them upon the importance of im
mediately choosing the service of God, and im
ploring the aid of the Holy Spirit to enable them
to carry their resolutions into effect.
There were in this meeting of inquiry persons
of all characters and of all classes. The profane
man sat there with downcast eye and broken
heart. The hardened profligate, who for years
had defied the laws of both God and man, asked
with trembling and with weeping, " What must I
do to be saved V There sat the man who by error
9

98 THE REVIVAL.
had long been fortifying his soul against divine
truth. The moral and the amiable were there,
with full confession of having lived in the world
without God and without hope. If it be possible
that any external manifestations should give evi
dence of repentance, there was joy in the presence
of the angels of God as they gazed upon the scene.
The afternoon services were attended with still
increasing evidences of the divine presence and
blessing. There was in the preaching no exciting
appeal to passion, but a calm and earnest reason
ing upon righteousness and judgment to come.
The preaching was eminently instructive and ar
gumentative. It appealed to the understanding,
and, in view of eternal and undeniable truth,
pressed upon men the claims of God's law. The
persons present were not a crowd of the volatile
and uninformed, who could be blown hither and
thither by every wind of doctrine, but men of
sound understandings and independent minds,
who were not accustomed to receive assertion for
argument, or declamation for truth. They who
preached had respect for the understandings of
those who heard, and urged upon them with great
energy the all-controlling motives of the gospel.
The weapon on which they relied was no less
than the sword of the Spirit, and the Holy Spirit
was present to wield his own weapon with mighty
power. And you could at times almost see, as
sentence after sentence fell from the lips of the
speaker, that conviction was carried home to the

THE FOURTH DAY. 99
hearts of those who, in such breathless silence,
were receiving the truth.
The evening service was attended with like re
sults ; and though there was no audible expression
of anxiety, though solemnity and silence and order
pervaded the house, the speaking countenance and
the swimming eye told most plainly the emotions of
the heart At the close of the exercises, when all
those were invited to remain for more particular
instruction who were resolved to choose the Sa
vior for their friend and take the Bible for their
rule of life, it was "indeed affecting to behold near
ly the whole house, above and below, filled with
those who were willing thus openly to profess soli
citude for their spiritual interests.
The next day was the fourth and last of these
religious meetings. Increasing solemnity was ma
nifested during all the exercises. The truths of
the gospel appeared to carry conviction of their
reality and importance to all who heard. The
preaching and the addresses during the day were
directed to the heart through the understanding.
They consisted of earnest exhibitions of the prin
ciples of the government of God, and the responsi
bilities of man.
Much has been written upon the subject of revi
vals of religion, and the enemies of the spirit and
the power of the gospel have presented the most
exaggerated caricatures of the scenes which are
there witnessed. Some persons attended these
meetings, hoping to see wild enthusiasm, and to

100 THE REVIVAL.
witness the operation of moral machinery cun
ningly adapted to excite and terrify the mind.
But they were disappointed ; they saw nothing but
the plain exhibition of eternal truth, addressed to
the understandings of reasonable men. They
were still more disappointed in finding that hun
dreds were feeling the power of this truth ; were
looking with well-grounded apprehension upon
their eternal prospects, and were anxiously in
quiring what they must do to be saved.
Does any one a,sk, " how was this inquiry an
swered ?" The inquirers were told that they must
place all their reliance for forgiveness upon the
atoning sacrifice of the Savior, and show their
penitence for past neglect of duty by constant en
deavors for the future to do the will of God.
They were told that they must constantly implore
the aid of the Holy Spirit to enable them to resist
temptation, and to keep their hearts fixed on God;
that they must immediately make the entire
surrender of themselves to their Maker, and be
ready publicly to avow their attachment to him,
and openly to advocate his cause. They were
told that a holy life afforded the only satisfactory
evidence of a change of heart, and that it was
only by enduring to the end that they could be
saved. Many hoped before the meetings closed that
they had made that surrender, which they were
convinced was their reasonable service. Many of
these have thus far continued to give that evidence

THE MEETINGS TERMINATE. 101
of conversion which is afforded hy a circumspect
and a holy lite ; and if they shall continue to the
end in prayertuhioss and in devotion to the Sa
vior's service, we shall trust that they were born
again of the Holy Spirit, and that they will be
saved. There are a few. and but very few indeed,
who for a time appeared well, and yet afterwards
fell away.
A prayer meeting at five o'clock on Saturday
morning terminated the solemnities of this inte
resting occasion. Notice was then given that tlie
pastors of tlie respective ehurches would be at
home during the day. to converse with any who
felt anxious for the salvation of tlieir souls. The
whole of the day. till nine o'clock in the evening,
was passed in conversing with those who called.
One person would come almost in despair, feel
ing that he had sinned so long, and resisted so
much love, that he was beyond the reach of
mercy. Another would come with but little conviction
of sin. but deeply impressed with the importance
of immediately attending to his religious duty.
Another would appear doubting and hoping,
trembling and rejoicing : at one moment happy in
the belief that his sins were forgiven, and again
desponding through fear that it was all a delusion,
and that he was still in the guilt of nnrepented sin.
The smile that cheered the countenance of the
fourth proclaimed in language more forcible than
words, that there was peace and joy in his heart.
o*

102 THE REVIVAL.
The clay was employed in endeavoring to adapt
instruction to these different cases. A few minutes
were spent in free conversation with each, and the
interview was closed with a short prayer. On the
enduing Sabbath the evangelical churches of the
town were thronged with a most solemn audience.
He who opened the heart of Lydia to receive the
things which were spoken by Paul, opened the
hearts of this people to receive the truth which they
had so long disregarded. It was believed by pas
tors and people, that the Holy Spirit had been
sent in answer to prayer, and that it was not by
human might or human power, but by God's
Spirit, that this work was done.
The revival, thus commenced, continued for se
veral weeks, till gradually the interest subsided,
or, in other words, it ceased to extend to new indi
viduals, though religion retained permanent pos
session of the ground it had won. The general
course of procedure during this time was to preach
three sermons upon the Sabbath, and at the close
of the evening lecture to request inquirers to re
main, to be more particularly addressed and prayed
with. Tliere was also an evening lecture during
the week, and a meeting for inquiry, in which per
sonal conversation was held with each of the in
quirers, and on Saturday evening a church prayer
meeting, not attended by the pastors of the
churches. There were not less than four or five hundred,
who within a few weeks became, it is believed,

RESULTS OF THE REVIVAL. 103
the disciples of the Savior. Most of these are now
members of churches in good standing. A few,
and but very few, have since exposed themselves
to church censure.
Such were the means which were used and the
results which attended these means. Revivals
have for a long time been in extensive operation in
this country, long before protracted meetings were
thought of by the churches. We have however
preferred to give an account of one in connection
with such a meeting, because we were more inti
mately acquainted with its progress than with any
other, from its commencement to its close.
If we ought to rejoice to see the worldly become
spiritual, the profane prayerful, the impure chaste ;
if we ought to rejoice to see the family altar erect
ed, the Sabbath religiously observed, and the com
mands of God honored ; then ought we to rejoice
with exceeding great joy over the results of such
a revival of religion. If there be any such thing
as evidence of penitence and amendment of life,
we think it is to be perceived in many who at such
a time resolve to forsake all known sin, and to live
to the glory of God. We do therefore feel it to be
our privilege to share in that joy which we believe
was awakened in heaven, as the angels, then look
ed upon this affecting scene of repenting sinners.

CHAPTER V.
SLAVERY.
We are aware that we cannot proceed far in
discussing the character of the institutions of New
England, or of any other portion of the United
States, before our transatlantic readers will begin
to remind us of the dark subject of slavery. True
there is not a slave in New England. True, also,
that congress has no power to touch slavery in
any of the states. The Union is in some respects
one nation and in some respects twenty-four ; and
in respect to slavery we are twenty-four nations,
distinct and independent. But public sentiment
in England will not make the distinction. We
explain it over and over again, but our friends of
the mother country will not see or acknowledge it;
and to tell the honest truth, there is less injustice
in the view they take of the subject than we have
always been willing to acknowledge. For it must
be admitted that such is the nature of the ties by
which this confederacy is held together, and so
numerous and powerful are the influences of pub
lic sentiment and political connections exerted by
each section over the rest, that the responsibility

GENERAL AND STATE GOVERNMENTS. 105
in respect to such a subject as this is, to a very
considerable degree, common. At any rate, the
British public have shown in many recent in
stances that they are not disposed to allow us,
when speaking of ourselves, to pass this subject by.
When the union was formed by which these
states were botmd together, thev became one na
tion only in a limited sense. Certain rights and
certain powers of jurisdiction were surrendered by
the individual states to the general sovernment.
while certain others, equally "characteristic of sove
reignty, were expressly reserved. There has been
a great deal of discussion among our political
writers on this subject, some endeavoring to ele
vate the state, and others the general government,
in respect to their claims upon the allegiance of the
citizens ; and it may perhaps be strictly correct to
say, that every citizen of the United States belongs
to two distinct and independent nations, to each
of which he owes his allegiance. An inhabitant
of the state of New York, for instance, so far
as questions of peace and war and foreign inter
course generally are concerned, belongs to the
Union. His chief magistrate is a president : his
capital is Washington ; and so far as these subjects
are concerned, he owes his supreme allegiance to
the government holding jurisdiction over them.
In respect, however, to the administration of
justice, responsibility for crime, tenure of pro
perty, and other similar points, he belongs to the
state of New York. His chief magistrate is a

106 SLAVERY.
governor, and his capital is Albany. Each go
vernment is within its own jurisdiction entirely
independent of the other, and every citizen owes
lits supreme allegiance to both, so far as their re
spective jurisdictions may extend.
Maine has no more to do with the internal po
lity of Georgia or Carolina than she has with
the parliament of Britain, or the government of
Russia. The United States congress cannot in
terfere with the laws of the individual states, any
more than she can with the laws of other nations
of the earth with whom she is on terms of amity.
And here lies one great difficulty of touching the
subject ; it is an insuperable obstacle in the way
of touching it by the power of law. The Caroli-
nas and Virginia would fly to arms as quick if the
United States government should interfere with
this subject, as would Great Britain if the French
government should have undertaken to liberate the
slaves in the British West Indies. The United
States government cannot move upon this subject
without usurping powers which do not belong to
her. And it would illy become congress to free
the slave, by becoming itself the tyrant. What
then has Xew England to do upon the subject ?
She cannot in her own state legislatures act upon
the laws of the other states. She cannot by her
representatives in congress assume powers which
the constitution denies her. So that she caimot by
legislative action touch the subject at all.
All this is strictly true, unquestionably so ; and

WHAT CAS BE DONE? 107
from it the absurd inference has been dra^p by
the apologists for slavery, that New England has
no responsibility and no duty in respect to this
subject. Because we are cut off* from legislative
action, it is inferred that no action is practicable
or proper : as if a man's duties in this world, in re
spect to his influence upon human happiness,
were confined to his vote,*
What then can be done ? The chief thing is to
enlighten the pubhc mind, and to convince our
southern brethren of the necessity of enfranchise
ment, and to aid in ascertaining the way by
which it may be safely accomplished. There is
but httle difference of opinion on the general sub
ject in Xew England. All admit the iniquity of
Ae system, the horrors with which it is replete,
and the inevitable ruin which must accrue, if the
evil be not speedily removed. It is true that dif
ferent individuals feel with different degrees of in
tensity upon this subject. Some are so excited
and agitated by the appalling facts which are con
tinually brought to light, that they are unable to

* 3fea- England has. in one point of Tiew, anafiSoaF right to tate an
interest ia the sabjeet, and to remonstrate as a people against this
system. For in ease of a senile insurrection carrying fire and Mood
through the southern stales, tbe aniens of the north mast shoulder
the musket and raarch to qoell it. Tes ! Oar star-spangled banner
and our sons of freedom most be arrayed against those who are eon-
tesdiag only mr their litem. As m case of sach emergency ve mast
thus fight, it surety is not ¦¦reasonable that we shoald be permitted
to remonstrate with oar brethren against their increasing danger and

108 SLAVERY.
reason soberly, or to speak calmly upon the sub
ject. Others fold their arms in the indolent belief
that nothing can be done, and that all effort is
unavailing. The enemies of slavery, however, in the nor
thern states, are divided into two parties, the ad
vocates and the opponents of colonization. These
parties are marshalled under the names of the Co
lonization society and the Anti-slavery society.
Both profess to be most anxious for the extinction
of slavery, and to be pursuing those measures
which they believe to be best adapted to promote
the speedy and effectual removal of the evil. The
colonizationists say, that, by establishing a colony
in Africa, —
1. They afford a home for the oppressed and
discouraged free blacks, where they can rise to the
dignity of real freedom without being kept down
by those adverse circumstances which here crush
them to the earth. They say the prejudice against
receiving the blacks into business and into society
is so strong that it is impossible that it should be
speedily removed. They admit that these preju
dices are vincible by those who wish to overcome
them, but insist that they are and will be held by
so large a portion of the community, who do not
wish and will not wish to give them up, that the
idea of placing the negro upon a just and proper
footing here is hopeless. They therefore wish to
prepare for the race another home.
2. They say that though the great majority of

CLAIMS OF THE COLONIZATION SOCIETY. 109
the free blacks are unwilling to go to Liberia,
there are more who are desirous to go than we
have ability to send ; and that those who are un
willing to go are often prejudiced by the false
representations of the colony which its enemies
have presented them.
3. They say that by planting a colony in Africa,
they open a channel through which any slave
holder may give freedom to his slaves. In many
of the slave-holding states the laws will not permit
a man to liberate his slaves, and allow them to
remain in the state. It promotes disaffection in
the other plantations. It would be the height of
cruelty, they say, to carry them to the borders of
the state, and, ignorant and undisciplined as they
are, to turn them penniless upon the world. Most
of the slaves, it is said, would plead with many
tears against such kindness. It is also alleged
that the planters are entirely unable to provide
their slaves with the means of subsistence after
they are liberated. The Colonization society says
to every planter who is ready to liberate his
slaves, " We are ready to receive them, and to
give them a home in Africa, and to supply all
their necessary wants till they are able to sustain
themselves." The friends of colonization say that
in this way one slave-holder after another is relin
quishing his slaves ; that the power of example is
felt and is spreading; that obstacles are thus re*
moved which otherwise prevent emancipation ; and
10

110 SLAVERY.
that thus, by an indirect influence, "which is per
fectly honest and unobjectionable, the whole sys
tem is undermining, and soon must inevitably fall.
Says a gentleman who was a slave-holder, but
who has liberated all his slaves and given them a
home in Liberia, " Slavery was introduced among
us by Great Britain. Slaves were left here in
such numbers that a regard for personal safety has
induced the respective legislatures to enact laws
prohibiting emancipation, except upon condition
that the freed man be removed. To violate these
laws is not only to incur a penalty, but if the
black man is not removed he is sold again into
slavery. The question then is, is it better for
them to emigrate as freemen, or to remain in
slavery at home ? If by preventing their going
abroad they are retained in slavery at home, who
keeps them there ? On whom rests the responsi
bility? The Colonization society has taken the
alternative that it is better they should be free
abroad ; the abolitionists, that it is better to keep
them in slavery at home. Let each one decide
for himself on which side the guilt or preference
lies. I personally know the masters of thou
sands of slaves who would gladly emancipate
them if they could ; but their poverty precludes
them from sending them away, and the laws do
not allow them to remain free at home. Fifty
thousand per annum might be emancipated, if the
means could be found to convey them abroad.
These are facts which, right or wrong in them-

CLAIMS OF THE COLONIZATION SOCIETY. Ill
Selves, must be taken into the account when testing
the question of colonization."
4. It is also argued that as colonization does not
directly touch the subject of slavery, its measures
can be pursued in any part of the Union without
fear ; that you can thus gain access to the mind
of the slave-holder, and place before him the many
wrongs of the negro ; while any more direct inter
ference with slavery by a northern man is re
garded by the southerners as an impertinence and
an intrusion to which they will not submit ; and
that by attempting to pursue this latter course we
do but harden their hearts, confirm their pre
judices, and arouse their hostility.
5. It is said, again, that by planting colonies
upon the coast of Africa we do most effectually
break up the slave-trade, and that in this way we
may soon guard the whole coast, from the Cape to
the Mediterranean, from the ravages of those fiends
in the shape of men, who have so long been filling
Africa with widows and orphans, with tears and
blood. They say there is no reason why Africa
should not rise as America has risen ; and the in
fluence of these colonies will soon fill the land
with a free and virtuous and intelligent popula
tion. They have confidently hoped to see the ,
English language with all its treasures of wisdom
pervading a great portion of that continent. In
imagination they see cities and villages rising as
by magic through the land; steam-boats ploughing
her waves ; fertility spread over her valleys, and

1 12 SLAVERY.
flocks and herds feeding upon her hills ; the na
tives reclaimed to God, and incense and a pure-
offering ascending from every heart.
6. And again it is said the reflex influence
of this colony tends to the elevation of the whole
African race, not only in the United States, but
throughout the earth. This unhappy people in
our free states are so spread over the land, and
their condition is literally so obscure, that they
make no distinct impression upon the public mind.
They are emphatically a people scattered and
peeled ; as a race of men, and in respect to their
mental and moral condition, they are lost in the-
crowd. If we could embody them in one neigh
borhood, even in all their wretchedness, we should
perhaps arouse and concentrate upon them a far
greater degree of benevolent attention than they
now receive ; the object would stand out before us
in some distinctive features. This society now
takes them out of the great mass where the public
eye cannot fix upon them ; gives them a distinct
existence, " a local habitation and a name;1' and
this not as slaves, not as degraded hewers of wood
and drawers of water ; but as freemen, pursuing
all the business and fulfilling all the duties of a
rational and Christian community. We look on
the map of the world for their dwelling-place ; we
hear of them in their laws, their government and
commerce ; their citizens come among us as men
of trade and business. Who can fail to trace in
such circumstances some of the most powerful

CLAIMS OF THE COLONIZATION SOCIETY. 113
of moral causes 1 They must exert an influence
that will be deeply felt.
Again ; in this distinct community the demon
stration has been made that the African is compe
tent to perform the duties of a freeman. His mind
expands as his condition improves. The settle
ment pleads the cause of freedom with strong and
constant emphasis. Its first effect is, to draw forth
our sympathies for the black man, not as hereto
fore, and for long generations, a poor, oppressed,
and degraded being, but as the elevated citizen of
a government free as our own, favored as our
own, and, by the blessing of God, destined to be
come as populous and great. These sympathies
extend themselves over the whole race. Liberia
stands the representative of all her people. The
most wretched tribe in Africa is raised to a more
hopeful condition by this relation. The colored
man over the whole earth is reached by this ele
vating fellowship.
7. The colonizationists defend the feasibility of
their plan by such calculations as the following :
" The whole population of the United States is
estimated at something more than twelve millions
of human beings. The relative proportions of
white and black population are as ten to two. If
we could transport annually to the shores of Afri
ca an amount of black population exactly equal
to its increase, (which is about fifty thousand a
year,) while the whites were left to multiply unin
terruptedly, then at the end of twenty-five years
10*

1 1 4 SLAVERY.
(the period of duplication) the result would be^
thus : the white population will have increased
to its full amount, and perhaps to a greater, by
reason of the vacuum formed in society by with
drawing the increase of the blacks, while the black
population, which cannot increase, or rather whose
increase is constantly taken off, will be most sen
sibly diminished, so that the relative proportions
between these two classes will no longer be as ten
to two, but actually, or nearly, as twenty to two.
If this process were continued a second term of
duplication, it would produce the extraordinary
result of forty white men to two black ones in the
country; a state of things in which we should not
only cease to feel the burdens which now hang so
heavily upon us, but actually regard the poor
African as an object of curiosity, and not of unea
siness. This purpose can be effected (always sup
posing that the demands of the society for trans
portation will be supplied by voluntary emancipa
tion) by an annual expenditure of one million of
dollars. This sum can be raised by a contribu
tion of ten cents a head upon our white population.
How paltry the sum ! How grand the object ! If
the attention of all the legislatures of the slave-
holding states could be duly awakened on the
subject, their appropriations, added to the volun
tary offerings of the patriot and philanthropist,
would amply meet the requisite expenditure,
Why should we doubt it ? We hear the evils of
slavery echoed from north to south, from east to

ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY. 115
west. The Universal voice of the nation is heard
lamenting the curse which has been entailed upon
us by our ancestors without our wish or agency.
Is it an empty sound — an idle profession without
meaning? Let us not libel the virtue and good
ness of our country by so unworthy a supposition ;
let us strive to make known the principles of our
society, and the purposes it seeks to effect ; and we
may then confidently expect that cheering and
animating support which a good cause always re
ceives from a great people."
Such is the train of reasoning pursued by the
friends of colonization in New England. Such
are the principles upon which they advocate the
cause. And these principles had enlisted in be
half of this society most of the wise and learned
and pious of our land.
But within a few years the Anti-slavery society
has come before the public, presenting a view of
the case very different from the foregoing. They
maintain, —
1. That the tendency of the colonization society
is to perpetuate slavery. While admitting that
many of its friends and supporters at the north
are actuated by the most benevolent motives, they
still contend that its direct and inevitable tendency
is to put far distant the day of emancipation. It
is argued that the removal of the free blacks in a
great degree removes the occasions of discontent
among the slaves, and by thus taking from the
planters all fear of insurrection, they are encou-

116 SLAVERY.
raged to let the system remain as it is, without
efforts for its removal. They say that many plan
ters at the south so understand its tendency, and
support it for the avowed purpose of giving them
a stronger hold upon the slaves ; and that while
the agents of the society at the north are show
ing its tendency to remove slavery, the agents
at the south are gaining the favor of the slave
holder by showing how it will confirm his un
lawful possessions. It also presents itself as the
sufficient remedy for slavery, and thus the con
sciences of the slave-holders are appeased by
feeling that they may wait for the tardy operations
of this society before they manumit their slaves.
2. It is also said that colonies composed of such
ignorant persons as the slaves and free negroes of
this country are but poorly adapted to evangelize
a heathen shore, and that they will defraud and
oppress the natives, and transplant to Africa the
vices and crimes rather than the virtues of this
civilized land. If we would benefit Africa we
must send there educated Christian missionaries,
and not empty upon her shores hordes of unprin
cipled and half-savage men, whose influence we
fear at home.
3. The tendency of colonization-measures is to
strengthen the prejudices now existing against the
colored man in this country. It is said that the
colonizationist, instead of endeavoring to overthrow
that prejudice, represents it as invincible, and thus
leaves the impression upon the minds of the com-

STATEMENTS OF THE ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY. 117
munity that God intended that the black man and
the white man should never be associated.
It is also said that the colonizationists confirm
this prejudice ; that they represent it as a fixed and
unalterable law of our nature ; and that they are
under the necessity of doing this that they may
have a satisfactory reason for endeavoring to ele
vate them in another country rather than in our
own. " The very existence of the society is owing
to this prejudice ; for if we could make all the
colored people white, or if they could be viewed
as impartially as if they were white, what would
be left for the Colonization society to do?"
4. They say the idea of colonizing any conside
rable part of the American black population upon
the coast of Africa is perfectly visionary. The
whole number of our colored population is about
two millions and a half. They are increasing at
the rate of between fifty and sixty thousand a
year ; and it is said we may as wisely undertake
to empty the ocean by drops, as to make any per
ceptible diminution of this vast multitude by the
feeble influence of colonization.
" The society has been in operation more than
fifteen years, during which it has transported be
tween two and three thousand free people of
color. While the society therefore have removed
less than three thousand, more than five hundred
thousand have been born. While two hundred
free blacks have been sent to Africa in a year, one
hundred and fifty slaves have been born in a

118 SLAVERY.
day. To keep the evil just where it is, sixty
thousand a year must be transported. How many
ships and how many millions of money would it
require to do this ? It would cost three millions
five hundred thousand dollars a year to provide
for the safety of our southern brethren in this
way ! To use the language of Mr. Hayne, it
would 'bankrupt the treasury of the world' to
execute the scheme. And if so great a number
could be removed annually, how would the poor
fellows subsist ? Famines have already been pro
duced even by the few that have been sent. What
would be the result of landing several thousand
destitute beings even on the most fertile of our
own cultivated shores."
5. And again, that even if it were possible to
drain our country of its colored population, the
measure would be calamitous, for as citizens they
are too valuable to be lost. With our widely ex
tended country it is for our mterest to invite emi
grants, and not to urge our own citizens from our
shores. We need the colored population of our
southern states as free laborers, to cultivate the
plantations. Tlieir constitutions are adapted to
the climate, their habits of life to the toil, and it
is the height of folly to deprive ourselves of their
valuable labor ; — labor which, for the present at
least, cannot be performed by the white man.
6. It is said that God has frowned upon the co->
lony of Liberia ; that vice reigns there unchecked •
that pestilence is borne in almost every breeze ¦

STATEMENTS OF THE ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY. 119
that those who in Liberia testify in favor of the
colony are bribed so to do; that those who are
silent are afraid to tell of their grievances, for a
strong arm is ready to chastise them if they are so
presumptuous as to murmur. Vice, poverty, and
pestilence are the three great elements of the co
lony at Liberia, and the man who now engages
In the slave-trade is merciful in comparison with
iiim who, knowing the true state of the case, will
aid in sending emigrants to Liberia.
For these reasons the Anti-slavery society main
tains that colonization is now the greatest obstacle
in the way of meliorating the condition of the co
lored race ;.that it obstructs the progress of eman
cipation; and that the first efforts of the abolition
ist must be directed to its destruction. These
efforts have been made with most untiring zeal,
and with no inconsiderable success. Many of the
former friends of colonization have now become
the foes of that cause. Still at the present moment
the great mass of the intellectual and moral worth
of the land is decidedly in favor of colonization.
The Anti-slavery society has gained, however,
during the past year, and is now rapidly gaining
converts from this number. Not a few are greatly
perplexed respecting their duty. They hesitate in
their support of colonization, lest its tendency
should be such as its foes most earnestly declare
that it is. They fear to oppose this society or to
withdraw from it their influence, as they are so
•strongly inclined to believe that, though it ought

120 SLAVERY.
not to be looked upon as a sufficient remedy, yet
that its influence is salutary and its results promise
to be highly beneficial to the race.
Such is the present state of the public mind in
New England upon this agitating question ; and
society here is agitated upon it to its very centre.
The waters of the body politic are troubled. A
tempest is arising upon which many are looking
with fear and dread. What the result will be He
only knows who rides upon the tempest, and who
rules the storm. There are not a few who fear that,
unless there be some providential interposition,
bloodshed must finally ensue. It is seen and uni
versally acknowledged that slavery is the fruitful
source of nearly all our national difficulties. This
great national sin is continually exciting suspicion
and producing alienation between the south and
the north. It is the mother of the tariff strife, and
the parent of nullification. There is many a nor
therner who is resolved to give himself no rest till
every slave in the land goes free. There is many
a southerner who is resolved to see this Union se
vered, and his wife and his children and himself
weltering in blood, before he will submit to nor
thern interference.
The great majority of the people at the north,
while they execrate the system of slavery, do not
forget that it is an evil wliich was entailed upon
our southern brethren, and not one which they
chose for themselves. They know that while
there are some who justify slavery, and wish to

THE PROSPECT BEFORE US. 121
see it perpetuated, there are not a few there who
are the disciples of Jesus Christ, and who wish to
do to others as they would that others should do to
them. And while they cannot deny that the for
mer class may richly deserve the calamities which
their persevering oppression may ultimately bring
upon them, they sympathize with the latter, and
regard them as the objects of commiseration, and
not of anger. This latter class feel upon the sub
ject of slavery as do many of their brethren at the
north, and they are daily praying that the Lord
will open the door for the safe and speedy enfran
chisement of all the slaves.
The prospect before us is a dark one. Our only
hope is in the interposition of that God who has
already carried us through so many scenes of dan
ger. Not a few in this land are the self-denying
followers of his Son our Savior. Their prayers
are daily directed to him, that he will avert the
impending calamity. It cannot, it must not be
that our country will long be disgraced with so
foul a stain. Such a comment upon our declara
tion of independence, such a caricature of our
loud-vaunted freedom cannot long be endured.
God is overwhelming us with shame in view of
the inconsistency. The clanking of chains is
heard at the very doors of our own capitol. The
negro-driver cracks his whip as he passes our se
nators and representatives in the streets of Wash
ington. The husband and the wife, the mother
and the child, are sold at public auction in our
11

122 SLAVERY.
southern cities, and, by the power of the lash, torn
from each other's embrace and carried into hope
less bondage, never again to meet. Can such
things long exist in a land of Bibles and of Sab
baths and of the preached gospel ? At this en
lightened period of the world, and in a country
feeling, as America does, the influence of the light
and the learning and the piety of all other lands,
is it possible that slavery in all these its revolting
features can long be sustained? Some means
must be and will be devised to remove the curse
and to let the oppressed go free.
The noble stand which England has taken, with
all her heavy burden of debt, in assuming new
and heavy responsibilities that the slaves of her
colonies may be liberated, has produced an im
pression in this country which can never be obli
terated. It has quickened the zeal of those who
were already zealous. It has aroused the slum
bering energies of many who have heretofore been
dormant. It has given to our country a solitude
of eminence in guilt which is far from enviable.
When we tore ourselves away from the arms of
our venerable mother, the ocean empress, she be
queathed to us this sad inheritance. And we have
in some degree felt sustained by the reflection that
our slaves were the gift of a mother whom, not
withstanding our little bickerings, we do all most
highly revere. And when we have seen that
same parent, with all her maturity of wisdom and
goodness of heart, fostering the same institution

EXAMPLE OF GREAT BRITAIN. 123
among her children who have remained submis
sive to her will, we have felt strengthened by her
example. It is natural for children to imitate the
parent. But now, when we have seen her confess
her fault, and take away from her children the
possessions which she had fraudulently obtained,
we feel sadly troubled. And she compels us to
respect her still more highly, by the magnanimity
she shows in fully remunerating her children for
the gifts she feels in conscience bound to take
away. Anti-slavery agents and colonization agents are
now traversing New England. Conventions are
called, auxiliaries formed, addresses delivered,
and collections without number taken up. Ex
citement is pervading the community, and ere
long, probably, the whole country from Maine to
Florida will direct their attention to the black
population. At many of the public meetings upon
this subject, negroes are brought forward to make
addresses. Some persons are employing them by
preference in mechanical labor, hoping thus to
elevate them above those most menial services in
which they have hitherto been employed. The
tide of public feeling is turning, and strongly turn
ing, in their favor. But it is to be feared, not only
from the tendency of human nature, which is to
extremes, but also from the lengths to which many
have already gone, that the negroes, unaccustomed
almost to civility, will be exceedingly elated and
injured by this sudden and marked attention.

124 SLAVERY.
They are not prepared to be at once drawn from
their humble homes, and to be honored with
marks of attention, which whites pf their condi
tion and standing in society would not receive.
Is it asked, in what proportion is New England
at present divided, as to colonization and anti-co
lonization ? We reply, that a very large proportion
of the clerical and civil and political influence,
comprising most of the moral and intellectual
worth of the New England states, is now on the
side of colonization. Upon the Sabbath preceding
the anniversary of our national independence,
from almost every pulpit its claims have been
urged, and s collection received from the congre
gation in its favor.
The Anti-slavery society is comparatively small
and uninfluential as to the character of its leaders.
But it is advancing with great rapidity. Every
day witnesses its triumphs. Every movement aug
ments its ranks. Every appeal increases its con
verts. And though we do not now know of an indi
vidual in New England of celebrity as a Christian
or civilian who advocates its claims, its principles
are still daily gaining conquests over minds of
higher and higher orders, and it is already a most
formidable opponent of colonization. Judging
from the results of the past year, it would not be
strange in our view, (though it would perhaps in
that of others,) if in two years it should in num
bers and in influence outstrip the Colonization
society.

STATE OF PUBLIC FEELING. 126
There are of course in New England, as every
where else, individuals who are wrapt up entirely
in their own selfish interests, and care nothing for
this subject, or any other which relates to the
wrongs of the oppressed. These generally sneer
at the efforts of both the above-mentioned socie
ties. But their number is diminishing. There is
too much light to be shut out. Conscience speaks
too loudly to be silenced. Facts most appalling
and frightful are continually spread out before the
community, and we know that in view of them
the finger of scorn, from many a nation of the
earth, is justly pointed at our boasted liberties.
The slave-dealer goes unmolested in the land.
The mother is robbed of her child and there are
none to pity. The clanking of chains is heard
upon the persons of men who have committed no
crime. The lash falls upon the bleeding backs of
men, women, and children, exposed to the irre
sponsible fury of a passionate driver. The virgin
is violated, and there are none to rescue and none
to heed her complaint. The press begins to lift
its voice in louder and still louder thunders ; the
pulpit begins to plead more earnestly ; the mind
of the community is roused, intensely roused ; and
it will not again be quieted till the year of jubilee
has come, and the slaves go free.
11*

CHAPTER VI.
THE INSURRECTION.
It may interest some of our readers to look a
little more particularly at American slavery. We
will not attempt to go into statistical detail, nor to
present any elaborate discussion of the nature and
tendencies of the system. We will however give
our readers a picture, — lift the curtain, as it were,
for a moment, that the spectator may see for him
self what slavery is.
On the 21st of August, 1S31, a very alarming
insurrection took place among the slaves of South
ampton county, Virginia. A slave by the name
of Nat Turner was the leader in this insurrection.
Impelled by the belief that he was divinely called
to be the deliverer of his oppressed coimtrymen,
he succeeded in fixing the impression upon the
minds of two or three others, his fellow-slaves.
Turner could read and write ; and these acquire
ments gave him influence over his associates. He
however was possessed of but little information, and
is represented as having been cowardly and cruel.
About midnight after the Sabbath of the 21st of

NAT TURNER AND HIS ASSOCIATES. 127
August, Turner, with his confederates, burst into
his master's house, and murdered every one of the
white inmates. They were armed with knives
and axes, and in order to strike terror into the
whites, most shockingly mangled the bodies of
their victims. Neither helpless infancy nor female
loveliness was spared. They then, by threats
of death, compelled all the slaves to join them
who would not do it voluntarily, and, exciting
themselves to fury by ardent spirits, they proceed
ed to the next plantation. The family were re
posing in the soimd and quiet slumbers which
precede the break of day, as tlie shouts of the in
surgents fell upon their ears. It was the work
of but a moment, and they all were weltering in
their gore. Not a white individual was spared to
carry the tidings. The blow which dashed the
infant left its brains upon the hearth. The head
of the youthful maiden was in one part of the
room and her mangled body in another. Here
again the number of the insurgents was increased
by those who voluntarily joined them, and by
others who did it through compulsion. Stimulat
ing their passions still more by intoxication, and
arming themselves with such guns as they could
obtain, some on horseback and others on foot, they
rushed along to the next plantation. The morn
ing now began to dawn, and tlie shrieks of those
who fell under the sword and the axe of the negro
were heard at a distance ; and thus the alarm was
soon spread from plantation to plantation, carrying

128 THE INSURRECTION.
inconceivable terror to every heart. The whites
supposed it was a plot deeply laid and widely
spread, and that the day had come for indiscrimi
nate massacre. One gentleman, who heard the
appalling tidings, hurried to a neighboring planta
tion, and arrived there just in time to hear the
dying shrieks of the family, and the triumphant
shouts of the negroes. He hastened in terror to his
own home, but the negroes were there before him,
and his wife and his daughters had already fallen
victims to their fury. Thus the infuriated slaves
went on from plantation to plantation, gathering
strength at every step, and leaving not a living
white behind. They passed the day till late in
the afternoon in this work of carnage, and between
sixty and seventy individuals fell, the victims of
their rage. The population in this county is not
dense, and rapidly as the alarm spread, it was im
possible for some time to collect a sufficient num
ber to make any defence. Every family was en
tirely at the mercy of its own slaves. It is impos
sible to conceive of more distressing circumstances
of apprehension. It is said that most of the insur
gent slaves belonged to kind and indulgent mas
ters, and consequently no one felt secure. Late
in the afternoon, a small party of whites, well
armed, collected at a plantation for defence. The
slaves came on in large numbers, and, emboldened
by success, they at first drove back the whites.
The slaves pressed on, thirsting for blood and
shouting with triumphant fury, as the whites

PROGRESS OF THE INSURRECTION. 129
slowly retreated, apparently destined to be butch
ered with their wives and their children. Just
at this awful moment a small reinforcement arriv
ed, which turned the tide of victoiy and dispersed
the slaves.
Exhausted with the horrible labors of tlie day,
the insurgents retired to the woods and marshes to
pass the night. Early the next morning they
commenced their work again. But the first plan
tation they attacked they were driven from by
the slaves of the plantation, who rallied around
their master and most fearlessly hazarded their
own lives in his defence. By this time the whites
were collected in sufficient force to prevent their
further progress. The fugitives were scattered
over the county in small parties, but every point
was defended, and wherever they appeared they
were routed. Many were shot, others taken pri
soners, and the insurrection quelled. The leader,
Nat Turner, for a few weeks succeeded in con
cealing himself, but at length was taken and suf
fered the penalty of the law.
Tlie following letter gives an account of the
state of feeling produced in the community hy
this insurrection. It presents a vivid and most
affecting picture of the state of society at the
south, and shows that, where there is oppression,
the providence of God so orders it, that sorrows
shall fall upon the oppressors as well as tlie op
pressed. The letter is a real one, transcribed from
the original, as it was sent to his correspondeut

130 THE INSURRECTION.
at the time, by the writer, who was an eye-wit
ness. It is now for the first time made public.
"Charleston, S. C, Dec. 6, 1831.
" To  , Esq.
" Sir,
" Some months ago, when I was enjoying the
pleasure of your company and conversation, you
expressed a very kind mterest in my journeying,
and desired me to communicate to you any inte
resting intelligence that might come in my way.
"For the last six or eight weeks I have been an
observer of many scenes of most painful inte
rest, and of one general character ; and I have
long been resolving to improve my first respite
from debility, in making them the subject of com
munication to some of my friends at the north.
"When I left Boston, in August, I went out from
my own home, scarcely knowing whither I went,
excepting that I intended to spend the remainder
of the warm weather at the Virginia springs. But
whither from them I might be led, I knew not. I
there met and formed an acquaintance with a very
kind friend. As the watering season was about
to close, he, with great kindness, invited me to
accompany his family home, offering me a seat in
his carriage or on his saddle, as might be most
agreeable to my health and enjoyment. Thus has
my kind heavenly Father provided for me, and
has led me by this journey through scenes of excite
ment and suffering, which have made me feel in a

LETTER RESPECTING THE INSURRECTION. 131
manner I never did before the unhappy and deplora
ble state of society in this southern country. While
the circumstances of my journey thus far have been
most favorable to the improvement of my health,
they have also been, perhaps, as well calculated
as they possibly could be to give me a correct
idea of the real state of things before and since the
sad tragedy at Southampton. Perhaps one reason
why I have thus been led, may have been to cor
rect my impressions and increase my information
on this great subject, in order that I may be use
ful to our friends in our own section of the coun
try, or to our suffering fellow-citizens in this. For
it seems to me, that affairs are now in such a crisis,
that this business of slavery must inevitably soon
become one of overwhelming interest to the whole
community, north, south, east, and west.
" The course of our journey was up the valley
of Virginia, between the Blue Ridge and the Alle
ghany, through a portion of East Tennessee, the
upper part of North and South Carolina, and
thence through Columbia to Charleston.
" It so happened that in commencing our jour
ney we fell into the first wave of excitement and
alarm that spread from Southampton over the
whole southern country, and we were borne upon
it almost the whole distance. I never before had
witnessed any thing from which I could form in
my own mind, or convey to that of others, any
suitable idea of public terror and distress. Since
witnessing these scenes I have been as much at a

132 THE INSURRECTION.
loss to know how to write upon the subject as de
sirous to write something.
" In this letter I have thought it best to give you
some description of my journey, as the subject
will thus be presented to your mind just as it came
to my own, and you will be better able to judge
whether the conclusions at which I have arrived
are correct or erroneous. It is my desire, however,
to state facts, and not opinions.
" This insurrection has opened many eyes and
loosed many tongues. The subject has every
where been one of all-absorbing mterest, and the
general topic of conversation, in almost all its
bearings and relations.
" The occurrences at Southampton were known
at the springs some time before we left them.
But they are so remote from any considerable vil
lage or settlement, and the number of blacks in
the mountains is so small, that there could be no
occasion for alarm or apprehension there. Every
successive mail, however, brought pain and dis
tress to many visiters, and as these were assembled
there from all parts of the state, those who belonged
in the neighborhood of the troubles, or who had
friends there, were in constant anxiety and suf
fering. In some of the little cabins, or small one-
story houses at this place, there were aching
hearts through fear of a similar massacre at the
springs. There was, however, so little ground
of apprehension there, that the fear was confined
almost exclusively to ladies. In some instances

ALARM AT FINCASTLE. 133
the rustling of the wind or the cracfting of the
fire was magnified, by a frightened imagination,
iiito the bustle of banditti or the snapping of pis
tols. A cluster of houses would be roused by the
alarm of some timid female, and all the gentlemen
who could be Spared from other cabins would be
gathered together to pacify and guard her. But,
generally speaking, there was very little alarm at
the springs. The suffering there was mostly in
anxiety and sympathy, on account of others at a
distance. "We commenced our journey, not expecting to
meet any thing like alarm or fear, for the univer
sal opinion was that the proportion of slaves and
free blacks in the mountainous parts was so small,
that there could be no possible ground for any
such anxiety. But when we had approached
within a few miles of Fincastle, the first little vil
lage in the valley through which we were to
pass, we were met by the question, ' Have you
seen general Nat? He was along this road this
morning; two men met him, but he got away.'
" The report spread like wild-fire. No doubt
he was trying to get into Ohio. He would stir up
a trouble in that country, burn Fincastle, and mas
sacre its inhabitants. The whole village was in
alarm. A large patrol was organized to scour
the streets from nightfall till daybreak, while the
villagers, men, women, and children, trembled on
their pillows. One afternoon, a day or two after
we left; a poor sick negro was lying in his hut a
12

134 THE INSURRECTION.
few miles from the village. A man rode hy, and
heard the cry wliich the pain of a blister or some
painful applications extorted from him. The tra
veller started his horse at the top of his speed for
Fincastle. It was the shout of the insurgents.
They were coming on, he saw them, some fifty or
a hundred, and all would be lost. The whole
town was in arms. The women all collected in
the largest and strongest houses to cry and scream
together. Thus passed the night.
" It was necessary for me to leave our party for
a few days, to go to Lynchburg, which was a
httle out of our route. My friends were to go on
a day or two, and then wait for me at Botetourt
springs. I was accordingly hastening on to
wards Lynchburg in the stage, and when we
were within about ten miles, we stopped for the
relay of horses. I stepped into the house to warm
me. when I foimd every thing in apparent disor
der, and every coimtenanee indicating fatigue and
mental suffering. The good lady received me at
once with the greatest kindness. She apologized
for the appearance of her rooms, saying, that they
had all been in such a state for the last twenty-
four hours, that they had hardly thought about
their houses or their meals. They had been try
ing to save their lives. It appeared that a report
had reached them, stating that the slaves in Hali
fax county had risen, and completely triumphed
over all the white force that could be brought
against them. That about fifteen hundred of

MILITARY MOVEMENTS AT LYNCHBURG-. 135
them were marching in a body for Lynchburg,
butchering men, women, and children, as they
went. That Lynchburg had despatched as
large a military body as their own safety would
allow them to spare, for the relief of their neigh
bors in Halifax. That Lynchburg was in a dread
ful state of excitement, the whole town in perfect
confusion ; that the neighbors in the vicinity where
she lived had deserted their dwellings, and clus
tered together in a large brick house belonging to
one of their number, to pass the night, if possible,
in safety. There was no such thing as sleeping,
and some of the females were almost crazed with
terror. And the looks of the young ladies and
children around her room told well that her tale
was true.
"Of course, I anxiously looked for our arrival
at Lynchburg, and, on entering the town, found
the troops parading the streets, and every thing
confirming the impression which I had received,
that the whole population had been in a state of
most distressing alarm. I do not think it possible
for me to convey an adequate idea of the dreadful
fear which agitated this village. Men. women,
and children, whites and blacks, slaves and free,
were alike sufferers, though from different causes.
" I arrived at Lynchburg on the first or second
day after the alarm, and was very unexpectedly
detained there four days longer than I had intend
ed to remain.
" I ought perhaps to say, before proceeding any

136 THE INSURRECTION.
farther, that Lynchburg is, next to Petersburg,
perhaps the most important inland town in the
state. It contains, I think, about two thousand
inhabitants; I do not know in what proportion
of white and black. I arrived there on Thursday
afternoon, intending to spend the Sabbath, and
leave in the Monday morning stage at four o'clock,
but was detained till the following Thursday.
" Some of the conversations I had with the in
habitants illustrate the actual operation of slavery
here better than any general description I can
give. " ' Well, Mr.  ,' said a lady to me, ' were it
not for my husband, I would not stay here ano
ther day. But he says his business keeps him
here. I should be willmg to go and leave every
cent of property. 'Tis such a way to bring up
my children. Why, if you have slaves, you must
make them do all the work. If you suffer children
to do any thing, it spoils them both. And if the
children grow up in idleness, why, you know they
are never good for any thing. As long as you
have slaves, you must make them do the work ;
there is no otlier way.
'/ ' When it comes night, to see my husband,
when we retire, take down the gun, pull off the
case, see to the flint, and set it at the side of his
bed, — it makes my heart ache. Mr.  , what
would you do in case you were attacked ?'
"'I hardly know, madam; and yet I have
thought of the subject, and have endeavored to

CONVERSATIONS AT LYNCHEURG. 137
ascertain what my duty would be, that I might
be prepared to act in an emergency, and not have
to deliberate how to act when the time came.'
" ' What do you think you should do?'
" ' If I had presence of mind enough to act ac
cording to my convictions, it is my impression
that I should use no violence. *
" This conversation was entirely unexpected to
me, and I endeavored, for obvious reasons, to avoid
it. I saw by the lady's countenance that it was
a very serious subject to her.
"Notwithstanding my efforts to turn the con
versation, she pressed me for an answer. My reply
was, that so far as I understood the gospel, I
could not find in the precepts of our Savior, or in
his example, or in that of any of his apostles, suf
ficient warrant to allow me, in any circumstances,
to take away life.
" The lady's pastor was present during this con
versation, and he concurred with me in this opi
nion. The lady seemed a little agitated at what
her pastor said, and looking earnestly at him, and
then at one or two sleeping children, asked,
" ' Why, sir, do you think it can be my duty to
see my children tortured and butchered, and not
defend their lives by the sacrifice of my own or
any other V
" The pastor gently intimated that she could
look to a safer teacher of duty than to her infant
in the cradle. She replied with earnestness, and
in a lower tone of voice,
12*

138 THE INSURRECTION.

" ' Mr. P., I want to ask you, if you could stand
here, and look on, and see my children killed, and
not help me defend them.'
" ' That is not the question,' he answered, gen
tly. ' The way to decide it is, what does the Lord
Jesus Christ say ?'
" ' Well,' she continued, ' I cannot believe that
it can be our duty to stay and see our families
massacred, and not defend ourselves.'
" 'Perhaps,' added Mr. P., 'it is not your duty
to stay, but to get up out of this land of abomina
tion. I don't know but that Providence intends
to show us, that we ought to go away.'
" I conversed, a few days since, with a gentle
man of active and efficient character, and practi
cal Christian benevolence, whose heart and hand
are in every good work. He feels the evil of
slavery, and professes himself willing to do any
thing in. his power to alleviate or remove it.
Some of his slaves have been sent, at his own ex
pense, to Liberia. Others are not willing to go.
He cannot free them, and allow them to remain in
the state. Many of his friends are in the same
situation. They caimot send them to Liberia
against their will, — they cannot be set free at home.
Shall they sell them for the New Orleans market,
when the slaves beg and entreat that they may
not be sent there ? Having given this view of his
situation, he reads an extract in a northern paper,
the spirit of which is, ' General Nat is a benefactor
of his race. The Southampton massacre is an

INFLUENCE OF NORTHERN PUBLICATIONS. 139
auspicious era for the African. The blood of the
sixty men, women, and children, shed by the
sword and the axe, in the hand of the negro, is a
just retmn for the drops which have followed the
master's lash.'
"'Now,' says he, 'this grieves me. I know
that all our brethren at the north do not feel just
as that article would represent them. But this is
a religious paper, which many of us love. Our
neighbors, however, who are men of the world, say
to us, " There is your religion, northern religion,
sending papers out among us to excite our slaves
to rise upon us at midnight, and butcher us all."
We cannot take such a paper ; it is not safe. Peo
ple around us, our citizens, will not tolerate it.
Now there were about a dozen of us who took this
paper, and this article has set the whole town
against it ; and as religion has to bear it all, we
wrote a calm and Christian letter to the editor,
and told him that we could not receive his paper,
in safety to our wives and children, if he published
such sentiments. Servants in the family get hold
of them, and in most of the religious families they
are taught more or less to read the Bible, and of
course can read other things.'
" A lady gave me this account of Lynchburg, at
the time the alarm reached them. There was a
general rush of the inhabitants to the court-house,
which is, in all the southern country, the rallying
point of the village. Men, women, and children,
of all classes, sick and well, shut themselves up,

140 THE INSURRECTION.
while the stronger, who have arms, sat around
them for defence. You can imagine better than
I can describe what a night of sleeplessness and
terror such a collection must have passed. The
shrieks and cries and prayers of the terrified
women and children will not soon be forgotten
there. The cessation of all business, the seizing
and examining of suspected slaves, the noise of
military movements, the distress of families whom
sickness and peculiar circumstances prevented
from gathering with the multitude at the court
house, the terror which alarmed the blacks equally
with the whites, for, in case the town was attack
ed, they knew that the first step towards self-de
fence which the whites must take, would be to
put all the slaves to death — all these ^things, and
innumerable others, concur in making the day of
the alarm at Lynchburg to be remembered as
long as the massacre which gave rise to it. I can
not describe even the impression made on my
mind at hearing what I did. It is impossible. It
is more than two months ago, and much has been
forgotten, but the impression remains.
" I have tried to give you some idea of Lynch
burg, but I know it is faint. This, however, is
just what was witnessed and suffered in almost
every village through which we passed from
Lynchburg to Charleston. Sometimes we were
in the midst of the alarm, sometimes one night be
fore or behind it. Once our party thought it advi
sable to go a little out of our course, to avoid spend-

PROCEEDINGS AT GREENVILLE. 141
ing the night in Jonesborough, because the night
before the whole place was in most violent agita
tion from this cause. About twenty negroes had
been imprisoned ; three had been shot, not fatally,
however, in the effort to arrest them. Of course,
I had nothing to do or say in any such arrange
ments. They consulted with me in making the
change in our course, and it was easy to see their
apprehensions, while nothing was lisped by any
one to let their families know why the change was
made. "At Greenville, N. C, the scene of Lynchburg
was acted again, and, if possible, in aggravated
circumstances. Many persons in the outskirts of
the village, hearing of the alarm which was
spreading around them, started at night with
their families, and whatever of the valuables they
could take in the carriage, to ride all night to
some place of safety.
"One lady, whose name was given to me,
called her servants into the parlor, in the presence
of her minister, and, in spite of all the expostula
tions of her pastor, fell upon her knees before
them, and begged them to defend her life. She
could not be pacified until the reverend gentleman
was placed as the footman on the carriage, with a
drawn sword in his hand, while - her most trusty
servant drove them with all possible speed, almost
all night long, to a place of safety. It was all a
false alarm ; and, indeed, every alarm, without ex
ception, that I heard of, was unfounded. In one

142 THE INSURRECTION.
case, a whole county was thrown into confusion
by a man's hearing the discharge of musketry on
a review day. Spurring his horse to the utmost,
he carried the report that the negroes had risen.
It was soon spreading like wild-fire over the
county. Every one added a little, until it was
magnified into a story too absurd and ridiculous
to be believed, and, at length, some one discovered
the cause of the alarm.
" ' One morning,' said a gentleman in Columbia
to me, ' after the great alarm in this place, I called
my servants up, while we were all at breakfast,
and told them the real state of things, what the
servants had done at Southampton, and what Dr.
B  's servants had done in defending their
master. " Now, John," said I, (John was his prin
cipal servant, and a very smart young man,) " sup
pose the blacks should rise ; would you defend us,,
or join them?" John hesitated a moment, and then
replied, " I think I should join them." '
" This gentleman was, I suppose, one of the best
of masters, and did a great deal to promote the tem
poral and future happiness of his servants. And
all the family had unlimited confidence in John
and in the others. But after this, not one of the
family could ever feef easy while the father was
out. At night, if one went to meeting all must
go ; none dared to stay at home.
" But I have extended my letter already to an
unreasonable length, and must close for the pre-

LETTER RELATING TO THE INSURRECTION. 143
sent, though I may, perhaps, at some future time,
address you another communication on subjects
connected with those I have brought forward

CHAPTER VII.
HOLYDAYS.
THANKSGIVING.
A custom has been transmitted to us from our
Puritan fathers, of setting apart a day at the
close of the harvest for thanksgiving and praise.
It was originally intended as a purely religious
festival, and as such it was most sacredly and so
lemnly observed. In modern times, it has lost a
little of the solemnity with which it was regarded
by our ancestors, and has assumed a more social,
and we fear a gayer and more thoughtless aspect.
Still the day is generally observed with much ex
ternal propriety.
Late in autumn, when all the fruits of the field
have been gathered in, the governor of the state,
with the advice of his council, issues a proclama
tion, recommending to the inhabitants the obser
vance of a stated day for thanksgiving and praise
to God for the blessings of the season. The day
appointed is generally about the middle of Novem
ber. The week before its arrival, all the families
of the state begin to collect the various good

THANKSGIVING. 145
things at their command, in preparation for the
thanksgiving feast. Their art of cookery is task
ed to its utmost. The oven groans with puddings
and pies, and there is universal rejoicing, save in
the poultry-yard.
It is customary upon these occasions for those
who are in comfortable circumstances to remem
ber the poor. Those who are unable to provide
a thanksgiving feast for themselves, receive sup
plies from the benevolence of their neighbors. We
well remember the feelings of delight and gratified
pride which swelled our young bosoms, while car
rying to the poor and solitary widow, or to the
unfortunate and needy family in our neighbor
hood, the basket filled by our mother's kindness
with all the dainties appropriate to that joyous
season. At length the happy morning is ushered in. It
will not do to mar the appetite for the dinner, by
indulging in a bountiful breakfast. The morning
repast is frugal, and yet the appetite is excited by
some little foretaste of what is to come. The
shops are all closed, and the general appearance
of the city and of the village is nearly that of the
Sabbath. In the distant fields, not a few are
found who desecrate the day by entire devotion to
amusements. The bowling alley is thronged by
dissolute loungers. The idle and the dissipated
congregate for field sports and shooting matches,
and pass the day in deeds of cruelty and of sin.
But the more orderly and reputable part of the
13

146 HOLYDAYS.
community remain at their homes, endeavormg to
improve the hours in sincere and heartfelt thanks
giving to their Maker.
At eleven o'clock the bell rings for public worship.
The people then, in accordance with the recom
mendation of the governor and his council, assem
ble in their churches. By much previous exercise
the choir are generally prepared with the best
music they are a-ble to furnish. The officiating
clergyman commonly takes this opportunity to pre
sent some topic of a national character, and to en
force upon his congregation attention to their poli
tical duties. Those subjects which he would
hardly feel at liberty to discuss in the pulpit on
the Sabbath, he avails himself of this opportunity
to present.
About one o'clock, the congregations are seen
leaving the churches and repairing to their homes,
to meet around the festal board. There they all
meet ; for the absent members of every family, on
this day of rejoicing, come back again, if possible,
under the paternal roof. The son who is absent at
school or at college, the apprentice and the clerk,
come home to pass thanksgiving with their parents.
The daughter who is married, and has removed
from her native town, returns with her husband
and her little ones, to sit down once more at her
father's table. Relatives and friends endeavor on
that day to meet and renew past friendship, and
tell their tales of weal or woe. The silent tear is
not unfrequently seen in the eye, as memory

THANKSGIVING. 147
points to one who a year before was seated at the
table and enjoying the precious interview, but who
now is among the dead. It is a kind of record-
day, in which the past is reviewed, and in which
the heart is refreshed by new tokens of friendship.
Assembled at the table and partaking of its boun
tiful provision, the heart of the worldly man is
elated with pleasure, and that of the Christian
glows with gratitude. The one makes it the oc
casion merely of rejoicing ; the other of thanks
giving. The one perhaps sits down at the table
and rises from it without any expression of grati
tude to his Maker ; the other offers to God the in
cense of a grateful heart.
At the close of the dinner, the formal religionist,
who thinks he has done his duty by . attending
church, goes out for amusement, by riding or
walking. The Christian, mindful that it is a day
for thanksgiving to God, assembles in the parlor
the circle of domestics and of friends for devotion.
The thanksgiving hymn is read, and the voices of
the family are heard in the sweet cadences of the
hymn, as they melt away in the consecrated dwel
ling. As the sun goes down the evening prayer is
offered, and grateful hearts beat happily, in antici
pation of an eternal meeting, and an eternal scene
of thanksgiving, in the heavenly world. The eve
ning is passed by the older members of the family
in conversation, and by the children in those ani
mating sports which diffuse such joy around the

148 HOLYDAYS.
evening fireside. Such is a New England thanks
giving ; perverted by many, but a blessing and a
comfort to not a few. FAST DAY.
In the spring of the year, there is a correspond
ing day set apart, by recommendation from the
governor and council, for fasting, humiliation, and
prayer. The dissipated and thoughtless make it
a day of festivity. The serious resort to the
church as on the Sabbath, and endeavor to humble
themselves before God, and implore his blessing
upon the labors of the husbandman and the fruits
of the season. We need not remark that it is not
so popular a day as is thanksgiving. It is. how
ever, generally observed with a good degree of
propriety. When it is with sincerity observed, it
must prove, at least, an individual blessing. And
He who heareth the prayers of his people has un
doubtedly, in answer to these prayers, caused the
sun to shine and the rain to fall, even upon those
who will not call upon his name, and who will
not acknowledge their dependence upon his power.
Still there are not a few who feel that not much is
gained by even so remote a connection between
the church and state, as is implied in the appoint
ment of these days. They would prefer to have
ecclesiastical bodies appoint their own seasons for
penitence and for praise, and would thus hope that
the Majesty of heaven would not be insulted, by

FOURTH OF JULY. 149
the multitude converting a day professedly set
apart for humiliation and prayer, into one of festi
vity and sin. FOURTH OF JULY.
One of the most important gala days, not only
in New England, but throughout the whole of the
United States, is the anniversary of our national
independence. It is said that more blood has
been shed in celebrating the battles of the revolu
tion than was ever poured out in any one of those
battles. It is the surgeon's carnival. The day is
ushered in by the ringing of bells and the firing
of cannon, long before the sun appears ; the slum
bers of the morning are disturbed by the deafening
peals of the one and the multitudinous din of the
other. Boys, in vagrant troops, wander through
the streets, firing their mimic guns, and exploding
crackers ; and if so fortunate as to get a drum or
a good sounding tin pail, the morning air rings
with their martial strains.
As soon as the first gray tints of the morning
streak the eastern sky, all is noise and confusion.
One man, to express his joy, is pulling upon a
bell-rope ; another is driving home the cannon's
charge, endeavoring to manifest his triumphant
feelings by the loudness of the report. There is a
portion of every community who have but little
respect for themselves, and who are not bur
dened much with the respect of others. These,
everywhere and under all circumstances, think
13*

150 HOLYDAYS.
happiness consists in making loud noises. Their
screams are heard in the midnight orgies of the
grog shop. Their huzzas are sounded in the
streets. These are the men who pull at bell-ropes
and discharge cannons, because they are glad, or
want to be glad.
The more orderly part of the community endure,
as patiently as possible, these heathenish noises.
After the sun rises there is a little respite from
noise, but a gathering and confusion of the multi
tude in the streets. As families assemble around
the breakfast table, they come prepared for the tale
of accidents which have occurred.
" Father," says a little boy, who has ventured
out into the yard to see the strange things which
are going on, " Mr. Bent was firing a gim this
morning, and it split and tore his face all to pieces;
a man who went by just now said that the doctor
thinks he cannot live through the day.
" And upon the hill where they were firing the
cannons, a man was ramming down the load, and
it exploded suddenly, and blew both of his arms
off." This is quite a moderate chapter of accidents,
but similar events are interspersed through the
scenes of the day. As the gun-firing, bell-ringing,
and vociferating multitude become warm by ex
ercise and excited by rum, caution is forgotten,
and casualties are multiplied.
As the breakfast hour passes away, the roll of
the drum is heard upon the village common or in

THE FOURTH OF JULY 151
the place of rendezvous of the city, and the citizen
soldiers, in their volunteer uniform, are seen moving
from different parts of the city or village to the
place of parade. Men and boys are collecting,
and wagon-loads of spectators, with wagon-loads
of eatables, are rapidly congregating. In the
country village, not a few of the farmers' wives
and daughters are found with their husbands
or gallants, helping them " keep independence."
Sometimes a liberty-pole is erected, around which
they rally and drink to the prosperity of their
country, but to the ruin of themselves, their fami
lies, and their farms. Not a few of our states
men have yet to learn that national prosperity is
not to be advanced by individual dissipation and
family woe ; that love of country is to be promoted
by filling the land with fertile farms and happy
homes, and not by encouraging unearthly shouts,
the ringing of bells, and the firing of cannon.
The military company parades the streets, and
the peaceful citizen, in the almost burlesque dress
of war, treading to the measured music of the
drum and the fife, allures the inmates of every
dwelling to the window, to admire his nodding
plume and glittering sword. All the boys in the
village flank the musicians, gazing with wonder
upon the skill of the drummer, who is to them the
hero of the day. The sober citizen leads out his
child to amuse him for a half hour with the glit
tering scene, and then returns to his home.
Eleven o'clock arrives. It is the hour for a

152 HOLYDAYS.
"fourth of July oration." The bell rings. The
multitude assemble to walk in procession to the
meeting-house. The drum rolls more rapidly, and
the fife whistles more merrily than ever, as the
citizen soldiers at double quick step perform the
duty of escort. Every muscle is in motion, every
heart beats quick, and every cheek smiles, as the
animating strains of our national air come merrily
from the band.
We know not what the lovers of fun would do,
without good old " Yankee Doodle." It is the
universal favorite upon every occasion of public
rejoicing. Its enlivening melody has an electric
influence upon the crowd. Whenever and wher
ever it is heard, it is greeted with applause. And
especially upon the anniversary of our national
independence, it will dispel the most inveterate
frown that ever became naturalized upon an Ame
rican brow.
When the procession arrives at the meeting
house, it is found that the galleries and the side
pews are already filled with females and children.
At length, all are seated. A prayer is offered by
the clergyman of the village, who by request offi
ciates as the chaplain of the day, and the lawyer
or the physician, or more probably some law-stu
dent of the place, entertains the audience with an
hour's oration. In ninety-nine cases in the hun
dred no one is interested but the orator himself.
The boys want to be out at their sports, the sol
diers are impatient to continue their display, the

THE ORATION. 153
lover of a good dinner is thinking of roast beef and
plum pudding, which are in a state of preparation
at the adjoining tavern, and of the wine, which
flows freely as water when the cloth is removed.
The ladies did not come to hear, but to see. And
the few who, from a sense of propriety, endeavor
to put on at least the semblance of attention, take
it for granted that nothing new can be said in a
"fourth of Juty oration," but that patriotism de
mands of them patiently and meekly to submit to
the infliction.
At length the weary hour is gone, for even a
'• fourth of July" oration cannot compel time en
tirely to stop, though it very perceptibly clogs her
wheels. The drum and the fife again are heard,
as though rejoicing at their release from compul
sory silence. The multitude crowd from the
house with the avidity of schoolboys at the close
of a weary summer's afternoon. The village
paper, at its next appearance, gives a brief notice
of the thrilling eloquence of the orator, and of the
enchained attention of the audience. From the
meeting-house, the wives and the children go
home to their solitary meals, while the husbands
and the elder sons resort to the public dinner-table
at the neighboring tavern.
The dinner-hour passes, as all such scenes have
from the beginning, with but little of comfort, and
still less of enjoyment. The cloth is removed.
The wine glitters in the decanters, and a gentle
man rises from some part of the table to read the

154 HOLYDAYS.
toasts which have previously been prepared.
Then comes the applause.
We will not stop to give a description of modern
plaudits. Every one knows that they consist of a
combination of all the heathenish noises that can
be made. Many of our readers will consider us
very odd and old-fashioned, when we declare that
we never could find any amusement in stamping
upon the floor, beating the table, and screaming
" hurrah." So we must even leave the gentlemen
to their own enjoyment at the dinner table, and
simply announce that the toasts and the speeches
are received with immense applause.
Thus pass a few hours of elevated enjoyment.
By and by, a toast is given complimenting some
distinguished guest who is present. This calls
up the gentleman so honored, and elicits a speech.
At the close of each eloquent passage there follows
a round of huzzas, clapping of hands, thumping
with canes, and stamping with feet. The com
pany on such occasions is generally very respecta
ble, and all these congratulatory noises are con
ducted with much order and decorum. As the
afternoon wears away and the evening approach
es, the more reputable and orderly part of the
company retire from the table to their homes. A
few dissipated loungers remain to drain the bot
tles, arid to swell the tide of excitement to a more
frantic flow. The number of these, however, is
now comparatively small ; far less than it was a
few years since. The temperance effort has ba-

CLOSE OF THE CELEBRATION. 155
nished very generally from the table the more de
leterious combinations of alcoholic poisons, and
there are now but few so far lost to themselves as
to be swinish revellers after the company have re
tired. Still there are invariably a few stragglers who
linger around the tavern, and the bar-room is
filled during the evening by those who are pre
paring to carry to their homes that night weeping
and woe. The anxious mother trembles in view
of the return of the father, and hastens her fright
ened children to bed, that she may alone meet and
bear his brutality.
As the sun goes down the pealing din of the bell
and the roaring of the cannon are again heard.
As the darkness of the night comes on, rockets and
other fireworks are sometimes sent up to illumine
the evening sky. The sharp report of the soldier's
gun is heard, as here and there he discharges his
piece on his way to his home ; and the quiet family,
who surround the evening table, rejoicing that the
day is over, shudder as they hear the rattling of
the wagon wheels, and the clattering feet of the
horses, urged to a full gallop by the loud shouts of
intoxicated men. The happy mother clasps her
infant to her bosom, and shudders as she thinks of
the wretched wife who, defencefess herself, and
with her defenceless babes in her arms, must meet
and endure the rage of a drunken husband.
Such has been too generally, and such now is,
in many cases, the order of exercises for the anni-

156 HOLYDAYS.
versary of our national independence. There is
something very animating in a poetic description
of ushering in the glories of this day by the peal
ing of bells, the roar of cannon, and the huzzas of
a free and rejoicing people. But there is some
thing exceedingly prosaic in actual fact, in pulling
for hours at a bell-rope, and screaming, and beating
a table, and stamping upon a floor. We know of
nothing in the world so foreign from true happiness
or real rejoicing. It sounds well to talk of thus pro
moting love of country, and animating the bosom
with patriotic pride. But that man will love his
country the best who has the happiest home in it,
and his bosom will swell with the purest emotions
of patriotism, who looks upon a confiding wife and
promising children, and is animated to industry
by thrifty business. The din of the bell and the
noise of burning powder does not make patriots.
There is in this land much love of country.
There are no people on the face of the globe more
attached to their institutions, or more proud of
their name, than the Americans. Great as are
our national sins, and numerous as are our faults,
we feel that there is not an American to be found
who will not apply to his country the language of
one of England's favorite poets, —
-" with all thy faults

I love thee still."

There are frequently religious celebrations, in
which Christian influence is exerted to direct pub
lic attention to subjects of great practical impor-

A CHANGE DESIRABLE. [57
tance ; or an effort is made to guide tlie affections
to God, as tlie Author of all the multiplied blessings
we enjoy. For some years past, these celebrations
have been growing more frequent, and their influ
ence is felt in causing the ordinary celebrations to
be conducted with more propriety. We hope and
pray that the time may soon come when thc„
morning of our national independence shall be
ushered in with thanksgiving and praise ; when
our colored brethren at the south shall be able to
unite with full chorus in the song of redemption ;
aud when the whole land shall echo with the
voice of adoration arising from a free, a united,
and a happy people. Then will the cup of the
drunkard be broken, and the roar of the murderous
cannon will be hushed forever. Then shall the
birthday nf our independence be the Sabbath day
of freedom, and English and American hearts
shall unite to mourn over past strife, and to thank
God for reconciliation and love.
14

CHAPTER VIII.
COLLEGE LIFE.
" My dear Cousin,
" I promised you that when I entered college I
would write and tell you all that I could about
this new mode of life. Father came in the stage
with me from home to this place, that he might
assist me in obtaining a boarding-house, and in
furnishing my room. We arrived here Monday
evening, and called upon the president. He told
us that the candidates for admission Were to be
examined in one of the lecture rooms the next
morning, at half-past eight.
" At that hour in the morning I went to the
lecture room, and found about thirty others, stand
ing around the door, waiting for the professors and
tutors to come. They were all strangers to me.
But I could see that nearly all felt as I did — that
is, frightened half out of their wits. I assure you
it is a pretty formidable thing to be arrayed before
half a dozen professors and tutors, and, in the pre
sence of a class of thirty strangers, to be examined
in any part of the books required for admission.
I dreamed of it all night, and could not eat any

LETTER FROM A FRESHMAN 159
breakfast in the morning; and when I arrived at the
door, I saw that all the others were nearly in the
same predicament with myself. Some were walk
ing up and down, endeavoring to appear as careless
and light-hearted as possible ; but the pale cheek,
and the manifest effort to appear at ease, showed
that they were endeavormg, as one of the older-
students said, " to rally their retreating courage."
The laws of the college will not; allow any one to
be admitted under the age of fifteen years. g. There
were some, however, who looked younger than
that, and there were also several who were nearly
thirty. The examination was not so difficult as
we feared. All were admitted, but a few were
required to review some of the studies with which
they were not sufficiently familiar.
" There are two buildings occupied by the stu
dents. They are of brick, four stories high, and
each contains thirty-two rooms. There are not
rooms enough, however, to accommodate al^the
students, and many of 'our class are under the ne
cessity of obtaining rooms in the^houses of the
village. ¦ The college rooms are .about twenty feet
square, and attached to each room is a small bed
room, eight feet long by six wide. '}. Two students
occupy a room. Yoji probably knowL that there
are four classes in college. The first year we are
called freshmen; the second, sophomores jthe third,
juniors; and the fourth, 'seniors.
"I have now been here a .week, and will endea
vor to describe the ordinary duties of each day.

160 COLLEGE LIFE.
Any one day will afford a pretty fair specimen of
all the rest. The first morning, I was very much
afraid I should not awake in season to attend
prayers. This fear gave me a night of troubled
dreams. I awoke two or three times before day,
and looked at my watch by the bright rays of the
moon, and felt so lonely that I longed to be at
home again.
" At last, I got up and dressed me an hour be
fore the prayer bell rung. I lighted my candle
and sat down to look over my morning lesson, but
I could not study, for the tears filled my eyes as I
thought of the home and the friends I had left.
I felt ashamed of my weakness, but I thought I
was out in the great world all alone. I felt as I
should think a shipwrecked man would feel,
clinging to a plank in the midst of the ocean.
" At last the prayer bell rung. It was just be
fore sunrise. The students began to pour out of
the college doors, and flock into the chapel. My
room-mate and I mingled in the crowd, and in the
excitement of this new scene I forgot, in a consi
derable degree, my home-sickness. The devo
tional exercises occupied about fifteen minutes,
and then we went to the recitation room. There
are about forty in our class. The tutor calls upon
one and another, here and there, as he pleases, so
that no one may know in what part of the lesson
he is to be "taken up," as we term it. If one is
absent from recitation without excuse, he is fined,
tlie punishment consisting not so much in the fine

LETTER FROM A FRESHMAN. 161
which. is trifling, as in the fact that it is sent home
to his father in his term bill, and thus his delin
quencies are knowp to his friends.
" Immediately after recitation we returned to
our rooms, and in ajfew moments the bell rung for
breakfast. It was then about eight o'clock. As I
walked along through the college yard, the stu
dents were dispersing in every direction to their
boarding-houses, scattered throughout the village.
Now and then you would see some demure fellow
moping along alone, apparently unhappy ; but ge
nerally they were social and merry, as though
they knew not care. There are seven students
who board in the same family with me. They are
all about eighteen years of age, which is perhaps
the average age of the students.
" Immediately after breakfast we returned again
to our rooms. The students for a few moments
clustered around the doors, talking with each other.
A few were playing ball in the yard, and one "";-u.
carrying around a subscription panr^,^ upon
money to purchase-a couple of fojaiiV.," ;* „,,* *„ j^
o'ckipk""th«*^^"«*5*:i**'0„iI1 xof study hours, and
¦?e all hastened to our rooms. T^he laws of the
college forbid any student to be out of his room in
study hours, except for, necessary purposes. There
are, however, I believe, always some who neglect
their studies, and evade the laws whenever they
can. As I was looking out of the window during i
the forenoon, I saw two students, one of their/
Avith a gun in his hand, slyly creeping towards
14*

162 COLLEGE LITE.
the woods near the college. I suppose that every
day there are more or less who are roving through
the woods, or sailing upon the neighboring pond.
At eleven o'clock the bell rang again for recitation,
and the classes assembled in their respective reci
tation rooms. We recited as in the morning, the
tutor calling upon different members of the class
to translate different portions of a lesson.
" After recitation the students employed them
selves as they pleased till dinner-time. Some
went to their rooms to read ; some to the woods
to walk ; and many were engaged in playing ball
in the yard. I joined the party who were swing
ing the bat-stick. At one o'clock the bell rang
for dinner. At two o'clock we are again sum
moned by the bell to our rooms and our stu
dies. But if you had been passing by the college
buildings a quarter before two, you would have
seen groups of students around the doors, forming
various plans for future enjoyment. The after-
room-m&,. passed by myself and. room-mate in
^ % . *ww«ta4 . at half-past four we were again
'called, bv **"¦ *°^*  , , . ¦ ¦ JL
tho .rat I knew not what to say. At last x vtefcve ,
to inquire whether it were really honest to steal.
They stared at me, apparently in utter astonish
ment, and told me that if they had supposed that
I was so green as that, they should not have in
vited me to their roast. I found that they did not
consider it at all inconsistent with good moral con
duct to steal a man's potatoes, or corn, or apples,
or to rob him of his turkeys or his chickens. And

LETTER FROM A FRESHMAN. 163
me, that there are not a few who take advantage
of the darkness of the evening to seek enjoyment
in scenes of petty and contemptible mischief.
These individuals, however, are among those least
respected in college, and are the most discontented
and unhappy persons within its walls. r
"I cannot help giving you an account of one
scene which I very unexpectedly a"nd unintention
ally witnessed. It will give you a little insight
into some of the scenes of college life which I hope
I shall not often witness. One day this week, one
of the sophomore class, with whom I had become
a little acquainted, came into my room and asked
me if I would come to his room that evening at
eight o'clock, for they were to have a "roast." I
did not know what he could mean by a roast, and
was afraid to confess my ignorance, lest he should
laugh at me for being green. So I accepted his
invitation, supposing that I should soon learn by
sight what a " roast" was. The student told me,
when I came, to give four raps with my cane "' "
. , ' ° . T r - ;. . .auch upon
they might know that 1 was one or ,
., ? ,f „^. „.,^ * vojuiiu.. make it out to be
About bf.-  * ' - ,. T * a
«my thing less than stealing. I was not prepared
to find such a state of morals in college. I would
not have you infer from this that all the students
will steal, and not be ashamed of it. The great
majority would scorn such conduct, and would
much rather have their, cooking done by servants
in the kitchen, than attempt such work themselves.
But with very many the state_of morals is altoge-

164 COLLEGE LIFE.
the occupant of the room was basting, as I believe
they called it, when I entered. Beneath the
chickens were placed two deep plates, to catch the
gravy which was dripping from them. The occu
pants of the room had their coats off, with aprons
on, and' their sleeves tucked up, like most accom
plished cooks. One or two other students were
performing the still more humble service of kitchen
scullions. One was gathering up the feathers
which were scattered about the room, and which
they had been picking from the fowls. Another
was rubbing the knives, while another was puff
ing over the fire, watching the boiling of chocolate
in a huge coffee-pot. When I saw what was
going on I wished myself away, but had not cou
rage enough to incur the ridicule which I knew
would be heaped upon me if I should refuse to re
main. In the course of conversation I found that
the students had stolen the chickens from a neigh
boring hen-roost. They talked of it with perfect
room-nlli, as if they were not conscious that there
^»ici^*f«r,pxit, nr-rijace in stealing. I was so surprised
called bv tti^ ^o1"-' * — — r~~ '-'^ ^ .
tllo rfaVl knew not what to say. At last A ^-^ired
to inquire whether it were really honest to steal.
They stared at me, apparently in utter astonish
ment, and told me that if they had supposed that
I was so green as that, they should not have in
vited me to their roast. I found that they did not
consider it at all inconsistent with good moral con
duct to steal a man's potatoes, or corn, or apples,
or to rob him of his turkeys or his chickens. And

LETTER FROM A FRESHMAN. 165
white doing this every week, they would have
been exceedingly enraged if any one had intimated
that they were thieves.
"I recollected that one of our neighbors was
sent to the house of correction for steahng some
chickens. rHe was a poor man, and said he did it
to feed his children. But he lost his character by
it, and has been in disgrace* ever since. I told
them of this case, and asked them why it was not
as had for them to steal as for this poor man.
They seemed to be getting very much vexed, and
said that they did such things merely for fun.
But I could not see why it was not worse for a
man to steal who had no motive but pleasure,
than for one who really wanted food for his chil
dren^ They, however, were getting so much
excited, that I did not like to say any thing
more about it.
" I suppose that is what people mean by getting
acquainted with the world and learning human
nature. At any rate, it is a new exhibition of hu
man nature to me, for I have thought much upon
the subject since, and I cannot make it out to he
any thing less than steahng. I was not prepared
to find such a state of morals in college. I would
not have you infer from this that all tbe students
will steal, and not be ashamed of it. The great
majority would scorn such conduct, and would
much rather have theii, cooking done by servants
in the kitchen, than attempt such work themselves.
But with very many the state of morals is altoge-

166 COLLEGE LIFE.
ther different from what I ever found it before.
They call these things " scrapes," and seem un
conscious of the dishonesty and meanness of their
conduct. " But to return to the roast. When I found that
the fowls were stolen, and that the potatoes which
were boiling over the fire were stolen also, and
that one of the students had milked a cow, which
was grazing near the college, to obtain milk for
the repast, I began to feef some qualms of con
science about partaking of this stolen entertain
ment. 1 began also to feel the more anxious to be
gone, since I plainly saw that my conversation
had made me rather an unwelcome guest. The
cooks, who were scrambling about the room, began
to look sour and morose. Every thing went
wrong. One was scolding ; another fretting. The
chickens were burned ; the chocolate boiled over.
One, in his haste, knocked two or three dishes
from the table, and they were dashed upon the
floor, greatly alarming the company for fear the
tutor should be roused by the noise. In fine, we
all were any thing in the world but happy. I
was meditating some way of escape, for I had
determined to go, but knew not in what way most
easily to excuse myself.
" Just at this moment we heard the cry of fire.
Looking out of the windows, which we had dark
ened by hanging up blankets, we saw the whole
collego yard illuminated, as though the roof of the
building we were in was in flames. The glowing

LETTER FROM A FRESHMAN. 167
cinders began to roll downjhe chimney, and we
saw at once that it was our own chimney on fire,
which had communicated the alarm. I caimot
describe to you tho terror mto wliich we were
thrown. We knew that hi a moment the tutors
and students would rush into our room; and what
a scene would they behold ! I felt as much ter
rified as any of the rest, for you may suppose that
I was not desirous of being detected in such com
pany and in such a scrape. There was no time
for deliberation. We heard the enemy upon
tlie stairs. One sprang to tlie bolted door to keep
it fast The others seized the tablecloth by tlie
four corners, threw upon it the roasting chickens,
tlie pot of boiling potatoes, tlie plates of gravy,
and bringing the four corners of tlie cloth together,
they swung the whole load, in one promiscuous
heap of broken crockery, salt, butter, and potatoes,
pepper, gravy, and fowls, into die bedroom and
wider the bed. Never was a dinner table so ex
peditiously cleared! Never was there so disas
trous a consummation of an anticipated feast. In
another instant tlie books were updn the table, the
blankets torn from the windows, and tlie room
assuming its ordinary appearance, with the excep
tion of rather a glowing fire, and the occupants
having burning chteeks and disordered dress. In
the midst of tlie confusion I made my escape, just
as tlie crowd were rushing into the room. I have
not taken the pains since to inquire in what state
they found tlieir good things after the crowd

168 COLLEGE LIFE.
had withdrawn, or what pleasure they took in
the gentlemanly employment of washing the
dishes. "You must not infer from this description
that the majority of the students engage in
such scenes. This is by no means the case. In
every class there are a few of the idle and the
dissolute, who, having no respect for themselves
and no regard for future usefulness and happiness,
waste their time and pervert their talents in work
ing out for themselves present sorrow and future
disgrace. These high fellows are the most un
happy persons there are in college. They are
always in trouble. But they are the individuals
who make a noise, and whose dissipated conduct
is constantly attracting the attention of the com
munity around. The many, who pass their time
in diligent study and profitable reading, are not
known. In the seclusion of their rooms they are
laying up stores of knowledge, and acquiring dis
cipline and energy and grasp of mind, which will
guide "them to influence and happiness in the great
theatre of life.
" There are several societies in college for intel
lectual improvement. The members are generally
chosen by ballot from the respectable scholars of
the class. Subjects are assigned for composition,
and for extemporaneous debate. These intellec
tual entertainments are very profitable, and in
these humble debates many are acquiring skill to
address the jury and to influence the senate.

PLEASURES OF A COLLEGE " SCRAPE." 169
" We have three terms a year, of three months
each. The intervening vacations consume the
rest of the year."
Such is the description which a novitiate in a
New England college may be supposed to give of
the scenes into which he is ushered there. To
complete the picture, we give the following nar
rative from an American magazine.
THE PLEASURES OF A COLLEGE "SCRAPE."
It was a cold December evening — dark, cloudy,
and rainy. I had a book of nautical sketches in
my hand, and a cigar in my mouth. My room
mate, who would be classed by naturalists under
the genus Facetiosi, was sitting upon the other
side of the table, which was standing in the centre
of the room, covered with books. His feet were
elevated upon the mantle-piece, and he was pour
ing forth wreaths of smoke from an immense
"long nine" that adorned his mouth. The glow
ing embers of a good fire warmed and enlivened
the room.
"Chum," said I, "let us have a scrape to
night." "Agreed; but what shall we do?"
" A bonfire would look nobly this dark night,"
I replied, as I rose and looked out into the cold
and dark damp air.
" Very well, light the dark lantern, and — here,
15

170 COLLEGE LIFE.
turn your coat inside out, so that no one will know
you. And where is that piece of burnt cork 1
We had better black our faces a little."
The burnt cork could not be found. However,
we soon rigged ourselves in such a disguise that
no one could have detected us by our dress, and
sallied forth on our expedition of pleasure.
About half a mile from college there were some
empty tar barrels, which we thought would most
effectually dispel the gloom of the night. Just as
we got hold of one, a gust of wind rattled a pile
of boards near us. We thought that the owner
of the barrel was upon us, and, fully aware that
discretion was the better part of valor, we retreat
ed at the top of our speed. Chum, in his hurried
flight, stumbled over a log, and, in a twinkling,
was lying prostrate in the mud. In his fright,
however, he felt that there was no time to be
wasted, and with bruised cheeks and bleeding
nose, and drenched with mire, he again manifested
that " discretion" which is " the better part of va
lor." Finding that we were not pursued, we be
gan to think we had fled at a false alarm. I pro
posed returning to the charge, but found that the
ardor of my chum's zeal, as might naturally have
been expected, had become wonderfully cooled.
" Fun !" exclaimed he; "is this what you call
fun ? Just hold up your lantern, and look at my
face and clothes !"
" To be sure," said I, as I looked at his woe
begone appearance, " I can conceive of a more

PLEASURES OF A COLLEGE " SCRAPE." 171
agreeable situation for a man to be in. But I
would not give up now, chum."
"Well," said he, "we are in for a scrape, and
let us have it out. But, I assure you, my wet feet
and- clothes, to say nothing of the bruises, do not
feel very comfortable this cold night."
We soon were tugging at the tar barrel again.
It was wet and heavy, and we found it no light
task to carry it such a distance. After toiling and
fretting for some time, chum stopped in despair.
"Why, Henry," said he, "I am prodigiously
tired, and we have a quarter of a mile further to
carry this heavy thing through the mud."
" To tell the truth, chum," I responded, " I
wish I had put on some old clothes ; I have got
this tar all over my pantaloons."
"Horrible!" said chum; " I never thought of the
tar on the outside. Here, hold the light. Let me
look at my clothes."
Oh, what a picture for Hogarth ! His coat was
turned inside out, and drenched with water and
mud. His pantaloons were in a similar plight,
the tar being in various places fairly worked into
the very texture of the cloth. His face was mud
dy and scratched, and there was upon it a most
ludicrous expression of perplexity and vexation.
However, pride and will were enlisted, and, after
a little delay, we soon were again tugging along
with our burden. Chum had hold of one side of
the barrel and I the other, while the lantern was
resting upon its head ; and when, at length, we

172 COLLEGE LIFE.
arriveidin \tbje college yard, the chapel clock was
just tolling Eleven. -
" Henry," said chum, " you go out to the yard
there\and get some shavings, while I go up to the
roorpaW get a tinder-box. Our lantern is broken
all to nieces."
jSweht groping along in the dark, through mud
and. water and wet grass, to get some fuel. After
searching for some time, I succeeded in obtaining
some shavings, which I thought sufficiently dry to
kindle. Hastening back to the barrel, I found
chum waiting with his tinder-box. We arranged
the fuel, struck a light, and applied the match. A
clear beautiful flame rose gracefully into the dark
ened air. As we, however, for sufficient reasons,
" loved darkness rather than light," we fled, with
the utmost precipitation, from the illuminated cir
cle, and softly crept to our rooms. Almost breath
less we hastened to the window, to gaze upon our
splendid bonfire, and, lo ! all was Egyptian dark
ness. Not the least glimmer of light cheered our
eyes. It was intolerable to fail after having done so
i^nuch, so out we sallied again, to see if we could
not kindle our wet fuel to a flame. By dint of
much perseverance, we obtained some dry mate
rials, and soon secured a more sure fire, which be
gan to burn in earnest, and to illuminate the ob
jects around with its bright flashes. We had so
arranged the fuel now, that we felt confident it
would burn, though it would take some time for it

PLEASURES OF A COLLEGE " SCRAPE." 173-
to get fully on fire. It was necessary for us to go
directly by the tutor's door, as we went up into
the third story of the building, to our own room.
The windows of the tutor's room looked out upon
the fire, and we feared detection if he should hear
us going by at that late hour of the night. As
soon as we came to the entry, therefore, we took
off our shoes, and crept softly along in our stock
ing-feet. The clock struck twelve as we were
ascending the first flight of stairs. Just as we
were opposite the tutor's door, creeping along al
most breathless, the door opened, and out came
the tutor with a candle in his hand. He held the
candle in my face, and, in the most gentlemanly
manner imaginable, called me by name ; and then
turning to chum, with the same gentlemanly and
provokingly complacent voice, called him by
name. As his eye glanced down our disguised and
muddy clothes to our unshod feet, and rested a
moment upon the shoes in our hands, I fancied I
saw a smile struggling to curl his lip. However,
he restrained it, and very politely said, " Good
night, young gentlemen," and turned to go into
his room. But suddenly he stopped, as though a
new thought had struck him, and said,
" I perceive there is a little fire kindling out in
the yard; won't you be so kind as to go down
with me and help me extinguish it?"
There was no time to hold a council of war, and
15*

174 COLLEGE LIFE.
each followed the other. Never was a man so
perfectly civil as was the tutor ; and never were
two wretches so perfectly crest-fallen as my com
panion and I. We very submissively and silently
followed him out into the yard ; for how in the
world could we refuse so respectful and reasonable
a request ?
"Will you be kind enough," said he to me,
"just to roll that tar barrel out into that puddle
of water. I would help you, but I see your gloves
are already wet."
" Indeed you do," thought I, " and how in the
world do you suppose they became wet?" But it
would not do for me to think aloud.
" Mr. G.," said he to my chum, " won't you put
those brands in the water, and crowd them under
a little, so that they cannot be set on fire again
easily." Hiss — ss — s — went the brands, and all was
again as dark as night. We groped our way along
to the college, but the blood rushed into my face,
as, once or twice, I heard a kind of stifled noise,
as though the tutor was trying to restrain convul
sions of laughter. Whether this were the case or
not, he was perfectly composed by the time we
came to the door of his room, where the light
shone upon our faces.
" Good night, young gentlemen," said he, very
pleasantly ; " I am much obliged to you for your
assistance. Let me light you up stairs."
As we walked up the stairs he very politely

PLEASURES OF A COLLEGE " SCRAPE." 175
held the candle, so that he could leisurely inspect
the beauties of our appearance.
" Well, — well, — well !" said chum, as we closed
the door of our room ; "if this is what you call a
scrape, I don't desire another."
" Why," said I, " he don't know that we built
the fire."
"Don't know it!!" said chum. "Did you
ever hear one of the government call a student
mister before ? Why, he treated us as respectfully
as though we were the most important personages
in the country. Don't know it ! Why, what in
the world does he suppose you are dressed in that,
pea-jacket for, and with that old ragged haj^on?
And what does he suppose this coat* of mine
means, turned inside out, and all this tar, which
he could not help seeing ? I'd give twenty dollars,
any minute, to be out of this scrape."
I felt even worse than my chum, and accord
ingly tried to conceal my feelings by forced jokes.
" What a beautiful fire we have got out there,"
said I, looking out into the total darkness of the
night. " Come, come, Henry," said he, " I think we
have had fun enough, such as it is, for one night,
and I am going to bed. I have ruined these
clothes completely," he continued, as he began to
undress ; " I shall never be able to wear them again.
And now our fire is all out, and we must go to bed
with feet both wet and cold. If we are not sick
after this, it will be very strange."

176 COLLEGE LIFE.
I saw that chum was indeed in a gloomy mood,
and as I, in heart, felt no less so, we both in silence
prepared for bed. Any person who knows what
it is to go to bed chilled through from exposure to
the rain, and with feet in the state of wet icicles,
will know that we could not soon fall asleep.
We had been in bed I should think a half hour,
in perfect silence. I was thinking, with a good
deal of anxiety, of the probable consequences of
the evening's occurrence.
" Henry," said chum, in a voice that showed
that he was as far from sleep as I, " Henry, if they
suspend us what shall you do?"
" Poh ! chum," said I, " don't talk so; it makes
me feel bad."
"Well," said he drily, "if the talking makes
you feel bad, how will the reality make you feel 1
They will have us up before the government
to-morrow ; and what under the sun can we say 1
We shall have to spend a few months in the coun
try, as sure as the world, and that will be fine
tidings to be carred home."
My heart beat quick, as I felt the strong proba
bility that chum's apprehensions would be re
alized. At last, however, I fell into a light doze,
and, in troubled dreams, was arraigned before the
government of the college. There was no escape
from detection. I received a suspension bill, and,
almost distracted with shame, went to a most dis
mal abode in the country. Again I went home
in disgrace. I met my father and mother, and oh,

177
how deeply did I feelreproached by their silent grief.
Thus the night passed away, till the morning bell
called us to prayers. We both rose with stiffened
limbs. Chum found, to his extreme mortification,
that the scratches he received in his face by his
fall were far too deep for water to remove, and as
he had taken so violent a cold that he could hard
ly speak, he felt it to be necessary for him, if pos
sible, to avoid making his appearance.
I, however, after having dressed myself in a
new suit of clothes, went into the chapel to
prayers, and from prayers to the recitation room.
As the students flocked along, the remains of the
miserable failure of a bonfire attracted their atten
tion, and many were the cutting jokes that were
thrown out against the unfortunate fellows who
" tried to and couldn't."
In the recitation room I was called upon to
recite, but made most wretched work of it. A
kind of half smile struggled upon the tutor's lip,
as he said, in a voice low and almost inarticulate
to every one but me, " You may sit down ; you are
very excusable, as you were assisting me last eve
ning." " W-h-a-t," whispered the student who sat next
to me, " w-h-a-t in the world did he say to you?"
I endeavored, as well as I could, to shuffle off
the question. But, immediately after recitation,
some dozen of the students came clustering around
me, to ascertain what I had been helping the tu
tor to do. I could not conceal my confusion, but

178 COLLEGE LIFE.
I did not dare to let the truth be known, for I
knew it would be a standing joke against me, that
I should never hear the last of.
We went to breakfast, but I had no appetite.
The apprehension of being called into the presi
dent's study, and receiving either a public repri
mand or a bill of suspension, made me most per
fectly wretched. As I returned to my room, there
was poor chum, looking very much like a culprit
waiting his execution. We had not watched at
the window long before we saw the tutor going
straight as an arrow across the college yard to
the president's study. Our blood chilled within
us, as we awaited the summons which should
call us into that dread presence. A half hour
of most woful suspense passed away, and we saw
the tutor returning. We thought that the awful
moment was now at hand. But the tutor went
quietly to his room, and during the forenoon no
message came for us. We were, however, con
tinually expecting a summons, and were in such
a state of apprehension that it was impossible to
study. Towards the close of the forenoon we
concluded that there was not time to assemble
the government in the morning, and that they had
postponed the subject till the evening. The anxi
ety we were in was so great, that an immediate
settlement in almost any way would have been a
relief. Evening came, and we sat down at our
fireside^ with most unenviable feelings. Presently
there was a tap at the door. My blood curdled.

A COLLEGE SCRAPE. 179
"Come in," said chum, with a faltering voice.
It was a fellow-student. The weary hours of the
apparently interminable evening lagged along, and
still no summons from the government.
" Why, Henry," said chum, " it cannot be that
the tutor has not informed against us?"
" No," said I ; "we were so completely caught,
that we shall of course be hauled up for it. But
if they were going to suspend us, I think they
would have had a meeting to-day. You know
they have a government meeting every Wednes
day evening. I rather think, as they have got us
so safe, they have put off the subject till then."
These thoughts were a little relief to our minds,
but they lengthened out the period of our suspense.
Wednesday evening at length came, and with it
fresh feelings of apprehension. But the evening
passed away, and the next day, and the next, and
no notice was taken of our evening adventure.
Gradually our feelings became calm, and the
remembrance of the scrape ceased to haunt our
minds. The tutor was a generous man as ever
lived, and probably thought that our detection by
himself was punishment enough. At any rate,
we felt it to be so, for, one evening, as we were
sitting musing by the fireside, chum suddenly spoke
up— " Henry, if ever I felt grateful to a man in my
life, I do to the tutor; and if I live to gradu
ate, I will thank him for his forbearance."
Several months after the event we have now

180 COLLEGE LIFE.
been relating, a student came into our room late
on a dark evening.
"Come," said he, " don't you want to go and
have a scrape?"
Chum sprang from his chair as though he had
been shot.
" Scrape ! you rascal — you scoundrel- — you vil
lain," shouted he, in the vehemence of his in
dignation. " Do you want to get me into a
scrape ? I have had one, and it was almost the
death of me. Get out of my room."
The fellow fled in terror, and no one else ever
asked chum or me to enjoy the pleasures of a col
lege " scrape."
Perhaps some of our readers may feel desirous
of knowing what studies are pursued in the New
England colleges, and how far the students are
advanced in those studies. All the New England
colleges are on nearly the same level. The course
of study in any one so nearly corresponds with
the course of study in all the rest, that students
are," "without jdifficulty, removed from one to an
other without any alteration in their collegiate
standing. Therefore, in giving the following
course of study, which is pursued in Bowdoin col
lege, Brunswick. Maine, we give the standard of
education in the New England colleges generally.
TERMS OF ADMISSION.
Candidates for admission into the freshmen
class arc required to write Latiti grammatically,

COURSE OF STUDY. 181
and to be well versed in geography, arithmetic,
six sections of Smyth's Algebra, Cicero's select
Orations, the bucolics, georgics, and jEneid of
Virgil, Sallust, the gospels of the Greek Testa
ment, and Jacobs' Greek Reader. They must
produce certificates of their good moral character.
The usual time for examination is the Friday
after commencement. Candidates for admission
into the other classes will be examined also in the
books which have been studied by the class into
which admission is requested. Scholars from other
colleges, before they can be examined, must pro
duce a certificate of their regular dismission. The
geography to be studied may be Morse's, Wor
cester's, or Cummings'.
N. B. Fisk's Greek Grammar is recommended.
COURSE OF STUDY.

FRESHMEN CLASS.

First Term.
Anabasis of Xenophon, (three books.)
Folsom's Livy, (two' books.)
Lacroix's Arithmetic ; Smyth's Algebra.
Second Term.
Adam's Roman Antiquities.
Anabasis, finished.
Folsom's Livy.
Smyth's Algebra.
16

182 COLLEGE LIFE.
Third Term.
Herodotus, (Hist. Pers. Wars, sixth book,
commenced.)
Excerpta Latina, (Paterculus and Quintus
Curtius.)
Smyth's Algebra.
Hedge's Logic.
Daily exercises in elocution, during one half
the term.

SOPHOMORE CLASS.

First Term.
Herodotus, continued.
Horace, (the odes.)
Legendre's Geometry.
French language.

Second Term.
Herodotus, continued.
Excerpta Latina, (Tacitus.)
Smyth's Trigonometry.
Cambridge Math., (heights and distances,
surveying and navigation.) French lan
guage.

Third Term.
Herodotus, continued.
Horace, (satires.)
Cambridge Math., (projections, levelling, and
application of algebra to geometry.)

COURSE OF STUDY. 183

Murray's English Grammar.
Newman's Rhetoric.
French language.

JUNIOR CLASS.

First Term.
Horace, (Ars Poetica ;) Juvenal.
Spanish or Greek, (Homer's Iliad, five books.)
Cambridge Mechanics.

Second Term.
Calculus.
Spanish or Greek, (Homer's Iliad, five books.)
Electricity, Magnetism, Optics.
Upham's Elements of Mental Philosophy.

Third Term.
Homer's Iliad ; Juvenal reviewed.
Calculus; Cambridge Mechanics.
Mental Philosophy, continued.
Rawle's View of the American Constitution.

SENIOR CLASS.

First Term.
Astronomy and Mathematics.
Paley's Evidences.
Stewart on the Active and Moral Powers.
Vattel's Law of Nations.

184 COLLEGE LIFE.
Second Term.
Chemistry.
Political Economy.
Butler's Analogy.
Italian, German, and Hebrew Languages.

Third Term.
Natural History.
Cleaveland's Mineralogy.
Butler's Analogy.
Italian, German, and Hebrew.

EXERCISES DURING THE YEAR.
Private declamations of the two lower classes,
and public declamations of the three upper
classes.
Compositions in Enghsh of the two upper
classes.
Forensic disputations of the junior and senior
classes.
Weekly translations into Latin by the fresh
men class.
Translations into English by the sophomore
class.
Two weeks preceding the term examinations
are spent in review of the studies of the term.

LECTURES.

Spring Term.
On Chemistry, to the junior and senior classes.

COURSE OF STUDY. 185
Summer Term.
On Natural Philosophy, to the junior and
senior class.
On Mineralogy to the senior class.
On Rhetoric and Oratory.

EXAMINATIONS.
1. Of all the classes at the close of the first and
second terms.
2. Of the senior class on the sixth Tuesday
preceding commencement.
3. Of the three other classes during the week
preceding commencement.

EXHIBITIONS
1. Of the senior and junior classes in May and
November. 2. Of the sophomore class, (a prize declama
tion,) in August.

ANNUAL EXPENSES.
Tuition, $24 00
Room rent, 10 00
Board in commons, 45 00
Incidental charges on college bills, 10 00
Other expenses, as wood, lights, wash
ing, stationery, use of books and furniture, 30 00
$119 00.
16*

186 COLLEGE LIFE.
VACATIONS.
1 . From commencement, which is on the first
Wednesday of September, three weeks.
2. From the Friday after the third Wednesday
of December, eight weeks.
3. From the Friday after the third Wednesday
of May, two weeks.
There is also in connection with this college a
large and flourishing medical school.
COMMENCEMENT.
At the close of each collegiate year, the mem
bers of the graduating class have parts assigned
them, according to their respective scholarship, for
public exhibition. Generally the officers of the
college assign to each a subject for a dissertation,
or a dialogue or an oration. At the appointed
day, which is called commencement day, the
friends of the graduating students, together with
a vast concourse of the neighboring people, assem
ble to witness the exercises of the occasion. It is
a day of great festivity. The students adorn their
rooms with evergreens and flowers, and provide
light entertainments for their friends. The best
band of music which the region can furnish is
provided, to animate and enliven the assembled
multitude. Not unfrequently booths are erected
in the vicinity, around which a disorderly crowd
pass the day in riot and confusion. The tempe
rance reformation has, however, recently nearly
removed this disgrace.

THEOLOGICAL SEMINARIES. 187
From a stage in the college chapel, or the more
spacious neighboring church, the graduating class
address the thronging audience, each upon the
subject which has been assigned him. The band
occasionally relieves the attention of the assembly
by its richest strains of music. At the close of the
exercises, each student receives from the president
his degree, and he feels at once that he has passed
the period of his pupilage, and has launched forth
into the world, independent and free.
From the college some go into mercantile life,
but the greater part enter the divinity, law, or me
dical schools, which are established either in con
nection with the college, or in different parts
of the country:
Perhaps, in this connection, I ought to say a
word upon the subject of theological education in
New England. There are several theological se
minaries scattered throughout the New England
states. That at Andover, in the state of Massa
chusetts, is by far the most prominent in the
wealth of its endowments, the number of its stu
dents, and the influence it is exerting upon the
world. The names of many of its learned profes
sors are known through the Christian world.
Their influence is felt in sustaining what is here
called the evangelical system of doctrine, and the
congregational system of church government. It
is a private institution, endowed by private muni
ficence. It is neither fostered by state patronage,
nor retarded in, its operations by legislative frowns.

188 COLLEGE LIFE.
Two large and commodious buildings of brick,
four stories high, and containing thirty-two rooms
each, afford accommodation for nearly all the stu
dents. A few are under the necessity of obtaining
rooms in the private dwellings of the village. A
beautiful chapel is situated between the two build
ings above mentioned. It contains a room suffi
ciently large for the students and the families of
the professors to assemble for public worship ; also
a large and beautiful library room, and three lec
ture rooms. The average number of students of
late years is a little over a hundred. None are
admitted but those who give satisfactory evidence
of piety, as the term is understood by the evange
lical portion of the community. They must also
have received a collegiate education, and intend
to devote themselves to the gospel ministry. Spe
cial efforts are made by the professors in their in
structions, and in all the arrangements of the in
stitution, to cultivate in the hearts of these candi
dates for the ministry the most fervent and self-
denying piety. There are three classes, called
the junior, middle, and senior. The first year,
the Bible is studied in the original languages. All
the aids which can be obtained from the learning
of commentators, without regard to the doctrines
they held, is eagerly sought. The Bible is, how
ever, the text-book, and the dictionary, with other
philological helps, the principal expositor. As the
class assembles in the lecture room, there is free
disoussion of the meaning of the passage to which

THEOLOGICAL SEMINARIES. 189
they are attending. Freedom of investigation is
earnestly encouraged, in connection with a humble
and prayerful spirit. In the lecture room, every
mind is on the alert, and each individual is willing
to express dissent from the 'opinion advanced by
his fellow-student or the professor. The study
of the Bible is thus prosecuted during the year
with unwearied diligence. The seeond year is
devoted to the investigation of doctrinal theology.
The following is a list of the topics which engage
attention, in the order in which they are taken up :
1. Natural theology. 2. Evidences of divine
revelation. 3. Inspiration of the Scriptures. 4.
Christian theology. 5. Divine attributes. 6. Tri
nity in the Godhead. 7. Character of Christ. 8.
Sonship of Christ. 9. Holy Spirit. 10. Divine
purposes. 11. Moral agency. 12. Original apos
tasy. 13. Character and state of man since the fall.
14. Atonement. 15. Regeneration. 16. Christian
virtue, or holiness. 17. Particular branches of
Christian virtue. 18. Justification. 19. Perse
verance of the saints. 20. Future state. 21. Fu
ture punishment. 22. Positive institutions. 23.
Christian church. 24. Infant baptism. 25. Mode
of baptism. 26. Lord's supper. These general
topics, of course, admit of many subdivisions,
which it is not necessary here to introduce.
There is an outline of the course of study placed
in the hands of each of the students, in which
there is reference to all the important works in
the library which treat of the subject under inves-

190 COLLEGE LIFE.
tigation. The students become familiar with the
reasoning of writers on both sides. They discuss
the subjects with entire freedom with one another,
and in the lecture room with the professor. No
one hesitates to bring forward any objection which
his reading or his meditations have introduced to
his mind. Every student knows that in this
land, where there is such unrestrained license of
opinion, the clergyman must be continually meet
ing the strong arguments of subtle foes. They
all know that it is necessary that they should be
strongly armed for the conflict which awaits them.
And the consequence is, that the cavils of the in
fidel are perhaps as thoroughly studied as the
arguments of the Christian. The above outline
certainly does not contain all the important topics
in Christian theology. It is intended merely as
the foundation, deep and broad, upon wliich the
student is to build in future years. It gives direc
tion to his studies and tells him what he wants.
The third year is devoted to sacred rhetoric, the
critical preparation of sermons, the study of church
history, and pastoral duties. During the latter
part of the year, the students occasionally preach
in the chapel, and in the neighboring villages.
And the demand for ministerial labor is so great,
that but a few months elapse after they leave the
seminary before nearly all are settled. The de
mand for pastors is vastly greater than our semi
naries can at present supply.
The spirit of missions has, to a wonderful do-

THEOLOGICAL SEMINARIES. 191
gree, animated the students of this seminary from
its first establishment. The sons of Andover are
now scattered over the whole world. They are
traversing the "celestial empire," and speaking
in the language of China to her countless multi
tudes. They are knocking at the gates of Jerusa
lem, and speaking in the mosques of Constantino
ple. They are in the wigwam of the Indian ; in
the immense wilderness of our own country ;
scattered throughout the islands of the Pacific ; in
Ceylon, and Bombay, and Central India. They
are preaching to almost every nation the gospel's
glad tidings.
There are many other similar institutions in the
land, but none other so prominent in influence.
With the exception of the Unitarian theological
school at Cambridge, I believe there is no one sus
tained either directly or indirectly by the bounty
of the state. And it is a subject of dispute between
the Unitarians and the orthodox, whether that
school is in reality a subject of state patronage.
If the state grants an act of incorporation to the
trustees of a theological institution, its liberality is
tasked to the utmost. It does all that even the
friends of the institution deem it desirable that the
state should do. The conviction is deep and
strong in the hearts of Christians, that all that re
ligion asks of the government is to be let alone.
It desires to be left to its own untrammelled ener
gies, and to rely for support upon the protection
of its friends.

CHAPTER IX.
TRAVELLING.*
We cannot complete the picture of New Eng
land which we wish to give, without exhibiting it
as it appears to a traveller. We must, therefore,
perform a short journey, asking our reader to ac
company us, in order that he may see the interior
of our stage-coaches, steam-boats, rail-road cars,
hotels, and country taverns ; and^we cannot select
a route more suitable for om«pirpose than the
great thoroughfare between boston and New
York. We should rather sa^ one of the great
thoroughfares, for the great current of travel from
the northern to the middle states divides itself at
Boston into two portions, one of which passes di
rectly to Providence, and thence, by steam-boats,
through the whole length of Long Island sound ;
and the other turns into the interior towards

* The reader is requested to bear it in mind, in reading this chapter
especially, that this work was written for foreign readers. There is,
of course, nothing here which will be new to American readers, though
Ihey may perhaps be amused by reading a description of what ie, in
reality, familiar. — Am. Edb.

A RIDE IN AN OMNIBUS. 193
Worcester, in the heart of Massachusetts, thence
through Connecticut to New Haven, and from
that port it passes by water to fhe great commer
cial metropolis. We will take the latter of the
two routes ; it will carry us a little more into the
interior, and will keep us a little longer on the
journey. It gives us, too, pretty fair specimens
of the three great modes of public travelling in
our country, the stage-coach, the rail-road, and
steam-boat. We take our places, then, in the long omnibus,
at its stand in the heart of Boston, entering at the
door behind, and forcing our passage between the
rows of knees, and over the canes, umbrellas, and
bundles, which obstruct the way. We are at last
fixed, the boy strikes his bell, and we are jolted
slowly along over, the pavements of Washington
street. But I need not stop to describe a ride in
an omnibus. It is the same all the world over.
There is the same pulling of the bell-rope, the
same constant succession of comers and goers,
the same crowding and staggering, in coming in,
and getting out, and the same curious succession
of views presenting itself to the quiet passenger,
who sits still in his place and looks through the
windows opposite to him into shop after shop, and
store after store, as the lumbering vehicle jolts
along the street ; and low windows, and gay dis
plays of fancy goods, and toyshops, and book
stores, and confectioners' and refreshment rooms,
glide, like the sliding pictures of a magic lantern,
17

194 'TRAVELLING.
before him, each filled with its own peculiar group,
and having its own peculiar expression. A ride
in an omnibus is substantially the same, we be
lieve, in every city on the globe.
It is known to all the world, at least to all that
part of it which have ever heard of the good city
of Boston, that it is situated on a peninsula, with
a long neck ; and our omnibus is going out in a
southerly direction through the street which comes
in over the neck, and extends, with no interrup
tion, though with many a curve, into the heart
of the city. After riding half a mile thus, through
a street of shops, we pull the coach-bell opposite
the Worcester rail-road office, and dismounting,
we find our way among the crowd of travellers
who are arriving in hacks and chaises, down to
the train of cars, which are standing under their
long shed, with the locomotive*erigine purling im
patiently before them. The -engineer's men are
busy oiling the wheels and storing the fuel. The
captain of the cars is arranging the passengers and
securing the baggage in the baggage-house, an edi
fice on wheels, deserving the name of house quite
as much, whether we consider its size or commd-
diousness, as half of the residences of the Irish
men who have constructed the road. Groups of
idlers stand about, staring at the cars and the en
gine, and watching the movements of the engi
neer, who seems proud of the high-spirited horse
he is to drive. He stands at his post, turning the
steam-cocks every now and then with great gra-

A RIDE UPON A RAIL-ROAD. 195
vity, to ascertain the condition of his boiler. By
and by all is ready. We are seated, with twenty
or thirty others, in what might be called a spacious
apartment, considering that it is the interior of a
coach, with a broad aisle up and down the inte
rior, and stuffed seats on both sides. Or if we
choose a snugger box, we take a differently con
structed car in another part of the train ; it is di
vided into compartments, one of which we may
fill, if we choose, with our own little company.
When all is ready the bell gives notice to the en
gineer. The engine puffs and gives a pull, the
whole train starts with a heavy jerk, and then
trundles on slowly. The carsmen trot along by
the side, securing the doors and hurrying in the
tardy passengers, and then leaping up, one after
another, and clinging to the steps of the cars ; the
speed increases, and in a few moments we are
rolling on with immense force and velocity over
the long viaduct which stretches on piles over the
extensive marsh which in this direction separates
the peninsula of Boston from the main land. We
cross roads and bridges, sometimes over marshes
and sometimes over water, until we reach the un
dulating upland, and then fly on, now shooting
across a plain, now riding along on a high em
bankment over a ravine, now winding through a
fruitful and luxuriant valley. The horses feeding
in the pastures look at us a moment, and then
gallop away. Men, women, and children stop to
gaze ; and the workmen employed in smoothing

1%. TRAVELLING.
off and finishing the road (for in America very
few great undertakings are yet finished) stop and
lean upon their hoe-handles, apparently bracing
themselves up by them, as if our velocity made
them dizzy.
Before trying the rail-road, the traveller always
thinks he shall be afraid ; and, in fact, for the first
fifteen minutes of the motion, most riders do feel
a little pale. When running along at the rate of
twenty miles an hour, within six inches of the
brink of an embankment twenty feet high, one
can hardly help speculating a little on the precise
nature of the evolution which would be performed
if the train should, by any mistake, get off the
track. Then, again, as the course of the cars is so
precisely determined, there is no need of waste
room when passing near the railing of a bridge, or
the perpendicular wall of ragged rocks which
forms the side of a cut through a hill. You shoot
suddenly along such a wall, apparently within a
few inches of it, and that without a moment's
warning ; for perhaps but an instant before you
were high in the air, running upon the top of an
embankment ; and as you dart by the sharp pro
jecting rocks, which seem almost to rasp the side
of the car, you can hardly help thinking what
would have become of your head, if by any acci
dent you had happened to be looking out to see
where you were going. These feelings are, how
ever, soon over ; you begin before long to place
confidence in the faithfulness of the wheels in

A RIDE UPON A RATL-ROAD. J.97
running upon their proper track, and youle^n.
to keep your head in the coach, where it ought to
be. The excited imagination becomes calm, and
you give yourself up to the intoxicating pleasure
produced by the speed of your flight, as you roll
along with just enough of irregularity in the mo
tion to make you feel how swift it is. You have,
at .least, half the pleasure of actual flying : the
speed, though not the elevation. You lose, after
a very short time, all sense of danger, for there
are no tips and slewings and joltings, as in a stage
coach, to remind you perpetually of the possibility
of an upset. In travelling, it is not danger, but
fear of danger which causes suffering ; and when
drawn by a moving steam-engine over a couple
of rails, at the rate of twenty miles an hour,
whatever may be the actual danger itself, you soon
lose all fear. Thus we go bowling along through
hills and over valleys, across corn-fields and or
chards, and over roads and rivers, now sweeping
round a majestic curve, and now flying down a
long but imperceptible descent, now stopping at a
landing place to let some of our passengers hurry
out and others hurry in, and now pausing a mo
ment at a stationary boiler to give our copper
steed a breathing spell, and refresh him with a
drink. He is a temperate animal ; keep him warm
and give him plenty of water, and he will work
for you incessantly, without food or sleep.
Our ride will be more in keeping with the state
of things in America if we suppose the rail-,road
17*

198 TRAVELLING.
not completed ; a supposition which corresponds
with the fact at the time I am writing this chap
ter. As we go on therefore into the interior, we
see laborers here and there stationed at their work.
Various groups are employed smoothing the road,
removing rubbish, making turnouts, finishing
offices, &c. At length we arrive at the end of the
engine's route, and our train is divided into por
tions of two or three cars each, and to these
horses are attached, who move off with them, won
dering, probably, at their newly acquired power.
The road seems more and more unfinished as we
advance. Heaps of sleepers and rails and chairs
lie by the sides of the road. We pass bridges
without railings, and along the tops of piles, the
spaces between which have not been filled up, the
horse walking along on one side upon the ground
below, or else led round, while the carsmen push
the train over. At length we come to a final stop
in a long shed, where we are wedged in between
two wood-piles, and left to grope our way out as
well as we can in the dark ; for it is December,
and by this time it is dark.
The thirty or forty passengers grope their way,
chiefly by feeling, to the tavern near, where the
stages, as we call them, (for in America we do not
always speak English,) are ready to convey us to
Worcester. It is a dark, rainy night ; we crowd
into our places, and the driver, who acts in the
double capacity of driver and guard, mounts his
box, and by a sort of instinct which enables him

RIDE TO WORCESTER. 199
to dispense entirely with lights, he finds his way
over a dozen miles of winding road, through mud
and the ram. He runs into no ditches nor over
any banks, though, as you look out of the coach
window, it seems strange how he can avoid them.
We pass by cheerful-looking farm-houses all
along the road, lights gleaming at the windows
with an expression of peace and happiness within.
Now and then we stop a moment at a country
tavern door while the driver waters his horses, or
exchanges one empty mail bag for another at a
little post-office; and at length we wheel round a
corner into a broad and spacious street, with ele
gant edifices on each side, brilliantly lighted, or
handsome shops, from whose windows and open
doors the light beams upon the broad brick side
walks, or upon the stems of the tall trees which
overshadow the street. It is Worcester.
The coach draws up at the door of a spacious
hotel, with a front of fifty feet and several stories
high, and lighted perhaps from top to bottom. A
waiter opens the door. Shall we alight, or shall
we go and spend the night with a friend? The
latter ; we will try a private dwelling to-night,
and see the interior of a hotel, at Hartford, to-mor
row. " Drive us to Mr.  's."
The stage door is closed again, the driver is
upon his box, and we are off, moving speedily up
the street.
Let us select as our home for the night one of
the most conspicuous residences in the town.

200 TRAVELLING.
There are fifty of them, equally alluring, for there
is here no titled nobility, — there is no great pro
prietor of the whole domain around, living in
state in his castle upon some neighboring hill.
There are palace-like looking buildings, as to size
at least, but they are not kept by noblemen. That
fine looking edifice, crowning the summit of yon
der hill, is a manual labor school, built and en
dowed by the voluntary contributions of hundreds
of farmers. This other building, standing upon
this gentle swell, with its extended front and orna
mented inclosure, is the asylum for the insane;
and so every building which is at all remarkable
for its size or commanding exterior may be set
down at once as devoted to some public purpose.
The residences of individuals are more republican
in their character. They stand along the streets,
with inclosures of shrubbery before and around
them. Let us enter one of them.
It stands back at a small distance from the street,
having before it a little green, formed into a series
of terraces, up which the walk mounts by a
succession of steps to the house. This green is
ornamented with trees and shrubs, planted with
perfect regularity and symmetry, for in America
things must be straight and square in order to be
beautiful. The flowers are planted in straight
borders, and a tulip here must be exactly balanced
by a tulip tliere. The inclosure is formed by a
neat wooden or perhaps iron paling, through which
we pass by a little gate, and ascend towards the

A NEW ENGLAND FIRESIDE SCENE. 201
house. A female domestic opens the door in
answer to our summons by the bell or the knocker,
and we are immediately ushered into the parlor,
and our host and hostess, seated with their chil
dren around the table before the fire, rise to receive
and welcome lis.
The interior presents as alluring a picture of
domestic happiness and peace as can be found in
the world. It is, as we have supposed, a winter
evening, and in the grate glows a fire formed of
coal, giving no smoke or flame, but which glows and
burns like a mass of red hot, and often almost white
hot stones. It sheds a rich but quiet light over
all the room, giving vividness and brilliancy-to the
colors of the Brussels Carpet and tho handsome fur
niture, and beaming upon the folds of the window-
curtains. The father sits at one corner of the large
table before the fire, reading a newspaper, or the last
number of a review. The mother is at her work.
Children of various sizes occupy the remaining
sides of the table, some reading, others with their
maps or slates, preparing their lessons for their
school to-morrow ; for, with scarcely an exception,
the children in New England all go to school.
An older daughter occupies one corner by the
side of the fire, with her work-table, whose drawers
are filled with her muslins, and her knitting, and
her answered and unanswered notes. She has
her side light ; but a large astral lamp, upon the
principal table, sends down its mild beams upon
the books and work of the others, and, mingled

202 TRAVELLING.
with the light of the fire, spreads its broad and
cheering influence over the room. Puss, with her
chin upon her fore paws, lies upon the rich hearth
rug, peeping through eyes half closed, between the
wires of the fender, lost in profound meditation
upon subjects which the ingenuity of man has
never yet been able to discover.
The next morning, if we have taken the pre
caution to book our names on the evening before,
the Hartford stage, by a great circuit in the broad
street, wheels up to the door just as we are finish
ing our breakfast. The driver hands the reins to
a companion on the box, and descends to take our
trunks and strap them upon the baggage rack
behind. He is dressed in an old white great coat
and fur cap, with a red comforter tied round his
neck. He secures the baggage, opens the door
and lets down the step, and makes all snug again
after we have entered. He then mounts his box,
takes his reins, and in a few minutes we draw up
again to the door of another private residence, or
before one of the half dozen great hotels, to receive
more passengers.
Our coach has three seats with leather cushions,
and a broad leather strap is stretched across be
hind the middle one, to support the backs of
those who sit there. When the coach is about
half full, we draw up perhaps to the door of a
genteel residence, and the driver goes in, tho
passengers watching his movements from the
coach window. The delay indicates an impor-

TRAVELLERS SET OUT FROM WORCESTER. 203
tant accession to the travelling party. Presently
he appears, with a bandbox in one hand and a
small leather tnmk in the other. He goes back
into the house, and there follows another delay.
He soon, however, makes his appearance again,
with another trunk and a couple of umbrellas.
A gentleman, with his wife upon his arm, follows,
stopping to speak the last words, and to give the
last instructions to those left in charge. A daugh
ter comes behind them. The passengers in the stage
instinctively make room for them on the back
seat. The door is opened, the strap is let down,
the ladies climb up the steps and get fixed on
seats made vacant for them. In a few minutes
all is adjusted, the door is closed, the driver springs
to his box, and away we go.
We are established, we will suppose, upon the
middle seat, and how shall we occupy ourselves 1
You may commence conversation with that plainly
dressed man on the front seat, or you may take
out a book and go to reading, or you may face
half round and make conversation with the party
behind you, or you may muffle yourself up in
your cloak, and doze away the hours in silence,
and even sleep. Either of these is perfectly
proper. You are entirely at liberty, and may take
your choice. The gentleman behind you will be
glad of your acquaintance, and his wife and
daughter will be particularly glad to have you
commence a conversation to which they may
listen ; they will gradually take a part in it, and

204 TRAVELLING.
before night you will be old acquaintances. He
may be one of the most distinguished inhabitants
of the place, and perhaps of the whole common
wealth. He is a merchant, who began life by
opening a little shop, or a professional man, who
left his father's farm when he was sixteen, and
made his own way through college, by teaching,
district schools, in his vacations.
While you are making these observations, or
learning these facts by conversation, the stage
rolls on over hill and dale towards Connecticut.
The whole countiy is divided into small farms,
the farm-houses occupying sheltered nooks, or
adorning the sides of the road. Some are painted
white, some red, and some are left unpainted to be
darkened by time. Orchards, corn-fields, pasture-
grounds and woodland alternate with one another,
and give variety to the scene. Every few miles
we pass a small village of white houses, with little
green yards before them. Each of these villages
has its white wooden church, and many, two. We
pass streams of water, with manufacturing esta
blishments of every kind, and a thousand other
indications of New England thrift and industry,
which it is impossible here to name.
Our driver, for the purpose of watering his ani
mals, or changing them for a fresh team, frequent
ly draws up his horses at the door of a small
tavern, standing close to the road, with its light
sign creaking in the wind. If your feet are cold,
you descend from the coach and go in, following

INTERIOR OF A COUNTRY TAVERN. 205
your fellow-passengers into an apartment with
the inscription, "Bar Room," upon the door. An
open stove stands upon a sheet-iron hearth, in
front of the place where the fireplace once was,
and a crooked, crazy pipe, confined in its place, by
wires running in all directions, carries the smoke to
the chimney. Around this fire the stage passengers
hover, excepting the ladies and their friends, who
go into a rather more parlor-like looking apart
ment, on the other side of the entry. The floor of
the bar room is sanded. Old worn out newspapers
are lying about upon the chairs, and especially
upon the lid of a great chest, whose top serves
customers for a seat by day, and whose interior
makes the ostler's bed by night. On the back side
of the room, or in one corner of it, is an inclosure,
made by a partition about four feet high, within
which are drawers, and shelves filled with bottles
of ardent spirits, with a tray of- biscuit and
gingerbread, and another of apples, and a row of
tumblers, bottom upwards, surmounted each with
a lemon or an orange. Coarse, rough looking men
are lounging about the room, smoking or drinking.
Some are mere idlers, and others are wagoners, or
travellers of that description, who have stopped to
Warm themselves and eat their bread and cheese
by the bar room fire.
While we are speculating upon this scene, and
upon the new light it sheds upon the New Eng
land condition and character, the driver enters,
buttoning up his coat and drawing on his mittens,
18

206 TRAVELLING.
with his "stage is ready, gentlemen," and we are
soon re-established in our seats and again upon our
way. We stop now and then to drop one passen
ger and take up another, or, as the " old man," in
his " Bubbles," expresses it, to effect an exchange
of prisoners. While this evolution is performing,
the driver fastens his horses by giving the reins a
turn round a post, or, more secure still, ties them
in a bow-knot into the breeching of the horses at
the pole, as if tying the leaders and the follow
ers together would prevent their running away.
Sometimes he asks a passenger to reach his arm
out of the window and take hold of the ends of
the reins, which he hands up to him in a mass,
while he unstraps a trunk from the rack behind,
or goes into the house to bring out the baggage of
a new comer. The ladies on the back seat look a
little concerned, and ask whether the driver has
left his horses ; but the danger, whatever it may
be, is all over in a moment ; the new baggage is
secured, the new comer is admitted, the reins are
gathered up into the driver's hands, we wheel
round into the road again, and trot off on our
way. After traversing in this manner a district of
well cultivated and thriving looking country for
forty miles, the great valley of the Connecticut
begins to open upon our view. We see the river
winding through the valley, with broad and most
luxuriant meadows extending on each side, check
ered by the various modes of cultivation, and

TRAVELLERS ARRIVE AT HARTFORD. 207
dotted with elm trees, some slender and graceful,
exhibiting all the elegance of youth, others vene
rable with age, the growth of centuries. At inter
vals of a few miles along the river, beautiful
villages are scattered, chimneys and white pedi
ments appearing among the foliage, and the vene
rable spire of the church, venerable as a wooden
building of some sixty years' standing can be,
towering above the tops of the tallest trees.
Among such villages we pass on our way for a
dozen miles, until at length the horses slowly walk
into the entrance of the long covered bridge which,
crossing the river, forms the avenue to Hartford.
In the mean time it has become dark. The
bridge lamps shed a strong light into the coach-
windows, first on one side and then upon the
other. A thin haze has been extending itself over
the sky during the afternoon, growing more and
more dense, until now the whole heavens are
spread with a mantle of very light gray, the exact
hue of the snow cloud. A few flakes descend
occasionally into the windows, and when we draw
up before one of the great hotels in the city of Hart
ford, and the waiter opens the stage door, and you
step out upon the sidewalk, you find it whitened
with the snow, which is still falling in very fine;
flakes. It is the commencement of what in New
England is called a regidar snow storm, indicating,
by the quiet moderation of its beginning, the
steady perseverance with which it will carry on
its work.

208

TRAVELLING.

We are glad of a shelter, and are ushered into
a parlor, whose bright fire seems to welcome us to
the traveller's home. In fifteen minutes a hand
bell, rung violently in the hall, summons us to
supper. We are conducted into a large dining
room, forty feet long, with one long table, hand
somely spread, extending down the middle, and
sideboards and stoves and similar furniture ar
ranged upon the sides. It is long after the regular
hour for tea, and the table is set for breakfast.
The arrangement of a small portion at the upper
end is soon altered, and our company are seated
there, enjoying the refreshment of a substantial
repast. In the hotel we find ourselves members of a
large family. Several parlors are open upon the
lower story, with glowing fires in the grates, and
tables covered with the late New York and Bos
ton papers. Gentlemen are passing and repassing
in the entry or hall. The bar room, similar in its
design with those already described in the country
taverns, but more spacious, and somewhat elegant
in the style in which it is fitted up, contains groups
of well dressed gentlemen, talking politics or dis
cussing the news, and a genteel looking waiter
stands behind the counter to furnish refreshments
and to receive and transmit all orders. Here we
request that a fire may be made in our bedrooms,
and, if you please, a table, with pen, ink, and paper
upon it. In a few minutes you follow the black
waiter, (a/ree man,) as he lugs your trunks and

A SNOW STORM. 209
carpet-bags up stairs, and are showed into a snug,
pleasant looking apartment, with a bed inviting
you to repose, and a table inviting you to sit down
first and bring up your journal. Every few
minutes you hear the wind moaning without, and
the sound of tick, tick, tick, against the panes of
glass, indicating the gradually increasing severity
of the storm.
As you open your eyes in the morning, the snow
is still beating the windows, and is so piled up
against the panes that you can scarcely see
through them. An unvarying and unbroken
mantle of white covers all without. The streets
are as smooth as if a human footstep had never
trod them. The roofs are covered, and the doors
and windows of the opposite houses are all blocked
up. The city seems without an inhabitant, — a
region of solitude and desolation, and yet of such
a peculiar character that it cheers and inspirits
every one who looks upon it. Every body is in
good humor on the morning after a snow storm.
But you must look early to witness the scene as
I have described it, for it is not long before you hear
sleigh bells jingling through the street. The door of
a neighboring house opens, and two or three boys
come out with shovels and broom, to effect a pas
sage to the street. As the sun rises the storm
subsides ; the clouds look thin ; presently a little
broken piece of blue sky appears ; and the citizens,
seeing that all the snow is down which is to come
on this occasion, are busy everywhere shovelling
18*

210 TRAVELLING.
paths and clearing sidewalks and breaking roads.
By this time a waiter goes through the house,
ringing a bell violently at every door to rouse the
sleepers, and half an hour afterwards another bell
summons them all to breakfast. The long table
is now full, the ladies and their attendants at the
upper end. There are also, in the various parlors
of the establishment, private parties, choosing to
have a room and breakfast table of their own.
Silence generally prevails at the public table, ex
cepting that the landlord, who presides at the upper
end, talks a little to the guests within the reach
of his voice ; and you hear also a little low con
versation in various parts of the table, where
friends and fellow-travellers may be seated to
gether, or old acquaintances may happen to meet.
Breakfast fairly over, the stage is at the door,
but not the four-wheeled coach of the preceding
day. It is a large vehicle, mounted upon two pairs
of runners, those before being made to turn upon a
transome bolt, so as to facilitate the movements of
the whole machine. The sides of the vehicle are
curtains made of some blanket-like material, one
of which is unbuttoned to admit the passengers,
and then made snug agam. There are three or
four seats within, covered with buffalo skins, and
upon the floor is made a good bed for the feet by
abundance of straw. The horses feel the cheering
influence of the morning, and are impatient to setoff,
their restless movements shaking and jingling the
strings of the little bells hung around their necks or

RIDE TO NEW HAVEN. 211
attached to some part of the harness. We are
soon comfortably seated, and commence our ride
through the unsullied snow.
Connecticut and Massachusetts, to the eye of
the traveller, are precisely the same. There is
the same cultivation in the fields, the same neat
farm-houses, the same fresh looking villages,
houses painted white, and churches and taverns
and. shops after almost precisely the same plan.
After riding thirty or forty miles through such
scenes, we look down upon a spacious valley,
whose sides are covered with beautiful farms, and
whose centre is a great salt meadow, covered with
haystacks, which inform us of our vicinity to the
sea. A ridge of highland, crowned with evergreens,
having accompanied us for a mile or two, termi
nates abruptly in bold cliffs, beneath which is a
most romantic little manufactory, upon a stream
which winds along the sides of the mountain. It
is a perfect fairy scene. Neither poet nor painter
could have combined hanging woods and rocky
precipices and winding streams more beautifully
than nature has done it here, nor place dams and
bridges and walks and buildings with more admi
rable adaptedness for the production of picturesque
effect. We come out at last upon the plain of New
Haven. We glide along between rows of hand
some wooden or brick houses, and through straight
and level streets, crossing each other at right
angles, until, in the very heart of the city, we

212 TRAVELLING.
stop before a great hotel. Opposite to us is a spa
cious square, shaded with elm trees, where are
placed the principal churches of the city, Metho
dist, Congregational, and Episcopalian, side by
side ; and beyond them a long line of brick build
ings, with cupolas upon every other one ; they are
the colleges.
New Haven stands upon a bay, which extends
four or five miles inland from Long Island sound.
And yet its commerce is trifling ; for supplies for
the interior pass farther east, up the Connecticut
river to Hartford. Its chief importance at the
present day arises from the three or four hundred
young men assembled there from all parts of the
Union for education. On the green, among the
churches, and in front of the college edifices, is a
handsome state house, or rather half state house ;
for the contending sections of the state, which
originally consisted of two distinct colonies, not
being able to agree upon either of the great towns,
Hartford or New Haven, as the capital, wisely
concluded to compromise the difficulty by dividing
the business of government between the two, so
that the legislative assembly meets alternately at
the northern and southern city. Two ranges of
lofty hills come down from the interior through a
most delightful country, and terminate abruptly in
romantic precipices, known to all who have ever
been within a hundred miles of New Haven by
the names of East rock and West rock. These
rocks may well rejoice in their position, so favora-

EAST AND WEST ROCKS. 213
ble to celebrity, for every year brings a fresh hun
dred of admirers, who have nothing to do on all
the Wednesday and Saturday afternoons in the
year but to explore them and write accounts of
their wonders, to be read all over the United
States. In this way it happens that probably
East rock and West rock are better known than
any mountains of their inches in the United States.
Besides, it was in a cavern, so called, in or near
one of them, that the unhappy judges of Charles
the First, who fled to this country for security,
were for some time concealed. The place is called
the Judges' cave to this day. I have never seen
it, for having been sent on various fruitless expe
ditions to find caverns in New England, I have
become long since discouraged, and have deter
mined never to go in pursuit of another. The
truth is, that New England, excepting a few feet
of gravel and fruitful soil, is an enormous rock,
too stubborn and too Solid, too determined and un
varying in its integrity, to admit of a cavern. If
a little chasm is worn at Nahant by the disinte
gration of a vein by the waves of the sea, or if
among the White Hills a rock, heaved from its
place by the frost, falls down to the valley below,
and leans so much upon a fellow rock there that a
man can creep under the cavity, the hollow goes by
the name of cavern through all the country round ;
and such as these are all the caverns there are.
What sort of a dwelling then the poor judges could
have found among the sandstone and whin of West

214 TRAVELLING.
rock, I do not know. At any rate they were there,
and their grave-stones lean over the turf behind
one of the churches on the city green.
But we must go on our way. In the morning,
before light, you are awakened by a thundering
rap at the door, and a waiter enters, and puts
a light upon your table. You open the bed
of coals upon the hearth, and throw on a little
wood, split for the purpose, and by the aid of its
light, and its cheering warmth, prepare for your
morning expedition. The waiter goes to the other
doors, and you hear his rappings, fainter and fainter
as he goes off to the remote passage-ways. In a
few minutes there is a gradual gathering round
the great stove in the hall, or entry, so called.
Black waiters are bringing baggage down, and
securing it upon the stages at the door, for it is a
mile to the steam-boat landing ; and then, when all
is ready, we once more take our seats and fly
swiftly through the snowy streets, and turn the
square corners of this geometrical city, until, at
length, we draw up,, among a dozen other hacks
and sleighs of every kind, on the steam-boat
wharf. A steam-boat passage in December is very diffe
rent from a steam-boat passage in June. Now
every body hurries over the plank to the deck as
soon as possible. The gentlemen remain just long
enough to see their trunks and baggage safely
upon the large pile of baggage which is fast accu
mulating upon the deck, and then go below. A

DESCRIPTION OF A STEAM-BOAT. 215
few, perhaps, to whom the whole scene is new,
remain to watch the movements of the crew in
storing the baggage, and preparing to cast off.
Upon the main deck, about midships, is erected the
captain's office ; behind it is the passage-way to
the cabin ; on each side are the boilers and the
fire-rooms and wheel-houses, each inclosed, and
altogether nearly covering that part of the deck ;
so that abaft these fixtures there is a snug and
sheltered walk, with a long skylight passing up
and down the centre to light the cabin below. Over
the whole is extended another deck, which at once
shelters all beneath it and serves also as a prome
nade in fine weather. In the fore part of this pro
menade deck is erected the helmsman's house,
with closed sides, — an elevated and conspicuous
post. But it is too cold to stand here ; let us go
below. As we descend the stairs, we are ushered
into a long apartment, which, with its several di
visions, extends from stem to stern. It is finished
in an ornamental style, with birds-eye maple and
mahogany, and fitted up with mirrors, stoves,
tables, chairs, and every convenience for the tra
veller. A small portion far aft is divided off for a
ladies' cabin, and has its separate communication
with the deck. Another on the bows serves as a
refreshment room. These are all connected by
passages generally open, so that the whole scene
is at once presented to the eye. In this apartment,
lighted by lamps, for it is yet early, the passengers
congregate, some hovering round the stove, some

216

TRAVELLING.

stretching themselves out upon the settees which
extend up and down the sides of the cabin, with
cloaks and bundles for their pillows, endeavoring
to finish their morning slumbers. There is
silence, or rather there is no conversation, for
noises of other kinds there are, in great variety.
Presently the engineer's bell is heard ; the great
paddle wheels give one convulsive revolution;
" Cast off the bowline," cries the captain ; we
wheel slowly round from the pier, and are
soon rapidly making our way over the waves.
We are under the guidance of our old friend the
steam-engine once more, an amphibious monster,
who will go where you bid him, either by sea or
land. It is to him a matter of indifference whether
he paddles his way upon the water or runs along
upon a rail.
But let us change the scene, for winter is not
the pleasantest time for passing through Long
Island sound. Let us make it a pleasant morning
in June ; and then, instead of crowding below, the
large party of ladies and gentlemen will be walk
ing forth upon the promenade deck, or sitting in
chairs behind the wheel-house, or leaning over the
bows into the glassy water, which spreads all be
fore us, gfeaming in the morning sun. Sloops in
great numbers, with their sails spread, trying to
catch a breeze which does not blow, are slowly
endeavoring to make their way to and from the
great city. Others are passing to and from the
various ports in the sound, and farther eastward,

PASSAGE THROUGH LONG ISLAND SOUND. 217
bringing the farmer's produce to its market, and
carrying back the growth of the West Indies, or
the manufactures of Europe, in exchange. On
our right we see the Connecticut shore, presenting
every variety of landscape, villages, farms, groves,
and verdant hills. On the other, far in the hori
zon, we distinguish the low shore of Long Island,
like a slender bank of cloud lying upon the
waters. If we choose to remain below, we may amuse
ourselves with the exact and systematic precision
with which the waiters set the breakfast table for
a hundred guests, drawing out the long exten
sion tables, and bringing forward the countless
articles which are to be placed upon them, with a
regularity of method, in which a philosopher may
see exemplified half the principles of the science
of system; or we may join any of the groups
which are formed in various parts of the cabin,
discussing politics or talking about the news of the
day. Those sedate looking young men on the
settee are students in the theological schools of
New Haven and Andover, accidentally together
for a few hours, and embracing the opportunity to
discuss the unintelligible distinctions of their re
spective theological views. Here is a country
trader going to New York for goods. There is a
member of congress, opening to the listening group
around him, with a very generous hand, his stores
of political knowledge. You may join any of
these groups ; or you may take out your writing
19

218 TRAVELLING.
materials and carry forward your journal or bring
up your correspondence ; or you may walk upon
the deck in the balmy air of a June morning.
In the mean time, the boat and the day move
on together. The shores on each side begin to
approach each other. The villages, the trees, the
elegant country seats which adorn the shores,
seem to draw nearer and nearer, until at last you
find yourself in a narrow channel, on each side
of which glides by you, as you plough your rapid
way through the waters, a most beautiful shore,
presenting in succession almost every variety of
gay and splendid landscape. Here a dark grove
covers the bank down to the very water's edge.
In the middle of it you see a flight of steps de
scending to a little landing on the beach, and as
you glide by you catch a glimpse of a walk lead
ing back among the trees you know not where.
Next to this comes a green lawn with a splendid
mansion in the rear, then a bay with high wooded
banks, contracting in the distance to a ravine, the
channel of some rivulet whose waters here find
their final level. Presently we sweep round a
broad point, or wind our way through a curved
and rocky channel. Here rises a shot tower, with
picturesque cottages in the midst of verdant groves
at its base; there spreads the extended facade of a
great state prison.
Presently the spires and cupolas of the city be
gin to appear in the distance, and shops and
wharves and lumber-yards multiply along the

ARRIVAL AT NEW YORK. 219
shore. Now and then the great skeleton of a ship
or a steam-boat glides by you, and straight streets,
cut out, apparently, from the mighty mass of brick
buildings which soon cover the whole surface of
the ground, open for an instant and then close
again as we pass swiftly by. In a word, the
whole scene denotes our approach to the great
metropolis, and reminds us that we are wandering
from our subject. Our boat passed the limits of
New England half an hour ago.

CHAPTER X.
THE TRAVELLER'S HOME.
English travellers have found much fault with
the taverns which they meet with in our country.
It is exceedingly unaccountable to them, that the
taverns in the remote regions of a new country
should not be as good as those in Liverpool and
London. And some American apologists have en
deavored to explain the reason, but have been very
unsuccessful. It still remains a very fruitful topic
for censure, in the minds of many of our charitable
and good-humored tourists. As the subject is one
that is very difficult to make plain to any under
standing that is perplexed, we must waive its dis
cussion, and simply plead guilty to the charge that
in some parts of the country the mhabitants are
but beginning the world, and they furnish such
accommodations for the traveller as they can, ra
ther than let them sleep in the woods. If there be
indeed any charm in variety, the traveller in
America may enjoy that charm in its utmost per
fection. He will find in the first hotels in Boston,
New York, and Philadelphia, every convenience
he is willing to pay for. And the price will be

SOUTHERN INNS. 221
about one-third what he would pay for the same
accommodations in England. The experience of
travellers has shown that a pound in England ia
worth about as much as a dollar here. Conse
quently to travel six months in England would
cost three or four times as much as to travel the
same time in this country, in a similar style.
But to return to the tavern. At the south, obse
quious slaves stand behind the chair of every
guest, to watch and anticipate every want. Sus
pension fans wave across the table, giving circu
lation to the air, and terror to every thievish fly.
In the morning, before you rise a slave enters the
room, empties your pockets, and takes out your
clothes to brush ; or in the winter, comes with soft
tread to kindle the fire, that the lordly white may
not feel the chill of cold air. He speaks in a sub
dued voice. His eye brightens at a kind word.
He will not disobey. I must write it, though my
pen moves reluctantly, — he knows the lash is in
the yard ! And yet the lash is a poor incentive to
fidelity. Every thing appears as though done by
slack and lazy men. The dinner comes upon the
table profuse in quantity, and yet in the arrange
ment and the cookery there is an indescribable
evidence of the want of accomplished attendants.
The houses are shabbily built, and wasteful in ex
ternal and internal arrangements. Even when
offensive slovenliness is avoided, there is but little
that appears like real home comfort. Occasionally
a man of unusual skill will succeed in exciting in
19*

222 THE TRAVELLER'S HOME.
the bosoms of his servants something like the am
bition of freemen, and they will move with quick
steps and happy faces, impelled not by the lash,
but by the power of a skilful mind. Such cases
are however rare. Once, in Richmond, Virginia,
I wished to remove from a cheerless, gloomy room
to another in a more pleasant part of the house.
The bed clothes were to be changed and the room
swept. The female slave employed herself more
than an hour in this formidable undertaking.
And when it was done, the dust was only raised
into the air instead of being left quietly on the
floor. Do you think this slave was lazy? Per
haps not. She was working for nothing. Why
should she be active 1 Perhaps she was shrewd
and wise.
The traveller in the south, who sees slavery only
as it appears to him in the taverns and along the
highways, must be deeply impressed with the fact
that it is a most serious political and social curse,
even if he have no heart to feel its iniquity in the
sight of God. There is a paralysis upon industry
and improvement, and joylessness sits upon the
countenance of both master and slave. The sou
therners generally are not aware how far the nor
thern states are in advance of them in intelligence
and enterprise and power. Neither are the nor
therners aware under how many disadvantages
their southern brethren are laboring.
One reason why the taverns in the south are
not better, is to be found in the fact, that the

SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY. 223
hospitality of the southerners is so profuse, that
taverns are but poorly supported. A traveller, with
the garb and the manners of a gentleman, finds a
welcome at every door. A stranger is riding on
horseback through Virginia or Carolina. It is
noon. He sees a plantation, surrounded with
trees, a little distance from the road. Without
hesitation he rides to the door. The gentleman
of the house sees his approach, and is already
upon the steps.
" Can you furnish a stranger with refreshment
for himself and horse?"
" Here, Thomas, Thomas, take this gentleman's
horse. Walk in, sir ; walk in. Thomas, take
good care of the horse. Rub him down well, and
give him as much grain as he will eat. I am
very happy to see you, sir ; walk in."
You enter the house. The best it affords is at
your service. At once you are at home. Con
versation flows cheeringly, for the southern gen
tleman has a particular tact in making a guest
happy. After dinner you are urged to pass the
afternoon and night, and if you are a gentleman
in manners and information, your host will be in
reality highly gratified by your so doing.
Such is the character of southern hospitality.
And can many good taverns be supported in such
a land 1 No ! It is out of the question. The
taverns are generally poor, and so they must
Continue, as long as the southerners continue as

224 free, and generous, and open-hearted as they
now are. -f~
I have wandered away from New England,
but my readers will forgive me; for when my
mind glanced to the south, I could not restrain a
tribute of sympathy for the poor slave, and of
admiration of the hospitality which adorns the
southern character.
As you proceed from the south towards the
north, you find the hum of business growing
more incessant. Black faces become more rare.
Population grows more dense. Stages and steam
boats are crowded. All is motion, and activity,
and energy. Freedom sits on every countenance,
and animates every heart. There is emulation in
every trade and every employment ; consequently
improvement is marching forward in every direc
tion, with giant strides. Immense hotels are
continually filled with thronging crowds. There
is encouragement for vast expenditures in erecting
spacious buildings, and in furnishing them with
every convenience and luxury. In these hotels
a person may live as he pleases, either singly, or
with his family. He may sit at the public table,
or enjoy all the privacy of the most quiet domestic
circle. But the tourist who wishes to become acquaint
ed with society and customs in New England, can
not very conveniently pass his whole time in Bos
ton. He must sally out into the remote and thinly
peopled country. He must ride in shattered and

A COUNTRY TAVERN. 225
ragged stages. He must wade through mud, be
jostled over stones, climb steep hills, and run the
risk of having his bones dislocated by rattling
over gridiron bridges* He must stop at taverns
where he will smell tobacco smoke and New Eng
land rum. He must see tavern-keepers with red
noses and bloated cheeks, the licensed pirates of
the happiness and comfort of the community,
filling every adjoining dwelling with drunkenness
and woe. Of all the aspects of desolation and
wretchedness which this world exhibits,! know
of none more dreary than that of the bar room of
the country tavern. Look at the floor, covered with
dirty sand, stained in every part with tobacco
juice, and the remnants of cigars, crushed and
flattened out by the feet of those around. Look
into the room, but do not enter ; you will be suffo
cated with the murky vapors of tobacco which
fill the apartment. See the close stove in the cen
tre of the room, dirty and stained. It is cracked
through the middle, and the smoke from the green
wood is rising through the crack and puffing from
the half burnt funnel, to mingle with the fumes
which are issuing from the mouths of those
wretched men who surround the stove. They are
* For the benefit of the reader who is in happy ignorance upon this
subject, we would state, that a gridiron bridge is made of large logs,
placed in contact with each other, directly across the road. The
jostling in a Dutch wagon over these rough logs is an effectual cura
for hypochondria in all its forms.

226 THE TRAVELLER'S HOME.
talking of politics, and deliberating upon the wel
fare of our country.
The son of the tavern-keeper is behind the bar.
He is mingling a glass of rum and molasses for
that poor, ragged, trembling man, who is reaching
out his hand to receive it. Do you see those little
marks with chalk upon the pannels of the door,
four in a row, and then one crossing the four? It
is the bar-keeper's account-book. There are
twenty of those marks already scored within the
week. The wretched drunkard's cow is to be sold
at auction to settle the arrears.
Do you wish to see where he lives? Look
across the street; there is his home, that black
ened, weather-beaten house, with no yard before
it. There are two or three sticks of wood lying
before the door, and a dull axe upon the ground.
There is one of his little girls, now, looking out
of the broken pane of the window. That pale,
thin, emaciated woman, with a hemlock broom in
her hand, is his wife. There goes another of his
children ; that ragged little boy, bareheaded and
barefooted, running around the corner of the
house. I wonder the ice does not cut his feet.
Oh, traveller, if you have a heart to feel for hu
man woe, you cannot look upon this scene without
shedding tears. Just glance your eye at the
neighboring houses. Tliere is hardly one to be
seen that is not blasted and desolate. Each one
is a drunkard's home. Get away from the infec
tion as soon as you can. Jump into the stage,

EVILS PRODUCED BY INTEMPERANCE. 227
close your eyes for a few miles, and you will
gradually pass beyond the reach of the curse, and
behold more blooming fields, and happier homes.
The ingenuity of Satan himself can hardly de
vise a more effectual instrument of poverty and
woe, than these publicly instituted fountains of
rum. Wherever you find such a tavern, it is a
manufactory of drunkards; it is inflicting upon
the very earth a curse of sterility ; it is a distillery
of earthly woe, in every variety in which it can
agonize and lacerate the human heart.
Neither war, nor pestilence, nor famine, can fur
nish such frightful tales as intemperance. And
when the history of the world shall be reviewed
from the remote periods of eternity, and the
amount of earthly woe shall be measured, we can
not doubt that intemperance will stand pre-emi
nent above all the other causes of earthly misery.
" Ah," said a lady to us, a few days since, " I have
wept till I have no more tears to shed." She was
a lady, though she was sitting, in mid winter, in
a cold and unfurnished room, with but a few coals
burning upon her cheerless hearth. She was a
lady in heart, and mind, and manners, though her
children were but scantily dressed, and the abode
of poverty and sorrow was her home. Her child
hood was passed in the house of intelligence and
piety. Her youthful marriage was bright, and
sunny days were before her. But the rum seller
poisoned her husband's mind and his heart, and
made him a brute. The agony was consuming

228 THE TRAVELLER'S HOME.
at her heart, seen by others, untold by herself.
Business forsook her husband's unfaithful hands,
and she silently wept by day and by night. Pro
perty disappeared, and she shrunk, appalled, as de
struction approached nearer, with sure and dread
ful steps. One article of furniture after another
left the house, and still she had nought to do but
to look to God in the agony of her broken heart.
Thus she lingered along through the slow torture
of years. Winter came, with its stormy blasts,
and its driving snow. The beggared wife and
children shivered around their cheerless fire. The
drunken husband smoked his pipe and drank his
rum at the tavern stove. And now came the
climax. The last farthing was gone. Many
petty debts were constantly annoying the ruined
man. His family were now but half fed and half
clothed. He must either forsake his cups and
try to support them, or forsake them and retain
his crips. Can any one doubt how a drunkard
would decide? He chose, as every drunkard, un
der similar circumstances, would have done, to
forsake his family. And secretly he left them,
without one word of adieu, in friendlessness and
penury, to meet the storms of adversity as they
could. But the forsaken wife shed no tear. The
agony of her heart had grown too hard and solid
to be melted. " I cannot weep," she said ; " I have
wept so long that I have no more tears to shed."
Oh, who can conceive the anguish which for
years has been settling around that habitation.

WILD SCENES OF NATURE. 229
And there are hundreds of such ruined families
in our land. And yet the poison circulates freely,
and men who will soberly call themselves good
members of society are extending far and wide
the destruction.
But we must leave the bar room of the tavern,
and proceed to other scenes. There is to me a
high degree of pleasure in travelling through a
new country. The new scenes of nature, conti
nually presented in ever-varied aspects, excite an
endless variety of emotions in the mind. Here is
a granite cliff, rising majestically among the clouds
and bidding defiance to. the storms of heaven.
Imagination can find work for hours in clambering
its heights, in passing from crag to crag, and in
musing upon their eternal solitudes. How sub
limely does the midnight winter storm sweep over
them. And there they have stood in grandeur, lis
tening to the music of the tornado, when no eye
but that of the roving Indians beheld them — yes,
far back when the voice of man had not been
heard in the vast continent ; perhaps there they
have stood, silently noting the lapse of time, since
God said " let the dry land appear."
Just as imagination is taking wing for such a
flight, a turn in the road presents to the eye an
entirely new spectacle. The unbroken forest
sweeps sublimely through the valley. The stream
let from the mountain has already expanded into
a small but beautiful river, which glides serenely
under the shade of protecting trees. Here the
20

230 Indian has loved to wander. Here he has pursued
his game, and the smoke from his wigwam has
curled up from beneath these boughs. This forest
has resounded with the shouts of his playful chil
dren, and often perhaps has its solemn stillness
been pierced with the war-cry and the din of the
battle. Reader, are you fond of reverie ? Go to
the eternal solitudes of the American forest ; place
yourself upon some sunny slope, where you can
gaze upon the craggy mountain, the sweeping wil
derness, the embosomed lake, the gliding stream ;
listen for a moment to the awful stillness which
pervades the scene, and you may feast your soul
to satiety.
Look far away upon that vast swell of land
which rises upon the opposite side of the valley.
How gloomy yet grand is the dark forest which is
waving along its majestic base, covering the whole
slope with verdure, living, moving, and graceful as
the drapery of the skies. Do you see that little
spot in the forest where a few trees appear to have
been removed? It is the clearing of the settler.
If you look carefully you can just see the smoke
rising from his cabin. The road, or rather path,
into the adjoining township passes directly by his
door. It is the half-way house where the traveller
must pass the night. That man keeps a tavern.
I will mount my horse and ride on, or the night
fall will overtake me in this dark and almost
pathless forest. It would be a little too romantic
to have to pass the night under one of these trees.

A TAVERN IN THE WILDERNESS. 231
It is said that bears are frequently seen here, and
now and then a wolf makes his appearance.
Just as the dusk of the evening was deepening
into night, I arrived at the log house of the set
tler — at the tavern in the wilderness. And it is a
fact which must be acknowledged, that there was
no soft bed of down spread for my weary limbs.
There was no neatly furnished parlor, with its
literary treasures for my evening recreation. It
was a New England tavern, and a miserable one
too. Miserable, do I say ? No ! I am wrong. It
was a tavern at which a man who had a spice
of humanity in him would love to arrive ; where
he would pass a happy night, and in the morning'
leave his benediction with the kind-hearted in
mates as he went on his way.
But let us enter the tavern.
" Good evening, madam. Can you accommodate
me with lodgings here to-night?"
" Oh yes, sir, with such as we have. Walk in,
sir, and take a seat."
She does not say take a chair, for the very good
reason that there is not a chair in the house.
" Sit down, sir, and I will get the lantern, that
you may see to take care of your horse. Husband
has gone away about a dozen miles to mill, and I
do not expect him home till late."
The traveller takes the lantern and goes to
the pile of logs called a barn, and provides his
horse with suitable food and lodging for the night.
When he returns, the rough board floor has been

232 THE TRAVELLER'S HOME.
faithfully swept by the hemlock broom ; the room
is neat, and an immense fire blazing upon the
stone hearth renders the light of candles useless.
The white pine table is in the middle of the room.
It is ornamented with a tin tea-pot, and an iron
tea-spoon in the cup placed for the stranger. A
cup of molasses invites him to make his tea pala
table, and two or three steaming Indian cakes, hot
from the fire, send up their clouds of incense from
the centre of the table. The man who will not
rub his hands with comfort, as in a chilly Septem
ber evening he enters such a room and sits down
to such a table, before the cheerful blaze of such a
fire, has not a good conscience. The man who is
at peace with himself and with the world will feel
in such a scene unusual emotions of pleasure.
His happiness will shine in his countenance, and
animate his conversation, and pass by sympathy
to the heart of the good woman, who is making
every exertion to promote the comfort of her guest.
He will sit down to that table with a grateful
heart, and will express to God, in words, his thanks,
that his wants are so well supplied. Yes, give me
an evening's chat in the log house of that lonely
settler, and I will look without envy upon all the
pleasures that the votaries of frivolity have ever
found. If one has the feelings of the Christian, he
will close that evening's interview with prayer
and thanksgiving to God, that he has furnished
him with so comfortable a lodge in the vast wil
derness.

GOOD NATURE ESSENTIAL TO HAPPINESS. 233
The great secret of happiness is a contented
mind. Peace of conscience, like the sun, will gild
the dampest and the heaviest clouds with glorious
hues. Whenever such a man wanders in the
boundless empire of God, he carries his own happi
ness with him. In the crowded hotels or on the
thronged pavement of the metropolis, in the mot
ley assemblage of the deck or the cabin of the
steam-boat, in the lonely solitudes of the wilder
ness, or by the cheerful blaze of the settler's fire,
he carries with him the same peaceful heart, the
same imperturbable joy.
As far as enjoyment is concerned, it is better to
be bom a good-natured dog than an ill-natured
man ; it is better to have the small-pox than the
blues ; and to be digging, like the mole, in the
bowels of the earth, than to be cursed with the
infirmity of eternal grumbling. A man may make
himself as miserable as he pleases. If he will
stick out his elbows as he walks the pavement, he
must expect now and then to be knocked down by
some sturdy bully. If he will take it upon him
self to chastise every churlish cur he meets, he
must expect occasionally to feel the impression of
teeth upon his heels. It is said of the eccentric
John Randolph, that a political opponent, who
wished to draw him into a quarrel, one day boldly
met him on the sidewalk of Washington, with
the remark, "I do not turn out for every vile
scoundrel I meet." " But I," said Randolph, with
an expressive wave of his hand, " always do ;"
20*

234 THE TRAVELLER'S HOME.
and suiting the action to the word, he turned one
side, and peacefully went on his way. If we
make battle whenever others show fight, we shall
have a busy life.
The genuine grumbler, in our lowly tavern,
would have scolded and fretted that he had to
take care of his own horse. He would have look
ed with contempt at the good woman's molasses,
and have vented his spleen upon every thing
which did not correspond with the elegances of
more refined life. He would have passed the
evening in brooding over his hardships, and filled
whole pages of his journal in describing the inso
lence of New England inn-holders, and the" mise
rable accommodations they furnish their guests.
" This land of democracy." he would write, in
the vehemence of his indignation, " my soul
loathes it. Will it be believed, that one day,
when fatigued with a long journey over the most
detestable roads, I called at a tavern for a night's
refreshment, and the insolent woman handed me
a lantern to go to the barn and take care of my
own horse! !"
I heard the keeper of one of these distant houses
<<¦ entertainment once complaining very much
that a gentleman had called there a few days be-
»i'<y aml in the morning had ordered his horse
without accompanying tlie tavern-keeper to the
keener0 wT ", hame^B him. And the tavern,
un versa? T* ™ hiS comPlai«- It was the
universal custom in those remote regions. And

A MISTAKE. 235
the true gentleman will conform to the social cus
toms of the people with whom he sojourns. If
the stranger had been a true gentleman, he would
have seen almost intuitively in what state of so
ciety he was placed. He would have felt that he
had passed beyond the limits of artificial courte
sies, — that he was in those regions of loneliness
where every man should be the friend and the
equal of his fellow.
A gentleman, travelling a short time since
in New England, entered a village just in the
evening ^twilight. He saw a sign-post standing
at a little distance from a neat house, which
looked like just such a home as the traveller
would like to find. The stranger was not much
acquainted with New England society, and was
much delighted with the appearance of the house,
and the taste which was displayed in ornamenting
the grounds. He reined up his horse at the door,
and, guided by the light which shone through the
window-curtains, he entered the parlor. He was
still more surprised at the scene which was here
presented to his view, and for a moment he thought
he had made some mistake. The room was fur
nished with taste and elegance. A gentleman ^was
seated at the centre-table, reading by the rich and
subdued light of the astral lamp. His wife and
two or three daughters were seated at the same
table, plying the needle, and listening to the book
which the husband and father was reading.

236 the traveller's home.
"Can you accommodate me with supper and
lodging?" The landlord, as if surprised, hesitated a mo
ment, regarded the stranger with a penetrating
look, and then, as if prepossessed favorably by his
appearance, hastily replied,
"Oh yes, sir, yes, sir; walk in."
As the stranger removed his outer garments
and seated himself by the fire, the bell was rung,
and the servant, with modest and noiseless steps,
entered the room.
" Thomas, you may bring in the boot-jack and
some slippers for this gentleman, and then take
good care of his horse. What would you like for
tea, sir?"
By this time the stranger was at home, and con
gratulating himself upon finding such very excel
lent quarters. He was delighted with his host and
his wife, and her daughters. He did not feel de
graded, but rather elevated, in passing his eve
ning with such a family, and was much surprised
at the intelligence and refinement which were ma
nifested. Engaged in delightful conversation, the evening
fled swiftly away ; and as the bell of the neighbor
ing church tolled the hour of nine, the domestics
were called into the parlor, and the scenes of the
day were concluded by the evening sacrifice of
prayer. The gentleman retired to rest, and in his
chamber was still more struck with the display
of cultivated taste which was everywhere presented.

THE MISTAKE CORRECTED. 237
Early in the morning he arose, and found that
the interesting family were prepared to sit down
with him at the morning meal. As the hour came
for him to proceed on his journey, he called for his
bill. " Oh," was the reply, " if you will only favor
us with your company whenever you again pass
this way, we shall feel still more that the debt
is on our side, and not on yours."
An explanation ensued, and the stranger found
that the sign-post belonged to another house, and
that he had passed the evening, not in a tavern,
but in the domestic circle of one of the most in
telligent professional gentlemen of the state. For
a moment he was confused and mortified, but as
his mind glanced back upon his conduct since he
had been in the family, his mortification ceased.
He had done nothing of which he had cause to be
ashamed. It is safe to be a gentleman at all
times and in all places. And he was a man
whose benignity of heart and intelligence of mind
rendered him just such a guest as every intelligent
family would love to welcome to their fireside.
The family and the stranger parted mutually
pleased with each other, and as the traveller re
traced his steps to his southern home, he carried
with him the impresssion that hospitality is not
confined to any state or clime.

CHAPTER XI.
THE IRISHMAN IN NEW ENGLAND.
"Patrick?"
" What, your honor ?"
" How do you like America?"
" Pretty well, your honor, but it is not like old
Ireland ; I wish I were back there again."
"And why did you leave Ireland if it is so
pleasant a country?"
" Sure I was a fool ; if I had known then as
much as I know now, I never would have left old
Ireland." " Why, what kind of a country did you suppose
this was?"
" Indeed, they told me that dollars were as
plenty here as berries upon the bushes, and they
were free for gathering. I thought I would have
nothing to do but pick them up. But I find I was
sadly mistaken. I have to work much harder
here than I did in my own country. I wish I
could get back again."
"Well, Patrick, why don't you go back? we
could spare a few of your countrymen as well as
not,"

CONVERSATION WITH PATRICK. 239
" Ah, please your honor, I would go back very
shortly if I could afford to ; but money is so scarce
in this coimtry, I cannot get enough to pay my
passage." " Do you really, Patrick, want to get back to
Ireland?" " Do I ? Indeed I do. I would give all I have
in the world to get back. If I could see my poor
old father again, I would not leave Ireland till I
should die."
"Well, Patrick, I'll tell you what. I have a
ship that sails week after next for Dublin, and as
you want to get home so much, I will give you
your passage."
" And sure you are joking with me."
" No, I am not joking. I was never more serious.
1 shall be glad to do you a favor, and this, which
will be so great a favor to you, I can do with but
very little inconvenience to myself."
"Your honor is very kind. But 1 expect my
brother here in a few weeks, and I should miss
seeing him. He will be a stranger when he
comes, and will much want to see me."
" Your brother ! what in the world is he coming
here for ? Has he not heard from you since you
arrived ?"
" Oh yes, I wrote for him to come, and sent him
some money to pay his passage. I was so lonely
here I could not live without some of my friends."
"But how could you deceive your brother so ?
Will not he be as much disappointed when he gets

240 THE IRISHMAN IN NEW ENGLAND.
here as you were ? It is not treating him very
kindly to induce him to leave so pleasant a coun
try as Ireland and come to this country, where
money is so scarce, and it is so hard to obtain a
living." " Ah ! misery loves company, your honor."
" Well, are any other of your friends coming? S;
"Yes, my father and mother are coming with
my brother. And I had two cousins who came
last week. And my sister with her husband are
coming next month."
" And have they all heard from you since you
came here ?"
" Oh yes !"
" And you have advised them to come over here,
haven't you?"
" Ah, your honor, the government is bad in Ire
land. It is a beautiful country, far better than
this. I can get a better living there ; but the go
vernment is bad."
"Well, you must be a strange fellow to leave
so pleasant a country as Ireland and come to such
a barren land as this, and after you get here and
see what a miserable country it is to write for all
your friends to come over. Why in the world is
it that so many come ? Every ship from Ireland
is loaded with emigrants. I shoidd think that by
this time they would have found out from their
friends here what kind of a country this is."
" Ah, they don't know ; that is why they come.
They would be very glad to get back agam."

WHY HE INVITED OVER HIS COUNTRYMEN. 241
" Well?, Patrick, now tell me honestly, did you
ever send word to any of your friends in Ireland,
that they had better not come to this country?"
" Why — why — eh — no, your honor. Do you
think I would abuse America ?"
" Well, Patrick, have not you always told them
that they had better come — that they can get a
better living here^than they can in Ireland?"
"Please your honor, I was afraid to tell the
truth. In Ireland, they think if a man cannot do
well in America, he must either drink too much
or be lazy. And if I had written home that it was
a' hard country and they had better stay where
they are, they would say, Patrick has got into bad
habits. He is lazy or a drunkard. So you see I
was compelled, to save my character, to tell them
to come."
" A very ingenious defence, Patrick. It is a pity
you were not bred a lawyer. But any time when
you wish to write home to tell your countrymen to
stay where they are, I will give you a certificate
to send with the letter, that there are very few of
your countrymen in America that are more sober
and industrious than you."
Such is the substance of the conversation which
we have often held with emigrants from the Eme
rald isle. It is to most New En glanders a subject
of unceasing astonishment where these locust le
gions of Irish emigrants can come from. Almost
every ship that crosses the Atlantic empties its
stock of live Irish uponour wharves. They swarm
21

242 THE IRISHMAN rN NEW ENGLAND.
our cities. In begging groups they wander through
our villages. They are found all over our land,
almost in numbers without number. They enter
every port along our sea-coast, and are continually
pouring down upon us from Canada in innumera
ble hordes. They are treasured up in our prisons,
in our poor-houses, in our lunatic asylums. They
dig our docks, and excavate our rail-roads, and
scour our brasses. We do not know what we
should do without them. We do not know what
we shall do with them.
They are pouring in upon us yearly, in ever-
increasing numbers. They come not to be go
verned, but to help us govern ourselves. They
have no property to lose, no character at stake,
no intelligence to guide. They are ripe for fun
and frolic and mobs.* They fight for pure plea
sure. A real bloody battle of fists and clubs is
mere recreation. A bruised cheek and a black eye
is ornamental. Muscular strength is the only test
of merit; "Your honor" to the priest and a fee
for sin, the only test of religion.
A gentleman was passing a deep cut in one of
our rail-roads a short time since, where a gang
of Irish diggers were for a day thrown out of em
ploy, and he saw about fifty of them engaged in
a tremendous battle. Solid fists hit quick and
hard, now and then aided with a club and occa-

" And yet, in justice to them, it must not be forgotten, that by far the
worst mob which we have had for many years was an outrage by
Americans against them.

A LITTLE BIT OF FUN. 243
sionally with a stone. A party of about fifty had
drawn a line across the road, and equally divided
their number, for a little Irish fun. In pure good
nature, and for a little special enjoyment, they
were to reciprocate the favors of black eyes and
broken heads.
Did ever a good wife go with wifely pride to
hear her husband deliver a fourth of July oration ?
Did ever an honorable senator's lady feel a little
honorable herself as she hastened into the cham
ber of national councils to behold the listening
senate hanging upon her husband's lips ? And
did not the good Irish washerwomen who skirted
the road on this occasion, with their children in
their arms, to enjoy the excitement, the fun, and
the frolic of the bloody fray, feel matronly pride
as they saw the hard blows that the " good man"
received and returned. Ask an Irishman or an
Irish woman, " What is the chief end of man ?"
and if you get an honest answer, it will be, " To
be able to whip every other man."
These frays neither begin nor end in children's
play. Said an Irishman, after he had fairly killed
his antagonist, and was arrested for- manslaughter,
" Faith, it is not fair to take me to the prison, for
he promised he would not take the law on me."
The hard knuckles of the mud digger will make
an impression even upon his countryman's head ;
and even when fighting in good fun, it is with all
the energy and fire and fury of the most unre
strained madness. The object is, to see which

244 THE IRISHMAN IN NEW ENGLAND.
will give the other a most thorough beating. The
one who is most handsomely bruised and man
gled and crippled is the most signally conquered.
"Ah," said an Irishman, after being knocked down
two or three times with a walnut club, " it is the
only bit of fun I have had since I left Ireland."
In different parts of the country, these battles
between the emigrants from different counties in
Ireland often become so serious as to alarm an
extended community. The militia are called out,
and march three or four hundred of them to the
jails. The fact is, our country is made the Botany
Bay for the reception of the vices and poverty of
Europe. Britain bequeaths to us the rich legacy
of her paupers ; and every scoundrel who is in
danger of being hung or transported, jumps on
board the emigrant's ship, and is set loose upon
our shores, to help us try the experiment of a free
government. If he happens to arrive in New
York at the time of the elections, he receives a
glass of rum to qualify him for a voter, takes
any oath you please, for the priest will pardon
him, and marches at once from the " steerage" to
the polls. This is a free country. Therefore he
is not only free himself to vote, but also free to
swing his "shilalah" to prevent others from
voting. More than once have our large cities been
disgraced by the tumult of an Irish mob, sweeping
through the streets. We do say, without the fear
of being contradicted by any intelligent American,

DANGER FROM EMIGRATION. 246
that our country has more to fear from the hordes
of poor and ignorant emigrants that are crowding
into it, than from any other known danger, unless,
perhaps, from slavery and intemperance. We
would open our arms of welcome wide for the
poor and oppressed, if industrious and honest.
But it is intolerable that our beautiful institutions
must be endangered, and our happy country de
solated by the dregs produced by European mis
rule. We repeat it again, we would by no means
exclude from our shores either the suffering rich
or poor ; nor, on the other hand, would we elevate
at once the inmates of the mud cabins of Ireland
into the freemen of America. We would not hold
the privileges of American citizenship so cheap
that the man who can neither read nor write,
whose vote may be bought for rum, and whose
oath is valueless, and who all his life has been
held in check only by the bayonets of a standing
army, — that such a man shall march in his rags
from the ship to say who shall be our rulers, and
what shall be our laws. Poverty is not a crime.
Want of intelligence is not a crime, when no
means of obtaining it have been enjoyed. Neither
is it oppressive in us to refuse to hazard our free
dom by intrusting its keeping to those who know
not the value of freedom, and who, if they felt
its worth ever so deeply, know not how the sa
cred treasure is to be retained. Let others enjoy
all the privileges which our laws and our liberty
afford. Let them come and find a home in our
21*

246 THE IRISHMAN IN NEW ENGLAND.
wide land, with none to molest and none to make
afraid, free to pursue their temporal or their spiri
tual interests as they see fit. Provided they inter
fere not with the rights of others, let them seek hap
piness in their own way. Let them speak freely
of our habits and our religion, and let us speak
freely of theirs. Let this land be the unobstructed
arena for the interchange of argument and the
circulation of truth. Let each man be at liberty
to think what he pleases and to say what he
thinks. But let us not deliver up our government
and laws to foreigners, tutored in the schools of
despotism, and incapacitated for self-government
by ignorance and vice.
Within the last few months our country has
made a rapid descent towards the gulf of anarchy.
We have laws which work admirably, and are
abundantly sufficient for protection in a time of
general quietude. But when the storm arises,
and the waves of passion are excited, our laws,
like Xerxes' bridge of boats, are borne in frag
ments upon the billows. There are tales here too
painful for an American pen to record.
The influence of the Catholic priest over the
Irish emigrants is very peculiar and powerful. It
is said that a few days since, in one of our manu
facturing villages, a priest came from the city,
and in the course of the afternoon pardoned se
venty dollars' worth of sins; — a very profitable
half-day's job ! It seems strange how the priests
can, in this country, retain so powerful a hold

CONVERSATION WITH AN IRISH CATHOLIC. 247
upon their minds. This influence has at times
been wielded for very beneficial purposes, but no
one can doubt that on the whole it is infinitely
disastrous, that the independence of the mind
should be thus destroyed, and the soul enchained
with such shackles. It is almost in vain to argue
with an Irish Catholic. He is impervious to
reason. A few years since we were on board a vessel,
prosecuting a voyage of a few days, and had for
a fellow-passenger one of the most ignorant,
wild and uncultivated Irishmen we had ever
seen. He was a stout, brawny man, with mus
cles of apparently enormous strength ; but clumsy
in all his movements. Every day he would be
seen lounging at full length on the deck, basking
in the sun, or singing some of the harsh songs of
his native land in his own wild and uncouth dia
lect. Now and then he would look up to direct
some uncourtly but good-humored remark to the
passer-by. Occasionally he was drunk, — always
swearing. He seemed to be a good-natured fel
low, hardly equal in intelligence to the captain's
dog, with which he formed a very intimate ac
quaintance. The vessel in which we were sailing
was a small and mean schooner, with but one
cabin, into which captain, sailors, and passengers
were all huddled together. The uncouth appear
ance of this Irishman would have attracted any
one's attention, and as he was full of talk, no one
could help smiling at his ludicrous observations.

248 THE IRISHMAN IN NEW ENGLAND.
Often, as I was walking the deck, I would hear
many a loud roar of laughter from the cabin, ex
cited by the rude fun and frolic of this overgrown
and half-tamed man.
He was a Roman Catholic, of course. Whether
he could read or not I do not know, but he had an
old tattered prayer-book, which was frequently in
his hands. It was too dirty and torn to admit of
much reading by any body, and looked as though
it had been kept in his pocket for years as a charm
from all evil. He frequently fumbled it as a pre
cious relic, and would then replace it with much
care in his waistcoat pocket, which said waistcoat
resembled Joseph's coat of many colors when pre
sented to Jacob torn and spoiled.
- I had recently seen so much of Catholic super
stition, that I considered it almost hopeless to un
dertake to lead him to reflection. One bright
sunny day I was pacing the deck in all the list-
lessness of a calm at sea, and our wild Irishman
was upon the deck, leaning, half asleep, against
the railing. As I passed and repassed him I
thought of his character and his prospects ; of the
dreadful delusion under the influence of which he
was hurrying to eternity; and resolved that I
would try to make known to him " Christ and him
crucified." After thinking some time in what way it was
best to introduce the subject, I concluded to ad
dress him and take advantage of the circumstances
which might present themselves. Accordingly I

CONVERSATION WITH AN IRISH CATHOLIC. /J49
walked up to him, and the following conversation
ensued. " How long is it since you left Ireland?"
" About two years ; and I wish I were at home
again. They told me that dollars grew upon the
bushes in America, but they picked the bushes
pretty clean before I got here."
" Have you any near relatives in Ireland
now?" " Yes, a father and five brothers, and a right
good father have I got too ; he can whip any two
men in the parish."
" What book is that you have in your hand?
Let me see it."
"It is almost worn out. It is my prayer-book.
I always keep that with me. I brought it from
Ireland." " Ah ! you are a Catholic, then, are you?"
" Yes, almost all our people are Catholics."
" A few years ago, almost every body who be
lieved in the Christian religion was a Catholic.
But now the Roman Catholic religion is dying
away ; people know too much to believe in it."
" It is the only true religion. Nobody can fit a
person off for heaven but the priest."
"Ah, but the worst of it is they cheat you.
They cannot help your souls. All they want is
your money."
"No ! but they can work miracles, and the par
son cannot. If the parson's- religion was true,
why could not he work miracles as well as the

250 THE IRISHMAN IN NEW ENGLAND.
priest ? And if a man offends the priest, how is
he going to get out of purgatory ?"
"Purgatory! how do you know that there is
any purgatory? That is all the work of your
priests. They want to get your money, and pre
tend that if you do not give it to them, your souls
will be in purgatory."
" But I know better than that, for persons after
they have died have come back, and have begged
their friends to give the priest money to pray their
souls out of purgatory, and haunted them till they
did do it. I knew a man who died close by my
father's, and all the neighbors heard him groan in
purgatory till the priest prayed him out,"
"But, only think how easily you might cheat a
person so. You have got wit enough to pretend
to be a ghost and frighten a person, and so have
the priests."
"Well, I don't care; the priests can work mi
racles, I know. I saw the priest work a miracle
before I left Ireland. He turned a man into a
cow." " Ah ! let me hear the story."
" It was right by my father's house in Ireland.
There were a great many hundred people there.
And there was a man who was mad with the
priest. He saw the priest going by, and he went
out and cursed him. The priest told him he had
better stop ; and he would not stop. He swore
and cursed the priest, and all the people heard
him. Then the priest turned round and said to

CATHOLIC MIRACLES. 251
all the people, ' Now do you look and see God pu
nish this man for his sins.' Then the priest look
ed at him, and pointed at him with his finger, and
said a few words that nobody could understand,
and the man was turned into a cow. And the
people were all frightened, and looked at the cow,
and while they were looking, her horns grew out
two miles high into the air."
Would that we could put upon paper the ludi
crous expression of credulity, amazement, and
awe which filled the countenance of this man as
he went on with the marvels of his narration. I
could neither restrain my laughter nor conceal its
cause from my good-natured companion. It was
a breach of civility for which I was sorry, but the
flood came and could not be repressed. My mirth,
Jjowever, produced no relaxation of the iron fea
tures of the Irishman. He fixed his unwinking
eyes upon me in utter astonishment that I could
laugh at so fearful a narration. And yet, control
ling his feelings better than I did mine, he mani
fested no displeasure at my mirth. At last, re
gaining some degree of composure, I said,
" Now do you really believe this story?"
"Believe it!" he replied, "I know it is true.
It was done right at my father's house."
" But did you see it done?"
" No ; but my father did, and I never knew him
to tell a he in my life !"
By this time I found I was worsted in the ar
gument ; for, of course, I could not be so uncivil

252 THE IRISHMAN IN NEW ENGLAND.
as to deny the veracity of his father, especially
a father so "right good" that he could whip any
two men in the parish. I, however, took the li
berty to let him know of some of the tricks which
have been practised in the church in past ages to
strengthen the influence of those who love money
and power.
We then moved on to another topic.
I had recently witnessed a scene which im
pressed me very deeply with a sense of the igno
rance and the wretchedness of this part of the
community. It was in the British provinces. I
was passing a wretched looking hovel one sultry
summer evening a short time after sunset. A
large hole sawed through the logs of the cabin
was the only window. A suspended blanket par
tially covered the opening ; about half of it, how
ever, was uncovered for the admission of the air.
Through this I could not help observing the scene
which was presented inside of the cabin. In one
corner, upon a pile of straw, and about half-covered
with rags, was lying the pale and emaciated form
of a dying man. His long and bony arms were
resting upon the floor. As he lay upon his back,
with his eyes fixed upon the ceiling, his bosom
could be distinctly seen heaving with hard-drawn
breaths. Some persons were standing carelessly
about, apparently unmoved by the spectacle.
Around his miserable pallet a few tall candles
were burning. I stopped a moment to gaze upon

THEIR IGNORANCE OF CHRISTIANITY. 253
this sight, for such poverty and wretchedness I
had seldom seen before.
The next day at noon I again passed the house.
The blanket from the window had been taken
down, and nothing obstructed the clear view of
the interior. The man was lying in very much
the same attitude as the evening before. The tall
candles were replaced, and still blazing by the
side of his bed.
This occurrence I mentioned to the Irishman
with whom I was now conversing, and said to
him, " Michael, why were they burning those can
dles by the side of the dying man's bed?"
" And sure it was to light the poor man's soul
into eternity."
" They tell me that that man was a very
wicked man. He was a profane swearer and a
drunkard. Do you suppose he went to heaven?"
"And sure he did, if the priest was with him
when he died. There is nobody can fit one off
for heaven like the priest."
" Well, Michael, do you suppose you are pre
pared to die, and to accoimt to God for all your
conduct in this world."
"Oh," said he, "I am in no hurry to die. I
would like to enjoy my life out."
"But suppose you were to die now, do you
think you should go to heaven?"
" Yes, the priest would fit me off in some way
or another. He has rather a harder job with
22

254 THE IRISHMAN IN NEW ENGLAND.
some than with others, but he fits us all off as well
as he can."
" But suppose the vessel should spring a leak,
and we should now all be drowned, and you have
no priest here to fit you off, what would you do
then." " Oh, I must take my chance. I suppose some
how or other it would all come right in the end.
Here, Neptune — Neptune — Neptune, come here,
my good fellow ;" and he began to pat the shaggy
head of the captain's dog. " This is a rare water-
dog; only see how he can swim;" and walking to
the side of the deck, he pitched the huge fellow
over into the ocean.
The dog began to gamble about in the element
he loved so well, and I, admiring the ingenuity
with which our conference had been closed, re
sumed my walk to and fro upon the deck.
Poor fellow, I thought, benighted as is your
mind, and gloomy as are your prospects, there are
thousands of Protestants, boasting themselves of
intelligence and virtue, who are equally ignorant
of the gospel plan of salvation, and who are far
less excusable for their ignorance.
One thing is very certain, if such men as this
are to have much influence at the polls in our
country, our Yankee boasting will be like that of
the Greenlander, who swallows his train oil, and
pities the barbarians of all other lands. The elec
tive franchise must be highly esteemed and sa
credly guarded, or the period is not remote when

DANGEROUS TO AMERICAN LIBERTY. 255
the historian will record the rise and fall of the
American republic. We would have no religious
test in this land. But we would not hand over
our dear-bought liberties to the protection of those
who have nothing to lose, and whose only ideas
of government have been acquired under institu
tions almost in every respect the reverse of our
own. I will give the stranger in my family a
hospitable welcome, but I will not place in his
hands the government of my children. So would
I open America as a refuge and a home to the
foreigner of every nation and every clime. I
would invite him to the produce of our fertile soil,
to the protection of our laws. But let him not
aid in making our laws and choosing our rulers,
till he has become so thoroughly Americanized as
to have lost his national character and the predi
lections of a foreigner. New England can look
at some parts of our country and learn an impres
sive lesson upon this subject. If she be not per
fectly reckless of her future weal, she will not for
get the warning.
Most of the Irish emigrants live in this country
as a distinct caste. They associate but very little
with the Americans. They move about among
us from dock to dock, and from rail-road to rail
road, retaining their ignorance, their customs, and
their prejudices. They do not appear to imbibe
the light that is around them. They seem to
make no advances as moral or intellectual beings.
There is a kind of clanship among them which

256 THE IRISHMAN IN NEW ENGLAND.
secludes them from intercourse with Americans,
and by which they are shielded from receiving
enlightening influences from the spirit of our laws
and the prevailing intelligence. A gang of Irish
laborers upon a rail-road must be carefully
watched by the overseer and spurred on by his
voice to their work. But Yankee laborers will
not endure for one moment this kind of oversight ;
neither do they need it. Look at a gang of fifty
Irishmen, and you can select a Yankee, if there
be one among them, almost as readily as you
could if he were surrounded by so many negroes.
They seem to be studiously guarded against the
influence of the intelligence so generally circulat
ing here. A few years since, in one of the inte
rior towns of Massachusetts, there were about a
dozen Catholics who could neither read nor write,
and some benevolent gentlemen invited them to
meet in a room for two hours every Sabbath
morning, to learn to read. They very willingly
accepted the invitation, and for six weeks attended
constantly. They were making very encouraging
progress, when, unfortunately, the priest, in passing
his rounds, entered the village to pardon their sins.
The next Sabbath, not one of them was found in
the usual place of meeting. And never after
oould any persuasions induce them to peril their
souls by a repetition of the offence.
Our free schools are open to all, but it it is very
unusual to see an Irish child in any one of them.
Tliere are between three and four hundred Irish-

CONSTITUTE A SEPARATE CASTE. 267
men in one district which I have now in my
mind. Their cabins are swarming with children.
There are free schools in that district, open to all,
and yet I believe that not one solitary child is a
partaker of the benefits of those schools. They
are growing up as their parents did before them,
in total ignorance. They are thus effectually pre
vented from rising to those points of virtue and
intelligence to which every lover of man must
wish to see them rise. It is hard that they must
be thus kept down to be the mere drudges of the
world. They demand our commiseration and
our sympathy. It is the cool, calculating policy
of others which thus crushes as with a giant
weight the spiritual man. There is much to pal
liate the Irishman's crimes, and to excuse his
faults. And after all, there is much to admire in
the Irish character. He is free and open-hearted
as the day. He has always a heart to feel for
an unfortunate countryman. He feels the force
of kindness ; I know not where to look for more
heart ; true, it is uncultivated, but still it is real
heart, after all ; and even in the wildest and most
ruthless gang, you will find that the majority are
a set of good-hearted fellows. I love the Irish
character; but heaven preserve our institutions
from Irish votes. Welcome, ye sons of Erin, to
the shores of Columbia ; welcome to the protec
tion of our government, and to the inheritance
of our soil. But touch not the sacred ark of
22*

268 THE IRISHMAN IN NEW ENGLAND.
American liberty with unsanctified hands. An
Irish bull is innocent and laughable in its place ;
but a blunder in our government is not to be
laughed at ; it may retard for centuries the liberties
of the world.

CHAPTER XII.
CONCLUSION.
We have thus brought before the reader such
of the social institutions of New England as ex
hibit most strongly the peculiarities in the charac
ter of her people. There are many other subjects
which might have been discussed with equal ad
vantage, if time and space had allowed. We have
already, perhaps, written more than our readers
will take an interest in perusing, and we close with
a few remarks upon the genius of the New Eng
land character.
The key to this character is found in the cir
cumstances of our origin. There are two great
peculiarities which have always been noted as the
most striking features of our social condition; they
are called by various names, and exhibited in va
rious lights, according to the feelings or circum
stances of the observer, or according to the relation
he sustains to us as friend or foe.
The first relates to religion. The founders of
these communities were, to an extent which has
perhaps never been exceeded in any human com
munity, religious men.

260

CONCLUSION.

They came to worship God, and to form institu
tions on a religious model ; and the effects of the
influence they exerted in Boston and Plymouth
two hundred years ago, have come down through
children and grandchildren almost unimpaired.
They have spread, too, everywhere, to places which
the originators of them never saw — far away upon
the banks of the Connecticut and the Kennebec,
and among the remotest glens of the Green moun
tains. A religious spirit pervades the land, and
views of religious truth, characterized by all the sub
lime conceptions which our forefathers entertained
of the government of God, still hold their ground
among the millions of their posterity. Phdosophy,
infidelity, worldliness, have been able to make
but a small encroachment yet upon this field.
This religious spirit, the hereditary faith and
feeling of the country, shows itself in various
ways, or rather it runs out to various results,
some bad, some good ; and tlie various observers
who have given descriptions of us, have looked
at these various results according to their own in
clinations or feelings. One of its results is the
extent to which the institutions of the gospel are
sustained by the voluntary contributions of the
people. Scarcely a village which has not its two
or three churches, of various denominations ; and
the farming towns are divided into parishes, each
of which has its "society," its church, and its
meeting-house; for here the word church is al
most exclusively employed to designate the body

RELIGIOUS FEELING OF NEW ENGLAND. 261
of professing Christians. This is all done by the
voluntary efforts of the people, or at least without
the application of any other force than that of
public opinion. The success, therefore, of the
plan of supporting the gospel in this country by
the voluntary efforts of the people, is owing to the
religious spirit by which the people are pervaded ;
and of course it would by no means be safe to
infer that in another community, different in this
particular, the plan would be equally successful.
Another result of the religious spirit which has
come down to us from our ancestors, and which
pervades the whole community, is the extensive
religious awakenings which are almost peculiar to
this land. Some of the great truths of Christianity,
such as accountability to God, a coming judg
ment, the necessity of a radical change of cha
racter to meet it, the perpetuity of the character
which is formed in this state of probation, are im
bibed by almost the whole population in child
hood. Multitudes pretend to shake off these prin
ciples, but their souls never really get free, and
the farther they go in the career of worldliness
and sin, the louder does conscience thunder, to
them in their hours of solitude and melancholy,
that they are not fit to die. Early recollections
never entirely fade away, and thus religious truth,
by means of which alone the heart is sanctified,
has a secret power, and retains a secret hold
throughout the whole community, far more exten
sively than a superficial observer would suppose

262 CONCLUSION.
possible. Under favorable circumstances, there
fore, a whole mass is sometimes aroused, and the
most extensive and radical transformations of
character take place.
The two results we have mentioned are favora
ble. There are others very unfavorable. Among
them is the strong tendency to metaphysico-theo-
logical controversy, and the violence and acrimony
of religious disputes. The degree of interest some
times felt among all classes of the community,
even in the remotest country towns, in the discus
sion of questions requiring the nicest metaphysical
discrimination, is almost incredible. There is
scarcely a church member in the six states who has
not been more or less interested in the recent dis
cussions respecting new theology and old theology,
as it is termed, and who has not taken sides on
the question ; and yet not one in a hundred can
understand the propositions in dispute. In fact it
is somewhat doubtful whether the learned doctors
who led the discussion understood the points at
issue, as one side always maintained that there
was no material difference, and the other in ihe
end came" to- pretty nearly the same result. At
any rate, the community generally were certainly
at fault altogether, and yet the contention found
its way almost everywhere. In fact, a great
many of the professing Christians of New Eng
land are much more intent on looking into the
metaphysics of orthodoxy, or watching with a
jealous eye the movements of other sects, than in

SOME DISADVANTAGEOUS RESULTS. 263
direct efforts to do good, and to promote the king
dom of the Savior.
The religious spirit of New England does not,
however, all evaporate in this way. There is a
vast amount of actual good done, with honest
motives too. New England Christians are send
ing men and money liberally to the west, to pro
mote the intellectual and moral and religious good
of the communities rising there. New England
Christians have established schools, and sent
teachers to almost every part of the globe. Her
sons have fallen by disease, by fatigue, by pro
tracted labor, and now they have been destroyed
by the bullets and the spears of ferocious savages.
Still they carry forward their work. The spirit
of piety rises to meet every emergency, and presses
on with renewed energy and courage to meet
every new difficulty and danger, and it will not
rest till the world has been reclaimed from its
miseries and its sins, and brought back again to
God. One of the unhappy results which follow from the
general prevalence of a religious spirit in New
England, is the number of cases of hypocritical
pretension to religion which it produces. The
more extensively true religion prevails and is re
spected, the stronger will be the inducement to
counterfeit it. The cases are perhaps more nume
rous in New England than elsewhere, of men who
have the name and profession of Christians, not

264 CONCLUSION.
only without the corresponding spirit, but under
the influence of an habitual love of gain, which is
palpable enough to make them thoroughly des
pised as hypocrites by the world, but not palpa
ble enough to authorize their being cut off from
the communion of the church. Many observers
of the New England character, coming acciden
tally into contact with a few specimens of this
sort, judge of the whole by the unfavorable exam
ples they chance to see.
We shall mention but one other result of the
general prevalence of the religious spirit in New
England, and that is its influence upon the morals
and good order of the community. The simplicity
of our government, and the facility with which it
is continued in operation, depend upon the cha
racter of the materials with which it has to work.
Our government, though good enough here, might
be a very bad one anywhere else. What sort of
machinery would a town-meeting, and three select
men for the executive, be in any of the suburban
villages of Paris, or on the shores of Greece,
among a population of piratical desperadoes? We
are always prone to discuss and settle questions
of government in the abstract, whereas a govern
ment must be adapted to the wants and character
of the governed ; it is as necessary as that a coat
should fit the wearer. In fact, government will
take its form from the spirit of the people under
it, and become military and absolute, or pacific
and republican, according to the exigencies of the

THE PEOPLE DISTINGUISHED FOR ENTERPRISE. 265
community. Thus the general reign of moral and
religious principle in New England has done more
than any thing else to give character to our go
vernment. Even what little military organization
has been made by our statesmen, it is found, in
practice, almost impossible to retain. An intelli
gent and virtuous people will make the govern
ment mild, while mobs and anarchy will of neces
sity create a despotism. To judge then what is
to be the future course of the government of this
or of any other country, we must look, not at the
plans of her statesmen, but at the condition and
prospects of her populace.
The second most remarkable peculiarity of the
people of New England, is the spirit of perpetual
industry and dauntless enterprise, urged on by
ambition, or love of gain, or desire to do good, ac
cording to the ruling passion of the individual.
This spirit of enterprise and activity is in a great
degree hereditary too. The character of the peo
ple of New England was thoroughly imbued with
it by the circumstances of their first settlement in
this land, or rather they brought this spirit with
them from beyond the seas, and they found every
thing here calculated to promote its growth.
The second great peculiarity of the New Eng
land character is the spirit of industry and enter
prise which prevails here, and which assumes va
rious forms, and leads to various results, good or
bad, according to the circumstances or character
23

266 CONCLUSION.
of the individual. We come honestly by this trait
in our national character too. The very circum
stances of the early settlement of this country
show that it was an enterprising stock that we
have sprung from. None but men of the most
fearless activity would have joined the party
formed for colonizing this wilderness, so that if the
character of a people could ever be predicted from
that of the parent stock, an observer, when seeing
the successive companies of pilgrims embarking
on their perilous enterprise, might have foretold
what the Yankee character would become.
The colonists of Plymouth and Massachusetts
Bay found, too, that every thing here was calcu
lated to cultivate, to the highest degree, in them
selves and their children, tir spirit of adventurous
ardor and untiring industry which they brought
with them. A colony upon an inhospitable coast
always flourishes more in the end than one in the
midst of the luxurious vegetation of a tropical
clime. The Spanish settlers in Mexico found that
the labor of a few weeks would procure subsis
tence for the year, and thus they early acquired
habits of idleness and love of pleasure ; and when,
by the progress of society, increased facilities for
obtaining subsistence were enjoyed, they operated
only to diminish the number of days necessarily
devoted to labor, while their idleness and love of
sensual pleas, ir_» was increased, and their standard
of comfort and property remained the same. But
the hardy settler on the stubborn soil of New Eng-

SOURCES OF THE NEW ENGLAND CHARATER. 267
land found himself compelled to labor all the year
at first, to receive subsistence. Thus he did not
taste the pleasure of idleness, and formed no relish
for it ; and when the progress of society increased
his facilities, the effect was seen in an increase of
his comforts and wealth, not in a diminution of his
labor. A farmer in New England, who has ac-i-
quired by a life of industry an independent for
tune, generally labors as industriously and as re
gularly as when he first, with his axe upon his
shoulder, found his way into the woods, feeling
that it would require at first his utmost efforts to
obtain the plainest food and the rudest shelter.
Thus the character for enterprise and industry
which was brought by our forefathers from Eng
land, has been cultivated and increased by the
circumstances under which the race has been
placed here, until it shows itself everywhere and
in a thousand ways, as one of the most remarka
ble peculiarities of the people. It shows itself in
the zeal and ardor, not so much of feeling as of
action, with which all the occupations of life are
, pursued here. It sharpens the avidity of gain, — it
urges on the operations of the mercantile com
munity far beyond the line of safe and prudent
enterprise, — it sends the pedler in his gaudily-
painted wagon over every turnpike and to every
by-way in the Union, the seal-hunter and the
whaleman to the remotest islands and the most
distant seas; and it inspirits every farmer's boy
with a restless desire to rise to something great or

268 CONCLUSION.
wealthy or powerful, he knows scarcely what-
Throughout New England you will find not one
in twenty who lives where his fathers lived, or does
as his fathers have done. The genius of the New
England character fills the whole land at home
with incessant industry and activity and motion,
and scatters over the wide world fearless adven
turers, in search of every object which excites the
desires of the human heart. -4- This fearless and
untiring spirit, however, good as it would be if it
were always well directed, as often perhaps takes
a wrong course .as a right one, or at least seeks to
accomplish its ends by unjustifiable means ; and
this is very often the foundation of prejudices, not
very unjust, against the national character.
There is another point which ought not to pass
unnoticed in considering the traits of the New
England character, and the causes which have
operated to form and to perpetuate them ; we mean
the provision for the elementary instruction of the
children. About one-third of the waking hours
of a very large proportion of the juvenile popula
tion is spent in school. The immense influence
which this circumstance must exert upon the na
tional character is very evident.
The general features of the system in its actual
operation are as follows. The towns are divided
into districts of convenient extent, upon some cen
tral spot in which a small school-house is erected
by a tax upon the inhabitants of the district.
Here, during the summer months, a school is

COMMON EDUCATION. 269
taught by a female for the benefit of the girls and
the younger children, and in the winter, by a man,
for the older children, both boys and girls. These
teachers are generally such of the sons and daugh
ters of the farmers in the neighborhood as have
distinguished themselves by their taste for study,
and their success in "arithmetic, grammar, and
geography," in their own schools. Sometimes
they receive special preparation at academies and
seminaries for teachers, and sometimes they are
members of classes in the colleges, of which -there
are two or three in every state. Generally, how
ever, they have made but little preparation for
their work as teachers, except having attended
themselves to the studies they are' to teach, in
other schools similar to those which they are
about to govern. Education, in this department
of it at least, is not reduced to a science in this
country. Every man practices according to his
own notions, and he who has the greatest tact has
the greatest success.
In the larger villages and towns, the public
schools are under the charge of more experienced
teachers, and are continued in operation during
the year. In some of them also there are gram
mar-schools, to which the older boys are received
and prepared for college or business by the pursuit
of such studies as do not come within the plan of
the ordinary district schools. In almost every
county too there are incorporated academies, where"
the higher branches of a common education are

2T0 CONCLUSION.
taught. These academies are usually endowed;
a board of trustees holds their funds and appoints
the teachers. The number and character of the
teachers are very various, from the schools of Ex
eter and Andover, which are managed by an expe
rienced principal and several professors, to the
obscure and languishing seminary in the remote
country town, which the trustees are not able to
keep open more than half the year. There are
private schools without number too ; every village
has its private teachers, and every large town its
schools for little children, and its "girls' schools,"
and its "boys' schools," where the genteeler fami
lies seek, though they do not always find, more
particular and thorough attention for their children
than the public institutions afford.
By these various institutions provision is made
for the instructiori of almost the whole population
of the country in the elements of knowledge. A
taste for reading, showing itself in many ways,
pervades the land. Every considerable village
has its one or two printing offices, from which
issues a weekly paper devoted to politics, religion,
literature, agriculture, and news.* Every parish
has its Sabbath school library, every humble cot
tage its shelf of books.
Such is New England. We would not conceal
her faults nor panegyrize her virtues. She has at

* There are about forty periodical publications issued in the city
of Boston.

ADVANTAGE OF A CHRISTIAN SPIRIT. 271
least the elements of a hardy and an efficient cha
racter. If the spirit of genuine Christianity had
sway in the hearts of her people, they might ac
complish inclaculable good to their country and to
the world.

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